Title: Some Crazy Alignment in the Stars
Author: Rancid Melody
Rating: PG – will be PG13 at some point
Disclaimer: I hasten to state the obvious: JK Rowling is god (goddess?). She owns all. Except the OCs. But I doubt she would want them.
(Main) Characters: (In order of appearance) OCs, Draco Malfoy, (non-speaking appearance made by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle), Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Narcissa Malfoy, (non-speaking appearance made by Cho Chang)

Some Crazy Alignment in the Stars: Chapter 1
In Which Very Little is Accomplished

Cold. A four letter word, beginning with 'c;' ending in 'old.' Meaning 'lacking emotion; having no appeal to the senses or feelings,' and also, amusingly, 'appearing to be dead.'

This is the word I have chosen to describe my life.

Even the breeze that kisses the end of my nose leaves me wanting to shiver as I sit in silence, high in the branches of one of the looming trees on the edge of the forest where our plot is nestled. It is, of course, the nicest and most expensive plot they could kick someone less important out of, as we paid quite a bundle, to stay for only one week. And what a week it would be! I could barely contain my excitement – but, of course, I managed to, because it is the way of my sort.

In my tree, as it has been claimed, I could see, for several lengths, a mountain of tent roofs. I chose my tree away from our tent, as it is so large it would have blocked my view.

I can see the row, where water can be drawn from the wells randomly spaced down the way, and I can see straight to the break, the horizon. Magically corrected vision allows me to see a scene that leaves me curious.

Draco Malfoy -- yes, of course I know him! -- stands arrogantly with his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. I had not known that their tent had been placed so near ours. No matter. He was with Goyle's family, I believe. Standing at least a good two feet away from him, though they were obviously quite aware of each other's presence, were two brunettes and a redhead. No, wait -- substitute a black-haired boy for one of those brunettes. Of course, I recognized them, as well. The Dream Team, I heard them referred to. I had seen them before.

Harry Potter was the 'Boy-Who-Continued-to-Live,' with what were called 'captivating' green eyes and a not wholly off-putting scar prominent on his forehead. Coming into contact with the Dark Lord at the very least once a year and always resurfacing on top, one could trust the boy's luck. He simply must have been Irish. There was no way around it.

Hermione Granger. I had heard Draco Malfoy ratting on about her, as he constantly did. Mudblood Know-it-All, I think, was the latest 'insult'. I am forced to pity his lack of creativity. Anyway, she was a bright one: top marks in every class, if gossip served.

And Ronald Weasley. His family was notorious for being looked down upon by more... high-standard pureblooded families. They had about twenty children, bloody if I had ever bothered to count them, all with that furious red hair, and, as was obvious by the verbal spars that I had witnessed between the families of Weasley and Malfoy, a consistent temper to match, if not better, the color. They had little money, but… they seemed to manage, and were much happier than most families of Quality that I had come into contact with.

With catlike grace, I dropped from my tree, wincing minutely as numerous splinters made themselves known. I ignored the pain as I slipped into the shadows of the tents, silkenrose-colored robes drifting about my swiftly moving legs. I was drawing closer, and my high-heeled designer boots were beginning to wobble. I hated doing this, but -- alright, forget that: I adored making Draco's life trying, whenever possible, and such times were so rare that I was obligated to take advantage of every opportunity!

"Draco!" I spoke clearly. Not shouting, but projecting my voice, so I was quite certain that I was heard. He turned slowly with a grimace, which I regarded without expression: he saw my eyes laughing at him.

"What, Brisen?" he drawled, sounding almost frustrated. I smirked. Draco had never been very good at concealing his emotions. He would have to learn, were he to become Lord of Malfoy Manor as his father planned.

"Who are your friends?" I was teasing him; he could tell, but I suppose to the others it appeared an honest mistake. I regarded the three coolly. Potter and Granger watched me curiously, while Weasley seemed to have been too angry to notice my arrival. He was still glaring at Draco. I noticed his fist clench around his wand, and I glanced at Draco. Of course he hadn't noticed, the conceited rat of a boy. "He is about to pull a fast one on you, Malfoy," I smirked as I whispered to Draco, "Might you not have noticed."

"They're not my friends!" he spoke through gritted teeth, ignoring my warning -- of course. "They're-"

I smirked again. "Well, whatever you say, Draco. I see you with them often enough to disbelieve you."

With an angry huff of frustration and a swirl of his cloak, Malfoy and his henchmen escaped into their tently haven.

