Moonlight Sonata
A shade breathed.
Black like the clinging shadows around it, the guttering torches concealed the strange man-shaped pattern against the stones with their flickering, inconsistent light. But the dark eyes held no fear of detection, or indeed, a hint concern for anything they might actually see.
They were closed, ears drinking in sound. The faint spitting of the torches, the creaking of the wooden staircases moving floors above, the soft grinding of stone settling on stone for the night.
And the plaintive quality of a flute, mixing with the gentle drip of water in the lower dungeons not so far below.
Flute. In spite of horror stories and the cold realities of law and war, children never learned. But the excuse of youth did not suffice for a plea of ignorance, and the punishment could not be ignored or reprieved.
Certain of what it had heard, the shadow's eyes opened, coldly marked the worn, cracked and cobweb-covered granite of the area and glided away, slithering up the stairs, fire casting glances on red scales.
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The tawny owl that bowled over several jugs of pumpkin juice at the Slytherin table landed in front of Kassandra without disturbing so much as a slice of bacon on her plate. She smiled perfunctorily, handed it a piece, and took the letter and attendant package from its leg.
Passing the package to Klytemnestra- unless she was much mistaken, it was some of their mother's homemade baklava left over from their annual Halloween cocktail party- Kassandra slit the letter with her knife, unfolding the tri-fold parchment.
She scanned the letter, and her eyes widened. She nudged her twin. "Look at this." Klytemnestra glanced at the letter, frowned at her sister, inclined her head towards the door, waited for her sister's agreement and both stood without comment, pulling their books with them and walking out of the hall.
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"D'you reckon they'd know anything?" Lucius murmured to Walden, elbowing his friend and pointing surreptitiously in the direction of the departing twins, a calculating look deepening on his face.
"If they do, can't you just ask?" his friend grunted. "What use is Kassandra if she won't tell you anything?"
Lucius rolled his eyes and counted to ten. He was friends with Walden for his unwavering loyalty and unquestioning willingness to follow, not his intelligence, family or unwavering adherence to the complicated social laws of pureblood society.
"They're Zabinis. Fierce family secrets and all that. And, besides, they might not know why Snape would so willingly defend a brand-new, Gryffindor, American witch."
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"What does the letter say exactly? Let me see it again?" Klytemnestra asked Kassandra quietly as they drifted towards the library. Kassandra opened it, showing her twin.
"A ship full of cargo vanished? Who did it?"
"Obviously, they don't know. Not the Ministry, or it would be splashed all over the Prophet, listed as a 'seizure of dangerous imports.' And the Ministry knows not to interfere with the business." Her finger underscored a line in the last paragraph. "Mum says to be on the listen for brass and woodwinds."
Klytemnestra lifted her head, glanced around the deserted hall fervently, made a quick decision and leaned closer to her sister, her mouth tickling the fine hairs on Kassandra's ear. "I heard a flute. When Severus and I were leaving."
"When?"
"A while ago. Like- two weeks."
Kassandra frowned at the letter. "That might be too long ago to be this. Why didn't you tell me before?"
Klytemnestra blinked, stunned by her twin's wounded tone. "I don't…I don't know. We don't talk about it much…I guess I thought it wasn't important enough to mention."
"It is," Kassandra replied testily.
"Anyway- it might not be too long to listen for them. Mum doesn't say when the shipment vanished, just that it disappeared. It would be like them not to warn us until they have no other recourse."
"Where did you hear it?"
"Inside the walls near the east wing of the dungeons."
"Close to Slytherin." Kassandra's eyes hardened. "Maybe one of the Dark Lord's servants."
"There are only students and teachers here, though…"
The younger twin tapped her lower lip with the corner of the parchment. "Why couldn't it be a student or a teacher, Kly?"
"That's what I'm afraid of, Kass."
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Black hair tangled across his pale, almost-hairless chest, kissing the few wisps that graced it. His hand dragged through her tresses, smoothing it into a fan that bridged his torso and her back.
"Kly heard a flute in the walls near Slytherin dungeon two weeks ago," Kassandra told her lover, hand tracing patterns on his flat, muscled stomach.
