DirtCatharsis

Chapter 3

Word spread faster than a Quidditch seeker diving for a snitch. The girls of Hogwarts began to cluster together, holding intense, furtively whispered conversations that melted away whenever anyone male approached. To outside appearances, it looked to the boys as if the girls were finally entering the feud. It never occurred to any of them that the girls might be planning something of their own.

One afternoon after Charms, a Ravenclaw girl shouldered Ginny in the hall, knocking her down. No one noticed the extra paper tucked into her notebook when she picked it back up off the floor. Later that day, in the Astronomy tower, Ginny murmured to Hermione, "The sixth and seventh years are having a detention next week after classes on the far side of the lake."

"I can't even see that far," Hermione mumbled back. The other side of the lake, normally a thin strip of wetlands, bare dirt, and the leading edge of the Forbidden Forest, was nothing more than a dirty, shimmering smudge on the hazy horizon.

Eva Morales, a sixth year Slytherin transfer from America, lifted her thick black hair off the back of her neck and muttered, "It's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut, and twice as humid." Her low Texas drawl elicited suppressed snorts from the Gryffindor girls.

"Quite," said Hermione flatly.

"I'm not at all sure about this plan of yours, Weasley." Morales flicked her wand and a small ball of luminescence erupted from the tip. It glowed with a soft, blue-green light, yet cast a golden glow. As Eva's concentration wavered, the witchlight lost its cohesion and fractured into fading points of light.

Hermione used her own wand to form a larger witchlight. "It keeps its shape better if you move the wand in a circle," she said to Eva. "You don't have to expend so much energy."

"How is all this going to make a difference in time for the May Day Ball?" Eva asked, moving her wand in a little circle for the next witchlight.

Blaise Zabini answered her. "Simple. We've tried everything reasonable. The only thing left to try is the absurd."

"And this is definitely absurd," Ginny said, raising her wand.

"Plus, it's the only plan we've got left," Padma Patil pointed out. "I'm sure if anyone had had better luck in waking the boys up, they would have let the rest of us in on it already." She sent a pointed look in the direction of Tracey Davis, of Slytherin, who'd been going steady with Terry Boot for over a year.

Tracey looked at the floor. "Don't look at me," she said. "He'd think the May Day Ball was a silly idea even without the feud going on." She raised her head. "And he might be right," she said with more than a hint of defiance.

Hermione dropped her wand and the witchlight on which she'd been practicing drifted slowly to the floor. "It isn't entirely about the ball," she said. "And it isn't entirely about the boys. It's about getting things off our chests."

"People do stuff like this all the time in the States," Eva said. "They call it 'stress relief' in the Muggle world. I have a cousin who owns a ranch where businessmen go and pretend to be cowboys for a week."

"And if it also happens to stupefy the boys out of their mania, then that's just extra," Lavender said.

The next day, as they were filing out of Potions class, Blaise grabbed a handful of Hermione's hair and yanked her to the floor. As they grappled, Blaise put her lips to Hermione's ear. "Hagrid's in charge of sixth and seventh detention, so whatever potion you're whipping up in that loo with Myrtle, double it."

"Got it. And ease up, I don't want a bald patch." Hermione darted a look at the crowd that had sprung up around them, then met the other girl's eyes. "Mind the boys," she said, her lips curving up in a smile. More than one of the circle of students cheering them on did so with a gleam of interest in his eyes.

Blaise looked up. "You're brilliant, Granger. I'm keeping this in mind." She dropped an eyelid in a coy wink, and Hermione wondered, for what?

Snape separated them then, hauling Hermione off Blaise by the back of her robes with a bit more force than Hermione thought warranted.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape said, his voice oozing satisfaction, "for an unwarranted belligerent attitude. And detention for making me have to separate you two." Hermione let her eyes unfocus as Snape glared at her. Over the years, as his hatred of Gryffindors grew--smart Gryffindors in particular--she'd developed a rich fantasy life involving herself returning to Hogwarts in the distant future as its new Headmistress, and savoring the look on his hook-nosed face when she sacked him. Her lips twitched into a half-smile.

Snape glared at her for a long minute, an odd little tick jumping beneath his left eye before turning away.

Ron and Harry fell into step beside her. "Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Hermione blinked. "I'm fine."

"I think you scared him, smiling like that," Harry said as they climbed the stairs. "Never thought I'd say this, but I think I'm starting to actually like Potions just because it's ten degrees cooler in the dungeons."

"Not me," Ron said. "I'd roast in Trelawney's attic if it meant I wouldn't have to look at that ugly git. Hey Harry, how do you reckon we should get even with the Slytherins for Zabini's cheek?"

You could start by maybe asking me to the May Day Ball, you prat, she thought crossly.