I turned to the 'Dream Team.' "I'll have to thank you," Granger said, inclining her head slightly, "You've saved at least Ron's neck." She glared at the redhead, who seemed just to have noticed me. What shocked me, unsettlingly enough, was the electric feeling that made me wonder if my hair would become frizzy -- like Granger's -- when I met his autumny-brown eyes.

There was something there… a warmth; I do not think I had ever seen, well, noticed its likes before. When you have grown up in a family as mine, 'friendly' is a word in the dictionary. 'Friend' is fictional. But there was something in his eyes that made me want to melt. Just a- a-

Kindness.

That was the word, I think. I suppose many people had it, looking back. Nothing particularly affectionate, but just a general lack of dislike. An odd thing to lack, no matter what the occasion. Perhaps I am a bit of a pessimist. Perhaps. I blinked, discomfited.

"What?" he said irritably. The warmth was suddenly gone. I straightened, my facade rightfully placed once more.

"I did not address you," I spoke stonily, turning back to Potter and Granger. "No trouble. Draco is easy enough to deal with." I saw Potter roll his eyes. "What?"

"Malfoy? Easy to deal with? You've got to be kidding." I saw what they meant about those eyes. An entrancing color, they were. You could see straight into them.

"I do not see why you think I would be." I tossed my shoulder-length hair. "He is all talk."

"He's tried to hex us numerous times." Granger mimicked my aloof actions. "I fail to understand what you mean."

"His reflexes are poor," I spoke emotionlessly. "You could pull a quick disarming spell on him before he knew what was happening. Weasley, here," I nodded towards the redhead, slightly commending, "Almost did so, before he left. You think I did not see you grab your wand? You would have definitely been expelled for that, you do realize…" I sighed, thinking, 'Stupid rules.'

"Just who do you think you are, anyhow?" Weasley looked sort of put-out as he said this. I looked down my nose at him, a task that was hard, being he had a good four or five inches on my not-quite-impressive stature.

"Brisen," I regarded him with amusement.

"Well..." Hermione said awkwardly, "I'm Hermione, this is Harry, and-"

"I know who you are," I nodded, holding up my hand in a sort of greeting, "Of course my brother speaks of you often."

"Who is-" Potter began, but I interrupted once more.

"Do not bother asking: it does not matter."

"Why are you so secretive?" Weasley demanded, flushing.

I regarded him with amusement. "Secrecy is my way, Ron Weasley. I am a Lady of Quality." He could think what he wished: I could not possibly be less intimidated by him.

That hair color interested me. A fiery orange, carefully clipped so that it lay flat, falling in his face. He had quite the temper, as well, I had now learned. How... quaint, that he epitomized the cliché attached to his coloration.

I suppose my hairstyle was one that caught attention too. That unsightly blonde I was surprised they did not recognize, broken with a single strand of ebony falling on the lesser side of my part, opposite my long fringe -- dyed when I could stand the ice queen demeanor no longer. Mother had nearly passed through the Veil then and there, when she had seen me.

"You could at least tell us your surname," Potter said rather indignantly.

"If it matters, which it does not," I replied icily, my sudden flourish of temper threatening the pristine chill that kept me calm, "I will allow you to guess." I spun, flouncing towards the tent; fuming as I felt their eyes boring into me. Stupid Gryffindors.

Dear me, who might have guessed that such a simple conversation would lead me to such an overused insult! I must work on my control: it seems to be slipping, despite so much practice...

"What's with you?" The auburn-haired girl looked up at my entrance. Auva Meliflua was not my friend. I would not giggle and share secrets with someone like Auva. I would not giggle and share secrets with anyone, but that was irrelevant. Auva Meliflua to me was a Vincent Crabbe to Draco Malfoy. She thought she was sort of my friend. I think she had a crush on my brother. I still shudder at the thought.

"An unlikely encounter with Potter and Co.," I announced, sitting sharply on a stool in front of my mirror.

"Oh, he's so cute!" a coo emerged from the other room. That would be Estelle Mulciber, 'Best Friend' Number Two. I rolled my eyes as the speaker flounced in, blue eyes reflecting her saucy grin. "I wonder if I could lure him to asking me to the Ball..." Estelle sighed, and I could almost see the hearts in her eyes.

