Fair and Foul by Lemon Curd

„Expelliarmus!“

Lockhart’s wand flew from his hand, he fell, skidded over the floor and hit his head on the wall.

Some girls ran over to him to check on him, and Hermione would have, too, if Ron hadn’t caught her arm. “Don’t be silly, he’s alright.”

Harry wasn’t so sure, and perhaps it was because it was Snape who had done it, but he felt a bit bad for Lockhart.

It took the man quite a while to get up, but then he smiled at the girls who surrounded him. “No worries, I just exaggerated for the dramatics. Wanted to show you how it looks – of course I could easily have parried the spell, but you wouldn’t have learnt anything from that, would you?”

Actually, Harry thought, it would have been a lot more interesting to see how one fought such a powerful disarming spell. Now, he had just learnt that you could hurt someone with that spell, something he hadn’t known before.

“Ah, yes”, Snape drawled. “What about another demonstration?”

Just when the teachers were about to start another duel, a large owl flew into the room and sat on Snape’s arm. He took the letter from the owl’s foot, unfolded it and curtly informed them that something had come up and the duelling club was cancelled because it was in the rules that such dangerous clubs had to be supervised by two teachers.

After that, he rushed away in a flurry of billowing robes.

“Greasy git. Just like him to ruin our fun”, Ron muttered.

“I am so very sorry”, Lockhart stated “That Professor Snape prioritizes his trivial private matters over your education. Nothing could be more essential than your ability to defend yourself! Alas ...” He shook his head. “Perhaps we can continue some other time.”

Rumours flew through the room. Some said that Voldemort had come back and summoned Snape to his side. Slytherins speculated Snape must have been nominated for an international potion-making award and the message had summoned him to receive it.

Some of the older students claimed that Snape regularly got letters from France. “He must be corresponding with Nicolas Flamel”, one girl from Ravenclaw mused.

“Or he has an affair. French women, you know”, a male Hufflepuff suggested.

“Right”, one of his friends agreed. “Didn’t someone see him with a beautiful blonde a couple years ago?”

“Oh, that old chestnut. Someone misunderstood that”, an older girl whose house Harry didn’t know stated exasperatedly. “I have it right from Lucy herself, and she says it was a cute girl. Cute as in, about the age of a firstie, back then.”

“Oooch, the old dungeon bat is a child molester?” Fred, or George said with fiendish glee.

“Nonsense!” the girl retorted. “Get your mind out of the gutter, she’s probably his daughter from a failed marriage or something.”

“As if anyone would marry the greasy git in the first place!” Ron scoffed. “I tell you, there’s something fishy going on there. Love potion or something.”

Whatever the reason, Snape was gone and didn’t return until several days later, in a grumpier mood than ever.

Not that anyone else was cheerful. The petrification of several students made everyone nervous.

Hermione’s genius plan for getting the truth out of Malfoy worked in that Malfoy didn’t notice they were impersonating his friends, but Hermione’s Christmas holidays were completely ruined as she had to spend them as a cat-human-hybrid.

By February, pretty much everyone was grumpy.

Except for Lockhart, who was as cheerful as ever.

When Harry left the common room on Valentine’s Day, the whole castle was decorated. Heart-shaped confetti rained from the ceilings. Ugly dwarves distributed love letters.

It was no secret Lockhart must be responsible, as none of the other teachers would ever have tolerated such cheesiness.

Harry had just escaped the one who had delivered a sung message by – probably – Ginny, when another dwarf attacked.

This one only gave him a letter and a box of chocolates, thankfully.

The chocolates smelled delicious, so Harry took one and, chewing on it, read the letter. It was lovely.

This poem likened his eyes to emeralds and his hair to ebony. Now that was what he called poetry!

Harry re-read it several times during breakfast, eating all the chocolates.

When he looked up to the high table, it struck him, for the first time, how very handsome Professor Lockhart was.

Could the letter be from ... him? Such poetry must be from a published author, it only made sense.

But he dared not hope. Better not to embarrass himself if he was wrong.

That afternoon, he caught himself drawing little hearts around Lockhart’s lessons in his timetable.

“He’s so handsoome”, he whispered to Hermione when he was sure they couldn’t be overheard.

“Who?”

“Professor Lockhart, of course.” Could he dare call him Gilderoy in his head? If the letter was by him ...

“Oh. Yeah, he is, isn’t he?”

“Do you think he could have sent me a letter? I got one with a beautiful poem ...”

