To Reach Without

by inwardtransience

He hadn't wanted to be Harry Potter anymore. Things would be simpler, he would be happier. He had been almost positive he would be happier if he were quite literally anybody else. At the moment, he couldn't think of a better demonstration of the warning "be careful what you wish for." ON INDEFINITE HIATUS.

14. September 1995 — Nothing Bad

Melantha stared at the Map spread out over her legs, watching the hallways and rooms immediately around her.

Once again, she was having another damn meeting she wasn't happy about. This was becoming far too frequent of an occurrence. She'd gotten used to her talks with Ellie, sure, and the upcoming discussions she knew she'd be having with Dumbledore she was...eh, conflicted about, she'd say. But ever since the start of the term, she'd been wrangled into meetings with people she'd really rather not talk to, with a few more waiting over the horizon — and the third week of classes wasn't even finished yet! There'd been Malfoy on practically the first day, then that awkward talk with Remus. She was currently working up the nerve to call the elves who were apparently bound to her, and she still hadn't told Hermione she needed help getting less shitty clothes, even though the first Hogsmeade weekend was just days away, and apparently the fucking Minister of Magic was being more and more insistent about meeting Harry Potter for something, she hadn't been told exactly what...

She wondered if she could just write a letter to Fudge telling him to piss off. That would be fun. But no, she had a suspicion, from what Sirius had said, that they'd probably have to give him a face-to-face eventually. Which since, ah, "Harry Potter" wasn't exactly available right now, would probably involve shenanigans. Didn't that just sound fun?

For not even close to the first time, she wondered what it would be like to live a boring life.

But she had no time to keep wallowing in self-pity in that embarrassing way she could sometimes fall into: there was the name she was waiting for, slipping through the hall just outside, alone as they had agreed. From what she could see of their surroundings, it didn't look like he'd been followed, and no one was waiting in the wings to interrupt them — not even Ron, who she'd had some difficulty shaking off. Alright, then.

She'd just gotten the Map folded up in her pocket when the door clicked open, and Malfoy stepped into the room. Without even looking at her, he closed the door behind him, then pulled his wand, let out a litany of privacy charms. She noticed he'd missed a couple in the suite Sirius had taught her, so she drew her own wand to add them quick. When Malfoy turned back toward her, she noticed one eyebrow slightly twitch. Probably noticing she hadn't bothered even standing up — she was sort of implying, on purpose, she'd rather keep the mood more informal than it'd been last time. Not that she really wanted to be meeting with Malfoy of all people anyway, but if she had to she'd rather not have to be all proper and stuffy and blech. She didn't even manage it very well when she was trying, honestly.

Whatever he thought of it, Malfoy didn't comment, just walked on over and, with a nod and a muttered, 'Cousin,' fell into the armchair across from her. After a second rearranging the cloth of his trousers over his legs, Malfoy said, 'And what is it you wished to talk to me about, Miss Black?'

She couldn't help herself. 'Getting right to the point, then?'

It was so slight she might have imagined it, but she thought she saw a smile twitch at the corners of his lips. 'Is there any reason not to?'

Ha, he'd remembered; she had to hold back a very unlady-like snort...and since when had she cared about that? Probably just Andi's voice in her head. 'I suppose not.' Well, now that they were done quoting each other, might as well just get this over with. 'Have you heard from your mother in the last week or so?'

For a long moment, Malfoy didn't respond, just staring back at her. Again, it could be her imagination, but she thought she noticed sudden tension, his fingers tightening slightly on the armrests. Finally, 'No. She usually writes me over the weekend, but I didn't hear from her. I didn't think anything of it — sometimes we skip a week. Did something happen?'

And now Melantha paused a moment before speaking. Not out of hesitation, exactly. It just... Okay, this was probably one of the more mean things she'd ever thought about anyone ever, but it hadn't really occurred to her that Draco Malfoy might care enough about his mum to write her a letter once a week, or get so obviously nervous at the thought that something might have happened to her. It was just a weird thought, was all. Like learning Voldemort spent his free time in his flower garden or something. After a couple seconds, she recovered. 'No, she's fine. She met Sirius a bit ago, and he thought it best she get out of the country until everything's settled. In case anyone tries to stop her, you know.'

The barely-tension slipped out of him, and she thought she saw Malfoy let out a slight breath. 'The Lord Black is giving her asylum, then.' At her nod, he asked, 'Out of the country where?'

'Ah, France. Old Black property there. In Provence, I think he said.'

'Aquitania, then, not France.'

Melantha had to roll her eyes at that. Magical and muggle borders weren't always the same — in fact, they were completely different more often than not — which meant the country referred to as "France" in the magical world did not include Provence. At least, not technically, but it wasn't uncommon for people to call Aquitains French as well. Whatever, at least Malfoy hadn't been using his arseface voice while correcting her. 'Doesn't matter so much, does it?'

'Matters more than you would think.' When Melantha gave him a look, he shrugged a little. 'There's a reason there are so many non-human communities in Aquitania. While the Dark Lord does not have many foreign allies, they do still exist, but they are far less likely to be found there. Mother is safer in Aquitania than she'd be in France.'

Melantha nodded — she'd heard that about Aquitania before. While Fleur herself was French, born in a small veela commune not far outside of Paris, Beauxbatons was actually in Aquitania. Things were better in France for veela than they would be in Britain — she only had to look at how Fleur had been spoken of in public, and even by government officials, to know that — but she still wouldn't have been able to get into any of the top-tier schools in her home country. Aquitania had even been spared the worst of Grindelwald's war, since the sociopolitical ills his revolution had been aimed against had been far less severe there than most other European nations. They weren't the most progressive ICW nation in the modern day, but they weren't far from it. 'That's not all I had to tell you, though.'

He didn't say anything to that, just gave her a somewhat confused look. Not too surprising, she guessed. Narcissa had told Sirius in no uncertain terms that her son would not be leaving the Malfoy family with her — apparently, she fully expected her soon-to-be ex-husband to die any day now, so she wanted her son still legally situated where he could inherit the House without any fuss. But, she was worried Voldemort or his cronies would then turn straight to Malfoy, so she wanted him to get whatever protection possible.

Apparently, she'd said Malfoy would not be running straight to Voldemort at the first opportunity, would rather avoid the Death Eaters entirely, and Sirius had actually believed her. Melantha still wasn't really sure what to think about the idea that Malfoy wasn't perfectly willing to jump on the genocidal maniac bandwagon, as he'd given every indication he certainly was, but she'd just have to deal with that later. 'I'm supposed to tell you that you are now under the protection of House Black.'

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, then froze, staring back at her in apparent shock. For a few seconds he was silent, blinking slowly to himself, before saying, 'Which kind?'

She had to wince slightly at that. There were a couple different levels of protection a House could give a non-member but, honestly, she didn't remember what the distinctions were, and she didn't think Sirius had told her in any case. The wince wasn't because she felt bad about not being able to give Malfoy the information, not at all — she was more thinking what Andi would do to her once she learned her lessons hadn't sunk in too well. But she did have enough detail, she guessed. 'I don't know which, honestly. Sirius just told me my cousins and I were to treat you as one of our own.'

And if that weren't galling as all hell. Sirius had basically just told her to suck it up. She'd started making a comparison to how much Sirius and her father had absolutely despised Snape when they'd been in school, but he'd just laughed at her and said, to quote him verbatim, 'I guess it sucks to be you.' She did appreciate how Sirius was looking out for her and everything, and how nice and almost awkwardly supportive he was being, even with the suddenly-a-girl stuff, but he could really be an enormous arsehole sometimes.

For another long moment, Malfoy was silent, staring back at her with flat gaze and empty face. Then he nodded, said, 'Thank you, Melantha.'

Oh, great. She saw what he was doing with that instantly. He wasn't actually thanking her for anything she may or may not have done, that wasn't the point; it was just an inoffensive bridge to going on a first-name basis. And she didn't really have a good reason to refuse, either. If she did, Andi would be annoyed with her, and an annoyed Aunt Andi was not a fun Aunt Andi. Melantha Black had very little justification to be rude to Draco Malfoy — at least, unless she wanted to claim she was borrowing a grudge from Harry Potter, which would be hard to make sense without explaining she was Harry Potter, which she really didn't want to do. So, trying to not let any annoyance slip into her voice, she said, 'It was nothing, Draco.' Ergh, that even felt weird, blech.

A second passed, Malfoy still staring at her. Then he... Well, there was no other word for it: he relaxed. The difference was so slight she probably wouldn't have noticed it if, well, she hadn't spent so much time in shouting matches with the prick, she'd learned his body language rather well watching for signs he was going for his wand. He sank into the chair a little further, his eyelids dropped only slightly, as though no longer consciously keeping them open wide. It was the strangest thing. She didn't know what to think of it. After a moment of thought, she realised what this was: in his head, Malfoy had moved her from the potential ally category to family. Which... Yeah, she still had no idea what to think of this. This was very weird.

