Chapter V- Not That Kind of Freak

"Good afternoon, class," announces stern Minerva McGonnagal. She's in her late twenties, but acts old. She's been our new Professor ever since Madame Ottoman ran away to Jamaica with a centaur.

Everyone mumbles out a reply. I don't answer. I'm still seething from last evening.

All night, I tossed and turned, wondering why in the hell the Marauders would do this to me. Actually, I obviously do know why- they're idiots and they find pleasure in making me angry. I suppose this really wasn't about them. It was about Moragona Connelly, because there was just something about her. There was something that felt so right, so natural. I mean, the girl treated me decently!

Of course she did! She's a fake, and they set you up.

And I don't care.

Not at all.

Maybe a bit.

Well, wouldn't you? She shines, damnit!

She had you, Severus. She had you good. She had you good because noone's ever been that way before. Bellatrix Black may have pretty hair and a nice body but she's a freaky bitch.

And that's why you don't truly like her! She's got the Older Woman hook, but come on! She treats you like dragon dung. She draws you in by speaking to you nicely, and then she snogs with her stupid boyfriend and talks to you like you're a little boy.

This realisation confuses me at first, yet I suppose I've always known it. The Black Sisters are legend, so far away from me. So high above me. Morgan seemed so down to earth and real.

Seemed being the key word in that sentence.

"Mister Snape, may I have your permission to continue?" Professor McGonnagal inquires seriously, glaring calmly through tiny spectacles.

I notice I've been sketching angry black ink lines all over my parchment.

"Sniiiiiivellus!" shouts Potter.

"I do not wish to hear that in my classroom, Potter, do I make myself quite clear?"

"Yes, Miss."

I gloat at him, then turn to McGonnagal. "Sorry, Professor."

She coughs into her hand. "As I was saying, we have a new student. Moragona, will you please stand up?"

I suck in my breath as she does so. Today, her hair is a dark brunette colour, and it flows down her back. Hippie beads are settled around her neck, jangling bracelts on her arms, and I realise I'm staring a bit too intently, so I try to focus on my psychotic line drawing.

"Moragona is an exchange student. Her father works for the Ministry of Magic in Salem, Massachusetts and was transferred to the London branch for this year. Share something about yourself, would you?" McGonnagal fixes her with a somber stare, but Morgan only smiles back.

Potter yells out," Tell them about your fantastic cousin!"

"I hear your cousin's a looker," Sirius hoots, pounding on his desk and whistling. A few people snicker. For some reason, I cough very loudly.

"Then you've heard wrong," Morgan grins. "My cousin is this bloke here-" she gestures to James-" but don't let it fool you. I'm good at Quidditch and I'm actually smart."

James boos happily, as other people laugh.

Clarence Coldwatter, a Gryffindor, raises his hand. "I've a question for you. You single?"

I notice a few girls look excitedly jealous. Coldwatter has ink black skin, is fairly muscly, and a star at everything he does.

I squeeze my quill so hard my hand hurts. I shouldn't be so worked up about this, but I am. Even though I know the whole ordeal last night was a set-up, my brain screams Get away from her! I'M the one she flirted with!

If I'm not mistaken, at this very moment, Morgan looks at me. Not for very long. Perhaps a nano second. Then, she says," I'm not married." Sirius whistles loudly, and then the "fun" dies down immediately when McGonnagal decides it's time to practise for the quiz on switching colours on objects.

Great. Work time.

I take out my wand and wait for one of the Maruaders to come over and casually ask me if I had any fun last night. No one comes. I watch them out of the corner of my eye. Potter seems to be introducing her to a host of Gryffindors. She laughs her magical laugh as Clarence Coldwatter says something to her that, for some reason, does not seem like it's about Tranfigurations.

Lucius leans into me. I had no idea he was here, even! I lean away. He leans further. It's a habit we both have aquired over the years.

"Would you look at that girl. That Moragona girl. She's odd," he whispers very loudly, pointing.

"What's the point of whispering, when you're bloody yelling!?" I declare, now pretending to be very engrossed in my studies.

