Silhouette

Thank you to everyone who has waited like... forever to continue with this story. :) Here it is, the next chapter of Silhouette, and with your encouragement, hopefully there will be many more to come.
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Bianca stared disinterestedly into the sky where six broomsticks soared high above. The figures were just barely distinguishable on the darting brooms, their hair color and approximate build being the only things she could easily discern from the leaded glass atrium in which she sat. The walls and ceiling were spotlessly transparent panes with one door leading outside, sectioned off by thin, pinewood beams that matched the wood of the furniture grouped in the center of the room. The atrium butted up against the manor on the east end. The long wall adjoining the atrium to the manor house at large was set apart by two sets of wide French doors and covered in beautiful tiffany stained glass depicting fields of vivid wild irises with luminous, smoky purple mountains in the background.
Ahead of her through the glass was a sprawling green lawn eventually ending in a thick line of trees. Malfoy Manor was positioned on a hill and overlooked a small village from this side, all thatched roofs and patchwork farmland. Stonehenge could be seen from the west wing, where her room was located, and Bianca preferred that view to this quaint, picturesque one. Still, sunlight poured into the room from overhead, the heat of the day extinguishing itself before it reached Bianca’s pale skin according to a clever bit of charm work within the atrium, and she didn’t particularly mind the comfortable lounges upholstered in light sea foam green and salmon floral patterns or stripes, a typical rococo theme, accented with ornate, spindly pinewood and gold tables dotted around.
There was no doubt it was a beautiful room, definitely one of Narcissa’s many retreats scattered about the estate, and that Bianca looked beautiful in it. She wore a milky white sun dress that gathered around her thighs in layered confection, it‘s neckline cutting across her collarbones to gather at her shoulders, pastel lavender footless tights, and strappy royal blue high heels. She seemed as though she belonged there with her high fashion and aloof demeanor. She seemed as though she couldn’t be real. Too striking, too detached from the finery of her surroundings, too refined.
The broomsticks hovered lower now, and distant shouting could be heard. Bianca looked away from the aerial scene and became aware again of the chattering, insipid young woman to her right. Pansy was prattling on about Tracey-something’s surprise engagement to an apparently unsatisfactory former Ravenclaw. “…Though, I suppose I’d sooner accept a Ravenclaw than a Hufflepuff, or worse, a Gryffindor. Could you imagine?”
Bianca registered that a question has been asked of her, and she brought her long-lashed, cold grays to meet Pansy’s deep brown eyes. “No, I can’t. I never went to Hogwarts.”
Pansy flushed at her lapse of competence, but regained her composure quickly. “Where did you go to school, Bianca?”
Bianca could tell Pansy was interested, but she said, indolently as ever, “I attended The Salem Academy.”
It was obvious that Pansy had heard of the institution. She leaned in conspiratorially, nearly whispering, “Is it true that Gabriel Williams went to Salem Academy?” Gabriel Williams was a famous American wizard, the lead singer of a wildly popular rock band called the Black Cats. Bianca didn’t miss a beat, and smiled vaguely.
“He was in my class. If I recall correctly-- and I do-- he can trace his ancestry back to where it stems off from the Black family in the sixteenth century.”
Pansy looked envious, her brown eyes flashing greedily. “Aren’t they on tour, the Black Cats, I mean? They’re coming to England, aren’t they? Could you introduce me to Gabriel, Bianca?” Bianca seemed to take this request into consideration, pleasantly dangling this morsel over Pansy’s head for several long moments.
“I suppose I could owl him.”
The Slytherin’s satisfied smile was genuine as she took Bianca’s hand into hers. “Let’s be best friends, Bianca.”
But Bianca was watching as the six young men carrying broomsticks sidled up to the side door of the atrium. “Of course,” she replied just as the door opened and Nott, a smug grin fixed handsomely on his face, strutted inside, followed closely by Draco, Pucey, Goyle, and two men to whom Bianca had not yet been introduced.
Pansy’s demeanor went from one of rather transparent eagerness and voracity to that of a mildly interested, spoiled cat. She did not turn around to look at the sweaty, wind-whipped bunch at her back, but instead lounged back into the chaise on which she was perched, one of her arms snaking seductively, languidly above her head and the other stifling a yawn that had not been there before. Her powder pink, silken dress draped over her prettily, catching the light, and her long brown hair fell elegantly around her shoulders.
“The victorious few!” Nott announced, propping his Nimbus 2001 against a pouf and sweeping over the Bianca. Before she could prevent it, he had taken her hand in his and brought it to his lips with a flourish. He pulled her forward off of the chaise and spun her, catching her lithe form in a low dip. Bianca followed his lead with grace, but the look on her face was mingled amusement and disapproval. “My dear,” he said, twirling her into a normal upright position with the dexterity of a professional dancer and leaning in close, “you are stunning today.”
“As I am every day,” Bianca cooed, not bothering to lower her voice, then turned her attention to a bored-looking Pansy. “Shall we?” Pansy took the hand Bianca offered her and stood up, and together they made as if to leave. This gesture was met with immediate disapproval by all of the men present.
