A hush, in the Great Hall, was a rare thing.

And rarer was it a good thing.

Hushes were harbingers.

Hushes were warnings.

Hushes were, indeed, a sign that something momentous, good or ill, was about to be recognized in glorious force, erupting like the bilious contents of nervous stomach, belching explosively forth.

Whether Deus engineered the hush or merely took advantage of its presence was a question that would lose out to the infinitely more important one of Are you kidding?! as the hush was quite rudely interrupted by the bellow of trumpets, followed by harps that twanged with awkwardly in a clear sign that they hadn't quite been practiced enough as several much-harangued House Elves dropped from the rafters from ropes around their waists, wearing cardboard wings magicked to their tea-towel uniforms and masks of complete concentration and resignation as their fingers played the harps at hand. (The trumpet blasts, if one were to look carefully, were coming from much-more-enthusiastic-than-the-House-EIves suits of armor, one of whom took the opportunity to go off script and play a jaunty, and enthusiastic jazz solo until elbowed with a rather echoingly loud bang by another suit of armor, whereupon it quickly looked as ashamed as an empty metal can will ever be able manage, and reluctantly lowered its trumpet).

The Slytherin sixth year, groomed as impeccably as he never was. bounded up the space of the Great Hall to leap enthusiastically to his knees in front of his favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, beaming with all the enthusiasm of a thestral being presented with a bloody side of beef. In his arms was a most absurd bouquet of black begonias, with sparkly bits of black ribbon and a card that, no doubt, would start singing in a warbly Scottish brogue the minute it was opened. "Yer favorite color,” The boy crooned, rising to his feet and plonking the bunch into the man's breakfast with nothing but good cheer. "Brings out the color o' yer eyes," He added eyelashes aflutter, in an enthusiastic stage whisper before bounding back to his kneeling position and bellowing (after waving to the House Elves to stop, which they did with particularly evident relief). "O IGNAN. Igniter of my passionate heart! My love! My flower! My thestral in the night! My Snitch on the Quidditch field! My slightly sour pumpkin juice! Paragon of patronuses, paradigm of pointed stares, quintessence of questioning eyebrows, archetype of anguished detentions, dashing in dark colors, cantankerous coach to coddled kids, model of manliness, you are the Mandrake Root to my Petrification, the Hungarian Horntail to my Firebolt, the Snitch to my Seeker though somewhat more balding and less fluttery and gold. My dearest Ignan, if you were a Dementor, I'd become a criminal just to get your kiss.” Deus finished the proclamation with a flourish, surging to his feet and throwing a hand over his heart, “So would ye, O Grumpy Sir, do me the honor—nay! The privilege!—NAY! The dream come true,” He dropped into a bow, peering up through curly lashes and a stray strand of brown hair, “Of attending the Yule Ball wit’ me?”

Professor Storm had been awaiting this moment for quite some time.

It had first happened before the Valentine's Day ball earlier that year, Deus Deres, proclaiming his love to him. The boy was, unhinged, but not too disgracefully disturbed that he chopped up house-elves. Proclamations of teenage love were manageable... to a point.

There'd been enough quips, mentions, sarcastic comments from the student body in the past few weeks about the fact the Hogwarts staff had to attend, and whether they would bring companions. Their Deputy Headmaster's love-life was a tentative fascination of the older years, but Deres was bold enough to cast aside thoughts of him having a woman, by offering himself up for the job.

But, as yet, nothing. No proclamations after class, no meetings in the corridor, no cards, nothing. The absence was more ominous than the event.

It was definite that there was something about to happen. Sat amongst the staff at the head table, Ignan was keeping one eye on the students below, who were eating their breakfasts, glancing up every now and then. Ignan had sliced an apple with a knife and was finishing the last piece just as it all began. He wiped his hands absent-mindedly as he watched it unfold.

When Deres appeared, he had a bouquet of dark flowers and a grin upon his face.
"Yer favorite color,” they landed on the recently vacated face beside his cup of tea. "Brings out the color o' yer eyes,"

The students were hanging on to every word, the lack of noise suddenly was a good indication. Their silver-haired Professor looked on, a smirk beginning to form on his features.

