I got the idea for the prank because every time I tried to type Exploding Snap it always came out Exploding Snape.

Chapter Ten: Exploding Snap(e)

It's been a few weeks since the Lightning Cauldron Incident, and we haven't done anything major to Snape, but ideas of revenge have been swimming around my mind. We've got to plan a particularly epic prank to retaliate. The genesis of our perfect revenge plot comes one stormy Friday towards the end of January, totally by accident.

Rain lashes the windows of our first-year boys' dormitory, and I can hear thunder outside. I love the sound of rainstorms, the boom and crash of them. I love the deep gray anvil-shaped clouds and the turbulence of the sky on days like this one. It's exhilarating to be outside when it storms, to feel the rain beat down on my head, soak my clothes, and streak my face. But it's also comforting to be warm and dry, indoors, curled up on top of my red-curtained bed, like I am now.

All four of us are in the dorm at the moment, working on an essay about the theory of sleeping potions that Slughorn's assigned. At least, Remus and Peter are working. I've finished everything but the conclusion, and am now content to lay idle on the bedspread, listening to the thunder. Remus is re-reading his drafted essay, making notes in the margin. Peter is paging nervously through the textbook, quill tucked behind his ear, occasionally asking questions of the room at large. James is rifling around in his trunk, answering most of Peter's questions, since Remus is busy and I'm focused on the storm.

"So why exactly do you always need the Waverly Moss in there?"

"Well, I think the general theory is something about absorption, like of the thoughts that would distract you from going to sleep—right, Remus?"

"Yes, that's it," Remus says absently, scribbling on his parchment.

"Yeah, so you need the moss for thought absorption, it's one of the necessary ingredients—I can't believe this!"

"What?" I ask, glancing over. James has strewn quite a bit of his trunk's contents all over his bed and the surrounding floor. There's even a cloak tossed over Remus's feet, which he hasn't noticed yet.

"I haven't got any Dungbombs left!" His face is so outraged I have to laugh.

"What, no Dungbombs? Call yourself a prankster? You should be ashamed!"

"Have you got any, Sirius?"

I shake my head. "Don't think so."

"Either of you?"

"No, sorry," Peter says.

"Do I honestly seem like the sort of person who would cart Dungbombs around?"

"Come on, Remus, I know you're not as prissy as McGonagall thinks you are."

"What do you want Dungbombs for anyway?" Remus asks with a good deal of dignity for somebody who's just been told teachers think they're prissy.

"I was thinking we could give Evans a lovely birthday present." James grins mischievously. "It's on the thirtieth, I heard her mention it to Macdonald in Charms."

"Well, we could get over to Zonko's." I say matter-of-factly. "With the secret passage and all."

"Not in this weather we won't." James says. "Not even you'd want to get this wet."

"I like rain."

"So do I, just not when there's about ten tons of it falling on my skull every second. We should go tomorrow morning. 'Cause her birthday's the day after."

"Let's make up a list of things we need. I want one of those trick quills that shoot ink out of the ends."

James grabs a scrap of parchment and a hopefully non-rigged quill out of the assorted belonging heaped around him.

"Right, so…Dungbombs, some of those shooter quills for Sirius, oh, Stinkpellets…"

He scribbles enthusiastically.

"Can I see?" I ask once he seems to have finished. I lean off the end of the bed, and he reaches out and passes it up to me.

I read the list, scrawled out in James's characteristically sloppy handwriting. I squint at the last item on it.

"Exploding Snape?" I laugh.

"Exploding Snap. My set's gone and burnt out."

"This little curlicue on the end of the 'p' looks like an 'e'."

"That'd be a good prank." Peter says thoughtfully from across the room. "If we could make him explode. Like with cards or something."

James and I stare at him. Remus slowly lowers the scroll blocking his face. "Stuff his clothes with Snap cards?"

Now we're staring at both of them.

"You're geniuses, you are." James says weakly.

We make the trip to Hogsmeade as soon as the rain lets up mid-morning on Saturday. We get some odd looks from the Zonko's shopkeeper, since he really only gets student-age customers on trip days, and massive amounts of them then. We're laden down with bags of merchandise by the time we leave—a few Dungbombs for Lily Evans's birthday "celebrations", as well as pretty much every pack of Exploding Snap cards the shop stocks. We even manage to get a few squirter quills.

In the morning sunlight, even if it's a bit pale and watery-looking after the storm, the Shrieking Shack is a lot less scary. It's still a dilapidated old pile of bricks, but it's no longer looming on the hillside, shadowed in darkness like something out of a nightmare. It's also no longer emitting noises like a chorus of the damned, which definitely helps limit the terror factor of the house.

