Vinegar to Jam
Draco was waiting in the library when Ophelia arrived. He watched her choose two books from the Spells section before she took a sear across from him.
"So what are you going to teach me, Briarwood?" Draco asked, condescendingly. "Runes?"
Ophelia scoffed. "Hardly. No one knows I know them, except my mother. Not even the professors. And I intend to keep it that way," she added, with a meaningful glare. "Hi, Hermione."
"Hi Ophelia," granger said as she passed by. Her eyes darkened as the lighted on Draco. "Malfoy."
"How can you talk to that filthy mudblood?" Draco growled at Ophelia.
"She may be Muggle born, but she's hardly filthy, Draco." His given name sounded so much less harsh with out the nasal disdain Lucius always seemed to give it. "Hermione is a credit to wizardry."
"Are you a pureblood or not?" he snapped, instantly roused to defense of his ancient ideals. By Merlin, who was this girl?
"I am," Ophelia stated without looking up from her research. "But as Dumbledore says, it is not our abilities that determine who we are, but our choices."
"You like Dumbledore, too," Draco observed, his voice dripping with disgust.
Now she looked up at him. Those black eyes were hauntingly familiar . "Of course I do: he is a vastly more than competent wizard. It's those who choose not to utilize their full potential I can't stand. I don't like that horrid gamekeeper he insists on maintaining; that uneducated dolt is a menace to the student body."
They sat in silence for several minutes: Draco's thoughts were filled with approval for her view of Hagrid. She was right on that, of course, though he'd never thought of it that way before.
"Hermione Granger couldn't choose her parents any more than you could choose yours. Why on earth would anyone want to be related to Muggles, anyway?" Draco's head snapped up, his green eyes blazing at the first comment, though he filed away the second. "I can't believe you buy into your father's mudblood crap. Powerful as he is, I hate him."
"How dare you," Draco hissed reflexively.
"I hate him because you hate him, Draco. He uses his power to abuse magic - and to push you around. And don't think Severus doesn't ever need to talk about what he knows ."
"So in comes your beloved Sevvie," Draco spat, pulling himself out of the momentary reverie of those eyes and finding his dramatic persona.
Ophelia leaned back in her chair as if to escape from the anger he had so suddenly found. Finding her voice, she quietly said, "What you need to understand about Severus and I -"
Just then, Madame Pince, the librarian, interrupted. "If you cannot keep your discussion to academics, Mr. Malfoy, you'll need to return to your common rooms to talk."
He hated being called that. But that was that.
The next day was Wednesday, and the afternoon was spent pouring over book after book of spells. Though Draco found a few that seemed manageable, Ophelia repeatedly threw them out for being too simple. She needed something impressive, challenging; something unique and extraordinary.
"Just pick something, Briarwood. This is getting old." Draco had surrendered his book: it was too much work to read over spell after spell, to imagine performing them and work out the logistics in his head, only to be shot down by a perfectionist Ravenclaw. She was frustrating beyond words.
"Expelliarmus," she said, suddenly. "Severus suggested it to me, but he didn't elaborate." Draco was glaring at her, and parting his lips to comment. "Don't go there now. But it's complicated: big, precise movements, so it'll require a lot of practice."
"The let's get started so can get done." He growled. To be silenced like that! Ophelia had raised her voice in excitement and Madame Pince was staring at them. "We'll need to go somewhere else to make sure it's a secret." No sarcasm there.
"Forbidden forest." Draco didn't move. "Oh, don't be scared. I'll cast an invisibility charm if it'll make you fell better. Now come on."
"It's cold out," Draco whispered.
Ophelia nodded, taking his arm. "I know." With a flick of her wand, she cloaked them in darkness. No one ever touched Draco; the warmth of her hands was unexpected, like a forgotten aftereffect of a rarely used spell. Under Draco's hastily mastered warming spell, the two ran towards the forest and found a quiet clearing.
As soon as Ophelia had lifted the invisibility charm from Draco, she left his side. "You're still invisible, Briarwood," he stated.
"I know!" replied Ophelia's disembodied voice. A girlish giggle: harsh to ears used to the voices of Slytherin women. "Quietus!"
Before he even knew what had happened, Draco was struck dumb. I couldn't even see her raise her wand! he wanted to shout, to no avail. He tried his wand, but without his voice nothing happened: he checked a pout.
"Oh, don't sulk," Ophelia muttered, removing her invisibility charm. "Here I am. Sonorus. You know, you're not nearly so obnoxious when you're so completely vulnerable." She circled around him, a smile playing on her lips.
"Vulnerable? Who said I was vulnerable?" Draco demanded, hardly believing his own words.
"Oh," she said, allowing herself now to grin whole-heartedly. "A Malfoy is never vulnerable, is he? Your father wouldn't be."
