Shaelune

There was a great rattling noise as the sixteen carriages landed as gracefully as possible on the cobblestones. Hermione watched the cab’s wings relax, then fold themselves down and melt into the black iron doors, which opened politely for the four teenagers; Ginny, wiping sleep from her eyes, dismounted first, and Harry followed her, carrying his sketchbook. She noticed Ron surreptitiously tuck a butterbeer into his jacket before getting out himself.

She could not even see the mansion through the nearly four-meter stone walls and fancily scrollworked iron gates that separated the grounds from the cobbled drive winding up the hill. Professor Titleby, a petite woman with greying blonde hair, large, pale eyes and limbs so frail they looked as though a strong wind would snap them in two, was calling for silence among the sixty-something students gathered about her; instead of paying attention to the Defence teacher’s magically enhanced voice, Hermione cast a sideways glance to the carriages, which were now lifting off and vanishing into the ever-darkening grey sky.

"Excuse yourself, Granger," someone said from beside her as she was bumped unapologetically out of the way by Pansy Parkinson’s full skirts. The blonde girl stared at her expectantly, as if daring her to say something back. Draco Malfoy was on Pansy’s other side, but he was ignoring them, as he had begun to understand that pretending they didn’t exist infuriated Ron, Hermione and Ginny more than any insult.

"I’ll excuse myself when I feel like it," Hermione shot back after a moment’s consideration.

Pansy’s brows slanted angrily, and Hermione swallowed a bit- nervously?- when she saw how the Slytherin’s green eyes dilated in a manner creepily akin to Crookshanks’ after he’d caught a mouse (or rat, in the case of Wormtail). "And I’ll see to you later, Granger," she whispered menacingly, then whipped around, the picture of innocence, to listen to Professor Titleby.

"What’s ‘er problem?" Ron said rather loudly into Hermione’s ear, apparently trying to whisper but failing miserably. She could smell the potent stench of concentrated butterbeer on his breath.

Ginny intervened. "Ron, shut up, Professor Titleby’s talking."

"Please remember the following rules, as recorded in your guidebooks," the professor in question was saying. "One. There will be no raising of the voice above a sensible decibel, as determined by the innkeepers. Two. Though the inn has magical housekeeping, there will be no defilation of the premises whatsoever. Three. Use of the inn’s facilities is limited to the gardens, library and café and lounge. Students are prohibited from use of the tavern, stables, forest, swimming pool, or room service. Four. Food may be obtained at the café and lounge only and is not allowed in the rooms. Five. For the students’ own protection and safety, there will be no departing of the inn and its grounds for the duration of the seven-day stay. Six. Any questions are to be directed to your professors and the hotel desk." Professor Titleby stopped, drawing in shallow breath. "Is that all clear?"

"I think I’ve got it," Hermione said, clearly concentrating on the professor’s words and murmuring them back to herself. "No loud voices, no defiling, no using the tavern, stables, et cetera, no food in rooms, no leaving the premises, questions to the professors and hotel desk."

"Yes, I think you’ve got it, Hermione," Harry said as he pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. She couldn’t tell whether he was joking. Probably not; with Harry, especially since he’d finally seemed to enter puberty, there weren’t a whole lot of jokes.

"The reception ball, hosted by Madam Farquhar, the inn’s proprietor, will commence tonight promptly at seven ‘o clock. Your partners will be assigned to you there. No, wait-" Professor Titleby stopped abruptly; Professor McGonagall was saying something to her, but it was inaudible from Hermione’s place at the back of the crowd. "Excuse me. To, ah, enhance the air of secrecy-" the blonde professor seemed skeptical- "although you will be sharing a suite with your assigned partners, you’re not to see each other until the ball, when you will be told where to meet them." Rolling her eyes very unsubtly, Hourig Titleby glared at Dumbledore before stepping back to allow the gates to open.

