A/N JK Rowling made Hermione a badass. I gave Draco a reason to be afraid, very afraid.
Hermione went through the motions of watching the players on the pitch with a distracted air, she had the History of Magic text open on her lap and her attention flicked between the players zooming about, the Goblin wars and the timetable that she was trying to create as a cube in four dimensions. For the third time, she created the keystone and set it spinning.
"Hit it, Ron!" Ginny screamed.
Hermione added Earth Sciences.
"Pull right, Right!" Ginny shrieked. "You idiot," she yelled, "your other right."
Hermione clicked in Herbology, Divination, Potions, Physics and looked up at the scoreboard. Gryffindor was down ten points and a bludger was chasing Ron round and round his own goalpost. The referees whistle peeped and Flitwick tractor beamed the errant equipment into an iron bound chest and released a replacement. Cedric zoomed past the stand and Hermione looked away from how deliciously tousled the wind was making his hair.
Hermione tried to give Ginny her full attention, but she was finding herself tighter wound than usual on this fine day. In addition, the team formation most catching her eye was black and gold against the green of the pitch, rather than her usual burgundy. And she had to get the timetable done before meeting with Cedric or she just knew he would give her shit for it.
She added Natural World, Care of Magical Creatures, Runes, then looked up at where Cedrics trajectory might have taken him. Ginny nudged her and winked as the arc of his travel peaked and he tore into a Vronski feint, with Harry hot on his tail.
Hermione suddenly stood and shouted at the top of her voice, "Come on, Harry!" She settled in her seat again, shrugging her shoulders at Ginnys expression. "What?" Ginny gave her the Pfft face, Hermione traded her the bitch brow and added Charms and Arithmancy and the one free period that slotted into the space left. The keystone was no longer visible. Now, for the advanced classes.
Ginny fiddled with her wand and a tinny accordion fought with the noise of the wind squeezing through the baffles.
"What are you doing?" Hermione stared at her friend flicking her hair around and waving her arms about.
"Practising for the Gala, wanna try?"
"Come on," she wheedled. "It's fun, and they are bound to play it in the free dancing."
"I have to get this finished," Occlumency, Astral Physics, Hexes, Ciphers, Transfiguration, Arboreal Herbology, Dangerous Creatures Husbandry slotted in between and on top of existing classes, distorting the cube in to what looked like a fat sphere with corners, about to explode.
Ginny started again, sweeping alternate hands in an exaggerated manner through her hair, leaning towards Hermione and jogging her to encourage her to join in. Hermione rolled her eyes and thought perhaps it wouldn't hurt to have a distraction from watching how the wind swept Cedrics hair back and away from his broad forehead, emphasising his distinctive cheekbones and dry washed her face with both her palms.
"Aaargh. Ok," she stated firmly, letting herself get infected by the younger girls enthusiasm. "Go again."
Hermione copied Ginnys pose and subsequent movements, holding first one and then the other arm straight out in front of her, before fanning her face with both hands. "This is stupid," she said grinning idiotically at the inane actions and laughing when Luna stood and joined in, moving with a lot more embellishment.
"Once more," Ginny said.
"Then what?"
"Then we need to stand up for the next bit." She stood and demonstrated with exaggerated actions.
Harry ploughed a furrow with one foot on the pitch.
0.0
Cedric pulled up briefly to kill the dive and skimmed the ground, looking around behind him to see what had happened to Harry. His arch rival was knee deep in turf and using his broomstick to pull himself out of it. A flash of gold caught his eye, he pulled the broomstick equivalent of a handbrake skid and scanned the pitch for the snitch. Another flash drew his eye to the stands.
There was almost a full count of supporters in the Towers, bundled up against the cold. Since the game was not a league game, the only Professor in attendance was the referee, even Sprouty had bailed, which might have explained the shenanigans going on in the Gryffindor Tower. He picked out Luna and Ginny standing in formation, shaking their booty in an unmistakeable series of movements to anyone who watched Muggle soccer and a third girl, rising and doing the arm movements.
The half time whistle went and his team mates crowded around him to get tactics for the second half.
"We're ahead, we need to keep them off balance." Cedric nodded sternly. "Potters off his game. What's the deal? Anyone know? Anything we can use?" He stuffed an orange quarter sideways against his mouth guard and hollowed his cheeks, pulling noisily at the succulent flesh to extract the juice.
Tomas looked over his shoulder at the stands and threw his head back to laugh sharply. He pushed a few of his team mates out the way so that Cedric had a clear view. "How do you say it? Let the dog see the rabbit."
