Chapter 17
Snape the self-possessed
Ah-ha! After a year wait, the next chapter is up! Now, okay, there is no excuse. The only excuse I have is the fact I had a lot of work, then I just got out of form. Thanks for those who reviewed me and reminded me to post! I'm working on this, and I don't see the end at the moment. I'm sorry this chapter is boring, but hey, I promise stuff is going to happen. Promise.
Three hours later Michael, exhausted, had fallen asleep and was sleeping peacefully in his sleeping bag, barely noticing the harness of the cold, stone floor.
Snape sat in an armchair and stared at the fire. So what had he found out about his..........double's son? Not much. They had talked for a short while, but Michael had seemed much more interested in sleep, while Snape would loved to have known everything about him. Not because he cared, Snape told himself, not to find out what he had missed out on, of course not, but out of horrified fascination, to find out how much of a brat he would have raised. To find out if there was some way he could win over his double that he hadn't seen yet.
He watched the fire crackle. What did he know? Well, his double had bought himself a house in surrey, near Richmond Park, and that Rya had died when Michael was just one, at least fourteen, no, fifteen years ago. His son was an only child, which would explain why he was so annoying. Michael had said something about school, how he got nearly all 'O's' at OWL level (Michael had taken some time explaining that he hadn't slept enough before his Arithmancy exam, so he 'only got an E ' in his own words). Snape had asked him a few mores times about the bruises, but Michael refused to say more than he'd got into a fight, and that he hadn't caused it.
But something was worrying him. There was something a bit off key about the boy. It might be easy to believe that the boy has passed, maybe even avoided the sultry stage that most teenagers ended being in for the majority of their teenage years, but he behaved as if he was on call, avoiding a few things. He seemed to be telling the truth, but he didn't speak of friends, but by the way he spoke, he seemed to have them. And another thing. The boy had a scar down his face. Snape has stayed dumb, but it caused a bit of speculation in his mind. It felt like his dream, or whatever it was, that he'd had. He wasn't sure what it meant; it probably meant nothing, when he thought about it. Dreams were too illogical to mean things, and anyway, trying to decipher dreams was divination, not potions. He shuddered to himself at what Professor Trelawney might say about his dream. Trelawney had the same attitude to death that Freud had with sex – the be all and end all of every problem. No, the scar wasn't even that special. It looked a bit like lightening, if you squinted your eyes and turned your head, but it was hardly as striking as Potter's scar.
Another, more important thing that had been on his mind was the fact that his double, and Dumbledore had been talking for three hours. It couldn't be about the boy, could it? Of course not! But he heard the occasional raised voice, unidentifiable, but raised. Snape felt rather angry. Why was nothing ever discussed with him? He had as much right to know what was going on as his double had! Why were their secretes being kept from him? He was a grown man, not a child to be protected! Or maybe, maybe his double didn't want him to know anything, maybe he had a reason, a secret that he hadn't found out about yet, that might cause him.............Snape suddenly realised that this was part of the problem. It was like looking into a mirror, but the mirror was distorted, changed. Snape doubted he would ever find out what had changed their fates, but he wished that at least he'd have a word in his future. Dumbledore and his other self seemed to keep secrets from him all the time. He felt almost jealous, as if they were doing this purposely to make him angry. He narrowed his eyes as she stared into the fire. Well, if they............
The door to the office burst open for the second time that day, and Snape stood up, turning around as casually as someone bursting to know what they had been talking about can fake. Dumbledore stepped out, while Sev stood behind him, a look of incredulous sincerity about him. Snape's lips instantly curled into an angry sneer.
"Severus, please sit down, we have come to a decision. "said Dumbledore. Snape stay standing, folded his arms and stared at him with his cold back eyes.
"Due to recent circumstances" Dumbledore said, as if he had just been interrupted, "both your Double and I have decided that it would be best if we went to the ministry and to complete his mission." Snape continued to stare. It sounded too good. There had to be a catch. "In the meantime, I'll have a talk to Professor McGonagall ..........."
