Framing Harmony

Framing Harmony

Chapter Two

Something Wicked

"A Professor is someone who talks in someone else's sleep."

Draco Malfoy stormed down the corridor, hungry, cold and carrying his underwear, followed at an increasing distance by Crabbe and Goyle. This would be a sweet revenge. The Mudblood would pay. She would pay in a way that she could imagine only in her nightmares. Draco walked faster, heading for the dungeons so that he could dress before double Potions. Snape was always ready to be lenient towards Slytherins, Draco especially, but going to class in his underwear may be able to tip the scales in the Gryffindors' favor for the first time in more years than he probably knew. His march continued, getting more heated the further he went. He shook out a pair of boxers from the middle of the pile and gave them a brief sniff.

"Damn those house-elves! No washing done, the halls are a mess. I bet that Granger is behind this."

Crabbe grunted in reply. He never said much, and Draco was glad. He wasn't so sure how much mindless drivel he could have been able to stand at that point. Draco continued on his rant.

"She will pay, mark my words! I refuse to wear dirty clothes!"

Goyle cleared his throat nervously. "Um, we could wash them."

Draco stopped. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn't sure he was breathing. Had he heard correctly? "What did you say?"

"We..." Goyle swallowed, turning a lucid shade of pink. "We could wash them."

Draco managed to avoid stumbling. He had heard correctly, he wished he hadn't. Sometimes, Goyle deserved to be in Hufflepuff. "This, Goyle, is why I'm the brains of this outfit. We don't wash our own clothes. That is what servants are paid for."

Goyle submitted and sunk back, hugging his pajamas to himself tightly. Draco had lost the closing cord on his robes. He didn't care; let the girls of Hogwarts feint at his glory and fall at his feet for a simple word from this glorious hunk of man-meat.

One of those girls approached now. She was a Ravenclaw, and one Draco didn't recognize. Now if he thought the lack of recognition unusual, then he only did it out of shock at her sudden fit of giggles, and not at all out of wonder at the fact that he would not know her from Timothy McCallum in drag.

"Somebody's sure of himself," She giggled. Her accent was grating, and seemed not to make up its mind what country it wanted to be from. Draco sneered, the sneer he'd practiced on Harry Potter for seven years and felt he'd finally perfected. He looked down at himself briefly. His boxers were black satin, with a green dragon flying around them, back to front. Trailing the dragon the words "Exit the Dragon" were emblazoned in little gold and red flames. He returned his gaze to the girl.

"As sure as anyone could be, with the truth."

The girl burst out laughing. Her hair swished around haphazardly. It was both blue-black and red-black at the same time. It was roughly layered, as if it were cut by someone with a sword in the middle of a Quidditch match. The oddest thing was though, despite how thrown together she looked it suited her.

She continued past them, ignoring his statement. She walked straight but she had no right to, not with the way her legs moved. As she brushed past Draco his head suddenly span with everything and nothing all at once. "You still haven't asked my name, Malfoy."

"You!" he said, spinning around fast enough that his robe twisted around his body. Crabbe and Goyle parted, allowing him to look straight at her. "You were the one in the common room!"

She gave a little round of applause, swiveling at the waist, but didn't stop walking. It looked awkward. "Congratulations, Draco Malfoy. You get a gold star!" She kissed her hand and blew. With a giggle, she turned again, walking slowly. "It's Selena, by the way."

Selena disappeared around a corner, leaving Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy standing alone, in their pajamas, waiting for something to happen.

"I heard that voice last night."

"Do you wants us to, uh, find out about her, Draco?"

"Yeah, like you got us to do with that other girl you fancied?"

Draco did not have the patience to look disgusted. He was too confused. "Goyle, the only thing duller than your wit is History of Magic. I don't fancy her. She broke into the common room last night."

"Do you think she did the underwear thing?"

"Don't be stupid, Crabbe! Ravenclaws aren't that devious. No, I still say that was Granger and her lot. But she was doing something in there and I want to know what." Draco picked up his pace, not noticing the trail of small shiny gold stars he was leaving in his wake.

