Title: Life, or Something Like It (13/?)
Author: Sonya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue - all you'll get is a really bratty bird and some really spoiled rats.
Spoilers: Up to 'Wrecked' in the Buffyverse, up to "Goblet of Fire" in the Potterverse.
Pairings: Willow/Snape, Hermione/Viktor Krum, Draco/Ginny, Fred/Angelina. Other 'ships to be decided.
Summary: Hermione gets a letter, Ron gets a date, Narcissa gets a little hope.
Author's Note: Just a reminder that this story takes place following "Goblet of Fire" - as in, "Order of the Phoenix" never happened. There will be overlaps, but there will also be differences, and there are no intentional spoilers. So, if you've read the book, you'll see some things familiar and some things not. If you haven't read the book and don't want to be spoiled - use your own judgement. If I don't tell you what's my idea and what's from the book, then you're not really being spoiled, right?
This chapter title is also a movie. I've never seen the movie, I just liked the phrase, but anyway, I wasn't the first person to think of it.
***
"Well, what's he say?" Ron demanded, trying to lean over Hermione's shoulder.
"It's personal," Hermione answered shortly, blushing and hunching her shoulders around the letter she'd received, blocking Ron's view with her hair.
"How personal can it be?" Ron asked. "It's just a letter. Bet he writes about nothing but Quidditch."
"He does not write about nothing but Quidditch," Hermione ground out between clenched teeth, but her voice was a little wavery.
"How's Bulgaria doing, anyway?" Harry interjected a touch too loudly, obviously trying to change the subject.
Ginny sat across from Ron and next to Hermione at the Gryffindor table, her chin in her hand, drizzling patterns on her plate with the syrup dripping from a piece of waffle, feeling inexplicably melancholy.
"They're doing very well, thank you for asking," Hermione answered Harry, shooting Ron a very pointed glare.
"See, told you he writes about nothing but Quidditch," Ron retorted. Ginny popped the piece of waffle into her mouth before it got completely soggy and disgusting. She didn't really taste it, just forced herself to chew and swallow it because she knew she'd be hungry later if she didn't.
"He does *not*," Hermione insisted. She sniffled. Ginny glanced sideways at her. She's not going to cry, is she?
"So then what else does he write about?" Ron pressed on relentlessly.
"None of your business," Hermione snapped. "I told you, it's *personal*.
Across the table, Lavendar and Parvati started giggling. Hermione gave them both a nasty look, but that only seemed to encourage them.
"What?" Ron turned to the snickering pair. "What's so funny?"
"You should know what it means when a girl says a letter's *personal*," Parvati said archly, obviously trying to sound world-wise and sophisticated. In Ginny's opinion it didn't work very well, probably because she was turning pink and stifling giggles as she said it.
"It means it's, you know, steamy," Lavendar added, lowering her voice on the last word.
"What?" Hermione exclaimed, her gaze snapping up from the letter to stare goggle-eyed at Lavendar and Parvati. Her eyes were looking a trifle red and watery. "It's not! It's not at all!" Ron was eyeing her suspiciously.
"You weren't just crying, were you?" he asked.
"Oh, he's not breaking up with you, is he?" Lavendar asked eagerly. "I mean, how awful. Right before the holidays." She tried to sound contrite, but Ginny thought it was a little too late. She stabbed another piece of waffle and swirled it in syrup, watching the patterns it made and not feeling particularly interested in eating it.
"Viktor is not breaking up with me!" Hermione exclaimed in clear exasperation, but a tear leaked down her cheek at the same time.
"Of course he isn't," Harry said placatingly. "It's probably just . . um, I mean . . well, I'm sure there's some other reason Hermione's upset."
Oh, good job, Ginny thought sarcastically. Sometimes Harry still made her feel a little fluttery and warm, but mostly he'd turned into another annoying older brother over the years.
"He's making her cry," Ron said darkly. "Maybe you should dump him, 'Mione." Lavender and Parvati were giggling again. Vultures.
"He's being a perfect gentleman and very sw-sweet," Hermione choked out.
