Professor Snot is Just So Cool
The journey to Dumbledore's office is a sullen one. Not because Leon fears reprimand, but because of the wad of cloth they have to hold against the left side of their face. Filch had asked if they wanted to be a pirate but got cold feet, the ass. See if they'll do anything for him ever again - he's the reason they're death marching towards the gargoyle in the first place - failed pirate and all!
Wanker!
They read the crimson speckled parchment again.
..new password is 'Lemon Drop'. I quite like it, actually, so perhaps it shall be my...
Of course it is. Leon shoves the paper into its giant pocket once more, feeling it crumple and tear as it goes. Serves it right. They ought to cut it in half for what it's done.
Threatening a parchment - just when they thought they couldn't go any lower! Haha!! Brilliant!
And so they give the gargoyle the new silly little password, half muffled because of Hagrid's old handkerchief smushed up against their features, and they step in. It winds up and up and up and spits them out into the Headmaster's eccentric quarters once more. The pops, the whistles, the smog. It's all so eye-catching, really - and the phrase has never been more fitting for Leon's predicament.
Truth be told, they aren't even worried about the summoning. They've got more pressing - gouging - matters to think about. As if on loop, they see Hagrid's horrified face (he does not hold up well under pressure), and the sound of his head hitting the ceiling in shock. He's going to lose his roof if he keeps it up.
"Oh, my." Dumbledore greets, eyeing Leon as they miss a step and stumble over. "It seems you've taken quite the tumble."
"Yes, well.. it was all really extraordinary." They mutter, tapping around the arm of his guest chair before sinking in. They settle a little too close to the edge, but don't adjust. They pry the cloth from their face with a flatness in their lips.
"How do I look?"
"..Quite dashing, if I must say." The Headmaster eventually voices. He leans forward over his desk to get a closer look, humming in the way old folks do, "Yes, yes.. it will leave quite the scar. You ought to see Madame Pomfrey for that, lest it leaves lasting damage," there's a sudden twinkle in his eye - one that Leon immediately does not like.
"..After all, it is prudent that we keep our most esteemed Muffin Man in good health. "
And despite the unprofessionalism, Leon outright groans. Dumbledore does not chuckle, but he looks as if he might. Cheeky bastard.
"You too? Really?" They scrub a hand down their face, wondering how it's come this far. A month later and the name still follows them - and even the Headmaster himself has heard of it!
"Imagine my surprise when I'd learned I'd hired a fictional character - why," he strokes his beard cheerily. Leon wonders if they're high and just imagining this whole meeting, "I had almost asked you for an autograph the moment you stumbled in! It is not often I have such revered company!"
Leon exhales the rest of their soul. "Ah, man, lets just get this over with. I already have the offense added onto my resume." They press the cloth back into their face when it leaks, "Under special skills - Able to transfigure twenty-some students by way of unfortunate mirror-sleuthing. A natural gift for misfortune. Never a dull moment in their vicinity."
They ought to add failed pirate next.
Dumbledore gives them an sudden admonishing look in response, "It seems you've become quite comfortable in the weeks you've been here, speaking so flippantly of your offenses." He leans forward once more, poised but no less personable, "To your Headmaster no less."
The words are chiding, but Leon can't help but feel that they're empty. Something about Dumbledore's easy demeanor makes them think they'll be fine. Maybe that's just the blood loss speaking.
Ah, but he's right. They're talking to the most renowned wizard of all time like he's Hagrid. Their etiquette needs some work.
"..Sorry Headmaster." They straighten slightly, informality cast aside. They suppose this really isn't a laughing matter, "I didn't mean to make light of the situation."
They think of their.. moments of unrest within the student body and faculty, of Professor McGonagall's mourning, of their flippant attitude towards the Headmaster. They're a decent worker (they'd like to think) but perhaps that isn't enough. Maybe Hogwarts handles these slights differently - and who are they to have an opinion on that? They've only been here a month at most.
"It was not my impression that you had." Dumbledore responds, looking perpetually wise and upper handed, "But as it were, we are here to talk of your misdemeanors. I have already received innumerable reports - oddly plentiful, really - of your.. shall we say.. colorful incidents."
"...Right."
Dumbledore doesn't give them time to stew, "However, seeing as the offenses are.. distracting at best, I find no grounds for punishment."
