"Ms. Flamel, take a seat."
Just like the last time I had been in his office, Dumbledore greeted me with no smile. He was all frown lines and wrinkles at that moment.
He wanted to play hard-ball, and that was just fine by me. I planned to do exactly the same.
The silent staring contest we had before he spoke really set the mood. I imagined he was considering whether to invade my mind again. If he truly wanted to, of course no paltry occlumency of mine would stop him; he was one of the most powerful wizards to ever live, after all. However, as he stared, my eyes promised to raise hell if he tried again. I would immediately report it to Madam, who I had so far kept out of this.
Ultimately, I believe that was what deterred him enough to blink and break the silence.
"Ms. Flamel, to say I am disappointed would be an understatement," Dumbledore began, voice low and serious. "Deeply disturbed is a more accurate description."
At that, I just blinked remorselessly.
"I told you of the familial relation between you and Mr. Potter, and yet you allow him to court you." Dumbledore sounded as though he had tasted a particularly sour lemon drop. "Explain."
I tilted my head and surveyed him, tapping my fingers thoughtfully on the chair. Honestly, I was just as disgusted with my next words as he was, but unlike him, I didn't have the luxury of showing it.
"There's nothing to say besides I don't believe you, and we like each other."
The look of horror that crashed on Dumbledore's face was almost comical. Part of me suspected that he must have not truly believed the rumors until this point and had just wanted me to put a stop to any appearance of them being true. He was in for a nasty surprise indeed.
"Surely, this can't be," he protested, voice slightly shaking. Everything about him in this moment looked like a robot malfunctioning. I could practically hear the words: does not compute, does not compute repeating over and over again in his head.
I shrugged nonchalantly. "It can."
"Marguerite, the consequences will be dire, you must believe me—"
"Why should I believe a single thing you say, headmaster?" I snapped, leaning forward in my seat, my anger leaking through for the first time. "You, who advised my father to let himself and his wife—my parents—die. You, who singlehandedly concocted a plan to hide my true parentage from me then dumped it on me in the most insensitive way. You, who still holds secrets from me even now."
Some of the shock faded from headmaster's face, replaced by a stony look that I knew would not help my cause. It took me a moment too late to realize that I had spilled too much truth, revealed too much of my hand. Dumbledore did not know I had the resurrection stone, and I wanted to keep it that way. Yet I suspected that very few people besides my parents knew the details I had just listed.
"Marguerite, is there something you would like to tell me?" he asked firmly.
I laughed with no humor. "To the man who tells me nothing? I'll pass."
"And what would you like to know, Marguerite?"
I looked at him in surprise, but then realized that if I told him, it would weaken my element of surprise as I tried to pry information out of him. He didn't yet know what I knew, and therefore didn't yet know what I was after. Dumbledore's question was nothing more than a probing tactic.
So I asked something we both knew would be on my mind.
"Who are my birth parents?"
Dumbledore just stared at me. I could see his thoughts racing, chasing after each other like galloping horses behind those blue eyes. When the best thought seemed to beat out the others, he blinked and something in him softened.
"You are so young, yet so fierce. So strong and educated," he said gently, almost fondly. "Your parents—both sets—would be so proud of the young lady you're growing into. You are only 13 and yet you sit here negotiating even more firmly and intelligently than some diplomats I've met with. This is exactly the outcome I had hoped for when I asked Nicholas to take you in all those years ago."
I knew this was a distraction, but I allowed it to play out, since a part of me liked what he was saying. I also wanted to hear from his own lips how the adoption came about, wondering if his story would align with my father's.
"You were very ill when you first were born," the headmaster reminisced sadly, his voice growing older as he did, as if it had been a hundred years and not 13 years ago. "It had been Halloween night, the height of Voldemort's power, and we had suspected that he would go after your parents for quite some time."
"How did you know?"
"I ran a tight operation here in England. They may not speak much about Voldemort in France, besides his general mission and the death tolls in his pursuit of power, but in England, that mission and those death tolls were a daily reality. They were people, good people: my students, my family, my friends, my comrades. Your parents were among them."
I held my breath, waiting in rapt attention for more.
"Your parents were part of a secret operative called the Order of the Phoenix, dedicated to fighting Voldemort and his followers," Dumbledore continued. "One of my spies told me that Voldemort planned to personally hunt and kill them toward the end of the war."
"But why?"
