Harry Potter and the Unlikely Gryffindor

Snape stood in the doorway, watching as mother and daughter conversed quietly as they adjusted the wedding dress Hera would wear in less than a week. He had to admit that she did look like an ethereal being swirled in those white folds of gossamer. House Elves scurried around left and right, helping to to keep the fabric in place as Lucinda anchored with a swish of her wand.

Lucinda Malfoy was an especially gifted healer, and had come into Lord Voldomort\'s service through her husband, Draconus. She had done his bidding without regret because she had her family there with her to take care of. A few more swishes of her long, vine wood wand, and the dress was complete with a veil that billowed, hiding her face in a blur of cloud white lace.

Watching Hera holding the black orchids she would carry down the isle, Severus was all of a sudden struck with a pang that hit him just below his heart, bringing a pained grimace to his face. It was not pain really, but something physical one felt when they looked upon the face of beauty, and were reminded of their own ugliness.

Severus Snape would never take a wife, not in this life time. He had never been able to catch the eye of any young woman when he was in school, or when he himself was a young man. He was definitely not young any more, though he was far from old. He had lived long enough to be a jaded soul, a cynic at heart for all of his life. This is what had made him such a harsh teacher, not because he hated his students, but because he knew that he, himself, would never be able to find happiness.

The title he had given himself in school; The Half-Blood Prince, was in an of itself an insult. He had played up his parentage as though he were a pure blood, bullying those who were not convinced. Severus came out of his reverie, looking back into the room, and was greeted with Hera staring at him through the mirror, her mother busy with the hem of her dress. Severus had never seen the look what was laid upon him on any other Malfoy. She was looking at him with respect in her eyes, and was it a tad bit of regret he saw swimming in those pearlescent orbs?

Then, as fast as it appeared, the look was gone, replaced by a slight blush as Draco Malfoy stepped up beside Snape, his hands clasped behind his back in dignified imitation of his father. He looked upon his bride with haughty pride and barely concealed lust burning in his cold gray eyes.

It was no secret the ceremony that was performed on the children that would be betrothed to each other. It made it impossible to love another, though it went just short of binding their hearts as one. Dark and dangerous were those ancient magiks. Older than the flow of time and yet potentially more evil than the Dark Lord himself in his worst of moods. It was why Hera had been unable to give her heart to the Vampire she had met in America, why she had been unable to bed any other man. She was promised to Draco in body, heart, and soul as he was to her.

It was quite romantic, actually, hearkening to the old ways of centuries past when blood purity was considered at every betrothing ceremony. Only women could marry up in Wizarding society. When the contract was sealed, the woman was a pure blood, no matter her parentage. Men, on the other hand, could only marry within their station, or down. To marry up for a man was forbidden, even punishable by death in some cases. A man carried the blood of his father, and if his father was not pure blooded, then the man was not worth anything to proper wizards.

Snape looked down at the young Malfoy boy. Hera would not suffer, for she was the purest of the pure, a Malfoy, tracing her blood lines back at least two thousand years. She could only marry within her station, which meant, either another pure blooded family, or one of her own indirect relatives, which in this case, was Draco Malfoy.

The Malfoy family had been in existence long before the birth of Christ, and had been pure of blood for nearly all that time. They had taken the name that was given to all Witches and Wizards, and made it their own in mocking indignation of those who would never understand what an honor it was to be born into their privilege.

The original Malfoys were known as Mal Foi, or those of \'bad faith\', the name given by the early Christens as an insult. But the most pure of Wizarding families carried it with pride. It had become bastardized over the millina into its current spelling, but it still carried the same mocking indignation they had shown all those centuries ago.

Lucius Malfoy stepped up behind his son, looking as formal as always, watching his son\'s bride fitting her dress, a smile creeping up the corners of his mouth. \"I take it you are pleased with our choice of bride for you,\" he asked in his usual nasal sneer, looking down his nose at Draco. He was now only a hair shorter than his father. \"Indeed I am, father. She is powerful, and ruthless, as her wand proves. We shall have many children to swell the ranks of the Death Eaters,\" Draco proclaimed, making his father\'s sneer grow larger.

