A/N: Severus Snape, Professor Sinistra, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the Weasley twins are property of one J.K. Rowling. The name Aurgia was originated by She's A Star, and she also is fortunate enough to own one paragraph of this and Professor Sandersought. I am the proud owner of Destiny du Maurier. The first excerpts are from Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit and Diaries of a Dungeon Dwelling Moron, and are by She's A Star and Gedia Kacela.

Dedicated to Nita (She's A Star), because she asked for it, and fed the bunny until it turned into this rather . . . interesting vignette. Enjoy, dearie.

A Fair Bet
by drama-princess


Excerpted from the diary of Aurgia Sinistra, subtitled Lamentations of a Starry-Eyed Twit.

I haven't even kissed anyone since that little episode with Professor Sandersought two years ago.

And then there was that time with...

Oh, God.

I don't even like to think about it.

So I'm not going to.

The Weasley twins had spiked the punch, I was horribly drunk, and therefore cannot be held accountable for anything.


He's not even a very good kisser, anyway.


I'm going to sleep.

Excerpted from the diary of Severus Snape, subtitled Diaries of a Dungeon Dwelling Moron.

...Except that one untimely occurrence.

Which does not count.

Was horribly drunk.

Managed to misspell twenty-seven out of fifty-two words.

Damn those Weasley twins.'


Her glasses had fallen down her nose.


Severus Snape watched, his jaw tightly clamped shut, as Aurgia Sinistra bobbed her head energetically. Those damn spectacles had slid to the very bridge of her nose and were merrily perching there. He took another sip of the nauseating punch and clutched his cup a little tighter. One spell.

That was all it would take.

. . . and it wouldn't even have to be Unforgivable, either.

No, despite what Albus had insinuated, he was quite capable of dealing with Sinistra without casting Imperius and demanding she shove the things back up.

. . .


He sighed as Sinistra nodded one last time, smiled politely at whatever fashion tip Hooch was emphasizing, and steered her way around Flitwick to the punch bowl. Rolling his eyes, he fixed Sneer Number Three-- own of his personal favorites, the Why-on-earth-are-you-plauging me-with-your-useless-presence? and sent it in Sinistra's direction.

she said, a little too cheerfully for his tastes. She took a healthy glassful of punch and drank it down, much to his disgust. So in addition to having no brains, the woman also had no table manners. So, harassed any Gryffindors tonight? Albus is distracted-- now's the time to slip out and give a few errant students coronaries.

Seduced any Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors lately? he shot back, noting with a detached sort of accomplishment that she flushed bright red. Ha. Her little. . .affair with one ex-Professor Sandersought had fed the gossip machine among Hogwarts staff for months. The irritating twit had gone so far as to assume that the man would be interested in her.


He certainly would never be romantically inclined towards Aurgia Sinistra.

The very idea was laughable.

Ha. Ha. Haha.

Indeed. Laughable.

she muttered, taking another swig of punch and looking away. Her shoulders hunched down, and she took a suddenly intense interest in the rug beneath her feet. I think. . .I think. . . she muttered, tugging on a strand of her unruly auburn hair. He smirked down at her, and she quickly whispered something else, and proceeded to down two full glasses of the punch.

Such a pity, he said smoothly. That our current--

And he stopped abruptly.

Oh, shit.

she said, a snide little smile making its way across her formerly embarrassed expression. He'd given her ideas. I certainly wouldn't want to seduce our current DADA teacher, now would I?

Kindly keep your thoughts-- if those vacant expressions of your half-wit mind can be termed that-- to yourself, he hissed, scooping some more punch into his glass and swiftly drinking.

Nervous, are you? she asked smugly, tapping a fingernail against the punch bowl. Ought I to go call over Destiny du Maurier? I'm sure she could . . . relax you. Her small mouth curved up in a slightly leering smile, and she sipped her punch calmly, her former embarrassment forgotten. If you'd like, I'm sure I cold even do it for you. Your fiery glare that's undoubtedly consigning me to the pits of hellish anguish-- here she paused to rest a hand dramatically onto her forehead. Is sending the salty traces of my blood into a fever!

If you'd like, I can arrange for you to be sent to hell, he snapped, turning and keeping a wary eye out for the current Defense against the Dark Arts professor. Who was, incidentally, the most frightening being he had ever encountered.


And considering that he'd groveled at the Dark Lord's feet, this way saying something.

At least Voldemort had never whispered sweet nothings about making love beneath cerulean skies and the glittering stars.


She's coming later, you know, Sinistra said, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the table. She swung her feet idly, and he was treated to the sight of her delicate boots--

He did not just think that.

Better have a nice cup of punch to clear his head.

Sinistra, get off the table, you'll break it, he snapped irritably. Perhaps if you didn't consume so many chocolate frogs--

You wouldn't be such a bastard, she said, obviously annoyed with him. She tucked her feet underneath her black robes and glared at him. He opened his mouth to make a sardonic comment, but was somehow thrown by the way her glasses were very slowly making their way down her nose.


ImperiusImperiusImperius. . .

Severus? Aurgia?

Ah. Dumbledore. Perhaps he'd get through the night without being shipped off to Azkaban.

Snape said icily, shooting an sharp glance at the totally oblivious Sinistra, who was now humming the latest Celestina Warbeck single to herself and sucking away at the punch with one of Albus's favorite Muggle inventions-- the straw.

Hello, Albus, Sinistra said, throwing the headmaster a dazzling-- horribly dog-like, Snape corrected himself-- smile.

