Chapter 2: The Effects

Severus Snape was not an idiot. Of course he realized that he was subject to a prank potion -- It's not like he had developed an infatuation on foolish Gryffindors overnight. Preposterous! It was a Weasley product, no doubt. Clever, lucky student, he thought with disdain, to pour a drop of the brew the day Albus fed him decaffeinated coffee (not once did he consider the possibility of Albus being in on the joke because, surely, the man was above such petty, and pointless shenanigans. Albus would never trick him.). Yes, the student was clever, he had to admit. It had been years since any type of practical joke went unnoticed under Snape's paranoid gaze.

Unfortunately, the pupil's efforts were futile, for Snape had left the Great Hall, and the only person to witness his outburst was a sobbing Hufflepuff.

Pffft. The person obviously was not clever enough. Snape had come out the victor in the situation. He shivered, as if shaking out the last remnants of his episode, and walked toward his classroom, an air of confidence with each step.

He underestimated the effects of the elixir. Damn it.

His first class consisted of bitten, bleeding lips, a rosy pink color permanently suffused on his cheeks, body twitches, and confused glances between his third-year Slytherins.

Not to mention the frequent outbursts of "Foo-" "F--DAMN IT ALL," and "Foolish--Merlin's SAGGY BALLS!"

It was most inconvenient, to say the least.

Snape stormed out of the dungeons as soon as his first class finished. He headed toward Dumbledore's office and when he entered, he dramatically slammed the door. Fawkes squawked a greeting, but Snape just glared at the phoenix as he approached the Headmaster.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, looking up from his copy of The Daily Prophet on top of his long, mahogany desk. He reached for a small silver tray and handed it to Severus. "Lemon drop?"

The man continued to seethe, his left eye twitching uncontrollably. "I've been poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dumbledore questioned incredulously, blue eyes scintillating with amusement.

Snape placed his fists on the desk, his anger boiling within him, or perhaps it was just another verbal outbreak. "Did I s--F-- stutter? Yes, poisoned, Albus. By one of those appalling Weasley products. I suspect the ruffian slipped it into my drink that was conveniently missing caffeine, and therefore, I was unable to detect any foreign flavor. No thanks to you," he growled. "I expect the culprit to be caught by the afternoon and on the Hogwarts Express by dusk."

To his aggravation, Dumbledore just leaned back on his chair and stroked his silver beard, as if pondering the man's predicament -- Or, perhaps, he wasn't listening at all.

Snape pounded a fist on the table. "Albus, are you comprehending the gravity of the situation? I've been poisoned."

At this, Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I believe the word ispranked, not poisoned. Not to fret, my boy." He popped a lemon drop into his mouth, and continued before Snape could reply. "I haven't the slightest clue who would want to pull such a trick on you, Severus. You're a very likeable man."

Fawkes chirped.

"Just curious, Severus, but what are the side-effects of this potion?"

Snape was becoming rather irritated.

"Does that matter?" Then, as if on cue, he exploded. "FOOLISH GRYFFINDOR!!" He leaned against the desk, as if the insult was painful to say.

Dumbledore smiled. "Ah, yes, I thought so. I was wondering why you scared little Gregory Walters. Poor boy burst into my office in the morning crying his eyes out," he finished, shaking his head in concern.

Snape crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I must insist we contact the Weasley twins immediately. A remedy would be -- FOO-- appreciated at the moment."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, in that goddamned manner, indicating that he knew more than he was saying, but that could hardly be true, because again, Dumbledore most surely, would not be involved in this. "I'm sorry, Severus, but Fred and George Weasley are on vacation at the moment, and won't return to their shop for another three weeks."

Snape was shooting daggers with his eyes.

"Three weeks?" His voice was as cold as steel. "F--" He took a deep breath, resisting the unwanted urge bubbling inside him. "What am I to do for three goddamnweeks?" His eye twitched.

"Can't you create a remedy?"

A moment of silence followed. Snape was tapping his foot impatiently on the ground. "As much as I loathe to admit it, you know as much as I do, that those redheaded hooligans might possibly be the most clever people we know. FOO -- (a deep breath, and he continued,) By the time I think of a possible counter potion, they would be back, and my time will have been wasted."

Dumbledore nodded. "Bit of a pickle, isn't it?"

Snape couldn't have agreed more.

Seven hours had passed since he'd last seen his professor, and now Harry was about dying to see the effect of the brew. He had first witnessed the potion in action when Rufus Scrimgeour had made an important speech on a visit to Hogwarts during his campaign. He was rambling about the importance of education -- Harry wasn't really paying attention -- when suddenly, his mouth was agape, and he was stuttering like mad. The minister looked around, as if seeking help, but he continued muttering nonsense, until two aurors had to push him off of the stand, and escort him out of the premises.

The Daily Prophet had a field day due to Scrimgeour's fumble, and Harry applauded the twins for their wit.

It was why he requested the brew after all. Everyone knew that Snape's ultimate weapon and best feature was his voice. To have him stammer like an idiot would be priceless, and the perfect retribution for the malicious and unfair punishments he wreaked upon every student's (save for the Slytherins) heads.

Harry quickly walked into the murky classroom to gain a seat in the back next to Ron. Of course, he would have much preferred to have a spot in the front, but Harry blushed every time he met eyes with the Potions master. Besides, Harry needed to concentrate. His grade had been slipping, what with the little regard he gave to the class.

Harry settled himself into the seat, and a moment after, Snape slammed the door open and stomped to the front of the room. He looked rather disheveled, and angrier than usual. Harry wondered what had happened that day to upset the man so much.

Oh. Yeah.