Wait, what?
Their eloquence rears its head, "Huh?"
Dumbledore finds their deadpan quite humorous - they think he's never taken them seriously for a second, truly. They ought to be offended, but it's kind of relieving. It would say something to be considered warily by a wizard of such prestigious standing.
"Professor McGonagall has also found offense with numerous other staff members as of late." He gives them a little gossiping look, then, before he obnoxiously strokes his beard, "Ah, but it would be uncouth of me to reveal such discrepancies.. quite uncouth indeed."
He pulls open a drawer on his desk as he speaks, setting what he's acquired down, before nudging it over an inch at a time. He does not look at it. Leon looks from him to the folder, him to the folder, him and then over their shoulder. Dumbledore nods shallowly - rapidly, brows imploring - as if silently goading them. Leon feels like a child about to break a class rule.
Still, they slide it towards them, and then plop it into their lap. It's full of official paperwork, with the glaring word MISCONDUCT at the top. Skimming through reveals some with Filch's name, quite a few with their own (haha, over seven already!), one for Hagrid, Flitwick, Sna-
No way. Suddenly alive, Leon flips the folder all the way open to read about his offenses.
Date: June 17th, 1986
Ne'er-Do-Well: Severus Snape Reporter: M. McGonagall
Transgression(s): Suspected Thievery, Callous Language in Front of a Student, Unfair Treatment Towards a Student.
The next section they can't help but read in Professor McGonagall's sharp, thin voice.
Extended: On numerous occasions I have caught the Professor docking unnecessary points from houses outside of his own, and utilizing words that ought to be unspeakable. Most surprising are his ideas of just punishments, and his understanding of what ought to be considered an infraction. Many an occasion I have had to console students of my own house after their run-ins with Severus. Separately, but none less grave, is his slight of hand in my quarters. After a lengthy meeting about the previously mentioned discrepancies in my office, I had noticed my supply of Barsel Mouth had dwindled substantially. Clearly further interjection is needed, as my authority as Deputy Headmistress holds no power in his regard.
Leon, fighting a grin, flicks past that to find another one - this one slightly older.
Date: June 5th, 1986
Ne'er-Do-Well: Severus Snape Reporter: M. McGonagall
Transgression(s): Suspected Misuse of Potions, Damage to Property
Extended: This last Saturday I had the utmost displeasure of witnessing an incident involving the inappropriate use of a potion on a student. I had a standing appointment with Professor Snape, so it was to my utmost surprise to witness him in an altercation with a student, uncapped potion in hand. Further in lied a destroyed cauldron and a scorched ceiling. When questioned, Professor Snape had claimed to be confiscating said vial from the student, after the student had reportedly poured it into the cauldron to set it alight. It is my professional opinion that this was not the whole truth.
..She really reported something like that? Even Leon is able to tell this was filled with impressive tunnel vision - dare they say blatant bias. They flip further and find one from late '85, with the Extended merely reading, "The Professor's ankles, in full view-" and then it ends.
Leon can't help it, they laugh. Dumbledore seems to know which one they've stumbled upon.
"Ah, yes. Quite a shock to receive that one. Minerva and Severus tend to get on quite well," he pauses, gives them a knowing look, "ah, as well as one can get one with Severus, that is. His company is not often sought after, as it were."
"Who?"
"Professors McGonagall and Snape, respectively." His clarification is full of bemusement.
"Right." Leon hums, briefly skimming the rest, but finding nothing of intrigue - aside from McGonagall's complaint that Hagrid's beard is 'entirely too disheveled!' They flip the folder shut, leaning forward to place it upon the great, ornate desk. "I think he's pretty neat."
Dumbledore raises both brows.
"My, is that so? Does our dear Severus have an admirer?"
"Admirer seems.. juvenile." They respond, adjusting until their elbow rests upon the armrest, face in their cloth, "But he's clearly the most intriguing character here. I'm also a little biased myself," they admit, "I can't remember even meeting a Master Potioneer."
"An admirer of the craft, then? How delightful." Dumbledore steeples his fingers, "That aside, clearly our dear Professor McGonagall's grounds for reprimand have become severely.." he seems to pause around a word, quiet, before seeing it through, "well, unfortunately thin as of late. Whilst I am bound to the duties of Headmaster in that I must investigate such inquires, it is not strict that I must follow through with punishment for any one of them - outside of a mandatory summoning."
