Handful of Hollow

Chapter 2: A New Song
"And she is herself a cave full of echoes..." - Angela Carter

*

By Monday morning, life in the Slytherin dorms seemed to have already fallen back into its usual patterns. Before an enormous antique mirror, Pansy Parkinson was twirling her wand lazily, a much-practiced Crispo charm pulling her dark blonde hair into a mass of perfect ringlets. Blaise Zabini stood nearby at her own full-length mirror, which "hmmmed" appreciatively as she adjusted her school robes and tossed her dark hair over her shoulder. Millicent sat on her bed at the opposite end of the room, her left leg pulled up to her chest as she laced her boots and watched the familiar routines of her roommates with vague interest. She laughed softly when Blaise winked at her own reflection. Ambition may have been the primary defining Slytherin characteristic, but vanity was undeniably a close second.

At the sound of Millicent's laughter, Pansy looked up as though she'd been previously unaware of her presence. She gave Millicent a long appraising look, then turned back to the mirror. "Nice boots."

"Thanks," Millicent said. They were nice - soft black dragonhide that laced to her knees. They had been a gift from her father, whose taste for simple elegance perfectly paralleled her own.

"Specially made?" Pansy met Millicent's eyes in the mirror and smiled.

"What are you getting at, Parkinson?" Millicent asked, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. She stood slowly, brushed her hands over the front of her robes, then walked towards the third mirror on the wall. Pansy flushed slightly and turned back to her reflection, deftly fastening two emerald studded silver clips in her hair.

Pansy knew better than to criticize Millicent openly, but her less than subtle jabs at Millicent's size were not infrequent. And that was hardly the only matter of contention between the two girls. Pansy was only one of many Slytherins who had grown wary of Millicent's unapologetic indifference toward the increasingly tense matters of Pureblood wizards over the last few years - not that they'd ever been friends to begin with. And of course there was the delicate issue of Millicent's rumored sexuality...

Blaise's interest in the boots seemed more genuine. "Are they Italian?"

Millicent nodded. "Only the best." Blaise grinned in agreement, revealing two perfect rows of gleaming white teeth. Her mirror sighed.

Millicent carefully pulled a comb through her own thick hair, then used her wand to curl the ends against her face. A familiar process, as she'd worn her hair bobbed for years, but she did this extremely slowly, intentionally dawdling; she was eager for her roommates to leave. Yet when they finally did, chatting cattily and without giving Millicent a second glance, Millicent remained rooted before the mirror.

For a full day, Millicent had been anxious to be alone, to have an opportunity to open the parcel carefully tucked in the bottom of her trunk. However, now that that opportunity had presented itself, she felt the weight of some strange gravity holding her in place. She put her wand back into her pocket, then stepped closer to the mirror and gently pressed her fingers to her reflection.

Millicent had been called many things in her life, but "pretty" was not one of them. The closest description to a compliment she'd ever knowingly received was in her fourth year, when a Durmstrang student had referred to her as "striking". Still, she'd never been certain that this was not meant meanly, for she couldn't deny that her appearance did suggest a sort of aggression that might easily be associated with such a physical word.

Millicent had inherited her mother's pale skin and her sleek black hair, as well as her full cheekbones, the set of her lips, the heavily hooded eyes so dark they appeared almost black. But these features which defined Mileva's beauty were all but lost on Millicent. Millicent's father was pleasant looking enough, but his unremarkable features scattered amongst Mileva's resulted in an awkward visual dissonance.

Lacking the arch of her mother's brows, Millicent's own thick and barely curving ones gave her a permanent expression of brooding. Her nose was neither straight nor small, but long, broad, and shaped by some unremembered break. Her jaw was wide and angular, even masculinely so, a fact not fully hidden by her the soft bob of her hair. On either side of her mouth were the beginnings of what would one day be jowls, turning the mouth that on her mother seemed a seductive pout into a permanent smirk. She had certainly inherited her mother's height - Millicent stood at 5'11" - but her mother's slender, graceful figure had been replaced with the hulking breadth so common in the Bulstrode line. Wide hips and full breasts gave the appearance of a waist, but there was little in Millicent that could be called soft or feminine.

