Meretricis Connubium
by Derek Zolfer
1- Snape Comes Out of the Closet
"Lumos."
Light flared in the small closet, chasing the shadows into the corners and revealing the gaunt, dark-robed form of a wizard. Snape blinked in the sudden brightness for a moment as his eyes adjusted, sneezing a bit from the thick layer of dust that permeated the closet. He wouldn't be surprised if the last time this little hole in the wall had seen any activity was when legendary snogger Godric Griffindor and his harem roamed these halls, but that was just fine with him. The state of the place meant Filch hadn't checked it recently and wasn't likely to any time soon. And the fewer that knew about his deeds this eve, the better.
Snape turned towards the rear of the closet and held the glowing tip of his wand against the wall, illuminating wooden planks cracked with age and coated with dust. Holding the light steady with one hand, he ran the other over the wall. Fourth plank from the left, she had said, knothole shaped like Professor Sprout's head... THERE!
Snape placed his finger against the aforementioned knothole and pushed, a sense of satisfaction filling him as he drove it deeply into the wall. He'd often dreamed, after all, of smashing in Sprout's face. That annoying Hufflepuff, always on about plants and herbs and the virtues of her house: teamwork, fair play, brutal bondage sex.
Why, the only household head who'd annoyed him more was-- but no, no, that way was madness.
The wall swung open with a small click, revealing a yawning rock passage that vanished into blackness. Against his will, Snape swallowed. His nerves, so strong up till now, wavered, and he felt his stomach flutter as if he had swallowed a jar full of live newts.
This was it, his last chance to back out, to avoid the utter ruin that surely lay before him. Once he entered that dark passage, there could be no turning back. There could be no forgiveness. There could only be...
Damnation....
Cursing himself for his weakness, Snape grimaced and stalked into the dark passage. The door swung shut and locked behind him, concealing all trace of his passing.
~~~
2- Good Feelings in Griffindor Tower
"THE LUCK OF THE IRISH BE UPON YE, LADDIES," Seamus Finnigan screamed, coked out of his mind. He jumped up and down on his bed, stark naked and laughing like a loon, his hair standing up like a strange crest. At his feet twitched the remains of a Viktor Krum figure that he had broken in half a few minutes before while screaming "IRELAND OWNS BULGARIA MOTHAFUCKAZZZZZZ"
Across the room, Ron and Hermione laughed at his antics with reckless abandon for a moment before going back to their previous activity; snorting lines off the Mirror of Erised.
"S'funny, Hermyown," said Ron. "No matter how much of this stuff I sniff up, I just see more reflectin' back at me!" He pulled his Chudley Cannons hat down over his eyes and giggled. "Wonder why?"
"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS THINK I KNOW EVERYTHING!?" Hermione shrieked. She looked an absolute fright. Her hair was even more tangled than normal and her pupils had dialated to the size of bronze knuts. A pair of paper tusks jutted from her nose; she had crammed shreds of the ever useful Hogwarts: A History up there to stop the rampant bleeding only moments before.
"How big is Krum's broomstick?" Ron asked suddenly.
"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS ASK SUCH STUPID QUESTIONS?" Hermione returned, punching him right in the R of his Weasley Sweater. "HE USES A REGULATION B-OH. Ohhhhh...." She might have blushed; her face was too flushed and manic for him to really tell. "Well, let's just say it's not too bloody impressive. He's not exactly got a Jello Legs Curse lurking in his wand, if you know what I mean."
"Hermione!" Ron snapped his head back in surprise. He was still wearing his orange Cannons hat over his eyes, and the sudden movement caused the tip to sway wildly, making him look like some sort of mutant elephant. "That's bloomin' disgusting! The git was like 18 years old when he was here for the Triwizard Tournament. Robbin' the cradle, garrr!"
Hermione did not seem to notice Ron's ranting. "Now Professor Lockhart, on the other hand...." She smiled.
"BLOODY HELL!" Ron screamed. He tried to pull off the cap but only suceeded in rolling onto the mirror of Erised and disturbing the little crack left on its surface. Even as he thrashed madly, he continued to berate her. "And all this time I thought you were the nice one! You're... you're just some kind of SLUT!"
"I'm not the one who let an evil middle aged man sleep in my bed for several years!" Hermione fumbled around in her jeans for some X and popped a pill with shaking fingers.
"I THOUGHT HE WAS A RAT!"
