A/N JK Rowling used Wand wood related to characters birthdays, when it suited here. I plant a tree on the same day every year.
Professor Snape dispensed his usual wisdom with sarcastic boredom and Hermione was relieved to pass out of the classroom without him having baited her directly. Her arch nemesis seemed more irascible with the class than usual and somewhat distracted.
For her own part, every time he passed behind her desk and paused, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck crawled. She lost count of the number of times she dropped her quill on the floor and had to scrabble inelegantly at his feet to retrieve it. The final time, she had dared to meet his glittering black gaze before hurriedly turning away and missed the way his mouth had folded in on itself when her ponytail had brushed his knee.
The glint of anticipation in the Professors eye as the class drew to a close, she put down to his unleashing an avalanche of homework, due in unfeasibly quickly. An unrestrained groan from the class filled the basement classroom.
"I am a reasonable man," Professor Snape interjected and the class held its breath at the blatant lie. "Extensions are available." The tutor allowed a snide smile to wash over his lips, "at the expense of house points."
He sat back in his chair behind his desk and finished coldly. "Now. Get. Out."
When he was quite alone, he pulled a page of illustrations clearly torn from a textbook, from an inner pocket. He pursed his lips, scanning down until he found the one that closest matched his observations, in which a vine, two topmost leaves and a tendril arched away from a main stem that tapered at the top, just like a wand.
0.0
A lightness picked up Hermiones step as soon as she reached natural daylight and she teased Harry and Ron with the delights that might await them in their first Transfiguration class of the new term. She reminded them that Dumbledore was taking them today and was a lot less stringent about what was suitable for Fourth years, preferring instead to teach to ability rather than age.
"I still can't do beetles into buttons," whined Ron
"I'm alright with mice into matchboxes," said Harry solidly, "but I'm not sure about anything where it goes from one size to the other."
"It's all about displacement," Hermione started in a lecturing tone. "It all has to go somewhere."
"A bit like a ladyboy?" sniggered Ron.
"What's he on about?" She asked Harry, who had turned tomato red.
"It's when a man pretends to be a woman," he muttered unhappily.
"You mean like in Panto?" She pressed, curious. She couldn't see the connection at all.
"Erm, no. Not really." When he made a crude gesture she clapped Ron hard around the back of his head.
"Owww," he complained. "It's alright for you, everything's easy for you."
She growled and stomped off ahead. She had stopped trying to tell him long ago that everything was, in fact, not easy for her at all. Rather, she invested a great deal of time in acquiring knowledge instead of say, investigating all the flavours of Bertie Botts Jelly Bean Surprise assortment. It just looked easy to others, because when the time came to use something, she had read it once and practised twice already.
She settled into her seat and sighed happily when she saw the array of prospective subjects set up at the front of the class. She was sure she could manage something suitable with everything there. Professor Dumbledore watched her reaction thoughtfully and when she caught his twinkling eye, he winked at her, making her smile. He pursed his lips and twirled the wispy tip of his beard repeatedly around his forefinger.
The class went well once Ron finally started to concentrate. Hermione was blind to the fact that he performed much better when she watched him and was instead distracted with tamping down the desperate urge to just do it for him already and get it done. Dumbledore however, did not miss a thing. As far as he was concerned, a wizard who could not perform in his own right was no more use than a squib and he would have no student of his graduating in such poor form. He gently requested that she stay behind after class for a brief chat.
"I think," he said consideringly, when the last student had filed out, "you may be ready for bigger and better things."
"Something the size of a cat?" she said excitedly, clapping her hands together.
"More advanced than that my dear," he patted her shoulder in an avuncular fashion, guiding her so that they walked towards the door together. "I think in a year, if you studied sufficiently, you could bypass the O.W.L and take your N.E.W.T early."
Hermione was beside herself with glee and equally with panic. "That's three years work," she squeaked.
"We would arrange a peer mentor for you because of your age of course," he continued.
