Title: Potent Potions Pet
Author: Ardat Lili [Artemisia]
Description: Snape gen, PG13, humor/parody
Summary: What if our dearest Potions Master didn't have all of his wits
about him?
Dear God, my forehead burns from the intensity of this scowl. Only a little longer, just a little longer. There. Now I've frowned at him enough to receive some sort of response. He may be thoroughly impossible to agitate, but three and a half minutes of a scrutinizing glare, when coupled with a disdainful countenance, does suffice to make him uncomfortable.
Ah, if only the small entrenchments I've made on my forehead were stronger. Had I been born with facial muscles of steel, that wolf boy would have been in serious trouble. I would so completely enjoy chasing him about, only to capture him and pinch him with my power-frown. I'd do the same to Potter, if given the opportunity. but he shall have to suffer my wrath in other ways for now. Endless points from Gryffindor, dear Potter.
And my reverie is broken. Honestly, at this rate I will never be able to achieve my lifetime dream of torturing my enemies with a vicious forehead grip. Those great and happy ruts of skin on my well-creased brow are not yet deserving of such power. I must first complete my task appointed by the Great White Bumblebee, before my one true wish shall be granted.
But woe be to them who do not like me, when my forehead becomes an object to be feared! The day shall come. Oh, the day shall indeed come. The lycanthrope imitates my patented frown, the bastard, as he turns to me with a look reminiscent of confusion. But there is no need to fear; he'll never muster the same kind of grace that I add to each glorious glare.
"Do you need something, Professor?" he asks me carefully, intent on keeping the formality between us at an all-time high. Professor my ass. He'd like to tackle me as much as I'd like to kick his little wolf- but no. I have brought him something, and I must give it to him. Still, I must keep the fact that his gift is based on the orders of the Great White Bumblebee hidden from him. He need not know of our secret alliance.
"Dumbledore asked me to bring your antidote," I say as I place the small vial I was carrying on his cluttered desk. Damn it all! In my haste, I have revealed my secret! That meddlesome creature shall pay for prying this information from me-!! I've bestowed my talents upon him only out of reverence for my leader. But now I have failed the Great White Bumblebee, and until he is made aware of my shortcomings, pound after pound of Guilty Feelings will heave their impish bodies onto my shoulders.
It cannot be tolerated. Guilty Feelings are far to scary to contend with on a daily basis. They have rather large mouths and are constantly reminding you of your failures with high pitched voices that rebound in your head. Surely I am not the only one to find them grotesque. But now I must return to my sender, and inform him of my incompetence. Well, before I do that, I ought make sure that the wolf carries some of those unholy imps on his shoulders, as well.
"That was an extremely demanding potion to make, and it will surely take hours for me complete all the work I have put off because of it." Take that, beastie boy! Yes, see how I have been forced to exhaust my time and energy at your unworthy expense, and please do accept a rather large handful of the guilt imps. Now you are bound by the law of nature to showing me some form of appreciation, and I will extract great enjoyment in receiving it.
"Yes, I'm sure it was very difficult. Thank you."
That was nothing short of insufficient. Where the hell is my groveling? Where the hell is my gratuitous smile? That was certainly unacceptable. Thank you, the man says. Thank you, and no more. What in the hell does he think this is about? "It's sad that my expertise had to be wasted on you. I'm sure that you won't be able to properly appreciate my work."
"I'm sure I will."
"I'm sure you won't." I raise one eyebrow, in an attempt to look condescending, but I can't escape the moment of silent glee that always occurs when I move a brow. I can only hope that my true intentions aren't obvious. But God, I can't take this! I need another word, or another situation- simply another of anything at which I might twitch the other brow.
But. it looks as if I must give up. Since there is no catalyst coming my way, this particular twitch will have to be made without obvious cause or reason. I wiggle the offending eyebrow enticingly, smirking in the general direction of the werewolf. Hopefully he will assume that I am trying to insult him. Then a problem arises.the brow is no longer under my control!
Helplessly, I stand and contort my face in failing attempts to keep the offending muscles at bay, while the renegade brow leaps about above its natural position and produces an odd and unintentional side effect. Remus Lupin hunches his shoulders and narrows his eyes slightly. Oh, joy of joys! I must have finally succeeded in irritating him!
