Snape Gets Smacked

IMPORTANT NOTICE: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find all of the Alan Rickman quotes inserted randomly into Snape's dialogue. If you happen to find resemblances to South Park, Simpsons or Monty Python, they are purely coincidental, as the author has been corrupted. This message will self-destruct in five whacks with a wet noodle.

Snape Gets Smacked

Hermione was scared. Ron always pulled at least three pranks per term, one of which usually involve Class A Non-Tradable Goods as stated by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. So naturally, it came as no surprise to her that he started acting suspicious in late January. After all, the dung-bombs in the girls' washrooms had happened a good month before that. What concerned her was that he had been grinning for two days straight, and today was Valentine's Day.

"All right, What's it going to be this time?" she quipped after marching up to him at breakfast. "Streaking contest in the dungeons again? Hermes' 'Just-Add-Water' Instant Toad Capsules in Millicent's soup? Billywigs in Snape's bed? Out with it, I know that look."

"Why, Hermione," Ron exclaimed innocently, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Nice to see you, too. How can you accuse your dearest, closest friend of treachery on such a romantic day?" Harry snickered beside him, his skin still eerily luminescent from the potion he and Ron had bungled the day before in class.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Why, I only wanted advanced notice on writing your letters of apology, Ron dearest. Who else did you think was going to save your sorry arse?"

Harry sniggered. "Sit down before you have a hernia, Hermia."

Hermione glowered at him. "It's Hermione, Glowstick Boy, and don't you forget it. At least I'm capable of not blowing myself up." Much to Harry's chagrin, she ran her eyes up and down his glowing body. "Although I suppose it could be worse." He reddened and dropped his gaze to the stone floor.

"Well," said Ron huffily, "I'm not sure if you're deserving of this information, but I'm not going to get in trouble for once, if you must know."

Hermione sat down, eyeing him skeptically. "Enlighten me."

Ron sighed and looked at his watch. "Oh, I will, don't worry. In about...ten seconds."

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound from overhead, and Hermione raised an eyebrow at the giant owl that swooped low overhead, dropping a large envelope into Ron's hands. He slit the parchment open to read the letter, his grin growing larger and smugger by the second.

"Well?" she snapped impatiently.

Wordlessly, he handed it to her:

Dear Recipient,

We are delighted to inform you that based upon your academic merit and excellent record, as well as your essay, the Department of Magical Games and Sports has chosen your school, Hogwarts Academy for Witchcraft and Wizardry as our Valentine's Day Contest Winner. Officials and your host for the afternoon will arrive at lunch for the Singled Out! Jeopardy Challenge. Thank you, and felicitous festivities.

Yours In Magic,

Helga Hardwick

Assistant to Al Extra Beck, Host of Wizardry Shows

"Valentine's Day Contest…" Hermione muttered. "Hogwarts, noon—" The message finally sunk in as her eyes turned to saucers. "You didn't."

Ron smirked. "Wanna bet?"

The golden cup hit the floor seconds before the missive did. "RON!"

"Er, not to alarm you or anything," Harry whispered to his male friend, "but when she gets thus mad—I mean, really mad, well…" He trailed off nervously. "Let's just say that Professor Sprout tends to mysteriously end up with an abundance of tadpoles in her frog-feeding tank."

Ron glanced at Hermione, who was turning an alarming shade of purple. "You think it's a bad time to tell her about the exploding toilets?"

"Definitely."

---

Draco Malfoy was sitting at the front of the Great Hall near the faculty, observing the interesting scene unfolding at the Gryffindor table from a safe distance. Severus Snape took another sip of his pumpkin juice, watching the boy as his gaze flickered from his own table and back to the Gryffindors again. Subtle as Malfoy was, Snape knew exactly what he was looking for. Or rather, at whom he was staring.

It was true; Hermione Granger had grown considerably more attractive in a few years than many of her female counterparts. But still, for a Malfoy to want a Mudblood? He hardly thought Draco would simply drop his pureblood veneer and to deign to place himself on Granger's level. He doesn't deserve her, Snape thought, a sneer unconsciously forming on his face.

So now you're suddenly in a position to make moral judgments on youths half your age?

Severus snorted into his cup, eliciting an eyebrow from Dumbledore and the unwanted, scrupulous stare of McGonagall. The annoying little voice inside his head was taunting him again. He ignored the baffled stares around him and resumed his meal. Damnable conscience. He was merely looking out for an innocent, one who was worth far more than being another one of Draco's sex toys, the horny bastard—

Tell me, Professor, is this a purely objective analysis, or are you simply talking about yourself again?

