Title: Wave of a Wand

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable, that's Rowling's. Don't recognize it? It's probably mine.

(This disclaimer serves as a disclaimer for this chapter and any other following chapters of this series.)

Author: princecharmprincesswit

Message: I hope you like it.

Chapter two: Malfoy's Arse— A Distracted Harry—Ron's Find

Malfoy finally found the time to come out of the bath. His undoubtedly tight arse encased in the most wonderfully fitting pair of gray trousers ever made, handmade or magical. The creases were pin-bullet straight. At the end of the day, his trousers wouldn't look used; instead they still looked as if Malfoy had just put them on.

His crisp white shirt was neatly tucked in, molding to a sculpted torso. It was obvious that the shirt was bespoke. The cuffs were fastened with what Hermione thought looked too much alike to genuine silver. The cuff links were shaped like a curling snake, encircled by a silver ring. To Hermione, the choice was perfect—Malfoy is such a snake!

His green and silver striped tie was loosely tied, his fingers worrying the knot. His pale, wonderfully cut hair showcased his gorgeous face (all planes, and smooth skin, and beautiful lips). He had a darned smirk on those lovely lips of his, putting Hermione off of his gorgeousness.

Hermione who was dancing with annoyance, pushed him out of the way, and slammed the door. She swears she heard him laugh. Ha!

As she scrubbed (furiously) at her skin, she thought some more about Hestia and Darius. Oh blah! She admits she is excited, but she still has classes and she needs to concentrate.

As she rinsed herself from head to toe, she thought that she might have breakfast. A chat with Harry and Ron will set her to rights. As she toweled herself dry, her thoughts inevitably strayed to Hestia and Darius again. She could almost bang her head on the door with annoyance.

The dream was haunting her, the way she imagined Hestia floating through the floor. She stepped out of the bath, her hair in a turban, letting her thoughts float to The Mysterious Two.

She padded over to her bureau, and got out her clothes. She put on some perfume, a scent of vanilla beans, cinnamon, and mint. The scent has been specially made for her ever since her childhood. Whenever she runs out of it, her parents send her a new bottle.

She slathered on some clean-smelling lotion, and moisturized her face. Her parents don't just send her to an expensive dermatologist for nothing.

She slipped on some underwear. She decided that today would be Comfortable Cotton day. On days like this, she would use clean white cotton sets. She has other sets of underwear, ranging from silk to satin, cotton to canvas covered, from La Perla to its magical equivalent Nox, to Victoria's Secret, to Marks and Spencer to Walker, to Hanes.

She buttoned her blouse (as crisp as Malfoy's), and pulled on her skirt which was knee length. Last summer, she had changed her couturier. Her new outfitter was Mme de la Ostrusce, one of the most celebrated in London. Her clothes fit beautifully. Her uniform fitted nicely. It was snug (not too much as to give an impression of promiscuity) with clean lines (very neat and professional-looking), and elegant (not extravagant, but everything of the finest quality).

She had a whole set of clothes made by Mme de la Ostrusce. She now had closetful of dresses ranging from summer to winter with appropriate cut and color. She had a pale pink dress, made of chiffon, for spring brunches. She had a playful plum cocktail dress, with a turtleneck and ¾ sleeves, ending just above the knees for elegance that evening parties needed. She had blacks to whites, greens to reds. She has never enjoyed her wardrobe more.

She pulled on the knee socks that Mme de la Ostruce suggested she try. It was a more expensive brand, but more satisfactory. It made her legs seem slim, long and elegant, not stubby. Plus it kept her warm.

She put her feet into the Coach shoes she bought. It was from a range called "Insensible Sally Pumps". They didn't look sturdy, but they were. They looked graceful and light, and they were. For Hermione, they were the shoes with the most perfect form and body.

She fastened her cravat, her cuffs, pulled off the turban and cast a drying spell on her hair. It had smoothed out over the years and now fell in silky curls, the envy of every girl. It too, was interwoven with gold and brown, like Hestia's. She snatched it up into a bun, and pulled on a freshly pressed robe. The robe was made by Mme de la Ostrusce. Unbeknownst to the whole muggle world, Mme de la Ostrusce was a witch of the highest order, and her "workforce", was nothing but her own magic controlling scissors and pins, needles and threads.

She leisurely went out of the bath and went to her room. She snatched up her Burberry book bag, made a last scan of the room, and went out the door. She strolled to the sitting room. It was empty. Perhaps Malfoy had gone to breakfast. She decided to go there too, so she could catch up with Ron and Harry.

She arrived at the Great Hall and found Ron shoveling his face with porridge. The Great Hall was still abuzz, with students chatting and laughing. Some faces, Hermione noticed, were buried into warm porridge bowls. She also noticed the gleaming platinum hair of the Head Boy. She paid him no mind, like he did her.

