Vector's Challenge

Chapter 37

Snape headed straight to his rooms, in a swirl of cloak and robes, after getting back from the Vectors'. Once he made it to safety, he locked the door, poured himself a large tot of Old Ogden's, and sat down in a chair. He gulped the firewhiskey down, in frantic relief at his narrow escape. The Baron drifted through the wall. "How did it go with her parents, Snape?" the ghost asked.

Snape frowned. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"How so?"

Snape stared at the fireplace. "They could have killed me."

The Baron blinked. "Are they likely to try?"

Snape let out a breath. "No, I don't think so. Assault, battery, and conditional threats were all I had to deal with."

The Baron said, "You're right; things could have been worse."

"Indeed. It seems I was personally responsible for the death of Emmy's younger siblings, and her mother finally found this out." Snape poured himself another tot of firewhiskey, and took a swallow.

The Baron raised an eyebrow. "That was the assault and battery, or the conditional threats?"

Snape muttered, "Her mother is a mad berserker, and her father is a psychopathic civil servant."

The Baron said, "A fine family. You'll fit right in."

Snape narrowed his eyes as he faced the Baron. "Do I want to fit into that family, is the question?"

"Of course you do."

"Why me?"

The Baron snorted. "Could you imagine if your in-laws were some sweet little Hufflepuffs or oh-so-noble Gryffindors? From your description, at least the Vectors can deal with you."

"Can I deal with them, is the question?"

"They're in Ireland. You and your lady are here."

"But her brother is here. Oh ye gods. Her brother." Snape took another swallow of firewhiskey.

Father Sorin drifted through the closed door. "How did it go, my son?"

Snape looked at him, then said, "Baron, you tell him." The Baron quickly informed Father Sorin of what had transpired.

Father Sorin whistled through his teeth. "Blood feud with her parents. How traditionally Slytherin of you, Snape."

Snape glared at the ghosts. "Either give me some constructive advice, or go away and let me drink my firewhiskey in peace."

"Watch your back," the Baron said.

Snape asked, "Why? She went after my face."

The Baron sneered, "You must have caught her off guard."

Snape set down his glass with a resounding clonk. "On what do you base that amazingly unlikely speculation?"

The Baron coolly said, "Even berserkers can manage simple weapons, say, a sharp or heavy object. If she went for you bare-handed, you obviously took her by surprise. "

Father Sorin murmured, "Of course, she is getting along in years."

The Baron snorted, "That doesn't signify, because berserkers are unstoppable on the attack. Afterwards, they may fall over dead."

Snape cleared his throat. "If the two of you are trying to encourage me to count my blessings, your efforts are sadly misplaced."

Father Sorin said, "Well, you can reflect that things can only get better."

Snape muttered, "Indeed. Next time, she might remember where the sharp or heavy objects are. "

Father Sorin said, "Stop whining. The question is, did they consent to your marriage?"

Snape replied, "Strangely enough, I believe they did."

Father Sorin rubbed his hands together and said, "Well, then. Have you informed your fiancée of this?"

"Not yet."

"What are you waiting for?"

"Until I can be blandly evasive when she asks how it went," Snape retorted.

"Bland evasiveness does not sound like the best standard to take with regard to one's fiancée."

Snape glared at the Hufflepuff ghost. "Explain that to her father, why don't you? I'm sure he'll think of something to threaten you with, dead though you are."

Father Sorin murmured, "He does sound formidable."

"You have no idea."

Father Sorin shrugged. "You should be very pleased he's entrusting you with his daughter."

" 'I'll kill you if you hurt her' doesn't sound like entrusting to me," Snape said.

"Ah, you'll understand when you have a daughter."

"If I ever have a daughter, unless there's something Emmy's not telling me."

"Do you believe she's lying to you?" Father Sorin asked Snape.

He snorted. "She eats nothing but colcannon and ice cream, she cries at the drop of a hat - she certainly seems to be showing the symptoms."

