Consumed | Hermione x Draco

The Countdown

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience. I always struggle with writing the first chapters and besides that I am very busy in my life. I am a student and business owner and this time of year is always crazy. I will not abandon this fic, and I will always try to write amazing chapters. Just like this one which is over 10k in words (really proud of that).

The plot of the story is already thought out and I can't wait to share more with you. Just a reminder, things will get very very very dark. If that is not your cup of tea, I understand. I will update tags accordingly.

Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it <3

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The gargoyle in front of the Headmasters office starts to open up the second I approach it. I walk up to the office. Father is sitting on a chair behind the desk, an ezel with half finished painting stands in front of him to the right. The painter is mixing paints on his palette.

"Huh," I observe the scene.

"What are you doing here?" He raises a brow, the portrait following the movement. Even though his brow is only a single brushstroke and not yet defined.

"Looking for you. A new hobby?" I counter as I stare at the painting, there is a glowing string connecting the painting with Father. Probably a part of the magic needed to make the painting to move and remember things.

"It is tradition to have this done as soon as possible," he sounds almost bored, but I know he never wanted to be headmaster, he once told me over a late night cup of tea while reading. "Leave," he orders the painter who was looking over his paints, trying to mind his own business.

He leaves all his things and scurries out of the room, probably happy to leave this quickly growing tension.

I look around the room and easily find the glaring portrait of the last headmaster. "Oi, looking a bit flat, Albus," I smile sweetly.

"Miss Snape," he greets, voice flat as he glares at me.

I ignore him further, that is not the reason why I came here. I want to talk to my Father and not with a dead man. "How does it work?" I wonder as I look over the painting.

"Is that the reason why you came here?" he drawls.

I chuckle. "No, but I never found any information about how they make the portraits, I was too busy researching other things. It always interested me, I tried befriending a few in the first few years when Harry and Ron were being assholes, but most of the time they were asleep or ignored me." This makes him quiet and he just looks at me. "Explain it to me, how does magic help the paintings."

He considers it for a moment, and I almost stop expecting an answer. "Currently magic links me and the painting, it is only taking over my facial expressions and the way I talk. It is not reading my mind, it is not remembering anything from this conversation that is only from the moment the last incantation is done. From that moment it is... aware. It can remember and observe, it can form its own sentences but I would need to tell it about moments from the past. It does not transfer a part of my soul into the painting. It is a thing that looks alive, but isn't."

"That sounds depressing," I note as I walk closer to the painting and observe the brushstrokes. It is not yet at a stage where it has details, but I can already see the movements of the mouth and eyebrows. "Why are you getting your painting done?"

"It is tradition," he counters, his voice cold and the painting frowns up at me, brushstrokes that form the start of his lips press to a flat line.

"It might be tradition, but the Dark Lord wouldn't care about a painting being done. You might have the title of Headmaster, we both know that the Dark Lord runs this school. So... why are you getting it done?"