"Here." Draco shrugged off some sort of black, outer-robe he was wearing over his little school boy uniform. I accepted as gracefully as a half-naked girl can, wrapping my bare legs in the still-warm fabric.
The walk was silent, but for a few stares I received in the hallway. I would have spent my time happily content feeling like an embarrassed, unclothed outsider, but I was more interested in my surroundings.
"Are those plasmas?" I asked, pointing at the square screens – they must have been small, flat screen televisions – that lined the walls. Inside them, different movies were playing. Most were unfamiliar – a strange fat lady in a pink dress, a few hippos grazing – but I determined they were all educational programs. At my question, the man in the dress twirled and gave Draco some withering glare, raising an eyebrow in shock. Their little secret exchange was unpleasant, so I butted in with all my American bluntness: "What did you say your name was?"
Now the man in the dress glared at me. It was a terrifying moment, like he was staring right through me, like he could see all the flaws in me – those two extra-curly curls, the fact that I smelled like a man, the pink flush that stained my cheeks – but I kept my poker face on, crossing my arms and attempting to raise my eyebrow. Something made him smile viciously (probably my horrific attempt at seeming tough) and he wheeled and continued walking.
I turned to Draco in a huff. He glanced at me and shook his head.
"Where are you from, Miss Vera?" the man in the dress asked without turning, continuing his brisk walk down the flat screen lined hallways. He was walking so quickly that his choppy haircut was blowing in the wind like a Pantene Pro-V commercial and his robe and dress were frolicking in his wake. I realized now that people took him seriously for more than just his voice – this dude was seriously scary.
I crossed my arms defiantly and set my jaw that way when I know I'm going to get in trouble but I'm doing it anyway. Draco vacillated for a moment, as we all continued our brisk march down the hallway. There was an uneasy silence. I swore I saw Draco open his mouth as though he was going to urge me to talk, but then I think he caught a glimpse of my expression and decided against it. I wasn't going to take shit from this man with bad fashion sense and cankles, no matter how mellifluously British his voice was.
The evil man smirked again to himself – I could see his cheeks rise in sycophantic glee – but continued his little hip-swinging stride. I decide conclusively that I hated him, hated the way that Draco was lurking somewhat subserviently in his shadow, like a misbehaving puppy that was following its master after it gnawed on his favorite slippers.
Actually, there was something distinctly puppy-like on Draco's face, in the curving on his full, pink lips. A strange trait on such a harsh complexion, but I liked it. His eyes weren't that Disney Prince blue, but they had an interesting silver sheen, like they were reflecting the silver spoon that he had probably been born with. It was easy to see; he had a signet ring, like some guy out of The Godfather, and as he paced the corridors and other people saw him, he looked back with the casual indifference of someone who owns the place. At one point he even stopped and stared down these three kids who were looking with blantant, rude interest at our little procession. But mostly he carried himself with the confidence of a king, as girls turned to glance over his perfect body and other males looked enviously at his power. His eyelashes were surprisingly dark, like his eyebrows, for such light hair, and brushed against his cheeks when he smiled and blinked at the same time.
To my utmost embarrassment, my bare toes chose that moment to collide with the shiny stone floors, and I stumbled on the perfectly flat surface with all the grace of a true klutz. The man in the dress whirled to glare at me, as though I wasn't allowed the fortune of stubbing three of my toes, and Draco glanced at me in a combination of mirth, worry, and fascination. As though thinking, why am I stuck with such an idiot, how is she such an idiot, and is she alright? – all at one moment. His eyebrows crinkled, as though his face couldn't choose the dominant emotion and instead remained confused.
"Sorry," I muttered, stupidly apologizing for injuring myself. Really, who does that? It was an awkward moment nonetheless, where Draco glanced away, the man in the dress looked further resigned, and I blushed to some extremely attractive color that perfectly offset the green t-shirt I was wearing.
"Please make sure she doesn't draw even more attention to herself," the man in the dress whisper-sneered at Draco, just loud enough so that I could hear. What a total douche. I silently wished him a painful death by something gross and unpleasant, like a cockroach or a giant snake.
