AN: I am in the middle of writing another lotr story, but this plot bunny bit me refused to let go. This takes place during The Order of the Pheonix.
I am new to the Harry Potter fandom, so flame me if you must. Just know that I might cry.
Oh, and I make no money from this. I own nothing, except for the laptop on which this story was written.
Every student and almost every teacher of Hogwarts believed that Professor Snape exuded a perfectly controlled, icy, unfazable aura. It was widely believed that his emotional portfolio wholly consisted of annoyance, disgust, and suspicion. Although he was easily vexed, a slight change in his tone of voice or a sharp smack on the head, were the only emotional expressions he indulged in.
That is, until Dolores Umbridge was appointed "high inquisitor" of as the Hogwarts faculty thought, she was the Ministry of Magic's snitch. Snape did not like her. Actually, if he was honest in his introspection, he loathed her existence.
It was not because she was appointed as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. At least not entirely. He had accepted Quirrell, much to his later regret. He had been willing to be civil towards Lupin until the man started to harbor a dangerous fugitive. He was content enough in his current posting, or so he persuaded himself, that he was willing to endure this new teacher. Even though she had rubbed her position in his nose. Snape was too proud to let her have the satisfaction of an emotional response.
It was not even because she was distracting his Slytherins, who were more concerned with learning the art of snitchery than of magic. She brought out the worst in his students, and although he was not a coddling mother hen, like McGonagall, he wished to see his charges excel.
The way she patronized, threatened, and undermined Dumbledore was disgusting, but Snape was confident the ancient wizard could take care of himself.
No. When she fired Sybill Trelawny and attempted to throw her onto the streets, that was too much. Although he would never admit it to anyone, and he could not comprehend why, Snape always had a soft spot for the befuddled, bespectacled soothsayer. When Umbridge looked down on Trelawny with her condescending, sickeningly sweet smile, something inside Snape snapped.
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Professor Dumbledore walked the castle corridors early, as a matter of habit. It was three days after Trelawny had been fired, and he needed to mull over events. His brooding stroll led him unconsciously past Umbridge's office.
A screech shocked him out of his musing. He hastily made his way to the source of the sound, pulling his wand out as he entered the professor's office.
He was surprised when he stumbled upon a nearly hysterical Professor Umbridge.
"See what they've done!" she screamed. "Those vile, nasty, little… They'll regret this!"
"Oh, my," said Dumbledore, expertly holding his smirk inside. He could not decide what was more amusing: the fact that the prank had stripped her sweet temper away like bad makeup, or the prank itself. It was brilliant. "Do you know who is responsible?" he inquired, dreading the answer.
"I have my suspicions!"
"Any proof?"
Umbridge paused. "Well, no. But I will find out. And when I do…"
"We will cross that bridge when we come to it," said Dumbledore, relieved.
Umbridge sent for Filch, and together the three of scoured her office for evidence. After a thorough search, they discovered that the prank potion had been mixed in with the professor's sugar, and she ingested it along with her morning tea. The culprit had left no evidence besides the potion and the prank itself.
The prank was ingenious. It was elegent, intricate, and impossible to undo. The two wizards failed to counteract the potion after numerous attempts.
Although Umbridge wanted to punish the entire student body, Dumbledore was able to persuade her to allow him to perform the investigation. No doubt, she wanted to save her pride. She did, however send Filch along to make sure the investigation was "on the up and up."
Dumbledore recruited reluctant Professors McGonagall and Snape to complete the investigative committee.
The rest of Dumbledore's day was spent interrogating students. A makeshift courtroom was set up in an empty classroom. Dumbledore sat at a grand table with Filth lurking and leering behind his shoulder, McGonagall sighing discretely on his left, and Snape grinding his teeth on the other side of the headmaster.
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"Me?" asked Harry Potter from across from the desk.
"Do you have the skill to perform this charm?" asked Dumbledore, although he knew the answer.
"Maybe, but.. I don't think this would be worth the trouble."
Snape raised an eyebrow.
"No offense sir, but I'm trying to stay out of her way."
Dumbledore dismissed Potter back to his classes. He could sense Filch's unspoken protest.
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"Concoct that potion? Perhaps. It would take a while though. It's pretty complicated," said Hermione Granger dubiously. "Why would I want to?"
McGonagall smiled.
"You may return to class, Miss Granger," Dumbledore waved her away.
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"You think I did what?" Neville Longbottom was horrified. "Please sir, you have to believe me! I would never do that to any teacher, especially not Professor Umbridge! She'd...She...Sh"
Filch glared at him. Longbottom started to hyperventilate. Snape rolled his eyes. Dumbledore told McGonagall to escort Mr. Longbottom outd.
