A Dragon's Love

CHAPTER TWO

The retired former Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore sat in the new Headmistress’ office, sipping sweetened tea. “So how are things, Minerva?” he asked, a smile on his good natured, wrinkled face, as he set down the china cup.

She answered, in her usual brisk tones, “The school is fine, everything is under control.”

“Of course. How could they not be when you are in charge?” agreed Dumbledore, blue eyes sparkling. “But that is not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” McGonnagall asked frankly, as she drank from her cup, thinking vaguely about the staff meeting ahead.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“What about him?”

“Hasn’t he married yet?” Dumbledore asked, enjoying the taken-aback expression on the Headmistress’ usually stern, unshakeable face.

“Well, it’s pretty much known news that Professor Malfoy is quite happy in his unmarried state. Anyhow, it is of no concern to us whether he’s married or not- it’s his own business and no one else’s.” She looked shrewdly at Dumbledore. “Don’t you dare get yourself involved into this, or I will have your head.”

Dumbledore just smiled, and drank more from his cup.

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After dinner, the meeting took place. Everyone assembled in the Room of Requirement, sitting down in the comfortable chairs arranged in the room. The professors all waited for the Headmistress to speak, but she didn’t begin, looking impatiently at the clock, then at the door.

With a polite clearing of the throat, Draco said, “Headmistress, I think it’s all right if we begin now.”

McGonnagall shook her head. “No, someone didn’t arrive yet.” As if an answer, the door opened, and a woman, clearly out of breath, ran in.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I was just organizing my things, and I didn’t notice the time!” the woman huffed, collapsing onto the empty chair next to Draco.

“That’s quite all right,” McGonnagall said, “but try to be on time in future.”

Turning to look at the newcomer, everyone noted her unusual beauty, even Draco Malfoy. Her long black hair, shiny as a raven’s wing, fell down her back. Unlike all the other teachers, she wore her teaching robes unbuttoned, showing her jean clad legs and tight red camisole.

To get the attention back to the meeting, the Headmistress said, “Attention please.” Everyone’s gaze went back to McGonnagall, but Draco Malfoy’s thoughts whirled. He felt an irresistible pull to this woman, something unclear and not definable. Feeling the heat of her lush thigh next to his created an inevitable arousal. It was obvious to himself that Draco would have to avoid her.

McGonnagall talked on about lessons and the security plans. After the war, less and less protection had been enforced. Draco was glad about that. He had never liked all those barriers and safety stuff anyway. It just created more fear amongst students. Then, the Headmistress announced the woman next to him.

“This is Helena Simmons, the new Transfiguration professor,” she said stoutly. “She was a former student at Hogwarts, and she has returned to teach. Please welcome her.”

She stood up to the rounds of polite clapping, giving everyone a professional smile. Then her eyes (such a lovely shade of blue with just a hint of green) bore into Draco’s. “You,” Helena whispered.

Taking in his appearance, she could barely conceal a gasp. She hadn’t managed to look at him before, but the man was absolutely… beautiful. His hair wasn’t gold, or blonde, or silver but a shade in between, and fell around a face that could make an angel cry. It was a face worthy of epic poems, with eyes of inscrutable silver, lashed with glimmering sun-struck lashes, a perfect straight nose, a mouth permanently fixed in a bemused half-smile. He was also the man who had so rudely pushed into her this afternoon.

“You’re that arrogant son-of-a-bitch!” Helena blurted, then looked horrified. How could she have cursed RIGHT in the presence of the Headmistress? However, her former Transfigurations professor looked amused, although her mouth was set into habitual disapproving lines.

The fallen angel’s face contorted into a look of surprise. His eyes looked incredulous as they rested coolly on her face. “Excuse me?” the man spoke, eyes darkening. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met before, Miss…” he hesitated.

Helena ignored the shivers his rippling, sexy voice did to her and said, “Excuse ME, but I think we have. This afternoon, in fact.”

“First of all, I’ve never seen you before in my life. Second of all, what has given you the mistaken impression that I am an arrogant son of a bitch?”

