Chapter 6: Trojan Horses and Those Bearing Gifts
Later that day - after dinner but before curfew
Filch has GOT to be loving this, Ron thought for at least the thousandth time since he and Harry had met with the crotchety Caretaker two long hours earlier. He, Dean and Harry had report to the student-hating Squib to get their 'assignments' for the evening. Rotating his head and hearing crackling noises, the term 'indentured servitude' echoed snarkily under his breath.
The scuffing sounds of trainers being dragged up yet another flight of stairs offered little solace to the Gryffindor Keeper. It just meant that Harry was equally bone-tired.
"What's our last stop?" Ron looked down the staircase at his friend who was brushing a sweaty lock of hair off his eyebrows.
"Hermione's office. She's got a couple of boxes that need to go to Ravenclaw House." Harry knew he was beat when cleaning out the Durlsey's garage took on the form of a warm, fuzzy memory.
"Tell me again why we are better off than Dean?" Ron asked. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, just the concept of looking back to look at his best mate took precious energy that he just couldn't spare. As it was, he could feel sweat tickle the small of his back as he used the banister to hoist himself further up the staircase. It would take too much effort to turn his head and ask his friend that question at the same time.
Counting the steps until the next landing, Harry looked up at his best mate and reminded the redhead, "Would you rather be here with me or by yourself cleaning out the Arachnid Terrariums?"
Suddenly sounding like a squeamish twelve-year-old boy going into the Dark Forest on a cold spring night, Ron grimaced. "I don't like spiders."
Gaining the landing - and a breather - Harry offered the reassurance Ron's original question sought. "And that, my friend, is why we are better off than Dean." Taking in the three different stairwells that branched from the landing, Harry asked, "Which way is it to her office? I'm too knackered to remember."
"Apparently being Filch's 'personal assistant' translates to 'grunt monkey' in Squib." Looking down and then up, Ron pointed to a staircase just beginning to shift. "That's our ride."
Meandering the rest of the way to the Head Girl/Head Boy Office, Harry appreciated the way Ron was able to banter with him as they re-hashed the latest prank to the safeguards that people were taking to 'protect themselves' from becoming another 'notch' on the Hooligan's 'belt'.
Reaching the door to the Office, Harry wasn't surprised to find the door unlocked or the room lit with the diffused glow of candles and oil lamps flickering in the wall sconces. Thinking about Hermione's schedule as of late, Harry was surprised to see that he and Ron were not the only ones working late.
Raising his fingers to his lips as a signal for Ron to be as quiet as possible, Harry couldn't see who was inside the room but the shadow cast on the stonewall was moving and the possibility of implementing another PLAN would be just the remedy for sore muscles. Playing the odds, he had a one out of two chance in guessing correctly who that shadow belonged too. Given the 'spread' on Malfoy - getting the jump on His Most Blondeness would definitely put Harry and Ron ahead of the pack on the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin tally sheets.
Holding up one finger, then two fingers, Harry was just about to add another finger and burst into the room when a voice called out, "Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. There is no need to lurk in the hall since I can see Weasley Red reflected in my eyeglasses."
Feeling a little thwarted, Harry pushed the door all the way open and he and Ron stepped into the softly lighted room. "Sorry Professor."
"Thought you were someone else, Professor," Ron said, offering his own version of an apology to Prof. McGonagall.
Peering over her spectacles, Prof. McGonagall summed up her lack of enthusiasm at two of her charges trying to burst in on her and appreciation of what they were attempting to accomplish with one heavily laden, "Evidently."
Looking around the room, Prof. McGonagall had to clear her throat a time or two before she trusted her voice to speak clearly. "I take it that neither one of you have seen our Head Girl in your travels?"
Surveying the room, as if to see a familiar brunette greet him with a smile as he dropped off a stack of toast to a hungry girl who decided NOT to come down to breakfast, Harry could definitely feel Hermione's personality in the room. Books of every size and bindings were stacked on the floor next to a very busy, organized desk. Comfortable sofas were situated near a grated fireplace so that one could work and be warm at the same time. A second desk, against the far wall - equally organized and just as flooded with papers of its own in various stages of completion only served to convey just how much was involved in being a Head Boy and a Head Girl. A well-stocked bookcase lined one whole wall from floor to ceiling and corner-to-corner. Quills of different shapes and plumes were suspended from drying racks specifically designed to keep the writing implements neat and clean. Charts and lists were tacked to the walls behind and adjacent to each of the workspaces. The only way anyone could tell who sat where was the nature of the desks themselves, Harry thought. Each piece was of a dark, richly coloured wood. To his eyes, both desks appeared to be very old, beautifully maintained antiques. Focusing on the enormous amount of ornate carvings and the fact that the desk against the far wall looked to be older and more affluent than its 'cousin', Harry sniggered silently. Obviously, that was where Malfoy sits.
"Interesting, isn't it? When I first heard about it - I was fairly taken back. That, I can assure you." Pausing to clear her throat again, Prof. McGonagall seemed to be talking more to her than to Ron and Harry. "But, after all, I expected no less." The pride in her raspy voice was unmistakable.
Ron's inner strategist had to agree. If two Heads - from rival Houses and with a history of mutual contempt - had to work together, work in the same space together and were mandated to provide an environment where students from ANY House could feel comfortable approaching EITHER Head, then it made sense to put aside their individual House identities. When Hermione and Malfoy were in this room - they were Head Boy and Head Girl. Not a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Nor were they a Muggle-born and a Pureblood.
Harry, not ready to give voice to his thoughts quite yet, was quick to change the subject at hand. Nudging Ron with a resigned, "We had better get to it," Harry started looking around on the floor near Hermione's desk.
"Guess so - don't want to be here all night." Ron was in complete agreement.
Not quite ready to leave, Prof. McGonagall moved around to the backside of Hermione's desk and sat down. Considering the two lads, she had to appreciate the way they balanced their responsibilities against their impulsive natures. Granted neither one was as disciplined as Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy - but it is refreshing to have students who challenge me on a level beyond academia. "I trust our Caretaker is being - how shall I say this - judicial in doling out assignments?"
Watching Mr. Weasley's mouth kick up when he said sardonically, "As judicial as a taskmaster with a toothache wearing sheepskin skivvies is capable," and receive an approving grunt from Mr. Potter, she decided that she could keep her next appointment waiting for just a few more minutes.
Harry, pacing the room looking for the said boxes, thought Ron had 'hit the bludger squarely with a bat'.
"Can I help you," McGonagall started to ask before it took something more than a simple throat clearing to get her next words out, "Find what you are looking for, perhaps?"
Ron's triumphant, "I've got it!" which was quickly followed by a, "Harry - come over here and give a mate a hand," answered her query.
Smiling, Minerva McGonagall watched the two boys tug and pull the boxes free from an array of supplies. Squinting at the decorative label of Ginny's - Aren't You Gorgeous! - Personal Care Products, she was about to say something when a light cough interrupted her thoughts.
Hefting the cumbersome boxes, now stacked two-high in each boy's arms, Harry looked at Ron and groaned. "These are heavier than they look." Prof. McGonagall's cough redirected his attention to his House matriarch. "All right there, Professor?"
"Yes. Miss Granger said she had something for me. It seems that this tickle I have just won't go away. She said there was something or another on her desk that would quiet me." Prof. McGonagall said.
Glancing around the room, Harry's eyes fell on the oversized calendar tacked up to the wall. Fixed to Tuesday, October 21st was an envelope that read: For Prof. McGonagall. Lifting his chin towards a spot on the wall behind his Head of House and shifting the boxes to get a more secure grip, Harry volunteered, "I think that is it, Professor."
