Author's Note:
This chapter has been LONG OVERDUE for an obscenely long time. I cannot apologize enough for the wait and the delay. I will PROMISE YOU that this chapter will make it up to you. In addition - as you may have surmised, this story was created before the release of Book 6 and so it should be read as if Book 6 has yet to be published. I do have my own special take on wandless magic - again created before JKR laid the foundations for how wandless magic should work.
As before, italics have been used to denote what a character is thinking.
This chapter is dedicated to MC and Allie. You two rock.
Chapter 7: Remedial Relations
Thursday, October 23rd - After lunch, just before afternoon lessons…
Walking the corridors, a Hooligan Contender mentally recounted the weeks' accomplishments: Snape, McGonagall, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.
Turning a corner, a sly smirk pulled at a corner of the Contender's mouth. Speak of the devils…
A troupe of Hufflepuffs was making their way across the Breezeway. Some were telling their version of the Leg Lock Jinx prank. Others were speculating who the Hooligan should do next.
A Hooligan Contender easily answered the hails from the bright-eyed Hufflepuffs and kept walking without breaking stride.
Catching a snippet of what one 'Puff said to another as the troupe moved away, the temptation to answer was irresistible.
"DEFINITELY! "
A shower of 'wickeds', 'brilliants' and 'stellars' fell in the Breezeway.
Of course the answer would be 'yes'. How could it not? Rounding the corner, the Contender derisively humphed at the Hufflepuffs. If a Quidditch team were properly pranked, of course the culprit would have to have been the best Hooligan ever!
If the Hufflepuffs noticed any pride in that one word, good for them. That means that they will repeat how impressed I am with the Hooligan. Daring to swagger, the Contender savoured the irony. They will think that I am too proud of the Hooligan to be the Hooligan.
*** *** ****
Two different boys, one roaming the Quidditch Pitch and the other contemplating the lake, each fingered copies of the same note.
Two different boys, with two similar agendas, each folded their note and cast a repairing charm on the wax seal.
Indulging in a rare moment of self-appreciation for well-laid plans, Harry, Draco, and the Contender each shared the same thought: So far, so good!
* * * * * * *
"Mr. Finnegan." Curling his lip and wrinkling his nose at the smell of singed hair, Snape resisted the urge to trace the plumes of smoke winding towards the ceiling. Looking down at the soot-encrusted Gryffindor, "Again, you have proven how flattering it is to be devoid of eyebrows. I would wager you enjoyed an extra helping of wool-"
No one could stay quiet as that one word reminded everyone of the moment when the Golden Lark of Prankdom went down in a blaze of text book-grazing glory. The fact that it had come from the Potions Masters mouth inspired more than one person to bleat like a sheep.
"Silence!"
Snape made sure his posture was as stern as the command he issued. Leather heels clicking against the stone-flagged floor followed the swoosh of a silk-lined cashmere overcape swinging dramatically around his body.
"There is no foolishness in this class."
The statement reverberated off the dungeon walls.
"Tell me, Mr Finnegan." Savouring the deep breath of fear-invoked quiet deepened the timbre of his voice. Slowing his speech, Snape found himself all but smiling as he laid another verbal trap. "Might I suggest sharing - with the rest of the class - where you procured the cotton?"
"Cotton, Sir?" Seamus answered before Harry could warn his mate to keep his mouth shut.
"The cotton you used to stuff that vacant cavern that is fixed between your ears!" Snape traded a palm-to-podium impact for a belittling vocal crescendo.
Knowing he had to palm Neville three Knuts because Snape did not smack his podium brought a wry twist to the corners of Harry's mouth. Another thought drew his eyebrows closer together; Snape verbally pouncing on Seamus pricked at his Gryffindor loyalty.
Just who does he think he is?
An ankle wrapping around his lower leg answered that question, warning him not to say anything in Seamus's defence.
He's the one chap who would take away House points and bounce you into detention before you finished one sentence.
