Chapter 6: Centuries
The bruises on your thighs like my fingerprints
and this is supposed to match
the darkness you felt
- Fall Out Boy (Centuries)
Draco clenched his fists on the bunched-up sheets of his bed.
Nicolas pitied Narcissa's son as the boy writhed on his bed, holding back the urge to scream and pull out his hair.
"She's not safe here, Draco." Nicolas Vasilescu's Romanian drawl didn't sound bored and lazy at all. The anxiousness of it was alarming.
"Don't you think I know that?" The boy thrashed around, his torso lifting from the bed. He glared at Nicolas with violet-rimmed irises. "Fuck, this hurts like h-hell," he growled through gritted teeth.
"It will pass. Now, how did she end up here, Draco?"
"Granger owes me her life. That bitch is more fucking difficult than this." He dragged his syllables, ending his muttering with labored gasps.
Nicolas kept quiet while the boy's crass language filled the room. If ranting and raving will help him cope with his pain, let it be.
"What do you plan to do with her? You don't think she'll rid you of this, do you?" Nicolas shook his head. "It's in your blood. It won't disappear."
He laid out a dropper on the side table. A vial of clear liquid sat beside it.
"Not this!" Draco screamed,his voice cracking. "They said she can c-cure" —
Another spasm wracked his body. Each fingernail transformed into hooked claws. The bedding tore with an audible rip. Draco had enough sense to unclench the sheets before ruining the mattress. His sentence was left hanging as a raw scream escaped his throat.
Nicolas kept a reasonable distance between himself and the bed.
Metamorphosis has its fair share of pain. But for Draco, the extent of his change had the intensity that could send someone into a blind rampage. This was unfortunate for the ones on the receiving end of that rampage.
He worried about the girl, only a few walls away.
Could she hear Draco's screams of anguish? Because these thick walls could only conceal so much.
Magic, too.
—•—•—•—
It always started with whispers drifting from an unnavigable darkness.
Hushed, languid mutterings of her name. "Hermione... Hermione... Hermione..."
She would wander. Or float. Whatever verb fit the description of moving through this strange darkness she encountered almost every night.
Hermione used to panic during this intermission,but it turned out only to be sleep. Dreams come after. She let the voice lead her to dreamscape.
The dreamscape, as she came to call it, wasn't as dense and dark as sleep was. It could be anything, free to assume any form or shape. Unfortunately, it wasn't up to her what shape her dreams would take .
It always depended on someone else.
As for that someone else, she didn't know who it was.
Light suddenly imploded into the darkness. She delved deeper into the dream with a jolt. To the point of no return, a place where waking up was not an option.
Her feet touched soft earth. The moonlight rippled the air much like sunlight choreographed the microscopic dust to dance. Dark colors of forest green and midnight waters painted the dreamscape tonight. A few steps forward, just behind the twisting expanse of lush trees, a cliff overlooked a still sea.
She could only look and feel the serenity it imposed. From nothing there came something. This once scared and disconcerted her - this uncontrollable landfall of possibilities. Then she learned to trust the invisible being maneuvering her dreams. For they were only dreams, anyway.
A rustle from behind made her spin around in surprise. A white wolf bounded towards her. When it stopped, it regarded her haughtily with its striking violet eyes. Hermione smiled as she crouched eye-level to the genteel creature.
"How are you, boy?" Hermione asked in the cutesy voice people use for dogs and babies.
The wolf's snowy white head recoiled from Hermione's touch, indignant.
She chuckled, and it growled. "No, sir. I'm sorry, but you're no fun, you."
It sniffed her hand when she apologized and normalized her voice. She swore its eyes narrowed when it heard her jab.
Hermione never met an animal that took itself too seriously before. It had an endearing kind of leapt gracefully from its position to the nearby path, turning his head in her direction, expecting her to follow. So she did. It led her to the peak of the cliff, to the very edge.
Viewing the sea from atop a precarious cliff made it feel closer. Hermione wondered what jumping from the cliff and hitting the water would feel like.
