Your kiss is like whiskey,
It gets me drunk
And I wake up in the morning with the taste of your tongue.
- 3OH!3, My First Kiss
It seems like Malfoy's been at my house forever.
It's only been - hang on - about 4 hours.
That's it.
It's currently 3:12, and after 2 more embarrassing displays of clothing, we've retreated alone to my room again. It was far too awkward having Andrea fawn all over him. Mum was also being very gauche for it to be appropriate for us to stay down there. She kept asking him all these ridiculous questions about his family life, after we just had that argument about his mother. I could see his face flash with sadness every time another word came out of her mouth. So I dragged him away as soon as I was fully dressed and here we are now.
Now I'm stuck sitting here thinking about his comment about my appearance.
"Not half bad, Granger. Very nice."
Was it just said so he appeared not like an asshole? I mean if he really did think I was 'gorgeous', then he'd be speechless or blush or something….right? His breath hitched and his expression changed, that's a good sign right? Is it because he could see my boobs? Gah.
This whole experience of Malfoy Visits the Ganger Household has been really strange; angry, awkward, sad, enjoyable, and….eye-opening to say the least. I probably discovered more about Malfoy in the past 2 hours than I have in the entirety of me knowing him. The only thing that's stayed the same about him is his infuriating ability to make me want ton argue every word he says when he's being just himself.
Yet he also makes me want to grab and hug him at the same time from some of the secrets that have bled from his lips.
His outburst at me was not appreciated. I'm still insulted thoroughly. But then, if he's telling the truth, his family is in tatters. I'd probably be the same towards Ron or Harry if they said the wrong thing at the wrong time when my parents had it rough. I feel bad for him.
And…okay, I know it's ridiculous, but he said we could do Muse.
My choice.
It isn't the fact that we get to research my favourite band, it's the fact that he gave in. Or else, opened his mind enough to want to try something new. Unless he's just scheming, but somehow, I don't think so…
It's just so hard to read him now; I'm usually quite good at that sort of thing. I could see right through his façade when he was younger. He was insecure, arrogant, mean and just intimidating enough he didn't have to make real friends; he put up borders. But now…it's like he can't make up his mind about who to be.
He's been less than kind to me, but at the same time he's no longer cruel and looking for trouble.
He also gave me that womanizing, dessert-gobbling look that everyone kept saying he had been giving me. The one I said they were being preposterous and exaggerating about. I mean, his regular smirky expression flew away to shock and then….that. Whatever that is; the sexy curved lip thing and eyebrows piqued.
But then, he never really acts as if he likes me otherwise, and if he does like me sexually, then that does not compute. How would that have ever come to pass? Even if he's not as bigoted as he was, he still thinks I'm less than worthy to him status-wise.
He's good-looking to me, but shagging? I was madly in love with Ron and I couldn't picture myself having sex with him. Wasn't ready at all, so how could I ooze any kind of sex appeal?
Why am I even thinking about this?
He just needs to leave. I need to clear my head and find all the books I can so I can start reading them and mark the important pages. Then I'll lend them to him to skim through while I begin to write and formulate ideas.
And he needs to not be lying on my bed with his stupid blonde hair and expensive clothes and-
"So, Granger, what are we doing now exactly?" I look up annoyed from my computer screen, (I'm Googling books about Muse you see) to see him settled against one of my throw pillows at the end of my bed, stomach-down on my sheets and facing me with lazy eyes. I gulp.
"Research. And sit up; you're ruining my bed,"
"'Ruining my bed', she says…Honestly." I hear him mumble and shuffle to sit up. A small smile snakes its way onto my lips.
No, he's not amusing in the least.
The smile thins to a forced grimace. "Research how? I mean, if we're really going to do your Muse band, I haven't even listened to anything by them except that one song."
