Chapter Nine- Another Fine Afternoon
Mrs. Weasley was already making dinner when Harry and Ron walked through the door. "Hello dears! Harry, how are you? Good? Good! And that Tamora girl?"
"She's fine for now, but..."
"I heard she's been doing a lot of hexing lately," George said, putting his hand on Harry's head and mussing his hair. This was a futile attempt, being that Harry's hair was chronically untidy. "How ya doing, Harry? We've been following the local Hogwarts news since September. Heard you almost killed Malfoy."
"And that you and Malfoy knocked out half of the school–"
"–And Tamora's Keeper for the Slytherin Quidditch team!"
"Hey I was going to say that one, George."
"Is Tamora available Harry?"
Harry could barely fit in a word, "Well–"
"Yeah, for me, Harry–"
"–Lay off, Fred!"
"Is she really an Animagus, Harry?"
"–Erm.."
"Did she really break Malfoy's nose–"
"–And save your life with that bludger–"
"–Hey I'm asking the questions!"
"–Come on, tell us about her, Harry—"
"Yeah, everything!"
"BOYS!" Mr. Weasley yelled from across the room, soon lowering his voice. The twins were frozen with their mouths open. "Now- Fred, George- I'm sure Harry will be glad to answer your questions as soon as you give him the chance."
Harry began to explain while Mrs. Weasley finished making dinner. Ginny and Hermione discussed "girl matters" (as Mr. Weasley often said) quietly amongst themselves. Ginny no longer glanced at Harry admiringly, or stared with fright when he entered the room. She was... different. Mature, in a way. She'd grown up. And he missed the awkward little girl trailing after him.
"Wonder where Tamora is now," Ron said to Harry, sitting down in the living room. He opened a Quidditch magazine to the Chudley Cannons article. Two new Beaters for the team were sailing around the text, hitting the other teams' Beaters with their clubs. Ron started at cutting the article out when the team captain shrieked (Ron had nearly cut off her arm).
"She's probably already there. I'll send Hedwig with a note. I have to find out if she's all right..." Harry took a piece of parchment and a quill from his robes and charmed the quill to dictate. "Dear Tamora –new line here—" The quill hopped to the next line and waited for more dictation. "Hope you got there all in one piece– scratch..." the last line disappeared, "...I hope you are well, and that you are comfortable as you can be in the Malfoys' home...–scratch– estate— scratch!— mansion." Finally, pleased with the word, he picked up the quill and scribbled his name below "Much love". Some how, sentimentality was new, but easily acquired.
Harry walked to Hedwig, who was perched on the windowsill. She nibbled at the note as he attempted to tie it to her leg, then gave up. She pushed off from Harry's hand, sinking her small talons into his hand. Only indents were left, and no harm done. The note was now sailing towards Tamora on the leg of his snowy white owl.
At the moment, Tamora, too, was sailing through the air, free-falling and diving with ease. Her Firebolt was a bit slower than Draco's, but still an asset. She flew through a storm cloud, lightening striking only a few yards away.
"Stop playing around, Tamora— get down here!" Draco was cross, but he was right. Playing games with the elements wouldn't end well.
The rain was falling in sheets, drenching them both as the fog thickened. "Let's go! There it is." He pointed to something that resembled a palace more than a home. "Come down to twenty feet, it's getting hard to see."
Tamora nodded, staring at the cold, uninviting place she would spend Christmas in... What was worse, she would spend it with the coldest, most uninviting people. Her father had warned her about this place, this family, and what exactly Lucius would do if he found a Black living in his house...
But Lucius was far away (or was he?), never to be seen by ordinary wizards. He threatened Tamora's life, but she was sure he had no awareness to Dumbledore's plans.
"Draco- WATCH—" At Tamora's yell, Draco swerved past a tree almost invisible in the dense fog.
They flew to the doorway, carrying their brooms inside. Draco flicked his wand, and the door shut behind them, locking immediately. "That... was fun."
"You know what fun is? I'm surprised. You never have fun in public. Would it ruin your reputation as an irrepressible clod?"
"Oh shut your gob," he snapped angrily. "Do you always insult me this way because you enjoy it, or because Saint Potter has made you used to it?"
"That saint is the closest thing to a brother that I have, thank you. And yes, it is out of enjoyment." She threw her broom to him at the speed one cracks a whip. Tamora groped through the darkness, wiping her feet on a black fur mat she felt at the door. "What kind of welcome mat is this?"
