AN: If you've forgotten what a Nocturne was in this story, it's a piece of virtuosic salon music to be played by magic. The point of the composition, like our good old muggle Nocturnes, is for the performer to show off their skills to their friends at parties. Think music by Chopin, Liszt, Schubert but played on magic instead of piano.


"Welcome, everyone. As I recall, I still owe all of you a proper party given the complete lack of entertainment the last time I invited you over. My friends, I propose a toast!"

Fortune was smiling upon her today.

She once again stood at the front of the room before her guests. They were in the ballroom this time, standing in groups of roughly five or six around each of the twelve round tables encircling the room. In a traditional castle, while the great hall would be used for hosting muggles, a mage gathering this size would always be hosted in the ballroom regardless of whether any dancing was on the agenda. Physical dancing, that is. The metaphorical dance of socialites was omnipresent.

Hermione raised her crystal goblet, taking a moment to indulge in pride over the fact that her faction was actually large enough to fill up a ballroom now. The bottles of fine red wine had been pre-enchanted to uncork themselves and top up everyone's cups as soon as they wished. Waving a bottle over from one of the nearer tables to fill her own cup, she saluted. "To new friendships!"

"To new friendships," they echoed, for tonight would indeed be a night of consolidating their new bonds and perhaps rearranging old ones. After all, the first tilt had landed in favour of the neutral-dark faction. The faction had successfully defended its privileges and inconvenienced its enemies. While this tiny victory meant little in the grand scheme of things, for now it meant that faction membership had value and close ties to the opposition were liabilities.

Out of all her guests, perhaps none felt this more strongly than the only two invitees who were "still considering" the pledge of neutrality. Lucius Malfoy and Tristan Nott were at a table with Avery, Mulciber, and Goyle, chatting amiably and sharing the little platters of canapés, but there was a clear separation dividing this decades-old group of allies. Hermione put them out of her mind for the time being. She'd get to them later.

She raised her glass again. "Before we start, Mr. Borgin says he has an announcement to make. Julius, if you will?"

"Oh yes," Borgin stood smirking, "three of those fools who came to my store Wednesday night were careless enough to leave their wands behind when they ran away. If you come across anyone dimwitted who looks like they're looking for them, could you let them know I dropped them in a gutter somewhere? Thanks."

The room chuckled obligingly. Many glanced toward Lucius and Tristan with amusement, for that last statement was clearly directed at them. Lucius, impressively, comported himself as if he was completely oblivious. Tristan just looked resigned.

"Thanks, Julius." said Hermione, "You know, I would've liked to dine with everyone I've had the pleasure of meeting these past months, but it seems that not every friendship is meant to be. Pike and Travers made up their minds Wednesday night in rejecting us, and I must regrettably bid them farewell. But Lucius and Tristan we've all known for very long - even though they still refuse to say if they'll stay with us," keeping her voice light and teasing, she flashed the duo a smile. "I welcome you if you would honour me with your friendship. Anyways, I won't hold you up any longer. Let's eat!"

Yes, tone it down a bit, everyone. 'But also don't mistake my reason for including these two today. Don't count on their alliance. Not yet.'

Duties as host complete for the time being, Hermione began to make her rounds to speak with her guests. A small assortment of food materialized at each table, transported by magic from the kitchen where they'd been kept in stasis: roast duck on a bed of tempered pink flames, salmon on terraces of asparagus, spinach soup with an island of floating walnuts, and other platters that served themselves to whoever chose to join the table. The preparation of this feast - decent but unspectacular by the standards of high society - was no small effort. Given that neither Hermione nor Winky were full-time chefs, it had taken two whole hours of collaboration between the two of them to get everything set up even with the help of magic. Hermione sampled a forkful of soft, tender fish and smiled tiredly at the fruit of her labor. Though useful, dinner parties were not something that she was willing to repeat within the year without a very, very good reason.

"Good to see you again, Slytherin," greeted Alfred Gibbons cheerfully, "To be honest, I'm a little surprised to see so many of us here! But not overly so. It looks like our neutral-dark faction has, what, at least tripled in size since you first penned that pledge?"

