Quicksilver

Quicksilver
(title subject to change)
story rating NC-17
pairing: DM/HG

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, etc. are the sole property and copyright of the lovely J.K. Rowling. This story is for entertainment purposes only and is in no way affiliated with the original Harry Potter novel series or the Warner Bros. films.

This story contains minor violence, some adult language, and overt sexuality.

------------------------------

Chapter Ten
The Truth about Luke & Cissy

\"During the hellish periods of time that marked the first rising of Voldemort, your father and grandfather were among the first to join his cause. However, when your grandmother fell ill, your grandfather decided to stay at her side instead of continuing as an active Death Eater. When confronted by Voldemort for what was considered a break in loyalty, your grandfather stood up for himself, his family values, and his love for his wife. He was tortured and killed in Voldemort\'s rage, as was your grandmother.

\"Lucius was furious and heartbroken. He was disavowed from Voldemort and the Death Eaters and fled. He was discovered two years later in hiding, now married to your mother and had been recently blessed with your birth, Mr. Malfoy. They invaded your family\'s hiding place in the dead of night in order to surprise your father. He was placed under the Imperius Curse in order to restore his loyalty. In turn, your mother placed you under a binding charm, which would only be broken if your father could fight his way out of his curse.\"

Draco sat, unable to speak, and waited for Dumbledore to continue.

\"This binding charm prevented you from developing according to any of your mother\'s traits. That way, you wouldtinutinue to grow as somewhat of a clone of your father...it seemed to be the only way to keep you from harm. You\'d already been traumatized by the night Voldemort cursed your father...your mother kept the house well-lit after that night because you feared the dark so much that you\'d fall ill after only a few moments without light.\"

\"Wh-why did my mother think that her binding charm would keep me out of danger?\"

\"Because, Mr. Malfoy, with your father\'s loss of faith in Voldemort and the Death Eaters went his faith in all of their beliefs, as well. Your father met your mother while he\'d been on the run; she, too, was also in hiding after the death of her sister. She feared for her life both because of her connection to her sister and because of what she and her sister were, essentially. They were a great couple, your parents. He called her Cissy and she called him Luke. They were very much in love in what seemed like unlikely circumstances.\"

Draco ver very confused now, and stopped Dumbledore in order to interrogate him before he got further along in this unbelievable tale. \"What do you mean, my mother feared for her life because of what she was? And why did my mother think that the bind woueep eep me safe?\"

\"Your mother is a muggle-born witch, Mr. Malfoy.\" It was like a slap across the face. Draco\'s mouth fell open, but he couldn\'t speak a single word. \"Your father\'s purist beliefs were gone and he met the love of his life in typ type of woman he\'d never have given a second glance before. Voldemort never recognized her for what she was because of glamours she would use in his presence. She suppressed any possible traits like these in you so that you, physically and mentally, would show to be nothing but Lucius\'s son with her binding charm. Your mother owled me secretly to alert me that your father had broken his curse. Everything that is happening to you now is because you are taking on the characteristics and qualities that you\'ve had since you were born but were hidden by that spell. You are left-handed now because your mother is left-handed, and we both know that the variations of left-handedness and ambidexterity are traits of muggle genetics. You are more open-minded and even-tempered, qualities that stood out in your mother\'s demeanor, but you still have your father\'s noble air. And if you want the ultimate proof that you are your mother\'s son, go look in that mirror on the wall.\" Dumbledore pointed to his left.

Draco stood slowly, then turned to the mirror as if he was being told jump off a cliff. Nothing had changed...or had it? He walked closer and started to notice something...but it couldn\'t be. It had to just be the mirror playing tricks on him. Two more steps and it couldn\'t have been clearer. Where a gray that was cold as steel used to accent his eyes now was a blue that would put the sky to shame. His mouth fell open and he stared with disbelief. This was the color of his mother\'s eyes.

He could remember it still...it was his first memory. His mother was trying to rock him back to sleep as the yelling and loud noise went on in the front hallway. She was singing to him as his father screamed in pain. Then he remembered the world fading away and the voices disappearing. He\'d scream every time that his father touched him for nearly a year from then on because he didn\'t recognize him His His mind was whirling; it was all too much to handle. He turned in a flash to face Dumbledore and screamed, \"What have you done to me?? Do you think this is funny?! My father always said that you were a meddlesome, disrespecting old fool, but I just think you\'re bloody mad, and a soddiastaastard to boot! This is SICK!!\"

Before Dumbledore could say a word or draw his wand or do anything to stop him, Draco Malfoy had screamed the password and exited the tower office in a panicked run.

Hermione caught him on his way toward the dungeons. She\'d never seen him looking like that before, not even when he\'d come back that day during Potions after his quidditch fall. The second that she looked into his eyes, she gasped and dropped her books. \"Dr-Draco...your eyes...they\'re...\"

\"Don\'t fucking call me Draco, mudblood,\" he spat wildly, then tried to walk away.

