Pranking a Professor

Chapter Ten: Task Nine--Tall Tales

With the holiday season fast approaching, Hermione was appalled upon realizing that she had spent most of her weekend thinking about the tales she was expected to tell on Monday during dinner. Even during the trip to Hogsmeade that she was supposed to be finding Christmas presents for her family and friends on, Hermione couldn't keep her mind off of a certain Potions Professor. She soon found herself comparing almost every item she touched with the shade of his eyes--which must've been an odd ordeal indeed, considering not many things go with midnight black. Hermione was also asking herself questions like, "What would he think about this trinket?" or "Is it something he would spend good galleons on?"

Hermione's brain had gotten into a peculiar habit of addressing her mental image of Professor Snape as 'he.' It was almost as unnerving as saying Voldemort's name aloud, the way she referred to her teacher constantly as a pronoun.

Come to think of it, it's unnerving how much time I dedicate to thinking about him at all...

Returning from Hogsmeade on Saturday afternoon with a select few items, Hermione set off up towards the castle, barely satisfied with her purchases.

Stepping through the portrait hole and into the warm Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione plopped down tiredly on a couch, taking note of Harry curled up in a chair reading a small book.

"Sorry to disappoint you, oh literate one," Hermione began, "but in the end, he eats the green eggs and the ham."

"For your information, it's a book on N.E.W.Ts preparation and recommended study habits," Harry snapped defensively. Hermione only smiled.

"Better late than never I suppose," she sniffed.

"By the way, have you planned on what exactly you're going to say to the kids on Monday?" inquired Harry as he turned a page in his pocket-size book nonchalantly, referring to Hermione's upcoming task.

"I've thought about it a few times," Hermione replied offhandedly, "but as long as I can hold their attention, I think I'll hit Snape right where it hurts." She looked around. "Where's Ron?"

Harry stopped reading and his eyes scanned the common room. "I don't know...I thought he was with you."

"I haven't seen him all day," Hermione admitted, becoming a little worried. "Not even at breakfast."

Harry shrugged. "He's probably gotten into a conversation with Luna at the Three Broomsticks or something."

As it turns out, Ron wasn't at dinner that evening either.

"Where in the bloody hell could he be?" Harry snapped at Hermione as they headed back upstairs after their meal. Hermione stopped walking and glared at her search companion.

"Harry, if I knew, why would we be in this predicament?"

Before Harry had time to retort with an equally scathing comment, there came a muffled sound from a door directly to his left.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks before stepping up to the door gingerly. Harry reached out to the doorknob, twisted it, and found it locked.

He cursed, then snapped, "Now what?"

Hermione leaned back against the wall, rubbed her temples, and took deep, soothing breaths. "I am dealing...with an idiot..."

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione hit the back of his head and held out her wand. "Use magic, you nimrod! Alohomora."

The small door unlocked with a click and Hermione tugged it open.

It was a tiny broom storage cupboard, barely enough room to fit a person in. But someone had fit a person in that room, for there was someone sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and tied up with thin cords. At first glance, it was impossible to tell the identity of the victim, for there was a large bucket sheathing the person's head. Harry reached out a tentative hand and lifted the bucket away from the head, and the victim let out a stream of colorful words one would not want to even think when in a church.

The victim, of course, was Ron.

"Who did this to you?" Hermione cried, helping Harry undo the knots in the cords.

"I don't know," he whined, massaging his wrists where the cords had pressed into his skin. "All I remember is going to sleep last night and then ending up in here."

"I tried to wake you up before I left for Hogsmeade, Ron...I thought you were getting up right behind me," Harry admitted as his friend stepped out from the closet.

Ron took the bucket out of Harry's hands and threw it in the closet. "What kind of nutter puts a bucket over someone's head and takes them hostage?"

There was silence for a moment before a candle was lit in her mind. "The same kind of nutter who drenches someone with a bucket of water," she said softly. On closer inspection of said bucket, Hermione concluded, "It's a trademark."

