A/N Another slash parody...ah, how can I resist them? Anything's better than working on my research project.

"Snape cried: 'Expelliarmus!'. There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet: he flew backwards off the stage, smashed into the wall and slid down it to sprawl on the floor."
JK, CoS, p.142.

Severus Snape had much to think about as he left the hall, following the bizarre - and rather enjoyable - fiasco which had been Gilderoy Lockhart's Duelling Club lesson. Snape was both intrigued and exasperated by the demonstration of Potter's proficiency in Parseltongue, a language the potions master had studied for many years without, admittedly, much success. The small grass snake he had purchased for experimental purposes had not taken kindly to being hissed at by a greasy person in a dark, cold laboratory; eventually, in response to a very rude remark accidentally made, Goethe (for this was the grass snake's name) had bitten said greasy person on the end of his overlarge nose.
That, of course, spelled the end of the linguistic experiment.
Hmm....if Potter was a Parselmouth, from where did this ability arise? Surely it could not be possible that the scruffy, mudblood-loving little plonker really *was* Slytherin's Heir? No, certainly *not*, Snape decided. What an appalling idea. The prospect made him slightly sick. Still, he thought (cheering up) Potter was definitely in for a bad time...the Hufflepuffs at least would be wary of him, having apparently witnessed the little twit chasing a bloody great snake towards one of their own. Snape smirked to himself as he contemplated the delightful prospect of Potter being completely ostracised by the other students...suspicions rising among the staff...eventually even Dumbledore would have to do *something*, something, hopefully, which would involve the brat being expelled - out of Snape's way, no longer his responsibility, no longer reminding the potions master of Perfect James Potter, the bane of his existence for so many years.
So preoccupied was he with such imaginings that Snape did not even notice the blonde idiot Lockhart until he walked into him. Lockhart, with predictable lack of grace, fell on his arse; Snape loomed over him, glowering.
"Look where you're going." He growled, somewhat unfairly.
"Sorry." Mumbled Lockhart, scrambling to his feet. For a moment his brilliant blue eyes wandered across Snape's face; then, for reasons the potions master could not discern, Lockhart blushed, and stared down at his feet.
"Move, then." Snapped Snape, irritably, as the bimbo continued to block the corridor, bobbing his head and muttering to himself.
"Actually...actually, Severus, there was a small matter I wished to discuss with you." In an instant, Lockhart, who seemed to have come to some kind of decision, had recovered his debonair manner, and, indeed, his wide, false, immeasurably charming smile.
"Lockhart, I had nothing to say to you when we were at school; I had nothing to say to you at dinner last night, nothing to say to you at breakfast this morning, and I certainly have nothing to say to you now."
"Oh, come, come!" Cooed Lockhart. "Just a moment of your time...it would be advantageous for us both, I assure you. You see, Severus..." the git leaned forward, pressing his shoulder against Snape's and putting his sensuous mouth against the taller man's ear, "I've had the most *wonderful* idea."
Snape put a hand firmly on Lockhart's chest and shoved the moron away.
"I don't want to know."
"Yes, you do. Because I've seen it, you know."
"Seen what?" Had the Disarming Charm addled the fool's brains? What little he had to start with, that was...
"The way you look at me."
"Lockhart, I don't have time for..." the import of this statement finally sank in, and Snape drew himself up to his full, considerable height, bristling with rage. "WHAT did you say!?"
Lockhart, to his credit, jumped back a full three paces, but when he spoke, his tone was confident.
"I've seen the way you look at me. At school, at dinner, at breakfast...and just now, when you assisted me in my little attempt at giving the young people of this school a valuable lesson in self-defence."
Snape snorted. Lockhart ignored him, and prattled on.
"When we were duelling...it was then I knew for sure. It's all right, you know." The imbecile purred. "I do understand...after all, I *am* completely irresistible."
Snape forced himself to unclench his fists and buttocks and took a deep, steadying breath. He spoke calmly and quietly.
"Lockhart. How does my looking at you as though I wished to murder you - which to be frank is not an inaccurate interpretation - make you think I find you...irresistible?"
"I could see how you were trying to hide it." Lockhart sighed. "And I felt so sorry for you...because, you see, there's no need. Because, you, see...I feel the same." He was close again, simpering into Snape's face. Snape recoiled, aghast, and on the verge of being ill.
"Get...get away from me, you hapless, self-deluded twit." He managed, weakly.
"Oh, Severus, why must you continue to deny it?" Wailed Lockhart, sounding remarkably like a character in one of those sickening Muggle romantic comedies. A small knot of students wandered past, gazing at the professors curiously. Snape, appalled, grabbed Lockhart by the robes and dragged him into a nearby broom cupboard.
