Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potterverse, or any of the books. I am merely using these characters to satisfy myself. But if I DID own them... Oh, the possibilities...

Warning: This is 200 percent crack. OOCness and weirdness galore. This is slash, meaning a story concerning a relationship between two males. Don' like? Don' read, mmkay?

Author's Note: Hello, reader! Just a little background information on this story. My friends and I thought of the plot one day, during one of our videogame bashes. It was so ridiculously stupid and funny, that I had to write the idea on paper... Or, at least, type it on a word document.

I hope someone out there enjoys our stupid humor. :D

Without further ado, I give to thee, Foolish Gryffindor.

Chapter 1: The Plan

Harry Potter was in a pickle.

And oh, what a pickle it was. A thick, crunchy one that gushed juices of confusion and embarrassment. It was a problem most foul, lurking deep in the heart of Harry's loins. A revelation so truly disgusting that Harry dared not utter it, the mere thought of it being forbidden and just plain wrong in the heads of others.

Oh, yes. Harry Potter, in the past year or so, had adopted a fancy for his old, snarky Potions professor, Severus Snape.

Harry's little infatuation wasn't planned. It never gradually developed from a fierce abhorrence, to a mild companionship, and into a vibrant concupiscent being. The feelings of lust didn't even arrive overnight. Harry had been minding his own business in his Potions class, when he dropped his supply of black beetle eyes a couple of seconds before the designated time. The contents in his cauldron immediately turned scarlet instead of a bright goldenrod, and the bat was on him before he could say detention.

"Foolish gryffindor! I specifically ordered to keep a close watch on the..."

And it hit Harry like a thousand stinging hexes.

Snape looked positively... stunning, when his onyx eyes were boring holes through a person's school robes and pride. That brilliant shade of pallid cream in his face was such a vast contrast to the dark robes he wore often, that clung onto his toned form. And why did Harry notice? Why could Harry suddenly see that the rumored greasy raven hair, was not at all greasy, but shimmering and sleek under the dim lights of the room?

Harry was undergoing a religious experience, right then and there at Hogwarts. The fish scales fell out of his eyes and he could see so clearly, it was almost blinding. His breath hitched and he heard angels softly singing in soprano. A loud, booming voice was heard, like the voice of Merlin himself, but perhaps, it might have just been Harry's new object of affection's scolding statements.

Yes, Snape had the voice of a god. Each scathing remark just oozed and dripped down onto Harry like sweet honey. Also, though he had never noticed before, Snape's hook-shaped nose actually gave him a nice profile and unique face. It was a strange type of beauty...

And then the images rushed through his head, and Harry wanted nothing more but to jump in the man's arms and grind his heat against his hips, to kiss him senselessly and forcefully til both their lips were red and bruised. He wanted to unravel the black robes and touch all that was hidden under there and map out each and every inch of the fleshy surface, and he wanted...

"Mr. Potter, are you listening to me?"

"Euh... Wha?"

Snickers were heard throughout the classroom, and Snape's glare became even more threatening as he leveled his eyes with Harry's, the closer range proving to be rather inconvenient for the boy as he fought his hormonal urges to lunge at his professor.

"Detention, Potter. And a Troll for the day. Now, clean this vile filth of a potion up, you impertinent boy." Snape sneered and stalked back to his desk to fail more first-year essays.

"Tough luck, mate," Ron whispered, and patted his best friend on the shoulder. Harry immediately scowled and cast an angry look towards the front of the room. "Greasy git," he responded, though the insult had little meaning at the moment.

He couldn't really be developing profound feelings for Snape, could he?

Perhaps the month of preparation for the final battle against Voldemort at the end of his sixth year might have had an impact on his little crush. Dumbledore rushed around and about Grimmauld Place assigning strenuous tasks and missions. The only two people not being placed to perform said jobs were Harry Potter and Severus Snape. Harry was to be kept within the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix until every person, creature, and thing was set in place for the Final Battle. On the other hand, Dumbledore decided that it was time to trash the Death-Eater facade, and ordered Snape to reveal his true stance in the war. Snape, too, had to be secluded in Grimmauld Place, for his safety, and was directed to drink a large dose of pain-relieving potion for the burning mark on his forearm.