Millicent had always been Mileva's greatest disappointment. Carling, on the other hand -

Carling.

Remembering the reason for her delay, Millicent turned and dropped to her knees, then not unkindly pushed Dahlia off of her trunk and, ignoring the cat's protesting mews, Millicent dug through her belongings.

With the parcel in hand, Millicent sat gracelessly on her bed and carefully pulled off the plain brown wrapping paper. A small folded parchment fluttered to the floor, but Millicent's gaze was focused on the Grimoire.

The Grimoire that had, for centuries, been matrilineally passed from one generation to the next within the Bulstrode line was finally hers.

In truth, Millicent would not officially inherit the Grimoire until her seventeenth birthday, in January. Until then, Carling's full estate was in the hands of Millicent's father. Yet Alden Bulstrode was nothing short of reverent in regard to the importance of this legacy of the Bulstrode women. He'd asked merely to borrow the book for his own personal research before passing it along to its rightful owner. Millicent had passed the last two months impatiently but without complaint. She knew it was unlikely that her father would have any success with the book at all, but also knew she would have a lifetime to uncover what he could not.

Now, holding it at last, Millicent deeply inhaled the scent of the ages. Both seductive and frightening, the book seized hold of her senses. It seemed to radiate the intense power and infinite wells of knowledge she knew were held within. The effect was quite dizzying.

Millicent traced her fingers over the inscription faintly pressed into the cover, written in an ancient runic alphabet she could not read, but knew to say "Shadow and Light". Turning the book gently on its spine, she saw that the pages were yellowed with age, and the dark violet leather binding of the book was worn pale at the edges. Nothing a restoration charm wouldn't fix. The book was fairly small, and slim enough to be concealed in a pocket should the need arise. But despite its deceptive appearance, the Grimoire likely held more information than half the books in the Hogwarts library combined. Much was hidden beyond the numerous tables Millicent knew how to access, and even Carling had admitted to not knowing all of the Grimoire's secrets. Serving as a journal of sorts for dozens of Bulstrode witches, it was a comprehensive history of magic containing the knowledge and discoveries of each, both the dark and the pure, the profound and the mundane.

Millicent placed the book beside her on her bed, then bent over and picked up the parchment that had fallen from the parcel.

Dear Millicent,

I'm sorry I was unable to see you off, but my studies will keep me in Oxford for at least another week. I thought it only fair to deliver the Grimoire to you before your return to Hogwarts, in spite of my absence. I hope it reached you before your departure from the Hall.

My research garnered little success, as you had implied was likely. I thank you for your patience regardless.

I'll be passing through Hogsmeade next month. Perhaps lunch?

With love,
Alden

Millicent put down the terse note, then pulled her wand from her pocket. She murmured the incantation that she knew would unlock the book ( "Sapientiam Aperio"), then ran the wand lightly across the first page. At first glance, the page appeared to be completely black. It was only after a long moment, breath held, that the ink on the page began to assemble itself into letters, and after another that the letters arranged themselves coherently.

The whirling jumble of letters undulated slightly, then took the form of her grandmother's familiar jagged script.

Millicent -

You have more power and potential than you know. I can no longer guide your progress, but you will find this book an abler teacher than myself.

Herein lies the path to your success. Use it well.

The words vanished as quickly as they'd appeared, the ink on the page this time condensing into the image of a black widow. The spider crawled over the page frantically, eventually settling partially concealed in the space between the page and the cover. Millicent sat back and pulled the book into her lap, watching with interest as the spider launched herself to the opposite edge of the page then back again, weaving an intricate web. Within seconds the web was complete and a sort of table of contents had appeared between its spindly black lines.

Millicent tapped the first line, which read "Charms, Hexes, and Curses" as she'd seen Carling do countless times in the past. Immediately the book's pages began to turn of their own accord. Another table materialized, this one extending over a number of pages. Everything from "abasement" to "zoology" was listed. Tapping the word "adoration", Millicent shook her head as the pages again began to turn and a lengthy list of love charms appeared. She could only guess at how many would only be found in the restricted section of the school library, not to mention how many were probably forbidden outright by the Ministry of Magic.

