Clandestine Rendezvous
Chapter 8: What's A Tutu?
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"We tied."
Draco's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open in shock, his anger forgotten. He had been expecting to win, placing his reputation on the line. A tie wasn't a win! He quickly composed himself and ran a hand through his gelled hair, a nervous habit. "And what exactly does that mean?" he asked.
"I don't know!" Granger nibbled on the ends of her quills.
"Stop that!" Draco said with a glare. Granger frowned and put her quill away. "How can you not know?"
"The contract was drew up on default. All I needed to do was fill in a couple of blanks and it would write out the rest. I…" She trailed off and promptly closed her mouth as green silk rustled next to her. Draco looked up to see Professor Vector looming over them with an ominous glint in her eyes.
"Done?" He nodded noiselessly as she picked up the stack of parchment and flipped through it. "Good. You may go now."
Draco and Granger said their goodbyes and rushed out, expressions grim. As they reached the empty hall where they normally conversed, Granger pulled out the single sheet of contract parchment from her bookbag. She spread it out on the wall, pressing against the creases.
"In the event of a tie, Hermione Granger must attend the ball with Goyle and Draco Malfoy must dance Swan Lake at dinner on October 30th in the Great Hall, on top of the Ravenclaw table, while wearing a pink muggle tutu and singing the song from muggle music artist Celine Dion—"My Heart Will Go On." Then he must gift Minerva McGonagall with a ruby red rose and kiss her shoes."
Draco and Granger looked up at the exact same time and exchanged horrified looks. "What does it mean we must both do those despicable things?" Draco demanded.
Granger rolled her eyes in that exasperating way of hers. "It means we both won, Malfoy. It also means we both lost. Therefore, we must complete the tasks set to us."
"Or what?"
"This particular contract that I summoned up," said Granger with a long sigh, "has more dire consequences for disobeying it than most. If one of us disobeys the contract, his or her will get a really strong rash in a really sensitive area. This rash lasts for ten years, no matter what the mediwizards try to do to it. The only way to stop it is to sever the sensitive area off."
"What sensitive area?" Draco asked absently.
"Can you be any more dense? Merlin! You're acting like Goyle! THAT area! You know, DOWN THERE!" Granger exclaimed. To emphasize this, she rolled up the parchment and started to whack Draco on the head with it.
"You really shouldn't hit my head when you mean my crotch, Granger," snarled Draco, pulling the paper out of her hand and rubbing his forehead.
"Can you be ANY more immature?" she yelled.
"YES! I'M A SLYTHERIN, REMEMBER?"
"I SAID I WAS BLOODY SORRY!"
"WELL, YOU DIDN'T MEAN IT!"
"I DID, ALL RIGHT! SO STOP WHINING LIKE THE PASTY-FACED PRAT YOU ARE AND TRY TO MAKE SENSE OF THIS!"
"OH, I'M A PASTY-FACED PRAT NOW, AM I?"
"YES, YOU ARE!"
"THEN YOU ARE A BOSSY, KNOW-IT-ALL BOOKWORM!"
"YOU ARE A BITTER, SELF-PITYING FERRET!"
"YOU ARE A FILTHY MUDBLOOD!"
Granger suddenly fell silent and her red face paled. She turned away and walked off, breathing heavily, her shoulders hunched. Almost inexplicably, Draco knew she was crying. Her sniffles and furtive wipes did nothing to hide that tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing on the stone floor. A feeling settled in Draco's chest, a tightening of his stomach and a straining of his shoulder muscles. Then, he realized what it was. Remorse.
"Granger," he started, stepping towards her. She ignored him stoutly, refusing to turn.
"Granger," he said again, this time a meter away from her.
"Stop, Malfoy. Go away. I hope you itch to hell."
The feeling only grew in his stomach. Since when did he feel remorse? But he knew it would only get worse if he didn't act on it. "Merlin, Granger. Don't get your knickers in a twist," he said, trying to be light.
"Sod off." She didn't have conviction in her words, only a tired resignation.
"Granger, I'm sorry. I…"
"You? Sorry?" She turned to face him and he bit back a gasp. Her eyes, though narrowed in disgust, were shining with tears, the same tears that left wet trails on her face, making it shine in the torchlight. She sniffled, wiping away another recalcitrant tear, and laughed dryly. "Malfoys are never sorry."
