A/N: As soon as you're done reviewing this, assuming you have a minute to spare, it might be amusing to go read 'Harry Potter and The Fate of Hogwarts' by WerghofTur, 'Pains' by Mieko Bell, and of course, anything by Her Grace, Strega Brava. I joined WIKTT today on Yahoo.com, by the way. I just hope there are no weird initiation rites.
Chapter Six: Damn Yankees
Dinner was actually the most pleasant Severus had had in quite awhile, even if you did count Dobby the house-elf stopping by to wish the Gryffindor girls Happy Christmas and to thank Hermione for his present –his first toothbrush. Apparently she had found a more suitable soapbox in house-elves' lack of a good dental plan.
Fleur Delacour was between a slightly nervous John Tyler and Professor McGonagall. She was student-teaching and being tutored in English by Hermione, not a bad choice in Severus' opinion. Dumbledore was to Minerva's left and Ginny Weasley's right.
Their table was not all staff, nor all students, and yet rather cleverly chosen. It had been Ginny Weasley's brilliant idea to put the guest list into the Sorting Hat and pull out names to ensure that each table had people with enough in common for good dinner conversation. This started an improptu game of connections to figure out just how everyone had gotten there.
"Well, Hermione and I are both Gryffindors," Ginny pointed out.
"As am I," Professor McGonagall agreed. "And you and John are both red-headed."
"Yep," John observed.
"Mrs. Ty- -Cass- and I are both Muggle-born," Hermione offered.
"And both of us are annoying female know-it-alls, as is your Professor Snape." Cass happily licked the eggnog off her lip. "Well, minus the female part."
"Both Professor Snape and Mr. Tyler look magnifique in black."
"Amen, sister," Cass high-fived the French student. John went scarlet and suddenly his wife sat up very straight. Very slowly, she turned her head to look at him, before going just as red and kissing him soundly.
"Both Severus and Hermione are good at potions, and both John and Minerva are Transfiguration experts," Dumbledore pointed out. Severus caught a glance at the girl to his left and noticed her very becoming blush.
"Are you really, John?" Professor McGonagall asked with a smile.
"Yes."
There was a silence as the whole table waited for him to elaborate on this. Finally, rather than explain it, the American pulled his wand out and transfigured one of the floating candles into an impressive shiny steel industrial flashlight. It fell down, naturally, and Severus caught it just short of knocking out the know-it-all Gryffindor.
"Sorry, I didn't aim that well," John apologized. Snape looked about to hit him with the flashlight and Cass snarled at her husband, baring her teeth. John gave a short, doglike whimper before turning a napkin into a catnip mouse and handing it to Hermione as a peace offering.
"She is not a feline," Severus snarled.
"But her familiar is." Nervously, the American indicated a large orange cat that was just entering the Great Hall.
"Crookshanks?" Hermione saw her cat. "He's all the way over there, when did you notice him?"
"Minute ago," John answered shortly.
"And how in Merlin's name did you know he was hers?" Snape inquired, still a little miffed.
John leaned his cheek suddenly against his wife's, then Cass answered:
"Orange cat hairs on the hem of her dress, trace of Muggle toothpaste smell on cat's fur, and territorial marking on her leg."
"What?" Hermione asked.
"Cats rub themselves against people to indicate to other cats that their person is taken," Minerva explained.
"And you can smell all that?"
"Yep." Hermione looked so thoroughly incredulous that John at last elaborated, but again not verbally. He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm and displayed what looked like a small star-shaped tattoo. "I'm a werewolf."
That was a conversational bombshell, to say the least. Werewolves were still considered dangerous and second-class by many, even subhuman by some people. To admit it openly to friends was brave; to a table of acquaintances in a foreign land took more brass balls than Snape figured Voldemort would want to face.
"I like your tattoo," Hermione complimented politely.
"It's a birthmark. My parents were also werewolves."
"This is a tattoo," Cass showed her own forearm.
"Why would you get zhat?" Fleur inquired, awestruck. "Vherewolves are so hated in America."
"Aw, that's only in the Deep South among redneck assholes," Cass grinned, before her face suddenly softened considerably. "And if John's got a mark for his, so do I."
"You guys are both werewolves?" Ginny asked. The Tylers nodded and seemed to wait for the condemnation or polite change of subject. It did not come. "That's so romantic!"
"Yeah!" Hermione was also smiling. "Do werewolves play the way dogs do?"
"Yep. For a wedding present my brother Paul got us a Muggle machine that shoots tennis balls."