Releasing the chokehold he had on his quill, Harry looked over his left shoulder and took in the sights at a desk situated two rows back. The vapours rising from his dorm-mate's desk wound around the magically suspended candelabras.
Goth much, Snape?
It was one thing to make sure the Irish lad never forgot why he had to shave less often than his fellow man; it was another to listen to Slimerus embarrassing the kid because he did not make the concoction correctly.
"The lustrous nature of Mr. Finnegan's g-l-o-w-i-n-g complexion," Snape started walking among the rows of desk again and addressing the class, "Is proof positive that Ylang-ylang and Boomslang are NOT interchangeable." Sweeping his arm out only to catch the hem of his overcloak with his fingers, he tugged the well-tailored garment closer to his body. Barely disturbing the drape of the fabric, Snape pulled out his wand and Vanished the smoke-belching cauldron.
Striding to the front of the class, he welcomed the effect the added height of his podium had on students. Leering, tilting his head towards where the Gryffindors sat, he summoned his favourite high-hatted tone, "There are twenty-two consonants and vowels between the letters 'B' and 'Y'. Just because some things sound the same does not mean that they should contain the same properties, Mr. Finnegan."
Harry decided that Snape's patronizing words would have a five-year old spinning on his heels and telling his mother that, "… the tall man with the big nose is a big meanie!"
"Forty-two points will be deducted from Gryffindor. One point for every letter Mr. Finnegan did NOT associate with proper ingredient and twenty more for, what I can only assume, was the misappropriation of a House Elf's time."
Taking up a quill, he made a show of making a notation in the margin of his lesson plan. The lack of dismays to his barb brought his eyes rolling to the ceiling.
Refocusing his attention on a quadrant of the room that apparently needed clarification he bit out, "House elves are not meant to lead study sessions!"
A vaguely malicious grin thinned the Potion Master's lips as a delicious thought came to mind. This is an N.E.W.T level class after all.
"There will be a deliberate error within this string. " Picking up a piece of chalk, he smirked as an elaborate chemical equation began to take shape. Speaking without looking over his shoulder, Snape hissed a command through clenched teeth. "Find it."
With every symbol that was drawn on the board, Harry could feel his temper rising. Plotting revenge against The Snarky Walking Oil Slick of Hogwarts swapped the mental image of seeing Snape burned in effigy to something slightly more benign. Like having pudding smeared on the professor's bed sheets. Nodding his head in approval, he could hear Fred and George agreeing with him. Better yet, Ron justifying the sacrifice of a preferred dessert. Pudding is good. It is cold, slimy and leaves a stain impossible to get out. Just like Snape.
The foot against his ankle relaxed when Harry loosened the grip on his quill for a second time. Aside from the need to back up a mate, Harry was thoroughly enjoying this Potions class. Seamus blowing up his face, Snape not living down the Fleecing he received earlier this week and now a little game of footsies - what is there not to like?
The Gryffindor Code was built to be colour-blind. Reviewing the parameters, Harry silently recited: green, red, blue, or yellow are not allowed to be factors when it comes to 'them vs. us'. The Code was specific when it came to 'student versus teacher' relations. Looking to his left, at the Slytherins, Harry privately quoted a portion of the Code. Seek alliances with other students when faced with an antagonistic professor.
Getting Ron's attention by surreptitiously tipping his chair back until the backing lightly tapped the desk behind him, he instigated the Gryffindor Chain of Mischief. Harry to Ron, Ron to Dean, Dean to Seamus, Seamus to Neville, Neville to Pavarti, Pavarti to Harry - mission accomplished. Harry angled his chin towards The Snape Pit.
Blaise, Draco, and Millicent seemed to be unable to keep the amused sniggers entirely behind their teeth. Putting a bag of Honeyduke's chocolates against whether or not the Slytherins were laughing with their fearless leader would keep Ron in a state of chocolate euphoria for a week. The Hogwarts Gossip Mill ran a daily tally sheet indicating the number times Snape, himself, referred to the four-legged, multi-coloured puffballs that had made guest appearances in his classroom on Tuesday. Skipping the headlines and taking in the accompanying article, all students taking the Potion Master's classes made sure to convey that they had not forgotten the Fleecing of Severus Snape. Harry was looking forward to being a featured source for the Evening Edition. Too bad Lavender doesn't have an Extendable Ear, Harry thought. The Mill would have enough material for three issues a day!
