Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, though I wish I could come up with something amazingly similar so I could be a multimillionare. J.K. Rowling is the author of those wonderful novels. This fanfic is my own invention however. DON'T STEAL IT! hehe :P
Author's Notes: Well, Christmas is over, and I'm glad you all liked Chapter 4, because personally, I really liked that chapter after I posted it. I went to and read over what I wrote, and for the first time, since beginning to write chapter 4, which took just over a week and a bit, I actually liked what I wrote, and all my reviewers have thanks for this, because, you're all giving me confidence in my writing style. Oh dear God, my friends will think, she's getting an enormous head! Hahaha :P
Anyway, Chapter 4 was kind of an explanatory chapter. It gave you an insight, I hope, into Draco's own opinion on what is happening, and also a bit of an explanation. As to whether this story is going to get all raunchy to meet the 'R'- rating; personally, I don't know. I don't know if I trust myself to write anything to sexual, but you were all quite adamant about the 'kiss', which I wrote in chapter 1, so we'll see. But at the moment, I'm trying to take what is happening between the two, really slow. Actually, it seems to be going backwards, if I remember what I wrote in chapter 4, because now Hermione's completely turned away, so who knows!! Here is chapter 5, I hope you all enjoy this chapter- I really did, and it shows you a little bit of background.
This is rated R for violence in some bits. I hope you enjoy it all the same.
Chapter 5
The grounds of this school seem to grow still as she walks away and a cloud passes across the moon, shadowing this eerie grove in a darkness, which is cold and foreboding. I watch her lips moving, speaking to me as she places a distance between us but I tune out, wishing not to listen to anything she has to say. Her tongue always was cutting and razor edged, though now, seven years after our first meeting, it seems sharper and more easily provoked. Her words are those of warning, and as she staggers away from me, I look away.
I lean my body against the trunk of a tree and pull out a packet of cigarettes, extracting one with my teeth, before lighting it. The wind ruffles my hair, and as I exhale, I run a hand through my silver locks and sigh, the cloud of noxious gases before me growing.
"What are you doing, Draco Malfoy? What are you doing?" I mutter to myself, and think of my behaviour not moments before. I look to the lake, and then to its shallows where, just moments before, she was displayed. Her breasts pressing against her clinging, wet shirt, her cheeks stained red with embarrassment as her hair clings to her cheeks and finally her lips, which are parted in an exclamation of surprise. I can't help but believe that she is she gorgeous in a simple but enchanting manner.
"I... I won't play these games anymore. Find some other whore to play with; they're much more willing, because I may be some middle-class, muggle-born witch, Draco Malfoy, but I will not be known as yet another number on the Malfoy's conquering list."
Her words cut through me over and over, and I groan, remembering what it is to have her in my arms.
Is she part of my conquering list? Is she just another Pansy? God I hope not! My relationship with Pansy went no further than Sixth year, but it was a year I wish now to never think of. She brought more harm then good to my life as a whole, and to think I might have, for a single moment, considered her a friend.
Pansy is a blond-haired beauty of full, buxom curves and pouty expressions. Where I am slim and well toned, she is round and curvaceous, but her personality leaves so much to be questioned. Her father is in league with my father; both past death-eaters, and I was brought up in her deceiving, conspiring company. Where I am the epitome of the Slytherin paternal persona, she resembles that of the maternal.
The nights by her side, when we shared a bed were quiet and eruptive, and I spent many a night, when she was asleep, awake. She sleeps like an angel, her face calm and deliciously innocent, but inside that conniving subconscious, she plots and maps out conquests of her own. For two years we weaved webs of our own around the other until we could see neither lies nor truths in the other's words. We stabbed the other precariously in the back with our words and taunts to others, but where I might withdraw the knife and clean it in a symbol of honor, she would spit and leave it protruding from my back like spear of victory.
The moon is showing itself again, the clouds moved onto another place in the sky, but I continue my thoughts. How could two people, so well matched in looks, wealth and personalities end up in such a battle of wills. Slytherin's princess wins again, obviously proving the theory that women always get what they want.
"How could you, Draco!" She screams at me, her words spitting acid at me, as they echo in the entryway. "Did this mean nothing to you? Who's the slut that has you twisted around her fingers, sir? Who is she so I can rip out her heart and serve to you on a platter!" She shrieks at me, and throws the first of many presents that my father presented to me to give to her. The emerald earrings.
