Disclaimer: Harry Potter etc. were created by J. K. Rowling and no one else. So, she like, owns them and is letting me use them for the short being (little does she know).

Dear Calus,

My daughter is brilliant, gorgeous, and is going to go far. However, in her office, she dresses like a common prostitute you'd find at Knockturn Alley! She wears spiked heels and short skirts and low-cut blouses. I told her if she continued to dress in that manner, she'll go no where.

Mother of a ----

Mother,

Is there a question there, somewhere?

Alright, I'm delighted to inform you that your daughter is a closet whore. She dresses that way and is more than likely sleeping with her boss, or his boss or higher. And you are wrong, if she's a slag, she'll go as far as the bit between her legs'll take her.

Dear Calus,

My mum and dad threw me out of their house because I've been dating a bloke selling illegal potions and refused to break up with him. Well, after I was thrown out, he broke up with me. Now, I literally have nowhere to go and have been reading your article because the newspaper is what I've been using as a blanket. What do I do?

Homeless in Derbyshire

Homeless,

Get a job.

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I can't miss the broad grin on Miss Winchester's on face at the sight of the pair of us. I glower at her, challenging her to say anything.

My former student is dressed in this horrid white catastrophe that clings to her like a parasite. Next to her is a man I've seen briefly around The Office with hair the colour of what is in his head: sand. He's staring down at her in that outfit as though it is all he can do not to tear her out of that 'gown' and shag her up against the stucco wall in front of which, they stand.

I know how he feels. No, I don't want to shag Miss Winchester, but Miss Granger. At that thought, I wrap my arm around my 'date' and flash her I'm-only-doing-this-to-fool-them smirk.

Which I've come to perfect.

Suddenly, a look of complete terror flickers across her face and I look in the direction of her gaze. Miss Winchester is bearing down on her like a hyena on a zebra. 'Lucy! Oh, you look lovely.' She beams at her 'beau'. 'Stephen, doesn't she look lovely?'

Looking as if he means it, Stephen replies, 'You do.' And Hermione—Miss Granger, thanks him. He might be brainless and have horrid taste in women, but he speaks the truth.

Lola, looking like Suzie Matchmaker, smiles at all of us. 'Stephen, this is my coworker and friend, Lucy. And her boyfriend Severus.'

After shaking Miss Granger's, Stephen shakes my hand. 'Severus Snape, correct? The bloke that saved us all? I have wanted to meet you terribly. When Lola here told me Lucy'd boyfriend was named Severus, I'd wondered if it was you.'

It's 'the bloke who saved us all.' I don't correct his grammar however, and merely reply, to another fan (it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he turns out to be a pouf), 'I hardly feel I saved 'you all' as I only did was Albus wanted and cast the Avada Kedavra.'

But he pushed on stubbornly. 'Oh, but you did more than that! You were a spy! A double agent—no, triple agent! You leaked information from the Deatheaters to this "Order" while simultaneously leading Voldemort to believe that you were spying for him, and fooling the rest of the population into thinking the same.' Glowing like a worm, he turns to Miss Granger. 'Did he fool you as well?' She assents and he asks, interviewer-style, 'what was it like thinking your professor killed your headmaster?'

She doesn't reply at first as this look of memory flows over her face followed closely by a slight sadness. Then, coming alive, she replied non-committal, 'I was really surprised.'

Silence from the rest of us, as no one believes that is all she felt. Finally, breaking the lull, Miss Winchester makes mention of the lovely food inside and we walk in.

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We spend the entire night either listening to/watching the love-life of LolaandStephen or being inquired after ours. I answer most of the questions myself, while Hermione looks shock-stricken. She does surprise me by answering that they way she knew she was in love was by saying she fancied me as a student and the feeling grew as she got to know me.

The way she says it though . . . it's almost like it's true, or maybe that's my recently-over-reactive imagination.

The conversation drifts on to menial things. At one point, I glance down at Hermione and realise she's flushed and nervous-looking. I never realise why she looks that way even after Lola and Stephen excuse themselves to the dance floor and Miss Granger decides that we should too. I don't care at that point.

I stand up and hold out my hand, regency-style. 'Would you care to dance, Milady?'

She flushes again and takes my hand. Until she stops. 'I don't know how to dance.'

I assure her of the easiness of the dancing and I lead her to the floor. Awkwardly, we begin dancing. Apparently it's only awkward to me as Miss Granger looks positively delighted. 'I'm dancing!'

The look on her face nearly knocks the breath out of me. She's looking so delighted, and at me, that all is out of my head, save a faint buzzing. I shake the bees out and smirk, desperate to change the subject. 'Indeed. Now, I thought we could talk.'

