FORGIVE ME!!!! I'm terribly sorry, and I'm sure you're exhausted from my excuses. Therefore, I shall again throw myself at your feet, tell you that I re-wrote this THREE times, and changed the ending about four times, and that it's extra long to make up for my…geesh, six + months since last updating::: giggles nervously :::
Thanks for waiting…?
::: dodges rotten fruit thrown at her :::
Cry Me Tears of Fire
Pensive Puddles
School picked itself right back up from where it last stopped so quickly that students wondered whether winter break had actually taken place. Hermione and Draco for sure knew it did.
The Head girl sat in Potions class, finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate with Draco Malfoy sitting only two tables away. Draco had remained in the hospital wing for an extra day, receiving his schoolwork through fellow Slytherin friends. Rumor had it that Malfoy wasn't released because he was well, but because the nurse couldn't stand his complaining…and had also accused him of the mysterious fire to her favorite novel. The first part was understandable; the latter only proved that the old nurse was reaching the end of her rope.
Of course, Hermione knew better and couldn't help but chuckle.
She found herself doodling on a scroll neatly covered in notes and instructions she reserved for Potions class. These were the times she wished she knew how to draw abstract, pretty pictures. But Hermione wasn't an artist. She didn't know how to draw, unless they were mathematical diagrams that involved protractors, compasses, and straightedges.
However, the only reason why she took this moment to curse her parents for not passing on any artistic genes to her was to take her mind off a certain feeling that happened at a certain moment during a certain winter break. Her stomach turned rather pleasantly as she remembered, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling at recalling the kiss. She couldn't believe she had kissed him. She should have been disgusted. Repulsed. Damned herself to the hottest pit of hell.
But strangely, the thing that should have been one of the most nauseating things to do with her school arch nemesis wasn't quite as revolting as she would have thought it to be. In fact, she actually hoped it would happen again – minus the whole bursting into flames part.
She wasn't supposed to like kissing Draco (then again, she wasn't supposed to enjoy his company either). Hermione had determined that she wasn't going to be another one of those girls who had been marked by Draco. She knew, or at least could guess rather correctly, the amount of and which girls had slept or had had some affair with Draco. Hogwarts wasn't the safe, child-like innocent school she had thought it was when she was young. It never had been. She had only realized it as she had gotten older. There were darker themes and thoughts and feelings inside the warm, cheery school. And now with the morbid threats of war and death that overshadowed them, Hogwarts tried hard to retain the sense of home it once had. War can never keep anything the same. Draco couldn't keep anything the same.
Well, maybe his hatred towards Harry and Ron he could keep. That had constantly increased as the years passed by. But Hermione now couldn't say that it was the same towards her, nor could she say that she hated him as much either. The past winter break showed something rather remarkable in him. He had changed. She knew he had changed, but didn't realize how changed he had become. He carried around him the same superior flair Pansy carried around her. But while Pansy's was rather obnoxious, Draco's was so natural that there were times that Hermione did question her inferiority. She hated him for it.
Yet he had treated her differently over the break. Not on the same level as him, of course, but she wasn't as low as she once had been. And that realization brought another wave of the fuzzy feelings that she had felt more often after their moment on the rooftop.
A pale movement caught her eye and she turned her head slightly to look at him. He had flipped his hair out of his eyes, quill scribbling easily and quickly across the paper. Pansy leaned over to whisper something in his ear and he turned his head towards her, reaching across and brushing his fingers against the small of her back, whispering something back and grinning. No, it was a smile. It was so gentle, so sincere, like the smiles Blaise gave Pansy. A pang of jealously twisted in her gut and she suddenly had this desire to take her cauldron of hot, bubbling concoction of…something…and douse it all over the pretty blond who was now brushing a lock of Draco's hair away from his face, before sneaking a quick kiss while the Professor's back was turned. Choke her…must resist! Hermione ordered herself, while sitting on her heads and envisioning horrible deaths for the beautiful Slytherin girl. Damn viper…
"Hermione," Harry whispered. Hermione, startled out of her thoughts, jolted slightly as Harry laid his hand on her arm. He raised his eyebrows, "Are you alright?"
"What? Oh, I'm just really tired. Couldn't fall asleep," Hermione replied, rubbing her eyes and looking down at her paper. "What are we doing?"
Harry looked at her in concern. She gave a tired, but warm smile and said, "Harry, I'm fine. Really, I am."
"If you say so," Harry said, returning to cutting what looked like to be a tongue.
"Harry, those are too big," Hermione remarked, "They need to be half that size, otherwise they won't dissolve in the potion."
"That's my Hermione," Harry taunted playfully, "I was beginning to worry that I'd actually start to understand and do things right in Potions."
She swatted at his arm. "I hate it when you say those types of things; it makes me feel so mean."
"I hate it when you respond like that; it takes all the fun out of taunting you," Harry said and Hermione giggled lightly, quickly muffling it as Snape looked over in their direction with a scowl.
"Hey, you guys have an extra Snotsiberries? Dean ate some of ours," Ron scowled at Dean.
"What? They've got a nice kick to 'em. And gives you nice breath," Dean said, and proceeded to breathe on their faces so that they could smell his breath.
"You ate them?!" Hermione screeched. Everyone in the potions room stopped and looked at Hermione, whose face had gone drastically pale. "Dean, Snotsiberries are poisonous!"
"No, they're not. My grandmum puts them in my tea when I'm sick; clears up the senesces," he said, while looking down at the few berries remaining in his hand, a look of doubt stretching across his face.
"Dean, those are Sno-zie-berries that you can eat, not Sno-tsi-berries!" Hermione said, her voice raising an octave. There was a thick moment of deadly silence, all eyes on the boy who had stopped chewing the berries in his mouth. Finally, the frozen scene shattered as Dean's eyes bulged from their sockets. He flung the remaining berries on the table, as if touching them would leave burns. Already his skin was turning an odd shade of blue and sweat broke out over his brow. He started to cough and heave. His palms were so sweaty that when he held onto the table for support, he lost his grip and slipped off, landing on the ground, convulsing. Hermione screamed.
