(For Author's Notes, please see the next chapter)

Chapter Five: Investigation and Indigestion

The sun was streaming in from the windows, the birds were warbling outside, and Amalthea Sinistra shifted happily on the soft mattress she was lying on. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, then rolled over on her side to look out the window. Lovely. The faint smell of bacon rose up to greet her, and she sniffed happily. Harry must have started breakfast without her-- she couldn't really blame the poor boy for not wanting to let her near that pernicious toaster-thing again.

Sighing contentedly, she smiled at her hair, lying flat for once, and at the nice new outfit that lay on the nearby chair, feeling unaccountably grateful for the Muggle fondness for trousers. Ah, yes. Life was wonderful. Her new nightgown, a pale blue cotton, was simply heavenly in this splendid climate. And there, near the wardrobe, in a heap of blankets, was Severus Snape, arms folded, glaring up a storm at her--

Oh.

Not wonderful.

she said primly, drawing up the covers to hide her-- well, her throat, anyway. Did you sleep well? Snape curled his lip at her.

I don't think I've ever been so uncomfortable in my life, Amalthea, and that includes the thrice-damned time I spent the night between a basilisk and a thoroughly drunk Lucius Malfoy.

Oh? You know, I once spent the night outside looking for a meteor, and I thought this rock, you know, because I was outside, and there are rocks outside-- Severus? Severus, what are you doing?

During the course of her speech, Snape had very calmly risen, walked to the window, and was looking out at the street below. In his boxers. Black ones, she noted idly before the rest of her brain caught up with her. Amalthea swallowed, looked very quickly down at her hands, and tried not to squeak. Although, all things considered, it wasn't as horrifying a sight as she'd expected. Severus was rather thin, but he had a nice, lean physique--

Oh, sweet stars. She had not just had that thought. She was. . . tired. Exhausted. Overworked. And. . . wearing her glasses.

No. She quickly snatched them off her face. Not wearing her glasses. There. He immediately went out of focus. Much better. Now, if she squinted and tilted her head to the right. . . there. Now he looked a little like Hagrid. A rather short, blurry, half-naked Hagrid. She hid a wince and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Her imagination worked a little too well.

Problems, Amalthea?

Not at all, she answered sweetly, grabbing the bedpost to make certain that it was not merely a disembodied blur. If only the eyesight charms actually worked on her horrible vision, she thought grimly, trying to gauge the distance to the lavatory without her spectacles. Five large steps, a little to the right, then she'd have to fumble around her the doorknob. She could make it. She'd left her second pair in there. Perfect. She took an uneven step towards the door, trying not to throw her arms out.

Can you see at all without your spectacles, Amalthea?

Of course I can, she gritted out, taking another tentative step. Can't you?

A long pause. She remembered belatedly that he didn't wear spectacles. May I ask why you feel this is necessary to prove?

I don't know what you're talking about, she said airily, feeling her way around a small table. Her fingers caught and knocked down a bit of cool metal. Probably her wedding ring. she whispered, bending to search for it. Carpet, carpet, carpet. . . more carpet. . . her hand dragged over the cool fabric, searching for something solid. Ah. There it was.

She straightened up. Ruddy piece of metal, worn on her ring finger indeed, she thought as her toe stubbed painfully against a chair. At least Severus wasn't saying anything.

Speaking of which, where was Severus? He'd not made a single comment during her mad search for the ring. Suddenly nervous, she whirled around and managed to hit her head on a shelf, fall backwards, and land firmly on the ground. Wincing, she rubbed her head and tried not to cry. Whatever had happened to her perfect morning?

Some help? he asked, suppressed amusement lurking beneath his normally impassive voice. You do function rather poorly without visual assistance, I'm afraid.

Go she mumbled, pushing herself up. Taking a deep breath, she snatched the spectacles from Snape's hand. Thank you, she said curtly, sending the world back into focus. Dear God, he was still in his shorts. Don't blush, Amalthea. Don't turn red. It's just Snape.

You're blushing.

