Disclaimer: I do not own HP. I repeat, I do NOT own HP. But, of course, you lot know this, right? If not, whack yourself repeatedly in the head with a blunt object until you do.
Serpens Erus Temptatio
"Serpent Lord's Temptation"
Chapter 4 – Miss the Life"Good morning, Professor…ah, Potter, is it?"
"There is never anything good about mornings," grumbled Harry, not looking up at the person addressing him. He could tell it was a woman but he didn't have the slightest idea of who she was. And this early in the morning he didn't care either.
"A little bit of a grouch in the mornings, I see," said the unidentified woman, a quiver of a chuckle in her voice. "I am sometimes like that myself."
Harry forked a bit of egg into his mouth and mumbled around it, "I am not a grouch, madam. I am simply tired of mornings and wish that the day started later." Dear God, I sound like Sev. Oh well, could be worse. I could sound like Lockhart. Oh gods, that's a horrid thought…
"But if the day started later, that would still be considered morning, would it not?"
Cripes, another Hermione. "No, it would not. If the day started in the afternoon, it would be afternoon, not morning. Don't attempt to change the classifications of the day. Some people don't get them as is."
The woman laughed and sat down in the empty chair beside him, which caused Harry to shift uncomfortably. He had come into the Hall early to avoid contact with many people. His night had not been good as his dreams had been filled with visions of Ginny dying over and over again. He had woken up in a cold sweat seven different times.
"Uncomfortable, Professor Potter?"
"No," lied Harry. "And please…call me Harry. I'm not used to the students calling me Professor, let alone another teacher." He turned to look at her for the first time and arched an eyebrow. "Assuming you are another teacher. Perhaps you are a student."
The woman laughed, a low, throaty sound that was rich. It was a pleasant laugh, which made Harry smile mentally. If someone had a pleasant laugh, it generally meant they were a person one could stand being around for long periods of time. Ginny had had a pleasant laugh…
Don't think about it. Don't think about Ginny or Aubrey or anything. It's been thirteen years! MOVE ON!Harry quickly flicked his eyes over the woman, studying her. She was trim with a willowy sort of form that gave an illusion of height. If he judged correctly, she wouldn't come up to his shoulder if they were standing. Her dark hair was cropped short to just below her ears and a bit wild, a little like his had been before he'd allowed it to grow out. She had a handsome face with a dainty nose, angel-bow lips, and the most expressive blue eyes he'd ever seen. There was a scar across her nose and two slashes through her right eyebrow, the sort of cuts you got after being punched. He wondered absently where they'd come from.
All in all she was an attractive woman.
She smiled at him (which did interesting things to her lips) and said, "I assure you I am not a student."
"What do you teach then?" asked Harry, pushing his plate away so he could lean his elbow on the table.
"I'm actually studying with Professor Flitwick – I mean, Aubrey – for my Master's in Charms."
"I see. So you're…" Harry flicked his fingers as he tried to think of the term. "Ah! A journeywoman."
"Yes. He has been talking about asking the Headmistress if I may be given his position after he retires." She smiled and looked up at the enchanted ceiling with a sigh. "I would love to stay in the country."
Harry frowned, finally catching what was weird about her voice. It was a beautiful voice with an underlying accent of…something… Damn, he couldn't place it.
"You're not from around here, Miss…"
"Tatchya," she said hurriedly. "Mischa Tatchya."
"German?" asked Harry.
"Lithuanian," corrected Mischa. "And please, no 'Miss.' Just Mischa."
"Very well…Mischa. It has been a pleasure to speak with you but I am afraid I must go get ready for my first class."
"Ah. It had been a pleasure speaking with you as well, Harry. I hope we can talk again?" Her last remark was a question and she looked curiously at him after she had said it.
Harry smiled briefly as he rose and pushed his chair up under the table. "Perhaps," he said in reply. "Good day."
"I thought it was not a good day!" called Mischa jokingly after him as he left the Great Hall. Harry just chuckled and kept on walking.
Perhaps it might be a good day after all.
"MISS CADDEN!"
"Sir?" said the first year Ravenclaw, looking fearfully up at him. She flinched away as he leaned down towards her, a dark scowl across his face. Of course, it wasn't his look she was afraid of.
It was the darkness swirling across his serpentine eyes.
"Miss Cadden," purred Harry, "is this not a Defense Against the Dark Arts class?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Then why are you reading that in my classroom?" Harry jabbed his finger at the corner of the magazine he could see lying across the girl's lap.
