Chapter 11--Somewhere Between Want and Need
Eros poked his head in Professor Clarke's study. "Sorry to disturb you, Prof, but I wanted to discuss the reading assignment."
Anteros looked up at him and quirked a brow, "I'm sure you do."
"They got you busy already?" Eros asked, sprawling in the chair across the desk, draping his knees over the side.
"You wouldn't believe the amount of detail that goes into this sort of thing. Lesson plans and all of this lovely paperwork. I can't wait until I have to start grading papers," Anteros leaned back in his chair and reached for the flask of wine sitting on the low bookshelf behind him.
"May I?" Eros asked, summoning a glass for himself.
"I don't think it would be appropriate for a professor to be offering a student alcohol," Anteros replied with a smirk, pouring himself some and corking the bottle. "How have you been doing as of late?"
"Decently. It's been difficult though, for reasons I'm sure you're already aware of. The classes here are the least of my troubles, though I don't appreciate being paired up with that little snot Aletheia, thank you very much."
Anteros was entirely too proud of himself as he took a slow sip of the rich red liquid. "What are brothers for?"
"To cause torment and agony, apparently."
"Don't sulk, Eros."
"Speaking of Aletheia—she been giving you any trouble in this little endeavor of yours?" Anteros inquired, grateful for an excuse to take a break from his endless filing and organizing and other such frivolous nonsense.
"No really," Eros said. "She flusters, but doesn't normally do anything about it. She got pretty mad at me the other day, though."
"Really?"
"Swore at me and everything. Though she was gonna start spitting fire or some scary shit like that." Eros folded his arms across his chest and craned his neck back to stare at the ceiling.
"She's quite protective of Granger, isn't she?"
"Mmmhmm," Eros replied noncommittally, the sound a low hum in the back of his throat.
"Just try not to blow it by rushing things, okay?" Anteros said, swirling his wine around in the glass. His tone suggested that, while he felt it his obligation to voice the warning, he felt the Eros could and would do nothing else but that very thing.
Eros sat upright, a bit tiffed. "Why does everyone think I'm this trigger happy maniac?"
"Because you…are?" Anteros tried to fight back his grin. And failed. Oh well… "Now get yourself down to dinner before people start questioning your reputation of being a complete lout with the teachers."
"Fine, fine," Eros muttered, waving loosely without looking back as he left, heading down to the main hall. They plugged their way through an uneventful meal and boring evening, loitering around and not accomplishing much of… anything. There were scant few that Eros caught with a book in hand the entire evening.
That night, when all the others were asleep, he decided now was a perfect opportunity to wreck his havoc once more in the world of dreams. And so it was that Draco found himself once again in a darkened wood.
Draco started at the presence suddenly behind him in the all too familiar surroundings. She made no sound, not the slightest rustle or thud of a footstep, yet he was possessed of an unknown knowledge, an instinct. He froze, staring straight ahead and waiting for some movement, an announcement of her arrival.
Nothing.
"Hey," he whispered, voice thick and out of place in the oppressive quietness of the dark night.
"Miss me?" she inquired with a smile he felt even though he couldn't see her. Her voice was joy and hope and a thousand other things he seemed to have given up on.
"I don't even know you," he replied coldly, an all too familiar safety in his own indifference, but he wondered if she felt the tremor of sated anticipation that coursed up through his hand as her thin fingers caught his. She drew close, as if she felt the sliver widening in his confidence. She was a gentle pressure keeping it together, seeping into the crack.
"Do you want to know me?" she asked softly, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
Her warm form, small and yet so comforting, pressing against him, drugged his senses.
"Yes," he breathed out into the cold air, and it was a burden sliding off his shoulders.
"That is well," she said quietly, "for I wish to know you."
"What about me?" he chuckled in the darkness, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly across her knuckles. "I am a Slytherin and a Malfoy, that should tell you something."
"A good deal ambitious, then. What is it that you want most?"
