(no subject)
Author: Irisri
Title: In Autumn
Rating: PG for mentions (no actual descriptions) of sex.
Summary: Draco Malfoy broke up with Hermione Granger, and now he’s back --- a year later, muddy and drenched. Sequel to Flowers
Word Count: 934
Theme: Autumn
Themes Completed: 6/100
Disclaimers: Ain’t no way I’m JKR.
He felt tired. He didn’t know why he was there. He’d managed a year, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? And now he was back, and he didn’t know why.
When he was gone, he’d had every woman he could have dreamed. When he had been in China, a Wizard King’s daughter had literally jumped him whenever he’d walked by her. Well, if he was truthful, he’d brushed his forefinger across her thigh, but it had been completely on accident. The girl must have not gotten laid in some time, but he hadn’t minded.
In Italy, a girl who danced in a pub had offered her services to him, and him being, well, him, he’d accepted. And now he was back.
He didn’t know why he left her, even now, but for some reason he couldn’t keep doing that to her, hurting her without her knowing it. Sleeping with women was one thing, but sleeping with other women while you were with one was quite another, and he couldn’t do it.
At first, it had been an adventure, a risk that he’d loved taking. A few times, he’d even gone into her apartment and had sex with the woman of his choice there. It was the thrill of it, the excitement that rushed through his blood, the knowing that she could walk in at any time and curse his naked sorry arse into oblivion that had kept him going.
She’d lived in Muggle London, so every once in a while, he’d transfigured an object, often a plant, into an automobile and had a quickie in the backseats, right there in front of her building when she was out.
But now he was back, and he didn’t know why. Before he could stop himself he pushed the doorbell. He had no umbrella, his fingers coated with mud, his blonde hair had streaks of brown in it.
What greeted him wasn’t at all what he expected. A girl opened the door. She was too small, too thin, to be his Hermione. She didn’t really look at him. She kept her eyes squared off at his chest.
“Is Hermione Granger here?” he asked. Her head snapped up. Huge chocolate brown eyes stared up at him. “You’ve got to take me back.” And that was the last thing he said before he lapsed into unconsciousness.
He awoke in on a couch, still in his drenched clothes, and he felt mud caked in his hair. He heard a faint sound, a sound so small, a person that had even had average hearing wouldn’t have heard it. He opened his eyes, blinked at the sudden light, and looked around.
He was in a living room, a small one. There was a couch, a television set, and a coffee table in it and nothing else, except a few plants. He sat up and quickly regretted it. His head was pounding, he felt dizzy, and he didn’t know where he was.
And then he did.
He rubbed his temples until the pain subsided slightly, and then looked into what he thought was the kitchen.
It was small, like the living room. A small Muggle stove sat beside a Muggle dishwasher, he thought it was called, and there was a small icebox. He looked at the floor. It was clean, except for a pile of glass that was surrounded by a few flower petals and a puddle of water.
He walked over cautiously, and reached his hand out. His hand wouldn’t move forward after he got a centimeter away from the mess, no matter where he tried to touch it.
A shield, he thought. But why? He wondered.
He heard humming down the hallway. He stood up and started following the sound. He turned towards a doorway to a room and saw Hermione walking around it, humming, with a blanket over her shoulders.
You’re my hunny-bunch,
Sugarplum, pummy-ummy-umpkin,
You’re my sweetie-pie.
You’re my cuppy-cake, gumdrop,
Snoogum-snoogums,
You’re,
The apple of my eye.
A gurgling sound came from under the blanket, and his eyes shot down. It was then she turned around. Those big eyes looked up at him.
There was something he hadn’t noticed before, but he did then. They were hollow. Hollow of all feeling when they looked at him, like person who’d been Kissed by a Dementor. He almost shuddered.
“What are you doing here?” she asked finally.
“You have to forgive me,” he finally said.
She laughed harshly, the angry sound not meeting her eyes. “Even if I have a baby?” she asked.
“A baby?” He heard a soft pop, she sat down, and put her free arm under the blanket and he heard a snap before she threw off the blanket.
His breath caught. She’d been pregnant. When, he didn’t know. A white-hot anger flowed in his veins, complicating his breathing, and his heart squeezed painfully. He looked down at the child.
She looked like an angel. Transparent white-blonde hair, a small button nose, chubby cheeks, fat, wet drooling lips, and a forehead that almost put her mother’s to shame when it creased in concentration.
Hermione tenderly put the baby’s face on her shoulder, and started patting her back. When the baby finally burped, Hermione laid her in the crib and started a small melody.
She walked out of the room without another word, and he soon followed.
“Is she mine?” he asked abruptly.
It was the first sign of real anger she’d shown since he’d come to her door. Her chin lifted, and then,
“And if she’s not?”
And for the first time, Autumn wasn’t his favorite time of year.
[What a rude way to end a sequel, huh? But don’t worry! I’m doing another part. Oh, Gabby. What have you gotten yourself into? Anyway, I’ll work on WWTCC soon, seventh part here I come! You’ll probably get the next part sometime this week. And just think, this might be trilogy! YAY! I always wanted to do one of those ;)]
Title: In Autumn
Rating: PG for mentions (no actual descriptions) of sex.