"That would be my cat, Beelzebub..." As Tamora stepped off of the cat, Draco bellowed "OFF!" and pulled her out of the way. The cat breathed a three-foot stream of fire dangerously close to them. Tamora's skin was seared on her forearm, and she winced.
"You and your bloody cat..."
"If you hadn't stepped on it..."
"...If you had warned me—"
"—Warned you? 'Oh and Tamora, darling, don't wipe your dirty disgusting feet on my cat on the way in!'"
"I wish I'd never come to your house."
"Want me to make that wish come true? It'll only take a minute."
"Just... Leave me alone, Draco. I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be here."
"Who said I didn't want you here?" He leaned in and placed his head on her shoulder, laughing at the way she cringed and shuddered. "Revolted and left wanting? Love's a pip, isn't it?"
"You can't frighten me anymore, Draco. And if you call this love, then you've made a terrible mistake."
Draco whispered, "lacarnum inflamare" lighting the oil lamps in the chandeliers. Suddenly the room was revealed, if something so grand could be called a room. It was desolate, even with all its finery, due to the lack of love and the precision of all things in their place. The chandeliers hung from the apexes of the ceiling, which seemed to be twenty feet or more. The green flames in each oil lamp cast an eerie glow on the entire room.
"Isn't anything in your home normal?"'
"No."
"Hm."
The rugs (all fur, she noted) were deep black, much resembling the cat she had just accidentally stepped on, but bigger. One area rug spanned half of the room, the other only covered the area by the fireplace. The fireplace itself looked as if it had not been lit in a while, the pokers on the rack— immaculate. Not a speck of ash or a chip of wood from urging flames out of logs.
While walking deeper into this labyrinth of a home, she saw several spiral staircases. Just the sight of them beckoned her to climb the steps into worlds unknown. The entire home was draped in fantasy, a bit too much even for a witch. And everything- purely Slytherin colors- save the blood-red corner of the room that had been painted so.
"What's that?"
"Blake. He sits there to play his music, and he said his artistic license gave him permission to separate himself from us. Since he couldn't do that very well, he separated a section of the room that was all his own. Terrible red paint."
"I love it..." she said half-heartedly. "I don't know why you don't. It's beautiful. Brings this room to the world of the living." Tamora pointed to the winding marble staircase closest to her. "Where does that lead?"
"Bedrooms. Go ahead... I'll follow you."
She ascended a winding marble staircase, black and steep, spiraling almost into infinity. The end was a large, dark hallway, doors to the right and left. She'd had dreams like this, and they were terrifying... Did she really belong in this house? Tamora approached the first door, hoping that Draco had only one fire-breathing feline...
She shrieked. Something had grabbed her 'round the waist. Then, Draco's laughter. "Draco you fool. You scared me half to death."
"Should I try for the other half?"
"Shut up." She stomped into the first room, but ran straight out again when a roar echoed. "What do you have in these rooms!"
"That's a lion statue. It always does that to intruders. Have a look for yourself." Sure enough, as Tamora peeked in the door, she saw a lion statue that sat menacingly on its pedestal.
"Lion? Are you a Gryffindor, Draco?" Tamora laughed at the lion as it recognized her. Draco flicked his wand, the lion roaring loudly again. "It only scared me once. How do I... become its friend?"
"I decide its friends and enemies."
"Oh really?" She shot a charm directly at the lion's head, and it ricocheted off of the walls, staying in the room when she slammed the door shut.
"Yes." He pointed the ebony wand at the door again. "Really." The lion stopped roaring, leaving silence to deafen Tamora. An awkward silence she couldn't escape... it was doing more harm than any of his words ever could have.
"This way," Draco breathed, leading her by the wrist. The hallway was dank and obviously very rarely occupied.
"Draco I can't sleep in this terrible place..."
"Try." he muttered stiffly.
"It's just... oh I can't sleep all alone down here."
"Would you rather I slept with you?"
"No."
"Well then?"
"Where's your bedroom?"
"Would you care to sleep in there with me then?"
"No! God, is that all you ever think about, Draco?"
"...You brought it up."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did not—"
"—Here's your room." He opened the door with a loud creak, revealing a large, lavish bedroom. A small bed sat in the corner, draped in a gigantic Slytherin quilt (crest and all- silver, dark forest green...). The pillows seemed to have been fluffed rather violently (Dobby?), and the room must have been unoccupied for quite a long time, though there were no cobwebs to conclude this much. The hangings and the area rugs all reflected the same black, silver and green. An ebony lamp with a silver shade sat in the corner on a small table— its dangling beads, in actuality, were emeralds. Everything, pristine (almost sickeningly so), and perfectly put together.
