"I am pregnant," she replied coldly. Her harsh stare bore into his, dark black disks. Shock, horror, and of course anger were etched across his face momentarily, as his eyebrows rose high, to form a most disapproving ninety degree angle, reflecting a murderous expression.
His anger ascended every second he heard the soft thuds of her breathing. Thud. Thud. Thud…they tormented him. Thud. Thud.
"When? H-How?" he staggered. She shrugged her shoulders in indifference. A second later, she replied, rather menacingly, "I do not remember. All I know is that a murderer's son is blooming inside of me."
He felt his fingers separate, and whatever force he had applied to hold the thin, gold band from falling, evaporated. The little ring slipped through his fingers and hit the solid floor. For seconds, the only sound echoing the desolate room was that of its collision. He stared at her lips as they whispered murderer. He loathed the word, but he abhorred the men who fit the term even more. For this dastardly girl to relate its vileness to him was…
"AND I CANNOT REMOVE IT FROM ME, YOU REVOLTING MURDERER!" she screeched. He immediately raised his right arm, and within seconds, it struck the moist face. She withdrew a sharp, breath of air. Her carefree façade evolved into an execrator. She cowered from him, her legs collapsing, and her body crashing roughly on the floor.
"Please," she cried, "Kill me, if you so much as dare. Ruin me of the pain that I must endure of the next nine months."
He motioned to his wand, which lay at the heart of his desk.
"Accio wand," he called. The haggard stick rose from its slumber and flew through the air, until it reached its master. The man could see its chipped body. It was grossly ill-treated in their last endeavor.
He pointed its tip to the girl's head. Her body stiffened and she closed her eyes.
He sighed.
"Very well," the man roughly scratched his wand. This action emitted dark, green sparks from the head of the wand. The girl thought that the man had sent an invisible 'Avada Kedavara'. But in reality, he had just touched his wand.
She looked up at him, and he could see a fresh new set of tears cascading down her stricken face. The bruise he had inflicted, settled into an unflattering red, line.
"Why am I not dead yet?" she croaked.
"Because," the man breathed, "we wouldn't want Potter to lose his favorite know-it-all, would we?"
"After all, what kind of a pathetic battle would that be? For Lord Voldemort to kill everyone's hero with an anti-climatic end? Tsk Tsk.." He clicked his tongue.
"Harry will win, and you, as well as your stupid death eater cronies will pay." She warned him. She shot him another glare. The man laughed cynically, in a similar fashion to that of all other sadists.
"We will see my precious know-it-all. Besides, I might even need my baby. Lord Voldemort would always appreciate another death eater, wouldn't you say dear?"
Her eyes widened. She clutched her stomach, as though her hands were shielding her baby from the evilness of its father.
"How. Dare. You." The girl spat, she was now seething with fury, "As long as I bear it for nine, bloody months, I will raise it, you goddamn, greasy git!" she bellowed. She stood up and smoothed her grey, plaid skirt. Her sweater was ripped, almost in half, no doubt from his manhandling.
"Goodbye," she said, as she finally coaxed her eyes to meet his gaze. He walked towards her, pressing his firm body against hers. She felt herself slide back and hit the coarse desk. Her nimble feet were once again, sliding under his weight. What was happening?
He smiled at her sardonically, "Bye, my sweet know-it-all." His face plunged forward and before she knew what was happening, his lips landed softly on hers. How ironic, she thought, they're still so soft. Her heartbeat was erratic now and with all the energy she could muster, she harshly pushed him away. She ran to grab her books, which were all huddled in one corner of her table. Had she been more careful, she would've realized that her diary, her beloved old diary slipped from the realms of her other possessions. It crashed onto the floor, but with the immense urge to simply escape his clutches, she neglected it. She ran to the door, struggled to open it, but when it slid back with a loud THUNK, she ran out.
The man walked over to the faint outline of a book lying isolated at the corner of her desk.
"OPEN IF YOU DARE, BUT BEWARE: My life, in my words" The words together uniformed in a dull brown across the black, slithery cover. The man smiled. It seemed that he had just found the reminiscences of Ms. Granger. Who knew what treasures lurked on its pages. Of course, there was invisible ink and Hermione probably cast every single spell known to mankind. Silly girl though, did not realize the extensive collection of counter-potions he owned.
AN: So it's small, so small, that I looked at it and hit my forehead, while muttering, "Wait a go, genius. No one's going to wanna read it now." But fear not, I am 90 done with the next chapter and trust me, it's good, long stuff. Yay!xD
So R R pwease? If I were you, I'd totally be saying, "I wanna read more. waHHH!" while overloading my review board with nice things--or bad, constructive criticism is always welcome!