Disclaimer: I don't own anything but my pink book bag and whatever else is in this story that doesn't make sense. I was inspired by another romance novel i read and J.K. Rowlings wonderful world. Enjoy!
Chapter 8
"Wrapped So Pretty"
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The shower...
Zabini shouted from the other side of their locker room. "Oi! Draco, your dad is here."
The hot sprays from the shower head, drummed against Draco's head, surrounding him with heated steam. They had just finished a grueling game against the Grodzisk Goblins. The game lasted nearly seven hours, save the two-hour timeout they had been given after the Falcons lost their second chaser.
Grodzisk Goblins were a lot of half wizard, half goblin abominations from Poland. Human in height, but with massive strength and with a hideous set of teeth, that hurt like hell should one of them choose to use them on you. Biting was against the rules, but when a game lasted that long anything was likely to happen.
As Draco stood under the locker-room shower, he found himself thinking about her. She was a lot easier on the mind than the grueling game he had just endured or the fact that his shoulder hurt like hell, his legs were throbbing from hours upon his broom seeking for a fucking snitch that he lost due Ladislaw Zamojski. Draco thought he was a cheating bastard and should have been disqualified.
Buttercup. Today wasn't the first time he though about the courtesan. In fact since his birthday party two weeks ago, he couldn't explain why the witch kept popping up in his mind or why he was so bloody hell mesmerized by her. He only knew that the moment the guys pushed her into the room wearing that ridiculous looking bow around her neck he wanted her. No matter what lie he told himself; he wanted her.
And it made him madder than mandrake, because it puzzled him to be so caught up with a girl like that, she wasn't his type. Girls like that had no type. Merlin knows she was attractive with those gorgeous brown eyes and waist-length wavy hair. But firstly he had something against black haired witches; he figured them all to be a bit mad out of their heads. His deranged aunt was one prime example and then there was Pansy Parkinson; so it was just a rule of thumb. and he simply didn't care for black haired witches. Buttercup however didn't seem to be in the same league but then again she wasn't exactly a modest woman with the sort of occupation that most cared not to flash openly to the public.
Her skin was amazing, the sensation of it still made his fingers tingle. Touching her was like stroking the finest cream. She was a bit small chested for his taste, but with everything added up into one package he had no real complaints other than the whole hooker thing.
He ducked his head back beneath the sprayer and let the shower splash over his backside. Maybe he'd been drawn to her do to the fact that he'd gotten a bit drunker than he planned? No, he disagreed with that. He wasn't nearly at the state of absolute alcohol poisoning that he had hoped to achieve. It was the intelligence in those brown eyes that fought against the codswallop of a story she was laying on him. He simply would not accept the fact that she was anything close to a hooker-slash-courtesan. He figured that she had to be one of those upper-class groupie witches looking for a cheap thrill. But even this factor was dismiss, simply because Blaise was furious when he'd told him to get rid of her. A groupie, looking for a number to add to her collection wouldn't dare seek money in exchange of an opportunity to sag him its not their angle. Most would do it free of charge.
That entire night had been so damn erotic he simply couldn't stop thinking about her. He ground his teeth in frustration remembering that she had fought so hard against him making her come. And so that bothered him. He knew she had to be lying, it was all part of their courtesan trade thing, wasn't it? To be mysteriously exciting.
At first, he felt the fiery little brunette was essentially harmless; but now, now he wasn't so sure. Something about the witch irked him, he couldn't imagine what it was. If her desire didn't involve putting a check mark by his name, before she moved on to her next Quidditch star, then what was it?
It was now going on two weeks and he hadn't heard or seen any sign of her. She didn't run with the usual crowd of witches that followed the team jocks. Draco came to the hard fact that he would have to forget her. He'd be damn if he started paying for his women.
"Oi! Draco, hey mate, your dad's here to see you mate, didn't you hear me?" shouted Zabini again this time louder.
Draco rinsed the shampoo out of his hair and slapped a towel around his bare hips and hurried out to meet his father. If it had been anyone else in the world he would have told Blaise to send them away.
Two weeks and no Buttercup. He had hoped to relieve himself privately and the interruption of his imaginary shower with her really pissed him off.
