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Harry Potter groaned and ran his hand back and forth through his black hair causing it to stand up in even more disarray than usual. His eyes flicked hopelessly from the test questions on the board at the front of the Potions classroom to the nearly blank piece of parchment on the work surface in front of him. With another groan he turned his parchment face-down on the table. He had only answered one question and he wasn't even sure he'd got that right. He hadn't studied the previous night. He couldn't study. He'd had Quidditch practice. Why were all of Snape's surprise tests given on the day after the regularly scheduled Gryffindor Quidditch practices? Stupid question. He had tried to study. He really had. But he was so tired, and his head was spinning because of that thing. That incident. That stupid, sodding list! Snape's answers to that stupid, sodding list! What was the point of being the Boy-Who-Lived if he was going to turn into the Boy-Who-Had-To-Serve-Endless-Detentions?
Harry sighed. He knew it was his own fault, really. How bloody stupid was it to drop that particular piece of paper where Snape could find it? He sighed again. He hated Potions. He hated tests. He hated Snape. And here he was, in Potions, unable to do anything with the stupid test, directly under Snape's hateful glare. Oh. Under Snape's hateful glare. Right. Best look busy then. Knowing it was pointless to look at his test any longer, Harry pulled his journal out of his bag, dipped his quill in ink again, and proceeded to look busy.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry put down his quill when he heard Snape say, "Your time is up. I am sure your test answers will be up to your usual abysmal standards. Make sure your name is on the front of your parchment
and turn it in along with your Potion's journal."
A collective groan went up from the class. Typically, only Hermione didn't look upset. For a moment Harry hated her almost as much as he hated Snape. Harry made a show of turning out his bag and then cursed under his
breath.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione sounded concerned.
"I don't have my sodding Potions journal with me," Harry whispered.
"Harry!" Hermione gave him a disapproving look. "You know we're..."
"Oh shut it, Hermione. Yes, I know we're supposed to bring them to class every day. I just forgot, alright?" He rolled his eyes and looked at Ron who was looking rather nervous himself.
"Yeah, I've got mine, mate, for all the good it will do. I haven't written anything in it in months.”
“Oh Ron,” said Hermione.
Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Potter, Granger, Weasley. I would prefer you not subject my classroom to your inane chatter. Turn your work in now, and leave at once."
Harry took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and looked Snape in the eye. "Sir, I don't have my Potions Journal with me. May I turn it in later?" Hopeless really, but he had to ask.
Snape's black eyes glittered malevolently. "I see no reason to extend you special privileges just because the Headmaster and the rest of the staff seem willing to overlook your every breach of the rules."
Harry restrained himself - just - from rolling his eyes at the condescending tone in Snape's voice. He was used to Snape's rancor about his own supposed celebrity status.
"My instructions at the beginning of term were quite clear, Potter. Potions Journals are to be brought to every Potions class."
"Yes, Sir. I know that, Sir. I just forg..."
"You appear to be laboring under a misapprehension, Mr Potter," Snape's words cut across Harry's. There was something in his professor's tone that made Harry even more nervous than usual.
"S-sir?"
"Your Potions Journal is right here." Snape closed his hand around Harry's personal journal.
Harry paled. "Uh, Professor, that's not my Potions Journal."
Snape gave Harry a calculating look, his eyes darting from the boy's face to the book. He pressed his lips together in a thin line and something akin to triumph coloured his tone. "Nonsense, Potter. I distinctly saw you writing in it earlier. Clearly even you would not have the audacity to be working on something other
than Potions in my classroom. Ten points from Gryffindor for contradicting me, Potter."
"But Sir..."
"Twenty points, Potter. Would you care to try for thirty?"
Harry clamped his mouth shut and glared up at Snape.
"Do not test me, boy."
Snape tucked Harry's journal under one arm and then extended his hand to Ron and Hermione in turn. They each quickly tucked their tests into their journals and handed them off. Hurriedly, the trio gathered up their belongings and made a beeline for the door.
Two steps from freedom Harry halted and turned as Snape spoke again.
"You owe me one detention a week until the end of term, Potter. I had thought to have you serve your detentions with Mr Filch but, as he has other obligations this evening. I will expect you in my office after dinner."
Harry nodded and turned back to the door.
