Half-Blood Prince

Note to self, drinking one's troubles away is never the answer. Apparently lesson plans, scotch and thoughts of Potter do not mix. It is a rather volatile concoction and I should be drug out into the high street of Hogsmeade and hit with Cruciatus curses for such monstrous thoughts. I'm a bloody teacher, not some school boy. Even when I was a school boy I didn't have such thoughts.

All night long, torrid images of green eyes and tight...oh Merlin! I need a hangover remedy. As I cross the room I notice I've missed breakfast, good. I wasn't quite ready to face the brat...I mean, ah...Albus.

Oh dear Merlin, I'm going mad! If Albus read my mind I'd be sacked, if Voldemort read my mind, I'd be killed. Hmmm, choices...

I grab the potion that bears the ironic colour of fresh vomit, and swallow it. It tastes similarly. I wretch, feeling, for a moment, even worse than I had a moment before. Then my head seems to clear and my stomach settles. And this...this is why I adore potions.

Checking myself and grabbing my wand, I leave my chambers and head upstairs to my classroom. I cast a longing look towards my old class as I pass it. I swear, if Slughorn blows it up, I'll force-feed him one of Longbottom's failed potions from last term. I kept a few to remind me of how incompetent that yahoo is. The halls are deserted due to the classes that are currently going on. Thankfully, I don't run into anyone I'd rather hit with a killing curse than actually have to speak to. It is too soon to be planning my new vacation home in Azkaban.

I've just finished preparing the class when I can hear the bell ring, heralding the arrival of those unruly teenagers I am being paid to teach. Approaching the door, I pull it open and glare down at them all, enjoying the silence that my presence evokes.

"Inside," I say, watching them all take their seats and look about with dumb expressions upon their faces. They file past and begin to rummage through their bags. I inwardly smile at the sheer lengths I'll go to prove what a bastard I really am.

"I have not asked you to take out your books," I growl, shutting the door and moving to face the class from behind my desk. With a flutter of something that could have been glee, I watch as Granger hastily drops her book back into her bag. "I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention."

I cast my eyes over their upturned faces, I catch myself lingering on Potter longer than the others. What the bloody hell is wrong with me? Stop this! Oh hell!

"You have had five teachers in this subject so far, I believe." I begin, using my most innocent of voices. Of course I bloody well know how many incompetent fools have taught this subject. Quirrell, the fool...Lockhart, the fraud...Moody...well, Crouch wasn't too bad, but still...Lupin, well, I refuse to even entertain that thought...Umbridge, don't make me vomit. I may be their best chance and I'll only be here one year... The outrage coming off of Potter is laughable, but I couldn't laugh about it if you paid me. His eyes hold a note of something I myself have been mulling over for far too long...

I know this position is cursed and I most likely won't be around next year to make his life hell. This pleases him and causes me to feel as though I'd been punched in the stomach.

"Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with your N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced." Again, that urge to laugh. As if Albus hadn't already notified me of their little D.A. meetings. Dumbledore's Army...if only they knew the truth...

I begin to circle the room, my voice lowered. Experience has taught me that the lower the voice, the more likely they will listen, hoping not to miss something juicy or important. The side benefit, they believe that I am speaking with passion.

"The Dark Arts," my voice practically vibrates, "are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before." I can almost see the word 'Hydra' form on the lips of Granger. Obvious bint. I mentally roll my eyes. "You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

I can feel Potter staring at me. I'm not quite sure if it is out of interest or what. This should be a subject he should excel at, yet I feel as though he doubts my words. I mentally roll my eyes again, of course he bloody well doubts my words...I'm the dread Professor Snape.

"Your defences," my voice grows louder, "must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo. These pictures," - I motion to the morbid portraits about me- "give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse, feel the Dementor's Kiss or provoke the aggression of the Inferius." They all cringe at each one, as though shocked that I'd even have something like this in my class. What did they expect, for me to keep those gaudy pictures of kittens?

"Has an Inferius been seen, then?" one of the Gryffindor bints asks in a high-pitched voice. "Is it definite, is he using them?"

