Hi there! Long time no see. Since I suppose a large number of you would appreciate an explanation for my, uh...inexcusable tardiness...here's my attempt at a worthy excuse: college. And profuse apologies. I really would've liked to update sooner, yet every time I tried to write it seemed like my time was being sucked up by some metaphysical, divine being who really hates updates. Believe me, though, it was just as tough for me as it was for you. I promise I will never abandon this story, though-not even a little bit. I love it too much. That being said, I hope you enjoy this new chapter despite its profound lateness. Thank you to all my dedicated fans who have stuck it out this far! I love you guys!

Capricorn: In Deep

Clearly, this was over her head.

…literally.

There was a door in Sylvester's flat-mansion that opened on a small underground lake somewhere in South America, and this was where the lucky couple had chosen the location of their ceremony. Not beside the lake. Not even on top of the lake.

Under it.

In it.

Right in the middle of a dark, ominous lake inside a dark, ominous cavern.

Aurora couldn't say it was what she would have chosen given the circumstances, but it didn't come as a complete surprise knowing her brother. She'd known all along that this was going to be something she'd really rather not be involved with.

Just looking at the black water made her nauseous. She'd even gone as far as to clutch at Snape's arm. Because she was nauseous and he just happened to be standing next to her, of course.

It wasn't like she went out of her way to touch him, or anything—that would be irrevocably insane, given how often the man took a shower.

…even though he'd just taken one that morning. But that did not count and neither did she want to contemplate such things. Snape unclothed and in the shower—Snape unclothed at all—was not an image she wanted in her head. Ever.

Once actually in the lake, though, she found it wasn't all that terrible. At least, not as bad as she'd thought it was going to be. As long as she didn't run into any kelpie…or kappa, for that matter.

Over 100 wizards were killed annually due to incidents involving kappa. It was true.

And she didn't really fancy making that plus one.

It was actually all very simple—Sylvester went around the party with a little bit of wand-waving business, and then said they were good to go. At first, she was skittish of even touching the water with the end of her toe (all before Snape "accidentally" shoved her in), but as it turned out I was a lot like swimming around in a giant bubble, thanks to Sylvester's magic.

Huh. So the man was actually good for something, after all.

She'd never admit it, but it was a little fun. There were all these lights set up beneath the surface—like little glowing balls of light, all sorts of colors, floating up and down—and they brought out a royal blue to the color of the water, revealing what must have been at least a dozen schools of fish.

Aurora tried to get Snape to look at one (it was right by his foot, after all), but that was before she remembered who she was dealing with. Grabbing at his arm only caused him to pull away.

She had even pointed, persistence granting her the grace, but had he looked? Had he even acknowledged the fact that she'd tried to get his attention?

Well, of course not. Frankly, she had no idea why she bothered anymore.

Slimy git.

In the very center of the lake, attached to the bottom, there was an even bigger bubble that, when they approached it, engulfed them in what she thought was a very efficient manner. As far as giant human-swallowing bubbles went, this one was up there with the best.

And then she was standing in what was a spacious, underwater garden. It was fairly sizeable—and by that she meant a heck of a lot bigger than any garden she'd ever seen. They must have been growing this thing for months, she realized; these flowers were real, and there were hundreds of them, all different sorts.

It was an explosion of color, accompanied by the thick scent of several varieties of flora. Although Aurora didn't pride herself as a herbologist—nothing close, really—she had learned a few things from Sprout. And she was more or less positive that flowers were not usually so…well, noisy.

The fact of the matter was that the Astronomy professor simply couldn't fathom that the beauty of this spectacle had anything to do with her brother unless there was not at least something a little off about it. That something was this: the flowers just so happened to be whispering. Whispering. As in, they whispered.

Literally.

She had no idea what they were saying, though, on account of the fact that they were all whispering at once.

"I wonder what happens if you pick one," she pondered aloud. "Do they scream or something?"

Snape shot her a sideways look, deliberately moving to step on one.

"Hey, don't—I didn't actually mean—"

Too late. When he lifted his foot, there was one very much crushed tulip.

