Even Old Morose Bats Can Get Soft

Frizzy light patterns dancing... a skim of bland wind... swirly whiteness...

Tonks squinted. Her hands, resting at her both sides, felt the sheet's soft linen. Her shoulders sensed the fluffy weight of the blanket put over them. The dark-blue canvas cove above was splattered with grayish blotches, made by the light filtering through the window, whose upper half was constituted of very small pieces of glass bound by lead frames. The lower half hung open. The odorous freshness of London's smog and exhaust gasses fluttered gently in.

The storm was over, and an almost ethereal calmness floated in the air. It is of course rather unnecessary to gabble about the definition of calm after storm, since that is how this phenomenon of nature has been since Adam's creation. Or has any mortal seen an infinite storm? Storm after storm, and a bit more storm, with no calm at all? Now, if such an incident, that defies even the most complicated fuzzy logics, would set itself over London, the city would ere long resemble a colossal Venice, with speedboats racing along the former streets. And ere ere long long, the Muggle physicians would be forced to invent a storm-shooer to get rid of the ruddy raining, since ere ere ere long long long, the metropolis would be nothing but a second Atlantis.

Now, however, the storm had been of the common kind, and there indeed was calmness after it. The hangings of Nymphadora's bed had been drawn aside by some early Healer. The girl yawned, her mind swimming in some kind of semi-stupor. It was perhaps the potion's ickle side effect that made her thought zoom as fast as a bluebottle in parsnip budding. There was a haze thicker than the famous London fog filling her cranial cavities.

Odd reveries...Odd images hovering in her vision...As though there had been a black figure crouching beside her bed, drawling... holding a goblet and a black vial, offering her something...

She rubbed her eyes. What was that... a dream...? The wraith had possessed Professor Snape's face... and he had held out... a drink of some kind? That sallow visage seemed soaring ever closer, actually so close that the abnormally large nose and its abnormally bony nose-tip started poking her cheek.

The Auror shrugged. What on Planet X and all those other fifteen myriad celestial bodies had she been hallucinating? Instantly a new image scampered forth. That ghost with the Snape-head was snogging her senseless and comparing her beauty to a softly simmering cauldron.

"Blimey, I'm out of my mind..." She rolled her eyes. "Now why would he... Never. He'd never come here to... Gamboling gargoyles, Lestrange must've hit me really hard. And Sirius..."

Blink. The woman actually had to slap her forehead in order to find a coherent thread in the tangle of thoughts. When had she heard about her cousin's passing, and essentially, who had told it? Clear like distilled water, she recalled the anguish, whereas everything else was soggy turnip soup. And along the day's first whispers, she discovered the odd taste filling her mouth. The palate felt sore, as though she had devoured bucketfuls of strong chili sauce. The flavor on her lips was utterly different: the kind of sour, dank smack that resulted when one did not wash his or her teeth in two weeks. From where had this taste come from? And now that she observed better the world of stinks and savors, even her shirt had a weird whiff in it. The one of moldy, stale, clammy dungeons she so well recalled from the schooldays... and she knew only one person in this whole wide galaxy whose garments would infect her poor pajamas with that odor...

Her confused pupils broomed across the room. But when they hit the nightstand, they merely remained glued to it, goggling petrified at the knickknacks roosting there. A single ray of light coming from the window illuminated the faintly shimmering dark vial beside the water jug. And before it, on a tiny rag of parchment, lay a recipe scribbled in cramped, spiky black letters.

So it was true. Snape had been here...

Images began whooshing athwart her mind, as though catching the sight of that bottle had been some sort of key to unleashing the memories. The night's happenings bore no more blur. No more were they withering in the pit of oblivion. Jaw hanging open, the girl flopped back down onto the cushions. Abruptly she recalled Snape’s every touch, every whisper, every kiss. Her heart made a few giddy hip-swing-ups under her ribs.

Severus Snape in love with her...?

