The Reign Of Mummy
"Pass that to Granger," muttered Draco, leaning across the desk to where Blaise Zabini sat, and discreetly handing him a folded pouch of white parchment.
Blaise gave him a delighted grin as his slim fingers clasped the note and tugged it from Draco's hand. As Draco leant back in his chair and gave a disarmingly charming smile to the Arithmancy professor, Blaise unfolded the parchment, and tipped it up over his palm. A chain slightered out onto his skin, cool and smooth as a snake's scales. It was white gold, joined with a clasp that reeked of magic and expensive manicures fastening it. Blaise gave a wide smirk as Draco answered the latest puzzle set to the class without looking up to check on the progress of the gift, and tucked the chain back into the note which he didn't bother trying to read – Draco had a nasty habit of spelling them unreadable to others.
"Granger," Blaise whispered almost silently, and blew on the ear that was closest to him, "from lover boy…"
"Oliver?" his desk mate looked most confused until Blaise jerked his thumb in the direction of the other Slytherin, "Oh, him."
She unwrapped the note cautiously, half expecting it to flame at her violently, and dropped the chain with barely a second glance onto their shared textbook, where it slipped into the spine. The note obviously displeased her, because Blaise didn't even have a chance to steal a glance over her arm before she curled it up and lobbed it remarkably accurately at Malfoy. It hit the back of his neck and dropped to the floor, where he steadfastedly ignored it. Blaise fished the chain out of the book and dangled it over one finger.
"Mummy won't be pleased," he breathed softly, and she gave him an incredulous look.
"Are you in on this too?" she murmured, turning the page as she did so.
"Oh yes," Blaise looked pleased, "didn't you know that Draco and I are best friends?"
"Miss Granger," an annoyed voice spoke over their heads, "and Mr Zabini, could you keep this coversation to yourselves and out of school please."
"Yes professor Vector," they chorussed, "X, Y and F all equal 206.879."
"Yes, well," the surprised looking man stammered, "that seems to be correct."
"But sir," interrupted Malfoy smoothly, shooting displeased glares at them, "doesn't the quantum signal passed by F to X mean that the relation between X and M is 8.679243 thus changing the value of F?"
"No, no, no," Vector shook his elderly head disparginly, and began his drone on quantum signals again.
"Sir," Charles Banber dropped his contribution in smoothly, "it's twenty past ten – breaktime."
"Of course," Vector dropped his notes on the floor and by the time he had picked them up his class was packed up and staring wide eyed at him with all eight of their combined eyeballs, "well, dismissed. But Mr Malfoy," he fought to make himself heard over the sudden rush, "read up on quantum signals for tomorrow please!"
The note was kicked to the door in the scuffle for release, and promptly ignored. Outside in the corridor Hermione made a few desperate swipes for the chain that still hung around Blaise's finger. Charles waited patiently at the end of the corridor for her, having almost sprinted away from the classroom.
"Give it to her Z-Blaise," growled Draco, pulling his rucksack onto his bag and grimacing with annoyance at the weight.
"Since when have you stuck up for the Chipmunk?" came a delicate purr from the nearway hallway, and all three arithmancy students swung around.
Pansy Parkinson had just finished her free periods and had duly come up to collect Draco from the Arithmancy corridor, to his obvious displeasure. Despite being what almost every boy in the school termed a 'looker' (or, alternatively, a hooker, depending on the house and company in question) Pansy had large eyes only for Draco Malfoy, and, although they had stopped the immature batting of former years, they were still prone to melting away when he snapped at her into a messy puddle. She was flanked by the large and every-manly Bulstrode, grimacing and growling behind her. She flicked the shortest bits of platinum blonde hair out of her eyes and sashayed towards the group.
"Well Draco?" she pointed an auburn coloured nail twoards the startled looking Blaise, "Since when has Zabini been Blaise?"
"Oh shut up," Draco snapped irrately.
"Don't call me Chipmunk, Pug-Face," Hermione threw in her tuppence.
Pansy reached up to her re-modelled nose and patted it in a comforting way, giving Hermione a superior grin, before swaying down the hallway on ridiculously high heels after Draco, who had loped off to the common room. Millicent slammed her fist against her palm before following Pansy, who had momentarily bent over giving the boys a great view of her long legs, like an obedient dog. Blaise wolf-whistled as soon as Pansy had passed round the corner, a dopey grin on his tanned face.
"Oh shut up," exclaimed the Gryffindor, snatching the chain off his fingers and marching towards Charles Banbar, still waiting patiently, but with a look of Pansy-induced longing on his handsome face, "it's all fake you know."
"Fake or not," Blaise commented absently down the corridor, "she's gorgeous."
"Boys!" Hermione contented herself with, dribbling off to the Head Meeting Room on the seventh floor with Charles following her neatly.
"New necklace Hermione?" Charles asked, riding the staircase daperly as it began to move.
"Oh," she answered absently, "I really ought to put it on I suppose."
"Here let me," the Head Boy offered, and took the chain from Hermione.
He pulled it over her head and swept her hair away from the back of her neck carefully, his fingers brushing against her skin slightly. The clasp was soon done up, and he smoothed her hair down again and re-folded the collar of her green shirt which was a little creased. She reached up to her neck and stroked the chain, surprised at the odd warmth it gave off.
"Thanks Charlie," she offered as payment, and smiled at him.
