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Ensnared
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
10,809
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
10,809
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter Two
I’d spent so long lounging in the bath, making sure I gave the Healing Herbs enough time to work properly, that I missed breakfast. Draco was draped over an armchair in the Common Room when I came down.
“Pans! What happened to you? Thought the old grease ball must have eaten you or something,” he drawled.
I suddenly realised that I couldn’t tell Draco anything about that morning.
Why not? asked the sneaky voice at the back of my head. Don’t you want him to know how much you enjoyed it?
I was supposed to be in love with Draco. I was supposed to tell him everything. The date of the wedding had been set six months ago, for goodness’ sake, and as soon as we got out of Hogwarts, Mother and Narcissa were taking me to Paris for my first dress fitting… hands, on my body… hands with long, thin, clever fingers…
I managed a smile. “No. He… he just gave me a lecture on setting an example to younger students. That’s all.”
“Pansy, are you still asleep or something?” There was an odd mixture of suspicion and amusement in Draco’s voice.
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I did get woken up pretty early this morning.”
“I just asked you if you remembered what the old fool had planned for us today.” Now he just sounded like a petulant child.
“You ought to remember,” I said. “Quidditch match, Hogwarts versus the Scottish Under 21 team, isn’t it? You had enough to say about it before when they said Potter was playing Seeker.”
“Yeah, well. Isn’t it just like Bumblebore to think up something like that, just so famous Harry Potter can have one more moment of glory? And then say we all have to go to cheer on the school. How very Gryffindor!”
“At least we get to go up to Hogsmeade this afternoon,” I said, in an effort to steer him away from Potter and Dumbledore, and onto more cheerful subjects. “We can go to the Three Broomsticks.”
“Don’t be so common, Pansy,” he said, with a sneer. “The Three Broomsticks is for kids. I wouldn’t be seen dead there.” Then he brightened. “There’s a new place, though, club designed by a friend of Mother’s, called X. Very exclusive. Members only. We can go there.”
I could see that keeping Draco happy was going to be very hard work.
***
In the event, though, it wasn’t me who set the seal on Draco’s good mood for the day. Incredibly enough, it was Professor McGonagall. Ten minutes after the match was due to start, there was still no sign of the teams. Madam Hooch was pacing about restlessly, saying the odd word to a wizard in bright blue robes, who had to be the Scottish coach. I could see several of the other teachers in a little group around her, short, fat Sprout talking to long, bent Vector, and a dark figure in black robes which I was resolutely ignoring. And another figure in an unmistakeable tartan hat, striding towards them, making gestures of frustration and fear. Then they were heading our way.
“Mr Malfoy. We’ll need you to play Seeker after all.” Her mouth was so pursed, she was hardly moving her lips. “Call your broom, get changed as quickly as you can. The match is late starting as it is.”
“Something happened to Potter?” Draco was wide-eyed.
“Mr Potter is... indisposed,” said Professor McGonagall.
I should have been looking at the expression of delight on Draco’s face: Potter indisposed and he’d been selected to play for the school on the same day. Dream come true. But all I could see was the pair of dark eyes that gleamed over McGonagall’s shoulder, that sent pulses of heat running through my blood.
***
Apparently, the school won. Quidditch never much interested me, though I could fake great enthusiasm and impressive knowledge when required by my status as the future Mrs Draco Malfoy. But not that day. Though we were on opposite sides of the pitch, I felt as though a Hypnotus Charm was keeping me fixed on Snape. I didn’t want to analyse my feelings; I was just… just… watching him, seeing if he’d check up again tonight whether I’d slept with Draco or not. And found myself hoping that he would. He’d know that I was… an adult, like that. Not a child any more, sitting in his potions class. And then he’d order me to his dungeon again, and…
“Malfoy has the Snitch!” Madam Hooch’s cry rang out across the Quidditch field. “Hogwarts win, one hundred and ninety to forty!”
Draco was the hero of the hour. Still in his Quidditch robes, perched precariously on the shoulders of Goyle and Crabbe, he and the rest of the seventh year set out for Hogsmeade. He, Draco Malfoy, had saved the day when famous Harry Potter had let the school down, and he was determined that the school should know all about it. So determined, in fact, that I didn’t think he’d notice if I wasn’t even there. If I were, in fact, somewhere else. If I had to suddenly double back to the castle for a cloak, for example. If I were to take the long way round to the Slytherin Common Room, past…
“Well, well, Miss Parkinson. Are we not on our way to Hogsmeade to celebrate our boyfriend’s great victory?”
My heart was in my mouth. I didn’t think I could reply to him.
“N-no, sir. I came back for a – for a cloak.”
“For a cloak, indeed? Oh dear. I wonder if we were so right to graduate you after all. Accio Miss Parkinson’s cloak.” My treacherous cloak flew into his hand. “Now you can rejoin the fun.”
The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak. I hoped (hoped? or dreaded?) that he could read my face.
“Ah. You were hoping for a little fun that didn’t involve dear Draco, were you?”
I nodded. Glittering again, he waved me through the door to his office. He made a complicated gesture at the wall, and it faded, revealing another room beyond. This was much more luxurious than the dark and dingy dungeon office had suggested it might be; oak panelling glowed golden over the walls, and the ceiling was covered in arched beams which came together at four points in the room to meet tall wooden pillars, traced in gold. The furniture, two chairs before a roaring fire, another desk, again in golden oak, shelf upon shelf of sumptuously bound books, was sparse, but looked old and valuable. Snape raised one eyebrow when he saw me surveying his room; a door opposite me slammed shut, just as I had glimpsed a four poster bed hung with green velvet inside it. He turned, and with a flick of his ebony black wand, sealed up the wall again behind us.
