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
Ok, I'm trying to upload this chapter again, because people are complaining about the format, and believe me, I feel your pain. I think this is most frustrating for me, because I've tried to upload it about 6 times now and I'm starting to get the shits. I might end up changing site and posting it at an entirely different fanfiction if this doesn't work, cause I feel awful that you have to read it in such
This is slightly un-beta'd, as is being a BUM! I can't upload the italic bits, which are the flashbacks, and it won't let me upload the little symbols to indicate these parts. So, I hope this is still ok. Sorry for taking so long, Cai.
Chapter 10I reach her side and her eyes stare at me, wide and full of confusion, her breath hitched and laboured. "Ginny... how much did you see?" She doesn't answer, only shakes with contained grief and I reach out and grab her shoulders, shaking her, until her head lolls forward. "Ginny! How much did you see?" I scream, feeling guilt and shame crawling over my skin, as I realise what her voice cannot tell me. She saw it all.
Slowly she raises her head and looks at me, her blue eyes watery and clear, scared and questioning. "I saw... I saw... Oh god, Hermione, what are you doing to yourself?" Her words dig into me and as the guilt assails me again, I stagger away from the small girl until my back reaches the far wall, and shudder. Even when I've gone behind their backs and meddled with their enemy, the one they can't and won't call friend, they - she, still can think of only me. "Why do you continue to dig yourself deeper into this world of hatred and anger? Hasn't your life taught you that their world is NOT yours! That you have no place with these tainted men? DID LUCIUS MALFOY SHOW YOU NOTHING?" She cries, her face creaking and her lips groaning in pain, as she stumbles forwards and wrenches my hands from my face. "Look at me, Hermione. That boy who stood before you, who kissed you and breathed words of passion and hatred in your ear all at once, is not the one for you, no matter how much your heart longs for forgetfulness. He will not bring you peace of mind with such a soul." She sobs and the hand, which cups my cheek, wraps around my neck and she pulls me down and embraces me.
I sob, smothering my tears in her shoulder, and breathing in the familiar scent, which is Ginny Weasley, the girl that an only child calls sister. "God, Ginny... I..." I whisper, not sure what I want to say, but she shushes me, and contains her tears.
"Didn't you hear his words, Hermione? His father is still alive. Lucius Malfoy already holds his son's mind in his grasp, and with each waking moment they becomes more and more alike. He pleads for the belief that he has not fully lived like that man, but he does so only because when he looks at himself in the morning, he feels himself grow more and more like the man he loathes. He is not the one for you. The one for you, Mione, is someone who is open to love, is someone who can love, who will not sully your mind with more hurt. You do not need someone else's problems." She whispers to me, and I shudder in a mixture of anger and pain at her words, realising just how true they are. So true that it hurts and cuts at me. Digging into me as I realise that he is so wrong, so undeniably against the rules of this world. That despite the passion that flairs within me when he is near, that he is not for me.
The grief, which overwhelms me with these thoughts, is consuming and I shudder and my hold on her back grows tighter as I feel my head grow light and my eyes grow dim. "You see it, don't you, Mione. You see how wrong all this is, how disastrous he would be for you. He is everything in your nightmares, everything that shouldn't be. He is so scarred, that he should be an old man, but so tragically young." She whispers, and I tremble, wrenching myself from her grip and stumbling a few feet away. "Mione?" She sobs, and I see her reach out to me, but I brush her hand away and stumble.
His lips on my skin, his breath on my cheek, his hands on my waist and head against mine, are like... are like... nothing...
I stumble further up the corridor, my front to Ginny as I back away, and I reach out blindly as spots of black and white overcome my vision and I am falling.
I awake, a bright light piercing my bed's array of pillows through a crack in the curtains and slowly crawl from slumber. On my wall, a ticking resounds and I glance slowly at it.
Time for Lunch, My dear, the clock sings.
I swing around to the other side of my bed, and see the tail end of a white, button-up shirt; loose buttons hanging from its centre, and with them the threads of my memory come together.
