It's hot in here. Snape's mind was starting to wander, and it went right
to the discomfort he was feeling in his heavy black robes. Sweat was
starting to bead up at the armpits and in the small of his back. Yes, the
dungeons were too hot. He'd have to talk to the house-elves about... he
stomped on that train of thought and dragged it reluctantly back to the
little first-year with sandy scraggly hair and a pitiful expression on his
face who was sitting on a chair in front of his desk.
"...isted until I was dangling from the chandelier!" he sobbed. He had spent the past 10 minutes crying over the pranks that a gang of two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw had been playing on him over the past month. Like snuffling wolves, they had smelled the weak member of the pack and were circling, pulling him away from the rest, and having their fun. Snape frowned.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"I was.. sir..." The boy was not expecting to be asked this, obviously, and was now stuttering. "Could you... talk to them? Tell them to stop..."
"No." Snape's interruption was firm, and the little Slytherin swallowed the rest of his sentence with a little hiccup. "What house are you in?"
"S... Slytherin?" the boy replied, hoping that this was the right answer.
"YES. You are a Slytherin. Now start acting like one. Everyone has their weaknesses, and it's time for you to learn to exploit them. Harrison? That Gryffindor pig? His sweet tooth will get him in trouble, if someone were to douse his candies in a Pustule Potion. Terry is a skirt-chaser; cast a female glamour on one of his male friends. Learn to notice weaknesses. Learn to act on them. Don't get caught, because I will deduct points with the same eagerness as McGonagall will, if you are caught. Don't go whining to authority, because authority will not help you. Do I make myself clear?"
He has given a similar talk to many young Slytherins. Their reactions have ranged from acceptance to understanding to anger to resentment. He expected the last of those from this sad little boy. But his reaction was nothing Snape would ever have expected. The boy's tears turned to a huge grin, and he jumped out of his chair and put his arms around Snape, his tear- and snot-stained face burying itself into the stoic Potion Master's black robes just a little over waist-height. Snape sat there in shock for a moment; he had no idea what to do with his hands, and held his arms up at an angle like they were pontoons that had just been tossed to him, useless and out of place. He finally put his hand on the boy's head and stroked it once, twice, with an awkward jerking motion. "Er, there, there... boy... get off of my robes!" The boy jumped back, still grinning, said, "Thanks, Professor Snape!" and ran off.
Snape sighed, and looked down at his robes. A big, wet, sticky smear now graced them just above the waist. Snot, sweat... enough, that was enough. He retired to his quarters with a swift long-legged stride, his robes held in an awkward fold to conceal the smear, and glared death at any student who glanced in his direction. He tore off the robes, put on a new set, and summoned the Syltherin prefect, a tall, stocky boy named Flynn.
"Flynn. Add a new rule to the book in the Common Room. 10 points off of any student who hugs their Head of House."
"...isted until I was dangling from the chandelier!" he sobbed. He had spent the past 10 minutes crying over the pranks that a gang of two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw had been playing on him over the past month. Like snuffling wolves, they had smelled the weak member of the pack and were circling, pulling him away from the rest, and having their fun. Snape frowned.
"What do you expect me to do?"
"I was.. sir..." The boy was not expecting to be asked this, obviously, and was now stuttering. "Could you... talk to them? Tell them to stop..."
"No." Snape's interruption was firm, and the little Slytherin swallowed the rest of his sentence with a little hiccup. "What house are you in?"
"S... Slytherin?" the boy replied, hoping that this was the right answer.
"YES. You are a Slytherin. Now start acting like one. Everyone has their weaknesses, and it's time for you to learn to exploit them. Harrison? That Gryffindor pig? His sweet tooth will get him in trouble, if someone were to douse his candies in a Pustule Potion. Terry is a skirt-chaser; cast a female glamour on one of his male friends. Learn to notice weaknesses. Learn to act on them. Don't get caught, because I will deduct points with the same eagerness as McGonagall will, if you are caught. Don't go whining to authority, because authority will not help you. Do I make myself clear?"
He has given a similar talk to many young Slytherins. Their reactions have ranged from acceptance to understanding to anger to resentment. He expected the last of those from this sad little boy. But his reaction was nothing Snape would ever have expected. The boy's tears turned to a huge grin, and he jumped out of his chair and put his arms around Snape, his tear- and snot-stained face burying itself into the stoic Potion Master's black robes just a little over waist-height. Snape sat there in shock for a moment; he had no idea what to do with his hands, and held his arms up at an angle like they were pontoons that had just been tossed to him, useless and out of place. He finally put his hand on the boy's head and stroked it once, twice, with an awkward jerking motion. "Er, there, there... boy... get off of my robes!" The boy jumped back, still grinning, said, "Thanks, Professor Snape!" and ran off.
Snape sighed, and looked down at his robes. A big, wet, sticky smear now graced them just above the waist. Snot, sweat... enough, that was enough. He retired to his quarters with a swift long-legged stride, his robes held in an awkward fold to conceal the smear, and glared death at any student who glanced in his direction. He tore off the robes, put on a new set, and summoned the Syltherin prefect, a tall, stocky boy named Flynn.
"Flynn. Add a new rule to the book in the Common Room. 10 points off of any student who hugs their Head of House."
