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Post by Prof. Severus Snape on Nov 15, 2006 22:20:18 GMT -5
Severus Snape was not a temperate man, not by a long-shot. He lacked patience, for one, and tolerance. He didn't understand children, and never had. In fact, there were times when Snape wondered why he ever did decide to become a teacher. And then he remembered. Dumbledore. And a war. Death Eaters. And the imminent threat of Azkaban Prison. Augustus Rookwood had not been pleased when he received his letter. This was another person Severus often wondered about. Why Rookwood ever (grudgingly) accepted Silver as his step-son, Severus would never know. The boy was difficult enough by himself. Pair him with one, Oione Mireault, and you had quite another story. Severus was too old for the trouble those too would cause him. Young enough for a Wizard, his hair as black and greasy as ever, the man found himself with aching fists from letter-writing and a raging headache. Unfortunately for two very foolish and very stupid Slytherins, Snape was in no mood to deal with students tonight. Silver and Mireault were going to be working hard, on opposite sides of the room. For the obnoxious brat they had the gall to call a boy, Severus had a long list of chores. Scrub the floor with his knuckles, clean the cauldrons with toothbrush, pick tubeworms off the tables - that sort of menial work meant to break people like Seth Silver. Ms Mireault, though considerably easier to deal with, was in for a rude awakening tonight. There was no doubt in Snape's mind that the girl had never done a hard-day's work in her short life. That was about to change.
Clean the inkpots, mend the broken textbooks, stack the chairs atop Silver's freshly-cleaned tables, organize ingredients, lines ('I will not cast illegal curses on another student ever again', or something similar), and whatever else he could think up.
Clearing his throat, Severus Snape returned to the heavy desk in the corner of his classroom. He liked the dungeons, liked the dark and the damp. It made for a wonderful intimidation method. Students didn't want to serve detention in a place that looked more like an abandoned prison cell than a classroom.
Ah, there was the blasted door.
Raising an eyebrow sardonically, Severus rose from his desk. Sitting behind the desk was a sign of weakness, and Silver did not need more of a reason to make an arse of himself tonight.
'Enter.'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 16, 2006 18:44:20 GMT -5
Illegal curses should me made legal and recommended when applied to one called Seth Silver. Walking quickly, desperately trying to get ahead of Seth so that she didn't have to see his infuriating face, shoes clicking on the wet stone stairs Oione huffed to herself with an expression that could only be classified as one of 'an offended princess' as during their way to the dungeons she had run out of insults which effectively made her shut up. She had never suspected that happening anywhere soon but after calling him load of vermented crap (which she decided was too lame to even try and put in words)and she had no idea how desperate she had to come up with something like that.
Oddly, enough she wasn't as angry with Seth as she, in her opinion, was supposed to, which in a one hell of a chain reaction made her angry with herself and therefore the rest of the world. "Why did you fucking punch Marzel for?" she raged, skipping one stair and practically landing on the hard floor, which of course brought even more cursing with it. "It was just a stupid spell!" And there they were. Before the door that lead to a night she did not look forward to. Oh, might as well be done with it.
((shit))
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 16, 2006 22:33:09 GMT -5
Seth glared at her darkly, feeling, in his mind, horribly victimised. Why had he punched Marzel? Why had Marzel cursed him? And then kicked him in the bloody face? And all because he, Seth, was trying to be sociable. He would never understand how his mother did it. How did she put up with infuriating people like Cecil Marzel? Seth would never have guessed Marzel would be so low as to kick a man when he was unable to fight back. It was the sort of thing Seth could expect from Augustus, certainly, and, of course, himself. But Marzel? He'd always considered Marzel to be one of those annoyingly dashing, noble blokes who liked to play the knight and keep the spirit of chivalry alive, and all that entailed.
'Ask Marzel why he fooking kicked me in the face, and maybe I'll think up an answer,' he sneered, his face turning pink.
How could Oione not see that Marzel was the guilty party here? How could she possibly blame Seth for something entirely not his fault?
'An mehbe ye could tell meh what ye were doin' wi't Cecil Fecking Marzel in da forst place, eh?'
((lazy and not going to bother logging in as Snape, so I'll post his response here as well.))
Severus opened the door at the exact moment Seth swung back his fist to give another mighty knock. Raising his eyebrows, he side-stepped Silver's blow and ushered the two inside.
'I would be careful, Mr Silver,' the man warned sardonically, 'one might think you were trying to maim me.'
