The Bottom Of Black
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
5,010
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
8
Views:
5,010
Reviews:
11
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.
Hell Hath No Fury
Disclaimer: You know I’m not smart enough to think up any of the Harry Potter stuff. Only the story is mine… kinda.
PS: /ssadfjmnrivc/ = thoughts
**********************************************
The dining hall was the coldest room in the house. Its bare gray walls sucked in light and heat, and its high cross-vaulted ceilings whispered when Draco was alone. Spread over the grand table were myriad books and papers, maps and spent quills. He was casting spells over the maps. Location spells. He was winding his way through dusty volumes, desperate for an upper head. The books were mostly on potions, a subject which his both his father and Snape had profoundly appreciated. If Snape was in hiding, he was doing it well. There was nothing on any of the maps, nothing in any of the books.
/He’s close, though. I can feel it./
Snape had vanished after the battle. Draco wasn’t even positive he was still alive, but something told him Snape was not so easily subdued. He had survived all of his life on cunning alone, surely he could talk his way out of the killing curse with even the Dark Lord himself.
/Voldemort. His name was Voldemort./
Draco had never said the name out loud. He figured it was better to take baby steps in his head and work up to vocalization. He joked to himself that he spoke fluent Evil. It would take a while to learn the strange dialect of Good.
/‘Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself.’/
Harry had told him that. Dumbledore’s words rang even truer in Draco’s heart since his death. He had idolized Dumbledore. He felt remorse for failing his part of the plan. There were those that thought him weak for it, but they had accepted him in the end. And now Dumbledore was locked forever in that stone coffin-
/That’s it! Bloody hell! That’s where he is!/
Draco jumped to his feet. Then, out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in the great doorway of the hall. It was just a flash, just a blur of brown and black and pale. It looked almost human.
/Hermione?/
He made his way to his old room and cracked the door. There she was, sleeping sounding right were he had left her. “I’m finally going stark daft.” He turned, about to shake his head, when it was there again, that humanoid figure, staring at his from down the hall. It was gone before he could even think to look closer. He swung the door open as if to catch Hermione tiptoeing back to bed, but there she was, peacefully slumbering. It couldn’t be her. It wasn’t her. Was it?
/No. Go back to the dining room, you git./
Draco was paranoid the rest of the evening. It took him ages to fall asleep that night. He laid facing the door, his wand grasped tightly in his hand. Finally, he dozed off, taking his nervousness with him. He dreamt of Snape waiting for him in a dungeon. In the dream, when Draco reached Snape, he shook him warmly by the hand then cut him to shreds with a common Muggle blade.
Morning found Draco where midnight had left him, curled up, clutching his wand with white knuckles, breathing fitfully, and twitching with tension. He woke with a start, one particularly realistic cut to the face hacking him back to reality. He sat up in bed, the covers rippling down his bare stomach. One look at the door told him it was still bolted shut. He stretched, last night’s fears melting as he lost himself in that feel-good moment between stretching his shoulders and popping his back. As he twisted to his left, a jolt rushed through him that nearly knocked him backwards off the bed.
Hermione was lying there, facing away from him, fast asleep. Her dark copper hair coiled over the pillow next to his. Her simple black shift rode up a little on her thigh and left her shoulders bare. She was dead to the world, breathing deeply without moving too much. She was not touching him at all, not even with her hair, which was still long and difficult. Gods, she was beautiful.
/But how did she get in?/
She didn’t have a wand that he knew about. There were no extras in his room. The door was bolted, magically sealed, as was the window. He gazed down at her again, longed to touch her, but he dared not wake her. How was she doing these things, and why?
***
Hermione stood in a familiar room, watching a familiar face doze behind a desk.
