Take The First Step

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Take The First Step

Chapter Two: Arrival

By Slytherin's Silver Snake, Beta-Read and Edited by sevcrucio

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The old house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade looked beautiful at night. Moonlight illuminated the cracks in the aged granite walls, lending the house and eerie appearance that had quickly sent rumours soaring amongst the students that Severus would soon have to teach. A vampire lived there, they had said late one night outside the Hogs Head. They had then stepped backwards into an angry said vampire and promptly fled to the safety of Hogwarts. Wildflowers grew in the front garden, the interior decorated according to his taste for shade. The furnishings themselves were what one would expect from a proud Slytherin. A couple of antique chairs were arranged neatly in the living room adjacent to the hall. The floor was made from cobblestones and dark wooden bookcases lined the walls. If one peered closely, they would be able to see that volumes such as Moste Potente Potions and The History Of Alchemy sat alongside An Artificers Handbook and Ancient Artifacts Of The Middle East. There were also various academic journals about potions, which sat next to several outdated and very illegal periodicals about the Dark Arts. In the corner of the room a black piano waited to be played.

All in all, the house had the semblance of peace and quiet that came with darkness. Except for today. He was seated in one of the chairs reading one of his potions periodicals, the green fire that burned in the hearth lighting up the room. This beautiful quiet, that he so liked, had been interrupted by the increasingly irate voice of a young woman. Evidently, the shrew was not happy. Even he had to admit that the house was somewhat small, even if it did have a large back garden, perfect for growing his own ingredients. Still, was he making a song and dance about it? No, he was not. He turned his head to the left and looked at Cerise, who was still standing in the entrance hall. A disdainful sneer was on her face, Vafra held in her arms. At least the boy had not started to cry.

"You expect us to live in a place like this?" Cerise asked quietly, her face now a mixture of shock and disgust. "I distinctly remember you saying that all it needed was 'a few charms here, a few charms there.' This is ridiculous! I will bang me head just trying to get down the stairs. Furthermore, I must have been an idiot to even listen to you."

He laughed coldly, the mirror behind Cerise commenting that it would back away if it had legs. Aware that Cerise was watching him he cleared his throat, "As you yourself just said, you are an idiot. You know full well not to take me at face value. Besides, you are my wife and the mother of my child. Do you truly believe that I would allow Vafra to remain in a place like this if it posed a threat to his health? Or yours, for that matter?"

There was a moment of silence, during which Cerise shifted Vafra from one arm to the other. If he had not known better, he could have sworn that boy was too quiet for his own good. He ignored a thinly veiled comment Cerise made about his concerns about her being an insignificant thought. She did, thankfully, mellow down after a couple of minutes, during which he had read the next several pages having enjoyed their little debate.

Cerise inhaled quietly before letting out a sigh, "No, you would do no such thing. I love you and I know that you love me (even if you never say it). I would not manacle myself to a man like you for the rest of my life if I hated you, let alone had your child. Still, even you have admitted that it is cramped in here."

He nodded in agreement, looking around at all the stacked boxes, books and artifacts that had yet to be unpacked and sorted. The mess littered the downstairs living room because of the lack of space, turning it into a death trap if one did not know how to watch their step. He would really have to get the House-Elf down here to clean this mess out, and Cerise did have a valid point; the place was on the small side. What about when Vafra grew older and began to explore his surroundings?

Here lies Vafra Snape, tragically killed at a young age due to an overeloaded bookshelf. No, do not think like that, get your mind on something else. Think, Severus! Picture Cerise in a low-cut robe that leaves little to the imagination. Then there's that particular present you bought for her twentieth birthday. No, do not think that. She's looking at you right now... A swim in the Black Lake... he shivered, dousing the momentary fever that he had found himself in. That was all he had possessed for the last three months, though. Lucius had been right after all; everything falls after the baby is born. Marvelous... It was just he, his thoughts and Mrs. I-Have-A-Headache. Still, he guessed that he would be feeling the same if the situation had been reversed.

"Yes. I agree with you on that point," he said calmly but quickly, suddenly wondering whether Cerise was indeed a secret Occulmens. She was staring at him through the slits of her eyes, awkwardly holding Vafra in her arms. "We can go back to mine for the summer. Is that all right with you? It is? Marvelous. End of discussion."

