Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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- Posted: Sun, 22 Mar 2009 00:00:07 +0000
It was quite early in the morning on a hot summer‘s day, and the sun was just making it’s way into the sky. Early rising birds sang throughout the garden, for “Lord” Voldemort had been defeated just three days ago. But all this went without notice as four of the battle’s youngest survivors were trying their hardest to draw out their breakfast for as long as possible in attempt to prolong Hermione’s departure.
“But Hermione, you can’t go by your self!” Ron insisted for the hundredth time with his hands laid out in front of him, palm down, on the old wooden table. Hermione smiled sadly as tears fought their way into her eyes.
“I know, Ron, but I have to. This is something I have to do for myself.” Taking one of his hands in hers, she strengthened her grip on the baby in her lap. She was to go to Australia to see her parents and turn their memories straight again; to turn them from the Wilkins to the Grangers once more. She had missed them and couldn’t wait another day to see them and know that they were okay. At the same time, though, it broke her heart to be leaving her new found family, especially Ron, who she had been so grateful to be dating at long last.
“I understand why you’d want to do this alone, Hermione. I do, but think about it. How many times have I wanted to do something alone and you lot wouldn’t let me? How many times has your company saved my life?” Harry told her consolingly from right next to her with more truth in his words than Hermione wanted to believe. He, too, was having trouble letting the girl he had since the age of eleven seen as his big sister go on such a long journey by herself. “You should at the very least let Ron go with you,” he attempted to persuade, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’d give you some alone time.” He said this with a wink, elbowing her gently in the side causing the four teenagers burst into loud laughter, ceasing only in fear of waking their redheaded parents, who were unaware of Hermione‘s upcoming departure, and the teens wanted to keep that way.
Hermione looked down into the eyes of the child on her lap and smiled again, pulling her hand away from Ron‘s to wipe away a loose salty drop and returning it to his once more. Sure, she had only spent a few days with him, but little Teddy Lupin had grown on her and she was already anticipating the inevitable separation anxiety. His lime-green hair soon sent her into a fit of giggles, as only moments before it had been a fairly normal shade of blonde.
“Do you know how lucky you are?” Hermione addressed Harry without taking her eyes off of the freckle-faced Teddy. Harry didn’t quite know what she meant, barely sure that he was even talking to him. When he didn’t reply, she looked up at him. “I mean sure, he’s not really yours, but for the rest of your life he’ll be your responsibility. It’s a bit surreal, even to me, to think that you’ve become a sort of parent. It‘s like you‘re his dad now,” Hermione explained, her eyes back on the child. And she wasn’t entirely wrong, but as she looked up again into Harry’s scared green eyes, she began to regret what she’d said. Harry was staring at her, completely perplexed, causing Hermione to go on. “But of course you’ve got the whole Weasley family to help for now. And down the line, if you two get married, assuming you do of course,” Hermione rambled nervously, referring to Ginny of course, who didn’t seem to be hearing anything she hadn’t already thought about. Sensing her best friend’s foot in her mouth, Ginny stepped in.
“Hermione’s right, Harry. You’ve always got me and my family to help with Teddy, even after the move to Grimmauld Place. I mean sure, I’ll be at Hogwarts for my last year, but still. We‘re a family, right?” Ginny stared back into her boyfriend’s confused and bewildered face and didn’t know whether to laugh or apologize on behalf of Hermione and herself for ever taking up the subject. Hopeful for a change of subject, she looked up at the clock; the real one, not the Weasley family clock. Her previous smile shrank into a frown. Noticing this, Hermione checked the clock as well. She let out an exasperated sigh.
“I guess we should probably get going,” Hermione groaned, rising from her seat slowly as if a heavy weight on her should were trying to prevent her from doing so.
“Do you have to?” Ron wined, rising as well, and he pulled his loving girlfriend towards him. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Ron, you know full well that I have to leave. If I don’t, I may never see my parents again. They‘re expecting me.” Hermione gave him a feeble smile, leaned in, and began kissing him.
“Alright you two, no snogging in front of the baby,” Harry criticized, taking Teddy from Hermione’s arms. The couple pulled away from each other blushing.
“Sorry, mate,” Ron said, wiping his mouth subtly, Hermione doing the same. He turned to Hermione again. “I still don’t see why you have to fly in that, that-”
“Airplane?” Hermione asked with a laugh at his ignorance. Without waiting for a reply, she went on into explanation. “I’ve told you, Ronald. The “Wilkins” think they’re taking in a foreign exchange student from London for the summer. They’ll be expecting their student, a girl by the name of Hermione Granger, at the airport like the rest of the exchange students. Anything else would seem fraud.” Suddenly, Hermione became overwhelmingly anxious and nervous. “I’m going to see my parents!” she exclaimed in a hushed tone to the room at large, practically bouncing on her feet. It had been about a year since she’d sent them unknowingly on their way.
Ginny smiled warmly. She couldn’t relate to her close friend when it came to spending so much time away from her family. Sure, she also was at school ten months out of the year, but when on break, she was at home with them. Hermione, on the other hand, was usually with the Weasleys for holidays. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel to miss them the way Hermione must miss her parents. She’d never been given the chance. Breaking from her train of thought, Ginny spoke, unintentionally interrupting a conversation that had broken out while she was deep in thought.
“So. Shall we get going then?” she asked in a falsely positive tone. She bent down and picked up one of Hermione’s bags, indicating for the boys to follow her lead. The group simultaneously nodded. Hermione took Teddy’s diaper bag and then him from Harry, and the four, five if including the infant, Apparated to the London Airport. Hermione had to Side-Along Apparated the group, being the only one who knew where it was.
The group of youths found themselves in a deserted floor of the Airport’s parking garage and trudged on down to the main building. The sun now shone brightly, and they began to sweat as they lugged Hermione’s bags along side them. Hermione was busy trying to console the crying baby, while slowly walking in front of the group. He never did like the experience of apparation. She guessed this was because he simply didn’t understand what was going on. Hermione’s slow pace didn’t help the baggage carriers behind her much. They just wanted to check her luggage in already!
“Merlin, Hermione. Did you have to pack so much stuff? How long are you planning to be gone?” Ron complained when they made it to the ticket claim line.
“Honestly, Ron,” Hermione said, growing a tad agitated, but not letting it compromise how much she’s going to miss him. “They think I’m coming for the whole summer. If I show up with just a single bag, they’ll think I’m planning on skipping out on them!” She rolled her eyes as Ron accepted her reasoning and she stepped forward to give her name to the clerk.
Her ticket in hand, the four moved impatiently through the tedious security line and made their way to the gate named on Hermione‘s ticket. They saw that they still had about thirty-five minutes until she was to board the plane, so they each took a seat. Hermione chuckled as she heard and elderly woman from behind them criticize their parenting skills.
“What kind of parent would dye their son’s hair fuchsia?!” the woman said in what they only assumed was supposed to be an undertone to the elderly woman beside her, whom Hermione guessed might be her sister. The women continued staring, wondering which of the two far too young couples the baby belonged to. Catching Hermione’s amused eye, Ginny devised a plan to further entertain the elderly pair.
“Here, Mione, let me see my son,” Ginny said, reaching her arms out to receive Teddy. Harry threw her a confused, shocked glance, which she replied to by tilting her head in the direction of the women, taking the child carefully in her arms, as she was stretching over Harry to do so. Harry looked over and, spotting the spying pairs of eyes, he understood her game. Ginny, being the youngest of the four, thought this would get their attention best, and it was the closest to the truth as they could get.
The scandalized women began whispering amongst themselves, causing the three who caught this to burst into laughter, Ron, not understanding what was so funny, hadn’t been paying any attention to any of this. His focus was on the muggle-filled airport. He was surprised to see that this airport seemed much busier than King’s Cross, which he didn’t think possible. Hundreds and hundreds of muggles, in all shapes and sizes, bustled to their destinations and Ron sat watching them all with immense curiosity.
