Wasn't Born Yesterday

WASN'T BORN YESTERDAY

CHAPTER ONE - Who Wants To Be a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor?

"Rubber ducky, you're the one…" Harry crooned as he pushed the little figurine around the prefects' enormous bathtub, which was currently filled with soap bubbles. He giggled as one popped.

"Harry?" Hermione rushed in, barely blushing when she saw Harry naked in the tub. "I've figured out why you've been acting so-"

Harry giggled again and splashed some water on Hermione.

-childish."

She looked at him disbelievingly. He was wearing the rubber ducky on his head and appeared to be completely ignoring her.

"Aren't you at all interested why you have the mentality of a pickled herring?"

Harry squeezed the ducky and giggled when it squeaked.

"Harry J Potter! Get your arse over here and listen to me right now!"

Harry turned to face her and put on a face of intense listening.

"Right, well then, as you know it all began when you - don't put your fingers in there! They'll get stuck!"

Harry pulled his fingers out of the tap and attempted to look suitably ashamed.

"Now," continued Hermione, "it all began when…"

* * * * *

It was a cold September morning. A bird began to sing.

"Shut up!" said Snape, throwing something at it. That something turned out to be a knife.

Severus Snape, most renowned of all bastards, began his morning. And like all people, he began his morning with another five minutes sleep. Well, maybe ten. No, ten more after that five. Well, a couple more won't hurt. Well…

Needless to say he eventually got up, hid his magazines before the house elves came to make his bed, and went into the bathroom to shave.

He looked in the mirror. This was a big mistake. Severus Snape was not a pretty sight at the best of times. First thing on a Sunday was hopeless.

He put his head in the sink and waited for the purple dinosaurs to go away. He tried to remember what'd happened last night.

He was vaguely aware that the previous evening had been the Sorting Feast, and once the students had vanished to their dormitories the staff would spend the rest of the night and the early hours of the morning stimulating their minds ready for the year ahead with several gallons of alcohol.

Each.

This would explain why, when Snape reached down to scratch his bum, he extracted from his pyjamas a pair of frilly knickers with the initials 'M McG' on the label, though why on earth Professor Flitwick had put his initials on his underwear was a mystery to Snape at this time. Maybe they just got lost a lot.

It also explained why he had a strong taste of something unpleasant in his mouth, which, if last year was any judge, was neither alcohol nor nicotine but rather a pint of his very own x-ray vision potion. A creation Professor Trelawney had predicted would be abused in the future. And she was right. It had.

His hands danced a familiar pattern across the shelves of special shampoos and conditioners that never worked, picking out jars and bottles with labels including but not limited to 'Eye of Beaver', 'Rabbit's liver', and 'Scrotum of cockatrice'.

He put the plug in the sink and poured the contents in with lots of hot water, shortly followed by his face.

As the warm and greenish goodness of Severus Snape's Fast-Acting Hangover Remedy flowed through his stomach, sinuses and brain, he became increasingly aware that he had put his head into a sink of hot water which had a cockatrice's scrotum dissolved in it. The point that he realised that was the point that the cure had worked, when he pulled his head out.

There was a frantic knocking at his door.

"Come in!" called Snape, feeling the desperate need to throw up again. "It's not locked."

The door opened. Dumbledore stumbled in, missing the scythed pendulum by an inch.

"Severus!" he said. "I distinctly remember saying no booby traps!"

"It's not like I've been sharpening it or anything," said Snape, taking a towel and drying his face. "Anything I can help you with?"

Dumbledore paused, and his brow furrowed as he tried to come to a decision against his better judgement.

"Severus," he said. "Sit down. Well, er, let's get to it then. I'm here to talk to you about what you've always wanted."

Snape looked hopeful.

"Harry Potter is really dead?" he said.

"Not quite. Not very at all. Not last time I saw him. I was thinking about, you know, the other one."

"I quit ballet a long time ago."

"Not that either."

Realisation dawned on Snape.

"I swear, Professor Dumbledore, I never did anything with Lupin! I have no idea what happened to his clothes!"

"Actually, I was thinking of the Dark Arts position."

"Yes?" said Snape, his eyes sparkling.

"The, er, new chap," said Dumbledore slowly, "probably won't be around for the next term or two, on account of madness, and well, we need someone to take charge of things in the mean time."

Snape nodded, open mouthed in anticipation.

So, er," continued Dumbledore, "I've spoken to everyone and they can't think of anyone, so, could you…"

"Yes?"

