"What do you mean, 'no Internet access'?"

McGonnagal winced. "Miss Mozell, lower your volume."

"Well, I'm sorry, but this calls for yelling! The very idea!"

"Please do not force me to transform you into something mute." Scribe opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, and seethed. "That is the loudest silence I have ever heard."

Scribe took a deep breath, and managed to achieve some small level of rationality. "You should see me shout in sign language. Maybe I misheard you. You couldn't possibly have said that there isn't a single Internet hookup in Hogwarts, or Hogsmeade."

"Computers are a Muggle invention. There are a few members of the wizarding community who have educated themselves in their use, and use them on a regular basis, but they are by no means common."

"Aaarrgh!"

McGonnagal turned her into a rabbit. It didn't work. They were in an empty classroom, between classes, and the bunny whirled around and kicked her feet against the teacher's desk so hard and fast that it sounded like a drum solo at a heavy metal concert. Then Scribe got a sly look on her face (and that expression was quite disturbing on a rabbit--they were never meant to look sly) and nipped Minerva on the ankle. For some reason, an idea about a story involving the characters of her favorite radio serial suddenly popped into her head. The really odd thing was that it was a romantic story involving the two main male characters. She shook her head, trying to dispel it, with little success.

Next the teacher tried turning her into a moth. She'd never known one to flap their wings so hard that they buzzed. Finally she tried turning her into a goldfish, and dropping her into the water pitcher on her desk.

Snape came into the room. "Minerva, have you seen Mozell? She's due for a lesson." He blinked. "And why is that goldfish in your water pitcher smashing its head against the side?"

McGonnagal sat down heavily. "It's her. I don't know what to do. She's being most unreasonable about the lack of electronics here at school. I knew that computers had become very widespread in the Muggle world, but I had no idea..."

"You'd best change her back."

"But Severus, she was approaching hysteria." She watched as the goldfish raced around the pitcher, then smacked into the glass again. "And she doesn't seem to have calmed down."

"She's a stubborn woman, Minerva. If you try to leave her like that till she's resigned to it, I believe we'll have to lay in a stock of dried shrimp." He bent down, bringing his face close to the clear side of the pitcher. "Miss Mozell!" The fish stopped its frantic swimming, floating in place, filmy fins waving, glaring at him with flat eyes. They were blue. "Will you promise to calm down if Professor McGonnagal returns you to your proper form?" The fish waved its fins more quickly. He glanced at McGonnagal. "I can't be sure, but I think she's attempting to make a rude gesture." He looked at Scribe again. "Well? You had best make up your mind before Mrs. Norris wanders in." The fish managed to swim backward, then dipped its head. "Go on, Minerva."

"All right, but only because you're here to take her off my hands." She waved her wand. There was a flicker, and Scribe was standing in front of the desk, dripping wet.

She glared at Professor McGonnagal. "That," she said coldly, "was rude."

"So was shouting at me over something that isn't my fault."

Her shoulders slumped. "Drat. You're right there. I'm sorry I lost it, but I'm going through withdrawal. I've been here three days now, without even access to a word processor. I'm going crazy!"

"I see no reason for you to use a gerund in that sentence," said Snape. "I believe that present tense, or even past, would be quite appropriate."

"Har-de-bloody-har." She shifted, and her feet squelched. "I haven't been thrown into a pool since that frat party my niece talked me into attending."

Minerva said, "Snape, Mozell, if you wouldn't mind going about your business. I need to get to a quill and parchment. I have something bothering me that I simply must write down." She didn't understand why Scribe had that smug smile on her face.

After Minerva left, Snape said, "What was that all about?"

"Ever heard of a plot bunny?"

"No."

"It's a fanfic writer thing--you wouldn't understand. If you'll excuse me, I need to go change." She squished out of the classroom.

The halls were fairly deserted, since most of the students were in their common rooms, winding down from a day of classes, and preparing for dinner in an hour or so. She snagged the soppy tail of her robes and began trying to wring it out, muttering to herself as droplets pattered to the floor. "I hope this dries before Filch discovers it. The last thing I need is listening to him bitch. Clammy clothes always put me in a bad mood."

"Then you must, by all means, remove them as quickly as possible."

Scribe didn't quite skid as she came to a halt, though she probably would have, if the floor hadn't been carpeted. She turned to find Snape standing right behind her. Her eyes narrowed. "Does sneaking come naturally to you, or did you have to practice?"

