Chapter 32:

Unfortunate Events: Dates and Detentions

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It really was an unfortunate turn in events. Not only that- oh no, things could never be left at merely 'unfortunate'- but it was steadily growing worse.

Naturally the reference to 'it' could be a great many things- a broom, a toad, perhaps a person?

Malcolm clucked his tongue softly- third time's a charm. Well, if you could even call that Hufflepuff menace a person. He was more like a…puppy. A two-legged, small, scruffy and chatty puppy.

He braced himself for impact and did his best to weather the bear-hug being wrought on him. And to think the thing was three years older even…it really was a pity.

"So I was thinking- maybewecouldgositupbytheShriekingShackandifIgotcoldyoucouldputanarmaroundmeorsomethingandthenafteranintensemakeoutsessionduringwhichyoutellmethatyou'velovedmeforyearsandyearsandyearswecouldgoandgetabutterbeer."

Processing the information, Malcolm winced as the older boy clung to his robes whimpering pathetically, "Or we could skip the Shrieking-Shack-making-out parts and just get a butterbeer."

Ernie beamed, turning and tugging his new boyfriend toward The Three Broomsticks, "And this- this is why we are so perfect for each other!"

"Uh- yeah…"

"Hey-"Ernie frowned, just remembering something. "Why did you want to know how I'm getting Hermione and Blaise together anyway?"

"I- um…wanted to help?"

"Really? Oh fuck! This is fantastic! You know, boyfriends do this stuff together anyway…I can't wait to tell Parvarti and Lavender!"

"Yay?"

Snape glowered at his Sixth-Year Potions class. You would think that Potter and Weasley would have given up on pretending to be even the slightest bit intelligent- but of course, they were Gryffindors, after all.

Not to mention they were a complete and utter distraction to his wonderful students! Potter just because he was Potter, and Weasley because- Well, he hadn't quite gotten that far in his ranting. But rest assured- Severus Snape, resident Potions Pro and All-Around-Good-Guy (though that title remained debatable in some circles), would get to the bottom of the imbecile's interference!

Ron simply cringed as the threat of the Potions Professor looming over him was added to the trouble of the blonde burr burrowed into his side.

"And Mr. Weasley- been making new friends, have you?"

"Erm-?" The redhead squeaked and pulled at his captive arm fruitlessly- 'Must hide- go, go, go!'

Snape sneered at the boy's attempts at escape- there would be no survivors. At least not of the Weasley persuasion.

"An answer in proper English is always appreciated."

"S-sorry Sir, um? He's just sort-of attached!"

Draco's eyes blinked open, his head turning to allow a beam toward his favorite Professor. "Mmm- problem?"

The smile was his downfall. Snape stuttered a response regarding chamber-pots and their uses in Wheezing Fizzbangs or Fizzing Whizbirds or something of the sort and limped wearily back to his desk.

Flopping down into his seat, he allowed a shudder to run through his body- there was just something so wrong about a Malfoy smiling. He sighed and wearily let his gaze roam over the classroom.

Good god! What madness was this? The Weasley-Draco table he could deal with- why just last week, Draco had expressed his supreme undying affection for cheese slathered toast and Terry Boot (no-doubt linked to his obsession with shoes…and cheese products). No House or fattening substance was safe from his free-love policy.

But this- this was a travesty! What was it, an epidemic?

Sweeping up from his chair, Snape stormed over to the table in question, mumbling incoherencies all the way.

"Granger! Zabini! What is the meaning of this little tryst?"

Hermione and Blaise glanced at each other- was there even a right way to answer?

"Well, you see-"

"Silence," Snape hissed, spitting in fury.

"While Dumbledore may approve of these…liaisons, I will not lie to you- I find them disgusting! Just look at you two- you are corrupting my classroom with your perverse actions!"

Blaise glanced doubtfully at their half-chopped Potions ingredients, "Um- perverse?"

