Disclaimer: Belle is my own character. No one else here is. This is the second part of chapter one. Enjoy!
I was rudely shaken away the next morning, as promised, at four-fifteen. The stupid alarm woke me up out of a dream that was about my English class and the gorges du verdon that I'd only ever visited once. Shooting furious glares at the offending appliance, I dressed in my traveling clothes (laid out last night by yours truly) and jammed my feet into my sneakers. There would be time to do my hair and makeup later. Much later. Like at the airport. I stumbled down the hall and found my way mostly by rote to the kitchen. Mum was already setting out a meager breakfast, and both Harry and Hermione were yawning at the table. I must have taken longer dressing than I realized.
"Here," Mum said, piling food onto a spare plate. "Eat as fast as you can and then go wash and brush. We'll squeeze your cosmetic kit in when you're done."
I obligingly bolted the food and vanished into the bathroom to perform my daily ablutions. I must admit to doing them rather badly. I stuffed the necessary items into a spare kit and dropped it on Mum's bed as I made my way back to the kitchen to check my carry-on one last time. Books: check. Uno cards: check. Makeup and hairbrush: check. Emergency clothes: check. Passport: check. Nail polish: not check. Where did it go? Oh yes, in the cosmetic kit.
"Belle!" Dad called.
"Yeah?" I shouted back.
"Have you seen my keys?"
Oh dear. Dad's memory is notoriously bad, and it tends to get worse when he's under stress. I dropped my backpack and scanned the kitchen hastily. No sign of the missing objects.
"No!"
I heard him walking away, then the shout of 'Mione's name. I hoped that he'd find them soon. Mum's nerves don't improve when Dad gets like this.
Finally, we all piled into the car, along with baggage and car keys. There was one last check, a surreptitious wave at the house (hey, what can I say? I'm a romantic. Don't tell my sister.), and we were off.
The drive to the airport wasn't quite as harrowing as it could have been. Mum was driving, and all Dad had to do was stare blankly out the window. I copied him and watched as the barely risen sun began to creep ever higher up the horizon. Its rays illuminated the sleeping country, and threw the few cars on the road at this ludicrous hour into sharp relief. I watched as we went from suburbs to more industrial areas, wondering why anyone wanted to live in a place like that. Eventually, we made it to Heathrow Airport, and the four of us tumbled out of the car with the luggage while Mum drove off to drop it off in the left car park. When she finally returned, we headed into the building.
Harry and Hermione left us for a long ten minutes, vanishing behind a screen and not coming back out. When they finally reemerged, Harry was holding a passport and Hermione was pocketing her wand.
"Everything work out all right?" Mum asked, eyeing Harry's passport warily.
Harry nodded. "I promise you that it's legal," he assured her. "We just speeded up the process a bit."
"Let's see the picture," I said, moving over to him. He grimaced and flipped open the document. I grinned: he looked like nothing so much as a rather over-large bug. "Don't feel too bad," I advised him. "Everyone looks like rubbish on those things."
"Let's see yours," he said.
"Not on your life!" I exclaimed, clutching the offending picture close. "I refuse to be turned into a laughing stock!"
"Let's go," Dad said authoritatively. We instinctively fell into line, with me at the back and Harry sandwiched between my sister and I. We checked in, and no one batted an eye at Harry's passport. Apparently he was right and it was perfectly legal. I wasn't quite sure how the airline people knew that he was really supposed to be with us, as we hadn't officially bought the ticket in his name, but there were no problems. Maybe the people who gave him the passport fixed the records as well.
With time to spare and unhampered by oversized luggage, we walked into the lounge. I ducked into a bathroom and spread out my makeup, quickly applying the necessities. I brushed my hair minimally, yanking it into a fairly messy ponytail. There would be time to redo it on the plane. For now, I just wanted it out of my face. Hermione eventually came in to fetch me, and I quickly packed my cosmetics back up. We emerged into the lounge, and spent about half an hour wandering around, looking at all the various shops. We went into some of the more interesting looking ones, and Hermione even considered buying a few things. Finally, though, she had to leave without purchasing anything, because all of our funds were limited and she wanted to save money for America. I, who am a far better card player than she, bought a small snack and munched on it as we continued to explore.
Two hours in an airport often seem to be interminable. These two were only moderately better. There were three of us, for one thing, and all of us were tired enough to be able to zone out for a good part of an hour. It still took forever, though. When our row was finally announced for boarding, I though I would run over to the booth as fast as I could in relief. I should have known better.
Let me get one thing clear: I hate flying. Of course, the fact that this particular plane trip was nine hours long didn't help. The seats are uncomfortable, the food is unpalatable, and the movies are stupid. Usually, the only thing that keeps me sane is reading and annoying Hermione. This time, I had Harry to talk to. Though he was incredibly vague about himself, he was a good listener, and though not much better at thinking of witty repartees than Hermione, he laughed at my jokes. He told me stories about their school, something Hermione had never consented to doing, and soon had me laughing so hard that it was all I could do to stay in the airplane seat. Hermione, buried deep in a book, as usual, sighed at some of the stories he told, and groaned at the ones that I recounted gleefully in return. The one about how Hermione had cut off all of her own hair when she was five years old made him laugh especially hard, and made Hermione turn beet red.
I'd brought the Uno deck, and we played several hands, even graciously inviting Hermione to join in for most of them. Harry and I almost evenly split the victories, with Hermione managing one. The three of us watched a very bad romantic comedy, laughing insanely all the way through, which seriously irritated both our parents and the other passengers. When the movie was over, we removed our headphones and made an effort to calm down. We picked at the food that the airline had provided for us, speculating as to its origins and content. Harry tried some of the fruit concoction, shuddered, and retreated as fast as possible. All three of us ate the cheesecake and the chocolate, and Hermione consumed about half of the dish that they called, "fish." I tried a little of it, grimaced awfully, and shoved it back. When the airline stewardess came back, I asked her for another packet of the pretzel things we'd been given earlier. She winked and gave me three, along with three mini cans of coke. We shared the food, which was at least eatable, and drank the coke while fantasizing as to what we would eat when we got to the airport in Newark. I opted for a giant hamburger and a monster pack of chips. I've heard that they're very different in America. Harry agreed with the burger, but he wanted crisps instead. Hermione shuddered at the mere mention of the American Hamburger, and declared that she wanted a salad with tomatoes and mozzarella. I mocked her for it, but after what we'd just been faced with, even that sounded appealing.
We finally landed in Newark Airport at eleven in the morning, local time. Time zones are wonderful things, aren't they? We collected our luggage and passed through customs without any trouble. Once again, no one questioned Harry's passport. His suitcase, once we'd collected it had also become suspiciously lighter. I suspected that Hermione had done something to it, but I didn't ask her. She probably wouldn't have answered me anyway.
