Pranking a Professor

Chapter Six--Task Five--Dreaming of You

Hermione was free from most of her stress until Monday, when her next Potions lesson took place. Professor Snape was missing-in-action until his Gryffindor and Ravenclaw sixth year class that Friday. From what Hermione had heard, it wasn't exactly a bowl of cherries.

"Have you ever been through a hurricane?" asked Luna Lovegood. She'd glided over to the Gryffindor table at lunch for a quick chat. Hermione shook her head.

"Well, Professor Snape's attitude today was exactly as stormy," she said dreamily. "Though, I quite fancy the rain..."

"She's right," agreed Ginny from across the table after blinking at Luna's strange analogy. "It was terrible; I'd feel safer confronting a nuclear missile, from what I've heard in Muggle Studies. He seemed an inch within cursing Colin because he'd added an ingredient two minutes too late to his Recovery Draught."

Hermione choked on her salad. Even Harry looked a little uneasy, but Ron was shoveling pudding down his throat without a care in the world. It seemed like he'd never tasted food before.

"Maybe...maybe this is getting a little out of hand," Hermione stammered, not even glancing at the staff table. At this, Ron's red head popped up from his desert.

"Out of hand? You're not afraid are you?"

"Besides," Harry reminded her, "we're behind you all the way."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. "Harry, you've been saying that since the beginning, and I have yet to see you take place in these tasks."

"Next task my impatient little friend, next task," cooed Harry with a wink to Ron.

Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from gauging out his eyes with her fork.

Butterflies and snitches buzzed around in her stomach, causing bile to rise in her throat as Ron pushed open the giant oak door to Potions class on the chilly Monday afternoon. Hermione gave a sigh of relief as they entered, finding that their infamous teacher was nowhere to be seen. Quite a few students had already gathered and were speaking in hushed voices in little groups around their desks, every now and then tossing paranoid glances at the door as more students came in, watching for the arrival of Satan. The trio headed to their chairs, and Hermione's ears detected several comments from her classmates.

"...Bet he'll be too humiliated to teach..."

"Wishful thinking."

"You think we'll have a substitute? Grubbly-Plank perhaps?"

"Hey, which of you three pulled that stunt on Thursday?" asked Seamus, making himself comfortable on the desk in front of Hermione.

"Pulled what off?" Harry inquired, feigning confusion.

"Oh come off it Harry," said Lavender approaching them, Parvati at her heels. "We know one of you have been doing these things. It's rather obvious. They all contain a certain trademark we can identify you with."

Hermione was stunned that Lavender, resident superficial Gryffindor, was able to put together a seemingly intellectual statement, though she held her tongue.

"I personally think it's your doing," Parvati piped up, referring to Ron as Dean Thomas joined them. "I mean, your twin brothers probably taught you a thing or two."

The Ron in question just shook his head silently and looked back at them with a blank expression, something that wasn't very painstakingly hard for the sixth Weasley son.

"No, it's all three of them I'll bet," Dean hypothesized in conclusion. "But why?"

"Are you all quite finished chucking accusations at us?" Hermione snapped irritably.

"We've no idea what you're talking about," Ron told them earnestly.

Dean was about to say something more when a cry came from the doorway of the classroom.

"Snape's coming!" Neville warned his peers as he scuttled into the class, acting as the 'Paul Revere' of the classroom. Students scattered and ran to their respective desks, and a feeling of apprehension hung in the damp dungeon air.

"See? They know what's going on!" Harry chided to Hermione, who was dangerously raising her scalpel closer to his Adam's apple. "Hate to say I told you so, but--."

"Silence!" Snape snarled as he came in, slamming the door behind him. The several unidentifiable specimens in jars on shelves around the room gave a tremor with the force, and that was nothing compared to the way the seventh years squirmed.

Any ideas of starting up a gale of laughter in remembrance of last week's experience evaporated when the class of Slytherins and Gryffindors saw the look on Snape's face. If looks could kill, everyone within fifty miles would be reduced to ashes. His coal eyes shone with malice and hatred beyond all imagination, piercing the souls of the students. It seemed as though if one student even breathed in his general direction, let alone snicker at the incident last week, he'd curse them so terribly that they'd wish that it were Lord Voldemort himself holding the wand instead of a Potions Master. Hermione swallowed. She could hardly wait for what was coming.

"Today you'll be researching the Polyjuice Potion. Open your books and begin. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject lying on my desk before this class is over." The class immediately began working before Snape added, "and if any one of you so much as smiles, you will sincerely regret it."

The threat, subtle for his attitude, did have an edge on it that made Hermione begin to think twice about what she was to do. Giving a quick glance to Harry who was reading avidly and to Ron, who winked at her back, signaling she should go on, Hermione gave a very exaggerated, very large yawn, keeping one eye cracked open to watch the vindictive Potions Master as she did so.

Snape went rigid, as did the rest of the class. Hermione didn't even chance a noticeable glance at her teacher but rather read her textbook--which she knew forwards, backwards, sideways, and square ways--and scratched her quill on the parchment, propping her head up on her elbow in an exhausted fashion. The Potions Master watched her intently with glittering eyes, waiting for any sudden movement but when none came, he sighed resolutely, yet very quietly, and turned to a pile of fifth year homework that was collecting dust on his desk and wrote random letters in blood-red ink on each sheet.

