Amare Speculae

Chapter Two

AN: Yes, again with my soulmate fic. I swear I'm in some sort of misshapen rut of bonds and mates. Oh, well. It can't be that bad.

So the next chappie! We get a little Harry in this one, so buckle up for a bumpy ride.

Enjoy, bros!

~Kiro
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Harry slung his pack into the bed and threw himself down next to it, heaving a heavy sigh. His detention was in an hour, so he couldn't take a long nap, but he could damn well try to doze for the next fifty minutes.

He had a detention with Snape. However, this time Harry couldn't blame the man for the punishment. Harry had added the Firedrake venom a bit too early and stirred a bit too late. Along with about five other mistakes that he had made earlier in the process of brewing Rash Inducer in class, this proved disastrous. Harry had been just about to slip his stirring rod into the cauldron when it huffed out a mushroom cloud, singeing the curls covering his forehead. He was left with a pot of boiling tar spouting four foot tall flames of a vibrant crimson.

The substance was unbanishable, thanks to some other ingredient (Harry really hadn't been paying attention), and the flames wouldn't go out, so the potions lab now had a flaming cauldron as a fixture in one corner of the room. It was quite beautiful, in a way, once you got past the bright crimson colour and the fact that they were flames coming from a rusted and filthy cauldron.

Snape had gone on a bit of a rant, but Harry hadn't processed a word. He was too busy admiring the fearsome, powerful expression and the loud, deep, sneering rumble of the man's voice. His shoulders evened out and drew back in a powerful display of posturing, showing off his broad chest and wide shoulders. The man's eyes blazed like black fire from his sockets, burning into the subject of his gaze. It was the most powerful, attractive, soul-catching thing Harry had ever seen.

The professor was quite a sight when angry, even more so when furious. In fact, now that he thought about it, Harry saw that the man had acted more affected by this mistake than any other explosion or dangerous potions accident he had been witness to. It was a bit odd. Why would this, a simple flaming cauldron, make Snape so interminably angry?

Harry absently cast a tempus spell and gave a start. He had five minutes to get down to the dungeons, which was a ten minute walk. He sprang from the bed and ran through the common room, waving away the questions voiced by his housemates. Reaching the portrait, he slammed it open and sprang down the hallway.

~

Harry made it to the dungeons in seven minutes, huffing and puffing as though he had run a marathon on Everest. He skidded to a stop at the doorway, took three deep breaths, and raised his hand to knock.

"Are you going to stand there breathing like a half-drowned dragon or are you going to come in, Potter?"

Harry gave a start at he sound of the potion master's voice and pulled the door open. He managed to almost trip on his own shadow at the doorway but caught himself, making his way cautiously to the front of the room, head bowed in embarrassment.

Snape was standing before his desk, one hip propped up against it and his arms folded on his chest. He wore an amused and exasperated expression, one eyebrow high on his forehead and his lips playing with a slightly predatory smirk.

"Still as clumsy as ever, I see. You are late. What, prey tell, is your excuse for tardiness this time?"

Harry raised his eyes from his feet to gaze at his professor, then froze them there, astonished at the attractive look of warm amusement there. Harry found it slightly terrifying that it was there at all. After all, malicious Potions Masters were NOT supposed to do anything warmly. After a few moments the eyebrow rose again and Harry shook his head, looking away.