Crisp

Harry Potter, very solemnly swore, that he was up to no good. In the well meaning opinions of his close friends and family, he was never up to any good ever. But that wasn't entirely his fault. When it came to Severus Snape, he was never up to any good, it was true. It was hard to be when the potions master made it so difficult.

Or to put it more simply, turned himself into the perfect target.

Snape was walking behind a row of chattering third years, mouth turned down into a very distinct sneer that for a reason Harry could not explain, he adored. He was the teacher chosen to supervise the third years on their winter trip to Hogsmeade, and he didn't look very pleased about it at all. The students didn't seem to enjoy the potions master's presence, or mind it that much either. He was like a bird in the background, present, but bearable.

Harry though, was more preoccupied with other things, such as, if he aimed properly, would the snow ball make it all the way to the back of Snape's head? He would need a nice good sized ball. If it was large enough, would some of it slither down the back of Snape's cloak in that horribly uncomfortable way that melting snow had the tendency of achieving? Precious details.

Harry was not supposed to be outside, something about safety and dangerous people, and he had stopped listening sometime through, because he would have simply gotten annoyed. Instead, the long winded speech made him want to create some mischief. When he had noticed Snape, his favorite target of mischief, at the front of the school, black as a raven against the white snow and standing out strikingly among the third years all a good head or two shorter than him, Harry had grabbed his invisibility cloak and followed as silently as possible behind them.

He froze, despite being invisible, when Snape looked behind him in that suspicious way. As always, he was aware something was up but not sure what, pausing to examine the slopes of gentle snow and the dark line of trees. His black eyes shifted warily, sharp and clever. Harry was starting to hate that Snape always knew where he was, because those clever eyes fixed on his exact position.

The students hurried on without him, bubbling over in excitement as Hogsmeade was finally in sight, rushing to get into the Three Broomsticks and have a warming mug of butter beer or hop off to the sweet shop to buy mountains of chocolate frogs or blood lollies. They were nearly at the quaint town's entrance, far out of sight. Now was just about the perfect time.

Snape made a soft noise in the back of his throat, deeming nothing out of the ordinary, turning and walking away. Harry bent, scooping up a fistful of snow and packing it into a ball, raising it above his head. With a considerable amount of strength, he tossed it at Snape's head, and was satisfied with a crisp thump, the solid sound of whacking someone with a snowball. He grinned and stifled a laugh with his hand. Mischief managed.

Snape's expression as he turned around then was thunderous, off set by the snow in his hair, melting and dripping down his face, black eyes flashing. And Harry would have run, really, except that he was surprised by the snowball that collided with his face. So surprised that he let out a yell and fell to the snow, nearly cracking his head open on a conveniently placed rock.

With a righteous nod, Snape clapped the snow off his bat leather gloves, adjusting his robes as though they had gotten out of place. "Refrain from unnecessary pranks in the future, Potter." He hissed. And then his was gone, black cloak billowing around him, calling out safety rules in a bored monotone.

Harry sighed, resting in the snow and feeling it soak into his Hogwarts uniform. As usual, Snape knew it was him. Harry grinned, and resolved to do it again before the day was up.

Owari