'Are we breaking up?' she half-giggles.

I pause a moment to study her. Sure, I know she's just kidding but . . . I don't know. I've gone mad. I shake the thought away. 'No, actually, I wanted to talk about your reply to Stephen's question on how you knew you loved me.'

Looking quite proud of herself, she asks, 'Not bad, was it?'

'Any truth to it?'

She flushed again and I found myself entranced. Fascinated too that one could blush so easily. 'No.' her reply is simple and most likely true.

But we'll find out.

I look into her eyes and allow mine to relax, as though staring off into space. As I do, her pupils expand before me, opening so that I can see my reflection. Then, suddenly, I can't. There are vague image swimming around in there, that at first, look like they could be the flickering candles behind me. But aren't. I focus on them, relaxing my eyes further. Slowly, the image sharpens and becomes explicate. I can just make out the face but only because I've seen it recently. Mrs. Potter. I understand why Miss Granger blushed now. She probably got a bit of matchmaking from her as I did.

Her eyes widen but not from magic. She can feel me in her mind.

Why does that feel so intimate? Her being able to feel me? Other's have been able to. My mind didn't travel southward when Potter could feel me.

Ugh, the images.

Quickly, she drops her gaze and when she looks back up, Mrs. Potter's face is gone. 'Who is Calus?'

'Don't veer off topic.' Even though I'm thankful for the break.

She purses her lips. 'Well, you won't tell me and I want to know how I'm supposed to find out his identity without you telling me.' She says it in such a rush, she gasps slightly afterward.

'Now, Miss Granger, you know for a fact you will find out somehow, as when you initially began your investigation, you didn't know I was privy to the knowledge; you will just have to go at it as if I weren't here.' I reply.

'Could you at least give me a hint?' she presses. What terrifies me is that if she tried to use her 'feminine wiles' on me at the least (this includes even taking a step closer), she'd have me spilling every sordid tale in my possession.

'No.' I keep my head high, as though by standing taller than her, I am not powerless against her. Thank Merlin she doesn't know this.

Seriously, thank you.

A moment of silence. Then, 'At least answer this: is his name actually Calus?'

Diplomatically, I reply, 'I will neither confirm nor disprove that question.'

She smiles suddenly.

Uh oh . . .

'Wait, if his first name isn't Calus, is it his surname?'

My mind is working so sluggishly, I have to mentally remind myself that a surname is a last name. 'No.'

'What about his middle?'

Does she ever stop? 'Miss Granger, we are supposed to appear in love, not arguing.'

Unfortunately for me, she's much more brilliant than to accept my change-of-topic so easily. More unfortunate: She catches my attempt at keeping the truth from her. 'It is his middle name!'

Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Damn her smiling at me. I blame that completely. It's her damn fault. Or mental disease on my end. Hmmm that could be it. 'I didn't say that.' I tell her exposed shoulder.

She gives a small bounce. 'Oh, thank you, Severus!'

Shutupshutupshutup.

'Ok, is he tall, short, what?'

Luckily, I'm in the right state of mind to change the subject to a distracting one. Not-so-lucky: the subject change mirrors the state of mind I'm in. 'Will you marry me?'

Ohhhhh now's a good time for Bellatrix to break out of Azkaban and hex me for revenge.

And Gods, please, that wasn't a figure of speech.

She gawped. 'W-what?'

Despite my agony, I grin. 'It derailed you from Calus, didn't it?'

She frowns. 'You're mean.'

'What? Did you want to marry me?'

Please say yes; please say yes, pleasesayyes . . .

SHUT THE FUCK UP! Severus Snape, you are sounding like a love-sick schoolgirl. Which you most certainly are not! Stop it!

I suddenly remember my small trip through her mind. Mrs. Potter.

(Insert evil maniacal laugh here)

'I would like to talk about something else as well. Miss Weasely, or Mrs. Potter if you will, visited me earlier today.'

Her emotions when from surprised to confused to horrified. 'She did?'

'It seems the two of you had a conversation earlier today? About me?'

Instead of getting angry, her head drops into my chest (a bit hard, but I am not complaining) and she groans.

(Insert perverted images here)

'What did she say?' asks the object of my current daydream.

'She told me that if I wanted a quick way to get you in my bed, all I would have to do would be to read you Jane Austen as that tends to put you in a romantic mood.'

I fail to mention my recent purchase of Pride and Prejudice.