A sharp jab to his elbow - contrived by the retrieval of an errant inkpot - brought him back to the moment. The clanking of his chair down onto all fours and breaking the 'no noise' decree cost Gryffindor another ten points. Seeing the hand motions made by Blaise towards his Head of House was well worth those ten points. Harry made sure he touched eyes with Zabini. A closed fist, a slightly swinging elbow and a tongue poking a cheek in time with the down swinging forearm - he and the Italian shared the same hand gesture towards the black-garbed professor who was still writing out the complex equation.
"Mr. Malfoy. Might I suggest that you inform your House that a meeting expounding on the benefits of Inter-Dormitory Relations will be hosted in the Slytherin Common Room?"
Not hearing any response, Snape almost cracked a smile at his Head Boy's wile. It seems that the boy knows better than to answer any of my questions that start with 'might I'. Turning away from the board, Severus veered his gaze to his charge. The look he shot at the tall blonde said what he could not: So close, Mr. Malfoy. But not quite close enough.
"Key note speakers will recount the experience of mucking Thestral stalls and raking the Hippogriff paddocks. I foresee Mr. Potter and Mr. Zabini and yourself providing enlightening testimony that I know will be… riveting to say the least." Silently, he congratulated himself on tying the three students together with the word 'and'.
There was no way to miss the sarcasm in those words, Harry thought. Especially the way His Most Mono-Chromed said 'and' as well as 'riveting'.
Harry kept his eyes on Draco. Despite the return of a reassuring presence in Hermione, he still found himself squeezing his quill until the ink dripped out of the feather. Not to be outdone, he mimicked Malfoy's cool detachment. If a Slytherin could look unfazed, then so could a Gryffindor.
"Sir, I think that is a brilliant idea." Drawling out the word 'brilliant', Malfoy's sarcasm was not hard to miss.
Nor was Draco's casually tossed challenge.
"Knowing that you will be there will guarantee its success."
Slouched down in his chair, Malfoy barely bothered to raise his head when he counter-moved the Potions Master. Draco might have deliberately limited himself to Snape's black gaze, but Harry could see that Draco cocked an expression that was worthy of his post-script. "Don't you think so, Professor?"
Harry gave a bit of applause for the facial expression Draco fired at point-blank range. Not only did His Most Blondness confirm Snape's attendance through a fringe of bangs, but he cornered the Potion's professor at the same time with more than a dose of false flattery.
What is Malfoy playing at, Harry wondered. Why is he locking horns with Snape?
Looking to his best friend for a lead, he saw his desk mate tuck a curl behind her ear. This gave him a clear view of her stifling a smile. She is enjoying this.
Understanding why Malfoy locked Snape into attending that blasted oral presentation he had been volunteered for shifted to being a secondary concern.
Damn! How am I going to get anything done this term: Quidditch, grunt monkeying, studies and now groomsmanship? The possibility of him restricted to the Common Room in order to catch up on his lessons was starting to play out in Harry's mind again.
The formation of letters on his paper split Harry's attention between the Blonde Wonder and the desktop. Three words disappeared from his parchment almost as quickly as phrase materialized: cheek - from Draco?
Snape looked down at the boy who cleverly manoeuvred him through a hoop. Feeling his hands lock across his chest, he could feel a generous portion of crow cooking for the youth. Preparing to take the impertinence out of the lad and put him in his place, Snape began, "Mr. Malfoy. Might I-"
Hermione's hand shot up.
The allure of taking more points away from Gryffindor House pulled his attention from Draco and refocused it on the best student in the class. "Speak, if you must."
