The not particularly noisy, but quite calm and friendly gathering in the unused classroom specially prepared for this purpose was in full swing. Although, simple conversations, tea drinking—and in some cases, students indulging themselves with something other than tea—are hard to imagine being described as "in full swing." But that was exactly the case.
Among other students, there were guys from the fourth year—mostly Hufflepuffs, namely Justin, Ernie, and Zacharias. Whether out of habit or for some other reason, they hadn't even noticed how they had organized their little get-together right next to the sofa where Hector had dozed off. He had been sleeping sitting up for a whole fifteen minutes, yet it looked as if he had simply closed his eyes to think or ponder. On his shoulder, the Durmstrang student, Romanova, had safely fallen asleep, and she was sleeping in the most natural way. The guys, who had dragged a couple of people from other houses and years into their group, were amused by this situation.
Unexpectedly for everyone—and judging by his face, for himself as well—Hector opened his eyes.
"Done sleeping, are you?" Justin smirked, seeing Hector carefully stand up, supporting Romanova's head and laying her down on the sofa.
"Something like that."
Deftly waving his wand, which had appeared in his hand at some unknown moment, Hector created a blanket, covered Romanova, and turned to the guys, smoothing non-existent creases on his self-made suit.
"Will you look after her?"
"Naturally," Ernie looked at his comrade, nodding importantly. "Our territory, after all. You should know that Puffs are famous for the fact that incidents don't happen on our territory."
"I heard about that somewhere," Hector smiled and headed for the exit of the classroom.
As soon as the door closed behind him, the guys exchanged glances, and even other students resting and chatting in the pleasant company, albeit for a moment, wondered: "Where did he go off to at midnight? Hasn't he run into Snape in the corridors for a while?"
However, Hector himself had a different opinion regarding encounters with teachers, especially at night. Taking just a step away from the classroom doors, he disappeared almost immediately, literally dissolving into thin air, into the shadows of the corridors.
. . . . . . .
A person is capable of resting surprisingly quickly, especially if he is a wizard, and with access to life energy. Falling asleep, I really wanted to rest, so my wish came true. However, it wasn't that which tore me from the captivity of dreams, but a signal from one of the spiders. Nothing special, alarming or dangerous, but the situation seemed wrong to me.
For this very reason, I am now climbing up to the Astronomy Tower under invisibility. Quietly opening the door to the observation deck, I saw Daphne in a winter cloak, from under the hem of which the edge of a ball gown was visible. She just stood and looked into the distance, illuminated by a half-moon.
"Am I disturbing you?"
Daphne turned sharply, hurriedly crumpling and hiding a letter or something similar in her hands.
"No."
Approaching the girl, I stood next to her and together we began to look at the snowy landscapes, quite clearly visible in the moonlight, albeit only half of it.
"I sense notes of sadness," I spoke first and took out my wand, waving it a little theatrically. "And this is out of order."
"Really?"
Blue fireflies began to fly off the wand one by one, small and not particularly bright, but there were more and more of them, and they started to dance at a distance of a couple of meters from us. Another wave, but more for show and using the wand simply as a conductor of will magic—calm music began to play quietly. Putting the wand back into the holster, I turned to Daphne and offered my hand.
"We danced impermissibly little."
Daphne smiled brighter than usual. Seems I am gradually entering her inner circle, so to speak. Wonder if such a thing is a cost of upbringing or a consequence of some magical practice? Or something else?
"That is so," she put her hand in mine and we began a slow dance.
Simply, calmly, peacefully, without looking back at other people, and therefore there was no academicism in the dance at all. Just two people, "impermissibly" embracing, slowly dancing to the beat of calm music, and judging by Daphne's smile, she likes it more than enough.
"Romanova kissed you," she stated quietly, narrowing her eyes slyly. "Congratulations."
"She was drunk and unrestrained. True, she feels interest in me even sober."
"Interest?"
"Quite specific interest."
"Hmm... Execute," Daphne nodded with a feignedly serious face. "No reason for all sorts of old ladies to run after young wizards."
"Old ladies?" I couldn't hold back a smile. "There's a difference of a couple of years."
"So what. And generally... Just like that."
"You are surprisingly eloquent."
Daphne was silent, and then just exhaled tiredly, resting her head on my shoulder, and hands on my chest.
"Just some events knock off balance."
"It happens."
With an effort of thought, I changed the playing tune to the same slow and pleasant one.
"I heard that your parents have their eye on some Nott assets."
"Intrigue—nothing more," she answered quietly. "We don't need them at all. But parents claim that in seven to ten years, they have some vague plans and projects... Lying. I know all projects and plans."
"I thought so too, because you have completely different spheres of interest. No intersections. Don't want to seem suspicious, but... What is the probability that this is due to overly close communication of one pureblood lady with a Muggle-born wizard?"
Daphne pulled away slightly to look at me.
"Not groundless."
"Afraid that the young lady will do stupid things?"