With that, he refocused his attention on his potions periodical, Cerise giving him one last disdainful stare before she vanished up the stairs along with Vafra. Finally, he had some peace and quiet. There were several things he had to sort out, all of which required his total attention. There were his lessons to plan, as well as the OWLs and NEWTs examinations, which in his opinion was much too easy and not at all taxing, as they should be. Then he had to keep up with the latest research. He began to read once more. How relieving it was, to have the freedom to do so. He knew all too well it was true that only those who had lost their freedom could appreciate it. Things were finally starting to look up for him once again.

~~~

A few hours later he was halfway through the periodical. The articles themselves were quite fascinating, especially the one about the most useless poisons ever invented. Who could have believed that there was a poison that took over thirty years to kill its victim? No wonder it was useless. During the incredible amount of time it took to have effect, the victim could have died anyway. He flicked through the Useless Poisons section pretty quickly, arriving at a fiddly section about ethics. He skipped through that nonsense even quicker, only for a loud cry to pierce the air.

His studies had been interrupted by a juvenile wail for the fifth time that day. He looked over his shoulder at the stairs, upon which Cerise stood. She was juggling the task of holding Vafra with one arm while trying to shove a baby bottle into his mouth with her free hand. Why did she have to bring him down here, where he was trying to work? Vafra wailed again, finally causing him to have had enough.

"Can you not keep him quiet?" he snapped, trying to concentrate on a new periodical that he had pulled from the shelf. He needed to do this studying otherwise he would fall behind others in his profession. Then there was Hogwarts and all those idiotic dunderheads that he would soon have the displeasure of teaching. Cerise had ignored his jibe, preoccupied with getting Vafra to be quiet. He always won in the end. She hated conflict too much to oppose him for long. Still, it was not entirely Cerise's fault. He was feeling tired and Vafra was letting out ear-splitting wails, at least until Cerise placed a Silencing charm on the bottle and shoved it into the boy's mouth. Vafra sucked quietly on the bottle, oblivious to the chaos he had just caused.

Just what was her problem, anyway? Everything always seemed to be his fault; it was as if he was still in Hogwarts. The Marauders hair had turned green therefore it was his fault. Half the Gryffindor table came down with food poisoning, therefore it was his fault... okay, and that one was his fault. At least now he could prove that his existence, contrary to that of the Marauders, was worth something. James the Rotter had passed on, never to be heard from again. He chuckled to himself, catching the attention of the woman on the stairs.

"What is your problem? Why are you staring at me like that?" he said in a sour tone, immediately going on the defensive. Ever since Hogwarts he had needed to remain constantly on guard, but he had been defensive long before arriving at the Wizarding School. He had been on guard against an overzealous mother who wished for him to become a Dark Wizard, his father opposed to it, preferring his son to become a renowned Potions Master like he was. Neither of them had asked him what he desired. In the end he had become both, though he still had to take his Potions Master exam. He would surpass both their expectations, but only because he desired it. A child should not bother acting like a crybaby, they should learn how to control themselves and not to let slip any signs of weakness. He would make sure that Vafra learned this, that the world was not just black and white.

He again shut his book as Cerise came down the stairs. She was... somewhat different to what he had expected. She was not easy to provoke, nor did she try and change him. He could afford to let her close - but not too close. Some things should stay hidden, and there were plenty of skeletons in his closet that needed to remain so. He was the same at home and in work, though he tended to be at least civil to his friends and other adults, as long as they kept their noses out of his affairs.

"Say hello to Vafra, Severus. You have not spent any time together for a while," Cerise said, having marched over to where he was sitting. She carefully placed her black bundle on his lap before he had a chance to complain and was somehow able to make it to the kitchen before he had formed the words with which to object.

His stared down, gazing at the heap of black fabric in his lap. Vafra was staring back at him through half-lidded eyes that matched his own. He was wearing black clothes, and feathery black hair was poking out from under the black fabric. He awkwardly maneuvered the boy into a safer position on his lap before cursing to himself, glancing at Vafra through one eye. He prodded the child with a lone finger, curious about him as his lips rose into a smile, which just as quickly fell again. Sure he was all nice, cute and polite now. Just wait until he was several years older. Still, he had to admit that he liked Vafra, and that he was proud of his son.

"Of course I could not spend any time with you, my little Vafra. In case your mummy forgot, daddy was busy. The mean old ministry had him locked away," he said sarcastically. Had Cerise somehow forgotten all that he had been through in the last few months? A loyal Death Eater who had turned spy, who had defended himself against the Ministry before finding a job as a teacher. No, she understood. She had displayed her loyalty and understanding often enough, more than Dumbledore and the Light had done for him, anyway. Yes, the Headmaster may have saved him from the wrath of the Ministry, but only after he had asked for something in return. Cerise had desired nothing. She had given him what he needed, along with several months of mood swings and a two and a half month old son at the end of it.

He half-expected Cerise to be sneering back at him from the kitchen. The tea she was making smelled delicious. Jasmine tea... At least her faults were covered by her taste. He could hear her muttering from inside the kitchen, his highly trained senses picking up her words through the clinking of cups and pans, "This coming from the bloke who got me pregnant and ran off to fight for Dumbledore, leaving me with nobody but myself for company."

True enough, not that he would ever admit that to her. He pressed Vafra gently with the tip of his wand, muttering an incantation that was a more long-lasting variation of Wingardium Leviosa. The little one hovered out of his arms, now asleep, and proceeded to float peacefully in midair. The house was pretty small for his tastes, having nowhere near enough space to store all that he had wanted to bring with him. Bah, he would find somewhere. Either that or stuff everything under his bed.

He rose from his chair and headed for the kitchen, feeling up for a bout of verbal jousting. By the time he got there Cerise had disappeared. No, she had gone outside. He could spot her from the window, sitting on her black cape that had been laid out on the snowy grass. He smiled as Cerise spotted him and waved, picking herself up from the ground and proceeded to walk back towards the house.

