.
The first time his hand brushed up against mine, I swear-to-god I felt it in my ears before I felt it in my fingers.
My head ducked instinctively, which I suppose is due to some prehistoric animal instinct and all. It was as if my body knew that it must shield my flaming face from the eyes of society with the cover of my hair without my brain telling it to do so. Which is good, because at that moment, all my brain was focused on was the goddamn realness of the length of flesh between his wrist and his smallest finger.
Thinking about it now just highlights how fucking individualistic we are socialized to be. How we could be classmates for years, but have never had physical contact of any kind before that moment right there. Right there. That half-breath of an instant was the most tangible of any I had ever known. Even now, I can identify it with incredible certainty. It was that moment there.
The first time we were in a room alone together, I swear-to-god the air had left with the retreating backs of our classmates.
Or, oxygen, I suppose – wizards and witches don't normally understand the difference between "air" and "oxygen," not unless they are big into muggle studies; people who can transfigure shit don't really have a need for molecular structures. But I knew, you see, due to my nonmagical upbringing. I knew that when I couldn't breath and something in my chest ached – my lungs, I suppose – it was because there was no oxygen in the room.
It couldn't have been because of him. It is scientifically impossible for one person to suck all the air, excuse me, oxygen out of a room by themselves in that miniscule amount of time. To make a familiar classroom into an awkward void which is simultaneously far too large and far too small for my liking. No, no. It is not because of him. And, besides, it was easy enough to fix – the hallway had plenty of oxygen in it.
The first time our eyes locked across a classroom, I swear-to-god I developed a heart arrhythmia.
There really is no other explanation. I'll have to talk to my mum and dad about getting it checked out. I mean, irregular heartbeats can be deadly. And the fact that it jumped up my fucking throat and threatened to spill out of my mouth in a spew of girlish pleasantries is completely unacceptable. If I hadn't broken eye contact, who knows what my arrhythmetic heart would have forced me to say. Dangerous things like "hello, Malfoy. Lovely weather we're having" or "you look smashing today in that sweater" or "why do we still have our clothes on" or "if you don't voluntarily fuck me into the next century, I'll Imperio you and then you'll have no choice."
Maybe I can take an inhaler for it or something, because locking eyes with that boy feels like what asthma sounds like, and good little know-it-alls shouldn't go around Imperio-ing accused deatheaters, no matter how good looking they are. I swear-to-god.