"The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past," I respond, trying my damnedest to not roll my eyes, mentally or other. "Which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again. Now..." I set off toward my desk, feeling their many eyes on me. One pair in particular...

"...you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"

Granger's hand is the first up. I scan the room, hoping...nay, praying that someone else has a brain floating in that black hole between their ears. I cast a quick pseudo-pleading glance toward Malfoy and the blasted arse looks away. I finally concede, realizing I'm doomed to deal with the Know-It-All for the rest of the term. "Very well - Miss Granger?"

"Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you're about to perform," she replied, "which gives you a split-second advantage."

"An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six" I remark dismissively (I hear Malfoy, over in the corner, sniggering), "but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some" - my gaze lingers upon Potter, "lack." Come on boy, I know you are capable of succeeding in this...Did I just root for Potter? Oh Merlin, I am insane.

I can't help but remember the horrible time I've spent with him during his Occlumency lessons. He had and has the potential, I just found it hard to face him, knowing what he'd seen. How can I be his feared teacher when he knows one of my most hated memories? I hate him for it, for who he is, for his bloody parents and their equally bloody friends. He won't stop staring back, those damned eyes locking with mine, refusing to give. I have to turn away. I know I've gone mad, because I fancied I saw promise written in those emerald orbs. He is trying to torture me...

"You will now divide," I carry on, hoping to keep the discomfort from my voice, "into pairs. One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on."

I walk back to my desk and sit on the front of it as I watch the controlled chaos which ensues around me. The damn cheaters, as if I'm deaf and cannot hear their whispers. The fools. Granger blocks Longbottom...why am I not surprised. Potter seems to be quite perturbed by the fact that I'm ignoring them, probably expects me to hand out points...bah. I refuse to coddle the Gryffindors, I'd much rather make them look like fools. I smile inwardly as the perfect example falls into my lap.

"Pathetic, Weasley," I say after watching the redhead concentrate so hard for too long. I was afraid he was about to soil himself. "Here - let me show you - "

I turn my wand on Potter, but before I can even decide on a spell the twit yells, "Protego!" He knocks me back into my desk with his Shield Charm, effectively bruising my hip and possibly a few ribs. Merlin, he is powerful... Straightening up, praying to all deities to stop me from wincing, I turn a scowl toward the boy.

"Do you remember me telling you we are practicing nonverbal spells, Potter?"

"Yes," he replies, stiffly. I thank Merlin that looks can't really kill...

"Yes, sir," I correct him.

"There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor."

It takes me a fraction of a second to realize...did he just...sass me?

"Detention, Saturday night, my office," I growl, though I'm still in shock. "I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter...not even 'the Chosen One.'"

oOoOo

All week, all I could think about was that blasted detention. Why didn't I say he should have it with Filch? Damn me! And to top things off, my dreams have gotten worse. I can't seem to sleep without visions of Harry haunting them. Dead Harry, sleeping Harry, battling Harry, hurt Harry...

When did I start referring to him as Harry? "See, I am insane," I growl to the empty room. I sit at my desk, pondering the types of punishment I should be inflicting on the whelp, my mind wanders even farther than it should.

I think of him scrubbing cauldrons, bent over the sink...dear Merlin...

I blame Albus! If he hadn't asked me to perform such a heinous act, I wouldn't be having such odd mental images. Why else would I be having these thoughts? He told me to protect Potter, to teach him what he needs to know. It is definitely the old man's doing. I push the heels of my hands into my eyes and rub in an attempt to cleanse my mind of such horrid thoughts.

He's Harry 'effing' Potter!

He's my student!

I'm not a monster! Why are these thoughts haunting me so? Did Albus spike my tea? No, I'd have known if he had. Oh Gods and Goddess', what am I to do? Sit here and hide behind my desk because I fear I won't be able to control my wandering mind? I hate that smug little bastard! So much like his father...and his Godfather...and that bloody werewolf, for good measure.

Glancing at the clock beside me, I curse. He'll be here soon and I haven't thought of anything for him to do...

A flash of light brings me from my thoughts...Albus has sent his phoenix with a message.