"Here, the clasp is sliding round," as he reached out to adjust the necklace there was a rather sharp sounding crackle, and he snatched his fingers back hurridly, "Ouch!" he exclaimed unhappily, glaring at the smooth metal.
"Electric shock?" Hermione asked, one hand on the rail as they dismounted the staircase.
The Banbars were a pureblooded family, thus Charles gave Hermione a puzzled look and merely followed her along the corridor to their meeting room.
"Ah, miss Granger," a bright voice sounded from behind them, and both Heads looked around.
Narcissa Malfoy was hurrying along the corridor dressed in a smart trouser suit with a neat dark green robe thrown on over the top, and at least two silk scarves trailing behind her. Her blonde hair was clipped back from her face a little, but still fell in sheets of wisps around her delicately made up face. A waft of expensive perfume surrounded her like a pleasant cloud. Eside the Head girl, Charles Banbar sucked in a cloud of air like an intoxicated mad.
"Hermione," greeted Narcissa, grasping the girl's elbow with a beamish smile, "Headmaster Dumbeldore wants you to show me my new teaching rooms – I'm afraid I got perfectly lost simply looking for you! I'm hopeless, really I am. Drakie despairs, but really, what can I do; I have the orientation of a fish."
"Oh, er," contributed Hermione helpfully.
"Seventh floor, he said, one of the towers – 89F? Does that mean anything to you?"
"Well, I'm sure we'll find it Mrs Malfoy," the Gryffindor put a brave face on things, and shouldered her rucksack.
"Oh no dear," breathed Narcissa by her ear, "The delightful Mr – err – Babar will take your bag for you."
Charles bowed towards the two ladies, and flushed as Narcissa shot his a dazzling, thankful grin, which seemed to be aimed a good four feet above his left ear. Narcissa tugged the bag away from the young girl, and passed it to the boy, who received it gratefully. His fingers brushed Narcissa's, and a stammered an apology before stumbling off.
"Good grief," Narcissa began as soon as he rounded the corner, "is he always like that?"
"Charles? No, not really," Hermione answered, a little bemused.
"You have quite the effect on him," mused the older lady naively, "Be careful he doesn't try to pull anything – as far as he knows you're single."
Hermione almost fainted from shock at the wink Narcissa gave her, and remained pliant as she was tugged along the corridor towards the staircases. The bell buzzed cheerfully; the signal for the commencement of lessons, and a mournful sight rang out from the staircases and hallways where students had perched. With much groaning and bad language they trooped off for their lessons, the ones closest to the strict Head girl moving both first and the fastest.
"Seventh Floor," commanded Hermione to the nearest staircase, and with a slow grate it swung around and stretched upwards; a stone accordian.
"The perks to being a Headgirl," Narcissa sighed beside her, "and, of course, having your own room…"
Hermione was suitably scandalised for a moment as she realised what Mrs Malfoy was inferring, and then she shook her head violently.
"Oh no," she protested, "I would never!"
"Never?" Narcissa raised her eyebrows, "You've been together with Drakie, what, five months now?"
"Err, yes," she answered, thinking desperately, "it's just, well, I believe in celibacy until marriage."
"Too many men only want one thing," Narcissa smiled at her knowingly, and the blush which stained Hermione's cheeks wasn't induced in any way, "I hope Drakie respects that."
"Oh yes," gushed Hermione, trying desperately to end the coversation, "Yes definitely."
"Good," Narcissa replied, a proud smile on her pretty face, "and here's the seventh floor."
Three hours later Hermione almost sprinted out of the classroom she and Narcissa had been sorting out, half of her mind wanting to giggle frantically, and half of it wanting to spew violently. She lent weakly on the banister as she travelled downstairs towards the Great Hall where dinner was being served to the accompanyiment of the loud gong heralding every meal. She was a little dizzy due to the vast amounts of dust she had inhaled and the sheer height of the room.
"Hermione!" a voice called out a greeting, and she turned to see Ron running down a parallel imbedded staircase.
"Hey Ron," she greeted him, weariness sounding in her voice.
Ron Weasley had been attending a Care Of Magical Creatures double lesson, and smelt a little of steaming hot woodlice and other tasty morsels (at least, tasty to a Bowtruckle) intermingled with the smell of fresh air and sunshine. His hair was standing straight up from his head, and he looked as if he was pondering something deeply, watching a tall Ravenclaw with brown hair sway past them.
"D'you think I should ask Katie out?" he asked finally, walking beside her to dinner.
"Katie?" Hermione was puzzled.
"The Hufflepuff keeper," Ron sounded exasperated.
"Of course," was the only answer he received from his female best friend, who had sunk into a seat next to Harry Potter, "Pass the mashed potatoes please."
Neville Longbottom, sitting opposite them, passed the large bowl of pale cream mash and silver servers with a sypmathetic shaky smile. Apparantly Hermione's activities had been passed around the school until everyone now knew she was Professor Malfoy's assistant, and most of the school was sorry for her. Saemus passed her the broccoli and then served a pair of vegetarian burgers onto her plate with a gracious grin. Dean looked at her briefly and then lent over in a friendly gesture;
"Hey Hermione," he said, "What do you call a cow that doesn't milk?"
"To milk is not a verb Dean," Hermione muttured, but the boy was undeterred.
"An udder failure!" he roared, and all the boys around him snuffled laughter into their dinners; Ron spraying pumpkin juice over the table to the disgust of his fellow diners.