Peering down at the small first year sized boy with greasy, black hair and sallow skin, Professor Dumbledore, tickled within himself, moved toward the scrawny eleven year-old boy , and with a very sober expression on his face said,
“Hello…it doesn’t appear that I have met you before young man.-Are you a Hogwarts hopeful?”
Dumbledore, who was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, knew exactly who he was talking to but decided he’d question the now miniature sized Professor Snape for a bit of fun. Although the school had been known for having its share of eccentric happenings, it was still rare cases like this, that Dumbledore could take advantage of such strange events.
“Headmaster!” the pint –sized-Snape said in his usual jaded tone.
“I’m not amused; surely, you know it’s me, Professor Snape.”
“Professor Snape. No, you must be a bit confused, dear boy; you are a bit young to be a Professor at this institution- eleven, perhaps. Yes. Yes. My dear boy, you can’t be any older than a first year. But, don’t worry dear boy, I will contact Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, immediately. It seems that someone has placed a memory charm on you, and you are in a bit of a confused state.”
“HeadMaster!”
“Calm yourself and have a seat,” Dumbledore coaxed the disheveled, dark boy, who now appeared to be throwing a temper tantrum, pacing back and forth with clenched fist.
“This is ridiculous Headmaster! It is me Professor Snape! He said advancing upon Dumbledore, while raising his heavy brows as he attempted to give the Headmaster eye contact.
“It was your pet, HARRY- THE CHOSEN ONE, whom, in all his infinite wisdom: ingeniously whipped up a split concoction; in which calculatingly lacked the element boomslang skin; which he claims to have clumsily wasted on me, just as I came to grade his murky potion for a…fourth time!”
Figuring that he should ease the fuming boy’s tempers, Dumbledore decided to give up the charade.
“Oh, it is you. I see now, yes, yes. I see. This is a serious matter here that we have to change you back into your adult form.”
“Yes!” Snape agreed wearily, with sweat beading down his ghostly pale skin.
“You’re the potions professor what do you suggest?”
“I’m inconveniently out of leechlang legs in my store room closet, a very rare element, which would cause me to regain my age, at the moment. I was wondering if you had any in your office? Or maybe you could get a hold of some by means of the Hog express?”
“Oh, no. No. No. My dear boy, –Professor. I am…out of the leechlang legs at the moment, for as you mentioned, it is rare.” Dumbledore explained sympathetically.
“However, I will contact all of the emergency stores as soon as possible- maybe, I think. Your old friend Sirius Black may have some for you. “
“No! No! Wait Professor. Not the insolent, degenerate Black!”
Laughing heartily, Dumbledore reasoned with Snape.
“Nonesense. Nonesense. He’ll be more than delighted to help lend his old mate a hand!
After all, he has a knack for potions, you know? I will send him an owl immediately, informing him of your most unfortunate condition, and I’m sure that he’ll be more than thrilled to lend you his assistance.”
Huffing, Snape stormed out of Dumbledore’s office and to the Chamber of Secrets. After all, no one ever stops being a Death Eater.
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