3: I Dream of Genie With the... Light Gray Fur?

Disclaimer: No one who makes any significant amount of money has anything to do with this story, which rules out J.K. Rowling, et al, for sure. But you were clever enough to work that out for yourself.

Warning: More Fairy God-Jarvey not-so-bon mots ahead. Gratuitous intoxication. And Phones! Phones! Oh, the humanity!

Chapter 3: I Dream of Genie With the... Light Gray Fur?

Regina Fletcher was on a mission; time was of the essence. But turning Hermione over to Ginny had eaten precious minutes, and the trail was cooling.

The Jarvey began by retrieving the missing ring. Her breath left her in a hiss when she got a good look at it. This was one nice little bauble...red, yellow, white, and green gold, in four graceful, thread-thin intertwined strands, set with a tiny, pale blue stone. Startled, the Jarvey recognized that it was a real star sapphire, though a tiny one, and the color was the exact shade of the dress robes Hermione had worn to that ball almost two years ago. It was an unusual color for a sapphire, most likely a custom transfiguration job. She carefully replaced it in its classy leather box, feeling oddly choked up at the obvious thought and expense to which he had gone.

Her whiskers quivered over ring and box as she sniffed them for psychometric vibrations. Hmmm. Powerful emotions, indeed. Snape was snarky arse over teakettle in love with his witch, no doubt about that. She concentrated on detecting emotions beyond the powerful combination of affection and trepidation. Her little gray lips curled in a worried snarl. Rage and despair were the last emotions to touch the box, and a strong desire to disappear, never to be seen again.

Replacing the ring carefully in its velvet nest, Reggie squeezed it into the magical pocket in her tutu. One of these days, she would get the union to lobby for cargo vests instead of tutus as the standard on-duty uniform. Pockets were a damn sight more useful than pleats, and there was only so much she could cram into that little extra-dimensional space before things started going missing.

Reg sighed. She feared that her quarry would not have simply retreated to his lair. But she suspected he would have at least made a stop at the bar before burying himself in a secluded spot to drown his misery. "Snape Manor, it is," she muttered to herself, 'poofing' into solidity in the middle of the decidedly worse for wear parlor of the decidedly worse for wear house at Spinner's End.

"Oi! Snape! You home, you cranky old bastard?" she hollered, without much hope. Crapcakes... The bugger had been here quite recently, by the feel of it. And he hadn't bothered to reset his wards before leaving again. Not a good sign. Reggie hurried to the bathroom and found Pain and Hangover Relief Potions where they'd been on her last visit, noting with sad approval that the second vial was quite dusty. At least until tonight, the crazy mofo hadn't been imbibing to excess. Let's see, which one was the Sobering Potion? A flick of her tail, and another dusty vial lit up.

She wasn't carrying three slippery glass tubes in her jaws, and it would be better not to risk losing or breaking the vials in her magic pocket. The Jarvey Transfigured her tutu into a bandolier and filled it with the potions. Okay, so it wasn't a tutu anymore, but it still sort of encircled her body. And it was still pink. Hopefully this wouldn't count against her in the review of her probationary period. Bloody Mab.

Putting the sensitive Psychometric tools that were her whiskers to work once again, Reggie discovered where Snape had stood last before disappearing to wherever he'd gone. Okay, old girl; focus on Mr. Miserable's thoughts and follow that wizard! she thought fervently, and once again, 'poofed' out of sight.

Ginny sighed. Comforting people was not her specialty. She could handle Girl's Night Out, Quidditch With the Boys, Swimming with the Sharks in the cold, cruel waters of Business, Dodging Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes Gags Gone Horribly Awry (or worse, gone right), and Fights to the Death with Very Nasty Wizards. But growing up with six brothers made 'I'll go hex the bastard for you' her favorite reassuring phrase, and she knew that broom just wouldn't fly in this situation.

It didn't help that she couldn't for the life of her figure out what Hermione saw in the skinny old buzzard. She was left without a whole lot to work with in terms of reassurances. Okay, start listening, Ginny, she told herself. Think business... let the other bloke go first, see if he gives away anything you can use.

"I was just trying to play it safe... I didn't want to make any big decisions during examinations. And he somehow concluded I wanted to be quit of him!" Hermione wailed.