The Falcon's Locker Room...
Draco smiled as the familiar face of his ol' man turned around to greet him. Considering the fact that he knew his father was going through some ups and downs with his mother, he looked well. Lucius had come to deliver news of a dinner party that would be held at the Malfoy Manor this weekend, and his mother, expected Draco to attend.
"I promise to make an appearance father."
This put a smile on his father's face. They had grown a bit closer in the past few years. Nothing can bring you closer to the ones you love most, until you feel you just may die and lose them forever.
Lucius went on to talk about Narcissa and a few other new things she had taken heart too. Draco wasn't to interested with the fill-ins, but he pretended to be because he knew it was important to his dad.
After many of the Death eaters were either captured, or had gone hiding, Lucius like so many others that held a tainted connection to You-Know-Who barely escape prosecution or a life in Azkaban. Kingsley had taken over the position as elected Minister of Magic for years now, and he wasn't very fond of anyone connected to Voldemort allies; either by suspicion, or unfortunate chance. Mercy was nearly none!
His father resigned permanently from the Ministry, gone into an early retirement and acted as if his family life was the center of his world now.
But for Narcissa it was only a day to late. Draco saw that his father never complained about the way she taken so many unannounced leaves from the estate lately. Even though, Draco knew this approaching divorce was ripping the old man's guts out. He was also afraid that the existence of an empty life without his mother would probably be too much for his father to handle alone and that worried Draco, a lot.
He finished the conversation, and once again assured his father he would arrive for their dinner party on time. Then, he went back to his locker room where in the secret walls of a shower awaited his dream witch.
St. Mungos Hospital, Professor Helbert's office...
"You mean, you made me come all the way over here to inquire about my traveling expenses to and from the Switzerland project?" Hermione never lost her cool in a professional conversation with anyone, but when she looked at the wizard that Governor her day-to-day activities while she was under apprentice studies, she wanted to scream and scratch his eyes out.
Professor Spleen Helbert, lifted his head from the parchment papers he had been studying.
"You may find this sort of thing minor Ms. Granger, but as head of the Healers Board it is my job to insure that this facilities finances stay with in a reasonable equilibrium. And I assure you, that seventy-two visits to the children's ward in Grindelwald, Switzerland is far beyond acceptable."
He tossed the three page bill from the International Floo Department at her. And pushed his hands back through his limp pepper-grey hair. And as if she were some sort of servant girl, he eyed her with an evil glare when she hesitated before picking up the papers so rudely thrown at her.
Hermione didn't have a habit of judging people, nor did she care to stereotype many for disliking her purely on the fact that she was of muggle blood. In her opinion much of that had died out with the fall of Voldemort years ago. However, Hermione had her suspensions about Professor Helbert. She believed he camouflaged his true nature behind his position of power, keeping any one that was not of pureblood at a lower status than others that worked equally as hard for him. Hermione as usual, was an exception, she could not be easily dismiss as just another ordinary witch seeking to become a ministry healer.
From the moment she had begun studies with this field of magic, she brought with her theories that mystified the board. Such as her studies on super sympathetic magic. Her research provided explanation to un-riddle many phenomena's such as when a patient's body rejected certain spells meant for healing. And there was the String theories that baffled the oldest wizarding scholars that a witch so young was so knowledgeable of such ancient magical law.
The new laws passed by the Ministry and The Witches and Wizard of Wizengamot blew open doors for those like her in hopes of smothering out the prejudice nature of the many purebloods elites from the higher ups.
"In the future," Her boss continued, "we're going to need to control this sort of wasteful spending Misses Granger. The expense of your international floo passage is outrageous woman!"
"Switzerland is quite far sir," she attempted to justify, which proved fatal and only gave him a reason to bash her further.
"In that case, I strongly advise you Misses Granger, to take care of all matters of importance in less that twelve visits. Your passage will now be under the personal, watchful eye of my assistant. Spend a night in one of those muggle hotels if you must. I don't care, but we'll not see a note this high coming from you again, or you'll be seeking new employment in Little Grindelwald permanently!"
