Hrm. If that previous chapter was excessively long, here's another (unfinished) Snape- Herr Lovegood interaction. Hooray for excessive, pervasive, gratuitous and all-encompassing Sue-age!
"You're going to write me an article," said Snape, skipping any pretense at politeness.
"Concerning what? Would you -"
"No. No tea," Snape pre-empted Lovegood's signal at the samovar in the corner. "The last time I drank your tea, Lovegood, I hallucinated for days. I found myself reminiscing about Griddleskiffs even though I've never seen one in my life. I discovered my fascination with the little-known life-forms at the bottom of Lake Michigan, of all places. I suppose I should have known better than to drink anything prepared here -"
"Those creatures at the bottom of Lake Michigan are staple ingredients of Joe Reg's Red Eye Elixir," Lovegood reminded him. "The Dark Lord would surely understand if he caught you fantasising about potions that make sleep unnecessary."
Nobody had ever seen Simon Lovegood asleep, including his wife. It was not, of course, because he didn't sleep - he just preferred to be awake when anyone else was.
"Do you realise how difficult it is to properly Occlude two hours' worth of your chitchat without a gratuitous yellow submarine popping into my mind every minute? Do you realise how dangerous it would have been if I'd slipped up? Do you realise I had to Occlude the bloody tea? Do you know how hard it is to Occlude tea!"
"I find that random images are essential components of natural-looking thought," said Lovegood mildly.
"Yes, you fool; I find that too. I was constructing them. Your helpful interference unravelled everything I'd plotted in."
"Would you like to borrow Randomancy: The Arithmancy of Randomness?" said Lovegood in the same tone of voice he used to offer tea, as a paperback printed on dubious East-European parchment made its way round the room in what might have been a random trajectory if the walls hadn't kept intervening. "It's almost impossible to plot truly random things."
"Consequently you thought it expedient to hook me up to the random generator that is your mind."
"I thought..." As steam was beginning to seep in tendrils out of Snape's ears he adopted a more conciliatory tone. "Not meaning to cast aspersions on your skills, Severus, but I was worried the Dark Lord might be getting suspicious about you. There's nothing like a bit of silliness to convince him you're just a regular person. Controllable. Non-threatening. You know."
"Nothing like a bit of silliness to convince him that I'm a regular person?" Snape fired back.
"Well... Your mind is very... it's too good to be true. That's all. I took the liberty of looking into your tea-leaves -"
Potions of sympathy were dangerous, if singularly useful: dangerous because they were easy to detect, and useful because they provided - for a short time - a free and unfettered link between the minds of the imbibers, by which information might be transferred even at great distance. If one were a fairly good Occlumens as well, it was possible to dip into the mind of the other party and have a look around, or slip in a thought that the other person would never have had, or rearrange things - as in an attic - with more subtlety than the average Memory Charm. The trouble was that their effects were usually recognisable and hard to pass off as side-effects of another potion, since potions of sympathy mixed poorly with anything else in the typical wizard's liquor cabinet. Snape had never used one on a Death Eater. They were best for communicating with one's own agents in an emergency - though again, in Snape's case, circumstances had rendered them somewhat redundant.
"There's no need to lie," Snape warned him, violence bleeding into his voice. "I know perfectly well how the 'tea' worked. I applaud you - or should I say, your wife - for contriving to make it taste just like tea. My skills pale beside hers."
"She never really cared if her skills were recognised and credited," replied Lovegood. "Could you please put your wand down?"
Snape was shaking.
"I think not. I think we'll continue this lovely discussion on my terms this time. You've already had your fun."
For once he had been quicker than Lovegood, an advantage he was loath to waste. A moment later the thought, unbidden, sprang to his mind that he was proving Lovegood's point: wanting to make him recognise and credit his reflexes once, just this once; dispel that hidden smugness - for obviously there was smugness under that perfect mask, there had to be - and somehow, as he was dismissing this very odd thought, his aim wavered (just a bit) and he was once again staring at the perfectly steady wand Lovegood had pointed at him.
Of course.
"Reverse Legilimency. Very nice. Was that Suggestibilis or Persuasio?"
"Diversio, actually," said Lovegood. And a mangled TS Eliot had chirped "His powers of obfuscation would make a fakir stare!" before Snape blocked the charm, his wand now completely off-target.
"You forget, Severus, I have to sell my attempts to manufacture public opinion. Reverse Legilimency is my job. Persuasio is a bit too obvious and Suggestibilis too comprehensive, don't you think? Diversio is neat. Distilled from veela songs, you know."
"Ah," said Snape, who really had no choice at that point but to put his wand away. Lovegood did the same, without the faintest hint of triumph, and Snape once again found himself marvelling at just how much he abhorred the man.
"Much better. As I was saying, your mind is a little too good to be true."
"Believe it or not, Lovegood, the Dark Lord expects my mind to look like Severus Snape's mind. Not like your mind. Not like your daughter's mind. Like my mind. Precise, nasty, unsilly, and very much on-topic. And utterly devoid of butterflies."
"Like the recipe for a potion," said Lovegood, then proceeded to inquire after a certain riddle that the Dark Lord had reportedly given his Death Eaters after the Triwizard disaster, and Snape proceeded to dismantle his qualms point by point. It had been amusing, that riddle, particularly once it became clear to them all that Baby Crouch had been involved all along and that Kakaroff was halfway to Mongolia by the time of that meeting. It had been amusing to watch Crabbe and Goyle tiptoe around him, the one who had left the Dark Lord forever, tiptoeing with all their bulk: they'd been excited, as if they'd never had an idea before.
"The Dark Lord loves to set us against each other. His sense of humour is a bit... odd."
"If you're sure that's what it was," said Lovegood, sure that it was something different. "If you've taken all the necessary -"
"Do not presume to lecture me about precautions."
"Memory charms break, Severus; and they usually have very little in the way of information under them. You've got -"
Reflexes. Snape waited for Lovegood to get back up and replace himself in his chair (and his glasses on his nose) before speaking. The silence was thick and cold. To prolong it Snape waited until Lovegood had folded his hands.
"Dumbledore regularly puts me under Cruciatus to make sure nothing breaks."
A pale eyebrow moved incrementally upward.
"Are you surprised? So am I. Every time. Just to keep it authentic. And to the Falsitaserum regimen I've added a daily antidote to your tea. Do not presume to lecture me about precautions."
"All right," said Lovegood. The sallow skin and yellowed teeth were more than explained; and Lovegood did not want to imagine what was happening to Snape's insides. It was a wonder the man was sitting upright. "All right. I just thought I'd mention it."
And seeing that Snape was unmoved he hastened to add, "I'm sorry, Severus. Tell me how I can help."
Snape considered digressing on help: Lovegood had amply demonstrated, several times, that his help was always the best of good-faith help - and so inappropriate under the circumstances as to be counterproductive. On the other hand, this time he was asking. And Snape was asking him.
"Horcruxes," Snape announced.