Chapter 10: Punitive Measures
Potter.
Slowly, Snape clenched his fist around the test paper, listening furiously to its small, crumpling sounds.
He'd passed.
Or, rather, Hermione Granger had passed - and shown him how.
And Weasley.
He compressed the paper resentfully against his desk. One of the only classes he'd ever enjoyed educating, and now, only two weeks later, Harry Potter was a part of it.
Two weeks.
Snape had resigned himself to the fact that Granger would be there – she was, when she managed to forgo class participation, unquestionably the least irritating Gryffindor sixth-year. And, Granger aside, the class had been composed of conscientious and studious Slytherin-cum-Ravenclaws and one or two particularly stout Hufflepuffs.
They'd been quiet, they'd followed instructions flawlessly, they'd completed incisive, intelligent essays on time, and they hadn't exploded one cauldron.
And now Potter and Weasley were coming.
Bulls charging at a china shop.
Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini shot Snape looks of immediate, sheer dissatisfaction as the dream team, Granger at their heels, ambled in. Potter and Weasley, ever-oblivious to all things subtle, were, inevitably, demonstrating none of the constraint that normal, self-conscious students would if joining an advanced class two weeks behind schedule.
And, to Snape's immense pleasure, they proceeded to clamber into neighboring seats, heedless of Granger's frantic signals not to do so.
"Potter. Weasley. Are you blind?"
The pair looked up. Dumbly.
"Has it somehow escaped your notice that every student in this classroom is seated at a separate table?" Weasley, affronted, opened his mouth to speak, but Snape intercepted him. "Are you under the impression that, having coerced your way into this class, you now deserve special treatment?"
Potter's eyes were ablaze. More so than usual. "We were under the impression that you'd tested us. Fairly. Professor."
That little-
Stay calm...
"The only reason that you are in this class, Potter," don't let him get to you, "is that most of this school's faculty is - for some insensible reason - still wrapped around your little finger."
Or get into a pissing contest with a 16-year-old boy. In front of the only class you care about. Whatever floats your boat.
There was a new, particularly nasty emotion sparkling in those green eyes. "Jealous?"
A wave of shock reduced Snape's boiling anger to a simmer as the class developed whole new degrees of stillness.
I knew it. I knew he liked it. He's just like his father. Just like-
You're raving. That's not the face of a boy basking in fame. He wants to hurt you so badly that he's damaging his own reputation.
Good.
Snape slid closer to Potter, laughing in a way that had Nott and Zabini exchanging covert expressions of apprehension. "Trust and respect must be rightfully earned, Potter. A concept that you will quite obviously never understand."
What are you doing?Think about what he could say in response to that.
Let him clean up his own mess. Let him try. Without every single adult at this school stumbling to his rescue.
He's not the one who'll need to clean, Severus.
To Snape's peripheral surprise, Potter responded with laughter and a tone of voice that landed in the air like a gob of spit. "If Dumbledore trusts and respects you so much, why's he turned you down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job every single time that you've applied for it?"
A deafening silence struck the classroom.
Severus. Put an end to it. This conversation is getting far too hazardous.
Snape's voice came out paper-thin. "One hundred points from Gryffindor. You will address your professors with respect, Potter. Regardless of the subject they have been appointed to teach."
Potter's eyes flashed with something very near satisfaction. Granger looked to be having a small fit, and Weasley was staring at his friend, jaw a-hang, an expression of complete and utter shock on his face.
"One of you. Move. Unless Mr. Weasley is incapable of existing without your company, Potter."
It never ceased to amaze Snape how easily Weasley reacted to those comments, and Granger looked too frightened to perform any of her usual mollifications. Potter didn't spare a glance for either of his friends. He stood and moved slowly towards a nearby table, eyes not straying from Snape's face.
Snape flicked his wand at the board and instructions appeared upon its surface. "Get to work."
It was Ernie Macmillan who, finally, sensing that no one else was going to speak, finally raised his hand.
Funny. I'd have expected Granger.
If I'd even exchanged idle platitudes with Potter – once – from this moment forward, I'd avoid you for months. She's one of his best friends.
"Yes?"
"Professor... I... rather… the class was under the impression... weren't we going to be working on the Adgravesco potion today?"
"My instructions indicate otherwise, Macmillan."
Zabini and Nott began work immediately. Macmillan swallowed convulsively and continued. "I'm sorry, Professor... it's just that you'd indicated that we wouldn't be working on Veritaserum until the end of seventh yea-"
"This is a pre-NEWT class, Macmillan. Are you implying that you have a problem with the way that I am preparing you for your exams?"
Ernie Macmillan blanched, stuttered a negation, and all but attacked his ingredients.
Snape exhaled softly, lowered himself into his chair, and drilled his gaze into the surface of his desk, breathing slowly.
That was petty.
Don't you start with me. Not now. He thinks he's won. Just let him start that fight again. Sometime when we're not in front of a dungeon full of eavesdropping Death Eater spawn. He thinks that Dumbledore's taking a risk with me? He thinks that he's more intuitive than the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared? That he can see things that Dumbledore can't? Look at him. He thinks he outwitted me. He thinks I ended it because I couldn't defend myself.
Yes, yes, "The things that you could tell him." I'm aware. But you didn't. Because you're an adult and you know the risks associated with trumpeting the facts of Dumbledore's trust in you to the general student populace.
