Stage 1: Butterflies

Also known as "happy anxiety," the stage where you get that fluttery feeling in your stomach and you think obsessively about the other's impression of you, because you want to win them over. 'Lust overload' is also common to this phase.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Harry Potter was going to succeed in Potions if it was the last thing he did.

As he sat alone in the common room one night flipping through his potions book, he knew he would give anything to be able to say he brewed a potion correctly and impressed Severus Snape in the process. He wanted his praise; he wanted to show his Potions Master that he could do something that, up until this point, it seemed he couldn't.

Of course, it wasn't just for Harry's benefit. Having Snape acknowledge the Gryffindor's success in front of the class would serve another important purpose: it would break the illusion that Snape had put up around himself, because that's exactly what it was. He acted coldly towards his students, but Harry knew there something underneath, and he wanted to bring it out. It wasn't anything wrong with the man's heart – surely it was his attitude, his perspective on things that was skewed. It acted as a smudge on an otherwise beautiful picture. On Snape.

Where had Harry's feelings for him begun? He honestly didn't know. He didn't know when his icy voice first sent shivers up his spine, or when his relentless insults in class first stabbed him in the heart, when he first cared what he thought of him. And, most of all, he didn't know when he first dreamt about him at night – about him kissing him, holding him, murmuring declarations of love in his ear…

He just couldn't say. But when Harry finally found the page that talked all about Calming Draught, he stopped flipping. Perfect: this was the potion Snape had told them to study up on for homework. For once when he went to Potions, he would be prepared; yes, he was very much looking forward to it. To see those eyes filled with praise for once instead of hate, just once – it would be worth his efforts.

So he sat there on the couch for a long time, studying the potion, its ingredients, smell, hue, and everything else there was to know until he felt he knew it like the back of his hand, so there would be no way he didn't brew it right, as they undoubtedly would have to tomorrow.

Afterwards, Harry shut the book and went up to bed with a hopeful smile on his face.

Of course, when the next day came Harry knew he couldn't be too prepared. He studied throughout every class he had before Potions. He even had his nose in the book as he was walking the halls between classes, only bumping into a few people in the process.

When the bell rang after Transfiguration – his last class before Potions – he hurried over. He was nearly late. Luckily, he got there just as Snape opened the door to let everyone in.

After everyone was settled, the professor stood behind his desk, looking out inscrutably as ever over the group of students he had to teach.

"You will be brewing Calming Draught today. However, I don't want to see any books out. If you all studied the potion for homework like you were supposed to, you shouldn't need them. I will put a list of ingredients and their measurements on the board, but the rest is to be drawn from your memory. As such, I don't expect that many of you will appreciate the challenge… use it as an opportunity to test your limits… but try." Snape turned to the board and with a wave of his wand the ingredients and measurements appeared on it. He faced the students again. "Get to work."

Harry pushed aside the notebook he used to draw magical doodles in whenever Snape was giving a lecture. He hadn't done that in quite some time – why would he when everything he said was so interesting?

Harry got up to get the ingredients he needed and went back to his cauldron, fresh determination coursing through his veins. He sorted out the ingredients on the table, very carefully.

It wasn't long before Harry looked up and observed some students going to Snape's desk to ask him questions, or to admit they hadn't studied like they were supposed to. He figured that was the reason that Snape started walking around the room, observing everyone's work. Even Hermione who was next to him seemed to be having some trouble but Harry wasn't going to be one of them. Not this time.

He added ingredient after ingredient, measuring them out warily, putting them in in exactly the right order. He crushed up the mixture until it was exactly as it should be: a creamy paste. He stirred carefully, precisely… only until it was thoroughly mixed…

There. It was complete and time to leave it to brew. Any moment now, he would find out that he made it correctly.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. After a few minutes – but what seemed like hours – he opened them again and looked down, expecting to see a beautifully brewed potion. But as Harry looked down into the swirling concoction, it suddenly stilled completely and turned a muddy brown color.

Merlin, no. What did I do wrong?

Harry's hands were trembling and he was in a state of disbelief. But whatever it was, it was too late to fix it – and now Snape was at his spot, looking at him with a face that depicted scorn and mockery. The professor vanished his potion and bent down to speak in his ear.

"Potter, if you didn't study, just admit it. It's not like I would be surprised based on your history."

Harry glanced up into charcoal eyes. "But I did, Sir, I swear…"

As the professor pulled back and smirked at him, Harry felt an all-too-familiar sensation in his heart. It happened every time he was near Snape. Butterflies in his stomach; his pulse racing; his breath silently catching and faltering. And truthfully, his pants weren't getting any looser under his intense black gaze – he just wanted to reach out, grip his robes, pull him close and kiss every square inch of bare skin available to him.

It was pathetic. Harry knew it was – feeling this way for the person who had just mocked him. But he couldn't help it.

Snape just moved on to the next student without another word, leaving a helplessly love-struck Harry behind. The boy couldn't stop blinking for some reason. It seemed to be the only way to keep his mind semi-clear.

It wasn't until class ended that it sunk in that Harry had failed; that he hadn't broken Snape's hateful mask. He cursed under his breath as he made his way out the door.

Snape's eyes followed the boy as he left. Once everyone had filed out of the room, he shut the door with a wave of his wand. He too had an odd feeling in his chest. It ached in a sweet way, and he couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew he'd felt it before.

"That boy is going to be the death of me," Snape muttered into the empty classroom.

Hi all, the idea just came to me, just a little story to keep you all entertained until 'Something's Missing' gets posted. I'm really struggling with the first chapter of SM, because I'm trying really hard to make it my best story so far, because I'm trying to improve. By the way, I promise the second chapter of this story is more interesting, but I always struggle with beginnings...but hey, it's better to take the plot slow than too fast I guess.

It's been found that only about 1% of people review... please don't be part of the 99% that don't, and drop me a comment :) Even if it's to say it sucks.