"Sorry, hon," Auva teased. "One: He's a Gryffindor, which would be enough for me." She sniffed. "Two, he's a year above you, and so probably has no idea who you are. Three, everyone knows he's been head over heels for Cho Chang for, like, ever."

Estelle's face fell. "You ruin all my fun."

I yawned lazily. "You said something about a Ball?"

Estelle immediately brightened. "Yeah! At least, that's what my cousin told me, and she's a prefect!" As was I, as of the arrival of my Hogwarts letter, but I was gracious enough to postpone spoiling her glee. "Now that it's finally been brought into the open that the Dark Lord's back, Dumbledore's trying to keep the mood light."

Auva let out a harsh bark of laughter. "As if. We all know that My Lord will have taken over the school before we reach Christmas!"

I sighed. My two friends were as different as Ravenclaws to Hufflepuffs. Auva's hair was auburn and black, and her supreme goal was to become a Death Eater. Estelle's mind was full of visions of romance and air, to match her bouncy blonde locks. Speaking of which, she needed to touch up her roots. The brown was starting to show.

And I… well, I did not know what I was, exactly. Joining the ranks of Darkness was out of the question: Father had forbidden it. He believed that the job was worthy of a man, and too, well, dirty, for a maiden like me... which I take for truth: the prospect near made me want to vomit. All of that death and gore…

And romance... romanceis... not something I believe in.

"So, who do you think our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher will be?" Auva seemed to choose her words carefully. Good, she was learning; after all this time.

"Mother told me that they are considering sending someone from the Ministry again," I immediately replied. I had anticipated this coming up. "Department of Magical Defense. You know how they have been about all this."

Estelle smirked. "You'd think that after what happened out there, they'd take a bit more active part in supervision of the revolt."

Auva grinned and nodded. "Though it is for sure that Potter's wicked possessed, I tell you."

"He is not!" Estelle defended angrily. "He's just... a little off his rocker."

I rolled my eyes. "Be reasonable, Estelle. He is a Gryffindor. Even if you liked him, by some crazy alignment in the stars, it is not that easy: Slytherins and Gryffindors simply do not go together. It is... not possible. I think that the world would explode first. McGonagall would lay an egg, honestly." Estelle was trying very hard not to cry. I grimaced. "Well, if you must, go do so in the lavatory." I waved a hand thoughtlessly at her, and, with a wail, she retreated into the back.

"Well put, I must say," Auva verbally applauded me. I nodded, not looking at her.

"If Dumbledore was setting up a ball to lighten the mood because He was back," I said thoughtfully, "then why… why would they send someone from the Ministry? That would scare everyone, and defeat the purpose. There almost certainly will not be a ball."

"Well," Auva said gloomily, "That just stomps on my hopes of ever dating Draco."

I sighed, too weary to be repulsed by her.

The week flew by with startling precision. Estelle was still put out with me, so Auva and I socialized as she pouted in the tent and occasionally went Potter-hunting. Stalker. There was one person I saw far too much of for my liking.

"Brisen!" It was a cool, calm, attractive voice that made the hair on the back of my neck curl in disgust, only hidden by the casual bun I had pulled my hair into. An act of well-placed foresight -- I silently commended myself for my brilliance. "How lovely to see you this morning!"

"Indeed," I said glumly as the appropriately tall, blonde boy sat quite too close to me for my own comfort. I subtly slipped a few centimeters away from him.

Cade-Eliot Bronwen was of perfect background, had a perfect school record, perfect grades, a perfect family, perfect bank account, and, worst of all, very, very perfect above perfectly white teeth. When he smiles, I can nearly see myself. It is scary. I cannot stand him. I do not see how he can stand himself. But of course, he has the perfectly aloof attitude to match his perfect life and his perfect teeth.

"I have brought you a gift," he said brightly.

"Of course you did," I sighed.

Something that I have forgotten to mention. When one is in a class as high as mine, in the wizarding world, the term 'dating' is not used. Instead, when a boy is interested in a girl, he will court her. If he wishes to gain her attention even more openly – there really is no other way -- he will bring her presents. The girl is to be more pleased by more expensive things. If two boys each offer a girl a gift, she is to choose the one presenting the superior bequest. It has nothing to do with love. Unfortunately, the casual romances at school would not cause one guess at such a system. Of course, a proper daughter such as I scorns my fellow youth and their liberalism. To do away with courtship and arranged marriage – it would be absolute havoc! Sinking to the muggles' levels!