A mist clouded Dumbledore's eyes that could only be described as sorrow. "Because they represented the best of the light: the strongest, the smartest, the bravest, and the most selfless. Voldemort knew not only that they were a threat, but that any offspring of theirs would be as well. He wanted to snuff out the family line before it prospered further."
"So what happened?"
"Due to the spy's intervention, I was able to place them under the Fidelus Charm. However, a friend of theirs betrayed them, and on Halloween, Voldemort broke into your home and killed both your parents. It was one of the last atrocities he committed. He visited Mr. Potter's house that same night, his last in fourteen years."
I felt a sort of kinship with Harry for the first time since I had heard of our family ties; Voldemort had murdered our parents back-to-back, on the same night. He must have seen both our parents as the strong threats that they were; they must have been alike in more than blood. Perhaps they had even been friends.
"So how did I live if my mother died?" This was the part I still didn't understand. The part about the unknown man saving my life.
"The spy who had warned me to protect your parents found out about their friend's betrayal and Voldemort's intentions, but too late. He had fled to the scene to confront the Dark Lord and protect your parents, but he arrived to find Voldemort dead and your parents with him. He cast a spell to see if any life remained in any of them, unwilling to believe his eyes. When he did, he found life in your mother—in you."
"But that's impossible," I protested softly.
"It should have been. But you were a miracle, and clearly you were not meant to die that night. So the spy did what he could, brilliant man that he was, and he managed to retrieve you from your mother's dead womb. The only problem was that you were very ill."
"When Nicholas adopted you," Dumbledore continued, his eyes as clear an honest as a cloudless blue sky for the first time since I had known him. "We all, the spy, your adoptive parents, and I, believed it to be your only chance at survival. The only way to ensure you would ever grow into what you were meant to become."
"And who am I meant to become?" I asked, a bit harshly. "How could you possibly know something like that?"
Just like that, the clouds once again entered Dumbledore's eyes, all honesty shrouded.
"The same way the spy knew about Voldemort's intentions to kill your parents—perception."
I narrowed my eyes at him. We had been doing so well. I had thought maybe he really would answer all my questions, but it seemed I would need to go back to my original strategy.
"Who are my birth parents?" I repeated my first question almost flippantly.
He stared unblinkingly. "I cannot answer that."
"Then I cannot believe I'm related to Harry Potter," I replied in faux gravity and watched in satisfaction as the headmaster frowned. Without another word, I rose from my chair and glided slowly out of the room, daring him to stop me.
"You're going with him?" I asked in outrage as I recalled the dweebish-looking boy who Ginny had just pointed out as we passed in the hallway.
"Shush up!" Ginny shoved me as we entered transfiguration. "He asked me, and I felt bad. He's a nice boy, but everyone always gives him a rough time."
"But what about Harry?" I demanded.
She silenced me with a pointed glare, looking around to check that no one heard before she replied.
"Harry's asking Cho," she finally responded, somewhat bitterly. "I heard it from him myself."
I rolled my eyes. Harry really could be so unobservant at times.
"That will be awfully difficult since Cho Chang is already going with another champion."
Ginny gasped. "Who?"
"Well, Krum's going with Hermione, as you already know—by the way she asked me to remind you it's a secret—and I assure you, Fleur's certainly not interested."
"Cedric," Ginny replied knowingly. "I should have known."
I grinned. "You really should have."
She scoffed and elbowed me.
"And why do you know so much about the Hogwarts drama, Ms. Beauxbatons?"
I shrugged nonchalantly. "I've been making a point to stay informed about the champion's dates. After all, this is just as much part of the competition as any challenge. Who your date is says a lot about your competency and well roundedness as a person. Which is why," I emphasized with an elbow to her stomach. She grunted. "You should not be going with a boy who a first year could probably beat in a fight."
She shushed me again.
"Well, no one's going to look at who I bring."
"I will," I responded solemnly and she snorted.
"Well, if you're taking this whole thing so seriously then who are you bringing?"
That was the question of the week. Madam had made it clear that she expected every one of us to find an acceptable date—I had planned to go alone since the few Beauxbatons boys had already been taken, but she said that showed bad sportsmanship. However, the few Durmstrang boys I had spoken to had been too serious and controlling to spend a night with, and all the 'acceptable' options at Hogwarts seemed to be 16 and up. I doubted they would go for a 13 year old.
"You should go with Harry."
I nearly choked on the air and turned to Ginny with wide eyes. She looked back at me without an ounce of jest or guile.
