The Gloriana Set

Shifting Sands

Notes:

This is one of my favorite chapters in the whole story. Hope you like it.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Hermione said, tapping the Marauders Map with her wand. She stood in the middle of her bedroom, her black robe slung over her desk chair, that damned Gloriana Set sitting on her bed. It was her free afternoon, since there was no Defense Against the Dark Arts on Mondays, and the perfect time to talk to Malfoy.

For Hermione's mind was made up. She would return the diamonds to him personally. Malfoy's dot was in Slughorn's office, where he was likely marking Potions assignments so the professor could dance off to some Ministry reception or ribbon-cutting. Honestly, it seemed like the Slytherin Head just taught Potions in his spare time. Hermione pushed the flat velvet box into her beaded bag, which she stuck into her uniform skirt pocket. Her wand and the map she tucked into her other pocket. She took a moment to straighten her jumper and try to smooth her hair before heading down to the sixth floor.

She didn't fear running into Theo; he was at a Charms study group this afternoon. He and Malfoy had spent all day Sunday together serving detention in Bluebell's meadow. Theo had arrived at the library afterward tight-lipped and a little shaken, refusing to provide details. He had recovered well enough by Monday but Malfoy was colder and more distant to everyone than before.

Hermione ducked into a dark alcove just past the trophy room, lighting the map with her wand. Malfoy was still there and still alone. He must be pretty thick with Slughorn these days to gain access to the professor's precious office. Her pounding heart sounded loud in the tiny space. Don't be a coward, she told herself. Just give him the diamonds, thank him and go. He might not be engaged to Astoria, but Purity Will Always Conquer. Hermione refused to be a part of Malfoy's little rebellion against his family. He would just have to put the Gloriana Set away for his grandson, or Godric willing, great-grandson.

Looking down, she realized she was clutching her magical purse to her chest, the pink beaded bag feeling suddenly heavy. You can't keep them, she told herself silently, hating the tears pushing behind her eyes. You're being greedy. And selfish. Maybe she should talk to Ginny—but no, she knew what Ginny would say, she'd hear "family diamonds" and go spare. She'd have Hermione and Malfoy practically married in no time. Hermione snorted at the very idea. Sure, and then they'd go live with Narcissa in Malfoy Manor and Hermione would sit in the drawing room where she was fucking tortured and knit scarves for Lucius while Draco went around removing all the estate's muggle-killing traps and curses so her parents could visit. You can't have them, you idiot. You can't have ... him.

She took a deep breath ("You can do this") and left the alcove, only for a young Slytherin boy, scroll in hand, to reach the office door first. "Excuse me," he said to the portrait hanging beside it, "I need to—"

"Nasty little slug!" shrieked an old woman's voice. "Trying to sneak in with an overdue essay! Slug! I should chop you up ... yessss, you would make a tasty addition to a Liquid Death potion, sliced fine with a pinch of ..."

The boy squeaked and fled in terror, and Hermione quailed slightly. Slughorn's portrait, she knew, was of the famously ill-named Potions master Galatea Merrythought. She thought of just waiting in the corridor for Malfoy to leave, but that seemed unworthy of a Gryffindor.

Hermione strode up to the door. "I—"

"Attention!" Merrythought rapped out. "How does one split open a Chizpurfle carapace?"