Obsessive Love

"And you're sure this will work?"

"Positive."

"Okay, it's just..." Ron trailed off, glancing down awkwardly. It wouldn't be the first time one of Fred and George's products had backfired; Ron had every right to be wary.

The twins sighed in unison.

"Ronald," Fred said firmly.

"Trust us," George encouraged.

"It's never failed yet."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief and turned the small vial over in the palm of his hand. The rose coloured liquid glimmered as it caught the light; at a glance, you'd assume it was nothing more than perfume.

"Of course," George piped up in a cheery manner, "it's never actually been tested before."

"What?" Ron very nearly dropped the vial in shock but recovered it quickly. Cheeks flushing red, he made sure to tighten his grip. "You've not tested it?" he hissed.

"Don't overreact, Ronald, it's—"

"Stop calling me Ronald!"

"Alright, Ronnie dearest—"

"George!"

"It's a prototype," Fred sighed. "We've completed several trial and error batches and we're certain—certain—that this batch is perfect."

Ron's eyes were wide. "But you've not actually tested it?" he demanded, his voice rather shrill.

"Well..., no, not exactly," George said with a shrug.

"What do you mean not exactly?" Ron asked, his eyes now narrowed. "You said it's never failed before!"

Fred and George shared a knowing look. "Well, yeah," Fred said, "technically, it's never failed before."

"Because we've never tested the final prototype," George finished.

"That's where you come in, little brother."

Ron shook his head in disbelief. No wonder his elder brothers had been so keen to help him out.

"We can assure you, it's perfectly safe," Fred insisted.

"How, exactly?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Just trust us, Ron—you'd be doing us a favour."

"And, if it does work—"

"Which it almost certainly does."

"—then it's not like you're not getting anything out of it, is it?"

Both of them raised their eyebrows until Ron looked away, his face now rather pink.

"It's just for a joke," Ron mumbled in defence. "It's not like it means anything... It's just a prank," he weakly insisted, though his tone was less than convincing.

"Right," Fred and George said in unison, both of them donning identical smirks.

"And our humourless little brother has decided to pull off a prank on Valentine's Day rather than April Fools because...?"

"It'd be too obvious," Ron mumbled, now sulky. The tips of his ears had gone an unmistakably bright pink. "It has to be today because—" He stopped abruptly, struggling to explain his reasoning.

"Because Hermione finding herself madly in love with you out of the blue can be perfectly explained by the romantic connotations of the day?" Fred suggested with an impish grin.

Ron gulped. "Yeah, exactly."

"And your reasoning for wanting to pull off this hilarious prank—"

"Which involves you slipping one of your best friends a mild love potion to convince her she's in love with you."

"—is because...?"

Ron struggled to swallow the lump in his throat. "It's—it's just a laugh."

"Ron," George said with a pointed look, "a laugh would be slipping Hermione a love potion so that she falls in love with Snape—"

"Or Dumbledore," Fred added gleefully.

"—but slipping her a love potion so that she falls in love with you—"

"On Valentine's Day."

"—is really very... How do I put this?"

"Sad?"

"And desperate."

"It's—it's not like that!" Ron spluttered, every inch of his face so red now that it clashed horribly with his hair. "It's a laugh," he repeated.

"Hilarious," George agreed.

"The ultimate prank," Fred chimed in.

Ron could no longer look either of them in the eye. "Look, I just thought it would be funny, considering how much Hermione pretends to hate me, if I slipped her a love potion and she—she, err, thinks that she's in love with me..."

"Right," the twins said in unison again.

"You're a right prankster, Ronnie dearest, you really are."

"I can already feel my sides splitting," George said drily.

"Just tell me what to do," Ron ordered sulkily, now scowling. "Is it just, like, one drop, or the whole vial, or...?"

"Depends how madly you want Miss Granger to fall in love with you," Fred said.

"One drop will have her merely swooning—the whole vial will have her practically throwing herself at you, confessing her undying love and devotion."

"Her—her undying love?" Ron repeated breathlessly.

"And devotion," George said wisely.

Ron felt his grip tighten around the vial of Fred and George's untested love potion.