"There is no one, Pansy! I just don't want to see you anymore!" I hiss at her, trying to indicate that this should be kept slightly quieter.
"Don't you dare try to shut me up, Draco Malfoy! Don't you dare!" She shrieks in retaliation, and I have to give it to her; the tears that splatter down her cheeks definitely add to the picture of 'wronged and dishonoured princess'.
"What's going on here? Mr Malfoy, what did you do?" Professor Minerva McGonagall asks, whilst wrapping an arm around Pansy's shoulders. Not only a Gryffindor defender, McGonagall seems to be the tyrant ruler of this schools' females.
"Nothing, Professor, I was just having a conversation with Pansy, in which she doesn't understand." I try to explain, but Pansy shakes her head venomously and quickly interrupts me. "He cheated on me, the bastard!" She screams angrily, and the torrential tears seem to start up again as the Professor shushes her.
"We will discuss your treatment of the females in this school at a later time, Mr Malfoy, but for now, I expect to see you everynight this week, outside my office for detention. Come dear, lets get you washed up and ready for class." The tone that she used to address me immediately becomes soft and caring as she pulls Pansy away, but as they turn around, Pansy looks back. Her round face is expressed in a gleeful glare as she licks her lips and narrows her eyes. "Not this time, Draco dear, not this time." She whispers, and as if magic, her voice carries to only my ears.
I had to hand it to her, it was a job meticulously well done. Everyone in the school, most of all, the Slytherin house believed me to be a cheating, lying bastard. I am lying bastard in a sense, but cheating, no, that never went down to well with me, and I never once cheated Pansy.
My reputation was ruined more than I thought was possible and when I had returned home for the summer that year, my father, always the sadist at heart, beat the living shit out of me.
"The Dark Lord is not happy with your treatment of Miss Parkinson, Draco!" Lucius yells before he releases the whip. Over and over it strikes my back, and the blood seems to splatter against the walls of his darkened workrooms. My cries are deafened in my ears, and I can feel a distant ringing in my head. "She was meant to be your bride! I was meant to be second in command, but now that Parkinson man is in my place!" He screams, and I glance up at his face and am greeted by the most horrific face. Blood has sprung onto his cheeks, and his long, blond hair, usually so neat and tightly pulled back, is mattered with his son's blood.
"Well Draco, what do you have to say for your behaviour?" I glance up at his face, and am about to speak, before my head begins to swim in a mountain of bright lights, and then next thing I know, I am awake in my room.
Two weeks of passing in and out of consciousness, and a back covered in scars, which dig deep into the bones of spine, are what I am presented with when I awaken.
I shudder, drop my cigarette on the ground and stub it out with the toe of my shoe. My breathing is shallow and all I can think about is the maniacal expression, which decorated my father's face that fateful day. His eyes, once a bright vibrant blue of scary perspective are dulled and angry. His forehead is creased and his countenance is pasty and pallid after years of being cursed and hexed, whilst his lips remain pursed and scrunched up into an angry, condescending smirk. I slip to my knees, my forehead leaning against the trunk of the tree, as I bring up everything that my stomach contained. My back aches as if someone has prodded it with a wand, over and over and over. And when it is all over, I bang my fist against the hard wood before scrunching my face up in pain and trying to contain the scream, which wishes to burst free from within me.
I raise my head as the wind blows a light breeze across my hot cheeks and I see the glint of glistening wood within the grass. A wand. To be more precise, it is Her wand.
I wrap my arms around her small waist and draw her to me, knowing that at this moment, I may be hexed into oblivion by the wand, which lies in her fingers. But her scent is so arousing, so intoxicating that I bury myself in the crook of her neck, before dragging my lips to the hollow of her throat where I press them gently against her skin. Gently? I have never been gentle before, I recall.
A light thump echoes after my attention and as she exhales deeply, I realize she has dropped her wand, almost as if, even when her mind rejects me, her body plays for me. The hollow of one's neck is usually warm and slightly clammy, the sweat of one's body building up in the small cavity, but hers is burning hot and brilliantly soft, as though the blood that pounds beneath that spot is like boiling water. I find myself wanting to taste it.
I shake myself from the dream like memory and scramble to claim the wooden stick, which lies in the short grass. I wrap my fingers around its surface and her scent rises to my nostrils. It's a mixture of the fresh scents, that of grass just cut and strawberries in bloom, autumn leaves just falling from their branches and woodchips, freshly lain, and I wonder if she's placed another spell on this to enchant me. Kissing her was meant to be aggravating to her alone, but it seems as though this is more my conundrum, than hers.
