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Frankly My Dear	By : Twistedsensation Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 4828 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own HP. Soley Ms. Rowling's nor do I make any money

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine and it is 100% Ms. Rowling's. (As much as I wish it were to be otherwise). No
profit is being made in borrowing the material.
Well couple of notes I wanted to make:
Draco is Marquis of Loftus. His father is the Duke of Duke of Marlborough. Malfoy would be their last name. One's title is dependent
on one's property. Okay?

Chapter 2: How Lucky Can You Get?
To say that Draco was pleased with how the whole plan had
been executed perfectly would be assuming that he had worried it wouldn't.
Draco had been fully confident that that plan would go accordingly. Having
hatched more elaborate than getting rid of an ambitious little lady he had been sure the plan would go without a hitch.
Hell, this is what he did for fun. Make elaborate schemes. Being a Malfoy meant many things and one of them was the ability to
scheme and be cunning. He had been a tad worried when Zabini
looked he was about to choke on his laughter but no worries about that. As of
ten minutes ago he was free of a certain scheming
young lady and he was happy. Happier than he remembered being in a while.
Zabini and he had left the room undiscovered by
anyone that they been with Lady Greengrass. Promising
to find Pansy for his mother, Draco had come up here. But
even the missing Pansy could not make him loose this sense of euphoria.
But whatever happiness he felt mere seconds ago
fled when he stepped outside the door.
The source of his sudden irritation was looking down. That nest she called
her hair currently hid her face from him but he could tell without doubt that
the woman walking up the stairs towards him was Hermione Granger.
Wanting to growl but knowing that if he gave his presence away his well-laid
plan of freedom would be gone in a flash he hid behind a column.
What the hell was the Gryffindor hellcat doing
about unescorted?
The answer to his question arrived running up the stairs.
Theodore Nott, Viscount North ran into his view. Quickly Draco cast a
Disillusionment Charm Charm. This he had to see.
"Dammit Granger!
Wait up!" Nott panted.
Draco watched the mudblood stiffen at the sound of
her betrothed's voice.
Trouble in paradise, he smirked.
She sighed heavily "What do you want, Theo?"
Theo grabbed her arms. "Did you just insult Pansy?" he demanded.
Draco frowned. He did not like hearing that his friend had
been bothered by this petite mudblood.
Always sassy, Granger replied, "If by insult you mean I questioned her
intelligence then I suppose I did so."
Draco arched his pale eyebrows as he heard his pal growl. "Granger, my
friends are to be respected. Do you understand?"
Hermione cut, "But-"
"No buts. Listen you mudblood. I have lost
more friends than I could imagine when I asked to marry you and I am not going
to lose more because of your inability to remain in polite company."
Granger's face had paled. She seemed to brace herself to slap the boy or
give him a talk down he would not forget but before she could do anything Nott
stormed away.
Then the most surprising thing happened. The mudblood
simply slid down the wall. Tears fell from her eyes.
Irritated he stood as she sat there and cried. Bloody
hell! Women and their emotions. Although
he had always thought her to be too much of a bluestocking to ever cry.
He could tell that try as she might she could not completely stifle some of
her sobs. He wondered why she did not try calling attention with her tears but
thought it was probably the Gryffindor in her. They were so blood proud.
Besides, Nott was too much of a Slytherin to fall for
the typical female ploy to get what they wanted.
One could accuse Draco of many things foul but not being a gentleman was not one of them. His mother would have his
hide if he ever treated a lady with disrespect. He
might be the Prince of Purebloods but his mother was a Black. Not only was she
a Black, that woman was a bloody menace - that could cut you with one arch of
her eyebrows. That was if you were close to her.
But he did not consider the mudblood
a bloody lady. How dare Hermione Granger even fancy herself
a lady worthy of a pureblood? Not just any pureblood but one
who used to be his best mate and now was not.
He felt a tide of anger rush him remembering the harsh words exchanged
between him and Nott. He never told Zabini but when
Nott had left and chosen that bloody, filthy mudblood he had felt lost. How could a boy with whom
he had played since they were both in nappies just choose to walk away from
him? The Slytherin Prince.
Sneering, he walked towards the whore. She was too busy crying to hear his
footsteps.
He nudged her with his boots. "Fancy seeing you here, mudblood?"

