2: She Read Him Wrong

Author's Note: You don't have to read the first story to understand this one. But it sure would help. And I apologize in advance for the absence of appropriate accents and ~ over the Spanish words. Word doesn't add them automatically, and I don't know how to make it do so. Lo siento!

Warning: There are spoilers for the original story in this chapter! Reggie the Fairy God-Jarvey makes her appearance here; brace yourself for some exceedingly salty language, and the appearance of several not-quite-gratuitous mobile phones.

"Oh. It's you, luv," she said rather stiltedly. For Merlin's sake, I know the man can read, she thought crankily. Didn't my last note say I'd see him when all my exams were finished?

Severus' plan to simply sweep Hermione into his arms ground to a halt as he registered her rude salutation and the appearance of herself and the room beyond. It looked like the contents of a bookstore and a stationery shop had met in pitched battle in the tiny flat. There was no clear evidence of the winner; but her hair was plainly a casualty, judging by the number of inky quills impaled in it.

"Thoth's beak. Dare I ask if there's anything left in Flourish and Blotts, witch?" he asked, amazed. How in the Nine Hells am I going to drag her to the bedroom? What with the stacks of books, notebooks, writing implements, and periodicals on the floor, the couch, and every remotely horizontal surface, the only safe way to reach it is on the handle of a broom.

Hermione grunted something about exams at him, turning distractedly so that his attempted kiss glanced off her smudged cheek.

"Good to see you too, pet," he retorted. Right. No carrying her across No Wizard's Land. Perhaps a 'Plan B' was in order, something along the lines of getting her in the mood so she'd follow him to the bedroom, or better yet, lead him there.

If Severus had been the sort who paid much attention to his students aside from preventing them from blowing up the classroom or seeking opportunities to take house points, he might have had an inkling of Hermione's capacity to needlessly obsess over her achievements. Had he ever engaged in any sort of conversation with Ron and Harry about Hermione in her school days, he would have realized that approaching her near the date of an important exam was tantamount to poking the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt with one's wand to see what happened.

But since he was going to have a nice, chummy chat with Potter and Weasley sometime between his figure skating lesson in Hell and singing a live duet of 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' with Celestina Warbeck, he was not privy to this little bit of information. Consequently, he was left standing in the middle of the devastation that was his witch's flat with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Who in Hades was this half-feathered harpy, and what had she done with his Hermione? And would nibbling on her ear do anything to get her back?

Picking his way among piles of reading material, he slipped an arm around her waist with intent to nuzzle. Before he could even get in one good nibble, Hermione shrugged him off brusquely.

"Sorry, darling, but now really isn't a good time," she said in a harassed voice. Damn! Why does he have to come over in an amorous mood when I feel like an over-filled water balloon and smell like back-to-back shifts at the hospital?

Concern was giving way to annoyance. "You can't seriously expect me to believe that you actually need more time for revising? Miss 'I-Memorize-Every-Text-Before-The-Course-Starts'?" he asked tartly.

'Taken aback' did not begin to describe Hermione's reaction. For the past two years, she had been amused by displays of Snapely sarcasm, since none of them was directed at her. To be on the receiving end of it again, after so long, was as shocking as a slap in the face. "How do you know that's what I mean by 'not a good time'? What do you know about it?" she finally gasped, almost tearing. "The last time you had exams of any description, I wasn't even a zygote!"

'Annoyance' was being elbowed aside by 'anger.' "Bloody hell, witch! If it's your time of month, SAY so! I could use Legilimency, but I'm afraid it might tax my poor, antiquated brain cells," he snapped. Evidently wells of causticity that had largely lain dormant for the past year were welling up with a vengeance.

"Don't you DARE think of doing that! And don't you swear at me, either!" she spat like an angry cat. Why did the men in her life always bring that up? Was there a Wizard's Relationship Handbook somewhere that included a chapter entitled 'How to Fight Dirty Without Striking a Woman?' Or were all wizards sexist pigs? And worst of all, why did those accusations always have to come up when she was due to start her period?

