Careful What You Ask For ~ by Sevy's Gal

Careful What You Ask For
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“No.” Snape crossed his arms and glared across his desk at the headmaster.

“If you’re afraid that you won’t be able –“ Dumbledore’s words were cut short by the low guttural growl emitting from behind the Potions’ Master’s desk. “Severus, I know how difficult it is for you, but do try to be reasonable. It will only be for a short period.”

“Albus, to you, a ‘short period’ is anywhere from an hour to an entire summer. I am not a nursemaid.”

“It’s a very good thing I’m not asking that of you, then.” The two men stared at each other – Severus glaring, while Dumbledore merely arched a brow.

“Nothing you say will sway my decision,” Severus announced, allowing a triumphant note to enter his voice. A conspiratorial smile crept onto Dumbledore’s face as he reached into his robes and withdrew a small parcel. Wordlessly, he placed it on Severus’ desk. The younger man took it hesitantly, his curiousity overriding his common sense.

Severus’ jaw dropped in amazement as the wrapping fell from the parcel. “Albus! Is this what I think it is?”

“I thought it might do for your creamed pumpkin preserves,” the headmaster explained. Severus lifted the set of jars, each slightly different from the last. As Severus began to place them in his pocket, the set was whisked to the farther side of the desk, into Dumbledore’s waiting grasp.

“As payment, upon the completion of the day’s work.” Severus felt himself crumbling to the will of his employer, and the older man’s next words pushed his reservations even further back. “Have I mentioned they’ve been enchanted with an endless bottom charm?”

“Two hours,” Severus decided. “No longer.” Across his desk, Dumbledore beamed.

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At half past five that Friday, Severus began pacing his quarters. Dumbledore had requested that the event take place in the confines of his personal space, though the headmaster would not – or could not – supply an adequate reason for his request.

“Five minutes,” he murmered to himself, “and then the old fool can find someone else to watch the brat, endless bottom jars be damned.” Now that the said jars had been out of his sight for nearly a week, he was able to downplay their allure. He had half a mind to back out at the last minute, as he was not at all looking forward to playing nurse maid to Aberforth’s strange ward. The child had no doubt been kept in the back of the Hog’s head, day in and out, as that is where Albus’ brother lived himself. He glanced at the clock over his fireplace: five-thirty-five. With a smirk of satisfaction mixed with relief, Severus grabbed his traveling cloak and made his way to the door, intent on getting lost. Although it shouldn’t have, the headmaster’s presence on his doorstop surprised him.

“Going somewhere?” he inquired. The urchin next to him peered from behind the wizard’s robes, his state of dress somewhat disturbing.

“A nightshirt? You will be back before the – child – must be put down, won’t you?”

“What an interesting choice of words,” Dumbledore commented, leading the boy into the room. “Arthur feels more comfortable in his night attire, Severus. He seems as keen as yourself to be here.” Indeed, the small boy had narrowed his eyes mistrustingly at Severus.

“Explain again why you are not required to perform this abysmal task?”

“Aberforth is very peculiar – he fears I will spoil the boy.”

“No worry about that with me, is there?” Severus remarked with a smirk.

“Indeed not. Now then, I shall leave the two of you to get acquainted.” Dumbledore smiled indulgently down at the boy before gliding from the room.

As the door shut on Dumbledore, a change seemed to take place in Arthur. He was immediately at Severus’ bookshelves, pulling the volumes from their resting place and tossing them across the room. For one moment, Severus was thunderstruck. It was as though the boy Albus had brought with him had been a decoy – and here, façade wiped away, was the real Arthur Dumbledore.

“ENOUGH!” Severus’ voice echoed from the stone walls of his quarters, but did little to deter the child. Arthur merely looked up for a split second before turning back to his destruction of the older wizard’s possessions. This lasted for a mere few seconds before Severus had another idea. Without a word, he waved his wand towards the boy, magical cords binding his arms to his side. Arthur immediately began to kick and scream, though Severus fixed that with a silencing charm. Binding Arthur to a chair in the corner, he began to clean the mess. A knock at the door caused him to pause.

“Enter,” he snarled.

“What has your knickers in a twist?” Lucius called as he entered. Upon seeing the boy bound to the chair, he raised an eyebrow in question.

“Arthur Dumbledore,” Severus introduced the child with a nod in his direction.

“You’re babysitting?” Lucius asked, his lip begin to protrude. “But I thought we were going to crochet tonight! I brought all of my supplies!” He held up a crocheted knapsack, crochet needles sticking out at the top.

“Quiet, you idiot!” Severus hissed, crossing the room to close the open door. “I’d rather not have that particular gem roaming around the castle. Minerva McGonagall would never let me live it down – or else I’d be barraged with requests for tea cozies.” He sank into his armchair, the worst of the damage having been set to rights. “That brat is worse than he looks,” he muttered. Lucius turned to look in Arthur’s direction.

“Er, Severus?”

“What?”

“I think he escaped.”

“What?” Severus spun around to examine the spot himself. Sure enough, the seat was vacant. “He was bound with magical ropes!” he roared. “How the blazes did he get out of those? Look around, Lucius, see if you can find him – I’ll check the corridors.” He ran to the doors – this was the last thing he needed, to lose the brat within the first hour.

Severus made his way through the dungeons, not finding a trace of Arthur. Taking the stairs to the main level, he saw the edge of the child’s nightshirt disappearing around the edge of the door. He raced to the door, and out into the terrible thunderstorm which raged overhead. Arthur was sitting in the mud next to the main entrance, engrossed in making mudpies. At the sight of Severus, he leapt to his feet and ran towards the Forbidden Forest. With the darkened skies due to the storm, Severus had trouble discerning the figure.

“Accio Arthur!” He shouted into the rain-filled sky. The child, squealing with delight, came spiraling into his arms. With a firm grasp around the child’s middle, he began the trek back to the castle, only to be sent tumbling to the ground when he was nearly there. He turned his head to see what had caused the collision. There, sprawled awkwardly next to him, was Arthur Weasley.

“Severus,” he greeted. “You called?”

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