More Trouble

Much to his discontentment, Lucius found himself sitting in the Slytherin common room the very next evening and the three evenings after that, giving up his weekend to explain tedious Defence basics to young Snape. He had hoped to be able to join his friends on their trip to Hogsmeade for once, but however hard he had tried to persuade Professor McGonagall that he was safe while they were around, the fact remained that they were seventeen and he was not, meaning that they could go and visit the village whenever they felt like it (except during lesson times, of course) while he had to remain at the castle on a permanent basis for (he calculated while Severus was reading the paragraph about stunning spells) another seven months, save for the very rare and (amongst students) highly valued Hogwarts weekends.

'There's two ways of reacting to a stunner,' Lucius explained when the younger boy had finished his lecture. 'You can either jump aside or use a counter curse. Which one would you prefer?'

'The former,' said Severus quietly.

'Wrong. You'd prefer the more elegant way of counter cursing your enemy, of course,' replied Lucius impatiently. 'We are going to try that in a minute. Where's your wand?'

Severus showed him.

'Stand like this. Always stand like this when you fight. In fact - try to stay like that on a permanent basis. No, not like that. Don't bend your legs! You look like a spider! And keep your wand close to your... hello? Severus? Are you still with me?'

Severus's eyes had assumed a glassy look and he was staring out of the window instead of keeping his mind on his lecture. Lucius was not pleased.

'SEVERUS!' he yelled, making the younger Slytherin give a startled yelp. 'I AM TALKING TO YOU!'

'Sorry,' muttered Severus. 'I - I was wondering why they keep doing this. What - uhm - could be their motivation.'

'I should have known you'd be too busy pitying yourself to actually do something about it,' Lucius sneered, 'I can but say it again, you lack proper Slytherin p-'

'I wasn't pitying myself,' Severus snapped. 'I am trying to think of a way to pay them back.'

Lucius remained silent for a while. A strange gleam had appeared in Severus's eyes. One he had never seen in them before.

'Well,' he said finally, 'you could tell on them, of course, but -'

'But I'll never be able to prove it is them who're jinxing my homework,' snorted Severus. 'I got as far as that.'

'And jinxing them back might not be such a good idea as they're bound to know the counter curse and outnumber you four to one.'

'B-but - you're with me.'

'I am with you only for another year,' said Lucius indignantly. 'No, you'll have to find a reliable group of friends if you want protection against that Gryffindor scum.'

'Professor McGonagall,' said Severus quietly.

'I beg your pardon?'

Lucius was not at all convinced that Professor McGonagall was such a 'reliable friend against Gryffindor scum', but he decided to listen to what Severus had to say first.

'I'll have them make her stuff disappear. Then she'll know what they're doing and put them in detention. Possibly even expel them.'

'I doubt it,' said Lucius coolly. 'And in any case - how would you do that?'

'I'll swap bags with her,' Severus said breathlessly. 'No one will notice - Professor McGonagall's bag looks very like mine.'

'Indeed,' agreed Lucius. 'They must be the only two tartan bags currently residing at Hogwarts. How are you going to swap them?'

'I'll offer to carry hers,' muttered Severus, clearly picturing the individual steps of his plan in his mind now. 'I've done it before. I'll just... not take my own this time. And I'll carry hers as if it was mine. No one is going to notice the difference. Least of all pompous Potter and blasted Black.'

'Not to spoil your mood or anything,' Lucius said slowly, 'but once they've let her stuff vanished... how are you going to prove that it wasn't you who did it?'

'I'll talk to her,' said Severus, now looking thoroughly happy. 'I'll stay near her all the time and talk. How can I talk and jinx her stuff at the same time?'

'Severus,' said Lucius in an urgent sort of voice, 'are you sure this is such a good idea?'

But Severus was not listening anymore. He was staring out of the window with big, glittering eyes again, seemingly picturing Professor McGonagall's reaction to his project, smiling a distinct and evil Slytherin smile.


'Good morning, Professor McGonagall.'

'Morning, Wilkins.'

'Good morning, Professor.'

'Morning, Professor McGonagall.'

'Good morning, Mr. Potter - Mr. Lupin, had a good night?'

'Very good, very pleasant, thank you, Professor.'

'That's good tae hear, Mr. Lupin.'

