See Snape. See Snape run. Run, Snape, run
Disclaimer: I own nothing here. I hope I don't get sued, especially by whoever makes those See Spot Run children's books.
Inspired by Hellboy, which is a kick-ass movie. This will have more of a plot than genital-endangerment, I promise. I haven't had much time to write with all the moving in and new classes, so I'm sorry if it takes a while to post stuff for the next few weeks. I'm working on for pieces at once, and none are really cooperating. Anyway, this dedicated to all the wonderful people who gave me reviews (which are treasured like good dark chocolate). Thanks, you guys rock.
"You were boiling water, you idiot boy! How in Merlin's hairy unmentionables did you manage to set water on fire?"
To say that Snape was discontent with the events preceding his outburst would be like claiming the newly deceased Dark Lord had a minor ego problem. In a foolish display of optimism, he had assumed that the first ten minutes of his seventh-year potions class would be explosion-free, for the students, who one assumed were somewhat capable of following basic procedure as participation in his NEWT classes hinged on their OWL results, were, in fact, working only with water and bronze cauldrons. Snape had uncharacteristically failed to account for the Longbottom effect, which produced results defying all natural and magical law by causing the worst of the impossible to happen. And so it came to pass, exactly seven minutes and thirty-six seconds from when Snape had told them to begin, Neville Longbottom's nearly empty cauldron belched green flame in a display rivaling the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, if on a slightly smaller scale. Crimson lava poured down the sides of the rapidly disintegrating cauldron, cutting deep paths of burning destruction among textbooks, quills, parchment, ingredients, and desk before settling into the now foaming stone floor, reminiscent of the ruin of Pompeii, only Christmas themed.
"Longbottom!"
Students leapt back from the miniature volcano with practiced ease, but a few nearer to the front of the classroom edged closer to the cauldron, fearing the wrath of their Potions professor more than a little inferno. The vehemence dripping from the uttered name contrasted with the unnaturally relaxed pose and calm expression Snape wore. The silence stretching between his initial declaration of the offender and query to the unfortunate young man was laced with trepidation, probably from the smoking cauldron, and broken only by its innocently merry bubbling.
His left eye twitched when a stray phoenix feather imploded with a bang, and he commenced a slow stalk to the frozen boy and his pet volcano. With a flick of the wand no one had seen Snape draw, the flaming-water-in-a-cauldron was no more, leaving only the steaming husk of wood in its place. Not a few of the students were surprised to see Longbottom still on this plane of existence rather than the potions vessel. Hermione, closest to Neville having sat next to him before the impromptu fireworks production (which was hardly unusual in itself), attempted to sneak in between Neville and the predatory teacher advancing toward them, but a glare promising slow and painful death forced her back. Snape glided around the ruined desk, removing Neville's only line of defense. The hapless and now vulnerable student, who, outside the Potions classroom at least, had grown in confidence and build so as to be a prime example of youth and manhood, could only shiver in place as his most irrational nightmare came close enough to scrutinize him at a cellular level.
"What were my instructions in the beginning of class, Mr. Longbottom?" his voice a whispered hiss.
"B-boil a half-cauldron of w-water for ten minutes and t-twenty-three seconds, then-"
"What was that?"
"You said to boil half a c-cauldron of wat-t-"
"Without the stuttering, please. It hinders comprehension."
Neville shut his eyes briefly in a desperate effort to find his spine. All attention in the room focused on the battle of wills (or to be more accurate, one will and a gibbering mass of psychic goo that had once been a will), so none took notice when a tiny spark left in the burnt desk behind Snape began flitting about, growing larger with each new touch of the wood.
"Boil half a cauldron of water for ten minutes and twenty-three seconds, then add the jade stone-"
"Your clarity has improved, but I believe you must have missed a step, Mr. Longbottom."
"Sir?" Neville dared a covert glance at his notes only to find they were ashes dusting the smoking desk.
"No need to consult directions," Snape forced Neville's eyes back to his, his smile unpleasant and barely this side of balanced. "You've already given us a wonderful practical demonstration of step two."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I d-don't-"
"You mean to say you don't recall the stage in the potion when one should destroy an expensive cauldron through ignorance and ineptitude?"
"Sir? Th-that-"
"Wasn't on the curriculum, Mr. Longbottom? I'm shocked, absolutely shocked, to hear it." His expression turned to mock concern, and his soft voice invoked the sensation of a blade gently tickling the entrails. By this time, the spark had grown to a green and red tinged flame, about the size of a snitch and fast increasing, which bounced gaily between the desks, gleefully setting afire whatever it touched. Lavender Brown was the first to notice, as the cheerful conflagration had scorched a hole through the left nostril belonging to the distraught image of Claudio Fabio Narcissianus on the cover of her Witches Weekly, reducing the Man With the Most Perfect Nose in the Wizarding World (three times in a row) to papery tears. She emitted a small noise of shock and indignation, then made a move to save the object of her obsession from further fiery piercing. Without turning around or even breaking his standoff with Longbottom, Snape growled rebuke.