"This is my room?"
"Yes," he casually remarked, checking for dust (though he found none). He worked his way around the room, inspecting everything as Tamora followed him in wonder. A desk to the left, ebony again, and hand-crafted it seemed to the eye. Much care and detailing went into every piece of furniture, and with this, Tamora was obviously impressed. But to admit this to Draco was incomprehensible. "I thought you'd have me locked in the basement."
"We have no basement."
"But I saw a door in the—"
"—They...are...dungeons." He let her take pause, then said, "There are too many dangerous things here, and you're too curious. Stay out of death's doorway, will you? The last thing I want is Dumbledore on my tail."
Draco knew what she would reply. Oh and that's all I mean to you? But she didn't reply. Not a word. Not a sound. Not an implication of her sadness. After several minutes of silence, finally it was broken.
"This is going to be a dreadful Christmas," she said with a sigh. Tamora didn't know she had been overheard, and flashed a false grin. "It's lovely. I'm going to change out of these clothes, so..." Still drenched, she realized how she must be ruining the carpeting in the room. But what did she care?...
"I'll turn my back."
"You'll leave the room."
"...I'll leave the room. Right..." Where were his manners? Maybe he left them at the door with his now-muddy fire-breathing cat from hell.
"Draco..." He heard Tamora calling from behind the door.
"Tamora?"
"Yeah hold on... erm... I have to ask. How did your cat learn to breathe fire?"
"Blake," he said wryly. "My cousin. Originally, the cat was named Blake. But when my cousin was born, I made fun of him, and he was angry... to say the least. He charmed the cat to breathe fire then protected the spell— made it irreversible. Smart one, my cousin. After that, the cat's name was Beelzebub."
"I must meet this cousin of yours."
"You will. He's coming with the other bloody half of the family sometime tonight."
Tamora stepped out of the door. The astonishment on her face was truly priceless.
"Tonight!"
Draco laughed, "Yes. And you can lock yourself up here in your room for all I care."
"No," Tamora said curtly. "No, I'll meet them. Hopefully Blake is more handsome and courteous than you. But knowing your family... He probably looks something like my Uncle Regulus did; I'll bet Blake's covered in hair from his back to his legs and hideously ugly. Rude, as well. Not like my uncle in that way. My uncle was polite. Unlike your family- cold, harsh people. Death Eaters, the lot. Nothing worse than that."
The wounds cut deeper than Tamora had expected. Draco's hostile lashing out surprised her. "Your father probably told you that lie— about Death Eaters. I'll bet your father lied about everything he ever told you. A criminal, a common criminal. Killed his own wife in a duel."
Tamora shoved Draco as hard as she could, flinging him against the wall outside of the bedroom. "My father DID NOT kill her! PETER PETTIGREW KILLED MY MOTHER. YOUR FATHER MURDERED HUNDREDS IN HIS DAY, SO SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH."
"You know nothing about this," he snapped, the harshness in his voice making her tremor with rage.
"I HATE YOU."
It had been so sudden. Lips locked in heated silence as Tamora clutched at the back of Draco's neck. He trembled, and suddenly his arms were limp at his sides. A mixture of shock and passion had kept him silent and docile for several minutes. Just until he heard a screeching voice...
"DRACOOOO COME HELP ME WITH THESE THINGS I'VE BOUGHT! DRACOOOOOO!"
He tore his lips away from hers, gasping for air.
Tamora looked at him with utter disgust, and he back at her.
"UGH."
They stomped off in opposite directions, muttering about how disgusting the experience had been.
"Terrible kisser–"
"–Bad breath.."
"...Can't believe I–"
"Why'd I let her–"
"–This won't ever happen again, you know that, don't you, Draco?"
"Absolutely. Never speak of it again."
"Never wanted something that vile to happen as long as I lived."
They kept walking in opposite directions, like grade school children, bickering all the way.
A/N: Long time no see, Harry Potter fans. I've been updating many, MANY stories, and I've had very little time. Of Friendship, Of Fate, the Spiderman fic, is keeping me VERY busy, as well as Mother Moon. I'm also looking to a sequel to the one-shot "A Different Kind Of Hate."