Startled and not to mention a little bit scared, Hermione Granger looked up
to see who had found her in this embarrassing situation. She wiped her tears.
That voice-
Oh God! No!
She would recognize that voice anywhere. No, it was not
the voice she recognized as much as the sneer and contempt behind it.
Many a days and nights she had thought about that
voice.
Just my luck, Hermione thought. How lucky can one get? Humiliated
by one's fianc� at a ball then trapped in a dark passageway with Devil's own
spawn.
Taking a deep breath and praying for courage she
looked up to see a sneer inimitable on Marquis Loftus's face as he looked down
at her. But Hermione Granger reminded herself that she
had not been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing by the Sorting Hat. But you were also supposed to be in Ravenclaw, said a nasty little voice in her head.
"What do you want Malfoy?" she said in
her haughtiest voice. Yet it was hard being haughty when her voice still
sounded like she was crying and her voice quivered.
"Your head on a platter," he smirked.
Knowing that she could not ask him to do the gentlemanly
thing and help her up she struggled to stand up. Facing him
she felt better than when she had to look up at him. Even though she was
considerably shorter than him, being on eye level with him made her more
prepared to exchange repartees with the Marquis.
She rolled her eyes. "Now that is a picture most magnificent, my lord.
Tell me- with imagery like that do you fancy yourself the next Byron or
something of the sorts?"
He frowned. "Do not talk to me in that tone, mudblood.
You are not even fit to polish my shoes."
She shook her head. "Oh, my lord! The
illustrious Pureblood Prince is getting repetitive in his insults. Maybe you
should ask your good friend Byron to give you tips on how to insult
properly." She turned away to leave. What the hell
was she doing here, exchanging insults with the prat?
If someone saw her she would be ruined. She did not
even want to imagine how Nott would react.
But she felt herself tugged back towards him.
Startled she noticed that he had clutched her arms. She tried tugging her
arms away but to no avail. He was not the milksop I thought him, she marvelled at his strength.
"We are not finished till I say we are finished," he clenched
between his teeth.
Impressed Hermione watched as only Harry could do as well a job gritting his
teeth in anger. Of course poor Harry also had more reasons to be angry than
this fop. But she knew she had to be careful here. One
did not just insult a future duke beyond his tenuous control. Treading on
unsteady grounds she muttered "Please let go of
my hand, my lord." She pulled unsuccessfully hoping to free her arms. But of course that dandy would not let go off her
hands. He just sat there with a big grin on his face. It was quite unsettling
really. What he hoped to gain by holding her hands she had no idea. She
wondered if she should point out that he might get
some mudblood germ from touching her.
Before she could utter any word the bastard
snorted. "What are you doing here anyhow? Were you not aware that this
gathering was for the elite? Not for filth like you?"
Always so eloquent his words. With words
like those it was no wonder he turned ladies heads. Barely
able to stop herself from rolling her eyes she smiled.
"Well Theodore said-"
"Lord North to you, mudblood," he
interjected.
She gritted her teeth. "He has given me permission to call him by his
given names, my lord."
"It is unseemly. He must have been out of his mind."
Hermione wondered if being a lady meant it stopped
her from hexing the bastard to next week. How she wished to wipe that smirk
from his face. Her hands itched to slap him like she
had in her third year but she did not have Harry or Ron here with her. She
could not just go around slapping Marquises no matter how much they deserved
it.
"As that maybe but please let go my hands, lord." She tried
wheedling. Wheedling was not bad. Not really. If only
she could forget just whom she was wheedling. "If someone catches us there
might be consequences."
He snorted. "Since you have already trapped my best mate into marrying
you I don't see how you hope to do the same."
Trapped. That word set her teeth on edge.
What did the bastard know? Did he understand how it was for her? Looking at him
just standing there with his pureblood face with no worry in the world and he
was passing judgement on to others. Hermione had
never been a violent person but how she wished could just hit him. Hit him
until she could feel nothing.
"Do not presume to talk about what you have no understanding of, my
lord," she said quietly.
He looked at her with surprise. She was amused to see a bit of wariness in
there, also. He let go of her arm. Never one to pass an opportunity Hermione
chose her avenue of escape.
She could feel herself tearing up as she walked away. Also,
painfully aware he was watching her as she walked away.
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Frankly My Dear