I've never known this feeling before. Well—yes, I have, but not this intensely. My heart is pounding, my head spinning—but that's probably from lack of oxygen because I can't breathe. I feel like I could die at any minute—but that's probably because my demise seems likely imminent. No, I have never, without a doubt, ever been so terrified in my life. It's suddenly just dawned on me that I can't breathe because Draco Malfoy is choking me, and I feel like I could die because I'm about to pass out and he's showing no sign of releasing me.

I grunt-gasp and claw feebly at his arm and he loosens his steel grip slightly.

I squeak out a pitiful whimper and he drops me to the ground. Okay, ow. Definitely landed wrong there. If I were not so light-headed, I would probably care more.

"Bastard!" I manage to gasp.

He smirks at me. "If you can't take the heat…" he kicks me in the stomach—okay, now I know that this is Malfoy we're talking about: merciless bastard, spawn of all evil and all that stuff, so I feel no surprise that he would kick someone while their down (he does it daily, after all), but a girl?! Bloody hell, I didn't think even Malfoy could stoop that low! "Stay out of the kitchen," he finishes. I look up to see a glint of something—amusement?—flicker through his ice-gray eyes.

"What would you know about kitchens?" I mutter, mostly to myself as I attempt to push myself at least into a sitting position. My tone burns with derision like acid, but I'm secretly hoping that he doesn't decide to kick me again.

"You're right," he gives a small chuckle as he kneels down before me. "That's your place isn't it?" I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. Despite his slight distraction of insulting me, he still looks angry, as if he could kick me again—likely in the face. I hope this isn't the case. I like my face the way it is.

"What can I say? I like having the assurance that my food won't be poisoned when I decide to consume it," I give myself a mental pat on the back for my wonderful comeback—It's certainly one of my wittiest were Malfoy is concerned…I usually lose coherency around him…something about his ruthless mocking and heartless sneer.

His Seeker hands flash out and in a split second his iron grasp has trapped my throat once more. He leans over me as I give up and sink to the ground once more, his face hanging over mine like a devil ready to snatch my soul once I die. Or before I die. I bet it wouldn't matter much to him. "I hope you'll take this as a lesson not to mess with me again. Or next time I won't be so lenient," his lips slowly pull back into a small, satisfied smirk as he elicits another hopeless gasp from me by tightening his grasp on my windpipe even more.

I think he might be waiting for an answer from me—some kind of assurance that I won't cross him again or perhaps a plea to spare my life. Even if I wanted to say something to him I really don't think I could…my vision is starting to get fuzzy again and my mind is fighting against violent waters that it can't swim.

"Understand me?" he asks for the assurance (or plea, it's even harder to figure out now that I'm sinking into unconsciousness) while releasing his hold on me. My mind floats to the surface slowly, and my lungs start to remember how to work. Air begins to fill me again, but I can't feel its effect on me yet. I nod, fighting the hot tears that sting my eyes. I don't care how close I come to death, I will not cry in his presence. That would give Malfoy far too much pleasure, and he really doesn't need any other kind of victory over me tonight.

I had instantly regretted not accepting that escort back to Gryffindor tower the moment I saw Draco Malfoy doing his patrols, but also felt some sense of relief. After all, it was only Parvati Patil that would have been with me (not much protection) and at this point, I honestly doubt that Malfoy wouldn't have acted on this advantage even if I hadn't been alone.

A low chuckle reaches my ears, and I know that even though it appears he's wrapping up his death threats and has clearly made his point, he's not done with me yet. "What's the matter, Weasley?" he traces a long, slender finger around my neck slowly, chuckling still. "Trouble breathing?"

I close my eyes, not wanting him to see me roll them for fear of inducing more angry bouts of Weasley-beating. I never actually thought Malfoy capable of this… I roll to my side, pushing myself up once again. "You're an asshole," I rasp, and the effort to speak sends me into a coughing frenzy that only causes Malfoy to chuckle louder. I lean back against the wall, staring hard into his eyes, no longer afraid to because I'm almost positive that he doesn't feel the need to throttle me anymore…now. He is definitely amused by me…as if he's never met anyone so prone to suffocation before me.

He's still kneeling in front of me, as if we still have some business to discuss. I thought everything that needed to be said had been clarified during the strangling. He leans toward me, closing the space between us immensely. His hand trails up to my neck again, to the faint bruises that are no doubt appearing there. "Say, Weasley," he murmurs, his face hovering barely two inches from mine, "if you thought this was bad, you better hope you never cross me again, because you couldn't imagine what else I have in store for you."

I shudder at his words, I really can't help myself, the threat combined with his tone…and I can imagine. I know, especially after this physical attack, that he would have no qualms about playing around with some of those Dark Arts curses daddy-dearest has no doubt been teaching him. His smirk grows more pronounced as he witnesses the obvious effect he has on me. "Don't worry," he soothes me, his mocking tone laced with a hint of laughter. "That won't happen if you just stay out of my way."