Turning back to the category of charms, she tapped the word "adversary" and gave a low whistle at the list of curses that appeared. She flipped through the pages slowly. "Harm, bodily, Homicide, Humiliation..."

"Don't look for trouble, Millicent," Carling had often said. "It will find you on its own." Millicent's penchant for bullying had earned her the lecture more times than she could count, yet her aggression had never extended to anything quite so serious. "Redi," Millicent murmured, and the pages fluttered back to the previous table.

At the sound of a sharp tapping, Millicent closed the book. A horned owl was beating her wings impatiently beyond a nearby window, a low, plaintive hoot barely audible through the thick glass. Tucking the Grimoire under her arm, Millicent rose and opened the window, offering her shoulder as a temporary perch for the massive bird. She carefully unrolled the scroll attached to the bird's out-stretched claw. Her timetable. Potions first, and she was already late.

*


It was not until Tuesday afternoon that Millicent had her first Advanced Muggle Studies class.

Professor Keeping was perched gingerly on the edge of her desk, casting warm, but business-like smiles at the students filing into the room. Millicent had been one of the first to arrive, and had claimed a seat at the back table from which she was currently taking a mental inventory of her classmates.

Expectedly, the class was composed almost entirely of seventh-year students. Aside from herself, there were only three Ravenclaws, one Gryffindor, and a Hufflepuff to represent the sixth year. Still, that added up to quite a few more sixth-years than usually placed into the advanced level of the class. More than half of the remaining students were Ravenclaw seventh-years. Millicent was not at all surprised to find herself the only Slytherin in the room - Muggle Studies had never been a popular Slytherin elective.

As Professor Keeping cleared her throat and stood, the classroom door was flung open and one last student flew into the room - a Gryffindor from her own year - Hermione Granger. The Muggle-born witch had dropped the class at the end of her third year, but as a fifth-year had arranged to be placed in the Intermediate section of the class for the sake of her O.W.L.s. Being Muggle-born, it was presumable that she had a background that would have allowed this irregularity to go more or less unquestioned.

Keeping smiled as Granger took her seat next to the only other sixth-year Gryffindor in the class. "We may as well get started now. I'm Professor Keeping, and this, as you know, is Advanced Muggle Studies. Years ago I was a Hogwarts student myself," Keeping smiled meaningfully at the Ravenclaws sitting in the front row. So the rumors weren't true, Millicent thought. No Squib had ever been accepted to Hogwarts. "But have only very recently returned to Scotland from several years abroad studying and co-existing with Muggles in various countries. I'll admit now that this is my first year teaching, but I am positive that you'll find my class to be adequately challenging."

After Ridley's class, which had been nothing less than laughable at times, anything would be, Millicent thought.

"The class will be largely in part set up as an independent study," Keeping said as she began pacing across the front of the room. "And between now and the end of the year you will have only one assignment." Keeping paused, allowing this idea to register. The Hufflepuff sixth-year tensed visibly. The majority of Ravenclaws looked intrigued, and a soft wave of incoherent chatter rose and died quickly.

"You will be asked to write one thirty foot dissertation on the topic of your choice," Keeping said. "Anything regarding Muggle theology, the arts, science, philosophy, technology, sociology, political systems, and pop culture is acceptable. Any other ideas should be discussed with me. At the year's end I hope to have your works compiled, printed, and bound as a contribution to the school library's Muggle studies section."

Millicent raised her eyebrows in surprise. This would be quite a change from Ridley's class indeed.

Keeping stopped pacing and sat down at her desk, hunching forward and steepling her fingers in a manner that very much reminded Millicent of Snape. "You do have the option of working in pairs, but those who choose to do so will be required to write an additional twenty feet on their chosen topic.

"Because this assignment is based almost entirely around your individual research, I will be more of an..." she waved one hand and looked upwards. "Overseer of your progress than a teacher. My main function here is to guide you in the right direction, give aid when I'm able, and, of course, to give you your marks."