Our parents took us to a TGI Friday's, and all three of us indulged in the meals that we'd fantasized about on the plane. The bacon cheeseburger that I ordered was huge, as was the plate of chips, or French Fries, as the Americans persist on calling them, though what they have to do with the French, I'm sure I don't know. I stubbornly ate all of it (though I allowed Harry to help me with the fries. Hermione wouldn't touch them), but knew that I wouldn't be eating anything for dinner that night. Harry too looked pleasantly full at the end of his burger, while Hermione ate all of her salad with relish. My parents had picked boring and average things, which came in normal portions, which ruins the fun of going out to eat. When we finished, we grabbed our luggage and headed for the exit of the airport. I'd never been to America before, and I was excited to finally leave the airport. Traveler's wisdom holds that you haven't actually visited a place until you've left the airport. I wanted to actually begin the visit as soon as possible. We didn't have a car for this part of the trip, and we were forced to walk to the hotel. It might not have been far, but I thanked my lucky stars for the fact that my suitcase had wheels. Harry didn't seem to be having too much trouble with his bag, and Hermione was talking happily about all of the landmarks that she could see, not caring a wit that no one was listening to her. Finally, we reached the hotel. Dad got the room keys, and handed them out. I wound up sharing with Hermione, while Harry got his own room. Dad grinned at my expression, and shrugged. I knew that it was useless to argue, and I plodded over to the elevator with them. We rode it up to the fifth floor, where Dad handed out the room keys. Hermione, of course, got ours. I had one as well, but it was clear that it was just a backup. Hermione grinned as she unlocked the door, and I glowered. The door clicked shut behind me, and I looked at the actual room. Not too bad, I thought. There were two beds, each with two pillows and what appeared to be a mass of sheets and blankets. I wondered just how many of them I'd need for New York City in July. There was a television on the dresser across from the beds, but Mum has made it quite clear that she doesn't like us to watch too much. I wondered if I'd be able to sneak in a few sessions, but one glance at my sister, carefully taking out a book, discouraged me. If anyone was going to tell Mum, she would.
With a sigh, I flopped back onto my bed. It was going to be a long vacation.
Hermione wouldn't let them go out on their first afternoon in Boston, saying that she wanted to see as much as they did and that she had no intention of going out that afternoon. Belle took one glance at the television program, grimaced, and cajoled her mother into going shopping with her. Mr. Granger retired to his room, and Harry looked questioningly at Hermione. She shrugged. "The Figure Skating National Championships are one," she explained. "I'm going to watch. You want to watch with me?"
Harry shrugged and dropped down onto the bed next to her. She turned on the TV and flipped to the channel. The two of them chattered through five minutes of commercials, then she made him shut up as the program began.
Harry found himself fascinated by the skaters. He was totally skating illiterate, though Hermione obviously was not. She was glued to the screen, alert to the slightest nuance of the skater's performance and general attitude. Harry, on the other hand, wasn't hampered by such intimate knowledge of the mechanics of the sport, and he was free to examine the beauty of the movements. He found himself captivated by the grace and confidence exuded by the athletes, even when they fell. The flashing of their blades and the nuances of the music mesmerized him. He wondered how long it had taken them to achieve the perfection that he saw displayed on the screen. They made it look effortless, but Harry had played Quidditch long enough to know that no sport was truly effortless.
As the first commercial break rolled around, Hermione sighed. "I wish the best would go on first."
Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"
Hermione burst out laughing. "Harry, these skaters are good, but we haven't gotten around to the world-class ones yet. None of these have a chance in a million of winning the title."
"But they're amazing!"
"Yes, they're very good. But you haven't seen the best yet. Just watch and learn."
Harry did as he was told, but he couldn't tell the difference between the next batch of skaters and the last. He thought he might have heard triple somethings a tad more often, but then again, he might just have been imagining it. He couldn't tell the difference between any of the jumps, after all.
The jumps might have been amazing, but it was the spins that left him breathless. He didn't see how they could stand to spin so fast for so long. To him, it seemed as though they should get dizzy in the extreme and fall over in a heap, but none of them did. They crouched down, lifted their legs gracefully above their heads, extended their arms all over, bent so far over backwards that it looked positively deadly… all while rotating at top speeds. It was amazing.
Despite her words about these not being the best, Hermione was as entranced as Harry. By common consent they didn't talk during the commercials, and the moment the skating came back on, they were riveted to the screen. Harry didn't know how long they sat there, hypnotized by the beauty they saw before them, but finally, he realized that they had almost arrived at the end. He didn't have time to be disappointed, though. The women who were coming were the best yet. They were graceful and slender, and the way they moved on the ice made it clear that they were completely at home on it. Even when they were just warming up, they glided seamlessly from stroke to stroke, not missing a single beat or faltering on the patches of darker ice. They zipped around the sheet, practicing and talking with their coaches.
He couldn't take his eyes off one girl in particular. She was obviously Asian, though he supposed she might be American. It didn't matter. She had a presence on the ice, something that drew him to her with a strange force that he couldn't explain. He watched as she glided easily from trick to trick, blending jumps with spins with turns of bewildering speed, turning them all into a single entity.
"Michelle Kwan," Hermione whispered, seeing the direction of his gaze. "She's the best American skater."
"She's amazing," Harry breathed, watching as she stepped off the ice, accepting a water bottle from another woman.
"She's the best," Hermione said again. "And she's the best with good reason."
Harry hardly watched the skaters that preformed, so eager was he for Michelle to come onto the ice. And finally, there she was. She assumed her position, crouching down on the ice and lowering her gaze to her feet. There was a beat of silence, and then the music started. He didn't recognize the song, but the way she moved to it left him completely transfixed. She glided and swayed, weaving all of the tricks together to form a tapestry of infinite beauty and infinite sadness. He felt his heart go out to her, as though it really was her who was singing the lament of unrequited love and passion.
As the final notes filtered to a close, he found that he was breathing hard. Hermione, next to him, seemed in little better condition. He wanted to say something, wanted to make some remark to alleviate the tension in the room, but there was nothing to say, and any words would dim the magic. And so he said nothing, allowing the intense emotion to dissipate at its own pace.
It came as no surprise to him that Michelle won the competition. He'd known she was going to win the moment she stepped onto the ice. Her very presence made it impossible for her to lose, and the incredible performance that he'd just witnessed made it even plainer that she was destined for the highest medal. As she mounted the podium and bent her head to receive the gold medal, he felt his heart swell a little, then sink back to its normal size. She was beautiful and she was talented, but she was not for him.
They emerged back into the real world soon after. Mr. Granger eyed them with a barely concealed smile, then offered to take them out to dinner. Both Harry and Hermione instantly agreed. There was far too much intensity still in that room, and it would do them both good to escape it for a while.