"Sir." Keeping her attention squarely on the Potions Master, Hermione's voice rang strong and clear. "Mr Potter's services have already been pledged by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall to Caretaker Filch."
Harry knew by the measured tone of her voice that the words Hermione spoke were not the first to form on her tongue. So does someone else…
My, my, my - what do we have here? Knowing that the Head Girl chose her words deliberately, Snape took in the reactions going on around him without moving his eyes. "Then I think it is only fair that Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini get to enjoy the company of the thestrals and see to all their needs - hoof to tail - every afternoon UNTIL Mr. Potter's social calendar has an opening."
Shifting his stance and his expression to one that clearly read that she was responsible for the boy's latest after school activity Snape sealed all four of the student's fates. "Would you agree, Miss Granger?"
Harry was not surprised that Hermione did not answer. The neutral look on her face was a good masque. Good - but not perfect. There was something afoot in her mind. He could feel… power… coming at him, emanating from her. The strands of feathers on his quill began to tremor in the wake of an unseen vibration.
Snape was momentarily taken back before he recovered his own impassive expression. So, Miss Granger - you want to play do you?
"Since Mr. Potter is so busy with outside commitments and the like," an unpleasant gleam sparked in the eyes of the teacher. There is more than one way to do this.
Approaching her desk, Snape made sure that Miss Granger knew exactly who he was speaking of, "Then it would be unreasonable to expect him to secure any thoughts onto paper as I recount the precise brewing procedure of this potion."
Bringing his arm down from pointing at the chalk board, Snape swept the room with a leer. And made sure the whole class knew whom they could thank for his next announcement. "The foundation of which will be the subject of a three foot test to be given on Tuesday next."
Assorted levels of grumblings broke out across the room. A look of feigned innocence closed Snape's face. It was the epitome of: surely, you can't be blaming me?
Harry got an eyeful of wand just before he heard Snape call out, "Accio quill!"
An exasperated sigh followed his shoulders slamming against the wooden backing of his chair as the Potion's Master deftly plucked the quill from its conjured arch. Great. Just great, I got beaten by Snape.
Looking over at Hermione gave him nothing. She wasn't looking at him. In fact, she wasn't looking at anyone. Her eyes were open and Snape was standing right in front of her. It's like she is not seeing him, Harry thought. He actually saw her inhale deeply and let that neutral expression come over her again. Keeping his face impassive was hard. But, if it meant that it bolstered Hermione then he could do it.
There was some sort of competition taking place between them. But, it's not a stare down, Harry decided. Snape is looking at Hermione and Hermione's looking at the wall. Flitting between the two, Harry saw Snape make slits out of his eyes; Hermione's eyes did not blink. In fact, he thought, they are starting to water a bit.
Behind him, the unmistakable scuff of a book being pushed towards the top of a desk was heard as Ron dusted off his stretching ruse. To his left, Draco shifted from a sprawled, disinterested position to something akin to constrained awareness.
At a glance, it looked like the tall boy was nonchalantly shifting in order to prop his across his knee. In fact, Harry could see that the Head Boy was writing on a piece of parchment. Hang on - something is too familiar about that position. Not Malfoy's legs, but his whole demeanour. Loose limbs and locked shoulders; I've seen him like that on the Quidditch Pitch. Specifically, when the Slytherin Seeker pinpointed the Snitch and was deciding whether to end the game with a surgical strike or toy with the opposing team with some coldly executed subterfuge plays.
Harry felt his eyebrow quirk at the two similar reactions. Who knew Ron and Malfoy could come together over anything?
Harry watched as the back of Malfoy's hand did a broad sweep across his desktop. For himself, he did not move a muscle beyond re-anchoring his eyebrow. Some things did not need re-stating: Hermione is under my protection, just the same as Ron. If Snape started anything, both his best mate and his adversary en residence would have to step in line.
Somewhere among the rows of desks, Harry heard the sharp tinkle of breaking glass. Along with everyone else, he turned in his seat. A shattered beaker at her feet, a very flushed Susan Bones stammered, "It wasn't my fault."