He puts his face very close to mine. "What did she want with you last night?"

I scoot my chair over. "She's new, Malfoy. She needed some help carrying her books."

"Oh, and she just ended up in front of our common room?" he asks of me, a leer spreading upon his face.

"I thought she was a Slytherin."

"Nasty surprise for you," he claps his hands. "I swear, what if she'd gotten in? Do you reckon she's a Mudblood?"

"I doubt it, if she's related to James. I heard his whole family's pure-blooded. If anything, she's a halfie."

He flicks a silver eyelash off of his face. "Right. Thank Salazaar for that."

I try to block him out, but his voice is ringing in my brain, growing louder all the time. My heart gives a leap as I realise I'm focusing on Morgan again- she's paired up with Remus Lupin and they seem to be having a delightful time. I want to stop looking at her. I want to stop thinking about her. I want to go back to being unfeeling.

I want a spell that makes me asexual.

"You sure do look at her often," Lucius voices aloud, looking innocent but attempting to keep a smile off his lips without much luck.

"I do not," I spit out. He's pushing all of my buttons, as usual. I hate it how he is so observative. It's unnerving. He looks at me sometimes with those frozen grey eyes as though he can see right through me. "Honest to Merlin, Lucius, I don't know her at all. Stop lying to yourself."

"I believe you!" he replies falsely. "Little sly thing," he tuts cutely. "She's probably not Potter's cousin at all, she's his spy. He wants secret information on us, Severus. You'd better hide everything dear to you."

What a drama queen.

I sigh loudly.

"What would that be, anyway? Your trenchcoat? But you've always got it on.. It couldn't count."

I say a silent prayer.

Please let this class go by quickly.

Ooh, goodie. I just can't wait. You know what time it is? Time for sweat, pain, and annoyance.

Yes, it's time for lunch.

Only kidding. It's time for stupid, stupid, STUPID Intermediate Levitating on Curiously Shaped Boards.

"Severus! Wait!" comes a voice behind me.

It's her. I know it is.

I pick up the pace, my school robes billowing out behind me as I clutch my books tightly to my chest. I don't want her to admit it was all a prank. I just want to get through one day when something entirely humilating does not happen to me. It would be too much- way too much if I had to endure her laughing at me.

I turn the corner, and head out the front entrance to the Quidditch pitch, ignoring her bell- like voice. Even though I know she's not following me, I heigthen my pace to a jog and pretend that the tears forming in my eyes are there because of the biting wind. I almost believe myself.

I shouldn't be this upset. I shouldn't be upset at all.

With a bang, the locker room door shuts behind me. I stand in the shadows of the front opening, rubbing my eyes on my sleeve, collecting myself. I then proceed into the main room.

There are two locker- rooms, both with girls' and boys' sections, for Quidditch games. We use Room B for class, because it's smaller.

I walk down the aisle, ignoring the males around me who are walking around either in the nude or in their Quidditch robes. Why you'd have to be nude, I don't know. I guess some of us like to flaunt it, me definitely not being one of "us."

"All right, Snivellus? Ready to be clobbered once more, eh?" Potter inquires of me, admiring himself in one of the full-body mirrors.

"Clobbered, Potter? A Quaffle hit me in the nose. You need to stop over-reacting. It mixes things up a bit, if you know what I mean." I pivot and face my locker, sticking my wand in the lock and twisting. It opens. My borrowed Quidditch robes and annoying broom greet me. "Then again, you most likely don't."

"Shut up, Snivellus, honestly!" he declares. He's angry, probably because I'm not admiring the way he's touseled his hair today.

I grab the robes and leave the broom for the moment, my eyes searching the bottoms of the stalls for somewhere to dress in private. All three of them are taken. Potter notices my frusterated look, and he smiles, making me wonder if anyone in there is actually using the stalls for dressing purposes at all.

His teeth flash brightly. "Don't have anything to cover you up? Afraid we'll see your panties again?"

