Filed Under (Microfiction) by Tansy on 02-03-2013

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There was another memory he eventually told them about, long after the final battle was fought and won. Snape, as a young boy of maybe 15, had poured his genius into a potion that allowed him to go to the school dance desirable. The girls batted their eyelashes at him; the other boys clapped him on the shoulder with admiration. “The Prince Charming Spell,” Hermione said softly. “Yes,” Harry confirmed with a sigh. “He cast it to know a moment of temporary happiness, but found it made him realize how miserable he really was. Eventually, you go back to who you are and the life you have. He never used the spell again.” Ron, who had long wished to be someone else, fell silent for a long time.

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