Hermione frowned. “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad? That one?”

“No! Of course not! That was embarrassing. I mean ...” He took the letter from where he was carrying it close to his heart. “This.”

She read it. “That could have been written by an adult. But I don’t think it is by him. I mean, that wouldn’t be right.”

“What? You are just jealous! You want him for yourself!”

Hermione’s frown deepened, and Harry was getting worried she might attack him and scratch his eyes out, when her features suddenly softened. “Not at all. Listen Harry, I’m sorry I made you think I have a crush on Lockhart. It’s not true. You can have him all to yourself.”

That sounded great! It would have made him really sad to lose Hermione as a friend. “So why did you draw hearts around his lessons, then?”

“Oh, well ...” Hermione shrugged, then hid her face with her hands. “Promise you won’t tell Ron?”

“I don’t like keeping secrets from him, but I guess I will have to. I don’t think he would understand my love for Gilderoy.”

“Right. Harry, I just wanted to distract Ron and you, so you wouldn’t notice who I really have a crush on.”

“Who is it?”

“Well, it is ...” Hermione fidgeted with her quill, visibly embarrassed. “Professor Snape.”

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Harry thought he should probably be disgusted. But he wasn’t – he was delighted they weren’t rivals in love after all. “But why? He’s always nasty!”

“Oh, well, he is a genius in potions. I just can’t help but admire him. Listen, Harry, can I ask you for a favour?”

“Sure! What do you need?”

“You know Professor Snape. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone outside lessons. I’m sure he would send me away if I came to his office for a chat. So I thought ... perhaps, if we told him we need his help with something ...”

“But he hates me! He would never help me with anything!”

“I know. I think we might have a chance if it was something embarrassing. He would like to gloat over it ... and something potions related, so he can’t send us to someone else.”

Harry pondered her suggestion. “We tell him I have a boil in an embarrassing place and ask for a cure for boils potion? But he would just tell us to brew it ourselves.”

“I know. It must be something more complicated. About a potion we haven’t had yet. There’s some very complex potions in the books for the upper years.” Hermione frowned in concentration. “I know it is a lot to ask ... I would help you with your crush, too, in return ...”

“That’s what friends are for. Snape hates me anyway.” Harry was so happy, with his letter and the hope it might be from Gilderoy, he would gladly embarrass himself a little to help Hermione be just as happy.

“Well ... if you could, say, pretend you got dosed with a love potion ... that’s too complex for me to brew a cure for and he could look down on you and show off his knowledge ... he would like that.”

“He hates love potions, too. Did you see how he looked at Gi- Professor Lockhart when he suggested we could brew love potions for Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, that’s why I thought of it. He would be delighted to get to neutralize a love potion.”

Harry nodded. “I’m just not sure I am that good an actor.”

“Well ...” Hermione said slowly. “I thought ... I am not sure if you want to do that, but ... if we told him you are in love with Professor Lockhart ... you wouldn’t have to pretend anything, and I could claim I think someone gave you love potion as a prank ...”

“But that’s not love potion! He’s just really handsome. And a hero. And so good at poetry ... if the letter is from him, anyway.”

“I know, Harry”, Hermione said, exasperated. “But Professor Snape has to believe it is! And perhaps he will mention it to Professor Lockhart, and you won’t have to tell him yourself.”

“Oh! That’s genius!” Harry was much too shy to confess his love, but this way, it would be easy. And if it turned out Gilderoy didn’t like him back, he could always claim it had just been a love potion after all. Zero risk! “Let’s go!”

“Wait a moment – I want to write a letter I can give Professor Snape. He’s so reserved, I’m not sure he will open up just because he can show off his skill, and I only have this one chance ... Ron would kill me if he knew.”

“Yeah, probably.” Ron was a bit insensitive at times, and he wouldn’t understand Hermione’s feelings. Harry did. Sort of. Hermione was a genius, it made sense she would like someone who was a genius, too, even if he was also a slimy git.

Just like Harry liked someone who was also a celebrity. It was just easier if someone could really understand you. Yes. It totally made sense.

When Hermione emerged from the girls' dorm, letter in hand, it was close to curfew, but Harry didn’t mind – if Hermione’s plan worked, Snape would be too distracted by her to take points from them. And if he gave them detention, well, that was just what Hermione wanted, more time to spend with her love, and Harry was used to scrubbing cauldrons and the like, it was a small price to pay to help a friend.

They told Ron they were going to the library, and as they had hoped, he opted to stay behind.