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 chapter 8 is now posted and I can't think of anything interesting say, so enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews, Cai ^_^
*~*- flashback beginning and end
Chapter 8
The day flows past like an incessant wind which knocks about those who are everything but wary, but as I sit by the window of the transfiguration classroom, I find myself watching the girl who sits two rows and three seats to the front of me. Her golden curls hang loosely around her neck, and as I watch her even closer, watching as the late afternoon sun sheds a customary glow around her head, like a halo, I grimace. She is like some demon sent to walk me to the gates of Purgatory, but as she shoves me through the wrought iron columns, she laughs and cackles, and I see her for what she truly is: a trickster, a fairy, sent to drive me insane with inane thoughts of her and hers.
The professor asks another of her questions and the subject of my thoughts raises her hand like a bolt of lightening and immediately presents the answer on a silver platter with a garnish. Another ten points are rewarded to her house and I watch as the two knights, which sit on either side of her, whisper jokes and congratulations to her, causing her to laugh and faintly blush. She knows how intelligent she is, but there is still a naivety and a depth of innocence to her mind, which puts her in a state of humbleness. Shaking her head and pinching Potter's arm, she laughs, and her face glows and her eyes glisten with humour.
"There's something undeniably fascinating about the behaviour of Gryffindors. Just like there namesake, they seem intimately pack animals, preferably happy with their own and amongst those individuals, rather than with another." Blaise's voice hisses in my ear, and I regard him for a moment, watching his emotionless face and searching glassy eyes for what exactly he means. "She's immeasurably sinister, isn't she? Intelligent; beautiful, in a sense; and absolutely oblivious to it all. She doesn't realise that although Potter plays ring leader, it is she who holds much of it together." Watching him closely, I see his eyes are no longer pointed on mine, but are rather looking where I was not moments before, and I indescribably feel noxious towards this boy of so many faces. "Don't worry, Draco," my name slithers from his mouth like velvet and I force myself to look at him, "she's but a fine cuisine which I'd only have to taste once to be bored of." His words seem to anger me, astound me and cut me, all at the same time, and I look back to the frame of her scalp, covered in soft, still slightly bushed curls.
How can he make such a task sound so simple? Something appears to pull me towards her in anger but also something more direct, something more sinister and niggling at the back of my mind, which giggles and laughs when I try to walk away, so that in the end, I must turn back. She claws at my mind, clinging to every last thought that I have of her, so that at night, when she lies not thirty feet away, I wake, sweaty and hot, as my mind plays with a lustful imagination.
The bell tolls three times and I snap from my reverie to watch her subtle hands heft heavy books into weak, calico bags. Potter's voice reaches my ear, and I want to snarl at his familiarity, with the demonic girl, "Mione! One day all those books are going to land on your feet and you'll realise why Ron and I are such lazy gits about school work. It's for our personal safety, you see." He kids, and as Weasley raises an eyebrow, she lightly punches Potter's arm and then laughs as her carrot-haired friend speaks, "You may be a lazy git, but I sure as hell wouldn't classify myself that way." I pass them, and unable to contain the smarting comment that lies on the very tip of my comment, I mutter, "So you say, but I doubt anyone in this room would agree." The reaction is spontaneous, like a bomb going off, and before I can take another step, the insulted teenager steps in front of me.
Despite my height, this boy appears to tower over me, and I feel slightly intimidated, only slightly though. Granger, the prey of my thoughts stands off to the side, her face tinted a hint of red, as, for just a moment, we meet each other's eyes, and then her brows furrow in a glare, and she almost seems to pout. Potter is at his friends' sides, watching everything with those green eyes, which grow dark and shadowy when no one is watching. I turn my attention back to my copper-haired adversary and sneer, almost wanting to laugh. His eyes tell the story of an internal battle, and the tight set of his jaw, shows just how much strength it is taking this tall, lanky boy to control his anger. "Try saying that again, Malfoy, we'll see how fucking cocky you are when you're pinned to the floor by my foot, cause that's where you belong, isn't it." His voice seeps through his lips like the deadly hiss of a poisonous snake.
"Why?" I ask coyly, knowing I am just provoking a reaction from this hot head, "You deaf or something; couldn't mummy and daddy afford hearing aids for wittle weasel?" Weasley steps forward, his tall form already invading my personal space, and his mouth opens as if to make some remark as his fist appears to ready itself for a strike, but before he can, a small hand pulls on the inside of his arm. I turn my head, looking at the small girl whose face is flushed red as she forces herself to look at me. For a moment a moment her eyes shift off mine and then, shaking her head, she meets mine firmly and glares, her brows creasing with annoyance, her mouth set in a thin line.
"Let's go, Ron, let's not worry about him, not even look at him anymore. He doesn't deserve it." Her voice cuts me, her words of ignorance stinging me like sharpened knife and for a moment it seems like Weasley is going to resist Granger's efforts and punch me in the face and I tense, ready for whatever strike. But her voice speaks again, a touch of stern animosity beneath it, "Let's go, Ron, right now, he doesn't matter." Ronald growls, letting his anger erupt from him in an abrupt kick to a chair which lies beside my shin, and splinters of wood spray across my shoes, before he storms from the room, Potter following quickly behind him, speaking in low, harsh tones. Granger spares a glance at me as she slips her bag over her shoulder and frowns again, her teeth pulling on the top of her bottom lip causing my mind for a moment to fantasise pressing my lips squarely against hers, parting her lips with my tongue and tasting every flavour that it has to offer, but she speaks, "You're playing with fire, Malfoy, disastrous, hostile fire, and I think it's about time you stopped. One day someone's going to snap at one of your remarks and no one will be there to help you when the fire gets too hot." She whispers and then she is gone, her golden locks disappearing through the doorway.
