The air had become uncomfortably cool for most of the students who still longed for summer, so the majority had given in, and resigned themselves to turtlenecks and thicker cloaks.
It happened to be a Wednesday evening, and most of the sixth and seventh-years sat in more casual clothing, lazily sprawled along the grass, enjoying the company of their own houses.
It was tradition for the eve of the first Quidditch game to be an all-house practice. And while the majority of Slytherin refused to grasp the friendly implications of this get-together, most students intermingled amongst each other.
They shared picnic blankets and fairy lanterns and socialized with students in different houses when they otherwise couldn't have.
One expansive blanket, situated resolutely in the green and silver corner of the pitch, contained what the upper level students liked to refer to as the "Slytherin Populars". Though, a more suitable name would have been "Slytherin's Sluts" because they were, in fact, just that.
Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Daphne Greengrass were sprawled provocatively in ripped black jeans. Their matching green skintight tops announced, "Draco's Dolls" in glittery silver lettering for all to see.
Pansy donned a leather biker jacket and an obscene amount of eye makeup, while her friends exchanged compact mirrors to inspect their dark lipstick.
They made themselves up like whores. But the world be damned if anyone ever waxed honest and told them that.
Still, as the rest of the school muttered and made sidelong glances, Draco Malfoy delighted in every lousy second of it.
While on his broom, he would throw obscene gestures their way and lift his uniform shirt to expose his abs. And as if it was their job, the girls would cheer and hoot in response, batting their mascara-ed lashes at him while he sped around the pitch.
Like a perverse cycle, it did nothing but egg Malfoy on… Shortly after practice he would be found sucking the face off of Pansy on the lawn or in the stands--a disgusting, animalistic spectacle to those students that believed Draco to be overrated… which was pretty much every non-Slytherin.
However, the girls had taken a different interest today, much to Draco's surprise, when he glanced down from his brand new Nimbus Flash 3000 and saw them in deep conversation with one another.
Daphne's long red hair blocked his view of the rest of them, but he knew that the sight of the back of her head instead of her pathetically enthralled eyes, for once, was an indication that something was afoot.
"What the hell do you think is up with her?" Pansy whispered as she gestured to a blanket nearby.
Padma Patil was sharing a copy of Witch Weekly with Yeva Parajanov.
Being that Ravenclaw was the most diverse Hogwarts house, the Ravenclaw girls had asked Yeva to join them because they were interested in hearing of her cultural background.
Yeva's pretty eyes were filled with delight as she joked with Padma about something in the magazine…
The Slytherin girls whispered and giggled at something Pansy had said.
"Hey, Parajanov!" Millicent called from her lounging place, her square jaw giving her an odd masculine profile. She gestured for the younger Slytherin to join them.
Yeva's attention was caught and the Ravenclaws offered sympathetic glances.
She stood and pushed her dark brown hair from her face, looking so innocent in her white corduroy jeans and black turtleneck. Her Slytherin scarf lay open about her neck.
Daphne moved to the side to make room for the smaller girl on the blanket and Yeva modestly sat with her legs folded to one side, resting her weight on the palm of her manicured hand.
"Hello, Daphne, Millicent… Pansy."
Yeva looked to each of their faces as she said their names, and smiled genuinely. She was not careless and knew of the consequences that often came along with being on their bad side.
"I think Slytherin has a great chance for the cup this year, what with Draco Malfoy so fit and ready for anything. He certainly plays like a champion," Yeva said as Pansy narrowed her eyes.
"Ha! Like that's likely, with the invincible Harry Po-" Daphne started to snap but Millicent elbowed her in the arm.
"You have a thing for Draco?" Pansy asked nonchalantly, deceptively keeping her eyes concentrated on the pattern of the closest picnic blanket.
Yeva laughed.
"Not even a little, Pansy, I've known him since we were five years old."
"Oh," Pansy looked relieved.
"What were you doing with them?" Daphne asked, pointing an accusatory finger towards the Ravenclaws' blankets.
Yeva shrugged. "They asked me to join them," she said.
"Well, you can do better than that… you're a Slytherin," Millicent spat through her frog-like mouth. Her eyes were glazed and her lips glistened in the sun with spittle, moving it seemed, without cognitive thought.
She looked even more atrocious in makeup, Yeva thought.
"You should sit with us; we'll show you everything you need to know about the best Hogwarts house." Pansy smiled conceitedly.
Yeva silently wished the girls would leave her alone. She didn't need their idea of assistance to get by.
"That's very kind of you, girls," Yeva said. "But I'd rather choose who I sit with after I've met everyone."
The three girls' jaws dropped, exposing varying degrees of dental hygiene. Millicent shot Daphne a look.
"Where are you from anyway, Parajanov?" Taking control of the conversation once again, Pansy learned immediately that Yeva was not one to be easily controlled by simple peer pressure. And much like a pregnant tabby, she leaned back on her elbows, leather lapels sliding to either side of her overlarge breasts. Breathing in the air, she pulled an Acid Pop from her coat pocket and slid it past her glossy lips. After a moment, the girls heard the sugar-on-enamel click as she secured it between her teeth and her cheek.