“Pans! What happened to you? Thought the old grease ball must have eaten you or something,” he drawled.
I suddenly realised that I couldn’t tell Draco anything about that morning.
Why not? asked the sneaky voice at the back of my head. Don’t you want him to know how much you enjoyed it?
I was supposed to be in love with Draco. I was supposed to tell him everything. The date of the wedding had been set six months ago, for goodness’ sake, and as soon as we got out of Hogwarts, Mother and Narcissa were taking me to Paris for my first dress fitting… hands, on my body… hands with long, thin, clever fingers…
I managed a smile. “No. He… he just gave me a lecture on setting an example to younger students. That’s all.”
“Pansy, are you still asleep or something?” There was an odd mixture of suspicion and amusement in Draco’s voice.
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I did get woken up pretty early this morning.”
“I just asked you if you remembered what the old fool had planned for us today.” Now he just sounded like a petulant child.
“You ought to remember,” I said. “Quidditch match, Hogwarts versus the Scottish Under 21 team, isn’t it? You had enough to say about it before when they said Potter was playing Seeker.”
“Yeah, well. Isn’t it just like Bumblebore to think up something like that, just so famous Harry Potter can have one more moment of glory? And then say we all have to go to cheer on the school. How very Gryffindor!”
“At least we get to go up to Hogsmeade this afternoon,” I said, in an effort to steer him away from Potter and Dumbledore, and onto more cheerful subjects. “We can go to the Three Broomsticks.”
“Don’t be so common, Pansy,” he said, with a sneer. “The Three Broomsticks is for kids. I wouldn’t be seen dead there.” Then he brightened. “There’s a new place, though, club designed by a friend of Mother’s, called X. Very exclusive. Members only. We can go there.”
I could see that keeping Draco happy was going to be very hard work.
***
In the event, though, it wasn’t me who set the seal on Draco’s good mood for the day. Incredibly enough, it was Professor McGonagall. Ten minutes after the match was due to start, there was still no sign of the teams. Madam Hooch was pacing about restlessly, saying the odd word to a wizard in bright blue robes, who had to be the Scottish coach. I could see several of the other teachers in a little group around her, short, fat Sprout talking to long, bent Vector, and a dark figure in black robes which I was resolutely ignoring. And another figure in an unmistakeable tartan hat, striding towards them, making gestures of frustration and fear. Then they were heading our way.
“Mr Malfoy. We’ll need you to play Seeker after all.” Her mouth was so pursed, she was hardly moving her lips. “Call your broom, get changed as quickly as you can. The match is late starting as it is.”
“Something happened to Potter?” Draco was wide-eyed.
“Mr Potter is... indisposed,” said Professor McGonagall.
I should have been looking at the expression of delight on Draco’s face: Potter indisposed and he’d been selected to play for the school on the same day. Dream come true. But all I could see was the pair of dark eyes that gleamed over McGonagall’s shoulder, that sent pulses of heat running through my blood.
***
Apparently, the school won. Quidditch never much interested me, though I could fake great enthusiasm and impressive knowledge when required by my status as the future Mrs Draco Malfoy. But not that day. Though we were on opposite sides of the pitch, I felt as though a Hypnotus Charm was keeping me fixed on Snape. I didn’t want to analyse my feelings; I was just… just… watching him, seeing if he’d check up again tonight whether I’d slept with Draco or not. And found myself hoping that he would. He’d know that I was… an adult, like that. Not a child any more, sitting in his potions class. And then he’d order me to his dungeon again, and…
“Malfoy has the Snitch!” Madam Hooch’s cry rang out across the Quidditch field. “Hogwarts win, one hundred and ninety to forty!”
Draco was the hero of the hour. Still in his Quidditch robes, perched precariously on the shoulders of Goyle and Crabbe, he and the rest of the seventh year set out for Hogsmeade. He, Draco Malfoy, had saved the day when famous Harry Potter had let the school down, and he was determined that the school should know all about it. So determined, in fact, that I didn’t think he’d notice if I wasn’t even there. If I were, in fact, somewhere else. If I had to suddenly double back to the castle for a cloak, for example. If I were to take the long way round to the Slytherin Common Room, past…
“Well, well, Miss Parkinson. Are we not on our way to Hogsmeade to celebrate our boyfriend’s great victory?”
My heart was in my mouth. I didn’t think I could reply to him.
“N-no, sir. I came back for a – for a cloak.”
“For a cloak, indeed? Oh dear. I wonder if we were so right to graduate you after all. Accio Miss Parkinson’s cloak.” My treacherous cloak flew into his hand. “Now you can rejoin the fun.”
The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak. I hoped (hoped? or dreaded?) that he could read my face.
“Ah. You were hoping for a little fun that didn’t involve dear Draco, were you?”
I nodded. Glittering again, he waved me through the door to his office. He made a complicated gesture at the wall, and it faded, revealing another room beyond. This was much more luxurious than the dark and dingy dungeon office had suggested it might be; oak panelling glowed golden over the walls, and the ceiling was covered in arched beams which came together at four points in the room to meet tall wooden pillars, traced in gold. The furniture, two chairs before a roaring fire, another desk, again in golden oak, shelf upon shelf of sumptuously bound books, was sparse, but looked old and valuable. Snape raised one eyebrow when he saw me surveying his room; a door opposite me slammed shut, just as I had glimpsed a four poster bed hung with green velvet inside it. He turned, and with a flick of his ebony black wand, sealed up the wall again behind us.