“Dad would love this place,” Ron said out of nowhere, drawing his group’s attention back to his presence. Ginny looked around as her brother had been doing.
“You’re right. He definitely would love this place,” she told him with a laugh. Never before had the two Weasley siblings seen so many non-magical beings in one location. Harry and Hermione joined in on the laughter, however, they were laughing at their two best friends. Neither believed that their significant other could be so amused by such a normal sight. At least, to them it was normal, having been muggle-raised. But their laughter was cut short when the sound of an intercom being turned on. It was then that they realized that their thirty-five minutes were up.
“Attention all passengers flying to Sydney, Australia: Flight 217 will be boarding shortly. All passengers sitting in rows 19-28 please form a single-file line to board the plane. I repeat: all…” The words reverberated off the walls of their section of the airport as the group listened to these simple but painful words. It was time to say goodbye. Hermione flashed a fake smile and tentatively rose from her uncomfortable metal bench-like seat.
“That’s me,” she told the group weakly, double-checking her ticket as if hoping the row number might change to give her more time. Ron rose with her, pulling her into a tight, intimate hug. He began kissing her as if he’d never see her again, almost scaring the love of his life. She pulled away after a minute or so and, looking deep into his eyes said, “Ron, Honey, you know I’ll be back soon.” She brushed her thumb soothingly over his cheek as if to wipe away an invisible tear and kissed him one last time.
“I love you,” he whispered to her, their foreheads leaning on each other’s as they both looked down at their own feet.
“I love you, too,” she replied, a tear of her own trickling down her smooth skin and finding the corner of her mouth so that she could lick it away. Ever since the final battle, the idea of being separated from one another scared the two of them. If they thought Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would let them, they’d share a room just for the sake of not being away from one another. The thought of Hermione leaving for an unknown amount of time pained them both.
Ginny had to gently lead her brother away from the crying passenger in order to say her own goodbyes, soon followed by the cool and collected Harry Potter, who embraced her lovingly, following with a quick kiss on the cheek. With one last kiss on Teddy’s forehead and a ruffle of his now-turquoise hair, Hermione picked up her carry-on bag, the rest having been checked in when she got her ticket, and boarded the plane. She refused to look back, knowing that she’d only cry harder.
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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- Posted: Sun, 22 Mar 2009 03:30:47 +0000
Chapter 1: Hermione’s Arrival
“Draco! Draco, get down here!” Narcissa Malfoy shouted up from the bottom of a white marble staircase to her son, her hand rested on the elegantly carved railing. She subconsciously let her finger trace the snake engraved prestigiously into it. A few moments’ silence, followed by the sound of quick, heavy footsteps brought the white-blonde haired seventeen-year-old Draco Malfoy to the last few steps, his new dragon-hide shoes clapping loudly on the tile flooring, causing an echo to reverberate throughout the empty hallway. He looked down at his mother with annoyance as if angry for being interrupted or perhaps woken against his will.
“What?” he asked with evident irritation.
“I’ve brought you a gift, Draco,” his father announced coldly, appearing half-way from around the corner from the drawing room. Draco looked at him skeptically, stepping down the last few steps.
“What are you talking about?”
Lucius took a large step forward bringing himself completely into the room, his newly exposed hand gripped tightly around the arm of a crying damp-haired brunette of about the same age as Draco, an angry yet fearful expression painted on her tear-stained face.
Draco looked at her with both confusion and interest. “The mudblood?” he asked. The proud father smiled wickedly at his son’s choice of words.
“We‘ll be holding her here,” Lucius explained.
“Holding her here? For how long?” Draco looked from the girl to his father and back again with an even more confused expression. What would the known Death Eater want with an eighteen-year-old muggleborn girl? He refused to think upon it, deciding he might not want to know.
“For as long as it takes!” When his son didn’t seem to comprehend, he decided to better explain. “Potter will come running to rescue his precious little mudblood, and when he arrives, I‘ll be able to avenge the Dark Lord‘s death.” His voice was smooth and vicious and made Draco’s skin crawl. Lucius peered down at the teenage girl beside him who refused to meet his gaze with a look of total disgust.
“Avenge his death? What are you playing at? And how do I factor into this?” Draco questioned his father with a raise voice, immediately regretting it. Lucius’s eyes thinned as he turned his attention to his disrespectful son.
“I’m a very busy man, Draco! I do not have time to sit around and baby-sit while we wait for that nit-wit Potter to show up!” His exclamation caused everyone in his presence to jump an inch or so, the young girl to cry even harder.
“Great, so I have to do it?” Draco mumbled under his breath, to which his father took no notice.
“Well,” Mr. Malfoy continued after a moment’s silence. “Do remember, we need to keep the girl at a close watch and alive if we expect the ‘Chosen One’ to come for her. That,” he said to his son, “Will be your job.” With that, he pushed the girl forward where she slammed into Draco’s chest, her hands blocking her face from him, and strode away, followed closely by his nervous looking wife.
Once both his parents were out of the room, Draco looked down his nose at the girl before him, a significant amount taller than the girl who’d hurriedly taken a long step back and was looking at him as though afraid he might hurt her.
“Granger,” he said to her with a greedy smirk. She straightened herself, standing tall and proud the way she was known for. He could see the remnant of a relatively deep cut across the front of her neck. He remembered how she got it. He had been there. She looked about as distraught then as she did now, and for similar reasons.
“Malfoy,” Hermione Granger replied matter-of-factly while fighting back a sob; she wiped her tears away on the back of her index finger. Then she nervously looked down to check that her towel was still in place around her still dripping petite body, pushed back the soaked hair which clung wildly around her face, and crossed her arms over her chest as if offended. She refused to allow her honey brown eyes to make contact with his steel blue ones, as though such a thing would be below her.
“Where are your clothes?” he demanded of her, eyeing her in an amused fashion. He was able to assume by the way she clung to her towel that she was wearing nothing underneath. She felt his eyes on her and looked up at him violently.
“You think your father gave me time to pack?” she snapped at him, sniffling back a few more tears. The two stared lividly at each other for about a minute before he spoke again. Hermione couldn’t help but look around in awe at the marvelous mansion she found herself standing in. The walls were an elegant eggshell white, and the tiles were white marble with just and inch or so of the corners cut off diagonally, replaced by a small black square tile. She knew they must own at least one house elf, as the place was spotless. The walls were decorated with portraits of presumable Malfoy ancestors and other important relations. Draco became tired of watching her judge his home and consequentially, his family.
“Come on,” he ordered her with sudden inspiration as to what to do with her next, though lacking the intimidation he had intended. He grabbed her arm much as his father had done and pulled her up the stairs with him. A few steps up she freed her arm from his grip, and realizing that she was still following him, he didn’t reach for it again.
Hermione continued to look around, noticing that the second floor of this glorious manor was much like the entrance hall. Draco led her into a dark and almost eerie bed chamber, the furniture covered in large white sheets, as might be traditional if the occupant had passed away. ‘Oh!’ The realization came over her suddenly, making her want to hit herself in the head for not realizing so right away. ‘This must have been Bellatrix’s room.’
Draco used his wand to remove the solid white sheets. It wasn’t until he magicked the curtains open letting the sun shine in that the several large pieces of dark stained wooden furniture were revealed. A queen sized bed with a headboard that went half way to the ceiling, a matching wardrobe, a full length mirror next to a door she assumed led to a connected bathroom, an armchair, and a matching desk and chair. The room suddenly felt less eerie. Draco went to the wardrobe and pulled the old creaking door open. Inside, she could see what looked like all the clothes she had packed for her trip to Australia. Needless to say, she was shocked.
“Well would you rather stay naked?” Draco asked her with a suggestive grin.
