Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the invention of Ms. J.K. Rowling. I do not own the characters in any way, shape, or form. I do, however, claim Armina Wilkins, her family, random students, and the plot.
A/N: Hello again, dear readers. Welcome back to my story. The last chapter served its purpose and introduced my character Armina, now it is time to get to know her a little. If she seems slightly two dimensional at first, please don't flame me about it. Her personality will be revealed over the course of several chapters. So, anyway, onto the chapter! Enjoy!
Dismal Photographs of Yesterday
Chapter 2: Into the Serpent's Den
Armina poked distractedly at her kidney pie as she pondered her impending doom, also known as Snape's detention. She worried about how terrible her punishment would be, after all she did eat a hole in the classroom floor with that acidic potion she made. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip as she checked her watch.
"Oh shit!" she cursed, jumping up from the table so quickly she nearly fell over. "I'm going to be late!"
She sprinted out of the Great Hall toward the Defense classroom, tripping quite a few times on the stairs and nearly running into a wall or two as she watched the moments tick away on her watch. Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit! I am so dead!
She skidded to a halt at the entrance to Snape's classroom. After taking a moment to catch her breath, since she was already late, Armina reached for the doorknob. In her mind, she went over thousands of plausible excuses for her tardiness that would not result in more detentions.
The door swung forward, catching her by surprise. Snape stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyebrows furrowed at the sight of Armina and his dark eyes almost seemed piercing and deadly.
"You're late," he snarled, expression unchanging.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Armina pleaded. "I was caught up in some potions research in the library."
His glance flicked over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. "Come with me."
He turned sharply on his heel and entered the dark room. Armina followed at a safe distance, unsure of how quick-tempered Snape would be. He had been on edge since the night before. His temperament hadn't seemed to improve much.
Snape halted before the his desk, turning to face her once again. "Thanks to your clumsiness, those potions you spilled are eating away at my floor. For the next 3 hours, you will be removing every drop from the floor by hand." With a flick of his wand, a bucket that was filled with a blue solution appeared along with a pair of rubber gloves and a rag. "Don't get either liquid on your skin."
Armina looked at the mass of murky liquid that covered the floor by her desk. It did appear to be eating away at the granite floor. The puddle seemed to have increased in size since that afternoon, growing from the diameter of a bludger to the size of a Snape's desk. Armina looked sheepishly up at Snape, who was once again glaring at her.
"What will happen if they get on my skin?" she asked timidly, eyeing the bucket as she pulled on the yellow gloves.
He stared at her once again, seemingly amused by her ignorance. A slight smirk flicked across his lips, just for a moment. "Your skin will either be eaten away very slowly or it will turn every color known to civilization before beginning to burn and rot. I suggest that you are careful."
Seeing that she was thoroughly terrified, Snape took a seat behind his desk. He began to weed through the pile of essays that he had assigned during his remaining classes due to the mishap that was now being taken care of.
Armina, on the other hand, lowered herself to the floor. Reaching into the icy blue liquid, she dampened her rag and began to scrub the spreading depression in the floor. As she worked, the blue solution began turning green. Concerned and confused, she glanced up at her occupied watchman.
"Excuse me...erm...Professor Snape?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. When he didn't even bother to look up, she spoke a bit louder. "Professor Snape?"
"What is it, Wilkins?" he asked monotony, showing little interest in the fact that she had a question.
"Is it supposed to turn that color?"
Snape rolled his eyes and looked up in annoyance. "Is it green?"
"Yes?"
"Yes, it is. Now back to work."
With that, Armina began to scrub again. After twenty more minutes, she leaned back on her calves for a moment, sighing with relief. Her arms had begun to ache from the effort she was exerting. She wiped her brow with her hand, but immediately realized what she had done.
"Oh no! Oh no! Oh no!" she exclaimed, panic beginning to take hold.
"What in God's name have you done?" Snape shouted, glancing up at her from a potions book he had taken to reading.
"Professor Snape! I don't want my skin to turn colors! I don't want it to burn off! I like my skin!" She was beginning to hyperventilate, a panic attack seemingly unavoidable.
Snape's face dropped. "What did you touch?" he hissed, jumping up from his place and advancing on this terrified student.
"My—my forehead. What should I do, Professor?"
"Hold still, damn it!"
Before she realized it, Snape was examining her forehead. His fingers ran across her skin in several sweeps. His eyes were intense and almost seemed worried, but only for a moment. Armina's breathing slowed, afraid to interrupt him.
"I'll have to call the infirmary," he hissed, returning to his desk.
Snape pulled open one of the side drawers, retrieving a small red pouch. He strode over to the fireplace at the other end of the room and opened the pouch. He poured a mound of gray powder into his palm and tossed it into the hearth. Green flames burst to life as Snape pulled the drawstring shut on the pouch.
"Madame Pomfrey," he called into the flames, "I need your assistance immediately."
An elderly woman dressed in a nurse's uniform stepped from the fire. Her kind face was plagued by urgency and unease. She bustled over to Armina, eyes filling with concern. The woman began to examine her forehead just as Snape had done.
"What happened, Severus?" she inquired, fingers prodding Armina's skin. "Why is her skin turning green?"
"It's turning green?" Armina asked in a panic.
"It came into contact with a strong cleaning potion," Snape answered rather matter-of-factly, ignoring her question completely. "I warned her, but the twit didn't listen."
"It seems to be a minor potion burn, but I'll need to take her back to the Hospital Wing in order to treat it."
"By all means, Madame Pomfrey, but, Wilkins, your detention is not finished. It will resume tomorrow evening. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Armina replied somberly as the elderly nurse led her into the fire.
Within an instant, the pair were standing in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey sat her down on a bed before disappearing behind the curtain. She reappeared moments later with a tube of magic creme. She began too apply it to Armina's forehead when she noticed her patient's distracted appearance.
"Don't worry, Miss Wilkins. Professor Snape doesn't really know how to interact with people," she explained. "He can come off a bit gruffly now and again, but he really is a good man."
Armina studied the woman's face, not quite sure where this statement had come from. "Excuse me?"
"Oh, don't worry about him," she continued, not seeming to notice her patient's puzzlement. "You could probably relate to him better than anyone."
"What are you talking about, Madame Pomfrey?"
The elderly woman taped a bandage over the burn and smiled warmly. "There you go. All patched up. You can return to your dormitory."
"But...Madame Pomfrey..."
"Off you go!"
Madame Pomfrey shooed her reluctant patient out of the door, leaving her to wonder back to her dormitory, lost in thought. What had she been going on about? Why did she act so interested about my reactions to Professor Snape?
A/N: Quite obviously our dear, hopelessly idiotic Armina doesn't know what she's getting herself into. Well then, I suppose you will all find out in the next chapter. Review please! Writer's like feedback.