AN: I received my first negative (as is very, very bad) student review last semester and it made me think how poor Snape would fair with such things. No betas, let me know when you catch a mistake if you are so inclined. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own some brand-new, big fluffy towels that I like very much. I do not own Harry Potter. No sue.
"Please sit down Severus."
Minerva indicated a chair in front of her desk, probably the same one used by snot-nosed homesick first years. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff bodily fluids were sure to be all over it. Regardless, I had little choice in that office, so I sat, but delicately.
"You may remember last year at end of term when you were asked to leave your classroom for a few minutes each period?"
Yes, I remembered. Completely ruined the whole week's schedule. What was the point of nagging me to make "lesson plans" if she was going to bugger them at a moment's notice?
"I am fully capable of remembering even the minutest of details from years ago, Headmistress. Remembering your pointless disruption of my lessons is not a difficult task. "
Her glare indicated that I'd probably gone too far, she hated being called Headmistress. Pissing her off wasn't helping her get to the point in any case.
"What did you need from me?" There, a little reminder that I knew she was in charge and hopefully she'd move on.
Instead she primly handed me a large packet stuffed with parchments that had been part of a stack of such on her desk.
"What is this?"
"Those are 'student reviews', Severus."
"I already submitted their marks for this past year weeks ago. I do not want or need them back."
"No, you've misunderstood. Those are reviews that the students have written to evaluate your teaching."
I can feel my eyes blink slowly. Hell, I can feel time slow down.
I must control my anger. I must not scream at the only person willing to give me a job. I must not make murdering my employers a habit.
"What in Merlin's bloody name are you talking about, woman? You're telling me you've asked students, the same idiots that wander about this school each term like lobotomy patients, to evaluate me? You think pubescent children are qualified to review the education they have received? Have you lost your mind?"
Shit. Note to self: work harder on controlling anger.
"Severus Snape, speak to me like that again and we'll see who loses what. These reviews are for you, and every other professor in the school, to use to improve yourself. You are not the gods' gift to teaching. In fact, I have no qualms in telling you now that your reviews were the absolute worst in the entire school."
No surprise there. Wait, even worse than... ?
"Even worse than Trelawney."
Bugger.
"You can not honestly believe that students are objective in this? Certainly they learn more in Potions than they do Divination? This is simply a popularity contest, and frankly, one we both know I do not have the ability nor inclination to even compete in."
The tiniest flash of sympathy crossed Minerva's face, but it was gone before I could use it.
"Just read the reviews, Severus. I'll need a report from you in a week on what you plan to do to improve your teaching."
Oh this was just too much. Reading the blather was enough, but making extra work for me about my teaching standards? I never thought I'd miss Dumbledore. The steely look in her eyes told me it was useless trying to protest now though. I'd just have to bid my time to enact a quiet revenge.
One of the greatest benefits of the summer is the total lack of students. This is also one of the worst bits as well, because there is no one onto which to vent frustrations. This meant that jars of wobbly things on my office bookshelf bore the full brunt of my anger. Watching the glass shatter was satisfying, but the wobblies just wobblied pathetically. They made me think of Longbottom and his dreadfully wobbly face. I can't imagine what the dimwit would have written on a review had he been given the chance as a student. That is, assusming he could stop wobbling long enough to write something down.
Time for a plan. I'd make a list of all my students names and then write their comments next to the names. It would be most helpful in deciding who to "help facilitate better learning" with. Detentions were a terrific learning experience, you couldn't help learning something from a near-death experience in the forbidden forest. Hopefully you learned not to be a bother to me again.
Opening the packet put paid to that plan. That cow Minerva. There were no names on the forms at all. Even the student's handwriting had been magically changed to a uniform, nondescript script. Unless I could recognize their writing style itself, there would be no way to tell which student had written what.
This was going to be nasty. Better to get it over with quickly. I picked up the first couple of parchments. The form was divided into sections. Under the section titled, "Things my professor did to improve my learning" there was a whole lot of squat. The section named, "Additional Comments/ Suggestions" contained a majority of the responses. I skimmed through the first few.
As a first year, I thought Professor Snape was He-Who-Can-Not-Be-Named because I couldn't imagine anyone scarier. Or uglier.
Screw potions. I can buy the ones I need.
He is a sufficient instructor, for a half-blood.
I have contemplated drinking a potion I knew was poisonously wrong rather than have to turn it in to this professor. I have also fantasized about force feeding him those very same potions.
The only time I learned anything in this class was when I read the textbook. At least it doesn't try to make me feel worthless.
I started praying on the slim hope that something would smite this bastard for me. Professor Snape's continual survival is turning me into an atheist.
Ugh. Like, Professor Snape needs to really wash his hair. And his face. And he could really do with wearing something other than all the black. He's a real loser.
This class would be a lot better if Snape did the complete opposite of everything he does now.
If someone told me that Professor Snape used the blood of kittens to mark my essays, I would not even think to doubt it. Seriously, where does he get all of the red "ink" he uses. There's no way the school budget could afford that much real red ink.
I hate the git. Worst teacher ever. EVER!
I am afraid to fill out this form since I am fairly certain that Professor Snape can read minds.
That one at least was satisfying. It was good to know I was doing something right. Most of these were the expected and immature rants of precious snowflakes that were upset I didn't bloody well wipe their arses for them and tuck them into bed. Minerva thought I could learn something from this? Ha.
Only over three hundred left to go.
Three hours later and I had sorted more than half of all the reviews into piles such as: "Imbecile/Hufflepuff", "Swot/Ravenclaw", "Pompous Ass/Slytherin" and "Arrogant Toe-rag/Gryffindor". They were all overwhelmingly negative. I had gotten no truly positive reviews.