"Let's go up and check it out," James says excitedly.

"I'm in. What's the worst that could be in there, ghosts?" I say.

Peter looks from me to James, swallows, and announces "Ghosts can't hurt anybody. Let's go."

We all look at Remus, the only one who hasn't said anything. He shrugs. "Alright."

He was sick the night we actually heard the Shack shriek, so we fill him in on the details as we clamber up the hill. He doesn't look as scared as we expect him to, even though James and I tell the story with spooky sound effects. He just looks kind of anxious and sad.

We can't get into the Shack; the windows are all sealed. This is disappointing and relieving at the same time. Up close, the Shack looks even more like, well, a shack. It's a run-down, crusty sort of place. It's also a little sinister, even in the daytime. We gather up the Zonko's bags, bored with trying to pry the windows open, and set off down the hillside again.

Most of Saturday afternoon is spent plotting exactly how to pull Exploding Snape off. The plan is to line a cloak with cards, sewn up into the cloth, rig them with spells to explode upon human contact, and find some way to swap it with Snape's actual cloak. We know he usually takes it off during classes, and then puts it on to wear in the halls, so we can do it during one of the lessons we have with him. Obviously, there are multiple facets of this plan.

First, we have to get the cards sewn into the cloak. Since none of us can sew, this is a problem. There might be a spell that sews things up, but we don't know it. We end up deciding to commandeer a house-elf from the kitchens. Since they sew the badges on our robes at the start of the year, some of them at least must be able to do it for us.

Second, we have to find the spell that will get them to explode when Snape puts on the cloak. This takes a lot of research and a very long trip to the library, where we check out practically every book on time delay and contact spells that the grumpy librarian, Madam Pince, can direct us to. Once all the books have been carted back to the dorm, research commences.

"This is boring," I announce loudly several hours late, turning the pages of a ridiculously thick book entitled Chronomanipulative Enchantment. "Also, what kind of a word is 'chronomanipulative' anyway? It's got to be one of the longest words ever."

"Supercalifragilisticexpialid ocious," Remus says sagely and inexplicably.

"What is that, a spell or something?"

"No, it's a word from a Muggle movie. I used to love it when I was little."

"What's it mean?"

"Not sure, actually. Anyhow, Sirius, you have to read gigantic boring books sometimes if you want to do complex magic."

"I know that, I'm not an idiot."

"Hey, this looks promising," James looks up from Pulling the Magical Trigger excitedly. "It's set off by body heat!"

"We'll have to be careful not to blow our own heads off."

"Don't be such a pessimist, Peter. We won't blow anyone's head off."

"Ah, not even Snivellus?"

"Not even him."

"I was joking, James. Don't you have a sense of humor?"

"How can you even ask that question? I'm deeply hurt. I thought we were friends."

"Shut up and read."

"Bloody hell, Remus. That was fierce."

"I can be fierce when I'm trying to read and certain people I could mention won't be quiet."

"Don't make me throw this at you," James holds his pillow aloft.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "You'd miss."

"Really? Want to bet on that?"

"I'm not a betting man myself."

"You're not any sort of man. You're eleven years old."

"Throw the damn pillow already, James! My hair is turning gray."

"Shut up, Sirius."

"Come on, like he said, throw it already."

"You think I'm gonna—" Midsentence, he hurls the pillow at Remus, who deftly flattens himself against the bed, ducking the projectile.

I scramble up off the bed, Chronomanipulative Enchantment forgotten, my own pillow in hand.

"I knew it, you missed me." Remus announces triumphantly, straightening himself up a moment before Peter beans him over the head from behind.

"Aaaaarrrrggggh!" He sprawls sideways, flailing at Peter with his legs.

I jump happily onto his bed, swinging my pillow at Peter, and accidentally hitting James instead, as he launches himself upwards.

The pillow fight is fast and furious, collapsing into a tangle of limbs on Remus's bed, pillows strewn around the dorm, and a thick leather-bound book, tossed aside, lying in a position on the floor that would give Madam Pince a heart attack. We're all breathless and panting, and James's glasses have fallen off and are poking me in the ear.

"You lot are so distractible," Remus laments.

"Oh, and since when are you any better?" James admonishes him. "Sirius, mate, give me those specs. I can't see a foot in front of my face."

By the time we go to bed that night, we've identified several spells that should combine to give us the effect we want. All that remains is to experiment properly with Snap cards, and see if the combinations are effective. We'll be using stand-alone cards now, of course, since we're not going to stuff the cloak until we've spelled them properly.

