Wilted Celandine

Chapter Two

Third person, Draco's POV

Draco wrapped a towel around his waist, shaking his wet hair away from his face as the tawny eagle-owl flew in through the window. Petting her head for a moment, he closed his eyes, rubbing his fingers against the soft feathers. Then, nodding appreciatively at the creature, he took the letter from his talons and unrolled the Malfoy crested parchment.

Draco

I'm very displeased with your records--both education and otherwise--of your activities at school. That Camcora is telling me your every move, and how often you are doing...well, you know. That horrendous activity I hate to know you do all the time. You've already disgraced the Malfoy name irredeemably, however I would hope you wouldn't disgrace us further by continuing the way you are. As for your grades, you are doing very well in Potions, although Charms and Astronomy are less than my expectations. Your Transfiguration grades are outrageous! I know that McGonagall woman is in Dumbledore's favor, but ignore that annoyance and pay attention! Tell Crabbe and Goyle I send them my regards, and DO SOMETHING about that damn D in Herbology! That's an order! Don't send me any more messages--just seeing your handwriting sickens me, boy

--Father

Rolling his eyes, Draco scribbled a quick letter in reply:

Frankly, father, I don't give a damn about what you think of anything involving me, and I will continue doing my activities, as I find them enjoyable and quite necessary. If the Malfoy name is disgraced, it's because of you, and we both know that, so don't go blaming me. Hogwarts and Dumbledore are the reason for my horrible grades, although if mother insists I suppose at least my Herbology grade should be improved. My handwriting will remain the way it is, thank you very much.

--Draco

Then, growling, he shoved the letter in the owl's talons, accidentally getting his fingers scratched. Pushing the animal out the window, he went to lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling above.

Not a single drop of blood fell onto the floor as a mark of the injury his hastiness had given him.

-----*-----

"Granger. Granger!"

Draco yawned as the girl finally turned around to look at him, realizing who it was that had been calling her name. He looked down at her from half-closed, sleepy eyes as she walked up to him. Her ringlets were tangled together in a wild mess, cheeks rosy from what Draco supposed she considered 'an exciting Herbology lesson.'

"Granger."

Her chocolate eyes sparkled in fury. "What?" she snapped.

"I have a request to make."

Draco stared her down, scrutinizing the young woman before him. She had dark eyes and glossy yet, in Draco's opinion, undernourished hair. Underneath her typical Hogwarts robes--with that red Gryffindor crest blaring out at Draco's eyes annoyingly--she wore a white, red-trimmed tanktop, and a black, polyester knee-length skirt.

Polyester. Yuck.

"Polyester, Granger? What kind of taste do you have? Or do you simply let Potter and Weasley choose your clothes for you? As a Prefect, I would think that you would be a better role model. Although hopefully no one would be so stupid as to use you for an example. After all, you're barely what could be called human."

Her cheeks flushing in anger, the Gryffindor retorted, "Did you call me over just to insult my clothes, Malfoy? Or was there an intelligent reason behind it? I don't care what you think, Malfoy, and shouldn't you be accusing me of not being a proper witch? Why the sudden change of tactic, from Mudblood to alien?"

Draco gave her a cool stare, his eyes never blinking, boring into her firm, chocolate gaze. "Don't answer my questions with questions, Granger. I'll accuse you of whatever I want. Follow me."

Giving her one last glance to show her she'd better obey, Draco lead Hermione up the hill to the castle. The wind blew warm and light that day, tousling the Slytherin's hair as he mercilessly stepped on pink and yellow flowers that obstructed his path forward. Finally reaching the castle and a door that led to the library, Draco opened the door for Hermione, saying curtly, "Ladies first."

Giving him a dubious look, Hermione walked through the door and, without giving Draco the slightest choice, went to sit in a shadowy corner at a table hidden by shelves. Pulling up a chair across from her, Draco sat down, his chair tipped back to lean against a bookshelf, leg crossed and booted feet resting on the table.

Smirking at the way the girl glared so viciously at his boots, Draco waited for her to say something. He loved making her get angry at him. The girl was always so composed, patient, and tolerant of him during classes, which was almost the only time he ever saw her. So making her occasionally get frustrated because of him amused Draco. He loved to make people feel the things they didn't want to feel. People around him so often denied their true feelings. Denial was, in his opinion, not a good thing. Even if it meant a harder time in life, to lie, and to lie to one's self especially, was, in his mind, illogical and just plain stupid. It would get one nowhere.

Finally, after minutes of staring with anger-flushed cheeks at his boots, Hermione sighed, and said exasperatedly, "Well, Malfoy? What's your request? Get out of my sight within the next five minutes and I'll do anything you want."

Draco took his feet off the table, and leaning forward, intrigued, he murmured softly, "Anything? Anything at all?" One brow he raised in doubt, his eyes glinted with implications of sly thoughts. He stared intently at the girl across from him. Suddenly, he seemed to be noticing things about her he never had before. He was looking at her in a new light. Not only was she a smart-arsed, Gryffindor, annoying, sassy show-off, but she was also an easily-embarrassed, vivacious, weak girl who hid her true personality and deep, personal thoughts behind her pile of books.

Draco almost licked his lips. Girl. Yes, girl. True, he hated her guts and would happily damn her to hell if he had the power, but if she was a girl, which meant she was vulnerable, and he loved taking advantage of vulnerable people; they let him have power over them. Power was something that Draco found intoxicating. He could just taste it now, watching the apprehension sparkle in the girl's gaze.

Gulping, Hermione exhaled and tried to regain her composure by closing her eyes for a few moments. She found Draco's gaze intimidating, that intent, unblinking stare able to imply so many horrific things. Re-opening her eyes, Hermione replied firmly, "No. Not anything at all. There is a limit to what you can request."

Draco slid across the table a few inches closer. "Like what?"

"Well..." Hermione's voice was a bit shaky. "You can't request anything that would harm who I associate with, friends, family, etcetera. You can't do anything that would humiliate me," a little light fell from Draco's eyes, "You can't hurt me emotionally or otherwise. You can't use a wand on me at all, ever. And," by this time Draco's eyes were almost bereft of all it's previous glint. "You can't tell anyone living or dead, or inhuman, about this request of yours."

Draco's eyes were dark like black opals. Hermione smiled to herself. Draco felt anger and hatred boil up inside him as he looked at her, and suddenly, ideas were simmering in his head. Pushing himself to sit back in the chair, Draco returned Hermione's smile. His smile was, as Draco knew, a very eerie thing. On the rare occasions when he smiled instead of giving people his haughty smirk, those who saw it became frightened, for although it showed mirth--it was a true smile, after all--it had a tinge of evilness to it.

Standing up to smooth out his clothes, Draco said, "Here's the deal: Private Herbology tutoring lessons, seven PM, Astronomy Tower. Tuesdays and Thursdays. You think of an excuse to skip dinner."

Hermione stared at him for a few moments. Draco held out his hand, and, hesitantly, the girl accepted, shaking his hand. Her skin was warm and soft. It had been so long since he'd touched someone's skin besides his own. Noticing the way the Gryffindor shivered as he turned around, Draco's expression darkened, and then he left.

Tuesdays and Thursdays...That leaves Mondays, Wednesday's and Friday's for doing my other business. Or as father would call it, Draco smirked, my 'horrendous activity.'