Draco nodded penitently, as though I was his responsibility, and slid a large, strong hand over my shoulders, wrapping his arm around me so that I was half-pinned and half-snuggled into his large, muscular chest. However, the moment I looked up at him (and I say up because he was a good foot taller than me) I saw he was grinning, as though I was a most pleasant burden. I sighed. His grin stretched into a one-sided smirk, and he began to tap the fingers of his left hand across my shoulder, pointer through pinky, as he steered me down the hallway. I pushed a fist into his chest in my failed version of a punch, and he actually laughed aloud at our silent repartee. The man in the black dress swirled, glared, and this sobered Draco. We continued walking down the hallway in silence.
I noticed at some point that there were torches on the walls.
"That isn't really environmentally responsible," I whispered up into Draco's ear.
"Huh?"
I indicated the torches. "They burn and consume oxygen, and produce carbon-dioxide, which is a greenhouse gas that is contributing to global warming," I recited dutifully.
Draco looked at me like I was from a different planet, leaning away from me and loosening the somewhat tight grip he had been holding me in.
"Alright?" He looked increasingly confused by me. I shook my head at this building's lack of environmental consciousness – whatever this building was.
Where ever we were walking, it was very far away. Being barefoot and all left me quite cold and prone to stepping on many little feathers that were littered about the floor. I stepped on one particularly sharp one and lifted up my foot to investigate. My big toe was stained blue.
"Are these feather quills?" I asked unbelievingly. Draco looked like he was uncertain how to respond.
"Possibly?" he offered, questioningly. I saw the man in the dress incline his head to our conversation. He obviously didn't like me asking questions. So I decided I should do just that.
"So how old is this place anyway?" I asked. We walked down a large flight, around a bend, down a carpeted hallway where my toes were slightly warmer, through a large wooded, iron-hinged door, and –
"Oh my." I embarrassed myself by my own exclamation, but was lost. The area was like a stairwell, except gigantic. We had been trundling down spiral staircases and larger, grand staircases. But these hugged the walls in maze-like, turning, narrow flights. The area could have housed a few basketball courts easily, and appeared to be at least ten stories high of perfectly open space, where voices echoed and thousands of doorways seemed to hide a million different rooms. I glanced over the rail and was surprised by the first floor so far below, where students were milling about in large groups.
I didn't even notice when the man in the dress turned to give us the umpteenth angry glance; I only heard his impatient harrumphing, and turned to continue. As we pattered down the first flight, I noticed we were passing more of those little movies. Up close, they lacked the sheen of any screen I had seen. More startlingly, it appeared that the characters in the movie were watching us, eye contact I had never seen before in any film.
"This is fascinating tech," I murmured, reaching out to touch the un-shiny surface.
Draco made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, then reached out and pulled my hand away.
"We should keep going," he muttered. But that smile of his was gone – something in the way I had looked at those screens had brought back that hopeless glimmer in his sad gray eyes. I felt my own intrigue and happiness siphon off as we continued our way across the building.
I was quite out of breath when we finally stopped. The man in the dress was standing before a very interesting statue. He paused to look at me, and then at Draco, who shrugged.
"Nice gryphon," I said loudly, interrupting whatever silent conversation they were attempting to have yet again.
"You know your mythological creatures, Miss Vera," the man in the dress replied condescendingly.
I thought for a moment, staring at him as I tried to come up with some extremely-insulting reply.
"Yes, I do." It was lame, but it was better than saying nothing. Despite my attempts to keep my face stern, the man saw his victory and his eyes gleamed with happiness at my defeat.
He swung back towards the stone statue – hair, cape, and dress following slowly – and spread out his arms as though regarding a large audience.
"Butterscotch toffee," he said clearly and slowly, sounding partially proud but mostly humiliated. The statue appeared to spring to life and swing away, spinning up a large staircase that continued rotating as the man in the dress turned to look at me. He had that same expression Draco had before he told me his version of the truth, that knowing glance filled with amusement. I tried to keep my face bland, to not give him the triumph of seeing my confusion and fear.
"Really nice tech you have hear," I said appreciatively, faking superciliousness. I patted the stone archway that led to the stairs. "Voice activated, mechanized, completely wireless and cordless. Nice."
The man in the dress looked absolutely terrifying at this point – his lips stretched so far in a grin that I could see his yellowing teeth. I couldn't hold back a shiver.
"Shall we?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. Anything to get away from that evil grin.