"That's rich, coming from the witch whose vocabulary at the point of climax consists of a pronoun, a proper noun, and one exceedingly vulgar verb," he retorted.

Hermione was aghast. "I can't believe you're bringing up what I say in a moment of passion during an argument!"

Snape stared at her incredulously. "It's not as if there's anyone else in the room listening! And I refuse to consider that walking flea circus you call a familiar 'someone.'"

"Leave my cat out of this! At your volume level, they don't have to be in the room to listen...anyone nearer to here than Durmstrang can hear you without half trying!" she grit out from between clenched teeth. At least she didn't have to worry about crying. Her face was so hot at this point, there was a good chance any overflowing moisture would simply turn to steam.

"I suppose we should pass notes, then?" he asked coldly, sarcasm condensing on the words and dripping off. He snatched up a bit of parchment from the table as a prop, then realized it already had writing on it. Unfortunately, he glanced at the writing. It was a reflexive action. He could resist written words within his field of vision about as well as a bear could resist an unguarded box of doughnuts. As luck would have it, his eyes fell on the worst possible portion to read.

'No, Mum, I'm not 'involved' right now. You know I don't have time for any sort of romantic entanglement. My apprenticeship at St. Mungo's takes up far too much time.'

He found he couldn't read any farther. Perhaps the odd, chilling numbness that suddenly swept his body had something to do with it. Had he imagined for even a moment that he would be able to go back to his solitary hell? Never mind pulling the broom out from under him...she had just ripped out his heart and taken no few other vital organs along with it, judging from the exceedingly hollow sensation dominating his body from approximately head to toes.

"I see. Just when did you decide you don't have time for romantic entanglements? Or should it matter to me, since we evidently aren't 'involved'?" he hissed, flinging the letter at her backhand.

Objectively, Hermione knew that it was physiologically impossible for her heart to drop into her stomach and splash her abdominal cavity with hydrochloric acid. Subjectively, that's exactly what it felt like when she recognized the letter she had meant to discard...but obviously had not.

"That was a private letter! And for your information, I wasn't going to send that draft!" she said, voice rising steadily as she forgot about caring whether or not the rest of the neighborhood could hear them. "Stop changing the subject!"

"There doesn't seem to be any subject, according to you," he seethed. "Certainly no romance."

"It's...it's just...for Nimue's sake, please, can't we discuss this after my exams?" she raged back, fingers clenching in the air, eyes wild. Somewhere in the kitchen, there was a sharp, shrill click like the sound of glass cracking.

As Hermione had once observed, Severus' instincts for self-preservation seemed to be diminishing in his post-teaching, post-double agent existence. Otherwise, he might have reconsidered his subsequent comment, in light of the fact that it was becoming apparent that Harry Potter was not alone in his ability to perform wandless magic when incensed.

"Interesting you should bring up Nimue," he snarled. "At least it reminds me I'm hardly the first wizard idiot enough to fall for a younger witch."

There were more sounds of shivering glass, as the air around Hermione seemed to crackle. "You're comparing me to that slag?" she shrieked. "How DARE you? You're no Merlin, honey!" She stormed to the door and flung it open, clearly implying that if he was going to talk to her that way, he could get the hell out. Evidently her subconscious mind was in agreement, judging by the series of 'cracks' and 'snaps' in her wake, many of which connected stingingly with his skin.

The temperature of the room dropped about twenty degrees, and not because of the open door. One might fancy seeing ice crystals form on Snape's abruptly closed features. "Fine. I'm too damned old to be your interim plan while you wait for someone more presentable to come along," he said in a flat tone of anger as he brushed past her. The stinging would have been bothersome if he could feel anything below his skin.

Hermione, awash in the bleak aura of numbness that followed Snape, suddenly had the inkling that she had catastrophically misinterpreted the purpose of her lover's visit. "What? Severus, what are you...?"

"Goodbye," he said dully and stormed out the door with the intention of medicating himself until the stings went away. Or until he did. At this point, it didn't matter which.