I lean lazily over my desk, packing away parchments and quills before slowly following her back to our adjoined rooms, but she is already gone when I arrive; the last of her presence being the steam which fogs over the windows and the scent of raspberries and tea-tree oil wafting on the air. It seems in the space when I have paused to speak with Christian Lestrange, Slytherin Keeper, about the upcoming Quidditch match, she has cleaned and left. In the bathroom where I wash my face her towel lies over the edge of the basin and as I reach blindly, closing my fingers around the furry substance and hold it to my face, I breathe. Her scent intoxicates my nostrils and seeps into my veins, notifying me of the red-hot blood, which runs through my veins.
Sweat runs down my cheeks as I remember her lips pressed against mine, her tongue swirling in and out of my mouth, caressing my lips, and as I raise my head and glance in the mirror, my face, which isn't my face, stares back at me. My hair lies loose in its tie, strands of moon-gold framing my face, and I brush at hanging locks to reveal blue eyes and white cheeks, which are teased pink with a light blush- the result of both anger and lust.
I pull my shirt over my head, turning my back on the mirror so I won't have to look at myself and tug off my pants, before stepping bare into the shower. With a swift tug of my hands the water blossoms from the taps like a rose that blooms in the morning sun, and closing my eyes I step into its fall. My hands reach up and break through knots until it lies smooth and wet against my scalp and hesitantly I reach out with a pink tongue and taste the water, which flows, down my cheeks. Stinging erupts from my back like needle pin-pricks to a delicately acupunctured back and I slip a hand round to a spot on my back and press finger tips against the newly formed scar of an inch deep tear. Pain blooms in an encompassing radius, which strikes severely at my head, and I grimace then grin. Everything comes at a price, that's what Lucius always told me.
*~*
"Come, stand by me, Draco." My father's voice enters my thoughts as I pick gingerly at perfectly presented food. I push back my chair and walk to stand at his side, mother glancing almost anxiously at me.
"Good. There are moments in life, Draco, where one must always be prepared for things unexpected to happen. The dark lord, son, is still alive. In spirit perhaps, but alive none the less." His hand rests on the small of my back, his nails digging desperately into my side, and he pulls me closer so I can hear him whisper, "Zabini's son wishes to take the test, wishes to become one of us, but I hear no such wishes from my own son, no such wishes to be part of what his father has created."
Suddenly I can't breath and I stare at the silver instrument that now protrudes grossly from my back, soaking pants and shirt with red blood, which seeps from the neatly made wound. "Everything comes at a cost, Draco." He whispers in my ear as he releases me and pushes me to the floor, my knees crumpling underneath as black splutters to life at the corners of my eyes. He grabs my hair and pulls back harshly causing me to cry out in pain, and white dots accent the darkness of unconsciousness. "Defying me, embarrassing me will cost you dearly, my precious son." And with a chaste kiss to my forehead he slips from the room and I fall to the ground. Voices swirl around my stumbling mind, and then... everything's black.
*~*
I move my hands over slightly older scars, which bruise my back in white, razor-edged lashes, and reach for a towel as I turn off the shower. I step from the shower onto misty tiles and rub a smudge in the fogged-up mirror. My face looks back at me: hazy and blank, and as the water condenses, it becomes strangely surreal like a reflection in water.
"Oh my God!" A whisper echoes in the silent room and I turn to regard a small, golden haired girl, whose face is flushed red as she tries to look anywhere but at me. "I... I... CRAP! I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were in here!" I take a hesitant step towards her, a faint blush creeping up my neck and to my cheeks as I realise I'm standing in front of this child-like faery in nothing but a towel. The steam in the room makes everything lazily hazy, everything but her. The robe, meant to cover all female curves is pushed back and reveals a shirt, which is unbuttoned to reveal the beginnings of a fair-sized cleavage and I force myself to divert my eyes in an attempt to not fluster myself anymore. Her hair is pulled back off her head in a loose ponytail but tendrils of it seem to escape such a small contraption and hang around her face.
In the mean while, her flushed face just accents her amber eyes, flecked with bits of emerald and gold, even more, as they widen in embarrassment.
"I'm... I'm so sorry, I'll come back another time. I'll..." Her eyes dart to my sides and the portion of my back that she can see, and I immediately see fear and caution in take hold of her face as she recognises the scarring for what it is. She turns to leave but instinctively I reach out and take hold of her wrist, pulling her back and snugly against me. Her body immediately tenses and the embarrassment which lies in those fiery eyes turns to annoyance and anger as I tie up the wrist behind her back, making sure she is as close to me as I dare. And I do dare. She exhales heavily, her breath bursting from her chest as I duck my head and breath in her scent, that intoxicating mixture of raspberries and tea-tree oil.
"What is this fire that's burning in me? Is this fire that you tell me not to play with, Mudblood?" I whisper, the words slipping from my lips before I can think, and she hisses as my wet hair brushes her cheeks and drips drops of water down her opened shirt. My eyes travel down the curve and delicious structure of her neck until I reach they reach the beginnings of her breasts and I watch as they heave up and down in reaction to the close proximity that she stands to me, pushing upwards against the confines of the cotton garment, looking ready to burst. I lick a droplet, which slips down her cheek, and she moans, and squirms suddenly noticing just how enticing I am finding her at the moment. The room only adds to the unreality of it all and for a moment, just one moment, I want to believe that this is a dream and that I'm not touching something so evidently delightful but so disastrously dirty.
