A/N: Apologies for the late chapter. Ack. All of us were pretty much piled with homework -- my (G) excuse was exams, which I have one more, Science, then another week of dreaded school and a three-week holiday! -- So, yeah. It's 11 pages long, so it should satisfy our faithful reviewers, hmm? Anyway, sorry again for the delay, and that I couldn't reply to the reviews.
Chapter Two
"But - but I swear - " Stella Black rooted frantically about in her bag, seeking a vital roll of parchment that proceeded to evade her. The brains of Ravenclaw tossed a desperate look at her friend Angelica-Jessica Snape. "Your father is going to tear me from limb to limb!"
"Stella," Angelica-Jessica said reasonably, rolling out the A's. "Don't worry about it. The Potions essay is due tomorrow. Tomorrow, all right? You can re-do the essay easily." She snapped her fingers to emphasize her point.
"It's not like that!" Stella pouted in annoyance, sending a death glare wafting towards Angelica-Jessica. Tearfully, she pronounced, "A.J., the damned thing is supposed to be three bloody yards long, I can't conjure three yards of work up, even if I pulled an all-nighter!"
Angelica-Jessica gave Stella a logical smile, if anything like that was possible. The girls resembled each other very much - both possessed ink-black, bottomless eyes fringed with a pale complexion. Angelica-Jessica had lank black hair; Stella had hers cropped slightly shorter.
"I remember now…" Stella said slowly, horror creeping into her sable eyes as she did so. "I left it on the Quidditch pitch… after the Ravenclaw game against Hufflepuff…"
Angelica-Jessica inclined her head towards the window with a wince. "Bad luck, Stell…"
A roll of thunder underscored her words as the rain battered on. Lightning illuminated the quickly darkening abyss that was the sky, as Stella groaned.
"I trust you two can get along?" a bemused Professor Dumbledore looked at the two young people in front of him wryly. They'd both grown up in the years since they'd attended Hogwarts as students themselves, in more ways than one. Hermione had become a poised, graceful young adult, far surpassing the mousy bookworm she'd been in her younger years. When she'd applied for the job as a teacher a year earlier, he'd barely recognized the confident young woman as one of his own students, whom he'd known for years.
Draco Malfoy's change, however, had little to do with his outward appearance. He'd always been popular with the ladies, and possessed great self-assurance. Yet he'd matured emotionally over the years; that much was obvious. It was plainly visible in the way he acted, the way he carried himself. He was no longer arrogant, but possessed a subtle self-belief, and was more tolerant of other people. Though, Dumbledore supposed, one could never be too careful. There were a few years older yes, but old quarrels, especially those between Slytherins and Gryffindors, died hard.
Brushing a russet lock away from her face, a warm smile painted its way across Hermione's features. "We're not teenagers anymore, Headmaster." Her gaze at the old man was tender, "I'm sure we can bury the petty differences we've had in the past."
He nodded in confirmation, every silver-blonde strand of hair staying perfectly in place. "Of course," he added, unsure of what else there was to say.
Dumbledore smiled lightly. My, how fast they'd grown. The war had done that to all of them, he thought grimly, but pushed it away and shooed the pair out the door. "Excellent. Miss Granger, please escort Mr. Malfoy around the premises and enlighten him about the changes we have made." He gave Draco a nod, "It's really just some minor details, and it should only talk a half hour, at the most."
The two nodded and walked out of the office, proceeding down the staircase and into the hallway.
"I can still get it," Stella said, dragging the syllables, as if the idea just dawned on her. "I can rush down to the Quidditch pitch, and grab it before it crumbles in the rain. I'll put a charm on it to make it dry… It might work, I think - "
"And I think it's a bad idea, Stell." Angelica-Jessica warned. "What if you get caught?"
" - I won't get caught! It's a perfect idea! I'm doing it," Stella confirmed. Grabbing her cloak from her bed, she started to root around for her wand.
"Stella, what if you get struck by lightning, or worse? The Forbidden Forest is right there, some dark creatures might get you, or something…" Angelica-Jessica shifted about uncomfortably as she reasoned with her friend. "I'm serious, Stella."
"I'll use my wand." She answered as she lifted the aforementioned object triumphantly. "Now just stay right here, and if anyone asks, I've gone down to the Kitchens for a snack."
