The Harder They Fall

A/N: A big thank you everyone who has read and reviewed! I\'m flying without a net, here, so be kind. I\'m hoping to get another chapter out before the end of the weekend. -egg


Chapter Two


Something smelled good. Hermione kept her eyes closed so she could concentrate on that really good smell. She inhaled deeply.

“Careful, Miss Granger.” Hermione tripped on an uneven patch of ground. Or maybe her shoes were falling off. A strong, wiry arm steadied her. “I’m not going to carry you.” Her toe nudged something solid. She realized she had stumbled on the first step of a very long stair.

Hermione blinked, looking up. She didn’t see the familiar walls of Hogwarts, the line of paintings waving at her, the shiny balustrade or the staircases above them wheeling majestic pirouettes. All she saw was Professor Snape. “Carry me?” she echoed dimly. She hadn’t really been paying attention. He was clearly annoyed. He was awfully cute when he was annoyed.

“No, Miss Granger. I have already stated clearly that I am not prepared to carry you. This is hardly a life threatening condition. You will walk.” Professor Snape threaded his arm under hers and lifted her just high enough to place her right foot on the stair in front of her. “Now walk. Up.”

Leaning in to him, Hermione sniffed. She opened her mouth and sniffed again, like a Crookshanks did when he scented a particularly tunafish-like odor but hadn’t yet identified the source. Yes, opening her mouth she could almost taste… what?

“Professor Snape?” She hadn’t moved. “What are you wearing?”

He snorted. “I am wearing clothing, Miss Granger. Now, if you are quite through, may we continue?” He nudged his hip against hers in an attempt to spark some forward momentum.

Hermione just rocked with the motion and rebounded against him. “No, I mean, are you wearing any cologne or anything?”

“No.” He knew it was useless trying to push her off of him. Snape braced himself against the newel post at the bottom of the stair as Hermione pressed her cheek against his shoulder and sniffed her way up his neck before burying her nose behind his ear and moaning. “Miss Granger, I hope you know that this is terribly inappropriate.”

“I just… I have to know.” Hermione stressed this last word. It had been her mission throughout her school career, the reason she got up in the morning and the delight of her days. Hermione Granger wanted to know things. “Is that… is that incredible scent… I mean, you smell…” She paused for a sniff. “…so…” She sighed into his neck, making him squirm ticklishly.

“I beg your pardon?” If he took offense, would she desist?

“You just smell so bloody good!” She twined her arms around his neck and settled against him with a contented sigh.

Professor Snape tried to extricate himself once more. “Miss Granger! Mind your language!” He tried to push her away from his neck, but his arms were suddenly much weaker than they had been. At least she had stopped squirming. “Miss Granger, if you would please let go of me, I must still get you to the infirmary.”

Hermione relaxed her hold and began to sing cheerfully. “Infirmary, infirmary, in-firmy-firmy-firmary!”

“That’s it,” Snape warned. He lifted the girl with a wiry strength developiftiifting heavy cauldrons and swung her over his shoulder. She continued singing nonsense syllables, hanging upside down and backwards. Grunting softly on the first step, Severus Snape began to climb.

Hermione continued to sing, making up words as she went along. Her voice, a voice Snape had always found a bit too shrill and grating, was not improved by the awkward position in which she was held. Quite a few paintings were seen to wince.

“If you do not desist at once, Miss Granger, I shall have to…” With both hands occupied to steady the wretched girl, he didn’t have a hand free for his wand. Could he cast a Silencio charm in this position? He did not wish to issue an empty threat.

“What?” She interrupted herself to ask. “Spank me? Am I going to get a spanking?”

Her bum pointed skyward at the level of his ears. She was at his mercy. It would be so easy to reach around and smack her where it might do some good. His heart began to pound double-time. His throat was dry, but he couldn’t swallow. He felt suddenly hot, then suddenly cold. Severus Snape shivered. “Merciful Merlin, don’t tempt me.”

“Tempty, tempty, rumpledy-dumpledy-dum!” Hermione sang loudly.

Snape gripped his burden more securely and hurried up the stairs as quickly as he could.

***

The punch bowls were contentedly snoozing, still half full of innocuous liquids. Had someone attempted to spike the punch with either potion or muggle alcohol the bowls would have been in full voice, screaming like banshees. The Headmistress sniffed them over, just to be sure. One smelled of pumpkin and spices, the other of strawberries and lemon. Minerva couldn’t tell if the spices were stronger than usual or if she was hyper-sensitive.

Someone tapped her shoulder. She whirled to face Madame Hooch, who said something about rocking chairs.

“What?”

“I said, Minerva, that you look like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Is there anything amiss?” The hawk-featured Games Mistress smiled sharply, the fine lines about her eyes crinkling.

“No. Well, at least I hope not.” McGonagall paused, then amended. “No more than usual, at any rate.”

“What’s happened?” Hooch surveyed the room.

“Somebody spiked Hermione Granger’s pumpkin juice.”

Hooch barked out a laugh. “I knew they were up to no good!”

McGonagall frowned. “To whom do you refer, Rolanda?”

“Some daft fifth year had a bottle of vodka, tried to tell me it was part of a muggle studies project. I confiscated the bottle, of course, thinking Albus might like to try some…” Madame Hooch stopped. Her hand came up to cover her eyes. She made a noise halfway between a cough and a sob. “Sorry, Minerva. I keep forgetting.”

