The Mother of All Love Potions

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The Mother of All Love Potions
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"Headmaster, please don't make me do this again," Snape pleaded desperately. "Not this year. Not with this class."

"Severus," Dumbledore said gently, "unless I am very much mistaken, your résumé says you are a Master potion-brewer."

"Yes, Headmaster, I know that, but—"

"And you understand the difficulties such potions can present, do you not?"

"Certainly I do; however, that is not the poi—"

"So you will demonstrate why we take such precautions here at Hogwarts, will you not?"

"But Headmaster, this class—"

"Is no different to any other Potions class you've ever taught, Severus, despite your feelings about certain students therein."

"But, Headmaster—"

"I insist, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "And that is final."

Snape stared into the headmaster's light blue, but very stern, eyes. There was no way to get around him. The Potions master would have to teach his least favourite class yet again. He left Dumbledore's office and walked back to the dungeon slowly, trepidation in his every step.

The class was already assembled when he arrived. Snape cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, stepping in front of his desk to address them. The Potions master sincerely hated this lesson, but the headmaster insisted he give it to his fifth years every year. As this year's group of fifth years included Neville Longbottom, Snape especially dreaded the results.

"Love potions," he said, trying to keep every trace of emotion out of his voice.

Granger's hand immediately shot up into the air, but Snape's glare made her lower it just as quickly.

"You all know the headmaster has forbidden the use of any love potions at Hogwarts," Snape continued, answering her unasked query. "And, unfortunately, it is down to me to show you all why. You will each prepare one of the most innocuous known love potions and test it on each other. This will undoubtedly have some embarrassing results, but that is the point." Ignoring the sniggers from almost every student, Snape turned and began to write the list of ingredients on the chalkboard. "Now, get out your Potions kits. Here are the things you will need. Most of these you should already have, but I will supply you with a few of the components."

Snape scrawled a list in his methodical hand:

three chanterelle mushrooms (diced)
seven cockroach wings (ground)
ten otters noses (whole)
five bat spleens (puréed)
one wren liver (puréed)
rhino horn (1 tsp, ground)
Mandrake root (2 Tbsps, ground)
chokecherries (one-half cup, minced) for flavour
essence of elderberry (one-half cup) for flavour

After he'd finished with the list of ingredients, Snape passed laminated sheets of parchment with the procedure to the students, and they set to brewing. One uneventful hour later, they were ending the simmering process. When Snape happened by Longbottom's table, he noticed, although the boy managed to keep pace with the remainder of the class for once, his mushrooms still remained on the table, untouched. Granted, they were tucked away behind his Potions kit, out of the boy's line of vision, but Snape couldn't imagine why he hadn't included them.

"Longbottom, why haven't you used your mushrooms?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I have used my mushrooms, Professor Snape," the boy replied in a timid squeak.

"You quite clearly have not used your mushrooms, Longbottom," the Potions master said silkily, gathering them and holding them under the boy's nose, "because they are right here."

Longbottom turned red.

"What did you use, boy?" Snape asked wearily, dropping the mushrooms into the boy's lap.

"Oh ... er ... well ... I..." He searched in and around his Potions kit and finally pulled out a small jar labelled "Toadstools."

"Toadstools?" Snape asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir," Longbottom whispered.

"In a love potion?"

"Yes, sir," Longbottom repeated, also in whisper.

Snape grasped the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "Longbottom, do you intentionally sit in your room and practice being the world's most insufferable moron, or does this talent merely come naturally? Did you not realise that toadstools are poisonous and there are not many effective antidotes? Your aptitude for getting everything wrong could have easily killed one of your fellow studen—"

Snape broke off as he regarded Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had been bending over Longbottom's cauldron to jeer at the boy's ineptitude. Suddenly a look of utter longing came over his face. The Potions master watched in horror as Malfoy bent his silver-haired head to kiss Longbottom full on the mouth—with tongue.

"Malfoy?" Snape asked. "Malfoy!" The Potions master grabbed the boy by the back of his robes, pulling him away from Longbottom. "Malfoy, get back into your chair!"

"But—Professor Snape—he's just so ... dreamy," Malfoy said, sighing, but thankfully moving back to his seat.