Upwards of a dozen girls now stood in formation, hats, gloves and coats discarded, long hair being flicked and flying in the breeze. In the front row, three girls, Luna, Ginny and a third that captured Cedrics attention. Hermione Granger pouting and swivelling her hips, he watched her press first one palm and then the other in a suggestive path down her body from breastbone to pelvis.
"Someone tell me if Potter is watching us or them," said Tomas, "I have an idea."
Cedrics thighs clenched painfully against the broomstick crossbar and the orange peel toppled silently to the ground. "Shit," he moaned, "I need a bigger box."
0.0
It didn't help that Ginny was killing herself laughing thought Hermione, she was doing the very best she could. She had her eyes closed in concentration to combat the fact that this kind of dancing was somewhat an unnatural state for anyone born North of the Equator, but the perfectionist in her demanded that every motion be precise. She put more flick in the face fanning and extra effort into the double hip thrust to prove to herself that she could do it. A ragged chorus of male voices had joined the girls and were singing along, but most of the noise was coming from in front of them now rather than behind her in the Tower, which was odd because from memory, they had the front row seats. It was no good, her ears were burning and she opened her eyes to upbraid Ginny and whoever else it was for taking the piss.
Most singers were stumbling through the original version, but Hermione seemed to be strangely attuned to the one crooning the English translation. She told herself she should have walked the minute she saw that the floating semi-circle of clearly amused players were Hufflepuffs, as it was, when she caught the enigmatic smile of a familiar face, her hands couldn't decide whether to cover her eyes or her mouth.
Hermione made a snap decision and told herself it was for the good of the House game. Harry was going to have a fit if he caught Ginny being leered at by the opposition. She made a grab for her coat, book and timetable and bundled Ginny out of the Tower in front of her.
"We're leaving," she said hurriedly, "sod the second half."
Cedrics voice rang in her ears all the way down the rickety wooden steps.
'If I catch you.'
0.0
They won, she consoled herself, she would have to pull a fast one with the time turner to fit in the celebrations and her class with Firenze, but she could do it if he hurried the hell up. There was a charabanc leaving for Hogsmeade in twenty minutes with her name on it. Her friends were all over the mysterious arrival of the carriage and its flying horses and the strange arrival in the lake and she was stuck here, waiting for him.
He was late. Was she early? It didn't matter, he wasn't here anyway. She paced the stone hallway to stop herself thinking about actually dancing with him because just the thought of it was freaking her out. What on earth had made her agree to this ridiculousness? Eventually she slowed and leant against the stone balcony, staring into the grass square of the quadrant below. Seeds from a dandelion clock whirled and rose on the plumes of trapped air, only to spin and fall again. She set their movements to music with a brief flick of her wand, resting it on the balustrade and closed her eyes as the opening bars of the Sleeping Beauty waltz drifted dreamily along the corridor.
Raising her arms to an imaginary partner, she allowed herself to fall into the musics embrace. Her hips swayed waiting for the correct beat before she stepped to match it on tiptoes, rising and falling like the tiny motes trapped in the stagnant air. Her mother and father both loved to ballroom dance and this was not so very different. The whisper of leather on stone caught her attention and she paused, eyes still closed to gesture him forward, unwilling to break her sense of wellbeing with actually clapping eyes on him.
She had to adjust the hand that would rest on his shoulder upwards a little and frowned at the coolness of the fingers that cupped her own and began to lead her effortlessly where she had left off. Every movement was precisely how it should be, every dip perfect, every rise mirrored her own, compensating when she slowed as it dawned on her that something felt off. The crisp click of dress shoes stuttering to a halt gave her pause – she refused to be a spectator sport for anyone – and when a velvet voice that did not belong to her dance partner said curiously, "mind if I cut in? She opened her eyes to stare up in surprise into the impassive eyes of Professor Snape.
"Professor?" she asked aghast.
Snape bent stiffly over her hand, slid his gaze disparaging over Cedric before turning abruptly and stalking away.
"Very nice," said Cedric, every word bathed in innuendo.
"You're late," she said defensively, although she was not sure what for.
"You're not dressed," he quipped back. She glared at him as he closed the distance between them, all dressed up in a penguin suit and bow tie just that little bit crooked to show that it was a real one, properly tied. She tucked her hands up the sleeves of her oversized top that fell off one shoulder, stolen from Rons closet. He stared at his feet, "I 'm sorry, I didn't realise you and Professor Snape had a prior appointment..." he tailed off smirking and shrugged.
"What?" She spluttered. "We don't, I don't, there's nothing...that's...ugh...are you insane?" she finished exasperated at herself for her incoherency. "He'd be fired.." she shut her mouth sharply, mentally slapping a hand across it and lobbing her verbal spade into the pit it was digging.