"I didn't ask if you thought she was pregnant. I asked if you thought she was lying to you," Father Sorin said.

"But -- how could she not know - "

"Yes or no? Do you think she's lying to you?"

Snape shook his head. "I don't know why she would lie to me."

"Do you think she's lying to you? Yes or no?" Father Sorin repeated, quite loudly.

Snape let out an exasperated huff of breath, and ran his hand over his forehead and through his hair. "I don't think she's lying, but I don't think she has an Irish tapeworm, either."

The Baron asked, "If you think she might be pregnant, despite the test results, why don't you suggest she take another test?"

"Oh. I hadn't thought of that," Snape said.

Father Sorin shook his head. "One could wonder how much you're thinking at all at this point," he muttered.

Snape glared at him. "One could wonder how much she's thinking at this point, if she's thinking, which I seriously doubt."

Father Sorin said, "If you're correct, she's pregnant. What's your excuse?"

"The possibility of marriage and incipient fatherhood, that's mine."

Father Sorin nodded. "Good reason. Bless you, my son, and don't drink too much of that." The Friar pointed to the firewhiskey bottle. "You don't want to be hung over when you have the conversation with her."

The ghosts drifted back through the walls. "Good night, Severus," they said.

The next morning, Emmy Vector was at the High Table when Snape came in for breakfast. "How did it go with my parents, Severus?" she asked when he sat down beside her.

Snape frowned at her. How could That Woman be so bloody cheerful in the morning? He noticed that she had only tea and toast set before her. He helped himself to some blood pudding. He noticed that she wrinkled her nose and turned pale. Is she pregnant and lying to me about it? He frowned at the thought. She should not find it necessary to lie to me. If she is pregnant, I will do the right and proper thing and marry her straightaway. She should know that. After all, I saved her from Lucius Malfoy.

"Your father informed me that if I ever went off the straight and narrow, that he would kill me," he finally said.

"Oh, he must like you a bit. He's given you fair warning in advance." She took a sip of her tea, chamomile from the smell, and asked him, "And what did my mother think of you?"

Snape paused for a moment. "I believe that she will come around eventually."

"That bad, was it?"

Snape decided to change the subject. He said softly out of the corner of his mouth, "Tea and toast in the morning, colcannon and ice cream at least eight times in the last two weeks." He dropped his voice to a whisper, leaned toward her, and asked, "Are you entirely sure you're not pregnant, Emmy?"

Emmy looked down at her lap. She hissed back, "Severus, I had my courses and the test came back negative. Problem solved. I'm an Arithmancer; I move on when the problem is already solved."

"Then why are you eating colcannon and ice cream constantly?"

Emmy's lips started trembling. She turned them in so no trace of them could be seen, and swiftly got up and left the Great Hall. Snape dropped his fork and ran after her. The Slytherins and Ravenclaws who were awake and at breakfast watched them go. Blaise Zabini grinned. "Go for it, Old Bat!" he muttered. "Roger her right and proper!" Millie Bulstrode smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Zabini!"

Snape finally caught up with Emmy halfway to the Arithmancy classroom. She ducked into an empty classroom, and he followed her before she could lock the door on him. He cornered her against the wall. "What the devil is the matter with you, Emmy?" he asked her.

She burst into tears, and he held her awkwardly. He could make out the words, "Madness - Arithmancer curse -" from her. He started stroking her shoulders. She finally stopped crying, and took a deep breath. "Now what were you saying, Emmy?" he asked her.

She wiped the tears off her face, and said, "Severus, I'm afraid I'm going mad. It's quite the occupational hazard among mathematicians and Arithmancers."

"Why do you think you're going mad?" he said, as he brought his hands up to the side of her face, to wipe the tears off.

She touched her tongue to her upper lip, and said, "I am experiencing symptoms which make me think that I - that I have a hysterical pregnancy, and I can't figure out why the symptoms haven't stopped now that I've figured it out."