"Damn it, Thomas!" Snape yelled, rushing over to the boy. The greasy professor glared and roared at Ron, "AND YOU JUST WATCHED HIM EAT THE BERRIES?! DID IT EVER ENTER YOUR RUDIMENTARY BRAIN THAT WHATEVER WE USE IN THIS CLASS IS UNEATABLE? 50 POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR FOR MISCONDUCT AND SHEER STUPIDTY!"
No one, for once, argued with the professor.
Hermione was slightly awed while watching Snape handle Dean so delicately. He felt his forehead, checked his pulse, muttering comments and calculations to himself. And then she was appalled to hear him muttering off a hurried little song. Concentrating on what he was singing, she caught the last parts of, "..if these poisons be the case, then the bezoar is a waste."
Merlin, did Dean just eat something that couldn't be saved by bezoars?
"Here, professor," Draco said, hand stretched out with two bezoars in one palm and a tiny bottle labeled 'Polyjuice Potion' in his other. Snape looked at what was held out to him before smirking and giving Draco a proud look. Then he snatched one of the shriveled, kidney-resembling stones and shoved it roughly into Dean's mouth before forcing him to chug the Polyjuice down as well.
Dean struggled and began to chock. Harry and Ron took a step forward to help their friend, and Hermione immediately assumed (correctly, too) that they were thinking that Snape and Draco were doing more harm than good. The boys (and Hermione as well) were surprised at her strength, as she grabbed them by their collars and yanked them back; they could only trust the professor…and make his life hell if he failed.
White froth speckled Dean's lips and his eyes dilated. His hands twitched and he made small, straining noises as he tried to breathe. "Early dismissal. Do not be late for your next class," Snape replied while pulling a levitated Dean behind him. The students piled out of the door, as they watched their professor sprint down the hall.
"I didn't know Snape could run that fast," someone muttered in the background, breaking the terrifying silence. Apparently, someone smacked him, for he gave a sharp yelp, "What was that for?"
The class went back into the room, gathering their things and cleaning their tables. No one touched Ron's table, and Ron sat in his chair completely shocked. Hermione, her bag already packed, went over and placed, cautiously, a hand on Ron's arm. She blinked as she looked at his face; she still wasn't used to it. Whereas before she could tell what he was feeling, she had no idea what was going on inside of him. He was no longer the open book he once was. "Ron…"
"I killed him. I killed him, Hermione," he croaked, his voice cracking. "Dean, he said, he said that, he said that the berries were good in tea. He tried to make me eat one, and I said I didn't believe him. I thought he was lying. I thought they were poisonous. So he said he'd prove it to me, so he popped a whole handful of them in his mouth and smiled. Merlin, I should have stopped him. But I didn't know. I didn't know."
Overcome with pity for her distraught friend, Hermione pulled him into a comforting hug. He shook in her arms. "Merlin," he whispered hoarsely into her shoulder, "Dean's dead. And I killed him!"
"Thomas isn't going to die," a deep voice said in the suffocating silence.
"What?" Hermione heard Harry reply to Malfoy. Ron pulled away from her so he could look at Malfoy, but he did not loosen his grip around her. Her skin shivered pleasantly as his arms wrapped around his waist. It felt so familiar; she hadn't realized how much she had missed his touch.
Now it may seem strange for Hermione to feel this way, but think of it this way: Hermione had liked Ron for four years. Feelings inspired by the attack on an overgrown troll that developed into loving ones were hard to completely throw away. He was her first love, and those are always hard to simply drop and get over. It seemed so silly to throw away her relationship with Ron just because of a silly kiss with a dramatic flirt.
But it wasn't the kiss that prevented her from forgiving him and jumping back into his arms. It was the fact that he hadn't even apologized for what he had done. The closest he had come to apologizing was to say that they 'needed to talk'. He had had multiple chances of pulling her aside to say he was sorry for what he done and give the full details and try and prove his innocence – or stupidity. But each time she had found herself alone with him, or secluded with him, she was always sorely disappointed that he didn't grab her arm and insist on talking to her. It made her feel as if he didn't love her as she loved him.
Hermione looked up, finally noticing the pair of piercing gray eyes that were fixed on her. A small voice whispered in her ear, "Why do you still let him use you?" She averted her eyes from Draco.
She didn't know if he had telepathically talked to her or if it was her own mind, but either way, a feeling of awkwardness of being wrapped in Ron's arms overcame her and she gently took his hands off her hips.
Ron, hurt by having Hermione pull away from him, responded to Draco, "You mean, the bezoar, it'll save him?"
"No, that won't save him," the blond said, shaking his head. "Neither will the polyjuice."
In a flash, Harry was over by Malfoy, hands gripping the collar of Draco's neat shirt, and he snarled in his face, "Don't fuck around, Malfoy. This isn't funny."
"Do you hear me laughing, Potter?" Draco snapped right back, and suddenly jabbed his hands upward, hitting Harry hard and sharp in the armpits, striking a nerve. Harry gasped painfully and let go of Malfoy who stood and dusted himself off, smoothly composing himself, all the while continuing, "Potter, if you'd let me finish my sentence, then we could avoid these little rows we tend to get ourselves into."
Smoothing his shirt a final time and giving Harry one last nasty look, he continued, "If you can recall from first year (I know it's hard for you, Potter, but please, do try), Professor Snape said that bezoars can protect a person from most poisons. Unfortunately for Dean, snotsiberries don't fall under the bezoars protection. But the combination of a bezoar and polyjuice potion stops the poison from traveling to the heart. Basically, Dean is in a comatose state until a cure is found."
"And if there isn't one?" a girl said quietly from the hushed crowd.