Dumbledore asked that Snape provide the proper training for the student, urging Severus to spend long hours in the large Black study room to exercise defense spells with Harry. This forced bonding and socializing hardly helped their volatile relationship, but Harry found it a success, as they had survived the month-long ordeal without hexing each other to oblivion. They shared their dinners in silence, and rarely spoke to each other. Once, he had said something that caused a glint of amusement to flicker in those dark eyes, and Harry was disturbed, finding it impossible for that man to know the feeling, as he was always brooding, and scowling, and cursing under his breath.

Now, Harry had carried that moment of seeing his professor amused in the back of his mind at all times.

And that was a secret that Harry hoped no one would ever know -- At least, not now. Ron had already thrown himself in a frenzy when the boy had told him and Hermione that he was in fact, gay. Of course, Ron eventually got over his shock, and was rather relieved at the end of the fiasco. "Heh," he laughed nervously. "At least you'll never make a move on 'Mione." Harry had laughed, and their awkward days were over. However, to reveal these startling new feelings for their most hated teacher would be just the same as Avada Kedavra-ing the redhead.

Harry sighed into his pillow, facedown on his bed in the boys' dormitory. The others had already fallen asleep, and so the only noises keeping Harry company were thundering snores emitting from numerous canopies.

He rolled over onto his back, brought his hands to the back of his head, and looked up at the ceiling. In five weeks, he would be graduating from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, be thrown into the real world, and he still had no clue on what he was supposed to do with his life. He certainly couldn't wait for another dark wizard to rise. Besides, he had had enough of insane dark lords and their mindless sheep for two lifetimes.

Though enough about life-changing decisions. What he was really worried about was the fact that he would never see Severus Snape again. Harry closed his eyes, and considered why exactly that was such a bad thing. He would get over these horrid feelings and move on with his life. Sure, Snape was a sexy beast, and Harry had many wanks over him, but that was as far as it could go.

...Or could it? Harry opened his eyes in realization. He had never heard any rumors about a Mrs. Snape, or any gossip concerning the Potion Master's love life. Due to many late nights in the common room, he had heard unbelievable reports concerning Professor Sinistra, Madame Hooch, and even -- Harry shivered in his bed -- disturbing tales involving McGonagall and Dumbledore. However, he had never heard anything of Snape. Was he a hermit? Was he asexual?

Harry had to know. He had to snag himself a Potions Master. He just had to think of a scheme. Something clever, for Snape could smell a prank heading in his direction a mile away. The last time a poor student attempted to pull a joke on the man, he had been condemned for four months of Filch's detentions, and Harry never heard of the fourth-year again. Of course, he might have just changed his name to avoid the humiliation he surely endured.

Then there was the matter of Snape's utter loathing for Harry. The man had made it clear that he hated everyone and everything even slightly related to The Boy Who Lived. If Harry just waltzed up to his classroom and professed his feelings, the man would surely laugh in his face, send him backwards against the wall, and promptly tell the entire school of Harry's teenage turmoil.

"Foolish gryffindor," he'd say. "What makes you think a man like me would tolerate such an inadequate, daft lover like yourself?"

Harry gritted his teeth, and huffed in frustration. He was losing sleep all over some stupid little obsession. He closed his eyes and tried not to think of Snape and his caustic insults... It was as if Snape were a robot, only programmed to sneer and scowl at anyone that wasn't a slytherin... Constantly yelling about foolish gryffindors, idiotic imbeciles, daft students, blundering dunderheads... Was his vocabulary so miniscule... It was as if that was all he could say...

Harry's eyes shot open. Yes. Yes, that was it. It was the perfect plan. Harry had a rare moment of pure ingenuity as the plan was laid out in front him. It was impeccable. It would work. He was certain.

Thank you, Rambling Thoughts Before A Deep Sleep That Make Hardly Any Sense.

Satisfied and content, he finally surrendered to rest, after making a mental note of heading down to the owlery the next morning.

The large grandfather clock in the Gryffindor common room struck a dozen times as Harry anxiously glanced at the fireplace. As if on cue, a crackling of wood echoed throughout the room with the clock's last strike. Harry, seated on a loveseat facing the fire, sprang up and ran forward just in time to see two identical redheads pop up into his view.

"Hello, Harry!" they said in a cheerful unison that brought a smile on the boy's face.

"And what can we do for you on this fine evening?"

"Planning a little farewell prank at Hogwarts, are we?"

"That isn't very becoming for a man your age."

