Chapter Twenty One: Periwinkle
The dungeon hall was cooler than the main part of the castle, and it combined with the pervasive dampness to make Brie very glad that he hadn't been sorted into Slytherin. Already it was setting his legs aching, and he'd only been walking for a short time. Levi had told him that the Slytherin common room was a little ways past the Potions classroom, but he hadn't known its exact location. So here was Brie, wandering through the halls and trying to find the hidden dorms of the snakes.
Not that he had anything against snakes, of course. He actually quite liked most of them, though they weren't the best conversationalists. It amused him that the Slytherins had embraced the creatures as their emblem.
"Roaming the dungeons again, little warrior?"
"Baron," Brie turned to greet the ghost, easily hiding his surprise. "Good evening. I trust you are well," he added ironically.
"Quite," agreed the Baron, amusement coloring his voice ever so slightly.
"Have you seen a little dragon around?" Brie inquired easily. If he kept searching the halls himself, he'd be at it all night. The Baron would definitely know where the entrance to the Slytherin dorm was – the trick was getting the ghost to lead him there.
"Not lately."
"Do you know where I might find him?" Brie tried again, correcting his wording to invite a more helpful reply. The Baron smirked slightly in approval.
"Likely the dorms. Most children are in their dorms at this time," he invited Brie to satisfy his own curiosity, and Brie obliged.
"I find my Housemates a bit uncouth for my tastes," Brie confided.
It was the right answer, because the Baron began drifting purposefully down the hall, back the way he'd come. Brie followed, mentally grinning in triumph. They reached a blank stone wall, and the Baron promptly sailed through it. After a moment's surprise, Brie registered that it must be the entrance to the dorms. The Baron had left him without a way to get in – without the password he would be reduced to knocking on the wall and hoping someone would open up or, worse, waiting for a Slytherin who was out past curfew.
Or, at least that would be the case if Brie was a normal child.
He reached out and placed his hand on the wall. When he was younger, his magic had done this for him automatically, but as he learned control over his magic, he'd had to learn to do this consciously. He felt for the spell that kept the door password protected. It was the most obvious of the spells, as it was used every time a child walked in or out. All it took was a breath of magic to convince the spell that he'd said the proper password, and the door swung open without protest.
The Slytherins nearest the doorway glanced up as he entered and gaped slightly when they saw who it was. Obviously it was unusual for Gryffindors to enter their common room. Floating up in a corner, the Baron was looking extremely impressed, and seemed all set to sit back and watch the show.
"Gabriel," Blaise stood up from his chair in the far corner, calmly making his way through the room toward Brie. "What a… pleasant surprise."
"I'm looking for a very small dragon," Brie announced, letting his quiet voice fill the room. It was a useful skill to have, the ability to seem to speak softly yet be heard from anywhere in a room. It was one of the first things Shay had taught him as a child.
Blaise raised his eyebrows at the epithet. When playing Politics, every word meant something. Combining a pet name with the adjectives 'very' and 'small' did not bode well for the person in question.
"He's getting ready for bed." Blaise made no move to go fetch the boy, though he also didn't try and stand in Brie's way. A true Neutral. Brie gave him an ironic nod, then made eye contact with the Bloody Baron. After a brief battle of wills, the ghost floated through the wall to collect Draco Malfoy.
After all, this confrontation would likely prove to be the best entertainment this century.
The Slytherins were incredibly quiet the next day. In fact, most of them were downright meek. No one dared comment on it for fear of breaking the spell, but everyone noticed. Even the teachers took note of it. Malfoy and his gang were notably absent.
By dinner time, curiosity was getting the better of everyone. The topic of choice over dinner was what spell had been cast on the Slytherins, who had done it, and how long it would last. Within twenty minutes there were five preferred theories, and three of them included at least one of the Transfer students.
"So what do you think got into the snakes?" Neville prodded, looking Brie in the eye. The French boy had been suspiciously silent on the subject, and Hermione had the feeling that he'd had something to do with it. After all, there was no such thing as pure coincidence, as far as she was concerned.
Brie gave the impression of a shrug without actually moving his shoulders. Hermione still couldn't figure out how he did it, but she was dying to learn.
"What I want to know is where Malfoy's gang is. Probably up to no good," grumbled Ron, craning his head to try and spot the missing Slytherins.
