It was a blustery March afternoon, and Pomona Sprout was hell-bent on tracking down the idiot responsible for the latest disaster to befall the greenhouses: her precious shoot of Devil's Snare had fallen from the weak trellis she'd improvised the night before, and not just because it was growing so fast. Someone had removed one of the old school brooms she had used to tie it up. The others couldn't support the weight of the rapidly expanding plant and the entire thing had collapsed, a mess of writhing vines and broken brooms that almost brought tears to her eyes.

After cleaning, repotting, and repositioning the infant plant, Pomona had set off for the castle, head lowered against the wind as she grumbled under her breath about the irresponsibility of Hogwarts students and the ignorance of anyone not familiar enough with Herbology to recognize what they had done to an innocent Devil's Snare. She decided she would have to track down the perpetrator after lunch, however, as the morning spent cleaning up had made her exceptionally irritable and hungry. She hurried to the Great Hall, eyes open for any student carrying an old school broom with dirt and string still attached to it.

As she made her way toward the Head Table, Pomona narrowed her eyes at their newest Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. Gilderoy Lockhart was wearing lurid blue Quidditch robes. His hair was windswept, and he kept running his hand through it to either tame or maintain the ridiculous look. Behind his chair was the very broom she had been looking for—damning strings still attached.

Bloody prat.

Straightening her robes, Pomona strode down the aisle toward the front dais. She knew she was scowling fiercely when she heard students whispering and pointing; she hoped she’d give them a performance to remember. Bypassing her own place, Pomona marched instead to where Lockhart sat, once again mussing his hair like the arrogant imbecile he was.

"Richard Gilderoy Lockhart," she snapped, her voice thin as ice. She heard several of the staff gasp; behind her, the students began to snigger. Having taught the man at Hogwarts, she knew perfectly well his first name was Dick; Gilderoy was just one of the many ways he puffed himself up into something he was not.

Lockhart's smile faltered as the Great Hall turned as one to watch the confrontation. He plastered it back on as best he could and stood to face her. He tried to turn her away from the audience; she refused to move.

"Yes, Pomona? How can I help you?" he asked, his voice dripping with false sincerity.

She simply raised an eyebrow and glared.

"Did you need some help with the Mandrakes, perhaps? Or the Venomous Tentacula? I'm quite good with those…" He trailed off at the look on her face. "Er, have I done something wrong?"

"Indeed, Professor Lockhart. You certainly have."

* * * * *

Gilderoy frowned, then, realising that frowning caused his brow to wrinkle in an unattractive way, he smoothed his skin. What on earth was the stupid, purple-faced hag on about? Another thought struck him. Witches of a certain age, no longer in the flush of youth, did behave irrationally, developed crushes, even—especially when faced with a handsome wizard such as he.

He fixed his most charming smile on his face once more, safe in the knowledge that his teeth were sparkling (he never drank tea or coffee fearing their staining effects), and cooed, “Come, come, Pomona, I’m sure this is nothing important. Would you care for a seat?”

He waved his wand, intent on pushing her chair out for her, but groaned inwardly as the chair jerked back suddenly, hit her square on her ample chest and knocked her over.

“Sweet Salazar, Lockhart, is even a simple Mobility Spell beyond you?” drawled Severus Snape as he stooped down to help Pomona up from the floor. “Really, I’d expect the first years to perform better.”

Acutely aware of the staff listening in, and that the pupils sitting closest to the staff table were dawdling over their food, Gilderoy flushed under Snape’s sneering words. He had already suffered from the Potion Master’s wit, and would not bandy words with him again. Pomona, however...

Gilderoy held out his arm to her, then carefully guided her into her seat, much as he’d help a much older person across the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. As she sat down in her now correctly placed chair and he returned to his own place, he turned his most dazzling smile upon her.

“Now, Pomona, why don’t you tell me what I have done to upset you? I’m sure it is just a misunderstanding. Perhaps you expected to see me in the greenhouse earlier.” He tutted slightly and shook his head. “I did only say I might pop in for a chat, but I can see how you might have thought I’d promised.”