I swallow, a feeling of dread filling my stomach. I feel for my wand in my pocket. Potter is reffering to an occurance last year in which he thought it would be amusing if he turned me upside down with a hex. That particular day, I wasn't wearing any jeans. Quite stupid, now that I look back on it, but it was a hot day and I was sick of smelling bad by the time third period rolled around. That, and I had forgotten to clean my trousers the night before. So, when I was hexed, my old and very embarrassing underwear was shown to at least thirty onlookers. As if that wasn't bad enough, Potter then proceeded to take off my underpants.

I thought about dying that day. I truly did. It wasn't the first time, but it was probably the time I've been the most serious.

"They still gray, Sniv, or have you finally gotten new ones? Are you going to answer me or just stand there twitching?"

I'm not amused by his stupidity anymore. It's gotten to the point where I'm sick and tired of taking it. It's a normal occurance. See, Potter and I always argue, but then it gets serious. He's kidding, but it's meaner. It's not as fair, you know what I mean?

My eyes scan the floor of the stalls again. Someone leave, please.

An angry buzzing noise begins to drone in my ears.

"It seems they're all occupied at the moment. Kind of a strange coincedince, in't?" he inquires, smiling. "Are you scared to undress out here, or something? Don't want to strip for us again?"

I draw in a shaking breath and stick my wand out in front of me. "Leave me alone, Potter," I stammer, wishing I wasn't shaking so badly.

"You paranoid little freak!" James shouts, grinning.

Freak.

Perhaps I am a freak. You started calling me a freak when you noticed how well I mixed concoctions in Potions class. You thought it was unnatural that I'd rather work on homework then hang out in a little clique and gossip. You saw me once, out by the lake. I was alone. I was practising dueling. You thought it was weird.

"Freak! Freak!"

Well, maybe I am.

But at least I'm not so pathetic as to set up my cousin to make you feel stupid. At least I'm not that kind of freak.

Baring my teeth, I point my wand at Potter's face. "Plasmaimus," I shout. I feel a sick simper claim my lips as his eyes widen in horror. The blokes around him back up, as he begins to cough up dark blood.

You know your silly little hexes, I know my Dark magic. It all evens out in the end.

The front of Potter's chest is soaked as he's clasping his throat, his face bright white.

"What's going on, Prongs, did- Holy shit!" shouts Sirius, coming out of one of the bathroom stalls. "What happened- what..." His eyes fall upon me. "Snivellus, you sick fuck. REVERSE IT!"

"I don't know how."

The room is spinning.

"Sit down, Prongs, there, just wait- don't mess with me, Snape!"

"Oh, so now you're decent enough to call me by my name. How predictable you are when you want something, Black."

He comes forward, punching a locker. "You reverse that spell, and I won't bloody you today after practise."

"That's nice of you."

Sirius takes hold of my robe and slams me against the row of lockers. "Do it, NOW!"

I slip my wand behind Black and mumble the incantation.

Potter stops choking, and takes a deep breath, looking dizzy.

"Going to feel up to riding your broom, Potter?" I can't help saying.

I get bashed in the side of the face by Black.

"Ugh," he moans," now I'll have to wash my hands." The guys laugh, still watching. I stagger against the lockers, as Sirius goes over to help his friend. Holding my robes tightly, I speed past everyone and into an empty stall.

I begin to undress, but I just don't feel like it anymore. I sit down upon the little bench and I tuck my legs underneath myself, trying not to breathe.

A few minutes later, the sound of a horn rings out, which is always the signal to be ready for class. I hear my classmates leaving for the field, and then the sound of water running. Potter must be taking a shower. Soon, the nozzle squeaks and Potter leaves for class a minute or so after. I squeeze myself so tightly I feel as though I might suffocate. I hate them so very much.

The time seems to drag on and on. At one point, Runson came in and called out my first name a few times, then gave up and left. I figure I'll either have detention tomorrow, or else I'll pay for what I did at the hands of the Marauders.

All too soon, though, class is over. I make so sound whatsoever as lockers slam and the stupid jerks trade mindless tips on Quidditch tactics. The sound dies down, and I finally force myself up and out of the stall.

Sirius Black looks at me in enjoyment from his place against the wall. "Knew you were in here, Snivellus."