The Winter Hex

Disclaimer: I don't own it. I wouldn't be knotted up tighter than Paris Hilton's new 'do over my finals if I were J K Rowlings.

Author's Notes: This was a Celebrate the Season with Draco and Hermione fic challenge written for distelhad. I worked as well as I could within the parameters of her request, although I did tweak them a bit. (Just a bit!) Pretend it takes place in some idyllic postVoldemort Hogwarts. W00t AU. I hope you all enjoy it, my first posted Harry Potter story!

"Exit, pursued by a bear." - stage direction from Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale

"Wh-Who's there?" The words sounded painful, as if pushed through a suddenly dry throat, scraping the edges. The young Ravenclaw pressed back against the roughly hewn stone walls of the potions corridor, and scrabbled in his robes for his wand. The flickering torchlight let him see only a blurred outline of his pursuer. Footsteps echoed closer, and he knew that all was lost when he heard the whispered, "Expelliarmus."

His tormentor tucked his wand (ten inches, bendy, good for detailed charm work) into her pocket, and raised her own level with his throat.

"It's me, Stanley. Hermione Granger," was the calm reply. She stood in front of him, remorseless, a small and terrifying smile nipping at the corners of her mouth. She took a step closer and opened that frightening mouth to speak his doom.

"Wa-WAIT! Hermione Granger? You're- you're Head Girl! One of the founding members of the DA! You can't do this!"

She shook her head slowly, and stared into his dilated pupils with something dangerously close to glee.

"I think you'll find that I can. Indeed, regardless, I will. I'm sorry, Stanley," she said.

But she didn't look it.

A flash of green light shot from her wand and the boy disappeared into nothing.

Snape watched the interplay to its conclusion without interference from the door of his classroom. His face was a study of irritation, although underneath that, hidden well, was a layer of shock. The girl was a menace, and more of a threat than he had originally anticipated. He had to do something.

He swept past the empty desks and into his private office, where the Head of House portrait to the Slytherin common room was located. It was a deceptively simple picture of a black pewter cauldron set on a potions' desk, heavy with various ingredients. The secret lay in the changing labels and potion levels. A brightly burning flame, and violently red liquid, next to a bottle of rosehips and nettles to prickle the heart would mean that an amorous tryst was occurring within the dungeon home. The height of the flame told him how quickly he needed to move to avert a general disaster. Skunkweed and a bit of marrow root in a simmering pot meant that a nasty trick was being plotted. The amount of fumes hinted at the extent of the maliciousness behind the conspiracy. The time Andreas Fallax planned to lock Gregory Goyle in the greenhouse with the Venomous Tentaculas the noxious smoke had spilled right out of the frame.

It was rarely opened, and as such it took a moment for the password to come back to him. Snape choose to lead by non-involvement. Unless it was life threatening or job threatening, he didn't butt in. Better for them to make their own mistakes, in his view. Weather it was bourn of genuine principle or a distinct distaste for the students themselves, no one could accurately say.

"Abdera Opicus!" he muttered. It swung open with nary a rusty whinge. He may not have used it very often, but he kept it well oiled, just in case. Stealth was a key element to catching those performing misdeeds unawares. It served him well now, as he slid into the common room on this occasion, his prey readily visible in the extreme center of the space.

Snape didn't bother with frivolities like announcing his presence. "I have a matter of some importance to discuss with Mr. Malfoy. Anyone who is not Mr. Malfoy, find another place to idle about uselessly. Now."

His entrance had gone unnoticed prior to the issuing of his imperative, leading to more than one suddenly pasty face whipping around on frightened necks to locate him. He gave a nasty quirk of the lips and there ensued a massive diaspora, his charges fleeing hastily, wondering how long he'd been there and what he had heard.

"Yes, Professor?" Malfoy remained reclined on his fireside chair, but turned his attention to Snape

"We have a problem, Mr. Malfoy," Snape snapped. He hooked one hand around Draco's booted heels which rested on the arm of his chair and with an impatient flick sent them crashing to the ground. Draco raised an eyebrow, but sat up straight nonetheless.

"We, Professor?" he queried, his tone just shy of complete insolence.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, i we. /i In this case, you may take it to be defined as a project undertaken because something has aroused my irritation and I'm making it your task to correct it. With that, Miss Granger."

Malfoy's eyes twitched heavenward, but he didn't interrupt. Silence might prove to be more golden here.

