"soaring part 13" by gingerbred

[christmasspirit]

chapter 13, sorting

Characters: Harry Potter / Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Harper Hutchinson, Ella Wilkins, Severus Snape, the Bloody Baron

17 September, 1998. Harry and Hermione follow the seventh and eighth year Slytherin Prefects on their rounds. Shockingly, it doesn't go as smoothly as Hermione had hoped. Severus has similar ideas about keeping his Prefects safe but rather more success in his undertakings.

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Originally Published: 2024-01-05 on LJ / DW
Words: 6 k
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

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Characters: Harry Potter (8G, Captain, Seeker), Hermione Granger (8G, Head Girl), Draco Malfoy (8S, Prefect, Captain, Seeker), Pansy Parkinson (8S, Prefect), Harper Hutchinson (7S, Prefect, Chaser), Ella Wilkins (7S, Prefect with an interest in Healing Charms), Severus Snape (Head of Slytherin and Deputy Headmaster), the Bloody Baron (Slytherin's House Ghost)

Mentioned briefly: Minerva McGonagall (Headmistress), Professor Peek (yet another DADA Professor of questionable worth), Ron Weasley (8G, Prefect, Keeper), Ginny Weasley (7G, Chaser), Tomasina Touchstone 6S (Prefect, Potions savvy heiress)

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Previously:

The previouslies are very robust. If you've recently read the Christmas Spirit stories, skip them, if not, no worries, I've got you covered. You can find links to the individual stories / chapters in the "christmas spirit index" (LJ / DW / AO3).

After an attack on the eighth year Slytherin Prefects as they made their rounds last Saturday night S 02 and Minerva's thoroughly benighted loosening of the eighth years' curfew restrictions the following day S 06, words fail, Severus feels compelled to shadow his Prefects on their next rounds to ensure their safety. Naturally that protection would be a fair deal surer were he not still recovering from the thrice damned snake's attack last May and overworked by still more of Minerva's often problematic reforms at the school, but then Severus is all too accustomed to working under adverse conditions. As the Disillusioned Head of House prepares to leave his office to follow the Prefects on duty, he encounters two sets of individuals employing Cloaking magic tailing the seventh years and closes ranks behind them, meaning to follow them to be on hand when - surely not 'if' - trouble arises. Which it eventually does, of course - he tends to be right that way - in the form of four Protegos battling for physical supremacy in a far too narrow corridor, hang them all. S 11

Hermione decides it's her job as Head Girl (and the instigator of the relaxed eighth year restrictions) to ensure the Slytherin Prefects will be safe as they conduct their rounds, but assuming no one will appreciate the sentiment, never mind actually agreeing with her, neglects to mention it to anyone. Her request to borrow Harry's Cloak leads to him realising what she means to do and ultimately accompanying her, because it was a frankly wretched idea and he's her friend, damn it. Plus he's pretty sure she has a crush on Malfoy, and although that's weird, really weird, he's determined to see her move on from Ron, and Harry thinks this escapade might prove helpful, somehow, towards that end. He's not precisely the world's most gifted tactician, but his heart is in the right place. S 11 While following Wilkins and Hutchinson, Hermione eventually notices two Disillusioned... somethings hot on the Slytherins' heels. She and Harry are just discussing what to do about it when those somethings hit Harry with a Protego or two. Solid things, those Shield Charms. S 12

Slytherins being far from stupid, cheers, they've recognised the threat their rounds pose to their safety. Being equally unused to receiving much sympathy or help, particularly as the Headmistress is the one insisting they do their rounds in the first place, how kind, they resolve to address the problem themselves by doubling up on those rounds with half of them Disillusioned. S 10 The plan is solid in principle until inexplicably the Moggies get involved. Spotting Cloaked individuals following them, Draco sends the seventh years ahead as a distraction, and he and Pansy loop back to... see to the threat. That leads to some sparring with Potter, until Granger appears and tries to convince them the Moggies are there to help the Slytherins, which typically leads to still more sparring with Potter, although only verbally this time, until the Head Girl manages to convince them why she's sympathetic to their plight by showing Pansy the results of Bellatrix' attack last April. Bloody hell. Things likely would have ended there were they not interrupted. S 12

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Thursday, 17 September, 1998

the Corridors of Hogwarts

"Wait," pleads a whisper of gravel, pitched even quieter than usual. "Please, Professor."

