Harry Potter Imagines

Neville Longbottom 》Severus and the Rockettes

Summary: You only use your Metaphormagic powers for the greater good. Scout's honor.

Warnings: Brief Mentions of Evil Turkeys

A/N: "But Jess, they weren't taking their O.W.L.s the year Remus taught there!!" Yeah? Well... mind your business. This takes place in their fifth year anyway.

Words: 959

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You stood by the Potions classroom door, waiting as everyone else filed in. You tapped your wand rhythmically against the dungeon wall as you did so, glancing about now and again. Professor Slippery Snake was usually the last to arrive to his own class, and you'd seen him entering Dumbledore's office on your way, and that meant that you'd certainly have time.

Dean Thomas stopped in front of you, bobbing his head around to get your attention. "You're going to get yourself in trouble," he said.

"What makes you think that?"

"That look in your eye. That's the look you always get when you're about to do something stupid."

"I take offense to that."

"Y/N—"

"I won't get caught this time, I promise! Now just... in, in," you shooed him.

Once everyone was inside, you took a deep breath and cast a spell upon your clothes that made them grow a few sizes.

Yes, you were going to get yourself in trouble.

But to be fair, you had a motive this time: Neville Longbottom. You'd spent far too many days — no — years watching Slimy Snails pick on him. Every answer he gave was 'wrong' even when it was entirely correct, every fumble was a crime, every moment was a new chance to make his life hell. These past few weeks had been especially hellish for the poor boy, and, quite frankly, you'd gotten sick of it. Besides, it was O.W.L.s season, and everyone could use a little comedic relief.

Your mother had told you before sending you off to Hogwarts that your Metamorphmagic powers should not, under any circumstances, be used for pranks or troublemaking like they had been as a child, but your mother wasn't here right now and besides, she'd gone to school with Sniveling Snoop. Surely she'd understand. Anyway, it's better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission, or whatever.

Your peers certainly enjoyed seeing Professor Snape walk into class in a pleated skirt, thigh-high socks, and Mary Jane shoes. (Except for Dean; you heard him hiss a "Y/N, no" as you passed.)

Neville was looking at you with wide eyes and a hanging jaw, and you sent him a wink before climbing up onto the professor's desk. You then took the hem of your skirt and, with your highest, sweetest singing voice, threw yourself into Gilbert and Sullivan's Three Little Maids From School Are We. Moments like these, you realized just how glad you were to have a nerdy muggle father. It was the dancing, though, in your opinion, that made the performance truly outstanding.

There was a good chance the front row saw your (Snippy's?) knickers as you kicked your foot high in the air and sang "filled to the brim with girlish glee."

God bless the kid in the last row you started waving his arms when he heard Professor Snark's footsteps coming down the hall. By the time he got to class, you were simply standing in the middle of the aisle with your bright green hair slightly messier than usual.

"What are you doing, miss Y/L/N?" his oily voice asked.

"Nothing, Professor."

He eyed you suspiciously. "Detention."

It was a week later that Professor Lupin decided to teach your class about boggarts.

"Professor," you asked, "how exactly does it plan to present itself as my fear of failure?"

He found the question amusing, but answered with an ominous "we'll find out, won't we?" and made you go first — something you probably deserved. (It turned out that your actual worst fear was turkeys, stemming from a particularly traumatic experience when you were seven that we won't go into.)

You weren't all that surprised when Neville's boggart turned into Snort — if he was that cruel to you, yours might have, too — but you did find yourself grinning with pride when the monster was suddenly clad in girl's uniform and singing and dancing. Your classmates laughed, finding the joke just as funny the second time around, and you felt Seamus elbow you happily.

Later, when students were filing out of class, Professor Lupin asked you to stay and talk to you for a moment. It made you nervous; perhaps he hadn't been amused by your joke after all, or maybe you weren't doing as well in his class as you thought you were (which would suck, because you were hoping to one day figure out how to remove the jinx on the DADA position and perhaps—)

"Have you considered trying out for the Rockettes?" he asked.

You were snapped from your thoughts and suddenly realized you were alone. It figured he'd recognize those dance moves. He must have been a half-blood, too. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You know," he said, "you remind me very much of a friend I had when I attended here."

You shifted on your feet, ready to deny everything once again, but by the time you opened your mouth, he was speaking again.

"He used to show off to impress the person he liked, too."

"I— Huh? I wasn't— What makes you think—"

"I recognize the signs. He also used to pull a lot of pranks like that. Well, perhaps not quite like that, but had he possessed your talents, I have no doubt he'd have used them in the exact same way."

You huffed a laugh. "Are you going to lecture me about how much trouble he got himself into?"

"On the contrary, he became Head Boy. What I was going to say was... perhaps you could try talking to Neville next time. I'm sure he'd appreciate that just as much."