"I know precisely how long it takes to get from the Great Hall to my offices, Potter. Do not dawdle or I will be forced to take more points from Gryffindor."
Harry waited a beat and, when Snape said nothing more, practically bolted out of the classroom. He stormed past his waiting friends.
"Oy! Harry! Wait up!" Ron called out to his friend's retreating back. When Harry didn't respond, Ron turned and looked at Hermione. "What was that about? Detention every week 'til the end of term? What did he do?"
Hermione shrugged and, grabbing Ron's arm, pulled him down the corridor after Harry.
Harry said nothing until they rounded the corner and were out of sight of the Potions classroom. Throwing his book bag down on the ground, he soon followed it, sinking down to the floor, clutching his head in his hands.
"I am so dead. I am so dead. I am so dead." He groaned into his hands.
"Harry, what's wrong?" Ron and Hermione spoke at the same time.
"Snape is going to kill me."
Hermione looked at Ron, who shrugged.
"Harry, I know it's with Snape, but it's just detention, mate. Even if it is every week until end of term, you've served them before."
"You don't understand."
"Too right we don't understand. So, explain yourself."
Harry groaned. "I wrote this thing and Snape found it and he's going to kill me."
"What thing?" Hermione sounded impatient.
"I made this list of the things I hate about him. Item number one: He's ugly. Item number two: He's got a hooked nose. Item number three: He has greasy hair. You get the idea. It was just a stupid list to let off steam only I dropped it somewhere and Snape found it and I have to serve detention every week for three more months and Snape. Is. Going. To. Kill. Me."
"Oh, Harry, you didn't," Hermione gasped.
Ron laughed.
"It's not funny!" Harry yelled.
"Sorry, Harry." Ron had the decency to look abashed. "So what did he say when he read it?"
"Detention. He said detention. I am so dead." Harry didn't look at his friends. For some reason he didn't tell them everything Snape had said. Didn't tell them about the responding comments written in red ink. Didn't tell them that the list in question was, even now, burning a hole through the pocket of his robe. Harry didn't like to keep things from his two best friends but he needed to think about what Snape had written.
He needed to think.
**********
Severus Snape sat at his desk in the Potions classroom, head in hands, unknowingly echoing Harry's posture. You're a bloody fool, Severus. Whatever possessed you to hand that ridiculous parchment back to the
boy? He shook himself and stared morosely at the pile of journals and tests that awaited him. He randomly pulled a test from the pile to the center of his desk, picked up his quill and stared blankly at the parchment in front of him.
Could the brat possibly be more annoying? Still, he does show some small signs of wit. Admit it, Severus, reading and responding to that list was probably the most fun you've had in months.
Snape shook himself again and said, "Let me see what other charming tidbits I can glean from this." He pulled Harry's journal from the top of the pile. A tap of his wand released the simple locking spell the boy had put on it. Opening the front cover, Snape read:
Personal Journal of Harry Potter
Private. Keep out.
This means you.
Snape snorted at the warning and at the rudimentary skull and crossbones drawn beneath. This seemed immature even for Potter.Let that be a lesson to you, Severus. He's not a child. He's an infant. Snape flipped idly through a few pages and quickly realized that the journal had begun during Harry's first year at Hogwarts. He had no interest at the moment in reading about Potter's eleven-year-old angst. Maybe later, Severus. He turned to the last page in the journal and his eyes glinted. Another list. I wonder what insults he's dreamed up for me this time. Snape picked up his quill and started to read. Almost immediately he dipped the quill into the well of red ink.
Severus? This might not be the best idea you have ever had. Just moments ago you were regretting...
"Oh, shut up, all of you," Snape said irritably and began to write.
1. Striking or distinctive in a really ugly sort of way.
You really have a limited imagination, haven't you, Potter? Think of all the things you might have said. To wit: I wonder if his mother had to pay the neighbor children to play with him? Or: perhaps instead of teaching potions he should take a position as one of Hagrid's more horrible pets. The possibilities are endless if only you would apply yourself.
To what, exactly, is it you imagine him applying himself, hmm?
2. Roman! Hah! I've seen pictures. Romans may have had big noses but they did not look as if you could catch fish with them. His nose is hooked! And, I get a lot of things right. For example: He's ugly.
I wonder what kind of fish you are? It's beginning to look as if you are firmly embedded on my hook.
