An overdose of overdone HGSS cliches in nutty little nutshell of a parody!

Beauty and the Bat

"Lemon drop?"

"No thank you. Refined sugar is the tooth-killer."

Dumbledore missed his mouth and lost his lemon drop somewhere in his beard. Not finding it again in a timely manner, he took another out of the dish. "What could possibly bring you to my office if not the delicious lemon drops, Miss Granger? Shall we have a lovely tea party instead, perhaps?"

"No Headmaster, I want to ask you why I received this invitation to my own wedding by owl this morning."

"Ah, of course! That would be because you are invited to your wedding! You are one of the two guests of honor, after all."

"It says here that I will be marrying Professor Snape this evening. Would that be correct?"

"That is my plan. It is a bit too late for the two of you to elope!"

"May I ask why my marrying Professor Snape is your plan, sir?"

"You may ask, though I am afraid I am not at liberty to discuss that information with you at this time."

"Could your plan change to force me into an underage marriage with Professor Lockhart instead?"

"Have you been suffering memory losses, Miss Granger?"

"No sir."

"Then I fail to see why you are so confused. You will be marrying Professor Snape tonight. It says so right here on the wedding invitation in flashing Gryffindor red and Slytherin green complete with dancing wizard-bears wearing exciting socks. I did design the invitations myself!"

"Headmaster, I am a second year."

"True but all would agree that you very mature for your age. I saw no reason to put off this excellent excuse to hold a celebration here at Hogwarts merely because the Ministry of Magic has yet to inact some Muggleborn Marriage Law which you would no doubt find enslaving and barbaric. Besides, if you marry Professor Snape tonight, it's worth five points to Gryffindor and even more required Potions essays!"

"Oh! Well sir, I suppose Professor Snape isn't all that bad."

"I knew that I could count on you! As for now, you'd better hurry off- or you might be late for your next class which just happens to be Potions, I believe."

"Yes sir!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger. You were nearly fifteen seconds late."

"I can explain, Professor-"

"I am certain that you can, just as I am certain that under threat of Cruciatus I could pretend to consider carefully your excuse before doling out your punishment. However, both those endeavors would waste even more of my class time. Detention with me at seven this evening for implying the torture of a Hogwarts professor."

"Sir, you may recall that there is a wedding at seven."

"Ah yes. Very well. Make that detention at eight o'clock and fifty more points from Gryffindor for your aggravating scheduling difficulties and inappropriate taste in men."

While they had no idea what Snape was on about, Ron and Harry took his last comment as a good reason to pout.

"Turn to page four hundred fifty one in your texts. Today, you will be brewing the most difficult, deadly, and volatile potion concealed within these pages, the Sudden Death Potion. I of course will be giving you no instruction at all, apart from encouraging all Slytherins to distance themselves from Mr. Longbottom. Begin!"

Toward the end of class, Hermione set her perfect sample of Sudden Death Potion on Professor Snape's desk. "May I speak with you for a moment after class, Professor?"

"Miss Granger, while I could not hope a Gryffindor might manage to demonstrate true self-control, I had expected that you could wait until after 7 tonight before attempting to make use of me like some cheap Zonko pleasure toy whirring away for your own sensual satisfaction. Class dismissed."

Harry and Ron all but bolted for the door. As they walked very quickly away from the dungeons Ron whispered, "Blimey, Harry, did Snape just say something about sex?"

"I don't think so. He may have said something about sense. I wasn't really paying attention," Harry replied. "Potions is a lot like sleeping with your eyes open, then cooking while you're having a nightmare."

"Yeah? So what's cooking like then?"

"Really messy Transfigurations."

"Ew! Bet she'd be brilliant at that too. Hang on, where is Hermione?"

"Asking Snape something, I think."

"Her funeral!"

