Chapter Four: Snakes Shouldn't Play With Lionesses
A/N: Congrats to you if you made it this far! I know this is a bit of a slow-burner, but the reward will (hopefully) be exquisite.
D:
The solution to Granger was an oxymoron: simplistic yet difficult. I found this extra frustration extremely distasteful, particularly as my fingers wavered, when trying to thread the impossibly small metal attachments of the vanishing cabinet together. I leant back, completely drained of anything resembling life. I wouldn't even raise an eyebrow if someone mistook me for an Inferius. It was getting quite frightening to look in the mirror these days.
I took my brief lenience to meander through the topic of that inadequately-groomed she-wolf. Granger (or more importantly her constantly whirring brain) was like something sweet, whether it was a delectable pastry or juicy tart, placed in front of you, when you were still young and instilled with innocence. It was left in front of you with the assurances of 'later'. As the day progressed, it grew more and more tantalising. It consumed your thoughts. And then, just as your agony wass drawing to a close, your burgeoning obese cousin– the one who always presided over you, due to their two month earlier birth date– gobbled it up, tearing it roughly and letting the juices go to waste, as they oozed over the sausage fingers; all of this under the watchful, adoring eye of the Aunt that insisted in pinching too hard when she squeezed your cheeks. That feeling, that growling beast, burnt through my chest– l'inferno all'interno.
The plan was simple as it had only one major step: shag her. From there everything would fall into place and I wouldn't find my place to be six feet under. Granger blushed at a male coming within a metre of her. I could only imagine what she would do if I actually touched her. It helped me that, apart from a measly kiss with Krum, Granger was inexperienced, which was a weakness I would be too happy to exploit. I would be foolish, not to mention dead, if I underestimated her, but her woefully insufficient self-awareness, she would– could– only associate physicality's with romantic, tangible love. After fucking her, everything would fall into place, including the removal of my funeral from the Dark Lord's schedule.
Yet there was a problem. How the fuck was I supposed to get her diving with some velocity into my bed? Seducing her, coaxing her lust away from her tiresome rationality, was going to prove harder than getting Potter to stop stalking me around the castle. However I was going to have to, unless I wanted the Malfoy family name to be lost to history and myth. The Dark Lord had been most explicit about that particular clause.
I snaked out a hand to collect my lukewarm cup of tea. I was disappointed to find that it was long cold, indicating that I had in fact wasted a lot more time than I had previously presumed, but drained it anyway. Out of desperation for some meaningless stimulation, I let my eyes drift down to examine the residue of the tea leaves. Interestingly it resembled Granger's hair, which is to say a bird's nest. I had no idea what it meant, but then again, I didn't believe in it anyway. Another thing I didn't believe in? That life would be better for the Malfoys under the Dark Lord. I would have to be deluded to even allow anyone to broach the subject to me. It was pity that I was or, at least, had been.
Sudden fury burst through my system and with a jerk, the tea leaves were strewn over a nearby bookcase. The rest of mug splattered– shattering into fierce, jagged points. I breathed in, trying to control the dragon within, by continuing to evaluate more of cracks in Granger's shield. I smirked as one came dancing into my head, delighting me with its presence as it bowed low.
I had previously mismarked Weasel's ignorance of Granger's pitiful feelings as a barrier to entry, yet I realised now that it was actually a useful stepping stone. Granger had been rejected. Utterly slaughtered. She was lonely and although many thought her to be above it, blind to how she was really a vindictive soul, she wanted revenge. And why should I be the one to deny her that?
With a smirk going nowhere for the foreseeable future, I collected myself and hurried out of the Room of Requirement. I swaggered down to the Dungeons, even refraining from snapping at some twatty, giggling girls, thanks to my ludicrously good mood. I swung into step with Blaise, as he made his way into our common room. I felt him calculating what the odds I was actually cheerful were–probably planning to sell them to the other Slytherins as soon as I departed. His idea of fun really.
My leer grew wider, as I observed him trying to conceal his curious sideways glances. 'Alright?'
'Not as alright as you apparently.' He answered evenly, though I noticed sarcasm lacing the phrase. I decided to not take offence, as I knew Blaise's exasperation at my deatheater membership, but no one, not even Blaise, could know of my less than avid dedication to the Dark Lord.
'I don't see why you can't be.' We had reached the steps to our dorm now.
He groaned and I saw his fingers twitch for his wand. 'Oh Merlin don't start this again.'
I shrugged off his pleas. 'I don't see the point of causing yourself misery. It's not a very good example of self-preservation for the lower years.'
'And if you continue harassing me on topic, you won't be a good example either.' he glared at me. Mentally he was imaging throttling me. 'Stop acting so concerned, Draco. It doesn't suit you. Any minute now, you'll be confessing your undying love for me or that you're a Gyrffindor.'