Clearing her throat again, Minerva rose and plucked the envelope from its spot. Opening it, she discovered an enclosed pouch that contained many small, individually wrapped lozenges. "Thank you, Mister Potter." Taking one of the lozenges out of the pouch, unwinding the protective covering and popping one in her mouth, Harry caught a blur of evergreen robes out the corner of one eye.
"Ermmm… Professor?" Ron voice shot out at her retreating back.
Stopping just short of the door, Minerva turned to face the two boys. "Yes, Mister Weasley?"
"Mind holding the door? These boxes are a lot heavier than they look." Harry could tell that Ron felt no shame in asking the Transfiguration teacher for help. After all - she did offer.
Waiting for Ron to walk through the door first, Harry looked down at Hermione's desk one more time. It was a half-full bag of S.S.O.S. Lozenges, which had caught his eye. It was tucked away near a half-finished cup of tea. The top of the package was rolled to keep the rest of the contents from spilling out, obscuring the brand and the majority of the cover-art. Focusing, he was able to make out the acronym and tag line. Sweet Sound Of Silence Lozenges - Guaranteed Results Within 4 Consecutive Doses. Smiling, Harry was touched at just how considerate Hermione was to… well, to everyone.
Stepping backwards and pulling the door as inward as the hinges would allow, Prof. McGonagall waited until both boys stepped into the corridor before asking, "Are the both of you sure that the two of you have everything you were sent to collect?"
Tilting the topmost box so that McGonagall could see the piece of parchment Hermione tacked to the inside flap, Ron felt very certain that he couldn't carry another cobweb. "It reads: 2 boxes Quidditch Pitch Products."
Shifting his hands in order to get a better grip on the boxes he was carrying, Harry piped up. "I've got the two boxes of Cloud Nine."
Confirming that each boy had his appropriate load, she pulled the door firmly shut and engaged the lock. As the two boys fell into flanking positions on either side of her, she felt mildly flattered to know that the two Gryffindors actually liked her company and were not intimidated by her presence. Thinking about her next appointment, Prof. McGonagall could not help herself. "I take it the two of you have heard the latest?"
Not sure what she was referring to, and not wanting to inadvertently set her onto something that they did which they hadn't told her about, Ron evasively answered her question with one of his own. "Heard what, Professor?"
"Apparently, a young Hufflepuff thought that switching oregano with White Sage would be a worthy prank on the House Elves - and by extension the rest of Hogwarts - as dinner was being prepared this afternoon," Minerva explained.
Harry snapped his head at the Assistant Head Mistress. He had heard something about an attempted prank that went wrong... "Is that what happened?"
"Our young friend did not do his research properly. The White Sage he intercepted was actually meant for Madame Pomfrey, as it is a key ingredient in many of her poultices. Madame Pomfrey can now attest, due to the overwhelming number of House Elves in the Infirmary now in her care, White Sage is an herb that the Elves have a particular sensitivity." Minerva didn't know who deserved more sympathy: the afflicted Elves, Madame Pomfrey having to tend to so many Elves at once, or the remorseful Hufflepuff who only realized his mistake when he was escorted out of his House by the Head Boy and Hufflepuff Prefects.
Immediately thinking of his friend, Harry had to know, "Is Dobby okay?"
Prof. McGonagall gave Harry and Ron a softly reassuring smile. "He's fine. As it turned out, he was with Miss Granger - down in the laundry - at the time when all of this took place."
Thinking that there was something more to her smile than reassurance, Harry started to think about all different uses Prof. Sprout had expounded on when it came to White Sage.
A relieved sigh came from the direction of Mr. Weasley. As well as a sudden insight followed by a sharply turned head. "Is that why you were looking for Hermione?"
Pleased with his logic, Prof. McGonagall decided that the Hogwarts Gossip Mill wasn't the only information service on campus, "Yes and no. I wanted to ask her if she had any background on the Hufflepuff that might be pertinent in formulating his punishment. But, with Mr. Malfoy in attendance - her presence is not absolutely necessary."
Listening to her use the present tense, Harry offered own insight. "Which is where you are going now, right Professor?"
Nodding her head in approval, she confirmed Mr. Potter's logic skills. "You have deducted correctly." Looking over the two boys carrying their loads, now it was her turn to ask the questions. "What is the end destination for the two of you?"
"Ravenclaw House," Ron flatly replied. "Which is right next to East Timbuktu." Prof. McGonagall knew that the redhead was referring to just how far away the Ravenclaw dormitory was from where the three of them were walking.
"Really?" The amusement in McGonagall's voice was loud and clear to Harry and Ron. "Now that is interesting. From what I have heard, the whole House has bottled themselves up as a preventive measure against the Hooligan."
"Your sources are spot-on, Professor. They have taken to having their meals delivered to their Common Room and have vowed to only leave their dormitory for classes. They have SWORN not to allow ANYONE who isn't a member of their House through their portrait door." Harry couldn't think of a better way to post a 'Prank Me NOW - PLEASE!!!' sign on their portrait door complete with a bulls-eye painted Ravenclaw Blue. Well - they are supposed to be the smartest House, he mused, as much as I hate to admit it - a barricade might just work.
"Then how are the two of you supposed to make your delivery?" Minerva asked.
"We have strict instructions to leave the boxes outside their portrait door and scamper off like good little Gryffindors. Once the House is convinced that the 'coast is clear', then they will send out an 'expendable' to retrieve the boxes."
"Well, I wish them luck," Minerva said. Although….
"Why do I hear a 'BUT" somewhere in your voice, Professor?" Harry asked. What does she know, he wondered.
"Someone, somewhere ALWAYS forgets to shut a backdoor. Isn't that right Professor?" Ron knew he had enough experience with five older brothers to know that NOTHING was impenetrable or sacred. "Every plan has a chink in it somewhere."
Tapping her forefinger to the side of her nose, Minerva smiled knowingly. "Mr. Weasley - five points to Gryffindor - for impressing me at such a late hour."
Setting his boxes down, Harry looked at where the Moving Staircases joined the floor that they were on and looked at his Transfiguration Professor. As much as he would like to keep chatting with McGonagall, it would not get him to bed any more quickly. After all, Prof. McGonagall was headed for the first floor and her office and he and Ron had their own Ravenclaw Rendezvous to keep. But something was nagging at him - something he had heard about White Sage and House Elves. What is it Potter - think!
Seeing her Quidditch Captain only absently nodding his head to Ron earning Gryffindor House an unexpected five points, Prof. McGonagall looked around before beckoning the two boys closer. "Have either one of you ever played with a cat?"
The mental image of Hermione tugging her balls of yarn away from Crookshanks came to Ron. "Yeah."
Dropping her tone so that even the portraits had to strain to listen, "Have you ever given a cat catnip?"
Harry could still see the image of an extra feisty, playful Crookshanks after Ginny gave the ginger coloured feline a toy garden gnome stuffed with the herb. Herb…
"You mean to say, that Madam Pomfrey has a ward full of House Elves high on White Sage?" Ron knew he sounded incredulous and if he hadn't had the boxes in his hands he would have been doubled over in laughter.
Prof. McGonagall's face was as mirthful as Harry had ever seen it. "Our school nurse is, at this moment, wrangling House Elves who have had the unfortunate luck to have come in contact with that particular plant." Raising a hand to her hat and settling it more securely, she was quick to amend her statement. "Yes - it would have been a brilliant prank if our young Hufflepuff had chosen a different regiment of House Elf. As the herb fell on the kitchen staff, a number of our Elves suffered burns and cuts. Hence the reason why there IS a disciplinary hearing against this student."
Ron's face was just as quick to sober. "I give the kid credit for doing something not even George and Fred would have thought of, but you are right - he did not do his homework." A smile broke out among his freckles. "But still - can you imagine all those Elves in Madam Pomfrey's wing - acting like a bunch of cats loaded on catnip? THAT IS BRILLIANT!"