"O IGNAN. Igniter of my passionate heart! My love! My flower! My thestral in the night! My Snitch on the Quidditch field! My slightly sour pumpkin juice! Paragon of patronuses, paradigm of pointed stares, quintessence of questioning eyebrows, archetype of anguished detentions, dashing in dark colors, cantankerous coach to coddled kids, model of manliness, you are the Mandrake Root to my Petrification, the Hungarian Horntail to my Firebolt, the Snitch to my Seeker though somewhat more balding and less fluttery and gold. My dearest Ignan, if you were a Dementor, I'd become a criminal just to get your kiss.”

“So would ye, O Grumpy Sir, do me the honor—nay! The privilege!—NAY! The dream come true, of attending the Yule Ball wit’ me?”

There was a pregnant pause, interrupted by a titter, and a burst of giggles from a group of girls, and then the Professor stood, picking up the begonias, an increasingly amused, but otherwise straight face. Raising an eyebrow he noticed the card attached by ribbon, and slid it open - allowing the warbly singing to break out for a few seconds before sealing it shut and once again making eye contact with the boy. He addressed the student in a clear voice - loud enough to be heard, indulging him this time.

"Mr Deres, my jolly juvenile, your delightful disport before your classmates is a true diversion to a dreary morning. I doubt it will be forgotten quickly." He admired the flowers for a moment.

"Alas, I regret your," he thought back, "archetype of anguished detentions and mandrake root to your petrification, is unable to accept your most overt offering of oneself for a partner to the Yule Ball. Rest assured, it is not due to your lack of effort, or your elaborate methods for seeking my engagement - but rather the minor issue of your continued education."

The Professor's expression changed to that of disappointment, and he gave respectful a little half-bow, mouth returning to the familiar smirk.

He'd keep the flowers...



Knock yourselves out with the heckling...

It must be the doldrums before end of term and the many extra tests and assignments that were stacking up before holiday.  It had the Great Hall in a lull over dinnertime and Figaro was chatting boredly with his mates about a depressing and rare defeat of the Falmouth Falcons. 

Thank Merlin for Deus "Delinquint" Deres.  Figaro, like everyone else, watched in stunned-silent awe as house-elves rapelled from the ceiling and four suits of armor bugled a fanfare and Deus "Danger" Deres one-upped his Valentine's Day proposal.  Figaro slowly stood up from his seat to get a better view from near the back of Hufflepuff table.

He watched as Storm rose from his seat.  He rather figured if Deus wasn't the star of the show he'd be taking bets right now, taking odds on a possible immediate Killing Curse... 

What actually happened, moments later was somehow more disturbing.  Professor Storm had played along.  Well, give a inch, take a mile.

Figaro cupped his hands round his mouth and shouted, "C'mon, let's see a kiss!"  And then he sat down swiftly, not totally keen on taking 100% of the credit for that one.

Indeed, hushes were well worth paying mind to when they happened in the Great Hall. Landis was reading his newspaper, folded neatly and trimly into a small rectangle just wide enough to accommodate his current article. His eyes flicked up at the quiet, followed by the disbelieving trek of his brows up his forehead as elves lowered from the ceiling. The students buzzed with low-grade excitement and scandal as Deus Deres - one of the Slytherins, of course it was, and this one - bounded up towards the staff table with a sparkly black bouquet.

Landis laid down his paper completely at this point. He watched, the curled fingers of one hand casually held in front of his mouth to hide his smile. Storm was an unexpectedly good sport about the whole thing, but then, it always helped to encourage Deres' more harmless acts of mischief. If the only ones traumatized were the house elves then it could have been much worse.

"I'm not sure he'll find such a sincere invitation elsewhere," he murmured to the person on his left.[1] "That was quite a speech." His smile instantly disappeared a moment later as one of the students shouted, "'C'mon, let's see a kiss!", replaced by his quelling diamond-bit stare as it raked over the Hufflepuff table in the direction of the shout.

1.	Open to any staff member!

Everything was happening so fast! Jack saw an okay performance from the elves, the suddenly an older Slytherin made a proposal to Ignan. Jack sat there with his mouth agape. Black flowers then fluttery eyes, this was too good. He chuckled throughout the whole thing until the student finally finished his act,“So would ye, O Grumpy Sir, do me the honor—nay! The privilege!—NAY! The dream come true, of attending the Yule Ball wit’ me?”

 What felt like hour was only seconds as the professor decided to play along. Jack couldn't believe this! He though that the whole building would collapse from Ignan's anger, but no he played along.