Minerva McGonagall put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders. “So do I.” It was a comfort, to touch another person and remember the dead. For a long moment, the pair did not move, their arms halfway around each other.

Abruptly, Hooch sniffed, dashed the water from her eyes and straightened up, shrugging off the older woman’s protective embrace. “It’s all right. We’ll soldier on, just like we always do.”

McGonagall nodded, patted her friend on the shoulder. “You did well.”

“Shall I fetch the miscreants for questioning?”

Minerva k hek her head. “No. Vodka is not the problem. Severus believes Miss Granger was administered a lust potion. Hopefully it was an isolated incident. At least the punch bowls are still quiet. Can you imagine what a disaster it would be if the whole school were under the influence of such a potion?”

“All those hormones.” Madame Hooch shuddered then grew very still. “Minerva, you remember Fred and George Weasley?”

McGonagall laughed. “How could I forget the Terrible Two?”

“Do you remember that time they bribed the punch bowls?”

The two women stared at each other in growing horror. Fred and George Weasley, in another of their never-ending streak of practical jokes, had once bribed the punch bowls to silence (no one knows how, precisely) and slipped Tarantella Drops into the brew without an outcry from the bowls. The impromptu dance contest that resulted was responsible for more injuries in the space of an hour than the entire season of Quidditch that year.

“You find Ginny. I know where Ron is.”

The two teachers scrambled, racing to find the two people who might know the Weasely Twins’ secret to silencing the Hogwarts punchbowls.

***

Professor Snape was gasping by the time he reached his destination. “Stop that, Miss Granger,” he repeated for the last futile time. He wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing behind his back, but it seemed to involve lots of snuffling and rubbing against the small of his back. Without ceremony, Snape dumped his burden in an infirmary bed.

“Is that any way to treat a student?” Madame Pomphrey clucked.

Snape wasn’t in a mood to argue. “I need to fetch some things from my supply.” He turned to go.

Still red-faced from hanging upside down over the professor’s shoulder, the girl regarded the mediwitch sorrowfully. “My tummy doesn’t feel so good.”

“There, there, dear. We’ll take care of you.” The mediwitch moved to comfort Hermione. Before she could touch the girl, something on the witch’s wrist made a gentle chiming noise. Madame Pomphrey examined her bracelet. “Oh, gracious. Professor Snape?”

Snape paused in the doorway and turned slowly. “What?”

The mediwitch approached him carefully. Her bracelet made the gentle chiming noise again. A gently soothing smile did nothing to disguise the uneasiness behind her eyes. “Fetch what you need and hurry back. But try to avoid other people if you can help it.”

“Why?” Snape glared almost reflexively. It was the quickest way to get information out of a student.

“I’m not sure what you believe is wrong with the young lady, but it appears to be highly contagious.”

Snape’s customary pallor was nothing compared to the white faced look of horror he now wore. “Sober her up, first, Poppy. I…”

“What’s wrong, Madame Pomphrey?” Hermione moaned weakly. “Why do I feel so ill?”

Snape took the opportunity to bolt while Poppy’s back was turned.

“Don’t worry, dear.” The witch prepared a stiff dose of Sober Up and placed the small glass of potion on a table near the bedYou You just drink that up and you’ll feel much better.”

Hermione picked up the glass, peering at it curiously. She sniffed at the viscous, brightly colored liquid inside. Tilting her head back, she gulped the dose in a single shot. “Bleah. Doesn’t taste that good.” She made a face.

“Sober Up potion is not supposed to taste good,” Madame Pomphrey chided gently. “If it tasted good it might encourage people to drink beyond their limits far more than is good for them. It doesn’t heal the damage of too much drinking but it does clear the head.”

“I don’t think I had that much to drink, I don’t think.” Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and began shivering. The mediwitch took a folded blanket the the foot of another bed and placed a good warming charm on it. She gingerly placed the warm bundle next to the girl. Hermione draped the blanket over herself and cuddled under it.

Madame Pomphrey brought a glass and a pitcher of water and set it on the table beside Hermione. “If you need anything else, I shall be in my office.”

“Thank you, Madame Pomphrey.” Hermione curled up, her back to Madame Pomphrey’s office door. She knew what she was feeling, and it was embarrassing. She was undeniably sober now, but the unsettled feeling in her abdomen would not subside. Something about Professor Snape fed this feeling, this fizzing, bubbling arousal. Creevy’s smuggled vodka had lowered her inhibitions just far enough that she didn’t care how foolishly she behaved, or how wantonly she pursued this undeniable passion unleashed within her.

Groaning with belated shame, Hermione hid her face in the warmed blanket. She fancied for a minute that she could catch a whiff of that delirious, delicious smell of his. One hand crept down, under her skirt, between her legs. Madame Pomphrey could probably see her. Professor Snape might return at any minute.

“I don’t care. I don’t care. Just let me feel like this for one moment more, one more, one more.” Hermione’s whispered chant continued in time with herger’ger’s strokes. Hiding under the magic-warmed blanket she took her release. Professor Snape loomed large in her imagination, leaning over her, pressing her there, making her feel, making her his.

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, biting her lip as she came. She realized she was crying.