"Exactly," I say, swiveling my chair round to face him properly. "So that's why you need to get a feel for them." I grab my iPod from my desk, and search the Artists section for Muse. Then I put all the albums on shuffle. "Here." I throw it at him, and he flinches, but manages to catch it.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he asks curiously, my heart jumping as he speaks in french so lovely.
"It's called an iPod…just unwind the cord and put the little buds into your ears. It's a music-playing device." I explain to him how to pause, adjust the volume, and change songs. "Just listen to them. Let it soak into your brain. Remember we actually have to play one of these in front of an audience."
His face recoils into a scowl for an instant, and then he shakes it away. Guess he forgot about that tiny detail.
"Well, here it goes I suppose. What are you going to do then?"
"I'm going to use the internet, trying to find books written about Muse and some useful websites for information. Then review the course pack McGonagall gave us in a bit. I mean, I'm certainly glad that we're doing this band, but it's going to be a lot more difficult to answer these questions, I'm going to have to completely change my perspective on how to approach them, since I thought I'd – that we'd be doing something classical…" I trail off, seeing him smirking. "What?"
"Nothing," he replies, infuriating me once more, and spins the iPod till the chord is loose and shoves the earphones into his respective lobes. He pushes the button and slumps back comfortably, now ignoring me.
The first song was the intro to Absolution, and I can hear it faintly now. I swivel around, still peeved, ignoring him right back.
I'm seriously itching to ask him why he agreed to do Muse. Why did he? WHY?
I seriously doubt he felt bad for blowing up at me; remorse is difficult for him to recognize, I'm sure. So he wouldn't have used my preference as some sort of way to make it up to me. And he didn't protest just now, so it wasn't just a bluff in front of my Mum to avoid telling her what really happened. But that doesn't explain why he wouldn't even consult me first about why he agreed to use them. I mean he didn't even listen to the whole damn song before taking a pee break. Sigh.
He's the most frustrating person in the entirety of frustrations.
I can now hear tinny guitar silently emitting from my Muggle device. The real songs have started.
Whatever. I face my laptop and start to type.
After a minutes of intense research, I've come to realize there is only a book written about Muse, which I've requested to be shipped into my local bookstore. I hope it doesn't take long. I wish they had it in stock, but biographies, especially when unwritten by an actual band member, are generally not best-sellers.
Well, this won't get me very far. One book? I doubt McGonagall has wireless, so she's only going to be able to reference this, listen to some tunes, and take our word for it for what we say in this project.
Sighing, I reach for my book bag beside my desk and grab onto my Arithmancy textbook, deciding I'll practice just for the sake of practicing. I don't feel like reviewing the outline guide just yet; don't need to give myself a heart attack. Besides, I've been too preoccupied with boys and useless drama lately to actually be able to sit down and have a good old work sesh.
With my favourite scarlet quill, I begin to scratch out some real divination. Good old Bridget Wenlock.
After several peaceful minutes of numbers, I receive an out of the blue interruption.
"I don't like this song, Granger," my guest says from behind me.
I roll my eyes and face Malfoy, signalling him with hand motions to get one earphones out so he can hear me. "Click the button on the right of the dial, to the next one, remember? If you want to restart or go back press the left side. And really, give the songs a chance to play," I say irritated.
Doesn't like the song. He better like the songs. He can't just give me my choice and take it away from me, unless that was his big plan. I did agree to let him have his pick first…..why am I such a pushover?
Yes, he had to visit my house. But he's been a totally inconsistent arse, being all witty and actually decent, and then insulting me and yelling at me like I'm his enemy, or Harry or something.
Effing Malfoy.
{}
1) Who is your chosen performer(s)? Include the name, the location, the years he/she/they were active, the period (classical or baroque, for example), and the name(s). Provide a brief description of each of these for you will discuss them further later on.
2) The time period your chosen performer(s) was a participant in is very relevant to how they are received by their audience. How do the perceptions of musicians in said time period affect the outcome of his/her fame, success and/or relatively underground feel?
