Author's Note: The section I've been working on since the last update is turning out pretty long, so I thought I'd go ahead and split it into two chapters so you could read the first half. Despite the title (heh), this chapter is quite light (as in, non-angsty) when compared to the previous chapters--but hey, I've got razzle-dazzle variety like that, dig?
"insert here--- usual disclaimer about not being J.K. Rowling and owning nothing
Mine Protector
Chapter 7: The Dungeon of Doom
If someone was in search of the best Halloween celebration on earth, then one of the places they'd be a fool not to visit was Hogwarts Castle--especially this year. It was tradition that students wake on Halloween morning to out-of-sight decorations and a feast that would keep them stuffed to the gills 'til next Christmas, but this year, for the first time in ages, Halloween had fallen on a Saturday. And a Saturday Halloween was a extra-special affair. It meant that there would be an all-day fun fair in the Great Hall with contests and prizes. Some of the games were bound to be silly--like bobbing for apples and "dunk-a-ghoul"--and were being offered mostly for the benefit of first and second years. The older students were expecting music and dancing that would last long into the wee hours.
At first, though, the day started out no different than past Halloween celebrations: students trundled down to breakfast and discovered the usual carriage-sized jack-o-lanterns and clouds of swooping bats. But this time the long dining tables had been removed to create more space, and small, circular cafe tables had been set up in their place. In certain areas of the castle, coffins and skeletons were rigged to spring out of the wall with little warning; if a student wasn't fast enough, the skeletons had a tendency to clutch their robes with bony fingers, refusing to let go--this made trips to the bathroom especially hazardous. A real live banshee kept scampering across the ceiling of the Great Hall, wailing in an unearthly fashion, and the whole of the castle was, quite suddently, draped in an unpleasant amount of sticky cobwebs. The mood was festive, but also decidedly creepy.
At breakfast everyone had tried to crowd around the cafe tables, and there was so much shouting and moving about that it took several minutes for anyone to notice that there wasn't a single teacher around--not Dumbledore, not even Hagrid. Devon Rouquefort, the Head Boy from Ravenclaw, finally stood on a chair and banged a couple of aluminum water pitchers together to get everyone's attention. "Everyone settle down!" He hollered. "I have an announcement!"
Gradually, the chattering amongst the student body died down, until eventually the only noise was the infernal banshee--and even she piped down a little, finally realizing that no one was paying her much mind. Devon adjusted his robes and began to speak self-importantly in a thick, nasal voice: "I'm afraid I have some frightening news...out teachers seem to have gone missing. They were here last night, but by this morning had vanished into thin air." He wrung his hands together for effect, and several first and second years gasped, expressions of sheer panic breaking out over their faces.
From their seats near the back of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione exchanged amused glances. Their teachers were, of course, not missing at all. Rather, they were--with the help of the sixth and seventh years--busy concocting a labyrinthine haunted house in the empty dungeons located within the bowels of the castle. From his perch on the chair, Devon continued: "We have reason to believe that our teachers have been kidnapped by Halloween spirits and are now trapped in the dungeons." With this, several more gasps sounded, and even a few third-years were starting to look concerned, despite the corniness of Devon's public broadcast. "Once the sun goes down, the upperclassmen will be leading you down to the dungeon in small tour-groups so that you might help us discover what's become of the Hogwarts' teaching staff . . .I'm afraid backing out is *not* an option!" He watched with a small, satisfactory smile as a few students protested out loud, then finally added, quite cheerful: "Enjoy your breakfast, then!"
"Well, *that* was convincing," Ron said, massaging his shoulder. Gryffindor's first Quidditch game was against Slytherin the following weekend, and Harry had been working them double-time. Even Hermione, who was arguably in the best shape of all the players, had woken up stiff and sore on Halloween morning.
"Where is Harry anyway?" She asked, looking around at the nearby tables and seeing no sign of him.
"Aw, still putting together his silly costume," Ron said, looking irritated. All three of them had volunteered to be part of the "Dungeon of Doom" (as McGonagall called it), but Ron had refused to dress up as a monster and scare little first-years. He claimed it was cruel, but Hermione suspected what really bothered him was the prospect of hiding out alone during those short stretches of time between the rotating tour-groups of students--time alone spent in an empty, dank oubliette, no less. He had requested a job as a tour leader, instead, and Hermione said she would do whatever job they needed her for. She expected she had better cook up some sort of costume, just in case.