"Gentlemen, thank you for the pleasure of your company." There was no mistaking the sincerity of her compliment.
"Night, Professor," Ron called out to one of his favourite professors as he heard rather than watched Harry re-heft his load.
"See you in class," Harry called out to the Transfiguration teacher as the staircase she chose began to disengage itself from the landing and swing downward.
Beginning to walk away, both Harry and Ron heard someone call their names.
Backtracking and praying that their arms wouldn't fall off until after they got back to Gryffindor Tower, both of them chorused, "Yes, Professor McGonagall?"
The staircase was descending too rapidly to hear what she said, but seeing her take out her wand and fire two pulses of champagne coloured light at the boxes they carried was enough for them to get her meaning.
"Remind me to ask Hermione if students are allowed to award teachers points," Ron exclaimed.
"She is the best!" Harry had to give credit where credit was due.
Sure we deserved to make reparations for putting Neville behind glass yesterday morning. No one could say that being Filch's 'lug-monkeys' was an unfair Verdict of Restitution. But Professor McGonagall, casting a Feather-Light Charm on the boxes because she wanted too? That will be Number 9 on my list of the' Top Twenty Things that are Grand About Being Back in School', Harry deemed elatedly.
* * * * * * *
I have to be dreaming. Please, let me be dreaming!
Wishing that she had time to pinch herself awake, she let the snapping of her school robe be a poor substitute as she pumped her legs and pulled her elbows closer to her body.
Exhaling only draw another oxygen-rich breath, she was grateful that this was NOT the dream where she showed up late for class wearing nothing but a tea-cozy. Always be grateful for the little things were the thoughts she spared as she rounded the next corner.
Keeping her arms tight to her side, maybe I can out run them! But every time she looked back, students in various stages of dress only seemed to be closing the gap and growing in size.
Merlin help me - this is NO dream!
Mentally ticking off in her mind which door opened to what classroom as she sped down the corridors, Hermione's mind began to formulate other options. If I cannot outrun them, then maybe I can out think them. Resurrecting a layout of the castle, she suddenly veered left. My plan isn't working! Every time she thought she would loose them by taking a shortcut or little used passageway, the mob was still there. And they all were still gaining on her. They: a large group of Hogwarts students, travelling en masse at stampede-speed. Wasting a precious half a second on deciding that pulling rank and commanding the group to, 'Cease and desist in the name of the Head Girl' would be about as effective as telling the grass not to grow, she spun on her heels and made like the wind.
Somewhere near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom on the second floor, someone in the back of the crowd began to chant. In less than three repetitions, a three-syllable cadence had EVERYONE chanting and pumping their arms in the air to the same rhythm. "HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN!"
Sprinting to another set of Moving Staircases - she glanced around and noticed that none of them were shifting. Giving a fleeting look sharply down, she thoughts her eyes might be playing tricks on her. The stairs actually seem to be wider. Leave it to a magical castle to have an innate sense of self preservation, she thought ruefully. Reconciling herself to the fact that if she were the castle and at least half the student body was in a crazed, mob mentality state of being - I would do the same thing - she silently gave credit to the building of stone and wood for doing something that she herself could not do - at the moment. Which involved finding a way to funnel the crowd while at the same time avoid any permanent damage. Oh yeah - and keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. And - keep my shoes clear of my robes. That was on the list as well.
Clearing the fourth floor and heading east, Hermione knew she did not have to be a Marauder to realize she was running out of castle. The crowd was almost on her. She would feel the zeal of their chant thrum through her body. The footfalls from half the students enrolled in school shook the portrait frames where they hung. If I can just get to the Ravenclaw wing, she thought. I may just have a chance.
Rounding the last corner before entering the final corridor that would lead her to Ravenclaw House, she spared a half a second to take in what was in front of her. In that moment, everything took on a very surreal quality - as if the nightmare she was living was slowing down and being played out in slow motion. The long corridor only had one passageway that ran perpendicular to the hallway. Dotted on either side of the hallway were a handful of supply and broom cupboards. Of which she was sure were locked and secured.
Oh, I'm in trouble.
The door to the Ravenclaw dormitory was a scene unto itself. Whoever wasn't behind her was in front of her. Coming to a full stop, she saw all eyes turn on her. My only possible escape is BEYOND the Ravenclaw Door, and now that is cut off! Approaching desperation, the probability of Filch forgetting to lock one of his precious supply cupboards was not a risk she could gamble.
Given Filch's paranoia over students snogging in his precious supply cupboards, that option is out of the question. Now, I am out of time and space.
"HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN!" The mob behind her was now right on top of her heels.
The scene in front of the Ravenclaw door was just as manic. Whoever wasn't behind her were in front of her. Her only means of escape cut off by the students who crowded around the House entrance.
Less than three seconds - that's how long it took for the group behind Hermione to infect the group that blocked her only apparent means to freedom. Now EVERYONE was chanting the same three syllables to the same tempo.
Turning her head rapidly in every direction, Hermione found herself in a situation that she could not think, rationalize or argue her way out of; panic began to prick the outside edges of her cool exterior. The crush was on her. There was a group of excited students in front of her. There was nowhere to go.
Just as she felt the first person jostle her, a well-muscled forearm shot out and grabbed her wrist. Too stunned to do anything but allow herself to be pulled, she had the sensation of being spun and a large body placing itself between her and the onslaught. The arm that had her wrist gently bent her elbow and then clamped down to securely press her against the length of her rescuer. Before she knew it, she was half led, half carried towards a broom cupboard. But all she could hear was, "HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN! HOO - LA - GAN!"
Through a veil of hair, she saw a jet of light fly between the tip of a wand and the door handle. Suddenly, darkness and quiet were the most immediate assaults on her senses. The dark was welcoming in its pervasiveness. The wooden door vibrated with energy from the crowd. She could still hear the chanting, but at least she could hear herself think. She felt her back be pressed against the inside wall of the supply closet and a pair well-made arms were braced on the smooth wood on either side of her shoulders. The body was large. She could feel warmth radiating off his person. From the puffs of air that touched her cheeks, she could tell that he was breathing a bit heavy. After all - so was she.
The panic she felt in the corridor - it was changing into something else. Something a little - primeval. She felt exhilarated. Just the tiniest bit like she was doing something…. dangerous. It felt good to be so…excited.
"Who? What?" The only words she was able to form were the most rudimentary in their nature.
The sound of a body fetching hard against the cupboard door caused her rescuer whip his head to the left.
"Shush," was the low-spoken command she heard. "Be still."
Looking down at her, he was glad that she nodded her head silently and kept her head tilted towards the door. He was enjoying playing the part of rescuer and didn't want to surrender the title too soon. The fact that she didn't immediate say his name was a clear indication that she couldn't recognize him. She had no idea who he was - and in the dark, as far as she was concerned - he could be anybody. He could let himself be anybody.
She was quite a sight. Her tie was askew and somewhere along the way, her robe had slipped off one shoulder and had pooled in loose folds around her elbow. Ever since the first day of term, she had taken to wearing her hair up and away from her face. He rather regretted seeing her curls tamed and corralled into what ever plait, hair accessory or the 'Up-Do Of the Day' she fancied. In the few seconds it took to pull her from the corridor, he saw that great locks of hair had slipped free of the two sticks she had threaded through her tresses.
It was hard to see anything in the cupboard. As it was, he was blocking pretty much any light that seeped in around the edges of the access door. There was no way he could miss the way her eyes glittered in the dark as they picked up the residual, weakly refracted light. If he had to put one word on the energy he felt flow from her at this moment in time, he would have to say that the term he would use would be: charged. She looked stunning and a little…feral.
"I have to go. I need to be out there. Someone has needs to take control." As much as she wanted to stay, Hermione could feel her sense of responsibility starting to creep back into play.
"Not yet," he said. "You go out there now and you will only make things worse."
