The Sweat of a Gladiator
Ch 1: Improbable Barter
By canoncansodoff
My most polarizing story. More than a few people hated its canon-defying sophomoric raunchy humor...some enough to take apart the first few chapters line by line in a live journal snarky commentary akin to Mystery Science Theater 3000. But other people loved it precisely because of its canon-defying sophomoric raunchy humor.,,enough to rack up >1000 reviews when it was posted in portkey.org. So...your mileage may vary.
The original story was 18 chapters long...I've reorganized it into 10 meatier (and slightly more cohesive) chapters for ffa.
Disclaimer: Not my story, no money being made, etc., etc.
The resolute look on Madame Pomfrey’s face as she rushed past Harry and Hermione was the first bit of encouragement they’d had all day.
Ron might be dying, but at least someone might now have an idea why.
They looked back towards the open infirmary doors and seized the opportunity to rejoin their fallen friend. He was in a bed at the far end of the room, his unconscious body racked by convulsions no less severe than when they’d brought him to Hogwarts a half-hour previous. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were alongside the bed with Horace Slughorn, while Luna Lovegood was busy consoling Ginny Weasley as both sat on the facing bed. Harry had been a bit put off when Hermione and he had been ordered to stay outside of the infirmary, but understood Poppy’s desire to limit visitors to family and significant others. Besides, it had given him a few minutes time to decide just what to say when he faced Ron’s parents.
"Professor Slughorn," Hermione immediately asked, "did you identify the poison?"
The Potions Master looked up at them and nodded gravely. "Based on his symptoms and the little that you’ve told me on the way up here, I’m afraid that I have."
"But now that we know the poison we can give him the antidote, right?" Harry asked, as Hermione and he approached the other side of Ron’s bed.
"We could, if we had it on hand," he replied. "but if I’m right, the antidote is even rarer than the toxin itself." At that declaration, Molly Weasley let out an anguished cry. As Arthur Weasley tried to console her he looked up at Harry and Hermione and added, "Madame Pomfrey thought she might know someone who might possibly have access to the antidote, so she went to the Headmistress’s to use the secure floo."
Hermione looked down at Ron’s gaunt pale face as his body twisted up and off to the side. "How soon would the antidote have to be administered?" she asked.
"Within a few hours," Slughorn replied, "or else…"
The "or else" assessment brought out another maternal lament.
Mr. Weasley caught Harry’s attention. "I know that you three have been off on some secret mission," he said, "but it would mean a lot to us if you could tell us how this happened."
Harry nodded quietly. "Last year," he began, "Professor Dumbledore revealed to me that Voldemort had created powerfully Dark objects that needed to be found and destroyed in order to keep the bastard dead the next time I kill him."
"What kind of Dark objects?" Arthur asked.
Harry gaze shot over towards Professor Slughorn, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else at that very moment. He then replied, "When the Headmaster asked me to continue on the search for these objects, should he not be able to, he made me promise not to reveal the secret to anyone but Hermione and Ron."
"And so the three of you were looking for these objects?"
Harry nodded. "They been difficult to find and even harder to retrieve once we’ve found them. We located one of them this morning, though, in a heavily warded house. We thought we’d disarmed all of the magical traps, but when Ron reached for the cup the flooring disappeared and he fell into a pool of greenish liquid. We think he must have swallowed some of it."
"Where were the two of you?" Molly asked.
"We were right next to Ron," Hermione said. "When the floor gave way and we all started to fall Harry and I thought to apparate away from the house and the danger, but Ron…"
"Ron still hasn’t passed his apparition test," Arthur said as he nodded his head in understanding. "So it didn’t occur to him."
The conversation was interrupted by the soft "pop" of an elven arrival.
"Mister Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said excitedly, after he caught Harry’s eye, "Headmistress needs you and the three little witches in her office straight away."
"Who does she need to see?" Molly Weasley asked.
Dobby looked towards her and tried to explain more fully. "Headmistress told Dobby to tell Harry Potter, sir, to bring Miss ‘Moine, Miss Luna and Miss Ginny to her office using this parchment."
