A Mandatory Alliance
By: Provocative Envy
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Danish Pastry 28: Your reviews never cease to astonish me. If you’re a writer, than I’m positive you’ll understand why I’m enraptured with your input. When I sit down and begin the long, arduous process of equating my personal reflections and feelings with that of an imaginary character, I can only hope that the final product is one that a general audience can both relate to and find their own little piece of invaluable meaning in. The fact that you take the time to genuinely concentrate on a piece, contemplating its purpose in the story as a whole, is wonderful. But to answer your question, these two stories are the only fanfiction I’ve ever really written with any seriousness. Up until about a month ago, I primarily wrote original fiction. I’ve already had several poems published, and once I finish college (my major is creative writing with a minor in history) I have every intention of approaching publishers for any novels I might write. Fanfiction is strictly for my own personal amusement; writing is genuinely fun for me and it gives me great satisfaction to know that someone other than me finds joy in my work. Thanks for both your reviews and your suggestion.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
To: A Boy Who Is So Obviously in Love I’m Almost Prepared to Be Sorry for Him
Oh, you poor, tortured young soul! Deep in those never-ending throes of love and completely unaware of it! Don’t bother getting all huffy and indignant. I think, subconsciously, that you’ve suspected your “feelings” all along. You should have reread your letter, dear boy. (“And those eyes!”) Believe me when I say you wouldn’t have been describing her “maddeningly wise brown eyes” with such fervency if you didn’t harbor some kind of warped affection/desire/desperate longing for her.
And I know that you’re undoubtedly going to spend the next seventy years of your life denying this, so don’t think I’m going to go be stupid and play matchmaker for you and this girl. Hermione Granger, you said her name was? Sounds like a marvelous girl. I really do want to meet her; if only because she deserves a bloody medal for getting you to fall in love. But enough of that: you’ll never admit any such thing, so I’ll shut up.
Whatever. I’m over writing to you, since you never even acknowledge my letters. I’m not here to simply listen to you ramble about your problems, you know. I have feelings, and you’re hurting them. So go off and get tendonitis in your wrist, or whatever it is you do in your spare time. (Ha-ha. That was funny. Tendonitis in your wrist? Do you get it? From…you know…yeah. Whatever.)
From: A Girl Who Doesn’t Give a Flying Fuck About Your Life
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“I hate you,” Hermione Granger mumbled thickly, her weary voice punctuated by a loud “Oomph!” from Draco as she elbowed him in the groin.
“Goddamn it, Granger! What the hell was that for?” He glared at her angrily, as he massaged his southernmost bodily appendages.
“You got soap in my hair,” she responded innocently, shrugging her shoulders.
“Yeah, well maybe it’s a sign that you should wash it more,” he shot back, still rubbing the sore spot she had so harshly released her violent impulses upon.
“Malfoy, would you like to be alone for…whatever it is you’re doing?” she smirked, nodding her head towards his roving hand.
“No. If you leave your mouth open long enough, I’m sure I can figure something else out,” he replied easily, stretching his arms over his head and grinning evilly. Not unexpectedly, she rolled her eyes.
“I’m sure.”
“Well, it’s not like you’d refuse me, Granger. Not,” he emphasized, “that I’d ever want you in the first place.”
“Well, Malfoy, I must say congratulations.”
“For what?”
“For figuring out what everyone else seems to have missed.”
“Which is your passionate lust for me?”
“Exactly,” she said blankly. “My life will be incomplete unless I bear your children, get your white little arse underneath my sheets, and feel your pulsating--”
“Enough, Granger,” he cut in, his pale cheeks flamed with color at her unfinished description.
“So sorry. Did I deflower your virginal ears?”
“Believe me when I say no part of me is a virgin,” he responded tightly.
“Oh do stop teasing me like that, Malfoy! I don’t think my traitorous body can take it.”
“I have always wanted to hear you scream, you know,” he said thoughtfully.
“Well, you never will,” she said abruptly, turning on her heel to begin the tedious task of restacking the dishes in the kitchen. The house elves had long been gone to clean the dormitories, and even though it was such a late hour, Hermione and Draco were still there, mainly because he had refused to do any real work.
“Sure, Granger. You still know you want me,” he said breezily.
“Never.”