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"Are you accusing me of this?" Draco Malfoy demanded.
"I am simply asking you a question. There is no accusation behind it," clarified Dumbledore.
"The truth, Mr. Malfoy," hissed Snape. He knew his student's character far too well.
"My father will here of this. If I wanted to get even with a teacher, I wouldn't waste my time with practical jokes!"
Dumbledore met Snape's eyes. It was true. Malfoy did not need to resort to petty trickery to make one's life miserable.
Draco was dismissed.
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"That's wicked!" declared Fred Weasley.
Filch growled.
"Do you know who did it?" inquired Dumbledore, knowing the twins had a long history of pranks.
"It wasn't us," stated George.
"We're not that ambitious!" declared Fred.
"Boys!" admonished McGonagall.
"Foolish," corrected George.
"Foolish," echoed Fred.
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"It wasn't me Professor"
"I believe you, Miss Lovegood," said Dumbledore, preparing to release her.
"I know who did it though."
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. Filch glared. McGonagall leaned forward.
"It was the nargals," said Luna assuredly.
Dumbledore rubbed his forehead. Luna was sent back to class.
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By suppertime, Professor Dumbledore was certain of one thing: none of his students were guilty. He was sure of this; he did not need truth serum to catch liars. The prank potion was masterfully complex and would require a great deal of knowledge, effort, and time to create. Few students had that kind of skill. Those that did were either too smart or to terrified to risk the punishment.
The question remained, if none of the students were to blame, who was?
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By the time supper rolled around, Sybill Umbridge had managed to piece together her dignity. She had spent the entire day trying, to counteract the prank, and planning the perpetrator's punishment. Although the first task was unsuccessful, the second was deliciously rejuvenating, and she felt well enough to join the school for the evening meal. She needed to present a positive, professional front.
Waves of discreet coughs, quiet titters, and unsuccessfully stifled gaffaws followed her as she took her seat at the head table.
Although everyone knew about the prank, no one but Dumbledore and Filch had seen the masterpiece. Above Umbridge's pink jacket, sickeningly sweet smile, and steely eyes, was a perfectly curled head of deep, blue-green hair. It was garish when paired with her powder-pink suit.
She sat down, reminded herself of the medieval-style torture she would inflict upon the culprit, and delicately sipped her soup.
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Dumbledore was alert throughout the meal, still hopeful of catching the prankster. Although he did not condone their actions, he wanted to find them before Umbridge did. Then, perhaps, he could expel them and send them home before they faced Umbridge's severe corporal punishment.
In the end, the perpetrator was given away by a slight smirk, more of a twitch really, and a triumphant gleam in his eye.
Dumbledore never would have known, except he happened to glance straight at him when Umbridge made her entrance.
After supper was finished, the students were shuffling off to their dorms, and the professors headed off to their different evening tasks, Dumbledore approached his suspect.
"Walk with me, Severus," He said, grabbing the Potions Professor's arm.
He led his disgruntled employee to his private office.
"Nasty business, about Umbridge," he said, sitting in his desk chair. "We spent the entire day questioning students, but not one of them knows anything about the crime."
"Indeed," Snape intoned.
"I only hope Umbridge believes me that none of the students are responsible. It would be awful if she accused an innocent."
"Indeed."
Dumbledore looked deeply into Snape's eyes. "No doubt the real culprit would admit to the crime if it came to it."
Snape met his look. "No doubt" he answered evenly.
"Good. I hope it was worth it. Whoever it was, they have a lot to lose if they are caught."
"I am certain they were aware of the repercussions, and believed the risk worthwhile."
Dumbledore grunted. "Still. I wish I knew who was behind it. Don't tell anyone, but I would like to thank them for lifting school morale."
"I doubt that was the perpetrator's intent," said Snape.
"Perhaps not, but I would like to thank them anyway." Dumbledore saw his colleague out, and settled back at his desk to do some paperwork.
The culprit was never caught, in spite of Filch's independent investigation, and much to Umbridges dismay. Umbridge's hair eventually turned back to its natural color, and she ceased her quest for punishment.
Every student and almost every teacher of Hogwarts believed that Professor Snape exuded a perfectly controlled, icy, unfazable aura. It was widely believed that his emotional portfolio wholly consisted of annoyance, disgust, and suspicion. Although he was easily annoyed, a slight change in his tone of voice or a sharp smack on the head, were the only emotional expressions he indulged in. But these people did not take the time or effort to look behind the veneer. There was much more to Professor Severus Snape than anyone suspected.