Revenge and Revelation
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
13,311
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
13,311
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
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.
3
The hallowed halls of Hogwarts.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
He had been given a position as the Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts when he refused to make a 180
degree turn as an Auror. He utterly loathed both sides and felt that picking one over the other was
pointless.
As he walked into the polished grandeur that dominated his late childhood, he felt nauseous. He
needed to brush up on his Arithmancy, he needed a shave, and he was going to be dealing with children
day in and out. This included, much to his chagrin, Muggle-born children and the mental image he got from
picturing his father\'s face turning green at the idea made him laugh madly to himself. His laugh
rang through the empty halls, bouncing off the shining floors.
He was sure that a lot was going to be different at his godforsaken alma mater, but he wasn\'t interested
in learning what these joys were to be just yet. He went to his classroom, in which he could remember
sitting bored as Professor Vector went over horrible rules and theories and proofs. He was good --
very good -- at the subject, but abhorred it like the scum on his shoes. This was certainly going
to be interesting.
He unpacked the meager number of items that he\'d brought with him from Malfoy Manor in his office and
then took to staring out the window at the lake for a little while. He was brooding, discontent, but
unsure of what it would take to make him happy. If he even cared to be happy, that is. He wondered
disdainfully who would want to be cheerful all day, anyway.
It was about an hour before his train of thought was broken by shrill chattering and squeals. He
walked over to his office door and looked out to see a pair of young girls running around, squirting
each other with water from toy wands. They couldn\'t have been more than 8 years old apiece, one with
startlingly red hair flowing about her tiny frame, the other with a shock of white gold locks that were
curtaining her in a similar fashion.
\"Girls!\" A heavily accented female voice called from further down the corridor. Draco smirked to see
former Beauxbatons Triwizard champion Fleur Delacour gliding her way toward the children.
\"MOMMY!\" shrieked the little redhead. \"Athena got me wet!\" She wrapped her tiny body around one of Fleur\'s
legs, pointing indignantly at her blonde counterpart.
\"I did NOT!\" the little girl called Athena cried. \"Lisette did it first!\"
\"Enough nonsense for now, leetle ones,\" Fleur purred at both girls, now clinging to either side of her
skirt. \"Eet is time for dinner, let us go down to ze Great Hall.\"
\"Miss Delacour?\" Draco drawled, leaning haughtily against the wall next to his door, raising an eyebrow at
her. Fleur looked shocked to see him, but immediately regained her composure.
\"Zat is Mrs. Weasley now, Monsieur Malfoy,\" she replied, eyes narrowed.
\"Are both of those yours?\" he countered, gesturing at the two girls, both peering at him from behind her
skirt.
\"Zose? Zey are not objects, zey are children,\" she said contemptuously, flipping her whitish hair
behind her and staring him down with her crystalline but cold blue eyes. \"And yes, ze girls are mine,\"
she added, almost as an afterthought.
\"Ah well, to each their own, love. Never wanted rugrats myself,\" he replied loftily.
\"Somehow I think eet is better zat way,\" Fleur spat. She turned and marched off, the little ones still
clinging to her robes.
Draco scoffed, then went back into his office to pour himself a shot of firewhiskey. Stupid twat, he
thought. If it wasn\'t for her veela blood, she would be totally repugnant to him.
He didn\'t want to go down to dinner and face The Boy Who Lives to Annoy or anybody else, so he went into
Hogsmeade. He had a meal of firewhiskey with a side of shepherd\'s pie and spent most of the night
lamenting his pointless life with his face buried in his hands at the Three Broomsticks bar.
The door opened some two hours later, and a set of frighteningly familiar jolted him back to reality.
He turned to see Potter, the Weasel king (wearing Ministry ID\'s -- ugh) and some woman he could barely
see around Weasel\'s lanky frame. Foreboding took over; while this woman could have been the current
fancy of either of the two men, he knew in an instant that it was going to be her.
