The castle was unbearably cold. No matter how many layers I put on, I was
freezing.
I hate being cold.
Potions was by far the worst - the room was a virtual icebox. Rather than any heat being trapped in the confines of the windowless room, it seemed that all the cold air had been pushed in, and was wrapping it's icy fingers on the unfortunate students that now occupied the room. Namely, the 6th year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Namely, myself. I suppressed a shiver, and tried my hardest to pay attention to whatever Snape was droning on about.
Fifteen minutes later, I still hadn't warmed up, and I still hadn't heard a word the stupid traitor had said. I watched him, rather, trying my see why the man would be stupid enough to turn his back on his Leader.
On our Leader.
I hadn't received my mark, but was looking forward to the day when I would be deemed old enough, intelligent enough, and cruel enough to be bestowed with it. Although I wasn't an official member, my father was, and he told me enough to give me some semblance of idea as to what the current talk was. He suspected Snape of being a spy - an idea I had had a few times myself. The man was wretched, really, lonely and callous, cold, but not capable of seduction. He holed himself in his dungeons, and came out only to do the bidding of that mindless old idiot, Dumbledore. My father spoke of Snape with great disdain, and I had felt honored that I was let in on such private information, and proud to know my mind was like my fathers - calculating, and conniving, able to spot things that others would disregard, or not even see in the first place.
My musings over Snape were halted, as I felt eyes on me, a steady glare from my right. I turned my head and saw that Potter was staring at me, his alarmingly green eyes focused solely on my own, his gaze harsh and questioning. I sneered at him, and was pleased when he looked taken aback, and focused on the parchment in front of him.
I often caught him staring at me, his unwavering emerald gaze piercing me, during classes, during meals, during Quidditch, during our "sessions". whether they be in his bed, in mine, that memorable time in Weasley's, in a broom closet, in the locker rooms, in the dark corner near the third staircase of the West Tower .
Sometimes it annoyed me - not because he stared at me, but because of the way he did it. He always looked as though he knew something I didn't; as though he knew there was something worthy in me, something redeemable. He believed that our time together would change me for the better - that his caresses, his murmurs against my skin, his tongue exploring every crevice of my body, would be the hand I needed to pull me from my future. Everything was black and white to him - you were either good or bad, noble or deceitful, cruel or kind. He could not see the gray, the in-between, the not-quiet, and the not-yet. The world was simple to him; he could not understand the way I felt, or the way I was expected to feel. My own destiny was paved far before I was aware of it, and truth be told, I agreed with it. I waited for the day I would follow my father, and be worthy to spread the darkness of Our Lord.
Harry was my distraction, but not my set-back. He served his purpose, and served it well, a tumble of lips and tongue and movements and heat. I knew he wanted more, but there was nothing more I had to offer. He wanted my heart, but I had none to give.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
We were in my bed one night, just finished with an especially good fuck. He lay next to me, panting softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. My own breathing was rapid and thick, and we were both particularly sweaty. After a few minutes, I expected him to leave, to get up and walk away as he had done numerous times before - but he didn't. He turned towards me, almost hesitantly, gaze once again fixed on my own.
"Draco," he started, voice low and heavy.
I looked at him warily, wondering what had prompted this. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly, encouraging him to spit out whatever he had to say. He lowered his gaze and fiddled with the seam of my blanket.
"Potter," I said, feeling annoyed.
"Do you - do you think that I could possibly stay?" he asked, eyes flickering up to mine, then back down to the blanket below. It was my turn to stare.
"You want to stay?" I asked, voice thick with disdain. The request seemed ludicrous - he never stayed, and I certainly never invited him to. He looked back at me, with apprehension, nervously biting his bottom lip.
"Get out," I said.
"What?" came his startled reply. My answer had carried more venom than I thought.
"Out," I repeated, pointing towards the door.