~~~

Gods, he had not been in Hogwarts for so long. He had never set foot in here before, and it was not what he had pictured it to be. Something grander was what he had expected. Still, they did not have money to burn. 'Here' was the Staff Room, adjacent to the Great Hall. The room itself was small but conventional. A wardrobe that was in the corner held the Professors cloaks. His was never in there; he always wore his billowing black cape. Threadbare chairs were scattered around the room, but even so there were not enough to cover the present members of staff.

He was quietly standing in the shadows just in front of the door, keeping an eye on the others as they took equally furtive glances at him. A scowl crossed his face, causing the minute Professor Flitwick to jump and turn away. He scoffed... They knew perfectly well he was like this, but only three who were present knew what he had been doing after graduating in 78'; himself, Dumbledore and McGonagall. The others had a fairly sure idea, but kept it to themselves since Dumbledore had vouched for him. The Gryffindor head had protested at first, eventually being convinced by Dumbledore's explanation. Everyone in this school trusted that old man far too much for their own good.

Albus was seated behind a desk covered in papers, held down by a gilt silver talon that served as a paperweight. Minerva was seated opposite the Headmaster, a stern look on her face. He chuckled inwardly; the Gryffindor Head indeed took after her namesake. Flitwick was standing on a chair a few meters in front of him, away from the small passage that led into the main body of the staff room. Next to Flitwick was a new face that he did not recognize. She was a ruddy-faced woman, probably in her thirties, dressed in green, brown and yellow. Professor Sprout, was it? She had a heart-shaped face and happy demanour, most defiantly a Hufflepuff. Apparently she had joined the staff in 79'.

"Fellow professors, please allow me to introduce you to the newest addition to our team, Professor Severus Snape," Albus announced, looking in his direction. The other three present followed suit, gazing at where he stood next to the door. What was this, the Ministry Inquisition? He remained exactly where he was, surrounded by the safety of his beloved darkness.

Albus chuckled as the Hufflepuff smiled, everyone still gazing at him. He steeled himself, appearing several inches taller. Sprout's joviality was getting tiresome. Still, she was probably not as bad as Albus in that regard. "Do not be afraid, Severus. We don't bite!" Sprout chuckled, holding out her hand.

Everyone else had fallen silent, remembering the way that he had been during his schooldays. Evidently the Hufflepuff witch had not bothered to listen to the warnings of her colleagues, the poor misguided fool. He remained silent; a disdainful look on his face that Lucius said could turn milk sour. Shake hands? Never. Sprout looked disappointed as she withdrew her hand, but why should he care? He was here to work, not make friends. The most they could expect of him was to be civil.

The clock on the desk said that it was seven-forty in the morning, it being the Third of January 1982. A somewhat late arrival, but at least he had made a start. From what he remembered breakfast started at eight. Marvelous, he had only twenty - no, nineteen - minutes until he would have to encounter the hoards. Some of them would probably remember him from when he had been one of them. Excellent, the Slytherins would have gotten wind of his no-nonsense reputation.