At this, Hermione joined him by the wardrobe and pulled out a black halter and tight-fitting faded blue jeans. Opening a drawer at the bottom, she retrieved a pair of underwear. ‘What a perve!’ she exclaimed inside her head. ‘The nerve of some people! As if I would want to be naked in front of that prat a moment longer!’
“Happy?” he asked her sarcastically. ‘As if I really care.’
“Close enough,” she answered with a glare at the boy before her as she stepped into the bathroom to change into them. Returning from the elegant yet small room, Hermione rolled her eyes with a loud sigh, not bothering to thank him, and sat down in a large, overstuffed armchair. She stared unseeingly at the wall opposite her and pretended to examine the painting that hung there.
“So what now?” she asked Draco without taking her gaze off the wall, her eyes bloodshot though she was no longer crying. “We just sit here until Harry gets here? That might not be for weeks. I was-” She stopped. ‘It’s none of his business what I was doing,’ she thought to herself. “I was on vacation. He won’t know I‘ve gone missing.” Her last sentence was spoken quickly and with an air of carelessness as if having almost found the situation amusing.
“Whatever you say, Mudblood,” Draco snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. He stood a few feet away from the wet girl not really knowing what to do with himself. Hermione stuck out her tongue in a childish fashion in his direction, which he returned just as childishly.
“So what do you Malfoys do for fun around here, anyways?” Hermione asked lazily in mock interest, trying to make light of a situation that was anything but.
“What?” Draco asked in surprise and slight confusion, an eyebrow raised. He couldn’t understanding why she was making being held captive by a family of Death Eaters out to be no more then an unpleasant family reunion she was forced to attend.
“Well isn’t a babysitter supposed to entertain their sittee?” she asked, throwing him a sly smile that expressed how much fun she was having making him miserable. She had decided that he was unworthy of seeing her in her vulnerable state. She would have to mourn in private. Sadly enough, she was almost used to being in such predicaments, and it was getting rather old.
‘I know how we could entertain each other,’ Draco thought to himself slyly. Blood status never meant much to him when it came to one thing, so long as she was in fact a witch. He couldn’t deny that he liked the way the black halter fit her, exposing just the bottom of her flat stomach. The jeans were a nice touch, too. ‘She does have a fantastic a**!’ However, he never did answer her question, as Draco would rather change the subject.
“What on earth were you doing when my father found you? Cleaning up after a hot and heavy session with those boyfriends of yours, Potter and Weasel?” He asked purely for the sake of getting under her skin. It‘s all he could assume, taking notice of her still-wet and still rather frizzy hair. It had tamed quite a bit over time, especially now that she was of age to use magic to make it lie smooth and flat. Draco stopped himself from laughing when he noticed her eyes send daggers in his direction. He watched cautiously as her stern brown eyes flooded with tears. She tried to hold them back, but it was more than she could take. How dare he accuse her of having an affair with both her best friends. Sure, she was dating one, but only one. “Bloody hell,” he complained, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her bawl. He was now regretting his question, though he did nothing to comfort her.
After ten minutes or so of the two sitting in silence, Hermione crying, Draco wishing she’d stop, a house-elf who’s identity was unknown to Hermione appeared in the room before them.
“Lu-lunch is ready, Master Malfoy,” the waist-high female elf stuttered in a high, squeaky voice.
“Found yourself a new slave, have you?” Hermione snipped at Draco, sniffling again as she looked up and wiped away her tears at last. With a dirty look in her direction, he rose from the bed on which he had been sitting for the last five minutes. He began to walk towards the door and when the sound of her doing the same went unheard, he turned to her.
“Are you coming or not?” With that, along with another evil glare from the teenage girl, the three headed downstairs to the dining room.
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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- Posted: Sun, 22 Mar 2009 21:50:57 +0000
Chapter 2: New Rules
The family of three seated themselves in what Hermione could only assume to be their usual seats, Lucius at the head of the very long, antique-looking rectangular table, his wife on the far end opposite him, and Draco on the side, leaving her the seat across from him. She tentatively pulled the tall-backed chair out and slipped into it, discomforted by Lucius Malfoy’s revolted stare. The dining room was much larger than ones she had been used to, with the exception of the house tables at Hogwarts, of course. A large dinette showcased the family china and the table was set elegantly before them. Looking up, she could see a crystal chandelier providing the whole room with a soft glow, joined by the natural sunlight the afternoon provided.
She let out a displeased huff as the fidgety elf laid platters of food in front of them and scurried off again, but couldn’t help but notice how enticing the steaming chicken soup and roasted potatoes looked and smelled. The four witches and wizards sat in silence throughout the duration of the meal. When he was finished, Draco caught Hermione’s eye. At first she didn’t know what he wanted, then after catching the drift, she gladly agreed to get away from the adults. The two teens rose to return upstairs.
“Okay, do you seriously expect me to spend every waking moment with you?” Hermione mumbled to Draco’s ear as they went to leave the room.
“Sleeping, too,” she heard Lucius Malfoy’s dragging voice call behind them. They both stopped in their tracks, turning as though on their heels to face him again.
“What are you talking about?” the two said in unison. The middle-aged tall blonde man flashed a smug grin.
“We can’t let her escape, can we? You’ll keep her under a 24 hour watch,” Lucius explained to his son, who stared at him in disbelief.
“But father, you can’t really think- She‘s your prisoner, not mine and I-”
“-Not another word, Draco,” Lucius said sharply, but calmed himself to say, “Don’t tell me we have to test your loyalties again.” Draco knew his father was referring to the end of his sixth school year, when he was unable to fulfill his task, but he also remembered his last interaction with Harry Potter, where Harry saved his life for no reason at all. With a single short nod, Draco gripped Hermione’s arm yet again and pulled her out of the room.
“When he said ‘24 hour watch’, he didn’t really mean, 24 hour watch, did he?” Hermione asked Draco when they were in his room and out of earshot.
“Get over it, Granger. We’re stuck with each other.” Draco replied, regretting the truth in his words, and closed his door behind them. Hermione watched him close his door and couldn’t help but feel in danger trapped in a room with him. She gave him a rude smirk to hide this.
Their afternoon was long and uneventful, mainly consisting of Hermione watching in boredom as Draco swam in the lake, but dinner was far different.
“I think it’s time we set some ground rules for our, visitor,” Lucius said to his wife and son as if Hermione was not seated at the table with them, drawing out his last word as he glanced in her direction hatefully.
‘Well it’s not like I came knocking on your door for a place to stay,’ Hermione thought to herself bitterly.
Lucius went on.
“Firstly, we can’t have anyone knowing that she’s here. That means no guests until further notice.” The man eyed his family to see that they understood before continuing. “Second, Draco, you know I have a life to live and job to do, so you will be in charge of the girl. Don’t let me down,” Lucius warned slowly to let him soak in the information. “Cissy, dear, wasn’t there something you wanted to add?” he asked his wife, concluding his speech. Narcissa gave a half smile and turned to the girl.
“Young lady, there is a name we Malfoys like to uphold. Seeing as how you might be here for a while, it’s impertinent that you obey the same rules that Draco, here, has to. You will not bring shame to the family name,” Narcissa reprimanded.
Hermione couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Bring shame to the family name? This coming from the most well known family of Death Eaters Great Britain had ever seen? But the young girl knew better that to express such a topic out loud. She had been tortured in this house before, and was not looking to have it happen again.
“Yes Ma’am. I understand,” Hermione told the woman with a single stiff nod. The woman went on.
“You are to attend every meal, no exceptions. Breakfast at eight-thirty, lunch at twelve-thirty, and dinner at five. The only time this changes is on Sundays, where we have brunch at eleven-thirty.” Narcissa looked expectantly at the young girl, who took this as her cue to reply.
“Got it,” Hermione stated simply yet respectfully.
“I take it, Draco, that you have taken the liberty of retrieving Miss Granger’s belongings. Where did you put them?” Draco’s father asked and took a bite of his roasted turkey while awaiting his son’s reply. Draco looked sort of confused. ‘Why does it matter?’ he questioned in his head.