"You first, Miss Vera," he replied with malicious amusement, indicating the doorway. I hesitated, but Draco glared at the man in the dress, brushed past me, and began climbing the stairs. I followed him, and the man followed me. I tried not to stare as the little statue closed the way behind us and the stairs began spiraling up like an escalator. Draco glanced back and saw me clinging to the stone railing, my fingers turning white as I clutched the moving stone, and tried to give me a reassuring look. Seeing the poorly-masked hysteria in his eyes, I tried my best to return the kind look. But we both remained silent. I could hear the whooshing of the man's dress behind me as it brushed against the stone steps. At last we reached the top, and a large wooden door creaked open ominously to reveal a large, open chamber.
"Draco!" came a patiently jubilant voice. I couldn't see who spoke, but only saw Draco's shoulders stiffen beneath the starched white fabric of his shirt. I peered around his square shoulders, hiding behind him, and saw a large desk. It was covered in little whizzing contraptions, like spinning tops and Newton's cradles all scurrying around in place apparently by themselves. A small, wrinkled, pale hand was fiddling with what appeared to be a shot glass; when the fingers released it, it began to cartwheel around as though magnetized to the desk.
The hand retreated into a large bell sleeve, that may have been bright gold at one point but was dulled brown by age; it was embroidered as intensely with some Vera Bradley-esque design. I traced the fabric up to where it was abruptly cut off by a waterfall of frizzy white hair. This beard traced up to a little wrinkled face, where, over half-moon glasses, the clearest blue eyes were smiling at Draco and me with pure joy.
"And you brought a friend!" he sounded extremely happy and his thin lips stretched in a smile, but his tone was even and slow, as though even in this relaxed happiness he commanded respect.
There was a short silence, punctuated by the clanking of the cart-wheeling shot glass and the whistling of one of the spinning tops.
"Hi," I offered lamely, waving from behind Draco's imposing frame.
"So," the bearded man said, pulling over chairs I hadn't seen before and fluidly indicating that we sit, "would you like to explain how you came to be in my school?"
Although his tone was still light and the kind smile remained on his face, I sensed a note of urgency in his tone, as though something were truly wrong.
"I- " for a moment I stuttered hopelessly, glanced at Draco, even at the man in the dress, for some answers. Then I turned back to the little shriveled man who seemed more powerful than Draco and the man in the dress combined just by the way those blue eyes were staring at me over those half-moon spectacles.
"I know you're mad at Draco."
"Do you?" The old man looked surprised, raising his eyebrows and glancing at Draco knowingly.
"I don't know what sort of crazy British terrorist/drug/secret society war-thing I stepped into, but Draco didn't mean to break your security and I certainly am not affiliated with any lords, dark or otherwise," – the man in the dress flinched, and the old man gave Draco another knowing glance, as though there hadn't been enough of those already – "and I just would like to go home and leave everyone alone."
"Is that all you would like, Miss Vera." His tone was quiet, a statement phrased as a question, although he already knew the answer would be a resounding negative. This old man was way too calm and seemed almost politely condescending, as though he knew everything in the world and I shouldn't even speak.
"Well…"
"Yes?"
"I would also like some pants," I muttered, blushing.
The man in the dress looked furious, and Draco appeared extremely embarrassed, as though he had removed my original pair of pants to begin with (had he?), but the old man laughed appreciatively, a full laugh that made up for all our silences.
"Of course, of course, but there are other important details to see to first. I assume you are comfortable in Mr. Malfoy's robe for the present time and so we shall remedy that later. But for now, can you please explain how you came to be here?"
I quickly relayed what had happened, leaving out any references Draco made towards magic for fear of exposing his insanity. At these parts, he looked at me with an extra-terrified look, so I took this as a cue to remain shut about the magic stick and his little ravings about being a wizard. This left some rather-large gaps in my story and it left me looking decidedly bipolar in my mood swings, but I took the hit for fear of losing Draco to a mental institution. The old man seemed to catch on – his eyes took on this keen, measuring look – but he said nothing.
"And then this man in his little dress came to collect me and here we are," I ended lamely. More sneering from the man, more laughter from the old man.
"How rude. Names, names would be helpful. I am Professor Dumbledore – well, my full name is Albus Percival Wulfic Brian Dumbledore, but that's a lot of names. And this is Severus Snape."
I stared for a moment.
"Something wrong?" Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore asked, sounding truly concerned.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head and staring down at my bare toes. "You all just have very interesting names." I was getting used to his chuckle enough so that I could ignore the glaring silence from the other two.
Dumbledore fiddled with the contraptions on his desk.
"Well, shall we get started." The other two stood up.
