Disclaimer: So not mine.


Hunched over her laptop, Opalish let out a fiendish cackle as she began typing. It had been so long, so very long since she wrote her last HP slash story...

"That's right, punks," she crowed as she began to manipulate the innocent characters of Harry Potter to suit her perverse desires. "You're mine!"


Harry decided he was losing his mind. One moment he'd been sitting in the common room, playing chess with Ron, and the next he was headed down to the dungeons, just one thought on his mind.


It was odd. Harry vaguely recalled hating his professor and thinking him ugly as mortal sin, but all of that seemed very far away. Now there was only a voice in his mind - a voice that seemed to belong, oddly enough, to a teenaged girl - chanting that Snape was not ugly, but striking, and that his greasy hair was not in fact greasy, but shiny like a raven's glossy wings, whatever the hell that meant.

His feet continued to carry him towards Snape's office, while his mind was battered relentlessly by comments such as, "I'm sure kissing Snape would be wonderful, even if he doesn't brush his teeth" and "you know what they say about men with big noses". Some little remnant of Harry himself retaliated by snapping that no, he did not, in fact, know what 'they' said about men with big noses, and neither did he wish to find out.

But it was worse than being under the Imperius, and before he knew it, he was knocking on Snape's office door, all while images of Snape's crooked, potions-stained fingers danced before his eyes.

"Come in," Snape ordered impatiently. A dreamy smile overtook Harry's face as he opened the door and slid inside.

Snape looked understandably bemused to see his least favored student in his office. Harry was much too concerned with mentally undressing his teacher to care.

"Potter," Snape snarled in a voice that Harry had once thought was as oily as his hair, but now realized was velvety and silky and probably reminiscient of other fabrics, as well.

"Professor," he said breathlessly. "I love you madly. Your hair isn't greasy, it's shiny, and your teeth aren't crooked and yellow, and you aren't a cruel sadistic bastard, but a misunderstood martyr for the cause, and your angst is really sexy, and please, can we shag like rabbits now?"

Snape stared.


Opalish flinched as her mother's shrill voice dispelled the hormonal haze surrounding her and her beloved computer. "'insert real life name here', feed the dog! And put the dishes away!"

"In a minute, Mom!" Opalish cried, clicking the save button on her story before going to do as The Slavedriver bade.

She didn't see her computer screen freeze before the document finished saving.


Harry blinked. Then he blinked again, as memories of the last half hour or so came rushing back.

He went white, then green, then an alarming shade of Gryffindor red.

"What did you say, Potter?" Snape demanded, eyes narrowed and lips twisted into an ugly sneer.

Ugly. Ugly ugly ugly, because Snape was ugly and greasy and oh god, what the hell was up with that raven's wings crap?

"Nothing," he squeaked, backing away from his enraged teacher until he ran into the door. "Nothing at all." He half-turned, fumbling for the door-knob while never taking his eyes off Snape - if he looked away, the man might attack. "I'll just, heh, go now. Er."

He pulled the door open and ran for it before Snape could do more than bare his crooked, yellowed teeth.


Snape stared after Potter, then closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in a futile attempt to stave off a headache.

After a few moments of silence, he strode over to his fireplace and lit it with a wave of his wand. The pot on the mantle was mostly empty, but there was still just enough Floo Powder inside for his purposes.

"Headmaster Dumbledore's office, Hogwarts," he snapped, before sticking his head in the flames.

Dumbledore looked surprised to see him. "Severus! Why, this is a pleasant surprise. It's so rarely you firecall me these days."

"Not now," Severus said curtly. "I'm have urgent tidings. It's begun again, Albus."

Dumbledore froze. "Voldemort has made his move?"

Severus flinched, but didn't protest the use of his other master's name. "Worse," he said dourly.

The Headmaster sagged back into his seat, closing his eyes wearily. Only one thing was worse than Voldemort... "There has been another attack?"

"On Potter," Snape agreed, his distaste evident in his sneer. "Fortunately, the aggressor seems to have been called away, and the wards kicked in, compromising the weapon before it could be saved."

"Fanfiction writers," Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. Snape blanched at hearing the forbidden term. "Will we never be free?"


Opalish returned to her room nearly an hour after being called away and forced into manual labor. Smiling, she turned to her computer...

...and saw the frozen screen, her story still unsaved.

"Dammit! Not again!"


The End