Seth huffed, but said nothing. Severus Snape was one of the few that could actually frighten some manners into the boy, at least for a bit. It helped, of course, that Snape happened to know Augustus personally, not to mention the note signed by said person, giving explicit permission to Severus Snape for the right to punish one, Seth Silver, as he saw fit.
'Ms Mireault,' Snape greeted, directing the girl to a chair opposite Seth. He faced the two, black eyes cold and magnetic in the gloomy candlelight of his dungeon classroom. Snape, despite being of an average height, was an imposing figure. This was the way he liked it. Silver was nearly head-to-head height-wise, but Snape commanded the boy with a flick of his sallow wrist. 'The two of you know very well while you are here, and I will not waste my time elaborating. You, Silver, may begin by scrubbing the dungeon floor. Ms Mireault, you may begin with lines. I have no doubt the two of you shall be here a very long time tonight. To work, Silver - no, yo don't get a brush, boy - do it with your knuckles. You may fill the bucket by the tap. Any questions?'
((this really is shit))
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 17, 2006 17:35:46 GMT -5
"You broke his nose, Seth" she said with an air of patience that was wearing thin. "If that's not enough, I don't know what is. You didn't expect him to thank you for it, did you? You started. It wouldn't have happened if you'd left when I asked you to"
Oh yes. Seth was going to blame everyone apart from himself once again. Though, with slight irritation Oione noticed that her rage was half-hearted. Cecil Marzel wasn't as innocent as she'd like to believe and she definitely did not take sides in this. Truth to be told, she was angry with them both.
'An mehbe ye could tell meh what ye were doin' wi't Cecil Fecking Marzel in da forst place, eh?'
"It's none of your business" she spat through gritted teeth, glaring daggers at him and bit back a few insults that were forcing themselves on her lips. She would have gained some more knowledge about the enigma Cecil was, she was so close from discovering something more and then came Seth, butting in in the most blunt way possible and shattering every single thing to pieces, including Gryffindor noses.
'I would be careful, Mr Silver,' the man warned sardonically, 'one might think you were trying to maim me.'
"I wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly what he was trying, sir" Oione smirked, following Seth inside the dungeon. "He has gone punch-happy lately. " They sat down, knowing very well what was to come as the situation had repeated itself a million times before. Oione listened wearily. Lines...Salazar, she was going to die slowly and painfully, her brain eaten away by poisonous fangs of boredom, she'd rather scrub the floor with-- "Knuckles?! But that's just sick" Oione exclaimed incredulously, altering 'you're sick' to a milder (and safer version) in the nick of time. "It wasn't even his fault!"
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 17, 2006 17:57:03 GMT -5
Severus frowned at the girl. 'Perhaps you would like to join him, Ms Mireault? I assure you I know very well what I am doing. Silver - to work. Mireault, fetch a quill from the cabinet and begin. You will find parchment on the back table. There will be no need to talk.'
Snape swept across the room, seated himself firmly at his desk, and pulled out a stack of essays from one of his third-year classes. He felt he had handled things rather well, considering the two he was dealing with. He watched Silver strut to the tap, fill the bucket (sloppily) with water and soap, before dropping it to the floor with a clang.
'Feckin' hell,' muttered Seth, scratching his nose absent-mindedly. Scrubbing floors? Snape was going soft. Seth could scrub floors in his sleep. Using his knuckles complicated things a bit, but Seth was no stranger to the method. He'd once been made to scrub the dining room top-to-bottom with his knuckles after a particularly violent tantrum at one of his mother's parties. He'd been thirteen then.
Sighing, Seth lowered himself and dunked his fists into the soapy water.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 17, 2006 18:27:13 GMT -5
Oione bit her bottom lip, resisting the urge to call Severus Snape by all the names that were running through her head. And to think that she had just concluded that she run out of insults, oh how mistaken she was. Standing up she fetched the quill and parchment, throwing Snape filthy looks from time to time. Honestly, you would have thought he would come up with something more inventive than lines after all those years of experience with her, it wasn't something that would make her regret what she had done. Regret that she had been caught, maybe but not the act itself. Rather the reverse as only looking at Snape made her want to bring someone pain, preferably him. "What am I to write then, sir?" asked Oione with poisonous sweetness.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 17, 2006 20:51:32 GMT -5
It was times like these that Snape wished he could make every man and woman in the world incapable of having children, such trouble it would save him. He would have to make do, of course, by teaching Oione and Seth a lesson, or, at the very least, give them a night that would make them wish very dearly they had not been so foolish as to be caught. It had been stupid of Silver to take up for the girl, and even moreso for her to expose his lie and put the both of their heads on the chopping block.
