Don't ask why im doing this. This is yet another result of my boredom, not
to mention I like doing HP muhahaha I still don't feel like updating my
lotr fic broken so readers of that story will have to be patient with me
hehe. Anyway, care to check out any of my other Harry potter fics? I have a
one chapter cute fic called Do I dare?
Anyway, hope u enjoy this. Keep in mind, this fic is only going to be 2 or 3 chapters and that is about it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ summary: Draco Malfoy takes his time to observe Hermoine Granger. His thoughts waver and bring him to a very thoughtful examination of the Gryffindor prefect. Then in a moment of weakness, will Draco let Hermione help him? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tainted Dragon...
His cold, steely gaze lingered over the glittering plate which was heaped with all that was comestible. His long, slender fingers played idly with the silver fork, his other hand supporting his chin. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table in the Great hall attempting to eat his dinner. But the food went untouched as his ice-like eyes dilated and unfocused. He wasn't all that hungry, the boy noticed as he looked down at his plate. He had a quiditch game the day after, and was not looking forward to it. Quiditch lost most of it's splendor over the years in Hogwarts when his arch rival kept leaving the field the hero. Saint Potter, he spat in his mind, his eyes darkening to a dangerous shade.
"Always has to be famous Harry Potter..." He muttered under his breath, slamming his fork down onto the table with a loud slam. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, looked up from their plates, an array of crumbs fitting like mustaches across their bulky faces. Draco snorted in disgust and looked away. What pigs, he thought to himself dazedly. The slytherins gaze shifted away from his bodyguards to meet the eyes of a pug-like girl who sat on his other side. She was staring at him quite fondly, much to his horror. Pansy Parkinson continued chatting away to the other students who sat across from her, but her eyes kept going back to him. Looking away with an expression that was akin to being petrified, Draco shifted slowly across the bench. He was in no mood for silly little woman like her with their rather grotesque fancying for him. No mood what's so ever. Pushing the cooling plate away from his sight, his fingers came up to his frame his pointed face. Maybe I should just skip the game tomorrow, he thought to himself.
"Then I won't have to deal with that stupid git, Potter." Draco reminded leisurely. Picking up his goblet, he raised it to the light, watching the way the rays bounced off the walls like magic. He was already in his seventh year. What was he to do with himself once Hogwarts was behind him? Was he to follow in his fathers footsteps? Yes, that would surely please him, he whispered in his mind darkly. Bring down the goblet, he gently tilted it to once side and watched as the crimson liquid poured into his mash potatoes. It was the color of blood. It looked like the blood he would have to spill if following in the ominous path of his bloodline. There was already a shadowy cloak that would give him the form of a death eater, waiting sinisterly in his closet back at Malfoy manor. He could almost remember the way the fabric felt beneath his fingertips when first receiving it, when he traveled back home for the summer after fifth year. He would have those filthy mudblood's and muggles at his mercy whence he join in the righteous circle of Lord Voldemort.
"I'll have that, Potter, on his knees begging me to kill him..." He thought to himself gleefully. Of course, the killing part will be for the dark lord himself. No one, not even his father whom was one of Voldemorts most loyal servants, could carry out the death of the great Harry Potter. That was for the one who had been defeated by a mere baby, having only given the child the scar that made him most famous. Even now, Draco secretly laughed. How was it indeed that his future master was defeated by a baby? It was so preposterous that it was amusing. His gaze lifted from the table which he had been mutely staring at. He could spot the mop of untidy, jet black hair from where he sat. The one who held his eternal hate sat at the Gryffindor table, his startlingly green eyes on the red head who sat across from him.
"Just like, Potter, to make friends with mudblood's and paupers." Draco sneered to his two cronies. Crabbe and Goyle grunted with laughter, still stuffing themselves with handfuls of meat and forkfuls of potatoes. He always wondered why the celebrity made such a fool of himself and accepted friends like that. He could remember that day on the train in his first day when Potter refused his hand of friendship. No one turned down Draco Malfoy. No one turns away from Draco Malfoy. But that day when it happened, it was a slap in the face. No one dared defy him. But alas, almost seven years later and he was still battling the ones who stood defiant against him. But in the end, I will win. I always win, he said to himself. Who would choose that poor excuse of a wizard, Weasley? Scowling, he moved his eyes from the annoying red head to the female who sat next to him. Draco's cold eyes darkened unimaginably, wreaths of fire surrounding each iris of his orbs.
Her... The mudblood...
"Filthy, dirty blooded Granger..." He whispered ominously aloud. The slytherin boy watched as she seemed to be scolding Weasley. She kept putting her hands to her hips in a very bossy way, and her wild mass of curls seemed to swallow the air around her head. A deep glare crumpled onto his tight lips, making the young boy look uncannily like his father. The fingers framing his face whilst he stared upon her deepened and his nails gently indented into his soft skin. If he hated someone more then Harry Potter, then it would have to be her. It was people like her that soiled a good wizarding school. It was people like her that defied Salazar Slytherin. But, it was also people like her he would enjoy wasting once he joined along with his fathers circle.
Draco silently wondered what the troublesome trio would do after graduating Hogwarts. His own life was already mapped out for him. But what about people like the great Potter? Would he grow to become the next Albus Dumbledore? Would he grow to become the defeater of Lord Voldemort once more? Draco knew he would have received a nasty punishment for thinking things like that. He could not help but feel slightly challenged. His fire wreathed eyes fell on Hermoine again. She was arguing with Ron, telling him to be quiet about quiditch and focus on studying.
"Hear, hear." He muttered under his breath as his thoughts went to the game that was the day after. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor and he was not sure if he could bear leaving the field as the loser again. He could scarcely remember when the last time he had actually been the one to catch the snitch and bring sweet victory to his teammates. Draco found it quite unnerving that he almost forgot what the feel of the cool metal of the snitch felt like on his fingertips. Draco's nostalgia passed as a snort came from somewhere beside him.
Turing to his side, he looked to see Pansy Parkinson also staring in the direction of the Mudblood. Following her eyes, he gave Hermione a once over. She was sitting quite straight on the bench of the table. Her black robes were cleanly pressed and fit her form like all the other girls of her house. Her tidiness was slightly edgy, her neatness reminding him of him self. It anything was supposed to be disgusting and untidy, it was the red head weasel who sat closely next to her. How anyone could look like that and leave his chambers, he wondered to himself in bewilderment. With an approving smirk, he looked to a clean spoon on the table that mirrored his reflection. His slick back, platinum blond hair was nestled perfectly in place and behind his ears. His own school robes were freshly ironed and was scented in the best cologne money could buy. Pansy seemed to notice him again because she turned and smiled dreamily at him.
