Slaughter

AN: Ahhhhhhhhh Summer time, and the living is easy. Four months without school stretching ahead of me now. Time for lots of writing, lots of hanging out at the beach :) For a brief sample of my life in the past few months: My parent's split up, my spine detached from my ribcage, my car got broken into, I was in a pretty major car crash, and I had further law exams. This, to me, is too short and a bit crap to be honest... but I wanted so much to give you guys (if there's anyone left reading thing) something to read again


“So today was good.”

“Well I’m glad we came to a consensus on that matter.”

“Well Ms Granger, I will see you soon. Unless of course you led me to the entrance to your boudoir here to have your wicked way with me, in which case I’m sorry to inform you but I am just not that kind of man.”

“Get out of here you, don't make me report you for giving the Head Girl lip.”

Hermione pushed him down the hallway with a smile on her face. Michael walked away exclaiming loudly to the near empty hallways about how the women in this school had no respect for the delicate sensibilities of the men and about how they needed to learn that no means no. Shaking her head ruefully as she pushed open the portrait to her rooms, she thought back on the afternoon. She’d had a great time, after they’d had... their little interlude in the square ... things had gone a lot better. They’d gone to the bookstore and he’d let her look around for as long as she’d liked, even pointing out a few rare volumes that she’d have never considered buying for herself but that were actually very interesting. She’d never thought anyone could rival her passion for literature, but it almost seemed like she’d met her match in Michael.

The man knew his was around a bookstore, she’d give him that. Thanks to his poking around the dusty corners that Hermione had always assumed to be nothing but cobwebs, she was now the proud owner of ‘Herb Scrimshanks Guide to Maleus Malificarum,’ a guide to one of the ancient books on finding and destroying witches. He’d even bought it for her. She was sure that was a good sign, he wouldn’t have bought it for her if he didn’t like her. Or at least that’s what all those girlie magazines had told her. It seemed like things were finally looking up for her in the romance department.

As for, a certain other incident, she’d put that out of her mind successfully almost all afternoon, and hopefully someone else had done the same. It had been a mistake, a huge, epic mistake. It had been a drunken boy who was probably angry, horny, and more than a little screwed up. It’d been sexual harassment was what it had been. She should hex his balls off. She definitely hadn’t liked it; that was for sure. It’d been horrible, an unfortunate incident better off forgotten. Then why cant you stop thinking about it? A snickering voice inside her head mocked her resolve.

She flopped down on the couch by the fireplace, pulling her new book out from her leather bag and wriggling out of the sweater she’d worn out today, leaving her in a plain white singlet. She’d dressed carefully this morning, trying to look nice but not so nice that it looked like she was trying to impress Michael. According to the research she’d done last night before she’d been interrupted, it was important to appear keen, but not too keen, so she’d dressed in a pair of grey skinny jeans tucked into some black boots, and a soft, white sweater. Cracking open the spine and inhaling that new book smell, she dove into it and soon found herself embroiled in the various tests that they’d employed back in the days of Salem to find witches. What better way to spend an afternoon after a very successful date than by learning about the ancient method finding witches; toe measuring? Things were looking up for her, Hermione thought. She had a new book, and a boy she couldn't stop thinking about. He was so sexy, his little smirk when he said something clever, the way he stared down at her, his platinum hair... fuck.


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Going for a fly around the school grounds hadn’t had its usual calming effect on him and so after an hour or so, Malfoy had flown into Hogsmeade, parking his broom on one of the many racks scattered around the town for them. He’d had a vague plan to go visit Madame Rosmerta and to drown his problems in a pint or six of butterbeer before going to find Pansy. She was always keen for a quick nameless fuck against an alley wall. Silly bitch. But instead, walking through the square, he’d stumbled across a sickening sight. Granger, had been kissing a boy. It was a disgusting sight, but what sickened him even more was his outrage at seeing that little slut with another boy.

He’d been incensed, racking his brain as he tried to figure out who the boy might’ve been. He’d finally come to the conclusion that it must’ve been him, the catalyst for last nights little... event. What a whore, she acted all innocent but then she spread her favour (and probably her legs) around to two boys in the space of twenty-four hours. Well she didn’t so much give her favour to you last night as much as you took it, his inner voice reminded him. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that she’d enjoyed it when he’d kissed her, and if she’d enjoyed it then she shouldn’t have been kissing another boy now. Well her behaviour hadn’t exactly screamed that she’d enjoyed it, what with the running away and locking herself in her room, but he still knew that she had. How could she not have? He was a Malfoy for Merlin’s sake, everyone wanted him; everyone wanted to be with him.

So now the question was, what did she think she was doing, sitting there like a little slut with another boy, when she’d run from him the night before. The worst part about it was that she’d rejected him, A Malfoy, for another mudblood. That was what angered him the most. It wasn’t the losing so much (though that was definitely a part of it), but who he’d lost to. Like attracts like his father had been fond of saying before his unfortunate incarceration in Azkaban and his further visit to St Cerebellum when he’d finally lost it. And now that trash had proved his father right. He stewed on this, would probably continue to stew on this fact for weeks. Weeks and months and years it would annoy him that he’d lost the Mudblood. Listening to these thoughts swirl around in his head, Draco suddenly realised exactly what he was thinking. Was he actually jealous of that mudblood-boy?

Merlin, that couldn’t possibly be good.

No, Draco decided, he wasn’t jealous. He was just... what? How did he finish that sentence. He was just being an idiot. He was slumming. Even the best people went slumming occasionally, it kept things exciting. He still wasn’t sure why he was allowing himself these kinds of thoughts, but if he was, at least he could reassure himself that he was just going slumming, that it was just a phase. He should be pleased that Granger wasn’t going to be bothering him anymore, that she’d found herself a nice, little mudblood mate to make babies with her. Well not pleased exactly, but he shouldn’t be letting it bother him this much. He’d promised himself not to think about her anymore anyway, he’d occupied enough time obsessing over the little slut. He’d kissed her last night (and how could he not have, she’d been taunting him for weeks, trying to make him want her), he’d slummed, and now it was time to get back to his normal life. Pansy, she was the girl for him. Pretty, subservient, a complete lush in the bedroom, he should be thrilled to be with her. Any of the other boys in Slytherin would have been pleased, she was everything a boy could want in a girl. Sure she didn’t have screaming matches with him, and her calculating eyes were the wrong colour, and she didn’t have an ounce of the wit or brains that Herm..... Fuck.