Her face turned the other direction, she did not see the sharpened interest in the grey gaze, though Lucius' pureblood training kept his hand running fluidly over her head, purposefully bland, movement unbroken.
"Really?" The mildness of his voice belied the leap in his chest. The chance to seduce the Mudblood had an undeniable charm in the challenge and the prize- though she was not nearly as beautiful as his blonde, willowy betrothed or this dark, tiny lover. He breathed lightly, waiting for her to continue, praying she would. She revealed little of her family, keeping anything that touched it within the tight circle of blood kin as her Italian-born father encouraged.
"Yes." Her fingers had ceased to doodle on his abdomen. "And Mother wrote me this morning about a ship full of instruments vanished at sea recently." She sat up suddenly, her hair falling over her breasts in long, rippling waterfalls. "You said your father was looking into the regulation of mage-musicians."
"A little," Lucius replied cautiously. His master's pressure at the beginning of the year to entrap the musician causing the fluctuation of the wards had led him to fashion a lie to justify the questions he asked her about music. Her father knew everyone seriously engaged in the music trade in the British Isles- and throughout most of Europe. But his invented current distraction for Abraxas Malfoy had to remain modest, a sideline hobby, not a major form of work, for if he stepped outside into the professional arena, Kassandra would write her father and expose him.
The Zabini twins, two years his junior, had held a fascination for the Malfoy heir since he was eight, old enough to meet other children in society-wrought functions. Ancient English money, the Malfoys had been wealthy, prominent members of British society since before the founding of Hogwarts, and Lucius could trace Malfoy ancestors back to the days of Merlin. Anthony Zabini, by contrast, had arrived in England twenty-five years ago with nothing more than brains, had proven himself a brilliant Italian business wizard and wed a woman twenty years younger than he, the oldest daughter of the aristocratic Prince family, Elizabeth. Scorned by society and family alike for her unwise alliance with a foreigner, it had been Madam Zabini's turn to smile graciously as her husband's ambitions made her one of the wealthiest witches in England and mother of Witch Weekly's current "Most Eligible Bachelor", the son and nineteen-year-old heir, Sebastian. And in spite of the captivating girl lying in his arms, it was mostly Anthony Zabini's line of work that intrigued the Malfoy boy now, as the story of his unlikely ascent to wealth had unfolded in bits and pieces, drawing rooms and ballrooms the length and breadth of Britain whispering with scraps of information. The young wizard had begun to stitch together a tapestry of the older man's activities, and as rumor had been confirmed and discarded, an impressive pattern emerged.
The ban and control of music, iron in law since the collapse of Grindelwald's failed government in Germany, made for few allowances, but a community of mage-musicians had stubbornly persisted in Europe, enduring the laws that hindered their gatherings and hampered their practices. Symphonies had been outlawed, but quartets replaced them, licensed and registered, with Magical Law Enforcement officers standing by at all time to subdue them. And it was this market that Anthony Zabini had cornered and now completely controlled in Sicily and the United Kingdom, and had a hand in all over the rest of the continent- the import and export of instruments, sheet music, protection charms and amulets from the effects of music, legal firms shielding the enterprise…the more Lucius painstakingly researched, the wider his database had grown- the Zabini empire was vast, seemingly unending, owning everything from small, familiar shops in Diagon Alley to fully one quarter of the Orkney Wizard Port and half the island of Sicily.
"Do you know who the flutist is? It's not allowed to play at school," he pressed lightly as no more was forthcoming.
"No." His lover's eyes narrowed, and Kassandra flipped her long legs over the bed. He had placed a silencing charm around the bed kept his dorm mates from hearing everything- from banter to sex. Hair sweeping around her back, Lucius sat back against the headboard, admiring her heart-shaped arse, the smooth, slender thighs that led to a delightful triangle as she turned around…
"Where are you going?" he asked, alarm rising as she reached for her panties, sliding them on before grabbing her robes.
"I have to find something out," she replied hurriedly, dragging her hands heavily though her hair. Lucius' arm snaked about her waist, pulling her down to the bed so he could bury his nose in her neck.
"Lucius! That tickles! I have to go." She squirmed, laughter warring with annoyance for dominance in her voice.
