Joshua DeJarnette had insulted your mother.
You, in turn, had rearranged his smug Slytherin face.
With your fists.
It perhaps was not your finest moment. 'Do no harm' often took a back seat to 'take no shit', especially when your mothers reputation was involved. Not that you were prone to fist fights, but you had been in enough of them in primary school to know what you were doing. You weren't a bully. No, more often you were the one being bullied, and you'd learned to defend yourself any way you could.
Your mother had you out of wedlock when she was 23. In fact, she couldn't even put a name or a face to the man who had sired you, who'd apparently been a wizard. She believed you'd been conceived in the back of a split window bus at a music festival in 1971, but even of that she couldn't be certain. It never bothered you as a child that you didn't have a father, or that your mother didn't have much money, or that strange things seemed to happen around you when you were feeling sad or scared. But it sure seemed to bother everyone else, and these facts had been their ammunition.
You'd hoped to leave all of that stigma behind when you started attending Hogwarts. You could carve out a new identity for yourself. No one had to know that you were poor, or that you didn't have a dad. But it somehow still managed to become a hot topic in your third year anyway. Anything meant to stay secret at Hogwarts became public knowledge in no time it seemed, especially when there were paintings and ghosts that could gossip. Even so, you thought that it wouldn't be a big deal; it wasn't as if you were the only half-blood in the school. And yet, you stood out. Because while the other half-bloods had been raised with at least some knowledge of the wizarding world, you had not. You were about as well informed as any muggle-born, and you flaunted your ignorance with your use of muggle school supplies, your obsession with muggle music, and your affinity for muggle fashion. And apparently, to those whom actually cared about such trivial things as blood status, this was a grievous offense.
And thus began the spread of poison. The half-blood witch with only one parent, and it was the muggle one! Father was a wizard and she never even knew! What a travesty. How unfortunate that she had grown up without any magical traditions. Poor, poor thing. How had she ever gotten by without the conveniences and solutions that magic offered? Must have been a hard life! And her mother! Never even got to know the bloke well enough to know he was magic? What a slu-
Your knuckles still throbbed from where they'd collided with DeJarnette's face. You'd managed to tackle him to the ground and land three good hits on the boy's cheek, jaw and brow before you'd been pulled off of him by Professor McGonagall by the scruff of your robes, the sound of her shouts drowned out by the din of cheering and hissing from the other students around you in the entrance hall. You'd been immensely pleased with yourself, and goddamn it, you still were. He'd never even had the chance to reach for his wand, and probably never imagined you'd just go for it with your bare hands. You were tempted to ask during your reprimand if there had ever been a case of a Hufflepuff punching out a Slytherin before this, but you thought maybe you weren't supposed to be quite so openly proud of yourself. All of the house point deductions and detentions in the world would never actually make you feel sorry for what you'd done. The only thing you regretted was the dull ache in your hand, and not getting a fourth hit in on his nose.
And maybe you kind of regretted not wearing a sweater for your nighttime detention in the dungeons, but you'd remember to bring one tomorrow.
Of course, you'd both gotten into massive trouble. There had been enough witnesses to report that you were severely provoked, and the evidence of your own retaliation was all over DeJarnette's face in deep, plum colored splotches. You'd both lost a hefty amount of house points, and you'd both been sentenced to a week's worth of detentions with the opposing houses Head. You imagined DeJarnette was in the greenhouses with Professor Sprout at the moment, and you dearly hoped the bastard was elbow deep in dragon shit compost right about now.
You, on the other hand, found yourself in the frigid dungeons, but honestly, the circumstances were quite favorable to you. You were certain not to learn a single moral lesson from this entire ordeal; you'd gotten to punch a total prat in the face, and you were then summarily rewarded with the opportunity to snoop around Snape's collection of ingredients and potions as your punishment. It was as though Christmas had come early for Gwendolyn Goode.
