Professor Snarp is Kind
Rather than direct them to the Great Hall, the short-haired boy follows them blindly. To pester them - it seems - but they wonder if he's really so ignorant that he's forgotten about dinner altogether. It seems that way. Question after question they dodge, and he seems to be annoying enough to drive all of the other students away too.
They'll never make it!
When they continue to ignore him - because there's no way he'll lead them to the Great Hall, he's too much of a loose cannon and yet simultaneously too fixated (on shit like Tilly's new journal, or his ability to not-correctly-cast wingardium leviosa, or the fact that Leon is ignoring him even though he has so much to offer!) - the boy changes tactics. Rather than blatantly demand their attention like the desperate five year old he is, he feigns a sort of aloof air. As this happens, Leon sets their sights on a tall ginger haired boy and quickly closes the gap.
"What're those marks on your arm?" Their shadow wonders - trying so hard to reign in his curiosity, to turn it into a mature sort of conversational.
Distracted, not even attentive enough to be considered half-hearted, Leon murmurs a response. "Tattoos." They weave between an arguing cluster of kids.
A gross finger bumps into a long, welted line, "I mean these ones."
"It's an allergic reaction."
The boy's mouth falls open, aghast. So childishly gullible - ruse broken. "Oh no! To what?!"
"Stupid questions."
Still, the acknowledgement has them pulling their bag off their shoulder to stretch it out before them. In the next second they've summoned a hoodie, slid it on, and then their free hand tugs out the big bundle in front to free it for gravity. They sling the bag back over their shoulder.
"Wow, I didn't know we could do that." They boy breathes, awed. "And you didn't even speak!" He pauses, makes an ugly thinking face, "Wait.. stupid questions?-"
"Aren't you late for nap time?"
At that, the boy implodes. "Agh- forget it! You're so annoying! I'm not talking to you anymore!"
He proceeds to stomp away. He gets a few yards before he turns around - as if hoping they would follow after him - and his face smushes and contorts when realizing they did not, in fact, chase after him. Too full of pride, the boy hmphs! and carries on.
(He still glances back every few seconds - and he tells himself he isn't upset that the ugly muggle photographer is talking to some ugly tall boy, and that he doesn't find the photographer cool, and that he didn't even want to talk to them anyway - because they're so ugly and lame! And he's got way cooler friends in Hufflepuff anyway - all a million times more funner than that one! Even Filch is cooler! And Filch is like, super ugly and so smelly and mean! And so he keeps walking, completely unbothered and one million billion percent fine! His cheeks aren't red at all, it's just the elevation! He's just hungry! He's just turning around again because he thinks he dropped a packet of Flobberworm Gum!-)
"Hey," Leon cranes their head into the ginger's line of sight. A little form in the background throws their arms up in a huff before storming off. "Can you show me to the Great Hall?"
The teen blinks at them for a while before looking around. When his gaze finds them again he's perplexed.
"Who are you?"
"Leon."
The boy's brows nearly become one - clearly skeptical, confused. Leon scratches the bridge of their nose - because no, that wasn't a very good answer.
"Sorry. I'm the new Interim Gamekeeper." They jerk a thumb over their shoulder before correcting to point behind the boy, "I work with Hagrid. He told me to head to the Great Hall, but, I mean.." They look right, roam the expansive space with their blank face, "All the halls look pretty great to me, so.."
Skepticism dropped, the boy tightens his lips - in an attempt to not blatantly laugh in their face. He coughs into his fist instead.
"Right, Leon the Interim Gamekeeper." Wow, he accepted that quickly, "The halls are great - but when people say Great Hall they mean the dinner hall." He finally smiles. It's a little crooked, a little charmingly ugly, "I've always thought it could benefit from a name change, though."
He jerks his left arm across his body to point down the hall, "C'mon, the poorly-named-Hall is this way. I'll show you."
The boy makes to turn away, peering back to see if they're keen to follow. Leon does so with amusement just below their skin. He's kind of funny in a dry, personable way.
They head down the hall together, and Leon takes a moment to actually look at the kid. Why? They'll never know. Maybe boredom.
Long orange hair tied sloppily into a withering low bun. Dusty shoes. Faded robes. Strong, oddly-shaped jaw. Interesting nose. A little.. button? on his shirt. They didn't think wizards were into buttons. They wonder if it's an inside joke. Maybe he's the butt of a joke.
"What's that?" They ask. The boy follows their gaze to his chest, plucking it outward with his long fingers. He ahs. Releases the fabric.
