Summary: A certain cheeky house-elf slips a certain potion into the stew at supper. Soon, the entire school has put all pretenses aside, and romantic fantasies are lived and born anew as everybody gets down and dirty... teachers included. But how will Hogwarts react when the potion wears off and everyone realizes what they've been up to?
Pairings: Numerous and diverse. If you've dreamed it up, it's probably in here somewhere.
Rating: M, obviously!
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these people... which is unfortunate, as I reckon they would make decent slaves.
Enjoy! And do review and tell me who you want to hear about next!
Prologue
"Tee hee!" cackled Dobby, a filthy house-elf dressed in several layers of hats, socks, and one extremely heinous house dress. "Dobby is going to help inter-house sentiment, he is!"
Quickly scurrying toward a large pot full of some obscure stew of sorts, the conniving beast removed a small flask from the crusty pocket of his house dress. He held it up to examine the contents: a lurid red liquid, which was bubbling slightly about the top.
Dobby glanced around anxiously, praying that none of the other brainwashed elf-slaves would notice his actions. "But Dobby is under direct orders from Dumbledore... sort of... I is doing it all right, right?"
The elf sat down pensively, trying to make sense of his mangled sentence structure. "Dumbledore said, 'Inter-house relations is at their worst... I don't know how we is going to fix them, Dobby.' So Dobby is going to Professor Snape's potions cupboard and stealing the biggest vial of Fwooper Goop that he is finding."
Dobby sighed and examined the label of the glass vial. "Enamorade Sere" was printed in fancy cursive letters on the thin parchment.
"En-amor-aid Seer," Dobby read slowly. He shrugged. "Well, I is thinking that it is just a fancy name for Fwooper Goop, I is."
He turned the vial over to examine the list of instructions. "Duration: 24 hours" was scrawled at the bottom. "Twenty-four hours is enough time, I is thinking," Dobby mused.
He gave one more furtive glance around the kitchens. None of the other elf-drones were watching him.
"Bottoms up," Dobby remarked resolutely, uncorking the vial and letting the contents flow in a red stream into the pot of soup. The surface of the liquid bubbled a bit more vigorously as the last few drops of Enamorade Sere hit it.
"What is Dobby doing?" a squeaky voice asked.
Dobby turned around to see Winky, another filthy elf-slave, staring at him wide-eyed.
"I is... I is just checking on the dinner, Winky!" he shouted, sounding very suspicious. Winky stared at him for a moment.
"What is that vial you is holding, Dobby?" Winky asked.
"It is... it is extra seasoning, Winky! Now go away!" Dobby ordered.
Winky gaped at him for a moment, clearly very hurt, before scurrying off.
Relieved, Dobby gave the stew a final stir. Soon a horde of house-elves marched forward and lifted the pot into the air, carried it to one of the four large tables in the center of the kitchen, and ladled it out into smaller tureens. Teams of two elves carted these to strategic locations along the four house tables, fitting them among dishes of lamb and baskets of raisin bread.
"Tee hee... the plan is already in motion, it is!" Dobby squealed to himself.
-
In the Great Hall, students were sitting and waiting for dinner. As usual, Draco Malfoy and his band of dastardly Slytherins were gossiping about Harry Potter, and Harry Potter and his close friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, were sitting around in contention.
"I told you a thousand times, Ronald! You can't Apparate inside the Hogwarts grounds!" Hermione, a girl with a pleasant face but, alas, an atrocious cloud of bushy brown hair, bitched.
"I know that! I just like to piss you off by saying randomly, 'Maybe we should just Apparate out of the castle'!" Ron, a gangly, red-haired youth with far too many freckles, replied, grinning cheekily and holding up his hand to give Harry a high five.
Harry, a scrawny fellow with lovely green eyes, unflattering round glasses, mangled black hair, and a large lightening bolt-shaped scar, rolled his eyes. "Honestly. You two spend far too much time arguing!" he remarked.