"Afraid," Daphne smirked, "that the lady will 'take the bit between her teeth.' So father said, thinking that I don't hear anything and don't know what happens in the house. And stupid things—they are like that... How do I know if I want to do them?"
And smiles so treacherously.
"To be honest, I'm not an expert in stupid things, but curiosity also gnaws."
Our faces were impermissibly close, but there was no doubt in Daphne's eyes. Noting to myself that on her low heel she became surprisingly "convenient" height, I gently kissed the girl, instantly receiving a response. And most importantly—not vulgar at all, but not chaste either. And pleasant.
Ten seconds later Daphne coped with emotions, wrapped her arms around my neck, remembered that she needed to breathe and decided to pull away slightly.
"...stupid things..." she exhaled, "taste pleasant."
"Greengrass..."
"Daphne."
"Daphne," I smiled, touching her forehead with mine. "Long wanted to pronounce the name not only mentally."
"And won't even ask about the kiss? Afraid of the answer?" and smiles, the infection.
"Don't want to spoil the atmosphere with questions."
"But I'll say anyway. Pansy is a theoretical expert in this matter. Wants to deprive Malfoy of reason with the very first kiss. She is bored alone, so we watched just a sea of memories in the Pensieve."
"Lovely. Then you are aware that you can breathe through your nose?"
"Need to think for that. And somehow..." she reached for a kiss again. "Can't do it."
Wonder how long we'll be dancing here like this? Although, what difference does it make?
. . . . . .
The burden of a teacher is heavy—Professor Snape knows this firsthand.
And so now, just as always in recent years, he was rushing like a dark shadow through the castle, catching students who had lost all sense of boundaries. Oh, he was perfectly aware of how many reasons for unclouded childish dislike he gave students in such moments, but there was one simple truth—he was the Head of Slytherin House. What did that mean?
Severus Snape, like no one else, was familiar with the quirks of parents whose children ended up in his house. Even if by ancient tradition parents did not interfere in the lives and actions of students at school, no matter how ridiculous, thoughtless, or other such acts they committed, eating the Head of House's brain was a sacred duty. Did Snape want the dubious pleasure of listening to various opinions, recommendations, claims, scandals, and the like once again? Of course not. So it turned out that on one side of the scale were these very scandals, and they uncompromisingly outweighed the dissatisfaction of the students, which was on the other side.
But right now, on this night, Professor Snape felt a particular irritation. It wasn't about the insolent students who decided to vulgarize every dark corner of the castle, every bush, and every gazebo—that was the norm, business as usual, and the castle itself wouldn't let them go too far. Even Potter's gang of idiots couldn't bypass this protection in their time, and they, no use denying it, were a brilliant team, even if they were absolute hell-raisers. Black's mug, miserable from the inability to get under someone's skirt, still warms the Potions Master's heart, even if it is petty.
The reason for his dissatisfaction lay in Karkaroff, who had worn Snape out in fifteen minutes of conversation. Then he had trailed after him, shaking with fear because of the Dark Mark on his left arm filling with power. A coward, the likes of which are hard to find, and it was unclear to Snape how he even dared to return to England.
That was why Snape was raging, and that was why points were flying from everyone caught in indecency.
A sudden trail of a familiar smell, elusive, but not to the Potions Master's nose, forced Snape, speeding through the corridors, to listen to his senses. Someone had passed here just now. Waving his wand, the professor cast Homenum Revelio, but no one appeared; no image of a student or teacher was reflected in his consciousness. Everything was clean. No sound, no image, not the slightest distortion of space from Disillusionment Charms.
"And if like this..."
Snape twirled his wand and brought it to his mouth, exhaling a golden fog, as if made of pollen. The fog quickly dispersed around the corridor, now and then gathering into various vague images, some hints of magic flows, streams, sometimes showing the outlines of people walking somewhere. Snape, like a conductor, scrolled through the images for several minutes. He didn't find what he was looking for but managed to catch an absurdly thin trail of magic. Too thin, too weightless, and if he weren't Snape, accustomed to suspecting everything around and even himself, he would have waved it off—even an adult mage couldn't always spend magic so efficiently.
"Curious."
Snape rushed like a black shadow along the corridor, following this ephemeral thread of magic. There was a high probability that he would find nothing at all, or it would turn out to be some bug that had escaped from the greenhouses. But it had to be checked.
The trail led the professor to the exit to the Astronomy Tower observation deck. At the very door, the trail turned into something more characteristic of a wizard, and this fact simultaneously pleased Snape, but also extremely surprised him. Such a level of subconscious control of magic is very, very high. Only one individual capable of such a thing came to mind—Granger. Snape knew the potential of his mental abilities, as he had helped in his treatment and prepared individual potions, and one cannot prepare them correctly without diagnosing the patient.
To avoid being revealed prematurely, Snape used one of the advanced spells for reconnaissance, used to look behind a door or other not particularly thick obstacle—no traces if executed correctly.