I am falling. I am thinking of how wonderful it feels to finally fail at something... to finally have... Malfoy holds me closer, his cheek against mine, his nose brushing gently against mine and I can feel the softness of his hair, as I run it through my fingers. His hair is like an angel's breath, soft and endearing, but his eyes are so angry, so terribly scarred with hatred.
I groan, and run a hand through my hair, biting back the nausea, which erupts in the pit of my stomach as my body, sends reminders for its dosage check up. I stumble to the draw beside my bed, but a hand takes hold of my elbow and lowers me onto the edge of my mattress.
"Sit, Miss Granger." I look up through foggy eyes and gasping breaths at the tall, lanky form of my most loathsome professor. His dark hair is tied back in a piece leather but several strands have escaped its confines, as he rummages away in the draw. As he pulls a small bottle from within and hands it to me, he speaks, taking a seat beside me on the mattress, "Why haven't you come for me sooner? Why haven't you requested more potion? You know as well as I do, that the potion contained in these bottles grows old with time." He runs a shaking hand through his thin, black locks and as I slowly drink from the bottle, I watch him from the corner of my eye.
Professor Snape's form is anything but pleasant. His cheekbones are hollow and his face a pale, ghostly colour that resembles the colour of his off-white hands and pale, yellow nails. "Miss Weasley? Where is she?" I question quietly as I finish my morning brew and he turns and regards me, his dark, pit-black eyes skimming over my face.
"Ah, yes, miss Weasley. I stumbled across you two late last night and helped her bring you back to your rooms. I have requested that she leave you for the rest of the day, as you will take some time to recover from last night." I glance quickly at him and my eyes widen.
"No, Head Girl, your moment with my Slytherin was not the reason for your ailment." A red splatter of colour springs to my cheeks and I bite my lip and look at my hands, the skin trembling and shuddering as its colour and state rearranges itself. "THE POTIONS, MISS GRANGER!" He suddenly exclaims and all hint of embarrassment is gone as the middle-aged man, who attended school with my best friend's dead parents, staggers to his feet and slaps me across the face. "I've told you so many times, Hermione, that the potion is a dangerous mixture of the wizarding world's most violent ingredients, and becomes vile and toxic to one's system after a particular interval in time, but... but you neglect to remember. The potion is made at a particular time and give or take a few moments, it is this time when it must be drunk, and yet, you continue to take them late or to..."
"I UNDERSTAND!" I roar, meeting him face on, but he pushes me backwards and I return to my seat on the bed.
"No, Miss Granger, you do not! How you saved this stupid race of people, I don't know! Your body contains a deadly poison, which although confined to your wrists and hands, inflicts on your entire form an awful curse. You, along with Mr Potter contain in yourselves the blood of a unicorn, the blood of a Serpent and the blood of Salthizar Slytherin, himself, and it is only this potion that prevents your falling. We can not even conceive why you have not become ravaged with hunger for the Unicorn, but the potion does play some part, so do not tell me that you understand, because you do not. No one does." I stare at the forsaken professor and feel my eyes well up as I listen to his words. I contain... I, a mere muggleborn, contain the blood of such things.
"Why has no one told me? Told Harry?" I whisper and he raises his watery, brown eyes and shakes his head. "Mr Potter already knows; it is you who we have concealed the truth from. When we found you, Mr potter and Mr Weasley, it was you who were the last to be reached, for you would let not a soul by your form. Albus worked for the better part of a day trying to break through the barrier that encased your form but you had shielded yourself. Every time someone came to close, a great almighty cry rose upwards from your lungs like the sound of an eagle and your eyes blazed silver with a fearful fire. That is why you were not told until now, Miss Granger. Even Mr Potter, who remained unconscious for up to two months after the ordeal, welcome our aid with unconscious goodwill, but you child," he kneels before me and takes my hands, "you child, were repulsed by us all. It was only when Mr Weasley awoke, his body so weak that Charlie had to carry him, that you slowly let go." He bows his head and his hold on my hands slackens. "You let no one but Mr Weasley by your side and it was he who carried your form to the medical bay, even when his own body was so injured that we had to fill him with five litres of pepper-up potion to allow him to move. You rejected everything that you fought for that day and it was this reaction that made us so cautious. You, Hermione, were the morals of Voldemort that day, refusing everything that had seemed important to you. Everything, except for the boy who was too darkly imprinted in your memories for rejection." I shudder and struggle away from him, crawling back beneath my blankets.