"I heard that the Bloody Baron was seen laughing in the dungeons today," Ginny said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Can you imagine? I wander if that has anything to do with what's eating the snakes."
"But why would he be laughing at his own House? Why would he be laughing at all?" Hermione bit her lip.
"Maybe something happened in their common room last night," Neville hazarded a guess.
"Like what?" pressed Dean.
"How should I know?"
"Maybe someone pranked them," grinned Seamus. "Or maybe something exploded down there!" The group gave a collective groan. "What? What's wrong with explosions?"
They continued to toss out theories, laughing at some of the more ludicrous ones they came up with. Brie continued to listen in silence, though Hermione got the impression that he knew a lot more than he let on. How very frustrating.
"I can't believe it's finally December!" crowed Ginny gleefully as she tossed herself on the couch. "The Ball is this month!"
"Who are you going with?" Hermione inquired curiously. Ginny shrugged.
"I've had a few guys ask me so far, but no one that interests me. How about you, Neville?" she quirked an eyebrow at her friend. He blushed slightly.
"I, uh, haven't asked anyone yet."
"Well you should get your butt in gear," Ginny informed him dryly. "You have one more week to get a date before you'll have to resort to asking a third year."
"And Hermione? What about you?" Neville quickly diverted the subject away from himself.
"Oh, I'm going with Gabriel," she shrugged. Her friends gaped.
"When did this happen? Hermione…"
"It's not like that Ginny, stop giving me that look. We're going as friends. He's married, remember?"
"Why didn't you tell us?" Neville was frowning.
"Yeah! Really, Hermione. You should have told us the minute you got asked!"
"Hermione got asked what?" Ron had just entered the room and was looking at the bushy haired bookworm with an odd expression on his face.
"She got asked to the Ball, doofus," his sister rolled her eyes. "She's going with Gabriel, the lucky girl. He has to be the most gorgeous guy at school right now! Geez Hermione, I know the Slytherins tease you and everything, but first Krum and now mal Théa! How do you do it? Seriously, you need to tell me."
"Ginny," Hermione hissed, carefully looking everywhere but at Ron.
"Oh, come on, Hermione! You get all the good dates. I'm your best friend, you can tell me. It's not like –"
"Ginny," Neville interrupted, meeting her eyes then pointedly looking at her brother. Her mouth snapped shut.
Ron was pale except for his glowing red ears. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively, tried to speak, then swallowed again. Without a word, he turned and slipped away. The three friends were silent as Ginny reached out to pick up the little bouquet of flowers her brother had dropped.
(Conversation in various Languages)
"What kind of music do they play?" asked Brie as he sat next to his cousin in the Library. Anya was conveniently in class, leaving the boys free to discuss the Ball without dealing with any female sensibilities.
"At the Ball? I don't know. I've never gone before, Brie. Third Year, remember?"
"Right," Brie said, obviously of the opinion that his cousin knew more than he was saying. "What kind of music do they play?"
Levi laughed. "You know me too well, coz."
"It's the price I pay to please the missus."
"And I know you too well," said Levi, though he let the comment slide. He knew Brie liked him for his own sake. "There will be a live band."
"Oh?"
"Last year it was some obscure English band. Apparently they were quite good."
"And this year?" pressed Brie.
"It's supposed to be a surprise."
"And this year," Brie repeated, raising an eyebrow at Levi.
"The SHE. Irish group with a very eclectic repertoire. From what I've heard, you can expect something of everything. If someone somewhere dances to it, it'll make an appearance."
"Good boy. You convinced Uncle Claude?"
"Of what?" Levi blinked at the sudden change of conversation, obviously trying to look as though he couldn't follow his cousin's leaps of logic. "Oh, fine. Don't look at me like that. He's thinking about it. He wants me to have her over during break."
"Good luck," said Brie sincerely. "She would make a good addition to the family."
"She's not French."
"You noticed?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you."
"Hmm."
"It doesn't," Levi insisted. He grinned. "You look much more like the point and grunt type, actually."
"Excuse me!" Brie assumed an expression of affront, winning a chuckle from Levi.
"Of course."
"What?"
"You're excused."
"Be nice, or I'll tell Anya about The Dress."
