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Post by Erin burns on Jun 4, 2006 14:28:22 GMT -5
I just wanted to tell you that, at the place where I posted this fic, they banned it so this is kinda the last chapter.
Chapter Eight
Anthony stood in the bedrom of his suite adjusting his uniform in the mirror. He was feeling better than he had in days. Admittedly, he had been infuriated by Hermione’s statement after the last prefect meeting, however, he had come to the conclusion that it was just nerves on the witch’s part. After all, she was not accustomed to the affections of wizards. It was the main reason he felt she was perfect for him, he could mold her to his liking. Still, he knew she would be a challenge, what with her independent mind and her associations with that d**ned, orphan Potter and the klutz Weasley.
Of course he told no one his true feelings and kept up appearances as if he respected the Gryffindor three. The truth was he felt that the Boy Who Lived was merely lucky in life. Had You Know Who not attacked him and his parents, he would be just an ordinary wizard. He no great powers or intellect. He merely had luck and the smarts of a certain Head Girl. Yet, the world still celebrated him as some hero. It amazed him how people could look past the facts that each time Potter had faced He Who Must Not Be Named, he had survived by either running or with the help of Dumbledore. Even Weasley garnered praise for being nothing more than a bumbling sidekick.
There was no way he would leave Hogwarts with Hermione, the brightest witch of the age, still in their clutches. A witch of her caliber should be on the arm of a wizard with good looks, intelligence and status. He just happened to be such a wizard. He would take great pleasure in dividing the famous trio. Taking a last sweeping glance of his appearance, he gathered his things and headed to Hermione’s suite.
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A life size portrait of Godric Gryffindor blocked the entrance to the Head Girl’s suite, just as the founder of his own house, Rowena Ravenclaw, blocked his own.
“Good morning, Founder Gryffindor,” he said in a falsely, cheery pitch. Then thinking back to his escapades last night he remembered her password, “parilitas.”
“The Head Girl is not here. She left moments ago with Mr. Potter and the Weasley siblings,” stated the man in the portrait, ignoring the password.
Anthony silently fumed. He suspected she would be off with that riff-raff. Apparently, he had not made himself clear enough. He gave the founder a feigned smile.
“That is fine. I am the Head Boy and am merely picking up a book she agreed to lend me.”
“Then you may obtain it in her presence,” declared Gryffindor.
“No!” shouted Anthony before catching himself, “I mean, no, I must have it for my class this morning.”
The portrait gave the Head Boy a suspicious look. While he did not seem trustworthy, he did have the password. Gryffindor thought she had given it to no one, perhaps he was wrong. After all, she would not give the password to her private suite to one she did not trust. Another look at the wizard in front of him--who was bobbing back and forth on the balls of his feet--and the portrait swung open.
The wizard entered the suite that was a replica of his own with mahogany furniture and squishy chairs set in the exact the same places. The difference between the two rooms was the coloring. He had went with tradition and decorated in his house colors. Hermione had chosen more personal colors of lavender and cream, giving the room a feminine look.
However, the décor did not interest him. He only cared to discover why she had been avoiding him. Quickly, he made his way through the vestibule that lead to her bedroom. Once inside, he began desperately searching for a clue to his quandary.
Then he found it. Under her mattress was a ratty notebook. On several occasions, he had seen her feverishly writing in this book. Considering its ‘secret’ place, he could only assume that it was where she kept her most private thoughts and feelings. With anxious fingers he opened the journal and the room was filled with his Hermione’s voice. The notebook had been charmed to read aloud her entries.
The book Hermione was complaining about the unfairness of Snape. Nothing there, everyone knew Snape was a prick. Flipping through the pages, he came across an entry made a day or so prior to the last prefect meeting.
