I was rereading Chamber of Secrets when a certain line caught my attention. This was birthed soon after, because I have a sense of humour rather similar to a thirteen year old boy at times.

The Frog Choir was first introduced in the movie version of Prisoner of Azkaban. It does not appear in any of the books; however, J.K.R. has admitted to loving the idea. Mostly, though, it worked well in this story.

This story has been translated into Russian by LaAlt. If that's your preferred language, I encourage you to check it out at: . ?id=51149

Warning - contains some, erm, 'Potty' humour.

"All students will return to their House common rooms by six o'clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities."
–Professor McGonagall, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

-xxx-

Midway through Potions, it finally happened. Harry had tried – lord, had he tried – but he just couldn't stand it any longer. Biting his lips, he thrust his hand into the air and then, when Snape showed every sign of ignoring him in favor of praising Malfoy's Drowsiness Draught some more, Harry squirmed in his seat and blurted out, "Professor Snape! Um, may I go to the bathroom?"

Just for clarification, this was never done. Ever. If a student felt the need to go to the bathroom during a Potions class, well, they'd better just hold it, because Snape was not going to give them permission. If anyone ever mustered up the courage to ask, he'd claim it was because students needed to learn that Potions was a delicate subject and any prolonged absence from the cauldron could cause explosions if not worse. Actually, that wouldn't have been a problem with any of the younger years, given that they worked in pairs and weren't assigned particularly volatile labs, but ever since the Weasley twins had used going to the bathroom as an excuse to get out of the classroom before their fifteen dung-bombs went off about the room, Snape had vowed never to let a student skive off in such a manner again.

Not that the students, especially the younger years, knew this. Snape never even mentioned his bathroom ban, really, but it was just that sort of thing that one knew instinctively. If you needed to use the loo, better to be late to your next class than to interrupt any part of Snape's. Anyone who had a brain knew this, and even the ones who didn't (such as Crabbe and Goyle) had figured it out as well somehow. Harry knew too, of course, and normally he'd never even think of asking.

But. The thing was.

What with the Heir of Slytherin on the loose, security had been upped to a ridiculous degree at the cost of all personal freedom. Students had to be walked to each new class by their professor from the previous class, and Harry didn't want to hold up the whole class just because he had to pee. He'd thought he could just sort of hold it until lunch and use the bathroom by the Great Hall. But here he was, with a half-hour still on the clock, and Harry knew he had to go, right now. It was no surprise, really. The need had first manifested itself midway through his first class, and he'd done a decent job of suppressing it until now.

Such considerations had no impact whatsoever on Snape, of course. Were he generally a considerate man, his reaction might've been justified by the stress he was going through; with rumors running rampant throughout the school, attributing the recent attacks to some demonic Heir of Slytherin, he as the Head of that House obviously was facing some irritation, if not actual heat. The lack of safety in the school was also troubling, as were the guerilla-style attacks that were nearly impossible to guard against – but the method of defense against such attacks was extremely stressful in and of itself. Class schedules had been thrown completely out of whack: with the teachers all having to lead their various classes to meet up with the next professor they had, getting the proper amount of class time was nearly impossible. This was even more complicated for those upper-year students that had individual schedules rather than mass ones. Of course, Potions in particular depended greatly on having the right amount of brewing time, so the practical lessons Snape had always believed to be the only real way to conduct his subject were becoming nigh-impossible of late. Not to mention he had no idea how he'd get the students caught up near the end of term if this carried on.

So really, even if Snape had been a kind and understanding soul (in other words, someone else), his reaction wouldn't have been too terribly shocking, at least to his similarly-suffering fellow staff members. But given his personality on the best of days, it really was a miracle Harry got off as lightly as he did. Not, of course, that Harry really felt fortunate.

No, Harry could already feel the humiliation beginning when Snape halted in both his tracks and mid-sentence. The professor was facing the board originally, and his slow turn gave Harry's heart plenty of time to sink. Still, he stuck to his guns and did his best not to quail at the look shortly leveled in his direction.

