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Eros' Brew

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Summary: Willow hates Valentine's Day. All she wants to do is forget about love. Instead, emotions and memories collide when she runs into a murderer on the run by the name of Severus Snape. Post season 7, post HBP.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Willow-Centered > Pairing: Severus SnapeTwistedSlinkyFR151015,20166520,75311 Apr 0631 Mar 09Yes

Bloody Cow

Disclaimer: I do not own HP, BtVS.


Willow could feel the magic coming toward her, flushing around her aura, her own power, pushing the spell away as a vein of black magic was washed away by a calming white strength.

All hexing aside, the soothing moment that the surge gave her evaporated into nothingness. My, what an exhilarating three seconds that had been. . .

“What the heck was that?” Willow screeched.

Snape, breaking his cold demeanor, let confusion wash over his expression. “It should have worked,” he muttered. Then he pushed himself against her, covering her mouth with his hand.

“Ug ur em so moosh troooble, mister!” the witch warned from under his offending appendage. She smacked his arm, and he let go over her, hands up in surrender.

“Lower you voice before someone hears you,” Snape hissed.

Willow’s eyes were burning with rage, but she lowered her volume nevertheless. “You tried to put a spell on me! What did you think you were trying to do, you idiot?”

“I was attempting to erase your memories of me so that you could go back to living your normal, muggle-based life!”

“My normal life!” Willow pursed her lips. “You obviously know nothing about me if you think that this is out of the ordinary for me.”

“Exactly,” he explained. “I know very little about you. You, in turn, know very little about me. It is for that reason that we should separate ourselves before one of us gets in too deep.”

When he was right, he was right.

Snape moved his legs, forcing her to stand off of their cozy fitting room seat. The wizard glared up at her. “I cannot allow you to just walk out with knowledge of my whereabouts. The aurors who are tracking me will most likely find you when we go our separate ways. If they realize that you don’t remember the encounter, they will leave you alone. You will be written off as a nameless muggle victim instead of an accomplice to a known murderer.”

Willow blinked. “Oh.”

She let a moment pass. “As much as that sounds like a plan, there are two huge problems.”

“Enlighten me,” Snape sneered.

“Firstly, you’ve probably realized that your little spell didn’t work on me. See the problem, Mr. I-Have-a-Big-Nose-that-Doesn’t-Match-My-Bird-Brain! I really don’t like people messing inside my head either, so you’re not going to get to take my memories that easily.”

Snape’s jaw was clenched in rage. Yet he held his wand hand down, as if attempting to restrain himself for the moment. “Noted,” he bit in agreement.

“Secondly,” Willow continued, her voice shaking in what her friends would have known as her ‘impassioned ramble’ state. “Secondly . . .Your stupid plan involved you running off and leaving me alone. Sure, you probably meant it as a means to protect me . . .”

“I move faster alone,” Snape corrected.

“Well . . . Your plan sucked,” she concluded, crossing her arms. Now channeling Buffy, next stop sailor-mouthed-Faith.

Willow’s face flushed in anger. For all the spite she was currently aiming at the man in front of her, her stomach felt like it was filled with a hundred bouncing, reproducing bunnies (may Anya’s spirit not strike her down). Eros’ Brew! It’s just the potion trying to make me ravage him! He’s not even that good looking when he’s angry. Okay, so maybe the fact that those dashing eyebrows of his become a uni-brow when he’s mentally cursing me is just a teensy bit cute. . . Urg! I hate myself on love spells.

Suddenly her eyes widened as her inner-Snape-worship died down. “But my plan doesn’t.”

Snape opened his mouth, obviously to argue before he had even heard her point.

“Sit back and shut up, Merlin. We’re using your idea. A memory spell might just do the trick.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Willow smirked at his acceptance, opening her mouth. “Moo!”



“Rise and shine, farmer! Ol’ Betsy needs a’ milkin’!”


Willow’s eyes opened, one at a time, to the horrific visual assault that was her digital Betsy the Cow alarm clock. Too tired to lift a finger, she sent a slap of magic in the offensive mooer’s direction. The time froze at 5:30 am. She was supposed to be at the airport by seven. The exhausted witch suddenly felt a desire to strangle Giles for buying her ticket.

“And you!” she directed at Betsy. “I shall make cheeseburgers of you—waking me right when I was about to tell Snape my big plan.” Her mouth dropped open. “Who’s Snape? Wait. . . Snape’s from my dreams. Snape.”

She let out a guttural growl, pushing herself up into a sitting position, her fist creating a crater in the down of one pillow. “Stupid wizard! If he messed up on a spell to erase my memories, then why, in the name of the goddess, would I have helped him do a better job of it? This makes no sense.”

Willow was about to go into a full fledged rant when she realized that she still hadn’t packed her suitcase yet.

She sighed, standing with a stretch. At least she knew that she was “in” on whatever happened. That would comfort Buffy somewhat. The rest of her memories would come back on their own, she was certain. It would just take time.

“L.A. first, wizards later,” she announced, stumbling toward her coffee maker.
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