"Mentor," she repeated. Yes, it was sometimes easier to learn something from another student than a Professor, although to be honest she preferred to gather the original information herself, without it being warped by straining it through someone elses brain first.
"I'll send an owl to Professor McGonagall in 306B," he agreed. "I'm sure she can suggest someone suitable."
"Thank you, I think," she stammered. Then amended firmly, "I won't let you down."
"If you are quick," he whispered conspiratorially, "Year Six will start Comestibles and Consumables in about ten minutes." His face wreathed into smiles before he turned away and clicking his fingers in mid-air, he held his arm out for the swooping pygmy owl to land.
Ten minutes, she thought to herself hurriedly, 306B was no problem as long as the staircases were behaving themselves and she strode off to the stairwell.
0.0
Professor Snape arranged a series of tinted glass bottles in an orderly line on his desk with military precision. To his right, a squat, black, cauldron stood empty and directly ahead a fat bellied clear glass jar with a cloth lid held on with a twist of twine. The jar label was annotated simply with the universal symbol for 'female' and held a small brown spider with long spindly legs and a body the size of a pin head centred on a filigree web. In his hand he held a brown paper package, rescued from a dead drop box in Kings Cross station.
He stood and skirted the desk, uncorked a dark bottle and liberally splashed some of the tawny liquid into a waiting tumbler with a flourish. The oily fluid coated the inside of the glass when he swirled it and he cautiously sniffed the rising fumes wondering if consumption of the ancient alcohol would be finally be in celebration, or yet again, commiseration. Resuming his seat, he ran a finger down a neat list marked in anothers hand.
Ingredients deftly assembled themselves in the cauldron and it set it to stirring itself. Testing the mixture with a drop splashed onto a ceramic tile, it split the glaze when it hissed and spat a muted popping noise. The last but one addition to the mix was a fine grey hair. He handled the spiders jar with care, since the deadlier of the species was apt to bite, in a single move drawing the muslin lid away from the neck of the jar and speedily inverting it over the mouth of the cauldron. A smart rap to the jar bottom sent the inhabitant, legs furled, plummeting into the vortex below.
"Arachnote," he drawled, pointing his wand in a circular motion at the swirling liquid. Snape reached for the tumbler and tossed back the drink in one, squinting his eyes again the burn, before setting to opening the package. If the package was another dud, he would simply send the same message as twice before.
'Testing.'
Briefly he spun the rectangular parcel between his forefingers, yellowed tape coated it like a Mummys bandages. Tape gave way to brown paper. Paper gave way to a stout cardboard box almost a foot long, but no more than two inches wide. Card revealed cloth. He took a sharp breath, paused and exposed the contents, revealing…hope.
Reverently, he lifted a jointed rod from its resting place, passing its length once across the skin under his nose and finally along the crease of his thin lips. His sensitive skin detected the unseen flaws in the dulled lustre and tasted the brittle, bitter tip, of the blackened core, broken off by the inadvertent attentions of his tongue.
A quill wrote a new message, 'expect me,' and he dropped the parchment into the cauldrons inky mix. Snape replaced the gift in its box with painfully gentle motions, tucking it safely into his robes against his body. Retrieving his wand he tapped the cauldron three times and offered the tip to the lip of the pot.
A spider with a body now the size of a chickpea clambered onto the rod, its spindly legs arching awkwardly to support itself. Snape tipped the insect ungently out the window.
0.0
Hermione was the first student to arrive outside 306B. Professor McGonagall was reading Dumbledores note by the diminishing light that filtered into the stone corridor from the grass square beyond. Students gathered, beginning to crowd the doorway and she shrank against the brickwork when she heard a distinctive voice followed by raucous laughter.
"Those Mermaids, they're something else man."
"I bet they can hold their breath for like forever."
"Do you think they feel like shark skin? Rough one way and smooth the other."
"I'll give that one on the fifth floor a going over and let you know." Cedric tipped his head back and let out a chortle. He was closer to finding out than his colleagues knew. He had struck an arrangement with the girl in the glass, that in exchange for tomorrows used practice jersey, she would let him hold what was hidden by the golden tresses that she tended so assiduously when he bathed.
