"Can anyone tell me the properties of a mankyfur's hair?
Anyone?"
Snape asked, quite bored with this group of dunderheads. And he'd not been here more than three minutes.
Not a single hand rose.
Not that he'd expected one to.
They were all a bunch of idiots and Miss Granger was always the one to wave her hand about as though she were Adrowning. But this year she'd been slightly more. . . reserved. Could he call it that? If anything, she was bitter. The death of the red headed boy, along with the duties she has as a Death Eater had begun to take its toll on her.
And she'd not even been with the Dark Lord a month.
He needed to stop thinking about this. It was putting a damper in his otherwise relatively good mood.
"No one?" He asked, returning his thoughts to the rest of the class. "What a pity."
"Granger, I'm amazed. Usually you are flailing your arms about as though you were drowning. Perhaps you've not been studying. Bad form. Twenty points from Gryffindor for neglect."
She said nothing at this. It seemed as though she were clutching her arm.
Shit.
He didn't even think that were a possibility. The Dark Lord was generally relatively considerate of the Hogwarts time table. That always had amused him. Thinking fast, he yelled at her. Being known as "The bat of the dungeons" did have its perks.
Like solitude and instilling fear.
"Get out of my sight until you've enough sense to study, instead of moping about your red headed boyfriend!" He winced inwardly. That was harsh. Even for him- act or no.
She got up silently and headed for the door, but before she left, he continued.
"Miss Granger. I've changed my mind. Detention tonight. And I expect a three foot essay on the properties of mankyfur hair by that time.
She left and his class gasped. There was no way it was possible for even her to do that much work in little time. 'Oh those of little faith," he thought. It was a wonder how she would do it though, especially after where she was headed, but she would do it, even if he'd only given her the task for appearances sake.
Inwardly groaning, he turned back to his class.
xxOOxx
Three minutes. She'd been sat in his class for three minutes and her mark was burning intensely enough that she wished her arm would just drop off. She didn't really give a damn about mankyfur hair right now - she'd more important things to think about, like you know, winning a war, or at the very least, not having her arm castrate itself before she could disappear from this hellhole. Life meant nothing to her, but she'd appreciate it if she could get through the bits she had to with a full wand arm, of which she currently held tightly in her other hand.
"Granger, I'm amazed. Usually you are flailing your arms about as though you were drowning. Perhaps you've not been studying. Bad form. Twenty points from Gryffindor for neglect."
Like she could give a toss. Oh whoopdy doo. Snape had yet again withdrawn points from her house. It wasn't like she wouldn't win them all back within the next class or anything. The next class - what a depressing thought. She couldn't really ignore his call for that long, but she'd give it a go, if the ignoramus in front of her didn't catch on soon.
"Get out of my sight until you've enough sense to study, instead of moping about your red headed boyfriend!"
Ah. There it was. Subtlety. He was a Slytherin and at that moment she thanked the gods for that.
She rose, gathering her things and placing them in her bag. Putting her bag over her shoulder, she stormed to the door, wondering why he'd let her off so lightl-
"Miss Granger. I've changed my mind. Detention tonight. And I expect a three foot essay on the properties of mankyfur hair by that time."
There it was. He knew she would be unable to do the work, but expected it of her anyway. She resumed walking until she got to the Forbidden Forest. God damn mankyfur.
She apparated into the foyer of Malfoy Manor and was greeted by the disgusting fink, Pettigrew. Oh how she wanted to Avada him.
He led the way through the house and up the stairs, leading into a corridor. Turning left they entered a room and were in the Manor's library. She rose her shields and sighed - her benevolent Lord had quite the sense of humor. And flair for the dramatic it looked.
The rat scurried from the room as though there were a cat on the prowl - she supposed she was the cat, whether Voldemort stood there or no. She supposed she'd best bow and appease the madman.
"Mudblood," he hissed in acknowledgement.
"My Lord," she greeted, eyes cast downwards, studying her shoes. She should probably polish them.
"Now now, little one. None of that. We are not conducting a meeting. You may rise."
Mad; with an awful sense of humour. If only The Dark Lord were a professional comedian, he'd achieve his goal of World Domination. That's what it all came down to, didn't it? Mad man with an idea wants to rule the world. It was like she lived in a shitty fairy tale.
