Chapter Forty: Snow and Scottish Preschoolers

(In which Professor Snape catches Hermione riding Ginny and is Not Pleased.)

"What's a fifty?" Blaise asked Hermione.

"A fifty-meter relay, down the lane and back. The flip-turn is the hardest part."

"See, I never really understood swimming," Cass remarked dryly. "You're in the water, flailing like a very graceful spastic water bug, trying to bash your hand off the edge of a hard concrete wall before four or five other spastic water bugs do." Hermione smiled at her professor and asked:

"So, when did your team race?"

"Summer. We never won the league meet, but...aw!"

Blaise and Ginny laughed. For all her bluster, Cass was actually quite fond of some Muggle sports. Anything Muggle-related was fascinating to Ginny, and Blaise loved competition, so Hermione's tales of her summer swim team were amusing.

"Anyway, after I had done two fifties butterfly and was just toweled, the ruddy coach comes over, grabs me by the wrist and tells me one of the girls was puking a blue streak. I had to do a one hundred backstroke right after butterfly. It felt like my arms were going to fall off." Only Cass seemed to understand what Hermione meant, but then, she had been on a swim team herself.

"Miserable. I stuck to strict freestyle." Cass replied. "Speaking of, my arms are ready to fall off now."

They were all standing, arms outstretched, having their dress robes altered. Blaise had asked Hermione how she could endure it so well, which brought up the old swim-team anecdotes. Cass had the heaviest load on her shoulders, considering the length of the flowing satin butterfly sleeves she wore. "Shoulders hurt, want to die…"

"Oh, Cassie, you're such a baby," Johnny chastised, reappearing with a tray of food. "Those sleeves have got to be let out at least three inches. It's not my fault you have the arms of a young Celestina Warbeck."

"Or an old giant squid," Cass mumbled grouchily. Blaise put on her sweetest smile.

"Are some of those treats for us?"

"Blaise, darling, you all are not going to get crumbs on these dress robes."

"Then could you put a donut in my mouth yourself?" the Slytherin pleaded. "I'm hungry!"

And so it was thus that the flamboyant fashion-man went up and down the line of immobilized females, feeding them like baby birds from a fat sack of powdered sugar coated donut holes.

"Oh, thit," Cass remarked suddenly.

"What?"

"My mouf ith all powder-thugary."

"No problem!" Johnny ran and opened a butterbeer, added a drinking straw, and held it to Cass's lips. "Drink."

"Me next!" Blaise called. Johnny moved the straw to her.

"Now me!" Ginny was really into the spirit of this game. If Johnny was going to make them hold still for this long, they were going to run his little last-season Pradas off.

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"Mr. Potter, what are you up to?"

"This book, sir…it's Hermione's." Harry held up the black volume he had found on his professor's desk. "What's it doing here?"

"That is none of your business."

"But, sir…"

"But what, Mr. Potter? If your friend chooses to lend certain items to people other than you and Weasley, it is surely none of your concern."

"Yes, sir, but what do you think of it?"

"What?"

"The book, sir." Harry nervously showed him the seventh or eighth page, which to Severus' eyes was an especially …incriminating little missive from Hermione to himself. "I didn't know you liked Douglas Adams, sir."

Merciful peace. The charm made the pages look like a book the person had already read.

"I've always liked Douglas Adams, Mr. Potter," Severus lied. "What's so strange about that?"

"But he's a…"

"A Muggle?"

"Well, yes, sir."

"Muggles can be clever existentialist philosophers," the professor replied, hoping to the deities that this Adams fellow didn't write poetry. "Mr. Adams especially."

"He is, isn't he?" Potter observed, turning the book's pages. "Like what he said about the planet Earth and the mice."

"Yes, I found that passage quite witty." Severus was flying by the seat of his pants and he knew it. "What do you think of the –erm, metaphors?"

"Oh, they're the best part of the book, sir. Like in Chapter Seven, when he says that Vogons have about as much sex appeal as a road accident, that always makes me laugh."

"I…also found that funny."

"What about Eccentrica Gallumbits?"

Severus barely restrained a gasp.

"Oh, yes…that part was…very amusing."

"I was never quite sure if that was possible, Professor," Harry explained, flipping through the book to a certain passage. "'Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six…' I mean, how can she have three breasts? It defies physics."

Okay, this was not going well. Potter had loosened up towards him a bit more, clearly, and he was likely following Hermione's advice by trying to have a conversation about books. If only the boy had chosen something he had read –or something marginally logical, things would be simpler.

