"Harry? Harry!"

Harry looked over at Ron. "What is it?" he asked, and if he was more than a little irritable at his thoughts being interrupted, well, it couldn't be helped.

"I said, pass the Diricrawl! This is the third time I've asked you! What the hell is your problem?"

"Don't yell at Harry, Ron." Ginny intoned darkly. "He's in love with me, d'you expect him to pay attention to your foolish needs when I'm around?"

She flipped her hair ostentatiously. Hermione rolled her eyes. "None so blind." She said in an undertone to Harry. "I'm fairly certain that I'm the only one who's noticed that your lustful gaze has been fixed on a certain potions professor, but even they can't be that ignorant."

Harry gasped. "You know?"

"Of course I know. I'm the only one at this table who isn't secretly in love with you."

"That's because you're openly in love with me."

"Not the point! They all have to desperately hope you're thick enough not to notice while they're throwing themselves at you. I at least have some space in my brain to think about other thinks. By the way, will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

"No! I'm going with my dear, sweet Severus!" Harry cackled. "Besides, it's May!"

"Not the point! Have you even asked him yet?"

"No. But I'm sure he can't resist my feminine wiles."

"Is that so, Potter-poo?"

Harry and Hermione jumped literally a metre in the air when they heard Snape's voice coming from about Snape's height behind them. "I'm sure I get a say in this, do I not? Come. We will speak of this in private."

Harry stumbled after Snape out of the great hall, a dopey expression on his face. Hermione scowled, and hit Ron in the face with a large tome entitled 'The History of Socks'. He seemed slightly displeased, but it made her feel a bit better.

"What is it you wanted, my love?" Harry inquired, once Snape had secreted them in his love-nook behind a violently chartreuse suit of armour.

"I found myself experiencing vastly inappropriate emotions towards your person, my boy." Snape whispered sexily into Harry's ear. "And though I am usually a stoic professional, I find myself unable to resist acting upon said amour."

Harry gazed in wonderment at the beautiful charcoal curtains that hung across the face of his beloved, partially concealing the immaculate windows into his soul that were currently gazing into Harry's own. "I... buh... guh." Harry replied eloquently.

"I know, boy. There are no words to describe the heat of the passion that burns within us."

Harry reached up, and caressed Snape's irresistible visage with a single shaking fingertip. "And to think, all these years you had mistaken me for my father who caused you such distress and anguish. It is pleasant that you have managed to overcome such prejudices and realize that having my mother's eyes means that I am the last remnant of her and we are forever soulmates."

"Yes. That is pleasant." Snape moaned reverently.

"And I have come to admire your oily locks and sallow skin and I know they are the only combination of beauty that I could ever love and find myself drawn to. Your darkness is the only light of my woebegone, ginger-filled life. Even though you are the root cause for much of my pain, I find you may also be the sole cure."

"Perhaps, if I am your cure, then your love is my drug, my son. You are my brand of heroin, or shall I say, Harryoin."

"Dear, gentle Severus. About three things I am absolutely positive: First, you are a Death Eater. Second, there is a part of you - and I don't know how dominant that part might be – that is still in love with my dead mother. And third, I am unconditionally and irrevocably in love with you."

"Lily is nothing to me, Harry. I realize that it is only you who I have ever wanted. Only you. Always."

"But why do we remain here, my Prince? Why can we not retire to your chambers and find ourselves tangled in each other's tendrils of desire and share the depth of our respective rapture?"

"I admit, I have brought you here specifically because this gleaming, chartreuse suit of armour, or dare I say amour, is a wondrous metaphor for my everlasting commitment to you, my dear boy."

"Your talent crafting phrases rivals only that of your talent for crafting potions."

"And the only phrase I have left in my soul before I succumb to our ecstasy of your being is let us away, Harry, let us away."

Den henry n snap did IT (n bi IT i men secs.)

ENDDD!