The Harder They Fall

“Severus, have you made any headway?”

The Headmistress sounded quite placid, though he noticed she had an iron grip on Mr. Filch’s arm. Snape envied her self-control. He gritted his teeth, released Hermione and stepped away from her. “Come and see for yourself.” He gestured at the faintly glowing rune hovering above the liquid sample. “Miss Granger tested the pumpkin juice on her own initiative and so you see the result.”

“Well done, Miss Granger!” McGonagall did not stint on praise to her beloved Gryffindors, but the warmth in her voice told Hermione that she had done very ind indeed. Dragging Filch with her, the Headmistress moved to examine the rapidly fading arcane symbol. “Oh, I see! No wonder we’re having so much trouble. It’s a Wellsian Philtre!”

Hermione frowned. “Wellsian Philtre?”

“Miss Granger. I’m surprised. You are in danger of losing your title of Gryffindor Know-It-All.” Amusement colored Snape’s voice. “John Wellington Wells was a wizard, but interacted quite frequently with muggles. I would have thought you, of all the students here, would have run across mention of him somewhere. He made his quite considerable fortune selling patent cures, lovtiontions and other services to rural muggle communities during the reign of your Queen Victoria.”

Hermione ignored Snape’s jab at heggleggle ancestry. “Is that legal?”

“Not entirely, no.” McGonagall answered. She glared at Professor Snape and continued the explanation. “I am not surprised that you have never heard of him. Wells was not a very good wizard, but he was a superlative con artist. Nobody, muggle or wizard, likes to admit they’ve been tricked out of their savings by a two-bit huckster. The exploits of Johnny Wells are hardly common knowledge.”

Snape edged closer to Hermione. “Most of his so-called cures had disastrous side effects and his visits usually concluded dramatically. More often than not, Wells would fake his own death and escape with all the proceeds of his adventure. Believing him dead, he was in no danger of reprisal, or worse, being asked for a refund.” His explanation became an excuse to lean in. His breath tickled Hermione’s ear. She shivered. “The bloodthirsty villagers had their happy ending, a chorus of Rule Brittania to concl and and John Wellington Wells moved on to the next village.”

“That’s horrible!” The thought outraged Hermione’s sensibilities. Snape’s proximity outraged her senses. “And the villagers never caught on?”

“They say he was a squib.” Mr. Filch volunteered this tidbit abruptly.

McGonagall nodded. “That’s certainly one theory.”

“Why?” Hermione gasped, Snape’s long-fingered hand caressing a sensitive spot on the back of her neck.

“Because his only talent seemed to be the ability to summon a demon. This demon did all the work for him.” Snape’s hand trailed down her spine, finding another sensitive spot along her spine. “And before you ask, yes, demon summoning is considered a Dark Art, technically.”

“Technically?”

Snape chuckled. “I don’t believe it. So many questions, Miss Granger! You do not have all the answers?”

Hermione mumbled something.

“Excuse me?” Snape’s hand stopped, resting just above her buttocks. The heat from his palm penetrated her clothes.

She shivered gently. “I said, I didn’t manage to read all the books in the Restricted Section.”

Snape just laughed. Filch glared and muttered something about untrustworthy students and being well rid of them.

“Where’s Madame Pomphrey?” McGonagall looked around. “I thought she’d be assisting you, Severus.”
adamadame Pomphrey locked herself in her office.” Hermione reported, pressing back against Snape’s hand when she thought McGonagall wasn’t looking.

Snape kept his expression carefully neutral. “She was worried about contamination.”

“As well she should!” The Headmistress took a moment to survey the infirmary, entirely ignoring Harry’s tactile exploration of Draco’s person. “I see Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy have arrived safely. Shouldn’t Mr. Weasley be here as well? And I distinctly remember sending Madame Hooch in this direction with Miss Weasley.” Minerva blanched. “Where are they?”

“Mr. Weasley is in the small examination room.” Snape’s voice was bland, but his mouth twitched, suppressing a smirk. “I have not seen his sister, nor have I seen Madame Hooch.”