With remarkable speed, I find myself shoved firmly against the wall behind the wolf's messy desk. Even though the situation could become dire, I am admittedly more interested in the furry blue blanket hastily pushed underneath the canine Professor's desk. I should have known that Lupin was the type to have a special blankie.
"Severus," he growls, "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
Yes, it certainly has. I rather do want down now. I've been holding my breath, because I was expecting his lycanthropic breath to reek. I struggle to get down, but my attempts are not fruitful. Well, it has been decided, by the forces that be. I, Severus Snape, have been given an urge that, for once, has nothing to do with herbal shampoo! I will have a go at that wolf with my forehead, muscles finely honed or not!
And thus inclined, I bend my head in the direction of his collarbone, ready to attack with my Invisible Pinchers of Doom. In secret, I like to think about them and the secret powers that they provide me with, but here, I am ready to put them to use. I can prove their existence to those who would be skeptical of my hidden beetle-like pinchers, with the wounds which I am about to inflict!
But I am met by the worst thing possible, the breath that I have always desperately sought to avoid smelling at all costs. That which I have struggled to never meet, I have now met. and my spirit is broken by the realization that Remus Lupin's breath is not rancid. It is now clear that entire decades of taunts have been wasted upon him!
"Reeking Remus." That was always one of my favorites. But what use is it to me now? I have learned that his breath smells like mint. It was not until he began to back away that I became aware of the fact that I had spoken. I stare in awe as he steps back, a safe distance from my Invisible Pinchers of Doom, and breathes into the cupped palm of his hand.
I chose this moment to remember my duty to return to the Great White Bumblebee, whom I must visit before the Guilty Feelings attack me with their high pitched shrieks of "You gave away the secret! You gave away the secret! You are no longer deserving of the title of Potent Potions Pet!"
And so I make my escape from the room of the self-conscious werewolf, and shuffle quickly down the dark corridor. My robes are rather long and black, which is great for frightening students into completing the ridiculously long essays I'm so fond of assigning. Unfortunately they are less efficient when if comes to running- but I must be firm in my resolve. I am on my way to admit my failure, and to rid myself of all the imps associated with it.
"Chocolate covered cockroach clusters," I inform the gargoyle, albeit reluctantly, as I arrive at The Great White Bumblebee's secret headquarters. The stone thing jumps quickly out of the way to give me access to the obscure doorway. I open the door partially, and nervously poke my face inside, the sudden movement making a glob of my exceptionally greasy hair slap me gracelessly in the face.
"Come on in, Severus," says the Great one from inside. "How fared you on your mission?"
Entering the room was not difficult, but taking the seat that he wanted to get me into was. My shame bowed my head for me, and prevented me from getting a clear view of the room, and likewise, I didn't notice the first few times he tried to indicate for me to seat myself. I suppose it has become obvious that I have failed.
"He did receive the potion you made, Severus?"
I nod my bowed head, the black strands of my hair taking the opportunity to flop over my eyes and further obscure my vision. For a moment, I feel that they are trying to attack me, and I wrestle them back into place with, what was, perhaps a bit too much force. But from this downward view, I have been enlightened. The Great White Bumblebee does not wear shoes; instead his feet are covered by thick socks with padded toes.
As intrigued by this new discovery as I am, I still have an occurrence to admit. This could take a moment, I have realized something profound. If Albus Dumbledore need not wear shoes in his office, then perhaps Severus Snape need not. Well, I will have to come back to that. I must fend off the imps. "He knows. that I gave it to him under your orders." "I trust, Professor, that you know what this means."
Yes, I am very much aware. I will not yet receive his help with my forehead- strength spell. In fact, I will not be given access to any of the volumes in the Restricted Section of the library, until I have completed a set of tasks placed before me without flaw. It is certainly a fair plan, with all that he has done for me over the years.
I can't help but give a shaky smile as the elderly wizard rises to his stocking adorned feet, his long robes covering all but the neon green toes of the brightly colored material. I heave a great sigh of relief as he steps toward me, and waves his hands over my shoulders. He has helped me with this particular problem for years.
