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.
Hermione 17
Order was called in the emergency Prefect meeting, attended by the head of each Hogwarts House, all of the prefects, plus one: Ella Zamora, who was looking somehow a combination of stoic and perturbed. She was standing next to Pansy Parkinson, that cow, who was looking even more outwardly distressed. Draco was standing near them, but not next to them. Hannah Abbot seemed most interested, and/or hopeful, for how the situation would turn out, for she was whispering something to Ernie Macmillan - who was also a member of the Dueling Club.
"Think she's getting expelled?" Ron whispered to Hermione.
"Shh!" hissed Hermione as Professor Snape stepped forward.
"As some of you may know," Professor Snape began, "We take the role of Prefect seriously and we do not assign the title lightly. A Prefect is meant to lead by example, maintaining above average grades, patrolling the hallways, and making sure that all under their care are well attended to." He glanced around the room. "It has come to my attention that Miss Parkinson is unfit for the job of representing Slytherin House—"
Ron snickered, and all eyes went to him. His face fell. He cleared his throat. Professor Snape did not look amused.
"And therefore," continued Professor Snape, "The Slytherin Prefect for the graduating class of 1998 will be Miss Ella Zamora." He gestured to Ella, who came up next to him, and Hermione's heart went to her throat. She had to admit that Ella's grades rivaled only hers in the whole school, and her achievements, of course, were impressive—but dammit are you serious?! "It is my hope that you will all make her feel welcome during this transitional period." He motioned for Pansy to step forward, which she did. "Well?" Pansy Parkinson then huffed quite a bit, ripped the silver Prefect pin off her shirt and shoved it into Ella Zamora's open hand, causing quite a loud scene as she stormed out of the room. Ella rolled her eyes, quite unimpressed, and pinned the pin on the dimple of her tie. The room was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. This was bad; it was going to be like letting a tiger out of the cage.
Ella smiled. "Thank you, everyone," she began. "I know this is unusual. I know this title means a great deal to all of you. I guarantee that it is not my intent to besmirch this title and the privileges that go with it." She then locked eyes with Hermione, and she felt the hairs on the back of her neck go stiff. Her face felt flush, fervid as a flame. Her eyes felt like they were going to explode. "Let's all be civilized. There's no reason to make any more of a fuss of it than she did." Ella nodded pointedly towards the door, and everyone seemed to be mollified by her joke.
"Thank you, Miss Zamora. Take a seat with the rest of your Prefects. Let's begin."
On the 2nd of every month, the Prefects all met to discuss business. This could mean anything from disciplinary issues, complaints or grievances between Houses...and sometimes took audiences from clubs or Student Council should they needed aid on something. Ella was taking notes with a quill made of a white peacock plume, which was the gift she'd gotten from Malfoy last year after the fountain pen fiasco.
She meant to be paying attention, but she couldn't help but wonder how—between dance class, dueling club, and NEWT classes—Ella was doing it all, but she guessed that she, too, was using a Time-Turner. Then Hermione noticed Draco...looking. He was looking at Ella in such a funny way, not that she noticed, she wondered if...? Well, she wasn't certain what she was wondering. Hermione was, in fact, so distracted by her own emotions that she missed half of what they were even talking about, and before she knew it the meeting was over. It was Wednesday evening, so most were off to the Great Hall, or possibly off to the Library. She was off to the first Slug Club dinner, though, all alone. Harry had been getting private occlumency lessons from Dumbledore, and—unfortunately—avoiding Professor Slughorn for the moment...but she hoped that he would change his mind and come, so she wouldn't have to do it all on her own.
The Prefect girl's bathroom was a great place to be alone and think. She could have gotten ready in the Gryffindor bathroom, but the thought of being around anyone else at that moment wasn't her favorite. For some reason, the Prefect girl's bathroom was almost always unoccupied. Tonight, Hermione came in to find Ella, stepping out of the bath. She gave a tiny shriek and turned away, shielding her eyes with her palm.
"Oh, hey!"
"Sorry—!"
"No, it's okay, come in." Hermione peeked over her hand. "You've got the same stuff as me," she said. Shyly, Hermione went off to the cupboard where she kept her change of clothes, unlocked with Hermione's wand. All of the prefects got their own cupboards in the bathrooms, assigned and locked with wand recognition combinations. Hermione stuffed herself into one of the admittedly comfortable stalls and changed. She came out to see Ella sitting at one of the vanities, her hair tied up in...well, it wasn't a towel, was it? She smiled at her in the reflection of the mirror and went back to...what was she doing?