Filch tried to extricate himself from McGonagall’s grip. “I can go look for them, if you’d like.”

“No. You’re staying right here.” Minerva hissed and gripped Mr. Filch’s thigh. Filch froze when he realized exactly how close the Headmistress was to maiming him. “Why is Ronald in the examination room, if Madame Pomphrey is in her office?”

Snape turned away slightly and covered his mouth. Hermione could feel his body shaking where it pressed against hers. A glance up confirmed that Professor Snape was sniggering into his hand like a schoolboy.

Hermione fought back a snigger of her own and explained. “Ron just needed some quiet time alone.”

Snape snorted, startling Mrs. Norris, who darted out between Mr. Filch’s feet and hissed at the Potions Master.

“Couldn’t you treat him?” Minerva asked. “Don’t you have any potions to, ah…?”

“We have only one vial of anti-lust potion remaining. It will take nearly a week to brew more.” Snape sounded truly regretful, but he did not move his hand from its new favorite resting place on the curve ermiermione’s bottom.

“You don’t have to say it, you know.” Minerva cringed.

“Say what?” Severus was confused. “Vial? Anti-lust potion?”

The Headmistress cringed again.

“What’s the matter?” Snape frowned, peering at the woman. Minerva had screwed her eyes shut and was clinging to Mr. Filch as though he were a life preserver in shark-infested waters. “Lust?”

Minerva McGonagall tensed, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from Filch, who tried to remove her clenched hand from the front of his trousers.

“Minerva,” he was suddenly gentle as he approached the tremblingan, an, “tell me what’s wrong.”

“It appears that Mr. Filch is losing his prophylactic effectiveness.” Her words were precisely enunciated, but inscrutable to the other teacher.

“I beg your pardon?” Snape asked politely.

A thoughtful little crease appeared between Hermione’s eyebrows. “Professor McGonagall? Are you in love with Mr. Filch?”

Minerva’s eyes flew open. “Merlin in toe shoes! Of course not, you daft girl! Holding on to him is the only thing that keeps me from thinking about sex.”

“Who’s thinking about sex?” Rolanda Hooch strolled into the infirmary confidently, a battered Silver Arrow broom swinging from one hand. “Minerva? Are you hard up? You can borrow my broom, but I want him back when you’re done.”

Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom followed, looking none the worse for wear. They were carefully not touching, but grinning shyly and shooting affectionate little glances at each other.

McGonagall fed. ed. “Why on earth would I want to borrow your broom, Rolanda?”

Hooch shrugged. “If you can’t figure it out, then I’m not going to be the one to tell you.”

Hermione and Snape wore equal looks of benign confusion. Hermione broke first, the dawning enlightenment transforming her face into a study of speculative glee. Snape’s sudden realization opened his eyes wide with shock. He gulped and turned faintly green.

Ginny just shrugged and bumped Neville’s shoulder. The pair giggled. Who cared about brooms?

Argus Filch glared sourly at everyone present, completely oblivious to the simmering tension.

In the corner, Harry and Draco shared another squishy kiss and murmured sweet love words unheard by anyone but themselves.

“Well. It appears we have a full house.” Snape took inventory, regretfully stepping away from Hermione. “Five, no six, hormonal students. Three adult professionals with a loosening grip on standards of pietyiety. The unflappable Mr. Filch, thank you very much Argus. And only one dose of anti-lust potion remaining.” Snape paused to consider. “Oh, and Madame Pomphrey, who has locked herself in her office, abandoning us to our fate.”

“I heard that!” Madame Pomphrey’s voice was muffled by the thick wooden door, but audible nonetheless.

“It appears we have two choices.” Snape regarded Minerva, Argus and Rolanda in turn. “Choice one: we can throw caution to the winds, grab a partner and let the orgy commence in a vain hope that morning will bring sanity, or failing that, forgetfulness. I fear this path will most likely earn the entire staff of Hogwarts the wrath of the Board of Governers, resulting in the graceless discharge of one Minerva McGonagall from the position of Headmistress and formal reprimands for the rest of us, not to mention a larger than expected crop of wizarding babies nine months from today.”