Harry grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her towards Dobby. Grabbing the document, he said "Ginny, Luna, let’s go….imagine that the parchment’s a portkey that will get us there quickest."
Ten seconds later, Harry and "the three little witches" were plopped in front of a worried-looking Headmistress, who was seated behind her desk. Madame Pomfrey was standing to her side. Harry was about to ask what news they had when his thoughts were interrupted by a cackling voice. As he turned towards the source, Harry cringed at the sight of a repulsive-looking hag standing by the open window. She looked like someone who had just been swept up off the fetid cobblestones of Knockturn Alley.
"There’s a nice Poppy," the hag said with a toothless grin, "I knew you’d come through with the boy. He’ll be very tasty, indeed."
"Now see here," said a tight-lipped McGonagall. "No decision has been made, and none will be made until Mr. Potter decides for himself."
Harry was gobsmacked speechless, so it was up to Hermione to ask the obvious.
"Headmistress?"
Madame Pomfrey spoke up. "You’ve had a chance to talk with Professor Slughorn, no doubt." When Harry nodded, she continued. "The antidote potion to the poison that Mr. Weasley injested requires the pickled roots of a rare magical plant from China. I’ve checked and there are no legally-obtained stocks of the root or the antidote in Britain, and St. Mungo’s says that given the current shortage of medical supplies that it would take at least three weeks to import what’s needed."
"But Professor Slughorn said that Ron needs the antidote within the next few hours," Ginny Weasley said.
Headmistress McGonagall turned towards Ron’s sister. "That is correct," she said softly. "Which is why I asked Poppy to pursue all possible…" She looked over at the hag with disgust before continuing, "…all possible alternative sources."
"That would be me, dearie," the old hag said with a leering grin.
Harry turned to the hunching hag. "You have the antidote, then?" When the hag nodded her head he said, "If the Headmistress arranges transport, I’ll take you to Gringott’s and you can have what ever you want from my vaults."
"Won’t be necessary, dear," the old hag said, "you’ve got what I want within you right now."
Harry recoiled, his thoughts flashing back to the night that his blood was forcibly taken during the Riddle graveyard ritual. Hermione immediately wrapped a protective arm around Harry in support, then turned back to Madame Pomfrey. "What does she want?" she asked.
"She wants his sweat," Poppy replied simply.
"Double pure sweat," the hag added with a chortle.
"What do you want my sweat for, you old hag?" Harry asked.
Luna, who had been standing quietly back by the door all this time, finally spoke up. "She wants it as the main ingredient in an aphrodisiac potion, I imagine."
Ginny turned towards the hag with a look of disgust. "As ugly as she is, wouldn’t a polyjuice potion get her laid easier?"
"Aye, my little witch, you are right about that," the hag replied. "But I am not desperate, I’m just a simple business woman looking for fair exchange and fair profit...my rare antidote for an equally rare liquid."
Harry turned to Madame Pomfrey with a look of concern on his face. "Would my sweat really work as part of an aphrodisiac potion?"
Poppy snorted. "As many times as I’ve patched you up? I imagine so. The practice of using the sweat of the strongest warriors for female aphrodisiacs goes all the way back to the days of Roman witches and their strongest gladiators."
The hag nodded in agreement. "No wizard warrior today is more powerful than the one who has stood up to the Dark Lord, what is it…five times now?"
"Six actually," Harry muttered absent-mindedly.
"Disgusting, perverted old hag," exclaimed Ginny.
Harry snorted in agreement. "I don’t care if she bathes in the stuff, so long as it helps Ron. Why don’t I just run a few laps around the castle and wring out my t-shirt?" He turned to see the support in Hermione’s eyes only to be rattled by her pallid complexion.
"Harry," she said quietly, "if it was that easy, I’m sure the Headmistress wouldn’t have needed to send for all four of us."
The old hag laughed and swung her wand in an imaginary golf swing. "She swings…and it’s in the hole!" She then gazed in Hermione’s direction. "Or should I say it’s to be in your hole?"
