In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Harry 16
"Nothing," Hermione said, wiping snow from her wild hair. "Absolutely no reference to a 'Half-Blood Prince' anywhere!"
"Zamora knows who it belongs to," Ron then offered, which caused both Harry and Hermione to visibly tense; Harry out of fear, Hermione out of rage. "Ginny says she'll tell you anything if you ask her nicely," he said, shrugging.
"The last thing I am doing is going to Ella Zamora for help!" Hermione whispered harshly, her face now bright red and swollen. "So what if she knows? If she does know, then so what? If she can learn, then so – can – I. And I frankly couldn't care less if she knows what I don't."
Hermione stomped hard with each word and stormed inside The Three Broomsitcks and slammed the door behind her. Harry gave Ron a tired look.
"How do you even know that she knows?" Harry sighed.
"Well, 'Sectumsempra'," said Ron. "Remember lunch after Potions on the first day?"
Harry did remember. She had used Crabbe to distract Harry so that she could snatch the textbook from the table without him knowing. He remembered the way she sort of stalled when she found a certain page, and then said: 'Sectumsempra?' When Harry looked, he saw it was a spell, that was 'for enemies.'
"She asked where you got it."
"Yeah," Harry agreed.
"Kind of like it was hidden, right? Like nobody was supposed to find it?" He shrugged. "Growing up in a big house, you learn a thing or two about hiding things and how…" Ron then sort of laughed. "I mean, it's kind of obvious, innit? The Half-Blood Prince is probably some old relative of hers. One of the Spellings."
Harry thought for a moment. He recalled how Zamora handed the book back with a rather chilling smile and said 'game on.' Either way, Zamora knew and had chosen to not rat Harry out to Professor Slughorn about him cheating, in spite of the fact of her greeting him in the corridor with the moniker 'Cheating Cheater who Cheats' every time they passed one another.
"It's a brilliant theory, Ron," Harry admitted, "but there's one problem: it's the Half-Blood Prince. Not the Pureblood Prince. I don't think Ella Zamora's got any half-blood relatives that she'd be openly willing to talk about." Ron nodded with a shrug. "But best not bring it up to Hermione again."
Ron nodded. "Right."
The Three Broomsticks was crowded with as much gossip as there was warmth. The first winter's snow had fallen over Hogwarts and all were out enjoying it. The lake was not yet safely frozen over, however, so the Slytherins were not out ice skating, as they seem to have all taken a liking to. Instead, the Dueling Club, captained by Zamora, was taking over Hogsmeade.
The snowman building contest – which had been announced some weeks before for the afternoon of the first winter's snow – was now in full swing, and the Dueling Club was hosting. The entire club was out, taking sign-up sheets around and serving hot chocolate with peppermint marshmallows at the hosting stand, which was all built out of snow, just outside. Considering the success of the Dueling Club's fundraisers in the past, it was no surprise that this one had a grand turnout. The prizes were always good, too, and this year there were gift baskets full of fudge, toys, warm winter clothes, and more, all sponsored by shops from here to Diagon Alley. The Frog Choir was even there, with Professor Flitwick, taking donations from the patrons to help raise money for activities.
Harry was knocked a bit to the side with a coconut snowball to the face, which dissipated in an annoying ball of confetti all throughout his hair. It was Miles Bletchley, Slytherin's Keeper, who was manning the Dueling Club's registration booth at the counter. "Team Zamora, Potter!" he laughed, gesturing to the button on his jersey. Ron quickly put his arm around Harry's shoulder and kept them walking.
Not including the entirety of Slytherin House, all had rallied behind Zamora, wearing 'Team Zamora' buttons on their robes, to show solidarity in the fact that Harry was now her branded target. Making Professor Slughorn believe he was a genius came at the cost of being the enemy of the most popular Witch in Hogwarts. Fortunately, it had only been an onslaught of very odd pranks instead of anything truly sinister: someone had enchanted his Transfigurations textbook to—when opened—spew out an ocean of ping-pong balls, and another had hexed his socks to be shocking pink whenever they hit the sunlight. Harry learned later that Zamora's motto when it came to pranks was: 'Confuse, don't abuse.'