“Whater cer choice do we have?” McGonagall’s shoulder’s slumin din desperation. Her head ached and she couldn’t think clearly.

“Choice two: we can summon Wells’ demon and attempt to strike a bargain.” Snape spoke dispassionately, but Hermione could tell that he was trembling with the effort of holding himself aloof. She wanted to comfort him. “You saw the demon’s sign well enough to pronounce it, Hermione?” Professor Snape was asking her a question. He trusted her to have the answer.

She hoped herle wle was comfort enough. “Of course. It was…”

Snape’s fingers stilled her lips. “No. We must not invoke the demon without due consideration.” His hand lingered on Hermione’s cheek as he gazed adoringly.

Filch cleared hhroahroat meaningfully.

Professor Snape shook his head, trying to clear it. Hermione crept under his arm, holding him. Snape pulled her tight against his body. Thus braced, he faced the Headmistress. “Minerva? It’s your call. Do we gamble on this g rug running it’s course by morning, or shall we attempt to bargain with Wells’ old demon?”

“Personally, I’m thinking the orgy option sounds pretty good right now.” Rolanda grinned, caressing her broomstick suggestively. “So, we all get reprimands? Big deal! They won’t sack Minerva. Besides, even if they do, what a way to go, huh? The way I’m feeling I could take on an entire regiment and still have energy left to pleasure their wives.”

“And demon summoning is still illegal, last I checked, Severus. Minister Fudge is as sure to take exception to that as he would to a school-wide orgy.” Minerva frowned at Filch. “You wouldn’t take advantage of me in an orgy, would you Argus?”

Mr. Filch gurgled incomprehensively.

“Minerva, why don’t you unhand poor Mr. Filch?” Snape held his hand out to her encouragingly. “I’ll give you the last dose of anti-lust potion and we can think this problem through rationally.”

Minerva McGonagall smiled tremulously and released her hold on Argus Filch. Her hand met Snape’s. A crack like thunder, a blinding flash of light and Severus Snape was stretched on the floor like a prizefighter out for the count.

Mrs. Norris was a streaky blur out the door before anyone knew it.

“Mrs. Norris!” Filch called, racing after the cat.

“Oh, my sweet darling!” Hermione rushed to Professor Snape’s side, kneeling to tend to her fallen lover.

“Where did you say that anti-lust potion was, again?” McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. \"And maybe a dose of insulin?\"

“The anti-lust potion is on the third shelf up to the left of the cauldrons.” Hermione answered distractedly, easing Snape into her lap so that he could recover more comfortably. “Vial with disgusting thick liquid in it.” She brushed his fine dark hair out of his eyes and caressed his pale forehead.

McGonagall found the vial easily amid the empty goblets and white hospital flannels on the shelf. “Is this it?”

Hermione looked up briefly. “Yes.”

Minerva licked her lips, uncorked the vial and drank it down in one shuddering swallow. “Did it work? Rolanda? What is it you do with your broom, exactly?”

Hooch grinned. “Well, the anti-vibratory charms have failed and…”

Minerva waved her to silence. “Can you concentrate long enough to help me with the incantation, or do you need to ride a couple of laps to calm yourself down.”

Rolanda Hooch looked dubious. “You want to summon Wells’ demon?”

“Yes, Roa.” a.” Minerva had made up her mind. She wasn’t going to give in to this feeling. She was going to fight.

“So, this demon…” Rolanda toyed with her broom for an awkward moment. “Good looking bloke, is he?”

Snape was slowly regaining consciousness.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Hermione was frightened. She held his hand tenderly.

Snape groaned softly.

“Minerva’s going to summon the demon. That’s what you wanted, right?” Hermione waited anxiously for him to open his eyes.

“Hermione?” He licked his lips. His hand moved restlessly in hers.

“Yes?”

“Don’t leave me.” His eyes were dark with emotion.

“Of course not!” Hermione smiled and squeezed his hand.

He shook his head. “No, I mean, when the spell is removed, I want… Stay with me. I… I… just to talk.”