Farther down the table, Ginevra Weasley was toying with her fork, deep in thought. She had lately been feel uncomfortable around members of the opposite sex due to her recent acquisition of a nice figure. Curse those female hormones! Ginny knew that she would probably end up squat and plump like her mother, but until then, she was going to have to suffer the benefits and downsides of having a body most boys would kill to get at.
Lately, Ginny had noticed more males than usual staring at her, though these did not as yet include The Boy Who Lived, who seemed blind to her. Ginny was not sure if she was happy over this lack of attention or not.
Next to Ginny sat Neville Longbottom, a rather rounded boy who could not help but stare at Ginny's bosom, which was rather visible despite her drab, figure-concealing robes. Neville had yet to experience having a girlfriend, because he was boring and silly and in general had no sex appeal, but he had harbored a fanciful crush on Ginevra Weasley for at least two months now.
Down the table sat Parvati Patel, a pretty girl with long, dark hair and gorgeous eyelashes. She dearly despised the damn Hogwarts dress code. Figure-concealing robes, indeed! Parvati loved weekends, when she could wear whatever the hell she wanted.
Over at the Ravenclaw table, Cho Chang, a rather voluptuous and pretty girl, was chatting with her gaggle of girl friends. Cho currently had no romantic aspirations, because she was still emotionally scarred from her old boyfriend Cedric's death, as well as from the horrible experience of having dated the socially inept Boy Who Lived.
Down the table from Cho sat Padma Patel, Parvati's twin sister. The two looked remarkably alike, and also shared similar mindsets with regard to dress codes, weekends, and make up. Padma glanced toward the Hufflepuff table, where Ernie Macmillan, whom she had recently come to fancy despite herself, was sitting. Padma wasn't sure what she found so goddamn appealing about Ernie, but it was probably the daydream of smelling his cologne (it was really nice, Padma had noticed) while he held her in his strong, hard working Hufflepuff arms. It was not so much the idea of the person Ernie but the idea of spooning Ernie that got Padma aroused.
At said Hufflepuff table, Hannah Abbott, a pleasant if plain looking girl, was twirling a strand of blond hair idly around her finger. She was gazing longingly toward the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy, her latest fantasy, was laughing with his Slytherin friends. Hannah had had a burning crush on Draco ever since he had whirled around in the foyer one September afternoon, sending his white-blond hair flying in a graceful, shining halo about his head. Then he had smirked at one of his friends. Hannah had been instantly smitten.
Across from Hannah sat Ernie Macmillan, a tall, curly-haired boy who thought himself to be rather dashing. Currently, Ernie was waiting for the right girl to come along; his last crush had been Hermione Granger, and it had lasted until the day that he had realized she was actually quite ugly.
Across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table sat Draco Malfoy, surrounded by his cronies and admirers. Draco wasn't sure why he was so damn popular when he was actually sort of unappealing. "I wouldn't be friends with me," he remembered thinking once. For Draco, school life was a game, something to trudge doggedly through before entering the real world. Still, he thought, glancing toward Cho Chang at the Ravenclaw table, Hogwarts did have its pluses...
"I think Weaslebee and Pothead could do with a punching, could they not?" Draco suggested, and everybody laughed. Draco wasn't sure why; it wasn't that funny.
Next to Draco sat Vincent Crabbe, a massive boy afflicted with shyness. No, Draco really wasn't that funny... Vince wasn't sure why he always laughed at his master's lame jokes. Hell, he wasn't sure why he thought of Draco as his "master" in the first place. Vince glanced toward the Gryffindor table, where Ginevra Weasley – or "Weaselette," as Vince was always prone to refer to her around his friends – was sitting, looking pensive. Ginevra had become somewhat sexy lately... her facial features were still pretty regular – straight nose, normal eyebrows, etc. - and her hair was nothing exceptional, but she had recently sprouted a terribly enticing figure. "If only I weren't so damn shy," Vince thought desperately. "If only I could just talk to her..."