"This Malfoy is. Don't make me say it again, Granger," he replied rather crossly, approaching her. To his surprise, she didn't back away. She only lifted her head and glared at him defiantly, her face screwed up. This only caused two more tears to spill over the edge of her eyes. Draco tentatively reached out and wiped one away, a fluttering feeling floating in his chest. They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity before she backed off and turned away from him.
"All right. I forgive you if you would forgive me," she said.
"Fine." Draco rubbed the back of his neck uncharacteristically. "I have one question though…"
"Yes?"
"What's a tutu?"
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----2----
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Hermione blinked. What was she doing here?
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed while Parvati and Lavender huddled together and whispered about the best makeup to use on her. The moonlight, along with a draft, streamed through an open window to her right. The girls were giggling in front of her, comparing several little bottles of colored powder and liquid. Hermione suddenly felt afraid. She felt very afraid.
"Hermione?" Lavender asked, poking her. Hermione jolted from her thoughts.
"Yes?" she said, turning her attention to the gigantic grins on Parvati and Lavender's faces.
"We think that you would do well with the gold eyeshadow, with orange under to bring out the speckles of gold in your eyes. You'll need some yellow shimmer on the edges, and we'll have to put a layer of foundation on. Mascara with sparkles will be needed, and brown eyeliner would be best. A lipstick with a hint of orange would do very nicely, with shimmer, of course. We'll need gold nail polish for your fingers and toes. You do have shoes, right?"
Hermione nodded. They had lost her when at the word 'shimmer.' Something popped into her head. She was going with Goyle. She certainly didn't want anyone to know that!
"Lavender, Parvati, I need a favor."
The two stopped their jabbering and looked at her expectantly.
"I'd like it… well… that is to say… if you… I need… just try to make me look other than myself, ok?" Hermione finished lamely. "And don't worry about the eyes. I'm going to wear a Venetian mask that goes with this costume."
"Oh!" More squealing from Lavender and Parvati filled the room. "Oh! A mask! What a novel idea! You'll masquerade as the Marchesa Aphrodite!" Lavender said with another fit of giggles.
"Who's that?" asked Parvati curiously.
"I'm surprised you know of her, Lavender. You don't seem like one to memorize names from literature. Muggle literature, too." Hermione was pleasantly surprised that Lavender had such knowledge.
"My father has volumes and volumes in his study. He gave me one to read. 'The Assignation' by some guy named Poet."
"Poe," smiled Hermione, "Edgar Allen Poe."
"Who's that?" repeated Parvati.
"Poe was a brilliant writer in the muggle world. Marchesa Aphrodite was a tragic Venetian lady who killed her newborn, herself, and her lover took poison because they couldn't be together. It's a beautiful story, though heartbreaking." Hermione smiled fondly, remembering how she had found Poe's wonder her eleventh summer.
Parvati still looked confused. "But that's dumb. Why would she kill herself? Can't she get a divorce?"
Hermione and Lavender gaped. "Divorce? This is the 1600s!"
"So?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Never mind."
A craftly look suddenly stole into Parvati's eyes and she grinned. "So do you have a date?"
"Huh?" Hermione fiddled with the strings to her sneakers.
"For the costume ball!"
"Oh… yes."
"Really? Who who who???" Lavender started to bounce up and down on Hermione's bed in excitement, reminding Hermione of an overeager puppy.
"None of your business."
"Why not?"
"Because I got tricked into going with him." Hermione said. After all, they could identify her easily at the ball, and they would know she was dancing with Goyle. It's better if they think she was tricked than if they thought she wanted to go with him.
"Come on, Hermione!" they whined, tugging at her nightshirt. "We won't tell!"
She pulled away with a snort. "Of course," she said sarcastically. "Like you don't have a rumour ring of girls from all of the houses."
Parvati was suddenly very interested in the wood the bed was made of and Lavender started to make a big deal out of the patterns on the bedclothes. Hermione only chuckled. "I'll tell you later, on the day of the ball."
They grinned at her. "I knew you would see it our way!"
"Yes. Then I'll pay you to shut up about it."
"Why?"
"Because he's horrible."
