5: When You Have To Say, ‘Now, That’s Just WRONG’

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Chapter 5: When You Have To Say, 'Now, That's Just WRONG'

---

Iain Hendeson, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, leaned forward to emphasise his rhetoric. "Look, it's simple enough. I'll write the names of several members of staff on slips of parchment. We all pair up, draw a slip, break into that person's room, locate an item of 'intimate apparel'... knickers to you, Jason," Hendeson responded to the growing frown on his fellow Ravenclaw's face while the others sniggered at the double entendre, "and bring them back here. We then string the underwear up like bunting over the Head Table."

A Slytherin, Alena Lundy, leaned forward with a predatory look on her face. "Forfeits?"

Hendeson looked thoughtful for a moment. "Failure to bring back an item will result in the losers having to stand on the table and sing 'I'm a Little Teapot' while wearing one of the retrieved items...and nothing else. Any other questions?"

When none were forthcoming, Hendeson pulled out a piece of parchment from a pocket and, casting Diffindo, cut it into strips. After a scuffle to find a quill, he quickly scribbled down the names of several members of staff and popped them into a small bag. As soon as everyone had paired up, five hands reached in to withdraw a slip and call out their target.

"Professor Sprout."

"Sinistra."

"Hey, Filch isn't a teacher!"

Hendeson flashed a wicked grin before defending his choice. "No, but he is staff."

"Trelawney."

Alena peered at the slip and held it up to her partner. "Who's this?"

Her partner peered at the name before replying. "The Muggle Studies teacher."

"Oh, okay."

Hendeson upended the bag over his hand to retrieve the last slip. "Which leaves me and Susie with... Madam Pince. Okay, off we go." The teams headed out of the hall, intent on their mission.

It had been Hendeson and his partner who had returned first, with a liberty bodice they had liberated from the librarian. Shortly after, they were joined by Alena and her Ravenclaw partner, who looked as smug as Alena looked ruffled and swollen-lipped. She forestalled the comment that was blatantly on the tip of Susie's tongue by proudly displaying a pair of Y fronts with the words 'Mug. Stud.' printed prominently on the waistband.

While the four of them were laughing at the obviously unintentional innuendo, Kevin Entwhistle and his partner, Stevie Cornfoot, came swooping through the Great Hall. Billowing between them like a double windsock was the most enormous pair of bright yellow flannel drawers anyone present had ever seen, property of Professor Sprout. It was obvious the stout Hufflepuff took no chances with the chill winds that blew around outside the greenhouses of Hogwarts.

The fourth and fifth teams slipped in almost unnoticed during the ruckus the two Ravenclaw boys had caused with their circuit of the hall, but the others made room for them to sit down. One pair revealed Sinistra's short, sheer night-dress with a flourish, to the appreciative sounds of the rest. Kevin looked sympathetically at the other two girls, who sat with a slightly stunned look on their faces. "You had Filch, didn't you? I wouldn't have had the nerve, myself. What were they, all manky and holey?"

The first girl seemed to come out of her trance at the question. "Actually, no, they weren't." She gestured to her friend, who pulled out a pair of perfectly pressed silk boxers in baby blue. "They were all like that. Silk. Dozens of pairs in various colours, all ironed and neatly folded." All eyes were drawn to the garment, each student lost in contemplation of the startling image they conveyed. Who would have thought it of the ghastly caretaker?

It was some time later before the final team staggered into the hall. They fell onto the bench where the others where discussing the best spells to fix the stolen underwear over the High Table, a smell of incense clinging to them and their faces ashen. "At last!" Hendeson said. "We were beginning to think Trelawney had caught you or something. So, Jason, Tim, what did you get?" The other teams all brandished their prizes as they waited expectantly.

Instead of producing the required garment, Jason shuddered and shook his head. "We didn't get anything." His partner shook his head to emphasise the statement.

"What, couldn't you get past her wards, or was she still up there?" Alena asked. So far, no one had questioned their good luck at not running into any of the teachers.

Jason shrugged. "Neither. We got in easily enough, and there was no one home, so we had the chance for a really good look around. We looked high and low, in drawers, in the bathroom, laundry basket, under the bed. You name it, we looked there, but we drew a total blank." The others were finally beginning to realise the horror of the situation.

