Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything what you can recognize from the books. I do however own the plot of this story but I don't have profits because of it unless you count improving my English as a profit.
AN: Second title of this ficlet should be 'what happens when a student has a mental breakdown after passing six exams out of nine'. Actually it's a bit of old stuff which was laying around on my computer and a bit of a result of a continued stress. It's crackish, it's fluffy and it was exactly what I needed to get over the stress of Philosophy exam (which refused to leave after the exam had ended).
So everyone's favourite snarky Professor and a prank of doom.
Doom Approaching.
Certain doom was approaching.
He felt it in his bones.
He heard it in the walls.
He saw it in the face of Bathsheba Babbling, who was sitting in front of him and happened to face the door of the staff room, where they (with three quarters of Hogwarts' teaching staff), were sitting. Bathsheba spared a single glance from above her crosswords and from the corner of her mouth she mouthed 'pink toad'.
Doom was approaching and it wore pink.
"Good afternoon, Headmistress," he said silkily. "How are you feeling on such beautiful morning?"
He said it without turning around, afraid that he wouldn't be able to keep straight face if he did so. Plus the blank looks on Bathsheba's, Minerva's and Filius's faces spoke volumes. Suddenly all anger directed at Potter for his prying into his memories had practically disappeared under the knowledge that he, Severus Snape was responsible for their dearest Headmistress's ultimate humiliation.
"I require an antidote, Severus," Umbridge said sweetly.
"Professor Snape, Headmistress," he corrected her calmly, still not being able to look at her. "I don't forget your title, and I ask you to not forget mine. After all, titles are supposed to show our respect to people we speak," he paused to take a breath and then added more silkily than ever, "especially when we require their assistance."
Half of the staff room went into coughing fit.
"Professor Snape, I require your assistance," Umbridge said sourly.
"Pray tell, with what, Headmistress?" he asked and finally he turned around to see the effect of his work.
He had to give Granger that she had marvellous idea with cursing Potter's secret club members in case of treachery. But you really had to be braver than a tower full of Gryffindors to put the same curse on their new Headmistress and that was what he did.
"Dear Merlin, Headmistress!" he exclaimed in voice which carried mocked concern to anyone else than their dear Headmistress, for her it was plain concern, but then again she wasn't the brightest bulb in the box so to speak. "What happened to you?"
PINK TOAD OF DOOM was spelled on Umbridge's forehead with pimples and considering Umbridge's choice of clothing today the wording was picked perfectly.
"Someone had put a curse on me," Umbridge said as calmly as one could considering the circumstances.
"I trust that the culprit was punished accordingly, Headmistress," Severus said quickly.
Umbridge grimaced.
"Do not fear, I will fix it, Headmistress," Severus said simply.
He waved his wand few times, just to pretend that he was actually casting something while inwardly he was rolling from laugher.
"Oh dear," he sighed finally. "It wasn't a spell, it was a potion," he said in concern. "That would really take some time to fix. At least a week. In the meantime I advise strong make-up and not leaving your office when not required, Headmistress."
"Three days, Severus," Umbridge hissed angrily.
"Seven, Headmistress. The final word belongs the recipe for the antidote. I cannot make it faster than that unless you want to poison yourself," Severus replied simply. "Of course you might like to visit St Mungo, they might have the antidote prepared but…" he hung his voice theatrically.
Umbridge's anger ebbed and what was left was only irritation and reluctant acceptance.
"Please, Professor," she said through gritted teeth. "When it's ready bring it to my office."
"I will, Headmistress," he said simply. "Now allow me to finish marking so I can devote the rest of the afternoon to preparing the base of the potion," he added silkily and without backward glance he reassumed his former position over the stack of essays.
Silence filled the room and the only sound one could hear was furious scraping of quills against the parchment and paper – somehow suddenly everybody were interested in their private work, or like in Bathsheba's and Septima's cases lack of thereof – and Umbridge's laboured breathing.
"I will leave you to do your work," Umbridge said bitterly.
He knew without turning around when the door closed behind her and when the sound of her footsteps disappeared in the distance. Only then he dared to raise his head and take a look at his colleagues.
There was simply one word for what he saw. Admiration. Pure admiration and a hint of awe.
Nevertheless he was surprised to see Bathsheba slowly standing up, not even for a second taking her eyes of him. She drew herself to her full height impressive, to anyone who happened to me smaller than her, six feet (ergo not him because he was about three or four inches taller than her) and started clapping.
For a second her clapping was the only sound heard in the room before the chairs of other teachers were pushed away and the sound of clapping completely filled the room.