Then with a mischievous wink and a wave at the very idea of shattering twenty different school rules, Stella called, "Be back in a minute!" and disappeared out the door.
"Back in a minute, huh?"
"- new dress code, trivial matter, really. All robes must close under the knees. Some girls were beginning to get a bit risky with what they were wearing," she cleared her throat a bit awkwardly, "if you know what I mean."
He nodded stiffly; conversation with Hermione was not exactly neither pleasant nor unpleasant. At times, it was more than a tad forced; they hadn't spoken in years, and the last time they had talked had been in insults. All in all, they just had very little to say to each other.
"Of course, there are the rules that we had before; I trust you remember them?" Not pausing for an answer, she continued, "No magic between classes, in the dormitories by ten, stuff of that nature. None of that will come up in the Governor's meetings, I'm sure, but just in case you should probably consult your handbook." Her tirade stopped abruptly, when she noticed he was no longer walking. She turned impatiently, "Malfoy?"
"Which one does he belong to?" He asked plainly, nodding in a direction. A few students were gathered about a door, looking at a piece of paper eagerly. Quidditch teams, she reasoned to herself. Giving him a perplexed look, she shrugged.
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, a signal of his impatience. "The Weasley. You can't tell me you can't see his hair from way over here."
She was used to the flaming red Weasley hair; it was quite often that she was surrounded by it. Her frequent visits to the Weasley home was chaotic, but loads of fun. It was the one place in the universe where she could overlook disorder. "That's Michael. His father's Bill, Ron's brother, but he's much older than us." A beat, "I don't believe you ever met him."
Shaking his head carelessly, he turned and began walking down the hallway, "No, I don't think I did."
But Draco's thoughts were proclaiming loudly otherwise.
It was strange, this rain.
It was winter, to begin with, and snowstorms were expected, hardly a barrage of rain and wind. However, these were the things furthest from Stella Black's mind as she paused before darting out of the main doors of Hogwarts. The sable hair cupping her chin was a distinctive feature to most of Hogwarts, mirroring the ink darkness her father possessed. Drawing her cloak over her head to hide not only her hair but also the alabaster tint of her skin, Stella gripped her wand even tighter and melted into the rain, leaving the door a shade ajar.
Wincing as she squished unceremoniously through the rain-worn snow, Stella loped easily parallel to the Forbidden Forest, her stride long and steady, built for long-distance running, yet another distinctive trait of her father's. Her eyes were focused on the six hoops teetering treacherously in the bemoaning wind that marked the Quidditch pitch.
If she had taken a quick glance at the equally swaying trees next to her, laden by water-soaked snow, she might have noted the winged form winding through the shrubbery, dark eyes trained unwaveringly on her.
As it was, Stella was occupied enough. Staying close to one of the raised seats in hopes that it might shield some of the driving rain, she could barely make out a torn and tattered piece of parchment fluttering sadly at one corner of the pitch. It was just a few minutes shy from disintegrating altogether.
Murmuring a violent swear word that lost itself in the storm, Stella abandoned the seats and the shelter they offered, making her way through the Quidditch pitch towards the Potions essay. Another curse, followed by a fevered, "Stupid bad luck really getting on my nerves, must have been blown out of my bag by the rotten wind…"
When it leapt on her and bore her roughly to the ground, Stella lost her tight-fingered hold on her wand. A scream ripped its way from her throat and spiraled weakly into the sky.
Minerva McGonagall was growing old.
Oh, it didn't show in her personality or attitude, not remotely. Professor McGonagall was as stern and feared as ever, commanding an amount of respect unbeaten by the other teachers, gained by wisdom and understanding as profound as the years she had dedicated to Hogwarts. It didn't manifest too greatly in her appearance, either, save for a few gray hairs tucked into the bun (drawn as tight as ever) and a handful of wrinkles deepening on her face.
But Minerva could feel herself ageing with every year gone past. She shoved a stack of parchments away from her, setting it neatly at one side of the table - honestly, those third-years were turning in disgraceful work, she had to speak to them soon - and wandered to the window, leaning against the cool glass, welcoming the refreshing sensation.
She drew her cloak tighter to herself in an attempt to lock out the chill invading her bones. She was feeling the cold much more acutely than usual lately, Minerva thought ruefully, but somewhat absentmindedly. Her thoughts had changed direction, now hovering over the matter of the sight she had been greeted with just before she entered her chamber.