"Honestly, Draco. Can you believe that Weasley actually goes about looking like that?" She asked, perking herself closer to her fellow student. Smirking devilishly, he looked to his reflection again and flashed a smile. Glimmering, perfect teeth stared back at him. Then looking to Pansy, who sighed as she took him in, he finally replied.
"He's an embarrassment to be called a wizard. A disgrace, that one is." He said, giving a pointed glare in Ron's direction. Smiling gleefully, she then said to him.
"And bookworm Granger is no better... A filthy prat, she is." Pansy hissed, her pug like nose wrinkling and making her look more like a dog. Draco's sneer deepened as he glanced back at the Gryffindor table. The trio was chatting quietly to each other like the best mates they were. At that thought, he scowled. He himself had never really had friends. He really couldn't call Crabbe and Goyle his friends at all. They were more like servants to him. They were his shields in the danger. But no, how could he at all be jealous? There was nothing to lose or gain from having friendship. Nothing at all. He didn't need anyone anyway. He was alone, and he would always be alone. But the icy cold realization did nothing to taint the deeply thinking slytherin. His father has taught him that friendship and love was folly. It only bought a sinister weakness that was inescapable. Draco never liked to be weak. It made him feel uncertain and vulnerable.
But if he was to become powerful and become the next Lucius Malfoy, then he could not be weak. He could not be the lost, afraid little boy that still laid buried deep within him. That lost little soul was caressed by the baneful winds of portentous and ill-fated emotions. He was indeed lost, somewhere in his being. But Draco found that he rather not find it again. That would not do. He was brought up not to. The Slytherin prefect did all he could not to push her away. Pansy was still speaking flippantly, her eyes running unabashedly over him. What am I? Some sort of trophy? He wondered to himself irritably with sordid taste. Attempting to ignore the bothersome and rather contentious female, he let his gaze waver idly around the great hall. Christmas was almost there but it bought no elation to him. What was there really to look forward to on Christmas? Presents? It was certainly not spending time with his family and merrily celebrate the holiday together. The image of him and his family actually together like a real family made him give a comical snort. The image was too funny. It was funny because it was so abnormal, so absurd.
Some called it abnormal to have such a hard, complex relationship with his mother and father. But to Draco, it was regular. It was indeed normal. He would not know what it was like to have a mother and father actually care about him. Why did they have him in the first place? No, it was not because Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wanted to start a family and have a child to love and care about. It was because he was to continue to manifest evil and horror to those too weak to understand power once his father passed on. He was there to carry on with the line. To carry on with Voldemorts noble work. He had learned to accept this. He had no choice, really.
Draco looked at the seasonal decoration of the massive hall, his dark eyes glimmering in the dim lights.
"Honestly, Ron! Don't speak with your mouthful! It's positively disgusting!" He heard a voice shriek. Falling back into reality, he once more looked to the Gryffindor table. There she was again. The mudblood... She was yelling at the weasel like she owned him. A dark menacing smirk suddenly filled the contours of his face. Maybe she did own him, he said to himself quietly with a snort of un malfoy-like laughter. He watched as Ron said something in return, a frown on his face. Don't they ever stop arguing? It is quite annoying, really, he thought silently. Draco then wondered why he was paying so much attention to the trio that day. He turned his head to look away; however, it was a pair of chocolate brown eyes that stopped him. Hermione had glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table and caught his stare.
Draco glared at her as there eyes met, his eyes piercing hers. Her Gryffindor bravery reared its head as she glared back. The two sat at there house tables, glaring at each other while silent insults traveled back and forth in a communion with there eyes. Draco didn't know how long they gazed witheringly at each other but, it must have been long because Ron had turned in his seat from talking with Harry to see what she was staring at. Not only did he have Hermione glaring at him, now he had Ron.
"Oi, Malfoy! What are you staring at!?" Ron bellowed. Draco smirked gleefully to himself. He needed a good insult to make up for his bitter mood that evening. He stood up a few inches from the bench where he sat and spoke back to the redhead.
"I am staring at a filthy mudblood, a pauper, and a scar head!" Draco answered, the sneer growing so wide that his face began to ache. Harry did not look lessened by his comment, but Ron had jumped over his side of the table and started in his direction. Crabbe and Goyle, who after a minute too long of realizing what was happening, had stood up next to Malfoy while balling their bulky hands into fists. The fiery redhead towered over all three of them and even Draco wondered silently, when the Weasely had grown so much.
"You swarmy git! Come on over here and say it to my face!" Ron yelled, making even more heads in the great hall to turn and watch. By now, Harry was on his friend's side, one of his hands resting upon his wand. Hermione had stood from her seat and was slowly approaching, her gaze lingering on the head table where the professors sat. In a swift, graceful movement, Draco jumped over his side of the table so that he was right in front of the trio. In the dark light of the castle, it glimmered on his wealthy black robes, making him look almost like an image of his father. He himself had also grown much over the years. The redhead was only a few inches or so taller.
"Will the both of you just stop it! The professors are going to take points away from our house, Ron." Hermione exclaimed, her hands wringing nervously at the folds of her black robes. The Slytherin turned his attention from the two Gryffindor boys to her. Was that honestly all she cared about? Schoolwork and rules? For someone who had been caught sneaking out to Hagrid's hut in her first year, she sure scolded a lot about breaking rules.
"It's just like you, Granger. You, and your goody-goody prefect ways." He sneered, looking her dead in the eye again. Hermione stalked quite unceremoniously past Harry and Ron who were looking on, and came within a foot of Malfoy. Draco snarled in disgust and took a step away as if looking at the giant squid that lived at the bottom of the Hogwarts Lake.
"Don't come any closer, Granger. Your mudblood germs might make me severely ill."
Ron started but Hermione held up a hand to stay him. She has got guts, he thought to himself. But how really foolish to come and try to face a Malfoy! It was people like them with the dirty blood that should be on their hands and knees kissing his pure blooded feet. Hermione stared back at him, flames glowing in her dark brown eyes. A small taint of blush rushed into her cheeks. Ah, he thought to himself with elation. He had hit a nerve.