^*^*^*^*^*^

"I'm starving!"

"We know, Ron."

"My stomach won't stop growling!"

"We know, Ron."

"I'm gonna die if I don't eat soon!"

"Please do, Ron."

"Malfoy is a complete and utter, insolent son of a b..."

"We know Hermione."

"How dare he do such a thing to me!"

"We know, Hermione."

"And you aren't much better, Ronald Weasley!"

"We kno...hey! What did I do?"

The small group of Gryffindors that had gathered around the door of the Potions dungeons- early to avoid any point loss- moved a little out of the way. Lover's tiffs were rare in their house (lovers were rare in their house, actually) and always entertaining.

"Why didn't you thump Malfoy? You're meant to be my boyfriend. That means when another guy is flashing my knickers around you DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!"

Ron cowered behind Harry's shoulder. Harry tried to shake the frightened redhead off him. Harry seemed rather dumbfounded. Ginny had been in that group in the morning too. He was in serious trouble.

"I hope you're proud! The entire school saw my knickers and you didn't lift a finger!" Hermione shook her head, groaning with anger like a freshly poked bull, "MALFOY got to touch my knickers!"

"He WHAT? When did this happen!"

Hermione did the deliberate hip movement she developed when she was talking to someone like they were stupid. "Oh, last night, Ronald. Of course, I'm glad the walls are soundproof, that guy can really make you SCREAM!"

"I'll kill him!"

"Ah, Ron, she was being sarcastic."

There was a brief pause. "Um, I knew that."

"This morning, Draco Malfoy and a group of Slytherins arrived with ten girls' underwear. Not only that but they had managed to sneak their own into our room." Parvati seemed unusually calm for the circumstances. Every now and then, she'd close her eyes and take a breath, but seemed normal otherwise. "Unfortunately for them, we had the presence of mind to sabotage their underclothes before they had much of a chance to do anything about it."

Hermione folded her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. "We managed a charm that will make all this awful business worth it, just for the sake of seeing the Slytherins humiliated."

Hermione and the two girls that were also in their little group looked down the corridor toward the Slytherin dungeons. Harry followed their gaze. It was now apparent why Lavender was trying not to laugh. Pansy Parkinson looked as if you could boil water by putting the kettle against her cheek. Behind her, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy were walking as if a broomstick were wedged where nature intended an exit only. Behind them, Crabbe and Goyle seemed to have found a less than dignified way to temporarily solve the problem.

"Very mature, Granger. A permanent shrinking charm, very first-year of you." Draco winced, and was obviously at war with himself to dislodge the problem in much the same way as Crabbe and Goyle were.

"Fifth, actually, it was the fifth-years' idea. We only performed it."

"Why didn't we think of something like that?" Blaise half whispered. He'd lost his battle with the urge to pick and was trying to hide the fact behind Pansy.

"Because, Blaise, dear, that would mean you would be capable of thought! How dare you presume that you can just take a woman's under things, willy-nilly!" What was this? Pansy, showing some common decency? "And they're Gryffindors for Merlin's sake! Do we even know if they wash them?" So the sentiment was short-lived. Harry could only hope there was one redeemable soul in Slytherin. Soul? Slytherin? What was I thinking!

"But Pansy, I..."

"Don't 'but Pansy' me, Zabini, I've had enough of you! I swear if you come near me ever again I'll use a shrinking charm on more than your boxers. Not that anywhere else needs one." Unlike Gryffindor, Slytherin was never short of Lovers' tiffs. Though from what Harry had heard, in Slytherin a 'tiff' was considered foreplay. Lovers' Hindenburg-with-a-bit-of-the-Trojan-War-thrown-in-for-good-measure would be more accurate, but it was easy to underestimate such things. The chorus of 'oooooh' from both the Slytherins and Gryffindors echoed through the hall for a second in anticipation of Blaise's reaction. He gave none.

"I can't believe I dumped Draco for you!" Pansy seemed actually on the verge of crying. This was an emotion other than extreme hate. Harry almost felt remorse for her. Almost...