The Potions Master inwardly kicked himself. He managed to drag his eyes away from Hermione, whose robes took on the state of translucency in the morning sunlight, whose curve fitted every stitch, and dear gods, the bodice…

Stop.

He focused his thoughts. Malfoy in love? Had Draco ever loved, much less liked anyone who wasn't a Slytherin?

It was just lust. It had to be. It was the only logical conclusion.

Snape didn't know if that was better or worse.

---

Draco leaned against the table, surreptitiously sneaking glances at the Gryffindor table. He gazed at Hermione as she argued with Ron and Hermione over the letter. Of course, he already had his suspicions, and his friends had eyes and ears. They knew Dumbledore had mentioned some sort of surprise for lunch. After all, he wasn't a Slytherin for nothing.

Malfoy drew in his breath sharply as Hermione's voice rose several decibels, and the nearest students turned around at the growing commotion behind them. Draco deliberated whether asking her out right then and there would be worth jumping into the hornet's nest, which was rapidly brewing towards the volatile. Would winning his bet with Pansy be worth attempting a suicide mission? I really don't want to have to fulfill my part of the bargain. I guess I can't lose, then. Pity, he thought amusedly, watching Hermione's face as she argued. It passed through several distinct expressions—shock, disbelief, excitement—and finally settled on blind rage.

That's my cue.

Draco sashayed across the hall, his black robes gliding noiselessly over the stone. He wanted to look as serene as possible so that he could distract her from her…issues. Ron. That stupid git. You would have thought he'd learn from that skanky excuse for an adolescent Potter.

"Hermione, calm down before you give yourself a hernia! Honestly, is it that time of the month again?"

Apparently not.

Several things happened at once. Hermione paused for a second, her mouth forming a perfect "O." That was right before she wound her arm up to slap Ron a good one on the jaw, sending him bowling into Harry's scrambled eggs and tea, not to mention the remains of a gooey chocolate éclair that Neville had been fantasizing about from three seats down. Goblets and dishes scattered everywhere. A metallic cacophony reverberated off the walls. Hermione spun around, her swing having thrown her off-balance. She reeled to catch herself.

Unfortunately, this was the precise moment that Draco chose to intervene. He stepped forward to appear behind her. She turned around, stumbling backwards, grasping his robes in a feeble attempt to avoid meeting a rather hard stone floor with her face. Draco had no time to react.

But gravity, it seemed, always kept its appointments. Down Hermione went, dragging Draco with her. He only made it halfway. With a loud RRRRRIP! Hermione's hands tore the soft fabric in two, and it fell with her to the ground, leaving Draco to fortune and the chilly air of Hogwarts Castle. On this particular occasion, fate had chosen a red wife-beater and red silk pajama bottoms with tiny velvet hearts on them.

Hermione sat up, observed the cloth in her hands, looked around at the now completely silent hall, crowded to the limit. Everyone had paused in mid-motion and was staring accusingly in her direction.

Far from being mortified like she was, Draco grabbed the robes out of her hands, inspecting them with a detached air of annoyance. "How could anything so expensive rip so cheaply? Father will be furious." He held his outfit out at arm's length in distaste. "I really ought to string Madame Malkin up by her own brassiere straps for this."

Ron stared in disbelief, along with about a hundred drooling underclassmen. Harry quietly attempted to tiptoe his way through the mess on the floor to give Ron a hand up. The hapless seventh-year was on the floor, covered in what appeared to be a mixture of eggs and toast. Meanwhile, Draco focused all of his attention on Hermione, who was slowly getting up onto her knees.

"Gee, Granger," he smirked, "I never knew you wanted to get in my pants so badly." He glanced over at Ron and Harry, who paused at the snickers his comments had incited in the crowd. "Although," Draco continued, tapping an index finger against his chin in mock eloquence, "I can't say I blame you. The pickings over here are extremely thin."

"Look," Hermione spat, glaring at him, "it was an accident, all right? I'll pay for your robes. If you're going to insult my friends, you can go screw yourself."

"Really, Mudblood," Draco drawled casually. "When you open your mouth, do aim for an ounce of civility. Besides," he added, noting the approaching professors, "why would I let myself have all the fun?"

He knelt down to her height, lowering his voice so that only those immediately surrounding them could hear. "It's hardly necessary to beg. If I had known it was this easy to get you to sleep with me, I would have dispensed with the whole seduction thing and simply carried you off to my chambers."