His things had already been moved into his quarters in the dungeons. The Potions Office had been a complete mess. Disorganised ingredients and messy papers, everything had been totally unsatisfactory. Now that he had been able to get at it the room was in a much better state. Ingredients on the shelves that surrounded the office's four walls were now organised according to potency and in alphabetical order. There were two separate cupboard behind his desk, both of which he had lugged all the way from home. This was where he stored all of his own personal stock of ingredients, most of which were banned under Ministry law. Many of them were also very expensive, highly rare and extremely dangerous, another reason why they were kept under lock and key. The last thing he wanted was for some idiotic light-fingered student to be hospitalized because they had held an Ashwinder egg without a pair of dragonhide gloves.

"I must say that it is good to see you back, Severus. It is always rewarding to see one of our students come back to teach at Hogwarts," Flitwick said, turning on his chair, which he was standing on. Blimey, he had almost forgotten how small the Head of Ravenclaw was.

He gazed coolly at his old professor, who was now his colleague. "Perhaps. We shall have to see."

Cerise, he wondered what she was doing at this moment. Cooking breakfast? Reading the Daily Prophet? Killing gnomes? No, it was none of those things. The lazy woman was probably still sleeping in bed, blissfully unaware of said gnomes that were uprooting all the flowers in the garden and causing a mess. Albus had indeed kept his word and found them a small property near the school. He had to admit that he was reluctantly grateful. He could easily walk the twenty-five minutes that it took to get there. Considering the pace with which he walked, it would actually be half that.

He took a step forward into the staff room, his arms still folded across his chest. The leather pouch around his waist jingled as he moved, the various potions that were within ready to be used in case of an emergency. He had his first lesson in just over an hour. Soon they would learn the meaning of fear and respect. Double Potions. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Nervous fools would get nowhere in his class. After lunch there were also more classes to be taught. at least he would be kept busy.

"Excited, Severus? I remember my first lesson," Minerva asked him, her eyes peering at him over a cup of tea. Who was she to presume what he was feeling? Everyone had done that in the past. You look sad Severus. Have a cookie, Severus. He grimaced. He had always hated cookies.

"Whether I am excited or not is none of your concern, Minerva," he replied, gazing back at the woman who had taught him Transfiguration. "You are no longer my professor, therefore you cannot deduct points or put me in detention. You cannot smack me on the wrist like some errant child, though we both know some of the members of your House deserved it."

"Believe you me, I have no intention of doing so," the Transfiguration Mistress replied tersely.

"I should think not. You will never win against me. We all know that Slytherin is a far superior House to Gryffindor," he shot back, purposely leaving out the other two houses whose Heads were present. "You stand no chance against us in either the Quidditch Cup or the House Cup. Do you know what you will be? Flattened."

