The Calm before the Mild Meteorological Event...

AN: Sorry for the delay. Been busy attempting to gain life. As always, much thanks to Miffled for the beta.

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“Now that you have mastered the containment spell, we will begin on the actual lesson for today. This will be one of the most difficult transfigurations you will undertake for the NEWT.”

Hermione waited until McGonagall turned and began walking to the front of the classroom before slipping through the door, not in any real hope of not getting caught, but out of the subconscious instinctive belief held by all rule breakers that any dirty deed done quietly is somehow not quite as bad. McGonagall continued lecturing, momentarily oblivious, as Hermione made her way to her seat and took out her books.

“The hippopotamus is an ugly, bad-tempered creature, and so makes for a particularly challenging inanimate to animate transformation. The desk will not wish to be a hippo and does its best in preventing you from doing so. In fact, the desk will dislike it so much that if you are eventually successful in turning it into a hippo, it will resist all attempts to transform back into furniture until it has exacted revenge--you’re late, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor, and see me after class.” McGonagall gave a disapproving look, which Hermione was not accustomed to receiving.

“Sorry, Professor.”

“Now, we will continue with the transformation of--where is Mr. Weasley?” She stared at the seat next to Hermione as if she’d not noticed its vacant state previously.

Hermione hadn’t seen Ron since lunch--bollocks! “I think I can find him, Professor McGonagall.”

“Hmmm. You seem uncharacteristically eager to be missing class time.” McGonagall appeared skeptical, but soon relented. “Very well. Go check with Professor Snape first, as he is most likely to know of Mr. Weasley’s whereabouts.” McGonagall turned to address the rest of the class. “You will notice that the desks in front of you today are particularly unattractive…”

Hermione spent the journey back to the Great Hall contemplating the odd happenings of the day, not the least of which being her new role of parent. The responsibility was frightening, as she really hadn’t pictured herself with a child--magically created or no--right out of Hogwarts. Or when still enrolled for that matter. Almost as strange was the universal insistence that Ron was having an affair with Snape, a ludicrous idea seeing as Snape would hardly be inclined, much less have the energy to--

Her musings were interrupted by the staircase’s arrival at her destination. Upon entering the Hall, she saw Ron still petrified next to the Gryffindor table. She walked over to him, peering apologetically into his frozen, panic-stricken face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ron! Finite Incantatem.” Ron immediately sagged, staggered toward her and began mumbling.

“S-s-sn-snu-sh-sha-g-g-muh--” Hermione threw her shoulder underneath Ron’s left arm in an effort to maneuver him to the exit.

“It’s all right. You’re free.”

“B-but sn-s-s-sna--”

“Snape? He’s not here. We should get back to class before Professor McGonagall decides to take off more points.”

“I … I have to Floo me mum.” Ron halted their progress just outside the Hall. Hermione resisted the urge to scold him, as he didn’t look up to it, and instead merely sighed as he wandered off to Gryffindor tower.

*****

“I realize it would be far too much to hope that at least one of you completed the reading from last class, so I ask this in bleak expectancy of not receiving an answer. Can anyone tell me what roles shrivelfig and sneezewort play in a Blood-Replenishing Potion?”

Snape stepped around the newly repaired desks with the patience of a kneazle. He noticed the students were shrinking away from him more than usual, in particular--

“Mr. Nemhauser, would it be an imposition to request that you remain in your chair for the duration of this period?” Snape approached the terrified boy, who had been inching his way out of his seat toward the door. Snape leaned over his desk, sneering at the young man’s poor attempt at taking notes before addressing him again. “Mr. Nemhauser? Can you answer me?”

Nemhauser moved back in his seat as Snape inched forward until his damp, shaking back was pressed against his seat. Beads of sweat ran down his pale face, dripping unattractively into spots on his robes.

“Since you seem stricken dumb at the moment, I’ll be gracious enough to assist you. The correct response is…” Snape stopped just short of Nemhauser’s face before continuing at a whisper. “Nothing.”

Nemhauser could take no more. With an incoherent cry, he tipped his chair over, hit the ground with a crack, somehow fumbled his wand out of his pocket and began waving it about in desperation.

“Mr. Nemhauser--”

Snape leapt back as, in freakish coincidence, the boy’s random movements transfigured the desk in front of him into a very confused hippopotamus. The class shifted quickly away from the animal, though its creator remained quaking on the floor. Snape cast a spell that froze the irate beast in place, barely. As he attempted to reign in the pandemonium plaguing his classroom for the second time that day, Dumbledore appeared in the doorway in a repeated show of timely omniscience.

“Did someone wave for assistance?” He surveyed the room carefully over his spectacles, the twinkle in his eyes faltering as he took in the hippo and the trembling boy next to it. He leveled a gaze at the Potions master specifically designed as inducement to immediate confession.

Snape raised his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I did absolutely nothing to the little ninny.”

“I think we’ll leave that decision to Mr. Nemhauser. Schemdrick? Are you feeling well, son?”

Nemhauser stuttered through what might have been an affirmative as Dumbledore assisted the hapless boy to his feet.

“Did Professor Snape hurt you?” Dumbledore, in a rare episode of lucidity, studied Nemhauser with concern. The young man shook his head, though he glanced at Snape nervously from the corner of his eye.

“Still, I believe you would benefit from a bit of rest. Off to the Infirmary with you.” He patted the boy on the shoulder in an avuncular gesture and ushered him out the door. Snape watched, clearly irritated.

“Headmaster, I believe I will be able to resist Mr. Nemhauser’s charms at least until the end of the period.”

“No matter, Severus. Oh, and you might as well send this on up to Minerva. She’ll already have a roomful of them by now.” Dumbledore left with all the dramatic flair of his entrance, and Snape abandoned all hope of getting anything constructive accomplished for the day.

******

Everything was perfectly normal. Fine. Couldn’t possibly be better. Unremarkable even, if one was to ignore the entire population of Hogwarts alternating their not-so-covert glances between Snape and the second-youngest of the Weasley clan. Snape was doing just that quite well, in fact, enjoying his supper of barely-dead lamb and still-gasping potatoes. Ronald Weasley, however, was failing miserably in the simple task of sipping water. He’d deposited most of the pitcher in his lap while pouring and decorated his tie with the remainder.

The large doors at the back of the Great Hall boomed open, announcing the entrance of a motherly whirlwind of fury. Tables of students scattered, benches overturned, and food and drink flew in terror as she marched to the Head Table like a plump, flightless Valkyrie, flanked by Aurors rushing to keep up, and stopped before the only man not showing fear. He raised an eyebrow as the woman’s hair, which had been blowing majestically behind her despite its shortness, caught up with the rest of her. She slammed her hands on the table in front of her and gazed pointy knitting needles into the Potion master’s eyes.

“My poor ickle Ronniekins has been Snaped!”

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