AN/Disclaimer: You wanna kill me, don't you? I've always meant to continue this and revise the first chapter (because I really hated it) but somehow never got around to it. But thanks for sticking with it anyways. By the way, I'm not exactly sure when this is set, but it's definitely before HBP. Don't own, don't ask, don't sue.
I know it sounds absurd,
but please tell me who I am…
--Supertramp, "The Logical Song"
Dumbledore cleared his throat quietly, instantly subduing the gossip and chatter of the assembled staff members. "I would like to begin this meeting by thanking you all for joining me tonight. I am perfectly aware of how late it is," he said, looking pointedly at a sheepish Professor Flitwick, who had been grumbling about the lack of sleep moments before, "but the return of Voldemort (a collective flinch) broaches concerns about the safety of Hogwarts. I could not think of a better time to discuss these matters than when our young charges are safely tucked away in their beds. Now—"
"Headmaster," Deputy Headmistress McGonagall interrupted, "Professor Snape is not here. I suspect this meeting has completely slipped his mind."
"Ah, yes. Sibyll, would you mind fetching Severus? I believe you will find him in his office."
Sibyll Trelawney twitched in response, jerking out of her sherry-induced stupor. "Oh, yes, of course," she responded thickly, and then promptly hiccupped. This caused the other professors to share knowing glances. Sibyll ignored them and continued, "But I must warn you that nothing is so unlucky as having thirteen assemble at one table."
A chorus of amused titters and one disbelieving snort broke out among the staff. Dumbledore, in his kindly way, said, "Duly noted. If you please, Professor," and dismissed her.
Sibyll swept out of the room irritably and muttered, "Those who do not possess the Inner Eye…"
The corridor that led into the dungeons was always ominously dark and cold, helped in no way by the post-midnight gloom. A few torches flickered half-heartedly, attempting to banish the shadows with muted gold light.
Sibyll drew her shawl closer around her slender shoulders and hurried on. She wasn't eager to come face-to-face with Snape in the dead of night; he intimidated her, with his sinister black robes, frequent scowls, and poorly restrained temper.
He really must get some new robes, Sibyll thought, something a little more cheerful than that awful black. In fact, he would look rather dashing in a nice magenta or canary yellow.
She stopped suddenly, realizing she had already passed Snape's office. With a boldness Sibyll would later blame on cooking sherry, she burst into the room without bothering to knock. Severus Snape had been sitting at his desk, one hand cradling his head while the other scribbled furiously on a wrinkled piece of parchment; the bang of the opening door caused him to leap up, his wand already half-drawn, upsetting a shelf filled with potions on the wall behind him. His wand now pointed directly between the eyes of...Sibyll Trelawney.
She looked mildly surprised, as if Snape was a dog that had just peed on her leg. Of course, with her eyes already magnified to quadruple their normal size, it was hard to tell.
"What are you doing here?" Snape growled, slowly lowering his wand. Sibyll failed to notice that his ebony eyes were glittering strangely with mingled anger, shock, and…fear?
"The Headmaster sent me. There's a meeting…" she trailed off, glancing suspiciously at his desk. "What were you doing?"
"Correcting papers," Snape answered smoothly, but his eyes instinctively flickered to the parchment he had been writing on. He does look exhausted, Sybill conceded, as if he hasn't slept for weeks. That's what happens when you grade papers at the last moment. Typical men.
Dozens of potions had crashed to the floor when Snape upset the shelf, and Sibyll noticed that the foul-smelling puddle was now eating through the floor and sending waves of acrid smoke billowing into the air.
"Oh, dear," she murmured and moved to clean it up. Although she was practically a squib, Sibyll knew she could handle a simple cleaning charm. She drew her wand, pointed it at the mess and said firmly, "Tergify!"
Snape, who had been straightening (and concealing) the papers on his desk, whirled around just in time to be hit full in the face with the backlash of the defective spell. He fell against the desk, his vision obscured by thick smoke, and felt a crushing pain in his chest, as if someone was cutting his heart out with the dullest of knives, before he surrendered to the void.
Snape woke up sometime later and stumbled to his feet, groaning. His eyes barely focused in the same direction, and when he looked down at his body he thought he must be dreaming. He appeared to be wearing a dress. A pink one, in fact. Lifting the revolting skirt slightly, he looked at his very feminine legs.
"Oh, bloody hell."