~I don’t believe what just happened, much less the fact that I am actually writing it down. I was just brought off by the hand (pun intended) of my enemy…Draco Malfoy. I know, he’s an arrogant, bigoted prat, but magical mother of Merlin! If he’s that good with just his hand, imagine--wait scratch that thought. I wanted to stop him, but it was like I was under the Imperius (of course I wasn’t) and I couldn’t control my body nor its reactions. It just felt so right, like it was meant to be, which is weird because after all…it’s Malfoy.~
So that’s why the little trollop needed space, he thought irately. He sat on the bed seething. Suddenly, picture frames, books, vases and anything not physically or magically held to the ground, began flying around the room as Anthony rampaged. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
He stood in the middle of the room and with a calming, deep breath smoothed his hair and uniform back in place. He brought up the mask that he often donned, never letting anyone see his true feelings. Flicking his wand, he restored the room to its previous state. Then he placidly slipped from the room. Before he could make his escape, the portrait’s owner spoke.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“And then some,” clipped Anthony as he stalked off.
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“Have either of you seen Hermione?”
Anthony stood at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall questioning Harry and Ron. His face held no traces of his dislike of the duo nor did it reveal the anger he was trying to keep a rein on.
“She was here briefly, then she left. Said something about the library,” said Ron through mouthfuls of food.
Anthony did his best to hide his disgust. His hands, which were behind his back, were balled into tight fists. He knew for a fact that Hermione was not in the library, as he had stopped by there to confront her prior to his arrival in the Great Hall.
Gryffindors never could lie.
“Well, thank you. Perhaps I will see her in class,” he said with a genial nod.
On his way to his table, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned see Harry standing behind him. Anthony raised his eyebrows innocently.
“Listen, Anthony,” Harry began, “Hermione has dated before, but she is really new to this whole thing. Just give her some time to get used to it. We wouldn’t want to see her hurt.”
The famous wizard’s green eyes flashed with a warning. The Ravenclaw inwardly scoffed at Harry’s attempt at threatening.
“Of course, Harry, I would never hurt Hermione,” he said with a fake pleasantness that the infamous wizard did not catch.
“As long as we understand each other.”
“Quite,” said the Head Boy.
His anger at both Hermione’s cheating and Harry’s threats turned his stomach. Once out of the presence of the Gryffindor, he disappeared from the Great Hall.
That muggle sleeper had no problem when Draco was getting into her knickers. He aimlessly wandered the halls stewing in his own thoughts. They were interrupted by the bane of his ire standing directly in front of him.
Seeing the flaxen, smirking aristocrat made Anthony see red. Images of Malfoy and Hermione passionately writhing against each other shot through his brain. Suddenly, he grabbed Draco and slammed him into a wall.
“I told you to stay away from HER! I told you that you would have ME to deal with!” he snarled.
With lightning quick hands, Anthony let go of Draco and had his wand pointed at his throat. The blonde prefect narrowed his eyes. Memories of Anthony touching and kissing his mate and the feeling of her tears ripping his heart out replayed through his mind. The next thing Draco saw was his fist connecting with Anthony’s jaw with a sickening crack.
The coffee haired wizard’s head snapped to the side as he stumbled backwards, dropping his wand. The enraged veela charged his opponent, digging his shoulder in Anthony’s midsection and slammed him into the opposite wall. After several blows to the face, the Slytherin pulled out his own wand and turned it on the Head Boy, who was now sliding down the wall. He opened his mouth to speak his curse, determined to inflict maximum pain on Anthony, but the words never left his mouth.
“Experiallmus!”
The sound of Hermione’s voice lifted the blinding rage from Draco in time for him to see her rushing to the side of Anthony. He was shocked to see the bloodied face of the Head Boy and looked down at his own hands in disbelief.
Did I do that?
Hermione was trying to rouse the nearly unconscious wizard.
“Anthony?” she shook him, her voice filled with concern. “Anthony?”
It gave the Ravenclaw great pleasure in taking something away from the overly doted upon prat. He knew that Draco’s feelings for Hermione were more than physical. Why else would any decent wizard resort to the barbaric act of physical violence? d**ned if he would let her go, she belonged to him. Still, he was not naive of his love’s attraction to the Slytherin bad boy. He knew that while she was standing at his side, her mind was on Draco. That would not do.
He feigned coming out of his blacked out state with a soft groan. Playing to her compassion paid off, as she fawned over him with innocent caresses of his face. He took a glance at Draco and did his best to control the urge to smile outright at the prefect’s anger.