"Surely you can stay for a little while longer," he purred, his hand sliding up the half-on robe, fingers hooking on the elastic of her underwear and tugging.
"No! Gods, don't you ever wear out?" She was smiling as she wriggled away from him. "Later." Mirth vanished as she focused once more on her thought. "I do need to go."
"What's bothering you, love?" he asked as she parted the curtains around the four poster. But instead of more about the flutist, she turned to give him a lopsided smile.
"I'll tell you when I know myself."
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Hermione entered the Transfiguration classroom ahead of the boys, saw the dark head she was seeking, and slid into the desk next to Snape's. His head lifted briefly, his eyes flashed with a recognition neither warm nor cold- he had expressed no interest in her since their return from Hogsmeade three days ago, but neither had he rebuffed her gentle overtures to associate with him. Their joint curiosity to discover the flute player had forged a fragile truce that she tread delicately, trying not to pry and at the same time probing for details, pressing forward. It was so easy to forget now what she was here for- the Echo of Creation, whatever that might be.
"Hi," she whispered.
He grunted in reply, but his quill slashed across parchment, Do you know who it is yet?
She shook her head. Asking about an art that often led to imprisonment was not her forte. She had done no more than snoop a little in the girls' dormitories and eavesdropped on conversations in her common room. She had little doubt James and Sirius would have no trouble with flouting such a law, but neither of them seemed the overly musical type either. And if it was either of them, Snape would almost certainly lose interest.
"Hi Hermione." Remus plunked his books down on her other side, James, Sirius and Peter behind her, the Marauders closing around her and casting suspicious glares at Snape. He withdrew instantly, the half-written question on his parchment disappearing as he cast a Vanishing Charm.
She sighed and sat back as Professor McGonagall entered and took up her position behind her desk, tapping her quill. Turning teacups into rats was all very well and good for a third year, but Hermione's wand flicked lazily, producing a row of rats sitting up and sniffing.
A sudden memory of Scabbers rooting around and pushing his nose into the pockets of her robes for stray crumbs brought tears of fury and sorrow bubbling to her throat, and she bowed her head, loose hair falling in front of her to obscure her face.
He's right behind me. So easy. So very, very easy. Though she had yet to try, something cold and brilliant in Hermione made her sure that she could cast any Unforgivable successfully if provoked. Peter's presence was nearly enough on its own to provide the necessary inspiration…
With a hasty swish to distract herself, each of the rats was wearing a tiny red jacket with gold braid, and another charm gave them each a top hat and a tiny black cane wrapped around their right paws.
"Bored with the lesson, are we, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's voice was both disapproving and deeply amused.
"No, Professor," Hermione blushed, returning abruptly from her brooding. "I was just testing a charm I found after I finished."
"Your spellwork is undeniably impressive Miss Granger. Ten points for such proficient completion of the assignment, and take five more for sheer guts." Hermione beamed.
It was no surprise to her that James and Sirius were the next in the class to finish. Harry had mentioned at some time that his father's wand was geared specifically for transfiguration, and Hermione had had two months to observe him in action. She carefully glanced side long at Snape, and felt a pang of pity. It was small wonder that "foolish wand waving" had made its way into his first speech. Brilliant in Potions, Defense, History, Herbology, Arithmancy and Magical Creatures, his wand work in Transfiguration and Charms was deplorable. His teacup was a dirty grey and had a skeletal tail growing in place of the handle, but it lacked fur and in spite of a twitching pink nose, was still distinctly cup-shaped.
"Mr. Snape, I fail to see why the praise that so many others heap on you seems elusive in my class," Hermione heard their professor sigh unhappily, as she looked at the poorly and only partially-transfigured cup. "I have the assurance of most of your other teachers that you are a superbly talented young wizard. Nevertheless, please practice for homework and try to be ready to show me for next class." It was a drill so oft repeated Hermione felt one could hold service to it, and her stab of pity turned to anger as she heard James and Sirius sniggering behind her. She shot them both glares, and they shrank from her fierce expression.
"Professor?" she asked, just loud enough to be heard over the din of scraping chairs and books thudding their mates in hastily stuffed bags.