"Let's see what this Puff is up to," Snape thought.
Quiet, calm music played on the observation deck, fireflies fluttered, snow fell, and in the center, Greengrass and Granger were slowly dancing in their blue suits, so appropriate in this winter setting. But what slightly surprised Snape was that they were both smiling... No, even "grinning like idiots"—that was the exact word that surfaced in the Professor's thoughts.
"To rain on their parade or not, that is the question."
Looking at this disgustingly satisfied couple, the professor waved his hand, turned around, and headed down to catch much less restrained and problematic students. These fanatics of study, and most importantly, of Potions, could be allowed to dance once a year.
. . . . . . .
Pansy Parkinson is a smart girl. At least, that's what her parents tell her. They say it, and then demand formal reports on any events taking place at Hogwarts. And a report on ingratiating herself with Draco Malfoy, and soon enough, on his seduction. Why? She thought it up herself, voiced the idea herself, so now she suffers.
But right now, when the time is well past midnight, Pansy sat on the bed in their girls' room and thought—where did that reckless girl disappear to, and the question is far from being about Millie. Bulstrode is happily crushing her pillow with her face, hidden behind the canopy and having hung a bunch of privacy charms working both ways.
Where did Daphne disappear to?
What if something happened?
What if Nott pulled some stupidity?
Oh, if he pulls something, Pansy already knows what she will curse the guy with. And then Draco too, for prevention. Naturally, on the sly. Although... Poor "Drakie-poo" gets it on all fronts anyway.
Pansy got up from the bed and started marching back and forth. How inconvenient that Snape caught her. How inconvenient that he knows how to hang some wildest control marks so that the caught and guilty one cannot hit a relapse—will be caught again immediately, and repeated punishment may not be limited to formality, but turn into scrubbing cauldrons, or what is even worse—detention with Filch with the Gryffs! Unacceptable shame.
The door to the room suddenly opened, and Pansy, who was winding herself up, jumped in place. Into the spacious room, lit only by two dim lamps, fluttered Daphne. Pansy wanted to start being indignant, hissing like a snake—she can do that—but Daphne looked somewhere into the distance, smiled stupidly and, in the blink of an eye reaching her made bed with a dancing gait, spun in place, threw off her robe and as she was in her dress, crashed into the bed.
"Um..." that's all Parkinson could utter.
Daphne lay motionless for a second, then grabbed a pillow and hugged it, lying on her back.
Parkinson began to turn red like Malfoy, "puffing up" from indignation. In two jumps she was on top of Daphne, tried to snatch the pillow from her hands, but having suffered a complete fiasco, simply shook her friend by this pillow—she clung to it like a tick and smiled stupidly.
"Where have you been? Were you dosed with Amortentia? Or dosed yourself?" Pansy hissed.
She shook the pillow, and Daphne along with it, and finally achieved a meaningful look.
"Program 'minimum' for this ball is completed."
"What? O-oh... You finally got to Granger?" Pansy smirked. "And how was it? Let me see."
"Nope," Daphne hugged the pillow even tighter. "Mine."
"Greedy. And what now? Why do you need him anyway?"
"You don't understand," Daphne smiled, twitched, deftly throwing Pansy off herself.
"A-and..." Parkinson squeaked and lay down next to her, on the side, looking at her friend. "So tell me."
Daphne shook her head negatively, stroking the strip of the bracelet on her arm invisible due to charms.
"Well fine. And I got worried here," Pansy jerked the pillow that Daphne was clutching, and tore it away, putting it under her head. "Invented things for myself here. Was afraid that in the morning I'd have to march to the hospital wing, find out everything and punish the guilty. And you? Where at least? How?"
"Everything later. Everything later. Hey, don't sleep, this is my bed."
"And do you care?" Pansy settled more comfortably on the pillow. "You haven't even changed."
"Neither have you."
"I thought I would have to do something."
"For example."
"Yawn..." Parkinson didn't hide a yawn. "Don't know. That's it, since you won't talk, I'll sleep here."
Calming down at the sight of her alive and healthy friend, Parkinson began to fall asleep almost instantly.
"Sigh..." Daphne exhaled. "Tinky."
A house-elf silently appeared in the room with the Hogwarts crest on the clean sheet she wore.
"Did the young witch call Tinky?"
"Can you magically change me and Pansy and put us to sleep? Have no strength for anything at all."
"Of course," the house-elf nodded joyfully and snapped her fingers.
An elusive moment, and as if by magic, Daphne and Pansy were not in dresses, but in nightgowns, the bed was unmade, and from above, as in a cartoon, a blanket descended on them. The dresses ended up on special hangers in the closet—Daphne knew this for sure. Thinking a little, Daphne took her wand out of the holster on her arm—a bad example is contagious—and summoned with a spell all the pillows from Pansy's bed, laying out a barricade of them between herself and her friend, or else she would climb to hug in her sleep. Now one can sleep, or rather—try to fall asleep, because thoughts won't give rest.
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