Title: Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

Chapter Four: The Boyz Who Rapped

Genre: Humour, Romance, and my response to the WIKTT 'Summer School Challenge.' To see complete rules, go to 'When I Kissed the Teacher' Files Challenge Files, (Closed Challenges).

Rating: PG-13

Warning: Occasional poetry!

Disclaimer: Please see Chapter One. Some chapters have Author's Notes for acknowledgements when needed.

Chapter Four: The Boyz Who Rapped

Snape had affected his most ironic attitude throughout this most unorthodox DADA class, but every single moment of it was etched into his memory. Now, as midnight neared and he paced his private quarters, his thoughts were seething. Maxine Jones' 'Spell' had made the back of his neck prickle and a shiver too deep for comfort run through him. He recognised his own deep, instinctive responses to true magic.

He had to tap into that power. He had to.

He'd also noticed how intently Hermione had gazed at him when Jones later repeated a few lines from that poem. Snape had felt her regard like heat, and that perturbed him far more than all the chaos of the past few months combined.

He breathed a quick prayer to all the twenty-six gods of Khem that whilst they worked together on her Honours project, Miss Granger would give him no angst.

His mood wasn't improved by the fact that he couldn't get his fire started. What was it Muggles used? Matches? Rubbing two sticks together? Damn!

=============

Hermione had come to hate the Great Hall as well as what passed for meals around Hogwarts these days. The poor house elves were truly out of their depth trying to keep the place clean and provide food the old-fashioned way: by cooking it. Or trying to. Today's breakfast: toast burnt and stone-cold. Pumpkin juice with lumps. The worst, though, were mugs filled with lukewarm water into which the victimised diner was expected to dump a teabag. Ghastly.

It was sad to see the formerly grand and glittering Hall getting gloomier and dirtier by the hour. Hermione wondered whether Dumbledore, or any of the faculty other than Snape, had thought about how Hogwarts was going to pay to keep itself up, now that the 'free energy' provided by magic was no longer available.

Hermione sighed. It didn't look as if her Honours chemistry project would be opening up the floodgates of either power or funding anytime soon. She knew she was letting impatience get the better of her, but the project--now about a month old--had apparently stalled. Her analyses so far of potions ingredients and chemical reactions hadn't revealed any pathways to power. Not even Snape had been able to provide further insights.

Hermione sighed. At this rate, with only about two more months left of summer school, she'd probably get her recommendation to Cambridge, but not much else.

And that wasn't the only thing about chemistry she found disappointing. Snape seemed determined to uphold his reputation as a cold, unbending bastard. She'd thought, near the beginning of the project, that he might soften a bit, open up a crack. Try acting like a human being. Treat her with at least a token amount of respect, not just look at her as a bright-eyed, bushy-haired, irritating schoolgirl.

The DADA class, on the other hand, was getting really interesting. The more the chemistry of substances disappointed her, the more the chemistry of words intrigued her. She had to admire Remus Lupin for bravely tackling such a new area, making it possible for students to explore unknown realms.

Hermione still wasn't sure why Snape attended DADA classes so regularly, but she had to admit he seemed a little different in that environment. He listened closely, absorbing the bardic cadences of McCourt's metaphors and Jones' images with an almost greedy intensity. He seemed to give off a minor force of his own, like a dark lodestone, and she found herself stealing looks at him to try and track his reactions.

More than once, she'd caught him looking at her too. The moment their glances met, they skidded away from each other like two magnets bearing the same charge.

In chemistry class, and when supervising her Honours project, he never looked at her or spoke to her except to issue curt instructions. Perhaps he was as disappointed in her performance as she was.

Hermione's eyes filled with tears. She couldn't remember when she'd last been so unhappy, so purposeless. Even the peril-filled days of Voldemort had at least been exciting.

'Hey, 'Mione.' Ron's voice broke into her bleak thoughts, and for once she was grateful for the interruption. He and Harry slid into places at the table beside her. Each of them stared aghast at the breakfast offerings.

'Bloody hell,' said Harry with a groan. 'It's getting worse.'

'You alright?' Ron said to Hermione, his brows creasing.

'Yes, fine. It's just a bit depressing being here now, isn't it?'

Harry sighed and helped himself to burnt toast. 'Depressing? There we were yesterday afternoon on running around for hours on the grass beneath what used to be our Quidditch pitch, and this Beckham character's drilling us to death'--

'I think he hates being here,' Ron broke in.

'--and I totally understand the concept of this game, but it doesn't compare to the complexities of Quidditch'-- said Harry.

'All we do is run till we practically puke'--

'--and any idiot can do that, and all we have to do is get one ball past the goaltender and into that stupid net. No Snitch. Not even Bludgers. Let alone no flying. Where's the challenge?' said Harry.

'Though Dean and Seamus really seem to enjoy it, for some reason,' said Ron with disgust.

'Well,' said Hermione. 'Tonight we get to try duelling with poetry. That should be fun.'

Ron and Harry looked at her. Ron raised his eyebrows.

'So you're a big fan of poetry now, are you? Chemistry losing its--erm--charms?' he said with a faint smile.

'Shut up, Ron.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, grinning.