"Now see here, Malfoy. It's people like you that make me severely ill." She countered, her hair standing on edge as if an electric shock had run through her. Draco gritted his teeth, the skin of his pale cheeks tightening. His fingers lingered upon the edge of his wand, the urge to use some of the dark magic his father taught him flowing through him. Don't loose yourself, he repeated to himself. Taking yet another step closer, He slightly bowed his head down to be eye on eye with her. In the corner of his sight, he could see Ron and Harry tense.
"You dirty little prat. Say it again. I dare you..." He hissed, his nose brushing against hers in a feathery touch. Hermione took a slight step away so that their faces were not so close anymore. I want you to squirm for me, mudblood, he said to her in his head. She placed defiant hands on her hips and her lips formed a vex expression.
"You. Make. Me. Ill..." She whispered, pronouncing each word like a syllable. Draco knew he was seeing red. The dragon inside of him roared violently with utter ferocity, and he did all he could not to lash out on her. Even he could not physically harm a girl in front of the professors. He would leave that to his trusty wand. Who did she think she was anyway? He was arguing with the Weasel and the scar head! Not the stupid, frizzy haired metal case. He wanted to wave her away dismissively, but she had already kindled the embers of anger inside of him. She had gone too far. No one made a fool of a Malfoy!
"You know, Granger, its too bad the basilisk from the chamber of secrets didn't get you when it had the chance. If I was the serpent, you would be the first on my hit list to get what was coming to you." He said, his brows flexing and tensing. In the corner of the eye, he could see Ron lunge forward with his wand at the ready. Harry was right beside him, his eyes glowering at him fiercely. That's right, defend that little prat, he thought to himself. He heard Pansy from behind him give a great snigger of agreement at what he had said. Before the two wizards could get there fingers around his throat, Draco barked an order to his two cronies
"Crabbe, Goyle!"
The two lugs stepped in front of Draco like a shield, Harry and Ron colliding with the bulky forms. Whilst they fought, trying to utter hexes at each other, he turned back to Hermione who looked as though she was about to faint. Well, this should be grand. He had her alone. He had his prey alone. His eyes ran over her ominously, wondering what he should do to her. He indeed wished that the great basilisk of the chamber of secrets had gotten the dirty mudblood. But alas, she was lucky enough to only be petrified. With grotesque disgust, Draco could distinctly remember when Hermione ran into the great hall after receiving the mandrake antidote. He could remember the impossibly enormous grins that spread not only upon Harry and Ron's face, but also hers. Grins. Relieved grins. Grins of love. It was smiles like that, which made him sick. It made him sick because he himself had never been able to grin like that. It was impossible for him to smile out of pure happiness and love.
Hermione sensed his strong, piercing gaze on her and turned to face him. As she turned, her springy, dark curls flew about in her face. Pulling the weapon that was held near his waist like a sword, he brought it up near his chest, as if he was ready to duel.
"Well, Granger, it looks like it's only you and me..." Draco said snidely. Her brown eyes turned to stone and she gave a glare of hatred. Here were two people that held such a dislike for one another. You could almost feel it in the air like a thick, hovering cloud.
"Leave this to me, Draco." Said a voice. Both he and Hermione turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing next to the Slytherin table, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a wand at the girl Gryffindor. Her pug-like nose was wrinkled in distaste as she looked upon whom he was facing. Pansy held herself in a very confidant manner, her nose held high and her chest puffed out. It made her look like a pigeon with a dog face. Give her a dark cloak and she would make a perfect Death eater. He would not be too surprised to find an image of the dark mark on her forearm.
"Yes, it would give me pleasure to take out this vile witch." Pansy paraded on, Draco rolling his eyes and running a hand through his silver hair. Hermione however, was steaming. What was it that made Slytherins hate muggle-borns so much? Who had started that loathing and plotted it down in there children? The house of the colors Green and silver was for people who were determined and cunning. But was there not also the evil that put certain beings in that house? Voldemort himself had been in that house. Hermione thought all of this to herself before speaking.
"With a dog face likes yours, Pansy, I'm surprised Malfoy isn't pulling you along on a leash. It is a muggle saying, that dogs are a man's best friend." Hermione countered. Both Pansy and Draco went completely silently for a moment, both surprised at what she said. It was usually Ron or Harry who stuck up for her. The dragon of Slytherin had to admit that she had wit. Meanwhile, a dark, scarlet blush arose in Pansy's cheeks. Her fists were shaking and the wand had fallen clumsily out of her hand. Draco would have started laughing at her expression had she not been on his side. She stomped an angry foot, a growl coming deep from her throat. She looked as though she was about to attack like an angry Threstal. Ron and Harry, who were fighting to get Crabbe and Goyle away from them had obviously heard their friends comment and had started to snigger under their breaths.
"You will pay for this, you sordid, foul-!" Pansy started, but was stopped by a voice that made that all freeze.
"That is quite enough Miss Parkinson!!"
All heads turned to see Professor McGonagall standing but a few feet away from the group, her eyes ablaze. All who were near her cowered in fear. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. Draco quickly placed his wand in his robe pocket and put on the falsest, most innocent look he could muster. Harry and Ron quickly stepped away from Crabbe and Goyle, all four of them hiding their wands behind their backs like thieves with big bags of stolen money. Pansy huffed and looked away; her face still flushed red from anger.
"For students in their seventh years, I have never seen more childish boys and girls. You are setting a most disappointing example for your younger house mates! Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!" The Transfiguration teacher scolded, her body rigid. Hermione looked down at her feet, tears welling in her eyes. Draco watched as she fingered the prefect badge on her chest. The professor looked pointedly at each and every one of them; her eyes burning in narrow slits with a look that would make even Voldemort run away into the forbidden forest crying. Ron threw a murderous look in Draco's direction but did not say anything. No one dared to speak in the way of Minerva McGonagall's wrath.
"Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell." He could hear Ron keep muttering under his breath.
If any of you put another toe out of line, you shall receive detention," She bellowed, her voice slightly shaking. Then with that, she turned away to leave the great hall, knowing her students would not dare disobey her. But before she left she turned to Hermione who looked as though she wanted to burst into tears of shame.