He turned his face slightly and grinned roguishly at Septima Vector, who appeared to be struggling to control her feelings. Poor Septima, this must be hard on her, too, he thought, remembering that he’d offered to help in her class, and that she’d only turned him down because she 'didn’t want to impose on him’.

“That broom,” Pomona said coldly. “Where did you get it?”

“What, this thing?” Gilderoy asked, looking at the broom he’d found in the greenhouse that morning. “Oh, now I see what you’re angry about, dear lady. Yes, yes, I did pop into the greenhouse, and I was intending on having a chat with you, but the sight of this old thing made me want to relive my flying days.” He crinkled his eyes at Pomona and winked at Septima. “I was, even if I say so myself, a pretty amazing flyer in my day. Seeker for the Ravenclaw team. I could have made it big in the professional leagues, but alas, my writing and wanderings always came first.”

“Ravenclaw team?” interrupted Filius Flitwick. “I don’t remember you ever flying, Lockhart.”

“Injured,” Gilderoy replied hurriedly. “Bludger in the face during our last practise session.” He paused as he pondered the vagaries of being battered by his teammate. It was almost as though they didn’t want him in the side. He shook his head and sighed. It was the first instance of jealousy he’d encountered, but not his last.

“Are you telling me that you took that broom from my greenhouse so you could ponce about reliving your youth?” Pomona said, her voice becoming louder and shriller. “I nearly lost a precious plant because of your ineptitude, Lockhart!”

Gilderoy cowered under her glare. The pupils still in the Great Hall were no longer eating, but staring up at the teachers' table. “I-I-I don’t think this is the right place to discuss this,” he hissed. “Perhaps my office, or I could take a walk down to the greenhouses later this evening and share a glass of wine -- ”

“I DON’T WANT YOU ANYWHERE NEAR MY GREENHOUSES AGAIN!” she shouted. “You, Lockhart, are a puffed-up popinjay, a dandy, a nincompoop and an utter prat. No wonder they used to call you Dick!”

At her words, he flushed what he knew was a particularly virulent shade of magenta, and stood up. “I will leave you to calm down, Pomona,” he said, and summoning as much dignity as he could, he walked away.

“Leaving so soon, Lockhart?” called Snape to his retreating back. Lockhart could imagine the Potions Master sneering as he hurried away and once more felt the sting of their meeting at the Dueling Club.

With cries of "See you later, Dick!” ringing in his ears (the voices sounded suspiciously like those of the Weasley twins), Gilderoy swept from the Great Hall, stopping only when the pocket of his robe caught on a rusty nail and tore, exposing the top of his thigh and his lavender coloured underpants.

The occupants of the Great Hall burst into laughter. Not caring now about future wrinkles, Gilderoy scowled. This was all Sprout’s fault. He would get her back for this, or his name wasn’t ‘Gilderoy Lockhart.’

* * * * *

Pomona watched Gilderoy retreat, eyes narrowed suspiciously. She knew he was embarrassed, and she knew what he was capable of when pushed too far. He may have been all those things she had just thrown in his face, but he was also surprisingly clever when he put his mind to it – namely, when he had something to gain. She had seen it when he'd been in school, and she suspected it from him as an adult. She would have to keep an eye on him, she knew, or he might suddenly claim credit for her next success in the greenhouse.

Turning to Professor Flitwick, Pomona began to tell him about her poor Devil's Snare. Flitwick snorted and rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Lockhart was just the sort to take a broom without realizing it was already being used. He also explained that Gilderoy had played on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team for a grand total of one week during his sixth year, because there had been no one available or willing to play Seeker for the last match. The rest of the house was too busy studying to fill in for the both the regular and reserve players who had fallen ill. Yet his teammates had disliked him so much they had kicked him off the team and had one of the Chasers double as Seeker, losing the match by a spectacular 880 to 130 points.