Harry pulled his wand on the witch and scowled. "You will treat her with respect or all you’ll get from me is the business end of my wand."
"A tempting offer, dearie," the hag retorted, "but I’m afraid I’m a little too, shall we say, experienced to be of any use right now."
"What are you on about?" Harry demanded.
"Harry," the Headmistress said with more compassion in her voice that Harry had ever heard before, "this is a terrible situation, and a terrible position for all of us to be put in, and I’m sorry that we haven’t been able to find a better option." She stood, then walked around the front of her large oak desk and sat back along the front edge (putting her close enough to Harry to reach out and touch his shoulder). "The sweat of a warrior is apparently categorized into four different grades, based on the activities that he is engaged in at the time of collection."
"Activities? Just what are we talking about here?"
"Well," said Madame Pomfrey, "there’s standard sweat, special sweat, pure sweat and double pure sweat."
"What’s the difference, and what are those activities?" Harry asked, earning him another Brothers Grimm-worthy cackle from the hag.
Poppy and McGonagall looked at each other uncomfortably, before the Headmistress turned to address Harry’s questions.
"Standard sweat is, well…standard…run-of-the-mill "nervous because you haven’t studied for your NEWTs"-type sweat. For purposes of the aphrodisiac potion, "special" sweat is collected off a warrior’s body as he’s engaged in, erm…how should I say it?"
"Engaged in hot, steamy sex?" asked Luna, matter-of-factly.
"Erm, yes Dear – quite right."
"Oh," was all that Harry could muster past his lips. He looked towards Hermione and let out another, longer, more worrisome version of the declarative. She responded with a grim, but sympathetic, smile.
"Dare I ask about the pure versions?" he asked.
"Might as well," said the hag, "Because I won’t settle for anything less than double pure."
Luna stepped up next to Harry’s left side, opposite Hermione, and grabbed his hand in support as well. "Pure sweat is collected while the warrior is deflowering a virgin," she said.
Harry choked on a bit of saliva stuck at the back of his throat. After clearing it with a coughing fit he said, "And I suppose double pure means he has to deflower twins?"
"Don’t be silly, Harry," Luna replied. "Double pure means that the sweat is collected by a second virgin female while the warrior deflowers the first."
"Oh, well, if that’s all…" Harry said with rueful inflection. He turned back to McGonagall. "Please tell me that there’s another way. I’d walk through fire for Ron, but to have to ask two women to…well…to…."
"Harry, I know, I know," the Headmistress said in sympathy. "St. Mungo’s is looking for options, but nobody’s popped their head through the floo yet with an alternative."
Hermione reached up and gently touched Harry’s shoulder. "We haven’t much time," she said. "So long as we can verify that the hag has the antidote you should make the deal."
Harry turned and looked at her with tenderness. He started to say something, before thinking better of it. Turning to the Headmistress, he asked, "Could you give us just a few minutes?" He then led Hermione out of the office, with Ginny and Luna tagging along as well.
"Hermione," Harry said once the office door was closed, "I couldn’t ask a girl to give something that precious…I mean, this is suppose to be a sacrifice for me? Sounds more like something pulled off a racy internet fiction site."
Ginny snickered. "I don’t think you have to worry about the girl thinking it a sacrifice to be bedded by you Harry…there’d be a line of volunteers from here to Hogsmeade."
Harry looked at Ginny with no shortage of disdain. "Oh, Ginny, you’re just putting me on."
Hermione shook her head in disagreement. "Luna," she asked, "how many active members of the Harry Potter Fan Club do you think are virgins?"
The Ravenclaw thought for a second. "You mean within the entire membership, or just the girls?"
Harry choked on more saliva, to Hermione’s amusement.
"Just amongst the females."
Luna looked at Ginny as they silently tried to work out an answer. "At least thirty or so," Luna finally said.
"There you have it," Hermione said. "Might be harder to find one willing to have another girl there watching, ready to collect your sweat, but still…"
"What about finding a girl willing to collect the sweat?" Harry asked. "Talk about thankless jobs…."
