Chapter 3. "Stop! ...Gotcha!"

She was not exactly the partner he had been fantasizing about at all. She was enthusiastic, ambitious, and full of self-assurance, but she was definitely not his type. Besides, she was 37 years old, he was 17, they had nothing in common, and Harry had never in his seven years at Hogwarts even considered Rolanda Hooch as a full-fledged woman. Just letting that thought flit through his mind made him shudder in revulsion. No, she was not what he was expecting or hoping. 'Lavender at least is closer to my age, not to mention that she's stacked like a brick...let's not even get started there,' Harry thought furiously, reprimanding his wandering brain. He was by no means attracted to Lavender...he had his heart set on Ginny, but Miss Brown would do in a pinch...and he would much rather be forced to spend a summer stuck with her than Hooch. But the almighty Goblet had spoken, and thus it was set in stone: he was going to be partnered with his old flying teacher.

As much as Harry felt sorry for himself, watching his dreams of being alone with some faceless beauty on a grand yacht in the middle of the ocean trampled to the ground, he couldn't feel sorrier for poor Hermione. His pity for Neville didn't even come close to hers. Yes, Neville was in for a rough ride with that prat Malfoy...but he couldn't even imagine anyone having to spend great lengths of time with that nasty vampire longer than was necessary – let alone Hermione. Harry had even offered to try and slip a poison into Snape's goblet at dinner to get him out of the race. In all likelihood, judging by his testy mood that morning, Snape would have gladly drunk it. But Hermione had been her cheerful self, and had waved away his attempts at condolence, saying, "Really, I'm sure it's not all as bad as you think." He didn't agree with her, and his opinion was greatly justified by the loss of Gryffindor house points for "agonizing small talk", taken from none other than the object of his derogatory thoughts. Hermione had just smiled at him and offered an apology to the gloating professor.

"As appreciated as your heartfelt apology may be, Miss Granger, it does not exempt you from anything, nor does it replenish your house points," he had said, sneering distastefully.

Harry had only made it worse by jumping to her defense by saying, "She wasn't sucking up to you! Unlike SOME people, she doesn't have kiss up to her authority to be liked!" He knew he had gone too far...WAY too far. He had passed the comfort level, jay-walked across the danger level, left the Point-of-No-Return far, far behind, and had just now leapt foolhardily over the Chasm-of-Certain-Death. Hermione looked scandalized, her mouth hanging open just a bit. She was leaning back away from him with a look that wasn't hard to read.

Severus' eyes narrowed dangerously, but remained silent. Slowly, with agonizingly slow movements, did he lean in, bending at the hips, until his face came within inches of Harry's. His oily hair fell in a curtain around his face as he lifted a corner of his upper lip into a sneer. "Detention. My office. Five o'clock," Snape spoke very quietly, barely audible. "And while I am forced to agree with you, Potter, I will still deduct 30 points from Gryffindor for cheek, and lack of respect." Green eyes glared back at unreadable obsidian eyes as they stared each other down.

At last, Harry ground out, "Yes, sir." The Potions master smirked, and then straightened himself, eyes still locked with the boy hero. Severus gave him one last scathing look, and then turned to Hermione, who was now standing normally. She had had enough sense to close her mouth and wait for the hell that was sure to come. Hermione looked up at him apologetically, expertly hiding the nervousness that he always evoked in the student population.

Snape raised a silky eyebrow as he contemplated her. "I believe, Miss Granger, that we had an appointment in the library?"

"That we do, sir," she said, just as he turned on his heel and swept down the corridor. She glanced at Harry, trying her best to convey a look of pity before shrugging. "Excuse me, Harry. I have to go." Hermione sped down the hall, trying to catch up with her professor.