I glare at him as fiercely as I can manage. My head is throbbing, but I search my brain for the best possible words for what I'm about to say. "I won't stand by and let you get away with this anymore," I hiss softly, a surge of rebellion twisting through my veins. "I don't care what it costs me. You won't continue this any longer."

I wait for the anger to return to his features, but find only a skeptical amusement. "Is that so? Well in that case…" a scorching sting lashes across my face as the back of his hand makes contact with my skin. That is what I hate the most about these encounters with Draco Malfoy—I can never expect what he's about to do, so I can never brace myself for pain when it might be coming. "I look forward to meeting with you again. Though I'd like to know exactly how you plan to stop me."

I turn my eyes from him, resisting the temptation to bring a hand to my smarting cheek. He did it for me, grasping it in his warm hands carefully, as if he didn't want to hurt me. "Hmm?" he inquired. "How do you plan that?"

I refuse to answer him, closing my eyes instead, focusing on breathing and meditation rather than the fact that at any moment that gentle contact could turn harsh in a fraction of a second. Why can't I answer him? I don't know the answer, I realize suddenly, and as I comprehend this, I know that all hope of stopping Malfoy's evil plan and saving the day is completely lost. I've never felt so helpless in my life. Against my determination, a stray tear escapes my eye and leavings a burning trail down my cheek. Malfoy reaches up to wipe at it.

"Ah, I see now," he murmurs softly. "You have no plan. No way to stop me…" he sighs dramatically. "Pity. Well, for you, at least," he laughs at this last part. "Quite fortunate for me, though I can't say that you unnerve me in the least, even if you were to have some suicidal plan forming under that thick skull of yours."

"Why are you doing this?" the words leave my mouth of their own accord, and I hate how pitiful and helpless my voice sounds.

"That's none of your concern," he states matter-of-factly. He stands swiftly, nudging me with his foot. "You just worry about keeping yourself alive. It's a very simple concept—just do the exact opposite of what you did today, and keep it to yourself."

What I did today…I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath through my nose, letting it out slowly and feeling something (relief?) flooding through me. He was done…he was leaving…it was okay to be weak now.

I open my eyes and prepare to stand, and there he still is, watching me cautiously, as if I were the one he should be wary of. "What?" I snap, feeling a bit braver now that I'm able to breathe normally again.

He shakes his head a bit, giving the most elegant shrug I've ever seen in my life. "Just studying."

"Studying what?" I am genuinely confused.

He rolls his eyes. "You."

I frown, feeling my eyebrows crease down low over my eyes. "Weren't you leaving?"

"I decide when I leave, Weasley."

"And when will that be, do you think?" I don't want to get up with him watching, because I'm not sure if I'll be able to.

Reading my mind, he leans down and grabs my wrist, pulling me up as if I were nothing more than an empty bag. I try to turn away, but his grip tightens on my wrist.

"Was there something else?" I sigh. I really don't want to be around him anymore. "I get it, okay? I'm following you. I understand, comprehend, whatever. I don't know how to make it any clearer that your words have registered and been filed away for future reference."

A small smirk forms on his lips as he pulls me closer to him. Too close. I can feel his breath on my neck as I turn my head away; I don't like the look in his eyes.

"I know you understand. You do stupid things, Weasley, but you aren't stupid."

I close my eyes as he speaks. His voice is beautiful, when it isn't spouting out death threats, but the way he's talking is beginning to scare me. My stomach twists, my heart beats a little faster, a little more irregular, and though he isn't choking me, I'm having a bit of difficulty breathing.

"I was too hasty earlier," I remain silent, so he continues. "Even I wasn't thinking it through. You have three options. Stay out of it, or die."

"That's only two," I correct boldly. His grip tightens slightly, the space between us diminishes even more.

"Would you let me finish? Stay out of it, or die. What I can offer you though…" he trails off, contemplating.

"What could you offer that would be of any interest to me?"

"Money. Power. Recognition. Anything you could ever want—anything. Help me on this…and I'll make it worth your while."

"Five minutes ago you were trying to kill me. Now you're asking me to help you?"

"I'm not asking, Weasley," he's getting annoyed again, I can hear it in his tone. Malfoy annoyed is not a good thing. "I'm offering. It's up to you. I know you want to say no right now. I know that you think I'm crazy for even considering this—I do too, as a matter of fact…but I also know…"

He drops my wrist, but doesn't move otherwise, except to tilt my face up to meet his gaze. "I know that you're tired of never being noticed. I know that you're awake all night trying to think of ways to get some money so that muggle-loving family of yours doesn't lose that thing you call a house."

I feel my eyes widen ever so slightly, and his lips form a small smirk. "Yes, I know all about that. I also know that you're going to say yes, eventually. It might be tonight, tomorrow, a week from now, but you will say yes."

