My Life As A House-Elf

My Life As A House-Elf

Chapter Ten: The Betrayal

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Draco paced back and forth in his room, nearly tearing his hair out in frustration. He was angry and irritated, and he didn't know why. All he knew was that he was angry and irritated at Hermione, making a vague note that she was as angry and irritated with him as well. They were back to their regular footing: hate. Every pleasant thought and friendly word between them was shattered with the utterance of a single name: Harry Potter.

Draco cursed that name. He cursed Hermione as well, for saying it. He thought he could get by these holidays without having to hear anything about the scarred one's tremendous fame. But he noted, as he glanced at the calendar that hung upon his wall, today was Potter's birthday. And Hermione remembered.

Does she always think about him? Draco thought, the scowl on his face growing wider. Is he always at the back of her head? Does she dream of him at night, does she rush to his homework for him, does she make his bed for him and do all his bloody fetching, does she sit by his side, and patiently listen to him tell her his petty nightmares ...

Draco paused. She probably does.

He sat down rigidly upon the couch next to the window, and stared furiously at the sky as a bright ribbon of electricity tore through the grey skies. A summer storm was brewing.

That morning seemed to dawn very well. He had woken up from such a pleasant dream - something that involved that Granger girl answering questions in Arithmancy class before they were even asked, her voice eloquent and clear - and the sun was shining shimmeringly from the windows. Everything had been fine.

And he had decided to wear white, for once. A nice, casual robe Mother had bought for him last Christmas, one he'd thought he had burned in the fireplace a few months ago. Black just didn't feel appropriate this morning. Not with everything feeling so refreshing, alive, pleasant. Not with his bed made just right, and breakfast and tea waiting for him downstairs, and he'd probably have a few rounds of Quidditch before going horseback riding through the Malfoy acres. Today would be a perfect day, he thought. If it weren't for one minor factor.

Harry Potter's birthday. Of all the days he had to feel fine, it just had to be the wonderful date his horrible arch-nemesis had come into the world.

The world is cruel and terribly ironic, Draco thought bitterly. He stared up at the dripping grey sky.

There was a knock at the door.

Draco glanced up, scowling, mentally willing the person behind the door to implode. "Go away," he cried demandingly. To his annoyance, the door swung open, and Pansy Parkinson stood there, clinging against the doorframe, a seductive smile playing on her red, pouty lips.

Draco's fury soon dissolved into bemusement and despair as he regarded Pansy's choice of clothing. She was always an outrageous dresser, Draco reminded himself, noting the long black skirt slit all the way to the waist, the clingy velvet pink blouse, the fishnet stockings and the glittering diamanté belt. Her lips were painted bright pink and so was her hair, streaked with blonde and cherry in a radical way that stood out of the crowd.

"Oh," Draco said, trying to keep his voice calm. "It's you."

"Yes, it's me," Pansy said musically, stepping into the room. She didn't walk - she sashayed. Her bright, cherry-pink lips were grinning in Draco's direction, her half-lidded, penetrating gaze staring at him as if she could devour him with just a gaze. To Draco's discomfort, she decided to sit right next to him. "Draco darling," she cooed. "I have a surprise for you."

After seeing you dressed like that, I don't think I can handle any more surprise, Draco thought gloomily. "Really. Do tell."

Pansy gave a small laugh, as she reached out her painted fingers, and ran enticing trails across Draco's arm. "Our parents are away," she whispered sultrily into his ear. "They've all gone to town on a shopping excursion. That leaves us all alone," she said, dreamily pronouncing the last two words. "Just you and me and a wonderfully vast Manor with just so many rooms ..."

And so many House-elves that could, incidentally, come marching in any moment, Draco thought. He fidgeted uncomfortably out of the way, far enough to be out of Pansy's line of touch. To his despair, she edged closer to him, a determined smile on her face.

"Just you and me, Draco dear," she purred. "Think of all the things we could do ..."

"Oh, like, play chess, for example?" Draco suggested nonchalantly, as he desperately tried to get out of her way. "Or listen to the grand piano play itelf in the Music Room, or browse through books in the Library -"

"No, I meant something like ... this," Pansy said, and she closed the space between them, planting a wet, tongue-lined kiss upon Draco's agape, startled mouth.

He struggled to get her off him. But Pansy was a great deal more determined than he was, and pushed him violently onto his back, raining kisses upon his face. Draco groaned in disgust. "Pansy - get off me - look, we've talked about this over and over -"

Pansy looked hurt. She pouted as endearingly as she could. "But Draco, you know we're going to get married sooner or later when we're older. Our parents want us to. That's why I stay over with you every summer - so we can get to know each other better."