The class immediately erupted into a fit of laughter as Snape quickly placed the lid of Longbottom's cauldron on to prevent the fumes from affecting any more of his students. Longbottom was beet red from embarrassment; Malfoy was red as well, but his expression showed no hint of embarrassment.

"Longbottom, I'll dispose of this ... mess," Snape said. "You may collect your cauldron on Monday. The rest of you are dismissed."

Well, that could not have gone worse. After stuffing his nose with cotton balls and washing the contents of Longbottom's cauldron down the sink, Snape stayed in his locked office for a few minutes to make certain the potion was not affecting him. He had not yet encountered a concoction so potent its fumes alone were in danger of setting off such a reaction. Then he went to see Dumbledore. Once he'd related the afternoon's events, the Potions master gave the headmaster a genuine I-told-you-so look, which Dumbledore patently ignored.

Snape spent all day Saturday in the libraries' restricted section in an effort to locate this particular potion. There could be lingering effects on Malfoy, and he might need do something further. He certainly didn't want to witness the boy's kissing Longbottom again. That had been fairly traumatic. After six hours' searching, he finally found the potion in, of all places, the back of an obscure European queen's spellbook. The brew was something she devised apparently so men would flock to her rather than her beautiful stepdaughter. It was called, simply, "the Mother of All Love Potions."

Thankfully there were no dangerous secondary effects, and the primary effects would wear off in time. How long a period the book didn't specify. Snape had never dreamed changing only one ingredient of what was believed to be the weakest known love potion could produce something so puissant. He spent the rest of the day looking for another weak alternative for his demonstration, since he never wanted this to happen again.

If only that had been the end of it. If only Snape had been that lucky. But Severus Snape had never been that lucky. Not one single day in his life. He only thanked the powers that be this time the trouble didn't involve Potter. Now that several students had been privy to Longbottom's mistake, a few of the laminated procedural parchments disappeared from his office, and vials of the potion began cropping up everywhere. And the headmaster instructed Snape to track them all down. The other staff members, he'd reminded the Potions master, were not as adept with potions, couldn't necessarily recognise them by sight.

"Lucky me," Snape muttered to himself as he descended the spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore's hidden office.

Whoever the thieving brewers were—Snape highly suspected the Weasley twins, who were always about mischief to raise money, although he as yet had no proof—they were fool enough to use the same shape vials for the majority of their sales. For a while it had been easy enough to gather these and dispose of the contents. Gathering the vials, however, was not the only thing about which Snape had to worry: disposing of the potion also presented certain risks.

When Snape had first drained Longbottom's cauldron down the sink, he hadn't given a second thought to where the potion was going. All the plumbing of Hogwarts castle drained, sooner or later, into the lake, and his dungeon sinks were no exception. And apparently no species was immune to the potions effects. Soon the Giant Squid was making amorous advances at anything that wandered too close to the shore. Snape had never considered the notion of cephalopods being randy before, but the headmaster oversaw putting magical defences around the lake to keep the students out of the squid's clutches. Love bites from the squid's beak could prove fatal.

In lieu of simply draining the potion down the sinks, Snape decided to bury the confiscated vials in a secret location deep in the Forbidden Forest. Alas this too had undesirable results. When Snape returned to his cache to add more contraband, he discovered some burrowing creature had uncovered the vials. For over a fortnight afterward, one could hardly concentrate for the clamour of magical creatures copulating in the woods near the school morning, noon, and night. Thankfully, this did prove the effects of the potions were limited to only about a fortnight. That was promising. If Snape could only cut off the supply...

The easiest way to accomplish that was to freeze the availability of one of the ingredients. The toadstools could be found in any introductory Potions kit, so that was no good. Cockroaches were everywhere in the castle, so their wings would never be in short supply. While otters were somewhat rare in this area, their noses were easily obtained in Hogsmeade, so that was not an option. The same could be said of bat spleens, wren livers, and rhino horn, even though that species was endangered. The cherries and berries could be purchased effortlessly at any Muggle grocer, but they were merely for flavour. The choice was obvious: Snape would have to arrest Hogwarts' supply of Mandrake root.