Ron growled and attempted to quickly haul himself up. In this moment of extreme agitation, he slammed his fist on a plate instead of the table and lost his balance, managing to fall back down and hit himself with more table scraps in the process.

"I believe," a silky voice cut in smoothly, "that we have need of an explanation." Hermione gulped and whirled to face Snape and the other teachers. "Well?" he asked, regarding her coolly. "Care to enlighten us, Miss Granger?" He gave a peremptory glance in the direction of the boys. "Or perhaps you wanted to wait and see if Gryffindors and Slytherins can mate successfully?"

A feeble but distinctive squeak could be heard from Harry and Ron's general direction.

She got the point. "I was angry at my friends, not watching where I was going," Hermione sputtered, trying not to seem guilty in the eyes of the solemn headmasters standing noiselessly in front of her. She tried again, albeit weakly. "I didn't think..."

"Five hundred points to Gryffindor for your keen attention to detail."

She winced at the venom in his sarcastic reply but plodded on. "...That there was someone standing three inches behind me to trip over."

"Thus, you had to tear his clothes off to see if he was a 'real boy.'"

"I said it was an accident!"

"Twenty points off of Gryffindor, for..." Snape paused. "...Indecent exposure. Of a fellow student. In public." He swept past them, his cloak billowing in waves about him like some retreating apparition brought to life. They didn't see the smirk.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "Well," she said awkwardly. The students slowly started to clean up their mess.

Draco grinned. "Have a pleasant afternoon."

McGonagall turned back to him, leaning in with a smug expression. I can almost smell the formaldehyde, Draco thought.

"Mister Malfoy," she purred.

"Yes?" he answered sweetly.

"Five points off. Don't harass the innocents."

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I think you heard me."

For a moment, Draco appeared on the verge of squawking his indignity at the situation at the top of his lungs, and he clutched at his chest in horror. For a moment. Then he regained his composure. "What I meant, Professor," he continued, his voice honeyed and cherubic, "was that there has to have been some mistake. I was merely a casual passerby caught in the crossfire of the Gryffindor table when--"

Minerva arched an eyebrow and glared at Draco. "I have eyes and ears, Mister Malfoy. When a man ogles a woman each time he looks at her, makes vulgar and obscene remarks to my students without cause, and invades that woman's personal space to make lurid suggstions, he is not merely a 'casual passerby.' That will be another fifteen points for attempting to suck up to a teacher. Badly. Take care not to be so foolish again."

He watched her retreating form in dumbstruck awe. The nerve! He waited until she was definitely out of earshot and still had her back turned before he strutted towards Hermione. "So," he asked, bending to pick up her schoolbooks for her with his trademark leer, "do you still want to be my valentine?"

"Eat shit, Malfoy."

"Is that a yes?"

"Drop dead."

"I would, but then you'd have to be into necrophilia to get any."

"Bloody fucking SOD OFF!"

He smiled as she stormed off down the hallway. "Your place or mine?" he called after her. He turned a group of nearby Slytherins. "She wants me, what can I say?" He shouted one last time down the hallway. "Owl me! We'll talk!"

Harry leaned over Ron, cautiously picking up a piece of toast and tasting it. "Hmm," he remarked absently.

"That was from my robes, you know."

"Must be it."

"What?"

"Needs butter."

---

The Great Hall was filling with curious students, who stared at the makeshift contest set as if it were a Trojan horse. In front of the contestant podiums stood Cornelius Fudge, on lunch break by special order, a Ministry lawyer and Al Extra Beck, who was straightening his tie and looking positively unsettled. Snape smiled wryly. He credited Dumbledore for allowing such a ludicrous stunt to take place. He would have reamed the boy from stem to stern if the Weasely brat had so much as dared to show him the idea.

But as it was, Ron Weasley had wriggled off the hook once again. Although it vexed Severus greatly that he couldn't expel the annoying lout, he would have the satisfaction of watching several students have the worst day of their miserable, incompetent little lives.

Once the hall was assembled and quiet, Ron stepped up to the main podium and chanted, "Sonorus." He cleared his throat, casting a glance at the Gryffindor table. Harry was grinning and giving him the thumbs-up sign. Ginny was drooling. Hermione gave him the finger.

