Comments:

Wow!

That's all I've got to say. I was staring at my statistics and I was absolutely amazed. Nothing had prepared me for this! Thank you so much for all your reviews and support. You are incredible!

In response, here is chapter two.

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The Spells We Know

by Galae

Chapter 2: Lovely Knowledge

Ron said later that he heard a yell, and then a muffled thump.

"Are you alright?" he gasped.

"Oh, yeah," said Harry, struggling to get up. "Fine. Just dandy."

"What happened? Did anything happen? Wha—"

After Ron helped him up, he saw what Harry was looking at.

"The teacher's section? Are you trying to find—oh my God. Oh my God. This isn't good."

Harry leaned forward to catch him if he fell.

"But it can't be, can it? The spell must have been flawed." Ron was looking at his best friend wildly, as if asking him to deny the allegations vehemently.

"It could be, but seeing how it was Dumbledore who set it, it wasn't. And besides, you got Hermione," Harry pointed out, oblivious to the fact that Ron was looking thoroughly embarrassed.

"It couldn't be true though . . . could it?"

"He's an utter git," Harry said shortly. "If I'm harboring any deep desires for . . . him, you'd be the first to know. Personally, I just think that the spell failed on me. I dunno, maybe the cauldron knows I'm nuts . . ."

Unfortunately for Harry, Hermione was more doubtful about the malfunction of the spell. She treated it like a research project, pointing out all the evidence that showed it was a good spell. The only evidence she didn't gather was Ron's initials, as Harry was under strict orders not to tell.

"But you don't think it's true," Harry insisted. "I can't be in love with Snape!"

After two days, he had mustered up the courage to ditch "him" and actually start using his name.

"This is what's called a quandary," said Hermione, sighing as she put away Greatest Love Spells of the Century. "I don't think you're . . . interested in him. But I don't think that Dumbledore's spell failed, either."

"Given the chance, which one would you put your money on?" Harry demanded.

Hermione blushed. Not a good sign.

"No," said Harry. "You won't."

"I'm sorry. It's just that. It's Dumbledore. If it was anybody else . . . The thing is, Harry, evidence points to the fact that you have more of a chance of being . . . whatever with Snape than Dumbledore failing a simple love spell."

Harry slumped in his chair. He liked Snape. Was it true? Or was this just all a hoax? Is anything going to make sense again?

Hermione peered at him. "You're not going to—I mean—you wouldn't confront him—would you?"

"No!" Harry cried, aghast. "Are you crazy? 'Excuse me, Professor Snape, but I think I want to shag you.' He'd send me on a one-way trip to St. Mungo's! I think I'd send me to St. Mungo's!"

"So what are you going to do?"

"So what am I going to do?" Harry finished, looking at Draco.

"Wait a minute, let me finish this sentence."

Harry resisted the urge to clobber him on the head. "Draco! I'm in the middle of one of the biggest crises of my life, and all you could do is finish your homework? If I need professional help, you need a psychologist with a doctorate!"

"I've heard of weirder stuff than this." Draco said, penning the last word.

Harry didn't know whether or not to be comforted by that.

"So?"

"You're in love with my Head of House? What can I say about that?"

"I'm not in love with him! He's a greasy bastard!"

"Hey! Don't get me started on McGonagall!" Draco protested.

"If you told me you were in love with her, I would have paid more attention than you are," Harry said. He sighed. "Please."

Draco rolled up his parchment. "Harry," he said, "I know you're dying for me to tell you that you don't like him. I know that you're shocked and disbelieving. But the thing is, I . . . I don't find that so surprising."

"WHAT?" Okay. That boy had some serious explaining to do.

"I mean." Draco paused to mutter a spell. A glass of pumpkin juice appeared. "This might take a while," he explained. He sipped the juice slowly, put it down, and faced Harry. Harry had seen this somewhere. In the Muggle courtroom shows. It's a delaying tactic.