"Professor Snape, do you really want to marry me?"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for asking an impertinent question. What are my petty desires to do with the price of a poor decision made when Lucius Malfoy wore even more effeminate clothing and danced the hustle? Professor Dumbledore in his deep lemon-flavored dementia otherwise known as "wisdom" has consulted his beard and spoken- yes, I was referring to Professor McGonagall. As I am but another poor plighted pawn in this impending fiasco, I suggest you crawl on your chubby knees back to your little friends in the Towers who might give a flying knut about your case of cold feet. You will receive no pity from me!"

"I've been thinking about our situation, Professor. Before class, I was a bit worried about the whole arranged marriage aspect. However, I've decided that it's merely a case of true love blooming out of unfortunate and highly unlikely circumstances. You'll have trouble admitting to your feelings of course because you are my Professor, yet will secretly adore the fact that I am the only person other than you who enjoys listening to you speak. I wouldn't be able to sort out my romantic feelings one way or another now because I'm twelve, but will always admire your extensive vocabulary, dramatic enunciation, and terrifying delivery. So long as you don't come down with a bad case of laryngitis, my Arithmantic calculations prove that we'll be madly in love by the time that I graduate!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor for performing Arithmantic equations in Potions class while you should be paying your undivided attention- to me."

"Sorry Professor. Anyway, I think we should both gear our future actions and verbal exchanges toward forming a symbiotic relationship. See you at dinner, then at the wedding, then for detention. Have a great day!"

Hermione pivoted smartly to leave. As she did so the great hulking mass of frizz atop her head swept across the surface of Snape's desk sending four vials, all various colored attempts at Sudden Death Potion, on a collision course with the floor.

Thinking quickly, Snape in a grab that would have impressed Draco Malfoy (though not so much Harry Potter) caught in mid air Hermione's sample, which was the only potion there that had turned the correct color. As the three mis-brewed potions mixed, fumes rose and filled the room with shimmering iridescent vapor. Exposed to a thick cloud of it, Snape and Hermione locked eyes in horror before collapsing to the cold stone floor.

Snape's next class of fourth year nose-in-a-book-but-idiots-in-real-life Ravenclaws and rather-agreeably-meek-yet-annoyingly-cheerful Hufflepuffs entered. No one trusted Snape at all or (the swottiest little swot who could) Hermione enough not to be faking apparent unconsciousness in order to catch them out. Thus the whole class sat the whole hour in perfectly terrified silence. This was obviously a test the Ravenclaws all concluded and informed the Hufflepuffs silently by passing them the parchment, not only to make Hufflepuffs feel even more mentally inferior but so that everyone would know when Ravenclaw was once again proved brilliant. They all knew that Snape would move, of course, but could not agree as to when. That made Snape all the more scary.

Snape's next class were the combined fifth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. All the Gryffindors quickly and bravely whisked Hermione away to the infirmary shouting for no reason at all and waving their wands foolishly. After a lengthy pros versus cons debate, the remaining cunning and ambitious Slytherins decided they did not wish to risk the wrath of their Head by not doing the same for him, but wisely felt compelled to sneak Snape into the infirmary by the back way.

Later that afternoon, Hermione opened her eyes.

"You see! I told you she'd pull through!"

"Yes fine, Minerva, so I owe you five galleons. Feel free to deduct that amount from the twenty five you still owe me concerning the identity of the old fool's brother's secret romance."

"I still say that bet was unfair, Severus. I was never clear as to which candidate you were suggesting. After all, there's more than one old goat in that family. Hermione, dear, how do you feel?"

"Um, fine. Thank you for asking Professor McGonagall. Professor Snape! You saved me! I'm sure we both would have died had my potion hit the floor!"

"Spare us the grating bravado concerning your potions skills. Your sample was far more a coal-black than the requisite ink-black. Sudden Death? I doubt your potion could have caused more than a sudden headache. However, to be fair to all those Slytherins whose cunning and ambitious potionswork you may have destroyed so callously, fifty points from Gryffindor. Subtract another 5000 points for making me pregnant."

"Pregnant?"

"Yes, pregnant- gestating, heavy with child, expecting, knocked up, in the family way, with a bun-"

"I do know what pregnant means!"