The ghost fades ever so faintly into view, a gesture rather considerately meant to ensure they didn't walk into one another a third time, small favours, while simultaneously not likely to reveal their position to the... duellers nearby. Were they inclined to notice, that is. As Severus doubts the ghosts can feel much, he assumes this spot of circumspection is for his benefit, a fact that makes him more inclined to honour the request.

It's no surprise to see the Bloody Baron floating before him. His rasp was unmistakable. It's more surprising, by far, that he knew Severus was here to begin with. Surprising and worrisome, the latter being further reason to do as the ghost asks, as the Potions master will need to question him to uncover how the spectre had seen through Severus' Disillusionment. That smacks of trouble. Potentially a lot of it.

As the altercation, er, of sorts, in front of them seems to be between students, and he's here to intervene if necessary, action on his part doesn't appear immediately called for anyway.

Severus silently casts the House Privacy Charm on himself and the ghost and informs the Baron he may speak at will.

"Please don't... intercede... just yet..." the ghost begins.

Severus makes a small moue of displeasure, but maintains his position, a fact the Baron should have absolutely no way of knowing. Hmm. Yes.

It's the work of a moment to Geminio the lowest button on his left sleeve, complete with its thread. A basic sewing Charm knots the Geminioed thread to the new button, another lengthens and slightly strengthens that thread, and only when the button is just shy of the floor does he lift the Disillusionment on it and it alone. A fifth Spell ties the other end of the thread to his wrist. "My left side," he informs the ghost, raising and lowering his arm a touch so the button dances where it hangs, like a poor man's marionette, a couple of feet below his hand. Anyone improbably spotting it and casting a Spell in its direction was likely to miss him entirely, and as it hangs by a literal thread, it was easily jettisoned with no inconvenience or great expenditure of energy, physical or magical. It strikes Severus as a reasonable compromise, and the ghost now has something to orientate himself by while interacting with the Disillusioned Professor. Grasping the significance of the arrangement - it's hardly the first of its nature, although considering the wizard and the quality of his Disillusionment Charm, it's both more necessary and more intrinsically... cautious in implementation - the Baron fades from sight a little more, the responsibility for avoiding a third collision now shared between them.

"If we were... to give them... a chance..." the ghost continues, a little disconcertingly now directing his comments towards the button, almost as though it were one of those Weasley Extendable Ears. Severus returns his attention to the pugilistic Protegos, primarily because they demand it, but it does have the additional advantage of allowing him to avoid the spectacle the ghost is making of himself. The only thing missing would be for him sink half through the floor and continue the conversation with Severus' ankle.

"Ow!" comes a cry, at a guess from the owner of the larger of the two pair of feet beneath the Invisibility Cloak, and loud enough to make Severus wonder about the need to act after all. Of course the cry sounds suspiciously like Potter, or does so in conjunction with the Cloak, at any rate. Perhaps that fact, too, stays his hand. Just a touch. And possibly, just possibly, yet another in a too long line of exploding cauldrons - only this morning, as it transpires - played a role in that as well. Like father, like son. Neither had had any particular skill in Severus' subject, a fact he'd greet with more self-satisfaction were he not the individual suffering the most from Potter, the younger's ineptitude. Well, perhaps only second most, but still...

But that means the smaller pair of feet will doubtless prove to be Miss Granger's. Weasley was out of the question, his outsized clodhoppers guaranteed that. Miss Weasley was also a possibility, but after all the work Potter and Miss Granger had put in on Draco's behalf in recent months, in this constellation, Severus considers her presence far more likely, and almost definitely preferable. Where Miss Weasley was apt to give rise to more foolishness, Miss Granger had a welcome way of tempering Potter's worst impulses.

Usually anyway.

He has a suspicion the Moggies' presence here, and hence the entire kerfuffle, is more likely to have arisen from her decisions than his.

"I believe... they mean... to assist..." the House ghost explains, indicating the duelling Shield Charms.

A wail fit for little but mortification follows immediately on the heels of that claim, forcing them to question any potential efficacy of that help. The Baron knows the Head of Slytherin well enough that he can picture the arched eyebrow, Disillusioned or no. Frankly the timing of the screech was nearly enough to make him raise his own brow, and he wasn't remotely given to that sort of thing.

