He was empty.
There was no other way to describe it, really, except for empty.
He wasn't rude, or mean. Those words were too simple.
He was the type of empty that seeped deep into his bones, into his heart.
The type of empty that average love cannot penetrate.
The type of empty that a soul cannot inhabit.
Well.
It didn't matter then, did it?
People said that Draco Malfoy didn't have a soul to begin with.
0o0o0o0o0o0
It was packed. There were gyrating witches and wizards in the middle of the room, dancing amid unnecessarily bright strobe lights and pulsing club music. The air reeked of alcohol, sweat, and a sickly sweet perfume she imagined a cheap hooker would wear. Already, three sleazy and horribly drunk men had grabbed her and insisted that she accompany them home.
She ended up having to stun all of them.
Anyone could wholeheartedly agree that this club-Sparkle and Shimmer-was somewhere Hermione Granger would not be caught dead in. But tonight, she wasn't Hermione Granger. She was Cerise Dauvelier, dressed in a slinky gold cocktail dress, and she was looking for a certain man in the smoky haze of the club.
"Now, why would a beautiful woman like you be all alone at the bar? Date skipped out?" Thank Merlin. He's here.
Hermione, no, Cerise, plastered a sultry smile on her face, (one that she had practiced many times) and turned to the man with the Scottish brogue that had just addressed her.
"Why, not at all," she replied, in a smooth purr. "I was just waiting for a gentleman to sweep me off my feet. Unfortunately, I don't see any such candidates here tonight."
He gave a deep chuckle. "Not even me? Many women seem to find my Scottish charms very attractive."
Hermione was keenly aware of another man, with piercing emerald eyes, watching, and listening (she was sure of it) to their conversation from the corner of the club.
"Really? Well, I'd just love it if you'd show me just what makes you so appealing." She said this in the same sexy drawl, even though all she actually wanted to do was go home, curl up with the real Cerise and maybe watch a sappy muggle romance movie while binging on chocolate ice cream.
"I love women with some curiosity in 'em."
"Then you'll just adore me."
Oh, there it was. The spark in his eyes that meant he desired her, at least for the night. Bingo.
Another laugh. "I'm sure, Miss…," he asked, while arching a perfectly plucked brow. Hermione wanted to gag. Even Cerise (the real one that is) didn't get pampered as much as this man. And she was a cat.
"Cerise Dauvlier. And you must be Mr. Alasdair Lyle." She extended her hand, and he bent down and kissed it. Eugh. She would have to thoroughly sanitize that later.
"Indeed I am. But I must say, I don't remember introducing myself to anyone here." He was as charming as ever, but slight suspicion was showing through in his eyes. Bloody hell. She inwardly cursed herself for making a silly mistake, and she knew that Harry would be, too, from his position in the corner.
She decided to play off of his conceited persona. "That's because you didn't. Everyone who's anyone knows who you are, Mr. Lyle."
"Oh? Well, let's go somewhere quieter so you can tell me exactly how you know of me. Shall we?" He offered Hermione his arm. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he proceeded to lead her off to one of the private lounges in the club. She knew the way even as he was leading her. She did memorize the layout of the club, after all.
As they passed the dance floor, Hermione discreetly looked away to her left, where she locked eyes with Harry. He nodded, and less than 5 seconds later, Aurors disguised as average club-goers began to emerge from the bar, the dance floor and even the loo.
Turning her attention back towards that man she was with, Hermione was aware that they had finally stopped outside the door of the private lounge. He opened the door and entered, motioning for Hermione to do the same.
As she passed him and went into the room, she threw him a flirty smile. After I'm done with you I can finally go home.
He turned his back to close the door, and Hermione made her move. "Stupefy!"
He instantly slumped against the door, and she had the urge to giggle at his awkward position on the floor. Keep it professional, Granger. She opted to walk over to him and take his wand.
She spoke suddenly in her regular voice, dropping the hooker accent. "Alright, everyone. It's clear."
The door opened (well, as much as it could with a grown man against it) and a tall, 23 year old Harry Potter stepped into the room. He observed the unconscious man now shoved behind the door.
Now Hermione really did giggle.
Harry turned to her, amusement shining in his eyes. "Good job, 'Mione. You were quicker than you usually are."
"That's because I couldn't wait to get rid of his sleazy arse," she shot back. Just as Harry was about to reply to her, their new squad chief entered.
"A fair job, Miss Granger," he spoke in a thin voice. Meggadon Cayrse was recently appointed the new chief of the U.A.D, or the Undercover Auror Department of the Ministry. He was a fat, short, balding old man who was lazier than anyone Hermione had ever met.
He also happened to be a pompous git.
"Thank you, Mr. Cayrse. I-"she was cut off by his nasally tone.
"Although, it would be wise to remember that you are not the only one in this squad. You should have called us in. Stupefying Mr. Lyle was unnecessary."
"I was aware of that, sir, but he was armed, and-" Again he cut her off.
"Yes, yes, Miss Granger, as much as I'd like to hear the details, all of us must want to get home. It has been a long day for everyone."
Hermione wanted to ask him why it had been a tiring day for him (seeing as all he did was sit on his arse and eat cauldron cakes), but one pointed look from Harry made her grit her teeth and stay silent.
"Mr. Thomas, please take care of Mr. Lyle. Put him in a holding room back at the department. Miss Granger and Mr. Potter will start interrogating him tonight." With that, Cayrse was out the door. Hermione cursed under her breath.
Cerise, The Notebook, and her ice cream would have to wait.