After finishing her meal, Pomona made her way toward her offices in the castle. She passed Gilderoy coming up from the dungeons and almost offered an apology for embarrassing him in the Great Hall. Yet, when he turned up his nose and walked stiffly by as if she were invisible, she decided she really had no reason to apologize to such an arse.

He avoided her over the next few days. In fact, he avoided most of the staff, particularly Professor Flitwick and especially Professor Snape. Pomona knew Snape did not approve of Lockhart's appointment, but then, most of the staff had been unsupportive. Snape, however, had delighted in torturing Lockhart every opportunity he had. She had noticed him sneering at Lockhart several times, and had observed a particularly virulent verbal scuffle at breakfast. Even the students were no longer sniggering behind his back, but openly to Lockhart's face, and she knew he was having trouble controlling the Weasley twins; she was sure they were up to something.

Yet the small part of her that felt sorry for Gilderoy couldn't help but smirk as well. He was acting odder than usual, as if the stress were getting to him, yet every time she thought about jumping in to support him, she kept thinking about her Devil's Snare, lying in a heap thanks to his random hankering to gad about the Quidditch pitch. However, although he was an imbecile, she would keep her wits about her, knowing full well Dick Lockhart hid his true intentions masterfully.

* * * * *

Gilderoy sat at his desk, brooding as his fourth years chatted. Directly in front of him sat the Weasley twins. It had surprised him when they’d given up their customary places at the back of the class, but now, as the lesson drew to a close, he understood. They wanted to be noticed. They wanted him to see the magical rosettes they’d created that displayed the words ‘Seeker Dick’ in lavender blue lights. It wasn’t just the twins, either. Angelina Johnson, who used to cast him admiring glances, and Alicia Spinnet, who he was certain had sent him a beautiful hand drawn Valentine’s card, were also sporting badges and sniggering every time he started to speak. In the end, he had resorted to ordering them to read chapter 23 of Break with a Banshee to themselves and make notes.

He frowned as he glanced across at Lee Jordan’s work. He hadn’t even bothered to open the book, but was instead writing notes on the up and coming Quidditch matches and rehearsing his links with Alicia.

It was all that woman’s fault! He’d been made to look a fool, and it was not a look he deserved. His thoughts turned to revenge; he wanted the opportunity to make her look stupid, but it was difficult to perceive how he could make her laughing stock. He could turn her hair green, but she was such an odd-looking woman that he didn’t think anyone would notice. It was also a shame she’d shouted at him in front of everyone. If it had just been her and Severus present, then he could have swiftly applied a Memory Charm and continued on his way. But wiping the memories of the entire school … he doubted even Dumbledore could do that.

No, he would have to think of something else. Something that would embarrass her so much that she’d never be able to set foot in the Great Hall without the students pointing and laughing.

It would have to be her actions that embarrassed her.

A shriek and a giggle dragged his thoughts back to his classroom. Angelina had clapped her hand over her mouth and was laughing with Alicia, their heads bent over a parchment.

“Miss Johnson!” he snapped. “If you have found something amusing in my book, perhaps you would care to share it with the class?”

“Er, no … sir. It’s … um … nothing,” she murmured then started screeching, “No, George, give it back.”

George Weasley, with a wide grin splattered on his face, evaded Angelina’s hand and stood on his bench. “Look, Fred, Angelina’s writing a love letter. Is it for me?”

“Only if you hit me over the head with a Bludger, you prat,” she stormed, and then with her wand, neatly sent a Tickling Jinx his way. He let go of the parchment and it floated towards their professor, landing on top of his pink and purple porcelain cup.

“Sir, can I have that back?” Angelina asked desperately. “It’s just something silly.”

He gave her a wintry smile, but handed back the letter. “I am sure Mr Diggory will be delighted,” he murmured, but not so softly that those in the front row couldn’t hear.

