[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 15 : Keeping Promises
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 8|
Background: Font color:
He flexed his jaw muscle, attempting to calm himself down from the anger that was about to explode. “We should stay in another room.” He led her down the corridor to another room, but much smaller. She went to the bathroom and changed into the silk, short gown. When she came out, she watched Draco pace back and forth in his boxers, running his hands through his hair.
“What is it?” asked Hermione.
“What is it?” he repeated aggressively. “Bloody fuck, Granger. She could have killed you.”
“Why do you care?” she demanded bitterly.
“WHY DO I CARE!” he bellowed and felt another hiccup coming on, but suppressed it. “Because as you said, we’re friends. And to be honest, you’re the most important friend I got right now.” He cursed himself for letting that slip. Although his drunkenness subsided, he was still feeling tipsy.
“You are to me too,” she whispered, moving slowly toward him.
“You know I honestly meant what I said in the interview. About what I like about you…” he murmured.
“Nothing,” he snapped. “Go to sleep.”
“Malfoy,” she tried to reason.
He lifted her and threw her onto the bed and climbed in right after her.
“Are we sleeping in the same bed?” she asked feebly.
“Yes. I need to make sure the bitch can’t get to you.” The lights shut off after he waved his wand.
Hermione sank into the bed, deep in her thoughts. It seemed like Draco had finally grasped after all this time, she was his friend. She attempted to recall what Draco said during the interview. He said so many good qualities about her that reflected her status in Gryffindor, but… He also called her beautiful and sexy. Is that what friends say about other friends? And that their favorite feature is her eyes? Hermione convinced herself that part was only an act for the interview, suppressing the slightest hope that he really did mean that.
Draco felt the softness of her skin burning his as his eyes fluttered open. Once again their limbs were tangled as he clearly remembering both of them going to sleep at opposite ends of the bed. He heaved a calm breath, enjoying this moment. Very lightly, he brushed the tips of his fingers on her shoulders. She reacted only slightly, burying her face into Draco’s chest. He slowly, very slowly, detangled himself from her. He tip-toed around, getting ready and left with a soft click, careful not to wake the beautiful woman in his bed.
He crept into his room where the security guards were doing another search as a safety measure. Drawers were wrenched open, clothes scattered on the floor and furniture turned. Draco went to the wall where Hermione pinned the picture of both of them. It wasn’t there.
“Where’s the picture that was here?” he hissed at one of the guards.
The guard approached Draco with his cloak, sweeping the ground. “Over here, sir.”
They led him to a desk where the photo laid in shreds. Draco waved his wand, “Reparo.” The photo stitched together, now repaired. Draco picked up the photo carefully, watching his and Hermione’s faces change expressions. For some odd reason, he decided to look at the back of the photo. In red ink, the words read, “She will die.” He crumpled the photo with his fist.
Anger was pumping through him as it filled his veins swell up with the overwhelming emotion. His body began to shake as a reaction with his nostrils flaring as if he was about to exhale fire. His anger was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode like a volcano at any given moment.
Another guard advanced toward Draco, “Sir, the poison was actually taken from the Malfoy’s reserve.”
Draco nodded. He had blown up. Draco left for the Malfoy’s reserve in the chilly basement with shelves and shelves of potions of all kinds and an unhealthy amount of poisons. He grabbed the one he was sure Evelyn tried to use on Hermione.
He was going to have a talk with Evelyn.
The bell chimed as Draco walked into the Black Cat’s den. He scanned the isles of clothes, searching for the blonde woman. He weaved his way through the clothes racks to the back where he found her looking into a vintage, large mirror. Her eyes moved from herself to Draco standing in the background. She shot him a smirk through the mirror. Draco had completely lost it. He slammed her head against the mirror, cracking the glass of it. He forced her mouth open, tipping the poison bottle into her mouth.
“I told you I was going to kill you,” he hissed in her ear.
She whimpered, “Please.” Rapid tears began rolling down her rosy cheeks.
