Disclaimer: Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling! I'm sure everybody is aware of this by now. : )
Spoilers: All FIVE books! I'm not sure if anything is given away in this chapter, but please do not read as a precaution!
The Secret Keeperby phantasm
Chapter 6: In ControlThe dreams were getting stronger now, and eerily frequent.
So strong, that Draco would wake up at odd hours of the night, fingers clutching his sweat-matted hair, trying to physically tear the madness from his mind.
Same dream- same lake, same woman.
Same barrier.
'So this is how Potter must have felt,' he grumbled angrily, as he gulped down the last drops of water he had in his glass that rested on his bedside table.
The Dark Mark suddenly burned on his flesh furiously, glowing an angry green, causing the glass to slip from between his sweaty fingers and crash onto the marble floor with a splintering crack. He swore venomously, clutching at the shining mark with his hand, trying to numb the stinging pain out from his flesh.
Voldemort's bloodless face appeared in his fireplace with a Pop!, green and red flames licking at his gaunt, bony cheekbones. The awe-saturated fear he once felt for the Dark Lord had long since subsided- it had been too ritual, too frequent to perpetuate. Seeing his pale face appear before him was almost a ho-hum, daily exercise, and the green and red flames served to remind him only of Christmas holiday.
"Your progress is under surveillance, Draco," bellowed Voldemort from the confines of the illuminated fireplace. Tendrils of fire streamed from his sickly green-tinged lips.
"Of course, Master."
His intestines knotted uneasily. His progress in this task of seducing a Mudblood in order to extract Potter's whereabouts- if extrapolated- was certainly futile.
"There is no time to waste."
"I understand, Master."
"We need the Secret now."
***
At morning in her room, the sunlight shines through the lace-fringed curtains and illuminates the room. White light beams upon the surfaces of pearl and sets fire to the facetted opal, and the shine of a million crimsons, lavenders, and periwinkles erupts around the room.
This is what she rose to every morning, a spectacular light show that left her in soaring spirits-
Until her mind began to register, and she remembered where she was once more.
Hermione untangled herself from the silken sheets, and forced herself to leave the solace of her canopied bed. She washed up idly, the anger she had possessed for the past nights had simmered itself down to a helpless lull- for what could she do to remove herself from his home?
She couldn't Disapparate without her wand. She couldn't walk out through the doors unless she wanted to be fried by several hundred anti-Muggle/Muggle-born hexes (it was quite common practice to do hex exits against non-Wizards in pureblooded homes, according to the History of Magic.) She was not going to take her chances.
Her wardrobe, she learned only a day before, was enchanted (as was every other object in the Manor) to provide any type of attire she could possibly require. The one catch- the wardrobe had taken a preference to the former inhabitant's wishes and the clothing, whether for work or leisure, were remarkably, disgustingly Blaise.
She closed her eyes and pounded the image of WORK into her brain, hoping to find a reasonable, comfortable pair of slacks and an oversized t-shirt. Upon swinging open the wardrobe doors with a flourish, she found only a cliché French maid outfit: a tight black corset, a short, fluffy skirt, fishnet leggings, and an impossibly steep pair of stilettos.
Flustered, she slammed the doors, closing off the hideously whorish sight. Several more attempts with the word WORK and she produced- in order- revealing scarlet lingerie, an antique kimono, a cracked shoehorn, and a half-eaten, stale pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Hermione figured that Blaise, having inherited the billions of galleons from her parents, never needed "work" clothes. Therefore, the enchanted closet was apparently confused as to what exactly "work" was.
Nibbling on a buttered popcorn bean, she concentrated on the word SIMPLE in hopes to find the least frilly, undecorated piece of clothing the baffled furniture could produce. Upon opening the doors, she quickly realized that "simple" was also not in Blaise's limited vocabulary. The wardrobe produced dress after dress, no slacks or casual pants in sight, each thickly ornamented with precious jewels and curtained with yards of French lace.
She chose the simplest of the lot, but in no respects was it so by Hermione's standards. Glimmering cerulean satin hung off her shoulders and cinched tightly at her waist, then billowed out to form a full, billowing skirt. The fabric reflected the light infinitely, small sparkles glimmering off in the light, leaving her to feel only overdressed.
And terribly (for lack of a better adjective) Blaise. 'The cost of the fabric alone could probably feed a thousand House Elves for a year,' she mused sullenly. She made a mental not to take the dress along to sell… that was, if she ever escaped from the Manor alive.
The door creaked almost inaudibly, and she peripherally noticed Draco enter the room. She hoped the sour look that crawled itself upon her face wasn't as noticeable as she felt it was.
Wait.
Forget her manners. She hoped she was blasting that filthy scumbag with the dirtiest, sourest look she could possibly muster.
"I was hoping you would like to join me for breakfast on the veranda," he stated, casting a strange glance at her uncharacteristic clothing. She suddenly felt an irresistible smugness building up deep inside- that was the same gawk he had given her during the Yule Ball of their Fourth year- when her fellow classmates had finally began to realize that she, too, was not simply the bookworm she was made out to be.
