Petrificus Totalus

    The echoing reverberations of many feet, the laughing, cheerful tones of young voices approaching made Severus Snape's stomach twist so violently that he thought he might be sick right there into the cauldron on his desk. For a brief, wild moment he thought about bolting into the nearest cupboard, hiding as he had often done as a small boy, and staying there until class was done or the students had left. That was a ridiculous and impossible solution, as much as he might want it to work.

    He couldn't run.

    He was the Potions-master of Hogwarts now, and he was expected to teach.


    Slughorn had been ready to go into quiet retirement, making quite the production of it. There's just been too many lost, he had said mournfully, dabbing at his eyes as he had paced in Dumbledore's office. Too many gone to the Dark Lord, and too many others just lost. Severus had sat in silence, scowling at the floor. Dumbledore had been the one to suggest him as Slughorn's replacement, of course, and of course Slughorn had eagerly pounced upon the suggestion. There hadn't been much time left in the summer, and it had gone in a rush. Severus had spent that time in the library, familiarizing himself with what the Ministry expected from Potions students in each year. It hadn't seemed too strenuous at the time.


    But now, here he was, his very first class gathering outside the classroom door. What had he been thinking? He absolutely detested being the center of attention, hated the thought of people staring at him. He wasn't ready for this! He was only twenty-one, scarcely more than a lad himself! There were still students here at Hogwarts, from when he had been in classes, who might very well remember Snivellus. They would have been first years, maybe second years at the most, but those little ones had idolized Potter and his cronies. The resounding disappointment from the start-of-term feast last night, the collective sigh of dismay when Slughorn's retirement had been announced and his replacement had been named, came rushing back. They were already disinclined to respond to him. How the blazes was he supposed to teach them?

    The voices were still cheerful, undoubtedly still exchanging tales from the break. There was a slightly restless quality, though, as the classroom door remained shut. He couldn't just leave them standing out there indefinitely, as much as he might wish to do so. If he did it quickly, maybe he wouldn't have time to lose his nerve completely. With a near leap, he made his way from the desk to the door and tore it open. The herd of students froze, their eyes wide in surprise. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and second years, judging by the size of them. Severus stepped aside as the students filed into the classroom in near silence, taking their seats quickly. He shut the door a little too vigorously, wincing inwardly at the resounding slam. The entire class flinched in unison.

    He stood in front of the class, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his robe, crossing them tightly across his chest to keep from shaking. He stared at the class. They stared back without a sound. Why were they all staring? Were they waiting on his instructions? Surely they knew to take out parchment and quills and their books! Did they really need to be told?

    Why couldn't this be Defense the Dark Arts? He had begged Dumbledore to let him teach that, time and again. That was a subject he could lecture on all day. But Potions? He remembered all too clearly the messes failed potions could make, the potential for accidents, the amount of blubbing that the younger students did when they made a mistake and their entire cauldron was filled with something akin to solidified tar. If someone started to cry, he might start crying too, just out of frustration and nerves.

    The class had become deathly quiet as he continued to stand in front of them without a sound. No one stirred. They sat as though petrified. He couldn't tolerate the way their eyes bored holes through him. He needed to do something, and quickly. The lesson! Yes, he had some idea where they ought to be. They had been in Potions last year, they could review that today. All he needed them to do was to get out their books and some parchment and their quills.

    Why were they still just sitting there? Were they really so thick that they were still waiting on him to tell them what to do? He inhaled sharply, preparing to blurt out what he expected. He hoped that his voice didn't crack, falter, sound as panicked as he felt.

    "Get out a parchment and quill," he said in a near-whisper. There's no way they heard that, he thought miserably. He steeled himself for the inevitable giggles. To his astonishment, every last one of them hurried to pull their supplies from their bags. "Turn to page 38 in your books." He still couldn't force his voice much above that whisper, but they snapped into action as swiftly as though he had bellowed it. His nerves began to steady. "Assuming you actually retained any of what you learned last year, you should be able to tell me exactly how each one of these ingredients is used."