Canto XI
"If you would like to say something, why don't you mention something that you think is beautiful?" she suggested, a lopsided, dimpled smile rising on her face. "I think that Rainbow-Anglers are beautiful."
She looked at him when he remained sullen and stern, and he could not tell if she realized that she had set before him a task as Herculean as that of cleansing the Augean Stables. Much in the way of fecal muck would have to be eradicated from his psyche before he could recognize something he found beautiful, at least something besides Lily Evans-and he was not sure how he might, if he even wanted to, tell Luna Lovegood about the woman he worshiped.
"Fruelapp-Dewbell fairies are beautiful," said the girl, approaching him where he stood with a tentative step, as meek and patient as if she were approaching a wild fox, or (more likely) the untamed Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
"What sort of childish game are you playing at, Miss Lovegood?" he asked of her, feeling like a child of Eve watching the original sin occur from the confines of his playpen.
"Redtop Flingles are beautiful, too." She advanced again by a step, and his inclination was to retreat in turn. This did not seem to distract her, and indeed she just smiled more broadly in her detached manner, announcing, "Sour Chippendrats' pearls are also things I would call beautiful."
A prolonged yawn seized her at this moment, and she indulged in a leisurely rubbing of her eyes, whereupon she appeared as childlike and innocent as Cupid, though Severus knew that she must be twice as devious.
"Even the rather bothersome Wrackspurts...ahh..." (she yawned again) "have their moments of beauty, in certain circumstances."
"Kindly confine your idealizations to a minimum, if you cannot at least refer to things that actually exist," Severus snapped. Watching her spirit soar like Icarus into the sky of the unknown, he experienced some trepidation, fearing that she might get too close to the sun and allow her wax wings to melt...and cause his to fall apart, too, no matter the height at which he followed her.
"Of course, Professor; I never would think of talking about things being beautiful if I'd never seen them," the girl replied, and she sank down into a squat, where she brushed at the ground to "warn the rittyglomplers" before she sat lotus-style.
All that Snape could do was pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration and turn away from her, exasperated at not knowing if she were truly serious or merely playing games with him.
"So tell me, Professor, what you think is beautiful?" she prodded again, and indeed she was physically prodding him in the back of the leg with a long stick, though he did not realize it until he faced her once more, for he could not feel anything more than a twinge of disturbance on a cellular level.
"You are not making this adjustment any easier for me," he stated bluntly.