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SO.
I read a certain BADfic Maja linked to.
And I couldn't get Snape to stop snarking about it in my head.
So I made him MST it. Because I win like that.
Daughter of a Snape
Author: Jezzabelle
Snape: Between the title and the ridiculous nom de plume chosen by the author, if she can even be reasonably termed that, I gather that this will be a more tedious experience than grading the assignments of Gryffindor first-years.
The inky black sky twinkled with the stars of generations, the full moon in the air hovering like a wheel of pale cheese.
Snape: Ah, yes, I can see already that this is going to be an absolute masterpiece of prose.
The warm July air penetrated the windows of Hogwarts’ school and warmed the cold concrete steps. But there were some places the wind never touched – places not even a hurricane could touch.
Snape: On, of course, the chance of a hurricane actually making landfall in Scotland, given their status as tropical storms.
The dungeons. The owls hated delivering to the dungeons as well – the windowless, cavelike rooms were unnatural to these birds of freedom. But an owl must deliver mail, and so this pure white owl
Snape: Just like Potter's. I must say, I'm shocked.
zoomed hurriedly through the dark corridors like a small glimmer of light inside the halls of darkness. It found the door it was looking for, and scratched at the dark wood until somebody saw fit to let it in. This somebody was Severus Snape, and he was extremely irritated at being woken so early by what he thought of as a rodent with wings.
Snape: I would hardly deem owls so. They are rather useful for communication purposes, to be honest.
“What is it?” He snapped, yanking the letter from the owl’s outstretched leg and opening it impatiently. The owl cowered in the man’s fury and then rose back into the air, hooting quietly. Snape read the letter, the sour expression on his face turning to one of confusion, then of anxiety, then horror.
Snape: Unless this is supposed to be a letter from the Dark Lord himself, although he would never do something so base as send a letter via owl-post, not that I would put it past the 'author', I highly doubt that I would ever exhibit this reaction to anything.
He slumped down into a chair, letting the short letter flutter to the ground beside him.
Snape: Or this one.
To Mr. Severus Snape, the letter read,
Snape: Yes, they tend to.
I regret to inform you that Sara Whittaker has passed away over the weekend, in circumstances that it would be best not to speak of.
Snape: Which is good, because I do not remotely care about them.
She has a sixteen-year-old daughter, as I am sure you are aware, and Sara has listed you as her next of kin. Her daughter’s name is Baron and she will be arriving at your residence on the fifteenth at approximately midday, if the plane is not delayed or if Baron does not decide to gallivant around as she so often does.
Snape: Oh, the prospect of reading the rest of this has me absolutely beside myself.
I am terribly sorry to have to be the one to deliver this news to you.
Snape: That was actually the job of the owl.
The letter was not signed with any name, but this was the last thing on Snape’s mind as he closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead.
Snape: The first thing on Snape's mind, of course, was the question 'Who in Merlin's name did I anger enough to end up in this piece of dreadful prose?'
He certainly remembered what he had been up to sixteen years previously – running around making mischief with his Slytherin buddies.
Snape: Yes, although the mischief in question tended to be of the Muggle-baiting and murder sorts, and I would personally rather drink any number of deadly potions than ever use the phrase 'Slytherin buddies'.
He had rather come into himself after he left school – he knew that he was no Johnny Depp, but he was presentable, at least.
Snape: For certain highly unpresentable values of the word 'presentable'.
He and his friends had gone out every night, drinking enough firewhisky to poison an elephant and waking up either in the gutter or in a stranger’s bed.
Snape: I did not have friends, I had allies, and only loosely bound ones at that. And excessive drinking among the people I was blessed enough to associate with at the time was a very good way to get yourself killed or blackmailed.
This all changed when he received a phone call late one morning, telling him that he was to father a child.
Snape: How remarkably droll.
He should have known it would come to this one day, with his wild ways. He never thought he would have to care for this child, reckoning that by the time Sara passed away, either she would have relatives to take her daughter or Baron would be at an age where she could live alone. Of course, the shock of becoming a father jolted him out of the rut he was in, and he realized he had to make a life for himself.