It hadn't screamed, but she imagined there was one less whisper. It was a tad depressing.

"Well, that wasn't very nice," she said plainly. As if she expected him to be nice? "Here, move, don't just stand on it like that."

She tugged him away from it, feeling bad for having said anything, and noted at the sight of it that Snape was, unsurprisingly, a prick. The man killed flowers.

Seriously. What wasn't evil about a man who killed flowers?

Snape was a flower-killer. Therefore, she couldn't like him. It was that simple.

"Listen—" Aurora looked around, remembering, probably because of the dead flower, that there was a serious matter afoot. "Can we talk? I know it's your favorite thing to do and all, but we have time…and this is important."

He raised an eyebrow, and she could see the challenge clearly in the tilt of his head, the movement of his lips. What could she possibly have to say that was important, right?

"It's about that thing we discussed, about the scarf…" she trailed off, and his eyes narrowed on hers.

Suddenly he was all too accommodating, it seemed. Directing her more away from the glob of arriving guests still ogling, he turned to her fully.

"Yes, Aurora?"

"Jeez, nothing gets your attention like my potential death, does it?" She meant it one way, but his guarded pause gave it another. Fighting a losing battle with the blood in her cheeks, she continued. "Er—anyway. Could you…erm, please…tell me a bit more?"

His jaw tightened. "What more do you have an interest in knowing? The tone of your skin in death, or perhaps the length of your funeral?"

Goblin.

"Sev, what aren't you telling me? There's something going on, and you know it."

"Anything I may or may not know is not for your discretion."

"Well, then would you like to tell me why I just met Nigel in the bathroom? Why that scarf only reacted to you? Why you're really here?"

He bristled, and the entire focus of his gaze was searing into her. From the force of it she was actually feeling a bit light-headed. But she could tell he was thinking, too, because he became very still.

"Nigel…?" he said, very quietly.

"Yeah. Mind telling me why it's a problem? This is all really weird, Sev. Too weird. Weirder than Lovegood weird. I mean, if I notice it, something's gotta be up."

He sneered viciously, but sighed. Finally. And he opened his mouth.

Except, then there was this unignorably loud crash, and Sylvester and Tasha came bursting in on a broomstick. A broomstick.

Why? Why couldn't the fates, or her brother, or the world in general, or something just let up—just for one minute?

A broomstick. Underwater. Was there no end to the absolute bizarre that he embodied?

She could have screamed. In fact, she almost did: Aurora truly started to turn and exact her revenge in the form of a verbal tirade on anyone unfortunate enough to be within hearing range…but Snape must have anticipated it, because he did the strangest thing.

Sweeping past with his usual scoff, he then hooked an arm through hers and forcefully dragged, hauling her to where the remainder of the crowd stood gawking at the couple on the broom.

For a split-second, she was too stunned to be angry. Not for his rudeness—that was nothing new—but for the way he'd gone to the trouble of saving her the embarrassment. …although, he was probably just saving himself the headache.

He promptly let go of her, of course.

"You're telling me later," she grumbled. "Right?"

"Telling you what, precisely?"

"Don't you back out of it now—you were so about to tell me just then!"

"I haven't the faintest—"

"Oh, you—"

The ceremony began. It started with a short man that stood up to say a few things about love, and continued with a sphinx posing riddles to the overly excited bride and groom. Apparently, this was their idea of romantic.

Behind her, a relative she recalled as one of her distant cousins blew her nose three times in concession, loudly, before directly launching into a Sneer-provoking howl of a sob.

On her other side, an old lady claiming to be Sylvester's friend's brother's mother (or was it his mother's brother's friend?) complained to anyone who would listen that she was allergic to matrimony. Just to top it off, or possibly just because Snape looked like the last person on earth anyone would want to annoy, the man next to the Potions Master then turned to him with watery pink eyes and said, in all sincerity, "Sir, I am very sorry for your loss."

Snape, with all the glory of his foreboding presence, arched a single, unamused eyebrow.

"Your wife," tried the man again, glancing perplexedly at the montage of black that was Snape's attire (seriously, did the man even own one item that wasn't black? Did he make any distinction at all between "wedding" and "funeral"?). "I presume you're in mourning? I'm sorry, it's just…my wife, she—it's been two months. How long, for you?"