"Could you recommend anyone?"

"What?"

"Well, it's just that if you can't think of anyone suitable and no-one else can, then we'll have to cancel lessons, and that just isn't plausible right now. It's not like it's a job anyone sane would leap at the chance for."

Snape looked hurt. For the first time that Dumbledore could remember he looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"But, but…" he began.

"Oh come now. It's not as if they'll let us put … you as the Dark Arts professor. I mean, there was that little substitute thing back when Lupin was here, but … surely you can't believe that we could get away with, well, you?"

"That was sort of what I was thinking, yes. Come on! Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"Pretty please with a cherry on top? With cream and a cherry? With a flake? And some of those chocolate sprinkles you like so much? What about toffee sauce, eh?"

"No! Severus, you can't bribe me with empty pleas covered in a mountain of desert accompaniments."

"How about an ice cream covered in a mountain of-"

"Deal!"

"Yes! Victory dance!"

As Snape leapt up, Dumbledore pulled him down.

"Are you sure you don't know anyone? Anyone at all?" he asked.

"Honestly, no."

"Well, in that case I have no choice. This is only temporary of course, you realise?"

"Yes. Only temporary." Until someone else turns up, if they do, Snape added in his head.

"Then if you'd just like to sign here and here," Dumbledore pulled a wad of paperwork from the recesses of his robes. "Thank you, and in the likely event of your death your family will be reimbursed."

"I don't think they'd be able to use the money. Not where they are now."

There was a moment's silence.

"I see. I'm sorry," said Dumbledore quietly. "But I'd thought of this," he added brightly, "and I have brought adoption papers. It's an awful lot of money."

"I appreciate the thought, but no," said Snape.

"Pity, but if you're sure," Dumbledore sighed. "Now, about that ice cream…"

* * * * *

"Have you heard?" asked Ron.

"Yes," said Hermione. "It probably has something to do with me having ears."

Ron paused.

"No! I mean they've made Snape the new Dark Arts teacher."

"Oh dear god."

"This is really bad."

"What're we going to tell Harry?"

"Screw Harry!"

"That may just work. Take his mind of things."

"With you or me?"

"I think either would work suitably. How do you know this anyway? I was never told anything."

"Yes you were. Just now. I heard Snape and Dumbledore talking about it. They're going for ice cream."

Word spread across the length of the Gryffindor table. Several girls fainted in shock and Neville burst into tears. How flattering it must've been to Snape, considered Ron, to be loved by so many people.

Harry entered the great hall and sat next to Hermione, said good morning to the both of them, and then noticed that half the assembled students were unconscious, in tears or rioting and starting small fires. His keen intellect told him there was something wrong.

"They haven't burnt the orange juice again have they?" he sighed. "I mean … how?"

"I think it would be best not to ask. Have you heard about Snape?"

Harry looked hopeful.

"He's really dead?" he said.

"That's a matter of debate every day. But I think it'd be safe to say no. In fact, we're probably going to see a lot more of him. He's, er, the new defence against the Dark Arts professor…"

"Oh shit!"

"I know," said Ron. "This is the worst thing that's ever happened in the history of the entire universe!"

"I think you may be exaggerating Ron," said Hermione.

"Sure?"

"No."

"It's bad enough with him just for potions," said Harry, already in tears. "Now we've got to see him," he counted in his head, "ten, ten bloody periods a week! Ten!"

The others nodded.

"Should we have another riot?" said Dean hopefully from further along the table.

"I've still got my bit of wood with a nail in it."

"Please don't start," said Seamus. "I still haven't forgotten what happened last time," he winced. "It's a miracle it grew back."

"Word has it," said Neville, "that Snape killed the new guy and buried his body beneath the floorboards…"

The assembly gave this some thought. It sounded more than likely, and yet…

"What do you mean, 'word has it'?" said Ron. "I told all of you buggers only a few minutes ago, and I never said anything about any body below the floorboards."

"Yeah, but Lavender says that Colin says that Ginny says that Seamus says that they heard some hammering outside Snape's room last night…"

"I never said nothing of the sort!" said Seamus. He glared at Lavender.

"I never said you said it!" said Lavender. "But I did hear something, kind of like a banging…"

"The night after Sorting?" said Harry. "You get that all the time. Give the teachers alcohol and they'll bang all night long."

They looked at their meals blankly.

"On account of being too drunk to avoid the walls," he added nervously. "Not that they'd ever, well… Can you imagine?"