"Mudblood, I said, you may rise. It would fare you well to listen when I speak."
"Sorry, My Lord," she grovelled, rising from her knee. "I was just musing over how humorous you are."
She'd only just managed to hide the sarcasm in her voice enough that he'd not heard it. Sweet baby Jesus.
Voldemort laughed. It was a sound she'd hoped she'd never have to endure again.
"I'm glad to see one of my Death Eaters has a sense of humor. Don't you think so, Lucius?"
The man next to him bowed his head in acquiescence. "Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort turned back to her and motioned for her to come to him.
"Come, child. I've a gift for you."
Hermione had to admit; she was curious. What would the Dark Lord consider a gift? Was it for him or her? What were his intentions? But go to him she did.
"My Lord?" She said questioningly.
Voldemort summoned a pensieve.
"Your gift child. View it, and tell your lord what you think of it."
She acknowledged him and entered
Draco walked in on Hermione the bathroom working herself furiously.
Not at all deterred, Draco sleepily took residence upon the closed toilet seat and announced, "There ya are. Have at it, Granger," and laughed maniacally when she floundered in the water, sputtering her curses and splashing him.
Instead of sinking deeper into the bath that she'd transfigured into a simple muggle bath as a logical mind such as hers would, she straightened in surprise, never letting go of her nether realm, and giving Draco quite the show.
He laughed."Malfoy, please," she begged, embarrassed, but too far in to stop.
Still laughing he said, "You have 5 minutes Granger. I can't hold it in forever, you know," and he walked out the door.
Upon his closing of the door, she groaned and sunk back in the bath, quitting her apparent activity. She wouldn't ever finish. She wished that for once she could have a solid wank. Groaning inwardly at the word she realised she'd not brought in a towel.
"Draco!" She yelled. "Towel!"
Malfoy returned with a grin on his face that could rival that of the Grinch. Suffice to say he had brought in a hand towel, that smart arse.
"I swear Draco, if you don't hand me a proper towel this minute, I'll tell Neville you're smitten on him."
Draco chuckled, transfiguring it back to its original size. "And just how, Miss Granger, do you plan to do that in your current . . . predicament?"
Hermione stood there looking at this exchange between herself and Draco Malfoy. God damn. Why did he have to call her that? He should have known better. He DID know better. Had this actually happened?
At her name the other Hermione had begun to cry. Bringing her left arm to her face to wipe the tears that had gotten away without permission, she saw Draco freeze as he saw her mark. It wasn't like he didn't know it was there- he was present when she'd taken it. So something must have been wrong.
She saw that on her arm, the eyes of her mark was glowing green. How had she not seen it?
"Granger," he said quietly, face ashen, "get out of the bath tub. I'll be in the common room. Three minutes." He turned for the door and quietly said, "please."
She felt the confusion of her other self - she couldn't imagine what had made Malfoy pale so much, and so she heeded his words. Taking the towel he'd re-transfigured on the way out, she wrapped it around herself and grabbed her wand that she'd left on the sink before she got in. Stupid Hermione Granger had also forgotten her clothes. She must have needed that bath pretty badly. Hermione was embarrassed at herself. Sighing, she accioed them, putting them on the second they turned up.
She reached for the cupboards and took a calming draught- Icarus' Tears, it was called. It was a Dark Potion she'd taken to taking to calm her nerves, but also numb herself from any kind of feeling. Anger was still prominent though. She'd been taking it for a week, knowing that if she was going to do what needed to be done to rise in the ranks of the Death Eaters, she needed to be numb. As for her anger, that could be channeled into the tasks she acquired.
She skulled back the phial and warded the cabinet. Not that she didn't trust Draco, but he didn't need to know what was going on, and if he thought she was just shimmering her feminine products then so be it.
She sighed again and walked out the door. And into a little firstie.
The memory ended and she was pulled out. She turned her head towards the Dark Lord and stated;
"My Lord. I am most grateful to receive your gift, but I am ashamed to say that I do not understand it."
For the second time that afternoon, the Dark Lord laughed.
"My child. You do make me laugh.
What you appear to not understand is that there are three parts to your gift. I did not explain. Two are memories, and the last is for after your viewing. Now," he said as he seemingly swapped the memory in the pensieve, "Enter."