After this, it became increasingly difficult for Aurora to hold back a rather impressive snort. Snape in mourning? Ha. Maybe for the loss of the soul he never had.

"You presume wrong," he would, of course, say. It was entirely too predictable.

Except…he didn't. He didn't say that at all.

What he actually said was: "Yes. Fourteen years."

At that point, she felt very much entitled to note that she was not the only one whose mouth was ajar. The man doing the asking, having not expected the answer he received in the least, promptly shut up.

"Sev," she said after a pause, tentatively. Looking up at him, she touched his arm to test the waters.

Naturally, he ignored her.

"Sev, you…she…I…you can't…" Open mouth, insert foot.

"Can't I?" he snapped, and if she didn't know any better she'd say he sounded desperate.

But wait…no. Just no. Oh, holy stars above, no.

"Severus," intoned Aurora, suddenly very quiet. "You…really are teaching Harry Potter outside of class, aren't you?"

His jaw tightened. Which was not a good sign. Not at all.

Fourteen years ago, Lily Potter died. Fourteen years ago, Severus Snape returned to Hogwarts as a professor after Lily Potter died. …fourteen years ago, Severus Snape left the service of Lord Voldemort to return to Hogwarts as a professor after Lily Potter died.

Ten years later, Lily Potter's only son came to Hogwarts as a first year. And, four years after that, once Voldemort was, face it, "back," Snape was suddenly and mysteriously teaching something to Harry Potter. And acting as the wizarding world's James Bond.

He said he hated the boy, but…

"You've lived your entire life for her, haven't you?" For fourteen years. …all that time. And still.

It was so heartbreaking, so unbelievably and suffocatingly romantic, that she could feel herself choking up at the thought. Because, who was she kidding, Snape was human.

The tears pricking at the corners of her eyes felt almost unreal, stinging with something a little stronger than sympathy.

When he looked to her, however, it was with disgust alone.

"Aurora, I implore you…stop crying. Not only does it render you more unbecoming than usual, but it is wasted and, furthermore, insulting."

"Oh, go to Hell."

His eyes were fire. "Gladly."

Shudder.

Someone in the row before them turned to, in the most obnoxious manner possible, shush them. Needless to say, this person went largely ignored.

"Listen, Sev," she tried sounding confidant. "This position you're in, that you've put yourself in…is it really what you want? …for you?"

He remained silent, but the expression on his face was a lovely shade of dear Aurora, you know nothing of my desires, kindly stop speaking of things you cannot fathom.

But oh, she could. She could fathom, and all too well. Little did he know, she knew exactly what she was talking about, and exactly the type of "position" he was in, too. Muaha.

…geez, was it bad that she was now able to formulate the entirety of his responses simply by looking at his face? That was a bad sign, right?

"As I have previously informed you, there are certain matters in this world, the importance of which far surpassing and rarely coinciding with any amount of enjoyment derived. Regrettable as it may seem, what I want matters precious little."

"Severus Snape," reprimanded Aurora in her best no-nonsense tone. "You can't seriously mean to tell me what you want doesn't matter."

"I believe I just did."

"Since when were you such a martyr?"

He stared. She reconsidered.

Exhibit A: fourteen-year mourning period.

"Okay, nevermind, point taken. But listen, and I mean listen…if you go around like that, you get nothing. I'm not stupid, Sev." Here, he raised a contradictory eyebrow. "Alright, look: you have to have a balance, here. You have to live your life for you, too. And don't tell me you don't understand that because it's true and you know it. It's all good and well to do things for other people and whatnot, but…" But she's gone? Get over it? "…but how do you expect to be able to give them what they want if you can't even give that to yourself? I mean, really."

"Quite easily, I imagine."

"Excuse me?"

"I may expect to do so quite easily. By removing myself as a variable from the equation, I may more readily satisfy the demands in need of accommodation."

"Variable? …variable? This isn't Potions, you…you… blastended skrewt! This is your life—you can't just sign it off as potion-making. There's no reason why you can't satisfy yourself and others. You can do both."