We toured the country for two weeks before finally arriving in Colorado. We saw shows and monuments, some of which were better than others. The Broadway play, for instance, was utterly fabulous, but the jazz concert that they dragged me to in New Orleans could have been missed. Hermione, naturally, enjoyed it all, and Harry seemed to, though I don't know if that was because he honestly liked it or because he wanted to be polite. I suspect that it was some of both.
Even so, I was far from bored. Just about anything is better than my house in the summer, and I like being in new places, if not the getting there. We did far more flying than I would have liked, and even Harry got tired of it, but none of us complained. There aren't really any better ways to get places, after all.
We'd been in Denver for a few days when we made the trip up Lookout Mountain.
I saw the boy just before Harry did. A tall, very thin, very hot teenager. His slightly shaggy blond hair, cut in the latest style, fell into his eyes, and he was dressed entirely in black, despite the heat of the day. His face was thin and slightly pointed, giving him a mysterious look. His eyes were storm cloud gray, and he moved like a natural athlete, though he didn't look it. His entire outfit radiated money and status. He was currently lounging against the fence that surrounded Buffalo Bill's grave, watching the world with barely concealed contempt. Harry hissed when he saw him. "Malfoy," he said viciously. "What's he doing here?"
Hermione heard him, and turned to look. Her face darkened as well, and she groaned softly. "Wish I knew," she answered.
I looked at him curiously. "Who is he?" I asked.
Harry sighed. "Only the biggest git in our year," he said. "We've hated each other ever since we met."
"He's damn hot," I said, only half trying to provoke him.
Harry choked. "You're kidding, right?" he managed finally.
I shook my head, grinning wickedly. "Nope. Don't see how my dear sister here could have resisted all these years."
Hermione blushed beet red. "Belle!" she hissed.
"What?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"He hates me! He hates all of us!"
"How do you know?"
"Maybe because he insults us whenever he sees us?" she said.
I shook my head. I didn't really think that this Malfoy liked Hermione, but it was far too good an opportunity to miss. "That's how boys work," I informed her. "He's waiting for you to make the first move."
She looked as though she were trying to decide between being shocked or amused. "Belle," she said finally. "You have been reading celebrity magazines for far too long. Malfoy hates me. I hate Malfoy. End of story."
I shrugged. "Then I guess he's available, isn't he?"
Harry looked at me as though I were crazy. "You're going to try and flirt with Malfoy?! You're a masochist!"
I shook my head, grinning impishly. "Nope. I just like a challenge. I despise boring men." I gave the two of them a little wave, then sauntered over to where Malfoy was lounging.
"What are you looking at?" he demanded harshly when he caught sight of me.
I shivered slightly. His voice was as sexy as his body. I caught myself envisioning kissing him, and pulled firmly on the reigns holding my imagination. One step at a time, Belle. "I'm looking at you," I answered, grinning. I hoped that he'd rise satisfactorily to the bait. It'd be nice to have an equal for once.
He didn't disappoint me. "You're looking in the wrong place," he said, but I could see that the edge of his mouth was curled almost imperceptibly into a mocking smile.
"Really?" I asked, feigning disappointment. "That's a shame. You're too damned hot to pass up."
"Fuck off," he said, but the smirk widened a bit.
"A bit harsh, don't you think?" I asked. "You haven't even asked me my name, yet."
"Who are you?"
I smirked myself. "Now that you ask, my name's Belle." And no, I didn't give him any more than that. I'm not stupid. "And you?"
"Draco. I take it that you don't know me?"
I was disappointed. He was that kind of guy, was he? The kind who played on his family instead of his charm. "Nope," I told him bluntly. "Why, is your family overprotective, or exclusive?"
"Both," he answered. "And I'm neither."
"Good," I purred. That had redeemed him again. "Will I be seeing you around?"
"One can only hope," he answered, his smirk finally taking control of his face. "Where might you be staying?"
I laughed disdainfully. "As if I would tell you," I said flirtatiously. "You might be a dangerous rapist, for all I know. Let's just say that I'll look for you, shall we?"
"As shall I," he answered. He turned away, and I walked back to where Harry and Hermione were standing, a grin of triumph on my face, mostly at the shocked expression on both of their faces.
"He didn't kill you," Hermione said, wonderingly. "I felt sure that he would. He hates non-magical people."
"Muggles, you mean?" I asked. She nodded. I shrugged. "Guess I'm just a darn sexy muggle, then, aren't I?"
"He was toying with you," Harry said shortly. "He doesn't do anything for other people. He was trying to get information out of you."
"He didn't try very hard, then," I shot back, a bit annoyed. I didn't see why Harry and Hermione hated him so much. I was actually hoping to see him again. Not that I was interested, mind you. Not at all! I just like a challenge, and he certainly was that.
Harry was saved from having to come up with a reply by my parents. They shot Draco a suspicious look, and shepherded the three of us away. I glanced back as we walked away, and caught Draco staring at us. And he wasn't looking at me.
I know, toying with the muggle girl was silly. But seeing Harry had severely unnerved me, and she offered a welcome distraction. Not that she interested me. She was a good conversationalist, and she was very good at flirting, but she was not what I was looking for. Not to mention the fact that she'd been talking with Granger and Harry moments before. She didn't look related, and she certainly didn'tact related, but I supposed that she must have been Granger's sister. I'd known vaguely that she had one, and I'd expected a smaller version of Granger. The smooth, flirtatious girl had completely changed my views on the matter. I wondered if I would see her again. It would carry added benefits, as well. I'd get to see Harry, if only from afar.
I've been watching Harry Potter for as long as I can remember. Even when we were only eleven, he was the one that I watched. Not obviously, of course, but closely all the same. He, naturally, has no idea that I do this. I hide my interest behind insults and indifference, and many nights, I hate him for his obliviousness. My interest in him has been classified as being on the ragged edge of obsessiveness by the one other person who knows about it. She informed me last summer that I should either kiss him or forget about him. I told her that I couldn't do either. No one in the world except him will make me kiss Harry Potter, but I can't forget about him. I will just continue in this limbo of desire and appearances until he realizes, or I die.
I'm a private person, and none of the other Slytherins can understand obsession with another person. They all care only about themselves and their appearances to the outside world. I should know: I'm one of the ones that they try to impress. Sometimes, having pure blood and a family fortune is not the best thing in the House of Snake. This is, however, of little importance to me. I'm used to having people, mostly girls, try to seduce me to get a piece of the fortune, reputation… whatever. The problem is, of course, that the one I really want to try to seduce me won't ever do it. Harry Potter is lost to me. Not, of course that he was ever mine to lose.