Across from Vincent Crabbe sat Pansy Parkinson, a girl who would have been pretty if not for her hideous, pug-like nose. ("Damn the person who invented noses!" she had remarked upon realizing that, when she covered her nose with her hand, she looked downright hot.) Pansy had ringlets of blond hair and a figure many girls would kill for. True, she had been getting a bit chunky lately – it was inevitable, considering what the older generation of females in her family looked like – but the roomy standard-issue school robes managed to hide any minor girth.
Pansy glanced across the table at Draco Malfoy, the boy she was supposed to be madly enamored of. Actually, she hadn't found him all that appealing lately; he was hot, sure, but she didn't think he liked her very much. Truth be told, Pansy was not sure where her current romantic intrigues lay.
Two seats down from Pansy sat Blaise Zabini, a boy cursed by a rather feminine-sounding name. (Though, according to all of the baby name books Blaise had checked, "Blaise" was only listed under boys' names. Blaise suspected that the confusion arose from such androgynous names as "Blaine" and "Blair.")
Other than that, however, Blaise was far from cursed: his father was Italian (hence the "Zabini") and his mother was French (hence the "Blaise"). He had inherited the best of both stereotypical looks. He had olive skin, lovely violet eyes (from his dear mum), and dark hair which fell loosely around his nicely-chiseled face. Blaise had screwed most of the girls in Slytherin and a few of the ones in Ravenclaw, but he hadn't ventured much further than that. Actually, Blaise had screwed far more people than Draco Malfoy, who was a virgin, despite what he oh-so-persistently claimed. Blaise's latest target had been Cho Chang, who was year older than he was and quite hot. Screwing her best friend Marietta the year before might have been a mistake in terms of achieving this new goal, but Blaise never looked back. After all, if Draco Malfoy was the sex-god of Slytherin, Blaise Zabini was truly the man-whore.
Up at the teachers' table, Albus Dumbledore was sitting stolidly and poking at his beard with a long finger. Albus sighed inwardly. He hadn't screwed anybody in ages. Being a wrinkled albeit powerful old man had many downsides.
To Dumbledore's right, Minerva McGonagall was sitting looking out over the students. She had no romantic fantasies and did not plan on having any; her loyalty to the late Mr. McGonagall was too strong.
Farther down the table sat the ever-resentful Severus Snape. Severus was resentful because his parents had named him "Severus." He was also pissed off because he hadn't gotten laid since his last year at Hogwarts, and only then because the girl in question (she was, sadly, dead now) had been drunk. Severus turned to gaze longingly down the teachers' table at Madam Hooch, who had captivated him for some time now.
Madam Hooch herself was glancing at Professor Dumbledore out of the corner of her eye. She had always had a thing for older guys. Then she glanced at Professor Trelawney, who had actually come down from her damn tower for once and was sitting next to her. "Sibyl, you look a nervous wreck," Hooch remarked pleasantly.
Sibyl turned to stare at Hooch, wide-eyed and quivering. "Something is coming!" she gasped. She shifted her gaze to look at Dumbledore, and her cheeks reddened. Though she would never, ever admit it, Sibyl Trelawney had been in love with Albus Dumbledore ever since the first day she had set eyes upon his gruesome old-man body that day in the Hog's Head.
Upstairs, Crookshanks was brooding. He hadn't been laid in years.
Downstairs, Mrs. Norris was sitting discontentedly. She, too, hadn't been laid in years.
Hedwig flew around aimlessly, also pissed off. She had never been able to build a nest and lay eggs.
Pigwidgeon was zipping around madly inside of the Gryffindor common room, annoyed because he had never gotten the chance to follow his bird instincts and find a mate.
Downstairs in the Great Hall, the food appeared on the tables. A contented murmur ran through the Great Hall and the clink of silverware commenced as people began to tuck in.
Below in the kitchens, Dobby smirked devilishly and said, "Ooh, it is now going to begin, it is!"
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Heh heh heh... like it? Hate it? (I sure hope not... if you do, just go away.)So, from now on each chapter is going to be about one pairing! First up: Ginny and Malfoy!
Soon to come:
Hermione and Blaise!
Dumbledore and Trelawney!
Neville and his toad! (no, just kidding)