Chapter Eleven: The Good, the Bad and the Breakfast
It turned out I was wrong. As I sped into the dungeons half an hour late for class, he glared at me (number twenty) and exhaled noisily like a bull about to charge. What? What on earth was wrong with me? I'd managed to get cleaned up and dressed in ten minutes, without resorting to robes as his incredibly lazy way of getting dressed. My teeth were clean, my hair was… reasonable, considering I'd only finger-combed it, and my clothes were firmly attached to my skin. So what if my face was a little red and puffy from running all the way down to the dungeons? And some bits of my hair were plastered to my damp forehead in a way I was sure was incredibly attractive? And so what if I was breathing so heavily my lungs might have ruptured? I was only half an hour late, and that was his fault. If only I'd been able to go to bed at a reasonable hour, rather than organizing potions ingredients and having an impromptu dinner – well, maybe it was more of an indoors picnic – in the kitchen corridor in the middle of the night. Stupid Severus, always having to get angry with me. Well, this time I wouldn't stand for it. This time I'd strike first, like an adder. Or a cobra. Or some other animal (preferably a reptile, I was quite reptilian in my rage) that strikes. Like a dragon! Do dragons strike? Thinking about dragons made me want toast, and I regretted instantly that I'd missed breakfast yet again. I used to love the breakfasts in the Great Hall, and I missed the great platters of toast, egg and bacon that had always been a staple of my school diet. Honestly, it was a wonder I hadn't gotten monstrously obese from the amazingly greasy food that had always been on the tables. Where was I again? Oh yes, striking first.
"Well, you're a stink-face!" I cried, realizing far too late that you couldn't strike first with a comeback. This, unfortunately, was the inherent property of a comeback – someone had to have struck first, and it couldn't be you.
"Excuse me?" he said dangerously. Eep. The way he was staring at me at that moment, with his face angled slightly downwards and his glittering black eyes glaring up at me, looked quite terrifying. There was something demonic about it, something that said 'say exactly what I want to hear right now or I'll eat your face'. And the way he was looking at me, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd bared his teeth and pounced.
"I mean… good morning?"
"I beg to differ," he said, releasing me from his horror-stare and shuffling papers on his desk. What was with this man and papers? How many things could he possibly have to write down on a day-to-day basis? "Your presence ensures that this morning is already ruined."
"But… but… you came and got me! You wanted me to come down here!" I sputtered out the sentences, confused out of my skull. What was he playing at? He remembered as well as I did what had happened when he came up to my room. Oh Merlin, that makes it sound like… well, never mind what it sounded like. The point is that he did want me to come down.
"I never said anything of the sort," he said, lowering his voice and sending a sidelong glance towards the sixth-years. They had paused in their potion making to stare at the back-and-forth between me and Severus, and quite frankly, they looked rapt. Some were even holding their knives motionless in mid-air, as though affected by a freezing charm. Most of them, frightened by Severus' angry look in their direction, began chopping their ingredients again, but some stayed still, staring glassy-eyed at us. "If you'll recall, I simply reminded you of your duties. The longer it takes for you to learn what it is to be a teacher, the longer I must put up with you."
"You did not simply remind me of your duties," I said, quoting him. "I saw your face when you came to my door. You looked livid."
His face remained emotionless, and there was a closed-up look in his eyes, though his eyebrows were still slightly narrowed from the powerful glare he'd shot my way. "I was under the impression that you thought that was my ordinary appearance."
I saw what he was doing, oh yes. He was trying to use his fancy, serious words to say; 'What are you talking about? I'm always angry.' He couldn't get one past me, though, it was like he was the ocean and I was Mount Everest. He could evaporate all the clouds he liked, but the second they try to go past me? Oh my, they'll break and rain all over the place, yes they will. What had he said again? For the life of me I couldn't remember. Bloody metaphors and tangents, always ruining my conversations by making me forget what they were about. Oh, right, Severus totally wanting me in the dungeons. Oh dear. That came out very, very wrong. What was wrong with the things I was saying today? They were all ridiculously innuendo-laden, and I didn't know why. Must have been something to do with the odd dream I'd had.
Helping out the students and occasionally annoying Severus ate up my time so quickly that I didn't believe him when he said it was lunchtime. It was only a loud, gnawing growl from my stomach that told me he was telling the truth. I followed him up to the Great Hall and slid into my seat at the staff table – it felt better every time I sat in it – and looked at the lunch options. To my surprise, there were pies again. I didn't ever remember there being the same food for lunch two days in a row before, though perhaps I hadn't been paying much attention. I remembered a lot of talking to my friends and not so much concentrating on food. I did remember that it had been delicious, though. Aside from pies in front of me, there were quiches and large tureens of pasta salad. I put a large slice of quiche and a very large amount of pasta salad on my plate and began to eat ravenously. I had missed breakfast yet again, and doing all my work on an empty stomach really got to me once I'd realized just how hungry I was. The pasta salad was incredible. I didn't know what the house-elves had done, but it tasted better than any pasta salad I'd ever had in my life. There was just the right balance of acidity, sweetness and savory… er… savoryness? At any rate, it was incredible.
"Sweet Merlin's beard, this pasta salad! Holy hell! This pasta salad! I can't believe this is actual food and not bits of angel flesh," I said loudly and joyously. Severus, eating a tomato and basil quiche, stared at me like I'd taken off my pants and began throwing spoons at people.
"Enjoying yourself, then?" he asked coolly, but I was in too good of a stomach-related mood to get into a tiff with him. I simply smiled broadly and nodded before going back to the amazing lunch I had before me. "I do believe," he said, refilling his pumpkin juice goblet, "that it's quite possible," he refilled mine, which surprised me, "that you've gone entirely mad."
I swallowed a huge mouthful of pasta and let out a barking "Ha!" at him, which startled him into a small twitch. He stared at me with one eyebrow furrowed and one raised up, as though he was watching something he had no comprehension of. "You refilled my pumpkin juice for me," I said triumphantly. "You can no longer deny caring about my stomach."
"I merely foresaw choking in your near future," he said, turning away and eating more of his lunch. "I thought it would be prudent to provide you with a beverage, as the Heimlich maneuver can get extremely messy."
"Aww, you'd Heimlich me," I said, my voice dripping with honey. "That's so sweet." He glared at me for half a second before returning to his lunch, which apparently was much more important than I was. It was glare number twenty-one, anyway, and it was barely Friday lunchtime. This was getting ridiculous.