No warnings to report for this chapter apart from a few thoughts of inflicting pain upon others.
WOW, THIS STORY'S GOT TWO REVIEWS, THREE FAVORITES, AND FIVE FOLLOWERS. IT'S A RECORD FOR ME! *dances around* Thank you guys! Have some cookies!
Chapter 2- Monday Mornings in March
Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, did not mornings. All mornings were terrible in his mind, but Mondays were the worst. Monday mornings in March left him with a faint feeling of sticking the first person he saw with a sharpened quill through their eye socket. Repeatedly. He had dwelt on this thought before, but concluded that not even bloodily removing the eyes out of a first year Gryffindor would make him feel any better about Monday mornings, especially ones in March.
What made March the most despicable month for mornings was that it was nearing the end of the school year of one Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not close enough to June to have the students feel like they were almost free of the stone walls for the summer, but far enough away from September that this time of year felt like the school year had gone a millennium one too many. Piled on top of that was end of the year exams that all the professors were stockpiling prep work onto the poor souls who were on the receiving end, NEWTs and OWLs preparations for the older poor souls,and having two or so months to deal with whiny, insolent children and snot nosed adolescents who did nothing but complain about work and hand in deplorable, sad excuses of essays written in sloppy chicken scratch while blowing up cauldrons sky high in his Potions classroom.
Adding to the fact that it was a Monday, after he spent the weekend working on his own projects as well as grading previously said essays and what potions that survived, as well as an entire week of catastrophic potion failures and dunderheads, Snape had all reason to hate Monday mornings in March.
Seated at the head table, the Potions Master's abyssal eyes scanned the slowly filling Great Hall as students trickled in from their dormitories. As every morning, the room was loud, the most noise coming from the scarlet cladded table. Gryffindor; the house of the reckless, the brash, the foolish, the imbeciles, and the pig-headed. They were loud, obnoxious, rude, and dim-witted. No matter what year it was, or what decade for that matter, it remained the same- forever the bane of his existence.
One such bane of life itself sat at that table; the wild haired, bespectacled son of Potter poking at his breakfast. Snape's eyes narrowed at the boy, scowl curling his lips. The boy was mediocre at best in his class- a little better than such in the other classes if the rumors were true. He was rude, pampered, spoiled rotten- he had been told- troublemaker, disregarding all respect for adults, and was constantly running around causing ruckus all around the castle- Snape knew personally- and he was more than happy to put the boy in his place at any given chance.
Yet, over the course of the year, Snape couldn't help but study the boy. He was thin- much too thin than what should be healthy- but he had filled out a little during his months at Hogwarts, losing his more gaunt appearance. He was much shorter than the rest of his peers, even most of the girls had a good few centimeters above the child. From the rumors from his Slytherins, Potter had poor tastes in Muggle clothing that he wore underneath his school robes- too baggy, too ratty. Snape himself had seen the state of his shoes underneath his robes- the converses patched together haphazardly with tape that had slowly been replaced by magical means of repair, although even that didn't do the shoes any justice.
Potter had small quirks that Snape had to take study in order to notice them as well. He would finch ever so slightly when someone unfamiliar would touch him or wasn't expecting it; his eyes would flick about the classroom at the beginning of every lesson, taking note of all the people present before he would drop his gaze to the desk, avoiding eye contact with anyone and anything. In potions, Snape noticed that the boy would cut and chop away at the ingredients without struggle or unevenness- but only if he thought that no one was looking. When his partner, usually the youngest Weasley boy, happened to turn back from doing whatever the redhead does, Potter would quickly look at him, shrug, and dump in whatever he had been preparing into the potion like he didn't even know any better.
His choice of friends and the way he treated them were a bit strange, too. He had that Granger girl regurgitating books from memory while the Weasley boy would talk about anything other than schoolwork. In this group setting, Potter would mostly listen and only speak when a question was directed at him and seemed to gallivant off to cause trouble at every corner. He had the occasion to disappear from the pair- to where, Snape didn't know for sure. However, he had heard through his Snakes that Potter could be seen with either Longbottom or the Weasley twins, if he wasn't alone at all. Yet the boy wouldn't even acknowledge the three if he was with the Muggleborn for the redhead idiot. What was the purpose to have secret friends from his friends? And why those three?
The points from tale to reality weren't matching up, and no matter how much Snape wanted to continue pinning Potter as his father's son, he couldn't. He wasn't and wouldn't be blind to what he saw before him, no matter how much Dumbledore spouted out how Potter was doing just fine at his Muggle residence.
A flurry of feathered wings sounded the arrival of the owls, distracting Snape from his examination of Potter in favor of glancing up. Potter's owl, the large white snowy had come without post- not that he was expecting to see the bird have any anyway. The boy never did get any mail except a casual invite from Hagrid.
An owl with the Daily Prophet made its daily visit to the Potions Master, who took the paper with a slight scowl at the cover. Nothing interesting. Half of it was crock, the other half was advertisement. The latter half tended to be the more interesting part.
