"Finally! Have we gone far enough, elf? Please tell me that this is the place?" Heaving in oxygen by the second, letting the lungs great their feast, Draco clenched the window ledge with all his will, bracing himself with all the sweat dangling from his hair, definitely not wishing for another work out. Raged breathing from his left, he felt arms around his neck, clinging for support, what was he, a wooden stand? "Do you mind?" His voice lased with vicious irritation, glaring at the window that exposed the cruel woods in front of his house of black bricks and wooden doom, what fond memories of terror he beheld. " No, I do not mind. I'm actually enjoying this quite well thank you, Mr. Malfoy, you've been a wonderful ledge for me, this owes you bonus points." Why must he always be underestimated? Life was unfair. Hermione only let her lips linger on his oh so very pale cheek before turning from him with a quick pace and disappeared behind the corner, obviously after that damned rat of an elf.
"Remarkable, I am now a little boy to her. What wonders have I yet not seen ." Talking to himself was something he greatly enjoyed, a brisk movement of his hands and his hair was now totally and utterly worse than Potter's mop of mistaken hair, but he didn't care, his father was dead. Dead. Gone. To hell. His father must be having a blast drinking tequila with Satan. Sadistic thoughts brewed in his mind, before they were rudely interrupted by the girl with an attitude that stranded back to him with her long delicate fingers attached to her hips, and a pout forming wickedly fast on her lips, too cute, too viciously dangerous, if she knew how much that look made her seem so attractive, he would be her slave flooded with his own drool. A twisted thought. Shacking his head like an idiot would to try and free his head from such insane ideas, but she was now paces away from him, and the look in her eye didn't suggest sickly disturbed thoughts of a sex craved male to come into play. Uh oh. What in the name of God did he do now? Not tie his shoes? Oh wait, he didn't have any shoes. Insanity. With a smirk, Draco crossed his arms over the destroyed shirt of his, and waited, let's not forget with the smirk, no never forgetting the smirk.
" I lost the elf." Oh my Lord, Hermione Granger is in trouble, she lost something. "It's the end of the world, isn't it. Come, let's go dig a hole and live there for the next 29 years." (whatever, I stole that from a movie…blame my mind…) Yes, that would be a marvelous idea, splendidly marvelous. He would become slightly decomposed. Oh Lord. " Indeed, Malfoy, what perfect imagination you have there, too bad it was wasted. The elf, you do know what elves are correct? Yes, well, he seemed to have, I'll try to simplify it for you, he went bye bye. So there, Mr. Malfoy, and your plan is exactly what?" Please, do tell that this is quite getting on his already vanquished nerves. Holding himself back from the snappy remark that his conscience beheld, Draco simply looked innocently to Hermione's skeptical eyes, brown bristled with yellow. "Not working you over grown prat, get a move one, I would certainly wish to get back to my work." Work, she never said anything about any job. Surprises never cease to exist in Hermione Granger's mind of a maze.
"I feel tired; carry me." His face split into a very childish pout, and if that didn't finish it off, Draco fell into a fetal position on the floor, seeming like a crumpled child. "You truly wish for me to kick you, do you not? Draco Malfoy grow up before I will hurt you bad, not even a wand could fix the wounds." With a glare sent Hermione's way, Draco stood, dusted off his rather wounded shirt and trampled his hair into a mess before shooting his nose up high and striding towards the turning corner by the mahogany wardrobe with a lovely carving of a fallen angle upon it. Shaking her head, Hermione smirked at his pitiful yet arrogant form that steadily walked away still managing to produce an air of grace to trail along, his ego bigger than Russia was not even effected by her insult, he was immune to all. But not emotion. "Draco, you do realize that you are going the wrong way, unless you plan on having a romantic rendezvous with the dust bunnies in the dungeons I suggest you move on, shan't keep your secret loves waiting then." That should keep him up, so if he wanted to play, then he would get a game. Her smirk grew when she heard him release a lovely stream of words that children should never dare hear, and gracefully took her part, walking towards the actual corner that should have been the place to go. Where was that bloody elf? Hell, it was his very plan to leave them stranded in a house of horrors was it not? "Draco! Your ass does not weigh that heavily, you can simplify that by moving!" Annoyed and tired, her very well kept sanity was drawing to a fizzling end.
