Author's note: I'm sorry this one is so short. I'm very busy and don't have time for more today. Tomorrow should be better.
13
The next morning found Snape sitting in the armchair by the fireplace in his living room, reading the potions book he had got from Santa. It was fascinating!
Not only did the book hold a total of three potions that, indeed, used foot perspiration of a dark wizard, it informed the potions master that Miles was a highly magical bird whose feathers, droppings and claws had properties every potioneer could only dream of. The pinkish plumes on the bird's belly could be used for a draught against anxiety, the tail feathers made a salve that would, if the text could be believed, take at least thirty years off your skin (if this was true, Snape was going to be a rich man, provided he was able to find more paradise owls) and the tiny feathers just above Miles' beak could be used in an elixir that would heal brain damage.
Snape hadn't slept at all. First, he had spent three hour extracting foot perspiration from the Dark Lord's socks, then he had read through the potions recipes for Miles' feathers – Severus could hardly wait for the bird to cast its feathers. He was glad that he didn't have to pluck the poor owl who had somehow grown on him. On the contrary, the book said that the feathers were most powerful during moult! How convenient!
As soon as the small clock on the mantle showed that the elves were serving breakfast, Snape got up and made his way to the Great Hall. He needed coffee, and a lot of it, or he wasn't going to survive his lessons after a night without sleep. Today there were going to be reading assignments and only reading assignments. Snape could admit to himself that he was in no state to supervise brewing.
"Severus, you look dreadful," observed McGonagall as she sat beside the younger wizard.
Snape snorted into his cup. "Why Minerva, what a joy to start the day with a compliment!"
"I'm serious," snapped the witch. "What have you done? You look like you haven't got any sleep at all last night!"
"I haven't," Snape confirmed. "I got caught up reading a new potions book. There some recipes in there I itch to try out."
"Do tell! What have you found?" the deputy headmistress asked curiously, and Snape filled her in on some of the potions in the book. He was glad for the conversation because it prevented him from falling asleep.
At 8 o'clock the bell chimed. Snape thought it was a pity that he had got his window so early. He missed the excitement of checking his socks for it was clear that he wasn't going to get a second window.
That day it was young Orwell Mayweather from Ravenclaw who got to pull presents from his sock.
The day's present consisted of coals and carrots, hats and scarves and whatever a young witch or wizard might desire to decorate a snowman.
"Splendid!" cried Dumbledore. "I haven't built a snowman in decades! Let's go outside, children, and get started. Morning classes are cancelled!"
Normally Snape would have protested but since he was too tired to teach properly, he didn't make a fuss. If the headmaster wanted to cancel lessons in favour of some fun in the snow, who was Snape to try and stop him!
That's why Severus Snape, potions master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, spent all morning building a snowman. It was a portly snowman, bigger than most of the students'. He wore a black wizard's hat and his nose was a carrot. The snowman had coal eyes and coal buttons and he held a cane and a bucket.
Shortly before lunch, Malfoy charmed his snowman – on the big side, Slytherin green cape – to attack Potter's (not so big, slender, and equipped with a makeshift wand). Potter saw the attack coming though and spelled his own snowman in time to fight back.
Many of the older years took leaves out of Malfoy and Potter's books and spelled their snowmen to fight, too. Soon a large number of younger students were in tears. The lower years didn't know enough magic to animate their snowmen and the work of hours was destroyed mercilessly by a sheer army of moving snowmen.
"Do something!" Snape cried at the headmaster but Dumbledore was busy fighting his own snowman battle against McGonagall. The two transfigurations experts gave each other a run for their money. The battle was truly spectacular.
Flitwick, it seemed, was the only other teacher but Snape who was not participating in the fights. "Help me!" cried the diminutive wizard as he fired spell after spell at the moving snowmen.
"What are we casting?" Snape asked.
"Melting charm," Flitwick squealed between spells.
Snape joined Flitwick and really, after about five minutes, the snowmen were starting to melt. After ten minutes, it was all over. The snowmen were now puddles of water on the lawn.
The students made their way to the Great Hall to wait for lunch and Snape went down to the dungeons to lie down a little before afternoon lessons started.