Cherie. A Harry Potter Romance.

Chapter Five.

“Sweetie,” Future Draco cooed, unlocking the jail chamber (charmed, too, of course). The jangling of the keys again stone-like tin startled her. She immediately rose from her spot that was just about lying over Ron and his numerous amount of snacks around him. Apparently, he ate when he was worried- and when he was carefree.

“Yes, Draco?” she moaned tiredly, taking up a yawn and gauging her eyes from the sleep. She trekked over the freezing floor and felt pity for her loves as there was no cot or anything in the room. It was... just.

“Your father wants you for dinner,” he announced.

“What? Fish are friends, not food!” she cried panickedly, covering her face with diminutive hands in fear.

“He doesn’t want to eat you, genius; he wants you to eat dinner with him. We have guests over,” he scoffed at the ridiculous idea of Voldemort paradising to cannibalism. “You have about an hour to get ready before the guests are here.

She nodded and passed through the doors. “Es? Where are you going?” grumbled Ron. She turned back and grasped the iron molds.

“I have to dine with my father and some guests. I’ll be back later whether they change their minds or not,” she promised and hurried down the halls to follow Draco, the bare flesh of her feet slapping against the icy, grey rocks.

“Name a few of the guests,” she demanded, doubting that she would be familiar with anybody.

“I’m not very sure. Probably some Death Eaters, so you have to hold your tongue at certain times,” he warned, knowing that she could always say the wrong thing at the wrong time. He let her drift off into her room. “I’ll see you in one hour.”

She flipped through her articles of clothing. All fabulous, all unworn. Fancy, she decided, but almost casual. Her fingers fell upon and tugged off of it’s hanger what she titled her Niagara Dress; the exact red one that Marilyn Monroe wore in Niagara. And, I mean exact. Marilyn wore this herself in Niagara; the very same. It cost her millions of dollars. Or, rather, it cost the Malfoy clan millions of dollars... She rolled over her legs dark, mid-thigh-high stockings and clipped them with suspenders to her lacy, red boy-shorts and stepped into black, strappy-stiletto crossover, peep-toes. They added only about three and a half inches to her measly five feet.

A knock rang throughout her bed chamber and see opened the door, relentless of whether it was a rapist, a kindly dragon, or-

“Harry!” she cried, her arms wrapping around his waist as they enveloped each other in the same kind of passionate hug as at the camp-base.

“I’m so sorry, Es. I’ve been talking to Ron and I apologise for the way that I acted to you. I was so out of line and I know that you can’t choose your parents,” he spoke, clearly but without loudness for fear that somebody would overhear them. He shut the door behind them, but a foot was caught in the middle, and paused.

“Harry,” she whimpered, sure that it was her father and pulling him back into her closet. Whoever was at the door entered freely and shut it behind them. The two children held their breath as Sweetie bit her nails into Harry’s hand.

“Hello, chilluns!” sang the very distinctive voice of Albus Dumbledore. “Get the hell outta that closet!”

“Pépé! Pépé!” squeaked Sweetie, hugging him and not assuming for a moment that Polyjuice potion could’ve been used as a disguise. Who could mock so perfectly the shining charisma and attitude of Hogwarts’ Headmaster.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Harry laughed, hugging him as well.

“Ron!” cried RedVines, joining in on the hug. Herman, though stubbourn, squeezed between Harry and Sweetie.

“What are you doing here?” she squeaked excitedly, hopping lightly in her tight, red dress and black heels and already knowing the answer.

“Taking Harry Potter-” he belting (at the ‘Harry Potter’ part, so least). “and his friends back to the Voldemort!” He scooped them up by their unstarched collars and rounded them down the stairs. Cries of protest rang from their lungs as Sweetie screamed for him to let them go, knowing full well that this was not her GrandFather.

“Thank you, Yaxley,” chuckled darkly a Voldemort. Yaxley, who was impersonating Dumbledore, sat, jeeringly, smugly gazing at all of the other Death Eateers that he could please Voldy and not they,

“Where is my Pépé? Where is he?” sobbed Sweetie through her tears when her family was tied around a pole by their hands. They had to get some spell of DNA from Dumbledore to make a Polyjuice potion didn’t they?

“He’s fine, he’s fine,” Daddy reassured Sweetie, shaking his arm and waving her off. “Untie the redhead! The girl!”

“No! Racist Sister!” shouted Ron defiantly, shaking at an attempt to break free of the magick’d boundaries.

“Ron!” Ginny squealed, practically tossed onto the main table where she stayed still, eyeing Sweetie. “You! This is all bec-”

“Avada Kedavra!” laughed Voldemort, swishing his wand lightly and seemingly enjoying himself.

Sweetie stood on her chair rushedly and jumped from there to the top of the mahogany table, where she caught a stunned, but heart-beating Ginny from falling onto it. “Ginny!” she moaned, thinking that Ginny was so as dead. Her eyes tore into her fathers, bottom lids upturned in a smirk. She knew that Harry and Ginny had been together for around three months (although, that obviously didn't stop Sweetie from flirting with Harry and he occasionally flirting back) and what would be worse to see Harry in agony? “You killed her... I know what you do and I’ve known for a long time, but I thought that you tried to keep me away from this! I thought that you didn’t want me to see death, and that you didn’t want me to be evil, like you.”

Voldemort sighed. “I’ve been waiting until you were older, but, I might as well tell you now. I want you to join my League of Death Eaters.”

“No, no,” she defied. “Not after th-this.” Her body swayed lightly, despite being fully supported by the table. She felt a sudden wave of fatigue crash over her and stayed standing until her newly brown head fell back onto Ginny’s stomach.

---

You're cuter than a guinea pig.

I wanna take you up to Winnipeg.

THAT'S IN CANADA.

-

I have a particular hate for Ginny-Harry, but that song is totally awesome and I love Jaime. <3 Have you SEEN MAMD? :3 It is love. I never realised it before Richard's character said it, but Joey DOES look like an old lesbian! Anyways, this chappie be so dramatic. Dun, dun, dun...! I need to write more. -Goes off on spree- Good luckie for you guys! Do I see a special St. Patrick's Day chapter for As They Turn Your Dream to Shamke (which I haven't updated since Valentine's Day) AND Cherie?