Malfoy merely blinked, and a shuddering breath rippled through the room. Hermione stared at Draco, marveled at his quick thinking. He fastened his eyes with her, and she looked away when Ron moved her out of his sight. She looked up to see Ron glaring at Malfoy. He obviously didn't like the connection between the pompous prick and his ex-girlfriend. When Hermione next looked at Draco, he was surrounded by his Slytherin friends in a tight circle. Through the cracks between bodies, Hermione could see him arguing with one of the boys and then she saw him clasp a hand around the boy's throat, shaking him, obviously threatening him. It might have been a question of loyalty. Were some Slytherins so evil that they would get on Draco's case for saving a Gryffindor during Potions? Were people already calculating how to destroy the other side? She usually would have assumed that Draco was head of that. But Draco was no longer the immature boy who had yelled that 'Mudbloods would be next' during the Chamber of Secrets fiasco. Draco was poised, shrewd, and dangerous.
Overhead, the bell rang. Students left the room for their next class, all the while talking about the incident that had taken place merely moments before. Ron slowly gathered his things, still in a state of shock. "Ron," Hermione said gently, "It'll be ok. You'll see."
Ron's eyes moved and locked with hers. She braced herself for a wave of emotion to envelope her. Usually, a look like that would melt her heart and she would find herself smiling giddily back. But surprisingly, she found the pull not as strong. The familiar burst of pleasure and love only seemed to crackle and quickly die away to a sympathetic, friendly feeling.
She rubbed his arm soothingly and turned around, holding her books to her chest. She looked at the doorway and stopped suddenly, seeing Draco staring at her. His face was void of emotion, or else he tried to hide it. She wondered what was going on through his head at that moment. She offered him a brief smile, which he didn't return for the beautiful, full-figure blond linked her arm with his and pulled him away. Blaise followed right behind, but unlike Pansy, he took the time to see what Draco was staring at and found himself looking at Hermione. Hermione brushed by him, pretending nothing had happened, but she could feel his dark eyes following her as she went up the steps that led away from the dungeon. She didn't feel safe until she was up in one of the high towers of the castle for her next class, yet still she could feel his questioning, wondering gaze.
The next few days passed by uneventfully. A cure was found for Dean, although he was still in critical condition. The nurse said he'd be stuck in the hospital wing for at least two weeks before he was allowed to roam around the castle. Dean made people promise to visit him and to also bring him lots of chocolates and other tasty treats. The twins, having heard from their siblings about Dean's close-call, sent him a toilet seat, which everyone signed when they visited him, and a box of little knickknacks to keep him entertained. The twins also sent him a book to pass the time, "Life Saving Spells for Dummies."
The atmosphere around the students relaxed once Dean was able to move around and laugh and joke. People soon felt free to tease him and offered him handfuls of berries, in which he'd scowl and then laugh, badgering himself on his own stupidity. Even Snape made a joke in Potions class, warning the students to avoid the urge to eat anything in his class. It probably wasn't meant as a joke, but the students found it funny, and the professor didn't dock any points for laughter.
Hermione noticed that Draco had avoided her since winter break had ended. It saddened her, but she did have Ron and Harry to keep her occupied, just like Draco had Blaise and Pansy. She could count on her fingers how many times a day she saw him. She'd see him in classes, although she'd never see him on the rounds around the school because they'd traveled different routes. She always left for breakfast before he even woke up, and she'd always be doing homework in her room or sleeping on the couch when he'd come into the common room. But she knew that he saw her, for once or twice, she'd find herself covered in a blanket when she woke up the next morning on the couch after her nap turned into a deep sleep.
The next incident was when she was at the Quidditch pitch, watching her friends practice. She used to hate the sport, but years of having friends who talked nonstop about it and having to attend all their games for emotional support had finally caused the sport to grow on her. In fact, she found it soothing to watch her boys fly around the field. She watched as Harry helped get the team into action, criticizing and encouraging them on their flying and teamwork since Ron was silent; Harry made a good leader. He should have been the Quidditch captain, but Ron… Hermione clenched her fists: sometimes Ron infuriated her with his immaturity. Sure Harry had a lot of the things Ron had always wanted and never received: popularity, money, better grades. But he lost so much for something he didn't even want. Selfish Ron, selfish, selfish Ron. She watched Harry. He needed to trim his hair; he kept flipping it out of his face. Maybe she'd cut it for him later.
And sometimes her eye would wander over to her ex, surprised at the lack of feelings she held towards him. As time past, her love was waning. It wasn't as painful to look at him. She no longer pictured Lavender wrapped around him. But she still waited for him to say he was sorry. Waiting, waiting, waiting…all fruitless. She needed to stop, to just let it go. And then she'd say to herself, "Maybe tomorrow…"
Sometimes it made her heart heavy when she remembered that he used to be hers. And somehow, it was easier to let him go with his new face. It was like looking at another person. Even when he smiled at her and waved from the field, when she could see his face, it didn't hurt at much because the face smiling at her wasn't the Ron she knew. It was only when he talked and was himself that she felt sad at what she had lost.
She sneezed and shivered as another windy blast hit her. The sky that had been clear moments before had darkened with heavy gray clouds. As she looked up and admired them, her mind quickly connected the color of the clouds to Draco's eyes. She shook her head, returning to her book. She had made a copy of Draco's old Dark Magic volume and now felt at liberty to mark and add notes to the margins of the pages. Snow began to fall, wetting one of the pages and she quickly closed the book and put it safely into the folds of her cloak.
"We're about done," Harry said out of nowhere, and Hermione looked at her friend who hovered in the air. "You shouldn't have stayed out this long, Herms. Not with that cold of yours."
Hermione smiled at his concern. He had grown a lot more affectionate lately. It was charming. He told her that they'd be off in the field in fifteen minuets; Ron wanted to go over their practice and have a quick group talk, then they – the classic trio – could go to the kitchen and get a hot drink. She liked that idea. Promising that she'd wait for them, she gathered her things and walked towards the exit.
Walking down the halls of the field pitch, she took her time looking at pictures she never really noticed before. Some pictures were quite old, but all of them moved. Some of the faces she recognized. She came across ones with Bill and Charlie in them. She was startled to come across one with the Marauders in it. They looked so young, so happy. She wiped her eyes at the thought of the fate of those young boys in the portrait. Now Moony was the only one left – Wormtail didn't count as one; he was traitor and he was forever shunned. No, the Marauders were Moony, Prongs, and Padfoot, no more, no less.