She saw a squarish shape fly through the air, striking the doorsill violently and exploding open with a sparkling burst and a slight tinkling sound. Hermione stared, willing her mouth, legs, anything, to work. She finally ran for the swinging door, crying loudly, "Severus!"

The street was quiet and almost empty at this time of night. Evidently he hadn't bothered to wait until he reached the alley, but simply Disapparated in full view. She stumbled on something, and found the angrily discarded box at her feet. She picked it up. It was a jewelry box... with a space for a... ring.

Several people young and old were awakened by a piercing, almost deafening, extended shriek of despair. One of them...a pleasant young lad with Muggle parents who was destined to get a very surprising letter the next year...would be swearing to his future schoolmates at Hogwarts that he had heard a banshee that night.

At the headquarters of the International Society of Fairy Godmothers and Related Do-Gooding Beings, Regina Fletcher...Master Fairy God-Jarvey (provisionally)...was finishing up a report on her latest assignment. She had to settle for grumbling inwardly about the length of her probationary period, though she would have dearly loved to complain aloud. Since being even the brightest Jarveys lack opposable thumbs, she had to stick to uttering only the words of her report (with a minimum of profanity, no less) so that the enchanted quill would dutifully record just the facts...thank you very much, Madam fucking Mab.

Mab hadn't been able to get away with blocking Reggie's attainment of Master level (even the most hostile members of the review board had been impressed with how she had managed to maneuver Snape to her godchild Hermione). However, the crabby little overgrown damselfly didn't seem to have any problem keeping the Jarvey on probation bloody well forever. Every 'damn' in writing would most likely prolong the agony.

Honestly, was it so unforgivable to blow up the odd loo, or make a public fountain run with vodka martinis for a few hours? Nobody had gotten hurt, and an awful lot of people had been happy about the second one. Maybe it had something to do with the huge amount of money Mab and several other supervisors had lost in the office pool. Served the stupid fuckheads right for betting against her.

Suddenly, she stopped the quill with a yelp. The emergency board lit up in tandem with a jolt of misery not her own. One of her godchildren was in severe distress...Hermione, by the feel of it.

Shite! What the hell have you done this time, girly? Or maybe the better question, what has Snarkyarse done? Fletcher thought feverishly, as she Summoned her tutu.

"I'm off, Boss! Emergency call!" she yelled through Mab's office door, shimmying awkwardly into the pouf of pink tulle that was the mark of her profession. Not waiting for her supervisor to acknowledge her, Reg set her little fuzzy face in a scowl of determination and focused on her godchild's emotions of distress so as to know where to go.

Regina Fletcher: Fairy God-Jarvey, ready for action.

"What's happened, sweetie? Old Pain-in-the-Arse giving you grief?" Reggie asked sympathetically as she popped into sight on Hermione's couch. The Jarvey was brought up short by her goddaughter's appearance. "Caramba, babe! You look like you're molting. What the fuck is going on here?"

"I failed...again!" Hermione wailed, causing several perfectly innocent textbooks to explode into their component particles from bursts of uncontrolled magical energy. Judging by the debris field, they weren't the first.

Reggied shimmied up her godchild's arm and nudged her reassuringly with her forehead. "Come on now, mija, if anything needs to be blown up around here, I'll take care of it. You need to pull yourself together and tell Godmum Reggie what happened while I pluck your excess plumage. Here, have a hanky, honey." Reggie climbed on the back of the couch and conjured a handkerchief, a really large, soft one. It was too bad the recipients of her handkerchiefs were usually too distracted to notice the flair with which she summoned them. It was one of the first skills a Fairy Godmother had to learn, and Reggie did it with such style.

"S-Severus showed up unexpectedly, and we got into a fight. I told him that now was a bad time for him to be here, but the stubborn prat wouldn't listen to me. He started tossing out insults! He hasn't said anything that mean to me since I was a student!" she whinged and blew her nose loudly. "I thought he just wanted a tumble, and I sort of threw him out, but it turns out he had...a ring...and he was probably here to propose, and I've bollixed it up completely!" she wailed.