--~--

Hermione had to glance back every few feet to check that her trunk, floating behind her, was following the curving pattern of the spiral staircase. She hadn’t seen very much of the inn so far; the lobby was nondescript and small, with several overstuffed couches and a potted plant (though it was a real palm tree- magic, she’d had to remind herself). And this stairwell wasn’t very cheery- it was actually rather depressing, all dank stone walls and iron-cupped torches. She’d much rather have her family’s vacation home in France (the Grangers were dentists, after all, and their substantial finances well made up for the braces and flossing).

Her room surprised her, though- upholstered almost entirely in dark blue velvets and silks, it would have cost a fortune had Muggles furnished it. Hermione slipped off the uncomfortable stilettos, let her trunk settle onto the floor and felt the wave of fatigue that always accompanied the finishing of a spell. She’d grown used to it by now.

There was a terrace outside her room; it wasn’t large or anything, but certainly nice, and a pair of French doors masked by gauzy drapes opened onto it. Perhaps- yes, some fresh air would be nice after that long ride. And this room, while lovely, wasn’t exactly cheerful...

The solarium’s smooth stone floor was shockingly cold under Hermione’s bare feet, but the view was even more breathtaking. The neat, prim mazes and courtyards that comprised the gardens several hundred meters below her contrasted violently with the tangled black mass of forest that bordered them on the left, and on the right the rolling green fields dropped off into slate-blue ocean whipped with clouds. An amazing view, to be sure- but the quality of her stay all depended on who she’d be forced to share it with.

--~--

"I’ll see you at the party, Draco?"

He did n’t look at Pansy as he assured her that, yes, he’d be there, and let himself into the suite at the top of the stairs.

It was nice, but nothing spectacular- Malfoy Manor contained twenty-seven rooms far better than this. Being, of course, a member of the male species, Draco left his trunk on the floor, only bothering to remove his broom (the latest model of Diveskimmer, polished to perfection) and lock it in the cupboard before shucking off his outer-robe and dropping it on the rug as well. He assumed the innkeeper owned house-elves; they’d take care of it.

He caught his reflection in a gilded mirror on the wall and paused, running one large, pale hand through his hair and smoothing down the flyaways (it struck him that there were girls at Hogwarts who cared less about their hair than he did). Draco turned to pull his wand out of his back trouser pocket, intending to charm the wrinkles from his oxford, when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. There was a figure on the balcony.

Curious but not wanting to alert whoever it was to his presence, Draco crossed his arms and moved closer to the French doors for a better view. It was a girl, short, with her back turned to him; and she was a vision in Slytherin green and ebony, the gold charms on her sash glinting dark in the stormy light and her long hair blackened by the tempestuous sky. She might not have been beautiful, especially not by Malfoy standards, but from what he could see of her- the white glow of her skin, illuminated against the dark forests in the distance; the delicate tilt of her arms resting on the stone balustrade; the soft hunch of her narrow shoulders against the oncoming wind- she was certainly striking. He wondered what she was doing here.

--~--

Hermione watched the wind stir the ocean furiously, huge white-capped waves rearing against the shore and crashing on the craggy rocks. There was something so vicious and cruel and yet beautiful and passionate about the sheer, invincible power of the sea.

--~--

"Ouch! Shit!"

She barely got the chance to swear before toppling over into the vanity and knocking a bottle of expensive perfume borrowed from Parvati to the carpet, where it shattered and the bronze liquid spilled out over the broken glass. And to top it off, Hermione’d ripped the skirt of the red dress, and somehow she doubted either of her three faery godmothers (as they’d put it) would approve of the new, fraying slit up its front.

She pulled herself into a chair to continue her attempt at buckling the impossibly high silver heels Lavender had handed her on the way into the mansion that afternoon. The delicate chains at the ankle were proving extremely difficult; Hermione’s back hurt from bending over to work on them.

"Fuck this," she muttered. "Nectare!"

The strands of silver seemed to jolt with the shock of movement, then wound themselves, crisscrossing madly, up her leg, until they fixed together behind her knee. It was so incredibly easy that Hermione found herself grinning into the mirror. "Let’s see if we’re on a roll," she said to herself. "Valetudam nites."

There was the cold-water feeling again as the spell’s magic seeped into her skull and her hair began to straighten, faster this time, as though each strand was being flattened between sheets of red-hot metal. The amount of power it drained from Hermione left her exhausted, and though her hair was shining in the candlelight just as it had that afternoon, she somehow didn’t have the energy to feel happy about it.