“You really ought see Madame Pompfrey,” said Hermione helping him to stand up.
The compassion she was displaying to the Head Boy quickly changed. Incensed, she spun to face Malfoy, but faltered slightly when she saw the fury in his eyes. Two pieces of coal were fixated on her and they practically had sparks coming from them. For the first time in her life she was actually afraid of Draco Malfoy.
Anthony noticed her back away slightly and decided to drive his point home with Malfoy. He placed his hand at the petite witch’s hip. Draco gave a barely audible growl at the action. The sound shocked both the Heads.
“What the hell is the matter with you, Malfoy?” screamed Hermione, her courage bubbling to the surface.
His eyes narrowed and connected with hers. It sent a visible chill through her body.
Has he always looked this sexy? Concentrate!
“F-fifty points from S-slytherin,” she stammered.
She closed her eyes and discreetly tightened her legs to quell the throbbing that was forming between them.
“And…and detention.”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter that he attacked me first?” Draco rasped.
Though incensed he was, he felt supreme satisfaction at the lust that he knew his mate was feeling.
“I find that highly unlikely. Anthony wouldn’t harm a fly,” she said, mentally lapsing about why she was avoiding the Head Boy. “You are the other hand…”
As she trailed off, Draco found himself drowning in need for her. The angrier she got, the more intense her aroma. It was driving him insane.
“It’s perfectly ‘Malfoy’ of you to do this, because someone ‘disobeyed you,” she spat. “I told you before that I don’t take kindly to threats, that includes blackmail. But I do have one for you.”
She took a moment to pause and edged close enough for Draco to feel her breath tantalizing his skin. Her mouth formed a malicious smile.
“Leave me alone or I’ll report your little hex to Dumbledore.”
“You have no idea what I was going to say,” said Draco huskily, drunk on her being.
“Oh, I’m sure I could find something,” she sing-songed. “After all, I’m Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Head Girl and you…are the son of an escaped Deatheater. Who do you think he’ll believe?”
With that, she spun on her heels, causing her lush curls to slap the Slytherin in the face. The woodsy, vanilla aroma--that he had labeled ‘Hermione’--assailed his senses. Unconsciously, his hand began to stretch out to grab her, but his contact was halted by Professor McGonagall.
“What has happened here?” she shrieked, seeing the forming bruises on the Head Boy’s face.
“Nothing, Professor,” said Anthony, “everything is fine.”
“It most certainly is not,” cried Hermione.
She released her hold on Anthony and presented the situation to the Transfiguration professor. The strict witch looked from Anthony to Draco repeatedly as the curly brunette spoke rapidly.
“…so I took fifty points and gave him detention,” Hermione finished.
“Mr. Malfoy, you know it is expressly forbidden to harm another student. Therefore, you are to report to the Headmaster’s office. Miss Granger, please see Mr. Goldstein to the infirmary.”
Anthony limped away, his hand back at Hermione’s hip. He gave Draco a smug smile as he passed. The gesture sent the veela’s temper back to the surface. It took all his restraint not to pummel the Head Boy. Instead he balled his fists until his nails cut into his skin. Professor McGonagall saw this and place her hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Malfoy, I am aware of your condition,” she said softly after the Heads were out of earshot.
He quirked his eyebrow at the older witch indifferently.
“While I understand your need and desire to protect your impending bond with your mate, I must press upon you the seriousness of you actions. You cannot brutalize any male that you feel is a threat to you. That is no way to win her heart.”
Draco stewed. They did not understand. They did not have to deal with having an unattainable witch for a mate. It was not them in danger of losing their soul when his mate inevitably refused him.
The normally stern witch felt compassion at the young veela’s frustration. She remembered well her own courtship with her veela mate. Even to this day she wondered how she and Albus survived. Her feeling towards the wise wizard were very much like Miss Granger’s for Mr. Malfoy. It was not until Albus had nearly given his life for her that she learned a valuable lesson.
“There is but a fine thread between love and hate,” she said, giving Draco’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
Unfortunately, Draco was unable to see past his frustration, anger and despair to catch the lesson. He stormed off to the Headmaster’s office with nothing more than a grunt for response.