"Well, you see, P- Harry," Severus explained, going positively scarlet. "Women as a species defy physics. Look at their high-heeled shoes."

"Not Hermione," Harry scoffed. "She's got an ounce of sense." Severus bit his lip.

"What do you mean?"

"Professor, you've seen the way she dresses. Except for the Yule Ball, she's a normal person, not a Maybelline science project like Pansy Parkinson." Harry set the book down and smiled nervously. "Isn't that why you get along with her now, sir? Because she's the only one who isn't a dunderhead?"

"Who said that I get along with her?" Snape asked, trying his best to look bristly and offended.

"Professor Cass, sir."

"Do you mean Professor Tyler?"

"Yes, sir, only she's asked us to call her Professor Cass, to keep she and her husband straight."

"Potter, this is meant to be detention, you do realize that?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, picking up the scrub brush again.

************************************************************************* Finally, after a long, arduous morning of being made over, the four girls began the walk back to Hogwarts. With the Yule Ball in a few days, Johnny had decided not to reveal the results of their transformation until the last minute; leaving the students in their weekend clothes and Cass back in the 'godawful' coveralls. It was finally starting to snow lightly, and there was a neat dusting on the shoulders of the females' coats.

"I want something," Cass observed, "but I don't know what."

"Hot chocolate?" Ginny suggested.

"Maybe that's it. Come on, I'm buying."

Several whipped-cream topped mugs later, the professor sighed. "I don't think that was it."

Hermione was just about to suggest something when a small voice interrupted them.

"Hi."

It was a small boy, perhaps two or three years old, with dark red hair and a nervous smile on his little face. Cass, startled, replied:

"Hello."

"Whe' my mum?" The boy had what sounded like a Scottish accent, on top of a speech impediment that turned 'l' into 'w.'

"Excuse me?"

"Whe' my mum?"

"Are you lost?"

"Yep!" The little fellow seemed fairly proud of this. Cass gulped hard as Blaise struggled not to laugh.

"Oh…" The professor seemed fairly stricken by this attitude. "Well, what's your name?"

"Canna' tew you."

"Why?"

"You a s'wanger."

Cass stared at the little boy, even as her tablemates restrained mirthful cries.

"Turn around," she commanded gently. The little boy did, and Cass read the label inside his coat. "Donaghan McPhersen?" He nodded and gave the professor a big smile.

"Neat! How'd you know that the kid was marked?" Ginny asked.

"Your mother." Cass was busy pulling up another chair and setting a folded coat on it. Ginny sniffed, a little offended. "No, really, your mother. She told me to label all …my kids' clothes." The momentary flicker was hidden as Cass lifted up the little boy onto the seat and moved the pretzels toward him. "Alright kid, spill it."

Donaghan reached over and tilted the bowl of pretzels so that a few fell out.

"Er…no. I meant tell me where you lost your parents."

"At 'Ogwarts." The little boy picked up a fistful of the pretzels and began happily to scarf them down. Cass, momentarily floored, let him continue. "Mum and Da' gon' talk ta' Dumbwedow."

"So how the sod did you get to Hogsmeade, mate?" Blaise inquired. Donaghan merely shrugged and stuffed another pretzel into his mouth. Cass stood up and put on her best 'professor' look.

"Come on, little Scotsman. We're going to find your folks."

"You a s'wanger."

"I'm a stranger with pretzels. My name's Cass Tyler. Come with me." She held out a calloused hand, which Donaghan trustingly put his little one into. He climbed off the chair with a bit of help, whereupon Cass swung her coat over her shoulders rather than put her arms in the sleeves. She seemed a bit afraid to let go of the little boy's hand. Blaise, Ginny and Hermione joined her and their new charge.

After quickly paying the café bill, Cass and the girls began to lead the little boy down the main street toward Hogwarts. He was a sturdy little fellow, but his shoes sometimes failed him on the now-icy cobblestones. After the second time stopping a fall, Cass crouched and got a look at his shoes. They were Muggle-made, oddly enough, and so shiny as to make her think his parents had made him get dressed-up.

"Lift up your foot." He did. The soles were smooth as the frozen lake. Definitely dress shoes. What were those gits thinking? "Alright, Donnie, you can't walk in those." Cass crouched lower and let go of his hand. "On my back."

The small Scot had soon mounted the professor-pony and taken a firm grip on the beret straps of her coveralls. Cass realized his shoes were too wet to wear and removed them. "Tie the laces together, Blaise." She then slipped each of Donaghan's socked feet into one of her hip pockets, where, she knew, they would stay nicely warm.