"Unfortunately, the world is not so ideal. Furthermore, seeing as y—…blastended skrewt, Aurora?"

"W—er…ignore that."

It was then that he did something truly extraordinary.

But no. She couldn't have seen it right. There had to be something in her eye, or bad lighting, or…nargles. Or something. Because there was no way that his eyebrows had moved up, that his nose had kind of scrunched, that the corner of his mouth twitched up…and that he was now biting his lip a little bit like he couldn't keep it in place otherwise.

It was impossible. It couldn't happen.

It was a facial tic. Yes. That had to be it. Snape just had a very…odd…facial tic.

Good God and stars above, the man had almost smiled.

Merlin, that was a close call. She could still feel the breeze of it speeding past.

But oh, they had now advanced to the vow-taking stage. Tricky business, considering Sylvester had, of course, elected to write them himself.

Personally, she thought the matching rings were a nice touch. If one didn't look too closely at the large, square intrusion of ruby, that is.

Although, she had to point out that the one for Sylvester looked a little funny, like… Maybe it was just her. It was probably just her. After all, who was she to say anything?

Next to her, Snape stiffened. It wasn't exactly noticeable, at least not to anyone that didn't know him, and in fact it was really very subtle. She wouldn't have even noticed it, actually, if she hadn't been looking at his hands—because his knuckles went ghostly white.

Not that she ever spent a lot of time looking at his hands. As in, it wasn't like that was a pass-time or anything. They certainly weren't anywhere near remotely resembling fascinating, or captivating, or anything like that. Because no.

Heavens no.

Just…no.

Well, of course it had been an accident! She'd just…happened to be looking at his hands. Not examining. Not even looking at, really, just…staring absorbedly. At the space before his hands. Yes.

Nonetheless, the result of all this was Aurora's ability to acknowledge the fact that something was very, very wrong. And not in the normal fashion: because with Snape, one could never be quite certain.

But this wasn't his usual flavor of malignancy towards the world; this wasn't in the manner of I hate weddings, I hate Aurora, I hate my life, die. Normally, she might have chalked it up to his general attitude towards the whole process, but interestingly enough, she didn't think gaudy rings—despite their atrocity, because, she had to note, they were pretty ugly—merited quite that reaction, even in Snape.

More interesting was the fact that this worried her for some reason.

In a feeble attempt to abate…his tension? Her concern?...she tapped at his knee with an index finger. Even more feeble, so she thought, she spoke. "What's wrong?"

"You have your wand with you, I hope." It was his only answer. Merlin he lived to be frustrating. It wasn't even a hobby or a part-time whim: no, it was a full-on career.

"Could you be any more cryptic? I mean, seriously, is that an insult or a threat? I don't think you could possibly get any more unpleasant if you tried. And that's not an invitation."

Briefly, he glanced at her. She didn't recognize the look she saw in his eyes, and it was not pleasing in the least.

"I implore you, do try to acknowledge my enquiry."

"Oh, I implore you to acknowledge mine."

"Aurora."

"Severus."

No way was she backing out of this one. It was his turn to deliver some answers, and if he didn't, she would make it her life-goal to torment his every waking and non-waking moment.

Because it certainly wasn't something she applied herself to as of yet. It was more of a passing indulgence, really, but oh, it could get much, much worse for him.

"You are being senselessly unreasonable," he shot at her under his breath.

"Me? I am? You're the one who practically answered my question with a question! What is that, anyway? You must take me for a brainless lunatic if you have to ask whether or not I have my wand."

…except, oh, right: he did think she was a brainless lunatic. Flattering.

This time, he didn't even respond. Which was so typical she could've slapped him. Or whipped out her want and shoved the business end at his big, unshapely nose for further proof that she did, in fact, have it in her possession.

Instead, he chose to shoot up out of his seat, which was particularly precognizant of him on account of what happened next.

Leaving behind more than a few befuddled friends and relatives, alongside a half-upright Snape, the couple vanished. Just like that. Vanished. Poof—Gone.