On a day like this, it could not bloody well have been anybody else.
She was his adolescent irritation...he was damn obsessed with her and hated her for it. She was the pillar
of the Gryffindor Three. She was Muggle-born. She was not prone to catering to the male half of the world.
She was to be detested and furthermore off-limits. If he could not have her, he had to destroy her.
And he did. After nine years, he was going to be faced with her for the first time since he tried his
damnedest to rip out her soul and steal away into the night with it. Fuck.
His head swam with the memory of it all. Definitely one of his fondest. A smug grin threatened to take
over his face. He had a piece of her that she could not take back. Try as he might to reason that it was
more about hurting Potter and his campaign against Lord Fuckhead, it was more about getting into the head
of a very confusingly delicious piece of forbidden fruit.
This was not good at all. He was drunk, forgetting himself and thinking disgusting thoughts.
Pervy thoughts, more like. Disgusting because it\'s...her.
And there she was.
Her eyes looked weary and old, but the rest of her looked nearly the same. Instinctively, he gripped the
edge of the bar while surveying her covetously.
Hermione Granger, no longer child star pupil but an adult. Something about that seemed a little bit weird
to him, but the whole business of thinking about her as something other than scum was dodgy enough. Bloody
firewhiskey would be the end of him.
But he was not Lucius Malfoy. He would live out the rest of his life if for nothing else than to prove that
he was not his father. Lucius Malfoy would not have given a girl like her more than a condescending sneer
before walking away...unless, of course, he was in his Death Eater\'s hood. Coward.
He snorted in indignance at the thought of his father, without realizing how loud he was. In an instant,
three pairs of eyes looked for the source of the noise, but Draco, hidden in the corner shadows of the far
side of the bar, slipped out through the kitchens unnoticed.
He had seen shock in her eyes. A vague sort of recognition. He was struck by the notion that perhaps
his act of violation upon her had left such an impression that she could remember him by such an
insignificant sound.
And he\'d be damned if that thought didn\'t make him smile.
Fan-bloody-tastic.
He had been given a position as the Arithmancy professor at Hogwarts when he refused to make a 180
degree turn as an Auror. He utterly loathed both sides and felt that picking one over the other was
pointless.
As he walked into the polished grandeur that dominated his late childhood, he felt nauseous. He
needed to brush up on his Arithmancy, he needed a shave, and he was going to be dealing with children
day in and out. This included, much to his chagrin, Muggle-born children and the mental image he got from
picturing his father\'s face turning green at the idea made him laugh madly to himself. His laugh
rang through the empty halls, bouncing off the shining floors.
He was sure that a lot was going to be different at his godforsaken alma mater, but he wasn\'t interested
in learning what these joys were to be just yet. He went to his classroom, in which he could remember
sitting bored as Professor Vector went over horrible rules and theories and proofs. He was good --
very good -- at the subject, but abhorred it like the scum on his shoes. This was certainly going
to be interesting.
He unpacked the meager number of items that he\'d brought with him from Malfoy Manor in his office and
then took to staring out the window at the lake for a little while. He was brooding, discontent, but
unsure of what it would take to make him happy. If he even cared to be happy, that is. He wondered
disdainfully who would want to be cheerful all day, anyway.
It was about an hour before his train of thought was broken by shrill chattering and squeals. He
walked over to his office door and looked out to see a pair of young girls running around, squirting
each other with water from toy wands. They couldn\'t have been more than 8 years old apiece, one with
startlingly red hair flowing about her tiny frame, the other with a shock of white gold locks that were
curtaining her in a similar fashion.
\"Girls!\" A heavily accented female voice called from further down the corridor. Draco smirked to see
former Beauxbatons Triwizard champion Fleur Delacour gliding her way toward the children.
\"MOMMY!\" shrieked the little redhead. \"Athena got me wet!\" She wrapped her tiny body around one of Fleur\'s
legs, pointing indignantly at her blonde counterpart.