Keeping leaned back in her seat and smiled. "Which brings me to the subject of grading. There will be only one short essay exam - counting for ten percent of your final grade - at the end of the year, so the majority of that grade will instead be based upon the following. The paper itself will account for thirty percent of your entire grade. Six rough drafts of your thesis, which will be due according to this calendar, "She flicked her wand toward a stack of parchment that began efficiently distributing itself around the class. "Count for another twenty five. Twenty percent will be based upon periodic in-class presentations recording your progress, and the remainder of your grade will be based on journals and observation projects."

Tough, certainly, but not impossible.

"Tuesday, one week from today, you will each be required to give a three minute presentation, a topic proposal. We will meet in the library for class on Thursday. Between now and then, I suggest that you work out partnerships and decide on your topics. The rest of today's class will be spent freewriting."

Before the class gave way to total chaos, Keeping raised her hands. "One last note - my office is located in the South Tower, and I am often there between classes. However, should you ever need to contact me after hours, I suggest that you owl me, and I will respond at my earliest convenience. In the rather unlikely event of an emergency, you may come to my private chambers, also in the South Tower, adjacent to my office. Are there any questions?"

There was a brief silence before the classroom erupted in excited conversation. A number of hands shot into the air, and several students began pulling out quills and parchments. A few students exchanged seats, seemingly establishing partnerships. The sixth-year Hufflepuff, who by this time had paled considerably, picked up his belongings and left the classroom. A seventh-year Gryffindor followed close behind. A number of students were writing vigorously by the time some semblance of order had returned in the classroom. Sucking thoughtfully on a quill, Millicent looked around the room at the bent heads of her classmates, then she, too, began to write.

*

On Friday evening, Millicent had the Hogwarts library almost entirely to herself. A few other students sat at scattered tables around the room, some reading, some speaking in lowered voices, one or two sleeping, their faces pressed between the pages of dusty books. From her own table in the further-most corner of the room, Millicent could not see who entered or left the library, and had been rather enjoying her solitude.

She'd been there for several quiet, uneventful hours when Millicent heard the distracting clatter of what could only be a Gryffindor entrance, followed closely by a reprimanding "tshhh" from Madame Pince. The apologetic students lowered their voices substantially, but as they neared Millicent's table, she could still overhear their chatter. A boy's hushed tones were decidedly excited, and words like "bloody" and "brilliant" and "Bludger" came up repeatedly. His companion made a few vaguely interested "Hmm" noises, but otherwise seemed to have very little to contribute to the conversation.

Millicent frowned in annoyance and put down her quill. They were being too quiet to be heard clearly, yet still too loud to be ignored. Shoving a stack of parchment into her bag, Millicent stood and gathered her books, then retreated between two rows of shelves in the nearby Muggle Studies section. Unceremoniously dropping her things to the floor, she stretched and yawned before beginning to scan the titles on the shelves before her, again becoming completely engaged in the task at hand.

In no time, Millicent had added several books to her already towering stack. She had enough to start with, she thought as she rubbed at her eyes, wondering distractedly at the time. The sunlight that had flooded through the West windows of the library when she had arrived at the end of her Double Divination class was long gone, and the room was now lit only by candle-light and wall sconces.

As she pulled another heavy tome from the shelf, Millicent again made out the hushed voices of the presumed Gryffindors. They were getting closer; she could easily hear their conversation at this point. Glancing to her right, she finally saw the offending students walking leisurely down the aisle between the rows. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, two thirds of the infamous Gryffindor trio.

Millicent moved closer to the poorly lit wall at the opposite end of the row and stilled herself instinctively, trying to concentrate on the titles of the books before her and hoping the couple would pass quickly and leave her to her work. She sighed when they abruptly stopped walking, directly in her view at the end of the row. Still talking, neither seemed to have noticed her.

It quickly became obvious that they weren't likely to move on any time soon and Millicent suddenly felt ridiculous, less like she'd been trying to avoid them and almost as though she were trying to spy on them. This was definitely more Draco's field of expertise than hers. Still, she could not manage to focus on her work through the disruption of their conversation, amplified in the space that had, moments before, been almost completely silent. Frowning, Millicent gave up her attempt to ignore them, and listened instead as the Gryffindors continued to speak, their dialogue still centered around what seemed to be a disastrous Quidditch practice.

