Expiry Date: Part the Sixth

By Green

Disclaimer/Warnings/Rating: See chapter one

Notes: I had originally planned this story to be six chapters long, but when I started to write this I realised that there was so much I wanted/needed to write that there will also be one or two chapters after this…I hope people don't mind that, myself I always find long stories a little off-putting, but I swear I'm trying to edit this so that it isn't pure self-indulgent waffle...*g*

I'm also going to change the chapter titles back to 'One' 'Two' etc, as the titles I have been using were part of a theme that I realised I didn't really want early on but I was too lazy to change. So the chapter titles have changed but the content is still the same.

This was to be uploaded several days ago, but the upload function screwed up again (kill kill kill)

Thank-you * so much * to the reviewers so far, it's been really great to have all that support behind me. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter too.

~~***~~

He's…nodding. He's nodding. He's agreeing. And nodding, and looking at me like…

And it's like when the teacher tells off the entire class, and you feel so so guilty, and you just want to stand up and yell that it wasn't me, it wasn't really me that did it, and please please please just stop looking at me like that. No matter how irrational the urge is, because you know you've done nothing wrong…

Say something, anything, just don't stand here letting him look at you…

'You…You'll do it?'

'Yes.' His voice is all wrong, somehow. Too carefully cool and yet with more emotion than I've ever heard. It comes out husky the way words sometimes will when you're tense and haven't spoken, and you should have cleared your throat but you didn't. The tips of his ears turn pink.

He looks…ashamed. Not of me, but of himself.

He reaches out a thin, pale hand, to shake on the deal. He sees my nails, which are bitten, chipped and stained with ink, and speaks superciliously:

'But if this is to be believable - and if it isn't I doubt your conditions will be met -you'll need to smarten up. Would anyone think I could countenance someone with this little regard for personal hygiene?'

There, see, that's the Draco you know and hate.

But I have this weird sense, like he's suddenly changed. Like whoever just said yes to me in that aching voice has gone and this has taken his place.

So we do shake hands. It's the first time I touched his skin since…

Why did you always think his skin would be cold as a vampire's? It's so warm…

He meets my eyes only briefly, then walks away towards the Lake. At the near bank he flops onto the grass, lying on his back staring at the sky, unmoving.

I hope he doesn't fall asleep and burn his skin…

I leave with a feeling of triumph. Harry will see how little I need him. Harry will see what I can do. Harry will see, in fact, what I've done in his absence - except that this will be a charade of the truth.

It'll be how it should have happened. Draco and I getting together, briefly, before I leave him in contempt.

But that did happen, didn't it? I left because I didn't want him to hurt me, because I * knew * this was how he would be to me.

But then, you thought you * knew * you fancied Harry. You thought Harry * was * Harry.

As I re-enter the School and start walking along the corridors I hear two Slytherin third-years talking. And I admit, I listen, because I figure: know your enemy.

The first speaks:

'Look, Stanley, do you know what's up with Malfoy?'

'He's a stupid git, if you ask me. He's finally old enough to join the Dark Order, and could have done by now, with his connections, but has he taken advantage of them? No. He's not his Father's son.'

'My brother's in his year, he says that Malfoy used to be like this god in Slytherin. He was the cruellest and most ruthless we've ever known, apparently. He went around with the old Quidditch Captain - Marcus Flint.'

'Frederick's brother?'

'Yeah, him, anyway, the point is they were, like, * perfect * y'know, ruled the school, and then apparently Malfoy just flipped. He threatened to stop playing Quidditch, and he wouldn't let anyone talk about You-Know-Who any more. He still seems like a cruel bastard to me though.'

(This was said with some admiration.)

'He's mean alright. Did you hear what he said about my robes?'

'Well, they are kind of pink, you shouldn't let your Mum wash them with the socks again.'

'Shut up, Ferdinand! But why is Malfoy like this now? I mean, he just sits in the Common Room hissing at people who come near his chair and slinking off to god-knows-where. And these past few days it's been even worse - he looks like death. I was so pleased when I heard he might be responsible for the whole 'accident' thing, but I don't think he can be. He's so withdrawn.'

'Look, I don't know about Malfoy's mind and I don't want to know, but I heard from my brother that he got mad with Flint because…'

Here the second speaker lowers his voice and whispers in the other's ear. Then both gasp in horror and give a kind of nervous laugh.

