Hechicera - Gravity Keeper

A/N: My apologies to C S Lewis for so shamelessly ripping off a scene from The Magician's Nephew. And yes, I know that a narthex is part of a church, but it's always sounded like an exotic animal to me. The ansible is the invention of Ursula LeGuin, and we all know where tribbles came from.

All the clues are from the Sunday, Nov 15, 2009 New York Times crossword.

Thanks to exartemarte for Britpicking!

keywords used: treacle fudge, foofaraw, storeroom

The hostage was not doing at all well, and its captors were baffled. They had, after all, watered it generously and sprinkled it with a variety of the nourishment pellets recommended in Caring for Your Pet Human.

"I can't understand it," said the gamekeeper, curling a tentacle round a pellet labelled "Diced Tomatoes" and tossing it down into the enclosure. "Look...not only does it not leap for the nourishment, it actually flinches away from it." He flung the pamphlet away in disgust. "This clearly is not worth the narthex skin it's printed on."

The cultural attaché started to speak, but decided, on reflection, to keep his speech orifice shut: this was clearly not the time to inform his colleague of the Earthlings' disappointing lack of response to yesterday's ultimatum from the Committee to Undermine the Nations of Terra.

It was almost as though they did not want it back.

*************

Furious, Hermione dropped a stack of the previous day's newspapers onto the table.

"Really, Snape? Really? Percy Weasley?!"

"I assure you, I have no idea what you're wittering on about."

She snatched up a copy of the Sydney Sorcerer. "And this organization has Lucius Malfoy written all over it! We're the complete laughingstock of the English-speaking wizarding world!"

Snape took the paper from her and regarded the headline with a smirk. "British Ministry Official Trapped by C.U.N.T," he read. "You must admit, it is rather amusing."

"I admit nothing of the sort," she said. Must not imagine Percy Weasley stuck in a giant...

Snape was leafing through the pile of newspapers. "Is there by any chance a New York Necromancer among this collection?"

"Yes. I believe it's the one with 'Who is C.U.N.T Holding British Undersecretary?' in 72-point type. Why?"

He pulled a newspaper from the middle of the pile. "Their Sunday edition has the best crosswords anywhere."

"Is that all you care about? Your bloody crosswords?"

He folded the paper to reveal the puzzle, then said mildly, "You seemed to enjoy doing them with me, if I recall correctly."

"Well... yes, I suppose I did."

"Source of black diamonds, eight letters."

"Coal yard," she said without thinking. And then, in an unconvincing voice, "I really should get back to the Ministry offices to see if there's any news about Percy." Trapped in the giant...

"What's a five-letter word for Ply with liquor?"

"Erm... besot." She had moved over to sit beside him on the sofa.

He shifted slightly so that his leg was in contact with hers. "Care to make it interesting?" he asked.

*************

The gamekeeper's daughter had taken an interest in the hostage, and it actually appeared to be faring a little better. She had named it "Wankers," as that seemed to be the sound it made most vigorously and often, and had experimented with different foodstuffs until she found two that it was willing to consume. The first was the embryonic form of certain flightless birds, available in the same shops in which he had bought the variety of rejected food pellets. Through trial and error...she really was a patient child, and good with animals, and the gamekeeper held a secret hope that she would grow up to follow in his podprints, career-wise...she had discovered that Wankers consumed the embryos with much more enthusiasm if they were first heated to the point of coagulation.

The other food was a brownish paste labeled "Treacle Fudge" that had been wrapped in a clear skin of some sort. It so resembled the waste produced periodically by the hostage that the gamekeeper had been led to speculate that humans practiced some sort of recycling of their digestive byproducts, but his daughter's attempt to test this theory had been disappointing.

At the moment she was leading the hostage around by a cord tied around its midsection. "Papa," she said, "I want to give Wankers a bath."

"Why, precious?"

"Papa, can't you smell him? He's really quite revolting. Plus I think it's time for him to molt."

"Do humans molt?"

"Oh, yes, Papa, some of them more than once a day. They peel off their outer skin, and a new one grows overnight." She waved her antennae at him coyly...she knew he could never resist it when she did the larva-antennae.

"Oh, all right, I suppose. There's some scouring solution in the storeroom. Just make sure you don't leave a mess on the floor." He turned to his assistant. "No word from the Terrans yet?"

"Not a squeak. We've sent them another letter, with a bit of its cephalic fibers as proof that we do indeed have it captive, but that hasn't produced a response either."

"Budding salt-pit!"

"Sir, language! But yes, indeed."

*********

Fucking hell.

This was not going at all the way she had planned. After those first two clues, she had missed five in a row (Laurel and Hardy flick [1949], "What's going on" singer, Some wraps, Show grps., and Some Juilliard students) whereas Snape had instantly produced even the most arcane words (trefoil) and Muggle culture references ('Rachel' of Mean Girls). As a result, he was still as fully clothed as he had been when she walked in while she was missing both socks, both shoes, and her hair scrunchy.

