o0o
Friday, July 2nd 1993
Draco was stuffed awkwardly in a wardrobe with Goyle, quietly waiting for Zabini's mother to return. Goyle had seen her in nothing but her altogether the day prior and waxed on for hours about the wondrous sight. Draco's curiosity had immediately been piqued and he devised a covert plan to sneak into her room and watch her undress.
Draco gave Goyle a sharp jab with his elbow, signaling that Ms. Zabini had returned, and they both leaned forward, placing their young eyes at the keyholes, anticipation tickling their necks.
Her infamous beauty was quite astounding. Her olive skin was smooth and glowed against her airy coral-colored robes. The exotic slant of her eyes was entrancing, darker than ebony, and her mouth was as red as a ripe apple.
With long, manicured fingers she unclasped the robe and let it slide from her voluptuous form, revealing even more skin. She moved around the bed clad in nothing but a plum-colored brassiere and tap-pants that were hooked to thigh high stockings of the same color as her underthings.
Draco gasped and tried to follow her with his gaze, but the keyhole hindered peripheral vision.
"I can't see her," Goyle rasped lowly.
"Ssh!" Draco hissed, bringing his finger to his lips and scowling warningly at his partner in crime.
But then the wardrobe doors flew open and both boys tumbled out abruptly in a heap of gangly boy limbs on the hardwood floor. Mrs. Zabini stood above them; her elegant brows arched dangerously, her fists on her hips, now covered in a silk, lilac dressing gown.
"Hullo, Mrs. Z." Draco smiled charmingly at her.
Goyle's face was beet red, but he managed a gurgle and kicked Draco's shin none-to-subtly.
"Evening Draco, Gregory." And with a resigned sigh she reached down and tugged each boy up by their ears. "I must say I am ashamed of your behavior. Spying on women is a despicable act. What would your mother say?" She began marching them to find out just exactly what Narcissa would think on the matter, all the while ignoring the boys' resistance and objections.
However, Draco was sure he saw a glitter of amusement in her unusual eyes.
o0o
Friday, December 23rd 2005
Hermione had been irritated that morning. She hadn't hummed while she prepared breakfast, hadn't danced around the kitchenette, did not even have the courtesy to speak to him casually.
Instead she set his plate and wand in front of him and told him that he should do her a favor and go to the east of the forest to procure a Blue Fir to decorate for the upcoming holiday.
Alone.
As if it was just another day in paradise and Voldemort only existed in fairytales.
However, he did realize what a leap of faith she was taking, leaving him alone. He did begrudge her for taking his wand, she was trusting him to use it wisely and to leave the Dell alone, and for that he was grateful.
The witch would surely kill him somehow. If not by her oleaginous rhetoric, then surely by sending him out into the wild unknown to fend for himself. Although, she did give him his wand back. So he could properly defend himself against nasties and beasties.
But still, she did like to nag. Whatever happened to his choice? Because he didn't recall her giving him one that morning.
You will go and get a tree, Draco.
You will take your wand with you, Draco.
Be careful, Draco
Hitch the sled to the horse, Draco.
Be nice to Melvin, Draco.
And who gives such a beautiful creature such a horrendous name. Possibly her parents, after all Hermione was a very pretty witch and she had an unbelievably atrocious given name.
He paused and Melvin nosed his shoulder, snorting with annoyance. "I can't believe I thought that either, mate." Because it had been merely days since he had a truly malicious thought, and his feelings towards her, well, albeit confusing, weren't in the least hateful. It was disturbing, but he justified it by the fact he had been celibate for a relatively long period of time and then forced into quarantine with her. He was simply a man after all. Wasn't he? And soon or later, human instinct had to kick in. So really, it was only his innate need for procreation that caused him to forget about years of animosity and ingrained pureblood bigotry. Yeah?
He began his journey again, wand at the ready, ears and eyes alert, but his thoughts remained on the witch.
She had been quite surly with him and he wondered if it had anything to do with his note. He had been fiercely proud of it, since it took him three hours to come up with that mere sentence.
I'm infinitely pleased that I am receiving bearing to faultlessness at the hands of an adamantine bluestocking rather than the histrionic and fatidic champion Potter.
Perhaps she felt a peradventure and thought his words were nothing more than a lampooning mimesis of her.
It wasn't.
He was simply trying to express his gratitude, but writing plainly: "I'm glad you are helping me instead of Potter" seemed juvenile and tasteless. And wholly atypical for him.
But writing "I'm happy that I'm receiving direction from a bossy know-it-all instead of the drama queen that is Potter," was callous and he was trying in earnest to be benevolent.
Draco sighed resignedly as he arrived to the clearing she had directed him too. He had merely wanted to impress her. Without reason, without ulterior motive. Just because. He had been under the impression that it was a brilliant idea, he'd obviously been mistaken.
But as he took in the numerous trees that bordered the forest, he thought he might have another chance to procure her admiration. He would find the best tree to decorate, if it took him all day.
And he told himself it was not because he liked her smile, but because he couldn't bear to hear her nag.
o0o
Friday, February 27th 2004
"Ever been in love, Malfoy?" Zabini asked as they left the meeting.
