Fortuntely, Snape was only afflicted by a 24-hour variant of whatever bug it was that had made him human. By the next day, we were back to sniping as usual. Which, frankly, was a relief. You always know where you stand with a man who calls you dumber than a house elf with the personality of a troll. I'm not whining; I did, after all, call him a fuckwit first. But clearly Cooking 101 had been nothing more than a moment's aberration.

I had other things to occupy my time, as I received notice that my antique dealer would be delivering my sewing cabinet later in the week, so I was busy getting the machine head cleaned up and ready to try out. It was less a matter of mechanical expertise than sheer elbow grease; the sewing machine was in really good condition for being nearly 100 years old; it was simply filthy and covered in decades-old oil grunge.

When I wasn't playing sewing machine grease jockey, I was visiting nearby towns to seek out fabric shops. It had been years since I'd last had the time to indulge my love of sewing—at least since Jenny's birth. I think her layette was the last sewing project I'd been able to tackle.

The night before my cabinet was to arrive, Snape found me upstairs in the extra bedroom that I'd commissioned as my sewing room.

'what a refreshing change," he sniped from the doorway. "You're not covered in filth."

"Darling! You're home! I've missed you so!" I batted my eyelashes at him.

"You? Missed me?"

"Ever so. But my aim improves every day."

He actually snorted at that.

"To what do I owe this honor?"

"There's some sort of table in the front garden."

My eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wooden table top? Metal legs?"

"yes."

I gasped, dropped my scissors on the fabric atop the worktable, and pushed past Snape. "That rat bastard! He said he'd drop it off tomorrow! Why didn't he ring??"

"I'm hurt. I'm not the only rat bastard in your life?"

I hurried down the stairs.

"Not at the moment. But don't despair; you're still my favorite."

I threw open the front door and there was my sewing cabinet. In the front yard. In the rain.

"Dammitdammitdammit!"

I ran out of the house, got about 2 steps, stepped flat on a stone in my barefeet and stopped cold, hopping on my good foot while I quickly checked the other for damage. Snape pushed past me, pointed his wand, uttered some incantation and the table obligingly delivered itself inside where a tea towel dried it off, before it continued upstairs to the sewing room. I stared at Snape in surprise.

"Okay, that? Was seriously the most awesome thing I've ever seen anyone do."

As quickly as his good mood had appeared, his surly one resurfaced.

"And what would you have done if I hadn't? How long would I have had to listen to you banging that thing across the garden, into the house, up the stairs, no doubt cursing the entire way, before you finally accomplished the same thing?"

The only thing more obnoxious than a snarky Snape was a snarky Snape who was completely right. Right down to the swearing.

I scowled at him. " I really don't like you."

He had the nerve to mimic my earlier eyebatting and respond, "But I'm still your favorite rat bastard, aren't I?"

I turned and stomped up the stairs. "Well, obviously. My sewing cabinet is upstairs and I'm alive to tell the tale, aren't I?"

I slammed the sewing room door on the sound of his laughter. Losing that last round put me in a foul mood, which made me impatient and careless while trying to lift the 40 pound sewing machine onto the hinges that held it in the cabinet. So it was no real surprise when I managed to pin my index finger between the machine head and cabinet.

"Fuckerbitch!" I yanked the wounded finger free and watched as it bruised nearly immediately. It wasn't swelling—well, not very fast anyway, so I double checked that at least the machine head wasn't in any danger of crashing to the floor [or through it] before going back downstairs to the kitchen for ice. Blessedly, the kitchen was empty; I really wasn't ready for Round 2 at the moment. Mostly because I was fairly certain I'd lose that one, too. I was not at all happy to realize Snape had helped me out and I wasn't in a position to return the favor. He was a dick; I did not want to be beholden to him.

I'd been counting on the antiques guy to help me get the table upstairs; discovering that he'd just basically dropped and run, leaving me to haul it upstairs was annoying as all shit. While I grumbled under my breath, I filled another tea towel with ice cubes and put it on my finger to try and stem some of the swelling.

My Snape-free moment was all too brief as he entered the kitchen just as I sat down with my hand in the ice. Whatever he'd come in for was forgotten when he saw me and he pulled my hand free to survey the damage. Wizards like him must just use their wands without even thinking because he immediately pulled it from his robes, waved it and pointed it at the finger. Yeah. Nothing.

I met his eyes sheepishly. "Sorry. Brain damage. Pain goes through the central nervous system to the brain. Thanks for trying, tho."

I pulled my hand from his grasp and put it back in the ice.

"How did you manage that?"

"Don't ask. I was being more stupid than usual, with completely predictable results."

"How have you managed to survive this long, I wonder, without constant supervision?"

"God's mercy."

He snorted at that. "Are you planning any more attempts on your life this evening? Perhaps if you tell me now, I can help."

"Who are you, and what did you do with Severus Snape?"

"I simply do not wish to try sleeping while you drop the contents of the cottage on your head."

"Very funny. Ha. Ha." He stared at me, waiting for an answer.

"Fine. Yes, I could use your help, if you insist on offering."

"Oh, please, may I?"

When it comes to sarcasm, it's much better to give than receive. I scowled at him again, and stomped my way back upstairs to show him the last bit I needed done, which he did. Quickly. Efficiently. Condescendingly. With a good dollop of sneering laid on for good measure. My irritation with him grew into a tangible thing and he took full advantage of it as he bid me good night, by patting my head and telling me, "Kittens are so adorable when they hiss and spit."

I gave up on all attempts at sewing that evening; it would have ended badly. Instead I pouted myself off to bed, with visions of using Snape as a pin cushion to lull me to sleep.