"And I suppose that piece of equipment just happened to roll off your desk and break at your feet for no apparent reason, Miss Bones? Twenty points from Hufflepuff for un-necessary destruction of school property. "
Watching Snape's cloaks billow and swirl as he focused his ire into his adjusted lesson plan, Harry slumped down in his chair and kicked his heels wide. Ron is so right - he's gotta practise that move in front of a mirror.
The sudden image of Snape cat-walking in front of the Mirror of Erisad as he spun and opened his robe to display the latest in Hogwarts fashions pulled Harry straight up in his chair. Not good - that is really not good, Harry told himself.
Needing a distraction before the Spring Line was unveiled; he stared down at his papers. Contemplating whether he could memorize what he was missing as Snape launched into extreme detail about the potion at hand, Harry all but sniggered out loud. Clapping the insides of his soles together, a Sirius-moment made his decision. More than half the class has passed. As it is, I have not written down a word the Supreme Slytherin has said. There is no point in focusing today.
The sound of academic survival rang as his desk-mate reached for a fresh piece of parchment. The dip, tap, scratch rhythm of quill to paper was barely audible. What was as loud as the Hogwarts Express was the gentle exhaling of air she used to speed the drying of the ink.
Sorry.
Harry kept his face blank as those five letters appeared on his parchment. The flexing of his toes inside his shoes was the only telltale sign that he was caught off guard.
Don't be thick, Harry. Stop it. Your feet will cramp.
There were only two persons who chided with concern. Both of them like to knit, but Molly Weasley is home at The Burrow.
Glancing to his left, all he could see was Hermione dipping her quill into her inkpot and tapping off the excess ink. All but shrugging his shoulders he thought, nothing new there. Scratching at her parchment until she needed more ink, she saved time by blowing on her notes at the same time she dipped and tapped. Hang on - where aren't there any notes on that second page?
Think, Harry.
Dip. Tap. Scratch. Blow.
Blow.
Blow!
It's about time, Potter.
Harry felt his eyes light up with pride and the foreseeable potential benefits. The cleverest witch of our age still surprises me. Only Hermione would be able to come up with something like this. Number Sixteen on the List of Things that Are Grand about Being Back at School: learning new ways to slip things past the professors.
Dip. Tap. Scratch. Blow. She blew the words from her paper to his. Harry watched as Hermione's drying breath erased the words from her parchment only to have the letters re-form on his paper.
Pretty good, huh?
With Snape confiscating his quill Harry found himself in a unique opportunity - he had time to take in those around him.
Pretending to pay attention, he glanced at his best friend. Facing front, all he could see was her profile. Every now and then, he could see her eyes close, her lips purse and then shudder. She must be chilled. The dungeons are always damp. More than once he had been grateful for the fires they had to light in order to brew heat sensitive potions.
In fact, she was taking notes. The second sheet of parchment he saw her extract had been slid underneath its mate so that only a portion showed out of the right hand margin. A light-hearted smile flitted across his face. Ron was right. We have been a bad influence on her.
Sweeping the room without shifting his position, a Seeker's skill well honed, Harry saw rows of books lining shelves. Bottles, with their labels precisely aligned, and all but reflected on the spotlessly clean floor.
Using his peripheral vision, he managed to see Zabini's dark head. Closer, though, sat Malfoy. Nothing odd there - he was taking notes. Hang on - something's not quite right. His hand kept brushing the right side of his paper, like he was pushing eraser grit off his desk. Ink dries, it absorbs. Hermione's wrist actions on that second piece of parchment coincided with his hand scratching at and clearing the edge of his paper.
Certain stiffening in Hermione pulled his attention from Malfoy. Leaning forward to get a better angle in order to read over her elbow was not an option. Still unsure how she did it Harry zeroed in on her - enchanted? - parchment. Like her notes to him, the words appeared briefly before they disappeared entirely.
Fine. Done. After dinner.
Ron's foot nudging the small of his back cost Harry a chance to read her reply. Ron, using the left side of his foot to tap the left side of Harry's back, had him twisting his head to the left.