"Women, is that all you do? Stress, stress, and stress? I'd rather live in the dungeons with my dust bunnies, as you so call my companions, than have a flock of obnoxious woman on the loose, meaning you, thank you very much." The corridor grew darker beneath their eyes, both having a great struggle to keep their fears shut within themselves, the dark was not a favorite for both. Hermione turned around quickly and grabbed Draco's hand, making him smirk at knowing that she was scared, even though he was thrilled by the idea that the great Hermione had an actually similarity to fear, he was indeed also very much terrified, so coming he tightened his grip on her pale hand. "Draco, do tell you know your way around?" Her normal monotone voice turned to a nervous chipping noise that irritated his delicate ears. Worry now transformed itself into a metaphor of lies, "Of course I do, Granger, I was raised, born, and attended here, why won't I know my own way out?" A conspicuous turmoil of pitifully transparent lies, Draco's marvelously scheming mind slowed to a tragic ending point, he was lost in his own maze of a bloody loving house.
"Malfoy, please do tell me that the corridor isn't the exact same one that we passed five minutes ago." For a smart witch, Hermione seemed to be drained of her wit, these days at the Malfoy Manor actually did have a horrid effect on her brain management. "Yes it sadly is." Malfoy's never state freely that they are EVER wrong, pure brilliant ignorance, Malfoy tradition, Malfoy everything. "Do not mock me, Mister Pride is All I hold, I do not wish to tarnish your own salvation, in other words, the only thing that yourself can ever hold, is that humongously (I invented a new word, I am so proud of myself) sized egocentric attitude of yours, be on your guards Malfoy." Hermione let herself enjoy a moment or two at watching Draco's perfectly discolored cheeks turn a slightly normalized coloring of a human being, his temper flared, and she who wished for a challenge, mocked him with a Malfoyish smirk of so very known victory. The further they traveled, the darker it got, the windows started to diminish, and the coldness suddenly appeared, a cheap scenario out of a cliché soap opera indeed, but with a more haunting approach to Stephan King's massive descriptions of scariness. Draco's lips parted slightly, a cold breath escaped those chapped lips of his, momentarily he forgot completely of the current situation as he gazed at the painting in front of him, the furious pride of Malfoy honor stood there, a dark and mystical oil painting with the darkest grays and blackest blacks mixed together to create havoc in morality, the man Draco idolized and still did…
"Draco, do tell that the painting isn't of your father?" Hermione's voice quivered as she overlooked the six foot cynical painting of a ghastly man, fully and totally resembling Draco's astringed father, clothed in black velvet that dripped down to the floor like a magnificent portable river, his eyes strangely weren't the Malfoy legacy, but warm hazelnut brown, bewildering, the painter indeed had a talent at catching the very beauty of this man's outmatching poise, he was the picture of a Lord of Darkness. "That, my lovely friend, is my grandfather, Malorick Bettico Malfoy, one of the greatest Malfoy's to have ever walked the earth." Admiration mixed with jealousy flickered through Draco's mind, his finger tips flowed over the background for an instant of intensity, all while Hermione realized how much Draco seemed to be idolizing this man captured within the realms of time.
"My grandfather used to be the image of pure severed destruction, he was as we say the key that opened a door to hell, and lo and behold, he gradually became more powerful than the present Lord of Darkness, Mr. Tom Pitiful Riddle. Through the decades of time my grandfather proved that anyone can defeat the darkness within themselves, he had several critical facades where he tried to commit suicide and unsuccessfully never ended his life, he was my favorite, I loved him like no other person in my family, he was a god to me," Draco's fingers dug deep into the painting tearing the softness a bit, " All until…Potter's grandfather, one of the best aurora's that the Ministry had ever trained, William Costel Potter, and he was my grandfather's rival from the day Malorick ever learned of a William Potter." He glanced slightly towards Hermione's placid form, seeing her gazing at the painting in very well hidden awe, " But, with time, my grandfather turned more and more profoundly ruthless, he was a savage beast in the trail of blood, I must agree, he was a sadistic bastard with a brutality that does not even exist in the blood lines that I hold, so as Potter's always do, he killed my grandfather, and to be more precise today was the very day Potter's grand daddy murdered Malorick."
Splitting through his ears, a long and lasting pause caressed the darkened room. Moonlight splattered Malorick's oil face in the paleness that the moon granted, amplified by the night, Draco looked up and almost surpassed a scream…
To Be Continued…
A/N: Torture of all blessed tortures, I have left you hanging like a doll on a string. Be happy, life is always cruel. I'm out of ideas, lost in a maze of confusion. I feel depressed, why is that, because I am depressed. If you do nto mind, I shall now go think of how I cannot write and how my writing skills hve plummeted to a bloody pulp. Thank you to all those who never gave up on me, I felt better then, and now I do not. Please, if you do not see another chapter up soon, feel free to abandon me, because I know some of you desperately wish for me to be banished to the pits of a non-existents hell. Enjoy all….( I sujest while you read this story play: Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven over and over again until you finish the story, it makes it sound more tragic and pointless) A dieux.