"Why so suicidal, Hermione?" His voice was enigmatic. The rich quality, its depth, pulled her in. Like drinking hot cocoa during a cold stormy day.
"I was just thinking."
"You always think."
"Where am I?" she asked.
"Closer than you think."
"Where are you?"
"Closer than you think." Warm breath tickled her left ear ever so softly.
She wanted to reach out to him, just graze its skin. The desire to capture this elusive character consumed her, but she didn't. Her arms were stiff at her sides."You won't tell me, will you?"
She felt his lips near her pulse point. If he only dared to plant them on that spot, he could have felt the blood rushing in her veins. In the stillness, one could even hear her heart thump murderously, as if to stab its way out of her chest. Or was that just her, already deaf to the world with the exception of his voice and her heart?
"Soon." A promise.
Calloused hands trailed up her arms making her shiver. When soft lips pressed themselves to hers, patient and impatient, requesting and demanding, she relented. She stood frozen and moved at the same time. Afraid the moment would end.
The silence and darkness didn't equate to emptiness. It punctuated every movement, every heightened sensation.
He played with the darkness to hide himself. He always did. The natural light sketched a faint picture of smooth, sculpted cheeks. Conveniently, those were the only features she could see.
Come closer.
Every time she tried to glimpse his face, she woke up. One night she saw firm, yet sensual, lips. A straight, aristocratic nose in the other. She held another segment of a jigsaw puzzle. The imaginary 'click' of it as it fit into place satisfied her more than it should.
Her fingers were crossed so tight that unknotting them would have been impossible.
Don't wake up.
Don't. Wake. Up.
"Soon," he whispered for the nth time.
And when would "soon" be?
The scenery shattered into a million fractals of light, then she woke up. Prematurely. Again.
Like they said: "Be careful what you wish for." Hermione wasn't the kind to listen to generalized advice. But maybe "they" were wiser than she gave them credit for. Because when he did appear, his face jarring in lamp light, she wasn't prepared at all.
—•—•—•—
The windows slammed shut like the dream she tried so hard to keep. Brown eyes opened wide to the ceiling she abhorred waking up to every day.
A automatic hand smoothed away the curls clinging to her sweat-dampened forehead. The other wound its way under her pillow. She felt the reassuring piece of metal. A butter knife with its intricately carved handle appeared as she gingerly took it out. Pathetic as it sounds, it was necessary for her survival. It won't get her out of here, not by a long shot, but it helped balance her sanity. The only piece of control she could keep.
A witch without a wand she may be, but a woman without defense she was not.
Presto had his flaws, she discovered. He was too fussy and too subservient. As if that wasn't much of a surprise. He served her breakfast in bed once. She demanded lots of things, instructed him to get them without magic. Commands he was too happy to oblige. When he was gone, she stole the knife. She couldn't risk a steak knife, though. That elf was too smart for his own good, sometimes. Lying to the little bugger was harder than she initially thought.
Hermione stilled. The clock's hands pointed to a quarter to midnight.
The sounds were gone. She craned her ear and listened harder. They were really gone.
A tiny thought took precedence over her thoughts in an instant. She crept out of her bedroom inch by inch.
What if…
It made her stop. She couldn't . Could she?
The edge of the East Wing was so close. Of course, the Wing beyond that was getting closer, too.
It was silly of her, running around with a butter knife in hand. Maybe she really was on the brink of insanity. She really shouldn't be doing this. The Master was all too insisting of his rules.
Why do I care what he thinks? I refuse to make him my boss. There was a stubborn look in her eye. No, he's definitely not the boss of me.
She turned her head in the opposite direction. There was not a trace of doubt or fear strong enough to pull her back to the safety of her room. No meddling house elves either, serving as a voice of reason.
The shadows engulfed her whole, one step after the other.
Hermione meandered through the West Wing in autopilot mode. Like deliberately walking in a haze.
It was deathly quiet. Odd. Ever since last week, every other night, the same strange sounds - of muffled collisions and tortured howls - ghosted through the walls. Tonight wasn't one of those nights.
Very odd, indeed.