Hermione answered with a nod. "This is nothing amazing. With a few notable exceptions, most sensible people understand that peaceful advancement is the only way we're going to not only get what we want but keep it. That, and no one enjoys being at the mercy of someone else for the rest of their life."

"Regardless, I'm glad," said Maurius Bulstrode, "I'd been speaking with some of the others earlier tonight. I didn't realize until now just how many of us had people in the Ministry."

"Or," said Henrietta Parkinson with a wide smile, "how far you've gotten with werewolves, or the sheer extensiveness of our grasp on the magical industries. We're even starting to get contracts overseas! You say this is nothing amazing, but Mme. Slytherin you've been amazing everyone since the day you first revealed yourself to us."

"My focus right now is on the control of all resources, from material to fighters. I want to force Voldemort to forage hard for everything he needs," explained Hermione, "and if Voldemort never shows up, well, we've got ourselves an integrated supply network to enjoy."

"Just so," chuckled Bulstrode with a booming laugh, "just so."

Hermione smiled back in return. From the way things looked now, phase one of her strategy against her wayward heir was well on track to completion. Even if they were still nowhere close to achieving a total stranglehold on resources they were at least entirely self-reliant. At the faction's current growth rate, it would only take two or three more months to develop an unshakeable head start that Death Eaters may find very irritating to catch up to.

With such unimpeded progress so far, it was no wonder that her allies were happy with her right now. Investments that profited the individual as much as the greater good were always popular, especially those golden ones that seem to supplement lofty long-term promises with immediate gain. It was part of the reason why she chose to start the faction off with this goal instead of something harder to sell, like muggle protection programmes or free defence refresher training for the magical populace.

Those, and other tougher challenges, would come later. Once she pinched off Voldemort's resources, she would move to deny him his victims as well. That said, she could only move one step at a time.

'And how much time will you give me to smother you, Voldemort? What are you doing now?'

"My word, Slytherin," said Calista Morrigan who had just joined the table and had taken a place beside her, "your ballroom is very enchanting." A tall chair materialized behind her just as she began looking about for one, causing the older witch to raise a well-plucked eyebrow.

"Very enchanted too," added Bulstrode, "Do you actually eat food when we're not around, Selaine, or do you just eat and breathe magic for sustenance?"

'Well, after one's built something as complex as the Room of Requirements, this stuff is easy. Learning how to host again after being centuries out of date, on the other hand...' Hermione tittered politely. "You're very funny, Maurius."

"Though it would explain why you wear a full set of robes and mask whenever we see you," said Gibbons mock-contemplatively, piling onto the joke, "Perhaps our host is a construct of pure magic! Do these objects hold you in your corporeal form, apparition? Whose ghost have we drawn out from below now that there's something rotten in the state of magical England?"

Hermione burst out laughing in full this time. "I, a vengeful spirit from the past? What a thing to imagine!"

Morrigan blinked. "That was a quote by Shakespeare. I didn't realize you were familiar with literature from the muggle Renaissance, Gibbons."

The former Death-Eater shrugged. "In a population of millions there's bound to be a genius or two, even if they're ancient muggles."

"I'm partial to the muggles from the Renaissance myself," said Hubert Rosier who had been silently sipping his soup up to now, "I find it admirable how they tried to throw off the prevailing ignorance and made an effort to return to the classical paradigm of learning and discovery. If it hadn't been for the Spanish Inquisition they might even have my respect."

The table fell silent for a moment. Apparently while one could express appreciation for muggle literature, Rosier's praises for muggles themselves was too unusual for a typical gathering like this.

"But that's a thought," said Henrietta Parkinson, pursing her lips in a way that was strikingly similar to her niece Pansy, "they really have taken learning and discovery all the way, haven't they? You know, someone once told me that muggles these days have so many private-run knowledge-creation agencies, 'researcher' is actually a common job. How many researchers do we have? Only a dozen or so, and they're all unspeakable."

"It's the Ministry's fault, of course," harrumphed Morrigan daintily, "experimentation and Dark Arts are inherently inseparable. You can't ban one without ending the other. Everything started going downhill when the Ministry decided that it could go about legislating what kind of magic people can use."

