This is without a doubt inspired by She's A Star, and all collaborators, who helped to bring this pairing to life. If you haven't read her work, get thee hence! (No, seriously. What are you waiting for? Wouldn't you rather read the father of all Snape/Sinistra before you read it's lovechild?) As long as you promise to come back, that is. That being said, there are a lot (and I mean A LOT) of throwbacks to her work in Lamentations. Kudos if you can spot them all. :) Also, and I promise I'm almost finished, you should know that I have decided that this is meant to be during what would be Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. Thanks to all readers and reviewers, because you guys are amazing and I can't thank you enough.

Disclaimer: ...do I look like J.K. Rowling? Since most of you can't see me, I'll go ahead and answer that: I don't. Therefore, sadly, I do not own anything except for a propensity to torture the characters as I please.

"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

-Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing

Aries: Rising Action

Aurora Auriga Sinistra was, for all intents and purposes, very adept at performing what magical prowess was required of her and even, on occasion, at following orders. She was a perfectly normal and well-functioning individual of society, thank you very much.

She could name every constellation known to man, had learned to cast a Patronus during only her fourth year, and prided herself on being able to read late into the night like nobody's business with no ill effects to her health or her retention.

When it came to sports, however, Aurora had to admit that she was not particularly skilled. In fact, she considered this quite the understatement.

Honestly, what was so thrilling, so get-up-at-the-crack-of-dawn-to-go-scream-your-lungs-out-in-the-freezing-cold exciting, about putting children on fast-moving flying objects and watching then lob a ball through hoops? If she had it her way, she'd never go to another Quidditch match as long as she lived, but somehow events never seemed to play out in her favor.

This was why, she mused as she dragged herself and her broom up to the courtyard, it made absolutely no sense for anyone in their right mind to trust her with a broomstick, let alone tell her to fly around and move things with one.

Then again, she was never too sure that Albus Dumbledore was ever in his right mind to begin with.

"Oh, God, I'm going to break my neck," she groaned, watching her breath fog out before her.

"Oh? It would be a great service to us all, I'm sure."

She glared back at her partner-in-crime, tempted to swat at him but not quite tempted enough to remove her hands from the protection of her pockets. His habitual uniform of all black, from his greasy hair right down to his boots, contrasted almost painfully with the blanket of white smothering every inch of available grounds and roofing.

Normally, it would have been Madam Hooch's job to zip around like a maniac stringing gaudy Christmas decorations at abysmal heights that were extremely, Aurora was convinced, unbeneficial to one's health. This year, she didn't think the woman would be doing much zipping at all, let alone setting up an excessive light display.

Being the Quidditch coach and all, Hooch's job description probably included a lot of high risk. As it was, she had been hit, perhaps not-so-innocently—seeing as she had just been asked to settle a dispute of foul play concerning jinxes and quaffles and had ruled in favor of Ravenclaw (and not Slytherin)—by a stray bludger and was thusly incapacitated just in time for the task of dangerous decorating to be assigned to none other than Aurora Sinistra.

And, of course, Snape.

Who, she suspected, was going to be utterly no help.

Alas, yet another reason for her to despise Quidditch. She had always known it was an evil sport.

And, also to be jealous of Flitwick, who was, each consecutive year, given the oh-so-arduous task of levitating ornaments onto a tree in the Great Hall. Which, considering his propensity to be vertically challenged and to teach the most uncharming class in the school—in her opinion—next to perhaps Potions, was quite the accomplishment.

"So, um…where do we start?" She felt rather dumb for having asked it, but anything that delayed her straddling a dust-sweeping death-trap of destruction was well worth it.

Snape only glanced at her, looking peeved—when didn't he look peeved—and mounted his own broomstick, which, consequently, looked a good bit newer and safer than hers. For a moment, she was resentful of the suave way he kicked off from the ground and floated his way up a few inches, hovering there like he'd been riding brooms every day of his life—but that was before she concluded that "Snape" and "suave" did not belong together in the same sentence.

"I believe, given the circumstance, that I shall leave to you the responsibility of ornamenting the Astronomy tower," he smirked. "It is indeed rather fitting, don't you agree?"

