5: I Am My Beloved's, and My Beloved is... What Exactly ARE You?

Disclaimer: I do not profit from the use of these characters. Nor do I have to deal with random people walking up to me and telling me what to do with them, so it sort of evens out. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Please see the WARNING! at the beginning of the Prologue. Neither dracontia nor The Petulant Poetess is responsible for hospitalization due to aspirated snack foods.

Chapter 5: I Am My Beloved's, and My Beloved is...What Exactly ARE You?

Rolanda Hooch may have been the one professor in the school genuinely enjoying this peculiar interlude of Sexual Education. To be sure, some were handling it with greater aplomb than others; Sprout had soldiered through the irrepressible fifth years admirably, and Pomfrey was happy about the program on general health principles. Quill didn't count; she only had third year girls to deal with and was chuffed to the frames of her reading glasses at the chance to work recruiting tactics into the exercise.

But Rolanda was having a ball, and so were the sixth years lucky enough to have been assigned to her. Speaking frankly on the subject suited her nature; she lived exuberantly, and had few inhibitions. The last day of the class would be a bit more serious than it had been up to this point, however. There was nothing entertaining about sexually transmitted diseases and various forms of dysfunction. However, she planned on redeeming the heavy subject matter with one of her personal favorite topics...non-standard sexual behavior.

"Okay, kiddies, you know where all the pipes are located and how the plumbing works. And we all know what it's for, right?" she asked, winking.

The class giggled, but it was more conspiratorial than embarrassed. Everyone felt comfortable with Hooch by now, male and female. She was banking on that comfort to get today's lesson across.

"But, I'm afraid it's not all fun and games down there...not that birth is something to take lightly, mind you, but it's a natural and healthy process, despite the risks. No, today we're going to address the weeds in the Garden of Eden, some of the nasty little things that have decided to make a living by hitching a ride on your equipment. There are all sorts of diseases from both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds that you need to watch out for. Decent prophylactic charms will block them, but you have to remember to cast them properly and renew them after a few hours...if you're lucky!"

The requisite laugh out of the way, she forged ahead.

"Now, I know we've had fun with this class, but I'm going to be quite serious here for a moment. If any of you has had sex without the proper charms in place, or if you're afraid you cast one incorrectly, please see Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible. Some of these ailments are just a right nuisance, but some can be lethal. Most can be treated or cured if caught early, but not all of them."

Hooch's class fell unusually quiet, and she knew she had their undivided attention. Time to drive the point home. "I know you've probably heard the myth that wizards can't contract Muggle ailments. It's actually the other way around: most diseases specific to wizards needed magic to feed upon and simply couldn't survive in a Muggle body. It's true that simply being magical will protect us against most Muggle parasites and slow the progression of bacterial infections enough that they can be easily treated. But viruses are only affected by Charms or Potions specifically designed to kill them or block their transmission."

No, there was nothing funny about STDs, either Muggle or Magical. Well, Priapic Pox was a little amusing, seeing as how its only major symptom was frequent, inappropriate erections; but that was more than countered by such maladies as Severing Scales, a parasite that made intercourse painful and could cause infertility and serious infection if untreated.

"The one exception to the rule of crossing the magical divide is a disease that Muggles have identified as a culture-specific form of mental illness: Koro. It was a type of infectious curse developed by Chinese wizards trying to prevent Muggle men from courting witches and generates the illusion that a man's genitals are receding into his lower abdomen. It is so specifically engineered that it only affects men with some Chinese ancestry. All further development of the disease has been banned by international statute, but it periodically re-evolves in Squibs, generating new outbreaks. There have been reports of it mutating into a form that can affect wizards, so there is the chance that it might spread to other ethnic groups. Remember your charms and be aware of the symptoms...just in case."

She skimmed over sexual dysfunction (depressing topic, but it didn't hurt for them to be aware of the possibilities) and prepared to dismiss the class on a lighter note.

"Okay, kiddies, on to the fun stuff! Now, I know most of you boys are looking at the mention of a bloke with another bloke and rolling your eyes, and...don't try to deny it...you read about two witches together and wondered if you could convince your girlfriend to give it a whirl. And I can see all the girls are looking around to see which of their men got caught agreeing with what I just said."

Very good. The hilarity level is back up to par, Hooch thought with satisfaction.