"I would have expected better from you, Miss Granger..." She said softly. Hermione nodded and looked to the ground, and whispered,
"I'm sorry, Professor." She murmured, clenching her trembling hands. McGonagall nodded slowly and then turned to leave. Draco stared after the teacher before looking back to his enemies. Harry was standing quietly next to Ron, who draped a friendly, comforting arm around Hermione's shoulder. A smirk came over his cold lips as he watched tears run down the contours of her face. That's right, cry mudblood, cry... Her sweet tears urged on the tinted glee that filled him. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to cry those dirty tears. Licking his lips as he watched her, hungry from the shame that radiated from her, he put a victorious hand to his waist. He had won. Her tears were his victory. Such a spicy victory that he could almost taste it.
"Who could expect anything better from a stupid mudblood like you?" He piped up. Harry glared and stepped in front of his two friends. Crabbe and Goyle stood like fat statues next to Draco.
"You Dodgy git!" Ron yelled. Hermione was looking at him with an unreadable expression while she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She reminded him of a little girl who had just received a scolding after breaking something. She reminded him of himself as a little boy. He thought back to a certain memory when he was but a toddler. A memory that went everywhere with him. A memory of him taking a walk with his father and mother in a rainstorm. His father was holding a large umbrella over their heads; Draco's little form clinging to his mother's large fur coat. He had then slipped and fell in a large puddle, his expense clothes soaked. Little Draco had begun to cry because he cut his knee and was shivering from the howling wind.
"Daddy, Mummy!" He had wailed, tears falling down his cheeks. Lucius turned around, noticing his son sitting upon the ground. He arched an eyebrow, his lips pursing together tightly. The tall Malfoy gripped his serpent headed staff tightly.
"It seems that you have ruined your new clothes, Draco..." He spoke, his voice tinted with something that was akin to shame or pity. Little Draco clutched his throbbing knee, sniffling whilst rain ran down through his silver hair and down his forehead. Narcissa went to go help him up from the ground but Lucius stayed her with his hand.
"Daddy, I hurted my knee. Can you help me?" He asked. Lucius stood there, holding the umbrella over himself and his wife, and made no sign to move. Draco lifted his small, little arms up, wanting his parents to help him from the ground. He needed love, he needed tenderness. Anything to assure him that these two people cared for him. His pouty lips trembled from both the pain of his knee and the coldness of the late afternoon. He waited there for his father to come and help him up but they stood there, just watching him.
"Daddy?....." Draco sobbed.
"You ruined your new clothes; now get up so we can get home. Stop crying, it is very childish." Lucius scolded, before turning around and continued to walk down the street. Narcissa stood there for a moment, watching her son cry in the puddle on the ground. She wanted to help her beloved child up. She wanted to hold him close, wrap him in her coat, and tell him that she loved him. She wanted too, she had too. The witch made a move to touch Draco, but stopped as a cold voice barked at her.
"Narcissa!" Lucius barked, hitting the ground with the end of his staff impatiently. Narcissa whimpered in fear and gave one last look to her son before turning to catch up with her husband. Draco looked after his parents, fresh tears welling in his blurry eyes. His short arms dropped back down to their sides, his cut knee forgotten. The toddler's sobs filled the street, echoes of the loss of love and care.
Draco's memory ended, his eyes still clouded with anew pain. It was his father who made him what he was today. He had been taught not to care, not to love, not to even feel. Pain was something he should not be feeling. There was only coldness, an eternal darkness. He snapped back to reality as he realized that the trio still stood there watching him. Waiting for him to shoot his wit at them. But nothing came. He wanted out. He wanted to get out of there. He needed to rekindle the ice in his eyes. He needed to rebuild the everlasting stone around his heart. He needed to not feel. That's what made him a Malfoy.
Meanwhile, Hermione had watched as his eyes glazed over in thought. She was waiting. Ron had just insulted him and Malfoy seemed to be taking an awful long time to be thinking of an insult to come up with. She still could not believe what had happened. She had nearly cost herself her prefect badge. Shame filled her heart once more, the only comfort she found was her two best friends who stood next to her propping the boy of Slytherin. But, he just stood there, his pale face frozen. He had seemed utmost happy when she began to cry, but now there was something clouded in his piercing eyes. It was something she could not cope with nor understand. It was something she had never before seen in his eyes. It was pain... The thought of him possibly hurting inside had never really come to her mind. She thought there was only evil in him. Hermione had never thought of the possibility that there might be a thick layer of pain buried deep within his being.
It took only a moment later that he seemed to remember where he was. His thawed eyes were freezing over again with hatred as he looked over them, his gaze lingering upon her. Then without an answer, he turned to leave. Ron saw this with bewilderment, and stepped forward.
"Your barmy, if you think that I'm just going to let you walk out of here, you bloody ferret!" Ron yelled, pointing a finger at him. Laughter filled the great hall, memories of when the supposed Mad Eye Moody had turned him into a great, big ferret. But still, Draco walked without looking back toward the entrance of the great hall. Hermione silently watched him go, wondering why she was not laughing like all the rest of them. It should have been funny. It should have been mirthful to see her sworn enemy receive an insult. But somehow, it just was not. There was something by the way he walked that almost frightened her. Draco usually strutted about, his shoulder and nose held high as if he were some king. But now he walked slowly, his shoulders almost hunched. Sympathy filled her heart as she watched him disappear down the corridors of Hogwarts.
What was she thinking? She was not supposed to be feeling anywhere near sorry for him. But she could not help it. It was something she could not stop. The laughter slowly died down, and the three of them went back to there table to sit down. Harry and Ron were chatting excitingly about what had happened but she remained silent. That was real pain that she saw in his eyes. Such a pain, it was so vivid. It was somewhat akin to the pain she usually saw in Harry's eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes went back to the entrance of the great hall where only minutes ago Draco had left through. The silver haired dragon had taunted and made fun of her, even threatened her, but she still felt pity. It was like a prickling in the back of her neck. Very uncertain and uncomfortable, she noticed.
Picking at the cold food on her plate, her thoughts swirling in a tangled vortex in her mind, Hermione let her gaze rest on where Draco usually sat at the Slytherin table. He was certainly a mystery, she knew that. But what was that mystery? She suddenly felt like a detective who was just itching to know about something private. But it would have to wait. She suddenly had the feeling that these thoughts might lead her to places she should not be going. Drawing out a book from her bag, she buried her nose in its massive pages, needing to diminish the thought of the boy with the silver blond hair and the pain she saw in his eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
a/n: Well, I hope u liked that first chapter!!!! R&R!!!
