10. Snape's A Greasy Git
The four trudged up to the common room, weighed down by the same gnawing thought—how were they supposed to stop Snape from getting the Stone? No matter how many times they turned it over in their heads, they had no answers. The feeling of helplessness settled like a rock in their stomachs, making every step toward Gryffindor Tower feel heavier.
But as soon as they climbed through the portrait hole, the weight lifted.
The common room was alive with celebration. Golden and scarlet streamers floated through the air, the fire roared, and the scent of pumpkin pasties and stolen sweets filled the space. The second Harry stepped inside, a cheer erupted.
"Harry! Harry! Harry!"
Before he could react, Fred and George swooped in hoisting him onto their shoulders as the room filled with applause and laughter.
"Took you long enough!" Seamus called, grinning as he shoved a cauldron cake into his mouth.
"Yeah, the cakes were getting cold," Fred said, pretending to look disappointed as he glanced up at Harry.
Harry couldn't help but smile. Around them, students were helping themselves to an assortment of treats that the twins had stolen from the kitchens. Butterbeer bottles clinked together, and a fifth year had somehow managed to charm a plate of biscuits into floating around the room, offering itself to whoever reached out.
Across the common room, Lee Jordan was dramatically reenacting Harry's dive for the Snitch, using his hands to show just how close he had come to hitting the ground. Dean Thomas was placing bets on whether or not Oliver Wood would cry tears of joy at breakfast, and Lavender Brown was animatedly discussing how Snape's face had looked like he had swallowed a lemon when Gryffindor won.
Then, the portrait hole swung open again.
Neville stepped in, looking a bit unsteady but very much awake. His left eye was swollen and bruised, but he was smiling—though it faltered when every single person in the room turned to look at him.
For a second, there was silence.
Then the common room exploded in cheers.
"Neville, you absolute legend!" Dean said, rushing over and clapping him on the back.
Neville blinked in surprise. "What?"
"You took on Crabbe and Goyle single-handed!" Parvati Patel reminded him.
"Yeah, and you didn't even cry about it," Seamus added approvingly. "That's a proper Gryffindor move, that is."
"I mean, I did get knocked out—" Neville started, but Ron slung an arm around his shoulders.
"Doesn't matter," Ron said, grinning.
Hope nodded, in agreement. "The point is, you stood up to Malfoy and his goons."
"Actually I stood up to Malfoy," Ron interrupted. "Gave him a Black eye, I did," he added smugly.
Hope rolled her eyes with a grin. "Neville, you were really cool today."
Neville turned bright red, but he looked quietly pleased as he was led toward a plate of chocolate frogs.
The party carried on, stretching late into the evening. Someone had found a pack of Exploding Snap cards, and half the common room was watching an intense match between Dean and Seamus. In the middle of the chaos, Hope found herself drifting toward the fireplace, where Fred and George were discussing their next grand prank in hushed, excited voices.
She glanced over her shoulder. Most of the common room was still caught up in the celebration—laughing, eating, telling exaggerated stories of the match. No one was paying them any attention.
Hope turned back to the twins, her eyes bright with excitement. She leaned in close.
"I've got the Revealing Charm down," she whispered.
Fred and George froze.
Then, identical grins spread across their faces.
"Brilliant," George said, keeping his voice low.
"When's your next Potions class?" Fred asked, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Wednesday," Hope answered.
Fred clapped his hands together. "Perfect."
George nodded. "Then it's settled. Tuesday night, we sneak into the dungeons and set the trap."
The three exchanged grins, a spark of mischief passing between them.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
Tuesday had arrived, and with it, a creeping sense of anxious excitement settled over Hope.
She had been thinking about this plan for days, running through every detail in her head, but now that the moment was actually drawing near, she felt her nerves creeping in. This would be the first time she had ever done anything like this—sneaking around, breaking rules, pulling off a prank that, if successful, would be talked about for weeks.