For example, it was not until the Romantic era that musicians were seen equal to artists, before then they were civil servants, commissioned by people to compose for events; therefore the public view of prestige and general credibility of an artist would be less so before that time.
3) Who is the target audience for this music; did or does the music appeal to a certain cultural mode or class? Any subcultures: Goblins-Gobbers for the Wizarding World or Punks in the Muggle World as an example.
4) Does this audience have any stereotype attached to them for listening to such music, and if so, why do you suppose that the composer/artists/band has that stigma attached?
Ex/ People in the Muggle world who listen to classical music are generally thought to be 'educated', whereas those who listen to something mainstream are merely passive listeners who follow the bandwagon, though that is not always the case.
5) Describe in abundant detail the nature and construction of the music; the instruments often used, the textures, is it on the major or minor scale?, the tone, the harmonies, is it simple of complex?, etc. Don't leave anything out!
6) What kind of themes or messages are the songs attempting to send? (if lyrics are included you may decipher them, otherwise talk about the sound of the music)
IE: Often, musicians would express their emotions, such as displeasure with the government or church, their love for something like nature (note Vivaldi) or nationalism even, through the sounds and instrument they chose to use instead of composing a lyric to it. They did this (in most cases) to disguise any discrepancies with the law should they have a disagreeably stance from the norm, so as to not be blatantly obvious that they were rebelling and avoid jail, heresy, or execution.
7) If any, what contributions has the composer or artist(s)made to their respective music genre? Clarify what the music genre is and…
Oh my god. Don't panic. Do not freak out, Hermione.
I forgot how long this project package was.
Arithmancy was becoming extremely boring; I've been at it for nearly an hour. I studied potions and charms last night before bed and I don't feel like re-reading my history textbook much. So I decided now to scan the instruction sheet. You know, thoroughly peruse it like I normally would. It's proving to rapidly increase my cardiac functions.
There are so many questions! I'm only on the top of page 2….of 5! All of these are designed for people in classical periods like Beethoven and Berlioz, not Muse. I mean, what the devil was I thinking? All the research that we're going to have to find out will be so tedious, and not even worth it because I'm sure that Dean is the only other person in Hogwarts, at least in seventh year, to like them. Everybody won't understand the music, and they'll laugh at me; at us. Malfoy's going to hate me…
Malfoy!
I've been so wrapped and absorbed in these books and sheets, I somehow forgot he was here. Normally I'm completely tense 24/7 at his proximity.
Tuning my eardrums to the room's thumps and bumps, the tinny noise is still apparent. I rotate myself around to face him and…he's sleeping.
He's fallen into my pillows, hand still clutching my iPod, legs splayed, and head tilted to the right. It's a bit adorable, actually, except for the fact that he shouldn't be here; in my room, or in this scenario. He looks innocent and tranquil, like a dog after a long run taking a rest.
This also begs the question; did he find the music that boring?
But no, he's smiling slightly, and he looks….happy.
Why is he so cute?
It's getting increasingly difficult for me to ignore that I find him attractive. I subconsciously find myself attempting to get him to like me, and that will not do.
Because I don't need another catastrophe on my hands. Dean is 100X better in the eyes of Ron and Harry, than Draco Malfoy.
You can't let them control you, rings something in the back of my mind.
Shut it.
He needs to get up; this is a compromising position. If my Dad were to see this….no. Just no. It's one thing for him to be up here when Dad hasn't even met him, but he's lying on my bed. My bed.
Where I sleep. Sometimes naked!
Okay, that's enough. I stand up and hurriedly rush to his side.
Hysteria is playing. I can hear it; it's right in the middle of the chorus.
"Mal-foy, wake u-uppp!" I sing sweetly, while pushing him lightly. Nothing.
I hope he isn't a deep sleeper, I have no idea how long he's been out for. Here I was thinking he was just following my orders and liking the songs because he wasn't complaining. Yeah, right.