Snape: Because, of course, I didn't have one, with my reckless and idiotic gamboling with my 'Slytherin buddies'.
He hadn’t got very good marks in school, excelling only in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Snape: Oh, yes. Defence only. I was absolutely horrible at Potions. I have no idea how I ever attained the rank of Potions Master.
He did the only logical thing at the time – he joined Voldemort’s ranks as a Death Eater.
Snape: Which, is, of course, the only reaction one could possibly have after fathering a child.
“Of all the names she could have chosen… Baron…” Snape muttered to himself in disgust.
Snape: Well, yes, that was a rather idiotic decision on the part of the author. ... I mean, of course, the mother.
He was setting his mind onto the little things, he knew, when he could not handle the big picture. He mentally berated himself and glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Fifteenth…” he muttered, staring. It was the fifteenth that night. This girl is twelve hours late. He thought. She’d better have a good excuse.
Snape: Like her death?
His thoughts were broken by a loud smash coming from just outside the doorway, and he jumped up hurriedly, brandishing his wand and sweeping into the hallway. A young girl was there, with short, choppy hair the same colour as his and wearing a red singlet top with black mesh armpieces, a thick, studded black choker and black leather pants that were scuffed and covered with dirt at the bottom.
Snape: And this is supposed to be my daughter?
She was laughing behind her hand at the broken pieces of clay on the ground. Snape stared. Those pieces of clay had once been an exquisite black vase with delicate silver detail, older than the entire population of Hogwarts put together and beyond priceless.
Snape: Which I somehow managed to acquire on a professor's salary?
“Stupid girl!” He snapped, repairing it with a wave of his wand. “Are you mentally deficient, or do you just wander around flailing your arms everywhere?”
Snape: Yes. She is.
“Um… both?” She said, collapsing into fits of giggles again. She straightened up and tried to look serious, but her eyes kept on showing suppressed laughter. “Severus Snape…” She said, giggling slightly, “You… are… my… faaaaaather…” She said, adopting a mystical tone and giggling.
Snape: Idiot.
“What was the point of putting on that voice?” Snape barked irritably.
“You know… from Star Wars? Luke, I am your father?” She said, hiccuping and cocking her head to one side confusedly.
“Er… Baron, is it? I have no clue, nor do I want to know, what Star Wars is. I don’t even know what one Star War would be.
Snape: Because, of course, I was not seventeen years old when that particular movie was released, nor did I have a Muggle father. I was certainly aware of it, although, in my seventh year, I certainly had more... pressing concerns than watching it.
If you would stop your tomfoolery, I can allocate you a place to sleep for tonight, until more suitable rooms are prepared.”
Snape: I suggest the bottom of the lake.
For a second, it looked as if Baron was about to say something intelligent, but… “I feel sick,” she said suddenly, and vomited into the black vase.
Snape: Charming.
Snape’s face contorted into an expression of unbridled fury, and he scourgify’d
Snape: If you must foolishly parse the Latin spell incantations into English tense-changes, at least do it properly. It would be 'scourgified'. And that isn't even a word.
the vase and grabbed Baron by the shoulders.
“What have you done in-between noon and now?” He said, staring into her unfocused black eyes. She groaned.
“You think I can remember? I got off the plane, and then I went to a place called the Hog’s Head –“
Snape: Pity you ever came out.
“You were served Firewhisky?” Snape said sharply. Baron giggled and nodded. “Didn’t the bartender ask for identification of your age?”
Snape: Because, of course, the author of this tripe seems to be under the impression that the United Kingdom is, in fact, the United States, and sixteen year olds are not allowed to purchase alcoholic beverages, which, in fact, they can, along with a meal.
“My best friend Em gave me a fake ID!” She said. “Well, she used to be my best friend, until you bum head made me come live with you –“
Snape: ... Bum head.
“I didn’t make you come live here!” Snape said indignantly. “I only just found out ten minutes ago! And it is not my fault if this ‘Em’ character is not your best friend anymore.”
“I don’t care,” she said stoutly. “I won’t see any of them ever again and everyone here will hate me and –“
Snape: I wonder why.