"Cool!" Ginny seemed more fascinated than judgemental, as always.
"Is being a werewolf anything like being an Animagus is?" Professor McGonagall asked, eying their stars with interest. "I've always sort of wondered."
"It's quite similar," Cass replied. "Werewolves who become Animagi just turn into wolves at will. Dear, would you?"
Suddenly a gray-furred wolf was seated on John's chair. He remained that way for a moment, during which Fleur Delacour scratched him behind the ears affectionately.
"I like wolves."
John shimmered back into himself, blushing again and with the hair by his sideburns slightly ruffled.
"I like being one." Cass put an arm around him and gave him a radish from her salad.
"Hate those."
The subject then faded into Animagic and from there into what everyone thought was the tastiest Muggle sweet, and then inevitably to Quidditch when the salads were finished. After that came soup and with it the most unfascinating discussion of haircolor charms Severus had ever heard. Against his better judgement, he turned to Hermione and inquired after how her Christmas was passing.
"Very well, so far, sir. And yours?"
"Actually, not too intolerable. Albus found a book I've always rather wanted."
"Ginny's mother sent me a Weasley sweater."
"Well, that'll be warm." It was all Severus could think of to say about the things that wasn't deprecating. "Sybill's been predicting an early thaw, you know."
"Blizzards, then," Hermione smiled. "Sir, have you a pair of snowboots?"
"The Muggle kind? No, I've just taken to putting a Heating Charm on my socks after November. Why do you ask?"
"Well, sir, I've been reading about edelweiss, and I believe that if the weather holds I might be able to get some fresh from the Forbidden Forest."
"That's forbidden to students."
"That's why I asked if you had snowboots," Hermione retorted cleverly.
"You know, I think I will actually go with you. Maybe we can see an Acromantula."
"In the dead of winter?"
"Or perhaps an ettercap, then."
"I've always sort of wanted to see a-"
"Unicorn?"
"Lord, no! A frost dryad."
"Well, should we see one, forgive me if I run away. Dryads would offer me a different kind of trouble than they would you."
"Unless they're bisexual."
Now where did that come from? Hermione wished the floor would swallow her whole. She must seem like a nymphomaniac!
"I don't think I'd mind sticking around to watch," Snape remarked.
Merlin's package! Her Professor had done it, too! He was such a snarky bastard!
Suddenly Ginny had a positive fit of the giggles.
"Miss Weasley, about this punch," Snape inquired.
"Yes, sir?" She could barely get the words out for laughing.
"You didn't by any chance slip anything from your brothers' shop into it?"
"Oh, just into in every odd and even glass," Ginny protested before cracking up again. "It's nothing serious."
"Any particular reason to slip your friend and I libido potions?"
Hermione decided to kill Ginny.
"Yours have only got a bit of calming stuff." The slender redhead stirred her soup aristocratically. "I didn't want you jumping down Hermione's throat all night."
"Jeez, Ginny! What kind of a Nerve Potion?" Hermione asked sarcastically.
"The same sort that acts on unusual dreams," she replied without batting an eye. "Sure makes things inter'sting, doesn't it?"
"If I wouldn't lose house points, I think I'd kill you, Gin," Hermione remarked dryly through clenched teeth. Snape calmly passed the cracker basket.
"Please, no catfights. I get enough from the Slytherins."
"Really? Like, Millicent Bulstrode vs. Pansy Parkinson?"
"That would be more of a sabre-toothed tiger fight, but yes, Miss Weasley, those two get into spats regularly."
"No wonder you're always such a prick in class, if you'll pardon the expression."
"What was that?" Professor McGonagall asked, looking at Ginny in abject surprise.
"I'm sorry, Professor, allow me to repair that." John pointed his wand at Ginny and muttered "Exorcius!"
"Miss Weasley, have you been possessed again?" Dumbledore asked kindly, as if it happened every other week.
"N-no," Ginny stammered, looking confusedly at John and feeling no different.
"My fault. It was the eggnog we had –sometimes it has goofy side effects."
"Cass," John chastised, poking her in the ribs.
"Alright, so it always has goofy side effects!"
"You made American eggnog for children, Mrs. Tyler?" Professor Snape asked, the way he usually asked Neville what he last put in a melted cauldron.
"We're not children!" Cass, Ginny and Hermione retorted in unison.
"And I didn't make it. He did," Cass indicated John.
"Yep."
"Underage drinking is frowned upon in England."