"Pansy, please, listen, I didn't do it! It was that Brown girl, she left them in there!"

Many reactions seemed to burst out all at once.

"I never...!" Lavender cried.

"How in heck did you know they were hers?" Seamus asked (He and Lavender had been an item once).

"So, does she wear black knickers?" Ron said.

Hermione slapped Ron, hard. Pansy burst into tears, "CHEATING BASTARD!"

Hermione edged unsurely towards her. Pansy was the only female of the Slytherins who had arrived so far, and though the Gryffindor numbers grew, the Slytherins seemed to have stopped coming. Hermione patted Pansy on the back, as if she was a sick-looking dog that had just wandered up. Pansy just sobbed. Blaise was walking in little circles, obviously trying to stop himself crying as well. Hermione rested her hand on Pansy's back, deciding it was slightly more comforting yet highly less friendly than actually moving. She raised her head to see Draco and his goons looking highly disgusted (though also rather uncomfortable), and the Gryffindors looking highly surprised. Hermione frowned. "What, you expect me to just leave her? Fall to their level? Come on, I thought Gryffindors were meant to have... do you smell that?"

"Gryffindors are supposed to have... a bouquet like Sprout's fertilizer bin? Well, Granger, I must say I agree with you on that one," Draco said, finally losing the will-versus-wedgie war.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I smell it too, it's coming from..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor for announcing the smell! Five from Slytherin for describing it! And it will be fifty points from anyone who comments on the smell of my hair, all right. Now get into class. And take your hands out of your rear-ends boys, there are places for such things." Snape had not taken a breath through his entire speech, and had managed to end it just as his reached the podium he lectured from.

Ron leaned in to Harry. "It's weird how he manages that timing every time, eh Harry?"

"Uncanny." Harry shuffled into the room behind Ron, Hermione and Pansy (who, in her need for a shoulder to cry on, had opted to follow Hermione. Something was seriously wrong here). Snape gave a quick wave of his wand and a sheet of parchment appeared in front of each student.

"Now, look at this summary and tell me what it is describing. Any silly comments and it will be fifty points from all of you." Snape scratched his head vigorously. He seemed far more on edge than normal. "And where are the rest of the Slytherins?"

Harry made a point of reading his book thoroughly, but could not help but add, "Wardrobe malfunction" to the punctuated silence. The Gryffindors giggled.

"As reluctant as I am to agree with him, he's right, Professor," Blaise said, his voice was quavering and the rest of him shifting uncomfortably. "You see the house-elves haven't..."

"I'm fully aware of the lack of house-elves, Zabini." Snape snapped, not shifting his attention away from his hair. "That is no excuse. Five points from anyone absent. Blast it, what is this damned smell!"

There was a long silence. Snape scratched relentlessly, and every now and then Pansy would wail a little bit. Harry looked to every face in the room whenever he turned a page. Blaise looked awful, Harry felt so sorry for the guy he was worrying for his sanity. Malfoy's eyes were watering, and he gripped the side of the desk in pain. Crabbe and Goyle were shifting uncomfortably. Snape was flipping through piles of books, and Hermione had just shot her hand in the air so fast she'd taken a few strands of Pansy's hair with it.

"Yes Miss Granger."

"Professor." Hermione bit her lip and looked rather uncomfortable. "I-I can't be sure, but what this is describing sounds like a combination of used kitty litter and cat fleas."

Professor Snape stood perfectly still, staring at Hermione. In the back of his head, Harry could hear a voice yelling "One hundred points from Gryffindor!" He knew deep down she should have kept her mouth shut. Snape continued to stare, absently scratching his head.

Snape looked down at his fingernails, and spoke, "One hundred points... to Gryffindor."

Harry almost fell off his chair. Did he hear correctly? He had to have because all around the room Gryffindors were muttering. Pansy gave a loud squeal and buried her head in her hands. Draco had finally given in to the urge to scream, but managed very little actual noise. The room had decided something was wrong. Harry decided to investigate the loss of Professor Snape, and fought the urge to grab his wand and try a quick "riddikulus". Harry waited in silence for someone to say something that could be considered a comment.