"So how exactly do you plan on pulling this off, oh, wise and hilarious brother?" Fred inquired.

"Slip it in her pumpkin juice at breakfast?" George suggested.

"Cheeky glass of Butterbeer with her evening meal?"

"None of your business," Ron snapped.

"What if she has plans with Krum?"

Ron's eyes widened to that of a hurt, innocent child. "Krum?" he asked in a shaky breath.

"I don't know," Fred shrugged, "I thought they were seeing each other."

"Yeah, I mean, ever since the Yule Ball and everything."

Ron squeezed the vial so tightly he thought he might shatter it. "Then it'll be even funnier, won't it?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Sure."

Ron really wished they'd stop saying things in unison. And he really, really, wished they'd stop giving him that smug, knowing smirk.

"And you're sure this will work?"

"Couple of drops, and she's yours," George assured. "Just as surely as the Holyhead Harpies will finally break their losing streak in the Quidditch League."

"Or that Snape will be bitter and alone this Valentine's Day."

"Just make sure you're the first one she sees after she's taken the potion."

"Alright," Ron muttered to himself. In a certain light, and at a certain angle, he could almost see himself reflected in the glass of the vial—a grim, determined expression.

Fred and George smiled, now almost proudly.

"Ah, the effects of Obsessive Love," Fred sighed wistfully.

Ron looked up, his face paling. He could feel his lip begin to tremble. "What?"

"Obsessive Love," Fred repeated. "It's the name of our love potion."

"Oh."

He and his twin shared a final, knowing look. "Yeah," George said. "That's it."

"Hermione," Ron greeted as she walked into the Potions classroom the following morning.

She cradled a cluster of textbooks in her arms, and her hair was its usual wild and bushy volume. She was struggling with the weight of the textbooks, and it gave her face a gentle flush of colour.

Ron gulped.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said brightly.

Hermione looked surprised as she dumped the books on her desk and settled into the seat beside Ron. "What? Oh, right—Valentine's Day." She returned his smile. "You too."

Ron slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes, nervously rapping the knuckles of his other one on the desk.

"Ron, could you please stop that? It's quite annoying."

"Oh, right, sorry," he grunted. His other hand closed around the cool glass of the vial, safely contained in his pocket. He was just waiting for the perfect moment.

"Silence." Snape's piercing voice penetrated the room. The owner of the voice appeared, black cape flapping around him like a bat's wings. Black hair hanging limp and greasy, nose protruding and crooked, and those soulless, black eyes—Ron thought of nobody he'd rather less spend Valentine's Day with.

As Snape flicked his wrist, causing the door to slam shut with a thud, and turned his piercing gaze on the class full of bored students, it became apparent to Ron, and everybody else in the room, that Snape was in even less of an affable mood than usual.

Must be Valentine's Day, Ron decided. It's not like Snape has anybody to love. Or, even more depressing, somebody to love him.

"Wit-Sharpening Potion," Snape drawled. "You have one hour."

Hermione's hand shot up. Snape ignored her.

"You will be expected to test a sample of your potion. I've no doubt some of you will benefit from it…"

Ron could have sworn Snape looked at him.

"That is all."

"But, Professor," Hermione piped up.

"Five points from Gryffindor."

"That's not fair!" Ron protested. "She didn't do anything, she just—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor."

Ron fell silent and settled into a scowl.

"Anybody else?" Snape goaded. "Potter, perhaps?"

Harry, who was sat at the desk behind Ron and Hermione, remained silent. Nobody else spoke a word.

"Good," Snape said. "One hour."

The class burst into action, everybody trying to make as little noise as possible. Snape settled down behind his desk at the front of the classroom, observing them with cold eyes, and an even colder, tight-lipped grimace.

"Ignore him," Ron murmured to Hermione. "He's just bitter because it's Valentine's Day, and he knows nobody will ever love him."

"Don't say that, Ron," Hermione whispered back, busying herself in the reading of the textbook's instructions. "We don't know anything about Snape's personal life."

Ron looked alarmed. "And I'd like to keep it that way!"