He smiled sardonically. "It's a natural gift, but I'd hardly call following a student down a public hallway in broad daylight 'sneaking'."

"Okay, so you're not sneaking. Why are you following?"

"It's time for our lesson. You might be a bit more appreciative. If I hadn't come along, you'd still be scaly, and breathing water."

"Consider me grateful." She continued on, and Snape followed at her side. "Look, go light somewhere."

"I have nowhere else I need to be, Miss Mozell."

They'd reached the portrait of the fat lady. She was watching them with open curiosity. It wasn't often she saw a Gryffindor in the company of the Potions Master. "Well, you're not supposed to come into out tower unless it's on official business, are you?"

"Technically, no." He leaned against the wall. "Go on, and be quick about it. Since we can't very well take you to Olivette's, I'll have to find you a temporary wand. We won't find a perfect match, of course, but I should be able to manage something that won't blow up when you try to use it."

That was incentive. She stood on her tiptoes, and the lady in the portrait bent down, putting her ear within whispering range. Scribe murmured, "Tintinabula."

The portrait swung open. "Enter." She shut quickly after the girl, giving Snape a suspicious look. He just raised his eyebrow at her.

Conversation stopped in the common room as Scribe squelched her way across. Granger said, "Scribe, I warned you about using the bathroom with Moaning Myrtle in it, didn't I?"

"I have enough problems with public restrooms as it is, Hermione. No, this is from something completely different. It's really something. I was finally able to swim other than the Deadman's Float, and I was too PO'ed to enjoy it."

"What does PO'ed mean?" asked Colin Creavey.

"Uh... The same as 'brassed off'. Thank God for British slang online sites." She went up to her room and changed. A house elf came trotting in just as she was buttoning up her blouse, and she yelped, "Knock!"

"Oh, we begs pardon, miss, but we are a female, too, yus? Potion Master Snape told us you had laundry to attend to. Ah!" She picked up the soggy clothes, then sniffed them. Puzzled, she said, "Miss has fallen into the lake?"

"No."

"Hm. Funny. Water smells quite fishy." The elf shrugged. "We'll have these back for miss before she goes to bed, spit-spot." She trotted out.

"How anyone could be enthusiastic about doing laundry," Scribe muttered as she left the room.

Snape was still waiting in the hall. "No robe, Miss Mozell?"

"I'm a poor scholarship student--I only have one. The walls won't fall if I walk around in my civvies for a few hours, will they?"

"No. It's just a bit odd, seeing a woman in those Muggle slacks things."

"Shades of the 1920's. Don't witches wear pants?"

"Oh, some do for broom riding."

"I should hope so, what with people wandering around under them."

"Do you mean to suggest that wizards might take advantage and try to peep?"

"Do you mean to suggest that they don't? Have you people had your hormones checked lately?"

They had been heading down to the Dungeon, and had just passed into the lower levels. Snape stopped abruptly, turning to her, and she found herself between him and the wall, with very little spare space. "I can assure you," he breathed, "that my own hormones are in fine working order."

Scribe blinked. "Oh-kay. Glad to hear it." She edged sideways, extracting herself. Snape smirked. *Oh, ho, it's like that is it? Okay, I don't run.* "Can we get on to that wand? I'm ready to make magic."

He regarded her, then smiled slowly. "Perhaps, but let's get that wand first."

He unlocked a cabinet in the potions classroom, and studied the contents. "Well, I don't see you as going in for anything too delicate." He removed one that was a little longer than her forearm, and was made of pale wood. "This is willow, with a sea serpent scale inside." He handed it over, saying sharply, "Do not point anywhere but at the floor till I tell you." She held it gingerly, pointed down. "Now, let's see... What would be a relatively safe test?" He rummaged again, and pulled out a small stone pestle. "When I tell you to, concentrate on moving that, then flick the wand at it. Ready?" She nodded. "Now."

She squinted in concentration, and flicked. A bright orange bolt of fire flashed out and scorched the wall behind the pestle. She squawked and dropped the wand. Snape picked it up. "No, I don't think so." He handed her another one. "Ash, with a bit of mermaid fin." Scribe tried again. The pestle shot backward, chipping the stone wall behind it. "Another no go." Snape took the wand. "Hm. This one is a bit nicked, but still a good one. Try this, and don't try quite so hard. You need to learn control before you try for power. This one is ebony, with an embedded Jarvey hair. Quite appropriate." He handed it over. "Try that."

