The Master Plan

An impressive roar sounded throughout the dungeons, and the Castle trembled violently. After a moment, Harry, Ron and Hermione stumbled out of the potions lab amidst a cloud of acrid, jaundice-colored smoke. The glass from one of Harry's frames had fallen out, and Ron had a swath of soot across his forehead. They managed to totter across the hall and lean against the wall, where they waited, pale and silent, until the ground stopped shaking and students begin filling the hall, looking for the source of the upheaval.

Finally, Hermione shook her head as if to clear it before saying, "Perhaps that wasn't such a good idea." She bit her lip, looking guilty.

"What?" Ron replied. "My ears are still ringing. Cor, that Resonatus Detonum spell didn't half work like you said it would! That was bril, Hermione!"

Hermione reddened a little, only looking half placated about her involvement in the matter. "I think I put a bit too much into it," she admitted.

"Nah," Harry assured her. "It was awesome." The three of them grinned conspiratorially at one another for a moment, before a deep, rich, cultured, and above all, very angry voice began to be heard above the excited din of the crowd in the halls. Their smiles began to falter as they caught sight of Professor Snape plowing through a group of first years toward them.

Harry tried to remind himself that it was all going as planned. The plan, he began to think, might have a small possibility of being flawed. It hadn't taken certain things into account, like Snape's notoriously volatile temper, or the complete and utter gut-wrenching fright Snape on the warpath tended to inspire. Harry swallowed hard. They hadn't made a backup plan. What was wrong with Hermione, that she hadn't devised a backup plan? This Snape was angrier than Harry had anticipated. The plan wouldn't work. What a stupid plan! What should they do? "Maybe we should act like he's a wild animal attacking us, like a bear or something. D'you think we should play dead?"

"I don't think we'll need to play at anything," Hermione responded fervently.

Snape stalked closer, her eyes narrowing murderously.

"Quick!" Harry hissed. "Excuses! Alibis!"

"Er, we didn't do it and we're very sorry for doing it?" Hermione suggested timidly.

"We weren't even here," Ron said instantly. "We were spying on the girls' Quidditch changing rooms."

"Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"That's where we were," Ron continued in a litany of panic. "We weren't here. We aren't even here now. You're imagining things!"

As Snape approached the trembling group, they saw his lips pull back in an enraged snarl. "What did you DO to my DUNGEONS?" he demanded.

"We didn't mean to," Ron quailed. "We'll make it up to you! Here, take Hermione," he pushed her in front of him. "Erm. Virgin sacrifice," he hissed in response to her outraged gasp.

Snape, however, ignored both of them completely. "YOU," he thundered, prodding Harry in the chest with one long, trembling finger.

"Me?" Harry squeaked, his own hands gesturing to himself. "This me?" His green eyes were round with terror.

"You," Snape repeated in a low, venomous tone. "You're the ringleader. I know it. This is entirely your fault. It's ALWAYS your fault."

His hooked nose was mere inches away from Harry's, and Harry found himself going cross-eyed trying to look at it. "No!" he heard himself insist in a high-pitched voice. "No--not! It--always--I," he stammered hysterically. "The fall of Rome! Nothing to do with it! I swear! Wasn't even there! And paper cuts! I had nothing to do with those!"

Severus Snape stood with teeth bared and chest heaving as Professor McGonagall made her way to the scene. "What is going on here?" she gasped, staring at her students. Harry reflected that if he lived to see his next birthday, it would be because of Professor McGonagall's perfectly timed arrival. Surely Snape wouldn't rend him limb-from-limb right in front of her, would he?

Professor Snape closed his eyes for a moment, grimacing, and the trio gazed fearfully up at him, awaiting his response. After merely standing and shaking with rage for a full five minutes, hair disheveled and hands clenched, he finally opened his eyes. They glittered with repressed malevolence. "THREE HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" he screamed. "DETENTIONS FOR ALL OF YOU FOR THE REST OF THE YEAR! WITH FILCH!" he added. "NOT YOU," he pointed at Harry. "YOU'RE not getting off that easy! You're not getting away with it this time! Oh, yes, you get detention too, but not with Filch! This time, you're mine!"

Harry stared at him. "Eek."