On his end, that would be relatively easy. Professor Sprout would cooperate, since she understood the situation all too well. Somehow Mandrake always managed to leak into the school, since it was rumoured to have sexual potency. Silly teens—risking their lives with such a dangerous root only to be able to fornicate a little longer and more often. If they only knew of the simple charm ... but Flitwick would hardly teach them that one, the prude. He'd rather they die a gruesome death from an overdose than wound his precious sensibilities. And people thought Snape was detrimental to the students' welfare! But how could he discourage the students from importing Mandrake?

Granger!

She'd been all riled the previous year about the rights of house-elves. Surely she would feel just as strongly about a sentient plant such as the Mandrake? After his next class with the Gryffindors and Slytherins, the Potions master politely asked Miss Granger to stay after class. She was more than a little wary, of course, as Snape had never been accused of being the nicest teacher in the world.

"Do have a seat, Miss Granger," he said, directing her to a chair in his office.

She hung back, hovering at the door.

"You aren't in any sort of trouble, Miss Granger," Snape said quietly, trying to reassure her. He then became impatient. "Oh, just sit down, you silly girl!" he snapped.

Eyes growing wide, she walked toward the chair and sank down, shaking.

"Forgive me," Snape said, as sincerely as he could, leaning an elbow on his desk and rubbing his forehead. "You have no reason to fear me, Miss Granger. In fact, I have a special job for you to perform. Something I cannot trust to anyone else."

"What is that, Professor Snape?"

"I assume you've gone far enough in Herbology to have studied the Mandrake root now, have you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"I myself have used the root for years without really considering the implications. It wasn't until last summer, when I began to grow my own, that I became concerned. They seemed so ... so ... human ... And there are more than enough acceptable substitutes for whatever we need from Mandrake, as I assume you well know."

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose I'm a little old to finally be developing ethics," Snape said, and the girl smiled. "But I have come to see that I cannot in good conscience use Mandrake any more. Am I making any sense?"

"Perfect sense, Professor," she said, with a sympathetic nod. "I was a little squeamish about harvesting the Mandrake myself, but I also didn't want to fail Herbology."

Where is that Gryffindor bravery I've heard so much about? Snape thought.

"So, what can I do for you, Professor Snape?"

"Ah, well," Snape said, opening a drawer and removing a stack of parchments. "As a master at this school, I am attempting to phase out the use of Mandrake root, but it would seem inappropriate for me to take an official stand, other than this. You, as a student, could be much more effective at mobilising the other students and getting out the word. Not only about the dangers of Mandrake root, but also the atrocities we've perpetrated against those inoffensive little tubers. I've drawn up some information you might find useful to distribute."

She actually smiled as he handed her the stack of parchment. Within a week, signs and buttons bearing "Mandrake is Murder" began to spring up everywhere. Bless Granger and her activist Gryffindor soul! This didn't completely stop the influx of Mandrake into Hogwarts, but it did slow the rate to a trickle, leaving Snape free to concentrate on tracking down the remainder of the illicit potion.

The headmaster was, as always, less than pleased with the Potions master's methods. Snape maintained they were merely a means to an end. Then, when he politely reminded Dumbledore that he had neither asked for the joy of disposing of the potion nor the lovely opportunity to teach the class that produced the substance in the first place, the headmaster relented.

"Please do not saddle me with such an unpleasant task and then tie my hands with regards to how to perform it!" Snape had hissed before slamming the old man's office door.

Well, that little outburst should have earned him at least an official reprimand. Dumbledore wasn't any happier with the situation than Snape was, however, and he let the remark pass. And Snape stalked back to the dungeon to face his least favourite Potions class yet again.

As he descended the steps, the Potions master heard screeching and some sort of chanting. Picking up his pace, he recognised the litany as the words "cat fight" being repeated over and over. The screeching, however, was still more or less unintelligible until he was within fifty feet of the door.

"That's mine!" Pansy Parkinson screamed. "Give it back! I paid three Galleons for it!"

"That was made by slaughtering innocent Mandrake roots!" Hermione Granger snipped back. "Murderer!"

There was no doubt in the Potions master's mind as to the "that" they were fighting over. When Snape finally made it inside the room, he elbowed his way into the circle of Slytherins and Gryffindors surrounding the two fighting girls. The students—upon realising who was jostling his way into their ring—scattered, moving swiftly to their seats, but the girls fought on.