Minerva was about to reply when Dumbledore held up his hand. Sprout had remained silent, as had Flitwick. He asked politely to be excused before he gathered up his thoughts and turned on the spot, opening the door. The Great Hall lay beyond and he quickly entered it, the door shutting behind him. He had ten minutes before the students arrived. Ten minutes of peace and quiet.

~~~

The Great Hall was exactly like he remembered. There were the four House tables, as well as the High Table where he now sat, looking down at the sight before him. The ceiling was still enchanted to appear as the night sky, as he had fully expected it to. He felt on edge, being in a room with so many people. Around nine hundred students sat on the four tables beneath him. They were already talking about him, wondering who the black-robed man with greasy hair was. He was seated at the far end of the High Table, on Albus' right, near the Slytherin table. They already knew about his appointment as the Potions Master and their Head of House. There were a few faces that he recognized. Doubtlessly, those in the fifth year and upwards had already informed their younger housemates about his no-nonsense reputation. He glanced at his full English breakfast, still untouched, that lay in front of him. No one would think that he was a piece of cake.

His first ever lesson was to be with the third year class of Slytherin and Gryffindor. Shrinking Solutions were on the agenda for this double lesson, and he would most surely favour his House wherever and whenever possible. No one else afforded them any respect and it would be good to keep up appearances for when the Dark Lord eventually returned. The four Houses below him were talking amongst themselves, three of which were once again wondering who the greasy-haired vampire was at the High Table. He smiled evilly; they would soon find out. He cocked his head to one side, noticing that someone was already speaking.

Albus had stood up and was addressing the hall. "I hope that you all enjoyed the holiday, and may I say thank you to all those of you who brought me presents. It was very kind of you. Now then, I would like us all to offer a warm welcome to the newest professor to our fine establishment. I must say that I was able to employ such a talented individual, and I hope that you will all endeavour to learn from his expertise. Allow me to introduce the newest addition to our community, the new Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, Professor Snape."

Immediately, a sea of heads focused on exactly where he was sitting. Such a thing would have been disconcerting, if he had cared. He could hear all the whispers, those uninformed idiots wondering why Dumbledore had hired him. Why did Albus have to show him off like some prize trophy? The old man should be grateful that he had agreed to face this public inspection, and the fact that he had actually bothered to turn up. He picked up a silver fork, noticing the decorative floral scrollwork along the handle. Hmm, it seemed like pure silver, judging by its weight. What he would not give to have Loony Lupin nearby, and the cover of total darkness. Lupin may be a werewolf, but he was a creature of the dark and knew it like the back of his hand.

"This is ridiculous. I could be making more use of my valuable time if I was somewhere I needed to be, instead of being gawked at by a bunch of hormone-driven and pock-faced imbeciles," he remarked darkly, prodding his untouched breakfast with a fork. Minerva was seated next to Albus, so she was unable to reply with one of her verbal witticisms. Such a shame, he looked forward to many pleasing debates with the stern Gryffindor Head. Flitwick was seated to the left of him, but the height-impaired wizard was wisely choosing to keep quiet. No one ever disturbed him when he was muttering to himself; it had become an unstated rule. At least this way he was sure to have an intelligent conversation.

Oh yes, they are still looking at me. Bunch of ingrates. Perhaps Albus had been right in denying him the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, he would probably have ended up cursing the little buggers who got out of line or just got on his bad side. Just about three out of every four students, he surmised. He still wanted that job, of course, being the only suitable candidate. Already he had formed a plan. Professor Vindictus Abbey would soon feel his displeasure. No one took what was rightfully his. His colleagues and students would be so surprised once they learned that their dear beloved wizard was in fact a closet witch. How had he found this out? The fool had made the mistake of leaving his teacup unattended during a meeting between the two of them yesterday evening, and before he knew it his hand had slipped. Oops...

He looked around the High Table. He was so glad that he had encountered Vindictus the day before. The students were still talking about him. His lips curved into a slight smile, remembering his thoughts about Vindictus. They could be so cruel sometimes. There was another thing that he would have to clamp down on, their disrespect for school rules. They would fear him before the day was through.

~~~

The Potions classroom was filled with the annoying clatter of equally annoying children. Things had indeed not changed. He had never been so disrespectful of the old rock and ancient earth that had afforded him its protection throughout the years. He was waiting outside the classroom door, getting a secret impression of the class he was going to teach by the sounds that echoed through the old oak door. Ah yes, he could hear that voice perfectly well. Overly boisterous, making sure it was heard over the others; Definitely a pig-headed Gryffindor. Such behaviour would have to be abandoned at once, to avoid any possible accidents. He almost blended into the background of the darkened corridor, his black robes affording him the suitable camouflage. The children were arguing again, the fools. You did not get anywhere by shouting about it, you had to take affirmative action, even if said action bends the rules.

Power. To take action one needed power. That single word was what all Slytherins strived for, though they would execute it in different ways. Lucius wielded his power over people with a velvet glove and an iron fist. His cousin desired tangible power over others, whereas he executed his power through his intelligence and sheer force of presence. This was why he had risen to the Inner Circle of the Death Eaters, not just because Lucius had praised his talented cousin in front of the Dark Lord. Who had invented and created most of the poisons they had used? That would be him. To the Dark Lord he was an indispensable piece. One you needed at all times in order to safeguard your position and to be a faithful and wise advisor. He had been the third in command, after Lucius and the Dark lord himself. Power, so many had it and so many desired it. All it comes down to after that is control.

He gripped the old wooden handle and turned it, opening the door. As he slammed the door open he glided past the quietly shocked faces of the class, taking his position behind his desk as the door bounced off the stone wall and shut itself. His face, as he was well aware, was anything but pleasant. His hooked nose only aided his malevolent appearance, as did the contemptuous scowl that was accentuated by his cold and empty black eyes. The mood he was in was dire. Not only did he have to teach this unimaginative bunch of dunderheads, he had been 'welcomed' to Hogwarts by Peeves. Luckily, no one had spotted the poltergeist pull his nose and send him crashing to the floor by pulling on his black cape.