Oh, very subtle, Severus.
"Shut it, I said."
3. Nervy. There's nothing wrong with my hair! At least it's clean. At least I'm not ugly. And as if it's all Neville's fault. How hard is it to take a bath? By-the-by, I think "casting aspersions" would have sounded better.
You think I'm nervy? An astounding sentiment from a brat whose hair looks rather as if Scabbers/Pettigrew had been nesting in it. You have no idea how much it pains me to say this but, you are correct, "aspersions" would have been a better choice of word. Frankly, I'm surprised you even know the word, let alone how to spell it.
4. Grrr. I am not a Quidditch twit. OK, maybe I am a Quidditch twit, but I am not a greasy ugly git. And, I don't spend all day basking in the sun. Who has the time? I have snitches to catch! I have a Dark Lord to kill!
This proves you are indubitably a Quidditch twit. At this rate, the Dark Lord seems assured of a nice, long reign of terror. I wonder if all that basking has left you with a tan line?
You might want to cross that out a little more thoroughly, Severus. Given time and an abacus, the boy is quick enough to put two and two together.
Hah! Putting two and two together is precisely what we want, isn't it?
"Shut up," Snape snapped, and dipped his quill again.
5. "My little vanity." Bollocks! How can somebody so ugly be so conceited? If he occasionally used his hands for something other than potions they might not look so bad. And he might be better tempered. Hah. I think the fumes are getting to more than his hair.
On what should I use my hands, hmm? Should I wrap them around your scrawny neck and squeeze? Or should I wrap them around something else entirely?
Careful, Severus. You're treading a very thin line.
"It will go right over his head," Snape said confidently.
6. Nothing wrong with Herm's teeth that wasn't fixed by a little charm. Hah. A little charm. I can think of somebody that could use a little charm. And not just on his ugly teeth.
It has been said that punning is the highest form of wit. It has also been said it is the lowest form of wit. With the above as an example, I must say I am inclined toward the latter sentiment.
7. Yeah, I got your math skills right here, Snape. Hmm. That doesn't work so well without the accompanying gesture. He has no idea what I want. I think. He can't. I don't even know what I want. I think. Oh hell. I think I'm in trouble.
No doubt. I wonder how your math skills are in proportion to your other skills, Mr Potter? Are they akin to your skills in Potions, in which case they would barely be visible - or, do they more closely resemble your DADA skills, in which case they would be quite impressive on one so young.
Steady on, Severus. You're getting a little carried away. What if that doesn't go right over the boy's head?
"Potter has all the mental subtlety of a hippogriff. He wouldn't recognize a double entendre if it bit him on his arse." The quill dipped again.
Yes, but he might recognize you if you bit him on the arse.
8a. At least I have hormones. Bet he hasn't gotten it up in years. What a cold fish. Hah. He could hook himself on his own nose. Probably be the most action he's ever gotten.
You'd be surprised at the action I get. Have you heard no rumors about the Dark Lord's little "get-togethers"? Additionally, I would suggest you take another look at item #2 above. I do believe you are well and properly hooked, Mr Potter.
8b. I hate him. Although, he is kind of witty - when he's insulting somebody other than me. He's definitely mean. Oh Merlin. We agree on something. Intelligent. Yeah, yeah, whatever. Sexy. I am not going to think about that, because you know what? He's ugly. Git. Hey! That's two things we agree on. The world could stop spinning on its axis any minute now.
Imagine your world spinning on my axis, Potter.
Oh, now really, Severus!
Snape shifted in his chair and tugged at his robe which had somehow become unaccountably tight across his lap.
9. I wonder what he means by practicing my skills? I wonder what he means by "a Master in more than Potions"? "No foolish wand waving." OK. That was funny. I wonder if he's serious. I wonder if I should worry about finding out. Detention. Once a week until the end of term. That is so unfair. I didn't ask him to read my private stuff. Nosy, ugly, interfering git! Oh well, I probably shouldn't have written it on a loose piece of parchment. I can't believe I dropped it. I can't believe he found it. What are the odds? Pretty good, apparently. Well, no more of that. I'll keep it all in my journal from now on. This should be safe enough.
