Archive of Our Own

“Silence!” Snape roared loud enough to make every single glass object inside the Great Hall ring. The invisible house-elves popped out in panic, dozens of students ducked under their respective house tables, three Hufflepuffs burst into tears and the Gryffindor Christmas tree spontaneously caught fire and burned, along with all the decorations, before Professor Flitwick was able to put the fire out. Fortunately it did not singe the other trees and nobody was hurt, but the stench of burning needles and decorations made every student and teacher evacuate the Great Hall. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, however, merely smirked. At least the students stopped in their outraged cries and gossip, if only momentarily: the scandal of Potions master publicly courting the Head Girl was too much to suppress with just one shout, but a fire went a long way.

“Snapey and Granger, kissing in the tree...” cackled Peeves as he rolled in the air in the Entrance Hall, before he had to duck into a corridor to hide from the approaching Bloody Baron.

“Kissing in the burning Christmas tree!” Peeves continued as he flew past Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, chortling as he went. Myrtle herself giggled maniacally: she hoped she'd be able to catch the horny couple in the Prefect's Bathroom again that night. The way they'd employed Bubblehead Charm, three towels, a bowl of whipped cream and the various bubbles and soaps provided had been... educational. Life was lonely for a teenage ghost, but Myrtle, too, had her needs. Her loud cackling laughter echoed in the pipes, and the silver bells someone had hung from them jingled as she went past it inside the pipe.

“Why isn't she helping us with our homework?” Ronald Weasley complained. “I'll never be an Auror without a N.E.W.T. In Potions!”

“She's never here!” whined Harry Potter, the Chosen One, who'd killed the evil Snake-like wizard, the self-styled Lord Voldemort, less than a year before, and then returned with all his friends to take their final year at Hogwarts. Instead of a lazy year, Harry found himself studying harder than ever: without prompting from the biased late Headmaster Dumbledore, the teachers demanded more from him and his friends, and though the Potions master Snape, who'd survived the serpent Nagini's attack because of a combination of his own genius and the brilliant mind of one Hermione Granger, current Head Girl, had allowed Harry to attend his N.E.W.T.-level Potions class, Harry and his friend Ronald found themselves well behind their classmates. True, Harry might be able to pull in a favour or six from the Ministry and be accepted into Auror training anyway, but it'd cost him. Hermione's help would have been needed, but their friend seemed to have other things to do.

“They say she's shagging Snape,” Neville whispered with a voice filled with a mixture of dread and revulsion. Although Neville had gladly dropped out of Potions after their fifth year, he went almost rigid with fear every time he saw Snape, even though Snape had said barely a word to him all year. “And you saw how Snape reacted! How could she?!”

“She's not!” denied Ron, currently a resident in the land of denial, population one. "It can't be true!". He and Hermione had tried dating during the summer, but they'd decided it felt too incestuous, and gladly broken it off. Though they'd remained friends and Ron was currently trying (and failing) to woo Parvati Patil, the thought of his best female friend with the Greasy Git was giving him nausea and indigestion. He even felt his appetite diminish at the thought, which was catastrophic.

“Shut up,” Harry moaned. “I need to finish this bloody essay. I wish Hermione were here...”

“Me too, mate”, Ron groaned, slumping down on his parchment as his eyes drifted to his chess set hopefully.

“Snape gave us detention!” Parkinson wailed with her annoyingly high-pitched voice. She hadn't grown up at all, at least not mentally.

“Just because we called her out for what she is, a Mudblood!” Nott joined her, although his pitch couldn't complete with Parkinson. Quite.

Goyle, presumably too dumb to articulate actual words, moaned something. Nobody cared to find out what, anyway.

“Shut up,” growled the utterly exasperated Malfoy.

“And Snape can't be shagging the Mudblood,” Parkinson continued. “I mean, what about those rumours about the other Mudblood, Potter's mum?”

“He might be half-blood but she's so below even...” Nott begun, only to be interrupted by Malfoy:

“Shut the fuck up, retards, I'm sick and tired of you all. Wait, is that... what's Snape doing?!”