Her other hand lies gently on my shoulder and as I drag my face up to hers and pause hesitantly above her red lips, our noses just touching, its hold tightens and I sweep down and push myself against her. For a moment she appears to struggle, her lips tense and unmoving, but suddenly her hand reaches over my shoulder, pushing herself onto her toes as she presses herself just as firmly against me, and I suck in a deep breath and angle her backwards over the edge of the closest basin, pressing our fronts together. Her chest heaves against mine and I don't think I've ever found anything as enticing as the feeling of her breasts pressed precariously against my bare chest. My tongue grows passionate in its attempt to touch every inch of her inner cavity and my hold on her waist tightens till she whines into my mouth. I laugh, a throaty growl erupting from my depths and she shivers as I lick her lips and bruise them in anxious, wet kisses. My growing awareness of how close I am to her presses firmly between her legs and as she pushes her tongue through my lips and bears her teeth on my lower lip, my free hand releases her waist and moves to cradle a single cheek of her bottom. She moans deeply into my mouth, and as I feel wetness on my cheeks, I open my eyes for a moment and notice the tears that are falling from scrunched up eyes; the only retaliation that she shows towards this interaction.
Her face, I admit for a single moment is beautiful, beautiful and mysterious, and as she tightens her hold on my shoulder and rubs herself against me, I pull myself away and look aghast at her. Her legs are still splayed slightly apart and despite withdrawing the obvious contact that was between us, our hands still remained joined, our fingers linked. I imagine that her face mirrors mine in every retrospect and she quickly drops my hand and takes toward the door.
With longer arms I reach above her head and press down on the door as I step up behind her, my nose in her hair as I inhale her smell, her aroma. "Let go of the door, Malfoy. Please, just let go of it." I wonder for a moment if she is talking about the door, and breath out, watching goosebumps rise on the back of her neck.
"You tell me not to play with fire, not to get my fingers burnt because no one will come running when the heat gets too hot, but I think you misunderstand. I've already played with the fire; you saw it for yourself, the scars, which sketch my back, the holes which have healed over in silver patches." She shivers and I realise that my acceptance of such violence frightens this girl. Let her be frightened! "I can't help but dabble; I can't help but jump head first into this pit of molten illusions. It seems that once I've had a taste of it, I can't seem to turn back." My spare hand brushes over the crest of her breast and the skin of her stomach, separated from my fingertips by a light blouse and she pauses in her act of trying to lever the door open.
"Just open the door, Malfoy! Open the fucking door, right now! I... I... don't want to be part of this anymore, I don't... want to... Please, just open the door." She pleads and with a subtle kiss to the back of her neck, I release the door and step back, allowing her to flee. And as I watch her graceful back hunch over and her blushing face hide behind golden curls in embarrassment, I smile.
In the great hall, I am dressed again and as I sit at the edge of my house's table, my head-boy badge glittering for all to see, I glance over at the Gryffindor table. She sits, the youngest Weasley and brother on either side of her, and as the last male Weasley leans over and whispers something in her ear, she throws back her head and laughs. The chink of Dumbledore's fork on his crystal glass catches everyone's attention and I turn away from my mind's thoughts and look at the old, crazed man.
His power is much to be admired and desired, and one can only hope that they too might contain even an ounce of what he holds in those eyes, what he can throw with those hands, but they never will. The old man tries desperately to tame this year's Slytherins, encompass them in everything that is anything but Slytherin, and he may, if he's lucky, entrap particulars in his web of confidence and twinkling eyes, but most, those from families of leaders themselves will never see that light. Most will see but a silly old man who is caught up in the crazes of a eutopic land, a land where dreams not nightmares rule, and will shrug it away, because nightmares simply hide, they never, ever go away.
"My young students, we meet again for yet another meal, and I hope to remind all prefects and heads of the meeting they are to attend immediately after students are dismissed. Now, eat and feel merry." His voice booms across the room and seeks to gather all in an excited and loving embrace, but there are those, I notice, who roll their eyes and ignore his speech. Zabini sits in the shadows his eyes shifty and looking for something in a place where nothing lies, whilst Pansy sits perfectly upright, her shoulder's squared and her brows straightened as she giggles dismissively at a random comment from one of her many male followers. She looks up and meets my eyes, her dark blue clashing with my crystal silver, and she sneers, a sneer that rivals those I save particularly for Potter and his gang of party tricks. Her male friend presses his lips against her cheek and like the school girl that her soul begs to be, she giggles and then as her eyes return to mine she winks and smirks, the sinister mind of a wronged child already at work again.
I eat little, feeling sufficiently engrossed with seeing the bane of my existence for the last passing days, and being utterly glad about it. The tables eventually clear and as I get up from my seat, anxious to make my way to the meetings, I glance up and see the Head Girl, the female Weasley and the Irish goof- Finnegan, readying themselves to attend the meeting, Potter and Weasley already gone to play some random game. Finnegan leans over and places a hand gently on Granger's shoulder and I shudder as an undeniable anger swells within me and clench my hands in fists by my sides as she inclines her head backwards to see him and smiles a small smile. Angry with him and with her and especially with myself for feeling such dark emotions, I storm from the room, making everyone in the room notice how angry Draco Malfoy is at that present moment, and as I reach the exit, I watch Finnegan place a hand on Weasley's back and wrap his forearm around Granger's neck as he leads them from the room, heading towards where I am headed.
The meeting room lies on the second floor and when I reach it I slip into my seat which lies at the head of the table, and wait for others to gather in the room. A young Ravenclaw girl enters the room, sneaking a look at me, her face red with embarrassment, because it is well known throughout the school just how good looking Draco Malfoy really is. But I sneer at her and want to laugh outloud at the fear that passes across her eyes. A chair beside mine scrapes aside and I turn and see the leader of all Mudbloods herself, sitting down.
She meets my eyes and gulps for a moment, a faint pinkish tinge glowing on her cheeks, and then steadies herself and meets my smirk head on. "You know, Malfoy, one day the wind's going to change direction and your face will stay like that." She says, and turns her attention to rearranging the papers in front of her.