I recognize after a few more shoves that he probably can't hear me and is more than likely an auditory sleeper. Vocal stimulation probably helps him wake up or fall into slumber better than movement does. After one last hopeless shake I lean over top of him and pull the buds softly from his ears. When he no longer hears the music, immediately he twitches. His eyes are still closed, but if they were open now he'd be looking straight at me.
I can't help studying his face in such proximity.
His complexion is completely clear; no freckles, no pimples, no moles. I really don't know why I always thought he was hideous. I mean even when girls are atrocious or boys are vile, I can still admit that they may be pretty or – oh my god.
Suddenly his breath hitches, and he turns onto his side. Before I even have time to think about anything, his hands have made their way from the sheets and latched onto my waist. I hear a small moan of pleasure come out of his mouth and then he's pulling me closer and closer to him.
My mind and body are frozen in shock as he inches his face mere centimetres from mine and then touches his lips tenderly to my own. The pit of my stomach decides to backflip a thousand times and my head is dizzy. It's sweet and innocent, and so completely out of character I am at a loss at what to do. So I pull away.
His eyes flutter open at release of the contact.
I was just kissed by Draco Malfoy.
"Fuck."
'Cause I want it now, I want it now, give me your heart and your soul.
I'm not breaking down, I'm breaking out: last chance to lose control.
"Draco, get over here."
Granger is sitting on her bed in only that white towel, giving me the come-hither motion with her finger, her face coy and sexually enticing.
Is this real?
I was just listening to whatever song is playing now, but somehow it's surrounding me without anything in my ears, no connection. Engulfing me whole, overwhelming my senses.
It's a dream, I realize. And it's sexy.
And I want you now, I want you now, I feel my heart implode.
And I'm breaking out, escaping now, feeling my faith erode.
I walk as if a zombie over to her, and as I reach her queen-size, she spreads her legs wide, unraveling the cloth covering her secret bits. She smiles in a way that reduces my legs to jelly, and makes my cock do the opposite.
"Get over here, I said. Do you not want to touch me?"
"Of course I do, Granger –"
"Ah, ah, ahhh – it's Hermione," she points a finger to my lip, biting the nail tip. "But I'll forgive you just this once; who cares about frivolous things such as names? Get next to me so I can touch you."
"Of course, Herrrmione," I purr, relishing the sound that rolls off my tongue. I feel almost dirty saying it.
Obeying my mistress, I place my knee on the bed touching her left thigh, and dangle the other leg off of it, playing with her warm feet. I stare down at her naked beauty and suppress a shudder of desire.
Her breasts are smooth and supple looking. I run my hand over one, teasing her nipple by rubbing it between two fingers. She wiggles and groans with pleasure and I can feel myself getting extremely hard. While I switch tits, I trace my fingertips along her torso, past her bellybutton to her lovely clit. I so long to touch that. As I'm about to feel it though, she grabs my wrists, slams me backwards and pins me to the mattress.
"Not yet." Dominance is fucking delicious. "You have to earn that privilege. I want you to hold me tight and make me want you. Kiss me."
Being the gentleman I pretend to be, I oblige by placing my hands on her slim waist, giving a growl at the softness of her skin. Then with as much effort I can muster I pull her as tenderly as I can towards me and grace her with a kiss. It's spectacular to me, but she doesn't respond.
The music ends.
...
Granger is hovering over me, completely nonplussed. She's breathing heavily. And when I come to my senses and realize my hands are lingering on her sides, I know immediately what I've done.
I've snogged her. In my sleep.
"Fuck!"
I only hope that's the only thing from my dream I did to her…
My heart is beating extremely fast at my mistake, and I can feel my cock still throbbing from what should have been a wet dream. Fortunately, she's not on top of me, so my trouser monster isn't anywhere near her.
I finally decide to do something so I fussily sit up straight, separating myself from her bubble, but not being able to tear my eyes away from hers. Her beautiful brown eyes.
I wonder if she really looks like that naked…Fuck, no!