"Your texts lay down the basics adequately, so you shouldn't be too shocked at anyone or anything you might come across. I do want you to know that if any of you leans that way or is just curious, don't be embarrassed to talk to someone about it! You'd be surprised how many wizards and witches, including some of your professors, do some mighty odd things for fun."

A series of nervous titters ran through the class. Ginny decided to be especially cheeky and asked, "Really, Madam Hooch? Care to give us any hints as to who...and what?"

"Now, I don't know for certain about my colleagues, so I'll not repeat rumors," Hooch said admonishingly. "As for me, well, have you read the section on Veneramorphagy?"

She expected the confused looks; even if they had read the brief blurb in the text on that topic, they'd be none the wiser as to what it actually meant.

"You've heard of Metamorphmagi, haven't you?" Nods and smiles told her they were back in recognized territory.

"Well, this is a slightly more common variation, though there aren't any hard numbers on how many can make the switch. Most people aren't aware the ability exists, even if they have it. Put simply, it means you can change your sex organs at will, one fully functioning set for another. The rest of your body, including your face, stays pretty much the same. If you're going from male to female, you gain breasts, though nothing too large; the other way, they flatten out."

A few giggles got started, and soon the entire class was consumed with laughter. Obviously, Hooch was having them on.

"Don't believe me? Then watch," she said smugly. Her face took on an expression of deep concentration.

"What's wrong, my dears? Is there a Snitch loose that you think you can catch with your mouths?" she...or, more accurately, he...teased. The face had changed only minutely, the voice ever so slightly more so, the silhouette just subtly altered; but the person they were looking at, while still Hooch, was undoubtedly no longer 'Madam.'

"I was born Roland," she said, laughing as she unbuttoned her blouse to display a flat, more or less masculine chest with even a hint of hair. "But over the years, I came to prefer Rolanda." She buttoned up and switched back, the blouse filling out again and her voice and expression reverting to the female flying instructor with whom they were acquainted.

Hooch knew it was a gamble; there was a good chance at least some of them would regard her as a freak. Merlin knows Severus had literally taken years to get over finding out the truth. (Okay, she probably shouldn't have gotten tipsy at that Yule party the first year he was teaching and propositioned him...in both of her forms...but it's not as if anything had actually happened before that point. And he made it clear nothing was going to happen, ever.)

But if any one of her students, in any year, had questions about their sexuality, she wanted them to know that they could talk to her. She could definitely relate. It would be a shame for any of them to go through life as confused as she had been at first or end up a terrified virgin in their thirties, like poor Septima plainly was.

"My only regret," she said solemnly, "is that the rules of Quidditch are such that I can never try out for the Harpies." Then she cracked a huge grin.

Finally, the students began breathing normally again, as if they'd had a bit of a scare for a moment, but found out everything was going to be all right after all. This was still the Madam Hooch they knew and were amused by. Come to think of it, her condition wasn't the weirdest thing the Wizarding world had to offer.

"I'll just briefly mention the existence of various more unusual ways people get turned on..."

It really was quite funny that some of the class actually dared make noises of disappointment at that. But she wasn't here to encourage kinkiness or fetishes, just reassure her students that all was not lost if it interested them.

"And finally, your text doesn't have much to say about sex outside one's species. Frankly, I don't have much to say about it, either...it's one of the few things I haven't tried," she admitted mischievously.

"But what it does have to say is pretty much spot on. Don't try to chat up anything that thinks of itself as a 'Creature' rather than a being, or anything that can't chat back...I'm not talking about language barriers, but lack of ability to speak!" she clarified. "Even Animagi won't 'go native' to that extent.

"Now that being said, there are beings out there who can and do...occasionally...make a go of a romance with our kind. It's rare for things to work out between a wizard and a goblin, Veela, or giant; but it's been known to be worthwhile." She didn't need to reference teachers, some former and some current, who were examples. Everyone was nodding in the appropriate places.

"Oh, and if you've heard things about the squid... Let's just say I have it on good authority that all such rumors are a misprint."

After wrapping up with that cryptic remark, Rolanda dismissed the class feeling fairly lighthearted. Judging from their reactions, they would report her to their friends more as a curiosity than a freak. It was a distinction she'd learned to value. It would probably behoove her to keep to her office hours for the next few weeks. Someone was bound to want to discuss such things away from the ears of their classmates. She could respect that...very few people were as uninhibited on the topic as she was.

What she didn't expect was for Ginny Weasley to slip back into the classroom just before the door closed behind the last student to exit.

"Madam Hooch?" she asked hesitantly.