"I just realized I need a costume quick, Ron!" she exclaimed, trying to mentally pick through her wardrobe for any costumey-type ensembles. -Hmmm. I could wear my school uniform with my midriff showing and go as an MTV tart...No, surely Lavender and Parvati have cornered the market on that little number...- It was no good; most of the clothing she'd brought with her fell along the lines of sensible prefect apparel: modest skirts, sweater-sets, and weekend-worn jeans. "Blast!" she swore, "I haven't got any ideas."
Ron looked non-plussed. "You oughta go down the the kitchens and nick some of Dobby's socks," he advised.
She looked at him suspiciously, pretty sure she knew what he was getting at. "What for?"
"Well, that and a tea-towel and you're all set as an out-sized house-elf."
"A tea-towel isn't enough to cover my arm!"
He grinned mischieviously. "That's the best part of Halloween, innit?"
---
Severus Snape would have completely fogotten about Halloween if Minerva McGonagall hadn't coming knocking on the door of his private quarters at noon, requesting 20 pounds of dry ice and his three largest cauldrons. As if turned out, McGonagall, Hooch, and Sprout were dressing as the three witches from MacBeth for their part in the Dungeon of Doom.
"Really, Minerva," Snape said, admonishing her slightly. "I can't believe you want to do that tired Haunted House act again. The students always become over-stimulated and are up all weekend long, running through the quarters trying to out-frighten eachother."
"Lighten up, Severus," she replied, looking uncharacteristically cheerful--even without all her teeth. "We'll need the dry ice by four, so don't forget it."
It wasn't that Snape disapproved of Halloween on principal, it was that he valued his privacy. During his Quidditch-and-Hogsmeade free weekends, Severus preferred to stay in and read or bone-up on his own research. Now he would have to haul a burlap sack of dry ice down to the usually off-limits storage area of the dungeons, and from there would probably be talked into rattling chains or some other demeaning task. But he had a loyal spot for Minerva, and when four o'clock rolled around he diligently gathered up the ice and left the quiet sanctitude of his private hearth. Once only a few steps out his office door, he was surprised to hear a female figure arguing with someone in the dark.
"Just.....just give it!" she said, sounding annoyed. Snape walked a few paces closer, and she came into view in the dim hallway, which was illuminated by only a few wall-mounted torches. He heard a strange clanking, and was shocked to realize that the girl was actually wresting...with...a suit of armor! She swore and pushed the armor against the wall, struggling to yank something out of the knight's hands. It was a sword--heavy and scrolled at the handle, and nearly four-feet in length. "I...only want...to...BORROW it!" the girl spoke haltingly between heavy exhalations, and loosened her grip on the sword enough to lift a hand and brush a few curls back from her face. In that one familiar gesture, Snape recognized Hermione Granger.
She had dressed up as some kind of warrior or rogue, he realized: she was wearing a pair of brown suede trousers that had been tucked into black riding boots, and on her upper-half she had donned a thin cotton tunic and an elaboratly gilded breast-plate--also stolen from a suit of armor, no doubt. Her hair was braided around her head in a complicated pattern, and it was a look that very much suited her--not just the braids, but the entire outfit. Statuesque as she was, she looked quite noble, almost brave--and...well, beautiful, too. She adjusted her stance, and Snape's eyes caught at the glittering knife that hung from her belt; he knew at once that it was the real thing, not any musty old Hogwarts' artifact. The weapon was inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the handle, and the blade itself was a long, scallop-edged affair that narrowed down into a very real and dangerous point.
-Why on earth would Miss Granger need such a big knife?- he thought deliciously, fully aware of the double-entendre.
The suit of armor snickered noiselessly, and in a flare of anger she started to make another lunge at it. Before could work the sword back into her grip, though, Snape stepped into the light and placed a hand on her shoulder.
