NIGHT OF THE AWALIM
Chapter 4: Hermione Does Hogwarts
The flat was abnormally quiet. Hermione frowned. Crookshanks was asleep. No biggie there. He was always asleep, except when he was eating, enjoying his evening happy hour of chasing non-existent moths, or sitting on someone's bed, watching them have sex. No one minded, except when he started to nod his head in time to the rhythm, like watching a bouncing ball. Disturbing, and guaranteed to put anyone off their stroke. As if Crookshanks didn't know that.
There was no ebullient flat mate called Carmel Chong moaning over her studies, moaning over the lack of Corn Flakes, or moaning over the body of one of her many boyfriends. No music pounded out of her room. No smell of ylang-ylang or rose essential oils. No untidy mess of boys lounging around the flat in an unnecesarily relaxed manner.
It was too quiet. Hermione loved it. A whole evening to study. She could write her essay on 'Einstein: Arithmatician or Fictionalist'. She could practice to her latest belly dance cd: 'Ab Remir Remix'. She could run around the flat naked if she wished. There was no one to see her. She did all three. First the essay. It didn't take long, since she was working from a Reconstructionalist perspective of the magic of the Unified Field Theory.
It took her some time to work the study kinks out of her back, and find a dance rhythm to suit the rapid drum beat of the cd, but finally she settled into a shimmy routine. Circle, 8, hip drops, shimmy, rib cage circle, shoulder shimmy, start again. All combined with arm movements, and the big smile the customers expected.
She shed her clothes. She knew that ghawazee dancers of the Middle East used to dance topless several centuries ago. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of. Still, at least her bra kept everything in place. Naked, not everything stopped when the music did. But her nudity proved, at least to herself, that she was wild, free, and completely alone in the flat.
She was doing some foot placement work when she heard the tap on the window pane. A small owl was hovering there, pecking at the glass with its beak. Hermione opened the window and it flew in. There was a note strapped to its leg. It hopped onto the back of the couch and stuck its leg out.
Hermione opened the note. It was written on Hogwarts stationary. Her stomach did a quick flip-flop. A letter from Snape? That would be nice. And a sign that things were progressing well between them. Was a week progress? She hadn't seen him since Monday morning, and here it was, Friday night.
Her face fell when she saw Dumbledore's signature.
"My dear Miss Granger: It was a delight to have you perform at our end of term celebration, and Severus' birthday party. Perhaps you could grace us with your presence this evening? I have a proposition to put to you regarding some part-time work here at Hogwarts. I know that you will be doing your job placements this year, and I thought I would take the opportunity to offer you Hogwarts. Please owl me. I will be in my office until midnight if this evening is suitable for your visit. Yours in magic, Albus Dumbledore."
The owl was looking Hermione up and down. Bloody bird, hadn't it ever seen anyone naked before? Hermione checked her thoughts. Not unless the owl was in the habit of delivering post to people in the bath. She checked the time. It was still only mid-evening. Plenty of time to Apparate to Hogsmeade, then fly to Hogwarts. And maybe after her meeting with Dumbledore, she could surprise Snape in his dungeon. She wanted to know what his bedroom was like. Was it decked out in black? Did he have purple satin sheets (oh, please, no)? Were there silver handcuffs permanently attached to the bedhead? So many questions, so few answers. If only there was a Standard Book of Wizards. She could look 'Snape, Severus' and read all about him. Then again, she suspected if ever such a book was written, Carmel was doing to groundwork research, at least with the younger generation of wizards. In the past week, she had added Blaise Zabini to her entourage.
Hermione scribbled a quick response to the letter and sent the owl off with two Owl Nibblies and a speck of chocolate biscuit. Exactly how the owl would beat her back to Hogwarts remained a mystery. Hermione resolved to write her next essay on the Apparating abilities of owls.
Now to the consideration of clothes. A: She'd better wear some. B: They should be demure enough to have tea with Dumbledore. C: Underneath should be something sexy enough to incite Snape's, not that she seemed to have much problem doing that. D: If she was brooming it to Hogwarts, it would be chilly up there. And she didn't need passing perves checking out her bits from underneath.
