The Harder They Fall

A/N: I know they\'re not together much in this chapter, but I\'m setting them up and putting a couple other pieces into play. Enjoy!

***

Chapter Three

Severus Snape mumbled the password and brushed past the wards on his private stores. Shaking hands searched the shelves, pulling bottles and jars from carefully labeled regimentation, dumping them into a chaotic jumble on the table behind him as he searched for those few precious ingredients that would ease the tension, clear his mind, let him think long enough to think his way out of this predicament.

Miss Granger. Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione. ‘Mione. My Own.

Snape shuddered. His legs gave way and he sank to the floor.

Narcissa had summed it up quite neatly. “It’s not like you’re a friend, but you’re good for a laugh when I’m hard up.” She wasn’t the only woman who’d tumbled him into bed eagerly enough, but refused to acknowledge his existence when upright. The only girl who had ever treated him like a human being had been a virgin on her wedding night. He’d taken a double dose of Dreamless Sleep the night Lily had married that cretin, Potter, not really caring if he ever woke again.

This was worse. The shame of being used by a girl young enough to be his daughter would break him. Professor Snape: the teacher to apply to for advanced potions work and the occasional sexual practicum. Hermione was just using him to gratify herself while under the influence of some substance unknown. It wasn’t as if she cared for him in any way.

Taking several deep breaths, Snape braced himself against the mostly empty wooden shelves and pulled himself off the floor. He filled a basket with several generic antidotes, a couple of ingredients useful in combating lust and a vial of Numbing Ungent. He also added a few bottles of disinfectant solution on the slim hope that this contagion could be contained with something as simple as soap and water.

He wanted to stop. He wanted to sit down for a minute, to shower the smell of teenaged lust from his skin and knock back a stiff tot of Old Ogden’s in preparation for the long night he was sure to have. But duty called. They had to contain this outbreak before the students left in the morning or an excess of amour could do what Voldemort never had and bring the Wizarding World to its collective knees.

***

“Ronald Weasley!” McGonagall’s voice cut through the fog of sexual delirium sharply.

“Uh?” The girl he was with took advantage of this momentary lull in kissing to attack his throat and ears with her mouth.

McGonagall felt a momentary pang of longing. Ron Weasley had grown into a fine young man. His broad shoulders, strengthened by hours of Quidditch practice, his flaming hair winsomely disheveled, his eyes, heavy lidded with passion…

Nostrils flaring, Minerva McGonagall brought herself back under control. “Punch bowl, Mr. Weasley.”

“Ma’am?”

“Your brothers, Fred and George, once successfully tampered with the Hogwarts punch bowls. Do you know how this was accomplished?”

“T-t-t-tampered?”

The boy was having a difficult time concentrating. She knew she’d have to intervene. “Mr. Weasely, with me. Miss Chant, you may stay here and enjoy the remainder of your evening.” The girl pouted, clinging to the handsome hero. Minerva finally yanked Ron from Sophia Chant’s amorous embrace. “This way, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron spared a regretful look back as he lost his Euridice for the evening. McGonagall noticed that he was having difficulty walking. Her eyes darted involuntarily to the front of his pants. Oh, sweet Merlin’s robes! Swallowing hard, she averted her eyes, focused on her goal: the refreshment table and the two suspect punch bowls.

“Mr. Weasley, have you any idea how your brothers managed to slip Tarantella Drops into the bowls without alerting the staff?” McGonagall studied the boy’s face for clues. He seemed disoriented. “Or possibly how one tells if the bowls have been tampered with?”

He shook his head. “No. I have no idea. They wouldn’t tell me. You might ask Ginny, though.”

The mistmistress nodded. “I intend to. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

Ron turned to survey the dancing crowd. “There.” He pointed to a disturbance near the other side of the room.

“Come with me,” McGonagall demanded, breaking through the crowd with large strides. Ron followed in her wake.

“Minerva, wait.” Madame Hooch intercepted the rampaging Headmistress. “Let them sort it out themselves.”

“What?”

Students were clearing a space in the floor around three figures. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy stood on opposite edges of the cleared circle. In the middle, like a referee, Ginny Weasley moved to keep herself between the two. It was like watching some muggle physics experiment. A movement from any one of the three caused the other two to shift positions as well.

“Rolanda Hooch, you can’t expect me to just stand silently by and lend my tacit approval to behavior of this sort!” Minerva leaned over the Games Mistress, swaying towards her.

“Just watch. If it comes to hexes I’ll break it up myself,” Hooch promised.

It looked like it might get ugly. The two customary antagonists, Potter and Malfoy, circled each other like prizefighters. Ginny’s presence between them seemed to unbalance the equation, however. Instead of focusing entirely on each other, each boy’s erratic orbit around the pretty young redheaded girl brought them closer and closer to each other without sparking open conflict. Holding a hand out to each of them Ginny said something. Draco ignored her hand, circling around in front of her. Harry shifted to match him, maintaining eye contact with the blond boy from Slytherin.

Standing behind her, Harry braced his hands on Ginny’s shoulders, as if claiming her for his own. Draco stepped close to lay his hands on top of Harry’s, as if to contest the Griffindor’s claim. Tension in every muscle, the two boys looked as if they were going to crush the girl between them.

