Wayward Cupid

Chapter Two

"Omnioculars?"

"Check."

"I still don't see," Ron growled, standing toe to toe with Pansy in the inky darkness of pre-dawn, "why we're letting Parkinson here bring Zabini."

"And I don't see," Pansy tossed back, hooking her thumb over at Neville and Luna, "why those two dimwits are tagging along."

"Broomsticks?" Harry went on, ignoring the two quarrelling students.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes at them. "Check."

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Zabini, rocking back on his heels, "Longbottom might be a bit of a help, able to blend in with all those deranged leprechauns."

"Are you implying," Ron hissed, rounding on the other boy, "that Neville is short?"

Zabini knit his brows together in an incredulous frown and turned to look at the forgetful Gryffindor.

Ron glanced at Neville as well and was reminded, by the sight of him standing next to the beanpole-like Luna, that Neville had stopped growing around five foot five. "Never mind," Ron grumbled, and then stalked off to look over his broom.

"Matches?"

"Check."

"Rope?"

"Check."

Harry paused. "Why do we need rope, Hermione? Can't we just use binding spells?"

Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head. "Wand magic is useless where we're going."

"Really?" Zabini asked, clearly intrigued, "Scientifically or magically?"

"What?"

"The inhibitor," Zabini elaborated. "Is it from magical wards, or from the magnetic pull that's most likely enhanced so far north?"

Hermione was momentarily stunned by the Slytherin's thoughtful query. "Erm... I don't know," she managed. And, truly, she didn't.

"Really, Granger. I'd have thought you'd be on top of things like that."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "Father Christmas' Atlas of Christmas Town mentioned no reasons at all. I simply assumed--"

"Really, Granger," Zabini cut in. "You're off your game if you merely assumed."

The bushy-haired Gryffindor was caught between embarrassment and admiration. Blaise Zabini seemed to be a much more intelligent bloke than she'd... assumed. This threw him in a much more attractive light - he wasn't just a pretty face after all - and she graced him with a blinding smile.

He blinked, oddly disconcerted in the wake of her grin, and strolled over to stand beside Pansy, shooting Hermione a wary glance over his shoulder.

"Shovel?"

Back to task, Hermione hefted the plastic snow shovel and bent to attach it to Harry's broom. "Check."

"No, I mean, why do we need a shovel?" Harry asked, looking up from the list of supplies Hermione had written out.

"It pays to be prepared for every possible situation, Harry."

He couldn't honestly think of a possible situation that would include the necessity of a plastic shovel, but he simply nodded his head. "Can't we at least charm it smaller? It'll be awkward in flight."

"No," she said, tugging on the shovel stem to make sure it was secure. "We'd have no way of charming it to size once we got there."

Ron groaned. "This is going to be a disaster."

"I'm going to record the expedition," Luna offered to no one in particular, pulling out a large, bluish journal and a quill. "Father's taken an interest in Yetis."

Neville nodded politely at her, not entirely sure what the two of them were doing 'tagging along,' as Pansy had said, on the rescue mission. He certainly hadn't asked to come. He'd been quite cozy in the common room with his latest copy of Herbology Today when Ron had stomped over, grabbed his arm, and declared his expertise was needed to save Ginny. What sort of expertise he could offer, besides knowing the precise breed of nettle that created a star-like rash in the groin area, Neville didn't quite know.

And Luna... well, Luna, he supposed, could possibly be helpful with her total disregard... erm... completely unfocused ability... um, no, no, that wasn't right... total calmness - yes, that was it - in the face of adversary.

"All right, that's everything," Harry said, rolling up the parchment and tucking it into his knapsack. He eyed the seven brooms lined up along the ground, each of them burdened with sacks of supplies. He wondered if they would balk at flying with the extra awkward weight, and thought the four school brooms they'd nicked just might. And then another dismaying thought occurred to him. "Hermione, you don't suppose having no wand magic will effect the brooms, do you?"

Hermione shrugged. "There's no way of telling if it effects magical objects, or just objects that have been charmed, or any objects at all, really. I only know for sure that the act of performing magic is stemmed."

Pansy and Ron stopped arguing over their brooms and turned to stare at her. Neville shifted uncomfortably, wiping his forehead with his palm in a nervous gesture.