As she sat at the long Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, her leg bounced under the bench. She pushed the food around on her plate, Ron was halfway through stuffing an entire roll into his mouth while Hermione scolded him. Her eyes darted across the room—then landed on Harry.
Of course.
Without a second thought, she grabbed his arm and pulled him up from his seat.
"Oi—Hope, what—?" Harry stumbled slightly as she dragged him toward the edge of the hall, away from prying ears. He gave her an odd look, pushing his glasses up his nose. "What's going on?"
She exhaled sharply, shifting on her feet. "Okay, you can say no, but... could I borrow the Invisibility Cloak tonight?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up. His hand instinctively went to the back of his neck as he frowned slightly. "Uh... I guess so?" he said slowly, studying her.
Hope bit her lip, then hesitated before adding, "If you let me borrow it, though... you'd also be letting two other people use it." She gave him a hopeful smile, clasping her hands together in front of her.
Harry's expression immediately shifted, his suspicion deepening. He tilted his head. "I don't know..." he trailed off.
"It would be the twins," she said quickly, as if that would make it sound less suspicious.
It didn't.
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What are you three up to?"
Hope bit her lip. "I can't tell you."
"Well, if you can't tell me, I can't give you the cloak."
She let out a frustrated whine, stepping closer and placing her hands on his shoulders. "Harry, trust me. It will be worth it."
Harry studied her carefully, still looking uncertain. "...Does this have something to do with what you were saying about Snape just before the holiday? That he was gonna 'get what's coming to him'?"
Hope didn't answer. She simply gave him a small, knowing smile, the mischievous glint in her eyes saying everything.
Harry exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He was torn. A part of him knew this was probably a terrible idea. If they got caught, Gryffindor would definitely lose points, not to mention Snape would have Hope's head. But another part of him—the part that had been on the receiving end of Snape's unfairness one too many times—was undeniably curious.
After a long, drawn-out sigh, he gave in.
"Alright."
Hope grinned brightly. "Thank you, thank you! It will be worth it, I promise."
Harry just shook his head, already wondering what kind of madness Hope and the twins were up to.
Later that night, Hope sat curled up in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, her fingers tracing the silken fabric of the Invisibility Cloak draped across her lap. The common room was now empty with all of the students having gone to bed.
Then, at last, Fred and George emerged from the boys' dormitory.
Fred's eyes locked onto the silvery fabric in her lap. "Well, would you look at that?"
George whistled low, plopping down beside her on the armrest of her chair. "A real, honest-to-Merlin Invisibility Cloak. Where'd you nick this from?"
Hope smirked. "Borrowed it."
Fred raised an eyebrow. "From?"
"A friend."
George leaned in, peering at her with mock suspicion. "A very generous friend, I take it?"
Hope shrugged with a grin, refusing to give anything away.
Fred clapped his hands together. "Right, then. Let's not waste any more time. We've got mischief to do."
Getting under the cloak was a challenge.
It was already difficult enough fitting three people under the cloak with Harry and Ron, but with the twins being much taller, the challenge was even worse. Hope found herself squeezed between them, the cloak barely draping over their hunched forms as they shuffled forward in awkward, half-crouched steps.
Slowly, they maneuvered their way through the dimly lit corridors, keeping close to the walls as they descended into the dungeons. The air was colder down here, thick with dampness, and Hope shivered as she tucked her arms in tighter.
They passed Nearly Headless Nick, who floated by humming to himself, oblivious. Then came Mrs. Norris, prowling near the entrance to the Potions corridor.
Hope's breath hitched.
She gripped George's sleeve instinctively, her fingers twisting into the fabric. He stilled at the contact, then ever so slightly shifted, putting himself between her and the cat.
Mrs. Norris stopped, ears twitching.
None of them moved.
After a long, agonizing moment, she slinked off.
Hope let out a shaky exhale. "Merlin's beard."
George glanced down at her, amused. "Scared of a cat?"
"Scared of what comes with the cat." Hope said, shuddering at the thought of getting caught by Filch.