Scribe sighed, and almost absently flicked the wand. The pestle stood on end, and spun lazily a few times before falling over on its side. She blinked at it in surprise, and Snape nodded in satisfaction. "That seems to be the one. Ask it its name."

She stared at him. "Look, I occasionally talk to inanimate objects when I'm frustrated, but they never talk back."

"Just do it."

She shrugged, held up the wand, and looked at it. "What's your name?"

A voice in her mind said, *Puddin' an' tame, ask me again and I'll tell you the same, you silly bint.*

She scowled. "Are wands often rude?"

"I shouldn't be at all surprised if this one was. Jarvey's are notoriously rude."

"Joy." She glared at the wand. "Give me a civil answer, or I'll hand you over to Neville Longbottom."

*No need to threaten! Call me Lenny.*

"Huh. Lenny Bruce, Lenny and Squiggy. Yeah, Lenny is appropriate for a smart-ass. Let's have an understanding, here. You don't sabotage me, and I don't use you to stir toilets."

*Sounds fair to me.*

"Got that settled?" asked Snape.

"You didn't hear?"

*I'm your wand. Why would that greasy git hear me?*

"Watch it," warned Scribe.

*Ooo, Scribe faaaaancies him!*

"There's a restroom just down the hall."

*Shutting up now.*

"Done?" asked Snape.

"I have a feeling he's not going to be able to restrain himself for long, but being a smart-ass myself, I think I'll probably give as good as I get."

"Delightful." He moved closer. "Does that apply to other aspects of your life?"

*Uh-oh.* She held the wand across her chest. Snape flicked his wrist, and she blinked to suddenly find him holding the wand. *Damn, he's fast.* "I'd rather hold on to that."

"You're not to use that at present unless you're being strictly supervised," he set it aside. "and that part of the life lesson is over for today." He was leaning toward her. "I was wondering about yesterday--that thing with the unicorns. I know Dumbledore told you about the 'more than physical purity' bit. I'm guessing that in your case you are physically untouched. Am I right?"

"Why? Is there some sort of potion you need virgin's blood for?"

"There are a few, but most of them are related to the Dark Arts. I'm asking for purely personal reasons."

"Why do I think that the word 'purely' is not appropriate?"

"Because you're a fairly perceptive woman." He ran a finger along her collar, the tip just skimming her skin. She felt an almost uncontrollable urge to shiver.

*Quick! Diversionary tactics!* "Did McGonnagal mean it? No computers at all? Not even a Commodore 64?"

Snape had the collar pinched between his fingers now. He paused and looked up at her, tugging it lightly. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"I've landed in an uncivilized world. Damn. I'd almost rather do without indoor plumbing."

"Hm. From what I've seen of Muggles, and how highly they prize their comfy thrones and hot and cold running water, I'd say that you must be addicted to this Internet thing."

"The term is not inappropriate. Look, I need a computer and Internet connection, and there has to be a way to get one!" It had occurred to her that Snape, as devious and manipulative as he was, would be a good ally to have in a campaign of any sort. She considered batting her eyelashes, rejected it as too formulaic, and settled on wetting her lips instead.

It seemed to work. Snape's gaze intensified to something along the lines of 'lazer'. "There might be. It all depends. How badly do you need one?"

"I've been known to walk almost two miles in bad weather, past yards that held psycho dogs, to get a half hour of access at the local library."

"Something might be arranged. I believe that an argument could be made that this would be a prudent addition to the Muggles Studies."

She nodded vigorously. "If you want the student's to be able to 'pass' when they go out among Muggles, they need at least a rudimentary working knowledge of computers and the Internet. I could teach them..." under her breath she added, "as long as they don't need much beyond rudimentary."

"Very well. I'll speak to Dumbledore about it. Now..." He started to lean toward her.

There was the sound of a ringing gong. *Talk about saved by the bell.* "Dinner time!" said Scribe brightly. "Boy, I'm starved! Swimming always gives me an appetite." There was the noise of students in the hallway as the Slytherins left their common room and headed for the dining hall. "You have supervision duty, don't you?"

He stared at her. "You have either the best or the worst luck in timing of anyone I've ever known." He took a half-step back, and offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She took his arm, and they walked out into the hall, receiving curious looks and snickers from the students. *Well,* she thought, feeling the light touch on her arm very accutely, *It's beginning to look like we shall.*