She stopped looking when a dark voice murmured close behind her, "Well, well, well, a lone Gryffindor, eh?"
Whirling around, Hermione stared at three Slytherin boys, all on the Slytherin Quidditch team. She recognized the shortest of the three as Tony, the Keeper. Tony was known for having a hot temper, his father being Italian and his mother being Irish. And he loathed Hermione. Early this year, Hermione had caught him beating up – rather badly – a 2nd year, who supposedly owed him money. Hermione had put him and his two friends in binding charms when they came to attack her, keep her silent about the whole deal. Tony had been suspended for a week and had been on the professors watch-list ever since. It wasn't a good year for the sixth year boy. "How've you been, Hermione?" he asked. "I haven't seen you much around."
And even when caught in a rather frightening situation involving three huge thugs, Hermione's sharp brain was actually taking the time to contemplate whether 'much around' was grammatically correct. The more she thought about it, the more confused she became. She then began to chuckle at her own silliness for thinking of grammar at a time like this.
Tony scowled, his face darkening, "What's so funny? Think it's funny, the way I talk?"
Hermione's smile disappeared in an instant. Tony turned his head slightly to one of the boys, but kept his eyes, however, on Hermione. "I think Hermione here needs a little lesson, don't you agree, Elliot?"
Elliot nodded his head, a dark smirk forming across his face that caused her stomach to twist uneasily. She pulled her wand out, and found her wrist twisted awkwardly, forcing her to release her weapon. She looked up at Buddy, Tony's second bodyguard, who blankly stared at her. Distracted, Elliot quickly tied a rag around her mouth, stifling her screech. Hermione felt as if she were trapped in The Godfather.
"Tsk, tsk, Hermione. Bringing a wand to a fist fight," Tony sad, mocking pity. Elliot and Buddy each held on of her arms, pinning her to the wall. Tony walked close, lowering his head and smelling her hair. "Hm, you smell good today, Hermione."
Tony reached up and played with a lock of her hair. "Now, what fun little game shall we play while Potter and Weasley are locked in the locker room? They won't be getting out any time soon, and no one else is around. Imagine the possibilities, my little Hermione."
He leaned down to kiss her and Hermione head-butted him, hearing a crunch as her skull collided with his nose. She saw stars. Tony yelped and cursed, covering his nose. Hermione was pleased to see blood dripping from under his palms. She heard a quick popping noise, as Tony realigned it. Standing upright, a dark fire in his eyes, he wiped the blood from under his nose, rubbing it between his fingers and then on Buddy's clothes. He raised his hand to slap her, "You filthy, little bitch – "
"Tony!" a voice barked sharply. Hermione opened her eyes; she hadn't realized she had closed them. Draco stood in the hall, his broom in one hand. Hermione had never felt more relieved to see Draco than at that moment. His stance allowed him to appear cool and calm, but Hermione could see in his pale eyes the fire that burned whenever he was incredibly incensed. He glared coldly at Tony, his voice promising pain, "Let her go."
"She broke my nose!" Tony snarled, taking a step towards Draco. "And after that stunt she pulled on me at the beginning of the year – No, it's my turn now. You back off, Malfoy or I'll –"
How Draco covered the distance between him and Tony in (literally) the blink of the eye was mind-boggling. All Hermione heard was a sharp punch, a soft crunch, and then Tony thudding on the ground. "Damn it, Malfoy! My nose!"
"You dumbass, do you have any idea what you could have caused? Assaulting Potter's girlfriend? This time tomorrow you would have already been buried six feet under," Draco growled, kicking him in the side. He coughed and groaned and then he looked up at Draco who glared down at him menacingly and snarled, "I'll talk to you later."
No longer was Tony's visage hard and mean. Now he cowered pathetically at the blonde's feet. Draco's air of superiority certainly came in handy sometimes.
"Corbett, Brady, get him out of here before I loose my temper. Be out on the field for practice in five minuets or I swear to Merlin…" Draco threatened. Elliot and Buddy grabbed Tony under the arms and half carried, half dragged him away.
Draco turned to her, and helped her untie the cloth they had tightly double-knotted around her head. "Did they hurt you?" he asked quietly.
"No," she whispered, her voice shaking. She cleared her throat. She didn't want to think of what could have possibly happened if Draco hadn't had stepped in when he did.
"I'll make sure they never come near you again," he said, it almost sounded like a promise. He was near to her; she could smell his cologne. She looked up at him, finding him staring down at her intently, "Thank you, Draco."
He carefully looked around, while whispering, "Careful."
She blushed at her own stupidity. She couldn't be on first name bases with him in public. He could get into trouble. He could loose face in his house, and if that happened, Tony might not run away next time. "Sorry," she whispered.
"We'll call this even. Ok? I saved Thomas; you keep this quiet," he negotiated. Hermione opened her mouth in outrage. He quickly continued, "I'll have Tony watched. If I hear or even see him looking at you in a way I don't like, I'll cut his balls off. Fair?"
She smiled at his expression. But she knew she could trust him. She knew the rich Head had connections throughout the castles: house elves, paintings, students of all ages, the works. She nodded.
He grunted in confirmation before picking up his broom and walking in the other direction. "I have questions about the book," she called, wanting to continue talking to him, keep whatever was left from winter break.
He turned, looking around again. Glancing at her with his pale eyes, he replied, "Later. Common Room."
She nodded and watched him head towards the field for practice, the warm feeling enveloping her again. She didn't know how long she had stood there looking at the corner that Draco had disappeared around. Harry and Ron found her shortly after and escorted her to the kitchen, asking her where she got the red bump on her head from and why she was so pale. Hermione shrugged off their concerns and instead asked them about the upcoming game.
If Hermione had walked around the corner Draco had disappeared around, she would have seen him resting against the wall, his hands in his face, wondering how he was going to make it through a conversation with her alone without kissing her.
He would never know how much she wished he would.
"He's not strong enough, my lord," a figure said behind a skull mask.