"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor McGonagall's smile was warm as she gazed at the girl. It had taken the transfer witch no time to establish her intelligence and ability in this past age, making her once again one of the most discussed pupils at Hogwarts.
"I had some questions about Animagi," Hermione blended the right tones of uncertainty with eagerness. What she wanted was delicate- not just theory and reading material, but the actual tools to do it. The Restricted Section was closed to her without a title. "I wanted to know if there was a book about it."
"Several, Miss Granger. In the library."
"I looked at all of those, and they discuss a little of the theory and list the currently living Animagi of Britain, but I was hoping for a deeper look at the subject."
"What kind of deeper look?" McGonagall asked, her nostrils flaring just slightly in suspicion.
Hermione shrugged. "That's part of my problem, Professor. I don't really know where to go or what there is. Are there any titles you might suggest?"
McGonagall considered her young student for a minute, apparently weighing the consequences of Hermione's mischievous company and her obvious advancement compared to the rest of the class. The desire to foster raw intelligence won. She nodded and reached for a quill and parchment. "I will write a few names for you- they are not actually in the school library-" Hermione's heart sank. They would have to wait until Christmas. The small and quite serviceable bookshop in Hogsmeade would not have specialty items or books of advanced magic that did not appear in the library, "-but I am sure you will have little trouble locating them through, for instance, Flourish and Blotts."
"Thank you, Professor." Hermione seized the list from the desk, read it quickly, and rushed to tell the boys, who were in all likelihood perched around the corner, ready to ambush her as she raced out.
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Kassandra breathed.
The hall lay behind and in front of her, silent in the guttering torchlight. This was where Kly had told her she and Severus had heard the sound. She sharply disapproved of her cousin's playing, and her sister's encouragement of it infuriated her. This was not what their mother had meant when she had ordered them to protect him. Severus was not on a Ministry-sanctioned track for his Mastery, and anything else could take him to Azkaban. If Abraxas Malfoy was serious about regulation, and if the Councilium was here…one could not be too careful. Her father had mentioned that the Hogwarts wards were buckling under the strain of music played in its corridors. Catching this musician, handing them to the Concilium, would rid the school of the threat to her family. Her first foray last night, straight from Lucius' bed, had been a failure. Hopefully tonight would prove fruitful.
As the pendulum on the clocks swayed towards eight o'clock, a light sound floated towards her, at first vaguely audible, then clearer as the player warmed up, and Kassandra recognized the ringing sound of simple scales before the instrument was launched into a long piece.
Grimly, ear pressed to the wall, rough stone blocks scraping her ear painfully to remind her that losing herself in the beauty of it was not the answer, Kassandra slowly made her way towards where she thought it was loudest.
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"Albus, you do indeed have students deliberately flouting wizarding law and playing music in your school. There must be several of them, for one student could never cause so many problems with the wards." Mroczek snapped, his red robe flaring behind him quite on purpose. "I can feel the magical signature of music radiating from this place, and whatever you say about a few Muggle-born students not knowing the rules, this is different. It is worse."
Dumbledore sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head, setting the quill down on his parchment wearily. "I have felt the wards fluctuating myself, and I know you would not have come if not compelled to find something. But do not be so harsh in your judgment. You know, my friend, that fully one third of Hogwarts is Muggle-born. And we are not permitted to even raise the subject of explain to them. Of course there are students who play music- and do not know it as a crime. It would be wrong, Alexander, to treat it as such. If this year's batch is slightly more talented and causing more trouble, that is hardly their fault."
"Nevertheless, Dumbledore, you're not seriously suggesting we let it slide past without checking it? Not when it's stronger now that it has ever been? When there is a real virtuoso-" "Or several," his inferior standing directly behind him muttered, "-at Hogwarts?"
"Not at all. It is a danger to Hogwarts. I will never deny that. I will find the student or students-"
"We will find them. And preside over their punishment."
Silence. The room waited for the tipping of the scales. "As you wish," the headmaster replied politely, knowing that this was one power he dared not trump.
"Thank you." Mroczek nodded very seriously, clicked his heels, turned smartly and left the office, his inferior sweeping behind him.