"You have an accent that I don't quite recognize…" she commented as the stick hung out the side of her mouth, comically turning her smirk into a grotesque smile.
Before Yeva could give a reply, Draco Malfoy slid in to sit behind the girls. He snaked a predatory arm around Pansy's waist and gave a cold stare to the surrounding crowd.
"What are we talking about?" he asked, with a sickening grin plastered to his face. "Anything interesting?"
"Not really," Pansy whispered before nibbling at his ear.
He pushed her away unceremoniously and moved closer to Yeva.
"The girls giving you a hard time are they, pet?" he asked with a dumb smile.
"Not anything out of the ordinary, Draco, and I am not your pet." Taking on a more appropriate posture for sparring, she glared at him.
Daphne and Millicent snickered to each other. Pansy watched Draco with wide eyes, praying that what she knew he was about to do would be stopped by an act of the gods, such as a very painful lightning strike or a flash flood.
"In that case, will you come to the ball with me?"
Pansy nearly fell over. The only audible sound for a moment was her intake of breath, and the click of her Acid Pop falling past her teeth onto the blanket.
"Draco, I thought you were going with me!" she whined. "We've gone together to the balls since first year!"
Malfoy didn't seem to be paying attention. He was too preoccupied with the dark angles of Yeva's face and her intoxicating eyes to notice anything else.
Yeva looked quickly to the blanket and then to Pansy.
"Draco, I…" she started.
Daphne made a move to hold Pansy back in case things turned ugly.
"I can't," Yeva said. "I can't go to the ball with you."
Draco did a double-take and Pansy let out a sigh of relief. Since when did Draco Malfoy take a liking to girls other than her? Her feelings were hurt… proving for the first time in a long time that she was, indeed, capable of human emotion.
"What do you mean, Yeva? You should be honored to have me as your escort!"
His face was reddening with anger and his eyes held malice not so different from that of his father.
The wind picked up and twirled through everyone's hair as Yeva glanced around self-consciously, noticing how many other students could overhear the uproar.
"You are like my brother, Draco." She tried to calm him. "You must understand that it is nothing against you."
"A pure-blooded witch such as yourself could never do better than a Malfoy!" He thrust his face two inches from hers so his next whispered words could barely be heard.
"I don't know what has changed in you, Parajanov, but you would be smart not to disgrace me."
He moved even closer, until Yeva could feel his sour breath against her ear.
"Things are not as they used to be and I hold more power than you could ever imagine. My father is the Dark Lord's right hand man." He licked her cheek possessively. "…And, Slytherin or not, bitch, you had best obey me."
There was little more than three seconds of silence before Yeva thrashed her hand across Draco's face.
The sound of the slap cracked through the quiet conversations on the lawn. Many heads turned immediately towards the commotion in the descending twilight.
"Draco Malfoy!" Yeva howled disdainfully. "Don't you dare!"
She stood immediately and took a step towards him.
Even though most students could not see the look of fury on her face, they knew immediately that she was not one to be toyed with.
Malfoy slid backwards and practically cowered against Pansy and her friends.
"Do not speak to me as you would one of your whores!"
Her indigo eyes darkened to a soft black and she clenched her fists in dangerous passion. The lanterns flashed on the angles of her face dramatically, and the darkness brought out the wild shadow of her hair.
All things considered (even her barely adequate height), her unique genes had made sure she looked unsettlingly like a certain Potions Master.
"You forget, Draco, just how much power you are dealing with…" Her eyes narrowed daringly.
"And you can rest assured that if you try that again, my uncle will see to it that you won't move for a week!"
Throwing her scarf about her neck, she stalked away through a path that the students were only too happy to accommodate.
Three Days Earlier…
"It seems we will be entertained tonight, friends…"
Voldemort smiled grotesquely and squirmed with delight, his face pure malice.
The inner circle of Death Eaters laughed as if on cue. Voldemort smiled a second time at their enjoyment and moved to speak again.
"Severus Snape… beloved Potions Master, has decided to botch the potion that is the very key to our victory…"
An eruption of catcalls and hisses came from the spectators as a few masked men heaved a shivering lump, tangled in black robes, to the center of the torture dais.
Snape barely breathed. His hair was a knotted mass, glued to his forehead, and giving minimal coverage to eyes nearly swollen shut.
"Well, Severus, the choice is yours… and I don't do this often." Voldemort dropped to his knees and lifted the Potions Master's chin with a long grey finger.
"We could beat you to death…"
A few bloodthirsty howls erupted from the audience of spectators.
Voldemort lifted a hand to silence.
"However, as enjoyable as it sounds, it will take mere minutes." The grey finger withdrew from Snape's chin and his head fell to the stone.
"And I find that a few minutes of torture is just not all that… satisfying anymore. Wouldn't you agree, Severus?"
Snape moaned in pain.
"I didn't think so," replied the Dark Lord.
"Therefore, I will grant you one final chance to redeem yourself." The gray leather skin of Voldemort's face contorted with evil. "One final chance to bring me the Elixir of Strength… brewed to perfection… Is that understood?"