"It couldn't turn out any worse then that ugly mug that you call a face, mudblood. I wonder how long it's going to take the great Irish lout to realise this, and come to his senses. Though, perhaps, being as he is, he gets where he can." She appears to be taking lessons from the youngest Weasley male and she staggers to her feet, slams her hands on the table shattering the silence, disregarding the papers and turns to me, her eyes portraying her readiness to throttle me.
"You will watch wha..." Her voice ceases as another, more influential voice enters the disarray, "Good evening my wonderful School Leaders, I hope the Weeks since we last met have treated you well." Dumbledore's greets us, his voice like open arms ready to take hold of each and every one of us, and bring warmth to our hearts and eyes. If only it would work. "It has come to my attention that it is almost time for another annual event, and I have put it to our Heads of the Year to bring a list of their proposed ideas to our discussion. Now I ask them to proceed with these ideas."
Granger stands casually, placing particular papers in front of her and as I follow her movements I pull a small sheet of paper from my pocket and unwrap it with agile fingers. When that is done I casually look at my partner and watch her fingers stumble and fumble with unfolding and preparation. She glances at me, noticing that my eyes are directed at her hands, and blushes before turning to her audience and speaking, "Well, I haven't had much time to prepare particular details, the more finer of this idea, but I have one distinct plan which I would like to run by you, and I have discussed this with Mr Malfoy, who also agrees to this idea." Her voice is soft but full and reaches everyone with a friendly lilt. "Like other years, I have proposed a ball for this year, with perhaps a twist of some sorts. Mr Malfoy thought a masked ball would bring some difference to the usual standard, and I thought that perhaps some form of hunt could be created and performed in pairs or small groups." She sorts through her papers and I take it upon myself to continue this discussion.
"As Granger has already said, the ball would be masked and held in the grounds of Hogwarts, not in the hall. The purpose of the hunt is still to be determined and we'd have to take it up with you, sir," I look to Dumbledore directly, appearing the always-diligent student, "to make sure it's appropriate, but if there were perhaps tasks to be completed during the evening. Food and drink and dancing could be performed in the gardens, and I haven't talked this over with Granger, yet, but if it were held on the night of Beltane, which is in little under a month. It falls on a Saturday this year, Sir, and the celebration could begin at dusk and continue on until whenever." I catch the look that Granger shoots me, her eyes wide with astonishment and I hide the smirk that wants to burst forward as she glanced at the piece of paper, with every inch of white paper crammed with words.
Our discussion that morning had been interesting enough and its end the best beginning to a day that I could have asked for, but I wasn't about to let her take all the credit for a job that was also mine. "I have to say that both of you have performed your jobs to perfection and presented us with a brilliant idea for our up and coming festivities. We will vote about this idea, and once approved continue with the more finer details. All for?" All hands raised slowly into the air and with a smile of triumph and quick sneak peak at Granger to see her face smiling the same way.
"Perhaps one of the tasks could be, that people can not enter the room with their partners and must find them before the night it out. We can put a spell across the school, if it is possible, that prevents one from talking about their presence that night, and thus keeping their status a secret." Hermione begins the debate, and quickly several voices peak up and begin passing ideas past the others.
Talk continues and we return to our seats, allowing the voices to wash over me for a moment or two. I stare at my hands, watching them and then move my eyes to Granger's lap where one of her hands lay gently, the other rests on the table's surface. Her robe is spread over the back of the chair and her pleated skirt is hitched several inches up her thigh, bearing half of her cream-coloured thigh to my widening eyes. Keeping one eye on the conversation and waiting for any indication that I am needed, I watch her carefully. Her face is calm and a small smile plays on her lips as she answers people's questions and puts forward her own ideas. I turn my attention back to the hand that rests on her lap, and suck in a deep breath as for a moment the veins shimmer from their normal colour to a silvery green, which seeps slowly into the thick lines. I blink quickly and when I look again the colour is gone, and her hands are normal.
Her fingers curl against her skin and she grazes her nails against it, unknowingly hitching her skirt up another inch. Turning and keeping my eyes on the table, I let my hand travel under the wooden surface, pausing for a moment, allowing my hand to hover over her leg, as someone asks me question. I answer as easily as I can, and then, place my hand gently over hers. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her tense considerably and she shudders as my fingers draw small lines of shivers across her palms. For a moment our fingers are interlaced, but as quickly as it occurs her hand slips from my hold and joins its partner on the oak surface, leaving my hand resting on the edge of her skirt. Her cheeks are flushed, red staining both cheeks like a fire has been lit in her face and as I run my fingers over the hem of her skirt, drawing my nails across the skin which is so tender and soft below my fingers, I exhale softly and watch her close her eyes slowly then open them again. Finishing with the hem of her skirt I rest my hand on her bare thigh and fold my fingers around the curve of her leg. Her leg is tense and tight, and she slowly brings her hand back down and places it above mine, resting it just there.
"Well Draco and Hermione," we both appear to startle at our names, but I don't move my hand, "I do believe this concludes our meeting for this night, and I think you should all congratulate our Head boy and girl on a job well done. They have chosen in your common interest and I believe they should set the example by opening the ball as the very first couple. We shall see how well this partnership is when they find each other in a sea of masks." Hermione's hand clenches above mine, her fingers seeming to forget mine are there and both our eyes trail to Dumbledore's face, where a twinkle lies in his eyes. "I do believe you two will make this a year to remember."
~*~
Well my wonderful readers, that is chapter 8, and I can't believe I've updated it so quickly. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and ready yourselves for chapter 9, which is definitely on its way. I have this section, which I've been planning to insert in the story for 3 chapters now, but this story has just about written itself and hasn't let me put it in yet, but next chapter, beware: a bit more interaction, some confrontation, and the ball gets some further planning- perhaps... hahah- it might not, if I decide to randomly change it.
Thanks again to all my reviewers.