“In Aunt Bella’s room,” Draco answered questioningly, as though his father was asking what two and two made. He tore off a piece of his buttered bread and bit off a piece. With the food still in his mouth, he asked, “Why?”
“Well think a moment, won’t you Draco. How do you suppose you’ll keep a twenty-four hour watch on the girl if she’s sleeping down the hall from you?” Lucius asked his son incriminatingly, who looked as though he’d been smacked upside his head.
‘This must be a joke,’ the teenage boy told himself. “Well where do you want her, then?” Draco asked his father rather boldly, slightly irritated for being made to look like a fool in front of Hermione. He had held his blood-status over her head for several years, and had always thought of himself as having the upper hand on her. He didn’t want her to think any less of him now. It would have all been a waste.
“In your room of course,” Lucius said simply, knowing but not caring how angry he was making his son; he deserved it, in his father‘s eyes, for failing his task in his sixth year at Hogwarts. Draco could feel his face heat up as his blood began to boil.
“Father, this is ludicrous!” the boy exclaimed. “You can’t honestly expect me to share a room with that stuck-up Gryffindor Princess!”
Hermione almost laughed at loud. Sure, she had heard the name from people before, but never from him. He was actually setting her as an equal, whether realizing it or not, for he was in fact the Slytherin Prince.
“Where is she supposed to sleep? There’s only one bed!” Lucius didn’t bother to reply. He could practically count down from three in anticipation of his son’s revelation. He wasn’t disappointed. “You’re mad!” Draco exclaimed, rising from his seat and throwing his silver cloth napkin onto his dish.
He went to storm away but after a few step found himself incapable of going any further. It was as though an invisible wall was preventing him from continuing. Draco clenched his hands into fists and turned on the spot back to facing his father, his eyes on fire, his blood boiling.
“Lucius, you didn’t-”
“Hush, Narcissa.” Lucius dismissed his wife with a raised palm to silence her. “You will not be able to move more than ten feet from one another.” With that, Lucius motioned for his son to retake his seat, which the boy did only grudgingly. No one seemed to notice the girl sitting at the table with them, nor the horrified look on her face.
‘They can’t really expect me to share a room and bed with him. It’s not right. It’s immoral. It’s insane. Draco’s right, they’ve gone mad!’ The meal was finished in silence.
Once upstairs for bed, Hermione took in the room, which contained several large wooden antique-looking pieces of furniture, much like those in his aunt’s room, only with different crafting on them. Each one seemed to sport dragons and snakes intertwined together artistically. There was a king-sized bed, wardrobe, desk with chair, and miscellaneous items placed decoratively throughout the room. It wasn’t messy, as she had expected, but then again she also supposed that was likely the house elf’s doing. The large paneled window had a wide ledge for sitting, which was covered in black and silver alternating velvet pillows. It’s long black curtains were still pulled back, and she could see the starry sky outside.
Draco looked to her, to his room, and to her again. She seemed entranced. ‘Dumb Mudblood. Bet she’s never been anywhere this elegant before,’ he commented rudely to himself. Draco summoned Hermione clothes into his room and the two changed into their night clothes, Hermione in the bathroom, Draco on the other side of the door. Hermione stepped out of the bathroom in her sweatpants and fitted tee and looked at the boy in front of her.
“Well?” he asked, motioning to his bed. She climbed into the bed, though quite reluctantly.
Draco couldn‘t help but subtly stare at how nicely the small pockets on the back of her pants made her rear end stand out. Not to mention how her shirt left just an inch or two of her stomach showing, her tanned skin accented by the bright white cotton. “This is not going to be easy,” Draco mumbled to himself irritably, climbing in after her and turned onto his side. ‘I better be able to get something out of this,’ he said inside his head as he felt the girl beside him shift under the covers.
“Yes, cause I’m just as happy about it as you are,” she retorted and turned onto her side so that their backs were to each other‘s. Her mind was flooded with images of the people she’d rather be with at that moment. Her mother and father whom she had never truly said goodbye to, and now never would. To Harry and Ron, who were likely to be up in their room joking with each other lightheartedly, the thought that something might be wrong far from their minds. To Ginny, the best friend who would be awaiting the return of the roommate she so enjoyed gossiping with late at night as they lay in their neighboring beds. A single tear fluttered down her smooth cheek and onto her fluffy black pillow, a giant silver “D.M.” embroidered on the center, and she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep.
In what felt like a split second, Hermione found herself rising out of a glittering blue pool and reaching for a warm, fluffy towel. She walked over to her parents who laid on matching chaise lounges, holding their hands to their foreheads to blocking out the sun to better see their host-daughter, still unaware of the fact that she was in fact their own daughter.
“Well, Miss Granger, ready to go have brunch?” Mr. Wilkins/Granger asked her hopefully. He was clearly hungry. Hermione laughed and nodded as her parents rose and collected their belongings from the short plastic table between them. The three exited the poolside through a steel gate and headed inside the Wilkins‘ large while humble home.
“I just need to wash the chlorine out of my hair before we go,” Hermione called to her parents behind her, making her way to the bathroom before they had completely entered the house.
She closed the bathroom door behind her and began running the water while she removed her towel and untied the top to her simple violet bikini top. Once nude, she pulled back the shower curtain and placed one foot into the tub. She heard the faint sound of a knock at the front door. With a dismissive shake of the head, she ignored it and stepped the rest of the way into the shower. The warm water welcomed her after the chilly swim and she allowed it to run over her body and through her hair when suddenly she heard her father raise his voice. As this was very uncharacteristic of him, she shut off the water to listen more closely.
"What do you want with us?” Her father was then saying nervously. Hermione stepped out of the shower, wrapped herself in a towel, and reached for her wand, which had been left on the sink before she’d left for the pool earlier that morning. She didn’t pay any attention to the water that was dripping from herself onto the tile floor.
“Step aside, you foolish muggle filth,” demanded a familiar, hateful voice.
“Malfoy? It can’t be? Not here!” Hermione whispered to herself. She opened the door to the bathroom just enough to see a dark cloaked figure raise a wand in his hand. With a flash of green light, Mr. Wilkins/Granger’s limp body fell to the floor, followed immediately by a woman’s scream and another green flash as her body joined her husband’s.
“No!” Hermione shouted, appearing from the bathroom, her wand raised, but she wasn’t quick enough.
“Expelliarmus!” Lucius Malfoy shouted and Hermione’s wand flew from her hand and into his own. She didn’t have time to comprehend the scene before she felt a hand grip her tightly and felt the familiar feeling of being sucked through and inch-wide tube. She was disapperating, but to where? When her feet landed on a solid surface she soon recognized as marble tiles, it wasn’t long before she concluded that she must be back at the place she had been held and tortured and almost killed just months before. The memory alone brought her hand to her throat as she felt the remainder of the scar with the tips of her fingers. She was at the Malfoy Manor. It seemed fit that she could say she would never walk willing into a house like this, and ironically, this was her second time in it, both being against her will. She then paid notice to Lucius’ firm grip on her arm. It hit her all at once. Her parents were dead. She had been kidnapped. There was no getting away.
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- Posted: Tue, 24 Mar 2009 13:05:24 +0000
I'm going to be honest with you....at first I wanted to laugh at this when I read the Title...but it is very interesting *nods*
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- Posted: Sun, 12 Apr 2009 17:41:58 +0000
The story's so cool! biggrin I can't wait to find out what happens next.
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- Posted: Sat, 18 Apr 2009 00:42:55 +0000
I really like it!! Please please pleeease post more soon!!!!!
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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- Posted: Sat, 18 Apr 2009 21:26:30 +0000
Chapter 3: Four Move Fool’s Mate
“She should have found them by now.” Ron paced up and down his room late one night as Harry sat at the foot of his bed, watching.
