AN - My next Dramione. Just something I thought up whilst I was bored sitting in one of my Business lessons... Hope you like and I shall see you on the other side where there is a request for you :)
Disclaimer: My name does not have a J, K, W or G...
His Voice
It was his voice that she heard over all others.
His voice that she longed to hear when she was alone with her thoughts.
It was his voice that she loved.
However, it was never always like this...
There was a time when his voice was what she dreaded to hear, even feared it sometimes.
But as the days progressed, she realised there was nothing to fear, he was just a little boy and she could always find a way of getting back at him. She could do magic, and no matter who he was, she knew that she would be better than him. Her muggle heritage had nothing to do with her lack of skills with a wand.
But it was still his voice that taunted her at night when she couldn't sleep.
The holidays, where she wouldn't have to see his face or hear his voice and taunts, were when she could relax. Seeing her family again and being away from magic - which she sometimes thought was a bit too overbearing - she got the chance to forget about little boys and their rude remarks about her.
But this never lasted long. The time with her family would always fly by, although she did always enjoy going back to the magical world after her little break, she never enjoyed having to hear the prejudice and propaganda spewing from his mouth.
After the first time that dreaded word was directed at her, it was all she heard when she was alone. Sometimes it was all she could hear in the rambunctious Great Hall during a meal.
Since that day, every time she would see him, even if he wasn't looking or saying anything to her, she couldn't concentrate because of his voice yelling that word in her head. The word that kept her awake some nights.
It was like a poison. And every time he sneered, threw an insult or two at her, she would not be able to over ride the emotions of hurt and anger running through her veins. The need to hex that smirk off his face was too much when she heard that mocking laugh.
As the months passed, she got used to the tone of superiority in his voice, she got used to the insults that were thrown around as if they belonged. But she still felt anger.
She knew that someday, that voice would get the boy in trouble. That voice would come back and bite him in the arse. And it did. She never told anyone, but she rejoiced as she saw the beautiful creature scrap its talons on his arms, only covered with a thin shirt. Outside she was cool, although she did show fear for what would happen to their beloved professor. But she had studied creatures some and she knew this marring of flesh was not a fatal wound.
She marvelled at the screams of pain coming out of that mouth. She didn't think that voice would be able to create such noises. Having spent two years hearing hateful sneers, it surprised her to think he could feel pain, or at least act as if he may die if he did not get any medical treatment.
It didn't feel right either when she had had her wand pointed at his face. Although the sight had her gleeful knowing she now had the upper hand. It still didn't feel right to hear those whimpers again. The sound of her two friends and the pleading tone in his voice was what pulled her away from the fantasies of marring that beautiful face of his. For it was beautiful, it could not be denied.
But as she turned her back to him and heard his mocking laughter, she knew she couldn't walk away without having shown what she could do. The sound of a broken nose was satisfying, so much so, she disregarded the sound of pain coming from him as he ran away from her.
That was the last time she heard noises like that come from him. For as the years progressed, his voice became deeper and more of a drawl. Before it was just a nuisance and childlike. Now he was starting to sound more like a man. But as he grew up psychically he still remained the child that he once had been. Feeling only hatred for her and her friends.
It wasn't until precisely four years later did she hear pain in his voice again.
Her friend had told her about his furry transformation back in their fourth year. He had told her of their fight in their sixth year, of the pain he must have felt after the spell had hit him that neither knew anything about. He had told her of how his voice had cracked whilst holding a wand at their head master, preparing for the killing curse to come out of him.
And yet, she had not heard any whines, whimpers or sounds of pain coming out of him.
Not until that unfortunate day when they had been captured. When they had been brought to his Manor, his home. Where he had learned all that he had spewed during their shared school days.
Not until the day where she lay on his floor, writhing in pain as his murderous relative pointed a wand at her and cackled in sadistic glee.
How, she did not know, but she heard over her own screams and those of her friends the silent whimpers of the boy who would have once rejoiced seeing her as she was now. Who would have once jumped at the opportunity to treat her with the same 'hospitality' in his own home as his deranged aunt.
But no. She had heard those whimpers before and she knew whom they came from. He was in pain. He was in pain because of her. But this time... the only thing she was doing was screaming, screaming in agony.
At some point, she had found a way and had turned her head and looked right at him. She could see the pain in his eyes, the misery of seeing her on the floor, the heartache he felt for not being able to do anything about it.
It was at that moment that she felt a little assured that had his father not been holding him back, he would have surely done something to save her.
And she had told him so.
After a few years, they had reconciled. Quite by accident, too.