Honestly, she was getting really tired of the whole incessant confusion thing. Really. It was getting old.

And Snape was no help, either. Not even a little bit.

As she was busy blinking across at the empty space where Tasha and her brother had been and the rest of the attendance peered along with her, that wicked, evil, slimy, unimpressive, not-sexy-in-the-slightest bat of a man was already grabbing her by the shoulder and dragging her out of her seat.

"B—what—h-hey…where do you think you're going? Let go! What's the matter with you?" …besides the obvious.

It looked almost like the remaining guests were preparing to leave as well, but she couldn't exactly tell on account of the fact that she was being dragged.

As soon as they were out of the lake and in the flat she tried yanking him to a halt, but to no avail. He ploughed on, ever resilient, like a bludger to the head of Oliver Wood.

"Severus, do you mind?" she demanded. "Are you planning on telling me what the hell is going on? Where we're going? Anything?"

"Patience, Aurora," retorted the goblin, and he swung around a corner with her veering along behind him, uninformed as ever.

People were beginning to sprinkle steadily into the flat behind them. She might have stopped him to give him what for, had he not promptly flung her through the nearest door and stuffed himself in after her.

Stuffed.

Because of course it was a closet. What else could it be?

Out of all the rooms it could possibly have been—a bedroom, a work room, an indoor pool, even a bathroom, because Merlin knew her brother had enough of them—it was, without a doubt, a closet. Truly, she commended him for his choice.

For a minute, she was much too preoccupied with the coat hanger jabbing into the top of her spine to really take note of how uncomfortably (literally) close he was to her, but on realizing this predicament she was, needless to say, more than a little taken aback. And disgusted.

"My God, what's your deal? What that really necessary? Really? I mean, I'm probably going to get lice from standing in here now. Or moths. And this is an expensive dress. If this dress gets moth-eaten because of you, you're so buying me a new one. Plus, despite what you might think, personal hygiene is actually an important aspect of life. I know you already have lice and probably always have, but I don't exactly enjoy that sort of thing."

"As you seem unaware, let me acquaint you with the certainty that, as the case may be, your petty concerns with insect infestations are comparably insignificant."

"Comparable to what? The infestation in your hair?"

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw his best scowl of disapproval up close and personal.

"I must ask you to focus for a moment, if you don't mind," he said rather testily, choosing to ignore her. "What do you know about your brother's fiancée?"

So that's what this was about. Somehow, pretending that it wasn't a slap in the face just didn't seem to work as well as it should have.

"You mean his wife?" she snapped. "I know I saw the way you were drooling all over her. Which is highly inappropriate, I might add."

He paused over that, taken aback. Ha.

And then he frowned. "Hardly."

"What do you mean h—"

"Aurora, I presume you are familiar with the concept of a portkey?"

"Yes, but—"

"In such a case, I trust that you had no trouble discerning this of your dear brother's ring."

"His…but so what, they just went on a honeymoon, right? That's what that was, wasn't it?"

"No, Aurora," he said quietly.

Silence. Cramped silence, pressed against a coat hanger with his elbow in her side.

"Okay, so then this would be the part where you tell me what you know."

He was breathing way too close to her, in her opinion, and she could feel it when his breath swept past her face.

"The day your painting came to consult me," he intoned, "it was to inform me of the fact that a certain person had been, shall we say, interrogating him over my personal habits."

Finally. Finally he talked.

She half-expected there to be a beam of light with choral accompaniment.

Except…wait.

"Interrogating him? Nigel? In my room?"

"Not quite."

"Not…?" Oh. Oh. "You mean in the bathroom! Here!"

He nodded once.

"But who…?" She froze.

House elves. There was no question. Dear God, they were plotting her demise. And she knew it! She'd known it all along! No one had listened to her, but now—now she had proof!

For her expression of utter terror, he gave her a strange look. "Given the situation and your lack of observation, I am obligated to inform you that your brother's wife is not what she may seem."

At that, she thought. She thought hard…considered his point…and drew nothing. "Severus, will you please just tell me straight what the hell is going on? I'm so sick of trying to squeeze this out of you it's not even funny."