The Potions Master sobbed.
"Yes, my lord, yes… anything, my lord, anything…"
The dark wizard swerved away from Snape's tattered arms as they groped for the hem of his robes. A laugh began deep in his chest and rippled from thin twisted lips as he surveyed the crowd once more.
The eager eyes of Death Eaters gazed back, lust apparent in their expressions.
"Oh but first, Severus," Voldemort whispered.
"Crucio!"
Hermione had been working on her Charms homework.
The bay window of her bedroom was open, allowing the breeze of the evening to permeate its chill. The white of the twilit autumn sky was elegant with wind and the silver crescent of the moon.
Beyond the antique rose garden was the Quidditch pitch, and Hermione could see the dotted lights of the fairy lanterns surrounding the festivities.
Harry had begged her to go, but with much effort she had convinced him otherwise… Quidditch had never been her "thing". And, to be quite honest, after the midnight stroll a few weeks ago that had resulted in her witnessing Snape at the piano, she found her mind drifting in a very different direction indeed.
Hogwarts, a History had not been touched in over a month, which was enough for her to know that she was not the same.
But it wasn't until she took the time to realize that she often spent half the night painting, that she came to the conclusion she had changed for good.
Of course she had kept up with her classes, seeing as she could have graduated two years early with her extensive knowledge. And it was very seldom for her to need to put forth an effort in any of the lessons… even Potions and Transfiguration that were the most demanding.
Her mind was elsewhere. And no matter how strange she felt to admit it, she knew she had left it with Snape.
Oh Snape, how gentle he had been… how raw and full of pain as he wept like that. What beauty she had seen… A beauty she had overused within the paintings of recent weeks until her fingers ached.
Potions class had been awful, the way she yearned to hold him in her arms and tell him how much she wished to comfort.
She had come to realize that Snape was only a man beneath the sneers and the nasty disposition… something that no one seemed to want to acknowledge.
And now, every time she watched him move in that black billowing cloak, she thought, not about the bat-like resemblance, but about the body that was hidden underneath. There, inside, the human being that everyone refused to accept and pushed away, as if the head of Slytherin was some revolting freak.
He was not revolting.
And Hermione decided that she wouldn't mind being labeled a freak herself if it meant she could be near him…
Just then, a large barn owl swooped past the open shutters of the bay window sending parchment flying and fallen autumn leaves fluttering to the windowsill.
It landed on the coat-rack and, nearly knocking it over, bowed it its head towards Hermione. Positioned in its beak was a letter presenting her name in a loopy scrawl.
Dear Hermione,
By my request, Dumbledore has granted you permission for an extended day trip this weekend, and I would be honored to have you to dinner in Hogsmeade on Saturday night.
I know this is very sudden and possibly surprising, but I have been waiting to ask you for a long time and I am hoping you will agree to join me.
Please owl with your answer as soon as possible, and please, don't feel forced to say yes. I want an honest reply as to whether you will agree to a date, and I won't hold it against you if you decide that it would be uncomfortable.
However, if you do decide to come, meet me at the Café Soleil at eight o'clock.
I will be sitting in the back left corner of the piazza, at the table beneath the blossoming cherry tree.
Have a wonderful evening.
Love,
Remus
Hermione stared at the folded letter in shock. She studied everything down to the monogrammed "R.L." in the letterhead.
He had certainly been right about the surprise.
Remus Lupin?
Asking her on a date?
It was so unheard of, strange, untouched… she didn't know what to think. Dating a teacher?… Impossible.
It was not itself unappealing, but she had thought it so taboo.
And Lupin. He was not in the least unattractive. She had even fantasized about him on lonely nights in her dorm in past years. But she had to admit that deep down she had always thought him to be, well… gay.
He was just too good looking. And, being realistic like she was, she just didn't think men like him would give girls like her a second look. Romantically.
Remus had always been kind to her and… Remus. There it was… his name.
The name he had left after the "love"… and that word.
It was overwhelming, and perhaps it was sheer curiosity that drove her to her parchment drawer… Perhaps it was the fact that she knew she would be the envy of her peers if they found out she had been on a date with Professor Lupin.
She knew for a fact that Lavender Brown had a mad crush on him. And, naturally, Hermione was as tempted as any girl…
After feeding the owl a few peanuts from a bag of Bertie Bott's Trail Mix on her dresser, she moved to the redwood vanity to retrieve her calligraphy quill and a pot of copper ink.
She thought about every time she had been near Lupin in the past four years… his class this year… the way the sinews in his arms flexed when he pushed his shirtsleeves back and pressed his hands to the podium in his classroom… the full moon… those delicious ice grey eyes…
Merlin, the full moon! Isn't there one this Saturday evening? There couldn't be… no.
Hermione sighed, gathering all the possibilities of dating a werewolf.
Remus,
I would be delighted to join you this Saturday.
I will see you at Soleil at eight o'clock.
Regards,
Hermione
Strange as it was to be on first name terms, he had always addressed her as Hermione.
It felt like the right decision as the owl swooped away with her reply.