"I wish you would leave now, Snape." I whisper and I feel the rustle of robe against carpet as he moves and the creak of a door as he leaves. When his footsteps disappear, I struggle to contain the grief within me and shudder deeper this time. "Oh God, Ginny, you were so wrong, Malfoy and I are perfect for each other." I struggle to stop the tears from falling over my eyes and I tug the sheets over my head.
"Mione? Snape said that I should come and visit you." Ron's voice creeps closer and he tugs the corner of the sheet upwards and I look at his face looking in. "God, Mione, what's wrong?" His voice asks and finally the damn breaks and I can contain the grief no more. Tears course down my cheeks as my red-haired friend crawls beneath the covers and pulls me into a crushing embrace.
"Only you Ron, only you could get to me that night. How much does that show for my character that not I rejected the beautiful, loving Albus Dumbledore?" I whimper and he shushes me and holds me tighter.
"You didn't reject a soul, Mione. Snape and Dumbledore have it entirely wrong. You were the last one conscious enough to be in Voldemort's company and it was that which you rejected. You were so locked within yourself because you were scared and you had to protect yourself somehow. The scene at your feet when I finally got through to you was one of repulsion, none but Harry could have done better without an occlumency spell, and that is all I saw. I didn't think about any such rubbish as 'she's too much like the dark lord' all I could think was, 'my poor girl, she was alone through it all, and she's so scared.'" He strokes my hair and I sigh, so glad for his comforting form. "God, Mione, you didn't think?" I shudder and try to draw away, but he holds tight. "You may have that fowl thing's blood in you but that doesn't make you anything like him. You've been hurt, Mione, hurt by the Dark Lord, and its time that you realise that you're only hurting yourself with these doubts."
"But Ron! What if someone tries to... tries to... bring him back, one of his death eaters? They all know I was the last one in his presence, the one that he chose to molest in front of them all. Lucius Malfoy threw threats like rain in a thunderstorm, but now... but now... he's right, the Dark Lord is torturing me, Ron, he's inside me, and he's creating these doubts. Doubts, which I never had before and which I wake from at night, shaking and drenched in sweat. Everywhere I turn I can't help but feel unworthy of this all... Oh god, Ron..." I bury myself tighter in his form, but freeze when I hear the unmistakable sound of contained laughter. "ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME?" I scream, and he can contain the laughter no more, his serious face replaced by atrocious laughter. "You're... you're laughing at me! I can't believe you!"
Mione," he whines and pulls me back, stroking my hair gently, "Where did that huge brain go, the brain which seemed so smart and reasoning? When did you become so superstitious, so doubtful? You hate Professor Twelarny, remember!" I calm down slightly and he continues. "The dark lord, my ass!" I slap him, but he continues, "You're no dark lord, Mione, you're just a scared little girl who longs for the times when she didn't drink potions all day. All day you do what Harry does, slinking around corners and sticking to the shadows, so scared that something may happen, that you may be targeted. But, don't you realise, Mione, that you're free now, you're free to be you again, green hands and all." He whispers into my hands, and I can feel tears blooming in my eyes again. "So what if you have his blood in you, or not, you're still you. At the beginning of every week, I get a new potion from Professor Snape, who I secretly think makes it so fowl on..."
"A potion? But why?"