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Dumbledore looked up from his parchment just as Draco entered the room. Even without prior knowledge of Anthony and Draco’s altercation, the appearance of the student in front of him revealed the information. Draco’s oxford had blood on it, his robes were half on him and his normally impeccable hair--which he kept in a Caesar cut--was disheveled. With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore made a squishy armchair to appear.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco plopped in the chair and awaited his punishment.
“Seeing as you have been appropriately reprimanded and punished, I will not extend a lecture regarding that matter specifically. However, judging by today’s events, I can safely assume you have not informed Miss Granger of your situation?” inquired the silver wizard, peering over his spectacles.
Draco merely grunted and crossed his arms in response.
“As you can see and feel, the emotions of a veela, when concerning their mate, run extremely deep. This is both gift and curse. It is a gift, in that, we will do whatever is necessary to ensure our mate’s happiness, hence we are incredibly romantic, loving and loyal. We ensure our mate’s happiness because not only is it in our nature, but it guarantees our existence.”
Draco sighed exasperatedly. Right now he really could care less about the nature of a veela.
“What does this have to do with my supreme desire to tear that upstart, Ravenclaw Goldstein limb from limb?” he questioned irritably.
“It is this desire to survive that drives us to protect our bond as well as our mate. However, this need to protect our life, our bond and our mate can lead us into an uncontrolled rage that cannot only harm the one we see as a threat, but our mate as well,” relayed Dumbledore.
Draco looked at the Headmaster confused. He thought that veela’s could not harm their mates. As if he had read his student’s mind, Dumbledore answered.
“There are other ways to harm someone besides physically. When you react in the way you have today, you merely confirm Miss Granger’s notions about you, effectively pushing her away. If she does not respond to you, not only will you suffer, she will as well, for no other man will ever satisfy her. You lead her into a life of tragic despair.”
The flaxen wizard exhale noisily and sunk deeper into the chair. This situation was proving to be impossible.
Why did this have to happen to me?
Dumbledore rose from his seat and came to stand before his Slytherin student.
“You must change Miss Granger’s image of you--,”
“Why must I change for her? This is utterly ridiculous,” he shouted.
“It is not changing, just showing her that there is more to Draco Malfoy, than a self-absorbed, conniving, spineless Slytherin,” said Dumbledore, fed up with the younger veela’s whining.
“How do you suppose I do that?” he snapped, obviously cut at the Headmaster’s words.
“A good start is telling her the truth,” said the older veela returning behind his desk.
Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him.
“The sooner you tell her, the sooner you can move on with bonding. Remember you need to bond or you will lose your soul,” he reminded.
The prefect slumped his shoulder’s in defeat. He knew there was no away around it. He just did not look forward to the outburst.
“We will do this together. Perhaps my presence will help smooth things over. Clearly, Miss Granger is not going to take kindly to having her life dictated.”
That’s a gross understatement, thought Draco.
“I believe she is still in the infirmary. Please inform her that I wish to speak to her,” he said in his gentle voice.
Draco’s fists balled and his lips curled in a black sneer. He knew why she was in the infirmary.
“Remember, Draco, keep your temper.”
The Slytherin grimaced at the Headmaster’s words. Yet, he swallowed his anger and made for the infirmary.
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Anthony sat on the gurney barely listening to Madame Pompfrey’s rant about physical violence as she healed him. Hermione stood beside him determined to complete her given duty of ensuring his well being. When the nurse left to get a healing potion, Hermione sat on the bed.
“Are you feeling better?” she asked, placing her hand on his forearm.
He roughly snatched his arm away. The sudden change in mood startled her.
“Anthony, what’s wrong?”
“This is your fault, you know,” he spewed, indicating his swollen lip and eye.
“My fault?” she exclaimed. “How so?
“Had you been in your suite when I came by this morning, I would not have been searching for you and happened upon Malfoy,” he shot at her.
The sound of Anthony’s voice faded out as she became lost in thought. At the forefront was Draco. She had become absolutely perplexed at his recent, out-of-character actions. Though she had insinuate that he was a violent person, she knew in her heart that was far from true.