Estrays.

What Severus assumes is Potter's Protego - at least he's cast one - proceeds to become completely unmoored, pushing and shoving with newfound urgency, violent enough, as luck would have it, that the Potions master is forced to cast a Protego for himself or retreat, standing as near as he now is. He hopes his finer Shield Charm is less likely to be noticed than those of the students.

"And this is helping... how precisely?" He asks the ghost. Experience says some patience will likely be required for such an exchange, and the Protego's increasingly erratic moves coupled with the closeness of the corridor have him doubting there's anything like enough time for that now.

Quite.

That grunt was almost definitely Draco, and, wait, that cry... Paired with Draco's grunt, Severus is virtually certain that cry was Miss Parkinson, in which case this ends now. He begins stalking past the Moggies towards the mêlée's centre just as Miss Granger's feet put on a burst of speed, and soon there's the witch, no longer under cover of the Cloak - or much of anything else, from what he can tell - stood smack in the midst of things.

Hmm.

Curious choice.

If this is how Peek is teaching them to duel... And to think Minerva had turned Severus down for the DADA job. Will their bias never cease?

Drawn abreast of where Miss Granger stands now, he flattens himself still further against the nearest wall, and again does as the Baron has asked, waiting and watching. There wasn't much to be done in their new deployment anyway, shy of more Protegos, not advisable in the space at any rate, or perhaps suspending the lot from the ceiling or nearest walls...

That had some undeniable appeal, of course.


The ghost soon reappears to his side, half in and out of the wall.

Well, it's better than the floor.

Miss Granger's appearance is followed by a declaration of support, "We're trying to help. We're only trying to help..." that he could swear has the Baron looking ever so slightly smug. Yes, well, intentions and results aren't inherently the same. Draco pops into view immediately after, and the two begin to bicker, soon joined by Potter, who to be fair does the lion's portion of said bickering, as is his wont. And last but not least, here's Miss Parkinson. Severus must have made a sound of displeasure at the sight of the scrapes on her forehead, severe enough to be visible from here and even under these poor lighting conditions, as the Baron once again feels compelled to implore him to, "Wait..."

Miss Parkinson, it would seem, is evidently feeling more insulted than injured just at present, a fact he greets with relief and some head shaking. Students and their priorities never cease to astound.

"Given a chance... I believe they'll... come to an arrangement," the Baron explains, except it doesn't quite explain how or for what or why the ghost would even claim such a thing. Nevertheless, Severus waits as the bickering continues until finally Miss Granger exposes her arm, and although he can't see what she's shown them from here, he's heard stories and could hazard a guess, and either way it puts an immediate end to the arguing.

Yes.

Sadly, that would be in line with the stories he's heard, from individuals on both sides of the war, no less.

Privacy Charm or not - in Severus' experience, the Baron never speaks much above a whisper - communication under these conditions is less than ideal. The natural stiltedness of the House ghost's speech was now exacerbated by the need to wait for breaks in the fighting, first physical and then verbal. Glad of the peace, the Baron tries once more to relate what he's overheard that's given rise to his atypical optimism - it's very unlikely to be faith in the students a millennium in - except just then they're interrupted by what attempts to be a terrible cry, immediately followed by a shriek of "Ferula! Ferula! Ferula!"

Well that was unexpected.

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Ella and Harper, having waited until their patience snapped, have returned to help as prearranged, and Draco just barely gets up a wandless Protego, admittedly not quite as big as he'd have liked, before Ella's Spell slams into it. From the look of it, he thinks, as he watches yards and yards of a narrow strip of material strike his Shield Charm fast and furiously and then slide harmlessly towards the floor, it would have been a good choice of Spells, too, which almost makes up for the fact she clearly hadn't bothered to check whom she was Hexing.

They really need to practise this more.

Granger, Draco can't help noticing, hadn't bothered to put up another Protego of her own, hastening to roll down her sleeve again before the others can see her arm. Unless he misses his guess, Potter still has a Protego of hers in front of him, rendering him of no help to her at present, which meant she'd trusted her safety to Draco, well, and Pansy, who still hasn't moved, her eyes pinned to Granger's now covered arm, not even distracted by Harper's and Ella's arrival or the latter's Hex.

