Owl Occurrences by ChoicesWeMake

Severus Snape attributes it to some sixth-sense that teachers have: the ability to know when some of their students are inevitably getting up to trouble. They can't explain it. They can't help it. They just know. And it's this just knowing that has Severus pacing the corridors of the seventh floor at well past midnight.

The whispering finally gives them away. Children should never sneak out with friends; no matter how quiet they mean to be, they can't resist the pull of their own unutterable stupidity - thus it becomes their downfall. Severus lets a grim smile curl his lips as he rounds the corner, flourishing a glowing wand tip to illuminate the guilty party.

He narrows his eyes. "Nott. Zabini."

Several theories are playing through his head, but steps forward to get a better look at the third figure, hanging back and still encased in shadows. He knows who it is even before he says the name.

"Potter," He growls.

Ah. He should have expected this. He might not know how yet, but Potter is absolutely responsible.

"Sir," the boy mutters.

Lowering his wand arm so his lumos isn't quite as blinding, Severus straightens, robes falling outward around him, trying to dampen some misguided sense of betrayal and anger. Because Severus Snape is angry, make no mistake about it, righteous fury rushing straight through to his head, and it's all directed at the muzzy haired little idiot in front of him.

He's angry, and it takes him a little by surprise, because in the past few weeks since Severus gave Potter the photography, they've been stuck in some sort of uneasy neutrality. Anger against the boy - well, he's tried to find it on more than one occasion, tried to conjure some up when those round glasses and ridiculous hair caught the edge of his line of vision, but it seemed there simply wasn't any to summon.

This, though, this blatant advantage-taking of Severus' good graces, galls him. He may, in a moment of weakness, have given the boy a token, but that does not mean he gets to skip around carte blanche with Severus' favor! This sort of gratuitous, haphazard rule-breaking is exactly what Severus has sworn to break in the boy, and after one kindness, one reluctant extended hand, the presumption, the nerve of the boy to -

"Respect, Potter! Head up!"

Potter lifts his head reluctantly, and all three of the boys shuffle closer together, straightening before him like they're facing some final doom. Well, he won't disabuse them of the notion. Not before he gets what he wants out of them.

Severus gestures sharply with his wand and and even though his voice addresses all three of them, his black eyes don't move from Potter's face. "Explain."

Potter's jaw shifts, his top teeth dragging against his lower lip as his eyes dart to his comrades.

"I -" He stops and swallows, starts again, resolve gathering rather obviously beneath Severus' glower. "I challenged them to a race. Flying. It's my fault, sir, they didn't want to -"

Severus is barely bothering to pay attention to Potter's words, though, because Blaise Zabini's brows are plunging in a dubious expression, and Nott's face has gone suspiciously neutral. Severus had a feeling they're both screaming at Potter in their heads, but, well, that's what happens when you leave the one person who's a terrible liar to speak for the group (really? They're on the seventh floor because they're headed outside for a broom race? If he didn't know it was just Potter's innate and all-consuming brainlessness, Severus might feel offended by the suggestions of his own level of intelligence in such an obvious lie). Severus' lips stretch into a smile.

"Lying to protect your friends? An appallingly Gryffindor tendency, Potter."

Potter falls silent, and this is where it starts, the fear, his pulse quickening, his throat pulsing. Severus can see him fight it down, search for a sharp reply, then falter.

"Alright," Potter's blinking, in the dim light, his eyes shimmering behind their glass. "Alright - but I talked them into this -"

"You," Severus glares, meeting each boy's eyes in turn, "have seconds to tell me what you are actually doing in this hall before I lose my patience and assign Potter an even harsher detention and endless weeks without his broom - which," his voice slides smooth and sibilant, "incidentally Potter, you seemed to have missed carrying with you when you set out for your midnight broom race!"

Dismayed, indignant, Potter nevertheless draws himself up stubbornly, lips closed in muted rebellion. Zabini glances at the other boy, then sends a reluctant, almost apologetic look at his Head.

It's Nott who surprise Severus, studying him intently for a moment with a steady, assessing gaze, his small, dark eyes strangely intense.

After a moment, his lips purse.

"It's Potter's owl, sir." He says finally.

"Potter's owl?" Severus' lips thin as he swivels forbiddingly toward Potter. He should have guessed - they're close to the entrance of the West Tower. "If you think that I'm going to let you off with light consequences because you missed your pet, I assure you -"

"Not that! It's sick!" Blaise Zabini pushes forward, sounding a little desperate, but Potter hasn't spoken at all, and it makes Severus pause.

Potter won't look at him, shoulders hitched up, not even bothering to glare at his friends.

So. Poor little Potter's pathetic owl is sick.

"And what, exactly, were you three planning to do about it?" Severus sneers.

There's a long silence before Theodore says evenly, "Well, Blaise and I wanted to see her, first, try to ascertain more of her condition, but -"

He reluctantly draws out a handful of rather limp looking small green leaves from his pocket.

"Valerian, Mr. Nott?" Severus jolts to look at him.

"We got it from Hagrid's garden," Blaise admits.

"So I see," Says Severus, softly, coldly. "And have you any concrete idea of what feeding the animal valerian leaves might do to it?"

Potter protests, "It's got loads of healing properties, we just thought -"

"Enough!" Severus snaps.

Potter, he can see Potter being motivated by strong bursts of emotion, logic in the wind, but the other two? Two true Slytherins jumping into a rule-breaking scheme with such a shaky idea of what they were doing, no substantial plan? He expected better of Zabini and Nott.

"Potter, detention."

"Yes, sir," the boy mutters resentfully.

"Tomorrow. With Filch." Severus bites, and finally sees the flash of dismay in Potter's eyes before they sweep to the floor again.

Feeling better now that he's punished the brat, he stares the boys down.

"Nott, Zabini, to bed." He says.

Nott doesn't even hesitate, lips barely turning up at his head as he squares his shoulders and turns away, and Severus pushes away the feeling that Nott's just trustingly handed over the well-being of his friend to his Head.

"What about me?" Potter says in a small voice.

Severus stares him into silence. "You stay."

Zabini bites his lips and slumps, glares a little at Severus, but after a moment follows Nott back down the hall.

Potter's body stiffens as he registers the abandonment of his friends. He draws a breath and gathers his classic braced, defiant look to meet Severus' gaze.

"Not expecting a beating, are you, Potter?" Severus taunts, a cold smile curling his lips.

There it is. Potter's eyes flare with anger.

"Why, Professor? Are you thinking of handing one out?"

Severus leans back. "I don't think I need to, Potter, do I?" He says smoothly. "What I would like to do, far better, is to see what you think is worthy of the risk of incurring my wrath this night."

The boy's brow wrinkles warily.

Severus motions him ahead to lead the way. "Take me to your owl, Potter."

Those white little fists clench again, and Severus swears the next word on the boy's breath is going to be no. Merlin, was there ever a boy so contrary!

"Sir," Potter starts, his voice surprisingly level, and his eyes have softened to an appeal as he peers up. "Please don't - I've been doing the best I can, don't, don't punish her because of me -"

The boy really is prone to babbling, isn't he?

"Potter!" Severus snaps. He doesn't have time for this. "I won't ask again."

It's a silent, uneasy trek, and when they reach the steps, Potter pauses.

"Sir -"

"I'm not here to listen to your whinging, Potter. Show me your owl or it suffers for your impudence."

That makes the boy swallow his words, dismay flashing in his gaze, and without another word he takes the first stair up to the tower of the west corner.