Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. I am not related to her unless it's through some random ancestor about 50 generations back. Please don't sue.
Warnings: Nose cola.
Author's Notes: This is the first HP fic I ever wrote, therefore the characters are a bit off. It's also a couple of years old, from the time when I still had a love affair with flavour text (italics and bolds for emphasis). You've been warned.
SPAM! fic: Picture Perfect
"God am I ever glad to be out of there!" Ron Weasley gasped, stretching his arms and taking in huge breaths of air. "Is it just me, or does each potion we make smell worse than the last one?"
"Yeah." Harry agreed, sucking lightly on his finger where he'd accidentally burned it against his hot cauldron after Draco had bumped his chair. Of course, Harry had been docked points for spilling his potion - Draco had gotten off scott free! Perhaps if he hadn't been so put out with his instructor, he might have been a bit more forgiving. As it was.... "It's probably to disguise Snape's smell. Honestly, the man never bathes!"
"Oh come on you two! Do you have to be so immature?" Despite her rolled eyes, Hermione's tone lacked some of its normal conviction. "I mean really, just because he's nasty and picks favorites, that doesn't mean you have to pick on his hygiene! He probably doesn't have time to bathe because he's so busy being a teacher."
"Then why doesn't Prof. Sprout have things sprouting from under her fingernails?" Ron prompted, still sniffing to get the sent of sulfur out of his nose.
"Hell, even Hagrid's hair isn't as greasy!" Harry chimed in. Admittedly, he liked Hagrid far more than Prof. Snape, but even he had to admit that the man's hair was...kind of scary.
"True." Hermione admitted, almost reluctantly. Neither of the boys were overly surprised of her defense of the (in there opinion) odious potions Master. A true student, she had a natural aversion to saying anything that might get her in trouble with an instructor, even though they were slowly coaxing her out of the habit. For a moment, Hermione frowned off into space, thinking hard. Then, her expression cleared and she smiled at them both in a manner that told them she had a solution to their problem. "I know! We could ask Hagrid! He was around when Snape was a student, after all."
"Hey, good point!"
"Yeah, why didn't we think of that Harry?"
"Because," Hermione sniffed, "You're boys."
Behind her back, Ron and Harry rolled their eyes.
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"What make you think Prof. Snape has a problem with baths?" Hagrid asked mildly - so mildly, in fact, that the three teenagers behind him were positive he was trying to dodge the question.
"Have you taken a look at his hair?" Ron made a face. "Come on Hagrid, he can't wash it more than once a year!"
"Some people just have naturally oily hair, now ye' shouldn't make fun of it." The giant man admonished, busying himself with the important task of straightening his curtains, a sure sign he was avoiding something!
Harry refused to be shaken off. "There's naturally oily, then they're slimy. Snape's hair is slimy."
"Beyond slimy!" Ron piped, even though that was a blatant exaggeration.
There was a moment's more silence, then Hagrid sighed in defeat. "All right, all right. Prof. Snape does have an aversion to baths."
"Ha!" Ron's face settled into a smug smirk. "I knew it!"
"But I can't say I blame 'im!" Hagrid frowned, all but his lower lip disappearing into his beard. "If someone'd..." He cut himself off mid-sentence. "No, no never mind. Not gonna tell you that."
"Oh come on Hagrid!" Harry pleaded. If that didn't work, he'd whine.
"Yeah, come on!" Ron was a bit less dignified, launching straight into wheedle mode. (This usually came between 'plead' and 'whine'. Harry didn't bother with it much.) "So what if we know why Snape doesn't like baths? How bad could it be?"
"Now see here, I won't speak ill of the dead!" Hagrid shook his head so that his wild mane went flying. "And seein' how it was Harry's dad that did it, that's exactly what it would be! 'Sides, Filch got rid of the last of them years ago anyway."
"My dad?" Harry blinked.
Ron echoed, "Filch?"
"Them?" For once, Hermione seemed as lost as the boys.
"Now, them's enough questions." Hagrid shooed them toward the door. "I have to get ready for class tomorrow. We're going to start studying Fluffy!"
For a brief moment, the thought of taking care of Hagrid's giant, bad tempered, three-headed dog overshadowed all other concerns.
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"Shh, careful." Harry whispered urgently. "I think Fred and George left some of their fireworks on the stairs."
"I'm being careful!" Ron whispered back.
Along with the fireworks, the twins had apparently littered the stairs with experimental pranks, such as 'Spook balls' (little pellets that exploded into illusionary, screaming ghosts if you touched them) and a few fake wands. It was took every ounce of the boys' concentration to make it out of the dormitory without setting any of them off.
"Made it!" Ron sighed. "I'm going to kill those two!"