'She also said that you are attracted to a man who can cook. Especially if they can make cheesecake.' I also fail to mention how fantastic of a chef I am. 'She went on to explain that you had this huge fear that you would make an odd noise during the act of lovemaking' –I barely manage to keep from calling it 'when we shag' instead of the act of lovemaking –' and once had a dream that you sounded like an elephant. She also said—'

Here she begs me to stop and I fail to let her know that her friend also told me she hated knuckle hair (?) and was still a virgin (shock? I think not). Also, Miss Granger apparently is turned on by long hair (YES!). It also appears Miss Granger won't do anything if there is an animal in the room.

But I'm an animal in bed!

Would you SHUT UP! Kindly?

I manage to keep the blood running through the head on my neck, and not the one below my hipbone and assure her that I won't tell anyone.

Lola and Stephen appear like fucking angels of holy saviour messengers, or whatever similar nonsense. Miss Winchester announces her need to empty her bladder, only in not so many words, and the two women trot off.

Stephen takes a seat and eyes me, wanting me to follow. All he wants to talk about is how his fiancé is my editor and I am lucky to have one so talented and on and on and how he is lucky too and is in love with her blah de fucking blah.

Suddenly, the ladies arrive and we both stand. Miss Winchester tells her beau that she's tired and I'm sickened to see that Stephen's eyes grow wide and worried.

Disgusting, until I notice Hermione's feet. Her feet which look like small explosions have gone on all over them. Suddenly, it's not so disgusting how Stephen acted. It's completely understandable. 'What the hell were you two doing in there?'

Apparently she hasn't noticed her feet if her gasp is anything to go by. However, she seems only half as alarmed and explains something about the shoes being the culprit and that she'll just take them off and pop home.

Is she mad??

She is because even when I assure her, repeatedly, that if she doesn't get the right medication (which I have) she'll be off her feet and in pain for days. She steadfastly refuses and finally, I can't take it. I pick her up.

'I'll have none of your Gryffindor arrogance. You're coming with me.'

When we arrive at Hogwarts, she protests, 'This isn't where I live. Why are we here?'

I remind her that I'm the sole occupant, among the pair of us, in possession of the treatment.

She gets quiet after that, and doesn't look at me or speak. I don't like that. So, to get her attention, I let go. I feel her arms immediately tighten around my neck, pressing her body to mine. Not that I notice.

I grin. She glares but doesn't release her grip.

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She's quiet the entire way to my quarters. But not from anger, more like contemplation.

Finally at the destination, I lighten to room and take her to my bed.

. . . And dump her on to it.

I know what I did and I could have set her on there, but I fear touching her any longer would result in me following her onto the bed. This would result in a painful dismembering curse from her. This wouldn't be fun at all.

I like my member.

I have her take off her shoes. Working as quickly as possible, I silently apply the salves rubbing it into her blisters, feeling the familiar buzzing of the magic lick my fingers.

Then she quips, 'Professor? Are my feet supposed to be numb?'

Forgot that bit. 'For a few hours, yes. From the cleansing solution.'

The question she asks leads to more in my mind.

'How am I getting home?'

Which means, I either carry her home or she stays here.

Guess which one I want.

And surprisingly, she decides to stay here.

I realise that her dress is cinching up, revealing more of her thigh. If she stays in that, she could have her entire body bared, save for her undergarments. I hand her some of my things, the smallest and most elastic of boxer shorts and my smallest shirt. I tell her I'll return when she calls.

. . . And Merlin, do I regret it. Because I come in with her covering up, but not before I realise why women most commonly are in men's clothes, in their beds.

Yeah, post-coital.

(Coital, you idiots, means sex)

And that's where my mind decides it'll control my mouth. Before I can stop it, I hear myself say, 'I now have you right where I want you.'

WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!?!

Change subject, change subject CHANGE THE BLOODY SUBJECT!

'I think I will now tell you everything Mrs. Potter enlightened me of earlier.'

I let her beg for a bit and 'give in'. Then, I remind her to call if she needs me, meaning much more, I realise as I say it, then if she needs me for a glass of water or similar.

Not that I'm in 'love' with her or anything. The mere emotion is fictional.

Don't be preposterous.

A/N: Sorry it sucks. I'm really not happy with it but feel I can do no better. Please, though, I can handle reviews.

A S K / C A L U S / N E W S

For those of you who don't know yet, I'm going to rewrite Ask Calus. The ending will change, definitely. As for the rest, things'll be tweaked, mostly to incorporate Confessions of an Agony Aunt. But nothing major will change there (except my grammar. THAT needs some definite making-over) just some tweaking. And I'll probably make things better. I hope. It's mostly to get it up to par for Ashwinder.

SO! If anyone wants to help beta, please let me know. I can use multiples. No matter what your strength, of if you have none, I can use you.

Bwahahaha I'll use you.