Hola, todos. This is another silly Snape-centered fanfiction, in which our dear Potions master exhibits hidden kung fu knowledge. Ridiculousness ensues. Enjoy!
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KUNG FU SNAPE!
It seemed to be an ordinary day in the fifth-year potions class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The students were nervously huddled in pairs around their bubbling cauldrons, while Professor Snape prowled around, disdainfully glaring at them, occasionally delivering snarky comments like, "Longbottom, you foolish boy! How you've managed to make it to your fifth year at Hogwarts is beyond my comprehension!" or "Mr. Potter!" He was the sort of man who made you want to hide under the nearest piece of furniture and never come back out.
On this particular day, Snape was holding a potion-making contest—whoever could make Veritaserum for Professor Umbridge would win 50,000 House points. As per the usual, it looked like Slytherin would come out on top.
The dungeon was deadly silent, except for the gentle simmering of the cauldrons. It really was quite nerve-wracking, and matters weren't helped by the fact that Snape looked ready to Avada Kedavra anyone who dared speak. But Ronald Weasley had something he desperately needed to tell his potions partner, and best friend, Harry Potter. He reached into his bag and got a scrap of parchment, ink, and a quill. Without Snape noticing, he dipped his quill directly into the bottle. He bent over the parchment while Harry stirred the cauldron, oblivious. Ron scribbled:
Harry,
How are we going to get Umbridge to drink the potion? Snape isn't the most persuasive man—he's quite the creepy old git, if you ask me, and—
Ron never finished the note, for he was suddenly aware of Snape looming over him, 1.85 metres of sheer potions master.
"Care to show me what you're working so hard on, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked, frowning down at Ron. The boy blushed to the roots of his red hair. Snape reached down, snatched up the paper, and squinted at the note. He pressed his lips together in a narrow, displeased line, and his nostrils flared. "Mr. Weasley," he hissed, "look at me." Ron nervously looked up at Snape, visibly trembling.
"HAAAIII-YAH!" Snape yelled, sending his hand down in a swift karate chop to the center of Ron's face. The boy screamed, apparently in exquisite pain. When Snape lifted the blade of his hand form Ron's face, everyone was horrified to notice that it was sticky with blood. Ron, meanwhile, was clutching his face and whimpering.
"That will teach you to not pay attention in my class, Mr. Weasley." Snape said briskly, wiping his hand on a nearby student's robe. Ron pathetically sniveled and ran out, his face in his palms.
"Potter! You lose! Now your partner needs massive amounts of corrective plastic surgery, so you must accompany him to the hospital wing! Get out!" the Potions Master snarled. Harry scurried out, sobbing.
Snape nonchalantly leaned back on his desk, folding his cloak around him. Hermione Granger raised her hand. Without waiting for Snape to call on her, she tentatively asked, "Professor, how exactly did you learn kung fu?" Snape allowed half a smirk to creep onto his face.
"You see, Miss Granger, after I left Hogwarts, I had the intention of becoming a master of the Dark Arts. I traveled the world, studying with dozens of Dark witches and wizards, mastering the Dark Arts. They became as closely entwined in my psyche as sleeping and breathing. In Asia, I learned the ancient art of kung fu from a forest-dwelling witch. Oh, and I learned a thing or two about potions along the way, which landed me here as your teacher." he explained. The students oohed and aahed in appreciation, but Snape remained silent.
"Class dismissed." he said deadpan.
There was a chorus of protesting groans. "But who gets the 50,000 House points?" Malfoy sputtered. Snape evil-laughed. "There were no points at stake!" he said on the tail end of his laugh. "I just enjoy torturing adolescents. Class dismissed." Snape finished, voice hardening severely.
The students filed out, grumbling. The last to leave was Hermione. She opened her mouth as if to say something—another of her incessant questions or useless facts, no doubt—but shut her mouth, scooped up her book bag, and left, her face lowered.
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Poor Hermione. She never gets to pester Snape to teach her kung fu... And 1.85 metres (or 6 feet 1 inch) is Alan Rickman's actual height, for those who wondered where Snape's height came from.
I hope you liked it! Reviews are greatly appreciated and encouraged. =]
~Mirei