A/N: We last left our heros in a dark showdown - will they succumb to the Thanatos instinct and armwrestle?
"If you're really intent on the embarrassment, Lupin.." Snape watched Lupin suspiciously. Challenging Snape at armwrestling -- Masochist werewolf? It didn't follow; something else was at play here.
Lupin leaned back in his chair, eyes directed above the fireplace; he spoke more loudly as if addressing the room. "Of course, I'm probably overestimating my own strength.. It's a good thing I have Professor Snape around to watch out for my well being."
"Now you are insufferable, Remus!" snapped McGonagall.
"What now--" Filch began.
Snape was equally miffed, although he, being the skilled master in the art of concealing emotions, did not let on. "Good thing I have Hex Humming here to offer me some challenge," he sat again and opened the book.
McGonagall and Filch glared at each other across the table. Mrs. Norris swished her tail in distaste.
"Apparently my tea is not that strong," announced McGonagall after a heavy moment of silence.
"No, it's damned weak," said Filch.
Snape began to hum.
"Now are you going to sit there all night and --" the hair on Filch's head turned sky blue. "What!"
Lupin peered around the armchair. "That's an interesting color, Mr. Flich."
"I think green would be better," added McGonagall.
"Blue's fine, really."
"Green matches his eyes."
"That's why blue is better."
Snape hummed another tune - nothing happened. Nothing wasn't supposed to happen. He glared at the book; almost irritating enough to distract him from the fact that he was not engaged in sweaty arm-to-arm combat with arch nemesis and current target of romantic conquest Remus Lupin.
"Change this back!" demanded Filch, squirming about in his chair.
Snape scowled. There was no concentrating to be done here. He stood and strode to the door, taking the old book with him. "I can see this is a waste of my time. However, should those of you who have offended me with your insulting afternoon behavior feel it necessary to apologize, you know where to find me." He swept out.
"I do need to ask him about the billowing robes though," said Lupin reflectively.
"WAIT! You can't just walk out on me! I'm not fit to be seen like this!" Filch yelled after him.
McGonagall smiled at Filch. "No trouble, Argus, I can change it back... If you can beat me at another round.." She lifted her arm , elbow set on the table.
"WHAT!"
With years of professoring experience, Severus Snape had come to the conclusion that morning office hours were best. The diligent students would take other classes during this time, and the lazy ones would sleep in. This combined with afternoon classes allowed for the optimal Student-Survival Configuration.
He leaned back in his chair now, cup of tea in hand, leering in triumph at the fact that he couldn't even remember the last time a student came for potions help. Must have been last spring's midterm exam...No small wonder that he smiled now, as last evening's events (or non-events) had left him in the mood of someone who'd eaten a few too many compost-flavoured Bertie Bott's beans.
A strained knock at the door.
"Damn." He raised his voice to an ominous bellow. "ENTER!"
The door began to creak open, slowly, timidly. Snape could smell the fear... and also, he sniffed, the distinct scent of hair sheen potion. Malfoy.
"Mr. Malfoy, please enter the room or forever hold your peace."
Draco Malfoy appeared, blond head taking on a ridiculously light luster in contrast to the dim of the room. (At this rate the fool would just set his hair on fire before his seventh year.) He closed the door gingerly, although he tried to pull himself up and regain some of the famed Malfoy dignity. "Good morning, Professor Snape."
Snape set down his cup of tea. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I .. I came for potions help," he delivered the line as he stared at the floor.
"Is that all?"
"Er.. that's about it, Professor."
Snape stood so as to look as imposing as possible. "I suppose you spent all night studying. Now you're tired, achey, incapable of independent thought, and you still don't understand a good third of the exam material. Perhaps if you throw yourself at Professor Snape's feet and beg for mercy, he will take pity on you and make everything better..."
"Well, yes, that was the general plan," Malfoy admitted.
"Bad form, Malfoy! You should know your Professor prefers a challenge. This will not do. Go work on your approach." He waved him off and sat abruptly, case closed.
Malfoy did not budge. "But Professor, I really don't understand the last two potions we did. You went over yesterday's too fast--"
"Begging may be a good idea in principle, but it will not work in this case, Mr. Malfoy."
The young Malfoy allowed his face to crumple into the classic Malfoy Pout™. Snape smirked as it brought back the sudden memory of Lucius Malfoy pulling the same exact pout for Lord Voldemort years ago.. some inane argument about Yorkshire pudding. "Very well, in honor of your esteemed lineage, I'll give you a second try." He leaned forward, eyebrow raised, elegant hands folded across the desk - a pose to be envied by any Sex God aspirant. "Now tell me: Why are you here?"
Malfoy considered for a moment. "Well yesterday's potion - I can get about halfway through it, and then it seems to just explode whenever I add the hyaci--"
"Not acceptable."
"But Professor, I just don't understand the reactive qualities of hyacinth extract...!"
"No." Snape shook his head. "My dear child, I invented that euphemism in my third year as a student at this school."
Malfoy stood back, completely lost. "But-"
That was it. "Mr. Malfoy, before you attempt to seduce any more teachers, you should learn from your father the fine art of charismatic self-presentation."
Draco's eyes went wide in sudden realization. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet, words, whatever else was in the way. "Ah - right, ok, Professor Snape, I just remembered.. Quidditch - I mean - I'll ask Pansy for potions help, no disturbing you - I must go!" he opened the door and slid out as quickly as possible.
Snape leaned back in his chair and let the event wash over; being involved with a Malfoy (of any generation) was bad news. But he had to smirk. "Fool Malfoys. There's more to it than blond hair."
Soon there was another gentle knock at the door. "ENTER!"
The door did not open, but rather the history teacher Professor Binns wafted through it.
"Well, Professor Snape," he began slowly, "I know you're a busy young professor, so I won't waste your time. But there are some writings on the wall that you should investigate..."
Snape waited a moment; he couldn't tell whether Binns was done or just pausing. "Yes?"
"It seems to involve your house... Something about 'Slytherin Gods' and... well, I just don't know what the world is coming to these days..." he turned and glided away.
"Hm.. investigate indeed." Any imposter Slytherin Sex God was to be rooted out immediately...