"Right," he said cheerfully. "Mr. Beck has been kind and generous in visiting the school. Let's give him and the Ministry of Magic a round of applause for them time and effort in organizing this!" After the clapping died down, he continued. "I'd like everyone to write down on your parchment, which is provided on the table in front of you—no, not yet, Neville—who your secret crush is. Someone who you'd never expect to end up with in a million years. Three, actually, in order of preference. The enchanted parchment will do the rest and sort out three people who have the same name in the highest ranking. In the event of someone being very popular, the sorting parchment will pick three people randomly from the largest consensus."

Al Beck stepped up to take Ron's place. "You may begin. You too, professors," he winked. "It's all in the spirit of good humor, you know."

Trelawny and Flitwick exchanged skeptical looks, but they eventually picked up their quills and wrote. Albus was trying to sneak a look at Minerva's writing. She noticed and gave him a pointed look before covering it with the palm of her hand, scooting it down the table in an almost childlike fashion.

Snape rolled his eyes. Why don't they just shag and get it over with? He thought sourly.

The Potions Master looked down testily at his own parchment. If I have to write down one of the other teachers, I'll skin and flay myself alive. There is no way he was going to get paired up with Sprout, or Merlin forbid, Hooch. He wrote down the first female name that came to his head, confident that student-teacher matches would automatically be disqualified. After all, it would be highly immoral in Fudge's eyes, and he had conducted the spell.

He wrote down the first person that came to mind and left the other spaces blank.

Hermione glared at the parchment. She was pissed as hell at Ron, and she'd rather die than admit liking Harry or Draco. Time for some tête-à-tête, compliments of Chèz Mione, she thought. Hermione picked up her quill, smirking at Draco's anxious expression as she wrote down two words: Blaise Zabini.

---

When the full names had materialized on the parchment, Ron looked up from the results scroll. He couldn't believe it. Well, actually, yes he could. But none of them were ever going to live it down. Ginny would be livid. And Ron was positive that if ever stepped into a dark alley, he would be liquidized.

Oh, well.

"We have a winner! I mean, winners!" Al exclaimed in his uniquely stuffy accent. "Why don't you read the names off for us, Ron?"

Everyone stared. Ron gulped.

"What's the matter, Weasel?" Draco sneered. "Toad got your tongue?" A round of snickering from the Slytherin table followed. Snape shot them dirty looks. They fell silent.

"Uh…" Ron tugged at his collar nervously. All of a sudden, his tie seemed horribly tight. He couldn't breathe. He was seeing colors…

"Fine, I'll read it." Al tugged the paper out of Ron's clammy fingers, oblivious of the boy's state. "It seems we had a three-way match for first crush. Would Hermione Granger please come forward?"

Now they knew why Ron's face was redder than the time he overcooked the lobsters in Muggle Studies.

He didn't look half as bad as Hermione did. Her complexion paled instantly, and she resisted the urge to either bury her head in her hands or run out of the hall screaming. Either one was social suicide. Ron is dead, she grimaced to herself.

God, I think I'm going to be sick.

Severus's heart stopped. Oh, shit.

---

Several heated arguments and a whispered reprimand from Dumbledore later, Professor Severus Snape, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy were all sitting behind separate contestant podiums, alternately mortified, shocked, and smirking. Several of the Slytherins had refused to stop hooting at their star player until Professor Flitwick threatened them with five hundred hours of Muggle community service. Hermione, however, sat in stony silence at the edge of the stage, shooting murderous glances at Ron. She knew he had rigged it. She just knew it.

Severus was at his podium, the one closest to the audience. If looks could kill, everyone within a five-mile radius would be obliterated into smoldering body parts. Damn him, Snape thought, narrowing his eyes at Beck. Damn that man! He resolved to make mincemeat of Ron and save "Al the Pal" for dessert.

Dessert…Snape tried to avoid the thoughts of a certain wavy-haired Gryffindor that were flitting through his head like tiny butterflies. Butterflies? I really must have it bad if I'm jealous of a boy who wakes up to a permanent giant blemish on his forehead. Fuck. That's bad, isn't it? Fuck.

Al Extra Beck walked up to the podium, He pointed at it and then at Fudge's wand. "Is this thing on?" He tapped the wood a few times to emphasize that the Sonorus Charm hadn't worked. "I can't believe I'm getting a lousy two grand for this insanity," he muttered, just as Cornelius Fudge recast the spell. Beck's booming voice bounced off the back wall. Amplifying his whispered thoughts to shouts of a sizeable magnitude.