Granger had a fistful of Parkinson's hair, and Parkinson in turn had one of Granger's elbows twisted behind her back. Granger's other hand shakily held onto the vial of potion, which Snape swooped down upon, extracting it nimbly from her curled fingers. The girl gave a small gasp and released Parkinson's hair, and Parkinson released her arm a heartbeat later, after pressing her advantage by giving it one more twist.

"I'm very disappointed, Miss Granger," Snape said, coolly. "Does the phrase 'passive resistance' mean nothing to you? And you, Miss Parkinson ... we will discuss your contraband after class. You will both, of course, be receiving detentions for this little altercation."

After class, the Potions master gave Miss Granger details of her detention and dismissed her. Once Miss Parkinson had received the same, he gave her a thorough dressing down whilst perched on the edge of his desk.

"I have been going to great lengths to rid the school of this potion, Miss Parkinson," Snape said, as the girl studied the material in her lap. "And now I find one of my very own students carrying it. Do you realise how foolish you've made me look today?"

She nodded silently, still examining her robes.

"Why would you even want such a thing?"

"Because I'm ugly," she said softly.

"You do realise that potions such as this can only lower inhibitions to a point that repressed desires naturally take over?"

"No."

"They don't produce feelings; they only heighten the ones already there. If you aren't already attractive to boys, this potion won't help you in the slightest."

That was the wrong thing to say. Now she was crying. How Snape hated to see a Slytherin cry!

"Pansy, you are not ugly," he said gently, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. That was, of course, a blatant lie, since the girl resembled a pug dog with a bad taste in its mouth, but ... "You are only at an awkward stage, which you will grow out of, I promise. If you want to get past this phase quicker, for the love of God, use an ageing potion, not this! An ageing potion is cheaper, as well as safer, and your Head of House won't be forced to kill you for using it!"

She looked up finally, wiping her tears on the sleeve of her robe, giggling and smiling. Snape jerked his head toward the door, indicating she was dismissed, as he buried her vial of potion in his robes.

Things seemed more or less back to normal in time for the Quidditch match between teachers and students the next day. Snape had all but lost the Quidditch fire years earlier, and usually he only attended Slytherin matches. His presence was required at this match every year, however, although he refused to play. It was one of his least favourite pastimes, but it only once a year, after all.

The Potions master sat in the stands, not really paying attention to the match. When the wind shifted from in off the lake, he hardly noticed at first, until everyone in the stands closest to the lake went crazy. Apparently the potion's effects were preserved when disposed of in cold water. Just when Snape had thought things were back to normal...

Thinking quickly, he shoved balls of cotton—which he always seemed to be carrying these days—up his nose, as smitten lovers erupted from the stands all around him, pairing off with the swiftness of randy rabbits. The Potions master briskly descended from the stands, vehemently discouraging no less than twelve would-be lovers along the way. Snape didn't worry so much about the people in the stands. They could snog until their tongues were sprained if they wanted.

His main concern was the players on the field, whose wanton abandon was causing them to fall off their brooms. Teachers and students alike—even those with obviously broken bones—were still attempting to crawl toward others to accost them with their affections. Snape cast a Levitation Charm on those who were still airborne, slowly lowering them to the ground. He followed that with a Stunning Spell on them all, conjured stretchers, and carried them to the hospital wing without delay.

"Good Lord, Severus!" Madam Pomfrey squealed as Snape levitated the stretchers into the ward. "What happened?"

"Fell off their brooms at the Quidditch match," Snape replied, helping her heave his charges into several beds.

Madam Pomfrey set about the task of healing the unconscious students and teachers, and Snape helped where he could. When they were all well on the road to recovery, Madam Pomfrey turned to him, mopping her brow.

"How did all this happen, Severus?" she asked.

"It started with this," Snape replied, handing her the vial. "This is the last vial, as far as I know. I was going to dispose of it this morning, but the Quidditch match ... It was rather a good thing I was there."

"What is it?"

"It is apparently one of the most potent love potions ever created. Leave it to Neville Longbottom to take a perfectly harmless love potion and turn it into a deadly weapon."

She removed the cork from the vial, taking a deep whiff of the concoction, before Snape could stop her.

"No, Poppy, DON'T!"