Shut up! she snarled, and slammed the door behind her. Once inside, she sank against the cool tiled floor and buried her face in her hands. All right, fine. She'd bought some Muggle cosmetics at Boots the other day while Severus had been off sulking, and she was rather eager to try them out. The Muggle makeup specialist had assured her that her eyes would be twice as large, although Amalthea wasn't quite sure how that would be managed with the coloured powders and the--

Bourjois Coup De Theatre Mascara, she read carefully, biting her lower lip as she read the description. Contained within a double ended casing with a lengthening brush. . . and a thickening brush. . . a result that is quite simply spectacular. Hmm. After carefully setting her spectacles inside, she dipped the lengthening brush in the tube of black liquid and raised it to her eyelashes.

she hissed as the harsh bristles poked her in the eye and the brush slid down her cheek. A long, jagged line of makeup ran under her eye and to her nose. She spat onto her hand and tried to remove it.

Hmm. Surely her skin wasn't supposed to turn grey? She tried again, but the rapid fluttering of her eyelashes only gave her a shadowed eye. Her lashes didn't look any longer. . . the area surrounding her eye appeared diseased, though.

All right, she muttered grimly. Perhaps the foundation needed to be applied first. It was, after all, foundation, and the entomological meaning of the word was. . .

Right. She took a fingerful of the cold cream and smeared it over the grey area of her cheek. Better. If she took some of that loose powder and put it over-- oh, now it was clumping. She whined under her breath and rubbed energetically at the spot with her fingers.

What are you doing in there? Severus sounded irritated, to say the least. If you intend on complaining about my personal hygiene all the time, perhaps you might let me make use of the facilities occasionally.

she sing-songed, surreptitiously rubbing some concealor under her eye. There. That fixed it. Now the other eye, she thought nervously, holding the brush to her eye with trembling hands.

she shrieked, covering her poor eye, nearly gauged out by the brush. Severus threw the door open (which, in hindsight, she certainly should have locked), his wand at ready, and was promptly hit between the eyes by a tube of flying mascara.

She stopped.

he said dangerously.

she answered meekly, easing out towards the bedroom.

She could nearly hear him run through the blistering remarks in his head. His mouth opened and closed slightly as he rubbed the spot where she'd accidentally hit him.

What. The. Hell. Are you doing?

she ventured, ducking down to gather up her clothes.

Snape repeated. Besides attempting to murder me with Muggle cosmetics? Besides leaving me to suffer through an entirely stiff back because you are too-- he spat out the words. Prissy to keep to a side of the bed? Amalthea's mouth opened.

she snapped.

Yes, prissy.

she said pointedly, dropping the shirt and stalking over to where he stood. Am not prissy.

No? Good God, Amalthea, you can't even see a man shirtless without turning seven shades of red.

Her eyebrows arched delicately. Fine. Two could play at his game. Very carefully, and very deliberately, she pulled her nightdress over her head, glorying in every choke she heard out of her mouth (and feeling very thankful that she wore a vest and pants underneath her gown), and turned to face him.

His face was a peculiar shade of crimson. It made for a very interesting look under his sallow skin, she thought absently.

she said sweetly as she pulled the shirt over her head. I must have heard you say I was prissy.

I-- Amalthea--

Breakfast's on, she said airily, and stepped into her trousers.

Downstairs, Harry had arranged a very appealing plate of sausage, boiled eggs, and toast on the table. Amalthea cast an appreciative eye over the food as she slid into her chair.

Harry said cheerfully, sitting down next to her.

Good morning, she replied, smiling at him. Thanks for doing this, Harry. You don't have to, you know. I'm sure I can handle Muggle cooking if I can plot stars.

Harry said, doubtfully eyeing her. He was evidently remembering her run-in with a few Muggle contraptions in the kitchen. He watched her for another moment as she carefully arranged the food on her plate, then shrugged. Well, if you're sure, maybe I could eat supper with Thomas' family tonight?

she smiled. An acquaintance with the Days will turn out to be quite useful, I think. Marie is introducing me around the neighborhood today, and hopefully our wayward friends will be at home.

Do they live as Muggles, then?

Yes, and they seem to be thought of as rather unsociable people. But I'm fairly confident I can at least wrangle an introduction. But, Harry-- she paused, bracing herself for the inevitable upset this would call. I need to go alone.

Harry asked calmly.

Well, I don't know if they'll recognize Severus, really-- I don't think they will, he didn't recognize their names, but. . . and you're just a bit too recognizable to be parading around in front of them. She looked him up and down carefully before dropping her announcement. Perhaps you and Severus could do something while I'm gone? Maybe. . . perhaps go down to the shops and . . . her voice trailed off. You won't mind too much, will you?