The young Gryffindor came closer to the line of vanities, each with mirrors and lights, and saw that Ella was...rubbing the bulb end of a large phial with an ice-blue liquid in it, all over her face. She must have been staring, for she gave a tiny laugh and said: "Cold is good for your skin." She then wiped off the glass with a hand towel and offered it to Hermione. "Wanna try? It feels great."
"Um, no thank you," said Hermione, sitting. "How did you get here so fast?" she asked, almost certain at this point that Snape had, in fact, given her a time turner.
"I flew," said Ella, pulling out another phial and dabbing a bit in her palms, then rubbing it over her face. "Being at Ilvermorny, you learn to get places quickly, and take quick showers." She then took out her makeup bag. "Hogwarts is tiny compared to it. Did you know that we're allowed bicycles to get to the other parts of the campus? Broomsticks, too, but you have to be at least a fifth year for that. Even the first years can have bicycles."
"Bicycles in the halls?" said Hermione, aghast.
"No, just to get around the grounds," laughed Ella, who then took a single snail out of a glass jar of many snails, held the poor creature upside-down, tickled its slimy underbelly with her ring finger and dabbed the slime beneath her eyes. Hermione went a little green, then turned her attention to the mirror. "My own bicycle was gold," continued Ella, as if Hermione weren't intensely uncomfortably going to change behind her vanity's partition. She decided to skip the bath and simply change her clothes, put on fresh socks and shoes, etc. It was nice to wear her own clothes, sometimes, but Hermione still loved her Hogwarts uniform; it made her feel like she belonged there. She put on a nice skirt and a respectable cardigan, and when she came out, Ella was still working on her face, paying special attention to darkening her already dark eyebrows. She swathed a bit of lipstick on her full mouth, which did look rather naturally pink, so Hermione wondered why she was even needing it. Her eyes met hers in the mirror. "You're staring," she japed.
Hermione quickly turned away and turned her attention to the mirror in front of her. Not wanting to be outdone, she pulled out her own makeup bag and glanced at the contents: a packet of dental floss, a tube of chapstick, a pair of tweezers, a tube of mascara that had coated other contents completely with soot-looking black, and some eyeshadow in brown that she hadn't used since 4th year. She snorted a bit and took out the chapstick, smearing it on her lips. She then felt Ella's eyes on her. Glancing over, she was looking rather smug. Hermione quickly looked away.
"Okay, that's it—" Ella said, putting her makeup brush down. "What's your deal with me, anyway, huh?" Hermione felt her face grow hot. "You still mad about last year?" Hermione said nothing. "Come on. Let's have a truce." She looked up with a frown. "Seriously. Now that Harry's on my radar, you're not my frenemy anymore." Ella quirked an eyebrow and smiled. "Come on. You and I are the brightest witches in this whole damn place. We should be on the same side. Don't you think?" Ella extended her hand. "Truce?"
Truce?! thought Hermione incredulously. Ella then seemed rather insulted and turned her attention back to the mirror.
"Cormac's got a crush on you..." sang-songed Ella, who then went back to getting dressed. She pulled a strappy green halter out and slipped it over her head. Hermione went beet red when she dropped the towel and looked away as she slipped on her knickers beneath the skirt. She then flipped her head over and took her head out of the scarf in a turret of annoyingly perfect black curls, that fell very softly all down her shoulders and down her back. She then opened up a wooden jewelry box with a gordian knot carved into it pulled out a silver cuff, which she placed around her wrist.
"He's vile," stammered Hermione, realizing she didn't have anything else to do. She was dressed and clean. She smeared on another layer of chapstick and pretended to check her teeth.
"Give him a chance," she argued, dabbing a bit of light-colored powder at the top of her already high cheekbones. "He's good-looking, with a family of a good political standing. He's well-connected, athletic... He's probably used to getting what he wants, likely rewarded for that pig-headed confidence." She then smiled at Hermione, with a quirked eyebrow. "Five dragots says he looks at you the way he does because he thinks that you'll like it. He probably thinks it makes you feel attractive."
"'Attractive?!'" gasped Hermione.
"I know, I know—'smash the patriarchy,' 'my eyes are up here,' 'I'm more than my boobs,' blah blah blah...'" She shrugged and pulled out a pair of sheer caramel-colored stockings and rolled them up and over her naked legs, all the way up to her thighs. "Those silver-spooned jerks... I certainly know the type, but I also know that it's sometimes the ones we would normally overlook that end up surprising you the most."
