Current mood:	amused
Entry tags:	fic, multi-chapter

The Unexpected; update! (9/?)
 Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.

Part Nine

Draco had always had this wit to him, a wit that all men envied. But only he, and a select few in his school that he could identify, carried. For the men who didn't possess it, they never tried to, for it took more than any person had of charisma, of pride, of self assurance, of not getting embarrassed. He was sure of himself to a point where he'd do anything, risk everything, on just an opinion of a random book he'd never read before because he was always right. He used his logic skills to his advantage, and every time, his opponent would lose. He was, in short, impeccable. And it had taken him nearly all his life to become this person. This perfect son of Lucius Malfoy. This flawless fucking monster.

He was a sociopath. Far from anything he ever thought he'd be, but he was it all the same. He couldn't change it. Or he could. But he didn't care; hence him being a sociopath. Lacking emotion was his high time, it was his way of getting away—his release in a fucked up way. Rather not love anything, feel anything, care for anything, than getting hurt when everyone disappeared from the world. Because everyone would; and he couldn't get attached. Or it would break him further than he'd like to admit. He had thought about it, pondered over if he wanted to have emotion, to use it, to house it. To embrace it. To feel the feelings that he saw broke people. It was his decision, on the eve that he was forced to take the Dark Mark, that he didn't want them. He would shun them, leave them out of his system, for it would slowly crack him, slowly get at him if he chose to succumb to their side affects. Plus, Lucius would probably frown upon his son, looking at him like he deserved nothing, and would most likely do a lot worse than just a light reprimand verbally.

In the end, it wasn't by choice he decided to stay clear of emotion. It was because if he did allow them to take over him, take over his heart, he'd die in the world of evil. To preserve himself, his being, he forgot how to live.

Although, in the last couple of days he'd been thinking extremely hard. Always on how he wanted to portray himself. After he had gotten out of the clutches of Lucius and portkeyed into Dumbledore's office, facing the realization of what had just happened, he knew he'd change. Immediately after telling Dumbledore what happened—a decision he made quite quickly—his mind went back and forth on the line of good and evil. His family, the people that had brought him up, held a strong pull on him. But his mother, his beloved mother, was the last thing holding it, and after she had died, so had the want to please Lucius. He wanted to avenge his mother, to kill Lucius with his bare hands because he deserved it. He'd make him suffer. There was no use of killing him withAvada, no use because he wouldn't feel anything, regret his decision.

Despite the fact that he had changed the slightest compared to himself a week ago, he'd change a lot more now that he wasn't secured to Lucius' opinions, to his strategies, to his bad thinking, horrible activities, and his cool demeanor. It irked Draco that Lucius didn't feel anything. Of course, neither did he, but he wasn't completely inhumane like his father.

Draco hadn't known then, right after he had been transported to the Headmaster, that he would be changing fairly soon. But his instincts, the ones that were faultless, as was everything else, were already taking action. He knew that he'd differ from what he was before, but not drastically, although he secretly wanted it. Ever since his mother had told him that Lucius was being possessed by evil and was trying to take her and himself with him, he'd wanted it. As he sat between her legs, his eight-year-old self relaxed into his mother's embrace, she began to tell him that if any part of him turned bad, any part at all, she'd have done a bad job at parenting. He had been too young to get what she meant, but directly after, he had protested, saying that he'd never be dissimilar than her.

“It's okay, Draco.” she had cooed in his ear, her hand running through his silken hair. “You don't have to think about this right now. How about we just enjoy the sun, pick some flowers?” She smiled lovingly, and got up from the ground, bringing him with her by the hand.

He loved his mother dearly. And hearing that she was dead, by the hands of Lucius, made him want to retch in the nearest garbage can. How could someone do that? How could they bring themselves to point their wand at their once loved, and say the Avada? He wouldn't be capable, even with the absence of empathy toward anything.

So as he watched Hermione Granger get torn up with crazed emotions, seeing exactly what he could feel in himself, he became to believe that he really had changed overnight. In a few final hours, his perspective changed, completely severing any ties he previously had with any Death Eaters, cutting off the odds he'd ever be extremely bad, taking away the chance he would have to kill people. And he was glad. Because, backhandedly, his mother had saved his life by dying herself. Upon thinking in depth about it, he had no doubt that that's exactly what her goal was to do.

He smiled, forgetting exactly where he was, and who was in company.

“I don't—I don't think I've ever seen you smile...” Hermione told him, a crease in her forehead. She had been about to tell him what she wanted to know, when his thoughts had taken over, inherently making him smile.

He instantaneously frowned. “And you'll do good to remember I don't.”