Cheers,
~Cai~
Author's Notes: Well chapter 8 is now posted and I can't think of anything interesting say, so enjoy. Thanks for all the reviews, Cai ^_^
*~*- flashback beginning and end
Chapter 8
The day flows past like an incessant wind which knocks about those who are everything but wary, but as I sit by the window of the transfiguration classroom, I find myself watching the girl who sits two rows and three seats to the front of me. Her golden curls hang loosely around her neck, and as I watch her even closer, watching as the late afternoon sun sheds a customary glow around her head, like a halo, I grimace. She is like some demon sent to walk me to the gates of Purgatory, but as she shoves me through the wrought iron columns, she laughs and cackles, and I see her for what she truly is: a trickster, a fairy, sent to drive me insane with inane thoughts of her and hers.
The professor asks another of her questions and the subject of my thoughts raises her hand like a bolt of lightening and immediately presents the answer on a silver platter with a garnish. Another ten points are rewarded to her house and I watch as the two knights, which sit on either side of her, whisper jokes and congratulations to her, causing her to laugh and faintly blush. She knows how intelligent she is, but there is still a naivety and a depth of innocence to her mind, which puts her in a state of humbleness. Shaking her head and pinching Potter's arm, she laughs, and her face glows and her eyes glisten with humour.
"There's something undeniably fascinating about the behaviour of Gryffindors. Just like there namesake, they seem intimately pack animals, preferably happy with their own and amongst those individuals, rather than with another." Blaise's voice hisses in my ear, and I regard him for a moment, watching his emotionless face and searching glassy eyes for what exactly he means. "She's immeasurably sinister, isn't she? Intelligent; beautiful, in a sense; and absolutely oblivious to it all. She doesn't realise that although Potter plays ring leader, it is she who holds much of it together." Watching him closely, I see his eyes are no longer pointed on mine, but are rather looking where I was not moments before, and I indescribably feel noxious towards this boy of so many faces. "Don't worry, Draco," my name slithers from his mouth like velvet and I force myself to look at him, "she's but a fine cuisine which I'd only have to taste once to be bored of." His words seem to anger me, astound me and cut me, all at the same time, and I look back to the frame of her scalp, covered in soft, still slightly bushed curls.
How can he make such a task sound so simple? Something appears to pull me towards her in anger but also something more direct, something more sinister and niggling at the back of my mind, which giggles and laughs when I try to walk away, so that in the end, I must turn back. She claws at my mind, clinging to every last thought that I have of her, so that at night, when she lies not thirty feet away, I wake, sweaty and hot, as my mind plays with a lustful imagination.
The bell tolls three times and I snap from my reverie to watch her subtle hands heft heavy books into weak, calico bags. Potter's voice reaches my ear, and I want to snarl at his familiarity, with the demonic girl, "Mione! One day all those books are going to land on your feet and you'll realise why Ron and I are such lazy gits about school work. It's for our personal safety, you see." He kids, and as Weasley raises an eyebrow, she lightly punches Potter's arm and then laughs as her carrot-haired friend speaks, "You may be a lazy git, but I sure as hell wouldn't classify myself that way." I pass them, and unable to contain the smarting comment that lies on the very tip of my comment, I mutter, "So you say, but I doubt anyone in this room would agree." The reaction is spontaneous, like a bomb going off, and before I can take another step, the insulted teenager steps in front of me.
Despite my height, this boy appears to tower over me, and I feel slightly intimidated, only slightly though. Granger, the prey of my thoughts stands off to the side, her face tinted a hint of red, as, for just a moment, we meet each other's eyes, and then her brows furrow in a glare, and she almost seems to pout. Potter is at his friends' sides, watching everything with those green eyes, which grow dark and shadowy when no one is watching. I turn my attention back to my copper-haired adversary and sneer, almost wanting to laugh. His eyes tell the story of an internal battle, and the tight set of his jaw, shows just how much strength it is taking this tall, lanky boy to control his anger. "Try saying that again, Malfoy, we'll see how fucking cocky you are when you're pinned to the floor by my foot, cause that's where you belong, isn't it." His voice seeps through his lips like the deadly hiss of a poisonous snake.
"Why?" I ask coyly, knowing I am just provoking a reaction from this hot head, "You deaf or something; couldn't mummy and daddy afford hearing aids for wittle weasel?" Weasley steps forward, his tall form already invading my personal space, and his mouth opens as if to make some remark as his fist appears to ready itself for a strike, but before he can, a small hand pulls on the inside of his arm. I turn my head, looking at the small girl whose face is flushed red as she forces herself to look at me. For a moment a moment her eyes shift off mine and then, shaking her head, she meets mine firmly and glares, her brows creasing with annoyance, her mouth set in a thin line.
"Let's go, Ron, let's not worry about him, not even look at him anymore. He doesn't deserve it." Her voice cuts me, her words of ignorance stinging me like sharpened knife and for a moment it seems like Weasley is going to resist Granger's efforts and punch me in the face and I tense, ready for whatever strike. But her voice speaks again, a touch of stern animosity beneath it, "Let's go, Ron, right now, he doesn't matter." Ronald growls, letting his anger erupt from him in an abrupt kick to a chair which lies beside my shin, and splinters of wood spray across my shoes, before he storms from the room, Potter following quickly behind him, speaking in low, harsh tones. Granger spares a glance at me as she slips her bag over her shoulder and frowns again, her teeth pulling on the top of her bottom lip causing my mind for a moment to fantasise pressing my lips squarely against hers, parting her lips with my tongue and tasting every flavour that it has to offer, but she speaks, "You're playing with fire, Malfoy, disastrous, hostile fire, and I think it's about time you stopped. One day someone's going to snap at one of your remarks and no one will be there to help you when the fire gets too hot." She whispers and then she is gone, her golden locks disappearing through the doorway.