Oh, she could have killed him. Killed him. Performed every Unforgivable she knew and hexed him into a million pieces and thrown him into the lake.

The Astronomy tower, as everyone well knew, was the highest point in the school. This was a truth she didn't much mind and in fact even appreciated when stargazing (though perhaps not when climbing the stairs), but as it turned out, looking up at the sky and actually being in it, supported by nothing but an ancient bewitched stick with a few bristles at the end, were two separate things entirely.

"Severus," she pleaded, eyes flashing. "Absolutely not. No way. Not a chance in hell."

He lifted a single taunting eyebrow, unimpressed.

"Severus, no. Just no. No. No!"

Still, the eyebrow. "Oh, dear," he ground out between his venomous teeth, "an Astronomy professor afraid of heights? My, we are full of surprises."

"Not just heights. Astronomical heights. And my own inability to fly or stay on top of a broom. I'm not exactly Quidditch captain, you know."

He hovered up a few more feet just to mock her, she was sure. "Obviously," he droned.

"Severus, I'm so serious right now it's not even funny. If you put me on a broom, I will die. The last time I flew was in my first year at Hogwarts when we were required to take flying lessons, and I only kicked up, jumped a few feet, got jostled around, and dropped back down for a passing grade. The end."

The expression on his face was just as icy as ever when he replied, "I fail to see how any of this pertains to my…caring."

Kill. Kill. She was going to kill him.

Surely, Dumbledore wouldn't mind if his best snarky Potions professor went missing for awhile, right?

Well, maybe he would.

Aurora sighed. By now, she was ready to cry, and her hands were frozen to the handle of the broom she was now having trouble gripping properly. "Severus, please." Her voice took on a pouty pre-cry note, and if reiterating his name didn't get the point across, then maybe his loathing of being sobbed on would.

Then again, he did enjoy the suffering of others.

"Slip your mind, did it, informing the Headmaster of your…trepidation?"

Truly, his dramatic pauses were the bane of her existence, and she was pretty sure he knew that, too. She was certain he could send Quirrell on a run for his money in taking twenty years to finish a sentence.

"Don't think I didn't try," grumbled Aurora. "But you know how he is better than I do. He thinks butterscotch and toffee cures everything. Absolutely mental. Genius, mind you, but…well."

He frowned, then, in a way that was actually quite normal instead of his usual contorted scowl, and contemplated the trail of their footprints back towards the castle entrance. In the time it took him to do this, she realized that he wasn't planning on answering her in any way, shape or form besides staring creepily into the distance, and so took it upon herself to do the only thing she could do in such a situation: lump up a ball of wet snow and hurl it at his chest.

Naturally, it wound up smacking him pleasantly in the face.

For a moment, he blinked in her general direction, his face devoid of anything save dazed shock and, of course, the explosion of snow that was slowly sliding down his chin and dropping off at intervals. It was highly probable that he'd never been hit with an innocent snowball in his entire life, except perhaps by the Weasley twins.

Or Sirius.

Or James.

Or anyone who'd ever had him as a professor.

But who was counting?

Somehow, Aurora knew she should have been running in fear of her life right about then, but she was also a tad busy being doubled over in laughter to think of such things.

Common sense finally caught up to her as she saw him start to approach her with what looked like incurable rage, but unfortunately, grace and agility did not. Stumbling backwards with a few errant giggles, she felt her ankle hindered by an entrapment of snow, tripped over the end of her broomstick, flailed in a very unflattering manner, and landed with gusto on the center of her broom, which twisted with her momentum and sent her sailing full-speed towards the exact man she was attempting to distance herself from.

In the end, she wasn't much sure how she'd accomplished it, but she found herself sprawled over the Potions Master in a very compromising position indeed, her hands on his chest and one of his brushing at her thigh, covered in snow and breathing like she'd just run a marathon.

If anyone had happened across them in this circumstance, there would have been no mercy from the rumor-mill.

"Ugh…" was all she could muster.

For ten seconds exactly, they stared. For another five, she panicked until she realized that the painful object digging into her hip was her broom. For about two, he looked incredibly livid.

"Get off," he ordered, a bit louder than necessary.