Snape wrenched the vial away from her, replacing the cork, but it was too late. Madam Pomfrey's pupils dilated with a sudden rush of lust, and she dipped him backward, planting her lips firmly onto his. Snape's eyes went wide. Apparently this potion provided a surge of super-human strength in addition to mere longing. Even though he was thin, Snape was still quite tall and not light. He'd never imagined the petite Poppy Pomfrey would be able to hold him like this under normal circumstances.

The Potions master then suddenly wondered if all healers kissed so well. His eyelids drooped languidly as her tongue gently coaxed his mouth open, begging for entrance. As Snape's lips parted, Poppy's tender but insistent tongue caressed every surface inside his mouth. All the tenderness she lavished on her patients seemed to be reflected quite adequately in her kiss. And Snape began to think perhaps love potions weren't such a bad idea after all.

"Precisely what is going on here?" Professor McGonagall's shrill voice demanded from just outside the hospital wing door.

Utterly surprised, Poppy gasped and dropped Snape flat on his back as the deputy headmistress rushed inside. As he fell, Snape dropped the vial, which flew toward McGonagall. The cork popped off, and the potion splashed out, drenching her robes. She reflexively batted the vial away, and it landed at her feet, splashing more of the potion on her ankles. The vial then bounced rather than shattered and landed in the Snape's lap. He groaned. Now he was infected with this love potion, as well.

"Let me help you up, Severus," Poppy whispered provocatively.

"No, no, let me," McGonagall purred in his ear.

"Petrificus totalus," Snape muttered, pointing his wand at them.

Thankfully, he'd completely forgotten to remove the cotton from his nose, or he would have been in a similar state. The two women fell together, their heads landing against each other's shoulders. That held them upright until Snape could rise from the floor. As much as the idea of a manage de trois appealed to him, he had neither the time nor the energy.

"Forgive me, ladies," he whispered, arranging their rigid bodies against chairs so they wouldn't bust their tailbones when he ended the spell. "The spirit is more than willing, but the flesh is much too weak at present." Snape walked to the door of the ward and, stepping outside, pointed his wand back inside. "Finite Incantatum," he said, leaving the hospital wing as quickly as he could. "Let them sort it out between them."

The Potions master went back to his chambers immediately to change his robes and took those polluted with the potion to the house-elves to be laundered. And even the elves made suggestive comments to him, offering him massages and God knows what else.

"We is thinking Professor Snape works too hard."

"Professor Snape is looking tense."

"We is wanting to help Professor Snape relax."

Eventually, he managed to extract himself from the elves' clutches and their insistent offers of "help" to take his leave. He had no doubts house-elves would make eager and devoted ... love slaves ... were one so inclined, but they were much too small, and he might hurt them. Not to mention, green skin was a definite anaphrodisiac. Nevertheless—as the Giant Squid had first shown, and now the elves reinforced—if even different species weren't safe from this potion, was anyone?

"Longbottom, I sincerely hate you," Snape muttered, locking himself in his dungeon quarters for the rest of the weekend.

With the destruction of this last vial, he had thankfully he had removed all traces of the potion from the castle. Now all that remained was to wait out the lingering effects. Monday morning Snape wore his freshly laundered robes to class. He was met with adoring stares from all of his female students and even some from his male students. Considering he was probably one of the most unattractive men to have ever trod the earth, he thought this potion must be powerful indeed.

When he came back to the dungeon after lunch, he found several anonymous love notes had been shoved under his office door, one of which was even done with magical crayons. The colours all flashed and twinkled like the neon signs he had seen in the few Muggle pubs he had visited. Although his students were less persistent than the house-elves had been, not even laundering the robes seemed to completely rid the material of the potion's effects. Charming!

The next day, as he was enjoying a quiet cup of tea in the staffroom, Snape heard urgent barking drawing close. Looking out over the lawn, the Potions master saw a pack of dogs, led by Hagrid's mutt Fang, chasing a cat toward the castle. A tabby cat. A very McGonagall-like tabby cat.

"Blast!" he snapped, setting down his tea as quickly as he could without smashing cup and saucer.

Snape ran to the Entrance Hall and down the marble steps outside. Cat and dogs were all haring at breakneck speed toward the Whomping Willow. McGonagall managed to slip between the violent branches and carefully climbed the trunk, whilst the Willow kept the dogs at bay with bashes of its frightful branches. Snape stunned the dogs and then found a stick to prod the tree's paralysis knot. All the dogs were male, he noticed, and—as is a telltale sign in canines—the swelling in their genitalia indicated they were ... excited.

