Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Belladonna	By : Nora13 Category: Harry Potter > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 15257 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter 's franchise of any of its characters, I just enjoy playing around with them – though in a way J. K. Rowling would definitely not approve of. I make no money from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Bothersome thoughts
- 2-Changing perspectives
- 1
- 2
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Hermione resolved to snap shut the book in her hands, putting it back on its place above the ledge with a loud sigh. It had to be just her impression, but she felt like the most interesting volumes were catching her eye precisely now that she carried around an almost empty wallet. She was not in Hogwart’s library: here, amid Hogsmeade’s bookshop, the assistant behind the counter was watching her like an hawk, ready to pounce on her if she ever kept a book open for more than thirty seconds without buying it afterwards.
Wishing to escape the vigilance, Hermione retreated behind another shelf and looked about the complex Arithmancy’s section with longing. This time though she would not have the satisfaction of staying in the classroom once the lesson was over, discussing with professor Vector and asking clarification on some obscure point encountered in a book she was currently reading.
Despite all the horrors Hermione had witnessed since she had become a part of the wizarding world, – including a mountain troll and a legion of Dementors –, she thought the day that her parents had communicated her their new, disastrous situation would stuck in her mind as the greatest shock. Wrapping her head around the fact that mom and dad’s associate, the same man who had always gifted her sugary treats when those two weren’t looking, could have set up a tax fraud regarding the dental practise already seemed bad enough. But to hear about how her parents had been caught in the middle of the suit and, in short, ended up losing their office, their jobs, made her knees go weak. Nevertheless, it had taken several days for the realisation of what this would entail to really sink in.
The first victim of their new-found strained circumstances had been her mother’s French literature course. Hermione had accompanied her to the UCL so that she could annul her enrolment, and during the whole ride in the car she was forced to listen to an interminable monologue listing all the reasons why it didn’t matter, it had just been a whim, that no one ever heard of a dentist graduated in French literature, of all things. The girl had wanted nothing else than to tell her to stop, because those words were too close to something she could’ve said in her place; yet, she had remained silent.
With the start of a new year at Hogwarts, she often wondered how her parents were faring, the things they had to cut out of their lives now: her father’s collection of vinyls from the golden age of rock was a prime suspect. As it was predictable, none of the letters she received from home let anything transpire.
Hermione knew she had no right of sulking over a couple of books she couldn’t purchase, when the school’s entire library was still at her disposal. Even if the most recent volume dated back to the Fifties, even if Hermione would’ve rather have all those books for herself, only for herself…
«Excuse me,» said suddenly a cold, feminine voice.
The girl came to her senses, blushing at the thought of having blocked some client’s path. But when she stepped aside and lifted her gaze on the figure in front of her, she found Narcissa Malfoy’s haughty face. The apology died in her throat.
«Of course,» she replied with matching coolness.
The woman narrowed her eyes, and Hermione had the feeling she didn’t really glace away from her as she leaned in to extract a tome from the shelf. The girl couldn’t help but notice the title of the book Mrs. Malfoy had picked: “Mathematics and magical beings”, by Archimedes Huler. Not a very complicated text, though with a quite particular analysis of…
«I am sure if you asked the shop assistant he could be able to provide another copy,» the woman said again, looking down on her.
«Wha… Oh, no, I’m not interested in that book.»
And as if she needed to confirm what she had said, Hermione grabbed a random book, trying to focus on reading the back cover, but the annoying sensation that the other witch was still appraising her persisted. She questioned whether she had been recognised. The day of their meeting at the Quidditch World Cup she had thought Malfoy’s mother had barely registered the existence of her group, however, considering the hatred that the Slytherin boy harboured towards her in particular, it was possible.
«I’m sure if you asked the shop assistant he could give you another copy,» she eventually retorted, bothered by the woman’s presence and at the same time not wanting to walk away just because of that.
Narcissa Malfoy flashed a half smile that looked more like a sneer, so similar to her son’s frequent expression. «Mh, I was simply wondering why Hogwarts’ most infamous know-it-all would be contemplating a children’s book.»
Hermione lowered her eyes, mortified at discovering “The most magical numbers and others curious curiosities” in her hand, probably aimed to eight-year-old or younger readers. She felt her cheeks redden for the second time in the span of few minutes as she hurried to put it back in place.
«Well, perhaps you should buy it for your son,» she grumbled, trying not to stumble on her own words. «It might help with his Arithmancy marks.»
The woman’s face soured, nostrils flaring. «I think I understand now what Draco finds so vexing about you.»
Hermione scoffed indignantly. «Anytime, Mrs. Malfoy.»
Although it read a bit like admitting a weakness, Hermione decided she wanted to tolerate the older witch’s proximity no longer and she spun around to leave the library.
«And last time I checked» Narcissa Malfoy’s voice came again «Draco’s marks in Arithmancy were more than satisfactory!»
Hermione turned briefly to shot her a blank stare. «Average at best.»