"I'm a prefect." He responds, "Which means I get to wear this cool little button and put the younger ones in timeout." He grins, "It's quite fun. Can't do it to my siblings, so I do it here instead."
Leon hums, "Man, those kids must love you."
His grin widens, "Too much, maybe. I think they purposely launch wizzhits in the bathroom in hopes that I'll catch them." He leads them left down a hall, concrete on one side and striking cutouts to a courtyard on the right. He glows in little slips of light through the columns, illuminating his curious face.
"So what's an Interim Gamekeeper do? I wasn't under the impression that Hogwarts needed any assistance." His eyes narrow under his brows, contemplative, "Aside from the dragons, maybe."
The dragons.. ah, the Opaleye. Leon was under the impression - the impression that the unflappable, secret keeping Hagrid gave them - that the students weren't to know about the transport. Or the destruction... Or any of it.
"How'd you find out about the dragons?"
His eyes crinkle once more with his smile. It looks slightly mischievous, "Let's just say that one brother isn't too fond of me."
So he has a sibling here after all - a nosy one. Great. Wait- they just wanted to find the Great Hall, not be fed this kid's memoir. They're becoming just like that snot nosed short-haired kid now!
They abruptly reroute, "Do you know a Sprout?"
The boy seems so incredibly bemused by them - he hasn't been able to wipe that good-natured smile off his face since they met - and it's totally at their expense! He's probably twelve or something, too - the brat.
They voice this aloud. "Ah, do you even know? Aren't you like, twelve?"
The boy's shoulders shake with his chuckle, "I'm sixteen."
Leon purses their lips, pointedly turns their head left - to look at the paintings, of course. They're so interesting.
"Same thing." They murmur. The boy's laughter spikes before dying down. His shoes tap softly upon the floor, graceful next to Leon's clobbering boots.
"Professor Sprout teaches Herbology. She's probably eating dinner in the dinner hall as we speak," he turns them right, and the corner of his hand sways into their view.
"Which is right about... here." He ends his sentence with a theatrical flourish - still dry, still bemused, still maybe-not-as-annoying-as-every-other-kid-here.
The doors before them are giant - rather, they would be if they were closed. Instead they hang open like a great big gaping mouth, lined by more intricate concrete work that still leaves Leon a little in awe. The chatter and clinking of utensils is already dangerously loud out here, they can't imagine how awful it'll be inside.
Yes, fantastic - because they'll have to go in, too.
They peep row after row of tables - and too many children - before looking to the boy once more. He had been surveying their reaction.
And damnit, he's kind of not the worst kid they've run into here.
"Thanks, Biff."
The boy's face glows with laughter once more. "From Back to The Future? I didn't take you for a nerd."
"Takes one to know one." They quip - before realizing yet again that it's a child they're talking to. And they need to find Sprout. And maybe eat. And figure out how to clean the trees and get into Snape's good graces - and, as a side note - figure out whether or not it's okay that one of the kids (no - two) knows about the dragons.
"Ah, fuck off." They flippantly swipe their hand his way before heading inside. Unnamed ginger's laughter follows them, until it's lost under the cacophony of the poorly-named-Hall.
☆
They were right - it's way louder in here. Rambunctious children, hooting owls dropping bombs - packages - overhead, ghosts and their dried-blood robes - it's like a baby's finger painting come to life.
Their shoes take them all the way down the long line in the center, assuming the Professors are the old people sitting at the far end. Dumbledore raises his chalice when he spots them, a little bit of sauce turning his great white beard brown. Leon inclines their head in return, more privy to scan the others alongside him. They'd rather not loiter before the tables like a child called to the principals office.
The horror!
Off to the far left they spot a frizzy haired lady, some mummified old guy, a man so short they can only see down to his chin - and on and on and on. They spot Snape all the way off to the right, an empty seat separating him from the rest of his colleagues. They lock eyes for a moment. Leon is the one that looks away.
They head towards the frizzy lady on the opposite side of the room.
"Excuse me-" They wave their hand in her face when she ignores them. Still, she doesn't blink. Perhaps she died sitting upright.
"Ah, Professor Trelawney is having her bi-hourly meditative tea." The old man gestures to the empty cup before her. It looks like there's dirt on the bottom. Gross.
"Right." Leon responds, as if it's normal, "Do you know where Professor Sprout is?"
The mummy man brings his hook hand up in a point. His arm goes clear over the short guy's head - but he seems none too bothered by the act. Someone cracks an enchanted party popper in the background, filling the room with the sounds of a carnival.