Even still, the whole idea of that sulky shadow-weaver getting all mushy because of her was somehow so ludicrous. Those squishy, super-saccharine sheddings that had gushed out of his mouth seemed just as un-Snape-like as the conception of him starting to breed pink bunnies as a full-time job. However, nothing could warp the truth, the done. There indeed was some human emotion under that forbidding cover. And now that she brooded further on his recent, shady behavior, it clicked to her that the wizard, as impossible as it felt like, was ridiculously shy. Apparently that touch-phobic, stuck-up bachelor was completely inexperienced with love life. Nothing else could explain the absurd manners. But that all this awkward stuttering, faltering, lisping, stammering, bumbling, and other odd burbling... just because he had been too bashful to tell her about his feelings? That dark, mighty mage master all sheepish because of one half-loony inapt poppet who had barely strolled past the teen days? All in all, Tonks was rather flattered. Such a person as her secret admirer... A faint, smug smirk capered on her features for a moment. How childishly the opposite gender sometimes acted... Males and their illogical logic...

However, the strike of the Grim Reaper shadowed still merely everything, and she was unable to flee the sorrow welling in the subliminal valleys. Thus the simper died, soon being replaced by teary somberness. The loss of Sirius would inhabit her forever as a gnawing parasite. The soaring years would perhaps dilute the memory somewhat. But unfortunately, the human mind tends to recall the grief over happiness, the angst over bliss. Ancient dolor often raises its humongous gorgon head even after decades, and turns the consciousness dusky. Indeed... Black's jeremiad would chime within the nocturnal winds, everlastingly...

Yet, life would have to go on. The world was not a flawless paradise, but constantly teetering between losses and gains. Somewhere in the middle of that frail balance, there meandered a narrow road, carrying the days onwards. That route she would have to rediscover, and continue to totter along it. Even though the black gulf of despair gaping on the other side sometimes would attempt to swallow the weak mortals completely.

She yawned some more, and stretched lightly. The sharp pain searing in her limbs yet reminded the Auror that she was not ready to gambol in the summer meadows like Umbridge's Technicolor kittens. But at least her existence was neither twirling in any gory limbo, nor were the prospects of healing keeping holiday in some other galaxy. Perhaps a few more days of rest, and she would be ready to yap hasta la vista to the hospital bunk.

The brisk sunlight shot the black vial with its rays. More recollections popped in her scull. Had not Severus stated that she should drink the rest of the remedy? The thought of being forced to mimic a fire-eater repeatedly was not very delightful, but she just had to swallow the pride and be Master Sevvie’s obedient little girl.

Nonetheless, the woman would have needed a spare Snape to mix the drink for her. A typhoon of perils as she was, nothing else was needed but a little aiming error of a slightly shaking hand to create the commonplace mess. As she was about to pick up the bottle, she capsized the water jug. This was the beginning of one of those chain reactions - usually labeled as 'oopsies', no matter the shape or size - that should be totally prohibited in this universe. Such phenomena can jovially blow up a few galaxies at once, or equally cause a miniature hurricane inside a single thimble. Yet, why bother inventing complex names like Supernova, Armageddon, or Burning Porridge, when everything could be easily covered only with this sole, simple expression, oopsie? Lo, the elegance of six-lettered minimalism. But as the human race is such a bombastic showoff, it spends millennia and millennia of idle time on creating fancy, difficultly articulated words so that it could gloat with all that futile knowledge.

Hence, the water jug keeled over. Naturally, it brought down everything else on the nightstand with a dominolike effect. The other drugs and potions squatting there ended up onto the floor with the black gunk, where they decided to have some fun of their own. The ill-suited mixture hissed ferociously, starting rapidly to coat the flagstones with something that distinctly looked like a thin layer of ice. And, just at the same, unfortunate moment, a Healer tiptoed in, carrying a breakfast tray.

"Good morning, Miss Tonks, I see we are awa-aa - AAAAAAH!"

The incomer would have needed skates to survive on this new floor material. Hence she lost her balance, and fell onto the slabs, hinterland first. The tray flitted a few nanoseconds in the air, its contents soon finding their unique trajectories. Ah, the grace of fresh summer fruits, especially when they end up decorating someone's face as colorful goo. And a cereal bowl makes indeed a lovely hat.

Thus, it can be concluded that chain reactions are undeniably evil prowling lackeys of the Dark Side. The Ministry of Magic definitely ought to take initiative in banishing them totally from the plains of the Great Britain. And hire a powerful wizard to invent a handy spell that would remove a certain Auror's clumsiness permanently.

