Hermione Draco Novels & Stories

This was too critical to leave in their incompetent hands; time was running out, and freedom was tantalizingly close. "I know," I muttered, feeling the weight of my diminished powers. The Dragon Queen’s binding spells were robbing me of my strength, but they didn’t realize that I had harnessed the power of my own secret weapon—Scarlett. A dark empress displaced to the human realm, half witch and half dragon shifter, her extraordinary magic had been deemed too dangerous by the cowardly council of dragon slayers. I had felt her potent aura and brought her back, cloaking her in protection spells. Soon, those who cast her out would pay dearly.

Even when I thought witches could do magic, I had never imagined things like that. Even if they just had one gift, something like that could do real damage. Rendering someone frozen or blind, even for a minute, could mean life or death in a fight. "That means you are more powerful!" Draco continued his twenty questions as he high-fived Aaron. "And Omerta only has one gift. Does that mean she is not as powerful as you?" Draco turned to look at her. She had been quiet the whole time, listening and taking in all the information about her heritage.

“She sat up to see Draco sitting in a chair in the corner, his deep emerald eyes, roaming over her. Madchen looked down to see she was only in a t-shirt, and she panicked. “How, how?” “I changed you into that,” he walked over to her and knelt down by the bed. Madchen instinctively pulled the covers to her chin. Drago reached out to her, but she shied away from him.Undeterred, he sat on the bed with her,slowly reaching again, and caressing her face. “So, beautiful,” he whispered,”You passed out on the ride home, no doubt from all the yelling.You have never taken up for yourself, have you?”

The lady was wearing skinny jeans and an oversized shirt this time around. I looked around and sniffed. There were too many scents. I could not find that masculine cologne I knew Ken to always wear. There was more of this lady’s scent and cooked food. I tried my best to concentrate harder, just the same way Hector taught me. It was still difficult, especially when my heart was beating too fast. “Hermione! Watch out.” Derrick shouted. I heard something swing and if I did not react within that split second, my brain would’ve been displaced.

After no more than 30 seconds, he had the results. "Excruciating pain, and fast healing enchantment. What the bloody hell is a second year student doing with something like this?" Robards commented. Director Bones asks too. "Student name?" "On it." Auror Shacklebolt says and starts to look at the material on the desk for a name. On the front cover of the books, he found it. "Draco Malfoy." Auror Shacklebolt says. "He is too young to claim to be studying it for classes. Professor Snape?"

he whispered, his icy blue eyes locking onto mine from across the table as his hand clutched mine. “Excuse me?” I frowned, snatching my hand out of his grip as if it had been burned. “Regina!” He called out again. “I…it’s you…” “I’m sorry, I think I already told you my name. It’s Leonora Vincenzo.” I kept every emotion out of my voice. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.” “Like hell I am!” Draco stood up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table, making several of the dishes rattle from the force of it. “You…you’re alive!”

I growl lowly. Hermione unsuccessfully comforts her. Woah!. Hermione ain't no mere werewolf. She survives mom's screams within her room?. I won't survive such situation. I'll pass out. Well, it's high time I shut the screams. "Leave us!" I order Hermonie powerfully. Her expression squeezes. She stare wierdly at me. She roll her eyes then reluctantly exit with a powerful door slam. I chuckle unborthered. Is she mad?.

Torches burned in iron brackets on the walls, casting dancing shadows that made everything look like a nightmare. And everywhere I looked, there were eyes. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Glowing in the darkness between the pillars. Watching me. "Ah, the half-blood awakens." A voice echoed from somewhere above. I looked up and saw a balcony circling the room. On it stood a woman with silver hair and skin so pale she looked like she had been carved from ice. She was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was beautiful—stunning, but capable of killing you if you stepped wrong.

Alfos was practically blinking rapidly, trying to clear his mind from the horror he almost witnessed. “Dracolian is going to have my head later!” He hissed, and with a shake of his head, he headed for the stairs, trying to meet with them. * * Draco. The beast clutched her in its arms, the delicate, slender female that had been on Draco’s mind since she came into his room looking for a means of escape.

I said and let go of her. “Your whole family is downstairs,” she said and looked deep into my eyes. She watched me as I got dressed and raised her eyebrows when I slid two Jericho’s into the shoulder holsters and zipped my jacket up halfway. I took her hand and we headed down the stairs. I heard their voices, familiar voices, as we neared the last stair. We stepped into the open-plan room and every head turned to look at me. “It’s the eyes,” a woman said. Jessica Sinclair. Five foot four inches. One hundred and sixty-four pounds. Dark brown hair. Golden brown eyes. Belongs to Malachi. Witch.