Potions: What would a Girl do without it?
By Slave4severus
Disclaimer: I do not own any of JKR's work. If I did I would not be sitting at a desk job trying to make a living, but vacationing in Germany with a laptop and some good coffee writing Book 7.
Silvery beams of cool moonlight spilled and faceted through the high windows illuminating the silent bedroom: its occupants sleeping soundly and unmoving. The first, only visible through a thick blanket of russet curls spread out in wildly tangled disarray.
Two gleaming slits appeared in the darkened shadows of the room, a predator homing in on his quarry with deadly precision, stealthily making its way toward the bed. Pupils fully dilated, white, sharp teeth gleaming wetly in the pale light.
A sudden flash of movement rippled through the sinew body, paws connecting with the satin duvet draped across the bed. With a leap it was upon its pray, teeth and claws sinking deep into the…
"Crookshanks!"
The mountain of hair raised itself from the pillow, shoving at the strands with annoyance, revealing the owner of the dimly glowing and vibrating wand; now wedged firmly between Crookshanks' back paws, front claws, and jowls.
"Get off my wand!" Hermione hissed, firmly grasping the base and extracting it from her feisty familiar, extinguishing its alarm.
"There better not be any teeth marks on it, Crooks, or so help me I will turn you into a furry muff for the winter months!" She ran her fingers lightly over the wizened wood in the darkness, feeling nothing amiss.
With a tired sigh, she carefully climbed from beneath the covers, quickly donning her slippers and robe, and then softly padding across the room to where she had dropped her book bag. As quietly as possible, she slung the bag over her shoulder, halting as Alanna stirred restlessly in her bed. Hermione furrowed her brow as she waited for her 'flat' mate to settle down once more.
'What time had she come in anyway?' She contemplated and silently made her way out of the bedroom.
The common room was thankfully deserted, not that Malfoy would have been up at five in the morning on a weekend, and he rightfully needed all the beauty sleep he could get to keep up that polished handsome look that covered up his nasty disposition. Hermione stifled a yawn and sat down on the plush red couch, waving her wand at the dying fire, and then transfiguring a red pillow into a soft blanket of the same color.
She unpacked her bag, pulling forth a rather thick book about written by a nineteenth century Auror entitled Dark Marks and Curses: An in-depth study, followed by another, Magical Bloodlines in England—What a marriageable Witch needs to know. She bristled at the latter, disgusted with having found this particular volume one of the most coveted light reading materials for the female populous of Slytherin.
Although everything within her rebelled at the thought of reading pureblood propaganda she needed to know more about the girl she was sharing a room with, and thankfully, or perhaps, to her horror, there was an entire chapter dedicated to the Flint family within its pages; closely followed by the Malfoy chapter, but she would be damned if she read about a bunch of ferrets on a Saturday morning!
Hermione rummaged around in her bag for her quill, ink bottle, and a spare roll of parchment she could make her notes on, and set to work.
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Draco stretched luxuriously beneath his Egyptian cotton sheets, silk was just too slippery when he entertained, and slowly opened his eyes to greet the morning sun. Before he could fall back into his second little nap of the morning, a soft clicking noise on his window roused him fully from the recesses of sleep.
With a well placed glare he stared at yet another one of his father's owls, this one having been given a high priority mailing, hence the insistent tapping on his window. Reluctantly, he extracted himself from his sheets and sauntered over to the window.
After relieving the bloody bird of its package he quickly unfolded the letter, while lightly fingering the money pouch his father had attached.
Draco,
Knowing you, you have probably not even encountered Miss Flint since my last correspondence. Unfortunately, I can not take care of this myself and have to leave this in your...capable hands. Do not disappoint me as you so often do, Draco.
Enclosed is a money pouch. Spend it on her.
Lucius Malfoy
Draco crumbled the letter in his hand viciously, retrieving his wand from the nightstand and incinerating with a quick Incendio. That having given him little satisfaction, he turned toward the owl that had not moved from its perch on the window sill.
"If you know what is good for you, you get the hell out of here before I roast you with my wand!" He grumbled menacingly.
The bird quickly left the junior Malfoy to his bad temper, not flying off fast enough; however, before the window hit it square in the face.