"Shoo, imps, shoo."
Dear God, my forehead burns from the intensity of this scowl. Only a little longer, just a little longer. There. Now I've frowned at him enough to receive some sort of response. He may be thoroughly impossible to agitate, but three and a half minutes of a scrutinizing glare, when coupled with a disdainful countenance, does suffice to make him uncomfortable.
Ah, if only the small entrenchments I've made on my forehead were stronger. Had I been born with facial muscles of steel, that wolf boy would have been in serious trouble. I would so completely enjoy chasing him about, only to capture him and pinch him with my power-frown. I'd do the same to Potter, if given the opportunity. but he shall have to suffer my wrath in other ways for now. Endless points from Gryffindor, dear Potter.
And my reverie is broken. Honestly, at this rate I will never be able to achieve my lifetime dream of torturing my enemies with a vicious forehead grip. Those great and happy ruts of skin on my well-creased brow are not yet deserving of such power. I must first complete my task appointed by the Great White Bumblebee, before my one true wish shall be granted.
But woe be to them who do not like me, when my forehead becomes an object to be feared! The day shall come. Oh, the day shall indeed come. The lycanthrope imitates my patented frown, the bastard, as he turns to me with a look reminiscent of confusion. But there is no need to fear; he'll never muster the same kind of grace that I add to each glorious glare.
"Do you need something, Professor?" he asks me carefully, intent on keeping the formality between us at an all-time high. Professor my ass. He'd like to tackle me as much as I'd like to kick his little wolf- but no. I have brought him something, and I must give it to him. Still, I must keep the fact that his gift is based on the orders of the Great White Bumblebee hidden from him. He need not know of our secret alliance.
"Dumbledore asked me to bring your antidote," I say as I place the small vial I was carrying on his cluttered desk. Damn it all! In my haste, I have revealed my secret! That meddlesome creature shall pay for prying this information from me-!! I've bestowed my talents upon him only out of reverence for my leader. But now I have failed the Great White Bumblebee, and until he is made aware of my shortcomings, pound after pound of Guilty Feelings will heave their impish bodies onto my shoulders.
It cannot be tolerated. Guilty Feelings are far to scary to contend with on a daily basis. They have rather large mouths and are constantly reminding you of your failures with high pitched voices that rebound in your head. Surely I am not the only one to find them grotesque. But now I must return to my sender, and inform him of my incompetence. Well, before I do that, I ought make sure that the wolf carries some of those unholy imps on his shoulders, as well.
"That was an extremely demanding potion to make, and it will surely take hours for me complete all the work I have put off because of it." Take that, beastie boy! Yes, see how I have been forced to exhaust my time and energy at your unworthy expense, and please do accept a rather large handful of the guilt imps. Now you are bound by the law of nature to showing me some form of appreciation, and I will extract great enjoyment in receiving it.
"Yes, I'm sure it was very difficult. Thank you."
That was nothing short of insufficient. Where the hell is my groveling? Where the hell is my gratuitous smile? That was certainly unacceptable. Thank you, the man says. Thank you, and no more. What in the hell does he think this is about? "It's sad that my expertise had to be wasted on you. I'm sure that you won't be able to properly appreciate my work."
"I'm sure I will."
"I'm sure you won't." I raise one eyebrow, in an attempt to look condescending, but I can't escape the moment of silent glee that always occurs when I move a brow. I can only hope that my true intentions aren't obvious. But God, I can't take this! I need another word, or another situation- simply another of anything at which I might twitch the other brow.
But. it looks as if I must give up. Since there is no catalyst coming my way, this particular twitch will have to be made without obvious cause or reason. I wiggle the offending eyebrow enticingly, smirking in the general direction of the werewolf. Hopefully he will assume that I am trying to insult him. Then a problem arises.the brow is no longer under my control!
Helplessly, I stand and contort my face in failing attempts to keep the offending muscles at bay, while the renegade brow leaps about above its natural position and produces an odd and unintentional side effect. Remus Lupin hunches his shoulders and narrows his eyes slightly. Oh, joy of joys! I must have finally succeeded in irritating him!
