AN: I started this years ago and decided that it needs to be finished. That's my goal for the next week. This story should have around seven or eight chapters. I'm on #5 now, and it's nearly complete, so I figured I would release the first chapter as a tease.
Hope you enjoy. I might end up making this into a series. Dunno yet.
I want to thank my friend xxDustNight88 for helping me with betaing this story.
EDIT APRIL 19th, 2020: This story is completely written now. It wont be updated all at once, but there are seven chapters, the last being the longest (at around 6k words!).
Hermione was heavily absorbed in a book about Candle Magic. The subject had been merely mentioned in a Charms book and snagged her interest immediately. The tiny amount of information provided in that book mildly frustrated her though, but after a quick search in the library, she'd come across a thick book about several different types of magic used with candles.
As she delved deeper into the subject, her fascination of it grew even more. Maybe this was because a candle was an object used in both the Muggle and Magical world, and it was amazing that a common thing that she'd used before Hogwarts was also used here, and for far more reasons than the Muggles did.
In the Muggle world, the only times she or her parents had ever used a candle was for adding a lovely fragrance to the room, or when the electricity went out and they needed light.
Most Muggles didn't believe that candles had magical properties (they didn't believe in magic period); though some 'strange' ones actually did, making Hermione wonder if perhaps there was more to those few individuals than what she'd been led to understand. Were they (or had they been) a part of the magical world? Were these people wizards or witches, having moved into the Muggle world for whatever reason or another? Or were they Squibs, forced to live with the Muggles after being disowned by their simple-minded families? Could they be Halfbloods? Or perhaps they were even Muggles themselves with knowledge of the magic, after marrying into a magical family (or having a magical child of their own, who would come back from their schooling, happily explaining whatever he or she learned while they were gone)?
Whatever it was, most Muggles thought those who used candles besides for decor, fragrance, and practical use were strange, or just flat out crazy.
Hermione thought the same until now; now that she was nose deep in the book, reading about rituals, wards, and other types of Candle Magic used in an abundance of ways. Those 'strange' Muggles made sense to her now— some may actually know of magic— real magic.
From the moment she found out that she was a witch, Hermione made comparisons between Muggles and Wizards (at first, only having her textbooks to help her with this, but later, she'd been able to compare the two worlds with actual humans), and obviously, things were quite different between them. For example, for wizards, just about every possible thing they used held magical properties. 'Artificial' movement was linked to magic energy somehow or another, which was harnessed from the magic of an actual person. Unlike Muggles, who had to physically create their energy power from several kinds of methods, since manpower alone was not enough to keep up with supply and demands.
Wizards often said that they were superior to Muggles, but given that their energy couldn't be brought out from a power connected to their souls, Muggles did exceptionally well at improvising. Hermione had seen for herself that the majority of wizards were very helpless without the ability to use their magic. Once they started Hogwarts, society pretty much encouraged them to do everything magically. Which was why a wizard without his wand tended to be useless unless he had mastered wandless magic, which was extremely hard to do. Even then, there was the fact that most didn't see the need to study it. They never took such precautions— what if their wand broke, like what happened to Ron in the Second Year? Ron had never shown any special magical talent, to begin with, so having a faulty wand was not something he could afford to have.
But would anyone ever listen to Hermione when she stressed such concerns? No, of course not! Quidditch and gossiping about the latest nail varnish were much more important!
"Candles, Hermione?" Ron's voice weaselled its way into her mind. "What could be interesting about candles?"
Hermione took this moment of interruption to spoon something in her mouth, not really paying attention to what it was, just so she'd fill her gut with something nutritious before the main meal disappeared to bring on dessert.
"Everything," she answered Ron, putting a finger into the book, marking it. "I'm reading about this one that David Henderson created; it's supposed to ward off nocturnal pests." Ron gave her a funny look, making her roll her eyes. "Night creatures, such as raccoons, mice and insects. It's rumoured to even ward off werewolves, vampires and ghouls, but there's no legitimate proof of it— though, anyone who's religiously lit one has had no encounters with the creatures, so that could be proof enough; the way I see it."
"You've barely touched your dinner," Harry informed her.
She smiled, slightly embarrassed. "Yes, I've gotten myself engrossed in the book."
"Nothing new there," Ron muttered to Harry.
Hermione ignored him and marked her book with a bookmark before stuffing it into her bag so it wouldn't further distract her from finishing her meal.
Just as she took her last bite, the tables were cleared briefly before dessert was served. Hermione chose a piece of carrot cake, plucking out the raisins and scraping them onto Ron's plate. Ron always asked for her raisins since she didn't particularly care for them. She didn't mind that he had them, as she didn't want the house elves to feel insulted for not finishing everything she had dished her plate with.