"Bloody Lucius!" Draco ranted, while he sauntered into his private bathroom, forcefully taking off his clothing and depositing them in a neat pile into the laundry basket, which promptly disappeared to an awaiting house elf.
He turned to the mirrored wall above the large sink and sneered at himself in disgust. He was becoming sick and tired of his father running his life!
'Draco you disgust me! Draco you will marry Pansy! Draco you are a disappointment! Why is a mudblood besting you in everything? Draco you are not a man, but a boy standing in Granger's shadow!'
Granger! Everywhere he turned she was there, that little freak of nature that took perverse pleasure in thwarting all of his attempts at superiority. After all of these years he had finally been rewarded for his troubles with the Head Boy position. Finally, he could prove to his father that he was not the worthless piece of genetic waste he thought him to be.
'Head Boy? And who are you sharing your duties with? …Granger! Second best again, Draco. How unsurprising.'
Draco shook his head to rid himself of his father's voice, echoing its usual round of insults at him.
After a hot shower he dressed in his weekend garb of black tailored slacks and a formfitting, forest green, cashmere sweater. With a calming breath, Draco refocused himself on the task at hand.
What did he know about Alanna Flint?
She was very quiet and not used to being around people; he supposed that was to be expected after being introduced to a bunch of witless, overbearing, unsophisticated oafs better known as Gryffindors. Other than that his source of information was as reliable as the Hogwarts rumor mill. He had heard preposterous accusations about her being a snake charmer, rivaling even Potty's talents.
Draco scoffed softly while collecting his books from his nightstand. Snake charmer indeed! More like Weasel charmer. The blithering idiot has become so besotted with her that he has made more of a fool of himself during meals than usual. Not that he had been looking of course.
Bloody Gryffindors.
No, this battle would be won behind the scenes with Slytherin cunning and Malfoy charm, beginning with an escort to breakfast with the most handsome and eligible, well sort of eligible, bachelor of Hogwarts. With purposeful strides he headed toward the common room, grimly opening the door and fastening his robes properly.
His eyes immediately fell on a sleeping form before the fireplace, making him fall short.
Granger.
With another sneer he approached her silently, taking in her prone form modestly covered by a red blanket clutching tightly to one of her precious books. Her hair spilled over the side of the couch in angry and frizzy disarray, her cheeks covered with a rosy glow, and her breath hitching ever so often.
Draco glanced at the coffee table to see what she had been working on this early in the morning, grabbing the parchment that had fallen onto the floor and scanning it quickly.
The mudblood had taken notes on curse scars. Perhaps a Potty fetish? He read on and found an entire three paragraphs on the Flint family history, along with charts and time lines with a small red star by Alanna's name. His eyes narrowed contemplatively at her surprisingly pure lineage, even more so than Pansy's whose third cousin had been a half-blood. If Alanna would have attended Hogwarts, his father would probably have sought an alliance with the Flint family instead. Why on earth had she been home schooled?
He snorted in disgust when he looked over the two paragraphs she had written about the Potter family tree. It WAS a Potty fetish! He should have known. The parchment fluttered to the floor uncaringly as his eyes fixed on the book grasped in Granger's hands.
Draco smiled wickedly. "My, what have we here," he said softly, reading the partially covered title of a very well known book that rose and fell with each sleep filled breath.
With the tips of his thumb and forefinger, Draco grasped one of Hermione's curls and lightly brushed it against the skin of her cheek, obtaining the exact response he had been hoping for.
Hermione stirred in her sleep brushed the offending strand of hair from her face, during which Draco easily extracted the book from her other hand. Sitting himself on the couch opposite her, he looked at the page she had been perusing before falling asleep. With a sly grin, he retrieved his wand from his robes and magically pulled the pillow from beneath Hermione's head.
She awoke instantly when her head hit the not so soft arm rest.
"Blimey!" She breathed, struggling to sit up and massage her bruised head.
"Very eloquent, Granger," Draco mused not looking up from a rather interesting passage about his eligibility statistics.
Hermione started, her eyes focusing on the Head Boy sitting across from, unconsciously pulling her blanket further up her body. A mortified blush rose into her face when she spotted what exactly he was looking at.
"What do you think you are doing, Malfoy! I need that book for my research."
