You Offered.

Disclaimer: Severus Snape and Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.

A/N: Done for a fanfiction competition in The White Ferret RPG. There was a limit of a page (arial, size 10) so that is why it is so short.

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Pumpkins with legs doing the jig. Candles with mouths reciting Shakespeare. Rainbow roads crossing in front, in back, right through Harry's very person. And then there was a very normal-looking table with a pretty pink bottle of perfume.

Without thinking, Harry Potter, in shining silver armor, went over and took the bottle delicately. The next thing Harry knew, the scene changed into a dungeon with Snape sitting upon a black, spiky throne looking down at him with blood trickling down from the side of his thin lips, fangs gleaming amongst his uneven teeth. Harry was no longer in armor, but in rags with the gleaming bottle still at hand.

His blood froze as Snape got up from his throne and glided toward him. Clamping his eyes shut, Harry thrusted the bottle up to Snape's large nose and cried: "Take this as an offering!"

"Wake up, Potter." The familiar soft voice sliced through Harry's mind and green eyes jolted open.

Looking away from the sneering countenance of his Potions Master, he looked down and observed that he was on a table. Emerald eyes swept past the table to the stone floor and then to the rest of his surroundings. It looked like an abandoned room in the dungeons until he noticed that beyond a lit candle, there was an open window where silvery wisps of moonlight tumbled through.

A familiar feeling of his blood freezing seized the Gryffindor. His hands went to touch his neck. It was still whole. Swallowing, he recalled that Snape was in the room when he heard the flutter of heavy robes and the click of boots. Harry glanced over to the corner where there was the least light and noticed that Snape was holding a pink bottle.

The memory of his dream flood into his mind, and with a start, Harry found himself tumbling off of the table and painfully hit the floor sending his glasses flying. Groaning, he pushed himself upright and heard Snape's quiet, cacophonous laugh.

Squinting, Harry saw a dark form making its way over to his side and assumed it to be Snape. Remaining still, Harry refused to go on his knees to grope for his glasses. Where was he anyway?

"You're on the third floor, Potter." Harry blinked. The third floor?

"It also happens to be after curfew." An object was thrown at him and Harry fumbled to catch it: his glasses. Face flushed, Harry slid the glasses back onto his face and got up. Avoiding Snape's eyes, Harry looked down at the pink bottle curiously.

"I found this next to you, Potter. Care to explain why you were on the third floor with a bottle of…perfume? Getting insecure about the way you smell?" Harry shot a dirty look at the Potions Master, only to be greeted by an unpleasant smile, illuminated by the glow of the moon.

Frowning, Harry looked down once more, unsure of how to explain. All he could remember was following Dobby somewhere after dinner and—

"One hundred points from Gryffindor and a month's detention with me. Such haughty disregard for the rules will not be tolerated. Come." Surprised eyes looked back up, but Harry saw that Snape was walking toward the door.

Getting up dumbly, he started to limp after the Potions Master. He didn't even wait for an explanation after he had asked? Harry knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. A glimmer of pink past the billowing black fabric caught Harry's attention and he realized Snape was still holding onto the bottle.

"Um…Professor…sir…can I get that…err…perfume back?"

The Potions Master halted and looked back, smiling furtively with an arched eyebrow. "You offered it to me, Potter."