"You mean, nothing? No knickers, no bras?" Susie asked. The two boys shook their heads, and she pressed on. "There must have been something...a nightie, woollen vest, leather corset, something?" The boys just looked her morosely.

Stevie had been sitting with a growing look of horror spreading across his face. "D'ya mean to tell us she swans around the place with no kecks on?" His question brought on a round of gagging sounds and gestures from the others as it finally sank in. A bottle was swiftly passed around in the hopes it could wash away that image.

When good humour had been restored, Hendeson stood up and gathered their attention. "Much as it grieves me to say it," he said, the smirk on his face belying his words, "the fact is that you two failed the dare, so you'll have to pay the price!" The protests of the boys were drowned out by the rest of the teenagers, and they were jostled out of their seats and into the nearest loos in order to comply.

A few minutes later, the revellers in the Great Hall were entertained by the sight and sound of a pair of blushing young men being led up onto the High Table, one in each leg of Sprout's commodious drawers to preserve what little dignity they could muster, where they sang 'I'm A Little Teapot', complete with actions, under some highly unusual bunting.

---

The biggest revelation of the night came when Hooch's clothes were all bet on one hand...and subsequently lost.

It had seemed a good idea at the time, one green hand holding up an almost drained glass of Firewhisky (best stick to recognizable drinks, Hooch thought), while the other held up what Hooch had thought was a winning hand. The main goal was to get Poppy naked...the woman had lost nothing but her shoes during the entire game, and was surprised when Hooch was the one to stand up in front of the other professors and strip.

It's okay. Poppy is fine with it, and the others will be, too.

After the pants (the final article of clothing left) were removed, the gasps around the poker table had ceased somewhat. A hint or two had been afforded by the previous clothes removed, but somehow, one more comment had to be added to the sight of Rolanda Hooch's penis, green as spring leaves.

"Holy fuck, it's bigger than mine," Remus muttered, loud enough for Hooch to hear.

Hooch calmly took his/her seat...ironically, without clothes, appropriate gender pronouns were confusing (especially with the amount of alcohol already consumed).

"Any questions can be answered when I'm sober," Hooch slurred solemnly.

The others nodded, shocked but pleasantly drunk enough to continue the game.

---

Oh, bugger it all! Why did humans have to be so fickle, anyway?

The evening had looked promising to Mrs. Norris until her pet, Argus, somehow got it into his near-petrified brain that he was due a bout of celebration at Hogsmeade with those other miscreants of a faculty. So he had powers now, so what? So did everybody. So he found good use for them during the battle, hadn't they all? And now he wanted to go drinking with the rest of the blighted staff? Her staff? Hmmph! Bloody bad staff as far as she was concerned!

She'd teach Argus to walk out on her! Wait until he came home to find just how far she'd got, with a good dead rat as a bribe for that sorry excuse of an almost Kneazle, (whose pet had probably abandoned him, too).

Bad Staff!

Humans were just too damn ignorant to train anymore. Not that Crookshanks likely had that problem. His pet was just too oblivious and self-willed to be properly trainable. He could probably use more than a sympathetic nuzzle about now. Hmmm, damn fine furry bits on that one, if she did say so, and some of the stories she'd heard about half-Kneazles... well, the best of both worlds apparently, or so she could hope. If old Argus was going to be like this, then maybe it was time for something a little more upscale than just a belly-rub! She flounced off the bed with a most un-ladylike, not to mention most un-felinelike, grunt and padded off toward the party herself.

At the very least she could make somebody else miserable. That always helped.

---

After a while it became clear that, most haunted building in Britain or not, Trelawney's spot was not good, not good at all. If the wall you are leaning against disintegrates after a while, that is not a good sign. She went to search for another place in the shack.

By now a breeze had picked up outside, causing the ramshackle building to sway dangerously in the wind and to creak and groan as it moved. But Sybill (being Sybill) was getting more excited by the minute by the moody atmosphere, taking it as a sign the restless dead would soon put in an appearance.

She wandered farther up into the house until she reached a room that seemed almost habitable, in a way. It was a bit less shabby than the rest of the house and contained a tattered sofa of an indistinguishable colour.

Thinking it a good place as any for her purpose, she entered the room, floating about in anticipation of a supernatural encounter. She was abruptly jolted out of her reverie when the door to the room slammed shut behind her. But she wasn't afraid, no, not Sybill Trelawney.

