Phantasmagoria

By: ShinigamiForever

Warnings: Head's up, slash ahead. Oddity and some maybe cliché ideas.

Disclaimer: Not mine, ya hear?

A/N: This part was more forced out than anything. I really was stuck in a rut. But from now on, it should be smooth sailing. A word to the wise and to Snape fans: I don't know if he would really use a pointer, but this is a tribute to one of my favorite books, The Chocolate War. There is a teacher called Brother Leon who is the embodiment of Snape, and he uses a pointer. Lastly, Kudos so much to VanityFair for writing Love Under Will. I know the format of this chapter is largely based on the format of her part 2, but I loved it, and it is changed to an extent, so here goes.



Chapter 4: An Unpleasant Beginning To An Unpleasant Year



Severus Snape was predictably absent from the classroom when Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down at their seats. It was custom for Snape to burst in at a few moments after the students had all settled down. He would give a particularly nasty and unwelcome speech and then set them all to work on a potion. If he had a good summer, he would let them choose their partners. If he had a bad summer, he would choose partners.

Harry prayed he had a good summer. Ordinarily, he would have wished for all misfortune in the world on Snape, but if Snape was going to pair them up, he was most likely to pair them up with a member of the opposite house. And Harry was not, repeat NOT, in the mood to work with any Slytherin.

Especially after the events this morning.

2 minutes passed before Snape entered the classroom, shutting the door behind him. He stormed to the front of the class and then abruptly calmed down, whirling around to stare at his class. A few strands of loose black hair fell in his face as he regarded his students. Harry shrank into his seat, trying to avoid the black eyes watching him.

"How disappointing," Snape said in his usual icy sarcastic voice. "You all decided to come back." He picked up a pointer from his desk, one that no one had seen before, and slapped it hard across his palm. "Well. Nothing to be done about that except…" and he paused for a dramatic effect, but instead of continuing, he simply moved on.

"The beginning of another year. Another year of blundering," here he looked straight at Neville, who promptly turned beet red and slid almost all the way down in his chair, "another year of foolishness, another year of inflated egos, " Harry felt his face begin to burn, "and of course, another year of pointless attempts to teach you the beauty of potions. A pity," he murmured, slashing his palm with his pointer. "Another year gone to waste. But here you are and here I am."

Harry watched Snape pace lightly across the front of the classroom, head slightly bent. There was a sense of immediate torture in each footstep the Potions teacher took. He hoped his sixth sense was wrong.

"First things first," Snape said, again stopping suddenly and rounding on the class. "Seating arrangements."

A general sense of doom fell over the classroom as all the students groaned. Snape smiled in a grimace sort of way, and began to use his pointer to direct students.

"Mr. Longbottom, you may sit with Mr. Goyle. Mr. Weasley, you may sit with Mr. Crabbe. Ms. Granger, you may sit with Ms. Parkinson. And of course," here Snape cast a rather wicked glance at Harry, "Mr. Potter, you may sit with Mr. Malfoy. The rest of you-" he pointed sharply at the rest of the class," pair up with another member of the opposite house. And no objections."

Lavender immediately shut her mouth. Collective groans echoed across the room as the usual hustle bustle was replaced with hostile hissing, mostly of, "You move!" "No, you move!" However, two solitary figures remained glued to their seats, staring straight ahead in a state of shock.

Harry's only cohesive thought for 2 minutes was:

I would give anything to murder Snape.

***

Draco Malfoy loved potions. He loved the feeling of power they gave him, holding draughts that could induce living death, or poisons, or whatever. But, and here was the drawback: He wasn't fond of Snape.

Today more than ever, because he had just been through an eternity of teasing and mocking and catcalling. And because he had just had little to no sleep. And because it had just been a rotten beginning to the year.

Never mind the fact that he was once again paired with Potter, who was just as irritated and upset and ready to fly off the handle. And never mind the fact he actually found Potter quite charming when he was angry. And never mind the fact that he had been having those kinds of disturbing thoughts for way too long.