"I'm sorry, sir."
"I know you are, Miss Cadden," said Harry, his eyes returning to green. "Two points from Ravenclaw for not paying attention. Now, back to the lesson. Where was I?"
"Page 25, Professor," piped Tristen.
"Thank you, Mister Snape. Ah, yes, Red Cap's…also called what, Miss Cadden?"
"Er…"
"Look in your book, child, not at my face. The answer isn't written there."
"Sorry, sir," mumbled Melinda Cadden, ducking her head. She then sneaked a glance at his face again and Harry sighed.
"Alright," he said. "Everyone close your books."
Several of the Slytherin's looked at each other curiously then jumped as Tristen snapped, "You heard him! Close your books!"
"That will be enough, Tristen," said Harry, frowning slightly at his godson. The eleven-year-old looked abashed and ducked his head.
"Sorry, Professor."
Harry smiled tightly then looked about the room as he leaned back on his desk.
"Now, I assume all of you have heard about the last battle of the war thirteen years ago. Correct?"
Heads nodded feebly in response.
"Good. I suppose none of you heard of how my eyes came to be…afflicted."
Every head but Tristen's shook. He knew the story by heart practically, having begged his godfather for the tale after he noticed that his eyes weren't like anyone else's.
"Of course not," said Harry. "No one but my closest of friends ever knew. Now…all of you will. But I will not have the story changed in any fashion. Understood?"
Heads nodded quickly in response.
"Good. It was my sixth year and Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster of the time, called me to his office. He had discovered that I was an Heir of Slytherin and feared that I might join Voldemort. So he placed a spell on me."
"What sort of spell, sir?" piped a Slytherin.
"The best I can describe it is that it felt like lightning running over and over through my body. A horrid experience, if there ever was one."
"And your eyes changed?" asked a Ravenclaw.
Harry shook his head and said, "No. The original effect of the curse is death (several gasped here). But one of my friend's was – and still is – an expert at Potion making and had handled this spell before. He healed me but with one side effect." He gestured at his serpentine eyes and continued, "My eyes. The spell seems to only do as such with Heir's of Slytherin."
"Like Voldemort?" asked a Slytherin. "Wasn't he an Heir of Slytherin?"
"Yes, he was. More distantly related than myself, however. More of a half-blooded Heir than a full-blooded one."
"Did your friend fix Voldemort too?" asked the same Ravenclaw from earlier.
"He did."
"How?" asked several Slytherin's at once.
"He was transformed by a potion into his fifteen-year-old self a year before," said Tristen quietly before Harry could speak. "He took on the identity of his 'son' until his seventh year, when he revealed the truth of who he was."
"Who?" chorused half the class.
"Severus Snape," said Harry before his godson could reply. "One of the best Potion Master's in the wizarding world. He was my teacher, friend, and partner in mischief. Still is, to be exact."
"But how did he fix Voldemort?" asked a Ravenclaw.
Tristen softly said, "He was a Death Eater. And a spy for Dumbledore."
Several mouths fell open in shock. Harry smiled slightly then looked up at the bell rang.
"Alright then. Pack it up and off to your next class. Read the chapter on Red Cap's and be prepared for a quiz tomorrow!"
"Yes, Professor!" chorused several voices as the class bustled out of the room. As they trailed out, Harry slowly made his way over to Tristen, who was sitting numbly in his chair. He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, causing him to jump.
"Sorry."
"S'okay, Uncle. I'm sorry I spoke out."
Harry smiled and said, "You know the story. Heh, you can probably tell it better than I can, you've heard it so much."
Tristen smiled at the compliment and said, "Thanks. You do know that by next class, the entire story will have changed."
"Don't I know it," muttered Harry. "You'd better get going or you'll be late. What class do you have?"
"Transfiguration."
"Ah, with the new professor. I wish McGonagall had kept the job."
"So do I," said Tristen. "I had her Tuesday. Ick…"
Harry smiled at his godson as the boy chucked his book into his bag. "That bad, eh?"
"Yeah. Y'know how Dad used to treat you before?"
"How could I forget?" asked Harry. "This woman – Moon, is it? – does the same?"
Tristen only nodded and Harry shook his head, scribbling something on a scrap of paper. He handed it to the elven-year-old and said, "Here. Give this to her if you're late and if she gets you for it, you can tell her to speak with me."
"'Kay. Bai, Uncle."
"Bye, Tris." Harry watched his godson trounce off down the corridor and stretched, waiting for his third year class to come in.