Unknown to Draco, Voldomort had given Lucius the task of making sure that his son fathered children with Hera. If Draco was somehow unable, Lucius, himself, would step in and do his \'duty\'. And unknown to Lucius, Voldomort had decided that if either Malfoy were not able to father children with Hera, the Dark Lord would do it for them, and rumor among the Death Eaters had it, that that is what Voldomort had been planning all along.

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Three sets of footprints appeared in the moonlight, making their way out of Hogwarts and out toward the road to Hogsmead. The air was thick with snow, blown on high winds so that the three could see nothing but a white sheet in front of their eyes. Suddenly, the owners of the footprints appeared in a swirl of snow, each carrying a broom in their hands.

Harry stuffed the cloak into a backpack, securing it before he mounted the broom. He had mounted the enchanted glove on the tip of his broom so that he could keep an eye on their direction in flight. Each wrapped their coats tightly around themselves, securing goggles to their eyes to protect them from the cold, and their house scarves around their mouths. In unison, they each kicked off the ground, rising slowly in the high wind. It felt to them almost as if Voldomort himself was trying to prevent them from rescuing their friend.

Harry kept his broom steady, concentrating on not being blown out of the sky by the wind, hoping that if they flew on long enough, they would pass out of the storm that had been bearing down on Hogwarts for most of the week. All three had spoken to McGonagall about their theory about Hera\'s disappearance, and each had in turn been told that the authorities would be looking into it and she would be returned straight away.

\"However,\" McGonagall had continued, looking at each of them in the eye as she said this. \"Should her position be discovered, then it would be only logical that You-Know-Who would be there as well,\" This last statement had spurred the three on as they had packed that night, making sure to keep their mission as secret as possible. They had even made the Fat Lady swear not to tell McGonagall until the morning that they were gone.

Hermione imagined that the Headmistress would not be pleased that Gryffindor\'s prefect had run off with Harry and Ron on one of their hair brained schemes. But Hera was her friend as well, and she would not abandon her to a fate worse than a thousand deaths.

She looked over at Harry, his eyes fixed on the glove as he navigated the snowstorm on pure determination, his jaw twitching underneath the scarf he wore to protect his face. He had grown especially close to Hera over the weeks. He saw her as the older sister he had always wanted, and she treated him like her little brother. If this had happened to Harry, this would be Hera leading them out to his rescue.

Hera seemed to complete them, like her joining them had made them into a Tetrid instead of a Trio. This was also something that McGonagall had expressed concern over. Each of them represented the cardinal directions in her mind, and when Witches and Wizards formed Tetrid bonds, things happened.

Things that were completely impossible; like Hera being able to cast a Tracking Charm on her gloves, or Harry being able to cast a Hex without a wand in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Ron being able to cast a succession of Transfigurations without saying a word, or Hermione being able to brew a batch of Veritaserum without one single mistake. McGonagall had said that something like this happened with the Marauders, which was why they were so powerful even after half their number had been killed.

The hours melted by, the only tell tale sign of the passage of time was the sun rising to the North-east, throwing the sky from white to yellow-gold in a matter of seconds. The sun glinted off of snowy mountain peaks, and Harry whooped in his mind. They were out of the worst of the wind, though the air was still cold as ice. Now without risk of being bucked around by the wind, the three increased their speed, the air whipping about them as they flew as fast as they could, their eyes each on the glove at the tip of Harry\'s broom, as though any moment, the finger could change direction on them.

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Hera stood staring in the mirror as Draco stepped into the room, her mother taking the silent request and leaving the two alone. The House Elves also disappeared, popping out of existence with a snap of their fingers, leaving the two alone. Hera was again dumbstruck, she could not think of one thing to say, so she just blushed at her husband-to-be, noticing the proud smile on his face, and feeling pride that she had put that smile there. Hera was a hair shorter than Draco, by no more than three centimeters, yet it felt like she were craning her neck to see his face.