I lean lazily over my desk, packing away parchments and quills before slowly following her back to our adjoined rooms, but she is already gone when I arrive; the last of her presence being the steam which fogs over the windows and the scent of raspberries and tea-tree oil wafting on the air. It seems in the space when I have paused to speak with Christian Lestrange, Slytherin Keeper, about the upcoming Quidditch match, she has cleaned and left. In the bathroom where I wash my face her towel lies over the edge of the basin and as I reach blindly, closing my fingers around the furry substance and hold it to my face, I breathe. Her scent intoxicates my nostrils and seeps into my veins, notifying me of the red-hot blood, which runs through my veins.
Sweat runs down my cheeks as I remember her lips pressed against mine, her tongue swirling in and out of my mouth, caressing my lips, and as I raise my head and glance in the mirror, my face, which isn't my face, stares back at me. My hair lies loose in its tie, strands of moon-gold framing my face, and I brush at hanging locks to reveal blue eyes and white cheeks, which are teased pink with a light blush- the result of both anger and lust.
I pull my shirt over my head, turning my back on the mirror so I won't have to look at myself and tug off my pants, before stepping bare into the shower. With a swift tug of my hands the water blossoms from the taps like a rose that blooms in the morning sun, and closing my eyes I step into its fall. My hands reach up and break through knots until it lies smooth and wet against my scalp and hesitantly I reach out with a pink tongue and taste the water, which flows, down my cheeks. Stinging erupts from my back like needle pin-pricks to a delicately acupunctured back and I slip a hand round to a spot on my back and press finger tips against the newly formed scar of an inch deep tear. Pain blooms in an encompassing radius, which strikes severely at my head, and I grimace then grin. Everything comes at a price, that's what Lucius always told me.
*~*
"Come, stand by me, Draco." My father's voice enters my thoughts as I pick gingerly at perfectly presented food. I push back my chair and walk to stand at his side, mother glancing almost anxiously at me.
"Good. There are moments in life, Draco, where one must always be prepared for things unexpected to happen. The dark lord, son, is still alive. In spirit perhaps, but alive none the less." His hand rests on the small of my back, his nails digging desperately into my side, and he pulls me closer so I can hear him whisper, "Zabini's son wishes to take the test, wishes to become one of us, but I hear no such wishes from my own son, no such wishes to be part of what his father has created."
Suddenly I can't breath and I stare at the silver instrument that now protrudes grossly from my back, soaking pants and shirt with red blood, which seeps from the neatly made wound. "Everything comes at a cost, Draco." He whispers in my ear as he releases me and pushes me to the floor, my knees crumpling underneath as black splutters to life at the corners of my eyes. He grabs my hair and pulls back harshly causing me to cry out in pain, and white dots accent the darkness of unconsciousness. "Defying me, embarrassing me will cost you dearly, my precious son." And with a chaste kiss to my forehead he slips from the room and I fall to the ground. Voices swirl around my stumbling mind, and then... everything's black.
*~*
I move my hands over slightly older scars, which bruise my back in white, razor-edged lashes, and reach for a towel as I turn off the shower. I step from the shower onto misty tiles and rub a smudge in the fogged-up mirror. My face looks back at me: hazy and blank, and as the water condenses, it becomes strangely surreal like a reflection in water.
"Oh my God!" A whisper echoes in the silent room and I turn to regard a small, golden haired girl, whose face is flushed red as she tries to look anywhere but at me. "I... I... CRAP! I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were in here!" I take a hesitant step towards her, a faint blush creeping up my neck and to my cheeks as I realise I'm standing in front of this child-like faery in nothing but a towel. The steam in the room makes everything lazily hazy, everything but her. The robe, meant to cover all female curves is pushed back and reveals a shirt, which is unbuttoned to reveal the beginnings of a fair-sized cleavage and I force myself to divert my eyes in an attempt to not fluster myself anymore. Her hair is pulled back off her head in a loose ponytail but tendrils of it seem to escape such a small contraption and hang around her face.
In the mean while, her flushed face just accents her amber eyes, flecked with bits of emerald and gold, even more, as they widen in embarrassment.
"I'm... I'm so sorry, I'll come back another time. I'll..." Her eyes dart to my sides and the portion of my back that she can see, and I immediately see fear and caution in take hold of her face as she recognises the scarring for what it is. She turns to leave but instinctively I reach out and take hold of her wrist, pulling her back and snugly against me. Her body immediately tenses and the embarrassment which lies in those fiery eyes turns to annoyance and anger as I tie up the wrist behind her back, making sure she is as close to me as I dare. And I do dare. She exhales heavily, her breath bursting from her chest as I duck my head and breath in her scent, that intoxicating mixture of raspberries and tea-tree oil.
"What is this fire that's burning in me? Is this fire that you tell me not to play with, Mudblood?" I whisper, the words slipping from my lips before I can think, and she hisses as my wet hair brushes her cheeks and drips drops of water down her opened shirt. My eyes travel down the curve and delicious structure of her neck until I reach they reach the beginnings of her breasts and I watch as they heave up and down in reaction to the close proximity that she stands to me, pushing upwards against the confines of the cotton garment, looking ready to burst. I lick a droplet, which slips down her cheek, and she moans, and squirms suddenly noticing just how enticing I am finding her at the moment. The room only adds to the unreality of it all and for a moment, just one moment, I want to believe that this is a dream and that I'm not touching something so evidently delightful but so disastrously dirty.