"Are you mad?" I whispered, looking around, hoping no one had heard that, but of course people were looking our way. "I think you're confused—you're the one who has feelings for him here."
"Exactly," she said in complete seriousness. "And you've convinced me you have absolutely none for him. Combined with the fact that you're my friend, you're the only one I would trust as his date. No one else would do; not even Hermione."
I shook my head, but she brought the matter up a couple more times as the day of the ball got closer. Hermione did as well when it became clear Harry would not find a date in time.
"Cho rejected him," Hermione said in a huff of irritation, scribbling down furiously into her notebook as we sat in the library.
"Well, to be fair she does have another date."
"Yes—well." Her quill ripped through the page and she angrily mended it with her wand. I began to laugh but smothered it into a cough when she looked up at me with narrowed eyes.
"Why won't you go with him, again?" she demanded. "You don't have a date yet either."
"We've been over this."
"Remind me."
"I don't have feelings for him," I replied tiredly.
"Yes, well—" she lowered her voice and leaned closer, glancing at Victor a couple tables down from us. "I don't really have romantic feelings for Victor now, either, but I'm still going with him."
I smirked. "Why is that, again?"
She flushed. Ron's name sat on the tip of my tongue, but she hurried on before I could say anything.
"Just go with Harry as a friend. It would benefit you both; I know Madam Maxime wants you to go with someone impressive, and I'm sure McGonagall and Dumbledore want Harry to as well."
At that, I snorted. "I'm flattered that you find me impressive, but I'm sure that's the last thing Dumbledore would want."
"And why's that?" Hermione asked with an arched brow.
"Well—because…"
But then a light went off in my head. What better way to pressure Dumbledore into telling me the truth then to take my pretend 'relationship' with Harry to the next level? A very public level.
If my true parentage ever came out, which I'm sure it would, Dumbledore would be ostracized for ever having kept it from us, especially when signs of a romantic relationship between the two of us arose.
I, of course, would not kiss or do anything actually romantic with Harry. That would be disgusting.
However, I was willing to play a game of chicken with Dumbledore, pushing it until he finally caved.
"Fine."
Hermione beamed, clapping her hands.
I rolled my eyes. "Tell Harry to meet me outside Beauxbatons carriage at 5."
"Was there a reason you wanted me to meet up with you a full hour before the ball?" Harry asked as I exited outside the carriage. He had been pacing back and forth and stood to attention the moment I opened the door. Unlike me, he was fully dressed in his dress robes; I still wore my school uniform.
His mouth dropped. "Why are you still wearing that?"
I hurried forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him inside the carriage before anyone could see. He resisted a bit and looked around, evidently afraid to be spotted.
"Oh calm down, Potter," I whispered over my shoulder. "I just need to see exactly what I'm working with before I attempt to match you."
When the door to my room slammed shut, he looked around uncomfortably, admiring the many trinkets lining my walls and my desk. "You could have just asked, and I would have gone over this with you beforehand," he mumbled.
"Yes, well, I'm a busy girl. If I need something now, I'll transfigure it," I replied brusquely. "Now stop moving. Let me look at you."
He was wearing bottle green robes, just a shade off from his emerald eyes. With a flick of my wand, I adjusted the color, so that they perfectly matched his eyes and made them pop.
"Hey!" he protested.
"Oh, hush up! I promise, I know what I'm doing far better than you do."
His hair fell messily over his forehead, just as always. "Did you even brush it today?" I asked in disapproval.
He frowned, but blushed. I took that as a no.
With a sigh, I grabbed a potion and handed it to him. "While I look for something that'll work with your emerald-green look, smooth this over your hair. It should shape it into neat, manageable waves."
Grunting a bit in protestation, he ultimately listened, working on applying it to his hair as I turned to my wardrobe.
Luckily, I had accumulated a handful of nice dresses over time as both the Flamel's daughter and Madam's ward. Both my parents and Madam were frequently invited to formal functions, fundraisers, and celebratory balls, and they had always wanted to bring me along for their own benefit as much as mine—they claimed they got bored talking to the stuffy guests without me.
In the back of the closet, I found a long ballgown, velvet green on the top. It cinched at the waist then fell gracefully to the floor in a wispy green material. The velvet strap cinching the waist held a gold decoration: two lines with a lily in the middle. Beneath it, intricate designs of twisted golden vines with flowers twisted out, falling halfway to the bottom. It was perfect.
I laid it out on the bed and began working on it, surveying the shade of Harry's green robe to make sure it matched exactly. "Close your eyes."
