Disclaimer: Characters and situations all belong to JK Rowlings, not me. Caius the raven belongs to Draqonelle, who has kindly allowed me to borrow him (Vesta McGonagall is hers too). She also owns the Remus-in-the-closet incident, Caligula Snape, and young Sirius's boggart. In addition, I got the name Polaris Black for Sirius's sister from someone else's fanfic, but I can't remember whose (her character, however, belongs entirely to me and Draqonelle).
Posted by: Elspeth (also known as L Squared)
Ships: Professor Sinistra and an adorable black dog, hopefully hints at a future Snape/McGonagall
Chapter Four: In Which Neville Longbottom Melts a Cauldron and Snape and McGonagall Argue.
The fifth-years' potions lesson had started off unusually well. Snape had pointed to the list of potions ingredients on the board and snapped off the instructions for making a Binding Potion, then had returned to the front of the classroom to stand there vulture-like and glower at the students, as if daring them to so much as put a foot wrong. For Snape, this was comparatively pleasant behavior—Snape in a bad mood would already have made at least one sneering remark about Hermione, snarled three or more about Harry, who had been rather jumpy since the news of the dementors' defection had gotten out and thus presented an even easier target than usual, and would have taken at least two points from one of the Gryffindors for some awesome transgression such as taking notes with a scratchy quill, or stirring his cauldron in the wrong direction.
Everyone should have known that it was too good to last.
Snape had begun making his round of the classroom, peering into cauldrons to inspect the color and viscosity of potions, criticizing Gryffindors and praising Slytherins ("excellent work, Mr. Malfoy," "too much ground convolvulus vine, Mr. Finnigan,"). Somehow, he could be more threatening just standing behind you and watching than most teacher could be when bending over one's final exam with a red-inked quill in hand. Dean Thomas had once remarked that "He could give looming lessons to Bela Lugosi."
It was when Snape swept over to critique Neville's potion (wearing the self-satisfied smile of a predator scenting prey) that disaster struck.
"Mr. Longbottom," he purred silkily, seemingly materializing out of nowhere to appear at Neville's elbow. "Just what do you think you are doing?"
Neville jumped involuntarily and let out a squeak of startled fight. As he did so, the empty beaker he had been holding in one hand (having obviously just emptied the contents into his potion) fell into his cauldron with a resounding splash, sending liquid flying.
All of the students near Neville jumped hastily away, but a few were not quick enough. Pansy Parkington let out an agonized shriek as the substance—which bore very little resemblance to a Binding Potion—drenched the arm of her robe. Blaise Zabini echoed her cry with a howl of pain, and Lavender and Parvati, though barely sprinkled, began whimpering. Neville, miraculously, was untouched.
Snape stood, face white with rage and a vein in his temple throbbing. Caustic steam was rising off his black robes.
"Thirty points from Gryffindor! I said add one drop of sundew gel, not the entire bottle. Congratulations, Longbottom, you've managed to produce an astonishing facsimile of pure lye. OUT! Get out of my classroom! Don't come back! Everyone within a ten-foot radius of Mr. Longbottom, report to the infirmary."
The class fled.
^_~
"Severus," Minerva McGonagall demanded, her voice harsh and angry, "What's this about you throwing Neville Longbottom out of your potions class? What have you done to the poor child now?"
"That talent-less little brat has damaged my classroom for the last time, Minerva. He's a danger to himself and everyone around him, totally spineless and unable to concoct even the most elementary first-year potion unless Hermione Granger is hissing directions in his ear." Snape's voice was vindictive, and his face set in a contemptuous sneer. "He's not coming back down to my dungeon again, except to serve out his week of detention."
It was so completely and blatantly unfair that Minerva could maintain civility no longer. "If ability was required to let a student remain in a class, I would have thrown you out of transfiguration in your fourth year. You can't kick him out of potions; it's a required course. And if you fail him, I'll take it directly to Dumbledore. I've had enough of your outrageous partisan favoritism, Snape! Or is it just coincidence that none of the Slytherins ever fail potions, when Crabbe and Goyle could only scrape up a C through divine intervention? For God's sake, Neville is absolutely terrified of you. Of course he can't learn in that environment, not when you start each class automatically assuming he will fail."
"He's terrified of me?" The exclamation fairly dripped with sarcasm. "The child is a positive menace! I could have been blinded, Minerva! I had to send five students to the infirmary with second-degree burns as it is."
There was an odd, strained tone in his voice. For the first time, she noticed the pink patches of healing skin on his face, remnants of second and third degree burns. One of them was a quarter-inch away from his eye.
"Oh my god, Severus, have you been to Madam Pomfrey about those?"
"No. I've had ample experience patching myself up."