Only Luna and Zabini seemed unconcerned, the former keeping up the constant scratching of her quill across her journal, the latter with his nose dipped in Hermione's copy of Father Christmas' Atlas of Christmas Town.

Harry cleared his throat. "So, hypothetically, if our brooms were to fail...?"

"Well, we'd fall, of course."

"Really, Granger," Zabini said, lowering the book to glance over at her, "this sort of half-arsed research isn't like you at all."

"I haven't had much time, have I?" she retorted.

He shook his head. "At the very least, I'd have expected you to have thought up ways to prevent us from falling, should that event occur."

She glared at him. Really, his smarts didn't seem all that attractive anymore. "As a matter of fact, Zabini," she ground out, "I have."

Pansy, Ron and Neville let out a collective sigh of relief.

Hermione swung her knapsack from her shoulder and pulled out a cluster of tiny pouches. "Each of these," she explained as she handed one to each of the six students around her, "contains a very small amount of Christmas powder."

"Christmas powder?"

"Yes," she said, slipping her own pouch into the top pocket of her robes. "It's the base ingredient to the grain they feed flying reindeer."

Understanding dawned on Harry, and he asked with a kind of awe, "So we can fly with this?"

Ron seemed just as excited. "Can't we just use this, then, instead of broomsticks?"

Hermione shook her head. "For one thing, Ron, there isn't enough to carry us the whole way. Professor Snape gave us his entire store - not happily, I assure you - and so we'll have to make do with what we have. And for another, the only way to enter or leave Christmas Town is through Christmas magic."

"Erm... huh?"

"We'll need to take the powder anyway, whether we fall or not," Hermione continued, eyeing her broom suspiciously. She didn't exactly like flying to begin with, but flying on one of the school's temperamental broomsticks was always a gamble. "Otherwise, we won't be able to find the town."

"Second star to the right."

"What, Luna?" Hermione asked kindly, turning towards where the pale girl was crouched in the snow, hovering over her journal.

Luna glanced up and blinked slowly, as if clearing her irises of cobwebs. "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning."

"Oh," Hermione said, nodding. "I see. Well, it isn't pixie dust, Luna, but excellent parallel." She gave Luna a grin, feeling it was important to encourage the Ravenclaw - however in the world had that happened? - to try her hand at normal conversations. She was getting quite a bit better, really; hadn't mentioned a Snorkack in days. And, truly, Yetis were well-recorded beasts: definitely a step up from Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

"So we really will get to fly without our brooms?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "In and out."

"This is brilliant," Ron exclaimed, smiling widely.

Pansy let out an impatient breath. "Are we ready, then?" she snapped.

"Nearly." Hermione checked her broom over one last time, making sure everything was secure, then glanced up to see that everyone else was doing the same. "We'll be in the air for hours," she stated calmly, even though inside she was a mess of nerves at the thought. "I'll signal everyone when it's time to use the powder. Remember not to use all of it," her gaze paused on Neville a moment and he blushed, "or else we won't be able to find our way back out."

"Sounds daunting, doesn't it," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry shrugged. "I still say all this preparation is a bit overboard. It's Christmas Town... How dangerous can it be?"

"Have you ever come across a Christmas elf before, Potter?" Zabini asked, already hovering comfortably on his broom.

Pansy, about to swing her leg over her broomstick, paused and shuddered delicately.

Ron and Neville both grimaced.

"What?" Harry queried, bouncing his gaze confusedly between the boys.

Zabini leaned forward, resting an elbow near the tip of his broom and cupping his chin in his palm. "Perpetual cheer, Potter."

"And shifty," Ron added emphatically. "Don't forget shifty, Zabini. Never trust an elf that can't look you in the eye."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "So they're cheerful and shifty?"

"Don't listen to them, Harry. Christmas elves are perfectly harmless," Hermione said, gingerly climbing aboard her broom. Although she couldn't help wondering about the fact that Harry, Luna and herself were the only ones who seemed not to quake at the thought of meeting Christmas elves head on - perhaps 'quake' wasn't the precise word to use for Zabini, though, as he was rather matter-of-fact about his dislike of them. Ultimately, she chalked it up to pure wizarding prejudice, and briefly pondered adding them to her S.P.E.W. campaign.