What in the world does that mean?! She thought. Is she trying to tell me that Draco's the one she'd overlook? "He's also got the intellect of a concussed troll," shot Hermione, pretending to fix her hair.
"Hm. There is that," agreed Ella, now taking a small jar labeled "unicorn snot" and opening it to reveal a gloopy, glittery, rainbow-colored gel that she then smeared a bit on her collarbone. "Want some?" she asked, offering the jar.
"No, thank you," said Hermione with a shake of her head, wondering if it was actual unicorn snot.
"I just figured you liked that type. You know, Viktor Krum and all." Hermione felt her whole face turn red. She then immediately scolded herself—of course that little sneak would know about that. It was all over the papers, thanks to Rita Skeeter; and the Triwizard Tournament was an international sensation, so it wasn't surprising to learn that she knew... But still! To even bring it up! "I'm not judging, by the way—I totally get it. I like being the smartest one in the room, too. But when it comes to relationships, I personally like someone that I can really have a deep conversation with. Naturally, jocks aren't my thing."
Jocks? "So...?" She looked over. Hermione struggled to find the right words. "Why are you...?"
"Why am I dating Draco?" laughed Ella. Hermione nodded. She shook her head and laughed a bit through her nose, turning back to the mirror. "Well, he's not really a typical 'jock', in every sense... I don't know, he's—" Hermione then saw a flush of her cheeks, and then saw that she quickly suppressed any real emotion she might have been feeling at the moment and went back to her shallow exterior. "He's a really good dancer," she said, applying a bit more mascara on her bottom lashes. "And he's...y'know, sweet, and generous—"
"'Generous'?!" balked Hermione before she could stop herself.
"Yes. Generous," snapped the American. She then held up her wrist. "He's always buying me stuff. This bangle for instance." She took it off and handed it to Hermione. "It's real silver. And do you see those dots punched out? It's not just dots; it's the constellation Pisces, which is my star sign. I saw a bangle like this in Hogsmeade and almost bought it when Draco said—" she adopted a hilariously bad British accent, likely unknowing at how comically bad it was "—'oy can git yew one wif real silvah!' And sure, at first, I was like, 'as if'! But then it totally showed up on my bed a few days later. So I was like 'okay, papi, major points.'" She accio'd the bangle back onto her wrist. "You should try getting a boyfriend, sometime. Once you get out of your own head, they're actually really great to have."
She scoffed, trying rather hard to not be so visibly irritated. "As if I have time for boys! I'm far too preoccupied with my studies."
"That's an excuse for ugly girls," she said, reaching down the front of her dress and adjusting herself in the mirror. Hermione's jaw dropped. "Hmm..." She reached into her bag and pulled out a sort of something wrapped in a finely embroidered handkerchief, which was then pulled away to reveal a bouquet of very nice flowers, of all colors. She looked at them for a moment before deciding on a purplish-pink flowers that looked a bit like hydrangeas, only quite a bit smaller. Zamora then swept her long curls over to one side and twisted them into a thick braid, then pulled at the strands to make them look even thicker, before popping the tiny flowers here and there through. She then looked a bit bored. "What do you think? With or without the heliotropes?"
"I-It's..." Hermione shook her head and shrugged. "What you like is fine." Zamora smirked.
"You know, Hermione, you're a really pretty girl. There's nothing wrong with showing that."
"What are you playing at?" shot Hermione, feeling quite defensive.
Her eyebrows dropped in annoyance. "I'm actually trying to be nice," deadpanned Zamora, a very tired look on her face, "but you are not making it easy." She then pulled out a knitted cardigan with silver buttons, that looked quite slinky and polished, and pulled it over her arms and shoulders. It was embroidered with a silver 'E' in a fine silver thread. "I'll see you there," she said, shoving her shoulder bag into the drawer beneath the vanity, a soft click locking it for safe keeping.
"Wait!" called Hermione as Zamora pulled her shoes on. "I—" She gulped when she turned to face her. "I don't— I don't mean to be...difficult, if you really are trying to make peace..." She grinned and put her hands on her hips. "Just...maybe if you could tell me one more thing?" Zamora nodded. "Why are you a Prefect now? It must have been an extreme case with Pansy Parkinson." Zamora narrowed her already-thin eyes and walked back over to the stool. She sat down and leaned forward, getting her face uncomfortably close.
