Chapter Two
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Bloom
Scowling, the witch strides decisively, sister following at a calmer pace behind her, towards the Headmaster’s office. A house-elf had appeared before Kalmia with a summons from Dumbledore. Immediately, Bloom had zeroed in on that note, the summons, having shifted to sit beside her sister a few minutes earlier. Having taken the note in hand, the dragon in human form had glared at it for a good minute, before asking her sister, wanting to ensure that the younger female was actually willing to answer the summons, to go to this impromptu meeting with the Head.
Unfortunately, Kalmia had responded that she was willing to go.
Now, Bloom is approaching the far-too-crowded office, magic flaring out at anyone attempting to come near her or her beloved sister. Which only a singular person, a random Second Year Ravenclaw whose curiosity had already gotten the best of them, had attempted, clearly not understanding the danger that comes with angering a dragon, unfortunately for them. Sapphire eyes narrowing as she comes to the gryffin that guards Dumbledore’s elusive office, Bloom pauses to wait for her younger sister to catch up to her.
“Sherbert lemons,” she sneers when the younger does, so clearly disgusted by her Headteacher’s taste in passwords. And in sweets. Honestly, it’s pathetic; his obsession with the revolting, yellow sweets and his infuriating need to make anyone speaking the password aloud to feel utterly daft.
At least the stone gryffin swings out of the way, though.
Upon entering the man’s overly grand office, Bloom’s scowl deepens. What exactly do the Malfoys have to do with her sister? She can, vaguely, understand Professors Snape and Mcgonagall; they are, after all, the ones who typically are forced to be at these meetings involving her sister, or herself. Professor Snape, as usual, looks as though he has just been forcefed an entire bag of the abominations that his employer refers to as ‘sweets’.
“Ah, Mia!” exclaims the aged Headmaster, seated directly in her eye line, eyes twinkling infuriatingly upon seeing her sister. “Bloom, my dear girl, thank you for escorting your sister, but you can leave now-”
“Leave my sister with a room filled with people that I do not trust to take care of her?” Bloom waves her wand to the left side of her, conjuring a simple, grey chair. Gesturing to her sister to sit down, the sapphire-eyed menace continues with a snort. “How daft do you take me to be, Professor?”
“Now, if you would kindly explain why exactly you have sent a summons to my little sister?”
“Bloom.” she hears the soft, chiding voice of the Gryffindor seated in front of her and sighs, sounding so dreadfully put-upon.
“Very well, sisterling~”
Resuming her cool glare at the oldest human in the room, ensuring that she keeps her gaze away from his eyes, Bloom raises a brow. A rather challenging brow at that. Eyes firmly pinned to the man’s shoulder (whilst Bloom’s occlumency is brilliant, just as dangerous as the fire Kalmia so happily walks into each year, she has no wish to test it against a Master in the Mind Arts), the seventh year asks, “So?”
Dumbledore takes a moment to speak up, as though the behaviour of one of his ‘pawns’ had shocked him into silence.
“Lemon drop anyone?” he asks cheerfully, gesturing towards the bowl.
Not even the Transfiguration Professor takes him up on the offer.
“Ah, well…” the aged wizard sighs, peering over his half-moon glasses at the occupants of the room. “To answer your question, dear girl, I have gathered you here because, as of last June, Draco-”
“-Heir Malfoy, Chief Warlock. You do not have my son’s permission to call him by his given name.” Malfoy Senior interjects, a false calm hovering in the air around him as he grips his cane in what Bloom sees as an almost threatening manner.
“Of course, of course. Thank you, my dear boy,” Dumbledore, obviously uncaring for the rules of propriety, fails to heed Lord Malfoy’s clear warning as he continues on, “As I was saying, Draco here has come into his magical inheritance, that of a Veela. Like all Veela, he therefore is tied to a Fated Mate.”
Bloom’s eyes narrow further, body twitching in agitation as she notes the twinkle in the Headteacher’s blue eyes. A hand brushes against hers, cool and rough to the touch.
“Professor, if I may ask, how does that have anything to do with me?” Kalmia’s voice, quiet and unassuming, rings loudly in the silence.
For but a moment, Bloom squeezes the younger girl’s hand, concern shining in her actions. The small, almost imperceptible movement that she gets in return is reassuring. Kala is only playing with perceptions in the room, silently feeling out the rivers and streams that twist around everyone’s hearts.
All is well.
Albus Dumbledore’s gaze flickers slightly from that collected, grandfatherly façade, revealing a mix of disappointment and elation as he regards the small teen. Only for a second, though. “Mia, my dear, I’m saying that you are Draco’s Fated Mate.”
Frowning, Bloom grasps her sister’s hand with a greater strength, clear disapproval written all across her face. “How entirely unfeelingly you speak, Professor. You speak too bluntly, in this case.” A glowing ember lights, smoking in her fiery hair. The dragon of a young woman shifts her gaze to bore directly into the man’s horrid, twinkling eyes.
