Disclaimer: I own nothing...but my sick and twisted imagination
Mesmer: Thanks for another review. I only hope that Draco's ego can survive.
Lessien: Sorry but until I can get over the flu I am having a time trying to even see my screen. I will update ASAP.
KivaidendGirl: Your well wishing is much appreciated. Thanks.
DHL: Again the enthusiasm is treasured.
Silliemillie: Thanks for your encouragement on the plot twists.
Time Bomb: You are too great! I don't know the words to the Christmas story, but I AM trying to liken Dumbledore to any wise men in tales I have seen. After all, JK makes him all knowing, and since I am not, I need a role model. (I think he would best fit a character Nicodemus from a movie I saw as a child called Nihm. But Santa is an awesome idea too.) "Courage of the heart is very rare, the stone glows when it's there." -Nicodemus
Beth: We share a bond here. "And the plot thickens..."
Crazy Noodle: I am not 11, though I can pout with the best of 'em. I try to keep my flaws open. Pride is a biggie. 'Hidden sin is open scandal in heaven'. I am from Chicago Suburbs. And if I told you exactly what I meant by my earlier comment, I am afraid that I'd give away too much.. he he he. I will attempt to hold your esteem, secure with the knowledge that you'll let me know when I fail. Hope you enjoy the chapter.
Chapter 13: Second Attempt At The Prophesy
Hermione paced in the Head anteroom. The gold carpets were trampled by her abuse and anxiety. The marvelous surroundings of rich tapestries went unheeded as her thoughts focused on Draco. Where in the hell was he? The note laid on the table was not very comforting. She read it for the tenth time, hands shaking in frustration.
Hermione, (Draco's handwriting could only be compared to the slimy
trail left by a blast-ended skrewt.) I need time to think about how
to proceed in the wake of recent events. I should also confide that I
am somewhat shamed that you would seek out Dumbledore's counsel and
not mine. After I become composed I think that we should discuss how
the corridor incident should not be repeated. You certainly didn't
need to be so assertive. I was capable of control in that situation
and you should have had more faith in my abilities. I am going for a
fly to think. Don't wait up.
Draco
Her earlier pride was crestfallen under the guilt. Draco must be more upset than she originally thought. She assumed resignation on his part, and for him to move on. Maybe even praise her. Rude awakening, no parade in her honor, not even a thanks. Criticism and rejection stung.
With lower lip protruding she flung herself onto the forest green couch and sobbed her misunderstandings to the throw pillows. She was clueless as to how to make amends for the situation and yet she felt that she was the one owed an apology.
Stubbornness twitched at a muscle in her jaw. Her teeth were clenched as she decided: "Fine, he wants to play hard ball, I'm all about the game. If he can't accept a strong and independent woman, let him have Pansy." She meant not one word, of course, but was too devoured by self-pity to admit it.
Hermione's frustrations mounted with each passing moment. She walked into Draco's room, searching for any clue to where he went. Finding none, she grabbed a miniature silver eagle statue off his mahogany dresser and hurled it towards the opposite wall. The missile never smashed into the target; instead it collided with the head of an unfortunate and very filthy house elf.
She turned in time to witness the battered elf collapse to the floor. "Oh shit, I am so sorry" She exclaimed, running to the poor creature's side. "Are you going to be ok?" She lifted the tiny head and peered into the beady eyes.
"You must be Miss Grainger." Tippy said, her thin hands rubbing the gash in her head. "Master Malfoy said that you'd be a fighter." A lump was protruding already. Hermione ran to the bathroom and returned with a wet towel. As she applied it to the skinny mammal's inflammation she asked, "Draco sent you?" The elf blinked slowly. "Not too bright. Surely the leader of S.P.E.W. would know that house elves cannot be owned by heirs. I am sent with a message from Master Lucius." The revolting little elf grinned toothlessly and produced a rolled parchment.
"It's a ransom note?" Hermione read. "Dense." Tippy snickered. "You sure that you weren't the one hit on the noggin?" Tippy stood quickly and backed into the corner. "You must be the one to bring the ransom to the meeting, as it clearly states. The ONLY one. Do nothing foolish! If all goes right Draco will be fine. The portkey will take you there. One hour." Tippy dropped a yellow button on the floor and vanished.
Hermione was washed over by despair. Lucius demanded that they exchange Draco's life for Dumbledore's pensive. How she was going to get it without Dumbledore knowing was a complete mystery. She also couldn't inform any of the friends about the ransom, or Draco's life was forfeit.
She knew that a pensive was used to store your experiences and inner thoughts. It was handy if you wanted to clear your mind of an event that could be used against you, or something that needed to be kept a secret. Hermione's brain worked furiously to unravel the reason Lucius would want Dumbledore's memories.
She determined that it had to do with Lord Voldemort. Of course Dumbledore must confide in it numerous secret plans and ideas for The Order. He probably has disclosed information about the three of them that even their parents didn't know. But was that all? Her ignorance was killing her. Doubts rushed through her mind.