Hermione, however, was hard at work. After every paragraph she'd give a yawn and let her eyes close slowly, before catching herself and continuing until with one final yawn, she buried her head in her arms and pretended to be in a dream-cluttered sleep. There she lay, unnoticed by any other in the room until nearly the end of class.

"Mr. Longbottom, would you kindly set your work on my desk?" Snape snapped dangerously at Neville who was quickly scribbling down his work.

"B-b-but sir, I'm not fini--!"

"NOW!"

Neville bolted up to Snape's desk like lightening and laid down his single parchment, which Snape could see was full of terrible grammatical errors, before hurrying back to his own desk. Snape leafed through the papers, checking names and he sadly noticed one was missing. He wasn't surprised.

"Miss Granger, is there any reason why I don't have your essay yet?" he asked angrily yet warily, looking up.

The entire class looked down at Hermione and gave one collective gasp. Hermione Granger was sleeping in a class! And not just any class...Snape's class!

Instantly, his cold eyes narrowed to the bushy head buried in creamy peach arms.

Creamy? What an odd adjective to use...

"Granger, wake up this instant!" he yelled, but she remained asleep. Ron gave her a gentle nudge and she sprang to life immediately.

"Severus...come back to bed..." she moaned, rubbing the false sleep out of her eyes.

The proverbial cricket was chirping in the silence of the Potions classroom. One would use the phrase 'silent as the grave' here. The students, jaws on the floor, were staring at Hermione, who was now stretching. Only Harry and Ron were turning an odd Smurf-ish blue, probably from lack of oxygen, for they knew if they opened their mouths, they'd begin to laugh, and then Snape would have to kill them. The former Death Eater was completely still. His lips were pursed in an ultra-thin line and his eyes were burning into her face. He stared at Hermione, grinding his yellow teeth, and after she finished stretching, she clasped her hands together on her desk and looked at Snape.

"Did you say something sir?" she asked innocently. It was then that one uproarious gale of laughter shook the foundations of the Hogwarts castle. Harry and Ron were on the floor, rolling on their backs. Hermione looked genuinely confused, glancing at some of her classmates. And there Professor Snape stood, in the thick of it all, eyes still piercing Hermione's skin. Then thankfully, the bell rang and the students all dashed out of the classroom, Hermione in front of them all.

"Hermione...that was the best performance you've put on yet!" Ron said, still red from all the blood returning to his cheeks.

Hermione gave a deep guttural growl as she stalked alongside the boys to dinner that evening.

"Oh come on Hermione, it was fun, admit it! You didn't even get caught! I mean, given the situation and everything, you really could've gotten jinxed over it," Harry chided.

"What, pray tell, do I have to do next?" she snarled at the boys. Harry pulled the crumpled list out of his robe pocket.

"Er...let's see...," Ron said, reading over Harry's shoulder as they all sat down for the meal. Hermione was in the middle of taking a leg quarter of turkey when Harry gave a satisfied nod and folded the parchment up again, pocketing it.

"All right, since the last two tasks were horrid, we'll give you something easier this time. You know, to cool down before we pick it up again," Ron told her. "Here it is."

Task # 6 Dumbledore's always preaching about how music is one of the greatest types of magic there is...so why shouldn't it be shared? Pick a day of Double Potions. Put a Playdio in the corner of the room, hidden away so that it plays music all through class...preferably, either a very annoying song or a very descriptive love song.

Duration: One session of Double Potions.

"Playdio?" repeated Ron.

"Radio," corrected Hermione. "Those boys..." she snapped the chicken bone in half. "How many times must I drill it into your empty heads?" Hermione snarled, "muggle mechanisms don't function properly inside Hogwarts!"

Ron's mouth full of whipped potatoes fell out and back to his plate. "Hermione, do you realize who you just sounded like?" he whispered, sounding genuinely frightened.

"That was an uncanny imitation of Snape!" cried Harry, eyes as wide as his glasses' lenses.

Hermione blinked. Had she sounded like the man she resented so much? She shrugged it off. "Oh please, boys. Like I could ever match that velvety voice of his," she stated irritably, eating some cauliflower. Ron looked as if he were going to be sick.

"Excuse me? Velvety?" Harry repeated incredulously. "Have you gone mad?"

Hermione blushed a deep crimson. "So how do you suggest we go about this when radios don't work in Hogwarts?" she asked, changing the subject quickly in a bluff. The boys bought it.

"Good question," Harry stated, rubbing an invisible beard on his pale face.

Swallowing her food, Hermione took a closer look at the list. "There's no way I can get a radio to play inside the school, it's impossible."

"So what's the alternative? Should we skip to a different task?" Ron suggested.

"No, I like the idea...we just need to switch it around a bit."

"Remember, we're going to help with this one. What can we do?" Harry asked earnestly. Hermione thought carefully. She could definitely use a break from the tasks to do some homework.

"Could you boys go to the library tomorrow and find a spell of some sort that makes the person effected sing?"

"We'll do more than that," Ron stated, folding up the list. "We'll design one ourselves."

Hermione stared. "Design a spell?"

"Well, not design," Ron took back, "we can maybe personalize it? Model a spell after one in the book, but make Snape sing a certain song? That's possible, right?"

Hermione considered it. "Yes, I suppose so. But can you handle it?"

"Hermione!" Harry cried in mock disbelief. "You don't have faith in us?"

Harry found himself meeting his plate of potatoes face to face.

"I'll take that as a no," came his muffled voice from the plate.