Hi guys.
This is Warriorcatlover1215. I lost my account and cannot recover it, so I will be uploading the story on here from now on. This is my story. I am not stealing. Characters and such belong to jk rowling. It will be a pain in my ass to have to rewrite fourteen chapters, so, before reading anything more in this story, read these chapters: s/13283982/1/Please-Don-t-Die-Signed-Granger
Hermione yelped as Draco forcefully pulled her into Apparation without warning. She hated the feeling of being squashed and shoved into a small ball and slammed into a tunnel much to small for her to fit in.
She fell as they landed out of Apparation, arms catching her and hauling her carefully to her feet, before letting go. She turned around, but Malfoy was already heading for the stairs. "Thank you," she murmured in a quiet voice, though it echoed eerily.
He paused, turning to her. "No problem." His voice wavered, though.
"What that man said...it's not—"
"I don't want to hear it. Not tonight. Good night, Granger."
Weeks passed. Snow fell and the sun came and went. Draco's attitude turned from slightly more relaxed to more jumpy then ever rapidly like the seasons changing.
And no word from Tonks. Not a single word. She never showed up at the Manor. Never sent a letter. And Hermione nor Draco dared to speak to each other about it. Or Andromeda.
Christmas Eve morning rolled around, and it was one of those rare occasions the three household members were in the same room. Even Draco seemed to be a little calmer around Pansy then he used to be. Molly had invited them to come for Christmas Eve dinner, and then for the whole day on Christmas.
"Do you think I can come?" Pansy pouted, gnawing at the edge of her toast.
"Yes, Pansy, because Saint Potter will want to welcome you into his home. No, you dimwitted dimbow. You can't." Draco sneered, perched on his normal stool.
"Malfoy!" Hermione hissed.
"What? It's true!" Draco stared at her in disbelief.
"You can come, Pansy. Will everyone be happy about it? No. But you can come."
Pansy gave a soft squeak of excitement. There was a clatter as Crookshanks leapt onto the counter, knocking a cup carelessly. Hermione calculated Malfoy's reaction carefully, watching as he stiffened, watching Crookshanks with a wary look, before reaching out and snatching the cat from the counter, drawing him to his chest. "Do I have to come?" Draco murmured, his pale hands nowhere to be seen in the depths of Crookshanks' fur.
"Yes, you have to come. You aren't getting out of this."
He seemed entirely unhappy about the prospect, gently petting Crookshanks with his head. "You know your hair is the most infuriating thing in the world?" Pansy commented, standing and carelessly grooming the blondes hair.
Draco's face snapped up, pinning his stare on her. "Do not touch me," he growled, a warning flash of amber playing at the silver in his eyes.
"But your hair looks God awful!" Pansy huffed, sitting back down.
"His hair looks fine, Pansy. Leave him alone." Hermione muttered, burying her face in her hands on the table.
Pansy huffed again, blurring before jumping down and beckoning to Crookshanks, who wriggled from Draco's grasp and pelted after the calico.
"Alright, Granger?" Draco murmured, his foot resting against the support of the stool, his knee bouncing almost anxiously.
"Fine, Malfoy, fine." She hissed, drawing her face from her hands to stare at the piles of paper in front of her. "I just have to finish these."
"You can take a break, you know?"
"I need these in by the day after Christmas and I still haven't finished them!" She snapped.
"Mind if I take a look? A fresh outlook might help." He offered, setting his coffee cup on the counter behind him and hopping off the stool.
"I...guess. Take a look at this one," She thrust a handful of papers toward him, and he took them, sitting down across from her.
There were several moments of silence, the only noise the shuffling of papers, until he spoke. "I see what the problem is." He set the papers on the table. "The translation is completely off." He snatched her pen from beside her, and quickly started writing. "Runes are difficult to translate, espescially if it's a non-magical being writing them. But from my perspective..." He drew off, and shoved the paper back to her. "The Vampire's just want their own territory. To be protected instead of hunted."
She stared at his elegant writing, and then at him. "That makes sense, actually. Merlin...thanks, Malfoy. I didn't know you knew so much about runes."
"You aren't the only one who took Ancient Runes in Hogwarts, Granger."
She just rolled her eyes, and sorted through the papers again. "It makes a lot of sense. The Forest is filled with Acromantulas, Centaurs and Vampires, and they can't each have enough territory... and with more and more Vampire's fleeing from the Wizarding society each day for refuge in the forest..."
"It's because of those stupid idiots from the Ministry who want them all dead." He muttered. "I've been reading about it for weeks now. The Protection and Regulation of Magical Creatures department is split, isn't it? Some want them dead and, or, regulation, but other's like you want to protect them."
"For someone who doesn't work in the Ministry, that is highly accurate. Florence and their little group who want them dead or at least regulated keep trying to get the Ministry to rid of all half-breeds, like Vampires, Centaurs and Werewolves. We keep trying to overthrow them, but it's a futile battle now, it seems!"
"If given the essential needs to keep the blood-hungry and animalistic needs down, then Werewolves and Vampire's are harmless! The Ministry is looking at this from the completely wrong direction!" Draco hissed, and once again she saw that amber flicker in the silver of his eyes.
"That's exactly my point, but do they listen? No, because they are the Ministry, and they can't seem to realize how to use common sense. Wolfsbane and other potions like it are riddiculusly difficult to brew and most people, Werewolves and Vampires, can't afford to brew it. Because the ingridients are so expensive, and that they cannot find a job, due to the fact that sooner or later their co-workers catch on to what they are. But if the Ministry just..."
She took a deep breath, setting the papers back down. "Sorry. Sorry...thank you for translating those runes so quickly, Draco." She nodded, then blinked. She hadn't meant to call him by his first name, but recently it had become a habit.
"Of course. If you need more input, I can always help. I don't mind."
She gave a small smile. "Right. Thanks. Don't forget we are leaving at three." She swept up her papers, and headed for the door and up the stairs.
Draco, after much nit-picky by Pansy and a fueled debate between Hermione and Pansy, wore a dark, Slytherin green sweater and black slacks, although his sweater was covered by his jacket. He leaned against the banister, waiting impatiently for Hermione and Pansy.
Then, there was a flurry of footsteps as Pansy hurried down the stairs, dressed in a knee-length light peach dressed, which looked so out of place on the dark-haired girl, but nonetheless she looked pretty. "Hermione is coming in a second. She's finishing her stupid Ministry report."
"Coming, I'm coming! Sorry!" Hermione quickly ran down the spiraled stairs, dressed simply in washed out jeans and a black coldshoulder shirt, her hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She snatched her jacket and headed for the kitchen.
"I thought we were Apparating?" Draco asked, following her.
"His Floo is fixed." She stepped inside of the fireplace, nodding to Pansy and Draco. "See you there. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!"
Draco flinched as the fire screeched and roared, before the poison green flames swallowed her whole. "Right. After you, Pansy."
Pansy hopped gracefully into the fireplace, powder in hand. "Are you going to be alright, Draco?" She murmured, mint green eyes glittering with concern, and sand slowly slipping between her fingers.
"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" He hissed, bemused.
She just frowned. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," she murmured, and vanished in a flash of smoke and flames.
Draco stepping into the fireplace, hesitating as Crookshanks trotted into the kitchen. "Sorry, buddy, I don't mean to scare you. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," he whispered, his heightened senses filled with the roaring of fire and suffocating taste and scent of smoke. Before he knew it, he was dropped straight into another fireplace, and he staggered out, straightening quickly.
The Weasleys and several others, including Hermione and Pansy turned to see him. "No," George gave a harsh, humorless laugh. "No. Not him. Anyone but him."
