Nathaniel was in deep trouble. He had spoken out of turn. In Potions class. Repeatedly.
It wasn't his fault! With any other teacher, it would have been merely a few house points down the drain, perhaps a detention. Professor Snape hadn't said a word, just 'come to my office'. First day, first year, and Nathaniel already had a Something from Professor Snape. His feet dragged down the steps. Three flights of stairs to Gryffindor Common Room to put his books away, and eight flights back down to the dungeons. Plenty of time to contemplate the horrors Professor Snape would inflict on him.
Lament, oh ye people. Nathaniel's feet dragged down the stairs. One. Two. Three. Second flight, and he was already lagging. Other students, who had yet to reach their common rooms, gave him odd looks as they passed; they were in a hurry. Why was this strange Gryffindor lagging? And going down, at that.
Ah, but he couldn't drag his feet any longer. Professor Snape had said sharp. With the speed of fear, Nathaniel plunged headlong down the stairs, only to pull up again sharply on the second floor. Why, oh, why did he have to go to Potions? But it wouldn't do to rush. He didn't want Professor Snape to think he was eager to get there. Oh, no. Nathaniel's feet ever so eagerly went back to dragging.
Now the glances he got were more understanding. A Gryffindor headed to the dungeons? A first year on the first day? Had to be Professor Snape. A few students gave him sympathetic glances, but the majority of them had already reached their common rooms. The corridors were deserted by the time Nathaniel got to the ground floor.
His footsteps echoed through the wide, lonely, desolate halls. Professor Snape. On the first day of school. They sang the phrase back at him, tauntingly, like Peeves. Nathaniel stopped, glad of the excuse, to check and see if Peeves were around. Nope. No excuse. Onward, ever onward. The door loomed at him from the end of the corridor like – like –
Nathaniel's family would be so ashamed. Whatever it was, on the very first day of school! Oh, even little Rosa, even Rosa knew who Professor Snape was. He was a horror story among students. Never satisfied. Even brave little Rosa would recoil at his name. And even Rosa would be surprised that Nathaniel had gotten a Something from Professor Snape on the first day. Even Rosa could be ashamed at that.
He'd reached the door. Maybe Professor Snape trapped his door! Maybe Nathaniel would be knocked out, bloodied, hospitalized for weeks! Trembling with hope, Nathaniel's hand approached the door knob, took hold of it, twisted the door open. Nothing happened.
The last flight of stairs. Down, down to the dungeons. The Black Lagoon. The torture rooms of the Inquisition. A morgue, a morgue during the time of the Black Death. Professor Snape's office. Now Nathaniel's knees knocked together, rattled like the bones of the student's skeleton everyone knew was in Professor Snape's supply closet. Probably there was more than one skeleton. Maybe they were all Gryffindors, first years like Nathaniel, squeezed together, the ones in the back crumbling as Professor Snape forced the most recent body in, the fresh first year robes, the badge that declared him a Gryffindor, that named him Nathaniel Dawes.
The door to Professor Snape's office. Nathaniel was almost trembling too hard to open it. The door, oh, the dreaded, hateful door! As it swung open, Nathaniel realized he should have knocked. What new horror awaited his rudeness? The first year shuddered to think. He gave a Gryffindor-brave push on the door, sent it swinging open, and stepped forward after it, his shivers trembling with absolute terror.
There sat Professor Snape, knitting with pink yarn and a Yorkshire Terrier in his lap.