---
Hermione's Saturdays were usually taken up by training: on one end there was the grueling Quidditch practices that Harry held twice a day on weekends, and on the other she had Auror's training with Dumbledore on Saturday afternoons. In actuality, Hermione's Quidditch-playing was really only a convienent way to work physical workouts into her schedule with little question from any of her classmates. Her Auror's training with Dumbledore consisted of close, one-on-one spell studies that lasted several hours--hours that she usually explained to her friends as time spent in the restricted section of the library.
Hermione saw both the physical and the mental workouts as necessary to the development of her Aurorship skills, and would have normallly stressed over missing an entire weekend of that essential physical and mental training. Her work with Dumbledore, in particular, had just reached an exciting note: only two weeks ago she had perfected the sheild spell, and the headmaster had promised they would begin working on the next defensive spell--barrier--before the holidays started. There were four basic levels of defensive magic: mantle, shield, barrier, and wall. "Mantle" was relatively simple in that it decreased the accuracy of an attackers spells; "Sheild" was a more powerful spell that took a good deal longer to master, but was more effective and longer-lasting than "Mantle". The spell for "Barrier", however, was extraordinarly complex in that it actually absorbed an attacker's curses--the better "Barrier" a wizard could cast, the longer her or she could withstand curses in battle. Every Ministry Auror could cast a strong Barrier spell, but even Barrier was useless against all three of the Unforgiveable Curses.
The only other defense beyond the Barrier spell was "Wall", which was said to withstand even Avada Kedavra. So far as Hermione knew, no one but Dumbledore had successfully cast "Wall"--not even Voldemort.
Despite the fact that she was anxious to begin working on "Barrier", even Hermione had to admit that she was having fun. Things had started looking up as soon as she had found a proper costume: she'd discovered the trousers and boots at the bottom of her trunk, and the tunic was actually one of Ron's old shrunken night-shirts. The breast-plate she had sneakily removed from a sleeping suit of armor on the landing of the grand staircase. When she had finally revealed her new look to Ron, his reaction had been mixed.
"Ta-da!" she'd announced, striding importantly into the Griffyndor common-room. "I'm Joan of Arc. . .What do you think?"
"You look fantastic," Ron said, then shook his head quizzically. "But I thought you were supposed to dress as something scary?"
She couldn't help but grin fervently. "Some foolish people might say that a woman with vision and power IS scary, Ron!"
"You'll need a sword, then," he pointed out, laughing. Agreeing, she had left the common-room in search of one.
There were plenty of swords throughout the castle--swords posted over doorways, swords holding up tapestries and banners, swords used as table-legs--but all of them were rather short, unimpressive, and ugly. It wasn't until she had worked her way down to the dungeons that she found a perfect one, very long and heroic-looking. But the blasted suit of armor didn't want to give up his sword, no matter how she bargained! She finally tried to take it by force, but that seemed to make the thing only more bent on refusal.
"You insufferable pile of tin!" she shouted, hoping insults might do the trick. She had almost given up when, with the barest of sounds, someone placed a firm hand on her shoulder, causing her to fairly leap right out of her own skin.
"Professor Snape!" She exclaimed, jumping backwards. "What are you doing down here?"
He gave her his usual look: one that was an improbable mix of sourness and curiousity.
"I *live* down here, Miss Granger," he said, his voice gravelly. "And since you *don't*, I think I should be the one asking you what it is, exactly, that you're up to."
"I..." she looked at the suit of armor, which still seemed to be snickering. "I need his sword, and he's being difficult about it."
Snape gave her the once over, and she thought she saw something like...was it amusement?...in his detached, coal-colored eyes. "You already seem to own a rather large knife, Miss Granger. Won't it get the job done?"
"It's not really as effective...as a prop, professor." She stared at him quizzically, her mouth parting just slightly.
"So size is what matters, is it? In that case, let me see if I can help you." He leaned forward so that his body was very near hers, and his face was alight with flushed color in a way that she had never before witnessed. There was a heady, liquor-like undertone to his words that almost spilled over into her own body, lifting her on a drunk, unsteady wave of lightheadedness. He lifted a hand and stretched it towards her--she noticed that he had long, elegant fingers, like that of a viola player--and as it neared, she stiffened, certain he was going to touch her.