Glowering, Snape stalked back to the front of the room to address the class, "Yes, perverse."

"Students," he began with a grave face. "The administration will tell you many things- among these, that you should do your best to- what was it? Oh yes, 'promote cooperation and friendship between the Houses'" he finished mockingly.

"This is- Not now Finnigan!- wrong in so many ways. The Houses should not be reconciled in any means, and this sort of inter-House relationship," he motioned between Hermione and Blaise, "is nothing but a disgusting attempt at perversion."

"Hear, hear!"

Snape whirled on Draco in a flurry of anger and dark robes, "Quiet! I'm speaking to your Father about your choice of company!"

Hermione cringed, "Not that again…"

Still shaking with fury, Snape sat in exhaustion, "But for now- detentions for Granger, Zabini, Weasley, Malfoy, and Potter."

Harry stood in outrage, "That's ridiculous- I haven't said anything all day!"

"Unprovoked outburst at your Professor, Potter, deserves a detention." Snape hissed with unabashed glee.

"Bloody-"

Detention with Snape was many things- mostly unpleasant. There was some debate over whether they should be dubbed 'unbearable' or merely 'intolerable', but it was a general consensus that they were in no way enjoyable.

While Blaise pondered this all-important question, he threw himself down in a desk not taken up by a frighteningly bubbling cauldron. To his right, Ron looked rather green, though Blaise wasn't sure if it was from the smell of burning rubber (?) coming from said cauldrons, or the blonde enthusiastically attempting to crawl into his lap. He supposed it could have been a combination of both.

A moment or so passed, and the stage was set.

Three tables in the classroom emitted a sickening aroma, large orange-colored bubbles popping occasionally on the surface of iron-cast cauldrons, and those unfortunate enough to be assigned detention by Snape while he was in one of his moods were scattered about the room.

Blaise himself sat at the back, Ron (and consequently Draco) to his immediate right, and Harry and Hermione sat at the table in front of them, no-doubt deep in some life-as-we-know-it altering conversation.

Feeling the atmosphere was set at its fullest- with the dark sounds of bubbling echoing off of the walls in some sort of agonized gurrop! gurrop!- Snape swept into the room, his robes flaring out dramatically behind him. Walking down the center aisle of the classroom, he was careful to whap Weasley in the face with the edge of his wildly swinging sleeve. Reaching his desk, Snape paused for effect, and then whirled on them in a cyclone of dark material and oily hair.

"Lines…" he murmured mysteriously, widening his eyes.

'What…?' was the thought of those poor, unfortunate souls left at Snape's mercy.

"Yes, lines…" Snape continued, his voice still a raspy whisper. He reached behind him for a stack of neatly cut slips of paper, taking a step to the nearest student.

"LINES, Mr. Potter." He slapped a slip of paper on the table, "You will write this one hundred times- or until I say."

Hermione was next: "Miss Granger, perhaps you will rethink your actions now." He sneered, sliding on of the slips toward her, "One hundred as well."

Blaise: "I am ashamed, Zabini. One hundred." Another slip was slammed down onto the table.

Ron: The paper fluttered down of its own accord, hoping to escape the strangling grip of the Potions Master. "Weasley…lines. One hundred. Try to progress past your usual chicken scratch."

And then there was one…

"Draco…"

Draco fluttered his eyes coquettishly, "Yes, Professor?"

"Have you learned your lesson?"

"No," Draco responded cheerfully, latching onto Ron's waist despite the boy's protests.

"Very well, you will also write one hundred lines. Your paper…"

"Thank you, sir."

Snape gave a non-committal mumble and made his way out of the door, "I am sealing this room. One thousand lines should take you approximately two hours, if you take the time to reflect on what you are writing. I will personally unseal the room at 9 o'clock and check to see your work. Begin…now!"

He slammed the door, making the proper motions for a sealing spell, and smirked as the sound of hastily scratching quills erupted from inside. He loved teaching.

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