Slughorn was speaking with the barkeep about something or other, and Harry quickly found a table in the back with Hermione, who had—for some reason—chosen a table near where Zamora and Malfoy were. Ron sat next to Harry, and Hermione ordered three butterbeers with some ginger in hers. Harry glanced over and noticed that Malfoy was nursing a butterbeer of his own, and Zamora had a hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows and whipped cream, which she was stirring with a candy cane. She and Malfoy were having some sort of lovey-dovey conversation, and when she stopped stirring to take his hand, the candy cane kept on turning in its cup.
"Look at her left hand," whispered Hermione. "She's wearing his ring!"
Harry glanced over. "How do you know it's his?" he asked.
"Because he's not wearing it—honestly!" she whispered harshly. Harry hadn't ever put much thought into what kind of jewelry Malfoy wore.
Ron rolled his eyes. "They're likely betrothed already," he stated, matter-of-factly, which caused Hermione to give a rather disgusted look. "'S'not like I like or anything," he quickly said. "But fact of the matter is that Malfoy's rich, and so's she, and they're both Purebloods, so…" Ron shrugged again. "Tell you the truth her granny's not so keen on it, either." He leaned in and whispered. "She came to the Burrow near the end of the summer and asked about Percy. For Ella."
"What?" Harry whispered in shock. Hermione recoiled in disgust. Ron's stuffy older brother, Percy, marry Ella? The thought was just so…gross. It was far less sinister of an idea, though, than Malfoy and Zamora together. Harry guessed that those two would give birth to jackals.
"Yeah, and she tried to pay us to consider her as a bride! It wasn't even a dowry, just a 'gift.' Mum and dad refused the money, o' course, but it's slimy. Only reason she's doing it is because of Bill and Fleur."
"Arranged marriages?" whispered Hermione, aghast. "In this day and age? That's barbaric! As little as I care for Ella Zamora, I care even less for the thought of her just being shipped off like she were cattle!"
"It's just what wealthy Pureblooded gits like them do, alright?"
"What do Bill and Fleur have to do with Zamora's grandmother?" Harry asked.
"Turns out," Ron began, "Fleur Delacour is Zamora's cousin. Her granny's sister is Fleur's granny."
"And I expect she's been 'round the Burrow a lot now?" Hermione whispered harshly, a tinge of jealousy in her voice.
"Her granny's rich and has all these hotels and casinos out in Monaco," Ron explained further, ignoring Hermione. "She wants to 'keep eet in ze fam-eel-eey,' whatever that bloody means…" Harry snickered at Ron's horribly mocking French accent. "Oh, bloody hell," he cursed, noticing Ginny and Dean in the corner. Harry's stomach went a bit tight. The butterbeers arrived at their table. Hermione looked over.
"Oh, Ron, they're just holding hands…" Dean leaned in and kissed Ginny. Harry quickly distracted himself by looking at Slughorn, waiting to be noticed by him. "…And snogging." A knot tied itself in Harry's stomach.
"I'd like to leave," said Ron, straight-faced.
"What?" gasped Hermione. "You can't be serious."
"That happens to be my sister!" Ron insisted.
"So? If she looked over here and saw you snogging me you think she'd want to get up and leave?" Professor Slughorn was making his way slowly towards them, but stopped to talk to Marcus Belby for a moment, a Ravenclaw 7th year.
Professor Flitwick came over to Malfoy and Zamora, a clipboard in his hand. "Alright, Miss Zamora, the contest will be under way shortly!" he announced. "You'd best get out there soon." He glanced at the parchment through his spectacles. "First the announcement, then you'll chime the starting charm with some brilliant red-and-green sparks. Students will have precisely two hours to construct their creations, during which time the Frog Choir will perform. And then judging will commence, during which time we thank our sponsors and, finally, announce the winner and hand out prizes. Are you ready?"
She glanced at the clock. "I've twenty minutes, Professor, and I fully trust the Choir and the Dueling Club to carry on fine while I finish my hot chocolate."