She scoffed at the fact that even if she did get the pensive, there was little chance that she was willing to hand it over to Lucius without a conflict. He was as slimy as a ... well, snake; and just as reliable. It was making a deal with the devil. Holding him to his word was likely to get her and Draco both slaughtered.
Besides, she had no idea what the pensive could contain. The destruction of the wizarding world hung in the balance. The pensive could include information that would ensure the survival of even the human race.
In the hands of evil, it would undeniably be used for the purpose of devastation. Was Draco's life worth it? She had to decide, and quickly.
Weighing her feelings for Draco against the annihilation of life as she knew it, she raced off to the Headmasters office. She would make her decision only after she attempted to retrieve the pensive. If that succeeded, she could move on to the next level.
She whispered the password and dashed up the winding stairs, knowing that once inside she'd have to think fast on her feet. Her mind went blank. She wished insincerely that she had more experience with deception. Her stomach hurled, knowing that even if she miraculously fabricated a lie, it would never be convincing enough to ensure her success.
Oh, her sheer luck! Dumbledore was snoring vociferously from the same comfy chair on the mezzanine enclosure. The only difference was that a newspaper was lying neglected across his knees. She silently crept into the outer chamber. With all the stealth she possessed; she searched the nearby shelves, careful not to rouse the numerous portraits. Desperately she hunted for the bowl shaped object.
At last she discovered the shiny object, slipping it carefully inside her robes. Slowly she crept, inch-by-inch, to the door, and slipped out. No one would be the wiser to her thievery. And if things went in her favor, she could have both Draco and the pensive returned unharmed by the morning. She could only pray that fate was on her side this evening. It was a furtive prayer indeed.
Draco was encrusted in blood at his boyhood home. A condescending voice spilled verbal abuse in the background. "The punishment shall be severe. No doubt the ungrateful whelp shall not live through the night." The lick of a whip slashed open the flesh of his back. "A Malfoy always obeys his master." His breath caught as iodine dripped upon the new wound.
Five times the cat-o-nine bit into the tender skin, each wound to be painfully sealed. With every contact a new commandment was issued. His head was cumbersome and refused to stay atop his shoulders. Sapping his strength it rolled on his neck and he blacked out. Blessed oblivion spared him the indignity of crying out as Lucius resumed the lashing.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sorry all, but this sickness is kickin' my ass right now. I need some rest. Have a nice weekend. I promise to be back full force Monday morning.
Mesmer: Thanks for another review. I only hope that Draco's ego can survive.
Lessien: Sorry but until I can get over the flu I am having a time trying to even see my screen. I will update ASAP.
KivaidendGirl: Your well wishing is much appreciated. Thanks.
DHL: Again the enthusiasm is treasured.
Silliemillie: Thanks for your encouragement on the plot twists.
Time Bomb: You are too great! I don't know the words to the Christmas story, but I AM trying to liken Dumbledore to any wise men in tales I have seen. After all, JK makes him all knowing, and since I am not, I need a role model. (I think he would best fit a character Nicodemus from a movie I saw as a child called Nihm. But Santa is an awesome idea too.) "Courage of the heart is very rare, the stone glows when it's there." -Nicodemus
Beth: We share a bond here. "And the plot thickens..."
Crazy Noodle: I am not 11, though I can pout with the best of 'em. I try to keep my flaws open. Pride is a biggie. 'Hidden sin is open scandal in heaven'. I am from Chicago Suburbs. And if I told you exactly what I meant by my earlier comment, I am afraid that I'd give away too much.. he he he. I will attempt to hold your esteem, secure with the knowledge that you'll let me know when I fail. Hope you enjoy the chapter.
Chapter 13: Second Attempt At The Prophesy
Hermione paced in the Head anteroom. The gold carpets were trampled by her abuse and anxiety. The marvelous surroundings of rich tapestries went unheeded as her thoughts focused on Draco. Where in the hell was he? The note laid on the table was not very comforting. She read it for the tenth time, hands shaking in frustration.
Hermione, (Draco's handwriting could only be compared to the slimy
trail left by a blast-ended skrewt.) I need time to think about how
to proceed in the wake of recent events. I should also confide that I
am somewhat shamed that you would seek out Dumbledore's counsel and
not mine. After I become composed I think that we should discuss how
the corridor incident should not be repeated. You certainly didn't
need to be so assertive. I was capable of control in that situation
and you should have had more faith in my abilities. I am going for a
fly to think. Don't wait up.
Draco
Her earlier pride was crestfallen under the guilt. Draco must be more upset than she originally thought. She assumed resignation on his part, and for him to move on. Maybe even praise her. Rude awakening, no parade in her honor, not even a thanks. Criticism and rejection stung.
With lower lip protruding she flung herself onto the forest green couch and sobbed her misunderstandings to the throw pillows. She was clueless as to how to make amends for the situation and yet she felt that she was the one owed an apology.