"Pardon, Mr. Potter?" Snape began, using his silkiest voice, the one reserved for utterly destroying his students' confidence, self-respect, reputations, and hope. "Am I to believe that you asked to use the washroom?"

He made the mere idea sound like a cardinal offense. Malfoy snickered softly across the room.

It is often said that nothing brings on bravery like bowel movements. Or maybe it isn't, but in that case it should be because Harry stared straight back into Snape's endlessly black, cruel eyes: and nodded. "It's urgent. Sir."

"Detention, Potter!" Snape's voice cracked across the classroom like a whip, straightening spines and shoulders in its wake as students reacted instinctively to the sound. More than a few mouths dropped open as well; though they'd all known it would be completely idiotic to try for a bathroom pass in Potions class, no one had actually expected Snape to go so far as punish a student with detention for just asking.

There was an automatic wash of sympathy for Harry, who quivered under either being the recipient of such malignant fury, or his long-suppressed need to relieve himself. Even the Slytherins felt some sort of pity; theoretically this could have happened to anyone.

The sympathy of the class cut off abruptly when Snape returned to the front of the classroom and lazily waved his wand. The multi-colored steam rising in the air instantly vanished, along with the contents of every single cauldron in the room. "Everyone gather your belongings," the Potions Master ordered, "and line up at the door. You have all received a T for the day."

"What?" Draco Malfoy snapped, being the only child in the room comfortable enough to truly act out around the Professor without fear of reprisal. He had never received a failing grade in Potions before… true, in large part this was because Snape favored him outrageously, but he also had undeniable skill, and nothing had been in the least bit wrong with his potion today.

Of course, Draco wasn't the only outraged student; the others in the class were just as incensed, if a tad slower to blurt out their feelings on the matter. Had Hermione not been Petrified solid in the hospital wing, she would probably have imploded with indignation by now, and even less scholastically-minded students weren't pleased with this turn of events that, as they felt, undermined all their hard (or halfhearted, whatever) work.

"Yeah!" Ron said, looking for all the world as though he might be vomiting into his mouth a little for agreeing with Draco. Still, he stood his ground in actually a rather Hufflepuffian display of loyalty: "Why should anyone fail? Harry's done nothing wrong!"

Draco, adopting a sneer, hastily moved to edit Ron's statement. "What Weasley ought to say, sir," he implored Snape, "is that we've done nothing wrong. The other students, I mean. If Potter isn't – well – potty-trained yet, that's his problem, but my potion was nearly finished, sir. It's not fair to take away my – or anyone's – grade for the day because of something that wasn't our fault."

Snape eyed his prize student consideringly. His eyes almost seemed to soften. "While you are certainly correct that Mr. Potter's abominable lack of bladder control is no fault of yours, I'm afraid the effects of his actions are unavoidable. You see," Snape said, with a sudden hint of malicious pleasure in his voice, as though only in that very moment had he realized the golden opportunity he'd been handed to sow discord between Harry and his peers – "the current school safety policy states quite clearly that no student is to wander the halls alone. Thus, when faced with a student claiming such pressing need, I am left with no option but to pack up the entire class to come along, as I certainly don't trust twenty second-years alone in a Potions classroom. Given that there is only a half-hour of class time left regardless, I'm fully aware that no one will have the opportunity to complete his or her assigned work. As such, I am forced to fail you all. If you have a problem with your grade, you may take it up with Mr. Potter."

Finishing his little speech, Snape's thin lips quirked up into a smirk. Obvious though his tactics were, these were only second-years, and a storm of irritated grumbling sprang up in the wake of Snape's words, redolent with "oh, well done, Harry"s and "when I get Mum's Howler about this class, I'm forwarding it to you"s and so forth. The embittered Potions Master allowed this to go on for several more moments, during which Ron's face turned red with supreme indignation, and Harry's flushed with embarrassment, even as he danced slightly in his seat. Draco had apparently decided that one failing grade was a small price to pay in favor of such public resentment of his rival, and had taken to leaning back in his seat and grinning smugly across the room.