Ginny thought this would be fairly easy to do, considering some of the verbal gymnastics she had overheard during the painful two years Hermione and Ron had tried to make a go of it. For two people so prone to talking, they could be piss-poor at communicating. "I don't know how to break this to you, Hermione, but he isn't exactly Mr. Optimism. It never occurred to you that he would tend to interpret anything short of a declaration of undying love, well, negatively?"

"I know he has issues..." Hermione began.

"Issues? The Daily Prophet has 'issues.' Severus Snape has complexes that make Gringotts' vault system look like a one-room shack," she replied, unable to mask her incredulity.

"I suppose you think I should have tried to stick it out with Ron?" Hermione asked, starting to sound shrill again.

Ginny's face collapsed in exasperation. "Hermione, do I look like my Mum? I accept that you and Ron were doomed as an item. Maybe ol' Phlegm can stand being just one more Mrs. Weasley, but I can't imagine you wanting to let yourself get swallowed up by the out of control Devil's Snare that's the Weasley Family Tree." She gave a short laugh, hoping she sounded lighthearted. "I guess that's sort of the reason Harry and I couldn't make a go of it, either. I couldn't quite bring myself to go down in history as 'the-girl-who-snagged-the-Boy-Who-Lived,' any more than I'm interested in being 'just one more Weasley.'"

That assessment left out the key element in Ron and Hermione's breakup; to whit, she wanted to be a Quidditch Widow nearly as much as she wanted her cranium aerated. However, Hermione didn't bother to argue with Ginny, seeing as how the entire vermilion-coiffed Weasley tribe was absolutely Quidditch-obsessed and their range of reactions to pooh-poohing said sport ranged from polite disbelief to outright hostility.

Friends she and Ron would always be; but if they were stranded on a desert island together, they'd have to divide it in half straight off and agree just to meet for tea each day so as to avoid driving each other barking mad.

"Hullo, Hermione," Ginny called, making a megaphone of her hands. "Anything you want to share, or am I being helpful enough just warming this end of the couch?"

"He brought a ring," Hermione said quietly.

"WHAT?" Ginny yelled, hopping up on the couch before she came to her senses and sat back down. "Sorry, I must have heard you wrong."

"No, you heard right. He never gave it to me though, since we had our blow up before he could do whatever it was he was planning," she said, her voice flat and mournful.

"Then how do you know he brought it?" Gin asked.

"He threw it at the door as he was storming out, and I got a glimpse of it as it flew through the air," she answered with a sigh.

Hard-nosed business tendencies aside, Ginny was still very much female and wanted very much to ogle and judge her friend's engagement ring. "Where is it now?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager. Or drool.

"A friend of mine is using it to help track him," Hermione said carefully, remembering not to give away anything about Reggie. Not that Ginny would have believed it.

Ginny slumped back into the couch cushions, disappointed. "Bugger. So I guess we're just waiting here until your friend finds him and figures out whether or not he still wants to marry you after all that drama?"

"Basically," Hermione replied. "I guess I should try to study."

"Oh, absolutely," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "I saw what happened to the last pile of books that got in your way." One of the first things she had had to do upon entering the flat was help Hermione repair exploded textbooks. Somehow, Gin didn't think that Hermione's unintentional burst of magic had chosen that target at random.

Reminding Hermione of the book incident caused a surge of guilt, quickly replaced by anger at the man who'd made her so upset in the first place. "I hate wizards," she mumbled into her hands.

"There are always Muggles," Ginny retorted.

"I hate MEN," Hermione groaned, staring up at the ceiling.

"Well, that would certainly account for all your relationship problems," Ginny said, pulling out the Ocumare. "That leaves women and chocolate. I'm afraid I happen to like men most of the time, so all I can offer you is chocolate."

This managed to squeeze a snort of laughter out of Hermione. "I think that's the most complex entity I want a relationship with, just this minute." She took a bite of the proffered square, and shuddered. "Ooh, that's bitter."

"Yeah, but it's good," Ginny sighed, working on her own share. Comforting people was hard work, after all. She needed to keep up her strength.

