Impending Doom

I waited sullenly for class to start. I was dreading it. Certain death approached . . . in the form of Neville Longbottom. The boy's a damn public menace. He'll probably single-handedly bring down the entire castle, if not the entire wizarding community. If anyone can do it, it'll be him. The extent of Longbottom's unfathomable ineptness never fails to astound me. Give the boy a cauldron and five minutes, without the insufferable Know-It-All Granger's whispered instructions . . . I shuddered. The results didn't bear thinking about. In any case, it seems that I'm just going to have to resign myself to the fact that my eventual demise is going to be met at the hands of an incompetent Gryffindor fool who can't tell the difference between a pinch of powdered root of Asphodel and a cascade of it. An appropriately ridiculous end. I will be found, an expression of horrified agony on my face as the contents of Longbottom's melted cauldron spreads itself over me, penetrating my skin, racing through my veins . . . After that it will only be a matter of time before Longbottom's titanic stupidity brings about the next apocalypse. The Dark Lord tries his best, bless him, but he'll never have a patch on Longbottom.

A small cough woke me from my thoughts of doom. So wrapped up had I been in contemplating Longbottom's incompetence that I had failed to notice that the dungeon was now full of gawping, imbecilic students. The Slytherins looked bored and the Gryffindors seemed to be having a silent but furious debate over who was going to risk the Wrath of the Potions Master and speak to me.

I stood up. "Ahem," I said loudly, annoyed at being seen looking anything other than menacingly assertive. "Today, class, we will be making a mild corrosive potion. It isn't strong enough to burn through your cauldrons. Provided, of course, that they are all in one piece by the end of class--" here I shot a contemptuous look at an already terrified-looking Longbottom, "--but if any is spilled, you will find yourself waiting behind so that we can organise a time for you to fix the table, the floor and whatever else the potion comes into contact with. I want everyone wearing dragonhide gloves for this." Nervous looks were being cast around the room. I noticed with no small amount of satisfaction that Longbottom was already looking close to tears. For all his feeblemindedness, he can still see that there is as much chance that he'll get this right as there is of Voldemort's next attempt on Potter's life going to plan. "Tonight immediately after dinner, Longbottom."

Longbottom let out a squeak.

"What, Longbottom?" I asked curtly, enjoying watching his mouth form into various shapes, before he settled on another squeak.

I sneered at him. "Seeing as Longbottom has apparently lost his, admittedly primitive, grasp of coherent speech, we'll move on." The Slytherins laughed nastily, while the Gryffindors' facial expressions ranged from furious (who other than Potter?) to terrified (Longbottom).

With a satisfied smirk I began to explain the potion-making process whilst writing it on the blackboard behind my desk in nice big letters. No one with more than half a brain (which, admittedly, ruled out half of the class - the half in red and gold ties) could possibly be confused with the ridiculously simple way I had written the instructions.

Once I had finished, I let them begin while I went into my store cupboard to find some beetle eyes for Mr. Malfoy, of which he was running low. (We had not yet used that particular ingredient this year, but I refrained from asking what he had done with the supplies that had been in his potions kit.) I wasn't too worried. I rummaged around, trying to find what I was looking for, safe in the knowledge that Know-It-All Granger was at the cauldron next to Longbottom.

Yes, I admit, I was foolish to believe that perhaps if I wrote the instructions in idiot's terms, complete with diagrams, on the board, and ignored Granger's hissed directions, serious injury would be avoided. I was stupid to leave the classroom. I was overly optimistic (not, you understand, a state of mind I often find myself in) about the situation. Which is why I almost suffered a cardiac arrest when . . . BANG!

The explosion was followed by some screams and a hissing noise. Briefly, I entertained the notion that one of the Gryffindors was acting particularly "witty" and was playing a trick on me. I think I might have hugged the insolent little bugger had that been the case. Before giving them a year's detention, of course. I took a deep breath and walked back into the classroom.

What I saw made my jaw drop, and for a few moments of my life which I would dearly love to forget, I stood there with an expression of gormlessness upon my face that would have put Hufflepuff house to shame.

Where Longbottom's cauldron had been was now a massive crater. The cauldron itself had not melted. No. Due to the sheer magnitude of the eruption, it seemed to have evaporated.

"LONGBOTTOM!" I roared, striding into the room. Damn the safety of the other pupils, I was going to get the boy for this. A squeak could be heard from behind the cluster of shocked-looking students standing against the back wall. Amazingly, incredibly, everyone was unhurt, except for a small bald patch on top of Seamus Finnigan's head. "HOW MUCH BOOMSLANG SKIN DID YOU PUT INTO THAT CAULDRON, LONGBOTTOM?"

"Please, sir . . ." said a tremulous voice I recognised as that of Granger, "it wasn't Neville's fault. He . . ."

"Miss Granger," I hissed venomously, "hold . . . your . . . tongue. Before I have it removed."

Granger, looking suitably frightened, did indeed hold her tongue. "Now," I said, in a menacingly (and completely deceptively) calm voice. "Long . . . bottom."

Potter, of course, decided this was the time for him to stick in his tuppence-worth. "Professor," he said, with an inexplicably worried look on his face, "you should mo--"

"I WILL NOT BE TOLD WHAT TO DO, POTTER!" I shrieked in a rather more high-pitched than normal voice, "LEAST OF ALL BY A LITTLE BOY WHO THINKS HE--"

***

"Severus?"

I could vaguely hear a voice saying my name, but it was dark. I couldn't see anyone.

"Can you open your eyes?"

Ah. I opened my eyes slowly, and the first thing I fuzzily saw was Remus Lupin standing over me with that "concerned" look on his face. Of course, I thought. This pathetic scenario would not be complete without the werewolf being present, infuriating me with his ever-pleasantness.

"How are you feeling, Severus?" asked Lupin.

"Gnnnnnn . . ."

He handed me a glass of water. I sat up slowly, gasping in pain at the searing pain that flashed through my head. I knocked his hand away as he tried to help me. I may be, for an as yet unknown reason, lying in a hospital wing with a goose egg on top of my head which seemingly has rid me of my ability to talk properly, but I am still above accepting help from Lupin.

"What happened?" I asked, after the cool, clear liquid had moisturised my sand-papered throat.

"Well . . . do you remember your last potions class?"

My last potions class? I struggled to remember through the pain. I couldn't--

"Longbottom," I gritted out, the full memory of the disastrous class hitting me full-force.

"Yes," said Lupin, sounding half-amused, half-concerned. He then went on to explain how I came to be in my present helpless state.

It seems that, had I surveyed the scene of devastation Longbottom had wreaked in my classroom a bit more closely, I would have realised that Longbottom's cauldron had not evaporated as I had at first suspected. My rage had clouded my judgement, apparently. I had entered the room and planted myself at the side of the gargantuan crater. Directly beneath the spot on the ceiling where Longbottom's cauldrom was wedged, and was rapidly slipping . . .

The rest, I believe, is self-explanatory.

Now, though, I am enlightened. I know the truth.

Longbottom is an evil genius.

The others may have been fooled by his feigned idiocy, but I know the truth. I was a Death Eater and I recognise pure sadistic evil when I see it. He has the luck of the Devil . . . but now that I know, I will work to snuff out Longbottom's reign of terror. Yes . . . Longbottom had better watch out . . .