This time Snape interrupted, "What about the boy?" he exclaimed.
"..........While Michael stays here and joins in lessons." Finished Dumbledore, barely breaking the flow of his words.
"I'm not looking after HIS son." Snapped Snape accusingly.
"Who said you would!" snapped Sev back; "I wouldn't want to leave him here with you. If it weren't that you were myself, I'd say you would be the last person I'd leave him with!"
Seeing the anger in Snape's eyes, Dumbledore quickly interrupted, "Now, Severus, I'm sure you have something to do, Sev, you'll want a good nights sleep. Both of you go to bed! I'm going to see if Minerva is still awake..........."And with that he left.
Both of them, still seething with anger, stared at each other until Snape reluctantly went off to his rooms and slammed his door behind him to make a point. Snape has sat down at the table and started writing angrily on someone's essay before he heard, muffled through the walls, the boy say, "left with? I don't need to be left with anyone, it's not like I'm a kid or anything!"
"I though you were meant to be asleep." Said Sev.
"I've been trying to, but no luck. "the boy sighed. "Dad, does that mean I have to stay here with...............him?"
"Yes." Sighed Sev back, "and before you even consider trying to convince me that you should come with me, the answer is no."
"Damn!" replied Michael. There was a silence before he said, "What made him so different? I mean, you're only sometimes like that."
"Sometimes?" asked Sev, actually curious.
"You're like that when you've had a hard day to just about everyone. Oh, and any time money is requested."
Sev laughed un-amusedly. Snape found himself listening in. What a typically teenage response, he thoughts to himself, how short-sighted, didn't he know money didn't grow on trees?
The boy continued. "Dad, you're fine. But Him..............I dunno, I kind've forget he isn't you, so I think I piss him off............."
"Language!"
The boy sighed. "Sorry Dad, but you get the idea."
Sev sighed. "The stupid bastard didn't get you a bed?"
Snape heard the boy give an incredulous snort. "No. He's pis.......angry enough at you now, without me here as well."
"I think Dumbledore will get you something tomorrow night, and there's no more room in here, short of adding another sofa and getting rid of a few chairs............"
"Dad! I'm fine!" exclaimed the boy, "I'm used to the floor, I like the floor!"
"And I know staying here with him is bad, but it's only for.............."
"DAD!" the boy exclaimed again, "If I can sleep in a castle with Professor Jormong in it, I can survive you............or him.............err............I think you know what I mean."
There was silence between them before Sev said, "well, g'night."
"Night Dad."
Snape stopped writing. He wasn't too sure about that conversation, in his own mind. He was certain that Professor Jormong was a potions master, as any teacher that was despised by the Gryffindor's would be a potions master. There was something about the boy, was he being polite. He seemed polite, with a few jokes here and there, but something about his voice.............something that denoted fear? Fear? Of him? Of the school? Of the pupils? Maybe. Snape didn't know, and neither did he care. As long as the brat was kept out of his hair for the most part, he wasn't too concerned. Snape knew that unless he requested otherwise the boy would be escorted to the Gryffindor rooms tomorrow night. How could a Snape end up in Gryffindor? Ravenclaw was obviously better, even if he wasn't pureblood, but Gryffindor? A conceited, annoying, self deluded rat, that's what his son was. Snape growled to himself. If he'd had a son, he would have got into Slytherin, pureblood or not, made him a boy to be proud of. But, said a horrible voice in his head, you didn't have a child. You never wanted a child, and didn't want to stay here among children, wasn't that why you joined Lord Voldermort? You never know, your son might even be a man.
Snape laughed harshly at his own thoughts, and picked up his quill before writing on someone's work, three out of twelve, five points from Gryffindor.
The next morning Michael was up at five thirty in the morning. A house elf had washed the muggle clothing he wore under the school robes, which warmed his up a little in the cold dungeon. He slipped the long sleeved dark green top on over his suddenly greasy head before he threw a red flannel shirt on over the top. He wore jeans that were a little flared in the leg, but otherwise not particularly interesting. He put on the black robes with the little lion emblem on it before he slowly slipped on his black tennis shoes. Then, pulling the lace tight he knotted it into a bow and tucked it into the sides of the shoe.