It'll be fine, Harry assured her. We can't kill each other, and the rest is normal. He's not very fond of me, as you might have noticed.

Ah, well, Amalthea's mouth twitched, and she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. I don't think he's particularly attached to me, either.

What, did you have another row? Harry sounded torn between amusement and despair. She frowned playfully at him and tossed a bit of toast at his head.

Hush, you, she said, sipping at her orange juice tentatively.

Like it?

It's not pumpkin juice, but yes, it's not bad.

You could call out for takeaway for supper, you know, Harry offered, taking a bite of the toast after he spoke. It might be easier than cooking a whole meal.

What's takea. . . . her voice trailed off as Snape entered the kitchen, sat down imperially, and stabbed a piece of sausage with his fork. Good morning, she said meekly. Best not to push him any more until he'd eaten.

He raised his eyebrow. Indeed. Potter. He jerked his head toward Harry, who appeared to be hiding something of a smile.

Good morning, Harry said, swallowing the rest of his juice and standing. Amalthea, forgetting Snape's mood for a moment, frowned over at Harry.

Is that all you're going to eat? she asked sternly, eyeing the considerable remnants of toast and sausage that remained on his plate.

Er, yes? Harry ventured, looking slightly puzzled. Amalthea looked at him over the top of her glasses. Harry swallowed, and Snape looked down at his own plate with concern, glancing back and forth between his food and Amalthea, as if to judge the minimum amount he would need to ingest.

Eat a decent meal, she said with finality, and turned back to her own food. Oh, and Severus?

he asked grumpily, washing down an egg with some juice. Amalthea pointed toward the window, a definite smile now on her face. Your object d'amour is heading towards this house.

he snapped, and then caught sight of Destiny du Maurier bearing down determinedly upon the front door, clutching a basket in her manicured hands. Oh, dear God. What is wrong with this woman?

Besides the obvious, you mean? Harry asked dryly.

Of course, Amalthea poured herself some more juice and settled back.

Wasn't the entire point of this charade that so I wouldn't have to deal with this kind of thing? Snape asked plaintively. Potter-- Harry-- whatever your name is--



What makes you think I care? Snape said acidly. The point is, aren't I supposed to be married? He jabbed a finger over at Amalthea. To her?

Your affection is underwhelming, Amalthea responded coolly, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow.

Damn her, Snape thought privately as she tilted her head, awaiting a response. No one else was allowed to utilize the sarcastic potential of an eyebrow raise besides him. Certainly not Amalthea Sinistra, and certainly not in this situation.

Harry cleared his throat. Well, you two don't really act close. She probably thinks she can. . .

Snape said deliberately. A knock on the door sounded. He thought rapidly. Fine, then. One evil was vastly preferable to the other.



He took hold of her arm and pulled her up from her chair. Accompany me, please. Harry watched them go, his hands pressed firmly to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Snape mentally promised himself to stick the infuriating boy with all the household chores later.

Amalthea sputtered, digging her heels into the kitchen floor. Severus, what on earth do you think you're doing?

His only response was to hook his arm around her shoulder as they approached the door. Amalthea's mouth opened wide.

Oh, no. Severus-- no. Absolutely not. Don't even think about it.

You're the one who wanted to be convincing.

I lied, she snapped.

My apologies, Amalthea, he said snidely as he swung the door open. Ah. Yes. Miss du Maurier. This is quite early for you to be up, isn't it? Amalthea stopped struggling, but instead leaned as far she could against the doorframe. Snape merely took a step to the side, effectively pinning her to the wood.

the horrifying woman said breathily. I thought that perhaps you might wish to partake of the refreshment of the body as well as the sepia-toned purging of the memories of the soul.

Amalthea blinked. You brought muffins? she asked, her voice slightly incredulous.

Destiny du Maurier's lip curled at Amalthea. Of course, I shouldn't expect such a prosaic soul as yours to understand the beauty there is in nourishment.

Of course not, Amalthea echoed faintly. Snape reached around and took the basket with his free hand, smiling insincerely. He'd show Amalthea Sinistra that you did not trifle with him. Ever.

Well, the sweetie and I will be sure to enjoy them, he said sardonically, hugging Amalthea closer to him. Won't we, dear?

