"Ta-da!" sang Oleandra, giving herself a twirl to make her black evening gown billow. "What do you think? If you liked the last one better, just say the word— one snap of my fingers, and—"
"No need!" giggled Tracey. "You're already very dashing!"
Tracey grabbed Oleandra's hand mid-spin, and the two of them ended up wrapped in each other's arms, their noses almost touching. Unable to resist the allure of Tracey's glistening lips, Oleandra leaned in, and they exchanged a soft kiss.
"I was hoping for something more along the lines of breathtaking," Oleandra whispered coyly in Tracey's ear as their lips parted. "Or you know, stunning, radiant, dazzling, mesmerising… or any of the above, in any combination."
"My word, Oleandra!" said Tracey in mock consternation, taking a step back and putting her hands on her hips. "You really do think highly of yourself! Did you eat a whole thesaurus just to better sing your own praises?"
Tonight was the evening of Professor Slughorn's Christmas party. Anyone who was anyone would be attending, so Oleandra had put on her prettiest dress and lent the next-prettiest to Tracey, who had been left destitute after refusing to accompany her parents to America and subsequently running away from home to live in a car.
"If I had," said Oleandra playfully, "then it would have been to sing yours, not mine."
"Is that so?" Tracey replied, blushing slightly. "Go on, then— I'm listening..."
Tracey's curves didn't quite match Oleandra's, and her borrowed dress didn't fit perfectly, but Oleandra wasn't about to point that out. Nothing a few safety pins couldn't fix.
"Are you almost done?" came Daphne's displeased voice from outside the room, cutting off Oleandra's praises before she could even begin singing them. "We're going to be late."
Surprisingly, Daphne was going to the party as well. She hadn't been coming to Slug Club suppers lately, so Oleandra had been wondering if she'd be coming at all. These days, she was constantly frowning and surly and grumpy, so perhaps some jolly Christmas spirit would do her some good?
"We'll be out in a minute!" Oleandra called back. "A few final adjustments, and we'll be out!"
As stated previously, Oleandra didn't know much lifestyle magic, much less any dressmaking, shoemaking or tailoring spells, so she had to do with good old Muggle needlework and pins.
"Ouch!"
"Shorry, but try not to wriggle too much…"
Holding a bunch of pins between her teeth, Oleandra kneeled and started arranging Tracey's ill-fitting dress for her, but halfway through the job, she felt a hand brushing through her hair.
"Is that what you were trying to do in Transfiguration earlier?" asked Tracey, pinching the tapered ends of Oleandra's pointy ears between her fingers. "Don't you think it makes them look like a House-Elf's— ouch!?"
Displeased with their appearance, Oleandra must have touched her ears more than a hundred times in front of the mirror. But Tracey's touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her body— apparently, Dusk-Elves liked to be touched there.
"I wasn't trying to make them look like that," groaned Oleandra, stifling a moan. "Would you please let go of them!?"
She'd been waiting for months for Professor McGonagall to start teaching Human Transfiguration, so that she might undo the transformation her Elf blood had forced upon her. And now of all times, to be found out before she even got the chance to make them look human again… all because of her impatience.
"I think they look cute on you— ouch," yelped Tracey. "Would you kindly watch where you're sticking those? I'd rather attend the party as a human, not a hedgehog…"
"You like them?" asked Oleandra in surprise.
Lately, Oleandra had been struggling to reconcile her human and Greater Fairy identities. On one hand, she had the soul of an ancient species that once threatened humanity and the heavy burden of being one of the last of her kind. On the other, she had been raised as a human, in a human body, believing she was human.
"I said they were cute," pouted Tracey. "Do you want to hear me say it a third time, or are you going to keep poking me full of holes until I do?"
With her body no longer fully human, Oleandra often felt as though she were standing at the edge of a precipice. With her sense of humanity slipping, why should she concern herself with human affairs, when she no longer counted among them? Why should she help at all?
But so long as Tracey remained by her side, her presence alone would be enough to steady the scales. Tracey was the reason she cared— because Oleandra knew the world was filled with people just like her, she knew helping was the right thing to do.
And that included the Muggles.
"I think I needed to hear that," said Oleandra in a small voice. "Thanks, Trace…"
"Oh… okay," Tracey said, not realising how much her words meant to her girlfriend. "You're welcome, I s'pose…"
Feeling her eyes growing watery, Oleandra dabbed the edges of her eyes with the hem of the dress she was fixing, drying her lone tear before it could ruin her makeup.
"There, all done!" said Oleandra brightly, jumping to her feet. "Ready to head to the party?"
"About time," came Daphne's sarcastic voice from behind the door. "Am I allowed back into my room yet?"
…
At eight o'clock, Oleandra, Tracey, and Daphne left the common room and made their way up the Grand Staircase to Professor Slughorn's office. Typically, a Hogwarts teacher's office would be located just behind their classroom, so that students always knew where to find them outside of lesson hours.
But Professor Slughorn, claiming that the dungeon's infernal humidity was aggravating his rheumatism, had secured himself a more comfortable room in the Faculty Tower, in the South Wing of the castle. It was, apparently, one of the many perks he'd negotiated in exchange for coming out of retirement.
"Are you still looking at that map?" asked Daphne, glancing at her sister as they climbed up the steps. "You've had your nose glued to it since morning."
"It's a big castle, so I've got to keep looking," replied Oleandra. "My little escapee could be anywhere, but if my hunch is correct, it will soon be mine again…"
Oleandra tapped the side of her nose with her index and grinned.
It was certainly true that her Lethifold could be anywhere. But judging by the fact that it hadn't smothered her in her sleep and decided to go for Millicent Bulstrode first, she suspected it had a certain preference when it came to food— fatty meat. And among all of Hogwarts' many residents, who fit the description of high-fat content best?
The answer was obvious.
Why, it was Professor Slughorn, of course!