"You're not making it any better," Hermione said, but the anger in her voice was gone. As she gazed at Ron like that, rolling around on a magical mirror covered in narcotics, wearing a kitten-puke green wool sweater and torn pants, his head shrouded in a giant orange phallic symbol, she felt something stir within her. Within her loins. Within her heart.
"Come here, Ron," she said suddenly, yanking the hat from his head and tossing it aside. She pulled him close, until his face was only inches from her own. Something about this closeness to Ron made her heart spasm so that it almost pained her. This was Ron, warm and reassuring and close. He smelled of soap and Pigwidgeon the owl and most of all like crack addict, and then she realized that she loved him.
Hermione paused only a moment to wipe the trail of stoner's drool from the corner of his mouth, and then she kissed him. Hard.
Ron gasped. He didn't even remember kissing Hermione; it was as if her tongue had vanished and Apparated halfway down his throat, but of course that was impossible according to Hogwarts: A History. Not that he cared. Ripping the paper tusks out of Hermione's nose, he kissed her with renewed, reckless abandon.
They fell to the floor, snogging like two cracked-out mongooses atop the Mirror of Erised.
~~~
3- Snape Gets His Comeuppance
The dark passage stretched on endlessly like some sort of purgatory, reflecting the state of his own life. As Snape walked down its length, he was struck with wave after wave of crushing, debilitating angst. Oh how he hated himself, his life, his job as Potions instructor. He was weak and loathesome and cowardly, too weak to resist the evil call of Voldemort and the torments of Sirius Black in his youth, too weak to get the Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor job, too weak to save his cat, Mr. Fluffy Fluffledore, who had been smashed beneath the cold, unrelenting wheels of a Muggle truck the week before, too weak to prevent his favorite pair of snitch socks from shrinking in the dryer, too weak to zip his fly....
I don't fear hell, he thought, I LIVE THERE.
At last the passage ended before a narrow wooden door. Fighting through the miasmatic sea of twisted dark torment that surrounded him, Snape managed somehow reach the handle of the portal and pull it open. He stepped within, shaking, and the door slammed shut behind him.
"I've been waiting for you, Severus," said a voice from across the room.
He turned to face her. The room was bare save for a desk and a single magical lamp. In the wan light, he could barely make her out, standing on the other side of the chamber, her robes pulled about her nervously.
"Minerva," he said. He gulped, curling suddenly sweaty palms into fists. He didn't trust himself to say anything more.
"Yes, Severus," she said, her voice shaking a bit. "I'm here. And you're here. So let's get down to it."
"This is madness!" Snape yelled, suddenly finding strength. "Imagine the scandal! The horror! What would we tell the students?"
"I believe in honesty, Severus," McGonagall said. She walked up to the desk, took off her spectacles, and laid them aside. "We will tell them the truth. That my raw animal heat and your cool, calculated lust cannot be isolated any longer. They must come together." Her tongue flicked out over her lips. "Do you know what happens when hot and cold come together, Severus?" She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. "Thunder and Lightning."
She raised her arms above her head and her robes slid away to reveal the outfit beneath; a pair of thigh-high leather "fuck me" boots and nothing else. A snap of her fingers and her tight bun of hair relaxed into a cascade of passionate mousy brown fire.
Snape felt as if he'd swallowed an elephant sized dose of Turgidity Potion; his pint sized little ex-Death Eater was rearing up and eager to spread a dark mark or two around. Feeling like a leaf in a hurricane, he scrambled for words. In the end, he could only fall back on the one thing that had always worked for him; acting like an asshole.
"Technically, your answer is incorrect," he said, "Hot and cold AIR produce thunderstorms, but putting a piece of ice in a flame will hardly do the same. Five points from Griffindor House for GROSS INACCURACY."
McGonagall sputtered. "Ten points from Slytherin for acting like a git and spoiling the moment!"
Snape stepped forward. "Thirty points from Griffindor for wearing those boots! They don't complement your skin tone at ALL!"
She was moving forward too, her breasts jutting out threateningly like the prow of a great icebreaker. "Fifty points from Slytherin for relying on immature insults!"
They were face to face in front of the desk now, still screaming.
"ONE HUNDRED POINTS from Griffindor for having such perfectly shaped breasts!"
"TWO HUNDRED POINTS from Slytherin for not nailing me on this desk right here, right now! MMMMPHHHH!!!!"
They fell upon the desk, herking and jerking like Blast-Ended Skrewts in heat.