"Is that why you were reading the Malfoy chapter, for research purposes? Trust me Granger, I would try some make-up, hair tonic, and a blood transfusion for anyone to touch you with a ten-foot pole."
"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy, I fell asleep reading that chapter, didn't I?" She quipped angrily.
"With me on your mind?"
Hermione scoffed unladylike. "In your dreams!" She rose from her seat and pointedly extended her hand for the book.
He looked up at her with amusement. "Granger, you know better than that. You are not going to get the book until I have satisfied my curiosity."
She sighed indignantly, looking for her wand in order to hex him thrice from Sunday.
"Missing something?"
Hermione turned back to find him waving her own wand at her from across the way. How could she have fallen asleep!
"Don't worry, I will return it after I have a few questions answered."
"I will not be black mailed." She sat back down, folding her arms over her ample bosom.
"Oh, Granger, you don't have to look at it as black mail….think of it as 'inter-house relations," he stated diplomatically. "Why is it that you are researching the Flint family lineage? Marcus never struck me as the mudblood-loving type."
"You are a pig, Malfoy."
"You really must not want your wand back, I suppose…"
"I was merely interested in knowing more about her that is all."
Draco watched her carefully. "Come now, Granger, that can't be all. What have you found out so far?"
Hermione sighed. "Nothing, actually. I have found absolutely nothing about Alanna Flint."
"You mean you could not find more information on her than her actual birth records?"
"No, Malfoy, I have found nothing. According to the latest edition of that book there isn't an Alanna Flint, or any other child sired by Farrell or Melanie Flint."
He narrowed his eyes at her. 'How very curious…'
In his moment of inattentiveness she had retrieved her wand with a quiet 'Accio', her book following shortly after. Draco watched her with a bored expression.
"I know this would be a far stretch for you, Granger, but have you even considered the possibility that your research methods are lacking?"
Call her a mudblood and she does not even flinch, call her inadequate in her studies and she blows her top. In a flash she came to her feet, throwing the blanket off her lap and placing her hands on her hips, eyes blazing with anger.
"There is nothing wrong with my research methods, Malfoy. Don't you think it is a bit odd that there are no records of an Alanna Flint in a book that knows what your slimy self eats for breakfast every day? What you wear when you are not in school uniform, and how often you visit Diagon Alley during summer hols?"
"Get to the point, Granger."
Hermione huffed indignantly and cast a quick look over her shoulder toward her bedroom door. "All I am saying is that after days of going through books, socialite magazines, and even back issues of the Prophet there has not been a whisper about another Flint being born. You pureblooded lot love to make a huge commotion when you procreate, and based on what I have read, a child born to the head of the Flint family would not only be socially high ranked, but also financially set for life and highly eligible."
Hermione took a deep breath. "Now tell me Malfoy, why is it that you are betrothed to Parkinson when there has been a Flint running around unattached for the past seventeen years." It was more of a statement than a question.
Draco hated to admit that the annoying creature had a point. The pureblooded community ran in tight circles, obviously, and he would have at least overheard his father if there would have been any shred of evidence that Farrell Flint had a child. He covered his surprise with a smirk.
"If you are so interested in what this…member…of the pureblooded 'community' likes to wet his pallet with in the mornings…"
"You really are a pig, Malfoy! Are you sure your parents weren't siblings?" She groused acidly, turning on her heels not waiting for an answer.
"Not so fast, mudblood!" Draco moved surprisingly fast, catching hold of her wrist and spinning her around. Hermione sucked her breath in sharply as he drew nearer, his thin lips set in an angry snarl.
The soft clicking of Hermione's door stopped him.
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It was too bloody early to even be thinking about food, but he would do his best. Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to loosen the strain in the front of his trousers. Thankfully, he had been the first at the Gryffindor table to arrive at breakfast after a rather long and restless night, featuring the newest member of his family.
"Bloody Hell!"
He closed his eyes with a painful expression being promptly bombarded with the image of Alanna, lying on his bed in Gryffindor tower writhing and moaning his name in ecstasy, as she frigged herself.
His poor toes could not take another cold shower. His 'purple headed wizard' couldn't take another beating either; at least not for the next few hours.