I feel I've known you all my life, Draco thought, eyeing her disdainfully, which is why I'm sick of you. He pushed her off, groaning and cursing under his breath. The cocky smile was back on Pansy's face, and when Draco was back on his feet, she grasped his arm and spiraled him towards the bed. Draco fell down with an undignified, "Umph!" upon Hermione's neatly folded sheets and carefully arranged pillows.

"Pansy, see here - I'm going to make this as plain as I can ..."

"Don't be tedious, Draco," Pansy said laughingly, leaping up and falling right on top of him. Draco felt the wind driven out of his lungs. "Just hush," Pansy continued, placing a finger upon his lips, "Don't say a word. I'll do all the talking."

"Pansy, look - mmph." He stopped. She had mashed her lips against his own in a spectacular flourish, and Draco nearly choked when her tongue started to explore the depths of his mouth. He coughed, struggled to push her off, but his arms were anchored down underneath him, and there was nothing he could do to stop Pansy from unbuttoning his shirt and slowly loosening his trousers. He was about to reach underneath his pillow for his wand, when - BANG.

The doors of the room flew open. Standing there, looking in utter shock at the scene before her, was Hermione.

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Hermione had dashed across the gardens as fast as her tiny feet could carry her, fuelled by terror and the prospect of her Master being killed. All her House-elf instincts were screaming to get to him as soon as possible, make sure he's safe, make sure whatever was hunting him down wasn't near ...

She stopped in her tracks.

What do I care, she thought, almost laughing at herself. What do I care if Draco Malfoy's in impending doom? Lucius Malfoy is probably the cause of this mess. He's gotten his own son in trouble, the victim of a murderous plot. It's his problem. Not mine. Hermione bit her lip uncertainly, wondering whether she should leave it at that.

Lucius Malfoy's affairs were none of her business, she knew that. But, as much as she detested the idea, she couldn't leave Draco to die. He was right about her Gryffindorian morals. They got in the way of almost everything. She swallowed all her bitter pride, and all her anger towards him, and marched determinedly towards his room to warn him. Her heart ached to make sure he was informed, hoping something would be done before anything horrible happened.

She didn't bother knocking first, this was much too important. Her words spilled from her lips as the door swung open. "Malfoy -" she began, but the rest of the words froze in her throat. The spectacle before her caused her to stop in her tracks, her eyes to widen and glaze over, and her heart to come to a maddening stop.

Draco Malfoy was looking sweaty and ruffled; his normally neat hair askew and hanging in silky, wet bangs across his forehead. His face was covered in violently red lipstick stains. His cheeks were flushed - and his shirt was halfway open, revealing an equally flushed chest ... upon which Pansy Parkinson's hand was resting.

Hermione's eyes trailed along the arm attached to that hand, following it to see Pansy's bare shoulder, the absence of any fabric covering her back. Pansy's thick, blonde ringlets were askew and hanging unglamorously across her face, sticking upon her lips where her cherry-pink lipstick had smeared across her mouth and jaw line. Lipstick that matched the stains daubed across Draco's face.

Hermione felt something small and weak shatter in her heart.

They stared in unified, aghast shock as silence descended like autumn leaves.

It was Hermione who spoke first. "You -!" she gasped, pointing to Draco.

"Grang - I mean Hattie, this isn't what it looks like ..." he abruptly pushed Pansy off and got up, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace. It was then that he noticed that his pants were missing. Pansy had torn them off, and they lay in a tangled heap on the floor, next to Pansy's pink blouse.

Hermione choked on her words. "You - you ..." she began, and then shrieked out a particularly moving insult. The air turned slightly blue around her. "You incredibly sick bastard, Malfoy!" she let out an enraged roar and stormed out of the room, her screams of venting fury audibly heard through the door she had slammed shut.

There was a moment's worth of thick, undisturbed silence as everyone's thoughts settled. Pansy leaned on her arm and turned dreamily towards Draco. "Well, that was strange and uncalled for," she said calmly, throwing him another seductive grin. "Coming, dear?"

Draco stared at the closed doors. All his furious thoughts on Granger had returned, and his eyes darkened, remembering her harsh words, her livid gazes, her affections for that unspeakable wretch Potter. His scowl deepened. His mind bubbled with all sorts of venomous, bitter thoughts, filling his veins with a vicious, black poison, composed of nothing but hate, hate, hate.

"I don't see why not," he answered in a low, dark voice, and joined next to her on the bed.

Pansy's teeth glimmered wolfishly in a flash of sudden, white lightning. Rolls of thunder later, a sheet of thick, grey rain cascaded from the sky, as the clouds unleashed their furious, heavy burden upon the bleak earth below.

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