In a movement that is uncannily human, he removes his glasses to rest upon his chest. He thins his lips, "Yes, it is most unfortunate indeed.." He muses.
"I must ask that you find it within yourself to step.. more carefully around the Professor. I'm sure her outlook is bound to change in due time, yes, I am sure - but such as life must be navigated one day at a time, so too should loss."
"Of course." They respond, a little quieter. Matter seemingly closed, Dumbledore offers a smile and nothing more. Leon squints with their one eye ever so slightly. It's unclear whether or not they should leave now.. should they? He hadn't dismissed them.. but now he's just rifling through his bowl of lemon drops.
..Should they leave? Stay? They should have brought their bag with - but they had forgotten it in whatever tower they stay in a few days ago (and haven't found their way back yet). A Wiggenwald potion would be nice, get rid of the throbbing and whatnot. Ah... They should enchant a map.
"Did you, perhaps, get hit with a wayward Diffindo spell?"
Leon startles slightly at the sudden inquiry, before they untangle his words. They then purse their lips, scratch the back of their head.
"Well... you know.." They pause, removing their handkerchief, "Wait, how'd you know?"
Dumbledore smiles slightly, "Diffindo leaves a peculiar sort of tint along the edges.. yes.. I can see it from here," he's leaning heavily on his desk to squint at them, "a slight blue, on account of the casting color. You see it on many seamstresses, no matter the Wiggenwalds they consume."
Huh. They'd never have guessed - as before today, they've only ever used it to shittily cut their hair.
He sits back in his seat, scribbling onto a piece of parchment. He extends it towards them in a minute, "Give this to Madam Pomfrey, would you? And do pay her a visit once leaving these quarters." He tilts his head, conspiratorial, "It would be a shame to lose such a living legend, after all."
Great, he's not going to let it go.
"..Hah." They lean forward and accept his parchment. He's made a point to fold it up, so they just tuck it into their pocket. "Yeah, of course.." Feeling slightly antsy, they warily push up. Perhaps that was a dismissal?
"Thanks. For everything."
Dumbledore rises from his seat as well, genial, "It was my pleasure. It is not often one is summoned for transporting a mirror across corridors."
He steps around his desk to squint more closely at their face. Instinctively, they remove the handkerchief entirely. Dumbledore hmms and haas.
"Mm, yes. It gives an air of intrigue, wouldn't you agree? Most mysterious, hmm.. yes.."
Feeling a little like a zoo animal, Leon purses their lips. Scrutinizes the Headmaster. He's never seemed like more of an old man than he does right now.
"Uh.. sure.." They respond, slow. Dumbledore, finger upon his chin, stares and stares before leaning back, satisfied.
"It seems Severus has some competition after all." He voices, "He's quite notorious within the castle, as I'm sure you know," he gives a secret smile, "although it is not an enviable reputation, fearsome as it is. Regardless, I wouldn't be surprised to find his notoriety in your shadow a fortnight from now."
Leon really, really hopes that isn't the case. It's already hard enough dodging those snot-fingered guppies. They're probably in the process of contracting pneumococcal pneumonia at this very moment - imagine more! No thank you.
"Hah.. but no one is as well-known as you, Headmaster."
After a very, very long moment he smiles. Leon has never been more incapable of reading someone. "Yes. I suppose you are right." Dumbledore makes to settle behind his desk once more.
"I do hope our next rendezvous is under more fortunate circumstances, as it were." His giant Phoenix settles atop his shoulder, and for a moment it stares right into Leon's eyes in a way that has them fighting the instinct to shit their pants. Leon turns away promptly.
"Yep. Me too." They squint open their left eye as they try to head down the steps, but it's all blurry and filmy from being shut. They close it instead - and make it down the stairs successfully. "I'm sure I'll see you around, then. Take care, Headmaster."
"You as well." He voices, somewhere behind them. As they reach the doorway to his fancy spiral stairs, he speaks up once more.
"Ah, before you go - where is it that you're heading after this?"
Leon furrows their brows. Looks over their shoulder. Dumbledore is giving them a look that makes them feel as if they're missing something.