Snape sat pondering the item nine on the list. Somehow the humor of the situation had become overshadowed by something else. Something that made his pants uncomfortably snug. He glared at his lap. "Get down, you miserable excuse for a brain!"
"Professor Snape?"
Snape jerked his head up and snapped, "What is it, Potter?"
Harry looked startled. "Er, my detention?"
Snape looked at the small clock on his desk. A hand pointed to, “Time for the idiot boy’s detention.” When did Potter get his own hand on my clock? And where did the time go?
"Right. Yes. Don't just stand there. Come in." Snape started to stand and then quickly sat down again. "Stop it!" He whispered furiously looking down. You are coming unraveled, Severus.
"Sir?"
"What, Potter?"
"Um, I, I didn't catch that last thing you said."
"It wasn't addressed to you, idiot!"
"O-Kay. Right then. So, er, what is I have to do for you then?"
"What?" Snape's voice came out in an odd sort of whisper and his eyes bored into Harry's.
"For my detention?" He's acting more than a little weird. Is this a good thing, or a bad thing? Don't be stupid, Harry. It's Snape. Of course it's a bad thing. There are no good things where Snape is concerned. Except for his hands. OK. I am not going to continue thinking that way. Why does he keep staring at me?
"Detention. Yes. Give me a minute, Potter. I was focused on something else entirely when you came in." Oh for God's sake, Severus, get a grip. What would I like him to do for me? For detention! What do I want him to do for detention?
Harry waited, shifting nervously from foot to foot as Snape continued to stare at him. There was something indefinable in his Professor's look - something a little wild - something not quite Snape. Unable to withstand the intense gaze any longer Harry looked away. He paled when he saw his journal lying on Snape's desk. It was closed. OK. Does that mean he's read it, or he hasn't started yet? Oh please let him not have read it yet. Please.
"Um, Professor. I tried to tell you earlier but that wasn't my Potions journal you took. It's my personal journal. I mean I know I shouldn't have been writing in it in class but, well, can I have it back, please? I've got my Potions journal right here."
Snape's eyes flickered to the journal on his desk and back to Harry. He blinked slowly and his shoulders twitched as if he were shaking something off. When his eyes opened again they were oddly shuttered. The wild look was gone.
"I quickly became intimately aware that what I was reading was not, in fact, your Potions journal, but rather a somewhat repellent glimpse into an ungovernable adolescent libido." Careful, Severus. For you that was remarkably close to flirting.
For a split second Harry saw something in Snape's eyes that looked suspiciously like...humor? Without pausing to think he said, "Is there a reason you always use such big words, or is it . . . overcompensation?" Heh heh. Good one, Harry. Potter couldn’t quite repress a grin.
And he flirts right back. Severus took a deep, calming breath.
Snape’s eyes flashed, somehow looking even more obsidian than usual. Then, a corner of his mouth twitched up.
"Mr Potter," Snape responded silkily, "as I, unlike yourself, am not an underdeveloped Quidditch twit, there is nothing for which I need to overcompensate."
"Oy! I may not be very tall but my height is my only shortcoming."
Harry quick riposte was rewarded with another slow blink and (Merlin's beard!) an actual smile, albeit a somewhat sinister one.
"Indeed, Potter. Well, I suppose I'll just have to take your word for that."
Harry straightened his shoulders and took a firm grip on his vaunted Gryffindor courage. "You don't have to take my word for it, Professor. I'm quite willing to prove it to you."
Snape's mouth twisted into something between a grin and a snarl.
"Does the number twenty-one mean anything to you, Potter?"
"Not much, actually. Silly number really. No better than say, sixteen."
"Mmm. Perhaps. Perhaps not. Take a seat, Potter. Perhaps you would like to read this." Snape held up Harry's journal. "You do read?"
"Yes." Very funny. Dork.
"When you are in my presence you will show the proper respect and address me correctly, Potter. Either Professor, or Sir will suffice.” Thin lips twitched. “I freely admit as a Master of my art, I find Sir to be both more pleasing and more appropriate. You may, however, feel free to choose either appellation."
"Yes, Sir." Harry fluttered his eyelashes.
For a moment Snape's mouth hung open. He closed it with an audible snap. Harry grinned.
"Please," Snape gestured towards his own desk chair, "sit." He handed Harry the journal. "Read."
Harry's eyes dropped to the page in front of him and wondered if he should be excited or frightened by the amount of red ink. He started to skim the page.