It is simply how folk of Quality do things. Formality, and shoving their bankvaults in others' faces. It is so much easier to be diplomatic from behind a large wallet than without one at all.

"Here it is." I accepted the thin, rectangular box. Hmm... wonder what this could be?

A silver chain necklace with an elegant emerald set in a silver, snakelike base. "How lovely," I murmured, as was appropriate. Jewelry. How was I able to foresee this? I must have the Inner Eye. I should go to Professor Snape and demand to be switched from Ancient Runes to Divination posthaste.

I also have a taste for sarcasm.

"Here, I shall help you put it on," Cade-Eliot fastened it carefully about my throat, and I felt his fingers linger on the back of my neck. I shuddered.

"Oh, are you cold?" I would have gladly objected, but that was not proper, so I allowed myself to sweat (in a most feminine fashion, of course) under an extra cloak.

"Are you excited about today's match?" He offered me his arm as he stood.

"I guess," I sighed loftily. "Who is flying again?"

He looked at me incredulously. "You came to the World Cup, stayed here for a week, and have yet to discover who is flying?"

I am obligated to point out -- simply to defend my family's honor -- that we did not stay here for a week because we could not afford tickets allowing us to arrive the night before. The World Cup hosts a series of Very Nice Parties thrown by the wealthiest quidditch enthusiasts in Europe, and my mother decided that we were obligated to attend, especially after Father's arrest, when the need to save face with those who did not support the Dark Lord was so great. Mother was not very involved, herself, and had explained to me that she felt no scruples in saying that Father was the only Death Eater (a repulsive title, is it not?) in the family, and that she had not been able to prevent him from becoming so, nor had she known of it in time to protect herself: before they were married. And then, what could she do? Divorce is against the Catholic doctrine, and, though we are certainly not religious, Mother has always been insistent that we were at least nominally Catholic -- 'Just in case,' she would often say. But, as I did not have this internal monologue when Master Bronwen actually addressed me, we shall return with my response.

I gave him a haughty look. "I was simply trying to make conversation."

"Oh." He shrugged. "Well, I'm definitely for the Tornadoes."

"Yes," I nodded, feigning agreement, "They certainly appear to have the upper hand. But you, I am certain,ought to know how the underdog can catch up so quickly." I should not have, but how could I resist such a jab? Once I had… accidentally set him up for it, it was simply irresistible.

Cade-Eliot was on the Slytherin Quidditch Team: a chaser. Of course he would know of loss, as many times as they have been beaten by Gryffindor, with their incredible seeker.

He darkened. I smirked, turning away so he would not notice. I should have brought my fan. Drat northern weather for being so chilled, in August, even! I would look silly with a fan, however helpful it was to hide unavoidable grins. Not to mention that they were not fashionable with the Early Fall Casual style of robes that the Ladies of Quality were favoring at the moment. Luckily, I could carry one, for decoration, during any formal evening event, or at weddings. It's simply a matter of Dress Protocol. I had been eager to learn all the details very early in life -- though I would have done so even were that not the case, as Mother had insisted I learn as soon as I could dress myself correctly.

Of course, we had our own private box. Cade-Eliot helped me into a comfortable chair and settled next to me. I raised my omnioculars to my face just as the two quidditch teams, the Kingsley Tornadoes and Puddlemere United, rose into the air. Sighing and shifting to cross my ankles, I settled for a long wait.

I hate quidditch. It is ridiculous. Not to mention boring. I let my eyes wander. Auva and Estelle watched from the row above me. Draco was in the box next to us, looking simply riveted by the game. I smirked at him. How anyone so well bred could be interested in something so… low-class -- it was beyond me.

I turned my attention to the crowds. I saw Potter and Weasley, on the edge of their seats as so-and-so from whichever team performed some spectacular feat that I couldn't name for anything. Granger looked to be in the same boat as I. I smirked.

"Did you see that?" Cade-Eliot was speaking so loud that it was absolutely impossible to tune him out, "Thornsby just performed the greatest Upside-Down Hand-Free Toss I've ever seen!"

I did not bother to ask what that was, or how it was physically possible, smiling and nodding as I picked through the crowd with my omnioculars.

Ah, so Potter's attention had been drawn from the game by the lovely Cho Chang, who sat a few rows below me. I watched as he focused his omnioculars to stronger and stronger magnifications, until I was sure he was not looking at Cho's face any more. Silly boy had succumbed to the perverted ways of teenage puberty. Disgusting. But wait – had I not heard something of the two having a row in that disgustingly over-decorated tea shop, Madame Puff-something's? The fact that they were no longer seeing eachother made this all the more amusing, and I was forced to have a brief coughing spell to avoid mirth.

