Chapter Two:


Silence reigned in the Great Hall. All eyes turned towards the Head Table, and in turn, to Professor Snape, taking in his fearsome expression which was in no way belied by his ridiculous statement.

In those few, frozen seconds Hermione felt the hair rise on the back of her neck.

Oh no. The item.

She had meant to put it back. She really, really had.

But then Ron and Harry had turned up, babbling about Quidditch and nicknames and she had completely shit, she was in so much trouble. Judging by the expression on Professor Snape's face, she should seriously consider packing in preparation for spending the next fifty years hiding in Nebraska, by which time Professor Snape should have developed rheumatism, and be easy to run away from.

"Err, Hermione?" someone whispered softly across to her. She peeped up over the edge of the table into a pair of worried green eyes.

Ron was still staring, dumbstruck, at the staff table. Harry however hastily made slight chivvying movements with his hands until Hermione realised she had slipped down as low as she could in her seat. Unless she wanted to give the game up, or hide under the table, she would have to act more naturally.

Seamus' surreptitious hand pulling her up by her hair helped her decision making.

Whispers were starting to break out; students were speculating on who could be brave enough to pull a prank on the 'Dungeon Bat'.

Hermione peeped up at the Head Table again, in time to see Dumbledore lean over and offer the most garish soup spoon in the history of the planet to the irate Professor. The Professor in question stared at Dumbledore before letting his lip curl.

In a sudden flurry of movement, he threw back his chair, and, with a face like thunder, stormed towards the staff door. Placing his hand on the handle, he paused, turned, and shot the most venomous look she had even seen from him.

At Harry.

The boom of the door slamming echoed around the noiseless hall, causing several First Years to flinch. The dramatic atmosphere was somewhat mitigated by the Headmaster purposefully spilling soup down his beard.

Most of the students burst out laughing, and promptly forgot about Professor Snape's latest temper fit, as the more important subjects of Quidditch, love-lives and detentions took precedence in their woolly minds. Hermione turned back to a still-gobsmacked Ron and a very pale Harry Potter.

"My," Ron swallowed to clear his dry throat. "My God, I thought he would make a fuss, but nothing like that! I mean, it's-it's, it's a spoon!"

"Great input there Ron," Harry remarked sardonically. "Thanks to your brilliant idea for a prank, I am now in soooo much trouble. And I didn't even have anything to do with it this time!"

"But, that now means that we're going to have a hell of a time completing the rest of the prank with him on super-paranoid-Snape-mode!" Ron moaned.

Hermione gaped. Harry gaped. They both gaped for an indefinite amount of time at the crazy person who had abducted Ron's body before Hermione found her voice again.

"Ron," she said, very slowly and carefully, "what part of our reactions to Snape's outburst gave you the impression that we would in any way help you with any more pranks against him?"

Ron brightened. "Hermione, you didn't say Professor Snape! We knew constantly tutoring you in being disrespectful to teachers would pay off eventually!" He grinned in a self-satisfied kind-of way at Harry. Harry observed him in the same way he would some new bacterial culture discovered at the back of the fridge under the cheese.

"Don't avoid the issue!" Hermione snapped.

Ron's face fell. "But Hermione-" he whined.

"No buts!" Hermione shoved her hair out of her face, like a woman driven to distraction. "I'll tell you what we're going to do! We're going to go up to the Common Room right now, put up a Silencing charm and… and figure something out!"

She jumped out from the bench, grabbed her schoolbag and stormed out of the Great Hall with nary a backward glance.

"Wow, look," Ron muttered, "a mini-Snape with better hair... But only just."

Harry nodded dumbly, and, with a dazed expression still firmly in place, picked up his pumpkin juice and poured it diligently into his schoolbag.

oooOOOooo

Teeth bared, air whistling between them with each heavy breath, Severus Snape stormed down to the dungeons. Of all the… If he ever… Nasty little… So distressed he could not even form coherent thoughts, he sped up, and listened to the sharp snapping sound of his boots on stone. Normally this soothed his irascible temper so much that he could spend hours roaming the empty corridors after curfew but it was obvious that more drastic measures were necessary tonight.

Minerva was wrong. He wasn't attached to his students in any way; the only use for any of them was as intimidation practice. Oh, what wouldn't he give for the chance to melt them all down and use them as caldron lining! Imbeciles, every last one of them!

His pace increased again, until his robe material looked like it was suspended mid-air, and until any normal man would have found it difficult to keep up with him, even if the man in question was sprinting. It was Potter; he just knew it was Potter. Arrogant, insolent, rule-defying whelp! How dare he steal his spoon!

Entering yet another dungeon corridor, he halted, and yanked viciously on the third wall-bracket from the left while muttering, "Paisley porridge." Not even Dumbledore would guess that one!

Then he was across the flagstones and onto the hearth rug, his footsteps becoming muffled by the thick pile. The impromptu silence was more than made up for by the boom of the fireplace roaring to life following his incandescent Incendio.

Severus stormed around the room, quickly checking off the items he needed: Firewhiskey, chair at the right angle, obscure Potions book prepped for angry reading. Thus equipped, Severus flung himself down – glass and tome in hand – into his favourite squashy armchair, and propped his feet on the coffee table as he went. Ahhh, much better. Who needed chocolate when you had comfort, quality liquor and a good book to snark at?

Severus immersed himself in the text, muttering fervently at the inconsistencies and stretches of logic contained within – firelight flickering on his face, Firewhiskey warming his belly. The raging inferno tearing at his chest whirled slower, then stilled. Severus unconsciously sunk deeper into his chair, eyelids drooping as hours passed and calm returned. Soon he would begin plotting how to get back at whoever had stolen his spoon, soon... but not just yet.

Severus slowly became aware of a sound in his chambers, repeated at regular intervals. He shook his head and leaned further over his book, but the sound persisted and he slowly registered it as his own name.

Eventually, breathing an irritable sigh, he raised his head, which brought the grinning faces of Minerva and Albus into view. The rest of them had been seated on his sofa for quite some time.

Severus groaned, just what he needed right now; a visit from Pinkie and Perky. And just how did they get into his chambers in the first place?