The Muggleborn Vampire: A Dramione Story

Chapter 18: Wandering Thoughts

As Severus began his lecture about how to successfully brew a pepper-up potion, Hermione was finding it harder and harder to cocentrate on her father's words. Though she was insistent on continuing taking adequate notes, her 'inner vampire', that deep pressure behind her breast bone  that she had noticed over the last few months seemed to be the focal point of her animalistic urges, would not calm down no matter how many breathing exercises Hermione tried. She could almost feel tendrils of static resonating from that spot and traveling down her veins into her arms and pooling in her fingertips, causing them to flex and willing her to grasp a certain something; to embrace it and never let it go. What was this 'something' her body was craving? Hermione had no clue.

Hermione had been a vampire long enough to be able to recognise the symptoms of a blood frenzy and the urge to feed. The feelings she was feeling right now, she was almost certain, were not any she recognised. No, her vampire wanted something, but it wasn't blood. Or at least, not the blood of prey.

It wasn't as strong as it was in the beginning of class, but her enhanced sense of smell could still detect that wonderful smell in the air; the blood that seemed to be spiked with something more desirable then iron. Her olfactory stores couldn't place the smell as something she had ever encountered before. It was dark and rich, like chocolate, but also woodsy and musky like the whiskey her Muggle father used to drink. Then there were the notes she couldn't place, things that she knew she would never be able to identify. But whatever the smell was, her vampire loved it. She wanted it, desired it, and it was only a few feet behind her on the other side of the class. Surely she could slink back and discover the source without anyone noticing?

'No. We need to focus on class.' Hermione silently lectured herself,  'We can search for that smell later.' She smirked when she felt the static feeling reluctantly retreat to her chest. It didn't disappear fully behind her sternum, but insisted on staying in her chest, feeling like a layer of thin fog with the occasional shot of desire hitting her like a static electricity beneath her skin. Hermione accepted the compromise however, as she was able to refocus on the lecture with moderate success.

-----

Draco Malfoy was also struggling to focus on the potion lesson, but obviously not for the same reason Hermione was. No, his reason stemmed from events that took place over winter break.

After Draco met his father at platform 9 3/4 on the third week of December, they had apparated back to Malfoy Manor, where he quickly discovered that his family was hosting a very special guest, the Dark Lord Himself. This was the first time Draco actually met the snake-man in person, for he was never permitted to attend any of the Death Eater meetings in the past, and he was floored at how terrifying the Lord actually was. The beady red eyes that seemed to see right through you, the eerie lack of a nose, the very visible veins that layed beneath sickly gray skin, and that voice... slightly high pitched and childlike, though laced with so much venom that felt like it was biting and infecting your ears every time he spoke.

And the words he spoke? Draco had never thought he would meet anyone else that could load such words with as much distain and hate like that 'man' could. It didn't matter when he spoke: during meals, meetings, or passing conversations in the hall, he was always speaking about how horrible and degenerate Mudbloods and Muggles were and how the world would be such a better place after the filth was successfully irradiated from the earth.

And sure, Draco had heard from his parents during his entire life how these people were hardly worth the dirt underneath his feet, but did they really deserved to be killed? Slaughtered? Tortured to insanity? Wouldn't it prove equally as successful if Purebloods were simply recognized as superior to all, maybe viewed by all as a sort of monarch? As long as everyone was aware of their social class and knew better then to test those boundaries, nobody had to die, right?

But Draco soon found out that his opinions were not wanted nor shared with his current community, for when he questioned his father on the Dark Lord's beliefs one night privately in the elder man's study, he came face to face with the end of his father's serpant-themed cane. Cradling his broken nose, he listened as his father chastised him on his preposterous behavior and that he 'better get his shit together' before he finds himself killed, or worse, disowned.

Draco narrowed his eyes on his lecturing godfather as he unconsciously rubbed his mended nose. If having his own beliefs was going to cost him his inheritance and family name, then was it worth it? Draco didn't think so.

A flip of brown hair in his peripheral vision caught Draco's attention. 'Ugh, Granger. Didn't she die a couple of months ago?' He internally rolled his eyes. The Mudblood had been a thorn in his side almost as much as Potter was. While the feud between himself and Potter often layed in insults and spells, his and Granger's were acidemic based and stemmed from  battles of wit. Since day one, he and the bushy haired nuisance were neck-to-neck at the top of their class. When Granger disappeared, Draco prided himself at holding the highest marks for his Year, but of course, the best things in life never last.

Draco regarded Granger from across the roon with a steely gaze. Though she seemed to be paying attention to the lecture, he was surprised to see that her quill hung limply in her fingers instead of furiously writing notes. Her focus was pointed towards the front of the class, though it obviously wasn't directed towards Snape, since she continued to look straight ahead even when the Professor would travel over to his desk or to the corner of the board farthest from her. 'Ah, so she's back physically, but not mentally.' Draco mused, 'bypassing her academically might be easier then I thought.'

As he watched, Granger shook her head, like she was clearing her head, and raked a gloved hand through her hair, quite like the movement that caught his eye earlier. The movement caused her curls to bounce against the back of her neck and a shimmer of light reflected back at Draco. Her fingers parted those curls delecatly as some of the strands caught onto the black lace on her palm before releasing elegantly as she sat her hand back down on the desk. A curl fell in front of her ear and Draco's fingers itched to tuck it back into place.

Wait, what?

Draco jerked back in his seat, blinking quickly to clear his mind of brown hair and black lace. 'What the Hell was that? I was not just daydreaming about Granger like that!'

"You ok, Dray?" Pansy Parkinson whispered in the seat beside him.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a lot on my mind."