Standard Disclaimer applies, see previous chapters for details.

Author's Note: A thousand thanks to everyone who has reviewed! It really makes me want to keep going. See your reviews for my responses. *blows kisses*

Chapter 3- From the Dungeons, the Angel of Potions

I wake early Saturday morning from a restless sleep, vaguely remembering disturbing dreams. Grimacing, I fling back the covers, sitting up on the edge of my bed. I rest my head in my hands, rubbing at my aching temples, trying to concentrate on the nightmares. Slowly, disjointedly, images come back.

I see myself on a stage, in front of masses of people. I am singing and dancing like a marionette. I try to stop but can’t. The crowd is roaring with laughter, pointing at me and dashing tears from their eyes. I struggle to stop myself, but can’t.

That’s when I see Dumbledore to one side, wand pointed at me, a fiendish smile splitting his face. “Imperio!” he cries, over and over, forcing me to dance faster and sing louder. I can’t even stop singing long enough to beg for mercy.

Tears start coursing down my cheeks, and my voice grows ragged from overuse. I feel the ache in my muscles, weary from dancing. But Dumbledore continues.

I see Potter to my side, but it’s James Potter, and Sirius and Remus are with him. They are mocking me, chanting, “Dance, Snivellus, dance!” I look down to see my robes gone, and I am clad only in faded, dingy underwear.

I look back and they have transformed into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Neville Longbottom stands behind them yelling at me. “You are the worst dunce I have even seen at performing! You should never have been allowed at Hogwarts!”

I frantically look around me and see Lily Evans gazing at me with contempt. “Really, you should think about washing your pants sometime, Severus.”

I blink and she turns into Hermione Granger. Her gaze stings me like ice. I feel the gorge rise when she looks at me with amusement and disgust. “As if you could ever aspire to join the rest of us.” Then she laughs at me.

Everyone is laughing at me. I see their faces swim before me as I black out from fatigue.

I shake my head violently. This would be one for the Pensieve. If only it took dreams as well as memories. I rise, feeling the ache in my tense muscles and make my way to the bathroom to look in the mirror. My expression is grimmer than usual, and I have dark circles under my eyes. I look positively haggard. I frown at my reflection and splash cold water on my face, in an attempt to drive away the lingering dread.

It’s no use. I get ready for breakfast. I don’t know why I bother. My guts are a knot right now, what with all this musical nonsense, and I doubt I can eat anything. Some coffee might help, though. I make my way up to the Great Hall, hoping to arrive and be done before the students make their ways down. As I round the corner, I see the crowd shouting and milling in front of the notice board.

The cast list.

None of them notice my approach. Potter is wrapping himself around Granger like a glove, and the group suddenly quiets. I see her struggle from his embrace and turn around. The group is deathly silent. Granger goes white. Her eyes widen like saucers. What in bloody hell is going on? What, did she not get what she wanted, poor cry-baby know-it-all?

Seeing an outlet for my temper, I march up to the throng and stop behind them. Granger turns slowly, looking like she has seen her death. Malfoy crows with delight.

“Ha ha! Take that Granger! See how you like your precious part now! This is brilliant!”

Granger suddenly notices my presence. Her stricken eyes travel up to mine. The others see her looking and turn as one to see me as well. Even Malfoy seems speechless.

“What’s the matter, Granger? Didn’t get what you wanted? Pity. Try not to cry too much. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, remember?” I sneer at her, smirking maliciously.

Nobody moves. It’s as if someone cast Petrificus Totalus on all of them. My stomach clenches painfully. Something isn’t right.

“Well? No know-it-all answer, Granger? Ten points from Gryffindor for discourtesy to a professor.” I expect her to explode now. She simply shudders. Her mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water. The other students’ eyes dart between her and myself.

The hairs on the back of my neck start to rise. I growl menacingly, growing impatient, “Since Granger can’t seem to answer me, can anyone explain why you’re all standing here like you’ve just seen the Dark Lord rise again?”

“P-p-please, sir…”

I round on Seamus Finnegan. “Well, spit it out, idiot boy!”

“Professor Snape, you’re on the cast list, sir.”

I feel as if someone has kicked me in the chest. All the breath has left my body.

“What?” I manage to hiss.