Professor Flitwick balked when he saw her mug "Is that double cream in that hot chocolate? You know what dairy does to the voice!" he admonished. "Tea, Zamora! Tea with lemon before performances!"
Malfoy grinned, the slimy git. "Come, come, Professor—one hot chocolate certainly can't do the beautiful voice of Ella Zamora much harm. And, if by some tragedy, her voice is anything other than spectacular, you may hold me accountable for insisting."
She giggled a bit. "It's true, he did insist," she agreed.
"Well she does have a spectacular voice," admitted Professor Flitwick with a shake of his head. "Very well, Zamora, very well… By the way, I don't think I ever told you how much we all enjoyed your performance the other day. That song was so…fun. And beautiful – so full of emotion! And you performed it so passionately."
Zamora looked down with a bit of a blushing smile. "Actually, Professor, I can't take the credit for that one…" She looked to Malfoy. "To tell you the truth, it was Draco was the one that wrote that song." Malfoy looked as shocked as Harry felt. His gray eyes went wide as dinner plates, and his pale face went whiter than Harry thought possible. "But it's meant to be performed as a duet. I tried my best, of course, but…it's still meant to be a duet. I couldn't even do the whole performance on my own. There's a whole set of counterpointed lyrics and melody that go with it on the bridge!"
"Really?" gasped Professor Flitwick, who looked and sounded very impressed indeed. "Why, Mister Malfoy! I hadn't any idea you were musically inclined!"
"Oh, surely you aren't serious, Professor. Why, Draco's far more talented than I. He's been writing music since he was seven years old. Did you know that? He let me see some of his sheet music from his childhood, and then he played the organ for me. Have you ever been to Malfoy Manor? Well, it's spectacular, I'll tell you that. They've got snow-white peacocks just wandering around the grounds, and a hedge rose maze the size of a Quidditch Pitch. The organ – it's beautiful, I've only ever seen its equal at church in Monaco – was a gift from some Duke for some service done. I swear, when he played, I felt the earth move."
Harry quickly swallowed some of his butterbeer to prevent any sort of sick that was going to spew out from how she was talking. And Malfoy, musical? He did write 'Weasley is our King' within hours of Ron being announced Keeper, but it hadn't occurred to Harry that Malfoy would ever use any sort of creative gift for good.
"You simply must come to the Choir room sometime and entertain us with your talents! There is an old organ, in the orchestra room, that's in need of repair…but we do have a piano, Mister Malfoy. You could play that until we repair the organ! Now that I know someone will play that old thing…"
Malfoy looked away. "I'm afraid that's not quite my cup of tea, Professor," he said, sounding almost shy.
"Draco's rather shy, but we'll get him out of his shell eventually, Professor," Harry heard Zamora say. Malfoy, shy? They said a few more things, but Harry was eyeing for where Professor Slughorn went. He noticed Professor Flitwick leave, and then get caught by Professor Slughorn on the way out the door. He then heard Zamora say to Malfoy: "You okay?"
"Why do you do that?" Malfoy snapped.
"Do what?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy chuck the rest of his butterbeer, slam down the mug, and then look away disdainfully. "You've got butterbeer foam on your top lip." He shot Zamora an extremely angry look. "What now?!" she whispered incredulously.
"It's like you're always criticizing me!" he shot.
"I—am—not!" she insisted. "You wanna go through life with butterbeer foam on your top lip and nobody telling you about it?" Harry noticed that she really did have a bit of a New York accent when she got bothered. Malfoy looked away. Zamora took her hot chocolate and dipped her entire nose into the pile of whipped cream while she sipped. Standing, she pranced 'round the table, half her face covered with white, cuddled in next to Malfoy. "Um, is there anything you wanna tell me?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, looked to Zamora, and burst out laughing hard. Harry felt sick and looked away. He heard them kiss, but quickly smiled when Slughorn noticed him. Harry stood, a smile on his face.
"Harry my dear boy!" said Professor Slughorn, his cheeks red as Father Christmas's.