Your job was simple; dust, re-label and sort the ingredients and potions in Snape's office. It was a massive endeavor that would likely take the full week, and frankly, you were ecstatic for the opportunity. Even the nature of this punishment was exhilarating. On the outside, it was tedious drudge work, which involved becoming very dusty, getting up close and personal with dead, slimy things in jars, as well as risking possible exposure to some highly dangerous potions and poisons (it wasn't a Hogwarts detention if it wasn't potentially life threatening!).
However, to you, it spoke of a whole new level of respect reached between yourself and the Potions Master. He trusted you, with his private stores. He thought you capable enough to handle these rare and expensive ingredients without damaging them, as well as knowledgeable enough to identify their contents and affix them with fresh labels. The fact that these new labels would be in your own handwriting had its own sort of thrill, like you were leaving your mark on something important. He could have had you scrub cauldrons or separate spider parts or something equally gross. Instead, he'd given you a project he likely wanted to do himself, but didn't have the time for. You knew Snape wouldn't have given this sort of detention to just any dunderhead. He'd given it to you.
Your rapport with Professor Snape had improved considerably since last term. Though your second year had gotten off to a bit of a rocky start, your fears of his retribution after the incident with your 'gift' had been unfounded. You stayed in your lane, and he stayed in his. Your dedication to the craft had paid off, and not only did you receive high marks, you had ended up at the top of your year. You were told that it had been the first time in 14 years that anyone outside of Slytherin had headed the class in Potions. You weren't breaking records yet (you could only guess who held those) but you thought perhaps you were well on your way to. You hadn't just been posturing when you'd shouted in Snape's face that you were actually good; you'd proved it to him. And, at the start of your third year, he had accepted your gift of another supply of red pens with only a curt nod and a brusque expression of gratitude.
Neither of you had said much since you'd arrived in the dungeons after dinner to receive your punishment. Snape had explained what you were to do, showed you the new labels you were to use, taught you a quick sticking and unsticking charm for said labels (he didn't have the patience to make you pick them off or glue them on manually), and had left you to it while he sat at his desk, grading papers. The silence was only punctuated by the scribble of pen on parchment, the clink of jars and glasses, and the soft whisper of your spell work.
Presently, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor behind Snape's desk, an incredibly large jar containing what looked to be an entire preserved Glower Eel resting in your lap. Its ropey black body was curled in a spiral that pressed against the glass of the jar, while its head bobbed lifelessly towards the top, a mouth full of needle like teeth gaping open at you. What impressed you most was that it was still glowing, the spots and ridges that speckled the length of its sinewy form shone with faint, earie yellow light, despite how very dead the animal clearly was. You'd already written and affixed the label to the glass, but you were taking your time admiring the morbid beauty of this… corpse. What was it even used for? Why did Snape keep it? It looked more like a taxidermy display than a useable ingredient for anything. You knew the properties of certain parts of this fish, most of which were rare ingredients for complicated potions. But what was the purpose of keeping the whole thing?
"I don't hear you working," came a smooth drawl from just behind you, and you gasped as you clutched the giant jar to your body in fright. Jesus! Did he want you to drop it? Was he just waiting for the opportunity to get you to shatter something? Now that would be the real drudge work; cleaning up shards of glass and priceless Glower Eel entrails off of a dungeon floor.
"Sorry, sir," you muttered, shifting on to your knees (your arse had gone numb from the frozen dungeon floor) and sliding the jar onto the bottom shelf. It seemed a shame to keep it down there. It should be proudly displayed on the mantelpiece or something. It was too pretty to keep all the way down here… But that's where the G's were located, along with Gillyweed, Ghost Slugs and Graphorn horn, just to name a few.
"I appreciate that you're taking your time with this." You heard the creak of leather and wood behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Snape leaning back in his chair, twisted around so he could observe you, and of course, hit you with yet another shrewd look and arched brow. "However, I'm getting the distinct impression that you're enjoying yourself entirely too much."
You could feel the flush spreading over your cheeks at that. Caught red handed. Damn it! You should have made more of an effort to pretend that this totally sucked or something. Now maybe you would end up scrubbing cauldrons… Instead of admitting that, yes, you actually were enjoying yourself, you returned your attention to the Glower Eel. Placing your hand on the jar, you ran your fingertips along the curve of its twisted body before asking, "Why do you keep the whole thing?"
