#Search for Minerva

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Snape's Search History - Part One

So this has been requested by quite a few people, now. For those who hadn't seen my previous headcanon post: here it is. I will try and tag all those who have expressed interest in the comments.

In short: After stealing Snape's phone and looking through his saddening search history, the trio come up with a plan to make Snape happy. This is how it unfolds, for the Potions Master has little idea what to make of it.

Enjoy and do reblog to inform the others!!

Part One.

All was still in the empty Transfiguration classroom. The dust lay undisturbed and thick upon the solid desks, which in turn were standing silent and endeavouring in their fortitude of unuse. The chalkboard looked dejected, the forgotten endeavours of clearing it of writing still visible in ashy smudges across the charcoal surface. And it would have probably stayed like that for another decade or two if the door wasn’t flung open and three small figures stumbled from behind it, making enough noise for the dust to twitch into the air again. A ‘quick, quick!’ was spat out by one of the disturbers accompanied by a few hisses of urge, then a scrabble as the doorknob was found and the door was pushed.

The dust jumped up from the desk as the door slammed shut and settled back upon it once more as Harry, Ron and Hermoine stood, panting, in front of it. 

After a short moment, Ron pushed himself from the door. His face broke out in a wide grin.

“Blimmin’ heck, that was a mess!” He laughed and dusted his hands. “He’ll be looking for it, now, I bet.”

“But we’ve got it!” Harry grasped the trophy tight, as though he was afraid that it would slip from him, back to its owner. “Let’s do it quick, before someone else comes to find us and sees us.”

Hermoine said nothing, but she was far from calm herself - in fact, she was inches from jumping down on the spot and breaking out into a mad giggle. The latter she repressed with difficulty as they all stormed to the nearest table, swept off the perplexed dust from it with their sleeves, then laid out the shiny, sleek device upon its surface.

The device was a phone. It wasn’t any old phone, either, for if it was perhaps only a few of the more eccentric would deem it a subject of interest. This was a working phone, one which withstood any feuds between its power and the magic sparking and fizzing, though quiet and invisible, in the air; even better yet - this phone belonged to a certain man whom the three giggling and bending over its shiny, black surface, hated with a vengeance. This phone belonged to the Potion’s Master: Severus Snape.

“Go on, Hermione.” Ron slid the phone over to the small witch with bushy brown hair. “You said you knew the password.”

Hermione nodded, growing solemn at the task at hand, shoved her brown mane out of her eyes and bent over the screen, which grew illuminated at the touch of a button.

“Merlin’s beard, what my dad would give to be in our place,” Ron breathed, as Hermoine tapped out some letters and numbers with her forefingers. “A fellytone, and a working one too-”

“It’s called a telephone, Ron,” Harry corrected, though he could barely breathe as he watched Hermione’s fingers working. “Ha, I cannot believe we’ve actually managed to do this. Fred and George are nothing compared to us, now.”

“I’d love to see their faces,” Ron whispered, almost wriggling with glee. “And I’m the one who fished it out of his pocket! Now, all we need to do is-”

“Got it.” Hermione smiled as the screen changed, displaying buttons with different icons upon a plain, dark backdrop. “Now, if I remember correctly, it's called explorer…”

“Why aren’t we doing this in the common room, again?” Ron continued. “I know Percy’s a prefect, but even he wouldn’t-”

“Because, Ron,” Hermoine began as she chose the right button, “we have no idea what Snape actually keeps or searches for on this phone. If it’s all weird, we’d be too embarrassed to even attempt showing it to them. Plus,” she added, when Ron opened his mouth to interject, “it’s not like we’re going to cast it out of the window as soon as we’re done. It’s not magic - at least I don’t think it is - and it won’t just disappear or fly out to find Snape. We can show the rest of our classmates later.”

Ron opened his mouth again, but then understood the sense of this and closed it. 

“There it is,” Harry said, as Hermione searched for the right option. “History. Oh, boy, this is gonna be good. If he’s not cleared it.”

Ron rubbed his hands and rocked on the balls of his feet as he leaned on the table. “Yeah, as ‘Mione said, I bet it's all weird. Let's see what’s first.”

Dangling hair and breathing mingled and hovered inches from the square surface as all three leaned in to see. However, there was hardly any giggling, after they all read the first position on the records of what, precisely, the Potion’s Master searched for whenever he had a spare moment. In fact, there was none at all, and the glee was slowly replaced with something that none of them had been expecting.

Hermoine’s eyes dulled and eyebrows furrowed as she read the first position aloud.

“... ‘How to be more approachable’.”

There was a rather awkward pause. Hermione made a rather sad ���oh’ sound. Ron shifted slightly.

“That’s kind-of sad, to be honest,” he finally managed, frowning.

“Scroll down, Hermione,” Harry waved aside the tension and leaned forward again. “That’s only the first position. Perhaps he’s had a change of heart.”

“And the most recent,” Hermione murmured, but she scrolled down obediently. 

“Yeah, I bet it’s all weird further down,” Ron muttered, but they were all disproved again. Their childish glee was completely reduced to something rather prickly and uncomfortable as Hermione ploughed through the searches:

“...Where can happiness be obtained…” 

“...How to tolerate children…” 

“...Patience, tips...”

“...Wholesome fiction with happy ending… stories with happy ending… which sad books to avoid… books to make one’s soul happy…”

And then:

“...Fast, effective…”

Here, Hermione paused and bit her lip, her eyes sparkling strangely, her brow now heavy. Harry glanced at her, then finished for her.

“Fast, effective headache relief.” He straightened and shifted from foot to foot, then looked at Ron for some sort of inspiration to dilute the thickness of the air. “Did you know Snape gets headaches, Ron?”

“Nope,” Ron offered, looking rather ashamed of himself and his gloating, the tips of his ears pink. “I didn’t think so. I mean, it makes sense though, doesn’t it…?”

“I feel terrible,” Hermione whispered, balling her fists.

“Yeah, we should probably put it back,” Ron said, though he didn’t look as enthusiastic about slipping the phone back into the Potion Master’s pocket than he did about proudly obtaining it. “Should we just leave it on his desk when he’s not in the classroom?”

“And how are we going to do that?” Harry asked, frowning. “We can’t go running around the dungeons. The Slytherin common rooms are there.”

Hermione sniffed, then rolled her eyes, pushing the phone away from her. “You have an invisibility cloak, Harry. This shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They stood there for another few seconds, before Harry reached out and hesitantly pocketed the phone. “Let’s get back to the common rooms. We don’t need to mention this to anybody.”

“No, we don’t.” Ron said sadly, recalling his former words of potential victory over Fred and George and how they just went down the drain. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

The dust was rather glad to be free of them, and so was the classroom. Only the desks, however, were rather miserable that they once again stood alone in their fortitude of unuse, unnoticed, only there to be berated and slandered by the students. Just like, as the trio would soon deduce, Severus Snape, the Potion’s Master, was.

*

A week passed. The phone was returned back to Snape’s desk without much ado. After that, it was unmentioned, and whenever it was glimpsed, three pairs of eyes were averted to the candles or windows, and most certainly not to each other, no words about it leaving their mouths, though they most certainly bounced around in their brains, though some were more cluttered than the others’.

It was through Harry’s mouth that the uncomfortable topic surfaced and it did so on a Saturday evening, in the library, when the day was slowly coming to an end and the sun was sinking slowly outside the mullioned windows. Ron was scowling at his Transfiguration homework, when Harry shot out a sigh through his nose and put down his quill.

“Listen, guys,” he started, nudging Hermione, who didn’t look as though she had heard him and just kept right on scribbling, her nose nearly touching the parchment. “I’ve been thinking… Hey, Hermione, are you listening?”

“Shush.” Hermoine glared at him, then shot a pointed glance at Madam Pince. “We’ll get kicked out.”

Ron’s scowl didn’t shift and was merely re-directed at its favourite subject of complaint with large front teeth and a vehement urge to stuff her head with new fragments of knowledge. 

“Not if we keep our voices down,” he said, potting his quill too. “Talk, Harry.”

Harry opened his mouth mainly to play on Hermione’s nerves than to follow through on his plans, when his mind did a detour to the wisdom of him touching on such a sensitive topic in a public place.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he said with a nod. “Not because this is the library. We need to speak about… you know what.”

