Disclaimer: © 2009 Mundungus42. All rights reserved. This work may not be archived, reproduced, or distributed in any format without prior written permission from the author. This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe on copyrights held by JKR or any other lawful holder. Permission may be obtained by e-mailing the author at mundungus42 at yahoo dot com
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Having made short work of exploring Ravenclaw Tower, whose number of existing hidden closets Hermione had augmented threefold in record time, she was sitting cross-legged on one of the students' beds studying the complex charm that the creator of Door Central used to tie magical spaces to more than one physical location. She had nicknamed it SMAC, for "secondary magical aperture charm," or "sodding manky arse of a charm," depending on how frustrated she was feeling.
She had painstakingly decoded the complicated preston patterns into what she believed were the wand movements required for casting, but she still hadn't the faintest idea of how to cast it. Her first efforts produced little more than a ripple in her test closet's wall, and the second time the ripple was accompanied by some rather rude sounds. She was missing some necessary component.
Those failed experiments had led her to seek out the spy room off Ravenclaw's Common Room, which she found, amusingly enough, inside the pedestal of Rowena Ravenclaw's statue. However, her hopes that comparing the Ravenclaw graph to the Gryffindor one would point her in the correct direction were dashed. There was nothing in the graphs to indicate how the apertures were tied to different outside locations.
Hermione yawned hugely. The early mornings were beginning to wear on her. As amusing as it was to infuriate Molly, she knew she'd have to at least attempt to make her happy, otherwise, Molly would keep issuing arbitrary orders that would make her exhausted and miserable. Already she knew that her analytical faculties were less than they would be if she hadn't been up since dawn.
And even though she wanted nothing more than to crack the mystery of the SMAC, she knew that she'd be more likely to make progress on it after a cup of cocoa and some sleep. She stood and stretched, her back popping noisily, and made her way out of Ravenclaw Tower and to the Great Hall.
"Barbra?"
A House Elf cracked into existence, but it wasn't Barbra. "Sorry, miss, but Barbra is cooking. She has sent Judy to help miss."
"All, right. Judy, may I please have some cocoa?"
"Of course, miss."
Judy disappeared, and a moment later a steaming mug appeared. Hermione breathed in the fragrant steam and smiled. At least the headmistress hadn't managed to ruin Hogwarts' rich, creamy cocoa, even though Molly's orders confined her enjoyment to a single location.
Hermione stopped mid-sip. A single location — that was it!
She took a hurried sip of her cocoa, then pulled out her Mag-Spec. Several taps of her wand displayed the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw SMACs side-by-side, and Hermione could have whooped in triumph. It wasn't her imagination — the spells were absolutely identical. That meant that it was the incantation that allowed the caster to enter the coordinates of both real world entrances. Hermione shook her head. For her to miss something so elementary was unlike her. However, even this evidence that the lack of sleep was affecting her brain, she was too excited by her breakthrough to stop now.
Hermione consulted her notes from the previous day and found precisely what she was looking for: a hidden closet whose entrance was all but invisible from the high table and whose coordinates she had already mapped. She scanned the Great Hall with her Mag-Spec to ensure that she was truly alone and stepped into the closet.
She cast a Lumos spell overhead and displayed the Mag-Spec scan of her bedroom. She quickly ruled out using one of its walls, given Molly's surveillance of the room. Instead, she copied down the coordinates of the bit of wall beneath her bathroom's towel rack.
And now, the moment of truth: Hermione took a fortifying sip of cocoa and raised her wand. This wasn't one of the old spells that involved repeating an incantation or reciting a litany, this spell required surgical precision and a great deal of focus. Not for the first time, she marveled at the powers of the witch or wizard who had invented the spell without the benefit of the Mag-Spec.
Tap, swish, flick, swirl, flourish, all in precise rhythm with the words. She felt the magic course through her wand arm and into the wall. In her mind's eye, she could see the beautifully chaotic graph, and she felt as if she was painting it in rich pigments on the stone canvas before her.
Presently, she came back to herself, and was surprised to find that she was perspiring. But where there had been bare rock there was now a tiny wooden door. Feeling rather like Alice, she squatted down and turned the doorknob.
Hermione laughed in delight when she saw that she was indeed looking into her bathroom. If she wished, she could have the house elves bring tea while she was soaking in the bath. However, connecting such a private place to the Great Hall meant that precautions would need to be taken.
She jumped when a voice from behind her commented, "Dabbling in masonry?"
Severus was standing in the closet doorway with his arms crossed and a smug expression on his face.
She scowled at him. "You frightened the daylights out of me, Severus. How did you find me?"
"I saw you disappear into the closet with a determined look on your face, which I know from past experience means nothing but trouble. And as gratifying as it is to know that my exile has not dulled my catlike stealth and instinct for finding troublemakers, I would appreciate an answer to my question. What is this?"
