It is a translation of the 2nd part of the 'Slytheriad' series by Toroj. The Polish original ('Filozofia węża') and the first part of the series ('Trick or Treat or Severus Snape's Halloween') can be found on Toroj's account ( u/584806/toroj).

The Philosophy of the Snake, or Revenge of the Great Lestrange

(written by Toroj in a moment of madness)

Severus Snape had been teaching for fourteen years, so he was an experienced and cold-blooded teacher, not easily disturbed by trifles – such as, for example, a dreadful scream, which could just be heard outside. He looked calmly in the mirror to check if he was clean shaven, and buttoned up his collar. The next shriek sounded from behind the door. Severus pricked up his ears. He counted to four in his head, allowing the students to settle the matter by themselves. Only his pupils from Slytherin could possibly be present in the dungeon corridor in the morning, and Snape had no intention of subtracting points from his own House. He was not insane yet.

A painful howl let him know that intervention was necessary after all, while there were still any survivors left outside.

He smoothed the sleeves of his robe, grabbed his wand, and forcefully opened the door of his apartment, adopting the 'Beware, the Day of Judgement has thus come' expression. The basement was filled by a black-clad group of young people, and the stone walls reverberated with the sound of many voices, most of them expressing horrified awe and excitement. Everything, however, was outcried by a desperate yell:

' AAAAAAAAAAAH! MYEAR... MYEAR... MYEAR...! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!'

Snape rushed into the cluster of students, pushing them aside. In the very centre of the commotion somebody's hands and legs were coiled, at the first glance in uncountable number. The next glance allowed Snape to identify Vincent Crabbe, lying on his back; across him some other boy was lying, pressed down in his turn by someone smaller, slimmer, but apparently very determined. At that moment both the attacker and the attacked were unrecognizable, since the heads of both were covered by a school robe, upturned in heat of the battle. Gregory Goyle was jerking the assailant by the arm, with the sole result that the cries of the victim acquired increasingly desperate tones.

'You moron! Don't pull her, you'll tear off my ear!'

In a moment Severus put this layer cake together into one logical whole and identified the most probably owner of the washed-up jeans, patched on the seat with a piece of dragon skin. The patch was crossed with an inscription, carelessly scribbled in ink: KISS ME, LOSER.

Snape's face covered itself with a brick-red flush of anger, and, completely losing his self-possession, he whacked his wand straight into the jutted out tail and derisive slogan. And this at last dissolved the situation. Those rising from the floor revealed themselves as the already mentioned Crabbe, Draco Malfoy, pressing his hand to his left ear, and that nightmare of a first-year – Sirith Lestrange – smeared with blood like a vampire. Blood was flowing also between Malfoy's fingers.

'She threw herself at me, Professor! She bit off my ear! She's insane!' howled Malfoy on seeing his Head of House. He looked even paler and more washed-up than usual, his eyes glassy and circular like a shocked rabbit's. Snape concealed his revulsion with some effort, assuming his usual coldly ironic mask. Honestly, the son of Lucius Malfoy could show a bit more of class! Lestrange spat out pink saliva and, disgusted, dried her mouth with her sleeve.

'Mister Malfoy to the hospital wing. The rest to breakfast!' commanded Snape. 'NOW!'

The students departed hastily, stampeding like a herd of horses. One could hear them exchanging first comments about the incident.

'Not you!' At the last moment Snape caught the brat, who was attempting to bolt, by her collar. 'To the study!'

She blinked nervously, but allowed herself to be led. Severus was holding her robe tightly and was feeling more and more idiotic with every passing second. He did not remember ever losing his temper to the degree of striking a student. Even at Potter he had only thrown a jar. (Only once and he had missed, too, so it didn't really count.) He stood the irritating wench before his desk and stooped abruptly over her.

'So...?!' he asked menacingly.

Her expression was set and withdrawn. And again there was a nervous blink, a slight incline of the head that Severus could not stand for two reasons. First, he knew well enough what it meant. Second, he had seen an identical reflex in that bloody Potter, also in the first year: the learned reaction of a child who had been too often slapped in the face. He felt even worse than before. Damn, damn, damn...! What the hell he was supposed to do with this maddening girl whelp?