So by the time she came down the staircase to the ballroom, shoes causing her to totter awkwardly and take miniscule steps to avoid ripping her dress again, all Hermione really wanted to do was pull on an old pair of flannel pajamas and curl into the far-too-expensive blankets of her bed. Instead, however, she found herself nodding politely to the ushers at the doors and immediately becoming lost in the revolving melee of brightly-colored dress robes and whirling hands and faces. She couldn’t pick a single familiar face out of the crowd, which was absurd, considering she’d gone to school with every one of them for the past four years. Harry and Ron were nowhere to be found (Hermione sincerely hoped Ron hadn’t opted for a meaningful evening with his butterbeer rather than attending); once, she thought she caught a glimpse of Parvati’s favorite pink silk sari, but then the swirling beads and embroidery vanished back into the throng.

"Hermione!"

She spun around, against the tide of dancers. Who had called her name?

"Hermione? There you are!" It was Ginny, skirts of her low-cut, bright indigo velvet dress robe gathered in one hand as she shoved through the crowd towards her. "We’ve been searching all over for you!"

Hermione smiled weakly. "Really? I couldn’t find anyone…"

"Ron’s over at our table drinking his arse off- he’s really got to stop that- and I think Harry’s dancing with someone." Ginny looked a bit pouty at this last, but then her face suddenly brightened. "Speaking of, you’ll never guess who asked me to dance!"

"Who?"

Hermione furrowed her brow. "I didn’t know you were so interested in him."

Ginny sighed. "How could I not be? He’s only the fourth most dashing boy in all of fifth year!"

Ginny shook her head. "Honestly, Hermione, what kind of a girl are you? Have you never seen the List?"

"The List?"

"Yes, the List! It’s a constantly updated register of the most desirable blokes in the school. A must-read, I’d say."

Hermione frowned. "So, then, who’s at the top?"

"Well, number three is Terry Boot. I didn’t vote for him, but Lavender threatened to never let any of us borrow her mannequin again if we didn’t raise his stock a few notches. Number two’s Harry-" Hermione noticed that Ginny still blushed a bit at his name- "-and, of course, Draco Malfoy’s number one." Her expression was impassive.

"Draco Malfoy? Really?" Hermione was a bit shocked.

"Well, there’s no denying his money, talent at dancing, piano, and flying, intelligence, and, you know, the Hair…" ‘Hair’ had the same connotation as ‘List.’ Ginny still didn’t seem entirely convinced of her own point, but was apparently resigned to the facts.

Hermione cocked her head inquisitively. "I didn’t know Malfoy played the piano! Or danced!"

"Parvati completely glorifies him every year when the time comes to update the list," Ginny informed her as they sat down at the linen-draped table across from Ron, who seemed to have passed out in the hors d’oeuvres. "And according to her he’s also quite the endurance flyer, if you know what I mean."

Hermione’s eyes widened. "Ginny!"

"What? It’s true," the redheaded witch replied nonchalantly. She tipped her head at her brother. "And besides, Ron’s asleep."

Ginny paused uncomfortably. "Now, er, Hermione, when two people love each other, and they want to, erm, express that love-"

"No, she just watched him screw Pansy Parkinson," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "Of course she slept with him. So have most of the girls in your year. And mine," she added.

"You’re joking!" Hermione couldn’t believe she’d been missing all this gossip by way of being one of the boys, as it were. It was so… well… juicy!

Oh god, she was being so shallow.

Really! Discussing Malfoy’s sex history as though it were a surprise test the next day or the latest Honeydukes candy. She’d never been interested in his accomplishments in that area before. Why was it so enthralling now?

"Fourth-years first," the professor began in her slightly Eastern-European-tinged accent. "Acibore, Barnaby, will be partnered with Cimine, Mira." She looked around expectantly; Barnaby Acibore, a quiet Hufflepuff with large glasses and equally large, bovine eyes, got up from his table, where he’d been sitting alone, and went up to the front of the room; Mira Cimine, an auburn-haired Ravenclaw Hermione knew to be quite the smartass, was waiting for him there. Professor Titleby moved on to the next pair of students.