He shifted forward and she shifted back, ploughing over a set of broomsticks stacked somewhere behind her.

"What I tell you," he said sharply, "is merely for your own protection. Listen carefully, and do not—"

"Oh, no. You're telling me the whole thing, right from the start, or no deal."

"…and do not," he spat, "interrupt me."

When he looked her over for recognition of this fact, she pursed her lips in silence.

"Now. Upon my enquiry, your painting informed me that a duplicate to himself had been produced, but he was not familiar with the whereabouts of this alternate due to his…unfortunately limited perspective."

"Yeah, lavatories will do that. Funny how that is."

He gave her a pointed look, and she remembered to shut up.

"He did, however, prove useful in providing that the grievously curious individual was, in fact, female, and that, at his refusal to provide adequate information, she conveyed into Hogwarts a distraction in the form of a ghoul in order to secure the refused information herself."

"Merlin, you mean that ghoul…that was her? But…what information did she want?"

"Aurora, refrain yourself. The point at which I surmised that this information was a means to an end, and not an end in itself, was the moment your scarf attempted to kill you. You recall what I said to you in the Great Hall? It is no coincidence. The reason the curse initiated at my touch…"

"…was so that you could stop it! Yes! She wasn't trying to murder me, she was trying to rile you up! She was giving you a warning, wasn't she? A taunt. Because…"

Because why? Obviously because Aurora was the only person the great bat ever talked to, but why? Who would have it out for Snape?

…bad question. Very bad question. Better question: who would have it out for Snape that would have the guts (and the ability) to actually go through with it?

Crazy people. Absolutely insane, maniac individuals. And the only crazy, insane maniacs she knew of, besides those at St. Mungos and Argus Filch, were Death Eaters.

Aha.

A memory floated towards her from somewhere in the recess (a.k.a. the dark, shadowy corners) of her mind: a conversation between Snape and Dumbledore , very one-sided. Accusations. Torture. Legilimency.

If you fear for one moment that he might gain access to peer into your mind…

He trusts you, Severus…

He saw in me that boy's memories…naturally became suspicious and took action…

For twelve hours I've endured the probing…

Merlin's beard! The Death Eaters! They were suspicious of him because Voldemort had, by some freak accident, seen a glimpse of Harry in his mind—of Harry's mind, because Severus was teaching him occlumency. Of course.

This probably gave her an excuse to be angry with him, considering her life was now being threatened by world-renown evil villains, and it was all his fault.

As best she could, she fixed him with a look that was more pleased than she had originally intended. "So…you came with me to protect me, didn't you? Is that what you meant, when you said this wasn't for my benefit? Because that's rich."

"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. Except, that was the only thing he said. Not "yes, but these are the reasons why your point is invalid," not "yes, I agree to all of the above," or even "yes, I agree to one and two but not to three." Just "yes."

Well. She was certainly in awe of his ability to carry on a conversation.

"Sev," she tested warily. "Why is Tasha threatening you?"

Obviously—or at least most probably—this woman had married her brother in order to get to her, in order to get to Snape. Because that wasn't the most indirect and ultimately problematic way to go about things ever.

But, surprisingly convenient deductive powers aside, she wanted to hear all of this directly from his lips. Based on his previous response to her multiple questions, the result was not looking favorable.

"Well?" prompted Aurora.

In a single moment of hesitation, he considered her from his end of the closet. Oh, the suspense. It was killing her back via coat hanger.

"It is in your best interest to know the least amount of information possible."

"How is that in my best interest?"

"I assure you it is."

"Severus," she scolded. Honestly, it was now or never. If there was ever a time to let him know she knew what he knew, it might as well have been now. As was appropriate, she softened her tone a bit. "Listen. I know I'm usually very dense as far as you're concerned, and I get that. But…I'm not blind. I know what this is. It's because of Voldemort, isn't it? It's because you're a Death Eater. Not a real one, of course, but you pretend to be. Which is how this started. I don't really know how it happened considering you're supposed to be a master of occlumency and legilimency, but…maybe you were having an off day or something."