I rolled my eyes. 'Are you or are you not Blaise Zabini?' A shoulder barge answered that question for me, as we entered our dorm. 'If you want it, take it.'
He dumped his books with a threatening thunk. 'I don't want it. Not a single centimetre of skin. Not even one strand of ginger hair.'
I leaned against his bedpost, as he hurriedly organised, so he could leave my presence swiftly. Charming. 'My arse you don't. Are you a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin?'
Blaise's lips pulled apart in disgust at the idea of being mistaken for an Ernie Macmillan. 'Slytherin.'
'There's your answer then. You're not going to mope around waiting for her to come,' he surveyed me, trying to find the reason for my intrusion. I paused before releasing my innuendo in a self-satisfied chuckle. 'You're going find her clit. Now.'
'You don't have to look so smug just because you know it will piss off not only Weaseley, but Potter if I fuck her.'
'When you fuck her.' I allowed a smile to play around the rim of my lips. 'Maybe I just want you to for once not walk around all day with a face like a slapped arse.'
'I learnt from the best.' he murmured, moving to stalk out of the room. I knew secretly that he practised his sassy sashay in front of the mirror at night, so was unfazed by its vivacity.
I blocked the way as I couldn't wait to see the effect of the finale on him. 'Additionally it will be a pleasant change to not be the only one shagging a Gryffindor.'
It was as spectacular as I had expected. His guarded expression opened momentarily to let shock cascade over his features, before both determination and a fizzing sort of humour settled there– just glimmering from underneath the mask he wore so well. 'You dirty, dirty bastard.'
I merely grinned at him. I hadn't felt this genuinely happy, since Pansy had finally agreed to a threesome. Oh those were the days…
H:
I was rapidly becoming as obsessed as Harry and it had lead to some less than satisfactory outcomes. Mainly me agreeing going to Slughorn's Christmas Party with Cormac Mclaggen. CORMAC MCLAGGEN FOR CHRISSAKE! Ginny had pressed her hand to my forehead to check if I had the dragonpox or something, when I had told her. She, of course, had wrongly assumed the arrangement was, as a result of Lavender squeaking, sadly within my hearing range, that she and Ronald had progressed sexually, and it had sent me hurtling in Mclaggen's tentacles. If she had known what really had me stuttering my assent to Mclaggen's proposal, I expect she would've have been taken me to Mungo's to check the disease hadn't spread to my brain.
Draco Malfoy. I growled at omnipresent thought, clenching my fist as I practically threw my tea down my throat. Pity it was scalding hot. I had left for the Library after Ginny's pitying glances had gotten too much. Harry had promised to come down later, but I could do without his company. To add to his severely irritating reliance on the potions book, he kept using any available time in my company to send me little looks that impressed on me that he was very disappointed I hadn't yet manipulated Malfoy to the stage, where he would reveal all his nefarious plans to me. Meanwhile I was relieved, as I, for one, felt a bit sick at the idea. I really wouldn't appreciate the image of Pansy during BDSM- concentrated sex personally.
In a last attempt to distract myself, I stared down at my mug for inspiration. All that lay there was a smear of tea leaves. I rolled my eyes at Trelawny's false predictions, however, comforted by the fact no one was watching, I partook in the basic skill. It would give me a much needed laugh after all. I squinted at the blob, pausing confused, as the only thing I could make out appeared to be a magnet. This confirmed everything I had already known. It was an iffy magnet at best and even then, most Wizards didn't know of the existence of such things. I placed the cup down heavily.
I tried to return to my work, but instead my eyes insisted in prickling annoyingly. I sniffed and tried to persevere, but to no avail, as with a plop, a large tear landed on the crinkled parchment. I slammed my head into the table, biting my lips to stifle the wail that I wanted to release, as many more tears followed the first. I had pretended to Ginny that I was fine, but in reality she hadn't been too far off the mark.
It was my fault really. I should've prepared more for the inevitable. Anyone looking at Ron and Lavender's amorous interactions would realise that they were going to do a lot more than tongue heartily. It's just that I had always assumed that Ron and I would be each other's first in everything. And then, after Krum's peck on the cheek, I had prayed; I had agonised over, making sure that if not each other's first kiss, we would be everything else. First love, first finger, first blowjob… Oh it was bloody crude and pathetic of me, but it still had been my strongest desire.
Sure, he and Lavender hadn't had sex yet, but it was coming and I didn't think that I could cope. I was so painfully lonely, aware that I should be the one getting tutted at for making too much of a display of kissing him at breakfast, that I just couldn't quite deal with having my heart torn in half so slowly, so savagely– one string at a time.
'Granger?' I shot up, pawing at my undoubtedly gruesome face, at the voice breaching my solitude. I turned to expect some friendly sort of acquaintance, but was left gaping at the sight of him. 'Do you by any chance want a tissue before you snot all over yourself?'
Oh. No.