Snape was, indeed, approaching Hermione Granger with impressive strides. His face was almost as impassive as always, and only a person who was extremely observant and knew him well would have noticed the minute quirk on the corner of his think lips and the softness in his eyes. His robes billowed as he walked to the girl, who seemed frozen in her place. Reaching her, he deftly snatched her into his arms, tilted her backwards dramatically and rained five successive kisses on her face and her lips: the last kiss was the mother of all open-mouthed kisses, probably the best ever delivered at Hogwarts. It became one of the most legendary as years went by, as it was delivered during dinner in front of the entire school, with almost every student and member of the staff present. Headmistress McGonagall was too flustered to do anything but splutter. Pomona Sprout let out a delighted and raucous screech, and Argus Filch fainted.

“Unbelievable!” moaned member of the board of governors.

“Unacceptable!” shrieked another.

“Inconceivable!” roared the third.

“This is not to be borne!” a ministry official whined, shaking parchments in his hand.

“Unimaginable!” said the fifth person, who had a bit more imagination and was finding the person who broke the pattern to be quite a bore.

“...needs to be sacked!” ranted the sixth, whose droning had been drowned by the others.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was sitting back in her chair, eyeing the portrait of the late Albus Dumbledore with no small amount of grudge. The old coot had left her in charge of his whole mess and pretended to be asleep. Oh, he'd told Minerva of how much he disapproved of the whole thing, but he couldn't be arsed to talk to anyone else, oh no. The bastard was breaking word records in over-dramatized and theatrical sleeping, complete with exaggerated snores, puffing and ridiculous posture.

“Ladies, gentlemen...” Minerva McGonagall stopped the tirades. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“He needs to be sacked!” said one of the officials sent to intervene. “And the girl ought to be expelled!”

“Do you really think the Ministry ought to consider expelling a war heroine? The best friend of Harry Potter, no less? The girl who participated in taking down Voldemort?” The officials spluttered and exchanged startled glances, and Minerva continued, “If you did something as foolish as that, the Gryffindors would get riled up and take down the entire Ministry. Do any of you really want that?”

“Well, but...” official number three started, but Minerva didn't give him time to continue.

“Severus Snape, meanwhile, is a war hero. Furthermore, it took me weeks to get him to take his post for this year. The N.E.W.T.'s and O.W.L.'s are a few months away. The students will begin revising after the holidays. Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to find a Potions master before the next September, let alone how impossible it'd be to replace him on such short notice?”

“Well, Slughorn...”, tried number two.

“Professor Slughorn has already quit. He told me if he sets one foot inside Hogwarts in three decades it'll be too soon.”

“Perhaps Beauxbatons...” number six tried to say.

“They have no Potions masters to spare either. It is either Severus Snape or nothing, and believe me, he does not need this job or the income. The wages are, frankly, appallingly low, and he's just received the Galleons included with his Order of Merlin 1st class, which, by the way, pales in comparison to the Prince estates, which Severus also inherited. He is now, frankly, rich. I believe they call it “filthy rich”, although I assure you he takes very good care of his hygiene.”

“But a relationship between a teacher and a student is not to be borne!” said the unimaginative official number four, who'd just gained an enemy who'd attempt to poison him.

“Hermione Granger's grades are the best in the history of Hogwarts. I have already had a member of the potions community check her past grades and work, and they thought Snape ought to have given her much higher grades. Hermione Granger is a complete genius, and unless I am very much mistaken, she will one day run for Minister... and she will succeed. Do you wish me to report to her who wanted her or her lover sacked?”

A contemplating silence reigned for a moment. Then official number two suggested they might actually have a bit of a break to consider things, and Minerva hid her smirk. She might have been a Gryffindor, but she was not a complete idiot.

“Hah!” said Phineas Nigellus Black, bouncing in his frame. “In your face, Dumbledore!”

“Oooh, look at them go,” tittered Rolanda Hooch. “That one in the blue robes can't wait to get out.”

“You reckon Minerva gave them a hard time, or was it one of the portraits?” Sprout inquired with a wide grin on her jolly face. She took a sip from her flask and burped in a very unladylike way.

“Minerva,” replied Professor Flitwick. “She won't let Dumbledore lead the school in her stead. Believe me, he tried.” The memory obviously brought him great joy.

“Oh, do tell?” asked Vector gleefully, rubbing her hands together. She'd always hated Dumbledore after the old bastard had cut her budget.