He pulled away from her, but his grasp was still strong on her neck. “Evelyn. You do not harm her. You do not come anywhere near her. You do not even come to the Manor. I will have guards there and I will give them the okay to kill you if you step one toe into my house. I don’t want to see you. Not even for Deatheaters meetings. Disappear.” With one last shove against the mirror, he released her. He began to walk away until Evelyn’s high-pitched, cold laughter rang in the room.
He wheeled around, aiming his wand at her and screamed, “Avada—” at which she ducked, “—Kedavra!” The spell shattered the mirror above her, sending shards falling on top of her and around her. Where the mirror was once, was now replaced with a black carter with scorched marks around it.
A hand lay on his shoulder. “You need to be careful,” scolded a voice.
Draco looked down to find Pansy, staring coldly at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Let’s go.” She handed him a cloak and he threw it over himself with the hood down as she did the same.
“Remember, Evelyn,” he warned. He followed Pansy unwillingly out the Black Cat’s Den and eventually to a table in a shadowy corner in the Leaky Caldron.
“What are you thinking?” she hissed.
“I was thinking that I was going to kill her,” he snapped.
“What the bloody hell she do to you? You both used to mess around.”
Draco rubbed his templates from beneath his hood. “She tried to poison Granger.”
Pansy gasped in surprise.
“She’s not going to hurt Granger. She’s just not.”
“I’m going to ask you this again. Do you fancy Granger? You told me yesterday you didn’t.”
He rummaged his head for the conversation between him and Pansy last night, able to vaguely remember. Then suddenly the words echoed in his head, “No…Me? Love a mudblood? Fuck, no. You know better.”
“I was angry,” he explained. “About Blaise so I—um—said it out of anger. I’m going to get married to her. I more than fancy her. I’m…in love with her.” He try to say the last few sentences as convincingly as he could.
“I figured,” Pansy agreed. “I saw it last night. The way you looked at her. The way you spoke about her. You really do…” He heard the sadness in Pansy voice and knew she was being incredibly honest.
How did he look at Hermione? And how he spoke about her? No. Pansy is misinterpreting. He didn’t feel anything for her. Just as a friend. Did friends want to kiss friends though? Let’s not go there, he scolded himself. He abruptly got to his feet.
“Going to the bar,” he mumbled, walking away from her.
“It’s eleven o’clock!” shouted Pansy at his back.
The sunlight burned singed orange on her eyelids as she moaned sleepily. Her limbs stretched and her head buried deeply into the pillow. The bed felt light and she looked up to find no one. Immediately she shot up and noticed a folded note on a bedside table on Draco’s side. She reached forward and read it,
I left for Diagon Alley.
She sighed heavily, detangling herself from the sheet and slouching off to the bathroom to get ready. Once ready, she left for the kitchen. As she was leaning on the kitchen counter with tea in her hand, an owl swoop in, dropping the rolled up newspaper. She unfolded it to notice a picture of her and Draco, dancing on the front page. As she sipped the tea as read the Daily Prophet,
GOLDEN GIRL TRAPS SEXIEST BACHELOR
Recently, Draco Malfoy, named Sexiest Bachelor for this year proposes to Miss Hermione Granger who is known as the Golden Girl of the Golden Trio. Years ago, her first prey was Harry Potter and eventually Viktor Krum. After the downfall of He-who-must-not-be-named, she trapped Ronald Weasley and now her latest prey, Draco Malfoy. Miss Granger seems as if she is at it again, toying with boys’ affection, cheating on poor Mr. Weasley with Mr. Malfoy. She giggles as if it was nothing, “Me and…Draco had a secret relationship. Exciting if I do say so myself. Somewhat forbidden.” Now, with the new rise of Deatheaters, she conned Mr. Malfoy into marrying her to protect her. Miss Granger shows cunning ways to seduce Mr. Malfoy to get her way as even her fiancée recalled, “We met up at a secret spot. And believe it or not, she threw herself at me.” Not to mention her promiscuous ways, she was also embarrassed of Mr. Malfoy, hiding him from her friends to the point no one even knew they had a relationship. Miss Racket explains, “I was in my sixth year when they came back for their seventh. Not once do I ever remember seeing them together. They pretend that the other one didn’t exist.” Although she had many quirks, the engagement party was a success as parties are always in the Malfoy Manor. Hopefully, soon though, Mr. Malfoy will realize the true nature of Miss Granger and leave before death does them part.