A scaly white hand appeared out of no where, colliding against the Death Eater's face so hard that the mask flew off. The victim gave a shrill scream of pain and crumbled to the floor. "You vex me, Bellatrix. Do you dare question my choice of heir?" the Dark Lord hissed.
"No, Master. Never. I'm greatly honored that you chose my nephew," Bellatrix responded, bowing low.
The Dark Lord turned to her, pulling back his hood to reveal his ghastly face. His red eyes lightened maliciously and his nose crinkled as he grinned, revealing his uneven teeth. "You're becoming old, Bellatrix; it's so easy to hack into your mind now. You wonder why you weren't the chosen one? You're just as youthful; in fact, you have more power, strength, and wisdom in witchcraft and evil that Draco could ever achieve of knowing. You know my mind better than any other in our society. Isn't that true?"
She didn't speak. He pulled her hair back by her hair, hissing in her face, "Isn't that true, Bella? Answer me when I ask you a question!"
"Yes!" she snapped, her own face twisting in anger. "Why wasn't I the chosen one? He's an arrogant little brat. He doesn't support the cause like I do. He hasn't given up anything. He's been spoiled his whole life and knows nothing of our cause. He doesn't understand all that's involved, doesn't understand what will happen if we fail."
"You think we shall fail, Bella?"
"I think we will if he's left to lead. He has no idea what we're doing. He's just like his father: hides behind money and won't suffer for the cause. Not like I have! I deserve this title," she seethed. The Dark Lord looked down at her, his hand still pulling her head back tightly, and he ran a finger across her jaw.
"My little Bella. I remember you when you were a teenager; so young, so deadly, like a viper snake. Not much has changed," he said, releasing her and letting her fall to the ground. She resisted the urge to rub her scalp. "You see Bella, I'm not choosing the person who has the most points in this little war. I'm choosing him because he stands for all that I've lost: wealth, beauty, pride, and power. Upon my death, my powers, and also my plans, will transfer into him. Besides, Bella, he'll be educated; he'd have finished Hogwarts unlike you."
"Education has little meaning in the real world," Bellatrix remarked, getting to her feet and pulling her hood over her had again.
The Dark Lord looked at her and she lowered her head, avoiding his dark gaze. "I'm sorry, Master. Forgive me for doubting your plans."
"That's better," he said, fixing her mask onto her face, smirking. Bella shivered underneath her robe. "So you think he's not strong enough, Bella?"
"It's one thing to control an Element, sire. But we need Draco to master all four in order to open the seal. From what I've heard, he hasn't been progressing as much as we hoped. The ritual failed."
Bellatrix fell to the ground, convulsing. The Dark Lord raised his wand, releasing her from his spell. "You know I hate Crucioing you, Bella, but these skeptical comments…" he murmured, and after a pause, continued on as if nothing had happened. "The ritual did not fail. It wasn't only meant to in store great power. It was to mark him as my heir. Now he is magically bonded to me. He is slowly receiving my powers, at least, those that I'm allowing him to receive. With him having the magical strength that I have, he shall be able to defeat Potter. I'm old, Bella. The potion's strength wanes. But Draco, he is still young, and he will carry on my legacy and plans."
"How do you know he won't go his own route when you die, Master?"
"Because, dear Bellatrix, I shall incarnate into him." The Dark Lord smirked as Bellatrix's face twisted into a look of horror. "Ancient magic. I've been studying more since my downfall. I shan't be undermined by it again."
"But my lord! The last one who attempted it – "
"Annihilated a third of the wizard population, I know. The curse will not inflict others like it did last time. Drefyus did not have the Seal opened when he attempted it. With the seal, I will be given unimaginable powers. I will move mountains with a simple flick of my hand, as if swatting a spider thread. And my loyal followers, I shall give great power as well, and even…"
The Dark Lord turned towards Bellatrix whose eyes watered in joy at the thought of her master becoming so great. He waved his hand over her and she felt an odd sensation ripple over her. Waving a mirror out of thin air, Bellatrix gasped as she looked at a gorgeous woman posed in the mirror. She touched her face, watching in glee as the reflection copied her actions. The Dark Lord stood next to her, running a hand down her side, whispering in her ear, "You'll be what you've always wanted to be, what your sister always was, what should have been yours all along."
"I'll be beautiful," Bellatrix whispered, gazing longingly at her reflection. "More beautiful than Narcissa ever was."
The Dark Lord left Bellatrix, and taking the image of her soon-to-be self. He savored the disappointment in her face and watched her fade back into the lines of Death Eaters. "Flint," he barked and a figure floated out from amongst the group. "Inform Draco that he will meet us at the cave at the next Hogsmeade break...And give him a test. I want a full report on his progress."
"As you wish, my lord," Flint responded, bowing low before Apparating away.
"Don't disappoint me, Draco," the scaly man said before he began to crackle, sending a series of cold shivers through everyone in the room.
The Great Hall was noisy as the students laughed and complained about school work, teachers, and how far away spring break seemed to be. Hermione sat in her same seat: squeezed tightly between her two tall boys, Harry and Ron. Ginny sat next to Harry and they were reminiscing about some great prank that Fred and George had pulled on Bill while he was sleeping and how it went wrong. Hermione could barely gather them talking, but from what she could overhear, the twins had apparently lit his bed on fire by accident and had almost set him on fire as well.
Hermione snorted into her mug of coco as Ginny reenacted Bill's girly screaming. Harry turned to look at her, smiling. "You should have been there, Hermione," he said.
She nodded. "Yeah, I wish I had."
"Oh well. Don't worry, we'll do something ten times crazier next time we do a get-together at Ron's. Right, mate?" Harry said.
"You bet. It wasn't the same without our little Hermione there," Ron said, smiling and winking at Hermione.
Automatically, Hermione blushed. She missed these times, these moments of affection from Ron. She didn't know what his intentions were behind them: if they were the same, if he was sorry for what he had done and was trying to break the ice, or if maybe, it was a habit he had picked up from hanging around Fred and George for so long.
"By the way, I don't know if I said this yet, but I like that sweater on you," Harry said, smiling.