"She's down by Professor Snape, last I saw! Would you mind my askin' - whatever do you need her for?"
Of course she's by Professor Snot. Snarp. Snape.
"Ah, a delivery." They respond. Their go-to phrase, it seems to be. They wonder if Sprout will knock them down twenty pegs as well. Maybe thirty.
The man slouches, sighing dejectedly, "Can't remember the last time I had a delivery."
"...Right, well.." Leon scratches their eye, turning away before glancing back - but the old man is looking forlornly at his unseasoned chicken. Leon slips away, dodging ghosts - it feels so gross to be run through by one, they've learned - and the occasional loose student being frog-marched by Filch.
Dumbledore raises his chalice to them once more as they pass, and so they pause. It's too loud to hear anything he may say from this distance - separated by the table running from wall to wall - so they just watch him root through his pockets. One inside his robe, one outside his robes, once more inside, switching to the right side, again searching outside, patting his thighs, before - finally -
He swipes his hand behind his ear with a wide smile before extending his hand outward. It's a lemon drop. He's offering them a lemon drop like a side-street magician . Leon can't keep their face from falling, can't keep their eyes from boring holes into Dumbledore through half of their lids. They watch Dumbledore chuckle at their response, but they do not hear it.
They strain to reach forward and take the drop anyway - he had gone through the trouble to offer one with a wrapper. Dumbledore latches on to a finger, meeting their eye with a look before releasing.
Leon slowly pulls away. Looks at the drop. Watches the wrapper design dance, a gaggle of children under a sky of shooting stars - and then they tuck it away. Dumbledore pays them no mind, and so they carry on.
The mummy had said Professor Sprout was seated by Snape, so unless she's invisible she's the portly woman on the other side of the vacant seat. Leon feels Snape's stare bore into their head - no doubt he's sneering at them with those fathomlessly black eyes - as they round the table, walk behind him, and then pause beside Sprout's chair. She turns with an inquisitive smile.
"And how may I help you?" She dabs at her face with a napkin.
"Hagrid wanted me to give this to you." They pull the glimmering vial from their pocket before carefully extending it. Professor Sprout's brows raise, hurrying to clean her face and free her hands.
"Oh, yes - he had mentioned delivering this once or twice," she plucks it with thick fingers, "a few weeks ago. Glad he's finally found me important enough."
She gives them a contradictory grin. Leon can't tell if she's being an asshole or if she's just kind of funny.
"Right, well, I'll leave you to your meal-"
"Oh, no! You simply must stay." She reaches across them to pull out the empty chair. It hits them in the shin. Aha, right in the funny bone! - their spine curdles.
She's patting it as she speaks. "No use in a chair if there isn't anyone to fill it. Come, come! Have some frog legs."
Leon attempts to cover their obvious dislike for her idea - and the lingering pain in their nerves.
"I'd love to." Lie. They sound slightly strained, "But I've got to get back to work."
"Nonsense! Sit."
And they know an order when they hear one, so they warily round the seat and sink into it. It feels as if the heat of the sun is burning off to their left. Yes, this is exactly how to get into Snape's good graces - disregard his obvious boundaries and encroach on his space. Yes. Perfect. It's been nearly two hours since their meeting after all, enough time to move on. Haha. Haha.. ah..
"Now, tell me," Sprout slightly turns to face them. Her pointy hat is askew on her frizzled hair, her hands and robes grubby. Herbology teacher, Biff had said. She looks the part.
"What is it that you do here? Obviously it has some correlation to Hagrid, but I've yet to..."
Leon can't help their immediate poker-face. Had Dumbledore not told anyone that they had been hired? They tilt left to peer around Sprout. Dumbledore meets their eye with an amused quirk of his lips, yards and yards away. He turns his shoulder and faces right.
"Well?" Sprout asks, looking as if she's hungry for more than her frog legs. Merlin, what had she asked them?
"I uh.." They cross their legs in their chair. They think - but really their head is entirely empty. Sprout pays it no mind, "I'm kind of a tag-on Gamekeeper. Dumbledore was kind enough to let me assist Hagrid with all that he does."
Sprout looks contemplative. "Hmm, yes, it is quite peculiar for you to be hired on. We've only had the one Keeper of The Keys for as long as Hogwarts has been founded." She leans in, looking eager, "Tell me, what's so special about you?"
Haha, absolutely nothing - thank you for the reminder! They had no idea Hogwarts was forever rolling with one Gamekeeper. How odd for them to be hired, indeed. Great!
