Chapter 1: A State of Controlled Chaos
Hogwarts was experiencing a state of controlled chaos, which meant that the students had arrived. Professor Snape, whose dark hair had begun mellowing to gray a few years before, sat brooding in his seat at the Head Table. Students ran into the Great Hall, shouting for friends and pets they had been unable to locate on the train.
"Abigail! Abby! How was your summer?"
"Really? You didn't!"
"What classes did you sign up for? I don't like Charms much, but need it—want to be an Auror, you know."
"Has anyone seen my cat?"
"Did you hear about the new Defense professor?"
The inane conversations blended together into a hazy whirl of sound, which Professor Snape was all too happy to ignore. He continued his elective deafness straight through dinner, pretending that he hadn't heard the announcement of Potter as the new Defense professor (he would be damned if he'd clap), Trelawny's whispery predictions on his left, and Dumbledore's jovial comments to his right that Snape should, "Eat up, eat up! You are far too thin, my boy." The older he got, the wiser and more mothering Dumbledore became. Several of the other older professors found it endearing—Professor Snape only felt nauseated.
It was with a profound sense of relief that Snape rose from the table and made his escape the instant Dumbledore dismissed everyone. Gliding through the crowd of students—most of whom were all too happy to get out of his way, creating a clear path—the professor gave the appearance of Moses parting the Red Sea. He was almost out the door when it happened.
A student voluntarily spoke to him.
Wondering irritably which dunderhead was stupid enough to stop him on the first day back, Professor Snape whirled around, sending his robes billowing impressively.
"Well, Miss Drake?" His voice was at its silkiest, most dangerous tone.
Miss Drake, a second-year Ravenclaw with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes, squeaked nervously. She licked her suddenly dry lips and tried to keep her voice from shaking—her hands already were. Looking up to meet his eyes (if she leaned her head any further back she'd do herself an injury, Professor Snape thought with slightly grim amusement) Miss Drake managed to force out, "I-it's Jon, s-sir. J-jonathan B-b-blake. He's m-missing, sir."
Snape raised one eyebrow. She'd stopped him because she couldn't spot one of her dunderhead friends? This was why she had decided to interrupt his escape? With a sneer, he advised, "You are a witch, Miss Drake. I would suggest that you study up on locating charms, especially if you remain at a ridiculously small height for the rest of your life. It will very quickly irritate those around you if you are always asking them to look over others' heads for you. Five points from Ravenclaw for disturbing a teacher. Another word to me tonight and it will be another ten, and continue to grow exponentially." Assuming the absurd conversation was over, the potions master spun on his heel to continue leaving the now mostly empty Hall.
Perhaps Miss Drake should have been in Gryffindor, for she mustered her courage and spoke again. "But, sir—I tried a locating ch-charm. Jon isn't at H-hogwarts."