"Yeah, thanks. A charming and devilishly good-looking bloke got it for me for Christmas. I forgot to thank him," she replied, leaning in and giving Harry a sweet side hug which was greatly returned. His cologne filled her nostrils. She loved how Harry smelled: homey and sweet. Quite opposite of Draco who smelled clean and sharp…
Hermione smiled a little while remember how close he had leaned in to untie the gag around her mouth. Even though she had been overwhelmed by the shocking incident that had taken place in the Quidditch halls, she still was conscious enough to notice the clean Quidditch jersey that framed his body, the dark green somehow contrasting nicely against his pale complexion and blond hair. And even in a jersey, he still smelled so good, so sharp, so Malfoy like. She liked how Malfoy smelled. It was the same scent as when she slept in his bed that one night when he had woken up, petrified and half crazed.
Merlin, that seemed forever ago.
Winter break seemed forever ago, and it saddened her. It meant half the year was over and she would have to return home to gather her belongings from the house she had grown up in for so long that now lacked one parent. It meant she would have to associate herself full time into the Order. It meant that sometime next year, these friendly faces full of life might be hauled away in a body bag. It meant that she and Draco would forever be separated, and those moments would stay in that short winter break they had shared.
Her eyes automatically traveled to the Slytherin table, and she watched him talk casually to Blaise, his plate untouched before him. He hadn't been eating lately. As if sensing her gaze, he looked over at her, and she savored the look. His eyes recognized her and his face almost relaxed. Almost. Her lips automatically twittered up into a grin and he blinked, looking away. But Hermione caught that small little moment where his lip turned up as well, and she caught the feeling of her stomach flipping when he grinned.
She didn't catch Blaise's sharp eyes observing the affair.
An owl flew through under the enchanted ceiling and soared over the Gryffindor table. Heads turned to see where the owl landed, a flash of disappointment crossing their faces as the bird passed them and kept flying overhead. The bird pulled back and landed in front of Ron, one leg in Hermione's food, the other held out and waiting to have the letter untied from him. Remarking how clumsy the birds were getting, Ron untied the letter while Hermione gave the bird a treat from the meal it had stepped in before it flew away. Ron opened the letter and read the first line with a quizzical brow before turning to Hermione and saying, "It's for you."
Hermione took it, surprised at receiving a letter. She unfolded the note and her face fell. It was from her father. He was asking how her break went and how he wished she had come home. Why? You obviously didn't think it was something special to come back to, she scoffed angrily. The letter shortly addressed that her father was well and how he had gotten a little flat in downtown London. He was hoping that she would come and spend spring break with him and his new…
Her face paled drastically at what her father wrote. Girlfriend? Already? He had barely gotten out of the house and he already had a girlfriend who was living with him?
"Hermione, are you ok?" Harry said, who was intently watching her face.
She blinked rapidly, pushing back the tears, and shoved the letter deep inside her pocket. Grabbing her stuff, she said quietly, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just remember an important essay for McGonagol's class that's due tomorrow morning. Haven't even started. See you, Harry."
"Hermione?" she heard Ron call as she trotted out of the Hall. But she ignored him and right when the Great Hall door closed behind her, she was sprinting down the halls, ignoring the ghosts that told her to slow down.
Tears rolled down her eyes, but she didn't make a sound until she was safe inside her Common Room. This was where she broke down and released ghastly sobs. She pulled the letter out, reading it again and again. Why was this troubling her so much? She knew that her parents were going to see other people after they had gotten a divorce. She knew there was the odd possibility of having future step-siblings and step-parents.
But so soon…?
She was being replaced again. She was too boring and ugly for Ron. Lavender fixed that. She was too brainy and a hindrance to her father's fun lifestyle. His new, young girlfriend fixed that.
She knew it was silly to think this way. Her father might have just been lonely and wanted love. But at the same time, he had given up his marriage of twenty years for that. However, Hermione knew the real reason for her anger and sadness: her father had gotten over the divorce and had moved on, faster than Hermione. Hermione had barely grasped the concept of what was happening when her father was packing up his stuff quickly and quietly. She couldn't grasp the concept as she watched him drive away, a small trailer hooked to his car, toting all his things away and out of her life. She couldn't grasp the concept when she walked into her parents room and only saw her mother, the scent of her father fading as the weeks passed before disappearing all together. It seemed that her father had gone on a long vacation. And sometimes the letters filled with child-support and a letter to her along with a schedule of visiting hours would awaken her and remind her of the bitter truth. And then school started and she was whisked away, away from the half empty house, the fatherless house, the broken house.
She had seen her mother crying in the kitchen sometimes, holding onto some artifact that her father had forgotten to taken. They hadn't moved on. They were far from moving on.
And her father was already living the life he had always wanted, the life that didn't involve his teenage witch daughter and his wife. No, he now lived a life in the heart of the thriving metropolis with his girlfriend cuddled close to him in his bed at night.
Hermione looked at the clock. Dinner was going to be over soon. Draco would hang out with some friends for a few minutes before he'd come back to the common room. And then they would finally have their talk.
The idea of seeing and talking to Draco was comforting and her spirits lifted. She settled herself on the couch, taking out her homework that she really had forgotten to do and waited patiently for Draco to come back, her heart temporarily beating away her grief and replacing with this new feeling she kept receiving when she thought of him.
Draco watched Hermione run out of the Great Hall. He watched the handsome red head stand to his feet, calling after her and he instantly glared at him. He really did not like Weasley, or his new face, or the look he had when he looked at Hermione. Draco wasn't like most guys. He was very observant and could see things that most people didn't. Even from where he was sitting, he could see that Ron still held some affection towards Hermione. It was how he gazed at her retreating figure. It was how he moved towards the door to follow her, only stopped when Potter reached up and shook his head, telling him to leave her alone. Draco knew that Potter believed Hermione needed time to herself. But Draco knew better. He knew that Hermione needed someone. All girls needed someone when they were deeply troubled; someone who would soothe them and kiss away their tears and stroke their back calmingly and slate their need for love.
He knew how girls worked: they needed to be loved and their grief would be postponed.