George and Fred exchanged looks with Lee and began laughing. Angelina glowered at her professor and slunk back to her seat, where she spent the remaining minutes shredding the parchment with her quill.

All that embarrassment over love, Gilderoy thought, and smirked. An idea was stirring in his mind.

Perhaps he could make her think he was in love with her, and then when she declared her feelings for him, he would laugh in her face. It would be easy to charm her; hadn’t Witch Weekly honoured him for his smile on numerous occasions? He could dazzle her easily and then let her down abruptly … except …

It was hardly becoming of someone of his stature with the ladies.

No, he needed someone else to be the object of her affections. Filius? No, he’d let her down far too gently. Argus Filch? Not him either, he’d probably relish the old hag’s attentions. As he considered, he lifted his wand and without thinking practiced hurling a hex at an opponent.

“Getting ready for a duel, Dick?”

Fred Weasley’s laughing voice cut across his reverie. He had thought the dueling club fiasco had been forgotten, but obviously Potter’s ability to speak Parseltongue had not wiped his defeat against Severus Snape from everyone’s mind.

Severus, he thought slowly as a picture formed in his mind. Severus and Pomona. What fun!


* * * * *


"He's up to something, you know," said Severus, fingers wrapped around a cup of tea in the staff room. Pomona glanced up from her copy of Witch Weekly, where she was pointedly ignoring the four-page feature article on their newest professor. Snape's lip curled as he inclined his head toward the overly bright smile on the front cover. "Lockhart."

"I'm not surprised," she sighed, putting down the magazine. The object of their discussion waved from the cover and she cringed. "He was humiliated by you at the Dueling Club, and now I've chewed him out in front of the entire school and revealed his real name." She paused and gave Snape a pointed look. "I'm almost surprised he hasn't lashed out yet."

"Oh, he will," said Snape. "I caught him sneaking around the dungeons again yesterday. I've had quite a number of ingredients go missing this year. My guess would be that he's concocting something crude for revenge."

"I'll keep my eyes open, then, but I can't imagine it's very creative—or effective," she said. "He was a mediocre student. He's best at blaming others for something that goes wrong or taking credit for whatever goes right."

"I remember," Snape replied softly. "In fact I tutored him in Potions. Whatever he's brewing, he's certain to muddle it completely."

"Do you really think he's going to try something so…juvenile?" asked Pomona, helping herself to a tin of biscuits the house elves had left on the table. "Against a colleague, a fellow staff member?"

"He was mumbling rather madly under his breath," replied Snape, a disgusted look on his face. "And quite flustered when I accosted him. So I'm going to assume it's either for the students—the Weasley twins in particular—or one of us. But I'm not sure even Lockhart would go so far as to drug a student."

Pomona sighed as she wiped her hands and stood, ready for her next class. "I shall watch what I eat and drink then. Thank you, Severus. Watch your own back as well."

"Good day, Pomona," said Snape. From the corner of her eye, she saw him grimace and almost violently turn over the magazine she had been reading. She wondered if Lockhart was indeed planning something, and what it could possibly be if even Snape was suspicious.

* * * * *

It was said that revenge was a dish based served cold. To Gilderoy, this was nonsense. Revenge, in this case, would be served in a mug of cocoa. Like the cocoa it would be steaming. All it would take was a few drops of his very special brew. The only thing left for him to add was the lovage. He reached into his pocket and brought out the dull, brown leaf.

Although Snape had seen him in the dungeons, he had been far enough away from the storeroom not to warrant any suspicion. And by engaging the Potion Master in conversation, he had succeeded in gaining the one ingredient lacking. For Snape, when he’d leant in close demanding to know what he was doing there, had left a drop of spittle on the sleeve of Gilderoy’s robe.

It had taken all Gilderoy’s self control not to shudder or wipe it away immediately. This opportunity was golden, so instead he had scurried back to his room and carefully scooped the globule of saliva into a flask.

