Title: Mirror, Mirror
Universes: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Harry Potter.
Characters: Severus Snape, Andrew Wells
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns BtVS. JK Rowling owns Harry Potter.
Rating: sarcastic chaos
Notes: My answer to the 20 Minute Andrew Challenge: Authors have 20 minutes, only 20 minutes to write on the assigned character. I’d been thinking of doing this for a while now, and the challenge gave me the perfect impetus. I think that Andrew would be Snape’s worst nightmare. Thus, this ficlet was born. According to the rules of the challenge, this is unbeta’d. It took 21 minutes, by my clock. I do hope you forgive the extra minute.~~~Mirror, Mirror~~~
It all had to do with a mirror. It was fairly insignificant, really, small and dull edged, wound around with runes. It came in a bundle with other dark objects to be sorted per Dumbledore’s request. These sacks of objects were coming in more frequently as more and more Death Eater holdouts were cleared out after the final battle. Hogwarts agreed to sort and categorize them for future studies, keeping them safe from the public. In retrospect, he should have known better. The public never seemed to take into account nosy students with a knack for disaster.
Sending Longbottom in to clean up the shelves for his detention punishment wasn’t all that unusual, but he should have known that the incompetent fool would have poked his nose where it wasn’t wanted. When Longbottom cried out in that thin, reedy voice he always adopted in the Potions classroom, wanting to know what to do with the mirror, Snape gritted his teeth and tried not to hex the boy on principle. He had better things to do than play babysitter and didn’t even remember there was a mirror in the box. So he said, put it on a lower shelf. It didn’t seem that difficult, the proper placement of a mirror on a shelf, but when the storeroom was lit with an unpleasant sickly glow, and Longbottom gave a more than his usual yelps of distress, he’d gone running to see what the matter was.
The matter, unfortunately, was a lack of Longbottom. Instead, a sandy-reddish brown haired fellow was crumpled on the floor, gripping the mirror tightly.
Snape was not impressed.
So not impressed, in fact that he forgot to scowl, swoop his cloak, or anything else menacing as the boy sat up, blinked and started yammering. There was no other way to describe the sound: yammering.
“Giles is going to be so pissed. Willow knows better than to go messing around in the archives, but no, she had to go see what the mirror did. ‘Here Andrew, read this? What does it say?’ Well, duh, it obviously says ‘go transplant reader into scary dungeon place with- ew, are those real?- pickled frogs and loomy comic book types.’ This would give the Batcave a run for the money, though less bats and more eye of newt. Oh! Maybe it’s Miracle Max’s storeroom from the Princess Bride movie. I bet he has the coolest stuff in there, like Holocaust cloaks and ash of dragon. I love that movie. Buffy is so Princess Buttercup, but she’s better with a sword. And more with the tragic romance than the getting the guy in the end.”
Noticing that Snape looked about to have an aneurism right then, face pale and splotchy, fists gripped tight, the boy stopped talking for a moment. With a mounting sense of dread, Snape watched him look around, eyes bright and busy fingers fondling the edge of the mirror. “Say, creepy dude, where am I?”
Snape wasn’t sure what to say, so he said burst out. “Creepy dude? How dare you! I am Professor Snape, Potions Master. You are in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potions Classroom, Storage Cupboard, third from the left.”
The boy blinked. “Whoa. A school for witchy stuff? Willow would be so impressed. Potions, ew, they always taste bad. Except the one that makes your skin turn blue. That one’s yummy. Willow shouldn’t leave it around, all the new slayers keep getting into it, turning all teal, totally hopped up in blue juice. Sort of like Smurfs with superpowers. Did you ever wonder what would happen if the Smurfs got superpowers? They’d be all- wheeeewwww, zoom, tiny little crime fighters. Oh! Oh! They’d use tiny little swords and stab people in the feet, like the Lilliputians did. But not so neurotic, cause everyone knows how cool the smurfs are. Especially Smurfette.” The annoying boy grinned. “Smurfette was hot.”
Snape’s jaw dropped open, and he clutched his robes tighter.
The boy just grinned. “Don’t worry, Dark Avenger, the ladies will get this all straightened out in a jiffy. Just have to translate the runes. With Dawn back for a holiday, it’ll be like no time at all. Probably just a handwiggle or two then its poof and I’m home. Unless maybe I could stay. I’d love to see a real witchy school. Bet they have the-“
“Stop! You must desist. You must go home.” Snape’s eyelid was beginning to twitch. Whoever this boy was, he was ten times worse than Longbottom. At least Longbottom shut up occasionally. He wasn’t sure his nerves could take much longer. The boy just arched an eyebrow and scrambled to his feet.
“Oh, look!” He poked into the box that had held the mirror. “You have a Delubian Whistle! You can summon armies of Traxies with this. They’re not very bright, and have to eat thirty pounds of cane sugar a day, but if you need a foot army fast, that’s the way to go. Just make sure to set aside plenty of space for their latrines.” He held his nose. “You don’t want to smell them after a day. Whew. I remember this time Tucker got curious-“
Then there was the blessed light again. Snape was so happy to see the boy disappear in a flash of yellowish haze that when Longbottom rematerialized, shaking and pale faced, Snape actually smiled. This, of course, only made Longbottom shake more.
Snape couldn’t care less. With great enthusiasm, he said, “Your detention is finished for today. Go away. Never come back. Ever. Serve your future detentions with any one but me. And never, ever, pick up this mirror again. Who knows what horrors might pop out.”
Longbottom, all too happy to agree, gathered his wits and left. ~~~The End~~~