"Wow. I think I see what you mean," Hermione said, feeling an odd sense of both rejuvenation and comfort extending from her mouth to her brain and trickling down through the rest of her body. "Have you told Remus about this stuff?"

"Of course. I send him a little care package whenever I get the chance, though I have to be careful about it."

"Careful?"

Ginny hesitated before replying. "It's...it's this weird thing with Tonks. At first I thought she just didn't like dark chocolate. She wouldn't be the first person who's more the chocolate frog type. But lately I'm getting the idea it's me she doesn't like. Almost as if she's... jealous, or something."

Hermione stared, slack-jawed. Ginny reflected that a chocolate-striped tongue is just not a flattering look for anybody.

"That's... completely bizarre. Do you have any idea why?"

Ginny's face began to glow with embarrassment. "Well, um... There was the matter of a Floo-call incident a while back... involving, um, a lack of clothing on my part."

"But that was accidental...wasn't it?" Hermione asked, deeply puzzled.

"Of course it was!" Ginny piped up quickly. "But I guess...I guess he explained it to her poorly. Oh, and waited a few months before mentioning it."

"Wizards," Hermione snorted.

"Men," Ginny scoffed.

"At least there's still chocolate," Hermione sighed, finishing off her square. It wasn't so bad, once you got the hang of it.

"For which we can be grateful," Ginny grumbled. What with work being so consuming, chocolate was all the satisfaction she'd been getting lately. She wasn't desperate enough to consider dating a goblin...yet.

The Jarvey appeared at the mouth of a particularly small and disagreeably smelling cave. She wasn't fooled, though the illusion was most accomplished. Ducking past the screen of fake tiny gnawed bones, she proceeded to the real cave opening, and the dank room beyond.

One look at Snape had Reggie shaking her silvery noggin in exasperation and dismay. Except for the lack of drooping feathers in his hair, the figure hunched over an upended barrel (which served as a display table for his empty liquor bottle collection) was a tall, dark, mirror image of Hermione's misery. A thin sigh escaped her. Why couldn't the two whacked-out wand jockeys just say how they felt straight away, and save me having to play Dr. Reggie, Relationship Counselor? she fretted inwardly.

Reggie decided to wait until Severus had a few more glasses before approaching him. Drunkenness notched his hazard level down from lethal to bloody damned dangerous. The Jarvey would really prefer him to be securely restrained. However, considering she needed to secure a measure of good will from him and that tying him up was not conducive toward that end, she'd take what she could get.

The last of the Ogden's was disappearing, and he had not yet begun to contemplate which bottle he would attack next when Regina Fletcher made her presence known.

"Didn't I tell you booze is no beauty treatment, arsehole?" she scolded him, bounding up to the surface of the makeshift table. "Quit trying to drown your sorrows, amigo. You've done it so many times those motherfuckers have learned to swim."

Just what he needed. The beast he didn't quite believe in to have another go at matching him with a witch who didn't quite need him. "Not again," he groaned. "What the hell are you, anyway...the Ogden's Firewhisky Genie? I rub the bottle and you magically appear."

"So don't rub the damn bottle," she said. "Part of my job as Fairy God-Jarvey is to save you from yourself."

"Remind me again how that works," he muttered indistinctly.

"You desire something of which you are reasonably deserving. You fuck up trying to get it. I come and extricate you from the pile of shite you've amassed for yourself. It's really quite simple," she explained.

Snape grunted and reached for another bottle. Hmm, very dusty label on this one. Oh, wait. That was his eyes unfocusing. No, the label was so old it had faded to illegibility. What the hell is in this bottle, anyway? Damned label, stop moving! Not the right shape for Firewhisky. Perhaps a sniff... whoa. Strong stuff, whatever it is. Definitely not some poncey brandy from Lucius. Maybe a bottle of Karkaroff's favorite Glaciervodka? Ah, well, here goes nothing...

Oberon's Speedo, what is the loco bugger trying to drink now? Regina thought frantically, as she watched him struggle with the top on the mystery bottle. She had to get the man's attention while he still possessed a few functioning brain cells. Perhaps a change in tactics was in order.

The Jarvey whipped her tail at an empty bottle and transfigured a small glass for herself. "Pour me some of that rotgut, you greedy buzzard! If you insist on washing your sodding liver out to sea, the least I can do is keep it company on the trip," she quipped.