"Everyone ready?" she asked with a steadying breath, her fingers curled in a vice-like grip around the broom handle.

Heads nodded in the cold morning air, their breaths mingling as they gazed up at the orange horizon in anticipation. And then they were off, cloaks and robes billowing out behind them, flying swiftly in a somewhat ragged formation towards the second star on the right.

The edges of the Headmaster's office window were covered in ice and snow, the crystallized patterns snaking inward from the wooden frames. Snape and Dumbledore stood side by side, their stances identical, although their expressions were anything but.

"Oh, to be young again," Dumbledore sighed, grinning wide and just a bit wistfully as he watched the seven students disappear into the dawn.

Snape scowled at the pane.

Catching a glimpse of the professor's reflection, Dumbledore chuckled and clapped him companionably on the back. "Come now, Severus, it's not that bad."

"They'll most likely be killed this time, you know, or at the very least maimed beyond recognition." He allowed himself brief amusement at the thought before remembering three of his own students were in danger as well. "Christmas elves," he shook his head in disgust. "I can't help thinking there's an easier way to go about this." Snape arched a dark brow as he shifted to look at Dumbledore.

"And where's the fun in easy?" countered Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling.

Snape ignored the Headmaster's teasing gaze and took a sip of his tea. "You've contacted him at least, I hope."

"Of course, of course," Dumbledore mumbled amiably. "St. Nick's been apprised of the entire situation. There's nothing to worry about, Severus, nothing at all." He tilted his head back, idly humming a few bars of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. It'd always been one of his favourites.

******

Ginny stretched awake languidly, snuggling into her warm blankets. She smiled slightly, recalling the night before, when Malfoy's ingrained sense of propriety had insisted she take the one and only bed, while he slept on the sofa in front of the fire. He hadn't been happy about it, of course, which made it all the sweeter to Ginny. He'd grumbled and scowled at her, complained and outright insulted her - of course - and wouldn't even hear of her taking the couch instead.

She sighed into her pillow, then flipped her covers off and slipped out of bed. When she glanced around for her clothes, though, she realized they were missing. She was sure she had piled them on the rug next to the bed - she'd never been a particularly neat witch - only now the only item left was a single white sock, peeping out from under the bed skirt.

"Malfoy," she shouted, slamming out of the bedroom.

"Mm...mph."

"Malfoy," she snapped again, standing over the lump of covers on the sofa. Only the tip of his head, a mess of silver locks spilling onto the cushions, was visible. She poked him viciously with her forefinger.

He growled menacingly and pulled the covers from his head. "Damn it, Weasley, what...?" He paused mid-sentence, mouth falling open as his gaze traveled the entire length of her body.

She glanced down at herself. Oh. That's right. She'd forgotten that she'd slept in only her underwear.

Malfoy swallowed hard. "Good God, Weasley, robes on you are positively criminal."

Ginny scowled and ripped his blankets off him, wrapping them around her barely clad form until only her head was uncovered. Someday, she was going to be mortally embarrassed about this incident, she knew. But at the moment, all she was worried about were those sneaky little elves and how they'd taken their clothes.

Although she did allow herself a minute to admire Malfoy's finely honed naked chest. It was a sight too good to pass up.

"Malfoy, my clothes are gone," she said finally.

"The elves are now my gods."

Ginny's hand shot out of the blanket folds and she hit him on the arm. "This is serious."

"Calm down, Weasley," he said, sitting up and yawning. "We can just transfig--"

"No, we can't," Ginny cut in. "We can't use our wands, remember?" They'd tried Alohomora on the locked door the night before and the tip of her wand had exploded.

Malfoy stretched, his lean muscles flexing in the firelight, and Ginny caught herself just before she sighed.

"Well, they can't mean for us to go traipsing about, nearly naked. Although I certainly don't have a problem with it." He gave her a playful leer. "Did you check the closets?"

She shook her head, and then rushed from the room. Or at as near a rush as she could manage without tripping over her blankets.

Draco found himself staring after her, the image of her spilling out of her demi-cup black bra burned into his brain. No, not burned. Seared.