"Very well," he said, sputtering. "And now, without further delay—"

Without warning, all the tablecloths suddenly yanked themselves out from under the food, sending silverware and dishes every which way in a deafening crash. Dumbledore groaned and dragged his hand across his face as their lunch rose into the air, whirling about in random patterns, sending students ducking and screaming as their own eating utensils attacked them.

From high above their heads, screeching laughter cascaded downwards as a spectral figure materialized out of thin air, flying around a magically distended chandelier at high speed. It was dizzying just to watch.

Hermione, thoroughly unruffled, made a twirling motion with her finger like a stoned cheerleader. She remarked dryly, "The wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round, round and round…"

"Mayhem, panic, chaos!" The ghoul cackled gleefully. "Oh, the fun I've missed!" He burst into maniacal peals of mirth, apparently giggling at his own private joke.

"Well, slap me and call me a bitch!" Al Beck murmured. "What in the Hell is that?"

"Peeves," the staff replied simultaneously in a dull monotone.

The door to Dumbledore's left burst open, and Argus Filch stormed in, brandishing a mop that resembled a cleaner version of his hair and waving it around like a sword. Mrs. Norris curled around his ankles, arching her scruffy back.

Beck's lawyer turned to Ron quizzically. "What is that thing at his feet?"

Ron snorted. "A cat, last time I checked." Mrs. Norris hissed and spat in reply.

"Is it on steroids or something?"

"Rrreow!!!"

"I'll get you yet, you meddling little excuse for a zombie imp!" Filch shrieked. "Get down here so I can throttle you!"

Severus watched with detachment as the cream pies reserved for the reception that evening rose from their table, propelled by invisible hands, and headed straight for Argus's face.

Filch reacted in slow motion, his growing horror evident by the frantic gestures of his arms as they flew up to shield himself from the onslaught, the pies soaring into the air, then descending towards him…closer…closer…

SPLAT.

And before one could shout, "Whomping Willow!" the Hogwarts custodian was the custard custodian, covered in red, white and pink pastries and cream. Peeves dumped a bowl of sprinkles on him, picked up a sugared heart with the phrase "Kiss Me, I'm Petrified!" on it and daintily placed it on Filch's nose with proud precision.

Mrs. Norris was a white furball of goo. "Meow?" she moaned weakly. Peeves tried to lick her. She snarled and scuttled off, swishing many a leg with cream on her way out of the hall.

After a stunned silence, Albus cleared her throat. "Perhaps we should proceed, Mr. Al Extra Beck. If you please."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, wiping his forehead. "It's getting kind of hot…standing up here…on these podiums."

"Of course," Al responded nervously. "We're going to start with several simple cate—"

"I'm bored," Draco said.

"That's very nice. To continue, our categories are—"

Harry squealed and put his head in his hands, gazing weakly at the sea of expectant faces of the audience. "Aaah!!! Too…much…pressure!"

And Harry, to everyone's astonishment and Hermione's gasp of horror, swooned in front of the entire hall, his eyes rolling back in his head as he fell daintily to the floor, hitting his head on a podium on his way.

"My goodness!" Prof. McGonagall exclaimed. "Is he all right?"

Draco stepped forward and prodded (kicked) Harry in the stomach. Harry groaned. "He's fine," Draco replied.

"Get him out of here. He's bleeding on the rug," Snape added in disgust.

"Yes. That's nice. Thank you. Each contestant must buzz in to make an answer, which must be in the form of a question. However, all answers are relevant to Miss Hermione and judge how well you know her and what she likes. Got it?"

"No," Snape muttered.

"Great," Al replied. "Let's begin. The categories are—" He whipped out his multicolored note cards. "'Potent Potions'. No, wait. I'm sorry. That was, 'Potent Potables.' Then 'Be A Strapping Young Boy,' 'Things You Shouldn't Do in the Girls' Dormitory,' "Makeup and Men,' 'Ministry of Magic and Sexual Politics,' and a category fitting you to a tee, Mr. Connery…oh, wait. He's not here. Thank God."

"Yes I am."

Al Extra Beck turned to in Harry's direction. Con Seannery had mysteriously appeared behind the podium. Harry was still passed out on the floor. "So," Seannery quipped, "we meet again, Robert Tripe."

"Oh no," Beck moaned, slumping on the stand.

"I knew I would cross paths with your malicious hide once again," Seannery continued. "But let me warn you, ya brigand—I know all of your evil ways."

"Mr. Seannery, you are a sick and disturbed man."

"I'm bored," Draco said.

"The final category is 'Why Did You Smack Me?' Moving on. Professor Snape, the board is yours."