Hours later, Hermione could barely swallow her frustration. Not only was Spleen Helbert scientifically incompetent with things such as basic alchemistical equations, he was a complete xenophobic. None of her other colleagues had to undergo this constant scrutiny. Of course, they had not single handily made the Professor feel like a complete babbling buffoon before an entire board of fellow Magical physicians either.
She tossed another negative pregnancy test into the bathroom waste bin and walked out the door. She knew what she had done two weeks ago was morally wrong, but something about it had felt so right. Maybe it was do to the fact, that his genetic make-up showed that she could not have found a better candidate to be her baby's father than Draco Malfoy.
She had done a little more research on other possible wizards, just incase the Draco Baby Making Project didn't go through. But unless she planned on breaking a shit load of privacy laws, there was simply no way of obtaining records, like the ones she held in her possession for one extremely healthy, pure blooded Draco Malfoy.
He was a true fighter, she knew that much already. He was also an extremely aggressive man, with brute like strength, massive load of self confidence, all the qualities suitable should her little one be a son. Her internal female voice told her these were a necessity for a male wizard child. All the pieces fit, like a perfect puzzle. It had to be Draco Malfoy, no other wizard would do, plus she simply could not imagine going through another arrangement like that with another man. It was simply to shameful.
"Miss Hurmony! Miss Hurmony!"
She felt the tiny tugged of her lime-green robe and looked down smiling at the way the children often corrupted her name. As she returned their greeting and smiled into their mischievous little angelic faces, her hearted ached. She truly wanted a child of her own, a son or a daughter, she didn't care which just so long as he or she were healthy and blessed with the magic she so dearly loved. The idea of not being able to share this world with her child brought tears to her eyes. Her sweet baby would be born of magic and born a pureblood, she would do what ever it took to make it so.
It was now late Saturday evening, and it had rained all day. By the time Draco arrived at the hotel. It was nearly ten o'clock. He had briefly joined his parents dinner party as he had promised, but had to call their meeting to an end prematurely.
Being a Quidditch star had it perks, but then again it made it absolutely impossible to have a private life or remain in one location for very long without running into editors or numerous wizarding reporters for magazines, papers, and teen-witch cards. Paparazzi photographers would apparate out of thin air right on top of you and what was really bothering him the most, was that at every one of these conferences, Draco and the guys were entitled to go on and on about the new teen addition to their team each opening season.
This season they'd recieved Petur Krum, the Bulgarian heart throb, younger brother and under shadow of his older brother Viktor Krum. It was pissing Draco off, meerly because this kid held so much arrogancy that you couldn't hold it in a suit even under an extension charm.
It was the way Petur would get all gussied up about his respect for Draco and how privileged he was just to be part of a team like the Falmouth Falcon. It was utter bullshit! The editors of the magazines knew it, the crew knew it! The fans knew it! Draco and Petur both knew the only reason he had accepted the offer to join the Falcons was because he would never be able to set a name for himself back home with Viktor as his mentor and teacher. It wouldn't matter how amazing his skills were, all credit would have likely been due to having a brother like Viktor Krum to guide him.
Hermione stood in front of Draco's hotel wearing a Givenchy designer dress. Pearl-pink, silk, and free flowing. It was stunning against the deep waves of her magically, enhanced black hair. She took a deep breath. She referred back to Ginny, in some hopes of locating were he would be. And sure enough she owled her back the next day.
If tonight didn't work she would just have to deal with it. Because she couldn't put herself or him through this again. If only she had some of Ginny's potion, this might be easier. But it was too late for that now, tonight she was on her own.
She lifted her hand and knocked on the room door.
"It swung open and greeting her was a bare chest, suited for a young man, dark hair, equally dark eyes and a curved nose all to familiar.
He was young, Hermione could see that. Eighteen perhaps nineteen, and unbelievably good looking.
"I-I'm sorry. I seem to have the wrong room."
"I guess that depends on just vu you're looking for, buttercup."
"I beg, - I beg your pardon. But, how do you know my….um name?"
"Vot are you talkin about?"
"You just called me Buttercup."
"Yes, and so vot. Is this a crime as vell, no surprise! Everything is a crime here. You Britain vizards are a majr bore."