Draco glanced at his friend, carefully assessing the idea. Zabini was the one person with whom he felt he could be himself. "No. I don't suppose I have."
Zabini stopped at the large window of 'The Riddle House' that overlooked the small muggle village of Little Hangleton. Zabini's brows were burrowed in thought. "The only reason those muggles live in ignorant bliss is because they are physically close to the Dark Lord."
Draco gave a quick glance out of the window. "Yes, I suppose they have a twisted luck inhabiting the vicinity near his headquarters. He cannot risk drawing attention to the area."
Moments passed without another word spoken.
Then Zabini raised his almond-shaped eyes to Draco. "I found Pansy."
Without the young man telling him, Draco realized everything that Zabini was trying to convey. He nodded and inhaled deeply."You're leaving then?"
Zabini let a ghost smile grace his lips. "You should too, mate. The Dark Lord isn't right. He's sick. Crazy."
Draco nodded again, but said no more. He couldn't because he did not disagree with Zabini, but he did not agree either.
o0o
Friday, December 23rd 2005
It was nearly dark. Draco's stomach was growling, the cold was biting at his marrow, and Melvin was quite unruly.
However, the perfect tree was bound firmly to the wooden sled pulled by Melvin, and Draco's disposition was cheerful.
Little did he know, Hermione was pacing furiously, worry etched on her features and she was wringing her anxious hands. She was sure he had either returned to Voldemort or was lying dead in the snow. She kept vowing that five minutes more was all Draco was allotted before she went to look for him. Her disquietude overshadowing her trust in him.
As he neared the shack, she came running out to meet him, relief sweeping her eyes, but her mouth in a fine angry line. She skidded to a halt when she saw his wide grin of achievement.
"Welcome back, stranger," She said sternly, reaching for the horse and smoothing her hands over his mane. "Unhitch Melvin and I'll take care of him."
Draco shrugged, dismounted, and did what she asked. Before he released the Blue Fir, he watched her lead Melvin away, curiously finding the view amusing. She helped him carry the tree into the house, but told him to put the sled away, her tone annoyed.
When he returned she was standing over the tree, arms bent over her chest, an imperial brow raised, mouth puckered.
She didn't even have to ask what took him so long, her very essence screamed it.
"Blasted tree kept getting stuck on some rather large boulders," he muttered as he threw off his cloak. He didn't have the nerve to tell her he was searching for the perfect tree. Or the fact that it was for her.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
Draco narrowed his.
She pivoted and moved to the stove to stir something simmering in a black pot.
"Well, why didn't you sodding levitate it?" Hermione asked scathingly.
"I thought you wanted me to learn the lesson without magic." He scowled at her back.
She momentarily froze and then banged the wooden spoon on the stovetop. He watched her spine straighten as she inhaled what he guessed was a calming breath.
His good mood was quickly evaporating. "Where do you want the tree?"
He thought he heard her mutter something crude that involved placing it forcibly in a part of his anatomy that was made for exiting only, but decided to ignore it.
Hermione then said coolly. "The corner, please. The stand is already setup."
She couldn't possibly mean…His gaze found a rusted red tree-stand in his corner. No, that was his corner and no bloody tree, no matter how perfect, was going to occupy his corner.
There went what remained of his jovial temperament. He marched up behind her with spiteful purpose, ready to tell her exactly where in her anatomy she could shove the Merlin-forsaken tree. She spun on him quickly, but he had her pinned against the stove, nothing but a hairsbreadth of space between them.
Ions crackled between them, electrifying Draco's senses, making waves of stimulating neurons prickle in his blood, and something strange coiled forcefully in his abdomen.
Hermione gasped, her eyes widening with acknowledgement of the natural chemistry tickling their spines, but fixed on Draco's. Whatever words she meant to bite out had vanished on her tongue as it slipped out to lick her trembling lips.
His soliloquy was lost in the addling of his brain, but one thought did prevail.
He wondered if she tasted like a peach.
o0o
Friday, January 18th, 1991
Draco sheathed his wooden sword and glanced around the corner to the hallway, eyes carefully scanning the shadows for the enemy.
The enemy who consisted of Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini.
He would fight to the death to save the princess in the tower.
Even if he thought the Princess had a flat face and a snotty attitude. But Pansy was the only girl, and henceforth made an acceptable princess.
She said she would kiss her "Hero." So Draco had been sure to put his pet Lizard in his pocket.
The tower door (or more accurately the Nursery door) was just within reach, and the corridor seemed clear, so Draco sprinted towards it.
Suddenly Zabini sprung out from under the sideboard, his sword at the ready. "En garde evil doer!"
Draco withdrew his sword with treacle speed, and knocked the blade against Zabini's in acquiescence. "Stand down, Foe!"
But Zabini merely let an ornery grin span his dark skin, which propelled Draco into motion.
The two boys rounded on each other making sweeps and passes, clanking the wood together in strident, uneven beats.
Until Zabini executed a particularly suave jabbing maneuver and Draco fell to the carpet in a dying heap.
Moans of despair and distress came melodramatically from his young throat.
But a satisfied smirk cornered his cheek; after all, he felt that it was the performance of his life and as an added bonus, he didn't have to let Pansy put her ickies on Buster.