"It was unbelievable, Hermione. Seamus passed the Quaffle to Neville seven times before he ever caught it, and when he finally did, a Bludger knocked him off his broom."

"Poor Neville." Hermione sighed. "I can't believe he's trying out again. Is he all right?"

"Well, he's in the hospital wing, but nothing's broken," Ron paused thoughtfully. "Really, it could be worse. Remember last year when he tried out for Keeper? I don't think anyone had ever got stuck in a Quidditch hoop before."

Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"And you should have seen Harry. He's been trying to keep his patience, but I don't think I've ever seen him so close to losing it before. He's going mad."

Millicent watched their faces as they spoke. Ron was animated, vivacious. Hermione looked tired - exhausted really - but Ron's happiness seemed to be infectious, for her own face reflected his smile sincerely. At the mention of Harry, however, she abruptly changed the subject, her brow suddenly furrowed in a look of intense concern.

"Ron, how is Harry? I've barely spoken to him all week. He's just been so... quiet."

Ron nodded and placed his hands gently on Hermione's shoulders, ran them down her arms and finally clasped her hands in his own. "He says he's all right, but I know what you mean."

"What was he like at the Burrow?" It looked as though Hermione had tensed a bit at Ron's touch, but Ron seemed perfectly at ease with the small affection.

Winding his fingers through Hermione's, Ron smiled. "He seemed happy."

"Really?"

"Yeah, we all had a great time. You should have been there. We missed you. I missed you." Ron looked down, honesty making him momentarily shy.

Millicent looked away. This was beyond uncomfortable - eavesdropping had never been her style, but voyeurism was truly beneath her.

"Ron..." Hermione's voice sounded strange, hesitant, and when Millicent looked back at the couple, it was in time to see Ron bend down and give Hermione a chaste kiss on the cheek. Millicent cringed, but didn't bother to look away again.

"I've got to get to bed if I'm going to be up for practice tomorrow. Don't stay here all night." Ron stepped backwards, his hands lingering on Hermione's. As he disappeared from Millicent's view, Hermione sighed again, then began to through her bag as she - of course, Millicent thought - stepped absently into the row where Millicent had so far gone unnoticed.

Hermione started when she realized she was not alone, then gasped in horrified realization of with exactly whom she now shared the cramped, well-concealed space in the row. An expression of embarrassment darted across her face, followed by one of unmistakable anxiety. Her posture tense, she took a few steps backward. "So sorry." Hermione began to turn, but Millicent, eyebrows raised in some surprise, spoke first.

"Don't bother. I was just leaving." Summoning her stack of books and swinging her bag over her shoulder, Millicent pressed past the Gryffindor and walked toward the library exit.

It had been some time since she'd last come into such direct contact with Hermione, nearly four years in fact. A somewhat guilty smile tugged at Millicent's lips as she remembered their brief, but violent partnership in the short-lived Hogwarts Dueling Club. She hadn't really hurt the girl that night, though Carling's reprimand had been severe. But since releasing her from that headlock, second year, Millicent had barely spared Hermione a second thought. She could not deny a sort of distant respect for the girl - after all, Hermione was, and had for some time been, an established hero, scholar, and general over-achiever. The rest of the Slytherins acknowledged this fact grudgingly, if at all. Millicent, however, had learned from Carling at a very young age to recognize greatness without being threatened by it.

They had shared several classes over the years, of course, and they had occasionally crossed paths in the library and the halls of the school, but while most of Millicent's classmates considered the Gryffindors - and Mudbloods in particular - to be fair game, Millicent had never sought them out. As a child, she'd been indiscriminate in her bullying, as hard on her fellow Slytherins as students from the other houses. Now she more or less kept to herself unless directly provoked, a rare occurrence indeed, especially outside of Slytherin House. While her housemates bickered and picked fights with the Gryffindors, Millicent all but ignored her "sworn rivals".

As such, Millicent thought it strange that Hermione might still harbor something akin to fear towards her after all these years.