The lads around him fell quiet and one nudged him, causing him to peek towards the door where his next class was due. When he spotted Hermione, he strutted over, smiling widely before hiding it behind a frown.
"Can't it wait until tomorrow? Only I don't have any time now." He explained.
"What?" She furrowed her brow, did he seriously think that she was here for him?
"Are you stalking me?" He said with amusement, chucking her under the chin like a child
"No!" She replied hotly. "You assine, self-involved, ignorant...ass!" She finished.
"Hermione," Professor McGonagall cut in. "I see you have met one of your new classmates." She smiled wryly, looking between the antagonists. Hermione gaped at her in horror. "Go along in now dear," she bade her kindly, folding the note from Dumbledore into her voluminous sleeve. "Cedric will join you shortly." Then in a much sharper tone and turning to Cedric she said, "Mr Diggory, I may have a special assignment for you. Miss Granger is the most advanced in her year and would benefit from a little stretching – more so than merely placing her in the year above."
"I'll take every care," he said honestly, exhausted by keeping his eyebrows even with the mention of Hermione and stretching in the same sentence.
"She is to observe in this, her first advanced lesson and you are to ensure she catches up on the theory that we have already covered." He nodded shrewdly, seeing both sense and an opening in her words. "And another thing Mr Diggory, she just might be the brightest Witch of her time – it would not do for her grades to suffer as a result of other distractions."
She grasped his chin firmly in her bony hand. "You have been warned." She said severely.
"Of course Minerva," he agreed. "She is unique indeed." He offered his patent smile, relieved when she smiled thinly back in return. Whilst he had not had the pleasure of drinking from this particular vessel, it seemed that she was not immune to his charms either.
He squared his shoulders and sauntered into class. Minerva McGonagall watched his tight behind all the way to his desk where Hermione sat purposefully, quill posed and still silently seething.
Cedric slipped into the seat beside Hermione, contemplating his good fortune. He laid his wand perpendicular to the desk edge, exactly as Hermione had. Making sure that it was precisely equidistant between them, he sat back, not bothering to pull any books or materials out of his bag.
"I didn't come looking for you," she hissed.
He shrugged easily, leaning in to whisper, "lucky I was here then," and his eyebrows flicked momentarily upwards, inviting a reply.
"Ugh," Hermione pulled away as Professor McGonagall swept past, glancing at the parallel pairing of the wands between the two students.
McGonagall cleared her throat when she reached the front of the class, not that she needed to particularly, she already had the classes attention. Chalk rose up behind her and wrote 'Comestibles' in loopy handwriting on the green board behind her.
"For the benefit of our newest member, Miss Granger," Hermione stared resolutely forwards as every head turned towards her. Cedric stared fixedly at her ear. It felt like he was blowing a thin stream of air at her and she refused to look over and give him the satisfaction of a rise.
"We have already covered the standard operations of summoning food items including liquids. I hope you all enjoyed last weeks refresher practical on increasing and decreasing quantities." Hermione scribbled frantically in the margins of her textbook as the class erupted in laughter and eddies of conversation.
"And have completed your homework on the rules pertaining to what can and cannot be converted and more importantly, eaten safely. Given that you are the in this class," she emphasised, "you will be required to sample the produce you create, in this class." Whispers fell away and there was a general shuffling of bodies.
"A volunteer?" she called.
Surprisingly, Cedric eased back out of his seat and strode confidently to the front of the class, he waved a hand behind him and his wand flew into his fist. Hermione had to slap the flat of her hand on her wand to stop it rattling. "What are you like?" she hissed at it. Tendrils from her wand drummed on the desk like the fingers of a bored hand.
There was a murmur from his classmates and a wolf whistle, Cedric spun and grinning at who he thought the donor might be before continuing on his way. He rolled his head from side to side, loosening his neck.