"Minerva, come down," Snape pleaded into the branches, giving the knot another push for good measure.

The cat looked down at him with her square white-patched eyes and hissed.

"Oh come now, Minerva! Is that any way to talk to a friend? Especially one who is trying to help you?"

She paced back and forth on her current branch, as Snape poked the knot again.

"Look, I don't want to keep pushing this knot forever, and this tree is not exactly my preferred place to spend my tea break."

At last, the cat scurried down the trunk, landing on his shoulder. Snape pulled her into his arms, quickly heading back to the castle, walking all the way to the staffroom before he set her down. She twitched and shivered every step of the way. He began to make her a cup of tea, and she transformed into a very pale and shaken deputy headmistress whilst his back was turned.

"What happened?" Snape asked, sitting and handing her the cup and saucer.

McGonagall was still very pale, and her hands shook as she attempted to drink. She took several ragged but deep breaths and shuddering sips before speaking. "I led my Advanced Transfiguration class out for a bit of impromptu lessons—"

"Impromptu?" Snape asked, incredulously, cocking an eyebrow at her. "You, Minerva? That's marvellous!"

"Die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces, Severus!" she hissed.

He raised a quelling hand. "It was only a bit of a joke."

"Well, it wasn't a very good one!"

"I apologise," Snape said, placing his hand over his heart and adorning his face with what he hoped was a suitably abashed expression. "Do continue."

"Well, I turned, and my students who were practising for their Animagus exam also turned, but then we heard barking—"

"Why didn't you just transform again?" Snape asked, frowing in his confusion.

She stared at him as though he'd lost his mind. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, and then she shook her head. "I don't know! I panicked! Sometimes the cat mind takes over. I panicked, and I ran. The only thing I could think of was getting to the Whomping Willow. Somehow I knew I'd be safe there."

I would have had just the opposite thought, Snape mused.

McGonagall leant forward, placing her hand over his. "I'm glad you came along, Severus. Thank you. Those dogs could have killed me."

Snape repressed a laugh with difficulty, and McGonagall drew her hand away, her mouth pressing into a thin, hard line.

"Precisely what is so amusing?" she asked, obviously annoyed.

"I don't think killing you was their intention," Snape replied, still attempting not to laugh. "Although they might have done so, had they actually got their way..."

"What are you talking about?"

"They were excited—"

"Excited by easy prey, no doubt."

"No, Minerva. Sexually excited."

"What?!?" she asked, the colour suddenly draining from her face.

"Remember after the Quidditch match, in the hospital wing?" he asked.

"When you were kissing Poppy?" she asked curtly, her nostrils turning white.

"Ah, well, actually—in case it wasn't blatantly obvious from our posture—Poppy was kissing me, but yes. And I dropped that vial of potion on you?"

"I remember ... I've laundered those robes dozens of time ... with the house-elves staring longingly at me the whole time."

"Laundering doesn't help," Snape replied, shrugging. "I burned mine."

"But Severus—I haven't worn those robes since, and I still inspire stares and whistles wherever I go."

"Then it must have splashed on you as well as your robes."

She gasped as she seemed to put things together. "Not only do I have students—male and female—making doe-eyes at me in class, I also have mewling tom cats outside my window every night, and now I'm being chased by a randy pack of dogs. Severus, you have to help me! Please! I can't deal with this!"

Snape couldn't help sniggering, just a little bit, at his colleague's predicament. The deputy headmistress was so sexually repressed. If anyone at Hogwarts could use a good poke, it was Minerva McGonagall. This potion could quite possibly be the best thing that ever happened to her. All she wanted to do, however, was run from the opportunity fate had figuratively—and Snape had literally—thrown in her lap.

"Severus, this is not funny!" she snapped, jumping up from her chair. "What did you spill on me?"

Snape coughed to suppress his sniggers and cleared his throat. "It was a very powerful love potion, Minerva."

"A what?!? Severus, love potions aren't allowed—"

"I know that, Minerva," he replied impatiently. "Believe me—no one knows that better than I, since Dumbledore has set me to the task of confiscating and disposing of the rest of this particular potion."

