Author's note: Ohhhh goodness me. I am so, so sorry for how long I have neglected this. I really didn't intend to stop writing, but between school, medical problems, and new personal developments, life has officially become a madhouse. Here is the next installment, although I confess that it's mostly just a filler chapter. Apologies again for how long this took. Thanks for your patience.

Guest: I believe JK Rowling explained the issue of Umbridge's ability to conjure a Patronus, even while wearing the locket, as she revels in other people's misery so much that the Horcrux actually helped her instead of hindering her. I'm not entirely clear on that, though.

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 94-98 of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban while writing this.

Drama in the Classrooms

The first day of classes had been dreadful: Potions was surpassed by Care of Magical Creatures when it came to accident-proneness. Hagrid had introduced his first class, the Gryffindor/Slytherin third years, to Hippogriffs, which were large creatures with sharp claws and pride bigger than the sun. Flobberworms might have been wiser on an introductory curriculum.

Draco had gotten his arm cut by the Hippogriff and had, predictably, pitched a massive fit. Severus had taken initiative both as the boy's Head of House and an acquaintance of Draco's father, writing Lucius to explain the situation as diplomatically as possible. He left out his personal opinion that it was Draco's own fault for baiting "Buckbeak," as Hagrid had affectionately named the animal.

Severus had been hoping that Lucius wouldn't cause too much of a fuss—there was already far too much drama going on, as far as he was concerned—but to no avail.

Dear Severus,

I have said this before and will no doubt continue to repeat it in the future: I find it truly appalling what Albus Dumbledore gets away with. An oaf like Rubeus Hagrid should not be placed in any position of authority, especially not one that requires sensitivity and attentiveness. Personality-wise, he is disorganized, irresponsible, and oblivious; compounding this, he was expelled during his third year, making him unqualified from an academic standpoint as well. And, of course, he is a half-breed. The Board should never have approved of this. Merlin's beard, who knows what will be next?

I am sure you understand, my friend, that I will be taking action. This sort of thing was to be expected, but it really is poor form to have that much negligence at the first class. I did not like this from the moment I heard that Hagrid would be teaching and that Draco would be in his class. I appreciate the personal notification you sent of my son's injury; the official school report was far too sugar-coated for my taste.

Sincerely,

Lucius Malfoy

It was Thursday now, and Severus was suffering through another Gryffindor/Slytherin double Potions class. He had, again, tried to convince Dumbledore not to put those two Houses together, but the Headmaster had, again, paid him no attention.

The class was well underway when the door opened and Draco came swaggering in, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling. Severus literally bit his tongue to stop himself from letting out a snide remark about attention-seekers. Madam Pomfrey had undoubtedly done a fine job of patching Draco up, so there was need for neither the melodrama nor the tardiness.

"How is it, Draco?" asked Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?"

"Yeah," the blonde boy replied, moulding his face into what he probably thought was an expression of endurance, but what the Potions Master thought just looked sullen.

"Settle down, settle down," Severus said, looking down at some parchment on his desk and managing to sound remarkably disinterested.

From his periphery, he could see Draco set up his cauldron right beside Potter and Weasley. He sighed inwardly. He wasn't in the mood to deal with the antagonism between Draco and the Gryffindors—he didn't want it happening in his classroom, when the students were trying to make Shrinking Solution for the first time; then again, perhaps the opportunity to take points would present itself and make this worth the headache.

"Sir," Draco called, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm-"

"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," Severus instructed, without looking up.

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," he heard the Weasley boy hiss.

"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots."

There was a lull in the dialogue. Then, "Professor, Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir."

He got up and approached the table. He stared down for a moment at the roots—Weasley's had been carefully measured and cut, whereas the ones the boy had cut up for Draco were haphazard and entirely unsuitable—before smirking.

"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley," he said.

"But sir-!"

"Now." The righteous, outraged look Weasley's face was quite comical.

"And, sir, I'll need this Shrivelfig skinned," Draco added.

"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's Shrivelfig."

Although he gave the Potter spawn a loathing-filled look as he moved away, his eye had been caught by something far more troublesome: Neville Longbottom. The Shrinking Solution was supposed to be a bright, acid green. Instead, this potion was—

"Orange, Longbottom," Severus said, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see for themselves. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"

The cherub-faced boy looked like he was on the verge of tears. It gave Severus some vindictive satisfaction.

"Please, sir," Granger piped up, "please, I could help Neville put it right-"

"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," Severus interrupted coldly, and she turned as pink as her fellow Gryffindor had. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."

He moved away, hearing Longbottom plead, "Help me!" to Granger. But yet another, more interesting, discussion swiftly caught his interest: "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, that's right," replied Potter flippantly.

"Of course"—the blonde Slytherin lowered his voice—"if it was me, I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."

For Merlin's sake, don't goad him, Draco; Potter is harebrained enough without your help. Don't make my job harder by encouraging him to go off on another wild, death-courting adventure.

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" Weasley demanded.

"Don't you know, Potter?"

"Know what?"

Of course Potter didn't know! There was absolutely no benefit to Potter being informed on the matter—and Dumbledore would never want to scare his Golden Boy with the gruesome details anyway. Draco, on the other hand, had heard a plethora of stories from his father.

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck. Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."

"What are you talking about?"

Enough was enough.

"You should have finished adding your ingredients by now," Severus called, effectively putting an end to the boys' talking. Most of the students looked to be done anyway. "This potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's."

But by the time the classroom was tidy again and Severus was holding a small sample of Longbottom's potion, he could already tell that it was likely to work. The colour was right, as was the texture. Granger had done a good job of righting that wreck of a concoction. Severus might have appreciated the girl's intelligence and ability, if it weren't for that incessant hand-waving and obnoxious answer-screaming, which the other teachers all seemed to adore; she had even been granted a Time Turner in order to double book her time table, a decision that Severus still viewed as more than a little unwise. The girl was, after all, only fourteen.

"Everyone gather around and watched what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned." He didn't mention that the poisoning wouldn't be fatal. It was more fun to keep the children in suspense.

Picking it up with his left hand, Severus trickled a couple drops of the green concoction down the toad's throat. There was a moment of hushed silence, and then there was a small pop, and the toad became a tadpole wriggling in Severus's palm.

The Gryffindors broke into applause. Lips thinning, although he wasn't surprised, Severus administered the antidote and handed the once-again fully-grown familiar back to Longbottom.

"Five points from Gryffindor," he said, causing all the smiles to drop. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed."

He was grateful that he had no more classes until after lunch.