Chapter Two: Is Nothing Sacred??!

The dungeons were cold, but the look in Snape's eye was colder.

Tap, tap, tap, tapped some leaky faucet off in the distance. Harry stared around the dungeons. It was extremely awkward. Last night's events at dinner still seemed surreal to everyone in the castle, and furthermore Harry couldn't even begin to fathom how Dumbledore's crazy suggestion had ended up coming to life. At this moment, Harry Potter and Severus Snape, enemies for life, were alone together in the dungeons. No innuendo intended.

Neither of them spoke. Harry sat in a spare desk and Snape at his own teacher's desk, and the two of them sat in awkward silence. Harry tried his best not to look at Snape, who was giving the most poisonous death-glare Harry had probably ever received in his entire life. And Harry had truly received a plethora of death-glares in his time. Since Dumbledore had woken Harry up and sent him down to the dungeons at 7 o'clock this morning, no words had been exchanged. Not even the simplest "Hello."

So much for being an apprentice.

Harry had decided to while away his time thinking of things he'd prefer to do rather than sit in a classroom awkwardly with Snape. He checked them off like a list inside his head:

Battle a hungry basilisk.

Feed Voldemort chocolate-covered strawberries.

Feed Dumbledore chocolate-covered strawberries.

Die.

Wash Hagrid's feet.

Go on a date with a blast-ended skrewt.

Do a racy tap-dance on Rita Skeeter's front lawn and let her write a column about it.

As time dwindled on, these acts of horror grew more desperate:

…46. Shove a game of Exploding Snap up my bum.

47. Eat Draco Malfoy's hair gel.

…103. Confess undying love to Gregory Goyle.

Suddenly, Harry heard a snigger from the front of the classroom. Snape was sitting at his desk, covering his mouth as though to keep from bursting out in laughter.

"Yes, sir? Is there something the matter?" Harry asked savagely.

"Not at all, Potter," Snape smirked. "It's just that you do have the wildest imagination."

"What?!" Harry's heart pounded sickeningly. Had Snape been listening in on his thoughts?!

"Oh, you were never any good at Occlumency, boy!" Snape spat. "It's so easy to eavesdrop on your mind."

"B-but! That's not fair! That's breaking and entering!"

"Oh really?" Snape sat back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. "Have you invaded my dungeons to whine, boy, or to learn a thing or two?" The glare from before returned to his face.

Harry resisted the urge to reply with 'Actually, I'm here because my psychopathic headmaster woke me up at an ungodly hour this morning and forced me down the staircase,' and instead said, "To…to learn, sir." He returned Snape's glare as though to challenge his manliness.

"Good. Well then I suppose you may commence your education by cleaning the classroom. There's much to be learnt in the art of sanitation." He leaned further back in his chair and began to lazily peruse the morning's Daily Prophet.

"Clean?!" Harry gasped.

"Yes. New word for you?" Snape sneered over the paper. "Typical Gryffindor; afraid to get your hands dirty. Hmph!"

"I'm not afraid!" Harry couldn't help but retort.

"Good," replied Snape. "The cleaning supplies are over there, in the closet."

Harry couldn't help but be reminded of Aunt Petunia as Snape the Slave-Driver bossed him about. Harry was forced to label endless vials of questionable substances first: lacewings, flobberworm mucous, beetle eyes, nettles, a rather large amount porcupine urine, and a number of other things that I am too kind to tell you about. Next he had to wash out a cauldron that Snape had been using just the other day to stir an extremely slimy potion, the main ingredient of which was frog genitals. Snape was sure to remind Harry to scrub extra hard.

After two hours, the dungeons were looking just as dark, dingy, and unpleasant as ever, but maybe a tad more organized.

"Well, boy," Snape sneered. "I am expecting the new issue of Greasy Hair Monthly to arrive by owl any moment now. I prefer to read it in privacy. You are dismissed."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. He bounded for the exit as quickly as possible.

"Oh, and Potter," called Snape before Harry could get too far. "Tomorrow, be sure to bring your dragon-hide gloves. You will be cleaning out a cauldron that still contains a bit of The Torturous Flesh-Eating Potion of Painful Death…you wouldn't want to get charred." He smirked at Harry's nervous expression.

***

I think everyone can understand that by this point that Harry was quite distressed. The prospects were not looking good: Snape hated him just as much as ever, Ron and Hermione's letter-condolences weren't very uplifting, Dumbledore popped out of nowhere at inconvenient moments (earlier that week he had sprung out at Harry from behind a cubicle door in the bathroom), and from the Gryffindor tower windows to the rocky ground below was a very long drop indeed.

