Hey! Let me know how much you liked this chapter because I loved it, and my beta reader- a declared anti Snape- liked it too… so …I dunno. I think book 5 made Severus justice; he's a true wonderful soul (well…IN MY UNIVERSE…he is).

Thanks a lot for your good vibes; they suited me fine. I will need some few more…though. Stronger ones!

13 school days from winter break! Yey! Then…during my winter break, I mean…I will devote myself to writing!

So… I should stop talking and introduce chapter 18… so…here it is. Enjoy.

Chapter 18: Is the Hogwarts Potions Master Alone?

Florence found herself singing at the top of her lungs once in the shower. The water felt so warm against her pale skin that the bare thought of being elsewhere but there made her shiver. Yes, she was at the Burrow. Yes, she was there with George, who she loved deeply. Yes… she was feeling treasured and happy, but something in the very core of her being was telling her to be careful. Hogwarts most famous potions master was, for sure, getting nearer by the second. And while she caressed her naked arm with a pink soap, the dark spy- once a member of the Order of the Phoenix- was doing exactly the same thing in his, but with a black piece of soap, of course.

Going to Harry Potter's wedding wasn't exactly Snape's idea of fun. But then again, he'd rather be there than alone in the cold dungeons. Elisabeth was no longer there, though her clothes were still hanging from her wardrobe. She had left 6 months now and not once since her departure she had dared to get in touch with him. Why she had left? Only Snape knew, and to tell you the truth, he was amazed by her reasons.

He- the most feared Hogwarts professor EVER- still in love with that mudblood Pugliare? No, that wasn't the case. It was impossible; he was in love with Elisabeth. Florence was just a memory. A beautiful memory- even though Snape denies it- but a piece of the past. Florence wasn't a part of his future and she will never be. He was over her completely.

Snape got out of the shower, little drops of water running through his pale body, wet black hair interfering with his vision.

He took a comb from a table near by and started combing it properly. He knew that his hair wasn't going to get less greasy by just combing it or washing it, but all the same he wanted to look his best on this particular occasion.

And Florence was thinking exactly the same thing. She- the most famous writer the wizarding world had ever seen- still in love with that …that… that thing? Well… she knew she wasn't in love, because she loved George. And things were going too well to spoil them with doubts. She had loved George Weasley all along, but something about her virginity taker made him extremely appealing to Florence, and just by the thought of it she felt funny, younger …and excited.

Was he still seeing Elisabeth? She was almost sure he was… if not, why hadn't he called when she was available? George was right: She actually was looking forward to seeing him at the wedding. She was looking forward to it very much indeed.

And that was scary for the both of them, of course. Too much to loose for sex, even if that sex we are talking about was incredible.

She got out of the shower smelling of daisies. Severus Snape was due to arrive soon, as it was kind of late, and he was suppose to stay there with his "+1" for the following nights. She raised her wand and pointing towards her hair she said: "Peinatato". And soon enough all her curls were resting neatly over her shoulder; a daisy sleeping peacefully over her ear. She pointed at the white dress lying over a light blue table near the sink, and with a simple move of her wand, Florence Pugliare was ready for action- in white clogs.

"Ready for action?" -She thought-"What the hell am I thinking about? Professor Snape and his wife are perfectly happy. I mean, they must be, right?"

All Professor Snape knew was that Florence was doomed to end up with George Weasley; they were perfect for each other. A little filthy mudblood and a traitor seemed the ideal match to him.

So, Professor Snape took a handful of Floo Powder and throwing it into the fireplace in his personal dungeons, he shouted, "the Burrow" just before a green flame ate his body entirely, transporting him to the place he would met Florence Pugliare.

But when Severus Snape landed on the living room at the Weasley's, he found a very pale, freckelish, face adorned with blue eyes and a red mane.

-Mr. Weasley?- Snape asked raising an eyebrow.

-Professor Snape?- George asked slowly- I would just love to have a word with you, because… you know? I am in love with my wife- well…she's not exactly my wife now, but she'll soon be again- and I will not let you take her away from me. Your dirty tricks won't work on me; I'll be watching you, sir, very closely indeed- He threatened. Snape smiled, though slightly.

-Mr. Weasley, I think I underestimated you. You seem to be getting more stupid by the month… now, can you please escort me to my room, where I will be able to take my present for the couple from my trunk, because my trunk did arrive, didn't it? – He asked in a menacing tone.

-Of course. My dear wife made sure of that- He said bitterly biting his lip. Why did she have to take care of his personal stuff? Anyone who hadn't slept with him was allowed to do it, in George opinion.

-Very well, Mr Weasley. You can lead the way- He said even bitter than George.

They walked through the Burrow's old corridors- now even larger because of the constant enlargements- and into a tiny room at the end of the second floor, just next to the twins'. Its walls were painted in black and a little fireplace was the only light provided to the room as it was near midnight now.

George shut the door behind him after a couple of minutes, and he walked down the stairs again to prepare himself a cup of tea.

Snape, however, remained still in his room, thinking about what to do next. He decided that the wisest thing to do was to give the couple his wedding present- a very expensive and rare blue bottle that had belonged to the Snape family since the 14th century. Unlike Pugliare, or even Granger, he was a pureblood.

But when he opened his trunk, all his thoughts flew away from his mind. A letter was resting among his black robes, in a rather innocent way. He took the envelope in his sallow hands and even though he was apprehensive of the contents residing within the piece of parchment, he opened it.

Dear professor,

Its been long since our last talk and I was wondering if you have read any of my books. People say they are quite good, but its your opinion's the one that matters the most, as I have shared with you most of my personal insecurities and dreams. Even though many years have passed, I am most sure you still remember them… I am most sure that you still remember me.

Anyhow, if you do… and you would like to have a coffee with me to discuss about any of them, feel free to visit me at "Room 542".

I will be waiting for you.

Yours sincerely,

Florence Pugliare