"So we're clear—" she extended her hand "—this doesn't leave this bathroom. Got it? I accept that you're a total Cherry Slush Club Reject. But I hope that you know that this is still covered under the sacred laws of womanhood."
Hermione hadn't ever been so confused. "'Cherry Slush Club...?'"
Zamora's eyes went from narrow to wide open. "No, seriously? You mean you're a sixth year and you've never summoned by the Basement Vampire?"
"'Basement Vampire—?'"
"'The Red Troll?'" A beat. "'Riding the cotton mouse?'" Hermione blinked. "'Surfing the crimson tide?'"
"Uhm—"
"Have you ever had a period?"
"Oh!" gasped Hermione. Her face went bright red. "Er, yes..." she squeaked. "But—" She shook her head. "What does that mean, 'Cherry Slush Club reject?!'"
"It means that none of the other girls actually like you, probably because you seem to prefer the company of boys to them."
"That's not true!" gasped Hermione. "I get along plenty fine with Ginny—"
"—Okay, but that's one girl. The rest of the other girls don't like you." Hermione felt as if she'd been slapped in the face, and her eyes welled with tears. "I can change that, though." She opened a drawer and pulled out a box of tampons. "Please place your left hand on the box and raise your right."
"You can't be serious! It's not a Bible—!"
"—You wanna know or not?"
A bit humiliated, Hermione put her left hand on the box and raised her right.
"State your full name."
She swallowed the lump in her throat and cringed. "Hermione Jean Granger."
"Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, solemnly swear that you will honor all privileged information as such, with discretion, and respect, and to let it be understood that no man will ere supercede our sacred bond of Blood Sisterhood?"
Isn't this a bit much...? "I-I do."
Zamora seemed rather satisfied and put the box away. "Okay, cool. You're now in. I'll tell the others. You can now come down to the dance studio when you want. The password changes a lot, but it's currently the mashed potato."
"The—?"
"You know, the dance? The mashed potato?" Zamora stood up and performed a funny sort of dance that looked a bit like stomping a cigarette out combined with chicken-wing flapping. Hermione realized then that she'd seen that dance before, but she was unsure of the actual name of it. Ella sat down and smiled. "See? Easy! Just do that, in front of the statue, and it'll open up."
"You can create non-verbal passwords?" gasped Hermione.
"Of course," said the Slytherin. "Because we're new friends, I'll tell you this secret: Gawain Mason was a mute, so the statue only responds to gestures and dances! That's why Salazar Slytherin chose him to help build Hogwarts, so nobody would ever hear the secrets of how it was built. He was, like, a totally brilliant builder."
Hermione vaguely recalled the name Mason in Hogwarts: A History, but didn't say anything.
"The statue of Gawain Mason is in the dungeon downstairs. The Mason line's now extinct, technically, but it'll open for its descendents with the password...and the descendents can change the password, as needed! He built himself a secret workshop in the dungeons. Then, when his son, Gawain II, went to school, he gave the secret to him, so he could continue working and creating... I turned it into a dance studio!" Hermione balked. "Oh, hush, it's not like I got rid of all of the tools. I just cleared the way and cleaned it up a bit! It's pretty cool down there, now." She leaned her elbow on the top of her vanity. "You know, I might reconsider sending any kids I have to Ilvermorny because of it. It'd be pretty cruddy of me to deny them something so cool that was meant for them. Don't you think?" Hermione frowned. "Um, we're friends now? You could contribute to this conversation, too, you know."
"Sorry—" She cleared her throat. "I mean..." Hermione shrugged. "I think...yes, you're right. If you were to have any children, you should send them to Hogwarts. They'd have a wonderful advantage here that they wouldn't otherwise have at Ilvermorny." She then shook her head. "So, wait, you mean to say that you have ties to Hogwarts since it was built?"
"Apparently," said Ella with a shrug.
"So you've got bloodlines older than the Malfoys?"
She blasted out a big laugh. "I don't think I'd go that far," said she. "Draco's Patents of Purity go further back than mine, and his is better documented."
"And a Patent of Purity is like...a pedigree?" asked the young Gryffindor.
"I guess," shrugged Ella again. "To be honest, I'm kind of new to this whole...Pureblood thing." Hermione frowned, recalling all of the fights she'd gotten into with Umbridge the previous year. "Oops! Look at the time! We'd better fly." She stood up, and Hermione jumped up to follow.