Stubbornness twitched at a muscle in her jaw. Her teeth were clenched as she decided: "Fine, he wants to play hard ball, I'm all about the game. If he can't accept a strong and independent woman, let him have Pansy." She meant not one word, of course, but was too devoured by self-pity to admit it.
Hermione's frustrations mounted with each passing moment. She walked into Draco's room, searching for any clue to where he went. Finding none, she grabbed a miniature silver eagle statue off his mahogany dresser and hurled it towards the opposite wall. The missile never smashed into the target; instead it collided with the head of an unfortunate and very filthy house elf.
She turned in time to witness the battered elf collapse to the floor. "Oh shit, I am so sorry" She exclaimed, running to the poor creature's side. "Are you going to be ok?" She lifted the tiny head and peered into the beady eyes.
"You must be Miss Grainger." Tippy said, her thin hands rubbing the gash in her head. "Master Malfoy said that you'd be a fighter." A lump was protruding already. Hermione ran to the bathroom and returned with a wet towel. As she applied it to the skinny mammal's inflammation she asked, "Draco sent you?" The elf blinked slowly. "Not too bright. Surely the leader of S.P.E.W. would know that house elves cannot be owned by heirs. I am sent with a message from Master Lucius." The revolting little elf grinned toothlessly and produced a rolled parchment.
"It's a ransom note?" Hermione read. "Dense." Tippy snickered. "You sure that you weren't the one hit on the noggin?" Tippy stood quickly and backed into the corner. "You must be the one to bring the ransom to the meeting, as it clearly states. The ONLY one. Do nothing foolish! If all goes right Draco will be fine. The portkey will take you there. One hour." Tippy dropped a yellow button on the floor and vanished.
Hermione was washed over by despair. Lucius demanded that they exchange Draco's life for Dumbledore's pensive. How she was going to get it without Dumbledore knowing was a complete mystery. She also couldn't inform any of the friends about the ransom, or Draco's life was forfeit.
She knew that a pensive was used to store your experiences and inner thoughts. It was handy if you wanted to clear your mind of an event that could be used against you, or something that needed to be kept a secret. Hermione's brain worked furiously to unravel the reason Lucius would want Dumbledore's memories.
She determined that it had to do with Lord Voldemort. Of course Dumbledore must confide in it numerous secret plans and ideas for The Order. He probably has disclosed information about the three of them that even their parents didn't know. But was that all? Her ignorance was killing her. Doubts rushed through her mind.
She scoffed at the fact that even if she did get the pensive, there was little chance that she was willing to hand it over to Lucius without a conflict. He was as slimy as a ... well, snake; and just as reliable. It was making a deal with the devil. Holding him to his word was likely to get her and Draco both slaughtered.
Besides, she had no idea what the pensive could contain. The destruction of the wizarding world hung in the balance. The pensive could include information that would ensure the survival of even the human race.
In the hands of evil, it would undeniably be used for the purpose of devastation. Was Draco's life worth it? She had to decide, and quickly.
Weighing her feelings for Draco against the annihilation of life as she knew it, she raced off to the Headmasters office. She would make her decision only after she attempted to retrieve the pensive. If that succeeded, she could move on to the next level.
She whispered the password and dashed up the winding stairs, knowing that once inside she'd have to think fast on her feet. Her mind went blank. She wished insincerely that she had more experience with deception. Her stomach hurled, knowing that even if she miraculously fabricated a lie, it would never be convincing enough to ensure her success.
Oh, her sheer luck! Dumbledore was snoring vociferously from the same comfy chair on the mezzanine enclosure. The only difference was that a newspaper was lying neglected across his knees. She silently crept into the outer chamber. With all the stealth she possessed; she searched the nearby shelves, careful not to rouse the numerous portraits. Desperately she hunted for the bowl shaped object.
At last she discovered the shiny object, slipping it carefully inside her robes. Slowly she crept, inch-by-inch, to the door, and slipped out. No one would be the wiser to her thievery. And if things went in her favor, she could have both Draco and the pensive returned unharmed by the morning. She could only pray that fate was on her side this evening. It was a furtive prayer indeed.
Draco was encrusted in blood at his boyhood home. A condescending voice spilled verbal abuse in the background. "The punishment shall be severe. No doubt the ungrateful whelp shall not live through the night." The lick of a whip slashed open the flesh of his back. "A Malfoy always obeys his master." His breath caught as iodine dripped upon the new wound.
Five times the cat-o-nine bit into the tender skin, each wound to be painfully sealed. With every contact a new commandment was issued. His head was cumbersome and refused to stay atop his shoulders. Sapping his strength it rolled on his neck and he blacked out. Blessed oblivion spared him the indignity of crying out as Lucius resumed the lashing.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Sorry all, but this sickness is kickin' my ass right now. I need some rest. Have a nice weekend. I promise to be back full force Monday morning.