"That bossy little swot has been running amok through the student body this morning, offing students right and left. She is displaying a most un-Gryffindor like cunning, using her status and her friendly demeanor to lure them close enough to finish off, false promises of aid shining in her sympathetic eyes," he spat it, like it was bile in an ulcer. "I'd be impressed if I wasn't so completely revolted. Deal with this, Malfoy. Much as it would be my delight, I cannot interfere; Dumbledore would have my head. It falls to you. I expect her to be done with, inside of this hour." A swirl of robes, a flash of ire, and suddenly Snape was somewhere else.

"Of course, sir. As you say, sir. Inside of the bloody hour, sir," Malfoy muttered to the empty room. He had kept deliberately neutral in this conflict, specifically because he knew that there was no chance of his cause proving victorious. Now, he had no choice in the matter.

Damn. Who'd have thought a bleeding heart like Granger would prove to be so vicious?

He drew his wand and stalked out the portrait hole. He'd finish off Granger, alright. It was a good as chiseled in stone.

But that didn't mean that he wouldn't pick off who he could before he found her.

Hermione Granger knew that she was being watched as she made her way to the Great Hall. She pretended not to notice the whispers, and tried to keep a pleasant and approachable look on her face, hoping to prevent alerting those who might still be unwary. The extra shielding spells she had cast went untested.

Fear was a powerful deterrent, it turned out.

She strode through the open doors of the Great Hall, coming to a stop at Professor Dumbledore's side. He smiled down at her, just a little wryly.

"Good morning, Professor!" she chirruped, slightly more smugly than she had intended for it to sound.

He took Stanley's proffered wand and immediately handed it to the greenery covered boy who was quietly flowering to his right. When Stanley's fingers curled around the wood of his wand, he shivered, and the foliage fell from him like a bird's feathers during molt.

"Well done, again, Miss Granger! My, you are certainly motivated this morning."

She gave him a small smile, and shrugged, slightly timid. "It's all for Gryffindor, sir!" she enthused, shooting a quick Scorgify at the fallen leaves. She patted Stanley on the shoulder bracingly, as he left to return to his common room. "Anything to further the glory and honor of my noble house."

Professor Dumbledore laughed outright at this, a short bark of wolfish glee, but covered it up quickly with a sage nod. "All for Gryffindor pride and whatnot, eh? I don't suppose it would have anything to do with the prize: a free Hogsmeade weekend for the winning house, which would allow you the opportunity of hearing Capsa Tiro speak at The Three Broomsticks, would it?"

She grinned sheepishly, but shook her head, playing along.

"No, no, of course not. What could this silly old man be thinking of? A Gryffindor with an ulterior motive? Heaven forefend." Minerva McGonagall and Rolanda Hooch, both of whom happened to be passing at the time, snorted simultaneously, wondering how Albus could say something like that without choking to death on the irony.

"Worry not, Miss Granger. Your house has quite a substantial lead on the rest of the school." He gestured to the magical chalk boards which were holding the current tally. Slytherin was in second place, but not gaining. Dumbledore's expression turned slightly misty.

"The Floriferum Jinx… I haven't seen that in years… Clever, exceedingly clever."

"Thank you, Professor." She nodded, with a pleased blush and turned to go back to her hunting.

Before she could get very far, however, another body zoomed past her and landed with a thud beneath the Gryffindor tally board. It was covered in what looked like hundreds of dancing rainbow-colored pimples and laughing hysterically. It took her a minute to recognize the pimples as enchanted ladybugs and a moment more than that to recognize the figure trapped within the swarm.

"Oh! Ron! What happened?" she hurried over, but held back from touching him. She grew up with people trying to tell her that ladybugs were good luck, but for some reason she could never shake the impression that they had always given her of giant, winged, deceitful, polka-dotted ants. She wasn't fond. There was nothing to do anyway until the caster returned his wand.

He was laughing too violently to talk, but his angry eyebrows spoke volumes.

"Risuscimexa? The Laughing Bug curse?" she guessed, wishing there were something she could do to make him more comfortable. His eyebrows twitched violently, but she already knew what he was thinking. "Probably done by a 'stinking Slytherin,' eh?"

She didn't need to look at the tally board for confirmation. It wouldn't matter to Ron anyway. Lost a quill? Probably stolen by a 'stinking Slytherin.' Missed a step? A Clumsiness Curse, obviously, cast by a 'stinking Slytherin.' Bad weather? Probably because the sun took one look at the ugly face of a 'stinking Slytherin' and went back to bed. That was how he had explained the unseasonable November white-out that had left the castle coated in snow during the night, making the corridors dark enough to light the torches. Honestly. If he were any more paranoid he'd have a wooden leg and a face full of scars.

