"Lupin." Snape swept imperiously into the dingy office and planted himself directly in front of Lupin's desk. In the weak evening light his shadow seemed to extend forever; at least over the desk, over Lupin, and out the window. He paused for a moment to appreciate his towering, shadowy glory.

Lupin looked up warily. "Ah, hello, Severus... the Wolfsbane works fine. Obviously I'm a bit tired now, but.." He was indeed a bit tired, more than a bit - positively melting away in the best angst-filled sense of exhaustion - and certainly in no mood to deal with Snape's snide remarks or whatever else he was planning.

"What are you talking about?" Snape sounded of superior disdain. "You've had all day to recover. I even taught your insipid students for you. By now you should be well rested and ready for evening adventure... " Declaration thus made, he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"What?" Lupin gasped in shock.

"Don't be a fool, Lupin. You know perfectly well what I'm referring to. It's been two months. The undeniable sexual tension between us has reached stifling levels." He paused, then added significantly, "Now is the time..."

Lupin sprang to his feet, wand in hand. "GET OUT!"

Snape only smirked in response. "Ridiculous. You can't deny it -- my silky raven locks, my sleek and elegant bearing - my voice alone --"

"LEAVE!"

Apparently now was not the time. "Well, Lupin, I can see you are of a weaker constitution than I originally thought. We shall have to discuss this when you are feeling more energetic." And without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked out, the rest of his robes making a magnificent arc as they swept along behind.

Lupin fell into his chair and slumped forward over the desk. He sighed, "Why can't I ever get my robes to billow out like that?"

---

Next morning's breakfast in the Great Hall found Lupin trying to sit on the other end of the table from Snape. In fact, Snape was surprised and none-too-pleased when Minerva McGonagall sat next to him.

"Severus, you're looking particularly moody today," she observed simply.

"Thank you, I think I may safely say I have perfected the art of the dark, brooding glance," he answered, directing one such glance toward Lupin's end of the table. Then for good measure, he leaned on an elbow and glowered at the numerous tables of students before him.

McGonagall pursed her lips in distaste. "That was not intended to be a compliment."

Snape ignored her, began as if lecturing to a classroom, "Look at them. Like so many grains of sand. You try to mold them, they slide back into formlessness. You try to crush them, they're already miniscule specks. Yet they stick to your hand -- they get in your eye--"

"Severus, that is a terrible comparison!"

Another moody frown. "So... perhaps I haven't quite perfected the art of the romantic analogy," he offered. "Everyone needs a tragic flaw."

"Are you quite well?"

"I'm fine."

"You haven't touched your food."

Snape looked back to her. "Now Professor McGonagall, I realize that your concern for me takes many forms, and I appreciate the underlying sentiment. But you must understand that I receive these sorts of offers daily, and --"

"What are you talking about!" She put down her fork; this meant business.

He looked her squarely in the face, their eyes met - a battle of black and blue like a bruise that can't make up its mind what color it wants to be. All right, perhaps breakfast wasn't the best time to bring up the question of Professor McGonagall's long-standing and repressed love for him. "I don't eat breakfast," he said.

But she was not appeased. "What do you mean breakfast - what were you saying about 'offers'?"

"You were offering me your toast, were you not?"

"No! You have your own toast, Severus."

"True. But I haven't been able to reach the lemon curd and yours is positively smothered in it."

"Severus!"

Professor Sprout looked around McGonagall's shoulder. Fortunately Snape and McGonagall were sitting at the end of the table, or they'd have been receiving more concerned glances. "What's going on over there?" asked Sprout.

McGonagall stood abruptly. "He doesn't even like lemon curd," she announced and marched off.

Professor Sprout had the confused expression of a five-year old asked to solve an algebraic equation. "What..." Then she noticed McGonagall's half empty plate. "Oh, I see, lemon curd. Do you suppose she's going to eat that?"

"Take it. I must project the image of vampiristic fasting if I am to remain mysterious and irresistible," he answered lazily. He turned his attention back to glaring at the students. "Test this week," he muttered to himself, "will receive flocks of students under pretenses of study help... hmmm."

"Something the matter, Severus?" Professor Sprout asked, cheeks puffed out with a mouthful of toast.

"Perhaps I should consult Lupin about test-giving strategies," he said with a peculiar sneer.

"Mm, perhaps you should eat something," advised Sprout.

Suddenly the empty space between them was filled as Dumbledore appeared. He stood behind McGonagall's old chair and waited to be acknowledged.

"Hello, Albus - the lemon curd is especially good today," said Professor Sprout.

"Thank you, Pomona." Dumbledore turned to Snape, "Actually, Severus, I wanted to know if I might have a word with you in my office sometime today...?"

Snape glanced up. No, the eyes were not twinkling; this was a bad sign. It was one thing if McGonagall was fighting long-suppressed feelings for him, but it was entirely different if Dumbledore decided to get involved. "I have to teach today," he started evasively.

"Yes, pick a time when you're free." Only Dumbledore would dare smile when giving such a directive.

Snape sighed and pulled out a small black book from his robe pocket. "Let me see when that may be..." he glanced down the list of scheduled events for the day: order backup newt eye, terrorize Longbottom, practice sneering, make suggestive comments to students... down the list further: brood in dungeon, think unthinkable thoughts abou---"how'd that get written down?" he muttered.

"Severus. Four-thirty," said Dumbledore.

Snape's eyes jumped to the 4:30 time slot, where find my inner puppy was wrriten. He frowned, "Well, I suppose I can manage that."

"Good, I'll see you then," Dumbledore smiled benignly and wandered back to his own seat.
"Severus, are you sure you don't want any of this toast?" asked Professor Sprout.

Snape sighed and cast another languishing and brooding stare around the hall. Today might be more interesting than he wanted...