Mostly to cover how suddenly uncomfortable she was feeling, she said, 'That's not going to be a problem for you, is it?'

He blinked back at her. 'What do you mean?'

'I get the impression we're not your kind of people. Sirius isn't exactly your usual Lord Black. Hell, of the Blacks at Hogwarts right now, I'm the closest to a pureblood, and my mother's a muggleborn.' They'd put that detail into Melantha's backstory just so make things easier on her. It was easier to remember a lie if it was also mostly true.

But Malfoy just shrugged. 'I'll admit I likely haven't heard of everything, but I can't think of anything the House of Black has done in the last months that I too strongly disapprove of.'

...What? How did that— No, that didn't make any sense at all. This was the same Malfoy, right? The same twit who'd constantly spouted that same pureblood nonsense propaganda any chance he got? who'd seemed eager at the idea of all the muggleborns being eaten back in second year, ecstatic at the idea of Voldemort's return? She'd known for a while he disproportionately targeted herself and her friends with his arseholishness, but this still seemed like a bit much.

And there he was, giving her a politely confused look at her reaction. And she didn't know which half of that was bothering her more either — the confusion or the politeness. 'Are you okay?' Sure, there was a bit of snark on his voice saying that, but...

Okay. Fine. As long as she had him here, and he didn't know who she was, so he wouldn't be an arse automatically she could just...ask? Sure. Let's do that. 'I'd just gotten the impression from a few people you were, I don't know...' She shrugged a little. 'Really into that whole blood purity thing.'

For a moment he still looked confused, but then he nodded. 'Right. You're friends with Granger. Almost forgot.'

She hesitated for an instant, then shrugged it off — fuck it. 'I also might have talked to Harry.' Still felt weird talking about herself in third person like that, but fine.

To her surprise, Malfoy's only reaction to the name was a smirk twitching at his lips. 'Oh, I'm sure he had plenty of fun stories to tell about me. Absolutely littered with curses and insults not at all appropriate for civilised conversation, I'd guess.' Well, she couldn't exactly argue with that. Giving her a soft smile that was honestly annoying her quite a bit, he said, 'I've told you before, Cousin: don't believe everything you hear.'

Trying to keep her voice level, fighting against the anger clawing at her throat, she said, 'So, if I were to ask Hermione about what you've said and done here at Hogwarts, she wouldn't back it up.'

'That's not what I meant.' He shrugged slightly, as though this whole thing were some casual topic that didn't really matter. Which was only making her more annoyed. 'I'm sure whatever they tell of what actually happened is accurate — Harry Potter is many things, but he's not a liar. Honestly, it would probably do him a lot of good if he learned to be.'

It took absolutely everything she had to hold back a shocked laugh at that comment.

'What I meant was that everything I said wasn't necessarily trustworthy. They might repeat my words accurately, but that doesn't mean I meant what I said. I did originally, sure,' he said with another shrug, 'but I didn't have all the facts at the time. For example, do you know how old the entire concept of blood purity is?'

'Ah...' The question surprised her out of her disbelief for a short moment. She didn't know that, actually. It'd never occurred to her to wonder about it. 'Erm, no.'

Smiling again, he said, 'Most British mages don't, actually. It's not something that's really talked about here, but Continental scholars have done the research on it. In the later Middle Ages through the first generations after the Statute of Secrecy, people were termed "pureblood" if they had two magical parents. Not even their grandparents — just parents. As late as the Fourteenth Century, the concept didn't exist at all. Some people still had issues with muggleborns, of course, but that was more a cultural issue than it was a racial one. Muggleborns brought foreign languages, and foreign customs, and Christianity, none of which were wanted by the mages of the time, who'd mostly held on to their native Celtic traditions. Go back as far as the Founders, and you'd have to look hard to find anyone who cared — magical and muggle society weren't even separate back then. There are no pureblood lines extending much further than the Seventeenth Century. The concept simply didn't exist.'

That...made no sense. For at least one reason she could think of. 'But, what about Slytherin? That whole hating muggleborns, and the Chamber of Secrets, and...'

Malfoy shrugged. 'Made up. It's a myth.'

Okay. Annoyed again. Glaring back at Malfoy, she said, 'No, the Chamber of Secrets definitely exists. Back in second year—'

'Again, Melantha, that is not what I meant. Yes, the Chamber of Secrets exists. No, it was not built by Slytherin. Back in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries, there was a very powerful Dark Lord, Ignatius Gaunt, who conquered a significant portion of Scotland and Ireland, and ruled his kingdom from Hogwarts Castle. We tend to skip over that entire period in History, unfortunately. That whole story about the Founders, about how Slytherin did not want to accept muggleborns and got into a duel with Gryffindor about it, all that? It appears in no sources before Ignatius Gaunt, who was rather vehement in his opposition to muggle religion, started spreading the story about his famous ancestor supporting his views. It is a myth. It was Gaunt who invented the entire thing, and it was Gaunt who built the Chamber of Secrets and Gaunt who created the basilisk inside. I can point you toward multiple books that explain the whole thing. Though,' he added in an undertone, 'they are all in French and Occitan, don't know if you speak either.'

That...

She had no idea how to respond to that. At all. That it was Malfoy of all people saying it just made it worse. Did... Did Dumbledore know about this? If Malfoy had found it in multiple books, even if they were foreign, she couldn't imagine Dumbledore hadn't at least heard of the idea before. But...if he knew about it, why had he said all that stuff he had back in second year? Maybe just to be less confusing? But wouldn't it be better to tell her that all this pureblood nonsense was a new idea, that they were silly and stupid and wrong? She didn't understand this at all.

Of course, it was possible Malfoy was misinformed, or lying, but it explained a few things. Hermione had said before there were holes in the story they were told in History; she'd said no one she'd read had ever explained exactly how a separate magical society developed so early before the Statute for purebloods to even exist centuries and centuries ago. If mages and muggles hadn't been separated until very recently, if the whole thing were some strange, nationalistic myth, then that would explain a lot. She had to wonder if Hermione had ever tried reading any French books. She could read French, right?

Well, she knew what she was getting Hermione for Christmas.

And Malfoy was still talking. 'There has never been any evidence that muggleborns make worse mages than purebloods. In any magical culture. Ever. Sure, there are some magical talents that are heritable, and thus aren't found in muggleborns, but that's not the same thing. Just because muggleborns cannot be metamorphmaga, or Seers, or Parselmouths, or—'

'Lily Potter was a Parselmouth.' She'd almost said my mother there, whoops. And...well, maybe she shouldn't have told that to Malfoy, but she guessed it didn't really matter. It wasn't like anyone would believe it if he went spreading it around anyway.

His eyes wide with surprise, Malfoy said, 'Was she really?' She just nodded. 'Huh.' He blinked to himself for a moment. 'She was from a squib line, then.' At her odd look, he said, 'That's the exception to the rule. Parseltongue was invented, by mages, a very long time ago, carefully bound in blood magic — blood alchemy, specifically. This was thousands of years ago, before some people got squeamish about such things.' By the lightly mocking tone on his voice, she could guess exactly what Malfoy thought about the illegalisation of blood magic.

To be entirely honest? She wasn't even sure she disagreed.

Woah, woah, woah, wait a second. Was it common knowledge Parseltongue was created by blood alchemy? She meant, assuming that was true — and, since no one had bothered explaining to her exactly how Parseltongue worked or where it came from, she had no reason to think it wasn't — was that a thing people could figure out without too much research? It would at least explain why all of Britain considered Parseltongue automatically dark — blood alchemy was, with a few specific exemptions, extremely illegal here. She'd already decided Dumbledore's assertion that she'd picked up Parseltongue from some weird magical contact with Voldemort or whatever was completely wrong. She'd heard her mother, in that memory, have a conversation in native Parseltongue, she must have inherited it from her. But...if it was blood alchemy... She wasn't an expert on obscure magic or anything, but even she knew magics of the body and magics of the soul were entirely different. If Parseltongue was carried on the blood, Dumbledore's theory wasn't just wrong — it was impossible.

But anyway, Malfoy was talking. 'Parselmouth must be inherited — that is fact. That means Lily Potter had an ancestor, most likely a recent ancestor, who was a Parselmouth. And, since only mages are Parselmouths, she must have magic ancestors. Either that, or she was adopted by a muggle family, for whatever... Actually,' he said, voice slightly lower, 'that's not a bad thought — she didn't look anything like her muggle relatives.'