Anyway, hope u enjoy this. Keep in mind, this fic is only going to be 2 or 3 chapters and that is about it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ summary: Draco Malfoy takes his time to observe Hermoine Granger. His thoughts waver and bring him to a very thoughtful examination of the Gryffindor prefect. Then in a moment of weakness, will Draco let Hermione help him? ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Tainted Dragon...
His cold, steely gaze lingered over the glittering plate which was heaped with all that was comestible. His long, slender fingers played idly with the silver fork, his other hand supporting his chin. Draco Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table in the Great hall attempting to eat his dinner. But the food went untouched as his ice-like eyes dilated and unfocused. He wasn't all that hungry, the boy noticed as he looked down at his plate. He had a quiditch game the day after, and was not looking forward to it. Quiditch lost most of it's splendor over the years in Hogwarts when his arch rival kept leaving the field the hero. Saint Potter, he spat in his mind, his eyes darkening to a dangerous shade.
"Always has to be famous Harry Potter..." He muttered under his breath, slamming his fork down onto the table with a loud slam. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, looked up from their plates, an array of crumbs fitting like mustaches across their bulky faces. Draco snorted in disgust and looked away. What pigs, he thought to himself dazedly. The slytherins gaze shifted away from his bodyguards to meet the eyes of a pug-like girl who sat on his other side. She was staring at him quite fondly, much to his horror. Pansy Parkinson continued chatting away to the other students who sat across from her, but her eyes kept going back to him. Looking away with an expression that was akin to being petrified, Draco shifted slowly across the bench. He was in no mood for silly little woman like her with their rather grotesque fancying for him. No mood what's so ever. Pushing the cooling plate away from his sight, his fingers came up to his frame his pointed face. Maybe I should just skip the game tomorrow, he thought to himself.
"Then I won't have to deal with that stupid git, Potter." Draco reminded leisurely. Picking up his goblet, he raised it to the light, watching the way the rays bounced off the walls like magic. He was already in his seventh year. What was he to do with himself once Hogwarts was behind him? Was he to follow in his fathers footsteps? Yes, that would surely please him, he whispered in his mind darkly. Bring down the goblet, he gently tilted it to once side and watched as the crimson liquid poured into his mash potatoes. It was the color of blood. It looked like the blood he would have to spill if following in the ominous path of his bloodline. There was already a shadowy cloak that would give him the form of a death eater, waiting sinisterly in his closet back at Malfoy manor. He could almost remember the way the fabric felt beneath his fingertips when first receiving it, when he traveled back home for the summer after fifth year. He would have those filthy mudblood's and muggles at his mercy whence he join in the righteous circle of Lord Voldemort.
"I'll have that, Potter, on his knees begging me to kill him..." He thought to himself gleefully. Of course, the killing part will be for the dark lord himself. No one, not even his father whom was one of Voldemorts most loyal servants, could carry out the death of the great Harry Potter. That was for the one who had been defeated by a mere baby, having only given the child the scar that made him most famous. Even now, Draco secretly laughed. How was it indeed that his future master was defeated by a baby? It was so preposterous that it was amusing. His gaze lifted from the table which he had been mutely staring at. He could spot the mop of untidy, jet black hair from where he sat. The one who held his eternal hate sat at the Gryffindor table, his startlingly green eyes on the red head who sat across from him.
"Just like, Potter, to make friends with mudblood's and paupers." Draco sneered to his two cronies. Crabbe and Goyle grunted with laughter, still stuffing themselves with handfuls of meat and forkfuls of potatoes. He always wondered why the celebrity made such a fool of himself and accepted friends like that. He could remember that day on the train in his first day when Potter refused his hand of friendship. No one turned down Draco Malfoy. No one turns away from Draco Malfoy. But that day when it happened, it was a slap in the face. No one dared defy him. But alas, almost seven years later and he was still battling the ones who stood defiant against him. But in the end, I will win. I always win, he said to himself. Who would choose that poor excuse of a wizard, Weasley? Scowling, he moved his eyes from the annoying red head to the female who sat next to him. Draco's cold eyes darkened unimaginably, wreaths of fire surrounding each iris of his orbs.
Her... The mudblood...
"Filthy, dirty blooded Granger..." He whispered ominously aloud. The slytherin boy watched as she seemed to be scolding Weasley. She kept putting her hands to her hips in a very bossy way, and her wild mass of curls seemed to swallow the air around her head. A deep glare crumpled onto his tight lips, making the young boy look uncannily like his father. The fingers framing his face whilst he stared upon her deepened and his nails gently indented into his soft skin. If he hated someone more then Harry Potter, then it would have to be her. It was people like her that soiled a good wizarding school. It was people like her that defied Salazar Slytherin. But, it was also people like her he would enjoy wasting once he joined along with his fathers circle.
Draco silently wondered what the troublesome trio would do after graduating Hogwarts. His own life was already mapped out for him. But what about people like the great Potter? Would he grow to become the next Albus Dumbledore? Would he grow to become the defeater of Lord Voldemort once more? Draco knew he would have received a nasty punishment for thinking things like that. He could not help but feel slightly challenged. His fire wreathed eyes fell on Hermoine again. She was arguing with Ron, telling him to be quiet about quiditch and focus on studying.
"Hear, hear." He muttered under his breath as his thoughts went to the game that was the day after. Slytherin was playing Gryffindor and he was not sure if he could bear leaving the field as the loser again. He could scarcely remember when the last time he had actually been the one to catch the snitch and bring sweet victory to his teammates. Draco found it quite unnerving that he almost forgot what the feel of the cool metal of the snitch felt like on his fingertips. Draco's nostalgia passed as a snort came from somewhere beside him.
Turing to his side, he looked to see Pansy Parkinson also staring in the direction of the Mudblood. Following her eyes, he gave Hermione a once over. She was sitting quite straight on the bench of the table. Her black robes were cleanly pressed and fit her form like all the other girls of her house. Her tidiness was slightly edgy, her neatness reminding him of him self. It anything was supposed to be disgusting and untidy, it was the red head weasel who sat closely next to her. How anyone could look like that and leave his chambers, he wondered to himself in bewilderment. With an approving smirk, he looked to a clean spoon on the table that mirrored his reflection. His slick back, platinum blond hair was nestled perfectly in place and behind his ears. His own school robes were freshly ironed and was scented in the best cologne money could buy. Pansy seemed to notice him again because she turned and smiled dreamily at him.