"This?" she said, gesturing at the door. "Just an experiment in inter-spatial apertures."
He gestured at the door. "May I?"
"Of course."
Severus bent low and peered through the door. He turned to face her, one eyebrow cocked quizzically at her. "Bit of an exhibitionist, are we?"
Hermione's cheeks were burning, but she managed to keep her tone haughty. "I had to put the door in the bathroom because Molly put a Spy Spell on the bedroom."
"I'm surprised that you still wish to oppose the headmistress given that her voyeurism and your newly revealed proclivities are rather complimentary."
Hermione's dislike of being teased won out over her embarrassment. "You're just annoyed because I found a way to circumvent the 'meals in the Great Hall only' rule before you did. The elves won't technically have to leave the Great Hall. All they'll need to do is place meals on the other side of the door."
"On the contrary, I'm feeling quite gratified."
"Because now you see a material advantage to taking me into your confidence?"
"No, because you've added another item to the list of things that must be accomplished in order to secure my assistance in your crusade against La Weasley."
Hermione smiled, in spite of herself. "May I request a copy of the list?"
"I should be quite happy to arrange the items for you in order of priority," offered Snape with a smirk. "This fits somewhere below 'chart the structure of the Unbreakable Vow' and above 'measure potency of all private stores ingredients.'"
"I suppose I ought to be grateful that you're not making me remove beetle eyes."
"Now, if I did that, the poor students would have no way to entertain themselves during detention — not that I'm allowed to oversee them anymore, for obvious reasons."
"All right," she said, following him out of the closet and casting several camouflaging and cloaking charms on the door, "I'll make you a door of your own. But not tonight; I'm absolutely knackered, and Molly's making me work tomorrow. And that reminds me," she said, putting a hand into her beaded bag. "I got you a present."
"Really, Miss Granger, that's quite unnecess—" He cut off as he realized that the hand she had thrust toward him was empty.
"I'm afraid I'm out of invisible thank-you cards."
Hermione tutted, seized his hand and placed an invisible object in it. His brows drew together in consternation for a moment as he attempted to feel what the device was. It was mostly cylindrical in shape, and there was some sort of crank on the top. He could feel the teeth of the gears move when he turned the crank, but no sound escaped.
However, there was no mistaking the spicy odor that emanated from the object. Pepper. It was an invisible pepper mill. And, he noted, it released invisible pepper.
He was surprised to find how difficult it was to maintain a scowl in the face of receiving a thoughtful, useful gift.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Christmas morning dawned bright a clear, and Hermione allowed herself the luxury of remaining in bed until the prismatic sunrise illuminated her curtains. She managed to keep from ripping into the pile of presents that the elves had left at the foot of her bed before slipping into the bathroom, where she washed her face and called for Barbra, who appeared in the bathroom a moment later.
The elf narrowed her eyes suspiciously when Hermione showed her the door that she'd created and was skeptical that it would work the way Hermione described it, but disappeared with a pop as requested. Several moments later, the door opened to reveal a very surprised-looking Barbra with an enormous breakfast tray. Taking extreme care not to accidentally step into the bathroom, she placed the tray on the floor. It worked perfectly, except for a bit of egg that got on Hermione's bath towel.
When Hermione had finished her breakfast and cleaned her teeth, she opened her presents, which ranged from the imminently practical — a new self-coding encrypted notebook from Harry — to a nondescript vegetable that had grown into a rather obscene shape from Luna.
There was a sleek new electronic gadget from her parents, accompanied by a newsy note to let her know which other members of the Granger clan would be joining them for Christmas. Her father's postscript warning her to prepare herself for her nosy aunt Dorothy was much appreciated.
Hermione pulled on an ancient but serviceable Weasley jumper and her thickest socks and made her way to the Slytherin common room. She was glad she'd dressed warmly; the dungeons were frigid. She gave the password, disabled the Caterwauling Charms, and entered, doing her best to ignore the frisson of excitement that she felt upon entering a room to which she'd always been denied access. Fortunately, it didn't smell quite as bad as its Gryffindor counterpart, but it was a near thing.
The initial Mag-Spec scan revealed two Spy Spells, as well as a number of hidden rooms. Hermione was mildly disappointed that Molly's offhand comment about the Slytherins having things to hide had proved correct, but she was heartened when her circuit of the room revealed hidden entrances to several private study chambers that were filled with lavishly illustrated manuscripts, a room containing a large piano, and a hidden closet with a mirror along one side. Hermione smirked. Apparently, the Slytherins had nothing to hide but their artistic sensitivity.
She was, however, surprised not to have uncovered the entrance to Door Central in her circuit of the common room. It wasn't proof positive that the person who created the vast surveillance system was a Slytherin, but it was certainly telling. However, as she climbed the stairs, the Mag-Spec's light turned red, and she found what she'd been looking for.