They exchanged doubtful looks and climbed into their own beds, leaving Hermione alone. She dropped like a stone onto her mattress, then realized something was crinkling. She pulled out Viktor's letter from under her pillow. She must have been too tired to notice it before. Hermione silently cursed herself and spread out the wrinkled parchment. Starting where she left off, she began to read it again.
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Draco wished he had never signed any damn contract. He had found out what a tutu was, the lyrics to the song, and that standing on tiptoe was harder than he ever imagined. Of course, he couldn't get something else to take his place, as the contract would know, so he was stuck with it. Draco glared at the remaining people in his damp common room. They scurried away under his fiery glare. When he made sure every little second-year was out, he cleared his throat and began:
"Every night in my dreams,
I see you, I feel you…"
He dropped off and gritted his teeth. What did he get himself into? Dancing on the Ravenclaw table… he might as well turn himself into a wad of cheese! Everyone would laugh at him. He was going to get humiliated.
Wait… a wad of cheese… that's it!
Draco laughed. He was a genius.
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----4----
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Hermione jotted down notes furiously as Specia's honey-coated voice rang through the room.
"The Multus Membrum Curse is one of the more imaginative curses ever created. It causes limbs to grow out of different places on the body—such as arms on one's head, toes on one's neck, hands on one's ankle, etc. That would make it pretty easy to tickle one's feet, wouldn't it?" laughed Professor Specia. The boys of the class laughed with her, staring at her all the while.
Hermione scoffed and shook her head. "Honestly!" she muttered under her breath.
"Honestly what, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Specia, now standing over Hermione.
Hermione grimaced. Professor Specia always tried hard to make fun of her or degrade her among her fellow students since the first day she had arrived at Hogwarts. She was cold to Hermione, always looking down her nose at her and pursing her lips. Harry and Ron didn't notice, of course. They were too busy staring at that long dip in the front of Specia's robes, like every other boy in class. Perhaps Professor Specia disliked Hermione because Hermione disapproved of what Specia stood for.
Hermione gave a false little smile. "Honestly, who would want to tickle their own feet?" she replied.
Specia gave her a hard look and laughed, high and false. "How quaint, Miss Granger."
The others laughed with her.
Hermione rolled her eyes and applied herself to more note-taking so she wouldn't have to see the boys drooling over the Professor.
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As she was exiting the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom, a certain platinum blonde fell into step next to her. Ron and Harry had stayed behind to speak with Specia about the homework—as if it were their real intentions—and Hermione was left alone on her way to Advanced Transfiguration. "Granger, I need a word," Malfoy hissed out of the side of his mouth.
Hermione gave him an exasperated look and followed him to a deserted hall. "Yes?"
"You know how you need to have evidence that I followed through with those infernal tasks?"
"Yes?" Hermione looked at her watch. Two minutes and she needed to be in McGonagall's class.
"Tommorrow is the thirtieth. I want you to visit Luna Lovegood at her table for a while."
"Why? To get an up-close look?"
"Yes." Malfoy smirked secretively.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said, turning towards the Transfiguration room.
"Oh, and Granger?"
"What?" demanded Hermione. "I'll be late!"
"Come to the secret place after the ball. I want to know if you've been with Goyle. Bring a piece of his costume."
Hermione gave a sigh. "All right!" she exclaimed. "I got to go!"
And with that, she sped down the halls and got to McGonagall's a second before the bell rang.
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Draco grimaced. All was in place. It was the middle of supper and a golem of himself was sitting at the Slytherin Table, covering up for his disappearance. He fixed the tutu on him a little, noting how tight it was. Thankfully, he was muscled enough to look good in the pink contraption. He took out his wand and pointed at himself.
"Decresco," he whispered.
When he began to shrink and shrink, he grabbed his broomstick, which was already shrunken to a barely discernable size. When he finished decreasing in size, he crawled through the crack beneath the doors of the Great Hall and leapt onto his broomstick. Granger had slid into the seat next to Luna Lovegood with an expectant smirk. He smirked back—he was too smart for her.
As he reached the table, the noise of the students pulsed through his mind and he experienced sudden vertigo. He got out tiny little earplugs and stuffed them into his ears. It took a little while before his head stopped spinning. Finally, he reached the space in front of Granger and stared up at her. He sent up a tiny flare from his wand and it burst at Granger's eye level. She jumped in her seat and looked down. Draco waved at her and snickered. She leaned down to the table with a furious look on her face.