"I'd watch that slanderous mouth of yours, Granger. Hubris before your fall, and all that," Malfoy strolled in, dropping Ron's wand at the feet of the still-laughing figure. "Oops. Slippery little devils, them." He stepped back out again, fully intending to conceal himself nearby to get the leg up on a hopefully unsuspecting Granger. Ron was still fuming and batting away the last few ladybugs when Harry entered.

"Dammit! That bloody wanker! ("Language, Weasley!" "Sorry, Professor.") Seriously, that bas- ("Weasley!") that boy needs to be taught a lesson. I nearly cracked my own ribs laughing. And those… things! They were everywhere!"

"It's okay, Ron." Harry clapped him on the back, then stared at the squished ladybug remains staining his palm. He shrugged, wiping it on Ron's sleeve, ignoring the squawk of protest. "Eww. What it is with you and bugs, mate? The slugs second year, then the spiders, Aragog, and now this? I'm beginning to think you're pervy for them."

"Sod off, you!" started Ron, before Hermione hastily shoved them both out the open doors of the Great Hall and out of the hearing range of their professors. The two of them were going to lose all the points Gryffindor had earned! They dodged another couple of bodies that went whizzing by, drawn through the air by invisible hands, imported directly from the spot they'd been hexed. Two laughing Slytherin fourth years ducked down a side staircase and out of sight. Hermione did a quick mental add-up. They were narrowing the gap. She knew this was due to her fellow Head's sudden decision to become a joiner.

She looked back over her shoulder and could just make out Dumbledore leaning over to say something to McGonagall.

He sighed nostalgically. "Oh Minerva, I love Guy Fawke's Day. We should have it twice a year."

Draco was beside himself with delight at the opportunity that presented itself to him. To manage to take down not only Granger, but Potter as well? He'd already finished Weasley; this would mean that he had single handedly trounced the Golden Trio! He had the perfect dual-action curse, too…

He re-evaluated his previous supposition that Slytherin had no chance of triumph. With Granger out of the way and Potter incapacitated, he'd have free reign of the castle, and could round up the stragglers to his heart's content.

He was a popular Head Boy, attentive to the needs of his peers and constituents. He knew that even if the students hadn't trusted him completely at the beginning of the year, that they did now. Suckers!

It would be especially lovely to hold the Hogsmeade weekend over his suitemate's bushy head. She had been nattering on non-stop about the talk by that Crapass person for weeks. He grinned, thinking about it, savoring it. Maybe he would even go so far as to invite her, thrusting her into the crevice between the rock and the hard place. Would she act on their tentative armistice, and take him up on his… generosity, allowing herself to become indebted to him? Or would she be petty and sulk, spending the day of the talk locked in her room, mooning about and blaming herself?

Oh, it was just too delicious.

Sadly, he'd spent a tick too long on the savoring and not enough ticks on the action. They had spotted him.

"Fucoamator!" he shouted, brandishing his wand at Harry and Hermione. He wasn't sure why he suddenly didn't like the image of Hermione and Harry acting the lovestruck fools, but he reasoned with himself that it would only last until he handed them their wands back. This momentary loss of concentration was the cause of his poor aim. He did indeed hit Harry with the jinx, but instead of Hermione he hit Ron. She had jumped out of the way in time.

"Son of a-" he started, but just then was hit in the chest with a Spinning Dervish Hex. He began whirling in circles; that, combined with the retrieval spells now in effect, coupled with Hermione's already tenuous grip on her balance after her leap of faith lead to her accidentally brushing his skin with her outstretched hand. The spell caught her too, and she and he were swept together, and, she could tell with a sinking feeling in her stomach, way off course.

"Ugh, Granger, your hair is everywhere."

She rolled over, and off of him before responding, her voice shrill as she took inventory of their situation.

"Shut-up, you – you – YOU!" She was too angry and too preoccupied to put much effort into her insults.

"Oh well done, Granger! Your supreme wit once again leaves me weeping brokenly into my hands. 'Shut-up me.' I'm wounded to the quick." He was so mad at himself for mis-aiming that he wasn't even the slightest bit mad at her, for aiming true. He really only said it because he'd found over the two months they'd lived in close quarters that she proved damn amusing when at her breaking point. He's always found annoying her to be quite a rewarding enterprise. That was, of course, until he'd heard the tone of voice that she used on him now. A growl like that he wouldn't have expected out of so girlish and feminine a throat.