Leon, as dumb as Sprout in this regard, simply shrugs. "I'm American?"
There is a long suffering sigh slightly behind them. They don't even want to imagine Snape's disappointed glare.
Sprout's mouth falls open slightly, teeth bared like she's eaten something bad, and she looks them up and down. Up and down. Once more, and then she laughs loudly.
"A rarity indeed! Why, I'd hire for flavor, too, wouldn't I? Yes, it's only logical." She rips a frog thigh off of bone, "We've no use for talent or prowess here at Hogwarts, oh no. We merely hire for the diversity."
"Okay, okay." They can't help their bemused smile, "I'm not sure why I was hired. I don't think I'm very special."
"Ah, but your speech is so modern! Why, it's truly in a league of its own!"
She's still making fun of them!
"Yes, thank you. It's super hard to maintain."
"Taxing as it may be, there is no denying its allure!" She leans further in, "Tell me, what other unparalleled traits are you hiding? They must be quite something to warrant such an unconventional hire."
Their outside mimics their loss of words on the inside. A pinched, 'I don't know what to tell you' mouth, a flop of their hands.
"That's it, really. I do magic. I'm American." They remember why they were hired, then, "Ah, I've worked with magical creatures for the past couple of years."
"In what capacity? I'm sure the tales must be riveting!" Her smile stretches wider, her brows raise higher. Her chins multiply with her imploring nods.
Leon can do nothing but yield. Really, though, they wonder how much she'll squeeze from them. "Non-profits-"
"Such a noble feat!" And now she's so obviously yanking their chain, "And an American wizard, you say? You must have graduated from Ilvermorny then, correct? Which house were you sorted into? What year did you graduate?"
Leon responds slowly. Reluctant, "Thunderbird-"
"Brilliant!"
"And I didn't graduate."
At that, Professor Sprout drops her teasing air. Her face carefully folds up in the way teachers' features often do, where they shed themself to become an authority figure. It isn't pity that takes place, but a wise understanding. Leon thinks they don't quite care for it.
"I see." She responds, controlled, "Well, the world isn't so forthright with all of us. I suppose some things just are - are they not? Mm, yes. I suppose they are." Sprout suddenly taps the table before them, "Enough of that now, eat!"
They feel as if they've been ripped from a sauna into the sharp winter air. She really is all over the place. Still, they look at the nothing before them. "Eat.. the air?"
Another soul-crushing exhale behind them. Leon scrubs their hands down their face, turning slightly left to look out the windows. The sun will be setting soon - as if that matters. They truly just want to leave, Snape feels a lot like an atomic bomb right now. Sprout is an unknown variable. These people are crazy - nothing at all like the staff of Ilvermorny-
"Haha, the air!" Sprout repeats - at their expense. She leans forward to tap the table's center, "Simply tell the table your request, and magic will do the rest!" She tears into her own plate of.. suspicion.. with a renewed vigor.
Leon licks their teeth, feels their stomach rumble. Sprout doesn't seem the type to release prisoners - and a prisoner they are. Snared tight by social niceties. They haven't eaten in a fortnight, according to Hagrid, and he's not too far off. Ah, man. They are hungry. Right now in this moment, what they want more than anything- Merlin's beard, please work-
"Tonkatsu ramen." They mutter, feeling a little stupid. There are a few moments of pause afterwards where they wish they could turn invisible, and then the table cracks open. Up launches a tray, a bowl, and two little condiment dishes. Leon can't help but stare.
"Have you never seen magic before?" A long-suffering voice drawls. Ah, good - he still enunciates with knives, still sounds as if he finds them repulsive. They were worried he wouldn't.
"I've never seen him play personally, but I hear he's a great point guard." They pull the tray towards them. They can hear Snape's brows knit.
Even though it seems to pain him, his mouth curls open, "What.. on Earth are you talking about?"
"Magic Johnson. Basketball." They pause their soup-ing to look Snape's way. Mouth caught between a grimace and a sneer, brows heavy, eyes boiling black. He doesn't even need to insult them to make them feel like an idiot - not with a look like that. Luckily, Leon has a lack of self-respect on their side. They dig into their soup.
And oh, Merlin's beard - is it delicious. They scarf the bowl down - adding in the side of mushrooms and shoyu sauce in the condiment bowls - before requesting another. They don't know how long they spend eating, but the hall is still full when they lean back with a warm stomach.