"Forget something, Miss Weasley?" she asked, a little surprised. She hadn't pegged the 'girl who was almost surgically attached to the boy who kicked arse' as someone who might question her sexuality. But of course, you never can tell.

"No... I was just wondering...how can you tell if you can make the switch?"

"There's a spell that detects the predisposition...a fairly simple one. But even someone with the natural capability has to learn how to use it properly. Do you want to test yourself?"

Ginny nodded. She didn't quite trust her voice just then.

Patiently, Madam Hooch demonstrated the spell, explaining the significance of the colored ball of light that resulted. Ginny imitated her.

"Did I do the spell correctly? Mine came up a different color," she said, frowning.

"You got it right. This just means that you don't have the ability to make the switch. I hope you aren't too disappointed," Hooch said gently.

"No... I was more curious than anything else. If someone did have the predisposition though, how would they learn to make the transformation?"

"As with any magic of that sort, you would need to be taught. There are a few books that mention the process, but it's safer to be trained by someone who has the ability. I've been able to do it for most of my adult life, so I could easily train an aspiring Veneramorphmagus in as little as a week of lessons, if he or she took to it."

"Well, thanks, Madam Hooch. If I ever hear of anyone who's interested, could I recommend you as an instructor?"

"Of course," Rolanda replied, trying not to look at Ginny oddly. The redhead smiled a little nervously, thanked her again, and hurried out.

"Well," Hooch remarked to the empty room, "that was interesting."

Ginny Weasley was doing some hard thinking.

She remembered her first few days at Hogwarts...how odd it was to share a room with a lot of other girls when she was used to being up to her neck in brothers. Girls were strange; so like her, yet so alien. She had female friends, but always felt most comfortable around the boys. Playing Quidditch and roughhousing came much more naturally to her than comparing notes on hairstyles, the latest fashions in Witch Weekly, or even which guys had the best bodies.

It would have been easier to dismiss if she found boys (in general) especially arousing, but aside from Harry...whom she adored...boys were more or less just the acceptable option, and she had pursued them because they fell within her comfort zone and because it was the thing to do. She couldn't honestly say she'd ever been truly aroused at the sight of one of her dorm mates. But, being honest, she also had to say she found a certain aesthetic quality to the shape of fellow females. Touching herself was interesting, to say nothing of pleasurable. Would it be as interesting to touch another set of soft, feminine curves?

It wasn't enough of a yearning that would move her to leave Harry by the wayside, not by a long chalk. He was her true love without question. But there was no denying that she'd been tempted (more than once) to ask him if there was any truth to the rumor that men fantasized about seeing two women together; if she'd had a specific woman in mind, she might have gone through with the question.

Now that Ginny was aware of this new wrinkle in the world of gender relations, she had the fleeting idea of Harry as a girl. The idea was undeniably intriguing.

She was going to have to have a talk with Harry this Friday after the test.

Snape was at the top of his form as he surveyed the sea of variously sullen, cowed, and studiedly blank faces before him. He considered it a shame that the syllabus taught prophylactic charms before the accounts of sexually transmitted diseases. Perhaps it would have inspired the hormonal beasts to practice them more thoroughly had it been the other way around...after all, they certainly seemed quite motivated to get the contraceptive charms right after hearing about pregnancy and childbirth.

It was a good thing, too; contraceptive potions were only as good as the brewer, and if these dunderheads obtained indifferent commercial preparations or had to rely on their own lack of skill in that regard, their substandard progeny would be hopelessly clogging his classroom sooner rather than later.

Of course, the bright ones would take precautions, thus reducing the chances he'd have many decent students to look forward to. Granger could probably brew a perfect contraceptive potion in her sleep. This was an unaccountably disappointing thought. Granted, it would spare him having to look at generations of fluffy-haired, arm-waving mini-know-it-alls, but it didn't bode well for the long nights of marking essays. Saving hers for last was one of his sanity-preserving tactics, the equivalent of an exquisite dessert following page after page of gruel on parchment.

After running through that set of musings, Snape felt particularly vindictive. Since this was not unusual for him, he didn't bother to examine why. He simply proceeded to squick the living snot out of the little snots.

The lesson seemed to grind on with nary a question asked, making the Slytherin girls increasingly concerned that they had been double-crossed. Millicent was seething and planning retaliation (not to mention retrieving her book) when the magic hand went up.

Damn! Snape though fiercely. And with this segment almost out of the way. When ignoring the raised hand failed to dissuade her, he finally favored her with a look of exquisite contempt.