~~~
4- Harry Gets A Surprise
Harry Potter sighed. He was weary. So horribly, horribly weary.
Last night, he had found Voldemort's Dark Shoe, the dark artifact that could bring doom and ruin to the wizarding world if it were not destroyed. It had been an arduous three weeks traveling through the forests of Albania, helped only by Hedwig, Hagrid, Fang and... oh, let's say.... Ginny Weasley.
The end of the journey had proved to be the most horrifying, as old friend Hagrid revealed that all along he was just a hairy clone of Tom Riddle created in case anything ever happened to the original Voldemort. Fang was actually Sirius Black, who turned out to really be evil in a stunning twist; he and Pettigrew had in fact worked together in a dark conspiracy to get Voldemort's Shoe and destroy the Dark Lord with it so they could become the twin terrors of the wizarding world.
Fortunately, Hedwig, who was really Rowena Ravenclaw in Animagus form, had destroyed the two evildoers, but then it turned out that instead of Rowena Ravenclaw she was actually Helga Hufflepuff who had killed Rowena and wanted Voldemort's Shoe for herself. It was only the timely intervention of Ginny's patented Weasley Magical Fireball of Death that destroyed both evil Helga and the Dark Shoe. The world was saved yet again.
Then, afterwards, they found Hagrid drunk in a gay giant bar. He wasn't really a clone of Tom Riddle; instead his place had been taken by Ludo Bagman, who had again turned to Dark Magic since he lost all his money. Ludo lured him into the bar by telling him it was a dragon's nest and drugged him then used a Polyjuice potion to impersonate him. Fang was not actually Sirius, but Dobby the house elf, who had really been evil all along. The real Sirius was off snorting Mugglecoke off the back of a Thai hooker while Buckbeak ate wild goats.
Still, Harry was really tired.
By the time he and Ginny limped up the stairs to Griffindor tower, both of them just felt like going to sleep. Not with each other, because even though Ginny was all hot and stuff and Harry pretty much wanted to bang her like a cheap knocker, he was a good boy and wouldn't do something like that. And also, Ron would kill him.
When they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was nowhere to be seen. The door itself was ajar, and from within wafted a strange smelling smoke and goofy laughter.
"What's going on in there, Harry?" Ginny asked nervously.
"I don't know," he said, drawing his wand. He shuddered to think of what might be going on in there. The laughter, the strange smells... could the Death Eaters be working some vile magic within? "But we're going to find out."
Hand in hand, they stalked into the room.
"Holy Shit," Harry said.
The Griffindor common room was strewn with Muggle drugs, discarded clothing, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and unconscious Griffindors. Lavender Brown greeted Harry and Ginny with a squeal and a wave, then took an enormous hit off the bong that rested in her lap. A thoroughly soused George and severely baked Fred Weasley were trying to play exploding snap and mainly managing to flail at each other. Meanwhile, over by the fireplace, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were doing body shots of Colt .45 off either side of Parvati Patil's stomach. Trevor the toad was in sight for once; he lay on his back by Harry's left sneaker, emitting stoned ribbits every now and then.
".....wow," Ginny said. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Just... wow."
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?" Harry bellowed.
"Hey.... looksh guys," George slurred. "Itsh Harry! Come on in Harry, itshh fun!"
"YOU'RE ALL BLITZED OUT OF YOUR MIIIIIIINDS! WHY ARE YOU ALL DOING DRUGS?"
"Drugs?" Angelina Johnson asked. Even as Harry watched, she took the most monstrous tab of acid he'd ever seen. And Uncle Vernon did the stuff almost DAILY! "What're drugs? These are MUGGLE JOKES, you nutter! Mr. Weasley confiscated them from Muggle houses and Fred and George brought 'em here to try them out."
"Thyeshh work GREAT," Neville slurred. Then he passed out, his head pillowed between Parvati's breasts. She shrugged and continued smoking her blunt.
"This is madness!" Harry continued, though none of them seemed to care. "I've got to find Ron and Hermione and get to the bottom of this! Stay here, Ginny, and don't try any er... Muggle Jokes."
Harry charged up the stairs towards his dormitory, stumbling over a badly tripping Colin Creevey on the way.
"HARRY!" he screamed "VOLDEMORT'S IN MY MIRROR! VOLDEMORT'S IN MY MIRRORRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"
Harry ignored him. He marched up to the door and threw it open. "Come on Ron, we've got to OH SWEET TITTY NO----!"