Fred snickered but didn't argue.
They pushed forward, just barely dodging a Slytherin prefect, before finally reaching their destination—Snape's classroom.
Once inside, the three wasted no time getting to work.
Fred and George immediately got to setting up the grease bombs, crouching low as they placed them under the Slytherins' desks. Hope, meanwhile, moved to the blackboard, Snape had already written out tomorrow's lesson, leaving just enough space at the top for her final touch.
She wrote in massive, bold letters:
SNAPE'S A GREASY GIT.
She lifted her wand pointing at the bold letters, carefully tracing two counterclockwise movements. Her voice was barely above a breath as she whispered, "Condidicarmen."
The words shimmered for a second, then vanished.
Fred was grinning as he carefully secured one last bomb under Snape's desk. "Alright, these beauties are set. Soon as you do the revealing charm, they'll explode on impact. The Slytherins won't know what hit them."
A thrill ran through her, but it was immediately followed by a wave of nausea. She swallowed thickly, stepping back to take in their handiwork.
Fred clapped his hands together softly. "Alright, time to get out of here."
Hope took one last look at the board, heart pounding, before they slipped out of the classroom and disappeared into the shadows.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The day dragged on, each class stretching longer than usual as anticipation built in Hope's chest.
In Charms, Professor Flitwick was as enthusiastic as ever, standing atop his stack of books to better address the class. They were practicing Reparo, the Mending Charm, and everyone was faring about as well as expected.
Ron accidentally broke his quill further instead of repairing it, much to Hermione's exasperation. Seamus, as usual, nearly set his desk on fire instead of mending anything, causing Flitwick to rush over and put it out with a flick of his wand.
Hope, distracted as she was, managed a half-decent attempt. Her quill wobbled slightly before moving together, though it only mended partially.
Transfiguration was next. They were still working on turning a match into a needle, a task Hope hadn't been paying much attention to. As she absentmindedly swished her wand, her match remained unchanged. It wasn't until McGonagall passed by her desk, peering over her spectacles, that Hope snapped out of her thoughts.
"You're not concentrating, Miss Lupin," McGonagall observed.
Hope swallowed. "Er—no, Professor."
McGonagall pursed her lips but moved on.
By the time lunch arrived, Hope's nerves had doubled. She barely touched her food, much to Hermione's dismay.
"You need to eat something," Hermione murmured, pushing a plate of shepherd's pie toward her.
"I'm fine," Hope replied automatically, though her stomach churned with nerves.
She wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear. Probably both.
Defense Against the Dark Arts was just as dull as always, with Professor Quirrell stammering his way through a lesson that no one was listening to. By the time Potions rolled around, her hands were clammy, and her heart pounded against her ribs.
The dungeon was freezing, as always. The moment she stepped inside, the familiar musty scent of damp stone and dried ingredients filled her nose. Hope swallowed and slipped into her seat next to Ron, gripping the desk's edge to steady herself.
"All right?" Ron muttered, glancing at her.
"Yeah," she whispered back.
Harry, seated ahead, kept throwing her curious glances, clearly wondering what she and the twins had planned.
Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him as he stalked toward the front of the class. His usual scowl was firmly in place, his gaze sweeping over the students with thinly veiled contempt.
"Today," he drawled, "we will be brewing a Reflecting Solution. When done correctly, it should turn a perfect shade of silver."
Hope barely listened. Her eyes flicked toward the blackboard.
She just needed one good distraction.
And then—
Right on cue, Neville's cauldron let out a loud hiss. The potion inside had turned a sickly green, bubbling violently. A horrible stench filled the air, making the nearest students gag.
Snape's reaction was immediate. His face twisted with disgust as he stalked toward Neville's table, his black eyes burning with disapproval.
"Longbottom," he said, his voice as cold as the dungeon walls. "Have you managed, yet again, to ruin a potion that even a flobberworm could brew correctly?"
Neville shrank under the scrutiny, his face turning red as he stammered out an apology.
