|
||||||||
|
||||||||
Author: Imogen Story: A Pensieve Affair Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-OotP Status: WIP Reviews: 7 Words: 91,002
Hope instantly recognised the place; how could she not? She’d been there on an almost daily basis for seven years, and had endured both flesh-searing sarcasm and the occasional honey-sweet drip of praise from the Potions Master’s lips in that very room. The dungeon was dark and gloomy, only lit by a series of candles that bobbed around the walls and cast a slight glow in the underground room. Shelves upon shelves of hideous jarred fragments lurked ghoulishly, suspended in coloured liquid. A ghostly shiver trammelled down Hope’s spine. She’d always hated those specimens, and although she’d seen far worse in real life since finishing school, they still made her flesh crawl. The class was working in silence, and Hope scanned round the room. It was definitely a seventh-year memory. Until that point, she had always sat next to Cora in Potions, but as soon as her friend had fallen head-over-heels in silly-grinning-love with Robert, they’d ended up switching seats. From her place behind, Hope could remember seeing the little nauseating touches of their hands when Snape’s back was turned, and her own occasional exchange of rolled eyes with Matthew in the seat beside her. Hope watched herself scratching away on her parchment, pausing every now and then to stare into space, lost in thought, before scribbling onwards once more. Her vibrant hair tumbled forwards, getting in her eyes, and she bunched it impatiently together, braiding it loosely to keep it out of her way. “This is a N.E.W.T.s classroom, not a hairdressing establishment, Miss Potter,” Snape’s acerbic tones cut clearly through the dungeon’s silence. “A little more application would undoubtedly assist your marks, if you can possibly bear to spare the time.” “Sorry, Sir,” the seventeen year old Hope acknowledged and bent her head to her task again. Matthew gave her a sympathetic smile, and leaned in to take his notes from her copy of the Potions textbook. The older Hope gave her Matthew a quizzical look, wondering what he’d done with his own Potions book, but she couldn’t remember. She moved closer to herself, wondering if she’d catch a whisper, but the two of them in the memory had no opportunity to chatter. Snape despised timewasters in his class, and they both knew better than to irritate him, unless it was absolutely necessary. At long last, Snape barked the order for his class to pack their belongings away, and, much to the obvious relief of the entire class, he dismissed them with only a single essay for homework. Hope could still remember that essay vividly as it was so horrendously difficult she’d been forced to ask her Uncle Remus for some insight on a subject she knew he hated discussing: the advantages and disadvantages of the use of real silver in Wolfsbane potion. “Belford,” Snape called in the lofty tone of voice that always heralded certain doom. Hope watched Matthew stuff his parchment and quill nervously in his bag, and give her teenage self a grimace. “Quickly, boy! Unlike you I don’t have all day to idle away with your hormonal flirtations. Miss Potter, I suggest you vanish rapidly before I find something to fill your seemingly endless free time.” The young Hope hoisted her bag on her shoulder and made for the door. “Sir?” she paused on her way out. “We really need the Quidditch pitch next Thursday. Joe Winstanley isn’t holding his end up as Keeper and there’s no one else decent enough to take his place. Could you see if you can hoof Ravenclaw out of their session so we can give him some more training, please?” The hook-nosed profile of Severus Snape grunted a reply. “Assume you can go ahead on Thursday, Miss Potter, but try to plan ahead properly in future.” Hope nodded her thanks and, with a last regretful look at Matthew, vanished through the door. It clicked firmly closed behind her and the room was still. “If you really must watch this, you need to be up by the desk,” the older Matthew said, his voice muffled by his head being buried in his arms. Hope grinned at him, and moved silently over to where Severus Snape was lounging back in his chair, his long spindly fingers tapping thoughtfully on his chin as he surveyed his charge. “No book, Belford?” The words were silkily smooth, with no hint of a trap. “I must have left it in my dormitory, Sir,” Matthew said, sweeping his hair back from his eyes. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “I see,” Snape said, his black eyes glittering with malicious delight. “Then perhaps you’d like to inform me as to what your copy of ‘Most Potente Potions’ is doing in your bag? Perhaps you’ve only just Summoned it?” Matthew glanced down, caught sight of the uppermost book in his bag and groaned out loud. “Indeed, Belford,” Snape shot him a withering look. “Get it out. On the desk. Now!” Matthew had started turning red, and the older Hope watched him curiously. Had he annotated his copy of the book with rude limericks about their Head of House? Had he enchanted every copy to replace ‘beetle eyes’ with ‘Gryffindor hair’? What had he done? The book was slowly extracted from his bag, and he pushed it slowly onto the table. Snape watched him through narrowed eyes. “Open it!” The words were fired like a barrage of Filibuster fireworks, and Matthew flinched. “B-but, Sir…” “Don’t argue with me. Open the book!” Matthew looked as if he was going to be sick, but his shaking hands obeyed. The heavy cover of the volume was lifted back to reveal the parchment pages within, and with a quick wave of his wand, Snape made the pages whirl, one after another in a blur, until finally they came to a rest as he found what he had been looking for. “Pick it up.” Puce by now, Matthew’s hand shook as he reached for the flimsy piece of lace and lifted it by one end. Hope’s grin widened as she realised what he’d been hiding. A pair of scandalously skimpy lace knickers hung from Matthew’s fingers. “And what exactly are those?” Snape demanded, reaching out with his wand, and with great disgust he picked the lace underwear up by one shoe-string thin strap. His nose curled as he examined the offending article. Matthew stared incredulously at his teacher. “Well, I know they’re not earmuffs, Sir.” The Potions Master raised a sardonic eyebrow. “It’s underwear,” Matthew admitted in a far quieter voice. There was a long pause, and Hope could almost hear the tension crackle between them. “Female underwear,” Matthew added at last, writhing with discomfort at the situation. “I can see that.” Snape sounded irritated beyond belief. “Whose are they?” Matthew’s head snapped up and he stared straight at Snape. “I don’t know whose they are, Sir.” “You don’t expect me to believe that. Surely, it’s somewhat obvious who owns these… these things?” He jerked his wand with disapproval and the knickers swayed wildly in the air. Hope was trying not to laugh; Snape was holding them as if they were contagious. “Potter’s?” “What?” the older Hope shrieked, barely able to believe her ears. “No, Sir,” Matthew said, a fierce blaze of defiance appearing in his eyes. “They’re not Hope’s. I don’t think they’re McGonagall’s either, but perhaps you could identify them better than I can… Sir.” There was a sharp hiss of breath, as Snape’s lips narrowed and he rose to his feet, leaning his fists on the desk in what looked like a considerable effort not to strike Matthew. “Deten...” “You asked the question,” Matthew interrupted furiously. “They arrived in the post this morning, and I don’t know who they belong to. I have no idea. No one has mentioned anything to me.” There was a pause and he added, “Unless they’re yours, Sir? You’re the only one who seems even remotely interested in them.” Snape slammed his fists down on the desk and made his books jump. “I will not be spoken to in that manner by you or any other student!” he blazed. “I will not tolerate this gross impertinence. Your academic ability is that of a first rate student, but you evidently need to learn the respect to go with that. Two weeks of detentions. Report here at eight this evening. If you’re even one second late, you can pack your bags and leave. I’m sure your Muggle mother would be delighted to welcome you home. You’d better return these to Miss Potter while you’re at it.” Matthew’s eyes flared, and he stood facing his teacher down. “They’re not Hope’s,” he repeated in a tight little voice. “Don’t you dare think that about her.” “No?” Snape said loftily, distastefully examining the offending article of clothing, still suspended from his wand. “It doesn’t seem like Miss Potter’s style to send anonymous knickers, does it?” “I wouldn’t know,” Matthew replied stiffly. “She’s started going out with Flint.” Snape pursed his lips together and drummed his fingers on the table. “Why would he think they were mine anyway? You were right, it wasn’t me,” Hope called over to the older Matthew. “I know,” came the muffled reply. Hope could see the crimson tips of his ears sticking up above his folded arms. “I found out later that they were Delilah Ramsbottom’s. She was a woman with a mission at that particular point; you’re just lucky you never saw the poetry she wrote for me.” Before Hope had a chance to respond, Severus Snape strode right through her and stepped down from the dais to glare at Matthew. She grimaced. Even though it was a memory, it always seemed to be the height of rudeness to do that to a person; she may not have been there at the time, but she was there now, and Snape should respect that! “So which young lady, and I use the word in its loosest terms, has been sending you her