“Snap out of it, girl!” He said, reaching into his room and picking up a sobering potion that he always had on hand, in case of emergencies.
Snape: I've found that allowing the idiotic child to actually deal with the consequences of excessive drinking is a much more apt way to handle such 'emergencies'.
He poured it straight down her throat and she retched.
Snape: I do hope this doesn't become a habit.
“That is terrible!” She said, shaking her head. She stared at him. “You are?”
“Severus Snape, your father. You broke my vase and then vomited into it. I shall therefore do the ‘fatherly’ thing, and ground you for the next two weeks.”
Snape: Or cast the Killing Curse, and save everyone the hassle.
“What is grounding to you?” Baron asked, clearly wanting to be able to go out.
“It means that you are not to leave the castle except for when lessons demand it,” He said, realizing that it was a bit of a pathetic punishment.
Snape: A bit? I can come up with better punishments in my sleep.
Baron smiled.
“Fine with me,” She said brightly, looking him up and down. “You’re wearing a crappy nightie,” She said, pointing at his faded black gown. He rolled his eyes and sighed, before slamming his bedroom door shut and collapsing onto his bed. It was a long time though, before he drifted off to sleep, thoughts of Baron running through his head and making it uneasy.
Snape: The thought of tracking down her actual father first and foremost.
-----
Over the next few weeks, Snape was kept up late at night by Baron’s shouty music, (no matter how much he tried to get her to turn it down)
Snape: Destroying the offending music player tends to work.
and woken up early in the morning by her black cat somehow finding its way into his room at 5am and extending its claws onto his face.
Snape: There are a surprising number of good potions ingredients inside cats.
Just when he thought that his life could get no worse, the school year started.
Snape: This sentence is the first accurate thing I've read in this drivel.
Hundreds of pimply teenagers swarming around everywhere, smashing the school rules into pieces and attacking each other. September the first was his least favorite day of the year, excepting his birthday, of course, which he took the utmost care to make sure nobody acknowledged it in the slightest. But he woke up on the morning of September the first feeling even more irritated than usual.
Snape: And this paragraph is the second. Somehow, I doubt there will be any more.
“Get off me, you stupid cat, stop trying to kill me…” He said, shoving the cat off the bed and causing it to hiss at him angrily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had clawed Sara to death…”
Snape: Although I'm certain she's unlamented.
He heard a knock on the open door. Baron was standing there in a pink and black checkered baby tee, long, matrix-style leather jacket and big black boots with a black pleated miniskirt and silver chain belt.
Snape: Hogwarts does have a uniform.
She had obviously overheard what he had said about Sara.
“Thorn didn’t kill Mum,” she said quietly, scooping the cat up in her arms. “She was stupefied whilst flying her broom – fell a hundred feet into the lake behind our house.”
Snape: Good riddance.
“I’m sorry,” Snape said, not really meaning it, but having nothing else to say. “Do you…” he started, then, changing what he was about to say mid tune, “…know what you’re going to do about being sorted?”
“Dumbledore already sorted me yesterday,” Baron said, backing out of the doorway. “Oh, and it’s absolutely freezing down here. I’m staying in Gryffindor Tower from now on. Thought you ought to know.”
Snape: Seventeen thousand points from Gryffindor for being an embarrassment to the family name.
“Lovely…” Snape said sarcastically, shutting the door to get some privacy before he changed clothes. “Perhaps wearing more than tiny scraps of material will help your body heat issue…” he muttered.
Snape: Ah. Point. And another fifteen hundred for being ridiculously out of uniform.
-----
Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up from the usual horseless carriages to the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were in a big argument about whether Herbology was important or not. Ron seemed to think it wasn’t, judging from the stream of jumbled-up thoughts coming from his mouth.
Snape: That is the standard state of Ronald Weasley. It is difficult to draw any judgements from that.
“But you can’t… leaves… little plants and stuff… it’s so unimportant!” He said forcefully, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I’m guessing that’s the most intelligent phrase that will come out of your mouth today,
Snape: You are correct, Miss Granger.
so I’m going to call this argument a draw,” she relented, and Harry smiled.