"Draco," he started again, but I silenced him by snatching the blankets from him. "Out." I repeated, angry that he had asked such a question. A hurt look briefly crossed his features, before he hurried out of the bed, dressing hastily, and moving quickly toward the door.
"You're . never mind. Never mind at all" he said quietly, though his voice shook slightly. I saw that his eyes were unusually bright, and realized that they were full of unshed tears. He slipped his invisibility cloak over his head, silently opened the door, and a moment later was gone.
I sighed and turned over, laying face first into my pilow. I cursed under my breath, and had the fleeting desire to chase after him and throw him against the wall. I wanted to scare him, then make him bleed, and teach him not to feel emotions. The idiot was falling for me, and I wanted none of it. Not bothering to shut my curtains, I soon feel asleep.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
I awoke some indeterminable time later. The light of the full moon spilled over my face, blinding me. I opened my eyes and squinted, blinking away sleep. I somehow had managed to move to the other side of the bed, and realized that I had ended up where Harry had been. The spot was warm and comforting, and I immediately felt disgusted with myself for thinking such sentimental thoughts.
But I did not move.
I laid there, gazing out the window, letting my eyes adjust to the intrusion of light. The moon was large and very white, its rays blindingly brilliant. It seemed as though it were there solely for me, hovering outside my window. It reminded me of myself, in it's coldness, and it's unreachable status. I smiled thinly at that, inwardly laughing that I could be compared to the moon.
I vaguely wondered where Professor Lupin, the werewolf, was, and if Harry felt the pain and suffering of his former teacher and friend. My small grin quickly turned into a scowl - everything always had to go back to Harry.
The full moon had always intrigued him, he told me once, as he sat on the stairs looking out the window. I was getting impatient, waiting for him to come to me so that I could relieve the stress of the day, but he had sat there for several minutes, lost in the full moon. He said it brought him hope, brought him something to reach for, to try and grasp. He always was so good and pure. He wanted the untouchable, and I watched time and again as he was hurt by its sharp edges. Such prizes are unreachable for a reason. Some things were never meant to be taken.
Sitting in my bed, in the spot that Harry had laid in, I lost myself to my thoughts. The moon was glaring at me in its own way, and I felt overburdened with the constant attention I had focused my way. I reached out to my curtains and started to pull them shut, when a sudden blind fear overcame me. I suddenly felt that if I were to block out the light I would be forever lost in the darkness, and then images of my father, of Voldemort, of the screaming of others as the Dark Mark was etched into their flesh spilled into my head, and I realized with a sick, hot feeling, that I was already lost in the darkness. I had been claimed, and had been willing, and I was forever destined to lie in the darkest of places.
Once the images faded away, and once I realized I had been shaking - and forced myself to stop - I opened the curtains back up. I sat back against the expensive pillows, against the hardness of the headboard, against the dark that crawled along the corners of the bed, and in that moment, I hated myself.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
He ignored me the next day - or tried to, at least. He scowled at me when our gazes met, but I could feel his eyes burning into me when I looked away. I just smirked at brushed by him, inwardly laughing when his breathing sped up. I didn't see him much, until Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, the giant oaf, had paired us together, and left us with whatever the current blood-thirsty animal of the week was. Harry was off in the corner, peering angrily at the creature, trying to decipher its head from its arse. I figured that the two would get along nicely.
"Potter," I drawled, stepping closer. "Aren't we supposed to feed the damned thing?" I grinned for good measure, thoroughly enjoying how his eyes narrowed and he moved backwards.
"Yes," he said, curtly, grabbing at a bucket on the ground. Without really looking at what he was doing, he dumped half the disgusting contents in front of the creature.
"There," he said, "fed the stupid - oh." he said, breath catching, as I stepped close behind him.
"That's not how you do it, Potter," I whispered, putting my arms around him, and grabbing the bucket. "Here, do it this way." I picked the bucket up with one hand, and with the other grabbed his tightly. "Now, pour it in slowly, carefully," I said, bending him slightly. He swallowed obviously.