"But it's me they want. They - all the way from the first floor." She was trying to create an argument that both her rescuer and her would buy. "I saw it in their eyes."
"They aren't after you." His voice rang with absolute assurance.
"How can you be so sure? Were you there?" The need to know was in every letter of every work she spoke.
"I know because I am supposed to know. I wouldn't be who I am if I didn't have sources of my own." A smile broke out across his face half way through his sentence and was carried by his voice.
Reaching out, she placed her palm on where she guessed she would find the middle of his chest. Enjoying the way his body heat permeated through his clothes, a certain tension began to take hold of her. Which she deliberately failed to hide. "What did you see?"
"You - entering the DADA classroom within moments of Terry Boot emerging from the Ravenclaw dormitory. Ms Boot tearing down the Moving Staircases and stopping in the Great Hall. EVERYONE who was at breakfast dropping whatever they were doing and begin racing for Ravenclaw House just as you were leaving the classroom." The voice in the dark explained with a wry lilt to his slightly formal mannerisms.
The muffled voices of Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall and someone else making their way through the crowd put her Heal Girl-ness on a mental back burner. With them reining in the scene, her presence would be over-kill. Besides, she liked where she was and what she was currently engaged.
I should be asking this person to declare himself - no DEMANDING to declare himself - but this is so…wickedly impish.
Not hearing an answer, the voice took on deeper, raspier tone as it continued with the tale. "You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Although - watching you zigzag across the castle was fairly impressive. I didn't know you knew the castle so thoroughly." The innuendo that biased his words was completely unintentional. He found himself responding to her in a way that was never available to him before - but had played out in his mind a hundred-fold.
That dangerous feeling, which had first made itself known just moments earlier, was back. The fact the he knew who she was but his identity remained an unknown formed a potent combination of minx-like freedom and darkness-inspired empowerment. Her long-tethered impulses formed the words she spoke. "Well, that goes to show that there are a lot of things you don't know about me." But the dangerous element spun her sentence in such a way that her words became a challenge.
The smallness of the space, the proximity of the warm male in front of her, the last minute rescue, her raging feelings, the sexy smell she kept inhaling, the way he had her 'trapped' but when in reality, she had him transfixed on her was all very heady stuff. Which was simmering. In fact, just a little more and it would all boil over.
Switching the tone of his voice to something akin to hers, he took a half a step closer to the girl in front of him. Releasing one hand from the wall, he brought the backside of his fingers down the soft, smooth slope of her cheek and gently lifted her jaw line with ruthlessly shackled strength and desire. Deliberately letting his breath waft across her cheeks, he asked, "Are you ready to go there, Miss Granger?"
The energy from the crowd as it pressed itself closer against the corridor wall and how the mass of students made the door rattle only heightened the flush that was wrapping itself around her neck. She felt hot. Prickly. Like something needed to happen. The hand that had been resting on the front of his shirt turned of its own volition and now grasped a fistful of uniform. The wall behind her took on a stabilizing role as she felt her bones becoming softer by the moment.
He was not immune. The smell of some spring flower stained his fingers. The way she chewed on her lip trying to decide what do next made him try to press his other palm through the cupboard wall. The unexpected grabbing of his clothes made him dip his head and slightly tip his head to one side. Who is holding back now?
The timbre of Dumbledore's voice and McGonagall's Scottish burr encouraging everyone to return to the Great Hall was felt rather than heard. Hermione could barely hear anything over the staccato of her heart beating. The tall boy in front of her was not in any better shape.
"I see. Then if -" He was interrupted before he could form another word - by a pair of wildly questing lips. The adage of: If a Wizard won't go to his wand - then the wand must be brought…was chased out of his head as she had begun to completely fill all of his senses.
It was a passionate kiss. She added a handful of hair to the fistful of jumper and uniform she had her hand. She felt her teeth scrape his and a sound like squeaky chalk vibrated the back of her mouth. In the moment, she inhaled sharply at the sensation. When she opened her mouth wider, felt his lips spread to keep hers covered as much as feasibly possible - was when she felt his tongue slide across hers. Letting her back completely rest against the wall behind her, she took him with her as she slumped. It was all she could do to keep her tongue and lips to the rhythm he measured.
There was no way he was going to stop. He felt her spine bend and was grateful for the wall that rose behind her. The hand that had been resting on her jaw tangled in the hair around her temple and snaked back to feel the silky curls more fully against his fingers and knuckles. The sticks that held her hair in place clattered to the floor - one after another. His mouth parted and twisted to the demanding lead she danced. He felt her free hand glide through his hair and her nails blaze a trail down the back of his jumper. Her fingers followed the path of his leather belt as she sought a place to rest her questing fingers - stopping only when she realized she was pulling at his shirttails and settling for twining the fine cotton around her fingers.
The light applause from the other side of the cupboard door could have been for them. It was a snogging session worthy of recording in the Annuls of The Kiss.
Breaking for air, Hermione pulled her tongue from one of most deliciously aggressive tussles she had ever experienced.
Chest heaving from the exertion it took to tear himself away from the kiss, his let his head fall forward and split its weight between her shoulder and the cool wall. He felt shattered but at the same time, he felt like he was invincible. Every response from the smug, to the sarcastic, to the dopey to the sappy were rehearsed and rejected by his mind.
Dazed yet oddly coherent, Hermione let her head fall to one side. Away from where his silky-coarse hair fell towards her shoulder. The temptation to re-engage was very powerful. She felt validated. She was worthy of being kissed like she would never be kissed again. Despite the fact that she was the one who had kissed him in the first place. She felt like she should say something - anything - but every thought that came to her either seemed trite or insecure or would trivialize what had just occurred.
The sound of the crowd breaking up broke through the thunderous pounding of his libido. He felt her shift and begin to straighten. As his head was closest to the door, he had that much more of an advantage to figure out what was going on outside their haven. Yet it was Hermione he heard speak. "They are breaking up."
Standing straighter himself, he put his right hand on her right shoulder and reached for the doorknob with his left. "This is our chance." He saw her nod. "Once I'm through, you follow - but just blend in. Don't call attention to yourself."
Eyes that were still slightly glazed with passion were temporarily blinded by the intrusion of bright morning light. Letting the first words that came to her well-massaged tongue flow, she called out to the tall boy silhouetted by the contrast of the dark cupboard. "I thought you said that they weren't after me?"
Pausing to turn his head only slightly, he threw back with a deep, satisfied smile in his voice, "They weren't. But not even you can talk your way out this one - stepping out of a broom cupboard looking the way you do." And with that, he merged with the flow of the departing students.
Waiting for her turn to meld with the exodus, Hermione thought about the past few minutes. After several, sequential, introspective thoughts, there was nothing which had transpired that she would feel ashamed in repeating to anyone. It was amazing and wonderful and eye opening. Girls can make the first move and not be labelled a tart. If anything, she felt more confident than when she had first woken up. A gentle, "H-haw-hmmm," broke into her reverie.
It was a portrait depicting a young woman sitting for an artist. Stopping the artist with a polite hand gesture, she beckoned to Hermione. "My dear. You may want to take a slightly longer route than everyone else."
Hermione wasn't sure what the girl was speaking of - she had already resettled her robe. "Pardon me?"
"As one young woman to another - you may want to tend to- " Before the portrait could say another word, Hermione let out one of her famous shrieks.
One minute she was talking to a nice portrait on the fourth floor, the next instant she was being swept up off her feet. A strong arm dipped down and slid in behind her knees while another grasped her tightly just below her shoulder blades. A triumphant, "WHOOHOOO!" left little imagination as to which family her present captor belonged. "Ronald Weasley, put me down this instant!"
"No way Head Girl. You are not going to beg off and say that you have something more important to do. The Hooligan has just struck and everyone is going down to the Great Hall. Especially you!"
