Chapter 20
September 17th
Hermione
For the millionth time today I am left to question why, for the love of Godric, Professor McGonagle made Malfoy head boy.
After the catastrophe in the corridor, I rushed to potions with Slughorn, which was easily becoming my least favorite class, much like in sixth year when he taught the class. He lacks the aptitude to teach the subject, sometimes I wonder if he himself understands it at all.
My dislike for the class skyrocketed when he announced at my arrival that I was to be paired with the head boy. I was even more disappointed when looking over to Frank, who sat beside James, only confirming that he had meant Malfoy.
So now here I was, sitting beside the bloody prick who never shuts his trap. Though unlike in our earlier years when he'd simply yell out crude remarks in that high pitched whine of his, he now just grumbled words under his breath with a scowl. I don't know which is worse.
I added the flauxweed and heard him grumble once again from my right. I groaned, turning to glare at him. "Have something to say Malfoy? Because if so, I'd prefer you say it out loud instead of grumbling in the corner like a five year old." I sneer at him and he scowls, crossing his arms.
"I was just saying, granger, that you're going to get us killed." He says with a sarcastically sweet smile. I scoff, putting down the knife so I don't 'accidentally' slit his throat. "And how pray tell, would I do that, Malfoy?" I ask, trying not to scowl at his snobbish face, lest I get frown lines. I will not ruin my skin over a prick.
He gives me another fake smile, leaning so close that our noses are only inches apart, putting his arms on the desk behind me so he cages me in. "Well granger," he says, his eyes peering into mine, a smirk tipping up the corner of his lips. I try to take a step back but am met by the edge of the table.
I scowl, my nostrils flaring as I hold my breathe because of our proximity. His smirk turns into a catlike grin. He licks his lips before looking down to mine, which I subconsciously bite. "You put way to much..." he leans in and I hold my breath.
He turns his head.
And swivels to reach for the knife, before pulling away, back to the other side of the table. He licks his lips, running a hand through his blond locks. My eyes fics between his newly wet lips and his long slender fingers. "Flauxweed."
I blink, coming back to myself. My brows scrunch in confusion at his words. "What?" I ask, cursing myself for getting distracted. "You added too much flauxweed." Right, the potion. I shrug off the lingering thoughts and shake my head, turning back to my station to continue chopping ingredients. "No, I didn't." I reply sweeping my knife down of the slug hearts.
Malfoy sends me a smug look that definitely looks more like the Malfoy from when we were younger, then anything I've seen in the past two years. "You know, for the brightest witch of the age, I assumed you'd know how to read a potions book." He taunts but I simple scoff.
"And for the godson of a potioneer, I thought you'd know that sometimes the book isn't right." I tell him with an even smugger smirk of my own. What can I say? Mentioning snape was a low blow, Malfoy seemed to seek his approval almost as much as his fathers growing up.
He just scowls.
"Whatever."
Draco
I slump unto one of the couches in the common room, near the fireplace, a glass of bourbon in my hand. I take a sip. I've consumed more alcohol in the past thirteen days then I have in my whole life. Who knew all it took was a poorly timed spin through history. I let out a sour smile. Or maybe it's due to a certain goldhaired muggle born.
I can't help but envision our earlier scene, me boxing her in against the desk, our noses only centimeters apart, close enough that I could smell her lavender shampoo, Close enough to hear her breath hitch, close enough to see her nostrils flare and her eyes widen ever so slightly.
I'd almost kissed her right then and there, my body had ached to, I could practically feel myself bring my lips down on hers and reenacting what I'd been dreaming about since I met her younger self on the Hogwarts express. And bloody hell when she'd started to nibble on her own lip, I'd been tempted to just do it and replace her teeth with mine.
But I didn't.
I groan throwing back the drink before kneading the bridge of my nose. That witch is going to be the death of me. "Something wrong?" I open my eyes back up to see my mysterious uncle leaning on the couch opposite to me. I let out a hollow laugh. "Dandy."
I take in the man silently. I admit I don't know much about the illustrious Regulus black. Having only heard his name a handful of time throughout my life, he is quite a mystery to me. I'd only ever heard of him in passing remarks and whispered conversations. The most prominent was during Yule holiday during my fifth year, my parents had been arguing over the dark lord's request of my initiation.
My parents hadn't spoken to each other once since my arrival home. Of course they'd been cordial to one another in my presence, not wanting to admit to fighting, but something was clearly off. Which is why I was here, sitting just outside their bedroom door, peeking at them through a crack in their door.
My mother stood by her dresser, her back turned to my father as she took off her emerald earrings, a blank look on her face. My father comes up behind her, encircling her waste with his arms. She stills. She puts down the earrings and clutches the edge of the dresser tightly in her fingers.
"Cissa." My father whispers, running his hand along her arm. She shrugs his off. He takes a step back but she doesn't move. She stares at the top of the dresser, her jaw clenched and her lips drawn in a tight line. "Don't Lucious." She says coldly, and even I flinch.
