Pomona Sprout had just sat down in her office, to start reviewing lesson plans for the year, when there was a rather urgent pounding on her door.
"Come in!" She said cheerfully, fully expecting it to be a prefect with a problem caused by one of the first years. Her older students were well-behaved enough to not start problems, but she couldn't expect the youngest to have learned that already.
The stout wooden door opened, not to a prefect, but to Potions Master Severus Snape, who strode in as if he owned the place. He also bore the invisible mark of gloom and darkness, as if he was never actually allowed out of the dungeons.
Pomona Sprout sat up straight. Snape was on her turf, and it wouldn't do to look like she could be cowed. She sent him a genuine, kindly smile (which she knew he hated, as it was the exact one Dumbledore used...) and asked, "Why, whatever's the matter?" She leaned back a bit, giving Snape the time and space to explain.
Snape, however, stubbornly refused to explain - he'd apparently come just for venting, "Harry James Potter, that's what!"
"Now, now," the Head of Hufflepuff said, sneaking another shiv under Snape's armor. She detested his 'you can't read my emotions' mask - any cracks were to be widened. After all, it wasn't like she meant him harm, now was it? "He's only just gotten here, you know. I'm thrilled that he's chosen my house! I do expect great things from him."
Snape sent her another glare, and then said something she didn't expect, as he slammed his hands down on her desk, "As do I."
"Well, then, what's the matter?" Sprout said, for the first time in the entire conversation genuinely curious.
"I need to speak to him, it is a matter of utmost urgency." Snape said, trying to conceal his motivations - and succeeding, mostly. Problem was, that just told Sprout that they were nefarious.
"Oh? What about?" Sprout said, starting to edge towards angry.
"I need to give him a warning - or a heads-up, if you will," then Snape smirked, and Pomona saw red.
"You will NOT be intimidating one of my first years!" She said, putting her full operatic range into it. Without shouting, she was still certain she'd partially deafened the sulky man.
"Po-mo-na!" Snape said, and then collected himself, "Surely you know me better than that."
"I most certainly do not!" She said sharply. "Every year, you send three of my first years crying to my arms. Every year! You won't be starting on Mister Potter, I won't stand for it."
"I must talk with him," Snape said, his gloomy voice sounding certain.
"Then you may do so in class, as befits a teacher." Sprout said, reasonably.
"By then, I fear it may be too late." Snape responded, taking his black robes and air of gloom out with him.
But not before Professor Sprout felt a tingle up her spine, at what he'd said.
[a/n: Yes, if Snape had been nicer to most children he'd have gotten a better reception out of Pomona. Just desserts, my friends, just desserts!
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