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Kassandra was very nearly asleep, slouched on the floor, legs akimbo and at the complete mercy of whatever prefect or teacher might stroll by, when the wall she was leaning on began to move backwards. Jerking upright, the sudden rush of adrenaline waking her violently, she scrambled to her feet and backwards into the dark wall opposite, hand sliding into her pocket to clutch her wand.
She stood under a torch, her dark hair crowned, but leaving her face cast in shadow as steps grew nearer to the gaping entrance, her eyes on the black mouth of stone, eager to catch her quarry after waiting two nights in a row…
-there! Red-brown hair emerged, flute case held in the right hand. Turning to tap the stone wall with its wand, the figure watched until the stone grated closed. Kassandra wondered how it was that no one had ever heard it before, the screech of stone on stone was unique- and penetratingly shrill.
As the locking mechanism clanked closed, the figure turned with a smile, and Kassandra caught a glitter of startling green in its eyes. She blinked, surprise staying her wand. Her suspect was not a Slytherin at all, and she suppressed the instinct to blurt the name out of far more surprise than suspicion. This was not the person she was looking for- neither a thief nor even a potential servant of the Dark Lord. It took all of her willpower to keep her mouth closed.
Lily Evans?
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The wind off the lake piercing his clothing to chafe his skin went ignored as Lucius stared at the ice-grey water. His master's commands were growing more impatient, and as a reminder of the Dark Lord's displeasure, the Mark glared furious and inflamed on Lucius' wrist. The owl this morning had been oblique, of course, but no less angry and the curse that set his skull-and-serpent scar to burning had commenced with breaking the seal.
I need a report containing progress towards what I need from you. No more excuses.
The girl. But she had defenders at every turn, and the ferocious intelligence those bright brown eyes foretold meant a fight even if she was on her own. He was certain that Snape's arrival in Hogsmeade had spared both he and Walden by seconds- from detentions if nothing worse.
Snape. And the Potter-Black consortium. He smiled humorlessly. His father thought little of the head of the Black household, and it seemed that at least that family tradition was going to be maintained, no matter that Narcissa was Sirius' cousin.
But what inspired those boys- who hated each other with virulence- to rise equally to the protection of an American witch? A flute. Kassandra's allusions the night before made him grind his teeth. If others knew, if others would miss her if he took her…The first orders he had received directly from his master flickered to life in his memory.
"Lucius, do you know why you must bring me this girl?" Voldemort was standing with his back to the boy, and Lucius leaned forward eagerly. His master seldom explained himself, and certainly not the likes of a new follower who was still under the thumb of his greatest enemy.
"No, my lord," Lucius answered honestly.
"Power, Lucius." The lord turned. "This is your first lesson. In the world there is no right or wrong, good or evil. There is only power and those too weak to seek it.
"The strength of her magic and the timeliness of her arrival indicates that she is intimately connected to the Echo of Creation. Dominion of her will bring Britain to its knees."
Control. Had she already tapped into the absolute power the Dark Lord knew rested beneath the shy, bookworm-ish surface of a third year student? Did her guardians spring to shield her because of the force of her skills with the flute or for friendship? For she could not have chosen better soldiers to march in her wake, or more unlikely groups to befriend her, especially his lover's young cousin.
He gritted his teeth, feeling the fluttering moth of fear beating its wings in his abdomen. He did not relish facing a girl with such knowledge of her own power. It was unlikely he could carry her off by force- and she had proven immune to his considerable and deliberately developed charm. In spite of his outward confidence, he was growing steadily more worried.
Kassandra. He had cultivated her carefully for several years, his final move their sexual relationship since the beginning of the autumn. The daughter of Zabini would know what to do with a musician- how to subdue her, and take her to the Dark Lord.
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Hermione reached to snatch Snape's hand as they left Potions, and she stared at her own appendage with wide eyes, part of her not believing her temerity. The Marauders, fortunately, were a few steps ahead of her, Sirius and James grousing at the obvious partiality of Slughorn to his favorites. A vivid picture warped Sirius' black hair into red, lengthened his nose and covered his face with freckles, and Hermione was hearing Ron and Harry muttering sourly about Professor Snape's favoritism toward Slytherins in general and Draco Malfoy in particular.