This was of enough weight for Hermione’s quill to stop moving. She shot him a glance, then met eyes with Ron and sighed.

“Yes,” she whispered. “We can’t speak about this here. To be honest, I’ve been meaning to speak about this to you both too.”

They latched up their bags, grabbed their stationary, then swiftly exited the library, tripping over Harry and Ron’s untied shoelaces. Hermoine grabbed them by their bags when they turned the corridor towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

“The common room’s full,” she hissed. “We should go outside. We won’t be overheard there.”

“Hermoine’s right,” Harry said, nudging Ron. “Let’s go.”

They turned around, then began slowly walking down towards the main gates. They all kept silent, their eyes trained mainly to the floor, sometimes only looking up to meander around the other students milling around the corridor. It was probably why they didn’t notice the ominous figure walking towards them until they had all but face-planted themselves into its black robes.

Hermione was the first to look up and stick out her arms to halt the other two, her eyes sharpening after she was prodded out of her thoughts by this slightly unwelcome reality. Harry and Ron had similarly dumb expressions as they blinked up at her, then at what was in front of them.

Professor Snape’s voice was as restricted to nothing but cold disdain as usual, and the black of both his clothes and expression matched this regularity. 

“Where are we going?”

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it.

“Outside for a moment, Professor Snape.”

Harry paused, then nodded along with Ron, trying to appear as though they weren’t hiding anything at all. The Potion’s Master observed them for a moment or two longer, before lowering eyebrows and, as it seemed, his guard.

“I suggest you look where you’re going,” was all he said, before drawing his cape about him and turning to pass them. But he didn’t manage to pass them, when Hermoine opened her mouth and after drawing a deep breath, emitted a string of words strung upon the same one:

“I hope you have a good night, Professor Snape.”

It was quite uncanny, really, how all three males looked at her with the same degree of incredulity and astonishment upon their faces, apparently forgetting things like enmity and dislike. It was enough to make poor Hermione flush a deep red and her words to run away from her before she could properly filter them through her teeth and tongue.

“Just being polite, is all,” she muttered, before she tugged on Harry and Ron’s sleeves sharply. “Come on, let’s go.”

She dragged them off with enough force for Snape’s surprise to cool off and his usual stone face return as he watched them stagger, though that was only visible to Harry and Ron for a few seconds before the vehement grip on their arms prevented them from turning back around, in case they both got whiplash. 

“Are you mental? What was that?” Ron hissed at her, when they rounded a corner, then he did a double take when he fixed his eyes on her features. “Blimey, Hermione, you’ve gone absolutely scarlet.”

“You’ve gone redder than his hair,” Harry commented, though with a hint of admiration in his tone as he stared.

“Oh, shut up,” Hermione muttered, then dragged them through the main door, into the cool of the evening. “Never mind that. Let’s talk about the subject at hand. And don’t tell me you’ve not been thinking about doing something similar to what I did.”

She glared at Ron and Harry, still flushed. They both pulled faces back, but they dropped their gaze after a few seconds as they trudged through the foliage.

“Alright, maybe,” Ron muttered under his breath, when they reached the black lake. “But it was nowhere near to what you just did.”

“What precisely did I just do?” Hermione snapped. “I was just being polite.”

“You were sucking up to him-”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.” Ron put on a high-pitched voice. “I hope you have a wonderful night, Professor Snape-”

“Oh, shut up!” She stamped her foot. “You act as though you’re entirely ignorant. You were there when we looked at his history. You saw it. And if complaining and arguing about this is the best you can do, then I pity you, Ronald Weasley!”

“Alright,” Harry cut in, weakly. “That’s not what we came here to do. Let’s just get it over and done with before curfew.”

Hermione glared at Ron once more before settling down. Both folded their arms and stared at the lake. Harry pursed his lips, for it was much harder to project his thoughts than he thought it would be, now that they were actually all together for that purpose alone.

“I think Hermione’s right,” he began, when Hermione was no longer red. “It would be wrong to keep at… you know.”

Ron snorted. “Being mad at Snape for picking on us for no reason?”

“He picks on everyone.” Hermione said, her eyes narrowed. “We’re no exception. Well, perhaps Harry is, but then you did get off to the wrong start at the beginning of the year.”

“No he didn’t,” said Ron.

“He was talking back to him,” she argued. “And it was the first interaction they had. No wonder Snape hates Harry.”

“And you,” Ron said pointedly. “You’re pretty much every teacher’s pet but his, and do you know why? Because he’s an-”

“Can you two not?” Harry snapped. “Can you two calm down? Please? This is serious.”

The arguing pair scowled at one another and resumed evaporating the lake with their glares.

“So,” Harry said, once enough silence had passed, “I think we ought to… you know, help him a bit. Be, erm, nicer.”

Ron turned and creased his forehead, but Hermione nodded, solemnly.

“We ought to,” she said, softly. “I told you, I was thinking about it. It’s all about perspective, really.”

“Perspective?”

“Yes,” she said. “Think about it from Snape’s perspective. Do you reckon he has a lot of friends?”

Ron scoffed. “Don’t make me laugh. Who would want to be friends with him? ‘Course he hasn’t.”

“Precisely,” she said, though she looked at him reproachfully. “You’re teaching over five-hundred children Potions, all of whom, if I may add, are intent on either not listening, not doing homework, or just being downright rude. Yes, Ron, I know he’s like that too, and perhaps he does deserve it, and if we didn’t know better, we’d be justified in biting back. The point is, he’s clearly sad. He looks it. He looks downright miserable all the time.”

“You’re blowing this over.”

“Oh, am I?” Hermione said. “Tell me one time in which you saw him smile. And I don’t mean meanly. I mean happily. Have you ever heard him laugh? Because I haven’t.”

Ron sucked on his lips, looking torn. Harry listened, looking solemn.

“I haven’t either,” he said, quietly. “At first, I thought like Ron does, but… I’ve lived with the Dursleys my whole life. They’ve held grudges for no reason, for a long time, and it's tiring to be the person receiving them and keeping them up.”

Hermione looked at him with eyes lined with admiration. She nodded.

“Exactly, Harry. We could just be the reason for somebody’s… well, perhaps not happiness, but… tolerance.”

“And how are we going to do that?” Ron asked, still looking begrudging, but not unwilling. “By saying good morning and good night?”

“We could,” Harry said thoughtfully. “That wouldn’t be going over the top, or anything.”

Hermione must have thought about this more carefully than both of them put together, because she started counting out everything they could do upon her fingers as she spoke.

“Not just that,” she began. “We could do everything which is expected of us, for starters. Like doing homework on time, doing it correctly, not just so that it's done and boxed off without thought, the right parchment length, perhaps more… I know, we could get the older students to check it for us, so that we know we’ve done it right… then, we could actually listen in lessons and excel…”

Ron was frowning as she spoke. Even Harry was getting slightly doubtful they would ever manage such a feat. 

“...Do extra work. If you don’t want to, Ron, then we could do something outside of lessons. Not necessarily work.”

“Then what?” Harry asked. “Like what?”

“We could… you know.” Hermione’s face became slightly pink again. “We could find out when his birthday is.”

“That’s going too far,” said Ron, firmly, looking slightly agonised. “Imagine his face… oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Hermione agreed. “But then, I don’t know what else to do.”

“That sounds like a pretty good start to me,” Harry said. “Let’s start with lessons, Hermione, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll think of something else.”

Hermione’s face lit up, and for a moment both boys were afraid that she’d hug them.

“Great!” She grinned, then began walking towards the castle. “We have Potions on Monday, and homework due. Let’s get this done now! There’s still time. Alicia Spinnet’s good at potions - she’ll be able to point us in the right direction.”

Harry and Ron turned from the lake and began to follow Hermione as she marched towards the castle with an enigmatical spring in her step.

“I don’t know about you,” said Ron, as she talked on, “but I’ve got a weird feeling this is going to end up in a mess.”

“We’ve been in loads already,” Harry said, though there was something uneasy in his chest too, “so it won’t really make a difference. But Hermione’s got a point,” he added, after they reached the steps to the castle gate, “it must be annoying, being Snape. And, as we all know, doing homework properly’s always a good start to everything.”