Ron and Hermione were locked in a passionate embrace atop the mirror of Erised, both of them totally naked except for the last shreds of Ron's Weasley sweater. Finnigan looked on in slack jawed horror and surprise. None of the three people noticed Harry or his exclamation, and so slamming the door in disgust he marched back to the common room, deliberately stepping on Colin's hand on the way.
He got there just in time to slap the younger Creevy brother off of Ginny, who lay unconscious in the corner, a roofie-laced pitcher of pumpkin juice overturned by her side.
Fred galloped about the room, Harry's Firebolt tucked between his legs. "GORRRRR BLIMEY!!!" he yelled. "LOOK AT ME, I'M BLOODY HARRY POTTER!" He tromped around the chair where Lavender was frying her brain and veered dangerously close to the fireplace. "LOOK AT ME BIG BLOOMIN' SCAR! OI DON'T LOIK MUGGLE JOKES AND OI'VE GOT ME A BIG OL BROOMSTICK YES, A BIG OL BROOMSTICK THAT OI DEARLY LOVES TO PLAY WITH ALL THE LIVE LONG DAHHHHHHHH OHHHHHHHH GODDDDD IT BURNS!!!" He fell into the fire, bursting almost instantly into a human fireball as the wool of his Weasley Sweater made contact with the flames. The Sweater did not only ignite, it positively sucked the flames into itself as if it were trying to feast upon them, turning Fred into a living inferno. He staggered from the fireplace, leaving Harry's broomstick to burn as he stumbled about the room, still burning and screaming.
"That's it!" Harry said. "Guys, I hate to be a squealer, BUT I'M TELLING MCGONAGALL!"
~~~
5-The Climax
Harry raced towards the stairs on the far side of the tower and knocked furiously on McGonagall's bedroom door. She had to answer, she just had to!
"Professor!" he yelled. "We need you! Come quickly!"
That was when he heard the moans from the door at the end of the hall.
"uNFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF FIFTY POINTS TO GRIFFINDOR!"
"YOU FILTHY BASTARD! FIFTY POINTS TO SLYTH! ER! IN!!!!!!!!"
Harry steeled himself, dreading to open the door yet knowing he must. He felt raw fear overtake him, like that one time when his life was in danger. No, not last week. NO, not when he fought the basilisk. NO, YOU DAFFY FUCK, NOT WHEN THE DEMENTORS WERE AFTER HIM. I mean that first time. You know, where he burned that guy. With the turban. I forget his name. But he was evil. Tried to kill Harry. But then got burned. Yeah.
Once more, Harry threw open the door and bit back a scream.
Snape and McGonagall were tangled together on the desk like some sort of perverse cat's cradle, all thin creepy old people limbs and exposed flesh and dark thigh boots. Harry only caught sight of them for one brief moment before he averted his eyes, but he could still feel the mental image burning itself relentlessly into his brain.
At that moment, three voices cried out "Explain yourselves!" Two belonged, of course, to Snape and McGonagall. The third belonged to Dumbledore, who stood in the center of the Griffindor common room, his Pensieve held in both hands.
"Well, uh..." Snape said, hurriedly pulling his chainmail thong back on. "Minerva and I were just.. discussing the effect of nudity on certain magical spells."
"Oh, I see," Dumbledore said. "Then why, precisely, was she licking your Dark Mark?"
"Well...." Snape said. To Harry's great surprise, he actually blushed. "Er.. you see... spell... component... magic... wingardium... leviosa... boomslang skin... er... accio... er...."
"Tell him the truth, Severus," McGonagall said. She sounded weary. "Because I love badboys, and Snapey is the ultimate badboy. Except not all bad. You know, like I figured there's some happy medium between your average boring wizard and Voldemort, and it has to be him."
"And as for the rest of you," Dumbledore said, gazing around at the drunk, stoned, unconscious, and dead Griffindors around him. "You are all in a lot of trouble.... FOR NOT TELLING ME ABOUT THIS PARTY SOONER."
And then, as Dumbledore pressed a switch on the side of the Pensieve which transformed it into a giant crack pipe, Harry somehow knew that life would never quite be the same again. He was a boy no longer.
Tonight, he was a man.
~Fin~
I apologize for slight OOCness; I think we all know that no matter what her mental state, Hermione would never, ever, deface Hogwarts: A History.