*

When Keeping asked for volunteers to present their topic proposals Tuesday afternoon, Hermione's was only one of many hands in the air. Keeping glanced around the room, then pointed to the back row and nodded. Hermione looked over her shoulder and watched as Millicent Bulstrode moved slowly to the front of the room, noting that the usually aloof and composed Slytherin looked slightly self-conscious as she shuffled the parchments in her hand and coughed.

Millicent pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, then looked down at her classmates through narrowed eyes as though she were waiting for a challenge. When none was posed, she began to speak.

"I intend to write a comparative thesis on contemporary Muggle Paganism and genuine Wizardry..." she began evenly, whatever trace of anxiety Hermione had thought she'd seen in the girl completely gone. With some surprise, Hermione listened as Millicent continued her presentation, loosely describing the discrepancies between the ideas of Muggle witchcraft and real magic. It wasn't that Hermione was surprised at Millicent's very apparent intelligence - she'd heard over the summer that Millicent had managed to obtain eleven O.W.L.s last year, only one less than Hermione's twelve. The surprise was that Millicent had chosen not only a very specific topic on what must surely be an unfamiliar subject for a Pureblood witch, but that her proposal was almost identical to Hermione's own.

Hermione felt a flush creep up her neck to her face as she anxiously leafed through her parchments. Over the next few minutes, Millicent covered most of the points in Hermione's notes, and a few more. Millicent was vague in her descriptions of the issues she intended to study, but her notes were well-organized, her proposal quite eloquent, and it was clear that she had a good grasp on the subject. As she brought her proposal to a close and returned to her seat, Keeping nodded and smiled in approval, then called for another volunteer.

Hermione shrank back in her chair and listened distractedly to the presentations of the students who followed Millicent. Most of them seemed quite enthusiastic about their respective topics, and Keeping was obviously impressed with their ideas. When every student but Hermione had presented, Keeping pointed at her and smiled encouragingly. She drew in a deep breath, feeling foolish. Dean Thomas nudged her. "Go on, Hermione. When have you ever been shy in class?"

Taking her place at the front of the room, Hermione cleared her throat and glanced at her classmates. Her eyes briefly met Millicent's, and feeling her blush resurface, Hermione looked away as she began to speak, repeating Millicent's proposal almost word for word. She carefully avoided the Slytherin's piercing gaze throughout the rest of her proposal, but didn't miss the thoughtful expression on Keeping's face. When she reached the end of her presentation, Hermione broke into a hasty apology.

"Of course I realize it would be for the best if I changed my topic entirely. I could have another proposal prepared by Thursday."

"Well Miss Granger," Keeping smiled thoughtfully. "You do have that option. But really, it's not necessary. I never specifically said that two students couldn't pursue the same topic independently. But, I think you might also consider a partnership with Miss Bulstrode. Your varying perspectives on the matter could make for a very... interesting project."

Hermione smiled weakly but said nothing. Keeping nodded in understanding and looked past Hermione at Millicent. "Just something to think about."

Hermione gave a half-hearted nod, but really, there was nothing to think about. It was difficult enough to work with Slytherins by force. She could hardly imagine partnering with Millicent Bulstrode, or any Slytherin for that matter, voluntary. And on what would surely be such a sensitive subject between a Pureblood and a Muggle-born, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Indeed, Hermione felt she already had a fair idea of what a Slytherin might think of Muggles who fancied themselves witches. Besides, there was no doubt of Millicent's opinion of working willingly with a Gryffindor.

Keeping stood up, beaming. "I'm beyond impressed with what I've seen here today and I'm very much looking forward to following your progress in the weeks to come."

With class dismissed, Hermione walked hurriedly out the door, Dean at her side. "Rough, that. What were the chances of you both choosing the same subject?" he offered sympathetically.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. I'm heading to the library." Hermione's mind was already racing with new ideas for her paper topic. Perhaps something in regard to one of the various on-going equal rights movements in the Muggle world. Or Muggle Music. Or Post-Modern art...

"But Ron said you were coming to watch the practice."

"Oh, I forgot! Dean, will you tell him I'm sor-"

"Wait, Granger."