Bloody brilliant - a phrase taken from a third year the other day. They wouldn't say it out loud - how embarrassing would that sound in their American mouth? - but they resonate with it. They make a point to give Sprout their thanks. She responds with a hearty pat on the back, and then she excuses herself from the hall.
Leon remains seated despite their empty tray. The table eventually sucks it back in, and some of the other Professors filter out. Some - and yet Leon carefully, subtly, rotates their head left.
He's still there. Why is he still there?
Indeed, Snape has just been sitting with his arms crossed and his back straight for however many minutes its been. He didn't have a tray when they arrived, even, so..? They return their own gaze to the students. Lively as ever, impossibly loud and jovial. Leon is wondering how they're going to get into Snape's good graces - or maybe they should just forego them and brew anyway (Ah, but he's so undeniably cool. They don't want to fuck that up) - when he speaks.
"Hagrid's fulfillment of his... delivery.. was noticeably less illogical compared to past endeavors." Snape starts out of the blue. Droning, droning, all burnt honey. He doesn't look at them. Leon wonders if it's his pride that does this. Their lack of pride - or perhaps lack of ego - has them responding as if he didn't berate them five milliseconds into their meeting.
"..I'm glad everything seems to be in order."
"Yes. Did he.." Snape seems torn between repulsion and apathy as he pauses - as if inquiring pains him. It probably does - the goddamn dungeon messiah, "..perhaps.. mention whereabouts such goods came from?"
There's a moment of silence afterwards. A silence so long that it seems to annoy Snape - if the turn of his head says anything. His token glower is swapped for a tightness in his face.
Leon wonders how often he attempts civility - not very often, given by the strain they find in his brows, his lips. They should be so lucky to be in the presence of his carefully controlled disgust.
They envision how they had carefully plucked and preened and coerced the creatures, the fauna - how they had rooted through their bag, taken from their stores. Such an act could get them in his good graces - maybe, if he holds any respect for like-minded admirers hoarders (or perhaps he would hate them out of spite) - but Hagrid was supposed to have gathered everything. They're not going to rat him out.
"..He did not." They respond.
Snape does not seem pleased nor displeased at their response. He looks, even, as if he does not believe them. He simply drops the conversation altogether.
Damn him for making that cool, too.
"Say.." Leon revives the conversation - they can't believe they had forgotten, "What are the restrictions regarding the potions lab?"
"Privy to break something, are you?" Snape's slanted brow rises, judgement heavy along his face. The non-offensive Snape must have been a hallucination.
"Hah." It's dry, "No, that's what tea shops are for. I was hoping to brew something, but I didn't want to infringe or unknowingly break any rules." As a gesture of goodwill, they shift awkwardly in their seat and dig into their pocket. Snape's sneer slowly returns the longer they search - until, finally, they pull out a slip of parchment. They extend it with two fingers.
Snape eyes it like a writhing roach. "I'm not. Touching. Your dirty scraps, thank you."
"Awesome." Again, dry. They unroll the parchment themself. It's their shit-ass blueprint for their stamina replenishment potion. It steals some basic ingredients from the time-limited-severe-drawback Invigoration Draught, but that's where their similarities lie. Experimental at best, but they're confident in its partial success.
...Or maybe not - but it isn't nothing.
They slide it over to him, so as to not hold it all night. As if against his will, his eyes flick down to it, rip away, and then immediately dart back with something in his eyes.
"Hagrid is putting me to work." They say as way of explanation, "And my.. magic.. can't keep up." They watch him run his eyes over his paper. Slowly, a long finger comes out to twist the paper to favor his view slightly more. Leon has to fight a twitch in their lips.
"Not everyone is eleven feet." They add.
"Yes," Snape drawls, low and slow, "What an astute, prototypical observation. Were you hoping for applause?"
He keeps silent for a moment longer. He must not care about appearances anymore, because he uses an elegant finger to flip their dirty scrap over - a search for more. Afterwards he clears his throat, straightens in his seat rips his hand away. He holds his chin high. Regards them. Speaks.
"You intend to soak Unicorn horn in Re'em blood." He notes, voice low like a rolling fog, "Why?"
Leon blink blinks. It doesn't feel or sound like a blatant insult - and yes, he looks unimpressed, cutting, all around acrimonious, but not purposefully derogatory. He had asked them a question. Holy shit, no way.
No fucking way!
They think Snape might actually be curious (or revving up to tear them a new one).
"Re'em blood is the binder and reactant in the Exstimulo Potion."
