Don't Call Me Dad
It happened in Potions on a Monday, naturally. And, naturally, it happened to the person who least wanted to bring the wrath of the Potions master upon his chubby little head.
The night before had been full of celebration, as Gryffindor threw one of its famous "weekend-long birthday bashes" for several of the students whose birthdays had come that week. Of course, this meant that everyone was dreading Monday more more reasons than simply the marked dislike of Professor Snape. Sleep had been a rare commodity all weekend long, and even Hermione was yawning like a lioness lazing about in the heat of the savannah.
But it was poor Neville Longbottom who actually nodded off in the middle of the Potions lecture, though he put up a valiant effort to avoid it, even going so far as to beg Seamus to hit him with a Stinging Nettle Hex. Professor Snape's eyebrow began to twitch with increasing frequency as Neville's gentle snores grew louder and louder until they thundered across the classroom. Hermione was trying to rouse Neville by shaking his shoulder violently to no avail as the long, black robes swept up the aisle as silent and dangerous as a massive, obsidian snake. Though none of them could actually see it, a dark, malevolent aura seemed to ooze from Snape's pale skin and both Parvati and Lavender stifled tiny gasps of terror as he drew closer to the blissfully unconscious boy.
Looming over Neville's desk with a wide, toothy grin that seemed more like a tiger's snarl than an expression of happiness, Professor Snape pulled out his wand and poked Neville in the back with it.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey, Longbottom," he said, slowly enunciating every syllable, his voice deep with an unspoken threat.
Neville merely turned his head to the side and began to drool, which was obviously not the desired effect Snape had been going for.
"Come on, then!" he said, slightly more irritably, poking Neville in the cheek.
It was then that it happened.
"G'way. Jus' ten more minutes, Dad," Neville groaned in his sleep.
Snape's eyes went wide with shock and horror, and he withdrew his wand as though pressing it against Neville's skin actively pained him.
"Blimey! If Snape was my dad, I would want much more than ten minutes," snickered Ron under his breath to Harry, who tried in vain to hold back snickers of his own.
"I heard that, Mr. Weasley." Snape growled. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek."
Ron began to groan loudly but he silenced himself quickly when he saw the fierce look on Snape's face.
"I suppose that I have no other choice but to resort to…drastic measures," Snape said coldly, summoning a huge, leather bound book from the front of the classroom.
He gripped the book in both hands and, after raising it to chest level, let it drop with a resounding slam that filled the classroom.
Neville flew from his chair with a high-pitched scream and sprawled on the floor, his head snapping back and forth as he stared up and his eyes locked on the disapproving glare of Professor Snape.
"So glad that you decided to join us in the land of the living, Mr. Longbottom," Snape said with a sneer, "To that effect, I think a second foot of parchment on the Drought of Living Death and why one should not take it before class is most advisable."
Everyone glared at Neville, who had gone pale and was trying to pick himself up off the floor.
"W-was it that bad?" Neville whispered to Hermione, who gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
"Oh Neville, I hate to tell you this, but you called him 'Dad,'" she whispered, moving her head in the direction of Snape's receding robes.
Neville grew even paler as he processed this unpleasant knowledge and began to wring his hands together with anxiety.
He knew that he would not be living it down anytime soon.