"Keep doing that Cedders and it will fall off!" A boy in the second row called out.
"That what your Momma told you?" he called back laughing.
The original commenter was pelted with assorted desk objects and Professor McGonagall called the class to order again before smiling grimly at Cedric. "Not waiting until last this time, I see? Very wise. Well, lets see what you can do." She took a step back and waved him forward to the long table before her and he stalked around it, not taking his eyes from the items laid out.
Hermione craned her neck to see the random assortment of pieces, they seemed mundane enough to her and absolutely none of them in their natural form would she consider eating. Amongst other things, a feather, a coiled hair, a cube of resin, a yew needle, a heap of sand, a wooden button, leather woggle, a cherry pit.
Finally he selected the wooden button. The Professor nodded approvingly and turned her back, scribbling on the board while Cedric used magic to crush the button to sawdust on the palm of one hand. He stirred his wand over the pile muttering an incantation and the flecks danced into a fist sized lopsided sphere, from which materialised a pale green apple. He plopped it on to the desk and putting his wand beside it, cupped both hands around it and blew. When he picked it up again it was red and shiny. Cedric rubbed it on his pants leg like a cricket ball and took an oversized bite. Pith and juice ran down the side of his mouth and dripped of his chin as applause broke out.
"Excellent work, Mr Diggory, the button was indeed Malus." She gripped his wrist harshly, "and you were quite correct allowing it to ripen first," she emphasised meaningfully before letting him go. "You may return to your seat." Professor McGonagall sent him packing.
"Next," she called sharply as the class stirred in response.
"You will each take a turn." She confirmed.
Cedric rolled his shoulders when he got back to the desk and wordlessly slumped beside Hermione. He wiped his sticky chin with the back of his hand and licked off the juice with long passes of his tongue. When he plunged his tongue into the dip made by his thumb and forefinger, Hermione shook her head and looked away. She wanted to fidget, but made herself still perfectly still, staring at the words listed on the board.
Particle size
Spark of life
The list went on
"Why does size matter?" she queried, then mentally face-palmed herself
Cedric surprised her for once, by not taking the bait and ran a hand through his hair before answering her question with one of his own. "Hmm, what happens to magic when the wielder passes?"
Hermione had an instants vivid recollection of Olivanders somewhat macabre collection of spent wands on display in the back workshop, the magical equivalent of a churchyard full of etched headstones. Each one was different in its way, yet ultimately the same, a legacy of rich information on the time in which its wielder had lived and perhaps something of how they had died.
Hermione swallowed awkwardly, "reversion," she stated.
The girl at the front of the class was choking, purple in the face type choking and clawing at her neck. Professor McGonagall looked on unconcerned while the chalk wrote 'incomplete neutralisation of alkaloids,' before sighing and tipping a small bottle of a murky looking compound down the girls throat.
Cedric nodded approvingly, "exactly so."
"Hospital wing now," McGonagalls voice called, helping the girl at the front of the class to the fireplace. "You will miss a week while you get over the hallucinations," she patted her arm not unkindly. "Professor Dumbledores group will expect you on your return." A shrill scream split the air which was pre-emptively cut off by a shower of sparks and a sudden silence indicated that the afflicted had departed.
"So where is everyone else?" Hissed Hermione to distract herself from her new classmates fate. She had never seen McGonagall behave in quite such an unfeeling manner and it didn't fit with the study methods she was comfortable with at all. With the possible exception of Professor Snape and he needed a category all by himself. There was a random smattering of houses among the students, more Gryffindor than any of the others, but perhaps that was to be expected since Transfiguration seemed to be a particular skill of her house.
"Everyone else?" Cedric teased dryly, "were you looking for anyone in particular? Someone catch your eye other than me?"
"No, the rest of the sixth formers, the rest of the class?" Hermione bit her tongue in irritation, there were including herself, only twelve students. Eleven, she corrected herself.