=============

'Now listen,' said Lupin, striding into the centre of the room and gathering the DADA class into an attitude of attention. Snape was sitting in his usual place off to the side where he could see the students, whilst Jones and McCourt commanded a front-row bench.

'Your homework for tonight was to create your own short invocation by putting together all the concepts we've covered so far: poetic structure, rhythm, metaphor, imagery, and how to project voice and emotion. Everyone with me so far?'

Everyone nodded.

'The rules are simple. You'll go in pairs, and each of you will deliver your poem to the other person. Remember that you're not allowed to invoke anything resembling the Unforgivable Curses.'

'As if that would work anyway,' Draco said in a loud whisper to Pansy, who smirked.

'Our guest lecturers will judge each poem,' Lupin continued, ignoring Draco, 'Then Professor Snape will offer an opinion on its potential value as a magical invocation.'

'This is such a waste of time,' Draco stage-whispered again. Snape leaned forward and fixed Draco with a glare.

'As I said on the first evening of this class, Mr. Malfoy, please feel free to leave if you have better things to do,' he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

For a moment, Draco held Snape's gaze, then with a disgusted snort, he folded his arms and scowled at Jones and McCourt instead. McCourt rolled his eyes. Jones stared through the blond young man with queenly indifference.

'I'd like to give you the opportunity to go first, Draco,' said Lupin, with a gleam in his golden eyes. 'Just in case it turns out you do have other engagements later on.'

There were smiles and smothered whispers among the Gryffindor contingent, which earned another glare from Snape.

Draco's mouth opened indignantly. He gaped for a moment, then realising he was cornered, muttered, 'Yes, Professor.'

'As for your sparring partner--Harry, would you be willing?' said Lupin.

With a big grin, Harry rose to his feet. 'Absolutely, sir.' Ron clapped him on the back.

The two young men moved to the centre of the classroom in front of their two Muggle judges. Hermione half-expected them to take out their wands.

'Draco? Anytime you're ready,' said Lupin, standing off to one side.

'Erm,' said Draco.

'Excellent beginning,' Ron whispered to Hermione. She clamped her mouth down on a giggle.

Then Draco took a deep breath and whirled to face Harry.

'You've lived a lie and now you wish you'd died
You intoxicated everyone with your own pride
You offed the bad one, yeah thought you'd swung it
Ego's out to dry now, can't find where you've hung it?
He'll stab you too, don't be fooled by his charm
When your back's turned he might do bodily harm.'

There was shocked silence. Harry stood, frozen. Draco smiled fiercely. Jones raised her eyebrows.

'Not a bad start,' she said. 'You've captured the basic rhythm and the theme of violence that characterises rap. But your switch to "he" is a little puzzling. There seem to be two different characters operating here. You might want to re-think that.'

'As an incantation,' added Snape from behind her, 'it could backfire, and you could end up being the one stabbed in the back. However, though I'm not sure what "rap" is, this was a good first effort, Mr. Malfoy,' he conceded. Draco relaxed and looked smug.

'Crap,' whispered Ron to Hermione.

'Now you, Harry,' said Lupin.

'Go, Harry, go,' muttered Ron.

'This isn't a Quidditch match!' Hermione hissed back.

Lupin looked out at the students. 'It's all right if you want to cheer on your mates, as long as the encouragement doesn't get out of hand,' he said with a grin. Snape frowned and looked as if he were about to speak, but seemed to think better of it.

Go, Harry!' said Ron.

'Slam him!' came from Padma. As several heads swivelled to look at her, she blushed.

'Slam him. Good one,' said Dean approvingly.

Harry, green eyes narrowed, looked at Draco for a moment. Then he faced his competitor square on, his pose as confident as a gunslinger's.

'What happens to a coward's dream?
Does it dry up like a snake's shed skin?
Or fester like a sore spreading from within?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or get covered with flies like an ancient sweet?
Maybe it hides from all human sight
To shiver and sob alone in the night.
What happens to a coward's dream?'

As the echoes of Harry's voice--strong and faintly mocking--died away, Draco flushed angrily. Several students applauded.

'The repetition of questions is powerful, and the similes are internally consistent,' said McCourt.

'I liked the circular structure. Very tight,' Jones added.

'The repetitions give it some power as an incantation,' Snape said, though it seemed to Hermione that he begrudged the compliment.

When Harry sat down again, Ron clapped him on the shoulder. 'I think you won this round,' he said, grinning.

'Harry, did Draco's poem have any effect on you?' said Hermione worriedly.

Harry shook his head. 'No way. He was just being his usual nasty self. But I think I got to Draco. Look at him.' The Slytherin ringleader, safely flanked by Pansy and his cohorts, glowered at Harry. His face was still flushed.

'Hmm,' said Hermione, feeling uneasy, and found her gaze moving over to Snape. He was looking at her, but the moment their glances met, he turned his head sharply away.

She wondered why he kept looking at her and what he was thinking.

Author's Notes:

Draco's 'You've lived a lie' rap is loosely inspired by some of Eninem's lyrics.

Harry's 'What happens to a coward's dream?' uses the basic structure and some wording from from 'Harlem: What happens to a dream deferred?' by the American poet Langston Hughes (1902 - 1967).