"Something troubling you, dear?" It was my mother, who sat on my left. Cade-Eliot was on my right, as was proper for a suitor with no legal attachment. My father would have taken the place on my mother's left, but he was... indisposed, and the seat was empty.

"No, Mother," I said lightly -- anything else would have been inappropriate. "Isn't this a lovely day?"

But Mother read my true feelings in my eyes, as family often did, and smiled, laughter in her own silvery gaze. "Dazzlingly so," she chirped with the air of well-disguised sarcasm I admired so much but, could never quite mimic.

I admire my mother very, very much. She has always been a very strong woman, and gentle albeit the family stoniness. We are close, in our way. More friends than family. Not Friends -- but friends. In a life such as mine, your family are the only friends you're allowed to have. All others are... Alliances.

"So," Mother said, gracefully pushing back blonde curls, "How are you doing with Cade-Eliot?"

"Simply lovely," I said flatly, dropping my facade for no more than a second. I took a deep breath and was statuesque once more.

"Is it so much?" She replied lightly, concern in those grey-clear eyes I and my brother had inherited.

"Indeed. We have such long and interesting conversations. He is a fascinating person."

We do this often, Mother and I. Something that in my youth was called 'The Opposite Game'. Now I knew why Mother had encouraged me in it so much. It was the only way to communicate without being rude. Rude, as far as proper standards went.

"We shall leave you to it, then," Mother replied in an even tone -- false smile accompanying. I nodded.

The game ended when some fellow from Puddlemere United caught that little shiny ball with wings. Puddlemere won, unfortunately for Cade-Eliot. I laughed once privacy was mercifully granted.

"That was the most boring thing I have ever seen in my life," Estelle said drearily as we sat on Auva's bed, my house elves folding and packing our things.

"Draco said that Puddlemere won by a fluke," Auva commented wisely. "What do you think, Brisen?"

"I think that it doesn't matter." I stood and walked to the mirror, brushing my black and blonde locks with an expensive ivory comb that had a charm to make one's hair straighter and shinier. Supposedly.

"So," Auva continued, tracing the patterns on the comforter with one painted fingernail, "How are things with Cade-Eliot?"

"Lovely," I quipped gently.

"Has he kissed you?" Estelle asked, giggling at the very scandal of it. Folk of Quality do not... kiss. It shows weakness, firstly. Secondly -- think of what might happen were people to find out!

"No," I replied sharply. There are times when Estelle's lack of Quality speaks for itself -- despite her father's power among the Death Eaters, her grandmother was one-fourth muggle. They keep it quiet, but Society knows. The blonde girl bit her lip and flopped back in a most unladylike manner onto the bed. "If he did, then I would not have to bother with him any more. My parents would reject him. You know that, Estelle."

"But -- what if it was a secret? Don't you want him to?" Estelle continued. I turned my face from her. This conversation was going places that should not be spoken aloud.

Auva rolled her eyes. "Obviously not, silly girl," she snapped. "If Brisen wanted him to kiss her, he would have already done so. We have seen how he looks at her. Which brings us to the conclusion that-" she rounded on me, "Brisen and Cade-Eliot will never have a mutually accommodating relationship. Because she hates him."

"You're smarter than you look," I sighed reluctantly, leaning into the mirror to better see to apply 'Extra Length Curling ' Mascara in black.

Auva ignored the insult, "And why is that, Lovely Miss?" Oh, she knew how to compliment -- right to the point where I vomited. "Why do you dislike our dear Master Bronwen? He is of very high Quality, though not so great as your own house, and will make a good, strong alliance with your family. He is favored by the Dark Lord – plus, he is very good looking. And must I mention that he is heir to the Bronwen Mansion. Big House, you know."

I frowned into the mirror. "He is obnoxious." I dropped The Mask for what might have been the first time, ever, in front of my comrades.

Estelle and Auva exchanged amazed glances. "How so?" Estelle asked softly.

Statuesque. Deep breaths. Come on, Brisen, find yourself! "He is the most boring creature on the planet." Oops.

"More boring than Professor Binns?" Estelle gasped. Auva sighed exasperatedly and pushed her off the bed.

Ah, there we go. No emotion.