To enforce again, I wish I could call Harry Potter and the characters thereof mine, but I am not fortunate enough to do so as I am not J.K. Rowling (how I wish I was!). I hope that you are enjoying the rantings of my mind as I am enjoying penning them for you. I am sorry for the long wait, but I will hope you find this chapter to your liking. If you would like to review, I would be much appreciative.
Later that morning, alone in the confines of his room, Draco tried not to let himself succumb to sleep. He didn't want to dream anymore tonight. Despite his best efforts, wave after wave of tired achiness crept through his body and all he longed for was to close his eyes and forget. Just as the wariness became too powerful to stave off any longer, Draco heard confused yelling echoing through the manor. It sounded like Wormtail and his father, a vivid screaming match back and forth, resounding in the tall ceilinged hallways. He pulled his robes over his wrinkled, unshed clothes and went to see what the issue was.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy! I'm sorry!"
"YOU were on watch! YOU were supposed to keep an eye on them. YOU….IMBECILE! Do you even realize what you have done? The Dark Lord will have our heads for this! You BLITHERING INCOMPETENT! You let Potter escape! You let them ALL escape!" The plump, crouched figure that was Wormtail shook, cowering on the ground at Lucius Malfoy's feet. Lucius was using his cane to smack Wormtail repeatedly across the back, a mix of terror and sheer unadulterated rage emanating from his shaking voice. His grey eyes flashed silver and his mouth twisted in a morbid grimace.
Cringing, Wormtail managed to squeak, "But sir, we still have the mudblood girl! We still have something for the Dark Lord. She will give us much useful information! And if they think she is still alive, they will come for her!"
"Stupid, stupid man! Potter believes her dead. He will not come for her corpse. What good will his girlfriend's corpse be to him?" Lucius spit his words like a hissing snake and began to pace.
"She wasn't Potter's girlfriend."
Lucius spun to face his son, "What nonsense are you on about?"
"Granger," Draco cleared his throat, "Granger was not Potter's girlfriend."
"You think I care about the romantic notions of a teenage wizard, Draco?" Lucius exploded in anger, "The Potter boy will not come back for her lifeless body, lover or no! The Dark Lord will punish us all severely for this infraction. THAT, Draco, is what I care about. You, your mother, and I are as good as DEAD!"
Draco's father began to pace faster and faster about the room, staring at the floor. Slowly he looked up at Wormtail through squinted eyes, "Though, I suppose you are right. If that girl is as close to Potter as you have told me, Draco, she may save our skins yet. Perhaps the Dark Lord could use her to find the secret hideouts the Order of the Phoenix have been holed up in. She has been on the run with Potter for a few months now; she may be able to let us in on where they have been. Or at the very least, perhaps her dismembered body could provoke the needed fear in those who still oppose the Dark Lord. Her severed head could serve as a very potent reminder of the Dark Lord's power."
Draco tried not to let himself flinch at the thought of Hermione's head, separated from her neck. He wouldn't…couldn't let her be hurt anymore. He, his family, had already hurt her physically, emotionally, mentally possibly beyond repair. Draco never thought, in a million years, that anything would make him care this deeply about Granger and he wanted to strike out at Lucius for even threatening to harm her. But he couldn't let his father see. Lucius must not know or even suspect any feelings from Draco. He forced his face to remain impassive.
"Later, you will go in to interrogate her, Draco. While you do, let it slip that her friends have betrayed her, deserted her, and left her to die. Make her feel completely abandoned. Torture her if you must. Do whatever you deem necessary, the Cruciatus, physical pain, to receive the information you require. Although, the notion she has been forsaken by those she loved most…that should loosen her lips." Lucius's wide malicious smile spread across his face and he rubbed his chin lightly.
"Not if I know Granger."
Wormtail snickered quietly, "And just how well DO you know the mudblood princess?"
Lucius struck Wormtail across the face, hard, "And just what are you insinuating about my son, you filthy rat?"
"Nothing, sir, I would never," Wormtail simpered, casting a quick, knowing look in Draco's direction.
"You, Wormtail, will be punished for your negligence," Lucius reached and snatched the cowering man's wand out of his hand and flicked it, causing Wormtail's limbs to snap together in the full body bind. "Mobilicorpus." With a further flick the bound body silently lifted and floated down the hallway, Lucius following.
Draco stood in the main entrance foyer, dumbfounded. What did Wormtail mean by his offhanded comment? Did he know? Had he seen…or heard? And how had Potter and the Weasel escaped?
"They all escaped."
Did that mean the other prisoners as well? Ollivander and Loony Lovegood? And that horrendous goblin? How had Potter managed to get out? The dim orange light of dawn slowly spread though the room, lighting the stained glass of the windows. An image of a dark green snake began to form across the floor. A small pop signified the arrival of Grafl beside him.
"Sir? The Lady Mother wishes Young Master to join her for breakfast please, sir," Grafl bowed till her fingertips reached the stone floor.
"Very well, tell mother I will come when I have dressed." With that, Draco turned and hastened to his room to wash and dress in clean clothes. When not at school, Draco much preferred to dress in simple slacks and collared shirts, despite his father's preference that he dress in proper robes at all times. As a boy, he very rarely ever blatantly disobeyed his father for fear of severe retribution. Approaching manhood, Draco found himself purposely finding small ways of misbehaving, whether it be wearing improper clothing, being kind to the house elf (which his father found distasteful), or falling for… falling in…finding himself in love. Draco's breath caught in his throat. Love?