"I've got to admit, that's getting the wrong end of the stick with a vengeance. Actually, knowing you two it was probably mutual. Everyone has bad days, hinny. I'm surprised the wanker has behaved as well as he has for this long. Usually the reversal of hormones only lasts through the first couple of months of a relationship," Reggie said, spitting another quill over her shoulder.

"Reversal of hormones?" Hermione asked, refolding the handkerchief and dabbing her eyes.

"Yeah. At the beginning of an affair, men get all mushy-gushy with female hormones and act more soft and nurturing than usual, whereas women get sort of aggressive and horny on male hormones. It makes for really hot sex and not a lot of arguments at first...you know, the classic 'honeymoon period,'" she explained, freeing a few bits of broken quill from the tangle of her godchild's hair and cleaning up the ink smear.

"So what are we in now, the divorce period?" Hermione asked darkly.

"Nah, just reality," Reggie replied. "Let me go retrieve your big ol' cranky love bunny so the two of you can communicate. Apologies would be a nice place to start, and an 'I love you' or two wouldn't be amiss, either. You can always start planning the wedding after the exams from Hell."

"I doubt it," Hermione sniffed morosely. "He threw away the ring."

Reggie spared a glance for the empty box and shrugged. "I seriously doubt your Snape has reconsidered wanting to get hitched, especially since you've got him at least half-tamed. He's just off having a big sulk. Finding the ring will be easy. It's the Count of Cranky that's going to be a little tougher to track down. Would it help to talk to your Mum while I go in search of Snarky?"

Hermione fidgeted. "Um, well, that's er, part of the problem. He found out I haven't told my parents about us yet. They don't know I'm seeing anyone right now."

The Jarvey's jaw didn't just drop...it plummeted. "You've been shagging Snarkyarse within an inch of his life for over a year and you haven't told your parents you're 'seeing' anyone right now?" she asked in a hushed tone that implied she was in utter awe of the magnitude of the gaffe.

"I didn't know if he was as serious as I was! I've been through this twice before...telling Mum and Dad I've found 'the one'; then it all goes pear-shaped and I'm left looking foolish. They really liked Ron. And they heard so much about Geoff that when the rotten commitment-phobic pillock left me without so much as a good-bye note, they half believed I'd made him up so they wouldn't worry. I didn't want to get their hopes up again, in case it didn't work out," she explained. Not to mention my own, she thought sadly.

Reg shook her head. "That, my dear little brainy-bint, is an example of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not to mention probably thinking too much. Whatever happened to 'I love you'? Unequivocal, simple, to the point..."

"Well, thinking is what I do best. I thought I had come up with a good strategy for keeping the relationship stable until I could investigate his intentions in a more subtle fashion. More than anything, I didn't want to lose what we had by trying to get more," she said, trying to justify what was really beginning to look like a very foolish series of decisions after all.

"Damn. And I thought he had issues. The hat put you in the 'no guts, no glory' house for a reason, babe. Don't play it so safe; it fucks up your karma," Reggie advised.

"Do you go to some sort of Fairy Godmother school where they teach psychology and philosophy?" Hermione couldn't help asking a little acerbically.

"Nah. I turn myself invisible and attend university lectures when I have time off. Plus Argenta figured out a way to get a Muggle TeeVee and Sat-A-Light to work in the break room, so we've started watching Open University," the Jarvey explained. "A couple of times we even got some Yank named Fill, but he's as nutters as some of the people he talks to, so I don't know how much that's worth."

Hermione wondered fleetingly if the reason she liked Regina Fletcher despite her off-color vocabulary was that she missed the daily dose of surreality that had been part and parcel of attending Hogwarts.

"Reggie?" Hermione asked, her voice still pained.

"What, hinny?" Reggie asked gently.

"I-I always thought fairies weren't particularly powerful," Hermione said, honestly puzzled. "Why is it that you have, well... 'Fairytale Fairy' Powers?"