Minerva felt an instant and unwelcome surge of guilt. Severus had to be under a fair amount of emotional strain; he'd always been pale and thin, but lately he'd been looking even more consumptive than usual, and his temper had gotten even shorter. Under the circumstances, his explosion at Neville was perfectly understandable—No! No damnit, it was not! It was cruel and biased and… And considering that he had been drenched in caustic slime and really had been a quarter-inch away from being blinded…
"He actually frightened you, didn't he?" she blurted out in surprise. "That's why you over reacted."
"I did not over react," he snapped. "And I am not letting that child back into my class. I have no desire to spend the rest of my life looking like a younger, slightly less paranoid version of Mad-Eye Moody!"
"You have to let him back in, Severus," Minerva said, softening her voice to a more persuasive tone. "As I said, Potions is a required course. Dumbledore won't let you kick him out. And you can't expel him either, only a student's Head of House can do that, and I won't."
He didn't respond, merely glared at her in sullen silence.
"Neville's not really such a bad student," she continued. "Sometimes you just need to spend a little more time explaining things to him."
"The prospect of getting extra attention from me would probably make Longbottom faint from fear, and I doubt either one of us would survive the experience. At least, not intact."
"Your main objection to him seems to be his lack of skill at potions, and nothing is going to remedy that but attention and work. Perhaps you could assign another student to tutor him."
"Among those few students who are good enough to qualify as a tutor, there are none whom I would wish to inflict Longbottom on." He sneered faintly. "Draco Malfoy is at the top of the class, but if I assign Longbottom to him and the child causes some sort of disaster—which he inevitably will—and injures him, then Lucius Malfoy will either hire someone to assassinate me or file a lawsuit."
Minerva's lips twitched in spite of herself. Never in a million years would she admit that Snape's impossibly snide commentary was, occasionally, amusing—but the mental image of Lucius Malfoy trying to decide who to owl first, the lawyer or the hit man, was so perfectly on target that she couldn't quite conceal her response. Still, the continued disparaging of Neville was needlessly cruel.
"How do you know that Neville will 'cause some sort of disaster?' Perhaps he might perform better when not in a state of constant terror. The only thing more distracting for a student than being afraid of your teacher is fancying them." Snape's eyes narrowed at her abrupt segue, but she pressed on. "Students can do the most endearing things then. Drop their wands when you speak to them. Forget the answers to questions. Accidentally transfigure an orange into a set of woman's lingerie…" Minerva let a small, triumphant smile linger around her lips. She was not above a spot of blackmail for a good cause. Pale people blushed so easily, she mused inwardly. Though maybe it was a flush of anger—Snape usually looked angry anyway, so it was difficult to tell the difference.
"Tell Longbottom he is to report to the Potions classroom at two o' clock Saturday afternoon for a tutoring session with Miss Granger—in addition to his detention, which still stands. Miss Granger can consider it an extra credit project; she's been badgering me about assigning one all semester."
Minerva's smile broadened, though she was careful to keep it from turning into a smirk. One mustn't appear too proud in victory; Severus was a terrible loser.
"You see, Severus. It's much easier to work these things out if one discusses them in a reasonable fashion."
Snape glared at her viciously from behind his curtain of greasy hair, seething at both the reminder of past humiliations and at being forced to back down. She smiled calmly back, pleased to have wrung the concession from him, avoiding what would have been a no doubt unpleasant scene in front of Dumbledore. He was tall enough that she actually had to look up at him, though not very far up—a rare experience for a woman of her height. With anyone else it would have made her feel feminine. With Snape, she ruthlessly squashed all such sensations and merely concentrated on not feeling loomed over. Her younger sister Vesta, for some reason known only to God and female Slytherins, had always thought of him as rather cute. She had actually dated the man briefly during her seventh year and his fourth, mainly as a means of annoying Lucius Malfoy. Minerva rarely got on well with Vesta.
Snape chose not to respond to her cheerful statement, turning and sweeping toward the door, cape billowing dramatically. He had practiced that in the mirror, she would bet a galleon.
He paused a moment at the door to toss off one last comment. Typical of Snape, always wanting to have the last word.
"I'll leave the directions on the board and the two of them can start without me. I don't have time to baby-sit them every minute. And the next cauldron Longbottom melts, he pays for. I don't care what that grandmother of his says."
And with that, he swept out into the hallway and was gone.
^_~
Many apologies for the lack of Padfoot and Moony in this chapter. Don't worry; the canine couple (and I use the term in a totally best friend/het/not slash way) will be back in chapter six.
Thank you to Draqonelle, my Calliope (muse of epic poetry and literature), who, if she does not cease corrupting me with her slashily delightful RL/SB, may become my Erato (muse of erotic poetry and pantomime) instead.
Also, love and kisses to Sarah-Dunleavy, who reads and reviews my HP stuff even though she "doesn't do" fanfic.
Next up, Chapter Five: In Which Snape and Draco Take an Unorthodox Fieldtrip.
Come experience blood, sadism, and gratuitous insulting of Harry. Also, Draco Malfoy gets a tattoo (but sorry, Malfoy fans—no leather).