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Haven't written in awhile, been trying to sort out my thoughts before committing them to paper. Have had no luck so I'm just going to let whatever jumbles out, out.
He kissed me. Draco Malfoy kissed me. And it wasn't . . . it was . . .
Damn it.
All right, getting it together now. He kissed me. It was so soft at first, like it was barely happening. I could almost pretend it wasn't. And then it suddenly was happening and in the most intense way possible. His thumb was rubbing the skin between my index finger and my thumb and his other hand was cupping the back of my head, pulling me closer to him.
I've never been kissed before. I mean, pecks on the cheek from Harry at Christmas and my birthday just don't count, not after this, not even when I was hopelessly in silly love with him.
It went on for what seemed like hours. When his lips first touched mine, it was dusk and when they parted for the last time, all the stars were out. We missed dinner. I stiffly explained to Professor McGonagall that we were studying and lost track of time; she seemed so proud I wanted to kill myself.
By the time I'd fully processed that, yes, Draco Malfoy was snogging me, my back was pressed against the blanket I'd brought for our picnic and he was lying half on top of me. His hands were gentle, like I'd never imagined they would be and his mouth was so persuasive, asking me silent questions instead of demanding answers. My mind got all hazy and it felt like I was floating and sinking at the same time.
His hand eventually wandered someplace that frightened me and I tensed up and then he tensed up and we both broke away from each other. Then I did something incredibly stupid:
I panicked.
Whatever he was going to say originally, whatever hurtful, casual brush-off he was going to offer me, I just couldn't handle it. I just know that if I'd heard him dismiss it as nothing, if he'd laughed at me I would have simply expired right there on the spot. So I struck first.
"I'm not having sex with you," I'd blurted out. "I know we agreed to possible tasks of a sexual nature, and that's fine, really, but I just can't . . . do that with someone I'm not in love with."
As I watched his face, I had that cotton-y taste in the back of my mouth, the one you're never quite sure about where it's come from. My tongue felt abnormally big, like each word getting out of my mouth was a great challenge. Then, I got a look at his eyes and I think I actually saw them grow cold.
"You know, us agreeing on rules at all -- I don't think that works for me," he said in an icy calm voice. "I mean, you're my slave, aren't you? That implies a certain level of control on my part."
"But we had a bargain," I protested.
"They were your terms, Weasley," he ground out before I could speak another word, "not mine." He looked at me, so differently from how he looked at me earlier. I wanted to weep at the difference. "You, on the other hand, are very much mine to do with as I please for the duration of our agreement." His tone was cruel and the intention was written on his face, clear as day. Something went very cold and scared inside me at that moment.
"Please," I begged. I feel so ashamed now at the way I begged him then. At the time, I felt nothing but terror that he wouldn't listen. "You can ask me to do anything, I'll do anything that you want, but please don't ask that."
Even as I write this, my cheeks are on fire with mortification. I just had to get all worked up like that over a few kisses that probably meant nothing to him. Jump to ridiculous conclusions faster than a March hare: that should be the Weasley family motto.
"Fine," he snapped. "If it means that much to you -- it's not like I care. You'd probably just lie there like a cold fish, anyway."
Then, he left. Just left. I must have stood there for twenty minutes, hugging myself like a ninny before I finally snapped out of it, magicked the picnic mess together and headed back to the castle. The confrontation with McGonagall was blessedly short and by the time I got up to the tower, everyone else was already in bed. Except for Ron, who'd fallen asleep sitting in a chair, no doubt waiting up for me. I crept passed him and crawled into bed fully dressed, shedding only my robe.
I felt numb and cold and didn't have the slightest idea what had really happened out there with Draco.
I still don't. But whatever it was, I'm just going to have to put it behind me. I'm also going to have to shove aside these warm, fuzzy musings about Malfoy. That toad Malfoy. When did I stop thinking of him that way? Whenever it was, bad me. So what if he's mildly attractive. So what if I'm mildly attracted. I've just got to start viewing Draco the same way Ron does.
Am left feeling disturbed for reasons I'm not sure I wish to examine.
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