Draco was always a type of wizard to hide behind his magic, never thinking to sully himself with such a savage, ‘muggle’ action as physical fighting. So why had he done it?
“Hermione, are you listening?” he asked, wrapping his hand around her delicate wrist.
“What--? Oh, sorry, Anthony. What were you saying? My mind was elsewhere,” she said.
“Obviously. No doubt your mind is wherever Malfoy is,” he sneered, tightening his grip wishing the wrist was her throat.
“Excuse me?” she questioned, wincing at the discomfort of his hold.
“It is apparent that something is going on between the two of you,” said with hurt in his matter-of-fact tone.
Hermione dropped her head at his scathing remark. While she was not completely sure of her feelings for the Ravenclaw, she knew she did not want to see him hurt. Feeling her overly critical self take hold, she began to blame herself for the entire situation.
Anthony smile to himself with pride as the confidence of the headstrong witch began to crumble. His delight was disturbed when he noticed movement out to the corner of his eye. Behind Hermione, Draco was conversing with the nurse.
He still was having hard time admitting that Draco Malfoy fancied his girl. After all, the pureblood had done nothing but attempt to make the muggleborn’s life a living hell since she step into the wizarding world. Yet, as he thought about it more and more the signs were there. While, Draco made it a point to bully Hermione every chance he got, he also targeted those that had fancied the Gryffindor.
In fourth year, it had been Victor Krum. Though he had not directly set out against the Quidditch star, his information given to journal-witch Rita Skeeter certainly sent a rift between the couple. Justin Finch-Fletchley had been the object of countless jokes and torment during fifth year. It was known that the muggleborn wizard was sweet on the muggleborn witch. However, after a few months of torment at the hands of Malfoy and his cronies, the Hufflepuff gave up his crush. Last year, Weasley had been the unfortunate victim. While to most people it seemed like the normal tit-for tat between the wizards, looking back it was clear that the enmity was due to more than just childhood pettiness.
Well, this is one suitor who will not be so easily chased off.
He noticed Draco look in his direction. As soon as their eyes connected the Slytherin’s stony expression became harder. Intent on chasing Draco off, he moved closer to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her.
“I’m sorry, love. I should not have said that. I’m just rankled that Malfoy got the better of me. I should not have taken it out on you. Will you forgive me?” he pleaded or so it seemed.
Hermione stared at him. While his mood swings were disconcerting, he did seem genuinely remorseful.
“Alright, I’ll forgive you. However, I want you to know that Malfoy is not the reason I asked for time to think,” she stated, trying to convince herself more than Anthony.
“I apologize. That was positively rotten of me to suggest. I mean its not like you would do anything with Malfoy, of all people,” he said, trying to quell the image in his head of the two.
“Right,” she said slowly, hoping she did not sound too guilty.
He wanted to wretch at her lies; however, he merely squeezed her tighter. Peering over her head at Draco, Anthony did not hear her gasping for breath, at his tight grip.
“GRANGER!” barked the veela heatedly.
The booming voice from the normally cool wizard startled the Head Girl. She hopped from her spot on the gurney, blushing. It did not take a genius to see that the Slytherin was pissed. And considering the day’s events, she knew that it was her and Anthony that were causing Draco’s fouler-than-usual mood.
“What is it, Malfoy?” she questioned almost icily.
“The Headmaster wishes to see you at once,” he sneered.
Hermione turned to the Ravenclaw and placed a hand on his.
“I’ll see you later,” she said then she looked pointedly at Draco. “I assume you are to escort me?”
“Yes, but you go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“You’d better not lay a finger on him,” she threatened, “or else they will be owling your remains to your mother.”
She whipped around and out of the infirmary. Draco waited until she left before addressing the Head Boy.
“You know I would have thought a Ravenclaw would be smarter,” he said, inspecting his always perfect manicure.
“And what is that supposed to mean,” Anthony bit out.
“Just that a Hufflepuff is smart enough to know when they are toying with danger,” he continued.
“Malfoy, I have very little time and patience for your ridiculous mind games. Let us cut to the chase, shall we?” he questioned, rising from his seat.
Draco merely waved him to continue.