"Aloud, if you please, Potter."
Harry gaped. "What?"
"What, Sir," Snape chided.
"Er, right."
"Right, Sir. Honestly, if you are completely unable to follow even my simplest instruction, well, there would hardly be any point in continuing this, would there?"
"Dunno. What is it we're doing?" Harry grinned and his green-eyes sparked. He quickly added, "Sir."
"Read it aloud, boy," said Snape, repressively.
Harry, mouth suddenly dry, swallowed noisily.
"Number one," came out in a croak. He swallowed again, desperately trying to raise saliva in his mouth. "Erm. Number..." No good, his mouth was still dry.
Snape's lips twitched again in the not-quite smile that Harry was beginning to like. He took a small vial from a drawer in his desk and handed it to Harry. "Drink this."
Harry looked at him suspiciously. "What is it?" Seeing Snape's raised eyebrow, he quickly corrected himself. "What is it, Sir?"
Snape rolled his eyes. "It's a powerful aphrodisiac, Potter," he said, sarcastically.
Harry grinned. "Oh. Right then, Sir," and put the vial to his mouth, tossing the contents back enthusiastically. He parted his lips slightly before he licked them.
Once again Snape's mouth hung open briefly. Impertinent, silly twit. There were no aphrodisiac properties to that particular potion at all, just a common throat soother. He was sure the boy knew that, but the alacrity with which he had tossed it back was most...gratifying.
"Eh hm.” Snape cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Continue, Potter.” He raised an eyebrow. “And do let me know if you start feeling anything untoward, will you?"
"Yes Sir. Oh, that helped a bit, didn't it? Not croaking at all now. So, what's in it Sn - um, Sir? Not as unpleasant as your usual concoctions.” Harry raised his own eyebrow. “A little salty. Maybe a bit bitter. But sweet, too, and kind of...creamy." The boy leered suggestively at his professor.
Another audible snap as Snape closed his mouth.
Really, it's too easy, Harry thought.
"I will endeavour to make sure anything else I give you to swallow will be equally as pleasant, Mister Potter." He again cocked one eyebrow at Harry and allowed one corner of his mouth to curl up slightly. To his startled pleasure the boy blushed.
This is getting out of hand rather quickly, Severus.
"Your reading, Potter."
"Number one. Striking or distinctive in a really ugly sort of way. Uh, sorry about that, Sir."
Snape waved a hand expansively. "Think nothing of it. Continue."
"You really have a limited imagination, haven't you, Potter? Think of all the things you might have said. To wit: I wonder if his mother had to pay the neighbor children to play with him?" Harry giggled.
"OK. I see what you're driving at. So, I might have said something like, "He's ugly enough that the mid-wife probably slapped his mother when he was born." Harry rolled his eyes up to see Snape's reaction.
"Quite," Snape said dryly. "You've grasped my point admirably. Next."
"Number two. Roman! Hah! I've seen pictures. Romans may have had big noses but they did not look as if you could catch fish with them. His nose is hooked." Harry blushed with shame but continued reading. "And, I get a lot of things right. For example: He's ugly. Sorry again."
“Understood. Keep reading."
"I wonder what kind of fish you are? It's beginning to look as if you are firmly embedded on my hook." Harry gulped. Unable to meet Snape's eyes, he mumbled, "I'm beginning to think I'm well and truly caught."
"What was that, Mister Potter?"
"Nothing, Sir. Number three. Nervy. There's nothing wrong with my hair! At least it's clean. At least I'm not ugly." Harry read through the rest of the item so quickly he felt a little breathless. When he got to the part about "aspersions" being a better word, he smiled. "Um, thank you, Sir. That was a complement, right?"
"As much of one as you are ever likely to get from me."
"Thanks again. Four." Harry stopped suddenly. A scarlet flush swept up from his neck to his face.
"Read ahead a bit, did you Potter?"
"Yes, Sir," Harry choked out. "And yes."
Snape raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Tan line. I've got one."
Snape rocked just a little on his heels and put his hand out to steady himself. Instead of the solid wood of his desk, his hand brushed the warm flesh of Harry’s arm. He jerked his hand back as if burned. He felt the color rise on his own cheeks.