"Hello, sir, wonderful to see you!" he said, shaking his hand firmly.
"And you, dear boy, and you!" Harry could smell the nog on his breath.
"What brings you to the Three Broomsticks?"
"Oh, the Three Broomsticks and I go way back…" He swayed, his balding head shining in the light. "I can remember when it was one broomstick!" He swayed with a wheezing cackle, and some of his warm beer went spilling on the table. "Whoop! All hands on deck, Granger!" He looked back to Harry. "Are you here to compete in the Snowman Building contest?"
"Er, no, sir—I'm afraid I'm not terribly artistic, sir."
"Quite impressive a feat, wouldn't you say?" He was slurring quite a bit. "Why, I've never seen this much discipline and organization in my day! And the pumpkin carving contest last Hallo'ween! Why, extraordinary! I can't believe a single student organized all of this! Are you enjoying your little friendly competition with the Princess of Potions?"
Harry was not. "Nothing quite like a little healthy competition," he lied with a smile, causing Slughorn to wheeze.
"By the way, my dear boy, I've been known to throw the occasional supper party back in the day…a select group of special students…" Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Would you be game?"
"I'd consider it an honor, sir."
Slughorn nodded and swayed a bit to look to Hermione. "You'd be welcome, too, Granger," he said.
"I'd be delighted, sir," said Hermione, her own top lip now covered with butterbeer foam.
"Splendid, splendid!" he chortled. "Look for my owl!" He then turned to Ron. "Good to see you—oof!"
"Eek!"
Beer splashed all over the table, and Hermione jumped up in shock. Zamora had knocked herself rather forcefully into Professor Slughorn's side when she had gotten up from her and Malfoy's table.
"Oh, Professor! I am – so – sorry!" She quickly whipped out her wand. "Here—" She pointed at the spill on the table and floor and twirled her wands anti-clockwise. "Errorem contrarium!" She cast, and the ale was quickly reversed from the table and spun backwards up into Slughorn's mug again, all heavy with foam. Hermione's jaw dropped.
"Merlin's beard!" he slurred, his eyes wide as saucers. "Well if that isn't a useful charm!"
Zamora tucked a curl behind her ear, giving a teensy laugh in embarrassment. "My mother invented that one. Just a simple cleaning charm to keep her daughter from crying about her spilled milk. Please excuse me—" Zamora dashed away, a blur of Slytherin green.
"Oh, Miss Zamora!" Slughorn called after her.
"I must go!" she called back before dashing quickly out the door, likely to announce the beginning of the contest.
Slick as a lizard, Malfoy stood up next to Professor Slughorn. "Sir, I hope you'll accept my apologies on Miss Zamora's behalf—she's an American, and a New Yorker at that. They're not akin to slowing down for the sake of being polite."
"Oh, yes, yes of course…" Slughorn then looked to Malfoy, visibly uncomfortable and unsure of what to say. "You look very much like your father," he said in a tone most amiable. Malfoy grinned and looked down. "His spitting image, I daresay."
"A kind thing to say, sir," he admitted. "Thank you. But I'm afraid that's all I have in common with him." Harry frowned. What was that git playing at?
"Oh?" said Slughorn, now seeming to have completely forgotten about them that they were standing in front of.
"Oh. Well, I love my father, of course—but we don't exactly see eye to eye. He dislikes Ella, for example, and—well—I don't dislike her." He then sort of smiled. "Ella's always saying that America fought and won a whole war with England over not having to do what your father has to do." What the bloody hell is this git on about? Harry and Ron exchanged a look.
"I beg your pardon?" Slughorn asked with a frown.
"Oh, nothing, sir, nothing at all. I didn't mean to… Well," He gestured to the door. "Ella's got a spectacular turn-out this year, far more than last year. Why not go outside and watch the festivities? I'll be out there in a moment to join you and wave her over for you, shall I? She's having the Dueling club hand out hot chocolate and sweets that they've made. I'm looking forward to the chocolate-dipped pineapple, myself."
"I'll never say no to pineapple!" laughed Professor Slughorn, jovial again.