“Shhh… whatever you want, darling.”

Meanwhile, the Headmistress cleared a space on the infirmary floor with a judicious swish and flick of her wand. As the hospital cots lumbersideside, they revealed a heaving blanket inadequately concealing a semi-clothed Ginny Weasley entwined with a half-nude Neville Longbottom.

Minerva’s attempt at a shocked display was ruined by Rolanda’s healthy laugh at the young coup exp expense. The headmistress finally ttedtted defeat. “Just clear the floor, please, and don’t make too much noise.”

Ginny, taking advantage of Neville’s pliant nature and the large expanse of beds pushed against each other, quickly found a more crtabrtable arena to exercise their newly discovered interest in wrestling.

The headmistress sighed, aware of the compromise she was making. “No, it’s not an orgy, it’s a demon summoning. I wonder where I’ll retire to?”

“Nonsense, Minerva. We’ll come out all right and tight, you’ll see!” Such confidence on Madame Hooch’s part would have been heartening if it weren’t for the lascivious grip the Games Mistress had on that ratty old broom.

“Rolanda, please fetch Hermione. I want to do this properly.”

When Snape had recovered sufficiently to allow him to stand without wobbling, he shooed Hermione into the center of the room where the other women waited.

Minerva had drawn the circle and taken her place at the northern edge. Rolanda stood at west southwest, so Hermione stopped just shy of the east southeast section of the inscribed space.

“What are we waiting for?” Rolanda asked.

“We’re waiting for Hermione to start. She’s the one who knows the demon’s name.” Minerva added a question to Hermione with her eyes. Are you strong enough to do this?

Hermione squared her shoulders and nodded in response to the unanswered question. She took a deep breath.

“Ahrimanes!” The word echoed in the vast room, Hermione’s whispered invocation resounding like a thousand bass drums. Hermione could feel the vibrations in her bones, like Snape’s touch on her spine.

Minerva took up the call, singing his name. “Ahrimanes, from thy dark exile thou art summoned! Come to our call!” Minerva could feel the magic building deep in her center, flowing through her like a long forgotten lover who knew her every erogenous zone and was prepared to stay all night.

Rolanda echoed Minerva, “Come, come, Ahrimanes!” Rolanda’s knees almost gave way, as she remembered the best sex she’d ever had, and how she’d come, come, come… “Ahrimanes!”

Rolanda and Hermione together sang the four notes of his name, “Ahrimanes!”

All three sang, “Ahrimanes! Come!”

The circle was a gaping maw into hell. Smoke billowed out and from the depths a sinister figure, cloaked in shadow, rose from the chasm. His body jerked once, twice and then relaxed.

The rest of the room could only see him from the back, but Minerva blushed deep crimson as the figure began adjusting his clothing. The distinct sound of a zipper pull broke the silence. Somebody giggled. It sounded like Draco.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the shadowed figure growled gently to the headmistress. “I’ll always come for a pretty lady.”

Snape groaned and hid his face in his hands.

The floor solidified under Ahrimanes feet. The demon stomped his paratrooper boots a couple of times and brushed the last specks of soot from his black leather jacket and took a good look at the Hogwarts Infirmary. “So, are we ready for the judging?”

Minerva looked at Rolanda, who looked at Hermione, who shot a despairing look at Snape, who still had his face buried in his hands.

A door slammed open. Ron Weasley stood in the entrance to the small exam room, an empty bottle in one hand, a wild look in his eyes. “Does anybody know where they keep the extra hand lotion?”

***


A/N: ugh ugh they are in the public domain, I shall give credit where it is due and mention that John Wellington Wells, Ahrimanes and the idea for this particular method of brewing a magical philtre were first conceived by Sir W. S. Gilbert for his musical collaboration with Sir Arthur Sullivan: “The Sorcerer” and the invocation to Ahrimanes as sung by Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall and Rolanda Hooch is a bastardization of the invocation to Iolanthe in the work that bears her name, also by Gilbert and Sullivan. The interpretation put on it is all the fault of my own, sick, twisted, warped little mind.