Both Gryffindors saw a self satisfied smirk come over Malfoy's face as his eyebrows raced to his hairline. It was the most emotion the Dungeon Dweller displayed all day. The way he rolled his quillback and forth between in his fingers, his gaze fixed on his parchment, as that wry look never completely faded, left a disgruntled Harry and an over protective Ron the rest of the class to think about what put a smile on Malfoy's face.
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
"MEWWWRRROOOOOWWWW!!!!!"
"Damn, Dean! Hold her still, will ya?"
"It's not me, Ron. It's these ruddy gloves." Dean winced as another splash of bath water trickled down his wrist and pooled near the tips of his fingers.
"It's your job to hold her! It's not like YOU have to wash her." Ron's nose wrinkled as Dean saw a thoroughly disgusted look twist Ron's lips. "Man, this stuff is horrid. Where did you get it?"
"Well, it's not any prettier on this end - just in case you're getting any ideas." An elaborate sleight-of-hand re-anchored his captive. Dean felt no sympathy for Ron. Make all the faces you want, Scrub-Boy, I'm not switching. A deal is a deal. Ron washes, I hold, Harry dries. "Filch said someone gave it to him. He said it came from a good authority; this person used it all the time."
"Yeah - I always want to smell like freshly ground garden gnome that has been putrefying in the sun all day." The stink was making Ron's eyes water. "Luna loves that about me - always ready to try new things."
"The award for combining whining, alliteration and a completely un-necessary visual image goes too..." Barely avoiding a swipe to his face, Dean juggled the squirming wet mass away from his body. "Hurry up, Ron. These gloves are getting stiffer than you do when you look at a table full of food."
"GggrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhROOAUGHHHH!!!!"
"Dean - what are you doing to her?" A wicked look crossed Ron's face. "You're four times her size. If you spent more time pumping iron than pumping your-"
"It's not me, Ron. You keep jabbing at her. Like you're Sir Scrub-A-Dub-Dub jousting with the Fanged-and-the-Furious" Picking up on a previous thread, Dean fished for information to take back to Ginny, "You know - I always told you that going on more than two dates with the same girl would not kill you."
"I AM NOT! If YOU held her still long enough for me too get at her," Ron, focused on the squirming mass in front of him, pointed an indignant, soapy, sopping wet shirtsleeve at Dean. "Then we can get this done and still be early for dinner." Ron switched from an indignant tone to one slightly more cavalier, "It would be a shame if a certain Ravenclaw did not dine with the most talented Quidditch Keeper since Oliver Wood."
"Like I am the one holding things up." Ron's answering smirk made Dean roll his eyes and level his gaze at his mate. "Just get it done, okay?"
"EeeeyYooooWWW!!"
"This is one pissed-off pussy." Feeling his pants rip by a deeply swung back leg, Dean looked disparagingly at his mate, "Remind me to ask McGonagall to get you a bigger bed. Something that is big enough for you and your ego."
"Like I am the one who looks like I am dancing with the Divine McG. Wanna practice a tango, Dean, while you're at it?"
Alluding to that horrible dance lesson which his brothers still razzed him about, Ron's teasing was infectious. Dean could count on Ron extracting payment for the shoe horn comment another time - more than likely in a very public place.
"With you? Your palms sweat. I'd drop you on your arse in a second."
"You'd drop me anyway." Thinking back to something said at the Welcome Back Feast, Ron feigned a wounded look, "Always a bridesmaid, never a bride."
"Hey - what can I say - I was busy with the ladies. So many men, so little time my friend. Like it's my fault you are such a tease." Switching from playing along with Ron to the task at hand, "I don't want to hurt her. Anyway, it's for her own good. She'll thank us for it. You'll see."
"Like she thanked Harry and me back in Second Year, Dean?" Ron's scoff matched Dean's derisive snort. "As if! I am still finding mouse carcasses in my shoes."