“Then what, exactly, was that?” she questioned him, her eyebrows raising. Hermione had never, ever seen him smile. Not at the Yule Ball. Not in any class, in Hogsmeade, with Parkinson, never. And, she hesitated to admit, that he was extremely handsome when he did so. He'd be dangerous if he was a nice guy, aristocratic, and with his personality. She thanked the Gods for not giving him the pleasantries of a gentle man, for she'd be too far in over head in love, she wouldn't be able to function without him.

It was scary, with just the last day, how she could tell he would be an amazing man if he just bucked up enough courage to let people into his cold heart. He would never, though, for it would ultimately ruin the persona he had taken years to perfect. She wasn't stupid. She could see that he worked and worked on how he was to act around every person, depending on their status in bloodlines. He had left his personality untarnished a couple years ago, back in fifth year. That was the year she could tell he had changed, at least just up from the snot-nosed brat that everyone couldn't stand. He had, maddeningly, still called her a Mudblood continuously, but stopped his jibes where he knew he was going to lose.

He had become smart, she had conceded back then. And it hadn't worked for the Trio. He had then become an actual enemy that was just as capable as they were, leaving them to want to avoidhim, then search him out and beat him to a pulp like they used to.

Bottom line; he had grown up. So much, that it scared Hermione even though he carried no special place in her heart. But his power, the power she could feel radiate off of him, was sickeningly more than she would ever expect.

“It was a relapse in judgment toward my childhood.” He said, waving his hand in the air as he thought his answer pointless. “Continue.”

She looked at him questioningly, holding her breath. Then she sighed, gaining the knowledge that he wouldn't tell her what he meant by way of seeing it in his eyes as he observed her. “Alright.” then she tapped her chin, her eyes closing. Then, almost as soon as they had closed, they opened wide. “What occurred at my house?”

“I cannot give you that information.” he replied just as easily, his voice smooth.

“You said you'd answer my questions.” she bit her lip, looking at him with glassy eyes. She had to know the answer.

“I made it known that I'd try.”

“Please?”

He smirked, “Are you begging me?”

“If it'll get me what I need to know.”

He slowly nodded his head, losing the smirk. “I'll only comply on one condition.”

“And that is...?”

“We draw up a contract. I can't have people knowing I was there.”

“You don't think the last day has been enough? You know I won't say anything. I previously stated that Harry and Ron would kill me for talking with the likes of you. Surely, I'd be in the same predicament as you. Our friends would hate us. So what makes you think I'll give this information willingly?"

"Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow. "If you're so against me, and it would harm your reputation by talking with 'the likes of me', then why are you still sitting here?"

"You know, Malfoy. You know why I'm still here."

He hardened his face. "I believe I don't." He didn't let her answer. "Don't think, Granger, for one minute that I'm doing this for myself. To gain something. Because I'm not. If I give you this information, I get nothing. Same goes vice versa. This is for you. So think again when you insult me." She opened up her mouth, to speak, to say something. Anything. An apology, surely not. Just something. But he cut her off once more. "And no, you wouldn't be in the same fucking boat as me. I will have no friends by the first week of term. And you know what? I don't care. If they'd do this to me, then they're not really friends are they?"

"No." she muttered. "They wouldn't be." She sighed. "Fine. Contract it is. Accio parchment and quill.” She put her wand back down and took hold of the zooming objects, quickly handing them to Draco. “Your secret, your terms.” she told him.

He swallowed, seemingly embarrassed that he had lashed out at her. “I like your negotiating.” He bowed his head and began to write swiftly upon the parchment, his hand elegantly gliding along. Finally, he handed it back to her.

Coughing rather calmly, she started to read. “I, Hermione Granger agree to not tell anyone, human or not, about the conversation that is about to ensue. If I decide to tell my pathetic friends, I have to do anything that Draco Malfoy tells me to do. For a week.” Then she glared at him. “You can't possibly think I'll agree to this.”

“If you want to know anything about your parents, and how they got where they are, it's your only choice.” He leaned forward on the couch, and even at a distance, it disturbed Hermione. “And I suggest you choose wisely.” he whispered, licking his lips.

Draco knew exactly what he was doing. Seducing girls was easy, really. Just make their heart beat with his close proximity, fascinate them with his cool nature, whisper to them with his masculine voice, and they were at his mercy, doing anything he deemed them to do.

He didn't particularly do what he just did because he wanted Hermione sexually. No, if anything, and she ended up telling anyone, he was able to tell her to do horrible things. Terrible things so her reputation was marred. He could even get her to do his schoolwork.

She sighed. “Am I allowed to tell Harry and Ron?”

“No.” he replied automatically. “This is between you and me.”

Hermione shook her head, knowing this was probably not a good contract to agree to, but did so anyway. After both Draco and Hermione signed the bottom of the page, Draco leaned back on the couch. “So.” he smirked. “Where were we?”

TBC