Amalthea stared.

Well, I hoped that-- that was the ridiculous woman. Again. Snape forced a smile to his lips and nodded.

Oh, well, you can't interfere with a love as true as ours, right. . . Ah, this was more painful than he thought it would be. he ground out.

. . . No? Amalthea said weakly.

After all, it's-- he paused, searching for a suitably dramatic flourish. Written-- in the stars! Anything to get rid of this irritating woman permanently, even a temporary loss of dignity. Potter, thankfully, was still at the breakfast table. Wincing, he bent and very briefly pressed his lips to Amalthea's.

Destiny du Maurier shrieked and muttered something about iridescent fate, and Snape very smugly closed the door in her wake.

he said coolly, I told you--

Amalthea's hand reached out and slapped him mightily across the face. He looked down to see a furious petite woman, her cheeks scarlet with mortification.

he began, thinking that perhaps he might not have taken the wisest course of action. His thinking was definitely dulled by this absurd situation.

Severus Snape, you ever-- ever-- do that again, and-- and-- she bunched her hands together and stood on her tiptoes to glare up at him. And I'll happily explain to Albus what exactly you are doing in newt form!

Her finger slammed angrily into his chest. Now, I'm going to investigate these ridiculous excuses for wizards, while you take Harry out to the shops and attempt to act like an excuse for a considerate human being. If you'll excuse me. She turned on her heel and flounced off.

Snape's mouth opened and closed a few times before he caught sight of Potter staring at him.

the boy said, looking sympathetically at Snape, who had a vague feeling that he ought to be insulted, but couldn't quite muster the energy. You got it, didn't you?

he said tersely. Now apparently I have to take you shopping. He had the dubious pleasure of seeing Potter turn white.

You've got to be joking.

Have I ever, in the entire course of our regrettably long association, ever joked?

Potter paused, deliberating over the situation. But now would be a really nice time to start.

~---------------------------------------------------~

It wasn't until she and Marie Day were settled in the parlour of the Parkington's house (the rather sad excuse for the wizarding group's front-- she hadn't been in the place five minutes before spotting at least three magical devices in plain sight) that Amalthea's cheeks stopped flaming at the memory of Severus' impromptu kiss. The sheer audacity of the man. . . thinking that he could-- he could--

And she wasn't at all thinking about the way his lips had felt against her own, softer and fuller than she would have expected. And not the smell of the Muggle cologne she had bought in Boots for Severus, assuring him that it was absolutely pivotal to surviving in Muggle society to wear it 24-7.

She took a deep breath and smiled tightly at Hannah Parkington, a small, slender blonde who looked as uncomfortable in Muggle clothes as Severus did. The woman-- Laria Avare, in reality, had spent the past ten minutes deftly dodging questions about subjects as innocuous as her curtain materials.

So how long have you lived here? she asked, stifling a yawn as Marie looked desperately out the window. She felt quite awful, really, turning this tour of the neighborhood into a question and answer session with the so-called Parkingtons, but it was her job. And the sooner she established some kind of foothold, the better. But could anything interesting really be going on here? Albus had to be jumping a shadows.

Hey! Sinistra!

No. Absolutely not. She was not going to let this . . . upsetting little episode with Severus bring her memory back to her girlhood. Especially not that . . .that silly little incident, really, involving Lucius Malfoy and his Slytherin servants.

Lucius wanted to know if you would meet him in the Astronomy Tower tomorrow night!

Oh. Hannah Parkington was saying something. Amalthea frowned inwardly. She'd passed over that horrible embarrassment years ago. She'd been all of fourteen, for heaven's sake! So why was she letting it distract her now?

We'd be delighted to have you and your family over for tea next week, the woman said with an icy smile. So I hope you won't mind too much if I ask you to excuse us now. I've an appointment to keep.

Not at all, Amalthea said automatically, standing and shaking the woman's hand. . . good heavens, was that a Sneakascope on the shelf? Had they no sense of espionage? Thank you so much for your invitation. We're so pleased to accept.

I'm sure, the woman said softly as she watched Amalthea and Marie depart.

---------------------------------~

I refuse to buy her a gift simply because she is not adult enough to understand the concept of deception, Harry! Snape hissed, his arms crossed stubbornly as they stood in front of the window display.