"Question, Miss Granger?" he purred dangerously. "Or has your arm at long last become stuck that way?"

She gave a slight, innocent smile, which unaccountably set off a host of alarm bells for him. "Sir, I noticed that the pictures in our texts don't distinguish well between harmless conditions, such as Fordyce's spots, and potentially harmful genital warts. Are there more reliable indicators for evaluating the health of one's potential partner?"

Miss Granger was trying to get at something with such a deceptively innocuous question, Snape decided. If only he could put his finger on it...

"The only reliable way of avoiding these disgusting little maladies altogether is to keep your knees together," he said dryly. "But since that advice is unlikely to penetrate the collective thickness of most skulls in this classroom, the best course of action is to have intercourse only with someone whose health you are absolutely certain of, through independent means such as appropriate medical tests. And for Merlin's sake, don't neglect prophylactic charms."

Millicent raised her hand, grinning inwardly. Granger had opened the door wide enough for two Abraxans abreast. Perhaps Gryffindors were useful, after all.

Shite. Not Bulstrode as well. Was Granger contagious? Snape wondered irritably.

"If perfectly healthy looking people may have all sorts of nasty pox, just think what a filthy little drab from Knockturn Alley could pass along. Why are such potential sources of disease allowed to ply their trade so openly?" she asked pointedly. True, it was rather a social issue than otherwise, but they were talking about social diseases...

"If you have a relevant question, ask it, Miss Bulstrode. I do not think we need a lecture on the detrimental aspects of dealing with prostitutes...the mere idea of paying for a sexual partner should suffice to dissuade any self-respecting male from that particular pursuit," he said with his most disdainful sneer...causing Miss Bulstrode to think that perhaps the professor protested too much.

The Slytherin females were not dissuaded. They suddenly seemed to have a surfeit of detailed inquiries to make about sexual disease and dysfunction. Since when had the Little Green Book not provided all a Slytherin could want to know? Never mind he himself had read outside that classic.

The Slytherins were managing, but Hermione thought it looked as if they could use a slight boost. She had agreed to seed the field with a couple of questions, after all. "Speaking of forms of dysfunction, I'd like to bring up..."

"Miss Granger, I do hope this isn't a lament on your boyfriend's failure to perform adequately. That would be a topic best left between him and his Healer. Neither are we interested in any concerns you might have about frigidity," Snape drawled softly. Oh, how she would pay for making him suffer through all four days of this topic... and it would start now.

Okay, it's gloves off now, Snape Hermione thought furiously, though she managed to control her reaction to no more than a narrow, nastily sweet smile that eerily echoed his own expression. "I think that the gentlemen in this class should be aware, in particular, of pudendal nerve entrapment. It's scarcely mentioned in the text for this class, but I've read that it can be caused by any sort of persistent, excessive pressure applied between the legs. Muggles sometimes suffer such damage from narrow, hard bicycle seats. But wouldn't a broom handle be even more hazardous to the perineum, and therefore, broom riding more likely to result in loss of sensation in the penis, pain in the entire region, and even impotence?" she pronounced the last delicately and deliberately.

The Slytherin girls were exercising all their cunning to maintain poker faces. Indeed, it was with utmost effort that they refrained from rising from their seats as one and making this 'hug a bushy-haired Gryffindor Day.'

"That's what cushioning charms are for, you impossible, book-regurgitating know-it-all," Snape's volume never rose, but his voice was a terrifying rumble by the end of his response. There was no way anyone in the class had failed to hear him; however, the looks on several faces said plainly that the popularity of Quidditch at Hogwarts was going to plummet like a dropped troll, at least for the immediate future.

Do NOT Crucio the Granger chit... Do NOT Crucio the Granger chit... It doesn't matter that she is plainly possessed by the evil shade of Bella Lestrange... You've gone this many years without using an Unforgivable on a student, don't drop the Quaffle now...

"What about Animagi? Does it constitute bestiality if they have sex while in their animal form?" Pansy burst in, carried away by the general tide of questions.

Millicent decided she would have to murder Pansy at some point in the near future, or at least cause her significant pain. That was an idiotic question unworthy of a Slytherin, and they hadn't quite gotten to the section on deviations yet. The stupid cow was going to give away the game, all the more because a few other idiots were unable to resist flinching slightly at the gaffe.

