Are they finally figuring it out? I certainly hope so. And I hope you like it, and I hope you review.
Chapter Nine: In Which a Certain Cat Makes Difficulties
"Sylvia…" Celaene called quietly. "Sylvia, come here, kitty, time for breakfast…" The cat didn't come. Celaene sighed. Where was she? "Sylvia, come here!"
A feeble meow was all she could hear. She spun around, looking for the source of the noise, and saw a paw hanging out of a basket of sky charts.
Celaene picked up her cat, gasped, and looked at the creature. Here eyes were half closed, her fur dull, and she had visibly lost weight—just over night. Something was wrong, she knew. "Sylvia, love, what on earth… Snape."
The cat still in her arms, Celaene ran down to the Great Hall as fast as she could. The Potions Master, clad, as usual, in all black, was eating breakfast calmly, reading a thin book about who-knows-what. "Snape!" she cried.
He looked up mildly. "Yes, Sinistra?"
"What have you done to my cat?"
"Nothing at all." He looked back at his book, but Celaene crossed the room and snatched it away from him, replacing it with Sylvia, who she set gently in his lap.
"Don't tell me 'nothing at all,' snake, look at her!"
"She's sick. Don't blame me."
"She's sick because you fed her something poisoned!"
"Certainly not. Why would I do that?"
"Heaven knows, why, Snape, but you did," Celaene snarled.
"No, I didn't. But I can stop it. What a pity you didn't ask politely." Snape surveyed her cat, examining her with pale, slender fingers.
"What?"
"No, I suppose you wouldn't want me to…"
"Yes! Do it! Please, Snape, please save my cat," begged Celaene, changing quickly from anger.
Snape stood up and walked off to the dungeons, the feline cradled almost gently in one arm. Celaene followed at a run.
In the dim light of the dungeons, Celaene saw him open a cabinet and draw out a neatly labeled flask of pearly-white liquid. He opened it carefully, poured it into a tiny vial, and inserted this into the cat's mouth. She protested feebly, but was really too weak to resist it. Snape watched the animal closely for almost a full minute, then he glanced at Celaene. "She'll sleep now, but when she wakes up, she'll recover."
"Oh, Snape, thank you," gasped the small Astronomy professor, running over. Surprising herself—not to mention him—she wrapped an arm around him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder in a tight hug. "Thank you," she said finally, releasing him.
"Not at all," he muttered, sounding strained. "Now, please, take your cat and go."
Celaene looked up, startled. "Are you alright, Snape?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Goodbye." She turned and left, glancing once more at him before looking down at her sleeping pet and leaving the dungeons. He had his eyes closed, had sunk down into a chair, and suddenly looked sick, or tired. She made a note to herself to send Poppy down.
"No, Poppy, I don't need a potion. You'd think I'd know if I did, being the Potions Master." Severus sent her away, ignoring the offended look on her face. But he hadn't felt like this in seventeen years, not since Lily. Severus wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. No, he thought firmly. I feel nothing for that… woman. But when she'd hugged him, he had breathed in that scent from her hair, vanilla with a trace of cinnamon… Snape shook his head and stood up. He'd have a walk to get rid of this.
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