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Title: Dessert Wine
Author name: Icarus
Author email: email@example.com
Sub Category: Gleeful Torment
Summary: "Come out, come out, wherever you are…." Snape sing-songed, clearly as drunk as the rest of the Death Eaters. Snape has a Marauder in his clutches. What do you think he'd do?
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Copyright © 2005 by Icarus Ancalion. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced in whole or part without the author's explicit permission. Ask, guys. I'm easy to reach and usually quite generous.
Author notes: No beta, naughty me.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…." Snape sing-songed, clearly as drunk as the rest of them. His words were greeted with more snickers. Peter heard his footsteps approaching. "I know you're in the pantry, Peter." Peter froze. "So do please bring us a bottle or two on your way back to join us. We miss your… company." At this point the group roared with laughter.
The pantry door flew open and Snape's long robes brushed the floor as he descended the disused stair. But Peter had already scrambled behind the boxes, knowing it was hopeless. Snape stood, hands on his hips, his lips curled in a mocking smile as he gazed down at Peter huddled on the floor.
"I'm not coming."
"But you are invited to our little party," Snape cooed. "For a change. Surely, you don't wish to insult your host?"
"I'm not -"
"Are you being uncooperative?" Snape said with a nasty purr, examining a nail. "I would hate to have to report that you aren't-"
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Peter hastily stood, brushing dirt from his bare knees. The Dark Lord would believe anything Snape said at this point. He was very high in his favour.
"Ah, we are so pleased you have chosen to grace us with your presence," Snape said, and snapped his fingers. "Bring the Merlot."
Peter followed the dark shift of Snape's shoulders, the bottle clutched in one hand. But he hung back as he reached the sitting room. Snape settled in a rickety chair, his Death Eater cohorts clustered about him, their faces flushed, expectant, waiting to see what Snape would do next. Peter remained behind the door. With a quick flick of his wand, Peter floated the bottle into the room, ready to pour for any who wanted it.
"Properly," Snape said in a bored voice, leaning his elbow on the wooden arm of the chair.
Slowly, humiliated, Peter edged into the room. The Death Eaters roared with laughter at the bare flabby white legs sticking out from under a pink flowered apron. Nott peered around at Peter's bare bum and nearly fell out of his chair. Snape simply smirked, and gestured for Peter to proceed - but Peter had had enough.
He made a break for the door.
There was a flash of light and Snape hauled him up in the air by one foot, Peter thrashing as the flowered apron fell over his face. The hoots of laughter renewed.
"What color are his pants, one wonders… oh, my, my." Snape turned back to his admirers. "I see he hasn't got any. Nothing besides these charming roses."
"I think them's pansies," one amused Death Eater put in. Erkland. The Death Eater beside him gave him a funny look.
"Oh, yes, so they are. How… appropriate," Snape said in a smug voice.
Peter squirmed in the grip of the spell.
"You have lots of friends now! But you didn't always, did you, Snivel--!"
Peter squawked as the words were cut off and he fell to the floor. Even Snape couldn't maintain two spells at once. Peter ran for the door with Snape hard on his heels as the Death Eaters laughed even harder. Peter slammed the pantry door. It was blasted open behind him, but not before Peter had transformed into a rat and skittered down a drainpipe.
Snape stalked around the pantry, radiating fury. Peter shivered in rat form, cursing himself inwardly as he recalled he couldn't leave, he couldn't run, he had a job to do, and he couldn't leave -- he couldn't, couldn't go anywhere! The Dark Lord would punish him, even worse than Snape.
He'd just… couldn't help it, when he was in the air like that it reminded him of…. Now he'd used his best (not to mention only) weapon against Snape, and Snape would never forgive him, no, no, he wouldn't. Oh, what was he going to do?
"I think we need some rat-traps around here, don't you?" Snape said to Nott, who'd poked his head in to watch the fun. Snape was clearly trying to sound calm, nonchalant, but his voice was shaky.
Bad sign, very bad sign….
"He'll turn up, the little rat," Nott said amiably, obviously still enjoying the evening's entertainment. First Peter, now Snape chasing him… they'd had a night, and this story would be all over the group by morning. The Death Eaters simply loved to make Snape angry, just to see what he'd do. So long as it was aimed at someone else.
"Hmm. Actually, I believe that we might have a deserter on our hands," Snape said in a threatening voice, still turning in circles, wand drawn, scanning the room in hopes of catching Peter.
"Too bad for him then," Nott chuckled, watching Snape. "Let's bring up another bottle while we're down here, eh?"
Snape scowled at his disappearing form, then picked one out. He paused at the top of the stair and said portentiously into the darkness, "It would be safer for Pettigrew if he were."
In his drainpipe, Peter comforted himself with the knowledge that even Snape would stop short of killing another Death Eater. He fervently hoped.