"I don't believe you," Ron said, frowning.
"Ron -" Harry began with obvious trepidation.
"Well that's just too bad, isn't it?" Hermione retorted, right over top of whatever Harry might have said.
Ron lunged across the table and snatched the letter out of Hermione's hands.
"Ron, don't -!" Ginny burst out, shooting to her feet.
"Ronald Weasley, you give that back right now or I will hex you into next week!" Hermione shouted shrilly. Ginny blinked, turned her head to look sideways at the other girl. She had her wand out.
"Oh my goodness," said Lavendar breathlessly.
"Shut up," Ginny snapped. Lavendar's eyes narrowed.
"Nobody asked *you*, did they?" Lavendar sneered.
"Who would?" Parvati chimed in. "What would you know about it?"
"Hey!" Ron turned, still clutching the letter. "Don't talk to my sister like that!"
"Ron, give Hermione her letter back," Harry said in what Ginny thought was supposed to be a reasonable and persuasive tone. It sounded a little desperate to her.
"Why should I?" Ron demanded self-righteously. "It's upset her, and I think it's obvious he's .. he's taking advantage!"
"Taking advantage?" Hermione parroted in indignant disbelief. "It's a *letter*, Ron! It's not trying to get under my skirts!"
"You see?!" Ron exploded, turning to Harry as if expecting support. Harry looked like he wanted to crawl under the table. "She never used to talk like that!"
"She can talk however she wants to!" Ginny said, crossing her arms and glaring at her brother.
"You don't know anything about it!" Ron retorted. Ginny flushed, feeling the anger rush up her face in a hot wave. Oh, so Lavendar and Parvati can't treat me like an unwanted little freak, but you can? Is that how it is? "What?" Ron demanded belligerently at her glaring, clutching the letter tighter. "You'd better not!"
"Yes, yes, we must all die virgins, now give it *back*!" Hermione shouted. Harry sputtered as if he were choking; Lavendar and Parvati slipped from giggles into loud, shrill laughter.
"You're really going to hex me over a stupid letter?" Ron asked, glowering.
"In the next ten seconds, if I don't have it back," Hermione said determinedly, pointing her wand. "I'll put you in the hospital wing for a week, I swear I will."
"Well if that doesn't prove my point I don't know what does!" Ron retorted
"I'm warning you -" Hermione growled. Someone new giggled. Ginny turned around and found herself facing Pansy Parkinson and her usual crew. Oh, joy.
"Granger sounds positively dangerous," Pansy said in a scandalized voice, grinning maliciously.
"Is that what they're teaching in that mudblood's class?" Claudette added. "You're all taking that now, aren't you?"
"Look, Blaise!" Pansy turned and called over her shoulder. "See what you'll be learning in the mudblood's class? You can learn how to be all psychotic like Granger."
"She's not psychotic," Ginny snapped out. Hermione just flushed a splotchy red, looking suddenly trapped between Pansy and Ron. And oh, Ron, are you ever going to get it later! Embarrassing her in front of the Slytherins, I can't think of anything more deserving of a beating . . I'll set Fred and George on you, see if I don't!
Where are Fred and George, anyway?
"Well, you would know about psychosis, wouldn't you?" Claudette retorted neatly.
"Don't you have something better to do?" Blaise muttered, stalking past the other Slytherins with her chin in the air.
"Oh, we're not as busy as y-you," Jenna Page twittered at Blaise. "We're not trying to learn how to s-slay vampires an-and curse people and -"
"Oh, I didn't mean class, when I said Pansy might have something better to do," Blaise snapped, whirling around to face her housemates. "I meant Malfoy, perhaps? Oh, wait, that wouldn't be something *better* to do, now would it?"
Ginny blinked. I've never seen the Slytherins going at each other. Behind her she heard scuffling, and saw that Hermione had gone over the table after Ron and her letter.
"Well at least I've got someone," Pansy snapped back.
"Do you?" Blaise asked cooly. "That's not what I've been hearing."
"You couldn't get a date with - with Weasley!" Jenna spit out.
