Impending Doom

Harry Potter was sitting in the Gryffindor common room with his two best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. Harry and Ron were making half-hearted attempts at their Potions homework when Ron abruptly slammed his quill down onto the table. "This is impossible! Why does that slimy git have to give us so much bloody homework?"

Harry sighed. "'Cause he's a sadist," he muttered, following Ron's example and putting down his quill. "We have Divination homework to do as well."

Ron groaned. "So we do. Who cares which house Venus was in when I was born? It wasn't mine, so I don't care. I dunno why she does."

Harry shrugged. Hermione looked at them rather smugly. "Well, if you had chosen a useful subject like Arithmancy, you wouldn't have to bother about ridiculous things like houses and planets."

Ron glowered at her. "No, we'd have to look at number charts and stuff instead. Whoop-de-do."

Hermione scowled and went back to her Potions homework, muttering about sensible subjects and numbers.

Just then the portrait hole opened and in came Neville Longbottom, looking extremely worried. He walked over to their table. "Have any of you done the potions homework yet? Professor Snape'll kill me if I don't do it, but I don't understand!"

Harry looked at him sympathetically. "Don't worry, Neville. We can't do it, either."

Neville flopped despondently down onto an empty chair, his face fearful. "But you didn't destroy his classroom and knock him out with your cauldron."

Harry and Ron began sniggering involuntarily. "Nope. You're a legend, Neville, you know that, don't you?" asked Ron, a dreamy look on his face. "It was brilliant ..."

For Harry and Ron, the memory was up there with that of Malfoy the Bouncing Ferret, but Neville just looked even more frightened. Harry took pity. "Right, here's what we'll do. Ron, if you try to work out the star charts, Neville and I will go to the library and see what we can find on the potions homework, then we'll help you finish Divination when we get back."

Ron shrugged. "Okay. Anything to get a break from the properties of unicorn horns."

"See you soon," said Harry, standing up. He and Neville left through the portrait hole.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

Another day over, at last. My plans for the evening were to go to my rooms, soak in the bath for a while, then pour a drink, settle down in front of the fire with a book and remain there for the rest of the evening. Ah. As far as the average teaching day went, this one had been particularly disaster-free. I hadn't had the fifth years today, so my classroom was, for the moment, in tact and I had not sustained any injuries, serious or otherwise. All in all, a fairly successful day.

As I walked along the corridor, trying to decide between a nice glass of red or a brandy, I heard two voices. Two distinctly familiar and entirely unwelcome voices. Potter and Longbottom. For the love of Merlin, why? From what I could hear, they were talking about me. I slowed down and tried to move completely silently, waiting to pounce when I heard something that merited detention. It's a skill I pride myself on. I am able to sneak up behind even the most sharp-eared students and catch them at their acts of insubordination.

I could hear Potter talking. "He hates everyone, Neville, not just you." Not true. I dislike Potter intensely, but I don't hate the boy. I hated his father and I still do hate his Godfather. I don't hate any of the staff, even Lupin (I like him about as much as I like Potter Junior: not much), or any of the students. I just think that the vast majority of them are a useless waste of space, and having to use my expertise in the area of Potions to allow the little cretins to blow up my classroom infuriates me. But a man has to make a living.

"He does," Longbottom was whining. "He hates me even more than he hates you!" Ah, Longbottom. Until I discovered Longbottom's true identity, he was just sport, really. He was a trembling fool, so completely imbecilic and pathetic. He was just too easy. Weak people rattle me. And Longbottom was the definition of weak. But now...now I do hate him. Following the Dark Lord, foolish enough to believe that he'll be granted power and respect...pathetic. It's just another way of being weak. And I will stop him.

Which is why I found myself skulking along the corridor behind the pair. I didn't know where they were going, but unfortunately it was only seven o'clock so I couldn't dish out detentions and send them back to their common room. I crept silently along, hiding behind conveniently-placed statues every time it looked as though one of them was going to turn round. Potter did once or twice, a suspicious look on his face, but he didn't see me. I felt like I should have been wearing a long coat and dark glasses, like those people in those awful Muggle films. After a few minutes I found myself in the library.