He tried to warm up a bit in the dungeon by rubbing his hands together, but he failed to do so. He rolled up the musty green sleeping bag and placed it on one of the chairs, until given further orders. It was about six o'clock that his father woke up. His father, more alert than the tired boy, was ready to leave in fifteen minutes, and after a brief goodbye and 'take care's, Sev left to report to Dumbledore's office.
It was at least six fifty when, after a long loud swear from Snape's room he burst out, still pyjamad, just to find out the arrival of the boy hadn't been a dream. "What are you doing here!" he snapped, "Get out!"
Michael didn't need a second command. He slipped off the chair and walked out quickly. Snape swore again, and grabbing various clean smelling clothes, threw them on before checking in the mirror to see if they were on straight, and went to his bathroom to shave. That boy! His mind raged, that boy! He was just sitting there! I'm late! I get enough gossip about me without being late! How could that boy be so calm without having some part in making him late!
Snape suddenly realised that he was being highly irrational. It was most likely that the boy had just been waiting for his next command from him to make sure he didn't get into trouble and has little to do with Snape being late. He cut himself shaving, and swore for the third time. He waved his wand over the cut, healing it immediately.
It was at this time that Michael walked down the corridor to the great hall. He felt his face. The bruises were healing a bit, now a light purple edged with yellow rather than the dark black of the night before. He probably still looked a mess but it didn't matter to him; he was simply enjoying the walk. He didn't know why, but the hall felt new again, with golden sunlight flooding the floor and walls from the tall windows above him. Maybe it was because he'd never been up this early before, and his fatigued brain was starting to wake up, but all alone it seemed almost spiritual as he walked through the hall, sunlight warming his pallid skin. He smiled to himself while he walked slowly, dreamily down the hall, his feet not making a sound on the stone floor.
"Excuse me?" asked a familiar voice behind him. He turned around. It was a boy and a girl together. The girl had bushy hair and a sensible expression on her face. She wore a prefect badge next to the Gryffindor lion on her robes, but unlike a girl who looked a lot like her she had perfect teeth. But the boy, his hair was short and black, sticking up in all directions as if he had chronic bed-head and was at least three inches shorter than him. He wore a pair of taped up round glasses, most likely from the National Health Service in front of his bright green eyes. Oh, and there was a lightening shaped scar on his forehead.
"Are you...........Harry Potter?" he asked.
"Yes." The boy sighed resignedly. Strangely enough, Michael did not do the customary flick of the eyes to the forehead. He looked at Harry. Harry..............this Harry was weedier than he was! Well, he was shorter than the other Harry, and about as thin as Michael was. Michael only deemed himself less weedy because he was taller. Harry didn't look as if he had a single muscle on him! The glasses were not the other Harry's style, he wouldn't be seen dead in broken glasses, especially the wire rimmed NHS ones, if only because they dwarfed his face. But everything else was present and correct. This had to be the Harry he knew. Or at least thought he knew.
But he had been thinking too long. Hermione decided that she would ask the first question. "Who're you?"
"My name's Michael", he answered, trying to push his hair back so it looked slick rather than slightly greasy, "And I guess you're Hermione."
Hermione looked slightly impressed. But only slightly. "I haven't seen you around here before, but you've got a Hogwart's robe on."
"I'm new, "Michael lied, desperately trying to think of a lie, "I...........err..............I've just come from one of the...............er...............Durmstrang?"
They both looked at him unbelievingly. "You don't have a Bulgarian accent." Said Hermione finally.
"I like my English accent............so, I suppose you don't know where the great hall is?" he asked desperately.
"Actually, you look like someone I know............" said Harry, "I'm not sure who.........maybe it's nothing."