It was this strange party that met Professor Snape near the Great Hall's entrance. Blaise had Donaghan's wet shoes over her shoulder and had lent him her scarf. The scarf was now the 'pony's bridle, with Cass holding it in her teeth and neighing convincingly. Hermione was riding Ginny in a similar fashion, as it simply didn't seem fair to Donaghan for only him to go pick-a-back, and they were having a pony race. Given the fact that Ginny had gotten the same height genes as Percy while Hermione and Blaise were still petite English girls, it seemed the best choice of steeds. Blaise delivered what she felt was acceptable running commentary:

"And Granger pulls ahead on the strawberry roan –wait for it! McPhersen has just rounded the curve on the giant Clydesdale-"

"The what?" Cass asked through the scarf.

"Alright, on the wild mustang quarter-horse-"

"Is that even possible?" Ginny asked. Blaise frowned jokingly.

"Fine, the race is a draw, with both horses having to be shot. Happy?"

"Professor Tyler!" Snape shouted, looking somewhat Less Than Pleased. "Who is riding you?"

"The famed jockey McPhersen," Blaise explained. "We found him in Hogsmeade."

"That is the strangest way I have ever seen an American pick up guys!" Severus called, trying not to snort at the sight. "His parents are frantic!"

"Donaghan!" a redheaded lady cried, running out of the doorway.

"Mum!"

"Where have you been?" Mrs. McPhersen asked.

"We found him in Hogsmeade," Cass explained. "Don't get him down just yet…he's in his socks."

"Thank y' so much, Miss-?"

"Professor Tyler is our American Muggle Studies department," Snape introduced. "Cassandra, this is Branwen McPhersen, your jockey's mother."

"Nice t'meet you," Cass offered a hand.

"Ah, but y're so good t' bring him back! Donaghan has a tendency to wander off, and he's also learned how to dial nine-hundred numbers at home."

"Nine-hundred…" Cass thought a second. "You have a telephone?"

"Oh, but o' course. M'husband and I 're Squibs," Branwen explained without a blush. "We were just having a word with Dumbledore about Donaghan's-"

A nearby bush burst into flower and sprouted berries. The mischievous child reached out and grabbed a few, eating them. "…Magical abilities." Branwen shrugged tiredly. "What am I t' do with y'?"

"May I suggest a leash?" Snape offered dryly, wiping berry juice and flower petals off his shoulders.

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"What exactly is in that box, pal?" Cass inquired of Hermione as they took their snowy things off in the Head Girl's chambers.

"I don't know yet." Hermione cut the string that held the plain, unmarked box shut and opened it. What she saw within was indeed a surprise. "Oh, my."

"By Merlin's mighty balls themselves," Cass observed, looking a bit impressed. "Are you sure that's what you asked for?"

"I don't know if my definition of 'seductive' and Johnny's are quite the same…I suppose."

"See if it fits."

"Why?"

"Because I am the only one of your female friends besides Ginny who will be honest and not laugh. I'll go get her while you change."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to manage the hooks up the back, but the garters were easy enough after she read the directions. Finally she got everything done up and was about to present herself for inspection when she noticed the last item in the box –sneakers? She shrugged and tied them on, only to have them transform into six-inch stiletto heels with straps that snaked up her legs. They still felt like sneakers, though, and looked quite nice, so she decided that Johnny's heart was in the right place.

"Here I come," she announced.

"No, don't-!"

But it was too late. All unwittingly, Hermione had stepped out and shown the most risqué getup of her career to Cass and Ginny –with Harry and Ron also in the room. The embroidered Slytherin snakes with diamonds for eyes were bad, but the stilettoes, garter belt and the riding crop in her hand were worse.

"Wow, Hermione!" Harry actually smiled and seemed impressed. "You look great!"

Ron, however, had gone violently red and lost the ability to speak.

"You…wear…why?"

"I chose the outfits myself," Ginny announced. "Cass did the Transfiguration stuff. We're being dominatrixes from all four Houses for the prank." Cass looked questioningly at Ginny only to get the raised eyebrow of 'run with it.' "Come on, show them mine." Next thing anybody knew, Ginny was in a Gryffindor version of the same ensemble. The redhead pouted her lips and tapped Harry's shoulder with her riding crop. "So what do you think, Harry?" He looked as though he had suddenly swallowed his Firebolt.

"Am I late for-" Blaise had just appeared. "Ginny, you- Hermione!"