Draco stepped in their path. “Bianca, have you met Montague and Harper?” The two newcomers, or at least new to Bianca- made curt bows to her. Even in sweaty quidditch robes and the air of youthful electricity, the old niceties had to be acknowledged.
Bianca curtsied curtly. “A pleasure, I’m sure, however-”
She was interrupted by Nott, who came up from her right to join the group again. “You are coming to dinner, aren’t you?” He had been speaking to Bianca, but when Pansy gave him a look of deep resentment, he added, “Both of you?” and grinned sheepishly.
Bianca sensed jealousy from more than one person in the room, however. A covert glance at Draco told her that Nott was giving her much more attention that he liked. She decided to use this to her advantage. “If I may accompany you, I would be delighted, Theodore.” Nott looked blind-sided, but purebloods have a way of recovering superbly from social blows.
“It would be my sincerest pleasure,” and then he bowed to her and kissed her hand again, and Bianca left the room trailed by Pansy without another look at Draco.
Bianca walked with Pansy to the front door, where after promising to introduce her to Gabriel Williams, Pansy apparated back to the Parkinson Estate outside of London to get ready for the night’s festivities. Bianca made her way alone through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, not meeting anyone between the entrance hall and the hallway leading to her room. She thought on how easily the seemingly emotionless and supercilious Slytherins were manipulated, and ran over in her head everything she had learned about Nott through Draco and Pansy over the past week. He was a clever boy, not necessarily a part of Draco’s gang, but a close friend of Draco’s nonetheless. His father was a Death Eater. He was ambitious, often assuming the rules did not apply to him. He barely adhered to the etiquette of pureblood society, not wishing to be told what to do by those he considered equals, not betters. Draco could not control him, maybe he even envied him. Bianca liked Nott more and more because of how she could use him. He was a challenge. Dinner would be interesting.
She opened the door of her bedroom and noted immediately without comment or even a physical response that Draco was standing near her bed looking out of breath and angry. She ignored him, went to her chest of drawers, and began taking off her earrings and necklace, letting the door shut lightly behind her.
“What do you think you are doing?” Draco demanded, taking a few steps toward her heatedly.
Bianca did not face him; she did not raise her voice as he had. “What does it look like I am doing?” she sat on a stool at her nearby vanity and stretched out her leg to remove one of her shoes, then the other.
Draco stared at her. “I assumed you were going with me to dinner. I assumed you realized how pivotal it was that we keep up appearances. I suppose I was wrong.” Bianca was busily rolling the tights down her legs.
“You did not ask me to dinner, Theodore did. Would it be wrong for me to assert that you are jealous, Draco?” She took her wand from the vanity, pointing it at her back and undoing the buttons that bound the high-necked, cropped-short dress to her. It slid down her shoulders a little, revealing bare, pale skin and immaculate collarbones. She turned her back on him and padded to the armoire, opening it to choose a dress for that evening.
She heard his footsteps behind her, felt his presence, the heat of his body, but left it unacknowledged. “Would it matter if I was?” came the deep-throated reply from somewhere behind her left shoulder. Then he touched her, grazed his fingers over the exposed flesh of her back, tracing the line of her shoulder blade up to the nape of her neck.
“No,” she whispered, suddenly struggling to keep her composure. A need washed over her such as she’d never felt before. A part of her insisted release, and she whirled around to face him, her elegant hands shaking as they found his chest, still a little damp with sweat from quidditch, but she didn’t care. She moved up his chest to his neck, and pulled him close to her. “Yes,” she said as her lips met his for a second time, hungry and aching. She felt his arms encircling her lower back as he lifted her into the air and over to the bed, their kisses deepening with each step. Gently, he lowered her onto that deep crimson comforter, his knee propped up between her legs, her white dress contrasting beautifully, her black hair spreading like oil behind her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her as he ran his lips over her jaw line and the angles of her neck.
“Hermione,” he half-whispered, half-growled against her clavicle, nibbling the sensitive skin over the bone.
But inside her head, Bianca was waging war. She fought against the powerful force, the will that she had almost forgotten in the week that had elapsed since her fainting spell when Snape and Lucius had found her slumped against the wall. The Draco boy was making it worse. Her head felt as though it would split open, although with pain or pleasure, she could not tell.
Bianca shoved Draco hard away from her, and he staggered backward into the wall. She wanted to scream. Draco looked completely nonplussed. “Get out!” She ordered through gritted teeth.
“I-” He did not look ready to leave. He looked shocked, bordering on outraged.
Bianca gained more control. “Leave me!”
His silver eyes flashed venomously, and he straightened himself against the wall, then turned and walked to the door. “Fine. See you at dinner.” She didn’t even bother to answer him, and he shut the door rather harder than was necessary.
Bianca collapsed on the bed, unbidden tears falling, shock waves rolling through her entire body as the feeling of rebellion inside her head resided. This would simply not do.
All the same, as she magicked her hair up into a messy bun for dinner a few minutes later, she thought she saw a look in her eyes-- something soft and pleading-- that she definitely didn’t like.