“I know all about your little fixation with Hermione. Before you attempt to threaten me, let me tell you that I will not scare easily, like the others,” he said with narrow eyes.
With his hands clasped behind his back, Draco began pacing in front of the Head Boy, in an effort to control his temper. Suddenly, he stopped and leaned in until his face was practically touching Anthony’s.
“Understand this, what is between Granger and I, is something you couldn’t possibly fathom. And I will protect it at any cost.”
Draco stepped back and took a moment to adjust his adversary’s tie. Then without warning, he tightened it, effectively cutting off Anthony’s air supply.
“And if you ever make her cry again and I can guarantee that they’ll never find the body!”
He stormed out of the infirmary with a billowing of his cloak that even Snape could not compare to. A confused Anthony was left gasping for air on his gurney with thoughts of revenge running though his mind.
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Post by Erin burns on Jun 4, 2006 14:29:17 GMT -5
sorry that was only half of it here's the next half
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Dumbledore sat in his study patiently awaiting the return of the teenagers. He thought back to their first year at Hogwarts. Draco had entered a near clone of his father and Hermione had bore the brunt of his bigoted brainwashing.
She had come into the wizarding world a clean slate and had found herself thrown to the wolves. On the surface, she held up like a champion. However, no one was privy to the breakdowns she would suffer outside of school, save for himself and Minerva. No one knew how she pushed herself just to be considered equal or how she took on all the issues of muggleborns. Though she threatened every year, he was amazed she had not given it all up. He often wondered where she found the strength to continue on.
Draco, essentially, was no different. Though he was raised in the wizarding world, he was no stranger to pressure. He had to live up to the legacy his father had left. It was expected of him, coming from both the Malfoy and Black lines, to be the best. Anything less was unacceptable.
That is where the two clashed. It was Hermione, not Draco, that quickly became the best throughout the school. Had she been pureblood, it may have made it easier for him to swallow, his family also. However, she was not and the fact that she was better than him, a Malfoy, shattered every belief he had been raised with. It was this that caused him to lash out at her and her to fight back, causing a hostility that nearly permeated every corner of the school.
Dumbledore knew that the two intelligent teens respected each other secretly. It was quite ironic that it was because of one another that the two were the smartest wizard and witch of their age. The more Draco teased Hermione, the harder she pushed to prove him wrong. In the same vein, the more she succeeded in proving him wrong, the harder he strived to prove that he was just as good, if not better. They were quite possibly the most perfect match that fate had ever set. The question was, could they overcome nearly six years of animosity?
The Headmaster’s thoughts were interrupted as the young witch in question crossed the threshold into his study.
“Ah Miss Granger, I see Mr. Malfoy has delivered my message successfully.”
“What is it you needed to see me for, Professor?” she said, gasping for air from her running.
“Sit, my dear,” he said, conjuring a small sofa. “There is much information to give you. So, I will not--as the muggles say--beat around the bush. How much do you know about veelas?”
“Veelas?” she asked confused. “Not much, they are extremely private. I only know that they are seemingly irresistible to the opposite sex and yet, they have one mate for eternity.”
“That is precisely what I wanted to speak to you about,” he began.
The rest of his lesson was cut short by Draco bounding into the room. He came to tower over a sitting Hermione.
She looked up at him and noticed he was shaking in rage and his normally porcelain skin was tinted pink.
“Mr. Malfoy, have a seat,” said Dumbledore calmly. “She has not been told.”
His mercury eyes ablaze, Draco ignored the wise wizard and continued to loom over the now confused, petite witch.
“Told what?” she asked Dumbledore.
“I told you to stay away from him,” he snarled, before Dumbledore could answer the witch.
Anger welled in Hermione and she completely forgot her question to the Headmaster.
“Who do you think you are making demands on me? You do not own me!” she shouted jumping to her feet.
Dumbledore tried to intervene before things got out of hand, but the enraged passion between the two teens drowned him out. He placed his hands in his head awaiting the inevitable. This was not how he wished things to happen.
“Au contraire,” Draco stated smoothly, gaining control of his anger quickly.
“You and your stupid mind games. Exactly what is that supposed to mean?” she spat.
“I am part veela...and you, love, are my mate.”
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