Who is this rodent, and why does it want a drink? Draco? Wait... No, it's that bloody Jarvey. "Haven't you got any rules against drinking whilst on duty?" he asked. See, I'm not that drunk, he thought with relief. I can be suspicious, if necessary.

"If there is such a rule, the pillock what made it never had to help your sorry arse," Regina sniped. Let's see, Sobering Potion in the top vial, hangover in the second, pain relief in the third, she rehearsed silently. I hope to hell I don't puke and drop the lot before I have a chance to force them down Sir Snark-a-Lot's gullet.

He unsteadily poured a splash for the Jarvey, who lapped up a drop and promptly choked. "Chingate!" she finally gasped, clinging to the rim of the glass. "How can you drink this dragon piss? If you have any taste, hombron, it's sure as hell not in your mouth." Holy crap, the cave was spinning. Had it been doing that when she first showed up?

"Lightweight," he snorted, and with a smirk, downed his glass.

Snape had never heard of a liquid Portkey, but there was a first time for everything, he supposed. It would certainly explain the sudden sensation of being sucked clockwise through a sausage-casing, navel first, in the dark. Where am I? Snape thought dizzily. More to the point, who am I?

"Who am... oh, right. I'm that bastard killed dear old Albus," he moaned, his head listing precariously on his shoulders, dropping his impressive nose down to where it hovered close to the rim of the glass.

"Uh-uh. You were cleared of that... you did what you had to do, Crankytrousers. Dear ol' Albus Dumblydore said in his very own posu- poshtu- possumus...after he was dead...words that you were following his orders," Regina said, shaking her paw at him admonishingly and almost tipping herself over in the process. "Y'know, with your nose hanging over the tumbler like that, you look like the world's ugliest hummingbird," she added, apropos of nothing.

Spinning slowing down... wherever he was going, he must have arrived. What a depressing thought. "Who the hell was I kidding?" he whimpered. "I'm no catch. I can't live without her, and I'm not good enough to live with her. What woman wants to marry the...what did you call me?"

"Don't remember," the Jarvey replied, honestly puzzled. She normally had better recall than that. What was going on here? "I dunno 'bout women. But 'at cute lil' witsch, Hermione, likesh you, sorry bugger that you are. I even like you, right now." Whoa, crap. Drunk Fairy God-Jarvey on duty. This is going nowhere good, on a fast broom.

"How do you know she likes me?" he asked, miserably. "When you go around handing out 'heart's desires,' how d'you figure out if they desire each other?" Did any of that make sense? he wondered fuzzily.

"Its...itsh one of those things," she replied, trying to remember not to give away whose God-Jarvey she actually was. Wait a moment... whose was she, again? "I was jusht at her flat. She's heartbroken. You gotta go back to her. She's gonna dry up like a hydrangea in the Sahara if she keeps crying like that. Don' be a shtupid wanker...again. How did you manage as a shpy, being shucha lush?" Hmmm. Why couldn't she feel her tongue, all of a sudden?

Snape straightened up partially and managed a passable imitation of his trademarked contemptuous expression. "Are you mad? I din' drink when I was spying. I'm not su-i-ci-dal," he pronounced very carefully. He realized he had to say things slowly and carefully; otherwise all he could hear from his mouth was a sound like bees buzzing. "Uh-oh... I can't... feel... my cheeks. My whole face is numb. Am I talking funny?" he asked very earnestly, putting all his effort into staying upright and not cutting the ends off any of his words.

Reggie wobbled up to him and unsteadily rose to her hind legs, patting his face clumsily with her paw. "Nah, your ugly ol' mug doeshn't feel numb to me, honey. And I haven't heard you shay one funny shing."

He squinted at the Jarvey from the corner of his eye. He didn't recall giving this thing permission to enter his personal space. Actually, he didn't recall which direction was 'up' just this moment, but he didn't see that as a reasonable excuse for the insufferable beast to be fondling his face. "Don't touch me... you foul... ferret," he protested.

"Admit it. You shink I'm cute," Reggie cooed, turning her sparkly little crossed eyes on him at full diabolical twinkle. Gee, he has a lovely snout for a human. she thought mistily.