She was practically bouncing with excitement...as well as one could bounce while as drunk as she was...feeling her meeting with the spirits was near. She swayed over to the sofa, thinking it was a good place as any to await the spirits haunting the old house. As soon as she collapsed on it, sinking deeply into the half-decayed cushions, an enormous dust cloud rose into the air, fairly choking her. She started coughing and wheezing, waving about frantically in an effort to dispel the dust so she could breathe again. Her attempts to clear the air were so enthusiastic that she managed to roll off the sofa and land on her arse, raising further evidence of nonexistent housekeeping.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, coughing and wheezing some more. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea...

As the dust cloud finally dissipated (without her help), she sat there dazed, her mind a total blank for a while. This was not an uncomfortable state for Sybill, so she went with it.

Then suddenly, an unnatural wail echoed through the house, startling her into thinking once more. This had to be it!

Her gaze darting frantically about the room, she noticed that the dust clouds hadn't really settled at all, but were rather involved in a sort of dance across the floor, settling in strange patterns before being whirled up again.

She rocked back and forth in excitement, trying to decipher what the shapes on the floor could mean. It was hard to see them in the faint moonlight falling in from one of the windows.

Then one of the shapes seemed to stay as it was, while the others surrounding it were destroyed and reformed with a certain constancy. This was an undeniable sign of spirit involvement! She squinted to make out the one shape that didn't change. It had to be important! Making it out, she gasped. It was the Grim!

"No, no, not the Gri...Oh, yes! It's a cat! An omen for, uh, for... OH, yes! For wealth!"

Though she was of course relieved that the cup had passed her, she was nevertheless confused now. Would she become wealthy?

She leaned even closer to that shape, with her nose almost touching the film of dust and laughed. It wasn't a cat either, but a face!

She shivered, looking around her uneasily now. It was a face that seemed to stare back at her.

If this was the spirits' doing, maybe she should try to speak with them?

"Are you a spirit, wanting to guide me?" Sybill asked hesitantly.

Nothing happened.

"Hmph."

Maybe I should try to speak louder?

A cross between a squeal and a moan echoed through the house making an unearthly sound.

"All right," she muttered, taking the sound as an affirmation to her question and repeated her earlier question.

"Yesssss." The hiss reverberated through the house in a way that caused shivers to run down her spine. But she wouldn't give up now she had got a response!

"Are you a spirit from the near past?"

"Yes! Oh, yes!"

My, the spirits are... passionate.

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yeee-eesss."

"Am I... Will I ever not be considered a fraud by my peers?" Sybill asked, not really knowing why. She didn't really want to know the answer to that, to be honest.

"YES!"

Her heart dancing with joy, she couldn't help asking the next question as well. "Will Argus ever respond to my advances?"

"No!" The shout echoed through the ruin of a house, startling Sybill with its vehemence.

"Oh, well," she mumbled, slightly disappointed. But there were still other fish in the sea.

Feeling quite optimistic despite this setback, she asked some more questions about her personal future to which the answers were much more favourable, not to mention enthusiastic. They even seemed to build in fervour until the voices practically screamed a stream of "Yes!"

The next question she asked, however, was only greeted with silence. Repeating it received no reaction either.

Hmm, maybe I need to wait for a while? Sybill thought, unwilling to abandon the excellent connection she had with the Beyond just yet. So she asked her question every few minutes, staring intently at the shape of a face in the dust, and she wasn't disappointed. About a quarter of an hour later the spirits were again in the mood to answer her questions it seemed.

So it continued throughout the night with Sybill staring at that face in the dust and asking questions that would define her future and the spirits answering, interrupted by sometimes short and sometimes longer pauses.

---

That wasn't all. Remus' undershirt ("Werewolves do it better") as well as his boxer shorts with little pink werewolves on them raised quite a few eyebrows and a round of raucous laughter.

"They were a birthday gift from Nru... Nyr... Dora," he stated, too drunk to be really embarrassed and laughed the loudest of all with his arm around a half-naked Tonks, who was grinning like mad.

It was, curiously, not Tonks' underwear or lack thereof that shocked everyone the most...it simply wasn't that much of a surprise.

