Title: Looking for Magic in All the Right Places

Chapter Six: Sex-Starved Little Swot!

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 Six: Sex-Starved Little Swot!

For most Hogwarts seventh-years, summer school couldn't end fast enough. The living conditions had now deteriorated alarmingly. No one minded eating in the kitchen, especially since--thanks to McCourt's efficient management--the food was now consistently decent. But in the final month of term, without reliable staircases, all levels above the first floor were unusable. Dumbledore had been the first to evacuate his tower office, moving into (of all things) the broom closet on the ground floor--an indignity he bore with sublime calm. That same day, female and male students of each house had been assigned to all available classrooms, anterooms, and other chambers located no higher than the first floor. Each night they slept on mattresses, which the house-elves efficiently removed and stacked against the walls each morning.

That made for a bizarre environment in the DADA classroom. 'It's like being trapped in a bunker,' said Harry one day, 'with sandbags all around us.'

'What's a bunker?' asked Ron.

'Erm--a kind of shelter in case there's an emergency.'

'Emergency, huh? I'd say that's about right. How long d'you think before this whole place falls on our heads?'

Harry squinted up at the ceiling, pretending to inspect it thoughtfully. 'Oh I'd say--a week. If we're lucky.'

Ron groaned and buried his face in his hands. 'Gods, get me out of here.'

Some faculty, including Lupin and all Muggle guests, were displaced too; they were moved into the old hospital wing and privacy screens were procured. McGonagall retained her first-floor office but generously offered to share it with Maxine Jones. Snape, however, made it known that he would string up and flay any faculty member or guest foolhardy enough to come anywhere near his private domain. In that same spirit, the Slytherins guarded their dungeon-level common room like Roman soldiers squaring off against barbarian invaders.

By the time the last week of summer school dawned, everyone was in a fine state of tension.

'Bugger off,' Ron growled when Hermione dumped a load of books so close to him that several landed on his legs. Not that she had much room to manoeuvre. What passed for the Gryffindor common room these days was a cramped, little-used, musty-smelling 'overflow' classroom on the ground floor, furnished with several exceptionally seedy armchairs and some old cushions. Since the day Lavender had discovered that silverfish commuted through those cushions, most students now preferred to sit on the floor. It was much cleaner.

'Why don't you take a look at one of these for a change, Ron,' Hermione snapped. 'You might actually learn something.'

'Chemistry texts? Yeah, right. What rubbish.'

'Just because you're thick as two short planks doesn't make it rubbish.'

'Oooh,' crooned Ron, 'I keep forgetting that you're sucking up to Professor Tall, Dark, and Greasy. Has he impaled you yet with his . . .'

The heads of Lavender and Parvati snapped up, and two pairs of eyes fastened avidly on Hermione.

'Say it, Ron. Go ahead. I dare you,' said Hermione, very softly.

'His'--Ron started laughing--'piercing dark gaze?'

'Oh will you shut it, you two,' said Harry wearily. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. 'Believe it or not, I'm doing revision here.'

Ron looked shocked. 'You are? Why?'

'I dunno. Maybe I'm being an arse, but there's a chemistry test on Wednesday and I thought just maybe I'd try to pass it.'

Hermione folded her arms. 'Well, nice to know someone's thinking ahead.'

'Stop being such a cow, Hermione,' Ron snarled.

'Why don't you stop being such a stupid prat!'

'STOP IT!' Harry surged to his feet. 'You're BOTH losers. Ron, get a brain. Hermione, stop acting like a sex-starved little swot. Bloody hell. Who wants to be in the same room as you lot?' Ignoring the stares of his classmates, Harry barrelled out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard the walls shuddered.

There was a moment's shocked silence. Ron's eyes were wide. Neville cleared his throat and pushed his face back into his poetry book. Hermione stood rigid, her face deadly pale.

'So,' said Parvati sweetly. 'Hermione. Speaking of sex--tell us more about your pash for Snape.' She and Lavender collapsed into giggles.

Hermione flushed brick-red. Pressing her lips together, she started picking up her books, elaborately ignoring Ron and everyone else in the room.

Ron pulled his long legs away from the pile of texts and stared at the floor.

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

Though Snape felt a bit foolish knocking on the broom closet door, he much preferred it to an exhausting march up six floors of dysfunctional spiral staircase.

'Cosy, isn't it?' said Dumbledore after Snape had come in and closed the door behind him. The battered old classroom table serving as a desk barely missed touching the walls. A bookshelf and several boxes overflowed with parchments. Snape raised his eyebrows.

