(no subject)
Author: Irisri
Title: The Final Battle
Rating: PG/ light PG-13
Summary: Voldemort has been destroyed, and his Death Eaters die along with him. Three years later, a stranger pops up at Hermione Granger's house. And she's wondering, Who the hell he could be.
Warning: Unsure if there is any.
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to JKR.
Hermione watched Harry walk in wearily. His face was streaked with blood and dirt. His hair had some gunk in it that looked really gross.
"Hermione," he said. "Voldemort's dead." She didn't like the sound of his voice, the voice he always used when bad news was about to be said. If he didn't have that voice, she would have jumped for joy.
He looked up at her, his normally sparkling emerald eyes flat and dull. "Hermione, I've been looking through his castle. There are dead Death Eaters everywhere. None of them seem touched, but they're all dead. I took a search, and... Hermione, every single person with the Dark Mark has died with Voldemort. There's not a living soul in this world with the Dark Mark.
Hermione sunk to her knees, sobs wracking her body. "No," she said. "No. That's not true. He's not dead! He's not! You can't say that, can you? Where is he? Have you found his body? He's not dead, Harry. Do you hear me? He's NOT dead! I-I would KNOW!" she turned and ran from the room. It struck her suddenly that Charlie was dead too, because he'd taken on the Dark Mark. She grabbed her wand and pointed it at her brain, almost whispering that one word. Oblivate.
Hermione woke up, sweating with tears streaming down her face. Sun had gathered in the room, making it warm. It'd been a while since she'd had that dream, the dream that was all too real, the dream that had actually taken place in her life. She got up and took a shower. She was washing Shampoo out of her hair whenever a knock sounded on her door.
"Just a minute," she screamed. She rinsed the rest of the Shampoo out and wrapped a towel around her body before walking over to the door and opening it. "What?" she asked.
"Miss Granger?"
"That's me."
"I'm---" The sound of his voice drifted off when she looked into his eyes. They were a cold grey, looking slightly like ice and slightly like a storm. "Miss Granger, are you all right?"
"My name's Hermione." Her eyes shot to his hair and she stifled a sigh of disappointment. It was a black, very, very, very black. His face was thin, not handsome, but it would get second looks from any woman walking down the street, single or otherwise.
"Hermione," he said uncertainly. He smiled at the way it rolled off his tongue, like the feel of it in the air.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr...?"
"My name's Mr. Malfoy, if you will."
Her breath caught, but then it relaxed. Malfoy was a popular name anymore, and she didn't have time to think about it anymore. "Well, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "Do you have a first name?"
"Uh," his eyes shooting down to the towel before looking back into her eyes. "It's... uh, Lucifer."
"Oh," she replied, not even bothering not to sound disappointed. "Is there a reason you came here... Lucifer?"
"Yes. You see--- well, it'd be better if you got dressed before I tell you." She looked up at him in surprise and saw a very familar smirk. She shook her head and turned towards the bathroom, leaving her front door open.
"You can come in. There's coffee on the stove. Kitchen's second door to the right," she yelled from her bathroom. She was dressed within five minutes.
"Now," she said. "What is it that you wanted to see me about?"
"Uh," he replied, glancing around. "I was told you help people regain their memory"
"That's... correct."
"I have no idea who I am," he said simply. "I know my last name is Malfoy, and that's it. I know how to use a wand, what spells I can do, but I don't recall anything beyond that."
"Does Harry Potter ring a bell?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he said rather snidely. "He's in the Daily Prophet every day."
She nodded. "What about Ronald Weasley."
"Ah yes," Lucifer said. "Tall red headed bloke. Very annoying man, that one."
"He's one of my best friends, so I suggest you shut it if you want me to help you."
"Of course, Granger." She looked at his face again. That aristocratic nose looked exactly like one from her past. The mouth, thin, but looked, for some reason, full. The cheek bones high, and his eyes were small. His eyebrows, were, how should it be put? Perfect. He was thin, but had some muscle. He was rather tall, and couldn't seem to find a comfortable position in her chairs, because he kept shifting. His clothes looked secondhand though, if not third or fourth. It was something he would never wear.
"Lucifer," she said. "I've made up my mind. If I help you, you have to help me."
"With what?"
She looked at him calmly. "Why, with trying to find my true love."
He looked stricken at the thought. "I'm no matchmaker," he replied, insulted.
"I didn't ask you to be. I want your help looking for a man. He disappeared three years ago, right after the Final Battle. Most say he's dead. I want your help finding him."
"What's his name?"
"Draco Malfoy."
She looked so beautiful. Even more so than he remembered. He watched her walk into the shop and come out six minutes later with some books in hand. He vaguely remembered that books were gods to her. He also remembered calling her hurtful names, and then after six years of doing so, had kissed her. They'd fallen into bed that night. He couldn't remember if he regretted it or not, but she'd been so beautiful then, but even more so now. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was purely woman. Her curves looked so delicious compared to the woman beside her, who had red hair that went past her arse, and was thin as a rail with breasts that looked like they might be cosmetic.
He watched her laugh. He remembered then he loved her laugh. Loved it so much. She always threw her head back and laughed into the sky, something he'd hated whenever they'd not been alone because it would thrust her chest out and make her hair fall almost to her thighs. Her hair was so unruly, but in a beautiful way. The years hadn't changed that. She seemed to like it casading down her front or put in a messy ponytail. He'd decided long ago he liked it casading down her back and front.
