James yawned as he walked through the Potions classroom to the office, dumping his bag on the teacher's desk as he went. He had a key to the office on a temporary basis, while he was tutoring with the Professor's approval. He yawned again as he unlocked the door, shaking his head. Note to self: spend more nights in own bed.
He went straight to the Marinichev's desk, sat in the chair behind it and started rooting around in the drawers for the timesheets and fifth year curriculum notes.
He turned out the sound of someone in the office, thinking it might be the current potions master, the friend of Malfoy's. But no, it was a student rifling through the desk.
Oh, lovely. It was perhaps Severus' least favourite student of all those at Hogwarts currently. James Potter.
"Could you please vandalise the good professor's desk a bit more quietly?" he asked sharply. "I am trying to concentrate."
James jumped, looking over he shoulder. "What -? Oh, it's you, Professor." Snape's portrait didn't normally deem him worth conversion whenever he was in the Headmaster's office, but he always took an extra moment or two to study the portraits of his brother's namesakes. "I'm not vandalising, sir."
"Then I would suggest you go about your business in the professor's desk with a bit more care," he said with a sniff. Albus had always told him, while they were both alive, that he was wrong about Harry Potter, that he was not the arrogant, spoiled prince of the wizarding world that the elder James had been (and Albus never argued that point). Now, as portraits, Severus had to hear it once in a while as well, though now he could, perhaps, grudgingly agree to some small degree.
When it came to James-the-namesake though, Albus had little leg to stand on. The boy was entirely full of himself. Typically it suited Severus to just avoid him altogether. He rarely left the confines of the headmaster's office as it was. Too much rabble and too many lunatics among the corridor portraits after all.
James rolled his eyes and resumed his search. He grunted triumphant when he found the timesheets, and went about carefully writing his name in an empty space. Professor Marinichev, like most teachers, approved of tutoring, but only if he knew exactly who to blame when things went wrong. After a moment, he looked back up at the portrait, who seemed to be staring intently at the bookshelves. "Er, what are you concentrating on, sir?" he asked curiously.
Hmph. If there was, however, one thing that disturbed Severus' notions about the boy, it was that he seemed to show a genuine interest in potions. Perhaps even an aptitude. Merlin's beard, I do hope he doesn't win that bloody prize they named after me, he thought.
Well, and there was the persistent rumour that the boy had a girlfriend in Slytherin. Not that Severus paid any attention to such things. And, well, given what he had just seen of the boy's father at Malfoy Manor, perhaps a bit of reformulation of his ideas on the Potters were like, at least so far as their tastes in bed went, was in order.
"I am researching the use of potions in healing bloodline curses," he answered. "A subject of which our knowledge is sorely lacking, thanks to Ministry purges of the relevant text. Madam Cornfoote's portrait, thankfully, pre-dates that insanity by a few hundred years."
He pulled another likely volume from the shelf and set it on her desk.
James wondered how painted books on a painted bookshelf could possibly have words in them, much less that a painted man could read, but decided to keep it to himself. "Why?" he asked. "I didn't think any of those curses still existed."
Severus frowned. "The Ministry would like to think that their purge was successful. But just because they reduced the number of books on the subject in the English language does not in any way insure that the knowledge of Dark curses, bloodline based or no, has been eradicated. And anyone who believes they did, is a fool."
Impertinent boy, he thought, wondering why he was even talking to him. He looked down at the books he had gathered so far, flipping one open to scan the index. Except there was no index. He turned to the table of contents instead.
"Someone asked me for help," he said idly, hoping that his obvious interest in the book in front of him and his obvious disinterest in James Potter would indicate to the boy that he did not with to discuss the subject further.
"Right," James nodded. "A relative, no doubt, worried they're going to turn into an igauna when they turn forty." He located the fifth year curriculum and copied it onto some blank parchment with a flick of his wand before putting it back.
The insolence! Severus thought he knew perhaps one thing to say that might knock the boy off balance, though. And... hmm. The wheels were turning in his head as he said, "A relative of yours, actually. Your father asked me for this."
"Have you not heard?" Severus replied smoothly, with a smug look, as if saying See, you don't know everything. "He's just been elected to the Hogwarts Board of Governors. Now, tell me, your father always had his... ways of getting around the castle unnoticed. Would you say you've inherited that ability?"
He went straight to the Marinichev's desk, sat in the chair behind it and started rooting around in the drawers for the timesheets and fifth year curriculum notes.
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Oh, lovely. It was perhaps Severus' least favourite student of all those at Hogwarts currently. James Potter.
"Could you please vandalise the good professor's desk a bit more quietly?" he asked sharply. "I am trying to concentrate."
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When it came to James-the-namesake though, Albus had little leg to stand on. The boy was entirely full of himself. Typically it suited Severus to just avoid him altogether. He rarely left the confines of the headmaster's office as it was. Too much rabble and too many lunatics among the corridor portraits after all.
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Well, and there was the persistent rumour that the boy had a girlfriend in Slytherin. Not that Severus paid any attention to such things. And, well, given what he had just seen of the boy's father at Malfoy Manor, perhaps a bit of reformulation of his ideas on the Potters were like, at least so far as their tastes in bed went, was in order.
"I am researching the use of potions in healing bloodline curses," he answered. "A subject of which our knowledge is sorely lacking, thanks to Ministry purges of the relevant text. Madam Cornfoote's portrait, thankfully, pre-dates that insanity by a few hundred years."
He pulled another likely volume from the shelf and set it on her desk.
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"Someone asked me for help," he said idly, hoping that his obvious interest in the book in front of him and his obvious disinterest in James Potter would indicate to the boy that he did not with to discuss the subject further.
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