"Provided you aren't caught first!" An irritated voice hissed. Looking up, the boys were shocked to find Hermione glaring at them. "What do you think you're doing?" A raised hand forestalled any actual attempt to answer. "No, don't tell me. Let me guess - You're going to riffle through Filch's office in an attempt to find out why Prof. Snape doesn't like baths."
"Now, why did she drop Divination again?" Ron drawled sarcastically. "She's certainly better at it than the professor!"
His sarcasm earned him a healthy glare. "This isn't a game you two! If you get caught you're going to be in big trouble and lose Gryffindor a lot of points! Given that this is Snape and Filch you're up against, they might even get you expelled."
"You've never complained about our going out at night before." Harry countered.
"Yes I have! Just never when it was for something important! This is not important!" One look at the boys' faces said that talk was futile - they're minds were made up. Stamping her foot in a show of true exasperation, Hermione stalked past them and toward the stairs. "Fine, you want to get it trouble, go for it! Just don't get in caught or I'll never speak to either of you again!" And with that, she was gone, back up the stairs to the girls' dorm.
"Oh, where have I heard that before." Ron rolled his eyes again.
Harry didn't comment, remembering all to well the one time his friends had stopped speaking to each other. It had been a true test of his patience. Silently vowing that, for his sanity sake, they wouldn't be caught, he pulled Ron toward the door, slinging his invisibility cloak over them both. "Let's just get this over with."
"Right." Ron peered down at the Marauder's Map, firmly gripped in his hands. "No one's outside, Filch is down in the potions room. Now's as good a time as any."
"Right." Pushing open the portrait that blocked the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms (fortunately the Fat Lady in the portrait was asleep and so didn't sound an alarm), the two crept down the hall toward the grounds keeper's office. Ron navigated, keeping a very close eye on all of the carefully labeled dots on the Map, while Harry made certain the invisibility cloak kept them well covered, in case Peeves the Poltergeist or any of the other ghosts decided to make a sudden appearance.
Fortunately, when they reached their destination, they found the door unlocked. Of course, they both knew how to unlock doors, but that involved wands, and waving wands while holding onto maps and cloaks was no mean trick. After double-checking to make certain no one was about, the two boys pushed their way inside.
"I'll check the drawers, you start with the desk." Harry whispered, dropping the cloak. "And keep an eye on the map!"
"Right!" Ron moved over to the desk, placing the map on its surface. The two searched diligently, rooting through piles of old papers, pausing every now and then to pocket some confiscated pranks (most of which had probably belonged to Fred and George at some point), and generally having no luck. Ron was almost paranoid in his checking of the map, especially when two little dots labeled Severus Snape and Argus Filch met up and started toward the office. "We'd better find it fast Harry! They'll be here soon!"
"I'm looking!" Harry grumbled, truly exasperated by his lack of luck. "I'm look...oh my God!"
"What?" Ron's head shot up and snapped toward Harry like a compass point to magnetic North. "Did you find it? Let me see!" Hurrying to the desk, he peered over his friend's shoulder at the small square in Harry's hands.
It was a picture, moving as all wizard pictures do. The scene was familiar enough - it was one of the boys' bathrooms, and blinking out at them from one of the shower stalls, face a mask of utter shock...
...was a young Severus Snape...
...dripping wet...
...completely naked.
"Dear lord!" Ron sounded almost sick. "That's more of Snape then I ever wanted to see!" Harry nodded as the picture, finally seeming to come to terms with the fact someone was looking at it, started frantically trying to pull the shower curtain away from the hand that was holding it back (which looks suspiciously like it might have, at one time, belonged to Harry's Godfather).
"The corners of the picture have holes in them, almost as if they were posted..." Harry let that sentence die, the truth of what must have happened sinking in.
"Hagrid said 'them'." Ron gulped, clearly following Harry's line of thought. "There must have been more..."
"..posted all over the school."
The two boys might have stood there all night, frozen in shock, no longer even ithinking/i about the approach of Snape and Filch, or the trouble it could cause, if a loud, raucous voice hadn't suddenly sounded over their shoulder. "WHOO HOO! NICE LEGS, PROF.!"
Dropping the photograph as if it were a live snake, Harry and Ron looked up at the laughing form of Peeves in horror. A split second later, they moved, a perfectly coordinated motion - Ron diving for the map, Harry scooping up the cloak and spreading it out so that Ron could duck under it as the two of them bolted out the door and down the hallway. Behind them, they could hear voices, indicating that Peeve's cry had caught the attention of the adults.
As they rounded the corner, the boys' slowed slightly, both to catch their breath and make sure the pounding of their footsteps weren't heard. It was a brief pause, however, as Peeve's went shooting over their heads, cackling madly, followed by the most outraged howl they'd ever heard.
"YOU KEPT ONE OF THOSE DAMN THINGS?!?! WHY THE BLOODY HELL...WOULD YOU....ARGH!"
Glancing briefly at each other, Ron and Harry redoubled their pace, running full tilt all the way back to Gryffindor.
