Bits and bobs...
Put it all together and you get...
Well this looks a little more promising.
'How so?' She enquires, unconvinced. The height of the seat and the length of the table legs seem rather worrisome when all is said and done...
There is a comforting absence of crimson and gold.
'Well aside from the goblets...'
Oh no, Ms. Bred. Those are more than welcome. After the day I've had, I'd appreciate a drink.
'You only just had a tea.'
And if you imagine that is sufficient to the trials to which one is subjected as an instructor in this... venerable institution, you are badly mistaken.
'I doubt they're serving anything but Pumpkin Juice.'
Truly? Have you never wondered why our glasses are opaque?
'I hadn't previously. And now I seem to have skipped that step entirely and gone straight to suspicions, founded or not.'
I believe it's perfectly safe to considered them founded.
Oh for the love of... How low are these seats?
'Thought as much.'
If you'd remove those ridiculous skates, you might find the fit less tight.
Entirely out of the question, Minerva. I'm humouring a... friend.
Judiciously, a certain ginger debates holding her tongue and then decides the better of it.
'I'm certain no... friend would require you to wear them at all times.'
I'm positive they wouldn't. Otherwise it couldn't fail to become only too awkward, and that rather quickly.
'Well that too.' She doesn't blush (well, not more than a little) as she tries (and fails) not to consider situations in which that might be the case.
He only smirks when he notices the flush.
Clearing her throat, she moves to safer topics. 'I imagine the benches were meant for second years. Third years at the most.'
Really Severus, how could you fail to notice the length of Mr. Potter's legs?
A flash of viridian strikes said Gryffindor, and Harry squawks. Yikes!
Why I don't believe Potter will fit here at all. He strikes me as a bit too... stiff.
I can't move my legs!
Of course Leglocks have a way of ensuring that...
'I thought your spell was 'Langlock'?'
Clearly not if he's whinging. And surely you don't suppose someone capable of developing that in his school years couldn't proceed to develop other Charms?
'Oh I know for a fact that he has.'
It's Severus' turn to try not to pink. His efforts aren't a complete success.
Severus! Really! We don't hex the children.
Speak for yourself, Minerva. I thought I did a smashing job of it.
Harry looks like he's compelled to agree, fortunately not by the Imperius. Small favours.
Well then, strictly for pragmatic reasons I suggest you release him, or how else do you propose he leave?
And I believe there you have finally struck upon a convincing argument.
Potter, consider yourself lucky and vanish before you find yourself Evanescoed.
And unsurprisingly, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Severus-No-End does.