Ron was full to bursting. Every since Harry announced that he saw something on the Marauder's Map, he, Dean, Seamus, Neville and Harry had been on the move. Along the way, they had gotten separated but as the crowd made for the first floor, they had found each other and banded back to together.
"You cannot tell me that you are going to carry me all the way there, are you?" Hermione knew she should not have egged him on, but his good mood was just too infectious. With her two best friends being as close as they were and knowing she was in such a heightened sensual state, Hermione wasn't ready to share her secret just yet. Given half a chance to really look at her swollen lips and flushed cheeks, there was no telling what the 'Gentlemen Don't Behave That Way' Enforcement Squad would do to her mysterious paramour.
"Merlin no! That is why a guy has got mates to back him up." Ron changed his grip on his best friend ever so slightly. Pausing so that Dean could come up along side, he gave his friend and then Hermione a saucy wink. "Right Dean?" And with that, he launched Hermione into Dean's waiting arms.
For the split second that Hermione was in the air, she vowed to 'disembowel Ronald Weasley'. But as soon as she felt Dean's strong arms catch her, she burst out into a near hysterical giggles. "Let me go this instant!" Unable to keep from laughing, she desperately forced out, "Just wait until I tell Ginny! She'll -" Hermione never had a chance to finish saying what she thought her friend might do.
Dean, shifting his Head Girl in his muscular arms and smoothly interrupted her with mock apprehension. "Tell Ginny?" Looking around and seeing a tall dark haired boy just coming along side, Dean let his eyes become large and 'fearful'. "Crikey! She'll kill me!" And with that, he tossed Hermione.
"Dean! No! Wait! I didn't mean…!" With a breath jarring Oomph! - Hermione found herself being pulled tightly against the torso of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. Lucky for her, it was someone who had arms of steel. At very least, someone whose shoulders did not readily dislocate.
"Morning, Hermione." Harry couldn't resist teasing the lovely girl who had stopped squirming in his arms.
Steadying when she realized that he wasn't straining anything in carrying her, Hermione dared to look up into those green, sparkling eyes that seemed to see more than the visual plane. "Don't tell me YOU'RE going to carry me down to the Hall?"
"Only if you think I have been getting into Madame Pomfrey's cupboards," Harry smirked.
Looking ahead, Ron, Dean, Neville and Seamus had taken the initiative - they had pulled away and were giving the two Gryffindors a little space.
"No. I intend to carry you until the end of the corridor and then we are going to high tail it down three flights of stairs. I think that this is going to be a record breaker." Looking down at her smiling face shrewdly, he couldn't help but ask, "Is there anything YOU wish to tell me, Miss Granger?"
Squeezing his shoulders as a signal to be put down, Hermione found her balance as her feet touched the floor. Standing well within his personal space while still encircled by his arms, a wonderfully wicked thought raced through her mind. Oh-so-coyly answering his question with one of her own, "Unless you have suddenly taken to rescuing the cornered, extracting payment for said rescue and subsequently sweeping ladies off their feet?"
Looking down at her and appreciating who she was, it took a moment for a lopsided grin to reply, "The latter - I am guilty. Half the school has now seen me with the fairer sex in my arms. As for rescuing the cornered - as you have called to my attention more than once - that is my forte. Extracting a price for a rescue? Well, then, I would have to say that the ONLY time I would stoop to such mercenary behaviour was if there was something which I had to have that I felt I could not bring about by any other means."
Cannily smiling in her own right, Hermione looked into a pair of crafty green eyes. "Oh honestly Harry, when will you boys ever learn?" Maybe he wasn't the one in the broom cupboard after all, she thought.
"What's that, oh Wise Learned Hermione?" Harry asked, just as slyly.
"One can't steal what is pressed into one's pockets!" The plain look on Harry's face was enough to convince her that she hadn't tipped her hand. Gleeful for still having her secret snogging session unto herself, Hermione bounced up on her toes to press her lips to Harry's cheek.
Keep it on the level, Potter. Keep it on the level. There are too many people around to do what you want to do to the little imp standing underneath your chin. Glancing ahead, his mates were already out of sight. Taking her hand as a compromise between what he really wanted to do and what she would let him get away with, Harry asked, "Shall we?"
Nodding in agreement, Hermione held onto Harry's hand all the way to the staircases. Bounding down the steps as fast as possible, they were still among the last to enter the Great Hall.
What a sight!
Harry held tight to Hermione's hand as he watched her scan the room as he himself took in the sight of all his fellow schoolmates - in various stages of dress (or undress) as some of the boys were still shrugging into t-shirts and girls pulling their school robes tightly over their bedclothes.
Harry noticed that every one was sitting where they could get the best view of the centre aisle. If that meant that Crabbe was sharing a seat with Susan Bones or a Gryffindor was sitting kitty-corner to a Dungeon Dweller - no one said anything about the anomaly. Pulling Hermione through the crowd until she was walking ahead of him, it was nearly impossible to navigate among the students who were stacked on top of the tables and leaning over the shoulders of those sitting on the benches. Letting Hermione work her Head Girl magic, it took a moment for her to find them a seat. Well, a seat for Hermione and a place for Harry to stand behind Hermione's shoulder. Harry barely had time to register that he was ironically near Draco Malfoy when Luna and Padma pronounced to Headmaster Dumbledore, "Sir. We've been pranked!"
The 'swoosh' of points falling into the lead Hooligan's tank only drew more attention to the two Ravenclaws standing in the middle of the Hall facing the Heads Table.
Luna Lovegood and Padma Patel were COVERED in Ravenclaw Blue soapsuds. Hair, arms, backs of socks and torsos were splotched with the blue suds. But, interestingly enough, their skin was not stained - even though the blue suds clung to the side of Padma's porcelain-like complexion and Luna's pale hair was still its unusual, natural hue, Harry noticed.
"Headmaster. We were so careful," Padma began. "Since noon-time yesterday, Ravenclaw House has taken every precaution against the Hooligan."
Picking up where her fellow Prefect left off, Luna said, "We made arrangements to have our meals delivered to the dormitory and we all made a pact not to let ANYONE who wasn't a Ravenclaw through the portrait door. We had seen what had happened to the Hufflepuffs and decided that instead of trying the 'safety in numbers' tactic, we would reduce the Hooligan's opportunity to prank any our House by completely restricting access."
"Then, this morning…." Not really sure how to continue without showing how much she had enjoyed what had happened to her House, Padma looked to Luna for support.
Finding it impossible to keep a smile off her face, especially since she was having so much fun being covered in suds the colour of Ronald Weasley's eyes, Luna said, "We were in the showers, Headmaster." A chorus of testosterone scented catcalls broke out in the Hall. "I can only speak from personal experience - but what happened to me was confirmed by similar experiences by the boys as well."
Feminine whistles and wolf-calls proved that the female population of Hogwarts appreciated the mental image of Ravenclaw boys in the shower.
Smiling at the fact that Luna knew she was blushing, she continued. "We were in the shower room and noticed that the shampoos and body soaps we were using were rinsing clean off our bodies but that the soap bubbles were building around our ankles. We tried to run more water - you know - to try to flush the suds away. But the more water we added, the more suds that there were. It became apparent that some how, somewhere the Hooligan got us."
As if on cue, the entire Hall began to chant. This time students clapped their hands, stamped their feet or slapped the tabletops with cutlery with each syllable. "HOO - LA - GIN! HOO - LA - GIN! HOO - LA - GIN!"
Padma was trying to keep from laughing so hard that Harry could see tears leaking from her eyes as she and everyone else in the Great Hall applauded.
Headmaster Dumbledore was astounded. Two complete Houses and a professor pranked with in three days? Lightly stroking his beard, he asked, "Would you say that this was a worthy prank?" Thinking about the blue suds, he voice lost a touch of its amusement. "There was nothing damaged was there? Was anyone hurt?"