“Good, now you can both talk to me, I’ve been getting left out here,” he said, putting his arms around both their shoulders.
Snape: Ah yes. Merlin forbid the great Harry Potter does not get his proper amount of attention.
“Ok, who do you think the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher will be?” Hermione said, adopting a serious tone.
Snape: Not me. This story seemed to be written earlier than the author would have forseen that turn of events.
“Dunno, I just hope it’s not Snape, it’s enough to have him for potions,”
Snape: As if I would teach both.
Harry said, pressing his fingertips against his cheeks and prodding them inwards in a strange expression of feeling.
“Oh, speaking of Snape, Fred and George heard something on the old extendables when Dumbledore was in their shop –“
“Dumbledore was in the shop?” Hermione asked sharply. “Why?”
“Not a clue,” Ron shrugged. “But anyway, Snape –“
“Shutup Ron, the sorting!” Hermione said, as McGonagall called out the first name on the list of first-years to be sorted. Ron muttered something about maybe being able to tell the whole story if Hermione didn’t interrupt as much, but Hermione shot him a look and he desisted.
Once the first-years had been placed into their houses, Harry asked Ron what he was going to say about Snape.
“’Ell,” he said, with a mouthful of pumpkin, “Aharennly, ‘e’s go’ a dor’a.”
Snape: How lucid.
“What?” Harry asked perplexedly. He hadn’t a clue as to what Ron had just said.
Snape: Welcome to the standard state of things, Mr. Potter.
Ron opened his mouth to repeat himself, but fell silent when a stranger came and sat next to him. She had short black hair that had been gelled and putty’d into temporary dreadlocks.
Snape: Charming.
“Hi,” She said in a nonchalant sort of voice. “I’m Baron Whittaker – I mean, Snape. I’m Baron Snape now.”
“Er… any relation to Severus Snape?” Harry asked tentatively. Ron made a loud, angry noise.
“I told you that a second ago! Snape has a daughter, her mum’s carked it and she lives here now!” Then, realizing what he had said about Baron’s mother, gaped. “I mean, passed away.” Baron made an indifferent noise.
“You’re the daughter of Snape?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Your nose doesn’t – I mean, you don’t look like him. Apart from the eyes and the hair, of course.”
Snape: Not my child.
“Yeah, I know about the nose thing, I just have the good genetics. Lucky me,” She said, saying the last part darkly.
“Why is that unlucky?” Hermione asked, picking up on the sarcasm. “I wish I’d got my mother’s gorgeous straight hair, but I’m stuck with my dad’s puffiness.”
Baron laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s better to have a nice nose than what he has,”
Snape: Still charming.
She said, clearly referring to Snape, “But I like to… go out. At night. There are times when I wish I wasn’t pretty, if you get my meaning.”
Snape: Ah, the tortured lives of teenagers.
Hermione got it, and so did Harry. Ron looked at her confusedly. “Yes,” he said overconfidently, attempting to show that he knew what she meant.
Snape: I know precisely the tone.
“She means that there are some bad-influencing boys out there who take an interest in her and she doesn’t like it,” Hermione said to Ron.
“You’re partly right.” Baron said. “I don’t like the interests of men in their thirties and forties, which is the type of person to normally take a shine to me. But if there’s one thing I love, it’s boys with bad influence.”
Snape: Must I read more of this?
“But… why?” Hermione asked.
Snape: Apparently.
“Cause I’m a girl with bad influence,”
Snape: That does not even make any sense.
she answered simply, waving goodbye to them and leaving the great hall, not through the doors that would take her to the common room, but through the doors that would take her outside. Harry looked up at Snape’s face contorting in anger and smiled. Anything that irked Snape was alright with him.
Snape: Of course, Potter.
Snape stood up, and followed Baron outside angrily.
“What’s up with him?”
Snape: This story.
asked Ron, this time without his mouth full of food. Harry and Hermione shrugged simultaneously.
Snape: That was positively dreadful. And there are eleven more chapters. That is almost depressing. Thankfully, my typist is not forcing me to do more. At present.