“Come on, Ron. I’m sure she’s alright. She told us herself she was safe in Sydney with her parents. She was ecstatic. She‘s probably just wrapped up in being with them again. Can you blame her?” Ron sighed, though as he began to speak again, Harry could still hear the panic in his voice.
“I just don‘t like that we haven‘t heard from her since then. I mean, she promised to write daily, and we haven‘t heard from her in two whole weeks! Something‘s wrong.” His last sentence was no longer panicky, but an irrational calm.
Harry shook his head to himself. He wouldn’t admit it, not wanting to give Ron reason to freak out more than he already was, but he was beginning to agree. Something had definitely gone wrong. The thought terrified him.
~~~ At The Manor ~~~
Hermione tossed and turned in the queen-sized bed she‘d grown almost accustomed to, a no-longer sleeping Draco beside her. The first week of her presence, he found this annoying. But now, after almost two weeks, he was saddened by it. She had yet to tell him what these apparent nightmares were about and it was beginning to worry him. Draco shook his head at the thought that he might even care. ‘She’s just a stupid little mudblood,’ he thought to himself as he attempted to shake her awake. ‘Yeah, a stupid mudblood who saved one of your best mates’ lives,’ another part of him debated.
“Granger! Granger, wake up!” he called into her ear with an edge to his voice. Hermione’s eyes shot open and the usual tears began to fill them. Draco shook his head again. “Come on,” he said to her a bit more gently. Her tears bothered him, and the last thing he wanted to do was make things worse. “Breakfast,” he told her simply.
“Yeah. Right. Sorry,” Hermione said to him, whipping the wetness from her eyes quickly as if not wanting them to have been there in the first place. They climbed out of bed and dressed for the day. Hermione put on a short jean skirt that looked as though it had been hand-cut to that length, the edges frayed, and a blue fitted cotton-tee, low cut with a white lace cami underneath. He hated how she dressed. It was as if she was deliberately dressing in a way she thought would tease him the most. ‘I bet she is,’ he pondered to himself bitterly when she came out of the bathroom, her hair and makeup done. ‘One of these days, I swear I’ll make her pay for this!’
Hermione stepped out of the bathroom and paused when she laid eyes on the tall, masculine form that was Draco. He had on a pair of dark but faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt that formed to his built biceps. ‘He might be an arse, but he’s a good looking one, that’s for sure,’ she thought to herself with a shake of the head. She almost laughed out loud at her next thought. ‘Apparently he thinks the same about me, judging by the way his mouth is gaped open. Then again, he hasn’t had Pansy here to relieve him in at least two weeks. Poor guy. I’m so glad I’m a girl.’ Hermione let slip a small giggle, but luckily for her, it went unnoticed.
“Shall we go then?”
The two walked downstairs to the large dining room for yet another awkward meal. They had grown into a routine, though neither of them were able to grasp the general idea of the situation. This was Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger! Sworn rivals, forced into lives revolving around one another; them being each other’s only entertainment and company. Draco couldn’t even see his girlfriend, not that he minded, as she was an annoying leach, but she was good for one thing. One thing he was growing quite anxious to get again.
“Draco. Miss Granger.” Came the cold voice of Lucius once they’d gotten to the table. Hermione flashed him what she intended to be a smile but came out as more of a twitch of the mouth, and she took her usual seat. Draco took his as well, and was soon forking scrambled eggs into his mouth.
Hermione was beginning to know how Harry had felt all those years he had been forced to stay with his aunt and uncle at number four, privet drive. She felt as if the Malfoys had grudgingly taken her into their home, and it was all her own fault. ‘As if I actually want to be here?’ she thought. They had forced her into it. Well, Lucius had, at least.
“What?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence. Draco had been staring at her, and only now did he come to realize it.
“Huh? Er, nothing.” Draco’s face reddened and he turned it down to his plate so she would not see. ‘What am I going to have to do to get this chick in bed? And for more then just sleep, damn-it!’ To his relief, she accepted this with a shake of the head and roll of the eyes and returned to her breakfast.
For a few days now, Draco had made up his mind that he was going to use Hermione’s presence to his full advantage, but he was finding more difficult that he had anticipated. He needed to devise a plan, a way to get on the same playing field as the vixen who sat before him. For the past two weeks she had flaunted herself in front of him. She was determined to make him pay for keeping her here, and knew just how to do it. She was clever though, more clever than he wanted to give her credit for. She would only play her little game in the privacy of their bedroom, or out in the yard when no one was around. She was no fool, and across the table, she sat devising her own little plan.
Hermione smiled inwardly to herself as she took a bite of her sausage. ‘It’s working. He can’t keep his eyes off of me. If I keep this up, he’s bound to break soon. If I’m going to be miserable in this damn place, so is he!’ Yes. Hermione, sweet, brilliant Hermione was once again up to something, and one of those things was hiding her feelings. She had never been one to hide her feelings before, bursting into tears at the slighted of problems, but not now, no. Not here at the Malfoy Manner. Here she was a different woman. A strong woman. Dare she say it, a Malfoy, and as such, she was becoming just as conniving as her old schoolmate. How dare he keep her here. How dare he, after she and her friends saved him and Goyle from the fire that the dit, Crabbe, had created, killing himself in the process! If it weren’t for her, Harry, and Ron, all three would be dead! Need she remind him that they had nearly died in saving their two arch nemesis’? Those loathsome Slytherins? ‘For once in his life, he’s going to see something, want something, and will never, ever get it!’ The worked up teenage girl was so deep in her own thoughts, she didn’t notice Narcissa catch her husband’s eye, making him speak up.
“Shouldn’t Potter have come looking for you by now?” he asked as politely as he could bare. Hermione paused for a moment, placing her fork back on her dish before answering. Her etiquette had improved quite a bit since her arrival at the manor, and she was sitting straight up in her seat. Back at the Burrow she would surely be mocked for such pompous behavior, as the only member of the Weasley family to act in such a way was Percy.
“Assuming he knows I’m missing, he probably doesn’t know where to look. You didn’t leave any evidence to where I am,” she told him in an unusually small voice, afraid of giving him the “wrong answer”, though she looked him directly in the eyes.
“Well this just won’t do at all,” Lucius said to no one in particular, returning his glance to his wife as if asking what to do now.
“Should we write him?” Narcissa asked cautiously. She wasn’t sure if this was the suggestion he was looking for, but it was all she had.
“Would you like me to write him, Father?” Draco asked with a dangerous smile. Hermione looked up at him at the sound of these words, her eyes begging him not to continue. But he only widened his smile and went on. “I’m sure he’d love to hear from his favorite old schoolmate.” His voice rang with sarcasm. His father smiled wickedly, liking what he’d heard. He had trained his son well after all, as far as he was concerned.
“Very well, Draco. Do it tonight. And make sure to tell him to come alone. It would be a disgrace to the Dark Lord to spill more wizarding blood than necessary.” He finished and the room fell back into silence. Hermione sat playing with her food, her appetite gone, her mind deep in thought.
For the first time since her arrival, Hermione was scared by what she had just heard. ‘Harry can’t come for me. It’d be suicide!’ She couldn’t allow this to happen, but how she would stop it she didn’t know.
A few hours later, Hermione was helping the house elf she now knew as Tisby scrub the kitchen floor after telling Draco that if she was going to be watched by the poor slave, she might as well make herself usefully. Draco sat on the black marble kitchen counter as far away from her as he was capable of being, a roll of parchment on his lap, and a quill in his hand, his owl seated beside him. He dipped the quill into a bottle of dark green ink and began to write:
I’ve got the mudblood, and if you want her, you’ll need to come get her. Do it soon, because as much fun as I’ve been having with her, and believe me, I’m having fun with her, I don’t plan on keeping her around much longer. Come alone, or the girl dies.