"I didn't mean it like that—I just meant, don't assume he hasn't got anybody, or—or that he never had anybody. We don't know anything about him."

Ron had nothing to say in response. For the rest of the lesson, he and Hermione were absorbed in the making of their Wit-Sharpening Potion, making little conversation other than to ask the other to pass some sort of ingredient. Ron was doing all he could to force the idea of Snape having a personal life from his mind.

All the while, the small, rose-coloured potion in the vial gently sloshed around in his robe pocket.

"Finished," Hermione declared proudly.

"We need to test it." Ron's hands were shaking, and his mouth was dry.

"I'll get you a beaker, shall I?"

"M—me?" Ron stuttered, suddenly panicking. "No, I can't drink it!"

"Why?" Hermione asked in amusement. "Your wit's sharp enough, is it?"

"Why don't we both try it?" Ron suggested, ignoring her comment. "I mean, it looks safe enough, right?"

"Of course, it's safe—we followed the instructions perfectly."

"Okay," he gulped. "You, err, put the ingredients back, and I'll dish it out."

For a brief moment, Ron thought Hermione would argue with him—it did seem to be a favourite pastime of hers—but much to his relief, she agreed and departed with an armful of unused ingredients.

Ron worked as swiftly as he could, retrieving Fred and George's love potion from his pocket and pouring it into a pewter beaker. To his horror, it was a much lighter colour than the vivid purple of the potion he poured into his own beaker, with a completely different texture.

She'll notice, he panicked. Of course, she'll notice!

He racked his brain, trying to think of a spell that could transfigure the colour, but Hermione had returned before he could come up with anything. She picked up the beaker.

Ron froze.

"Cheers." Hermione smiled, raising the goblet to her lips.

"Ch—cheers," Ron gulped, reaching for his own beaker.

They chinked beakers. Hermione smiled and downed the potion before Ron could process what was happening.

"How do you feel?" he asked quietly, making sure she was looking directly at him.

Hermione swallowed. "It's thinner than I thought," she said thoughtfully. "And it… it almost tastes like strawberries?"

Ron's heart had never beaten so erratically. "Hermione," he began in a gentle voice.

"Time is up." Snape drew out every syllable in a torturously boring way.

Hermione looked at him sharply.

Ron's heart skipped a beat. "Hermione!" he gasped.

But it was too late.

Everything in Ron's body screamed in anguish as he noted the glassy look that overcame Hermione's eyes and the way her lips parted as she looked, in breathless awe, at Snape of all people. Oh, this was bad!

"Hermione," Ron hissed at her.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape drawled. He addressed the rest of the class. "Everybody else, submit your samples at the front of the classroom and get out."

Nobody hung around, Ron included. He was going to kill Fred and George. Granted, it was his fault, but still…

Severus Snape was alarmed to find a straggler left behind as the rabble of his Fourth Year Potions class disappeared. "Granger," he barked but fell short as he noticed the mystified way she appeared to be regarding him.

Tentatively, she approached his desk.

"What do you want?" Snape asked warily. "If this is about Weasley and his—"

"It's not about Ron," Hermione interrupted, walking slowly, but getting far too close for Snape's comfort. She was directly in front of him now, nothing but the desk to separate them—and that's where she stopped. "It's about you."

Snape was used to backchat from Potter's friends. His whole life he'd had nothing but backchat and cruel taunts from all Potters he'd encountered, and their accompanying posses. But this wasn't something he'd particularly encountered before. He couldn't quite be sure what it was just yet, but he was deeply wary and deeply suspicious.

"If you have a problem with the way I run my class then I suggest—"

"I don't have a problem," Hermione interrupted, sounding surprised. "I love the way you run your class."

Snape looked down his nose at her in confusion. "You"—he hesitated (he resented that word)—"love my class?"

Hermione nodded eagerly. "Severus—"

"Excuse me?" Snape spluttered, eyes wide.

"Professor," Hermione corrected, blushing ever so gently. "You're a great teacher; a great wizard; a great man."

Snape's look of bemusement hardened into a scowl. "If this is some kind of joke," he spat. "If I found out that Weasley and Potter put you up to this!"

