"Weasley," Snape snapped, his sharp eyes pinning Ron - who as usual was at the edge of the room, near a wall. Mostly to look inattentive, even if Ron was working hard he'd be trying to look inattentive, that was just his way. He didn't want to be called on, either.
"Yeah?" Ron responded, his face fighting to flush.
"How'd you know when to stop?" Snape asked. Ron simply boggled at him, looking at him as if he'd just asked a question that couldn't be answered, not just shouldn't. "With Your Brothers. I'm certain the Weasley Twins have, at one time or another, crossed the line."
"They're my brothers! I couldn't kill them - not ever! I wouldn't even try! I love them, sir, even when they're being pains in the neck!" Weasley said, his voice half stuttering, half vehement.
"Ah, the power of love. Enough to stop one from committing fratricide." Snape said, his voice dry and crinkly. "It's far harder to stop when you've been holding your dear sister, reassuring her that her husband's killer is going to Get What's Coming to him."
"These two lunkheads," Snape's eyes raked over Draco and Harry, "Used fists, primarily. Wise, in a school of magic, not to get caught slinging spells in the halls." Snape's eyes were bright and glaring, as his lips pursed just slightly as his inky gaze struck Harry's eyes. Harry could feel himself flushing as he remembered how many times his wand had been drawn. Not that he'd really, usually, been about to strike...
"On the battlefield, I assume you will all be wise enough to use your wands, instead of your fists." Snape said, and Harry hid a smirk by compressing his lips and glaring at Snape. Snape was the one, after all, who had taught him a crash course in muggle self-defense - granted, Harry thought, he meant "crash" literally, as the first thing he had needed to learn was "how to fall" and that was taught without instruction (though, thankfully, with healing, or it'd have taken much longer).
"Using your wands, it is the work of ten seconds to kill someone. That rage one Hufflepuff might feel? The "I'll get you back for that"? It's easy to go too far." Snape said, turning around abruptly, looking at the rest of the class. "Oh, so very easy." he dragged these words out, as if he was smoking a cigarette, to use the muggle metaphor.
"What's war like? Blood, death, pain. But those are easy words to say, and they don't tell you about the vomit. They don't tell you about the dead who shat themselves. The dead half-eaten that you pull out later, and can't even recognize who they were. The undead, the ghosts, the people who can't leave until... And sometimes, that until never comes. Would anyone here be surprised to know that there's a ghost who yearns for the demise of Bellatrix Black Lestrange?" Snape's eyes cast over the room, "I thought not."
Snape's eyes found Hermione next, and he stalked towards her as he spoke. As he did, Harry Potter felt dread upwelling in his body, and he tried to look - well, just look angry. "Some people delude themselves into thinking they can find justice in war." Hermione had her chin tilted up, that defiant gleam in her eyes. This was not good.
[a/n: Severus is running away with the scene again. He should apologize and let me get back to my outline. What? 100 extra chapters later...? Aw hell, I think I'll just go along for the ride.
Thanks for reading my very very lengthy digressions, leave a review if you would be so kind.
Third post of the day. And this scene just Won't End.]