Disclaimer: I don't own anything. (holds up hands)

Plot Summary: Okay, okay. Basically--Snape goes a-snoopin' in Sirius' attic, and finds certain things of interest. This story is about the verbal consequences of his curiosity.

Note: the main joke and title of this story are derived from a rather irritating cultural phenomenon in the United States, through the courtesy of Justin Timberlake. It's rather annoying, actually--I always think that he's been kicked in the essentials when he sings it. But nevertheless, i must admit, it's rather catchy. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

They were cleaning out the hovel--no, excuse me, number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Hosing down the mutt's doghouse was more like it, thought Snape humorlessly, as he bent over to put yet another fluttering little doxy out of its misery. Providence had not been kind to the Potions Master, as he now found himself on his hands and knees, engaging in the vile domestic chores in the home of one of his fiercest school day rivals.

It was one of the merciless drawbacks of being in the Order. Under the elaborate and rather ridiculous pretense of "camaraderie," they were making Black "feel better" by cleaning out his ancestral home. Snape did not prefer to make Black "feel better." Snape preferred Black to "feel nothing at all," six feet beneath the ground.

And besides, it was always about Black. Always. Bloody spoiled stay-home convict. What a queen, thought Snape bitterly. Dumbledore never tried to make him "feel better." It was always Severus this, Severus that. Teach the Potter vermin Occlumency, Severus. Be civil with the midget bastards you teach, Severus. Don't call them midget bastards, Severus.

Would you also like me to clean your house, you fluffy old codger? Snape thought ferociously. What about Black's house? Oh wait a minute, I just did that.

Snape had always had faith in his powers of persuasion, and attempted to use them on Dumbledore. "But he likes dirt and grime, headmaster," he had said reasonably. "He's a mongrel. It's his natural habitat."

Dumbledore, for some reason, did not appear to be swayed by this line of reasoning. And that, thought Snape, was why he now found himself standing sullenly in the middle of the Black's attic on a fine Saturday afternoon instead of chugging a bottle of Ogden's Firewhiskey and river dancing drunkenly about the dungeons bellowing "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" in a rather discordant baritone. The latter, under the present circumstances, was most appealing. Even without a Silencing Charm.

Snape sighed. It was approximately two minutes to eleven. Another hour before the divine liberation of lunch.

He looked around the attic with distaste. What filth Black enjoyed living in! He had been rifling through a few of the boxes, admittedly, but had found nothing interesting. But then, suddenly, a medium-sized box in the corner of the attic caught Snape's eye. Striding closer, the Potions Master found himself staring at the label…S.E.X.Y.

As he raised an eyebrow, the phrase "incriminating pictures" floated enticingly through the Potions Master's head. With a swift movement, he opened the box. He found himself staring at a peculiar assortment of items. A Snootwallop's Horn, which was small and gray, a handful of Endgrass which was pale and stringy, a Xychliamtia which was a small green stone, and a Yander's wing, which was a delicate, lacy-blue little appendage from one of the rarest birds in the world.

Snape could hardly believe his eyes. Before him were some of the most sought-after potions ingredients in the world. Each treasure, worth bucketfuls of Galleons, was more than he dared dream about with his meager teacher's salary. He thought, with ecstasy, of some of the remarkable potions he could produce with these prize ingredients.

But no. Snape sighed heavily. This was Black's. He couldn't…

He gazed at the box in his hands and gently brushed a few errant cobwebs out of the way. And yet--the box was shoved rather unceremoniously to the side of the attic. Black probably didn't know--or care--about these priceless objects. He had never been much of a potions brewer, thought Snape with a snort, as he had approximately the same level of subtlety as a fried herring.

He would never miss it…

Snape glanced around guiltily, as though feeling accusing eyes upon his back. Seeing none, he was suddenly assailed by an enormous wave of intellectual lust and seized the box.

He couldn't tuck it under his cloak--the odd, boxy shape would be a dead giveaway. Even Black wouldn't believe a misfired engorgement spell ("Why is it suspiciously shaped like a box from my attic, Snivellus?"). Fine--he'd just have to carry it.

Snape thought carefully. All he had to do was get down the creaky, creaky steps without attracting attention, walk over the creaky, creaky floorboards without attracting attention, and head through the living room which also contained the only accessible fireplace in the house, and also the place where everyone was currently congregated, without attracting attention.

Brilliant.

But it was worth taking a chance. He thought of the Yander's wing, and his heart sang. Well, sort of. It, being Snape's heart, sneered with slightly less malice than usual. Something which was only slightly less surprising than the fact that he did have a heart, in conflict with a popular rumor which suggested a great lump of coal resided in the general area instead.

Snape began his journey down the steps. Slowly, softly, popping sweat beads every time the stairs creaked slightly.

He made it through the hallway, down a second flight of stairs, and into the living room. It was deserted. Swiftly waking across the floor, he reached triumphant fingers into the flowerpot of Floo powder. Almost there, almost there…

"Snape!"

He froze. He could have cried, if only he knew how.

Slowly, he revolved on the spot and looked into the smug face of Sirius Black.

"Going somewhere, Snivellus?"

Snape said nothing. The box sat helplessly in his hands. Sirius saw it and his eyes gleamed nastily.

"Ah…pilfering, I see. What a fine, upstanding moral citizen you are, Snape. I thought you disapproved of thieves? Or is that only hypocritically restricted to Hogwarts?"

Snape was caught. The box shook slightly in his hands. It was a hallmark of how much its contents meant to him that he did not hex Black into eternity.

Sirius eyed him like a hunter who had just cornered a trembling rabbit.

"So?" he said, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Snape looked at the box once more. He looked at his feet. And then, in a burst of divine inspiration, he looked at Black squarely.

"Well, Black, if you must know," he said in a voice so silky it could have sustained its own line of fashion, "I'm bringing Sexy back."

And with that, he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and disappeared in an impressive burst of green flames, leaving a thoroughly nonplussed Sirius in his wake.

FIN

hardeeharrharr. SIRIUS GOT POWNED!!!!!!!!!!!! wow, i'm a sad excuse for a human being. please review!!! --love, your eternal friend, bundlesojoy