This surveillance room was quite different than the one off the Gryffindor common room. Instead of having a One-Way charm on the door, there was one on the entire wall that it shared with the common room, which made the room an unmatched vantage point. Instead of an armchair, there was a chaise, the sort that would make a long vigil much more bearable. She quickly located the door leading to Door Central, and, not wishing to draw any particular attention to the closet in case Molly was watching, stepped back into the stairway and climbed up to the students' quarters.
Again, Hermione was surprised by the contents of the many hidden rooms that she found. Unlike the secret closets in Gryffindor, the Slytherin rooms appeared to be in active use, and most of them were password protected. One room contained a bed and had numerous sound-dampening charms on the door. Other closets held stuffed animals and pictures of families. Hermione only had to create one additional closet to meet Molly's quota, without leaving Slytherin with the same number of hidden rooms as Gryffindor, which would arouse suspicions.
Hermione glanced at her watch and was surprised by how much less time-consuming it was to open the doors using the Mag-Spec data than it was to create an entirely new rooms and conjure the detritus necessary to make them appear genuine. Even though Molly had ordered her to cover more ground in less time, unlocking Slytherin's secrets had only taken her about forty minutes, and she had no desire to set that sort of efficiency precedent. There would be time to explore Hufflepuff that evening. Her Christmas present to herself was to spend an hour or two in Door Central.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
In Door Central, Hermione was relieved to find that the spells she'd cast on the door that led to the headmistress's quarters were intact. She hadn't really believed that Molly was aware of the system of rooms, but concrete evidence of this was certainly welcome. Hermione sat down on the floor of the room and sketched a diagram of the areas she'd explored in the self-coding encrypted notebook that Harry had given her.
She first opened the doors to the other common rooms, noting that the Hufflepuff's hidden room was above the fireplace and partially obscured by a painting. Next, she explored the classrooms. She was amused to note that Arthur had decorated the Muggle Studies classroom with eye-catching collages of rubbish like empty crisps packets and soda cans. Parvati had made much more efficient, not to mention tasteful, use of the Divination classroom than Trelawney ever had. However, Hermione was surprised to find that the Charms classroom was filled with boxes and battered furniture. After frowning in confusion for a moment, she realized that the room had become a store room sometime since Door Central was created, and that Charms was now being taught elsewhere. Hermione frowned. The fact that the door markings could not be relied upon entirely changed her strategy somewhat- she would have to be more cautious.
Fortunately, the next door, which was marked with a cauldron, did indeed lead to an observation room off of a Potions classroom. The room was unchanged from when she'd been a student, down to the Chudley Cannons logo that Ron had carved into the leg of a table decades ago.
Back in Door Central, she continued down the row of doors, locating hidden rooms off the library, the other primary teaching classrooms, several unused classrooms, some sort of hall of armaments, a gallery of statues, the dungeons, the staff room, three greenhouses, a shed near the Quidditch pitch, and numerous store rooms. It didn't take her long to reach the end of the aisle, but around the corner, there was a row of unmarked doors.
Hermione stood in front of the first plain door and rested her hand on the handle. It was quite cool to the touch. These were uncharted and potentially dangerous waters. Still, Hermione had time before she needed to be at her parents' house, and she was terribly curious what lay behind the unmarked door.
She opened the door and blinked in surprised as a frigid air poured from the door. Hermione pulled her robes more tightly about her and stepped into the cold darkness.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The observation room was tiny and bitterly cold, but the breeze's bite was lessened once she had closed the door from Door Central behind her. But the chilly air still swirled around her, blowing her hair gently, and she wished she'd thought to bring a hat.
The transparent door that led into the mystery room was easy to spot, and she stepped towards it to examine the room that lay beyond. Soft light that emanated from the wall in which she was concealed, indicating that there were probably curtained windows on the wall. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light and her ears adjusted to the silence, she became aware of an odd sound coming from the room.
Hermione inched forward towards the transparent door to get a better look at the room. Wooden bookshelves, which appeared black in the dim light, lined the walls, and there were a few blocky articles of furniture looming in the shadows. As the seconds passed and her eyes adjusted, the room and its contents became clearer. There was a low, dark shape in the far corner.
Hermione pressed her hand against her mouth to muffle her gasp.
The low, dark shape was a bed.
An occupied bed that contained a nude male lying atop his sheets.
A nude male whose head was thrown back amid the pillows, his chin jutting towards the ceiling, and his left hand frantically pumping at an erection.
His extraordinary sounds were becoming progressively more varied and intense, the breathing more rapid, and the moans more guttural. The dim light from the windows threw the pale planes of his torso, shoulders, and legs into sharp relief against the room's shadows. His pale hand slid rapidly up and down the darkened flesh of his cock, and Hermione's mouth went dry.