Who would have thought she'd had all that covered up? All that pale skin and those legs... He'd always figured Granger for being the hidden jewel in Gryffindor - although he would rather be stabbed in the eye with a hot poker than admit he found her intellect sexy; as it was, he was tempted to slip into the kitchen for a spoon and carve out his slightly undersized heart for thinking the words 'hidden jewel' and 'Granger' in the same context. But the little Weasley was, well, he suspected pretty would no longer cover it.

"You won't believe this, Malfoy," Weasley shouted from the bedroom. She stepped into the doorframe and laughed, buttoning up a sheer white oxford - he could see the shadow of her bra through the thin fabric - and sporting a broomstick skirt that fell to her ankles in vertical red and green stripes. "Yours are even better."

A half-hour later he stood in front of the bedroom mirror, frowning down at his red brocade three-piece suit, complete with green velvet piping. "Horrid doesn't even begin to describe this."

"Red really isn't your colour," Weasley agreed, chuckling.

He tugged on his waistcoat and twisted about to see the reflection of his back. "Cut is fine, but... I feel like a travelling broom salesman."

"You'd need a bowler hat for that."

His eyes widened. "You don't suppose...?"

With a mischievous grin, Weasley ran for the closet and threw open the door. "Aha," she cried, turning around with the matching red hat. "Oh, this is just too good. Put it on."

She pushed the hat into his hands and he scowled at her. "It'll mash my hair," he protested.

"No one's here to see but me, Malfoy. Please," she added, her eyes twinkling in that infernally pretty way that they twinkled. When they got out of this mess, she was going to rue the day she ever twinkled her eyes at Draco Malfoy - absolutely rue it.

"Fine," he grumbled, carefully placing the round brimmed hat on his head. He turned to the side, tipping his chin up and admiring his profile. "I don't look that bad in hats, do I?"

"You look smarmy."

"Smarmy?" Draco queried, slipping a hand into his waistcoat pocket, his other hand curling around the edge of the suit jacket. He had an odd craving for a pocket watch.

"Slick as a weasel," she added, nodding.

"Ferret," he countered automatically, then paused and glared at her.

Ginny ignored his glower and glanced down at her own clothing and then over at him. "We're like a pair of bookends," she commented.

"Mr. and Mrs. Claus," he murmured dryly, adjusting his hat to tilt over one eye.

"Oh, so you believe me now?"

"What I believe, Weasley," he said, "is that we are dealing with some highly disturbed elves. And now that we're properly attired," he smirked, "I say we figure out a way to escape their evil clutches."

"Now, Malfoy," Ginny admonished. "I wouldn't say they were evil. Just misguided."

Malfoy let out an impatient breath and took a few steps towards her. "Whatever they are, or are not, I doubt they have the approval of the real Father Christmas for this little escapade."

"Well, of course not. But how--" Her words were cut off by a pounding at the door, and both her and Malfoy froze in their tracks. "Who could it be?" Ginny whispered.

Malfoy shrugged, but his eyes were laced with apprehension.

The elves wouldn't knock, she knew, since they were the ones who'd locked them in. "Do you think it's Harry?"

"Only one way to find out." He strode into the living room, and crossed over to windows flanking the door.

Ginny hurried after him, her fingers worrying the buttons of her shirt, wondering briefly if it was a hungry Yeti, bent on having them for breakfast.

Leaning down, Malfoy surreptitiously lifted a corner of the window curtains. "Well, well, well."

"What?" Ginny hissed, tugging on his jacket and straining to see around him. "Who is it?"

"That traitor reindeer."

"Cupid?" She pushed Malfoy out of the way and insinuated herself between him and the window. "What's he... Oh!" Ginny watched as the reindeer backed up several steps, then trotted forward, ramming his rack into the wooden door.

She heard the cedar crack and splinter, but the door held firm.

"He's breaking down the door. Oh, what a good boy," she cooed approvingly.

"Regretting his underhanded deeds, I expect," Malfoy groused.

"He's a reindeer, Malfoy; I doubt he had any idea what was happening. He probably just didn't want you to leave him."

Cupid rammed the door again and the tip of an antler presented in the scarred wood.