"MEWWWRRROOOOOWWWW - GggrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhROOAUGHHHH!!!!"
"Oh bloody hell! She's free!"
"What did you do that for?" Ron's eyes flashed with accusations.
"Me? You think I let her go on purpose?" Dean heard the stunned tone in his voice.
"Bugger!" Ron's expletive was tossed at Dean. "Get her!"
"I'm on it!" Scrambling up from his knees, Ron's earlier comment registered. Biting back, Dean heard himself countering, "It's not like I did it on purpose!"
Sliding on a splotch of soap and water, Ron landed on his back before climbing to his feet again. Another expletive preceded him pointing his finger as he pulled his feet together to rise, "Quick - she's heading for the door!"
A thump on the wooden floor pulled Dean's gaze from the cat scrabbling at any horizontal surface to seeing Ron on his back. "Like the view from down there?" Nothing I can do there, he mused.
The sound of a box being kicked off a shelf had him turning his neck. The damage the irate cat was causing was easier to see than the bounding that was taking place along the edges of the room. Suds flew in every direction as Mrs. Norris tried to escape and shake water from her fur at the same time.
"Yeah - it's the same way I looked up your mum's skirts."
Almost to his feet, Dean watched as Ron's worn trainers kicked out from underneath him again. Dean smirked at the redhead: karmic payback, my friend.
Landing on his arse Ron hollered, "Dean! The door!"
Dean felt like time had slowed, that every movement took forever to complete. He saw the door opening. Ron was pointing and shouting. Dean had all he could do to pivot on his heels and try to head Mrs. Norris off before she could leap through the growing break between the door and the jamb. He felt like he was running in-place instead of careening across the room. A tall, dark-topped something barely registered as the corridor came into view and a swish of tail was his Snitch of the Day as time came back to normal.
A sodden mess of suds and fur crashed into Harry. A combination of momentum and fur made him stumble backward; the heel of his shoe kicked the door wide. Dean was barrelling straight for him and the Londoner's arm swept Harry flush against the inside panel, the doorknob digging into the small of his back. Pulling his jumper free and preparing to recite the Top Five Better Ways to Greet a Friend, Harry stopped short as his mind replayed blur that was his friend. Oh Merlin - Dragon hide does not like water. The tops of his pant legs are ripped, like something sharp raked against the fabric. Nor was his dorm-mate showing any signs of slowing down.
Fingers digging into the pile of towels he carried, Harry whipped his head from watching Dean tearing down the hall to surveying the ravaged room. Sparing a glance at Ron, who was climbing up off his arse, hair falling over one eye with a soaked shirt front, it was only a second before he put everything together. Oh holy Merlin!
Ron bellowing something about women as he tore past the jamb and took off after Dean did not make sense. Dropping the towels on top of Dean's discarded, ruined gloves; Harry sprinted after the red-head.
Doors and corridors flew by as Harry tracked his friends by Mrs. Norris's wet paw prints. Down flights of stairs, across landings, through archways - no surface was sacred to an in-flight Mrs. Norris. Every now and again, sets of water spots would have at least one imprint smeared either to the left or right - right where one of Dean's or Ron's shoes slid.
Rounding the corner to the third floor, that was where Harry saw Ron and Dean running at full speed. Both boys were coming up on the staircases at the far end of the hall. Mrs Norris was alternating between running along the banister and leaping to the floor only to zigzag back to the banister.
Beyond his harsh breathing, the mewing of the pissed-off cat and his mates tossing out the occasional colourful adjective, Harry heard the Bitch Slap of Fate about to come crashing down on him and his friends. The grinding noise of stone against stone was unmistakeable. The stair way is about to shift!
Almost out of corridor on the fourth floor, he saw Dean and Ron at the balustrade where the third floor access met the run of stairs that led to the second floor. The stairs were about to separate. From where he was, Harry could tell by the way that Ron and Dean shared a look that all three of them were thinking the same thing: we miss this one, we lose. The guard rail across the landing was already in place and the staircase had already started to descend. A fluffed out Mrs. Norris, unfazed by the downswing, was taking the time to smooth her whiskers and tap her tail.