She felt her mouth drop open at that, but she was beyond caring at this point. Mostly because he was right: Petunia looked nothing like Lily, not even a little bit. She hadn't seen pictures of her grandparents very often, but she hadn't seen much of her mother in them either. Petunia had even said a few times she suspected Lily had been conceived by an affair their mother had had, she looked so different. Which didn't necessarily mean anything — that sort of thing did happen, if not very commonly. Hermione had said something to that effect after seeing a picture of Lily and comparing her in her head to Petunia. This was just something Malfoy was saying today that she knew for a fact was true, which was only making her feel weirder about the other shite he'd said she wasn't so sure about. But that wasn't exactly the problem she was having. What was really bothering her was, 'How do you know that?'

And suddenly Malfoy looked slightly sheepish. This was a weird day Melantha was having right now. 'Professor Snape is my godfather. He was friends with her when they were children. I saw photographs one day at his house.'

Well. If nothing else, that explained Snape's preferential treatment of Malfoy. It didn't quite explain how Malfoy had had the nerve to go snooping around Snape's home — it was very clear from how oddly uncomfortable he looked that he hadn't had permission to look through those pictures. But... They'd gotten off topic. 'Okay. Fine. If you don't believe all that shite, why are you such a prat to Harry and Hermione all the time?' She could ask about Ron, or even any of the Weasleys, but she kind of suspected Malfoy only went after them because they were friends with her. That, and their fathers hated each other. No point in asking, really.

Malfoy shrugged again; he did seem to be doing that a lot this conversation. 'I don't like Potter. I have reasons, which I don't care to get into right now. Probably not even rational reasons, to be honest.' Oh, well, at least could admit that! Bloody stupid git. 'As for Granger...' He trailed off, frowning up at the ceiling for a couple seconds. 'Well, Granger bothers me. Always has.'

She frowned at him. 'She bothers you? What's that supposed to mean?'

After the slightest of sighs — oh, so now he was getting annoyed with this conversation, bloody prat — Malfoy started in a light, almost condescending voice. 'I know you haven't been here for very long, just a couple weeks, but just judge based on your initial impressions. Who in our year do you think is the most gifted magically?'

'Erm. Hermione?' That was the obvious answer to her, yes, but the more confusing part about this was that it seemed Malfoy thought that was the obvious answer too.

With a nod, he said, 'Almost certainly Granger. If Potter were here, I'd say he's a narrow first or a close second, but since he isn't, it's clearly Granger.' She had to frown at that — both because she'd never really thought she was nearly as good with magic as Hermione, and she thought that had to be the first time Malfoy had ever given her something that could even be liberally interpreted as a compliment. 'Now, at first, I was very angry about that. See, I'd swallowed everything my father had told me. I thought, obviously this girl is cheating somehow. She has to be. That's the only way it makes sense. And the professors have to be in it. Some political nonsense, probably — the Headmaster is Dumbledore, after all. And, look, Uncle Sev is the only one who isn't kissing the hem of Dumbledore's robes, and he's the only one even half-heartedly criticising her. That just proves it!

'Nonsense in retrospect, of course. She really is just that good. If anything, Professor Snape is harder on her than is entirely justifiable — by the way, tell anyone I call him Uncle Sev in private and I will deny it, and then hex you, cousin or no.' Melantha smirked a little at that; Malfoy obviously noticed it, replying with a glare. Sort of a teasingly false glare, which was weird, but still a glare. 'Shut up.

'But anyway. I had long been told an ideal of exactly what the perfect pureblood noblewoman should be like. From all kinds of sources, it doesn't really matter specifically. You probably know the image by now. A woman of irrepressible magical power, vastly knowledgeable and skilled enough to be a threat when crossed. To her family and friends, warm and gentle and unshakably loyal; to those beneath her notice, an insurmountable wall of iron pride and cold disdain; to her enemies, the unquenchable, unstoppable wrath of gods. A woman of intelligence, of honour, of grace. Tell me: does this remind you of anyone?'

If it hadn't been obvious from context who he was talking about, Melantha would never have guessed it. Partially just because...she never really thought of Hermione like that, she guessed? She was just...Hermione. And, well, this was Malfoy talking, it was weird. And the tone of voice he'd said the whole thing was just... 'You don't, erm, fancy Hermione or anything, do you?'

She almost jumped out of her seat when Malfoy let out a sudden, sharp bark of laughter. The sound was clear and light, which was sort of odd — had she ever heard Malfoy laugh in a way that wasn't sneering or derisive? After a couple seconds, he managed to get control of his breathing a little, the slightest chuckling still on his voice as he spoke. 'Myrðin, no. Are you serious? That girl gets on my nerves something awful. And the feeling is clearly mutual — without a lecture to distract us, we can't stand to be in the same room for two seconds without screaming at each other. Honestly, me and Granger...' He trailed off, shaking his head and chuckling to himself a little.

Okay, well, he didn't have to react that badly. Melantha found herself oddly trapped between blushing and stammering like an idiot and...she didn't know, defending Hermione's honour or something? Not the right phrase. Whatever, it was stupid, because Malfoy had just gone on a little rant a second ago about how great Hermione was, she was perfectly justified in thinking something was going on there, no reason to be embarrassed, and Hermione's character obviously didn't need defending from him...which was still an odd concept to wrap her head around. This conversation was just so absurd. 'I didn't think it was that funny, but okay.'

A smirk on his face, he said, 'I'm mostly just imagining what Granger would do to anyone who suggested it.'

Oh. Well. Okay, that would potentially be amusing, actually. No one would get out of that conversation without being hexed with something. 'Okay, fine, you don't hate her. Why do you keep being such a prat to her all the time, then?'

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her, the image somewhat ruined by the laughter still pulling at his lips. 'Did I say I don't hate her?'

'Erm...'

'I don't hate her because she's muggleborn, sure. But she's willfully ignorant of anything she doesn't care for, arrogant and self-righteous about everything she does, and annoyingly preachy over anything she disagrees with — a set of traits depressingly common among Gryffindors, actually. I don't like her, but I have actual reasons for not liking her. I needle her a bit more than other Gryffindors because she could be better, but she chooses not to be. She bothers me.'

Well...

The worst part about that was Melantha couldn't even necessarily say he was wrong. She meant, Hermione was great, probably her favourite person in the world right now, but even she could admit that at times she could be a bit...much. Sometimes.

And, well, something Malfoy probably didn't even know about, when Hermione got an idea in her head, she had a tendency to sort of run with it to places that weren't always the most...reasonable? Like. Okay. Figuring out who the Heir of Slytherin was back in second year, sure, that'd been important. She'd been convinced it was Malfoy with very little evidence — but, then, so were Melantha and Ron, but Hermione was supposed to be the smart one, okay. But even the two of them weren't completely insane enough to think of brewing fucking polyjuice in an abandoned girls loo, and try to...what? What did they think Malfoy was going to tell them? Even if Malfoy were the Heir — which, in retrospect, it should have been obvious he wasn't — how exactly was talking to him in the Slytherin common room like that supposed to help?

The entire thing made absolutely zero sense...and they could have gone to Azkaban for it. Not just expelled, legitimately sent to prison — criminal law in magical Britain made no distinction between trying someone as a minor or as an adult. And sure, Melantha should have seen the whole thing was stupid, yes. But Hermione? That level of reckless stupidity from Hermione was just...

She wanted to believe Hermione was intelligent and eminently reasonable at all times. She really did. But looking back on the last four years it was clear that wasn't always the case. Hermione was a stupid as the rest of them sometimes.

So, yes, Hermione wasn't perfect. With how she sometimes got into professorial or preachy moods, she could even see how someone from the outside, who didn't know her as well, would actually find her annoying. But even just thinking Draco Malfoy of all people might be even a little bit right about Hermione was making her feel extremely uncomfortable. She didn't want to talk about this anymore. Any of it, really. 'So, I hear you play quidditch.'

By the slight smirk on his lips, Malfoy thought the subject change was just as awkwardly transparent as, honestly, it had been. But he went along with it, started babbling off about the people on the Slytherin team and their practices, and blah blah, talking about how, with Potter gone, they might actually win this year. Which, Melantha realised, was probably true — Ginny was good, yes, but she wasn't better than Malfoy. Or even Cedric, for that matter. Without Melantha, Gryffindor would need to get lucky to win. She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about that.

But she wasn't thinking so much about it. In one conversation, Malfoy had given her far too many things to think about. She was really starting to wonder if she was ever going to run out of those any time soon.

---

Melantha stalked over toward the Gryffindor table, aiming herself in the general direction of the pack of flaming orange-red hair she'd caught at a glance. She slumped into a seat across the table from Ron and Ginny — since making the quidditch team, she was apparently cool enough to hang around her brothers without them getting too annoying — and stared at the platters of food in front of her. And tried not to be queasy. Maybe because of...what she'd woken up to this morning, or...the reason why exactly she'd woken up to what she'd woken up to this morning, or an aftereffect of the charm she'd used, she didn't know, but the thought of eating was honestly a little gross. But she pushed the feeling off, ignored the quivering in her stomach, and started loading her plate with whatever happened to be nearby.