Michael was in a very sticky situation when Professor McGonagall, her feet tapping on the stone flagging grew closer to them, as if looking for someone. On spotting Michael she exclaimed, "So THIS is the Michael Snape I've heard about."
Michael did his best not to cringe. Harry, if he had possessed less self control (which after living with the Dursley's he'd have to) would have fallen backwards and tried to fashion a cross from anything he could find. Hermione looked reasonably shocked while Harry just stared at Michael, who apart from turning as red as a beetroot, started to look like Snape.
Looking at the ground he mumbled, "Yes professor."
"Why didn't you go to my office?" she demanded.
"Sorry Professor, I didn't get the message."
Professor McGonagall tutted, rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, as I've found you, you should come to my office. "Michael was about to do as she said when she barked, "Granger! I want you in my office as well! Potter, could you send a message to Ron, telling him to be in my office as soon as possible."
"Err...........all right?" said Harry, looking scared.
"Now, you two, my office!" She barked as Draco walked past.
When they were out of sight and Harry had left to find Ron (who had decided to oversleep that morning) Draco quipped to one of his followers, "Hermione Granger? In trouble? About time the filthy mud blood! What did she do? Sneak in a squib?"
1/ - I stuck with what I know. I live in one of the most beautiful parts of London (i.e Richmond – Richard E Grant lives their! I've just never seen him!), and as I see some people around their in the near future, I decided that it was a good place to base it, especially as, technically, If Privit Drive exists, Richmond isn't actually all that far from it.
2/ Michael's lie about Durmstrang – well, it made me laugh when I was thinking of it, but on paper it doesn't look as good without the confused face and hand signals.
3/ Ahh.........a joke about someone making a cross – sacrilitious.
4/ "What did she do? Sneak in a squib?" This line cracks me up, even now. Imagine it in a John-Cleese type voice, like he was declaring that it wasa in fact a dead parrot. Why I am telling you this is beyond me.
Hopefully I'll start to update sooner, but be aware, I've picked up this story in the middle of my AS exams, so I might not update very fast for the next few weeks. After that, I'm never going near a piece of work ever again.
Snape the self-possessed
Ah-ha! After a year wait, the next chapter is up! Now, okay, there is no excuse. The only excuse I have is the fact I had a lot of work, then I just got out of form. Thanks for those who reviewed me and reminded me to post! I'm working on this, and I don't see the end at the moment. I'm sorry this chapter is boring, but hey, I promise stuff is going to happen. Promise.
Three hours later Michael, exhausted, had fallen asleep and was sleeping peacefully in his sleeping bag, barely noticing the harness of the cold, stone floor.
Snape sat in an armchair and stared at the fire. So what had he found out about his..........double's son? Not much. They had talked for a short while, but Michael had seemed much more interested in sleep, while Snape would loved to have known everything about him. Not because he cared, Snape told himself, not to find out what he had missed out on, of course not, but out of horrified fascination, to find out how much of a brat he would have raised. To find out if there was some way he could win over his double that he hadn't seen yet.
He watched the fire crackle. What did he know? Well, his double had bought himself a house in surrey, near Richmond Park, and that Rya had died when Michael was just one, at least fourteen, no, fifteen years ago. His son was an only child, which would explain why he was so annoying. Michael had said something about school, how he got nearly all 'O's' at OWL level (Michael had taken some time explaining that he hadn't slept enough before his Arithmancy exam, so he 'only got an E ' in his own words). Snape had asked him a few mores times about the bruises, but Michael refused to say more than he'd got into a fight, and that he hadn't caused it.
But something was worrying him. There was something a bit off key about the boy. It might be easy to believe that the boy has passed, maybe even avoided the sultry stage that most teenagers ended being in for the majority of their teenage years, but he behaved as if he was on call, avoiding a few things. He seemed to be telling the truth, but he didn't speak of friends, but by the way he spoke, he seemed to have them. And another thing. The boy had a scar down his face. Snape has stayed dumb, but it caused a bit of speculation in his mind. It felt like his dream, or whatever it was, that he'd had. He wasn't sure what it meant; it probably meant nothing, when he thought about it. Dreams were too illogical to mean things, and anyway, trying to decipher dreams was divination, not potions. He shuddered to himself at what Professor Trelawney might say about his dream. Trelawney had the same attitude to death that Freud had with sex – the be all and end all of every problem. No, the scar wasn't even that special. It looked a bit like lightening, if you squinted your eyes and turned your head, but it was hardly as striking as Potter's scar.