You don't wish any of those things, you need to leave before you pull her back onto the mattress and suck her face until you can't feel your lips anymore.
I avert my gaze harshly, to avoid my urge to ravage her, and fumble with her bed sheets, waiting for her to back away so I can get up properly. This was not supposed to happen.
Especially not after the events of today. I yelled at her. I fell apart at the seams. When her mother asked us why we were fighting, arguing about the band to research was a natural choice for me to say, but saying we picked Muse just sort of slipped out. Maybe it was a subconscious combination of me wanting her not to hate me, and saving my skin from her wrath later, but seriously.
What was I thinking? Why did I dream that? I thought she was being a total cunt not an hour ago. Or maybe more than an hour ago. What time is it? Fuck, she must've been waking me up, and I just had that fantasy.
Just because she has a nice body doesn't warrant me giving her a smooch. That's romance, not lust.
Oh who the hell cares? I just canoodled with the enemy, or my old enemy. Whatever she is. And now we stand here, stoned into silence at my fuckery.
Say something.
What the hell could I possibly say?
Anything at this point.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed that she isn't on.
"I- I think maybe we should venture back downstairs," is what I finally manage to mutter.
"Downstairs?" she gulps.
"Yes." I get up and straighten my clothes for no apparent reason, trying to figure out what to do with myself, while hiding my thankfully shrinking boner.
"O-okay," she says, and when I sneak a glance at her, she's blushing madly, not repulsed or angry. "What are we going to do down there?"
No idea. "I don't know…maybe we should just call it a day."
"That's fine," she says, looking at the floor. After a moment she asks, "Would you um, like to borrow the iPod?"
"Uhm," I scrunch my face, taken back at the odd question. After all, I just kissed her because of that stupid brain-stimulating song. "Sure?"
She gingerly grabs her device off the bed and tosses it at me. As I catch it, I fumble with it wanting a distraction.
"When would you like to meet again?" Never. Never again.
I just kissed a Mudblood. And it felt good.
More than good. I wanted to do it again.
It felt….never mind.
"Up to you."
"Sunday?" Far too soon.
"That's fine. Same time?"
"Fine."
This smattering of conversation is so formal. I want to know how she's feeling.
But I'm too much a coward to find out.
I feel like I should at least apologise or something. But for the kiss? Would that be offensive?
I walk to her door and turn back to face her. After about a few seconds, I look her in the eyes. Somehow I can do that now, when before I was scared. I dig deep and swallow my pride. "I'm sorry Granger. For yelling at you, and getting a bit...crazy."
I hope it sounds like I meant it.
She stares at me like I'm a test question again.
"I don't understand you at all," she says. She says it inquisitively. She says it and I realize I agree.
"Neither do I," I reply. She raises an eyebrow, looks down at the ground quickly and back up to me, in the divine way that women do. A smile, albeit a small one, slips onto her lips.
"Shall we?" I motion my hand to the door, and I hold it open for her. She gives me a bewildered thank you and walks on through.
Why am I being nice to her? I told myself I wouldn't be. When I am nice to her, she responds back in the same manner; she hasn't a horrible bone in her body. She, unlike me, is polite when it's earned.
But then, girls you dream about and accidentally kiss clearly aren't girls who deserve to be treated badly.
We walk down to the front hall in silence. I look out behind the curtains and the rain has stopped.
Lovely.
Bending slightly to get on my shoes, I speak to her for the last time. "I guess I'll see you later, Granger? What should I do for the project to prepare? Do I need to reread our textbook a thousand times? Examine song lyrics until my brain is fuzzy?"
"No," she blushes once more. "Just listen to the music. Oh!" she suddenly trills and I jump at the high pitched noise.
"It runs on battery."
Battery? "What?"
"The iPod. It runs on battery, not magic. If it says 'low battery', basically if it gets to 20%, just tap it with your wand and say Refoveo : it will recharge it." I feel the device in my pocket and am about to reply, feeling as if I should write the incantation down when a voice slithers in from the other room.