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, heads bent together as they scrutinized the halls, Hermione with a smile flickering slightly at her lips as she separated the fighting Slytherin and Gryffindor, Draco looking on with cool appraisal. With a wave of his wand he repaired the damage done to the hallway as Hermione charmed the two so that they looked somewhat normal again, sending them off with a detention each and taking points off from both Houses. It was a sight that amused her to no end - recalling the last time she had to do the exact same thing to the both of them - but it had struck a chord with Minerva. She could hazard a guess at why Draco was there - Albus had said something about him applying for a position as Governor of Hogwarts.
She held no suspicion for the young man; it had long been replaced, since he stepped out of his father's shadow, with reluctant respect and admiration, but the scene of loyal ex-members of the two different Houses working awkwardly with each other… surprised her, somewhat. It was strange, new, a bonding that was to be expected after the war, but one that she hadn't anticipated anyway. It brought to mind a new beginning, and usually with new beginnings came trouble.
Minerva shook her head free of those ominous thoughts. If the chasm between Muggleborn and old wizardly families could be bridged, well, all the better, then.
So why was she so full of foreboding?
Minerva wryly blamed it on her age.
Her eyes narrowed as they finally noted the sky emptying itself in buckets like there was no tomorrow. Rain in winter was an uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of. Lightning flashed, jeering at her and illuminating two forms struggling on the Quidditch pitch, and blazed again, defining one with a terrified face clothed in Hogwarts robes.
Long before the unmistakable shriek for help trailed off, Minerva was already halfway through her door.
"Professor?"
Draco blinked in surprise as Minerva McGonagall exploded out of her chamber and caught up to them, robes flying as she swept through the hallway. She grabbed Hermione's arm and nearly dragged the girl along as she made for the main doors, moving much faster than Draco thought she was capable of.
Thanking the stars that he was too tall to be subject to the indignity the astonished Hermione had no choice but to succumb to, Draco chased after them, an amused smile at Hermione's disgruntled, indignant expression snuffed out by the shock and fury radiating from Professor McGonagall's face.
"Professor?"
His questioning tone was quickly subdued by Professor McGonagall's furious tirade. "I don't believe this! Stella Black -out of castle at nine- now attacked by some creature, no doubt from the Forest-!"
Hermione seemed to make some sense out of her outraged sputtering, and as realization dawned on her face, it was quickly overtaken by determination. "Stella Black?" She shook off McGonagall's grip, but kept up easily as they ran out the doors towards the Quidditch pitch. "This will be her seventeenth detention after the Christmas break, I don't believe that girl!"
"But you said she was being attacked, Professor?" Draco pressed unerringly, refusing to deviate from the matter at hand.
"I couldn't see what it was, Mr. Malfoy, but you two will have to help me," McGonagall replied grimly, wand already out of her robes, the three of them leaving tracks behind in the snow that was rapidly washed out by the rain.
Hermione clutched the book that contained the prophecy close to her, guarding it against the storm, and was startled to realize that warmth and an icy aura were emanating from the cover, spreading a frosty glow across her face. Too preoccupied to puzzle out the book at the moment, she stuffed it into her robes, resolved anew to solve the mystery of the prophecy soon.
They spread out instinctively to corner the creature, still moving swiftly, fuelled by concern for Stella who was fighting tooth and nail for freedom. A scream pierced the air, causing the trio to move quicker still, yet in the dark and brutal storm it was intensely difficult to pinpoint the girl's location.
Squinting in an effort to achieve better vision, Hermione swiveled her head from left to right. Sensing a motion to her right, she called out loudly, "Minerva! Malfoy!" There was no answer; her voice was lost in the storm.
Deciding that the young girl's safety was at stake, she moved forward without thinking of the consequences. She clutched her robes tightly together with one hand, wand pointed straight out with the other. The old tome bumped against her ribs reassuringly as she walked unsteadily toward the sound of the yell. "Stella? Stella, answer me!"
Receiving no reply, Hermione felt herself growing more and more distressed. Calling Stella's name, she realized she was headed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. The student in question was a troublemaker, that much was true; she followed in the footsteps of her father very well, but she knew better than to wander in the Forest alone. Debating whether venturing into the forest without someone behind her was a good decision, she paused; however, her senses kicked in. A student was out, trapped in the hellish rainstorm, and needed help. She much preferred that her own safety be compromised.