Dear Severus,

It seems your detention with Harry seems to coincide with his lesson with me. If it isn't too much trouble, would you be able to reschedule for next Saturday?

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

I crinkle the note in one hand and slam my forehead onto my desk, both out of frustration and relief.

"Accio Scotch," I call, with a sigh. It is Saturday night, I might as well enjoy it...

oOoOo

Seeing as how Dumbledore felt the need to begin his lessons with Potter tonight, thus negating my assigned detention, I feel I'd make the most of an evening in my office and get royally pissed. I grab my favourite drug of choice, sit beside my fireplace and contemplate the removal of my shoes. As I lift the bottle of Scotch to my lips, I pause.

"No," I hiss to the empty room, slamming the bottle down. "I will not roll over like a good dog. I will not be overruled and I will not be made a fool of. I gave the boy detention for tonight and damn it all, he will not get special treatment because Albus 'Bloody' Dumbledore sees fit to start his own personal tutelage on the same night." I realize I sound quite mad and am relieved that I'm the only one to hear it.

I stomp from my office, slamming the door so hard the sound echoes through the dark corridor. I begin to storm off, but then stop when I hear a soft shuffling sound coming from the nearby alcove. Narrowing my eyes I think to myself, Bloody pathetic, Malfoy. Does the whelp honestly believe he can spy on me? Better than him have tried and failed. If I had been as careless as these Slytherins in my youth, I'd never have survived. I continue on my way, lest the fool know I am aware of his presence.

"Draco," a young female voice whispers from somewhere behind me. "You here? Eeep..." she squeaks.

Casting a quick glance over my shoulder, I see the pug-like blonde as she stands before the alcove. Obviously, Malfoy isn't spying, but what would possess him to meet Parkinson here? I pause yet again, ducking into the shadows a little farther down the hall.

"Shhh, did Snape see you?" The soft rustling of material can be heard. "Snape shouldn't have been in his office, but I just heard him tromp off. " Malfoy's head pops out of the alcove he'd pulled Parkinson into, looks up and down the hall and then ducks back. "He's usually so bloody predictable."

Predictable, am I? I have half a mind to jump out and give them both detention. How's that for...well, that would be rather predictable.

"Oww...you bit me!" I fight the need to snort laugher. To give in would be both utterly undignified and give away my hiding place.

"You covered my mouth with your hand. Be thankful I like you or I could have just as easily kicked back and..."

"Fine...now where have you been?"

I can hear Miss Parkinson huff before responding. "I'd like to see you sneak into the laundry and steal dresses without those ruddy house-elves catching you."

"Honestly, Pansy, you could have just lent us a couple of your own uniforms. I don't see what the big deal..."

He seems to break off mid-sentence. I can only just see Parkinson's back now, Malfoy is too obscured by shadows. I wish I had a better view, but based on her movements, it seems our Miss Parkinson just pushed a hand into Mr. Malfoy's face. I can't help but smirk at her utter lack of reverence toward the Malfoy name. Most would have cowered at the boy's feet. Granted, she simpers with the best, but she has always been tough and honest with Draco. It is probably why they are friends. "My uniforms are hand tailored and lined in silk. Do you honestly believe I'd hand over my expensive garments to those two buffoons?" I can hear her breathing heavily with indignation, she sounds quite put-upon by his statement. Malfoy must have neglected his father's lessons on women. Lucius Malfoy knows how vain women are about the finer things in life. How else could he have won over the heart of Narcissa; it surely wasn't his charm and sparkling wit.

After a few moments of silence I can hear her ask, "Why do you need them anyway?"

Yes

, Draco, why do you need girls uniforms? My curiosity has been peaked. I think of Potter and the Headmaster and silently sigh. I will have to deal with that later; this is more important.

After another short pause, Draco simply responds, "That is none of your concern."

"I'm sorry, Draco, but when you ask me to steal for you, I think I deserve to know the reasons why." Damn, she is good. This is definitely not the same Miss Parkinson she shows to the rest of the school. The rest are only privy to the simpering dog that feeds Malfoy's ego.

"Well, I cannot tell you the reasons. I can only tell you that Crabbe and Goyle need to have those uniforms for something I'm working on."

