The Taming of the Shrew - Wizard Style - COMPLETE

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4-17-10 F


Ah, finally some plot again. I padlocked Lucius' trouser fly, so we're safe for the moment. I hope you like this chapter - there's no sex, but some other interesting stuff, and farther on in the chapter, Lucius and Snape are together again for some more chitchat.


And thank you to all the reviewers this time. I do like to see new reader/reviewers, as well as my solid gold regular reviewers.


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Chapter Forty-Five

The Sorting Hat

“Well, well, Lucius Malfoy. I haven’t been on your noggin for a long, long, loooong-”

Lucius pulled the hat off his head and slammed it down ungently onto the table in front of him. What had he been thinking to put it on in a stupid excess of happiness because his wife had accepted anal sex the night before? His playful mood evaporated. “It hasn’t been that long, you dingy, old piece of dragon butt leather. You’re just saying that to annoy me.”

The Sorting Hat, now resting more peacefully on an inanimate object, cocked an eyebrow, “You always were vain. Nothing new there.” A tiny sneer twisted its leather lips as it stared insolently at the glowering wizard, “You put me on your head because you got laid? Lovin’ that back door are you? Amusing, but I could have gone on forever not seeing into that gnarly brain again. Your convoluted mind gives me a headache. It’s like a maze for lab rats in there. How can you think with such a corkscrew configuration?” The Hat scrunched up its face, “Plus, seeing your face with that silly smile from hitting Hermione’s glory hole gave me the shivers. It’s not natural, you looking happy. I feel I should look for a garland of garlic as protection.”

“Well, garlic would be an improvement on that stench of stale hair oil you give off. Too bad your maker didn’t build in a self-cleaning function.” Lucius’ light mood evaporated as he gazed with loathing at the garrulous headgear.

The Hat bridled, “It’s the fault of those blasted house elves. They won’t clean me. Just because I hinted once that as a piece of clothing, they might be in danger of being set free if I suddenly jerked and accidentally fell on their heads.” The Hat groused, “Rotten little peons, can’t take a joke. I’m not sure they understand humor much. Not too many neural pathways, if you know what I mean,” the Hat confided, vexed.

Lucius stared, incredulous, “You annoyed the house elves? You like to live dangerously, don’t you?” The wizard shivered, remembering his confrontation with the late, and to him entirely unlamented, Dobby. “It’s a good thing you don’t own a neck, you revolting lump of maggot dung, or it would have been snapped long since.”

The Hat looked daggers at the blond Pureblood who had never been one of its favorites, but who could sling inventive insults with the best of them. Life for the Hat was usually an unending tedium filled with gossiping Headmaster portraits leavened with the unformed eleven-year-old brains of the first years, so it gleefully grasped the chance to liven up the day for itself. Whispering impatiently, the old piece of leather hissed, “Can we get beyond the mud-slinging for a moment? I have some interesting information, but ‘pas devant les anciens’.” It cast its eyes around the room significantly.

“Not in front of the old who…?” At that point, Lucius became conscious of the odd silence in the room and he realized all the Headmaster portraits had ceased speaking so they could listen in. He had no intention of donating any juicy material to those loose-lipped old gossips; he’d already profited from them listening in on the conversation between Hermione and Draco, but he didn’t want to fall prey to their flapping tongues himself.

“We do speak French, you know,” said one of the venerable seventeenth century portraits, irritated at the tattling Hat.

“Ah,” Lucius said and, ignoring its complaints about crushing its brim, he grabbed the Hat and strode out into the small reception area where there were thankfully no portraits, merely a quiet pastoral landscape. “Well?” the wizard demanded, lightly tossing the Hat on the small desk. “What is this news you didn’t want to share with my prattling predecessors? It had better be good or you may find yourself adorning one of the Quidditch pylons-”

“No fear of that,” a sly grin sprouted on the old leather lid as Lucius was drawing breath to continue. The Hat pompously announced, “Your wife is pregnant.”

“WHAT?!”

“Yes, I didn’t see any knowledge of that in your brain, most of it being taken up with your own ideas, some of them quite naughty.” The Hat whistled in knavish appreciation.

“How do you know she’s pregnant?”

