Snape

Another skirmish with the Marauders hasn't gone well for Snape. Books and scrolls are scattered across the hallway floor, his hair, robes, and boots are soaked in pumpkin juice from all those freaks' glasses (except Lupin, who, as usual, has stepped aside), and he lies under the Stupefying Curse, waiting in silent rage for the curse to wear off. And of course, to top it all off, he hears someone turn into the corridor and walk toward him. Damn those Marauders! Damn you, James Potter!

Hearing voices and the characteristic, slightly bored drawl of vowels, Severus realized it was Lucius Malfoy with one of the students. After a few steps, the prefect stopped and fell silent, apparently noticing Snape.

Travers nearly ran into Malfoy's back.

“Lucius?..” he began, but then he saw what was going on: things thrown on the floor, puddles of pumpkin juice, and in the center of it all – a motionless Snape, whose black eyes burned with such intense hatred and anger that Travers involuntarily took a step back.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but to Severus it felt like an eternity. He watched Malfoy's icy gaze sweep over the scattered textbooks and scrolls, his ruined robes, his face with its damp strands of hair clinging to it. He waited for a sneer, a contemptuous smirk, a cold remark—anything that would further hurt and humiliate him. After all, Lucius Malfoy was the shining, flawless god of Slytherin, while he—Severus Snape—was nothing more than a clumsy, poor, self-taught genius, a perpetual target of ridicule and disdain.

But nothing happened. Lucius's face became unreadable, a frozen mask. He took a step forward.

"Blaise," his voice, usually languid and lazy, sounded dry and distant. "You have an extra Transfiguration lesson with McGonagall today, don't you? And you don't want to be late."

It wasn't a suggestion, but an order. Travers, accustomed to obeying the prefect's tone, merely nodded, and, with one last puzzled glance at Snape, hurried away. Bot - Snape