Snape's interjection is downright laborious, "Ob-viously."
It may as well have been a verbal eye roll.
"And seeing as Granian hair and Snowdrop both wield the propensity to benefit spellcasting," they unfold their legs, leaning crooked against the chair's back, "I figured swapping it out with ground Alihosty leaves and Unicorn horn would lead Re'em blood to activate a stamina-based replenishment." They scratch at their cheek, because, admittedly, it feels as if their hopeful potion is missing something big.
"It won't."
He says it with such surety that Leon can't help but feel inclined to believe him. They shift in their seat to face him more fully.
"What makes you say that?"
"Unicorn horn," Snape punctuates, "Changes alchemical inclination once in contact with another substance longer than half an hour."
Leon nods, "Yes, which is why I had planned to soak it for twenty minutes, and then add the combination to an already boiling cauldron. Two hundred and fifty seven degrees, held for seven minutes. The brew should turn a translucent yellow." All purely hypothetical, of course - and Snape knows it. Shoddy at best.
He's less haughty than they'd envisioned, but still so painfully pretentious, "As I'm sure you know, soaking organic materials in Re'em blood is often ill-advised - when working with.. baser substances." He raises a brow when they go to open their mouth, "Be that as it may, Unicorn horns are among the most unforgiving materials in brewing - however," He crosses his arms, looking all too much like a bat, "You seem to have forgotten a key component in your.. equation."
Great, thanks, that literally tells them nothing. They had considered Unicorn horn potentially changing potency during the marinade - hence the time restraint - and adding it to an already boiled environment should stabilize-
"Oh." They murmur, straightening slightly. Snape regards their understanding with something like a teacher's quiet, sullen reward.
"You see, now, the obvious rudimentary flaw in your ventures. Even a first year could spot such foolishness."
"Ah, yep. I'm an idiot." They murmur, scratching their brow as they think. A noise escapes Snape, either a snort or a scoff. When they glance at him he looks so very unkind.
"It is concerning - how long it has taken you to notice your own ineptitude." He suddenly conjures a quill.
"Concerning enough that it is insulting.." He mutters, scribbling along the back of their dirty scrap before sliding it a few inches towards them. They look him up and down. He looks them up and down.
As if realizing his actions could be misinterpreted as interest - or, Merlin forbid, kindness - Snape glowers down his nose at them. "Don't get a big head. I'm merely eager to hasten your inevitable retirement from your ludicrous position. There is nodoubt in my mind that you will spectacularlyblunder this. You're not any different from the other insufferable dunderheads that muddy the corridors." He says this with that perfectly cutting tone of his. His lips slowly peel back into unabashed scorn with his final addition, showcasing an unfathomable distaste, "Dumbledore has the most.. unfortunate of proclivities, in that he favors. Strays."
It's as if his words go completely over Leon's head.
"Of course." They hold the parchment between middle and forefinger, "Does that mean I'm free to royally fuck this up in the lab?"
Professor McGonagall gasps aloud in her path in front of them. Aghast, disappointed, her fingers clench her suspiciously full dinner tray. Like, monumentally full. Overflowing, even.
"There shall be no swearing on school grounds, Mr. Leon!"
"Just Leon." They correct. Professor McGonagall looks infinitely more affronted. They shift awkwardly in their seat - they haven't been scolded in years - they're twenty three! An adult - ah, but also an employee at a school for toddlers.
"And I'm sorry, Professor."
"You ought to be! The children here are very susceptible to that which they shouldn't be!" Her eyes turn stern, "You make sure such words never reach my ears again - are we clear?"
"Cryst-"
"Let me rephrase that; they shall never be heard by another whilst on school grounds. Am. I. Clear?"
Leon fights a weird grimace-scowl. "Yep."
Her eyes narrow.
"Yes." They correct, "...Ma'am."
She scans them up and down once more before carrying on. The clamor in the hall clears before her until she exits. Leon swears they can still hear her heeled shoes clack clacking their way down the hall.
"A radiant impression." Snape drones, before he, too, rises. He's gone before they can say anything back - and they rather think that was the point.
Damn him, damn him, damn him. Master Potioneer, Master Scowler, Master of Last Word Remarks - and they can't even feel negatively towards him for it. Damn him!
Leon presses up from their own chair before catching sight of the table. A little scrap of paper sits off center from their seat. They grasp it between pinched fingers.
Classes end promptly at 5 o'clock. See to it that you do not fuck up that which you use.
Leon can't help it. They snort. Damn him indeed.