There was no hesitation proceeding his answer. "Power."
"Now, why doesn't that surprise me?" she giggled, shaking her head.
"It does tend to run in the family."
A gentle quiet fell for a moment, the warmth of the girl contrasting the night's persistent chill.
At last she spoke, somewhat solemn. "But is it enough?"
"Influence and Wealth?" he asked, his tone that all too familiar haughty indifference, everything that had been drilled into him for years. "Yeah, I think that'll about do it."
"Nothing of love or happiness?" She knew she was pushing the issue as she felt him tense. She closed her eyes and waited.
"You one of those idealists?" he asked, souring.
"I suppose so," she said, sliding an arm around his waist, feeling him breathe.
There was something in her touch, something solid and so real it made him fight not to shudder. A comforting stillness, an insistent pressure, a charming contradiction. And it felt more tangible, for a split second, then any other contact he'd ever felt.
"Do you hate me for it?" she asked softly. Her voice was low and teasing, trying to lure him back. She squeezed the fingers of the hand she still held, rested her cheek against his shoulder blade through the soft material of his robes.
He was slipping, drowning, falling. He should hate. He should be cocky and sneer at such petty things. But her heat was distracting him. He was going crazy. His lips broke apart, barely moved. Yes… One word, simple. Yes.
He found that he really couldn't.
"No."
She laughed, breathy and indulgent. "I am glad for it."
He wanted to shove her away, gather her close. Impulsively, he caught one of her hands, pulling her around his side. "Come 'ere."
She struggled, her slim hand nearly sliding out of his demanding grasp. "I want to see you. What should it matter?"
"That's a lot to believe from you, who judge everyone by blood and appearance," she protested, the first spark of flame entering her words as she latched around his waist with her other arm.
"Stop being so petty," he growled, scrabbling for her elbow and catching hold of her again. She burrowed against his back.
"You're the one acting like a child," she snapped back.
"It's ridiculous talking to someone like this—I want to see your face," he repeated, and she sighed before allowing him to tug her begrudgingly forward.
"I do not know how well you may succeed," she said, a bit sadly.
He stared at her, eyes narrowing as he studied her closely. Her face was shadows, the planes and features indecipherable no matter how hard he looked. They were both caught in the darkness, and for a moment he could not tell if it was not merely a trick of the lighting. "What are you?" he asked, a bit taken aback, though he kept a close hold on her elbow.
"I knew you would not understand," she said sadly, staring away from him off into the forest, refusing to meet those piercing grey eyes.
"Then why don't you try explaining?" he ground out.
"You cannot see me yet," she admitted.
"But will I?" he asked, pressing her.
"Perhaps."
He laid a hand on her cheek, and she angled her head into the touch. He smiled in the darkness, a ghost of contentment idly curling his thin lips as he brushed his thumb slowly along the soft apple of her unseen cheek. "Hmph, you feel real enough."
She laughed, low and breathy, skimming past his wrist. "You are as changeable as the wind. I never know what to expect."
"Keeps people on their toes," he smirked, unwilling to let his hand slip away from her pliable warmth just yet. "What is your name? You do have a name, right?"
She held the back of his neck, pulling him down. "Karise." A heated puff of air blew against his jaw before she rose and with agonizing slowness placed a firm, warm, gentle kiss on his cheek, fingers fluttering through his hair.
"Get some rest, little dragon," she whispered.
He stood, frozen, before the world foundered in oblivion. He knew nothing until the alarm jolted him awake to the grey dawn the next morning.
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Once again, sorry this took so long. I've been majorly swamped with college stuff lately, and Draco is driving me insane with his stubborn arrogance. He has a freaking lot of it. Grrr. Eros can, thus far, only get him to not be a complete prat when he's dreaming, mainly because he's more open to stuff then, but still... urgh... So vexing. But I am determined. This chapter's at least a little sappy. Yay, sap, we like it... a lot.