He tried to control his embarrassment but deep blush made its way on his face anyway. He was recognised as a Potions Master, teacher, spy, cruel and vile Death Eater, neither recognition ever made him blush. But this single act of admiration and respect meant to him more than all the other titles he ever received. For a moment he wasn't a Potions Master, teacher, spy and most importantly a Death Eater. In this moment he was a colleague who did something truly appreciated by the others.
Even if it lasted a moment it still made him warm inside.
*
His evening marking was about to end and he starred longingly at nearly empty cup of tea when he heard a knock on his door.
He turned his gaze at the offending piece of furniture and when knocking didn't cease after five seconds he decided to answer, hoping that it wasn't Umbridge planning to control his, non-existent, progress with antidote.
He approached the door slowly and stopped by them to open them wide enough to peer through the gap and narrow enough to shut it quickly if required.
Short, spiky hair with a fringe which was falling into dark blue eyes, in colour of burnt red, nervous smile. Dark blue cloak thrown over Gryffindor red jumper and curled around dark blue jeans near its end.
Bathsheba.
"I brought you a token of our regard," she said nervously. "Somehow even in dark times its easier to bear the weight of our responsibilities when we have one ray of light to bright our day."
He stared at her in shock and then at a bottle of something which looked like very old and very expensive brand of alcohol.
"Cinnamon flavoured," Bathsheba said casually. "We know that you like it."
She extended her hands in his direction and he nervously pushed the door more open.
"I don't know…" he started, suddenly he found himself incredibly nervous.
"Oh, come on," Bathsheba smiled gently. "You start to mention how good it tastes whenever Christmas are getting near and Dumbledore is in close vicinity." She paused and glanced nervously at her hands before she added more bravely as she looked up at him again, "I know that it isn't what you usually get from Dumbledore but it was the biggest bottle we could find and afford at this short period of time."
"Thank you," he whispered.
Very slowly she handed him the bottle of his favourite Cinnamon Vodka, never for a moment taking her eyes of him.
Then she did something which turned him speechless.
Quickly she made two steps which were separating them, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips.
Before he realised what happened she was gone.
*
After a night spent at marking remaining essays while contemplating what occurred between him and normally calm and collected Ancient Runes Professor he showed at breakfast still somewhat dazed and more nervous than a teenager over his first date.
Only his iron will prevented him from showing his inner turmoil. He gave several reasonably polite nods to other heads of the houses, who were already seated at the table and busied himself with his coffee. He was halfway through buttering his second toast when his doom approached.
Absent-mindedly he noted that something fell into his lap but he just couldn't tear his eyes from slowly approaching doom.
His doom didn't wear pink, thankfully, just a casual white shirt which revealed too much of pale skinned shoulders and too little of cleavage although his imagination decided to disagree. Matched to that was simple, ankle-length, red skirt. But the most capturing detail was radiant smile.
"Good morning," Bathsheba said cheerfully as she seated herself in her usual seat on his left.
"Co… coffee?" he mumbled nervously as he immediately reached for the pot, at the same time feeling that his right elbow ended in one of the bowls near him.
*
Two seats farther to the right Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick exchanged knowing glances.
Smaller professor cleared his throat and looked pointedly at the Head of Gryffindor.
"Fine," McGonagall mumbled as she passed several coins under the table. "But how on earth did you know…"
"Observation, my dear Minerva, observation," Flitwick snickered. "Red-heads. That's all I'm going to say about it."
A moment of silence stretched between them before Minerva asked casually, "Should someone inform Severus that he has a knife in his lap and right elbow in butter bowl?"
"Let him figure it out on his own, Minerva," Flitwick said calmly. "Now, what do you think about Irma and Argus?"
Minerva looked first at her smaller colleague and then leaned over the table to take a look at aforementioned pair.
"Argus will sooner do our dear, currently absent, Headmistress, rather than Irma. And from what I heard Irma is making doe eyes to Aberforth," she muttered.
"Want to bet?" Flitwick asked simply.
"You are on," Minerva muttered. "Ten galleons and a bottle of strawberry wine says that they won't."
"Ten galleons and a bottle of Firewhiskey says that they will," Flitwick smirked.
"Excuse me for a moment," Minerva said to him and turned to Pomona seated on her left. "Pomona, tell Severus that he has dirty knife in his lap and right elbow in butter bowl."
Awaiting criticism - like always. I'm replying as long as you leave me your email or you log in while reviewing. Bring my ego down ;)
Still not updating anything else, this little thing took me whole evening and I have an exam from hell on Tuesday but I might actually post something else after it because next exam after it I have in two weeks.