2.
By Saturday -- a Hogsmeade weekend, thank Merlin -- Snape had retrieved his copy of the school's collective syllabi, dust-covered as he didn't care what the little monsters learned in their other classes, yet finally worth the four inches of space it stole from his shelf.
Snape had had little contact with the muggle world since coming to teach at Hogwarts. Even as a young man he had no interest in muggle culture, muggle politics, or muggle technology, but he was neither stupid nor deaf. He knew about phones and cars and television and computers. It was the last that disturbed him enough to sacrifice his Saturday to a possibly fruitless search.
Flipping through Professor Glumdunley's endless verbosity, he discovered that computers were taught in fourth year Muggle Studies, and the assigned text was called *Muggle Magic: Technology for Wizards*.
One furtive trip to the library later, Snape was comfortably ensconced in his favourite chair with a cup of tea and an annoyingly patronizing book on his lap.
Six pages after that, the cup was in pieces on the floor and the tea was splattered across 'Chapter Nine: The Internet -- Alternative to Scrying or Forum for Inanity?'.
A bout of swearing and a mad dash through mercifully empty halls after *that*, Snape slunk into the deserted Muggle Studies classroom, sneering at the various devices, electronic and otherwise, scattered around the room. Power cables snaked across the floor, spreading out from the combination arcanorium energy generator and electricity converter -- with added magical field depressor -- which hummed away in its corner and occasionally shot fuchsia sparks into the air. A set of two telephones graced opposite corners, complete with dialing instructions and etiquette tips sellotaped to the handset.
Snape recognized a microwave, several ball-point pens, a stapler, and a lone roller skate, oddly enough with the wheels in a single line. The most current muggle device for playing recorded music lay dissected on a work table, bringing him fond memories of his fifth year, of hexing Sirius Black's contraband eight-track player -- which Potter had rigged to run off flobberworm pus -- to spew purple slime at whomever hit the play button.
Hogwarts had only one computer, and it sat glaring at Snape, daring him to attempt to master it. Snarling back at the dark screen, Snape thumped the textbook down next the machine and flipped to Chapter Eight: The Wizard-Friendly PC.
Two hexes and the beginnings of a headache later, he found the 'on' button.
Another hex and ten minutes of staring at a clearly marked diagram after that, he figured out what the 'mouse' was.
Six more hexes, a bout of screaming, and a reboot after *that*, Severus Snape was surfing the web.
* * * * *
The address in corner of the now mangled and dog-eared sheet took him to a glaring yellow screen covered with large, angry, red text. And there it was in its entirety, complete with clamps and restraints and cock rings and Severus Snape fucking Harry Potter through the sheets.
He read it through, twice, in all its misspelled, cliched glory, then sat back in the alarmingly mobile chair. Though his experience with such machines was limited to one afternoon spent playing arcade games in 1978, the internet, according to the book, was accessible by anyone with a computer and a connection. This page, this *story* was accessible to anyone with a such a device... and half the school was either muggle-born, had muggle relations, or had families who indulged in muggle fripperies.
Fury exploded in Snape's chest, a dull point of tightly controlled anger. He fought the urge to storm up to Dumbledore's office and demand the immediate expulsion of the entire fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw classes. He had no way of proving Pandora Brown wrote the story, for it could have been anyone at the school, or even someone outside Hogwarts, as the wizarding world seemed to have an endless curiosity about his life since the war ended.
Merlin's beard, it might even have been a *muggle*.
Acid churned in his stomach, and he wished he had simply thrown the damned sheet away without looking at it. Nothing could possibly be worse than starring in a sick little drama, written without his permission and offered up for public consumption. Then he spotted the little button at the bottom of the screen.
The one that said 'Want more Harry Potter fic?'
A feeling of dread infusing his soul, Snape clicked the mouse.
By Saturday -- a Hogsmeade weekend, thank Merlin -- Snape had retrieved his copy of the school's collective syllabi, dust-covered as he didn't care what the little monsters learned in their other classes, yet finally worth the four inches of space it stole from his shelf.
Snape had had little contact with the muggle world since coming to teach at Hogwarts. Even as a young man he had no interest in muggle culture, muggle politics, or muggle technology, but he was neither stupid nor deaf. He knew about phones and cars and television and computers. It was the last that disturbed him enough to sacrifice his Saturday to a possibly fruitless search.
Flipping through Professor Glumdunley's endless verbosity, he discovered that computers were taught in fourth year Muggle Studies, and the assigned text was called *Muggle Magic: Technology for Wizards*.
One furtive trip to the library later, Snape was comfortably ensconced in his favourite chair with a cup of tea and an annoyingly patronizing book on his lap.
Six pages after that, the cup was in pieces on the floor and the tea was splattered across 'Chapter Nine: The Internet -- Alternative to Scrying or Forum for Inanity?'.
A bout of swearing and a mad dash through mercifully empty halls after *that*, Snape slunk into the deserted Muggle Studies classroom, sneering at the various devices, electronic and otherwise, scattered around the room. Power cables snaked across the floor, spreading out from the combination arcanorium energy generator and electricity converter -- with added magical field depressor -- which hummed away in its corner and occasionally shot fuchsia sparks into the air. A set of two telephones graced opposite corners, complete with dialing instructions and etiquette tips sellotaped to the handset.
Snape recognized a microwave, several ball-point pens, a stapler, and a lone roller skate, oddly enough with the wheels in a single line. The most current muggle device for playing recorded music lay dissected on a work table, bringing him fond memories of his fifth year, of hexing Sirius Black's contraband eight-track player -- which Potter had rigged to run off flobberworm pus -- to spew purple slime at whomever hit the play button.
Hogwarts had only one computer, and it sat glaring at Snape, daring him to attempt to master it. Snarling back at the dark screen, Snape thumped the textbook down next the machine and flipped to Chapter Eight: The Wizard-Friendly PC.
Two hexes and the beginnings of a headache later, he found the 'on' button.
Another hex and ten minutes of staring at a clearly marked diagram after that, he figured out what the 'mouse' was.
Six more hexes, a bout of screaming, and a reboot after *that*, Severus Snape was surfing the web.
* * * * *
The address in corner of the now mangled and dog-eared sheet took him to a glaring yellow screen covered with large, angry, red text. And there it was in its entirety, complete with clamps and restraints and cock rings and Severus Snape fucking Harry Potter through the sheets.
He read it through, twice, in all its misspelled, cliched glory, then sat back in the alarmingly mobile chair. Though his experience with such machines was limited to one afternoon spent playing arcade games in 1978, the internet, according to the book, was accessible by anyone with a computer and a connection. This page, this *story* was accessible to anyone with a such a device... and half the school was either muggle-born, had muggle relations, or had families who indulged in muggle fripperies.
Fury exploded in Snape's chest, a dull point of tightly controlled anger. He fought the urge to storm up to Dumbledore's office and demand the immediate expulsion of the entire fifth year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw classes. He had no way of proving Pandora Brown wrote the story, for it could have been anyone at the school, or even someone outside Hogwarts, as the wizarding world seemed to have an endless curiosity about his life since the war ended.
Merlin's beard, it might even have been a *muggle*.
Acid churned in his stomach, and he wished he had simply thrown the damned sheet away without looking at it. Nothing could possibly be worse than starring in a sick little drama, written without his permission and offered up for public consumption. Then he spotted the little button at the bottom of the screen.
The one that said 'Want more Harry Potter fic?'
A feeling of dread infusing his soul, Snape clicked the mouse.