Title: Snape: A Bad Case of Lockhartitis
Author: Meatball
Rating: PG
Archive: Certainly, feel free.
Summary: Just a little moment in Snape's life, as he deals with the aggravation caused by contact with Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then you know that it certainly does not belong to me. Also, let me assure you that I don't make a damn penny off this stuff.
***
"Ah, Madam Hooch, and how are you this evening?" Professor Snape smiled his oily smile at the lovely flight instructor, as she sat in the chair next to him at the staff table in Hogwart's Dining Hall. She looked particularly fetching, with her hair charmingly tousled and her ambergold eyes sparkling.
"Professor Snape, I'm quite well, thank you. And how are you?" Smiling, she pulled a thick and juicy looking steak-and-kidney pie towards her plate, helping herself to a liberal serving.
"Quite well, thank you, quite well. I enjoyed your demonstration this afternoon, of the new Nimbus Excelsior line of broomsticks." He sipped his pumpkin wine delicately, then added a small helping of pie to his already overloaded plate. Teaching three double classes of dunderheads each and every day added greatly to his appetite. It also caused him to enjoy his wine more and more, a fact which he chose to ignore. He was a grown man, and if he wished to drown his irritations in drink, why, that was his choice, was it not?
In truth, more and more lately he caught himself indulging in daydreams, fantasies. Ah, to be young and carefree and a Death Eater again. Never, in any stretch of the imagination, had he expected to find himself entering middle age as an overworked, underpaid, little-respected potions master at Hogwart's, attempting in vain to teach simple dunderheads the basics of boiling water successfully, let alone concocting potions. He sighed. By rights, he should be filthy rich, living a lifestyle of excess and debauchery on some nice tropical island somewhere, where the weather was warm and the scantily-clad native women were exceedingly friendly. Ah, the times that he and his fellow Death Eaters had enjoyed. The rape, the pillage, the destruction, the power, the...
"Severus, be a sport, and do pass the salt, old fellow."
Snape gritted his teeth.
"I say, Severus, are you paying attention? The salt, the salt, man. Be a chap."
Snape gritted his teeth even harder. As though moving through cement, his arm slowly raised up over the table, and reached out to grasp the salt shaker. *Must...not...kill...in...front...of...the...dunderheads...* Oh, but his other hand quivered, wanting nothing so much as to quickly grasp his wand, and with a *swish* and a *flick*, banish the possessor of that ingratiating voice to the ninth ring of a goblin's version of hell, with the salt shaker stuffed thoroughly up his pompous arse...
"Thank you, my dear Professor Snape."
"Not at all," replied Snape in his rich honey-drenched velvet voice. With a deep breath, he smiled and turned to the exotic goddess of aviation on his other side. "As we were saying, my dear Madam Hooch..."
"Severus, old man, might you pass the mustard this way? That's a good man, then."
Snape rolled his eyes, and turned to face Professor Lockhart with an exasperated expression. Stretching every syllable for extra effect, he drawled, "The WHAT?"
"Why, the mustard, old sport. Can't eat my green beans without my mustard, of course. Can't have that, now, can we?" Lockart smiled winningly at the potions master, showing gleaming white teeth.
Snape stared, fascinated by those whiter-than-white teeth. He took a deep, calming breath, and counted to ten. Then twenty. At twenty-eight, he was able to pick up the mustard and set it down beside Gilderoy Lockhart's plate without cursing.
"Ta, Snapey. You're a good chap."
Snapey?
SNAPEY?!?!
When his blood pressure had receded, Professor Snape turned to the enchanting Madam Hooch once more. "So, my dear Madam Hooch. About the new Nimbus series..."
"Severus, old bean. Be a dear and pass me the pepper."
Snape felt his tenuous self-control snap.
"NO, damn you!" He stood, his cape billowing out behind him. "I will NOT pass you the pepper!" His vision blurred an angry crimson, Snape reached out blindly and grabbed the first thing that his hand encountered. His normally-dulcet tones flared into a resounding roar. "I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL HOUSE ELF, YOU VILEST HAG-SPAWNED SLIME WORM! But then," he added. "I will be happy...nay, make that overjoyed...to share this pot of gravy with you." He smiled a cold smile as he deliberately poured hot chicken gravy all over Lockhart's golden tresses. "Oh, and would you care for some biscuits with that gravy?" He pelted the gaping Professor Lockhart with some biscuits from a basket. "And surely you would enjoy some mashed potatoes." Glop! went the potatoes, as Snape splattered the bowl into Lockhart's face. "And green beans..." Splelch! went the beans, all down the front of Lockhart's bright violet robes. "And do not let us forget these lovely sausages..." With a thin, vindictive smile, Snape shoved a fat sausage into Lockhart's hanging-open mouth.
Snape stood back, smiled, and contemplated his handiwork. "Enjoy your dinner, Lockhart." With a toss of his head, Snape turned on his heel and strode purposely out of the silent, stunned dining hall. His long, dark locks streamed out behind him and his bootheels rang with self-satisfaction.
"I say," Professor Lockhart ventured, having removed the sausage from his mouth. "Rather high-strung fellow, isn't he?"