He points to the scroll on the board. Granger is still motionless in front of it, gazing up at me in shock. I push through the crowd roughly, students scrambling to get out of my way. Potter pulls Granger to the side. She wavers like a scarecrow. I look at the list.

It’s my nightmare come true.

“The Phantom-- Severus Snape.”

Then, “Christine Daae (the ingénue)-- Hermione Granger.”

And, “Raoul, Vicomte de Changy (her lover)-- Harry Potter.”

I fight to maintain control. My hands clench and my teeth grind. Turning a hateful glare on Potter and Granger, I bellow at them, “This is an outrage! Get out of my sight, all of you!”

They scatter like roaches in the light. All but Granger and Potter. Weasley pauses a few steps down the corridor, seeing his friends aren’t with him. Granger is still gazing up at me, supported by Potter.

I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Didn’t you hear what I said, Granger? Ten more points from Gryffindor for disobeying an order! Now leave before I give you detention with Filch as well!”

Potter tries to pull her away, but she doesn’t move. Suddenly, she gasps and crumples in a heap on the floor. Potter tries to stop her, but can’t keep a grip.

“Hermione!” he says urgently, shooting an angry glance up at me. It’s all I can do not to twist my hands around his neck.

Weasley is dithering in the corridor, afraid to come closer, but wanting to help his friends.

“Your friend is clearly overwrought and should not be out of the Tower. I suggest you escort her back to your rooms and keep her there until she can handle being about.”

Weasley finally rushes over and helps Potter lift her, draping her arms over their shoulders. They shuffle away as fast as they can, her legs dangling and dragging between them. I wait till they are gone and the corridor is clear. Then, I turn back to the fateful list.

It reads, “Cast list for Hogwarts’ production of The Phantom of the Opera:

The Phantom-- Severus Snape
Christine Daae (the ingénue)-- Hermione Granger
Raoul, Vicomte de Changy (her lover)-- Harry Potter
Monsieur Firmin (opera manager)-- Neville Longbottom
Monsieur Andre (opera manager)-- Ron Weasley
Carlotta Guidicelli (diva soprano)-- Pansy Parkinson
Ubaldo Piangi (Carlotta’s lover, tenor)-- Draco Malfoy
Madame Giry (Ballet Mistress)—Minerva McGonagall
Meg Giry (Christine’s friend, chorus girl)—Ginny Weasley
Joseph Buquet (stagehand), ensemble-- Terry Boot
Passarino (servant of Don Juan), ensemble-- Dean Thomas
Ballet Captain/ Wardrobe Mistress/ Confidante, ensemble—Sybill Trelawney
Ballet Girl/ Madame Firmin, ensemble-- Millicent Bulstrode
Ballet Girl/ Innkeeper’s Wife, ensemble-- Parvati Patil
Ballet Girl/ Princess, ensemble-- Luna Lovegood
Ballet Girl/ Hairdresser, ensemble-- Susan Bones
Ballet Girl/ Wild Woman, ensemble-- Lavender Brown
Ballet Girl/ Page, ensemble-- Hannah Abbott
Auctioneer/ Reyer/ Policeman in Pit, ensemble-- Seamus Finnigan
Lefevre/ Don Attilo/ Porter/ Fireman, ensemble-- Justin Finch-Fletchley
Slavemaster/ Firechief/ Porter/ Police, ensemble-- Colin Creevey

First cast meeting Saturday evening, 7:00 p.m. in the Great Hall.

Director-- Albus Dumbledore”

I hear a roaring in my ears, and I realize it’s my own blood pounding through my veins. I am utterly incredulous. There must be a mistake. I’m vaguely surprised the parchment isn’t crackling under the heat of my rage. I whip my eyes from side to side, looking for students. Unfortunately, none are around to be my target.

I rush to the door to the Great Hall and glare inside. The House tables are empty. Viciously, I snort. No doubt they’re all terrified of trying to come to breakfast after my little display in the corridor.

Good.

I stomp up the dais to the High Table, snatching up a mug and a pot of coffee. The few teachers present pause for a moment in their conversations to look at me, and I shoot them a poisonous glance. They exchange significant looks and turn away from me. No doubt they haven’t seen the cast list, as they weren’t out there with the crowd. Seething, I toss back a large gulp of hot coffee, grimacing at the burning in my throat. Coffee isn’t going to do it. I need a drink.