The boys began talking about the first Quidditch game of the year, even though it was still a few weeks away. With a spot open now that Oliver Woods graduated, Ron wanted to try out for the position. Harry didn't say anything at first about this. He was the captain of Gryffindor's team; the one who would have to make the final decision on the new players. Hermione didn't envy him a bit. She'd seen Ron play a few times: he was awful. Maybe he'd play differently on the team though when it wasn't just a game of 'points don't matter'. He was competitive, after all.
Dessert was finished, but the Headmistress had yet to excuse them from the meal, as was the official standard of the school before they went up for bed, extra studying or, in some cases, detention. Last year, when Professor Dumbledore retired due to health concerns not specified, Professor McGonagall accepted the offered position as the Head of the school but kept her position as Head of the Gryffindor house too.
Hermione squirmed in her seat, watching Professor McGonagall speaking with her head down low to the other Head of Houses. She was going to make an announcement, Hermione could just feel it in her bones. A rather big one too. Was it something grand, like the Yule Ball had been? Or… or was something terrible…!? Suddenly, Hermione didn't feel so great. She crossed her fingers, praying that the news would be good.
Please be good! Please be something fabulous!
Oh! Maybe they were going to get some new books! Hogwarts was severely outdated in literature.
Finally, Professor McGonagall stood up and walked around to the front of the table and faced the student body. She called for their attention, and hundreds of pairs of eyes looked up toward the front, curious of what she had to say.
Please be books! Please be books! Hermione thought over and over.
The shelves were seriously lacking Arithmancy books. Additional ones would be nice. Hermione still hadn't learned how to exactly tell the future with it. She had been in search of a book that would since the day that Professor Vector mentioned Arithmancy was one of several ways to 'tell' the future of one's self.
Of course, when Hermione had raised her hand to ask the question, "How can we do that, Professor?", her 'answer' had been, "All in time, my dear, anxious girl; first I must teach you how to be able to read the numbers that were given to you."
That was three years ago. But, alas, Hermione still had this year and the next to learn it, so perhaps that would be covered in the last bit of the final year.
"As you know, this year we're going to be focusing on house unity, promoting you to interact with peers from other houses besides your own. Our first program is for those who like mystery, writing and conversation. I ask that you only sign up if you are serious about it, but all those who do make it to the end of the program will be awarded 100 points each to their houses—" A unison of gasping flooded throughout the room at this.
"Golly! A hundred points! Each?!" a girl seated nearby Hermione squealed.
The room quieted again when Professor McGonagall called for order.
"Failure to follow through will lose your house 100 points though, so apply some thorough thought to the program before you commit to it."
This tidbit only appeared to dishearten a few students. Hermione didn't understand why, since the program hadn't been explained yet. She twiddled her thumbs in excitement. If it didn't have anything to do with flying, she was definitely going to sign up.
"We're going to have what is called 'Owlpals' this year. For those of you who are not familiar with the term, I hear it's very similar to the Muggle term 'penpals'. Those who have filled out the sign-up sheet will be assigned a someone that you will write letters to for the next several weeks. Because of the house unity effort, we're applying this year, your owlpal will be someone who is from a different house besides your own. For example, if you're a Gryffindor, your owlpal will be either a Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, or a Slytherin. Your owlpal will not be sorted in the same house as you.
"For the mystery side of it, to add a little excitement and fun— while also not allowing any sort of judgement—" She momentarily glanced at the Slytherin table then shifted her eyes to her own table of Gryffindors.
Hermione understood clearly. There was quite a bit of conflict and plenty of hostility between the two houses, though Hermione had met a couple of Slytherin girls in some of her classes who were actually okay and didn't have the typical 'I'm better than you' attitude— for the most part, these girls kept to themselves.
"—you will not be allowed to know who your owlpal is until the program is over when we will have the Union Party. We hope by the time the Union Party comes around, you will have mingled quite nicely with one another.
"To ensure anonymity is kept, you will be given a specific book of blank parchment to write to your owlpal with, when you are finished with your letter, you will rip the pages out, roll them up and tie them together and then put the letter into a designated box that will be located in your common room.
"Deliveries will be made twice a day: in the morning and evening. For further explanation, which includes a complete list of rules, there is a packet you will find in your common rooms. You will also find the needed sign-up sheet in that same packet.
"Any questions not covered by the list of rules may be directed to your Head of House. We all hope you will partake in this event, thank you for your time. You may now disperse."
As soon as she turned from them, people started buzzing with chatter, excited over the news.
"I'm not sure I want to sign up, but 100 points is a lot," Ron said.