Snape didn't let him finish. His gaze flickered to Harry, dark and accusing. "And you, Potter—did you simply stand by and let this disaster unfold, or were you too busy reveling in the incompetence of your friends?"
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hope had already tuned them out. This was it.
As Snape tore into Neville, she slipped her wand from her sleeve, keeping it hidden under the desk. Ron noticed and frowned. "What are you—"
She shot him a warning look and pressed a finger to her lips.
Lifting her wand ever so slightly, she pointed it toward the blackboard and whispered, Aparecium.
She shoved her wand into her bag and sat back, feigning innocence. For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Large, bold letters appeared across the top of the board:
'SNAPE'S A GREASY GIT.'
For half a second, there was silence.
Then—Gryffindor exploded into laughter.
Seamus let out an actual whoop, slapping the desk as he doubled over. Dean had to bury his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking. Even Hermione, who normally disapproved of anything rule-breaking, had pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and reluctant amusement.
And the Slytherins—oh, the Slytherins were furious.
Pansy Parkinson let out an outraged gasp, clutching at her chest as though she'd just been personally attacked. "How dare—"
Malfoy, sitting a few rows ahead, turned a furious shade of red. "That's not funny!" he snapped, but his voice was drowned out by the howls of laughter.
Snape, however, did not shout. Did not react with the same outburst as the students. No, he turned slowly, his entire body radiating suppressed fury. His black eyes scanned the room, narrowing to slits. Hope barely had time to think before his gaze locked onto hers, pinning her in place like a predator who had just found its prey.
Her stomach plummeted.
Then, just as his lips parted, ready to unleash a punishment—
BANG!
A sharp explosion echoed through the room as a grease bomb went off beneath Crabbe's chair. The thick, slick substance exploded outward, coating him in a shiny layer of grease.
Another BANG! under Pansy, who let out a shriek of horror as the goo covered her arms. She shook them wildly, only making the mess worse.
Then came Malfoy.
A loud POP sounded beneath him, and before he could react, a wave of grease splattered over his hair, his robes, his face. He let out an undignified yelp, scrambling backward—only to slip and hit the dungeon floor with a wet thump.
And then, one after another, more went off.
Blaise Zabini tried to dodge but ended up slipping straight into Theodore Nott, sending them both crashing into a nearby table. Goyle, in his attempt to help Crabbe, skidded across the floor like a flailing fish.
And then—the final explosion.
Right at Snape's desk.
A geyser of grease erupted, splattering over the front of his robes, dripping from his hair, and running down his sallow face in thick rivulets.
For a full five seconds, nobody moved.
Then—
Seamus actually fell off his stool, howling with laughter. Dean had collapsed against the desk, face buried in his arms as he tried to contain his gasping wheezes. Even Parvati and Lavender, normally more reserved in class, clutched at each other, eyes wide with shock and delight.
The Slytherins, however, were in absolute chaos.
Draco, still sprawled on the floor, looked like he wanted to hex someone into oblivion. Pansy's screeching filled the dungeon as she desperately tried to shake the grease off her robes. Even Snape's usual ice-cold composure had cracked—his nostrils flared, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
With a dangerous flick of his wand, he growled, "Scourgify."
The grease vanished instantly, but the damage was already done. The Slytherins still looked rattled, some still slipping as they tried to stand. Goyle had to help Draco up, who was cradling his elbow from his particularly hard fall.
Snape took a deep breath, his face an unreadable mask of fury. "Potions is dismissed," he said, his voice clipped and deathly quiet.
The Gryffindors wasted no time scrambling toward the door, still barely containing their laughter.
But just as Hope reached the exit—
"Everyone except Miss Lupin."
The room froze.
Hope felt her stomach twist as every head turned toward her. The lingering amusement drained from the faces of her classmates, replaced with varying degrees of sympathy and horror.
Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. And Ron gave her a sympathetic smile, “For what it’s worth,” he whispered as he passed, “that was bloody brilliant.”