“This afternoon you bashed into me at Diagon Alley, made me drop all my things, and didn’t even apologize. You just walked right on. And nice bum or not, you’re an asshole with a capital A!”

*That’s right,* he thought. That afternoon he had been so deeply in thought that he hadn’t even noticed that he’d bumped into someone. The thought had registered in the back of his brain, but Draco had completely forgotten about it. *Did she just say I have a nice bum?* He looked at the petite witch looking at him with flushed cheeks and hot eyes. And thought distractedly how lovely she was…

They stood there staring at each other until Professor Flitwick said in a squeaky, uncomfortable voice, “Well, that was very interesting but I think it’s time we all went to bed!” Everyone made hasty mumbles of agreement, and quickly exited the room.


*Did I actually SAY that aloud?* Helena groaned inwardly. “Me and my big mouth,” she said aloud, as she walked along despondently, mentally hitting herself hard on the head.

“Can I have a word with you?” said that silky voice from behind her. Slowly, Helena turned, fixing a haughty look on her face.

“Yes, what is it that you wanted, PROFESSOR Malfoy?” she said in an exaggeratedly polite tone. He was so damned good looking!

“Obviously, we got off on the wrong foot,” Draco said without preamble. “I’m not going to apologize, because I believe it wasn’t any fault of mine. I will merely ask you to keep up at least a pretense of civility when in public. With mutual cooperation, I believe we can achieve that much.”

“Why you pompous little…! Are you insinuating that I am not going to be able to act in a civilized manner?” she seethed, glaring at the blond who didn’t appear so handsome anymore.

“Yes I am.” He didn’t even flip a hair as he said that.

“That borders dangerously close to insulting me.”

“Pardon me, but your actions of tonight didn’t seem to give verification to a well-mannered, concise young woman,” he replied coolly.

“If I may ask, then, what exactly was your impression of me?” Helena asked, in a dangerously sweet voice.

“My impression of you was a hot-tempered woman who couldn’t control her baser urges, and your dismal inability to do well in many matters. Oh, and one can’t forget of course, your quite obvious disregard to rules,” Malfoy flicked his hand carelessly at her unbuttoned robes, “as well as your lack of virtue.”

“All this from one meeting,” Helena said in a pseudo calm voice. She pretended his cold words hadn’t hurt, hadn’t opened up old wounds. However, Malfoy noticed the broken expression in those blue eyes, and looked at her concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her roughly, wondering if she felt ill.

“Nothing,” Helena answered, and both of them were surprised at the discordance of her voice. In a more composed tone, “I’ll remember to act as civil as I can. Although, as you say, I will probably give in to my peasant-like tendencies from time to time and be unable to control my ‘baser urges’. You mustn’t forget that we of the under class are bound to do all sorts of ‘uncivilized’ things. I’ll bid you good night then.” She walked slowly away from him, not allowing herself to give in and run, knowing it would be a sign of weakness.


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He hadn’t meant to hurt the witch. Draco had gone to his chambers, poured himself a healthy quantity of red wine into a crystal goblet, drank it, then poured another glass. Closing his eyes, Draco remembered Helena’s face as his words registered. It had been… vulnerable. Hurt.

It had been a long time since he had verbally hurt anyone. Draco knew only too well how much mere words could cause deep pain, sometimes irreversible. Words were effective often more powerful than physical wounds. Carefully, he twirled the glass within his fingers, then poured the liquid down his throat, relishing the acrid taste of the wine as it burned a well known path down his throat.

Bitter. Wine was like love. Addictively sweet, causing momentary lapse of thoughts or memory, yet so painful. Yet he always drank more, as if wine was Draco’s form of a cure; a replacement for the love he had never received. It burned his thoughts away to a place where he could control his emotions, which was a paradox in itself.

But this time the wine was no remedy. It didn’t drown out her cracked voice, her broken gaze. This time everything was different. All he could do was pour another glass, drink it down, and try to forget. Everything.