Another, more important thing that had been on his mind was the fact that his double, and Dumbledore had been talking for three hours. It couldn't be about the boy, could it? Of course not! But he heard the occasional raised voice, unidentifiable, but raised. Snape felt rather angry. Why was nothing ever discussed with him? He had as much right to know what was going on as his double had! Why were their secretes being kept from him? He was a grown man, not a child to be protected! Or maybe, maybe his double didn't want him to know anything, maybe he had a reason, a secret that he hadn't found out about yet, that might cause him.............Snape suddenly realised that this was part of the problem. It was like looking into a mirror, but the mirror was distorted, changed. Snape doubted he would ever find out what had changed their fates, but he wished that at least he'd have a word in his future. Dumbledore and his other self seemed to keep secrets from him all the time. He felt almost jealous, as if they were doing this purposely to make him angry. He narrowed his eyes as she stared into the fire. Well, if they............
The door to the office burst open for the second time that day, and Snape stood up, turning around as casually as someone bursting to know what they had been talking about can fake. Dumbledore stepped out, while Sev stood behind him, a look of incredulous sincerity about him. Snape's lips instantly curled into an angry sneer.
"Severus, please sit down, we have come to a decision. "said Dumbledore. Snape stay standing, folded his arms and stared at him with his cold back eyes.
"Due to recent circumstances" Dumbledore said, as if he had just been interrupted, "both your Double and I have decided that it would be best if we went to the ministry and to complete his mission." Snape continued to stare. It sounded too good. There had to be a catch. "In the meantime, I'll have a talk to Professor McGonagall ..........."
This time Snape interrupted, "What about the boy?" he exclaimed.
"..........While Michael stays here and joins in lessons." Finished Dumbledore, barely breaking the flow of his words.
"I'm not looking after HIS son." Snapped Snape accusingly.
"Who said you would!" snapped Sev back; "I wouldn't want to leave him here with you. If it weren't that you were myself, I'd say you would be the last person I'd leave him with!"
Seeing the anger in Snape's eyes, Dumbledore quickly interrupted, "Now, Severus, I'm sure you have something to do, Sev, you'll want a good nights sleep. Both of you go to bed! I'm going to see if Minerva is still awake..........."And with that he left.
Both of them, still seething with anger, stared at each other until Snape reluctantly went off to his rooms and slammed his door behind him to make a point. Snape has sat down at the table and started writing angrily on someone's essay before he heard, muffled through the walls, the boy say, "left with? I don't need to be left with anyone, it's not like I'm a kid or anything!"
"I though you were meant to be asleep." Said Sev.
"I've been trying to, but no luck. "the boy sighed. "Dad, does that mean I have to stay here with...............him?"
"Yes." Sighed Sev back, "and before you even consider trying to convince me that you should come with me, the answer is no."
"Damn!" replied Michael. There was a silence before he said, "What made him so different? I mean, you're only sometimes like that."
"Sometimes?" asked Sev, actually curious.
"You're like that when you've had a hard day to just about everyone. Oh, and any time money is requested."
Sev laughed un-amusedly. Snape found himself listening in. What a typically teenage response, he thoughts to himself, how short-sighted, didn't he know money didn't grow on trees?
The boy continued. "Dad, you're fine. But Him..............I dunno, I kind've forget he isn't you, so I think I piss him off............."
"Language!"
The boy sighed. "Sorry Dad, but you get the idea."
Sev sighed. "The stupid bastard didn't get you a bed?"
Snape heard the boy give an incredulous snort. "No. He's pis.......angry enough at you now, without me here as well."