He sneered at her, "You do know where the word 'hysteria' comes from?"

Emmy pulled herself away from him. "My womb is empty, Severus!"

"Is that an invitation?"

"SEVERUS SNAPE!" Emmy shrieked.

He sneered, "Take another test, my dear. It's either pregnancy or an eating disorder. And now, we both have classes to teach."

"I'm off campus this weekend, Severus."

"Then I will see you on Monday, and I want the results."

Emmy muttered, "The nerve."

"What did you just say?"

Emmy said, more loudly, "The nerve of you. I told you I'm a mathematician. Problem solved. Who do you think you are to tell me to take another test?"

Snape watched her chest heave, and her lips quiver. He grabbed her and kissed her, full on the mouth. He could taste her salty tears and smell her perfume, and he wanted to kiss her into her senses, until the tears stopped and she was back to herself again. He could feel her hands moving from his back to his shoulders to his neck. He pulled her closer and closer. He finally broke the kiss so that he could breathe, and then muttered in her ear, "Your fiancé and potentially the father of a child with you, that's who I think am." He held her out at arm's length and said, "Take another test, or I'll run a test on you, my dear." He shook her very gently. "Think on that."

He let her go, and swept out the door.

Emmy muttered, " The nerve of That Man. I won't take another test. Serve him right. He must learn he's dealing with an Arithmancer." But pregnancy or an eating disorder are either one preferable to insanity, a small voice told her. "All right," she muttered. "I'll schedule a full-scale Muggle physical with NHS off-campus, and an appointment at St. Kieron's over Christmas holidays if I can get in."

That afternoon at the Ministry, an owl arrived at Michael Vector's office. Mike got up from his desk, fed the owl a treat, and let it go. He recognized his mother's handwriting on the outside of the envelope. He sighed, and tore open the envelope. If she was writing him here instead of waiting until he got home, it had to be bad news. The letter said,

Dear Michael: I am writing this to inform you that your father has approved of your sister's engagement to that Severus Snape. If "I'll kill you if you hurt her" counts as approval, that is. (His approval subject to the usual conditions, in other words.) I don't want to hear any more objections from you until you bring home a fiancée yourself. He has at least two positive attributes, I suppose; he's alive and breathing. There are no obvious reasons why he shouldn't be able to father children. And do not take this as a challenge to bring home somebody totally inappropriate. Vector family tradition be damned. It's time you started some traditions of your own. How is work going, son? Your father was amused to hear from his friends at the Ministry, "Auror Vector has assaulted a Dementor. Merlin help us, the man needs a girlfriend." When are you finally going to bring a nice young lady home, Mike? Not to pressure you into making any sudden decisions, but it would be nice if your father lived to see at least one grandchild. Looking forward to seeing you next Sunday after Mass for dinner. Love, Ma.

Mike Vector reread his mother's letter again, crumpled it up, and stuffed it into a pocket in his waistcoat. He looked up to see Mad-Eye Moody standing in front of his desk.

"Oy, Vector. Bad news?" Alastor Moody said to Vector.

"My sister's gone and got herself engaged to that greasy git Severus Snape," Mike said. Mike got up from his chair, and started to pace around. "And it's as good as official now. My father approved of it, for Christ's sake!"

Moody sucked his teeth. "Don't suppose you can talk her out of it?" he asked.

Mike shook his head. "Don't think so." Mike kept on pacing around the room. "I'm worried she's making a mistake as bad or worse than the time she ran off with that Yank Muggle."

Moody grunted. "You're right to worry."

Mike stopped, shoved his hands into his pockets, and mumbled, "If I could find the right thing to say, maybe she'd call it off before it's too late."

Moody said, "Hard to do, to tell a woman what to do about a man."

Mike said, "I suppose that Snape's got himself a fine past."

"You might be right in that," Moody replied.