But after her initial good luck, Minerva was forced to take off her robes. Her choice of underwear was very surprising and raised quite a few cat-calls and whistles...and not only from the men. She sat there unabashed in her dragonscale pattern teddy. Certainly no one had expected that.

Soon after, an owl swept into the room through an open window, settling on the table directly in front of Tonks. She had quite some trouble in getting the message off the irritated bird's foot and then in trying to read it.

"Oh, it's from Kingsley again. Though why he needs to know if we've eated yet, I don't know! Oh, no wait! If we defeated You-Know-Who or something like it. Though why is he asking me that again for the fifth time? Or was it third? What the heck, I'd better use another bird in any case." With that, Tonks proceeded to stagger to her feet and pull Remus' undershirt on to cover herself minimally. After a long, drawn-out kiss with Remus, she wandered off in search of another owl.

---

"Right now, I want to feel you up against me," Harry said, punctuating the comment with a sleepy, bedroom stare over his glasses. It was almost sultry, but the honesty in it made it softer, and Draco started to melt in earnest. "Turn around."

"Okay," Draco quavered. Those insistent lips on his neck and firm hands roaming all over his body helped him decide.

Being able to snuggle against Harry's gorgeously defined chest and rub his toes and ankles against Harry's in an elaborate game of footsie under the water gave Draco the advantage of allowing him to watch the Weaslette eye them hungrily, though not necessarily jealously, over Granger's shoulder.

Why is this a turn-on? Do I have an exhibitionist streak? Residual straightness from all that time in the closet? And is it such a bad thing that she and Harry come as a set?

This was definitely a very good washing. Dizzyingly good. So good, he didn't hear the first few times Harry asked, "Clean yet, my lovely?" even though Harry traced every word directly onto Draco's ear with soft, flushed lips. All the whimpering Draco was doing might have drowned it out, though.

"Not...not yet," Draco gasped, his head lolling back on Harry's shoulder. Draco was ready to leave himself truly vulnerable with some sweet, foolish confession or another...when the door swung open.

"Wha...Whatsh th'me...mea...What the fuck?"

Snape?

DRUNK Snape?

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, in a very different voice than the lovely throaty one he'd been using, "just because I forgave him, doesn't mean he has to hover over my personal life like a human rain cloud."

Draco refused to accept that his favourite professor (who would be losing that status very soon if he didn't stop glaring at Harry and he as if they were outdated Potions ingredients) had just walked in on what was by far the most delightful moment of his life to date. And was drunk.

"Oh, help," Draco panted, "find...someone...else...to bother." He clutched at the side of the pool, groping for his wand and gathering the concentration to Transfigure Harry's tie into a suitable 'distraction'. "Go make yourself useful...ohhh!...somewhere over there...yes, yes...take this...mmm...if you're too pissed to...get it up!"

Snape's eyes failed to track where Draco had gestured. He squinted at the two boys, shuddered, and picked up the transfigured object, eyeing it with extreme puzzlement.

"Draco... do you have any idea where P-Potter's BEEN? You'd better be taking pre-prec... have we discussed safe sex?"

This was one of the most terrifying things Draco had ever heard from Snape, and that was really saying something. Harry had become rather adept at dealing with trauma over his lifetime, so his ears mercifully filtered most of it out.

Just then, a sound from the other side of the room interrupted Snape's train of thought. A truly indecent sound. A moaning sound. Three male heads whipped around in time to see the cause of that sound, to whit, Ginny licking a path from Hermione's throat to her earlobe.

Snape went slack jawed for exactly one minute before wandering in that direction, dazed, the forgotten vibrator hanging from his hands.

"Remind me to thank your girlfriend later," Draco said, relaxing back against Harry.

"You'll get the chance to thank her sooner," Harry said, as Ginny all but swam across the tub towards them.

---

Crookshanks curled up comfortably and unobtrusively beneath a suit of armour in the corner of the Great Hall, watching with wry amusement as the mayhem progressively advanced toward ever-increasing entropy. Out on the dance floor, apparently moving to their own internal music...which must have ranged from waltz to rock to Tibetan throat singing...the swaying, gyrating, and in some cases practically orgasming couples, seemed to be vying for the title of most inappropriate full-body contact while fully clothed.

