I strode into the classroom, immediately quieting the hum and buzz of first day nerves. Several disgusted Gryfindors still glowered in my direction, but I paid them no mind.


It was with my Slytherin first years that my interest lay. I glanced quickly over their faces, several promising pairs of eyes gleaming malevolently in the smoky light of the dungeons. I glanced, peripherally, at a boy whose blue black hair hung in straggles in front of his eyes. He was surrounded, ironically enough, by two Crabbe and Goyle-esque toads, who guarded his every move. His eyes skimmed over me, wearing a petulantly bored expression. He yawned very obviously, his bone white hand shielding the dark cavity of his mouth.


I felt an immediate lurch of dislike towards him, and even a touch of unease. I could tell he would be unpredictable, rude, obnoxious. Astoundingly similar to his predecessor, Draco Malfoy. I groaned inwardly. Wasn't dealing with one self important bastard enough?


I stayed silent for several moments, frowning as I surveyed them. Several looked distinctly uncomfortable beneath my gaze, and as a tactic of intimidation, I observed them the longest. One child, a girl, with bright hazel eyes, looked up at me, quill and paper ready, her hands folded neatly in her lap, the corners of her mouth threatening to erupt into smiles at any moment.



Ms. Lankers, I said quietly enough, but letting the other hear. She jumped nervously, my famed voice affecting her formerly happy demeanor. Tell me, what is so amusing that you must wear a half-witted grin to class?, I said snappishly. I congratulated myself as she flushed darkly beneath my words, struggling for a response. There is nothing quite like the slow destruction of an adolescent's confidence.


I....nothing sir. I was just looking forward to this class, is all. Potions looks extremely interesting, she stammered, placing her quill in the ink pot and reverently pushing a potions textbook into my view. I smiled, and she relaxed, falling into the trap so many others before her had. Six points from Ravenclaw, Ms. Lankers, for you wonderfully sarcastic wit, I said smoothly, never missing a beat. Her smile and loosened shoulders stiffened, and I could tell that if I kept pursuing this, her tears would be my eventual victory.


I wasn't being sarcastic sir, she protested, her eyes widening. A girl next to her elbowed her for silence, but it was already too late. A further eight points, girl, I snarled, descending on her desk, a giant black vulture, for another interrupting me. As for you, Ms. Highsmith, twelve points from Gryfindor for causing disorder in the classroom, I continued, moving swiftly onto her table mate. The girl whom I had been speaking to had the sense to close her mouth, much to my disappointment. I was rather looking forward to crippling Gryindor's house cup chances on the first day.


The rest of the class went undisturbed, the only ripples caused by the raven haired boy whose name I hadn't learned yet. His body guards made sure to add unwanted and unwarranted ingredients to the surrounding Gryfindors, effectively ruining their already pathetic potions. It was amusing, actually, to see a girl that insistently reminded me of Hermione Granger burst into tears because her perfect potion had managed to turn her blue ferret into a furry, snapping puddle.


By this time, my patience was gone, and I was tiring of this new class. Although these Gryindors were not as unbearable as Potter and Weasley, their presence was still a great source of annoyance.


Class dismissed, I called out, and a silent sigh of relief blew over them. As they rushed to cram books and ingredients into their satchels, the raven haired boy slipped a dungbomb into Granger-clone's satchel. , I said very loudly, and I was pleased to see they all froze, mid-step, I believe I smell something far more foul than the wasted efforts you all made in class. Open your bags, each and every one of you. Not one word, look or movement of protest was uttered.


Each student willingly dumped the contents of their bag onto work benches. Several girls, I was amused to see, rushed to hide their hideous wizard tabloids, magazines and romance novels. Only the Granger girl stood, unabashed, proudly offering her bag for inspection.


Name, girl, I said as I wrenched open the top, knowing full well what I would find.Mariah Tooksbury, she said. I dug through it, feeling her quills and ink bottles until my fingers closed around the coveted object. , I said in my most venomous voice, I believe this is the source of that hideous odor. For a minute, I almost believed that a child could smell so foul. She stood on her tip toes to see the object clasped in my hand.


She clapped her hand to her mouth in horror, forgetting my most insulting comment. Sir, I honestly have no idea..., she began. , I roared, not only have you disturbed my class, but I will have to call Filch for this. Detention for a week. Twenty points from Gryindor. Class dismissed. Ms. Tooksbury, a word, if you will.



The class practically shot out of the doors. In fact, I had no idea that children were inclined to move that fast, especially the rather plenteous Mr. Boskett, whom I had the pleasure of deducting more points from. The girl sat rigidly at her desk, her hands clasped almost piously together, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to halt the tears that were so inevitably close.



Your detention, Ms. Tooksbury, should prove to be far more interesting than the top ceiling of my classroom, I drawled, enunciating each syllable, watching her shrink from me. I didn't set off the dungbomb, sir, I swear it wasn't me..., she began, but immediately stopped when she saw the expression on my face. Did you honestly think that would amuse me, Ms.Tooksbury? That your fellow Gryindors would find that sort of childish, inane behavior brave or honorable? Or perhaps it was to draw attention to yourself because you lack certain other characteristics (I let my gaze linger on her ungracefully plain face; she struggled valiantly against crying, but I saw one rotund tear drop scurry down her face), I said scathingly, my mouth contorted in a cruelly amused smirk. She was twisting the edges of her robes in her hand, the wool becoming more stretched and malformed with each desperate ministration. She swallowed several times, trying to control her breathing in the oppressive silence.



I'm very, very sorry professor, she said at length, her voice finally steadying itself. She did not dare to glance up at me, even though my expression had somewhat softened. I coughed lightly, then picked up my quill and parchment, preparing to write a statement to Filch, when I heard her quietly gesturing for my attention. I raised an eyebrow in her direction, finding it far more effectual to communicate non verbally at this point.
I was hoping....if you would let me make up the mistake in class today...an essay...eight feet of parchment...anything?, she asked fearfully. I will punish you how I see fit, Ms. Tooksbury. I will have none of your unwanted interjections. You've wasted enough of my time already, I said witheringly the tone of my voice becoming arrogantly disinterested.



She huddled there for a few minutes quietly hiccuping her sobs into her satchel, trying to hide her distress from me. I said you may go, but if you prefer to humiliate yourself further, please choose another teacher, I said, perhaps Professor Granger would understand. She herself has done a fair share of idiotic things in my classroom. She gave me one more imploring glance before positively stampeding out of the classroom, running as fast as her heavily shooed feet would allow.



I sighed and shook my head. I heard another slight jumping sound , and I smiled as Gally, my cat, appeared on one of the desks. She had been sleeping atop the potions ingredient cabinet. Gally, Gally, I said quietly, will those impossible Gryfindors ever learn that it is sometimes wisest to hold their tongues than to attempt to salvage pride?














A/N: No, no no. Snapey is not going to become involved with his student, I was just trying to explicate what went on in his head when he was actually saying these sarcastic, horribly destructive things to children. Anyways, I also wrote it out of fear that he was becoming too soft and sappy. If you think he still is, please let me know. Oh, and I will try to make his hair less greasy in future chapters, even though I for one never believed it actually was, and that Harry Potter was just jealous. ; p
Thanks to all reviewers, I appreciate it muchly. Hope you like the Pink Floyd title, thought adding a bit of pop culture to Snape would be amusing.