Harry turned around so hurriedly that he nearly knocked down something on my desk as he moved.
I rolled my eyes, and with a wave of my wand, the dress was on me.
"You can turn back around, Potter."
When he did, his eyes widened.
"Wow, how did you do that?" He stepped into the mirror with me, examining us both side by side. "We match perfectly."
We really did. We even looked alike. Our dark hair both slightly wavy, emerald-green eyes popping out due to the deep emerald of our dressing gowns. My eyes were a bit brighter and more piercing, as per usual, but at a glance, no one would be able to tell. Our facial features were both sharp, and though my skin was slightly tanner than his, altogether I looked like his slightly younger sister.
At that thought, I smirked. Dumbledore was going to freak out.
I put on heels to lessen the height gap between the two of us and put on my make up through a combination of spells and potions. Harry eventually grew more comfortable and began to play with an old yoyo on my desk that I had once stolen from a rude muggle boy who had made fun of my eyes.
Within twenty minutes, we were both ready to go.
However, just before I left, I remembered something that would make the perfect final touch.
"Wait just one second," I called as I ran back to my room, leaving Harry outside the carriage.
I rifled through my draw, and it took a good moment to find it but when I did, I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner.
My mother's necklace with the note still attached: for the next time you wear green.
Grinning like a Cheshire cat, I hurried to Harry, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the school, all the while wondering whether it would be Dumbledore or I who would crack first in our little game of chicken.
When we walked in, all eyes went immediately to us.
Some were angry, like Fleur and Madam. Others were shocked, like Krum and this blonde haired boy dressed like a vicar (it did not seem like he and Harry were friends). A few were even sad, like Cho and Ginny—which gave me no pleasure whatsoever and made me suspect that Ginny's request that I go with Harry hadn't been well thought through.
However, none of these reactions compared to that of Albus Dumbledore's, who's face paled into a sickly white the moment he caught sight of us.
As Harry escorted me to where the champions stood, I spotted Madam Maxime leaning over to Dumbledore and could just make out the words:
"Ah, Dumbly-dorr. It seems our students 'ave become quite found of each other. Did you know of zis?" I detected a bit of tension in her voice, only because I knew her so well. I wondered why, but then realized that it must have been because she thought I actually had feelings for another school's champion; I hadn't explained my intentions after all.
"My dear Madam Maxime, I have heard rumors but I did not believe it true until now."
"Somezing must be done…" I heard Madam begin to stay, but Fleur interrupted my eavesdropping at the worst moment.
"What are you doing?" she hissed, pulling me closer. Harry didn't even notice; he was too busy gawping in shock at Hermione, who looked lovely. I rolled my eyes at his antics; one would have thought that Harry had never before realized she was a girl.
"Lining up for the dance," I answered dully. "Obviously."
"You know very well zat's not what I'm asking," Fleur snapped, warning flashing in her eyes.
I hid a smirk. I knew exactly what she was asking. Why are you stealing the spotlight from me? But she wouldn't come out and say it.
"What are you doing 'ere with 'im?" Fleur urged. "Don't you know how bad this will look for us? Madam's own ward being disloyal?"
I snorted. "Once Madam calms down from the shock of it, she'll be the first to call this an act of loyalty. Afterall, what could be more impressive than your ward snagging the champion of another school?"
" 'Ow about being the tournament's only female champion, zat's what!" Fleur stomped indignantly, looking very much like a toddler in that moment. Her date, one of the docile boys from Beauxbatons, looked around nervously, as if concerned a fight would break loose between the two of us.
"Easy, princess," I warned, trying to smother my smile. "Your veela is showing."
Fleur marched away without another word, dragging her partner to the end of the line so that the other three champions and their dates stood between us.
"You look beautiful, Marguerite," Hermione said, leaning over. She stood closest to us.
I smiled.
"Thanks, pissenlit. So do you." She really did. She practically glowed. It was incredible what a little make-up and hair product could do for a girl like her.
Krum would very much agree.
"You do, Hermione. I hardly recognized you." In surprise, I looked over to the voice that had just spoken: Cho Chang. She stood on the other side of Krum and Hermione.
Did she realize that her compliment was backhanded and therefore also an insult? Or was she just stupid? I guess it didn't really matter, because either way, Hermione realized, and the slightly crumpled look that came upon her face was enough to make me dislike Cho Chang whether she had meant to do it or not.
Yet before I had a chance to speak a word, Harry spoke up.