Ron said something to her, but his mouth was full at the time, so it wasn't the clearest English she'd ever heard. From long experience interpreting Ron's food-obstructed speech, though, she knew he'd said, 'What got into you?'

Nope. She wasn't going to talk about that. And definitely not during breakfast. She just shot Ron a sharp glare, hoped he'd take the hint. By the baffled look on his face, that wasn't so likely.

Even as she slipped into the seat next to her, Hermione said, 'Chew, Ronald, and then swallow. And then talk. Please.'

Making the motions as smooth and exaggerated as possible, Ron chewed a few times, then swallowed enough food all at once that it really wasn't helping settle Melantha's stomach at all. 'There, happy?' She didn't have to look to know Hermione was rolling her eyes. 'But seriously, what happened? You look like you just got in a fight with Malfoy or something.'

Melantha just glared at him again, let out a grunt that, to her mind, very clearly said Shut up if you know what's good for you. Then she scooped up a forkful of eggs, and had to wrestle not to spit it right back out when her stomach gave a sickening heave. Oh, behave! Come on! Stupid bloody thing...

Ergh, bad choice of words...

'It's nothing to worry about,' Hermione said from her side. In the exact sort of casual voice that Ron never bought ever, only made him try to figure out what was going on harder. You'd think she'd learn these things.

'Really? She looks like she's gonna bloody curse someone.'

Melantha turned away from her food long enough to say, 'Maybe you, if you don't drop it.'

Which just made him smile at her. In a somewhat confused sort of way, but still. Prat.

'Honestly, Ronald.' Hermione let out an exasperated sigh, but when she spoke again there was a slight playful tinge at the edge of her voice. Even the sound of it gave Melantha a sinking feeling of dread. 'It's really nothing to worry about. Mel's just getting used to some things is all. Probably would have happened earlier, but—' The playful edge was temporarily replaced with a sting of hatred. '—she had a bit to make up for after spending so long with those people. But anyway, it's perfectly normal, just something she'll have to remember to address, oh, roughly once a month.'

An instant of silence, Melantha didn't dare look up. She really wished Hermione hadn't said that. Ron's foot seemed to live in his mouth, and this really wasn't something she wanted to even think about right now, and she was positive Ron was going to be a—

'Wait, are you on the rag?'

Yep, there he goes. Her fork ground against her plate with a teeth-jarring screech, but she wasn't the only one to react. To her right, the twins said, in unison, 'Eating, here!' She thought she might have heard Katie, sitting with Alicia to the twins' other side, muffle a snort of laughter. (Oh, funny, was it? She was definitely getting hexed in their lesson with Dora tomorrow.) In her peripheral vision she saw Ginny, without a sound and hardly even an expression, reach up and smack Ron over the back of the head, then go straight back to eating.

With a combination of the hit from his sister, and another 'Honestly, Ronald,' from Hermione, Ron had apparently gotten the message. For a few moments, there was silence. Blessed, blessed silence. But it was not to last. 'I should have known, really.'

Melantha frowned, glanced up at Ron, who had a half-uncomfortable, half-amused sort of look on his face. Dreading what he was about to say, she asked, 'Should have known what?'

'I mean, I just should have figured you'd be all pissy when you're—'

She dropped her fork, letting the thing noisily clatter down onto her plate, brought her wand to her hand with a flick of her wrist. Point aimed square right for Ron's chest, she said, 'You finish that sentence and I will hex you.'

Ron lifted both hands in playful surrender, before turning back to his breakfast. He might have been trying to play all casual, but it was rather obvious — the tension in his shoulders, the slight hitch to his grin — that he was really uncomfortable with the whole topic. Good, maybe he'd shut up next time. But, not too surprising he'd be uncomfortable, she guessed. They hadn't talked about it at all really, but she knew he still hadn't come to terms with the whole suddenly-a-girl thing. Hermione had said at one point just to give him time, which she guessed she was sort of doing by...pretending there wasn't a problem, which...was probably a bad idea?

She was really starting to get tired of hearing Ellie's voice in her head, saying shit like that.

After another moment of silence, Hermione started talking. 'It's rather fascinating, actually. There is a rather simple charm you can use to, to put it obliquely, remove any offending substances—' Melantha grimaced; was there a rather simple charm to block her own hearing? '—but the charm's effects are limited to only that. It doesn't interfere with the hormone cycle much at all. From doing a bit of reading, I'm not sure how aware mages are there even is a hormone cycle.'

Sending another glare up at Ron, Melantha said, 'Say anything including the word "estrogen", and I will hex you.' Honestly, he just seemed mostly confused by that — she momentarily wondered if mages even knew what estrogen was. Or did they use a different word for the same thing? They did things like that sometimes.

And Hermione was still talking, Jesus. 'Actually, you'd be at a low point in your estrogen levels right now. Estrogen peaks in the proliferative phase, right before ovulation—' Ghrk, no. '—but stays slightly elevated through the luteal phase, roughly in the middle of which progesterone peaks. During menstruation—' Ergh, god, why was she saying this... '—itself, female sex hormones are actually at a cyclic minimum. So, if these hormones have any effect on mood or behaviour at all at this point in the cycle, it's more out of their lack than their presence. Which there is minimal evidence for, but it's generally thought to be more psychological than biological, if that makes sense.'

'The hell are you talking about?'

With a shrug, Hermione turned to her. 'It's all in your head.'

...

Well, of course it was all in her head! Melantha could have told her that! Her being annoyed at the world right now had nothing to do with hormone cycles or whatever the fuck Hermione had been blabbing about. She was annoyed because she'd woken up with blood all over her sheets, and she'd needed to get help from Hermione to deal with the fact that she was leaking, and the entire thing had been unspeakably embarrassing. Literally unspeakable, she had been incapable of speech. And sure, she'd said to hell with it and had decided to just run with the being-a-girl-now thing, yes, but that didn't mean things like this weren't still weird and uncomfortable and... And! And Hermione had spent the entire time looking faintly amused, and she was so done with being annoyed this morning and she just wanted it to stop.

So, yes, she was perfectly aware it was all in her head. Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor Granger.

Come to think of it, Hermione should really be thankful she didn't share every little thing that was going on in her head all the time. She doubted she'd be happy hearing things like that.

There was a lot of shuffling and motion from her left, and she glanced at Hermione to see the twins had practically teleported over there — she hadn't even noticed them move. One was sitting on the bench at her opposite side, the other standing behind her, practically draped over her shoulders. Erm. Okay. 'While we would have preferred a different choice of topic,' one started.

The other picked it up, without even the slightest gap in cadence. '—you know we love it when you get all academic on us.'

'When's our detention, Professor Granger? We've been—'

'—very, very bad.'

In a level, almost bored-sounding voice, Hermione said, 'Boys? I am trying to eat here.' Her face was nearly as expressionless as her voice, but Melantha caught the traces of a smile pulling at her lips.

With hardly another word, the twins sauntered off — apparently, that had been intended as a parting shot. Once they were gone, Artemis leaned over from a few seats away. 'I think I finally get how other people feel talking to us.'

Selene, sitting directly behind Artemis at the Hufflepuff table, turned around to give the Gryffindors a dazzling smile. 'Yeah, but we're prettier.'

'True, true.'

But Melantha mostly ignored them — which wasn't a bad suggestion when it came to dealing with either the Weasley twins or Black triplets, honestly. She was just staring at Hermione, who had gone straight back to eating. Eating rather faster than she had been before, but still just eating. 'What the hell was that?'

'What?'

'Since when were you all buddy-buddy with the twins?'

Hermione glanced over at her for an instant, then shrugged. 'Last year.'

A tone of doubt on his voice, Ron said, 'You realise those two have even less respect for the rules than we do.'

Somewhat to Melantha's surprise, Hermione didn't immediately go on the defense about that one. Instead she just gave Ron a flat, level look, staring silently for long seconds. She waited for Ron to start squirming before she said anything. 'Ron? I am currently blackmailing Rita Skeeter.' Then she grabbed a bun off a nearby platter, got to her feet, said, 'I'll meet you out front, Mel,' and walked away.

For a few moments, she and Ron sat, watching Hermione calmly walk away. Finally, Ron said, 'Is it just me, or is she getting even scarier?'