I’ve got the mudblood, and if you want her, you’ll need to come get her. Do it soon, because as much fun as I’ve been having with her, and believe me, I’m having fun with her, I don’t plan on keeping her around much longer. Come alone, or the girl dies.
Draco read the letter repeatedly, then, finding it as close to satisfactory as it could get, he rolled it up, tied it with a scrap of leather, and gave it to his owl sending it on it’s way. He figured that the worse of a situation Harry thought Hermione was in, the sooner he’d come to her rescue. The seventeen year old boy let out a heavy sigh then jumped down from the counter, walking over to the two females.
“Granger!” Draco’s sudden appearance had gone unnoticed and his call caused both Hermione and the elf to jump.
“Jeez! Malfoy, what do you want?” she asked him, dropping her scrub brush into a bucket of dirty soap water. She rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her skirt, and looked up at him, brushing some loose hair from her face.
“Care for a game of Chess?” he asked with a smirk. She looked at him suspiciously, but agreed.
In the drawing room Draco had set up the board on a small wooden table placed directly between two large red leather chairs, both positioned facing each other. He held out his hand, indicating for her to sit down, and sat opposite her.
“You do know how to play, right?” he asked her humorously, as if ready to make fun of her should her answer be no. She looked down at the set. It almost perfectly resembled the set Ron had, only it looked a lot newer and better cared for. ‘Wizard’s chess.’ She’d never played before, but knew the rules were exactly the same as muggle chess, which she knew how to play quite well.
“Of course,” she answered strongly and took her seat.
“Mudbloods first,” Draco indicated the board to her in a falsely polite manner. Hermione sneered at him and, with her eyes still on him, took her turn. She smiled as she watched him consider her move for a long moment and tentatively made his own. However, once his turn was taken he sneered right back at her in full confidence. With her poker-face in place, she pretended to stall before moving her next piece.
“So, Granger,” he started up in hope of driving her attention away from the game.
“Yes, Malfoy?” she replied casually. She wasn’t falling for it, but thought it might be fun to make him believe so.
“Missing your Weasel and Scarhead yet?” he asked with an evil smirk, feeding on her momentary flash of anger.
“Well of course I am,” she replied in a very collected manner. “It’s your turn,” she reminded him, turning the attention back to the game.
“Oh. Right,” he mumbled and searched for a smart move. “So which one are you dating?” He made his turn, and Hermione smiled. She had him right where she wanted him.
“What?” she asked and made her move just as he pulled his hand away from the board. He looked terrified. The only thing he could think to do was to continue the conversation.
“Well you must be dating one of them, right? Living with them too, for that matter?” It was a lucky guess. He made the only move he didn’t think would hang himself and sat back in his chair, confident that she was stuck.
“Um. Yeah. Ron. And we’re all living at the Burrow, though we’ll be moving soon,” she told him carelessly and moved one last piece. “Oh, and Check Mate.”
Draco’s face turned sour. That was impossible. He leaned back in and examined the board carefully. It was true.
“That can’t be,” he mumbled to himself. Hermione couldn’t help but smile. “How- How did you do that?” Her smile grew.
“It’s called Fool‘s Mate. Don’t tell me you don’t know it,” she smirked in a way he was sure only he knew how to do.
“My head wasn’t in it,” he excused himself and leaned back in his chair once more. Hermione did the same.
“So how much longer d’you think you guys are going to keep me here?”
“What makes you think ‘we’re’ keeping you here at all?” Hermione looked a him questioningly, which Draco noticed. He leaned in close to her so that she could hear him properly. “Let me make this clear. I-Had-Nothing-To-Do-With-This. Moreover, I-Want-Nothing-To-Do-With-This.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione didn’t understand. ‘What does he mean he had nothing to do with this? Of course he did. He just wrote the letter to Harry. He wanted to write the letter to Harry!’
“Oh, believe me, Princess, there’s nothing I’d like more then to be stuck at home with you for weeks on end, but believe me, my father dragged me into this” he told her after leaning in even closer to make sure he was heard.
“So why the hell have you been watching me like a hawk?! Why haven’t you just left me leave?!” Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She had been stuck at the Manor for almost three weeks, and was now finding out that she might not have to have been. She was angry. She was confused.
“Would you keep it down!?” Draco snapped in a hushed tone, genuinely worried that his father might hear them. “You’re not the only one who’s neck’s on the line here! I don‘t give two shits what kind of blood you've got, but my father- My father would kill us both, my mother and me, without hesitation if he knew we weren't going to help avenge the Dark Lord‘s death!” Hermione went silent.
“I- I didn’t realize you’d been forced into this,” Hermione told him in a small voice about a minute later. “I shouldn’t have given you such a hard time.” Draco shook his head at her words.
“Don’t go there, Granger. I don’t need you going all soft on me.” Hermione smiled. He was so stubborn it was amusing.
“We really don’t have to hate each other, you know. We could, at least, we could try, to be friends,” she said awkwardly, not sure how he’d react. Draco shrugged.
“I guess,” he said sheepishly. He wasn’t about to admit that he wouldn’t mind being friends with a mudblood. Inside, he had ulterior motives. ‘Friends is one step closer to lovers,’ Draco confirmed for himself. Little did he know, his little vixen had already come to this conclusion. ‘I’ll have him right where I want him. If he thinks that telling me he’s on my side will make things easier, make me easier, he’s is so wrong.’
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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Chapter 4: The Unnerving Swim
If sharing a bed with her worst enemy was awkward, it was nothing compared to sharing one with an enemy turned friend. Hermione laid on her back in complete silence, wondering if Draco had fallen asleep yet or not. The next phase in her evil plan had begun, and she wasn’t sure if she knew what to do next. She listened to his steady breathing. He wasn’t as bad as she had always thought. Or perhaps he had just changed. ‘Could a Death Eater really change?’ The question raced through her head, along with many more for several hours before she drifted off to sleep.
For the first night since it had happened, no dream of her parents’ death haunted her. Draco, however, was experiencing a far from peaceful night’s sleep.
He was standing in the study, his wand pointed at something in front of him, but just what was in front of him, he couldn‘t see.
“Do it, Draco,” his father was persisting from behind him. “Do it now!” Draco shook his head.
“I- I can’t,” he told Lucius weakly, his wand now shaking in his hand.
“Oh, step aside. I’ll do it myself,” the blonde Death Eater told his son, pushing him out of the way, and pointing his wand out before him instead. Draco could hear a muffled cry, but couldn’t see who it was coming from, and at the moment this thought came over him, the room became light and he could see a bundle of what looked like an old blanket wiggle feebly in a cry girl‘s arms.
“A baby,” he concluded to himself quietly. “Father, no! You can’t. She’s got a baby!” Draco pleaded.
“Silence!” his father shouted at him without taking his gaze off the baby in the blanket, his guilty pleasure plastered sickeningly across his face.
“Lucius, please! Don’t do this!” Narcissa begged from in the corner, her hands over her face as though she could not bare to watch. Draco could swear she had just appeared, for he had not noticed her presence before she’d spoken. She sat knelt on the floor at the girl’s feet, both sobbing, and it was only then that he was able to see the appearance of the young mother. It was Hermione. Draco looked around the scene. None of this made any since to him. What was happening here?
Draco woke with a start, causing the already wide awake Hermione to flinch beside him.
“Are you alright?” she asked, watching him with a concerned and confused expression. He didn’t answer, but instead gave her a look that implied that she shouldn’t bother ask again. They both sat up and Hermione kept her eyes on him. She smiled feebly. The two dressed in their Sunday best, which Hermione found odd, as the family didn’t practice any religion that she was aware of. ‘Do wizarding families even practice any religions?’ She thought about this as she and Draco journeyed silently to brunch where the two sat and waited for Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy to join them.