"You could have warned me!" she wailed.

"I've been—otherwise occupied," he said, teeth gritted. "Don't worry. It will wear off within a fortnight."

All of a sudden, the rate of his breathing increased—for a reason entirely different to anger—and his jaw unclenched, dropping open. Snape looked at McGonagall and wondered why he'd never noticed her before. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman in the world. Even with her rather priggish glasses, her overly conservative bun, her stuffy manner, and her thin lips, often taut with disdain, she was a goddess. And he knew he simply must kiss her. Snape took her face in both his hands, drawing her mouth to him.

"Severus? Severus, what are you do—?"

He silenced her by pressing his lips down on hers adamantly. Her mouth—feeling just as unyielding as it looked most of the time—slowly began to soften as he caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. Snape slid one hand around her neck, all the while mentally cursing her bun, since he so wanted to run his hands through her hair. Instead, he settled for toying with a few wisps that had come loose. As he gently ran his tongue along the outer surface of her lips, she gasped into his mouth.

Never let it be said Severus Snape would allow such a perfect opportunity to go to waste.

He slipped his tongue between her slightly parted lips and drew her body closer with the hand on her neck; the other he quickly moved around her waist. McGonagall made a noise in the back of her throat, which was half moan and half whimper, but the sound spoke volumes of desire. And the rest of her body only confirmed that as she threw her arms around the Potions master's neck, leaning into both his body and his kiss. Her knees seemed to give way, and she hung on him by her arms.

"Minerva, you are so beautiful," Snape whispered against her temple, when he finally broke the kiss.

She clung to him as if for dear life, but didn't speak.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

McGonagall suddenly stiffened and pulled away from him, her face beet red. She wheeled about, flung open the staffroom door, and ran. Snape followed. His legs were longer, but she evaded him as if he were the devil himself, come to claim her soul.

"Minerva? Minerva?" he called after her, but he lost sight of her as she rounded a corner. "What did I do? Since when is telling a woman she's beautiful a bad thing? Women are so inscrutable. I hate these stupid games of cat and mouse..."

For the next two weeks, Snape tried to put the kiss out of his head, but he couldn't. Once Minerva had softened up a bit, her kiss was exceedingly ardent, as though all the passion she'd been bottling up all those years was released in a sudden rush. She'd left him drunk with longing. And he'd left her embarrassed and fleeing from him.

Not that he'd ever expected it would work between them. They were not generally very friendly. In fact, they were fiercely competitive, always sniping at one another over Quidditch. Besides that, McGonagall was easily ten years his senior, and not his type at all: prim and proper, and ... but that kiss ... She didn't seem to want to remain proper at that particular moment.

Snape mused on this for the fiftieth time that day as he stared at the book in his hands. His eyes had wandered over the same paragraph at least five times already, but he still hadn't the foggiest notion of what it said. He then thought he heard a timid knock on his door. Snape wasn't completely sure he'd heard it at all until the knock came again, louder this time. When he opened the door, his breath caught in his chest. He tried to smile.

"Hello, Minerva," he said, gallantly ushering her inside. "What can I do for you?"

"Hello-Severus-I-think-we-need-to-talk-May-I-sit-down?" she said, as quickly as she could. The speech was obviously rehearsed, and she avoided looking him in the eye, as her cheeks tinged pink.

"Yes, please do," Snape replied, gesturing toward one of his armchairs by the fire. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Two-weeks-ago-in-the-staffroom," she said, sinking into the chair. This statement was almost as quick as the first, but apparently not rehearsed, because she was completely red now.

"That's probably a good idea," Snape said, sitting in the other chair. "Why did you run away? Did I offend you?"

"Offend? No! Oh no, Severus! You simply scared me, that's all."

Snape smiled. "Of all the ways I've scared people—and I assure you there are many—kissing has never so far been among them, to the best of my knowledge."

"That's not exactly the trouble, either."

"Then what is it, Minerva?" he asked gently.

If possible, she blushed deeper. "Not the fact that you kissed me. I rather liked that. It is your motivation that concerns me, Severus. Was that just the love potion that made you kiss me?"

Snape frowned. "Yes and no."

"Explain."

Suddenly Snape felt as though he were a seventh year all over again, and this was an oral Transfiguration exam. He cleared his throat nervously before he contined.