"Except when the drinkees are dancing nude with lampshades on their heads. Trust me." Professor McGonagall smiled tolerantly. "Why, when I was a girl, we used to get the most lovely champagne from our pen pals at Beauxbatons for after Quidditch games. We'd get looped and go play epic Truth or Dare –once Filius had to serenade the giant squid."
"And pray, what did he sing?" Snape asked sarcastically. Ginny Weasley's remarks about jumping down throats had been giving him strange thoughts.
"I believe it was 'I Feel Pretty'."
"Don't you love Muggle musicals?" Dumbledore remarked. "I've always loved 'My Fair Lady' especially."
"Oh, I love that!" somebody cried.
"I always thought the addition of singing to Shaw's masterpiece was blasphemy," Snape observed.
"So you didn't like 'Moulin Rouge' either?" Cass jested.
"No, Mrs. Tyler, I haven't seen that yet."
"Field trip!" Dumbledore and Cass chorused in unison.
"What I was saying," Snape continued, "is that 'My Fair Lady' was highly implausible."
"I agree," Hermione added. "There's no way Professor Higgins would have such a total turn-around from hating Eliza to loving her."
"Well, it wasn't that he hated her at all, merely that he resented the waste of potential. He knew from the start she was pretty and intelligent, and it annoyed him to hear her ignorant-sounding speech. I meant that it's implausible in that after his poor treatment of Eliza, that she would ever go back to him."
"I'm not so sure on that point, sir. After all, wasn't it his severity that enabled her to learn to speak and eventually pass for a lady?"
"Colonel Pickering was kinder to her."
"Yes, but he was older and it was his kindness that balanced Higgins' –snarkiness while they were teaching her." Hermione had evidently not only read Shaw but devoted a lot of time to studying the work. "Colonel Pickering became her support figure while Higgins became the object of her affections. It's a classic pattern."
"But how does any female develop affection for an overbearing, pompous man who makes education a living hell?"
"Respect for his intelligence, naturally!"
Neither Severus nor Hermione had the faintest inkling of how hard the rest of the table was trying not to laugh.
************************************************************
"Is that fruitcake?" The two Americans were actually salivating, and over fruitcake, no less. Why didn't Britain just give those weirdos their independence in the 1700s? Hermione wondered.
"Yes, Dobby made it especially. Ron Wheezy told Dobby it was 'Er-my-knee's favorite."
Hermione mumbled a particularly choice Muggle word under her breath.
"Thanks awfully, Dobby."
"Look at that fruitcake! Cop a squat, Dob-man, get a chunk of this!"
"Yeah!" John accio'd a chair for Dobby and with many nervous thanks, the house-elf sat down.
Across the Great Hall, directly in the path of John's spell, was a table of Slytherins. When Goyle was ordered by Malfoy to shut up and drink the bleeding Christmas toast already, his rear end and the floor were given a suitable holiday introduction.
"You is liking fruitcake also, ma'am?" Dobby leveled fat slices onto plates, giving Hermione a particularly mountainous portion. Cass grinned and swallowed the pecan she had nibbled off the top.
"I love the stuff! Daddy used to call it doorstop and we would make meals of it."
"You ate fruitcake for meals?" Fleur inquired in surprise.
"When you spend lots of time in a library, it's easier to lop off some doorstop than cook a lunch." Cass and John happily tucked into their dessert as if it were some glorious treat instead of –well, fruitcake. Dobby also tentatively took a bite, glancing at Hermione. With a feeling of intense nausea, she trimmed off and prepared to taste the 'doorstop,' only to be startled by a loud sound like an electric guitar.
"If we could have your attention for a minute," a familiar voice announced. "Since tonight's dance will feature karaoke singing from students and staff alike, we have a special number to begin the night's festivities. Ladies and gentleman, I give you, the Gryffindors!"
An acoustic guitar riff began, with Seamus Finnegan of all people playing it, and then Harry appeared at the microphone in a black leather jacket to sing the song:
"Come out Virginia, don't let me wait
You Gryffindor girls start much too late
Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate
I might as well be the one
You know that only the good die young!"
Dimly Hermione realized that not only was Ginny absolutely gobsmacked, but Cass had considerately switched the Gibraltar-sized rock of fruitcake for her real favorite, pumpkin pie with wizarding whipped cream. It reshaped itself like clouds as one ate the stuff, but Hermione was riveted to Harry's serenading and eventually dancing with Ginny. Privately she wondered how much Ogden's Old Firewhiskey Hagrid had used to prevent Ron from homicide, but then she noticed him playing the saxophone solo. Evidently he had come to terms with his best friend dating his only sister, or else he saw Harry as the least of all the evils among the male students of Hogwarts.