"Honestly, Draco. Can you believe that Weasley actually goes about looking like that?" She asked, perking herself closer to her fellow student. Smirking devilishly, he looked to his reflection again and flashed a smile. Glimmering, perfect teeth stared back at him. Then looking to Pansy, who sighed as she took him in, he finally replied.
"He's an embarrassment to be called a wizard. A disgrace, that one is." He said, giving a pointed glare in Ron's direction. Smiling gleefully, she then said to him.
"And bookworm Granger is no better... A filthy prat, she is." Pansy hissed, her pug like nose wrinkling and making her look more like a dog. Draco's sneer deepened as he glanced back at the Gryffindor table. The trio was chatting quietly to each other like the best mates they were. At that thought, he scowled. He himself had never really had friends. He really couldn't call Crabbe and Goyle his friends at all. They were more like servants to him. They were his shields in the danger. But no, how could he at all be jealous? There was nothing to lose or gain from having friendship. Nothing at all. He didn't need anyone anyway. He was alone, and he would always be alone. But the icy cold realization did nothing to taint the deeply thinking slytherin. His father has taught him that friendship and love was folly. It only bought a sinister weakness that was inescapable. Draco never liked to be weak. It made him feel uncertain and vulnerable.
But if he was to become powerful and become the next Lucius Malfoy, then he could not be weak. He could not be the lost, afraid little boy that still laid buried deep within him. That lost little soul was caressed by the baneful winds of portentous and ill-fated emotions. He was indeed lost, somewhere in his being. But Draco found that he rather not find it again. That would not do. He was brought up not to. The Slytherin prefect did all he could not to push her away. Pansy was still speaking flippantly, her eyes running unabashedly over him. What am I? Some sort of trophy? He wondered to himself irritably with sordid taste. Attempting to ignore the bothersome and rather contentious female, he let his gaze waver idly around the great hall. Christmas was almost there but it bought no elation to him. What was there really to look forward to on Christmas? Presents? It was certainly not spending time with his family and merrily celebrate the holiday together. The image of him and his family actually together like a real family made him give a comical snort. The image was too funny. It was funny because it was so abnormal, so absurd.
Some called it abnormal to have such a hard, complex relationship with his mother and father. But to Draco, it was regular. It was indeed normal. He would not know what it was like to have a mother and father actually care about him. Why did they have him in the first place? No, it was not because Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy wanted to start a family and have a child to love and care about. It was because he was to continue to manifest evil and horror to those too weak to understand power once his father passed on. He was there to carry on with the line. To carry on with Voldemorts noble work. He had learned to accept this. He had no choice, really.
Draco looked at the seasonal decoration of the massive hall, his dark eyes glimmering in the dim lights.
"Honestly, Ron! Don't speak with your mouthful! It's positively disgusting!" He heard a voice shriek. Falling back into reality, he once more looked to the Gryffindor table. There she was again. The mudblood... She was yelling at the weasel like she owned him. A dark menacing smirk suddenly filled the contours of his face. Maybe she did own him, he said to himself quietly with a snort of un malfoy-like laughter. He watched as Ron said something in return, a frown on his face. Don't they ever stop arguing? It is quite annoying, really, he thought silently. Draco then wondered why he was paying so much attention to the trio that day. He turned his head to look away; however, it was a pair of chocolate brown eyes that stopped him. Hermione had glanced in the direction of the Slytherin table and caught his stare.
Draco glared at her as there eyes met, his eyes piercing hers. Her Gryffindor bravery reared its head as she glared back. The two sat at there house tables, glaring at each other while silent insults traveled back and forth in a communion with there eyes. Draco didn't know how long they gazed witheringly at each other but, it must have been long because Ron had turned in his seat from talking with Harry to see what she was staring at. Not only did he have Hermione glaring at him, now he had Ron.
"Oi, Malfoy! What are you staring at!?" Ron bellowed. Draco smirked gleefully to himself. He needed a good insult to make up for his bitter mood that evening. He stood up a few inches from the bench where he sat and spoke back to the redhead.
"I am staring at a filthy mudblood, a pauper, and a scar head!" Draco answered, the sneer growing so wide that his face began to ache. Harry did not look lessened by his comment, but Ron had jumped over his side of the table and started in his direction. Crabbe and Goyle, who after a minute too long of realizing what was happening, had stood up next to Malfoy while balling their bulky hands into fists. The fiery redhead towered over all three of them and even Draco wondered silently, when the Weasely had grown so much.
"You swarmy git! Come on over here and say it to my face!" Ron yelled, making even more heads in the great hall to turn and watch. By now, Harry was on his friend's side, one of his hands resting upon his wand. Hermione had stood from her seat and was slowly approaching, her gaze lingering on the head table where the professors sat. In a swift, graceful movement, Draco jumped over his side of the table so that he was right in front of the trio. In the dark light of the castle, it glimmered on his wealthy black robes, making him look almost like an image of his father. He himself had also grown much over the years. The redhead was only a few inches or so taller.
"Will the both of you just stop it! The professors are going to take points away from our house, Ron." Hermione exclaimed, her hands wringing nervously at the folds of her black robes. The Slytherin turned his attention from the two Gryffindor boys to her. Was that honestly all she cared about? Schoolwork and rules? For someone who had been caught sneaking out to Hagrid's hut in her first year, she sure scolded a lot about breaking rules.
"It's just like you, Granger. You, and your goody-goody prefect ways." He sneered, looking her dead in the eye again. Hermione stalked quite unceremoniously past Harry and Ron who were looking on, and came within a foot of Malfoy. Draco snarled in disgust and took a step away as if looking at the giant squid that lived at the bottom of the Hogwarts Lake.
"Don't come any closer, Granger. Your mudblood germs might make me severely ill."
Ron started but Hermione held up a hand to stay him. She has got guts, he thought to himself. But how really foolish to come and try to face a Malfoy! It was people like them with the dirty blood that should be on their hands and knees kissing his pure blooded feet. Hermione stared back at him, flames glowing in her dark brown eyes. A small taint of blush rushed into her cheeks. Ah, he thought to himself with elation. He had hit a nerve.