Running, her soaked robes clinging to her legs and the material of her skirt, she thrust herself into the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Once again, she called for her student, to receive no reply except for what sounded like a whinny in the wind. Perplexed, Hermione brought a hand to her head. She could remember nothing about having regular horses in the Forest. Unicorns, of course, but that had not sounded like a Unicorn.
Fueled by the concern for her pupil, she adjusted herself in the direction of the neigh, and began to run in that direction. She had made it all of ten feet when the wind picked up a surprising amount around her. It was almost as if it was holding her back! But that was silly, really. It was simply windy, another effect of the storm. Pushing herself against the wind, which she found to be no easy task, Hermione headed toward where she thought the sound of the whinny had come from.
Suddenly, another cry broke the air, this one very much human. Eyes widening, Hermione did her best to pick up the pace against the heavy winds. Step after step, one at a time. Her progress was slow, and it seemed the rain beat down the hardest around herself. She knew that that was a fantasy; there was no possible way that the rain could be concentrated on her, yet still she wondered. Was it possible to enchant the weather? Shaking her head, she returned to the problem at hand-her missing student.
"Stella!" It seemed almost futile to call the child's name anymore, but the effort paid off, as a faint but distinct "Professor Granger!" traveled to her on the wind. Finding a new reason to fight the gusts that surrounded her, Hermione moved toward the sound with a new determination that no amount of wind or rain could stop her. Again, she called the girl's name, then again, and again.
Finally, twenty feet away she could make out two figures. One was small, weakening, and on the ground, cowering in fright. The other was massive; definitely a horse that was at least twenty hands high. Launching herself forward with a speed she had not known she possessed, Hermione gripped her wand as tightly as she could in her numb fingers. Magic pulsed at her fingertips and warmed them slightly. Raising her wand, she cried "STUPEFY!"
A blue light shot out of the front of her wand with so much force it stopped her in her tracks. She watched it as if in slow motion; it ran through the air and hit the great horse square in its side. Yet the only sign the horse had even felt the apparently strong blast was a turn on its head in Hermione's direction. It reared, a sign she did not consider good.
Desperate to think of a spell -- any spell -- which may lead to the monster horse's downfall, Hermione stood still for a moment. Her mind raced over her years at Hogwarts. There were so many spells she could use, but if a strong Stupefy didn't faze the creature, why would any of them? Her attention yet again moved to the small form, Stella. The girl was taking advantage of the horse's averted gaze and was now slowly standing and moving away. Unfortunately, the horse was not so easily fooled. It's head whipped back in her direction and it whinnied fiercely.
Wasting no time at all, Hermione darted to Stella's side and stood defensively in front of the girl. Inside her mind she was still searching her memory for a powerful spell that might stop the strange horse creature. It turned its head so it could examine her carefully, and she noticed something odd about it. Its eyes were practically dead. Almost soulless.
Like Dementors.
She had no idea what made her make the connection, but in no time she was thinking of the day she'd received her Hogwarts letter and how her mother and father had taken her out to a fancy French restaurant to celebrate the occasion. "Expecto Patronum!" she screamed as forcefully as possible, her eyes shut in her hard concentration on the happy memory.
When she opened them there was no demon horse, and the skies were clearing.
Turning, she saw Stella Black, eyes wide with shock, leaning against a tree and shaking with fright. Clutching the girl to her, Hermione removed both her own and Stella's soaked robes. A sob escaped her lips, but she held back the rest for her students' sake.
"Stella…Stella, are you alright?" she asked, searching Stella for any cuts or bruises. There were quite a few, but nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix. She decided it was more shock than anything.
"What was it?" Stella questioned, looking at Hermione as if she weren't really seeing her. Her eyes were stunned and swimming in confusion.
"A horse, obviously." Her tone was chiding, but she couldn't help her. While her relief that Stella was safe was overwhelming, she was in disbelief that the student had gone out alone, after dark, in the middle of a rainstorm!
"Oh," She nodded blankly, "I couldn't tell."
Hermione took a step back and examined the girl further. Her concern grew a bit more. "Don't you know what a horse looks like?" The question sounded completely silly, but Hermione was perplexed.
"Yes, of course," she replied, "But I didn't see anything there."