Wilted Celandine

Chapter Five

First person, Draco's POV

I was hungry. So very hungry. The feeling gnawed at me all night, eating out my insides, feasting on my vulnerable state. I'd been hungry ever since leaving the hospital wing. I felt weak, too, as if too much walking, the effort of lifting one foot to place it somewhere else, was too much to bear. I skipped breakfast the next morning, and during Potions my hands shook so hard I dropped a vial into my cauldron. After class Snape drew me aside and asked me how I felt, and unable to lie to the greasy haired professor, I told him I felt horrid.

But I didn't go to the hospital wing, and I didn't drink the stomach ache helping potion Snape had given me. Instead, I rushed back towards my common room. But halfway there, I was wheeling around a corner when I collapsed, falling through a doorway into an empty classroom. After retching horribly I walked into the empty Professor's office and sat on the window seat, my face pressed against the despicable cold of the glass.

I felt so drained. It was unbelievable how unenergetic I felt. Did they feel like this? Was this their normal way of feeling? Did they perhaps feel a hint of what was my normal state when adrenaline rushed through their veins?

I wanted her again. Wanted to taste her sweetness. Anything to satiate my hunger, my lust. Nothing I did, no one I met, could quench my desire. My 'horrendous activity' was now impossible to do. Father would be happy. Well no, not happy. That man was never happy. He would be pleased, for a while, and then he would find another thing about me to be upset at. Ignoring him had been easy before, when, free from him at school, I could do almost whatever I wanted, ambush without fear of being caught.

But now, in my bad condition, I thought of him, because his warnings had been right. In the end I could die from continuing to do what I had, if I didn't continue the process to the next step. But I didn't know how to go to the next step. My father had only vaguely mentioned it once by accident, and even if I did know what to do, it was obviously something difficult.

It was something harder than hunting. I couldn't hunt even if I did have the energy to. For hunting, lurking in the shadows and pouncing when I felt hunger, or wheedling them in gradually before I had my fill, that didn't satisfy me anymore. Now, upon doing that, upon trying to continue what my father had called 'horrendous activity,' I felt empty. I could not be satiated, and knew not what would fulfill my needs.

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I was becoming a monster, an addict to what I couldn't have but needed, just as my father had warned me of. The emptiness had grown immensely since my exit from the hospital a month ago, and now I knew that if I never got the information out of my father, if I never figured out how to save myself from imminent doom, my next victim could quite possibly die.

But I couldn't let that happen. No. If I did, then all would be lost, and I would be arrested, and most probably killed. Azkaban would be heaven compared to where I would be sent, compared to what would happen to me. Not that I really knew what they would do to me; but I knew it wouldn't be good.

One night, I was pacing back and forth in an empty classroom, when suddenly the door creaked a warning, and I quickly ducked out of sight before it opened. She walked in, sighing quietly, and closing the door silently behind her, began walking towards me. I eyed the girl hungrily. Most of the time, Hogwarts girls figures were, for the most part, hidden, the plain robes and scarves, cloaks, and coats worn in winter covering the delectable. Even in summer, when their curves were more obvious and less covered, the plain robes diminished their attractiveness and did nothing to reveal their figures, unless they were sluts, like stupid Pansy.

I didn't like the sluts. They were worthless girls, young women whose doubts and lack of confidence in themselves made them feel the need to be accepted. The were in illusion, thinking that to show off their figures overtly would attract the male population. Only wankers went for the sluts, desperate 5^th-7^th years and men that should be too old to be virgins. I liked young women, people who were too young and inexperienced to be called women, yet too strong and physically developed to be called girls.

In truth, I didn't give a damn what House a young woman was in, as long as it wasn't Slytherin--I was bitter towards my fellow housemates, their patheticness and feeble attempts to be dark and threatening a pain to me. The Slytherin female population was almost as bad as the males. Most of them were sluts, unless ugly hags like Bulstrode, and the ones that were young were stupid, their nasal voices and pesky, leering stares disgusting. As for the males, they were shaming. I sometimes felt embarrassed to be counted amongst these Slytherins. They shamed the cleverness and ambition that came with our House title. I hated them all.

Of course, no one knew this but me. Externally I was the picture perfect Slytherin, continually condescending and selfish. I was proud, stubborn, harsh, hateful, and all those other Slytherin like qualities that the Gryffindors defined as "nasty," but I wasn't actually pathetic and unreasonably insolent like I pretended to be. That was just a show. And I enjoyed doing the show. While externally I sneered, internally I laughed at their stupidity, that they could actually believe a person like the one I pretended to be was real.

I wondered sometimes how Granger saw me. Did she look at me and feel the same hatred and disgust as the other Gryffindors? Did she hate me as much as Potty and Weasel did? That wouldn't entirely make sense though; surely she was more perceptive than them! After all, the young woman was intelligent, and had a brain worthy of boast in her skull. But I couldn't quite read her well enough to tell if she could see through my façade or not.

I looked up as my company walked past, and that's when I realized that the young woman was Granger herself! Her back faced me as she stood beside the desk she would usually occupy in this class--History of Magic. The long cloak that swirled around her was unclasped with a tiny click, and fell to the floor to reveal a Granger I had never known existed.

Suddenly, that full mouth I had kissed that had always spoken to me either as a hateful Gryffindor or stern teacher was riveting. The parting of her lips as she whispered a spell--one that made sounds in the room inaudible--made me become entranced. I was immediately captivated the moment that cloak fell from her shoulders.

Slender figure, full bust and gorgeous legs were revealed to me by a sleek, suede, black dress that dared to go no further then her thighs. Finally those bouncing ringlets were nourished and healthy, sweeping her shoulders in a wild tangle of glossiness. Her face, of which I glimpsed the profile, was slightly decorated with just the right amount of make-up. A silver jewel-studded cross hanging on a chain increased the enticement of her surely smooth and soft skin, and graciously led my eyes to the non-excessive insinuation of cleavage as well as her full and shapely bust. Grace and femininity that I had never seen or even imagined before shone from Hermione Granger. Something stirred within me, and I felt an attraction to her that only furthered the torture of my already overwhelming needs and desires.

My reverie was broken as suddenly she cast the Lumos spell, and I had to get out, leave before that wand waving light around the room lit on me. I scrambled to the door and was prepared to leave in a span of seconds. But even as I guised my presence with silence, I looked back as the door was opening. The light from her wand hit me in the face, blinding me; I was the maker of my own sorry fate, having looked back. The moment of weakness made me slower, and as I made my escape, I knew I'd left a few moments too late. She had seen me.

I had failed and betrayed myself.

Any following disasters would be my own fault.

I knew the consequences of my actions would be my doom.