"Now, come on you can do it, slowly, steadily, smoothly," I said, my voice as quiet as I could make it. He was shaking ever so slightly, but he didn't push me away.
"Now we need a little more force, to finish the job," I said, pushing my hips against his backside. His body started to tremble, his eyes focused solely on the creature in front of us. "There we go, almost done, just a bit more," I whispered, as I rocked my hips steadily.
"So close," I murmured, as I leaned even closer, breathing the words into his ear. "So fucking close." He closed his eyes and made a small sound, pushing slightly back against me. I lightly licked his ear, breathing hot air onto it, eliciting another small, keen noise out of him. I pulled away, smirking, watching as he breathed harshly, eyes shut tightly.
"Harry?" came a voice from our left. I spun around and saw Granger and Weasley staring at us, Granger's eyes wide with surprise, Weasley's filled with anger.
Harry quickly moved away from me. "It's, it's not what it looks like," he said, helplessly. Weasley scoffed.
"Oh, of course not. I've forgotten that in order to feed an animal, you have to have your worst fucking enemy grinding up against you. That must get the job done more efficiently, eh Harry?" he said, his voice sarcastic and hurt.
Harry's face flushed, and he stared at the ground.
"Come on, Hermione, let's get out of here," Weasley said, grabbing the Mudblood's hand and pulling her away.
"What the fuck was that, Malfoy," he spat, now looking at me. "First you push me away, then you fucking come on to me in the middle of class, in front of everyone? What's your problem?"
I sneered nastily at him. "You, Potter, you're my bloody problem."
He sighed and pushed by me. "Just leave me alone," he said, as he walked by.
I watched him go in amusement, and tried to push down the strange feeling I had as he told me to leave him alone. It was nothing, obviously. Just a stab at my pride. That's all. When class ended I walked back towards the castle alone, still trying to convince myself that Harry's words hadn't hurt me.
I was always good at lying to myself.
I hate being cold.
Potions was by far the worst - the room was a virtual icebox. Rather than any heat being trapped in the confines of the windowless room, it seemed that all the cold air had been pushed in, and was wrapping it's icy fingers on the unfortunate students that now occupied the room. Namely, the 6th year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Namely, myself. I suppressed a shiver, and tried my hardest to pay attention to whatever Snape was droning on about.
Fifteen minutes later, I still hadn't warmed up, and I still hadn't heard a word the stupid traitor had said. I watched him, rather, trying my see why the man would be stupid enough to turn his back on his Leader.
On our Leader.
I hadn't received my mark, but was looking forward to the day when I would be deemed old enough, intelligent enough, and cruel enough to be bestowed with it. Although I wasn't an official member, my father was, and he told me enough to give me some semblance of idea as to what the current talk was. He suspected Snape of being a spy - an idea I had had a few times myself. The man was wretched, really, lonely and callous, cold, but not capable of seduction. He holed himself in his dungeons, and came out only to do the bidding of that mindless old idiot, Dumbledore. My father spoke of Snape with great disdain, and I had felt honored that I was let in on such private information, and proud to know my mind was like my fathers - calculating, and conniving, able to spot things that others would disregard, or not even see in the first place.
My musings over Snape were halted, as I felt eyes on me, a steady glare from my right. I turned my head and saw that Potter was staring at me, his alarmingly green eyes focused solely on my own, his gaze harsh and questioning. I sneered at him, and was pleased when he looked taken aback, and focused on the parchment in front of him.
I often caught him staring at me, his unwavering emerald gaze piercing me, during classes, during meals, during Quidditch, during our "sessions". whether they be in his bed, in mine, that memorable time in Weasley's, in a broom closet, in the locker rooms, in the dark corner near the third staircase of the West Tower .