I push the thoughts of my family to the back of my mind, focusing on what he's saying. "Oh? And how do you know that?" I'm rather curious as to his reply, but what he says throws me completely.

He takes a deep breath. "Prophecies are pretty handy, you know. When you're not quite sure what to do, which step comes next, they have all the answers. And who would ever think that there would be a prophecy regarding me and you? Does that seem likely to you? I can see that it doesn't," he chuckles softly, "but it's true, Ginevra Weasley. You and I, we're going to do great things."

The breath is catching in my throat. I can not slow my heart. "That's not true. You're lying."

"Am I? I'll prove it to you."

"How?" I ask doubtfully, for I can't trust or even begin to believe anything he has to say on the subject of him and me.

"Ever seen a pensieve? Those are pretty useful too…I trust you know what they're for…"

I nod. "My dad has one."

"I have the memory, if you don't believe me. We can go right now."

Now I'm positive there's something wrong with Malfoy. He nearly chokes me to death, and now he wants me to willingly go to his room with him, out of the hallway where he could finish the job? This thought makes so much sense to me that I decide to confer it with him. He laughs--of course he laughs.

"You are too funny, Weasley," he chuckles. "Fine, not tonight...some other time?" He's still really close to me, and I decide that a little distance is needed, so I take a step back. He rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to kidnap you, honestly," he scoffs, shaking his head. "You act as if I would drag you to my room by force or something."

"Wouldn't you?" I counter swiftly. He raises an eyebrow, but says nothing more. "Not tonight, not ever, Malfoy. Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not playing this game with you."

"Who's playing games?"

It's my turn to scoff, and I do it promptly, crossing my arms over my chest and looking away down the corridor. "Oh please! It's a game for you, I know it is! Try to kill me and then try to get me to join you? I don't think so, Malfoy." This is all meant to confuse me! I think angrily. You're just messing with my head! It's not going to work, not this time! No sir!

"No game, Weasley. You will join me," he's too confident with his words, and I don't like it.

"Now that sounds like a threat."

He raises his hands, as if he's completely innocent or something. "No threat," he denies. Then, as confident and arrogant as ever, he adds, "It's not a threat. It's a certainty. Fact is, Weasley, it's going to happen. I know, I was surprised when I found out as well. Think about it, alright? Not that it would matter...no manner of convincing yourself otherwise can change what you're going to do in the end. It's destiny. Fate."

I turn back to him to glare and find myself suddenly trapped in his intense, cold gaze. "Well it just so happens that I don't believe in destiny or fate or any of that predestined crap."

A small smirk forms on his lips as he shakes his head. "You say that as if it actually makes a difference," he chuckles. "But I know," he's suddenly intense once more, all amusement washed from his features, his eyes hard and penetrating into my very soul. "I know how you think, and I know how you are, and I know that I'm getting to you right now--planting that small seed of doubt in the back of your mind, which will eventually grow and consume your thoughts and feelings. The roots will dig themselves deep into your brain, and the vines will lash out and cloud your vision and begin to persuade you and then--then, at the very moment that happens, I'll be calling to you, and you'll come to me. You will come to me, Ginevra Weasley, and then the real fun begins."

That's the second time he used my full name during this encounter and I am beginning to hate it more and more. What's worse, now he's going and closing the space between us again, reaching his hand up to my face. His fingers brush across my cheek lightly and I can not look away from him. I'm trapped by his probing gaze and frozen in place by the feeling of his warm fingers against my cold skin. I long to pull away but fear to--the sensation of suddenly feeling intimate with this boy is so alarming and inconceivable that it has sent me into a spiralling and uncontrollable vertigo. The world falls away and I am here, with Draco Malfoy, caught in a hallway halfway between the library and Gryffindor Tower, completely helpless and mesmerized. What's even worse than all this--I fear that the seed he has just spoke of has aleady sprouted vines that are thrashing about in my mind. He touches my cheek, and suddenly I want to go with him. A small part of my mind is wondering if perhaps Malfoy has a bit of Veela in that purebred blood of his.

He pulls me closer yet, and I surrender completely, for reasons entirely unknown to me. His amazed whisper and satisfied smirk are only partially being registered in my brain as he breaths, "Well, now, that was fast." I can do nothing but let my eyes close and nod. "Come with me?" he asks then, and I almost say yes.

Almost.

I somehow manage to escape the wonderland that he was weaving around us and pull myself away. I turn and walk away, and he doesn't follow me. My head spins and my mind is clouded in a most uncomfortable way. He almost had me. Fifteen minutes, and he almost had me. I wonder vaguely how long I can withstand this torture, these meetings. I hope there isn't another one soon.

He almost had me. My cheek is still warm where his hand rested. My mind is still clouded with his smooth talking. My nerves still scream and tingle and the very thought of being so close to him.

My stomach still aches where he kicked me.