James yawned as he walked through the Potions classroom to the office, dumping his bag on the teacher's desk as he went. He had a key to the office on a temporary basis, while he was tutoring with the Professor's approval. He yawned again as he unlocked the door, shaking his head. Note to self: spend more nights in own bed.
He went straight to the Marinichev's desk, sat in the chair behind it and started rooting around in the drawers for the timesheets and fifth year curriculum notes.
He turned out the sound of someone in the office, thinking it might be the current potions master, the friend of Malfoy's. But no, it was a student rifling through the desk.
Oh, lovely. It was perhaps Severus' least favourite student of all those at Hogwarts currently. James Potter.
"Could you please vandalise the good professor's desk a bit more quietly?" he asked sharply. "I am trying to concentrate."
James jumped, looking over he shoulder. "What -? Oh, it's you, Professor." Snape's portrait didn't normally deem him worth conversion whenever he was in the Headmaster's office, but he always took an extra moment or two to study the portraits of his brother's namesakes. "I'm not vandalising, sir."
"Then I would suggest you go about your business in the professor's desk with a bit more care," he said with a sniff. Albus had always told him, while they were both alive, that he was wrong about Harry Potter, that he was not the arrogant, spoiled prince of the wizarding world that the elder James had been (and Albus never argued that point). Now, as portraits, Severus had to hear it once in a while as well, though now he could, perhaps, grudgingly agree to some small degree.
When it came to James-the-namesake though, Albus had little leg to stand on. The boy was entirely full of himself. Typically it suited Severus to just avoid him altogether. He rarely left the confines of the headmaster's office as it was. Too much rabble and too many lunatics among the corridor portraits after all.
"Er," James said, a little stunned. No wonder his father hadn't had time to berate him for sporting his broken nose on the front page of the Prophet. "I don't have his invisibility cloak, if that's what you mean."
Severus clucked his tongue. "A shame. There is at least one book in The Restricted Section that would be quite useful to the inquiry. But which might be... politically messy for your father to request the loan of. The Potter clan was never above a little surreptitious borrowing before, though," he said, thinking of certain ingredients that had gone missing from his stores over the years.
Such a self-centered brat! Always must be at the centre of any drama. No thought for his siblings... and it's Teddy who could be threatened...
Severus clucked his tongue again. "Did I say that?" Though he said nothing else to disabuse the boy of the notion.
He closed the book in front of him. "Your father relishes the chance to play hero. Defeating a Dark curse with subtle potions and incantations is rather less... ballad-worthy than dueling in the Great Hall, but the effort calls to him nonetheless. He would, I am sure, never ask you to do something that could result in expulsion, even though he regularly engaged in such pursuits himself when he was here. I, however, have no such compunction. Pick up your quill if you would like to write the title down."
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He went straight to the Marinichev's desk, sat in the chair behind it and started rooting around in the drawers for the timesheets and fifth year curriculum notes.
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Oh, lovely. It was perhaps Severus' least favourite student of all those at Hogwarts currently. James Potter.
"Could you please vandalise the good professor's desk a bit more quietly?" he asked sharply. "I am trying to concentrate."
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When it came to James-the-namesake though, Albus had little leg to stand on. The boy was entirely full of himself. Typically it suited Severus to just avoid him altogether. He rarely left the confines of the headmaster's office as it was. Too much rabble and too many lunatics among the corridor portraits after all.
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Severus clucked his tongue again. "Did I say that?" Though he said nothing else to disabuse the boy of the notion.
He closed the book in front of him. "Your father relishes the chance to play hero. Defeating a Dark curse with subtle potions and incantations is rather less... ballad-worthy than dueling in the Great Hall, but the effort calls to him nonetheless. He would, I am sure, never ask you to do something that could result in expulsion, even though he regularly engaged in such pursuits himself when he was here. I, however, have no such compunction. Pick up your quill if you would like to write the title down."
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