"Now now," said Bulstrode, quick as always to jump to the Ministry's defence, "the Ministry is only an apparatus. It's the light public sentiment that's at fault here, not the outlet in which it manifested. I never understood how the so-called 'Light-Progressives' could name themselves thus. How could one progress if one refused to tread in the dark of the unknown?"

Common enemy found, the discussion quickly devolved into a round of snide ribbing at the light-progressive voting bloc, the Order of Phoenix, and Albus Dumbledore. Once in a while people got up to visit the other tables, and others came to take their place. Hermione let them have their fun for a time - after all, verbal airing of grievances against a common opponent was good for bonding. It was after Cesare Meadows compared the leader of their future allies to a bleating goat that Hermione felt compelled to put her foot down.

"Let's not judge the Headmaster too harshly," she raised a hand for silence, "a wizard who defeated Grindelwald cannot possibly harbor the same revulsion toward the study of Dark Arts that his followers seem to exhibit. Remember that he's a politician who's had to form his power base at a time when most Dark-Traditionalists were already leaning toward Voldemort."

"That's true," allowed Morrigan, "he would've had to work with what was available, and then he would already be committed to them."

"Still," said Meadows, "I'm not confident that he'll be our friend whether he really lives by what his faction preaches or not."

Hermione was not sure either. Even after studying Albus Dumbledore for four years, she had a feeling that his motivations may be too complex to be analyzed without closer contact. Which, although risky, was a necessity if there was to be any sort of substantial alliance.

"Give me some time to figure him out," promised Hermione, "in any case, we're hardly asking for his permission to advance our cause after Voldemort is dealt with."

"Hear, hear."

The conversation then moved onto robe fashion, and from there it flowed from one trivial topic to another until the platters on the table had been replaced with desserts. Hopping off her chair and wishing it away, Hermione excused herself from the circle. It was time to track down her two special guests.


Well, to track down was perhaps an overstatement. She'd never actually lost track of them throughout dinner. Tristan had not moved an inch from the place he took upon arrival. Lucius had left twice to meet the others briefly, but eventually he returned to where he started. Cassius and Emmanuel had stayed in place as well, luckily. Hermione easily slid into the gap at their table.

"Hello, Selaine!" greeted Cassius Avery merrily, "I was just telling Lucius and Tristan about the new rug and tapestries I got. Really, you should buy a set yourself. They turn any room into a ritual room in a pinch and - pardon the pun - work like a charm! Dead convenient, if you ask me."

"Well," shrugged Lucius, "if you feel that the convenience of a second, portable ritual room is worth five thousand Galleons..."

Avery looked at him innocently. "Oh, is that the market price these days? I'm a bit out of touch. I get all my gear at mates-rates these days."

Lucius stabbed a strawberry. "Cassius, you ought to stop taunting me. This is childish."

"What do you mean I'm taunting you, Lucius? It's not like you of all people would cry over a mere five thousand Galleons. Everyone knows gold flows from you like water when you're in a giving mood. Anyways," said Cassius, pausing to chew and swallow a sparkling profiterole from the croquembouche tower, "I'm sure I'll find excellent use for my investment."

"I am glad to find you in good spirits, Mme. Slytherin. I figured that a crowd of mercenary lowlifes would pose no threat to your plans," said Lucius, turning to Hermione in lieu of answering Cassius, "Just out of concern as a friend, though, I'd still advise you to watch out. If my memories serve, crooks and hired wands loitering around Knockturn Alley are not the only ones looking to break your peace. Monsters and halfbreeds, for example."

Hermione had a ready reply for that veiled challenge. "It's unfair for you to assume that monsters don't want peace given the right incentives, Lucius. Why, if my memories serve, one mage's attempt to recruit 'monsters' to do his dirty work even ended with him being laughed out of a vampire court!"

"Not to mention how a lot of 'monsters' are none too pleased right now with the last rabble rouser's inability to deliver," Cassius chuckled, making exaggerated air quotes with his fingers, "they can be quite smart, what do you know?"