Then Snape took pity on Harry – or, more likely, got bored of watching the grumbling, and spoke with great urgency: "Quickly, class! Mr. Potter can wait no longer!" When this statement provoked giggles rather than speed, he added more laconically, "Five points from every student for each additional minute spent waiting. Pack up."

Less than a minute later, the class was lined up outside the door, Harry twitching at the front of the queue. Snape ushered them all out into the corridor, locking the classroom behind him, and the Gryffindor/Slytherin second year Potions class proceeded as a group in the direction of the nearest boys' toilet.

They had gained a lot of practice walking in large groups of late, and so they made good time – within two minutes the class had climbed a staircase, gone through two hidden passages, recited a haiku to convince a particularly poetic hallway to let them walk down it, and finally halted outside a discreet oak paneled door. The girls began to sit down or lean against the hallway's stone walls, as did most of the boys. Harry dropped his bag eagerly to the floor, and sped into the boys' toilet without even a word of thanks to Ron for opening the door for him.

He did react, however, to Snape catching the door as it closed and continuing to hold it open. Harry spun around, quickly lifting his hands away from the front of his robes. "What are you doing?" he asked, sounding a bit strained.

Snape ignored him. "Get up," he told Harry's classmates. "And get in here."

There was a moment of collective confusion, broken after several seconds by Draco Malfoy muffling a snort into his sleeve.

"A-all of us, sir?" Lavender Brown asked hesitantly. Snape's dark eyes gleamed maliciously.

"Of course. It is a matter of safety," the Potions Master responded, as he ushered his students in through the open door. The girls in the class seemed particularly squeamish, especially since they were far outnumbered by the boys, and actually broke House ranks to huddle together in the corner furthest from the urinals. This wasn't to say that the boys were especially enthused about crowding into the bathroom with the whole Potions class, but all of the students knew better than to go against Snape when he was like this.

Poor Harry, standing frozen in front of the urinal closest to the door, looked as though he were about to cry.

Snape looked at him for a moment. Then, in what might actually have been called a gentle voice were it not for the sheer cruel pleasure evident behind every word, he said, "Mr. Potter, I suggest you avail yourself of a stall."

Pansy Parkinson let out an embarrassed giggle.

Harry slowly began to flush, a deep, deep red. "Um," he said. Then he seemed to rapidly change his mind, and quickly spun on a heel to swiftly proceed into the nearest stall. He shut and locked the door behind him.

In the silence that followed, the sound of rustling cloth and a descending zipper was all too noticeable. Snape stared diplomatically at the ceiling, while the various students about the room all tried very hard not to look at each other. Millicent Bulstrode matter-of-factly stuck her fingers in her ears. They waited.

Nothing happened.

After a time, a small, sheepish voice drifted out from behind the locked stall door. "Um, I… can't do it."

Snape's gaze snapped down from the ceiling, and for a moment a smile almost curled his lips before he straightened his expression. Still, the silky menace in his voice couldn't be mistaken for anything else when he spoke. "Are you trying to say, Mr. Potter, that you have proceeded to interrupt valuable class time and fail all your peers for the day - only to realize at the last minute that you do not actually require the restroom at all? I believe that would be deserving of another detention…"

"N-no!" Harry hissed. "I – I do have to… But. It's too quiet!" The next few words were mumbled but, due to the previously noted quiet of the room, were clearly audible to the class at large. "Everyone can hear…"

Snape sneered. "No matter. Get on with it."

By this point, even Draco's amusement had faded, and he along with the other students shifted uncomfortably. Their professor's behaviour was just cruel now, not to mention exceedingly awkward for them as well as Harry. But Snape was the teacher, and the rules he was citing were perfectly valid. What could be done?

Ron had an idea.

Stomping over to the sinks along the far wall, Ron shouldered past Dean Thomas to turn on first one, then another, then all the faucets, full blast. Then he spun back around, braced his feet, took a deep breath, closed his eyes…

And began to sing: "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts-"

Ron actually had a delightful singing voice. It was almost as startling as the fact that he was singing at all. But his reason soon dawned on them.