There was a moment's pause, followed by a quiet "Pardon?"
You looked over your shoulder to face him again, and you found him regarding you with a slightly less intimidating look. Keen as always, but at least now he didn't look irritated with you. "The Glower Eel," you questioned. "Why do you keep the whole eel, instead of breaking it down into parts? Wouldn't it be easier to store just the things you need? It's… kind of big, to be preserving the entire fish."
There was another beat of silence, as if Snape was debating whether or not to indulge your curiosity, or rebuke your obvious attempt to change the subject. Tapping his pen against his desk a few times, he came to his decision and committed to it by dropping the pen and shifting his chair to face you more easily. You remained knelt down on the floor, and he leaned one elbow against the arm of his chair, lacing his fingers in his lap before crossing one knee over the other. "What are the essential parts of the Glower Eel in regards to potion making?" he questioned, in full on Potions Master mode.
You perked up, eager for a chance to learn something new. "The teeth, eyes, and… uh… glowy… bits." You closed your eyes and mentally pinched yourself. Yeah, great job showing off there, genius. When you cracked open one eye, you could tell he was trying to refrain from openly laughing at you.
"Bioluminescence," he provided, though it had the air of a simple correction, and not an insult. "In this case, caused by the symbiosis between fish and bioluminescent bacteria. The bacterial colonies themselves have very powerful magical properties when thriving, and are used exclusively in some… more esoteric potions. The glow of the bacteria attract prey towards the eel, the eel gets to eat, and the bacteria reap the benefit of feeding off of a living host."
Your eyes snapped anxiously back to the jar as you jerked your hand away from it, as if it would jump to life and snap at you through the glass right as Snape said the word 'living'. This time he did let out an audible snort, and he shook his head, massaging his temple with two fingers.
"The eel is quite dead, Miss Goode, I can assure you. However it is suspended in a Stasis Solution. Almost everything in here is." He waved one hand absently at the shelves of jars you had yet to go through, your gaze hopping to the larger specimens, which were all fully preserved, instead of being broken down. "What is Stasis Solution used for, again, in regards to potion making."
You knew this one, and not in a 'glowy bits' sort of way. "It's a magical preservative for whole, wet ingredients," you explained. "It keeps them as fresh and potent as the moment they were collected, with minimal degradation, and is entirely reversible. It doesn't interfere with the magical attributes of the ingredient when you do eventually use it in a potion." You tried not to look too hopeful that you'd gotten that right.
Snape quirked a brow, perhaps mildly impressed with you, and he nodded once. "Very good. One point to Hufflepuff." You beamed, but it fell off of your face instantly as you remembered you were supposed to be hating detention or whatever. Snape shook his head, amused, before he continued. "So, I have an eel, which contains some perfectly functional ingredients in its own right. I also have these bacterial colonies, which are incredibly valuable, but are only useable if they're alive. And in order to stay alive, they need a host to feed off of, even if the host is the carcass of a dead fish. So…?" He trailed off, clearly leaving his sentence hanging with the intent of you filling in the blank.
And you thought you understood now, nodding slowly as you turned back to the specimen, running your finger over the glass to play connect-the-dots with the dimly glowing spots adorning the eel's skin. "So, if you broke it down now, the bacterial colonies would no longer have a host, and they would die. And if they died, they would become impotent. So you keep the whole eel, not to preserve the eel, but to preserve the colonies."
This time, he actually did look pleased with you, smirking slightly as he nodded once more. "Excellent deduction, Miss Goode. Another point to Hufflepuff." He looked away from you then, turning his attention toward some of the other large jars adorning his shelves. "As you can see, the Glower Eel isn't the only full body specimen I have. There are several ingredients that ought to be housed within the complete cadaver to remain viable. Suriname toad eggs, acromantula venom sacs, mortis bat spleens. You could extract them prematurely and store them separately, but they wouldn't have the same powerful effect as they do when they're fresh. When they're needed, I dissect them and harvest the parts myself, and then I sort whatever common ingredients are left. Teeth, eyes, fur, what have you."