She settled for standard student uniform of jeans and a tshirt, and non-standard red mesh bra and knickers. She tied her hair back into a ponytail. No sense arriving at Hogwarts looking like her broom.
The Three Broomsticks was full when she Apparated there. Locals, and a few of the Hogwarts teachers were having quiet pints. Hermione spotted Hagrid slurping back two pints. And a draught of firewhisky. And was that a glass of Gillywater as well? Good old Hagrid. He could keep the pub in business by himself.
Hagrid waved to her with one huge paw. "Hermione! Hello again. Care to join me for a drink?"
"Hello again?"
He smiled, broad and half-pissed. "Saw you up at the castle, not an hour ago."
Okay, then, more than half-pissed. Hermione shook her head with affection. Hagrid never changed. She declined the drink and said she'd catch up with him later. Possibly around the time every man, woman and ghost would be summoned out of Hogwarts to wrestle the sober-challenged half-giant back to his hut. She remembered Harry's last visit to Hogwarts. Harry had come home, and then straight to Carmel's arms, to be massaged for strained arm muscles, all from carrying Hagrid's right leg.
Hermione took one of the spare brooms and flew up out of Hogsmeade. The small village was pretty by moonlight, yellow light shining out of windows, and hundreds of fireflies spinning in the dark air.
Hogwarts by comparison loomed, most windows dark. It was school holidays now, and much of the castle would be deserted. Some of the teachers would have gone home. Hermione bit her lip as she steered her broom down towards the castle's entrance. She cursed herself for not having thought this through. There was no guarantee Snape was at Hogwarts. He might have gone home. For all she knew, he might have gone home to a wife and six children. Or be ensconced at St Mungo's, being treated for incurable Potions addiction and Arithmantic thrombosis. For all she knew, he might have gone home to a husband.
The broom wobbled as she dismounted. Being a rental, it wasn't serviced as often. It stalled on turns, and all but tipped her off on the doorstep. Hermione tied it firmly to a hitching post, and gave it a small kick. The handle said 'Big Wind 100: Made in Gondar'. Bloody fairy-made crap. Why couldn't the wizarding population of Britain buy British?
No bright lights met her entry beyond the large doors, but a few torches burned in sconces. She knew the way to Dumbledore's office. Seven years of being around Harry Potter meant that she'd spent considerable time being sent to the Headmaster.
Hermione suggested eight different lollies to the staircase before it admitted her on 'Smarties'. She heard Dumbledore's voice calling her in even before she'd finished climbing the stairs.
He was by the door, and ushered her inside. Perched on the edge of his desk was Fawkes who was looking shabby, but nowhere near a burning day. The phoenix scratched himself with one gnarly talon, and several small mites fell to the ground. Two instantly incinerated, and the third made a determined scrabble towards Hermione. She surreptitiously squashed it with her foot. Magical as they might be, she didn't want to be infested with phoenix mites. Her hair was very dry. One absent-minded scratch and 'Fwoom!' Up in smoke.
Dumbledore made sweet-smelling tea and they settled back to talk over Hermione's studies, her constant struggle to fund both her post-graduate degree, and her new-found expensive hobby, and her chagrin at discovering most of her belly dance profits had to be ploughed back into costumes, classes, and new music. Not to mention veils, zills, canes, a sword, and a tanker of body glitter.
Dumbledore countered by telling her about the trials and tribulations of getting a bowling ball that wouldn't warp under constant handling by magical hands. His last ball had closed over completely, just after he had been working some healing magic.
"Poppy has terrible troubles. She refuses to bowl any more. Her bowling balls simply heal over before the game is through. And Madam Hooch keeps dissolving hers whenever she loses a game. I can't get anyone to come with me nowadays."
They sat in companionable silence until Dumbledore spoke again.
"I suppose I should come to the point, Miss Granger. I have no doubt you have other matters to attend to this evening."
Hermione tried not to blush, but when she lowered her gaze, she saw that her red bra faintly showed through the white tshirt. Bugger!
