DISCLAIMER- the usual stuff applies
Severus Snape found himself standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and immediately surmised that he was dreaming. He was able to arrive at this conclusion based on the fact that a) he hardly ever walked here, and b) when he did it was never in his pyjamas. (Even though they were made of the finest black silk, and had gold teddy bears on the cuffs.) It appeared to be a bright, sunny day and Snape mused contentedly that there were far worse places he could have been dreaming about. (He still had trouble walking into the staff-room after that unfortunate dream about the staff meeting, in which he had been naked and everyone had laughed. And then Trelawney had- well, it didn't bear thinking about.) Reclining on the soft grass he gazed up at the horizon, marking the progress of a flock of birds that was zooming his way in an unusual formation. Shading his eyes from the sun, he discerned that they spelled out the letters 'HP'. Bewilderment quickly turned to horror and he tried to scramble away across the grass. The potions master stumbled and fell on his face as the 'flock' landed in a circle around him. Looking up from the ground, he spat out a mouthful of grass and gaped open-mouthed at the ring of Harrys, who began skipping in a circle and singing 'ring around the roses'. Looking past them he saw even more of the grinning monsters flying in.
Trapped in the torments of his nightmare, Snape thrashed around in his bed and entangled himself in the sheets. Finally, when the dream-Harrys had started to shower him with flowers, he gave a particularly desperate twist to his left and fell out of bed. Grimacing at the pain from his landing, particularly in the area injured from yesterday's encounter with a desk, he opened his eyes. And saw a crowd of Harrys staring at him.
"What's the matter, professor?" squeaked one of them, eying him in concern.
Snape blinked, hoping that they were some kind of optical illusion. When they failed to disappear, he groaned and sat up quickly, hoping to scatter them with sheer violence of motion. This proved to be a serious mistake, as on the way up his head connected with that of a Harry and sent waves of pain through his skull. It wasn't the Harry, of that much Snape was certain before his mind succumbed to the pain, at least that boy had reflexes. Deciding that his situation wasn't suddenly about to improve (at least not before he found his wand) he stood up shakily, knocking Harrys backwards as he rose. He gave them his best glare (the one that he had spent hours practicing in the mirror) and was taken aback when several remained before him.
"Sir?" one of them spoke tentatively, moving towards him slightly.
'Oh, no' thought Snape, realisation hitting him like a grand piano in a muggle cartoon. The Harrys left before him were all girls, or had been. It was definitely too early for this.
"Yes, Miss Granger, is it?" he sighed.
The boy's face took on a girlish expression of surprise, and he/she replied
"Yes, sir. Erm.... er.....we....we needed to talk to you about something."
"Proceed", Snape groaned, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between index finger and thumb.
"Well", continued Hermione in a low voice, "since yesterday we've been experiencing some difficulties, both mentally and..erm... technically."
"Enough!" cried Snape, panicking. He'd thought he could take this in his stride, but a sudden awareness of the fact that his nightmares could get considerably worse led him to summon Madame Pomfrey instead.
As the 'girls' were led away for an extremely educational talk, Snape snickered to himself at the thought of ruining Poppy's breakfast, changed into robes and headed to the common room to salvage some food. After commandeering toast and coffee from the noisy room (he was getting sick of overhearing conversations that were peppered with the phrase "I'm sorry, who are you?") he decided to sit quietly on his bed with the curtains drawn until Flitwick arrived to cart the Harrys off to charms. He mused that he had survived years dealing with Lord 'psycho' Voldemort and this was what brought him to the edge of his sanity.
The students in Snape's first lesson of the day were unhappy to learn that they would be writing an essay, but their teacher rejoiced in the organised silence- and the fact that he could look at his pupil's faces without feeling the urge to throw himself from the astronomy tower. On the other side of the castle, the tiny charms professor was having a similarly serene experience. Unfortunately, in his case it was because he had been knocked out by a charms textbook that was accidentally aimed his way. Flitwick had taught the students the opposite of the summoning charm, one that essentially threw objects at whoever you aimed them at. (This was in fact a vital charm for the NEWTs, although no-one could really figure out why.) The students were supposed to be practicing with cushions, but every so often a Harry (who was undoubtedly Neville, by the level of his squeaking) flew overhead and hit two more Harrys who seemed to take up much more space than all of the others. The real Harry, observing the scene whilst chatting to Ron and a slightly less innocent Hermione, shuddered to think of how much food Crabbe and Goyle had eaten already. He wasn't particularly fond of the idea that he would have to look at chubby, bloated versions of himself, and was experiencing something akin to the feeling you get when you walk out of a shop and see that some idiot's run their keys along the side of your car. Looking for the source of Neville's airborne adventures, he saw himself standing alone on the other side of the room, looking around contemptuously. He instantly understood that this was Malfoy, from the haughty way that the boy conducted himself (even without his extra height he was imposing) and the fact that his features seemed slightly meaner and more drawn. Harry was musing, 'so that's what I'd look like if I was an evil git', when Draco turned and looked directly at him, raising an eyebrow. Harry started, making a quick (slightly disturbing) mental note that that was actually quite an attractive expression on himself, before glaring at the Slytherin.