"Kindly let me go, Granger." The cold drawl snapped her to the man- no, boy!- whose fingers were wrapped with hers, and she swallowed the automatic "Yes, sir," that rose to her tongue.
"Sorry," she replied acidly, and released him, flowing away from the door as the current of students carried her. His dark eyes followed her, more than aware of the slip of torn parchment she had hastily pressed into his palm. He unfolded it.
Library. 8:30.
He scowled at it, the expression deepening as his insides betrayed him, adrenaline streaming into him, bringing his stomach into his mouth and the sense of loneliness he had so long suppressed choked him with its powerful resurgence.
He was staring after her, black eyes following the mane of hair as it darted up the staircase and collided with the blacks and browns of her friends. His captured attention did not go unnoticed by his classmates. Michael Avery reached out and deftly plucked the parchment from his hands. "Library. 8:30." He sneered, crushing the paper in his fist. "A little unromantic, eh, Sev? The library?" He opened his fist and dropped the parchment as if it had burned him. "Did some Gryffindor Mudblood give you that?"
"No. It was a reminder from my cousin to study with her tonight," Severus lied as quickly and credibly as he could. His face was smooth and impassable, worn from years of listening to his parents rage at and through him. Only James Potter and Sirius Black could get a rise out of Snape, a curious flaw that had made his dorm mates all the more determined to break him. Avery snorted, and moved on, but Timothy Wilkes, two steps behind him, shook his head in mock pity.
"A date with a cousin is all he could get anyway, Av."
Avery chortled. Rodolphus Lestrange was bringing up the rear of the group with Evan Rosier, and gave Severus a quick once over, eyes taking in the crumpled scrap on the stones. His eyes invited Severus' complaint, the slender boy's need of the promised protection, but the Severus held himself still. When it was clear that he was not going to speak, something like a grudging respect touched Lestrange's eyes, and he gave him a hint of a smile before continuing down the corridor.
Library. 8:30. She played an instrument. There was no question that he would indeed be going. But only a fool would go alone. Klytemnestra would be joining them.
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Hermione glanced at the wood-rimmed clock face hanging above the entrance to the library. She had stationed herself at a table close to the door, and was keeping a jumpy eye on it. Would he come? She was not his coveted flute player- that was a different problem in and of itself, who could it be?- but she could sing. She could and she ached to. The effort of keeping herself quiet sometimes throbbed in her throat, the desire to open her mouth almost overwhelming.
And there was the mission the headmaster had sent her on.
But would he trust her enough to come?
The hand on the clock inched towards the mark, now at eight twenty-eight, now at eight twenty-nine…just as she had convinced herself that he was not going to come through the doors, the black hand clicked into position and the door swung open, admitting Snape and following at his heels…
Her eyes narrowed. One of the twins. She could not yet tell them apart, and they made her distinctly uneasy. They moved with the peculiar grace of the well-to-do, their posture and gait oozing the self-confidence and entitlement that only the moneyed could afford.
"Snape." Her voice was stiffer than she imagined it would be. He arched an eyebrow and smirked.
"Granger." He did not trust her enough to come alone. She tensed as they stood on either side of her, effectively surrounding her, preventing her from moving too far lest she run into them. She wondered bleakly if he had turned her absolute trust in him into a trap- foolish really, it was the man she trusted, not the boy. This boy had yet to become a Death Eater and turn aside from that disastrous path.
"Shall we continue this fascinating discussion elsewhere?" The modulated tones of the other girl plucked annoyance and irritation from Hermione's myriad emotions, and she rose sharply from her chair, forcing the other two to step back, away from her.
"Why not?" she murmured, pulling out an insincere smile of acceptance.
As she made to pass the Zabini girl, her slender fingers clamped around Hermione's wrist. "Perhaps it isn't necessary to go elsewhere. I'll be quite blunt, since small, direct words work best on Gryffindors." Black eyes flashed. "Leave my family out of this." Hermione wrenched her arm away, her mouth setting into a hard line. Or perhaps the Zabini's were as blood-crazy as the Malfoys, and asking them questions even by the most convoluted route would not yield her the answers she needed. Hermione tilted her head and let her voice ice to reply:
"If you don't want to be here, go. You were not invited, Slytherin."