Then Jack heard Figaro's,"C'mon, let's see a kiss!" and Jack started laughing. By now there was some noise all around the room so he decided to add his own voice. Jack started chanting,"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Before long he heard other voices joining in, he knew something had to happen soon. 

Frank knew his big brother's voice and for a moment was shocked that he'd dare to cross the terrifying Professor Storm - but at the moment he didn't seem so scary, not having just been asked on a date from that older Slytherin boy.  A smile crept on his face as a chant was growing from the next table over. 

Looking around, the blonde-haired Ravenclaw firstie cracked a smile, his nervousness dissipating.  This school was fantastic!  Lightly, quietly at first, he pounded the table with his fist.  "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!..." 

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Hooch leaned forward to get a glimpse of the looks on the other professor's faces.  Like her, a few were doing a valiant job of presenting a sternly disapproving look, while others were having less success.  Hooch herself wouldn't intervene - there were ranking staff present and really even if dear Ignan hadn't started this, he'd encouraged it, hadn't he?  It was his wand in this duel now. 

This breach of decorum couldn't last long, she supposed as she sat back in her chair and allowed herself the tightest of smiles.

In Minerva’s half-century at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry she’d seen almost everything there is to see. She’d survived hostile takeovers, deaths of students, countless excuses for missing homework, and an infinite changing of staff. Few things surprised the elderly witch, and even fewer things left Minerva speechless. Deus Deres was one of those handful of students that could manage the feat time and again.

Ignan Storm, Deputy Headmaster of the school, could easily handle anything that was thrown his way. She allowed him, though of foreign schooling, was a strong and competent wizard and he took lip from no one. A bite of egg trembled in midair, Minerva’s mouth agape, as house elves touched down upon the floor and the Slytherin boy started his monologue. By the time he’d finished, the headmistress held a kerchief to her mouth to hide the girlish giggles that threatened to escape into the hall.

Fully expecting the complete wrath of the Durmstrangian, Minerva was caught completely off guard when he went along with the stunt. Discipline at Hogwarts may be less strict than at Durmstrang, or even the formalities of Beauxbatons, but even here, a mutiny in the Great Hall was nothing to shake a stick at. That is, unless your stick could produce magic powers and silence the entire hall… Thankfully, if it came to that, Minerva had just the stick for the job.

In a bout of uncharacteristic thinking, Minerva leaned in toward Ignan. The hall was filling quickly with the chanting of “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss…” and was getting louder, so Minerva wasn’t sure if her voice could even be heard above the din. “Professor,” She called in a normal voice, hopefully loud enough for both Ignan and Deus to hear, “Unless something’s changed from our last conversation, you’re still without escort to the Yule Ball. Perhaps you should consider Mr. Deres’ offer most heavily,”

His heart was pounding.

Not, mind you, out of the deep love and devotion he claimed, but rather more like a boy who has boasted to spend the night in the Shrieking Shack, only to have the sun start to set.  But Professor Storm’s slight smirk, and flowered words were...not, precisely, what Deus had been expecting. He knew Ignan had a sense of humor under the stern expression—he had to or Deus would have ‘vanished’ into the Forbidden Forest not shortly after the first of these stunts, forever ago in February—and as much as the man challenged them all, well, he went above and beyond a bit, didn’t he? Had to mean something, that. Deus, for all that he had a strange way of expressing it, had immense respect for the man. One needed only look at how often Deres showed up to his class to gauge that.

But the professor one-upping him by playing along hadn’t exactly factored in. What, oh what, to do now?

Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

If Deus felt any fear, it was only in the briefest flash in his eyes. That slight Oh shit, might’ve overdone this look of a cat about to go up against a coyote. But the next flash was the only warning there was of what was about to happen—it was the flash of someone who’d come far enough that going farther was the only option. Deus was not to be outdone by either professor or chanting crowd. So he took a breath, one brief, second of utter stillness where he processed the inevitable regrets that would follow this impetuous action….

And launched himself.

At McGonagall.

Now, Deus had something of a reputation for casual snogging and ambush smooching, but there were certain boundaries of respect that even he honored. Not many, of course, but a few. And so it was that the slobbery, enthusiastic kiss that bore astonishing resemblance to a puppy dog’s (cold nose and all), was placed with considerable, sloppy fervor, on the woman’s cheek. What could he say—the boy had a soft spot for Gryffindors.

