I had this posted a while back and as usual, I'm posting it back up again. In truth, for those who despise Snape being a little nice when no one is looking, please leave this page now. You have been warned. For Snape fans who fancy in seeing a glimpse of his caring side, I do hope you enjoy. ;)
A cauldron on the fritz was one thing to avoid, but sucking up to a worker for the Ministry of Magic was ten times worse. During Defense Against the Dark Arts earlier that day, young Marissa Christon had the worst that can be thrust at her after she asked why Professor Umbridge was not to teach with using defensive spells in class, like they are supposed to. She figured out from her fellow classmates that Potter had asked the same question two days prior. When Potter dug in further about the Dark Lord, Umbridge wouldn't have it.
We're not going to use magic?" Marissa meekly asked.
"Well, my dear, I don't see why we need magic in this classroom." Umbridge's squeaky tone replied. "It's uncalled for." she finished, beginning to sound agitated, despite her honey sweet guise.
Marissa eased back, embarrassed from even asking. It was courageous of her to even speak up for her meek, innocence, noticed by her other professors. But after she shut up, Umbridge looked at all who were present.
"Now, all of you, listen. One more mention of using spells in this class, I will not tolerate any at all. Understood?" she 'sweetly' warned. "And, dear miss Christon, come to my office after class."
Now it was clear that she was mad at her, especially after that kind, overly sweet chuckle.
As soon as everybody left, Marissa stayed behind, dreading to know what Umbridge wanted with her. It was only a mere question. The time came when that pink dressed tyrant emerged out of the office.
"You may come in now." she beckoned with forced, kind smile.
Dreading to even set foot in that office, poor Marissa stood not too far from her desk, with all school things accounted for, and slowly made her way up the stone stairway. The inside of this room was full and covered with, she dare say, pink and seemed somewhat abnormal compared to anything else out of the ordinary in this castle.
"Sit, dear. Do you care for some tea?" she asked, standing as Marissa helped herself to sit down.
"Uh," the girl struggled, not wanting to sound rude. "N-no, mam. I'm-I'm fine. Thank you."
"Pity. Well, do you know why you are here?" the witch continued, looking slightly disappointed.
"I asked the wrong question, I suppose."
"That was not the answer I asked for." snapped the woman, sounding more tense and annoyed.
Marissa cowered, her feelings shattering, and innocently not knowing what answer she wished to hear. Umbridge sighed, half-heartedly.
"If you don't know why, then writing a few lines will clear your head." she suggested, picking up a crimson quill that looked like a half Muggle pen and she placed it before Marissa.
"Now, on that bit of parchment, do write down, I will only speak when spoken to." she requested, shrewdly.
"But," Marissa spoke. "You didn't give me any-"
"You won't need any, dear."
Nervously, yet obediantly, Marissa began to scribble down the exact words she requested. As she wrote in utter silence, the ink of the quill was, oddly enough, blood red, resembling the thickness of real blood. Soon after realizing on that fact, she started to feel an egging, deepening pain on her left hand for some reason. The pain increased sharply, making her wince. In agony, she saw bloodied scars form on the top of her hand writing out what she had written, exactly how she wrote it. The pain became far too much to bear and it didn't subside even after the full sentence was scarred in. Tears began to stream from her eyes, feeling completely shrunk by Umbridge's pompous authority. That wench came round, seeing the tears of agony and nods with pity.
"Now, you see. You now know that thinking in such a way in my class is prohibited. Do you hear me?" she smiled in pitying understanding.
Heaving a shaken sigh, sobs stuck in her throat, Marissa nodded, being as strong and brave as she could be.
"Go on." the woman urged, telling her to write more.
After two hours of agonizing quill writing, Marissa managed to finish three pages of lines while trying to ignore her newly retrieved scar that she knew fully that she didn't deserve.
"I want you to report back here after dinner, so that your lesson won't be forgotten." ordered the tyrant.
After all that to put through, she was excused but expected later. Keeping her feelings strapped in tight and loathing that woman, the poor second year made it to the switching stairways, heading toward the front court to be alone to her thoughts, not wanting to speak with anyone. In the midst of her turmoil, the silent Professor Snape purposely tread passed her and only noticed her when he felt a brush under his cape. Grudgily, he spied behind to see a tense little girl, glaring down at the brick, clutching her hand, tightly. She was one of his students for the next Potions period and glowered in annoyance before pressing on, too busy at the moment to look further into the matter. Three hours later, her Potions session had come to call and what made her feel worse, it was away from the comforting sunlight. She simply wished Umbridge to leave and die in a sink hole. Sitting alone as her classmates talked amongst each other, Marissa laid her head down while the pain on her hand still ached tremendously. Suddenly the dungeon door swung open and slammed shut with the Professor forcing in, silent, dark and irritable. The class fell dead silent when he swept to the front of the class.
"I presume you all have done your blasted studying." he growled deeply as he came before all of them. "Explain to me what an antidote is and name me at least two different kinds of antidotes and what they're used for." he asked seriously to the whole class, expecting a sure answer from all of them.
Four children raised their hands high, but the dark, stern Professor paid them no heed and only spied on the small one in the back.
"Miss Christon." he sharply addressed, frightening the poor, depressed girl out of her daze. "Why don't you tell the rest of the class an example, since you seem quite occupied with something other."
That caught her off guard and she had a streak of terror crossing her paled face. The rest of the class all put their gazes down on their parchment rolls, knowing that this was about to get ugly. Heaving a struggled sigh, Marissa happened to be having trouble answering her teacher. Snape hinted a harsh, disapproving glance as he slowly came to where she was.
"None of the foggiest?" he sarcastically hissed, arms crossed and crossed himself.
"I-I . . ." she lost her voice. She hadn't a clue why she felt so unsettled. She shook her head as an answer, feeling about ready to cry.
"This is the fourth time you've been ignorant in my class, pondering how pathetically unkind your life has been, so I suppose you favor receiving a T as your final grade?"
The students all turned wide eyed and scared for her, except for a few Slytherins, who snickered in pure amusement. Marissa kept strong though and actually pulled herself together.
"No." she cooed, ashamed, yet respectful.
Just by looking at her Severus could tell that this girl had endured something, plus the terrible scar on her left hand was enough proof.
"5 points from Gryffindor for your ignorance." he drawled out loud, returning to his desk.
That made her feel even worse.
"Pray that you won't attempt such an act again, miss Christon. I will not put up with a insufferable daydreamer who has no care for her own education."
Things could not get any worse. Costing her house points just because she couldn't find her tongue, that was just pure brilliance! How could she hate herself any further? The Professor sure did, by the way he judged her potion. He gave her a D just by glancing at it. Potions wasn't the problem. It was that toad of a woman who scarred her with that quill. When the class concluded, Professor Snape secretly eyed her as she sadly cleaned up her station, slowly and low spiritedly placing her vials back into the cupboards just before turning the burner off. He continued with his assignment grading.
"Miss Christon," he coldly addressed again, heartlessly just before she was about to depart from the dungeon.