The Gryffindor boys (including Neville on drums,) were followed by a stirring punk rock rendition of 'Deck the Halls' by some Hufflepuffs, and a jazz trio from Ravenclaw playing selections from 'A Charlie Brown Christmas.' Cho Chang had obviously had more than a few piano lessons in her time.
By far the most showstopping number was Winky and a trio of female house-elves in Motown sequin dresses singing 'You Don't Own Me' in full Lesley Gore style. One of the funniest was Padma and Parvati Patil doing 'Sisters' from the movie 'White Christmas' when one of the feather fans escaped Padma and began to fly about the room. (Ginny had warned them not to buy their props at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, but did they listen?) Dumbledore for some reason felt that 'If I Were a Rich Man' from 'Fiddler On The Roof' was appropriate, and Professor Flitwick started 'The Time Warp,' which went on for seven choruses as nearly everybody including the house-elves danced. It was dead bizarre how many wizards liked 'The Rocky Horror Picture Show.'
"Come now, Hermione, do take a whack at it," Harry cajoled, gesturing toward the stage. "It's fun."
"And yes, Severus, the staff are required," Minerva announced with an evil grin.
"Well, we're game," John Tyler spoke suddenly. He and Cass got up, he took a seat at the piano, and she accio'd a weird-looking guitar.
"Students and staff, I give you our guests from America, John and Cass Tyler," Dumbledore introduced. "Accompaniment?" he inquired under his beard to John.
"Nope," he answered, playing the piano as if he had been born with a metronome near his arm. Cass added some Spanish-sounding guitar, and their song started.
"Let our love be a flame, not an ember," Cass began,
"Say it's me that you want to dismember."
"Blacken my eye, set fire to my tie," John added.
"As we dance to the Masochism Tango!"
By the third riotous stanza, the entire Great Hall was ringing with laughter. John did something to the piano that made it play of itself, and he danced with his wife in a manner that would have been close to scandalous had it been students doing it. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall exchanged glances of 'oh, well, they're newlyweds,' and followed the act by singing 'I've Got You, Babe' together, which was very sweet. Then Draco Malfoy spiked his hair on end and sang a Brian Slade song that sent most of the females and a good half of the guys into fits.
"That was a little on the fairy side, wouldn't you say?" Cass asked Snape.
"Excuse me?"
"The blond fellow, the door swing both ways?"
"Door?"
"What store's he shop at?"
"Cassandra, considering that you are not only a married woman but several years Mr. Malfoy's senior, one wonders what your motive is in asking."
"I just think that the ditzy-looking one with the two big guys fancies him."
"That would be Pansy Parkinson, and I believe she does."
"And doesn't she look like a simpering git?" Cass asked vituperatively. "I saw her before the Ball, kicking the sweetest cat."
For a moment Severus watched the American glower, fearing that in this fit of pique she could well hex his student, which would go over with the Death Eaters like a lead balloon. It occurred to him suddenly that werewolves were not normally cat lovers.
"Tell me, what did the cat look like?"
"Oh, cute little skinny one, sort of yellowy-red eyes."
"Scrawny, sort of suspicious-looking?"
"Yeah."
"By Salazar, someone's finally done it,"Severus mused.
"Done what?"
"The feline you speak of is called Mrs. Norris, the pet of our caretaker. Not being one to speak ill of animals, but every student in the building wants to kick that beast."
"Fucking English," Cass observed bluntly, tossing back a small glass of Firewhiskey as if it were water. Snape stared at her in mute awe. No female he had ever known –save of course Minerva McGonagall- could down booze like that.
"Please don't think we all hate cats," Hermione asked, hoping to smooth things over. "Mrs. Norris is just- well, she's not exactly incredibly nice."
"Oh, she's a conniving little snitch and you know it," Ron observed, coming up from behind her and eying the remains of the fruitcake. "How'd you like that?"
"Ronald Weasley, you are a gastronomical sadist," Hermione retorted.
"I like fruitcake," Cass observed, swallowing a bite. "You must be Ginny's brother. I loved the story 'bout you driving the flying car."
"Ginny told you that?" Ron looked just a little crestfallen.
"We both did."
"Hermione!"
"It's not like everybody in the place didn't know," Snape remarked.
"Perhaps the exploit could be immortalized in song," Cass suggested, fingering her guitar strings lovingly. "There again, I also hear you're good at chess." She impaled yet another bit of fruitcake with her fork. "Will you be in the library tomorrow at three?"
