A day later, Severus Snape, a tall and lanky wizard, growled under his breath as he carefully examined the bluish goop that remained in his cauldron. He could easily identify what ingredient proved to be the fatal one, but identifying it didn't help him feel any better. His experiment had still failed. Shaking his head angrily, he waved his hand towards the cauldron to vanish its contents.

He glanced towards his desk before rolling his eyes. It seemed like a never-ending battle with paperwork. Slowly, he walked over to his desk and grabbed the essay that was on top. A soft smirk quickly spread across his face as he read in the familiar chicken scrawl "Harry Potter." His good mood should quickly return after grading this failed essay.

Wise people whose names I can't recall right now consider Gander root to have aphrodisiac tendencies in which the person who took it will immediately fall in love with the person closest to him or her. In the medieval times, witches liked to bake with it so that they'd marry some rich knights because as you know every woman wants a knight in shining armor. Granted, sometimes a witch prefers the tall, dark, and handsome type, but that combination is extremely rare. Witches also are increasingly liking bad boy wizard types so the eviler the wizard the more the witch likes.

"What in the nine hells is this, Potter?" Snape growled before tossing the essay far from him. He stared straight ahead, trying to focus on anything else. Within the first twenty seconds, though, Snape's dark coal eyes slowly darted back towards Potter's essay. He had to admit it was intriguing, but Potter (surprise, surprise) missed the point of his essay. After a few more moments, he found himself reading more of Potter's essay.

If you don't have Gander root on hand, though, you could use Amortentia. It's tough to brew, but—Snape snorted here . . . as if Potter knew how tough it was. It has an excellent percentage of success and a lifelong of testimonies that state that it works. Gander root is easy to grind up if you have a mortar and pestle, but let's face it. Not all of us have that kind of stuff because it's somewhat odd for a fifteen year old to have. I have to wonder, though, if all these love potions and ingredients that have these effects really work on another person. I mean, love should be the ultimate ingredient in any relationship. Without love, you have lust and let's face it . . . lust runs out rather quickly after the age of thirty-five. Snape's eyes narrowed on the last sentence. While Potter's essay was extremely uncharacteristic of the young Gryffindor, Snape had to admit it was at least semi-interesting and better quality than what the boy usually handed in (which wasn't really saying all that much).

Several contraceptive potions ingredients can also make sure you don't knock up the wrong girl. Snape couldn't help it when he snorted again. He quickly skimmed over Potter's following paragraph before sighing. Potter was every bit through in his research, which made Snape groan. He couldn't understand why the boy felt the need to inform him of every method known to mankind. However, when Snape flipped over the page and found the various drawings on the back, he started to get concerned. The boy had never put so much effort in his Potions' essays before. Then again, Snape never had assigned a punishment essay without designating a specific topic before. To that day, he still didn't understand why he hadn't and to Potter of all people.

A few pages later, Snape sighed before grabbing his correcting quill. It pained him, but he managed to write an "Acceptable" at the very top. The essay was extremely unconventional and not anywhere close to what Snape had wanted Potter to focus on, but Potter had at least seemed to put some effort into it. Therefore, since Snape didn't want to have to listen to Harry's Head of House snarling at him for a "Poor," "Acceptable" was the only thing he could manage to write. However, that didn't mean that Snape wasn't going to make the boy's life a living hell. He couldn't have others see him as being soft with Harry Potter. It wouldn't bode well for him.

Snape stood up and walked to his fireplace. He threw the powdery green Floo powder into the roaring fire and called out for Minerva McGonagall's office. The elderly Gryffindor witch's head quickly appeared in the burning ashes. She didn't appear to be in a good mood, but then again it was nearly five in the morning.

"I apologize if I woke you, but I must speak with one of your students this instant." Snape's voice betrayed nothing, which Minerva's face followed suit.

"And just which student must you speak with before class, Severus?" Minerva responded tersely.

"Mr. Potter," he answered. Within seconds, he heard the loud groan from the witch. "I assure you that I shall return your precious lion as soon as I am finished with him. I only wish to inform him that he received an "Acceptable" on his latest essay. It is my understanding that he has been rather . . . concerned about it."

"Fine," Minerva groaned. "I'll speak with him." The flames disappeared, as did she.

Snape waited patiently at his desk for a good two minutes before he started to growl. It wasn't as if it was that long of a walk for the boy. Granted, Potter had to walk down eight flights of stairs to reach the dungeons, but he was on Gryffindor's Quidditch team. Surely, the boy could make it there in record time.

After another two minutes, Snape started to drum his fingers on his desk. The essay was in front of him, but he didn't pay attention to it. It didn't take that much longer before he was pacing back and forth in his office. The boy definitely was taking his time this morning.

Just as he was about to fire-call Minerva again, there was a soft knock against the door. Snape didn't vocalize his permission. Instead, he waved his hand towards the door, which made the door burst open, revealing the young disheveled Gryffindor. Snape glared at Potter before schooling his features. Honestly, doesn't the boy own a damn comb? You'd think the spawn of James Potter would at least attempt to clean himself up before meeting with his professor. It's probably too good for him to brush his hair.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Sit," Snape hissed as he pointed at the empty chair before his desk. As soon as the door closed and Potter was in the chair, Snape pushed the essay in question towards him. "Explain yourself now, Potter."

"Well, I thought that'd be pretty self-evident, sir," Potter replied calmly. "You assigned me to write an essay of my choice. I chose to write mine on love potions." He then glanced at the essay before glancing up. "Is something wrong with it?"

"Why love potions, Potter?"

"I don't know. I mean, I suppose it was because it sounded interesting."

"I see. From now on, if you ever research another potion, I expect you to research thoroughly as you did with this essay. Otherwise, every essay you give me will have a large T on it. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied. He didn't appear at all phased by Snape's words, but then again his plan was working beautifully. "Am I dismissed?" He only received a slight nod from Snape. As he was walking back out of the room, Harry glanced back at Snape. "So . . . how'd I do anyway?"

"Get out, Potter," Snape snarled before having the door slam shut in Harry's face. He's up to something, Snape mused. If I find out what you're up to, Potter, you'll only wish you were writing essays.