But then again, the reality check- this was Muggle Hating Ferret Pureblood Scum.
"Oh, you hoped I would like to join you on the veranda," Hermione repeated snottily, sour expression still resting in its rightful place, "now that I'm presentable? And because I don't smell anymore?
"I can't say you're all too presentable at the moment, either."
"What?"
Hermione could feel her face rapidly begin to glow red with rage. Draco, however, remained as passive as before, unmoved.
"Your dress is absolutely hideous."
"Oh," she replied lamely to his blunt remark, immediately disappointed, because on that account, she had to agree.
She didn't like to agree with Malfoy. It gave her a sickening, stomach-churning sensation.
"It's not you at all."
"And of course, Draco, you know me so well."
"You just look like you're trying to be-"
"-Blaise," they finished simultaneously.
She slapped a hand over her mouth as if she had said a particularly dirty word. Agreeing with Draco on any matter was on dangerous grounds enough. But to finish sentences together- was a death sentence.
"And you'd probably never wear a dress like that," he continued, "because you'd rather spend the money on S.P.E.W, right? It could feed a thousand House Elves-"
"That's exactly what I was just thinking."
An awkward silence ensued.
"So," Draco cut in shakily, apparently just as disgusted as she, "Would you care for breakfast?"
"Have you've forgotten that I hate you?"
"Let me redeem myself, then."
She shot him an withering glare.
"Redeem yourself," she mocked. "You kidnapped me from my home, allowed your friends to use an Unforgivable Curse on me, and locked me in a cellar… all in the past week. And I'm not even going to start on all of the things you've done to me in the past six years-"
She had listed some good points, admittedly. 'Does someone have to forgive you in order to fall in love with you?' he asked himself, perplexed. 'Or at least like you enough to tell you where your best friend was hiding?'
He knew that girls, being the selfish creatures that they were, would forget about all the warm, fuzzy, forgiveness crap for a while if you tailored to their interests (learned from his complimentary copy of Maxim, thank you very much).
"Well, I hoped you could tell me all about S.P.E.W over breakfast… but since you'd rather not talk to me…," he trailed off dramatically.
Somewhere mid-sentence, her vicious glare softened into a complacent, almost appreciative stare.
And right then, he knew she was already baited into the beginning of the game.
***
"And so really, the House Elf liberation movement was first actuated when Druthilda Nott choked on the peppered frog in 1607 and then cruelly impaled the House Elf that served it to her. The other House Elves in the Nott household at the time held a small rebellion, refusing to do chores, tend to the house, etc… good for them… and well, they were all punished heavily and buried alive for their disobedience… but never mind that. Isn't it amazing what they did?"
Draco had stopped listening a long time ago, the last word he remembered hearing was something about his friend's great-ancestor and peppered frogs. Peppered frogs. The reminded him of the lingering craving for Chocolate Frogs that had been plaguing him since morning, and he let himself dreamily stare off the veranda and into the thick, vibrant garden.
"Well, isn't it?" Hermione asked again, a tinge of annoyance beginning to enter her speech. Draco blinked out of his daze.
"Of course it is," he answered too quickly. She gave a defeated sigh accompanied by a knowing look.
"You didn't really want to know about S.P.E.W, did you?"
"Well… no," he admitted hesitantly. He forced himself to feed her a guilty look.
"It's okay. Not many people do want to know about it, anyway."
Hermione's gaze traveled away to the nature around them, and the conversation fell silent.
"So, what did you want to know, then?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, why did you want to eat breakfast with me?"
"Is it wrong to simply just… want to?" he asked, for lack of anything better to say. She didn't look too convinced.
"Malfoy, you never simply want to do anything. You always have an ulterior motive. Something your damn father wants you to do. Or Voldemort."
"I have a mind of my own," he said indignantly, yet not even managing to convince himself.
So why was he doing this?
'Because Voldemort told me to,' Draco answered immediately to the question in his mind and regretted it. Damn. So maybe, he was mindlessly following Voldemort on this task, but he definitely had thought for himself at least once in a while.
Like the time-
Wait… no. Voldemort told him to do that, too.
She slid the chair away from the table and rose, leaving Draco to his thoughts.
"Wait, Hermione."
She merely glanced at him.
"What I said before… in your room… about redeeming myself. I meant it. I'm going to try."
"I wonder what Voldemort has in mind, making you say that to a Mudblood," she replied coldly.
And she escaped from his plan that easily, merely walking away and leaving him sitting, lamely, and alone.
Draco slunk into his chair and agitatedly allowed his face to fall into his hands.
So this was going to be even harder than he thought.
***
She cornered him in his room. That was her strategy now, to corner him, then to attack, but most importantly- leave no room for escape.
And of course, look absolutely smashing all the while.
She wasn't quite sure what he was doing, and she wasn't sure if she cared, either. As long as he wasn't accompanied by another girl (particularly a certain Mudblood girl), he could do whatever the hell he pleased.
He sat at his wooden desk, resting a book on his palms, apparently unaware of her presence. A single light shone above him, showering his body with a filmy, ethereal light, a ring of light circling his pale head like a glorified crown. Or a halo.