"Er- I suppose… -why?"
"Always wanted to learn how to play. Dad and I used to gamble on checkers games, maybe we could do that."
Ron's eyes lit up momentarily and he agreed to be there at five 'til four with his new chess set that Harry had given him. Padma Patil appeared at that moment and took him by the arm, causing the redhead to grin and depart. Snape frowned.
"I've read your record, Cassandra."
"An' what?"
"Hustling students?" Snape gave her one of his best frowns and Hermione looked at Cass in shock.
"I wasn't going to hustle him!"
"You expect me to believe that you can't play chess?"
"Well, I could play it," Cass retorted defensively. "It's just that I don't know what the pieces do, or how to kill with 'em, or which one you're supposed to keep checking or why, or-"
"How could you never have played chess?" Hermione asked. "It's the most popular board game in the world."
"Actually, it isn't, Miss Granger. There's a Muggle money game that's been beting it for several decades." Snape refilled his glass and contemplated her surprised and then calculating look.
"Yes, that's right…Monopoly. We have a set at home."
"Now that I can play," Cass announced.
"So can I," Snape took a little sip of the pumpkin juice. "Lucius Malfoy likes to play it for real money."
"What playing piece do you like best, sir?" Hermione asked.
"It's a party, Miss Granger, you can drop the 'sir'," he replied shortly. "I always liked the little car, myself."
"Top hat for me," John asserted.
"I like the little dog."
"Somethin' just occurred to me," Cass said, picking up her guitar. She plucked one string deftly. "Sing that note, Sev."
"I do not sing."
"Yes you do, Severus," Minerva called over her shoulder.
"Fine." He did as he was told, obediently singing each of the eight notes Cass threw at him. A genuinely weird look crossed her face, then the American turned to Hermione.
"Now you."
"I can't sing!"
"You can talk, can't you?" Snape remarked acidly.
"Seriously, Cass, you do not want me singing! I- but- -my voice…it peels wallpaper!"
"I don't see any," Cass replied, grinning. "Come on, or I'll have Dobby bring you more fruitcake."
"I'll join you if it'll help," John offered.
"Oh…alright."
John wound up reaching over and casting a Sonorus charm on Hermione to make her nervous tones audible, but apart from being so scared she was ashen, she wasn't bad. Cass grinned broadly and shouldered her guitar.
"Come on, then."
"What have you got in mind?" Snape asked. By way of reply, Cass turned a napkin into a black fur hat and placed it on his head. "Oh, no! Absolutely not, Cassandra!"
"Whyever not, Sevvy?"
"Don't call me that!"
"Cass, maybe we shouldn't make them sing," John suggested.
"But they're so perfect for multi-part harmony!"
"They probably just don't have the self-confidence," the werewolf answered. "It's a pity, too. Must be a failing of the English upbringing." Cass sighed theatrically.
"True. What happened to England since the Beatles' time?"
"If you two think that reverse psychology will work on Hermione and I for one minute," Snape threatened, but Hermione was already bristling.
"Professor, I think I know just the song." Cass and John high-fived under the table as Hermione, normally so nice and bookish, dragged Severus to the side of the stage and got in line.
"Are you mad?" he asked her. It was a fair question.
"Didn't you taste the pumpkin juice?" she whispered furtively. "We'll sing tonight whether we like it or not."
"Terpsichora potion!" Snape fumed for a few moments and then realized the import of this. "You picked that taste up when I didn't." His astonishment made his velvety-stern voice sound almost tender.
"You were a little distracted –Professor."
"Twenty points to Gryffindor for your sharp tongue, Miss Granger." Their faces weren't all that far apart, and Hermione mentaly vowed to get some Dreamless Sleep potion. "What song did you actually have in mind?"
"Er…I sort of –didn't."
"You were bluffing against Americans?"
"Unfortunately."
"Gryffindors," Severus cursed in exasperation. "Well, have you any ideas now? Or does the library not include music?"
"The only song I can think of right now is 'Yellow Submarine'! You aren't making this any easier!"
"I'd rather hear Voldemort sing Sinatra than endure that!" Snape growled darkly. Their turn had arrived and they took the stage. "Why don't I just play something on the piano and you can sing?" he whispered.
"You're the boss," Hermione retorted angrily.
"Abrave selection," Dumbledore remarked. "Didn't know you liked Brian Setzer, Severus."
*****************************************************************
The second-youngest Weasley dropped his glass in shock.
