"If all goes according to plan, you won't have anything to explain," Snape muttered distractedly as he bent so low over her torso that the stringy ends of his hair occasionally brushed her skin. He stared, scented, took sample phials of seeping fluid as his fingertips stroked, poked, prodded. "I want to hear you," he murmured in the same absentminded voice, "Where does it hurt the worst?"