"Oh Draco, if I didn't know better, I'd really love to tell you just how many flavours of sick this sounds. You, going on secret missions with Crabbe and Goyle dressed in drag." Her snickers echo softly down the hall.

I almost gag at the thought of those two morons in skirts. Though, I have to wonder what sick plan Malfoy has in mind that he would go to such twisted lengths.

Seeming to catch her breath, Parkinson continues. "If I had known I could have grabbed some bigger ones. Millicent Bulstrode... "

He cuts her off. "No...these are great." The sound of said robes being rustled meets my ears. "Don't give me that look, Pansy, I can't tell you any more."

She sighs loudly, it echoes down the hall. "Fine. Just don't expect me to jump the next time you snap your fingers."

Footsteps coming down the hall end any prospect of my catching Draco's response. It's Zabini. "Pansy? Have you seen, oh good, Draco, you're here as well. You're both needed in the common room. Seems Goyle bet Crabbe that he couldn't drink a gallon of milk in an hour." The tall boy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I just can't even begin to explain just how wrong the Sorting Hat was about that pair."

I can finally see Draco; he is shaking his head in disgust, but following Blaise just the same. The three head down the hall and around a corner. I wait long enough to hear their footsteps fade before continuing on my own mission. I only hope I'm still not entirely too late.

oOoOo

Through the dungeons, across the Entrance Hall, up the moving stairs toward the Headmaster's Office tower, should not take a man two bloody hours.

By the time the conversation between my 'Burden' and Miss Parkinson had ended, I only lost an hour off my mission to put an end to Dumbledore's lesson to regain my detention and possibly my dignity. This includes my own indecisiveness within my office. After leaving the dungeons I encountered Peeves attempting to graffiti the doors into the Great Hall. I refuse to say exactly what it was he'd already drawn, but suffice it to say it was a bit of unpleasantness regarding a certain Care of Magical Creatures professor and a Thestral. I must say, that poltergeist does have a keen eye for artistic perspective, though.

When I had cleared that up and left the Bloody Baron in charge of making sure Peeves cleaned up every bit of paint, I made my way toward the stairs. I made it to the third floor before some odd sounds caught my attention. Unfortunately for me, I discovered two Hufflepuff seventh years snogging behind a tapestry. A tapestry, I tell you! As though no one would notice their lumpy forms against the wall. And haven't they heard of a Silencing Charm? How did they make it this far in their education?

I will need to scour my eyeballs to rid them of that image as I pulled back the tapestry to find their writhing bodies behind it...I was half tempted to return to my chamber and resume my love affair with Scotch.

Instead, after scaring the wits out of them, taking fifty house points from their pathetic coffers and sending them on their way back to their common room, I continued up to the Headmaster's office.

Now I turn the corner just in time to see the stairs moving and Potter's trainers descending them, as that ruddy gargoyle slides into place behind him. I swear the stone monstrosity hates me, always sneering and making rude comments when no one is about. McGonagall thinks I'm mad, but the blasted thing likes her.

Quickly, I duck, once again, into a shadow and watch the boy pass.

He seems to be filled with energy. Probably just a sugar rush from Dumbledore's blasted sweets. He passes close by me and I shrink closer to the wall, lest I be discovered. My hand itches to reach out and grab him, pull him near...but I don't quite know why. Or at least that is what I'm telling myself.

Potter seems to practically bounce down the hall, he must be pleased about something. Dumbledore must have been stroking his over-inflated ego again. That boy will never be strong if the old man continues to coddle him this way. What he needs is discipline and a hard task-master to show him the skills he'll need to survive. Yes, but you kicked him from your office and swore you'd never do it again, my conscience reminds me. Traitor.

As he disappears from my sight, I whisper the password and follow as the gargoyle slides upward, revealing the stairs. I lift my hand to knock, questioning the urgency of this conversation, assuming there still is an urgency, and the door automatically opens.

"Ah, there you are, Severus. I was expecting you," Dumbledore calls from behind his desk. "Come in, have a seat. Care for some tea?" He motions to the empty seat before him. Again, am I that predictable that he would go so far as to prepare tea for my arrival? I must work on that.