And I couldn't get Snape to stop snarking about it in my head.
So I made him MST it. Because I win like that.
Daughter of a Snape
Author: Jezzabelle
Snape: Between the title and the ridiculous nom de plume chosen by the author, if she can even be reasonably termed that, I gather that this will be a more tedious experience than grading the assignments of Gryffindor first-years.
The inky black sky twinkled with the stars of generations, the full moon in the air hovering like a wheel of pale cheese.
Snape: Ah, yes, I can see already that this is going to be an absolute masterpiece of prose.
The warm July air penetrated the windows of Hogwarts’ school and warmed the cold concrete steps. But there were some places the wind never touched – places not even a hurricane could touch.
Snape: On, of course, the chance of a hurricane actually making landfall in Scotland, given their status as tropical storms.
The dungeons. The owls hated delivering to the dungeons as well – the windowless, cavelike rooms were unnatural to these birds of freedom. But an owl must deliver mail, and so this pure white owl
Snape: Just like Potter's. I must say, I'm shocked.
zoomed hurriedly through the dark corridors like a small glimmer of light inside the halls of darkness. It found the door it was looking for, and scratched at the dark wood until somebody saw fit to let it in. This somebody was Severus Snape, and he was extremely irritated at being woken so early by what he thought of as a rodent with wings.
Snape: I would hardly deem owls so. They are rather useful for communication purposes, to be honest.
“What is it?” He snapped, yanking the letter from the owl’s outstretched leg and opening it impatiently. The owl cowered in the man’s fury and then rose back into the air, hooting quietly. Snape read the letter, the sour expression on his face turning to one of confusion, then of anxiety, then horror.
Snape: Unless this is supposed to be a letter from the Dark Lord himself, although he would never do something so base as send a letter via owl-post, not that I would put it past the 'author', I highly doubt that I would ever exhibit this reaction to anything.
He slumped down into a chair, letting the short letter flutter to the ground beside him.
Snape: Or this one.
To Mr. Severus Snape, the letter read,
Snape: Yes, they tend to.
I regret to inform you that Sara Whittaker has passed away over the weekend, in circumstances that it would be best not to speak of.
Snape: Which is good, because I do not remotely care about them.
She has a sixteen-year-old daughter, as I am sure you are aware, and Sara has listed you as her next of kin. Her daughter’s name is Baron and she will be arriving at your residence on the fifteenth at approximately midday, if the plane is not delayed or if Baron does not decide to gallivant around as she so often does.
Snape: Oh, the prospect of reading the rest of this has me absolutely beside myself.
I am terribly sorry to have to be the one to deliver this news to you.
Snape: That was actually the job of the owl.
The letter was not signed with any name, but this was the last thing on Snape’s mind as he closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead.
Snape: The first thing on Snape's mind, of course, was the question 'Who in Merlin's name did I anger enough to end up in this piece of dreadful prose?'
He certainly remembered what he had been up to sixteen years previously – running around making mischief with his Slytherin buddies.
Snape: Yes, although the mischief in question tended to be of the Muggle-baiting and murder sorts, and I would personally rather drink any number of deadly potions than ever use the phrase 'Slytherin buddies'.
He had rather come into himself after he left school – he knew that he was no Johnny Depp, but he was presentable, at least.
Snape: For certain highly unpresentable values of the word 'presentable'.
He and his friends had gone out every night, drinking enough firewhisky to poison an elephant and waking up either in the gutter or in a stranger’s bed.
Snape: I did not have friends, I had allies, and only loosely bound ones at that. And excessive drinking among the people I was blessed enough to associate with at the time was a very good way to get yourself killed or blackmailed.
This all changed when he received a phone call late one morning, telling him that he was to father a child.
Snape: How remarkably droll.
He should have known it would come to this one day, with his wild ways. He never thought he would have to care for this child, reckoning that by the time Sara passed away, either she would have relatives to take her daughter or Baron would be at an age where she could live alone. Of course, the shock of becoming a father jolted him out of the rut he was in, and he realized he had to make a life for himself.
Snape: Because, of course, I didn't have one, with my reckless and idiotic gamboling with my 'Slytherin buddies'.