'Write me an essay, if you must, Mireault. You know what you have done wrong, and you will do more lines until you can work out what to write for yourself - with force, Silver.'
'With force, Silver,' Seth mimicked under his breath, dunking his fists once more into the water. He'd like to see Snape scrub the fecking dungeons with his fecking knuckles, though he doubted the man was even capable of dropping to his knees, let alone actually cleaning anything. As it were, Seth's own knees were beginning to ache, along with his back from being hunched over. The stone floor chafed against the skin of his knuckles, colliding with bone and flesh until he was positive the entire area was bruised to the core. The skin on one rubbed too hard, split, and began to spill blood slowly onto the wet floor. Only a small area of the heavy flagstones was actually wet. It was difficult, this scrubbing with the knuckles business.
After a good three square feet of tile had been covered, Seth paused. He sat on his hind legs, examining his bruised hands. The blood on his left flowed freely, mixing with dirty, sudsy water and stinging the open wound. Snape's eyes were firmly fixed on his essays, but Seth was almost certain the man had been watching him. Sadistic bastard.
'Psst - Hwon!' Craning his neck around, Seth crab-walked toward Oione on the pretext of needed to fill his bucket, having (cleverly) spilt it on the stone floor. It dragged along after him, clutching it with his left hand, which still bled. 'Switch wi' me, eh?' He stood, chuckling to himself, refilled the bucket, added soap, and went back to work. On the way to his small patch of semi-clean floor, Seth made a point to skirt the tables and walk past Oione, "accidentally" nudging her quill with his free hand.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 19, 2006 15:29:48 GMT -5
'I will never cast an illegal curse on another student again' Oione scrathed on the piece of yello parchment, ending the sentence with a big, fat dot. There, that wasn't too bad. Not to mention that it left a bit of freedom as a statement as it didn't say anything about casting it on teachers, which Oione at the moment found immensely convenient and having got her wand she'd probably cast her best Cruciatus ever on that unworthy, sick, half-blood bastard. Luckily for her, she hadn't.
She stopped scribbling and glanced down at Seth. His hands bled openly now which accompanied with the enormous bruise he had received earlier made him look positively miserable. Oione never suspected that the phrase 'poor Seth' could cross her mind but at the moment it did and she even forgot to smash the thought down.
Snape appreared to be deeply focused on his essays but Oione could have sworn that he was watching Seth as well out of the corner of his eye. Once again she had to bite back a remark that was sure to get them into more trouble. Suprisingly Seth seemed to be dealing with it rather well. 'Switch wi' me, eh?' "You must be kidding"Oione replied, trying to sound cold and indifferent but finally breaking into a cheeky grin. "It's not like we're friends or something" It was one of the mysteries of nature, that. How quickly they could unite in their hatred for Severus Snape. Oione returned to her writing, her wrist hurting a little. She was already in the middle of the sentence when the rest became one giant blotch from Seth's oh-so-accidental nudge. "Oi! Look whatyou've done!" Oione exlaimed in mock indignation.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 19, 2006 15:41:55 GMT -5
'I believe I said there would be no talking,' Snape said silkily, setting down the essay of a particularly comma-happy Hufflepuff boy. 'Begin again, Mireault. Silver, back to work, and don't let me find you hovering around Ms Mireault again.' With a stern glare, Snape returned interest to his work, ticking off grammatical errors and watching the two out of the corner of his eye.
Seth covertly shot him a rather rude hand-gesture, slamming his bucket into the ground with the force of an angry elephant. He scrubbed with fervor, skipping the areas that looked clean enough and splashing water over the stones to give his hands a break from the constant grind of stone on skin. Splitting his skin was hardly painful; it was the bruises that did him in. He gave his hands a quick swipe on the corner of his too-short robes, sucking on the knuckles of the left for a moment, until he appeared to be satisfied. Unknown to him, Snape grimaced into his papers, disgusted.
Progress was slow and tedious, his hands protesting with each stroke. Caked dirt had to be chipped away with a fingernail, then scrubbed over. He hardly bothered with large stains caused by spilt potion. Filch, after all, was not paid for nothing.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 21, 2006 7:01:52 GMT -5
Oione glared back at Snape, immense desire to bring the man death raising. She had never been really fond of their Head of House, however, it had nothing to do with her family's influence as the girl quickly discovered for herself that they were indeed right. To Oione, Severus Snape was just a fithy half-blood with unfullfilled ambition that dreamt of greatness but was cruely ridiculed to a common teacher (Bellatrix simply loved to bring that part up, whenever Snape himself could hear it) and now the only semi-pleasant thing left to him was making his own students miserable.