"I'll join you in but a moment. Please excuse me." Malfoy gave a small bow and went upstairs, making sure to shoot Harry a look before leaving.
"Well," said Slughorn. "He certainly is well-mannered enough." Harry wanted to vomit, and he guessed that Hermione and Ron felt the same way. He turned back to the trio. "Care to join me in observing the festivities?"
"Certainly, sir—we'll be right out, just soon as we finish our butterbeers!" said Harry. Slughorn left, and Hermione and Ron both gave Harry a quizzical look. "Dumbledore's asked me to get to know him."
"What for?" asked Hermione.
"I don't know. But it must be important. Dumbledore wouldn't ask otherwise..."
They soon went outside to see the festivities, and Hogsmeade was abuzz. The pumpkin carving contest had taken place on Hogwarts grounds, but once Honeydukes had gotten wind of how successful it had been, they insisted on sponsoring this year. Zamora had already started the commencement spell, and the Frog Choir was performing Christmas carols in exciting arrangements of polyphonic harmony. Harry glanced at the prizes and saw that it wasn't just Honeydukes that had donated gift baskets; Scrivenshaft's had donated a very handsome new stationary set, and Gladrags had donated a handsome black coat with matching scarf and gloves. Many of the girls entering had opted for the 'creatures' category while some of the boys had decided to enter the 'structures' category, in which you constructed an igloo or a castle. The Carrow twins were constructing a very impressive sleeping dragon, using popsicle sticks and gardening trowels to sculpt its scales.
"Harry, look!" Ron said, pointing. "Luna's entered the contest, too!" Harry glanced over, and noticed that Luna had chosen to create a scene from, what Harry guessed was, 'Alice in Wonderland.' There was a rabbit wearing a coat with candies for buttons, sitting atop a great teapot which she had colored pink with what smelled like sugar. Hermione smiled, but turned to watch Neville, who was watching Zamora intently as she sang, his round cheeks bright red from either the cold or watching her performance of "O Holy Night."
"I can't believe Neville fancies her of all people," Hermione mumbled under her breath. "Neville's far too nice and decent a person for her."
"I reckon he's a glutton for punishment," Ron commented. "Everyone knows Malfoy's head-over-heels for her."
Hermione quieted and looked to Malfoy, who was chatting with Theo Nott, admiring Astoria Greengrass's entry, which was of a slumbering unicorn with its horn fashioned from an icicle. "Come to think of it, he's barely bothered us all year..." she breathed. Harry frowned in question. "He really is, isn't he?"
"It's true," came Luna's lofty voice. She had stopped sculpting and had stepped silently to be right next to them.
"Luna, your sculpture is very nice," said Harry. Hermione and Ron nodded in agreement.
"He truly loves her; you can see it in the way he looks at her when he thinks nobody's looking. And she loves him back. Not that she'll ever admit it, of course." She quieted her tone, if that were at all possible. "Best not let her know that I let you know. She'd be dreadfully embarrassed."Luna skipped back to her sculpture as if nothing had happened.
Harry didn't know what to make of the thought of Malfoy genuinely caring about someone, feeling any sort of love at all. He looked up; Zamora was singing a solo act now, and the choir was doing a vocalized version of the accompanying music. It was some old song that he'd heard on the radio once or twice around Christmastime, called "Merry Christmas Darling." Hermione had wandered to watch Luna from another angle, and Harry quickly walked in the opposite direction when she saw Ginny and Dean canoodling by the Carrow Twins' structure.
"She's got such a pretty voice," Neville said to nobody in particular. Everyone seemed to think so, but Harry wasn't sure he liked it. He supposed he could admit that she sounded alright. "Did you know she gave me all of her seeds from America?" asked Neville. "My gran's house is full over with starberry bushes and glimmeroses in the summer. Everything sparkles!"
"What's a glimmerose?"