They're second years! What could they possibly know about good and Dark and how people's minds work?

Like I can realistically see Draco hunched in some armchair! Some stupid overstuffed one like in our Common Room, staring into the fire just like me, just as scared, with the leather dark and stained with buried tears.

Not that green leather would darken in the same way of course.

And now I can see Draco in a sea of green again, and this is a very bad thing because I really need to concentrate in my next lesson.

Oh well, only two weeks until the Ball, and then I can leave this whole mess behind.

~~***~~

After Divination I'm wandering down the stairs from the tower, slightly behind the others as I dropped my bag and spilt everything on the way out, when I happen to glance out of the window.

It overlooks the lake, and I can see him. He's still there, forty minutes later. He isn't asleep though - he's sitting on the bank, casting pebbles into the water and making them jump along the surface. The splashes sparkle in the sun, and the lake is covered in delicate ripples.

And he just throws, and throws, like at that moment that's all there is in life. Then he suddenly pulls off his robes and dives into the smooth, cool, blue-green water. After a few seconds he surfaces, shaking his hair like a dog to get the water off, wiping his face with his hands, gasping from the cold, and dripping wet and naked and just so…

…For the first time I'm understanding that Draco's * alive * and passionate, and that, for all of everything, he's seventeen just like me, and seventeen is a hell of a lot smaller when you get there than what it appears at eleven. Sometimes I've wanted to just jump into that lake and relish the cold shock of sensation, but I've never done it.

He pulls on the robes again, and runs a hand briefly through his hair, trying to squeeze out the water. Then, to my surprise, he runs a hand angrily over his eyes…

…Suddenly I feel like I shouldn't be watching him like this, spying, peeping, whatever. So I turn to walk downstairs, but I have to wait, because for a few moments I can't see past the bright sun-image burned onto my eyelids - red spots dance before me, always floating just out of focus, and the stair before me seems to lead to total darkness.

~~***~~

The next time I saw Draco Malfoy was in Potions, in which he pinched my behind when I bent over to get something. Then there was Herbology, where he winked and indicated the back of the greenhouses with his head. I walked with him there after class, to maintain the illusion. We waited there in silence, not looking at other, for a few minutes. Then he mechanically put one hand in his hair and ruffled it slightly for effect and started walking away.

'This is… going good.' I had to say something. I had to make myself feel less like a punter.

He didn't look round. He just left, striding out and swinging his hips as he always does when he walks. I was annoyed, but this was what I needed. This was what I needed to feel for him.

One week three days to go.

When I'm with him I can see in his face the same eyes that saw my tatty robes and the same mouth that sang cruel songs about me during Quidditch.

But you can't read his mind. You never could.

Actions are the products of thoughts. It that was what he did what did he imagine doing? I have too many memories of him to let a look, a feeling, a random sensation outweigh what I know.

What do you know? What do you really know about other people?

The hardest part is negotiating rendezvous spots, since although ostensibly we're spending more time together than ever, I don't really want to talk to him or he to me. I realised we would need a regular spot, so, for the past few days, we've started disappearing to the Owlery after dinner. The second time he actually brought a book to pass the time as we sat in the stench of the owls and their soft, companionable hooting.

I watch them, snuggling up to each other and preening their feathers. Calm and happy and seemingly unaware of our presence.

I watch the top of his head as he bends over his book.

I watch the second hand on my watch slowly go round.

Six days, five hours and two minutes to go.

I watch the stars.

And I can see myself getting used to this, almost getting comfortable, attuned to his breathing and sometimes forgetting his presence for a few moments, feeling comfortable and familiar…

Except...sometimes, in lessons, he looks at me - as we planned he would but…but even so I can hardly breathe.

I never knew before, you see, when he looked at me, that he wanted me. And he's had me now, and so I know it's irrational to think this, but he looks the same. Like he wants me. Like he * hasn't * forgotten what happened that night. Like when he sees me what he also sees is…

And, I mean, it's * every * day. OK? I can't go all that time feeling…like that and not do something. His face is in my mind, because it has to be, because that's the plan…Because when I remember him it feels so much better than my cold hand, and I have to get through somehow, because every time I wake up hot and flustered in the night I hear silent voices that smile and say 'Mmmmm, hey…' So I reach out to the phantoms and I think of him and I…

I can't * not * think of him. And this way I control it.

