A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind reviews and I apologize for the delay on this chapter, but those evil little pixies put a bit of a block on my imagination as far as this story was concerned. Anyway, here is day two of the Teacher Swap. Enjoy.
"Okay, I've changed my mind. I cannot do this." Minerva McGonagall was standing in front of the full-length mirror in her sleeping quarters. She pushed the hair out of her face in order to better inspect her new – or is that old – features. "Look at me! How am I going to get any respect trying to teach a class as a teenager?"
"I forgot how indecisive you used to be," Albus sighed as he heard the despair in his friend's voice. Minerva swirled around quicker than you can say 'Bludger in the broom cupboard!'
"Indecisive? I will have you know I have never in my life been indecisive, Professor." The poisonous inflection on the final word told Albus that today was probably not the best day to be teasing her. As if any day was a good day to tease Minerva McGonagall.
"I think you are just trying to worm your way out of this because you want to go back to bed." Though she would never admit it, the thought was not foreign to Minerva. Neither was it an unwelcome prospect.
"Albus, trying to put me down is not going to make me go out there to prove you wrong and it's very Slytherin of you to even think of such a sly idea!" Minerva's cheeks were now a rosy tint of pink against her pale features.
"What can I say?" He added with his trademark glint in his eye, "I learned from the best." At her outraged glare, he sighed once again and flung himself down to sit upon her bed, which was so soft he began to slowly sink into it. After muttering lightly ("really, how can you sleep on such a catastrophe of a bed?"), he pulled out a small crystal phial from the inside pocket of his garish purple robes.
"What… what are you doing?" Minerva asked, watching the reflection of the green elixir swirling in her friend's hand.
"Well, I had a feeling that you would be apprehensive about this." As Minerva opened her mouth to make a false protest, Albus raised his hand to silence her. "I knew you would not want to do this alone. So I had Severus prepare this for me." He swirled the gloopy green liquid.
"You didn't –"
"As I said, I knew you would not want to do this alone. So we will do it together."
The Great Hall was positively thrumming with the news of yesterday's mishap. While some did not believe it to be true, everybody – barring none – who had not witnessed the event was curious to see whether the rumours were true. Could their Transfiguration Professor truly be a teenager again? Generally, most would dismiss it as poppycock, the mere fantasy of an over-imaginative first-year.
However, the hushed conversations between Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey (whose interaction, in itself, should have been a red flag as they were not accustomed to conducting too much conversation outside of the staffroom) had only served to add fuel to the fire. It was assumed that they must be trying to find an antidote to the little… problem that had arisen.
The assumptions were correct.
A gust of cold wind entered the Great Hall as the vast oak doors swung open, leaving the entire school staring at the two slim figures silhouetted in the doorway.
"Albus, I told you this was a bad idea," whispered the girl into Albus's ear.
"There is no such thing as a bad idea, Minerva; just a good idea that has not quite finished developing yet." She startled at the sudden warmth of his fingers intertwining with hers. As he began to pull her along in his wake, Minerva found herself wondering why Albus would do such a thing for her.
As he began to pull her along in his wake, the school looked on, wide-eyed. The beautiful raven-haired girl was being pulled along by a bony, auburn-haired boy of about the same age. Surprisingly, he wore a pair of Muggle jeans and a bright orange t-shirt with what looked to be phoenixes flapping about it in a strange motif, whereas the girl was wearing a tightly-fitting set of deep red robes. So... not only were the rumours true, they were also surprisingly understated for once.
The entire school, as the cliché says, was holding their breath.
Minerva McGonagall was holding her breath.
Albus Dumbledore was positively beaming. He stepped up to the podium on the raised platform where the staff table stood and pointed his considerably less crooked nose to the enchanted ceiling. As he watched the swirling clouds merging with the early morning sky, the students fixed their gazes steadfastly upon him. His lack of facial hair was a shock to most, but his hair was still relatively long – almost as long as Minerva's, for that matter. When he spoke, it was with a voice almost imperceptibly higher than his usual deep tone.