She walked out of the shop knowing that two people were glaring at her back: the mother of her school bully and the cashier, since she had stayed in the library for a good couple hours but ended up buying nothing.
Forcing herself to shake off the irritation that fleeting encounter left her dealing with, Hermione wondered where Ron and Harry could be. They had split up in front of the windows of the Quidditch shop so, seeing that she had spent more time than anticipated in the library, by now they would probably be at the Three Broomsticks. She wanted to keep pushing Harry about the golden egg and its mystery clue, hoping that the tale of her meeting with Narcissa Malfoy wouldn’t give him a chance to skirt the issue and perhaps involve Ron in a conversation over how awful Malferret’s whole family was.

Narcissa considered she had been imprecise: in fact, she still struggled to understand the reason why Draco had picked on the mudblood with such fierceness, yes… but she managed to produce her own reasons for it instead. Her mother, Druella, had instructed her on how to judge people from a single sentence, a single glance, though – immodestly – it was an ability bloomed on a natural talent. And even in spite that, it would’ve been easy to be deceived by Granger’s slightly clumsy way of carrying herself, because when she had answered her she’d done so with a caustic spontaneity Narcissa truly hadn’t foreseen. Not that the girl would never need to know any of this; the reply she had chosen to give her was adequate to summarise the general idea.
If she had lived in the same castle as her, with no other choice than to see her nearly every day during classes, perhaps after all Narcissa’s verdict would’ve been more alike her son’s. Or maybe she would have appreciated her more. Gryffindors never had her sympathies and, honestly, for the major part she agreed with Lucius and Draco’s view on them, but people possessing the temper Hermione Granger seemed to show did. Certainly when a bit more refined, as well as used with better discernment. Narcissa would have thought twice before taunting someone of such higher status… although she had rarely found herself in a similar position. Being born a Black and having married a Malfoy still meant something, thanks to Salazar.
So, hidden by those slouchy clothes – Muggle ones, no less – and wild hair – Potter should really introduce her to the lotion his grandfather invented –, the girl had something about her, if not impressive, at least notable. It could have been the flash of annoyance in her eyes just before she left, or the way she blushed upon realising the gaffe made with that children’s book…
A shiver ran through Narcissa’s body. No, surely it wasn’t wise to fixate on the mudblood like that, and thus risk having to ask herself the same question she had addressed Draco. Attraction for repugnant things was normal, indulging in the fascination a different matter entirely. She wouldn’t even have the excuse of being as young and carefree as Draco, since there was a time and a place for everything, and hers to follow brazenly each opportunity she encountered had ended the moment she walked out of Hogwarts with a diploma in her hands.
Narcissa never engaged in many flings during her marriage with Lucius, mainly because their world was small enough for rumours to run fast, and all had been with adult wizard and witches of her same blood status; sometimes though she caught herself thinking back at those affairs inside the walls of Hogwarts with a certain nostalgia. She could not remember all the faces of the fellow students she had enjoyed the company of, nor their abilities, but that hardly mattered. The point was that those kind of relationships seemed cloaked in a particular thrill: the ardour of youth, or something along the same lines, for which unfortunately did not exist a less annoying name. Right now, if she was to figure in her mind the enthusiasm and energy of an adolescent, paired, channelled by a more experienced partner… the idea was intriguing.
The thought of being involved with or chasing after someone so much younger didn’t bother her, much like she could condone finding pleasure in the arms of a person with otherwise disgusting blood. Indeed, there was very little she couldn’t excuse for that purpose, given suitable circumstances. Children were taboo, of course – Merlin, the mere though gave her nausea –, but teenagers… well. It was somewhat attracting, the concept of picking a still unripe fruit. Undoubtedly, in choosing the youngest party one would need to follow some requisites: for example, going with somebody too immature could ruin the experience as much as white wine accompanying a red meat course. Yes, there had to be good openness, a desire to learn.
Now, however, not only that flow of thoughts had started streaming because of a chance meeting with Hermione Granger, the girl Narcissa associated to the very definition of “mudblood”, but also appeared to lead back to her. Even if the perspective of those thoughts had changed considerably. She hadn’t decided yet if such issue – and was it an issue already? – deserved the use of her time, neither she could decide that sort of thing standing here, in an aisle of Tomes and Scrolls.
She strolled towards the shop’s counter, the clacking of her heels drawing the attention of the assistant from behind a shelf. The wizard rushed back at his post, justly not wanting to make Mrs. Malfoy wait, so much so that he forgot to set down the book in his hand and put it on the counter instead.
«Sorry, it’s just that another client placed this on the wrong… Well, anyway, it’s nine sickles and thirteen knuts, ma’am.»
Narcissa glanced at the book the assistant was referring to, a biography of some ancient runes’ scholar. «The girl who left not long ago?»
«Yes, that’s the one. You know, I think she mistook this shop for a library,» he confided. «Every time she opens a book seems to forget she should pay for it, before reading it from cover to cover.»
Mh…
She dragged the volume closer with her index. «I’ll take this too.»
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Belladonna