Rating: PG 15 (ish) for some … suggestions.
Summary: Buffy discovers that Slayers aren’t immune to everything and needs to visit a stodgy Potions professor for relief. Er, yes… "relief".
Disclaimer: Characters? Yeah, not mine. :: forlorn sigh ::
A/N: This is a birthday fic for Snapelet, but I am so keen on this being my first multi-chaptered fic that I am totally bursting to get it out and maybe get some feedback before I show it to my Yahoo group (sort of doing this in reverse, aren’t I?). So SHHHH! Keep it a secret from Snapelet!
Buffy balled her hands into fists and clenched until her nails drew blood from her palms. This was too intense for even her
to handle, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. She was the Slayer, and she was helpless. If there was one thing Buffy hated, it was being helpless. She waited in agony for one more second before she yelled in frustration and ripped off her shirt.
She could see it in the mirror – it was so red and bumpy that it jumped out at her, even against her tanned skin. Granted, she was more pale than she’d liked, thanks to the freezing cold Scotland fall, but the bite was so pronounced that it was laughing
at her.‘Laugh at this, you stupid jerk,’
Buffy thought, and set to scratching like nobody had ever scratched before. Unfortunately, nobody had ever been a Slayer and scratched before, and despite the instant relief it gave her, she was soon drawing blood. But now that she had started scratching, she couldn’t stop. Looks like her mom had been right in saying ‘Never scratch a mosquito bite!’ But Buffy had never worried about that before, since she was a Slayer
. Slayers didn’t get dumb things like mosquito bites. They got demon blood on their pants and weird guts in their hair, but never mosquito bites on their stomachs.
Goddammit, she was itchy
Buffy screamed in anger and threw her pillow at the mirror, which promptly caused a mass explosion of feathers and glass. There had to be something
she could do to stop the itching before she went insane, scratched off all her skin, or both. This was a magic castle
, for heaven’s sake, there had to be some kind of magical cure, with bat wings or mouse tongues or something disgusting like that.
But who could she go to? The nurse lady with the very
frowny eyes wouldn’t touch her since she’d accidentally broken half the jars of magic in her office… Buffy groaned in remembrance as the scene re-played in her mind.
It had been an innocent mistake, really. Willow had done a spell, trying to help in a battle, but Andrew had said something and screwed everything up, and suddenly Buffy had been sent to the middle of some medical room. Well, of course she fought the first thing that grabbed her, and ended up sending some kid into a shelf of magic medicine, wrecking it all. She had felt really bad once everyone had explained to her where she was, but that wasn’t enough for Mrs. Never-Forgive-Anything, and Buffy had been effectively banned from the Medical Wing.
The Slayer ran down her mental list of the staff members, trying to think of who could help her with her current prediciment. Obviously the creepy ghost teacher would be no help, and neither would the flake who taught Divination… Buffy groaned as she remembered the only person who could help her –
That jackass had been nothing but a… well, a jackass
to her since her arrival, what with his sneering and stupid greasy hair and being so tall. But he did
make potions, and that was probably the only thing that could save her sanity and her skin, before the damn mosquito bite drove her insane and caused her to scratch off all her skin.
Buffy sighed and grabbed her discarded shirt, then prepared herself for the long trek to the dungeons. She didn’t like going to the dungeons because of all the evil vibes she got off everything that moved (and some things that didn’t) down there. But it looked like she had no other choice, so she would have to suck it up and get herself healed.
Professor Severus Snape barely raised an eyebrow when his door was flung open with such force that it nearly flew off its hinges. He prided himself on being something of an un-ruffle-able man, and it wouldn’t do to jump a foot in the air when an unquestionably irritable Slayer stormed into his classroom.
"Yes?" he asked in a bored tone, not looking up from the text he was reading.
"I need a potion."That
was somewhat shocking; enough so that it caused him to look up at her and cock his head. "Beg your pardon, Miss Summers?"
She sighed angrily and crossed her arms like a petulent child. "I said,
I need a potion
Snape leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "And what, pray tell, would this potion be for?"
"I’m itchy," Buffy bit out, already annoyed with him.
"Itchy," he repeated with mock seriousness. "Why?"
"Because one of your stupid Scottish mosquitos bit me on the stomach." Honestly, what had crawled up the man’s ass and died? Couldn’t he just make her a potion and be done with it?
"Mosquitoes?" Snape repeated, raising an eyebrow. "In November?"
Buffy clenched her fists and her teeth in frustration. "Yes
, mosquitoes in November. Now, stop repeating everything I say like some mentally challenged drag queen and give me the damn potion. God, just because you’re secretly in love with me doesn’t mean you have to be such an ass."
Snape simply stared at her in disbelief, long enough that Buffy started to get uncomfortable. "What?" she demanded. She was only teasing, after all. She liked to tease him because he was such a jackass to her. That’s how she was. Now she was uncomfortable. And itchy.
He sighed, reached into his drawer, pulled out a vial, and handed it to her. "Here. Now begone."
Buffy frowned at his dismissal, but decided to prioritize instead of punching him in the face. So she stormed up to him, snatched the vial from his hand, and stormed out of his office. At last, she would be free from this infernal itching. Relief was in sight.
Maybe Creepy Greasy Head wasn’t so bad after all.
The next evening, Snape was, once again, interrupted from his work by the forceful opening of his door. He sighed; perhaps there would be merit in giving deadbolt locks another thought.
The voice that interrupted his thoughts, however, surprised him. It was, of course, Miss Summers; but the way in which she spoke to him was strange indeed.
"Oh, Sna-ape," she sing-songed. At first he lifted his head in annoyance, but as she sauntered – yes, sauntered – over to him, he couldn’t help but swallow.
Her standard issue robes were, as usual, wide open as per her blatant rejection of the school’s dress code. Yet underneath those robes was an outfit of the sort Snape had never laid eyes on. He stood immediately, and swallowed again. The first thing he noticed were knee-high black leather boots with a heel higher than he’d ever imagined possible. Naturally, this put her at about shoulder level to him, not that he minded of course. She was wearing some sort of stretchy black thing that barely covered her bum, and a strappy red top so tight he could see everything. Oh, Merlin, could he see everything. Not that he was looking, of course. He couldn’t stand
the bubbly American. She was so… so…
"Miss Summers," Snape said awkwardly, staring at her top. "What… what brings you to my office?"
Buffy giggled and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "Oh, I don’t know," she sighed, glancing at the ceiling of the dungeon he resided in. "Just felt like a walk, I guess. You know me, excessive energy."
Snape blinked. "Hm."
Buffy made a frustrated sound and rolled her eyes. "Fine, you tight-ass, we’ll do it this way." Snape barely had time to object to being called a ‘tight-ass’ (he was proper,
that’s all) before the small blonde launched herself at him and attached her lips to his.