I hovered in the doorway, waiting for them to find what they were looking for and turn round long enough for me to get past them, further into the library. They blundered about, apparently looking for Potions books. They're over there, you pair of simple-minded fools! I felt like shouting. The pair wandered absently through shelves of curses, counter-curses, Transfiguration books, books on magical creatures, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy...taking books out, putting them back...Just as I was considering hurling one of my shoes at the Potions shelf to draw their attention to it, Potter pointed. "Look! They're over there!"

I considered storming over and taking points from Gryffindor for sheer blind idiocy, but at that moment the two fools turned round and began scanning the shelves, so I took that moment to flit past them and conceal myself behind a particularly full shelf of Charms books. I peered through a gap between two huge tomes, listening for anything in their conversation that sounded like a prelude to an attack on Potter.

The two of them had their backs to me and were fumbling through the rows of books. I scowled. I could see a book on bloody unicorn horns from where I stood. I watched as Longbottom grabbed a footstool and put it on the floor next to Potter. He clambered up and raked through the books above Potter's head.

I narrowed my eyes. I could see what was going on here. I see you, Longbottom, I thought maliciously as he began tugging at a huge book a short distance above the completely oblivious Potter's head. I've got you, Longbottom. I was about to make my move, when I was stopped abruptly by a whole host of discouraging scenarios whirling through my head, each more horrific than the last. Longbottom's infernal good fortune would not allow my counter-attack to go smoothly. No, I would have to think of something else, and quickly. Longbottom was still tugging at the enormous volume. Potter was still stupidly blind to the glaringly obvious beginning to an attempted murder that was happening two feet above his head.

I couldn't reveal myself, so what could I do? I had to distract him ...

It hit me. My shoe. It was so obvious, I had thought of it before. I bent down and reluctantly removed one very expensive dragonhide boot, shifted along to the end of the row and aimed. As I took one last step to clear my view, my socked foot caught onto something on the floor, and the shoe, which had been so carefully aimed at Longbottom's head, sailed up into the air as I crashed to the ground. I just had time to register Longbottom's toad sitting placidly by my foot and see Potter and Longbottom's shocked stares before something clocked me hard on the head and everything went black.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

"Will he be okay, Professor?"

"Yes, Harry, he will. He'll have a bit of a headache when he wakes up but other than that he'll be fine. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Well ... Neville and I were going to the library for a book on unicorn horns for our Potions homework, and, er, I kept thinking there was someone behind us, but I couldn't see anyone ..."

Voices. Who?

"Yes?"

"So we got to the library and I saw someone sneaking about, but I couldn't get a proper look so I assumed it was Peeves."

"Okay ..."

The voices were becoming a bit clearer, sharpening at the edges. I could vaguely recognise them, but couldn't think who they were.

"We were just looking at the books when Professor Snape appeared at the end of the row of shelves. He, er, was only wearing one shoe, and then he threw the other one up in the air and tripped over Neville's toad."

I opened my eyes and blinked at the sharp light that met me. The two people were nearby. I tried to comprehend what they were talking about.

"Neville's toad, hmm?" asked the adult voice, which sounded suspiciously strained. "And ... er ... what happened then?"

"He got knocked out by his own shoe."

I groaned as I remembered the incident. Why? Why? Unfortunately, my groan attracted the attention of the two voices, and Lupin and Potter appeared at the side of my bed.

"You can go back up to your dormitory now, Harry," said Lupin, smiling.

Harry nodded, and with one uncertain look at me, departed.

"Well, Severus, it seems that you've had quite the adventure," Lupin said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Where's...Headmaster?" I rasped, too sluggish to even glower at him properly.

"He's trying to calm down Neville Longbottom. He ran away in quite a state when he saw you in the library. Harry found me and we got you to the hospital wing."

"Longbottom ... Deatheater ..."

Lupin looked concerned. "Maybe you should get some more rest, Severus. Albus will be in soon, once Neville is speaking coherently again."

He left. I lay awake, glaring at the ceiling. Longbottom had gone too far this time. I was going to the Headmaster.