Hell, no, he wasn't going to admit how cute the furry little irritant was. "I hate, l-loathe, and des-shpise every hair on your narshty lil' body," he slurred, paradoxically chucking her under the chin as he said it. Speaking clearly wasn't as important as he once thought. It was quite liberating to let the words wobble out his lips any way they pleased.

While on the subject of tactile pleasures... what a nice, soft thing this annoying beast was. Maybe there was something to be said for having a fuzzy little creature as a familiar. But having one that talked was more trouble than it was worth.

"That's jusht the drinkies talking, Sevvie honey," she simpered, snuggling up to his hand. Somewhere, the three or four professional neurons not yet awash in potent potables shrieked at her to remember she was on a mission, and she struggled to focus on them.

Severus frowned and shook his head, making the room whirl cheerfully again. His stomach was not cheerful about this, possibly because it was inclined to whirl in the opposite direction. "No, no, I'm quite certain it's-ah... me. See, my lipsh are moving and everything. Even sounds-a lil' like me, jus' shorta slurred," he argued solemnly.

"Lish-listen to me, sweetie. You are serushy- sher- real drunk. So'm I. We gotta get bright and get back to your cute lil' cha-cha. She's in luuuuurve with you, an' you're breaking her pretty lil' heart, you big bully," she scolded him.

Wonderful. Now the Amazing Talking Dust Rag gives lectures and guilt trips. It was only cute when its mouth was shut, he decided. Someone make the thing go away. "Pleash, jus' bugger off like a good lil' polecat," he begged.

He said 'please', Regina realized, something that scared her half sober.

This was an impressive feat, considering that Voldemort popping out from under the table and shouting 'Surprise' wouldn't be enough to scare either of them completely sober, at this point. Though it might have helped them down that path, without any particular danger to either of their persons. They could have handily knocked him unconscious with their collective breath until reinforcements arrived.

"No. Fucking. Way. I just called you 'Sevvie' and you didn't even threaten me. Once you've sobered up, you'll 'Avada' my fuzzy little arse, assuming you remember anything. I hate to think how much you imbibed to make you actually say 'please.' No, this party is so fucking over. Have another drink for the road, babe," Reggie hiccupped, slipping the Sobering Potion from her bandolier and tipping most of it into his empty glass. She quickly took a healthy lick of what was left, and instantly regretted it. Apparently the stuff they had been drinking did not take kindly to any attempts to usurp its sovereignty over one's synapses.

"Not going to 'Avada' anyone. Never again," Snape muttered, morosely. He chugged the contents of the glass and gasped. "You're trying to poison me, you bloody stoat! What the hell was... ohhh... shouldn't have drunk from that bottle with the wandering label..." he began to grip his head, grimacing. His stomach wasn't exactly a happy bunny, either. The thought flickered briefly through his mind, 'Have I ever actually felt green before?'

"Hangover relief, your own brand," she said, pulling the second vial from her bandolier and taking a quick sip before passing it on. "Gack! Now I know why that liquid lightning didn't faze you, Snarkarse. It can't possibly taste worse than the shite you brew to counteract it."

Snape was actually feeling quite fazed, thank you. He really had to give up on drinking-as-therapy. He'd heard the female of the species often dealt with misery via chocolate. As long as no one found out he had gone soft enough to take the option favored by witches and werewolves...

Blast. That rotten rodent was talking to him again.

"Come on now...be a nice pervy old bastard and go home to your little hoochy. I know she's not underage any more, but she's still cute enough that you can pretend," Reg said coaxingly.

"She doesn't want me back. She threw me out!" he said angrily, ignoring the deviant implications of the Jarvey's comments.

"Yeah, I've got a ten-foot Wizarding photo of that, Big-Time Duelist. Right next to the one of you in ruffled lavender robes, flamenco dancing. Did she Petrify and then Levitate you while your back was turned, or did the teensy little brujita just strong arm you out the door?" Reggie scoffed.

"She made it quite clear I wasn't wanted," he said, glowering.

"It was a misunderstanding! Why didn't you just propose, instead of trying to shag the snot out of her first?"

