A Foretold Love

"So what happened last night?" Harry asked Ron as he took his seat beside him at the Great Hall.

Ron shrugged. "Nothing important," he replied casually.

"Oh really?" Hermione inquired, frowning at her red-haired friend from across the table. "Well, either way, both Harry and I are interested about hearing about your trip to the kitchens, unimportant or not."

"Something must have happened," Harry pressed. "Don't tell me you showed up and stared at each other for the whole night."

"No. We... talked."

"And? What was said?" Hermione asked.

Ron sighed, glancing between his two best friends, somehow wishing that he could keep this from them. He quickly racked his brain for any possible way, found there weren't any, and sighed again. Besides, they'd pester and ask him until he died if he didn't tell them now. "Well, she asked me out."

Harry's eyes widened, then he grinned. "Nothing important my arse! If that's not important, I don't want to know what is."

Hermione frowned at him. "Did you agree?"

"Of course he did!" Harry exclaimed. "What kind of a git wouldn't?"

"This kind, apparently," Ron remarked dryly, and Harry turned to stare at him.

"You didn't," the black-haired wizard accused.

"I did," Ron replied firmly. "I said I didn't know her well enough to date her."

"Then you offered to get to know her better. Right?" Harry said.

"No, actually," Ron admitted. "I was going to, but then she left. She didn't seem upset or anything, though. She was actually quite understanding."

Harry looked shocked. "But Ron! Lavender's a really pretty girl, and she seems really nice. Think of what you might have given up!"

"I'm glad you turned her down," Hermione said, and both boys looked at her. "I don't think you would have made a good couple," she added with a speculative frown. "No, not a good couple at all."

"Why do you say that?" Ron asked.

"She doesn't like Quidditch," Hermione informed him. "I don't think you could stand dating a girl who doesn't like Quidditch."

Harry's jaw dropped in false shock. "What? What do you mean she doesn't like Quidditch!"

Hermione only rolled her eyes at him and went back to her cereal.

.

"How would you make an item fly across the room?" Hermione asked, flipping through Ginny's Charms book.

"You've asked me that three times already," Ginny pointed out.

Hermione frowned for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So I have." She flipped through the book again, her hand straying to where Crookshanks lay beside her. "Okay, then. How would you make an object fly across the room?"

"Something's bothering you, Hermione," Ginny said. It wasn't a question.

Hermione shook her head. "It's nothing."

Ginny's brown eyes were concerned. "If nothing was wrong, how come you asked me the same simple question four times?"

"Nothing's wrong," Hermione repeated firmly.

The younger girl raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like nothing's wrong."

She sighed. "Well..." Hermione began slowly, "there is something, but it's not important. Now, shall we move onto Potions?"

Ginny cast her friend an unsure glance, but nodded, picking up the heavy Potions book and handing it to her friend.

"What are the first three ingredients you would add to make a Polyjuice Potion?" Hermione inquired.

Ginny listed them off, and Hermione nodded her approval. She began to thumb through the pages of the Potion book, reached the back cover, and tried to keep flipping. She was obviously elsewhere.

"Hermione?"

"Ginny... tell me honestly. Do you think I'm ugly?"

Ginny started at the unexpected question, her freckled face radiating the surprise she felt. "No!" she replied firmly. "No, of course not! Why would you think such a thing?"

"I just -- someone -- I didn't..." she stammered, feeling the blush creep up her face. She could only imagine how Ginny must have felt to be asked such a question, to be put in that kind of position. She began to stroke Crookshanks' fur, earning herself a rumbling purr from the orange feline. "Someone kind of hinted at the fact that I was. I don't know why I let it get to me, though. He's never said anything nice."

"Who said that?" Ginny demanded, setting her books on the table beside her, her quizzing suddenly forgotten.

"Don't worry about it. 'Who' is not important." Her hand paused momentarily on Crookshanks' head, before continuing on its way down his back.

"Yes, it is. Let me guess, then. It was Malfoy, wasn't it?"

Hermione turned to look at her friend and nodded. "It was."

Ginny frowned. "I somehow get the idea Malfoy more than hinted that you were "ugly." Don't listen to him, Hermione. He's a useless bugger. He was probably just saying it to bother you, anyway; I don't think even he could deny that you're attractive."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Ginny. You're a great friend."

Ginny grinned, slightly embarrassed, and retrieved her books. "No problem. But do me a favour: don't listen to brainless gits from now on, okay?"

.

"I was beginning to wonder if you stood me up, Draco Malfoy."

"I'm not late," Draco pointed out gruffly. "You were just early."

Pansy smiled, lowering her lashes seductively and ignoring Draco's ignorant tone completely. "Why here, though? Why not the Astronomy Tower? That is the place to go for a little snogging session."

"Other people go there."