"Oh," said Hermione, with a small bit of surprise, "I guess I had figured that I’d be the one to do that."
"What?" Harry said incredulously. "You mean you…"
"What," Hermione said with frustration, "Don’t imagine that I’m qualified for the job?"
"No, of course not," Harry said defensively. "You know I wouldn’t even think that…you know how well I know you, right?"
"Then you think that I don’t care enough about Ron to follow through on this?"
"Well, no, of course not, it’s just that…."
Hermione continued building her full head of steam. "So you don’t want me there to help you…is that it? Or is it you’d rather have someone else scraping the sweat off your bum…"
"No, I mean…Merlin, what kind of question is that for me to have to answer?"
"So it is me then," Hermione said with tears in her eyes. "Fine, I’m sure Luna and Ginny could help you out…I’ll just go keep Ron company."
She turned to leave, but Harry stopped her with a firm grab of her arm. "Hermione, stop, please. I need your help…I need you, just like I always need you. Won’t be able to get through this otherwise."
Hermione looked at him with calculation, then let out a firm sigh. "Fine, then…sign me up…whom do you want, though?" She turned towards Luna and Ginny, expecting them to start contributing to the conversation. They looked at each other for a second before Ginny sighed and faced Harry and Hermione.
"I’m afraid that I can’t help you, Harry."
"Why is that?" Harry asked in confusion. "Seemed like you were eager enough to offer me that kind of help last spring."
"Oh, no…it’s not you Harry," she replied, her cheeks approaching her hair color in hue. "It’s just that, well, you broke up with me, remember? And this fall, you three didn’t come back to Hogwarts, and I did, and Dean Thomas did, and….and we did."
"Did what?"
"Oh don’t be daft," Hermione said with a scowl. "She’s trying to tell you she and Dean are together now, and, well…neither she nor Dean would meet the hag’s purity standards." Though the last phrase lilted up in a question, Hermione thought it more likely a declaration of fact. Her assessment was confirmed when Ginny, eyes firmly planted on the stone floor, nodded her head in agreement.
Harry didn’t know what to say, so he tried to pretend he was all business and facts and actions. "Oh, well, better to learn that now, I guess," he said.
"I’m qualified, at least in that regard," said Luna calmly. "Ron and I haven’t gotten nearly that far, but either way…to save his life…I’d be willing…."
Ginny looked up from the floor and tried to catch Harry’s gaze. "Do you want me to go round up the Fan Club, or would a list of names be good enough for you?"
Harry looked at her with disbelief. Gathering his wits before he responded, he said. "No thanks, Ginny. I think, if we’re going to do this, that I have all of the help I need right here." He then reached out and grabbed Hermione and Luna’s hands searching for confirmation. The head nods and hand squeezes told him all that he needed to know.
"Ginny, why don’t you go back to the infirmary and tell your parents that we’re working on getting the antidote."
With tears in her eyes and a quiet apology the Sixth-Year witch nodded her head and walked onto the moving stairway that then swept her down towards the tower’s base. Luna and Hermione watched Ginny spiral downwards out of sight, then turned to each other and snorted, as if they’d telepathed a private joke. They then looked back at Harry.
"So…" Hermione asked him, "which of us does what?"
Harry looked at his best friend as if she were dafter than Ron on most days (which was saying something).
"Hermione," he replied, "as if you needed to ask…"
oo00OO00oo
When Harry, Hermione and Luna walked back into the Headmistress's office they discovered McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey hunched over a document.
McGonagall looked up and noted, “Oh, you're back…but where is Miss Weasley?”
Harry and Hermione stole glances at each other before Harry replied. “She went back down to the infirmary to be with Ron and her family.”
“Will she be returning then?”
“Erm, no,” Harry replied quietly. “We have decided…that is to say, the three of us have decided, to agree to the trade offer.”
The Headmistress nodded her head, with an expression that look rather prideful to Harry. She also looked like she wanted desperately to ask which of her students would be the sweat collector. Luna must have picked up on this as well, because out of the blue she said, “They're the shaggers, I'm the scraper.”
“Oh, well, I see.”
