Кассандра Клэр - Draco Veritas

“Just wait,” said Ron, jabbing a finger in Sirius’ general direction. “She’ll turn out to be a demon, or she’ll dump you for Professor Lupin —“

“Don’t drag me into this,” protested Remus.

“ — or you’ll find out she’s Polyjuiced herself into your ideal woman in an attempt to get you to commit evil acts on her behalf, or she’ll leave you for —"

“Good Lord,” said Sirius, staring at Ron, “you have had a bad time of it, haven’t you? At your age, the biggest trouble I had with girls was keeping their names straight.”

Ron didn’t say anything. He had put his head down on the table and begun snoring.

“One down,” said Harry, setting his empty butterbeer glass down on top of Ron’s head, where it balanced precariously.

“Very attractive,” said a deep voice above them. “It does add a certain je ne sais quoi.”

Harry looked up, and blinked in surprise. It was Snape, looking as batlike as ever with his pale face and sweeping black robes. Greasy dark hair hung heavily to his shoulders.

“I would have said a soupçon de gentillesse,” said Draco mildly. He was on his fifth martini. “But what do I know.”

“Greetings, Severus. Did you come to offer your congratulations to Padfoot?” asked Lupin politely.

“”What Remus means to say,” said Sirius, knocking back another swallow of firewhiskey, “is what are you doing here, Snape? Other than lurking in a foreboding manner, of course. I hope you’re not going to pull one of those Wedding-Guest-who-stoppeth-one-of-three morbid acts tomorrow.

Not that you’re precisely a wedding guest, since I don’t think I invited you.”

“That wasn’t quite what I meant,” said Lupin. “Actually.”

“My presence here is coincidental,” said Snape. “I secured lodging at the Cold Christmas Inn last night, with an eye towards being here the day after tomorrow, at Dumbledore’s request. In the interim period, I had intended to get in a bit of fishing.”

“At Dumbledore’s request?” said Draco, looking up from his drink.

“Yes,” said Snape, looking down his long nose at his favorite student. “He wanted me with him when he reversed the Polyjuice Potion’s effect on you and Potter.”

“Oh, right,” said Draco, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “That.”

“Indeed, that.” Snape turned to Sirius. “In the meantime, I extend my congratulations to you on the eve of your happy event.”

Sirius choked on his drink. “Really?”

“Yes,” said Snape emotionlessly. “I have always liked Narcissa. If marrying you will make her happy, then my delight is boundless.”

Sirius squinted at him. “It sure looks boundless.”

“We all show happiness in our own way, Padfoot,” Lupin remonstrated.

“A good ninety percent of us show it by cracking a smile, at least,” said Sirius. “It’s not like I asked him to burst into song.”

“I could sing, if you like,” said Snape.

Sirius stared at him, perplexed. “What?”

“Are you implying that I can’t sing?” Snape asked.

“I’m not sure he’s implying it,” said Harry. “I think he’s just saying it.”

“I have been told I have a very nice voice,” said Snape, ruminatively.

“It’s true,” Draco said. “Especially with a quartet of house-elves for backup.”

Snape smiled thinly, then turned and walked away. Sirius watched him go with his eyebrows raised all the way up his forehead. “He’s mad,” he said, to no one in particular. “As a hatter.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Lupin. “I think he’s trying to bury the hatchet.”

“What’s so mad about hatters, anyway?” Draco asked, finally feeling the effects of five martinis and a bottle of wine. “I have a hatter in London. I quite like him. He’s never seemed particularly mad to me. I mean, no more than most grown-ups.”

Ron sat up, sending the mug that had been balanced on his head careening to the floor, where it smashed into pieces, splattering Harry’s shoes with remnants of butterbeer. Ron didn’t seem to notice. “Hatters used to use mercury compounds to finish the fur trim on hats. Hatters working in poorly ventilated workrooms would absord the mercury into their blood. Over time, they would exhibit signs of mercury poisoning, including brain damage leading to psychosis. Thus the phrase, ‘mad as a hatter.’”

Everyone stared at him.

Ron shrugged. “I remember it from some Muggle history book of my dad’s,” he said. “So what?”

Harry slid a half-full mug of butterbeer across the table. “Drink more, Ron.”

Ron reached for the mug, but was arrested mid-motion by the sound of a familiar voice echoing through the room. He turned slowly, as they all did, to see Snape standing up at the small podium, surrounded by the group of musicians who not long ago had been playing “Greensleeves.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Snape. He must have done some sort of Sonorus charm, Harry thought, because his voice was positively echoing off the roofbeams. “I would like to sing a song in honor of a friend of mine, who is getting married tomorrow. That man, right there—“ and he pointed at Sirius—“is not my friend. In fact, he is something of a tosser.

But he is marrying someone I rather like, so in honor of the occasion, I’d like to sing the classic stag night ballad, ‘I May Be A Tiny Chimney Sweep, But I’ve Got An Enormous Broom.’”

“Crikey,” said Draco. “I didn’t think that song actually existed.”

“Oh,” said Lupin. “But it does.”

Sirius said nothing. He was busy staring with his mouth open at Snape, who opened his mouth just as the band started up and sang, in a robust baritone:

Oohhhhhhh, The chimneys were dirty at Mrs. McFry's

And I'll grant they were worse down at Molly O'Clue's But the chimney sweep said, with a gleam in his eye

"I've got a great tool here for cleaning the fluuuuuues…"

"For I may be a tiny chimney sweep

With a tiny grimy face

But I'm carrying a broom that makes strong girls weep, Won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?"

A chimney sweep's job can be boring and dirty, A chimney sweep ain't drawn the best lot in life

But who else could manage, without getting flirty, To clean out the smokestack on the mayor's young wife?

Who else but the tiny chimney sweep

With his tiny grimy face?

For he's carrying a broom that makes strong girls weep Won't you let him up, up, up your fireplace?

"My boy," said the mother, "You're smart as a whip, But don't be a lawyer or doctor, my son;

Take the job of your father, that worthy young rip, For the chimney sweep's job is a sight more fun!"

"For he might ha' been a tiny chimney sweep

With a tiny grimy face

But he carried a broom that near made me weep

So I let him up, up, up me fireplace!"

I met a young lady in Lower-South-Waine

And I asked why the roofs there were covered in grime

"Is your chimneysweep ill?" but she laughed and explained

"He never cleans chimneys, but his service? Sublime!"

"For he may be a tiny chimney sweep

With a tiny grimy face

But he's carrying a broom that makes the whole town weep So we let him up, up, up the fireplace!"

Said the young maiden fair to the chimney sweep bold, "The clogged chimney's making it warm in the room!"

But the chimney sweep grinned, showing teeth made of gold, And said "That ain't the clogging, dear, that's just me broom!"

"For I may be a tiny chimney sweep

With a tiny grimy face

But I'm carrying a broom that makes strong girls weep, Won't you let me up, up, up your fireplace?"

Our sweep tied the knot on a fair April day, His wedding, 'tis true, was the best of our lives-A child nearly drowned when they tossed the bouquet-There were sixty-nine priests there, and seventy wives!