"What spell have you put on me, faery; that anything you ask, I would give to you on my knees?" Here I am, on my knees, with only the shadowing trees to witness it. I look sharply at the piece of wood in my hands, unsure of the power that it holds and nervous of its ebony colouring which I recognise as being rare, and suddenly a series of images trickle from its end.
"Hermione? Hermione, come here and see this!" A voice I immediately recognize as Potter's emerges from the brush and I watch as she rushes across the snow-covered grounds to a younger, rounder potter.
"What is it, Harry?" Her face appears to me, and I recognize the younger form of my heart's recent desire. Her hair is longer, but just as curly and blond as it is now, but her cheeks are red and glistening, and her shoulders and clothes are covered in flecks of snow. Weasley also emerges onto the scene and their laughter, hers ringing clearest in my ears as if I'm suddenly attuned to everything about her, erupts from the collection of images as the two boys grab her round the waist, throw her up into the air, only to then let her fall back into a pile of snow. She erupts from the snow like some captive demon, her amber coloured eyes - bright with furious humor, and her cheeks, red like before with a brilliant crimson.
"Granger? Really, Malfoy, I would have chosen differently for you." A voice breaks my concentration and the images drop into oblivion as I turn to face another. Not my mind's subject or the wand's but another. He stands beneath the moon, but his face is shadowed beneath dark, curling hair.
"Zabini." I state dryly, and pick my feet up beneath me, pocketing the wand. He doesn't smirk, he doesn't smile, he doesn't even sneer, but his eyes glitter with something best hidden. A darkness to his soul, similar to mine, glimmers in their depths, and I blink, suddenly uneasy around this friend and foe. Exactly like me, but so different, Zabini puts me much more at edge then I at him.
"What do you want?" I address him sharply, and he raises a neatly groomed eyebrow in my direction, adding a single emotion of catty superiority to his expression.
"From you? Nothing. But dinner is beginning and Crabbe and Goyle are getting impatient." He smirks and I rake my eyes over his face, trying to find out what hidden message he means, but as usual, Zabini's face is mask of lost emotions.
Blaise Zabini, son of Mikael and Gabriella Zabini, is the epitome of the Slytherin persona - cunning, non-trusting, spiteful and a trait which is seen in only the most well bred of purebloods – sinister. With his tanned features, inherited through his father's Italian background, and framing dark hair which shadows pit-like eyes and brushes the top of his black, robed shoulders, Zabini is the devil disguised of a school child.
Mikael taught Blaise to be without emotions, his face a blank piece of cardboard; one moment he is happy, his face spread in an abrupt smile, while the next moment he is as solemn as pouting child. He beat these lessons into his son with a whip and needle, decorating Blaise's body in an intricate maze of scratches, gashes, and washed away scars of blood. Where my father taught smirks and anger as a weapon to command over ones personality, Blaise was taught to never show a single emotion that may correspond with what he actually felt. The scars of torture, which run through Blaise's mind, are dark and deep, and slowly corrupt his mind with the pollution of dark arts.
As a young child, I spent many afternoons in the company of Blaise, watching his back and grimacing at the scars, which attacked every portion of his body but his face and neck. My father was more careful with his blows, landing them where they hurt the most but were seen the least, and many childhood day, I walked with a limp, or breathed with a painful gasp as a broken rib pressed almost fatally against my lung.
I watch as nothing passes over my 'friend's' face and sigh. Where I wish I could draw him away from where his mind folds itself inwards, I know such thoughts are fruitless. Revenge is the only thing on the mind of a death eater's child, the scars which torture his or her mind have more depth than blood, and one can not help but think dirty, wrong, damning thoughts of everyone around them.
I find the image of my father's face, as he whips me over and over, my cries of pain deaf on his ears, rising in my mind, and I shake myself, trying desperately to come to terms with these thoughts which betray my soul. Zabini's face portrays his obvious betrayal already, and I wish desperately that he kept an anchor that I could release to hold him steady, to keep him just above the surface of the dungeon depths which holds him, but I know that if I stepped too close, I'd be pulled under. The hatred in me for my father, for even my mother, is so strong that if I sought to help him, I would sacrifice my own self, and I am not that brave.