"Now see here, Malfoy. It's people like you that make me severely ill." She countered, her hair standing on edge as if an electric shock had run through her. Draco gritted his teeth, the skin of his pale cheeks tightening. His fingers lingered upon the edge of his wand, the urge to use some of the dark magic his father taught him flowing through him. Don't loose yourself, he repeated to himself. Taking yet another step closer, He slightly bowed his head down to be eye on eye with her. In the corner of his sight, he could see Ron and Harry tense.
"You dirty little prat. Say it again. I dare you..." He hissed, his nose brushing against hers in a feathery touch. Hermione took a slight step away so that their faces were not so close anymore. I want you to squirm for me, mudblood, he said to her in his head. She placed defiant hands on her hips and her lips formed a vex expression.
"You. Make. Me. Ill..." She whispered, pronouncing each word like a syllable. Draco knew he was seeing red. The dragon inside of him roared violently with utter ferocity, and he did all he could not to lash out on her. Even he could not physically harm a girl in front of the professors. He would leave that to his trusty wand. Who did she think she was anyway? He was arguing with the Weasel and the scar head! Not the stupid, frizzy haired metal case. He wanted to wave her away dismissively, but she had already kindled the embers of anger inside of him. She had gone too far. No one made a fool of a Malfoy!
"You know, Granger, its too bad the basilisk from the chamber of secrets didn't get you when it had the chance. If I was the serpent, you would be the first on my hit list to get what was coming to you." He said, his brows flexing and tensing. In the corner of the eye, he could see Ron lunge forward with his wand at the ready. Harry was right beside him, his eyes glowering at him fiercely. That's right, defend that little prat, he thought to himself. He heard Pansy from behind him give a great snigger of agreement at what he had said. Before the two wizards could get there fingers around his throat, Draco barked an order to his two cronies
"Crabbe, Goyle!"
The two lugs stepped in front of Draco like a shield, Harry and Ron colliding with the bulky forms. Whilst they fought, trying to utter hexes at each other, he turned back to Hermione who looked as though she was about to faint. Well, this should be grand. He had her alone. He had his prey alone. His eyes ran over her ominously, wondering what he should do to her. He indeed wished that the great basilisk of the chamber of secrets had gotten the dirty mudblood. But alas, she was lucky enough to only be petrified. With grotesque disgust, Draco could distinctly remember when Hermione ran into the great hall after receiving the mandrake antidote. He could remember the impossibly enormous grins that spread not only upon Harry and Ron's face, but also hers. Grins. Relieved grins. Grins of love. It was smiles like that, which made him sick. It made him sick because he himself had never been able to grin like that. It was impossible for him to smile out of pure happiness and love.
Hermione sensed his strong, piercing gaze on her and turned to face him. As she turned, her springy, dark curls flew about in her face. Pulling the weapon that was held near his waist like a sword, he brought it up near his chest, as if he was ready to duel.
"Well, Granger, it looks like it's only you and me..." Draco said snidely. Her brown eyes turned to stone and she gave a glare of hatred. Here were two people that held such a dislike for one another. You could almost feel it in the air like a thick, hovering cloud.
"Leave this to me, Draco." Said a voice. Both he and Hermione turned to see Pansy Parkinson standing next to the Slytherin table, one hand on her hip, the other pointing a wand at the girl Gryffindor. Her pug-like nose was wrinkled in distaste as she looked upon whom he was facing. Pansy held herself in a very confidant manner, her nose held high and her chest puffed out. It made her look like a pigeon with a dog face. Give her a dark cloak and she would make a perfect Death eater. He would not be too surprised to find an image of the dark mark on her forearm.
"Yes, it would give me pleasure to take out this vile witch." Pansy paraded on, Draco rolling his eyes and running a hand through his silver hair. Hermione however, was steaming. What was it that made Slytherins hate muggle-borns so much? Who had started that loathing and plotted it down in there children? The house of the colors Green and silver was for people who were determined and cunning. But was there not also the evil that put certain beings in that house? Voldemort himself had been in that house. Hermione thought all of this to herself before speaking.
"With a dog face likes yours, Pansy, I'm surprised Malfoy isn't pulling you along on a leash. It is a muggle saying, that dogs are a man's best friend." Hermione countered. Both Pansy and Draco went completely silently for a moment, both surprised at what she said. It was usually Ron or Harry who stuck up for her. The dragon of Slytherin had to admit that she had wit. Meanwhile, a dark, scarlet blush arose in Pansy's cheeks. Her fists were shaking and the wand had fallen clumsily out of her hand. Draco would have started laughing at her expression had she not been on his side. She stomped an angry foot, a growl coming deep from her throat. She looked as though she was about to attack like an angry Threstal. Ron and Harry, who were fighting to get Crabbe and Goyle away from them had obviously heard their friends comment and had started to snigger under their breaths.
"You will pay for this, you sordid, foul-!" Pansy started, but was stopped by a voice that made that all freeze.
"That is quite enough Miss Parkinson!!"
All heads turned to see Professor McGonagall standing but a few feet away from the group, her eyes ablaze. All who were near her cowered in fear. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with a hand. Draco quickly placed his wand in his robe pocket and put on the falsest, most innocent look he could muster. Harry and Ron quickly stepped away from Crabbe and Goyle, all four of them hiding their wands behind their backs like thieves with big bags of stolen money. Pansy huffed and looked away; her face still flushed red from anger.
"For students in their seventh years, I have never seen more childish boys and girls. You are setting a most disappointing example for your younger house mates! Ten points from Gryffindor and Slytherin!" The Transfiguration teacher scolded, her body rigid. Hermione looked down at her feet, tears welling in her eyes. Draco watched as she fingered the prefect badge on her chest. The professor looked pointedly at each and every one of them; her eyes burning in narrow slits with a look that would make even Voldemort run away into the forbidden forest crying. Ron threw a murderous look in Draco's direction but did not say anything. No one dared to speak in the way of Minerva McGonagall's wrath.
"Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell." He could hear Ron keep muttering under his breath.
If any of you put another toe out of line, you shall receive detention," She bellowed, her voice slightly shaking. Then with that, she turned away to leave the great hall, knowing her students would not dare disobey her. But before she left she turned to Hermione who looked as though she wanted to burst into tears of shame.
