~~I need a title for this; I don't like Snape's Life!! Give me titles!!
(asapp - as soon as possible please)
By: Laala KG
Rating: G for now.
*People, Dien Alcyone's stuff totally, totally recommended! Amazing writer alert. Her best is 'A Season for Healing' which is has a Harry/Snape plotline. I am not entirely comfortable with gayness, and Snape will certainly NOT be gay in this story, but her amazing talent was too good an opportunity to pass. She doesn't need me to recommend her stuff anyways, but I just thought I'd mention it. 'A Season For Healing' is in my favs. Go R&R.
Thnx 2 my first reviewer - Rossalinda (and lol!!) and Iamawriter1
Oh, and guys, if anyone out there knows how to make the damn text appear in italic on the net, and can tell me, that would be fab. Every time I do it in word, bloody FanFic decides to make it regular font. ARAGH!!
And, by the way, I am going to make my future chapters longer. If I can. It's just that I have tests at the moment, but inspiration is still here, so I have to write!! Please read and review, tell me what's good and what's bad. Even if you think the whole thing is crap, please review and say why and MAYBE I will change. Thanks to everyone who reviews. Email me if you want with anything - my email in my profile.
Thnkies~~
Snape glowered at the stupid student in front of him. He had TOLD the whole class quite clearly, that in this complex potion the final ingredient - the lacewing - had to be added with extreme caution, and had empathized that to these particularly stubborn, stupid bunch of Gryffindors. Thick sods.
"Troy, will you please tell Newbery what I said about lacewing at the beginning of this lesson?" Snape said softly, gesturing at one of the Slytherins to speak.
"You said, Professor Snape, that the lacewing, normally harmless will cause an eruption," he intoned.
"Exactly. Five points to Slytherin," Snape said, ignoring the smirking Troy, "now tell me, you fool, what precisely seems to be the problem. Is it that your ears are too blocked for you to hear or is it simply because you have a brain equal to that of a mountain troll?" he hissed at the boy. The third-year cowered in front of him, as the crowd of Slytherins sniggered. Strangely, he didn't feel his normal feeling of triumphant. Newbery sobbed silently, making sure not to look his Potions master in the eye.
Having small, Knut-sized purple and pink boils erupt all over his face and hands, granted, looked ridiculous, but was also extremely painful, and it took a lot of courage not to fully break down and yell. It felt like just- snubbed-out cigarettes were being pressed to his skin. If he hadn't known that Snape would've kept him longer for "causing a disruptance" he would've been jumping up and down with pain.
Snape snorted at the ridiculous image in front of him. It wasn't as if he hadn't forewarned them. He had warned them all (as usual) and (again, as usual) no one had bothered to take the slightest interest. He was sick of being treated like an invisible house-elf. He looked at the trembling boy, smiling eerily, letting go of his tension. Why get work up when he could have a laugh?
"Answer me," Snape said idly, in his signature soft tone. Newbery simply stayed hexed to the spot, mouth clamped shut, as if in a Body-Binding Spell. Snape gave a short sigh of annoyance, and pointed at another Gryffindor with his wand, who took a subconscious step back, "Hamish. Take the ignorant fool to the hospital wing." Newbery ran from the class, tripping over his robes in haste. A couple of pops could be heard and when he stood back up, crimson blood was dripping onto the floor with a mixture of purple and pink liquids. The Gryffindors pulled faces of sympathy, while the girls simply squirmed. Newbery left in haste, Hamish at his elbow. Everyone returned to brewing their potions. Snape walked back to the front of his class after muttering Evanesco at the mess Newbery had created.
Snape looked up at a vividly haired girl, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny Weasley. He didn't REALLY have a problem with the Senior Weasleys, but the twins, Ron and Ginny Weasley were too much. And far, far too much for one person to teach.
He walked over to her working table silently, making sure not to make any noise. He crept up on her and whispered, "what in the name of Merlin's beard do you think you're doing, Weasley?" She jumped about a mile.
"I - I'm, I'm - do-doing my potion, Professor Snape," she stuttered. Snape smiled nastily.
"You are, are you?" she nodded mutely.
"Is it completed?"
"Yes, sir," she said hesitantly.
"Well then, Weasley, what colour should your Energy Potion be?"