"Another one hundred points to whoever can tell me a way of counteracting such a spell."

Again Hermione's hand shot up, this time poking Pansy in the ear on the way up. Pansy gave a brief yet loud wail and whacked Hermione on the arm. Snape didn't even look at anyone else. "Yes, Miss Granger."

Hermione gave quick glances to the other two people who had their hands up. Dean shrugged and Blaise seemed to be relieved at having his hand back to where it was needed most. Hermione answered reluctantly, "I have some cat shampoo my parents bought me for my cat, Crookshanks, Professor. It's scented, and kills fleas. There is also flea powder and flea drops, if you need them."

Even Malfoy giggled. Harry seemed to be able to avoid hysterics simply by remembering that, if Crookshanks had fleas, it was likely that every other animal in Gryffindor tower did, too. Suddenly his arm itched.

"Thank you, Miss Granger, but I would prefer such things for human use." Nobody else seemed to want to give an answer, as if, as always, Hermione was about to say exactly what they were. Snape held on to the silence with a death grip.

"Perhaps, Professor, you could adapt the cat products to produce a human equivalent. You do teach potions, after all." Harry was surprised at himself, though it did make sense to him. Harry held up his wand in what was the direction of Gryffindor tower and spoke in a loud, clear voice, "Accio Hermione's Cat-Care bundle."

A brief moment passed. Harry pushed his wand back into the sleeve of his robe and waited. Hermione walked pointedly toward a window and waited in a stance reminiscent of the cricketers Harry had watched with Uncle Vernon. A loud whoosh heralded the sudden appearance of a wicker-basket full of various cat products. Hermione caught it expertly. She'd make a fair keeper, Harry thought. For some reason his thoughts about Quidditch were always in Oliver Wood's distinctive accent. Harry shook the thought from his head and turned back to the professor, who was carefully studying the ingredients in flea powder. The ingredients seemed to perplex the Potions master. Ha! The man is human after all!

"Class dismissed." Snape waved a hand, not looking up from his canister. It was a full half-hour early. Something was severely wrong here, and Harry definitely liked it.

*^*^*^*^*^*

"'Teacher versus Student Quidditch match, Saturday,'" Ron read -for the thousandth time, Hermione thought- from the notice that had appeared on the Gryffindor notice board. "'All teams to meet Wednesday night to choose the student-body representatives.' Well that'll be you, Harry, for sure. And though I hate to admit it, Crabbe and Goyle will probably be the beaters."

"Lisa Craven will be keeper for sure!" Seamus piped in. He was notoriously enamored with Lisa, the Hufflepuff keeper. "And probably Brent McCallum, Greg Pierce, and Ginny for the chasers, do you think?"

Harry pulled his gloves down over his hands and picked up his Firebolt. "Well, we'll find out soon enough, wont we?" He headed for the portrait hole, the rest of the team following close behind. Ron beckoned Hermione to follow. Hermione reluctantly followed, carrying her book with her. She had to admit, she was rather curious about which teachers would be playing. She carried her copy of 'Hopeless at Hexes: Squibs in the Muggle Community' and the roll of parchment for her homework with her.

The brisk walk to the Quidditch pitch was one Hermione knew well. She was almost certain that she'd worn her own set of footprint-shaped stepping stones into the ground along the path, slowly getting bigger as her feet did. The tryouts were at night, which was unusual, and she sent rushing through her mind the many ways the pitch may have been lit.

She got her answer.