With all the distractions around the room, Crookshanks may have been the only one to notice when Mrs Norris came strutting into the Hall with a self-satisfied air, a small grey fur-clad object clenched in her jaw. She was rather obvious in her scanning of the room, but didn't seem to find what she was looking for. With a visible huff, she weaved her way through the maze of shuffling feet, settled herself in under the punch-bowl table and dropped the rat.

Merlin's mange!

If there was one feline in the castle he really didn't want to deal with, it was Mrs Norris. But... that was one mighty fine looking rat she'd pranced in with. He watched as Mrs Norris left the rat under the table and began to prowl the far periphery of the Great Hall.

Hmmm.

Crookshanks snuck out and slunk under the punch table as only a half-Kneazle of his talents could. She'd dropped the thing right in big puddle of spilled punch, but still it was a mighty good-looking hors d'oeuvre. He gave the thing a tentative lick and felt a strange tingle on his tongue.

Not bad. Odd, but... He had another lick and couldn't help himself from taking one more. By the time Mrs Norris got back to the table, her lust-offering had been completely forgotten, and he was eagerly lapping directly from the puddle of punch. She eyed him with what Crookshanks could only assume passed for coquettishness among non-Kneazles, and joined him in licking up the fiery, yet somehow satisfying, elixir.

Crookshanks wasn't sure exactly when he became so aware of Mrs Norris, and that not only was she really a female feline, if rather far from a fine specimen of the form, but was also vividly and inexplicably... in heat. Far out of the normal season, but the sudden strong waft of pheromones left no doubt. His own hormones responded as only the hybrid glands of a half-Kneazle could, and he suddenly found himself thinking that she didn't really look quite so thin and scruffy. In fact, her light grey shading almost shimmered in the lighting of the Great Hall. When she gave him a haughty look and padded out the door with that particular sway to her tail, what could any hot-blooded Kneazle possibly do but follow, albeit attempting not to appear quite as eager as he truly felt?

After one last slurp of punch, of course.

---

Hermione was rudely ripped from her lust-induced haze and confronted with her Potions professor ogling her appreciatively. It was strangely exhilarating to have the complete attention of Severus Snape fixed on her. Belatedly she realised that she was completely naked and that Snape...her teacher...was staring at her. Blushing like mad, she quickly plumped down in the tub, so she was covered from neck to toe with water and bubbles. She edged back to the side of the tub and leaned against it.

"You needn't have done that on my account," he said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"I'm sure you were enjoying yourself, but it was getting a little cold," she replied a bit tartly.

They only looked at each other, neither quite knowing what to say or do.

Then out of the blue the solution came to her. It was simple really, but very daring at the same time. The consequences should he not want her in return were too ghastly to even think about, so she didn't. That fact alone should have alarmed her, but she couldn't for the life of her remember why.

Keeping her gaze fixed to his, she slowly sat up and began to rise out of the water like Venus from the ocean.

"Don't." The word left his mouth so strangled that she hesitated, water still...though barely...covering her breasts.

"Why not?"

"You know very well," he managed to get out, his voice sounding hoarse. Her breasts were only barely covered with bubbles by now.

She was about to say something, but noticed just then that he held something in his hands.

Is that... can't be... what I think it is?

---

It took all of two minutes from the moment Ginny's skin was hit with cold air to the moment she noticed Snape.

Noticing Snape approach while she was utterly undressed and aroused was ample reason to break away from Hermione and slip fully into the water. Noticing Snape approach with a peculiar look on his face and a dildo in hand was ample reason to Apparate immediately to an unlisted country. Since that was impossible from within the walls of Hogwarts, she settled for paddling quickly across the pool to the only other persons in the room with the good sense to look as horrified as she felt.

"Harry, I can't finish with them standing there ogling each other, right in front of us!"

"So, don't look at them," Harry said, the last word swallowed in Ginny's warm mouth. Ah, that was more like it. As nice as kissing Hermione had been, Ginny preferred masculine kisses.

"Easy for you to say, you've got that pretty little bit of ginger to snog," Draco whined. Ginny rather liked the whine, much to her surprise... it was more needy than petulant, breathy against her hair. She decided it deserved a reward.

Ginny was dimly aware that Harry was watching with some interest as she kissed Draco. Completely understandable; it was an interesting kiss from her perspective; male tasting (come to think of it, unsurprisingly Harry-tasting), yet with a hint of softness. She had Draco's interest as well, if the noises he was making were any indication.