Seannery stared at the crowd with shifty eyes. "So…the game is afoot."

"For the love of Merlin, shut up." To Snape he said, "Please continue."

Snape pinched his brow between the index and forefinger of his right hand. "Of course. Which of these detestable choices is the least traumatic?"

Beck rolled his eyes. "Just pick one."

"Things You Shouldn't Do in a Girls' Dormitory," Snape muttered.

"What was that?" Al Beck prodded.

"You heard me," Snape growled.

"Yes. Well. The answer is, 'This involves violation of the personal property clause and improper uniform use.'

Con Seannery leaned forward on his podium. "Stealing those lovely red lace panties I saw in your briefcase on the way down here," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I'm going to issue a restraining order," Beck snapped. Seannery continued to guffaw at his own inside joke.

"Ooh! Ooh! I know!" Draco's hand shot up.

"You have to hit the buzzer," Al Beck said.

"What buzzer?"

"The one right in front of you, you twit," Hermione shouted.

"No! No! Don't push it, lad! It's a trap!" Con Seannery tried to reach across the podiums for it. "I know what happens, because I did it once."

Draco finally looked right in front of him. "Oh," he replied, nonplussed. "Right."

BZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZ...

"I don't understand," Draco frowned, still holding down the button as everyone started to cover his or her ears. "Is something supposed to happen?"

"...And you're a moron," Al Beck answered. He grabbed the buzzer from Draco, who wouldn't let go. "Mister Snake, would you care to answer?"

"It's Professor Snape to you," Severus snapped.

"Whatever."

"Please," Ron pleaded, watching Beck wrestle with Draco until Beck started pushing the Slytherin boy's chest away with his foot.

"No."

"Professor, please."

"Shove it up your skrewt, Al."

"All right," Beck sighed gritting his teeth. He yanked the device from Malfoy's grip, sending the platinum blond wizard-in-training clear over the podium headfirst. Draco landed on Harry.

"Hey, thanks, Pottyhead! You broke my fall."

"Unngghhh."

Draco sat up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, straddling Harry, who was pushed facedown into the platform floor. "Don't worry," he said, eyes flashing. "It gets less painful with experience."

"MALFOY!"

The Slytherin sighed and rose, returning to his place. McGonagall's gaze shot daggers at him with every step.

Beck rolled his eyes. "Since Prof. Snape is unresponsive and Mr. Malfoy suffers from a severe mental illness, I suppose our next contestant will have to—"

Seannery jumped up excitedly. "Then the day is mine!"

"Please. Just wait until I pick a new category for you, Mr. Seannery."

"All right," Seannery smiled. "Surprise me, you filthy bastard."

"I hate you," Al Beck replied.

"I'm bored," Draco said.

"The new category is 'Ministry of Magic and Sexual Politics.' For 400, Mr. Seannery. 'This Ministry official suffered social embarrassment when Hermione successfully exposed an outbreak of a certain venereal disease.'"

Fudge colored. "Really, is this topic relevant to Hermione's personal—"

Seannery interrupted. "Damn you and your daily doubles, you bilge rat! One day, it'll be my turn!"

Beck was unmoved. "You have lead a horrible life."

"I know! I know!" Draco was jumping up and down with fervor.

"Wonderful," Snape snarled. "It's The Amazing, Bouncing Ferret."

"That's my line, Professor," Hermione snapped back.

"Five points from Gryffindor!"

"Mister Malfoy, please continue," Al said patiently.

"The answer, of course," Draco exhaled noisily, picking at his nails, "is 'Who is Fudge?'"

"Correct..."

"...And the disease would have to be one we all suffer from annually. It's called, 'Gonna-reelect'im.'"

"WHAT?!?" Fudge hollered. His face was now beet red, and it was rapidly approaching a shade of deep purple at an astonishing rate. "WHY, YOU LITTLE DEMON PRICK, WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, YOUR FATHER WON'T BE ABLE TO FIND AN ORIFICE LEFT, MUCH LESS ONE FUNCTIONAL ENOUGH TO—"

Luckily, Fudge's staff had a Portkey, and they managed to disappear with the Head Official before he could reach the stage and do significant damage. The rest of the school was laughing. Hard.

"Well…it was technically a correct answer…" Hermione held up her hands, biting her lip to keep from giggling.

"I'm bored," Draco said.

"Fine. 400 points, Mister Malfoy. It's your category."

Draco grinned. "I'll take 'Beast-Raping Young Boy' for 800."