"Lupin? Again!" Ron cried angrily.

"We're still not sure about that!" Hermione countered. "Innocent until proven guilty..." But a knell of doubt rang in her tone.

"Hermione and I have both been pranked," Ron mused. "Does that mean you're next Harry?"

The Boy-Who-Lived had nothing whatsoever to say about that.

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It seemed that Harry had taken good heed of Ron's musings. While walking to classes on Monday, he tentatively peered around every corner and jumped at every little noise, something Hermione found very amusing. Here was the boy who wasn't afraid to face Lord Voldemort, but was worried about getting pranked by...

Hermione stopped mid-thought. Who was it that was pranking them? Was it really Lupin, and why would he do something like that? His only motives couldn't rest with the fact that he just wanted to help Snape.

Pushing the thoughts aside, Hermione set her focus back on the upcoming evening.

The beginning of dinner went as smooth as ever. The trio managed to snag seats very close to the Head table, and the pupils of Hogwarts faced a delicious multiple-coursed meal of almost every food imaginable.

Hermione sighed. If only the house elves could receive just compensation for all their hard work.

Knowing better than to voice her thoughts while in Harry and Ron's vicinity, she chose a bowl of steaming broccoli and began to eat, running over her words carefully for the last time.

"This meal," came Ron's voice, somewhat muffled from his mouthful of cooked fowl, "was almost as good as the Christmas feast in our third year."

"Yes," Harry agreed, slightly louder than needed. "Our third year here was full of all sorts of good things, remember Hermione?"

Hermione propped her elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her palm with a smile. Merlin, how she loved the boys' redundancy sometimes. It was like dealing with lower life forms.

"The thing I remember in particular was that we finally had a decent Dark Arts teacher." Hermione glanced up at the head table nonchalantly, noticing that Professor Snape was listening intently with a face that resembled one who'd just swallowed a quart of seven-year-old milk. Professor Lupin was turning pink and conveniently looking at the ceiling.

With a smile, she went on. "Honestly, I think that Professor Lupin was the only true applicant that deserved the job, myself."

There was a murmur of general assent from listening Gryffindors around. There was also the sound of a knife slicing and dicing a steak into angry little pieces from a certain teacher up at the head table. Perfect.

"Professor Lupin certainly did stir things up a bit around here," inputted Dean with a nod.

"And I think we all remember..." Harry trailed, looking at Hermione expectantly.

"The boggart," she finished with a smile.

Two things happened then. Senior Gryffindor students had a good laugh, and Hermione could hear an odd crunch and a sickening snap. Professor Snape had just picked up a chicken drumstick and cracked the bone in half as a warning. Professor Lupin was looking very uncomfortable.

Good, Hermione thought.

"What boggart?" asked an ickle first year timidly to Harry.

"Tell us, please!" yelled another, a fourth year by the looks of things.

"My boggart," said Neville proudly before glancing over at Snape, who was gripping a butcher knife in his fist. Neville gave a small squeak and sunk down in his chair.

"Well," began Hermione over the din, immediately grabbing everyone's attention. Even several older students, who had probably heard the story countless times, were still listening with interest.

"The first day that Professor Lupin came to teach, he took us to the teacher's lounge for our lesson: a boggart. I'm sure you all know how you defeat a boggart..."

"Laughter and the Riddikulus charm," piped up a second year. Hermione gave a nod.

"That's right. Neville here was set to go first, and his greatest fear was..." The Head girl looked over at Neville.

"...is Professor Snape," he said softly, causing even more laughter and Neville blushed.

"So, Professor Lupin asked Neville what kinds of clothes his grandmother wears." Hermione paused again to wait for Neville's response.

"A green dress, a hat with a stuffed vulture on it, and a big red handbag," he prompted, feeling a little more self assured. As he replied, Hermione looked up at Professor Snape, who was clutching his silverware so tightly that it made his knuckles white.