Draco was having trouble interpreting his dream. Why did his father want him to kill Hermione’s child? Why didn’t he want to? Why was his mother crying at Hermione’s feet? He refused to meet the eyes of the brunette girl seated across from him as he worked his way slowly from his eggs and ham to his buttered wheat toast.
“Did you send out the owl yet, Draco?” Lucius’s question caused all in the room to start at the sudden break in silence. Draco answered by nodding, a mouth full of food giving him an excuse not to speak. “Good,” he said to the room at large. “So we shall be expecting him soon.” The four continued their meal in it’s usual silence.
Later that afternoon while his father was at the ministry and his mother God knows where, doing God knows what, Draco decided to take a dip in the property’s lake located in the far east garden.
“Come on, Granger. Come work on that tan of yours,” Draco had said in attempt to persuade her. Hermione joined him, as if she had any choice. She laid on the unfinished wooden dock watching thoughtlessly as the teenage boy removed his shirt and pants and dived head-first off of it. She had seen him in nothing but his boxers many times over the past few weeks, but never before had the sun illuminated him the way it did that day. The usually pompous and arrogant Draco seemed somehow graceful. Almost elegant. Hermione shook such a thought from her mind and after removing her pink spaghetti-strap top and white short-shorts, searched desperately around the garden for something else on which to focus her attention. Finding no such item, she closed her eyes, lowered herself to the dock, and let her imagination choose for her.
“Oi! Granger!” The words pulled all visions of her and Ron lying side by side in the hot summer’s sun out of reach. Hermione opened her eyes and she could see Draco beckoning to her from the center of the lake. Hermione had been more than grateful that Lucius had taken up his son’s idea to lengthen their charm by another fifteen feet during the day.
“Oh, what does he want now?” she complained to herself as she made her way to the dock’s edge. With her hands on her hips, she asked in an irritated tone, “What?”
Draco appeared offended by this. “Well, is that any way to talk to your favorite roommate?” he said as if in all seriousness. Hermione softened her stance. It was true. While she hated being held hostage at Malfoy Manor, Draco was surely the most tolerable in the household.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked him with a small laugh.
“Come swim with me,” he ordered her, though it was more of a request. She looked at him questioningly, an eyebrow raised.
Hermione opened her mouth to protest but no words came to her and her opened mouth curved just slightly into a smile, her head shaking back and forth slowly. “I can’t,” she insisted.
“You can! I’ve seen you swim. Fourth year.” This made Hermione laugh. It wasn’t what she meant. Of course she could swim, but she didn‘t want him to see her in her bathing suit dripping wet. She knew he’d have far too much trouble resisting her body and she had too much pride. She looked down at the water, the sunlight glistening off of it made the tempting offer all too irresistible, but she stood her ground. She shook her head again, lacking an excuse.
“Come on!” He was determined to get her to let loose. ‘If I can only get her into the water.’
She leaned forward and allowed her fingers to skim the top of the water in a surprisingly gentle manner. Draco smiled. He was getting to her.
“Malfoy, I really don‘t thi-” but her words were interrupted. In the moment it took for her to take her eyes off of him and put them on the water, Draco had grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into the water with him. She slipped under the water and surfaced again, splashing and thrashing around. She spit the murky lake water out of her mouth.
“What- How- How dare you!” she spluttered angrily to the smiling boy wading water effortlessly in front of her. She wiped her soaked hair out of her face and stared at him while concentrating on keeping herself above water. Draco only smiled more.
She stared in shock at the boy equally half-naked before her. The feeling was taking quite a bit to get used to, being there with him in nothing but her small bathing suit. The two waded the water for a minute or so without a word before, in a moment of sheer impulse, Draco cupped his hand on Hermione’s cheek, pulling her gently towards him, and brought his lips to meet hers.
Hermione was half-temped to slap him, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. There they were on a peaceful Sunday afternoon swim, and he was making a move on her! She didn’t expect anything less from him, but it was a shock all the same. She looked into his eyes and was almost displeased to see genuine delight and embarrassment on his face. Him being his usual presumptuous self she knew how to handle, but this? This was something new. Something foreign. Something she had not prepared for. Was he genuinely interested in her? Of course not. This was just him and his little game. The game they had been playing for weeks. The game she was determined to win, but was suddenly finding herself losing, failing miserably.
This could not be. She had a boyfriend. A lovely boyfriend who was likely to be sitting at home right now plotting frantically how to get her back. She had just moments before been day-dreaming of being with him in that warm sunlight, not Draco Malfoy. But even as she thought this, the urge to return his kiss was engulfing her. She stayed silent for a moment contemplating this.
“Draco?” she whispered questioningly as if she was just realizing who she was in the water with, her breath dancing on his lips. She kissed him back. It was the first time she had ever called him by his first name, and he noticed. She was hating herself in that moment but something inside her didn’t care. It felt so, so good. So good to be kissing him that it hurt.
Toms Beautiful Fisher -2-
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Chapter 5: A Day For Firsts
The blood retching scream made Harry’s heart leap and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he raced down the stairs. He had never heard Ginny scream like that, and he couldn’t comprehend the idea of what might have caused it. He got to the bottom of the stairs and froze when he saw her standing by the open kitchen window, an opened letter in her hand. Time seemed to slow itself as he walked towards her at took the parchment from her light grip. He looked into her eyes and there were rarely seen but heart stopping tears in them. He looked down at the paper and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Shaking his head in denial he looked up at her again.
“I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone.”
“Harry, don’t say that,” Ginny told him, wiping her tears away. This was not a moment for her to show weakness. Her boyfriend, her best friend, and her brother all needed her. “She wanted to go on her own. No one could have known he’d do this.” Harry shook his head again, looking back down at the piece of parchment attempting to re-roll itself in his hands.
“No. No, something’s not right here. Why would Malfoy want to kidnap Hermione? We’d made a truce by the time we left Hogwarts.” He read it again.
“Well, why would he claim he’d kidnapped her if he didn’t? Harry, this is Malfoy we’re talking about. You know as well as I do that that truce meant nothing,” Ginny reminded him. Harry, as usual, accepted her logic. He must have done it. She knew he had unusually good intuition, almost as good as a woman’s, but this just made no sense. Then a realization came over her. “Harry, how are we going to tell Ron?” Harry thought this over for a moment.
“We won’t. Not yet.” With that he crumpled the letter up in his fist.
~~~ At The Manor ~~~
It was several long minutes before Hermione was able to pry her lips from Draco‘s. The sweet, tenderness of his kiss, both lips and tongue, had intoxicated her. She wanted to run away crying and pounce on him all at the same time. She lifted herself onto the dock just behind her with nothing but adrenaline-induced upper body strength, pulling on his shoulders so that he’d join her. She sat over the edge and laid straight back, allowing him to climb on top of her. She began kissing him again, she had lost all sense of thought. Of judgment. Of control. She gripped his biceps, the feeling of his rock hard muscles turned her on in a way she had never imagined, as did the rest of him.
Draco couldn’t believe what he was doing, no less, who he was doing it with, but it didn’t seem to matter. He had become an animal; his lust for her taking over his mind, body, and everything in-between. And most importantly of all, he was winning.
Just as they thought there was no turning back, a small pop was heard just behind them. Draco looked up, hardly wanting to take his lips away from hers, and Hermione rolled her head back as far as her neck would allow it to go; she saw the scraggly feet of Tisby.
Draco didn’t know whether to throw himself off of the muggle-born below him, or tell the elf to leave them to it. Instead he just stared, anxiously awaiting her explanation to her sudden appearance, his chest heaving up and down.
The startled elf stared terrified at the scene before her, her reason for coming to him had left her and she was scared stiff.
“What?” Draco demanded of her, not intending to sound as harsh as he did. The small elf flinch and seemed to have her memory returned to her.
“Your mother, Master Malfoy. Your mother has asked for you,” she told him, looking at the dock under her feet rather than at her master who was clearly being interrupted at something she didn‘t wish to think on.
