Begin Again (Severus Snape/OC Love Story)

Chapter Ten: The Big Head of Ernie Macmillan

        "So, you mean to tell me that Snape just... cancelled three of your detentions? Out of... what? The goodness of his heart?" Ernie asked, voice heavy with sarcasm. We were on our way to dinner the day after my first detention.

I had spent the majority of Sunday hiding in my dormitory pretending to study, but mostly immersed in my own mind as I replayed the previous night over and over again. I'd tried to pinpoint every unspoken feeling, analyzing everything I could read between the lines – but above all else, I lingered exhaustingly on the final look Snape had given me as I'd said my parting words and left him alone with his thoughts. It was an expression I'd memorized completely in the span of a single breath, of utter disbelief interspersed with a sort of fond fascination, as though no one had ever spoken to him in that way; as though no one had ever been perceptive enough to see though the dense wall that he'd firmly built around himself.

At least, that's what I'd decided on after several hours spent dissecting every perplexed crease of his forehead, the uncertainty that ruminated in his black eyes, the slight astonished gape of his mouth, the way the tense stiffness of his posture had deflated so instantaneously. I had never been especially intuitive to the thoughts and feelings of others before – I wasn't that good at 'reading people' in general - but Severus Snape was barely short of a wide-open paperback to me. Yet it seemed that the deeper I dug, I was uncovering as many questions as I was answers.

"I already told you, I stayed on for longer than he needed to help him get some extra work done. He was appreciative and said that I'd served my time adequately. Contrary to your accusations of Snape being 'evil,' he can actually be quite decent," I explained in a placatory tone. I couldn't think of any other excuse, and I certainly didn't want to tell Ernie the true rationale behind Snape's sudden leniency. Ernie scoffed in disbelief.

"I just don't believe it. He's a right nasty git – had me scrubbing out moldy old bottles of Lobalug venom, and let me tell you - " Ernie shuddered, " – that stuff reeks worse than five-month-old Flobberworm mucus. I still can't get the smell out from under my fingernails, even the Scouring Charm didn't work. Look," he said, shoving his fingers under my nose. I turned my head to the side, knowing better than to take a whiff.

"Yuck! No way, get your hand out of my face," I said sounding annoyed, and pushed his arm away, "and you should believe it, he's honestly not as bad as you think."

"Yeah, well, before I left he informed me that I'd better get used to it, because he has 'a considerably more unpleasant task' planned for next week. I should have been the one on paper-grading duty; why put a brilliant mind to waste on petty chores?"

I stopped dead in my tracks, eyes narrowed warningly. "And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"Huh?" Ernie spun around in confusion after registering that I was no longer walking beside him. "Oh... well just that, if someone is going to be held to the standard of evaluating the quality of a younger student's work, it would make more sense that that person be the one with a higher aptitude for the subject," he said presumptuously.

Something fiery and turbulent swelled in my stomach. "So, you're saying that I'm not intelligent enough to grade first year Defense Against the Dark Arts essays? That you deserved the more 'glamorous' job because you're smarter than me, and I should have been washing out nasty old Potions supplies instead?" I snapped, feeling extremely insulted. My words echoed through the cavernous entrance hall, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Ernie shrank back slightly.

"No – no I'm not saying that at all. I don't mean anything against you – I just mean to say that Snape clearly isn't very bright, that's all. It's him I'm irritated with, not you," he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "He's a heartless, bitter prat who shouldn't even be a teacher. I wish Umbridge had sacked him last year, he deserves some public humiliation, perhaps that've put him in his place," he spat maddeningly, tone thick with contempt. I didn't have a clue who 'Umbridge' was, but the more Ernie droned on, the more I felt the blood in my veins pumping with uncontrollable, cold ferocity.