He pondered whether to visit Pomona but wasn’t sure he could get close enough without arousing her suspicions, or, heaven forfend, arousing the old hag herself. He sighed. His good looks could be such a burden. Catching a glance of his profile in the mirror propped up on his desk, he winked roguishly at his reflection. He didn’t need to visit Pomona; this would be so much more amusing if it were one-sided.

Hearing a cough, he turned around. It was one of his pupils – a plain girl whose name he couldn’t remember.

“Yes,” he snapped, annoyed at being disturbed and forgetting his usual charm.

“Sorry, Professor, I think I left my favourite quill in here.”

He rolled his eyes at her lame excuse to see him. Crushes from pupils were only to be expected, of course, but saying she’d left her quill here … really!

“Ah, there it is!” she said and smiled happily as she picked up a yellow feathered quill from the floor. “Thank you, Professor.”

He frowned slightly as she scurried out of the door. She had left remarkably quickly for someone with a crush. Usually they hung around and exchanged a few words with him.

Then it hit him. She was shy. Obviously, his presence was too overpowering for her.

* * * * *

Pomona frowned as Susan Bones came dashing into the greenhouse ten minutes after class had started. Bad enough that she was late, but usually Susan was quite enthusiastic about Herbology and worked well with Ms. Granger. When she had set the class up with their various assignments – some to tending the mandrakes, others to harvesting more Abyssinian Shrivelfigs—she walked over to Susan to ask about her tardiness. The girls were engaged in a heated, obviously private conversation; Pomona groaned inwardly when she heard Professor Lockhart's name mentioned with that lovesick tone half the female students affected when discussing him.

"Miss Bones, may I ask why you were late?" she interrupted, not caring to listen in on gossip related to her least favorite colleague. The girls looked up in surprise.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Susan replied, blushing. "I left my quill in Professor Lockhart's classroom, then had to go back to my dormitory for my equipment. It won't happen again."

"Be sure that it does not, Miss Bones," said Pomona. It sounded innocent enough, and she did not feel like pressing the matter. She had too much on her mind. She had turned away when Miss Granger stopped her.

"Professor, isn't lovage one of the ingredients in a Confusing Draught?" she asked. Pomona turned around and raised an eyebrow.

"I am not the Potions professor, but yes, I believe it is. And Befuddlement Draughts and love potions as well. Why do you ask?"

"Professor Lockhart had some dried lovage leaves, ma'am," said Susan. "We were just curious. But I doubt he needs them for a love potion. He probably Befuddles his opponents with it."

"Indeed," said Pomona, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that how he does it? That's enough gossip, ladies. Finish your assignment." She inclined her head toward the screaming Mandrake desperate to be repotted once more; they were growing like mad and Pomona was confident they would be able to unPetrify everyone who had been affected within weeks.

As she walked away, however, Pomona thought about what Snape had said regarding his missing ingredients. Had Lockhart stolen the lovage? Was he really brewing a Befuddlement Draught for his opponents? Or could he be brewing one for her?

She would have to watch her food carefully in the Great Hall come supper.

* * * * *

Gilderoy smirked as he sat down at the top table. In the inner pocket of his robes, he’d concealed a small bottle. It contained only a small amount of Love Potion, but the ratio of ingredients to Snape’s spit rendered it highly potent. Pomona would be ripping off the Potion Master’s robes before the shepherd’s pie had been touched. All Gilderoy needed was the chance to get to her cocoa.

He had pondered adding the potion to the silver jug of cocoa in front of him, but dismissed it at once, knowing that a diluted potion would have little or no effect. All that would happen is that the witches at the top table would overlook Snape’s hideous appearance and start paying him more attention.

And it wasn’t the other witches he wanted to get.

So he would need to spike her cocoa only, and the best way to do that was to lace her goblet directly. Reaching inside his robe, he unstoppered the bottle and poured the precious drops into a pewter goblet.

“Pomona,” he cooed, “would you care for some cocoa? It is so warming on an evening like this.”

“That sounds delightful,” she said. Was he imagining a hesitant note in her voice? No, she was smiling up at him.