"You're right," Reggie admitted. "Your run of the mill Christmas ornament fairy is weak as pumpkin-juice piss. However, Fairy Godmothers and Godfathers aren't the chickenshite, souped-up pygmy puffs that decorate Christmas trees. As long as a fairy or fairy-type being only uses its magic for its own self-protection, the magic stays puny. But if any such creature really, truly cares about the well-being of creatures other than itself, the magic sort of...mushrooms.

"I can't quite explain it 'cause I don't understand it. Nobody does. All I know is, if you care enough to want to help that badly, you get the juice to do it." She sighed. "It's one of the reasons there aren't a hell of a whole lot of Fairy Godmothers. The magic bloody well has a mind of its own, and it evidently wasn't finding enough female fairies to carry it on. The International Society of Fairy Godmothers and Related Do-Gooding beings was formed from the original Fairy Godmother's Club when the power started showing up in other magical creatures."

Excellent move, Reggie thought. Hermione knew a lecture when she heard it, and it was drawing her brain back into more familiar, methodical, logical patterns.

"I don't need you going psycho witch while I'm gone looking for Crankytrousers. Who can you go to?"

Hermione looked at her Fairy God-Jarvey, momentarily dumbfounded into a semblance of calm. "You want me to Apparate while I'm so upset that my subconscious uses my magic to start attacking books?" she asked.

"Okay, we need to get someone over here to fix you drinks or let you cry on their shoulder, or whatever contains the misery until I can retrieve Señor Snarky. Focus, doll. Who fits the bill?" she asked, banishing the first soaked hanky and producing another.

Hermione tried to think. Flora Randolph was one of the few Apprentice Healers whom she was close to, the only one who never so much as joked that the much younger apprentice was an upstart. Unlike Hermione, she had exemplary bedside manner. Also unlike Hemione, Flora was only bright as opposed to brilliant, so she needed to spend every nanosecond of time she could eek out with her textbooks. Neville was always a nice shoulder to cry on; never judgmental, always a great listener. But she was loath to wake him up and ask him to catch the last late night Portkey from Spain, especially since he and Lola had just recently gotten baby Alicia to start sleeping through the night.

It required no thought whatsoever to conclude that neither Harry nor Ron would be the least help in this particular situation. In fact, it would be best for the mental and physical health of all concerned parties if they never, ever, found out what had happened.

"Ginny," she finally said, with a residual sniff. "I'll go mad if I have to listen to anyone who might start clucking and tutting."

Reggie approved of that assessment. The last thing Hermione needed was someone to help her feel sorry for herself. "Okay, yeah, the Weasley brujita. Get her over here, de pronto. Where's your owl, babe?"

"Piglet's out hunting," Hermione said, her voice starting to quaver again. Her owl was a tiny little thing reminiscent of Pigwidgeon, a creature both agile enough to evade Crookshanks while awake and small enough to happily sleep in a cat- and Kneazle-proof cage suspended from the ceiling. It had been one of Ron's more thoughtful gifts while they had been together. Which of course, reminded her of previous failed relationships, of failure in general, and resumed the rapid downward spiral of her thoughts and feelings...

Reggie began to swear under her breath at the absent Snape while conjuring a third hanky. "Chingate, hombron! Why the fuck did you decide to make a ruddy arse of yourself with the lady while she's not only stressing, but PMS-ing?" At volume, she asked, "What else you got, mija?"

"I'm not connected to the Floo network. Could you go get her?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Regina sighed. "Sorry sweetie, no can do. La jefa is just looking for an excuse to have my arse for an ink blotter. I've already revealed my presence to your nasty old novio, but I can't go around introducing myself to all and sundry of your friends and relatives. Not unless you invite me to your wedding. Weddings and births, those are the only places where a Fairy Godmother can go out in public and be widely seen. I can't say what line of business I'm in, of course, but at least I don't have to concentrate on staying invisible," Reggie explained, launching back into a lecture.