"Ech. Now I can see them. There's no winning," Harry said with a sort of moaning sound that had nothing to do with pleasure.

Ginny broke off the kiss abruptly, leaving Draco's lips working blindly at the empty air. "Oh, yes, there is," she said evilly, and pushed Draco's face firmly into her cleavage as she reclaimed Harry's mouth.

Judging from the enthusiasm of their muffled groans, Ginny felt it was safe to say her plan met with the boys' approval. And none of them had to look at Snape.

---

From Snape's perspective, Miss Granger was staring hard at his groin area, which had him quite flustered indeed. Why did she have to stare at him there? He was flushing all over at the thought of her doing much more than just looking.

Hermione furrowed her brows in concentration. He was just about to tell her to stop for heaven's sake, when she asked, "What is that?"

For a moment he had no idea what she meant...probably because very little blood was making its way to his brain. Then he actually looked where she was looking and wanted to sink into the floor, a feeling he could happily have gone the rest of his life without experiencing again.

He tried to think of a way to get rid of the dratted object (if she had to ask, she hadn't recognized it...right?). He whirled around before his alcohol-dazed mind helpfully suggested a banishing charm, when he suddenly felt her warm and slim body press fully against his back. He should've been concerned that she would soak his clothing and move away from her grasp, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The thought of her naked, wet body pressed intimately against him along with the feeling of her breasts crushed against his spine, raised thoughts of an entirely different nature.

"Relax. It can't be that bad, can it?" Hermione asked, her arms snaking around his middle in a tantalising way. He just barely stopped himself from complying. This wasn't right. Albus...no, Minerva...hell, Herm...no, Miss Granger would dismember him personally in the morning if he would succumb to her wiles now.

This is so unfair, he thought, trying to distract himself from what he wanted to do right now; which included, but was not exclusive to, tearing off his clothes and joining her in that bath. He wasn't even dirty. Well, he was, but a bath wouldn't help.

He gripped the infernal device tightly as her small hands started to trail up his chest to his shoulders, hugging him from behind for a moment before her hands moved downwards again, stroking idly over his chest. When they reached his hands, skin touching skin for the first time, a pleasant shudder ran through him, distracting him from the problem at hand and so belatedly moved his hands away to get the device out of her reach. She held onto his hands, one stroking his fingers while the other moved over his hand to examine what he held by touch alone.

The sight of one of her hands stroking the firm latex over and over again, no longer inquisitive but leisurely caressing - in a pointed way - was what finally made him groan aloud.

Why didn't she stop? This was pure torture and he was only a man after all. Imagining what such a real touch on himself would feel like made him whimper. Whimper, for heaven's sake!

He let go of the vibrator with one of his hands and roughly grasped one of hers, stopping her from continuing her infernal teasing.

"Stop it!" he hissed, his voice hardly recognisable to himself.

"Why?"

"Surely you can't be that naive and inexperienced? Touching this... this thing like this is more temptation than anyone could stand. Stop it now or face the consequences!"

"Hmm." She sounded very thoughtful as she held that damned device firmly, stroking it some more beneath the grasp of his hand. It was getting very warm all of a sudden.

"What?" He did not like how desperate his voice sounded.

"Well, I was just wondering how you might compare," she said simply but with a husky undertone, tightening her arms around his ribs infinitesimally.

He could take it no longer. Snape pried her hands away from him and from the vibrator, pushed them away from him so he could turn around and grabbing her arms, crushed her back against him. Along the way he had tossed away the vibrator, because if he had any say in it, if they got down and dirty, a vibrator was the last thing they would need.

"You little tease!" he muttered heatedly. Then he took a good, long look at her and shoved her away from him, averting his eyes as he did so.

"Are you just going to stand there and do nothing?" she asked quite a bit puzzled.

"I should lighten Gryffindor's hour-glass by a considerable amount of rubies for this... spectacle. I also should be long gone on my rounds."

"But that's not what you want to do."

Instead of answering, he directed his wand at himself and cast a charm, which served its purpose in clearing his head for a short amount of time, while still leaving the alcohol (and potion) in his bloodstream. Only a Sobering Potion would make him completely sober and that was somewhere in the cabinet in his bathroom, so he had to make do with this.

