Hello, my faithful fans! Readers! Worst enemies! Mere acquaintances!
And so on and so forth.
Everybody lately has managed to come up with cute disclaimers, like "I don't own these characters, but if J.K. Rowling wants to give them to me, that's okay," and things like that. I, unfortunately, am not as creative, so any suggestions for good disclaimers are welcome.
Disclaimer: This is my plain, simple, boring disclaimer that none of the characters from Hogwarts (Snape, Lockhart, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, the students, etc.) are mine. The people from the castle, however (Estelle, the king, Slimee, Smellington, etc.) are mine, so keep your quills off of them!
ADVERTISING: If you like this, then you'll love my other fic, the "Your Own Blood Trio - Voldemort's Daughter" (my friends gag in the background) Okay, okay, but seriously, read my stuff. Please?
And now we can finally get on to the story.
"And an essay on Hair-lengthening Potions due Tuesday," finished Professor Severus Snape nastily. His black eyes glittered with malice. "No excuses this time, Longbottom," he spat. Neville trembled as the bell rang. The students hurried out, complaining about their homework load. When they were gone, Snape allowed himself a grim smile. Not bad, not bad at all. A round fifty points from Gryffindor. Another day like this and the House Cup had Slytherin's name on it.
Still gloating, Snape flung open his office door and strode to his desk, only to stop dead at the sight of the roll of parchment upon it.
Dragon's dung, he'd forgotten all about it.
His good mood ruined, Snape kicked his desk vengefully. Why did the invitation bother him so much? He'd never been upset like this. Especially over something as infantile as a Princess' Ball. Snape picked up the invitation and unrolled it slowly.
"Hear ye, hear ye," it read in elaborate, curly writing. "All eligible men are invited to attend the Princess Estelle of Agobia's Ball, which will be held from - " it went on and on. Snape crumpled it into a ball. No, some dinky little princess from a tiny country (Agobia? He'd never even heard of it) didn't bother him. It was Lockhart.
After regaining his memory, the former celebrity had resumed his post at Hogwarts. Although a trifle more subdued than he had been, Lockhart had been quite himself when they had received their invitations.
"Mark my words, it'll be a night for Estelle to remember," he had told Snape cheerfully in the hall yesterday.
"What would she want with you?" Snape had snarled, sick to death of his co-worker's bragging. "She's only twenty-four! You're eighteen years older than her!"
"Well," said Lockhart, looking miffed, "don't forget that you're an older man as well."
"Better a ten year age difference than nearly twenty," he'd snapped back, a little too loudly. The students in the hall had stopped and stared. To Snape's horror, he had felt a red flush creeping up his neck.
"Besides," he had hissed, "I'm not going."
Lockhart had looked him up and down, taking in his greasy hair and rumpled black work robes. "No," he'd agreed amiably, "I didn't think so." And he'd sauntered off, leaving Snape fuming and wishing ferverently that they could start the dueling club again.
Snape gritted his teeth and crumpled the invitation into a tiny ball. No, he hadn't wanted to go, but he did now. If only to show that simpering prat Lockhart that he COULD look good, given a bit of preparation time. He sat back for a few minutes, daydreaming -
Severus Snape sauntered into the ballroom, all eyes upon him. The beautiful princess ran over and clasped his hand, her jewel-like eyes staring up adoringly into his.
"Oh, Severus," she whispered, "I've been waiting for you all my life."
"Hey, what about me?" whined Lockhart, trying to push his way in.
"Get a life, loser," she snarled at him.
"Allow me," said Snape, pulling out his wand and blasting Lockhart to the opposite wall. The crowd applauded wildly as Snape bent to kiss the princess -
A resounding knock brought Snape crashing back to reality. "What?" he spat. Lockhart poked his head in.
"I do hope you won't mind," said the blonde brightly, "But I need these tests graded by tomorrow, and since you're not going to the ball tonight - thanks!" Lockhart shoved a stack of parchment into Snape's arms and was gone before Snape could sputter a refusal.
Aghast, Snape looked at the huge pile of parchment. One hundred tests, at least! He'd never get them done in time for the ball! Muttering darkly under his breath, he was about to storm out and make Lockhart do his own work when McGonagall walked in.
"Oh, good, you've got them," she said, glancing at the tests on his desk. "Thank you so much, Severus, I really appreciate it. Lockhart would never have gotten them done in time. Please have them on his desk by morning." And again, before Snape could force words out of his wide open mouth, she was gone.
Snape kicked his desk furiously. It groaned, broke, and fell to the floor, scattering parchment everywhere. He kicked at the rubble again. With the Deputy Headmistress involved, there was no way he could shirk. Trust a Gryffindor to muck things up! Snape bent and gathered up the rolls of parchment, cursing the students, his fellow teachers, and the world in general under his breath. Well, if he had to grade the blasted tests, he was going to do them in his room, not down in the dungeons.
Walking up the halls to his quarters, his arms full of crumpled parchment, Snape paused before a mirror on the wall and glared at his reflection. His sallow skin and hooked nose were half-hidden by long, greasy black hair. His black eyes, the only things that looked alive, glittered between the strands. Snape turned away. Who had he been fooling? No princess would ever fall in love with him. And besides, it wasn't like he had anything to wear. Black work robes, one pair of green robes for Quidditch games. Nothing fancy. Not like Lockhart.
Filled with gloom and hatred, Snape pushed open his door - and promptly dropped the tests. Startled, he stepped over them and picked up the dress robes on his bed. They were black, but over the black was a pattern of delicate silver threads that glinted in the candlelight. Beneath the robes, Snape saw a silver ribbon, woven with real silver threads. The ribbon in one hand, the dress robes in the other, Snape shivered as he realized who had left these.