"I agree, Fred, not very becoming."

Harry rolled his eyes, though he was amused by the twins. "It's nothing," he began, a devilish grin forming on his face. "Just a little something to remember me when I'm gone."

George rubbed his eye and faked a sob. "They grow up so fast," he said.

"So, what'll it be? A dungbomb massacre? Fireworks?"

Harry shook his head, his smirk growing wider with each guess. Oh, it would be bigger than a field planted with millions of dungbombs. "I was actually wondering..." He trailed off and smirked. "Is The Babble Brew ready yet?"

Silence followed. The twins stared blankly at Harry, for they were in awe. "Harry, are you scheming what I'm thinking you're scheming?" George asked incredulously.

Harry nodded.

"You were always our favorite Gryffindor, Harry," Fred stated, eyes twinkling like mad. George was beaming as well. "We'll get it to you in three days, tops!"

"Good luck, Harry!" they both said and their heads quickly vanished.

The plan was in progress.

The brown parcel arrived in three days, just like the twins had promised. Harry waited until evening to open the package in the privacy of his bed. He wanted to keep his little "prank" private, at least for now.

Harry unwrapped the small bottle from its brown cocoon and examined it in his hand. There was a note attached, the handwriting messy and large.

One drop will be enough. We made a special version of this for you that we know you will enjoy.

Make us proud.

Harry smiled and rolled the blue bottle in his hand. Oh, he'd make them proud, all right.

Thank Merlin for Lucius Malfoy.

Thank the heavens for his conniving ways and manipulative manners. Thank the deities, because if not for his little machination back in Harry's second year, the elder Malfoy would still have his house elf, and Harry's prank would go in vain.

When Harry called for Dobby the night before, the little elf was more than ecstatic to oblige. "Anything for master Harry!" he squeaked as he grabbed the blue bottle from Harry's hand and disappeared with a crack.

Now, it was morning, and Harry felt like a little kid on Christmas Day.

He entered the Great Hall alone, and advanced towards his two best friends, sitting across from the canoodling lovers.


Harry smiled nevertheless and gave a morning greeting. His breakfast plate appeared before him, and as he reached for a slice of bread, he briefly glanced at the staff table.

No sign of Snape. Damn it.

"What do we have first today?" Harry inquired, furtively scanning the room. He should be here any second...

The two lovebirds paid no attention to his question, so he loudly coughed. The pair looked up and Hermione blushed. Ron smiled sheepishly and began to eat his ignored plate. Harry rolled his eyes and asked his question again.

"Charms," Hermione replied. "By the way, have you begun your essay for Transfiguration? I went to the library to do some research, but..."

Harry stopped paying attention, however. It was as if he could feel him. All of a sudden, his chest went cold, and he turned his head towards the table. Yes, the object of his affection was now seated. His food and drink were appearing... The drink that could make or break the situation...

"I don't know, 'Mione," Harry said absently. He took a bite of his bacon and focused his eyes on the plate below him. His friends were talking about something else, though Harry was gone, gone to a planet where only he and Snape existed.

Through his peripheral vision, he watched his professor pick at his food and take a rather small bite of his toast.

Snape despised eating. Harry had noticed.

Then, his heart skipped a beat -- Snape was reaching for his coffee. He held the tall mug in his hand and raised it to his lips --

And narrowed his eyes. Harry went pale. Surely, he couldn't have detectedone single drop of a potion in his coffee, could he? Then again, he was a goddamn Potions Master. Harry cursed his stupidity, and brought his full gaze toward the professor. Snape brought the mug down, a deathly scowl formed on his lips and he looked out to the sea of students before him.

The man opened his mouth, a trail of obscene and malicious threats on the tip of his tongue, and Harry was sure Snape knew it was him. It was all over. He wouldn't see the light of day, the man would do everything in his power to see that he didn't graduate, he would hex him into oblivion, he would --

"Severus, my boy, is there something wrong with your decaffeinated beverage?"

Harry turned to the headmaster, a look of pure bewilderment on his face, as did Snape's. Snape turned to Dumbledore, and raised an eyebrow.


Dumbledore nodded. "I took the liberty of asking the house-elves to prepare you a coffee with no caffeine." His eyes twinkled, and he grinned. "You've been on edge recently, Severus, I only assumed it was due to the large dose of the drug you consume every morning."