"Oh, I know you wanted Slytherin, but your hair is black. Cass, show the boys the other two outfits for the prank." While Ginny filled Blaise in with the Eyebrow, Cass transformed Blaise into Hufflepuff and herself into a slightly trampy Ravenclaw.

"Cool!" Ron finally said something intelligible. "So, when is the prank?"

"Tonight," Blaise announced. "May we prepare now in privacy?"

Moments later, the catfight began.

"Ginny, how could you?"

"How could I? It was Blaise said we were doing it tonight!"

"Doing what tonight?" Cass begged.

"You'd better pull something out of your Yankee bag of tricks, because here we are, dressed like the Four Whores of the Apocalypse with two expectant and likely quite randy Gryffie boys!" Blaise gasped to get her breath. "Gods, this is a tight corset."

"What'd you say?" Cass asked.

"This thing's tight."

"No about the four…" The American had a very weird look. "Oh, glory."

"What?"

"I'm inspired."

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There was unusually good food in the Great Hall that night.  Little Donaghan had been installed in a high chair at the Gryffindor table to give his mum and dad some peace, and Lavender and Parvati were having quite a good time giving him tidbits of new things to try. He was an obliging little chap, and had Fred and George been present it might not have been so cute.

Ron and Harry waited, on the tips of their behinds, so to speak. They were burning with curiosity about what the girls had planned. Seamus had remarked on Hermione's absence disappointedly, as he had wanted to ask after some tutoring, and all the first-years seemed to be missing Cass at the Head Table.

She had a habit of doing mischievous things to offend Professor Snape in front of them, only when he was being a real jackass, of course, but it was always fun. If she didn't brazenly swipe a crouton from his salad, she neatly separated every onion from what she was eating and deposited them on his plate. Considering Severus both hated croutons and found onions tasty, the pranks were well intentioned. John and he were missing her as well tonight. There was noone to eat their croutons or radishes.

Quite abruptly, Dobby strode into the Hall, clad in a tuxedo with rhinestone trim.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced in a shaky voice. "Dobby gives you…the Four…" He couldn't quite spit out the word. "…Whores…of the Apocalypse."

As the embarrassed elf ran for his life, a ticking beat began to fill the hall. Their stiletto heels clicking to that beat, four femmes fatale in black, lacy corsets with House-mascot embroidery and top hats entered, two down each aisle. They snapped their fingers and cracked riding crops, swinging their hips in a scandalous manner.

As the beat became music, Slytherin, Gryffindor and Hufflepuff began to sing quietly:

"Hey, sister, go, sister, soul, sister, flow, sister, go, sister…"

They were all wearing black satin, rhinestone-rimmed masquerade masks under their top hats. Only their eyes and the lower halves of their faces were visible. Harry and Ron were properly astonished, more so as Ravenclaw took a verse of the song.

"He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans
Struttin' her stuff on the street
She said 'hello, hey, Joe,
'You wanna give it a go?'
Creole Lady Marmalade…"

Each girl sang a different verse, taking backup singing in turns and dancing scandalously. Occasionally they went so far as to touch a member of their captive audience, whether slyly or to smack away an over-friendly hand with a riding crop. Finally, as the song wound down, they all took scandalous poses in front of the Head Table.

"And now," Ravenclaw announced loudly. "Let's all be sure to wish Dolores Umbridge a very happy birthday!"

There was never louder applause.

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"Really, it was just a thought," Cass explained as the girls walked back to Hermione's room to get all their 'costumes' off. "Mark my words, somebody will pair that song with top hats and bustiers."

"Had you all forgotten there was a three-year-old in the room?" Professor Snape inquired. He had gone around from somewhere and they had almost run into him. "Miss Weasley, Miss Zabini, you may go and change. Professor Tyler…god help your husband. Her- Miss Granger, if you would please come with me?"

Trying her best to look either penitent or nervous, Hermione followed the billowing black robes, praying to every deity that was the other three didn't crack up behind her soon. As soon as she and Severus reached the Potions classroom, he closed and locked the door, placing a silencing spell in addition to the usual wards.

"Severus?" she inquired meekly, unsure is he was angry or not. The name scarcely got past her lips before he kissed them. Moments passed before the kisses stopped. Severus looked like a man in the abject throes of desire –which he likely was.

"Darling, have you any idea how…tempting you are in that?"

"Only as tempting as those black robes of yours tend to be," she replied enticingly. "Are they as dratted difficult to remove as this?"

"I don't know…feel like an experiment?"

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