“UGH!” Hermione roared in anger, throwing the newspaper in the air, its pages glided down to the floor.
“Misses!” squeaked Cherry timidly. “Some is here to see you.”
Hermione stormed out and into the living room. Blaise as handsome as ever as was leaning against the grand window, staring absently outside.
“Ziabni,” she mumbled annoyed.
He looked at her lazily and eventually a smirk crept onto his lips. “I suppose you read the Prophet?”
She grunted unlady-like, almost like a troll.
He crackled with amusement. “And I can make the assumption you aren’t too happy about it.”
“It’s not funny,” she growled.
“That woman is foul. You should know better. Don’t let her get to you,” he said reassuringly. “Anyway ready?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” she grumbled. “I don’t have a broom.”
“Don’t worry about that too much.”
He motioned toward her and they left through a patio door which Hermione never seen. He led her through a garden with cobble walkways and flowers stretching far. Its colors were vibrant and poking out of bushes, begging for attention. Although it was November, the flowers were obviously enchanted to stay beautiful all year around. Stone benches were positioned among the magnificence of the garden. Marble figures were spotted every few as she was able to catch glimpses of the statues who were portraits of Malfoy ancestors. After they passed the winged witch foundation that was grand and spitting water, they reached a miniature Quiddtch field. Blaise immediately walked over to a shed, pulling out one brooms.
“New models,” explained Blaise. “Rocketship. It was invented by a muggle-born and right now the fastest broom in the world. Despite that, it was also nominated as the best broom for beginners as well as experts. The world has seen nothing like this broom. So, have you ever flown? Because I don’t remember you ever on a broom.”
“Well, no,” she admitted.
“Okay, so let’s get you on one.”
Blaise pulled his foot over the broom, hoisting it up and looked at Hermione, waiting.
“You want me to get on?”
He rolled his eyes, but nodded. Hermione warily approached Blaise, but threw her leg over the broom. Once on it, she unintentionally slid back to Blaise, who cradle her with his arms, but hands gripped firmly around the broom.
“Ready?” he whispered in her ear. She nodded. He pushed off the ground lightly as the broom lifted into the air. “We’re going to start out slow. So you can get a feel for it.”
Very slowly, he leaned forward as the broom glided. Every few minutes, they picked up speed. The chilly autumn air stung Hermione’s face as Blaise’s muscular arms cradle her body. She felt his breath tingle in her ear, sending chills over her body. His spiced cologne filled her nose along with the harsh icy air. She never felt alive, the rush of it all. After some time, she glanced below to find a murderous-looking Draco. Blaise noticed him too immediately. Blaise landed gently as Hermione hopped off and ran toward him.
“Everything alright?” she called with Blaise right behind her.
“Everything alright?” he slurred. “You’re fucking kidding me! Fuck you, Blaise.”
“Hey, man,” Blaise reasoned. “Relax. What’s the problem?”
“I smell alcohol on you,” Hermione commented. “It’s only two in the afternoon. What are you thinking?”
“I am thinking that I came home to a fucker trying to get close to my fiancée,” Draco replied violently. “What were you to doing?!”
Hermione took a step back, intimidated “He was just teaching me how to fly… I never flown before so…”
Draco gave an unattractive snort. “He’s trying to get close to you.” After some time of glaring between the two men, Draco spat, “Fuck you.” He lunged forward, capturing Blaise in a headlock. Blaise punched Draco hard in the rib.
“Please!” begged Hermione shrilly, attempting to pull Draco off of Blaise.
The moment he felt her touch him, he shoved Blaise away from him. He roughly seized Hermione’s arm, turning her forearm toward Blaise. “You know what this mean? She’s mine! She is a Malfoy. Get out.” And without another word, Draco dragged Hermione back inside.
“You’re drunk!” she cried sharply. “You are such an angry drunk. Let go of me!” She snapped her arm away from his clutch as he wheeled around with a deadly glint in his eye. “Let me go get you something.” She hurried off as he was unable to take his eyes off of her. When she finally came back, she handed him a familiar bottle. “Here.”