Seeing her godchild's face start to crumple again, Reggie realized that mentioning weddings was possibly not the smartest move. She hastened to ask, "Has your amiga got one of those tellyphone-thingies?"

Hermione all but slapped herself in the forehead. "Right! The mobiles Harry got for us... Did I put Ginny's number in my address book?" Realizing that both her landline and accompanying paperwork were buried somewhere in the debris field, she shook her head. "Never mind, it's programmed... where is that thing?" she asked, scrabbling through the pockets of each of her coats and for once inwardly blessing Harry's obsessive need to keep tabs on all his friends at any inconvenient hour of the day or night. Please don't let Harry find out about this until it's all blown over, she thought frantically. I hate to have to incapacitate a friend, and frankly, I'm not sure I can take Harry down anymore...especially when he's in 'Snape hunting' mode...

"I'll stay 'till I know she's coming, then go track down your Large-Nosed Wanker for you," Reggie said. She picked up the empty ring box in her teeth and waited to bolt out the door as soon as Hermione was done phoning.

Ginny Weasley was dead tired. Gringotts' Goblins were demanding taskmasters, especially when training a witch who dared to think she could master their particular brand of financial magic. So far, she was showing them...it turned out that if there was one thing Ginny did better than Quidditch and creative hexing, it was finances. But that didn't mean they'd let her off work early as a reward.

Mum had evidently Floo'd while she was at work and left her dinner. The implied lack of faith in her culinary skills would have been annoying had she not been so bloody hungry and altogether too tired to fix so much as a sandwich. She ate, brushed her teeth, and was contemplating whether she had enough energy to shower before going to bed, or wait until morning, when her mobile warbled merrily in the pocket of her business robes.

Ginny counted to three, hoping it would keep her from answering with profanity. It wouldn't be fair, really, since the only people who ever called her were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and occasionally Fred or George, when they nicked Ron's phone. (Neville alone had managed to stay clear of Harry's slightly barmy need to keep tabs on all his best friends. Whether through sheer absentmindedness or maritally-inspired canniness, he had managed to lose every phone Harry had given him and remained cheerfully and routinely in touch only by owl post.) Although mobile phones were slowly creeping into the Wizarding world through chat-addicted Muggle-borns, they were still only about as common as Yeti wool mittens. Not much chance of unwanted calls except for the odd wrong number.

Interestingly enough, they were the only Muggle technology that worked about as well in Wizarding environments as in Muggle ones.

"Hello," she answered, not bothering to hide her exhaustion.

"Ginny, I... Severus went storming out of here a bit ago and he's in a state, and I'm in a state, and...well, could you come over right away?" Hermione babbled.

This opening salvo left Ginny slightly alarmed. Hermione was, generally speaking, 'The Level-Headed One.' If she went off her broom, what hope was there for the rest of them? Then again, whenever her heart got involved, it always seemed a bit more than her head could handle...

"Slow down. What happened?" she asked, grimacing as she looked at the clock. No shower tonight.

"I was studying, and he came over unexpectedly, and I half threw him out, but it turns out he was here to...at least, I think he was...but now I don't know where he's gone so I can't clear up the misunderstanding!"

"Can't you...Oh, right. You would have a flat with no fireplace," she sighed.

"I've never really liked Floo-calling or being Floo-called. A girl wants to have the option of lying about on the sofa in nothing but her nightie without the chance of anyone who happens to know how to use the Floo-directory sticking his head into her living room."

Having not a few issues about that herself, Ginny was disinclined to argue. Maybe this would all make more sense in person. Or maybe she could just find Snape and relay a message so she could get to that shower after all. "Would you like me to Floo-call and see if he's home?" Ginny asked, stifling a yawn.

"Would you?" Hermione almost sobbed with relief.

A head full of ashes later, Ginny was fairly certain that Snape was not in that doxy trap masquerading as a house, and had resigned herself to hitting her body with a quick 'Scourgify' rather than having a more satisfying wash. "No luck, Hermione. I'll be over in a few, okay?" She cut off Hermione's thanks with the appropriate button and shoved the phone back in her pocket.