"And what are you two talking about alone in the hallway?" It's Granger's cousin, who keeps attempting to make me compliment or notice Granger for whatever reason. Seriously, bringing over a sexy dress? I already know she's good looking and smart, she doesn't have to remind me…
"Oh, are you leaving?" she asks me, exaggerating a frown on her face.
"Yes, I think we've done all we can for today," In more ways than one.
The frown deepens.
"That's a shame, I think Helen was going to invite you to supper." Huh? "Helen love, your dinner guest appears to be taking off early!" she calls into the depths of the kitchen.
"What! No!" Helen, Mrs. Granger, stalks into the room, eyes wide. "Oh, please don't leave, I know my husband so wanted to meet you. We're leaving you see, tomorrow, and since you'll be coming here -"
"Mum, please, don't make him feel guilty. He has to leave, so –"
Suddenly a door slams shut from the outside and all four of us shoot our heads to the source of the noise. A large blue car has pulled into the drive, and a larger man with a neat moustache and round hat is strolling towards the porch.
"Oh, look, there he is now! He was on a fishing trip with his chums, you see, that's why he wasn't here this morning."
Fishing?
I stand shock still for some reason. Oh no, I'm scared.
What is he possibly going to think of me? Who the hell fishes? That's for poor people and house elves to do, is that considered fun in Muggleland?
I glance at Granger and her eyes are as wide as mine. Good sign, that is.
Oh fuck, he's reached the front mat.
Killlll meeeeeee.
I back away from the door as it creaks open. The stench of cod fills my nostrils and I try not to gag. I've always disliked meat of the pescetarian variety.
Fortunately for me, he barrels past, huffing with a pipe in his mouth straight through to the living room.
"Love! You're back home early," Helen says too happily at her husband.
"The fish were just not having it!" He yells from behind a wall. "And after 5 fucking dreary hours of rain and sitting in a rocky boat we called it a day." Mr. Granger stomps back into the front hall, his hat now gone, but his pipe now lit. The fishy smells are now mingling with tobacco. Disgusting.
He gives his wife a surprisingly gentle peck on the lips, and upon noticing Andrea gives a little squeal of recognition. "Good to see you, love!" he says, and Andrea simply laughs as if his moodiness is characteristic while hugging him.
But of course, that's where Granger gets it. Her menstruation-like rages, that is. Up and down in a snap; I feel like I'm learning too much about this girl.
Good, he hasn't seen me yet. Just keep chatting, come on just -
"Darrell, ahem, remember what we were talking about yesterday?"
"Hmm?"
"About Hermione's guest." Oh fuck, oh shit.
He turns towards me finally and scrunches his face, which turns out to be somewhat handsome. Granger's got good genes, apparently.
I've never been faced with this situation exactly, making a good first impression. I mean, when I met Pansy's parents, they already knew mine. Back when I had a bad (which is good in Slytherin terms) reputation, they loved me, haggled me actually, to someday wed their precious daughter. Clearly, this is not the case here.
I decide to put on my Malfoy face, with less arrogance, and hold out my hand.
"Nice to meet you sir. I'm Draco Malfoy."
He just continues to scrutinize my appearance. My hand is hanging in the air, the balance if you like being dramatic.
I probably look like everything he hates; pretentious upperclassman right here. Tailored pants and jacket, excellent hair cut; fussy, fussy, fuss. I'm guessing he is a man's man, something I've never been, and don't plan on being. I'm too independent for that. If I don't fish or er, do what Muggle men do, I'm worthless to him.
Finally, after what seems like hours of embarrassment, Helen saves me by nudging him forward for being so tactless.
"Darrell Granger," he says, gripping my hand firmly, and probably shaking it for a bit longer than normal. "You're my daughter's school partner?"
I nod, placing my hand to my side, still nervous, but trying to hold my own.