She had been on her way to Diagon Alley when she had heard a voice over at the bar. A voice that she had not heard in many years, but a voice that she knew would never forget.
He seemed to have been begging for more drink, by the looks of things he was already intoxicated but still demanding for more, but in a pleading voice.
Sure, she may not have heard him plead for anything, ever, but that drawl had still been there, the cocky countenance was only visibly there. And it seemed to fade just a bit more as she had taken a bar stool next to him.
She wasn't sure where to begin. They may not have seen each other in years but she had still kept tabs on him. She knew that after the war his life had gone down the drain, after spending a shortened amount of time in Azkaban, he had spent most of his time in his Manor and wasted away much of the family money on alcohol, she presumed, to drown himself in a place where his past misdeeds were no trouble to him.
Just like at that moment, he would come out of that house only to find a bar to drink some more. Many asked why he would come out if he were to do the same activities outside as he would inside. She never knew either, she could only guess.
They had talked, at the bar. After many false starts on her behalf, they had spent some hours just talking. And strangely... she had relished in hearing his voice again. It had been a fair amount of time since she had heard him speak with the same tone of voice, except now it wasn't so filled with hatred towards her. Granted there were times when his voice would be dripping with sarcasm but hers had been no different for her to feel offended in any way.
Days passed. Then months.
They would still meet regularly in that little pub and just talk. Sometimes they wouldn't even do that, just sit in silence enjoying the company.
Often times, he would have been waiting for her for hours before she had arrived but that was only because they had never made these meetings official.
Neither of the two wanted to dwell on the fact that they were slowly going from enemies to acquaintances to friends.
Still, it was some time later when they decided, maybe a pub wasn't the best place to meet. Perhaps a coffee house would be better.
This had been one of her suggestions when she felt they should acknowledge the fact they were regularly meeting. He had not agreed readily, but he had agreed.
It was at a small, quaint teashop where she had heard his musical laughter for the first time. This time, it had not been mocking, but genuine humour had been in his eyes as he had looked at her and joined her in the enjoyment of their small private joke.
That night she had had a dream of strong arms surrounding her, a chest rumbling with laughter as it pressed to her back. A sweet, manly voice as it spoke loving words in her ear.
When she had awoken, she had fidgeted all day until the time had come to see him again. And when she had, there was a smile to greet her as he sat at their regular table with a cup of tea opposite him and his big hands warming as he clutched onto his coffee mug. Waiting for her.
The first thing she did was make him laugh.
She had rejoiced at the sound and vowed that she would never allow him to return to the dead-end man he had once been.
If she could, she would love him for the rest of his days. Because only now did she realise there was a reason why she had come back all those times, unannounced.
Later, she would think back to all the times they had spent together, when they had hated each other. She would think back to the time when she had twisted in pain and agony in his home and seen the look of sorrow and pain of his own in his eyes.
Later, she would realise that was when she had started to believe that this boy had become a man and was human. That he felt what humans should feel.
Half a year passed before anything happened.
She had been careless that day and thought her friends would be over their childhood hatred towards him. She had not thought that perhaps they still thought him to be a danger towards her. She never thought her day would turn out as it had.
She had brought him home, back to her flat to tend to his wounds. Her friends had been forgotten back at the teashop, she was too angry with them for being so despicable.
As she cleaned up the bloody cut on his lip, put ice the bruise that had been starting to form around his eye, she had ranted about how abominable they had been towards him. Between calling her friends every name under the sun, she had apologised profusely to him for their actions. Pressed her opinion on how they were not always like this.
She claimed she had only wanted them to become as close as she was with him. She had thought they had grown out of that kind of childish behaviour when she had brought them with her to the teashop. She had hoped.
Afterwards, he said it was to shut her up. Her lips still tingled some hours later.
She had always wondered and now she knew that his lips were as soft, and as sweet, as his voice when directed towards her.
But the sweetest and softest thing to ever leave his lips, and come out in her favoured part of him, had been those three words.
For once, she had not recognised his voice when he had told her his feelings.
His voice and the emotion had been wonderful and powerful. But to say her name for the first time, her given name... that had been the cherry on the top.
That night she laid on her bed, with strong arms surrounding her, a chest rumbling with laughter as it pressed to her back.A sweet, manly voice as it spoke loving words in her ear.
She had fallen asleep in those arms and had woken in those arms. She had felt his soft supple lips on her neck as he breathed a sweet, sweet sound of good morning to her.
She would never tire of his voice.
AN - I hope you liked that. Let me know what you thought in a review :)