It had taken ages to convince my mother to let me come on the trip to America. She herself couldn't come with me, but she'd assigned a friend to watch out for me. I had promptly ditched the friend, and was now on my own. Money was as useful in the muggle world as in the wizarding one, so I had no trouble getting rooms in hotels and tickets on airplanes. My allowance isn't unlimited, but it's still enough to buy just about whatever I want. Not to mention the fact that American dollars are worth a hell of a lot less that Galleons.
I hadn't intended to follow them. In fact, I'd come to America to avoid thinking about him. But when I ran into the muggle girl, I couldn't stop thinking anymore. I had to know more about how he was and what he was doing, and she'd unwittingly given me an excuse. I wondered how I'd be received when I stopped to see her. Granger would probably throw a fit, and Harry would almost certainly try to kill me if I wasn't careful. So I would be careful. I wouldn't be obvious about it. I would let them think that I wanted the girl, and watch them from afar. It was better than nothing, after all.
I was a bit disappointed when several days passed without us seeing Draco. I'd been certain that he would at least try to find us, if only to torment Harry and Hermione. Of course, I might possibly have read him wrong, but I doubted it. I'm not usually particularly good at things like that, but he was being quite obvious. I wondered how much Harry and Hermione suspected. Maybe that explained some of why they hated him so much.
I continued to watch for him surreptitiously as we toured the area, but I didn't find him. I was beginning to wonder if he'd given up when he finally reappeared. We were just coming out of the State Capital building, where we'd been lectured within less than an inch of our lives, and there he was, dressed once again in black and lounging against the wall. I had the oddest sense of déjà vu as Harry hissed in disgust.
"Him again," he muttered, slowing down.
"Excellent," I said, grinning slightly. "I was wondering when he'd come back."
Harry glared at me. "Be careful," he snapped. "You don't know what he wants."
I glared right back. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself," I reminded him.
"Not against a wizard, you're not," he said flatly. "He could kill you in a second if he wanted."
"So could just about anyone," I said, just as flatly. "Just because he can wave a stick around and recite some words doesn't make him any more dangerous than anyone else."
"Tell me the same thing when you've witnessed people with sticks reciting words that kill your father," he told me coldly. "But who am I to tell you what to do? Go ahead, I can't stop you from talking to him."
"No," I told him, ignoring the shudder that was running through me at his pronouncement. "You can't and you won't." Purposefully, I walked away from him and slid next to Draco. "I was wondering when you'd bother to show up again," I said.
He looked at me. "What makes you think I was looking for you?" he demanded.
"Who else would you be looking for?" I asked, feigning shock. It's all about the lies, after all. He tells lies, you tell lies, and the one whose lies are the most believable wins the day.
"Who else indeed?" he asked, a little absently. Then he turned his attention fully back to me. "And do your parents approve of your talking with me?"
I snorted scornfully. "Who do you think I am, a child?"
He shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know. But those are your parents, are they not?"
I deliberately misunderstood him and gestured to Harry and Hermione. "Them?! Surely not!"
He glanced towards them, then shrugged. "I should hope not," he agreed. "She is far too old for him."
I chocked. "As far as I was aware," I managed, "they're the same age."
He lifted his eyebrow. "Physically, perhaps. But intellectually? She's far older than he is."
"I wouldn't know," I said dryly. "Though judging from what I know of my sister, she'd be intellectually far too old for any man."
"True," he agreed. "Though there are those who would try their luck."
"And I suppose you're one of them?"
He grimaced. "Please credit me with better taste. If I wanted your sister, I could have had her years ago."
Interesting. Maybe I was wrong, after all. "And so who do you want?"
He shrugged, but I swear that his eyes drifted momentarily over to rest on Harry and Hermione, then snapped back towards me. "Suffice it to say that it is not your sister," he said.
Okay, so I most definitely was not wrong. I thought so! "Well, when you make up your mind, do let me know, will you?"
"I shall do that," he promised dryly. "Until then, you appear to be wasting your time."
I grinned at him. "I'm helping you along," I said with an earnesty that was completely and totally transparent. "Surely you appreciate what I'm doing for you!"
"I believe that I can make up my own mind," he told me flatly.
"Of course you can," I agreed. "I'm just helping you along."
"I suppose that you want yourself to be the chosen partner?"
I shrugged. "If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't even be talking to you," I reminded him. "I don't care to clack my teeth in supremely useless exercises."
He moved a little closer to me, and his gray eyes bored into my brown ones. "And how far are you willing to go?" he purred, sliding his hand so that it almost touched mine.
I backed up, batting my lashes at him in a way that completely belied the warning look on my face. "You haven't chosen yet," I reminded him. "I'm not a toy that you can play with."
He shrugged, retreating.
I glanced back, only to find both Harry and Hermione watching me through narrowed eyes. Harry's hand was twitching towards the pocket that I knew held his wand. "Besides," I added, "I have to obey my minders."
His glance flickered in their direction, and he retreated some more. "Then let us not provoke your minders," he said dryly.
"Indeed," I agreed. At that moment, my mother walked up to us. She eyed Draco suspiciously, then pulled me away. The moment we were out of earshot, I demanded, "What are you doing?!"
"That's the question I am asking you, Belladonna Athena Granger," she said fiercely.
Oops. Mum only calls me that when I'm really in trouble. "Talking," I answered, knowing that it wouldn't be enough.
"It didn't look like talking to me," she informed me.
I rolled my eyes. "Mum, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say. She clutched my arm harder, making me wince and wriggle out of her grasp. "Girls your age are not safe!" she hissed. "I thought I'd told you not to go up to strange men!"
"He's not a strange man, he goes to school with Harry and Hermione," I snapped. "And it's not like we're doing anything!"
"He tried," Mum said ominously. "I saw him."
"Then you saw me stop him! Honestly, Mum, why do you see rapists and muggers in everyone?!"
"Because you're my daughter and I have a right to know who you're talking to!" she said fiercely.
"Well, now you know. Nothing happened, nothing has happened, and nothing will happen! I'm not the one he's looking for, anyway."
"How do you know?"
I eyed her witheringly. "Because I pay attention," I said. "And I've seen where he looks. You can trust me, Mum, it's not at me."
Her eyes riveted instantly on my sister.
"Not her either."
"Who, then?"
"Who else is there?"
She looked at me in amazement. "You think?" she asked.
I shrugged. "With 99 percent certainty," I told her. "So you can rest assured, he won't try anything on me."
She was still suspicious. I sighed. "What do you want from me?"
"Promise me not to talk to him alone again."
"Define alone."
She paused, thinking. "Out of hearing range of anyone you know. No, anyone who's traveling with us."
I considered. Finally, I shrugged. "I suppose," I said. She eyed me suspiciously, then walked away, leaving me well out of hearing range. I considered, then caught Draco's eye. He raised his eyebrow in question, and I shrugged, indicating my mother's retreating figure. I rolled me eyes, and he nodded in understanding. He turned away and seamlessly blended into the crowd. Watching him go, I wondered suddenly what would have happened if I had let him kiss me. Maybe I should try some day.
