Purebloods and confusing love
"You hurt me, Malfoy"
"I'm sorry."
They carry on for hours. Talking, loving, sleeping, it doesn't matter what they are doing, so long as they are touching. They lie on floor next to her desk in the library, naked and sweaty and tangled up in each other like knotted ribbons, and she can't remember the last time she felt this relaxed, this happy. Their guests have tried to come in a few times. They need this time. It is only now, together, that they realize how hollow and empty they have been these past years – how they have only been brittle shells of themselves until they had the other to make them whole once more. He kisses her neck softly, then with increasing urgency, inhaling the scent of her and letting it fill him up. She turns to her side and straddles him with her leg. She presses against his body against hers until her bones ache, until it seems like all the laws of physics and matter have dissolved to dust, and the barriers between their bodies fall away. Their souls become one. How gloriously, tragically, miserably, confusingly, desperately he loves her. How gloriously, tragically, miserably, confusingly, desperately she loves him back . She wonders how a body can feel so much emotion with spontaneous combustion. She never knew that being so overwhelmed could be so achingly lovely. Without question, they are most definitely ill-fated. They both this. It's in the way that his fingers stroke the hollow of her hip so gently, with such aching melancholy. But even as their lives slowly, surely, fall apart, she is happy here. Just like this, the two of them holding each other, keeping each other safe through the storm. The comfort is genuine, even if it was forced by law.