underwear? We do not tolerate certain activities within this school, and it is a great pity that this inherent lack of taste is not one of them. Fraternisations, on the other hand, are definitely not permitted under any circumstances. This behaviour will not be allowed to continue.” “There was no note,” Matthew repeated stubbornly. “Since you’re so passionately interested in the underwear’s owner, perhaps you should start hunting for the girl who’s not wearing any. You could repeat the Cinderella story, but with knickers.” Hope shrieked out loud. “I can’t believe you said that to him!” “Me neither,” came the barely audible reply. Snape exploded. The roar of fury could have been heard several towers away, and if the dungeon had had windows, then they certainly would have rattled. Words such as ‘impudence’ and ‘fool’ rang around the room, and the young Matthew stood, getting redder and redder. By the time Snape had finally paused for breath, Matthew had totalled three weeks of detentions, ninety-seven apology letters and an additional five Potions essays. “Get out of my sight!” he hissed, and Matthew fled for the door, leaving the knickers behind on Snape’s desk. Hope turned to see the older Matthew getting to his feet, looking as embarrassed as he had been almost five years before. “Let’s get out of here,” he begged, taking her hand and tugging lightly. The dungeon began to fade into the mists as the world swam around them and they ended up sitting on the living room floor in the cottage once more. “Why on earth was Ramsbottom sending you her knickers?” Hope demanded. “Were you starting a collection of tacky undies or something?” Although she hadn’t thought it possible, Matthew’s red face deepened to a rather fetching burgundy. “If you think teenage boys have a one track mind, that was nothing compared with Della,” he said awkwardly. He looked at Hope and got restlessly to his feet, not meeting her gaze any longer. “I wasn’t ready to sleep with her back then, okay? She wasn’t taking no for an answer, and I didn’t know what to do about it. It was bloody awful. Then Snape found those and all he could do was blame you. I lost my temper and just went for him. Not clever.” “But funny,” Hope interjected with a chuckle. “Did you see his expression when he looked at those knickers? I was half expecting him to complain about the poor production level of silk worms these days, because they had so little material. Do you think he’d ever seen a pair before?” Matthew snorted. “Doubt it. Anyone’d have to be mad or desperate to sleep with him. Probably both.” “Oh, I don’t know,” Hope said airily. “The dark and brooding type often has to fight them off. I bet there’s plenty of back-story to make him utterly desirable sex-on-legs. Added to which, he is Head of Slytherin and you know what they say about serpents…” She paused, pulled a face and added, “Ewww! I can’t believe I just said that. I need to wash my mind out with soap and water. Ick. Ick. Ick.” Matthew crouched on the floor beside her, looking equally nauseous at the idea. “Forget washing, where’s the scouring pad? I’ll never be able to look the man in the face again. But it was a stupid thing for me to say to him. I’m not usually so… so…” “Blunt?” Hope supplied. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Seriously, I wouldn’t. He’s had far worse from my uncles for a start. You just let your mouth go; they enchanted cauldrons to vomit all over him and stuff. My mum hexed him once.” “Did she?” Matthew sounded completely incredulous that anyone would dare do that. “Yeah,” Hope chuckled. “It was in her sixth-year when she was pregnant with me, and she said she was in the foulest of hormonal moods. You know how he doesn’t know when to stop? Apparently he went on and on criticising my dad until she snapped and hit him with a Gorgon hex.” Matthew whistled. “Nasty, yet impressive. I always knew I liked your mum.” “Well, that’s mutual,” Hope grinned, “because she likes you as well. By the way, what happened with Ramsbottom in the end?” “Hang on!” Matthew protested, sitting back down beside her. “Isn’t it my turn for a memory first?” “S’pose so.” “I’d like to see what went wrong that night when Flint took you to the Prefect’s Ball.” Hope blanched. “Are you sure?” she said, her voice sounding suddenly quite unlike her own. “You wouldn’t rather see me eat my own innards instead?” “Just the ball,” he said with a little smile. “Unless, of course, going out with Flint was a traumatic experience. I can understand that it would be.” She narrowed her eyes and took his hand firmly in hers. With her other hand, she extracted the memory and cast it off into the pensieve to swirl with the others. The silvery light from the memories glowed brightly in the darkened room, and they were drawn forwards into it, vanishing from their own world into the past.
|