"Malfoy, so help me God, if you don't make that the last bloody thing you say to me until we're safely back at Hogwarts, I will repay you with pain i unimaginable. /i I will sneak into your room at night and I will i cut you. /i Little cuts, but everywhere, so that when you wake up, you'll hurt very, very badly but won't know where the pain is coming from."

He half believed her crazy eyes, but not even the astoundingly graphic imagery proved sufficient to stop him. He attempted to dance out of range as he spoke.

"You're so bloody kinky, Granger. I bet you're into leather and spankings, too." Her choked cry of rage made her wheezy as she lunged for him.

"See what I mean?" he struggled out, air cut off by the small hands wrapped around his throat. He fastened strong arms around her and lifted her up and away. That was enough of that.

She kicked snow in his face.

"Okay, woman. One step too ruddy far, that wa-" he was interrupted by a wave of freshly kicked snow filling his mouth.

"Right, then." It was his turn to lunge after her, and when he had her, he sat on her, rubbing snow into her face like a five year old.

"Mmmmmph!" she wouldn't dare open her mouth to speak, rightly suspecting that she'd only get a mouthful of slush for her efforts. He didn't see the calculating look flash in her eyes when her lips suddenly parted. He was too busy taking the opportunity she presented him in exacting his revenge.

He noted ruefully that it was too easy, when she spit the snow back out at him, directly into his eye. She took that moment to flip them both and scrabbled atop him to pin down his hands.

She was midway through her, "Now see here, Malfoy…" and he had just gotten his lips curled around his next lewd remark when abruptly and unexpectedly they were whisked smack dab into the middle of the first year Hufflepuff girls' dormitory. Then, just as rapidly, they were back out in the snow, only this time in a snow drift.

"What in the…? Were we just in the…"

"Merlin! I haven't seen the inside of those dorms since second year."

They both spoke at the same time, and it took a minute for what he'd said to sink in.

"Malfoy, you pervert!"

"What! I was only a year older!"

"You were bloody twelve!"

"Your insinuations hurt me, Granger. I'll have you know that I was in there playing mah-jong. To assume otherwise is folly."

"Oh, yes, I'll just bet. Mah-jong. Really, you are absolute crap at thinking on the spot, Malfoy."

"Excuse me? And you're so fantastic at it, huh?"

"Well, yes. Even now, as I sit trading banal insults with you I'm thinking of ways to get us out of here. The forbidden forest doesn't hibernate, you know."

"First off, girly, my insults are something a sight more fabulous than banal. Granted, yours aren't, so you're spot on there. Secondly, why can't we just walk? Other than the fact that you're still on top of me, of course."

She turned red and was on her feet in the time it took for him to finish his 'of course.'

"Come back here, Granger. I wasn't complaining. I'm cold."

She moved her foot back to kick snow again, but he caught it and pulled her down. "Nuh-uh. None of that, now. You're so unoriginal."

"I'm unoriginal? You ruddy arse. You send a love spell at me and Harry and you call ME unoriginal? Where do you get off?" she fumed shaking the snow from her hair. "And we can't just walk though the forbidden forest without a plan. We don't know what part we're in or how far we are from the school, or even what creatures there are this time of year. It's not like we have our wands for protection, Mr. Flailsabout. If you hadn't of been so bleeding frightened we could have been home quick snap."

"Me! You were the one moaning, 'Oh, Malfoy, I feel ill!' in my ear."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've heard that moaned to you, Malfoy. Stop complaining," she snarked.

"Is that so? I think we've discovered another one of Hermione Granger's secret kinks! Like to listen at the keyhole, eh, Granger?" She had drawn her fist back when they heard the howl coming from the trees.

"Oh, shit," Malfoy sighed. "What was that you were saying about forest creatures?"

Back at the castle, confusion reigned. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had appeared in the same zooming cloud, locked in a heated embrace. Once the two were pried off each other, they both told the story of their current predicament between loving kisses that they added for punctuation.

"And then, I don't know, suddenly my honeybear and I were here, wandless! If that ruddy ferret has done anything to our Hermione…" Ron clenched his fists, and Harry smoothed his hand over the knuckles.

"Now, now, darling." Ginny Weasley clenched her jaw. Right epithet, wrong bloody redhead. "We can't let ourselves get upset, can we? We simply must go find our wands and our friend, right Snookums?"

Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands to regain order over the crowd of people, threatening to gossip themselves to death. "Silence, all! That's right. I would like every available person to scour the hallways in search of a clutch of wands. They will be on the floor somewhere, ten points to the person that finds them. Go, go!" The crowd broke, still whispering.

"As for you two," McGonagall shepherded them to the benches of the Gryffindor table. "You seem addled enough from the zoom over here to warrant a little break. Sit there and refrain from publicly attempting lewd acts. That included stroking Mr. Potter's thigh, Weasley. Four hands on the table at all times!"

Dumbledore sat back. He did so enjoy Guy Fawkes Day.

Draco had Hermione's arm in a tight grip as they ran. Her smaller legs were getting caught in the snow drifts, and it had actually begun to come down now in sight obscuring sheets. They weren't quite sure where they were going, or what was chasing them, but it was enough to figure that they were safer on the move at this point.

She held on to him, too , and her nails suddenly dug in rather deeply.

"Ow, dammit! Hurt me later, if you must. I'm busy trying to lead us in fleeing for our liv…" he trailed off and pulled her behind him, as he saw what had prompted her to dig her harpy claws into his skin. She pressed her back to his and they turned in a circle, recognizing just how deeply they had stuck themselves into it this time.

Surrounding them were half a dozen Blood-Sucking Bugbears. Dirty fangs coated with crusty brown saliva gnashed at them as they groped around for each others' hand.

"Have you been naughty, lately, Granger?" he cleared his throat which seemed sticky with fear. Granger nails bit into him for the second time that day.

"Those are the last words I get to hear, you blasted arse? A poorly veiled innuendo and my last ruddy name! I detest you, Malfoy."

With that they were both relieved to find themselves brusquely propelled upwards and away, swept off to some other part of the woods.

They landed with a thump, but their bickering didn't falter for a minute, even as they checked each other over for bruising and signs of eminent demise.

"You can't even bloody get cursed properly, you great prat," Hermione said, running her fingers through his pale, silky hair to check for lumps on the back of his head.

"Oh, because your best mate, Potter, is known worldwide for his ability to fall down when hexed?" he rejoined, brushing snow from her cheeks and eyelashes to prevent frostbite from setting in.

"At least he turned out to be useful, what with it ending the first reign of Voldemort and all that," she murmured, distracted by the intent with which she was checking the integrity of the bones in his chest and his vertebrae. Her fingers had seemingly forgotten the task she had set for them, now they were just gently pressing into his shoulders.

"Yes, well, if what you had done had worked properly, we wouldn't be here, would we?" He didn't quite know what he was arguing any more. He had her head cradled in his hands so he could check the dilation of her pupils. He was almost certain that they weren't supposed to be that wide; he'd never, in all the times he'd studied them, seen them that wide.

"Exactly," she whispered, placing her hand over his heart to take his pulse and make sure he wasn't going to fall into a state of hypertension due to shock.

"Exactly," he echoed, pressing his lips gently to hers, strictly in the name of checking her breathing. He would hate to have to explain a hyperventilated Hermione Granger to his professors.

And suddenly, they were meeting in a flurry of snow-covered sighs, and kisses, and gasps and happy moans. His hands crept inside her robes, one climbing under her sweater to finger the smooth, warm skin of her back, the other gripping her hip to pull her closer to his body. Obviously, to prevent hypothermia.

Obviously.

She let out an encouraging sigh, and flattened her chest to his. He inhaled sharply and pulled at her thigh to wrap her around his waist. They both cried out at the contact. They were dizzy with it and it felt like they were spinning, weightless, through the atmosphere.

That's when they realized that the snow had stopped falling on them, and that they were laying down. They broke apart slightly, to find that they were perched atop the Head Table, directly in front of Dumbledore's place setting. The Hall was filled with students at their dinner. Dumbledore was holding their wands out to them, and twinkling that damnable twinkle.

"You'll be happy to note, I suspect, Miss Granger, that Gryffindor won."

"Right-o, Professor," she sighed, and slid out from beneath a still stunned Malfoy, straightening her skirt, prim as could be. She took hold of his arm, tugged and in a flash they were out of the Great Hall, dinner forgone in favor of a more through examination. All in order to promptly diagnose any illness or injury they may have sustained during the course of their adventure, naturally.

Naturally.

