°Love and Hate°
AN: Warning, some offensive language. Okies . . . second chapter in Draco's POV. Hope you like it! Please lemme know what you think!
- °Mia°
Draco jogged up to his room. Man . . . he thought, taunting Potter felt so good. He flopped down on the bed, slipping his arms under his head. "I gotta do that more often," he whispered, grinning evilly.
"Draco! Time for dinner!" called a familiar voice.
Sighing, Draco sat up. "Coming mother!" He stood up and straightened out his shirt and trousers, then gripped the doorknob and opened the door, stepping outside. He took a deep breath. Act calm . . . don't let father bother you. . . . he told himself, starting down the stairs.
Narcissa spared him a brief glance. "Hello dear, take a seat by your father."
With a weary nod, Draco lowered himself onto the plush velvet seat of his chair. His footsteps echoed in the massive dining room, and with only himself, his mother, and his father seated at one end, the sturdy oak table reminded him of the Titanic—ridiculously large.
"You didn't steal anything else from me in the past two hours, did you Draco?" his father asked dryly, arching a thin blonde eyebrow.
Draco gazed blankly at him. "No father, nothing else looked interesting enough."
"Quite the sophisticated little wizard, aren't we?" said Lucius softly.
"Lucius! Draco! Please, can't we have a nice dinner like civilized people?" There was an irritable edge to Narcissa's voice.
Lucius, to Draco's great amusement, gave a quiet huff and glared around as if searching for someone to snap at. "You baby that child far too much."
"Child!" Draco glowered at his father.
"You are an immature, unintelligent little puppy!" barked Lucius.
An evil thought entered Draco's mind. "Child?" he repeated, pushing his chair back to stand up. "I'm more mature than you think . . . puberty's over, but I've still got raging hormones . . . gosh, Dad, don't you think Harry Potter's ass is sexy?"
Lucius sprang out of his own chair, his pale face flaming. "You—you can't be a . . . one of those dirty homosexuals!" he snarled, grabbing his wand. "I'll straighten you out, boy."
Narcissa started to open her mouth, but sighed and closed it after a second look at Lucius's face.
"Crucio!" hissed Lucius, and Draco's body exploded in agony. A shrill squeak managed to escape before he firmly clenched his teeth, knees buckling in the process so that he fell to the floor at his father's feet. The pain continued to worsen, throbbing in every nerve he possessed, before abruptly vanishing.
Surprised, Draco looked up to see Narcissa glaring at her husband with his wand clutched tightly in her hand. "If this," she began in a trembling voice, "is your idea of a civilized supper, I should hate to see a rowdy one! I repeat: no curses at the dinner table! And go to your room, Draco!"
I didn't faint, Draco thought. Though I did fall at his feet. . . .
"You've gotten stronger," Lucius commented. "Good boy."
Draco growled at him and strode out of the room, knocking a chair over as he went. He bounded up the stairs, running, to his surprise, right to Hermione's door. With trembling hands he unlocked the door, cursing it in three languages when it failed to cooperate, and stumbled in. His limbs were still weak from the curse; he found he could barely stand. Hermione simply stared at him, her eyes red from crying.
"What—what is it Malfoy?" she asked, her voice raw.
Draco stumbled again, grabbing onto the bed for support, "No—nothing, I just wanted to get away from them for a while."
Hermione raised her eyebrows, "Oh really, well excuse me if I don't jump for joy," she muttered, rolling over.
Draco shrugged and hobbled over to the armchair, plopping down with a quiet groan. "So . . . how're you doing?"
"Um . . . wonderful, thanks," she replied, dryly.
Draco nodded, "Okay . . ."
Hermione got under the covers. "Right . . ."
Draco shrugged and tried, "Those books any good?"
"Well, sort of," she answered, not stirring.
"Mmmhmm," murmured Draco, watching her curiously.
"Draco?"
"Yeah?"
"Who did you want to get away from?" Hermione's query hung in the air.
"Mon père. . ." he replied whimsically, twirling his wand in his hand. Hermione turned over and stared at him, particularly at his new battle wounds. Draco chuckled, "I must look like hell," he said, not particularly displeased.
"Je deteste son père," muttered Hermione. "Want me to take a look at it? I'm quite good with medicinal magics."
"What else are you good at?" Draco inquired, waggling his eyebrows.
Silently, Hermione picked up a book and hurled it at him.
"Ouch," he said. "That's not very good medicinal magic."
Snorting to herself, Hermione slid carefully out of bed, wincing as her feet hit the ground after a long drop. "Freud would have something to say about you Malfoys and beds," she murmured, padding over to examine his injuries.
Draco did not pull away. Her touch . . . so warm. He let his head hit the back of the chair and enjoyed her gentle, sensitive touch on his injured ankle. Such relaxation. Draco let his eyelids droop, and without noticing he nodded off.
Draco opened his eyes. He still felt warm and comfortable. Grinning, he wiggled his toes and looked down. Hermione had apparently laid a blanket over him; currently she was staring up at the ceiling. "Hermione . . . thanks."
Hermione jumped, startled, "Oh—uh, it was nothing."
Draco tried to sit up, wincing as he managed a half straightened position. "Well it is something, and I appreciate it."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh, so you're going to be polite now, are you?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Sure, why not." He found himself holding back a laugh. "You're such a goody-goody, Granger. Aren't you ever rude to people?"
Hermione grumbled. "Of course, just not all the time, like you," she retorted.
Draco smirked, "Riiight. You just tell yourself that. I am polite, at least to the deserving few."
"Hmph, and who do you consider worthy? You-Know-Who?" Hermione scoffed.
"Actually, no, I don't think Voldemort deserves much respect. It's just that, well, you're screwed over if you don't give it to him." Draco's eyes darted nervously around the room. "That is . . ."
Hermione blinked. "You don't respect him?"
Draco stared down at his shiny leather boots, choosing not to answer.
Thankfully, Hermione pressed no further on that topic. "So . . . how is Harry doing?"
Draco looked up. "He's doing pretty well, no need to worry."
Hermione blinked back tears. "When are you going to let me see him?"
Draco stared at her. Tears? He hadn't expected tears. Tears made him very edgy. Oh yeah Malfoy, take her and her only friend left in the world and steal him away from her and expect her to be happy . . . wait, why do I care if she's happy? Draco nodded. "I, ah, expect that can be arranged in due time. G'night Hermione."
"Bugger off." Hermione rolled over and stared sulkily at her pillow.
Draco snorted under his breath and opened the door, letting it click shut as he slid out and turned the key. His skin still tingled where she had touched him, and for a moment he wondered what it would be like to hold her . . . kiss her . . . Draco quickly stopped his train of thought and strode down the hallway, hands surreptiously sliding into his pockets.
AN: Okay guys and gals . . . I need to get your opinions on whose POV it should be next time, Hermione or Harry's. Remember that the POV will last for two chapters. I'm kinda leaning towards Hermione myself, but lemme know what you think ;)
- °Mia°
Note: I'd like to thank my wonderful beta reader, Sarathiel, for her deeply helpful contributions.