Snape Claps Back

It was an unusually sunny morning at Hogwarts, and the students, infused with the unexpected burst of summer energy, seemed determined to make Professor Snape’s Potions class the stage for their antics.

The bell rang, and the class trickled in, chattering animatedly. Seated at the front, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged mischievous glances. They had hatched a plan to liven up the otherwise dreary Potions lesson.

Professor Snape swept into the room, his robes billowing like an ominous storm cloud. His expression, a blend of disdain and irritation, was already fixed in place.

"Settle down," he snapped, his voice like a whip crack. The students fell into a semblance of silence, though an undercurrent of stifled giggles persisted.

As Snape began his lecture on the properties of Veritaserum, Seamus Finnigan raised his hand, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yes, Finnigan?" Snape's voice dripped with impatience.

"Sir, do you wash your hair?"

The class erupted into laughter, the walls of the dungeon echoing with their amusement. Snape's eyes narrowed to slits, his face contorting with barely suppressed rage.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your impertinence, Finnigan. And if I hear another word out of place, it will be detention for a week."

Unperturbed, Dean Thomas piped up next. "But, sir, we were just wondering. It looks so...shiny."

Another wave of laughter surged through the room. Snape's knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of his desk, his patience visibly fraying.

"Silence!" he thundered. "Unless you have a question relevant to this class, keep your mouths shut!"

From the back of the room, Lavender Brown called out, "Sir, if you took Veritaserum, would you finally admit you fancy Professor McGonagall?"

The room exploded with laughter again, this time louder and more uncontrollable. Even some of the Slytherins couldn't suppress their chuckles.

Snape's face turned a dangerous shade of red. "That is enough! Ten points from Gryffindor, Brown, and detention for you and Mr. Thomas."

Undeterred, Ron Weasley whispered loudly to Harry, "Bet he'd have to double the dose to admit he likes anyone."

Snape, with a speed that surprised everyone, whirled around and fixed Ron with a lethal stare. "Mr. Weasley, you seem to have a death wish today. Another ten points from Gryffindor, and you can join Miss Brown in detention."

Harry, trying to stifle his own laughter, couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Snape, who was now barely holding his composure. Hermione, ever the voice of reason, shot her friends a warning look, urging them to stop.

However, Parvati Patil couldn’t resist one final jab. "Sir, do you use a special potion for your hair? Maybe you could teach us that one instead?"

Snape's wand hand twitched as if he were seriously considering hexing the lot of them. With a visible effort, he regained his composure and spoke in a low, deadly voice. "Detention for the rest of the week for every Gryffindor in this class. And if there are any further disruptions, it will be for the rest of the term."

The laughter died instantly, replaced by groans and a palpable tension. Snape resumed his lecture, though his eyes never stopped scanning the room for the next sign of insubordination.

“Turn to page 394,” Snape instructed, his voice cutting through the chatter like a knife.

Draco Malfoy, seated with a smirk on his face, couldn’t resist. “Why, sir? Who’s on it? Your mum?”

The class erupted into laughter, echoing off the dungeon walls. Snape’s expression didn’t waver; instead, he allowed a slow, sarcastic laugh to escape.

“Well, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled, “at least my mother isn’t on page one of ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.’”

The class howled with laughter, and several students leaned over to high-five each other. Malfoy’s smirk faltered, and he turned a deep shade of red.

Feeling a rare sense of triumph, Snape turned to the blackboard, his chalk scratching out intricate potion diagrams. He paused and faced the class, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

"Miss Granger," he began, his voice icy and precise, "for someone who prides herself on her intelligence, it’s remarkable how often you fail to understand that not everyone wants to hear your incessant know-it-all prattle."

Hermione, usually so composed, felt her cheeks burn as the class snickered.

"Mr. Weasley," Snape continued, his tone dripping with disdain, "it's a miracle you find your way to class each day, given your consistent inability to grasp the simplest concepts. One might think your family’s renowned poverty has robbed you of more than just decent robes."

Ron’s ears turned scarlet, and he clenched his fists under the table.

"And you, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his voice lowering to a deadly whisper, "enjoying your moment in the spotlight? Pity it’s the only time you manage to achieve anything without relying on sheer luck and the efforts of those more competent than yourself."

Harry glared back, refusing to let Snape see how much the words stung.

"Miss Brown," Snape sneered, "I assume you can pry your eyes away from your reflection long enough to contribute something of value to this class. Though I won't hold my breath."

Lavender scowled, her earlier amusement gone.

"Mr. Finnigan," Snape's eyes narrowed, "your talent for causing explosions might be impressive if it were intentional. As it stands, it's merely a testament to your astounding incompetence."

Seamus shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the laughter dying on his lips.

"And finally, Mr. Thomas," Snape’s gaze settled on Dean, "considering your artistic inclinations, perhaps you should draw us a picture of your understanding of this potion. That way, at least one thing might make sense today."

Dean flushed, staring down at his desk.

Snape straightened, satisfied with the silence that now blanketed the room. "Now, if we are quite done with the childish outbursts, I suggest you pay attention. There is much to learn, and I assure you, none of it involves your pathetic attempts at humor."

The students, thoroughly chastised, buried their heads in their books, the weight of Snape’s triumph pressing down on them. As the lesson continued, they couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the man who, despite everything, always had the final word.