The Malfoy patriarch tilted his head as a noncommittal acknowledgement. "I've heard that escaped convicts can also be much more vicious than the petty criminals who roam free."

"By that you mean those unfortunate individuals who were sent to Azkaban for being Death Eaters, yes?" smiled Hermione, "You needn't worry, even if they mysteriously escape. If they could be captured once, they can be captured again."

"Well then," shrugged Lucius, "it sounds like you've got everything covered. I am glad."

"I appreciate your care, Lucius," said Hermione, knowing full well that he was expressing his concerns to remind her that she still needed him. "For the sake of a peaceful Dark revolution, we are being very thorough."

"There is one threat that you haven't mentioned, Malfoy," interjected Mulciber offhandedly, "people in high places who'd rather use their position to blast apart the same social structure that gives them power, instead of preserving peace. How do we fend off these - hehe- selfless altruists?"

Seizing the verbal set-up for the offer that it was, Hermione shrugged theatrically. "I suppose we'll have to do what political factions always do. Use people who have sworn neutrality to occupy said positions of power. From the DMLE to finance to the Wizengamot."

'Well, Lucius? Will you join us, or be one of those "selfless altruists" - if there ever was a more inaccurate euphemism - who we must displace?'

And Tristan. While Lucius made his case, he'd been sitting silently through the whole exchange as if his bitter coffee held the meaning of life.

"That's a good strategy," said the slippery Ven. Mr. Malfoy, "That, and wooing people in high places to your side."

Cassius slung an arm around his shoulders. "Why don't you just sign the neutrality agreement already, Lucius? You're missing out!"

Lucius however was evidently still not ready to commit. "If that's your idea of wooing people, Avery, then I feel sorry for your wife. Your dinner is excellent, Slytherin - may I call you Selaine too? The food is delicious and the presentation is exquisite. I particularly enjoyed the soup."

Hermione summoned a fluff of caramel from the croquembouche tower to her outstretched hand, popped it into her mouth, and then cleaned her fingers. "Thank you," she said, graciously accepting the compliment and the change of topic. For now. "I will pass along your compliments to the chef."

"I'll be honest," said Lucius, "I didn't peg you as the hosting kind, but obviously I was wrong! You have quite a way of delighting your guests."

"Only for special occasions," demurred Hermione. He was welcomed to hypothesize whether she lived a double life as a seasoned socialite, although she would be even happier if he would give more thought instead to the difficulties of his own chosen strategy. "I have no intention of competing with everyone's annual parties. Yours, Lucius, I hear are usually the talk of the month."

"The one he held two years ago was particularly memorable," Cassius put in. "He hired the best chamber orchestra in magical Britain to play on demand. He even got them to play the Nocturne of your house!"

"I can recommend the orchestra to you if you'd like some music at your next one, Selaine," offered Lucius.

Now there was an idea. "Actually, music sounds like a great idea tonight," said Hermione, "It's unfortunate that I don't have Lucius's orchestra to play any composition on demand, but I can play the Slytherin Nocturne for you the way it was originally composed."

"Selaine," Lucius looked carefully at her, "you don't mean…"

Hopping out of her chair, Hermione returned to the front of the room and made an arpeggio chime at her fingers. "My friends," she said once the room had fallen silent to the distinctive sound of magic, "traditionally a night like this is not complete without a Nocturne. Unfortunately, Nocturnes like many of our other magics and traditions have fallen out of practice over the ages. As I understand, the Nocturne of House Slytherin has not been played for hundreds of years! It was only two years ago that it became known to the world again. Thank you, Lucius," she nodded toward the blond wizard who was still staring at her with an air of incredulity.

"Tonight, in the spirit of embracing tradition, embracing magic, and resurrecting lost Arts, allow me to perform the Nocturne of my House for you in its completion."

She hardly needed to prepare herself. In this setting, in this familiar ballroom, the stanzas that she herself had contributed to flowed from her easily. It began, as always, with a thin, reedy melody, the whisper of a night breeze as it swept through dried branches and trees. A simple, eight-note phrase. An echoing refrain. This was a part that even young children could play.