“That’s utter garbage.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, grinning. “I’m quoting Hermione. She does it like she can’t live without it. And, from a teacher’s point of view, less marking seems like a good thing, at least to me.”

So the endeavours began, though they didn’t hold out to be as constant a flourish and blaze as Hermione made it out to be. Especially not after she insisted that they do twice the usual length as some form of surprise. 

“I’m not doing that,” Ron complained, throwing himself back in his chair and folding his arms. “I’ve got enough work as it is. And I’ve already done it to the best possible standard. Even you’ve said it's not bad, Hermione.”

“It looks decent,” she said, unrolling her homework, which made both Harry and Ron’s pale in comparison. “But if we’re going to show that we’re not hostile any more, we ought to try harder.”

So the homework was done somewhat begrudgingly and everything seemed to be going to plan, before Sunday evening. More precisely, the free afternoon of Harry and Ron was disturbed by Hermione suddenly coming in through the portrait hole, clutching something behind her back, then moving swiftly towards them and sitting at the table at which they were currently playing wizard’s chess.

“I’ve got something,” she said, slightly flushed. “You’re not going to believe what I made in the girls’ bathroom.”

The game was paused and the boys looked suspicious as they turned to look at her.

“The girls’ bathroom?” Ron repeated bluntly. “What have you been making in the girls bathroom, Hermione, that could make you go so bloody pink?”

They both looked blank as she withdrew a hand from behind her back and placed its contents upon the surface of the table with a rather proud flourish. It was a glass bottle, the sort which looked rather like a cuboid, stoppered with a round cork. It was filled with a light blue liquid, which seemed to glow faintly as it rested within its cool, glass confines. 

“That doesn’t look innocent,” Harry commented, knocking over Ron’s bishop. “What is it, Hermione?”

“It’s a headache draught,” she said proudly. “I found the recipe in one of the books in the library.”

Ron pushed his lips out as he stared at it, then picked it up.

“How d’you know he’ll know this is a headache draught, Hermione?”

“I reckon he’d know, since he’s the Potion’s Master.”

“But doesn’t that mean he’s fully capable of making these himself?” Harry asked. “It’s not like it would be a problem for him.”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione said slightly impatiently, taking back the bottle from Ron, “but the thing is that some people, men especially, simply don’t bother with taking care of themselves. That’s what my mum once said, and I’ve observed it since. I have a good reason to suspect that Snape isn’t the sort to ensure his health is top-notch.”

“I wouldn’t care if I was him,” Ron agreed. “What’s there to live for, for him? If I had to teach a bunch of snotty kids Potions everyday, I’d probably kill myself.”

There was a bit of an awkward pause - Harry had begun to nod, but lost the ability to move his head as he caught the disapproval in Hermione’s eyes.

“I mean,” Ron corrected himself, “you’re probably right, anyway. How long did it take you to make this?” “An hour,” she replied, “but that was because I messed up the first one. I added a bat-wing too many, so I had to pour that down the sink. Anyway.” She sat up straight again, folding her hands on the table neatly. “It said that half this bottle is to be drunk with fluid twice daily. So we need to make this once a day.”

“We’re going to run out of ingredients within a week,” Harry commented. 

“Not unless we take a little too many during Potions,” Hermione said coolly. “It’s a basic potion, using basic ingredients. Nothing Snape doesn’t have in his cupboard.”

“That would be stealing, though,” Ron said. 

“No it wouldn’t, though, since we are giving it back to him in the form of self-help,” Harry replied. “And you are going to be making it every day, Hermione?” 

In response, Hermoine thrust her hands into her pockets and produced another six vials, placing them with a clink, clink, clink upon the table, neatly. The boys looked at her with varying degrees of astonishment and admiration as she lined the bottles up.

“When these run out,” was the nonchalant reply, though the pink returned to Hermione’s cheeks as it was spoken, “I will do so. Unless you’d like to help me make them.”

“I think I’m good,” Ron said. “You can take all the credit if you want, Hermione - I’ll be happy with just doing extra work.”

“Great,” Hermione replied, ignoring the slight annoyance tinging the last two words spoken. “Then we will start from tomorrow.”

*

As all three of the enlightened Gryffindors lined up outside the dungeon’s classroom on a Monday morning, all three could feel their hearts beating somewhere in their stomach. Hermione, as usually was the case when feverish with excitement or trepidation, wouldn’t stop talking, even for the danger of any nerves exploding in her counterparts.

“Remember what I mentioned yesterday,” she whispered with obstinance, leaning in so that she wouldn’t be overheard. “If anything happens, try not to shout, don’t argue, just try to be as polite as you can. Yes, even if it isn’t your fault, Ron,” she added, cutting off Ron’s indignant reply. “Just try to be as good-willed as possible.”

A drawling voice cut off this heartfelt advice.

“What are you three whispering about?” Draco Malfoy called from the front of the line. “You must be conspiring, since you’re standing so close to each other. Or are you just trying to kiss Potter, Granger?”

Hermione straightened, Ron scowled, Harry opened his mouth to retort, but they never got to, since the former turned around and raised her eyebrows.

“I hope you’re not jealous,” she replied, coolly, “because that would be gross.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Jealous? Of kissing you? Bleh.” He made a show of shuddering, then nudged Crabbe and Goyle, standing beside him. “Imagine kissing someone with teeth like that. They're absolutely massive. It would be like trying to kiss a beaver.”

Hermione’s lips turned down; Ron flushed a fiery red and took a step forward, but Hermione grabbed his shoulders before his clenched fist could go into swing.

“Snape will invite us in any second,” she hissed. “Don’t be provoked, Ron.”

“Yeah, don’t listen to him,” Harry said, shooting a look of hatred towards the blonde, pinched-featured boy guffawing. “He’s just being an idiot. It’s his natural state, he can’t help it.”

At that moment, the doors to the classroom creaked open, and they all began to file into their places. Harry and Ron began to meander towards the back of the classroom to their usual spot, but Hermione knocked on their arms and pointed towards the front row instead.

“Oh no,” Ron moaned, looking fearful, “no, not the front desks, Hermione…”

“Shut up, Ron,” was all she said before she dragged them towards the ominous front desks, just (oh, horror!) in front of the black board. They ignored the strange looks they received from the others around them and instead focused on unpacking all of their things needed for the lesson.

It seemed that they were all off for a good start, when Harry opened his bag, rummaged around in it for a moment, then looked stricken.

“What is it?” Hermione hissed, noticing, as she laid out her stationary geometrically on the desk. “Did you forget your homework?”

“No, I’ve forgotten to bring my Potions book,” he replied, turning his bag upside down. “Oh, great…”

“Silence,” Snape called from behind his desk, watching them with a distasteful look on his pale face. “Sit down.”

They all sat and slid their bags off the desk. Harry hoped nothing amiss would be noticed and instead of wriggling around nervously, he tried to listen carefully as the lesson began. Of course, Hermione had made the effort of ensuring that she was sitting between him and Ron, so that they wouldn’t give into temptations and burst into conversation with one another during inappropriate times.

Snape’s eyes darted towards them in a rather suspicious nature as the lesson began, as though he was expecting something dishonest at the least from this sudden change of seating and eagerness. However, the three looked back with innocent eyes, which, in turn, made the Potions Master’s eyes narrower, before he turned to write upon the chalkboard.

“You will be working in pairs,” he said, once all the instructions had been written and the sleeping draught introduced, “I expect this to be done and detailed on parchment by the end of the lesson.”

The vehemence with which Hermione threw herself into the task was quite unsettling, at least for the other two. However, since there were three of them, either Harry or Ron was going to have to go and work with another, and since neither of them wanted to be parted from Hermione (who, as usual, looked as though she knew exactly what she was doing) there was a little bit of dithering done. 

“Ron, why don’t you go and work with Neville?” Hermione suggested, as Harry slid over to her and almost grasped her arm as though to claim her for the lesson.

Ron looked stricken. 

“Are you mad?” he hissed, as discreetly as he could. “We’ll blow up the classroom!”

Hermione sighed. “No, you won’t-”

“Yes we will! It’s already happened twice before!”

However, Snape intervened before anything could be decided. They flinched, feeling the cold of his shadow and turned to see him standing behind them with his arms folded and his eyes still narrowed.