Lestrange was standing with her eyes fixed on the floor, but her expression was still rebellious. Her right hand was holding her left elbow. Her robe, as usual, was unbuttoned. Severus involuntarily looked down – the brat's trousers were torn on both knees, and the holes were sewn up with thick pink yarn, provocatively tied into bows on the ends. The teacher thought that Lestrange wore her poverty with challenging contempt.

He sat before his desk and pointed his wand to the bookcase at the other end of the room.

'Accio Lestrange's documents!'

A thin leather holder shot through the air, nearly brushing the girl's head. He caught it deftly in the air, opened it, cast a meaningful look at the mutinous student, and read aloud.

'Sirith Herma Lestrange, born on August 31 1984... Bad luck!' He grimaced. 'A hair's-breadth, and I wouldn't need to look at you for the whole year. Permanent residence: Fogbell, under the care of Mafalda Hopkirk Charity Society.'

Snape shut the folder with a loud clap, and demonstratively threw it into the waste paper basket.

'Do you know what that means?' he asked.

The child lifted her head. Snape had vaguely expected a long face and glasses misted with tears of contrition, but Lestrange, pale as death, only made a contemptuous grimace.

'I know,' she retorted. 'It's always the poorer ones who are thrown out, right?'

Snape ignored this.

'Why did you bite a prefect?' He put a special stress on the last word.

She shrugged.

'He's a louse.'

But a rich louse, Severus thought mordantly. If he had been able to, he would have gladly shoved that blasted prefect badge down Malfoy's throat, so that those little pallid eyeballs came up. Unfortunately, his daddy's connections and money still counted for a lot, and the school governing body did not want to withhold such trifling pleasures from the only son of the most generous sponsor.

'Listen, Lestrange...' Severus started again, now in a somewhat calmer voice. 'I don't know where Fogbell lies, but it's surely no metropolis. I rather suppose it's a rotten place on the lines of the infamous London Knockturn Alley. It's much better to come from there than to live there, so if you heard the fog bell, you should heed it and make use of your chance, instead of wasting it in this idiotic fashion!' In spite of his promises to himself made only a minute ago, he shouted the last words, punching the table with his hand. 'Do you think those fancy ladies from the care society will be thrilled at getting an owl carrying news of your scandalous behaviour?'

'Can I sit down?' she asked in reply.

'No!' Snape barked at first, but changed his mind at once and pointed her to the chair. The little one was still pale and she was clutching her elbow; that caveman Goyle must have hurt her. She perched at the very edge, still gaping at the carpet.

'I repeat my question: why did you bite Malfoy? Why the hell did you rush at a fifteen-year-old who outsizes you by a head?'

She bit at her lips as if afraid that Severus would tear a confession from her together with her tongue.

'Even if you don't make a clean breast of it, I will know how it started at any rate. There was no lack of witnesses, and everyone would be willing to tell me. In detail.'

The child gulped.

'He was sneering at me,' she muttered. 'He said... he said I'm a beggar.'

Snape closed his eyes, sighing.

'He said I'm only in Hogwarts because of his father's charity, since it's he who pays for everything here,' mumbled the girl. 'And he was jerking me...'

'Enough,' said the professor quietly. 'Mister Malfoy forgets himself. I'm positive his father the great philanthrope doesn't pay my salary; neither is the cost of meals covered from his donation. However, you may stop eating desserts, if you are so high-minded,' he added ironically.

He pulled the documents out from the basket and put them back on the desk.

'You are suspended for now. How is your hand?'

'Sore.'

'You are to go to Madame Pomfrey, then, and afterwards straight to the Slytherin common room. Don't move from there until the headmaster makes a decision about your case. Now, be off with you. And don't forget to brush your teeth,' drawled Snape. Young Malfoy may be poisonous, he added in his thoughts.

She nodded several times and went out without a word.

'Malfoy...' said Severus with cold fury in the direction of the ceiling. 'Draco Malfoy, pray that your father never goes bankrupt.'