"I think Dumbledore will get you something tomorrow night, and there's no more room in here, short of adding another sofa and getting rid of a few chairs............"
"Dad! I'm fine!" exclaimed the boy, "I'm used to the floor, I like the floor!"
"And I know staying here with him is bad, but it's only for.............."
"DAD!" the boy exclaimed again, "If I can sleep in a castle with Professor Jormong in it, I can survive you............or him.............err............I think you know what I mean."
There was silence between them before Sev said, "well, g'night."
"Night Dad."
Snape stopped writing. He wasn't too sure about that conversation, in his own mind. He was certain that Professor Jormong was a potions master, as any teacher that was despised by the Gryffindor's would be a potions master. There was something about the boy, was he being polite. He seemed polite, with a few jokes here and there, but something about his voice.............something that denoted fear? Fear? Of him? Of the school? Of the pupils? Maybe. Snape didn't know, and neither did he care. As long as the brat was kept out of his hair for the most part, he wasn't too concerned. Snape knew that unless he requested otherwise the boy would be escorted to the Gryffindor rooms tomorrow night. How could a Snape end up in Gryffindor? Ravenclaw was obviously better, even if he wasn't pureblood, but Gryffindor? A conceited, annoying, self deluded rat, that's what his son was. Snape growled to himself. If he'd had a son, he would have got into Slytherin, pureblood or not, made him a boy to be proud of. But, said a horrible voice in his head, you didn't have a child. You never wanted a child, and didn't want to stay here among children, wasn't that why you joined Lord Voldermort? You never know, your son might even be a man.
Snape laughed harshly at his own thoughts, and picked up his quill before writing on someone's work, three out of twelve, five points from Gryffindor.
The next morning Michael was up at five thirty in the morning. A house elf had washed the muggle clothing he wore under the school robes, which warmed his up a little in the cold dungeon. He slipped the long sleeved dark green top on over his suddenly greasy head before he threw a red flannel shirt on over the top. He wore jeans that were a little flared in the leg, but otherwise not particularly interesting. He put on the black robes with the little lion emblem on it before he slowly slipped on his black tennis shoes. Then, pulling the lace tight he knotted it into a bow and tucked it into the sides of the shoe.
He tried to warm up a bit in the dungeon by rubbing his hands together, but he failed to do so. He rolled up the musty green sleeping bag and placed it on one of the chairs, until given further orders. It was about six o'clock that his father woke up. His father, more alert than the tired boy, was ready to leave in fifteen minutes, and after a brief goodbye and 'take care's, Sev left to report to Dumbledore's office.
It was at least six fifty when, after a long loud swear from Snape's room he burst out, still pyjamad, just to find out the arrival of the boy hadn't been a dream. "What are you doing here!" he snapped, "Get out!"
Michael didn't need a second command. He slipped off the chair and walked out quickly. Snape swore again, and grabbing various clean smelling clothes, threw them on before checking in the mirror to see if they were on straight, and went to his bathroom to shave. That boy! His mind raged, that boy! He was just sitting there! I'm late! I get enough gossip about me without being late! How could that boy be so calm without having some part in making him late!
Snape suddenly realised that he was being highly irrational. It was most likely that the boy had just been waiting for his next command from him to make sure he didn't get into trouble and has little to do with Snape being late. He cut himself shaving, and swore for the third time. He waved his wand over the cut, healing it immediately.
It was at this time that Michael walked down the corridor to the great hall. He felt his face. The bruises were healing a bit, now a light purple edged with yellow rather than the dark black of the night before. He probably still looked a mess but it didn't matter to him; he was simply enjoying the walk. He didn't know why, but the hall felt new again, with golden sunlight flooding the floor and walls from the tall windows above him. Maybe it was because he'd never been up this early before, and his fatigued brain was starting to wake up, but all alone it seemed almost spiritual as he walked through the hall, sunlight warming his pallid skin. He smiled to himself while he walked slowly, dreamily down the hall, his feet not making a sound on the stone floor.