"Great man, Dumbledore," he whispered. "Great man."
Everybody lately has managed to come up with cute disclaimers, like "I don't own these characters, but if J.K. Rowling wants to give them to me, that's okay," and things like that. I, unfortunately, am not as creative, so any suggestions for good disclaimers are welcome.
Disclaimer: This is my plain, simple, boring disclaimer that none of the characters from Hogwarts (Snape, Lockhart, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, the students, etc.) are mine. The people from the castle, however (Estelle, the king, Slimee, Smellington, etc.) are mine, so keep your quills off of them!
ADVERTISING: If you like this, then you'll love my other fic, the "Your Own Blood Trio - Voldemort's Daughter" (my friends gag in the background) Okay, okay, but seriously, read my stuff. Please?
And now we can finally get on to the story.
"And an essay on Hair-lengthening Potions due Tuesday," finished Professor Severus Snape nastily. His black eyes glittered with malice. "No excuses this time, Longbottom," he spat. Neville trembled as the bell rang. The students hurried out, complaining about their homework load. When they were gone, Snape allowed himself a grim smile. Not bad, not bad at all. A round fifty points from Gryffindor. Another day like this and the House Cup had Slytherin's name on it.
Still gloating, Snape flung open his office door and strode to his desk, only to stop dead at the sight of the roll of parchment upon it.
Dragon's dung, he'd forgotten all about it.
His good mood ruined, Snape kicked his desk vengefully. Why did the invitation bother him so much? He'd never been upset like this. Especially over something as infantile as a Princess' Ball. Snape picked up the invitation and unrolled it slowly.
"Hear ye, hear ye," it read in elaborate, curly writing. "All eligible men are invited to attend the Princess Estelle of Agobia's Ball, which will be held from - " it went on and on. Snape crumpled it into a ball. No, some dinky little princess from a tiny country (Agobia? He'd never even heard of it) didn't bother him. It was Lockhart.
After regaining his memory, the former celebrity had resumed his post at Hogwarts. Although a trifle more subdued than he had been, Lockhart had been quite himself when they had received their invitations.
"Mark my words, it'll be a night for Estelle to remember," he had told Snape cheerfully in the hall yesterday.
"What would she want with you?" Snape had snarled, sick to death of his co-worker's bragging. "She's only twenty-four! You're eighteen years older than her!"
"Well," said Lockhart, looking miffed, "don't forget that you're an older man as well."
"Better a ten year age difference than nearly twenty," he'd snapped back, a little too loudly. The students in the hall had stopped and stared. To Snape's horror, he had felt a red flush creeping up his neck.
"Besides," he had hissed, "I'm not going."
Lockhart had looked him up and down, taking in his greasy hair and rumpled black work robes. "No," he'd agreed amiably, "I didn't think so." And he'd sauntered off, leaving Snape fuming and wishing ferverently that they could start the dueling club again.
Snape gritted his teeth and crumpled the invitation into a tiny ball. No, he hadn't wanted to go, but he did now. If only to show that simpering prat Lockhart that he COULD look good, given a bit of preparation time. He sat back for a few minutes, daydreaming -
Severus Snape sauntered into the ballroom, all eyes upon him. The beautiful princess ran over and clasped his hand, her jewel-like eyes staring up adoringly into his.
"Oh, Severus," she whispered, "I've been waiting for you all my life."
"Hey, what about me?" whined Lockhart, trying to push his way in.
"Get a life, loser," she snarled at him.
"Allow me," said Snape, pulling out his wand and blasting Lockhart to the opposite wall. The crowd applauded wildly as Snape bent to kiss the princess -
A resounding knock brought Snape crashing back to reality. "What?" he spat. Lockhart poked his head in.
"I do hope you won't mind," said the blonde brightly, "But I need these tests graded by tomorrow, and since you're not going to the ball tonight - thanks!" Lockhart shoved a stack of parchment into Snape's arms and was gone before Snape could sputter a refusal.
Aghast, Snape looked at the huge pile of parchment. One hundred tests, at least! He'd never get them done in time for the ball! Muttering darkly under his breath, he was about to storm out and make Lockhart do his own work when McGonagall walked in.
"Oh, good, you've got them," she said, glancing at the tests on his desk. "Thank you so much, Severus, I really appreciate it. Lockhart would never have gotten them done in time. Please have them on his desk by morning." And again, before Snape could force words out of his wide open mouth, she was gone.
Snape kicked his desk furiously. It groaned, broke, and fell to the floor, scattering parchment everywhere. He kicked at the rubble again. With the Deputy Headmistress involved, there was no way he could shirk. Trust a Gryffindor to muck things up! Snape bent and gathered up the rolls of parchment, cursing the students, his fellow teachers, and the world in general under his breath. Well, if he had to grade the blasted tests, he was going to do them in his room, not down in the dungeons.
Walking up the halls to his quarters, his arms full of crumpled parchment, Snape paused before a mirror on the wall and glared at his reflection. His sallow skin and hooked nose were half-hidden by long, greasy black hair. His black eyes, the only things that looked alive, glittered between the strands. Snape turned away. Who had he been fooling? No princess would ever fall in love with him. And besides, it wasn't like he had anything to wear. Black work robes, one pair of green robes for Quidditch games. Nothing fancy. Not like Lockhart.
Filled with gloom and hatred, Snape pushed open his door - and promptly dropped the tests. Startled, he stepped over them and picked up the dress robes on his bed. They were black, but over the black was a pattern of delicate silver threads that glinted in the candlelight. Beneath the robes, Snape saw a silver ribbon, woven with real silver threads. The ribbon in one hand, the dress robes in the other, Snape shivered as he realized who had left these.
"Great man, Dumbledore," he whispered. "Great man."