Harry, it seemed, hadn't noticed. The boy's eyes were skimming quickly down the page. Snape watched fascinated as Harry's expression went from embarrassed to mildly insulted to embarrassed to amused to stunned and embarrassed. The boy certainly had an expressive face. It was easy to determine where he was in the list by the reaction on his countenance.
Snape perched on the edge of his desk, back to Harry, and determinedly willed down his burgeoning erection. He thought of Cruciatus and poisons and Filch and blast-ended screwts and Mad-Eye Moody and anything, anything to keep down the flames that seemed to be rising from his groin. It would be so very easy to take the boy. Sixteen-year-olds had no control over their hormonal surges.
Neither do you apparently.
Snape tilted his head back and closed his eyes. It would be so easy to take Potter and bend him and use him and STOP IT. Stop now!
The sudden crash of a chair falling over backward as Harry jumped to his feet, shook Snape out of himself. He opened his eyes to see Potter, - bright-eyed, flushed, and breathing heavily - standing directly in front of him. Too close.
Snape's eyes glittered. He took a deep breath through his nose. Another, and he was almost himself again. Yet another, and the mask fell firmly back in place. He looked down his long nose at Potter. Anyone seeing the Potions Master now, would notice nothing amiss. No tell-tale sign other than a slight flaring of his large nostrils.
He smiled down at Potter, lips curling sardonically. "There was something you wanted to say, Mr Potter?"
Harry watched in dismay as Snape's face went from open and hungry to almost completely shuttered in three breaths.
"I can, you know."
"You can what, Mr Potter?"
"I can imagine my world spinning on your axis."
"I'm charmed, Potter, but no." Snape closed his eyes.
"But . . . You . . . I." Harry blinked in confusion.
"Potter, I'm sorry. Accept that now because you aren't likely to hear it from me again. I am not a man who apologizes easily. I was amused with our little exchange. I got . . . carried away. I shouldn't have."
"You said, "Imagine your world spinning on my axis," and I did. I can. I want to."
"This world must spin on its axis 1800 times before that happens."
"Don't talk in riddles," Harry said hotly.
"Don't talk in riddles, Sir."
Harry grinned in spite of himself.
"Stop talking in riddles, please, Sir."
Drat the boy. He is too engaging by half.
"Five years, Mister Potter. Eighteen hundred revolutions of the earth on its axis."
"I still don't know what you're saying, Sir."
Snape put his hands roughly on Harry's shoulders, resisting the urge to crush the boy in a fierce embrace, and spun him around. He put one large hand between bony shoulder blades and pushed the boy gently toward the door.
"Not until you’re twenty-one, Potter."
Harry tried to turn back around but Snape stopped him. If he looked at the boy now . . .
"You're having me on." Harry's disbelief at being dismissed was palpable.
"I'm not."
"You want this too. I know you do!"
"Yes."
"But you're not going to do anything about it?"
"Correct, Potter. It's clear this detention has already done you a world of good. You appear to be, for the first time in my experience, using your brain."
Snape gave Harry another gentle push toward the door before moving back to his desk and sitting down. He stared absently at the pile of tests in front of him, and then at Harry’s back.
"You incredible, greasy, ugly GIT! Sir."
Because the boy couldn’t see him, Snape allowed himself a rueful smile. "Indeed, Mister Potter. Next Thursday, then? Don't bother bringing your wand, you won't be needing it."
"Un-bloody-believable."
"Language, Potter. Curb yourself or you will be spending next Thursday evening with Mr Filch."
Harry took several steps toward the door before spinning back around. Snape felt an absurd rush of relief that the boy was smiling.
"That aphrodisiac you gave me?"
Snape's mouth twitched. "Yes?"
"Tasted great. Like to try the base potion sometime." Emerald eyes sparkled.
"I'll take that under consideration, Mr Potter."
"Do that." Two more steps to the door. "Professor?"
Snape sighed. "Yes, Mr Potter?"
"It's OK if I use my wand when you're not around, right?"
"You are sixteen. I would expect nothing less."
"And if I think about your charms?"
"Puns. Lowest form of humor, Potter."
Harry glared and then he laughed. He made it all the way to Snape's door before turning around again.
"If you knew how many ways you annoy me."
Snape sneered. "Make me a list, Mr. Potter. Make me a list."
~Fin~