"Tell me that I am not seeing that," Ron pleaded.
"I think it is," Harry replied, face white in horror. "They're singing."
"Together," Ron grimaced.
"They're liking it," Ginny observed, stifling a grin.
"Isn't your professor a sexy git?" Cass inquired, coming up behind Ron with her husband in exactly the way the redhead had snuck up on Hermione. Ron had to be thumped on the back or he would have choked to death.
"You've got me beat up and down,
Inside-out and across!" Snape did indeed have a sexy voice.
"But in the middle of the night,
When the moon is shining bright, ah,
You're the boss!"
The lyrics stopped and became a swing dance break. John idly twirled his wand between his fingers like a swizzle stick and Severus spun Hermione similarly. Cass elbowed him and the words resumed. Being the salacious sort of song that it was, professors and students alike were sort of goggle-eyed. Draco Malfoy's jaw was resting neatly between his feet as he watched Hermione, and Madam Hooch let out a wolf whistle at Severus.
At last, the ordeal was over, and the unfortunate pair took their seats to thunderous applause. Cass and John returned to their seats next to them after a few tense seconds.
"That was cool," John complimented Hermione.
"I have decided to kill myself," she announced sweetly and sarcastically.
"It wasn't bad," Cass protested.
"Yes, it was," Severus told her, looking even more homicidal than he had at the Shrieking Shack three years ago. "You are so incredibly lucky Albus banned Unforgivables over the holiday."
"Are all Americans manipulative gits?" Hermione asked.
"Nope. Just the Republicans," John answered.
"Why couldn't the Japanese have done a better job of bombing you fifty years ago?" Snape added.
"Why couldn't we have left you lot to the Nazis five years before that?"
"Why couldn't the French have let us kill you off?"
"Why didn't the potato famine spread a bit?"
"Pity the Native Americans didn't massacre all of the Puritans."
"Weren't they pretentious apes?" Cass asked rhetorically with a grin before realizing she'd inadvertently agreed with Snape. "Dammit."
"Peace?" John asked, offering a Christmas present to Hermione from beneath the tree.
"Not yet, Yank-wolf," Snape commanded. "You two have to sing again."
"Name your revenge."
"'Yellow Submarine'!" chorused Snape and Hermione.
"Alright, we were bad." John admitted. "Open the present now?"
"This one's for Sevvy," Cass added, handing him the shiny hematite one.
"And these two are marked off to both of us," John handed one to his wife.
"Count of three?" Hermione suggested.
"One,"
"Two,"
"Three!"
Snape looked in amazement at the contents of the package. It was a handwritten Potions textbook, pocket-sized, dating from at least Dumbledore's schooldays. He looked at the names inscribed on the frontispiece, only to discover that it had once belonged to and been highlighted and annotated by Nicolas Flamel. Even more astonishing was the tag.
"Where on earth did you find this, Hermione?"
"Lucky find in Nooke's over the holiday. How did you know that I needed this?" She was eagerly starting on the book he had chosen for her.
"Well, who's writing your Potions project?" he replied, looking in awe at the neat handwriting in the margins. "This is incredible."
"Thank you."
"No, thank you. I had no idea this even existed, it's…" For once Severus Snape was at a loss for words. "Thank you, Hermione."
"You're welcome," she replied, a little nervously. They watched each other's smiles for a few seconds before realizing the Tylers were staring at them in horror.
"What?"
Cass pointed to a clump of mistletoe levitating above their heads, holding her hands up.
"I didn't do it." John had his hands up, too, and both were shaking their heads. Hermione glanced to another table.
"Looks like Madam Hooch had a little too much to drink."
"Cass!" John chastised.
"She said she loved eggnog!"
"Well, there's only one way to get rid of it," Hermione sighed.
Very gently, Professor Snape leaned over and kissed his student, now his friend, on the cheek. She did the same, and then very chastely they kissed each other on the lips.
"Aww." Cass and John thought it was very sweet, even if the Brits were blushing red as the Gryffindor banners. Snape pulled out his wand with a sarcastic look and levitated the mistletoe over to them.
"Turnabout's fair play."
************************************************************
A/N: Sorry it took so long! Reviews? Oh, and Nooke's Bookstore belongs to Quillusion, the sick song ideas belong to my insane sister, and the concept of fruitcake for meals is one of my holiday joys. I actually do like the stuff, so all unwanted fruitcakes can be sent to the McNeville Garret where we insane Irish writers live. Thank you for your time.
-Jan McN.