Ron had floated Hermione's letter up over the table, out of her reach, and was wrestling with her for her wand to keep her from zapping it down, while Harry and Neville Longbottom tried ineffectually to separate them. Lavendar and Parvati had scooted halfway down the bench and were staring, wide-eyed and flushed, as if they were getting the treat of their lives. Where is McGonagall? Or Snape? I can't believe no one's stopping this!
"Is that so?" Blaise said, quirking a thin, dark brow. She stalked determined up to the Gryffindor table, leaning across Hermione's empty place. "Weasley!" she yelled.
Ron jumped back from Hermione, slapping his hands down at his sides and putting on his best innocent face. Ginny repressed the urge to laugh at him. When he saw who had shouted, he scowled.
"I thought you were McGonagall!" Ron said accusingly to Blaise. She shrugged. Hermione took the opportunity to snatch her letter out of the air with a swish and flick of her wand, and stormed from the hall.
"Sorry," Blaise said, and didn't sound it at all. "I was just wondering if you'd like to go skating on the lake with me this weekend."
Ron blinked and stared. Harry and Neville blinked and stared. Parvati's jaw dropped, and Lavendar looked like she just might faint from the excitement.
"What?" Ron asked dumbly.
"She's asking you on a date," Ginny supplied, unable to resist the perfect opportunity to get back at her brother.
"What for?" Ron asked, looking thoroughly perplexed.
"Told you," Jenna tittered nastily, and Pansy sniffed in agreement. Blaise's face had gone very blank.
"Never mind," she said stiffly, backing away from the table.
"Ron," Neville muttered, "how stupid are you?" Ginny found herself silently agreeing, though she hadn't expected Neville to be the one to say it.
"What?" Ron sputtered. "I mean - wait!" He hurried around the table after Blaise, who was stalking away. He caught her arm. "I just mean, why? I mean, yes! Really?"
Ginny didn't hear Blaise's response; it was drowned out by the sound of McGonagall's voice coming from the hall, shouting "WEASLEY!" at eardrum-shattering decibals. She flinched, and Ron jumped as if an electric current had gone through him. For a moment she thought Hermione had told, and so, clearly, did Ron, if his ashen expression was any indication. Blaise was watching him with a bemused look on her face.
Then it was clear that McGonagall hadn't meant Ron or Ginny; Fred and George swooped in through the high doorway on their brooms. Held betweeen them, each twin grasping one chair arm, was someone in a levitating wizarding wheelchair. The wheelchair's occupant was shrieking delightedly as they shot upward through the false sky to skim along the domed ceiling. McGonagall came running in after them, red-faced and panting, followed by Madame Pomphrey.
Ginny couldn't see who was in the chair until they dove back down towards the Gryffindor table; when she did, she gave a delighted woop of her own, which was rapidly taken up by the rest of the Gryffindors. By the time they set down on the table, between the raspberry jam and the pitcher of pumpkin juice, nearly the entire hall was cheering.
The person in the chair was Angelina, very much awake, and laughing so hard there were tears running down her face.
***
Narcissa woke to the feel of something cool on her face and her entire body twitching and shivering. She blinked rapidly and tried to sit up; the light was too bright, forcing her eyes shut, and her muscles were not cooperating. She collapsed back on something soft, gasping. She didn't remembering passing out; all she remembered was white hot pain. The pain wasn't entirely gone.
"Just lay still a bit, Lady," someone murmered. The cool something on her forehead moved away. She heard water sloshing and dripping, then it was back again, colder. A damp cloth, then. Someone was wiping her forehead with a damp cloth.
But who would be doing that for me?
Narcissa squinted, opening her eyes the just the tiniest crack. She could make out the shape of a woman in plain robes with long, plain, mousy hair.
Mousy . . mouse . . that means something . . oh!
"Draco," she choked out. The woman turned pale hazel eyes on her, questioning. "Is something . . something wrong . . you were following Draco."
"Draco is well, Lady," the animagus murmered, and the soft, cool cloth came towards Narcissa's face again, momentarily blocking out her vision. "Dinky fetched me."