Hope gave a weak smile, but her palms were already sweaty.
The door shut behind the last student.
Snape turned toward her, crossing his arms, his black eyes gleaming with something cold and unreadable.
Hope's stomach twisted as Professor Snape's cold, measured voice cut through the air.
"Stay put."
She swallowed hard, nodding stiffly as he turned and strode out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. The silence that followed was suffocating, her heart hammering against her ribs as she stood frozen in place.
Minutes stretched unbearably long before he returned, his expression unreadable. "Follow me," he ordered.
Hope obeyed without a word, trailing after him down the dimly lit corridors. Her palms were clammy, her steps uncertain. The echo of their footsteps rang in her ears, amplifying her nerves. Every student they passed cast curious glances, but one look at Snape's stormy expression was enough to make them quickly look away.
When they reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Hope hesitated for a fraction of a second, taking in the strange sight before her. A large, stone gargoyle stood guard, its eyes hollow and unmoving, mouth slightly open as if caught mid-snarl. The torches on either side flickered, casting long, shifting shadows across the floor.
Snape didn't even pause. In his usual monotone, he murmured, "Fizzing Whizzbees."
The gargoyle sprang to life, shifting aside to reveal a spiraling staircase that began moving upward the moment they stepped onto it. Hope's stomach churned as they ascended, her nerves tightening like a coil with every passing second.
At the top, a grand wooden door loomed before them. Without a single knock, it swung open.
Dumbledore's office was just as impressive as she thought it would be—towering bookshelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes and delicate silver instruments that whirred and clicked softly.
And then she saw who else was waiting for her.
Professor McGonagall stood beside Dumbledore's desk, her arms folded tightly, her sharp gaze fixed on Hope with the kind of scrutiny that made her insides shrivel. She was the picture of stern authority—lips pressed into a thin line, eyes hard as polished steel.
Hope barely suppressed a gulp.
Dumbledore, by contrast, sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers tented before him, his expression unreadable. He regarded her with the same quiet patience he always did, but there was no mistaking the disappointment in his twinkling blue eyes.
Professor McGonagall was the first to speak.
"Professor Snape has informed us of your little prank," she said, her clipped tone laced with disapproval.
Hope straightened slightly. "Well, how do you know it was me? You can't prove anything."
Snape exhaled sharply through his nose, his expression twisting with something between irritation and amusement. "Do not be absurd, Miss Lupin," he drawled. "I know what your handwriting looks like."
Hope's stomach plummeted.
Merlin's beard. She had not thought of that.
Before she could scramble for an excuse, Snape extended his hand. "Your wand."
Her fingers tightened around it instinctively. "What?"
"Your wand, Miss Lupin."
She scowled but knew resisting would only make things worse. Reluctantly, she handed it over. Snape wasted no time, flicking his own wand and muttering, "Priori Incantatem."
A faint glow shimmered from the tip of her wand, revealing the last spell cast— the Revealing Charm.
Hope groaned internally. Really should have seen that coming.
Snape arched a brow, his expression unreadable—but there was something coldly triumphant in his gaze.
"Well, well, Miss Lupin," he mused, tilting his head slightly. "It seems some things never change."
Hope furrowed her brows. What was that supposed to mean?
Before she could dwell on it, Snape turned to Dumbledore and McGonagall. "This blatant disregard for authority must be met with severe consequences," he said. "I propose no less than eighty points from Gryffindor."
Hope stiffened. "Eighty?"
"At minimum." Snape sneered, turning to Professor McGonagall. "The girl tampered with school property, wasted valuable class time, and has shown no remorse." His gaze flickered to Hope, filled with cold disdain.
Dumbledore, who had been quietly watching the exchange with his usual air of calm amusement, turned to McGonagall. "As she is a Gryffindor, I believe this decision falls to you, Minerva."
McGonagall didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, her piercing gaze making Hope shift uncomfortably. "Those Concealing and Revealing Charms are second-year spells, at least," she noted. "And the grease bombs—much higher. That level of magic suggests you may have had help."