The crowded paused in shock, then roared its approval. Al Beck, flustered beyond belief, glanced desperately at the board. "No…no, that's 'Be A Strapping Young Boy,' not—"

Con Seannery started suddenly. "Aha! A trick question!"

Draco continued as if Al hadn't spoken. "Yes, beast-raping young boys. Quite a lovely sport, really. I'm convinced that every man needs a bit of non-con fun once in a while. Keeps him motivated. Stay the course and all that..."

This would be funny if he wasn't perfectly serious, Hermione thought.

"...And I don't see why it isn't a regular course on the curriculum. You'd teach it, wouldn't you, Professor Lupin?" Without waiting for an answer, he threw his hands up in exasperation that appeared genuine. "As for students, why should we be punished for pursuing our own lifestyles? What does that say about our school? What does that say about our society?"

Draco Malfoy held out his hands in a beseeching manner. "And so I call upon you. Yes, you, fellow peers and members of the jury—" At this, he lowered his arm, pointing straight at Millicent Bulstrode, who burped up a piece of chocolate cream pie "—to vote your conscience, and to impart a sense of justice on our superiors, so that all rakes may run free!" He smiled, at the end of a primary election speech. "Remember, ask not what your whore can do for you, but what your whore can do for your country. Thank you."

Most of the Slytherin boys rose up, hollering and hooting their appreciation.

Draco bowed. McGonagall grabbed a china plate, strode onstage and smashed it over his head. Al Beck popped several pills.

"You're currently in third, Snape," Ron quipped.

"Ha haa!" Con Seannery smacked the podium. "He said 'turd.'"

"When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain," Snape mumbled, "he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer."

"What did you say?" Ron asked, bewildered.

"Go fuck yourself," Severus snapped under his breath.

"Oh." Pause. "Fair enough."

Al Beck looked at his neon color-coded action cards. "Uh…" He raised an eyebrow. "Professor. Your board." He rolled his eyes. "You can put your hand down, Mr. Seannery."

"Chivalry will prevail!"

"Mr. Seannery, I'm beginning to suspect that you've been on medication all of your adult life."

"Well, I do pop a few Viagara every day, but I don't see how that separates me from the common wizard." Harry groaned. Con Seannery beamed. "See?"

"I'm bored," Draco said.

Harry groaned again, weakly.

Al Extra Beck made a face, as if Mrs. Norris had returned to center stage for the sole purpose of puking on his shoes, and the vomit was just starting to smell. "…And the show has reached a new low."

"Give me an occupation, Miss Granger, or I shall run mad!" Severus wailed.

"Huh?" Hermione said.

Ron winked. "Mad…as in madly in love?"

"…I was going to ask the only sane contestant another question about Miss Granger's culinary tastes," Beck gritted through his teeth, "but since Lover Boy here is a human toilet, I suppose we'd better move on to the final round.

Snape looked confused. "Wait..." he said frowning, seconds before comprehension dawned on his face. "WHAT?!?"

"Yes, he was talking about you," Draco cut in merrily.

"I most certainly AM NOT a…" the Professor waved an arm distastefully at Ron Weasley, as if the mere words nauseated him, his rage barely in check, "a 'Lover-Boy.'"

"Whatever you say, Mr. Man Chowder. The final question, to which you are all to write responses on your podium sketch screens, will give one contestant the commanding lead."

"Well, it looks like this is my lucky day. I'll play your game, you rogue."

"Sod off, Seannery." Beck motioned to two Ministry officials still in the hall, and they moved to escort Con Seannery off the stage. He struggled fiercely, shouting such phrases as, "Villany shall never triumph!" and "My day has come!"

"I quit," Draco said, throwing his pen down and stomping across the set. "My head hurts."

Con Seannery, now dragged nearly out of sight, was not to be outdone. "Coward!" He thought hard for a moment. "…Pansy!"

"No thanks. I did her yesterday."

McGonagall picked up her wand. Draco whimpered and backed up into place.

Snape smirked at this. At least he wasn't going to be the only semi-conscious contestant in this circus charade. "You will learn, Mister Malfoy, that submission is always the safest option."

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Here's the question, for 2000 points. What is Hermione's most intimate desire? You can answer this like a normal question."

Hermione had almost drifted off in her seat. About a minute after the fact, her eyes opened. "Wait. Intimate? What?"

"You have ten seconds," Al Beck continued.

She jumped to her feet. "This was not in my contract. Or the interview."

"I'm just reading the card, Miss Granger."