Melantha shrugged, turned back to her breakfast. 'Well, you're not wrong.' Not that she'd necessarily say that was a bad thing. Hell, she'd been spending a lot of time with the Blacks over the last months, and half of them were rather scary, if she took a second to think about it. Sirius used to be absolutely deadly with a wand — after years in Azkaban, he was rusty — and could supposedly get rather irrationally vindictive when he was angry. Andi had been taught nonmagical self-defense growing up, as had both of her sisters, so she didn't even need a wand to fuck people up, and was entirely willing to do so if she felt it was necessary. She had no idea what the deal was with Ailís, she seemed perfectly nice to her, but Sirius tiptoed around her like she were an armed bomb or something — Sirius. And Dora, of course, despite the seeming carefree silliness, which Melantha was starting to think was just a facade, was a simply ridiculous duellist, and was so cavalier about maybe hurting people a little bit she'd used a piercing curse to take Melantha out in a practice duel. While she obviously didn't know this from first-hand experience, apparently even her own mother had been scary enough she scared scary people.

So she was getting oddly used to scary people by now. For the most part, as long as the scary people were on her side she was fine with it.

A few minutes later, she was just about to get up to meet Hermione when a hand fell on her shoulder. Even as she jumped, she felt someone move in close, hair tickling at her neck, breath at her ear. 'Welcome to womanhood, Potter.'

She blindly swiped around toward Katie, but the girl had already skipped backward out of the way. Giggling to herself, she walked out with Alicia, who looked somewhat confused about exactly what all that was about. But she was still getting hexed. Oh yes, she was getting so hexed. They were going to be working on deflection tomorrow too, it wouldn't even be hard to "miss" and aim a hex somewhere it'd be harder for Katie to catch it. She'd have to select a particularly annoying one, just because. Katie would almost certainly retaliate, but it would be worth it.

And Melantha was walking through the thin crowd in the courtyard in front of the main entrance alone. Ron had insisted on coming along at first, but as soon as she'd said exactly what she and Hermione would be doing in Hogsmeade, he'd abruptly decided he had other things to do. After a moment of searching, she found Hermione sitting on one of the stone benches, her nose at its habitual place stuck in a book. But she must not have been too lost in whatever she was reading, because Melantha hadn't even said anything before Hermione had the book folded and put away.

For some reason, she could see the thestrals pulling the carriages now. Which was really strange, because she hadn't at the beginning of the year, but she could see the things plain as day now. The only thing she could think of that might count was seeing her mother's memory of that fight at the Boneses' — on a related note, she'd since learned Bones's father had actually died during that battle, before she'd even been born, how fun. But, if something like that worked, how come watching, for example, someone dying in a film didn't count? Maybe since the actor wasn't actually dying, did that make the difference? If someone didn't understand that films weren't real, and thought the person actually had died, would that count? Or did the memory count because some special thing about how pensieves work? It was weird.

This might make her sound a bit crazy, but she actually liked the thestrals. They were... It was hard to explain. Sure, they were these big, bat-winged, dragon-horse things, leathery black skin stretched so tightly over bones they were rather creepy-looking, she wasn't going to deny that. And those noises they made, the rare times they made noises, those reverberating, hooting calls, were a bit creepy as well — apparently, people who couldn't see thestrals couldn't hear them either, which was interesting. But anyway, that wasn't really the feeling she got from being near them. Standing next to one just now, maybe only a metre away, she felt...calm? It was hard to explain. It was like the things radiated a sense of peace and tranquility, she could almost see it wafting off of them, and it was just... It was nice. She didn't know why. It just was.

So she did move the thought to her don't say this out loud box. She had absolutely no idea how other people would react to her claim she found soothing creatures popularly thought to be death omens.

She and Hermione managed to get a carriage to themselves, and before long they were smoothly plodding on toward the village. Melantha spent most of it staring out the window, watching the trees slowly slide by, but Hermione had long been used to her, so she'd already had her book out again practically before they'd even sat down. After a few minutes of silence, she asked, 'Just where are we going anyway?'

Hermione didn't answer quite right away, probably running to the end of a sentence or something, and even then she sounded slightly distracted. 'Fenwick's. It's a second-hand clothing shop, just a bit off High Street.'

'Erm.' She blinked for a moment, giving Hermione a look — a look which was pointless, considering Hermione still had her eyes on her book. 'You do remember I'm loaded, right?' Even more loaded than she'd thought a couple weeks ago, really.

'I know. Wizarding clothing is charmed, buying it second-hand isn't an issue. Besides, the other options are Twilfitt and Tattings or Gladrags, but I think you'd be uncomfortable in one and would rather go naked than wear anything from the other.'

'Are they really that bad?'

Hermione shrugged slightly. 'One is geared more toward the wealthy social conservatives of magical society, and the other... Well, you know Lovegood. She shops there. Imagine what she usually wears and you've got the general picture.'

She had to wince at that. From a muggle perspective, mage fashion sense seemed rather odd — even excluding all the robes and cloaks and weird hats and such, they had a tendency toward the use of bright contrasting colours that would be immensely out of place in the muggle world. Luna took that exaggerated colourfulness and went absolutely nuts with it. When she wasn't in her uniform, everything was so bright and clashed so awfully it made Melantha's eyes water just looking at her. Which might even be the point, she honestly didn't know. 'Well, you're the expert here, I guess.'

Hermione still didn't look up, but Melantha noticed the slightest hint of a smirk at her lips. 'Honestly, Mel, when am I ever not the expert?'

'Not that I disagree, exactly, but ooh, if Andi caught me gloating like that she'd glare so hard I'd have burns after.'

And she just smiled.

Some minutes later, the thestral dragging them along finally came to a stop in the familiar area along the near side of the village, and the two of them hopped out of the coach, Hermione's book again vanishing into the bag at her hip. As they wandered off, Melantha nearly stopped to give the thestral a quick pat of farewell, but, well if someone watching didn't know what was happening she might look a bit crazy, patting the empty air like a weirdo, but to someone who did know what was happening she'd still look a bit crazy, patting a fucking thestral like a complete psycho, so...yeah, maybe she wouldn't be doing that. At least not in public.

Before she fully drew herself back to the present moment, Hermione had hooked her arm through hers, and was dragging her off to the village. Melantha nearly yanked herself out of Hermione's grip, but stopped herself at the last instant. Fighting down the fluttering in her chest, the anxious tingles sparking across her skin, she told herself quite forcefully it really wasn't that big of a deal. She had to stop being so crazy. Seriously, what did she think Hermione was going to do to her? This was Hermione of all people. Just, settle the fuck down, you crazy person. Besides, it wasn't like she was using that arm right now anyway. It wasn't even her wand arm! She could have her wand in hand in an instant, and Hermione wouldn't get in the way at all, and having her so nearby might actually be helpful if something really terrible ended up happening, god forbid. So, Hermione could just...have that arm right now. No big deal.

No matter how hard she tried to convince herself, a part of her — smaller than it might have been a couple years ago, larger than she would claim if Hermione should ask — was still screaming at her no no no, bad, and it just wouldn't shut up. But it was more a little distraction than it was a serious problem, she could deal with this.

God, she was so exhausted of being such a fucking nutcase. She'd thought she was doing better than this these days. Hermione had dragged her around the common room or the library much like this dozens of times the last few weeks, and that hadn't bothered her nearly as much. Maybe just because this was much more public or something? She never had liked crowds, but she didn't see how— Ergh, this was annoying. Stupid fucking brain...

In the middle of beating herself up, she heard the slightest twittering of a chuckle from Hermione. Lasted less than a second, and muffled enough she'd barely heard it, but there. She glanced over at her — and slightly up, actually, still getting used to how short she was now — to see what looked to be a rueful smile pulling at Hermione's lips. Okay... 'What is it?'

'Oh, nothing,' Hermione said in a light, easy tone. The sort of tone someone uses when it's most definitely not nothing. 'Just sort of funny, is all.'

'What's funny?' She hadn't really noticed anything going on around them, just the usual Hogsmeade weekend crowd, and she doubted Hermione had any idea what had been going on in her head, but she really doubted anyone would consider that funny.

'Here I've got you in Hogsmeade all to myself. Just not exactly as I'd pictured it.'

Melantha figured out what she meant in maybe two seconds. And was honestly more confused than anything. 'Wait, what? I mean, er...'

Giggling to herself under her breath, Hermione squeezed her arm slightly. 'Relax, Mel. It's a thing of the past. Not really interested in girls, after all.'

'Oh my god...' Melantha closed her eyes — she didn't know where she was going anyway, Hermione could lead the way whether she was looking or not, made no difference — started rubbing at her forehead with her free hand. It was obvious what Hermione meant. She'd just, 'I had absolutely no idea.'

A teasing lilt to her voice, Hermione said, 'I had noticed that, believe it or not.'

'I just...' This was so ridiculous. How could her best friend...well, fancy her, or whatever, without her even noticing a thing? This was insane. And now she had a headache. Great. 'Since when?'