"Severus and Hermione, hmmmmm…tree," he hummed, meticulously placing his wand parallel to hers on the balustrade
She fisted her hands and growled, "there's nothing going on, he hates me."
"Doesn't look like it," he said gleefully teasing as he took her hand and moved into position. "Shall we?" he whispered, theatrically looking around to see if anyone was watching. The music was louder as if amplified by the extra wand and he trailed warm fingers up her arm before settling his palm on her shoulder, his feather light touch burning fiercely through her cotton top.
Between her annoyance and trying to keep a safe distance between his body and hers, the mortifying realisation dawned that although she had danced with her Father, the footwork she knew best was from dancing with her Mother, so she had a habit of falling into the mans role. Their feet repeatedly tangled as she tried to forecast how he moved without actually looking at him.
His shoulder flexed pleasingly under her hand and for a brief moment she pictured it bare and tattooed with the half moons that her nails would make. Without thinking her hand drifted, fingers curling upwards through the short hairs on the nape of his neck and he grunted softly in surprise, losing count and tripping so badly that they both crashed to the ground.
He twisted sharply so that his back bore the brunt of their combined weight hitting the flagstones before breaking into infectious giggles that she echoed in spite of herself.
"You're going to ruin me for Quidditch," he wheezed, his voice suffocated as he took in the sight of her flushed and sprawled above him. He shifted nervously and her hips slipped more firmly between his legs as she pressed her palms to his chest to steady herself. He panted out a breath and stayed very, very still.
"You're supposed to be leading," she thumped him with the flat of her hand, more annoyed at herself for not being annoyed by him being anything less than perfect. This was supposed to be what practice was about after all. She pushed off his chest and wriggled back, slipping her knees either side of his hips to be more comfortable. Something in his pocket was poking her in the intimates in an altogether too pleasurable manner. She tipped her head back to loosen her neck and scowling at the damp feeling on the back of her collar, she twisted her hands into her hair and held it on top of her head to give the cool air access.
She stared down at him for a moment, taking in his hooded eyes and the tip of his tongue flicking the corner of his mouth before he ran lazy fingers up her thighs as he pulled himself into a sitting position. Even dancing they had never been this close. He smelt of warm soap and crisp starch and something decadent like Amaretto that made her mouth flood with saliva.
Hunching over her slightly he chided, "you're supposed to be letting me." His lips curved in an inviting smile. It would take no more than an instants indiscretion to know how they felt against her own. She dropped her hair and grasped his shoulders.
At the end of the corridor Crookshanks earthed himself against the bottom of a lead down pipe. The resulting electricity converted an egret orchid, taken root in the gutter, into a white flapping thing he watched with narrowed eyes as it tried desperately to stay aloft on its maiden flight.
Behind him Hermione used Cedrics unwilling frame to lever herself out of his lap, he clung briefly to her hips to steady her before letting his hands drop away, resting a forearm on a raised knee. He chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek at how much he disliked letting her go.
"It's not working," she said analysing. "We need to be closer."
He looked down for a moment, mourning the decision to go commando in the interests of speed. Plucking at the front of his pants in fruitless effort to make more space, he also wondered how the hell he was going to keep that to himself if they got any closer. Perhaps it was time for introductions.
He scrambled to his feet and walked purposefully towards her. She put her hands on her hips to make herself stand her ground, irritated by the way him being dressed up made her think of something gift wrapped and begging to be undone so that the thing concealed inside the pretty package could be enjoyed at leisure.
He studied her frame before he took her left hand behind his neck, his right on her hip instead of high on her back and stepped deliberately so that he knocked her feet apart with his toe and put his foot in the gap. She made a soft noise in the back of her throat when he grasped her free hand, glancing sharply at his face.
"And I don't trust you," she said icily.
"Smart girl," her muttered to himself and to her, "I won't let you fall again, I promise." His eyes searched her face and honesty rang in his tone, but in her head the word liar lit a torch and ran through her brain. He would do worse than let her fall she decided, he would let her plummet in flames and use the smoke to signal her successor he was free.
"You trusted Snape," he offered.
"That was different!" she retorted.
"Because it was Snape or because you had your eyes shut?" he goaded.
"Lets find out, shall we," she said sweet with sarcasm and shut her eyes before she could change her mind.
He could steal a kiss now, he thought, he had done it before with someone else in different circumstances. Some strange morality stopped him though, he wanted, no needed it to be freely given. Like the nudge with the socked foot in Transfiguration class that had rocked him on his heels. He craved it. He told himself there would be more sport in her reaction if she saw it coming or even better initiated it.