I think longingly of the Firewhisky in my quarters. Vowing to drink myself into oblivion as soon as I leave here, I shift in my seat, anxiously awaiting Dumbledore’s arrival. He must make this right!

Minutes drag while I sit, fidgeting. Sybill Trelawney floats into the Hall. She has a self-satisfied smile on her face. I’m surprised to see her, as she usually takes meals in her quarters, but I realize why she came down from her room today.

She’s on the damned cast list too! And she’s happy about it!

She wafts up near me. “Oh, Severus, isn’t it wonderful?”

I simply gaze at her, stonily, forcing her to clarify. Her smile flickers a bit before dying out.

“Surely you’ve seen the cast list. We are both honoured with roles! I had foreseen that I would be receiving an honour, but the mists of the future were secretive that day, and I had no idea it would be as impressive as this!”

She looks at me, comprehending that I do not share her opinion.

Fatuously, she waves her be-ringed fingers at me, her smile returning. “But you! You, Severus, have received the greatest honour. It is only fitting for you to finally receive such recognition after the war.”

I can’t bear it any longer and slam my hands on the edge of the table, making her jump back in fear. I push myself to my feet and lean over her, shaking with the desire to rip her tongue from her mouth.

“Hold your tongue, you ridiculous woman! This is no honour. This is no recognition! How much of an imbecile are you to think that this is anything but a farce? A ridiculous affair that will make me a laughingstock!” I pause for a moment and sneer, adding silkily, “Of course, it wouldn’t bother you, would it? Seeing as you have been a laughingstock for years already, you must be used to it.”

I watch in satisfaction as her eyes fill with tears behind her thick glasses. She gasps and covers her mouth with her hands, staring at me, crushed. I smirk at her evilly.

“Severus, that was not necessary.”

Our tableau is broken by the quiet voice of Dumbledore behind me. I wipe my face of any expression and back up hastily. Sybill lets out a choked sob. Dumbledore steps up to my side and places a warning hand on my arm.

“I believe you didn’t mean what you said. Surely you would like to tell Professor Trelawney that.” His voice is pleasant, but I feel the steel in his grip. I know I am in trouble and I force myself to speak.

In a low tone, I murmur, “Forgive my rudeness, Sybill. Indeed, I did not mean what I said.” I feel Dumbledore’s hand tighten spasmodically. I continue, eyes cast down, “You have my apologies.”

Dumbledore releases my arm and takes Sybill’s hands in his. “I see you made the cast! I say, I am delighted. I look forward to seeing you tonight at our first meeting.” He beams at her, and she regains her composure, giving him a shaky smile.

“Of course, Headmaster. I am deeply honoured. However, I think I may retire to my quarters for breakfast after all. I do hope you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, my dear. Congratulations. Enjoy your meal.”

With that, he releases her hands and she nods to him. She flicks a cold glance at me before whirling and hurrying away. Students are starting to trickle in, some offering her their congratulations as they pass her. I see them darting their eyes to the High Table and quickly looking away from my black gaze. They don’t dare offer me congratulations. Not if they want to finish the school year unhexed.

I feel Dumbledore’s presence heavily as he turns his attention to me.

“Headmaster…”

“Got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, did you, Severus?” His voice is jovial, but I hear the undercurrent. “Perhaps you’ll feel better after your morning coffee.”

I realize he is offering me an excuse, that he doesn’t want to broach the real subject here, in front of students. I nod miserably and sink back into my seat. He looks at my coffee mug pointedly, and I obediently lift it to drink. I almost spit it back out. It’s cold. Ugh.

Dumbledore turns to his other side as Minerva enters and congratulates her on making the cast. She smiles primly, but I can see that she’s pleased underneath. She looks at me and rakes me with a calculating look.

“Well, Severus, it seems we’ll be seeing even more than usual of each other this year, working together on this production. I believe congratulations are in order.”

I squint at her sourly, rolling my eyes away again. When I look back, there is a small smile hovering about her lips. But this time I can tell it’s an expression of schadenfreude.*

Icily, I bite out, “Indeed. I do hope you plan to keep your charges in line. There is a preponderance of Gryffindors on that list. I do not expect to suffer the vagaries of undisciplined youth any more than I already do in my duties.”