He hadn’t got very good marks in school, excelling only in Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Snape: Oh, yes. Defence only. I was absolutely horrible at Potions. I have no idea how I ever attained the rank of Potions Master.
He did the only logical thing at the time – he joined Voldemort’s ranks as a Death Eater.
Snape: Which, is, of course, the only reaction one could possibly have after fathering a child.
“Of all the names she could have chosen… Baron…” Snape muttered to himself in disgust.
Snape: Well, yes, that was a rather idiotic decision on the part of the author. ... I mean, of course, the mother.
He was setting his mind onto the little things, he knew, when he could not handle the big picture. He mentally berated himself and glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Fifteenth…” he muttered, staring. It was the fifteenth that night. This girl is twelve hours late. He thought. She’d better have a good excuse.
Snape: Like her death?
His thoughts were broken by a loud smash coming from just outside the doorway, and he jumped up hurriedly, brandishing his wand and sweeping into the hallway. A young girl was there, with short, choppy hair the same colour as his and wearing a red singlet top with black mesh armpieces, a thick, studded black choker and black leather pants that were scuffed and covered with dirt at the bottom.
Snape: And this is supposed to be my daughter?
She was laughing behind her hand at the broken pieces of clay on the ground. Snape stared. Those pieces of clay had once been an exquisite black vase with delicate silver detail, older than the entire population of Hogwarts put together and beyond priceless.
Snape: Which I somehow managed to acquire on a professor's salary?
“Stupid girl!” He snapped, repairing it with a wave of his wand. “Are you mentally deficient, or do you just wander around flailing your arms everywhere?”
Snape: Yes. She is.
“Um… both?” She said, collapsing into fits of giggles again. She straightened up and tried to look serious, but her eyes kept on showing suppressed laughter. “Severus Snape…” She said, giggling slightly, “You… are… my… faaaaaather…” She said, adopting a mystical tone and giggling.
Snape: Idiot.
“What was the point of putting on that voice?” Snape barked irritably.
“You know… from Star Wars? Luke, I am your father?” She said, hiccuping and cocking her head to one side confusedly.
“Er… Baron, is it? I have no clue, nor do I want to know, what Star Wars is. I don’t even know what one Star War would be.
Snape: Because, of course, I was not seventeen years old when that particular movie was released, nor did I have a Muggle father. I was certainly aware of it, although, in my seventh year, I certainly had more... pressing concerns than watching it.
If you would stop your tomfoolery, I can allocate you a place to sleep for tonight, until more suitable rooms are prepared.”
Snape: I suggest the bottom of the lake.
For a second, it looked as if Baron was about to say something intelligent, but… “I feel sick,” she said suddenly, and vomited into the black vase.
Snape: Charming.
Snape’s face contorted into an expression of unbridled fury, and he scourgify’d
Snape: If you must foolishly parse the Latin spell incantations into English tense-changes, at least do it properly. It would be 'scourgified'. And that isn't even a word.
the vase and grabbed Baron by the shoulders.
“What have you done in-between noon and now?” He said, staring into her unfocused black eyes. She groaned.
“You think I can remember? I got off the plane, and then I went to a place called the Hog’s Head –“
Snape: Pity you ever came out.
“You were served Firewhisky?” Snape said sharply. Baron giggled and nodded. “Didn’t the bartender ask for identification of your age?”
Snape: Because, of course, the author of this tripe seems to be under the impression that the United Kingdom is, in fact, the United States, and sixteen year olds are not allowed to purchase alcoholic beverages, which, in fact, they can, along with a meal.
“My best friend Em gave me a fake ID!” She said. “Well, she used to be my best friend, until you bum head made me come live with you –“
Snape: ... Bum head.
“I didn’t make you come live here!” Snape said indignantly. “I only just found out ten minutes ago! And it is not my fault if this ‘Em’ character is not your best friend anymore.”
“I don’t care,” she said stoutly. “I won’t see any of them ever again and everyone here will hate me and –“
Snape: I wonder why.
“Snap out of it, girl!” He said, reaching into his room and picking up a sobering potion that he always had on hand, in case of emergencies.
