Just a bit of silliness

Set during OOTP - what if Snape was a bit more imaginative than canon...

...there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James's face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about: a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside-down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs, and Snape's naked backside.

Many people in the small crowd cheered; Sirius, James and Wormtail roared with laughter, but the sound died away as Snape's body slowly rotated around, bringing his front to face the Marauders.

The book Remus had previously been engrossed in fell, from his hands to land with an audible thump on the grass.

At first Harry didn't understand what he was seeing. It looked like Snape had something hidden under robes, a long flesh coloured, leathery looking something about the size of a baby's arm. Then Harry realised; it was the horrid potions master's junk - his flesh wand, and it was god-damned huge.

"Holy shit!" said Harry, hearing his words echoed by the memory of his father and godfather.

Lily, whose furious expression twitched as though she was fighting not to smile, suddenly roared at James. "Let him down!" she yelled.

But James and his friends were standing perfectly still, open mouthed and stunned beyond words.

Then the thing, that ridiculously long thing, moved. It raised itself up, twisting and bending like a horrid snake. The end opened, blinking like an empty eye socket, and yet somehow it gave the impression it was staring straight at where Harry stood beside his father.

"Enjoying what you see, Potter?" it asked.

Harry screamed and threw himself backwards. He felt a disconcerting twist and landed on the floor of the dungeon where he had been having his occlumency lesson with professor Snape. Still screaming, he leapt to his feet and race to the door of the dungeon. He slammed into it three times before managing to get it open, and then crashed out, racing headlong down the stone hallway, careening off both sides of the long corridor, still screaming at the top of his lungs.

In the shadows, the potions master let a self satisfied smile grace his normally sour expression as the hysterical boy fled. Sometimes, it really paid to be a master of the mental arts.