"We were streamed at the end of last year," said Cedric pursing his lips. "Ducks, geese and us"
"You being…"
Cedric stretched expansively, one hand resting against his stomach, drawing her eye. "Us," he corrected, "being Herons."
Hermione gritted her teeth at how obtuse he was being, "and Herons are?"
Cedric said nothing, but raised an enigmatic eyebrow and curled the fingers of his hand over so that he could inspect his nails, his Mona Lisa smile the unspoken punch line to some sort of private joke.
Hermione swallowed hard. For all his laid back idiocy, Cedric was no slouch in the brains department. The soles of her feet broke out in a cold sweat and she slipped off her shoes to rub them together. Dumbledore had sent her to join a class two years ahead of her year group, not only that, but two years ahead and the top stream. She gulped in air and held on to the desk edge with a death grip. It was quite an honour, but also a bit like being invited to be first to present oneself at a snake pit.
A second classmate went the way of the Floo before the class ended. Professor McGonagall was unapologetic.
"You are all aware of my expectations for my students at this level," she stated. "The world beyond these doors will not forgive poor preparation or shoddy workmanship." She set homework, a great deal of homework, including resources available only in her own study.
Cedric glanced at his wristwatch, a domed dial set into a thick brown leather wristband. His tone was the most serious she could ever remember him being, "we need to synchronise our timetables if you are to have any chance of keeping up."
Hermione bristled, "I am not afraid of hard work."
"I'm not saying you are," he said mildly, weaving his wand between long fingers of one hand like a magician with a penny. At every dip of the tip of his wand, a vine leaf on her wand rose in mute entreaty.
"I am, however, a very busy man, what with prefecting and all." He gave her a lopsided smile that Hermione wanted to smack clean off his face. She schooled her face into an impassive mask. "Leave your timetable in the study carrel," she snarled, "and I'll do the same."
Cedric nodded sagely as if it had been his idea, "still on for after the match? You have free study then right?"
"How many of you have native wood wands?" The Professor called the pair from their private reverie. Eight raised their hands, including Cedric and Hermione.
"And of you with your hands up, how many are hard woods?" Several girls dropped their hands and after some good-natured banter, a number of the boys also. Three remained, including Cedric. Hermione lowered her hand, pretty certain that the vine was not considered to be in that category.
"You three, remain behind please." Hermione rose to leave and was frozen in her place by the Professors stern tone.
"You too, Hermione." Hermione lowered herself reluctantly back to her seat as her new peers filed past her, staring curiously at her as they passed.
"We will cover tandem working in this class this year," explained the Professor. "You need to be paired with a student who will best match you and your wands capacity and ability,"
Hermione shifted uneasily and snuck a glance at the other two students, one boy, one girl. The boy from the train, the girl someone she didn't know.
"Whilst I have my suspicions," McGonagall began again, looking pointedly at Cedric, "it is best to be certain in these things." She waved the girl forward.
"Put your wand next Hermiones please and…" she didn't get to finish her sentence. The girls wand rolled swiftly backwards as if repelled and the girl caught it as it tipped off the edge of the desk.
"Not Yew then," the Professor allowed herself a small smile at her own joke, "you may go."
"What exactly are we expecting..?" Hermione started and was silenced by the Professor raising one finger.
"Same again please," the Professor waved at the boy. He placed his wand parallel to Hermiones and waited. Hermione studied him surreptitiously, he was tall and blond, one of Cedrics inner circle and the instigator of the bawdy comment from earlier. She would have been fine with him, if it hadn't been for their impromptu meeting on the train, but found as a result, that she could not meet his interested gaze.
She could feel Cedric tense beside her when the boy smiled encouragingly at her. She stared down at the two wands as if she knew what the hell she was looking for. Slowly, as nothing came to pass on the desk, Cedric relaxed by inches, neck, shoulders and then drummed his fingers as if impatient. The Professor snorted, "hmmm, you too may go," she dismissed the lad. "Not Lime, pity..."
Hermione huffed, it felt like being last to be picked for the netball team.