He groaned in frustration. He hoped he would not fall off his broom during Quidditch tryouts later, his hands being far more shaky than usual.
Being further preoccupied, he did not notice the door to the Great Hall opening revealing the object of his sticky fantasies. His appetite for food waning quickly, Ron pulled out the winter catalogue for Quality Quidditch Supplies, listlessly thumbing through the first few pages until a familiar voice interrupted him.
"Mornin' Ron."
"Hey, mate," Ron looked up at Seamus, scooting his legs further under the table to hide his erection.
"I would have never thought I'd see the day," Seamus smirked at him, filling his goblet with pumpkin juice.
"Oh? What day would that be?" He thumbed through a few more pages.
"The day you would let a member of your 'family' eat breakfast with a Slytherin."
"What? What are you on about!" Ron looked up and scanned the Slytherin table.
"I don't bloody believe it."
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Harry had finally slept like the proverbial dead and felt much better this morning. The sun was bright, the air crisp, and the wind calm. Perfect Quidditch weather! With a spring to his step he jumped the last few stairs and walked briskly into the Great Hall, smiling at a blushing third year Hufflepuff on his way.
He quickly took his seat next to Seamus and helped himself to a few pieces of toast.
"Good Morning, Seamus."
"Mornin' Harry," Seamus smiled but did not look his way.
"What has you in such a good mood?" He quickly filled his goblet with juice and reached for the strawberry jam.
"Oh, nothin' much," he laughed softly.
"Did you see Ron this morning? He was up before I even made it into the showers."
"The question is, how much are we going to see of Ron for the rest of the day?" Seamus laughed again.
"What do you mean?" Harry looked over at him while licking the sweet, red jam off of his fingers.
"Remember in fifth year when Ginny decided to sit at the Hufflepuff table with that Goldstein bloke?"
Harry grinned. "Yea, she didn't even make it past the Ravenclaw table before Ron got a hold of her."
"Ginny ripped into the poor man in front of the entire school and then sat with Goldstein anyway. Afterwards, she had to promise him to never sit at the Slytherin table."
Harry laughed at the memory. "And what does that have to do with where he is?"
Seamus never looked at Harry, his eyes focused ahead of him. "It seems that his other sister has decided to eat breakfast with Malfoy."
Harry's head whipped around. "For fucks sake!" He mumbled under his breath as he saw exactly where Ron was.
To say that Ron was mad would have been an understatement, his skin tone having reached an alarming shade of puce. He was standing rather closely to Malfoy who had just gotten up from his seat, facing the red head with a self-satisfied look that perused Ron's entire person. Harry could not hear what exactly Malfoy said to him, but his reaction spoke for itself.
"I will bloody kill you for that one, Malfoy!" Ron shouted, lunging toward the blond with alarming speed.
Harry bypassed a few Ravenclaws to get to the Slytherin table in time before Ron could kill the Head Boy, but the gaping idiots were blocking his way. From his vantage point he could only watch Alanna rise from her seat and fiercely talking to the blond and red head on the other side of the table.
Astonishingly enough, each looked chastised in their own right, Ron releasing Malfoy's robes where he had been clutching them and Malfoy regaining his composure with a smirk and tug of his sweater.
When Harry, and Professor Flitwick who had come rather late to intercept the scuffle, finally reached his best friend, Alanna had placed her napkin on her unfinished plate of fruit and toast, quietly excusing herself from their company.
With her head held high she passed Harry on her way toward the doors, gracing him with a small nod and half smile. He looked after her and watched her disappear through the doors, then turning to look at Ron.
It was Malfoy who broke the silence with his usual snort of derision.
"And THAT Weasley, is why a woman of her caliber would never give you a second glance."
As Harry attached himself around Ron's swinging arms, hauling him forcefully from Malfoy, he gritted his teeth and thought about how long this year was really going to be.
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Author's Note: Please, do not flame me because it has been ages. Life happened.
What I am more interested though is what you guys think will happen in the future? What is the reason for Alanna's scar? When will she remember? Will Lucius get his slimy hands on her again?...Send me your thoughts please! Without reviews I am afraid Alanna might die in mid flight!
Thank you to my Beta Mysticsong and Pink, my muse, without whom there would not be another chapter.
Just about finished with the next chapter….cross my heart!