"Arlette de Eulalie, you’ll be with Othniel Akosua," she announced, adjusting her spectacles. Othniel, a strapping African-born Gryffindor with a huge smile brimming with white teeth, unfolded himself from against the wall and waved to Arlette, whose pretty light brown hair was piled atop her head fashionably; her slender body was draped in French-designed gold silk. The Ravenclaw was fluent in both English and French, and could manage Italian if push came to shove.

Professor Titleby scanned the parchment in her hand. "Eirian Halifax?"

The freckled Hufflepuff looked up from where she’d been quietly conversing with her boyfriend, Flann O’Hara. "Yes, Professor?"

Titleby gave her a stern look. "Miss Halifax, your partner is Khajag Arasi. However, he fell ill during the carriage ride-" Hermione vaguely remembered a green-looking boy with a stain down his front stumbling into the infirmary as she’d made her way in that afternoon- "and so you are excused from the mandatory activities until such time as he feels well enough to continue on." Hermione admired the Professor’s slipped-in sarcasm.

‘Klaas, Melaina,’ a plain Slytherin who’d transferred from Durmstrang at the beginning of last year and spoke broken English with a heavy Dutch accent, was partnered with Ethelindus Argyros, a fellow Slytherin of hers with longish dark hair, a strong jaw, and unnaturally large hands (Hermione’d always just thought they served him well on the Quidditch field, but Ginny whispered to Hermione, "You know what they say that means…").

"NO!" Ginny hissed to Hermione as they found out that Siena Louis, a strikingly pretty Gryffindor of Italian descent, with tawny skin and large dark eyes framed by long eyelashes, was to be paired with Ginny’s ex-boyfriend Michael Corner. "That bitch!"

"I thought she was your friend," Hermione said, confused. "Anyway, it’s not exactly her fault-"

"Not for much longer," Ginny fumed. "I know her, she’ll get her nasty little manicured claws into him and then I’ll never have him back!"

"I didn’t know you wanted him back," Hermione said, feeling her newfound gossip radar jump into action.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I- ooh, never mind, look who’s paired now!"

Forgiving her flighty friend, Hermione turned to see Luna, her waist-length hair worn down and just as manelike as always, greeting Colin Creevey as they were partnered and went off to a table in the back, presumably to discuss their project. "I wonder how that one’ll turn out," Ginny said thoughtfully. Hermione restrained herself from making a snide comment involving how zero plus zero still equals zero. Ginny probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway.

Next came two purely Slytherin partnerships: Salacia Nagend, a pale girl with startling green eyes whose family claimed to be descended from the house’s founder himself, and Callisto Nott, whose extremely low-cut orange-golden robes drew the eye of every person in the room possessing testosterone (except, hopefully, Dumbledore), were partnered respectively with flaxen-haired, blue-eyed Aleksander Darket and Pitambar Kalin, Padma Patil’s former boyfriend (he certainly didn’t look fourteen- he was the only boy in his year to have already grown a moustache). Aisling O’Reilly, another Slytherin girl with hair so red she could have been a Weasley, but for her slanted, dark, and somehow menacing eyes and perpetually upturned nose, looked extremely put out when Professor Titleby announced her partnership with Ariel Naphtali. Ariel was a Gryffindor who was quite handsome in his own right (explaining Ginny’s excitement that he’d asked her to dance), but paled next to Ethelindus, whom Ginny informed Hermione was currently in a sort-of relationship with Aisling. Hermione took the liberty of informing Ginny that she didn’t really care.

Flann O’Hara, looking bored since his girlfriend, Eirian Halifax, had gotten called up, seemed happy when Professor Titleby paired him with Liviana Orfhlaith. A Ravenclaw who would have also made a satisfactory Hufflepuff, Liviana’s good-natured humor and sweet face more than made up for her unpronounceable name.