Her other hand lies gently on my shoulder and as I drag my face up to hers and pause hesitantly above her red lips, our noses just touching, its hold tightens and I sweep down and push myself against her. For a moment she appears to struggle, her lips tense and unmoving, but suddenly her hand reaches over my shoulder, pushing herself onto her toes as she presses herself just as firmly against me, and I suck in a deep breath and angle her backwards over the edge of the closest basin, pressing our fronts together. Her chest heaves against mine and I don't think I've ever found anything as enticing as the feeling of her breasts pressed precariously against my bare chest. My tongue grows passionate in its attempt to touch every inch of her inner cavity and my hold on her waist tightens till she whines into my mouth. I laugh, a throaty growl erupting from my depths and she shivers as I lick her lips and bruise them in anxious, wet kisses. My growing awareness of how close I am to her presses firmly between her legs and as she pushes her tongue through my lips and bears her teeth on my lower lip, my free hand releases her waist and moves to cradle a single cheek of her bottom. She moans deeply into my mouth, and as I feel wetness on my cheeks, I open my eyes for a moment and notice the tears that are falling from scrunched up eyes; the only retaliation that she shows towards this interaction.
Her face, I admit for a single moment is beautiful, beautiful and mysterious, and as she tightens her hold on my shoulder and rubs herself against me, I pull myself away and look aghast at her. Her legs are still splayed slightly apart and despite withdrawing the obvious contact that was between us, our hands still remained joined, our fingers linked. I imagine that her face mirrors mine in every retrospect and she quickly drops my hand and takes toward the door.
With longer arms I reach above her head and press down on the door as I step up behind her, my nose in her hair as I inhale her smell, her aroma. "Let go of the door, Malfoy. Please, just let go of it." I wonder for a moment if she is talking about the door, and breath out, watching goosebumps rise on the back of her neck.
"You tell me not to play with fire, not to get my fingers burnt because no one will come running when the heat gets too hot, but I think you misunderstand. I've already played with the fire; you saw it for yourself, the scars, which sketch my back, the holes which have healed over in silver patches." She shivers and I realise that my acceptance of such violence frightens this girl. Let her be frightened! "I can't help but dabble; I can't help but jump head first into this pit of molten illusions. It seems that once I've had a taste of it, I can't seem to turn back." My spare hand brushes over the crest of her breast and the skin of her stomach, separated from my fingertips by a light blouse and she pauses in her act of trying to lever the door open.
"Just open the door, Malfoy! Open the fucking door, right now! I... I... don't want to be part of this anymore, I don't... want to... Please, just open the door." She pleads and with a subtle kiss to the back of her neck, I release the door and step back, allowing her to flee. And as I watch her graceful back hunch over and her blushing face hide behind golden curls in embarrassment, I smile.
In the great hall, I am dressed again and as I sit at the edge of my house's table, my head-boy badge glittering for all to see, I glance over at the Gryffindor table. She sits, the youngest Weasley and brother on either side of her, and as the last male Weasley leans over and whispers something in her ear, she throws back her head and laughs. The chink of Dumbledore's fork on his crystal glass catches everyone's attention and I turn away from my mind's thoughts and look at the old, crazed man.
His power is much to be admired and desired, and one can only hope that they too might contain even an ounce of what he holds in those eyes, what he can throw with those hands, but they never will. The old man tries desperately to tame this year's Slytherins, encompass them in everything that is anything but Slytherin, and he may, if he's lucky, entrap particulars in his web of confidence and twinkling eyes, but most, those from families of leaders themselves will never see that light. Most will see but a silly old man who is caught up in the crazes of a eutopic land, a land where dreams not nightmares rule, and will shrug it away, because nightmares simply hide, they never, ever go away.
"My young students, we meet again for yet another meal, and I hope to remind all prefects and heads of the meeting they are to attend immediately after students are dismissed. Now, eat and feel merry." His voice booms across the room and seeks to gather all in an excited and loving embrace, but there are those, I notice, who roll their eyes and ignore his speech. Zabini sits in the shadows his eyes shifty and looking for something in a place where nothing lies, whilst Pansy sits perfectly upright, her shoulder's squared and her brows straightened as she giggles dismissively at a random comment from one of her many male followers. She looks up and meets my eyes, her dark blue clashing with my crystal silver, and she sneers, a sneer that rivals those I save particularly for Potter and his gang of party tricks. Her male friend presses his lips against her cheek and like the school girl that her soul begs to be, she giggles and then as her eyes return to mine she winks and smirks, the sinister mind of a wronged child already at work again.
I eat little, feeling sufficiently engrossed with seeing the bane of my existence for the last passing days, and being utterly glad about it. The tables eventually clear and as I get up from my seat, anxious to make my way to the meetings, I glance up and see the Head Girl, the female Weasley and the Irish goof- Finnegan, readying themselves to attend the meeting, Potter and Weasley already gone to play some random game. Finnegan leans over and places a hand gently on Granger's shoulder and I shudder as an undeniable anger swells within me and clench my hands in fists by my sides as she inclines her head backwards to see him and smiles a small smile. Angry with him and with her and especially with myself for feeling such dark emotions, I storm from the room, making everyone in the room notice how angry Draco Malfoy is at that present moment, and as I reach the exit, I watch Finnegan place a hand on Weasley's back and wrap his forearm around Granger's neck as he leads them from the room, heading towards where I am headed.
The meeting room lies on the second floor and when I reach it I slip into my seat which lies at the head of the table, and wait for others to gather in the room. A young Ravenclaw girl enters the room, sneaking a look at me, her face red with embarrassment, because it is well known throughout the school just how good looking Draco Malfoy really is. But I sneer at her and want to laugh outloud at the fear that passes across her eyes. A chair beside mine scrapes aside and I turn and see the leader of all Mudbloods herself, sitting down.
She meets my eyes and gulps for a moment, a faint pinkish tinge glowing on her cheeks, and then steadies herself and meets my smirk head on. "You know, Malfoy, one day the wind's going to change direction and your face will stay like that." She says, and turns her attention to rearranging the papers in front of her.