He pressed himself gently to the length of her and was rewarded by the sight of her teeth grounded in her bottom lip, waiting almost a beat too long before stepping into the first moves of the dance again. She swayed in his arms, guided by his hips, and sighing, forced herself to relax into his warmth, ignoring for a moment the correct posture that the strict form required to concentrate on her footwork just to prove him wrong. Or at least that's what she told herself.
She made tiny noises that gave him goosebumps every time he stepped forward and his thigh bumped her gently at the apex of her legs. Noises that belonged under bedclothes or in dark corners, as long as they belonged to him. He wanted his name on them or perhaps in them. He rested his head heavily against the crook of her neck and fought the urge to plant his lips where her heart beat under the skin.
They circled without incident eight times, her world shrank to the music, his heart beat and his voice whispering 1-2-3, 2-2-3, before the music drained away, magic spent over time. Even when silence fell he refused to let her go.
"Keep your eyes closed," he murmured. "I want to give you something for helping me." She stiffened as he turned her so her back was to his front, his left hand slid smoothly over her belly and the selvedge of his zipper teased parts of him that were very interested in keeping her in full contact with the rest of him. His breath was heavy in her ear.
"The library..." she gritted out
"You can still have the library," he said. "This is different, change is coming and I would not have you defenceless by default. Call your wand."
He let his lips drift over her cotton top as she raised her right hand and hoped equally that she would and wouldn't feel it.
"Accio wand," although she caught it clumsily, her voice was absolutely steady. This was magic, this was new and new was important and not feelings and shivers she couldn't control. Magic did her bidding, unlike her traitorous body.
With his fingertips and thumb he supported her right wrist and rested his chin on her shoulder. His words were breathlessly quiet, but she let them sear into her brain, her acquisitive mind a hungry snapping thing starving for knowledge that was bigger and better and more.
"Use me like you will in class. Take only what you need. Focus on your happiest memory. Let me move your hand, I'll know when you are ready. Say the words I tell you, exactly as I say them."
She pictured her home, parents, Harry. She felt herself smile when she thought of Ron, Pillock she thought fondly. Cedric squeezed her closer, "almost," he breathed feeling the energy potential in her slight frame fluctuating. He swayed her slightly, allowed his hips to brush against her behind.
She took in a deep breath and as he whispered, she whispered after him, "expecto patronem." He flicked her wrist briskly and a thin stream of electric blue light sped from her wand tip, coiling and furling into the familiar shape of an otter. He barely felt the tug of her drawing on him as a reservoir at all.
He let go and stepped back when a second, heavier built male appeared behind the first and brushed noses with it. That shouldn't have happened. He had never been able to call his own patronus without his wand before – she must be doing it, constructive interference in the morphic waves or something, heaven only knows what residual scoring that would leave on her wand core. Nothing bad he hoped, making a mental note to look it up when he next found himself in the library – when they next found themselves there. Someone was coming. He walked backwards away from her still feeling the pull and softly called for his wand. When he was halfway to the stairwell he called out, "Hermione, open your eyes."
Her surprise snapped the bond. Hermione was stunned by the glowing creature, no creatures she thought to herself. She knew what was coming as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but not the form it would take. And she had only once seen an article that mentioned a doppelganger. Except it wasn't exactly an exact duplicate, it was bigger with blunter features.
"Cedric, there are two...?" her voice trailed off and she spun to face the empty corridor, then back to the fading apparitions. The male playfully butted the female under the chin. She bit him behind his ear and they tussled, creating a blurry yin and yang in electric and midnight blue.
The first she knew that she was no longer alone, was when the image of a pale bear on all fours appeared with an enormous fish carried sideways in its mouth. Both otters stood up on their haunches in front of her, but she lost her concentration when it dropped the apparition of the fish at her feet, the otters faded to nothing, followed by the bear and its strange gift.
At the end of the corridor, one of the boys from the ships rail stood uncertainly, side on as if prepared for a duel. Hermione put her hands on her hips, squinting to see his features clearly.
"Krum?"
"Beautivul," his voice was low and guttural. A lot of saliva at the back of the throat seemed to be involved in producing the sound.
"Viktor Krum?"
"May ask," he said, approaching, "vor dance?" His voice was smoother closer, but missing vital pronouns, not to mention consonants. Hermione shifted uncomfortably at the thought of someone watching her and Cedric dancing or it could have been the way the growly bit of his voice tickled her back, all the way down her spine.
Hermione shook her head, "I'm meeting some friends." She mimed drinking. "Butterbeer," she said slowly and clearly, wondering how long it would take to master Hungarian. She tried to roll her tongue lengthwise and width wise, just to see if she could. Whatever it took, it would be faster with access to a personal coach. He had the rugged features of someone who spends a great deal of time outside in all weathers and the prettiest eyes. She conjured the inside of a pub, the long bar and round tables packed with students.