Hermione and Dean stopped short and turned, Hermione's eyes widening in unconcealed surprise. Millicent Bulstrode was walking purposefully down the hallway, looking even larger and more intimidating than usual, Hermione thought. Since the Dueling Club disaster during their second year, Hermione had avoided Millicent to the best of her ability. That night, at barely twelve years old, Hermione had been faced with the reality of her mortality for the second time in her life.

The other students filing out of the classroom passed the unfolding scene with raised eyebrows as Hermione instinctively took a step back, her eyes locked on the towering figure approaching. Had Hermione's eyes and mind not been so completely focused on Millicent's decidedly unpleasant face, she might have noticed the hint of uncertainty it bore.

Millicent stopped several feet away and crossed her arms. Dean looked at Hermione cautiously. "Should I wait?"

"I - that's all right Dean, go ahead. "Dean looked doubtfully at the two girls, then reluctantly turned away.

"Well, what do you think?" Millicent asked finally, looking in annoyance past Hermione and presumably to the retreating figure of Dean.

"Wh-what?" Hermione stole a glance down the hall herself in time to see Dean turn a corner and disappear.

"About the partnership."

Hermione looked back at Millicent sharply. She opened her mouth in disbelief then firmly closed it. Millicent couldn't possibly be serious. If there had ever been a successful Gryffindor/Slytherin partnership, it had certainly been before Hermione's time at Hogwarts. The very idea of a student from either house proposing the idea by her own free will was just absurd.

"It's a yes or no question, Granger."

Hermione looked at Millicent in scrutiny, finally managing to shake her head.

"I thought not," Millicent said with a nod, her lips curling into a faint, wry smile.

As she watched Millicent turn and slowly stride down the hall, Hermione furrowed her brows and bit at her lip in confusion. Had Millicent been in earnest? Or had that been some sort of dare? If Millicent had asked merely in hopes of creating conflict, she'd certainly given up easily, especially considering their solitude in the hall. Could Millicent possibly have been sincere? Hermione frowned. But when had the term "sincere" ever been seriously applied to a Slytherin?

Still, as Millicent's deliberate pace led her further down the hall, Hermione wondered...

Millicent was smart, that much was obvious. And if today's class was any indication, she worked hard as well. Maybe there was some potential there. Hermione shook her head. But how could there be? Millicent Bulstrode was easily the least approachable, most feared girl in all of Hogwarts, and within her own house too - all with good reason.

But Hermione was a Gryffindor. A student set apart by her bravery, just as Millicent was famed for coldness and hostility. She shouldn't have been so quick to say no, even if she had, only a moment ago, been so sure that Millicent had meant the question as some sort of trick. Slytherins were certainly masters of deceit. But what if -

Hermione began to walk hastily down the hall after the Slytherin. She paused. This was insane. Almost certainly a mistake. Was she really going to let herself be so easily baited? She again began to move forward, confused by her own intent.

"Wait, stop!" Hermione wondered at the strangeness of her own voice. It sounded distant, thin.

Millicent stopped and turned, her dark eyes flashing with surprise in the dim, flickering light of the hall. Hermione stopped ten feet from Millicent, her mind swimming. She opened her mouth, struggling momentarily for words. Millicent merely looked wondering, curious, the expression strange on her face.

"I -" Hermione paused. Squaring her shoulders and forcing her chin up, Hermione met and held Millicent's odd, inquisitive gaze. "I think, maybe... I want to... it might be a good idea. To work together."

Millicent's eyebrows lifted briefly. "It would?" The question came out heavy with disbelief, as though the last thing Millicent had expected was the acceptance of her offer.

Hermione nodded uncertainly, again wondering if she'd been wrong, if Millicent hadn't been serious. The girl certainly looked as though she'd been taken by surprise.

"Well." The girls looked at each other for a moment, guardedly, each trying to assess the other. Millicent's startled, unsure expression was replaced with one of belief, of understanding, and as she relaxed the tension in the hall lessened. The barest hint of a smile appeared on her face. "Well," Millicent repeated. "I... I'll see you in the library." Millicent turned and resumed her purposeful walk toward the Slytherin dorms, only once glancing back at Hermione as she left.

Hermione closed her eyes. What had she done?

TBC...