He needn't tell her twice. In one swift motion that she was actually quite proud of, she rolled off of him, stood, and swept up her broom. The only thing that made this untimely and not-quite-redeeming fluidity a little less satisfactory was the fact that she was shivering so violently it might have looked like she was suffering from uncontrollable convulsions.

Needless to say, she doubted he'd be cutting her a break anytime soon. Resigning herself, she held out a hand which he—so unexpectedly—ignored in favor of hauling himself to his feet with a muffled groan.

"Sorry," she hazarded, trying to sound as apologetic as possible. "I mean, I did tell you so, but…really. Sorry about that. You alright?"

Snape only cut her a distasteful look, haughtily brushing off the flecks of snow that still stuck to his—face it, already doomed—hair. She couldn't help but notice that he'd missed a few.

"Fine," he said tersely.

"Oh. That's good, then." It came out a bit more flat than intended, and she decided she might as well sign herself off as a lost cause. Honestly, she must have been hell-bent on getting herself killed.

Steeling herself for just about anything, Aurora hopelessly stood over her broomstick, feet set apart, fully intending to never let go of the handle. Remembering flying instructions from over a decade ago proved to be just as difficult as she thought it would be: nearly impossible.

Knees bent.

Back straight.

Elbows inward.

Lean forward.

…was she supposed to be leaning forward yet? Or was that after she was already up in the air?

Up in the air. Oh, Merlin. She felt sick.

A sudden hand on her shoulder had her squealing and whirling around, whacking Snape in the shoulder with the end of her broom.

Again.

"Oh! Oh, my God, Severus, I-you-so sorry-what-"

"Please be quiet," he snapped.

She obeyed. At least he'd said "please." Progress, at last.

"Lean back." The hand that was still on her shoulder directed her—gently?—into exactly which posture he wanted, and she felt the edge of his robes tickling her arm from the proximity.

Her skin might have risen up in gooseflesh if it wasn't already doing just that. As it was, a minute little shudder ran down the length of her vertebral column and was subsequently ignored due to the fact that it was bone-chillingly cold. She deserved to shiver a little, after all. It was inhuman not to.

"Feet closer together, if you please," he instructed.

Reluctantly, she dragged her feet a few inches closer. His hand had now left her shoulder and travelled down to both of her own, gently—yes, gently!—repositioning them a bit farther up the shaft of the gnarled broomstick.

Merlin's beard, his hands were warm. Perhaps he was a werewolf in secret?

He couldn't verily hide that from her, could he?

"Stop strangling it."

She blinked. "Erm…what?"

"A broom is not going to listen to you if you are, shall we say, attempting to assault it, Aurora." He explained it out like she was about three, and she hated it with a passion.

"Oh. Alright." But she'd be damned of she'd admit it to him. "Touchy things, aren't they?"

"They are, in effect, attuned to your every shift of weight and motion of wrist, so, yes, naturally." Was that supposed to insult her intelligence? "Touchy," he agreed.

"Right."

It was then, as his thumb was half-prying, half-massaging her indestructible frozen-in-place grip to loosen, that she made the mistake of looking up at him.

At his face.

At his eyes.

Not a trace of a malicious snarl in sight. Ironically, it was a bit terrifying.

And there was still snow in his hair.

Her second mistake? Reaching up a hand—what was she thinking?—and combing it out. Combing it out. I.e., running her fingers through Snape's hair. Snape's hair.

It was not a place one willingly put one's fingers.

Her conclusion? She was barking. Irrevocably, incontrovertibly insane beyond all reason.

She was rather certain his thoughts were working along the same pattern.

And then there was this chilling, unbearable moment where obsidian met green and she swore she saw the confusion and uncertainty swimming around in those dark pools that must have been mirrored in her own, and, God, he was a normal human being.

How could she live with herself, knowing he was an actual person like the rest of them?

At that point, her conscience was screaming:

Awkward. Weird.

Run away.

Must. Break. Tension.

"Um…" she choked out meekly. "Hi."

Dear Merlin, we're doomed.

His eyes narrowed. Her hand lowered…

…and brushed across his cheek on the way down. All the way across.

Accident…? Oops.