"With what exactly?" I asked, standing hesitantly.
"Sending you home," replied Dumbledore, as though this was exceptionally obvious. "And, of course, getting you pants," he added as an afterthought, chuckling again.
He reached under his desk and pulled out a pair of gym shorts. They were pink and in my size. How strange for a headmaster to keep girls' gym shorts under his desk, but maybe there was a lost and found there. I reached out for the pants.
As my fingers came close to the fabric, they missed entirely.
"Oops," I muttered, reaching out again. Nothing. My fingers felt only air.
"Intriguing," muttered Dumbledore, placing the shorts on his desk. The little glass that had been flipping over his desk settled into the fabric and appeared to fill up with an amber liquid. What an interesting trick of the light.
"Severus?" asked Dumbledore. The man in the dress drew his own baton with a flourish, sending his sleeves billowing, and brandished it at me. I stared in utter confusion. The old man did the same.
"Fascinating, me neither." Dumbledore turned to Draco. "Did the same happen with you?"
"Yes," Draco said to his shiny black shoes.
"Am I missing something?" I tried tentatively.
"Yes, actually," replied Dumbledore in a genial tone. "You see, we are all wizards" - he didn't even pause to give me a moment to digest this - "and Draco somehow summoned you, but now none of us can send you back, or indeed charm, hex, curse, or affect you in anyway. You appear impervious to magic."
The contraptions whirled and whistled.
"That's nice," I offered tentatively, shrinking into Draco's cloak. What kind of insane asylum was this?
"Don't misunderstand, you are perfectly normal," the old headmaster said comfortingly. "I believe this may have to do with the circumstance of your arrival, if Mr. Malfoy would like to shed some light on the situation."
"I can't," muttered Draco, looking absolutely miserable. "I just…" he hesitated. "I just wanted to talk to my dad, and then… she showed up instead."
Dumbledore looked genuinely sad. I wondered if Draco's father were dead and if he was truly insane enough to consider conjuring a ghost. I was certain that there were no such things as ghost - the fantastic really had no place in my understanding of the world - but determined I could accept that people could believe they were wizards, even if I didn't believe that there were wizards. So, as far as Draco Malfoy, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, and Severus Snape were concerned, they were wizards. I would deal with that. Clearly, however, they could not actually do any magic - they had proven that - but I would accept their insanity.
"Well, Miss Vera, I have a suggestion."
I wasn't sure if I really had a choice, but I nodded anyway. For a crazy person he was relatively personable, kind, and calming.
"I have some idea of your condition," the professor continued, "and I am something of a genius" – somehow this came off sounding sweet and not at all self-centered – "so I am almost never wrong. However, I would like you to remain in Draco's custody as his… guest… for the time being until I can be certain of how to send you home."
I stared at him.
"May I contact my family?" I asked hesitantly.
"Already done," Dumbledore replied airly, waving a bell-sleeved arm casually. "So, pip-pip, you are late for a Transfiguration class."
I was staring at the Santa Clause, the he-she, and the beautiful blonde boy in utter confusion, when I heard the door slam open behind me. We all wheeled to see a stringy black-haired boy with utterly nerdy glasses.
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, utterly nonplussed.
"Did you see what Draco did?" the Harry-beast roared.
"Quite alright, I have it under control," Dumbledore replied.
"He's trying to get Death Eaters into the castle!" the little string-bean continued angrily, a little-baby temper-tantrum. "He conjured that little... thing" – he indicated me with a wave of his unattractive hand, and Draco bristled beside me angrily – "by accident instead!"
There was a very uneasy silence. I hated this boy. What a little prick.
"That's a very interesting theory, Harry," murmured Dumbledore. "Do not think I will not take it into consideration."
At this point both Draco and Severus looked resolutely uncomfortable.
"But," the headmaster continued smoothly, "for now I think the three of you should continue upstairs or Professor McGonagall will be very frustrated with me."
He gave us all a stern look over his glasses, and Harry whirled angrily to go. Draco shook himself angrily as though trying to restrain his temper, and strode off after Harry.
"Uhm, Professor?" I managed timidly. He seemed to immediately understand.
"Oh yes!" he exclaimed. "How foolish of me!"
He walked to a cabinet and removed a perfectly-folded stack containing a skirt, shirt, tie, and sweater.
"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Miss Cole," he said politely, handing me the uniform.
It was only until I reached the end of the staircase that I realized I had never told him my full name.