Chapter Fifty-five

I keep meaning to say something, but I also keep forgetting. Congratulations to Mrs. Shekspir (not her real name, duh), who recently had an eight pound baby girl. Don't forget that part where you promised to let me name your firstborn child if I did as you asked. I'm sure you weren't joking. I haven't decided between Laeneili Celeste and Arwen Mithrila, although I admit that my third choice is Camille Sakura if you don't like either of those. Don't forget I want to babysit while she's still small and unable to crawl off! :) :) :)

Araminta spent most of Sunday having quiet time in her room. She felt worn-out from stress and her throat was sore and not a little scratchy from singing so much the night before. She hadn't realized how much Fawkes-Iolanthe's magic supported her voice. On her own, it was difficult to remember simple rules like 'sing from your diaphragm' and 'project.' She had hot tea to soothe the overworked muscles.

Araminta had just drawn herself a bath full of pink bubbles (watermelon scented, yum) when she heard a muttered oath outside her door. Curious, she wrapped her bathrobe tightly around herself and pulled the door open wide. "What's going on?"

Sitting on the floor next to the door was Professor Severus Snape. He was holding his head in his hands and he looked absolutely exhausted.

Araminta tapped him on the shoulder gingerly. "Hey, Professor Snape, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he growled. "I am merely lightheaded, and I will be gone soon enough. Go back to your room."

"Should I get Madam Pomfrey?" Araminta asked, worried. "She'd know what to do."

"No. I can't abide her meddling," said Snape.

"Well, you can't just sit out here in the hall. It's damp and chilly, and you'll catch a cold." Araminta bent down and slung Snape's arm over her shoulder before hauling him to his feet. "Forward, march. Right in there. Steady...steady, now." She maneuvered him into her room and closed the door.

He was heavier than he looked. "You're squooshing me," she said. "Come on. Faster."

"I'm coming," he mumbled from under his greasy hair.

"Right--there," she grunted, pushing his weight off of her. "Whew," she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she settled him on an ottoman.

"I suppose you're going to comment on my weight," he said sourly.

"Huh?" said Araminta. "Uh, I'm just not as strong as I look. Why don't you rest here for a little bit before you try to get where you were going?" She snapped on the Wizarding Wireless, which began to play the tune that Araminta, Pansy, and Millicent had been singing last night.

Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on

"Waaaah," cried Snape, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Turn that dreck off!"

Araminta hurried over to the radio and turned down the volume while she inserted a CD of nature sounds (to soothe the savage beast) instead. "Professor Snape, is this about Narcissa Malfoy?" she asked in a direct fashion.

Snape stopped crying in surprise. "What--why--how did you...what do you mean?" he finished, drawing himself up haughtily.

"I mean that you're still stuck on Narcissa and you need to get over her for your own good. She's married and has a child." Araminta thought back to what she'd told him once before. "I'm sure there's another Narcissa out there for you. There are plenty of fish in the sea."

Snape considered this for a few seconds. "I suppose you are right. I have been feeling rather emotional lately."

"Well then, Mr. Cranky Pants, you should take my advice more often. I know just the thing to make you feel better--a bubble bath."

Snape nodded. "That does sound good. I'll take one when I get the plumbing fixed in my rooms. The shower hardly ever works."

So that's the problem, Araminta realized. "Actually, I have a bath all ready, and I don't mind if you take it. Go on," she said, and smiled when Snape waddled into the washroom.