Love of the Owl
Disclaimer: Refer to last chapter. It applies for pretty much the whole thing.
Chapter two
"Ronald Weasley!" shouted the matronly Molly Weasley up the stairs. "I told you to go to sleep nearly an hour ago!" A red-haired boy sat bolt upright in his bed, and then quickly started flattening his ruffled hair. She must have heard all the movement up here, he thought, panicked and excited at the danger... He wiped his lips, half brushed his hair with his fingers (having realised nothing else was going to work) and threw back on his pyjama top. Then he lovingly stroked the side of his girl's face and smiled a lopsided smile at her.
"That was great baby," he whispered to her; he thought he saw a half smile back at him as he looked into her large doe-like eyes. "You'd better go back to hide in the wardrobe love," he said. With that suggestion hanging in the tense air, she slipped off of the bed, and stepped into the open wardrobe, drawing the door shut behind her.
And not a moment too soon, for not more than five seconds later, the door to the youngest Weasley boy's room was flung open. It crashed upon the wall, making the dent in the wall from previous such fierce entrances even larger. Molly Weasley looked furious, and he wisely kept to his bed, using the blanket as a flimsy protection against her wrath.
"How many times have I told you young man? When I say go to bed, I mean for you to go to sleep as well! Both your father and I are having to work long hours, and I don't need you doing goodness knows what up here at all hours, keeping me awake! What on earth have you been doing, anyway?" she asked, casting the shrewd eyes of a mother around the room. Silently, Ron felt proud that he had left no evidence of his actions in plain sight.
"Nothing ma - just practicing a few spells, that's all," he answered, knowing that she'd find that at least acceptable, considering how dangerous things were now... She looked a little surprised by this, and answered in a slightly flustered manner,
"Well, that as it may be, perhaps you could stick to practicing during the daytime, hmm?"
"Yes ma," Ron nodded obediently, putting on his best 'I'm sorry and I won't do it ever again, cross my heart' face. It was obvious his mother wasn't fooled, but a huge yawn overtook her, and she just let the subject drop.
"All right - well, goodnight. And go to sleep!"
"'night," he answered, also yawning, only just realising how tired he was.
Molly Weasley left the room, bringing the door to a close quietly behind her. As soon as the latch had clicked into place, Ron looked over at the wardrobe, and smiled when he saw a large amused eye peering out at him. Tendrils of soft, sunbeam coloured hair stuck out at odd angles from her head, and she still looked slightly flushed. "We almost got caught there love," Ron whispered, having to physically contain his laughter.
She just nodded, looking predatorily at him as she stalked over to the bed, her grace accentuated heavily by the lack of sound she made as she traversed the creaky floor. She smirked, and after casting a look at the door to check that it was properly shut, bent down to engage him in a passionate kiss. He reached up, and tangled his hands in her silky hair, pulling her down on top of him, and-
Thud! Ronald Weasley abruptly awoke, to find himself lying on a pile of pillows upon his bedroom floor. He shook his head, and sighed sadly. Fleur? ...Damnit... Just another ruddy dream... I've got to get out of this house before I go insane!
Draco was lying streched out upon his bed, arms folded to create a pillow for his head. Staring up at the rich velvet canopy above him, he was thinking back to his actions in the park. And...he had come to realise this quite quickly...he didn't regret them. Not one of them. She's just so...different. Now that she's more than a mudblood - she's just...and yet she's more... His thoughts were disjointed and tangled in one another. All he knew for certain was that just thinking of Granger delighted him. Not just pretty - but not beautiful. Just so different - herself, rather than a modelled person. And clever, so bloody clever.
He wrapped his arms around himself, and closed his eyes, imagining that instead of air, he was holding one Hermione Granger. Rising genius of Hogwarts, and close friend to his sworn enemy, Harry Potter. To be honest, I don't really care about him either way anymore. It just doesn't matter...
He heard a hiss in the corner of the room and saw his snake hanging from a bar attached to the ceiling; it was looking at him accusingly. Surely it couldn't read his thoughts! Snakes hate lions... If his father ever found out he was having these thoughts... There would be hell to pay!
He sat up and had a quick glance around the room. His eyes darted all around, checking for anything out of the ordinary.
It was a complete mess, snake skins in the corner, clothes over the floor and...a spell book? That wasn't his. He picked himself up and went to observe. 'Spells for the experts.' Experts?
He certainly wouldn't class himself as an expert. He picked it up and opened it to the front page. There was a tiny note scribbled in the corner.
'I was just writing to say, that I had a good time today. I liked our discussion. I was hoping that we could meet again sometime. I will try to go to where we met everyday in case you are there. And I will try to bring Harry and we can practice spells together.
Well that's all, though this book might help, so see you whenever! Hermione.'
He frowned, Harry. She had to bring wonderful expert Harry. Probably doesn't even give a toss about me - not with perfect Potter there to be her 'knight in shining armour'... He threw the book at the wall as hard as he could and went to lie back on his bed. He already regretted throwing the book when he heard the stomping of his father coming up the stairs; he just hoped to himself that he wasn't drunk again.
Minutes later
"Father, don't!" It was a dark night outside the Malfoy estate and a gloomy atmosphere inside "Please... Dad..." Curled up on the floor, was Draco, tears streaming down his face, barely able to keep himself from falling unconscious.
"Stop it father!" he cried again. Why, oh why hadn't he hidden the stupid book when he heard him coming up?
"No! You disobedient, weak, worthless child; you are no son of mine! Talking to a mudblood like that, what did she say to you? Talk to me boy!"
The Malfoy boy shook his head, the spell making it difficult to so much as speak. However, knowing that he would get no reprieve if he didn't, he forced himself to talk through the pain. "I don't know why she gave me it! Why would I understand anything a mudblood does- no, not again, please!" Draco was on his hands and knees sobbing uncontrollably and his father was pointing his wand at him, a smirk on his face.
When his father said nothing, Draco slowly raised his head to look at him, but he dared not meet his eyes. His father leant down to him and Draco sighed; it was finally over... For tonight at least.
Suddenly, Lucius' hand shot out and grabbed his son's chin, and pulled it up so that Draco had to look him in the eyes. His father scowled, and it was obvious that he knew more than Draco had feared. "Nothing happened, did it?" The air of calm sarcasm in Lucius' voice scared Draco more than anything else that had happened so far. He waved his wand deftly, and conjured up an image of what had happened earlier in the park.
Draco watched in fascination as Hermione appeared before his eyes again, and nearly forgot his situation. But, when Lucius swept a hand through the image, causing it to disappear, he squeaked in panic. "Maybe just one more should teach you not to lie to me, fool! And then another, to remind you not to mix with those filthy mudbloods! Crucio!" A deafening scream filled the room, and Draco soon realised that it was coming from him. His father was laughing as if lapping up all the pain, and finding it delicious. Lucius cast the spell again, leaving Draco no time for breath.
"Crucio!" Though he had little strength left in him, and even less breath, Draco still managed to rasp out a spell.
"Protego!" Thankfully, he saw that the spell had been reflected, and watched in sick fascination as his father was hit by the Cruciatus curse. He toppled over, mouth open in a silent grimace of pain. Quickly, Draco shakily got to his feet, and ignoring the agonising pain he was in, fled from the room. There's no way I can stay here!
Same as last time really, if you liked it, tell me why, if you didn't, tell me why (and if possible give me some ideas on how to imrpove.) Cookies extended to all! (And thank you to alexa for reviewing... I'm glad you like it so far m'dear. )