“There has to be verification of their purity,” the old hag cackled from her position by the window. “Condition number three on that list.”
“Oh, yes, well that makes sense,” the Headmistress said tightly. “I'm sure that our school nurse can verify by examination that these young witches are vir….” She stopped in mid-sentence when she spied Hermione looking nervously down at the floor. “Miss Granger, is there a problem?”
Hermione's face turned beet red. “Erm, no, Headmistress….I mean yes, in a way…it's just that…I'm afraid that a physical examination won't provide the kind of proof that the old hag probably expects.”
“And why is that?”
“Erm, well…it's rather embarrassing, but I was on ski holiday with my parents, and I had this accident, you see, and one of the bindings gave way and a ski snapped up and hit me hard in the…”
“Oh, I understand,” the Headmistress replied tersely. “So you are saying that your hymen was broken during an accident.”
Hermione continued to keep her eyes on her shoes, dying from having to talk about this in front of Harry. “Erm, yeah, that's exactly what happened.”
Luna stepped up to the front of the Headmistress's desk. “Headmistress, I've got the same problem…last year my hymen broke on accident.”
“What happened to you?”
The blonde-haired witch smiled brightly. “On accident I used too much lubricant on the vibrator that I had borrowed from Ginny, and while I was masturbating it slipped down a little too deep and…”
“That's quite enough, Miss Lovegood,” the Headmistress admonished. As Harry looked at both of his classmates with gobsmacked amazement, she turned towards the hag. “I assume that the betrothal spell would be sufficient proof?”
The hag nodded. “That would indeed be adequate.” As she raised her wand towards the two girls Minerva shouted, “Oh no you don't.” She then turned to Poppy. “Would you please administer the spell?”
As the nurse nodded her head in agreement Harry whispered a question into Hermione's ear. She turned and replied. “It's an ancient spell used back in the days when arranged wizard marriages were brokered. Don't worry, it's safe, and relatively non-invasive.”
“Relatively non-invasive?” Harry asked with a bit of alarm. But before he could say anything else, Poppy had cast her spell at the two young witches.
Hermione jumped a bit and let out a small cry of surprise, while Luna twisted her knees together and complained, “Oooh, that's cold!” Ten seconds later, golden circles formed above both Luna and Hermione's heads.
Harry couldn't help but laugh. “Halos,” he observed. “Some wizard must have had a sense of humor back then.”
The Headmistress turned to the hag. “Yes, well…now that step is out of the way…there's mention in this contract about a gold collection blade. The ones we use here at Hogwarts are all silver…do you have one available?
The hag gasped and snapped her fingers. “Rats…I knew I forgot something on the way here. I'll have to travel back to my hut for one.”
“Golden collection blades?” Harry asked a bit warily. “Luna only has to collect the sweat on the outside of my skin, right?”
Hermione laughed at Harry's remark. “Oh don't be silly,” she replied. “The blade is dull…just like the ones we use in herbology class to collect tuber pus.”
“Oh, great,” Harry said sarcastically. “That's a nice touch.”
The hag excused herself to floo back to her hovel for the collection device, as well as special specimen bottles and the antidote itself. Once she disappeared into the flames, Hermione asked to look at the quality control measures specified on the reviewed parchment. It didn't take her too long to find something to question.
“What about this condition,” Hermione asked. “The one that states that the sweat has to be collected between the time of insertion and time of release?” When Madame Pomfrey confirmed that fact, Hermione looked over towards Harry and frowned. “No offense, Harry, but…” She then turned to the two older witches “You do realize that he is a teenage boy, and that there might not be a lot of time between those two milestones.”
“Then Miss Lovegood will have to work fast, won't she?” the Headmistress replied.
“He could always delay his ejaculation with a stamina potion,” Luna offered.
The Headmistress shook her head. “A good idea, but farther down the list it states that no magical aids can be used during the procreative act.”
“What?” Hermione asked. “No magic involved at all, for either of us? Not even a contraceptive charm?”
“I'm sorry Miss Granger,” the Headmistress replied, “But under the terms of the contract those are the requirements. No magic affecting the bodies of either the warrior or the deflowered virgin.”