She'd never given much thought to the fact that men masturbated, and she hadn't realized that a man in the throes of a morning wank would be such a fascinating sight. She hadn't considered that he would need to alter his rhythm, or pause in his pumping and thumb the head of his cock to spread around the liquid that gathered there, or massage his bollocks with his off hand, or tease the sensitive skin behind it with his fingernails, or — oh God — bring his hand to his face to smell the scent of himself. His face— sweet Circe, it was Severus.
Hermione suddenly realized that in spite of the cold air that swirled unrelentingly about the observation room, she was burning up. She impatiently pushed up the sleeves of her heavy jumper and pulled its hem out from her body, allowing the breeze to cool her hot skin. She leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb, anxious to see and hear more.
His rough breathing penetrated the chilly air, but Hermione was focused on his hands, which pinched his own nipples and stroked his chest and stomach before returning to his cock and fisting it quickly. She felt tension coiling in her belly as it occurred to her what was about to happen. She knew academically what ejaculation involved, but her previous experiences with it had never afforded her the opportunity to watch it happening.
She was quite unprepared for the visceral response she had to hearing him groan, at seeing his strokes become more erratic, and she bit back a moan of her own at the sharp groan that signaled his climax. She stared, transfixed by the shimmering liquid burst forth from the head of his cock, shooting in an arc upon his chest.
He shuddered, his breath hitching, and his hand slowed, gently massaging his testicles, and several more smaller spurts came, which ran down his fingers and glistened against his pale skin. He lay there, panting, his right hand drawing lazy circles through the seed spattered on his chest, and finally coming to a rest as his breathing slowed into a contented sigh. He reached out his hand for his wand, with which he cast a lazy cleansing charm. His features were uncharacteristically soft, and his normally sharp eyes were unfocused. He slid languorously from his sheets and slipped into the washroom, closing the door behind him.
Hermione blinked hard, suddenly aware that she had been staring so intently that the cool air had dried her eyes. Her entire body was tingling, her legs were clenched together, and she could feel her heart pounding in both her chest and her intimate places.
The shoulder that had been pressed with the weight of her body into the door frame was beginning to protest, so Hermione shifted her weight to lean her other shoulder against the transparent door. To her great surprise, however, there was no door there, and she fell forward into the room. She felt as if she were falling in slow motion, and she even had the opportunity to realize that the lack of door was likely the reason for the constant draft she had felt. Then she sprawled gracelessly on the carpet of the bedroom with a loud "oof."
Hermione sat there on his floor, frozen, terrified that the bathroom door would open. However, the sound of rushing water emanated from within, and the door remained closed. She let out the breath she had been holding and scrambled back into the observation room, noting that someone had cast a powerful illusion of a bookcase over the doorless opening. Her mind was whirling. Severus couldn't have cast the illusion anytime in the past eight years — Molly certainly would have noticed a spell of that magnitude being cast in Severus's quarters. Nobody other than Molly and Percy knew of Severus's presence here, and both were oblivious to Door Central.
Her heart was still pounding, and she looked about the tiny observation room for a seat, but to her surprise, there wasn't one. She cast a final look into the empty bedroom to make sure that her exit would not be noticed, and fled into Door Central. The breeze whistled as she closed the door.
She scrambled down the corridor of doors, threw open the door to the Slytherin common room, sank gratefully into the observation room's chaise lounge, and wiped the perspiration from her brow with the sleeve of her robe. That had been entirely too close. If she had fallen through the opening when he had still been in the room — well, it would have made Harry's final Occlumency lesson seem like high tea. She shuddered to think of how the highly private man would react to being interrupted in such a intimate moment. However, the warm feeling in the pit of her stomach alerted her to the fact that her shudder was not due entirely to fear.
She shook her head, as if attempting to dislodge the thought. That way lay madness, and quite possibly physical violence. Clearly, the lack of sleep was affecting her in ways she hadn't anticipated. She rose to her feet and forced herself to focus on the situation at hand. Given the man's thoroughness, Severus had to know about the secret observation room, and given the man's intelligence and tenacity, he almost certainly knew about Door Central. Surely he wasn't responsible for Door Central, was he? Regardless, she supposed she couldn't blame him for not telling her about it last night, before he'd had the opportunity to consider her offer of help, but it did raise a number of important questions.
There was nothing for it. She would need to discuss things with Severus. However, if she didn't leave now, she would be late for Christmas dinner. As much as she really didn't care to be subjected to her Aunt Dorothy's well-meaning but intrusive questions about her love life, she was very much looking forward to spending some time with her parents.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Christmas with her family was a decidedly mixed bag. While the food was wonderful and her parents as warm and supportive as they had ever been, her other relatives seemed determined to ask awkward questions on every topic from her work, which she couldn't really discuss, to her man situation, as Aunt Dorothy insisted on calling it. Hermione was almost grateful to Molly for giving her an excuse to leave the gathering early, but not quite.