---

The clock ticked softly above the nightstand. A few candles hovered in mid-air, creating dancing orbs of golden light. Half-sitting, half-sprawling, Nymphadora rested under the bedsheets. Propped against a pillow she had an unsolved crossword, one of those wizardous ones with stirring pictures and expanding sides. She moved her quill over the parchment as though directing a cursor on a computer screen. The crossword scrolled upwards on its own, revealing an unsolved corner in the upper right.

"Hold on... what was this?” she mumbled, pursing her lips. “A famous Muggle mouse? Six letters, the first's missing, the five others are i,c,k,e,y... I've heard this one somewhere, that's dead sure... Tickey? Kickey? Sickey? Must be something nauseous if it's got all that icky ickey in its name already..."

The girl had not noticed how the time had slithered past midnight. Due to the medicines the Healers had made her gorge, she was - contrary to Snape's tranquillizing potion - almost hyper-perky. And it was rather difficult to snooze in any case, since the pains were stealthily returning, grilling again her bones. It would have been essential to booze the rest of the Potions Master's master-potion, but alas, her infernal clumsiness...

The day had been busier than a toy store in December. Excluding of course the screaming brats yearning for the newest Tomb Intruder with Gravity-Threatening Curves CXX video games and other expensive tosh, with which they became bored after a few hours. Nearly every other minute some pal had popped in the room, bringing Tonks get-well cards and gifts. There had been other Aurors, her parents, various birdclubbers like Lupin, and a whole swarm of Weasleys... The ominously teetering nightstand barely supported the mountains of Honeydukes sweets, bergs of Lemon Drops from the phoenix patron himself, and hills of other haberdashery. After the morning's melancholia, her mood had improved stellarly because of all these caring visitors and their condolences.

However, Snape's dramatic cape swings had been utterly absent. As distinctly as the Metamorphmagus recalled the previous night’s discussions, he had promised to pay a visit. Yet, rather awkward she turned when pondering the scenario. He would probably be livid because of her continuous blundering. Evidently the potion had not been just any oozing sludge from the nearest gutter, but a time-requiring, complex, subtle remedy. Oh why did she have to be such an ungainly ne'er-do-well, that life jackets and safety helmets were compulsory everywhere around her? Would she be better off in a padded, round den with a heavily guarded exit, her wand confiscated? Or would she still succeed to blow up the place with her mere presence?

Yet, at the moment, the girl was not mourning such terrifying thoughts. The crossword had taken the upper hand of her, thus allowing the angst to rest. The stinging ache in her legs nonetheless did gnaw the concentration, but not so much that she would have noticed the door behind her back slowly opening...

Knock, knock, knock. A hollow tapping sound overcame the quill’s faint rustling. She turned her gaze over her shoulder to observe whether some pelican-brained woodpecker had fluttered in and was trying to make a nest in the bedpost. But no. Actually, the view made her turn totally about. Her sudden stir caused the stopperless inkbottle, equally propped against the pillows beside the parchment, to keel gracefully over. Delightfully it began blotching its near grounds with its fine shade of night sky blue.

In the doorway stood a heavily cloaked figure, its knobbly knuckles still resting on the oaken surface. Beneath the hood's rim shimmered a very familiar-looking nose, surrounded by a somewhat tongue-tied expression.

"Severus!" she hasped, prying herself up to sit.

"M-may I... come in?" the wizard mumbled, barely moving his lips. He seemed very uncertain to enter, as though waiting for a shower of rotten tomatoes to hit him if he did so.

******

When Tonks began nodding furiously, Snape summoned up his courage and entered. Like a giant bat making a sharp curve during flight, he swept around the four-poster, the mass of black canvas taking a very stately swoop in the air. And, what would have Severus Snape been without that spectacularly billowing cloak and its imperiality? Considerably lamer, so to say. While sweeping towards his princess, the man loosened somewhat his overcoat, revealing the same ridiculous vampire suit he had worn last Sunday at Grimmauld Place. Evidently, now that he had won Tonks on his side, he wanted again to give her a better impression of himself. Even though he mostly managed to appear rather incongruous with all those shiny viper fastenings, heavy silver string embroidery, and a few other gothic gimmicks. Not to mention that the whole show smelled strongly of mothballs.

"You... Miss Tonks, you are... still awake?" He was to sit on the bed's edge, but luckily noticed how the whole sheet was dripping with ink, before smashing his hinterland over it.