I shook my head at my own folly. That was not going to happen, not if my mother had anything to say about it. I knew her well enough to realize just how much of a concession I'd gotten, and I wasn't willing to push my luck. Kissing him would most definitely push that all important luck. Best stick to flirting. I sighed, not able to stop my imagination, and rejoined Harry and Hermione.
"What did Mum say?" Hermione demanded.
I grinned at her. "I won," I said cryptically.
She frowned. "Belle," she said warningly.
"I can't kiss him, he can't kiss me, I can't talk to him unless someone who's traveling with us is in hearing range."
She raised her eyebrows. "That's it?"
I nodded. "Told you I won," I told her triumphantly. I eyed Harry, who was looking angry again. "Don't go and accuse him, please," I said. "He's far more interesting to talk to than you are."
He looked away from me. "I still think he's playing with you."
"Then think that!" I snapped. "I don't care, and it won't stop me!" I walked away from him, using the rather feeble excuse of taking a picture of the building. Honestly, what was up with Harry? Unless he knew what Draco felt, unlikely, he was just being paranoid and closed-minded. I can't stand closed-minded people.
The OWL results came towards the end of July, a few days before Harry's birthday. Hermione had known that they would be coming, and she wouldn't let them leave the hotel until the owls arrived with the results. It wasn't until nine o'clock that she shrieked. "Harry! They're here!"
Harry tore into her room, and the two of them stood together, watching the small shapes grow. Finally, the two brown owls landed, and Harry and Hermione advanced shakily, grasping their letters. Hermione's hands were shaking, and it took her several seconds to detach the letter. The owl was obviously used to things like this, because it stood patiently and bore her trembling without moving. Finally, she managed to untie the letter, and the owl took off. She unrolled the parchment, and looked at it for a moment without internalizing any of what it said. Finally, she took in what was written on the parchment.
ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS
Pass Grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)
HERMIONE DIANA GRANGER HAS ACHIEVED:
Ancient Runes:O
Arithmancy:O
Astronomy:O
Care of Magical Creatures:O
Charms:O
Defense Against the Dark Arts:E
Herbology:O
Literature:O
History of Magic:O
Potions:O
Transfiguration:O
Hermione read the parchment another time, unable to absorb the
information. She didn't move, and the one thing that stuck out at
her was the E in Defense. She hadn't expected an O, she told
herself, but she felt like she'd failed it all. Harry touched her
shoulder gently, and pulled the paper out of her hands. He scanned
it, and then laughed.
"You're actually disappointed, aren't you?" he asked. She didn't deny it. He handed her his own results, and she looked them over.
"Congratulations," she said, pointing at his O in Defense and Potions. "You see, it's all a matter of getting away from Snape."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'll have to spend the next two years with him, though."
Hermione shrugged. "You'll survive," she promised him.
"I guess," he agreed.
"What'd you get, 'Mione?" Belle demanded, coming up behind them. Hermione handed her little sister her results, which she'd reclaimed from Harry, and didn't look at Belle's face as the other girl read them. "Nice," she said finally.
"As a celebration," her father added, making Hermione start. "Why don't you choose where we visit today, Diana?"
Hermione frowned, thinking about it carefully. Where to choose? Suddenly, she grinned.
"Uh oh," Belle muttered. "She's got that look on her face."
Hermione shoved her sister lightly. "Stop it! You'll like this one, I promise."
"Oh yeah?" Belle asked skeptically. "What is it, an exhibition on the history of dirt?"
"Better," Hermione promised her. "Rocks."
"Rocks?!"
"Gems," Hermione amended.
Belle started to look more interested. "Where?" she asked.
Hermione dug out the newspaper article that she'd found a few days before, brandishing it at her sister.
"You do realize that I can't read that so long as you keep waving it around, don't you?" Belle said dryly. She plucked the newspaper out of Hermione's hand and scanned it. "'Come discover the fascinating world of gems,'" she read. "'Newest exhibit of the Denver Natural History Museum.' Where is this place, exactly?"
Hermione recited the address. Her mother frowned. "How far away from here is that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted. "But you said I could pick anything!"
Her father laughed. "You've got us there, Diana. All right. We'll go examine your rocks."
"Thank you!" Hermione said, smiling up at her father.
"Is that all right with you, Harry?" her mother asked, looking over at the black-haired boy standing behind them.
He shrugged. "It's fine, Mrs. Granger," he said.
Hermione twisted to look at him. "Are you sure?" she asked. "We can go somewhere else, if you'd rather."
He smiled. "I've got nothing against gems," he assured her. "I'll go see them with you."
"Thanks," she said, smiling back. She turned to her parents again. "So shall we get going?"
I don't know what made me decide to go to the museum on that particular day. It might have been my budding Inner Eye, or just pure dumb luck. In any case, I once again ran into the Granger party, complete with Belle and Harry. Wonderful. I slid back into the shadows, hoping that they would pass by. I'd been having a relatively good day up until then, and I refused to allow his glares to ruin it for me. I'm not a masochist, after all. At least, not too much of one.
Even so, I followed them into the rock exhibit, trying to convince myself that I'd wanted to look at rocks all along. I stayed several displays behind them, far enough away that they wouldn't notice me, yet close enough to keep an eye on them. On him.
Granger was lecturing them all incessantly about the properties of the various rocks, and even Belle looked interested. She seemed to know some things about the rocks, because at several points she interrupted her sister to correct something, or add information. Granger looked at her in irritation whenever she did this, but Belle only grinned at her. I got the feeling that they went to museums together fairly often.
Harry too looked interested, though his expression was more curious than passionate. Apparently he didn't care much about rocks either. They walked on, and I followed them, glancing into the case containing some kind of red stones. I noted with detached interest that one of them was a ruby. That's my birthstone, though I don't actually believe in any of the superstitions involved with birthstones. Still, I looked at the small red rock more closely. They were uncut, yet they seemed to throw off light anyway. I leaned forward, interested despite myself. They were prettier than I'd thought. Maybe I'd have to look into getting some for myself.
"Having fun?" a familiarly dry voice asked.
I started, whirling to look into Belle's warm brown eyes. They glinted with amusement, giving her the appearance of being far older than fourteen.
"I was," I answered, raising my eyebrow and leaning against the case of red rocks. "Until you came."
She snorted. "Sorry for ruining it for you," she drawled.
"Do you have anything useful to say?" I demanded.
She shrugged. "What's useful?"
"That's your opinion, isn't it? I won't control what you say. I'll control what I listen to, though."
She grinned. "My sister looked like she was about to kill you. I thought I'd warn you."
"Thank you so much," I said wryly. "I'll remember that."
She shrugged. "I won't cry at your funeral," she warned.