"You didn't think I walked away unharmed, did you? Now that would have been a great source of doubt, on my part. Yes, I take a potion for my muscles and nerves. Madame Pomfrey suspects I was hit by little over 100 different forbidden curses, so I feel a little proud, I suppose." I feel him shudder this time, and I want to take hold of him, but I pause as he starts again, "She and Dumbledore both suspect I'm the only person, besides Harry to have lasted so well against them, but I'm not too sure. My muscles are stiff and spasm constantly if I forget my potion, and I have blank spots in my memory from the sixth year of school. But at least I can be thankful that I didn't come out of it like Neville's parents." He pauses for a moment, his eyes turning strange and lost, "But at night, when I'm lying awake under the canopy of red felt, I can feel my fingers and toes twitching and my shoulder starts to spasm with aching pains, which leave me heavy headed. I can't even play Quidditch without this dampening it. Pomfrey suspects it'll get better, but that doesn't stop me from remembering cramps that wracked my body and the light breathless spasms that I got when I flew too high. God, Mione, you're not the only one who doubts themselves, but the thing is, you can't let it get to you. You can't believe that everything is over just because you fought a great Wizard and came out scathed, because otherwise Snape would be a blithering mess, Neville would have thrown away his crutches and fallen over on his one leg, and Ginny would be in St Mungos, her mind consumed with the words and thoughts of Tom Riddle." His hold on me gets a little tighter. "We always thought that we were invincible, didn't we? But I guess we're not. We used to run into battle, hearts in our hands, ready to take on any foe, and at first we got out unscathed, but with each new year, it seemed to dawn that our foolhardy rescues were coming at a cost. Cedric. Sirius. Hagrid. Dad. If you continue to doubt your actions during that time, then you insult those people who lay down for us. You insult the people whose bodies were lain out in long rows, when all the fighting ended. You forget that you owe all those poor saps more than just a thought." I gasp and suddenly we are both crying, both weeping for lost friends, family and innocence.
So that when sleep finally arrives and we close our eyes, our arms wrapped tightly around one another, our cheeks are coursed with salty trails.
Twilight leaves a heavy glow in its wake, sending ripples of golden and pink colour across and when I wake, my face just barely peeping above the tops of my blankets, I find myself alone, my red-haired friend gone.
"But with each new year, it seemed to dawn that our foolhardy rescues were coming at a cost. Cedric. Sirius. Hagrid. Dad. If you continue to doubt, Mione, doubt your actions during that time, then you insult those people who lay down for us."
Ron's words echo in my ears and I run a chaste hand through my knotted curls. His Dad. I forgot all about his Dad. I suddenly realise that in my own little world, I have forgotten about everything that was important. In some ways, Ronald Weasley had been wrong and Severus Snape had been correct, I had epitomised some of those morals in myself, those morals that the Great Git of all Wizards worshipped. I had neglected my friends in my own selfishness and in my desperateness to escape everything that seemed disastrous in my mind; I had run away from them, leaving them to cope with their own demons, even when they helped with mine. I had forgotten about those so dear to me, but even more dear to my friends, who had died with the darkness of my world. But not again.
I step from my bed and with aching limbs retrieve a bottle from the draw, and checking the time, now ready to finally be responsible, I down its contents. I take a deep breath, feeling for the first time better for taking this potion and languidly gather up my clothes and head to the bathroom. I am but a step from there when a figure emerges and I immediately recognise him.
"Mudblood." He greets me, his eyes grazing over my face and focusing on my lips for a moment. I shudder, anticipating something intense and preposterous moment, but what I find is something so close to sinfully sad. He leans forward, kisses the corner of my mouth and then breaths deeply. "I... I don't understand this. You still smell like the scent of shit!" He whispers, his voice hissing in my ear and I gasp, swallowing hard, as he walks casually past me.
When he is gone, I choke on a heavy sob, wondering why this has shocked and chilled me to the core. Then, trying to regain some of the semblance I had had before, I resume my path. Once under the warmth of the shower's spray, I run hands over my face and through my hair, as I try to calm down.
A few days ago, his response to me would have been more than welcome, but things had steadily gotten out of hand, and even though I loathed the way he had spoken to me, I loathed just as much the unspoken anger in his words. Who was he to behave so intolerably? Who was he to act so high and mighty, believing that he could act in such a way after such prior behaviour?