She bridles at this and huffily retorts, “Well! My Gryffindors, undisciplined? How dare you insult my House? I notice only three of your House were considered worthy of being cast…”

“Spare me. Worthy? I daresay my three are worth all of yours put together…”

She glares at me heatedly, sputtering. I smirk inwardly. It is so easy to bait Minerva. Her House loyalty is astonishing. She pulls herself up stiffly and holds her hand out to me, eyes narrowed.

“Care to make a wager then, Severus?”

I stare at her suspiciously. “Whatever do you mean?”

“I wager that, by the time we finish this competition, and win, I might add, you will actually admit, in front of Albus as a witness, that a Gryffindor can be as worthy of anything as your Slytherins. Hmm? Care to take me up on that?” Her hand is still extended.

I contemplate for a moment. She doesn’t move. Thoughtfully, I ask, “What makes you think I’d even admit it were I ever to have that opinion? I could just keep quiet and not say anything, and you’d lose.”

She smiles faintly. “Because I know you have very strict ethics regarding matters of your honour. If you agreed to this wager, you would be honest to the end. After the war, I came to realize just why Albus trusts you as he does. It’s a simple enough matter; either you agree or don’t. What do you say?”

Taken aback by her compliment, I ask sharply, “And what if you lose, what do I get?”

“Well, I’ll be forced to admit the opposite, that your Slytherins are more worthy than my Gryffindors. You’d revel in that, wouldn’t you? Come now, Severus, stop dithering and make your choice. Deal or no?”

I think of how miserable life is about to become. This could be one small point of light in the darkness for me. For so many years, she has goaded me about her House being better than mine. Quidditch matches and the House Cup competition are always fierce between our Houses, largely due to the tension between us, the Heads of said Houses. To finally have her admit the inferiority of her House, and just when I will finally be near the end of my long-suffering tenure with the Golden Trio… The year could end positively after all. And this could give me something to look forward to over the horrid months ahead. I extend my hand and enfold hers in a tight grip. She returns it with strength. We shake once and nod.

“Deal.”

Dumbledore chuckles, shaking his head. “You two and your House politics.”

I start back to the present, having momentarily forgotten him beside me. He turns to me, eyes twinkling. I sit back, moodily.

“Don’t sulk, Severus, it’s not befitting your age and position,” he whispers to me. I turn a black, reproachful look on him.

“Sir, this is preposterous. I am a busy man. I do not have time for these frivolities! Apparently that blasted Sorting Hat gave me the title role! Surely you would agree that my duties as Potions Master and Head of Slytherin leave me little enough free time. How can you expect me to participate in this production?”

I can feel the colour rising in my cheeks, and I duck my head toward him, hissing my words, letting my hair cover my face, shielding me from the prying eyes of the students.

“Come now, you’re hardly as busy as you make out, now that the war is over. I thought I had made myself clear on this matter.” Steel creeps into his normally light-hearted voice. “The Ministry has decreed that we are to participate, and I expect Hogwarts to win this competition. I expect your full cooperation in every aspect. Now, stop your grousing and set an example for the students. Follow?”

He pins me with a penetrating gaze and I clench my teeth, lips in a thin line. Inclining my head, I mutter, “As you say, Headmaster.”

He beams at me again and pats my arm. “Now, you’d best not dally here any longer. You wouldn’t want to waste any more of your precious time, would you?” His eyes twinkle more and he suppresses a chuckle. With as much dignity as I can muster under the circumstances, I stand.

“You are correct, sir. Excuse me.” I start past him. At the edge of the dais, I am stopped by his voice calling after me.

“Oh, and don’t be late for our first cast meeting tonight at seven. See you here.”

I jerk my head in response and stiffly continue down the steps. Students are furtively peering at me, but avoiding catching my eye. I can hear their fervent whispers around me. I swear to Merlin, if I hear one laugh, I will make them wish they were born a Squib. Behind me, I hear the fainter voice of Dumbledore speaking again.

“I say, Minerva, have you seen Mr. Potter or Miss Granger this morning? They received quite important roles. I’d like to offer my congratulations. Where are they?”

Fuming, I remember their faces this morning. Oh, didn’t you hear, Sir? They’re all gone, sucked into a vortex just this morning. Tragic, isn’t it? I whip down the corridors to the dungeons.

I wish.

*schadenfreude- taking pleasure in someone else’s misfortune