"Hang on!" she cried, running up to her side. Ella didn't slow, so they ended up walking out together. "You never told me why you're a Prefect now."
She snorted a bit through her nose as they climbed the stairs up to get out of the Prefect Girl's bathroom. "I'm being punished." Hermione's jaw dropped. Punished?! Being a Prefect is an honor, not a burden! As they walked, Hermione then reminded herself that Ella Zamora's constant loathing of authority and restrictions were likely the worst kind of punishment on the face of the planet for her. In an attempt to meet her halfway, Hermione decided to muster up the courage to contribute to the conversation by the time they reached the hallway and found the stairs downward.
"So...what are you being punished for?" she asked, trying to sound compassionate.
The Slytherin scoffed. "Draco and I were caught doing it in the Forbidden Forest. Haven't you heard?" Hermione's face went red. It shouldn't have been shocking, at all, really... But Malfoy hadn't ever appeared to be outwardly affectionate. Frankly, the thought of him being anything other than foul and loathsome was somehow impossible. "The whole stupid school's talking about it. I've also got detention for a while. It's only a month...I'm scrubbing floors with Filch and his cat. But, hey, Professor Snape's determined to keep me occupied. I guess McGonagall's gotten wind of it, too," she said bleakly.
"What makes you say that?" gasped Hermione. "Did she say something to you?"
"No, but..." She sighed through her throat. "You know how we were doing the eyebrow color change transfiguration in class the other day, right?" Hermione nodded. Professor McGonagall had snapped at Ella halfway through class for transfiguring the bottom half of her face to look like a bull elephant's trunk. Malfoy and Nott had laughed, of course, but Professor McGonagall had been far less amused, which she showed by snapping her wand at Zamora's face which caused it to go back to normal with a crack. After Zamora had apologized and said it was because she 'got bored,' the Professor suggested three scrolls on Cross-Species Switching should keep her occupied, and to come back to her office after her evening meal. "So I thought she was going to give me detention. But I go to her after dinner and now I'm her T.A.!"
"T.A.?" Hermione recalled teachers aides in primary school, before she discovered that she was a witch, but... "Wait, she asked you to be her T.A.?"
Ella frowned. "Is that so weird?" asked she. "I mean, I'm the top of the class..."
A pang of panic struck Hermione's heart. She'd been at the top of her class since coming in most subjects, but Zamora had knocked her down to #2 in everything she had previously been proficient at. Ancient Runes was a class she'd still been top of, but she feared it was because she wasn't in it. She blew passed her in Transfiguration, she clobbered her in Potions, and now that Professor Snape was the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Hermione was certain that she'd be left in the dust. Professor Snape had always had it out for her, and seemed to just adore Zamora instead, simply showering her with points for Slytherin. She had somehow hoped that having Professor Slughorn teaching potions that she would catch up to her, but she'd been falling further and further behind with everything she made, and she didn't know why. Hermione had followed the instructions to the letter, but barely half of the potions turned out as perfectly as she used to. She didn't know what was wrong with her, and it was all made harder with Harry and that bloody old textbook.
"To be honest, though, she didn't really ask me..." Hermione looked up, her eyes feeling a bit hot with stinging tears. She quickly wiped them as Zamora walked on, thankfully unaware. "She just sat me down and had me start grading tests and papers." She sighed through her nose. "Oh well. It gives me something to do. My free time, though, has gone down a lot...almost to non-existent. It's whatever, I guess. I can do what I want when I'm older, right?" Hermione gulped and nodded, a panic filling her heart. Being the smartest was the only thing she had; and now she...wasn't. "It's fun to think about the future. Maybe I can even come back to Hogwarts when I'm, like, 60 or something and become the new Transfigurations professor? I don't know. I mean, she was the one that suggested it."
A pang of horror struck Hermione like lightning. "Pro—" She could barely form a thought. It was thought that Professor McGonagall felt about Zamora the way Professor Snape felt about Hermione, but at least she had been a good enough professor to assign points fairly. A very strange stab of jealousy wrang in her heart, and her mouth went entirely dry.
"It's so weird. I guess I like to play 'what if' with my future, but to actually consider becoming a teacher as a real possibility instead of being a potioneer is just somehow...I don't know. I can't explain how I feel about it."
"You mean you wouldn't teach potions?" croaked Hermione, trying to sound as casual as she could.
"Oh, potions is great! But I don't think I'd be good at teaching it. I tutor Transfigurations, anyway, as a side-job."