After Malfoy had turned away disdainfully, Harry returned to the conversation.
"Well, apart from being a bit too short, I'm sort of enjoying being famous for a while" confessed Ron, looking at the others. "How about you, 'Mione?"
"Oh, it's been terrible!" the girl/boy exclaimed. "No offence Harry, but this is really too strange. What kind of potion do you think did it though? I mean, I've never read about anything like it! Apart from polyjuice of course, but it doesn't compare..." Hermione trailed off breathlessly, causing Ron to roll his eyebrows at Harry.
"What about you Harry, how does it feel to have everyone look like you?"
"Well, actually, I....... Protego!!" Harry stood up in the middle of his sentence in order to stop the flying Neville from doing serious damage to his friends.
"Malfoy", he muttered darkly, as he spotted the boy laughing at him. "Right.." Harry looked at Neville, who had made a hard landing on a desk in front of them. Neville, who had not recognised him and misread Harry's intention, whimpered
"Please, not again."
"Don't worry, Neville" he spoke gently "I just need to borrow that desk you're lying on." Neville slid off hastily and Harry uttered the spell to throw it at Draco. When nothing happened, he looked instinctively at Hermione, who shook his head and said
"No good, Harry, they're bolted to the floor. Besides, professor Flitwick said..." Harry stopped listening as another idea entered his mind. Turning to his other side he whispered "throw me" nodding at Draco.
"What?!?"
"Quick, throw me at Malfoy! Or I'll throw you instead..."
Ron cast the 'abicio' charm and watched with both glee and worry as his friend sailed across the room to hit Malfoy squarely in the chest. Harry decided that the slight injuries were definitely worth it for the look on Draco's face, even if the face technically was his own.
Before the Slytherin had had time to do much more than disentangle himself from the other boy, the bell rang and the new DADA professor arrived to collect them for their lesson, tactfully stepping over Flitwick's motionless body as he did so.
Later, the Harrys returned to the room of requirement for lunch, grumbling about the boring lesson they had just endured.
"He didn't have to spend the whole lesson trying to find out what was wrong with us"
"What was that last spell meant to do, anyway? Is my nose supposed to hurt like this?"
"Shut up, idiot. As if there's any worse pain possible than being made to resemble Potter."
The group walked into their room to discover that Snape had transfigured several sofas into a long dining table. The potions master was looking forward to a lunch that would be kept quiet under his watchful eye, having regained his composure sometime during the morning (and subsequently celebrated by docking 25 points from a Gryffindor for nothing in particular). It was, in fact, a very peaceful lunch, perhaps because the Harrys were disturbed by the sight of Snape smiling to himself occasionally at the memory of the innocent student's face. With lunch demolished and 15 minutes until the afternoon lesson, the students dispersed to the remaining armchairs to talk, or in Malfoy's case, plot.
"Pot-" Snape's composure momentarily slipped, before he continued "Students, kindly limit your conversation to either Smith's book on the uses of wolfsbane, or the latest edition of 'Antique Cauldrons Quarterly', else I shall be forced to put you in detention. I trust that no-one has any objections to these topics?"
No one dared speak, and the students settled into a bemused silence, powerless to say anything. Snape strolled between groups of pupils, frowning at them if they looked to be about to speak. The potions master allowed himself a satisfied smile at the enforced silence and the glares he could sense all around him. Things, it seemed, were back to normal.
Some minutes later, Snape answered a knock at the door, which transpired to be from professors Trelawney and Vector. Grimacing at the recollection of his staff-room dream, he turned back to the students and announced the start of their next lesson.
"Those for Arithmancy, follow professor Vector. Those for Divination (here he permitted himself a small laugh), go the other way. Anyone who has neither of these must pick one to attend temporarily as I have no time to supervise you."
Thus Harry, Ron and most of the students ended up in the overheated, stuffy Divinations classroom, being bored to tears by Trelawney's lecture on visions in candle-flames. Harry began to drift off into sleep, reasoning that he could hardly be missing anything as he had given up the subject last year. However, on hearing Trelawney break off her speech to mutter
"Ah, Harry Potter, I knew that you would return. I foresee terrible things in your future, my dear", Harry opened his eyes indignantly. His annoyance quickly turned to amusement, though, as he realised that she was talking to someone else.
