(Setting: sometime before
the end of Harry’s sixth year–who cares when? Previous knowledge of Harry Potter and His Merry Men is not necessary.)
Sitting at the desk in his office and
maliciously scribbling scathing comments in red ink onto some parchment, on which an extraordinarily pathetic essay was written,
Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, was startled from his remark about the size of the brain of the particular Hufflepuff
whose irrelevant essay on rutabagas he was grading by a bold knock at the door.
“I wonder who this idiot is,”
he muttered grumpily to himself, irritated by the interruption.
He swiftly stood up from his desk and
snapped his fingers: all of a sudden, a small choir, the members of which were dressed in long red robes, appeared behind
Snape.
“Ready?” he asked the choir.
They each gave him the thumbs up and a wink. He cleared his throat, and, the choir ooh-ing in harmony in the background, he
began to sing to the tune of “If You’re Happy and You Know It”:
If your name is Dumbledore, clap your hands.
If your name is Dumbledore, clap your hands.
If you’ve trusted me before
Though I’m rotten to the core,
Then you must be Dumbledore–clap
your hands.
There was no clap. Snape gave a shrug
of nonchalance, knowing deep down that he was not “rotten to the core,” and continued:
If your name is McGonagall, clap your hands.
If your name is McGonagall, clap your hands.
If your class is rather dull
And your house has the thickest skull,
Then you must be McGonagall–clap
your hands.
Again there was no answer, but Snape
was not troubled. Lately he had been trying to avoid McGonagall anyway because of the fifty points which he had deducted from
her house for a Gryffindor’s having successfully completed a complex potion (but Snape was certain that the brat had
cheated).
If you’re someone on the staff,
clap your hands.
If you’re someone on the staff,
clap your hands.
If you’re not paid time and a half
And you’re not inclined to laugh,
Then you must be on the staff–clap
your hands.
Again there was no clap. Snape sighed
and continued with a hint of dread in his deep voice:
If your name is Voldemort, clap your hands.
If your name is Voldemort, clap your hands.
If you want a new report
And your temper’s very short,
Then you must be Voldemort–clap
your hands.
He cringed, half-expecting the Cruciatus
Curse to burst through the door for his having spoken the Dark Lord’s name, but again there was no sound. (That the
Dark Lord would visit Snape at Hogwarts at this time was nearly an impossibility, but Snape always felt that he needed to
check.)
If I know you as a foe, clap your hands.
If I know you as a foe, clap your hands.
If the matter’s quid pro quo
And you want my blood to flow,
Then you’re possibly a foe–clap
your hands.
Snape heard nothing. He gave a small
sigh of relief and resumed his song with renewed energy and perhaps even curiosity:
If your house is Slytherin, clap your
hands.
If your house is Slytherin, clap your
hands.
If you give an evil grin
And you do your worst to win,
Then your house is Slytherin–clap
your hands.
No one answered.
If you’re from another house, clap
your hands.
If you’re from another house, clap
your hands.
If you’re skittish as a mouse
And you’re just a stupid louse,
Then you’re from another house–clap
your hands.
Again there was no answer. Snape growled
and gritted his teeth; he was running out of verses.
If you’re someone really stupid,
clap your hands.
If you’re someone really stupid,
clap your hands.
If you still believe in Cupid
(An idea that’s simply putrid!),
Then you must be really stupid–clap
your hands.
No one clapped. Snape began to wonder
whether he might have imagined the knock.
If there’s no one at the door,
clap your hands.
If there’s no one at the door,
clap your hands.
If it’s some illusion or
Just a sound and nothing more,
Then there’s no one at the door–never
mind.
“I must be going mad,” Snape
thought, cursing in his mind at the visitor. He clenched his fists and snorted fire; Severus Snape had had enough of this
game.
If you’re someone who merely wants
to distract me from my work, thereby incurring my wrath for stupidly interrupting me when I am so busy doing something which
I should rather not be doing but must do because that is my job, clap your hands.
If you’re someone who merely wants
to distract me from my work, thereby incurring my wrath for stupidly interrupting me when I am so busy doing something which
I should rather not be doing but must do because that is my job, clap your hands.
If you’re only out for joy,
Well, your stupid, little ploy
Won’t get the time of day, so there.
At this verse, the person on the other
side of the door clapped excitedly, and the choir disappeared in a puff of blue-green smoke. Snape furiously flung the door
open, and there stood Footmonster with a silly grin on her stupid face.
Snape stared, wide-eyed and horrified,
at this lunatic for a few moments, then immediately slammed the door in her face, and whirled around, breathing heavily, frantically
looking for something with which to barricade the door.
“That’s it,” he said
to himself with a note of finality and hysteria, sliding a suitcase out from under his desk and tossing random things into
it (He kept a suitcase in his office in case of this exact emergency.); “No more of this nonsense–I’m going
back to the Dark Lord.”
A few more things fell into the suitcase,
and Snape gave a quick, last glance around the room before he picked up the case and turned to the door. He paused, realizing
that he could not leave his office without encountering her. Frustrated, he sighed and ran a shaky hand through his
hair.
He was standing motionless with his hand
on his forehead during several seconds of careful thought when Footmonster knocked on the door again calling, “Sevvie-baby,
why won’t you open the door? Sevvie? I’m sorry that I didn’t answer your song correctly; technically my
house could be considered to be Slytherin, and I suppose that I am stupid, but–Sevvie?”
Snape panicked, his eyes flitting around
the room–where could he find sanctuary?
The suitcase abandoned, he darted under
his desk when she knocked another time saying, “I wanted to hear all of the verses of the song, you see; that’s
why I never clapped–Sevvie, are you there? Open the door! Please?”
He curled up there in the foetal position,
whimpering slightly, his heart pounding wildly.
“Excellent idea, Sevvie,”
said Footmonster–“They’ll never find us here.”
Snape shrieked in terror and whacked
his head on the underside of his desk: Footmonster was crouching next to him.
“How did you–how–what–”
Snape spluttered incredulously in fear.
Footmonster chuckled. “I’m
a superherione, Sevvie, dear. So why are we hiding anyway? What are we hiding from?”
Snape gaped at her, speechless. Then
he leapt out from under the desk and ran off through the corridors, screaming madly.
Footmonster blinked twice, bewildered
for a moment, and then, when comprehension finally smacked her over the head, she burst into tears and stumbled out of the
office, feeling rejected. Blinded by her tears and poor visual acuity, she staggered along the corridor until she suddenly
tripped over her own foot and fell into a bottomless pit.
“Yep, it’s just as I predicted,”
said Doctor Travis, who was standing next to the pit, smoking a calabash-pipe and watching Footmonster fade out of sight (as
she gleefully shouted “Whee!”), to Snape, who had magically appeared back in the corridor when he had heard Footmonster’s
cry of surprise.
“She’ll be dead within a
few days,” continued Doctor Travis–“starvation, you know.”
Snape in his joy adopted Harry and Neville
as his sons and sang Christmas carols happily ever after for the rest of his life.
The End…perhaps the
only happy ending which Severus has ever known