Cedric cleared his throat, waited until his cohort had left the room and then without prompting, laid his wand back where it had been before he had left to show off at the front of the class. Hermione watched him hold his breath and when again, nothing happened, followed his palms steady movement on his thighs. She shifted in her seat and her socked foot accidentally knocked into his ankle. His amused stare called the blush to her cheeks and he knocked back into her shoulder in jest a tad too hard and had to clutch at her to stop her from tipping over. His easy laugh broke the tension.
"Sorry," he murmured, trying to keep a straight face and failing miserably. She stared furiously at his profile. On the desk a vine leaf rose from where it had lain flat against the wand wood and tentatively flexed towards Cedrics wand as if scenting the air.
Cedric snatched up his wand and tucked it behind his back, tilting his head at McGonagall. She gave him a slow nod. "Every care," she reminded him.
Hermione watched the odd exchange before folding her arms across her chest. "Can someone explain.." she began, but was cut off by McGonagalls reponse.
"It would appear that Cedric will stand as your mentor," the Professor stepped away. Hermione watched Cedrics eyes dance.
"For now," finished the Professor. Cedric gave her a tight smile in reply.
"Make sure she can successfully link with you before next session," McGonagall demanded of Cedric.
Cedric nodded sagely before whispering too close to Hermiones ear for her comfort, "it'll be like having a puppy." The thought made him suddenly nostalgic for home, watching otter pups play on the riverbank and be astonished at how protective the elders were. "Kit," he goaded.
Hermione ignored him and shovelled her gear back into her bag, following Cedric out of the classroom. She shut the classroom door behind her and stood leaning against it for a moment, waiting for him to pass out of sight. Cedric looked back towards the classroom as he turned the corner of the quad, just in time to see her disappear into thin air. He nodded once, turning the dome of his watch a quarter turn anticlockwise.
0.0
Hermione gasped awake in the silence of the dormitory, gripping her wand so tight that her knuckles were white. She ran her closed hand across her stomach and for an instant was surprised to find it dry. Opening her fist, she flexed her stiff fingers and ran the back of her wrist across the sheen on her forehead, then sighed and shifted her shoulders against the sheets, staring at the tented canopy above her head. If this was anything like what Harry experienced, he had her fullest sympathies. And when she caught up with Cedric, she was going to seriously maim him. Sleep escaped her for the longest time, even after she had worked out how he had done what he had done. Eventually she thumped the pillow in disgust and got up again.
She rummaged in her bag to pull out the partially finished ironwood egg and dug out the half sized woodworking tools in their little case from the bottom of her trunk. Olivander had gifted her the set, saying only that they were a curiosity he had discovered on his travels and worthless since their size was fit only for a child, or a womans smaller hands. Not for the first time she curiously thumbed the two incised sigils, limned in black on the case – a double headed eagle, wings outstretched and an open hand, palm uppermost with a lightening strike where the wrist would be.
Olivander had been insistent that no magic be used in the eggs creation, they were simply he explained, the best way for an apprentice to hone a most important element of their craft. She chose however, to assume that using her wands physical properties would be acceptable and wondered if he would be able to tell.
The bottom half of the egg had been roughed out and she had already smoothed one side so that the tool marks were no longer evident. Patiently, she set to shaping the top half of the egg. Her wand rolled against the bare skin of her ankle, where her pajama bottoms rode up. Hermione picked it up thoughtfully and stroked the pad of her thumb against the ridged mid rib of a leaf, noting how the thickness of the leaf fell away towards the edge like a flint. She raised her eyebrows in thought and set the wand leaf to the egg in the manner of an old fashioned potato peeler, holding the leaf edge against the wood with her thumb and turning the egg with her other hand. A perfect curl of wood shavings, micrometres thin, twisted into her lap.