Granger is clearly a fool. Of course, Panse, bless, might not be much better, but she has more cause to be off her game just at the moment, and, well, probably less to work with in the first place, truth be told.

The degree of Granger's foolishness at least is confirmed only seconds later when the unending strip of cloth now pooled on the floor apparently reaches the underside of Draco's Protego, and discovering a slight gap, in a lightning strike, slithers forward to ensnare her ankles and even more quickly winds about her, working its way up the witch on the other side of his Protego in the blink of an eye.

Merlin's bloody beard!

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Severus has a very bad turn for the briefest of instants in which he's reminded far too viscerally of Nagini's attack as the bandages almost viciously whip their way around Miss Granger. Not that his reaction was particularly obvious, but he can't help counting himself exceedingly lucky to have gone unobserved.

For fuck's sake.

Draco's Protego clearly hadn't been adequate to intercept Miss Wilkins' Bandaging Charms, not that Severus has ever seen it perform like that before, but intent coupled with casting three of them seems to have made quite the difference.

Indeed.

Effectively gagged, the opponent's arms pinned... It was rather clever, really. Enough so he'd contemplate awarding points had Miss Wilkins not just used the Spell on the Head Girl. Unprovoked, no less.

Yes, well...

No one's perfect.

The ever so thoroughly sheathed, silenced, and indisputably inert Miss Granger begins to pitch forward like a sack of Plimpies (fresh water, of course), and as she's now neatly sandwiched between Draco's Protego to her front - still very much required to keep yet more bandages from trussing the woman top to tail - and her own Protego to her rear, no one is likely to be able to arrest her fall.

Save him, that is.

A sudden and thoroughly pointless Spell of Potter's only serves to underscore that assessment when it's reflected by her own Protego and the Moggie is almost immediately forced to dodge. When it strikes a suit of armour behind him soon suspending it arse over tip, Severus nearly laughs. Evidently it wasn't a Spell of Potter's but one of Severus' own.

Of course Potter knows the Levicorpus and would try to use it.

A Mobilicorpus was likely beyond his ability. Or he's an idiot. It's difficult to call. But as the little tosspot is demonstrably useless, at least for the moment, that's the last attention anyone pays him for a while as he rails helplessly at the Shield Charm between him and his friend.


To his credit, Severus doesn't do more than pause fleetingly to take in the sight Miss Granger presents, and in all fairness, it was quite a sight. There she was, proverbially mummified, wrapped in bandages from the tips of her toes straight up to her nose, hair flying in all directions, and falling forward as if in slow motion.

Thaaaaar she goes...

Perhaps subliminally inspired by Potter, it happens, Severus has to overcome his first impulse to Levicorpus Miss Granger, she had helped him - rather a lot - over the summer, and applies the smallest of Protegos right in front of her chin to protect it just before it connects with Draco's Shield Charm, only a foot or two in front of where she'd originally stood. A very neat piece of work, especially from this angle, if he says so himself. Expertly cast, it absorbs a great deal of the impact; it simply wouldn't have done to have her knock her teeth out. He recalls she was rather sensitive about them. As the child of dentists, he imagines that only makes sense, although obviously teeth could be regrown or even magicked into being, should the need arise. But then the Muggleborn tended to be less aware of such things.

Everyone then watches, dumbfounded, as she slowly slides down the Protego, her face slightly flattened by the weight of her body and making an almost comical stutter of a squeak against the Slytherin's Spell as she goes. Hutchinson moves first, good lad, Diffindoing the stream of bandages, hoping to cut off the supply in the process. As the Protego is nearly invisible, that stream appeared to have stopped in dead air just millimetres in front of Miss Granger's furiously blinking eyes. The Diffindo unfortunately does nothing to stop the onslaught, but as if taking its cue from Hutchinson somehow, Miss Wilkins' seemingly infinite spool of dressings finally begins to reach an end of its own after all on their side of the Shield Charm.

Not that either cutting the bandages nor the Spell's end helps all that much as no one thought to Banish the remainder from the floor...

Details.

No, failing that, it continues instead to snake under the Protego and wrap the woman as well as possible. Miss Wilkins' tragically belated "Finite! Finite! Finite!" now also fails abysmally as it ricochets helplessly off Draco's Protego. Thankfully he's smart enough to leave the Shield Charm in place, as presently it seems to be the only thing holding the young woman up, and as she finally nears the floor, Severus casts a Cushioning Charm to further break her fall.