"Oh, blimey,” she groaned, merely now spotting the newest boo-boo. "Was doing a crossword since I couldn't get sleep and... eh..." Her visage glowing bright red, she was basking in utter disgrace in front of this mighty potionmaker, who seemed to be so elegant in every petty movement...

...or not exactly so elegant, considering the cumbersome, barbaric tryouts to express love. As suddenly as she had begun feeling idiotic, she felt considerably less idiotic. She and Snape had a mutual character flaw, which arose only with slightly different nuances. The grimace turned into giggles, and the grating tinge vanished from her tone. Perhaps the coy tittering somewhat also eased his tension, since the lines around his mouth smoothened. His rigidly sitting jaw did not appear any more as though it had been made of wrought iron. Still, a significant amount of unease remained to shadow the scene. The man had barely been able to lisp out his affections, the girl's emotions just gradually beginning to evolve... Neither strong love nor a durable relationship was build overnight. Sentiments needed time to mature, to grow steadier. Love was something far deeper than just drooling after some sleek-haired shirtless bishie in skimpy leather pants. Love was trust, friendship, comfort, ability to navigate even in the murkiest, stormiest waters, so that SS RelationShip would not run aground. However, although this romance had barely flared up, it had better foundations than many other misshapen Quasimodo cases. This liaison had not even started as a pink Barbie-Ken drama, where only those with the most silicones and steroids survived. Both Tonks and Snape were admiring the subtle features beneath the surface: the honesty, the wit, the silent gems of heart. Exploring the inner beauty was as though laying headstones made of the strongest granite. And perhaps one day there would stand a towering castle with white mures on those very stones, the masonry as sturdy as the bedrock beneath. Flawless, gleaming, majestic, allowed to bask in the purest, whitest light...

"Now, there... it is only a matter of a simple spell..." Snape briefly flicked his wand, and the thin air suck the ink inside itself like an invisible vacuum cleaner. Now that the walking frippery display would have been able to sit down on the bed's edge, he hastily changed his mind, and drew a chair under his keister. Perhaps she would otherwise consider him acting too intrusively.

"Thanks... eh..." She eyed at the man itty bitty abashed. "I thought you'd come... a bit earlier. Isn't it a bit... illegal to be here at this time of night? How'd you get past the custodians?"

A petite smile lifted the corners of his thin mouth up, a warm mellowness tardily filling his chest. She had been expecting him? Neurotic and insecure as the professor furthermore was, he had somewhat been afraid of a change of mind. Last night had been such a celestial Xanadu, an illusion dancing above the stratosphere, so very unreal. However, it seemed that no treacherous snake had slithered in his little Eden, and the paradise of mind was allowed to remain unperturbed.

His expression made her raise a brow. Never, ever had she seen such a soft mien on that gaunt mug. The usually callous eyes lacked the cynical sneer, and there were no floes swimming in their bottomless blackness. On the contrary, this aspect was admiring, affectionate. Severus Snape looking hearty? The odds for that phenomenon were less than seeing the Giant Squid hopping out of its lake and taking an afternoon stroll in Hogsmeade. Yet, here he was, the old morose night-bat, soft as cheesecake.

"I do possess my own little methods to get in, which I would rather not discuss, if you do not mind,” he began. "And I daresay this hospital severely lacks security. I do not need to express my astonishment if I hear that Devil's Snare is freely allowed to frolic around and enjoy some Unspeakable as a supper... Albeit I spent hours beside you last night, hardly twice, a Healer bothered to express interest on peeking into this chamber. They definitely ought to hire more staff, in order to ensure the patients' primal safety. Accordingly, I do not believe we are going to be disturbed. And if so, I can quickly camouflage myself if we receive uninvited company."

His lip curled, as he glanced at the supercharged nightstand complete with the flashy get-well cards blinking like malfunctioning fairy lights. "Furthermore I must confess that I do not find myself comfortable to stomp in with a marching band on my heels... I prefer the dark hours and convenient secrecy. However, the nightly pathway is not that dark any longer, as I have a little seraphic light by my side now..." His fingers grazed lightly her hand resting in the former ink pool. "Yet, if you permit me to express this one single proffer: I would not wish this to become tomorrow's tabloid news. If you truly wish to..."