"I am not my father," Draco affirmed, assuming dueling stance. His wand, a heavy fourteen inches, echoed in the night's silence. "But I was not vulnerable."
"No, you're not. So why do you buy into his rhetoric?" She drew a quill from her robes and wrote a few fiery runes on the air: they transformed into will-o-the-wisp. "Tell me one thing," she said, casting a spark at him. "A wizard born to Muggle parents is a mudblood, right?"
"Yes," he said, attempting expelliarmus.
It failed. "But what is Harry Potter? His mother was born to Muggles." He blocked her shot. "How can he be as pure as you or I? Your system doesn't even make sense."
Caught off guard by her argument, he missed the block and lost his wand. Ophelia had gotten expelliarmus.
Twenty minutes had passed since Ophelia had successfully disarmed Draco. She had taken the effects of his malformed spells - painful though they had occasionally been - though there wasn't much to do to except wait until he got the spells: if she blocked them, they wouldn't know how far off he was still, even if she did know how.
"Expelliarmus!" he called. Her wand flew from her hand and landed firmly on the forest floor behind her. Grinning at her partner's success, she plucked the wand from the dark brown moss and cast it back. Draco blocked it.
"How did you know how to do it?" she cried, watching the spell flutter off into the darkening sky toward the pale moon.
"How did you not?" he replied, incredulously, gazing upwards as well.
"Rictusempra!" rang across the forest, and Draco burst into hysterical laughter. "Runic magic takes more time than you'd think. Oh, can't you quiet down, Draco? It drains my power sometimes, and I'm not nearly as good with a wand as -"
The laughter was growing on Draco's nerves, but he couldn't help himself from drowning out her words. It was making Ophelia laugh, too, that feminine giggle. She's really very pretty, he thought without really wanting to; when she's not pissed off over something. Between the peals of laughter, they could hear a wolf's howl, loud and not so very far off. "Quietus," Ophelia whispered at him.
There could be no doubt that there was a werewolf out that evening. Its howl was clear as the sky above, cruelly rending the innocence of the night.
"Run," Draco said, staring into Ophelia's eyes, the same black of the night, thankful for the free use of his voice.
And run they did, straight back to the castle's outer walls. Draco had never been so glad to be near Hogwarts, even as an escape from his father's house.
"That was scary," she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps, her fingers twined around his upper arm in an unconscious display of . fear?
"I know."
Draco was waiting in the library when Ophelia arrived. He watched her choose two books from the Spells section before she took a sear across from him.
"So what are you going to teach me, Briarwood?" Draco asked, condescendingly. "Runes?"
Ophelia scoffed. "Hardly. No one knows I know them, except my mother. Not even the professors. And I intend to keep it that way," she added, with a meaningful glare. "Hi, Hermione."
"Hi Ophelia," granger said as she passed by. Her eyes darkened as the lighted on Draco. "Malfoy."
"How can you talk to that filthy mudblood?" Draco growled at Ophelia.
"She may be Muggle born, but she's hardly filthy, Draco." His given name sounded so much less harsh with out the nasal disdain Lucius always seemed to give it. "Hermione is a credit to wizardry."
"Are you a pureblood or not?" he snapped, instantly roused to defense of his ancient ideals. By Merlin, who was this girl?
"I am," Ophelia stated without looking up from her research. "But as Dumbledore says, it is not our abilities that determine who we are, but our choices."
"You like Dumbledore, too," Draco observed, his voice dripping with disgust.
Now she looked up at him. Those black eyes were hauntingly familiar . "Of course I do: he is a vastly more than competent wizard. It's those who choose not to utilize their full potential I can't stand. I don't like that horrid gamekeeper he insists on maintaining; that uneducated dolt is a menace to the student body."
They sat in silence for several minutes: Draco's thoughts were filled with approval for her view of Hagrid. She was right on that, of course, though he'd never thought of it that way before.
"Hermione Granger couldn't choose her parents any more than you could choose yours. Why on earth would anyone want to be related to Muggles, anyway?" Draco's head snapped up, his green eyes blazing at the first comment, though he filed away the second. "I can't believe you buy into your father's mudblood crap. Powerful as he is, I hate him."
"How dare you," Draco hissed reflexively.
"I hate him because you hate him, Draco. He uses his power to abuse magic - and to push you around. And don't think Severus doesn't ever need to talk about what he knows ."
"So in comes your beloved Sevvie," Draco spat, pulling himself out of the momentary reverie of those eyes and finding his dramatic persona.
Ophelia leaned back in her chair as if to escape from the anger he had so suddenly found. Finding her voice, she quietly said, "What you need to understand about Severus and I -"
Just then, Madame Pince, the librarian, interrupted. "If you cannot keep your discussion to academics, Mr. Malfoy, you'll need to return to your common rooms to talk."