Pouring the cocoa, he managed to pass a few casual remarks about the weather and her plants. He even offered to show her a technique he’d picked up in Bulgaria for pruning Bowtruckle trees. She coughed at his offer, obviously overcome with gratitude, so he bestowed his most charming smile on her.

“Drink up, Pomona,” he intoned and clicked his goblet to hers.

He watched her steadily as she drank and waited… In five more minutes, she’d be declaring her undying lust for Snape and cavorting with him in front of the whole school.

Four minutes.

She had turned away from him and was chatting with Minerva.

Three minutes.

She started laughing at one of Albus’ jokes.

Two minutes.

She began to dispute the properties of Gillyweed with Snape – that was interesting – a lover’s quarrel before they were lovers.

One minute.

She yawned and turned back to Gilderoy.

He looked away, counting down in his head, waiting for her eyes to become dreamily unfocused.

Nothing happened. He checked his watch. It had been five minutes. He looked at her goblet. It was empty.

Oh good God, is Snape so ugly that not even a spiked Love Potion will work?

* * * * *

Pomona covered her mouth to stifle a laugh as Lockhart checked his watch. He was certainly expecting something to happen, and she almost felt bad that whatever show he had planned would not play out that night. She smiled and bid him good day, thanking him once more for the cocoa.

"I hope I can return the favor sometime soon," she added. He nodded blankly, obviously disappointed.

As she left the Great Hall, Pomona fingered the vial of cocoa in her robes. It had been easy to distract Lockhart and stealthily magic it into the vial. Not a single drop had passed her lips; she was saving it for later, when she could either discern what it was or feed it right back to him in private, just to see what his intentions had been.

Her afternoon classes passed uneventfully. Dinner in the Great Hall was equally quiet; Lockhart did not show himself, obviously far too crushed over his failed attempt at revenge to even eat. After a leisurely dinner, Pomona returned to the greenhouses to clean up for the weekend, then headed back inside to the staff room. She was hoping to take a cup of tea with Minerva before heading to bed. Instead, she found her already engaged in a deep conversation with Severus Snape. Nodding at them without interrupting, Pomona was just about to make herself a cup of tea and join them when Gilderoy Lockhart walked in.

He scowled so fiercely at her and Snape that she was immediately reminded of the vial of cocoa in her robes. Curious as to what he was so sore about missing, she smiled and inquired about his evening.

"Quite pleasant, Professor Sprout," he replied formally. "Thank you for asking."

"Thank you for the cocoa this afternoon," she replied. "Would you care to share another? My treat this time."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, then shrugged his answer. "I'd be delighted," Lockhart replied, though he sounded anything but.

Minerva and Snape were watching curiously as Pomona turned away from the tea and found a packet of cocoa instead. She took two mugs from a nearby shelf and carefully emptied the vial from earlier in the day into one cup, making sure to do so while Lockhart was looking the other way. She then stirred the second mug and murmured a warming spell over both. Turning back to Lockhart with a smile, she held out her mug and inclined her head in a toast.

"My apologies for last week," said Pomona, taking a deep sip. Lockhart sniffed at his before reluctantly drinking with her. Snape was giving her a questioning look that she pointedly ignored. "I was upset about the Devil's Snare, but that was no reason to say such things in front of the entire castle. I…"

She trailed off at the strange look on Lockhart's face. It was a combination of horrified realization and sudden, raging lust. She backed away as he flushed and licked his lips. She had a feeling she knew what he had doused the cocoa with. Yet she was not prepared when he groaned, whirled, and threw himself at…

Severus Snape.

* * * * *

Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew what was happening. Somewhere in his mind, Richard Gilderoy Lockhart knew that this was a Love Potion, and not reality, propelling him towards the Potions Master. But it was not his mind in charge now; it was another part of his anatomy. If he’d been a stronger wizard – a stronger man – he might have been able to resist the allure of Severus Snape, but Gilderoy was not a strong man.