He has his moments.

Although with the considerable amount of bandaging in play, it's entirely possible it might not have been necessary...

Well.

And there she now lies, suitably embarrassed, at a guess, but otherwise apparently no worse for wear, small mercies.

When he's had a chance to get over his shock and exhaustion and is finished brewing for the night, he'll have a very good laugh thinking back on this. At the moment, however, his wand vibrates from the Tempus he'd set, and he needs to return to chambers and see to his brewing. Regrettably, he doesn't have a contingency plan in place for his potions... As was, he was barely keeping up with the all the extra work Minerva's curriculum changes had caused, there wasn't a hope of creating redundancies on top of that. If this were an emergency that would be one thing, but the Prefects' patrol duty had ended and there was nothing here they couldn't sort on their own. As they were just bandages immobilising the Head Girl, they really should be able to take it from there, and five Prefects - plus Potter - should be amply capable of making their own ways home. As much as he might like to watch Miss Granger giving her best impression of a Flobberworm as she wriggles across the floor... Quite. But his potion demands his attention.

With a twinge of regret, he Finites his Spells on the prostrate witch, then turns to the Baron and tells him to accompany him back to the dungeons. It seems they have some things to discuss.

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"'Mione!" Potter bleats, useless as ever.

As the Moggie of his concern no longer requires the support of Draco's Shield Charm, the blond Finites it, and everyone stares, still aghast at the sight of Granger, as he closes the distance between them in a couple of steps. With a practiced slash of his hand and a confident "Diffindo!", he slices through the bandages encasing the Muggleborn, who is quick to shrug off the rest, the remains of which Ella now finally Vanishes.

Better late than never.

"Kindly stop," Draco tells the seventh years, almost as an afterthought as he stands there considering the Moggie lying on the floor before him. Ella and Harper are both clever enough to work out he means Ella's unfortunate assault as opposed to the clean up thereof. It was something of a given. Grimacing, Ella is trying to decide if she needs to deduct House points from herself, or for that matter if she even can. Maybe Harper will do it for her...

"They're not here to attack us," Draco sighs wearily. He can't quite bring himself to say the Moggies are there to help. For that matter he still isn't certain they'd actually be of any assistance if swish came to flick. Either way, it was a mess. Everything was really.

"We're here to help," Potter growls, eventually getting around to not missing the oversight. Malfoy is such an ass.

Ignoring him, Draco's practiced, and evidently reaching a decision, the eighth year extends his right arm towards the Head Girl; he's keen to avoid contact with her maltreated left, feeling something strange and nonsensical, like guilt by any sort of association. She's currently lying there, not quite surreptitiously checking her robes for signs of any damage his Diffindo may have caused, cheers, and initially neglects to notice his hand hovering above her. Before it grows too awkward, as if that should still matter tonight, he softly clears his throat, gaining her attention and hand in turn, and finally helps her up off the floor. Neither remarks on any of it - there was plenty for everyone to be embarrassed about here; least said, soonest mended - and they stand there silently regarding one another, debating how to proceed.

As usual, Potter hasn't quite gotten the memo.

Audibly exasperated, he asks Hermione, "Would you please Finite your Protego now?" She complies without comment, still wrestling with her chagrin at the utter clusterduck her well intentioned effort to help had become. How on earth had everything gone so completely pear shaped?

Harry reckons, either she figures things have de-escalated suitably, or she's finally realised four against one aren't the best of odds if they haven't. Two against one is more like it, especially if two of the others have Traces to contend with. It won't have been by chance that Wilkins led with whatever that Hex was instead of Hutchinson, although he'd probably have assessed the situation faster and not cast at all... His reflexes honed from years of Quidditch likely make him better at this.

Harry dutifully avoids thinking about what that says about them that 'Mione was the first to realise they shouldn't attack the Slytherins. An affinity for logic may also play a role here.