He deliberated hard how to choose the words. 'going out with' and 'dating’ sounded like such unrefined teenybopper slang for the obsessively cultivated baroque bat and his obsolete Old English, that he merely cringed even when brooding such sayings.

"If you truly wish to remain at my side - and I furthermore repeat if, since I have neither come to bedevil your beauty nor torment you, and you are still free to decide on a better suitor - I sincerely deem we ought to keep our... eh... meetings in secret. Clever as you are, you probably do understand that my work in certain circles is not thoroughly safe." From his grave-turned mien Tonks comprehended him blabbering about Mr. Wow-I'm-Cool-Because-I-Can-Talk-To-Snakes and his myrmidons. "At least presently, tricky conflicts might pursue, conceivably even in the Order."

Nymphadora nodded. The wizard was right. Being a phony Death Eater was not playing with legos, but a horribly dangerous secondary profession. Nonetheless, Snape had chosen his part, to pay somehow back his own gory deeds. Remorse occasionally meant taking a great personal risk, as was in this case. Therefore, the girl fully agreed with his suggestion. Weird it felt of course, just like this whole hullabaloo of starting to date that gargoyle-looking oddball.

The discussion finally selected a different route. Severus queried about her state, and frantically blushing, the Auror had to confess that today's bloopers did not include only the ink-splatter party. Nonetheless, for her surprise, the ol' scarecrow did not begin foaming like an overboiling milk kettle. On the contrary, with a rather cool sneer, he extracted a second vial out of his pocket.

"I must say I have come to recognize a few of your traits over the years, child. I recall almost everything ever since you so nicely chose to blow up my classroom."

"Eh... s-sorry about that..." she grinned back, eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “You're still teaching in that one? Living in the old dungeons?"

"Yes indeed..." he drawled while mixing a new remedy. “Even though by this day, I ought to believe your penguins have finally vanished. As a matter of fact, I do think I discovered one of them lurking in the Slytherin bathrooms still shortly after your graduation. Recently I however have suffered from a different kind of bird problem. An owl - and mind you, I do not have the slightest indication on how it ended up in my bedroom - began nesting in my hat. For a while, I had no time to pay attention to it, since having several problematic duties to handle. However, that puny pest began inviting visitors to see its eggs. That seriously disturbed my abilities to sleep any longer in that room. The worst occurred perhaps yesterday... there were a moose and two pheasants in my bedroom, gossiping with that preposterous owl mother. Finally my complaints to Dumbledore made him and Professor Flitwick transfer the blasted bird into Umbridge's currently empty office. Now I am at least allowed to sleep, without the fear that my four-poster shall one morning be surrounded by a pack of elks..."

"Pfffgghhhhsnerrrkkgghhh...!" Tonks actually had to slap both her hands over her mouth so that she would not have burst into hysteric fits of laughter. She found it also very delightful that the Potions Master was no longer such a dismal quaking stutterer around her, but actually had courage to throw in some sarcasms. When Severus was his own unruffled self, his sardonic humor followed him like vultures pursued a thirsty wanderer in Sahara. However, he still did not master very well the gorgeous art of self-irony, which would be on her to-teach list in the future.

Snape offered her the ready beverage. "This formulation is strengthened Extract of Hairy-Webbed Poohpaddler. It is based on the same potion I brought you the previous time, but slightly more matured and with a few enhancement ingredients added. This ought to cure you properly."

Carefully, she tasted the fluid. "Blyaah!" chimed the sensual feminine expression of nausea. This yellow-greenish gunk tasted a round 420 percent worse than the black one. And instead of burning, it felt as though liquid ice had been poured into her mouth.

"Eww. Why does every potion always have to taste like old socks?" she pouted revolted, glaring at the tonic swirling tardily in its dish.

"I daresay because well-worn socks are the subtlest key ingredient of so many complex potions,” a snort responded. Sickened though the girl was because of the drug, the man was determined to make her swig it till the last droplet. He moved his heavily robed form on the four-poster's edge, bent down to her, and took a firm grip of her chin. Despite the ferocious spluttering and gargling that followed, he doggedly kept the goblet on her lips until the last atom of the drink had been swallowed.