Dumbstruck, I nod, walk in and sit on the still warm seat.

"You just missed our Mister Potter. He seems to be doing much better so far this term," he says with a hint of a smile. He casts his blue eyes up at me and adds, "Excluding his detention with you, of course." With that Dumbledore serves up cups of steaming tea and passes one in my direction. I take it, lifting it toward my face and breathing in the aroma. Rosemary, my favourite. Of course my favourite, he's trying to appease my wounded ego.

"Yes, sir, I know. I passed him on his way out. He seemed...pleased with himself. I expect your lesson went well." I sip my tea, savouring the warm feeling of it flowing down my throat and loosening my vocal cords. "Though, his detention is exactly what I am here to see you about. Headmaster, I find it utterly deplorable that you would undermine a disciplinary action just so you can coddle a student that you obviously favour." My words are harsh, my voice calm.

Infuriatingly, he smiles at me. "Severus, you know as well as I do that Harry needs these lessons."

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. I take a deep draught of tea to calm my emotions. I take a moment to choose my words.

"Albus, though I understand his need to know the past so he may tackle the present, that doesn't excuse the fact that he was cheeky during a lesson and deserved his detention. He will never be a functioning adult if he isn't taught right from wrong." I am quite impressed with my control. There were many expletives I'd have liked to have used, most beginning with the letter f and ending in -ing.

Again that ruddy smile and twinkling eyes. Though there is such an underlying sadness in them, it causes me to look away. "Yes, but you have to agree, Harry isn't exactly a typical sixteen year old. Wouldn't you venture to say that he may actually be a bit older through his experiences? In many aspects more mature than others in his year? What Harry's done so far in his life would age anyone." I know these aren't questions so I hold my tongue.

Of course he holds more maturity than his classmates. He is the bloody 'Chosen One', he's Harry 'effing' Potter, he's slowly invading my every thought and driving me insane. I need to stay his enemy, I need to remain the 'greasy git'. If any of it changes, I'll only be putting him in more danger than he's already in. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

The old man tilts his head and lifts one eyebrow in my direction. "Severus, I do not believe you are really upset with Harry for missing his detention. I believe you are upset with me for keeping him from you."

I choke on my tea. "What?" I croak, gasping for breath. "What are you trying to insinuate, Albus?" I say, recovering and placing the cup on his desk. He only smiles brighter. Why does he always have to smile? Smile and twinkle, smile and twinkle...blast him and his jocularity. I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest, effectively pouting.

"Oh Severus, I meant nothing. Except that I know how much you enjoy inflicting your special brand of discipline on the students." He waves a dismissing hand at me.

I can practically smell the underlying meaning. Standing, I brush down the front of my robes. "Yes, my brand of discipline is exactly why I enjoy taking time out of my free evening. I do so take pleasure in seeing their vapid expressions for just one more day in my vapid filled week. With that said, sir, I'd appreciate it if you didn't undermine me again."

Curse his smile, you'd think his face would crack, or ache, or something. "Very well, Severus. Harry will be in your office next Saturday for his detention, I'll make sure of it."

He tilts his head and studying me for a moment; instinctively I put up my Occlumency shields. Though, why should I bother, apparently I'm so predictable there is nothing I could hide.

"How are you enjoying your new position?" He did it, he said it. That insufferably barmy old codger. I refuse to answer, he already knows what it is. Of course I enjoy the subject but...not for this price.

Instead I glare at him. He always knows which buttons to press. Sadistic bastard. To love him is to hate him and right now, Hell could open up and swallow him whole and I'd stand aside smiling smugly.

Silently, I stand and brush down my robes. "Good evening, Albus," is all I can spare him as I turn and leave the room. I pause as I reach the bottom of the spiral stair and sigh. The dawning realization hits me, this has been a complete waste of my time. He still took the boy, he is probably still smiling and I'm standing here, sober and annoyed.

With a slight growl, I trudge off toward my dungeon, not Slughorn's, mine. I pity anyone who causes me a delay this time.