"So do you, Cho." Cho blushed, turning back to Cedric without even a thank you, annoying me even more.
Impulsively, I elbowed Harry in the stomach—hard. He grunted and ripped his eyes away from Cho. "What?"
"You know what," I hissed, eyes narrowed. "Complimenting another girl besides your date is bad form. What if I actually liked you?"
"But you don't—"
"Definitely not, but the rules still apply."
A sound that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from Hermione. Beside her, Viktor dutifully pretended not to hear our little spat, straight-faced as ever. Harry looked as though he was about to say something, but just then Ludo Bagman called us to lead the first dance.
I grabbed his arm. "This is it."
The moment we stepped down the stairs into the dance floor, all eyes were on us—every student, every professor, and every government official who stuffily sat on the dais in front of the hall. If we could make it through this, I could probably slip from Harry's side the whole night or even leave the ball entirely and likely no one would notice. However, these next few minutes would be absolute scrutiny.
I noticed Harry's hand begin to sweat when I grasped it.
With a start, I remembered that the boy had been raised with muggles and this must have all been new to him. Poor thing probably didn't know how to dance.
"Potter, you're going to be fine," I whispered. His skin got slightly paler each time he looked out toward the crowd. "Potter." His eyes snapped toward mine. "Just look at my nose or something. Don't look at them."
The waltz was slow and formal—in other words, easy. If one paid close enough attention, they might have realized that I was the one leading the dance. However, I hid it so cleverly that most people in the crowd probably didn't notice. Honestly, I'm not sure even Harry noticed. Madam was the only exception, judging from the smug smile on her face as we waltzed past. I wasn't surprised, considering that she had been the one to teach me the trick of secretly leading, after all.
Eventually, the music slowed, as did our movements, until we all came to a gradual stop. I squeezed Harry's hand giving him a significant look as I stepped back and got ready to curtsy. Catching on, he bowed.
We both released a big breath, our posture relaxing.
"Thank you, champions, for opening up the festivities with that lovely dance!" Ludo Bagman's voice boomed through the Great Hall. "The dance floor is now welcome to all!"
In a frenzied rush like a swarm of bees to honey, nearly 200 students swarmed to the dance floor, taking up all the space around us. However, oddly enough, I felt less claustrophobic than I had 2 minutes ago. I could tell Harry felt the same by the merriness in his eyes.
"Leading wasn't as hard as Ron said it would be," he said, elated grin on his face.
Far be it from me to spoil the moment by telling him he hadn't actually been leading. Instead, I just grinned back, patting him on the arm.
"You weren't half bad, Potter," I assured. "Speaking of Ron, you may want to head over to him for a bit. He looks miserable."
Harry took a step around me to survey his tall, freckly friend sitting far back in his seat, glaring daggers at a spot across the dance floor that I could only assume was where Hermione and Viktor must have been dancing.
Harry's eyebrows furrowed in concern for Ron. "Would you mind?" he asked me.
"Not at all. I'll be right over, just going to get a drink."
Harry tossed me a thankful look before disappearing into the crowd to sit with his friend.
As I waded through the dance floor to refreshment table, I kept an eye out for people I knew, letting myself get pulled into conversations and brief dances before heading back to Harry. Despite her dorky date, Ginny looked like she was having a blast, all signs of sadness from seeing me earlier with Harry gone. She yelped excitedly and pulled me into a face-paced foxtrot, much to my amusement. I nearly doubled over I was laughing so hard.
Hermione, too, called me over, but not to dance; Viktor wouldn't let her go long enough to allow that. Instead, she asked me how Harry and Ron were doing, clearly assuming I had been spending most of my time with them even though I hadn't even made it over to the table yet. Although she asked about both of them, I knew which one she truly wanted to know about. I winked at her and disappeared with a promise to keep her updated.
After about a half hour of loitering, talking to various Beauxbatons and Hogwarts students alike, I figured it was about time that I headed back to Ron Weasley's sad little table, perhaps the only unmerry spot in the hall.
He glared at me as I approached. "Took you long enough."
My brows raised as Ron tried to take a drink from my hand. I moved it out of his reach.
"Last time I checked, you're not my date," I drawled, giving the cider to Harry, who, bless him, gulped it down quickly as Ron gaped in outrage.
"Guess it's too much to expect to even get a good drink in this place," Ron said bitterly, crossing his arms as he leaned sulkily back into his chair again.
I rolled my eyes. "Not with that woe-is-me attitude, Weasley."