"You wouldn't," Levi's face suddenly went still. "Gabriel Reuben-Amrit, don't you dare. Brie... Brie!"
Ron stood out on the balcony, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned over the railing. How could they do this to him? Everyone knew how he felt about Hermione. It wasn't like he was exactly subtle about it. Why didn't she wait for him? He was obviously going to ask her – he just didn't want to come off as desperate and stalkerish and ask her three months early.
After the Krum incident, though, he ought to have known better. Of course he should've swallowed his pride and asked her three months early. She was beautiful, and smart, and nice, and beautiful, and sweet, and beautiful – of course someone else would want to go with her!
He hadn't expected it from Gabriel, though. He'd thought they were friends, or at least close to something resembling friendship. They were chess buddies at least, and that ought to count for something. Maybe they weren't quite best mates, but they certainly didn't hate each other.
At least he didn't think they did.
Maybe Gabriel felt differently. Maybe he was mad at Ron for winning so many of their matches. Maybe he was trying to punish Ron for something…
Ron gave a little cry of frustration, which quickly turned into a pained whimper as he banged his fist against the stone railing. He jumped as the shadows to his left shifted.
"Who's there?"
"So what are you guys wearing to the Ball?" Lavender asked Hermione and Ginny as she and Parvati joined them on the couch.
"White," Ginny announced, smirking conspiratorially. "I worked for the Twins over the summer so that I could afford new dress robes. They're gorgeous."
"Tell us more!" Parvati leaned forward, eager to gossip about clothes.
Nearby, Brie listened with some amusement. He didn't really care much about clothes himself – if he thought he could get away with it, he would throw everything but his military outfits away – but Fae loved them. She would want to hear all about what the English girls were wearing.
"-ankles," finished Ginny happily. "How about you?"
"Oh, lavender of course," giggled Lavender. The other girls tittered obligingly. "High necked but sleeveless – they're supposed to be all the rage in Paris." She went on to describe the robes in exhausting detail, but even Hermione seemed at least somewhat interested. Girls.
"I'm wearing a sari," Parvati announced, causing Brie's ears to perk slightly. Personally he'd always been fond of saris. His mother always wore one, and he'd grown up associating the Indian garments with everything good and happy.
"What's that?" Ginny asked innocently, and Brie coughed slightly in surprise. The girls turned as one to stare at him, and he stared coolly back at them. Don't be intimidated, he thought, quirking an eyebrow at them. They're only girls. To cover any misgivings he had, he rose smoothly and walked over to join their little knot. In their surprise, they didn't try to stop him.
"A sari is an Indian garment," he informed the curious redhead. "A long piece of cloth that is wrapped around the waist as a skirt, then draped over the shoulder. Sometimes the drape is worn over the head."
"Exactly," Parvati smiled at him, toying with her plait. "And there's a little shirt worn under it with sleeves shorter than the elbow, and that doesn't cover the stomach."
"Oh," Ginny said.
"How did you know?" asked Lavender blankly. Brie raised an eyebrow and the girl blushed. "Oh, right. You're Indian."
"So… What happened to this being girl time?" Hermione mimicked his raised eyebrow.
"Sorry, I missed the memo."
Hermione cracked a smile. "You know, I can't get over how incongruous it is for you of all people to make Muggle pop-culture references. And American pop-culture at that!"
"What are you wearing to the Ball?" he inquired, ignoring her.
"I thought you weren't supposed to reveal your outfit to your date. It's bad luck."
"You're thinking of brides."
"Oh. Well, it might be bad luck anyways."
The other girls watched with bemused expressions as the two bantered. If it had been anyone else it might even have been called flirting.
"What are you wearing?" inserted Parvati.
"Oh, periwinkle," blushed Hermione. The other three girls all groaned.
"Oh no Hermione!"
"You can't!"
"Not again!"
"What's wrong with periwinkle?" Hermione snapped defensively.
"There's nothing wrong with periwinkle, sweetie," Ginny trailed off.
"It's just that you wore periwinkle last year," Lavender groaned.
"And the year before," added Parvati.
"I still don't see what's wrong with it," Hermione grumbled, face pink as she avoided Brie's curious gaze.
"Hermione. I love you. Really I do – but wearing the same dress robes for three years in a row is a little much. I'm dirt poor, and I've worn something different every year!"