Phenomenal, her tact. It was just about as bad as watching a turtle trying to cross a busy highway. Granted, she'd never seen a turtle actually crossing a highway and probably wouldn't stop to stare if she did, not that she spent much time around highways, seeing as she wasn't a muggle, but her point still stood.

Snape twitched. His facial muscles contracted and he actually twitched.

It had high levels of comic potential. She was pretty sure she might have been on the ground in tears if not for the…dissatisfying tension.

"Focus, if you don't mind." It wasn't very clear whether he was speaking to her or to himself. Perhaps both, she decided. "You might actually begin to learn something of value. That must sound strange to you."

Alright, so that last part was definitely all her.

"I'm all ears," she grinned cheerfully. Overcompensation never hurt anyone, did it?

He let out a rather put-upon sigh, backing up a few steps in the process, and she found this made her shiver all over again.

Because it was cold, of course.

"Listen to me, Aurora, very carefully. Do exactly as I say, when I say it. Is this clear?"

"Crystal," she remarked aptly. As he should, he ignored her stupendous abilities to make a fool of herself and continued.

"Let us hope. Keep your knees bent. No. Too much."

"This good?"

"As it will get, for you. Now, I will explain this only once, so pay attention. You need to be on your toes. Your weight is on your toes. Repeat that back to me, if you please."

"I'm not four, Severus."

"Repeat."

Aurora rolled her eyes, noting that his mood had dipped into the foul spectrum. "On my toes, got it."

"Good. Next, you should not be holding yourself up by the waist. Lean into your palms, or you will get thrown off. No, Aurora. Do not lean forward."

"You said lean!"

"On the contrary, I believe I told you to lean into your palms. Not forward," he growled, coming nearer to straighten her posture, this time a little less ginger about it.

"What's the difference?"

"The difference is that, if you follow my directions, you will not break your fragile spine. Keep your arms straight for the moment, but the weight will be on your palms."

"And my toes."

"…yes," he sneered. "And your toes. Arms straight, but not locked. Your elbows should be flexible."

"M'kay. Keep going, Professor. I might actually pass my O.W.L."

She could see his jaw clench, but he said nothing. "Next, to lift off the ground, roll back onto your heels and bounce. Do not push. Do not shove. Do not stand. Bounce. When you are in the air, you will maintain this position."

"Um…" The very moment he uttered the word air, she felt her stomach lurch. She was going to be in the air.

"I assume you have something to say…?"

"Er…" Suddenly, her throat was very dry. "Are you sure-I mean…I don't really…"

An eyebrow quivered upwards. "Yes…?" he said irritably.

"I, uh…maybe I'll just go back to Albus and tell him-"

"You will do no such thing, Aurora."

"But-"

Snape stepped forward again, this time grasping the center of her broomstick, challenging her with a hearty glower to dare doubt him. "Bounce."

"Are you sure? I mean, you've got me?"

If possible, his stare darkened into a full-on death-glare. It wasn't quite the "yes, of course, darling, I wouldn't let anything hurt you!" but, honestly, what did she expect? Impatient and ill-bred as the gesture was, it helped. A little bit.

"I mean, what if I speed off and just sorta…take you with me?" It could happen.

"You won't, if you follow my directions," he shot back coolly.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Alright, then. Here goes nothing."

Balancing precariously, the witch was only half aware of holding her breath as she rolled back, hips and all, onto her heels. Her fingers tightened around the neck of her trusty steed the stick, until she remembered not to strangle it. Heard whirling, feeling a little dizzy, she opened her eyes and…

…and nothing happened.

She was still flat on the ground.

"Uh…" Aurora looked at Snape, expectantly. "What did I d—ohmyGod, Severus!"

In turning to him, rocking back to her toes to begin anew and fully anticipating his rather disappointing…well, disappointment, it happened. Somehow—and for the life of her, she had no idea how—she was airborn.

And grasping at Snape's collar like no tomorrow.

And losing her balance.

"Merlin, I'm so going to kill us!" she hissed emphatically, still clinging to him.

"Ah, yes. A foot off the ground. Highly dangerous."

He must have gone bonkers. It was the only explanation. Had he no inclination of the utter destruction she could cause with just a stick, let alone one that flew?