Hermione shook her head utterly confused and dismissed the discussion. She had no idea what he was talking about. The boy clearly must have used her made-up name by mere coincidence. The word was an endearment after all.
"I'm looking for the room of Draco Malfoy the Falcon seeker."
Vell, aren't you the lucky von then, because you found something bettér." He stomped his chest with his fist in a ape-like macho way. "I am Petur Krum."
Oooh, now she recognized the nose, how could she have been so stupid the resemblance was nearly identical. Of course he was a bit slimmer than his older brother, and in fact she hadn't known that Viktor had a brother at all. - She had never really asked. But every thing about the young man screamed Bulgarian.
"Krum…?" she asked in shock "Krum as in Viktor Krum from Drumstrang?"
"Non, not as in that pea brain of a brother. Vot do you vant? who sent you any way? Did Viktor put you up to this. Vat is your name?"
"I was told that Draco Malfoy was in 302."
"Vell you vere told vrong, That idiot is not in this room."
"I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you," her face turned red. How embarrassing was it to run into the kid brother of an old sweet heart, whilst searching for a father for a baby you don't even have. Did the world hate her? She lifted the strap of her purse higher onto her shoulder and without saying another word, she turned to left the Bulgarian standing in his doorway.
"Vot kinda of bussiness do you have with Draco the dunghead?"
She stopped and turned around. What kind of business indeed, thought Hermione. "Well its sort of…private." she whispered.
"Private…. I bet." The Viktor look-alike shifted his brow in mockery of the private part. He was completely the opposite of his brother Hermione could tell. This young man definitely needed a talking too.
Petur laughed. "Is that vot they call it here in London? Private business!"
"Why you little- ….I am his private healer, if you must know."
"Vell I hope you have come to help him deal vit his ar-t-tude problém."
Hermione disregarded the young wizards second inquiry. "I keep the conversations I have with my clients confidential. Would you please be so kind as to direct me to his room."
"Vell of course, I vill do múch better than that. I vill take you there. I vant to see his face ven his …er private healer is holding the arm of Petur Krum."
The ravenous looking wizard cradled Hermione's arm into his. He didn't even bother to put on a shirt or pair of shoes. He padded barefoot down the long hallway, and together they rounded a corner and stood before a door identical to Petur's. The young man took it among himself to eagerly knock on the door as if wanting to send it flying into splinters.
"Thank you Mr. Krum but I'm fine now, I can take it from here."
"You are Velcome my lady." he made no attempt to move, but knocked again on the door, this time louder.
The door swung open, and Hermione caught her breath as she once again came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy.
Petur's drawling tone seemed deliberately mischievous. "Look at vat I found vandering around, dunghead. Your private healer."
"My what?"
" I was given Mr. Krum's room by mistake." she said hastily. "and he was kind enough to escort me here to your door."
Petur looked at the witch. "Did any von tell you, you put too many vords in von line. You sound like my teachers, very vordy for no reason at all."
"Teacher eh?….nope sorry ….try again." muttered Draco. His pale eyes raked over her. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked her.
Petur leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, smiling watching the two of them whisper. Hermione had no idea what had happen between these two men, but she knew they weren't friends.
"Vot kind of question is that to say Dunghead, she has come to heal you…." he flashed wink and a wicked smile at Hermione "…Privately. You should not take so many blugers to the head in our next game. She might not come back, now that she has meet me éh?"
A small muscle twitched in Draco's jaw. "Don't you have some flight training to attend to, Krum?"
"Non!"
"Is that right," Draco stepped out the doorway and stared the young man squarely in the face. "So I take it you're ready for that blitz batty move the Bally Bats are so phenomenal for? Plenty of practice on that one I assume? Hope so new boy, it'll be a shame to lose you before your career got a good take off."
The young Krum stiffened.
"I didn't think so. Now run along junior and do your homework. You're not worth a damn with a fractured skull."
Two young witches in glittery skirts and quidditch tee's turned the corner, and broke into a complete run when they saw Draco and Krum standing there in the hall. He grabbed Hermione by the arm and yanked her inside.
"Get in here!"