He shook his head, waving his hand through her picture. "I ask," he repeated, undeterred and sinking to one knee and offering her his hand, "vor dance," conjuring smoky figures, from the fragments of her creation, whirling under a giant lit chandelier. Hermione studied his wand with interest, it was thicker than an English wand, darker and bent at thirty degrees a third of the way up the shaft. A genuine Gregorovitch. She wondered if he would let her hold it.
"Ohhh," she raised her chin in understanding and graced him with a small smile. A dance for an encounter with a Gregorovitch, she weighed the options. Olivander had said that he didn't have one in his extensive archive on display and didn't like to press him on the contents of the safe.
She allowed the last vestiges of hope, that Ron would ask her to the dance, blow away like the dandelion clock. This strange boy had known her all of three seconds and knew she was a girl, it had taken Ron three years and she still wasn't sure what he thought.
"Thank you, yes." She gave him a smile with teeth and meant it. "That would be lovely."
"Viktor," Viktor pointed to himself.
"Viktor," she confirmed, then pointed to herself. "Hermione."
Ten minutes later she sighed and patted him on the hand. Close enough….and let him follow her to the main stairwell where Ron and Harry were already waiting.
0.0
Cedric stopped off in an empty classroom on his way back to the common room. Red painted nails pushed the door open a few minutes later, wide enough to admit Cho.
"I like it," she said appreciatively, gesturing to his tux. "Is all this for me?" She asked saccharine sweet, exaggerating the sway in her hips as she made her way over to him. He grinned at the show and wet his lips, pulled the bowtie loose with one hand and considered making it a blindfold. She fiddled with his lapels stroking the silky fabric with her fingers and running the back of her thumbs down the material of his shirt, pressing hard enough for him to feel it in his groin. He bent to offer her his lips, but his head turned inexplicably at the last moment and she landed a chaste kiss on his cheek.
"No," he said shortly, unzipping his pants, "but this is."
Cho dropped her hands to his waistband. Stung at his tone she pulled him sharply towards her, running her tongue over her teeth.
"I want you to do something for me," she purred, waiting until she had his full attention. "About the Gala," she continued, counting the tick of the teeth in the zipper.
"What about the Gala," asked Cedric, holding his breath as hers washed over him rising to the occasion.
"Ask me," she said, running both hands around to squeeze his butt cruelly. She hummed over his background gasp and started a one sided conversation in parseltongue. He cupped her cheek before moving his palm to the back of her head and tipping his own back so he could imagine someone else on their knees.
She narrowed her eyes and let him set the pace, it wasn't like she was pimping this as more than it was. Wielding magic had an underpublicized drawback in that when it was good, it was very good. There was a reason that the showers ran here day and night. She wondered idly if this was indeed from performing magic or if there was something or someone who was going to interrupt their little arrangement. One of the new visitors perhaps, the Beauxbatons were quite something.
He only just managed to squeak out the 'silencio' spell before she made certain that he would find her sorely missed.
0.0
The door banged as Hermione, Ron and Harry left the pub at Hogsmeade, along with a group of other Gryffindor celebrating their narrow victory. The group of Professors in the corner, two men and two women, relaxed notionally, they weren't the last students to leave by any means, but it was always easier to talk about someone when they were not in the room.
There was silence amongst them as bar staff swapped out a tray of sloshing glasses for an assortment sucked dry. Snape tore along the seams of a packet of dry roasted peanuts, opening it and the discussion.
"And what of the girl?" The subject seemed distasteful, as disgusting to him as the powder coating from the snack food.
"She will be the last, the moratorium will never be lifted." Dumbledore sighed. "They are too dangerous."
"And what is written?"
"They appear only in the oldest textbooks. The Ministry has been quite thorough, even personal libraries have been exorcised. The restricted section at Hogwarts is a rare exception, the Guild of course maintain their right to retain the information. They will always appear in Fairytales, that cannot be helped, but they will change over time anyway. People will forget. It is best."
Snape interjected, too hasty for him. "I'm sorry, I…miss her…I…"
McGonagalls head snapped up from watching the whirlpool in her glass. "My sister. And you tell me of your great loss. Don't. Don't you dare."
Professor Trelawney cleared her throat and patted McGonagalls hand. "She is quite well in the Great Beyond. All is well."
Snape stared at the crumbs discolouring his finger and drawled, "the girl, will she be ready?"
"She has a name," remarked Dumbledore quietly, minutely following the detail in Snapes impassive face. "We cannot allow her to not be ready. We cannot allow this to happen again."