"Would you mind doing that for me as well? Perhaps you'd believe me if my head was clear."

He complied before realising he ought to wonder what she was talking about.

"Believe what?"

"That I know perfectly well what I'm doing," she said, taking a step closer to him.

"This is insane. We shouldn't," he said and yet stepped even closer to her, reaching out a hand as if meaning to touch her, but stopping himself at the last moment. Before he could withdraw his hand however, she took hold of it and laid it against her cheek. After a moment's hesitation it cupped her cheek and his thumb moved to caress the edge of her bottom lip.

"I agree," she said quietly, breathing uneven and took another step closer to him so that her breasts brushed against his frock coat.

He knew on a certain level that all this had to be very wrong simply because it felt so good, but when he consulted his conscience, it had nothing to say.

So with another look into her eyes to make sure she was really willing and not about to back away, he leaned down to kiss her. She didn't avert her face, even leaned in closer to him. The first touch of their lips sent a jolt through both their bodies.

Everywhere they touched they became warm and tingly and soon a simple chaste kiss was no longer enough. Mouths opened and merged, hands explored, arms tightened and the only thought that remained was More.

Catcalls from the other side of the room had them break apart reluctantly, more than just a little annoyed. Snape looked at the trio draped all over each other in a corner of the Prefect's bathroom, but averted his eyes quickly again.

That is more than I ever wanted to see of Potter! Or Draco. And... well, the Weasley girl... no, don't go there, Severus...

He directed his eyes instead back down at Hermione; an infinitely more appealing sight. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather continue this in a more private place, like say, my rooms?"

"That is a very good idea."

"Oh. Good then," he said, making to scoop her up in his arms. He was slightly confused when she scurried away from him.

"What are you doing?! I'm not going out there with no clothes on!" she protested, blushing.

He could've said that whoever was out there would probably be too distracted by other things than the way she was or wasn't dressed, but sweeping his eyes over the length of her, he found himself unwilling to share the view even with the most distracted bystander. "Well, then put something on," Snape said, bent over and picked up various parts of clothing and tossed them to her.

The length of time it took for Hermione to find a blouse that fit to her liking dispelled what modest patience Snape possessed. Rather than await the outcome of the skirt selection process, he simply grabbed one of the towels lying around and wrapped it around her waist, and proceeded to toss Hermione over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She squealed loudly in apparent protest, but soon dissolved into agreeable-sounding giggles.

"Hold on! Where do you think you're going?" Harry asked with more than just a touch of alarm, when Snape was making for the door with Hermione over his shoulder.

"I'm taking this lovely, intelligent young lady somewhere she won't be pawed over by degenerates like you," Snape replied with a smirk at the indignation forming on the trio's faces and slightly adjusted his burden.

"Degenerates?" Ginny said, sounding annoyed.

"Does she know you're rescuing her?" Harry asked dubiously.

"Beautiful? He's even more pissed than I thought," Draco muttered to himself and snuggled back against Harry and Ginny to enjoy the afterglow.

"She's just fine, thank you," Hermione joined in this bizarre conversation, sounding slightly miffed.

"If that was all, we have somewhere we'd rather be." Snape rolled his eyes at the display and made for the door again.

"Wait! Hermione, you can't be serious! You'd never go with him if you were sober!" Harry exclaimed, trying to ignore how Snape was glowering at him.

"On the contrary, Harry, I would," Hermione stepped in...figuratively of course...before bloodshed could commence.

"You would?" all four persons present exclaimed in disbelief...including Snape.

She sighed impatiently. "I thought I made that clear already, Sna...Severus. I know perfectly well what I'm doing. Sure, he isn't conventionally attractive, but neither am I. But his intelligence, loyalty, honour and his sarcastic wit more than make up in attractiveness what he lacks in looks," Hermione explained matter-of-factly, to the consternation of her friends. Snape himself was quite flustered, although he didn't show it. "In fact I have wondered more than once in the past year what it would be like to be with him...and not only sexually. Satisfied now, Harry?"

"Disgusted, actually," Harry replied, looking a bit green around the gills.

"Go now, or he'll be sick," Ginny said to Snape and Hermione, who only 'hmphed' in indignation. Normally he wouldn't have let that slide, but if it meant they could finally head down to his quarters...