A magnificent set of double doors beckoned to her at the end of the West Wing. When she reached it, a multitude of emotions overcame her. Not to mention the same questions that thundered through her mind. Or the scenarios flashing by so fast she couldn't keep track of all of them.
She turned the doorknob as she released her last unabated breath. The heavy double doors swung inward slowly. They didn't creak, but the whisper of a cold breeze went through her. Subtle as it was, it still made her shiver and curl her toes.
The frantic little voice in her head that once yelled 'Get out of there!' was muted. It was replaced by yet another whisper: 'Find him.'
Crazy. Wandering aimlessly, following an erratic sense of direction. Insane. Who 'him' was, she still didn't know. Yet she moved forward instinctively.
Hermione padded forward, licking her dry lips.
There wasn't much light to find her way around. How she would kill for a wand's lumos! How she would kill for her wand! Or any wand. Her grip on the unassuming silverware tightened.
Well, for now, this would just have to do.
A light hovered at what looked like the end of the proverbial tunnel. Only by only drawing closer did she realize that her location could not be classified as a tunnel, nor was she at the end of it - definitely far from the end - but she stood inside a cavernous living space thrice the size of her room. And her room was large.
The hovering light was a ball of gas suspended in the air, shining like the sun. Exactly like the sun. A mini star in one's own house. Hermione stared in awe. She flinched when it ghosted around her, yet nothing drastic happened. It only left a trail of warmth.
As it floated back to its position, she became enlightened. And what a dark enlightenment it had been!
Hermione was not prepared at all.
It illuminated a sight she would have once killed for to behold. It wouldn't have made much of a difference - she would certainly commit murder.
The star overlooked a figure slumbering ever so peacefully. Like an angel.
Yeah right, more like an Angel of Death.
His features looked sharp and jarring in contrast to the curved circumference of the light. The familiar sensual mouth. The familiar sculpted cheekbones and jaw. The familiar protruding chin. The familiar deep-set eyes. Familiar. Too familiar. All too familiar.
Once upon a dream.
No.
He stirred with a soft sigh.
No.
On his bedside table, a familiar mask sat maliciously, mocking her.
NO.
The butter knife clattered to the crisp, wood floors.
His eyes opened, revealing those familiar gray eyes. Haunting, contemptuous, enigmatic.
It was none other than Draco Malfoy.
Hermione gasped. Just then, more brilliant balls of gas flared around the room.
—•—•—•—
If this was a dream, it would be a nightmare. Draco knew the transformations triggered brain activity close to dreaming. But this? This was plain brutality.
Funny, really.
Hermione Granger, mouth hanging and eyes popping out, stunned, still in his bedroom. What a creative imagination he had! She even looked like overcooked jello, barely holding her footing.
Yeah, right.
"You." It came out as a jagged breath from her lips.
"You," she repeated.
I get your point.
"You!"
"Hello, Granger."
Draco's instinct propelled him to subtly feel around his bed for his wand. In the periphery of his vision, he watched her feet feel for something on the floor. The harsh glint of silver flashed. A knife.
Where was his wand?
Before he knew it, he stood, inching as far away from the brunette as possible. A king-sized bed was the only barrier between them. There they were - face to face, eye to eye, for the first time in five years. He could have taken a good, long look at his old school rival, perhaps give a sarcastic commentary on her inappropriate attire or her suspicious motives for singling him out in the middle of the night. But he only registered the murderous expression on her face. He never saw her this livid before, with her eyes and nose flared like bulls seeing red.
"You slimy, good for nothing, lying piece of scum." Granger dragged out the words begrudgingly through tight lips.
"You're getting rusty with your insults, Granger."
He inwardly cursed Nicolas . Draco blamed the good doctor and his stupid precautions for taking away his wand. What if he needed his wand for an emergency? This was the emergency!
Too late.
Hermione Granger screeched a bloodcurdling battle cry. She charged so fast, his inhuman instinct was his only salvation.
—•—•—•—
It couldn't be. But life proved all too kind to agree with her.