Dumbledore said pleasantly. And Aurgia. I'm so pleased to see the two of you making an effort to be civil.

Was it his imagination, or was The Twinkle at work in force in Dumbledore's blue eyes?

Snape said flatly. Sinistra was still merrily drinking down the punch, so he took advantage of the moment to scoop up another glass for himself.

So I hope the two of you won't mind when I ask you to go check the wards in the rose gardens? Snape sighed as he watched Sinistra's spectacles make another perilous journey down her nose.

. . . then again, perhaps he'd soon be very well acquainted with some Dementors.


Dammit, Snape!

He raised an eyebrow and drew to a halt. Yes, Aurgia?

The petite astronomy teacher glared up at him from her very undignified sprawl across a path. I don't suppose y'could have help'd me when y'saw I was falling, could you? Grimacing, she pushed her way off the muddy ground and stood. Snape, you are such a bastard! These were my good semiformal robes, too.

Well, perhaps if your head had vacated the stars-- he began acidly, only to be interrupted by an unfortunate collision with a tree stump. Dammit! What idiot put that there?

Sinistra snorted softly and bent down to help him up. Blame the Hufflepuffs, they're the only ones that maintain it. She continued to hold out her hand, rolling her eyes when he tried to rise without it. Come on, Snape, I'm not going to throw you in a chokehold.

Nor is it poisonous, she added grumpily as he tried and failed yet again to stand up without her assistance. That's your department, as I recall.

he said curtly. Now hold your hand still so that I may take it and face this humiliation.

I am holding it still, she snapped back. It's you that keeps spinning around.

I know you can barely be deemed senti-- he paused. Sentinemt? No. That's not it.

Sinistra offered, a puzzled frown creasing her brow.

he said slowly. Something was. . . definitely very strange here. Perhaps it was the peculiar fuzz that had fallen over his mind. Or the way Sinistra's dark brown eyes seemed to be suddenly. . . almost black.

You can't spell! Sinistra said with glee, effectively destroying his reverie.

I can so, he threw back sullenly.

Can not, she said, flinging herself down to sit on the ground next to him.

Can so.

Spell wand.

Snape said carefully, working his mouth around the sound.

Sinistra said, clapping her hands together. Spell-- spell spell! This was evidently all rather amusing, as she burst into hysterical giggles following that demand.

he snapped.

she said, turning her head in an exaggerated shake. Oh, there they went again. All right. .. try grass!

Fifty-two words later, he was pretty certain that he was drunk.


And so, Aurgia said, leaning back against his shoulder and gesturing rapidly towards the stars. 'M addicted to poisonin'. She poked his arm and giggled a little at her explanation of her name. Some part of her mind, no doubt, was aware that she was really going to regret what she said in the morning. The rest, however, was busy admiring the way Snape's shoulder fit just as a headrest. Like you!

Not all potions are. . powosns? Poesns? That can't be right, he told her, shifting so that she lay more comfortably against his back. There was a lovely sort of clouded darkness that lay over his common sense, and somehow his mind had managed to come up with an explanation as to why Sinistra's boots were so small. She had the littlest hands he'd ever seen.

Little tiny nails, he murmured to himself, picking up a hand to examine the pinky finger again. Y're not too bad, Aurgia. I wouldn't minded you if we're friends.

"You know," she slurred, vaguely annoyed at the world around her. (Why wouldn't it stop SPINNING? Perhaps another drink would set it right again.) "I act'lly feel kind of. . . drawn to you right now, Severus."

Wait. That hadn't been right. Even though many levels of sheer and complete drunkenness, Auriga managed to realize that.

"In a completely non-sexual way, of course," she threw in hastily.

he agreed. His long, slim fingers were still holding onto her hand. It was. . . strange, she thought dimly. Sort of. . . nice. And warm.

It was. . . damp outside, she thought hazily.

Silence fell over the darkened garden for a minute.

I do like you, she admitted, curling close to him for warmth. Funny. . . was that peppermint she smelled? She'd always liked peppermint. . . and alcohol. . . and just a little tang of almond oil. She'd always thought Snape smelled of horribly hateful things. . .

he agreed simply. She was so little and soft beneath his arm. . . why had he never noticed that her hair smelled like some floral scent in Sprout's disgusting personal garden?

Only it wasn't bad, really. Sort of like . . . a really pleasant potion. Like one for nice dreams.

She nestled her face against his neck.

You're nice dream, he muttered, raising a hand to stroke her hair gently.

You too, she slurred, pushing herself up so her face was only a few feet away from his. Her glasses were terribly crooked. I think this is the part where you kiss me.


He had just meant to push up her glasses.

But strangely, Aurgia's lips had found his, and he was caught up in a sudden spiral of flowers and potions and alcohol--

Excerpted from Aurgia Sinistra's diary.

I'm not even going to talk about last night.

I mean it.

It was horrible, and it was humiliating, and he sneered at me before breakfast.


What did I do wrong? It was a nice snog, as far as I can remember.

I mean. . .


Hate him.

Excerpted from Severus's Snape diar-- chronicles, as the biographer feels obligated to inform you that Slytherins do not keep diaries. Is undignified. Slytherins v. sensitive to potentially embarrassing situations.

Have taken away seventy-five points from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor combined.

Fifty from the Weasley twins. Little bastards.

Twenty-five from Leah Bormin. Little twit had the nerve to suggest that she was on her way to her Astronomy lesson and not on her way off to snog. Hate Ravenclaws.

Memo from Minvera McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House to Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.


Saturday's plan failed.

You owe me twenty galleons.