He hated being called that. But that was that.
The next day was Wednesday, and the afternoon was spent pouring over book after book of spells. Though Draco found a few that seemed manageable, Ophelia repeatedly threw them out for being too simple. She needed something impressive, challenging; something unique and extraordinary.
"Just pick something, Briarwood. This is getting old." Draco had surrendered his book: it was too much work to read over spell after spell, to imagine performing them and work out the logistics in his head, only to be shot down by a perfectionist Ravenclaw. She was frustrating beyond words.
"Expelliarmus," she said, suddenly. "Severus suggested it to me, but he didn't elaborate." Draco was glaring at her, and parting his lips to comment. "Don't go there now. But it's complicated: big, precise movements, so it'll require a lot of practice."
"The let's get started so can get done." He growled. To be silenced like that! Ophelia had raised her voice in excitement and Madame Pince was staring at them. "We'll need to go somewhere else to make sure it's a secret." No sarcasm there.
"Forbidden forest." Draco didn't move. "Oh, don't be scared. I'll cast an invisibility charm if it'll make you fell better. Now come on."
"It's cold out," Draco whispered.
Ophelia nodded, taking his arm. "I know." With a flick of her wand, she cloaked them in darkness. No one ever touched Draco; the warmth of her hands was unexpected, like a forgotten aftereffect of a rarely used spell. Under Draco's hastily mastered warming spell, the two ran towards the forest and found a quiet clearing.
As soon as Ophelia had lifted the invisibility charm from Draco, she left his side. "You're still invisible, Briarwood," he stated.
"I know!" replied Ophelia's disembodied voice. A girlish giggle: harsh to ears used to the voices of Slytherin women. "Quietus!"
Before he even knew what had happened, Draco was struck dumb. I couldn't even see her raise her wand! he wanted to shout, to no avail. He tried his wand, but without his voice nothing happened: he checked a pout.
"Oh, don't sulk," Ophelia muttered, removing her invisibility charm. "Here I am. Sonorus. You know, you're not nearly so obnoxious when you're so completely vulnerable." She circled around him, a smile playing on her lips.
"Vulnerable? Who said I was vulnerable?" Draco demanded, hardly believing his own words.
"Oh," she said, allowing herself now to grin whole-heartedly. "A Malfoy is never vulnerable, is he? Your father wouldn't be."
"I am not my father," Draco affirmed, assuming dueling stance. His wand, a heavy fourteen inches, echoed in the night's silence. "But I was not vulnerable."
"No, you're not. So why do you buy into his rhetoric?" She drew a quill from her robes and wrote a few fiery runes on the air: they transformed into will-o-the-wisp. "Tell me one thing," she said, casting a spark at him. "A wizard born to Muggle parents is a mudblood, right?"
"Yes," he said, attempting expelliarmus.
It failed. "But what is Harry Potter? His mother was born to Muggles." He blocked her shot. "How can he be as pure as you or I? Your system doesn't even make sense."
Caught off guard by her argument, he missed the block and lost his wand. Ophelia had gotten expelliarmus.
Twenty minutes had passed since Ophelia had successfully disarmed Draco. She had taken the effects of his malformed spells - painful though they had occasionally been - though there wasn't much to do to except wait until he got the spells: if she blocked them, they wouldn't know how far off he was still, even if she did know how.
"Expelliarmus!" he called. Her wand flew from her hand and landed firmly on the forest floor behind her. Grinning at her partner's success, she plucked the wand from the dark brown moss and cast it back. Draco blocked it.
"How did you know how to do it?" she cried, watching the spell flutter off into the darkening sky toward the pale moon.
"How did you not?" he replied, incredulously, gazing upwards as well.
"Rictusempra!" rang across the forest, and Draco burst into hysterical laughter. "Runic magic takes more time than you'd think. Oh, can't you quiet down, Draco? It drains my power sometimes, and I'm not nearly as good with a wand as -"
The laughter was growing on Draco's nerves, but he couldn't help himself from drowning out her words. It was making Ophelia laugh, too, that feminine giggle. She's really very pretty, he thought without really wanting to; when she's not pissed off over something. Between the peals of laughter, they could hear a wolf's howl, loud and not so very far off. "Quietus," Ophelia whispered at him.
There could be no doubt that there was a werewolf out that evening. Its howl was clear as the sky above, cruelly rending the innocence of the night.
"Run," Draco said, staring into Ophelia's eyes, the same black of the night, thankful for the free use of his voice.
And run they did, straight back to the castle's outer walls. Draco had never been so glad to be near Hogwarts, even as an escape from his father's house.
"That was scary," she whispered, her breath coming in short gasps, her fingers twined around his upper arm in an unconscious display of . fear?
"I know."