"My cousin." Her eyes slid past Hermione, focusing on Snape. "Leave him alone."
Silence, and the girl's mouth curved upwards in victory, Hermione dismissed her, turning towards Snape to whisper coldly, "Your choice, Snape. I didn't ask your babysitter along."
His face darkened, but where Hermione would have swiftly vanished from her professor's sight when he looked that way, she held her own in the face of the boy, anger and knowledge of the future bolstering her. He would choose her- because he had to. Her professor had said so.
"You said you play." His mouth was barely moving, the library far too public for private revelations.
"I do."
"Severus…" the warning hiss from the dark-haired girl went unheard. Black and brown gazes searched each other, made their decision.
"Show me." Hermione bowed her head in acquiescent triumph, pulled her pack on over her shoulders and continued past the Zabini girl, into the corridor.
Snape easily kept up with her strides, but Hermione heard the patter of feet alongside him, and peered around him to see his cousin keeping pace. "You-"
"You are foolish beyond measure." The girl cut her off. "The risks you run surpass your understanding. But where my cousin deals, so must I."
"Kly-" Snape began.
Hermione halted, turning to give the other girl a glare, six years of magical training bleeding into her tight stance, hand unsubtly thrust into one pocket to grip her wand. She neither wanted nor needed someone else involved, someone else she didn't know and instinctively didn't trust. Blaise Zabini was a Slytherin and a friend of Draco Malfoy, and it seemed that blood ran together in the pureblood families. "I am well aware of the dangers inherent in doing this," she said, jaw clenched. "It was your unnecessary decision to interfere."
Klytemnestra gave Hermione a pitying look so patronizing that the other girl bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
"Nevertheless." It was all she said, but the thought was complete. Hermione held her gaze for a moment longer, and saw, to her surprise, respect flicker to life in Klytemnestra's dark eyes, a response to the steel and pain shot through Hermione's brown ones. The Zabini girl understood as Hermione started to turn away that whatever the obstacles, this girl had the will, and quite possibly the means, to overcome them. Such unexpected strength of character surprised the Slytherin.
"All right." Klytemnestra studied Hermione sharply, saw the two words were genuine, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward, warming her eyes. Hermione blinked, and slowly returned the small smile, wondering if she dared ask about the inspectors now that they had reached an understanding.
"All right." Snape twisted his head between the two girls and the truce that was both spontaneous and almost entirely unspoken, his brow forming a 'v' in confusion.
"It's all right, Severus," Klytemnestra told him and Hermione turned her smile on the boy.
"Shall we?" she asked, gesturing down the long stone hall with one hand.
"But of course," Klytemnestra replied. Down the hall, the stairs, three pairs of eyes flitting upward in unison, checking the time on the great clock. Eight-thirty-five. Twenty-five minutes until they were outside curfew and out of bounds. Not that it mattered.
Out the door, hugging the castle wall to avoid detection from the many mullioned windows…Hermione thought longingly of the cloak buried in James' trunk, laughed silently at the idea of asking to borrow it for this.
They cut across the grass at a sprint, robes streaming behind them, the safety of the trees ahead of them- they were in, their run slowing to a fast walk, the night leaves closing in around them.
"What do you play?" Klytemnestra asked quietly as they halted, trees supporting their backs, the great lawn entirely obscured by branches, bushes and bramble.
"Harp," came Hermione's winded reply. "Clearly, I do not have it my possession. But I also sing. What about you?" She straightened up, breathing deeply.
Rather than directly answer, the cousins plunged their hands into their robes and withdrew tiny cases, which Klytemnestra enlarged. Snape was still struggling with the enlargement charm, and did not risk his clarinet with his own clumsy magic when he could help it. Anticipation lit in Hermione's stomach, tingling up her spine to flood her chest, and she bit her lip, watching almost hungrily as the viola and clarinet were withdrawn, resin applied to bow, pieces firmly fit together, and her voice toned clear, ringing as she gave them their A to tune to.