“Well?” He looked at the dithering three, from bushy brown hair to green eyes to freckles on nose. “This doesn’t look like a pair, to me.”

Harry shot a look at Ron; Ron glowered and made no move to move away. Hermione looked desperate.

“I’ll work with Neville,” she said, making them both shoot her panicked looks instead. “You two work together.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Snape said coolly, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Potter, move your things to Longbottom’s desk. Weasley, you will work with Granger.”

Harry was about to open his mouth to protest, when Hermione stood on his foot and he ended up shutting it and nodding instead.

“Yes, sir,” he said, though sounding  slightly dispirited, then obediently gathered up his things and went to sit with Neville, whose round eyes didn’t leave Snape for the entirety of the time. He laid out all of his things, trying not to look at Ron, who looked rather smug at the change of circumstances, then looked up to find Snape’s eyes narrowed more still as they swept over the things he laid out on the desk.

“Where is your textbook, Potter?” Snape asked softly, his arms folded about him, looking much displeased. “Did you perhaps think that the presence of the scar on your forehead makes you unobliged to bring it? Or perhaps you think you know what to do already, without the book’s aid?”

Malfoy, who was working with Goyle to their left, snorted and nudged his crony. Harry remembered Hermione’s words and swallowed down his words, which were far too red and sharp for the plan they were trying so hard to execute.

“I apologise, sir,” he said, managing to sound relatively polite and stop himself from glowering at the same time, then took a deep breath. “I must have left it in the library yesterday. It’s my fault entirely.”

Neville stared at him. So did Snape. Harry turned to the former.

“Can I share your potions book today, Neville?”

“Sure,” Neville stammered out, then slid it over to him. “Here… here you go.”

“Thank you.” He turned to look back at Snape, who was looking incredulous at the least, almost nervous at the fact that he wasn’t firing a projectile of arrogance back at him. “Sorry to be an inconvenience, sir.”

At this, Snape actually took a small step back, twitching his cape around himself as though putting up a shield of defence, his eyebrows unbending themselves and creeping slowly upwards. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Hermione shoot him a huge grin and give him a very big thumbs-up. Ron looked torn between cringing and clapping, but ended up nodding in approval.

Snape must have been so thrown off-balance by this alarming bout of humility on Harry’s part, that didn’t even give him a reply. He just slid away from their desk with a last thorough look at him, probably deciding he was under the influence of some spell and not being worthy of both his time or his nerves.

“Nice job, Harry,” Hermione said to him over her bubbling cauldron. “See, you can keep your cool if you want to.”

“I nearly didn’t,” Harry replied with a grin, feeling some odd sense of pride from this accomplishment. “But tell me, Hermione, how are you going to put that vial on his desk?”

“Oh, I’ve got that all figured out,” she said rather breezily, dropping powdered porcupine spine into her mixture. “I’ll leave my book here, then come and get it during break, while he’s gone to the staffroom. Or perhaps I’ll just do it when his back is turned. I’ll manage somehow.”

With that Harry couldn’t argue, so he turned back to his potion and met with Neville’s intrigued face.

“What are you up to?” he asked quietly, as they cut and measured. Harry thought there wasn’t any point in elaborating, so he just said:

“We’re trying to be nice to Snape.”

“Nice to Snape?” Neville repeated, pausing with his cutting knife hovering above his cutting board. “Why’s that?”

Harry shrugged, stirring his potion the way it said on the chalkboard. “Nothing much. Thought we’d have some fun and do some good, you know, Neville?”

Neville didn’t look as though he understood, but then he shrugged and nodded.

“That’s… nice,” he murmured thoughtfully, then nothing more was said on the matter, though he didn’t look quite as uneasy as he did before. In fact, he looked slightly impressed.

Everything would have ended nicely and according to plan if Harry and Neville weren’t stationed at that particular desk. Their sleeping draught was slowly turning a bright-purple colour, as was Hermione and Ron’s (when Harry glanced over), when suddenly there was a sound of splashing and Harry was slapped in the face with several globs of his concoction; someone had thrown something into their cauldron.

Goyle was grinning. Malfoy sniggered, then moved a few steps back to his desk.

“Looked like it needed more bat-wing, Potter.” He shrugged. “You’re welcome.”

Harry stepped forward and was about to tell him exactly what he thought of him with his fists, when Neville poked him frantically and said, “Look!”

He turned back just as the huge, purple bubble swelling out of the rim of his cauldron popped; there was a sound like a giant slug being squelched and Neville and Harry were drenched from head to toe in sticky goo. 

There was a gasp, silence, then a few pounding footsteps, rustling of fabric and Snape stood before them with his eyes black and his mouth sneering.

“You idiots,” he began, whipping out his wand as their cauldron gave another sickening squelch and more gunk splattered out. “Did you not read the instructions? Can you two even read?”

“It wasn’t our fault, Professor,” Neville stammered, wiping gunk off his face, looking worriedly at his ruined robes. “Malfoy threw a bat wing into our cauldron. It was coming along so well, too…”

Snape’s eyes flickered to Malfoy, who pulled a face which was obviously meant to look innocent, then back to Harry, who had taken off his glasses and was frowning as he tried to remove the sludge from their surface so he could actually see.

“That’s right, Professor,” he managed, frowning. “We’d followed your instructions, this time.”

From the corner of his eye Harry saw the shape of Hermione draw something out from her pocket, nip backwards a few steps and discreetly place it on Snape’s desk.

Snape didn’t notice anything, still looking furious. He looked at the purple gunk disdainfully, waved his wand, vanishing it off them and the table.

“Five points from Slytherin,” he snapped at Malfoy, then turned to Neville and Harry. “And five from Gryffindor, for the disturbance.”

This was horribly unfair and normally, Harry would have exclaimed and let him know that it was just so, but Harry had a certain mindset now along with Hermione making frantic motions at him from behind Snape’s back, and so he didn’t say a word as he put his glasses back on and stared at him.

“I apologise for the inconvenience, sir.” He pursed his mouth and shot a look at Malfoy, who’s grin wasn’t as prominent, now that he had been put in his place. “Thank you for cleaning the mess up for us.”

This time, Snape certainly looked baffled. He even looked displeased, his lip curling downwards, though Harry had a feeling it was because he had no idea what was going on, rather than him being disgusted at the good upbringing he was no doubt convinced Harry didn’t have. Ron stifled a snigger with his hands. Hermione smiled.

“Yes,” Neville piped up, surprising all of them, as he examined his clean robes. “Thanks for the help, sir.”

Snape stared at him, then shot a glance at Harry, then made a sound similar to an incredulous scoff and waved his hand for the rest to get on with working. The babble of chatter slowly resumed, as did the clinking of vials and hushed muttering of the flames beneath the cauldrons.

Harry watched Snape walk back to his desk with his eyes still narrowed, sit down, apparently lost in thought, then actually look at his desk and pause.

Hermione’s eyes shot a discreet look at the Potions Master and the corner of her mouth couldn’t restrain itself from twitching upwards as Snape picked up the headache draught in two fingers (it was very clearly labelled in block writing, so that it was unable to tell who had written it) and read the label. The trio watched his eyes grow wide as his eyes scanned over it - he was astonished! - then flash upwards with suspicion.

Hermione had already averted her eyes with Ron, pretending to be reading a passage in the book together, and Harry managed to do the same very shortly after, so Snape simply scoured the room and found no potential gifters in any of the gathered. He looked back down to the little blue bottle. He uncorked it, brought it up to his nose hesitantly (probably expecting a lungful of poisonous fumes, Harry thought), then with the same expression lowered it, corked it and carefully placed it back down on his desk.

Like Hermione, Harry couldn’t keep himself from smiling as he watched the Potions Master’s reaction. Snape looked blankly at the vial for a second longer, then a strange expression of bewilderment came over him: he dragged a hand down his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and began to massage his eyes. He looked impressively beaten. More befuddled than Harry had ever seen him, which was strange, for this was nothing but an apparent act of thoughtfulness - it was as though he had no idea how to react to it!

As the class began to unroll their parchments to copy down the writing on the blackboard and add notes, Snape’s eyes kept shooting reluctant glances towards the strange present on his desk. Once or twice he even picked it up with a strange look of calm and intrigue on his face to study it.