"Dinky?" Narcissa repeated blankly. What is dinky?
"One of your house elves," the other woman supplied. The cloth retreated, dipped into a bowl, was wrung out, returned, cool and soothing and distracting. Her hands kept clenching of their own accord and her legs were vibrating like guitar strings.
Why would the house elves fetch her?
"Why .. why did he -" her jaw clenched painfully shut, grinding her teeth together, and she was powerless to stop it. The tremor moved down her neck, arching her off the bed before it receded.
Oh god . . I don't want to do this again . . it hurts . .
"She," the animagus corrected, a thin but surprisingly strong hand slipping under the base of Narcissa's skull, lowering her back down to the bed when the spasm eased. "And none of the house elves like your husband very much."
"Don't know their names," Narcissa muttered. Why is she taking care of me? No one ever did that before.
No, not true. Severus. Severus would hold you while you were puking your guts out and not care. You laughed at him for it.
Oh gods it hurts . .
"Who's names, Lady?" the mouse-woman asked. The cloth moved across her jaw, pausing at the pulse point in her neck. The coolness spread outward along the pulse.
"House elves," Narcissa rasped out. "You. Anyone."
I don't deserve to have someone here taking care of me, oh god, I can't deal with this, make it stop!
The woman was giving her an odd look.
"I'm Annette," she said after a pause.
No last name.
"Don't trust me," Narcissa murmered. Not that you should. I shouldn't have trusted myself, trusted I could do this, wouldn't get caught, would take whatever came of it, had to do it, but I can't, I'm not strong enough for this, it hurts too bad.
"What, Lady?"
"Don't trust me with your name," Narcissa explained, and her legs seized all the way up her hips, and she choked on a scream. Hands grabbed her shoulders when she would have shaken off the bed.
"I don't know it," the Annette said calmly.
She's so tiny shouldn't be strong enough to hold me oh god it hurts!
"You don't know your name?" Narcissa asked, when the clenching muscles released her for another moment. She had to gasp for breath between words.
But talking helps. Severus would talk to me. Potions. He'd quiz me on potions and I'd curse at him but it'd help, it'd distract me.
Why didn't I marry Severus?
Because he was pitiful . .just as pitiful as me . .
"I don't have any living family," Annette explained. "My mother died when I was six. She never told me our real name. We were always using false names."
"Why?" Narcissa asked, beginning to be intrigued.
"Habit, I guess," the mousy little woman shrugged, dipped the cloth, shifted the sheets away to run it across Narcissa's lower legs. "Our people have had to hide for a long time. There are those -" and her voice took on an edge Narcissa couldn't have imagined that breathy voice holding " - who think we are an abomination."
"Not magic," Narcissa said, realization creeping slowly into her pain-hazed mind. "You said .. the shifting .. wasn't magic."
"It's not," Annette explained. "I can pass for a witch, but I'm not. I'm a shapeshifter. There aren't many of us left." The cloth was held, chill and soothing, against the bottom of Narcissa's feet.
She's done this before, cared for someone after the Crutiatus before.
"Voldemort?" Narcissa asked. Annette shook her head.
"Grindelwald," the other woman responded.
"But . . but that was so long . ." Narcissa protested.
"There are things it takes a long time to forget," Annette said darkly. "I wasn't alive then, but I still -" she stopped, as if she couldn't finish.
"You're afraid," Narcissa whispered. A spasm seized her left arm but it was weaker than the last one, and she bit her lip and didn't cry out.
"Plenty of wizards still think like he did. There aren't enough of us for Voldemort to care about us, but . . I saw my mother killed," Annette explained, softly, voice flat and emotionless. "Not Death Eaters. Just a mob."
"Sorry," Narcissa choked out, as the pain in her arm faded.
"Don't be," Annette shrugged, and dipped the cloth again, wrung it out, methodical and unaffected. She turned back to Narcissa and their eyes met. "You can't do anything about a mob, can you? But people like Grindelwald, Voldemort, your husband - we can do something about them, can't we?"
