The clear ringing of a silver spoon against Minerva McGonagall's glass cut through the babble of voices in the Great Hall, and slowly, perhaps more slowly than usual, the students quieted and gave their attention to the Head Table. Rather than be irritated, Professor McGonagall's face creased into a smile; but then, everyone seemed to be smiling more since Voldemort had been defeated two months earlier. Everyone, that is, except for Professor Snape, but then nobody really expected anything else from the sour man.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley finally heeded the sharp elbows of Hermione Granger and settled down like sober seventh years who are supposed to be examples to their younger classmates. Killing a supposedly immortal and immensely powerful wizard on your first day back to school was a heck of a way to start their final year, and the pair of them were still prone to the high spirits and irreverent humor which were symptomatic of still being alive after such an encounter.

Nodding tolerantly at the students, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore held out his hands in genial welcome, his snowy beard and hair gleaming in the light from the many floating jack-o-lanterns. The Halloween feast had been in full swing for nearly an hour, and it was traditional for him to make a short speech just before the children's blood sugar levels hit the upper stratosphere. With a smile and his trademark twinkle, Dumbledore opened his mouth to begin his speech, and let out a rooster crow that echoed the length of the hall.

Stunned silence greeted this, along with a faint disapproving frown from McGonagall. Dumbledore himself frowned, then opened his mouth again. This time, the cock crow was accompanied by a 'pop,' and in his place stood a handsome white and red rooster, who began to cluck and strut his way down the table, pecking at the food on the various diners' plates.

At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy burst into loud, derisive laughter. While he'd been cleared of collaborating with his father and Lord Voldemort, his close call with the Aurors had not improved his attitude and he made no effort to hide his disdain for Dumbledore. The others at his table stirred, unsure of how to respond, especially when Draco's laughter was suddenly interrupted by the loudest belch ever to be let loose in the Great Hall since Rubeus Hagrid had been a student.

Draco clapped his hands over his mouth, obviously appalled at the sneak attack of gas. Unfortunately, that action did not muffle the sound when the next eruption came from the same digestive system, only thirty inches lower. His fair skin was no match for the deep red blush that stole over his features, getting darker by the moment as the flatulence repeated in several octaves. Sniggers and outright laughter broke out all over the Great Hall. Malfoy made a break for it, but his retreat was still audible even after he disappeared from view. Several Gryffindors were having trouble staying upright at their table.

At the Head table, Minerva McGonagall was having no luck catching the errant headmaster, who had perched on the back of his chair, flapping his wings madly to fend off anyone attempting to apprehend him.

"For Merlin's sake, woman. You're the Transfigurations Mistress! Just turn him back!" snapped an apoplectic Snape, batting at several loose white feathers around his face. Irritation gave way to horror as a woman's arm snaked its way around his neck and pulled him backwards.

"Severus, darling. Where have you been all my life?" purred Madame Hooch. Her yellow eyes were heavy with a sensuous languor, and Snape was hard pressed to unwind her wandering hands from his person.

"I've sat beside you for the last decade, Madame. What the bloody hell is going on here!?!!"

Hooch merely pouted and made another attempt to entwine the hastily backpedaling Potions Master. Unfortunately, he backed into Hagrid's chair. Snape's lean frame bounced off the half-giant's mass, and only quick footwork kept him from falling either to the floor or into his pursuing paramour. A quick side-step put Hagrid between himself and the amorous Hooch, who quickly transferred her affections.

"'Ere, now. What're you.. HEY! There's no call to be..WATCH YER HANDS!"

In danger of snorting pumpkin juice out his nose, Ron Weasley grabbed hold of Harry's shoulder and howled as complete and utter chaos broke out in the Great Hall. A Hufflepuff climbed onto his seat and began to spout dirty limericks. Several Ravenclaws were laughing hysterically at each other as their faces changed into a variety of eye-catching hues. Professor Sprout began sneezing repeatedly, having suddenly become allergic to, apparently, everything. All over the hall, joke charms by the score were invoked. A half-dozen Slytherins dropped to all fours and began hopping about, making deep 'rrribbit' noises and flicking their tongues in the air.

"We've got to do something!" insisted Hermione, but her two friends were pointing and laughing at Seamus, who had suddenly developed a cleavage that rivaled any girl in the school. 'Maybe he'll stop staring at Lavender's now that he's got his own,' she thought, irritated.

"What do you want us to do, Hermione?" asked Harry, gasping for breath. "Get him a bra?" The question set Ron off again, who held his sides and laughed until Hermione pointed out that his hair had inexplicably caught fire. He felt the top of his head and let out a yell as he encountered hot cinders. Harry thoughtfully poured a glass of pumpkin juice over his head.

Hermione let out her first snort of laughter at the disgusted look on Ron's face as he wiped the rivulets of juice from the back of his neck, but her wand was steady as she pointed it at Harry and pronounced "Finite Incantatum."

Harry gingerly wiggled his donkey ears as they shrank back to normal and gave her a chagrined look. "All right. What do you want us to do?"