Neville was noisily sick.

"Come on, it's not even as though anyone here knows where Snape's room is." pointed out Hermione. "Nor any of the other teachers for that matter."

Everyone nodded. That was certainly true.

"And there's no-one else to replace him," moaned Ron. "It's not as though it's the most popular subject to teach. It's jinxed!"

"Come off it," said Hermione. "After all, Professor Lupin left of his own accord. Nothing bad happened to him."

"But still, he never made it to the following year," said Ron. "One way or another they all end up out of the picture."

"Oh, of course. There's some magical power conspiring against defence against the Dark Arts teachers everywhere, and one day, when Snape isn't looking, some black and demonic force will cause an accident in potions and he'll be blasted all the way to Timbuktu!"

The room livened up.

"Do you really think so?" said Neville.

Hermione sighed.

"One way or another," said Ron, "the amount of people applying for it has gone down to next to nothing since our first year. There's no-one else but Snape."

Hermione snorted.

"Well," she mumbled, "I'd certainly never befall a terrible fate if I was the defence against the Dark Arts professor."

"You probably could at that," said Ron. "I wouldn't be surprised if you've read next year's textbooks end to end."

"Of course. Haven't you?"

Ron didn't answer, as Draco Malfoy had walked over from the Slytherin table, having heard so many Gryffindors in such obvious distress, and had decided to do his very best to make it worse.

Hi," he said.

"Fuck off!" said Ron.

"Well! Try to be civil-"

"You were never trying to be civil."

"I could have been. I could have turned over a new leaf. You could've just hurt my feelings there. I could've wanted to be your friend."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Then fuck off!"

"You know," said Draco, ignoring Ron, "you can all be so selfish sometimes. Why can't you be happy for all us Slytherins for once?"

"Because you're gits?"

"Shut up, Weasley. Anyway, what's the worst that can happen to you?"

"Snape could make our lives a living hell and give us tonnes of work and take away points and give us detention," said Harry. "Well, yes, there is that," admitted Draco, "but it's your own fault Snape hates you."

Harry was just about to argue that Snape probably hated them because they were breathing, but stopped as Hermione got up beside him, and began to rush out of the hall.

"Where're you off to?" said Ron. Hermione paused.

"You'll find out soon enough, Mr Weasley," she snapped haughtily, but as she turned around Harry was sure he saw her suppressing a smile.

The boys watched after her.

* * * * *

The day passed quickly. A universal rule throughout the universe is that impending doom will always come as fast as it's evil little metaphorical legs will take it. And here it was - big, malevolent, lacking in strawberry jam. It was Monday morning!

"Where's Hermione?" said Harry, looking along the length of the Gryffindor table in the great hall.

"Where's the strawberry jam?" said Ron, doing the same.

"There's never enough strawberry jam."

"Well, there's that kind of sloppy stuff down at the bottom of the jar. You know? The stuff with no strawberry bits in it?"

"Lacking in texture. And you can't get at it with the knife."

"We should complain to the management!"

"Yeah! Or we could just have apricot."

"Mmmm. Apricot…"

"But where is Hermione?" said Harry again.

"She's been really quiet lately," said Ron. "I hardly saw her at all yesterday. She's been up in her dormitory doing … something or the other."

Harry sighed.

"She'd better turn up soon," said Harry, pulling out his timetable. "The first lesson is … defence against the Dark Arts. With the being of ultimate darkness and malevolence."

"Bear in the Big Blue House?"

"Snape."

"Ah."

They finished breakfast without any sign of Hermione, nor of her when they went to their dormitory to pick up their school things. Even as they entered the Dark Arts classroom she still wasn't around.

"Maybe she's ill," said Harry.

"Wouldn't she have told us?" said Ron. "And where's Snape?"

"Maybe he's ill too," said Harry hopefully.

"Or maybe they're both-" Ron began, but Harry interrupted.

"Ron," he said, "this is not that kind of fic."

Five minutes passed. The class became restless. After ten minutes they were almost silent.

The door opened. Everyone sat up, fearing the worst, or, in case of the Slytherins, gleefully anticipating the worst for everyone else.

Hermione walked in. Everyone slumped back again.

"There you are, Hermione," said Harry. "Did you see Snape?"

"Snape won't be turning up today," she said, sitting down. "I've spoken to Dumbledore about it. There's a bit of a change of plan."

There was suddenly a lot of talking.

