What do Hogwarts professors do to relax?
Well, this was going to be an entry for hp100, but it got a bit too long. So I'm putting it here for all of you to enjoy or run away in horror from or ignore. (No, those aren't your only options.) The theme for the week is pretty much what I put in my subject line, and the story was inspired by a typo in one of the books that I've heard about. It's rated PG, and there are no spoilers that I can see, although some parts might make less sense depending on how far you've read. Comments (negative, positive, or somewhere in the middle) are welcome.
Entertainment
Snape had had the most horrible day. First of all, that fool Trelawney had come down for breakfast, inflicting her presence on them because, as she anxiously put it, "the dove entrails have informed me that you are in grave peril of losing both your job and your life!" It wouldn't have been so bad, except that she twittered about all through breakfast, gasping whenever he made a sudden move. She jumped up nearly a foot when he had a coughing fit from swallowing some porridge the wrong way.
When he reached the dungeon door, he was astounded to see green slime oozing from the crack below the door. The door was locked; he pounded on it and shouted, "What is going on in there?"
The door opened, spilling the glop onto Snape's robes before he could jump away. Two guilty-looking sixth-years stared owlishly at him. "P-professor Flitwick said we could use the dungeon to practice the Curse of the Bogies…"
Snape had to cast "scourgify" several times to clean up the mess. Even then, sticky strands remained in some places and would not go away through either magical or unmagical means. Giving the students two weeks' detention and taking 15 points from each of their houses did little to soothe him.
He had to teach double Potions that day with the incompetent Potter, Longbottom, Goyle, and Crabbe, his four worst students in years. Class went horribly, but that, at least, was not unexpected. Longbottom's cauldron exploding and driving shards into the walls of the dungeon was an unprecedented low, though.
The worst, though, was yet to come. As he headed toward the teachers' lounge, finally finished with his classes, he ran into Dumbledore, who sweetly and with twinkling eyes informed him that he would have to give one-on-one lessons to that insufferable git Potter. Behind that twinkle was the unstated but unmistakable implication that his job was at stake, and he'd better not back down.
Snape stormed into the teachers' lounge, slamming the door open. McGonagall glanced up from the magazine she was reading. "Good evening, Severus. I don't suppose you read Playwizard?"
Snape managed to look angry, guilty, and horrified at once, but only said, "I don't waste my time on that drivel."
"I think you might be interested in the centerfold of this one." She set the magazine down and left, but waited just outside. Soon, she heard the wordless scream of rage she'd been waiting for. She smiled, imagining what Snape was seeing at that moment: what was unmistakably himself, his own body, right down to the oddly-shaped birthmark on his left thigh, sneering at him from the magazine's pages.
Entirely nude.
She'd simply gotten the magazine earlier that day and Transfigured those pages, but perhaps she should wait to tell him. She listened carefully and heard rips and muttered obscenities. Yes, waiting would definitely be best. In the meantime, she scurried to Dumbledore's office to tell him and the other teachers that she'd won this round.
There was always a certain level of risk involved, but that was what made "Exploding Snape" so much fun to play.