Summary: Draco Malfoy broke up with Hermione Granger, and now he’s back --- a year later, muddy and drenched. Sequel to Flowers
Word Count: 934
Theme: Autumn
Themes Completed: 6/100
Disclaimers: Ain’t no way I’m JKR.
He felt tired. He didn’t know why he was there. He’d managed a year, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he? And now he was back, and he didn’t know why.
When he was gone, he’d had every woman he could have dreamed. When he had been in China, a Wizard King’s daughter had literally jumped him whenever he’d walked by her. Well, if he was truthful, he’d brushed his forefinger across her thigh, but it had been completely on accident. The girl must have not gotten laid in some time, but he hadn’t minded.
In Italy, a girl who danced in a pub had offered her services to him, and him being, well, him, he’d accepted. And now he was back.
He didn’t know why he left her, even now, but for some reason he couldn’t keep doing that to her, hurting her without her knowing it. Sleeping with women was one thing, but sleeping with other women while you were with one was quite another, and he couldn’t do it.
At first, it had been an adventure, a risk that he’d loved taking. A few times, he’d even gone into her apartment and had sex with the woman of his choice there. It was the thrill of it, the excitement that rushed through his blood, the knowing that she could walk in at any time and curse his naked sorry arse into oblivion that had kept him going.
She’d lived in Muggle London, so every once in a while, he’d transfigured an object, often a plant, into an automobile and had a quickie in the backseats, right there in front of her building when she was out.
But now he was back, and he didn’t know why. Before he could stop himself he pushed the doorbell. He had no umbrella, his fingers coated with mud, his blonde hair had streaks of brown in it.
What greeted him wasn’t at all what he expected. A girl opened the door. She was too small, too thin, to be his Hermione. She didn’t really look at him. She kept her eyes squared off at his chest.
“Is Hermione Granger here?” he asked. Her head snapped up. Huge chocolate brown eyes stared up at him. “You’ve got to take me back.” And that was the last thing he said before he lapsed into unconsciousness.
He awoke in on a couch, still in his drenched clothes, and he felt mud caked in his hair. He heard a faint sound, a sound so small, a person that had even had average hearing wouldn’t have heard it. He opened his eyes, blinked at the sudden light, and looked around.
He was in a living room, a small one. There was a couch, a television set, and a coffee table in it and nothing else, except a few plants. He sat up and quickly regretted it. His head was pounding, he felt dizzy, and he didn’t know where he was.
And then he did.
He rubbed his temples until the pain subsided slightly, and then looked into what he thought was the kitchen.
It was small, like the living room. A small Muggle stove sat beside a Muggle dishwasher, he thought it was called, and there was a small icebox. He looked at the floor. It was clean, except for a pile of glass that was surrounded by a few flower petals and a puddle of water.
He walked over cautiously, and reached his hand out. His hand wouldn’t move forward after he got a centimeter away from the mess, no matter where he tried to touch it.
A shield, he thought. But why? He wondered.
He heard humming down the hallway. He stood up and started following the sound. He turned towards a doorway to a room and saw Hermione walking around it, humming, with a blanket over her shoulders.
You’re my hunny-bunch,
Sugarplum, pummy-ummy-umpkin,
You’re my sweetie-pie.
You’re my cuppy-cake, gumdrop,
Snoogum-snoogums,
You’re,
The apple of my eye.
A gurgling sound came from under the blanket, and his eyes shot down. It was then she turned around. Those big eyes looked up at him.
There was something he hadn’t noticed before, but he did then. They were hollow. Hollow of all feeling when they looked at him, like person who’d been Kissed by a Dementor. He almost shuddered.
“What are you doing here?” she asked finally.
“You have to forgive me,” he finally said.
She laughed harshly, the angry sound not meeting her eyes. “Even if I have a baby?” she asked.
“A baby?” He heard a soft pop, she sat down, and put her free arm under the blanket and he heard a snap before she threw off the blanket.
His breath caught. She’d been pregnant. When, he didn’t know. A white-hot anger flowed in his veins, complicating his breathing, and his heart squeezed painfully. He looked down at the child.
She looked like an angel. Transparent white-blonde hair, a small button nose, chubby cheeks, fat, wet drooling lips, and a forehead that almost put her mother’s to shame when it creased in concentration.
Hermione tenderly put the baby’s face on her shoulder, and started patting her back. When the baby finally burped, Hermione laid her in the crib and started a small melody.
She walked out of the room without another word, and he soon followed.
“Is she mine?” he asked abruptly.
It was the first sign of real anger she’d shown since he’d come to her door. Her chin lifted, and then,
“And if she’s not?”
And for the first time, Autumn wasn’t his favorite time of year.
[What a rude way to end a sequel, huh? But don’t worry! I’m doing another part. Oh, Gabby. What have you gotten yourself into? Anyway, I’ll work on WWTCC soon, seventh part here I come! You’ll probably get the next part sometime this week. And just think, this might be trilogy! YAY! I always wanted to do one of those ;)]