"It couldn't turn out any worse then that ugly mug that you call a face, mudblood. I wonder how long it's going to take the great Irish lout to realise this, and come to his senses. Though, perhaps, being as he is, he gets where he can." She appears to be taking lessons from the youngest Weasley male and she staggers to her feet, slams her hands on the table shattering the silence, disregarding the papers and turns to me, her eyes portraying her readiness to throttle me.
"You will watch wha..." Her voice ceases as another, more influential voice enters the disarray, "Good evening my wonderful School Leaders, I hope the Weeks since we last met have treated you well." Dumbledore's greets us, his voice like open arms ready to take hold of each and every one of us, and bring warmth to our hearts and eyes. If only it would work. "It has come to my attention that it is almost time for another annual event, and I have put it to our Heads of the Year to bring a list of their proposed ideas to our discussion. Now I ask them to proceed with these ideas."
Granger stands casually, placing particular papers in front of her and as I follow her movements I pull a small sheet of paper from my pocket and unwrap it with agile fingers. When that is done I casually look at my partner and watch her fingers stumble and fumble with unfolding and preparation. She glances at me, noticing that my eyes are directed at her hands, and blushes before turning to her audience and speaking, "Well, I haven't had much time to prepare particular details, the more finer of this idea, but I have one distinct plan which I would like to run by you, and I have discussed this with Mr Malfoy, who also agrees to this idea." Her voice is soft but full and reaches everyone with a friendly lilt. "Like other years, I have proposed a ball for this year, with perhaps a twist of some sorts. Mr Malfoy thought a masked ball would bring some difference to the usual standard, and I thought that perhaps some form of hunt could be created and performed in pairs or small groups." She sorts through her papers and I take it upon myself to continue this discussion.
"As Granger has already said, the ball would be masked and held in the grounds of Hogwarts, not in the hall. The purpose of the hunt is still to be determined and we'd have to take it up with you, sir," I look to Dumbledore directly, appearing the always-diligent student, "to make sure it's appropriate, but if there were perhaps tasks to be completed during the evening. Food and drink and dancing could be performed in the gardens, and I haven't talked this over with Granger, yet, but if it were held on the night of Beltane, which is in little under a month. It falls on a Saturday this year, Sir, and the celebration could begin at dusk and continue on until whenever." I catch the look that Granger shoots me, her eyes wide with astonishment and I hide the smirk that wants to burst forward as she glanced at the piece of paper, with every inch of white paper crammed with words.
Our discussion that morning had been interesting enough and its end the best beginning to a day that I could have asked for, but I wasn't about to let her take all the credit for a job that was also mine. "I have to say that both of you have performed your jobs to perfection and presented us with a brilliant idea for our up and coming festivities. We will vote about this idea, and once approved continue with the more finer details. All for?" All hands raised slowly into the air and with a smile of triumph and quick sneak peak at Granger to see her face smiling the same way.
"Perhaps one of the tasks could be, that people can not enter the room with their partners and must find them before the night it out. We can put a spell across the school, if it is possible, that prevents one from talking about their presence that night, and thus keeping their status a secret." Hermione begins the debate, and quickly several voices peak up and begin passing ideas past the others.
Talk continues and we return to our seats, allowing the voices to wash over me for a moment or two. I stare at my hands, watching them and then move my eyes to Granger's lap where one of her hands lay gently, the other rests on the table's surface. Her robe is spread over the back of the chair and her pleated skirt is hitched several inches up her thigh, bearing half of her cream-coloured thigh to my widening eyes. Keeping one eye on the conversation and waiting for any indication that I am needed, I watch her carefully. Her face is calm and a small smile plays on her lips as she answers people's questions and puts forward her own ideas. I turn my attention back to the hand that rests on her lap, and suck in a deep breath as for a moment the veins shimmer from their normal colour to a silvery green, which seeps slowly into the thick lines. I blink quickly and when I look again the colour is gone, and her hands are normal.
Her fingers curl against her skin and she grazes her nails against it, unknowingly hitching her skirt up another inch. Turning and keeping my eyes on the table, I let my hand travel under the wooden surface, pausing for a moment, allowing my hand to hover over her leg, as someone asks me question. I answer as easily as I can, and then, place my hand gently over hers. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her tense considerably and she shudders as my fingers draw small lines of shivers across her palms. For a moment our fingers are interlaced, but as quickly as it occurs her hand slips from my hold and joins its partner on the oak surface, leaving my hand resting on the edge of her skirt. Her cheeks are flushed, red staining both cheeks like a fire has been lit in her face and as I run my fingers over the hem of her skirt, drawing my nails across the skin which is so tender and soft below my fingers, I exhale softly and watch her close her eyes slowly then open them again. Finishing with the hem of her skirt I rest my hand on her bare thigh and fold my fingers around the curve of her leg. Her leg is tense and tight, and she slowly brings her hand back down and places it above mine, resting it just there.
"Well Draco and Hermione," we both appear to startle at our names, but I don't move my hand, "I do believe this concludes our meeting for this night, and I think you should all congratulate our Head boy and girl on a job well done. They have chosen in your common interest and I believe they should set the example by opening the ball as the very first couple. We shall see how well this partnership is when they find each other in a sea of masks." Hermione's hand clenches above mine, her fingers seeming to forget mine are there and both our eyes trail to Dumbledore's face, where a twinkle lies in his eyes. "I do believe you two will make this a year to remember."
~*~
Well my wonderful readers, that is chapter 8, and I can't believe I've updated it so quickly. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and ready yourselves for chapter 9, which is definitely on its way. I have this section, which I've been planning to insert in the story for 3 chapters now, but this story has just about written itself and hasn't let me put it in yet, but next chapter, beware: a bit more interaction, some confrontation, and the ball gets some further planning- perhaps... hahah- it might not, if I decide to randomly change it.
Thanks again to all my reviewers.
Cheers,
~Cai~