He commanded an air of respect and awe that followed him like a stately cloak. \"Black Orchids,\" He asked, raising one thin eyebrow above the other, smiling again. Hera nodded, feeling as though she had been filled with molten silk, and it was pooling between her thighs, making the air so thick she thought she would suffocate. This did not seem to affect Draco. In fact, his eyes grew darker, the chill had gone out of them, replaced with a heated stare that threatened to burn a hole through her head if he looked at her for too long.

\"You will wear these for the feast tonight,\" The statement again was an order, his eyes narrowing a fraction before Hera nodded, taking the black gown and cloak. It felt as though her will was putty compared to him, as though she were being pulled down a darker, and darker corridor by hands encased in warm cashmere. Intention meant nothing to her now as she only lived to please this fair god in front of her, blessing her with his steel gaze.

He then bowed to her, bringing her hand up to his lips as he kissed it softly, promising more than just that chaste show of affection with the scathing gaze he raked up and down her body before he turned and left, taking the air out of the room with him.

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The great hall was darkly lit, black candles hanging from pewter sconces jutted out from the dark walls. It smelled of incense and smoke flavored by the roasted pig that sat in the middle of the room as though it were an honored guest. The tables were covered in dark opalescent cloths that shone like dark rainbows in the low light. The table and chairs, even the handles of the utensils were carved out of ebony, and glistened with polish.

Around the room, men and women in dark robes gathered in packs, engaged in conversation, their faces half covered by dark masks, pointed hats sitting atop their heads, moving with them. Each attendant hushed as a sliver knife was gently tapped against a crystal glass, bringing the room to complete silence, their eyes drawn to the center seat at the table.

A lone figure stood from the table, a sniffer of black liquid swirling in a large goblet in his left hand. In his right was held his yew wand, white in stark contrast to the surroundings. \"We are gathered here to welcome a new member into our order,\"

With a flick of his wand, the great doors at the back of the room opened, and two figures walked into the room. The first was wearing the same attire as the others gathered, a black mask covering half his face, the long pointed hat sitting proudly atop his head. The second figure, looking almost childlike, was Hera Malfoy, dressed in a sparkling black silk dress and cloak. The hood of which was brought up onto her head as she kept her head respectfully down, avoiding the eyes of those gathered. Hera felt as though she were a spectator in her own body, observing everything with only mild interest as she was led out to the table, Draco, standing in front of the seat closest to his father, his bride, the seat closest to her mother.

The tables were set with sparkling silver plates, etched with the image of two serpents curling around each other, their emerald eyes gazing into the other\'s. With a flick of his wand, Lord Voldomort beckoned his followers to sit as he did. \"Tonight, we begin the ceremony of initiation. Draco, is your bride willingly here today? Is she ready to wear the symbol of your faith,\"

Draco stood, his head held high yet still respectful as he nodded once, pulling the cowl from his bride\'s head, revealing her silvery hair. \"She is here of her own free will, she is ready to give herself to your service, My Lord,\" Hera continued to bow her head respectfully, playing the part of the blushing bride as Draco professed her readiness to join him. It all seemed wonderfully romantic to Hera, and she smiled as she was filled with warmth at it.

Voldomort sat there, scrutinizing Hera with narrowed eyes, watching her intently. Finely he raised his glass, filled with liquid shadow. \"To the union of Draco and Hera,\" He said as the others in attendance followed suit, repeating the blessing. \"may it last as long as the house of Malfoy,\" And with that, glasses were pressed to lips, dark liquid disappearing behind them. Hera did the same, taking a drink from the black liquid, her head swimming as soon as it touched her tongue.

She felt as though a part of herself were somehow trying to separate from her body, and she began to panic. But as soon as she felt the warm hand of her husband-to-be on her shoulder, she calmed, and let the liquid slide down her throat, leaving ice everywhere it touched. The meal began in earnest as food appeared on the silver platters. Hera found that it felt better the more food she ate, and the heady rush of the alcohol seemed to lessen. Though the feeling of leaving her body behind did not.