He gulped the potion down as she scolded, “Only a couple of sips!” His light-headedness faded away as Hermione became clear as day, but his anger was still there.
“Didn’t I tell you to keep away from him?” he growled.
“You did, but if I recall, I didn’t agree to it. He’s a nice person. I need to know how to fly and he offered. What else do you want me to say, Malfoy?”
“I could teach you. I was seeker. Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because you’re so iffy about certain things. You might have told me ‘I don’t teach mudbloods’ or ‘I don’t have time for that’ or any other excuse. Oh, don’t give me that look! You know it’s true.”
“I will teach you.”
“Not now. You’re still a little…”
“Stay away from him,” Draco commanded.
“Fine I will,” she agreed hastily. “But on the condition—”
“Condition of what?”
“That you will stop getting drunk. You get unbearably angry when you’re drunk. And most of the time, you intimidate me.”
Draco examined Hermione by looking up and down at her and soon nodding slowly. He eventually held up the potion. “Where are you getting these?”
“I make them. I have a recipe.”
“You? You came up with your own potion?”
She gave a slight shrug. “Yes. It’s nothing too complicated. But I don’t feel it’s that useful. People drink for a reason and sometimes want to get drunk. Why would anyone want a potion that wares those affects away?”
“…Thank you,” she replied timidly. “You should eat… Are you hungry?”
He nodded and followed her into the kitchen as she began to take out ingredients for a beef wellington. She threw on a frilly maid apron as he watched begin to prep for dinner. She’ll make a good wife, he thought. Fucking idiot, but not for you. Then his hormones got the best of his mind as he imagined her with nothing, but the maid apron. Impulsively, he put both arms either side of her, cornering as he buried his face into her hair. He inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“I thought I heard someone,” he lied. He pulled away from her reluctantly and as he was walking out, he said, “Call for me when dinner is ready.” And left convincing himself, he really thought he heard someone.
When dinner was served at early twilight, there was no exchange between the two. Draco filled himself with thoughts, persuading himself that his attraction to her was at a bare minimum, but the vanilla smell still lingered in his senses. Hermione was occupied with thoughts of Ron on an endless replay of worrying about him. Cherry eventually interrupted their thoughts more than halfway through their meal.
“Master Malfoy!” she squeaked as usual, holding out a letter.
Upon reading it, Draco jumped to his feet and quickly said, “Going.”
“No. You. Are. Not,” growled Hermione. “You made me a promise, Malfoy. That you wouldn’t go to these things. I can’t stand to see you get hurt.”
“Granger, you’re not my real fiancée,” he spat.
“I am your friend!” she cried. “You are not going. I care about you. You will not go.”
He was fidgeting now with impatience. “Shit is bad right now, Granger. I need to go to get this sorted out before more lives are lost.”
“Let me go with you, then. If lives are in danger, I want to help too.”
Draco ran his hands through his hair, his irritation growing deadlier, but he was complementing. His fidgeting became worse. Rubbing his templates, he made a final decision. “Fine. But you do as I say. If I tell you to run, you run or Merlin so help you, I will personally kill you. I don’t care if I am in danger or if anyone else is, you go. Save your ass first.” When she didn’t answer, he barked, “Promise!”
“I promise,” she said weakly.
He held out his hand for her to take and when she did, he led her out the gates of the Malfoy Manor and apparated into an unknown village.
In the fading twilight, smoke rose high into the sky as flames danced greedily upon the village houses, eating everything in its path. The screams were loud and piercing, echoing through the near night. Lights blasting in every direction, with yells of unforgivable curses along with others. In the distant, a booming sound was heard as if something just had blown up.
This was the war. This was what was happening outside the safety of the Malfoy Manor.
Thank you so much SassySlytherinGirl for editing this chapter XOXO. So much thanks.
A/N: Please review <3 And thank you to those who have shown support =D
What do you think so far? What are you expecting in the next chapter?
Your answer won't influence the next chapter, it is already wirtten, but I am curious. ;)
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
On My Own