"Well, he's a bit slow on the uptake, then, isn't he? We obviously didn't want to get kidnapped and locked up in a pint-sized cottage. And here he is, a day later, finally figuring it all out?"

"He's a reindeer, Malfoy," she repeated, shifting to frown up at him. He was awfully close to her, though, his mouth mere millimeters from her nose, and with a small squeak she turned back around to stare out the window. Only now she was gazing blindly out into the snow, her body sensitized to the fact that she was snuggled up close to his chest.

There was another loud thump and the door splintered in half, hanging dejectedly on its hinges. Cupid brayed when he spotted them and pulled his mouth back into his odd, goofy grin, obviously pleased with himself. He scrambled over the broken shards and blinked adoringly up at Malfoy and Ginny.

Ginny scratched his head while Malfoy glared at him. "Oh, come on, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.

Malfoy sniffed indignantly, but reached out and patted Cupid, awkwardly praising him.

Cupid's eyes drifted shut, a look of pure bliss blossoming on his furry face. Ginny found herself wishing she were under Malfoy's hands as well. Which was an entirely inappropriate thought; especially considering what dire straits they were currently in.

"We should get moving before the elves come for us," Ginny said.

Malfoy agreed and gave Cupid one last half-affectionate pat - affection really wasn't a Malfoy's strong suit.

The midmorning sun gleamed down, the reflection of it in the snow almost blinding them as they climbed through the battered down door and into the village. The problem now, of course, was remaining inconspicuous. Which, considering their height and their brightly colored clothes, would most likely prove very nearly impossible.

******

"All right there, Granger?"

Hermione threw Zabini a quick glance. "Fine."

He flew his broom closer to her side. "You sure? You've got the broom handle in a death grip, you know. I can't help but think you're a little tense."

"I'm fine," she said again.

"Hope you're not the self prophesising sort," he continued absently.

"What?" She was beginning to suspect Zabini's mind didn't exactly move in the proper linear channels.

He eyed her thoughtfully, then dropped his broom below her and came up on her other side. "You look as though your mind is screaming, I'm going to fall, just about every ten seconds. Can't be good for the psyche."

"I'm not thinking that at all," she retorted, unconsciously tightening her hold even more on the handle. No, what she was really thinking was, I'm surely going to lose my grip and die. Subtle differences, of course, but differences all the same.

He grinned at her, elaborating, "You know if you think you're going to fall, your chances of actually doing so are upped."

"Not helping, Zabini," she said through her teeth.

"But don't worry. I'd catch you if you did."

Hermione started in surprise, her grip loosening, and she nearly did fall. Zabini, Zabini had just said he would catch her. And with a straight face, too. Briefly, she forgot to be afraid and simply stared at him, incredulous.

"I'm an excellent flyer, and my reflexes are up to snuff, I assure you." He gave her a dimpled smile and zipped up and over to her other side. "See? No worries at all. You should relax."

What was he doing? Hermione was completely baffled by his behaviour. Hadn't he just, mere hours before, run from her like a frightened poodle?

"Your grin's a bit scary, Granger," he said, as if reading her mind, "but I've rethought my position on you. The Christmas powder was ingenious."

Hermione hardly ever preened - preening was reserved for Malfoys and Parkinsons and, in some cases, Finnigans; Seamus could be shameless in that regard - but she allowed herself a small amount of happy bristling. It had been ingenious of her.

"What are you doing, Zabini?" Ron said sharply as he maneuvered his broom over to them.

"Seducing Granger," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Now?" Ron seemed slightly intrigued by the idea. "We're thousands of feet in the air. On brooms."

If Zabini were the brow-waggling sort, he certainly would have waggled them then. "Seems like the perfect place to me."

"She can't stomp off in an offended tizzy," Ron murmured to himself in wonder. "And she's sitting on a broom."

Hermione knew he could only be thinking about one girl. Anybody who fought as much as Pansy and Ron did had to be dying to get into each other's trousers. Really, they'd thought Ron was gay for the longest time, since it seemed as though he'd pounce on Malfoy with only the tiniest provocation.

Zabini, apparently, was of the same mind. "Careful, Weasley," he said in a half-bored tone. "That's my cousin you're thinking rude thoughts about."