It was a mistake.
Taking advantage of the element of surprise, Lockhart snogged him.
"Ak!" Horrified, shocked, disgusted and, now, defiled, Snape threw the amorous git into a heap of dustpans, and backed as far into the opposite wall as he could manage.
Lockhart, incorrigible, got to his feet, dusted himself off, and beamed at Snape again.
"I do understand, this is so hard for you to believe...that someone as gorgeous and accomplished as yours truly could possibly find someone like you attractive. I mean, in the sex appeal department, you're - well, you're not exactly *me*, are you? But we can do something about that..." advancing on Snape, Lockhart reached up to stroke his greasy hair. "After all," the idiot murmured, "I *have* always wanted to market my own range of hair-care potions..."
"Touch me again, Lockhart," Snape said silkily, "and I'll tear your hands off."
"Oh, but Severus," sighed the deluded one, "don't you understand I don't *care* that you're ugly, greasy, and bad-tempered? It's your towering intellect I fell for..."
"Oh...well, yes, that's understandable." Muttered Snape, slightly mollified. Then he shook himself.
"I want nothing to do with you, you vile, pompous, self-obsessed moron!"
"But, think of what a *team* we'd make...your intellect, my beauty..."
Something clicked in Snape's mind. Wheels began to turn. Elements slotted into place. And, slowly...he began to smile.
"You may just have a point." He mused, eyeing Lockhart. "But...of course...since I'm from a well-established, honourable, and most traditional family..."
"Yes?" Purred Lockhart.
"You'd have to make an honest man of me." Said Snape, smirking.
"I...what!?"
"I said, we'd have to marry, Gilderoy." Snape leaned over the DADA teacher, whose face had turned an interesting sickly shade of green.
"Er...well...I...er..." Lockhart stammered, backing away.
"And on our honeymoon," Snape continued dreamily, "we could go to Translyvania..." his voice hardened, his black eyes glittering, "where I could slay some vampires and you could write a book about it and take the credit."
Lockhart cringed.
"That's your little plan, isn't it, Gilderoy?" Snape growled.
Slowly, timidly, Lockhart nodded...
"But *think* about it, Severus! Think about the fame and fortune that awaits us, together!"
"The fame and fortune that awaits *you*, Lockhart...what about me? Memory charms? Or perhaps you'd just have me washing your underwear?"
"Er..."
Snape smiled to himself. Then he smiled at Lockhart, causing the blonde git to squeak in fear.
"Get out, Lockhart."
"Wha...wha..."
"Before I curse you into oblivion."
Lockhart scrabbled at the door. Snape raised his wand.
"Avada...."
"Argh!" Lockhart finally wrenched the door open and fled down the corridor, howling. Snape followed at a more leisurely pace, smirking to himself, returning his wand to his pocket. He was very nearly humming to himself as he made his way back to the dungeons. At the top of the stairs, a familiar footstep sounded behind him. He turned.
"Hello, Minerva."
"Severus. What are you looking so pleased about?" McGonagall wondered.
Snape shook his head.
"It doesn't matter. Just...a run-in with Lockhart. It was rather entertaining."
"Oh! Yes, I heard all about that."
Snape blinked. How had she...
"The Duelling Club." McGonagall went on. "Knocked the idiot right off his feet, so I hear."
"Yes." Said Snape, relieved. "Precisely. He was asking for it. Assistant, my..."
"Quite." Murmured McGonagall. She was looking at Snape thoughtfully. After a moment she smiled.
"United we stand, against the common enemy."
"They don't come much more common than Lockhart." Snape smirked. "Although," he added, the smile fading a little, "he has had good fortune. Blessed with looks, charm...everyone adores him..."
McGonagall's face softened. She took Snape's arm.
"Severus, you may not realise this...but while surface charm is all very well for some, there are others of us who are not so shallow, or so lightly taken in." She smiled gently. "There are those of us who find other things attractive."
"Such as?"
"Such as...Intellect. Depth. Complexity of character. Courage. And of course," the smile widened, "a biting wit."
Snape eyed her for a moment, considerably startled. Then, his own smile returned - a genuine, pleased smile, instead of his usual citric smirk.
"I'm certainly glad that *someone* appreciates...less conventionally attractive traits."
Suddenly serious, McGonagall took his hand.
"Severus...famous as he is, universally adored as he might be, you are worth a dozen of that pretentious, self-important idiot."
Snape shook his head bitterly.
"To who? The students, who despise me? The other teachers, who fear me? The general public, which doesn't know me? To who am I worth so much?"
Minerva squeezed his hand.
"To me, Severus. To me."