Title: 30 Awkward Situations

Author: stupidmuse_hatesme

Prompt: 31 drabbles for the month of May. Any fandom allowed, one chapter per day (no posting ahead!), gayness required :) 100-1000 words per drabble.

Drabble #29: Methodical Stupidity

Summary: Harry has no idea how he always gets himself into these sorts of things...

Warnings: Absolutely none. Well, yeah. maybe cursing. And possibly sexual type activities. Who knows :D

Rating: For now? PG-13 for cursing.

Length: 1237

AUTHORS NOTE: I'm soooooo sorry! AirKnitter tried to convince me to finish this by my birthday in August...but it didn't happen. Total writers block. Read through this today, and there were a few plot devices that I now have no idea what I was trying to do with them...So this is my attempt to a. move the fic forward and b. disperse of a couple of them. Sorry the cleaning house thing isn't more interesting or..complete(or included). But I had a bit of a word-count limit that I already went over... LOL


Harry Potter isn't sure what's worse—Snape ignoring him, Snape watching him, or Snape acting as though there is absolutely nothing going on.

If Harry has to lay in bed one more night without any sleep, he thinks he's going to go kill someone.

He rolls over with a groan, pulling his pillow with him and hamming it over his head. "Three more days..." he mumbles."You can do it, Potter you nancy."

A vine slithers around his wrist and squeezes gently until the tension in Harry's shoulders loosen and he lets go of the pillow. It releases and slithers back, but the leaves tickle the inside of his wrist and he laughs reflexively.

"Hey!" He rolls over and tucks his hand against his chest. "That tickles!"

In response, the plant shoots out several tendrils that pin his wrists to the bed and run leaves up and down his sides.

"Nooooo!" he howls, laughing uncontrollably. "Stop it, stop it!"

He rolls as best he can while pinned and laughs, wriggling and twisting his sheets all over the place.

He's growing breathless from his shrieks but the plant doesn't abate, when suddenly the door slams open with a rush of air from the hall.

Like the Devil himself, Snape stands ominously in the door, wand extended and a mighty scowl on his face.

"Plant!" Harry cries out, fingers scrabbling at the vines. They release and he scrambles for the foot of the bed. The door is still rebounding and Snape is still opening his mouth to cast a spell at the plant when Harry launches himself at the dour man.

He hits him in the gut with his shoulder and wraps his arms around him to take him down. Twisting desperately he lands underneath Snape in the dustless hall they had scrubbed the day before with a breath threatening 'whump'. His vision goes black for a moment at the impact and he coughs at the combined trauma of having the breath knocked out of him and having a full grown man land on top of him. He hears Snape's wand clatter to a halt nearby, but focuses on breathing.

That's when he realizes that the professor is no longer on top of him.

His eyes fly open.

At first all he can see are intense, onyx eyes. They glitter in the sparse light of the upstairs hall, and Harry knows the man well enough to take a stab at what he can see in them.

Panic. Fear. Anxiety. Interest. Desire.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry swallows. "Uhm, hello professor."

"How odd," the man breathes softly, "That you are at your politest when in…extreme situations."

Harry closes his eyes. "I'm sorry professor. I didn't mean to barrel you over."

"Yes you did, Potter. Don't lie."

Harry wonders why he's murmuring and the professor is whispering so huskily. But he doesn't have to wonder at his reactions. He knows what this man does to him and silently curses the fact that all he's got on are his boxers. The hall is empty. The only portrait is downstairs. Kreacher is asleep.

They are all alone.

Harry closes his eyes, shuddering at the warm breathe puffing across his face.

"Now, Mister Potter, you will inform me as to why I was forced to leave bed by your shrieking at such an ungodly hour."

"May I stand, first, professor?"

In a mere moment, Snape is on his feet and facing away from Harry. He blinks at the sudden change, then blinks again at the view of Snape's arse in his pinstriped pajama pants.

What a shame he's wearing a shirt.

With a shake of his head he comes to himself and shoves himself to his feet, padding for his door. Picturing Hogwart's Headmaster with Professor McGonnagal does wonders for his erection and even his full body flush is receding by the time he reaches his bed.

"Professor?" He turns to beckon him from the hall, but he is instead standing extremely close to him. He falls backward onto his bed with a startled laugh and only barely keeps himself from falling onto his back. Snape only raises an eyebrow, which makes Harry feel very foolish indeed.

"My plant."

"Pardon me, Potter?"

Harry looks to said Plant and speaks again, "My plant. It decided to…tickle me."

He waits for the disbelieving reaction, or the laughter, but it doesn't come so he looks back at Snape who seems to be peering at the plant most intently.

"Curious…"

He steps around Harry and the bed and closer to the plant swaying hypnotically in its pot on its wheeled platform.

"Stop it!" Harry hisses lowly at the plant, and it stops swaying.

Snape blinks, then whirls on the young man. "Potter!"

Harry covers his eyes wearily and sighs. "It figures you would be the only one to see it, Professor."

He reaches for his plant and it winds a gentle tendril around his hand, gently caressing his palm. "This is Plant, Professor. I got him as a gift for Christmas."

The time the interest in Snape's eyes is tempered by wariness, but he crouches alongside the bed nonetheless and inspects the plant.

"No one else can see that it moves," Harry says, hoping that the Professor will have something insightful bouncing around in his head about his unique situation. "It likes to eat clothes."

Snape reaches tentatively for the plant and Harry finds himself holding his breath. It's a moment before he realizes the silence means Snape is too.

The plant croons, and something flares in the other man's eyes.

Well. That's interesting.

"Any idea who it's from?" Snape speaks lowly, as though not to frighten the plant.

Harry lifts his plant encrusted arm clear above his head and swings his legs around the mattress to face the plant and the Professor.

"Not a clue. It's not from Neville. Although I wouldn't put it past Luna, or something like that."

Snape's face darkens and the plant pauses in caressing Harry's skin.

"Haven't you thought it might be cursed?"

"Well, to be honest, at first I thought I was. I mean, everyone thinks I'm barmy for thinking the plant is alive. But, you see it too, so I can rule this out."

"Are you telling me," he growls as he unconsciously caresses a trembling leaf, "That you have been operating under the assumption that you might be magically confunded or crazy for nigh on 4 months?"

Harry grins, "Well, my gut usually doesn't let me down, and I thought I'd reach a conclusion eventually!"

"You idiot!"

Snape stands, managing to appear menacing and bat-like although he's out of his robes.

"Do you really think so, Professor?"

The silence, and the magic whirling in the air is stifling. Snape's dark aura engulfs him to the point of making him feel mired down. His sparks throughout the room he has made his own and attempts to meld with the menacing man glaring down at him.

"Do you believe that I am an idiot, Professor?" Harry asks again, quietly.

But between one breath and the next, the man has strode out of the room closing the door behind him so Harry has to sit and watch his magic stream away through the cracks.

"Well," his hand shakes as he pets his plant and he tells himself that his voice doesn't waver nor do tears rise to his eyes. "I guess you do."