Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, the story is, but the characters are decidedly not.

A/N: I was in an insane mood when I came up with this. I was, however, NOT insane enough to believe JKR is really going to put these two together. The story will get more interesting in future chapters if anyone cares to keep reading, but I have a sneaking suspicion that nobody does. Oh well.

I'll be writing a lot over the next three weeks because I won't be distracted by e-mails from my two bestest friends, who have gone off to camp without me, owing to circumstances beyond my control. I'm on a feeling-sorry-for-myself kick right now (can you tell?) because I got braces a few days ago and they HURT.

Harry walked along the corridor, moodily kicking walls, statue pedestals, and once, Mrs. Norris. He didn't care that Filch would probably be standing in front of him bellowing in his face in a minute. All he was thinking about was the injustice that seemed to hit him head-on everywhere he turned these days.

Snape had given him another detention. Normally, Harry would hardly care – giving Harry detentions was Snape's favorite form of entertainment – but this time Snape had gone too far. He had assigned him to clean Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Well, actually, he had said, "You're to clean that miserable girls' lavatory on the first floor, the one inhabited by that wretched ghost."

But what mattered it how Snape had phrased the order? The point was that he had issued it. Mercifully, he had done so after the rest of the class had left the dungeon, but he had done it just the same.

Of course, thought Harry bitterly, it would be to him that Snape gave probably the most embarrassing detention he had ever assigned in his life. The only bit of consolation he could find was that there would probably be no live girls in the bathroom.

Severus Snape smiled grimly to himself. This might be the best punishment he had ever thought out. Potter had done nothing terrible enough to merit this, Snape admitted to himself. In fact, the only reason he was punishing Potter so maliciously was that Potter's father had made Snape's entire school career miserable, and Potter would just have to live with it.

At least, Potter would have to live with it if Dumbledore didn't interfere. The headmaster did not approve of using humiliation as a punishment, especially when all the offender had done was respond insolently to one of Snape's derisive remarks. But Snape was willing to sacrifice a few minutes of his life to a lecture from Dumbledore, in exchange for the chance to let a relative of James Potter know what it felt like to have someone make an utter fool of him. A teacher needed a bit of fun once in his life.

It would be tricky, though, to make the plan go exactly right.

That afternoon, Snape met Harry outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Potter, you're to clean the toilets, mirrors and sinks, and scrub every centimeter of graffiti off the walls and out of the cubicles," said Snape curtly. "Mr. Filch has left all the necessary cleaning supplies inside. No magic." With that, he opened the door and pointed Harry inside.

Holding the door ajar, Snape stealthily made sure that the boy had his back towards the door, pulled out his wand, pointed it at Harry, and muttered, "Stupefy." When he saw Harry hit the floor, he entered the bathroom, closed the door, pulled a small bottle form the pocket of his robes, and poured the contents into Harry's mouth. Then he put the bottle back into his pocket and walked out of the bathroom, pointing his wand back in before he closed the door and whispering, "Ennervate."

Harry woke up to find himself on the floor in Myrtle's bathroom.

What on earth was he doing on the floor? The last thing he remembered was Snape directing him into the bathroom ...

Snape.

The git had Stunned him. Why, Harry had no idea. Snape had much more effective ways of torturing him than knocking him out and then immediately waking him up again.

Perhaps, thought Harry, Snape had done something to him while he had been Stunned. He didn't feel any different, however, and it seemed best just to get on with his detention, rather than worry about the deeds of a sinister Potions teacher.

Remembering his instructions, he got up and picked up the rag and the bottle of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover that Filch had left on the floor among a pile of other equipment for cleaning a neglected lavatory. He then got to work scrubbing the long, grimy mirror that spanned one wall, with a row of dirty sinks below it.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice, which sounded not defensive but strangely coquettish, came from behind Harry. He turned to see a silvery, semi-transparent, chronically morose girl floating in midair. He had met her before, but only now was he struck by the beauty of her plump form, the ghostly shimmer of her skin, the eternal tragedy in her eyes behind her thick glasses.

Oh, no.

He was falling in love with Moaning Myrtle.

How could this have happened? He had never felt even the slightest regard for Myrtle, and now he was in love with her. Maybe ...

Of course.

That git.

Harry knew now why Snape had Stunned him. It had been to give him a Love Potion.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" said Myrtle in an injured tone. "I know I'm ugly; you don't really need to rub it in. But of course, nobody cares about my feelings. Everyone hates me. It was this way even while I was alive. Once Olive Hornby told me ..."

"Of course I don't hate you," said Harry hastily. Much as he adored Myrtle, he really didn't want to listen to one of her long stories about her old arch-enemy, Olive Hornby.

The potion was still seeping through his body. His feeling for Myrtle was growing ever stronger. He wanted to hear her whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and feel her icy silver tears, with which she was never exactly stingy, on his face. Even her being dead enchanted him: she belonged to another world even while she continued to exist in this one.

But he had to compose himself. He knew she secretly fancied him (sort of, a little), but she would never accept his heart if he wore it on his sleeve, at least not at first. He would have to limit himself to innocent flirtation at this stage of the game.

A/N #2: So, what did you think? I've never tried writing romance before, so be nice.