Ginny put her arms around Draco Malfoy, causing a gasp from many of the onlookers. Draco reached around Ginny to grab Harry’s shirt. Harry twined his fingers in Draco’s hair and pulled him closer. Their lips met over Ginny’s right shoulder.

Minerva McGonagall was too stunned to move.

Ginny Weasley wriggled gently between them. “Oh my God!” she cried, a passionate cry of pleasure if ever Minerva had heard one. One little foot kicked into empty space. Harry stepped back, breaking the clinch. Ginny slumped backwards into Harry’s arms.

Draco stood alone, looking as stunned as everyone else. He touched his own lips gently with his fingers. “Is she okay?” he finally asked.

“I think she fainted,” Harry said, gently lowering his friend to the floor and cushioning her head in his lap.

“I can see that, but is she okay?” Draco knelt beside them, sounding irritated.

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Weasley, would you please escort your sister to the infirmary and wait for us there?” Ron hesitated. “Well?”

“It just doesn’t feel right,” he said, finally.

“What doesn’t feel right, Mr. Weasley?” Harry and Draco woke Ginny with gentle consideration while Ron tried his best to keep the Headmistress between himself and his sister.

“There’s something about her that makes me uncomfortable about standing too close to her.” He made a face. “I mean, I love my sister, but…”

McGonagall suddenly realized what he was saying. “Ah. Then, if you would be so kind, Mr. Weasley, would you help Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy carry the punch bowls up to the infirmary.” It was not a question.

The young man’s relief was palpable. “Yes, ma’am. Do you want the punch, too? Or just the bowls.”

Patting him on the shoulder, McGonagall instructed him to transport the bowls and their contents intact. “Professor Snape will, no doubt, have further instructions for you when you arrive.” At this, Ron stiffened slightly, but nodded. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, you will assist Mr. Weasley.”

“But, Ginny…!” Harry protested.

“Madame Hooch will take Miss Weasley,” McGonagall insisted, kneeling beside the young woman to ascertain she’d taken no damage from her faint. She noticed the young men giving her the once over. Minerva had never been a great beauty, but she found their appraising glances rather flattering. She wasn’t so old that she couldn’t still… She blushed. What was happening to her this evening? She felt as randy as a student dosed with lust potion.

The sudden realization chilled her.

“Rolanda, please escort Miss Weasley to the infirmary. We seem to have a situation on our hands.”

Madame Hooch’s tanned face grew pale. “I understand.”

The Headmistress stood to make the announcements that would send the students to bed without further delay. The prefects began organizing their houses. The music charm switched to playing sprightly martial tunes well suited to clearing a room.

Madame Hooch helped Miss Weasley to her feet. The boys were busy arguing over how to best carry two half-full punch bowls between the three of them.

“What’s going on?” Ginny asked softly.

“You fainted. We’re going to get you to the infirmary.”

Ginny walked supported by the older woman’s arm around her shoulders. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Why do you ask?” Hooch maneuvered them out a side door, bypassing the crush of exiting students with the ease of a snitch evading capture.

“I liked it,” she whispered. “Harry and Draco kissed, and I liked it a lot.”

Madame Hooch shook her head. “There is nothing wrong with you. But you may be under the influence of a lust potion.”

Ginny sighed. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

\"I won\'t mention it.\" Rolanda didn’t have the heart to tell the girl that anybody who’d heard her joyous cry knew, without doubt, that Ginny Weasley had enjoyed being the filling in the Harry-Draco sandwich.

***

Oddly enough, Hermione stopped shaking as the warming charm wore off. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it ie goe go, and felt much better. Alone in the infirmary, she tossed the blanket aside and stretched in the cool air. She looked around. To her surprise, Madam Pomphrey had closed her office door. Hermione could see the light leaking out from under it.

Hermione got up and walked over to the door. She knocked. “Madame Pomphrey? I’m feeling a lot better now. Can I go back to my room now?”

The heavy door muffled the medi-witch’s reply. “I’m sorry, dear. You need to stay here until we figure out what happened. So, just make yourself comfortable and relax.”

Hermione sighed. “But I haven’t finished packing yet.” This was a lie. Hermione had finished packing before the Leaving Feast began. She hated leaving chores like this until the last minute. But she was hoping to have a nice quiet last night in Gryffindor with the rest of her mates before they all dispersed to the four winds.

“We’ll get the house elves to finish your packing for you,” came the muffled reply. This made Hermione want to scream. Instead, she sighed again.

“Very well. But can I at least have something to read?”

Hermione thought she was being ignored until a soft scraping noise attracted her attention. A slim volume was being shoved under the door. Hermione picked it up. The title “Transmission and Prevention of Communicable Curses” was embossed on the spine.

“Oh, bugger!” Hermione wanted to scream, but contained herself. “Are you saying I’m a plague carrier?”

“That’s a little harsh, dear,” Madame Pomphrey chided through the door. “But someone needs to have a clear head when the crisis comes, so I’ll just let Professor Snape take things as far as he can before it gets the better of him.”

“Until what gets the better of him?”

“Now, if we knew that, we would have administered the counter-curse already.”

Hermione gave up arguing with the door and tossed the book onto the cot she had just vacated. She wasn’t sure if it was a hopelessly muggle reflex, but Hermione knew enough about sterile procedures from her parents to want to wash her hands before she touched anything else.

Besides, her fingers were still a bit sticky. She didn’t want to spoil the book.