'Er--quite. If I may ask, where do you sleep?'

'Oh, the elves put a mattress out on top of the table each night,' said Dumbledore equably. 'I simply have to remember not to roll over.'

Snape was aware of his own stubborn refusal to share his commodious quarters. He shoved that uncomfortable thought aside.

'I'm sorry I can't offer you a seat,' Dumbledore added. 'But on the bright side, meetings conducted whilst both parties are standing can be surprisingly productive.'

'And on that topic, you wanted to see me, Headmaster?'

'Yes, dear boy. Let me get to the point. I know you had expected to serve as a judge, not as a competitor, for the DADA Invocation Slam.'

'I was not pleased when I realised Lupin had entered my name.'

'That was my doing, not Remus's.'

Snape stared at Dumbledore. 'Why?'

'I'm sure you remember our conversation during the first week of summer school. The true purpose of this DADA class is to experiment with the possibility that tapping into the ancient power of naming might reawaken the magic we have now almost entirely lost.'

'I remember every word of that conversation,' said Snape, his voice edged with bitterness. 'But I must say, Headmaster, if I may be blunt, that whilst some of the students show occasional promise in their grasp of poetic technique, I have seen no evidence of any power. None. If invoking magic is the object, then I would say your experiment has failed.'

'Oh come, Severus. As a wizard who now studies science, surely you know it's shoddy practice to draw conclusions before you've gathered all the data.'

Snape opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

'You, Remus, and Minerva were--are--three of our most powerful wizards. Harry Potter and the remnants of the D.A. are our strongest, most talented young practitioners. And Hermione Granger'--Snape started, then cursed himself for that reaction--'is a phenomenon unto herself. Any hope of reversing Voldemort's final curse and reinstating magic in our world lies within this extraordinary group. And that'--said Dumbledore, his voice gentle--'is why I want you to compete, dear boy.'

Snape took a deep breath. 'Very well, Headmaster.'

Really, what was the point in arguing with the old codger?

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

It was so difficult to find a private space. With only a few short hours to go before the Slam, Hermione wanted to work aloud on her invocations, and the only quiet, empty room she could find was Snape's lab. He'd mentioned he would be spending time in his rooms, so she felt it unlikely he'd object to her using the lab for an hour or so for something not necessarily related to chemistry.

'Let the stormy east wind strain
Let pale yellow autumn wane
And rivers in their banks complain--
Heavily the low skies rain
O'er the Dark One's grave;
Down chaos come. . .

'. . . down . . . down . . . now what?' Hells claws! Hermione shook her head.

It was difficult to concentrate, and not because of Harry, who'd gone in one fell swoop from best friend to sworn enemy. She hadn't seen much of him or Ron lately, which was fine with her. She hoped they were spending lots of time out on the football pitch, or field, or whatever, running around till they dropped to the ground and puked their guts out.

No. Far more irritating was the brand new rumour--set loose by the Parvati-and-Lavender brigade and now running demonically around the school--that Hermione Granger, sex-starved little swot, was in love with Severus Snape.

It didn't seem to matter how many times she insisted she was only working with him. Well, yes, she did have the odd fantasy about him. Yes, he seemed to be treating her in public with a little more consideration these days. And yes, it was true she spent hours during evenings and weekends in his lab, continuing to isolate the constituent elements of Veritaserum and putting the rickety flame ionisation detector through its paces.

And yes . . . it was true his image had started to appear in her dreams.

This also was true: she'd rather be cut into bite-sized pieces and fed to Buckbeak before telling a single soul about that.

Had Snape heard this rumour? If he had, at least he had forborne to torture her about it.

She shook her head briskly. Focus. Concentrate. If she ended up against Harry in a semi-final round, she would wipe the mouldering old ceilings of Hogwarts with his arse.

And if she ended up against Snape. . . she'd show him who had the power!

'Let phoenix fly, no longer wait
To hurl the Dark through hell's last gate.
Invoke the light; destroy all hate
O'er the Dark One's grave.'

Hermione never noticed that the door to Snape's rooms was open a crack and that he was watching her with an intensity she would have found unsettling, his eyes narrowed like a soldier's sizing up an enemy.

Then his mouth curved in a smile that would have shocked her to see.

Author's Note:

--Hermione's 'rehearsal' invocation is adapted from Part IV, first stanza, of 'The Lady of Shalott' by Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809 - 1892).