"I don't know how it has started this time – at all. How could a someone in that position not know that it was there, that it might some day choose?" McGonagall went over old ground, still seething at the inadequacy of men.
"He did his best, he kept watch." Snape defended, holding Dumbledores stare.
"After the event." McGonagall snapped.
"There was no sign of danger, even last Summer."
"This is pointless, we cannot accuse, there is no substantive proof that it was anything other than a mistake." Dumbledore tried to defuse McGonagalls anger, salt in a wound, antiseptic and pain for the purpose of healing.
"A man in his position doesn't make mistakes. They study for years, a lifetime as a journeyman before they are accredited. Mark my words, this was no mistake."
"He has offered a path in apprenticeship so that she could be kept safe. The Guildmasters say they have a responsibility…" Snape joined in, watching Trelawney watch. He looked up nervously.
"A vested interest is more like."
"It can protect, not just the wielder. In the right hands…" Trelawney speaking at last.
"Enough, this isn't getting us anywhere. Greater matters are upon us. Where is she now?" Dumbledore drew a Timeturner in the wet circles on the table top.
"With Firenze," Trelawney confirmed.
"Is she safe? The Centaurs are not known for their kindness." McGonagall queried, more curious than afraid for her charge.
"Would you cross her with anything less than a dozen wands at your back? Even the Ministry is afraid of her."
"For her."
"Of. Her." Snape corrected.
"But she is only a child…."
Professor Snape reached into his pocket to consolidate his point. "She has a Vine do her bidding. Childish she may be, but she is no child. They grow with the wielder, I do not have to explain that to you, of all people."
The ice in McGinagalls glass rattled like bone die in a cup. A crumpled page with a ragged edge was smoothed with a pale hand on the sticky table top so that all of them could see.
"Serverus," McGonagall asked, shocked to her core. "Did you tear that from a school book?"
Eight illustrations. One animated, the one where three leaves and a tendril flexed away from a central rod. Snape ground his teeth when Dumbledore swiftly took it up and put it in his pocket.
Dumbledore gestured Snape to the bar. "Another round?" Snape followed the paper.
Minerva turned to Trelawney. "She needs more help."
"She has Cedric."
"If she will let him."
"He found your sisters orb."
"Where was it?" asked McGonagall, clutching at her throat.
"The room of requirement. I told him what it was, can be, but they have to find their own way."
"Is she…was she still there?"
"Part of her perhaps, in the way that a thing made by ones hand carries part of its Maker. Intent if nothing more. It was made to express her love remember, before? I hope I have done the right thing…"
"Did you see anything in it? Anything of her." McGonagalls face was torn, desperation that she had, or had not, both responses desired and loathed equally, that her sister was indeed gone but perhaps trapped in a thing of her own making as she had been before she had died.
"He already had hold of it in his bare hand. He didn't know. I'm sorry. It had already taken up his thoughts, his will. He wants her for the dance."
"He wants her full stop," retorted McGonagall. "You should have seen them in class."
"Worse than Severus and Helen?" The name slipped out, cobwebs on her lips, dead but still not spoken, lest she be called in whatever form she now took. One of the Vine wands many powers. The silence repeated a name not spoken in twenty years.
"The dance," repeated McGonagall, planning a new lesson on the fly. "Perhaps, they need a push in the right direction."
"It would mean that the Guild would reject her."
"All the better."
McGonagall watched Dumbledore offer the paper back to Snape. The ice in her glass crazed and cracked into a sea of miniature bobbing floes.
"Pomona needs to know, Poppy too. We need to stick together."
Trelawney flicked a fingernail against her glass and studied the ripples, crashing back into each other. Seeing and unseeing a bird with two heads
"There is a complication."
0.0
Dumbledore held onto the paper as Snape went to take it from him, "she will come to you," he said softly.
"I never meant..Minerva."
"Minerva has her own demons," Dumbledore winced at the poor choice of words. "You will teach her what she needs, or this will not end well, for any of us."
Grief etched Snapes face, "it was an accident, I was defending..."
"Spare me," Dumbledore said dryly, "and do not underestimate her." Snape considered which 'her' he might be referring to, come to think of it, which she. He shook his head, he had been sitting with Trelawney too long, imprecision was infectious.
"Start with 'protego,' I imagine she will find her own way from there. You will find her quite able, even without her protector."
Snapes lip curled, "I know how to do my job."
Dumbledore still didn't release the paper, "I'm sure Cedric will take care of…this, but he was your choice, your responsibility."
"I know the consequences," said Snape, pulling the paper away and tucking it safely out of sight. Angry resignation marked his brow, he pulled out his wand and running a thumbnail over the beautifully carved raised handle, he split it open to reveal the original withered wood bisected with the nub of a wooden ring.