Sometimes it annoyed me - not because he stared at me, but because of the way he did it. He always looked as though he knew something I didn't; as though he knew there was something worthy in me, something redeemable. He believed that our time together would change me for the better - that his caresses, his murmurs against my skin, his tongue exploring every crevice of my body, would be the hand I needed to pull me from my future. Everything was black and white to him - you were either good or bad, noble or deceitful, cruel or kind. He could not see the gray, the in-between, the not-quiet, and the not-yet. The world was simple to him; he could not understand the way I felt, or the way I was expected to feel. My own destiny was paved far before I was aware of it, and truth be told, I agreed with it. I waited for the day I would follow my father, and be worthy to spread the darkness of Our Lord.
Harry was my distraction, but not my set-back. He served his purpose, and served it well, a tumble of lips and tongue and movements and heat. I knew he wanted more, but there was nothing more I had to offer. He wanted my heart, but I had none to give.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
We were in my bed one night, just finished with an especially good fuck. He lay next to me, panting softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. My own breathing was rapid and thick, and we were both particularly sweaty. After a few minutes, I expected him to leave, to get up and walk away as he had done numerous times before - but he didn't. He turned towards me, almost hesitantly, gaze once again fixed on my own.
"Draco," he started, voice low and heavy.
I looked at him warily, wondering what had prompted this. I raised an eyebrow and looked at him expectantly, encouraging him to spit out whatever he had to say. He lowered his gaze and fiddled with the seam of my blanket.
"Potter," I said, feeling annoyed.
"Do you - do you think that I could possibly stay?" he asked, eyes flickering up to mine, then back down to the blanket below. It was my turn to stare.
"You want to stay?" I asked, voice thick with disdain. The request seemed ludicrous - he never stayed, and I certainly never invited him to. He looked back at me, with apprehension, nervously biting his bottom lip.
"Get out," I said.
"What?" came his startled reply. My answer had carried more venom than I thought.
"Out," I repeated, pointing towards the door.
"Draco," he started again, but I silenced him by snatching the blankets from him. "Out." I repeated, angry that he had asked such a question. A hurt look briefly crossed his features, before he hurried out of the bed, dressing hastily, and moving quickly toward the door.
"You're . never mind. Never mind at all" he said quietly, though his voice shook slightly. I saw that his eyes were unusually bright, and realized that they were full of unshed tears. He slipped his invisibility cloak over his head, silently opened the door, and a moment later was gone.
I sighed and turned over, laying face first into my pilow. I cursed under my breath, and had the fleeting desire to chase after him and throw him against the wall. I wanted to scare him, then make him bleed, and teach him not to feel emotions. The idiot was falling for me, and I wanted none of it. Not bothering to shut my curtains, I soon feel asleep.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
I awoke some indeterminable time later. The light of the full moon spilled over my face, blinding me. I opened my eyes and squinted, blinking away sleep. I somehow had managed to move to the other side of the bed, and realized that I had ended up where Harry had been. The spot was warm and comforting, and I immediately felt disgusted with myself for thinking such sentimental thoughts.
But I did not move.
I laid there, gazing out the window, letting my eyes adjust to the intrusion of light. The moon was large and very white, its rays blindingly brilliant. It seemed as though it were there solely for me, hovering outside my window. It reminded me of myself, in it's coldness, and it's unreachable status. I smiled thinly at that, inwardly laughing that I could be compared to the moon.
I vaguely wondered where Professor Lupin, the werewolf, was, and if Harry felt the pain and suffering of his former teacher and friend. My small grin quickly turned into a scowl - everything always had to go back to Harry.
The full moon had always intrigued him, he told me once, as he sat on the stairs looking out the window. I was getting impatient, waiting for him to come to me so that I could relieve the stress of the day, but he had sat there for several minutes, lost in the full moon. He said it brought him hope, brought him something to reach for, to try and grasp. He always was so good and pure. He wanted the untouchable, and I watched time and again as he was hurt by its sharp edges. Such prizes are unreachable for a reason. Some things were never meant to be taken.