“She put me on her head the other day after giving me a nice brush. She’s very intelligent, you know. I really should have sorted her into Ravenclaw, but there was just that edge of vulnerable nobility and self-sacrifice that wouldn’t have set well with those cold, analytical types, although she might have-”

“Yes, yes, but how can you tell if she’s pregnant?”

“Oh, that. Her brainwaves are accompanied by a second, tiny set. Therefore, pregnant.”

Lucius sat down, stunned.

“I thought you would welcome fatherhood again,” the Sorting Hat cocked one leather eyebrow. “You enjoyed it the first time, although little Draco’s mind was a jumble of love for you plus a desperate confusion of trying to earn it from you in return. He was rather afraid of you, poor mite. I almost sorted him into Ravenclaw also,” the Sorting Hat rambled on in high good humor, “but I knew the stigma of not being Slytherin would have been unbearable to him. You had very high expectations of your son, Lucius. The Hat smacked its lips, as though tasting something, “You feel different now, though. Softening in old age, I expect.”

“How would you like to be softened into a dustrag and used to clean out the Quidditch Pitch loo, you old flea-bitten, lump of leather? Quit reminiscing over ancient history that was never your business and tell me if she knows. Does Hermione know she’s pregnant?”

The Sorting Hat offered a crafty smile, “I shouldn’t have told you your wife was pregnant, I suppose. You need to talk to her about what she does or doesn’t know. It was inevitable that it happen, though. My, my, the way you two burn up the sheets -”

“Oh, shut it or I’ll sort you into a storage bin.” Lucius felt a tide of color run up his cheeks at what the old leather lecher must have seen in his mind – and likely his wife’s. What a nasty side effect of wearing the hat as an adult! Then he froze, staring hard at the Hat. Could that disgusting piece of dragonhide see everything he’d ever done? Lucius shuddered.

“Don’t worry about that,” the Hat said snidely, “I don’t divulge dangerous information. I can’t. It’s part of the magic imbued in the leather. That’s how I know Hermione’s pregnancy isn’t dangerous for you to know or I couldn’t have mentioned it to you.”

“You can read minds without sitting on someone’s head?” Lucius asked in dismay, realizing the Hat had just answered a question he’d only just now posed in his mind.

The Hat snorted, “Ever heard of legilimency? You Slytherins were never the sharpest tools in the toolbox. You’ve been staring at me for the last few minutes, leaving those dead fish eyes of yours wide open. Practically handed me the keys to your serpentine, devious, green-stained brain. I’d have dyspepsia if I had a stomach,” the Hat said complacently.

“Oh, hell,” Lucius said, annoyed both at the Hat and himself. Then he realized the Hat might have some answers, “Well, who cares?” Lucius huffed impatiently. “You’re welcome to invade my brain and I hope it gives you nightmares. The Gods know it gives me sleepless nights. That’s not what I want to know. If you saw so much going on in Hermione’s head, did you notice any external compulsions affecting her? Any spells?”

“Hmmm,” the Sorting Hat thought for a minute, “No. No spells.”

“You’re certain you saw nothing in my wife’s brain to coerce her into a disaffection for me?”

“You mean besides your normal arrogance and hubris?” The Sorting Hat chuckled, seeing Lucius’ face flush with annoyance, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. You lose your temper so easily. I could never get a rise out of Dumbledore, who merely gave me that infuriating, idiotic smile - or Snape when he was Headmaster. He did lock me in a storage bin.” The Sorting Hat trailed off, mumbling unkind things about the dark-haired wizard.

“Pay attention, you old goatskin, or you’ll spend another school year stuffed in the dark. What about my wife’s brain?”

“I am not made of goatskin! Imagine! That twice-damned Aberforth wanted to trade me in on a goatskin fedora…” The Hat saw the gathering thundercloud on Lucius’ face, “Oh, very well. Yes, she had some type of trace chemical in her system that I couldn’t understand. It was wrapping around the amygdala in her brain. I’ve never seen that before and believe me, I’ve seen nearly every drug mmmmph -”

Lucius stopped the monologue by the simple expedient of pinching the Hat’s leather lips together. He cocked his own eyebrow in question. When the Hat nodded mutely, Lucius let go his hold.

“You didn’t have to be so rude.” Stormy, ice-gray eyes sliced into the Sorting Hat and it hurried on. “The trace chemical centers in the part of her brain that controls emotions. It probably affects her emotions if she comes in contact with a Pureblood – negatively, I’d guess. Your type of Pureblood chemistry would cause the chemical to irritate her brain, darkening her mood. Any touch, sweat, rub, or breath on her body from you would do it. Too bad for you,” the Hat offered a theatrical, bogus moue.