"Well, Severus, I must say, it seems you have something of a hidden talent for matchmaking," Dumbledore remarked blithely as he reached around him for the plate of treacle tart that didn't have an imprint of young Mister Malfoy's knee in it.

He hoped it was his knee.

The flabbergasted faces of the Hogwarts staff turned as one to look in unmitigated shock at Dumbledore. Snape knitted his brows together and rolled his eyes.

"Nonsense, Headmaster. I have nothing of the sort."

Dumbledore twiddled his thumbs, maddeningly, raising Snape's hackles. That sort of intentionally benign innocence was a dead giveaway that something was amiss in the world.

"Well, it was as a direct result of your interference with the game today that we have all borne witness to the amorous display on our staff table not five minutes ago." Snape paled, and his spine went ramrod straight.

"You knew?" Snape felt faint. Dumbledore pulled a face as if to suggest that him not knowing was out of the realm of possibility.

"Come, come, Severus. I have a considerable wealth of hidden talent myself! I daresay, Messers Potter and Weasley have a word or two to say on the subject of your considerable relationship-aiding prowess, as well."

The two boys in question were sitting at opposite sides of the table, both mouths rubbed raw, still beat red. They were going to make his potions class hell for a month.

Was Snape actually moaning? It was hard to make out over McGonagall's poorly smothered chuckles. Dumbledore advanced on, heedless.

"Yes, Severus. I think it's clear to us all that you have a previously untapped penchant for lovematching! For what else could explain your foresight in the instructions you doled out to Mister Malfoy this afternoon?"

"Headmaster, I- That is to say- This is preposter- I issue hundreds of commands a week! Poor sportsmanship, that's what this was! I-" Snape's stammering was a direct result of the lightheadedness he was experiencing, now that he was staring down the wandpoint of the unexpected consequences of his actions. Dumbledore continued on, steamrolling over his objections.

"Therefore, I think it prudent to have you train with Sybil! We need to nurture this aptitude, develop this to its full potential. Just think! No more fourth and fifth years crying their eyes out or displacing their pent up frustration in aggressive outlets! No more botched attempts at brewing love potions, or casting love spells! First years with hopeless crushes can be sent your way, to be shown the proper direction to focus their romantic energies! Why, we'll have half the number of detentions and a third the number of deductions of house points within a month!"

Snape closed his eyes and tried to control the bile rising in his throat, battering away at his gag reflex, as he contemplated a Hogwarts without detentions and point deductions: his bread and butter. He pictured hundreds of giggling, gasping first years flooding his office at the Headmaster's orders. He held up an unsteady hand.

"Headmaster, I really must protest!" Then he saw the gleam in Dumbledore's eye and the smirk behind the earnest façade. McGonagall gave up all pretense of decorum and put her head down next to the slightly squashed platter of scones and cried into her arms with mirth.

"You utter, utter bastard," Snape snarled at the quietly sniggering Dumbledore.

"Smile when you say that, m'boy."

"Rot in hell." He stood. "Sir," he sneered.

"Before you go," Snape stopped but did not turn, merely looking back over one shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "I wanted to ask you, Miss Imogene Wingbat from Hufflepuff has been most disconsolate since she happened upon young Mister Celloswort and Miss Nancy Stoils in a rather heated embrace."

Snape was already halfway out the door by the time he'd gotten out Hufflepuff and had one foot out of the Great Hall when Dumbledore culminated in, "May I direct her towards you, Severus?"

As the door slammed shut, Severus Snape could be heard bellowing distinctly, "You'll get yours, old man! By MERLIN, you'll get yours!"

Dumbledore dipped into his treacle contently, but then set his spoon down and handed the entire plate unexpectedly to McGonagall, who had just barely managed to get herself under some semblance of control.

"Dear me. It seems I must begin watching my weight! According to Severus, apparently, I'm about to 'get lucky' as they say."

The student population of Hogwarts didn't know what to do with itself, as a red faced McGonagall pounded the table in laughter, tears streaming down her face.

Finis

Some afterward explanations:

Abdera a town in Thrace known for the stupidity of its inhabitants

Opicus philistine

Caspa Tiro Book learner

Fucoamator counterfeit lover

Risuscimexa mocking bug

Blood-sucking Bugbears In Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them they are described as monsters that eat naughty children.

Three things they wanted their fic to include: Snape playing matchmaker, Snow or winter, Ron/Harry as couple

Three things they did not want their fic to include: Snape dead or evil, Harry as soddening hero, hogwarts closed