Harry tried to slouch down even further on his stool, pretending to be
hugely invested in his current potion. Snape strode down the aisle
towards him purposely on his round of the room.
Please don’t bother me, Harry
thought dully.
Please just keep
going.
“Ah,
Mr. Potter,” Snape came to a stop beside Harry, the sneer obvious in
his voice.
Damn, Harry thought blackly. He
didn’t look up, hoping Snape would give up quicker if he didn’t get any
ammunition.
“I
see you are absolutely butchering that Shadowsliding Potion,” Snape
snarled. “It should be purple and smoking, not orange and eating
through the bottom of your cauldron!”
Harry gritted his teeth.
“I’ll start over,” Harry tried to keep his voice steady.
“Indeed you will, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor!”
Snape looked like he might continue, but at that moment, Goyle returned
with the newts he had been sent to retrieve from Snape’s supply cabinet
ages ago.
“What took you so long, Goyle?” Snape demanded.
“S’too many stairs,” Goyle puffed, red-faced as he flopped exhaustedly
back into his stool. Snape strode towards his desk to examine the newts
in question.
“Goyle!” he snapped. “These newts are still frozen!” He rolled his
beady gaze over the whole class.
“Mr.
Potter!” he finally snapped, doing that queer little turn that Ron
imitated so well and jerking his thumb towards the desk.
“What do you want me to do about it?” Harry asked, the irritation
barely being kept out of his voice.
“Why
don’t you sit on them, Mr. Potter?” Snape quirked an eyebrow. “You’re
hot.”
“AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!” Harry sat bolt upright in bed and glanced around
wildly. After realizing he was not in fact in Potions being
propositioned by the head of Slytherin, Harry took several deep breaths
and flopped back down on his pillow.
“Harry?” Ron mumbled from the nearby bed. “S’matter?”
“Bad
dream,” Harry answered. “Don’t worry about it.
There was no way he was going to admit he was dreaming about Snape.
Again.