"Let me see," he said, scrutinizing the puzzle with a wicked look, "how about... 'Mad Men' extra, five letters?"

What the bloody hell was Mad Men?

"Ends with an o," he added helpfully.

"Bugger," she said.

"I'm afraid not," he said. "So, what will it be, Miss Granger? The trousers or the jumper?"

"Neither," she said, reaching underneath her jumper to unfasten her bra and pull it out.

"How do you girls do that?" he said. "I've never understood it. And, my, what an insubstantial little thing this is. I wonder you bother to wear it at all."

He rubbed the lace slowly between thumb and fingers, and the look he gave her made her suddenly aware of the roughness of the wool against her hardening nipples.

She picked up the newspaper. "Three trios, five letters."

"Nonet," he said without hesitation.

"Fuck."

*********

"He's the same color all over now."

"Yes, Papa, and he smells ever so much better."

He peered more closely at the hostage. "I thought humans didn't have tentacles."

"It's only a vestigial one, I think. I tried to teach him to pick up sticks with it, but it didn't work."

The cultural attaché oozed into the room, looking apprehensive.

"Any news?" asked the gamekeeper.

"I'm afraid so. The British Ministry have refused to enter into any negotiations whatsoever."

"They won't even talk to us?"

"It would appear not."

"Then what the salt are we going to do with him?"

There was a strangled shriek from Wankers as the gamekeeper's daughter began waving him about in the air. "Papa, Papa, can I keep him? Please please please?"

He tried to look stern. "Remember what happened last time? Besides, your mother would never stand for it."

"Oh, please, Papa, I promise, I'll be so responsible this time...I'll clean his litterbox and everything."

"Well..." he began, and she threw three of her free tentacles around him. "As long as it's all right with your mother. And stop flinging him about like that...you'll break his notochord, and they always die if you do that."

*************

She was down to her jumper and knickers, having lost her trousers to Texas State Athlete, six letters. Snape had answered "Fahd, of course," to Late Saudi king, four letters, and was taking his time picking out her next clue, running his finger down the page with maddening deliberation.

"I think this will do," he said finally, a slow smile spreading across his features. "Indiana/Michigan natives, six letters."

"Bloody hell! Are all the clues in this sodding puzzle about America?"

"It's not the Nottingham Necromancer, Granger."

There was a long pause.

"Would you like some help with that jumper?"

***************

"I told Mummy you said it was all right," said the gamekeeper's daughter happily. She had wrapped Wankers in a tribble-fur blanket...remembering at the very last minute to uncover his breathing orifices...and was pushing him about the room in a packing-crate pram. "I can't wait to get back home with him...all the girls in my class are going to be soooo jealous!"

The cultural attaché poked an antenna through the doorway. "Your wife's on the ansible, sir...she says it's urgent."

***************

Well, this was... different. Who would have thought Snape... ohh now that was nice. Little soft kisses, trailing down her neck and across her collarbone. His gentle hand, lifting her naked breast to his lips, while with the other hand he hooked a finger into the elastic of her knickers and began slowly to draw them downward.

She smacked at his hand. "You haven't... earned... the knickers yet," she said unsteadily.

His voice was muffled against her chest. "The current state of my cock, four letters." He had not stopped pulling her knickers down.

There was a soft whoosh.

"Oh, dear, I seem to be interrupting something. My profound apologies."

"Merlin's balls, Lucius, have I not asked you repeatedly not to Floo into my rooms uninvited?"

Hermione had snatched up an issue of The Philadelphia Foofaraw and was clasping it in front of her. Malfoy tilted his head to read the headline ("C.U.N.T Claims Responsibility for Percy Weasley's Disappearance") and then clucked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Was ever a newspaper so appropriately named?" he drawled. "That rag is all color pictures and talking type, and no substance whatsoever. I can't believe you spent good money on it."

He was looking frankly at the parts of Hermione that the paper was not large enough to cover.

"Mr Malfoy, do you mind?"

"Oh, not a bit, I assure you. Severus, I just dropped by to give you a bit of news and to ask if I might have yesterday's Necromancer back, if you're done with the crossword. Some of us actually read the articles, you know."

Hermione stared at Snape. "You already had that paper? You'd already done that crossword? You cheating bastard!"

Unruffled, he turned to Malfoy. "You said you had a bit of news, Lucius?"

"News, yes. They've found Percy Weasley. Turned up at Marble Arch, as naked as the day he was born."

"Just wandering about?" asked Snape.

"No, curled up in fetal position on top of the arch."

"Is he all right?" asked Hermione.

"A bit the worse for wear, but nothing a bottle of Firewhisky and a week in bed won't cure."

"Excellent," said Snape. "And now, I believe you were just leaving."

A/N: We all thrive on reviews. If you like what you've read, please consider voting for us here.