Quick to defend the Hooligan, Ron appreciated the way Luna held her ground. "Oh, no sir - nothing like that happened. We actually stopped what we were doing so that we all could watch. Headmaster, I wish that there was a way for me share with you the awe that ran through my House as this tidal wave of blue suds crested over the shower walls, broke at the door jamb and cascaded into our Common Room."
Realizing that she had become more animated with her hands as she demonstrated what took place in the Ravenclaw Dormitory, Luna was quick to clasp her fingers and let her arms hang limp. "But to address your question: no. Nothing was damaged and no one was hurt. That is the nature of soapsuds. They are essentially dry. And that is why they 'pop' - there is no moisture to maintain their spherical structure. As for the blue - we all thought that was a BRILLIANT touch. No sir, we were victims of our over-confidence in our intellectual and practical approach to the Hooligan's capabilities."
Another layer of points dropped into the lead Hooligan's receptacle.
Reassured, Dumbledore let a smile once again dominate his face. "How would you rate the execution, originality and the level of admiration for what has been done - too your entire House?"
Finding her voice, Padma spoke up loud and clear. "Sir. It was stellar. The Hooligan - without setting one foot into our dormitory - PRANKED our entire House by using our own intellect against us. And - not only do we applaud what has been done to us, but, " Looking at an eager Luna before touching her gaze with the Headmaster's, "We are wondering if we can be dismissed so that we can go back and…" Dropping the words she wanted to say, so that we can go back and have as much fun as our Housemates with the suds before they all evaporate, Padma back-peddled and hurriedly said, "Help our fellow Ravenclaws clean up the dorm."
"Ladies. Thank you. But, before you go, could you answer one more question?" Dumbledore asked.
Padma answered, "Of course Headmaster - how may we help you?"
"Where is your Head of House? I am eager to speak with him. I must confess that I am having a bit of trouble with my office guardian and would like to ask him his opinion," Dumbledore explained.
Luna looked at Padma before saying, "As soon as the suds hit the Common Room floor, I sent Terry Boot to collect Professor Flitwick. As far as I know, he is still at Ravenclaw House."
"Please tell him that I am in need of his council?" Looking the two Ravenclaws as puffs of suds drifted off their clothes as they made their way out of the Great Hall, he called out once more, "And ladies - do have a goodtime? And - if possible - I would be grateful if you could save me some of those amazing bubbles."
Turning to Prof. McGonagall, Ron couldn't hear what they were saying, but he was sure envious of the morning Luna was having. Reaching out for Hermione's arm, his grin stretched from one side of is face to the other. "What a week! You gotta promise me that if you see any Ravenclaw before I do, that you will get all the juicy little details."
Looking past Draco's head, Hermione angled her chin at Parvati and Colin forging their way to the tables. At each table, a packet was dramatically dropped and the contents splayed. By the time the Senior Correspondent for the Hogwarts' Gossip Mill made her way to where the majority of the Gryffindors sat, she had perfected her tag line.
"This is why you love me!" she pronounced.
The packet was an amazing collection of Colin Creevey's signature Wizard Photographs. That meant that not only did the subjects move, but also the snapshots were taken with the precision of a professional. And within each packet, there were multiple sets of the same pictures.
Sifting through the pile and taking out one set and passing the rest down the table, Harry leaned over Hermione's shoulder. Which happened to be one shoulder away from Malfoy. Ignoring the Prince of the Pains in the Arses, Harry could not control the laughter that burst from his chest. Nor could anyone around him. The pictures were priceless!
Holding a stitch that had formed in her side from laughing so hard, Ginny looked up at the earnest photographer. "Colin - how did you manage to get all these?"
Colin's pride in a scoop well delivered showed as plain as day. "I was coming back from the Owlery and decided to take a short cut through the fourth floor. Just as I was rounding a corner, I saw Terry emerge from the Ravenclaw portrait. While the door was ajar, I slipped in, took these - and a few more - and then raced to get them developed!"
The pictures were very worthy of praise - for Colin and for the Hooligan. It showed the Ravenclaw Common Room FILLED with blue soapsuds. Ravenclaws - known to be the most studious and least demonstrative of all the Houses - were having the time of their lives playing in the suds. Not only were they swimming through the fluffy stuff, but also they were throwing it at one another AND levitating great hunks of the stuff across the room at housemate who looked like they could use a 'third' or 'fourth' dousing.
Hermione's sharply inhaled breath drew everyone's attention to the picture that had been in her hands, which now was drifting down onto the tabletop. Pairs of hands scrambled to be the first ones to lay claim to it. Draco's fingers were faster than anyone else's. His reaction was similar his Head counterpart. Except that he included a, "See you in class, Granger," and slipped a note into her robe pocket when he rose from the table to cross to the Slytherin encampment.
The picture was of Prof. Flitwick - surfing the tidal wave as his head tumbled over his feet - down the stairs that led from the Ravenclaw shower room to the common room, encased in the blue suds, with a truly memorable smile on his face and every other facial feature scrunched up in absolute glee.
* * * * * * *
The next afternoon…October 23rd
If she thought about it once, then she had thought about it a thousand times.
Looking down over the banister, Ginny had been trying to catch up with one person all morning. Slapping the balustrade with an open palm, she really started to consider whim. One of these days I am going to vault over these banisters and drop to the next flight of stairs. Then, I will volunteer my name for the weekly "Stupidest Student Stunt of the Week' drawing. Of which Ron, Dean and Harry were past Grand Masters and card-carrying Members for Life. What was that they did? Oh yeah - pretty much everything they had been caught doing to each other for the past six years, she snarkily recalled. No, she needed to catch up with Hermione. Quickly.
Ginny Weasley wasn't the only one hot on the Head Girl's tail. Draco Malfoy wished he could summon his broom in order to catch up with Hermione. Ever since breakfast, he had been trying to catch her eye. He knew she had found his note. Either by guile or bizarre scheduling conflicts, somehow he was never able find the time needed to pull her aside. As more students pooled and flowed down the stairs and landings, he kept his eyes focused on her book bag. He used to track her by her curls. Now that she always wore her hair up, he had to find another means of not loosing sight of her in a crowd. And after the confrontation with her and Goyle's younger brother several weeks ago, sending a fellow Slytherin with a Malfoy Summons wasn't going to work either.
Too self-possessed to trot, or to even give the merest hint of being in a hurry, Draco gave superficial responses to whatever Crabbe and McNair were blathering on about. Double Transfiguration was going to take up the entire morning - hence no chance of garnering her attention until after class. Remembering her schedule tacked up in the Heads office, he had a pretty good idea where she would be before the afternoon lessons began. Pleased that his 'Plan B' was actually better than trying to pull her into an empty classroom, Draco didn't even bother to toss a disparaging look at Potty when he saw the black-haired Seeker come up along side Granger and tug playfully on the strap of her rucksack.
Walking and talking had been a skill Hermione had mastered long ago. Walking and talking while thinking of something else took a bit more concentration, but was still something that could be done with a certain level of competency. Walking, thinking and searching for something in one's book bag for a third unrelated item was slightly more challenging. After all, just because YOU know where YOU are going, doesn't automatically translate into have a clear path of least encumbrance. At least that is was the suddenly random thought that crossed Hermione's mind, as she suddenly had to swerve to avoid toppling a cluster of First Years like a group of Leg-Locked Hufflepuffs.