She shrugged, high enough Melantha felt the motion through her arm. 'About halfway through third year, I'd think.'

'Seriously? I had no—' And then another thought occurred to her, and she found herself groaning. 'And I asked you to the Yule Ball. I am a such a fucking arseho—'

She was cut off with a slap at her shoulder — quite a bit more playful than she felt she deserved at the moment, honestly. 'Stop that. I had a lovely night. Yes, it was somewhat annoying we weren't going as a couple, but then, I could have told you I wanted to, couldn't have I? And I didn't. I knew you were still working through things, and damned if you didn't have enough to distract your attention that year, so I didn't force the issue. There are reasons I never just came out and told you how I felt, and that's not on you. I had—' Hermione gave her a sharp poke in the upper arm. '—a lovely—' And another poke. '—night.' The third poke landed in roughly the same spot as the other two, which rather hurt, actually; she failed to hold back a wince. 'Really, don't worry about it. It's over now, anyway. I find it all kind of funny now, honestly.'

'Ergh.' Well, fine, Hermione could find it funny if she wanted to. Personally, Mel kind of thought she was an arsehole, but fine. Or...come to think of it, maybe it was a good thing she hadn't noticed. It's entirely possible she might have held back her craziness long enough to, she didn't know, actually start...dating Hermione...or something? She'd never really thought of Hermione like that, but she might have done it anyway, for whatever reason made sense at the time. Just because it's what Hermione wanted, or just to feel better about the insanity going on that whole year, whatever. And, well, then if the whole suddenly-a-girl thing still happened... Yeah, if she'd had a girlfriend at the time, this whole situation could be a million times more awkward. Not that she'd be saying any of that, seemed tactless. Or that Hermione hadn't already thought of that herself, because this was Hermione. Not the point. Whatever.

'Oh, I mean, erm.' Hermione drew in a breath through her teeth, harsh enough it whistled slightly. 'I–I don't mean I find it funny that someone might fancy you, I mean, erm, my own preoccupations from my present perspective are funny in retrospect, which isn't the same thing, er...'

Under her hand still at her forehead, Melantha had to smile a little at that. 'It's fine, Hermione. I knew what you meant.'

With a sigh, Hermione said, 'Oh, good. I thought I'd done a Ron for a second there.'

Melantha tried to hold back a laugh, but it ended up coming out as a very undignified snort, Andi would be mortified. Ron was pretty good at sticking his foot in it, wasn't he? She dropped her hand, tried to shake off her little bout of self-flagellation. She did still feel rather awkward, but if they were back to making jokes now, fine, she could just get over it for the moment. 'Well. I was an idiot. Still am, but I mean any bloke should be bloody ecstatic to have you being... You know what I mean.'

'Yes, I know what you mean.'

'Come some arsehole who isn't appropriately beside himself, you tell me and I'll curse the shite out of him.'

A smile on her voice, Hermione said, 'What makes you think I wouldn't curse him myself?'

'I don't. Maybe I'd just want to get a shot in myself, is all.'

'Aw, see? Such a charmer.' Was... Was that sarcasm? She really couldn't tell at this point. 'And I know you weren't aware of this at the time, but you were a very fanciable boy — well, I suppose you might have noticed when you had to keep brushing people off, but I'm not really counting your fangirls. And, you know, I may not be the best judge of such things, but I'm sure it won't be too long before you have boys following you around.' Ergh, if that wasn't an unpleasant thought. In the short silence, Hermione reached over to pat her arm just above the elbow with her free hand. Voice dripping with false seriousness, she said, 'You're very pretty.'

Oh, wow, this was uncomfortable. Should she be able to feel a blush on her own face? There was no way that was healthy. She didn't really have a proper response for that, so she just let out a groan. Hopefully, Hermione would get the point — the point being, Change the subject now, please.

'I'm not even kidding, though! I mean, you like girls still, right?' Honestly, she hadn't even thought about that... 'See, Tracey and Susan like to use nicknames when talking about girls they like; partially in case someone overhears them, partially just for fun. Earlier this week, I heard them using a new one, Delechit, and had them translate it for me. Apparently, that's you, chosen because you are, and I'm quoting Tracey exactly here, tiny yet delicious.'

'Oh, god.' Yep. This was uncomfortable. She really didn't want to be here right now. Wonder if anyone had ever turned themselves invisible with accidental magic before just out of sheer embarrassment. 'Can we talk about something else, please? anything else?'

'Honestly, for those two, that's rather tame. They can be extremely crude when left to their own devices. But we're here now anyway.'

Grumbling under her breath a little, she let Hermione lead her into the little store. Didn't look all that different from muggle clothing stores, honestly — the small ones, at least, not the huge department store -type ones, which she didn't think magical society had an equivalent for. Well, except for how all the words and numbers on the signs and things kept moving, that was different. Hermione had hardly dragged her past the little front display area thing when something she'd just said caught up with her. 'Wait a second, talk about girls they like? Are Davis and Bones, er...'

'They're lesbians, yes.' Hermione shrugged. 'Far as I can tell, magical society is far more permissive when it comes to sexuality — for the most part, nobody cares what anyone else gets up to. From what I've heard, you'd be surprised how many people in our year don't really care which gender their partner is, and I do mean girls and boys. Tracey and Susan both only like girls, though.' While Melantha was processing that — a lot of things made far more sense, in retrospect — Hermione turned around to give her a teasing smirk. 'I can give you a list of the girls I know are open to dating another girl, if you want.'

She just rolled her eyes. 'No thanks, I'm good.' No matter how much Hermione teased her about it, she really didn't think dating was in her future any time soon. Even dismissing whether or not anyone would be interested, she had enough shite going on already without worrying about any of that. Romance was not on her radar.

Which just made the rest of the morning especially fun.

Hermione was with her going through... Okay, now, she'd noticed before mages didn't wear robes and other similar traditional junk all the time. They also wore stuff that was very obviously inspired by muggle clothing, even if cut slightly differently, and made of different materials. She and Hermione were looking at the skirts they had right now. Which, yes, was somewhat awkward. She couldn't help the voice in her head going off about woah, what did she think she was doing here, these were girl clothes, she wasn't supposed to be even thinking about this. All she could do was try to ignore it. If she paid attention it only got louder, and that was bad, so pretending it didn't exist was best, yes.

Whenever Hermione asked her to express an opinion it just made it worse. Fuck, this was so uncomfortable. Had she really volunteered for this? This had been her idea from the beginning? She had to a masochist or something, this was crazy.

Oh, hey, that— No, Vernon, shut up. It's pretty, go to hell, so there.

God, she was such a lunatic.

Anyway, they were right in the middle of that when a voice from behind them nearly made Melantha jump a foot in the air. 'Maïa, this hurts. You'll come here with the new girl, but not with me?'

Melantha was momentarily frozen. She'd learned Hermione had other friends, yes. It had been sort of a weird thing to learn, a reaction that sort of made her feel shitty, but yes. She guessed Hermione had had to have someone to talk to when she had been out at quidditch practice or something and Ron had been being a prat. And some of those friends were people she wouldn't have expected, sure. But it still struck her as extremely odd to hear Hermione referred to by the nickname that, so far as she knew, mostly only her French cousins used, in the voice she recognised from Arithmancy as belonging to Daphne bloody Greengrass.

Looking over her shoulder and yep, she hadn't identified the voice wrong, there she was. Long, straight hair a vivid blonde with occasional flecks of a light brown, the thin, sharp face extremely common in British magical noble families, hard blue-grey eyes — that couldn't be anyone else. And, she'd never really had opportunity to notice this before, but when Greengrass wasn't in their baggy, frumpy Hogwarts robes, she... Well, there was a reason the Gryffindor boys considered her an acceptable subject of their fantasies despite being a Slytherin.

Though, those discussions she really never liked overhearing never included Davis, for some reason. And Davis was here too, her arm linked with Greengrass's much as Hermione had taken hers, but she and Greengrass went practically everywhere together, so she would have expected that. She had mostly the same aristocratic features, with very familiar grey eyes — apparently, House Davis had intermarried with House Black on more than one occasion the last couple centuries. Her hair was a solid black, cut to dangle somewhat above her shoulders. If anything, Davis was even more...erm, was buxom the appropriate word? Whatever. And since Davis, any time they weren't forced into uniform, tended to revert to tee shirts and jeans — weird for a member of a Noble House, but okay — her figure was far more noticeable than with Greengrass, who usually went with comparably looser dresses and things. She would guess people usually ignored her in favour of Greengrass because... Well, she was a little...

Abrasive. The word was abrasive. Greengrass could be cold, sure, but she was nowhere near as bad as Davis. She was a bitch, basically. Melantha had hardly even talked to her before the start of this term a few weeks ago, but she'd already figured that out rather well, thanks.