Harry couldn’t sit still, and from the looks of it, neither could Hermione and Ron. Ron kept snickering to himself; Hermione was pink with pleasure and often joined him in his quiet outbursts of laughter. Before the lesson was out, all three were in such high spirits that Neville looked unsettled, because whenever he caught their eye they beamed at him richly, then went back to their work smiling.

“Homework,” Snape called at the end of their lesson, back to his dark mood and expression. “I want you to place it on the front table as you walk out. Now, go.”

Harry withdrew his homework from his bag - this, he hadn’t forgotten since Hermione had checked both their bags thrice - along with Hermione and Ron. They packed up, put on their bags, then approached the desk together. All three parchments were unmistakably longer than anybody else’s and almost rolled off the table as they placed them on the pile. 

When they turned to Snape, his face was made of marble.

“See you later, sir,” Ron began. “Good lesson.”

“Have a good rest of your day, Professor Snape,” Hermione added.

“Thanks again for your help, Professor,” Harry finished with a polite nod, then turned and walked out.

As soon as they were out in the corridor and the door was shut, they all burst out, clutched at one another in excitement, hissing out observations and whispering:

“Blimey, did you see his face?” Ron chortled, punching Harry in the arm. “He was absolutely gob-smacked.”

“I bet he feels bad about taking points off you, now,” Hermione added, her teeth gleaming as she grinned. “But listen. In a sense, this is completely worth it.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t get him so out of it any other way if we tried,” Ron added with vehemence. “We’re closer to getting him to quit his job by being decent to him than by being awful. Did you see his face when he picked up Hermione’s vial?”

He pulled a face of bewilderment, doing such a good impression that they all burst out laughing as they rounded the corner, running straight into Professor McGonagall who raised an eyebrow at this buzzing of laughter and jovial mood which they were exhibiting.

“Good morning,” she said to them, clearly looking for an explanation which, unfortunately for her, she wasn’t going to get, for her recipients were having far too much fun in their enigmatical benevolence to provide it to her.

“Good morning, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione sang as they walked past. “You look really nice today!”

“Yeah, enjoy the nice weather, Professor,” Harry added, “while it lasts!”

“Have a good morning,” Ron added as they got out of earshot, then waved and turned back around.

Minerva McGonagall stared after them with her lips pursed, wondering whether to follow them to check whether any charms had been cast on them to put them in such a cheerful spell or to pen this strange enthusiasm as the aftereffect of something ridiculous. The former seemed most likely to be the case, since they had just come out of Potions, and as far as everybody was aware - unless something catastrophic had happened which had temporarily rendered the Potions Master a fool in their eyes - it wasn’t exactly their favourite lesson for obvious reasons.

She made up her mind a moment later, and after twitching the quill she was holding in two fingers, she directed her footsteps towards the dungeons and the Potion’s classroom to find out more about the state of affairs.

[fowlstotch]

a little bit of rambling

Ok, so, something that I've been thinking is that the ship name for Artemis and Minerva is kinda LAZYYYYY!! Like, it's just putting their names together, get a little bit creative with it 😭but I get it, people have probably been using that ship name since like 2006 but again kinda lazy imo.

also, I can't stop thinking that Artemis has Dr. Mike's haircut and even used him as referenced lmaoo

[merrigoroundandround]

control - yugo the promised neverland edit (tiktok)

[surducktapewallet]

Can anyone recommend me some lengthy and as close to canon as possible fics of when McGonagall went to Hogwarts?

I’ve having a really hard time finding anything and I’m really interested in the era before the Marauders (their parents and when Minerva attended as a student), mid 1940s-50s.

Anything would be appreciated, I only use AO3 nowadays though lol.

[dramioneasks]

Hi ! So I read this fanfic where Theo, Draco and Hermione is paired by a marriage law while they were still in Hogwarts. I think they were given money according to their grades and were able to purchase a cottage inside Hogwarts. I also remember that Mcgonagall and Snape were also paired as a side couple. Please help me find it!!

Anyone?

[iniziare]

This feels so good to do. Tag drop: Ezio Auditore. Verses for GI/HSR/DA are a WIP.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#also he’d totally work well as a couple with pepe #chef medic combo as parental figures later on? terrifying force smh

When this is essentially already canon

(Chapter 114)

Sandy is super underrated like.. He was the only dude allowed to help with Emma’s makeover, and he was super nice with it. Giving Emma a hairpin to help hide her ear to help her insecurities? Godtier, thank you Sandy.

Then there’s the simple fact of how supportive he is! Like seriously, the whistle to show how impressed he is with Emma’s shot is unnecessary but super wholesome.

He also just radiates positive energy, and his status as a medic probably reflects that a whole ton. Look at this face and tell me he isn’t that friendly stranger that asks if you’re okay if they saw you fall off your bike? You can’t.

In summary since this is such a small post? Sandy’s great and I love him and he’s absolutely my favorite GP kid.

[fullscoreshenanigans]

Posuka Demizu’s New Year's Art for 2025 (Year of the Snake)

[jmwdoesthings]

Snape's search history headcanon:

Yes, so hear me out! So basically, if Snape had a phone, his search history would be a huge subject of interest and some sort of trophy to obtain for all those who hate him. Hence:

Harry, Ron and Hermione (after an exhausting attempt and many, many hours of planning) manage to obtain and get into Snape's phone. They're all convinced his browsing history is going to be all creepy and slimy (given he's not wiped it) but instead, when they open it, it goes something like this:

Harry: Got it. Oh, this is going to be good. First one on the list...

Ron:

Hermione: ... "how to be more approachable"?

Harry:

Ron: That's kind of sad, to be honest.

Harry: Scroll down, Hermione.

Ron: Yeah, I bet it's all weird further down.

All three:

Hermione: "...where can happiness usually be found ... ways of tolerating children ... how to be patient ... wholesome fiction with happy ending ... fast, effective headache relief..."

Ron:

Harry:

Hermione: I feel awful.

Ron: Yeah, it's not great. We should probably put this back.

Harry: Yep.

And they end up doing all their homework on time and concentrate in Snape's lessons. Hermione (after dragging Harry and Ron into it) ends up making headache draughts and secretly leaving them on Snape's desk morning and noon. They always say good morning/afternoon whenever they pass him on the corridors and Snape has no idea why the three kids which hate him the most in the school are suddenly going out if their way to excel in his lessons and be nice to him.

(I might actually turn this into a fan fiction, who knows; I love the concept)

Update: The first part is now written and you can find it here. 🍰☕

[dramioneasks]

hii!! im looking for a hogwarts era fic. the only scene im remembering right now is where one of the slytherin boys (draco, theo & blaise (i think)) are using like runes or something to protect hogwarts during the final battle. they go around writing them on the walls of hogwarts and i think mcgonagall knew. sorry its not much :/ thank you !!

Anyone?

[fullscoreshenanigans]

#listen they definitely snuggle together for warmth some days #ray insists that emma goes to bed because its his turn to do guard duty but emma KNOWS ray has been having nightmares for the past few days #so she stubbornly refuses to change posts and tries to shoo him off which ends up with the both of them taking watch #emma share her jacket because its cold and rays shivering #'''just go inside already'' #''no'' #''emma im /fine/'' #''yeah you look fine with those gigantic bags under your eyes are you ready to pack and go to france'' #''.......emma......'' #IT ALL BACKFIRES CUZ THEY GET REALLY COMFY ray sleeps best when hes beside people he loves and trusts #whoiops theyre sleeping zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

rayemma week | 01: survival 

[jmwdoesthings]

Snape's Search History - Part 2

Hello! Slightly shorter, but slowly crawling forward. I'm writing a book of my own which requires quite a lot of time and creative inspiration, so that's taking priority... anyway, enjoy!

Featuring: our favourite grumpy bat-boy and Minerva's I'm too old for this attitude.

Tags are at the bottom - if I've missed anyone, I do apologise.

***

Minerva McGonagall rapped sharply on the Potions classroom door and entered without waiting for a reply. She half expected something short of a calamity - perhaps the desks all scorched into remains beyond recognition, an infestation of some sort, chaos in the form of the furniture being stuck to the ceiling or anything else which would claim “round-way-wrong” - and Severus’ face contorted and twitching as he muttered dark things under his breath, but no. She was most mistaken.