Then beneath the melody of the wind came the smooth, crisp trickling of streams - meltwater flowing through a field of snow, perhaps. It would be fitting for the time of year. 'And fitting too that the first time I play my Nocturne for an audience in centuries would be with a theme of renewal. I wonder if they can hear it.'

The recurring melody strengthened and thickened. The smooth, water-like arpeggio transformed into an irregular staccato motif. Tonight it would be the bubbling of spring shoots rising through the frozen earth. Roses, perhaps, growing from old, broken roots and pushing relentlessly through all obstacles until they finally break surface, unfurling victoriously in the cold night air. Then, beneath it all came the low thrumming notes of a wardrum - starting slowly, sluggishly, but steadily quickening to a heartbeat.

Could her new allies hear it? Surely some of them had. She could see it on their faces, in the slight widening of their eyes. Her music could not convey all that she intended, but they too must have felt something coming alive, reviving. A serpent awakening after a long winter's sleep.

'A spirit, returning from the grave,' she smiled at Gibbons's joke, letting her magic sing louder and louder until the theme of House Slytherin filled the ballroom like an organ. 'Oh yes, I'm playing this for you, but I'm also playing this for me.'

But the Nocturne was nearing its end now. Hermione let everything fall silent for the cadenza. It was the most expressive section of the performance, and she always improvised this part based on the mood of the room. Tonight, it would be a sparkling flight of notes, tumbling down before ascending skyward like the turning of the sea wind at daybreak. And finally, a glorious Picardy cadence for the coda. The first rays of sunlight, falling through the dark to shine upon the beauty that had grown overnight. 'The central tenet of the dark renaissance that's been my goal ever since my rebirth: Let us grow in the dark, so that more wonders can be brought to light.'

The room sounded quiet when the last notes of the cadence faded away. Then, it was filled with applause. Some polite, some tumultuous. Hermione bowed and took it all in before strolling back to Lucius's table with a carefully controlled, measured pace. "Madame Slytherin," he complimented immediately, "that was masterful! I can swear on my fortune that thirty musicians are no match for you when it comes to performing this Nocturne, and rightly so."

His choice of words was subtle. 'Thirty musicians, yes. But mages? Death-Eaters? We'll see.'

She smiled wordlessly at him. She'd made her case to him tonight. It was up to him to decide on his own moves as he was wont to regardless.

She did not have much time to speak with Lucius Malfoy after that. For the rest of the night, a steady stream of people came over to her to compliment her Nocturne, compare techniques, and bid her goodnight before they departed for home.

'I wonder if this is a good idea,' thought Hermione as she extricated herself from her place at the table as gracefully as she could manage with aid of a subtle Notice-me-not spell. Because of the effects of the charm, Tristan Nott almost jumped in startlement when she tapped him gently on the shoulder. "Tristan, I'd like to show you something. Would you come with me to the balcony?"

The ballroom had five little balconies along its length where guests could remove themselves to have discussions in relative privacy. Opening the glass doors for one of them, Hermione led the way outside. A comfortably cool, temperature-controlled breeze blew in through the room's perimeter wards.

Tapping her fingers against the wrought iron railing, she waited as Tristan caught up. In truth, there was not much to see from this vantage point. The balcony of the level above concealed the night sky, and the thick wall of tall trees at the castle perimeter cut off any sight of the surrounding landscape. The only view to be had was of the garden below, illuminated by floating orbs of pale green light. Hermione pointed this out to her guest.

"This rose garden is a legacy from a thousand years ago, and one of my favourite parts of the castle. It's grown wild after centuries of being left unattended, of course. When I first set foot inside the castle to revive it, I wondered if I should preserve it as it was left to me, or if I should restore it to the manicured French style that was its original design."

She shrugged. "In the end I decided to respect the way it's grown over time - cleaned up some of the weeds, put in guides for the branches to grow on so that they're not blocking the paths, and otherwise shaped it the best I could while working with nature instead of against it. I quite like the way it's turned out, for the most part."

The elderly wizard raised an eyebrow. "You are an amateur of horticulture, madame?"