Look at me, Hermione. That boy who stood before you, who kissed you and breathed words of passion and hatred in your ear all at once, is not the one for you, no matter how much your heart longs for forgetfulness. He will not bring you peace of mind with such a soul... Ginny's words echo in my ears, and I sigh. Perhaps, Ginny, but who am I to deny such a burning, which is nothing like the burning of embarrassment or the burning of torturous dreams.
I cradle my skull and suddenly begin to laugh, realising with enormous irony that it is not Ginny and it is not Ron and Harry who have finally crashed me back to reality, but the blond torturer of years gone by. In such close proximity with a boy so scarred and wronged by those that should love him, I have found a passionate comfort, an excruciating disillusioned moment, which has led me to a single conclusion. I see in him, that which I have gained, and he sees in me that which he has lost. The hands of certain particulars have brought such cruelty to our lives, but also an overwhelming search for things once craved for, things once believed in, things we once... things we once thought we were worthy of.
With an abrupt turn of the taps, I quickly assembled myself in my school uniform and headed down to the Great Hall.
"Hermione!" A voice greeted me as I strode down the hallways and I spun to greet my Irish friend, "You look better. The boys said you were sick and Ginny said something about an accident in the hallways." A smile spreads across my face and I latch onto his arm and throw him a beaming smile.
"I'm great, Seamus!" I tell him enthusiastically, and I suddenly wonder why I never tried just forgetting about my problems. The feeling that erupts in me when his face relaxes at my happy presence is mind-boggling and I feel enchanted by the fact that I caused this.
"You sure..." he questions gingerally and I tenderly pat his arm, and lead him into the Great Hall, "For once, Mr Finnegan, I am completely sure." His face, then, erupts in a toothy grin and we sit down at the table. Startled, Ginny eyes my careless complexion and sends me a curious glance, which I smile at and pull her down beside me. "I'm not sure whether you're right, but finally Gin, finally I've realised something. Cruelty from another caused my injuries, caused Harry's and Ron's and yours, and it was the skilled hands of murderers, which stole your Dad and our friends, but it wasn't the hands of a boy. I don't choose him, Gin, in fact I refuse him, but I won't fill my mind with hate. Not any more." I tell her and yanking her forward, I wrap my arms around her small frame and whisper, "You're one of my most important friends, Ginny Weasley and I'd forgotten just what happened before Voldemort's death. I am so sorry about your Dad." I whisper, and she pulls away.
"But, Mione..." I hold my breath, "you've already said you're sorry." And I grin and shake my head, "No, I didn't. I was off in my own little world, away when you needed me." And we hug once more, another smile lighting my face, when I feel with relief that I have finally done something right.
Dinner begins and I briefly raise my eyes from my plate and find myself eye to eye with only one person who could claim such blue eyes. His eyes widen and his pauses mid mouthful to hold my stare and I bite my lip for a moment then break the tension-filled moment with a gentle smile, which tugs at the corner of my lip. "Hermione?" Still smiling, I look away and to Harry, feeling giddy with this sudden calmness. "I'm glad to... Ron mentioned about Snape and I... what I mean is..." I cut him off with a wave of my hand and looking to my lap for a moment and blinking I abruptly bring my eyes back to his.
"It's alright. Honestly, Harry. They were right to keep such things from me, but now... now I'm ready to accept these new things about me. I'm not as strong as you, Harry, but how can I not believe in my actions when you're still here. I had always believed that I would teach you and Ron something, but now... now Mr Potter, I realise that everything worth knowing is in my friendship with you." I smile, squeeze his hand across the table and then turn to Dumbledore who has just charmed his spoon and glass to clang together.