Snape flicked his wand, and instructions appeared on the front board. He gritted his teeth as he spoke. "You will work quietly through the class period. Label your potions and place them on my desk when you are finished. I am not feeling tolerant today, so I expect that no miscalculations will occur." He eyed the Gryffindor side of the room as he said this.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin students rose from their seats to retrieve the necessary ingredients. Everyone, to Harry's surprise, was working diligently, and nothing peculiar had happened for the first hour.

Ten minutes before dismissal, Harry heard Snape clear his throat. He turned his head to watch him.

Snape was fidgeting as he was grading essays. Snape never fidgeted. Harry brought his full attention to his professor. The man was now tapping his hand on the desk, despite the cool composure on his face. He cleared his throat again, and Harry could swear he saw his face twitch.

"Fo..." he whispered. Harry noticed a student or two look up, but they ignored their teacher.

When Snape finally looked up, coughing this time, he loosened the collar around his neck. He was biting his lip roughly, and gripping his long quill tightly. Harry was puzzled.

His potion made a burping noise, announcing that it was done and ready to be bottled. He did so, and, with a slight reluctance, trudged up to Snape's desk to place the work in front of him. At such close proximity, Harry could fully view his affection's nervous habits. His face was colored with a pink tint, and he was sweating profusely. Snape's hands twitched as Harry approached, and they locked eyes for a brief second. Harry blushed, mumbled incoherent words that vaguely sounded like "I'm finished, sir," and turned around.

"Potter."

His heart skipped a beat.

"Yes, professor?"

"FOO-" He tilted his head, his left eye twitching furiously. "F-... Hand me that..." He took a deep breath. "The calming draught on that shelf. Fo--... Now."

Harry complied and grabbed the sleek bottle. He was approaching Snape's desk again, when he felt the hex hit him (damn Draco Malfoy, damn!) and he ended up tripping on his own foot. He cried out as he landed on the cold stone floor.

"FOOLISH GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry picked himself up, and forced himself to meet Snape's gaze, though what he found waiting for him was absolutely shocking. The man had a look on his face that could only be described as shock, relief, terror, and agony.

"TEN P-...FOOLISH GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry looked at him quizzically. Didn't he just say that?

Snape was now standing up, though his left hand was tightly clinging onto the edge of the desk, and his right hand was held snugly into his side, as if he were suffering the world's worst bowel movement. "TEN POINTS FR -- FOOLISH GRYF -- MERLIN'S SAGGY BALLS."

Harry snorted, then realized that he in fact, snorted at Severus Snape, and resumed back to his stance of utter fear. However, he was not scared. Not at all. He doubted anyone in the classroom was feeling the tension, because Snape was suffering... through an ailment of some sort.

And it was hilarious as fuck.

Snape was now bending down in physical pain. His face was red now, and Harry almost felt a little sorry for the man -- Almost.

The man looked frantically around the room, twisted derangement flickering in his black eyes. He pointed a finger at the class, as he was still struggling to breathe and stand. He wheezed and coughed. "Class dismi -- FOOL -- dismissed! GO, NOW."

Everyone at once retreated into the safety of the hall, but not without snickering. Harry was still observing the man, who was drenched in sweat. "Professor, are yo --"

"NOW!"

"But you seem to be--"

"FOOLISH GRYFFINDOR!!" Snape winced and huddled into the desk. "Detention, Mister Potter! This Friday, NOW GO!!"

"But--"

"GO!!"

Harry didn't have to be told twice.

"Did you see his face?" Ron cackled and toppled onto the couch in the Gryffindor common room. His girlfriend sat next to him and rolled her eyes, but the mirth in her tone of voice was overwhelming. "Honestly, Ronald," Hermione said. "It wasn't that funny."

"Oh, yes it was! The greasy git has Tourette's! Who knew?" He laughed again. Surrounding Gryffindors were eavesdropping on their conversation and joined in on the bullying of Severus Snape.

Harry was sitting on a red lounge chair, smirking in satisfaction. His little scheme was a success, so much so, that were it not for the fact that Snape would wring his neck if he revealed himself as the culprit, he would be basking in glory, and possibly have a statue made in dedication to him.

Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived to Prank Snape.

Hermione interrupted his fantasy. "It's obvious that he doesn't have a speech impediment. It looks like the effect of a potion." She dropped her voice so that only Ron and Harry would hear. "A bit like that brew your brothers fed Scrimgeour."

Ron's eyes widened. "You think Fred and George did this?" He contemplated the theory for a moment. He leaned back onto the couch and raised his arms behind his head. "Well, whoever it is, he's a hero—Ow!" Ron yelled as Hermione jabbed him on his side. Her brows were furrowed in frustration. "He or she," she corrected.

"Oh, come on! I doubt a girl had the balls to—"

Hermione was sending a death glare that silenced the redhead. He knew better than to cross the path of an irate woman. He dropped the subject and turned back to Harry. "Uh, anyway, it's too bad the greasy git gave you detention. Hey, Harry, what're you smilin' at?"

"Oh," Harry said, flushing a bit, though the dim lights in the room made it difficult to distinguish the pink. "Just remembering Potions class."

Ron smiled. "A hero, I tell ya! I'm gonna owl Fred and George later on this week to see if they know anything about it."

Hermione stood from the couch, and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, I'm going to start my Arithmancy homework. I suggest you two start your work, as well. Just because we're leaving in four and a half weeks doesn't mean we can slack off."

Ron snorted. "C'mon, 'Mione," he started, and they soon entered into a heated argument, but as always, Harry paid no mind to them. He was already thinking of the different ways he would seduce Snape the following Friday…

Oh, it'd be perfect.

Author's Note: I just wanted to thank the people who reviewed and added this story on their alerts. I'm so flattered, especially because I'm a new writer, this being my first Snarry fic, and third fanfic work overall. I'm having a ton of fun writing this. Just a suggestion: It's much more fun to read aloud. ;)