Even though Hermione was fully prepared to have a horrid time at Molly's enforced Christmas dinner, the scent of fresh pine and mulling spices that filled her nose made her heart swell with excitement, exactly how it had on the Hogwarts Christmases of her childhood. The head table had been lengthened and broadened to allow more people to sit at it, and it was already nearly full.
All the Weasleys were there, of course. Charlie, Parvati, their twins, and her parents sat near George, who was up to no good with the salt shaker, and his girlfriend, a leggy brunette that Hermione didn't know. Fleur, Bill, Victoire, and Teddy seemed to be making the best of their ruined holiday and were all wearing tropical flowers in their hair. Victoire's younger siblings were playing with their cousins, despite Ron and Luna's attempts to keep them in their seats. Ginny and Harry were failing similarly with their brood, who were arguing loudly about Quidditch and finding great amusement in squashing dinner rolls into doughy discs.
The Delacours and Xenophilius Lovegood were there, as were some other red-haired Weasley relatives that Hermione didn't know and a few Ministry officials that she did. Argus Filch and Madam Pince appeared much out of their element amid the children and noise, but were bearing it with all the grace they could muster, which wasn't much. Neville was seated between Luna, whose attempts to reason with her toddler were clearly amusing him, and Percy Weasley, who was trying, with little success, to prevent George from tampering with the salt.
The wave of nostalgia faded the moment her eye fell upon Molly, who sat in the center of the noise and chaos with a childlike grin and sparkling eyes that made her appear slightly deranged. The look on the headmistress's face made Hermione shudder for reasons she couldn't articulate, but she was soon distracted by Harry and Ginny hailing her and pulling up a seat for her between Neville and Percy, who seemed relieved to be further separated from his rambunctious niece and nephews.
Minutes passed slowly in a blur of superficial talk, shouting children, and food, all of which were beginning to give Hermione a headache. Hermione never thought she would actually long for the invasive questions of her nosy but well-meaning relatives or Uncle Reggie's coarse humor, but something felt off about this family gathering, for all its traditional trappings. She glanced down the table at her friends, and all of them showed signs of exhaustion, strain, and the desire to be anywhere else.
The headmistress tapped her goblet with her spoon, and all the guests turned to look at her.
"Dear friends," said Molly, whose eyes were brimming with tears, "it warms my heart to see you all, who are so dear to me, together on this joyful day."
Arthur stifled a yawn and continued to listen indulgently to his wife.
"It means so very much to me that you've taken time out of your busy schedules to be here at Hogwarts."
Fleur sniffed disdainfully, and Bill squeezed his wife's hand.
"What's got her knickers in a twist?" whispered Luna to Ron.
"Mum told MacFarlane that he'd be personally responsible if anything happened to Bill and Fleur in Fiji, and he was so nervous that he cancelled all the Portkeys there," he replied. "I didn't find out until after they were supposed to have left."
"That wasn't very nice," said Luna. "They'd been planning the trip for months."
"They shouldn't have planned to be away," said Ron. "Christmas is for family."
"Yes," said Luna sensibly, "but Fleur, Bill, Victoire and Teddy are a family, too."
Percy shushed them, and Hermione frowned, wondering how many other people at the gathering were there against their will. Her own family gathered together year after year because they made the time to do so, not because of some megalomaniacal matriarch's machinations. This was a parody of a holiday gathering. It was all as artificial as the quivering cranberry jelly.
Molly rambled on about togetherness and the bonds of friendship and blood, but Hermione's attention was drawn to a small movement behind Molly. She nearly jumped when she realized that Severus was standing in a dimly-lit recess behind the high table. Not wishing to draw Molly or Percy's attention to his presence, she cast sideways glances at him. He was listening to Molly with a poisonous sneer on his face.
It was then that Hermione understood.
Seizing control of Hogwarts had been a strategic move to bring members of her family closer to her. Every unpopular decision she had made, every cut she had made to make Hogwarts untenable for career academics, all of it had been calculated to leave Hogwarts in need of people who would teach in spite of the unpleasant conditions, which, as Severus had pointed out previously, limited the applicant pool to the inexperienced, like Neville, the foolish, or the fooled, in Severus's case, and Weasleys. Inexperience would cure itself, and eventually the fooled would eventually find a way out, but short of messy divorce, something that none of the Weasleys seemed inclined towards, there was no way out of family. Molly would stop at nothing to bring her family under her direct control, even at the expense of wrecking Hogwarts and everything it stood for.
