Author's Note: Rewrite number three. Hopefully, third time's the charm
Disclaimer: Most of this belongs to J. K. Rowling, and much is inspired by Anne Rice and/or Amelia Atwater-Rhodes. I do not own The Craft (good movie, by the way). I thank you not to steal the small amount of stuff I do own.
Playing With Fire
by Godforsaken
Chapter One.
If there were anything remarkable to be said about the goblet, it would be that it was gold. After all, goblets were most commonly wood, or pewter. But this one was gold. Other than that, it was quite uninteresting. It was undecorated, of a middling size, and half full of pumpkin juice.
Even the fact that it was gold was not particularly remarkable, in context. All the other dishes and cutlery in the room were gold, as well. And in all likelihood, it was not truly wrought of gold; it merely appeared so.
The way Draco was staring at it, one would think it contained the key to unlocking all the secrets of the universe.
At the moment, the only key Draco particularly wished for would be the one that unlocked the secret of how to get Pansy Parkinson to shut up. Or simply the key to lock her mouth, perhaps.
It would have been vaguely amusing that Pansy did not even realize that he wasn't listening, if it hadn't been going on for so long. At some point, several years ago, it had been amusing. Now it was just stupid. And so he stared fixedly at a small point of light on the rim of his goblet, tuning her out as much as he could.
In tuning out Pansy, he had unfortunately tuned out the rest of the world as well. He did not realize it when Dumbledore shouted for the attention of the student body.
To be perfectly honest, neither did the rest of the student body. Dumbledore frowned, and made a small gesture.
A high-pitched whine filled the air, tearing through the thoughts and conversations and causing students to wince, clapping their hands over their ears. Draco was jolted back into reality, and gave the high table a wide-eyed stare, as his brain tried to label the sound he had just heard.
After a moment, it came to him. Microphone feedback. He was not sure where he had heard it before, but he remembered the sound.
He turned his eyes back to his goblet, curling his lip in disgust. Was nothing sacred? After a moment, he cracked his neck and looked back up at Dumbledore, a bored expression on his face, prepared for a long and boring speech.
There wasn't one, which was a pleasant surprise. The Headmaster announced that there was a new fifth-year Slytherin, and he trusted the students would be nice to her. He pointed her towards the Slytherin table and sat back down.
Draco took a good look at the girl, who currently was wearing an expression clearly stating hatred for her current situation of being here now. She was a pale, thin brunette who simply exuded antisocial-ness. Though her face was fairly delicately boned, her jaw was stubborn; her hair was pulled back out of her eyes with silver combs, and said eyes were cold, black, and intense.
They were also focused on the seat on the other side of Pansy, the only available seat at the Slytherin table. Draco espied a way to separate himself from his talkative shadow.
Pansy, could you move down a seat? he asked, keeping his voice civil. Pansy, being utterly clueless and eager to please him (as long as that never included being quiet), obliged.
The girl noticed the not-so-subtle invitation. Is this seat taken? she inquired as she stepped up to it, without a trace of usual adolescent unconfidence.
Perfect timing. Draco answered calmly, as Pansy looked from one to the other and opened and closed her mouth like a fish.
The girl slid into the seat before Pansy could figure out what was going on.
Although said chatterbox felt slighted, she bounced back with the resilience of those who are too clueless to ever be emotionally scarred about anything. So. What's your name, new girl?
The new girl, whose name was Calandra, calmly glanced at Pansy before diverting her attention to an area of the tablecloth that was directly in her line of sight anyway.
Pansy tried again. Hello? Are you going to answer me? she demanded, poking Calandra in the arm.
Calandra grabbed the hand that was poking her and firmly guided it back into its owner's personal space. she replied, and then was silent again.
But I asked you a question!
Calandra turned to Draco. Is she like this all the time? she asked politely.
replied Draco. Usually she's worse.
Ah, dear. And must you deal with her all the time?
Unfortunately, yes.
Calandra looked at him, thoughtfully. Then you must be close to madness.
At times, yes, Draco replied, mildly amused in spite of himself. I'm Draco.
I am Rose. I am somewhat more pleased to meet you than I am to meet her, she said carefully, gesturing to Pansy, who looked affronted.
I feel honored, Draco said dryly, smiling slightly before changing the topic. How is it that you come here three weeks into the school year? And how is it that you come during fifth year?