He stared. Not really a glare, exactly, but…she couldn't quite tell, anyway, due to the fact that they were in a closet and it was dark. Because closets were dark. Also because Snape basically always looked like he was unhappy even when he was amused, which was actually an almost admirable feat in her opinion. At least, he couldn't possibly be that depressed that much of the time.

Or maybe he could. How was she to know?

"Er—if you're planning on murdering me now," Aurora said tentatively, "or…something like that…then you don't have to. That is, I haven't told anyone. I mean, I don't plan on telling anyone. It was more or less an accident how I realized it anyway, kind of, and…I can see why you wouldn't want anyone knowing you're still working for You-Know-Who. Merlin knows they don't trust you as it is, which…might be understandable. You do come across as very…yes, well, at any rate, you can count on me."

Still staring. It was actually starting to get a bit creepy. Having already known that social cues were not his strong point, she was willing to give him some amount of leeway…but this was a little weird, even by his standards.

They were in a closet, Merlin forbid, with some lunatic sister-in-law out there waiting to kill them. Or something like that. Maybe torture them first, a little interrogation, some unforgivable, that sort of thing. She wasn't really all that familiar with the etiquette involved in these things, she had to admit.

Not one to be a mood-killer, she decided to keep talking. "You know, that's where I thought you'd gone this morning when you weren't there. It was actually a little maddening, to think that the great Dark Lord couldn't even hold his horses long enough to allow you poor people to eat some breakfast first, at least. I don't know about you, but I don't think evil-plan-making is an empty-stomach affair. Maybe not a full-stomach, either, since I can imagine it might be a tad disagreeable, but I'm sure you can find a nice in-between."

Okay, now it was weird. It had reached that point. It was officially weird.

"Sev, what? Yes, yes, I found out your little secret. Surprising, isn't it? I was actually clever, for once. Although it could've been the Acumencia. Thanks for that, by the way."

His somewhat vacant stare transformed into a much more familiar half-glare. It would have been a relief if it weren't for the "half" part. Because Snape never did things halfway.

"That information is dangerous, Aurora. I cannot advise you strongly enough against...frivolity, lest you become a danger to us both."

"Oh, really. I'm not impressed. After that, I expected more out of you than…well, a verbal admonishment. Oh, look, Aurora used a four-syllabled word. I must be getting smarter, right? More perspicacious, right? You're not the only one who can use big words, you know. I didn't become a professor at Hogwarts with my looks, as if it isn't obvious. Where's the snarky comment? Did you run out of them? Where's the 'I regret to inform you, but your dearly calculated observations seem to be of little consequence to my capacious, porcine ego of bovine proportions'? Hmm? Did—"

His method of discontinuing her little tirade was actually quite effective. Not to mention unprecedented.

…and awfully horrific and disturbing on a giant-troll-meets-basilisk type of level. In fact, one might say it was petrifying. Her stomach churned at the very idea.

Except, that might also have been the butterflies. Who was she kidding? There was no getting past it.

There in the dark amongst coat hangers and brooms, Snape stopped her next word by swooping forward, practically plunging into her, and pulling her by the hair until his mouth was firmly planted on hers. Planted. Sprout would have been proud.

The last of the brooms clattered noisily to the floor when she stumbled. Swiftly, probably quicker than thought, one of his arms was around her and clamping her to his front.

For the time that it took for either of them to regain their senses, she was much too jarred to comprehend things like excuses and denial.

Snape was kissing her, closer than she ever remembered him being, real, and…she must have been crazy, but she couldn't deny that she was almost enjoying it. She didn't think he could deny it, either.

At least, not with the way he'd lunged into her like some reverse expelliarmus and was now firmly and fiercely stuck to her face. She was sure that if it was possible, he would've stolen her heart alongside the breath she was finding so hard to come by, but…that was just impossible. Physically speaking.

Although the heart was just under lungs. Right next to them, really.

But no. No. Ew.

Merlin, though—if he'd wanted her to shut up that badly, he might've said something.

Granted, it was funny, but…she kind of liked this idea better. So then Sprout had been right all along?

Sweet, holy stars above, but she had to thank her for that scarf.