Draco Malfoy, in the flesh, bed head still intact, was lying in her captors' quarters. Information linked in her mind. She could hear the electricity zapping, feel her brain overheating. Or was that the fiery anger bubbling inside her?
Her legs felt like quicksilver when she threw herself at him.
In one swift, nanosecond of a leap she landed on the bed on her hands and knees to reach him, to wrap her hands around that albino neck. The bed springs contracted underneath.
Draco finally woke up, but realized it wasn't all a dream. A furious Gryffindor really was chasing him. Her screech grated at his ears.
"Whoa, Granger. Calm down."
"Calm down?" Hermione seethed. What arrogance! He had the gall to smirk at her? Just wait; she'll wipe that stupid smirk off his face. With her foot. Or her fist. "I'll show you calm!"
Hermione almost caught him, but he slipped from her vengeful fingers. She let out a frustrated scream. "Why?"
"A means to justify a good end. Now, untwist your knickers."
"A good end?" Disbelief punctuated her every word. "What good did kidnapping us do to anyone?"
"As of now" - Malfoy swept a heap of books off its shelf with one strong arm. "None at all."
Electricity crackled around Hermione as she stomped after him. A determined chocolate glare focused on the fallen books. They floated amidst the tension-thickened atmosphere. With a snappy wave of her arms, the hardbound tomes zoomed in the blond's direction from a sharp, angry angle.
She cursed again when they barely touched an inch of that pallid git's body.
Malfoy smirked."Tsk, tsk, Granger. You don't play fair." He smoothed his hair. "But I can deal with that."
—•—•—•—
Despite the hurtling articles of fiction and raining sheafs of loose pages, he dodged her attack without breaking a sweat. Draco moved like an impossible blurr shifting from one place to another.
The grandfather clock toppled before him, nearly getting him by an inch. He stole a look from behind and saw Granger, with a perpetual stink eye, targeting him.
Hermione Granger hadn't changed, after all these years. She was the same vindictive know-it-all who can't take a bloody joke. Even if the joke itself was a matter of life and death. The same powerful, brilliant witch who'd result to wandless magic fueled by her anger alone.
"I'm going to ask again. Why?" Blazing eyes and gritted teeth accompanied her twitching fist.
"I don't have the liberties to divulge any information. I invoke my right against self incrimination."
The brunette obviously didn't take a shining to his cheeky statement, what with that infernal glare.
"Your rights mean nothing in this valley," he heard her whisper malevolently, echoing his earlier words.
They'd already circled the room. Yet it felt like time stretched for one decade mile a minute.
Draco recognized his mistake in changing positions with the muggleborn. Above the fireplace mantle lay an impressive collection of fatally-sharpened antique knives.
"Accio kni" —
His summoning spell failed as she'd already grabbed some and started throwing them with expert precision at him.
"Where the hell did you learn that?" he yelped. A knife grazed his ear just a scratch.
"You think I only have my books?" Granger laughed wryly. "Think again! My father never taught me helplessness." She then huffed in frustration when he ducked her well-aimed throw.
Her makeshift ammunition eventually ran out. They were either deeply impaled in places or lost amidst the chaos of broken debris.
She grabbed a nearby floor-stand candelabra. With a cry deep from her throat, she thrust it at the blond with all her might, bumping and bruising her shins on the innumerable upturned and scattered pieces of furniture. Hermione didn't care at all.
At the last second , before she could inflict any damage, he turned sharply. He grabbed the other end, as if they were playing tug of war. And he was winning.
Hermione saw a slash to his rib cage when he was on the brink of wrenching her weapon away. Her leg connected with that vulnerable rib. Too bad she didn't hear it crack. Her satisfaction came instead in the form of his guttural groan as the candelabra clanged to the ground. She planted a good sock to his jaw too, but only because she couldn't reach his nose.
"I hate you, Draco Malfoy! I hate what you did to Neville, and I hate what you did to me!"
—•—•—•—
Granger was a hurricane. It took him a few seconds to block her punches.
"You're lucky it's below me to hit women! But you are just begging to become an exception," he hissed.
"Oh, I feel so special." She rolled her eyes.
