The Worst Thing Possible

Severus Snape was a patient man. He had to be. He taught selfish, exasperating little brats for ten months out of the year, with their minuscule adolescent problems and their pubescent hormones taking over every aspect of their, and often consequently his, drivel little lives.

Severus was also a spy for the Light. This responsibility added the pressure of cowering in front of a revolting, gruesome snake and pledging allegiance to a cause that he no longer had any interest in pursuing. It also gave him the pleasure of defending himself, time after time, to people who were too dim-witted and too indolent, to have any clue how much work it took to be a competent, plausible servant to a “man” who, at best, could be called repulsive.

To say Severus enjoyed his life was stretching the truth. But one thing he took pleasure in, the one thing he lived to do, was to catch the insipid little monsters he was forced to work with, day in and day out, after curfew. It solved two of his problems. One, he didn’t have to do the menial chores that went along with his job if he found some spoiled brats to do it for him. Two, he got the pleasure of watching them squirm and try and find a believable lie to get them out of their imprudence during their nighttime activities. It caused all sorts of joy for Severus to be able to squash down any possible enjoyment for the students. God, did he love to punish the brats!

On this fine Sunday, he was out strolling the halls looking for the little trolls so he’d have enough hands for the grunt work that week. Either his eyesight was failing him at his age or the little bastards were getting better at hiding. He could not find even one little toe out of line. Damn kids!

As he walked back down toward the dungeons, Severus caught sight of a shimmer of material swirl around a corner in front of him. His excitement mounted as he realized he had found one. He charged toward the offender, but was not quick enough to catch whomever it was that was hiding. He checked and rechecked many of the surrounding doors, just to make sure no one had slipped through, but he couldn’t find the intruder.

“I’d bet my left Knut it was Potter,” Severus muttered. Just the thought of Harry’s name caused him to shudder internally. “I have no idea why that insolent little urchin always thinks he is one step ahead, one tiny bit better, than everyone else.” Ever the celebrity, Potter had bested Draco once again in Quidditch just yesterday and had sealed the deal on a professional career. Severus’ only consolation was that Draco hated Potter just as much, if not more, than he did.

Draco. His talented strong Godson was hard at work in his classroom now, working on cleaning out cauldrons and organizing the newly delivered potions ingredients. He was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, although Severus often wondered where he’d gotten his heart from, seeing who his parents were. But Draco was always available to help him out.

“Humph,” snorted Severus, “makes me wonder what he is really after.”

They had spent many a night, he and Draco, discussing politics, music, art and, sometimes the only topic they could agree on, their hatred of Harry Potter. It warmed Severus’ heart that he and Draco were so close and agreed so strongly on that one thing. He was positive that Draco did not hide anything from him. They shared his happiness, his woes and his trials with a closeness only a father and son could share. In fact, Severus often mentioned that Draco was the son he never had.

The closer Severus got to his classroom, the more excited he became to see his Godson. Maybe they could share a glass of Firewhiskey before bed, a treat he did not share with many. Or perhaps Draco would have some tale to tell him and Severus could offer some sage advice. It was of great consolation that all his years of life could do someone good.

Severus came upon his classroom door at last and was surprised to find it slightly ajar. He happened a glance in and what he saw was the worst thing possible. In anger, Severus burst into the classroom and strode in, intent on murder.

Severus came to a halt just inside the door and stared at his Godson and the subject of both of their hatred in alarm and annoyance. “Wh-what are you doing, Draco?”

Even as these words were leaving his mouth, the Potter brat did not cower and hide as he should. In fact, he stopped, tongue still on the lower part of Draco’s neck, and stared at Severus with a look of devious pleasure.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Draco said, trying not to smile. “We had a bit of a disagreement and he couldn’t hold his tongue.”

Severus stared at the two, wondering when the world had gone all screwy and why his Godson’s neck was still attached to Potters tongue. Afraid he might finally crack and AK them both, Severus walked out of the room, traveled into his suite and pulled out the largest bottle of Firewhiskey in Scotland.

It was going to take a lot of alcohol to erase that image from his mind.