Snape stood in the middle of his classroom, his arms folded, one hand propped beneath his chin as he stared blankly at his chalkboard, his face quite placid, even serene, as he stood deep in thought.

Minerva paused, feeling an odd pang of unrest in her chest at this strange change, for he was hardly in such a state and something must have been certainly very wrong. She followed the line his eyes made to the blackboard, saw nothing which could be the subject of such intense evaluation, so she merely looked back and forth between him and the wall a few times before clearing her throat.

His eyes flicked towards her, but the rest of his position remained stagnant.

Minerva didn’t say anything; neither did he. After a few moments, she looked past him, walked a few steps into the room, then turned around to look at the walls for any sort of unobvious differences that could have brought on this change of facade. Snape let out a dry chuckle. 

“Nothing has changed since you were last here, Minerva.”

She turned to look at him.

“Then I don’t understand.”

Snape nodded thoughtfully. 

“Me neither,” was the reply, before he marched up to his blackboard, turned on his heel, stood still, then began to evaluate the desks in the same position as before. This was enough for her to become slightly unnerved and her eyebrows to climb up to the highest ring on her forehead as she watched him. Still, the silence dragged on long before she formulated a question of any sort and that was only after the Potions Master got down on his knees and began to look under the desks as though he had previously misplaced a cork of a bottle, looking rather silly.

“What are you doing?” she said flatly, tilting her head to peruse him.

“Investigating,” he replied calmly from under the desk, looking up at the underbelly of the furniture.

“Investigating.” Minerva nodded, though she was everything but enlightened. “And what on could you be investigating under the desks, on the floor?”

Snape banged the back of his head on the desk-edge as he emerged from beneath it, cursed viciously, then this alien demeanour he had borrowed for a moment shattered and dissolved into his standard one. The dark scowl looked so normal back on its master’s face that Minerva’s chest loosened a little.

Snape drew out his wand. After a moment, in which more investigation and observance occurred, his scowl deepened and suddenly lunged and struck the front desk with it.

“Revellio.”

Nothing happened. Minerva watched him, po-faced. Snape repeated the gesture.

“Revellio!”

Not a peep. He growled, then pointed his wand at the ceiling.

“Revellio!” The wand was pointed at his blackboard. “Revellio!” The tip was directed at his desk, at the floor, at the back of the classroom, at the door of his store cupboard.

“Revellio! Revellio! REVELLIO-!”

“Severus, please,” McGonagall said, approaching him as he scowled and his eyes darted around the classroom. “This verges on nonsensical. There is nothing here.”

“That’s the problem!” Severus snarled, his knuckles white on the black of his wand. “This makes no sense whatsoever! Confounded brats… This is idiocy!”

“What is?” 

“This innocence… this consideration!” 

The last word was spat out like something vile. Minerva’s eyebrows dropped down and she looked completely exasperated.

“Consideration? Severus, what precisely is going on?”

“I don’t know!”

Minerva’s hands stiffened as she grew impatient. 

“Can you please calm yourself down and tell me what brought on this… this whole examination?” she said. “I would be very grateful. This hysteria is quite past what is expected of both of us. Put your wand away, Severus.”

Snape seemed to regain himself as she spoke. He straightened, breathed out a long sigh through his nostrils, arrested the fire snapping in his eyes, then slowly fed his wand back into his sleeve and drew his cloak tight about him. 

“Your pupils, Minerva,” he began in his low voice, looking much displeased, “have been behaving in a very strange manner today.”

McGonagall watched him, remembering the giggling trio she had passed on the corridor and their strange mood.

 “You mean Potter, Weasley, and Miss Granger?”

“Indeed,” he spat, then grimaced disdainfully at the front desk which had been occupied by the unwelcome trio a few moments before, before looking back up at her. “Well? Are you surprised?”

“No,” she replied immediately, glancing at the desk too, then paused. “Have they been causing trouble?”

Snape’s face stretched into a very dry smile.

“Trouble?” He scoffed, then grew solemn again. “Why, yes. Well, no. In fact… ah, confound and bebother those varmints-!”

Minerva had pursed her lips. “Severus-”

“Yes!” He clenched his fists and stormed towards his desk. “Yes, they have been causing trouble! They have undoubtedly been causing trouble, otherwise Potter wouldn’t have had an accursed aureole shining around his head for the entire lesson!”

At this, McGonagall frowned, but Snape wasn’t done.

“Weasley, too!” He fell into his chair then sat up, rigid with passion, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests. “Not a single word out of his mouth during the entire lesson! He usually doesn’t shut up, his mouth works like a watermill! And this time, silence!”

“One moment.” McGonagall was close to pinching the bridge of her nose. “You mean to say-”

“And Granger,” Snape cut her off, snapping, his fingernails making scratch-marks in the wooden armrests as his fists clenched. “I’ve never seen her so pleasant in the entire time she’s been here. Didn’t put her hand up once! Her head was down, she did the work without a word and not a bullet of the usual know-it-all piffle left her mouth!”

His form loosened and he fell backwards against the back-rest, his hand dangling over his face as he worked rest into his face muscles and the creases around his eyes with his fingers. McGonagall watched him with pursed lips, feeling it wouldn’t be wise to interject until he finished with his mental breakdown.

“And that’s not all,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “The homework they handed in today is twice the length I asked for. And I mean twice the length. The spaces between words and the size of their handwriting wasn’t different from their standard lettering.”

“I fail to understand why that calls to get so worked up,” Minerva said carefully. “Surely, you don’t find this irritating?”

“And it’s top standard,” the wrecked Potions Master continued, his voice almost breaking. “It was concise and intelligently written. Into the bargain, all three pieces of work were different. The pair of idiots clearly didn’t copy off Granger this time. It seems they have put effort into those rolls of parchment like never before. I dread to think what it is they have done to act in this manner.”

Minerva shook her head as she watched the black bat sprawled out on his wooden chair. He saw her scrutiny and growled.

“You weren’t here, Minerva - I have very good reason for suspecting nothing but trouble. Potter didn’t talk back to me once. He claimed blame, even if it was unjustified.”

At this, Minerva frowned. “Harry Potter?”

“What other Potter is there?”

Minerva, this time, did pinch the bridge of her nose and both adults stood there feeling quite shaken. The former regained herself first.

“Let me sum this up,” she said. “You are completely and utterly indisposed because Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were well-behaved for the entirety of your lesson.”

“I am completely and utterly indisposed,” Snape repeated with disdain and through clenched teeth, “because they have clearly done something, or are about to do something, which must have stirred enough remorse within their hollow little souls to not place a toe out of line for the entirety of my lesson. Not to mention this.”

He leaned forward and grasped something, then offered it to Minerva. She stepped forward and squinted at the object; it was an empty glass vial, with a square label which read: headache draught.

She glanced up at him as she took it in her fingers. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“This appeared upon my desk when my back was turned.”

“And you think they placed this on your desk?”

“No,” Snape said after some thought. “This is something far darker than both of us think.”

Minerva looked at him over the rim of her spectacles.

“This empty vial?” she said flatly.

“It was full when I first beheld it.”

“And what happened to its contents?”

“I poured it down the sink.”

Minerva paused.

“Why?”

Snape rubbed his face and stood up, looking fixated. “It was very cleverly disguised. It smelled exactly like what it claims to be.”

He began to pace. Minerva placed the sinister, empty vial back on his desk and folded her arms, looking down her nose at him as though he was an adolescent hissing about overblown drama which had happened upon the corridors and had tarnished his reputation into disrepair. Not that she hadn’t seen that before. 

“There can only be one explanation for this,” he finished, standing still. “It has to be.”

“Which is?”

He turned and met her eyes with his obstinate, dark gaze.

“Someone is trying to exact their vengeance upon me.”

Minerva said nothing, her face betrayed nothing.

“It wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” he muttered. “I’m not taking any risk. I don’t have a very tolerant stomach…”

Minerva began to shake her head. “Severus.”

“...headache draught indeed.” He scoffed. “The only question is: who? And why? I am beginning to doubt that Potter wasn’t involved in it, though perhaps he wasn’t acting of his own accord. Our favourite trio wouldn’t even know that they were under the Imperius curse-”

“Severus.”