"Professor Lupin told Neville to concentrate on his grandmother's clothes. Then he opened the cabinet, and out stepped a very evil-looking, bloodthirsty Professor Snape."

A few first years gasped, and Hermione leaned in closer but whispered loud enough that her voice could carry up to the Head table. "Not that he isn't evil-looking and bloodthirsty all the time, mind you..."

The younger students giggled. Glancing quickly up at Snape--who was grinding his teeth together and scowling deeply--Hermione continued. "Anyway, Neville hesitated for a moment before bravely jumping forward and yelling the incantation, and poof!" She made an elaborate arm gesture, smiling to see how the young audience was hanging on her every word.

"Professor Boggart-Snape was suddenly dressed in a lacey green dress, a vulture topped hat, and was swinging a vibrant red handbag!"

The fifteen-odd students that had been listening erupted into raucous laughter, even Neville. Hermione wasn't quite finished.

"And I must say," Hermione said dramatically, putting a hand to her chest as the laughter ceased so they could hear, "that the dress utterly flattered Professor Snape's figure. He has the most gorgeous legs!"

That did it. The small audience was rammed with fits of uncontrollable laughter. Even Professor McGonagall was hiding a smile in a most undignified manner. Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkling brightly. Professor Lupin had covered his face with his hands, but his attempt to remain mature was betrayed by his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Hermione had once read about people having conniption fits, but she doubted she ever wanted to see one. It truly was a sight to behold...one that she was about to behold at that very instant.

Professor Snape went very, very still for a moment before turning utterly white. His eyebrows furrowed deeply and his mouth formed a thin, angry line. Flames danced in his eyes and they seemed to want to burn a hole in Hermione's stomach, and he began to tremble in his seat with rage.

If looks could kill, every single breathing being in the British Isles would be annihilated.

And for a split second, Hermione was, for the first time, scared for her existence.

Of course, the Redundancy Duo had no idea what was going on at the Head table, but were still sharing a good laugh with their fellow Gryffindors, milking the scene for every drop they could get. Hermione sent a fleeting look up to the Headmaster, who was standing up.

"I do believe it is time for the routine eyelid inspection. Off to bed with you!"

Even being at the far end of the Great Hall, Hermione had somehow managed to step out between the mammoth hall doors before anyone else did.

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Task #10--Send Snape a copy of Gilderoy Lockhart's biography Magical Me for Christmas.

Duration--Parcel should be mailed no later than Christmas Eve.

"I don't know," Hermione murmured, massaging a knot of tension in the back of her neck after Harry told her what was up next. "He's a little agitated right now...maybe we should tone it down until after Christmas holidays."

"Well, we've been pretty consistent about the pranks up until now," Ron agreed, leaning back into the sofa, "so I think it may be okay to skip this one."

"We also didn't really find out if Lupin was behind the jokes people have been playing on us," Harry stated. "I think our best bet is to go on as if nothing has happened and wait for them to make their next move. Who knows, maybe next time we can catch the person in the act?"

Hermione thought it over. "You're right Harry. Best not to let whoever's behind this know that they've gotten to us. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

"Oh, I think we could get detention with Filch for the next 20 years of our lives," Harry prompted.

"Or throttled by Snape," Ron added.

"Expelled from school."

"Disowned by family."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "My question was purely rhetorical."

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I want revenge!" he yelled, banging his fists down on the mahogany desk.

"You know, that desk was very expensive, please avoid taking your anger out on it in the future."

The associate glared daggers at his accomplice.

"Would you calm down? You're letting a silly school game get the best of you...once again!"

The accomplice was trying his hardest to calm his associate down.

"She's made a fool of me for the final time! She is the most insufferable little chit I've had the displeasure of meeting in my entire life!"

"Even more insufferable than Lily?"

"Hermione Granger runs circles around Lily Evans-Potter."

"Well, we still have to get Harry, so contain yourself until after the holidays."

He was silent for a moment. He looked down at one knee through his dark robes.

"What are you thinking about?" the accomplice inquired.

"Does she really think I have nice legs?"