With a brief huff of irritation Oione returned to her furious scribbling, promptly ignoring the fact that her left hand was slowly going numb. She didn't really even try to make it at least half-readable or even think of showing her usual caligraphy abilities. Currently her hand-writing looked as though the bird had got its quill back. "Finished!" she gasped triumphantly and with one swift motion handed it out to Snape.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 21, 2006 7:22:03 GMT -5
Snape took the parchment without word. It was messy enough, but he was growing a horrible headache.
'Clean the ink pots now, and do it properly, lest you wish to switch chores with Silver.'
Seth gave a mock salute from where he was kneeling on the floor, massaging his hands briefly before setting back to is work. He was nearly finished now. The floor, he thought, had never looked better than it did right now - splashed with soapy, dirty water that was run through with blood, all filth pushed away from he force of the water and his own hands. The corners had become a cess-pool of sludge, and Seth continued to pack it on.
'Finished, sor.' He stood, gave the floor a last, thorough dousing with the bucket, and brushed off his knees. They ached as though inflicted with the rheumatism, which his mother got sometimes in the dead of winter.
'Dry,' Snape instructed, without looking up.
This was the easiest bit. A wave of his wand and the mess of water was cleared away. Seth's shoes squeaked protestingly as he dragged himself to the professor's desk. He was freezing now, damp to the bone from being careless with the water. He cracked his knuckles, flexed them, and quickly stemmed the flow of blood with his wand. As far as Seth could tell, no lasting harm had been done.
'All finished up, sor. What ye want me - '
'The cauldrons, Silver. Scrub until they shine.'
He didn't bother to ask about cleaning supplies. This time, Seth was not going to give Snape the opportunity to make the task any more miserable than it already was. Snatching up his bucket, he refilled it, dropped in a wire brush, and turned to the cauldrons. They were large, used for the NEWT classes, who experimented with more volatile potions. The work was just as tiring as before, made only a bit easier by the brush, which saved his aching knuckles more trouble.
'Ye I want I should sing, sor?' The boy asked, putting on an innocent face. Snape raised his eyebrows. 'So quiet in here, 'tis. Brighten the mood a bit, eh?'
Snape stood, setting down his essays and bringing his impressive (from the floor) height to hover over Seth.
'Mr Silver, this is a detention. The mood is not to be "bright", and you are not to sing. You are here to learn, boy. Whether you are capable of doing do or not is no concern of mine. I could very well have sent you to Azkaban, and if it weren't for the fact that I know your mother, you may trust that Azkaban is exactly where you would have ended up. Now, you will clean the cauldrons and be grateful I do not make you use a toothbrush.'
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 22, 2006 13:48:36 GMT -5
Oione gave a sideways glance on Seth who was still on the floor looking consumptive and tragic though not as nearly as she expected. He handled this humiliation much better than the girl herself would.
Actually, cleaning the inkpots didn't really sound that tedious when you looked at it the right way, point of view was rather important when serving a detention, right? The right one came to you easily if you were presented with other options. "I'd gladly switch" Oione grinned down at Snape with all the insolence that there was in the world. "But as the floor seem perfectly clean now, I'd just stay with the pots" She had done it a million times before and therefore didn't need to ask where the necessary supplies were. Finding some rags she begun her task, wishing it all to be over as soon as possible and casting brief glances at Seth from time to time. Going to Madam Pomfrey was out of the question, she decided, the woman would have a fit again and ask too many questions,besides they were perfectly able to heal Seth's hands on their own...they dealt with much more serious injuries after their duels, after all. The NEWT cauldrons were big enough for Oione to disappear if she got into one, but it was more tiring than exeptionally difficult and it shouldn't be much of a problem for Seth. His comment, however, made Oione snort with laughter and the glass pot she had been cleaning almost slipped from her hands. Snape surely seemed to have forgotten who was guilty in this case, all that Seth had done was lying and you most certainly were not sent to Azkaban for that. Albeit Oione wasn't stupid enough to remind that little fact to him.
((rubbish, i'm really sorry))
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 22, 2006 21:51:23 GMT -5
'If ye'd be willin' to lend me yeer toothbrush for the job ...' he started, but trailed off at Snape's frosty glare. Seth had decided he just about hated potions. Everything to do with the blasted subject was botched - the massive cauldrons, the grimy floors, the tedious work, the professor. What had he ever done to deserve such torture? Surely having to share a home with the Rookwoods was enough? 'Ye need to get yeerself drunk, sor. 'Tis glarious, and all the singin'! I'd pay half me life in galleons to hear ye give us a verse of the Unicorn Song, so I would.'