Mike sighed. "Oh well. Man proposes and woman disposes." He fell silent for a moment. "And speaking of women, how do you think the Harpies are going to do in the playoffs?"

Moody snorted. "Who cares other than the touts?"

"Oh, come off it, Moody. Don't you like seeing the ladies mounted on their broomsticks, in their Quidditch costumes?"

"You've been single too long, Vector. Ogling the Harpies, of all teams. None of their witches are worth a second look." Moody shook his head. "Your family and its weird traditions. You should have found yourself a wife at least ten years ago."

"It takes two, Moody," Mike muttered. Then he changed the subject again. "On another tack, Moody, I don't suppose you know where we keep the transcripts from interrogations and confessions, the ones we're not supposed to know about?"

Moody narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Last I heard, they were stored in the Department of Mysteries. And you didn't hear that from me, mind you. But those boffins in Mysteries are quite slick with keeping their records to themselves. And they could have changed things around and not told me."

Mike nodded and laughed. "True. They never seem to let the left hand know what the right hand is doing around here, do they?"

Moody frowned. "That's what comes of having somebody in charge who couldn't find his..." he trailed off as Tonks came into the room.

"Moody. Vector," Tonks said to the other two Aurors. "Are we on for tonight? Shacklebolt'll meet us there."

Moody replied, "Count me in. What about you, Vector?"

Mike shook his head. "Think I'm going to stay in and get some things done. My laundry's almost ready to do itself out of sheer self-defense by now, and I'm sure my icebox has a new civilization growing in it."

Tonks made a face. "Yuck. Bachelors."

"Could be worse, Tonksey," Mike said. "You could be married to me."

Tonks wrinkled her nose. "Eurgh. As if I'd want to spend my life cleaning up after the likes of you."

Mike grinned and thumped his own chest. "A hit, a hit, a palpable hit." The other two Aurors went to leave. Mike said, "I'll see you at Sunday Mass at the Cathedral, Tonksey. See you Monday, Moody." Mike watched the other two Aurors leave, and then proceeded to the Mysteries offices himself. It was now half-past five on Friday evening, and everybody would be gone soon. If anyone else stayed late and caught Mike here, he'd simply say that he'd had some paperwork to catch up with before he left for the weekend. He'd used the excuse many times before when he gathered information for Emmy. The cover of "cleaning" was also quite useful to get out of going out drinking with the other Aurors.

Mike Vector was now as neat as a cat, but he found it useful to maintain the old image of "Big Brute Bachelor Lout." It kept the single women he worked with away from him, and a few gross stories told in mixed company kept the married women from trying to matchmake too much. Although he wouldn't have minded the right kind of matchmaking, but it was just that he lived a delicate life, balancing the Ministry and Aurors against Emmy's work for Dumbledore. And very few women would put up with that kind of double life in a husband. He honestly didn't understand how his mother put up with his father's secret work. He wasn't stupid. He knew his own father was more than a college instructor of mathematics in Ireland. He snorted. Fortunate in his investments, my left foot! Follow the money trail, boyo, that'll get you the answers nine times out of ten. But if his father hadn't seen fit to confide in him, he himself would not bring the matter up. And if Father had to wait to get married until he was over forty and found the right woman, I can certainly wait my fair turn. I just hope that I get my fair turn this time, and don't lose Millie like I lost Olivia Pangbourne.

Mike made his way into the Mysteries office fairly easily. He wasn't quite as good at Arithmancy as his father and sister were, but he could improvise well enough to get around most spells, particularly when he'd had a chance to deal with them before. And the boffins in Mysteries didn't randomize their codes enough to keep him out of where he wanted to go!