And all of a second after the stunt, Deus pulled back with the jerky terror of a cornered rabbit, and barked, “Lovely woman! Pearls o’ wisdom, all that—“ He looked pointedly at Ignan, back straight, “Ye should listen tae ‘er! Reconsider! M'offer stands!”

And without further ado, Deus leapt back, bowed fantastically, and did what Slytherins did best.

He ran.

With a poof of smoke—for effect, of course—Deus hightailed it the heck outta there, blowing a kiss farewell to Professor Storm while signaling the suits of armor to resume their fanfare, which caused at least one startled House Elf to appear with a BANG and a harp, only to vanish a moment later, looking quite dismayed and somewhat pink in the cheeks.

"Aaaaaaah!"  Frank let out a startled, delighted scream of surprise when DEUS DERES KISSED THE HEADMISTRESS!  He quickly clamped his hand over his mouth, but the entire Great Hall was already in an uproar of hollaring, laughing and stunned looks of disbelief! 

"He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!" Frank giggled bouncing in his seat, chattering on amid the din.  "I can't believe he kissed Professor McGonagall! They're going to kill him!  You can't just kiss professors!  It has to be illegal!" he rambled out in shrill, delighted tones.

Jack blinked, rubbed his eyes, then froze with his mouth open. Was this really happening. someone was kissing the Headmistress. While everyone was hooting and hollering Jack just stood there frozen. This was perhaps the biggest thing that has happened since he came to Hogwarts.

Finally he came out of it and could mutter," I love it here"  Then his attention turned back to the boy. Jack felt like a bomb was about to go off. This kid was SCREWED!

If the request to attend the dance wasn't enough, Deus decided to cap it all by launching himself at Minerva, which caused Ignan to reach for his wand quickly, dropping the flowers to the table below, prepared to intervene and hex the young man's eyebrows off.

The Slytherin was kissing her on the cheek, what by Merlin...? Then Deus was off, quick as a flash (with smoke), and the room
erupted into laughter once more as the fanfare rang out again.

"Are you alright?" Ignan asked Minerva over the noise, bemused, but concerned that Deus had manhandled the Headmistress. "I think he's over his theatrics, but I'll have a word."

Hooch drew back at the young man's sudden movements towards the Headmistress.  Her hand went to her wand, but there was never any need to draw to protect a witch like Minerva McGonagal.  And it seemed there was no threat to be had anyway.  The chanting, it seemed, had done its own magic and it's subjects? Deus Deres and the Headmistress.

"My word!" she exclaimed, scandalized and entertained all at once. It was a stunt that could get the boy expelled if McGonagal had a mind to.  He was off like a flash and the Great Hall was in an uproar. 

"That boy - ! Minerva?"  Hooch leaned forward. 

Even within fast-moving situations, sometimes time seems to slow, and within the slowing of time one can see things most clearly. This was not one of those times. One moment the deranged Slytherin was happily confessing his love for the Defense professor and the next – a pair of wet and slimy lips was plastered to her cheek. Then the boy was gone, leaving only a wet trail in his wake. Her hand switched directions mid-move; from reaching for her wand to reaching for her face.

She quickly wiped the saliva from her face and the hall erupted into even higher tones of hysteria at the hilarity of it all. Minerva’s smile had slid off her face the moment the boy’s lips touched her. The impunity of children now days! Were children no longer taught respect and decency? It was one thing to have a bit of fun, but too much is simply too much, and that is that.

“Fine – I’m FINE!” She said forcefully as sounds of concern came from different directions. Her eyes flashed dangerously, anger overriding the embarrassment. “He was having a spot of fun, that’s all,” She said, to convince herself more so than those around her. “Be sure you do, Ignan. Have a word with him, that is,”

With a nod, Ignan departed from the table, sweeping down the centre gap between the tables which were filled with giggling children and the echo of 'kiss' still heard. Ugh, it was going to take a little while for them to settle, and for this to be forgotten. But thankfully it was the Christmas holidays soon enough, and there would be much to make them forget.

Heading in the direction Deres had last been glimpsed, Ignan disappeared through the doors, seeking out the form of the boy who had just asked him to the ball.

"Deres! A word!"



As timeline has moved on, not sure if this should be left here!