A few very strange things happened.
First, Erin's newfound ability remained a secret, excepting her Gryffindor gang. In a school like Hogwarts – in fact, in a school – rumours are the black market; the vicarious thrills that make a horrid class seem bearable, the malicious pleasures that soothe one's own defeats, the strange sort of bonding that comes from a good, old-fashioned gossip session. That nobody had overheard but Erin's loyal friends was the only possible explanation, as unlikely as it seemed. The common rooms were hardly ever the domain of a single clique, and the echoing halls seemed made for eavesdropping. Erin had unnecessary irrefutable proof of the fidelity of her group, free as she was to walk the halls without the paranoia-inducing whispers at her back.
Secondly, Draco, for the first time ever, bothered changing tactics.
Expecting an encounter like any other, Erin had her special brand of intimidating cheer ready when he sought her out as they left Potions.
Making some allegedly witty remark to a few of his sneering cronies, Draco's voice grew suspiciously loud as he finished, "Unfortunately, that poor muggle gets failure out of her system the only way she knows how – by making quite the fool of herself, I'm afraid. Someone really ought to tell her how many people heard – and saw – something I'm sure she'll do somewhere private from now on."
In an instant, Erin's mind was off as clearly as if a shot had sounded. Draco knew? She knew he'd heard, but she hadn't known he'd seen as well. Erin was repelled by the thought. He'd seen, and he said many others had, too! Slytherins? Well, he had to have been with them to know they'd seen and heard. If they really had seen and heard. Then again, if Draco had heard, then who knows who else may have? Erin's face was passive as thoughts rushed through her head. She needed a reply, quickly!
"Draco, I'm proud of you! You were very creative, dear! And so concerned about my privacy as well – Draco, you're not really the bully you're made out to be, are you? Good job!" she smiled fondly at him. She knew this wasn't an outright success – she had ignored the real issue of Draco having seen, and who knows who else – but it was the best she could come up with. Malfoy didn't seem as upset as he usually did; the Gryffindors present did not gloat quite so much. Oh, well. At least it was something.
As the rest of the students headed off toward lunch, Erin was detained from following them by her collar, which seemed to have caught on something. She turned. Malfoy had grabbed her cloak.
"Draco, I've always thought our pleasant conversation was enough, but if you want to take it further--"
"Listen!" he pulled her into one of the small nooks in the hall. "I don't understand it, but that song of yours hasn't left me alone for a week and a half! If you don't stop it..." he glared at her menacingly. Despite herself, Erin bit the inside of her cheek with real fear. Not (well, not so much) at Draco, but at a memory from that day in Dumbledore's office – he said the song could linger, even eventually driving the target insane. Her face went almost white.
Dumbledore had asked her not to use her voice on anyone at Hogwarts. Yet logic told her there was no other way to solve this serious problem. She simply had to. Even with her dislike of him, she could hardly let Malfoy be driven insane! She nodded.
"Meet me at the tower tonight."
"No," he shook his head, "Not private enough." She winced; he ignored it. "Fly to the edge of the Dark Forest – eight o'clock."
"Don't other people meet there?" It seemed to Erin like everyone was always scheduling their rendezvous' for the mislabeled wood; it had certain notoriety.
"Not tonight." Draco gave a pleased smirk. "I made sure." She sighed once in resignation, and then nodded. Draco met her eyes and narrowed his own, an unspoken threat. She hurried off, catching up to her friends, who all were talking about Gryffindor's first match (it would be in a few days) against, who else, Slytherin. Having attended only one match herself, Erin found it hard to muster up enough enthusiasm to block out her feelings about her appointment that night.
After several hours of classes and a total of perhaps thirty seconds of attentiveness, it was all Erin could do to bother even with the relatively dramatic turns her companions' romances had taken: something about Harry saying the wrong thing, Hermione calling him gauche, then shouting at everyone for not knowing the meaning of the word (she was sulking all through dinner, distracting herself from her predicament by muttering about house elves, which further infuriated Ron). Aaah, sweet amour, Erin though idly, too preoccupied with anticipating (in fact, dreading) her meeting with Draco to give these issues the unmerited attention everyone needed from her.
She had wondered what it would be like, hoped and given up hope, and questioned this and started up again... She was also agonizing over the tune. She had been lucky so far, it had come right out of her, but in front of Draco it was hard to be spontaneously creative. She had worked on something to while away a double period of History of Magic. Erin had never before met someone who did not notice that his only student was staring dreamily out the window, humming to herself; Binns was certainly exceptional in that respect. She had even found she could use his monotonous voice as a sort of metronome.
At seven-forty, Erin went upstairs to the dormitory, fished around under her bed and retrieved her broom, and then stood at the window and mounted, flying off as quickly and (she hoped) inconspicuously as possible.
Erin looked for Draco at the edge of the forest. Right on cue, he was nowhere to be found. Putting her public school vocabulary to good use, Erin realized he'd probably meant actually in the forest. She walked in, trying not to start at every noise, quietly calling his name. She had to work to keep her calls from becoming cries of panic. She clutched her broom to her, knuckles white with the strain. She kept all other outward signs of fear from showing themselves, mostly out of stubbornness. Instead, she attempted disgust and, when that didn't work, irritation.
A/N: Chapter length = back to normal.