But Draco Malfoy didn't know how Hermione worked. And he wasn't going to go and follow her and pull the same moves on her like he did on other heartbroken girls because, well, it was Hermione.
No, he didn't want to follow her and meet her in the common room because then he'd walk through the steps, using what friendship they had built to manipulate her to succumb to him. He would go to her and he would see she was troubled. She'd say she wouldn't want to talk about it, and he would say that he can see through her lies. He would reach out and touch her shoulder and quietly ask her to tell him. And they always crumble at the touch, the look, the slight sense of interest and care in the voice. Crumble crumble crumble. And he would embrace her and hold her trembling body and he would stroke her hair and smell her. She had such a lovely scent.
And then he would wipe her tears away and she'd look up at him, look at him with those muddy eyes and he would lean down and he would take her. Take her like he had wanted to take her for so long…
He swallowed hard, grabbing for his drink and chugging it down. He breathed deeply. This was why he didn't want to be around her. She had no idea how she affected him. He didn't know if he could keep himself controlled. In the hallway early that day, gagged and scared, needing a hero to save her and untie her, feel her hot, uneven breath on his face as she tried to calm herself down from Tony's assault…Draco had never been more turned on before.
"Draco, are you ok, baby?" Pansy asked, touching his knee. Draco was almost startled to see her. He patted her hand, standing up, "I'm fine."
He later found himself walking through the halls, winding his way to his common room. And as he neared the door, he reminded himself of what laid behind the door: Hermione.
He turned on his heel and left, walking frenzied down the hall, looking for some place to console himself with his twisted thoughts. He found his spot in a large, leather armchair in the corner of the library. Pulling a book required for Advanced Potions out of his bag, he began to read, studying for their surprise test tomorrow; Snape always told the Slytherins when they'd have a test, just to have an excuse to yell at everyone else for not paying attention in class, even if they hadn't gone over it at all. But even as he studied the concoctions, instructions, and explanations, his mind kept thinking of her.
Merlin, she was driving him nuts! What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he stop picturing himself with her, especially in bed? It was humiliating. He noticed he was watching her more often now, but in a different way. It was more than how he usually would observe her. He liked watching her because she was fascinating. She was odd. But she was still Granger, friend of Potter, a Muggle-born witch, and all that he stood against. Three big strikes against her, and yet he found himself pulling towards her like a moth to a flame. But why was she so bright? Why did he find himself unable to pull away?
Because she wasn't doing it on purpose. It was just who she was.
And then after spending break with her, having conversations with her, taking her to places, getting her drunk, getting a quick lap dance from her, sleeping in the same bed with her, kissing her, things like that certainly altered his thoughts of her. He no longer found her fascinating; he found her addicting. And when she was around other guys, he couldn't help but feel jealous. Sometimes he'd see Edward talking to her, and it would irritate him to no end, especially when she'd laugh at something he said. She looked like she enjoyed talking to him, as if what he said was immensely interesting. He sometimes wished he could talk to her and receive that same interest. He'd see her male partner in Potions lean in and brush her arm and he wanted to hit him. They had no right to touch her. She wasn't like other girls. She carried a sense of purity that they would only defile. They couldn't touch her because he had already claimed her as his.
Draco stood abruptly to his feet and left the library. He claimed her? What ever gave his subconscious mind the authority to claim a Mudblood? He needed to get her out of his head. Fast. He decided to visit Blaise, go sneak back some of the Christmas present he gave him. He walked through the Slytherin common house, nodding at those who were worthy of his time, ignoring those who were just trying to pretend they were one of his friends. He smirked at some of the pretty girls who brushed by him, running their fingers over his hand; he loved being beautiful. It was a rather long journey to get from the entrance to Blaise's door: the comments, the attempts to lure him into a conversation…
Draco sighed as he closed the door. Now…some of that whiskey…
He heard the clanking of glass bottles, something trip and stumble, and a whispered, "Shit!"
Draco walked towards Blaise's closet and called, "Pansy?"
"Draco!" Pansy said, standing up with a bottle of Blaise's alcohol in her hands. In one hand, she held her shoe with its broken heel. Draco nodded towards the bottle in her hand and she looked at it and back at him before shrugging, "Butterbeer just doesn't cut it."
Draco chuckled. She came over to him, sitting on Blaise's clean bed, remarking as she opened the bottle, "How does he keep his section so clean? Look at it! It's completely spotless."
"The only organized one of us three," Draco remarked, sitting next to her on the bed and reached to grab the bottle. She pulled it away, a teasing smile on her face. She shook her head, and took a long drink. She winced and shook her head, licking her lips.
Draco reached for it and took it from her hands, taking a longer drink. He sighed. Yes, drown those pesky Hermione memories away…except the drink reminded him of her eyes…He noticed Pansy's hand slip over and grab for the bottle, but he quickly pulled it away, hiding it from her. She giggled and reached around him for it, but he continually moved it just out of her reach. "Draco!" she said in mock frustration. "Give me it!"
He merely chuckled and continued to pull it out of her reach. She finally lunged at him, tackling him, and spilled a little of it on Blaise's bed. She cursed and laughed at their little game. She was now on top of him, the bottle in easy reach of her. She reached for it, leaning in down to let her hair graze against his face, her perfume linger over his nose. She took a sip, looking down at Draco who was watching her. She smiled and leaned down and slowly kissed him, her hand running down his arm.
She waited for him to respond, and was pleased to feel his hand tighten around her leg. She kissed harder, excited that she got a reaction from him. She touched him in ways she knew he enjoyed and he played with her in ways he knew thrilled her. "Oh Draco," she moaned as he flipped her over and lightly bit her neck.
And then he froze and she cursed herself for saying anything.
He started to pull away and she whispered, hoping that maybe he'd listen, "No, I'm sorry. I won't say anything. Please don't stop."
But he was done. He had lost all interest. Draco sat on the end of the bed, head in his hands. Strangely, he felt guilty, as if he were betraying Hermione. It was as if he was Ron, and Pansy was Lavender, and he was hurting Hermione all over again. He thought himself silly for placing himself in such a role because he had no affiliation with Hermione. But that feeling…
He didn't want to be here alone in the dormitories with Pansy. The more she grabbed at his shirt, running her hands along his forearms, the more he became repulsed at where he found himself. He didn't know where he wanted to be…just anywhere but here.