At breakfast on Sunday, Lily is surrounded by a small flock of Gryffindor girls. Alice, Mary, and Kathryn are all exclaiming over something she's shown them. I lean over a platter of eggs to get a look at it. Alice reaches up, grabs my head, and pushes it slightly to the side.

"Nosy, aren't you?" she says jokingly. "They were posted to the dorm."

The thing Lily's got is a pair of little emerald stud earrings, the exact same color as her eyes.

"From my parents," she says, smiling happily. "And they wrote and said I can get my ears pierced over Easter break. Tuney—that's my sister—got hers done when she was twelve."

"I didn't know you had a sister, Evans," I say, helping myself to fried tomatoes. "So she's older?"

"She'll be sixteen in August."

"She's a Muggle, then?"

Lily nods, and then turns to Kathryn. "Kate, could you get that little compact mirror out of your bag? I want to see what these look like on me."

"Those are really pretty, Evans. Happy birthday, by the way." James deposits himself on the bench next to me and promptly dives for the platter of tomatoes.

"Thanks." Lily frowns at her reflection in the pocket mirror, pressing one of the tiny emeralds to her earlobe.

There's a coughing noise from behind me. I turn around to face Severus Snape, who's standing rather awkwardly next to the Gryffindor table.

"What are you doing here?" I ask loudly. Next to me, James looks like he's about to ask the same thing.

"Is it illegal to walk around the Hall now?" Snape says, with what he clearly imagines is biting sarcasm. "Happy birthday, Lily."

"Thank you, Sev." Lily smiles up at him. "Do you like my birthday present?" She points at the earrings.

"They look beautiful." Snape mumbles, scuffing his foot on the ground. He's blushing slightly. He swallows, then ploughs on. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks. I'm getting the piercing done over break. I can't wait!"

"I have to go. See you later, Lily." Mulciber and a Slytherin second-year named Avery are gesturing to Snape from across the hall. They look kind of angry.

"See you, Sev!" Lily waves.

"I think he's got a crush on you, coming over here like that," James announces rather tactlessly. He doesn't look particularly happy about it.

"Ew, thinking about Snivellus liking anyone is disgusting." I say, shuddering melodramatically. Lily rolls her eyes at me, but addresses James.

"Sev? No, it's just we've been friends since way before Hogwarts. He was the first magic person I ever met. It's because of him that I knew I was a witch before the letter came." She smiles reminiscently, then looks up at James. "Can I have some of those tomatoes?"

Over by the Slytherin table, Snape's reached the other two. He and Avery appear to be having some sort of argument. Mulciber's glaring over at us. As Snape shrugs, apparently in defeat, and follows Avery to the table, I wave cheekily over at Mulciber.

By mid-afternoon, we've identified a series of spells that, when activated, will give us the desired pranking effect. All the cards should go off at once, when they've been warmed by body heat for about five minutes, so when we carry it we won't set it off accidentally. The explosion won't hurt anyone permanently, even the person wearing the cloak, but Snape will be jarred and possibly a little charred. And it'll be loud.

We don't have the Slytherins in class until Defense against the Dark Arts on Tuesday, but we decide to go find a house-elf to do the sewing anyhow. Peter and I go down to the kitchens, while Remus and James stay in the dorm, slicing open the seams of the cloak, and stuffing the cards inside, spreading them out so there aren't any suspicious-looking clumps.

A house-elf called Embry volunteers himself to do our sewing. Actually several house-elves volunteer, since the whole species is helpful to a fault, but Embry is the loudest.

The elf squeaks in shock once we've smuggled him up into the dormitory. House-elves are very clean, and our dorm is most decidedly not, especially after a day of rather explosive experimentation. Embry's pointed little face is horrified, and his large amber-colored eyes sweep the room, lingering on Remus's soot-streaked hair and the tattered sheet hanging off my bed.

"Oh, sirs, what on earth has happened here? Embry must get some of the other elves, and clean this mess."

The other three look at me helplessly. Since I'm the only one with a house-elf at home, apparently I have become the designated dealing-with-traumatized-elves guy. Even though I'm not on the best terms with Kreacher, I'm still probably the best choice.

Bending down to Embry's level, I try to keep my voice calming, but still in command. "Well, Embry, we'd like to have the room cleaned later. You should come back while we're at dinner. "

It's best to make a house-elf feel like they're working hard by giving lots of orders, and sometimes they get upset if they know something's unclean and they can't fix it, so we'll have to let them tidy up here.