Snape decided point loss and detention were rather lost on a dunderhead of this magnitude. It would be best to simply fix her with his most evil glare until it penetrated even her thick head that she had been a bad little Slytherin and her Professor was very, very displeased...which was NOT a good thing. A pity Granger wasn't contagious; she might have been able to infect Parkinson with a modicum of intelligence. He quietly intimidated his way forward.

Meanwhile, Bulstrode scrawled, 'Ask another question or I want that book back!' in large, insistent letters on a scrap of parchment and subtly tilted it in Granger's direction. The Gryffindor gave no outward acknowledgement of having noticed, but soon raised her hand again.

Too bad Granger's Muggle-born, Millicent thought. Slytherin could use a few more brains with some grasp of subtlety. Merlin knows, you could blow out a candle in Parkinson's left ear and get smoke from the right.

"I'm curious as to why fetishes and minor 'kinks' are grouped with abnormal and deviant behavior. I would tend to think that, so long as no one is harmed in the performance of the acts, they are really..."

"Whom, precisely, are you trying to impress with your encyclopedic knowledge of sexual trivia?" he interrupted, his voice raw, raspy, and dangerous. Aghast did not even begin to do justice to his reaction to the question.

DO NOT Crucio the Granger chit...

Her lips parted slightly, and he hastily interrupted lest it be the prelude to a reply rather than an expression of shock. "If you wish to discuss deviant behavior, so be it! I want no less than three feet on the subject by precisely six AM Saturday morning...and you shall come to my office and read it aloud. I do not care to strain my eyes staring at your miniscule script. It's like watching so many over-educated ants creeping across the parchment. Class dismissed."

It was ten minutes before the end of class, and there was still a modicum of material that technically ought to have been covered. The students were petrified with amazement.

"I said you are dismissed," Snape hissed in his best creature of the night voice. The rush to the door threatened to result in trampling incidents. All other evidence to the contrary aside, the old vampire rumors suddenly popped into everyone's mind just then. With that look on his face, no one cared to find out when the professor had eaten last.

Harry walked out of the final day of Professor McGonagall's Reproductive Health class. He should have felt relieved, but he didn't.

The exam to come tomorrow didn't bother him. It had no bearing on his marks, and he felt quite sure he could pass it handily. The material wasn't that disturbing, though he could have done without McGonagall's method of teaching it, especially that first day. He'd seen more disgusting things in the Potions classroom, and more disturbing things just about every term of his student career at Hogwarts.

No, it was his reaction to the topic that worried him...particularly the reaction to the lesson he'd just left.

The information on Sexually Transmitted Diseases didn't bother him. He and Ginny had observed appropriate precautions. Although he was a little taken aback at the number of fellow students who started looking nervous...if not panicked...during that part of the lecture.

He'd been fully prepared to roll his eyes derisively at the mention of homosexuality, and perhaps pass a note with a few Lockhart jokes to Dean, who was sitting next to him. Anything more ostentatious than that would be childish. Anything less wouldn't be manly enough. This would have worked, except that the lesson...unlike the student text...came with pictures.

They weren't nearly as detailed as the images accompanying the anatomy and physiology portions of the lesson, nor even so much so as the bit on birth. It was just a bit of artwork, really...a charming drawing of two delightfully underdressed witches whispering in each other's ears, and one other...the one that left him so distracted that he couldn't concentrate on the rest of the class.

It was just a very non-explicit drawing of two young men, unclothed. It was nothing that couldn't be seen in the locker after Quidditch, except for the looks they were exchanging. It wouldn't, shouldn't, have bothered him, except for one thing...something about the slender waist and hips, the mischievous smile, the smooth back of the one fellow, reminded him of Ginny. He realized that the witch he loved, with the exception of her pretty face and quite lovely breasts, had a very boyish figure.

This left him intermittently distracted for the rest of the class. It hardly mattered for the purpose of the exam; Professor McGonagall had stuck to the book, and he'd done his reading. He was free to reflect on his feelings, and not like how they were shaping up.

Cho had had a rather boyish figure as well, he thought worriedly. The fact that he'd never been attracted to any of his dorm mates placated him for a while, but then the nagging idea came that he felt rather brotherly towards all of them. What about males for whom he didn't have protective, brotherly feelings? It was tempting just to try to put the subject out of his mind, but he wasn't going to be a coward about this, even if no one else ever knew.