Days starting off like this were bound to turn out very pleasant. When making her way to the Great Hall to have some breakfast Minerva reminded herself that she had finished her last report to the school governors the previous evening, leaving no work whatsoever for today. She also remembered, not without pride, that she had managed to bring the Quidditch timetable in perfect order again, and that she might be able to start on small spiders with her second-years today after all, now they had all so successfully mastered their fleas. Yes, this day was certain to be a happy one.

'Morning, Rosier,' she said pleasantly, holding the door for another first-year Slytherin who had greeted her heartily, 'how is yer mother these days?'

'Better, Professor,' he replied. 'She is seeing a therapist now.'

'I am glad tae hear it,' said Minerva. 'Give her my love when you see her again, will ye?'

'I will,' he said politely. 'Thank you, Professor.'

'Morning, Professor McGonagall!'

Another sixth year, Hufflepuff this time, joined them on their way to the Great Hall.

'Morning Mr. Fawcett,' smiled Minerva, recognizing him as the student her colleague, Professor Sprout, kept talking about when describing her current experiments on water plants in greenhouse four. 'How's your Herbology project going?'

'Very well, thank you, Professor.'

'Excellent. I am glad you're making progress.'

'Splendid morning, Professor McG!'

This was less pleasant.

'Would you refrain from reducing my name to a mere three-letter word, Mr. Black? I must have told ye a thousand times that I cannae allow that.'

'Sorry, Professor, sorry. I just mean - I just wanted to say -'

'Black, what are ye wearing?'

The boy grinned, exposing a row of faultlessly white teeth.

'I'll take it off in a minute, Professor, I promise. But I'll need another couple of minutes. I am about to win a bet.'

'Ye will nae enter the Great Hall wearing that... thing.'

'Oh don't make me take it off, Professor! James and I were betting on people's reactions to it.'

'No,' said Minerva firmly, 'you are to take it off. I dinnae allow pink bonnets with funeral decoration on it tae join the Gryffindor table. In fact - take it off noo and give it here. Where did ye get it?'

'James gave it to me. It's a birthday present. He hoped I would buy him the turquoise one in revenge, but I didn't. I put a couple of Fillibuster's into his bag, though. The small ones, you kn-' Sirius stopped. He had obviously not meant to say this much. He blushed, and took off the ridiculous witch's had he was wearing, handing it to her without further complaint.

'Sorry,' he grinned. 'Forget what I said.'

Minerva took the hat and, with a wave of her wand, transferred it to her office. 'Tae be collected at five this afternoon,' she said sternly. 'Now - off ye gae. Dinnae let your friend wait.'

James Potter had appeared at the end of the corridor again and Sirius joined him in a run towards the Great Hall. Minerva shook her head, allowing an indistinct smile to linger on her face for a second. Brats.

When breakfast was over, she collected all her books for the day's first lesson and made her way to the Transfiguration classroom. On her way upstairs, however, she bumped into yet another student. Severus Snape had obviously not joined the meal and offered politely to carry her bag upstairs.

'Thank you, Mr. Snape,' she said, allowing a knowing smile play around her lips. 'Have you overslept again?'

'No, I - I had things to do,' he replied, swinging her bag casually over his shoulder. 'I wanted to get started on our Charms essay - early,' he added hastily, seeing her frown. 'It is not due until next week.'

Minerva nodded slowly. 'So... have ye managed tae do your homework for me this time? Have ye done the essay?'

'Yes, of course,' replied the boy tensely. 'All I had to do was rewrite it. I always do my assignments. It's just a question whether they vanish or not. But it won't happen this time, because I put it upstairs al-'

'Dinnae be ridiculous,' said Minerva sternly. 'Ye havenae finished the last three essays I set ye. How can ye possibly claim you're always doing them?'

'I told you they keep vanishing. And I can prove I've done them. I can tell you every detail I wrote for the last one, if you like,' said Snape, sounding insulted. 'And the other ones as well. In fact, I know the whole beginning of 'The precision of words is vital to the transfiguration of invertebrates. Discuss!' by heart. Would you like to hear it?'

Minerva sighed. 'Severus, I dinnae -' she stopped, realizing that she had addressed him with his first name yet again. Where did this familiarity come from she always felt with him? The feeling he should be cuddled and not shouted at? Was this normal?