\"What?! Oh, no you don\'t!\" Hermione grabbed the back of his robes forcefully and glared at him once he turned around. \"What do you think you\'re playing at?\"

\"No, Granger, what did you think you were playing at?\" he said calmly, but with a great deal of venom. \"Did you think that I really liked you? That I would actually care more for you than just a sexual conquest? That you weren\'t just some smug wench that I put in her place by pushing the obvious buttons?\" He delivered an extremely menacing version of his trademark sneer.

Hermione\'s eyes filled with tears, but she stood her ground and in a low voice said, \"I don\'t think you\'re that good an actor. Something is different, whether you admit it or not.\"

\"Nothing is different. Not about me.\" He paused for emphasis on these statements, then continued. \"It was all about winning, and I did. The moment that you kissed me back, I won. So I took what I wanted and left. Get over it.\" He turned to walk away again, and this time she didn\'t stop him. She was so angry, humiliated and hurt that she thought she was going to t. t. She sank to her knees on the floor and buried her face in her hands as soon as he turned the corner.

***

After running through the Slytherin common room, with one hand shading his eyes from all the people sitting in there socializing, straight to his bed, Draco decided that the only way to relieve the nausea that came over him after his encounter with Hermione in the hallway would be to do a little flying. It would help him forget that the sick feeling came notm thm the fact that she was muggle-born, but from the fact that he was desperate for her to hold him and all he\'d done was spout off insulting nonsense. He\'d not touched a broom since his accident; his had been damaged beyond repair. He glamour-charmed his eyes and went back to the common room in search of either of his two \"friends\".

Soon, he was outside in the brisk winter air, his footsteps crunching loudly through the snow. He\'d borrowed a broom from Goyle and now was headed toward the pitch to fly. He was still wired with anger and denial and this was the second-best method of stress relief that he could think of. The first was sex...but that wasn\'t an option. He was trying to convince himself that he wasn\'t interested in Hermione and the idea of a quick romp with Pansy wasn\'t tempting enough to be worth it.

He stood inside the stadium, his breath coming in steady clouds, and looked around foromenoment. He remembered the last time he\'d been in this place...the crowd cheering, the snitch appearing relatively early, looking into her eyes...he shook his head. It\'s all in my head, he thought, all of it. I am Draco Malfoy, pureblooded Hogwarts student in Slytherin House. Seeker for the House quidditch team. Rigandeanded. Gray-eyed. Uninterested in stupid little mudblood Gryffindor girls.

This became his mantra as he took off into the air, swooping and diving. The rush of cold air against his facet grt great. He flew by one of the stadium towers and made ripples in the tapestry fabric in his wake. He did a somersault, laughed at himself, then proceeded to make several loops in the air.

I am Draco Malfoy... He whizzed by the main press box.
Pureblooded wizard... He flew while hanging upside down from his broomstick.
Slytherin seeker... He took a major dive toward the pitch, then righted himself within inches of collision with the ground. He flew alongside a tower decorated in Slytherin glory, running his hand along the fabric.
Right-handed... He let go of the broom with his left hand, trying to prove to himself that he could still control it with his right.
Son of Lucius and Narcissa... A dreadful, loud rip sounded as he got too close and the footrests on Goyle\'s broom snagged the Slytherin tapestry and got caught.

\"Not again!\" he cried out as he was flung from the broom by inertia. He only fell a few feet, though, landing roughly on his back with an \"oof\". He stood slowly, then turned to look at the broom still caught about a foot above his head on the Slytherin tapestry. He couldn\'t decide if letting go with his left hand or thinking about his mother had been the cause of that accident.

Before he could stop it, his eyes had welled up with tears of frustration. Nearly everything that he\'d known about himself and his life had changed in the matter of a day. Reprng ang all that that made him feel was too much for him to handle. He could take the easy route and blame Hermione or Dumbledore and put it back into the back of his mind...but he knew that none of this was something he could ignore for long.

I...am not pureblooded. He gulped. My mother is a muggle-born witch who bound me from harm for 16 years because of that. My father\'s been under one of the Unforgivable Curses for that long, as well. My grandparents were killed by Voldemort. I was always meant to be left-handed and blue-eyed. Tears escaped from his eyes and he wiped them away in a typical boys-don\'t-cry fashion.

He wondered how his mother had lived for that long, concealing that sort of secret so well and dealing with a man who was cursed into hating her. He also wondered, after his father\'s desertion of the Death Eaters, why his family was not simply killed like many others had been. Why was Lucius so importan Vol Voldemort that he could be forgiven when his father was killed for caring for his wife?

After a few minutes of whirlwind thoughts, Draco realized it had begun to snow again and that the sun was setting. He was nearly freezing to death and it was pbly bly time for supper. He drew his wand and freed Goyle\'s broom with a quick detangler, then headed back up toward the castle.

Something caught his eye on the way back, though. A piece of his broom, the black lacquer standing out starkly against the white of the snow, lay a few feet outside of the stadium. Thinking that he could keep it as some sort of morbid souvenir, he walked over to the broom handle fragment and reached down to pick it up. The closer he got to it, the more the sinking feeling in his stomach got worse. As soon as he touched it, he realized why. The world seemed to go upside down and dissolve messily around him. The broom piece had been turned into a Portkey.

With a heavy gulp, he disappeared into thin air.