Harry's brow clouded over. The Boy Who Lived To Avenge Himself Upon the Slytherins grinned. "I've got just the thing. Malfoy and his lot are going to be sorry." He leaned over towards Ron and their steps became longer and longer until they'd left her yards behind. Millicent Bulstrode shot her a look that said, Buck up, lass, we're getting ours soon enough.

"Oh, bugger," Hermione muttered.

At dinner the following night, the Hufflepuff boys all showed up five suspicious minutes late, entering the hall from the wrong side. Twenty-five minutes later, Ginny knew why as half a dozen Slytherins and twice that many Ravenclaws suddenly grabbed their stomachs, fell off their chairs, and with a series of loud plops, turned into fat yellow birds. It was almost worth it for her to see Malfoy, one of the last to eat the Canary Creams, with a stricken look on his face as Crabbe coughed up a ball of yellow feathers, just before Malfoy himself transfigured.

Next to her, Hermione threw down her fork with disgust. "Look at them. Dumbledore's not even doing anything. Snape looks fit to have a coronary, and McGonagall--"

"McGonagall looks bloody tired of the whole thing. She and Professor Sinistra." The witch wore an exasperated expression on her narrow face. Ginny sympathized. It was Professor Sinistra who would be assisting Madam Pomfrey with the counter-charms.

Justin Finch-Fletchley leaned over to the Gryffindor table to high-five Neville Longbottom. Colin Creevey ducked under the table--Ginny was sure he was up to no good. Two minutes later, Hermione leapt up indignantly at what Colin had pulled from his rucksack.

"That's my bloody cat!"

Crookshanks blinked owlishly--or would that be cattishly, Ginny thought insanely--when confronted with a room full of tasty birds six times his size.

"Hogwarts is going to hell in a handbasket," she said, catching Millicent Bulstrode's eye from across the room and nodding slightly.

"Come on, Gin," Hermione muttered, after having retrieved her poor bewildered cat. "It's our turn again for the Astronomy tower."

Once upon a time, the Astronomy tower had been notorious for how occupied it was by students whose heads were turned anywhere but skyward. Now its notoriety came from how occupied it wasn't. It did, however, serve as a convenient meeting place for girls of different houses to congregate without inviting comment.

If Ginny or Hermione had been present at the staff meetings, they would have heard even Snape complain about the complete lack of interest the boys seemed to be taking in anything besides the Feud, which had accelerated to capitalized proportions. "I can certainly understand Malfoy and Potter having a go at each other--Potter's arrogance continues to rival his father's, and Malfoy's got good enough reason to hate him."

Professor Flitwick tutted. "It's no secret that young Harry has a most stressful fate awaiting him, and that Draco's family troubles seem to be growing ever larger." He carefully avoided Snape's eyes while the entire assembled staff studiously refrained from mentioning The Quibbler's gossip column. The grainy photographs of Narcissa Malfoy engaged in very intimate-looking conversation with a certain hook-nosed, lank-haired companion spent most of their time furtively edging behind potted shrubbery, but they'd been seen enough for comment to be made.

"I was pumping her," Snape began tightly. McGonagall's eyebrows climbed up under her pointed hat. "For information!" he finished hastily.

McGonagall's lips twitched.

"On the whereabouts of her husband." Snape's voice had developed a curious high-pitched quality.

McGonagall scratched a corner of her twitching lip with one crook-nailed finger. "And the Order commends you for a most thorough investigative search of the hourly-rate rooms at the Naughty Witch's Britches." Unfazed at the startlingly violet hue of Professor Snape's skin, McGonagall continued. "Be that as it may, Potter and Malfoy have taken their personal animosity to an extreme."

"They've declared themselves mortal enemies," Professor Sinistra said.

"I can respect that," Snape mumbled.

"But they've managed to involve the entire school. Up until now, they could at least be trusted to keep their antagonism to themselves."

"Where Potter goes, Weasley follows," Snape said.

"And Malfoy's never seen without his bookends," McGonagall shot back.

Madam Pince spoke. "It's the pranking. The new wards on the school are far more sensitive to hexes and curses committed on a person, so they've resorted to pranking each other. I've had to confiscate this book twice." She hefted a massive, ancient tome. Faded lettering could barely be made out. Thee Mammothe Bigge Funne Joke Booke. "Prior to this year, only Fred and George Weasley ever checked it out."

Flitwick nodded. "Prank magic is a very inexact science. The charms tend to multiply themselves and produce unforeseen results."

"There's also the Muggle-born prejudice," Professor Sprout said, fretfully twisting a cut bloom she'd pulled from her robes. The fragrant yellow bloom sent a heady, relaxing perfume through the air. "At least that's why my Hufflepuffs have thrown in with Gryffindor." She glanced worriedly at Snape. "Understand, Severus, that the most vocal of the Slytherins are also the most prejudiced. And it appears that no authoritative force that they respect has disciplined them on this." Her gaze turned pointed.