But he didn't. Instead, he reached under the suit of armor's arm and gave it an odd little squeeze. The armor doubled over with a loud clatter, and its sword promptly fell to the ground. Hermione snatched it up with a cat's reflexes, then looked back at Snape in wonderment
He was smiling, clearly enjoying himself. "They're ticklish, Miss Granger," he explained, and with that sauntered off, slinging a burlap bag over his shoulder.
Hermione spent a few speechless seconds alone in the dark, then began to giggle out loud. Before she could collect herself, Harry came out of nowhere and nearly mowed her over; they both crashed into the suit of armor together.
"There you are!" he shouted, picking himself up. He was wearing red robes that had been spattered with even darker-red blood, and had used a container of "Bemus's Brilliant Beard Grow" to sprout up an impressively thick beard overnight. "The 'Dungeon of Doom' is starting in an hour, and I still haven't been able to turn my beard blue!"
Harry was--to his delight--playing the role of Blue Beard that evening; McGonagall herself had transfigured several oddly-shaped gourds into what more or less resembled a collection of grotesque, severed heads. Harry was going to hide in a room where the "heads" of Bluebeard's seven wives would dangle from the ceiling, and once a group of students was led in he fully planned to burst out of the corner and brandish a wickedly-sharp ax.
"Hold still," Hermione said, rather captivated by his enthusiasm. "Azurio" she murmured, making a slight gesture with her wand.
"Is it blue?" Harry asked frantically, trying to crane his neck to see.
"Very."
"Thank goodness," he sighed, relieved. "I have to go polish my ax, but Sirius asked that I send you up to his office."
"Oh really? What for?" she asked. She had made an effort to treat Sirius more graciously since that first week of school; she spoke up in class again, and even stopped by his office for a now and then tea-time--but they weren't near back to being the friends that Sirius had apparantly remembered them as.
Harry snickered, which served only to baffle her. "You'll see," he said, and took off towards the lower dungeons.
Hermione watched him go, but the pressing darkness soon engulfed him. She slipped the new-found sword into her belt and straightened her breast-plate. Auror's training or not, she couldn't deny that it was turning into an interesting weekend.
****************************
To be continued with more Halloween Goodness!
"insert here--- usual disclaimer about not being J.K. Rowling and owning nothing
Mine Protector
Chapter 7: The Dungeon of Doom
If someone was in search of the best Halloween celebration on earth, then one of the places they'd be a fool not to visit was Hogwarts Castle--especially this year. It was tradition that students wake on Halloween morning to out-of-sight decorations and a feast that would keep them stuffed to the gills 'til next Christmas, but this year, for the first time in ages, Halloween had fallen on a Saturday. And a Saturday Halloween was a extra-special affair. It meant that there would be an all-day fun fair in the Great Hall with contests and prizes. Some of the games were bound to be silly--like bobbing for apples and "dunk-a-ghoul"--and were being offered mostly for the benefit of first and second years. The older students were expecting music and dancing that would last long into the wee hours.
At first, though, the day started out no different than past Halloween celebrations: students trundled down to breakfast and discovered the usual carriage-sized jack-o-lanterns and clouds of swooping bats. But this time the long dining tables had been removed to create more space, and small, circular cafe tables had been set up in their place. In certain areas of the castle, coffins and skeletons were rigged to spring out of the wall with little warning; if a student wasn't fast enough, the skeletons had a tendency to clutch their robes with bony fingers, refusing to let go--this made trips to the bathroom especially hazardous. A real live banshee kept scampering across the ceiling of the Great Hall, wailing in an unearthly fashion, and the whole of the castle was, quite suddently, draped in an unpleasant amount of sticky cobwebs. The mood was festive, but also decidedly creepy.
At breakfast everyone had tried to crowd around the cafe tables, and there was so much shouting and moving about that it took several minutes for anyone to notice that there wasn't a single teacher around--not Dumbledore, not even Hagrid. Devon Rouquefort, the Head Boy from Ravenclaw, finally stood on a chair and banged a couple of aluminum water pitchers together to get everyone's attention. "Everyone settle down!" He hollered. "I have an announcement!"