Snape explained this all very casually, just another day in the potions lab, but you experienced an odd sort of delight at the word 'dissect.' Before you could stop yourself, you were leaning forward eagerly to catch his eye. "I dissected a frog in biology class once! Will we get to dissect anything in class?"
Your candor was met with stony silence and an incredulous look, and you mentally kicked yourself for getting overly excited. You probably sounded like a real creep now, getting hyped up at the prospect of cutting up dead animals. But dissecting that frog had been the most interesting thing you'd ever done in the whole of your muggle schooling career. You could only imagine the strange and bizarre things you could discover while studying the innards of magical creatures.
But instead of dismissing you outright, Snape canted his head with a thoughtful tilt. "If you pass your O.W.L.s with an Outstanding and make it into my N.E.W.T. level class, you just might." You perked up at that, ready to launch into another series of questions about what sorts of things you might get to dissect, and what sort of potions you might get to make with them, when he raised a hand to silence you. "Now, I believe you've distracted me from your detention for quite long enough, Miss Goode. And we haven't even discussed your behavior from today."
You cringed. Right. Your behavior. You certainly weren't looking forward to this portion of the evening. With a heavy sigh, you managed to lug yourself up from your kneeling position, brushing dust from your knees, and your robe, and your skirt, and god it was just everywhere what was even the point? You tried not to sigh again because you didn't want to sound petulant, but a small huff escaped you anyway as the dust remained stubbornly affixed to your person. Sparing a quick glance at Snape, who stared back at you with an unamused scowl, you winced as you made your way around to the front of his desk. After pulling his chair back into place, he leaned his elbows onto his desk and motioned vaguely with one hand, "Have a seat, Miss Goode."
You spun around awkwardly, before realizing that his absent hand gesture had actually summoned you a chair, which you were pretty sure hadn't been there just a second ago. Sinking into the worn brown leather, you closed your eyes a moment and allowed yourself to relax into its relative comfort. It was certainly a step above "arse freezing stone dungeon floor" and the soft leather under your fingers felt warm in comparison. You hadn't realized just how tired you were until this very moment, and the temptation to curl up and pass out in this cozy little chair was powerful. But you forced your eyes open, and you forced them to focus on your Professor, and you did your best to school your features into the appearance of contrition. But it was quite futile as you still weren't sorry for anything, and you weren't as good at masking your emotions as Snape was.
And Snape seemed to pick up on that as he laced his fingers together and tucked his clasped hands up under his chin. He regarded you, studying your posture and your warring expression, before asking, "What, exactly, did Mr. DeJarnette say to you this morning?"
You blanched, your face screwing up with apprehension. Was he really going to make you repeat it? "Didn't Professor McGonagall tell you what happened?" you asked hopefully, wanting to avoid having to say the words yourself.
Snape closed his eyes, nodding his assent briefly. "She explained that there had been an altercation. Mr. DeJarnette had apparently said some fairly appalling things, but Professor McGonagall was rather reluctant to repeat them out loud. I need to understand the nature of this incident, so that I may assess it properly. Because of this, I'd like to hear, directly from you, the sort of inexcusable filth that would prompt a Hufflepuff to respond with physical violence."
You frowned at this, unsure of his intentions. Was he trying to determine if your actions had been justified? Or did he think there was a possibility you'd over reacted, that you were just an overtly sensitive girl? You bristled at the very notion, and you desperately hoped that was not the case; that he knew you a little better than that. On the other hand, he described whatever had been said as 'inexcusable filth'. Perhaps he was just trying to gauge if what DeJarnette said had actually been deserving of such a visceral response from you. Maybe he was leaning more towards your side. At least he was asking you, and not DeJarnette. Sighing through your nose, you clutched your fingers around the arms of the chair as you looked directly at him, your face hardening as you reluctantly explained, "He called my mother a sleazy muggle whore with a taste for good wizard cock."