Neville was the first to join, just as Ron reached the line about 'young with scabby knees'. His tentative, wobbly voice was no match for Ron's near-bellowing rendition of the school song, but it seemed to break the dam, and one by one, more voices trickled in to join the impromptu choir. Even the Slytherins sung along, albeit rather more quietly than the Gryffindors. Even Draco made a noise that might have been a hummed rendition of the school song. The only one who didn't join was Millicent Bulstrode, who still had her fingers stuck in her ears and seemed to have escaped to some imaginary land far removed from restrooms.

The second-year Potions class sang the song twice through, before there was a resounding flush, and Harry stepped hesitantly out of the stall.

As if on cue, the voices cut out. Neville alone kept singing, an ironic, "Bring back what we've forgot…" before he noticed the silence of his fellows and clamped his mouth shut.

Harry went to the sink and washed his hands. Ron turned off all the other faucets. The pair then turned as one to face Professor Snape, determined to meet their fate head on.

But it seemed that the little show of inter-House solidarity against him had rattled Snape somewhat. Perhaps he had even realized that he'd gone too far. Whatever the case, Snape merely contented himself with looming over his students in a sinister, bat-like fashion for several seconds, before reaching out and holding the door open once more.

The class streamed out into the hallway in relief, only to stop dead upon finding themselves heading right into a group of passing fourth-years led by Professor Flitwick. The tiny wizard seemed overcome with emotion.

"Professor Snape," he gasped. "Was that singing I just heard?"

Snape inclined his head.

Flitwick clapped his hands together delightedly. "What a splendid idea! Music! No better way to keep up morale in difficult times! Sadly, my Frog Choir hasn't been allowed to meet of late, what with all these – precautions."

Snape made a sound in the back of his throat. All students present recognized it as an impatient noise, but Flitwick seemed to take it as a sympathetic one. "Ah, but what a clever idea you've had! Bathrooms do have such lovely acoustics. Who was that excellent baritone I heard?"

After glancing hesitantly at his fellow students, Ron raised a hand. Flitwick beamed at him.

"I suggest you consider joining the choir, my lad! We could do with a voice like yours! We've suffered a sorry loss of talent in recent years, you know."

Ron cleared his throat, looking awkward. "Er, no thanks, Professor. I'd rather not… I prefer Quidditch, so, um. No thank you."

Flitwick snorted derisively. "Quidditch! I lose so many good voices to that sport. Of course, some students don't even bother to express interest in another club, and simply refuse without reason – quite rudely, too."

He glared up past the students. While the implication of his gaze and pointed words was still circling incredulously through the students' heads, Snape let out a resigned sigh.

"I have never had any interest in putting myself on display, Filius. In any case, it's been years since then."

Flitwick sniffed haughtily. "I'll never forget! If we'd had you – we could have won that year, Severus. We could have won even against those Beauxbatons warblers!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. Well, it seems it is time to deliver my students to their next class." Without another word, he turned on his heel and began to lead his class in the opposite direction of Flitwick's.

Trailing behind their professor, battling to picture the man in any sort of choir, much less one that used toads as musical accompaniments, Snape's students followed him to their next class. Luckily, the encounter with Flitwick (not to mention the mystery of Snape having a good singing voice) had helped to drive from their minds the unfortunate reason they had been singing in a bathroom in the first place.

Well, except for one Harry Potter. He lingered near the back of the crowd, face still flushed with mortification. This position in line allowed him to avoid having to face any of his fellows for the time being, which was welcome, but it also unfortunately left him quite vulnerable to Snape stopping him short right before entering the next classroom.

"You will serve your detention tomorrow night," Snape announced. "Mr. Filch will instruct you on the details."

Harry muttered a sullen, "Yes, sir," before escaping into his next classroom. He had no will left to argue. Currently he was wishing he had been the one Petrified instead of Hermione.

-xxx-

The next day, Harry reported for duty. Filch handed him a long, thin scrubbing brush, a container of solvent, and a plunger.

"Get to work, Potter," the mad old caretaker snickered. "Those toilets ain't gonna clean themselves!"

Oddly enough, no student has asked to use the bathroom during Potions since.