7-9, you fend off the threat at a cost: You have to call for help. Expend a FAVOR.

1 + 6 = 7, success

Staring at those awful little creatures surrounding you, the following five seconds drag out until they feel like two years passing. Eventually, you come to the decision that you simply have to do something - it cannot be helped. You ARE a warrior at the end of the day, right??

"Shadow elves." you say to Bertie. Fairly close to you is the red-haired Beavertail who gave you your first (And, so far, only) good fuck of the evening, having been keeping to the shadows himself but instinctively running towards you, his lover (for certain values of the term) to keep you safe, or vice-versa.

"Erm," Bertie whispers hoarsely, "...I know there's magical creatures and then there's magical creatures.... that is, some are just weird dangerous things in a general kind of way, whereas some are the pervy, creepy, doing-weird-sex-things kind. Which kind are these?"

"Well," you say with black humor creeping into your voice, "the 'shadow' part of their name is a contraction of their original name: 'where-the-sun-doesn't-shine elves'. So-"

"Yeah, gotit." your friend winces and pushes his glasses up. "So we're all about to get arse-raped, then." he says matter-of-factly. "At least they don't want to eat us."

"I do not think you realize there are things they can do to your - our - ass that are not more survivable than being cooked for dinner." you say grimly.

Fortunately it seems that Master Firetail has gotten most of their attention. Regrettably so, for him - as despite sending out a streamer of flame that engulfs a few of them, the shadowy horde scuttles forward, leaping from shadow to shadow magically before piling all over him. A pair of them go straight for his prized codpiece, dangling loose due to his masturbatory antics, and yank it off. After a few seconds, Master Firetail is crying for help in a higher-pitched voice than you'd ever expected to hear from a man old enough to be your grandfather. The frizzy-haired Draconis girl you'd been with a minute ago fell prey to them as well, and started shrieking as an entire stygian arm plunged between her generous butt-cheeks.

That tears it - and you don't (just) mean Master Firetail's rectum. Look at all those young adults, some of them near 20 or past it, quivering with fear at the hands of creatures small enough to drop kick! They'll have to be shamed into acting, just like your lover had to be shamed into giving you the hard fuck you'd come out here for.

You step forward, cast a wide gaze around you, and slap your elbow. "Hast Sie ein Wahn oder was?" you shout in a shrill voice.

"...wuzzat a spell?" a Leontes boy asks in a stumbling, oafish voice. You continue. "They are going to torture us! Get the wands if you can but FUCK, do SOMETHING!" Most of them stand where they are, but one goes out and takes the first step - the Beavertail who'd been orbiting you ever since you rocked his world. He bellows and puts his fists up, not letting his nakedness dissuade him from charging a throng of a dozen shadow elves.

Out of the corner of your eye as you go for your own robes, you can him getting dragged down, legs pulled apart, and a line of the nasty, grubby little humanoids forming behind him. But, at least he managed to draw them aside long enough for you to reach your robes....

Unfortunately, your wand is not there as you frantically paw through the fabric. "Looking for this, girly?" A hissing, nasty voice calls from behind you. Two more elves grab your legs and spread them apart in the same way - and damn it all, a petite girl like you can't easily shake off even such tiny creatures. They're stronger and heavier than they look. "I've got your magic stick right here. But a cloth pocket is no place for it, no, no. I see a much better place right here."

With little fanfare or preparation something cold, narrow, and terribly sharp pierces right past your clenched anus. Even though you've 'gone all the way' with four different guys by this point, none of them had had the nerve to press past your objections. You may not be the most traditional girl but having cocks or anything else inserted into the place you went to the bathroom from was a taboo you have never had any interest whatsoever in breaking - that would be like holding a sword by the blade and hitting someone with the hilt. Why did those guys want to do it, you'd always wondered? Your pussy was right there, that's what it's made for. And now, you feel more validated in holding steadfast to that preference than ever.

But even through the fear and discomfort, you manage to snake one of your hands into your robe's pockets and pull something out. As it turns out, gripping a wand with one's hand is not necessary to work magic so long as you're holding it somehow. You thrust your hand back with a tiny folded oilcloth in your palm as you grit your teeth around the magic words: "Engorgigladio...!"

The sudden expansion of the letter opener-sized saber into its full length extends the point right through the head of the jeering creature who'd foolishly 'given' you your wand, not giving him time to appreciate his error. Leaping to your feet, wand still lodged in your backside, you forget everything about wizardly decorum and grip the blade with your own hand crassly.

Sometimes magic isn't needed. As the two surprised elves that had been trying to hold you down by your ankles find out, quickly being divided into four half-elves. You spring forward towards the group gang-raping your unnamed Beavertail sexfriend. Even though this orgy has gone badly, the sound that the elves make as a sword tears them to bits - it's a bit like someone's breeches ripping when they sit down too suddenly - turns out to be quite satisfying to the ear. Claws and tiny teeth tear into your naked flesh, but your steel blade does far, far worse to them.

The gang moves in around you, spitting curses in their squeaky, hissing voices and preparing to pile on you and drag you down. That turns out to be a mistake - the other students finally go for their own discarded wands and retrieve them. Moments later the crowd of elves is pelted by a barrage of summoned rats, birds, teacups, stuffed animals, potted plants, snowballs, doughnuts, fireworks, and other miscellaneous junk. They press forward and drag a few of the students down but everyone present is overcharged on account of all the sex they've been getting, and the chaotic assault is unrelenting. That, combined with your display (a very shocking thing to see a witch or wizard, with a longstanding, thoroughgoing aversion to physical violence, resorting to) is enough to break the cowardly monsters and send them leaping into pools of shadow to escape.

...

The following morning, the dozen students (and one housemaster) laying in beds in the infirmary discover that one of the advantages of having a head full of snakes, as a certain nurse does, is the ability to direct condescending glares at many targets simultaneously. Each time she treats a student she asks who it was that set all of this up. All of them - except for Bertie, who claims it was all his idea, and the Beavertail redhead, who refuses to speak - point to you. Damned ungrateful traitors. There'll be a punitive duty of some kind awaiting you, there's simply no doubt about that... and with winter vacation right around the corner, too!