Sensing another imminent trip to the storage bin in Lucius’ balled fists, the Sorting Hat quickly continued lecturing. “Any intense exercise or excitement will pump the blood through the brain, washing away the drug faster than it would otherwise dissipate, although it won’t permanently affect the brain, anyway, and would ultimately dissipate on its own.

“It also connects where she would experience stimuli, so if one applies any physical pain or shock, as in some lusty spanking,” the Hat chortled in nasty glee, “that disrupts the drug, too, knocking it out of the amygdala. You’ll be happy to know that the influx of your Pureblood unborn’s blood into her body has partially erased the footprint or strength of the chemical. Within a short time she’ll be free of its effect altogether – as long as she remains pregnant. Is it some new playtime sex drug that old, sour pervert Snape has come up with? Have you been having fun spanking Hermione to relieve the effect of the chemical?” the Hat queried slyly.

“I must remember to ask Severus which storage bin he used,” mused Lucius, his threat clear. “Do you know how it entered her brain?”

“Well, now, that is interesting. Its chemical make-up suggests it wasn’t eaten or drunk. That class of chemical wouldn’t do well against stomach acid. That’s all I can tell you.” The Hat frowned, “I don’t recognize it. It’s not one of the recreational ones I come across occasionally. It’s hair-raising what some of those first years get into nowadays. Probably from older siblings.” The Hat changed tack again, “I guess you’re lucky that those gray hairs of yours are all but undetectable among the blond.”

Lucius brought the flat of his hand down hard on one edge of the Hat’s brim.

“Ow! It was a joke, Malfoy. Sheesh. I saw how you were fretting over those laugh lines by your eyes - although how you got any laugh lines escapes me,” the Sorting Hat groused. “You’re worried about your wife thinking you’re too old. She likes your hair and doesn’t care at all about the difference in your ages. Not like you do. And I’m telling you all this for her sake, not yours,” the Hat pouted. “You’re so touchy. I can’t imagine what she sees in you.”

Discomposed, Lucius looked away from the old leather headgear for a moment. His thoughts weren’t for sharing with that gabby, snooping piece of millinery. Hermione didn’t care about the age difference at all? She had told him so; he hadn’t quite believed her, but the Hat had seen the truth in her mind. And it had seen his worry. Lucius hoped it was true and not a lie to cause trouble. The Sorting Hat was quite capable of making mischief. If the Hat spoke the truth, the relief would be a heavy rock lifted from his chest. When he succeeded in shielding his mind against any more legilimency, the elegant Pureblood turned back and asked in his normal, smooth diction, “Is there anything more you can tell me about the drug?”

Thankful that the powerful wizard had calmed down, the Hat offered, “Now that you mention it, the chemical had an odd tang to it – rather like the taste of you Purebloods, but with that irritant attached. It’s in your brain, too, but,” the Hat considered, “neutralized in the same way that Hermione’s infection is being neutralized.”

“My brain? Are you sure?” Lucius made a move to put the hat on his head again.

“NO! PUT ME DOWN!” the Hat shouted, alarmed. “Yes, of course I’m sure, I don’t need another immersion in your tangled, fetid brain cells. ”

Lucius reluctantly put the Hat back on the table. “So, I have whatever it is in my brain, too, but it doesn’t affect me?”

“It’s an analog to your own Pureblood chemistry so it wouldn’t bother you. It just gets absorbed as fast as it encounters your type of blood. It’s bothering Hermione, though, I take it?” the Hat asked, but it was talking to air. Lucius had exited the office in a hurry to tell Snape of his findings, minus the information about Hermione’s delicate condition.