What did I expect? I make no apologies about my teaching style. Someone has to show them what life is really like. Hand-holding won't do them any good once they've been thrown into the real world where no one cares that you could name every goblin war in alphabetical order. I was doing the little bleeders a favor. I was rendering them a gods-damned service, I was.
It just might be nice if they'd recognize that.
No. The moment I start to worry about what snot-nosed, whinging brats think of me is the moment I stop being Severus Snape. If they couldn't see what I was doing was best for them then that was their own problem.
I looked at the pile of still to read reviews. A whole stack of complaints.
Screw this. I needed a drink.
Contrary to what I'm sure most people thought, I did not keep cabinets full of liqueur in my rooms. I didn't need to make it easier for me to become more like my sorry excuse of a father. Having to travel down to the Three Broomsticks or the Hog's Head kept me from making too frequent trips to the bottom of a bottle. Part of me did not want to go now, since it meant a strong possibility of running into the other professors that made a summer habit of spending every night at the pub. Still, being scorned by Pomona and Vector while shit-faced would be better than reading more insults to my hygiene from students while sober.
It was a fifty-fifty shot that I'd pick the pub that was not attended by my esteemed colleges. I could just poke my head into the Three Broomsticks and if I saw Rolanda dancing on a table I could discreetly exit and walk the extra bit to the Hogs Head. Perfect plan.
Ah, yes Rolanda was using a chair to climb up just that moment. Time to leave.
"Severus!"
Damn it!
Her. She was waving her damn arm around like everyone in the gods-damned bar didn't already hear her shout. Waving franticly like she was trying to fling her hand off her damn arm. She did this all the time now. Talking to me like we were old chums or some such rubbish at meals. Sitting next to me at Quidditch games. Trying to include me in the group.
Couldn't she see the group didn't want me? As the ridiculous girl ran up to me, I could see them all glancing at each other with the annoyed look I had come to describe in my head as, "oh, him". I was trying to dash back out of the door when she caught up to me.
I tried not to stare at the mess that was her hair. If she was going to run, she should tie that bit of wilderness down first.
"Come have drinks with us! We're commiserating together over our reviews. You've gotten yours haven't you?"
Why was she smiling? I wasn't smiling. My hand was still on the door handle. I did not want to sit at a table with people who hated me while they talked about the "poor reviews" they had gotten while I knew that mine where only worse. I especially did not want to do this while having her smile at me.
"Let him be Hermione! He likes to weep into his pint by himself." This bit of cleverness was followed by a cacophony of cackles.
Oh gods. Now the girl was searching my face as if I was going to burst into tears in front of her. I could tell what she was thinking. Did this poor, ugly bastard cry himself to sleep at night and drown his sorrows alone? All Potter's fault. If he had kept his mouth shut, then no one would be giving me soppy looks just for trying to have a drink by myself.
I could even see her arm spasm as a half-formed intention to comfort me was stopped by her higher-levels of reasoning. Unless I wanted to continue to be the next S.P.E.W. I'd have to do something to nip this pity business in the bud. My hand came off the door handle.
"I could stay for a few minutes. As long as you get Rolanda to agree to stop table dancing."
She did not just giggle. Did she?
"Oh, there's not much worry of that, Rosemerta can usually get her down by suggestively waving a few notes at her. You see, there was a bit of a misunderstanding between Rolanda and an eager, older man a month or so ago."
That was not an image I wanted in my head. Time to drink that away.
Some one was laughing. Was it me?
No. I don't laugh. It was her. Sitting next to me, laughing at the stupid review Vector had just read.
Gods she smelled good.
How many mugs were in front of me? Seven? Eight? What came after eight?
I'm not drunk. No. If I were drunk then I would be thinking about how nice it is when she smiles at me.
So bloody fantastic a smile.
Not drunk at all.
"You think that's bad? Listen to this!"
Who was talking so loud? Oh, me. I'm taking. Why am I doing that?
"Professor Snape is so greasy that I could scrape his cheeks for petrol!"
Ha! Now I was laughing and every one else was too. Except her.
"Laugh, it's funny you swotty girl."
Why did I keep talking?
Ah, bloody fantastic glare too.
Shit. I need to leave.
I left too much money on the table and made a reasonable impression of walking in a straight line to the door. I didn't hear her following me till I was outside and had given up trying to impress anyone with my straight line walking skills.
"You're drunk."
"Not drunk."
Stupid road was just wobbly.
She came up beside me. Had I known which way up really was at that moment I would have jumped in that direction when she put her arm around my waist. I tried glaring at her, but I'm fairly certain it didn't work. She remained stuck to my person.
"I'm going to walk you back to your rooms. You're worse off than Minerva was after the last day of school."
"My rooms? Trying to take advantage of me?"
Shit. Who keeps using my mouth?
I could feel her stiffen and pull slightly away. Ah, now there's not so much pity for the ugly drunk.
"You're drunk, so I'm going to ignore that."
"Good. And I'm going to ignore that you smell so good."
Seriously? Now see what you did! She's pulling away. Good job face. Way to go mouth.
"You're going to regret saying all this in the morning."
Yes, but 'in for a penny in for pound'. I leaned in. My mouth was moving towards her unbelieving face and suddenly I didn't hate my mouth so much.
Leaning is hard. Which is perhaps why I leaned face first into the ground instead of into Hermione.
Then there was just blackness.
So I lied, S.P.E.W. was in there.
Thanks for reading! This is a WIP, and I will try to hurry for the next bit. My students will be upset if I don't take care of their finals first though.