"Good evening, students. I would like to draw some attention to our two head prefects. If the two would be so kinda as to stand." Slightly embarrassed and blushing I step out and over my seat, getting slowly to my feet. Malfoy does the same, a blush hidden well but for the tops of his ears. "These two have worked together very well in preceding days and have come up with a solution to our yearly event. A ball is to be held on the first night of May at dusk, in the grounds of Hogwarts. The ball shall be masked for the occasion and all years are invited to attend." A loud cheer erupts from the hall and the spoon and crystal glass ring clear for silence, again, "This year, our Head boy and girl have decided to make it somewhat of a scavenger hunt, which you can participate in on your own or with a partner, however, at the request of our Heads, I have placed several spells across the school." This comment sends a shockwave of whispers throughout the school and Dumbledore raises his hand and once again commands silence, as Malfoy and I take our seats. "These spells permit the acknowledging of a partner or the asking of one to be another's, but prevent one from talking about how they will be attending the ball that night, therefore making yet another task of the night to be 'locating your partner'. This night will be a night of goodwill and cheer, which will hopefully remain untarnished," He seems to look over at the Slytherin table and his eyes run over its most apparent characters. I follow his look and glance at the house of the boy who has been constantly on my mind.
Pansy Parkinson sits closest to the professor's table, her high pitched giggles resounding across the echoing hall. I've known her for seven years now but she has to be one of the most deceptive, deceiving characters of the school. Her blond hair, curled and streaming, is pulled back into a high pony tail, and I watch as she places a hand on her male companion's chest and gently pushes, sending him toppling into the girl on his other side. She giggles again and pats his cheek, but her eyes glint maliciously as they rake across her house's table and then across the others. She went out with Draco Malfoy till the beginning of sixth year and the break-up was anything but quiet, but it seems she has gotten over that small moment relatively quickly. She is a little taller than I and definitely larger than I, but there is something dead in her eyes, something missing from her blue eyes which one would expect to see in such an Aryan looking child, and as her eyes meet Dumbledore's and his seem to crease in sadness, she sneers and turns to Christian Lestrange and mumbles something, which causes him to chuckle lightly.
Christian Lestrange, son of Rodolphus Lestrange, is a high standing character of Slytherin and probably the most well known and open of them all. He has short brown hair, the colour of milk chocolate and open green eyes, which are always wide and filled with mirth. But it is his mouth and his posture which reclaims his status of Slytherin away from that a friendly Gryffindor. His mouth when he is not laughing is never smiling and can twist into the cruellest, most snarling expression to grace a person's presence. Within it, it holds the sharpest tongue and with a grating wit and prejudiced remarks, he lashes out with barbs at anyone, at anytime. His posture like his face is almost immaculately perfect, but for the limp that he walks with. The injury was mysteriously gained sometime after the summer holidays of the fifth year, and speculation ran wild for the first few weeks of how such an injury was gained, and he was seen many times within the hospital. But when I look at him, all I remember is seeing him one single night within the library, his face asleep on his arms, but his body and voice were not asleep and as he mumbled monstrosities, his leg and arms shook and tears coated his face. And then I ran.
Dumbledore continues talking, and my eyes travel further up the table to a shadowed end and they focus on the most secretive, most frightening character. Blaise Zabini. I shudder as he raises his face and he immediately looks straight at me, his eyes glazed with a silver lining, whilst his lips are still. One look makes me cold and I shake my head and turn to looking at him from beneath my lashes. His family is infamous throughout the wizarding community and only once have I seen his parents and once was definitely enough.
I stand with Harry and Ron on the outskirts of Diagon Alley, Knockturn lying just beyond the winding corner, looking through the window of a small Alchemy shop which had just opened up, when his family approaches from the dreary, depressing area. We all turn, my two friends flanking both my sides to take in the most breathtaking sight. His father and mother have to be two of the most beautiful people to ever arise and for a moment I can't breath as I take in the painting-like image. They are both tall and dark skinned, like Blaise, but where the elder Zabini is dark haired and eyed like his son, the mistress of the elderly family is copper-haired with terrifying purple eyes. I can feel my companions gawking at the striking image as much as me, but when I eventually raise my eyes and meet the elder Zabini, his arm wrapped around his wife's waist, I shudder. His eyes, like his sons, are black pits of charcoal and they rake over my form for a moment before he releases his wife and steps forward.