Analyzing it closely, he didn't seem to find specific feminine or masculine forms inherently enticing; what appealed to him was a more general type...slender, athletic, strong, yet still someone he could dominate. He wasn't interested in hurting anyone, but the idea of being the one in charge was undeniably exciting. He imagined a male face giving him the soft-lipped, vulnerable gaze Ginny occasionally favored him with in their most intimate moments, and couldn't ignore the tingle of curiosity. He wanted to see that look on a male. He wanted to be the one to put it there. He adored Ginny, and couldn't imagine feeling that way about anyone else. Still, he wanted to know if the rush of power would happen in real life, or if it only existed in his imagination.

Harry hurried to his next class, swearing under his breath. He was quite certain he wasn't exclusively homosexual, but there was no denying that curiosity. Bloody hell. Would it go away? Probably not, as long as he had frequent looks at Ginny's slim backside. Could he keep it dark and never act on it? Probably. But that would mean being dishonest with Ginny, and he could never do that to her.

There was nothing for it. This Friday after the exam, they would have to have a talk.

Hermione wasn't best pleased with the detention, but she was pretty certain Millicent Bulstrode was going to be a sort of odd ally from now on. And she would get to keep that fascinating little green book, which was quite the addictive read...more so once you started practicing the lessons. The foremost topic on her mind now was why Snape had reacted so intensely and abruptly to the topic of minor sexual deviations. Everything else he had deflected with accustomed levels of insult and sarcasm. She must have hit a nerve there. Maybe the book would offer some insights.

There was one section in particular which intrigued her...a potion that could be used for detecting deviations, fetishes, and kinks in one's sexual partner. It was a bit complex to assemble, but only needed to brew for two nights. Nor were the ingredients rare except for the rather significant amount of unicorn hair. Luckily, there was still quite a bit of it in Hagrid's former abode. She could complete it and use it during her scheduled detention on Saturday morning to figure out just exactly what had made Professor Snape so uncomfortable when the subject came up.

It shouldn't be a problem to make the potion, and write the three feet on deviant behavior she was supposed to be embarrassed to read to him, within the available time. She had to admit, it would be a bit embarrassing, but she had managed to ask all those questions in class, so reading some fairly disturbing stuff with only the professor for an audience should be manageable.

One thing bothered her slightly. The redaction did not specify the exact manner in which the potion worked. All it said was that taking it would cause the drinker to know exactly what it was that aroused his or her partner and stressed the necessity of drinking it just before the planned encounter. Maybe it caused you to be able to perform a sort of Legilimency. That could prove awkward; he'd probably deflect the attempt, leaving him more irate that ever.

Hmm. How much, exactly, did she want to know what made Snape tick?

Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained...

"Were the children still giving you grief?" Minerva asked surreptitiously at dinner that night. She'd have thought Severus would be in a better mood, now that it was all over but the testing. And of course, the revenge.

Snape snorted. Not only were all the students in question of age, but the past few days indicated their last vestiges of childishness were probably limited to a puerile sense of humor. "Not they... she. Miss Granger, the Gryffindor part-Fwooper. If she carries this behavior over into Potions, I may have to put a Silencing Charm on her before I go mad."

"Whatever could she have been on about that was so much trouble?" Pomona wondered aloud.

"What wasn't she going on about?" he grumbled, refusing to elaborate. The sooner he managed to forget yesterday's session, the sooner he'd be able to bring himself to ride a broom again. With extra cushioning charms.

Snape didn't need the hint to be dropped on him from great height. Even without Parkinson practically taking out an advert to announce it, he would have worked it out. He knew a conspiracy when he saw it, and it looked as if his Slytherins had not only turned against him, but had apparently gone so far as to recruit a Gryffindor as a weapon. They'd pay for this, and pay dearly.

He would have to ascertain Miss Granger's exact role. Normally he would have made her punishment public, but the weekend detention would allow him to interrogate her at his leisure. It seemed unlikely that she could have been coerced. The Umbridge episode suggested she wasn't the sort to roll over in the face of intimidation. Perhaps she had a friend in his house, though that didn't seem terribly plausible, either...

For tonight, he would deal with the ladies of Slytherin in a more general manner. He knew their little tricks for sneaking into the boys' dorm, or making private space in the common room. (Merlin knows, he'd had to listen to enough of his more careless...or exhibitionist...classmates' noisy liaisons in his student days.) Well, there were ways to prevent that, though he usually never bothered. As Head of House, he could lock down their living space so tightly there was no way the libidinous little traitors could do more than troop from their beds to the loo and back, from after dinner until breakfast the next day. Once Miss Granger had yielded the necessary details, he could tailor more suitable punitive measures.