He frowned as he looked around. Now where would the transcripts of confessions be? Maybe in the little office off the room with those brains sitting in the jars. Nasty heathenish things those are, to quote Mother. And what do they use them for, anyway? Mike made his way toward the tiny little office, keeping well clear of those brains. He finally found the transcripts, which were hidden behind a Confundus-type Charm. Mike pulled out the boxes of transcripts, and started sorting through them. They seemed to have no rhyme or reason to their organization, but he finally found a box that looked about twenty years old. He opened it up, and let out a low whistle at his luck. First one out of the gate was the right one to have picked, he thought.

Michael Vector sat staring at the report. It was the written summary of Severus Snape's confession of events he had been party to when he was affiliated with the Death Eaters. "Sonofabitch," Mike whispered. "Son-of-a-bitch!"He started reading. "He got mixed up with those bastards by the time he was sixteen years old. Before we even left Hogwarts. God-dammed frigging son-of-a-bitch!"

Mike started reading the report: Summer 1975 - Subject devised a formula for poison gas which was used in an attack on Diagon Alley, August 10, 1975. Subject believes that Antonin Dolohov, Livia Wilkes, Evan Rosier, Crassina Travers, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and Rodolphus Lestrange manufactured the gas and/or conducted the actual attack. Mike started counting pages. The box the report had been in was a good two inches thick. "Duplicatus," Mike murmured, and the report duplicated itself. Mike scanned the duplicate for anti-theft and tracing spells, removed them, and then applied a disguising charm to it, to make it look like an ordinary ream of parchment. He started looking through the other boxes. "Confession of Severus Snape about events in 1976... 1977... 1978... 1979... 1980.' Mike Vector duplicated all these boxes, scanned them, and applied the disguising charms. He then applied a shrinking spell, and was left with six little squares that looked something like notepads made out of parchment. He smiled grimly, and left the room.

Back at Hogwarts, Snape frowned at the strange blonde woman in her twenties who was sitting in a chair in his office that evening after dinner. He had seen her before somewhere, but he couldn't recall exactly where. The woman was apparently tall, blue-eyed, and thin, without too much in the way of a figure visible under her Healer's robes. "Who are you, how did you get in here, and what do you want?" he said.

The blonde gave him a rather familiar smile. "Is that any way to greet your sister-in-law, Severus?"

"Sister-in-law? " Snape spluttered. My future mother-in-law has a heavier hand than I thought. I must be hallucinating.

"Sorry. I forgot the official ceremony hasn't taken place yet. Your future sister-in-law, then."

"But Emmy doesn't have any sisters...Oh, Merlin, no," he said, and sank down into a chair.

"Oh, Merlin, yes. Margaret Anne Vector, at your service. Call me Meg." The woman nodded her head.

"I killed you when you were five years old. Why am I seeing you as an adult?"

"Partly because you don't get on well with children, partly because you regret what you did, and you wonder what would have happened if you hadn't given Lestrange the formula for the poison gas. However, you didn't kill me. The Lestranges and Malfoy were the ones who actually mixed up the stuff and conducted the attack. You were merely an accessory before the fact. Perhaps guilty of felony murder, but you weren't an adult yourself at the time."

"If it weren't for me, you wouldn't be dead!" Snape yelled.

Meg Vector pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and shook her head. "I'm not so sure of that. You weren't the only person who knew about potions in that nest of Death Eaters. You were just one of the ones who had the most expertise. They could and probably would have found someone else to devise something just as bad. Don't take more guilt on your head than you deserve."

"So I'm seeing you as you would have been?"

"Perhaps. Or I could have been hit by a car that night, for all we know." And then Meg suddenly lost several years of age, and was wearing a Hogwarts uniform in Slytherin colors, with a Head Girl badge pinned on her cloak. "Or I could have died at this age, in a different Death Eater attack."

Snape flinched, and said, "Most murderers are haunted by their victims in an effort to ensure a confession or a suicide. What do you have in mind?"

Meg replied mildly, "My goodness, you do have a limited imagination, don't you? I'm not here for vengeance."

Snape growled, "If you're not here for vengeance, what are you here for? Comic relief?"