My mother rarely ever says his name without some form of endearment, whatever this is about, it's important, I've never seen my mother this angry with my father. I don't think I've seen her angry with him at all. "I'm sorry my love, I—"
She whirls around fast enough to give us all whiplash and digs her pointed finger in his chest. "You're sorry? I'm afraid this has gone past simple apologies, no, no, we are far past that point. You are putting my son at risk. My son. My family. Our legacy. You promised it would never go this far, you promised to protect this family, you promised that we would be better then this." Her voice breaks at the end and I almost jump in right then and there.
I've only seen my mother cry a handful of times and it is the one thing that has always managed to break me. I manage to hold myself back so she can continue. "Going in to this you said this was to protect our family—"
"It is!" My father cries, clutching her hand to his chest. She shakes his grip, glaring at him with a fire I never knew she had. "No! It isn't, all this is doing is tearing us apart. This war, this monster, has already taken too much from me!"
"Cissa—"
She shakes his hand off once again. "No!" She yells, so unlike the mother I know. "No. I will not have my son be another name on the death tole, I will not have him be the next regulus!" This time a year does slip from her eye, and something in my father crumbles as her moves towards her to wrap her in his arms.
She sobs and I clench my fists and force myself to not tear my eyes away. My father brushes a kiss atop her forehead and clutches her tighter. "I would never let that happen." He whispers before taking my mothers face in his hands. "What happened to Regulus was a horrible, horrible thing, and I will do everything in my power to make sure history doesn't repeat itself." She nods and goes back to his embrace.
"Aren't you a bit young to be drinking?" He asks with a smirk. "Aren't you a bit young to be telling me what to do?" I fire back and he chuckled. "Touché."
He takes a seat on the couch pulling the bottle of bourbon from the table and taking a swig. I scrunch my nose. "Didn't your mother ever teach you table manners." I scowl and he smirks, shaking his head. "I'm in a cult of homicidal maniacs at seventeen, table manners aren't my biggest problem." He quips back and I give a miserably hollow smile.
"Maybe we should start a club, underage deatheaters, join if you dare." I offer with a shrug. He gives a sad smile to match my own. He gives a dry dead laugh looking sadly at the bottle in his hand. "It never gets better does it?" He asks quietly, quiet enough that I almost didn't hear it. Before I get the chance to ask him further about it he shakes his head as if shaking the thoughts away and turns to leave. "Enjoy your rule breaking."
And like that,
He's gone.
Narcissa
Severous stares at a point off in the distance, his eyes squinted, his brows scrunched. His arms are crossed and his stance is stiff. "Something bothering you Severous?" I question as he brings his gaze back to myself.
He nods in the direction of my cousin and his Gryffindor friends on the other side of the courtyard. "The girl, the one your cousin has an unnatural obsession with," I follow his gaze and find that the girl is in fact sitting right beside Sirius, a book set in her lap. "What about her?" I ask an eyebrow raised at the man.
He purses his lips, once again narrowing his eyes on her. "I believe Black was right about her, she is quite odd for a witch. I find it quite irksome." He grumbles and it's then that I remember I have yet to share my cousins little theory with him.
Instead of offering up the information, I choose to get more. "And is that why you were both late to potions this morning?" I ask and his jaw visibly clenches. He gives a stiff nod. "She was assisting me out if a....predicament." He scowls. Well, that's very un-sirius like. I can't help but muse.
I tap my fingers gently on the fabric of my skirt. "And somewhere along the twenty minutes she was 'assisting' you, you found something so captivating that you've been watching her for the past hour?" I raise an eyebrow as he rolls his eyes. "Do tell Severous, I'm intrigued."
He finally turns his gaze back to me and says something very unexpected. "When asking her why she bothered, the witch said she had a debt." I can’t help the gasp that befalls from my lips. No witch or wizard would ever casually admit such a thing, especially to another magical being.
I glance at the girl and see her still sat on edge of the fountain, engrossed in her novel, unbeknownst to the conversation on the other side of the court yard. I let my gaze slide to the left of her where Sirius sits, tiny crumpled up bits of paper in his hand as he takes a second every minute or so to throw one at the little witch beside him, surely annoying her beyond belief.
She sends him a harsh glare before going back to her book. I turn back to Severous. “And you’re sure she meant it as such?” Such a thing is dangerous to admit, as one could choose to bind the other in a magical contract of debt. No black would put themselves in such a position with someone they didn’t trust completely. Not even the disowned ones. “Quite sure.”
Un-Sirius-like indeed…
2173 words
Hey guys, sorry this one’s so short, but hey at least you didn’t have to wait a month for it! So, guess who woke up a week ago and decided to renovate her entire place? That would be me. So the next part might take a while unless I have a huge writing spree and knock it out in one day, but hey, here’s hoping. Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, see you soon!