"There must be some way to escape," Harry muttered to himself for about the millionth time that evening, pacing his dorm room. Hedwig rolled her owlish eyes from where she was perched at the windowsill. "I'm quite convinced that Dumbledore never sleeps…ever…so there's a good chance that if I try to escape through the front doors at night he'll jump out from a suit of armor or something and foil my plot…."

During Harry's earlier, more naïve days at Hogwarts, he had always pleasantly wondered what went on at school during summer. Now that he knew…oh. All he could think of was the civilization that he missed so dearly. Maybe he'd hug Uncle Vernon the next time he saw him. After envisioning the mental image, however, Harry quickly decided against that idea.

"WWVD?" Harry asked himself in desperation. WWVD was an acronym he'd come up with long ago in order to solve all problems that deserved evil solutions. It stood for 'What Would Voldemort Do?' Harry pondered this. "He'd probably put Dumbledore and Snape in a giant cage together and use the Imperious curse to make them duke it out. Meanwhile he'd fry all the house-elves, put them on buns, and sell them to the audience as refreshments. But who am I kidding?!" Harry sighed. "I could never do that; I dunno how to cook! Plus I'm not allowed to do magic over the summer, so I'd get in trouble for conjuring the giant cage."

Hedwig cooed as though to add, "And the Imperious curse!"

"Oh, for Daniel Radcliffe's sake, shut your beak!" Harry spat in reply. He was not in the mood for a smart-alec bird.

***

Dear Harry,

How are you? Ron and I miss you very much, but I must say that we're having the most wonderful time here at the Burrow! Well, except that the ghoul in the attic has started to stalk me somewhat. Ron says that must mean the ghoul fancies me. I wish I knew whether the ghoul was a male or female, because frankly I don't know whether or not I should be flattered!

Anyway, you're SO lucky to be Snape's apprentice now! I mean, I know that he's a simply dreadful man, but he is wonderful at potions, so he can teach you loads. I bet you'll be so far ahead of me by the time the school year starts! Maybe I should buy some extra textbooks at Flourish & Blotts to do some supplementary studying? Final exams are only nine months away, after all.

Oh well. Just promise me one thing, Harry: don't take this opportunity for granted! Learn everything you can from Snape, even if you hate him. Also, visit the library and see if you can read up on potions! Maybe you can teach me what you learn when we see each other again!

Love from,

Hermione

"Easy for you to say, Hermione; you're not the one cooped up in this abyss of doom all the time!" Harry said sourly as he finished reading her letter over his breakfast the next day. Why would Harry want to learn more about potions, anyway? All he wanted to learn was escape technique! Maybe they had books on that in the library? Well, it wouldn't hurt to look, and it wasn't as though Harry had anything else better to do. Once he had finished chewing his bacon, he promptly sped off to the library to see what he could find.

Unfortunately, the library was closed.

"What kind of place is this?" Harry wailed, falling to his knees in front of the locked doors. "A kid can't even check out a book when he wants!"

"Book-reading children who don't shine their shoes are terrible, smelly, and rather bad news," Dumbledore rhymed, seemingly appearing out of the clear blue.

Harry didn't even look up; he was used to this spontaneity by now. "Let me guess. Old wizard proverb?"

"Wizard psalm, actually," Dumbledore replied. "Written by Merlin himself. Wise man, he was. Terrible at climbing the rope in gym class, however. He could never make it to the top." The old coot began to stroll away then, humming, but Harry shot up and caught him by the shoulder.

"Um, professor. I know the library's closed right now, but would you mind if I went in there for a while?"

"Maaayyybe," returned Dumbledore slyly. "Why?"

"I wanted…a book."

"What book?"

"A book about, uh, books."

"And the title?"

"I dunno; it's just a book, okay?!" Harry was getting frustrated. "Can I go look for it or not?!!"

Dumbeldore heaved a sigh and took out a ring of keys from his robes. "I suppose so; but don't stay in there for too long, alright? I would hate to miss you at dinner! Dobby's making pot roast tonight, yummy!" He opened the door and beckoned Harry in. "I hope you find your book about books!" With that, he left Harry alone amidst the towering bookshelves.

"Oh, don't worry," Harry said under his breath. He rubbed his hands together in glee. "I'll find it!"