Alike the black muck, this one had its aftereffects. For a while, Tonks felt as though she had been turning into an outsized popsicle. Fierce shudders vibrated through her body, her teeth clattering. An odd image of her standing on the South Pole only with a swimming suit on was briefly stamped in her mind. Such unbelievable coldness flowed in her veins. Perhaps the potion philosophized that a little temporary Ice Age would do no harm regarding the long-term consequences. And, as the time decided to lift its lazy hinterland up and move a few inches onwards, the shock tardily faded away.

Tonks did not immediately dare open her eyes, perhaps because being afraid of that she might have been transformed into a snowman complete with a carrot nose. Nonetheless, after sensing the placid warmth surrounding her, the soft foreign fabric under her cheek, the chicken-hearted eyelids had the courage to unveil her pupils.

Blink, blink. Nymphadora was not lying beneath the bedsheets, but had been crammed under Snape's arm. The corner of his cloak had been wrapped around her like a giant batwing to warm up the wren. Her head was resting at his chest, his fingers wandering freely in the magenta jungle of her locks. If Severus had the previous night been insecure of giving shelter for those little shivering shoulders, now that hesitance had somewhat vanished. Listening to the Shoulder Angel's squeaks had its profits: yesterday's uncanny white peace was refilling his lungs. Although he hardly yet comprehended the definition of pity, he had momentarily let this puzzling specter manipulate his mind.

The Auror brought her face up, her nose instantly colliding with his overlong sallow beak. The professor was hunching, scrutinizing his treasure with a half-open gaze.

"By tomorrow you ought to be fine, little child..."

"Ee - Um... t-thanks."

Their irresolute, somewhat embarrassed visages peered at each other. The most unlikely couple of them all, with their yet unsure, evolving feelings... He slowly picked up one of her small hands, his lips carefully beginning to fondle its soft, delicate features. When his mouth eventually united with hers, her coy responses made the old scarecrow understand that she truly would remain at his side.

****

What the snogging love-pigeons did not know, was that just outside the room two mysterious figures lurked in the rippling shadows. And moreover, these awful prowling menaces were acting rather peculiarly concerning that Apparating was possible neither inside nor near St. Mungo's. The thin air still swallowed them every other second and puked out again. Obviously it was not able to decide whether it wanted to devour them properly or not. Even though the corridor was almost as dark as a whale’s stomach, the wan light yet revealed two bushes of vivid red hair perching on top of those shadows.

"Ha! We're through, we're through!" the other ghost whooped.

"Shht, keep your head down, bro. Remember that our super-cunning camouflage won't make us inaudible."

"Ah, right. Sorry, mate,” the rackety-maker lowered his voice.

"I bet this invention's going to be one of our ultimate bestsellers. We just need to invent some cool, catching name for it."

"I can see the Galleons raining down upon us already, bro.” The second shadow slapped his companion on the back. “Impress your friends with Puff-and-Pop Pastilles! - Ok, that was lame, but we'll figure out a better brand, just making up something for this brief moment of self-advertising. - Apparate without a license! Well, for a few seconds, and it's not really Apparating, technically speaking, but anyways. Bit of pomposity, and we'll be soon swimming in Sickles, crawling in Knuts..."

"Syssssh! You're howling louder than a patch of Mandrakes! Hey, I think we're there now. Room ILII, wasn't it?"

This romping, smug duo probably needed no further introductions. Fred and George - or Gred and Forge, however they wished to be called - had decided to take a little nighttime stroll to St. Mungo's. As tricky challenges with a whiff of illegality in them were their second nature, they had thought to combine adventure with a highly practical aspect. The brothers had recently invented a new candy, which made its eater literally teeter on the edge of invisibility and visibility for a few minutes. This marvel yet required a myriad of tests to ensure that the snacks were not sweets of doom, but worked properly with no calamitous side effects. So, what was a better or more thrilling work-ground than a guarded hospital? With the aid of this part-time ghostness, the twins had sneaked past all the Healers just like one infamous nightcrawler currently poking the cheek of Tonks with his abnormally large nose. And, knowing the semi-mischievous Auror and her roguish sense of humor, the tricksters assumed her to be merely delighted if they would drop in her room in such a scandalous time of day. They had also brought the patient a pile of get-well gifts: the best of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The brothers were positive she would enjoy the juicy joke items while being tied in bed.

The candy's effect was wearing off by now, and the redheads ceased their steps behind the oaken door. The corridor was thoroughly empty. Not even a stowaway Devil's Snare prowled in the murkiness.