Gradually, the chattering amongst the student body died down, until eventually the only noise was the infernal banshee--and even she piped down a little, finally realizing that no one was paying her much mind. Devon adjusted his robes and began to speak self-importantly in a thick, nasal voice: "I'm afraid I have some frightening news...out teachers seem to have gone missing. They were here last night, but by this morning had vanished into thin air." He wrung his hands together for effect, and several first and second years gasped, expressions of sheer panic breaking out over their faces.
From their seats near the back of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione exchanged amused glances. Their teachers were, of course, not missing at all. Rather, they were--with the help of the sixth and seventh years--busy concocting a labyrinthine haunted house in the empty dungeons located within the bowels of the castle. From his perch on the chair, Devon continued: "We have reason to believe that our teachers have been kidnapped by Halloween spirits and are now trapped in the dungeons." With this, several more gasps sounded, and even a few third-years were starting to look concerned, despite the corniness of Devon's public broadcast. "Once the sun goes down, the upperclassmen will be leading you down to the dungeon in small tour-groups so that you might help us discover what's become of the Hogwarts' teaching staff . . .I'm afraid backing out is *not* an option!" He watched with a small, satisfactory smile as a few students protested out loud, then finally added, quite cheerful: "Enjoy your breakfast, then!"
"Well, *that* was convincing," Ron said, massaging his shoulder. Gryffindor's first Quidditch game was against Slytherin the following weekend, and Harry had been working them double-time. Even Hermione, who was arguably in the best shape of all the players, had woken up stiff and sore on Halloween morning.
"Where is Harry anyway?" She asked, looking around at the nearby tables and seeing no sign of him.
"Aw, still putting together his silly costume," Ron said, looking irritated. All three of them had volunteered to be part of the "Dungeon of Doom" (as McGonagall called it), but Ron had refused to dress up as a monster and scare little first-years. He claimed it was cruel, but Hermione suspected what really bothered him was the prospect of hiding out alone during those short stretches of time between the rotating tour-groups of students--time alone spent in an empty, dank oubliette, no less. He had requested a job as a tour leader, instead, and Hermione said she would do whatever job they needed her for. She expected she had better cook up some sort of costume, just in case.
"I just realized I need a costume quick, Ron!" she exclaimed, trying to mentally pick through her wardrobe for any costumey-type ensembles. -Hmmm. I could wear my school uniform with my midriff showing and go as an MTV tart...No, surely Lavender and Parvati have cornered the market on that little number...- It was no good; most of the clothing she'd brought with her fell along the lines of sensible prefect apparel: modest skirts, sweater-sets, and weekend-worn jeans. "Blast!" she swore, "I haven't got any ideas."
Ron looked non-plussed. "You oughta go down the the kitchens and nick some of Dobby's socks," he advised.
She looked at him suspiciously, pretty sure she knew what he was getting at. "What for?"
"Well, that and a tea-towel and you're all set as an out-sized house-elf."
"A tea-towel isn't enough to cover my arm!"
He grinned mischieviously. "That's the best part of Halloween, innit?"
---
Severus Snape would have completely fogotten about Halloween if Minerva McGonagall hadn't coming knocking on the door of his private quarters at noon, requesting 20 pounds of dry ice and his three largest cauldrons. As if turned out, McGonagall, Hooch, and Sprout were dressing as the three witches from MacBeth for their part in the Dungeon of Doom.
"Really, Minerva," Snape said, admonishing her slightly. "I can't believe you want to do that tired Haunted House act again. The students always become over-stimulated and are up all weekend long, running through the quarters trying to out-frighten eachother."
"Lighten up, Severus," she replied, looking uncharacteristically cheerful--even without all her teeth. "We'll need the dry ice by four, so don't forget it."
It wasn't that Snape disapproved of Halloween on principal, it was that he valued his privacy. During his Quidditch-and-Hogsmeade free weekends, Severus preferred to stay in and read or bone-up on his own research. Now he would have to haul a burlap sack of dry ice down to the usually off-limits storage area of the dungeons, and from there would probably be talked into rattling chains or some other demeaning task. But he had a loyal spot for Minerva, and when four o'clock rolled around he diligently gathered up the ice and left the quiet sanctitude of his private hearth. Once only a few steps out his office door, he was surprised to hear a female figure arguing with someone in the dark.