Snape: I've found that allowing the idiotic child to actually deal with the consequences of excessive drinking is a much more apt way to handle such 'emergencies'.
He poured it straight down her throat and she retched.
Snape: I do hope this doesn't become a habit.
“That is terrible!” She said, shaking her head. She stared at him. “You are?”
“Severus Snape, your father. You broke my vase and then vomited into it. I shall therefore do the ‘fatherly’ thing, and ground you for the next two weeks.”
Snape: Or cast the Killing Curse, and save everyone the hassle.
“What is grounding to you?” Baron asked, clearly wanting to be able to go out.
“It means that you are not to leave the castle except for when lessons demand it,” He said, realizing that it was a bit of a pathetic punishment.
Snape: A bit? I can come up with better punishments in my sleep.
Baron smiled.
“Fine with me,” She said brightly, looking him up and down. “You’re wearing a crappy nightie,” She said, pointing at his faded black gown. He rolled his eyes and sighed, before slamming his bedroom door shut and collapsing onto his bed. It was a long time though, before he drifted off to sleep, thoughts of Baron running through his head and making it uneasy.
Snape: The thought of tracking down her actual father first and foremost.
-----
Over the next few weeks, Snape was kept up late at night by Baron’s shouty music, (no matter how much he tried to get her to turn it down)
Snape: Destroying the offending music player tends to work.
and woken up early in the morning by her black cat somehow finding its way into his room at 5am and extending its claws onto his face.
Snape: There are a surprising number of good potions ingredients inside cats.
Just when he thought that his life could get no worse, the school year started.
Snape: This sentence is the first accurate thing I've read in this drivel.
Hundreds of pimply teenagers swarming around everywhere, smashing the school rules into pieces and attacking each other. September the first was his least favorite day of the year, excepting his birthday, of course, which he took the utmost care to make sure nobody acknowledged it in the slightest. But he woke up on the morning of September the first feeling even more irritated than usual.
Snape: And this paragraph is the second. Somehow, I doubt there will be any more.
“Get off me, you stupid cat, stop trying to kill me…” He said, shoving the cat off the bed and causing it to hiss at him angrily. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had clawed Sara to death…”
Snape: Although I'm certain she's unlamented.
He heard a knock on the open door. Baron was standing there in a pink and black checkered baby tee, long, matrix-style leather jacket and big black boots with a black pleated miniskirt and silver chain belt.
Snape: Hogwarts does have a uniform.
She had obviously overheard what he had said about Sara.
“Thorn didn’t kill Mum,” she said quietly, scooping the cat up in her arms. “She was stupefied whilst flying her broom – fell a hundred feet into the lake behind our house.”
Snape: Good riddance.
“I’m sorry,” Snape said, not really meaning it, but having nothing else to say. “Do you…” he started, then, changing what he was about to say mid tune, “…know what you’re going to do about being sorted?”
“Dumbledore already sorted me yesterday,” Baron said, backing out of the doorway. “Oh, and it’s absolutely freezing down here. I’m staying in Gryffindor Tower from now on. Thought you ought to know.”
Snape: Seventeen thousand points from Gryffindor for being an embarrassment to the family name.
“Lovely…” Snape said sarcastically, shutting the door to get some privacy before he changed clothes. “Perhaps wearing more than tiny scraps of material will help your body heat issue…” he muttered.
Snape: Ah. Point. And another fifteen hundred for being ridiculously out of uniform.
-----
Harry, Ron and Hermione walked up from the usual horseless carriages to the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione were in a big argument about whether Herbology was important or not. Ron seemed to think it wasn’t, judging from the stream of jumbled-up thoughts coming from his mouth.
Snape: That is the standard state of Ronald Weasley. It is difficult to draw any judgements from that.
“But you can’t… leaves… little plants and stuff… it’s so unimportant!” He said forcefully, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
“I’m guessing that’s the most intelligent phrase that will come out of your mouth today,
Snape: You are correct, Miss Granger.
so I’m going to call this argument a draw,” she relented, and Harry smiled.