"You must be aware that we're leaving tomorrow night?" Another nod. "All I must say is that if you do anything to my Hermione to upset or disrespect her while we're gone, I'll –"
"Dad!" "DARRELL!" The Granger women both cry in unison. Andrea looks conflicted between amusement and awkwardness. Like a spectator to a couple's public fighting.
I kind of want to slink into a hole in the ground somewhere. I kissed his Hermione without meaning to about 10 minutes ago.
"Sir," he grimaces when I say it, almost disappointed that I didn't dare try using either of his names. "I promise you I-"
"Son, I've heard it all before. I'm a boy after all. I understand what a pretty girl can do to even the most responsible of men, especially one as smart and kind as my Hermione." I hear Granger groan beside me, and I almost want to smirk. She's lucky at least that he cares so much; my parent's would never say something like that about me.
"Just watch out. I'm keeping as close an eye as I can on her."
"I will," I say, and stare straight into his eyes, faltering when my grey dull ones meet the same rich brown as the Mudblood I know. Fuck, I'll never win anything if he shares those peepers with her.
"In any case, I think I should be going now…I feel as if I'm interrupting a happy reunion," I chuckle, attempting to keep the humour in my voice, but the malice out (with difficulty). God, this is the worst day ever to pick a meet for. If she were ever to visit I'd make sure nobody would come barging in.
"I'll walk you out," Granger says, far too sweetly, and I finish tying up my last lace.
"It was pleasant meeting you all," I force, trying to smile. I mean, her mother isn't that bad, but her dad is a buzzkill, and her cousin too loud and eager for me.
"Goodbye, Draco. Have a nice evening," Helen says smiling. Andrea wiggles her fingers at me and winks, causing me to flush, and rendering me speechless because what do you say to that really? What does that mean?
I open the front door, giving a final curt wave, and let Granger out first. This action causing her mother to give a small approving tick, and her father rolling his eyes.
Granger slams the door shut as soon as I step out into the afternoon sun, and heaves a sigh. I sigh too, feeling relieved somehow.
"God, I'm sorry about that. My dad is….well you saw him."
I've never seen her quite so flustered.
"It's alright. It just means he cares, doesn't it?" She looks slightly taken aback, but shakes her head slowly.
"Well, bye then," she says, holding up her hand shyly in a sort of salute.
"See you, Granger. Er, thanks for the iPod I guess. I won't break it."
"I know you won't. And you're welcome. I want you to be capable of doing our project." I smirk; typical. "I guess, uh, I'll see you?" She finishes it as a question, hinting at something, waiting to see if I'll say anything else.
I don't think I'm going to tell her what I was dreaming about, or explain why I kissed her. At least, not yet.
"Bye."
I snake my hand down into my pocket and clutch my wand. With a quick glance around my shoulder, I turn to face her one last time before I disapparate back to my empty home.
I feel the tubes enclose around me, and I wrack my brain to think about where I'm going, because a slip up will not be tolerated again.
Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor, please, please, please, please.
Crunch
I've landed outside my gate, my beautiful familiar gate. This time thankfully on my feet. The hedges are intimidating to some, but to me, they're home. I saunter along the gravel to my huge black wrought-iron entry, but as I step to go past them, I smack my face into the metal. Ow!
My nose is bleeding.
But more importantly, I can't get through.
Excusez-moi?
Okay, maybe just a fluke.
I retrieve my wand, and rub my sore nose. Holding it up in the air, pacing back a few steps, I begin to walk towards the gate. But again, I can't get through.
What the hell?
This is not good. Not good at all!
Thinking frantically I suddenly remember: Peoni!
"Peoni!" I summon.
She has to come, she's a house-elf. She'll let me in; she can can't she?
But after 2 long minutes of wind and birds singing, nothing.
NOTHING.
"PEONI!"
I'm going to kill that damn elf.
How can I be locked out of my own home? Mother's in bloody Cannes! I won't be able to get in for another week. And I need access to an owl in order to reach her.
Where the hell am I going to go?