OMFG!! I am now loving writing this story. But not the amount of reviews I
get. But thank you Ezmerelda!! You rock and I am glad you like my story and
keep coming back. I appreciate it very much!! Sorry for the short chapter.
I have been trying to juggle RPG's, school, my domain, everything, so I
thought I'd better give you something in the meantime.
=================================================
Draco came across the door that was open a crack. His eyes shifted, and he took out his wand from the inside pocket of his robes. He peered around the edge of the oak door, and gasped in surprise. Hermione was laying on a pile of cushions, a bottle of vodka in her left hand and a bloody bandage on her right. Looking behind him, he slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
How beautiful Hermione looked when she slept. He watched her steady breathing, watched her chest go up and down. He longed to run his fingers through her brown, silky locks, to touch her perfect features. He stared longingly, his gaze sweeping down her body. He took the bottle of vodka from her hand. Reaching to screw the lid back on, he hesitated. Instead, he took a swig from the bottle.
The sloshing sound woke Hermione up. Her eyes glazed, glassy and unfocused, she blinked stupidly at Draco for a moment. And then, realizing who he was and where they were, she jumped up. In a violent rage, she leapt onto Draco, who yelped in shock at first.
Hermione clawed at him, her fingernails catching anywhere they could. Her anger at him and the alcohol in her body were a deadly mix, and she looked like a goddess on fire. Draco did nothing. He stood silently and still, knowing the pain and violence she was emitting onto him was nothing compared to the violence given to him by his father.
Lucius. Draco shuddered. Hermione was just a pin-prick on his imagination now. He remembered when his father brutally pushed him aside, beating his mother in front of a terrified Draco. Draco wasn't a stranger to violence himself, but seeing his well-respected father hit his petrified mother again and again. After beating Narcissa to a shaken wreak, Lucius had turned on Draco, who fought back the one time. The one time when scars were engraved on his legs forever. And since then, Draco had let his father thrash him until he was spent. And afterwards, he and his mother had bathed each others wounds, clinging together. Draco could never forget the whimpering his mother made.
And in the present, Hermione had sunk to her knees, whimpering the same way his mother had. It was painful to watch. Draco also sank to his knees and kissed Hermione on the head, caressing her hair, as he did to comfort his mother. And Hermione clung helplessly onto him, like he was her lifeline.
=================================================
Draco came across the door that was open a crack. His eyes shifted, and he took out his wand from the inside pocket of his robes. He peered around the edge of the oak door, and gasped in surprise. Hermione was laying on a pile of cushions, a bottle of vodka in her left hand and a bloody bandage on her right. Looking behind him, he slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
How beautiful Hermione looked when she slept. He watched her steady breathing, watched her chest go up and down. He longed to run his fingers through her brown, silky locks, to touch her perfect features. He stared longingly, his gaze sweeping down her body. He took the bottle of vodka from her hand. Reaching to screw the lid back on, he hesitated. Instead, he took a swig from the bottle.
The sloshing sound woke Hermione up. Her eyes glazed, glassy and unfocused, she blinked stupidly at Draco for a moment. And then, realizing who he was and where they were, she jumped up. In a violent rage, she leapt onto Draco, who yelped in shock at first.
Hermione clawed at him, her fingernails catching anywhere they could. Her anger at him and the alcohol in her body were a deadly mix, and she looked like a goddess on fire. Draco did nothing. He stood silently and still, knowing the pain and violence she was emitting onto him was nothing compared to the violence given to him by his father.
Lucius. Draco shuddered. Hermione was just a pin-prick on his imagination now. He remembered when his father brutally pushed him aside, beating his mother in front of a terrified Draco. Draco wasn't a stranger to violence himself, but seeing his well-respected father hit his petrified mother again and again. After beating Narcissa to a shaken wreak, Lucius had turned on Draco, who fought back the one time. The one time when scars were engraved on his legs forever. And since then, Draco had let his father thrash him until he was spent. And afterwards, he and his mother had bathed each others wounds, clinging together. Draco could never forget the whimpering his mother made.
And in the present, Hermione had sunk to her knees, whimpering the same way his mother had. It was painful to watch. Draco also sank to his knees and kissed Hermione on the head, caressing her hair, as he did to comfort his mother. And Hermione clung helplessly onto him, like he was her lifeline.