He turned to her impatiently, then shut his mouth under the impact of her gaze.

“Has it not occurred to you,” Minerva began patiently, “that instead of poisoning or attempting to murder you, someone could be simply trying to help you out?”

Snape looked at her incredulously, then burst out laughing. It was his usual harsh, grating laugh, which was emitted more to mock than to express amusement. It bounced off the classroom walls like hailstone.

“Of course,” he chortled. “That would make sense. Let’s be nice to the irritable wretch of a teacher who resides solely in the dungeons of the castle.”

“I’m sorry you struggle to understand the concept of compassion,” Minerva said, rolling her eyes and moving towards the exit. “Perhaps you ought to take this as a sign, Severus, and with it this concept into consideration.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, then placed the base of his palms to his temples and moved to sit in his chair as he grimaced. “There is no such thing as compassion. If there is, it is very hard to find, and simply non-existent in these particular corridors, between these particular individuals.”

Minerva didn’t see the sense in trying to convince him otherwise. Instead, she simply looked at him pointedly as he grasped his head and shut his eyes to try and contain his headache. 

“Stop spearing me,” he muttered, sighing. “I’ve not forgotten what brats are capable of. I was one too. It’s certainly nothing but chaos and infidelity. I’m not stupid.”

“No. You are stubborn,” she replied, shaking her head, “and prone to jumping to very unfavourable conclusions. Now that you poured that draught down the drain, why don’t you make yourself another? Lessons resume in fifteen minutes.”

Snape groaned and muttered some dark words, followed by a very low: “I will manage.”

“As you like,” McGonagall replied in a tone which seemed to highlight her claim about how stubborn Snape was. “I will see you at lunch, Severus. Don’t get yourself too worked up, now.”

He didn’t answer; Minerva shut the door behind her, taking the rest of the noise and warmth of presence with her. 

Five minutes of silence and dwelling later, Severus Snape rubbed his eyes, opened them, then fixed them onto the glass vial with the ‘headache draught’ lettering arranged upon the label, apparently nothing but innocent.

“Help me,” he repeated absentmindedly, then snorted and leaned back in his chair. “Of course the intention was to help me. Because that is what we do when we have a spare moment. We all come together, sit down at a round table and discuss how to make somebody’s life less of a damned hellscape over a light cup of coffee.”

Snape’s rigid posture broke as the sneer ebbed off his face. His eyes flicked around at the walls of his empty classroom, then to the pale skin of his hands which hadn’t held another for over two decades. He thought of the bleak and empty days the future promised him, feeling something horrible, hard and gooey congealing in his chest. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

“Silence!” Snape commanded nobody in particular, feeling his voice begin to crack as it echoed around the classroom.

He put his face in his hands, pressing them to his facial features to keep them in stone, but they creased into something embarrassing and despairing anyway.

“Silence…” he repeated, but with his voice hoarse and thick. “Very well. Fine. Let it be so.”

He regained himself, then fixed his face into the window, making a sharp move to smear any stray tears away, then folded his hands tight and pressed them to his lips. Still, the red rimming his eyes, cheeks and nose gave him away, though his face was cold and disinterested as marble.

His voice was a mere whisper, though the boggart hiding under the sink heard it and obeyed:

“Let it be silent.”

***

Tags! I do appreciate all of your reviews and ops, I enjoy reading your excitement!

@overlord-of-fantasy @severus-snaps @slytherinmagic38 @enderdeservesbetter @acupnoodle @ace-aussie-asshole @halfbloodprince137 @seleneprince @memelovescaps @clingingtoskeletons @lilithofpenandbook @tumblingghosts @jade-eclipse-li @fluffyneondinosaur @lessdepressy @praline-elegy @captainsky-photori @likelightinglass @flyingflosser09

[reidsglasscs]

DISTANCE MAKES THE HEART GROW ANGRIER

✸ pairing: jason grace x daughter of minerva! reader

✸ summary: you don’t know anything about jason anymore, except for the fact that you hate him for leaving

✸ warnings: kinda angsty…BUT I SWEAR THERE’S FLUFF AT THE END!! hurt / comfort type, & i think i swore like twice whoopsie

✸ notes: this might be my longest fic yet, hello? i mean, that’s not saying much but STILL

you didn’t know much about jason grace as of lately. it was true that there once was a time that even the smallest of scratches on his skin weren’t a mastery to you, a time when you knew him better than you knew yourself.

until six months ago, when he disappeared without a trace and left you all alone.

as a daughter of minerva, you’d never had many friend to begin with aside from the two praetors of new rome, for your skills and intellect set you apart from your fellow members of the legion and as leader of the first cohort, you were high up in the ranks anyways.

but now, six months later, you found yourself filling the post of second praetor not because you wanted to, but because you had to. the weight of the world had fallen upon your shoulders in only a fortnight

then, percy jackson had appeared.

you’d given him the position you held graciously, but it did nothing to repair the damage done that caused you to be emotional and physically strung out beyond relief.

you didn’t know much about jason grace anymore, except for the fact that you hated him, and unlike reyna, would not be welcoming him back with open arms when he arrived at camp jupiter as percy said he would.

and arrive he did, aboard a flying warship with three other demigods you’d never seen in your life.

while percy, reyna, and the rest of the legion welcomed them in with open arms, you were nowhere to be found.

jason’s eyes scanned the crowd over and over again and each time failed to find just the face he was looking for.

ever since his memories had been returned, the son of jupiter had been driving himself crazy with anticipation to see you again.

the curve of your soft lips and spark in your eyes; the flex of you muscles as you fought and the amused quirk of your brow when you inevitably won. he remembered it all and he missed it all so much that he thought it just might suffocate him. to him, every minute without you was another minute closer to asphyxiation.

fortunately, even after six months, you were still the same girl he had always known. the same one who would tie her shoe laces with two loops instead of one and always had to step out the door with her left foot first.

the same girl who knew him better than himself, and who he knew just as well.

so when he walked into your typical getaway spot, you couldn’t really say you were surprised.

hidden and tucked away in the corner of the new rome library you sat, a book you could’ve even say the name of propped open in front of you just in case someone came in and you needed to look occupied.

you hadn’t read a word since you’d gotten in there, for your brain was too busy reeling with thoughts about the boy who was now sliding his way through the front door to the library in search of you.

you heard footsteps enter the otherwise pen-drop silent room and darted your eyes to the page of your book, resting your face in your hand and letting hair fall over your face in hopes it might cover you up and by some miracle, conceal your identity.

but unfortunately for you, jason would know you anywhere.

he stopped in his tracks when his eyes fell on you, his darling girl hiding away in a corner, trying to disguise herself from the world. you weren’t in your official centurion getup like everyone else, but instead jeans and a purple camp jupiter t-shirt that exposed the four lines scored across your arm.

four years. four years that you had known jason, and four years that had been stolen from him just like that.

“yn?” he uttered, asking even though he knew for certain that it was you.

you didn’t answer, just flipped the page of the book you weren’t reading. it bruised his heart a little bit, but he expected nothing less ever since your absence at the welcome party.

he walked closer, testing the water in hopes that you’d at least spare him a glance up. when you didn’t even give him that much, he crossed the room fully until he was standing in front of the table you sat at.

“i braced myself when reyna told me you were mad, but i didn’t expect for you to ignore my existence entirely,” he told you after the silence became too much to bear.

with a huff, you snapped your book dramatically shut and looked up at him, avoiding eye contact and making yourself seem as uninterested as you could possibly scrounge up.

for the first time in months, you took in the beautiful sight that was jason grace. he looked almost the same, with his starry eyes and pretty smile. except he was dressed in a eye-stabbingly bright orange shirt that read camp half-blood on it and was seemingly a size too small, considering how it distractingly hugged his biceps a little too snugly.

he still looked like him, but if he was masquerading around as someone he wasn’t. a son of zeus and not jupiter. a quest leader and not a praetor. a teenage boy, not a soldier.

“library’s closed, and you don’t have authorization to override that rule anymore,” you told him bluntly. “or did you forget how to read, too?”

“okay, ouch,” he nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop himself from fidgeting. but that was the girl he knew: assertive and naturally bossy, for lack of a better word. a true leader, just like himself.