In Slytherin, if the Head of House ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

With all the children (theoretically) in their beds and the work week over, the professors met in Kent Foote's office to go over last-minute details of their plan to track down the perpetrators of this disaster. Minerva was not pleased, for two reasons...the evident distraction of the troops, and the apparent lack of actual secrecy.

Not that she had really expected to keep this from Albus for any length of time, but it was a little distracting to find a note on Kent's desk reading,

My Dear Minerva (and co-conspirators):

Albus

"Bloody old coot knows everything," she grumbled. "Kent, what on earth are you wearing?"

"My favorite Hawaiian shirt," he said proudly, turning to model it. "I was lucky to find several different patterns in Hufflepuff colors."

Minerva privately thought it was bad luck, at least for anyone looking at him. "Is that your clothing model over there?" she asked, indicating a strange, roughly human-shaped, greenish figure with an angular head, dressed in another of his shirts.

"No, that's a representation of a Muggle entertainer of some sort...'Gummy,' I think they call him. It's a gift from one of my students. Severus! You've stepped on him!"

Sure enough, air was slowly leaking out a tear in the green figure's foot. "Sorry, I'll put him to rights," he said, hastily managing the rip with a passable 'Reparo' and thinking hard as to how to restore the thing's original state of inflation. Right, almost got it...

"Two flicks to the right," Filius whispered discreetly to Severus when his first attempt failed to prop up the sagging figure.

"I know, I know," he murmured back irritably.

Filius shook his head. Severus was one of the best duelists he'd ever taught, but when it came to Charms, the boy had a devil of a time managing his wand.

"Severus, quit fannying about with that Muggle toy and get over here," Minerva snapped.

He glowered at her, but his voice remained elegant as ever. "No need to get your knickers in a knot, Minerva," he said delicately. "We're starting with Kent's cousin, one of the junior members of the Board of Governors, and he won't be home for another half hour."

"What, exactly, am I supposed to ask him again?" Kent queried nervously.

"Start up a pleasant chat, have him let his guard down, and then find out which parents instigated the inquiry, and which members of the Board approved the plan," Minerva reminded him impatiently. "One of us will be with you, to prompt you if you have problems."

As Minerva continued the briefing, Severus studied the troops. He didn't like the way Charlie was getting worked up about this. He'd definitely remind Minerva to station the lad outside as a lookout. And it might be best to check Quill for books and scrolls before embarking...it wouldn't do to have her reading and walking through the Ministry, periodically bumping into statues and apologizing. Though he had to admit, the Ancient Runes professor had an alert look tonight that she normally reserved for pieces of parchment.

"Right, then...we've got the cloaks, if necessary, and the map. The bottle, Professor Foote?"

Kent handed over the bottle of Firewhisky with which they would pledge their intention to stick together until they'd learned the identities of their tormentors, and everyone was safely home again. They agreed to leave any references to revenge out of this evening's magically binding contract; circumstances might require that they mete out punishment over a period of time, or on a more opportune night. Minerva Transfigured an appropriate number of glasses, and Aurora poured solemnly until the entire contents of the bottle were evenly divided.

"To the truth," Minerva said, and everyone resolutely chugged their share...though Filius, accustomed to much milder intoxicants, had to be steadied by Septima and Clara all the way to the gates and was cheerfully calling them, 'my lovely little ravens' by the time they were in position to Apparate. Quill graciously took him Side-Along, since they were afraid he might not make it otherwise.

"I told you we needed to wait until the mission was over to start drinking," Severus needled Minerva.

Minerva's judgment in such matters wasn't entirely off. She did manage to realize it would be best to wait until after they'd done all they'd set out to do before giving in to the temptation to Transfigure Severus into a bat for that remark.

Author's Notes:

The information on Koro (barring the bit I made up about it being a wizarding ailment) is from my numerous psychology classes, which not only gave me wonderful insights into human behavior, but helped me to realize that being a psychologist would actually constitute occupying the wrong end of the microscope.

The information on nerve problems from chronic pressure such as might be caused by hard, narrow seats (or surgery, or sometimes pregnancy...yes, women have to worry about this too, which Hermione conveniently overlooked in her desire to use the word 'impotence') hails from the Wikipedia, and just goes to show how important those Cushioning Charms are.

Hooch's ability is balderdash I invented.