"Oh, I'm sorry," he snapped. "Is my smile not big enough for you? How about this?" He bared his teeth at me obnoxiously.
I sighed. "None of your siblings are this grumpy, you know. Maybe that's why their dates haven't left them."
He scoffed. "Parvati? I didn't even want to go with her—I just felt bad for her."
"Ron," Harry scolded.
"What? You know it's true. Just like you only went with Marguerite because Cho rejected you."
"Ron!" Harry's face reddened and his fists curled.
I smirked and shrugged, unbothered. "It's fine. I only went with you because I didn't want to go with a Durmstrang and all the Beauxbaton boys were taken. We all have a Cho it seems. Care to share yours, Ron?" I added a bit mockingly, "Fleur?"
Now it was Ron's turn to redden.
When I had heard from the veela herself about how Bill's little brother had asked her to the ball, I had roared with laughter, imagining the look of disgust and indignation that must have been on Fleur's face. As for Ron…
"I hope you were bewitched when you did that, otherwise you're just stupid. Not only is she a champion, she's 3 years older than you. And even if she was neither, you still wouldn't stand a chance," I added with a chuckle.
Ron's wand whipped out, and in a flash Harry's and mine were too, both pointing at Ron.
"For your information, it's not Fleur who's got me this way," Ron said so angrily that little bits of spit fired out. "I asked Hermione too, and instead she chose to go with the enemy. She's a traitor."
"Oh please, by that logic, Harry and I are traitors too."
"It's not the same," he protested, but his wand lowered.
"Isn't it?"
Ron sulked once more in his seat, unwilling to explain exactly why it was not the same, but I knew. Hermione's acceptance of Viktor's invitation had gotten her exactly what she had wanted: a jealous Ron.
"I need more cider to wash down all this misery," I declared, standing up and walking off before Ron could start up again. Behind me, I could have sworn I heard Harry snort.
As I moved through the crowd to find Hermione, I spotted Bill Weasley briefly, but he ducked out into the hallway. Funnily enough, I saw Fleur take a break in the hall just 2 minutes after. I saw neither of them for the rest of the night.
Pulling Hermione aside as Viktor got them drinks, I whispered, "Ron's jealous, but in denial. Avoid him for the night unless you want it to end in tears."
She looked torn between smiling and frowning. "Classic Ronald. Always—"
"Ms. Flamel," a grave tone interrupted.
We both whipped around to see none other than the headmaster standing there, looking down at us with his piercing blue eyes and half-moon spectacles.
I collected myself first. "Headmaster."
"I was very surprised to see you as Harry's date tonight, to say the least." Dumbledore kept his tone neutral, clearly not wanting anything to seem amiss in front of Hermione.
"Well, I don't know why, sir. I did tell you we liked each other," I replied cheekily.
I felt Hermione's eyes shift to me in surprise. As subtly as I could, I squeezed the back of her arm to keep her from talking.
"You have given me much to think about, Ms. Flamel," Dumbledore replied, his eyes curiously glued to my mother's necklace. "Much indeed."
"Well, if you want to talk, sir, you know where to find me," I said innocently, but when he looked into my eyes, I knew he would read what I was truly saying.
Give me the full truth, and I'll stop, old man.
"Indeed." He frowned, seeming deep in thought, in memory. He looked almost decades away. I guess my mother's necklace must have really sent him far back. Strange. I had assumed he was the one who had given it to me. "Good night Ms. Flamel, Ms. Granger. Enjoy."
And with a swirl of his purple robes he retreated from the drink table to the dais, no drink in hand.
Hermione tugged on me, and when I faced her I was met with wide eyes.
"What was that?" she demanded. "You and I both know you don't like Harry."
"Yes, but Dumbledore doesn't, and I want it to stay that way," I answered quietly.
"But why?" Hermione looked as if her brain were moving a mile a minute. "When I first suggested you go with Harry as friends, you began protesting and it had something to do with Dumbledore…"
I could practically see the gears of her mind turning through her eyes and then crank to a frustrated halt. Not for lack of smarts, but just because she simply had too little information about this odd situation to even begin throwing around educated guesses.
She looked at me expectantly.
"I'll tell you later, alright," I assured, which seemed to put her at ease.
Nothing annoyed Hermione Granger quite as much as knowing there was something she did not know.
I could hardly blame her since these days I found myself very much the same. After all, that's what this whole night had been about for me. I just hoped I gained some truth from it, even if it was only one. But only time would tell.