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A/N: I own nothing. Steal from me. Go ahead because you’re not even stealing from me because I own nothing. With that said… Now with no more to do or ado or whatever you prefer… Chapter 4: Hermione Granger “A girl with brains,” Draco repeated to his goons or minions or whatever you prefer. “Do we know any brainy—“ as soon as he started to say it, he knew the answer: Granger. “We’ll get Granger,” he punched Goyle on the arm as he said it. “She’ll be good and scared, the harlot—“ Draco could’ve continued, but Goyle interrupted him, “But she’s a—“ “Don’t interrupt me,” Draco snapped back. “Can’t you see I’m formulating a plan? You’re meant to just sit there and nod and grunt,” the excitement of torture emanating from his voice. Draco Malfoy and his goons or minions or whatever you prefer hovered next to the insanely complex spells section of the library. “When she walks into the isle…” as Draco knew she invariably would, Granger being entirely too useful to interject obscure information into the plot at very opportune times. “When she walks into the isle, Goyle, you snatch her and cover her mouth until we get to the dungeon,” Draco spoke very slowly in order to allow Goyle to completely comprehend the instructions. “But, Draco,” Goyle began, “she’s a–“ “For the last time, Goyle, you’re only meant to nod and grunt,” Draco could taste victory. He could imagine the terror he would inspire in Granger. She would know he meant business. She would fear him and try to bite him and plead with him to leave her be. She would understand that Draco Malfoy, Death Eater extraordinaire, was someone to be feared, someone to try to bite. Draco heard Granger’s footsteps; he knew that the time had come to fulfill the Dark Lord’s endeavor. As Granger replaced a book, The Hardest and Most Obscure Spells for the Over Achiever/Know-It-All, Goyle stepped out from along the wall and snatched Hermione into his arms and covered her mouth. She struggled, and Draco smiled. Draco even thought he saw her try to bite Goyle. Upon entering the dungeon, Goyle removed his hand from Granger’s mouth, but retained his grip on her arms. “What is this about, Malfoy? What do you want?” Hermione was very upset and continued to struggle. Draco couldn’t be happier. He was sowing Death Eater oats; he was going to torture her, he was going to call her a harlot and maybe, even, he was going to get bitten. “I’m going to take you back to the Dark Lord, and I’m going to marry you, you harlot. You are going to bare forth from your loins the next generation of Death Eaters, harlot.” Draco reflected about what he had just said, “Right, that was good,” he thought. He stood and contemplated a little more and decided that “harlot” was definitely much better than “wench.” Although, “wench” had a certain individual possession connotation that “harlot” was lacking, but what did that matter when “harlot” is obviously so much more effective. Hermione looked surprised. Draco misinterpreted her surprise as terror and laughed what he imagined to be an evil Death Eater laugh. Without warning, Hermione stomped on Goyle’s feet. Goyle jumped up and down in pain, and Hermione ran into the potions classroom. Draco smiled widely. This was a real Death Eater chase. He would find her and snatch her and she would struggle and try to bite him. As Draco entered the potions classroom he called out, “Granger? Granger, you harlot; I know you’re in here.” He heard Hermione squawk, “git” from behind an especially large and attractive pewter cauldron. As Draco approached the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron, a very strange thing occurred. He began to shake violently and fall to the floor. Hermione jumped out from behind the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron and transfigured Draco’s especially black and attractive robes into extra-clingy plastic wrap. “Wow, that’s N.E.W.T. standard, that is!” Terry Boot proclaimed as he jumped out of the especially large and attractive pewter caldron. “Well now, Terry Boot. We are in our seventh year, aren’t we?” Hermione bobbed her head and spoke deliberately like she was talking to a child. “Right,” Terry boot proclaimed as he sunk back into the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron. Draco began to twist on the floor and mumble. Then, to everyone’s amazement, Draco asked Hermione for a kiss. “Kiss me Hermione,” Draco mumbled in a very high-pitched voice. “Are you possessed by something other than your devotion and love of the Dark Lord, Draco?” Hermione asked in an all too sarcastic tone of voice. “How’d you know?” Harry Potter asked as he materialized out of Draco’s chest. Hermione stared at Harry with narrowed eyes. Harry looked at his shoes and fidgeted with his hands, “Listen Hermione. I’m sorry I tried to make you kiss me. It’s hard being the-boy-who-lived-but-can’t-get-the-girl, especially when Ron is such a dofuss.” “He’s a lovable dofuss, but it’s okay, Harry. I’m rather busy right now,” Hermione said as she turned Harry towards the door. Just as Harry left the classroom, Draco broke his arms free from the extra-clingy plastic wrap. Hermione turned her attention to Draco and asked, “Draco, are those green dragon skin trousers?” “Yeah,” Draco responded with less confidence than usual. “All the Death Eaters wear them.” Hermione began to laugh. Draco could take no more. Here was someone who was struggling; here was a chance to prove what a great Death Eater he was. Draco adopted a menacing look and stared at Hermione, “Shut up you, you…filthy mudblood.” “Shit,” Draco declared. “You’re a mudblood,” he sighed. Draco, after hearing loud grunting, turned to look at Goyle. Goyle’s head was nodding up and down with a vengeance. Draco rounded on Hermione, “Get…now,” he screamed. Draco’s face reflected confusion and anger and sadness. Hermione turned and left the room. “Well, that was anticlimactic. I should’ve killed her off,” Draco said to himself. “I can’t believe I almost married a mudblood.” Draco sat near the especially large and attractive pewter cauldron and questioned his existence. The task imparted on him by the Dark Lord was turning out to be the bane of his existence. Granger had been sufficiently frightened, or at least struggled, but Draco remained without a wife-to-be and, to make matters worse, he still had not sown his Death Eater oats and been bitten.

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