Hermione smiled. "Well, I wouldn't consider myself an expert in gardening in general, but there's something I particularly admire about roses. When they're beaten, they bend. When they're smothered, they climb. And when they're broken, their fragments take roots elsewhere and begin anew."

Beside her, Tristan Nott joined her in looking out over the rose garden. His eyes followed the wild, S-shaped path outlined by light and flowers and vines, but his thoughts were far away. "How enviable indeed," he murmured.

"What they don't do is meekly submit and wither so long as they're given even a sliver of a fighting chance," Hermione pressed on. "Look, Tristan, please humour me this once. Let us talk frankly. What stops you from cutting ties with Voldemort?"

Tristan gave a bitter chuckle and shook his head. "Madame Slytherin, one does not simply cut ties with the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord. What a title you've given him," Hermione laughed ruefully in turn. "Tristan, Voldemort cannot be a dark lord without his supporters, and indeed everybody in that room except Lucius has sworn by magic that he will be no lord of theirs. Why do you insist upon being the one to try to keep a crown on his head?"

"Force of habit, I'm sorry."

Hermione tilted her head. "You went to school with him, didn't you? You remember him when he still went by Tom Marvolo Riddle. What was it that made you so loyal to him, that you would still follow him by force of habit even though you clearly no longer want to?"

Tristan Nott opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"Why do you care, Slytherin?" He asked, turning away from her and to look out over the green-lit garden again. "I contribute little value to your faction. I'm not as good a duellist as Avery, I'm not as politically connected as Greengrass or Malfoy, and I doubt you have your eyes on my modest ancestral holdings. If you're really as confident in your victory as you seem then whatever I do I'll only be a speedbump to you. One little wayward twig in your grand design. Why do you even bother with me?"

"Because I respect you, Tristan!" said Hermione earnestly, "I respect that you follow the truly valuable parts of magical tradition when others are slapping the word around as a flimsy way to hold onto power. I respect that you actually care about a grand design when others are merely going along for immediate profit. If I may be so bold as to guess, this is what Voldemort promised you initially, was it not? You joined him to help him better the magical society, before it turned out that he no longer cared. You are a kindred soul, Tristan, and like I said before: I'd hate to see you go down a terrible path because you think you're helpless to change course."

He laughed, looking away. "Don't heap praises upon me, Lady Slytherin. I hardly even recognize myself."

"But am I wrong?"

"No."

"Tristan," said Hermione, searching his face, "you should know that sooner or later you'd have to make a choice between Voldemort and the magical society of your vision. The sooner you break from him, the easier it will be. If you join the neutrality pact now, we will have ample time to assemble your defences. If you delay long enough for Voldemort to resurface and call up his banners, it will not be impossible but it will be much harder."

"I know. You don't have to tell me," said the old man to the darkness. "I will say one thing. I've had high hopes for you since your first letter, S, and you've exceeded my every expectation. But this damnable timing…"

He had a slight build, and tonight the billow of his robes in the wind made him look especially frail. Hermione weighed her next words very carefully.

Damn it, she would say it. "You should also know, Venerable Mr. Nott, that your decision does not affect you alone. Your son, from what I know of him, is a bright, ambitious, intellectual young man with a promising future - in a peaceful, democratic society. Think about what kind of world, what kind of life in terror you would condemn him to if you don't have the courage to make the right choice."

"I -" He turned to her sharply. For a moment he seemed on the verge of saying something. Instead what came out was, "You've given me much to think about, Madame Slytherin. Please give me a bit more time. Excuse me,"

And he disapparated away with a loud crack that no one would hear but her.

Turning, Hermione leaned over the iron railing toward her garden. She breathed in deeply. Then out.

What could she do now but return to her party? It was a night of victory, a night of celebration, a night where - as Helga said - people were supposed to enjoy themselves. And as much as she tried to preserve all her roses, if it really came down to it, the obstinate wayward branch that refused all efforts to redirect it... well, it must be pruned to clear the path.

She could not force an alliance upon someone who would not accept it. She could only look after the people who had placed their faith in the faction and in her.

The thin whistle of the night wind blew, sweeping through the trees and dried branches with a whispered promise.