He said without rancour, "I live with it every day." He mock saluted his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and drained his glass in one, before thumbing the ornate bandage back into place.
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Hermione could feel the flush on her cheeks, the mess of her hair where the wind had played games with it and the overall feeling of well being from simply being out of doors.
"It is decided. He will be ready, when you are ready."
Hermione didn't ask, just walked alongside him. They skirted the perimeter of the Forbidden Forest, a third of the way round she estimated. Her lessons with Firenze were always in motion so she could never take notes and had resorted to recording their sessions with her wand tucked up her sleeve. It had taken her all of five minutes to work out that Firenze would never answer a direct question directly. For all that, he was the best Astral Physicist she had ever met.
The centaur stopped by twin oaks that marked some sort of path, perhaps a rabbits trail and stared off, into the Forest. "What do you see?"
Hermione stared into the dark, blinking uncertainly at the daylight meeting first dappled shade, casting writhing figures on the ground, then black, full dark.
"Death. I don't like it." Her voice sounded querulous to her own ears.
The centaur moved to stand across the path, facing out towards her, framed by the boughs of the oak. The ancient wood twisted towards him although there was no breeze.
"Speak."
Hermione gasped as the wood came alive in her vision. "The trees, these trees are guardians." She frowned. She shook her head at a half torn cry, half heard and a second weaker bleat. Firenze tilted his head and bowed his forelegs, offered both horny hands, crossed at the wrists.
"Mount, it will be safer."
As soon as she had both hands in his, he had flicked her over his withers and onto his back. She clutched onto his torso as he climbed once again to his feet. Seconds later two centaurs burst into view. Disgust painted the face of the older one, when he saw Hermione on Firenzes back, curiosity had put the other, younger one in her thrall. Hermione shifted so she was more upright, clinging with her knees and moving her hands out of sight, twisting them in the bottom of the line of hair than ran down his spine to make her feel secure. He sidled under her touch and jerked his chin at the new arrivals.
"It is as you said," the centaur with the unfriendly face had an unfriendly tone. The other offered a hank of golden hair that reached almost to the ground.
"Trim it," instructed Firenze and watched the economical actions of his herd mates, gathering the ends of the hair level, adding when Hermione spotted the dull gleam of a knife, "for her."
"She is full grown?" the younger one asked. The older centaur bent the hair over his thumb and cut it level both ends with the knife, then held it up so it dangled in his hand above the ground so that Firenze could see its full length. A breeze splayed the dozen or so strands apart, silver sparkled amongst the gold.
Firenzes tone had an unfamiliar depth to it, "not yet." and appearing the most direct he had even been, "remember your future is yet uncertain." Hermione shifted her hips uncomfortably and Firenzes hoof lifted a clod of earth with his movements when her heels accidently kicked him in the ribs.
The younger one scented the air, his pointed ears flicked back and forth and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Grown enough," he replied.
Firenze balled his fists and pawed the ground
"Give it to her," Firenze instructed, baring his teeth in a grimace when the hair passed to the youngster and the older centaur deliberately turned and walked off, looked once over his shoulder before breaking into a gallop. The youngsters back legs danced sideways, his tail lashed and Hermione caught a glimpse of something she had seen etched on Greek vases, only a whole lot bigger.
"Kazyr." Firenze warned. Hermione slipped the wand from her sleeve to her hand, just to be on the safe side, lifted a leg straight over Firenzes head and slid to the ground. She was sick of other people fighting her battles for her.
"I, have a wand!" She threatened.
Kazyr studied her, her wand, then dismissed both.
"I too have a wand," replied Kazyr grinning at her with feral intent.
"The hair must be given." Firenze shouldered past her, circling the pair of them.
"And so it was, in death. What will she give, in life?"
Hermione came to a sudden understanding and channelled her inner Ginny. Ginny would resolve this with a smile and a touch and a promise unfulfilled. Hermione tried her best to emulate it.
She dropped her wand hand, offering the other, gesturing to the part of the centaur that drooped almost to the ground.
"And this, does this give?" she asked, going for flattery and getting as far as fascinated.
The centaur flicked his tail out of the way to give her a better view, the tip rose, levitating under the touch of her gaze.
"It gives," smirked the centaur, rubbing his palms down his chest so that his muscles stood out against the bones of his torso. He scratched furiously at the fur where man joined beast.
She reached a finger to trail along his side, causing and following flickers of twitches across the length of his flank. She dared to pass behind him. Again he lifted his tail for her, stamping his hind hooves, not bothering to twist to see when he could feel.