"I was setting the mood," he grumbled. It sounded bloody lame just now.

Reggie's silvery body sagged dejectedly in several places. "Fucking hell! The woman was on the verge of the screaming habdabs between exams from Hell and PMS from a similar address, told you that she couldn't see you until the situation calmed down...and you figure that this would be a time she'd be amenable to any 'mood' other than 'homicidally irritable'?"

Snape decided he would simply disregard all of this, since it implied some of the blame for this mess might lie with him. "She never told her parents about me. She was never serious about this in the first place," he sulked, changing the subject.

"She was covering her arse! She's got two serious relationships, one engagement, gone down the crapper on her curriculum vitae! For shite's sake, as if YOU, Mr. Double Agent, never hedged a bet in your life!" she squeaked at him in exasperation.

"She attacked me! Look at this," he whinged, rolling up his sleeve to reveal all the sizzling little red zap marks from Hermione's display of wandless magic.

"Oh, pobrecito. She didn't do it intentionally, you know. Girlfriend was blowing things up left and right...so the fact that even on a subconscious level she was able to refrain from popping your bollocks like water balloons says heaps about the fact that she doesn't intend to do you any lasting harm. How's about you take a potion and get over it? Or do you need me to kiss them and make them better?" Reggie asked saucily, tossing the vial of Pain Relief Potion on the table.

Snape decided that focusing on the pink bandolier would at least start the process of mentally shutting out the graphic image of 'how it could have been worse.' "Look, it's obviously over. There's nothing you can do to pull this one out of the U-bend, you Walking Bolster Pillow with a Pancho Villa Complex. I survived the first forty-five... odd... years of my life without anyone in particular sharing it. I imagine I shall manage whatever is left of it just fine, thanks," he groused tiredly. "And it's not as if she couldn't do better."

Reggie looked down at her bandolier and hastily changed it back into a tutu. No use racking up more negative points for her next probation hearing. "Right. You're just bloody fine-as-Acromantula-silk. You're not a wizard, you're actually a genie. That's why you keep trying to crawl back into a bottle of some description whenever things go badly," she spit sarcastically. "And you've got a piss-poor idea of what I can and can't do, as has been demonstrated on prior occasions."

"Oh, really? Well, tell me, O Fuzzy-Genie-of-the-Firewhisky-Bottle, what the hell can you do, exactly?" he snapped.

Reggie couldn't resist a challenge. In fact, they rather inspired her. "Consider yourself kidnapped, arsewipe. We're going to see the Candy Man," she said, hopped on his shoulder, and caused them both to disappear...hoping that she wouldn't leave any part of him behind at the cave. She'd never 'poofed' anything larger than herself before.

Things were quieting down. A whole bunch of 'Reparo' had tended to the shattered glasses and damaged books, and most of a bar of Ocumare had attended to Hermione. Ginny reflected that Snape was lucky, indeed, that he hadn't been hit with whatever Hermione had done to the rest of the flat. All the Healers at St. Mungo's wouldn't have been able to put him back together again.

So when Ginny's phone rang, breaking the relative calm, she quite understandably grimaced. "It had better not be Fred and George asking for me to come back to work for them," she threatened. She looked at the display and swore.

"Twins?" Hermione asked.

"Worse. Harry," Ginny replied.

She sighed. There was no way she could ignore him. There were times when Ginny would gladly have given him back the mobile if she'd thought he could stand it. Once Harry started burning anytime minutes, he was serious about getting in touch with someone. You ignored a call from Harry at the risk of winding up with a face full of frantic Auror, wand drawn and demanding to know if you were still in one piece.

Sometimes, if you closed your eyes and mentally modulated the voice, it was almost as if Mad-Eye Moody had come back to life.

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said, trying to sound relaxed.

"Hi, Ginny. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important. Ron's at The Burrow for the week and really wanted to get in touch with you, but he got your answering dummy," Harry said by way of explanation.

The sole Weasley sister couldn't work out just why it was that Professor McGonagall had always thought all Gryffindor-based disasters had their source in Neville Longbottom. From Ginny's perspective, Ron accounted for a fair number. "Why couldn't Ron ring me himself?"