"I didn't ask you to. Why does your sister want to kill me, by the way?"
"I don't know. I suppose that it's just the fact that you're here."
"So nice to be loved."
She laughed. "Indeed," she agreed. "Shall I call her over and force you to make a truce?"
I shrugged. "If you like. I doubt that much will get accomplished."
"You never know," she assured me. "My sister's much more reasonable than I am."
"Pity. You're much more interesting than she is."
She grinned. "Thanks ever so. From what I hear, that's a high compliment coming from you."
"If you're going to fetch your sister, then do it," I interrupted. I wondered just what she'd heard. Obviously it couldn't have been too terrible, or she wouldn't be talking to me. Then again, maybe she was just a rebel. It didn't really matter. She was my best link to Harry, and I didn't intend to lose that.
She came back, followed at a distance by her sister. Granger glared at me, and I sneered back. I might enjoy her sister's company, but Granger herself was still the same old person. No power in the world would make me like her.
"Belle says you have something to say." Her voice was hard as she spoke, and her brown eyes were completely closed. She was already on the defensive.
For some reason, that bothered me. "Why don't you ask her, then?" I snapped. "She seems to have some master plan. I assure you, Granger, I would never willingly exchange words with you."
She scowled. Before it could escalate any further, Belle stepped in. She glowered fiercely at both of us. "Stop it! I am not just going to stand here and listen to you insult each other. 'Mione, just forget who he is at school. If we meet him again, you're going to have to deal. And Draco? You do the same. I'm not going to allow you to insult my sister, do you understand?"
"If you hadn't dragged her over, I wouldn't have had to insult her," I pointed out, deliberately not looking at Granger. "So it's your fault."
"No it's not!" Granger blazed, coming to her little sister's defense. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"Looking at rocks," I replied promptly, allowing the boredom and disgust that I felt about being here flow into my words. "Or I was, until I was interrupted. You may leave any time, you know."
Granger glared at me. I glared right back. Evidently she saw something in my glare that convinced her that I wasn't going to back down, because she muttered something unintelligible and stalked off. Belle sighed.
"I tried," she intoned dramatically.
"Just give up," I counseled her. "You can't change my mind about her."
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Because there are people that you just don't like," I shot back. "Just deal with it."
She rolled her eyes at me. "I don't 'just deal' with anything," she informed me haughtily.
"Then you'd better find someone else to talk to."
"I like talking at you. You take it much better than 'Mione does."
I didn't answer, and she was called away by her parents a moment later. I watched her go, wondering just why I cared so much about her. She was just some muggle chick who happened to be fairly good looking. Yet I'd rather she didn't get in trouble because of me and I wanted to make sure that she stayed safe. What was wrong with me? Surely I wasn't turning her into my friend, was I?
I don't make friends. It just makes life too hard when they leave. They all leave, eventually. It's yet another side effect of being famous in a bad way: people take to you for the challenge and thrill of danger, and then abandon you at the slightest hint of trouble. I've learned not to let them close. But Belle was different. Despite myself, I'd gotten dragged into the one relationship that I'd been trying so hard to avoid.
I sighed, turning away. This was getting complicated, and I didn't like. Little did I know that it was going to get far more complicated before anything simplified again. Ah, the naivety of youth.
Harry was enjoying himself immensely, despite the presence of Malfoy in an amazing number of the same places as them. He still couldn't quite believe that Belle spent so much time with the blond Slytherin, and she was remarkably elusive about what they said when they were together.
"It's none of your business," she told him sharply the third time he asked her. "What we choose to talk about has nothing to do with you."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't it?" he asked.
"No, it doesn't," she said sharply. "And if you don't bugger off, then I'll ask him to put some kind of spell on you when we see him again. I'm sure he'd be delighted."
"I'm sure he would," Harry said darkly. "Look, be careful around him, will you?"
"Why, you think that he'll try and attack me on sight? If he was going to do that, wouldn't it be easier to do it the first time?"
"Be serious!" Harry insisted. "Malfoy's… well, how much has Hermione told you about… our world?"
"Nothing," Belle said grimacing.
"And with good reason," Hermione interjected, popping her head up from behind her trashy magazine. "If mum and dad knew what went on at Hogwarts, they'd never let me back!"
Belle lifted her eyebrows in curiosity. "Boyfriends?" she asked.
"No!" Hermione exclaimed, flushing a bright red. "It's nothing like that!"
Belle turned to Harry. "Is she lying?" she asked.
Harry glared at her. "You think I'd tell you if she was lying or not?" he demanded. "If she wants to tell you about her romances, then it'll be her choice."
"So it is boyfriends," Belle said triumphantly.
"No, it's not!" Hermione said, a little shrilly. "Oh, for God's sake! There's a homicidal maniac out there to kill Harry. He's tried, what, five times now?"
"Something like that," Harry agreed.
Belle whistled softly. "I can see why you don't want mum to know," she said. "But what's that got to do with Draco?"
"Getting there," Hermione promised. "See, this killer."
"Voldemort," Harry interjected. "He calls himself Lord Voldemort."
Belle raised her eyebrows, but didn't comment.
"Anyway, he's got followers that do his dirty work for him," Hermione continued.
"And Draco's one of them?" Belle asked.
"His parents are," Harry told her.
"So?"
"So, he probably is too," Harry said in exasperation.
Belle stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I get it," she said finally. "So you think he's talking to me to get at you, do you?"
"It would make sense," Harry said stiffly.
She shook her head. "Oh God, I don't know what to tell you, Harry. Just trust me, he's not out to kill you."
"How do you know?" Hermione demanded. "You can't tell someone's personality from just a few conversations."
She looked at the two of them knowingly. "Just trust me," she said again. "Draco has no intention whatsoever of hurting Harry. Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned and walked out the door and into the hallway of the hotel.
Harry looked at Hermione. "Well, we tried," he said dully.
Hermione was looking pensive. "You know," she said slowly. "She might just be onto something."
Harry stared at her. "You aren't going to tell me that you believe that Malfoy's innocent, are you?"
"I don't know," Hermione admitted. "But he might just be looking for a distraction."
"With Belle?" Harry demanded. "Why ever would he chooseher?"
"I heard that!" Belle shouted from the hallway. Both Harry and Hermione ignored her.
"She didn't know him," Hermione pointed out. "He might not even have known that she's my sister when he first started talking to her."
"Why would he waste his time with muggles?"
"Think about it!" Hermione insisted. "Probably the entire wizarding world knows that his father's in Azkaban. She didn't. Don't you think it would be refreshing to talk with someone who doesn't instantly condemn you for who your family is?"
Harry shook his head in disbelief. "You are defending him," he said in disbelief. "I can't believe this!"
Hermione sighed. "I'm not defending him," she repeated patiently. "I'm seeing things from his point of view."