"How comes they told you and not us?" said Parvati.

"Because, Miss Patil," said Hermione, "I was the one who came up-" she paused, and took a few seconds to consider the reaction the school when they found out. She considered the Slytherins, and made a wise decision.

"…the one who, er, came up … the stairs at that time and overheard Dumbledore talking about it," she lied.

Suddenly, a thought hit Ron. He finally realised what was so odd about the way Hermione was sitting.

"Hermione," he said, slowly and carefully, "why is it, as I have observed, that you are sitting over there, behind the teacher's desk?"

The class blinked as one student, and for the first time noticed that Ron was right. Hermione was looking the wrong way.

It took several minutes for them to work it out, and then…

"Hermione?" said Harry, looking horrified, "don't tell me you're - you're…"

"A vampire? No. I get that all the time."

Harry relaxed.

"Holy fuck!" said Neville. "She's our teacher!"

Most of the class fell over in shock. Some of the girls fainted. Seamus burst into tears.

"Yes, thank you for telling everyone Mr Longbottom. Yes I am. And that'll be ten points from Gryffindor for your language, young man."

"But how can you be-" began Harry.

"Look here, everyone," interrupted Hermione. "I'm a prefect. You may not have noticed that big shiny pin on my chest until now, which is surprising, because ever since I hit puberty you've all been staring at nothing else but - yes, I noticed you staring, Miss Brown! But the fact of the matter is that I'm a prefect, and it says in the rules that in cases of emergency a prefect who can prove his or her knowledge in a subject may take assume an absent professor's position."

They looked at her with their mouths open.

"Haven't you ever read Hogwarts: a Rulebook before?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"This sucks," said Dean.

"So do you. I'll never forget what I walked in on last year. Who'd have imagined that-"

"She's lying!" said Dean, blushing and slouching as far under his desk as he could.

"So, if you'd like to take out your books and turn them to page 12. We'll be starting with dark charms and their threat in the industrial workplace-"

Someone threw a screwed up piece of parchment at her head.

"I saw that was you, Miss Patil! That'll be another ten points from Gryffindor!"

And after that everyone was silent. The lesson went on painfully and embarrassingly, everyone avoiding each others eyes and speaking uncharacteristically meekly whenever Hermione, or, as she liked to be called, Professor Granger, asked them a question.

Finally, the bell went, and the Gryffindors walked silently to herbology, avoiding Hermione's eye.

"Why so quiet?" said Hermione.

Harry and Ron jumped.

"Well, miss, we were just, well, er…" began Ron. Hermione laughed.

"The lesson's over," said Hermione.

"So we can be are normal selves again?" said Harry.

"I'll regret it, but sure."

"Okay. Great. What did you walk in on Dean doing?"

"Oh, that? He managed to suck up an entire glass of that nice lemony drink in literally less than a second through a straw. It must be a record."

Harry and Ron looked at each other.

"Of course, he had a really bad brain freeze afterwards," continued Hermione, "so he bashed his head on the table and knocked himself out," she was giggling.

"Er, okay…" said Ron, uncertainly.

"So, how does Snape feel about you teaching defence against the Dark Arts?" said Harry.

"Like that," Hermione said, pointing into the shadows.

It took Harry several seconds to see him, but Snape was standing gloomily in the shadows, staring at Hermione with a look of immeasurable hatred that even Harry had failed to receive before, like a man who'd come home early to find his wife in bed with his best friend's dog.

"You'd better watch your back, Miss Granger," he said quietly, "they say the job in jinxed."

"Thank you, Professor," said Hermione darkly. "So I've heard. I'll be sure to be particularly careful."

The trio scurried off.

"He's up to something," said Ron. "You shouldn't have taken the position, Hermione. Snape will do anything for it."

"Oh honestly, Ron!" said Hermione. "What's the worst he could do? It's not like Snape's ever really taken these matters into his own hands. I mean, not really."

"I dunno. He looks pretty mad to me…"

"Oh, Ron, you're just paranoid. I still remember what you said about water being a powerful mind control agent put into use by the Ministry of Magic and aliens."

"It's true I tell you! The new world order is coming!"

Harry risked a glance back at Snape. It was true that he'd never looked so angry. He looked like a man who'd just won the lottery, and found he won it in chocolate coins. Like a man who'd just had the most passionate sex ever in the dark, and turned on the lights to see his mother.

In short he looked like Snape, only worse.

END OF CHAPTER ONE