A foot off the ground might as well have been fifty.

At length, Aurora came to the discovery that she was, rather obnoxiously, still hanging onto Snape's neck, half off her broom and clutching tragically at his robes. Additionally, she made the observation that, due to his firm grip just below the apex of her broomstick, she was embarrassingly unlikely to be swooping even a few inches without his permission. A tad humbled, and feeling her cheeks growing warm even under freezing conditions, she went about carefully picking herself off of the less-than-pleased Potions Master and taking up his formerly described position.

"Sorry," she mumbled, more to her broom than his face.

Unsurprisingly, his only answer was to scoff a bit disdainfully.

"So,uh…what do I do with my feet, exactly?" Aurora cringed.

"Nothing."

"N-nothing? What's that s-"

"There is a technique practiced by Quidditch captains and the like which I highly doubt you have the poise to master, and neither is it required for stringing holiday decorations. In case you weren't aware, time is of the essence."

Time. Right.

Banking on courage, she gave no further interruption as he first taught her how to coax her broom into some form of movement—smooth gliding for him and jerky licks of speed for her—and then how to properly land and dismount. The age on her broom, property of the school, meant that it was "wretchedly slow," according to Snape, but as far as she was concerned that was just peachy. The slower, the better.

Through his—rather surly—guidance, she began, little by little, to trust herself at least enough to enjoy spitting in gravity's face. Once she was actually up in the air, something she never would have imagined thinking without due nausea, it wasn't all that bad. Granted, the wind was of a mind to freeze her solid, inciting in her a wish that she'd worn goggles or at least gloves, but from a bird's-eye view the school was in reality quite a spectacular sight.

"You know," she petitioned him secretively, "I'm a little surprised people aren't required to have licenses to ride these things."

"Is that so?" He wasn't amused in the slightest.

"Yeah. What with people like me in the world, disasters waiting to happen, just asking to crash into the first immovable object within reach."

He looked at her pointedly. "I wasn't aware that there were people like you in the world."

It was an insult. Of course it was an insult. He meant to offend her, and she was royally offended.

Except, there was something missing, maybe a finalization in tone or depth to his squinted glare that just didn't give that usual kick, his mockery, like he was mercilessly laughing at her behind his shroud of defiance, and there was none of that "who do you think you are and what the hell did you just say to me" feeling like the oh-so-common breathless plunge into an argument that only ever escalated.

Instead, there was a void, and she could tell he felt it too when he broke eye contact and looked away. Her imagination, gallant as always, toiled to fill that empty space with a meaning.

But no. He could've have meant it, not like that. The day Severus Snape said anything like that to anyone would be the day purebloods and halfbloods would kiss and make up, the day Hagrid would win the battle against a comb and his hair, and the day dementors would turn pink and start handing out daisies.

Although she was sure that if it was up to Dolores Umbridge, dementors would already be pink anyway.

"And you're King of England?" Aurora quipped, feeling altogether like her comeback's relevance factor averaged about zero.

Snape, however, didn't look like he much cared. In fact, the glance he supplied her with seemed oddly…thankful, as if relieved of some complicated and gratuitous explanation. It was around that time she prohibited her imagination from further inquiry.

"Prince."

"Excuse me?" she asked, because she could think of no explanation for what she'd just heard other than she'd heard him wrong.

"Prince," he said again, grinding it through his teeth like he regretted saying it the first time. "Incidentally, it was my mother's maiden name."

Aurora blinked, mulled it over, and blinked again. Since she was born with the very same curse of possessing an alliterating name, she didn't blame him for preferring Prince. "Oh. That's…quaint."

Because he had said it like he owned it.

"Yes," he answered, bitter and silky. "Quaint."

But…but something told her there was more to it than the trifling issue of a name that sounded like Parseltongue. Ownership, like he was more his mother than his father could take credit for, like he earned the title Prince more than even the real prince of England.

By the time she was through contemplating it—and a bit horrified that she had been contemplating anything that resembled Snape's personal life—the entire top half of the castle shone like a beacon.

Only Merlin knew why he'd bequeathed to her this little shot of information, because even he had looked a good bit surprised to have said it, but it nipped at her all the way back to the entrance to the castle.