Snape had the grace to look just the tiniest bit chagrined, having been known to utter the occasional "mudblood" comment here and there. Or more often scream it in his younger days. "The majority of my house descends from old wizarding families. These attitudes have been ingrained--"

Professor Sprout waved the flower reproachfully. "Well, your inbred attitudes have lost your house an ally in Hufflepuff!"

Snape sneered. "No great loss."

Professor Sprout held out the flower. "SleepingwithNarcissa?" She muttered.

"We're just friends!"

Sprout blinked innocently. "You must have misheard me, Severus. I said, 'Sleeping Narcissus.' The flower - Narcissus Dormiens. It's a real stress reliever," she said blandly.

"But whither the Ravenclaws?" McGonagall asked, nodding to Professor Flitwick.

Flitwick spoke. "Ah, Mister Boot was able to enlighten me a little in that area. He's been walking about with Miss Davis from Slytherin. Apparently, many of his housemates find the young ladies of your house"--here, he nodded to Professor Snape--"erm, accommodating."

Snape put his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving furrows in the lank locks. "Madam Pomfrey," he began, his voice world-weary.

"Don't look at me," the nurse shot back. "I'm a nurse, not a moral disciplinarian. I dispense cures, not questions."

"And I dispense Potions, including pain-relievers. How's your supply?"

"I'm fairly swimming in it, thanks to Mr. Longbottom. Do you remember last month you gave him a week's worth of detention for melting his workstation? You instructed him to concoct pain relievers." She smiled beatifically as the realization of how he'd wanded himself in the foot crossed Snape's face, returning it to a shade somewhere between fuschia and puce.

Flitwick spoke again. "As it happens, that's not the only reason Ravenclaw has taken up arms with Slytherin." He withdrew a sheet of parchment from his robes and unrolled it. "Mr. Boot was also kind enough to explain to me that without Ravenclaw's help, the going odds on Slytherin weren't worth betting over." He passed the parchment around. "As you can see, several students appear to have more faith in a Slytherin-Ravenclaw alliance. Including some of your Hufflepuffs, Madam Sprout."

Sprout eyed the parchment. "Yes, well, that one's always been an opportunist. And that one there has a habit of underestimating himself. And this one's got rotten luck all around. I'm not surprised he'd bet against his own house. He's almost guaranteed us a victory. Can't explain those two, though. Ah, wait, yes, I see. Smart lads, hedging their bets."

Flitwick coughed. "Anyone wishing to not join in the action should emphatically not speak to me after the staff meeting."

Professor Vector glanced at the parchment, then at the ceiling. "Ah, Flitwick? Madam Hooch's pool payoffs include relief from chaperone duties for the May Day ball."

Quick as a flash, a small pouch sailed from Snape's hand through the air towards Madam Hooch. Quidditch reflexes engaged, the spry flying instructor's hand darted out and grabbed it. "Down for Slytherin, then, Severus?"

"Need you even ask?" It was well-known among the staff that Professor Snape loathed having to chaperone social functions, which was exactly why many of them delighted in manipulating circumstances that guaranteed his presence. Professor Sprout being the exception, as Snape was fond of the overuse of force when blasting snogging students from her rosebushes.

"Well, it's been established that Potter and Malfoy have taken their animosity to the group level, and that the rest of the school has joined, been dragged, or seems to have financial investment in continuing the fight. Now the question begs to be asked--what ought we do about it?"

"Surely the headmaster would know," Madam Pomfrey said.

McGonagall drummed her fingers on the table. "The Minister of Magic requires his assistance on several important matters. He'll be commuting back and forth to London for the next few weeks." She pursed her lips and looked at the assembled staff. "I'm afraid we're on our own with this one. And, might I add," she said, sending a pointed look towards Professor Snape, "That things could be worse. I am reasonably sure that You-Know-Who hasn't a thing to do with this. At least, not directly," she amended.

Irma Pince's hands twisted nervously in her robes. "Erm, well. I believe I overheard Miss Granger developing a solution to the problem."

Faces all around--save for Snape's, who disliked Hermione on account of the Head Girl being smarter than he was--relaxed.

"Well then," McGonagall said. "We should let her have at it."

Madam Pince's knuckles went white. "She's getting help from Ginny Weasley."

The faces of the staff formed back up into the twisted and pained expressions--except for Snape, who'd gone past purple into a grayish lavender by now--not because he disliked Ginny any more than Hermione, but because he was Potions master with several years' worth of experience with Weasleys. He knew the effects six other Weasleys had had on the volatile personality cocktail that was Hogwarts, and in his experience, it didn't matter which match out of the pack was struck--if it dropped on the black powder, everything still went boom.

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