'...and I'm quoting Tracey exactly here, "tiny yet delicious."'

Oh, great, knowing that was going to make this even more awkward than it would have been normally.

'Honestly, Maïa,' Davis was saying, 'if you were coming here anyway, you could have taken Daph off my hands and spared me the trouble. Kyrke, I hate this place...'

'I didn't know I was coming here until yesterday, actually,' Hermione said with a slight shrug. 'Mel needs some clothes, turns out.'

'Excuses.'

'Oh, be nice, you.' Shortly after Greengrass finished, she noticed Davis wince — she hadn't actually seen it, but by the placement of Greengrass's free hand, it looked like she'd just pinched Davis in the arm. 'So, Black, were you looking for anything in particular?'

'Erm, sort of everything, actually.' When Greengrass just stared blankly at her, Melantha gave a little awkward shrug, and said, 'It's a long story.' Yeah, she was definitely not explaining that right now, and certainly not to these two. Honestly, her cover story was nearly as bad as the truth, though in a somewhat different direction. Sort of a "everyone I loved died and everything I had was lost in a whirlwind of tragedy only a few months ago" direction.

Then Greengrass was slipping free of Davis, who seemed faintly annoyed all of a sudden, and now Melantha had Hermione and Daphne bloody Greengrass of all people helping her. If this wasn't absolutely bizarre. It only took a couple minutes for both of them — Davis was hanging around providing occasional commentary — to insist she use their first names...in a way that sort of made Melantha think she probably should have been already, maybe? Just, it felt slightly weird. Here she was, talking to two Slytherins, and they considered her... Well, they sort of were friends now, weren't they? That study group Hermione had basically dragged her into didn't meet all that often, but it was probably enough already anyway, especially since they'd declared her their DADA expert almost right away, so she'd actually spent a fair amount of time talking to all of them earlier this week. Still, it was weird.

She should probably switch to first names for the whole study group. She doubted anyone would object. It usually took conscious effort to remember to use last names anyway.

Of course, in her bit, Davis still had to be Davis — or Tracey had to be Tracey, whatever. Her exact words were: 'For the love of all that's cute and fuzzy, Mel, quit this Davis shite.' But, well. Tracey Davis. She actually said that cute and fuzzy line a lot, no idea where that came from.

She was rather quickly deciding she would rather Tracey wasn't here at all. Daphne was fine. It hadn't taken very long legitimately talking to her before Daphne started making her think of a Slytherin Hermione — roughly similar degree of intellectual preoccupation, all nice and sweet with people she actually liked; just, the number of people she actually liked was somewhat smaller, and she showed everyone outside that group an icy wall of either polite indifference or sarcasm, depending on how much they annoyed her. Gryffindor boys, for example, usually got the sarcasm. She remembered in particular a comment once about Seamus's clumsy wandwork, if you knew what she meant, it was brutal. But, the point was, Daphne was actually helping, and she was being mostly nice about it. Obviously, she caught just how uncomfortable Melantha clearly was, and by a raised eyebrow here or there thought it was strange just how little in the way of clothing she had, but she didn't say anything about it.

Tracey, on the other hand, was being really fucking annoying. She had a comment about practically everything they looked at. Most of them weren't flattering, and the ones that were flattering were...well, sort of too flattering. It was just... It was uncomfortable, okay? She knew Tracey was watching her, or at least it felt like she was watching her, and, from all that she could tell, probably having rather, ah, pervy thoughts, and it was, just, really, really awkward. Almost...humiliating? No, that's not the right word. The point is, she didn't like it, and she wished she would stop.

When Tracey suggested she try this one dress on, she almost pulled her wand on her. Fitting rooms in clothing stores like these were a foreign concept to magical society — she was saying Melantha should change right in front of her. Daphne, at least, rolled her eyes at that one, but still, she just wished Tracey would shut the fuck up.

Apparently, the universe thought the careful what you wish for lesson hadn't sunk in yet, because at that exact moment Susan and Hannah walked into the store, Blaise trailing in a few paces behind them. God fucking dammit.

It was Blaise who spotted them first. Flouncing over, he first hooked Tracey around the elbow, slipped up to their huddle at the racks to grab Daphne with his other arm. 'Here my girls are,' he said in an overly-smooth, consciously-dramatic voice. 'I'd wondered where you'd gotten off to.' Which would have seemed extremely out of character to Melantha last month but, like seemingly every Slytherin ever, his personality was vastly different depending on present company — polite disdain with traces of condescending sarcasm for most everyone, but light teasing and, how to put it, affection for his friends. Blaise had always seemed distinctly unremarkable to her. Not tall, but not exactly short either. He was strong enough she'd noticed in pick-up games before that quaffle throws from him tended to make her hands sting, but he wasn't noticeably bulky.

Honestly, he'd always made her vaguely uneasy, and no, not in a racist way — though, come to think of it, it was a bit strange just how dark he was, considering she'd seen a picture and his mother wasn't really at all. Now that she'd learned a little bit about elemental magic, and knew she was sensitive to fire magics, and since Sirius had informed her last week the Zabinis were lilin...and then explained exactly what lilin were... Anyway, she now knew that was why: she'd been able to feel the fire magic in him, but hadn't known what she'd been feeling. It still made her feel a little extra anxious, she guessed was the word, but at least now she knew why.

Daphne sniffed slightly, an expression of false disdain slipping onto her face. 'Here I wasn't aware I was your girl.'

At his other side, Tracey said, 'Yeah, mate, back off.' She started sharply poking at his stomach, but he hardly even seemed to notice.

'Oh, come, you two, you know I'd never get between you. Except—' His brow narrowed with a frown, though with a smirk still twitching at his lips, he slowly looked at Tracey, then Daphne. '—I sort of am between you right now, aren't I?'

'Prat.'

'Wait, what?' Melantha only realised she'd said that out loud when everyone turned to glance at her. Oops.

'What, you didn't know?' That was from Susan — she and Hannah had apparently caught up with Blaise quickly enough to catch most of that. Melantha hadn't known this until recently, but there were apparently two different kinds of Noble Houses: those who descended mostly from Continental mages, be they Norse or Gauls or Romans or Greeks or whatever, and those who traced their origins to native Gaelic tribes. House Bones and House Prewett were both the second kind, and Susan mostly looked it. She had the far more rounded face and the vivid green eyes, though in her case slightly shaded toward hazel. Her hair was a little odd, though. Melantha knew from that pensieve memory that Susan's father had had dirty-blond hair sort of like Daphne's, though the light-coloured parts less a bright gold, more a duller silver-ish; Susan's mother had had hair such a deep, vibrant red it'd looked fake, which was apparently something magic did sometimes. Susan had somehow gotten both — lighter and darker spots here and there throughout, but cast in shades of red and pinkish-blonde. It was one of the weirder traits she'd ever seen in someone before. Not that it was bad, exactly. Just sort of weird.

'Erm...' How had she missed that? They'd all been meeting a couple times a week, and they were now three full weeks into the term, and she'd entirely failed to notice two of them were together? That was... How?

Tracey apparently thought the problem here wasn't confusion that she hadn't noticed earlier, and more confusion about exactly what was going on. Either that, or she was pretending. Because she was strange. 'See, we shag. A lot.'

A slight smirk on her face, Susan said, 'They have practiced their silencing charms to perfection.'

'Half of my wardrobe is well-acquainted with her bedroom floor.'

'Daphne's father is worried she'll scare off any proper suitors for her.'

'Not lying about that one, either. I'm scary.'

'Well, maybe they're just feeling inadequate. I wouldn't want to have to compete with you.'

'Yes, I wouldn't want to compete with me either. I know I don't have a silver tongue, but that's just because I prioritise its talents for other things.'

'I've heard. Your silencing charms weren't always perfect.'

'Are you two done?' That was Hermione cutting in, in an exasperated-sounding voice, but with a slight smile on her face. Tracey and Susan looked at each other for a moment, then shrugged and nodded.

'Crude as always,' Daphne said with the slightest of sighs, 'but nowhere inaccurate.' Tracey's lips stretched into a smirk.

'Since when did that happen?' When everyone glanced at her again, Melantha shrugged. 'I dunno, just, a lot of boys seem to like you, and it'd be a funny thing to point out, just to mess with them.' Not even lying. She could almost taste the comical despair on Seamus's face already.

'Since...' Daphne frowned, blinking to herself, then glanced around Blaise to Tracey. 'Er, how long now, exactly?'

'I dunno. A year, thereabouts?'