"Uh.." they think for a socially unacceptable amount of time, "..Hag-"
"Ah, I beg your pardon, I think I misheard you." He sticks a finger in his ear, wiggles it around, "Did you perhaps mean to say Madam Pomfrey in the medical wing?"
Ah, he's right!
"Of course-" they wave a hand through the air, "I just sneezed.. is all. I was definitely saying Madam Pomfrey, yes."
He smiles. They can hardly see it at this distance. "Good. You best be off, then. Wouldn't want that to get any worse."
"Of course." They repeat, and then they exit - job and handkerchief still in hand.
☆
"So, you're claiming to have received this from.. Filch?"
Leon, straight-faced, nods. "Yep."
"I see." Her tone says otherwise. Madam Pomfrey couldn't look more displeased if she tried. She then rummages around in her cupboards, speaking over her shoulder.
"You'll have to enlighten me, then-" She turns with a few vials in hand, "How is it that a Squib is suddenly able to wield magic?"
...aw, shart!
Leon finds their ankles to be very interesting in that moment. The way they settle beneath their pants. The way they keep their feet attached. They way they look so very far, all the way down there on the floor. Madam Pomfrey impatiently clears her throat.
"..I did it myself." They admit, trailing a hand up to touch the wound. Madam Pomfry smacks it away.
"And what in Merlin's beard prompted you do to that? Do you have any idea the dangers of a Diffindo spell, were it to be used improperly?"
She yoinks their chin up, turning their head every which way and clicking her tongue. They notice in the corner of their eye that she's left the potions on the table behind her - and then her face eclipses their view.
"Well?" She prompts.
Leon finds it hard to speak with their jaw in her hand, "Well.. the cement taffy-"
She looks infinitely more exasperated, "Treacle toffee?That is what led to such an illogical use of magic?"
She pulls her hands away and crosses her arms. She just stews in silence for a bit, leaving Leon with their burning treacle debacle and their ankles.
They think they'd rather be anywhere else in this moment. Anywhere at all. Well, no - they'd rather not be eating treacle toffee. Thanks for nothing, Hagrid. It did taste kind of decent, though. Was it worth it? No. Do they truly, really actually care that they've ended up in the infirmary because of it? No. Will Leon lie and say they received the wound from a dragon when asked? Yes. Because they're embarrassed? No. It just sounds cooler.
"Alright." Madame Pomfrey says suddenly, waving her wand once before them. They feel their burning lessen, and the sting below their eye clears. "Off you go, then."
Leon, a little confused, stares. Madam Pomfrey raises her brows.
"It didn't hit you in the ear, now, did it? I think not." She tucks her wand up her sleeve and shoos them out. Leon touches their face as they rise. The wound still stings. Their fingers come off a little red. Isn't she a doctor?
"Wait, aren't you going to-?"
"Absolutely not." She interjects. She softly pushes them out the doors by their shoulders, "I don't care to aide purposeful irresponsibility. Perhaps this will teach you not to do something so clearly dangerous - ill thought out! - again."
She removes her hands once Leon makes it into the hall. They turn to face the matron - for what, they don't really know - but a door closes in their face instead. How embarrassing.
They stand there like an idiot for a moment longer before rapidly turning away. At least she had done something to it. Leon was just going to leave it as is - maybe startle Hagrid with it.
And oh - what a day it's been, really. What. A. Day. Being forced into manual labor (as if Filch could force them to do anything), getting stuck on the sticky step (and being pulled out fifteen minutes later by four first-years), being summoned to Professor McGonagall's office (absolutely demolished), slicing their face open (entirely Hagrid's fault), being summoned once more, mocked, scolded-
Hmn.. yeah. Their feet take them down a few corridors, rerouting when they hit a dead-end. Nearly Headless Nick directs them towards the main entrance at one point, pointing this way and that but not following. He brings them to the ground floor, at least - so there's only so many wrong turns they can take before they're spit out somewhere.
They're thinking up an explanation for Hagrid (lie and pretend to pack their bags - tell the truth - say he's been fired and they're replacing him - say Professor McGonagall has been fired - oh, the possibilities!) when they're brought to a stop once more. Two weeks of being too busy to remember he even exists - and here he is, ready to see them at their.. not lowest, but low ish. Perfect.
"Leon."
Llleooon.