"Excuse me?" asked a familiar voice behind him. He turned around. It was a boy and a girl together. The girl had bushy hair and a sensible expression on her face. She wore a prefect badge next to the Gryffindor lion on her robes, but unlike a girl who looked a lot like her she had perfect teeth. But the boy, his hair was short and black, sticking up in all directions as if he had chronic bed-head and was at least three inches shorter than him. He wore a pair of taped up round glasses, most likely from the National Health Service in front of his bright green eyes. Oh, and there was a lightening shaped scar on his forehead.
"Are you...........Harry Potter?" he asked.
"Yes." The boy sighed resignedly. Strangely enough, Michael did not do the customary flick of the eyes to the forehead. He looked at Harry. Harry..............this Harry was weedier than he was! Well, he was shorter than the other Harry, and about as thin as Michael was. Michael only deemed himself less weedy because he was taller. Harry didn't look as if he had a single muscle on him! The glasses were not the other Harry's style, he wouldn't be seen dead in broken glasses, especially the wire rimmed NHS ones, if only because they dwarfed his face. But everything else was present and correct. This had to be the Harry he knew. Or at least thought he knew.
But he had been thinking too long. Hermione decided that she would ask the first question. "Who're you?"
"My name's Michael", he answered, trying to push his hair back so it looked slick rather than slightly greasy, "And I guess you're Hermione."
Hermione looked slightly impressed. But only slightly. "I haven't seen you around here before, but you've got a Hogwart's robe on."
"I'm new, "Michael lied, desperately trying to think of a lie, "I...........err..............I've just come from one of the...............er...............Durmstrang?"
They both looked at him unbelievingly. "You don't have a Bulgarian accent." Said Hermione finally.
"I like my English accent............so, I suppose you don't know where the great hall is?" he asked desperately.
"Actually, you look like someone I know............" said Harry, "I'm not sure who.........maybe it's nothing."
Michael was in a very sticky situation when Professor McGonagall, her feet tapping on the stone flagging grew closer to them, as if looking for someone. On spotting Michael she exclaimed, "So THIS is the Michael Snape I've heard about."
Michael did his best not to cringe. Harry, if he had possessed less self control (which after living with the Dursley's he'd have to) would have fallen backwards and tried to fashion a cross from anything he could find. Hermione looked reasonably shocked while Harry just stared at Michael, who apart from turning as red as a beetroot, started to look like Snape.
Looking at the ground he mumbled, "Yes professor."
"Why didn't you go to my office?" she demanded.
"Sorry Professor, I didn't get the message."
Professor McGonagall tutted, rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, as I've found you, you should come to my office. "Michael was about to do as she said when she barked, "Granger! I want you in my office as well! Potter, could you send a message to Ron, telling him to be in my office as soon as possible."
"Err...........all right?" said Harry, looking scared.
"Now, you two, my office!" She barked as Draco walked past.
When they were out of sight and Harry had left to find Ron (who had decided to oversleep that morning) Draco quipped to one of his followers, "Hermione Granger? In trouble? About time the filthy mud blood! What did she do? Sneak in a squib?"
1/ - I stuck with what I know. I live in one of the most beautiful parts of London (i.e Richmond – Richard E Grant lives their! I've just never seen him!), and as I see some people around their in the near future, I decided that it was a good place to base it, especially as, technically, If Privit Drive exists, Richmond isn't actually all that far from it.
2/ Michael's lie about Durmstrang – well, it made me laugh when I was thinking of it, but on paper it doesn't look as good without the confused face and hand signals.
3/ Ahh.........a joke about someone making a cross – sacrilitious.
4/ "What did she do? Sneak in a squib?" This line cracks me up, even now. Imagine it in a John-Cleese type voice, like he was declaring that it wasa in fact a dead parrot. Why I am telling you this is beyond me.
Hopefully I'll start to update sooner, but be aware, I've picked up this story in the middle of my AS exams, so I might not update very fast for the next few weeks. After that, I'm never going near a piece of work ever again.