\"I did NOT!\" the little girl called Athena cried. \"Lisette did it first!\"
\"Enough nonsense for now, leetle ones,\" Fleur purred at both girls, now clinging to either side of her
skirt. \"Eet is time for dinner, let us go down to ze Great Hall.\"
\"Miss Delacour?\" Draco drawled, leaning haughtily against the wall next to his door, raising an eyebrow at
her. Fleur looked shocked to see him, but immediately regained her composure.
\"Zat is Mrs. Weasley now, Monsieur Malfoy,\" she replied, eyes narrowed.
\"Are both of those yours?\" he countered, gesturing at the two girls, both peering at him from behind her
skirt.
\"Zose? Zey are not objects, zey are children,\" she said contemptuously, flipping her whitish hair
behind her and staring him down with her crystalline but cold blue eyes. \"And yes, ze girls are mine,\"
she added, almost as an afterthought.
\"Ah well, to each their own, love. Never wanted rugrats myself,\" he replied loftily.
\"Somehow I think eet is better zat way,\" Fleur spat. She turned and marched off, the little ones still
clinging to her robes.
Draco scoffed, then went back into his office to pour himself a shot of firewhiskey. Stupid twat, he
thought. If it wasn\'t for her veela blood, she would be totally repugnant to him.
He didn\'t want to go down to dinner and face The Boy Who Lives to Annoy or anybody else, so he went into
Hogsmeade. He had a meal of firewhiskey with a side of shepherd\'s pie and spent most of the night
lamenting his pointless life with his face buried in his hands at the Three Broomsticks bar.
The door opened some two hours later, and a set of frighteningly familiar jolted him back to reality.
He turned to see Potter, the Weasel king (wearing Ministry ID\'s -- ugh) and some woman he could barely
see around Weasel\'s lanky frame. Foreboding took over; while this woman could have been the current
fancy of either of the two men, he knew in an instant that it was going to be her.
On a day like this, it could not bloody well have been anybody else.
She was his adolescent irritation...he was damn obsessed with her and hated her for it. She was the pillar
of the Gryffindor Three. She was Muggle-born. She was not prone to catering to the male half of the world.
She was to be detested and furthermore off-limits. If he could not have her, he had to destroy her.
And he did. After nine years, he was going to be faced with her for the first time since he tried his
damnedest to rip out her soul and steal away into the night with it. Fuck.
His head swam with the memory of it all. Definitely one of his fondest. A smug grin threatened to take
over his face. He had a piece of her that she could not take back. Try as he might to reason that it was
more about hurting Potter and his campaign against Lord Fuckhead, it was more about getting into the head
of a very confusingly delicious piece of forbidden fruit.
This was not good at all. He was drunk, forgetting himself and thinking disgusting thoughts.
Pervy thoughts, more like. Disgusting because it\'s...her.
And there she was.
Her eyes looked weary and old, but the rest of her looked nearly the same. Instinctively, he gripped the
edge of the bar while surveying her covetously.
Hermione Granger, no longer child star pupil but an adult. Something about that seemed a little bit weird
to him, but the whole business of thinking about her as something other than scum was dodgy enough. Bloody
firewhiskey would be the end of him.
But he was not Lucius Malfoy. He would live out the rest of his life if for nothing else than to prove that
he was not his father. Lucius Malfoy would not have given a girl like her more than a condescending sneer
before walking away...unless, of course, he was in his Death Eater\'s hood. Coward.
He snorted in indignance at the thought of his father, without realizing how loud he was. In an instant,
three pairs of eyes looked for the source of the noise, but Draco, hidden in the corner shadows of the far
side of the bar, slipped out through the kitchens unnoticed.
He had seen shock in her eyes. A vague sort of recognition. He was struck by the notion that perhaps
his act of violation upon her had left such an impression that she could remember him by such an
insignificant sound.
And he\'d be damned if that thought didn\'t make him smile.