"Mudblood Granger, I suppose," He drawls, his voice smooth and grating at the same time, whilst a single dark skinned finger hooks beneath my chin and raises my face upwards. There is no denying the perfection that his face holds, but the sight of his sneering mouth and eyes sends a shiver of disgust through me like a wave of nausea. I can feel Harry tensing beside me, but his moment is broken as a soft voice breaks through the gruelling silence, "My love, you can play with the children another time but right now, Blaise requires new robes before we return." The finger uncurls and he returns to her side.
"Mr Weasley," Ron immediately looks upwards, his eyes slightly wide with suprise but also angry, "I do hope your family is well. Despite their... tastes, your mother is from the House of Black, and although your father is... well it doesn't matter. Please, send my regards." Mikael Zabini immediately begins to move forward and finally we all notice the solitary figure that stands behinds them and who moves slowly after them, completing the awing picture of the blue bloods.
I watch him for a moment longer, my head cocked to the side with curiosity as I watch the young man push away dark, curling locks from his face, but start as he meets my eyes again. He suddenly grins, his teeth white against his skin and he bares the fore of his arm and I shudder, even from this distance, recognising the jutting, pointed scar, which runs down its length. He laughs, then leans over and whispers into another's ear and as I slowly look to this other, my eyes widen as both boys look to me.
The other is blond haired and pale skinned, making the two boys contrastingly striking, and one of the most beautiful pictures ever. If we were to look for the beautiful people of this school then we would only to have to look to the Slytherin table with all their interbreeding and pompousness that they would be found.
He stares at me, his eyes narrowed and his mouth lightly tugged at the corner with his famous smirk and I feel a blush settle over my cheeks. For a moment I cannot draw my eyes away from either of them but the clatter of a dish and the rush of liquid across my knees, draws my concentration away and I realise that Neville has knocked a jug over.
"Oi, Mione, are you off with the faeries or what?" Ron mutters dryly and I shoot Seamus a quick smile as he chants a quick drying charm. Neville apologises profusely over and over, the face, which once was rounded, becoming blushed in pink, but Harry rustles his hair and jokes, "God Neville, and we thought loosing a leg would make you clumsier, what we forgot about was that extra arm which keeps appearing." The table erupts in cheers and Harry grabs him in a brotherly headlock and rustles his hair into even less order.
Dinner soon finishes and I go to leave with the others but pause when they all shoot me strange looks, "What?" I query aloud and Harry shakes his head and chuckles.
"I think you were right, Ron, she's been taken captive by the faeries and they've left this forgetful thing in her place. Dumbledore wants to meet with you and the ferret after dinner in his office." Harry explains and I start backwards, glance around the hall and briefly see silver locks leaving ahead of me.
"Thanks guys, you're life savers." I run after the retreating figure, and finally catch up to him at Gargoyle entrance and he turns and regards me. All but his eyes remain emotionless, but those silvery blue pits, which reek havoc with my soul, turn to deeper and darker shade and I briefly catch the intense, lustful stare, which he aims.
"Mudblood." He acknowledges and he appears to lean forward, his brows creased, but a bodiless voice interrupts.
"Ah, students, so glad you were able to attend, please follow the staircase upwards." I step past him, making my way up the stares, but not before I catch his fingers clenched in fists and the faint blush, which lines his cheeks.
Once in Dumbledore's office, we both take a seat and face our headmaster. He begins by congratulating us on a job well done, and then, for some time, we discuss more pressing and distinct aspects of the up and coming night of cheer. I respond on instinct for the most part, for my mind is departed else where, or more precisely on the boy who sits beside me, but a lull in the conversation draws me back in and I return my attention.
Dumbledore is looking kindly at me, his eyes slightly drooping and perhaps not so twinkling, and I swallow as he turns his attention to Malfoy. His next words shock me and I feel the blood drain away from my face, "May I enquire after your father, Draco? Is he well?" The question seems to unseat Draco almost as much as it did I, but he quickly regains his composure and answers, "He is quite well, Sir. He takes the potion you requested and his sight is slowly returning. May I ask..." he pauses and I watch his throat shift, and his eyes shift to look at me for a moment, "pray, would you explain your curiosity?"