"Now, it shall be our Grand Entrée!" Fred grinned. "Think we should've hired a marching band to make our emergence more spectacular?"

"Ah, ma foi, Monsieur Frederique de la Weaselking,” George drawled in a tone of mock-French, making a little ironic bow. "Shall I roll the red mat for Your Bigheadedness?"

Sniggering, Fred gripped the door's handle, but was unable to wrench the exit open. "Hmf. It's locked."

"Step aside, you sniveling peasant, and let the mighty spellmaster handle this!" His brother tapped the doorknob with an exaggerated whip of wand. "Alohomora!" As the incantation was articulated only with a whisper, the oaken door did not burst open as though a bottle of Nitrogen had been thrown at it. The wooden object gave solely a feeble wriggle, and with a faint click, creaked open perhaps an inch. The brothers had turned back to the caution gear, mostly because of the door’s peculiar state.

"Think the medi-folks seal them for the night?"

"Who knows. But we -" George was to push the blockade aside, but was seized by Fred who grabbed his arm, hissing like a furious boa. With mute gestures, he made the twin peer at the room beyond, through the two-inch gap.

Something very peculiar was going on before their wide-flown eyes. Some kind of dreadful, cloaked shape was squatting on the edge of Nymphadora’s four-poster, back against the doorway, stirring and emitting ominous slopping noises. Since Tonks was half-lying, half-sitting in Snape's arms, only her legs stuck out in a weird angle from under the mass of black cloaks and other nosferatu-like garments. Hence, from the narrow gap through which the Weasleys were peeking in, the scene did definitely not look like any tender coo-coo lovey-dovey vista, but moreover like the attack of some horrendous Dark Creature. And as the old bat was so mesmerized by his rapture, his awareness was soaring somewhere beyond the known cosmos, beneath cupolas of crystal and onyx, above a sea of platinum and amethyst. Such a crazed bloke hardly could have woken up from his hypnosis even if a pack of singing chimpanzees had been dancing flamenco around him. And what was more, the girl appeared to be in an equal state of intoxication.

"Wh...What's that? What's it doing to Tonks?" Fred prompted, clutching his wand.

"Wait a moment..." George screwed up his eyes, focusing his gaze on the oily mess on top of the monstrosity. That slimy tangle distinctly looked like hair... very familiar-looking hair indeed...

"Is that... is that Snape?" he hasped. "What's that git about to?"

The view made no sense at all. What were those icky sploshing sounds and all that half-muffled sighing? Since neither of the young men trusted this ugly greasy semi-villain, they instantly were able to conjure up the most hideous atrocities in their minds. Was that Death Eater trying to choke the Auror stealthily here in the dead of night? Or was he truly a vampire who tried to turn the poor innocent lass into something equal?

Yet, before the duo had time to lisp out loud any of those ill-omened broodings, Severus shifted his pose so that the whole syrup-oozing panorama was revealed. Apparently he was drawing The Precious more firmly into his embrace, at the same time however baring his sallow profile, and fully exhibiting how he was giving Tonks a super-mega-über-ardent, deep kiss.

Fred and George froze. In a blink, their expressions transformed into something that forecasted furious vomiting.

"Ewww!" The first twin stuck out his tongue in disgust.

"Ewww!" The second twin slapped a hand over his mouth in disgust.

And their phizzes were to warp inside out when they noticed how Nymphadora twined her arms around Snape's neck and pulled him closer.

"Brrrlyyyyhh! Tell me I'm seeing only some awful nightmare and I’m soon going to wake up in my warm cozy bed at home..." Fred shuddered after a long silence.

"I don't know, bro... because I'm seeing the same thing, no matter how much I'm trying to pinch myself... Yllbhhh... Glxblt!" George stuttered.

"Why would anyone in their right mind let Snape kiss them?"

"Why would anyone in their right mind kiss Snape?"

"You've seen the condition of his teeth? I don't even want to know how much his breath must stink."

"Maybe that's why she’s is looking so floppy. That stench’s got to be poisoning her." The second twin made a gagging movement across his throat.

"And look at the size of that nose thingy. I didn't know it was even possible to snog someone with that kind of protuberance splatted in the middle of his phiz. Wonder how he blows it? Must be using some extra-large tissues..."