/This is not real. I am sleeping. I am not really here./
`
She took a step forward. It echoed in the nearly deserted room. Sharp black eyes snapped open, long fingers encircling a wand menacingly. “Show yourself.” A man. His voice was quiet, with all the malice of a hissing snake…
***************************************
Sorry, kinda short. But what a gaggle of cliffhangers, right? *crickets* Ok, ok… don’t riot, the next chapter will be up pronto. -TooMuch
PS: /ssadfjmnrivc/ = thoughts
**********************************************
The dining hall was the coldest room in the house. Its bare gray walls sucked in light and heat, and its high cross-vaulted ceilings whispered when Draco was alone. Spread over the grand table were myriad books and papers, maps and spent quills. He was casting spells over the maps. Location spells. He was winding his way through dusty volumes, desperate for an upper head. The books were mostly on potions, a subject which his both his father and Snape had profoundly appreciated. If Snape was in hiding, he was doing it well. There was nothing on any of the maps, nothing in any of the books.
/He’s close, though. I can feel it./
Snape had vanished after the battle. Draco wasn’t even positive he was still alive, but something told him Snape was not so easily subdued. He had survived all of his life on cunning alone, surely he could talk his way out of the killing curse with even the Dark Lord himself.
/Voldemort. His name was Voldemort./
Draco had never said the name out loud. He figured it was better to take baby steps in his head and work up to vocalization. He joked to himself that he spoke fluent Evil. It would take a while to learn the strange dialect of Good.
/‘Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing itself.’/
Harry had told him that. Dumbledore’s words rang even truer in Draco’s heart since his death. He had idolized Dumbledore. He felt remorse for failing his part of the plan. There were those that thought him weak for it, but they had accepted him in the end. And now Dumbledore was locked forever in that stone coffin-
/That’s it! Bloody hell! That’s where he is!/
Draco jumped to his feet. Then, out of the corner of his eye he spotted something in the great doorway of the hall. It was just a flash, just a blur of brown and black and pale. It looked almost human.
/Hermione?/
He made his way to his old room and cracked the door. There she was, sleeping sounding right were he had left her. “I’m finally going stark daft.” He turned, about to shake his head, when it was there again, that humanoid figure, staring at his from down the hall. It was gone before he could even think to look closer. He swung the door open as if to catch Hermione tiptoeing back to bed, but there she was, peacefully slumbering. It couldn’t be her. It wasn’t her. Was it?
/No. Go back to the dining room, you git./
Draco was paranoid the rest of the evening. It took him ages to fall asleep that night. He laid facing the door, his wand grasped tightly in his hand. Finally, he dozed off, taking his nervousness with him. He dreamt of Snape waiting for him in a dungeon. In the dream, when Draco reached Snape, he shook him warmly by the hand then cut him to shreds with a common Muggle blade.
Morning found Draco where midnight had left him, curled up, clutching his wand with white knuckles, breathing fitfully, and twitching with tension. He woke with a start, one particularly realistic cut to the face hacking him back to reality. He sat up in bed, the covers rippling down his bare stomach. One look at the door told him it was still bolted shut. He stretched, last night’s fears melting as he lost himself in that feel-good moment between stretching his shoulders and popping his back. As he twisted to his left, a jolt rushed through him that nearly knocked him backwards off the bed.
Hermione was lying there, facing away from him, fast asleep. Her dark copper hair coiled over the pillow next to his. Her simple black shift rode up a little on her thigh and left her shoulders bare. She was dead to the world, breathing deeply without moving too much. She was not touching him at all, not even with her hair, which was still long and difficult. Gods, she was beautiful.
/But how did she get in?/
She didn’t have a wand that he knew about. There were no extras in his room. The door was bolted, magically sealed, as was the window. He gazed down at her again, longed to touch her, but he dared not wake her. How was she doing these things, and why?
***
Hermione stood in a familiar room, watching a familiar face doze behind a desk.
/This is not real. I am sleeping. I am not really here./
`
She took a step forward. It echoed in the nearly deserted room. Sharp black eyes snapped open, long fingers encircling a wand menacingly. “Show yourself.” A man. His voice was quiet, with all the malice of a hissing snake…
***************************************
Sorry, kinda short. But what a gaggle of cliffhangers, right? *crickets* Ok, ok… don’t riot, the next chapter will be up pronto. -TooMuch