Aisling’s twin brother, Donovan O’Reilly- also a Slytherin- grinned when he was partnered with Satu Paavali, a statuesque Slytherin girl with a waist-length braid of never-cut blond hair and wide grey eyes; Satu’s Hufflepuffian rival in pretty much every class, Xanthippe Socrate, was paired with bookish Ravenclaw Qing Sing, and Xanthippe’s fellow Hufflepuff Marcelina Tosciaske was assigned to Qing’s twin brother, Tai. Hermione was slouching lower in her seat, wondering exactly how many fourth years there were, when she felt Ginny tense beside her. "What is it?"

"She’s almost to me," Ginny said, her eyes fixed on Professor Titleby.

"Weasley, Ginny, will be partnered with Smith, Zacharias," the Defence professor announced, fixing her spectacles and moving on to the fifth years.

"Zacharias Smith?" Ginny hissed. "Oh, he’s such a prat! I can’t believe this!"

"He’s not bad-looking, though," Parvati chimed in as she slid into a chair next to them.

Ginny looked across at her. "Where have you been all night?"

Parvati sighed dreamily. "Dancing with Arnold Volod," she told them. "Padma introduced us, and he’s just- oh! I can’t even describe him!"

"Try. Force yourself," Ginny urged her sarcastically.

"He’s that big bloke with the lovely brown hair and big rippling muscles," Parvati said, still sounding like a lovestruck ten-year-old.

"Oh, him," Ginny said, grinning in recognition, Zacharias Smith forgotten for the moment (though he was waiting for her rather impatiently at the front of the room, as was everyone else).

"Ginny, you’d better go," Hermione said worriedly.

Ginny giggled as she fetched her bag and stood up. "Oops! See you two later! Bye, Ron," she said loudly, but she made no impression on her sleeping brother.

Professor Titleby bent down to give Ginny and Zacharias their assignment, then straightened and cleared her throat. "All right. Fifth years. Abbott, Hannah, with Boot, Terry-"

Hannah smirked happily at her disgruntled boyfriend Ernie and skipped up to join Terry in all his tall, silently wise Ravenclaw glory. She’d dressed up her pigtails with ribbons (purple, to match her robes) woven into them for the occasion.

Susan Bones was paired with Justin Finch-Fletchley, Lavender with Seamus, and Millicent Bulstrode with Goyle before Hermione went through the girls’ last names in her mind and realized she was next. Her heart began pounding noisily against her ribcage- again- and she knew exactly how Ginny had felt.

Professor Titleby coughed, then coughed again, then took several gulps of water, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, then unrolled the scroll again and took several more seconds to find, presumably, Hermione’s name. Hermione wanted to strangle her.

"Granger, Hermione, you’ll be partnered with Malfoy, Draco," the Professor said clearly enough for everyone left in the ballroom- fifth years, all- to go silent and gasp audibly. The Slytherins were shocked, and the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs sounded sympathetic. Pansy glared at Malfoy as though it was his fault and stepped out of his embrace, folding her arms over her chest tightly (Hermione noticed that the top few hooks on her aubergine lace corset were undone).

She sat frozen for a few minutes before Parvati tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Hermione? They called your name-"

"I know," Hermione said quietly. "I’m- I’m going."

She stood up, somehow finding the balance to not fall off her stilettos and add injury to insult, and walked silently, proudly up to the platform where Professor Titleby waited. Malfoy stalked over in a less dignified manner, his cheeks a bit more flushed, his steps a bit heavier. The professor leaned down, apparently oblivious to the class’ reaction to her announcement. "You will be working on the Matorian Enchantment," she informed them, reading off the scroll. "Its location is in a small garden beneath the terrace off your room." Professor Titleby read the rest of the notes next to their names, then looked up at them sternly. "This is a very difficult assignment," she warned. "You two- as you no doubt know- are the best students in your year. Professor Dumbledore, ignoring reason, has decided to trust you with the danger and personal involvement this project will entail." She sighed reluctantly. "I implore you to act with the utmost care. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Malfoy hissed, still refusing to look at Hermione. "May we go now?"

Professor Titleby’s worried look vanished. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger." A hint of a smirk appeared in its place. "Enjoy yourselves."