-The End-
Warnings: Nose cola.
Author's Notes: This is the first HP fic I ever wrote, therefore the characters are a bit off. It's also a couple of years old, from the time when I still had a love affair with flavour text (italics and bolds for emphasis). You've been warned.
SPAM! fic: Picture Perfect
"God am I ever glad to be out of there!" Ron Weasley gasped, stretching his arms and taking in huge breaths of air. "Is it just me, or does each potion we make smell worse than the last one?"
"Yeah." Harry agreed, sucking lightly on his finger where he'd accidentally burned it against his hot cauldron after Draco had bumped his chair. Of course, Harry had been docked points for spilling his potion - Draco had gotten off scott free! Perhaps if he hadn't been so put out with his instructor, he might have been a bit more forgiving. As it was.... "It's probably to disguise Snape's smell. Honestly, the man never bathes!"
"Oh come on you two! Do you have to be so immature?" Despite her rolled eyes, Hermione's tone lacked some of its normal conviction. "I mean really, just because he's nasty and picks favorites, that doesn't mean you have to pick on his hygiene! He probably doesn't have time to bathe because he's so busy being a teacher."
"Then why doesn't Prof. Sprout have things sprouting from under her fingernails?" Ron prompted, still sniffing to get the sent of sulfur out of his nose.
"Hell, even Hagrid's hair isn't as greasy!" Harry chimed in. Admittedly, he liked Hagrid far more than Prof. Snape, but even he had to admit that the man's hair was...kind of scary.
"True." Hermione admitted, almost reluctantly. Neither of the boys were overly surprised of her defense of the (in there opinion) odious potions Master. A true student, she had a natural aversion to saying anything that might get her in trouble with an instructor, even though they were slowly coaxing her out of the habit. For a moment, Hermione frowned off into space, thinking hard. Then, her expression cleared and she smiled at them both in a manner that told them she had a solution to their problem. "I know! We could ask Hagrid! He was around when Snape was a student, after all."
"Hey, good point!"
"Yeah, why didn't we think of that Harry?"
"Because," Hermione sniffed, "You're boys."
Behind her back, Ron and Harry rolled their eyes.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What make you think Prof. Snape has a problem with baths?" Hagrid asked mildly - so mildly, in fact, that the three teenagers behind him were positive he was trying to dodge the question.
"Have you taken a look at his hair?" Ron made a face. "Come on Hagrid, he can't wash it more than once a year!"
"Some people just have naturally oily hair, now ye' shouldn't make fun of it." The giant man admonished, busying himself with the important task of straightening his curtains, a sure sign he was avoiding something!
Harry refused to be shaken off. "There's naturally oily, then they're slimy. Snape's hair is slimy."
"Beyond slimy!" Ron piped, even though that was a blatant exaggeration.
There was a moment's more silence, then Hagrid sighed in defeat. "All right, all right. Prof. Snape does have an aversion to baths."
"Ha!" Ron's face settled into a smug smirk. "I knew it!"
"But I can't say I blame 'im!" Hagrid frowned, all but his lower lip disappearing into his beard. "If someone'd..." He cut himself off mid-sentence. "No, no never mind. Not gonna tell you that."
"Oh come on Hagrid!" Harry pleaded. If that didn't work, he'd whine.
"Yeah, come on!" Ron was a bit less dignified, launching straight into wheedle mode. (This usually came between 'plead' and 'whine'. Harry didn't bother with it much.) "So what if we know why Snape doesn't like baths? How bad could it be?"
"Now see here, I won't speak ill of the dead!" Hagrid shook his head so that his wild mane went flying. "And seein' how it was Harry's dad that did it, that's exactly what it would be! 'Sides, Filch got rid of the last of them years ago anyway."
"My dad?" Harry blinked.
Ron echoed, "Filch?"
"Them?" For once, Hermione seemed as lost as the boys.
"Now, them's enough questions." Hagrid shooed them toward the door. "I have to get ready for class tomorrow. We're going to start studying Fluffy!"
For a brief moment, the thought of taking care of Hagrid's giant, bad tempered, three-headed dog overshadowed all other concerns.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Shh, careful." Harry whispered urgently. "I think Fred and George left some of their fireworks on the stairs."
"I'm being careful!" Ron whispered back.
Along with the fireworks, the twins had apparently littered the stairs with experimental pranks, such as 'Spook balls' (little pellets that exploded into illusionary, screaming ghosts if you touched them) and a few fake wands. It was took every ounce of the boys' concentration to make it out of the dormitory without setting any of them off.
"Made it!" Ron sighed. "I'm going to kill those two!"
"Provided you aren't caught first!" An irritated voice hissed. Looking up, the boys were shocked to find Hermione glaring at them. "What do you think you're doing?" A raised hand forestalled any actual attempt to answer. "No, don't tell me. Let me guess - You're going to riffle through Filch's office in an attempt to find out why Prof. Snape doesn't like baths."