Approaching the last set of stairs that led to the first floor, the fine hairs on the back of her neck began to prickle. With one hand still buried in her pack and keeping one eye on the steps to make sure she didn't trip, Hermione barely grumbled when she felt a teasing tug on the strap she had slung over one shoulder. Which led to an even less of a struggle when the bag's strap was lifted off of her and smoothly slid alongside the book bag belonging to a certain green-eyed man/boy who had an extremely playful smile on his face. Looking appraisingly at her best friend, Hermione switched which side of Harry that she was walking and linked her newly freed arm through his. Enjoying the easy banter that had flowed naturally between the two of them for years, the final few minutes it took to reach Professor McGonagall's classroom left a smile on his face of which she knew mimicked her own.
Crossing the threshold, Hermione glanced around the room. Spying Dean and Ron she turned to Harry and said, "Why don't you catch up with those two and I meet you back here?"
Looking around and sensing Malfoy enter the room behind him, Harry nodded in agreement. This way I can touch base with Ron and Dean and all three of us can put our heads together to figure out what he is scheming. "All right. See you in a minute."
Making a show of dropping first Hermione's bag and then his own at their usual seats, only then did he cross over to where his mates were grouped around one of the large story-high windows. Harry was pleased to see Neville and Seamus had gotten to class a bit early. Five heads are better than three. Not to mention that Neville has a knack for noticing the small details that I sometimes overlook. That thought spawned the confidence behind his easy-going hails to his friends.
Seamus, who was currently sitting on top of a desk and propping one leg on the back rest of the matching chair, was in the middle of a story when Harry came up behind Neville and leaned his upper arm on his friend's shoulder. Nodding in acknowledgement to Harry's arrival, Seamus didn't miss a beat and continued with his tale. "As I was saying. I was on my way to class this morning and I saw Professor Dumbledore standing in front of his office SHOUTING his password three times at his guardian gargoyle."
Unable to restrain the impulse when Seamus left himself wide open, Ron was all nudges and winks when he said, "You don't reckon that it's gone stone deaf, do you?"
The collective groans of four Gryffindors were loud enough for Hermione and Prof. McGonagall to look up from their pre-class conference and level fixed gazes at the redhead.
"What?" Trying to explain himself as disarmingly as possible, he countered their disapproving looks. "If you had heard something like that, don't tell me you wouldn't've done the same?"
Following Neville's line of sight when the quieter boy turned towards a blur of movement near McGonagall's desk, the question as to what Longbottom was looking at was quickly answered. It was Dobby. He was delivering a steaming mug of something to the Transfiguration Professor. Still listening to Ron take his lumps for 'seizing the moment' and offering a small word here and there; Harry was more focused on what was going on across the room.
Hearing someone shuffle about near the vicinity of her kneecap, Prof. McGonagall greeted the Head House Elf warmly. "Good morning, Dobby. May I help you?"
Using his own particular brand of speech, which involved talking about himself and everyone else in the 'third person', the House Elf looked distinctly out of place in the classroom. And his nervousness was more than apparent. "Dobby has been sent on an errand of much priority. It was explained to Dobby that he must deliver this. "
Holding up the mug so that Prof. McGonagall could easily reach the decorative handle, "To Professor McGonagall with instructions that this tea will help the Professor with her throat." Tugging on his clothing, he turned his tennis-ball sized eyes to Hermione. "Dobby is grateful for being with Miss and not getting sick like all the others."
Directing a nod at the bat-eared Elf, Minerva dismissed Dobby with a very kind tone to her voice, "Thank you, Dobby. I am sure that I will enjoy this immensely." Placing the mug on the corner of her desk, the Head Girl captured her attention.
Watching her Head Girl crouch down, Prof. McGonagall looked on as Hermione pulled a pair of mix-matched socks from her pocket and pressed then into his hands. "Good bye, Dobby."
Taking a handkerchief out from his sleeve, Dobby's great eyes began to well up with tears. "Miss is always so good to Dobby. Dobby likes having Miss as a friend." And with that, he gave his nose a hearty blow.
Feeling embarrassed - not by Dobby's declaration of friendship - but for being the cause of the House Elf's tears, Hermione sounded a bit too firm as Minerva heard her dismiss the elf with a promise. "I will see you later Dobby."
Looking for a way to help one of her favourite students out of a prolonged engagement with an overly emotional Elf, Prof. McGonagall called the class to order.
Watching his friend pad his way out the door, Harry was a little perplexed. Why would Dobby be delivering tea to a teacher? Certainly he has more important things to do? But, shrugging his shoulders, Harry also knew just how devoted Dobby was to Hogwarts and headmaster Dumbledore. He probably wanted to do it himself out of respect.
Taking to his desk near Ron, but several rows behind Hermione, Harry dropped all thoughts of House Elves and focused on the evergreen clad woman.
Picking up her pointer, Prof. McGonagall easily slipped into lecture mode. "Today, I thought that it would be interesting to see if you all could come up with the Transfiguration sequence that the Hooligan used to change live sheep into miniatures that were not only re-animated but resuscitated to their original health but size as well." Turning towards the blackboard, she reached for her tea and took a pull on the hot beverage. "I know that all of you are proficient in turning animals into inanimate objects. But the level of control necessary for the Hooligan to accomplish what transpired would be what, Mr. MacMillian?" Clearing her throat, she waited to see which excuse the distracted student was going to use.
Ernie, in the middle of passing a note to the person sitting behind him, was nowhere near prepared for Prof. McGonagall's sudden question. "I don't know, Professor."
"And here I am, thinking that you already know the answer and hence the reason why your were slipping that bit of parchment to your fellow classmate." Prof. McGonagall's pointed look all but guaranteed Ernie a detention. Stifling a light cough by taking another swallow of her tea, she looked around the room for another viable student to answer her question. "Mr. Weasley, do you have any theories?" Harry thought that he heard her voice starting to crack as she pronounced certain consonants
Quite the student when he applied himself, all of Ron's previous joking fell to the wayside. Real concentration underlined every word he said. "Well, Professor. The Hooligan would have to make sure that they knew about the specific sheep in question and that person would also have to be very conscientious of how much time the sheep were transfigured into miniatures. As we have learned, the longer something is transfigured, the harder it is to revert it back to its original state."
"You are correct." Turning to another student, Harry was 'all ears' when Prof. McGonagall asked another question. "Mr. Malfoy. How could the Hooligan have prepared the sheep so that when Professor Snape said his incantation once, all twelve sheep transformed at the same time?"
Without missing a beat, Draco replied, "The Hooligan must have added a some sort of multiplier spell into the transfiguration process."
Impressed that her Head Boy had a ready answer, she did not feel any compunction in delivering a, "Well said, Mr. Malfoy," to the fair-haired Slytherin.
Stepping away from the black board only to stand in front of her desk, McGonagall was relieved to find no trace of the tickle that had been plaguing her over the past few days.
Feeling a bit renewed, she took another swig of her tea before issuing her instructions for the remainder of the lesson period. "I would like you all to break up into groups. Your lesson this morning is to prepare the systematic process that the Hooligan most likely used to achieve the results we all heard about. As this Hooligan is in all likelihood a housemate of someone who you all know, there is no reason why anyone in this class cannot map out the processes. I will circulate among to you to monitor your work and offer guidance where needed." Pausing to write something on the board, she turned to face the twenty-five students who looked like they had just been sentenced to de-barnacle the Giant Squid. "The first group to successfully produce a viable sequence will earn their House ten points apiece for each participant." With that being said, she toasted her students with another swallow of tea. As if to say, good luck.
Glad to de-barnacle the Giant Squid if there were only five points involved, the prospect of ten points and the bracing round of butter beers housemates would gladly procure was enough to send desks clumping together as everyone tried to assemble the best possible team. Therefore, it was no surprise to Harry when McGonagall pulled Hermione away from he and Ron with a simple wave of her finger. Nor when she did the same to Malfoy and pointed to where Susan Bones and Terry Boot were scribbling manically on a piece of parchment. Ron mirrored Hermione's apologetic shrugs when he saw her get placed with Zabini and MacMillian. Zabini's really good, Ron thought, but that wanker MacMillian would seriously handicap the both of them.