"I'm signing up," Harry told him.
"Before anyone signs up, they should read the rules entirely," Hermione advised her surrounding housemates who had also chimed in about wanting to sign up. They just saw the prize, nothing more. "Because if it gets too demanding to the point where you'll want to drop out, it'll be 100 points you'll lose us." Here, she looked directly at Ron.
Ron gave her an indignant look. "Why are you looking at me? You're the one that's dropped classes you didn't like!"
Hermione huffed and began grabbing up her things. She'd originally planned to go up to the library and search for a few more books to read for the weekend, but the owlpal program had her intrigued. She wanted to claim a packet right away.
To Ron, she sneered, "I could afford to drop one class!"
As she walked away, with her nose held up high, she heard Harry say, "She brings up a good point."
She smiled at Ron's muttering, "Oh, shut up!"
*/*
When Draco returned to the common room, it was full of his housemates talking about the owlpal program. At first, he'd been disinterested in it (most Slytherins didn't spend their time socializing with those outside their sorting), but as with every other student in Hogwarts, that 100 points per successful participant had caught his attention. If even twenty of his housemates succeeded that would bring the Slytherin house 2,000 points toward the House Cup.
And, unlike the other houses, when Slytherins committed to something, they stuck through until the very end, especially if it was going to be worth so many house points.
Draco wasn't worried about many Slytherins dropping out. He just needed to get as many as he could to sign up. One good thing about the Slytherin house was that they wanted to win. If they didn't win, the Gryffindor house would, and no Slytherin wanted that.
He pushed his way through the crowd to get himself one of those packets that the Headmistress had mentioned. Before he started promoting the program for potential sign-ups, he needed to know everything about it: who would be allowed to participate, what needed to be done to become a participant, and most importantly, how often did one have to write to their owlpal.
He took the packet (a large, Slytherin-green cardboard envelope) to his dorm, not wanting to read around all the excitement going on.
Blaise and Gregory were already there; Gregory was playing with a deck of cards while slurping on a lolly, and Blaise had his own owlpal packet, reading over one of the many pieces of parchment.
"It sounds like a big waste of time," Gregory said, before sucking hard on his sweet and popping it loudly out of his fat mouth.
"If you're going to be exceedingly revolting tonight, Goyle, leave!" Draco snarled as he crossed the room to his bed where he set the packet onto it. He then removed his tie, satisfied that Gregory had taken the hint to enjoy his sweet a lot quieter.
Gregory didn't usually intend to cause annoyance, unfortunately for those around him, he was just too bloody good at it. It was practically his only talent, besides ballroom dancing, that is. If he wasn't so fat, he could woo the ladies with his graceful steps alone. Alas, Draco's friend of six years couldn't manage five minutes without stuffing something into his mouth.
And Vincent Crabbe was the same way; only Vincent was turning out to be an incredible cook. That was a talent Draco never expected of him. Of course, Draco had, at first, disapproved of it (what Pureblood actually cooked?), but all Draco had to do was take one bite of Vincent's steak and kidney pie, and he was hooked.
Vincent could cook as much as he pleased, so long as Draco was invited to taste test it.
"It seems simple enough," Blaise commented as Draco got into bed, comfortably lying down, and began opening his envelope. "There are charms cast onto the book that the blank parchments are a part of, so as you write, it'll erase anything you put down that may reveal your true identity."
"The sign-up sheet is more detailed than I thought it would be," Draco noted out loud, after skimming through it. There was a section for the normal things needed when you signed up for something, such as your name, date of birth, and house sorting, but the second half intrigued him slightly. There was a list of things in which he had to mark certain things down as his favourite.
"Yes, seems redundant to ask for our favourite things, doesn't it?" Blaise commented.
"Maybe they'll use your favourite things and match you to someone who also likes those things," Gregory said semi-distractingly, busy with his one-player card game.
Blaise and Draco exchanged looks, thinking over Gregory's theory. Draco shrugged. Every once in a while, Gregory managed to say something intelligent.
According to the rules, any Hogwarts student could sign up; it was not limited to age or status. So even he, as a Prefect, could partake.
Anyone found cheating (by trying to find out who their owlpal was in any way) would lose the 100 points, plus an additional deduction that the Heads of House deemed fit.
Then, of course, there was the penalty for not following through until the very end, which was only one letter of exchange for every week. Draco found that manageable: it also specified that each letter had to be at least a page long.
Upon signing up, along with the completed sign up sheet, anyone who wanted to be a part of the program had to supply three strands of their hair— or nail clippings if one didn't have any hair. It was stressed in bold to make sure it was your own hair and not from someone else "Otherwise, your letters from your owlpal would not make it to you." They would be delivered to whomever the hair did belong to.