"'Side job?'" How much was she doing?! She must be using a time-turner!
"Yeah, you know, for some spending money? I can't exactly ask my dad for money while I'm here, and I hate asking my grandmother for anything... So, hey, I tutor Transfigurations for everyone! It's three galleons and 10 sickles an hour for sixth and seventh years, two galleons an hour for fifth and fourth years, and one galleon per hour for everyone younger than that." She then smiled. "You know, you could make a decent chunk of change for tutoring Ancient Runes, or whatever it is you're into."
She then scoffed, her face red hot. "L-Learning shouldn't cost anything! In fact, you should be ashamed of yourself for charging! You should just help people, if you're so smart!"
"Green's not a good color on you—stick to red."
"'Green—?'"
Zamora snorted a little. "It means you're just jealous."
Hermione felt as if she might vomit. The bitter sting of reality was that she was, in fact, jealous. She'd felt like an outcast all of her life, being able to move things with her eyes and making things happen when she was angry or scared. When she was accepted to Hogwarts, and all had been explained...well, she felt as if thing were going to be wonderful. No wonder she was a lousy Muggle—she was actually a good witch! But just when things were changing, things were going her way, she had to come in. She, with her perfect curly hair and perfect stupid skin and her perfect grades and perfect spellwork. And now she was just given the position of Prefect, as a punishment?! The idea was unthinkable, and yet it was happening! It was quite clear that she was now living in some awful alternative Universe where dreadful things happened just willy-nilly.
"You know," Zamora's words snapped her a bit out of her self-loathing, spiralling daze. "You could make an effort, too. I held up my end of the bargain."
She pouted a little. "You did," sighed the young Gryffindor. She supposed that Hermione was, a bit, at fault for the hostility between the two of them over last year. Hermione had cost Gryffindor quite a few points because of it, and if Ella really was an exchange student, it was quite obvious that she was being seen as the bully, not her. Her father, the governors of Hogwarts...Hermione was nearly suspended. It wasn't easy to forgive and forget; she didn't suspect her to do the same. In fact, she suspected it was all going to be some horrible trick; she'd go down to the dance studio and the entire school would be waiting as she walked into some awful trap in which she'd have pig's blood dumped all over her in buckets, cameras all around.
They climbed the stairs in silence, and Malfoy appeared around the corner, who looked tense when they caught eyes.
"Hey," greeted Ella, her voice a little stiff.
"Where you off to?" he asked, a light frown on his pale forehead.
"Slug Club dinner," she answered. "On your way down to the Great Hall?" He nodded silently, his eyes darting between Ella and herself. "Say hi for me. I wish I were eating with you all instead."
Malfoy then smirked and glanced at Hermione and said "I don't blame you, considering the company you'll be keeping."
"Be nice to her, please," Ella insisted, causing the both of them to look at her, wide-eyed. There was an odd pause between them that seemed too tense.
"Okay..." said Malfoy, who looked rather confused.
"We'd better go. I'll see you later." Ella then linked her arm with Hermione's and ushered her along up the corridor. They only got a few steps away when Malfoy called.
"Hey!" They both turned around. "How come you never wear your hair for me like that?"
"I don't know." Hermione heard Ella's breath stifle a little. "I didn't think you'd like it, I guess."
"I like it," he said.
Ella smiled. "Oh. Okay. I'll do it more often." A beat. "See you after." And she pulled Hermione along with her, a bit of hurry in her step.
I've never seen him like that before... "He...really does seem to like you," said Hermione, quietly, as they turned the corner.
"Actually," she sighed, "I think he loves me."
It shouldn't have sounded so ridiculous, but she soon realized that most of her proverbial pustules that year had come from Ella, and not Malfoy, just in time to get in to Slughorn's office. It was decorated nicely with a beautiful table, and there were many there already: the Carrow Twins, Marcus Belby, Neville, and Blaise Zabini were all there. Cormac showed up just behind the two of them before they could say 'hello' to anyone, and Harry wasn't yet anywhere to be seen, likely not coming. Melinda Bobbin came in, as well, and Ella let go of her arm and went to kiss Blaise on the cheek in greeting, who then seemed to give Hermione a very nasty look indeed.
"Granger, you're looking well," said Cormac, who seemed to have slither in right as Ella left Hermione's side. "That cardigan looks...soft." He brushed her arm with his knuckle.