“Good, now you can both talk to me, I’ve been getting left out here,” he said, putting his arms around both their shoulders.
Snape: Ah yes. Merlin forbid the great Harry Potter does not get his proper amount of attention.
“Ok, who do you think the new Defense against the Dark Arts teacher will be?” Hermione said, adopting a serious tone.
Snape: Not me. This story seemed to be written earlier than the author would have forseen that turn of events.
“Dunno, I just hope it’s not Snape, it’s enough to have him for potions,”
Snape: As if I would teach both.
Harry said, pressing his fingertips against his cheeks and prodding them inwards in a strange expression of feeling.
“Oh, speaking of Snape, Fred and George heard something on the old extendables when Dumbledore was in their shop –“
“Dumbledore was in the shop?” Hermione asked sharply. “Why?”
“Not a clue,” Ron shrugged. “But anyway, Snape –“
“Shutup Ron, the sorting!” Hermione said, as McGonagall called out the first name on the list of first-years to be sorted. Ron muttered something about maybe being able to tell the whole story if Hermione didn’t interrupt as much, but Hermione shot him a look and he desisted.
Once the first-years had been placed into their houses, Harry asked Ron what he was going to say about Snape.
“’Ell,” he said, with a mouthful of pumpkin, “Aharennly, ‘e’s go’ a dor’a.”
Snape: How lucid.
“What?” Harry asked perplexedly. He hadn’t a clue as to what Ron had just said.
Snape: Welcome to the standard state of things, Mr. Potter.
Ron opened his mouth to repeat himself, but fell silent when a stranger came and sat next to him. She had short black hair that had been gelled and putty’d into temporary dreadlocks.
Snape: Charming.
“Hi,” She said in a nonchalant sort of voice. “I’m Baron Whittaker – I mean, Snape. I’m Baron Snape now.”
“Er… any relation to Severus Snape?” Harry asked tentatively. Ron made a loud, angry noise.
“I told you that a second ago! Snape has a daughter, her mum’s carked it and she lives here now!” Then, realizing what he had said about Baron’s mother, gaped. “I mean, passed away.” Baron made an indifferent noise.
“You’re the daughter of Snape?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Your nose doesn’t – I mean, you don’t look like him. Apart from the eyes and the hair, of course.”
Snape: Not my child.
“Yeah, I know about the nose thing, I just have the good genetics. Lucky me,” She said, saying the last part darkly.
“Why is that unlucky?” Hermione asked, picking up on the sarcasm. “I wish I’d got my mother’s gorgeous straight hair, but I’m stuck with my dad’s puffiness.”
Baron laughed. “Yeah, I know it’s better to have a nice nose than what he has,”
Snape: Still charming.
She said, clearly referring to Snape, “But I like to… go out. At night. There are times when I wish I wasn’t pretty, if you get my meaning.”
Snape: Ah, the tortured lives of teenagers.
Hermione got it, and so did Harry. Ron looked at her confusedly. “Yes,” he said overconfidently, attempting to show that he knew what she meant.
Snape: I know precisely the tone.
“She means that there are some bad-influencing boys out there who take an interest in her and she doesn’t like it,” Hermione said to Ron.
“You’re partly right.” Baron said. “I don’t like the interests of men in their thirties and forties, which is the type of person to normally take a shine to me. But if there’s one thing I love, it’s boys with bad influence.”
Snape: Must I read more of this?
“But… why?” Hermione asked.
Snape: Apparently.
“Cause I’m a girl with bad influence,”
Snape: That does not even make any sense.
she answered simply, waving goodbye to them and leaving the great hall, not through the doors that would take her to the common room, but through the doors that would take her outside. Harry looked up at Snape’s face contorting in anger and smiled. Anything that irked Snape was alright with him.
Snape: Of course, Potter.
Snape stood up, and followed Baron outside angrily.
“What’s up with him?”
Snape: This story.
asked Ron, this time without his mouth full of food. Harry and Hermione shrugged simultaneously.
Snape: That was positively dreadful. And there are eleven more chapters. That is almost depressing. Thankfully, my typist is not forcing me to do more. At present.