It was a silent kitchen, save for an irritable Severus (though, one wouldn't have him any other way) and a highly irritable Minerva, raging over, well...delicately, that time of the month. Normally, one would not find anyone in a heated kitchen during the summer when there is air conditioned comfort everywhere else in the castle, but they were camped before the freezer in a death stare.

"I asked you, what's in the fridge?" Minerva echoed, ornery in sweatpants, which do no one any justice.

"I said all we have are Blue Shark Popsicles," he hissed menacingly.

"Confound you, boy!" she barked in a voice that would frighten an unaccustomed ear quite a bit. "I know that's a dirty, dirty lie. There's at least one Fudgsicle and certainly one Chocolate Éclair bar, and if I find it, you know what I'm going to do, I'm going to rip your head off and fondue it!"

"There is nothing but BLUE SHARKS in there, you can look for yourself, you old bag." He threw the garish cardboard box at her torso, where it bounced off dangerously, spilling an assortment of wrapped and partially eaten Blue Sharks on the floor.

She thrust her hand inside the box, despite the strident "NoooOOOOOoo"'s Severus growled in response, and held out a lone Klondike bar, the silver wrapping bearing the male professor's signature. "Ha! I knew it," she squealed like Sherlock Holmes catching Jack the Ripper at a cutlery shop with nine women. "You're holding out me, on all of us! You said there weren't any left!"

Severus gave her the look of an injured prince. "A man has to survive by lies, sometimes." She began to unwrap the chocolate oasis greedily. "No! It's all I have!" he squealed. "Besides...." He crossed his arms. "You can't eat that, it has my name on it. That's forbidden."

"Boy," she sneered condescendingly, "any petty little hex you've put on your precious little Klondike bar, I can break like an expensive piece of electronic equipment."

"No, no, didn't anyone ever tell you? It's an unspoken rule, you write your name on something, nobody else can eat it."

"Well, I'm on the rag, and there's an unspoken rule that any woman in that situation gets Lion's Share over any chocolate."

Severus paused in thought. "Even white chocolate?"

"Certainly not, that isn't chocolate, it's vanilla."

"Is not."

"Well, nobody eats white chocolate, so men can have it."

"No, you can have it!" Severus snapped unnecessarily. "And have a Blue Shark, too!" He kicked over an unwrapped Shark so it began to bleed blue onto the bottom of her sweatpants. "And I want my damn Klondike back."

Their little quarrel was interrupted by a duo of merry laughter. They turned to see Flitwick and Sprout with a timer in Sprout's hand.

"It's time, they're ready," Flitwick chirped, almost skipping over to the fridge. He pulled out his Elmo Big-Boy plastic stool from under the sink and thrust his head within the fridge. He pulled out a cheap plastic tray with many tubes, alternately colored plum, red, and orange. "Our homemade Popsicle kit is done."

"I beg your tap-dancing pardon?" Minerva muttered, one eyebrow trying to escape off her face in bemusement.

Flitwick leapt down from his stool, both hands full of plastic trays. "Put that under the sink, will you?" Severus heartlessly kicked the stool under the sink, one leg snapping off. "Now, that was just cruel," Flitwick clucked, putting down the two trays. "Here is the alternative to those horrible, preservative-ridden Klondike bars."

Severus look challenged. "You're dancing a thin tightrope, Flit."

"Right here, we put juice inside these molds and let them sit over night. Here." He popped out one Popsicle. "We used all the juice in the fridge. We have an orange pop." He gave a twitching Minerva a sunny pop. "A cranberry pop, for sour shorts." He presented one to Severus, who broke off another leg from the Elmo stool in spite. "An apple pop for you." Sprout tittered over it. "And a red grape juice pop for me." He snapped off the last one. "And they're all handmade." He and Sprout began to treat themselves to their nutritious snack.

Severus leaned over the lone pop in the mold. "What's that disgusting one?"

"A milk pop."

"You are a sick one."

They all quietly ate their Popsicles, their wholesome Popsicles, their...boring Popsicles....

"Damn it!" Flitwick threw his Popsicle in the sink. "That's disgusting. And you broke ma'damn Elmo stool, you sadist! How dare you. I remember you as a kid, I was never mean to you."

"Remember when Sprout when through her shoulder-pad phase in the 80's?" Severus mulled idly.

"You infuriate me!" Flitwick snapped.

"Do these have alcohol in them, because they're scrumptious...."

"Of course not...Wait." He leaned over.

"What are you doing?" Severus defensively lifted his pop above his head.

"I just wanted to try it."

"I don't want short people germs on it."

"I could call my union on you for that!"

"Well, I could call my union on you, too."

"Really?" Flitwick asked, confused.

"Don't be ridiculous," Severus growled. "Now leave me and my Merlot pop alone."

"That's a Wine Cooler pop," Sprout corrected.

The pop flew across the room in disgust. "Wine Cooler?" Severus echoed. "What kind of a pansy do I look like? Who drinks Wine Coolers, besides you?" He flounced out of the room with one afterthought: "Minerva, if you take that Klondike bar, I swear I'm coming back there and knocking you out."

Severus took to going to Dumbledore's quarters. In the manner of a teenager, Dumbledore knocked on the door to the Headmaster's secret headquarters: the guest bedroom. "Aaaalbus." No answer. Severus knocked his head against the door three times. "AaaaAAAlbuuuUUUUUS." Another bash. "I wanna come iiiIIIInnnnniiIIInnn."

"THE DOOR'S OPEN."

Severus walked into the lilac room with the guest towels and shell-shaped soap. Dumbledore was sitting on the soft down comforter in front of the only television with a remote, slowly nursing a box of Milk Duds, watching Lifetime.

"You are so sad, sir," Severus sighed. "Is this a Mermaids marathon again?"

Albus didn't respond. He had a wet, half-eaten Milk Dud in his beard and the other half was near his ear.

Severus glanced at the set. "Oh. It's a Golden Girls marathon. I know you have 'the hots' for Bea Arthur, you sick old man, sir. You could be her father."

Albus looked at him with bright eyes. "Did you know they were going to have a gay man on Golden Girls, but they wrote him out of the show?" Severus slumped against the door frame. "What's the matter? Are you hungry?" Severus nodded sullenly. "Well, have a Popsicle."

"We don't have any."

"Well, have a Chewy bar."

"That's your solution to everything, isn't it? We have so many damn Chewy bars, I don't know whether to kill myself or you."

"Snapple?"

"Ew."

"Have a Lean Cuisine."

"They suck." Albus looked at him in shock. "Sir."

"Is there anything else?"

"Uh, nooo."

"Want to watch this with me?"

"A little."

Severus took a seat at the edge of the bed.

"Severus, honey, you really need a girlfriend."

"Why? I have a calendar."

"What?"

"Nothing."