Harry snorted. "Your Dad nicked his phone again," he explained.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised? It had to be either him or the twins. I love Dad dearly, but I swear his Animagus form would be a Niffler with an inordinate attraction to shiny little bits of Muggle technology. All right, put Ron on."

Harry's voice took on the character of a muffled yell. "Ron, get your arse back in here!"

"He's the one who wants to talk to me and he runs off?" Ginny asked, by now thoroughly exasperated. She hoped to Hecate that Ron would get on the phone and get whatever it was off his chest before Harry had time to start getting curious.

"Don't ask me to explain Ron...he's your brother. So, where are you?" he asked

So much for getting Harry, the semi-paranoid Auror, off the phone before he could start snooping, Ginny thought. "He's your best friend," she retorted. "I'm at Hermione's."

The phone went silent a moment as Harry struggled with a pang of conscience. Trying to sound nonchalant, he asked, "I, ah, haven't talked to her in a bit...why don't you put her on?"

Funny how well guilt carries over even mediocre cell transmission. Ginny knew that ever since Hermione started seeing Snape, Harry and Ron had been hesitant to call, much less visit. And it would be best for all and sundry if that hesitancy lasted at least through tonight.

"Um, she can't talk just now," Ginny equivocated, checking Hermione's expression from the corner of her eye for confirmation and detecting a flicker of relief. At least her assessment that Hermione would not find Harry all that comforting at the moment was correct. Now, if only she could head off the Wizarding world's were-bloodhound/pit bull, they would manage. Why hadn't wizards invented something like mobile phones? They were incredibly useful things when you were lying through your teeth long distance.

The voice on the other end lost the guilt edge and acquired one of suspicion. "Are you really with Hermione, or is there something...or someone...you haven't told me about?"

"I swear, you're sounding as paranoid as Moody. Hermione's in the loo, you prat. I am not hiding some new boyfriend. Does Luna know you're asking me this?" Ginny asked, scandalized.

"I'm only asking as a friend," Harry responded in a hurt tone of voice. "Oh, wait...it's near time for Hermione's exams, isn't it?"

If Ginny thought hard, she might be able to recall a moment at which she felt her anxiety whip away more rapidly. "Yes! She's well, a little... intense right now."

Harry laughed, sounding much more relaxed. Ginny was so relaxed she almost tipped over. No, wait, that was fainting from relief. "She's obsessing as usual? Why am I not surprised? Hang on till she's out, let me have a word or two with our favorite genius," Harry coaxed.

Damn! This was not going well. She couldn't wait all night, and Harry wouldn't. "Ah, she's just come out...I'll put her on." Ginny mentally crossed her fingers and covered the receiver. "He wants to tell you to relax about your exams," she hissed at Hermione as she quickly passed the phone over.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said, thinking her voice sounded rather well, considering. "I can't talk long...I've got a few last minute things to review."

"Hi, Hermione. Don't tell me you actually think there's something you still don't know!" he teased.

"You can never be too prepared," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "Let's say I call you Monday when it's over, and maybe we'll have dinner? It's been a while."

"Sounds good to me. Well, I won't keep you from your beloved notes any longer," Harry said. "Hand me back to Ginny, and I'll see if I can figure out where Ron has got to. 'Bye, luv."

"'Bye," Hermione said quickly, choking back a fresh wave of grief. She had been hoping to celebrate with Severus after her exams.

Ginny took back the phone with a smile, confident that disaster had been averted. Harry's next words wiped the smile off her face.

"Why has Hermione been crying?" Harry asked sternly.

Crap, Ginny thought fiercely. He's using his interrogator voice. This is not good. "No, that's not...why would she..."

"Ginny," Harry asked, warningly. "Do I have to Apparate over there and find out for myself?"

"Well, yes, maybe just a bit," Ginny tried to pass it off. "She's under a lot of stress."

Too late. All Harry's instincts were in full bloodhound mode. He reviewed his brief conversation with Hermione and bristled. "She hasn't invited me to eat with her since she and Snape became an item! There's some trouble there, isn't there? What has he done?"

"Harry, it's not what you..." Ginny stopped, almost hearing him glower on the other end. "Okay, so she and Snape had a bit of a row, but we're managing it," she continued through clenched teeth. This was bad. Very bad. Very, VERY bad...

