A Hogwarts Reunion

"You are, without a doubt, the most dim-witted students I have ever had the misfortune to teach." His soft drawl had stunned the third years into silence, and they sat at their desks, gaping stupidly at him. He stood and reached for a stack of parchments, slinging them onto the desks of their authors as he passed. When he returned to the front of the classroom, he folded his arms over his chest and glared at them.

"No one in here earned a passing grade." A collective moan went up from the class. It was cut off quickly by an evil smirk from their Professor. Even though it was only weeks into the school year, they knew that Professor Malfoy was not someone to be trifled with.

The bell rang, and the students scrambled to gather their things and get out of his classroom. He sat down and laughed as he reclined in his chair, raising his arms behind his head and closing his eyes. Bits and pieces of conversation drifted in to him from the hallway.

"...meanest git I ever met..."

"He's handsome, but he is mean, isn't he?"

"He's worse than Snape." His eyes flew open at that, and a wicked grin made his lips curl cruelly. So they thought he was worse than Snape, did they? He'd finally achieved his goal, then. When he'd taken on the position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, the first goal he'd had was to surpass Snape in all his notoriety. It appeared that he had finally done just that, and he was pleased.

The noise in the hall gradually faded into silence as the students made their way to their second block of classes. He stood and stretched languidly before returning to his private quarters for the next hour or so. It was his free period, and he knew that no students would come looking for him - they never did. He was too frightening and unapproachable to them, and he liked it that way.

As he lay down on his sinfully comfortable bed, his mind drifted to the invitation he'd received last the week. Who would he take as his date to the impending reunion? Perhaps he wouldn't take anyone at all. After all, there were only two days left until the reunion, and that didn't leave much time. He wasn't worried, though; even if he went stag he would still be able to find someone to go home with at the end of the night. He always did.

There's always Parkinson. She's been after me for years. She still owls me with invitations to America. No, I wouldn't want to encourage her; I get tired of the whining. Her voice is really annoying. Let's see, how about Bulstrode? She's become quite fetching since she started using those beauty spells. She's not beautiful, but she's lost a lot of weight, and she's not a total loss.

He pressed his fingers to his throbbing temple and closed his eyes. His headache was probably a side effect of having to deal with such dismal students, anyway. A short nap was just what he needed to rejuvenate.

Hermione chewed nervously on her lower lip as she examined herself in the mirror. She turned left, then right, checking for any possible flaws in her appearance. The only one she saw was her hair, and it was the biggest flaw of all. Bushy and tangled, it looked as though it could easily take over a small country.

She sighed and picked up the book she'd bought on a last minute trip to Hogsmeade last weekend. The title read, "1001 Ways to Tame Your Unruly Hair." The spine was already creased, she'd opened it so many times. She thumbed through it until she reached the page she was looking for. She skimmed the list of spells under the section titled "50 Ways to Flatten Your Hair."

She took a deep breath and said a quick prayer. "Composium!" Nothing happened. She sighed.

"Reformio!" Again, nothing. She muttered unladylike words beneath her breath, wondering what had possessed her to even consider purchasing this ridiculous book.

Third time's a charm, she thought acidly. "Coiffurium Lineo!" A pink flash erupted from the tip of her wand, and she coughed in the smoke that lingered. She waved it away quickly to look in the mirror.

Her chestnut hair hung down her back, as straight as you please. She clapped her hands together happily, as she closed the book and shoved it deep into the recesses of her open dresser drawer. She picked up two dazzling purple barrettes and clipped them in her hair, pulling the sides away from her face. When she had finished applying her makeup, she examined herself one last time.

She had chosen her costume with great care. She was dressed as Cliodna, the Irish druidess, who became a bird in her animagus form. Hermione thought it only fitting, since she was also a bird in her animagus form. Cliodna was a woman that Hermione admired; she had discovered the properties of moondew. She also had three birds who could heal the sick. Hermione hadn't wanted to look after birds, so instead she had chosen a mask with white feathers on it, to look like a bird. She twirled around in a circle, and her gauzy white dress trailed the floor as she moved.

Golden sandals and jewelry added the finishing touches. A golden diadem rested lightly atop her head, and a matching armband encircled the upper part of her left arm. A delicate gold chain was wrapped around her slender ankle - it had been a gift from Ron two years ago for her birthday.

She took several deep breaths to soothe her ragged nerves. When she had forced her breathing back to its normal rhythm, she left her quarters and headed down to the Great Hall.