“This is ridiculous,” Harry said. “Bad enough that Hermione has to sacrifice her virginity, but now you say she has to run the risk of becoming pregnant?”
“Well, with any luck it won't be an issue,” said Poppy. “Simple fertility check will tell us.” She waved her wand towards Hermione's abdomen and muttered an incantation.
“Expecto Ovum!”
A silvery mist sprayed out of the wand tip and wrapped itself around her torso like a belt. A few seconds later the mist unwrapped itself and gathered in front of Hermione's waist, taking the shape and hue of two brilliantly golden orbs.
The Headmistress let out a small gasp, as Madame Pomfrey shook her head and sighed.
“Miss Granger, you seem to be at the peak of your fertility cycle,” she concluded.
Hermione nodded, sporting a dazed look on her face as she regarded the twin orbs. “That's what I was afraid of. And the fact that there are two eggs means…”
“Means that twins must run in your family,” Poppy replied.
“So…so…what are the odds that she'll get pregnant?” Harry asked shakily.
Madame Pomfrey turned towards Harry. “That depends, Mr. Potter, on your virility. The ripest of eggs still needs your input, of course.” She pointed her wand towards Harry's crotch, causing him to cross his legs reflexively. “Now, Mr. Potter, no cause for alarm,” she said. She then waved her wand (in a pattern that Harry thought was a bit too suggestive) and shouted out the incantation's masculine form:
“Expecto Spermatozoa!”
The sliver of silvery mist that emanated from Poppy's wand did one lap around Harry's waist, then snaked down his leg and disappeared up his trouser leg. A few seconds later a luminescent globe the size of a beach ball shot out of the top of his trousers and began to prance around, patronus style, powered by a meter-long flagellum flapping behind it. The conjured manifestation of a sperm cell stopped in mid-circle, then dove straight towards the golden eggs that were still floating in front of Hermione. The collision produced a blinding flash that forced Harry's eyes shut. When he finally risked opening them up he noticed that the golden eggs had been transformed into images of floating babies, crouched up in fetal positions with thumbs stuck in their mouths.
Harry swallowed down hard on a bit a bile that was trying to force its way up his throat. “Well I guess that answers that question,” he said rather nervously.
Hermione, whose eyes had been completely fixed upon the conjurations in front of her, looked up at Harry with an expression on her face midway between panic and awe. She then said very softly, “They're baby girls, Harry.”
Luna walked up to Hermione without any pretense or care and ducked down to get an eye-level view of the twins. “Cute kids,” she commented, “They'll have Hermione's face and Harry's wild hair.”
Headmistress McGonagall snapped out of her own bewildered state and cast a Finite Incantatum spell that banished the conjurations.
“This will only come about if Mr. Potter's, erm…issue…reaches Miss Granger's waiting eggs. The contraceptive charm would create a magical barrier that blocks this occurrence. There are muggle devices that have similar function, are there not?”
Hermione let out a breath and whacked her forehead with the butt of her palm (i.e. the classic “why didn't I think of that?” gesture). “Condoms…of course!” She turned to Madame Pomfrey. “Surely you have some down in the infirmary?”
“Certainly not,” replied Madame Pomfrey. “Officially, I am barred from dispensing any type of birth control to students.”
Harry snorted. “Okay, what about unofficially?”
The Hogwarts nurse looked nervously over towards her supervisor. “Well, unofficially….and very hypothetically, were a student to ask my advice on such matters…I would tell her that she'd be ill-advised to trust her partner to be safe, and that would go double for using Muggle devices.”
Luna nodded in agreement. “From what I've heard, nobody uses Muggle birth control…even the Muggle-born witches take it upon themselves to learn the contraceptive charm from one of the older students.”
Harry frowned. “So it would be a waste of time to cast an Accio Trojans spell?