Taking the remaining stairs two at a time, Harry did not even blink as he his feet found their balance on the landing and his toes stopped within inches of the guard rail.
Coming up on his friends, his hands grasped the rough stone of the balustrade. Digging his fingers into the hand-rail for leverage, flexing his shoulder muscles and pushing off with his feet, the split second that Harry fell through the air was when the sound of Hermione's voice echoed in his head: what an idiot. Only this time, he was not chasing after Malfoy to get back Neville's RememberAll. His Standing Snitch Snatch was a signature move - but instead of being on a moving broom, he was now on a moving staircase.
Shifting his feet slightly as the whole case pulled away, a tremor ran the length of the run. Dean and Ron had landed somewhere near by on the stairwell.
Riding the downward swinging staircase, he shot the stunned cat a look. Mess with the teeth; you get the claws, kittie!
Shuffle, slide, shuffle, slide, soft knees - safe!
Harry was glad for the solidness of the steps as he dropped down from the banister. Seeing the staircase about to dock with the second floor landing, he stopped for a moment. Bloody hell! It was Mrs. Norris. You have got to be kidding me! She turned on her paws and he saw her hunker down and start stamping her back legs. Behind him, he could feel the adrenaline from Ron and Dean pulsing at his back.
"What the bloody hell!" Dean swore.
"She'll never make it - she's too heavy with all that water in her fur!" Ron's eyes followed every swish of her tail and flick of her ears as the huge cat prepared to launch herself to the second floor.
"Do you think-?"
"If we 'Wingardium' Mrs. Norris, McGonagall will transfigure our hides into one way tickets to Azkaban," Harry promised. Time is running out! "Ron?"
"Nothing for it - gotta run for it. Maybe we can-"
Ron's strategy made sense - until Mrs. Norris made it obsolete.
"The bloody cat jumped! Wet fur, no room to get a proper running start and she bloody jumped! I swear - I am going to find out if there is a bloody kennel in Azkaban," Dean growled.
"Later."
Harry was already on the move. Jolted with the staircase coming to rest at the second floor landing, he looked at Ron again. "What are you thinking?"
"You either run to something or away from something. She is running away from us - she is running to a place to hide."
Loping down another flight of stairs, Harry paused at the first floor before scanning the intersecting corridors. Damn! She could have gone anywhere! Looking at Dean and Ron, "Okay - we'll have to break up."
Cracking a lovelorn look in between pants," Already? I knew it. The Rake of Gryffindor has carved another notch in his bedpost."
"What can I say? I got the milk for free." Harry looked at the taller boy and pointed out the 'up-side' in being ditched. "Look at it this way - you can put out for the next person and not feel like you are cheating," Harry shot back at Ron with a blasé wave of his hand.
A tortured sigh came from Dean. Followed by the best combination of aghast and hurt Harry had heard in quite a while. "Wait - you mean that I have been pining after Ron, biding my time, and he has already been taken? Of all the no good, low-down rotten things, Potter…"
Holding up his hands in surrender, Harry made sure he made it look like he had done Dean a favour. "If it is any consolation, the milk is a little sour." Whispering loudly and egging Ron, "I'd say it's gone… bad, if you know what I mean. Like it's been left on the… shelf a little too long."
"My… cream has not… curdled, Potter!" Ron's indignant outburst was only upstaged by his reddening ears.
"Yeah, yeah Weasley. If that is what you need to tell yourself in order to sleep at night." Harry let his voice trail off deliberately. Switching gears, and facial expressions, he looked at his friends. "Dean, you take the kitchens and the first floor. Ron, you handle the Quad and Filch's quarters."
Ron nodded in approval of Harry's plan and added to it. "Harry. You should check out the Pitch and search near Hagrid's hut."
"Good idea. We'll meet back here in about an hour?" Harry looked from one face to another.
"Done," agreed Dean.
"See you then," echoed Ron.
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