Silhouette

The tiny kitchen was packed with members of the Order, their faces illuminated by twenty or so fat candles places intermittently on the spotless counters and at the center of the gigantic dining room table in the middle of the room. Each person wore an expression of eagerness, worried and anticipating the long-awaited news. A patronus, almost wolfish in appearance, sat at one end of the table, its stunted tail dragging slowly like smoke over the dark wood. Another, a petit doe-form, stood nearby, impatiently pawing the floor with its cloven hoof.

Lupin entered the room, skirting around George and Fred to an empty seat across from the waiting patronuses. He looked concerned, older, weighed down with the immense responsibilities of leadership, but his eyes were sharp and focused as he regarded the incandescent figures opposite him.

A ghostly voice broke the tension. It came from the deer patronus, but it was decisively Snape’s sneering drawl, echoing harshly around the silent kitchen. “Lupin, so nice of you to join us.” The doe stepped forward a little, closer to the werewolf patronus.

“I came as soon as I could,” Lupin replied calmly, his words measured, without passion.

“What’s going on, Severus?” Molly blurted, and her hand clenched around her cup of tea, knuckles white, her green eyes wide. Ron’s face flinched practically imperceptivity, his thoughts on the woman he had allowed to leave him.

“The news is not so good as we had hoped,” the deer began, but the other patronus shook its mane-like back as if shuddering, and cut in.

“Hermione is… well, she’s not Hermione.” It seemed to have trouble explaining the situation and trailed off, looking once again for the doe to speak.

“Hermione had been compromised. Her use is cursory at best now, unless her condition improves.” Molly broke out in sobs, and Ron and Ginny moved quickly to her side to comfort her.

“It’s all my fault!” she cried, her voice muffled by her knit woolen sleeves as she attempted to wipe the tears from her reddened cheeks.

“Molly, I helped too,” the werewolf patronus said cajolingly.

“We all did,” said Lupin.

“No,” Ron snapped suddenly, “no. Hermione chose to have the charms placed on her. She may not have known the consequences, but then none of us did. It’s nobody’s fault. Hermione is brave, she’s a hero to have undertaken this mission. Even with out the side-effects of the spell it was dangerous, and she knew that. Don’t-”

“Enough, Weasley. Time is short, and we can’t afford to waste it with your bold orations, correct though they may be,” interrupted the doe patronus, digging into the floor again with its hoof. “We must accept Hermione’s present state and move forward. Nothing can be done for her at this point in time.”

“Where are Hermione and Draco now?” asked Lupin. His voice had an edge to it, and he spoke now to Tonk’s patronus.

“They are at dinner with Draco’s old Slytherin gang. I don’t know when they’ll be back at the Manor.”

There was a pause, then Lupin spoke again. “Do you think it’s safe for Hermione to be alone with those people? She’s not stable.”

“There’s not much we can do to stop her, Remus.” The werewolf patronus fidgeted, its sad, luminous eyes boring to Lupin’s.

“Just be careful, then. Watch her.”

“We did not risk this conference to have you order us to do something so plainly obvious.”

“Why did you, in that case, Snape?” It was George. He seemed incensed.

“The Death Eaters are planning an attack on the ministry. There is a meeting tonight to induct Tonks, then it will happen. Sometime soon.” There was a roaring hush. Nobody moved, Molly’s tears welled up again, but she did not make a noise. The Order was failing, the Death Eaters were getting stronger.

Lupin stood up. “Find out when. Molly, contact Arthur at the ministry and tell him. I’ll tell Kingsley tonight when he comes. Severus, I want updates on this whenever you can, and for Merlin’s sake, be careful.” The doe nodded, turned, and dove through the open window. It hovered in mid-air for a moment, then shot off into the distance. The werewolf patronus hesitated, though, and through the shuffle of footsteps as people filed out of the kitchen door and scuff of chairs scooting out from the table, it locked eyes once again with Lupin. The look said it all. “Be careful,” Lupin mouthed.

With one last longing glimpse, the werewolf patronus stood on its hind legs and leapt over the dwindling assembly, following the doe into the cold, damp night.



***



“And of course you’ve heard of the Weird Sisters?” Pansy wasn’t really asking a question. That would imply that she expected an answer from Bianca, and Pansy was jabbering on about music, something to which Bianca hardly gave any credence. Bianca slipped her hands into one of her elbow-high black satin gloves, then carefully slid on the other. They matched the silk ribbon choker she wore around her neck, and her black satin stilettos, all rather unusually plain for Bianca. The elegant allure of her dress more than compensated for the simplicity of her accessories, however. It was a satin turquoise evening dress that shone in the light from the several lamps and wall sconces in her room. The upper portion of the dress did not leave very much to the imagination as it wrapped around her breasts and torso in three gathered bands that criss-crossed over her middle to tie in three big bows along her spine. The skirt of the dress flowed to her knees from the bottom-most band in several layers of the same turquoise blue, and created a swishy, fluid effect. Her eyes were painted a smoldering black, but she opted out of lipstick, preferring her natural color to any her vanity or Pansy could offer her.

Pansy arrived back at Malfoy Manor soon after Draco had left Bianca’s room, and she had barely had a moment to herself since. Pansy’s attire was a trifle too ruffled for Bianca’s taste, but she supposed she naturally favored her own style over the stuffy British apparel on which Pansy had been raised.