"After your magnificent display of…er…fitness the other evening, I thought it would be advantageous to have a physical education department at the school. Flying lessons are all very well, but they don't keep up the standards of fitness. I have engaged a karate instructor to teach the boys when term begins, and I was wondering if you would have time to run some classes for the girls. You'd need to speak to Professor Macgonagall about scheduling of course. I wouldn't want you to neglect your studies, but I rather thought you could make it part of your teaching placement. Professor Vector is taking some leave to recover from his dissertation on the number 22, so I will also need a replacement. And as your major is Arithmancy…."
Hermione beamed. A teaching placement. Wages that wouldn't have to be used to buy sequins.
"Yes!"
"Excellent. I thought this would be a solution to several of your problems." He leaned back in his chair. Now, young lady, I have work to do." He shuffled parchment unconvincingly. "I do believe my Potions Master is in his rooms right now if you would like to pop in and say hello." He gave her a sudden hard stare from over the top of his spectacles. "But then, you already know that." He cleared his throat. "You might have done me the courtesy of coming here first, Miss Granger."
"What? I mean, pardon? I mean, I did come here first. I haven't seen Severus since….earlier in the week."
Dumbledore looked her up and down the same way the owl had. Hermione knew she had clothes on, so what was he checking for? Gravy stains? Potions stains? Stains of any other sort?
"Miss Granger, I believe I passed you in the hallway some time this evening. If it was not you, then I suggest you make haste to the dungeons."
Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She nodded her goodbye and was out of the door. Someone who looked like her….. In sixth year, a succubus bearing her resemblance had invaded Hogwarts, sent by Voldemort to lure Harry. She was sure they'd sent the demon back to its own realm, but one could never be sure. So many of Voldemort's little booby traps were still going off, even after the Dark Lord's final defeat. If the succubus was back…..
Hermione ran all the way to the dungeons.
Severus Snape was sitting at his desk in the Potions laboratory. He didn't like to take work into his private rooms, so he graded papers in the lab. The light was good, and it was much easier to incinerate badly-written essays in a handy cauldron.
However, he wasn't working. He was sat back in his chair, his hands gripping the armrests until the blood left his knuckles. His eyes were sweeping Hermione's form, perched in front of him on the desk, legs open, and it would have taken only a wriggle to slide into his lap. She was wearing naught but a short bathrobe, and that was being loosened, inch by tempting inch.
"See something you like?" she asked, smiling at Snape.
Snape gave her a wolfish grin. "Are you sure I can't touch?" he said.
She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until you think of twenty ways to use potions in love making."
"What number am I up to?"
"Thirteen."
Hermione also stood in the doorway to the laboratory. She was wearing jeans and a tshirt, and a very big frown. Whatever it was on Snape's desk had on her bathrobe. Hermione started forward as the 'thing' opened the robe a little more. Snape licked his lips.
"Ahh, fourteen. A warming potion could be used on cold nights to keep the flesh from chilling."
"What the hell is going on here?" Hermione-in-jeans burst out.
Hermione-in-bathrobe started.
Snape looked from one to the other, and suddenly was out of his chair, wand at the ready. Many years as a Death-Eater made him paranoid(Aurors out to get him). Years as a spy turned him paranoid(Voldemort out to get him). Years as a bastard Potions Master made him paranoid(students out to get him). Every ten years, the wizarding world held an Olympics. Snape was in the running for Gold in the Suspicion 48 hour Marathon.
"Which of you, if either, is the real Hermione?" As he said it, he realised it was a stupid question. As if one of them were about to own up.
"She is," sighed Hermione-in-robe. "Honestly, it was just a bit of fun."
Hermione recognised Carmel's voice. "What are you doing? How did you…? Where… what…why?"
Carmel-in-Hermione's-body stretched and the robe fell open. "Polyjuice."
"You haven't had time to brew that," Hermione said. "You couldn't. You're crap at Potions. You said so."
"Dean Thomas isn't. He's majoring in Potions at uni. There's jars of the stuff in the labs there."
"Merlin, Carmel, not Dean, too!" Hermione said. "But why? I mean…"
"He's young, and cute, and…. Oh, you mean this." Carmel's hair was starting to return to its smooth cap of black. "You really seemed to like him." She pointed to Snape, who as yet hadn't lowered his wand. "And I had this dream about him. I thought I'd see if it was true." She shrugged. Carmel's features were starting to reassert themselves and in place of Hermione's lush curves, Carmel's slim figure was emerging.