"Heh, yes—oh, what's that? Coming, Neville!" Hermione dashed quickly over to Neville's side, who smiled widely at her.
"Hello, Hermione," he piped. "I can't believe I'm here!" he whispered.
"Nonsense, you're a herbological genius, Neville," insisted Hermione, taking his arm. "Is Professor Slughorn anywhere?"
"He's seeing to dinner. He'll be right back." He looked over to the table. "The table's got namecards on them. We're sitting just over there. I'm sandwiched between you and Hestia Carrow... But Ella's sitting across from me! Right across..." He looked over. "Are those...heliotropes in her hair?" His voice fell a bit. Hermione frowned.
"Do you not like heliotropes, Neville?" Professor Slughorn came out and all became rather loud and jovial, as the others conglomerated to greet him.
A wince formed on his pale face. "They're...from Malfoy, aren't they?"
It seemed cruel to say 'yes,' but Hermione didn't want to lie to him. It was best to be honest; Neville was far too good of a person to even be remotely interested in such a devious little snake like Ella Zamora. "Nevermind, Neville. You can get a girl that's worth ten of her."
He sighed through his nose. "Heliotropes mean 'devotion.'" Neville then puffed his chest in resolve. "I'm worth ten of you, Malfoy," he then whispered, likely to himself, not likely meaning for Hermione to hear it. He took in a deep breath and marched straight over to Ella, tapped her on the shoulder, and said—with a bit of a squeak in his voice—"Ella, you look very nice tonight."
"Thank you, Neville!" Hermione heard her say in a grossly honeyed tone. "I'm so glad you were asked to come." She was so sure that were she to roll her eyes any harder, she'd see the front of her brain.
"Miss Granger!" Near-shouted Professor Slughorn. "What a delight that you could make it—do come in! We're just about to sit down. Everyone, be seated, please! Find your seats!"
Blaise went over to the chairs, as did Ella, along with the rest of the guests. Hermione found herself seated all at the far side of the round table, between Neville and Melinda Bobbin. Professor Slughorn smiled and found his seat, and waited for everyone to get to their chairs.
"Good evening to all of you!" he greeted. "I'd like to thank you all for joining me; you are all a quite extraordinary, crowning set of jewels, and I'm pleased to dine with you. Please, be seated!" Blaise Zabini pulled out the chair for Ella, who was seated between him and Marcus Belby, a seventh-year Ravenclaw. Neville quickly moved, just then to pull out the chair for Hermione to sit, likely in an attempt to show off, considering how he puffed up his chest, and Hermione couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach at the thought of Neville actually fancying her. They all sat, and the soup course appeared before them. "We'll be starting with a lobster bisque."
"Lobster is my favorite, sir!" said Ella, smiling.
"So I've been told, Miss Zamora!" he said with a glint in his eye. "Bon apetit!" Hermione looked down at her bowl, which was filled with a creamy orange liquid, topped with a buttered lobster claw and some gold leaf. "Now, Miss Zamora," Slughorn began. "Last year you competed in the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship for Ilvermorny at the end of the school year in '95?"
"Oh, no, Professor—last year, I won the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship for Ilvermorny at the end of the school year in '95."
Professor Slughorn laughed, and so did the other Slytherins as they supped on the lobster bisque, Hermione rolling her eyes inwardly. "I wasn't able to attend, unfortunately, but I hear that you overcame quite a bit during the competition!" Professor Slughorn addressed the table. "For those of you who don't know, the Wizarding Schools Potions Championship is held every seven years. Unfortunately, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and Hogwarts didn't compete—because of the Triwizard Tournament."
"I have to admit that I was afraid I'd lose to Mila. She was insanely good!"
"Who was Mila?" asked Blaise.
"Mila Sokolov, the student from Koldovstoretz," answered Ella. "Her elder sister, Olga, was the champion from the previous competition, so I knew that she was the one to look out for."
"Ah, yes, the Russian wizarding school!"said Professor Slughorn. "For those of you that don't know, the Russian wizards play a version of Quidditch in which they play on uprooted young trees instead of broomsticks!"
"It's true—it was almost scary to see it up close," commented Zamora. "I think I was the underdog, though, considering Kuranosuke Bakugo from Mahoutokoro was the favorite. But Mila was amazing! I wish you could have all seen; I'm sure it wasn't as exciting as the TriWizard Tournament, but a lot more people got to be in this one than just the three. I was honestly afraid that it was going to be cancelled because of the timing, but my father and the MACUSA pushed for me to compete! The whole commencement ceremony for the Championship was great, though! There was a big parade and everything. And when I won, I was chosen for the EWEs."