“Right!” groused the Sorting Hat to the empty office, “Leave me on the reception desk where I’ll be in the afternoon sun. Ingrate!”

~~~~~

Lucius hurried down the myriad, dank lower hallways toward Snape’s apartments intent on his news, when suddenly his body lifted and he found himself hanging upside down from the high vault of the passage. He couldn’t see anything because his own robes had fallen over his torso and face obscuring his vision.

“Well, fuck me with a friggin’ flagpole!” he growled in a furious whisper, struggling at first to fight his heavy robes away from his face so he could see. He had learned many years ago not to give away a disadvantageous position with any discernible sound when he was vulnerable.

Then he froze. The corridor echoed with faint footsteps; someone was coming from far down the passage around a corner and he panicked for a moment. Then his old training kicked in and he quieted and put his mind to work. An instant’s cogitation gave him his release.

Lucius thought of the broom closet off the main hallway and Disapparated from the ceiling of the passage, using his unauthorized Apparating ability to land in the dark cupboard. No one else was privy to his tweaking of the Hogwarts policy of no Apparating on school grounds so his destination had to be private, but he didn’t know where his wife was and he wasn’t interested in hearing her gripe about his bending the stupid rules again, so any of her normal haunts were also out for an Apparition.

Unfortunately, he was not alone in the shadowy space when he arrived in the closet. Way at the back cuddled among the cleaning rags, two seventh years wearing Hufflepuff colors were engaged in a bout of torrid tongue wrestling. It was pure luck that they hadn’t seen or heard Lucius arrive, so engrossed were they in each other. Lucius sucked in a startled breath, narrowly avoiding stepping into a mop bucket, but he quickly understood who had the upper hand.

Throwing open the closet door with a loud crash, the formidable Headmaster declaimed in stentorian tones as though he had just arrived, “What is this I see?” watching in unholy amusement as the two juvenile snoggers broke apart in fear. The girl screamed, yanking down her robes where her boyfriend’s hand had wandered. It was a petty revenge for all the mauling he’d endured by his student body as well as relieving his resentment at being upended in Snape’s beastly hall trap, but it was a nicely timed remedy for Lucius’ deteriorating temper.

“Fifty points from Hufflepuff - each,” Lucius hissed, letting the two offenders scuttle out of the closet and off down the hall in some disarray. He stepped out of the closet, twitching his robes into place and grinning at the sport so unexpectedly handed to him. He immediately pointed his wand down the hall at the hourglass for the Hufflepuffs, deducting a hundred gemstones; unfortunately his wand sputtered and only twenty gemstones were deducted. Lucius frowned, then shrugged, uninterested in the mundane docking of school points when he had fascinating news to impart. Walking majestically down the corridor, he descended once again into the dungeon labyrinths, this time stopping at the warning sign he’d been too excited to heed before.

“Snape, you pisspot, let me past your wards!” Lucius aimed his wand at his throat using the Sonorous spell and called down the passage. He finger-combed his slightly mussed hair while he waited as his words echoed through the lower levels.

A few seconds later, Lucius felt the wards dissipate; he strode quickly down the familiar cold, stone halls and lithely glided down two sets of steps to Snape’s heavy wooden, brass-strapped door. The door opened as Lucius came abreast of it and the blond wizard walked straight through into Severus’ parlor.

He came to a halt a few feet inside and looked around in some amazement. The room was spotless, attractively furnished in warm tones and nicely cozy with a fire burning in the large hearth. “Is that a charmed window on the wall?” Lucius could see the same view he’d stared at from his bedroom when he stayed at the Snapes’ home, down to the detail of the fountain bubbling in their garden; that view would have been the same from the drawing room below his bedroom. It probably helped Snape get in the mood for spanking his wife on the…sofa? He had a sofa?

“Narcissa wanted an outdoors view. You couldn’t have used the floo?” Snape enquired.

“Too dirty,” Lucius replied, distracted. Snape rolled his eyes at Lucius’ finicky ways, watching the blond as he turned slowly in place, looking everywhere. “What happened to the stuffed vampire bat that always hung from the ceiling over that ratty divan you loved? For that matter, what happened to the ratty divan? Severus, don’t tell me Narcissa managed to get rid of that monstrosity? She’s a bloody miracle worker. You wouldn’t give up that smelly, threadbare horror even when I offered you any sofa of your choice from my estate.” Lucius turned to gaze at his friend, shock apparent in his eyes.