He'll never understand. His arrogance, his incredible-
Ignorance, his juvenility. Congratulations, Severus. You've once again proved that you're more mature than a teenaged boy. You must be so proud.
Shut up.
Come on. You think you deserve that kind of recognition? Do you really need Potter to know exactly what you go through? Exactly what it is you do for Dumbledore? Exactly why it is that the headmaster trusts you?
No... I gave up that right long ago.
Precisely. You need to get over this. You can't keep letting him get to you. I know how much he seems like-
I know what my problem is. I don't need you constantly connecting the dots for me!
Then solve it. Look, you've already wasted half of this class with this pathetic inner conflict. You could at least do something productive. Figure out the mystery of Miss Granger's denicalis spell.
Ah. Hermione Granger. Genius. My nerves are instantly soothed.
Severus...
I've spent the past five days scouring the library for information on an alternate funesto reversal charms. They don't exist.
Research denicalis then. You don't know it inside and out; maybe there's a little-known detail somewhere that you missed. You know Dumbledore's expecting an explanation.
He didn't ask me to conduct a full-fledged investigation.
Technically? No. But if you want to avoid his not-so-subtle mealtime hints, you're either going to have to go on a hunger strike, or solve the problem.
Dumbledore's voice had first intruded upon his breakfast on Wednesday morning:
"Do you know, Severus, I never really take the time to appreciate just how beautiful wands are."
Snape grunted his acknowledgement, not raising his eyes from his plate.
"Look at Miss Granger, for example. Perfect wrist movements. Technique like that can turn spell casting into an art."
Severus slowly raised his eyes in a glare that would have made men who weren't Albus Dumbledore fidget uncomfortably.
"Beautiful wand, too. Vine wood, isn't Severus?" He was actually waiting for a response.
"...yes."
Dumbledore chuckled and then continued. "You took a fair risk casting that charm on it; our laws are extremely strict where intentional wand damage is concerned."
Snape's gaze shot towards Granger, who was helping Potter Weasley with his Charms homework. "It seems to have made a full recovery."
"I am forever impressed by your perception, Severus. I would never have guessed that Miss Granger had capacity to reverse that particular spell."
Snape froze and turned slowly back to the Headmaster.
"Ah. I see. You were under the impression that I'd cast denicalis for her." He smiled, slightly. "No, I... I can't anymore."
Snape was still completely immersed in his research when Granger arrived for her nightly detention.
With her usual two minutes to spare.
Having run out of unlabeled bottles, he was now alternating between assigning her custodial work and having her prepare the first and second-year's ingredients for the next days' classes. She'd looked on verge of tears when Snape had informed her, a few nights ago, that he had accidentally combined powdered bicorn horn and asphodel root and that she would have to sift the mixture through a charmed sieve approximately seventy times to ensure that the substances were completely separated.
Tonight he was having her scrub out a cauldron encrusted with horned toad bowels.
Interestingly, for the first time since her detentions had started, after he'd given her his instructions, she moved to her usual table sporting a resigned rather than stricken expression.
Can it be that she's finally developed the ability to exercise some form of control over her facial features?
It's more likely that she's too angry about that stunt you pulled in class today to broadcast any other sort of emotion.
I hate Gryffindors.
Really? I hadn't noticed. At least she's quiet.
For now. When she, inevitably, overcomes her trepidation, she'll probably ask me for NEWT help.
Well. At least it's genuine interest.
Granger would be genuinely interested in eating slugs if it would guarantee her higher NEWT score.
You have a point. Still, it doesn't mean that she doesn't enjoy potions.
Of course she doesn't enjoy Potions. I teach it.
I was talking about the subject matter, not the class.
Well you don't know that she does enjoy it, either. Shut up and let me get back to researching her.
You're remarkably calm at the moment, you know. It's amazing how good your control is when The Boy Who Lived isn't around.
Well, in my line of work, anger isn't something I can afford to loose control over.
I shudder to think of the effect on your acting skills if Harry Potter were to arrive on scene while you were duping the Dark Lord.
Well, lucky for me – and all present – he won't.
From the author: Again, I find that I have lied. I've simply decided to note that, in all probability, none of my stories will ever receive anything resembling punctual updates. If anyone is still following this, just keep your fingers crossed and hope for the best. But rest assured that I won't abandon anything I start.
HBP SPOILER AHEAD
That being said, when I finished Book 6, I almost did decide to leave this fic unfinished; I felt incredibly... sullied for having ever given Snape one kind thought. But I've decided to make this AU and see where it takes me. And, incidentally, having given the issue Post-Sullied Feeling thought, I still don't know, as of yet, where I stand in the "Is Snape Really Evil?" debate.
HBP SPOILER BEHIND
Dead Lenore: I'm not sure that this update qualifies as "lighthearted" exactly, but I hope you like it! And the next chapter should be a little better. Also, not that my word means ANYTHING, but, having read HBP, I'm now in an extremely Harry Potter-related mood, so should be getting back to it a bit more.
I'm also so glad that you're warming to Won-Won. I hate it when Snape-involved fics portray him as this black-and-white, two-dimensional moron. And yes, Hermione's mind does wander. It should be going in some interesting directions soon.
Lirael: Your wish is my command. Thanks very much for the review.