Pain laced his side as she delivered another side kick to his body. She may only be petite in stature, not more than five foot four, but damn, she knew her technique.
Draco growled before sweeping her legs out from under her. In retaliation, she struck his ankles, knocking him off balance. He pinned her to the floor before she could. Her eyes grew wide again.
"I don't want to hurt you! Stop this now before you regret it!" Draco threatened, to which she just stared venomously at him in response.
It was admirable, and incredibly stupid - her Gryffindor stubbornness and pride. Granger sported bruised arms and skinned knees with a matching bloody lip. She should just give up, for once. He heard her abnormal heart rate pulsing beneath that delicate neck for the second time since she came here. She looked exhausted.
"I'm going to be generous. I'll let you out of here unscathed." He stood up, brushing himself off.
He could feel Hermione's dagger eyes sinking down his back. "Don't ever come back here again. You've been warned."
Draco headed for the nightstand to get his emergency wand. When he turned around, however, she was gone.
A look of panic formed on his face before she screamed in his ear: "I sure as hell don't play fair too, Malfoy!"
Strong arms and legs restricted his movements as they enclosed him in a twisted piggy-back ride. "Constant vigilance, didn't you know that?"
The surprise that took him also switched on an instinct he never wanted to exploit. His predatory one. The heady pull of danger and competition cranked those underused gears and oiled them up. All that build-up... he was bound to break. He felt his animalistic strength unfurl.
"I know," he answered. "But I'm better than you at not playing fair."
Without warning, he slammed his back against the nearest wall.
Adrenaline softened her pain, but only just.
Hermione stared at the cracked wall and the strands of her hair tangled with broken concrete. She was struck dumb with his sheer brutality.
Her awareness grew with every passing minute they fought. Awareness of the pain and everything all around her.
Malfoy.- a long-lost school rival who dropped from the face of the British wizarding community after his trial - was right in front of her. She gasped at the sight he presented.
"I warned you, don't push me," Draco warned.
His eyes were different. They were once a cool, indifferent gray. Now they'd turned into feral amber. Amber? His pupils minimized to an insignificant dot.
This wasn't good.
Thunder cracked outside. The only reminder of the world that existed around them.
It all happened so fast.
She only remembered him hustling to reach the heavy drapes in panic. If this was any other storm, she would have found his need to shut the drapes silly, . But it wasn't an ordinary storm, nor an ordinary night. Hermione knew that much.
She realized there was broken glass on the floor beneath every window. Magic is unpredictable, but only during extreme bouts of emotions.
But it was too late. Before he could grasp the drapes, a howl of wind blew strong enough to make them flap and billow. A climactic gust lifted them up, and natural light flashed like a dramatic spotlight.
"Malfoy," Hermione squeaked. "Are you ok?"
Draco stared overhead at the moon in all its full, luminescent glory. In a flash, he was writhing about. Shifting. Long, elegant fingers became deadly claws. His sculpted face elongating into a snout. His bones and muscles looked and sounded, even felt like they were breaking, then reforming. His tall and lithe body expanded in width and even more in height until he was as tall as the magnificent four-poster bed in the room. White fur gleamed in the moonlight.
Hermione's heart pounded in her ears.
It roared at her, its canine teeth bared.
"Werewolf!"
She ran, never looking back. Her curtain of wild curls flew behind her.
This was how Hermione Granger came to be... the girl who cried werewolf.
The double doors she shut blasted into tiny chunks of wood like it got hit by a Confringo. Only this time, a looming werewolf smashed right through them.
Her legs took her through the twisting hallways, running blindly. Her body was sore all over, and her vision grew blurry.
She collided with a chest, whose owner she didn't know. "Please," she begged to unknown the blond man dressed in black. "There's a werewolf…" She weakly turned her head to the darkened hall behind her.
The man moved his lips like he was speaking to her, but she couldn't hear a sound. Color frayed at the edges.
A howl…
A violet wand glowing…
A white werewolf lying on the ground…
Then all went black.
Revised:1-28-18. A big thanks to my alphas and betas(same people). So what do you guys think? (I accept everything.)