Gathering her thoughts, Bianca cut across Pansy’s explanation of “Magic Works” lyrics, and how they were so perfect for her and Blaise, and should she feel guilty because it had once been her and Draco’s song, to tell Pansy she was ready to leave. Pansy nodded abruptly, stood up from the bed on which she was sitting, and wove her arm around Bianca’s as they walked together from the room.

“The boys are downstairs. I made Blaise wait for me with Theodore. Draco hasn’t got a date. Isn’t that sweet? I think he fancies you very much, don’t you?”

“I do not presume to know Draco’s thoughts, nor do I wish to.” But Bianca felt a little stir in spite of herself. Draco was diminishing himself for her. He had opted out of company for the night in order to show her he was available. Pansy was right; it was sweet. And stupid. It showed weakness.

“There will be five of us in the carriage, then, I think,” Pansy said, allowing Bianca to enter the main hall before her. Three men in collared black dress robes stood near the front doors. Draco was not facing them, but Nott smiled and stretched out his hand for Bianca.

“We’re not apparating?” Bianca asked, a little confused.

“No, of course not! That would take all the romance out of it, Bianca,” admonished Nott, his long fingers easily encompassing hers and pulling her toward him. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” Bianca’s expression told him just exactly what she thought Nott could do with his ‘sense of adventure,’ because his smile faltered a little. Draco had crossed to the huge double doors and was opening them now.

“Well then, how-” Bianca broke off, her eyes settling on a great white and gold carriage with four magnificent granian horses kneading the ground anxiously and blowing steam into the cool night air. Their grayish-white bodies were sleek, and their manes and tails brushed into smooth, long tresses, but it was their wings that caught everyone’s eye. Bianca recognized the characteristic gray-tipped white feathers of the granian thoroughbred. These were exquisite, spectacularly swift creatures. Bianca smiled in approval, a coy, striking smile that brought color to Nott’s cheeks.

“It was Draco’s idea,” Nott said. A driver appeared from behind the carriage, bowed, and gestured

to the coach door, which he held open as each of the elegant passengers ducked gracefully inside.

The carriage ride to London was short. And Nott was right: it was hopelessly, haplessly romantic. He had given her the window seat and as they took off, flying low at first over Amesbury then gaining speed, Bianca felt her stomach lurch queasily. She swallowed hard, thinking that she did not remember being frightened of anything, let alone heights. Feeling someone’s eyes on her, Bianca turned her attention to the blonde lounging nonchalantly across from her, his storming grays belying his true emotions. Bianca pushed her nausea and fear aside, wanting conversely to reach out and touch Draco and completely ignore him.

“It really is beautiful,” Bianca commented instead to Nott, watching to see if Draco caught the covert compliment out of the corner of her eye. He had, and leaned forward, elbows in knees, the ghost of a smile threatening his lips. Nott nodded, patting her gloved arm, and engaged Draco in a discussion about Puddlemere United vs. the Chudley Cannons. Pansy sat on the opposite side of the carriage, next to the other window, but she was not taking in the view. Bianca caught her eye as Pansy doted on Blaise, who sat next to Draco. Her hand was on Blaise’s chest, and whenever he said something clever or funny she smiled demurely, almost patronizingly, and tapped her fingers over his heart.

Their carriage shot up toward the clouds and through them into the starlit evening, the sun’s dying light still tingeing the thin wisps of vapor deep purple. Soon, Bianca could see the London suburbs sprawling beneath them through open patches in the clouds. It was night now, but Bianca was surprised to note that no disillusionment charm was placed on the carriage to prevent muggles from seeing it.

When she mentioned this to Nott, he laughed at her, and Draco smiled appreciatively at what she assumed he thought was a joke. “Let them see,” Nott guffawed, leaning over her out the window to watch the streaming city lights, “It‘s no concern of ours what the muggles think!” He whopped and shot white sparks out of the end of his wand at the racing river of traffic below. Draco doubled over, laughing at his antics, Blaise chuckled regally, and Pansy was trying to stifle her giggles behind her hand. It dawned on Bianca the level of recklessness to which the pureblood aristocracy was accustomed, and she simpered, a sense of abandon overcoming the nagging feeling of outrage.

Bianca felt the carriage descending, felt the great beating of wings up and down slow as the carriage bobbed heavily after the winged horses. They were nearing Diagon Alley. Draco gestured down at the cramped street, pointing out shops to Bianca, who had never visited Diagon Alley before. They landed shortly after, and Bianca gripped Nott’s arm to steady herself. The horses trotted up the cobbled street a bit, then came to a stop. Bianca looked out the window and saw a daunting, impressive white marble building with huge columns.

“That’s Gingotts, the Wizarding Bank,” Draco explained, and she nodded admiringly.

“I think my mother started an account there,” she mused, turning to see Pansy exiting the compartment with the help of the driver outside. Blaise bend low to compensate for his height and emerged next onto the lamp-lit street outside. Then Draco, then Nott, the Bianca, with Nott reaching out his hand to assist her.

Across the street from Gringotts Wizarding Bank and right at the crook of a street called Knockturn Alley stood a rather plain pale brick building, only two stories high. It’s sign, written in bold green, purple, and black read:



Curse/Charm



A little sign hooked under it added:



Private Party:

Malfoy