The Cat's Whiskers

*Yowl.*

Evan groans. "Get rid of the bloody cat, Snape." On my way, on my way.

Sometimes, being a Slytherin can really get on your nerves. While it *is* the best of all of Hogwarts' Houses, there's one bad thing about being in the 'pit of snakes'. People always try to find something to blackmail you with. And even though ancestry and connections count a lot, what really defines just where you stand is how much blackmail material you have and whom it is about.

*Yowl.*

"Sna-ape." Yes, yes, old man's no Cleansweep Five. Just let me find my slippers. Stone floor's damn cold. Specially in the night, in December.

Of course, you're in a really shitty situation if someone has something to blackmail you with but you don't have anything to blackmail them with in return.

*Scratch. Scratch.* Arg! Shall I tell you something? I hate cats. With a passion. I hate cats. And dogs, too, come to think of it. I hate dogs, as well. And just why am I talking to an imaginary person in my head? I must have gone insane. At least I'm not speaking out loud. I'm not *that* far gone.

*Mrow.*

"Snape!" Shut your trap, Rosier.

*Hiss* And you, too!

It's his bloody fault, anyway. 'That'll be the cat's whiskers!' Indeed!

Still can't find these dang slippers.

"Lumos!" By the dim light of my wand the dormitory looks spooky. I'm not afraid, of course. I'm no Hufflepuff but the shadows on the wall could easily scare a little kid. A first year or something but certainly no second year Slytherin.

"Snape, turn off that fucking light!"

'Snape, do this. Snape, do that!' Who am I? Their bloody butler? Oh, but I know why it's me. Because it's *my* fault that the cats keep scratching on the door. It was *me*, after all, who brewed that potion and it's me, to whom the whole episode can be traced back, if anyone tipped off a teacher. That it was not my idea and that I was against it, in the first place, counts as nothing. Naturally.

Ah, there are the slippers.

*Mrow* I get to you in a sec, pussy. And then you'll wish you've never been born. At least not as a male.

Of all cats I hate tomcats the most. Never able to control their urges.

Now, where is my dressing gown. The air's freezing.

*Mrowowow*

"Snape!" That was Wilkes. He's been in on it, too. In on what? you might ask. I tell you: he was in on our little prank. Admittedly, the idea for it was rather ingenious, though too vulgar for my taste. I really hadn't wanted to sink to Their level. Still, I've let myself be convinced and I've learned my lesson. Two lessons, in fact. Firstly, never trust another's ideas. And secondly, clumsiness can be fateful.

Dressing gown, dressing gown. A Summoning Charm would come in handy now. If I only knew one. Charms isn't really my forte, though I'm not bad at it. DADA and Potions, that's what I excel at. The latter's the reason for this mess, by the way.

'Oh, Severus, you're such an ace at potion making! We've planned this wonderful little surprise for the Gryffies but we need your help. Please?'

It's not like this is an extremely difficult potion. My dear 'friends' were just lazy and I knew it and they knew that I knew but I still agreed in the end. Everything to pay Them back. To see Them humiliated. It's not like They had never humiliated us. Fair is fair, says the Slyth and smirks.

I brewed it in secret in an unused dungeon classroom. While I doubted that any of my fellow Slytherins would tell on us (and me in particular), I didn't want to take any risks (and considering what I told you at the beginning you have to agree with me). I especially did not want to take any risks considering that Benzen is my Head of House. I don't like Benzen. I would never say it while he or someone from another House is around but I can't stand the man. No one can.

There even were times when I wasn't sure whom I liked less Benzen or Them. That's saying something considering what I was and am willing to do to Them. Which is exactly what happened to me. The whole thing backfired. Not because of my skills in potions. The draught was perfect. I mean, it really is a darn easy one. Every little house-wife can do it. The only slightly unpleasant thing about it is its smell. Oh, and that you have to stir it counter-clockwise for one hour non-stop (probably the reason why Wilkes and Rosier didn't want to brew it). My arm hurt like hell afterwards but I wasn't complaining. There are potions, more advanced ones, mind you, which you have to stir for far longer. If I was serious about becoming a Potions Master then I'd have to get used to it. And I was and am serious about it.

Although, whoever is going to employ me until I open shop myself will have to accept one thing: I will never, ever, ever again brew a Conservatio Felis Potion. No, Ma'am.

Hrumph. Can't I at least have an *intelligent* imaginary person in my head? Is that too much to ask for? 'A Conserwhat Potion?', really! Fine, I'll explain. It's not like I have anything better to do till I find my dressing gown.

A Conservatio Felis, a potion which belongs to the Conservatio group of potions, is used to *conserve* the odour of various animals, plans, etc. It's mainly used to give blankets, furs, etc. an eternal, usually pleasant, smell. Did you understand it or do I have to use smaller words?