“One would think someone so old as you would show a bit more…”
“Finesse.”
The response she gets from the wizard is… Unsatisfactory, to say the least. He pays her words little mind, beyond frowning disapprovingly at her, as McGonagall gives a gentle reprimand of, “I understand that you are frustrated, but you cannot speak in such a way to your Professors, Miss Potter. It is disrespectful.”
From the corner of her eye, Bloom notices Malfoy Senior lift a brow, just barely, as Professor Snape purses his lips, eyes bored and uninterested, whilst Malfoy Junior winces, but nods in agreement with her.
“Oh, don’t worry, Minerva. Bloom’s anger is understandable, this situation is one that no one ever tends to prepare for,” he chuckles in false amusement. Entirely ignoring the fact that a Veela prepares for such situations throughout almost their entire life, as she had learnt last year from Fleur Delacour, now something of a pen-pal to herself and Kalmia. Same with Viktor Krum, actually.
Uncertainty flickers in the Deputy’s eyes as she nods stiffly.
Continuing, Dumbledore says, “Of course, due to this, arrangements will have to be made to accomodate the change. Mia and Draco will be given a room in the castle’s Westernmost Wing, to which their belongings have already been moved by the House Elves. Both teens are excused from lessons for two weeks in order to grow used to the change and to bond without the strain of outside interference. Changes will also need to be made to timetables in order to accomodate the need for a Veela to be in close quarters with their mate at all times.”
“I trust this will not be too much of a difficulty to get sorted, yes?” The scent of smoke slowly grows in the room as Bloom’s irritation grows.
What is it with old people and being annoying? Seriously, each and every old person she’s ever come across has been this way.
Annoying.
Kalmia speaks up again after a moment, voice slightly tighter than it had been earlier, a warning sign if ever Bloom’s seen one. Calm down, it seems to say. “I take it that the meeting is concluded, in that case?” she asks.
McGonagall nods, interjecting her own words as well, “I and Severus have classes to teach this morning, Albus.”
Bloom, completely ignoring the fact that she was the one who decided it to be compulsory that she remain here for the entire meeting, adds, “And I have a lesson to get to.”
Dumbledore peers over those hideous glasses at her, his gaze disapproving. “May I remind you, my dear, that it is you who chose to stay for the meeting, despite my telling you otherwise?”
“Correct, because I refuse to leave my sister alone in here with those who have either caused her harm, or at least attempted to do so, in the past. Perfectly understandable, I think you’ll find.” Sapphire eyes bore, once more, into his own for just a moment before flickering away to the steel eyes of Lord Malfoy. “You are here in order to play chaperone for Heir Malfoy, I take it.”
A statement, not a question. It is an observation over a curiosity.
The man’s eyes sparkle, for a moment, with mirth as he speaks. “But of course, Miss Potter,” he responds, voice sounding bored and yet elegant, somehow. Malfoys. “I take it you are intent upon, as you say, playing chaperone for your younger sister?”
“Affirmative, Lord Malfoy,” she says, a smirk in her voice.
Dumbledore, likely unhappy with how the meeting has turned out, speaks up again, drawing the attention of the room’s occupants back to him. “Very well then, Bloom, my dear. The meeting is, in that case, over. Professor Snape will show your sister and Draco to their room.” He gestures, as he speaks, to said Professor, whose face twists sourly at the Head’s words.
“Need I truly remind you… Albus… that I… have a class to teach…?” He drawls irritably.
Dumbledore’s eyes, hidden behind half moon spectacles, glitter almost unhealthily as he surveys the occupants of the room. “Hmm? Ah, Severus, I’m certain you can spare a minute, no?”
Quite frankly, Bloom doesn’t actually care. She simply hums a silent tune to her sister, who stands and walks towards the door, as if on cue. Bloom follows, after vanishing the chair. Both sisters ignore the fact that the Headmaster most likely intended to speak to Kala after the meeting, instead walking down to the gryffin that guards his office proudly. They stop there, waiting for the Malfoys (and whoever ends up escorting the group to the room) to join them.
In the meantime, Kalmia stares up at her older sister, flaming hair still smoking, clogging up the hallway unhealthily. Idly, the witch wonders why it always seems to frighten her so much, this stare, in all its disapproving glory.
And the fire simmers down.
“Better,” Kalmia sighs, leaning back against the cold stone of the castle. There is little time for any other conversation, for the pair hear footsteps approaching as the Malfoys and Hogwarts’ resident Potions Master join them, McGonagall not far behind.
The elderly woman smiles at the sisters as she turns to walk back down the hallway to her classroom. Leaving them to deal with…
People…
Bloom, straightening once more, twists to face the three males, eyes passively challenging as she regards them. Behind her, Kalmia yawns tiredly, pushing herself up off of the wall. “Ready then?” asks the girl in an offhand manner.