"EWEs?" Neville then asked, likely in an attempt to get her to look at him, which she did, with a smile.
"'Extraordinary Witch Exchange,'" she answered.
"I take it that's the program you've used to come to Hogwarts?" asked Professor Slughorn, who slurped the last of his lobster bisque. Zamora nodded, following suit with the other Slytherins, who then all put down their spoons when Professor Slughorn did. Hermione copied, and the courses were vanished. A salad of greens and candied walnuts came next, and they began to eat when Slughorn did. "I must confess, I've never heard of it!"
"It's only for witches, sir," said Zamora with all too wry of a grin. "A sacred sisterhood! You have to be quite something to get in, and if you do, you're almost guaranteed to be set for life. My grandmother, for example, was selected to be a EWE, and to do an exchange from Beauxbatons to Mahoutokoro in her sixth year, and now she owns a monopoly of hotels and casinos in Monaco."
"Ah, yes—Zamora's grandmother, Helene Christophe, is the last of the oldest Monegasque magical line in the province," he explained. "A war hero, I hear, as well." Zamora nodded. "And you live with her over the summers?" She nodded again, smiling. "Well, be sure to give her my best!" The hairs on the back of the young Gryffindor's neck stood up at the name 'Christophe.' That blasted curse of hers—so unbelievably irresponsible to give such a gift to such a maniac!
"Of course, sir!"
"If it's only for witches," Hermione began, a bit of a sneer in her voice. "Why haven't any of us at Hogwarts heard of it?" She's a spy for the MACUSA and I'm going to prove it, she thought.
Zamora shrugged. "The schools only hear of it if they have witches which meet their standards, silly," she answered sweetly, causing Zabini to snicker, along with the other Slytherins that were there. Hermione felt herself shrink into the chair; Neville, in an uncommonly emotionally sensitive gesture, squeezed her hand as he ate his salad. She realized that if she was chosen by MACUSA to spy for some reason, which she was, she wasn't going to give it up easily; nevertheless, Hermione was going to persist.
"Don't," whispered Melinda, who was wearing a bit too much perfume for Hermione's liking. "You're not going to get anywhere by picking a fight with her." Hermione snorted and shoved in a mouthful of salad in defiance. "Better to join than beat." Typical Slytherin Pureblooded mentality...
"Ella hosted a wonderful Bastille Day party at Chateau Christophe, which is their ancestral home on the Monegasque coast," mentioned Hestia Carrow. "The house is quite lovely, with a spectacular view of the Mediterranean." Neville's face suddenly went a queer sort of red, and so did Ella's when they made eye contact. She quickly laughed it off and sipped her water.
"Ah, there's nothing like a summer soiree! Back when I was a young lad..." Professor Slughorn began to tell a tale of his post-graduate days, but the more Ella chewed her salad, the more Hermione was determined to knock her off that high horse of hers, once and for all.
Huh. That's a weird interaction, isn't it? Neville and Ella? I wonder what happened at that party...? Maybe it'll explain why Neville's all cray-cray for our favorite American and determined to steal her away from Draco? Also, we get a little more context to what the hell Ella's dance studio is: a workshop for the Mason bloodline that Ella's converted. There's tons of tools and neat stuff down there, as she comes from a long line of builders and magical architects!
So, we know that it's October 2nd, and Ella knows that Draco's a werewolf. I'm kind of jumping here and there in continuity between the book and movie, as we know that Hermione is at the Slug Club dinners first in the books and keeps on pressing Harry to attend with her...it's still early in the school year, so Harry won't get to the Slug Club dinners until just after the snowman building contest on the first winter's snow.
This was my first chapter for Hermione, and boy oh boy was it fun! Sure, she's showing her nastier side here, but let's be honest: Hermione is a cutthroat witch that you'd apparate to goddamn NEPTUNE to get away from if she was after you. They'll become friends soon, you just won't know quite HOW for another couple of chapters...but you will know soon. Promise. Also, I know it's gross, but you can't imagine how fun it was for me to look up/think up metaphors for getting your period that a witch might use. I'm not kidding—I literally busted out laughing when I thought of the phrase "the basement vampire".
Big thanks to SabrinaJasmine, PancakeStack, and HeartofAspen as always, my faithful readers/reviewers!