"Right now, I want you to sew up this cloak for me."

Embry nods, his long, tapered ears bobbing. "Yes, young master, Embry would be glad to put stitches on whatever is ripped."

"Thank you, Embry."

Having grabbed the cloak, the seams he's to sew up pointed out to him carefully by Remus, the house-elf bows to all four of us and then disappears with a loud crack.

"They're weird, house-elves, aren't they?" Peter says, staring at the place where Embry vanished.

"You do not want to meet Kreacher." I say fervently. I glance over at James. "You know, I would have thought your family would have an elf. Most pureblood families I know do."

My family really only socializes with families that are just as old and just as rich as we are, and those are the sort of people who have house-elves. I'm positive the Potters have money, and they're an old family as well, just more open-minded than the sort of Old Families (always pronounced as if capitalized) my mother is obsessed with.

"We did when I was little." James says. "She died, though, and we never really bothered getting another. She was quite sweet. I don't remember much about her, to tell the truth."

Well, that clears up the why-doesn't-James-have-an-elf question, I guess. The secondary prank we've been planning, involving Lily Evans and Dungbombs, takes place immediately after Embry leaves, and we've gone down to the common room.

"Happy birthday again, Evans." James says innocently, holding out a small package wrapped in pretty pink stripes.

"Er, thanks, Potter." She unties the ribbon, and rips away at the paper, revealing a small cardboard box. When the box lid is removed, the Dungbomb ignites in her face. It's not even much of a prank, really. It's only one Dungbomb, although having something loud and smelly disguised as a nice little package must be rather trying.

Lily shrieks, dropping the box, and spends the next ten minutes chasing James around the common room, shouting insults at him while struggling to keep herself from laughing. There's no struggle at all for me. Draped across one of the squashy armchairs, I'm in such hysterics that I don't even notice Lily bearing down on me until she's already smacked the top of my head, rather hard, and headed off for the girl's dorms.

"And I don't like pink, Potter!" She yells over her shoulder.

"Why not? Too girly for you?"

"No! It clashes with my hair!"

"Well, I wasn't asking her to wear the wrapping paper on her head," James says to me.

"Speaking of heads, she hits rather hard," I say. "Oh, stop laughing, Remus. You look like a nitwit."

Remus snorts. "I'd say this round goes to the birthday girl."

When we get back from dinner, the dormitory is completely cleaned up, and the sewn-up cloak is lying across the foot of my bed, closest to the door.

"Now all we have to do is wait for Tuesday," I say with the sort of slightly vindictive satisfaction that goes along with planning a particularly good prank.

Waiting for Tuesday, however, is more interesting than I first thought. Lily, in revenge for her not-so-well-intentioned birthday present, plants frog spawn in James's tomato soup at lunch on Monday. James and I practice our Unlocking Charms on the school broom cabinet that night, and use our acquired booty to secretly fly around the Quidditch pitch.

On Tuesday morning before breakfast, Peeves the Poltergeist gets in a fight with one of the sixth-year Ravenclaw prefects. Peeves wins, obviously. Peeves always wins. The prefect ends up stuck to a statue of Baldric the Bold with glue. Something interesting is always happening at Hogwarts.

Finally, the long-awaited class arrives. Defense against the Dark Arts with the Slytherins, right before lunch. Peter pokes his head around the door to see if Snape's arrived yet.

"He's in there!" he hisses, turning to face us. "Right at the back!"

"What about his cloak? Is his cloak off?" James asks.

"Hang on, let me check…yeah, he's got it over the chair back."

When we enter the classroom, which is mostly full, James and I bump into each other as a distraction, directly in front of his desk, while Remus stealthily switches the cloaks. We stow Snape's real cloak, the frayed edges of which are hemmed up inside, under one of the desks.

We take it in turns watching Snape throughout the lesson, which is on enchanted mists and other forms of airborne curses. Finally, when there's only about ten minutes left in class, he pulls "his" cloak off the back of the chair and puts it on, still fervently scribbling notes with a bedraggled quill. I poke James and Remus excitedly, and elbow Peter, who's sitting next to me, in the ribs. Since he's a bit chubby, unlike my skinny little brother, who's the usual target of any elbowing on my part, I can't actually feel his ribs, but that's not the point of elbowing someone. After all three of my friends have been notified, we all immediately return to our own note-taking, with innocent expressions fixed on our faces.

I glance up at the clock fixed over Professor Striker's desk, watching the little hand tick slowly around. I've never been a patient person, but knowing we're this close to a lovely big explosion and I can't do anything to hurry it up is aggravating.