Snape's entire body stiffened, a brief flicker of utter revulsion shadowing his features, before he let out an exhausted groan and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. You felt this reaction was in your favor, and you relaxed slightly. You were probably still in trouble, but you didn't believe his disgust rested with you.
"Miss Goode," Snape breathed, folding his fingers together again and resting them against his desk. "Allow me to extend my deepest apologies on behalf of Slytherin House. I'll have you know that I personally do not tolerate any sort of vulgar language or prejudiced ideals in my House." It was your turn to arch an incredulous eyebrow, and he narrowed his eyes at your cheekiness. "I did not say I speak on behalf of Mr. DeJarnette himself. In fact I'm quite certain he is just as unrepentant of his actions as you are of your own." He paused, sighing again as he dropped his gaze away from yours, an act that made you sit up a little straighter. It was unusual for Snape not to meet someone else's eyes. He seemed to be considering his words carefully.
"The majority of Slytherin students are the children of ancient pure-blood stock who hold some… outdated beliefs," he explained delicately, but you hardly needed the explanation. You were well aware of this. Everyone was. Still, he pressed on. "You must understand, that no amount of disciplinary action, or even good talking to's on my part are going to do anything to change the mind of children raised with that sort of indoctrination, nor is it my place to try. All I can do is attempt to set a good example, and make sure their positive growth is rewarded and encouraged in an attempt to steer them in the right direction, rather than actively discourage them from going down the wrong path."
This… had you slightly taken aback. It made sense, you guessed. People like DeJarnette were really unlikely to change their minds about their beliefs. Not that people couldn't change, it's just that the chances were slim, unless something drastic took place. And simply telling them what they did or said or thought was wrong would likely make them even more resentful, most especially when teenage boys were involved. You knew a week's worth of detention wasn't going to make him feel bad for insulting your mother. In fact it would probably just strengthen his belief that you were trash, since you'd gotten him into this trouble. It was the part about encouraging their growth that made you dubious, and curious.
"Is that why you favor the Slytherins the way you do?" you probed, unable to keep the question in your mouth. There was no hope for it. You were just destined to keep falling out of line tonight. You winced, wishing you'd maybe chosen your words more carefully, but it was too late now.
Snape, however, nodded once in confirmation. "There's more to it than that, but that is part of it. Slytherins, by their own doing, tend to isolate themselves from the rest of the school. Relationships between Slytherins and other houses are often rare, unless they were perhaps developed previous to attending Hogwarts." He looked pensive, distant, just for a moment, before he shook his head minutely. "I digress. I tend to favor my own house because frankly, they don't have anyone else. Without their parents, they are in need of a stable adult to rely on, which is the role I play as their Head of House. And, as you've learned, I'm not a terribly likable person, and showing them preferential treatment is one of the few ways I can get them to trust me enough to be approachable."
You were surprised that Snape was telling you all of this. You wondered if this was part of the trust that had blossomed between you, or if he was hedging because he knew he'd never be able to guarantee remorse from DeJarnette. Or any of his students for that matter. You were touched that he'd taken the time to explain this to you, as it did sort of make you feel better, in a way. You had a better understanding of why some Slytherins treated you like dirt, and why they'd never feel bad about it. Perhaps you could stop taking all of their poisonous jabs so personally…
Grinning a little, you shrugged your shoulders in response to his last statement. "I dunno, Professor. I like you just fine." You looked upwards toward the ceiling then, tapping your chin in an exaggerated gesture of deep thought. "Then again, it did take like two and a half years. And lots of pen-based bribery…" You chanced a look back to him, and were met with a withering stare, but instead of shrinking back, you just smiled more broadly.
Snape dropped his head, greasy curtains of hair hiding what you suspected was the smallest of smirks behind them, and you couldn't help but feel pleased. He raised his head moments later, strict features schooled back into place to tell you, "Congratulations Miss Goode, you have just lost the two points you earned for Hufflepuff earlier." His stern tone didn't reach his expression though, so even then, you couldn't bring yourself to feel too badly about it. You snapped your fingers in mock disappointment, and Snape shook his head with exasperated amusement.