With a jerk of his wand, Harry cast a Silencing Spell. He may have been as mad as hell, but he wasn't rude enough to disturb Arthur and Molly. Especially since they might deem it prudent to Stupefy him lest he run off and do something detrimental to his position of trust, once they had an inkling of what was bothering him.

"WHAT DID HE DO? By God, when I'm done there won't be Pygmy Puff pellets left of him!" he thundered.

"He isn't here! Keep your voice down, or you won't need the phone!" Ginny all but shouted back. Amazing how easy it was to slip back into argument mode with Harry.

"Fine! When I hunt the bastard down...again...he'll have to be interred in a matchbox!" he fumed, a little more quietly.

"No, no, NO! You are NOT going to 'hunt the'...never mind! Hermione says someone is looking for him now," she hissed, casting worried glances at the distress on her friend's face.

"Will you tell me what happened already? Or do I have to come over there and question you in person?" he demanded.

"It was a misunderstanding, and it's being sorted! Leave it, Mr. Heir-to-Moody," Ginny warned.

"Fine. I'll find out for myself just what sort of 'misunderstanding' has Hermione, the most reasonable person I know, crying," Harry said flatly. It was amazing, and rather scary, how he could seethe almost audibly without any of it actually showing in his voice.

"No, Harry," Ginny said frantically, and when she heard nothing from the other end, nearly shrieked, "Are you listening to me? NO, HARRY!"

"I'm going over there shortly," he replied as placidly as if he were talking about meeting for tea.

"Is the connection faulty? Or do you just need help with the word 'no'?" she asked.

"Oh, Ron's here," Harry continued in that calm tone, oblivious to Ginny's growing distress and vehement insistence that he butt the hell out. Faintly, she heard him say, "Forget whatever it was, we have bigger fish to fry. Snape's finally done it."

When Ginny heard 'Ron's here,' her brain briefly shut down and she wildly hoped that her brother would take the initiative, wrestle the phone from Harry, and give him a few minutes to cool off. This was primarily because Ginny was quite tired and not quite in her right mind at the moment. She missed the last part of his statement. "Good. What?" she asked, confused at her brain suddenly registering the mention of fish.

"We'll be there in no time, Hermione!" she could hear Ron calling loudly in the background.

"Not a good idea..." Gin warned.

"We'll Apparate right over," Harry said, and rang off.

"We?" Ginny mouthed, glancing at Hermione's apprehensive expression.

Shite. Shite. Shite. Hermione was finally calm, and now Harry was coming over. Bringing Ron.

This was going to get ugly.

Author's Note:

Pobrecito: You poor thing (masculine form) Obviously, Reggie is employing it sarcastically.

Psychometry is the technical term for the ability to handle an object and detect the emotions of the last person to touch it (among other things) by sensing the psychic signature left behind. It works best for intense emotions or objects that have been held or worn by the target for an extended period of time.

Fairy God-Thingies don't use Wizarding magic, which accounts for the lack of appropriate spell-words when Reggie does her little tail-wiggling thing. This includes Apparition...hence the 'poofing.' It may be a parody, but I DO try to maintain internal logic. Believe it or not, as long as the original Fairy God-Jarvey story was, it could have been longer. As you can see, there were plenty of details about the abilities and motivations of Fairy Godmothers, which simply had to be ignored in my futile attempt to make the story a one-shot. It was a terrible detriment to that otherwise serious tale, I know.

There was no suggestion of bestiality in this chapter. Just two characters having their snark temporarily disabled (by a hazardous substance which probably should not have been consumed recreationally...more on this later) and who were, as a result, a little chummier than normal.

Thanks to Keladry Lupin and Broomclosetravenclaw for writing a little drabble o' risqué-ness on Potter Place a while back, which suggested a scenario in which Ginny isn't a big fan of the Floo, Tonks isn't a big fan of Ginny, and Remus is still really, really, embarrassed!

(Bowing to LariLee) Beta reading this comedy shtick takes patience, understanding, amazing intellect, and the constitution of a giant. All I possess that qualifies me to write it is a moderate proficiency in written English and nerves of Flubber. You tell me who deserves the lion's share of the praise.