***
Author: Meatball
Rating: PG
Archive: Certainly, feel free.
Summary: Just a little moment in Snape's life, as he deals with the aggravation caused by contact with Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then you know that it certainly does not belong to me. Also, let me assure you that I don't make a damn penny off this stuff.
***
"Ah, Madam Hooch, and how are you this evening?" Professor Snape smiled his oily smile at the lovely flight instructor, as she sat in the chair next to him at the staff table in Hogwart's Dining Hall. She looked particularly fetching, with her hair charmingly tousled and her ambergold eyes sparkling.
"Professor Snape, I'm quite well, thank you. And how are you?" Smiling, she pulled a thick and juicy looking steak-and-kidney pie towards her plate, helping herself to a liberal serving.
"Quite well, thank you, quite well. I enjoyed your demonstration this afternoon, of the new Nimbus Excelsior line of broomsticks." He sipped his pumpkin wine delicately, then added a small helping of pie to his already overloaded plate. Teaching three double classes of dunderheads each and every day added greatly to his appetite. It also caused him to enjoy his wine more and more, a fact which he chose to ignore. He was a grown man, and if he wished to drown his irritations in drink, why, that was his choice, was it not?
In truth, more and more lately he caught himself indulging in daydreams, fantasies. Ah, to be young and carefree and a Death Eater again. Never, in any stretch of the imagination, had he expected to find himself entering middle age as an overworked, underpaid, little-respected potions master at Hogwart's, attempting in vain to teach simple dunderheads the basics of boiling water successfully, let alone concocting potions. He sighed. By rights, he should be filthy rich, living a lifestyle of excess and debauchery on some nice tropical island somewhere, where the weather was warm and the scantily-clad native women were exceedingly friendly. Ah, the times that he and his fellow Death Eaters had enjoyed. The rape, the pillage, the destruction, the power, the...
"Severus, be a sport, and do pass the salt, old fellow."
Snape gritted his teeth.
"I say, Severus, are you paying attention? The salt, the salt, man. Be a chap."
Snape gritted his teeth even harder. As though moving through cement, his arm slowly raised up over the table, and reached out to grasp the salt shaker. *Must...not...kill...in...front...of...the...dunderheads...* Oh, but his other hand quivered, wanting nothing so much as to quickly grasp his wand, and with a *swish* and a *flick*, banish the possessor of that ingratiating voice to the ninth ring of a goblin's version of hell, with the salt shaker stuffed thoroughly up his pompous arse...
"Thank you, my dear Professor Snape."
"Not at all," replied Snape in his rich honey-drenched velvet voice. With a deep breath, he smiled and turned to the exotic goddess of aviation on his other side. "As we were saying, my dear Madam Hooch..."
"Severus, old man, might you pass the mustard this way? That's a good man, then."
Snape rolled his eyes, and turned to face Professor Lockhart with an exasperated expression. Stretching every syllable for extra effect, he drawled, "The WHAT?"
"Why, the mustard, old sport. Can't eat my green beans without my mustard, of course. Can't have that, now, can we?" Lockart smiled winningly at the potions master, showing gleaming white teeth.
Snape stared, fascinated by those whiter-than-white teeth. He took a deep, calming breath, and counted to ten. Then twenty. At twenty-eight, he was able to pick up the mustard and set it down beside Gilderoy Lockhart's plate without cursing.
"Ta, Snapey. You're a good chap."
Snapey?
SNAPEY?!?!
When his blood pressure had receded, Professor Snape turned to the enchanting Madam Hooch once more. "So, my dear Madam Hooch. About the new Nimbus series..."
"Severus, old bean. Be a dear and pass me the pepper."
Snape felt his tenuous self-control snap.
"NO, damn you!" He stood, his cape billowing out behind him. "I will NOT pass you the pepper!" His vision blurred an angry crimson, Snape reached out blindly and grabbed the first thing that his hand encountered. His normally-dulcet tones flared into a resounding roar. "I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL HOUSE ELF, YOU VILEST HAG-SPAWNED SLIME WORM! But then," he added. "I will be happy...nay, make that overjoyed...to share this pot of gravy with you." He smiled a cold smile as he deliberately poured hot chicken gravy all over Lockhart's golden tresses. "Oh, and would you care for some biscuits with that gravy?" He pelted the gaping Professor Lockhart with some biscuits from a basket. "And surely you would enjoy some mashed potatoes." Glop! went the potatoes, as Snape splattered the bowl into Lockhart's face. "And green beans..." Splelch! went the beans, all down the front of Lockhart's bright violet robes. "And do not let us forget these lovely sausages..." With a thin, vindictive smile, Snape shoved a fat sausage into Lockhart's hanging-open mouth.
Snape stood back, smiled, and contemplated his handiwork. "Enjoy your dinner, Lockhart." With a toss of his head, Snape turned on his heel and strode purposely out of the silent, stunned dining hall. His long, dark locks streamed out behind him and his bootheels rang with self-satisfaction.
"I say," Professor Lockhart ventured, having removed the sausage from his mouth. "Rather high-strung fellow, isn't he?"
***