Tired or not, she'd help. Despite their own sometimes tumultuous relationship, Hermione had been there for her when she broke up with Harry. Granted, Ginny had done the dumping, but it hadn't been easy, and she hadn't been in the mood to have Mum alternately fussing over her and berating her. Hermione had listened to three hours of ranting, even though that act could easily have been misconstrued by Harry as taking sides.

Of course, Ginny had a sneaking suspicious that Hermione had also been there for Harry in the aftermath of the breakup... at least once... and not just in sense of offering a friendly ear. Since confirming that suspicion would result in significant psychological trauma (Ginny had never seen any two unrelated people more like a brother and sister than Harry and Hermione, and she would really rather not think of them together in that way), she was content to remain in blissful ignorance.

Speaking of the Floo...

Ginny set the outgoing message on her answering dummy. It was a lovely bit of spellwork, really, based on the idea of a Muggle answering machine. The charmed statuette was set up on the hearth and would immediately begin relaying the apologies of the absent witch or wizard. It could also record up to 20 messages (if they weren't too wordy) to be repeated when its owner returned. She was working on increasing its capacity as well as enabling it to recognize specific people and tailor the message accordingly.

However, the going was slow. Fred and George were willing to help, but only if she sold them through Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Ginny didn't want her invention to be seen as just another novelty item, and the twins were too invested in their business to let it take a back burner to her mission to revolutionize communication in the Wizarding world. What she really needed was a partner with some capital to invest and sufficient brain cells to serve as a useful sounding board.

Well, this wasn't the time to dwell on it. Hermione needed her, and probably also needed a stiff drink. Bugger. All she had was an indifferent bottle of Merlot, and no time to stop and buy anything. Better bring a bar of Ocumare chocolate, and her stash of 75% pure Dominican as well. Too bitter for most tastes, but it was the most effective legal mood enhancer in either the Wizarding or Muggle worlds, as far as she knew.

Ginny Weasley: Friend in need, ready for action.

Notes on Reggie's Spanish Vocabulary:

Caramba: Good grief (amazingly restrained for Reggie, I know)

Mija: contraction of 'mi hija'=my daughter. A term of affection and endearment.

De Pronto: quickly

Chingate: Fuck you (no surprises there)

Hombron: It literally means 'big man.' Sometimes it is translated as 'stud' or 'big bruiser,' but I was always taught that it has a negative connotation, and that in practice it is used in the sense of 'big bully.'

La jefa: the boss (feminine)

Novio: boyfriend, fiancé

Amiga: Friend (feminine)

Author's Notes:

I was going to include the citations on that research into the 'reversal' of hormones thing, but I can't find my notes. Since this is not a research paper and I am not being graded, I hope you will be satisfied with an apology and my assurances that I did read such research, and Reggie is not just talking through her tutu. This may be a goofy parody, but it's an educated goofy parody. I've never read a story where an 'answering dummy' was used; but if anyone out there has come up with something similar, I apologize...I couldn't steal that whose existence was unknown to me!

If you have access to Trader Joe's, they've got this little thing called the Chocolate Sampler. It's a flat, rectangular box full of deceptively innocuous-looking thin squares of 75%, 73%, and 70% pure cocoa, from the Dominican Republic, Ecuador, and Madagascar, respectively. They are sweetened...just. For those interested, both species and terroir matter with chocolate. Compare Chocovic's Varietal chocolates...Ocumare from Venezuela with Guaranda from Ecuador, both 72% cocoa...and taste the difference.

For anyone less a connoisseur of dark chocolate than I am, the Dominican will likely knock the roof of your mouth off. If you think that milk chocolate (or worse, that waxy white travesty) is chocolate, even the Madagascar (which I find to be almost cloyingly flowery) will probably taste like raw baking chocolate. As far as mood enhancement goes, I haven't had a doctor recommend Prozac since I started on this stuff. Yippee!

Dark chocolate and LariLee... My heroes!