"Stay right there, Ms. Brown. And be silent, if you wish to leave this room in the near future."
"But sir-"
"Twenty points. It will increase exponentially with every further syllable you happen to utter. The next person who breathes too loudly will wish that I had assigned them flobberworm cleaning with Hagrid."
The exchange had brought the blaze-in-the-making to the attention of everyone in the class except for the two locked in scholastic battle, and the students discussed the alarming happenings in silent gesture and subtle pantomime, none daring the ire of the Potions Bastard. Blaise Zabini made an admirable attempt to extinguish the multitude of small fires silently, but was thwarted when the largest grabbed his wand and began a bout of tug-o-war with him. This discouraged further foolish wand waiving and a few enterprising individuals tried dousing the flames with water from the sinks along the side of the classroom until the main fireball, now approximating the size of a bludger, devoured their buckets. At this setback, most gave in, content to watch the pandemonium from the sidelines. Snape had quickly turned an alarming shade of maroon, and was risking rupture of a blood vessel.
"Longbottom, I have never come across a more incompetent, bumbling, asinine-"
A bottle of pickled blue beetle gonads began popping like corn kernels from the nearby flame dancing across one of the desks.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Potter! Silence!"
Harry looked understandably confused at the accusation, but was prevented from questioning it by the hand Malfoy slapped over his mouth. Snape continued his tirade oblivious to the chaos developing around him.
"-disgrace to wizarding. Labeling you a squib would be insulting to-"
"Ahem, Professor Snape." Only Hermione had the courage to try interrupting the flushed-vermilion professor from spitting on Longbottom with every consonant. The fireball skated between cauldrons in a lovely figure eight pattern before diving gracefully to the floor.
"A month's detention, Ms. Granger, which you will not enjoy this time, for interrupting me. Now be quiet!"
"Professor-"
"I SAID QUIET!" None winced louder than Longbottom at Snape's explosion, but had little time to observe the completely unhinged professor. At almost the same moment, Sally-Ann Perks was forced to jump back into Parvati Patil as the fireball attempted to investigate her footwear, who, in turn, stumbled into Draco Malfoy, whose close proximity to Harry Potter initiated a class-wide domino impression worthy of any cause-and-effect enthusiast. Hermione, the last to fall as the ripple passed among the students, made one last attempt at drawing Snape's attention from the spittle-coated statue that had been Neville Longbottom.
"SEVERUS-"
"GRANGER I NEVER GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO USE MY NAME OUTSIDE OF OUR BED-"
Whatever Snape had meant to say was lost in the confusion as the roughly-Flitwick-sized fireball discovered a large bottle of oil-of-skrewt-mucous, which immediately exploded with a BOOM just behind Snape that could not have been timed better with the ring of students hitting the floor, culminating in an entertaining spectacle beyond the limits of rehearsal or planning. Snape was launched over Longbottom and the ring of seventh years along with the fireball, and hit the desks in the back of the classroom heavily.
The first to recover was, of course, the-Boy-Who-Had-to-Do-Everything-Disgustingly-Good-and-Admirable, who, after extricating himself from the mass of limbs, conjured a small hurricane that completely soaked everyone and everything in the room. As the steam settled, the students squelched to their feet to survey the damage. The classroom looked as if it had played host to a dragon orgy; not a workbench or tabletop had escaped splintering and blackening, ingredients and books lay in ruined piles of ash, clumps of metal scattered the floor. Once they had checked themselves for injury, the class stumbled among the wreckage to their teacher. They huddled around the mass of black robes, which, after much effort and aid from Granger and Weasley, sat up, leaning against the wall. Granger began examining the disoriented professor for injury, but was startled when the bundle of black cloth in his lap began moving. She fell back in shock when a small red face with dark brown eyes poked out of the torn robes at about Snape's stomach, followed by the rest of the creature's horned head. The little fellow gazed fearfully at the speechless assembly before retreating further into the layers of black cloth. Snape, regaining some awareness, glared at the gawking crowd, and raised his arm in a weak but unmistakably commanding gesture.
"Class dismissed. Get out."
It took a few moments for the pupils to digest then follow the order, gathering right outside the room so as comply with the request but still maintain opportunity for gaping. Only Hermione remained, supporting Snape and trying to determine what sort of being clung to him like a limpet almost hidden in his robes. Snape was about to speak again when the students in the doorway parted with enough whispering to wake the dead.
Albus Dumbledore stepped through (and over) the door to the potions classroom solemnly, and eyed the scene with nary a twinkle or sparkle in sight.
"Oh Severus, who have you done now?"
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