He didn't want to kiss Pansy. She wasn't the one he wanted to kiss, to get that fire from. He had tried to be so careful lately to keep Pansy at a safe distance, for her sake. He didn't love her and he didn't want to do anything that gave that impression. He didn't know who he loved, if he was even in love at all.
And when he'd question himself like that, that similar feeling when he thought of Hermione overwhelmed him and he found himself getting off the bed, walking towards the door and away from the situation that had crushed Hermione. Merlin! He wasn't even dating the fuzzball and he was reacting as if they were in a serious, committed relationship. What was wrong with him?!
"Draco!" Pansy called desperately.
"I'm sorry, Pansy. I can't," he said and closed the door behind him.
As Draco walked restlessly down the halls, Pansy curled on Blaise's bed and softly began to cry. Why didn't he love her? She's always loved him, ever since her coming-of-age party. She remembered her dress was pink and very sparkly. Her parents had paid a fortune. Anything for daddy's little girl. Blaise and Draco were there as well, forced to come by their parents. They spent most of the time tearing up pieces of napkins, rolling them into little balls and throwing them into people's hair, giggling uproariously when they'd get caught unknowingly in the victim's hair. Draco was as snobby as ever, but not as cold. His hair was slicked black, practically white when contrasted against his black suit. He had a darling little red bowtie and his shoes were black and brightly polished.
He had danced with her – forced by his parents – and he was as stiff as a board. They had known each other since they were toddlers, but this was the first time they had seen each other dressed up. He had been remarkably quiet and very uncomfortable.
"He never complimented me on my dress," Pansy remarked between her tears. Blaise had come closest to a compliment by saying, "You look like a pink marshmallow."
"Who never complimented you?" a deep voice questioned while closing the door behind him. Pansy looked through teary eyes, faintly distinguishing Blaise. She sat up, wiping the residue of her makeup away. Blaise leaned against the door, a look of concern on his face, but cautious not to make a sudden move that may upset her. He radiated comfort and shelter, and Pansy wanted it. She needed him to take care of her like he always had, nurse the wounds Draco inflicted upon her. Even when she was a kid, Blaise had always taken care of her. Once, when Blaise's parents were babysitting her for the night because her parents were going out of town for a conference, a fierce thunderstorm came over the house. Pansy had sat up crying, frightened of the hissing lightening that would beat against the windows, and the roaring winds that would rattle the windows, trying to let the thunder into her room. Blaise, hearing her cries over the storm, came to her rescue, sitting in her bed and holding her hand, a trick his mother had taught him.
"Blaise…" she said, holding up her arms.
And because he loved her so, and knowing that a simply touch by him would renew all the damage that Draco had caused, he walked towards her and held her gently in his arms, petting her hair and shushing her as she cried quietly into his chest. It was almost peaceful, her in his arms. It was almost romantic how she pulled away and looked at him with a look of desire. It was almost heart-stopping how she leaned up and captured his lips with his. It was almost his dream when she whispered in his ear to love her, and had his hand pull at her blouse.
He stopped.
"No," he said roughly. "I'm not going to be used by you, Pansy."
"I'm not using you, I – "
"What the hell do you call this?" he yelled, getting off the bed. "Merlin, you're so damn selfish! You can't sleep with someone just to make yourself feel better when you've been turned down. Why do you base yourself on how he treats you? I don't understand you, Pansy.
"You know how I feel about you. And you used that to manipulate me, all because you were rejected by Draco. Do you enjoy playing with me? Do you like teasing me, watching me respond to you, and see me shatter after you pull yourself away? How can you use me like that…?"
She grabbed for his hand, putting it against her face and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Blaise."
They stayed like that for a moment or two, his hand cupped against her check, her hand pressing it closer to her face, her thumb rubbing his skin. He never took his eyes off her; he couldn't. She reached up again, asking for a hug. He wanted to be strong. He wanted to turn away and leave. He wanted to escape from her intoxicating presence. And yet he found himself again in her arms, holding her, listening to her repeated apologizes, each one breaking his heart.
Tell me you love me. Just say that you love you. Say it, Pansy, please…
They were lying on his bed now, she cuddled to his chest, her eyes closed, tired from emotional stress and from crying. He watched her, seeing her breaths deepening as she grew more tired and tired. It startled him when she whispered, "I just want to be loved."
He looked at her: eyes closed, dark lashes magnified with makeup, lips slightly parted, blond strands of hair hanging gracefully over her face. He brushed them away, and whispered back, "You are."
But Pansy was asleep, and she never heard a word he said.
Draco was tired. He had walked by the same painting three times, and three times the painting had made a rather rude face in his direction. Damn Gryffindor paintings, he scowled.
He looked at his watch, estimating that she would be in bed by now. He felt a small pang of guilt as he remembered that he was supposed to meet with her to discuss the book. But for the sake of both of them, he cancelled. Getting into the common room, he stayed in the shadows, hoping that if she were up, she wouldn't notice his presence. He spotted her lying on the couch and went towards her, automatically reaching for the blanket folded across the back and draping it over her. Her hand was hanging off the edge of the couch, and a folded piece of paper laid beneath it. He reached down and skimmed the letter, a look of pity on his face.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said quietly, placing the letter on the nearby table.
"It's not important anyway," came a little, tried voice from the sleeping figure. Draco froze as she opened her eyes, and he was trapped by those amber eyes, shattered by all that had happened that day. He felt pulled towards her, an invisible force pushing him slowly in her direction. She reached up and gently took his hand, lightly pulling him towards her, down to her. Somehow, he found himself wedged in the couch, cradling a small girl in his arms. She breathed deeply and snuggled close to his chest, one arm pressed against her chest and the other hooked around his waist, her head resting on his arm. And as he held her, lightly rubbing small circles on her side, he breathed her in and closed his eyes.
This was where he belonged. This was where he wanted to be. And he stayed there all night.