“Neither of us has been here in years, Lucius,” Snape said mildly. “I think someone tossed out the divan. In any case, why should I have bothered to please you back then with a new sofa? It was more fun to watch you wrinkle your nose and try to fold your robes so the least amount of material would touch the divan when you sat down. That never got old,” Snape chuckled, his rare smile lighting his face. “You’re so fastidious – every time you had to sit there I could see your skin crawl.”

Snape poured two firewhiskeys from the sideboard where he was standing and brought them over to the new, long black leather sofa, putting the glasses on the low table in front of it. Then he sat on one end and waved Lucius to the other.

Lucius’ icy eyes widened at the knowledge he’d apparently been providing the git with free entertainment all during their servitude under Voldemort. “Severus, that divan smelled like trolls had been using it for a urinal. Why would you want to subject yourself to it every day just for the fun of making me uncomfortable for a few minutes every week or so? That doesn’t make sense.” The blond sat and helped himself to a precise sip of the alcohol, needing it after his close call in the broom closet.

“Oh, it wasn’t only you, Lucius, it was anyone who decided they wanted to be my friend in spite of my surly ways. You’d be surprised at the numbers of compassionate wankers who wanted to help me find my way into the social mainstream. First, I couldn’t do that because of my double life with Voldemort and second, I didn’t want to be invited to all those boring staff birthday parties and teacher award picnics at the lake. But those do-gooders were annoyingly persistent, so I doused the divan with a foul smell – it was already ratty – and watched the fun. They all soon learned that if they wanted to persevere as my friend, they had to visit me and sit surrounded by that horrid stench. I’ve seldom been so diverted as by that divan, seeing my ‘saviors’ make an effort not to breathe deeply. Needless to say, my unwanted coterie dwindled rapidly.

“Frankly, Lucius, you were the only one who continued to come and I could see you were miserable sitting there in your pristine robes, trying not to touch anything. You looked like a ponce, but you had the staying power of a mustard stain on a white shirt.” Snape lifted his firewhiskey and saluted Lucius, then downed a hefty swallow.

“When I suggested meeting in my apartments here,” Snape went on, “you never once asked me to meet elsewhere. You tried like hell to give me another sofa, but you always sat on that tired atrocity without complaint – well, without verbal complaint. I think the nose wrinkling was beyond your ability to conceal. It really was a very bad smell.”

“You know why,” Lucius drawled, upset that what he thought he’d been offering had been viewed with amusement by his friend all those years. His face stiffened and Snape saw.

“Gods dammit, Lucius,” the dark wizard sat up, now entirely irritated at the blond’s obtuseness. “Why Hermione ever thought your feelings were as tough as dragonhide I’ll never understand. You’re the saddest excuse for a Death Eater I ever knew. So many times you trembled on the edge of disaster with the Dark Lord, showing traces of mercy when you needed to be ruthless in his eyes. It was just lucky he wanted your wealth behind him.” Snape collapsed back into his corner of the sofa. “You scared me so many times I had nightmares.”

Lucius’ heart lightened again at Snape’s obvious worry over his safety and he replied, “I couldn’t always do what Voldemort wanted done in the crushing way I knew he preferred. I’m sorry I distressed you, though. My Galleons were tied up carefully with the Goblins so Voldemort couldn’t get any real money in lump sums, only smaller amounts through me. He knew the minute any of us died, the money would dry up.”

“Ah,” Snape nodded. “I might have rested slightly better knowing that, but not much.”

Snape knew Lucius was going to ask next about that ill-considered Hermione comment and he pondered how to mention her more positive feelings without implicating himself. He led Lucius by saying, “Hermione told me she thought you had ironclad emotions, but she knows better now.”

“When was that?” Lucius twisted to more easily watch Snape. When had Hermione talked to Snape? She hadn’t mentioned anything.

“A few weeks ago I bumped into her in the main hallway and she mentioned you were enjoying the children when they weren’t trying to castrate you,” Snape facilely lied, knowing he would never tell Lucius he had basically threatened Hermione with mayhem if she hurt Lucius. “I think she was trying to get a rise out of me because she knows I’m not fond of them. It was a very brief exchange.” The lies came so easily; Snape was quite proud he hadn’t lost his ability to think on his feet, especially if it meant he could spare Lucius any more distress.

The more Snape thought about it, the more he worried that Hermione was right and Lucius knew Narcissa had gone to Snape rather than the other way around. That had the power to give Severus severe paroxysms twisting his gut, but he couldn’t change it. All he could do was support Lucius in his new marriage. “She said she was seeing you in a new light of more tender feelings.” Snape stopped, not embroidering any more than necessary, as the accomplished liar he was. Hermione’s attitude was the truth; it was merely the circumstances of the meeting Snape was obfuscating.

