Harry Potter flew (slowly, and excruciatingly carefully) his hoard of cats back to the classroom. It had taken him nearly all of the classtime to gather the cats that he had... wrapping them gently in white bath towels, leaving their baleful eyes promising murder.
"There you are, Mr Potter," Snape said with his characteristic impatience. "As classtime is not yet over, you may be excused." Harry, however, had no sooner turned to leave than Greg Goyle came stumbling through the door, scratches covering his arms and back.
Wait. Was that McGonagall? Was she... sleeping?
Snape spared Mr. Goyle only a gentle glance, his eyes still mainly focused on monitoring his class. "Thank you Mr Goyle. I believe you are the first today to bag the formidable witch. If I were you, I'd be out of this room forthwith, as when I give her the antidote, she may wish to take her anger out on your suspecting hands."
"Thank you sir," Goyle said, sending a weary, gratified smile towards Potter.
Harry left the room, knowing a dismissal when given it, but more interested in how everyone else was doing than actually catching more cats. Harry was rapidly learning that people's reactions during Snape's class were predictive of a large range of future behavior.
[a/n: Greg's used to getting scratched, he's not seriously banged up (McGonagall knows not to go for the jugular).
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