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Power seared. Dumbledore leapt from his seat, his magic buckling in response to the wards, sending shocks through the soles of his feet. As the setter of the defenses, their fluctuations spiraled through his nerves, peaking painfully as the wards smoothed, assault retreating. Mroczek, seated and having tea, flinched as the school's shields spasmed again.
Was this part of the girl and her mission? Why would he have sent her for so dangerous a task? Had the future Dumbledore not told her when or how she was to return because she wasn't going to? It made little sense for him to send her on behalf of a future war effort if she wasn't going to make it…
"I'm going to send my people out. We have to catch the perpetrators."
"Please do," Dumbledore agreed, gasping as the next oscillation spiked into his lungs. What of her? He cannot be allowed to pass her sentence. "And please…bring them to me." The other man caught his eye, saw that the headmaster was not to be argued with, and nodded curtly as the door shut behind him.
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Hermione closed her eyes, her voice weaving harmony through the melody woven by the clarinet, Klytemnestra's viola vibrating long, short, long again notes, making the nearest leaves shiver expectantly. Her eyes were focused, not on her strings, which her callused fingers slid along with the ease of much practice, but on her young cousin. When his black eyes were open, he watched Hermione, his gaze greedily locked on her, as if he were drinking her music, devouring her whole. It was a look akin to worship, and Klytemnestra felt both a faint stirring of unease and a whole-hearted understanding. Her cousin's skill with his clarinet, her own advanced playing of the viola were as candles competing with the light of the sun. Hermione's voice resounded pure, open, dipping to notes that seemed to come from the earth they sat on, and soaring into the dark canopy. Klytemnestra could feel the forest moving to their music and knew that this was what the Ministry feared. Nature responded to the resonating vibrancy of viola, clarinet, and above all, voice.
The rustling faded as Hermione closed her mouth around her final note and the last echo of the wind and strings faded. "What else should we do?"
Snape's eyes sparkled, and he pulled out of his coat the same teacup that had so woefully failed to become a rat that afternoon in Transfiguration. He set it on the ground in front of him, and began to play. After a long series of trills, in which the cup began to morph, Klytemnestra's viola began a run of staccato, turning the white, flower-patterned china to a dull grey. Hermione stared as a rodent started to take place, bone structure emerging in a gruesome skeleton. Her mouth opened without thought, and she started to sing, fur rippling over pink, attaching muscles and tendons, bulging outwards as claws completed, and a twitchy-nosed rat completely replaced the teacup previously settled on the damp leaves.
Three instruments halted, the trio stared at what they had created, and in the aftermath peculiar to ridiculous discoveries, they burst into laughter, startling the creature into scuttling beneath a large mushroom. Hermione listened to Snape, his voice deeper than hers and Klytemnestra's, already reaching for baritone status at thirteen. She had never heard him laugh before, and found that she quite liked the sound.
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Klytemnestra felt later that she should have known they could not get away with it completely unnoticed. The crime was too great, the fear of it too lasting since Grindelwald's abuse. And the last wizard orchestra in Europe had been disbanded more than a century ago, long before individuals and then all but a few select groups playing music had been banned in its entirety.
Snape was heedless of the danger that haunted his cousin, feeling an undeniable desire well in him at the thought of having not just a duo, but more. He would never gain his Mastery- that his mother had denied him the chance to play without the Ministry's interference for the rest of his life tore at him, and always would.
That it was an unlikely arrangement of instruments did not trouble him. He had played solo all of his life, his clarinet the escape his father had given him as a child, one the boy had resorted to with increasing devotion as his parents fighting grew ever more frequent and violent…
They were well into changing and transposing 'Moonlight Sonata'- it took no words. Simply music, and the players followed each other, embellishing where they wished- a style closer to jazz to play, though the sound was classical enough.
Thoroughly engrossed in the song, none of them noticed the leaning of the trees, bending over them, or the whispered glow that Hermione emitted, mingled with the strands of her hair and flowing from her head like threads of silk to settle over the ground like fine, sometimes glinting gold, sometimes flashing silver, mist.
But as the magic pressed past them, through the trees, gently pushing over and under bracken to reach the Hogwarts lawn, red glinted blood-colored in the moonlight and someone did indeed take notice.