“Oh, yes you do. Everyone does.”
“No, not everyone does. I certainly don’t.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
“Do too!”
“Do not!”
“I can prove it,” Draco insisted, stepping closer, his eyes flashing at the harsh beating his ego was taking at her denial.
“Oh? Pray tell, how can you possibly prove something that isn’t true? Who would ever want you? You vain, evil, selfish, stupid, lazy, fuckwit bast--”
Her tirade was cut off by the unusual sensation of his lips pressed against hers. He pushed down hard, his kiss one of ferocity rather than affection. Hermione felt a strange tingle go up and down her spine, the first signs of desire, and broke out in a cold sweat as she realized who was igniting those senses. With a gasp, she pulled her head back, her lips swollen and red, her brown eyes dark with longing.
“How dare you,” she breathed, completely furious.
“How dare I what? Prove you wrong? Admit it, Granger. You want me,” he answered nonchalantly.
“No, I don’t,” she retorted, her face flushed with rage, “and…I can’t even believe you would be capable of being as utterly insolent as you just were. Malfoy, you don’t just kiss someone to prove a fucking point. Especially when your “point” was ungrounded and wrong.”
“I don’t see what was wrong with it. You seemed to react pretty well,” he murmured, leaning forward again.
“It was disrespectful, you oblivious asshole!” she shouted, causing him to pull back in surprise.
“I-I…what?” he replied dumbly.
“I am not, and will never be, one of your little Slytherin groupies,” she spat venomously, her jaw clenched as he gaped at her. “You had no right to come near me, let alone…kiss me! If you had maybe meant it I might not be as mad, but you…you were just proving a fucking point, like a stupid little kiss could just automatically make you right! You disgust me, Malfoy!”
“I-I…what?”
“Leave.”
“I-I…what?”
“Just go. Now.”
“I-I…what?”
“That is it! What are you, retarded? Do you not know what the words ‘go’ and ‘leave’ and ‘now’ mean? Are you dense as well as egotistical? Huh? Or are you waiting for one of the house elves to come back so you can kiss them, too? To prove to the world that everyone wants you?”
“I-I…what?”
“You’re pathetic, do you know that? Not everyone is in love with you! In fact, look around every once in awhile, maybe notice some people other than yourself, and you’ll see that, in actuality, no one does! Half the school wants you to die!”
“I-I…what?”
“Never mind, Malfoy. Please, just go. I don’t even want to look at you right now,” Hermione said tiredly, suddenly exhausted with the whole sorry situation.
“I-I…what?”
“Consider our little deal over, alright? Change my hair to its normal color, call your lackeys back, give me my books, and I’ll die happy if I never talk to you again,” she stipulated, turning on her heel to stalk away.
“Did she call me retarded?” he asked the empty kitchen in bewilderment.
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Draco was confused. All he’d done was kiss her, for God’s sake! She acted as if he’d raped her! One fucking kiss and the world ends. Honestly.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t enjoyed it. He certainly had. He couldn’t even remember what exactly had made him do it. Had it been her adamant refusal to admit her attraction to him? Had it really been just to prove her wrong?
Furrowing his brow in thought, he collapsed onto a nearby stool, yelping when he felt a splinter worm its way into his arse.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed in the silence, rubbing his butt. His hand came into contact with a folded piece of unopened parchment: the foreign-exchange letter he hadn’t bothered to read earlier that morning. Thinking it would take his mind off of Hermione’s reaction to his kiss, he ripped the paper open and began to read. When he’d finished, the letter slid from his hands, fluttering to the damp floor as he stared at the wall opposite him in dawning comprehension.
Had he kissed her out of nowhere like that because he’d wanted to? Because he secretly loved her? Draco considered this notion for a few minutes, mulling over his befuddled response to her reaction to his kiss. It would certainly make the last half hour or so more plausible. But…love the Mudblood, Granger?
He scoffed, coming to his senses. Picking up the missive in clammy hands, he stuffed it back into his pocket. He started to walk towards the door, his feet landing in soapy puddles more than once. As he reached the portrait to leave, he surveyed the mess of the kitchen. He couldn’t very well leave it like that. It would just prove her right. Sighing, he slowly began to clean it up, cursing her and her bloody temperament all the while.
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