Two hours and twenty minutes into the exercise, Neville gave a frustrated sigh, ran his fingers through his hair and a low whistle. To anyone else, it gave the impression that the tall lad was stumped. To Harry, Ron and the other Gryffindor boys - the whistle was a subtle code that he and his dorm mates had devised to alert one another that something was 'afoot'. It was the span of several seconds before Harry nudged Ron. Using his stretching ruse, Ron had caught a glimpse of a black robe slipping out of the classroom door. Professor McGonagall was not at her desk. She had also stopped circulating among the groups. In fact, all Ron could tell was that she had moved to one of the bookcases and had proceeded to pull a number of large tomes off the shelves and started stacking them on a nearby study station. Her tea was all but forgotten.
With Hermione fully caught up with sorting out Ernie and Zabini, there was no chance for help from that sector. Tapping Harry's foot and jerking his quill in the Transfiguration teacher's general direction, Ron leaned forward and whispered, "What's that about?"
For the majority of the lesson, McGonagall had poked and pointed at the various attempts each group formulated. Never really saying anything but getting her point across nonetheless. Which was very typical when she really wanted her students to muddle through a lesson on their own. More than once she had expounded to all her classes how all the lecturing in the world could only supplement the knowledge gained by hands-on applications and practise. Which was why she had such a high success rate in her O.W.L and N.E.W.T level classes.
Chancing a look at Malfoy - the Slytherin too had noticed that Professor McGonagall wasn't directly involved in the lesson. However, if Harry was any judge, His Royal Blandness did not seem too put out by her lack of interaction.
"I dunno. Maybe she has some sort of summary she's preparing?" Harry could only come up with that one viable possibility.
If only a few people in class noticed Dobby leave the room, no one missed the appearance of Headmaster Dumbledore standing in the doorway. Or the smug way Pansy Parkinson re-took her seat next to Crabbe. "Professor McGonagall - I understand you wish to have a few words with me?"
Nodding tersely, Professor McGonagall moved to the blackboard.
"What is it that you seem to think I can assist you with, Professor?" Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled behind his half moon glasses as he smoothed down a few flyaway wisps of his beard.
Raising a hand to her chest and then lowering it back to hang slackly at her side, Minerva McGonagall seemed to be… at a loss as to how to say what she needed to convey.
"Professor, from what Miss Parkinson has told me, you had dispatched her with all due speed. In fact, the note she presented - in your own handwriting - asked me to come as quickly as possible." Dumbledore was quickly forming an idea of his own as to what was troubling his tenured staff member. And it was beginning to show on his face. Looking around the room, he settled his gaze on the slightly flushed teacher once more. "Perhaps if you wrote it down it would make it easier for you?" A slight hand gesture accompanied his words.
Opening and closing her mouth, Minerva narrowed her eyes. Instead of reaching for a piece of chalk, she pulled from a pocket inside her robe a wand. For half a moment, it looked like she was going to actually launch a hex at Dumbledore. In the other half of the same moment she began to write in the air with the tip of her wand.
I'VE BEEN PRANKED!
Dumbledore had all he could do to keep his eyebrows from touching his hairline. The students in her class certainly did not misinterpret what she wrote. Who in the name of Merlin could prank Minerva McGonagall in the middle of her class? That was the ten thousand-galleon question. Raising both palms to keep the twenty-five Seventh Years quiet, Dumbledore could not wait to hear how this prank came about. "Professor McGonagall, can you tell me how was this accomplished?"
NO!
Looking at the students and looking at the two-letter word floating in the air in front of his friend, a few more pieces fell into place. "Is that because you do not know what happened to you?"
NO!
The two letters were bigger and brighter than their predecessors. "Professor McGonagall, I am afraid that I am at a loss. If you cannot tell me…" Dumbledore deliberately let his words trail off and fade as he stroked the surface of his beard again.
I CANNOT TELL YOU BECAUSE THE HOOLIGAN STOLE MY VOICE!
The bright floating letters did not contain any of the precisely flowing script he had grown accustomed to seeing over the years. By force of will, he kept the students in their seats and prevented the excited exchanges from bursting forth and dominating the few minutes that remained in the lesson. Completely enjoying the way the Hooligan had struck, Dumbledore couldn't help but ask, "Is there someone I should summon for you to question, Professor?"
The look on her face was the epitome of how one's expression would read if the words, "How exactly am I supposed to do that when I cannot even speak?!" flowed sarcastically from her tongue.
In less than a moment, Professor McGonagall put her hand to her chest, leaned backwards and perched herself on the edge of her desk. Putting half of her face in one hand, she threw a sidelong glance at her long-time friend, mentor and superior.
It was her shoulder shaking that gave her away.
Professor McGonagall was laughing. She was laughing so hard that she had to repeatedly squeeze water from her eyes.
What every person in the Transfiguration classroom bore witness to was not the tight snicker that had been heard on occasion come from the Deputy Headmistress. This did not compare to when the Gryffindor House Matriarch lightly chuckled at her House charges' latest antics. This was a full-on, body encompassing laughing session the likes of which had not been witnessed by so many persons at one time in a great many years.
Hearing the bell toll, Dumbledore knew that no one was going to go anywhere without having The Questions' answered. "Professor, would you say that? -" He was interrupted by a shaky hand being raised in the air and a flutter of wrist movements by his stricken Transfiguration teacher.
Yes.
YES.
Y E S!
"And your level of admiration of said prank?" Dumbledore knew the answer before the words left his cheeks.
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
What he wanted to say was: Even when you can't speak, you still don't miss the mark, do you Minerva? What he had to say was, "Thank you. Professor McGonagall for your candour." And with an abbreviated bow and a swish of robes, Headmaster Dumbledore was off to the Great Hall to answer the questions that the Hooligan effective stripped McGonagall from answering. Good Show! That one phrase repeated itself in his mind off and on throughout the rest of the day.
Looking at twenty-five students who were looking for her to say the two words that would release them, Professor McGonagall could feel the excitement thrum through her N.E.W.T level class. Well, if I can't say it, the least I can do is this, she ruefully mused. Stabbing at the air, she gave them what they had been waiting for:
C LA S S D I S M I S S E D ! ! !
She coupled her words with hearty waves of her hands like she was pushing them out the door.
Let no one say that my Seventh Years are slow on the pick up, she thought as the squeak and scrapes of desks and chairs being shoved around were the only sounds heard as the students fought to re-arrange the furniture. All but tripping over one another, they clambered to get out of the classroom and spread the word that Professor Minerva McGonagall had been pranked. And pranked well!
* * * * * * *
Not everyone was eager to start spreading the wealth of knowledge gained in Transfiguration class that morning. That kind of job was best left to the professionals - a.k.a The Hogwarts Gossip Mill.
Two different boys, in two different parts of the castle, were mulling over the events of the past four days. Two seemingly untouchable teachers and two complete Houses had been struck. Both boys shared the same afternoon lesson. Both boys shared a fancy for a certain Head Girl. Both boys were convinced that if the pattern held, then one of their Houses would be next to fall. Neither felt the grim fear of being hunted - in fact - the opposite was true. Looking at the bright afternoon sun streaming through the castle windows, both boys pulled out an identically written note. Each had been charged with delivering the piece of correspondence with the utmost urgency at the first opportunity with strict instruction not to break the wax that held the edges together.
Instructions - not promises.
Hermione,
Luna wanted me to tell you that
Dumbledore had samples of our
Products analysed.
We are to report to the
Headmaster's Office this afternoon.
Ginny
PS - My costume is SO fabulous.
I can't wait to see yours!
Carefully refolding the parchment and muttering, "Reparo", over the hastily applied seal, both boys had the same thought cross their minds.
Girls.
And what a boring place the world would be without them.