"Well, read it again, nimrod."

"—Let's take a look at the board, shall we?"

"I wasn't finished!" Draco wailed.

Beck read off the blank screen as the words appeared. "Draco, your handwriting is atrocious. Let me—" He squinted. "Whipped cream, shackles…dungeons…latex bodysuits…" Hermione croaked. Snape's forehead was swelling, and his left eye had developed a nervous tick.

"Mister Malfoy, three pages in small print is far too long an answer. In addition, it is so atrocious, disgusting and unnnervingly vile that I ought to shove you right back up your mother's uterus where you so rightly belong."

Draco shrugged.

"As for the Professor…" Beck switched the view on the screen. "'I am fairly certain that Miss Granger would be more than happy to shag either of her best friends, provided that they don't mention her teeth as even remotely resembling those of a duckbill platypus.'"

Silence. Hermione stood up, quivering all over, unable to voice the rage undoubtedly coursing through every organ. Finally, she managed to croak, "First of all, a duckbill platypus, if that even is the correct pronunciation, does not have teeth."

"By Grapthar's hammer!" Snape exclaimed in mock consternation, inspecting his fingernails.

"Second." She glowered at the Potions master. "Second. In the event that I might ever want to date any of my friends, they would manage to come up with better insults that don't resort to including odd Muggle wildlife. Furthermore, they certainly wouldn't be caught dead as despised, incompetent, and revolting professors admitting their own impotence to the entire student body."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Shall I demonstrate an example of this rare but feisty species to the audience? Or perhaps some Muggle slides of Draco and one of his teachers are in order. I have some of him serving detention. After hours. In said teacher's study." Hermione paused dramatically. "Using lubricant."

Minerva fainted. Dumbledore had pulled out a copy of the school handbook and was rapidly flipping through it.

Snape's only visible reaction was a look directed at Ron. If looks could kill, thought Draco, he would be more than six feet under.

"I think the Professor is the winner, by default to an abundance of sheer idiocy," Al Extra Beck said dryly. "I quit."

"Miss Granger, any frequent study of the prefects in this facility after hours would be self-incrimination."

"NO FAIR!" Draco yelled.

Hermione ignored him. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

"Barring the frequent incidents in the library, I am always willing to overlook a few…lapses in concentration, so to speak. We admitted you to this facility in the hopes that your intellectual skills would surpass all other talents. However, we were wrong. We were very—"

Hermione wound up and slapped Severus so hard it made his jaw numb. Then she stormed out.

Snape abruptly stalked over to Ron, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him into the air, despite the fact that he was just as tall and possibly heavier than the Professor by this time. "You," he snarled.

"Yes?" Ron gulped.

"Weasley, be assured that you WILL flunk my class the rest of this term," the Professor hissed. "Furthermore, the first chance I have, I'm going to cut your heart out with a spoon." He thought about this for a moment, the boy's feet sweeping along the floor at the toes. "Fine. A meat-cleaver." No, probably not. "Well, I don't know what the bloody hell I'll be using, but you can be sure that your heart's coming out of there! …And it's going to hurt! ... A LOT!"

"Y-y-yes, sir," Ron gulped.

Snape dropped him like a sack of bricks, composing himself in time to make a swift exit from the now riotous auditorium.

Ron brushed himself off and looked over at Harry. The Boy Who Lived gave him ten fingers for a score. Then he fainted again.

Weasley grinned. Ten weeks of detention was March...no, April, which meant that he had three days to prepare the shrinking solution when he got out...

---

Hermione read the note again. Malfoy really expected her to meet him willingly? In a deserted dungeon classroom? And not kill him within two seconds?

I'll give him enthusiasm, she thought darkly. In fistfuls.

"Dying to see me, indeed," Hermione muttered, and pushed open the door.

Instantly, a pair of arms encircled her waist and throat. The hand on her mouth precluded Hermione's imminent screams, and she found herself looking down at the other hand as it opened her robe to the crimson satin pajamas underneath.

That's funny. Even Draco's fingers aren't this long and delicate...

Hermione tried to say, 'You're not Malfoy.' Of course, it came out as "Ymmph nm drphmmphh!"

"Of course I'm not," the voice purred.

He released her mouth, and she spun around. "Then get the hell away from me."

"You owe me some quality time after today."

The figure was easily recognizable, now that she had a clear view. Hermione smirked. "As in quality time with my knee in your crotch?"

He smiled, bending towards her. "As always, Miss Granger, you are nothing if not acquiescent."