"My dear children," a familiar twinkle played in his blue eyes, "you know that it is rude to stare." Guilty young heads turned to glance around at their friends and eventually rested their eyes on the floor, while the older students began to snicker. It seems Professor Dumbledore's sense of fun was something he had had even as a teenager. Professor McGonagall, who had been standing silently, looking out over the heads of the students at the Gryffindor table, cleared her throat in a not-terribly-subtle fashion, causing the Headmaster to continue his speech:
"Very well, then I would appreciate it if you would get all of that nonsense out of your systems and could continue through the day as normal… or as normal as is possible for Hogwarts. Anyway, let us hope that no mishaps like yesterday's occur today etcetera, etcetera. Tuck in!"
There was a moment of silent contemplation while the students of Hogwarts tried to overcome the peculiarity of the circumstances. Ronald Weasley, however, did not need telling twice when it came to food.
Harry, Ron and Hermione, getting caught in the floods of students rushing from the Great Hall after a somewhat awkward breakfast, were being pushed towards the Transfiguration classroom on the first floor. Waiting to be beckoned inside, Harry left the surreal feeling he had developed and started to wonder who would be their Professor for the morning.
His question was granted when Professor Sinistra, of the Astronomy department, stepped into the corridor.
"Good morning, class," she chirruped in her usual upbeat manner. Unwilling to reply like mere children, the students filed into the room in silence.
"Today, we will be learning how to…" Professor Sinistra picked up a piece of parchment laced in familiar emerald green writing. "How to… transfigure a… table… into a…" She was squinting at the parchment now, evidently struggling to read it. "What does that-?" Some particularly unpleasant Slytherins started to snicker from the corner.
Hermione raised a hand. "Professor, can I -?"
"That will not be necessary, thank you, Miss Granger. Today we shall be learning to transfigure mice into an animal of your choice." While certain that this was not what was written on the parchment, the class suddenly perked up; something disastrous inevitably happened whenever live animals were introduced to Transfiguration class. Usually as a result of Neville Longbottom's attempts. Besides, what sort of teenager does not possess a hunger for the disastrous?
After watching Professor Sinistra transform her mice into an elegant peacock with a lazy flick of her wand, the students – both Slytherin and Gryffindor – were eager to get started. It was certain that Professor Sinistra's light, almost effortless, style of transfiguration was quite different from what the students were accustomed to seeing from Professor McGonagall's fluid and intensely concentrated movements. However, she seemed to be just as apt with this level of Transfiguration as with Astronomy.
The class saw several ambitious attempts, to say the least. Ron's mouse, which he had attempted to turn into a komodo dragon – a creature which he had stumbled upon in an old Muggle book he had found in his father's study –, had gained wide, lizard-like eyes and a scaly coating atop its fur but had remained otherwise unchanged. Malfoy, annoyingly, had managed to form a half-decent snake from his mouse. However, to Harry's immense pleasure, it still sported two small, pink-lined ears. Hermione had, of course, created a perfect otter from her mouse. One would struggle to tell that it had, in fact, started its life as a small rodent.
The less said about Harry's lion cub, the better.
Professor Minerva McGonagall was having trouble. She hated herself for admitting it, seeing it as a wretched white flag, but there it was. She was struggling.
After a quarter of an hour of shamelessly blatant references to her appearance, Minerva McGonagall had had enough. These children were in no mood to learn any new charms.
"Professor," asked a particularly daring Ravenclaw student, whom she recognized as Edward Richmond, "May I ask you a question?"
"I believe that you just did, Mr. Richmond." Seeing his look of slight annoyance at having been used a s a joke, she added, "But you may ask me another if you wish."
"Well, I was just wondering whether," he paused then, gathering whatever courage he had, continued quickly, "I wondered whether you would consider-maybe-helping-me-with-my-homework."
Professor McGonagall quirked a brow and pushed thick black locks of hair from her face. "And what homework would that be, Mr. Richmond."
"You know, it has completely slipped my mind. It's in my dormitory. Perhaps you would consider coming with me to help me find it."
Minerva sighed.
She forced her back to become a little straighter (if that were at all physically possible) as she stood before Professor Flitwick's cluttered desk. She was about to do the unthinkable. Something only a woman who had been forced to attend summer stage school as a child would think of attempting. Appeal to your audience. Make them think you understand them, even if you do not. Sometimes one finds strange nuggets of advice in otherwise useless conversations, she thought.
"Okay, why don't you all get this out of your systems so we can start learning some charms? Oh, and before you ask, Mr. Richmond, the answer to your request is definitely not. Well, come on then! Give me the best you've got." The entire class trembled with a heady mix of fear and confusion. When nobody replied, Minerva added, "So when you are asked for it, you lose your nerves? Come on, since when has a teacher ever asked you to insult them? I'm sure you will never get this opportunity again, so just do it."