"Violet, Professor," she answered immediately. Damn her. If she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing it would make everything so much easier. Snape observed the potion, which was had far too much liquid. He made a metal note of what she'd done wrong, then moved his head a fraction to the side, observing her ingredients. That confirmed his train of thought.
"So you have got the slightest about what you're supposed to be doing. You do know what your potion should be like. Why is it a blueish purple, then, may I ask?"
"I - I don't know, Professor Snape," she said, blushing, causing her face to match her hair.
"You don't, do you? Did you, as I instructed, boil the cintomia before powdering it? Did you mix the potion carefully, with a rod of breechweed?"
"I forgot to mix it with the breechweed," she muttered, blushing a deeper shade of cherry.
"I know, Weasley. Utterly useless...I, of course, could not care less, but I assure you, at this rate, you would, at highest barely scrap by with a pass. Now. I want you to re-brew this potion as extra homework and bring a sample in for me. Clear this mess up." He waved his wand carelessly while talking, and all the spilt liquid on the floor in front of him vanished.
~*~
Snape slammed the door behind him, immediately wishing he hadn't. The noise had re-activated his already throbbing headache. He pointed at the fire and murmured Naar, and a fire erupted in the grate, instantly warming him. Snape covered his long, crooked (and right now freezing) nose with his hand and rubbed it. He sighed and slumped down on his favourite black squashy chair. He thought back on his day of teaching, and wondered, really, why he did it.
Teach, that is.
Today, despite having Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in one class (Merlin help us), it was a fairly good day. In other words, no Harry Potter.
Of course, there was his amazing escape (yet again. How did the measly brat manage to DO that?) which made him all the more favourable in Dumbledore's eyes. That old bat. Really, he was fond of Dumbledore - no one had done as much for him as Dumbledore had - but he could not stand how the boy was treated like everyone else was lesser than him.
Only one more Potions lesson with Harry Potter before the end of term, end of the year. Before he could return to his haven, his home. His mansion. He smiled as he thought of his fields, of his - his - garden. But most of all, of his workroom, right at the top of a certain tower. All it would take was a simple Open Says-a-me and the room would be roofless. He thought of his work, his potions, his reading, his transfiguration. Of where he could focus, and occasionally be nice to the odd house-elf, of maybe even Gibber (a Hipprogriff that could speak).
*People, Dien Alcyone's stuff totally, totally recommended! Amazing writer alert. Her best is 'A Season for Healing' which is has a Harry/Snape plotline. I am not entirely comfortable with gayness, and Snape will certainly NOT be gay in this story, but her amazing talent was too good an opportunity to pass. She doesn't need me to recommend her stuff anyways, but I just thought I'd mention it. 'A Season For Healing' is in my favs. Go R&R.
Thnx 2 my first reviewer - Rossalinda (and lol!!) and Iamawriter1
Oh, and guys, if anyone out there knows how to make the damn text appear in italic on the net, and can tell me, that would be fab. Every time I do it in word, bloody FanFic decides to make it regular font. ARAGH!!
And, by the way, I am going to make my future chapters longer. If I can. It's just that I have tests at the moment, but inspiration is still here, so I have to write!! Please read and review, tell me what's good and what's bad. Even if you think the whole thing is crap, please review and say why and MAYBE I will change. Thanks to everyone who reviews. Email me if you want with anything - my email in my profile.
Thnkies~~
Snape glowered at the stupid student in front of him. He had TOLD the whole class quite clearly, that in this complex potion the final ingredient - the lacewing - had to be added with extreme caution, and had empathized that to these particularly stubborn, stupid bunch of Gryffindors. Thick sods.
"Troy, will you please tell Newbery what I said about lacewing at the beginning of this lesson?" Snape said softly, gesturing at one of the Slytherins to speak.
"You said, Professor Snape, that the lacewing, normally harmless will cause an eruption," he intoned.
"Exactly. Five points to Slytherin," Snape said, ignoring the smirking Troy, "now tell me, you fool, what precisely seems to be the problem. Is it that your ears are too blocked for you to hear or is it simply because you have a brain equal to that of a mountain troll?" he hissed at the boy. The third-year cowered in front of him, as the crowd of Slytherins sniggered. Strangely, he didn't feel his normal feeling of triumphant. Newbery sobbed silently, making sure not to look his Potions master in the eye.