Calandra was prepared for these questions. She knew they were going to be asked, and she knew equally well that the truth was not a wise answer—the truth, in this case, being On a whim, as I am a vampire, and vampires are prone to doing stupid things on whims.
She answered instead: Some things got slightly delayed in our move here from Germany. I was supposed to come at the beginning of school, but was simply unable to do so.
Draco nodded, accepting her answer. Calandra smiled inwardly. Simple lies. Always very simple lies. Three thousand years of learning, growing up in that most brilliant of cultures, Ancient Greece, and she still liked the simple lies.
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Draco sat in a chair in the common room, with Pansy on the arm of the chair whining at him. He wondered vaguely where Calandra had gone; he couldn't recall seeing her after classes. It was currently nearing midnight. He figured he should probably go to bed soon—this year was supposed to be a hard year, and he wasn't getting anything done at the moment, so he might as well be rested so he could get something done tomorrow. At the very least, he wanted his sanity somewhat intact for the O.W.L.s.
Calandra quietly came down the stairs, books in her arms. The few remaining inhabitants of the common room glanced up at her briefly, then returned to their activities. She sneered at the room in general before settling down in a chair next to Draco, greeting him civilly and Pansy not at all.
Pansy seemed rather unhappy with this arrangement. Why are you ignoring me? What did I do to make you hate me already? she whined.
Calandra raised an eyebrow and giggled infuriatingly. Pansy's whine became shriller.
Draco nonchalantly shoved her off the arm of the chair. Calandra laughed outright as Pansy shrieked, striking her head on the stone hearth.
And then, miraculously, Pansy was quiet.
In truth, it was not a miracle—the girl was simply knocked out. A girl who apparently had some minor issues with the Slytherin rule of Don't help anybody, ever ran out the door to get Madam Pomfrey.
Quick and effective, Calandra noted, peering at Pansy's prone form.
The room was empty except for the boy, the vampire, and the unconscious girl by the time Madam Pomfrey arrived.
Ah, medical, Calandra said, somewhat vaguely.
What exactly happened here? Pomfrey demanded, glaring at them.
Oh, she fell, madam, Calandra replied, in a too-angelic tone of voice. Just toppled right over.
She'll never believe you, Draco thought to Calandra.
But apparently Calandra's strategy had some merit. Madam Pomfrey gave her a queer look, then left it at: Miss Parkinson's injuries are the important thing at the moment. We will solve this later. And with that, Pansy was carted off to the Infirmary.
Calandra said cheerfully as the door to the common room closed.
Draco stared at her. You are exceedingly strange.
Thank you. She looked around the room, and frowned. Oh, that's pathetic.
That they left? I suppose it is.
Calandra looked at him. I'm doing homework. You, however, might wish to go to bed.
Draco wanted to argue, but couldn't really come up with an argument. So with a sigh and a sarcastic Yes, mother, he ambled upstairs.
Calandra cracked her neck. That shouldn't have taken any effort. Well, that was what sunlight would do to someone.
Time passed, as is its wont. Calandra and Draco became first allies against Pansy, then very staunch and loyal allies against Pansy, and finally friends. Pansy eventually took to leaving them alone, especially since the looks Calandra gave her every time she attempted to speak to Draco were disturbingly reminiscent of Nancy from The Craft.
Calandra's secret stayed safely secret, and it was soon accepted that she was merely extremely freaking bizarre and very prone to sunburn. She generally refused to tell anyone anything about herself, preferring to give off-putting Nancy-like smiles, and generally things went nice and happily, except with way too much schoolwork, by general consensus.
A week or so before Christmas break, at half past midnight, Draco sat staring into the fire, his Transfiguration homework lying neglected on his lap. Calandra mumbled to herself as she scribbled out a letter to her father in French.
Je sais, je sais, je sais; je ne suis pas stupide she mumbled, writing. She stopped for a moment, and looked at Draco.
he replied, snapping out of his reverie.
Qu'est-ce que tu—sorry, what are you doing Christmas vacation?
Draco shrugged. Going home, I suppose. Why?
Would you prefer to spend vacation at my estate instead?
You call it your estate?
Answer the question.
Calandra continued writing as Draco went off to send his father an owl.