We. She's talking like my equal. I wonder if she ever thought she was less.
She's not less. She's more. I'm nothing, I don't know why I ever thought I was -
"I'm scared," Narcissa confessed.
"I know," Annette murmered, and moved the cloth back over Narcissa's eyes.
***
Dear Hermione,
If I hear one more word of apology about Christmas gifts, I'm getting on my broom and flying up there, just so I can shake you. Do you think I care about Christmas gifts? You're alive and unhurt. That's my Christmas gift.
We got plastered by Scotland just yesterday; it was freezing rain here and I could barely feel my fingers, let alone catch anything. Their seeker got the snitch after three hours with no goals scored. I don't think anyone honestly cared, we just wanted off the pitch - though I can't say that too loudly unless I want Ivanova telling me off, she's determined we're to get back to the World Cup again. I think she's deluding herself, we're not even in the top five right now, and Dimitrov's mind isn't in the game. His wife's having their first baby. He walks around looking like someone's hit him too many times with a bludger half the time. I think Ivanova is going to skin him alive if he doesn't start paying attention soon, but I can't blame him too much. Levski was joking that Ivanova needs to get herself a husband, and you'll be happy to know I didn't laugh at all. I confess that wasn't all just because I am so enlightened; I don't want to be skinned alive too if she overhears.
Oksana and Ana and Ylena say hello. Well, Ana says hello. Oksana says, "Is she getting herself into messes again? Is that all English girls do?" and rolls her eyes. That means she likes you, or she wouldn't care. Ylena doesn't quite remember you, but I'm sure she'd want to say hello if she did. I forgot to mention in my last letter, she turned three about two weeks ago. Mother made her a huge chocolate cake and she got it in her hair and then ran away and hid because she didn't want a bath. It took us two hours to find her. She was up in one of the mews and had feathers all stuck in the chocolate.
Oh, and Mother says she's going to write your mother and tell her to give you "a talking to" for being silly enough to worry about Christmas presents. I don't think she really will, but she said so. That also means she likes you. She'd be worried about Christmas presents too. She'd have fits if we didn't have a huge feast and more presents than we know what to do with and every relative and everyone else we ever met all stuffed into our poor little house for at least three days.
I used to like the holidays. Now it's just my uncles and my cousins all hounding me to hear about the team. They treat me like somebody famous. I hate it. I suppose I am somebody famous but your uncles aren't supposed to treat you that way. Sometimes Oksana yells at them to leave me be, but mostly she's too busy trying to avoid Aunt Leyna, who has five children and is very fat and must have a very dull life because all she ever does is try to marry off the girls so they can get fat and boring too. She's already after Oksana for some boy who works at the deli near where she lives. Oksana is horrified, of course.
And now you have something you can tease her about when she makes fun of English girls who get into trouble. Ask her if she's gone sledding with Peter lately. Aunt Leyna went sledding with her husband the first time they went out and now she thinks everyone should. If you ever meet her and she asks about sledding, you must tell her that we have been sledding many times.
Unless you would like to go sledding? You must come visit in the winter sometime. But not when Aunt Leyna is here.
Say hello to Ron and Harry for me. I hope they and their families are well. Well, actually, from what you've told me of Harry's family, I hope they've all caught the plague. But I hope Harry is well, and Ron and his family, who seemed very nice.
You're not the only silly one, you know. I can't think of what to get you either. Ana keeps trying to talk me into getting you scarves and necklaces and other things I know you'd hate. You know what I'd like to get you? I'd like to get you a whole different world where nobody cares who's muggleborn and who's not and no one would ever try to hurt you again. There, now you can call me silly and tell me how archaic I'm being and that you don't need some big goon of a Quidditch player trying to act all manly and protect you. Of course you don't. You can take very good care of yourself, I know. But I wish you didn't have to.
And now I must stop writing and mail this quickly before Oksana comes by and reads over my shoulder, or she will still be teasing me when I am old and white-haired and have a beard down to my knees.
Love,
Viktor
TBC . . .