"Pansy's your cousin?" he asked.

"Well, third cousin twice removed." He cocked his head in thought. "Actually, I don't think we're blood relations, which is good, really, since we dated for a few months in fourth year."

Hermione and Ron stared at him in silence.

"But you're not sure?" Hermione finally asked, nose crinkled in disgust.

"Purebloods can't be choosy, Granger." He sighed dramatically. "We're a dying breed."

"What am I, then?" Hermione huffed. "A momentary distraction?"

"I certainly can't take you home to Mother, now, can I?"

Ron, in an extremely wise move, hastily retreated.

Hermione flinched at the offhand insult and was completely embarrassed to find she had to blink away a few stray tears. "Keep your hands to yourself, Zabini," she said, thankful that her voice didn't break. "If I need saving, Harry will do it. He's the hero, you know."

Zabini seemed amused by her attempt at putting him in his place. "Really, Granger, I couldn't care one wit that you're a Muggle-born." He shrugged. "Mother would eat you alive, though."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"I suppose we could visit, though, if you insist."

"I don't want to meet your bloody mum, Zabini," she said, exasperated. "We're not even snogging."

He gave her a half-smirk, half-leer. "A tragedy I plan on rectifying as soon as possible."

Hermione snorted. "You're insane."

"No," Zabini countered. "I'm simply lusting after your fascinating brain."

It was the perfect remark, of course, and Hermione couldn't help melting a little inside. Zabini knew just what buttons to push. The bastard.

She was saved, however, from further banter by the faint chiming of her compass.

"What's that noise?" Zabini asked.

"My Christmas compass," she replied, pulling both the directional device and the pouch of Christmas powder out of her robes. "We're nearing the border." She lifted her voice to carry to the rest of the rescue team and said, "Everyone get ready. It's nearly time."

Gazing from her compass to the snow capped peaks below them, she shouted, "Now!" and tipped the pouch of powder up to her mouth just as the mountains gave way to a deep, sweeping valley.

It was a good thing, too, because she felt the jolt of the broom failing underneath her and a slight drop in height before the powder overtook her system. Every molecule was tingling, every nerve ending singing, as the air around her shimmered and sparkled. And then she saw it, just ahead of them. Christmas Town.

Harry spread out his arms and laughed into the wind. He'd always thought the greatest thrill in the world was flying his Firebolt, but this... this was ten times better. Keeping a firm grip on his broom with one hand, he somersaulted and dived and flipped over onto his back, pillowing his head with his hands.

"Harry," Hermione said sternly. "We haven't time for play."

"Hermione," Ron whined, his arms moving in a slightly awkward imitation of the breaststroke as he paddled over to her.

"I mean it, Ron. We have to find Ginny and Malfoy before anything happens to them."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "I thought you said the elves were harmless? Or are you worried that they'll kill each other?" he added with a grin.

Zabini whistled. "More likely the little Weasley will attempt to get her groove on."

Hermione shot him a dark look. She wasn't surprised that he knew, since it was fairly obvious to any observant fool - which fortunately left out Ron - but he certainly didn't have to announce it to the world. "Ixnay on the ushcray," she hissed.

"What on the what?" Ron scratched his head, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Really, Granger. Resorting to Pig Latin?" Zabini shook his head in mock disgust.

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Ginny has a crush on Malfoy?"

"What?" Ron's eyes went wide and incredulous.

"Time and place, Potter," Pansy muttered.

"Of course not," Hermione said quickly, narrowing her eyes at Zabini and Harry, daring them to say anything else about it. Before Ron could open his mouth to question further, Hermione pointed down to the village below. "Let's get organized, people. We'll land behind that stand of trees over there, right outside the town. Remember, it's imperative that we're not seen."

Neville took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out in a whoosh. He'd been getting a bit green around the gills from all the broom flying, and the powder hadn't helped in that respect. If anything, the flutters in his stomach had gotten worse. Not to mention the fact that he'd spilled half the pouch down his jumper and Hermione was going to kill him when she found out.

As the rest of the team twisted and swooped down towards the ground, Neville swallowed hard and followed, hoping desperately that he wouldn't vomit until his feet were firmly planted on the ground.