"It amounts to the same thing," Harry said flatly.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's no living with you when you're in this mood," she said dryly. "I'll talk with you again when you're willing to listen."
Harry just stared at her in disbelief for a moment, then stalked out of the room. He passed Belle, shamelessly eavesdropping, without even looking at her. He pulled open the door to his room and barely stopped himself from slamming the door closed. They didn't understand, he told himself firmly. They obviously didn't know Malfoy as well as they thought they did. Harry was certain that the blond sixteen-year-old was just toying with them all. Eventually he would strike, and Harry meant to be ready when he did.
"Will you go back to your Aunt and Uncle's when we get back, Harry?" Mr. Granger asked over a cup of airport coffee.
Harry shook his head. "My friend Ron's parents invited me to stay with them for the rest of the summer," he explained. "His dad will be picking me up at the airport."
Hermione looked at him sharply. "Mr. Weasley is coming?" she asked.
Harry nodded.
She grimaced. "You'd better hope that he's in a hurry," she muttered.
Harry looked at her in surprise. He'd thought she liked Mr. Weasley! He said as much, making her shrug.
"I like him," she said. "In his own world. When he gets into ours, he's a bit of a pain."
"You're a witch too, Hermione," Harry pointed out.
She blushed slightly, not answering.
"So what's this guy like?" Belle cut in.
Hermione looked at her gratefully. "He's obsessed with muggles," she said quietly, taking a delicate bite of her croissant. She swallowed, then added, "And he knows nothing whatsoever about them."
Belle grimaced. "I think I see where you're going," she said. "It's a bit like setting a dirt-poor child loose in a Toys R Us, right?"
Hermione nodded.
Belle winced. "Thanks for the warning," she muttered.
"Right gang, it's time to go," Mr. Granger announced, taking a look at his watch. He swallowed the last mouthful of coffee and stood. Harry and the other followed suit, and they walked briskly to Gate 14, where boarding for their row was being announced. Harry, now used to this, stayed with them easily as they waded through the masses of people and presented their tickets to the people at the desk. The girl on duty, a young girl of around eighteen, smiled dazzlingly at Harry. He felt himself smile back, then Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him away.
Belle was laughing. "A bit late in the stay for conquests, isn't it?" she asked wickedly.
Harry glowered at her. "Stop right there," he warned. "I'm not going to take any more from you, understand?"
She grinned. "All right," she agreed.
Harry narrowed his eyes. Nothing in her voice or her face gave any indication of anything but complete sincerity, and he was convinced that she was planning something dreadful.
Sure enough, he found himself sitting next to a redheaded teenage girl instead of Belle. He twisted in his seat to glare at her. She shrugged. "She asked," Belle said.
Hermione, on Harry's other side, snorted. "And how much did she pay you?" she asked, not looking back.
Belle grinned and didn't answer. Harry looked at Hermione. "Make her pay, will you?"
Hermione shrugged. "Depends on what she does for the next ten hours."
Belle grimaced. "Ten hours?" she demanded. "You expect me to sit here for ten hours?"
"You want to spend three months on a boat?" Mrs. Granger asked from across the aisle. "I've done it and, trust me, this way is better."
Belle hurriedly turned back to Harry and Hermione. "I'll be good, I promise," she said earnestly.
"You'd better be," Harry agreed. "We've only got ten more hours of freedom and then it's back to Madam Hopkirk we go."
"Harry!" Hermione hissed, nodding to the redhead who was doing a bad job of pretending not to eavesdrop.
Harry shrugged. "She doesn't know who we are."
"Even so!" Hermione said.
"Aren't you even going to introduce yourself?" Belle demanded. "You're being a very inconsiderate seat-mate, you know."
Harry sighed and turned to the redheaded girl. "As you may possibly have gathered, I'm Harry."
She blushed slightly, reminding Harry strongly of Ron. "Cory," she said.
He smiled at her, and she blushed harder. Belle snickered. Harry's arm snaked between the seats and smacked her.
"Hey!"
"You deserved it," Harry told her firmly. He dug into the pouch in front of him and pulled out a magazine. It was in sad shape, but he leafed through it anyway. Hermione dove into a book and he soon put the magazine away and pulled out his copy of Quidditch through the Ages. Carefully masking the title and illustrations, he began to read it yet again.
The flight was remarkably painless. Cory turned out to be a seventeen-year-old American high school student, and she was full of stories of cliques and embarrassing tidbits about the football players. Harry laughed almost constantly, and found himself almost disappointed when she excused herself and fell asleep. He knew without even looking that Belle was grinning wickedly behind him.
He and Hermione talked in whispers about the new year at school, and he learned that she'd applied for an extra-credit class with Snape. He goggled at her. "Are you insane?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "I just want to see what it's like," she said. "Besides, I probably won't get in."
Harry shook his head. "Hermione, you know perfectly well that you'll get in. ButSnape?"
"He's a good teacher, you know."
"He's a slimeball," Harry retorted.
"Harry!"
"Well, he is."
"I'm not asking permission, anyway. I've already applied."
He sighed. "So what do you think it'll be about?"
She eagerly detailed the course syllabus, which involved countless spells and potions that Harry had never even heard of. "And you'll need all of this?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Some of it. Some things are just things that we should know, and some are obviously just tests of skill. After all, no one's needed the ink-creating spell since the invention of self-filling inkbottles, but the spell itself's fiendishly hard. If we can master it, then we'll be able to do something that most adults can't manage."
"So you'll spend a year learning how to make ink?" Harry asked dubiously. "Doesn't sound worth it, to be perfectly honest."
"Oh it's not just archaic stuff," Hermione assured him. She dug around in her bag and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. "See, the first lesson's in the making of Veritaserum, and then we'll move into really advanced Transfiguration. It also says that all of us will be working on an additional project that will be done outside of class."
"So you have ideas already?" Harry asked.
She nodded, and launched into a seemingly interminable list of ideas and concepts that passed completely over Harry's head. As she talked, he gazed out the window and the seemingly endless carpet of clouds that unrolled steadily beneath them. He glanced at his watch. Amazingly, almost half of the flight had passed.
She finally ran out of words, and he grinned. "You do realize that I didn't understand a word of that, don't you?"
She shrugged. "You hardly ever do. If you tried harder you could, though."
He grimaced. "I have no desire to be a perfect student, Hermione. You know that."
She sighed, but didn't comment farther. After a moment, she turned back to her book and Harry dove back into Quidditch.
They forced down a little of the substance that they were informed was food, and then Belle switched seats with Hermione and she, Harry, and Cory played several games of Uno. Cory was decent at it, and the victories were split three ways, instead of only two. Harry wondered for one insane moment just how good Malfoy was at Uno. The moment he caught himself thinking that, he firmly clamped down on his imagination. He didn't care about Malfoy, and he wished he never had to see the git's face again. Of course he did!