First, Erin's newfound ability remained a secret, excepting her Gryffindor gang. In a school like Hogwarts – in fact, in a school – rumours are the black market; the vicarious thrills that make a horrid class seem bearable, the malicious pleasures that soothe one's own defeats, the strange sort of bonding that comes from a good, old-fashioned gossip session. That nobody had overheard but Erin's loyal friends was the only possible explanation, as unlikely as it seemed. The common rooms were hardly ever the domain of a single clique, and the echoing halls seemed made for eavesdropping. Erin had unnecessary irrefutable proof of the fidelity of her group, free as she was to walk the halls without the paranoia-inducing whispers at her back.
Secondly, Draco, for the first time ever, bothered changing tactics.
Expecting an encounter like any other, Erin had her special brand of intimidating cheer ready when he sought her out as they left Potions.
Making some allegedly witty remark to a few of his sneering cronies, Draco's voice grew suspiciously loud as he finished, "Unfortunately, that poor muggle gets failure out of her system the only way she knows how – by making quite the fool of herself, I'm afraid. Someone really ought to tell her how many people heard – and saw – something I'm sure she'll do somewhere private from now on."
In an instant, Erin's mind was off as clearly as if a shot had sounded. Draco knew? She knew he'd heard, but she hadn't known he'd seen as well. Erin was repelled by the thought. He'd seen, and he said many others had, too! Slytherins? Well, he had to have been with them to know they'd seen and heard. If they really had seen and heard. Then again, if Draco had heard, then who knows who else may have? Erin's face was passive as thoughts rushed through her head. She needed a reply, quickly!
"Draco, I'm proud of you! You were very creative, dear! And so concerned about my privacy as well – Draco, you're not really the bully you're made out to be, are you? Good job!" she smiled fondly at him. She knew this wasn't an outright success – she had ignored the real issue of Draco having seen, and who knows who else – but it was the best she could come up with. Malfoy didn't seem as upset as he usually did; the Gryffindors present did not gloat quite so much. Oh, well. At least it was something.
As the rest of the students headed off toward lunch, Erin was detained from following them by her collar, which seemed to have caught on something. She turned. Malfoy had grabbed her cloak.
"Draco, I've always thought our pleasant conversation was enough, but if you want to take it further--"
"Listen!" he pulled her into one of the small nooks in the hall. "I don't understand it, but that song of yours hasn't left me alone for a week and a half! If you don't stop it..." he glared at her menacingly. Despite herself, Erin bit the inside of her cheek with real fear. Not (well, not so much) at Draco, but at a memory from that day in Dumbledore's office – he said the song could linger, even eventually driving the target insane. Her face went almost white.
Dumbledore had asked her not to use her voice on anyone at Hogwarts. Yet logic told her there was no other way to solve this serious problem. She simply had to. Even with her dislike of him, she could hardly let Malfoy be driven insane! She nodded.
"Meet me at the tower tonight."
"No," he shook his head, "Not private enough." She winced; he ignored it. "Fly to the edge of the Dark Forest – eight o'clock."
"Don't other people meet there?" It seemed to Erin like everyone was always scheduling their rendezvous' for the mislabeled wood; it had certain notoriety.
"Not tonight." Draco gave a pleased smirk. "I made sure." She sighed once in resignation, and then nodded. Draco met her eyes and narrowed his own, an unspoken threat. She hurried off, catching up to her friends, who all were talking about Gryffindor's first match (it would be in a few days) against, who else, Slytherin. Having attended only one match herself, Erin found it hard to muster up enough enthusiasm to block out her feelings about her appointment that night.
After several hours of classes and a total of perhaps thirty seconds of attentiveness, it was all Erin could do to bother even with the relatively dramatic turns her companions' romances had taken: something about Harry saying the wrong thing, Hermione calling him gauche, then shouting at everyone for not knowing the meaning of the word (she was sulking all through dinner, distracting herself from her predicament by muttering about house elves, which further infuriated Ron). Aaah, sweet amour, Erin though idly, too preoccupied with anticipating (in fact, dreading) her meeting with Draco to give these issues the unmerited attention everyone needed from her.
She had wondered what it would be like, hoped and given up hope, and questioned this and started up again... She was also agonizing over the tune. She had been lucky so far, it had come right out of her, but in front of Draco it was hard to be spontaneously creative. She had worked on something to while away a double period of History of Magic. Erin had never before met someone who did not notice that his only student was staring dreamily out the window, humming to herself; Binns was certainly exceptional in that respect. She had even found she could use his monotonous voice as a sort of metronome.
At seven-forty, Erin went upstairs to the dormitory, fished around under her bed and retrieved her broom, and then stood at the window and mounted, flying off as quickly and (she hoped) inconspicuously as possible.
Erin looked for Draco at the edge of the forest. Right on cue, he was nowhere to be found. Putting her public school vocabulary to good use, Erin realized he'd probably meant actually in the forest. She walked in, trying not to start at every noise, quietly calling his name. She had to work to keep her calls from becoming cries of panic. She clutched her broom to her, knuckles white with the strain. She kept all other outward signs of fear from showing themselves, mostly out of stubbornness. Instead, she attempted disgust and, when that didn't work, irritation.
A/N: Chapter length = back to normal.