The Taming of the Snape

Red ink seemed too Gryffindorkish. Blue ink seemed to jolly for this occasion. He settled on black. Green ink reminded him too much of those beautiful *sexy* eyes. He noticed his conscience was back to providing a monologue.

Positively purring he organised himself, with barely restrained Ogden’s induced delight.

To the casual observer he looked like he was being assailed by household items. A backing board appeared and slid itself behind the floating parchment, his blotter roller thingy popped up close to hand. He momentarily glared at it hoping it might have a label so he knew what to call it, and gave up.

Deeming himself ready to proceed he stretched his arms languorously. Waved his fingers, crossed his ankles and wriggled his toes, all of which did nothing more than assist the circulation of Ogden’s.

With a simple snap of his fingers his spelled feather (his spell, his feather, no way was he running the risk of one of those weasel boys’ creations aka abominations), appeared, ready to peck his elegant dictation.

Starting way back at “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways ….” Snape caressed each written word in his mind.

The feather hovered expectantly.

He summoned a book from his personal library. Obediently it turned to the well worn page he was seeking, a personal favourite.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

**Sigh** now that was poetry. He raised his glass in appreciation and toasted Elizabeth Barret-Browning.

He picked up his glass and with a toast to inspiration began. All the while sipping Ogden’s for punctuation as the feather flowed.

“Doesn’t rhyme. *sip*
Curious double entendre. *sip*
Creative. *sip*
Insipid. *sip*
Lacklustre. *sip*
Would like to see that *sip*
Not on the cards. *sip*
Not possible except in theory. *sip*
On who’s knees? *sip*
If this is achievable it should be outlawed. *sip*
Not without a Lobotomy. *giggle, sip*
You obviously have no regard for school property *sip*
This scroll should be listed as an unforgivable.” *sip*

Slowly Snape became less and less lucid and more and more verbose as the Ogden to Blood percentage increased

“Begging is acceptable but grovelling could be considered better. *sip giggle sip*
Apply this much attention to your potions homework and you might even pass. *sip*
Penalty for over use of the word nibble, lick and kiss should also be considered options. *sip*
Kinky is a feather a fetish is the entire chook, you dunderhead. *snigger sip*
Uninspired you need further instruction or possibly detention.” *evil grin* *sip*

He judiciously extended the parchment with a flourish and added across the bottom . . . . .