"Er, I'm not Harry."
"Now, my dear, don't try to fool one with the Sight. I knew you were Harry from the moment I saw you, and you really must remember to stay inside on the night that Jupiter's moons are in alignment." Trelawney gazed worriedly at the boy for a moment, before pinching his cheek fondly and moving on.
That afternoon, Harry had the best Divination lesson of his life as she continued to divine dire events for the other person, despite their protestations. At one point he had to fake a coughing fit to mask his laughter when she addressed him as Lavender, and predicted that he would find his ideal boyfriend before the next full moon.
Harry left the lesson in a rare good mood, which lasted until he arrived back in the common room to discover Snape happily maintaining the same conditions for conversation that had existed at lunch. The Arithmancy students had arrived early and had grabbed the best armchairs, so Ron and Harry sat uncomfortably on the floor. A mutinous look was present on every face, and after 15 minutes Ron had become sufficiently emboldened by the air of dissent to whisper to Harry;
"Well, I think Smith is a greasy git with control issues." Grasping his friend's meaning, Harry grinned and nodded. Unfortunately, years of teaching had honed Snape's ears to bat-like precision, and he immediately swept over to where they sat, lowering his face to the level of Ron's.
"What an interesting viewpoint", he said menacingly. "Perhaps after dinner you can write me an essay expanding you theory, Mr Weasley."
Snape smirked at Weasley's shocked expression at his discovery. When Poppy had visited this morning, she had performed a temporary charm to correct the Harrys' eyesight, but had conveniently left the real one with his glasses. (Which surprisingly few people had noticed.) It didn't take a genius to deduct whom the brat would be sitting next to, although from the boy's expression it was clear he believed that Snape could actually read minds. The potions master had always enjoyed cultivating that belief, as it made his job of terrorising the students so much easier.
By the time they were seating themselves for the dinner, the students had grown fairly hostile towards Snape, and even the Slytherins resented his announcement that they would spend 3 hours doing homework in silence, before going to bed early. The atmosphere around the table was fairly tense, as each student was wondering how much longer this oppression would last.
The answer was, in fact, 3 minutes and 42 seconds. Draco, still (literally) smarting from the incident in Charms, decided that the easiest way to avenge himself was to throw a large amount of mashed potato at Harry's head, which he did with admirable skill. Before Snape could intervene, Ron had retaliated with a volley of peas that bounced off Crabbe and Goyle like hailstones from a rock.
"Gotcha!" He yelled exuberantly, and, freed from silence by the shout, the table erupted into a noisy food fight. The air was suddenly swarming with a variety of nourishing food, and Snape was forced to duck a sausage and several heads of broccoli before he could leap to his feet and shout
"QUIET!" in a voice that could have been heard in Hogsmeade.
The effect was instantaneous, and so it was that a dozen, absolutely silent students watched a late-fired apple soar above the table and hit the professor on the temple. Like a tree felled in the mountains, like a building brought down by explosives, like Hagrid after too much firewhisky, Severus Snape stood still for a second and then collapsed in a heap on the floor. Those nearest him checked his breathing and pronounced him unconscious, which provoked several smiles from around the table. There was a fierce discussion about what to do next, and as not even Hermione was in favour of waking him up and incurring his wrath, it was decided to move the debris onto its bed. With any luck, they thought, he'll wake up tomorrow and think it was a dream.
Taking the initiative, Harry had used 'mobilicorpus' and walked out of the common room, manoeuvring the potions master towards his bed (thinking: 'I am not putting him in his pyjamas) when he sensed someone behind him. Turning around, he came face to face with Dumbledore, who had an unreadable expression on his face.
"Professor, I..."
"Not to worry, Harry, I know that this was not your fault. Go back into other room, I'd hate for you to miss your pudding. I will take care of Severus" he said, nodding towards the man draped across the floor, where he had landed when Harry's spell had broken. "Oh, and I believe professor Flitwick would like you all to practice the charm you learnt today. I understand that more...accuracy... is required."
Grinning, Harry left the headmaster alone with Snape in the dormitory section.
'Hmm', mused the old man, a glint in his eye. 'It's been a while since I practiced that charm myself.' Drawing his wand, he located Severus' bed, opened the curtains magically and softly muttered "abicio Severus" so that no one else could hear. Tracing an arc through the air, robes billowing, the oblivious potions master made a perfect landing on his duvet.
'Not bad', thought Dumbledore, as he walked away, leaving Snape to his dreams.
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Hi. Happy New Year!Many thanks to people who reviewedthis story or 'a yule ball'. My new years resolution is to update this much more frequently... Sorry if this isn't very good,but chapter 4 should be better. (fingers crossed!) Anyway,hope you enjoy it and please let me know what you think!