They reckon that their name has never sounded so derogatory. So utterly unimportant. They turn towards the Potions Master, glad to see he's still as severe and impenetrable as ever.
Oh, man. He really does look like a Severus, doesn't he?
"..Professor." They respond. He scans them up and down, narrowing his gaze on what they know to be their.. face. He looks especially irritated today.
"You're.. uglier." He mutters, hardly audible. He speaks again, louder, before they can even feel affronted.
"You've not been to the dungeons in a fortnight." He notes, more of a slight than an observation. "Giving up already? A pity. Still, it is not entirely so surprising. Far and few in this school are capable of completing.. even the most rudimentary tasks."
They open their mouth to respond. Snape continues before they speak.
"No matter." With a dramatic flare, his hand emerges from his robes. Clamped between two fingers is a bit of parchment. They must eye it dumbly - if Snape's unwavering aversion says anything.
"Suffice to say, your.. incompatible ingredients and overwhelming imagination may be a contributing factor to your lack of success." The parchment jerks. His brow rises higher when they ignore it to scan his face.
"Well?" He prompts impatiently, "Go on."
When they glance down they're mildly surprised to see an incredibly thorough, revised recipe for their imagined brew.
"Seeing as your attempts are only becoming more.." he pauses, tips his head slightly, eyes momentarily flicking up behind his lids, "pathetic - it is only logical that I should offer my.. expertise."
...no way.
Did he just roll his eyes?
No way! Holy shit - Professor Sn(ot)ape actually took the time to (attempt to) solve their problem for them. He called them pathetic!- No, that feels wrong. More like, the Potioneer in him is interested enough in the idea to involve himself. Still, still! It's kind of hilarious!
They imagine his monumental sneer, coated in vitriol, hunched over his desk with his jars of things behind him, writing away. Working after hours to plot and plan and create a starter list - for their idea. And his penmanship is still so horribly beautiful!
They really, truly - can't even begin to try and figure out his motive. It seems like he'd rather give himself a lobotomy than assist anyone - let alone Leon, the cosplaying muggle - so Leon, typically unflappable, finds themself utterly boggled. Why waste his time on it - even if he's interested in the theory, he could have done it himself, no? Maybe he has some sort of shriveled up thing in there that he calls a heart - and he isn't so serpentine to take their idea and run with it. Credit where credit is due, right?
No, still, it makes no sense. Despite all of that, though, there's also the fact that-
Actually, I already finished it.
Try as they might, the words won't come out - trapped like treacle toffee behind the ivory of their teeth. For some reason, they feel as if the admission would make things awkward. He had spent enough time to think and theorize and plan, after all - personal time after hours, nonetheless - it would feel like tearing a child's painting in half right before their eyes (Leon would be the adult and the child in this scenario.)
And even further - this is Professor Snape - offering his assistance - Professor Snape, Master Potioneer and Professional Confidence Destroyer, Renowned Child Tormentor. Professor Snape - orbiting around an agenda all his own, too fucking cool for anyone else with his dungeon air and stark, soul-crushingly sardonic demeanor. Professor Snape - who definitely hates Leon (for some-fucking-reason) but likes potions enough to deal with them (for some-fucking-reason?? Is that it?? Is that why??)
"Well?" The Professor prompts once more, looking at them with an poised sort of expectancy, "It's not going to brew itself." With that, he swiftly turns away and heads down the hall. His cloak billows out behind him much like smoke, or the long, haunted wings of a Thestral.
So as to not annoy him further, Leon immediately follows. There's no other explanation for the way their feet carry them forward with such acceptance. Now they're too far into this to ever admit they've successfully brewed the potion - and seeing as there's no way for the Professor to successfully gather the right materials, Leon will most likely die of old age beside him before they finish this thing.
Ah, wait. If anyone could do it it's probably this soulless, midnight cloaked embodiment of snark and vehemence. It'll be fine. They just have to make a point to not wield their magic - a totally achievable goal.
Their shoes echo in sharp clacks down the hall. Eventually a chill creeps up their ankles and into their wrists, and then they're in the depths of the dungeons. Snape pauses before the lab, raising yet another critical brow. He pushes the door open with a short tap of his fingers. Leon doesn't move. Perhaps they should come clean.
"Today, Gamekeeper."
Ah, but he's just so cool.