"Is this what making love feels like?"
Beyond all sense, beyond all logical reason, Draco knew deep in his soul that his thoughts were true. Love. In his own emotionally stunted heart, Hermione belonged to him and only him. Despite everything he had ever done, or said, she was his in his mind. If things had not been how they were with the culture made by centuries of hate separating them…would they have somehow found each other? Instead of mortal enemies over seven years would they have become childhood friends and grow to tentative childhood sweethearts and maybe even lovers? Would they have been able to look at each other openly and without a sense of revulsion? Hermione was infuriating. Intelligent to annoyance, snide with comments, nosey to a fault. But all those things were her own quirkiness that while galling, also made his lips twitch with amusement, even while he enforced a strict policy of hatefulness to her. He wished he could tell her that for the past few years, all he wanted to do was admire her. Even if she didn't believe him, Draco wanted her to know. He wanted her to know he had grown to love her, in his own secret way.
Shaking himself from his reverie, Draco buttoned his shirt and walked sedately into the formal dining hall to find his mother and aunt in hushed urgent conversation. They broke off as he entered the room.
'My son, good morning." His mother proffered her hand and he went, as was custom, to kiss her cheek, noticing that the light bruise under her eye was still prominent despite the makeup she had applied. She squeezed his fingers in hers and looked at him for a moment, her eyes lingering on his as a light smile crossed her lips, "My handsome son." Draco smiled back at Narcissa, he truly did love his mother.
His aunt on the other hand… "Dwaco. Come give Auntie a kiss." Draco turned from his mother and stared at Bellatrix , biting the inside of his cheek.
"…Yes, Auntie Bella." He strode to her, bent to peck her on the cheek quickly, and sat down at his place next to his mother. Draco had never really enjoyed spending time with his aunt. The few times he had been forced to visit her in Azkaban, Bellatrix always stared at him with a crazed and slightly maniacal smile while asking him questions that seemed rather personal. It had made him extremely uncomfortable as a small child. Now finding herself out of prison, Aunt Bellatrix seemed to think he admired her very much and thought of Draco as her precious little protégé. Frankly, Draco would rather be eaten by a dragon than spend time with her.
"That's my good boy." She patted his chin and grinned, showing her blackened, damaged teeth. The time in Azkaban had not been good to her. In pictures Draco had seen of his mother and her two sisters when they were younger, his aunt had been, well, rather striking in her own right with long curly dark hair setting off her iridescent skin. The black eyes glittered under prominent eyelids rimmed with thick lashes. The disturbing thing about the young girl, was the hateful smile firmly plastered on her face. Certainly biased, but sure of himself, Draco found Narcissa to be the obvious beauty of the sisters. She had straight white blonde hair with a light mischievous smile that few ever saw, save for her son. Draco certainly took after his father, but the resemblance to his mother was as strong and he preferred to think of himself as her child…not Lucius's. His mother's smile reminded him of…damn. He HAD to stop.
"We shan't wait for your father," Draco felt his attention snap back to the women around him as his mother's soft voice permeated his thoughts, "He is dealing with more pressing matters at the moment. Tea, Dear?" Draco nodded and his mother handed him a cup with a smile, "Two sugars, and no cream. I know how you like it."
"Speaking of pressing matters…Cissy, dear…a little birdie told me the Potter brat escaped and took all his little friends with him. Is this true?" A delighted smug little smile crossed Bella's lips before she moved her tea cup in form to hide it.
Narcissa's mouth pressed in a thin, infuriated line, "Yes. You heard the truth. Who said…"
"Greyback." Bellatrix interrupted. "Seems your husband and he got into quite the heated little quarrel this morning. Greyback blames him for releasing his hard earned prize." A soft giggle escaped her lips, "Lucius sent him back out to the place they found Potter to look for clues. Fenrir is not a happy little wolfie. Nearly bit a hand off. The snarling was terrible…said he's expecting a much larger bit of the mudblood once we are done with her. I figure he can have the whole thing as long as he cleans up after himself." Bellatrix's eyes flashed spitefully. "Although he will have to wait. Since we still have the filthy little muggle born alive, we may as well use her to our best advantage. Perhaps I should pay her a little visit in her little cell this afternoon. I do so want to get to know her better. And after all, what is a bit of spilled mudblood? Just some more grime."
"NO!"
Draco's vehement protest brought a flicker of surprise to his aunt's face, "She is not yours to question. She was given to me."
An upraised eyebrow accused intention, "Really, Draco, I just thought you could use a little help." Bella toyed with her dark wand.
"You are not needed. After all, Aunt Bella, how will I get better," Draco gave what he hoped was a look of excitement, "if you don't let me practice?"
A slow satisfied grin spread across Bellatrix's lips, "That is true, my little nephew. Very true. And who better for you to practice on, hmmm? Harry Potter's own little lap bitch. Oh, how he will suffer knowing what you have done. Very well, Draco, I know you will make you auntie vewy pwoud!"
Cringing at the baby talk, Draco forced a convincingly determined face and nodded. The rest of breakfast concluded in relative silence, light conversation between Narcissa and Bellatrix flitting about his head while he neither contributed nor paid attention. His brain was too concerned with distressing thoughts of his own to bother with their petty concerns.