Just where *is* that gown? If I catch pneumonia I'll really kill that cat. Though, I doubt it came here out of simple curiosity. It followed more primitive urges. Which brings us to the second part of the potion's name, 'Felis'.

'Felis', Latin, means cat. That much even *you* might have guessed. Of course, it also means marten, but that's beside the point. What have we gathered? We've gathered that this potion conserves an odour, the odour of a cat. And to be exact, in this case, the odour of a female cat.

What would a self-respecting Slytherin want with that? Simple. About three days before Wilkes and Rosier approached me the two of them had found the House Elves' laundry room. That in itself hardly explains the need for the potion. What might give you a clue is that the Elves divide the laundry and put them into five different baskets. One for each House and one for the staff. These baskets are labelled. Lets think. Which of the four Houses has a feline creature on its banner? Yes, correct. You might not be a lost case.

"Lights out, Snape!" Fine, then! Gits!

"Nox."

Now, my part in this whole scheme was rather small. While Wilkes and Rosier would actually stain the Gryffies' linens and clothes, all I had to do was brew and bottle that potion.

I had done so and was just bottling it up when something really stupid happened. I bumped against the table on which, beside the cauldron and the bottles, my wand rested. It followed gravity's call, landed on the floor and rolled under the table. What was I to do? I got on my hands and knees and gave chase. Of course, it just *had* to roll as far into the corner as possible. Looking at my hands I discovered just why most detentions consisted of scrubbing floors.

Seeing as it was really extremely dirty down there and that I was in a rather undignified situation, I back-paddled to the edge of the table and tried to rise.

I shouldn't have. Upon lifting my head I hit it on the edge of the table. This wouldn't have been so bad if it hadn't caused the bottle with the Conservatio Potion to drop onto my head and spill.

It was an excellent draught. I knew without a doubt then (and I was proven right) that it would be impossible to get rid of it. It went right into the hair roots.

Ouch. That was my trunk. Maybe, the gown is in there.

I'm not a Slytherin for nothing, however. While we couldn't use the rest of the potion for our prank anymore, since it would have been a child's play to at least track it back to me, I could still get Them in trouble. First things first, I had to get rid of the evidence. Quite easy, a wave of my rescued wand, that damnable thing, and this problem was taken care of.

The second step was to inform Rosier and Wilkes of the change of plans. They weren't happy but they promised to keep their mouths shut. Of course, now they had something to blackmail me with. I mean, I can't prove that it was *their* idea and not mine but like I said they can frame *me*.

The third step was the most difficult one, however. Approaching Benzen and getting him to punish Them based on my false accusation. Not that I told him that this was a lie.

The man is unapproachable, though. He's never been interested in the problems of his pupils and probably never will be. Merlin, I'll throw a party when he finally retires.

'That's your problem, Snape. If you can't watch out for yourself, then you deserve that prank Black and Potter played on you.'

Operation 'Framing Them' had failed. The only thing left for me to do was brew an antidote. There's a problem with this, however: there is no antidote. All I can do, is put loads of special hair grease on it to cover the smell and keep it from diffusing into the room. There is that other possibility, but I don't particularly care for this hair style. I just don't do bald.

The following morning I got the shock of my life. I had hardly sat down at the table when a big, black slobbering beast attacked me. A dog, the DADA teacher's pet. McGonagall wanted to know what was going on, of course. Benzen told her and also demanded that Potter and Black and Pettigrew (I hadn't even mentioned him) be punished. Well, he couldn't possibly ignore my dilemma anymore and since he was so worried over his Slytherins this could not just be ignored. It's all about keeping up appearances for him. Hadn't it been so obvious that something had happened, he wouldn't have done anything.

They got away, of course, like always. Such Gryffindor bullies are to be trusted more than a slimy Slytherin. In this case, it was a correct decision but it never really matters. They get away with such stuff, no matter if they did it or not.

Benzen was in a right mood afterwards. Not because *I* had a lasting damage but because *he* was showed up by Them.

Ha! Found my dressing gown. I put it on. Its material is unrecognisable, I got it from my aunt last Christmas. It's no fur, though. A furred one would be better down here, warmer. Which reminds me.

I open the door enough to see what's outside but not enough to let anything in. There he sits, that little shit. Common house cat, a grey and black tiger. Let's see if he won't cool down a bit.

"Depilo!"

I stare after the furless cat as it races down the hall. No, shearing off my hair would definitely not improve my looks. I'd just be ridiculed. Like this cat will be.

It's female, I think. At least, I couldn't see anything that would have indicated otherwise. Interesting sexual preference for a cat, that. Wonder whom it belongs to.

*

The next morning, Gryffindor Tower.

"James?"

"Eh?"

"Your cat, it's - bald."