The sorting hat's song sings in my ears, its sweet tune –
Or perhaps in Slytherin you'll make your real friends, those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends...
I wasn't placed in Gryffindor to be brave; I was placed in Slytherin because it saw in me the anger and hatred, the conniving mind that my father spent years perfecting. And so when I seek to help a friend, I shall, but not bravely or with conviction.
Besides, Zabini doesn't want to be saved.
I snap back to present time and see that Zabini is regarding me with nothing more than that dangerous, uneasy glint that his eyes always seem to behold. Like he is plotting something.
I swagger past him, but pauses as he speaks. "You won't get ten feet of her, Malfoy, without being burnt alive." I wonder how true his words actually are, and remember the heat that erupts in me at the mere thought of her. But then, the dragon of Slytherin bears his own fire and it cannot be diminished.
"Too bad, then; I've already narrowed the distance considerably. She is mine to have, and mine alone. If one hair is touched, one hair out of place that was not done by these fingers alone, then you'll know why Malfoy's were once the Lord's right-hand family." I growl, wondering why exactly I feel so angered by these words. I slip away from Zabini, making my way into the great hall to eat my supper, and without surprise find him already seated in the shadows of the table.
Across the room, laughter fills the room, and I watch as Potter takes the youngest Weasley by the waist and swings her towards her seat as she squeals. Beside her sits the golden faery, her cheeks ablaze with a reddened fire, and I realize that my mark is left. A dragon's scar does not fall away so easily, and she will realize that in coming time.
Author's Notes No.2- Wowee- Chapter 5 is finished. I know, it took a while, but cut me a bit of slack, I've been heaps busy, what with Christmas, New Years Eve and work. I hope you all liked Blaise's character. I actually had a lot of fun writing for Blaise, and writing the flash back scenes. I'm trying to keep Draco in character but also slightly altered, to show the confusion and slight tragedy of his life. There was no Hermione-Draco interaction in this chapter, but I thought that they needed a bit of a break. Four chapters of kissing, is quite a bit, wouldn't you think.
Now- I would like to thank: Aluma, sosweet22, paperdoll04, Charlene, QueenOfBlackJack, alenchic, Blanche DuBois, Zirconiatheblue, ghost, Baby-Prue, c[Rud[Edly, Vilmathien, Dracos Hottie, FoxyChic4U
Aluma- Thanks for you review, and I'm glad you've liked the story and its chapters so far. I'm sorry it took so long, and I hope you like Draco's POV
Sosweet22- here is chapter 5, thanks for reviewing. And happy holiday to you too.
Paperdoll04- Glad you're liking the chapters so far. Thanks for reviewing Charlene- I'm glad you like the detail. I pride myself on having detail and explaining things through, because I hate it when you don't understand something because people don't write enough. Here's Chapter 5- Hope you enjoyed.
QueenOfBlackJack- Okay, in answer to your questions- here is draco's POV, and secondly, I think I have a good idea where this is going, but I think it may take a while. This maybe a long story. Thanks again.
Alenchic- Are you a fan of escaflowne (the name?) I'm glad you really like the story, and that you're glad about Hermione's personality. I think it would bother me, if she didn't resist him. Thanks
Blanche DuBois- Ah yes, the art to playing hard to get. I think Hermione has perfected that one. Glad you like, keep reading and I'll keep updating.
Ziconiatheblue- Here is the next chapter, glad you're enjoying the story
Ghost- I'm glad you're still reading this story, as you've basically reviewed every chap. I think. Thanks for the encouragement, and happy holidays to you too.
Baby-Prue- Glad you're liking all the chapters so far. And to your question: Lust or Love? Well you'll just have to read to find out.
c[Rud[Edly- I'm glad you had fun reading this, even if it was by coincidence. Perhaps the God's do like me- hahaha :P Heres the next update- Thanks.
Vilmathien- Thanks for your comments about my writing skills- I love writing, so when people say they like it- I'm glad. Here's Draco's POV for you, and I hope you liked it.
Dracos Hottie- I know, I'm jealous of Hermione too. Having Draco like that to you- yummm :) Glad you're liking the story- and heres chap 5.
FoxyChic4U- Heres the next chapter, glad you liked chapter 4- sorry it took so long.
Thanks to all of you guys for reading this, and giving me your thoughts. I'm so glad that you like it, and I hope you'll stick with me, as I continue this. Thanks again.
Cheers, and make sure you REVIEW!!
Cai