With remarkable speed, I find myself shoved firmly against the wall behind the wolf's messy desk. Even though the situation could become dire, I am admittedly more interested in the furry blue blanket hastily pushed underneath the canine Professor's desk. I should have known that Lupin was the type to have a special blankie.
"Severus," he growls, "Don't you think this has gone on long enough?"
Yes, it certainly has. I rather do want down now. I've been holding my breath, because I was expecting his lycanthropic breath to reek. I struggle to get down, but my attempts are not fruitful. Well, it has been decided, by the forces that be. I, Severus Snape, have been given an urge that, for once, has nothing to do with herbal shampoo! I will have a go at that wolf with my forehead, muscles finely honed or not!
And thus inclined, I bend my head in the direction of his collarbone, ready to attack with my Invisible Pinchers of Doom. In secret, I like to think about them and the secret powers that they provide me with, but here, I am ready to put them to use. I can prove their existence to those who would be skeptical of my hidden beetle-like pinchers, with the wounds which I am about to inflict!
But I am met by the worst thing possible, the breath that I have always desperately sought to avoid smelling at all costs. That which I have struggled to never meet, I have now met. and my spirit is broken by the realization that Remus Lupin's breath is not rancid. It is now clear that entire decades of taunts have been wasted upon him!
"Reeking Remus." That was always one of my favorites. But what use is it to me now? I have learned that his breath smells like mint. It was not until he began to back away that I became aware of the fact that I had spoken. I stare in awe as he steps back, a safe distance from my Invisible Pinchers of Doom, and breathes into the cupped palm of his hand.
I chose this moment to remember my duty to return to the Great White Bumblebee, whom I must visit before the Guilty Feelings attack me with their high pitched shrieks of "You gave away the secret! You gave away the secret! You are no longer deserving of the title of Potent Potions Pet!"
And so I make my escape from the room of the self-conscious werewolf, and shuffle quickly down the dark corridor. My robes are rather long and black, which is great for frightening students into completing the ridiculously long essays I'm so fond of assigning. Unfortunately they are less efficient when if comes to running- but I must be firm in my resolve. I am on my way to admit my failure, and to rid myself of all the imps associated with it.
"Chocolate covered cockroach clusters," I inform the gargoyle, albeit reluctantly, as I arrive at The Great White Bumblebee's secret headquarters. The stone thing jumps quickly out of the way to give me access to the obscure doorway. I open the door partially, and nervously poke my face inside, the sudden movement making a glob of my exceptionally greasy hair slap me gracelessly in the face.
"Come on in, Severus," says the Great one from inside. "How fared you on your mission?"
Entering the room was not difficult, but taking the seat that he wanted to get me into was. My shame bowed my head for me, and prevented me from getting a clear view of the room, and likewise, I didn't notice the first few times he tried to indicate for me to seat myself. I suppose it has become obvious that I have failed.
"He did receive the potion you made, Severus?"
I nod my bowed head, the black strands of my hair taking the opportunity to flop over my eyes and further obscure my vision. For a moment, I feel that they are trying to attack me, and I wrestle them back into place with, what was, perhaps a bit too much force. But from this downward view, I have been enlightened. The Great White Bumblebee does not wear shoes; instead his feet are covered by thick socks with padded toes.
As intrigued by this new discovery as I am, I still have an occurrence to admit. This could take a moment, I have realized something profound. If Albus Dumbledore need not wear shoes in his office, then perhaps Severus Snape need not. Well, I will have to come back to that. I must fend off the imps. "He knows. that I gave it to him under your orders." "I trust, Professor, that you know what this means."
Yes, I am very much aware. I will not yet receive his help with my forehead- strength spell. In fact, I will not be given access to any of the volumes in the Restricted Section of the library, until I have completed a set of tasks placed before me without flaw. It is certainly a fair plan, with all that he has done for me over the years.
I can't help but give a shaky smile as the elderly wizard rises to his stocking adorned feet, his long robes covering all but the neon green toes of the brightly colored material. I heave a great sigh of relief as he steps toward me, and waves his hands over my shoulders. He has helped me with this particular problem for years.
"Shoo, imps, shoo."