Brie's eyebrows shot up at the pronouncement, and he gave Hermione a faintly disapproving look. The same robes? That was bad. Periwinkle over and over again was bad enough. Periwinkle for the first time was already pretty bad in his opinion. His mind began mulling over possible solutions to his sudden problem.
"Well, I feel really bad making my parents buy me new robes every year when these ones fit just fine," Hermione mumbled. "There's nothing wrong with them, and dress robes are expensive! Especially to only wear once."
The girls remained silent, giving Hermione matching looks of horrified despair.
"You just failed Girl 101," Lavender announced.
"Miserably," Parvati gave her a pitying look. Ginny nodded sympathetic agreement. Hermione just groaned.
"Who's there?" a soft female voice called from the shadows.
"Uh, Ron. It's Ron," he shifted nervously, clearing his throat.
He'd been getting better around girls lately, especially since he'd given his heart to Hermione – as far as he was concerned, she was the only female that he needed to worry about impressing. He was still a teenage boy, though, and there was something inherently nerve wracking about talking to a mystery woman on a castle balcony at night.
"Weasley?"
"Yeah. Uh, not to be rude…" the girl stepped forward and the light from inside the castle lit up her golden brown hair. "Rousseau!"
"Oui."
"What are you doing out here?" he stumbled over his words slightly, trying not to stare down her low cut casual robes.
"Fresh air," she replied, shrugging, making the movement elegant and beautiful. "You?"
"Sulking," he admitted before he could think better of it. His ears burned as he tore his eyes away from the beautiful girl.
"Pourqui?"
"What?"
"Pou – why?" she corrected herself, voice honey rich and deliciously wonderful to listen to.
"Sulking? Oh. Because mal Théa is taking my girl to the Ball," his arms crossed tighter across his chest, and he resisted the urge to look over at Rousseau.
"Is he? How horrible of him," she nearly purred. He was aware of her warmth at his side, and he shifted nervously. Should he scoot over? Or move towards her? His brain scrambled for an answer while he stood stiffly looking over the lake.
"Are you angry at him?"
"Yes," he replied immediately. "Everyone knows Hermione's my girl! I thought we were friends!"
"Gabriel mal Théa has no friends," her voice was sympathetic, but factual. "He does not know the meaning of the word."
Ron shrugged helplessly.
"So what will you do about it?" she inquired lightly, and Ron looked over at her in surprise. He immediately wished he hadn't as he jerked his eyes away again, blushing profusely. I'm loyal to Hermione, he repeated in his mind. Loyal, loyal, loyal.
"Do?" he squeaked.
"Yes," she laughed softly, sending shivers up his spine. "He took your girl. What will you do? Think about it, sweetie."
And with that, he was alone on the balcony once more.
"So what are you going to do about dress robes?" Ginny asked as they walked to breakfast the next morning. Neville and Brie wisely walked a few paces behind, keeping out of the 'girl talk.'
"What do you mean?" Hermione pursed her lips, throwing a discouraging glance toward her redheaded best friend.
"Well… you're not actually planning to wear your old set, are you?"
Hermione's silence spoke volumes.
"Ah, come on!"
"I don't have anything else! No other dress robes, at least."
"What do you mean?" Ginny asked curiously. Hermione shrugged.
"I've got dresses, but they aren't robes. They're Muggle, and they're at home anyways."
"Send for them," Brie told her firmly from behind. She turned to walk backwards a few paces, trying to make eye contact and figure out what he was thinking. It was an impossible task, and she gave it up when she almost fell down the stairs.
"They're Muggle," she repeated, in case he had missed it the first time. "Really, really Muggle."
"Anya will be wearing Russian robes," he pointed out. "Melisande will wear French fashion. Miss Patil will wear Indian garb."
"Oh," she said thoughtfully.
Ron watched Gabriel sit with Hermione during breakfast. He watched the handsome French student bend slightly to share a quiet conversation with her. He watched the exotic young man make her laugh. He watched the quiet soldier carry her books to their next class.
He watched and he stewed.
Once he caught Rousseau watching him from the Slytherin Table, and she gave him an amused look. He was tempted to try and talk to her, but she was surrounded by other students and he doubted he'd be able to get close enough to talk. Instead he headed toward Charms, mulling over what she'd said last night.