Her hand slipped down his haunch, to cup the sack of his seed with the hand that her wand housed. It felt like the velvet bag Cho so closely guarded and she wondered if centaur parts were traded like Tigers appendages in the Muggle world. It was the right size, the same velvet softness.
"Or does it take?" She was barely aware that it had even happened, before the warm, heavy weight was in her hand, further away from the centaurs body than it could possibly be. Were he intact. Hermione drew backwards, to the embrace of the guardians tessellated bark.
Firenze slapped him hard on the rump and Kazyr stumbled forward, shrieking in outrage, pain and horror. He lashed out with a back leg, Firenze caught it and twisting, threw his weight behind the hold so his adversary landed heavily on his side.
"I have seen you in the geldings choir," grunted Firenze. "I never knew why until now."
"Master…avenge me!" Kazyr pleaded, scrambling in the dirt.
"It is done. You will give, it is written." Firenze sought the stars beyond the fading daylight.
Kazyr rolled, getting his back legs under him, twisting to look for blood. There was nothing, just the faint hint of singed hair. He breathed heavily, but stayed on the knees of his forelegs, raised the centaur tail hair in both hands and offered it in Hermiones direction. Hermione approached carefully, he had his head turned away. They were of a height like this, his handsome face twisted in disgrace and pain. She took the hair and coiled it so that it would fit in the pocket of her robes, she would think on it tonight as she carved the second egg. The purpose would come, she assured herself, if she tried hard enough.
"You asked me what I would give," stated Hermione, talking to his sideburn. His ear twitched, flattening against his head, his face jerked further away if that were possible. "As you give me what is already mine," she took his forearm, urging him to open his hand with what she pressed there. "So do I."
"See her safe," Firenze instructed, still gazing at the heavens. "I have work to do."
The look on his Kazyrs face would stay with her forever. "Lady," Kazyr stumbled to his feet.
"She will ride."
"They will know," Kazyn declared, shocked. "The herd, I will be cast out."
"Soon," Firenze confirmed. "It is not so unpleasant," he spared the younger centaur a glance and a nod for his student, then stood back as a second, human figure began to emerge from the gloom.
Luna walked as if she was in her own private world, her face upturned to her own private monsoon that washed her flimsy clothes close to her body and the blood from her hand that coated her from elbow to wrist. She strolled as comfortable in the Forest as a wood nymph, born there. She nodded dreamily to Hermione and stopped in front of Kazym, touching him briefly on his forearm with a damp hand, "for your pain." Scratched him in the fur where man met beast and smiled when his back leg drummed repeatedly at the ground.
She took the recently excised organs from his unresisting hand, "thank you, you shouldn't have. Congratulations."
She turned to Hermione, "they are magnificent, aren't they."
"Quite," said Hermione dryly. She gestured to the rain cloud.
"It's the Dryads, they were trying to help."
Hermione pointed her wand, "finite incantatem!" The raincloud shrivelled, the only noise the slow patter of drops from Lunas clothes.
"I'll walk back with her," Luna addressed Kazym, "you may go." He backed up a step and bowed, leaving Firenze still staring at the sky. She took Hermiones hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Walk with me."
"What just happened?" asked Hermione, her head spinning.
"Kazym has a new brother-son," Luna replied.
"A baby?"
"It's not the right name, they call them…it doesn't matter, it's the same thing. His friend was dying and he offered his life in exchange so that Kazym could have a brother-son. It's how they keep the numbers of the herd in check." She said matter of factly.
They walked for a while in silence. Hermione wondered if she knew about the tail hair, wondered if she should mention it. "And you helped with the birth?"
Luna gave her a fey smile and whittled the dried blood from under her nails with her wand. Hermione felt vaguely sick.
"Firenze is giving me extra lessons in divination."
"Oh really," said Luna, overly interested, "what do you see now?"
Hermione stared hard at the path ahead. "A sock."
"Join me for dinner?" asked Luna as if Hermiones answer made perfect sense. "The kitchen will fry these in clove oil for me, they really are quite delicious."
"Err no, thanks," choked Hermione, adding an afterthought, "but I might like the bag."
A/N ML said Hermione should have knee'd Cedders in the 'nads last time, you could say that it shaped the editing for this chapter.
The song that the girls are dancing to was made famous by Ronaldo, youtube has an awesome version of a dozen dancers shaking their stuff. Dial up 'nossa nossa'. My apologies in advance to anyone who gives this stuck in their head for the next week.
A charabanc is an early type of open topped horse drawn vehicle. The vernacular is also loosely used where I come from, to describe a pile of people, a lot of beer and a mode of transport marginally too small for the number of bodies it is expected to convey.
Centaurs in classical mythology were fearless warriors, they were also renowned for their impulse control issues around women. Alcohol was blamed. It often is.