No, she definitely preferred the crown.
She closed in on him as stealthily as she could (or as one could manage in skyscraping stilettos), all the while cursing her damned dressmaker for ornamenting her in so many layers of swishing fabrics. When she reached him, she enveloped him in her arms.
He stiffened perceptibly at her touch. His eyes met hers, shocked gray boring into her blue.
She preferred the shocked expression, to the bored one that immediately followed.
"You caught me off guard, Blaise."
She captured his lips in a thousand burning kisses.
"I'm busy," he protested, waving his book in front of her face. "I'm reading."
Blaise skimmed the title: "The House Elf Liberation Movement." She cringed theatrically, grabbed the book from his hands, and threw it across the room.
"So I'm guessing you're… not… angry with me anymore?" he questioned, between gasps of air and in the moments he could escape her all-encompassing lips.
"I could never stay mad at you because I lo-"
Draco didn't want to let her finish this thought. He didn't want to hear it. And the way to properly shut her up without releasing her inner-veela:
"Do you want to-"
"-Of course," she replied immediately, dragging him off his seat, and toward his bed, all the while ripping off her dress into tattered pieces of fine silk. She was skilled at that, now, this multitasking. They had, after all, done this so many times before.
He laid above her, kissing her dispassionately, routinely, feeding his animal lust. He would feel properly disgusted afterward, for giving into this desire, for not holding back, for feeding her overbearing obsession for him. But for now, he could only live in the moment.
She brought his ear to her lips with her chilly hands.
"So, about you and the Mudblood-"
"We're nothing," he interrupted, feeling full well that she was most attractive when her lips were shut.
"Then why is she here?"
If anything could ruin the limited sexual desire he felt for her at the moment, it would be any reference of this looming, unsuccessful task.
He rolled over, away from her, thoroughly unsatisfied, self-disgust starting to worm it's way into his mind.
"Why is she here," she questioned again, much more harshly. The breathiness had evaporated from her speech, leaving her true, cold voice to ring through.
He gave up. He closed his eyes, and wished she would Disapparate or simply melt away. Damn witch.
"Voldemort," he answered quietly, defeated, hoping this was an appropriate response to quell her nagging questions.
"What does he want with her?"
"A secret."
"Then I'll be glad to Crucio-"
"It's not that simple."
And he found himself telling her everything, not knowing completely why, feeling completely miserable and alone, hoping that now that she would share the burden of seducing a girl that he absolutely despised. And quite possibly, hated him even more in return.
And after he was done with his lengthy lament-
-She smiled. A hideous, self-assured, jaw-breakingly smug smile.
"So that's why," she exclaimed, relieved, more to herself than to Draco. "Not because she's better looking or smarter of better then me. How silly of me to think so."
Oh, the psychological damage that she could ravage on the poor Mudblood.
"I'll do anything to help."
***
arbitrary: I can't thank you enough for plugging my story, and of course, because I am in love with Temporary Insanity (which you'd better update soon, damnit), it wouldn't hurt to direct everyone to this address: . Go READ! NOW!
Flexi Lexi: I made sure to not have a white space area this time so I don't fool you this time. But I did make this chapter a little longer! Hm… I wonder how to integrate "You are too cool for school" into the story… I'll try. : )
Ennahar: I deserve more reviews? Nah. I don't even deserve the ones I've gotten so far, but thanks!
liar: I have taken your advice and gotten rid of the "I am new at fanfiction" off of my story. I do agree that my first chapter was utter crap, though, and am happy that I am not the only one that thought that : ) I revised it, and hopefully it's a teensy bit better? I'll have to try again. Now, all I need is a beta reader. Any volunteers? : )
Pailay: I'm happy you like the character development, but I'm afraid I'm making Pansy into too much of a whiny baby and Blaise into a two-dimensional sexpot. Argh. I should watch out for that more. But thank you so much for keeping up with the story, and never failing to review. : )
Stephanie: I thank you for your declaration. : ) And I'll try very hard not to dissapoint you, but when I read over some of the previous chapters, I get really frustrated because I realize how much more revising I have to do. And then I enter a mini writer's-block from the frustration : )
Chick Vicious: Ahh! I'm in favorites? Don't waste your list space! (Isn't there a limit?)
I Give it all to Mr. Black: Gah, I'm trying hard to churn out these chapters, but these damn mental blocks. ARGH!
Narcissa Black: Somehow, Blaise has turned into my favorite character (to write, at least), but I definitely will try to get the D/H action going on soon… I just don't want it to be too unnatural or unbelievable.
Sara: Good to hear from you again, and I still want to thank you for my email! I still have it saved in my inbox and I can't thank you enough for taking your time to write that.
Kou Shun'u: I couldn't resist bringing Kreacher in the story… I loved him and hated him at the same time (but most people just told me they absolutely despised him- what did you think?).
baka neko: I'm pretty sure I'll continue writing this story until the end… I get really sad when I read a fanfiction I particularly like only to find that the author discontinues it at a later chapter. : (
See Flexi Lexi? NO BLANK SPACE! : )
Finished: 8/20/2003