“Very well,” he said to her, and with a stern glance from Hermione added, “thank you, Tisby.”
With another pop the elf vanished and only then did Hermione seem to become aware of how exposed she was. Panic-stricken, she wiggled out from underneath him and reached for her clothes. Her conscience had come back to her and she was kicking herself inside for her momentary laps in judgment.
“What’s the matter?” Draco asked her as if he couldn’t understand her actions. She looked at him, puzzled.
“Draco, this was wrong. And your mother could be on her way out here as we speak!” she gasped and she pulled her shirt back on, the cold water from the bathing suit made it cling to her chest.
“Wrong? Hermione, this was-” but she cut him short.
“We have to get back inside, now!” Hermione told him urgently. She began speeding back towards the mansion, grabbing her shoes as she went. Draco grabbed his clothes as well, struggling to pull on his pants as he raced after her.
“Hermione! Hermione, wait up!” he called after her, now running at full speed to catch up. When he approached, he grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him. She let out a puff of air through her nose and stared at him, breathing hard in attempt to catch her breath, her eyes filling with tears of guilt. She shook her head and they continued, this time walking.
When they got to the house, Narcissa had been standing in the doorway of the kitchen, her arms folded across her chest in her normally cross fashion. She moved out of the way to let them through before her and watched curiously as the two soaked teenagers passed her.
“What in Merlin’s name have you two been up to?” Her question was not accusing, as Draco had feared it might be, but baffled. He hadn’t considered what he’d tell her. He stood stationary for a moment, searching his head for just the right answer to give his mother.
“We went swimming,” he explained simply, his voice as casual as he could possibly make it. It hadn’t been a lie, not completely, and if Tisby had kept her mouth shut, he had no reason to believe she’d doubt him. The woman seemed to consider him for a moment before accepting this and sending him on his way.
Hermione hadn’t waited to hear the conversation between the mother and son and was half-way up the stairs by the time Draco caught up to her again.
“Where are you going?” he asked, catching his own breath now.
“I need to take a bath,” she excused herself, leaving him to watch her as she continue toward the bathroom.
When she got to the large restroom, black shining tiles covering the floor, and an elegant black tub with silver fixtures she removed all her clothes again and began to fill the enchanted tub she had grown to love. Without another moment’s hesitation, she stepped in. Her eyes closed and she let the warm water and bubbles fill in all around her. ‘It would have been a huge mistake,’ she assured herself as the hot water replaced the cold in her hair. ‘You love Ron. That’s that!’
Meanwhile, in just the next room over, Draco sat over the edge of his bed, rocking slightly back and forth with his elbows on his knees and his forehead rested in his palms. His mind was racing. He was having trouble processing it all.
‘She’s just some stupid mudblood. She doesn’t mean anything, and she’s certainly not worthy of you,’ he was trying to convince himself. ‘What had you been thinking!? If your father had seen you just now, he’d surely kill you both!’ It was as if there were someone else in the room speaking these things to him, and he looked up just to check that such and idea was just his imagination.
‘But I wanted it so bad!’ he contradicted himself. ‘Her lips. Her body. It was like-’ he couldn’t even think of words that could describe it. Had it indeed been nothing more then lust? He hoped so. Anything else would have been foolish. ‘Of course’ he decided. ‘It was just that. Meaningless lust!’ He nodded his head to no one and rose to his feet. He paced the room, waiting for her return. But she didn’t.
Hermione woke in a daze, she turned her head and at the sound of swishing water, realized that she was still in the bathtub. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ The still hot water was no gauge as the enchanted tub kept it nice and toasty. She stepped out, wrapping one of the house’s black and silver guest towels around her, tossed her clothes down the laundry shoot, and stared into the no longer foggy mirror. A clock reflected in the mirror from behind her caught her attention and she turned to read it properly.
“Five-thirty! Merlin’s pants! I’m nearly late for dinner!” she exclaimed to herself and returned to the room she so reluctantly was beginning to recognize as half hers. As it had become expected of her to attend all meals with the family like a proper long-term guest would, she did not want to break any rules for fear of the consequences.
When she entered the room and moved to the drawer Draco had so half-heartedly cleared for her, it was only to find it was empty.
“s**t! What’s going on?” she asked herself, frantically searching the room for the clothes she inside knew were long gone. What was she going to do? Just as this thought hit her, the bedroom door opened. She spun around in her spot to see Draco standing there, what appeared to be shopping bags in his hands.
“Good. You’re up. Nice to see you haven’t drowned,” he said to her casually, placing the bags on the foot of the bed.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked as frantically as she had in her head a moment before.
“I threw them out,” he said simply. This did not help Hermione’s rapidly growing heart-rate.
“What do you mean you threw them out?!” she half yelled, half cried out.
“Your telling me you liked wearing those old muggle clothes?” he asked her still with that casual tone. He had had his back to her and was sifting through the bags with no concern once so ever for Hermione’s predicament. He clearly did not see the reason in her rage. She only stared at him, at loss for words. How could he do such a thing? What was he thinking!? He pulled a bundle out of the bag and turned to her. “Here,” he said, handing it to her. She snatched it from his hands and tore the package open. In her hands she help a beautiful while simple lavender sundress. Her jaw dropped.
“I figured it was time you got some clothes worthy of someone in the Malfoy residence,” he told her with a smirk. “I wasn’t sure of your size, so I kinda had to guess. I hope they fit,” he said, now a bit embarrassed, as his cheeks had turned an adorable shade of pink Hermione wasn’t aware his skin knew how to turn.
“And the rest?” she asked him absentmindedly, still staring in shock at the dress hanging in her hands in front of her. It looked about the right size, and she truly hoped it would fit.
“All yours,” he said to her with a smile. He had never really done this kind of selfless deed before, but he was enjoying the feeling it was giving him. He didn’t really care about good deeds, never had, and even now he was only trying to get that much further ahead in their game. He watched her hurry over to the bags and begin shifting through them herself and knew he had accomplished this goal. Each one seemed to hold an outfit she couldn’t wait to try on. Her heart was now pounding not out of fear, but out of excitement. She was so happy with him she could barely suppress it.
She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes when she got to the bag of undergarments. He seemed to have picked each item based on how he thought she might look in them, but she really couldn’t care less. She turned to him, an eyebrow raised, and he just shrugged. She took the dress and bag of undergarments (choosing not to let him see which she was about to put on) and quickly went behind the wooden screen to try them on.
When she appeared out from behind the screen what felt like only seconds later, Draco could hardly believe his eyes.
“How does it look?” she asked him nervously. She hadn’t bothered to check the mirror yet. He didn’t mean to stare, but it was all he could do.
“Wow,” he whispered, more to himself then to her. Taking his reaction as a good sign, she turned to the mirror and gasped. The soft cottony fabric hung off her body in such a way that it looked as if it had been tailored for her and her alone. The color complimented her skin perfectly. The overall image was almost too much for her to take in.
She went over to the bed and removed a shoebox from one of the bags. Taking off the lid, she pulled out a pair of beaded heels that matched the dress almost as perfectly as the dress did her. She slipped them onto her feet, finding that they fit like a glove, and jumped up quickly, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.
“Oh Draco, I really can’t thank you enough,” and she kissed him again in a friendly manner just as Tisby appeared with her regular five minutes’ dinner notice.
Hermione blushed as she pulled away from him. The elf seemed to be blushing as well.
“Tisby!” Draco called in his normal demanding manner. “I need you to do something for me,” he went on to say. Hermione looked at him harshly; her passion for elf rights still stood strong. He gave her a reassuring look and continued. “I need you to keep anything you EVER see me and Hermione doing between us, and only us. My parents can never know of this. Can you do that?”
“Of course, Master Draco, Miss Granger,” the little elf squeaked with a bow. Hermione smiled. The elf disappeared with a snap of her fingers and Hermione turned back to Draco.