Snape lowered his wand. "I sent the dream. It was a spell."
Hermione wasn't sure who to belt first.
"You couldn't seem to understand, Miss Chong," he said, the voice of reason. "I thought perhaps if you could see from Hermione's point of view…" He trailed off. It was rather distracting, her sitting on his desk like that, robe half off.
"Oh, I see all right," Carmel said, now fully returned to her own form. "Which is why I'm here."
Now Hermione knew why the flat had been quiet. Carmel was here, attempting to seduce her lover. Yep, she would belt Carmel first. Pity the girl was taller than she was, could run faster, and had a longer reach.
Carmel shrugged the robe off completely and turned her hot gaze on Snape. "So, Professor, what's it to be? I don't mind sharing, you know."
Snape had a hard time taking his eyes of Carmel. She was attractive in a slim way. He thought Hermione had mentioned she also belly danced.
Hermione believed in evening the odds. She pulled her tshirt and bra off and hurried forward to feature herself in the light around the desk.
"Who's it to be, Severus?" It was the only way she could think to take his attention away from the Brit-Asian girl.
If he chose Carmel, she'd kill herself. No, first she'd kill Carmel, then Snape, then herself.
Again, Snape looked from one girl to the other. How often did he get this sort of offer in his lab? Well, there had been that one time back in the 80's…..
"Do I have to choose?" he asked.
Hermione smacked him up alongside his head. Carmel smiled, and wriggled on the desk. The robe fell to the floor. Carmel ran her hands over herself. Snape swallowed, hard.
This meant war. Hermione stripped out of her jeans and knickers, kicking her shoes off along the way. She thought it best to get rid of the socks too. Not a good look to stand naked in socks.
The Potions lab door opened.
"Severus? Did Miss Granger find her way down here? I just wanted-" Dumbledore stopped short. Whatever he wanted was forgotten. Two naked women were apparently offering themselves to his Potions Master. Snape's wand hung limp in his hand, and sweat stood out on the man's brow.
Dumbledore backed out of the room. There was no way he was going to give the Defence Against the Dark Arts job to Snape now. If this sort of thing happened when he was just Potions Master, what the hell would be going on in the Dark Arts room? Dumbledore shuddered at the thought of having to install corridor condom vending statues.
The door shut, breaking the tension. Carmel roared with laughter. Hermione blushed all over. Snape covered his eyes with one hand and massaged his temples.
"All right, I give up," Carmel said. "It was worth a try. No hard feelings, eh, Hermione?" She shrugged. "I'll put up with the pair of you, as long as you're quiet."
Hermione's mouth hung open. How could she say that? They'd been sharing now for over a year, and not a week had gone by without some rumpus issuing from Carmel's room. Why didn't Carmel just put a sign on her door saying 'Men At Work'?
Carmel gathered up Hermione's robe, and made for the door. She turned, and whispered something to Hermione, who quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. Carmel shut the door behind her.
Snape was still rubbing his head. Hermione sauntered forward, red lingerie in hand.
"Do you want me to put this back on?" she asked.
Snape didn't open his eyes. "First prove to me you're the real Hermione. I remember the succubus incident all too well." A saucy, infinitely seduceable Hermione Granger sitting in 6th year Potions, making eyes at him, and only a sense of something very wrong stopped him giving her the detention of her life.
She reached forward, twined one hand in his hair and pulled his face to hers. Their kiss was prolonged. When they broke, she smiled.
"Convinced?"
He licked his lips. "Nearly."
She whispered in his ear. "Your middle name is Stephen, and you have a thing for cleaning my room."
He smiled back at her. "Convinced."
"Now, do I put these back on?" She swung her bra round her fingers.
Snape lifted her easily and sat her on his desk amongst scrolls of parchment. He started to loosen his own clothing.
When he kissed along her collarbone, heading lower, Hermione sighed. "So, what's this I hear about Potions, Professor? What was suggestion number eight? A sense-heightening draught?"
She lifted herself on her elbows, and made a slow, slow hip circle against Snape's body.
He went and got the potion.
***** *****