Snape sighed in relief and finally made his way to the door, this time without interruptions. She was starting to get a bit heavy.

The solemn mood was broken when someone yelled after them, "Don't forget the vibrator!"

The door slammed emphatically in reply.

---

She should have answered that damned owl by now.

Something needed to be done, and he looked about the room, trying to think of what. He saw Mundungus hanging about in the corner. Hmm... he thought, I can persuade him to 'investigate', surely. With threat of prosecution, if necessary.

Kingsley quickly approached Dung. "Fletcher, I need a favour."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I've finally received word from Tonks in Hogsmeade, but I can't decipher the letter she's sent. Her handwriting isn't normally this atrocious. I need you to go check it out."

Dung looked a little shifty-eyed. Not that this was unusual for him. "Erm... all right," he said, "I suppose it could be me."

Well, that was surprisingly easy, thought Kingsley, not that I'm going to say anything.

"Thanks...just go see what's going on and report back, yeah? Don't get into trouble."

"Sure thing." Dung set off, looking as if he'd escaped something. Kingsley resolved to check the man's robes for contraband when he returned. Come to think of it, the elderly Ancient Runes professor they had escorted from the school appeared to be short a brooch...

---

"I still think it's disgusting that Hermione wanted to go with Snape, but at least it got him out of the room. Hated to think of him getting off on watching us," Harry said, sticking out his tongue at the idea. "We need privacy. "Why don't you two let me go and see what the Room of Requirement can come up with?"

Draco bit at his lip for a few moments, recalling his own history with that particular room, of which he wasn't exactly proud. "Sure. All right," he said, still sounding a little uncertain.

Harry seemed to remember it too, in a sudden burst of awkwardness that sent him all but flying from the water. "Okay, I'll get it ready." He didn't attempt to dry himself properly or charm his remaining clothes clean. He merely grabbed his wand and hurried out, dripping and wrapped in a towel, giving a loud squawk as his feet hit the cold floor of the corridor.

Ginny stared after Harry until the door closed, then turned back to Draco. "I think Ron was wrong," she said, playing with his earlobe in a most satisfactory manner. "You're definitely bi."

It was rather pointless to argue, especially since Draco couldn't hide the evidence in favour of her assertion. Besides, her idea had the charm of not forcing him to admit he'd been wrong about his orientation all these years. He'd just overlooked part of it. "As of tonight... I think I'll agree with you." He made an involuntary noise of protest when she pulled away.

"I don't know about you, but I want to catch up with him as quickly as possible." She pulled herself from the water with a rush of bubbles, spelling herself dry. She didn't bother to sort through her stained clothes, instead grabbing the first clean garment she came across...which happened to be Draco's shirt.

"In case you haven't noticed, that's..." Draco trailed off, failing miserably in his attempt to dissuade her from stealing his shirt. He really had some excuse, being introduced for the first time to the universal paradox of men's shirts looking much better on women.

"Doesn't quite contain my abilities, does it?" she asked with a giggle.

Sure as hell doesn't, Draco thought, considering it rather a good thing. He could find something else to wear. Or transfigure something. "I'll see you there," he said, trying to sift through the scattered bits of fabric without taking his eyes off her.

Ginny blew him a kiss and scampered out of the room, her hair wrapped in a towel against the chill and the rest of her covered, however inadequately, in the shirt.

Draco decided if a towel was good enough for Harry, it would do for him as well. Besides, he didn't have time to bother with clothes...he needed to find a mirror and put his hair to rights before letting Harry and Ginny mess it up again.

Oh, God...I want them to mess up my hair. Is this love?

---

Authors' Notes:

The Hooch reveal courtesy of SS Lupin.

Teachers playing poker and HG/SS departure courtesy of shalimar1981.

Trelawney's strange interlude courtesy of shalimar1981, from material brainstormed in chat with lux_astraea, dracontia, leniarianna, et. al.

Underwear dare courtesy of DawnEB.

Crookshanks/Mrs. Norris courtesy of Wolfmoonshadow.

The continuing travails of Auror Shacklebolt and his proxies courtesy of lux_astraea.

The slash and the proto-threesome stuff courtesy of dracontia.

Would you believe that dracontia cribbed the Nude Bomb reference in the summary from 'Get Smart'? (Sorry about that, Chief.)