"Speaking of help, actual help," Draco drawls, finally turning his attention to the seventh years while dabbing gently at his still lightly bleeding nose with his left hand, keeping his wand hand free for all he doesn't seem to have used his wand once, "if you wouldn't mind, I could do with a Styptic Flick." Ella, still nontrivially mortified that she'd effectively Hexed the Head Girl, Healing Charm or not, has remained practically frozen observing the scene. She now leaps into action, finding it easier to respond given a clearly defined objective. Merlin's beard and everything else he ever owned. What would her mother have to say about this? Wand in hand, she quickly sorts the blond, adding a Cooling Charm he's immediately grateful for, and now that she's come unstuck, she continues in that vein without further prodding, advancing to Pansy and pulling a bit of Tincture of Murtlap Essence from the kit Tomasina Touchstone had prepared for them and magically daubing it on the cuts on the eighth year's forehead to remove the sting. Almost professional in her wound management, Ella hands the older girl a Dittany leaf to chew as she follows up with an Essence of the same plant dribbled over the wound, producing a cloud of greenish smoke as it knits closed, while a grumbling Potter and a much quieter Granger look on. A little tentatively, Ella now turns to the Moggies, Granger seems unhurt - no thanks to her, obviously; the seventh year cringes again at the thought - but Potter isn't looking all that great at the moment...

Draco reads her thoughts and smiles magnanimously, "Perhaps you'd also be so good as to see to Potter? It wouldn't do to have him run about the school claiming we'd assaulted the Chosen One."

Harry splutters a bit, which to Draco's eyes makes the ribbing all the more rewarding, before the Gryffindor finally lands on, "No, only the Head Girl," which does nothing helpful for Ella's nerves, but as Potter neglects to object in any substantial form - and goodness knows, Ella approaches him cautiously enough that he has plenty of time to do so - ardently wishing she were elsewhere, she sets to healing the cut on his cheek and applying Bruise Paste to his eye. He whinges a bit as she does, perhaps a little less than courageously, and the other Snakes get a chuckle out of it, which is good in that the familiarity of the response of teasing Potter seems to unstick Pansy as well; she needed that. In all fairness, the Paste stings rather more than the usual stuff, but it's also more effective, a trade off they deem worthwhile. Hermione, the very soul of consolation, tells her friend to wizard up. He wouldn't have needed the Salve if only his Protego had been better.

"Better than casting none at all, Granger," Draco smirks, still struggling some to get everyone back on habitual albeit antagonistic footing; it seems somewhat successful.

If the Snakes were chuckling before, they've advanced to laughing now. Bastards.

Harry fumes, not exactly silently, but Hermione blushes and admits that's perfectly fair. "I hadn't expected quite that... response from Wilkins." Ella has the good grace, if conspicuous lack of control, to match the Moggie's blushes. "And I rather thought you'd sort it in any event, Malfoy."

Draco finds that has some validity as well, and most present resolve to avoid mentioning it again. Doubtless it would be for the best.

Now if only Potter will get on board.

Harry is still complaining, but ultimately has to acknowledge: his eye feels better. It will look a lot better, too, but he won't realise that until later. As the pain fades, his mood improves, and only then does he realise they've set off towards the dungeons. At a guess, that had been 'Mione's doing.

The group proceeds in relative silence save Harry's grousing, most pursuing their thoughts as to their unusual evening, until they come to the stairs which are the very last of the possible turn offs to part ways if Harry and Hermione have any intention of getting home any time soon. When it becomes abundantly clear the Gryffindors mean to continue accompanying the Slytherins, pointing in the opposite direction, Draco snarks, "I realise the castle's floor plan can be difficult to grasp, particularly if one's slow," and yes he absolutely looks at Harry when he says it, the plank, "but I believe you'll find your tower lies that way." Decorum demands he make at least vague noises of dissent here.

Harry, seething, is about to respond with something suitable for wiping the smirk off Malfoy's face, but a sudden and surprisingly vivid recollection of the track of blood Harry'd caused to trickle over those now smirking lips gives him enough pause that Hermione is able to intervene almost smoothly.

"Yes, but we seem to have less difficulty navigating the castle than some. I thought we'd see you safely home." Having regained some customary footing of her own, she is graciousness personified.

Pansy lets out something by way of a snort, thoroughly conflicted as to how she should feel about this; Ella lets out more of a whimper. At this rate, she'll be lucky to recover from the humiliation of Ferulaing Granger in time to graduate. Very lucky. Draco and Harper, more pragmatic than their housemates, know exactly how they feel about the suggestion, varying degrees of angry that it should even be necessary, but privately both decide there are very likely advantages to the offer, especially as Pansy has been understandably nervy from the outset, and Ella is unlikely to cast anything sensible again anytime soon, which was unfortunate. She'd have been of real use if the scenario had been even remotely different, but as is... It's going to require time and effort to coax her into being proactive again. Bugger.