"Ah good. So we won't have to have that little chat on our honeymoon. Miss Granger, as you seem sufficiently recovered, I suggest you go do something with that criminally delinquent mousetrap that you call hair in preparation for making an honest man out of me."

"Severus, she's a witch not a miracle worker!"

Snape smirked. Hermione gasped looking horrified.

"Oh! I meant when it comes to making a Slytherin honest, dear, not you... fixing your... lovely... locks. I'll just see you both later then. Filius and I are helping Albus with the Muggle wedding decorations." Minerva straightened her hat and clicked her way primly to the exit.

"Socrates was on to something," he whispered to no one.

"Professor Snape, you're pregnant? How?"

"The same way it always happens- carelessness! In this case, your careless mixing of that swill that masquerades as student samples. I theorize the resulting vapor combined our genetic material to magically impregnate me. However the growth of the foetus is- somewhat accelerated."

"Accelerated? When do you expect to give birth, Professor?"

"I shall be lucky to make it to midnight- not quite how I imagined I might be spending my wedding night."

"Do you know whether you are having a girl or a boy, sir?"

"So impatient that you can not wait until midnight to find out?"

"Professor, do you even want children?"

"Perhaps you should have thought to ask- before tossing potions off my desk!"

"They caught in my hair!"

"Oh how typical of a Gryffindor, always shirking responsibilities. Nothing is ever your fault!"

"Professor, it really was an accident."

"Remind me to tell our child that you said that!"

"I meant about the potions! How was I to know a bunch of dunderheads would collectively make us rich?"

That single word seemed to calm and focus him. "Rich?"

"Would residue of the mixture remain?"

"No. The blasted house-elves would have removed the mess immediately."

"How about the unbroken samples, sir?"

"House-elves would never touch anything on my desk- not after what happened last time."

"Perfect! Get everyone whose samples are missing to brew that potion in the next class. No! Don't waste precious class time! Give them all a detention! You know that they all make the same stupid mistakes over and over, again and again. Re-engineer the results of those detention samples and sell them as a mix-together kit. It will give magical couples the ability to produce and birth a baby in just one day! Not only will you solve the under-population problem in the Wizarding World, you'll give witches everywhere a way to let their husbands do all the dirty and painful work while they keep their girlish figures! Aside from sales, you'll be a hero, flooded with grant galleons and your pick of projects and where to publish and lecture."

"Why Miss Granger, you may have made an acceptable Slytherin."

"I should hope so. I'll be an honorary one after our ceremony, after all."

"Hmmph!"

"What are we going to call our baby?"

"Certainly not Albus, nor some strange variation thereof regarding the gender, and no middle names at all."

"Seconded. Not Harry either and nothing from mythology, herbology, or astrology."

"Agreed, and nothing that resembles the name of some new tropical disease."

"Not a name like Severus or Hermione, that will cause the child secretly to resent us forever."

"Nothing forming the initials SS."

"Professor, what if we just call the baby 'Snape?' Just until he or she starts talking. Then the child can pick a first name."

"Suits me."

"And what should I call you?"

"You may call me- Sir."

"Like Peppermint Patty and her submissive lesbian comic strip lover?"

"Precisely. Now, if you are quite finished lazing about in bed with your fiance, I do have things to do."

"Are you certain that you shouldn't stay here in the infirmary?"

"No, but I can guarantee you that no one will stop me from leaving it."

Snape waved his wand to change his black long sleeved full length nightshirt into customary abominable bat wear, which easily hid his pregnancy, or a portable potions lab, very young elephant, or complete set of garden furniture depending upon necessity. He threw back the covers from his own bed, slid his black sock covered feet into slippers, transformed them into black boots, then stood and stalked off for parts unknown where students no doubt now celebrated his absence.

Hermione on the other hand felt just a bit lonely now, as usual. She used the facilities, dressed the Muggle way, and went to inform Ron and Harry that they were about to become uncles to a Snape spawn. That would probably take a while to explain, especially since she knew that neither had bothered this morning to open their wedding invitations, now either lost or stuffed into the bottoms of their book bags.

More later! Let me know what you think. Will dance like a monkey for reviews.)