Just five minutes until it blows… just three minutes… just barely a minute…only about thirty seconds…it should be happening now…why isn't it happening?

BOOM!

All three and a half packs of Snap cards Embry sewed into the cloak ignite simultaneously. The force of the blast tears the cloak into shreds, ripping up Snape's school robes underneath it substantially as well. It also knocks him off his chair, yelping. He sprawls on the classroom floor, smoking copiously. Just as he did in our dueling class when Peter's misfired spell burnt his hair slightly, he smells of hot bacon grease. Apparently explosions and oily hair are not a good combination.

The class's reaction to Snape's apparent spontaneous combustion is basically hysterical laughter. Most of the Gryffindors almost fall out of their seats as well, and even the Slytherins find their Housemate's predicament funny. Lily Evans is torn between outrage and amusement, and as a result makes some very strange facial expressions. Even Professor Striker has to laugh, although she claps a hand to her mouth to suppress it.

Snape grabs the leg of his chair and hauls himself up, flushing blotchily with embarrassment. Not looking anyone in the eye, he returns to his seat.

"Well, er, on that note I'll end class," Striker still looks like she's trying not to laugh. "Airborne curses, you all. Avoid funny-looking clouds hovering around ground level. You can go."

"No homework, then?" Vanderlinden asks.

"Actually, yes, you've got some."

Several people glare at the Slytherin girl for reminding our teacher of any planned assignment.

"Pick a type of spell that manifests atmospherically and write a theoretical essay on it. I want eighteen inches of parchment, please. Due a week from this class. Oh, and Snape—" He stops where he is, attempting to scuttle out the door as everyone gets their things together.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Could you stay behind for a bit?"

"Yes, Professor."

The four of us join the crowd of students lurking outside the classroom, discussing the explosion excitedly.

"That was bloody brilliant," James announces proudly.

"Job well done," I say, holding my hand up. James slaps my palm with his.

"Did you guys do that?" Jessica O'Connell asks. "That was amazing!"

"How'd you do it?" Alice grins. "What'd you use for the explosion?"

"Snap cards," James announces proudly. "We swapped cloaks."

"Can't you just leave him alone for once?" Lily frowns.

"You laughed. Sort of," James points out.

"Yeah, well…"

"Admit it, it was funny."

"And anyway, he got us first in Potions. We were justified." I say.

"Alright." Lily says. "He did spike your potion."

"What'd he put in it, Evans?" Peter asks.

"Not going to tell you. It's a secret."

"Wait, Snape made their cauldron spout lightning like that?" Alice asks. "I knew that didn't just happen."

The girls move off towards lunch, arguing about which prank was more spectacular. We're alone outside the classroom now, a little further down the hallway.

"Do you think she's asking him who did it?" Remus glances nervously at the DADA classroom door.

"Like he can prove it was us." I say contemptuously.

"And if he'll have to admit he blew out our potion if he wants to say we were getting revenge. He won't tell." James explains.

"But how do we know for sure?" Peter is biting his nails, which is a habit of his I've noticed acts up when he's particularly nervous.

"We wait out here and ask him." James says confidently. "Shouldn't take long."

"We're going to wait and ask Snape if he told on us," Remus repeats in disbelief.

"That's what the man said," I lean casually against the wall, watching the door.

After a few minutes of silence, it swings open, and Snape scurries out. When he sees the four of us, he straightens up, as if preparing for battle. Remus and Peter are standing further back, and I'm still against the wall, next to James, who's facing Snape.

"What are you going to do, hex me practically in front of a teacher? Not even Gryffindors could be that stupid."

"Did you tell her?" James's voice is brisk and calm. The way he's phrased it could be a simple question. If I was asking, it would be an obvious threat.

Snape stares directly at James with hatred in his eyes. He can sense the subtle aggression, and his initial silence accentuates the tension that's thick in the air. He's purposely lengthening the space between James's question and his response, trying to make us wonder if he told.

I feel a sharp jab of anger. He's deliberately playing with us. I'm going to make him respond.

"You—" I push myself off the wall and start forward. James tears his eyes away from Snape's and shakes his head at me.

Stand down. This is between him and me, his expression reads. I lean back against the wall, glaring at Snape, who smirks at me briefly and then returns his gaze to James.

James crosses his arms. "Did you tell?" he repeats.

Snape looks him directly in the eye and slowly shakes his head. He turns and walks down the hallway, not towards the Great Hall and lunch, but towards the dungeons, back to the Slytherin dormitory and a change for his tattered robes.