She resolved that it was. Sometimes, at least. He was not the first student she felt she could relate to. The first who was not in Gryffindor, yes, but not the first altogether. And yet - this boy was different. He appeared to lack something only a mother could give him. As if he needed her attention.

'Well, if ye must,' she said, more softly than intended, and turned into the corridor that led directly towards the Transfiguration classroom, 'fire away, then.'

Snape took a deep breath.

'The transfiguration of invertebrates requires a somewhat different attitude towards the actual performance of the spell than mere object-changing. For once, animals possess a great deal of parts that might not be obvious to the performing witch or wizard, meaning that the precision of the incantation is a great deal more important for a successful transfor-'

'Wait a moment,' Minerva said, suddenly feeling slightly confused. 'A ken this one. It isnae your essay. I've seen it. It is someone else's.'

Snape gave her a blank stare. 'What do you mean - someone else's?'

'I seem to remember,' said Minerva, assuming a stern tone, 'that this is the exact beginning of the essay Mr. Black handed in. Dinnae take me for a daft old lady, me lad. I remember most essays I have graded. And this particular one wasnae written in your hand. It wis Sirius Black's.'

The boy seemed to need a few moments to have that information sink in. He bit his lip and Minerva noticed that his tiny hands were balled to fists. He looked up and gave her what looked like an enormously restraint glare. 'And... what did you give him?'

'I should not think that is any of your business,' she said coolly, opening the door of the Transfiguration classroom where most students were already sitting and waiting. They got up when she entered. 'But I can tell you that it was certainly up to his usual standard.'

Motioning the class to sit down she discovered said Black at his place next to James Potter in the front row and gave him a surprised but approving smile. However had he managed to get here before she did? Had she not seen him fool around at the breakfast table before she had left the Great Hall? Young Snape seemed to wonder the same thing. He gave Black and Potter a puzzled look, who grinned at him and winked at each other. Minerva had the slight suspicion that something was going on in which she did not have any insight.

'Settle down,' she said to a few last-minute students who were entering the room. 'You too, Mr. Snape. Please.'

But Snape was preoccupied. His eyes were darting from the two Gryffindors to his own place and back, filling themselves with what - Minerva could not believe it - seemed to be angry tears.

'Give it back!' he snarled. 'It was right here! I know you took it!'

'Mr. Snape, what is wrong?' said Minerva in a demanding voice. 'Black? Potter? What is going on?'

'I have no idea, Professor,' said Potter with a puzzled expression. 'Snape seems to think we have -'

'- vanished my homework!' squeaked his black-haired classmate exasperatedly. 'They did it again! Professor, I swear I placed it here before coming down to -' he stopped, turning pale. Minerva looked down at him in a mixture of surprise and confusion.

'To do what, Mr. Snape? Speak clearly! Your story disnae appear tae make any sense yet.'

But Snape did not speak. He looked as if he had just realized something horrible, which he was unable to change now, and Minerva could very well imagine what that might be.

'Is it safe tae assume that ye'll fail tae hand in yer homework again?' she enquired sarcastically. Snape lowered his head. 'Professor, I -'

'I shall put ye in detention this time,' she said curtly. 'Ye're lying tae me and ye constantly fail tae hand in yer homework. I am very disappointed in you.'

'It isn't my fault, Professor,' whispered Snape. 'It's them! They -'

'I dinnae believe a word,' interrupted Minerva, getting more and more angry with the slothful Slytherin in front of her. 'Ye're failing tae dae the work that is required of ye and need a scapegoat for it. I am no longer prepared tae listen to any more of your lies. And I assure ye that, if this happens again, I shall have tae summon yer parents for a short meeting and give you a warning of suspension.'

Snape's eyes widened. 'Oh no,' he whispered. Minerva merely pointed to his place on the right hand side of the classroom.

'Sit,' she said. Snape sat.

Minerva saw his black eyes glittering, not of tears for a change, but, as she realized with sudden surprise, with a new gleam of hatred towards Potter and Black. Her heart sank. She was sure that she had just experienced what Albus had always called an 'unavoidable occasional misjudgement of the situation'. She decided to ponder over the matter after the lesson, however, and began to determinedly unpack her bag, handing her students back their most recent assignment.