The Tale of Two Enemies

Chapter 11

Snape stood before a rather ancient stone door, which appeared to be encrusted with a strange circular pattern. Droplets of seas spray splattered against the professor as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before pounding on the door with his knuckles.

"Who is it?" The strangled cry of what sounded like an old man rang out from the other side.

Snape opened his eyes as he prepared himself to face the creator of this heinous notebook.

The door was suddenly wrenched open and a man who looked to be about 200 years old peered out from behind it.

"Who are you?" An elderly man huffed, squinting his eyes as though trying to make out who stood before him.

"My name is Severus Snape and I'm a professor at Hogwarts."

"What does a Hogwarts professor want with me?" The man seemed genuinely confused as he appeared to contemplate whether to stand aside or continue to play guard dog in front of his door.

Snape sighed, even after the long journey here, he still wasn't exactly sure what to say to the man before him.

"I wish to speak with you about a certain notebook." Snape stated, seemingly hoping he wouldn't have to exaggerate further.

"And what notebook might that be?" The elderly man spat, raising his eyebrows, yet Snape was sure he had spotted a certain glint in the man's eyes.

"I think you know."

"Well well, has someone got themselves into a spot of bother?" The man didn't even try to disguise the amusement in his eyes.

"How does one reverse the effect?" Snape spat, no longer able to disguise his irritation at how unseriously the man was taking this entire debarkle.

"No no! The effects are irreversible. Good day." The man stated impatiently before slamming the door in Snape's face.

*~.~*

What a waste of time that had been.

Snape sighed as he slumped into his recliner. He didn't much feel like reading the potions weekly that sat on his coffee table, nor did he feel as though he could stomach food of any kind.

Now what was he supposed to do?

He sighed as he gritted his teeth. Perhaps he ought to consult Dumbledore after all, but then he too would know all about this sordid ordeal. He didn't want to involve anyone else unless he absolutely had to.

Too many people knew already.

Damn Lucius. Why did he have to poke his nose into other people's business and find out these things? Only he couldn't decide which was worse, Lucius knowing or Draco knowing. He shuddered to think what would happen if word got around the entire school.

*~.~*

Harry sat at his potions bench as copious amounts of vapour filled his nostrils and throat. He knew that at any moment Snape would loom up behind him and berate him because his potion was either too dark or too thick or the potion was simply bad because he had made it.

Harry sighed before a particularly hefty puff of steam violated his throat, prompting the young wizard to cough violently.

"Spit is not an ingredient in this potion Mr Potter." Snape spat as he swooped in behind him, his body mere inches from the boy.

"Yes sir." Harry tried to say between coughs.

It seemed as though the professor had been waiting for this moment, an opportunity to draw the attention of the entire class towards Harry and this embarrassing predicament. But, the embarrassment paled in comparison to what was about to happen.

"You had best keep your eyes on the list of ingredients Mr Potter." Snape hissed, his lips mere inches from Harry's ear as his warm breath danced over his flesh.

Harry suddenly felt a pang strike his groin.

He gasped silently as his body instinctively straightened up.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"Damn greasy git." Ron mumbled to his best friend, apparently not realising that Snape hadn't actually left his best friend's side.

"Detention Mr Potter." Snape smirked, though it was a strange smirk, not one of his usual self-satisfied, sadistic, power hungry smirks.

No.

This one reeked of raw desire. He had said those three words more times than he could count, ever since the boy had started Hogwarts. Yet this time was different.

This time they had flowed out his lips, as though of their own accord.

They were so spontaneous that he wasn't even sure what he was giving the boy detention for.

After all, it was Mr Weasley who had spoken those somewhat disparaging words, not Potter.

He watched as Harry screwed up his face as though he was going to argue the point but thought better of it before allowing his wooden spoon to fall from his grasp.

He looked as though he was desperate to have the man justify the detention he just allocated.

His actions reeked of frustration, an untapped desire that Snape had every intention of extorting.

Harry turned to face him, agitation lurked in his eyes, yet it seemed as though something else did also.

Was that raw desire of his own?

No.

And yet according to the notebook he should be coming to expect this soon.

It's not as though that same raw desire didn't lurk within himself also.

What the hell was he thinking?

When had he began to desire the younger wizard to this degree?

He was disgusted in himself, yet that also didn't stop his eyes from running hungrily over Potter's body, wondering how much of his pale flesh the younger wizard would allow him to explore.

Damn it this was revolting.

He had to figure out a way of undoing what that notebook had started. He gritted his teeth before turning on his heel.

*~.~*

"Snape sure seemed in an odd mood today." Ron stated over dinner as he shovelled a large spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

"Damn, I have that detention with him. Thanks for reminding me." Harry sighed as his expression fell.

"I still don't understand what he gave it to you for." Hermione added as she sat next to Ron. She had learned early on that next to was better than across when the redhead was eating.

"I mean, it was Ron who had made that snide comment, which I might add could be heard from the other side of the classroom."

"So?" Ron screwed up his face, not bothering to swallow his mouthful before speaking.

"So you weren't being very subtle now, were you."

*~.~*

He had that dreaded detention with Potter later this evening and yet, with each passing day he felt less and less like finding a way out of this hot mess.

This was a bad sign and he knew it.

Snape sighed as he leaned back in his recliner, a cup of spiced pumpkin tea in one hand and the latest version of potion's weekly in the other.

It didn't seem to matter how much he pushed himself into reading about the 6 uses of werewolf hide or ways to avoid dragons blood from congealing, his mind seemed to keep returning to bloody Harry Potter.

He sighed as he drew the cup to his lips.

Why did this have to happen to him?