He hurriedly began to call out the register, the class only speaking when it was to say their name. As he was calling the names he ignored the fact that the room was icy cold. The whole of the dungeons were like that and they would just have to put up with it. The last time he had been in this room was little more than four years ago, and it sure brought back memories. James Potter throwing up into his cauldron in their second year, courtesy of his skills and a weak poison that he had slipped into the idiot's orange juice at breakfast. 'Tutoring' Cerise for her Potions NEWT in their seventh year.

They had been very lucky that Filch had not caught them, or Peeves, now that he thought about it. The caretaker did not venture into the dungeons that often, unless groups of Slytherins were causing trouble - of which he was one. More often than not it was because of Peeves, who liked to mess around with the school plumbing. Oh yes, the element of danger involved had been most exciting to say the least. Trust Lucius to spill their secret to Lestrange, "My cousin is finally a man!" who had in true Slytherin decision let the secret slip to everyone else. Somehow, the rest of the school had caught wind of it. He growled softly, remembering the Marauders taunts. Big mouth Lestrange always caused him trouble.

Once he had finished calling the names he looked up at the class. He could see the masses of heads that were quietly waiting for him to speak. He could easily keep the students under his thumb; he had been able to do so when he was a student himself. Often he could have been found seated in front of the fire in the Slytherin Common Room, curled up in a chair with a good book about Potions or, more likely, the Dark Arts. No one had ever dared to interrupt him because of his dark reputation, and he was surely going to make it true here in the present.

"You may have arrived here this morning to learn the exact art and subtle science that is Potions making," he began, surveying half of the class with cruel eyes. "But from what I have seen and heard about you, many of you do not deserve to be in this class. Let me make it clear right now that insubordination will not be tolerated - nor will interrupting me when I am speaking, Fletcher; two points from Gryffindor, - as this can lead to all sort of disasters. As much as I may like to remove some dead wood from my class by the end of these two and a half hours, that, unfortunate as it may be, is not the way I am allowed to go about it... Is there something you find amusing, Wilkes? Perhaps you will like to share this little joke with the rest of us?"

He waited for an answer from the young wizard, who had barely started to smile and had not even told his joke. No one was ever going to fool around in his class. Let them think that he could read minds, that was such an inappropriate term for Occulmency that it only served to prove how uneducated they all were. He could sense the Slytherins taking pleasure in the way that their Head of House treated the Gryffindors, but he did not care. Let them have their fun at the Gryffindors' expense, everyone else laughed at them. The Gryffindors were now on edge, surprised at this obviously biased behaviour from a member of the staff.

"In future, you should keep all thoughts of such behaviour to yourself, Wilkes. Five points from Gryffindor," he finished, rounding off his little speech. The class was looking at each other, exchanging looks, two very different trains of thought about him running through their minds. He was about to wave his wand at the blackboard when a Gryffindor shot up from his stool. He watched the boy coldly as the class fell deathly quiet, the Slytherins waiting for what he would do next.

"You can't do that! It's not fair - he hadn't even done anything!" the young and very unwise Gryffindor shouted, earning gasps from his housemates, anticipating looks from the Slytherins and a caustic stare from himself. The Slytherins were shaking with laughter as he straightened the upright quill on his desk before pursing his lips. What a perfect example of a dim-witted Gryffindor, thinking with his heart instead of his head. Such behaviour was insufferable! Very much like Potter's disregard for the rules.

"Did you not hear what I just said, you insufferable little boy?" he snapped hatefully. "I suggest you use the Exaudio charm to aid your hearing, you are obviously in need of such assistance. That way you might hear something that will penetrate into that thick skull of yours. Furthermore, I see that you are in dire need of some grammatical lessons. I believe that what you were meant to say was 'You cannot do that, sir'."

He pulled back from where he was bearing over the boy and sneered. "Let me see. Ten points from Gryffindor for insulting a professor, plus another five points for cheek (and yes, he knew they were the same thing), and you will serve detention with me in the Potions Office after school."

Throughout the lesson he did not let up on the Gryffindors. Those inflated egos they had were in dire need of some deflating. He had placed instructions for the Shrinking Solution on the board and was now sweeping amongst the class. He encouraged the Slytherins, offering them advice and words that could be considered as compliments. The Gryffindors were faring exactly the opposite. He offered them nothing but cutting remarks, deducting a few points here and there for their sloppy work. All in all, he would be glad when this was over.