Chapter Text
Snape was stomping down the hallway, sending students in a frenzy to get out of his way, wary of the cloud of danger that surrounded him that morning. And that suited him just fine.
After a very short night, which was more due to losing consciousness than falling asleep, he had woken up late with each his muscles twitching and a pounding headache courtesy of the Dark Lord and his fondness for the Cruciatus curse. This means that he did not even have the time for tea and barely managed to drown down enough potions to be functional before he needed to rush out. His fifth year class with the Slytheryn – Gryffindor was going to start in a few minutes. Dreadful.
Once there, he did not even slow down, merely making his entrance by banging the door open with a swish of his wand. It had the great advantage of sending several of his students jumping in surprise. It, however, wasn’t so great for his headache; which by consequence did nothing to improve his mood. He went to his blackboard and turned to his students with a scowl on his lips.
“Today,” he sneered “we will entertain ourselves with the making of a cleansing potion. It’s quite simple. So I have some hope, however negligible, that some of your work will not be a waste of my ingredients.” And, with a discreet flick of my wrist and a muttered incantation, the receipt appeared on the board.
Receipt
1 goblin fist of Penichu
4 ¾ wizard's spoons of dried Pixie ears
2 Shaskatch’s ground teeth 1 drop of fairy’s tears
7 petals of the blue Iris 2 pinches of Ivy leaf powders
Put you cauldron over a low fire and add the Penichu and Pixie ears as soon as the water begins to be lukewarm. Always stir in the same direction, until it turns a soft green. Add the ground teeth slowly. Made a flambé and keep it going for two minutes. Then, add the fairy’s tear and wait till the fire die before adding the petals, wide side first, one by one. When your consistency will be liquid and silvery, add the Ivy powder and let you cauldron cool.
“What are you waiting for? I do hope some of you have retained enough of your alphabet to read. So I suggest you follow the blackboard instruction and begin your potion; in silence!"
As the students hurried to prepare their work table, he took a moment to gloat. Even after many years of teaching, he thought, he still had it. Let’s hope that this sudden obedience will lead to a morning of peace.
Twenty minutes into the lesson, everything was still peaceful and Snape figured he wasn’t going to have the pleasure of deducting points to the Gryffindor. He was starting to believe he will be able to enjoy a drama-free class, but, of course, nothing ever went his way. Longbottom's cauldron started to emit a peculiar smell. This boy had never succeeded in making one single potion right in all the years since he came to darken his potion class.
“Neville”, he heard Granger whispering, “It's says Shaskatch, not Seaskitch. Put in some Asdomile, it should counteract it.” She was such an intelligent, serviceable little indiscreet know-it-all. “Five points, Miss Granger. Maybe next time you will remember your place and let the teaching to me.” Snape could feel his spirit lift up, enjoying taking points off that house and, particularly, the outraged faces of the famous trio made of Miss Granger and Misters Weasley and Potter.
As usual, his good mood was not to last as Miss Granger’s yelled. “Neville, don’t.”
That infernal inept already had is matches lit up and Snape wondered if this would be how his life will end: at the hand of a foolish child. Longbottom had ignited his flambé. “Duck!” He yelled before following his own advice as did most of the students bright enough to recognize the danger. Unfortunately, that means that Potter, blessed be his little golden heart, decided to protect Longbottom, who stood frozen like a lemur. And Malfoy, to his greatest deception, was too busy laughing his ass off, to save it.
So, now, he had two students covered of blue gluey potion, two very small students.