"Fred thinks you're fit," George Weasley blurted out finally.
"So does George."
"Will you show us your -?" This one was quickly cut off by Minerva's shout of "NO!". She had no desire to hear the remainder of that question.
"I like your hair." If she was honest, Minerva thought this one was quite sweet and reminded herself to add five points to Hufflepuff for sheer flattery.
"I think you'd be great in bed." Minerva started a little at this but restrained herself from commenting.
"I'd like to be in your bed." This one almost made her choke.
"I think those robes show off your perfect –"
"That is quite enough, thank you. You know, I have had the feeling that someone was mentally undressing me but, for me, that's normal." Now it was the class's turn to be stunned. It was short-lived, however, as the Weasley twins launched into an infectious round of laughter.
"Well, now we have got that out of our systems, I will not be starting a romantic relationship with any of you; firstly because you are all my students and that would be highly inappropriate. Secondly, because I am happily married (believe it or not). Also, I don't find any of you attractive in the slightest." Several faces dropped as the hope was ripped from their chests in one swift blow. "Now, Cushioning Charms…"
Harry, Ron and Hermione, having just had a rather splendid break time, in which they listened to the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan concocting a brand new prank to be played. Harry saw it as a rare treat, getting to hear the masters at work, building up a spectacular event from the bare sketches of an idea. Rather akin to a writer breathing life into a story that has just strolled into their mind.
The three of them were now heading towards the grounds, where they would be receiving their first flying lesson of the year (they became much less frequent as students progressed through the school). As they approached the broom store, where all of the school's brooms were kept, Harry almost dropped his Nimbus 2000.
Severus Snape was summoning the brooms and levitating them into a straight line.
Snape!
Of all people!
Ron, who had cottoned on a fraction of a second later than Harry, almost choked on thin air. He bit back an imminent laugh as he approached the Potions Master cheerfully and said:
"Morning, Professor!"
"There is nothing to be quite so cheerful about, Weasley. You are about to fall off of a broomstick." Unsure whether Snape's snarled reply was meant as a threat or some kind of dark joke, Ron sloped back to Harry and Hermione, who were snickering privately. So much for best mates, he thought, secretly knowing that, if it were Harry in his position, he would be doing exactly the same.
Once the rest of the class had congregated, Professor Snape called out:
"Before we start, we will establish the basic rules of today's lesson. Firstly, there will be no interrupting me unless somebody is foolish enough to endanger their own life. Secondly, anybody flying higher than the fifth floor will receive a detention. Anybody flying too far afield will receive a detention. Anybody disobeying these rules in any way will receive a detention. Have I made myself clear?"
The class shuffled their feet next to the brooms they had each been assigned and murmured a quiet "Yes, Professor Snape." Harry, for one, was outraged. No higher than the fifth floor? What does he expect us to do for a whole hour? Cut the grass with our brooms?
"Now, on the count of three, you will begin the basic procedure for summoning your broomsticks. One, two – what is it, Longbottom?"
Neville, who had had his hand in the air, felt the colour seep away from his face as if his head had been a balloon that was popped by a particularly nasty pin.
"It's j-just," Neville stuttered. "J-just th-that…"
"Spit it out, Longbottom."
"I wondered w-whether y-you could… c-could show us, Professor?"
Neville seemed to have been expecting Snape's immediate wrath as, when the Potion Master's face dropped, he looked rather confused.
"Longbottom, I presume you heard my first rule?" Neville inclined his head clumsily. "Do you see anybody in mortal danger? No. Then I suggest that you cease interrupting me, unless you find yourself yearning for a detention." Snape was almost shouting by now, though this was for reasons unknown by the students. Neville had, after all, only asked a simple question. "If you have trouble pronouncing the word 'up', I strongly suggest you that you find another class."
Neville did not reply to the angry Professor's quite unreasonable attack.
"Right. One, two, three." Thirty brooms lifted up into the hands of the students standing above them. At least, Severus thought, they have managed to get this far in three years.
"Now, you will mount your broomsticks and hover – yes, only hover, Potter – above the ground." Snape paced the grass, speaking in clipped military tones. The class of Gryffindors and Slytherins picked up from the ground and managed to hover slightly. Admittedly, Longbottom was wavering nervously and Granger was just about managing to get this far but, as Severus walked straight across the rows of students, scrutinizing the forms of each, he could not help but think that Hooch was doing her job right.