It concerns Bloom somewhat, for a moment.
But Kalmia begins to hum again, as the group start to walk, all attempting to match Professor Snape’s high speed, and Bloom knows that her sister is fine, though tired. So long as the girl sleeps for long enough tonight, all should be well tomorrow.
…
She hopes.
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Kalmia
Walking easily through the cold, stone halls, Kalmia watches the strands of magic that twist in the air, dancing and singing with a steady thrum. The Wards of Hogwarts, once one of the safest places on the planet, now weakened by the inefficiency of multiple headmasters. From time to time, the witch yawns, tired, and feels her older sister’s concerned gaze trailing after her each time. Each time, Kalmia smiles over at Bloom, amused by the depths of the older Gryffindor’s concern.
Such a worrier her sister is.
The walk, Kalmia notices, takes some time. The Westernmost Wing, huh?
She ponders over the name, still following the Potions Master with his brisk walk. She doesn’t think that she has ever been to that wing of the castle before, or at least not very deep into it. The furthest she’s ever gone that way would be the central (she assumes) area, after which a deep mist begins, warding students away without their realisation of it. Perhaps, if these rooms that she is to share with Heir Malfoy are in the Westernmost, Kalmia will have a chance to explore down there?
She hopes so. The mist often fails to work on her, but because she tends to be with at least one person when going about the school, the Potter often ends up getting dragged away, unfortunate as it is. But now, if that is where she is to be rooming from then on, that should mean that she is able to not only overcome the (albeit small) effect that the warding mist has on her, but also to explore down that way, and have an excuse. It’ll be useful if that works, most certainly.
Come to think of it, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen any of the adults go down there either… Kalmia’s eyes narrow, a glimmer of light shining in her eyes, as it always happens when she finds something that interests her.
Bloom is going to be so annoyed.
Because Kalmia’s just found a new mystery to solve.
It seems that this year won’t be so peaceful after all.
Worth it.
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Lucius
Momentarily, Lucius turns to look behind him, a shiver having just run down his spine. The pair walking along behind him, keeping up despite the relatively slow pace that the younger Miss Potter (Note to self, ask if I can call them by their names. This is painful.) had chosen to use. Like in those… Horror films?
…
Horror films, yes. Like in those horror films that the muggles seem to enjoy, or at least had the last time he visited a muggle cinema. In which one character is borderline running, whereas another is walking so agonizingly slowly, and yet keeping up, for no reason, with the one running. That is what the younger of both girls is doing, and, to some extent, the older as well. Only Miss Potter (older) is going at a reasonably quick pace.
Regardless, that’s off-topic. The Miss Potters, both at their own paces, are walking along behind him, and he now understands why there had been a shiver running down his spine.
Miss Kalmia Potter. On her face, he spies an unsettling smile, but he can’t figure out just why it unsettles him so. Lucius sighs as he turns his head once more, falling back to the two Potters with a question on his mind. Both immediately notice, and he sees his son’s mate glance towards his cane, gaze almost curious, if guarded. On the other hand, the flame-haired one narrows her eyes at the cane, clear distrust in the sparking depths.
“Lord Malfoy,” she greets, voice calm despite the clear misgivings in her eyes.
Said lord positions his face in what he hopes is a non-threatening smile, replying, “Miss Potters.”
The younger one snorts, rolling her eyes before fixing him with a firm glare, if without any heat. “You may call me Kalmia, Lord Malfoy. It gets confusing when you have two people with the same title and name, after all.”
His brows shoot up in surprise. Glancing ahead, ensuring that his son and friend are still in sight, the blonde feels his brows knit together in slight concern as he looks back down. “Are you certain, Miss Potter?”
She smiles at him, a small smile, but a smile all the same. “Of course, I would never have offered otherwise.” Miss- … Kalmia — that will take some time to get used to — pauses then, face pinching slightly as the smile drops off of her face once more. “May I ask, Lord Malfoy, why you have joined us back here?”
Ah. Yes. Of course.
The movement to join them at the back had been rather random, hadn’t it?
Still walking through the sun-brightened hallways, Lucius hums for a moment before he answers, considering how to phrase his words. He chooses simply to tell the pair the truth of it. “I felt a chill down my spine, prompting me to look behind, and saw a most unsettling smile upon your face, Mis- Kalmia.” The man’s eyes dance with mirth as he asks, “Is there a reason for that, by any chance?”
Miss Potter smirks, amusement alight on her face as she looks down at her younger sister. Lucius watches them as a silent conversation seems to take place. Eventually, Kalmia looks up at him again, just as he notices that Severus has begun to slow, as if coming to a halt. Finally, that took too long.
“Not to worry, Lord Malfoy. It isn’t anything illegal.”
Lucius blinks, slightly alarmed.
“Very well…” comes the slow response.
…
You know what?
…
He likes this child. She is entertaining.
Most children are not.