"No one would care, Dracie. They'd all be too busy with their... partner."

Draco's eye twitched minutely at the pet name. "Don't call me that," he growled at her.

Pansy replied with a sickly sweet smile.

"And I didn't mean other snogging people. I meant thinking people."

"Thinking people?"

"People go there to be alone, it seems."

"Since when?" Pansy demanded, incredulous. This was news to her.

Draco shrugged. "Very recently, I assume." He and Pansy had cut Transfiguration on the second day and spent the entire period on the Astronomy Tower. No one had come to bother them.

"Who was it? And why were you there?"

"I was there to see how crowded it was. To see if I would need to find a better, more private place." He paused to smirk. "And it was the Granger girl who was there thinking."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "I'm not worried about that Mudblood. She couldn't very well go squealing -- she'd get in trouble as well for skipping class, and she's not a Prefect, so she wouldn't be able to take points from Slytherin. But...." She glanced around the empty classroom they vacated. "This place is much nicer than the Tower."

Draco had to agree. He wasn't sure what the room had originally been, nor why it wasn't in use now, but he wasn't going to complain. There was little furniture, though. It had a couch in the far corner -- kept clean by the House Elves -- though it was a bit hard and uncomfortable. There were enough cushions piled on the chesterfield to make up for it. There was a rocking chair near the windows and a small table near the door. The carpet was soft and fluffy, as though it had just been put down and never before trodden on, and deep forest green in colour. The walls were a dark mahogany colour and appeared to be wood, but Draco had no doubt that a simple incantation and a flick of a wand had caused that effect.

"Let's not waste any more time. Five minutes have already gone by," Pansy said, and she suddenly grabbed his face and pressed her mouth fiercely to his.

Draco's response was instantaneous. His arms wrapped around her waist (which was none too trim) and her hands went to the back of his neck. As always, the intimacy with Pansy didn't feel quite right. It felt as though something was missing -- something important yet something unfamiliar. But he somehow knew that whatever was missing could be felt... just not with Pansy.

He didn't dwell on it. He was sixteen, after all, and he was alone in a room with his girlfriend -- who had no problem with climbing all over him. He would try to pinpoint what was missing later.

Almost an hour later, the door to the room swung open and an extremely disheveled Pansy stumbled out. Her hair was tangled about her head like a bird's nest and her makeup was smudged. Draco sauntered out after her and Pansy was pleased to see that, for once, his hair was also messy and that the buttons on his shirt had been done up incorrectly. He normally showed so signs of having had a snogging session with her except for the fact that his eyes still held a lustful glint.

"Tomorrow?" she breathed.

"Tomorrow," Draco said firmly, and they both turned and walked in different directions down the hall.

.

"But what about Harry Potter, my Lord?"

"Harry Potter!" he spat. "He won't get in our way."

"But what if he does, my Lord?" the first voice asked.

"Are you questioning me, Wormtail?" Voldemort bellowed, spinning to face his servant, his cloak swishing around his legs as he moved.

"N-no, my Lord. I beg your forgiveness."

Voldemort didn't seem to hear him. "I have already instructed Lucius Malfoy to stand guard with three other Death Eaters of his choice. If Harry Potter does show up, he won't be here very long." His thin mouth twisted into a wicked smile.

But Harry Potter has escaped from more than four Death Eaters before... as well as from yourself, Wormtail wanted to say, but he wisely held his tongue despite the spite that was raging inside him. What made his master think that he would be able to stop Harry Potter now when he hadn't been able to before?

Voldemort crossed the shabby room to the window nearby. The window was streaked with dirt and the shutters were broken. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and misread the contempt on Wormtail's face. "I take it you have an opinion?" he asked, turning back to the filthy window.

Wormtail swallowed nervously. He did have an opinion. Voldemort nodded at intervals, his eyes showing that he was thinking as they did on the rare occasion. The Animagus finished and swallowed again. The cloak swirled again as Voldemort turned completely to face his servant.

"For once, Wormtail, you have used your head. I do not like the thought of waiting so long, but you do bring up some valid points." He began to pace the room, musing. "I will ask Malfoy for his opinion and then we will set to work on the finer details," he said, the fact that it had been Wormtail's suggestion already forgotten. Peter glared with rancor at his master's back, daring to sit up from his bowed position. As Voldemort turned to look in his direction, Wormtail hastily thrust his head back towards the ground, missing the twisted smile that once again crossed the Dark Lord's face.

"Then, after we are done," Voldemort carried on, "I will go after Harry Potter. This time, I will kill him!" Then he opened his mouth, threw back his head and laughed a cold, cruel laugh, his red eyes glittering with a maniacal light. The laugh held no mirth, no amusement, only a longing to see the one he loathed so much dead at his feet, murdered at last by his own hand.