"Hello, Ronald, Harry, Ginny."

"Lo', 'Mione," (she assumed) was said around a few mouthfuls of syrup and porridge.

"Hello, Hermione. Well?" Ginny asked with a look. It was in connection to Hermione's telling her of the hottest new rumor of Lavender Brown going out with Theodore Nott. Hermione hadn't told her yet, but was planning to.

"Hello, Hermione!" greeted a distracted Harry cheerfully. His eyes seemed to be diverted to somewhere along the Hufflepuff Table.

As Ginny was seated next to her, she leaned down and whispered the gossip to Ginny's eager ear.

"That's all!" Ginny gasped. "I heard that they were already planning an engagement party!" she boasted.

"Oh, really? When? Do you think, Ginny, that we shall be invited?" continued Hermione.

Breakfast ended, full of new information, a distracted Harry, a disgusting Ron, an informative Ginny, and a disbelieving Hermione.

Ginny went off with her sixth year friends for their classes as the gang bid their farewells.

"See you later Ginny!"

"'Bye Gin!"

"You stay away from that Cottars boy, you hear me, Gin?"

That remark was replied by a: "Well who do you think you are Ronald Bilius Weasley, to order me about!"

They soon proceeded to their classrooms with a fuming, red-faced Ron, and a still distracted Harry.

In charms class, Harry asked her,

"Hermione, what are blittermaggots?"

"Pardon, Harry?" Hermione asked him, looking at him oddly.

"I dare say! Are you all right, mate?" Ron said with a chuckle.

"'Course I am! I just asked…," he grumbled.

The class pretty much continued that way. After they had lunch, Gryffindors had a free period, so Hermione said some excuse to Ron and Harry before scurrying off to the Heads Dorms.

-*-

Ron left a brooding Harry alone in the commons, to enjoy a quick fly in the pitch. He invited Harry, but the boy was distracted. Ron and Hermione had asked him plenty of timea but he won't tell what's bothering him.

The weather was perfect for quidditch. The skies were clear, the wind cool, and the sun bright. He slung his leg around the gift his parents had given him, a Firefly Shooter, one of the newest.

His father was now Minister of Magic, and on his salary alone, a million improvements could have been made to the household, but was not. The roof was fixed better, and that was about it. His mother insists that the house is still in its best shape. He heard though, that she had plans to add on another wing, a sitting room equipped with baby paraphernalia. She's been saying that her married Weasley boys should come more often and visit, and bring the kids with them. He wondered how Bill and Fleur would react.

He was high up in the air already, and saw a struggling body from the astronomy Tower's edge. He flew quick and fast, the wind nearly freezing his nose and ears off.

"What the bloody hell are you doing up there?" he shouted. He could see a slim body, dark hair, and pale skin exposed by her disheveled uniform.

"What the effin' hell does it look like I'm doing?" she screamed back, struggling with her grip.

"Do I look like I'm having an al fresco!" she continued, in a voice that sent funny, warm tingles to his spine.

"Help me, you blasted idiot!" she screeched to a degree that made Ron think she was part banshee.

After years of quidditch, Ron was built and quick. He went fast about landing on the Astronomy Tower and reached for the elegant hands. He tugged and pulled, until a soft feminine body was in his arms.

"What were you doing there?" he asked breathlessly. It wasn't easy rescuing any girl from the Astronomy Tower.

"I was hanging, obviously. Now let go, bastard." That was quite wrong, coming from such pretty lips.

"Why?" He wasn't entirely sure of what question to ask, why she was hanging, or why he should let her go.

"Because I threw a hex at my blasted, soon-to-be-dead, ex-boyfriend, that's why."

Ron picked up his broom, and as the girl was in no hurry to leave, went to her side and, together they walked down the tower.

He drew out her story. She said that she'd seen her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend snogging another bubblegum-girl. She threw a hex at him so intensely that she flew to the edge. The cowardly ex didn't see her because he was so busy fleeing with Bubbles. She'd been hanging for only about 3 minutes and was very relieved that he arrived. Ron notice that she didn't say 'thankful' only relieved.

On that point, he noticed her wearing the Slytherin colors. He somehow found that the Hogwarts uniform looked so much better on her than any other girls' did.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch you name," he said.

"I know you're Ronald Weasley, unless that hair is dyed, which it can't possibly be-- it could be seen miles away." Not to mention your ocean-blue eyes which I could swim in, she thought. She didn't dare voice it out loud.

"And I, I am Pansy Parkinson," continued that pleasantly feminine, yet extremely rude voice.

Ron hoped she didn't hear him choke.

End of chapter two

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