Work Text:
1974
In the library, you were trying to cram for the upcoming OWLs. You were situated in a quiet corner with a few of your housemates, silently going over some textbooks that the leader of the study session picked out. It was relatively peaceful until you heard hushed, excited whispers from the other side of the bookcase.
“So what say you? Toad, or slime?” A boyish voice questioned.
“Why not both!” The other voice exclaimed, arising giggles from the other students standing with them. Madam Pince shushed them from her desk.
“Alright, whose toad we using?”
“I found this one out back-” You heard a low ribbit.
“When did you get that?”
“How’d ya get that?”
“Why do you have that?”
“Not important.”
“Okay… So, we distract him with the toad, while someone dumps the slime into his robes.”
“I want to dump it!” A whispered voice tried its best to conceal its excitement.
“Alright. Now act natural, act natural.”
You heard shuffling and footsteps from the other side of the bookcase. The four culprits were a few third-year Gryffindors that were constantly up to no good. You put your hair clip in your book to mark your page and tapped the girl sitting next to you, gesturing for her to follow you. As the two of you got up, you noticed the mischief-makers holding a bucket of something green behind their back.
The four of them split up, two going in front of a lone boy sitting at a table, studying quietly, and two going behind him. You noticed the boy with a bucket was of the two sneaking up behind the boy reading alone. You looked at his colors. Slytherin, there’s no way this could be a practical joke shared between friends. Even if it was, it wasn’t very nice.
One of the Gryffindors, a boy with blonde hair, pretended to trip and made it a point to exaggeratedly shout, “Whoops!” as an overgrown toad leaped out of his hands and onto the page the Slytherin boy was reading. He jumped in surprise and watched the frog hop off of his copy of Advanced Potion Making.
“Hey, what are you doing with that bucket?” You asked loudly, pointing to the boy with curly hair who had a bucket poised high above his head, nearly tipping over the green sludge inside. He paused, shocked by your question.
The Slytherin boy had confusion written all over his features as he glanced between you and the girl standing next to you. He turned around to see the two boys caught in the act. He scowled, picking up his books and pushing past them, hitting their shoulders on the way out.
When the curly-haired boy got his shoulder knocked, the pail fell out of his grasp and fell to the floor with a loud clatter, covering him and the boy with glasses in the toxic-green ooze.
You, the girl next to you, and the other two mischief-makers laughed while the ones covered in slime looked rather cross. Madam Pince came over in a huff and grabbed the two boys covered in muck by the ear, chewing them out and dragging them away.
After your laughter died down, you thanked your housemate for following you. You turned around, remembering the boy who left in a huff.
“Save my spot” You mentioned to your housemate. She nodded and watched you walk out of the library.
Jogging down the hallway, you spotted the young boy, storming away. He stomped his feet and walked briskly, his shoulders twitching and his long black hair swishing about. You jogged after him, trying to catch up.
“Hey-” You said, reaching for his shoulder. He stopped, spun around on his heel and you almost crashed into him. You’d never seen eyes that held such a burning hot, all-consuming rage. You almost lost your nerve, your voice dying in your throat a moment. Sure, this third year was shorter than you and four years behind, but he was a little bit terrifying, to say the least.
“What?” He spat on the floor.
“Are you okay?” You asked.
“Why do you care?” He shifted his weight to one leg.
“Those boys… they’re not your friends are they?”
“Like hell. Why would I want to be friends with those Gryffindor dunderheads? They can’t even read.” He scoffed, showing his crooked teeth.
“I’m sorry they did that to you. Do they bully you often?”
“They’re the marauders.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “They bully everyone. But I’m their favorite target.”
“Why?”
He looked at you as if you were stupid.
“That’s not right, they shouldn’t treat you like that.” You furrowed your eyebrows, ignoring the nasty look he just gave you.
“It may have escaped your notice,” He scowled, “but nobody cares about how they treat me.”
“I care.” You admitted.
“Why?”
Now it was your turn to look at him like an idiot. “No one deserves to be treated like a practical joke. What’s your name?” You asked softly, giving him your name first.
“Why do you want to know?” He bristled. “Haven’t you heard what they call me?”
“No, I’m in seventh year. I haven’t heard about the latest third-year politics.” You rolled your eyes before you could help yourself.
“Severus.”
“Severus?” You pronounced.
“Don’t wear it out.”
You brushed off his attitude, he did just get bullied after all. Instead, you chuckled and held out your hand. “It’s great to meet you, Severus.”
His eyes narrowed at you suspiciously. He tentatively grabbed your hand. You gave his hand a single shake and his fingers twitched the whole time. He was staring at your face but you couldn’t decipher the look he was giving you. His cheeks were pink. You tried to let go of his hand, but he was still holding yours, seeming almost as if he was lost in thought. Feeling self-conscious, you pulled a strand of hair behind your ear and cleared your throat. He snapped back to reality and quickly let go of your hand as if it burned him. His face was red.
“You too,” He muttered under his breath before turning on his heel. His steps were lighter, and he was hunched down. His hair was a curtain, trying to hide himself from prying eyes as he quickly darted away.