"It's like a rose that...well, glimmers. It catches the light in lots of different ways...the rose petals look smooth, and feel smooth, but they are actually very rough-looking under a looking-eye, so they catch and reflect the light like diamonds do. It's all from the leaves, you see. The leaves collect moonlight while the flowers close up at night, and then the flowers collect sunlight while they shine so that the plant is fed! It's amazing..." He looked back to Zamora again. Harry admitted to himself that it was pretty cool. "And they come in all colors! Every color imaginable-even striped! Black, green, brown...and they smell like their respective colors, too! The red ones smell like cherries sometimes, and then you'll come back later and the same red ones will smell like lipstick. The brown ones smell like manure sometimes, but then other times they'll smell like wood, or chocolate!" Harry didn't know what to think of a flower that smelled like manure.
"What do you do with them?"
"Lots of things! They can be used to make magical dyes that change color in the light, or for pyreworks on the 4th of July! That's the American Independence Day, y'know. Oh, and I hear that you can use it as a potion ingredient, but I forget what for..." He went back to staring at Ella. "It's because of her that Professor Slughorn invited me to the Slug club dinner party, you know."
Harry blinked in surprise. "He did?"
Neville turned to Harry. "I know! Me of all people! But Ella told him about how I bred her a Mimbulus Mimbletonia, and how I was growing all of her plants for her...and, well, now I get to go to the dinner party, too!"
"Brilliant," said Harry, unsure of what else to possibly say.
"Malfoy won't be there," he said in a whisper. "Professor Slughorn's not keen on being involved with Death Eaters at all. So Ella will be there alone...all by herself. I wonder if I'll be able to sit next to her...?"
"It's getting cold. I'm going to get a hot chocolate, mate." Harry excused himself before he vomited all over the snow. He frankly couldn't see what was so appealing about Ella Zamora; Hermione, Ron, and he seemed to be the only ones that weren't under her spell. He quickly decided that she couldn't have possibly used Amortentia on the entire school, and then soon remembered that he initially liked her when she first came to Hogwarts last year. Soon after this realization he recalled that he was likely right to get at least some scorn from her. Potions was her gift and Slughorn thought that Harry was the genius at it, even though she actually was the genius. He'd have to apologize to her, eventually, he guessed...but not until the mystery with Slughorn and Dumbledore was unraveled.
Harry reached the hosting stand and noticed it was headed by Rachael Rosier, a Slytherin fifth-year, and Fergus Crowley, another Slytherin that was a sixth-year. "May I have three hot chocolates, please?" She gave him a rather unfriendly look and turned away in disgust.
"Rachael!" All three of them turned to meet Zamora's unfriendly gaze as she marched towards them. "What are you doing?" The choir had still been singing, but Harry guessed that she had stepped down from singing to being judging.
"He..." She pointed at Harry, but quickly turned red and looked away. Crowley turned away, too.
"He asked you for three hot chocolates, now go and get them! And you!" She shot her gaze to Crowley. "You should know better."
Crowley conceded, a bit red in the face, as Rosier went and poured the hot chocolates and piled them high with cream and marshmallows. "Fifteen sickles, Potter," he sighed, holding out his hand. Zamora stepped in and crossed her arms angrily. Crowley sighed deeply. "Fine." Rosier brought the paper mugs to the counter, and they were steaming hot with an intoxicating chocolate aroma. Crowley held out the cups in his mitted hands. "On the house, Potter." Harry frowned in confusion and looked to Zamora, who impatiently shoved the three mugs into Harry's hands.
"Er... It's not like I can't pay it..." he offered.
"'Confuse, don't abuse', Harry," she said with a wink. "Excuse me." She walked off to continue her judgement of the sculptures, along with fellow judges from other Houses. Feeling extremely confused, Harry went off to hand the hot chocolates to Hermione and Ron, who thanked him. When Harry sipped the chocolate, he paused at how warm and buttery it felt sliding down his throat, and how happy he was in that moment it touched his lips. When he breathed in the aroma, there was a hint of orange and cinnamon swirling around his nose, and he found himself breathing it in deeply.
"Bloody hell," cursed Ron as he dipped his whole face into the marshmallow topping. "Why does American food have to be so good?"
Really fun, really light-hearted, really cute stuff as a break from that nightmare of a chapter that was last time...enjoy!