Besides all that, there was a list of questions and answers that any bloke with common sense would know.
It didn't seem hard at all. The hardest part of this all would be to get the Slytherins to even sign up in the first place. The 100 points had caught their attention, but after one thought it over, would they be willing to converse with a 'stranger' from another house for eight weeks? Only a select few found anyone outside of Slytherin worth their time.
Then again, several hundred points— a few thousand altogether— was definitely worth their time.
"You signing up?" Blaise asked when Draco leaned over to open the drawer of his nightstand to get out a quill.
"I am. If everyone in Slytherin did, do you know how many points we would receive?"
"Millions?" Vincent asked dumbly. He had come in during Draco's reading and joined Gregory for a game.
Blaise rolled his eyes while Draco scoffed. "No, just a bit over 15,000."
Gregory lowered his hand of cards in awe. Vincent took this moment to peek at his cards, discarding one quickly before piping up with, "Your turn, Greg."
"That's right," Draco said, filling out the generic form. "And you two are going to do this too."
Vincent whined like a child. "Oh, Draco, I really don't want to!"
"Me neither!"
"Just think, you might meet a girl who loves chocolate cake and peppermint burps just as much as you do," Blaise said without looking up from his own paper, of which he was filling out.
Vincent looked longingly at the wall. "It would be nice to talk with a lady…"
"But what if you get a boy?" Gregory asked horrified.
"Then you'll still end up meeting a bloke who may just like dancing as much as you do. You said so yourself: they are probably using this favourite list to match us with someone who we have commonalities with."
Gregory nodded slowly, not yet convinced, but he was on the fence about it.
"I'll give you each five Galleons if you sign up and make it all the way until the party," Draco offered.
The two oversized boys nodded eagerly. "Okay!" they chimed in unison and hurried out of the dorm room to go get a packet.
That was one grand thing about having excessive wealth: it was very effective for bribery.
Draco could probably get the first years to do it with a few Sickles, and increasing the amount with his housemates of each year above that. Yes, he would do that, he could probably get plenty of his housemates to sign up then.
He thought a little on the favourites list. Some of the things he had never gave much thought to until now. Like his favourite colour or belonging. He had never been asked such questions before.
For his favourite belonging, Draco wrote in that it was his Advanced Potions book. He'd been given it by his paternal grandmother right before she died. He was only six at the time, and he had dearly loved her. She'd been very good at Potions and wanted Draco to be too. Draco knew she'd be proud of his top marks in the subject.
For a past time, he chose flying. The whir of the wind in his ears was enough to make all his troubles temporarily go away, putting his mind at ease. It was therapeutic.
He had to think a little about what his true favourite colour was. As a Slytherin, he was expected to like green, and he did, but it was not his favourite. He actually quite liked blue. A dark blue. Midnight perhaps? He wasn't sure of the actual tone, just so long as it was a dark one.
Draco's favourite Hogwarts class was easy: Potions, of course.
For food and drink, he couldn't pass up on an apple, specifically the green ones, and Draco had a sweet tooth, so he wrote down butterbeer as his favourite drink.
When he got to choosing his favourite holiday, Draco paused. Surely here, most people would mark down Christmas. He liked Christmas: gifts, family, a break from school, but if this was really a way to connect with someone, he'd prefer to get someone who wasn't so simple-minded, so even though Christmas was high on the list, he scribbled in summer, as he quite liked the lengthy warm weather and the vacation to the beach every year that he and his family went on. It was a time where Draco didn't have to stress much about anything and just have… fun…
Choosing a favourite animal was another question that made him have to think. He admired many of them, contrary to what people believed— he had been deemed an animal hater since that one episode back in his third year with that hippogriff. In the end, he decided that the black panther stood out the most in his mind.
The last thing on the list was to choose either nighttime or daytime. Naturally, Draco chose daytime. He was scared of the dark, after all, (though, no one knew of it) and was often grateful that Vincent was too, as he had lit a flameless candle every night before bed since his first day attending Hogwarts.
So, his Advanced Potions book, flying, dark blue, apples (green ones), butterbeer, the summer holiday, black panthers, and the day were his favourite things. He stared at his answers, wondering how on Earth they'd manage to find someone with these same interests. They weren't too common, well, except for flying.
He was eventually going to find out who held these same interests, but it would be his luck that he'd be told that he was incompatible with anyone.
Draco amused himself with that thought and plucked out three strands of hair from his head before dropping them into the envelope and sealing it.
He found that he was a little anxious to know who he would get. It was going to be a long eight weeks, no doubt.