Positioning himself in the so-called 'third position,' he began to dance and leap and bow in the way he had seen in one of the books on the muggle sport of ballet.
"Every night in my dreams…" he started, winking at Granger's livid expression.
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"Love can touch us one time, and last for... a LIFETIME!" Hermione blinked. Malfoy's voice was a squeaky little thing, extremely off-key, too.
She rolled her eyes.
"Love was when I loved you, one true time, I HOOOOOOOOLD YOU!!!" Hermione wanted to bang her head on the table, but Malfoy was dancing there. Who would have thought the prat decided to shrink to this little speck of dust to dance? Who would have thought Malfoy would be serenading her in such a high soprano in the middle of the Great Hall during supper? Who would have thought he was wearing a pink tutu? Was it pink?
"Near… far… where-EVER you ARE!!!" Hermione covered her eyes with her hand. Next time, she would specify his size.
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Finally, Draco was done. He bowed mockingly to Granger, who had a horrified frown on her face, and leaped onto her broomstick again. He took off towards the teachers' table, taking out of his robes a single red rose. As he hovered several meters above McGonagall, he dropped the rose and muttered the spell to enlargen it again. It grew to its original size on the fall, so it seemed as if a rose had appeared out of nowhere to land next to McGonagall's plate.
"I am brilliant," he grinned. McGonagall gave a little gasp and the other teachers started to murmur among themselves with little chuckles. "Seems like Minevra has a little admirer, said Professor Sprout. Draco grinned even wider—that is, until he saw Dumbledore staring at him, the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. No, not staring at him. He was staring at the spot where Draco was hovering. Sure. Draco gave a shudder. The old coot could see a lot.
Draco dipped then, swooping down to under the table. He knew that Granger was watching with the Oculatus spell, which allowed her vision to be magnified. He landed on he stone floor and made his way to McGonagall's heelless black shoe. He scowled a little—he did not want to kiss McGonagall's shoe—and turned to see Granger's eyes on him. Draco gave a little sigh and pressed his lips against McGonagall's shoe. He pulled away quickly—it tasted like pineapple shoeshine. What kind of freak has flavored shoeshine? He spit back out onto the ground and rubbed his lips against his robes furiously.
Disgusting.
Granger looked less than pleased as she made her way back to the Gryffindor Table. She suffered through the questioning by her friends and watched him sourly.
And then a malicious grin replaced the angry expression. She was watching something at the doors to the Great Hall. Draco moved a little to the right and leaned his head to see what she was so happy about. He blanched. She was watching… Mrs. Norris.
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"That was the best Hogwarts supper of my life!" Hermione confided to Ginny.
"Why?" asked her younger friend.
When Hermione told her about the deal between Malfoy and herself, a laugh escaped Ginny's lips. Then it was replaced by a frown. "Tonight was the thirtieth. I didn't see him."
"He shrunk himself, the poor devil, so only I knew."
Ginny snorted. "That was crafty."
"Yeah. But he got what he deserved. Right when he was finished kissing McGonagall's boots, Mrs. Norris came in and immediately saw him. Close your eyes and imagine. He was standing there and Mrs. Norris was stalking towards him, licking her lips. He jumps onto his broomstick, but his earplugs fall out, so he gets a huge headache. He flies under the tables but Mrs. Norris chases him. He can't get very high because his head is wobbling. Mrs. Norris catches up and he swerves upwards. His headache intensifies and he falls from his broom on top of Mrs. Norris. So he's in swimming in her fur and she's scratching herself and chasing her tail!"
Ginny burst into giggles. "Oh, serves him right! But now you have to go to the ball with Goyle."
"Yeah, I know. Don't tell Harry or Ron, got it? They would go on a rampage if they knew. Or rather, Ron would."
Ginny nodded. "I can see that."
They looked over to two squashy armchairs where Ron and Harry discussed each other's horrible deaths and smiled knowingly at each other, as only women could.
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Disclaimer: Not mine. Not mine. Not mine.
You all hate me, don't you? I didn't have Draco humiliated in front of everybody in school. He's smarter than that, really. Or… maybe not. But that's not important. Mrs. Norris punished him enough. Hehehe.
Next: the costume ball. Hermione is golden and Draco turns his hair silver.
Multus Membrum means Multi Limbs
Review, please! You know I'm a sucker for reviews!