Sitting in my bed, in the spot that Harry had laid in, I lost myself to my thoughts. The moon was glaring at me in its own way, and I felt overburdened with the constant attention I had focused my way. I reached out to my curtains and started to pull them shut, when a sudden blind fear overcame me. I suddenly felt that if I were to block out the light I would be forever lost in the darkness, and then images of my father, of Voldemort, of the screaming of others as the Dark Mark was etched into their flesh spilled into my head, and I realized with a sick, hot feeling, that I was already lost in the darkness. I had been claimed, and had been willing, and I was forever destined to lie in the darkest of places.
Once the images faded away, and once I realized I had been shaking - and forced myself to stop - I opened the curtains back up. I sat back against the expensive pillows, against the hardness of the headboard, against the dark that crawled along the corners of the bed, and in that moment, I hated myself.
____________________________________________________________________________ _________
He ignored me the next day - or tried to, at least. He scowled at me when our gazes met, but I could feel his eyes burning into me when I looked away. I just smirked at brushed by him, inwardly laughing when his breathing sped up. I didn't see him much, until Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, the giant oaf, had paired us together, and left us with whatever the current blood-thirsty animal of the week was. Harry was off in the corner, peering angrily at the creature, trying to decipher its head from its arse. I figured that the two would get along nicely.
"Potter," I drawled, stepping closer. "Aren't we supposed to feed the damned thing?" I grinned for good measure, thoroughly enjoying how his eyes narrowed and he moved backwards.
"Yes," he said, curtly, grabbing at a bucket on the ground. Without really looking at what he was doing, he dumped half the disgusting contents in front of the creature.
"There," he said, "fed the stupid - oh." he said, breath catching, as I stepped close behind him.
"That's not how you do it, Potter," I whispered, putting my arms around him, and grabbing the bucket. "Here, do it this way." I picked the bucket up with one hand, and with the other grabbed his tightly. "Now, pour it in slowly, carefully," I said, bending him slightly. He swallowed obviously.
"Now, come on you can do it, slowly, steadily, smoothly," I said, my voice as quiet as I could make it. He was shaking ever so slightly, but he didn't push me away.
"Now we need a little more force, to finish the job," I said, pushing my hips against his backside. His body started to tremble, his eyes focused solely on the creature in front of us. "There we go, almost done, just a bit more," I whispered, as I rocked my hips steadily.
"So close," I murmured, as I leaned even closer, breathing the words into his ear. "So fucking close." He closed his eyes and made a small sound, pushing slightly back against me. I lightly licked his ear, breathing hot air onto it, eliciting another small, keen noise out of him. I pulled away, smirking, watching as he breathed harshly, eyes shut tightly.
"Harry?" came a voice from our left. I spun around and saw Granger and Weasley staring at us, Granger's eyes wide with surprise, Weasley's filled with anger.
Harry quickly moved away from me. "It's, it's not what it looks like," he said, helplessly. Weasley scoffed.
"Oh, of course not. I've forgotten that in order to feed an animal, you have to have your worst fucking enemy grinding up against you. That must get the job done more efficiently, eh Harry?" he said, his voice sarcastic and hurt.
Harry's face flushed, and he stared at the ground.
"Come on, Hermione, let's get out of here," Weasley said, grabbing the Mudblood's hand and pulling her away.
"What the fuck was that, Malfoy," he spat, now looking at me. "First you push me away, then you fucking come on to me in the middle of class, in front of everyone? What's your problem?"
I sneered nastily at him. "You, Potter, you're my bloody problem."
He sighed and pushed by me. "Just leave me alone," he said, as he walked by.
I watched him go in amusement, and tried to push down the strange feeling I had as he told me to leave him alone. It was nothing, obviously. Just a stab at my pride. That's all. When class ended I walked back towards the castle alone, still trying to convince myself that Harry's words hadn't hurt me.
I was always good at lying to myself.