Naturally there's a significant difference between recognising a benefit and acknowledging it, and almost as one the Slytherin boys set to needling the Moggies as they take to the stairs, insistant they'd need their help last of all. Potter, descending to the occasion, takes the bait most obligingly, he's reliable like that, and they begin squabbling anew. Ultimately the Moggie is too stubborn to simply up and leave, so there's no harm from it, and they manage to save at least a little face. As of late, every little bit helps.

Typically Granger proves more difficult to manage, and smiling sanguinely, she stubbornly continues to interrupt, "Accept the kindness, Malfoy." "It can't hurt." "Don't refuse help when it's offered, Malfoy." "It's not as though you can stop me anyway." "Eighth year; Head Girl."

Ella, who's mostly been coping by continuing to pretend she's anywhere else, whimpers again at the reminder. Head Girl! Merlin's beard. And boots. And belt... In response, Harper, already embarking on a desensitisation campaign - no time like the present - leans over and whispers in her ear, "Ferula, Ferula, Ferula..." Still whimpering, Ella screws her eyes tightly shut, not that it prevents her from keeping up with their little group on the stairs, impressively enough, until finally Harper has to grab her elbow to steer her past a disappearing step right before they reach the next landing. "Watch where you're going, Ella," he gives her an affectionate nudge as he angles her towards the next flight of moving stairs. Something tells him that operation desensitisation is going to prove rather difficult. Bugger again.

Hermione taps the Head Girl emblem on her chest in emphasis to no one in particular, at a bit of a loss for an audience just now, not that it stops her. "I've the run of the castle, and I can follow you on all of your rounds..." which is when Harry finally realises he's apparently going to be doing this... whatever it is... for a while to come yet, stopping his bickering with Malfoy mid-word as it hits home. She didn't explicitly volunteer him for Snake watch, but he's hardly going to let her do it alone either, so...

Potter looks so much like a startled Snidget that Draco has to laugh. Oh, this is good, the Knut has just dropped. In that light, how could he possibly refuse the so conveniently extended offer?

"Well, as you say, we can't stop you, Granger. I imagine we may as well resign ourselves to the inevitable." He sighs dramatically, so terribly put upon, before smirking that quintessentially Malfoy smirk and proceeding, "And what about you, Potter? Will you be joining us, too, then?" At the Moggie's pained expression in reply, the blond can barely contain his glee. Granger really is too good to him. If his father weren't in Azkaban, he'd have to ask him to gift her a Thestral or something.

Harry, desperate not to let Malfoy gain the upper hand and perfectly oblivious to the fact he has, just begins sputtering a bunch of rot about how it had always been the plan - for all of maybe thirty seconds now; thanks, 'Mione - pretending (anything but convincingly) it had absolutely, positively, most definitely been his sincerest intention all along! From the outset even! But as Malfoy steadfastly refused to agree to go flying with him, it's not like Harry had plans anyway, now did he?

The whole exchange is so absurd, and yet knowing they'd have more backup was also such a relief - even to Ella once she gets over her initial, and admittedly protracted, shock - that by the time they reach the dungeons, everyone has found at least something to smile about, and the overall mood is so vastly improved, on balance it's nearly jovial by the time they part ways at the entrance to the Slytherin corridor, still intent on pretending the Gryffindors don't know precisely where the dungeons are.

"We'll meet you here next week," Hermione promises them as she and Harry turn to leave, not waiting for a reply. It wasn't likely to have been all too polite anyway.

"We'll keep an eye out for your trainers," Draco whispers towards their backs in response while Pansy sets about opening the entrance to the Slytherin dorms, glad to finally be home.

Safe now, the eighth years head into the hallway that leads to the Common Room and the seventh years follow. Harper ducks down to Ella once more, whispering "Ferula, Ferula, Ferula..." as they pass into their House. Her squeak in protest is the last thing audible in the deserted corridor before the wall closes behind them.

---

Written with oodles of love for lostangelsoul3 and erexen.