The class progressed slowly, much to the frustration of those students who had been blessed with good balance on a broomstick. They had just reached the point where they were all flying slowly around the level of the second floor when Goyle began to rush upwards, spiraling towards the darkening clouds, a firework out of control.
"Goyle! Get down here this instant!" Snape's irate bellowing was ignored by the brute, who was groaning loudly while his broom jerked and flinched, seemingly in pain. "Goyle!"
Professor Snape seemed almost scared – almost – as he snatched a school broom from the hands of Hermione Granger. He kicked off from the ground, wobbling precariously upwards. Harry was torn between laughter and surprising concern as he watched his Potions instructor struggling with his broomstick. Ron, it seemed was willing him to fall from it.
Just as Harry was about to grab his broom and head to the rescue, a loud voice rang out:
"Severus!" It was Professor Dumbledore. The class turned to find him running, long auburn hair tied behind him, full-speed towards them. He jumped on a broom and sped lithely towards the student and professor. With a little light coercion from the teenage Headmaster, Professor Snape allowed himself to be lowered magically to the ground, where a cunningly placed Cushioning charm would help him should he fall. Goyle's broom had stopped bucking like a bull and was already being directed to terra firma.
Snape's face as his feet touched the ground was even more pallid than usual. He barely had his groundings before he swept away quickly, bellowing "Class dismissed!" as he half-jogged back to the castle.
Ron was doubled over.
Suffice to say, he received a sharp clip to the side of his head from both Hermione and Harry.
Later, in the Great Hall, the school was settling down peacefully (well, as close to peaceful as ever happened in Hogwarts) to a sumptuous roast dinner. Ronald was still basking in the bittersweet delight of having seen his least favourite Professor utterly humiliated. On the one hand, Harry thought, it was quite funny. However, it also meant that Snape would probably try to murder them the next time he saw them.
Or worse.
Hermione could not contain herself and was intermittently glancing up at the Staff table; more often than she was looking at her dinner, in fact.
Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy was doing the same thing.
"Severus, tell me you have found an antidote," pleaded a somewhat distressed Minerva McGonagall.
"I am afraid your lack of basic manners has made me forget everything I have learned today about antidotes to this particular De-aging potion." His lips curled in a cruel smirk. He needed to have some power at this point; it would make his day.
"Oh, don't be like that, Mr. Snape." The name made him shudder. She had rarely called him that since he was a student at Hogwarts, and when she had, she had been in a diabolical mood with him.
"There is no antidote."
"What?" Her voice trembled, disbelieving.
"The word is 'pardon.'" Severus could not resist pushing her. In her current state, he knew, she would do anything to get back to normal.
"Shut up. What do you mean there is no antidote?"
"I mean exactly that. There is no quick-fix cure." Her face dropped. "However, from the dregs of Longbottom's potion that I managed to salvage, it seemed to be fairly weak and so it should wear off in about a week."
"A week? One day has been hell! I have received offers for sexual favours from more than five different students! What am I going to do, Severus?"
"Steel yourself." Surprised that Severus hadn't made a joke about students coming on to her, Minerva finally faced him. He had an empty plate but was still staring down at it. Unbeknownst to most, he ate a lot when he was stressed. Unbeknownst to him, Minerva had worked this out years ago.
She realised that she had not touched her own meal for the same reasons that he had not touched his. This 'teacher swap' - or whatever Albus had called it - was a terrible idea. She pushed her plate in front of him and, when he looked up questioningly at her, gave him a knowing smile.
"It's been a tough day."
Grateful for her insight and the fact that she had not been nosey – or perhaps interested – enough to begin questioning him about it, Severus began to pick at the food from Minerva's plate while she turned the other way to engage in animated conversation with the Headmaster (some debate about whether Bertie Bott's were, indeed, the lowest point in British sweet production). It was not long before Severus's head was beginning to feel heavy.
It was as though the table before him had suddenly become a giant cushion. Heat surged through his veins. Comforting warmth seeped out into his pores and wrapped him in a tight embrace.
Then everything went black.
A/N: Did anyone spot the JKR reference in this chapter? House points if you did! Next chapter coming soon since I have demolished the writer's block with a sledgehammer… which was fun…
