~Year: 2004
"Why aren't you going home for Christmas, Draco?" Pansy asks over dinner, the night before your winter holidays start.
"I have things I need to do here," Draco says mysteriously, playing with a small fake wand, which bursts into a flaming feather at his touch. "What a bust," he remarks, throwing it into the Slytherin fireplace. You nestle down further into the green leather couch, trying to focus on your potions homework, but Pansy makes it hard to concentrate, as she is sitting on the arm of the sofa, her long brown hair cascading over your parchment.
"I think I'm going to go to bed," you say, getting up, wiping your hands free of ink.
"I'll save you a seat on the train," Pansy tells you.
"She's not going on the train," Draco pipes up. Pansy turns to you, her eyebrows raised.
You nod, clutching your books to your chest.
"Draco's right. My family has gone to see my aunt, she lives in the South of France. I'm to stay here."
Pansy sniffs, as if you have said something offensive, then turns back to Draco, who is staring into the flames, his hands balanced on his knees.
The next morning, you're awakened by some one whispering your name.
"Celia, wake up." Some one pokes you roughly on the shoulder. You moan and bury your face into the pillows, flipping them over to the cool side of the linen. "Come on, Celia," the person whines. Still in a dream-like state, you open your eyes to see Draco sitting on the edge of your bed, leaning over you, his face inches from yours. You reach up and slap him. He recoils, shocked.
"What was that for?" He asks, rubbing the pink spot on his cheek.
"You know I don't like people in such a close proximity to me," you reply, sitting up. "How did you get in here anyway? It's not allowed."
Draco grins at your peevish attitude. "I opened the door, stupid. Are you getting up or not? I need help with my charms homework."
"It's the break, Draco." You attempt to snuggle back down into your bed, but he grabs your hands and pulls you right off the mattress.
"Then we'll go outside," he persists. "Come on."
"Oh, I don't know," you say.
"It's not like the monster is going to get us," he taunts. "That Justin kid was petrified, I know you're scared."
"I am not," you say, offended. "Get out, let me get dressed. And then I will go outside with you." Draco shoots you another knowing smile, and a wicked one at that, before leaving the room. The two of you spend the day outside, playing in the snow, occasionally ducking back in to get warm, and then running back outside to frolick in the light dusting of powder. But around six o clock, the two of you collapse in the snow, exhausted. You point to the expansive, graying sky.
"It's weird," you begin. "To think that people see the same sky as us."
"No it's not," Draco retorts. "I see the same sky you do when we're at home."
"But I mean people all across the way. They see the same gray we see now."
"I don't think so," Draco says slowly. "To me, every one sees something differently then how another sees it. Like I see you as a really ugly friend, but some might see you as hideous."
"Take that back, Draco," you squeal, throwing a pile of snow on his pale face.
"Fine," he says, smirking. "But only because you made me." You punch him in the arm and he relents. "Fine! I give up. I suppose some people might find you pretty. Some people."
"Some people…like who?" You ask, drawing your initials in the snow.
"I don't know," Draco replies, looking red. "Don't ask me. That's why I didn't name any names." He is becoming more and more flustered, turning more crimson every second.
"Do you think I'm pretty?" You say with a laugh, half-joking.
"Yes," he says quickly, then returns to making a snowball. You stop laughing immediately. He rolls his eyes, his face still red. "I'm joking, Celia. No need to get all weird." You force a laugh. You're really not sure why you feel so uncomfortable at his words. Is it the subject matter of the words, or the fact that Draco spoke them?
~Year: 2009
You run back to your room, pushing past the bewildered guests and heading up the stairs to your bedroom.
"Celia?" Narcissa calls out after you, but you don't reply. You open the door to your room and slam it behind you, locking it. You lean your back against it, your heart racing, and sink to the floor.
What in the hell just happened?
You yank out the clip Draco had so sweetly placed in your hair and toss it on to your bed, then draw your knees up to your chest. You can still feel the taste of Draco on your lips, and you wipe them, as if trying to rid them of poison. A hollow rapping sound rings out from behind you; some one is knocking on your door.
"Celia," Draco pleads. "Open the door, please." You don't reply, except for attempting to open your mouth. A slight choking sound comes out. "I don't want to have to hex it open," he says, his voice firm.
"Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy," you say angrily, standing up and swinging the door open. "You're a twat." Draco is standing in the doorway, his wand raised. He looks mildly surprised by the fact that you opened the door, but changes his expression, coolly pocketing his wand.
"We need to talk," he says, strolling over the threshold and closing the door quietly behind him. You walk a few steps and perch yourself on the window sill, crossing your arms. You raise one eyebrow, an invitation for him to grovel.
"Go ahead," you say snottily. "Talk, Draco. No, better yet, explain. I would very much like to know why on earth I was just kissed by my best friend, who, by the way, has a girlfriend who loves him very, very much."
"Pansy isn't involved in this," he hisses, running a hand through his hair. "Like I said, Celia, I know you well. I know everything about you. Including how you feel about me."
"You are wrong!" You stand up and plant your hands on your hips, stomping on the ground.
"No, I'm not." Draco briskly crosses the room towards you and clamps his hands around your upper arms, steeling your arms to your sides.
"Let go," you say through clenched teeth, struggling.
"No," he says simply. "Listen, I don't know what came over me, and for that, I apologize. But I know you felt something. I did, and I know you well enough to tell that you felt something too."
"No," you say, shaking your head. You find yourself looking over his features, ravishing in them, like your looking upon a god.
"Okay," he says, releasing you. "That's all I need to hear." But you find yourself leaning in towards him again, and before you know it, he's kissing you again, his arms wrapped around you, his lips moving softly against yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, closing your eyes to the world and the scared thoughts fluttering about your mind. You open your mouth slightly and he licks the bottom of your lip hungrily.
"Oh jesus," you say, leaping away, holding your hand to your lips.
"What was that?" He asks, not really to you, but just in general.
"A mistake," you say aloud. The scar on your neck is burning, and you slap your hand over it, hiding it from his view.
"Yeah," he says quietly, piercing you with those eyes. "You're right."
"It was weird," you say, nodding your head.
"So weird," he agrees. "You're basically my sister."
"And you're almost my brother," you counter. The two of you stand in awkward silence.
"It meant nothing," he says, beginning to back out the door.
"Meaningless," you chime in. "We're just friends."
His expression goes a bit sour at the word, but he hides it well. He clears his throat.
"We'll always be just friends," he agrees, and shuts the door behind him. You run to the door and lock it behind him. You press your hands to your lips, and can still feel his traces lingering. You crawl into your bed, still fully clothed, and blankly sit there, replaying tonight's events over and over in your mind.
Meanwhile, down the hall, Draco is getting dressed for bed. He slips on a plain, white T-shirt and sinks into a grand armchair, which faces a wide window. Draco runs a hand over a mark on his left arm.
"Friends." He mutters. He nods, then closes his hand over the mark. "I can't…we'll have to be." He tangles his fingers in his hair, almost pulling strands out. He sinks to his knees, looking into the light of the moon. "God," he whispers hoarsely. "For her protection, I will be her friend. But she doesn't know, she doesn't feel like I do." He releases his hair, which sticks up, his face is glazed with a thin sheet of sweat-he looks mad. "She can't know." He stands up. "I have to do everything in my power to stay away from her."