Meg shook her head. "First, we Slytherins have to stick together. Second, we were asked to help, and we said yes."

Snape said, "We Slytherins have to stick together? Asked by whom? And we? And why?"

Meg gave an exasperated sigh, pulled out her uniform tie, and waved it at Snape. "Severus. Look at my attire. I would have been in Slytherin if I had lived long enough. I took after my mother in more than my coloring. 'We' are my little sister and brothers, and myself. Whom and why..." She frowned. "The reason there aren't more wizards in the Catholic Church is that wizards have no tolerance for mystery. You're as bad as Muggle scientists. You make the motions and say the words and things are supposed to happen, like clockwork."

Snape glared at her. "You haven't answered all of my questions."

Meg said, "No. You might try reading the books of Job and Tobit, and go look up 'the communion of saints,' and 'Life everlasting' in the Catechism. Until later, brother-in-law dear. You have someone else here to see you." She vanished.

Snape turned to his sitting room door. Millie Bulstrode was standing there. She murmured, "Such a mouth for such a little girl..."

Snape glared at her, thinking, I am not going to play for sympathy, Bulstrode. You don't know the troubles I've seen. He paused as he realized, Wait a minute; this is one of my students, therefore one of my problems. And one of my problems even before she conceived this weird passion for Michael Vector, of all people. He snarled, "I put up with almost limitless insolence from the ghosts of people I've murdered."

Millie's eyes widened, and she took a large step back. Snape thought, Excellent. I haven't lost my ability to intimidate, despite acquiring a fiancée. And apparently ghostly interfering in-laws-to-be. He asked, "What's going on, Miss Bulstrode?"

Millie said, "I think Pansy Parkinson's got her hands on one of my letters to Michael Vector. I just thought I should warn you before she reads it aloud."

Snape said, "Ten points to Slytherin, Miss Bulstrode. Thank you for the warning. Let's go watch the fun."

Pansy Parkinson did indeed have one of Millie Bulstrode's letters to Michael Vector. She waved it in the air, and said, "Bulstrode-the-Troll has a boyfriend. Let me tell you what she's writing to him." She opened up the letter, and it started reading itself, in Millie's voice.

The letter said, "Darling: You will never guess what Pansy 'they'll bury me in a y-shaped coffin' Parkinson is up to now." Pansy tried to stuff the letter back in the envelope.

Adrian Pucey said, "Well, what does it say, Pansy? If only Draco Malfoy knew..."

Malfoy grabbed the letter, and reopened it. The letter said, "Darling: Malfoy, pureblood though he is, couldn't find his crotch with both hands if his underwear was on fire." Draco quickly stuffed the letter back in the envelope and dropped it. No one else dared to pick it up.

Pansy started to scream insults about Millie. "That troll bitch! That slapper, that slag, that oversized tart! How dare she write those things about me?"

Snape emerged from behind a door. "What's the meaning of this?"

Adrian Pucey started to say, "A slapper is..." but quickly shut up when Corentyn Warrington gave him an elbow in the ribs.

Pansy grabbed up the letter again, waved it at Professor Snape, and yelled, "Look at what she wrote about me!"

Snape clasped his hands behind his back, so that there was no chance of touching the letter by accident. He said, "Since the letter is not addressed to me, I will do no such thing."

Zabini mumbled the name of the spell to his neighbor.

Snape said, "That's very astute, Zabini. If you were more astute, you wouldn't have let anyone know you knew that." He turned his attention back to Pansy. "Did Miss Bulstrode write this letter to you?"

Pansy sulked, "Well, no, not exactly."

"Clarify what you mean by not exactly."

Pansy said, "No."

Snape sneered, "Did you think she would not object to your reading it?"

Pansy said, "No."

Snape said, "I see. Perhaps you should come to my office, and we will discuss this in private." Pansy thrust out her lower lip. Snape said, "Or we could discuss this in public if you prefer, Miss Parkinson, perhaps before a full meeting of the entire House." Pansy's jaw dropped, and she started moving toward the door out at a brisk clip.