"I mean, with the war and everything, it seemed like you two haven't been at each other's throats that much. You've been working together." Draco stopped. "Very loosely speaking. And it seems like Severus haven't been that hard on your House, or you for that matter, since Voldemort was killed."

Harry nodded. He had noticed that Snape haven't been giving him many detentions. Well. Not that many. Lately, in fact, it seemed more like Snape doesn't even know he exist.

"I think the Hundred Days had changed both of you. I know that you two think more highly of each other than what you started out with. But, of course, you both would rather go to Azkaban than to admit it."

Right again. Damn him.

"And plus, you've been looking at each other. Not in a bad way, either."

"Oh no you don't. You stop right there, Draco Malfoy," said Harry, threateningly. "I do not look at Snape. He does not look at me. We do not look at each other, period. We hate each other."

Draco unfolded a new piece of parchment and dipped his quill into the inkwell.

"No. You're not doing your homework again."

"When you're done with the denial phase, tell me," Draco said placidly.

"It's not denial, it's truth!" Okay, that sounded lame, even to his own ears.

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know!" Harry really felt like smashing something. Funny, he usually isn't violent, contrary to many beliefs. He was just . . . frustrated. "I mean, how am I going to know for sure? I'm confused."

"There's one thing to do then," said Draco, perfectly calm. "Take over the booth next month. Get Severus's heart's desire. If he gets your initials, then, well, you work it out. If he doesn't, just get on with your life."

Leave it up to Draco to make things sound so simple. "Of course," Harry said dumbly, wondering how he survived the war with such a clueless brain. Maybe this is what Snape had been carping about all these years.

Ugh. Snape. He seriously did not want to think about him any more.

Scratch that. Harry was definitely thinking about Snape. So much that it made him blush at times. If Draco had been in his place, he would have had his composure and patience. Harry didn't have either.

For example, he was now doing even worse in Potions. All too often, he'd catch himself staring at his professor for minutes at a stretch, trying to figure it all out. Like, if he could possibly be attracted to him.

"Potter, is there a problem?" Snape wasn't even looking at him. He was busy making some complicated-looking potion that involved dried batwings.

Harry told himself not to stare at that stoic, impassive face. He forced his eyes back to his cauldron. "No, Professor," he said, trying his best to do the I-am-the-poor-prejudiced-victim voice. "Sorry."

"Ten points from Gryffindor the next time I find you inattentive to your lessons, Mr. Potter. Twenty points if you don't have your potion correct," Snape said crisply.

Harry looked at Draco. The other boy shrugged and smiled a little.

But after Hermione signaled to him the right ingredients and procedures, Harry had time to stare at Snape again, but this time just looking at his hands. That was when he realized that the man had beautiful hands. They were graceful—every move was a ballet. His skin was perfectly unmarred, very surprising considering what he did everyday. Lovely, long fingers picked up sprigs of ragweed and diced cricket legs. All of the sudden, Snape made Potions a very, very refined art.

That was when Snape stood up and swept over. A month Harry would have quaked. But now he tingled with . . . anticipation? Yes, the white, elegant hands were resting on his table, and then one hand lifted to retrieve a sample of his potion. The man was close. So close.

Okay. Breath in, breath out. You are not going to hyperventilate. Doesn't matter that the man is so close that you could feel the heat coming off of him. Doesn't matter that those hands are almost brushing against your arm. It's a small space. Perfectly acceptable. You are definitely not getting dirty thoughts about your professor.

"I see, Potter, that your cheating skills have become more refined over time. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Old habits die hard. Harry opened his mouth to protest. That was a bad decision. He was staring into a pair of dark, shrouded eyes that told nothing, and he forgot everything except to find out. Harry jerked his head away.

If Snape was surprised at his lack of retort, he didn't show it. But it seemed almost as if he paused for a moment before moving on.

Yes, Harry was definitely not having thoughts about Snape. Then why was he feeling . . . not disgusted at the thought of those long, talented fingers on his skin?

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