"You're also not off the hook for your own behavior today, young lady," Snape warned, and you were finally forced to subdue your joviality. He was right, of course. You had still assaulted another student, even if that student was a chauvinist pig. You fidgeted slightly in your seat, looking down as you pulled your hands from the arms of the chair to rest in your lap, rubbing your thumb over your sore knuckles. You didn't offer anything though. You didn't want to be the first to speak up about it.
"I understand how it feels to be provoked as you were. I also understand the desire for swift retribution." You raised your eyes then, head still bowed, and you noticed that Snape had a rather wounded expression, his brows pressed together, his eyes narrow and glittering. You held his gaze then, because you feel that, yes, he did understand how it felt. Intimately. "However, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that the way you responded was less than ideal. Violence is rarely the solution. All you managed to achieve was punishment for yourself, as well as the increased hostility of the one you attacked. I'm warning you now that DeJarnette is unlikely to simply leave you alone after this. You made an enemy today."
You raised your whole head then, your face pinched with distress. You… Damn it. You sure hadn't thought of that. Of course you hadn't. In the heat of the moment all you wanted to do was punch DeJarnette's bloody lights out. Which… is exactly why Snape was looking so disappointed with you right now. Not with DeJarnette. With you. Shame wasn't a common feeling for you. You prided yourself in having very little of it, in fact. But now you could feel it creeping up your neck, hot and prickly, like a sunburn. You were no better than DeJarnette. In fact you were probably a little worse. Because Snape thought you should have known better. And he was right.
And it also sounded like he was speaking from experience.
Your gaze dropped back down to your hands, your remorse plain on your face. Maybe you weren't sorry for what you'd done. But you did feel sorry for somehow letting Snape down. And you were determined to never do it again. So you'd made an enemy. Big deal. From this point forward you would control yourself. Not rise to the bait. Not react with heat and fury. You could do that, because it was obvious to you now that that would hurt DeJarnette more than your fists.
"I'm sorry, sir," you whispered, and you really, desperately hoped that he knew what you were sorry for, without you having to spell it out. You raised your head once again, and you could feel his cold eyes bore into yours like black beetles scuttling through earth. It was hypnotic. And painful. Your breath caught in your chest then, as you got the distinct impression that he could read every nuance of what you were feeling just then. It almost felt like an intrusion, and you were forced to rip your eyes away from his, glancing at the jars around the room. At something else. At anything else, but that burning gaze.
"I know you are, Miss Goode," Snape said quietly, and when you chanced a look back, his eyes were turned down towards his desk, and you were able to breathe again. "I believe that's enough for tonight. Head back to your dormitory. I expect to see you back here again tomorrow after dinner."
Shifting awkwardly in your seat, you knew that the conversation had come to a natural end, but you felt like you needed to say something more. You stood, taking your time to smooth down you skirt and robes, searching the office desperately for something. Anything…
"Thank you, Professor," you said suddenly, your eyes trained on the Glower Eel on the shelf behind Snape's desk. As he lifted his head to meet your eye with a questioning look, you offered a small smile. "For… for the lesson. On… the eel…"
Snape's gaze was so piercing, so intense, you could feel those scuttly little beetle legs on the back of your skull, but you didn't look away this time. You weren't thanking him for the lesson on the eel. Or, well… not just the lesson on the eel. And somehow he knew that. And you felt your breath hitch again as he gave you a small nod of understanding. "Of course, Miss Goode. You're a bright girl. I have the utmost confidence that you'll utilize what you've learned here tonight."
You felt your cheeks flush once again, but this time it was with relief. He wasn't disappointed. Not any more at least. You'd prove it to him. Just like you'd proven your prowess in potions, so too would you prove that you had self-control beyond your barbaric display this morning. You nodded in response, a quiet assurance that you would in fact do just that, before turning your back to him and walking towards the door. You hesitated on the dark edge of the threshold, muttering a quiet "Goodnight, Professor," before you stepped out into the darkened potions classroom.
You were shadowed by an equally quiet "Goodnight, Miss Goode," before shutting the office door behind you.