It was absorbing work when combined with practising foretelling, visualising the end result, despite the odd flash of something else darker, for she was nothing if not an adept multitasker. The process had an odd side effect of sharpening the vine leaves further, more than once she nicked the fingers holding the egg on the newly minted edges and was forced to delay, sucking the wound until it sealed itself. Traces of blood left on the vine leaves showed the complicated architecture of the leaf veins picked out for an instant in a darker hue, before disappearing completely. With every drop, the vine grew imperceptibly thicker.
Dawns early light showed Hermiones hand clutching a perfect ovoid, flawless in its symmetry and with the natural sheen of heart wood polished to within an inch of its life. The curl of a smile on her lips was interrupted by her thumb, sucked clean of her own inimitable flavour, and enhanced with the knowledge that Cedric had had a taste of his own medicine.
0.0
Breakfast passed in a blur of conversation about the upcoming practice match this afternoon. Half of the commentators wanted it to be an exhibition game, the other half wanted a win at any cost. Hermione immersed herself in a book badly translated from the original Bavarian which featured tools such as hers, albeit modified for a different task. She parked the conundrum, leaving the boys to their debate and readied herself for the walk to her first class.
There was something about being followed that made her uneasy. That it was him, just made it worse. Cedric tapped her left shoulder, then stepped across behind her to appear on her right, grinning expectantly. His feet sank, squishing in the damp grass so that he could keep pace beside her on the narrow path. She gritted a small smile, so like a boy.
"Tomas taught me a new word," he said proudly.
Then remembered why she was supposed to be angry with him. She bashed him with the first thing to hand, her bag, catching him across the stomach before he could defend himself. He laughed after the initial surprise, batting the following swipes away easily, cycling himself backwards when she pressed her attack.
"You complete arse, what the hell was that?" she spat, caught out by him catching the bag and tugging it out of her hands.
"Cedric," she began.
"Pot, kettle, Hermione," he crooned, waggling the bag enticingly and veering off the beaten track, jogging backwards. "McGonagall said to link, remember?"
Hermione stumbled as her feet caught the grass verge. Cedric made no move to break her fall and in the event, she cursed and righted herself.
"I doubt she meant while it like that," she deadpanned, feinting a run at which he jinked away. Exasperation riddled her tone, "my bag?"
Slyly, he moved to uncinch the bag clasp. Malfoy had done worse in his time and she was more than over being embarrassed by tampons in her own bag. Then again the completed ironwood egg was in her bag, all wrapped up and ready to go back to Olivander and very much something that she did not want to share with her aggravating colleague.
She curled her nails into her palms. She would have Ron on the ground by now, begging for mercy and couldn't quite work out what was stopping her treating Cedric in the same way. He just seemed a little more edgy, dangerous and unpredictable. And he better kept himself just out of reach. Actually, she and Ron hadn't tussled for a while, ever since an insidious inkling that he might be letting her dominate him and there was nothing so belittling, in her book, as being allowed to win.
"Well," he shrugged non commitally. "A more advanced version than she suggested, but…"
He backed up another step. Hermione followed unwilling, "but?"
"It never hurts to get…a head," he coughed and gesticulated with her bag. "Taste is a tricky thing to broadcast, leave alone touch as well," he said with a trace of approval, "but Tomas says to tell you, 'Delicia,' and I have to say that I agree. I mean, he doesn't know it was you…?"
Her stony face denied the question an answer and she grabbed again for her possessions, but he led her further astray. She was so cross by now that she had lost track of the direction they were taking, they had cut across the lawns and were almost at the covered bridge. The main building was way out of sight. His heel clopped onto the wooden structure and he took a second step back so that he was framed in the open maw of the covered walkway, arm still outstretched, bag in hand. Hades offering the pomegranate.
"I need my bag"
"Come get it," he dropped the bag, holding only the strap looped invitingly over just one finger and swung it lazily from one side to the other.
She stepped closer and he held his ground, she waited for him to draw away again, trapping her in this ridiculous game of chase me, but now they were alone, out of sight, the urge seemed to have passed.