The perversity of the headmistress's actions hit Hermione like a slap in the face. Molly didn't care how many people she inconvenienced, how many dreams she forced others to delay, or how many students she left unprepared for life after Hogwarts, provided she was able to scheme and bully everybody into traditional family tableaux, and she would do anything to keep it that way. Hermione realized she was clutching her fork so tightly that her knuckles were white. She wanted to hurl it tines first into Molly's deliriously happy face.
She glanced at Severus and was surprised to find that his sneer was gone and that he was looking at her with a calculating expression on his face. Hermione sighed and put her fork down. She took a roll from the basket in front of her but couldn't bring herself to eat it. She satisfied herself with tearing it apart and rolling it into little balls — anything to distract her from the headmistress's speech.
She picked up a ball of dough and rolled it in her fingers, and inspiration struck. She caught Severus's eye, jerked her head toward the ball of dough she held. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded imperceptibly. Taking care to remain out of the headmistress's and Percy's range of vision, he bent over James Potter's shoulder and made a curious motion. Hermione nearly laughed aloud when she realized that Severus was covering James's plate with the invisible pepper she'd given him. Severus surreptitiously seized several rolls from the table before returning to his hidden spot in the alcove behind the headmistress. She could see his long fingers working away at the dough.
The stage was set. Now all they had to do was wait for James to grow weary of Molly's blathering and take a bite of his food. It happened even sooner than they had hoped, and the results were spectacular. James's face turned red, and he began sputtering loudly.
Ginny put her hand on her son's back. "Are you all right, James?"
James's eyes were watering, and he grabbed every goblet in sight and drained it. "Pepper—" he managed to choke out. "Albus—"
"I did not!" exclaimed Albus automatically. Clearly, he was long accustomed to being his brother's scapegoat.
"Albus Severus, this is not the time for—" began Harry.
It was at that moment that Severus let fly with his first dough ball. It landed in Louis's potatoes, which were runny enough to spatter.
"Hey!" yelled Louis. Louis elbowed Victoire, who elbowed him back, which made him knock over his goblet of pumpkin juice.
"Louis, Victoire, you are behaving like infants!" scolded Fleur. "Stop this at once."
Hermione sent silent thanks to her cousin's three-year-old son before casting a Wingardium Leviosa on a roll from the basket and flinging it into a gravy boat, which upset noisily and spectacularly.
Molly leapt to her feet, eyes scanning the table for guilty expression. "Which one of you—"
But her query was short lived, as a spoonful of cranberry jelly, courtesy Severus, flew across the table and hit the headmistress in the face with a satisfying splat.
"GEORGE!" yelled Molly.
"It wasn't me, mum," said George. "I've been working on the salt shaker."
Emboldened, Hermione shot four more balls of dough into the youngest Weasleys' heads. They all reacted spectacularly and with great vehemence at the sibling they thought was responsible.
George, who was quick to realize that someone was stealing his thunder, cast a handful of salt across the table, which began to crackle, sizzle, and give off a cloud of foul-smelling smoke. Goblets were knocked over right and left. Shrill accusations rang out, and more dough balls rained down from above.
Molly was roaring for everybody to stop, but by then, spoonfuls of mashed potatoes and cooked carrots had joined the volley, and several of the adults had joined in. Neville shrieked as a spoonful of cranberry jelly slid down the back of his neck — Severus looked entirely too pleased with himself — and Hermione took a greasy bit of goose to the forehead with a laugh before sending it in the direction of a horrified Ministry official.
George's smoke continued to fill the room, which made it hard to see where the next blitz was coming from, but by now, nearly every adult at the table was throwing defensive handfuls of food at those across the table. Everybody was yelling, some in dismay at having been hit with something particularly juicy, some for the fight to stop, and some encouraging their siblings to fight back. Hermione could have sworn that she heard Fleur cry, "Vive la France!" at one point.
Amid the flying food, Hermione spotted Severus leaning over the table to press something into the massive Christmas pudding. Hermione was surprised that he would make such a risky move when either Molly or Percy could have spotted him, but if Hermione knew Severus, it was going to be worth it.
She pushed back her chair and crouched at her place, hoping to minimize the amount of collateral damage she would receive before it became clear what Severus had done. A moment later, the pudding burst into flame. Hermione was only slightly disappointed to see that the flames were typical purple brandy flames, but she stayed low, just in case. In the lingering salt smoke, the gentle flames around the dark sphere were eerily beautiful.
When the pudding caught fire, the volleys ceased. Even Molly had stopped bellowing to gaze in wonderment at the pudding as the flames faded and died, and the room descended into silence.
An unseen breeze blew the last of the smoke away, revealing a table in chaos. No guest was untouched by the massacre. Spatters of food covered robes and faces, and Percy was trying unsuccessfully to rub grease from his spectacles. Molly seemed to have been particularly hard hit, and some unidentified liquid was dripping from her sodden hair to her shoulders. Her face was red, and her jaw worked up and down as she surveyed the expanse of ruined food.