Time seemed to slip like sand between her fingers, and dinner was already finished, the tables cleared until there was nothing left but the candles. Cauldrons of blue flame ignited around what looked like an intricate pentagram carved into the dark stone of the floor. Runic symbols of power were arranged in patterns whose meaning slipped in and out of her consciousness as her eyes drifted around the room, watching the glowing of the fire with utter fascination. Hera\'s eyes had become fully dilated, becoming dark pools surrounded by shining diamond as the liquid began to take full effect.

Voldomort sensed this, and he called his followers around the pentagram, motioning for Hera to take up her place at the center. Voldomort stood in front of her, Draco to her left, and Lucinda at her right. Lucius stood behind her, completing the inner circle as Hera stared into Voldomort\'s eyes, seemingly lost.

The second circle was comprised of Bellatrix, Crabbe, Goyle, Narcissa, and six other Death Eaters, the rest taking up their places in the outer circle. As the Death Eaters settled into their places, a hush fell over the entire room, the sound of Hera\'s own heartbeat loud in her ears. Without direction, Lucinda, and Draco each took one of Hera\'s arms, holding them out as Lucius placed his hands on Hera\'s ribs, holding tightly.

He had remembered his initiation many, many years ago, and knew that this was not going to be pleasant. He steeled himself as Voldomort raised his wand, watching Hera\'s eyes as he waited for the moment that only he could see. Finely, he placed his hand upon Hera\'s forehead, and his wand at her heart. Soft words left his mouth, and his wand erupted in blue electricity, flowing through as it ripped a scream from her very soul.

The inner circle held on to Hera tightly as she convulsed under the incantations, the middle and outer circles chanting in an ancient tongue, their voices rising as the flames in the cauldrons seemed to explode, turning white for an instant before turning blood red. Hera opened her eyes, her face contorted in pain indescribable, her eyes as red as blood. She squeezed her eyes shut as blood began dribbling out of her eyes like tears as she screamed again, her voice becoming ragged and raw.

The incantations were reaching a fever pitch, Hera\'s ears filling with them as her body and mind filled with pain. \"Awaken,\" Voldomort\'s voice rose above all others. \"Awaken, the true Hera Malfoy! Tear down the walls around your power that Hera Thomas built! Renounce the Muggles who raised you, refuse the Muggle life you lived! Be reborn, Death Eater,\" As the last words left his mouth, a shock wave left Hera, shaking those around her to their cores, as an unearthly wail left Hera\'s mouth. She bared her teeth in a cry of death and rebirth, and the fires went out, plunging the chamber into darkness, save for two pinpricks of raw energy, glowing the color of polished diamonds.

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It was nearly ten in the evening as far as Harry could tell, and he felt that they were making good time, though it seemed that Hera was farther away than he and his friends had at first anticipated. He kept his eyes on the glove at the point of his broom, satisfied they were moving in the right direction. Harry turned his head to check on his friends, smiling and nodding as they both nodded back.

Hermione saw it first, her face taking on a look of utter horror. The glove they had depended on to point the way to their friend, was failing them. The charm that was directing them, seemed to slip away, the glove falling limply, flapping in the wind as they continued to fly. Just as realization dawned on Harry\'s face, he unleashed a shriek, his right hand going to his forehead, clutching at the scar. He fought to keep his broom from falling as he blinked through the pain, feeling as though someone had driven their wand straight through his skull.

\"Harry...your bleeding!\" Ron exclaimed as he saw the rivulets of crimson running down Harry\'s face. His scar was now an angry red, oozing blood that impaired Harry\'s vision. Hermione and Ron both reached out at the same time, steadying their friend\'s broom as he recovered, his eyes blinking as he wiped the blood away with his scarf. Only once had he ever felt this kind of pain, when he was in the presence of Voldomort himself as he was being reborn. But then, he did not bleed.

Even though he was not quite as knowledgeable as he wanted to be about his and Voldomort\'s bond, Harry knew that something bad had to be happening to Hera for her charm to fail and for him to feel it. In the distance of his memory, Harry swore he could hear the Dark Lord\'s voice echoing in incantation.