You could have at least asked her before doing that, Harry pointed out sensibly.

I don't recall asking your opinion before you dragged me in front of this ludicrous excuse for a shop, Snape said acridly. Yet here I am. Are you to purchase a gift for me?

Sn-- Dad--

And if you do intend to, might I suggest something other than a scarf? His lip curled. A silk scarf, no less. This is Amalthea Sinistra we're speaking of, not Sibyl Trelawney.

What makes you think she wouldn't like a scarf? Harry asked indigently. Snape snorted and gestured at the floral scarf in the display before them.

This is Sinistra. She's been the same since she was a first-year squealing through the Sorting Ceremony because her spectacles got caught in the Sorting Hat. The only things that have changed about her is her hair's gotten frizzier and her tendency to speak about everything has considerably diminished. Snape paused, thinking this over. Unfortunately a trait that I have not seen much of on this trip.

You knew her in school? Harry asked curiously as he headed into the shop anyway, hoping Snape would follow. He did, probably bearing in mind the shrieks that would greet him if he came home sans Harry.

Don't be an idiot, Snape sniffed, looking down at series of silver rings with disdain. She's only a year younger than I am. And however old I may appear to your eyes, Potter-- Harry-- rest assured, we did have Floo powder then as well.

She was in Ravenclaw, wasn't she? Harry picked up an enormous floppy hat and twirled it on his fingers idly.

Oh, yes. She does have brains, I suppose, despite the infrequent airing of them. I didn't know her well, of course. She was just a pudgy little know-it-all enamoured with-- Snape stopped abruptly.

Harry asked, his ears pricking up at the mention of gossip. Snape turned the full power of a glare on him, and he wilted back.

Don't discuss the private business of teachers, he snapped. Now. If you're so insistent upon purchasing this frivolity, pick one out so we may leave this substitute for the underworld itself.

It's not that bad, Harry mumbled, deciding on a filmy lavender scarf with beaded trimmings. You're just cranky.

Snape sounded incredulous behind him. I'm sorry, Potter, did you just describe me as cranky?

Harry corrected absently as he nabbed the credit card from Snape's stunned hand.

Fine then, Harry, did you-- Dead silence followed as Harry neatly paid for the scarf and took the carrier bag. Snape said dangerously as they exited the store.

he tossed back, keeping his tone deliberately light and innocent.

You have exactly two seconds before I throttle you, Amalthea or none.

So. . .

I might suggest running.

Right. Thanks for the, er, thought.

Think nothing of it.

---------------------------------~

For God's sake, Amalthea, it can't be that hard!

Then you come in here and cook, she shrieked back at Severus, throwing her apron on the floor. You lazy git, yes, you come in here and cook!

Perhaps it would guarantee that we would digest our suppers!

Perhaps it would guarantee that it would put us all to sleep!

I'm aware that you know absolutely nothing about potions ingredients, Amalthea, but surely even you must know that not every concoction puts you to sleep!

And I'm supposed to trust you with my eating materials why, Severus?

Your opinion of me is quite flattering, Amalthea, but-- a very pregnant pause, and Severus poked his head into the kitchen. Is something boiling?

Oh-- dammit! Severus! She hissed and dove for the stovetop. Her mouth trembling, she whirled on Severus, the spoon held like a wand. It's ruined! You ruined it!

I ruined it? I did? I spent the entire day looking after Potter-- bad enough that I have to do it during the school year--

You spent most of the day dragging him around by the ear, lecturing him about the proper use of viper's blood in a potion! Small wonder Longbottom has a breakdown every third Thursday in Astronomy class, if this is how you treat your students!

This is the thanks I get for buying you that ridiculous piece of finery in apology--

No, the thanks you get for that is me not throwing you out of the house on your arse!

Oh, how elegant, he sneered.

Rather like that number you pulled this morning, isn't it?

You try dealing with that Destiny du Maurier--

Eat the muffins she brought then, since you're so fond of her!

You must be joking, Amalthea. I'd rather ingest that sludge you call supper than touch those.

Is that a compliment, you arrogant sod?

It's not as if you earn a lot of them!

Shut up!

Temper, temper, Amalthea.



Harry stuck his head into the kitchen, looking at the scene before him bemusedly.

Sorry to interrupt a lover's spat, you two, but shall I call out for takeaway?