"Yes, the potion compelled me to actually press my lips to yours. But, no, the potion hasn't been making me think on that every day since."

"And Poppy?" she asked curtly, drawing in a sharp breath as she straightened in her chair.

Now, that's the Minerva I know!

"Poppy probably wouldn't have kissed me, either, if she hadn't taken a large whiff of the same potion before you entered. As to whether or not she's given me a second thought since..." He shrugged. "I've no idea."

"So, are you saying ... What are you saying, exactly?"

"I'm saying, Minerva, that love potions only lower a person's inhibitions, making them do things they wouldn't normally do. They cannot, however, make people feel things they wouldn't normally feel."

"I see." She seemed disappointed all of a sudden.

I don't think I'm ever going to understand women! She tells me she's worried about my motivations, so I tell her I kissed her because I wanted to kiss her, instead of because some potion made me. And now she acts as if I've just told her she's a silly cow, and I don't want anything to do with her. I give up!

"So now you know," she added quietly.

"Know what?" Snape asked, frowning again.

She jumped from the chair and turned away. "Oh honestly, Severus!"

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about, Minerva. What do I know?"

"Poppy wasn't the only one ... in the hospital wing ... doing something she wouldn't normally do."

"What did you...?" Snape then remembered her erotic purr when she and Poppy were both trying to lift him off the floor. "Oh! You mean you wouldn't have talked to me like that otherwise?"

"Severus," she said softly, studying her feet and blushing furiously, "you just told me love potions only lower a person's inhibitions, that they cannot produce feelings where none exist."

"Minerva ... do you mean...?"

"Yes ... I've been in love with you for years." She looked up defiantly, as though daring him to laugh, although she seemed exceedingly relieved when he smiled.

"Why?" Snape asked, before he could help himself.

"All those years you spent spying against You-Know-Who," she said. "I was impressed. It was easy for the rest of us, fighting out in the open. What you did took all the bravery and twice the cunning. You may be a Slytherin, but the heart of a true Gryffindor beats in that chest."

Snape smirked, folding his arms over the chest in question. "You claim to love me, and then you insult me."

McGonagall rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm only teasing, Minerva. Thank you. That means a great deal to me. But ... why didn't you tell me before now?"

"Oh, that would be rich, wouldn't it? The deputy headmistress smitten with one of her subordinates. Sexual harassment charges, not to mention embarrassment, dismissal in disgrace—"

"Minerva," Snape said softly, approaching and placing his hand on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. "You seem to be assuming a great deal."

"What do you mean?" she asked. She then pressed her lips together until they turned white from the force.

"Well, for one thing," Snape said, as gently as he could, "you've just told me your feelings, and I'm hardly running to inform the headmaster. For another, harassment implies unwanted affections."

Slowly, he brought his free hand up to her other shoulder. He then lowered both hands, caressing her upper arms softly. Her mouth slowly softened and opened, emitting a small gasp, as she closed her eyes.

"I can't say I've actively thought about you in the capacity of more than a friend before that kiss," Snape continued, still speaking gently and caressing her arms. "But the prospect is not an altogether unpleasant one."

"Please don't tease me any more, Severus."

Her gaze fell to the floor again. With gentle fingertips, Snape slowly lifted her chin until her eyes met his. He traced her jaw line and let his fingers wander to the back of her neck where her perpetually tight bun exposed some of his favourite features of a woman's neck: the gentle nape, the sensitive skin, the soft hairs, the line where hair stopped and skin began. Twirling a wisp of hair—the only lock not tightly tucked away by pins—Snape leant in and kissed her. He then curled his fingers around her neck and drew her to him.

"As you can see, Minerva, I have no intention of teasing you any more. Not about this."

Finally—finally—her arms snaked up his back and she returned his embrace.

"With regards to dismissal in disgrace..." Snape continued, tenderly stroking her back. "Well, I am offended you would deem me such a child. Were this relationship to prove too difficult for either of us to manage, I would not file any sort of retaliatory charges. I prefer to suffer my disappointments privately."

"Severus, I—" she began, pulling back to look him in the eye.

"Minerva, what have we to lose?" he asked quickly.

"Both our hearts," she said quietly.

"We can only hope."

Snape smiled and began to take down her bun.

THE END.