"Just.....just give it!" she said, sounding annoyed. Snape walked a few paces closer, and she came into view in the dim hallway, which was illuminated by only a few wall-mounted torches. He heard a strange clanking, and was shocked to realize that the girl was actually wresting...with...a suit of armor! She swore and pushed the armor against the wall, struggling to yank something out of the knight's hands. It was a sword--heavy and scrolled at the handle, and nearly four-feet in length. "I...only want...to...BORROW it!" the girl spoke haltingly between heavy exhalations, and loosened her grip on the sword enough to lift a hand and brush a few curls back from her face. In that one familiar gesture, Snape recognized Hermione Granger.
She had dressed up as some kind of warrior or rogue, he realized: she was wearing a pair of brown suede trousers that had been tucked into black riding boots, and on her upper-half she had donned a thin cotton tunic and an elaboratly gilded breast-plate--also stolen from a suit of armor, no doubt. Her hair was braided around her head in a complicated pattern, and it was a look that very much suited her--not just the braids, but the entire outfit. Statuesque as she was, she looked quite noble, almost brave--and...well, beautiful, too. She adjusted her stance, and Snape's eyes caught at the glittering knife that hung from her belt; he knew at once that it was the real thing, not any musty old Hogwarts' artifact. The weapon was inlaid with mother-of-pearl on the handle, and the blade itself was a long, scallop-edged affair that narrowed down into a very real and dangerous point.
-Why on earth would Miss Granger need such a big knife?- he thought deliciously, fully aware of the double-entendre.
The suit of armor snickered noiselessly, and in a flare of anger she started to make another lunge at it. Before could work the sword back into her grip, though, Snape stepped into the light and placed a hand on her shoulder.
---
Hermione's Saturdays were usually taken up by training: on one end there was the grueling Quidditch practices that Harry held twice a day on weekends, and on the other she had Auror's training with Dumbledore on Saturday afternoons. In actuality, Hermione's Quidditch-playing was really only a convienent way to work physical workouts into her schedule with little question from any of her classmates. Her Auror's training with Dumbledore consisted of close, one-on-one spell studies that lasted several hours--hours that she usually explained to her friends as time spent in the restricted section of the library.
Hermione saw both the physical and the mental workouts as necessary to the development of her Aurorship skills, and would have normallly stressed over missing an entire weekend of that essential physical and mental training. Her work with Dumbledore, in particular, had just reached an exciting note: only two weeks ago she had perfected the sheild spell, and the headmaster had promised they would begin working on the next defensive spell--barrier--before the holidays started. There were four basic levels of defensive magic: mantle, shield, barrier, and wall. "Mantle" was relatively simple in that it decreased the accuracy of an attackers spells; "Sheild" was a more powerful spell that took a good deal longer to master, but was more effective and longer-lasting than "Mantle". The spell for "Barrier", however, was extraordinarly complex in that it actually absorbed an attacker's curses--the better "Barrier" a wizard could cast, the longer her or she could withstand curses in battle. Every Ministry Auror could cast a strong Barrier spell, but even Barrier was useless against all three of the Unforgiveable Curses.
The only other defense beyond the Barrier spell was "Wall", which was said to withstand even Avada Kedavra. So far as Hermione knew, no one but Dumbledore had successfully cast "Wall"--not even Voldemort.
Despite the fact that she was anxious to begin working on "Barrier", even Hermione had to admit that she was having fun. Things had started looking up as soon as she had found a proper costume: she'd discovered the trousers and boots at the bottom of her trunk, and the tunic was actually one of Ron's old shrunken night-shirts. The breast-plate she had sneakily removed from a sleeping suit of armor on the landing of the grand staircase. When she had finally revealed her new look to Ron, his reaction had been mixed.
"Ta-da!" she'd announced, striding importantly into the Griffyndor common-room. "I'm Joan of Arc. . .What do you think?"
"You look fantastic," Ron said, then shook his head quizzically. "But I thought you were supposed to dress as something scary?"