The plane touched down at Heathrow in the midst of an incessant drizzle. Mr. and Mrs. Granger signaled them to sit tight, and apparently Cory's chaperones had given her the same instructions. They all stood, stretching muscles too long unused, and Harry slipped his book into the backpack that he'd bought at the New York airport. They were very useful things, and he'd resolved to find a way to bring it to Hogwarts with him. It was far easier to carry than his book-bag.
Finally, the plane had emptied out enough that they could move without fear of being crushed. Cory was long since gone, and Harry, Belle, and Hermione dutifully trailed Mr. and Mrs. Granger through the plane and out into the collapsible tunnel. They passed through muggle customs without any problems, and soon they'd stepped through the door and into the reception lobby.
Mr. Weasley was instantly recognizable, both by his flaming red hair and by the way he kept looking at all the pieces of machinery with open delight. Harry winced as he heard Mr. Weasley ask a harried-looking woman, "Andhow does this little plastic card make money again?"
"Thanks for everything," he told Mr. and Mrs. Granger. "It was utterly amazing!"
"You're welcome," Mrs. Granger said fondly. "It was a pleasure having you."
"I'll see you on the train," Hermione said. He grinned at her.
"See ya," Belle told him. He scowled at her, and she rolled her eyes. Then, he hurried over to Mr. Weasley.
The woman he was drilling looked infinitely relieved when Harry drew Mr. Weasley away, and Harry smiled at her in apology. She didn't smile back, but walked swiftly away.
"Splendid to see you again, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, beaming. "How was the trip?"
"It was amazing," Harry said enthusiastically. He waved to Hermione, who waved back. "So how are we getting to the Burrow?"
"Molly made me promise to Apparate directly and not take any muggle transportation," Mr. Weasley said looking slightly downhearted. Harry, on the other hand, was relieved. He'd never Apparated anywhere, but it sounded far safer than going on muggle transport with Mr. Weasley.
"What about my trunk?" Harry asked. "All my school stuff's still with my aunt and uncle."
"Ron and Molly went to fetch your things yesterday," Mr. Weasley assured him. "The booklists came, and Ron knows what you usually take, so between them I imagine that you'll have everything you need. You can return that," he nodded as Harry's suitcase, trying to hide his fascination, "later if you want."
Harry shrugged, then went through a rapid explanation of the uses and as much as he knew of the mechanics of wheeled suitcases. Mr. Weasley looked utterly fascinated, and was about to ask questions, but he suddenly stopped himself, looking slightly embarrassed. Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley had given him a bit of a talking to.
They made their way to the wizarding office and passed through the barrier. The wizard on duty recognized both Harry and Mr. Weasley.
"H'lo Arthur," he said. "Everything work out all right with the ID, Harry?"
Harry nodded, wishing he could remember the man's name. Dexter, maybe, or Doran? "Thanks a lot."
Mr. Weasley looked at Harry sharply. "What's this?"
"Oh nothing to worry about," the man –it was Dexter, Harry remembered suddenly– said. "Just muggle documentation. It's standard fare for wizards who forget to plan ahead." He looked knowingly at Harry as he said this, and Harry grimaced.
"Well," Mr. Weasley said slowly. "I can't say I approve, but…"
"Arthur!" a woman in fluorescent blue robes ran over to them. Her hair and eyes were the same color, and Harry frowned. Suddenly, he laughed.
"Hullo Tonks," he said.
"Hullo Harry," she said, beaming at him. He had a disturbing impression that her teeth were tinted a very slight blue as well, but decided that it must just be a reflection of the rest. Surely not even Tonks would dye herteeth!
"Arthur, Molly's on the floo connection," Tonks told Mr. Weasley. "She's shrieking a bit."
Mr. Weasley winced and passed through a door on his left where Harry could just glimpse Mrs. Weasley's head bobbing in the fireplace.
"So," Tonks said as Mr. Weasley closed the door behind him. "How was the land of the free?"
Harry grimaced. "Fine," he said, wondering whether or not to mention Malfoy.
Apparently he was transparent, because Tonks demanded, "What happened?"
He told her all about meeting Malfoy and his apparent interest in them. To his irritation, she didn't seem to find it nearly as important as he did. "The family's being watched constantly," she told Harry, idly turning one of her nails from blue to shocking pink. "I really don't think that he'd be dumb enough to try anything just now."
"But then what was he doing in America at the same time we were?" Harry demanded.
Tonks shrugged. "Maybe he wanted to check out some hot girls. You did say that Hermione's sister qualifies?"
Harry glared at her. "But he hates muggles!" he protested. "Why would he suddenly decide to start talking to Belle?"
"I don't know," Tonks admitted. He opened his mouth to argue again, but she shook her head. "Look, Harry. I promise that we'll take your words into consideration, all right? I just don't think that it all adds up, that's all."
He sighed. Just as he was marshalling his arguments for another try, Mr. Weasley stepped out of the communications room. "Harry, we'd better go. Molly's been worried, and the only way she'll be convinced that I haven't lost you is if she sees you for herself. Tonks, good to see you again. Try and stop by sometime soon. Molly would be glad to see you."
Tonks nodded. "I'll tell Moody what you told me, Harry," she promised. Mr. Weasley looked at her curiously, but she shook her head. "Sorry Arthur. Get Harry to talk." She closed her eyes, screwed up her face, and transformed into a young girl with bouncy brown hair and eerie gold-colored eyes. She grinned, revealing teeth that were thankfully nicely white, and gave them a little wave. "I'll try and stop by sometime soon," she promised. She turned and walked through the door and into the muggle airport.
"Right," Mr. Weasley said. "Follow me." Harry grabbed his suitcase and followed Mr. Weasley into another room. "Now, hold my arm and think of the Burrow. Let me do the work."
Harry took hold of Mr. Weasley's arm and closed his eyes, visualizing Ron's home. He felt his insides squeeze almost inside out, and for a single, terrifying moment, he thought that something had gone terribly wrong and that he'd been transported somewhere out into deep space. A second later, though, he was feeling almost normal again. He opened his eyes and found himself standing in front of the Burrow. Ginny was hanging out the window. When she saw them, she waved frantically, then popped her head back in, presumably to warn the others that they'd arrived. Harry felt something odd happen inside him at the sight of the familiar place, and grabbed his suitcase to follow Mr. Weasley up to the place that he thought of as his home.
Second author's note: Sorry about the confusion in 1st person POVs. It was supposed to be just Draco, but Belle burst in and announced that she too wanted to speak in 1st person. sigh Fictional characters: can't reason with them. I expect you can figure out who is speaking through context. I'll label them if too many people can't, but I, at least, don't think it's too complicated to figure out. Then again, I wrote the story. shrug