Title: The Final Battle
Rating: PG/ light PG-13
Summary: Voldemort has been destroyed, and his Death Eaters die along with him. Three years later, a stranger pops up at Hermione Granger's house. And she's wondering, Who the hell he could be.
Warning: Unsure if there is any.
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to JKR.
Hermione watched Harry walk in wearily. His face was streaked with blood and dirt. His hair had some gunk in it that looked really gross.
"Hermione," he said. "Voldemort's dead." She didn't like the sound of his voice, the voice he always used when bad news was about to be said. If he didn't have that voice, she would have jumped for joy.
He looked up at her, his normally sparkling emerald eyes flat and dull. "Hermione, I've been looking through his castle. There are dead Death Eaters everywhere. None of them seem touched, but they're all dead. I took a search, and... Hermione, every single person with the Dark Mark has died with Voldemort. There's not a living soul in this world with the Dark Mark.
Hermione sunk to her knees, sobs wracking her body. "No," she said. "No. That's not true. He's not dead! He's not! You can't say that, can you? Where is he? Have you found his body? He's not dead, Harry. Do you hear me? He's NOT dead! I-I would KNOW!" she turned and ran from the room. It struck her suddenly that Charlie was dead too, because he'd taken on the Dark Mark. She grabbed her wand and pointed it at her brain, almost whispering that one word. Oblivate.
Hermione woke up, sweating with tears streaming down her face. Sun had gathered in the room, making it warm. It'd been a while since she'd had that dream, the dream that was all too real, the dream that had actually taken place in her life. She got up and took a shower. She was washing Shampoo out of her hair whenever a knock sounded on her door.
"Just a minute," she screamed. She rinsed the rest of the Shampoo out and wrapped a towel around her body before walking over to the door and opening it. "What?" she asked.
"Miss Granger?"
"That's me."
"I'm---" The sound of his voice drifted off when she looked into his eyes. They were a cold grey, looking slightly like ice and slightly like a storm. "Miss Granger, are you all right?"
"My name's Hermione." Her eyes shot to his hair and she stifled a sigh of disappointment. It was a black, very, very, very black. His face was thin, not handsome, but it would get second looks from any woman walking down the street, single or otherwise.
"Hermione," he said uncertainly. He smiled at the way it rolled off his tongue, like the feel of it in the air.
"Is there something I can help you with, Mr...?"
"My name's Mr. Malfoy, if you will."
Her breath caught, but then it relaxed. Malfoy was a popular name anymore, and she didn't have time to think about it anymore. "Well, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "Do you have a first name?"
"Uh," his eyes shooting down to the towel before looking back into her eyes. "It's... uh, Lucifer."
"Oh," she replied, not even bothering not to sound disappointed. "Is there a reason you came here... Lucifer?"
"Yes. You see--- well, it'd be better if you got dressed before I tell you." She looked up at him in surprise and saw a very familar smirk. She shook her head and turned towards the bathroom, leaving her front door open.
"You can come in. There's coffee on the stove. Kitchen's second door to the right," she yelled from her bathroom. She was dressed within five minutes.
"Now," she said. "What is it that you wanted to see me about?"
"Uh," he replied, glancing around. "I was told you help people regain their memory"
"That's... correct."
"I have no idea who I am," he said simply. "I know my last name is Malfoy, and that's it. I know how to use a wand, what spells I can do, but I don't recall anything beyond that."
"Does Harry Potter ring a bell?" she asked.
"Yes, of course," he said rather snidely. "He's in the Daily Prophet every day."
She nodded. "What about Ronald Weasley."
"Ah yes," Lucifer said. "Tall red headed bloke. Very annoying man, that one."
"He's one of my best friends, so I suggest you shut it if you want me to help you."
"Of course, Granger." She looked at his face again. That aristocratic nose looked exactly like one from her past. The mouth, thin, but looked, for some reason, full. The cheek bones high, and his eyes were small. His eyebrows, were, how should it be put? Perfect. He was thin, but had some muscle. He was rather tall, and couldn't seem to find a comfortable position in her chairs, because he kept shifting. His clothes looked secondhand though, if not third or fourth. It was something he would never wear.
"Lucifer," she said. "I've made up my mind. If I help you, you have to help me."
"With what?"
She looked at him calmly. "Why, with trying to find my true love."
He looked stricken at the thought. "I'm no matchmaker," he replied, insulted.
"I didn't ask you to be. I want your help looking for a man. He disappeared three years ago, right after the Final Battle. Most say he's dead. I want your help finding him."
"What's his name?"
"Draco Malfoy."
She looked so beautiful. Even more so than he remembered. He watched her walk into the shop and come out six minutes later with some books in hand. He vaguely remembered that books were gods to her. He also remembered calling her hurtful names, and then after six years of doing so, had kissed her. They'd fallen into bed that night. He couldn't remember if he regretted it or not, but she'd been so beautiful then, but even more so now. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was purely woman. Her curves looked so delicious compared to the woman beside her, who had red hair that went past her arse, and was thin as a rail with breasts that looked like they might be cosmetic.
He watched her laugh. He remembered then he loved her laugh. Loved it so much. She always threw her head back and laughed into the sky, something he'd hated whenever they'd not been alone because it would thrust her chest out and make her hair fall almost to her thighs. Her hair was so unruly, but in a beautiful way. The years hadn't changed that. She seemed to like it casading down her front or put in a messy ponytail. He'd decided long ago he liked it casading down her back and front.