It was Hannah who said, 'About a year and a half.' Melantha remembered Hannah as a tiny, squirrely little thing with bright blonde hair up in pigtails. That was obviously a few years ago now. For one thing she was tall. She had to be almost as thin as Melantha was, but she was probably one of the tallest girls in their year, if not the tallest, and she was probably taller than most of the boys. She was even taller than her mother alre— Oh, right, Hannah was her therapist's daughter, awkward. She was still fair-skinned enough she was almost constantly pink in the face, but she wore her hair down most of the time now, running in a golden river all the way down to the small of her back. And considering how crazy tall she was now, that was a lot of hair. No idea how she dealt with all of that, honestly. 'I remember it was within a couple weeks of me and Susan, which was back in January of third year.' Oh, and she'd never asked, but by her accent, which hadn't any traces of the Celtic lilt most magical families preserved, Melantha assumed she had to be...wait a second...

'Yeah, I think it was something like that,' Blaise was saying. 'You two kept leaving me all on my lonesome, it was awful.'

But Melantha was mostly ignoring him, looking back and forth between Hannah and Susan. Hadn't she just implied...? Susan obviously noticed; she glanced quick at Hannah, then said, 'We don't talk about that.'

Before she could ask why not, Hermione slipped closer, uncomfortably closer, and whispered in her ear. 'They broke up. During the Yule Ball, actually, it wasn't pretty.'

Oh. Well. Come to think of it, after disappearing for the loo for a couple minutes near the end of the night, Hermione had come back with that familiar worried face of hers. Melantha just hadn't thought much of it, because, well, there'd been a lot going on that night. Okay, then.

'Anyway,' Susan said, 'now that we've gotten filling in the new girl out of the way, what's everyone doing in here?'

Daphne shrugged, worming her way out of Blaise's grip with the same motion. 'Melantha's short on things to wear, apparently.' She pointed at a plastic basket (conjured by Hermione) on the floor at Hermione's feet, filled with half-folded articles of clothing. Hermione had actually had to expand the basket once already.

Speaking of which, note to self: never go shopping with Hermione or Daphne ever again. She didn't think the pink had entirely left her face since walking in here, and neither of them were showing any signs of slowing down. They'd even said something about dropping into Twilfitt and Tattings quick after, seriously...

Susan raised an eyebrow at that — she knew it was a bit odd to need this much all at once, and how awkward she was being about it didn't exactly make it less suspicious — but she just turned to Melantha, gave her a long, flat stare. And not just at her face either; Susan's eyes seemed to be tracking a slow line all the way down to her toes then slowly back up. Which was really making her feel a bit—

'...Tracey and Susan...tiny yet delicious.'

She fought to hold back her sudden need to squirm.

And Susan was finally talking instead of silently staring, thank god. 'You don't have some moral objection to skirts or dresses or anything, right?'

'Erm...no?' Moral objection? Weird way to put it, but okay...

Without a word, Susan turned and drifted off toward the rack Melantha knew from memory bore mostly dresses of thin acromantula silk — or maybe substitute materials much like it, she wasn't sure.

Alright, then. That had been uncomfortable as all hell.

It was maybe only three minutes later when she came up with a new note to self: never go shopping with Susan ever again. And it just kept going and going. It wasn't very long before Tracey and Blaise and Hannah left, but Daphne and Susan stuck around. And Susan just wasn't stopping. She wasn't being all awful and crude like Tracey had been, but she wasn't shutting up, either. It was just...compliments. Lots and lots of compliments. She wasn't even drawing attention to them or anything either, just sort of casually tossing them out with almost every sentence. Honestly, Melantha was trying to ignore it all. It just made her uncomfortable, okay? She couldn't help the instant assumption Susan was lying for...some reason...and even if she weren't lying, even if what she were saying was true, it was just...somewhat awkward.

Yes, all right fine, she had admitted in the privacy of her own head that she looked sort of nice, okay, but hearing someone else say it was still just...just weird. She had absolutely no idea how to react to it. Outside of the rare academic context, she couldn't remember anyone ever complimenting her for anything, ever, so she didn't know how to deal with this, it was like someone was talking a foreign language at her. She was pretty sure there was some way or another she was supposed to be responding, even if just to tell Susan in a not-arse-ish way to quit it, but she really didn't know. So she just sort of...stood there, trying not to fidget, or...

It was bad.

Finally, mercifully, it was over. With the aide of a featherweight charm, they brought the basket over to the clerk — the woman looked distinctly irritated with having to deal with so much all at once. While the clerk flipped through the pile of cloth, muttering darkly under her breath, Daphne said, 'What were you three thinking of doing for lunch? I was going to meet Tracey at that café on Gardenia.'

Susan gave a light shrug. 'I didn't have plans. You two?'

'Oh, er.' Hermione glanced back at the pile of clothes on the counter, started biting her lip in an expression Melantha recognised as thinking-face. 'Yeah, I can shrink all this. Sure. Mel?'

She sighed; she had no particular objection. Sure, she'd had no idea there was a café on Gardenia — which had to be one of the streets in Hogsmeade, with the exception of High Street they were all named after flowers — but it wasn't like she had anything else to do. 'Alright, fine.'

A slightly crooked smile on her face, Susan said, 'Good. See you there in a few. I've gotta get some ink quick.' She stuck her hands into the pockets of her cardigan, and wandered off without another word; after the slightest hesitation, Daphne wiggled her fingers in a wave good-bye and followed a couple steps behind.

After a few minutes filled only with the rustle of cloth and the muttering of the clerk, Hermione let out a slight humming noise. 'That was interesting.'

Well, interesting was certainly a word for this morning, Jesus. But she somehow doubted Hermione had had the same experience she had. 'What do you mean?'

'It's nothing,' she said with a shrug.

'It's obviously not nothing.'

'If you didn't notice, I doubt you would want me to tell you.'

'If I didn't notice, I doubt I'd want to keep going not knowing, if it's that interesting.'

Hermione hesitated for a moment, frowning at her. Then she glanced quick at the clerk. 'It's no big deal. Susan just likes you is all.'

She blinked, staring up at Hermione. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Hermione meant by that — Melantha certainly had enough information by now to fill in the blanks. It took her some moments to find her voice again. Even then, all she could manage was, 'What?'

'She was flirting a bit. It's no big deal,' Hermione added after another glance at her face. Must not be looking pleased, she guessed. 'She flirts. Most of the time, she doesn't even mean anything by it, just teasing. Don't get all worked up over it. It's just interesting, is all.'

Melantha just grumbled, turning back to stare at the pile of clothes she'd be paying for shortly, and wow, it was ridiculous how much they'd ended up with. Alright, fine, she was sort of buying an entire reasonable-person-sized wardrobe all at once, so it wasn't that weird, and she couldn't even say there was anything in there she hated. She had, after all, simply vetoed any suggestions she hadn't...maybe liked wasn't the right word, since it would still feel odd admitting in her own head she legitimately liked half of this stuff, but something like that. Rather like everything else that'd happened today. Nothing bad, exactly, just...a lot to deal with, and mostly with things she wasn't used to dealing with. Too many things.

Oh, yes, this was just turning out to be the most fun Hogsmeade visit ever, wasn't it?

---

[It's all in your head.] — In case anyone's planning to yell at me, Hermione is talking about mood disturbances during menstruation. Yes, there are people who have legitimate PMS/PMDD related issues that are (to varying degrees) purely biological/hormonal, but the "PM" stands for "premenstrual" — you know, in the one to two weeks before the bleeding part. Hermione is, for the most part, correct.

Twilfitt and Tattings — Yes, canonically said just to be in London, but in this they have a second location in Hogsmeade, and a third in...wow, have I really not needed to name that settlement yet? Well, in Ireland, anyway.

Delechit — This will probably never come up again, and I doubt anyone cares, but the stress is on the second syllable. It's delectable + chit, and pronounced like it.

Maïa — French, pronounced roughly "my-uh"

Kyrke (IPA: /kɨɾ(ə).ke:/, roughly "ker-kay") — Brīþwn rendering of Circe. The original Greek was Kírkē (Κίρκη, "keer-kay"). In Latin-descended languages, when a "k" sound was followed by a front vowel ("i" or "e"), the consonant tended to lenite, exactly what to varying from language to language, hence the modern Latinate English pronunciation of something like "sir-see". That didn't happen in Brīþwn. Instead, they moved the accent to the last syllable (which wasn't unusual at the time, and in Greek-borrowed words eta tends to steal the accent), the now-unaccented vowel eventually centering. Which is still wrong, but wrong in a different way. And yes, I really did spend the time thinking that out, I am a crazy person.

---

Just for the record, all the historical shit Draco said is headcanon accurate. Also? No, that wasn't some weird set up to Draco/Hermione happening. I'm not entirely sure I'm going to go the direction I have for Hermione in my head or not, but that is definitely, definitely, definitely not happening. And that's not me deflecting or whatever. Draco/Hermione will never be a thing in any of my fics. Ever. My solemn vow to you on this day.

Until next time,
~Wings