But, it was Snape, who looked as nice as a basilisk and about ready to spew 15 detentions at both of them and take of hundreds of points if one of them didn't start moving. And so, Draco, being oh so kind, decided to take the pains of picking up his stuff and moving to the newly vacated seat beside a very, very, homicidal Potter.

"I swear, Potter," he murmured, arranging his stuff on his desk, "if you so much as give anybody any impression that-"

"Don't worry, Malfoy, I won't risk your precious pride," came the caustic reply as Harry neatly turned his attention away from his companion. Draco gave an irate growl then did his best to ignore the boy beside him too.

Except it was harder than he expected. Harry had a way of bending over his notes that was distracting, because it gave attention to this delightful little curl on the nape of his neck. And he also had this habit of putting the end of his quill in his mouth, looking criminally sexy in an unassuming way. And he also had this little quirk on his lips when he was bored. Warm dark pink soft lips.

Bad bad Draco. And stop looking at his neck!

"Since you insist on wasting my time," Snape continued to lecture, " I will try and do something valuable with yours. Not that any of you will learn." He started to walk around the front of the room again, pointer slapping against his palm.

"The Deductem potion is one of the most difficult potions ever know to wizardkind. That is not to say that there is no one capable of doing it; however, out of this class of 20, partnered up into teams of 10, I predict only one of you will succeed in making it. That is a 10% chance of success, you realize."

There was a pregnant pause in which Seamus muttered, "At least it's greater than the chances of Snape being laid."

"35 points from Gryffindor for talking without permission, Mr. Finnigan," Snape said, a snarl edging his voice. "And be glad it isn't more." Seamus did a mock salute which did nothing to ease the tension. The usual annoyance of starting a new year had escalated into flat out hostility this morning. Snape was playing with a loaded gun.

"Now, the Deductem potion has simply one use: to hide yourself from your friends and to expose yourself to your enemies." A number of outbursts fired across the classroom, the loudest one coming from Blaise Zabini, who had stationed himself next to Seamus.

"That's insane, Professor," Blaise drawled in his lazy voice, taking dominance from the peanut gallery. "Who would want such a thing?"

"Ah, indeed," Snape continued, narrowing his eyes at Blaise and whirling his pointer around. "That is an excellent question. Who indeed would want such a thing?" Hermione's hand went up in the air immediately, and as custom, Snape ignored it. He instead rounded on Harry, the pointer flashing out to point at him. Draco jumped at the sound the metal made zipping through the air. "Potter. Do you know?"

Draco was sure the boy did not know, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a daze. But the familiar voice answered, "When a person decides to turn traitor, Professor. It helps not to let his friends see." Obsidian eyes met accusing emerald, and it dawned on Draco that Potter still thought Snape was somehow still playing Judas. Which was understandable. So the reply had been a barb?

"Well answered," Snape said, disappointed. But his eyes never left Harry's as he pulled in his hand with the pointer.

The rest of the day was spent dutifully taking down notes.

***

If Draco was not an observant little boy, he probably wouldn't have caught the slight shifting of emotions that he had been experiencing lately. It had happened over the summer too, when he had found himself inexplicably thinking about Potter. Not in ways like, say, "Potter is an idiot," or "Potter is a suck up," or "Potter makes my life miserable," but in ways like, "Potter has petrifying eyes," or "Potter's hands are indeed feminine" or "Potter would look great in dark green."

Of course, he tried his hardest to push these unacceptable thoughts into the back of his head. If they had no food, they would starve. So, if he didn't think about it, it would go away.

He was going to kick whoever said that. It didn't work.

The recent turn of events, the detention incident and all, didn't help either.

And although ever single time someone asked him about it, he blew up in their face about the utter impossibility of it all, he couldn't helping thinking that he wished it were true.

Why was he so suddenly head over heels about the idiot Boy Who Lived?

Hell if he knew.

But he was very, very, determined to find out. After all, Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. Always.





A/N: Uh. Um. Eh. Well. Please don't eat me alive? I know the conversation with Dumbledore and McGonagall got pushed out. It'll be in the next part, I promise.

Summary for next chapter:

Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little talk. Harry and Draco discover that food fights are not only messy, but have consequences. The trophies need polishing. Guess who are the lucky two.