"Now, why did she drop Divination again?" Ron drawled sarcastically. "She's certainly better at it than the professor!"
His sarcasm earned him a healthy glare. "This isn't a game you two! If you get caught you're going to be in big trouble and lose Gryffindor a lot of points! Given that this is Snape and Filch you're up against, they might even get you expelled."
"You've never complained about our going out at night before." Harry countered.
"Yes I have! Just never when it was for something important! This is not important!" One look at the boys' faces said that talk was futile - they're minds were made up. Stamping her foot in a show of true exasperation, Hermione stalked past them and toward the stairs. "Fine, you want to get it trouble, go for it! Just don't get in caught or I'll never speak to either of you again!" And with that, she was gone, back up the stairs to the girls' dorm.
"Oh, where have I heard that before." Ron rolled his eyes again.
Harry didn't comment, remembering all to well the one time his friends had stopped speaking to each other. It had been a true test of his patience. Silently vowing that, for his sanity sake, they wouldn't be caught, he pulled Ron toward the door, slinging his invisibility cloak over them both. "Let's just get this over with."
"Right." Ron peered down at the Marauder's Map, firmly gripped in his hands. "No one's outside, Filch is down in the potions room. Now's as good a time as any."
"Right." Pushing open the portrait that blocked the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms (fortunately the Fat Lady in the portrait was asleep and so didn't sound an alarm), the two crept down the hall toward the grounds keeper's office. Ron navigated, keeping a very close eye on all of the carefully labeled dots on the Map, while Harry made certain the invisibility cloak kept them well covered, in case Peeves the Poltergeist or any of the other ghosts decided to make a sudden appearance.
Fortunately, when they reached their destination, they found the door unlocked. Of course, they both knew how to unlock doors, but that involved wands, and waving wands while holding onto maps and cloaks was no mean trick. After double-checking to make certain no one was about, the two boys pushed their way inside.
"I'll check the drawers, you start with the desk." Harry whispered, dropping the cloak. "And keep an eye on the map!"
"Right!" Ron moved over to the desk, placing the map on its surface. The two searched diligently, rooting through piles of old papers, pausing every now and then to pocket some confiscated pranks (most of which had probably belonged to Fred and George at some point), and generally having no luck. Ron was almost paranoid in his checking of the map, especially when two little dots labeled Severus Snape and Argus Filch met up and started toward the office. "We'd better find it fast Harry! They'll be here soon!"
"I'm looking!" Harry grumbled, truly exasperated by his lack of luck. "I'm look...oh my God!"
"What?" Ron's head shot up and snapped toward Harry like a compass point to magnetic North. "Did you find it? Let me see!" Hurrying to the desk, he peered over his friend's shoulder at the small square in Harry's hands.
It was a picture, moving as all wizard pictures do. The scene was familiar enough - it was one of the boys' bathrooms, and blinking out at them from one of the shower stalls, face a mask of utter shock...
...was a young Severus Snape...
...dripping wet...
...completely naked.
"Dear lord!" Ron sounded almost sick. "That's more of Snape then I ever wanted to see!" Harry nodded as the picture, finally seeming to come to terms with the fact someone was looking at it, started frantically trying to pull the shower curtain away from the hand that was holding it back (which looks suspiciously like it might have, at one time, belonged to Harry's Godfather).
"The corners of the picture have holes in them, almost as if they were posted..." Harry let that sentence die, the truth of what must have happened sinking in.
"Hagrid said 'them'." Ron gulped, clearly following Harry's line of thought. "There must have been more..."
"..posted all over the school."
The two boys might have stood there all night, frozen in shock, no longer even ithinking/i about the approach of Snape and Filch, or the trouble it could cause, if a loud, raucous voice hadn't suddenly sounded over their shoulder. "WHOO HOO! NICE LEGS, PROF.!"
Dropping the photograph as if it were a live snake, Harry and Ron looked up at the laughing form of Peeves in horror. A split second later, they moved, a perfectly coordinated motion - Ron diving for the map, Harry scooping up the cloak and spreading it out so that Ron could duck under it as the two of them bolted out the door and down the hallway. Behind them, they could hear voices, indicating that Peeve's cry had caught the attention of the adults.
As they rounded the corner, the boys' slowed slightly, both to catch their breath and make sure the pounding of their footsteps weren't heard. It was a brief pause, however, as Peeve's went shooting over their heads, cackling madly, followed by the most outraged howl they'd ever heard.
"YOU KEPT ONE OF THOSE DAMN THINGS?!?! WHY THE BLOODY HELL...WOULD YOU....ARGH!"
Glancing briefly at each other, Ron and Harry redoubled their pace, running full tilt all the way back to Gryffindor.
-The End-