"You should all be ashamed of yourselves," she hissed. "Never in my life have I seen such behavior, and on Christmas of all days! I hope that whomever is responsible for this waste, this utter disrespect for everything that this holiday stands for, knows that I will stop at nothing to—"
There was a soft "phut' from the center of the table, and a split-second later, the Christmas pudding exploded, spattering everyone at the table with fruit and steaming dough. Hermione had moved a bit too slowly, and the exposed part of her face was caked with pudding. She wiped the worst of the mess from her eyebrows.
All eyes were now on Molly, who was entirely plastered with pudding. The headmistress picked a prune off of her cheek with all the dignity she could muster. She was shaking with fury. "You have all ruined Christmas," she cried before stomping angrily out of the hall.
There was an awkward silence until Neville opened up the serviette with which he had been wiping his face.
"Look!" he exclaimed, holding out the pudding-smeared cloth to display a small piece of silver. "I got the Sickle!"
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
That night, Hermione treated herself to a soak in the decadent bathtub that she'd neglected in order to meet Molly's absurdly high daily room quota. She scrubbed off the bits of food she'd collected during Christmas dinner and now that the tub was filled with jasmine-scented bubbles, she began to regret that Molly had spoiled her appetite.
She called for Barbra, who tutted disapproving at Hermione for not eating her Christmas dinner, but delivered via the secret door some leftover goose and stuffing that had miraculously survived the onslaught unscathed. After eating her fill, Hermione tapped the rim of the tub with her wand to warm the water again, and sat back with a sigh. She rubbed the flannel lazily over her stomach and arms as she pondered the day's discoveries.
In the plus column, she now understood the unconscious impetus behind Molly's changes to the school. However, one large obstacle to moving forward remained: she still had no idea what compelled Molly to bring her here, and what, if anything, she was expected to find. The more she thought about it, the less satisfying she found Severus's suggestion — that Molly was solely concerned with student behavior. There had to be something else.
She doubted that Molly still bore her ill feeling for turning down Ron's spur-of-the-moment proposal all those years ago. Luna had been a far better wife to Ron than she could have been, and a far better daughter-in-law, having produced grandchildren. Given that Molly hadn't even mentioned her remaining bachelor sons to Hermione, she doubted that Molly considered her to be an eligible prospect anymore. While this was something of a relief, it brought her no closer to discovering the real reason Molly had brought her to explore the castle.
Hermione sighed, refusing to entertain any further thoughts about Molly Weasley. The fragrant steam that rose from the surface of the water swirled about her face, and she let less than pleasant thoughts drain from her mind, and she relaxed into the hot water.
Hermione seized a bar of soap, which she scrubbed methodically with the flannel to work up a creamy lather. She lifted a foot out of the bath, placed it on the rim of the tub, and began to scrub with the soapy flannel. The rough texture of the cloth felt gloriously refreshing against her tired skin, and the pressure against her calf muscle was delicious. She continued up her leg, scrubbing the knee thoroughly and massaging circles into the flesh of her thigh.
She sighed in contentment and lifted her other leg for similar treatment. When she had scrubbed her left leg, she massaged her upper arms, her shoulders, and the tight muscles in her shoulders. Hermione dipped the flannel into the bath again and brought the dripping cloth up to her neck, which she rubbed gently before working her way downwards between her breasts. She rubbed the underside of each breast and carefully worked her way around her nipples, which were beginning to perk up from the attention.
Idly, she scraped her fingernails gently over the tips of her nipples, while her mind wandered, envying the simplicity of the male body, with its flat surfaces and simple needs. In order to bring herself to climax, she needed much more than a firm grip and bicep endurance. In fact, she hadn't had the time or energy to see to herself since coming to Hogwarts, which was a terrible shame.
Smiling to herself, she tapped her wand on a peculiarly colored tile on the rim of the tub, which caused the water to circulate. Hermione inched her way around the tub until she located one of the hidden jets and positioned herself near enough that the water eddied gently between her legs.
She lazily drew the flannel between her legs, applying gentle pressure to the tendons between her thigh and hip as she circled the thatch of brown curls one, twice, thrice, and then trailed it up across her stomach and began massaging her breasts. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she began to tease herself with her other hand.
In her mind's eye, she lay nude on a plush chaise in front of the door that led to his bed, where he lay pleasuring himself with abandon. His head was thrown back, and the long fingers of his left hand were massaging his own testicles.
Slowly, gently, she began rubbing herself in time with him, taking moments to slide her index finger around the edge of her opening, teasing the sensitive skin until she unconsciously leaned into her own touch, bringing herself tantalizingly close to the rushing jet of water.