She had said that Gabriel didn't know the meaning of the word 'friend,' but it seemed to Ron that he did. He was definitely friends with those two Ravenclaws, after all. Besides, no matter how beautiful the Slytherin was, she was still a Slytherin – they didn't believe in handing out good advice for free.
So what would she get out of Ron believing that Gabriel couldn't have friends?
Well, it wasn't exactly uncommon knowledge that Ron was rash. He often did things without thinking them through. Maybe she wanted to hurt Gabriel somehow? But that didn't seem to fit. It seemed that the two French exchange students got on well enough, though they weren't exactly bosom buddies.
Maybe she was jealous too? Maybe she'd thought Gabriel would take her to the dance, and she wanted to get back at him through another channel. That didn't seem to fit either – the transfers weren't allowed to take other transfers.
What could she possibly gain from spurring Ron on? It would be so much easier to determine what she wanted if she had urged him toward a particular course of action, rather than any course of action.
"He took your girl. What will you do? Think about it."
He took Ron's girl.
What should he do about it?
Ron's girl.
And then Ron knew exactly what he ought to do about it. Grinning to himself he ran to beat the bell to Charms.
Hermione flipped through the morning paper as she sat through History. After Brie's little outburst last month, she had compared her notes to the book. Unsurprisingly, she found that the boy was right – Professor Binns was mixing up his information. She'd read somewhere that memory loss was one of the side effects of death, though the book hadn't said anything about ghosts' memories.
The Daily Prophet was, once again, filled with suspicious deaths and missing persons reports. The Dark Mark had been spotted over another raided home, and even the Ministry was starting to admit that You-Know-Who just might be back. It had been fifteen years since his downfall, after all, and even if it wasn't a magic number, fifteen had a nice round feeling to it.
Hermione flipped to the next page and read about the death of Mrs. Agatha Slorter, squib daughter of the well-known Jones family. She, her Muggle husband, and their three non-magical children had all been slaughtered that night. The Dark Mark was seen floating over their house, which was what had alerted the Ministry to what would have otherwise been considered a purely Muggle affaire.
On the opposite page there were two paragraphs describing another Dark Mark sighting. This one detailed the deaths of the Kleins, the Muggle family of a Third Year Hufflepuff. Another three paragraphs described the deaths of two Hogwarts alumni, both Muggleborns who had been happily living together in Muggle London.
Hermione was beginning to worry about her own family. She wasn't exactly a prime political target, of course – but neither were the Kleins or the Slorters. In fact, in some ways she was a rather good target. She was smart – she often showed up the rich Slytherin blood purists – and she could be a bit of a political radical when the mood took her – SPEW, for example.
She set aside the newspaper with an unhappy sigh. Maybe if she talked to Professor McGonagall, some sort of arrangement could be made. She was considering trying to set up a ward over winter break, but the Ministry probably wouldn't be too thrilled with her taking things into her own (underage) hands.
As the bell rang signaling the end of class, Hermione stuffed the paper into her bag. She would talk to McGonagall, and if her Head of House didn't have any advice, well she had other venues to turn to. The Headmaster, for one. He'd always been very kind to her, and she was pretty sure that he would at least listen carefully to her problem.
And if all else failed, well, she was friends with two reasonably powerful Traditionalists. Playing Politics included playing for favors – and favors she could handle. She would leave it as a last resort, but a resort nonetheless. Her family was important to her, after all.
Finding the Chamber of Secrets was not proving to be an easy task. So far the only thing that Brie had really managed to discover was that Salazar had indeed left a secret room in Hogwarts and that it had something to do with pipes. How that was helpful, he wasn't quite sure, but he'd eventually work it out.
Levi wasn't being overly helpful, either. For one thing, he wasn't completely convinced that finding the Chamber would be a good thing – he seemed to think that waking up a one thousand year old basilisk for no reason was, in fact, a very bad thing. Brie failed to grasp his misgivings.
End of term was approaching, and as far as Brie was concerned it was long past time to have found the Chamber. He'd already finished translating Salazar's book and had sent a full copy to his uncle for consideration. Shay could deal with getting a censored copy back to Snape. In the meantime, Brie really wanted to find the stupid Chamber.
He was getting to the point where he was ready to ask for outside help.