Harry Potter, Harry Potter, Hot-Bottomed Fag

Title: Harry Potter, Hot-Bottomed Fag [Harry/Snape]
Rating/Warnings: PG for disturbing mental images.
Summary: Snape makes a troubling announcement in class.
AN: Everything is funnier when you pretend you are Snape while saying it and then add ‘Mr. Potter’ at the end. It’s true, try it.

Harry Potter, Hot-Bottomed Fag

Harry tried to slouch down even further on his stool, pretending to be hugely invested in his current potion. Snape strode down the aisle towards him purposely on his round of the room.

Please don’t bother me, Harry thought dully. Please just keep going.

“Ah, Mr. Potter,” Snape came to a stop beside Harry, the sneer obvious in his voice.

Damn, Harry thought blackly. He didn’t look up, hoping Snape would give up quicker if he didn’t get any ammunition.

“I see you are absolutely butchering that Shadowsliding Potion,” Snape snarled. “It should be purple and smoking, not orange and eating through the bottom of your cauldron!”

Harry gritted his teeth.

“I’ll start over,” Harry tried to keep his voice steady.

“Indeed you will, Mr. Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor!”

Snape looked like he might continue, but at that moment, Goyle returned with the newts he had been sent to retrieve from Snape’s supply cabinet ages ago.

“What took you so long, Goyle?” Snape demanded.

“S’too many stairs,” Goyle puffed, red-faced as he flopped exhaustedly back into his stool. Snape strode towards his desk to examine the newts in question.

“Goyle!” he snapped. “These newts are still frozen!” He rolled his beady gaze over the whole class.

“Mr. Potter!” he finally snapped, doing that queer little turn that Ron imitated so well and jerking his thumb towards the desk.

“What do you want me to do about it?” Harry asked, the irritation barely being kept out of his voice.

“Why don’t you sit on them, Mr. Potter?” Snape quirked an eyebrow. “You’re hot.”

“AAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHH!” Harry sat bolt upright in bed and glanced around wildly. After realizing he was not in fact in Potions being propositioned by the head of Slytherin, Harry took several deep breaths and flopped back down on his pillow.

“Harry?” Ron mumbled from the nearby bed. “S’matter?”

“Bad dream,” Harry answered. “Don’t worry about it.

There was no way he was going to admit he was dreaming about Snape.

Again.

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