As Pansy left the common room, Millie pounced on her and took the letter away. "That's what you get for taking my letters, Parkinson."

Snape had to step in between the two girls. "Parkinson! Bulstrode! Enough. I will deal with Miss Parkinson privately, Miss Bulstrode." Millie nodded at him.

Snape marched Pansy Parkinson off to his office, and ordered her, "Sit down, Miss Parkinson." She sat on the hard wooden chair in front of his desk. Snape loomed over her. "Miss Parkinson, that was one of the most appallingly idiotic displays I have ever seen from a member of Slytherin House. Have you been taking lessons from Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom, perhaps?" Pansy's jaw dropped in shock. "Since you apparently have lost whatever small ability to reason you possessed before you entered adolescence and became a hormonal walking disaster area, I will have to make things clear for you."

Snape started to pace and tick off items on his fingers. "One. Don't openly steal letters from other members of the House; it is idiotic, particularly when doing so would make an enemy of somebody as big and strong as Bulstrode. Two. Don't get the cleverer members of the House angry with you. They will find a way to punish you. Three. If you do steal letters, have the common sense to read them privately and silently to yourself, alone, instead of attempting to do so aloud in the House common room. Four. Consider that the person you're accusing her of having a romantic connection with is a Civil Service berserker; do you really want the attention of an Auror whose most recent achievement has been killing a Dementor in a fit of mindless rage?"

Pansy turned pale and said, "Draco Malfoy says his father could find a way to fix her."

Snape curled his lip. "His father is good at thinking of these things, but if you place yourself under his protection, you will remove yourself from mine, as I will inform Miss Bulstrode. And I don't think she'll be inclined to keep silent about it either. If Miss Bulstrode knows, Auror Vector will undoubtedly know. And if Auror Vector is willing to take on a Dementor bare-handed, why should he take pause at Lucius Malfoy?"

Pansy started crying. "It's not fair!"

Snape said, "The transcendent idiocy of that statement could only be eclipsed by what you were about to say next. Miss Parkinson, think carefully."

Pansy fell silent, and bit her lower lip. She finally spat out, "What does Bulstrode, of all people, want with a boyfriend anyway?"

Snape asked her, "Are you expressing romantic interest in either Bulstrode or Auror Vector?"

Pansy gave a horrified cry of "No!"

Snape sighed and said, "Then we shall thank Merlin for small favors. I do not want to know whom you were trying to impress with this display, but I can confidently predict that the only thing you have impressed this person with is your utter lack of intelligence, cunning, and common sense."

Pansy muttered very softly, "Men."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Would you care to expand on that?"

Pansy said, "No."

Snape said, "I rejoice to see a glimmering of intelligence. I am tempted to remove ten points from you for your conduct, but then I would have to award Bulstrode ten points for the successful defense of her privacy, and I do not care to air the House dirty laundry in such a fashion." He went on in his lecture voice, "Miss Parkinson, you can get whatever you want if you pay the price. You would not have been sorted into Slytherin if you did not have the ability to get what you really want. However, there is always a price to pay, and you need to calculate it. Consider what you want, consider the cost, and decide if you really want to pay it." He paused, and said, "Dismissed, Miss Parkinson."

Pansy quickly left his office. Snape started thinking, I wonder if my own daughter would ever be so idiotic over a boy. I suppose it's better to deal with it when they're younger than to have them break out in madness after leaving school, as Emmy did. I wonder which is worse: adolescent idiocy or delayed adolescent idiocy? Girls. Daughters. My daughter. Queen bee of Slytherin and all she surveys, maybe. And hopefully with Emmy's figure and face. Although then she'd have all the boys after her, and I'd have to deal with that. But if she's ugly like me, then I'll have to deal with temper tantrums over that.