Hope's breath hitched. "I did it alone," she blurted, shaking her head quickly. The last thing she wanted was to drag the twins down with her.
McGonagall studied her for a long moment, clearly unconvinced, but didn't press the matter further. "Very well," she said crisply. "Forty points from Gryffindor."
Hope's jaw nearly hit the floor.
"And detention for the remainder of the school year."
Her mouth opened to protest, but one sharp look from McGonagall made her snap it shut.
"As well as a letter to your father."
Hope let out an audible groan.
"And might I suggest," McGonagall continued, "that in the future, you apply your talents to something more constructive rather than this—" her eyes narrowed slightly, "foolishness?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at Snape. His expression was unreadable, but the cold glare he sent her way made one thing clear—he did not think the punishment was severe enough.
If looks could kill...
Dumbledore finally spoke again, his voice kind but firm. "You may return to your common room, Miss Lupin."
Hope wasted no time. She turned on her heel and hurried out, barely resisting the urge to run.
She trudged through the dimly lit corridors as she made her way back to Gryffindor Tower, her mind still reeling from the punishment McGonagall had handed her. She exhaled sharply, raking a hand through her hair as she reached the portrait hole.
The moment she stepped through, the common room erupted.
"Hope!"
She barely had time to register what was happening before she was swarmed. The warm glow of the crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the excited faces crowding around her, everyone talking at once.
"What happened?"
"How much trouble are you in?"
"Was it worth it?"
Her mood lifted just slightly at the sight of everyone waiting for her.
Hermione was the first to reach her, arms crossed tightly, a familiar disapproving frown set firmly in place. "Hope, that was completely reckless! What were you thinking?"
Before Hope could even attempt a response, Ron cut in, eyes wide with excitement. "That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen! Did you see the look on Malfoy's face? I thought he was going to cry!"
Harry, leaning against the arm of the sofa, nodded with a small grin. "And Snape's, when he was covered in grease?" He let out a laugh at the memory, shaking his head.
Neville, standing just behind him, let out a nervous chuckle. "Though... it was a bit scary. I don't think I've ever seen him that angry."
Hope turned toward the twins, who had been watching the commotion with matching smirks. "You two are in the clear," she assured them. "I told them it was just me."
Fred put a hand over his heart. "Taking the fall for us? We owe you one."
George grinned. "Or two."
Ron, still practically buzzing, nudged her. "Alright, how much trouble are you actually in?"
Hope let out a slow breath before answering. "Forty points from Gryffindor. And detention for the rest of the term."
There was a collective groan from the group.
Percy, who had remained on the outskirts of the conversation until now, stepped forward, adjusting his glasses with an exasperated sigh. "I have never, in all my years at Hogwarts, met a first-year who's lost Gryffindor so many points," he said, adjusting his glasses. "You've now racked up a whopping eighty-point loss."
George waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, bugger off, Perce. From what I hear, the look on Snape and the Slytherins' faces was well worth it."
Hope couldn't help it—she let out a small smile. "It was pretty great," she admitted.
"Great?" Ron gaped at her. "Hope, it was bloody brilliant!"
George threw an arm around her shoulder. "All Hope's idea," he announced proudly.
"Every last detail," Fred added. "Right down to the grease bombs."
Dean, who had been watching with admiration, let out a low whistle. "You're an evil genius, you are."
Hermione, still clearly torn between scolding her and being impressed, huffed but finally conceded, "Well... I suppose I have to admit your spellwork was advanced for a first-year."
Hope blinked in surprise. "You're... complimenting me?"
Hermione's lips pursed. "I still don't approve of the prank, but yes. Your spellwork was impressive."
Warmth spread through Hope's chest.
Sure, she had detention for the rest of the term. Sure, she was going to die when her father got that letter.
But surrounded by her friends, basking in their laughter and excitement, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.
Not even a little.