"I would have expected better from you, Miss Granger..." She said softly. Hermione nodded and looked to the ground, and whispered,
"I'm sorry, Professor." She murmured, clenching her trembling hands. McGonagall nodded slowly and then turned to leave. Draco stared after the teacher before looking back to his enemies. Harry was standing quietly next to Ron, who draped a friendly, comforting arm around Hermione's shoulder. A smirk came over his cold lips as he watched tears run down the contours of her face. That's right, cry mudblood, cry... Her sweet tears urged on the tinted glee that filled him. He wanted her to cry. He wanted her to cry those dirty tears. Licking his lips as he watched her, hungry from the shame that radiated from her, he put a victorious hand to his waist. He had won. Her tears were his victory. Such a spicy victory that he could almost taste it.
"Who could expect anything better from a stupid mudblood like you?" He piped up. Harry glared and stepped in front of his two friends. Crabbe and Goyle stood like fat statues next to Draco.
"You Dodgy git!" Ron yelled. Hermione was looking at him with an unreadable expression while she wiped the tears from her cheeks. She reminded him of a little girl who had just received a scolding after breaking something. She reminded him of himself as a little boy. He thought back to a certain memory when he was but a toddler. A memory that went everywhere with him. A memory of him taking a walk with his father and mother in a rainstorm. His father was holding a large umbrella over their heads; Draco's little form clinging to his mother's large fur coat. He had then slipped and fell in a large puddle, his expense clothes soaked. Little Draco had begun to cry because he cut his knee and was shivering from the howling wind.
"Daddy, Mummy!" He had wailed, tears falling down his cheeks. Lucius turned around, noticing his son sitting upon the ground. He arched an eyebrow, his lips pursing together tightly. The tall Malfoy gripped his serpent headed staff tightly.
"It seems that you have ruined your new clothes, Draco..." He spoke, his voice tinted with something that was akin to shame or pity. Little Draco clutched his throbbing knee, sniffling whilst rain ran down through his silver hair and down his forehead. Narcissa went to go help him up from the ground but Lucius stayed her with his hand.
"Daddy, I hurted my knee. Can you help me?" He asked. Lucius stood there, holding the umbrella over himself and his wife, and made no sign to move. Draco lifted his small, little arms up, wanting his parents to help him from the ground. He needed love, he needed tenderness. Anything to assure him that these two people cared for him. His pouty lips trembled from both the pain of his knee and the coldness of the late afternoon. He waited there for his father to come and help him up but they stood there, just watching him.
"Daddy?....." Draco sobbed.
"You ruined your new clothes; now get up so we can get home. Stop crying, it is very childish." Lucius scolded, before turning around and continued to walk down the street. Narcissa stood there for a moment, watching her son cry in the puddle on the ground. She wanted to help her beloved child up. She wanted to hold him close, wrap him in her coat, and tell him that she loved him. She wanted too, she had too. The witch made a move to touch Draco, but stopped as a cold voice barked at her.
"Narcissa!" Lucius barked, hitting the ground with the end of his staff impatiently. Narcissa whimpered in fear and gave one last look to her son before turning to catch up with her husband. Draco looked after his parents, fresh tears welling in his blurry eyes. His short arms dropped back down to their sides, his cut knee forgotten. The toddler's sobs filled the street, echoes of the loss of love and care.
Draco's memory ended, his eyes still clouded with anew pain. It was his father who made him what he was today. He had been taught not to care, not to love, not to even feel. Pain was something he should not be feeling. There was only coldness, an eternal darkness. He snapped back to reality as he realized that the trio still stood there watching him. Waiting for him to shoot his wit at them. But nothing came. He wanted out. He wanted to get out of there. He needed to rekindle the ice in his eyes. He needed to rebuild the everlasting stone around his heart. He needed to not feel. That's what made him a Malfoy.
Meanwhile, Hermione had watched as his eyes glazed over in thought. She was waiting. Ron had just insulted him and Malfoy seemed to be taking an awful long time to be thinking of an insult to come up with. She still could not believe what had happened. She had nearly cost herself her prefect badge. Shame filled her heart once more, the only comfort she found was her two best friends who stood next to her propping the boy of Slytherin. But, he just stood there, his pale face frozen. He had seemed utmost happy when she began to cry, but now there was something clouded in his piercing eyes. It was something she could not cope with nor understand. It was something she had never before seen in his eyes. It was pain... The thought of him possibly hurting inside had never really come to her mind. She thought there was only evil in him. Hermione had never thought of the possibility that there might be a thick layer of pain buried deep within his being.
It took only a moment later that he seemed to remember where he was. His thawed eyes were freezing over again with hatred as he looked over them, his gaze lingering upon her. Then without an answer, he turned to leave. Ron saw this with bewilderment, and stepped forward.
"Your barmy, if you think that I'm just going to let you walk out of here, you bloody ferret!" Ron yelled, pointing a finger at him. Laughter filled the great hall, memories of when the supposed Mad Eye Moody had turned him into a great, big ferret. But still, Draco walked without looking back toward the entrance of the great hall. Hermione silently watched him go, wondering why she was not laughing like all the rest of them. It should have been funny. It should have been mirthful to see her sworn enemy receive an insult. But somehow, it just was not. There was something by the way he walked that almost frightened her. Draco usually strutted about, his shoulder and nose held high as if he were some king. But now he walked slowly, his shoulders almost hunched. Sympathy filled her heart as she watched him disappear down the corridors of Hogwarts.
What was she thinking? She was not supposed to be feeling anywhere near sorry for him. But she could not help it. It was something she could not stop. The laughter slowly died down, and the three of them went back to there table to sit down. Harry and Ron were chatting excitingly about what had happened but she remained silent. That was real pain that she saw in his eyes. Such a pain, it was so vivid. It was somewhat akin to the pain she usually saw in Harry's eyes. Biting down on her bottom lip, her eyes went back to the entrance of the great hall where only minutes ago Draco had left through. The silver haired dragon had taunted and made fun of her, even threatened her, but she still felt pity. It was like a prickling in the back of her neck. Very uncertain and uncomfortable, she noticed.
Picking at the cold food on her plate, her thoughts swirling in a tangled vortex in her mind, Hermione let her gaze rest on where Draco usually sat at the Slytherin table. He was certainly a mystery, she knew that. But what was that mystery? She suddenly felt like a detective who was just itching to know about something private. But it would have to wait. She suddenly had the feeling that these thoughts might lead her to places she should not be going. Drawing out a book from her bag, she buried her nose in its massive pages, needing to diminish the thought of the boy with the silver blond hair and the pain she saw in his eyes.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
a/n: Well, I hope u liked that first chapter!!!! R&R!!!