Asphodel and Wormwood

The Seduction of Uncertainty

It came as a surprise to the curly-headed brunette that Hogwarts classes included a mix of young men and women. The courses at her own school were not combined, opting to keep the student body separated until the start of the 5th year - after aptitude tests had narrowed the courses into more of an individualized curriculum.

The Durmstrang delegation, like the Beauxbaton students, separated themselves into discrete groups of boys and girls, quietly waiting for class, and didn't intermingle with any of the other school's students. She reasoned, with a passing thought, that Durmstrang must have a similar tradition of separating the boys and girls in the classroom setting. Comparatively, the students native to the castle were rambunctiously walking around and speaking loudly to their friends across the room.

More disturbing yet was that the differences in behavioral expectations were even more evident now than they'd been the night before at dinner. In her periphery, she noticed that a girl with pin-straight black hair that rested just above her shoulders was perched on someone's lap. It took an effort to school the look of disapproval that wanted to work its way onto her face. Madame Maxime would be appalled.

Frowning in distaste at the students surrounding her, a lanky ginger caught her attention as he used his wand to fly a note to another boy that she recognized immediately as Harry Potter. A quick study of his robes identified him as a Gryfindor, a piece of information she tucked in the back of her mind for safekeeping - you never know when you may need a self-sacrificing accomplice. Satisfied with her discovery and having decided that the knotted wood desk in front of her was more interesting than her new classmates, she averted her gaze to her work table and breathed in the comforting smell of the potions classroom that felt like her home away from home.

The bitter smell of Skele-Gro lingered in the room, a remnant of presumably the last classes brew; disappointing since they'd been upperclassmen and she first learned the potion at the age of 12. Professor Snape had warned her that none of the students she'd be in class with had a particular talent for potionry apart from maybe his godson, a platinum blonde boy named Draco Malfoy. She'd met him in passing a handful of times over her junior apprenticeship and hadn't been impressed, but that may have been more of a result of his tendency to call her a mudblood under his breath than his brewing talents. His silver eyes, although begrudgingly alluring, always looked at her in distaste. A look that she was sure echoed from her own features during their interactions. Malfoy, in her opinion, was proof that good breeding did not ensure proper etiquette.

An eerie quietness had settled over the room as her new Mastery Instructor exited his private office with a vaguely disappointed look on his face, one that also held anger, "That'll be 10 points from Slytherin, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson. In the future, try to refrain from making me regret being your Head of House in front of our esteemed guests."

The black-haired girl scrambled to her own seat, although there was no indication of embarrassment on either of the culprits' faces. In fact, Malfoy dared to send a cheeky wink to a classmate across the room who was also wearing a green tie.

"Such a waste of potential," Hermione thought to herself. "He'd perhaps be a force to be reckoned with if he learned that there is an appeal in the unknown - the seduction of uncertainty."

A throat clearing toward the entrance to the classroom further interrupted the start of the lesson. Igor Karkaroff, Headmaster of Durmstrang, nodded his head toward Snape in acknowledgment before his deep voice boomed through the chamber, "Severus if you can spare a moment."

A flash of irritation sparked in the professor's eyes, "How convenient for these incapable students that my class seems to be doomed today. Is this matter more important than my instruction?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise, old friend."

His dark robes billowing behind him, the potion's classroom door shut effectively ending any chance of eavesdropping on the conversation taking place in the corridor. Hermione opted to waste time reorganizing her parchment and quills that were laid out in front of her. The hairs on her arms stood at attention as the warmth of a foreign body settled over her left shoulder.

"Tu es très belle," a velvety smooth voice crooned into her ear. The accent was definitely not Eastern European, which meant that the speaker was firmly placed in the undesirable column in Hermione's mind. Despite her best intentions at remaining apathetic a small laugh escaped her lips at the words.

"Which one of my classmates taught you that phrase just for you to waste it on me? French isn't my primary language, and I'm not interested," her tone was calm, as she allowed the dismissive body language she displayed to portray just how unimpressed she was.

Instead of being deterred the body behind her moved close, unnecessary body-to-body contact between students was not permitted in public at Beauxbaton and the taboo she was an inactive participant in made her frustration peak. Turning around, her tongue was ready to deliver the proper lashing that Professor Snape hadn't provided his awful godson.

Her honey-brown eyes met the unsettlingly deep brown ones of a young man who was likely more handsome than even he, with all of his obvious confidence, was aware of. Slightly embarrassed, she broke eye contact and followed the lines of his face; her gaze lingering on his high cheekbones and deep skin. Fleetingly, she wondered why she'd dismissed the Hogwarts students so quickly last night.

Then, the reason for dismissal became clear as the boy leaned down so that his eyes were at equal height with hers and said, "Blaise Zabini, but I'm sure you already knew that. I believe a friend of yours took pity on me after you denied me the luxury of your attention last night in the Great Hall."

Hermione picked a non-existent piece of link off of her powder blue outer robes. Spell broken, her words were knives even though a polite smile graced her face, "A proper woman has no reason to pity a capable wizard. Is this your way of admitting that you are lacking in some way?"

Placing his schoolbag on the countertop beside her, Blaise smirked as he took the empty seat to her right, "Oh love, I'd be more than happy to show you all the ways in which I'm capable. Where would you like me to start?"

"Zabini," the blonde-haired Slytherin that she would have much preferred to ignore hissed toward the duo, quiet enough that potential eavesdroppers weren't alerted to his comment. "Care to explain why you're tarnishing our House's reputation by speaking to a mudblood?"

A product of her education, Hermione kept a blank expression on her face hearing the slur. That didn't mean that anger wasn't threatening to erupt from her, reflexively her hand wrapped around her wand in preparation to cast a hex. A moment passed before Snape re-entered the room and walked to the front of the class. Passing his new apprentice, he assessed her partner with a careful gaze letting out a grunt of disapproval. Her new partner, however, undeterred by the previous comment, wore a Cheshire cat-sized grin on his face.

"Brewing a passable potion would suffice to start," she whispered, irritation evident in her tone, in response to the boy's previous query.

Chuckling in what she now bookmarked as his distinct tenor tone, Blaise only cheekily replied, "Then start we will." 

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I don't have a Beta reader so any mistakes are my own! 

Here's my rough French to English translations for the chapter:

Tu es très belle - You are very beautiful