Snape tossed the paper down to the side of his plate and was about to reach over to pick up his tea when a small ball of grey feathers seemed to fall straight out of the air and smack dab into the middle the plate of eggs that was situated in front of the man. The professors around him jumped in startlement, and if he wasn't so controlled over his actions, Snape would have done the same. The thing just came out of nowhere!
A head popped out of the platter of eggs, the owl giving a hoot before fluffing up its dripping feathers and took off again, flying about the table in circles, dripping eggs onto the table and its occupants below. The situation hadn't gone unnoticed, as some of the students began to giggle, some of the female population awing over the small bird. It was rather tiny- the letter tied to its leg was almost as big as the Boreal Owl was.
Cuteness wasn't going to get the owl any favors from Snape, who was just about to go for his wand when someone- probably a Hufflepuff- screamed and the ball of feathers was suddenly pinned to the table under massive talons.
This bird, Snape recognized. The white head with distinctive black stripes running down from the eyes like a mask, the red-ringed yellow eyes, the rust-colored feathered chest to the darker wings- this Bearded Vulture had been dubbed Corpus by one man he hadn't seen in years. Although they kept to post almost monthly, Snape never received the massive Corpus when anyone else was around, let alone in the middle of breakfast.
Something was most definitely up.
The red-ringed eyes glared down at the small owl pinned under him, almost warning the much smaller bird before removing the taloned prison. The Boreal hopped up, fluffed its feathers and hopped over to Snape like nothing had happened. The man also glared at the tiny ball of feathers before untying the egg coated letter from the bird. On the back of the letter was a coat of arms- a small dove sitting on top of a shield and crossed pikes behind it. That meant this was a serious letter.
Snape glanced over at Corpus, who was glaring over at Pomona Sprout, who was slowly inching back in her chair, looking rather pale at the sight of the massive bird. Professor Quirrell, who was sitting beside her, looked like he couldn't decide whether to be intrigued or scared out of his turban. The creature was a rare sight, as Bearded Vultures were more commonly known for their uses in Necromancy due to their diet of bone and marrow rather than flesh. Owning one in most of the European world would result in many drawing to the owner to being a Necromancer- which, in most countries, was illegal.
However, Corpus' owner never did care much for following the norm or fretting over suspicions and superstitions.
"A friend of yours?" Dumbledore leaned over, a flick of his hand removing the eggs from both the letter and the small owl, who hooted loudly and fluffed up again, looking quite pleased with itself. The hall, which had been quiet in favor of watching the scene play before them, was filled with hushed "awws" at the tiny bird's antics.
Snape scowled. The awwing stopped.
"No," Snape drawled as he opened the letter. If the man went through all this trouble to get this letter publicized, whatever was in it wasn't worth hiding.
Scanning through the contents, Snape blinked once. Twice. Then let out a small sigh of resignation before handing the letter over to Dumbledore. "He's arriving whether you approve it or not," he said, offering a steak bone to Corpus as the Headmaster read over the letter.
Dear Severus,
I heard of you the other day. It seems that you have been busy since you've gotten your Mastery. I'm so proud of you, my old apprentice.
I have sent this letter not to just congratulate you on your success, but on a more recent situation that has come up.
You see, I will be in England later this week and will drop by to see you. I suppose this is a warning, then, to both yourself and your Headmaster. I will arrive on Friday.
No, it isn't negotiable. And yes, you will still teach classes. Not that you'd cancel them anyway. I am curious as to how to teach the students- and how they react to your more dark and angry-at-the-world attitude. With your personality, you'd probably scarred the poor souls of cauldrons and flobberworms for life.
- Lodovico Gereon.
P.S. The owl's new. I don't know who he belongs to. He just showed up one day and wouldn't leave and demanded to take this letter instead of Corpus. I sent Corpus anyway, in case the poor thing gets lost. I've been calling him Poco- he seems to like it.
With the surprised look on the Headmaster's face, along with the sickened expression on both the students and the other professors' faces while they listened to the crunching and snapping of bone coming from Corpus as he devoured the steak bone, this particular Monday morning in March seemed just a bit better than the rest.
Notes:
I have never done any HP writing before, so I do hope Snape's not-so-sunny attitude is up to par.
Also it is quite obvious things aren't going to follow the books. Warning you again in case you want to back out now.
I would suggest looking up pictures of Boreal owls and Bearded Vultures on Google. They're awesome. The cover for this story is actually a Bearded Vulture.
Also, Corpus is Latin. Probably obvious what it means. Poco is little in Spanish, although it doesn't pertain to sizes, rather amounts, such as a little dash of salt rather than a little owl.
Oh look, the passive introduction of an OC. I wonder if it'll be important...
I like how I'd only got chapter one done and I've already got requests for pairings... Actually, I don't mind at all! It'll give me things to plot in the future! SO PLEASE, SEND ME ANY PAIRING. OR REVIEWS. OR IDEAS. OR, OR, WHATEVER YOU WANT. Please?
(This chapter was posted on March 24, 2014)
Next Chapter: Billowing Cloaks