She couldn't help but grin fervently. "Some foolish people might say that a woman with vision and power IS scary, Ron!"
"You'll need a sword, then," he pointed out, laughing. Agreeing, she had left the common-room in search of one.
There were plenty of swords throughout the castle--swords posted over doorways, swords holding up tapestries and banners, swords used as table-legs--but all of them were rather short, unimpressive, and ugly. It wasn't until she had worked her way down to the dungeons that she found a perfect one, very long and heroic-looking. But the blasted suit of armor didn't want to give up his sword, no matter how she bargained! She finally tried to take it by force, but that seemed to make the thing only more bent on refusal.
"You insufferable pile of tin!" she shouted, hoping insults might do the trick. She had almost given up when, with the barest of sounds, someone placed a firm hand on her shoulder, causing her to fairly leap right out of her own skin.
"Professor Snape!" She exclaimed, jumping backwards. "What are you doing down here?"
He gave her his usual look: one that was an improbable mix of sourness and curiousity.
"I *live* down here, Miss Granger," he said, his voice gravelly. "And since you *don't*, I think I should be the one asking you what it is, exactly, that you're up to."
"I..." she looked at the suit of armor, which still seemed to be snickering. "I need his sword, and he's being difficult about it."
Snape gave her the once over, and she thought she saw something like...was it amusement?...in his detached, coal-colored eyes. "You already seem to own a rather large knife, Miss Granger. Won't it get the job done?"
"It's not really as effective...as a prop, professor." She stared at him quizzically, her mouth parting just slightly.
"So size is what matters, is it? In that case, let me see if I can help you." He leaned forward so that his body was very near hers, and his face was alight with flushed color in a way that she had never before witnessed. There was a heady, liquor-like undertone to his words that almost spilled over into her own body, lifting her on a drunk, unsteady wave of lightheadedness. He lifted a hand and stretched it towards her--she noticed that he had long, elegant fingers, like that of a viola player--and as it neared, she stiffened, certain he was going to touch her.
But he didn't. Instead, he reached under the suit of armor's arm and gave it an odd little squeeze. The armor doubled over with a loud clatter, and its sword promptly fell to the ground. Hermione snatched it up with a cat's reflexes, then looked back at Snape in wonderment
He was smiling, clearly enjoying himself. "They're ticklish, Miss Granger," he explained, and with that sauntered off, slinging a burlap bag over his shoulder.
Hermione spent a few speechless seconds alone in the dark, then began to giggle out loud. Before she could collect herself, Harry came out of nowhere and nearly mowed her over; they both crashed into the suit of armor together.
"There you are!" he shouted, picking himself up. He was wearing red robes that had been spattered with even darker-red blood, and had used a container of "Bemus's Brilliant Beard Grow" to sprout up an impressively thick beard overnight. "The 'Dungeon of Doom' is starting in an hour, and I still haven't been able to turn my beard blue!"
Harry was--to his delight--playing the role of Blue Beard that evening; McGonagall herself had transfigured several oddly-shaped gourds into what more or less resembled a collection of grotesque, severed heads. Harry was going to hide in a room where the "heads" of Bluebeard's seven wives would dangle from the ceiling, and once a group of students was led in he fully planned to burst out of the corner and brandish a wickedly-sharp ax.
"Hold still," Hermione said, rather captivated by his enthusiasm. "Azurio" she murmured, making a slight gesture with her wand.
"Is it blue?" Harry asked frantically, trying to crane his neck to see.
"Very."
"Thank goodness," he sighed, relieved. "I have to go polish my ax, but Sirius asked that I send you up to his office."
"Oh really? What for?" she asked. She had made an effort to treat Sirius more graciously since that first week of school; she spoke up in class again, and even stopped by his office for a now and then tea-time--but they weren't near back to being the friends that Sirius had apparantly remembered them as.
Harry snickered, which served only to baffle her. "You'll see," he said, and took off towards the lower dungeons.
Hermione watched him go, but the pressing darkness soon engulfed him. She slipped the new-found sword into her belt and straightened her breast-plate. Auror's training or not, she couldn't deny that it was turning into an interesting weekend.
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To be continued with more Halloween Goodness!