Having small, Knut-sized purple and pink boils erupt all over his face and hands, granted, looked ridiculous, but was also extremely painful, and it took a lot of courage not to fully break down and yell. It felt like just- snubbed-out cigarettes were being pressed to his skin. If he hadn't known that Snape would've kept him longer for "causing a disruptance" he would've been jumping up and down with pain.
Snape snorted at the ridiculous image in front of him. It wasn't as if he hadn't forewarned them. He had warned them all (as usual) and (again, as usual) no one had bothered to take the slightest interest. He was sick of being treated like an invisible house-elf. He looked at the trembling boy, smiling eerily, letting go of his tension. Why get work up when he could have a laugh?
"Answer me," Snape said idly, in his signature soft tone. Newbery simply stayed hexed to the spot, mouth clamped shut, as if in a Body-Binding Spell. Snape gave a short sigh of annoyance, and pointed at another Gryffindor with his wand, who took a subconscious step back, "Hamish. Take the ignorant fool to the hospital wing." Newbery ran from the class, tripping over his robes in haste. A couple of pops could be heard and when he stood back up, crimson blood was dripping onto the floor with a mixture of purple and pink liquids. The Gryffindors pulled faces of sympathy, while the girls simply squirmed. Newbery left in haste, Hamish at his elbow. Everyone returned to brewing their potions. Snape walked back to the front of his class after muttering Evanesco at the mess Newbery had created.
Snape looked up at a vividly haired girl, eyes narrowed in distaste. Ginny Weasley. He didn't REALLY have a problem with the Senior Weasleys, but the twins, Ron and Ginny Weasley were too much. And far, far too much for one person to teach.
He walked over to her working table silently, making sure not to make any noise. He crept up on her and whispered, "what in the name of Merlin's beard do you think you're doing, Weasley?" She jumped about a mile.
"I - I'm, I'm - do-doing my potion, Professor Snape," she stuttered. Snape smiled nastily.
"You are, are you?" she nodded mutely.
"Is it completed?"
"Yes, sir," she said hesitantly.
"Well then, Weasley, what colour should your Energy Potion be?"
"Violet, Professor," she answered immediately. Damn her. If she didn't know what she was supposed to be doing it would make everything so much easier. Snape observed the potion, which was had far too much liquid. He made a metal note of what she'd done wrong, then moved his head a fraction to the side, observing her ingredients. That confirmed his train of thought.
"So you have got the slightest about what you're supposed to be doing. You do know what your potion should be like. Why is it a blueish purple, then, may I ask?"
"I - I don't know, Professor Snape," she said, blushing, causing her face to match her hair.
"You don't, do you? Did you, as I instructed, boil the cintomia before powdering it? Did you mix the potion carefully, with a rod of breechweed?"
"I forgot to mix it with the breechweed," she muttered, blushing a deeper shade of cherry.
"I know, Weasley. Utterly useless...I, of course, could not care less, but I assure you, at this rate, you would, at highest barely scrap by with a pass. Now. I want you to re-brew this potion as extra homework and bring a sample in for me. Clear this mess up." He waved his wand carelessly while talking, and all the spilt liquid on the floor in front of him vanished.
~*~
Snape slammed the door behind him, immediately wishing he hadn't. The noise had re-activated his already throbbing headache. He pointed at the fire and murmured Naar, and a fire erupted in the grate, instantly warming him. Snape covered his long, crooked (and right now freezing) nose with his hand and rubbed it. He sighed and slumped down on his favourite black squashy chair. He thought back on his day of teaching, and wondered, really, why he did it.
Teach, that is.
Today, despite having Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors in one class (Merlin help us), it was a fairly good day. In other words, no Harry Potter.
Of course, there was his amazing escape (yet again. How did the measly brat manage to DO that?) which made him all the more favourable in Dumbledore's eyes. That old bat. Really, he was fond of Dumbledore - no one had done as much for him as Dumbledore had - but he could not stand how the boy was treated like everyone else was lesser than him.
Only one more Potions lesson with Harry Potter before the end of term, end of the year. Before he could return to his haven, his home. His mansion. He smiled as he thought of his fields, of his - his - garden. But most of all, of his workroom, right at the top of a certain tower. All it would take was a simple Open Says-a-me and the room would be roofless. He thought of his work, his potions, his reading, his transfiguration. Of where he could focus, and occasionally be nice to the odd house-elf, of maybe even Gibber (a Hipprogriff that could speak).