She tried a different tack to distract him, just in case and a little to satisfy her own curiosity at how he saw himself in these games of thrones. She wondered if she was the first he had played nocturnal mind games with and discarded the need to be that very thing. The unassailable position of being first for him, in something. "You know the girls talk about you all the time."
"I know."
Hermiones eyebrows lifted, "you know what they say about you?" Her fingers closed around the bag strap and she dragged it off his finger, hefting it back over her shoulder. She caught at his hand before it dropped to his side and he allowed her thumb to stray over the back of his hand
"Some. Want to enlighten me?" He was watching her thumb like cats watch mice.
"That your hair is as soft as owl feathers." She said putting on a dreamy tone.
Cedric snorted and she laughed openly with him in spite of her previous annoyance.
"Amongst other things."
"But that's the one you mention first? You want to find out?" He offered her a benign smile and changed the balance of his weight on his feet, ducking his head and turning it so he could still see her.
The merriment faded from her face as he took her hand and placed her fingers at the hairline on his forehead, blinking rapidly at the newness of her touch. He half expected that she would push him away and make a break for it, but her fingers slid further under his hair, nails gliding against his scalp before they angled upwards, tugging minutely before they separated from him completely.
His eyebrows lifted and eyes widened, lips parting at the gentle teasing sensation of her hand drawing through and out of his hair. A secret smile appeared as other parts of his anatomy became interested in what was going on and he half closed his eyes in contentment. One touch was all it took to make him want.
"You like that," she murmured, mapping the changes in his face. A chill slid across his shoulders and down his back as her expression became almost calculating. "They said that you did."
He trapped her hand next to his face, leaning into her palm, "and what else did they say?"
"That you're going after the Third tier in the Forest tonight." She blurted, blindsiding him with a new topic to hide her shock at her hand actually cupping his cheek. It was strangely more intimate that rubbing liniment on his ribs had been and if the feeling running relay down her arm was anything to go by, dancing was going to be pure hell.
He let her hand drop, grinning, backed up and leaned nonchalantly against an upright. "Nobody told you that," he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nobody told you that, because everyone knows nobody talks about it. Are you going to be there?" He was almost unnerved that she might be."
"The whole thing is illegal," she said angrily, angry that she was right and angry that she was afraid for someone apparently too stupid to value his own hide. "There are no rules in the Third tier, It's worse than Muggle Cage fighting, you could get killed."
He opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. "You're worried for me? That's kind of sweet," he teased. "Are you going to tell on me? Pop down to Professor Snapes study for a cup of tea and a heart to heart?" He added unkindly, "While you are there, get him to teach you how to shield and narrow your wavelength."
"People could get hurt, the Professors should know!"
Cedric laughed out loud, resting his head back against the timber structure, "who do you think," he said softly, "is refereeing?" He shrugged easily at her horrified face.
"It's just a learning curve. I'm a good student." A moments silence, before he continued.
"Did Weasley tell you?" He nodded knowingly, there was no way she should have been that good as a Fourth year if it was coming from Divination, "did you tell him to be careful too?" He pushed off the upright he had been leaning on. Before he had even taken a step in her direction, she whirled and ran.
Behind her Cedric turned and leaned on the balustrade, looking out over the lake in the distance. Every third second or so he kicked sharply at the uprights with the toes of his shoes, wondering why he cared that she cared. In the distance, a broad, fishy tail rose lazily, spilling prismed droplets and beckoning like a finger.
A/N: Sigh, there should be more turps in here, but playing with Snape just makes it bigger.
Malus is the family name for apple trees. In case you didn't know, Lime wood is native to Britain and used to make Welsh Love spoons, because it is both soft and hard. You know what I mean.
Pot, Kettle is a reference to the saying 'the pot calling the kettle black,' Wiki explains it better than I can. While you are there, check out Hades and the pomegranate from mythology.
If you have questions, I am not on Facebook or Twitter, but do occasionally lurk on ADF, I will answer a PM on FF if you are too shy to put it in a review and it will not spoiler the story. There will be a teaser on the Sneak Peek CF on Monday.
Thank you for reading.