"—no right to do that! No right at all! Bad enough that little
stunt lost me points, but to humiliate me like that in front of…I've never
been so embarrassed in my life!" I ranted, simultaneously pacing the small
space of Hagrid's hut and raving at Malfoy.
"Oh, come now." Malfoy drawled in return, watching my paltry progress across the floor, a slight smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. "I'm positive you've been more embarrassed than that- you blush all the time."
As if on cue, I felt my cheeks burning from his comment. "Shut up." I growled, looking away from the elegant picture he made, lounging in a rustic, wooden chair, as if posing for a spread in Witch Weekly. The nerve of him, looking so placid while I flustered about like a dolt.
"Your just petulant because you know you enjoyed it."
I stopped dead in my tracks, stilling as his words hit me. Turning to him in stupefaction, I stared, murmuring. "What?"
"I said," he replied completely unruffled, hands folding neatly in his lap. "You enjoyed my hand on your thigh."
My jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his statement before my rage flared, temper making my jaw snap shut and moving me with deadly purpose. In two large steps I was in front of Malfoy, shoving his chair out from under him. One moment, he sat the very model of composure, the next he was hurtling through the air, crashing into the grey stone wall. I saw him blink sluggishly, disoriented from his head's impact with the unyielding surface, and even that didn't bring me any satisfaction. I stood their, fists clenched at my sides, lungs erratically heaving my chest as adrenaline burned my veins, watching as he gingerly sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. Disgusted with both what he had said and my violent reaction, I turned to march back to the school when his voice fell like frigid rain, instantly cooling my furor.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Away," I replied, irritable.
"I think not. We have an agreement, now come here."
Turning back to face him, I noticed a stain of blood running from the corner of his mouth. As opposed to looking fragile, crumpled on the floor and bleeding, he looked like a feral feline with the juices of his victim coursing down his chin. Obediently trudging to him, I took his hand when he offered it, preparing to pull him upright. Instead, I found myself yanked to the floor, falling directly into his lap as if neatly choreographed. Instantly stiffening, I whispered raggedly, "What do you think you're doing."
"Holding you," he breathed into my ear. "I thought that was obvious."
"Please," I pleaded. "Let me go."
"No." He replied, his fine voice a hiss.
He then wrapped his arms around my chest, drawing me even closer into his embrace. I remained rigid, infinitely uncomfortable, certain he would soon begin to touch me in some perverse fashion, but his hands remained chastely motionless. Minutes dragged idly by and the world seemed quiet as sin, the only sounds our combined breathing and hearts beating. The constant pulse of his chest soon became soothing as I found myself cautiously relaxing into the enclosure his body provided. As cold and heartless as he normally behaved, it was almost something of a shock to feel such tangible evidence of his mortality, his human frailty. It was as if, in the irrational portion of my unconscious, I expected him to be carved from crystallized water.
I felt the soft flesh of his lips tentatively touching the shell of my unprotected ear. I should have been repulsed, revolted, indignant. I should have broken away from his grasp, fleeing this place, damn the consequences. Yet, the only movement I made was to tip my head, allowing him access to my vulnerable neck. Emboldened by my acceptance, he trailed his lips down to my offering, tenderly caressing my exposed skin. Lulled by talented lips and tongue, I closed my eyes, losing myself for centuries in pure sensation.
After what seemed no time at all, and was probably in truth half an hour, his lips ceased their tender exploration. Surprised and dismayed, I slowly opened my eyes, lashes fluttering slothfully until I came back to myself. It was then the euphoria faded to be replaced by unease as I admitted to myself I was unsure of this potent and accurate new tactic of his.
"Oh, come now." Malfoy drawled in return, watching my paltry progress across the floor, a slight smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. "I'm positive you've been more embarrassed than that- you blush all the time."
As if on cue, I felt my cheeks burning from his comment. "Shut up." I growled, looking away from the elegant picture he made, lounging in a rustic, wooden chair, as if posing for a spread in Witch Weekly. The nerve of him, looking so placid while I flustered about like a dolt.
"Your just petulant because you know you enjoyed it."
I stopped dead in my tracks, stilling as his words hit me. Turning to him in stupefaction, I stared, murmuring. "What?"
"I said," he replied completely unruffled, hands folding neatly in his lap. "You enjoyed my hand on your thigh."
My jaw dropped at the sheer audacity of his statement before my rage flared, temper making my jaw snap shut and moving me with deadly purpose. In two large steps I was in front of Malfoy, shoving his chair out from under him. One moment, he sat the very model of composure, the next he was hurtling through the air, crashing into the grey stone wall. I saw him blink sluggishly, disoriented from his head's impact with the unyielding surface, and even that didn't bring me any satisfaction. I stood their, fists clenched at my sides, lungs erratically heaving my chest as adrenaline burned my veins, watching as he gingerly sat up, leaning heavily against the wall. Disgusted with both what he had said and my violent reaction, I turned to march back to the school when his voice fell like frigid rain, instantly cooling my furor.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Away," I replied, irritable.
"I think not. We have an agreement, now come here."
Turning back to face him, I noticed a stain of blood running from the corner of his mouth. As opposed to looking fragile, crumpled on the floor and bleeding, he looked like a feral feline with the juices of his victim coursing down his chin. Obediently trudging to him, I took his hand when he offered it, preparing to pull him upright. Instead, I found myself yanked to the floor, falling directly into his lap as if neatly choreographed. Instantly stiffening, I whispered raggedly, "What do you think you're doing."
"Holding you," he breathed into my ear. "I thought that was obvious."
"Please," I pleaded. "Let me go."
"No." He replied, his fine voice a hiss.
He then wrapped his arms around my chest, drawing me even closer into his embrace. I remained rigid, infinitely uncomfortable, certain he would soon begin to touch me in some perverse fashion, but his hands remained chastely motionless. Minutes dragged idly by and the world seemed quiet as sin, the only sounds our combined breathing and hearts beating. The constant pulse of his chest soon became soothing as I found myself cautiously relaxing into the enclosure his body provided. As cold and heartless as he normally behaved, it was almost something of a shock to feel such tangible evidence of his mortality, his human frailty. It was as if, in the irrational portion of my unconscious, I expected him to be carved from crystallized water.
I felt the soft flesh of his lips tentatively touching the shell of my unprotected ear. I should have been repulsed, revolted, indignant. I should have broken away from his grasp, fleeing this place, damn the consequences. Yet, the only movement I made was to tip my head, allowing him access to my vulnerable neck. Emboldened by my acceptance, he trailed his lips down to my offering, tenderly caressing my exposed skin. Lulled by talented lips and tongue, I closed my eyes, losing myself for centuries in pure sensation.
After what seemed no time at all, and was probably in truth half an hour, his lips ceased their tender exploration. Surprised and dismayed, I slowly opened my eyes, lashes fluttering slothfully until I came back to myself. It was then the euphoria faded to be replaced by unease as I admitted to myself I was unsure of this potent and accurate new tactic of his.