Snape sneered. "I am not on edge."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Of course you're not, Severus. However, I still must encourage you to lay off the caffeine."

Snape looked positively infuriated, and it took all of Harry's strength not to burst in a fit of roaring laughter. His professor opened his mouth, most likely to retort, but closed it, and sighed loudly. He drank his coffee unhappily, and resumed his scrutinizing of his food.

Harry turned to the headmaster, and he locked eyes with him. Dumbledore winked, and turned to McGonagall to start a conversation. Harry smiled widely.

"What's so funny, Harry?" Ron asked with a heapful of eggs in his mouth. Hermione watched him in disgust.

He turned to his friends and shook his head, though his grin would not disappear. "Nothing," he replied, pushing his plate to the side. "Well, I'm done."

"Good," Hermione stated, as she stood up and mimicked Harry's action with Ron's food, much to the redhead's dismay. "Let's head onto Charms, it's getting rather late."

Leave it to Hermione to consider being seven minutes early "late." The trio grabbed their books, and promptly headed out of the Hall.

The brooding Potions Master watched the insufferable golden trio leave the Hall and glared at his plate, remembering that he was to teach them in the afternoon. The day was shaping up to be horrible, indeed.On edge... Snape snorted into the disgustingly bare coffee that he was reluctantly drinking.

Honestly, everyone in the damn school was a stupid idiot. At least his Slytherins were tolerable, but the cons outweighed the pros, what with meddling Headmasters, aggravating faculty, naive Hufflepuffs, know-it-all Ravenclaws, and --

"Foolish Gryffindor," Snape said aloud, before he could think twice.

"Pardon me, Severus?" Filius Flitwick asked as he turned in Snape's direction.

Snape hid his confusion with a scowl, and cleared his throat, producing an aura of slight arrogance. "Nothing," he stated, and forced food into his mouth. The Charms teacher returned his attention back to whatever he was doing.

What in Merlin's saggy ba --

Foolish Gryffindor.

Snape, that time, was prepared for the invasion, so he managed to stop the words from leaving his head. However, he felt another strong pull in his head, and he opened his mouth again. "Fo--" He gritted his teeth, and closed his eyes. This was not happening, it was most certainly not happening...

"Is everything okay, Severus?" The somewhat concerned voice belonged to Minerva.


A slight color began to rise in his cheeks. Snape chewed desperately on his bottom lip to cease his mumbling. He cleared his throat, as if that would stop the unknown verbal twitches and he tightly gripped the table until his knuckles turned white. The entire staff was staring at the stammering professor with curiousity, and he even caught the attention of some students.

Oh, bugger.

Snape stood up from his chair, causing it to topple backward and onto the tiles below, landing with a deafening crash. All eyes were on him now as he rapidly began the long trek out of the Great Hall. He heard faint whispers from the tables, most likely due to his questionable swift retreat, but he didn't care. It was going to come out in the form of a large explosion, and he needed to exit the public's eye, or he would embarrass himself. And just, what was this it?

"Foo--" he muttered under his breath. He bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out until he tasted iron.

He closed the large door behind him, and was greeted to an empty corridor. He continued speeding to his office, but the urge was sounbearable...

It erupted before he could do anything.

"FOOLISH GRYFFINDOR!" He bellowed at nothing, eyes piercing nothing, and with a flourish of his robes, he scared to death, absolutely nothing.

It was like the aftermath of unbelievable sex. He panted heavily, wiping the sweat from his forehead and sighed in relief, a burst of satisfaction filling his lungs. It was all over.

Then, he heard an almost inaudible whimper and he turned his head to the sound. A rather obese Hufflepuff was shaking in his shoes, and tears were falling on his cheeks. He sobbed, and Snape almost laughed, were it not for the fact that they were both enduring mortification in the situation.

The fat, blonde boy (a first-year, Snape recognized) wiped his eye and cried out in a high-pitched wail. "But, IIII'mm a Hu-Hufflepuffff, s-s-sir!" The boy ran away before Snape could reply. The Potions Master just blinked, completely dumbfounded and beyond perplexed at what had occurred in a matter of five minutes.

Today was shaping out to be a horrible day, Snape thought. Inde--

"Foolish Gryffindor!" he uttered loudly. Snape cringed.

Somewhere in Diagon Alley, two Weasley brothers laughed hysterically.