Hundreds of tiny lights flew randomly above the pitch, high above the stands. Hermione could not tell what the things were, or how they seemed to not be entirely there at all. The pitch was blanketed in a pleasant soft light that would be perfect for a nighttime stroll. She made a mental note to ask what they were in the next Care of Magical Creatures class. She headed up the stands with the other spectators, giving Ron a brief hug for luck. Ahead of her, Lavender complained about having only one set of clean robes left. Parvati claimed that she would go to class naked before she went in dirty robes. Hermione shook her head. She still had a back up plan. She had owled her parents for detergent and managed to claim one of the Gryffindor bathtubs. Harry was willing to help her, and so was Ginny.! This was a money making venture even the Goblins would be proud of. Hermione took a seat next to a Ravenclaw girl, mostly obscured by a black and blue cloak. Hermione lent over and asked, "Have the teachers been chosen yet, do you know?"

The girl turned slowly to face her. Hermione suddenly felt a twang of recognition. Had that been the girl from the painting? It was possible, of course, she may have been a student in a lower year than Hermione, there was no way she could remember all of them, but there was something peculiar about her.

"No, I do not." The girl's voice had no undertone, or overtone, just one flat tone that couldn't be described as anything but droning.

"I'm sorry, but have we met before?" Hermione asked, frowning.

The girl stood up. "No, and yes. Some call me Laura, and you... you will be my savior."

Hermione didn't know how to react. How does one react to such a thing? It was the creepiest thing she had ever heard. Hermione was distracted by the Ravenclaw seeker flying low over her head, chasing a little metallic blue thing Hermione could only think was her allocated Snitch. Once she'd turned back to where Laura had been seated, there was nothing, not even a hair. Hermione felt the wind tear her hear from one side of her head to the other. There was no way someone couldn't have even left a hair in this wind. This warranted investigation. Hermione opened her book, but couldn't think of what was on the paper.

"Harry Potter is to be the student body seeker!"

Somehow, Hermione couldn't take her eyes off the Gryffindor red snitch buzzing around her head, a confused Hufflepuff eyeing it off ahead of her.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

A boy dressed in all yellow followed a teacher carrying a whistle and a broom through the corridors, complaining loudly, "He cheated! I swear, he caught our snitch! Even Hermione Granger saw it; the Gryffindor snitch was still flying! I swear!" Laura made her way through the shadows up the stairs. They moved only if she willed it, and only when she was ready to mount them. The fake step gave her no trouble, seeming to solidify beneath her feet. Laura wandered past the familiar paintings, each nodding to her in turn. She moved on quickly, they would be back soon. She could not revert until she reached the place she began in, at least not willfully. Laura found the portrait of the Fat Lady, who was waiting patiently for 'her children' to return. Not many people knew that she thought of them that way, but she did, and she was devoted to her job as protector.

"Hello there."

"Hello, Lady, I guess you'll want the password?"

"Yes."

"Amorum Terminus." An odd password, Laura thought. "Love's end". Very odd indeed. As she stepped through the hole, she vowed to herself that if she could help it, that would not be so.

There it stood. The painting she was brought to this form in. The newly worked paintings were always the easiest to enter, if only for their subjects' receptiveness to the new. She had never stopped to admire its aesthetic value, nor would she now. She was on a mission. Laura closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could. She felt her solid form melt and flatten, moving from this realm to that of the art in a movement so fluid it was relaxing. The feeling of being one with everything washed over her. She was used to it by now; she had chased her charge through the portraits of many, many places all over the world. Hogwarts was different. There was a nexus here, a nexus of ancient magic and new. She opened her eyes to a world of satin dresses and silk robes. She was standing between a redhead girl and the pair she had come to change. A blonde boy Black"> and the girl she had spoken to in the stands. Slytherin and Gryffindor, the two most opposing forces in Hogwarts. She had to produce harmony between the two or there would be trouble. Laura moved to the boy, taking his head gently in her hands, turning it toward the girl, softening his features to pay her the attention Laura so much needed her to get. She took his hand, sliding it around the body of the girl, spreading the fingers over the fine blue satin. Laura had been held like that once, when she was human. The memory almost stopped her continuing. She moved to the girl. She turned her head gently, until she was staring into the boy's eyes, then she moved her hand, moving it higher to force the arm into a kind of embrace.

Once she was done, Laura stepped back, and admired her handiwork as they spun around the dance floor. Laura smiled. Her plan was working perfectly.