“i’m trying to read, leave,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes off of his.

“i know you’re not reading that,” he rolled his eyes, knowing that you didn’t see it became if you had, he would’ve been chided.

“yes, i am.” you insisted, reopening the book.

“sweetheart,” he sighed, pushing the cover shut again and pointing to the bleary title. “it’s in italian. which if i remember correctly, you don’t speak.”

your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you were mad at him, gods damn it, and you were gonna act like it.

slamming the book down, you pushed yourself to your feet and began towards the door, not giving him the decency of another word.

poor jason didn’t know what was going on. he didn’t know why you were acting this way or why he didn’t get the overwhelming joy of you running to his arms like annabeth had percy’s. no, instead you ran off at the mention of him and refused to meet his eyes.

he’d lost six months with you, and briefly lost the memories of all four years of you, there was no way he was going to lose you now too.

the fear of losing you— all of you— for good had a grip on him so tight that it made him catch your wrist with his hand before you could leave, and the touch of your skin against his sent a refreshing shock through his senses. one chance was all he needed to make sure you didn’t slip through his fingers again.

“don’t go,” he said. “please. i— i don’t really know what’s wrong, but i know that i want to and that i want to fix it.”

for the first time again, your eyes met his. but where his were soft and concerned, yours were glassy and inflamed.

“you don’t know?” you glowered loudly, voice echoing in the silent and empty library, eyes holding angry tears. “jason, you left me! and for months, i tried to figure out what was wrong with me that made you do it, until everyone reminded me that it doesn’t matter what i think or how i feel, because there’s people to take care of and responsibilities to handle.”

jason stared at you, all the things he’d planned to say suddenly lost as he processed your broken words.

“and yeah, i know now that it was all juno, but by the time i was told, everything had already changed too much.”

“too much?” he questioned, looking down at you like a wounded puppy and yanking on your heartstrings.

it wasn’t his fault, none of it was. the involuntary leaving, the memories being wiped, the identity shattering feeling of being an amnesiac. it was all juno and her twisted plans and jason was just a victim of it, and you knew that.

but he had forgotten you once, so what would stop him from doing so again? or worse, what if he had gotten all these memories of you back and the fresher version of his mind had decided that you just weren’t worth it anymore? maybe you never were.

you were just protecting yourself, your heart.

at first when he left, you’d prayed every night he’d come back, wished on every shooting star and dandelion. but then you were forced to accept that no, he wasn’t coming back and somebody had to step up. you had to step up.

it hurt so hard to have your life flipped upside down and take on more than you could even imagine, you just couldn’t do it again.

who’s to say that the minute you let him back in, he wasn’t going to be ripped right away again?

“too much.” you restated. “before percy showed up, i was filling your position and holding my own. all while people either asked me what happened to you or looked at me like i was some poor, little wounded deer, and helping reyna keep everything from falling apart, and with fucking octavian breathing down my neck! and the whole time i couldn’t think of anything but you, and your stupid…you!”

you groaned and shoved your face in your hands to hide the tears that had already started falling, the frustration becoming too much.

slowly, jason put a hand on your shoulder and pulled you into his chest, to which you let yourself slowly collapse into his embrace, your hands the only barrier between your face and his chest.

he wrapped his arms around you carefully like he’d done many times before, rocking back and forth as a silent attempt to calm you. he felt a little guilty for enjoying the feeling of you in his arms again, given the circumstances.

“i’m sorry,” you whimpered into the cotton fabric of his ugly orange shirt. “it’s not your fault. and you don’t deserve to be yelled at or ignored. i’m so sorry.”

“it’s okay,” he murmured into your hair. “i’m sorry for letting you think there was ever anything that could make me want to leave you. and, i’m sorry for not remembering everything sooner.”

you must’ve looked pretty damn rough for him to be apologizing that his memories were stolen by a goddess.

“you really remember?” you whispered into his chest, scared that if you said it too loudly the answer might change.

“yeah,” he answered, picking his head up off yours and tapping the back of your head to draw you out of his chest.

you didn’t go far, looking up at him while still in his arms, tear-streaked face and all.

“there she is,” he mused. “there’s my pretty girl.”

the frown on your face deepened at that, purely because your face was surely red and covered in tears, and he decided to compliment it anyways.

“everything? you remember it all?” you sniffed.

“everything.” he confirmed. “like how this is where you go when you’re stressed,” he dipped his head down and kissed your cheek.

“and your favorite color’s light blue,” he kissed your other cheek. “and you prefer mystery books to romance,” your forehead. “and i even remember the time i tied your shoe for you and got kicked in the face in exchange.” your nose.

you were eye-to-eye now, drowning in oceanic blue surrounding his blown-up pupils.

a small giggle passed your lips at the last anecdote, pressing a nostalgic smile onto your lips. “i missed you,” you admitted.

“i missed you too,” he said. “can i have a kiss now?”

you smiled and pulled his face to yours, capturing his familiar and dearly missed lips with your own. after all the fussing and fighting you’d done, he could have as many kisses as he wanted.

[exhaustedcatte]

You’re a Wizard.

Remus bit his cheek, the juvenile words “Detention, Prewett” died on the tip of his tongue.

No, he reminded himself harshly. That’s Fred and George Weasley. Not Fabian and Gideon.

I’m not a Prefect, I’m the bloody Professor, Remus grit his teeth.

Luna Lovegood floated into the room and Remus saw unwelcome visions, the present melting away to accommodate the past. Regulus Black was there, guiding Pandora when she was batting her lashes at Xenophilius Lovegood.

Draco Malfoy was an amusing mixture of Lucius and Narcissa. He stuck his nose up and raised one manicured brow like his mother, but his ugly words and prideful manners were all his father.

Remus laughed guilelessly, what was wrong with him. Fraternising with the enemy, Moony? A very familiar voice chirped in his head.

It hurt so bad.

Every time Hermione Granger raised her hand, to the chagrin of the rest of the class, Remus saw Lily Evans. Her fierce intelligence and determination a weapon to dismantle the prejudice faced by Muggleborns. Lily would’ve loved her.

He wiped his face with tired hands.

Honestly, Remus was never meant to survive this. He was simply unfortunate, unlucky. An anomaly.

Hah, now suffer.

There was Neville Longbottom, with ears that stuck out like his father and a shy smile to match his mother’s. I’ll watch over him now, Remus promised the smiling Alice and Frank in his memories, apologising for the years gone by.

Then there were the little things.

Snape always caused a spark of his old Marauder spirit to overtake his senses. It also brought forth very vivid sounds of two devils whispering into his ears. Potter and Black, always at the crime scene.

No, no. He batted that thought away before he could spiral.

Remus found himself shocked by the streaks of white in Minerva McGonagall’s hair, which 15 years ago that would’ve caused an uproar. Not even his own greying roots had caused him so much sadness.

His heart ached when he saw Madam Pomfrey pressing her knuckles into her strained back. How much had he missed while hiding from this wretched world?

But what struck a raw nerve was Harry Potter, of course.

The toad green of his eyes and the bird’s nest of his hair. It had been so long but all he could see in the young Potter boy was his friend. A friend who had betrayed him, but his friend nonetheless.

I know you, he pursed his lips to prevent screaming that when he was addressed as Professor Lupin and not Unc’e Moo’y. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t the one who could get Prongslet to burp or take a nap anymore. He was the weird, mismatched man for a teacher.

You know Harry doesn’t think of you like that. Ah, Lily, wise as always.

The James in Harry Potter stuck out like a sore thumb, much like his hair, when he whizzed across the quidditch pitch with innate talent, when he couldn’t hold back his tongue while talking to Snape, when he faffed about in lessons. But it pained more to see Harry stand up for his friends, like his father had always done, and when he went searching for trouble despite being explicitly warned against it.

Oh, how I miss you Prongs.

He sat back in his chair, creaky and hard as it was. There was only one person he hadn’t found in his students.

Remus closed his eyes.

Sirius Black grinned at him from behind his eyelids. Miss me, Moony?

[dramioneasks]

Hi there,

I cannot for the life of me find a fic I read a while ago! The main thing I remember is H and D have a baby and raise him at hogwarts and mcgonagall puts a high chair at the head table for him! Any help??

Anyone?