Directing Ron to go to the kitchens to get the elves to dispose of the obviously adulterated food, she had Harry join her as they waded into the mayhem and deactivated charm after charm. Hermione was unable to catch Pansy Parkinson as the girl ran past, clutching at a handsome handlebar mustache and shrieking at the top of her lungs. A quick second glance confirmed that the mustache was actually composed of excessive amounts of nasal hair.

Across the room, Harry was attempting to de-hex a notoriously shy fifth-year performing a high-kicking chorus line routine on top of her table. Dancing spells seemed to be quite popular, Hermione thought as she narrowly avoided being run down by rampant Morris dancers, although Millicent Bulstrode was surprisingly graceful as she pirouetted on point in her size thirteen combat boots.

Once the prefects of each house were found and released from their respective enchantments, the tide began to turn. Victims of the infamous Weasley Wizard's Turtle Truffles were found inching their way along the back wall, and those who'd eaten the Phish food fondue were re-transformed before they injured themselves while flopping about on the flagstone floor. The restored students, slightly shocked and more than a little disoriented, were sent to their common rooms.

A sudden mad itching and crawling sensation on her own head made Hermione gingerly explore her scalp; the round lengths where her hair had been made her wonder if she'd gained Medusa locks. When nothing bit her fingers she decided to leave it while she tackled a Ravenclaw who was shouting a poem at the top of his lungs. She vaguely recognized the genre as American cowboy poetry and wondered if it was written in as torturous a phonetic verse as anything Burns ever wrote in tribute to a haggis.

Crabbe and Goyle were among the last students found and de-charmed; they were snogging madly under the Slytherin table. Hermione blithely assumed it was a charm and firmly ordered her imagination stay out of it completely. McGonagall assured her the teachers were accounted for, save the Headmaster, whose whereabouts were confirmed when they followed the sound of awful Italian love songs being sung in a reedy voice. Argus Filch was on his knees serenading an oblivious Mrs. Norris, who was single-mindedly stalking a decidedly put out and bedraggled rooster.

With a flick of McGonagall's wand, the headmaster was human again. Hermione de-hexed Filch, who took his cat and slouched off without another word. Professor McGonagall gently steered her employer towards his quarters, patting his hand reassuringly while she promised the house elves would not be serving fowl of any kind in the near future.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to survey the shambles of the Great Hall. Food and overturned benches littered the floor, and even Peeves seemed impressed as he swooped out the door. Another movement caught her attention and she turned to see Severus Snape eyeing her with distaste.

Rather than fleeing, she calmly walked towards him. "Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked mildly.

Snape's lip curled dangerously. "Miss Granger, you may be Head Girl, but I must wonder if you might be seriously and dangerously deranged."

Unimpressed, she gave him a small smile. "I designed the filing system for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes over the summer, and I've been helping them out on weekends since school started. They've been so busy since Voldemort's defeat that I'll lay a Galleon one or both of them is currently sound asleep on their workbench with a Canary Cream stuck in their ear." She paused, then raised one eyebrow at the stone-faced man in front of her. "It was very clever of you to order in small quantities, all under different names, but I've seen too many of your detention slips not to recognize your handwriting."

The heavy scowl on Snape's face wavered, then disappeared completely as his mouth let loose a guffaw. Another followed and before her eyes, the dour man dissolved into a gleeful miscreant, muffling his brays of laughter in the folds of his robes as he slid down the wall and collapsed in a heap. Tears of mirth trickled from the corners of his eyes, while one boot heel bounced gently against the flagstones in time with his chortling.

Hermione gathered her robes around her legs as she sat down a few feet away and watched him indulgently, toying with her hair. On second inspection they weren't snakes, but brassy sausage curls that sprang back into shape when she tugged on them.

Eventually Snape calmed, his hysterical laughter dying into random giggles as he set about restoring the tatters of his dignity. He looked up at Hermione when she cleared her throat.

"You are allowed to be happy, Professor. You didn't need to go to such lengths."

"No, Miss Granger, I am not," he corrected her gently. His slight smile belied the serious tone of voice. "Only half of Voldemort's Death Eaters have been apprehended. Two were seen in Hogsmeade recently, presumably hunting for Potter. I myself have received several messages from my former colleagues, asking for succor and shelter. It may be years before Snape the Bastard is allowed to retire for good."

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Professor. You have a nice laugh."

"Thank you, Miss Granger," he said sincerely. "I take it I may trust in your discretion?"

"Of course," she assured him. "Although I may ask you for the charm for my hair. I rather like it."

Snape gave the bouncing curls a raised eyebrow, but said nothing as he rose and arranged his robes properly. Hermione regained her feet as well, waiting for him to say something. He gave her another long look, then extended his elbow in a courtly gesture.

"Well, Miss Granger? Shall we patrol the halls? I'm sure at least one Gryffindor is out of bounds tonight and in need of a few points taken off."

"Certainly, sir," she replied, taking his arm. "It would be my pleasure."

~fin~