Chapter One
Hermoine stared glumly at her reflection in the elegant full length mirror, then down at the object in her hand. It looked like a hedgehogs back or a pin cushion: a multitude of bob-headed bristles embedded in black rubber, which was in turn imbedded in fake tortoiseshell shaped like a spoon.
The hairbrush was as futile an effort as holding up a blade of grass to keep off the rain.
She wasn't THAT bad, she supposed. Not since her teeth had been fixed. She wasn't obese or klutzy. She could be worse. But she wasn't graceful or athletic. That was just it:she was engagingly in the middle, ordinary, evan boring. And her hair.
Hermoine growled her frustration. Why couldn't it just not be so dammed frizzy? If it looked a little bit less like it had been struck by lightning, she wouldn't recognize it at all...but aside from that, it would be wavy and golden brown, almost pretty. If her eyes weren't so glazed...if they sparked and shined, they would have been like liquid amber, but exams and more daunting evils had encouraged late nights and stolen their toll. A rustle alerted Hermoine to the presence of a wirey first year bouncing on the foot of her bed, which was positioned directly across from the mirror. The girl had waist length hair the color of flax, which was minimally kept-tangled, matted, and pulled back in a pony tail with a fat, beige elastic. Her name was embroidered on her cloak like the silver pendent of identification on a dogs collar. It read simply:Celia.
Celia gave a last, enthusiastic bounce, then settled down, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. "you can't spend ALL day looking at yourself." she said peevishly. She delved into her cloak and came out with a short wand of ebony and quail plumage, which she looked down at skeptically. Frowning, she gave her wrist an abstract, absentminded flick and murmured the incantation of Ôlocomonorth'. Hermione squealed as she was lifted roughly by the nape of her neck and deposited to the right of the mirror by an immense, invisible hand. Celia smiled her satisfaction as Hermione angrily batted a clinging magical dust from her robes.
"You could have just asked me to move." said Hermione sulkily. She could feel her cheeks coloring as she blushed furiously. She hated being caught looking in the mirror. It was something she rarely did, and very, very rarely for more then a moment. It made her feel daft and vain.
Especially if she was caught.
Celia snorted, and sprang to her feat, then fell back on her knees, landing with a soft whoof on the mattress. "You'd better get to class." she told Hermione, looking amused. Then, as though on casual afterthought, she added venomously:"I don't evan there's a SPELL that would tame your hair." Hermione balled her fist to quell a wave of anger, and said instead:"not one that a first year would know about. And anyways, I really don't care." As though to prove her point, she flicked her head defiantly and stalked from the room.
Once she was in the hall, she headed for Snape's potions class, cursing creatively under her breath. (oh not like THAT-angrey though she was, she wasn't going to turn Celia into a toad or lock Snape's mouth shut so potions would be canceled. Evan a witch knows the value of fowl language.)To hell with potions. Dam that Celia. Where were Ron and Harry and when she needed them?
Turning a corner, Hermione sighed and collected herself. Actually, she secretly suspected the reason for her uncomplimentary mood as of present was ode to the utter lack of malicious presences over the past mounths. Much as she had enjoyed going to bed on a full stomach of beef stew and lemon danishes, sleeping soundly and dreaming of nothing more frightening then a thunderstorm, Hermione was beginning to find that life as an ordinary student of Hogwarts could be dreadfully monotonous. She was actually beginning to miss sneaking off grounds and into the forbidden forest!
Suddenly, Hermione stiffened. She felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand upright like a frightened cat. The image of a puffy, hissing black kitten embedded itself in her mind, and she stifled a snort despite the chill stillness that crept into the air. A loud, long, hollow whooshing like blowing across the rim of a bottle swept through the corridor. A faint purple mist seeped from the walls.
And then Draco Malfoy was standing before her.
Hermoine growled her frustration. Why couldn't it just not be so dammed frizzy? If it looked a little bit less like it had been struck by lightning, she wouldn't recognize it at all...but aside from that, it would be wavy and golden brown, almost pretty. If her eyes weren't so glazed...if they sparked and shined, they would have been like liquid amber, but exams and more daunting evils had encouraged late nights and stolen their toll. A rustle alerted Hermoine to the presence of a wirey first year bouncing on the foot of her bed, which was positioned directly across from the mirror. The girl had waist length hair the color of flax, which was minimally kept-tangled, matted, and pulled back in a pony tail with a fat, beige elastic. Her name was embroidered on her cloak like the silver pendent of identification on a dogs collar. It read simply:Celia.
Celia gave a last, enthusiastic bounce, then settled down, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. "you can't spend ALL day looking at yourself." she said peevishly. She delved into her cloak and came out with a short wand of ebony and quail plumage, which she looked down at skeptically. Frowning, she gave her wrist an abstract, absentminded flick and murmured the incantation of Ôlocomonorth'. Hermione squealed as she was lifted roughly by the nape of her neck and deposited to the right of the mirror by an immense, invisible hand. Celia smiled her satisfaction as Hermione angrily batted a clinging magical dust from her robes.
"You could have just asked me to move." said Hermione sulkily. She could feel her cheeks coloring as she blushed furiously. She hated being caught looking in the mirror. It was something she rarely did, and very, very rarely for more then a moment. It made her feel daft and vain.
Especially if she was caught.
Celia snorted, and sprang to her feat, then fell back on her knees, landing with a soft whoof on the mattress. "You'd better get to class." she told Hermione, looking amused. Then, as though on casual afterthought, she added venomously:"I don't evan there's a SPELL that would tame your hair." Hermione balled her fist to quell a wave of anger, and said instead:"not one that a first year would know about. And anyways, I really don't care." As though to prove her point, she flicked her head defiantly and stalked from the room.
Once she was in the hall, she headed for Snape's potions class, cursing creatively under her breath. (oh not like THAT-angrey though she was, she wasn't going to turn Celia into a toad or lock Snape's mouth shut so potions would be canceled. Evan a witch knows the value of fowl language.)To hell with potions. Dam that Celia. Where were Ron and Harry and when she needed them?
Turning a corner, Hermione sighed and collected herself. Actually, she secretly suspected the reason for her uncomplimentary mood as of present was ode to the utter lack of malicious presences over the past mounths. Much as she had enjoyed going to bed on a full stomach of beef stew and lemon danishes, sleeping soundly and dreaming of nothing more frightening then a thunderstorm, Hermione was beginning to find that life as an ordinary student of Hogwarts could be dreadfully monotonous. She was actually beginning to miss sneaking off grounds and into the forbidden forest!
Suddenly, Hermione stiffened. She felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand upright like a frightened cat. The image of a puffy, hissing black kitten embedded itself in her mind, and she stifled a snort despite the chill stillness that crept into the air. A loud, long, hollow whooshing like blowing across the rim of a bottle swept through the corridor. A faint purple mist seeped from the walls.
And then Draco Malfoy was standing before her.