Oleandra, Dobby, Ron and Hermione stood quite still, each of them quietly sizing up the others, until at last, Hermione spoke up.
"That House‑Elf…" she murmured, studying Dobby closely. "I feel as though I've seen him before…"
"It's that odd House‑Elf who kept pulling tricks on Harry in our second year!" said Ron, his eyes widening in recognition. "Remember? We met him in the Top Box— he's Lucius Malfoy's Elf!"
Ron's hand shot into his jeans' pockets, but he was too slow, and his jeans, far too tight. Before he could extricate his wand from his uncooperative Muggle clothes, Oleandra's foot was already whipping towards him.
Her Reflection Doppelganger was every bit as strong and swift as her true self, thankfully.
"Ouch!" yelped Ron as Oleandra's kick landed squarely on his shin.
There was a loud crack as something gave under her boot, and Ron toppled to the floor.
"Stupefy!"
Oleandra stepped into the beam's path to shield Dobby, wincing as her vision flooded with scarlet and her body crackled with red light. Then Hermione's magic faded away, and Oleandra shook her head with a grin.
"That sort of thing doesn't work on me, you—"
Oleandra's smile vanished as Hermione's wand whipped through the air, tracing a pattern she'd never cared to learn. In a flash, purple light flared from its tip, which Oleandra parried by hurling at it the men's trousers she'd kept balled up in her fist. To her dismay, the garment ricocheted straight back at her, sending her stumbling backwards, hands clawing at her face.
Of all the dangerous spells Hermione could have fired, a mere Knockback Jinx!?
"I'll get you for that!" Ron roared, struggling to his feet.
The blood seemed to have rushed to Ron's head, making him forget he was a Wizard at all. He clumsily lunged at Oleandra with a punch that could hardly have been more obvious, which she sidestepped with ease before tripping him up. Ron struck his head against a bedpost as he fell, but he caught himself on the foot of Harry's bed before his knees hit the floor— he wasn't down for the count just yet.
"Ron, get out of the way!" Hermione cried shrilly. "I can't get a clear shot!"
"Will you stop moving?" Ron snarled, flailing backwards with both arms.
"Gladly!" said Oleandra lightly.
Oleandra caught his wrist as it swung past and twisted it sharply behind his back. Using his arm as a lever, she forced him between herself and Hermione, holding him as a human shield while her eyes swept the room for the Marauder's Map's hiding place.
"Viviane, how can you still want to help Oleandra?" Hermione cried. "The Death Eaters only want to enslave Muggles! Don't you want things to go back to how they were before the fall?"
"I do," said Oleandra, answering Hermione's question to buy herself a little time. "But with something this monumental, I rather doubt there's any way to put the genie back in the bottle, is there?"
Oleandra's eyes widened. There it was, the Map! On the floor, beneath Dobby's foot!
Perhaps sensing her opponent was distracted, Hermione pointed her wand at Ron, who blanched.
"Hermione, you're seriously not thinking of—!"
"Relashio!"
Ron screamed like a frightened little girl as a burst of red light struck him, but to his surprise, he felt only a rush of warmth as the spell coursed through his body and to the woman behind him. Oleandra's fingers splayed as Hermione's magic forced her to release Ron, who turned on her with a snarl, but she just slapped him with an open palm.
Oleandra shook her twitching hands. They refused to close into a fist.
"Dobby, grab that piece of parchment under your feet and get me out of here!" Oleandra shouted. "The castle—"
There was a sharp crack as Hermione flicked her wand sideways, sending a bedside lamp hurtling into the back of Oleandra's head, as though an invisible rope were attached to the wand tip. On impact, Oleandra let out a sharp cry as glittering shards of glass exploded outwards from her skull and rained across the floor, the shower catching a ray of light and scattering colourful spots over the inside of the tent like a disco ball.
This false body couldn't take much more punishment!
"As you wish, Mistress!" Dobby croaked. "Sorry, Mistress Granger, Master Weasley!"
Dobby had been unwilling to harm the great Harry Potter's friends, which was why he hadn't taken part in the scuffle so far; he knew they were merely misguided. And so, he hopped off the Marauder's Map, snatched it up, and dashed to his mistress's side, stuffing it into her pocket and latching onto her leg before—
"Oh no, you don't!"
Oleandra felt something heavy ram into her, and the world twisted and turned, the bright colours of the tent spiralling away into oppressive darkness. This must be what sausages feel like when they're stuffed into their casing, she briefly thought, vaguely aware of two other presences at her side as she travelled through the void.
And then the pressure dissipated and light filled the darkness.
"Take me back!" Ron shouted, taking yet another swing at her.
Oleandra tilted her head back to avoid the blow, dislodging more broken glass from the back of her head that came cascading down from her hair, when she realised they were being watched—by hundreds of pairs of eyes. Dobby, that idiotic House‑Elf, had Apparated them straight into the Great Hall, just as lunch was drawing to an end.
"Oh no," Dobby whimpered, his eyes fixed on the blonde figure at the end of the Slytherin table. "It's Young Master Little Git!"
Before Oleandra could order him to take Ron with him, Dobby dutifully followed her standing order to stay as far from Draco Malfoy as possible— and Disapparated with a loud pop.
"Is that Weasley?"
"I thought he was bedbound with Dragonpox."
"Yeah, that's what his sister told me."
Ron swore loudly as realisation finally dawned on him.
"Twenty points from Gryffindor for spouting obscenities in front of a teacher," drawled Snape as he glided down the central aisle between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables towards them. "Mr Weasley, you have quite a lot of explaining to do… My office. Now."
Ron glared at Snape, his lip curling into a snarl, but a heartbeat before he could reach for his wand, his body went rigid from head to foot. With a lazy flick of his own wand, which Oleandra had not even seen him draw, the Headmaster lifted the poor boy into the air and sent him floating ahead, leading the march out of the Great Hall.
"As for you, Greengrass…" Snape called after her, not even deigning to glance at either of the two Oleandras in the Great Hall— one standing in the central aisle, the other seated at the Slytherin table. "My office. Eight o'clock. Sharp."