Hermione draped one leg over the side of the chaise, reveling in the warmth that enveloped her, and then began to rub the edges of her opening gently, but with growing pressure. She let out a soft moan, and his black eyes snapped up to meet hers with nearly tangible force. Gooseflesh rippled across her flesh as she felt his eyes travel across her body, lingering on her breasts and the shadow between her parted legs.
She braced for him to yell, but instead, an insouciant smirk spread slowly across his face. He slid from the bed and walked towards her, erect cock bobbing, and stood before her in the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her.
He cocked an eyebrow, as if to tell her to get on with it, if she dared.
She seized both of her breasts, squeezing them together and massaging her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, then massaging her warm flesh a circular motion, squeezing and relaxing, enjoying the warm pressure on the undersides of her breasts and the way that the tingles in her nipples were echoed below. She moaned softly, and was pleased to see his penis twitch enthusiastically, for all that his smug expression did not falter.
While Hermione continued to massage her left breast, she let her other leg slide over the side of the chaise. He inhaled sharply through his nose at the view that she afforded him, her white thighs and rosy cleft, and she gave him an answering smirk as she lowered her right hand between her legs and began to rub the sides of her opening with two fingers.
Seemingly of their own accord, his hands sprang between his legs, one cupping his testicles and the other seizing the base of his cock and giving a quick, hard stroke. She grinned, imagining the look of mingled irritation and desire that graced his face, and to reward him, parted her lips with her fingers and began to rub in earnest.
A guttural groan was her reward, and soon his hand was flying up and down his shaft. Already, the head of his cock was darkening, and he was standing so close to her that she couldn't help reaching out her hand to stroke the tip. He hissed, but did not push her hand away. Instead, he sat down nest to her. He seized her hand, wrapped it tightly around his penis, and guided her through several firm strokes before reaching his hand between her legs and placing his index finger directly on her clitoris.
Hermione's body jerked as the fingers that she imagined were his bore down mercilessly on the bundle of nerves, and she moaned in pleasure, wiggling her hips to vary the unrelenting contact. She imagined that she squeezed his cock spastically, and he understood what she needed.
Hermione was now directly over the water jet, and she began to rock back and forth, allowing the powerful stream of water to hit her clitoris and her outer lips, and back again and imagining his long fingers there in its place, dipping inside her and sliding out again. His brow furrowed as if in concentration, and Hermione decided that he needed to be distracted. She cupped her breasts once more and leaned forward, offering them to him.
He let out a shuddering breath, wrapped his other arm around her waist, and buried his face in her breasts, kissing the tips, laving her pale skin with his tongue and sucking her nipples between his lips. She seized his penis once again, and he let out a guttural moan, returning his attention to the sensitive nub between her legs.
The warmth of the water surrounded her, as if his hands were everywhere on her body.
She redoubled her strokes on his cock and cupped his testicles with her other hand, her manipulations as gentle as her other hand's was vigorous.
He had an oddly expectant look on his face which was so unfamiliar to her that it nearly stopped her short, but he noticed her scrutiny, and the expression turned into a scowl that was so very much his that she felt her breath hitch. To her surprise, he gasped, and warm semen erupted from the head of his cock, flowing down over her fingers and into the coarse hair at the base of his cock.
'Ten points from Gryffindor," he growled, and the combination of hot breath in her ear, clever fingers between her legs, and the voice that had fascinated and terrified her as a child sent her over the edge, gasping and groaning, her body convulsing helplessly against the pressure between her legs.
Hermione opened her eyes and sank back into the water with a shuddering sigh, rubbing herself gently, as the throbbing in her cunt slowly subsided and the blood gradually returned to her brain.
Grueling, top secret work and a department packed with elderly eccentrics all but guaranteed her few opportunities for lovers over the years, but thanks to her selectivity and innate intellectual curiosity, she had never lacked for imaginative sex, even when she had only herself to rely upon. She was pleased that her mind had always been able to keep up with her body's demands for new and effective ways to achieve satisfaction.
Still, even as she vibrated with aftershocks of her delightfully intense climax, she felt a nagging feeling that she had crossed a line of some sort. She supposed it wasn't entirely fair to Severus that she had so thoroughly enjoyed invading his privacy, but it really was far simpler to keep work and pleasure as separate as possible. After all, it was the idea that she found appealing, certainly not the man himself.
When her heart rate had returned to normal, she turned off the water jets, leaned her head back to wet her hair once more, and stepped shakily out of the tub.
She seized one of the sumptuous self-fluffing bath towels and dried herself with it before donning her dressing gown and wrapping the towel around her wet hair. She figured that since Molly was going to be watching her more closely than usual that she ought to give her something twice as dull as usual to watch, so she sat in front of the vanity and its Spy Spelled mirror and removed the towel. She conjured a tiny comb with which she began to remove the snarls from her wet hair.
She was so focused on her task that she did not hear the sound of the small door in the bathroom wall click quietly shut.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~