'Unbearable bat,' thought Harry viciously, who was still standing in the hallway. 'I don't see how Hermione can keep her cool around him.' He turned and walked down the corridor back to Gryffindor Tower. Ron was still in bed, and it was time he was woken up. He and Harry were going to Hogsmeade that day, and the boy wonder wanted to get started as soon as possible. He had already arranged a short meeting with Hooch on the Quidditch pitch at four that afternoon, and he wanted to get an early start so they'd have more time in Hogsmeade.

Harry entered the Gryffindor common room with the intent of bursting into the boy's dormitory and blather on about how unfair and cruel Snape was, but was distracted when his name was called. There were no other students there presently, since they were all in the Great Hall for breakfast. He turned to the couch in front of the fire, and saw Ginny sitting there, her neck twisted around to face him. "Yeah?" Harry replied.

Ginny's face turned a flaming red and stumbled over her response. "Uh, nothing. Never mind." She abruptly turned back and pretended to examine the frayed ends of her skirt. She desperately prayed that Harry would come over and talk with her, seeing that she had made it clear she wanted to.

"Oh, okay," he said, turning and bounding up the stairs to the boy's dormitory to wake up Ron.

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Neville opened his eyes and saw a white ceiling above him. His mind was cloudy, and he tried to remember what had caused him to be lying down in a room with a white ceiling. Voices swam through his head, and he tried to place them. "Oh, he's awake now," said a female voice from somewhere to his right.

"Will he be all right?" asked another.

"Of course, Miss Patil, and thank you for bringing him here. Now hurry along and get some breakfast. After you eat, I want you to go and take a good long nap. Hogsmeade won't go anywhere. You shouldn't have stayed here all night...it's not good to deprive yourself of sleep."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey, goodbye."

Neville pushed himself up to a sitting position and observed that he was in the Hospital Wing. How had he gotten here? He tried to recall the last thing he remembered. He had been in the Entrance Hall. Something had shocked him. What was it? Oh. Oh no. No. No, no. Oh hell no. Please no. Oh "SSSHHHIIIITTT!" he yelled, drawing it out so that it took an entire lung full of air to complete.

He was painfully aware of a silence that followed his sudden outburst. He saw Madam Pomfrey, who was standing next to his bed, frown in deep disapproval. He was mortified. He never swore. Not in his entire life. But in a case like this, Neville found it wholly appropriate. "Well, Mr. Longbottom, it's good to see that you are awake and have not lost your voice or your vulgarity." Neville had the grace to look embarrassed, and sheepishly gave a small smile.

"Sorry, ma'am, but I just remembered why I'm here."

She gave a small 'humph'. "Well, I've seen people get excited, but I've never had a case of someone fainting from excitement, before. Now as thrilling as being picked for a team may be, I strongly suggest that you go and lie down some more in your dormitory."

Neville snorted, but quickly muttered a "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," and hurried out of the Infirmary.

Partnered up with Malfoy. 'Even double Potions with Snape would be more pleasant,' he thought as he made his way to Gryffindor Tower. 'How will I ever survive? How can Professor Dumbledore think that someone as insecure as me win such a competition? I may be partnered with the most confident person here, but unfortunately, I'm also stuck with the most arrogant, intolerant, single-minded, spoiled little rich kid ever to enter Hogwarts.' He continued along these lines, wallowing in self pity as he trudged through the corridors. 'I don't even WANT to compete! Why am I always forced into these things?' As hard as it was for Neville to accept that he had been chosen for the race, it didn't come close to accepting who he'd been partnered with. "Malfoy..." he repeated to himself again in disbelief.

"Who else?" a voice from the shadows replied. Neville jumped and spun around, desperately trying to draw his wand, which had gotten tangled in his robes from his attempt at a hasty withdrawal. The source of his rancor stepped out from a nearby alcove and approached him.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Neville asked, sounding much more calm and composed than he felt.

Draco smirked and leaned against a wall, crossing his ankles as he did so. "You'll find out." The blond-haired Adonis grinned evilly and gave him a shrewd once-over. "Come with me...we have some things to discuss."