“I'm afraid so,” the Headmistress replied. “Best we can do is Accio Parental Consent Form!” When she cast the spell towards a large book sitting on a table in one corner of the office the cover flew open and pages started to flip. Half-way through it stopped, and a single page flew out off the book and into the Headmistress's hand. She looked at it carefully to make sure she had summoned the proper parchment, then reached out and placed it in Hermione's hand.
“Miss Granger, it would appear that a quick trip to a Muggle chemist's is in order,” she said. “But you'll need your father's permission first.”
“What?”
“Your father's permission for you to use birth control, Miss Granger. It's spelled out very clearly on the parchment I just gave you.”
“Why would Hermione need permission from her father for me to purchase or use a condom?” Harry asked. “We're both adults in the wizarding world, and she's legally an adult in the Muggle world too.”
“I am aware of that fact, Mr. Potter,” the Headmistress replied primly. “But as you are both still students at Hogwarts…”
“But we aren't attending classes,” Harry interrupted.
“That is correct, Harry, but as you will recall the three of you are still registered as students undertaking independent study coursework. As such, you are still subject to the rules of this school, and I am obligated to enforce them, as much as I might wish not to.”
“But…but the other girls…they don't get permission slips from their fathers, do they?”
“No, they don't,” replied the Headmistress. “But as I am not officially aware that any Hogwarts students are currently using the contraceptive charm, I am not required to ask for permission slips.”
Harry shook his head with a rueful, tight-lipped grin. “Plausible deniability combined with `Don't ask, Don't tell’.”
The Headmistress nodded.
“Can't I get my mother to sign for me?” Hermione asked.
“I'm afraid not, Miss Granger,” the Headmistress replied. “Truth be told, it should be the head of the House of Granger that signs, but as that is something quite difficult to determine for Muggle families, we are allowed to accept the blessings of a student's father.”
“But what about me?” asked Harry.
“Mr. Potter, as Head of the Noble House of Potter you are able to sign for yourself.”
“Oh.”
“Clock's ticking, Miss Granger,” the Headmistress said. “I suggest you bow to the inevitable necessity and take a quick trip to your parents.” She then consulted a different book whose pages began flipping on their own until they reached the “G's.” Grabbing another piece of paper to fashion into a portkey she looked up at Hermione and asked, “Would it be better to send you to your home or to your parent's work address?”
The blood drained from her face, it was all Hermione could do to whisper. “Daddy will be at his office at this time of day.”
oo00OO00oo
Five minutes later, in a dental practice located within a well-to-do suburb of London, Roger Granger took a call from his receptionist.
“Dr. Granger,” she said, “your daughter is here to see you.”
“Hermione?” he asked with amazement. He was up and out from behind his desk and halfway down the hall when he took in, and soon felt, the blur of his daughter's bear hug.
“Daddy, it's so good to see you.” Hermione murmured into his shoulder.
Roger looked up from his daughter's embrace and saw that she was accompanied by her friend, Harry Potter. Also with her was the Hogwarts school nurse that he'd met after Hermione's injury at the Department of Mysteries, and another teen-aged girl with stringy blond hair and radishes hanging from her ears. The girl looked rather spacey, the nurse (Pomfrey, he recalled) looked rather grim, and Harry Potter looked terrified.
“What's wrong, honey?” he asked Hermione.
Hermione leaned back so that she could look at her father's face with tear-streaked eyes.
“Well,” she began, “unless Harry and I have sex my friend Ron Weasley is going to die, and unless you sign a permission slip you are going to become a grandfather twice over.”
“Started beyond belief” was an understated description of Roger Granger's reaction. Having heard fantastically impossible descriptions of magical creatures and happenings from his only daughter before, though, he had a ready-made coping mechanism in place.
He silently counted to ten, and then said, “Go find your mother, dear.” As Hermione bounded off towards Emily Granger's office, he ushered her companions into his office, reached inside his desk, and pulled out a bottle of whisky and some glasses.
He poured two-finger's worth of the amber liquid into a glass, then looked down at his watch. “Only ten-thirty,” he noted. Looking up and straight into Harry's fear-filled eyes, he chuckled to himself and raised his glass.
“Well, the sun is over the yardarm somewhere, isn't it Harry?”