Lucius smiled at that, warming at the thought of Hermione caring about his feelings, “It is nice seeing the little ones bustling around the hallways with their books and parchments and quills.”

“If you say so,” Snape grimaced. The blond wizard looked happier and Snape returned to their previous conversation to set everything straight. “Old friend, the divan had to stay that way as part of my props. If you had suggested we go elsewhere to meet, I would have gone – gladly. But you never did. And yes, I know why. That was your sincere offer of true friendship, braving the smell. I wasn’t going to throw that back in your face. It was one of the few good things in my life then, seeing you sit on that grotesque piece of furniture when you really wanted to aim an Incendio at it. I admit it was funny watching you squirm, but I knew you did it because we were friends. If the positions were reversed, you would have been greatly amused – admit it – and I would have just as stoically sat on your noisome couch.”

Lucius laughed, “I would definitely have been amused. I’m not convinced you would have sat on a smelly divan for me, however.”

“Believe it,” Snape said, his low voice ringing with sincerity. “Now,” he hastily chopped the discussion off, hoping to avoid any more maudlin meanderings, “I don’t think you came here today to prove your friendship once again by sitting on a ratty divan,” One of the dark wizard’s eyebrows went up in expectation.

“No, this is much better.” Lucius’ hand patted the sofa, then his eyes lit up and he became animated, “I had a little talk with the Sorting Hat this morning -”

“That maddening plague of horklump hide?”

“No. Really? Is it made of horklump hide?” Lucius asked, wondering why it didn’t look like it was pieced together of many small skins.


“It’s made of common dragon hide as far as I know. Can you stay on topic?” Snape’s black eyes slitted with familiar impatience.

“Then don’t interrupt with inaccurate details,” Lucius said, unanswerably. “The Hat said it could see a toxin in Hermione’s brain and in my brain -”

“You put that abrasive piece of serpent skin on your head?” Snape stared.

Lucius ignored the new interruption, “and it said my blood chemistry seems to neutralize or absorb it, but the toxin did collect in Hermione’s emotion center in her brain, agitating it at any contact with Pureblood chemistry. I think all a Pureblood has to do is be in contact with someone infected, like shaking hands or touching in some way, and the toxin would begin to react in the non-Pureblood’s brain like a mental rash of some sort. Oh, and it said there were no spells affecting her that it could tell. Just the toxin.”

Snape polished off the rest of his firewhiskey, assessing this new information. “Hmmm. This seems to confirm that whatever it is, is aimed at making life very difficult for Purebloods. So if an infected person touches any Pureblood, the toxin instantly makes that person antagonistic toward the Pureblood? Or possibly toward all Purebloods thereafter?”

“I think the latter, but the Hat said the toxin wasn’t permanent. Ah, that reminds me,” Lucius added, “the Hat said any corporeal intervention, like exercise, would also neutralize the toxin. Well, we already figured that out, but we should rethink all the students’ physical exercise if the Purebloods are coming into skin to skin contact with the others.” Then Lucius smiled, “I’ve just realized that for you and Narcissa, the sex would count as exercise, too. We wouldn’t need to add the spanking.”

“How does it work chemically?” said Snape, grinning back at the blond wizard. Neither of them was going to forgo their fun.

“I don’t know how long the drug would last otherwise, but any physical distress or rapid wash of blood through the brain, as in intense exercise, dissipates the toxin. You must really work up a sweat, spanking Narcissa and etcetera,” Lucius chuckled.

Snape quizzically surveyed his friend’s smile and internally sighed with relief that there was nothing but lighthearted teasing in Lucius’ manner. “But the Hat couldn’t tell you how it got in your system?”

Lucius shook his head, but noted, “The Hat said the toxin couldn’t have been eaten or drunk. It wasn’t designed to withstand stomach acid. So at least that relieves us of one area of investigation.”

“Yes, well, it was fortuitous you slapped that disgusting piece of animal hide on your head. Why did you?” Snape’s black eyes sharply questioned a suddenly discomfited Lucius.

“No reason,” Lucius lied in his turn, not bothering to lend any credence to the obvious evasion. Both men smiled and Snape got up to replenish their firewhiskeys for an afternoon of more serious dissecting of their new knowledge of the toxin interspersed with idle gossip and cheerful sniping.


tbc...


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