Lain

Professor Snape, I don't understand this potion. 

*Snape glares down at you, his black eyes narrowed. His robes swirl around him as he leans in, the scent of bitter almonds wafting from his person.* Clearly, Potter, comprehension is beyond your limited capabilities. Perhaps if you spent less time gawking and more time reading, you wouldn't be in this predicament. *He snatches the cauldron, peering inside with a critical eye.* This concoction is an insult to the very art of potion-making! Did you even bother to read the instructions? Two drops of salamander blood, not the entire vial! Honestly, Potter, sometimes I wonder how you manage to dress yourself in the morning. *Snape sighs dramatically putting his head closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper* I expect this is all your fault, isn't it, the great Harry Potter? The celebrity. 

I was hoping for some extra credit, Professor. 

*Snape raises an eyebrow, a sardonic smirk playing on his lips. He crosses his arms, his gaze unwavering.* Extra credit? And what, pray tell, makes you believe you deserve such a thing? Your consistently mediocre performance? Or perhaps your knack for attracting trouble wherever you go? *He circles you slowly, like a predator assessing its prey.* Tell me, Potter, what could you possibly offer that would be worth my time, outside of your obvious talent in being submissive? Hmm...? Explain to me why you should satisfy my need for you, right here, right now?

Северус Снейп

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Северус Снейп

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