"It's nothing like that," Hermione said quietly, now looking offended. Nobody could deny the sincerity in her eyes, least of all Severus Snape. "It's Valentine's Day," she went on, "and I—I just thought you should know that there's someone out there who appreciates you. Someone who respects you, and cares for you, and—"

"Miss Granger," Snape cut across Hermione, so startled by this turn of events that he considered the possibility that it was all, in fact, a dream. Though if he really was having fantasies of Hermione Granger confessing that she cared for him, then he thought some serious counselling might be in his best interests…

"I'm not sure who put you up to this—"

"Nobody put me up to this," Hermione insisted.

"—but this is wildly inappropriate, regardless of the"—he coughed awkwardly—"romantic connotations, that, err, such a day poses."

"Severus—"

"Granger!"

"Professor, I know what it feels like to be on the outside. I know what it feels like to be excluded—to feel like nobody cares for you, and that there must be something wrong with you or—"

"Miss Granger, if you are having self-esteem issues then I'm really not the person to be approaching for advice."

"It's not about me. It's about you."

"In that case, it is not, under any circumstances, appropriate for you to be addressing me in such a way."

"Have you ever been in love?"

Snape rose from his desk, slamming his hands down in a burst of sudden outrage. Hermione didn't flinch. "Are you trying to get me fired?" Snape hissed.

"Of course not, Sir," Hermione replied innocently. "I just wanted you to know how I feel."

"And how exactly is it that you feel?" Snape asked nastily, dreading the answer. This had never happened to Severus before. Never before, in his bitter, pitiful existence, had anybody had romantic feelings for him, much less been in love with him. And if Granger, and he feared that was the implication, had developed some sort of school girl crush on him…

Nothing had prepared him for this.

"I deeply care for you."

Every muscle in his body tensed. All the air seemed to have drained from the room.

"Don't be stupid," he snarled eventually. "I'm not in the mood for practical jokes, or mind games, or anything of the sort."

"It's not a joke," Hermione assured him. "Or a game. Getting you fired is the last thing I'd ever want. And I know nothing could ever happen between us because of our positions, and our ages, but I need you to know how I feel."

Snape shook his head, mortified to be in the situation he'd found himself in. Not a dream at all, but a nightmare. "Miss Granger, this is beyond inappropriate."

"I'm telling the truth."

"Even if that were true—"

"It is."

"—this is beyond me."

"I understand that, Sir. But you needn't fear the idea of love."

Snape wanted nothing more than to have the ground swallow him up. "It is not appropriate—" he began again, swiftly losing his composure.

But Hermione cut across him, still as sincere as before. And really, Snape thought with a gulp, it was very unlike Granger to be involved in such a ridiculous hoax.

"Open your heart, Severus."

"I did," he hissed, finally losing all control. "I did open my heart. I did fall in love, and I have lived my whole life with the crushing reality that I wasn't good enough for her. Shunned for a man who didn't deserve her, I didn't even come second—I didn't even come one hundred and second to her! Not only did I open my heart, I had it ripped from my chest, and stamped on until there was nothing left but a hollow longing." He steadied his breathing. "I opened my heart, I fell in love, and for what?"

"Severus—"

"Get out!"

"But I—"

"Get out of my classroom immediately, and when you do, Miss Granger, I suggest you find a way to overcome whatever this ridiculous affection is that you apparently have for me, and henceforth never address me unless it's as Professor Snape, or Sir, and with regards to the Hogwarts' Potions curriculum. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"Yes," Hermione said quietly.

Snape leant in across his desk so much that his crooked nose was almost touching her. He spoke in a low, threatening voice. "Mention this to anyone, and I shall put you in detention for the rest of the year."

As Hermione left without a single glance back, Snape settled down at his desk once more. A thousand memories played back.

He saw daisies, red hair, quills, and Gryffindor colours.

He felt nothing but overpowering, resentful, obsessive love. And in his chest, where a heart should have been beating at a wild pace, there was nothing but an empty, hollow longing.

Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 3—Round 10

Team: Holyhead Harpies
Position: Captain
Task: Write about a 'forbidden' relationship between a student and a teacher (Snape and Hermione)