Abruptly a novel comprehension struck them like a fierce fireball. Only if it had not been false comprehension...

"Wait a moment! I don't think she even knows what she's doing! That git's jinxed her, he... he's trying to turn her to the Dark Side!"

"Right, mate! He's got to be using that Imperius Curse on her, or something. She'd never do a thing like that in her right mind." George's eyes were sparkling with fury. "We got to save her before it's too late! This is the basic D.I.D., Damsel in Distress. You know what to do."

"Right! You disarm him, I take care of Tonks."

The two redheads literally blasted themselves through the door, both growling creepy gibberish. Yellow sparks shot out of George's wand, and Snape was sent flying towards the rear wall, while the professor's wand zoomed in an elegant curve into his fingers. The maltreated Potions Master remained dangling upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal - not graying underpants, for humanity's sake - ludicrous medieval breeches with a long row of buttons on each side, and black, buckled boots with high heels and up-curving long points. His upper body got totally tangled in the voluminous cloaks and capes and other bat-wear, while at least five pounds of serpent-shaped clasps, buckles, clips, and other haberdashery clattered onto the floor, not to mention the assortment of other thingamabobs hurtling out of his pockets.

"Hrrrrfffffffffghhhhgh! Ummffffppppfffff!" The wizard wrestled with the marquee of raven canvas, his thin, long legs whisking feverishly in the air. Tonks gawked at the incomprehensible intermezzo, her jaw hanging open. In a blink, Fred had leaped to her, grabbing her shoulders and attempting to pull her up from the bed.

"We got to alert someone! Call for help! That git's going to Azkaban for using the Unforgivable Curses!"

"Right, mate!" Fred gave George a thumbs-up, then turning to the petrified patient. "You alright, Miss? We're going to get you out of here, don't worry -"

"Waitwaitwait, wh... Merlin's loo, w-what are you doing?" Nymphadora shrieked, when ultimately catching the situation. "What the bloomin’ heck d'you think you're doing? Put him down immediately!"

Silence.

The redheads stared at her, then at each other, then again at her, and then again at each other, so that their jerking heads looked as though they had been rotating on badly oiled pivots. This did not sound like as though the poor nymph had been under any horrendous curse.

"But... wasn't that git using that Imperius codswallop on you?"

"Wh- No! And he's not any git! Don't you offend him like that! And put him down at once!"

The both Weasleys yet hesitated, glancing in turn at the Auror and the Potions Master who was hissing and cursing under the heaps of black fabric, his legs still zigzagging above. The brothers could not believe it. Had their rescue operation turned to one gigantic oopsie? Although they almost could perceive the imaginary shower of rotten cauliflowers raining down upon them, they still were more suspicious than plain normal suspicious.

"But... we though he'd... I mean, this is Snape we're talking about! Seriously you wouldn't voluntarily..." Fred spread his arms, his mien glowing with utter confusion.

Tonks flushed till the roots of her hair, both with anger and embarrassment. She had no option but to sputter out the Answer to the Question of Life, Universe, and Everything.

"W-we... We are dating." She almost whispered the sentence's end, so meek and mousy her voice had gone. At the same moment, the jinx, with which the wizard tandem had hit Nymphadora's wooer, wore off. With a hideous splat, Severus flopped down onto the flagstones as an oddly shaped lump of long sinewy limbs and murky cloths. A second later, he found a route out of the robe forest. His gaunt countenance was burning with red rage. Almost one could see dragonish flames spurting out of his long quivering nostrils.

"What is the meaning of thissss...?" Snape hissed through his clenched teeth, his eyes slits. Initially he resembled some sort of weird cross between cobra, giant bat, and vulture. His fangs were bared, and his long skeletal fingers were convulsing as though they had been scaly talons ready to strike fatally.

"Severus, don't -" Nymphadora warned sharply, spotting the insane bonfires flaring in the wizard's pupils. He clearly wanted to feed those two boys to the Giant Squid, here and now.

Nonetheless, the man never accomplished the horrendous torture reveries that had briefly filled his consciousness. Hurried steps were echoing in the corridor outside the room. The reverberations were littered with worried yelps. Undoubtedly the brouhaha had awoken half of the hospital. And probably half of the custodians had been sent to investigate what was wrong.