I do not hear the old man's response, only the blond haired boy's words from the night before. I cannot stop the unbearable shaking in my hands as flashes of a dreadful night rear their ugly heads.
Didn't you hear his words, Hermione? His father is still alive. Lucius Malfoy already holds his son's mind in his grasp, and with each waking moment they becomes more and more alike.
Ginny's words assault me with anger, but it is not her memory that sends shudders through me.
In a brief moment I watch the man who had stood closest to me, his blond hair streaming from beneath a black cloak and his eyes maniacal with anger, fly backwards and land with several others around their GREAT master. Only now do I hear the screams of pain and their curses of anguish, and only now do I watch their leader's blood splatter across parts of their bodies, like it did my hands. It burns through their clothes and garments like acid, and if they are unlucky enough, it hits their skin and creates poxes, scars and blemishes across their perfect, pure-blooded skin.
My eyes widen as I look to the phoenix, which is perched upon its branch, and it rears its head from beneath its feathery wings, and it lets out one single note, which the other two in the room do not hear. Only I.
Tell me that you know about the predestined lives that they map out for you the minute you're conceived and I'll take a curtsy and bring you flowers, but don't remind me of the fact that he's my father because he's already engraved that fact on my back. Did you think that by killing Voldemort, you and your little buddies, that that would make him any less?
My eyes fill with tears as I realise that the boy beside me lives with a man who believes, with every fibre of his being, that the morals of the one who was killed is perfectly correct.
Have you ever looked down and discovered that you've been stabbed in the side by the very man who you thought was your father, your own flesh and blood?
And here I thought we'd killed the only demon that this world would meet, but he lives in the same house with a monster. His entire life has been darkened with shadows
Dumbledore dismisses us from his study and he walks with us to the first step of the descending staircase. "Till next time. I don't think I spoke wrongly when I said that you two would create a year to remember. Thankyou both." He shakes Malfoy's hand first, and then as the blond boy turns to leave, Dumbledore presses a kiss to my forehead and says softly, "Do not think that it is only you who mourns this pain. Fawkes weeps for all with a single tear, his voice no longer echoing a song of joy but one of sadness.
We step off the final stair, the hallway, which leads us back to our warm beds, is dark but for a small lantern towards the distant end of corridor, and for a moment we pause. He stands just under a foot taller than me, and I raise my eyes to look at him, searching his face. It is flawless, not a pox, scar or blemish touching its milky skin and I hesitate for a moment before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. It is hardly a kiss, my lips barely touching his skin, and I can feel a steady heat travelling up the back of my neck. When I move away, his face has changed, the black pupils of his blue eyes dilated with shock, and his mouth drawn in a thin line, but his ears have been dipped in pink candy.
Then without a moment's hesitation I swing my hand around and slap the opposite cheek. And I watch as his face swings to the side and his mouth stretches, if it is even possible, into an even thinner line. "I am NOT something that you can play with, Draco Malfoy, and I loathe your treatment of me, but... but I can't judge you by your father's ways when I... when I wish not to be judged by your father's ways. I... I... don't know you, and I try to tell myself that I don't want to... but there is something about you..." I look at him, his eyes widening for a moment, and I smile very, very softly, "... that is so familiar. Something so... mindlessly right." I whisper and then I brush past him quickly and make my way, without a backwards glance, towards our room's portal.
Author's Note: I know, I know!! This is the worst it could have possibly been, but I have been so busy. I have just finished my first semester of University, and in between the last update and todays, I have been busy trying to pass my course and do so with some intelligence. As it is, I did so, and that is why, in the last week I have written perhaps 16 pages on this. You have probably all forgotten what you've written, but I just want to THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR REVIEWS. I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long but hopefully it will meet all your expectations. If not, I'm sorry.
Thanks again, guys.
Cai