Seth carried on, humming an off-key version of said unicorn song under his breath, complete with little pauses where dialogue was to be spoken and tapping his feet to the beat. He was oblivious to Snape; the man looked as though nothing would make him more happy at that moment than impaling Seth Silver over a unicorn's horn. Unfortunately for Snape, Seth was a thick-skinned, thicker-skulled idiot when he wanted to be, and any unicorn's horn would most likely snap off before it did him any harm. Pity.
'Ye'll see green alligaters and long-necked geese Soom hoomp'y backed camels and soom chimpanzays Soom cats and rats and elephants, but sure as yeer born Yeer ne'er gonna see no unicorns.'
The final verse was hummed, Seth scrubbing away at the cauldrons cheerfully, blissfully unaware of how close he was to losing his life via angry potions master.
Snape, for his part, managed to stop himself strangling Silver just in time to watch Oione nearly drop one of the inkpots.
'Mireault!' He barked, spit flying from his mouth with the speed of an angry flea. 'Do you find this amusing? Hm? Would you be more amused, perhaps, doing your next chore? Picking the tubeworms from the tables and pickling toads? You may do so with your bare hands now, and do not allow yourself for even a moment to believe that I have forgotten who is the real perpetrator in this room. Judging by the reactions of your parents to the letter I sent, I am sure your Aunt Bellatrix would not be pleased to know that her favourite neice was starving in Azkaban. The tubeworms, now - and next time I shall expect you to respect my classroom, ant that includes the inkpots.
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Post by Oione Mireault on Nov 23, 2006 16:54:52 GMT -5
Oione bit down hard on her hand, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried with all her small being to subdue the violent spasms of laughter. Seth's good-hearted advice for their potion master about the advantages of drinking and singing (at the said potion master's reaction to it) was enough to turn this grim situation into a purely hilarious one, not to mention that it sent Oione's imagination working furiously and not really helping her with calming down. Doubling up as though in severe pain she grabbed the table for support, biting her lower lip till it bled incoherent (but clearly cheerful) sounds escpaing now and then as she cought glimpse of Seth humming and Snape hovering over him like an angry bat.
'Mireault!' Salazar's balls. Someone mentioned Muggles having heart-attacks once and it definitely felt like it. Presented with Severus Snape's face, earthy and contorted in sheer fury Oione wanted nothing more but to keep her face (at least more or less) straight. Unfortunetely, she ended up looking as though Christmas came a month earlier, eyes shiny and brimming over with laughter." However, mentioning the tubeworms and toads shut her up effectively. "Oh, not again" she groaned, though even this could not spoil the mood entirely. I am sure your Aunt Bellatrix would not be pleased to know that her favourite neice was starving in Azkaban. "Yeah, she'd rather see you starving in Azkaban" she murmured under her nose for only herself to hear it while putting the last inkpot back on its place (gently) and gliding, as slowly as possible (postponing the inevitable) towards the tables. She gave Seth a nudge whilst passing by and the broadest of grins. With so much as a sigh she took a bucket and... "Oh, that's just disgusting" Surely, it had to be dirtier than the average dungeon, so that the students serving detention had something to do. Besides you wouldn't expect a man like Snape to keep it clean...Hell, he couldn't even keep his hair clean.
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Post by Seth Silver on Nov 23, 2006 19:46:00 GMT -5
Seth grinned, quite pleased with himself. He knew the entire fight at the shack would blow over. It only took a bit of work. Snape, on the other hand, looked rather murderous tonight. The man was in an obvious need of sleep, and perhaps a good, long session down at the local. Salazer only knew when the man last had time to himself to get drunk. It was as if Seth was having two birthday parties at once. On the one side, he was no longer fighting with Oione. On the other, he had managed to depart some good advice on a man who obviously needed it.
'Bellatrix hates you, sor,' he said needlessly. Snape answered with a swift kick at the bucket, drenching the boy in filthy water. 'Oy, sor! Wha's that for, eh? She do, don't she? Hates you, hates you, hates you. Y'know, wha' wi' ye bein' a fulthy Moodblood an' ever'thin'. She think yeer awful and durty and full of fulth and all manner o' nasty things. She thinks yeer - '
'That will be enough, thank you, Silver,' Snape admonished quickly, refilling the bucket with a flick of his wand. He cast a stern glare around the room, then returned to his desk, ignoring Seth's mumbled complaints about "soggy robes".
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