Duck Duck Goose

Chapter Twenty: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Mistress Scorned

Albus’ generally charming face was black with fury as he stared mutely at the space between his Headmistress and what the still form of his Potions professor.

Minerva really did have quite a temper. Perhaps he shouldn’t have forbid the professors to have relations, as if they were part of a religious order, as it had backfired spectacularly in this case. He wondered what the rest of his staff was up to, and shuddered at the thought; it was, of course, rather hypocritical considering what he had done with . . . no, must keep those thoughts damped down, or Rolanda . . . no! He returned to the situation at hand.

“Minerva,” he finally ground out, “Where is the rest of Sage?”

Minerva smiled thinly and replied, “What does it matter? It’s not as if he needs it anymore. He’ll be comatose for quite some length of time. Perhaps forever, he doesn't seem to have a heartbeat at the moment. It was quite a strong stunning spell.”

Albus sighed.

“I transfigured it.”

“No surprise there,” murmured Severus, with black humour.

Hermione snickered.

So did Harry and Ron.

The snickers became guffaws, and even Minerva joined in, before Fawkes trilled sharply, bringing them all back to focus.

Albus simply looked at Minerva.

“I transfigured it into a Cornish Pixie and it flew away. You know how they are –”

Words from Lockhart’s first ill-fated lesson sprung to mind, and Hermione, Harry and Ron all recited with her, “devilishly tricky little blighters!”

Albus groaned and shook his head.

“Minerva, I task you with the job of writing to the school which we borrowed Sage from and explaining why he shall not be returning. Ask if they would like us to bury him or if they shall plan to collect his . . . personal artefacts.”

Albus suspected Minerva was plotting something, as she did not object to his request, but as she would not look at him, he was unable to cast a wordless Legilimency her way.

Shortly after the meeting came to a close, Minerva, Hermione, Severus, Ron, and Harry regrouped in Minerva’s office. Seamus had been taken to Madame Pomfrey for shock treatment; thankfully, it did not appear that Sage had actually done anything to him; a fact that provided much relief to Hermione.

“So,” Hermione asked devilishly, “what did you really do to Sage’s . . . bits?”

“You know me too well,” Minerva grinned.

“So do I,” volunteered Severus, with a groan.

That brought a small pause to the conversation, before Minerva answered Hermione’s question.

“Well, he has Egyptian background, so his bits are in Egypt . . . as a flesh-eating scarab beetle. It seemed an appropriate punishment. And if the transfiguration ever wears off, well, the thousands of other beetles it is now residing with shall take of the remaining vestiges most suitably.” She looked quite pleased with herself at this.

It was quite creative, they had to admit, but they all, even Hermione, shuddered at the thought. Hopefully it couldn’t feel anything, being detached from the thinking part of Sage. But no one really wanted to ask and find out for sure – or to give Minerva any new ideas.

Seamus was still in the infirmary; they were unsure if he was in shock or in an odd sort of coma, but there was no light in the brown eyes he was living behind, and he responded to nothing. Madame Pomfrey had to provide magical assistance to ensure Hermione’s body received appropriate nourishment and that it did not deteriorate physically.

Late spring was upon them before they knew it, and Severus and Hermione worked late into the night studying every Potions text they could get their hands on, trying feverishly to reverse the effects of their long-lasting transformation. There was very little material on this, and more importantly, they were afraid of what may happen to their unborn children.

Eventually, they conceded that they had no option but to let the children be born; they would continue their work after that calamity, and decide what their best course of action was then. Neither really wanted to seek out help in their present state.

To say the general population of Hogwarts was thrilled when the Headmaster announced that Potions had been cancelled for the remainder of the year due to an unforeseen situation with Professor Snape; although Albus did not dare make any reference that it was in regards to the professor’s health.

Students were less than thrilled when a follow-up announcement was posted in the common rooms indicating that written exams, much more thorough than usual, would be given in place of the Potions final. Seventh years, however, would still be expected to take a practical examination, which the Headmaster himself would oversee.

As Professor Snape could still be seen gliding about the castle, his usual scowl in place, everyone was quite curious as to why he wasn’t teaching, what happened to Professor Siyamak, and why a number of Gryffindors looked ready to laugh heartily whenever they caught Professor Snape’s eye. What was more confounding was that the greasy git of the dungeons nearly looked ready to respond in kind; but then the eyebrow would go up, the scowl come down, and sometimes, but not always a random smattering of point deduction. It was all very confusing, and the Slytherins were feeling rather put out by the odd behaviour their Head of House was displaying.

Only well-placed concealing charms kept the pregnancies a secret.

But nature does what nature will, and not even a concealing charm, interwoven by Minerva and Filius, could prevent the high visibility of one’s water breaking when the pregnancy is ready to commence.

Thankfully, only Harry and Ron witnessed this rare and, in their minds, somewhat amusing, event of both Hermione and Severus leaping from the sofa to their feet faster than a pregnant person ought to be able to move, wipe their hands unbelievingly across their backsides, peer at the couch, look at each other, and faint.

Harry and Ron, blessed with quick reflexes and honed further in Quidditch, caught both of them before they could hit the ground and cause any possible damage to themselves or the unborn life growing within them, racing, ready to come out, and resettled them on the sofa as comfortably as possible.

Harry then tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace, and called for Madam Pomfrey.

The next chapter is in progress and it promises to be longer than this one for sure! Mystic hopes to get it all composed before the end of the year, as 2007 brings graduate school . . .

Please review, it really means a lot to us to know we're still being read!