Before anyone could react, Gilderoy pounced. Leaping over the arm of the sofa, he landed in the middle of Severus and Minerva and started pawing at Snape’s robes. Whilst his hands ripped through the stiff black fabric, his mouth sought the thin, dark-red lips, murmuring endearments over and over.

“Severus, my own sweet Sev,” he gibbered as he rained down kisses on Severus’ open pored, over-long nose. “Tell me you are mine.”

“Lockhart!” screeched Severus. “What on –”

Gilderoy heard his love protest, but he was now aflame. “Do not deny me,” he groaned. “It has been too long – far too long – since I had something as wondrous as you in my hands.”

“Pomona … Minerva … HELP!” gasped Severus as Gilderoy’s hand slid downwards, underneath the rough fabric. “I … can’t … reach … my … WAND!”

“I think Gilderoy knows where your wand is,” Minerva observed, her lips twitching. “Pomona, I think we should leave the happy couple alone.”

“POMONA! This is all your doing!” yelled Severus, and with a superhuman effort, he pushed Gilderoy and sent him sprawling to the ground. Then whipping out his wand, he quickly cast a Shield Charm between himself and Lockhart. “What did you do to the idiot?”

“Wh-who are you talking about?” Gilderoy asked in a quavering voice. He got to his feet and rushed again towards the object of his desire. But Snape’s Shield Charm held, and he rebounded violently, hitting his head on the coffee table.

“Bother,” Minerva exclaimed. “The idiot’s upset the biscuits. Shortbread as well, my favourite.” She picked up a biscuit from the table, snapped it in two and offered one half to Pomona. “What did you do to him?”

“Gave him a taste of his own medicine,” Pomona replied firmly. “I think this experience was meant for me, wasn’t it, Dick?”

“No no, no,” Gilderoy moaned piteously. “This is love. Sevvy, please, believe me. I can’t go on any longer. I want the halls of Hogwarts to ring with my amour.”

“You heard the man, Severus,” Minerva declared. “It’s love and who are we to interfere. Come along Pomona, I have some excellent mead in my room; would you care to join me?”

“You cannot leave me here!” Severus shouted as Minerva took Pomona’s arm and walked towards the door. “I’m stuck behind my Shield Charm.”

“You shouldn’t have been quite so patronizing about my Quidditch team … Sev,” Minerva mocked. “Besides, it’ll wear off in an hour. I’m quite sure a wizard as accomplished as you can keep your wand up for that length of time.”


Whimpering, Gilderoy inched towards Severus. Although the potion was still running riot though his veins, the knock on his head had started to clear his senses.

“Severus,” he pleaded, staring at the cold black eyes. “I don’t know what’s happened. Help me.”

“You tried to drug Pomona Sprout,” Snape replied softly. “You wanted to make a fool of her … and me.”

“Yes … yes,” Gilderoy muttered, “that’s right. It was a trick. You have to understand; she made me look stupid.”

“No, you blibbering fool, you managed that yourself.”

Gilderoy levered himself on the sofa. His head was clearing now and the only thought riding through his mind was how he could overcome this. Looking beseechingly at Severus, he was surprised to see the Potions Master had lowered his wand and was studying him acutely.

“Are you quite recovered now, Lockhart?” Severus inquired politely.

“Yes, yes,” he said, waving one hand in the air. “The potion has left my system. I will not bother you again, Severus.”

“Good!” Snape said curtly, straightening his robes. “We shall not talk of this again.” He licked his lips. “Unless …”

“Unless what?” Gilderoy asked, alarmed.

Severus smiled. It was a strange smile; one that seemed both calculating and thoughtful.

“Minerva thought the potion would last far longer. You are clearly not a skilled Potioneer, Lockhart, for the effects have worn off too quickly.” He leant forwards and placed his hand on Gilderoy’s arm. “I don’t think anyone will disturb us for at least an hour … Dick.”

* * * * *