“Not now”, Professor Babbling interrupted them. “There's a chance they'll come across Severus on their way. I know he went to Hogsmeade. Let's follow them!” She giggled maliciously.

“To see what he does to them?” asked Sinistra, her dark eyes disturbingly malicious. “Perhaps we could, you know, help him?”

“Did they cut your budget too, Aurora?” inquired Professor Vector.

“They suggested it,” Sinistra replied. Her smile was becoming alarmingly vicious, and Filius and Septima both edged a bit away from her.

“My inner eye sees great calamity approaching!” exclaimed Sybill Trelawney with a rapidly rising voice, her arms flailing dramatically as she gestured wildly and quite needlessly. “Calamity, I say! One of them shall not make IT HOME TODAY!” Sybill practically shrieked the last words.

“Oh look, one of them's tripped and hit 'is 'ead,” said Sprout a bit weakly, rubbing her left ear which had been a bit too close to Sybill.

“That's because he looked at Sybill instead of where he was going and tripped over his own two feet,” commented Flitwick.

“Calamity my arse,” Hooch said. “His friend'll levitate him to St. Mungo's.”

“Reckon' they'll keep 'im overnight?” Sprout asked.

“Most definitely,” said Vector with a grin. “He bled like a pig.”

“But he didn't make it home,” said Trelawney, looking mighty smug. The others rolled their eyes and left the ministry officials to care for their fallen comrade.

The first light of the morning found a very special treat in the Great Hall, for in there was found one Rita Skeeter, freelance reporter and self-proclaimed author. She was also green, missing her hair and teeth, sporting large antlers, hanging upside down from the roof of the Great Hall and, when the staff finally stopped laughing and took her down, apparently speaking fluent chicken, unable to pronounce a single word in any other language. While that particular Hex took quite a while to wear off, she made the first and best friend of her life in a good bantam chicken called Daisy.

A few Ravenclaws, who'd made a few allegations about how Hermione Granger might have achieved her high grades by sleeping with professors, found themselves victim of a sudden onset of vicious and embarrassing rash. Miss Luna Lovegood had a few theories about a creature which might have caused said ailment, but unfortunately nobody caught the name of the being, and so the creature was never actually discovered and scientifically classified, although Miss Lovegood said it liked dark and cool places like the dungeons.

In what was probably a completely unrelated occurrence, the portrait of Albus Dumbledore vanished from his frame for almost two weeks. He was said to be hiding in a portrait in Minister Shacklebolt's office, though none could deny or confirm this rumour. It was said, however, that the Minister declined any and all visitors for the time being and frequently and spontaneously burst laughing. He also borrowed a camera.

Nobody bothered to protest when Professor Snape took ninety points from Gryffindor. One, because a protest would have been in vain, and two, because he also took ninety points from Ravenclaw and, in unprecedented event, from Slytherin. Hufflepuff won the House Cup for the first time in decades. They did not dare proclaim Professor Snape their hero.

Miss Granger's record was found to contain ten hours of detention given for “breathing loudly” during Potions class. They had all been served under Professor Severus Snape.

“Served UNDER him,” shrieked the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black gleefully, and Minerva shook her head and erased the detentions from Miss Granger's records. Children these days...

Eleven Hogwarts house-elves were also found roaring drunk in the corridors of Hogwarts, apparently delighted when they'd heard that the notorious and evil campaign of S.P.E.W. had permanently been cancelled. The elves were raucous drunks, but fortunately they seemed to sing their most bawdy and lewd drinking songs in another language. Unfortunately the hand gestures were universal, and left various professors and students deeply disturbed. Those who never learned what the aforementioned S.P.E.W. had stood for, felt gladdened and relieved by the lack of this knowledge.

Hermione whimpered and giggled as Professor Snape whispered something in her ear. She also flushed strongly. Snape smirked gleefully and whispered several more words. Upon hearing those Miss Hermione Granger snatched Professor Snape by the hand, took the bowl of whipped cream off the table and stormed away from the Great Hall, pulling an unresisting Professor Snape by the hand in her wake.

“No running in the corridors!” shouted Headmistress McGonagall after them, but they didn't seem to have heard her.

Professor Flitwick, who'd been in possession of a very worn but still functional Weasley's Extendable Ear, was displaying an alarmingly red complexion. He then very slowly slid under the table.