Only for four more days

So what, right? This isn't anything. Just what I always knew - Draco is really quite attractive. So what? It's just an image, a transient thing, it won't last. Like in a porn magazine. Distant and detached and totally outside of anything warm and loving. Just like him.

~~***~~

People have already noticed, they always do. Even as they argue and worry over their own arrangements for the Ball they've started to talk and then to stop talking as I enter the room. Most of them have heard how I went to Dumbledore and defended Draco, and most of them are now regarding me in the light of that more than of my sexual preferences, which could be good or bad depending on one's perspective. I can see Harry's puzzled, I can see that he's worrying that he's pushed me into full-on psychosis.

And, frankly, I could care less.

I don't have time to be bothered about Harry right now, my lessons are really difficult, with NEWTs so soon, and even though I resigned from the Quidditch team at the beginning of the year I still help out at the practices, so that takes up time. So I'm stressed, naturally…

But there's more, if I'm honest…

…I'm worried about Draco.

It's not…anything. It's just, he seems wrong to me. I mean, I know I haven't been exactly nice to him, but I always knew he could take it, because it's how he is. He wouldn't care, I knew that - I couldn't hurt him.

And now, something or someone has hurt him, and I find I don't want him to be hurt. I can't imagine what the matter is, what's changed, but I know he's withdrawn, and distant like he never used to be, even though he was…

Oh god, this makes no sense…

He was always like, * shining *, even if it was with his own arrogance. And he isn't now, he's…I think he's unhappy. Because once he would have ripped me apart, it's such a good opportunity right now- seeing me so often. I couldn't really stop him if he did, since I'm the one who wants this arrangement.

But he hasn't. Except when I ask him something and he answers in that aggressive/defensive way of his he hasn't made a single comment. He hasn't teased me over how he'll behave. He just goes along…I can't see in him anymore that boy who dived into the Lake naked in broad daylight…

I see him and I see the dark marks under his eyes and I worry. I worry that his parents have done something new, or that he's discovered something new from Flint.

The funny thing is that I've heard around the school that his behaviour to everyone else has got even worse. That he's the bane of the Lower School and reduces first-years to tears on sight. Those bloody Slytherins Stanley and Ferdinand seem over-the-moon that he's their role model again.

I don't know what's going on with him.

Only two days to find out in, only two days left…

I do know he doesn't have anyone to talk to. I think I probably understand him better than anyone does, even though I realise every day how little I know about him. I think I'm the only one who can see he's hurting. He doesn't have any friends. Not like I do…did. I mean, there's Crabbe and Goyle, but who'd go to them? Besides, he'd never around them any more. Or Millicent, or any of the Slytherins. And they seem to be avoiding him.

So whatever he's told them about…this - you - the set-up, it hasn't made him look good…

I never wanted to * hurt * him.

Well * you * didn't hurt him. Didn't we establish that? You were certain your actions would leave him cold. You were certain he could care less what you did. You knew he didn't feel emotions like everyone else…

I watch him in lessons, trying to get a clue as to what's wrong.

I can't sleep for hypothesising everything that could have happened.

I can't sit in my favourite armchair any more, because when I do I feel like I can see through the bricks and the hangings and the night and all the way to Slytherin Tower, where he'll be sitting, hunched up, staring into the fire…

And when I, y'know…when I think of him…late at night…when I…I don't just want him any more…I want to touch him, to caress him, to make him smile…Just to make him smile again, just once.

I know I could, I know I have, I wish I could remember how I did.

I just can't stand to see him sad, that's all.

~~***~~

I want to say something. That evening he comes to the Owlery as usual, at around six thirty. He's carrying his book, and his eyes are downcast, averted from mine. This is normal. We both always act like the other isn't actually there, except on the rare occasions that someone walks past or comes in. I suddenly notice that he isn't particularly short any more - I mean, he's shorter than I am still, but he's grown, and I haven't much.

I just always thought he was short. I guess I saw him that way too, because it was how I thought he was. I can't believe I never saw this before…

Figuring now is as good a time as any I clear my throat:

'Draco, are you, um, OK? It's just, you look…tired.'

He glares at me, and closes his book. It's funny; I think he looks somewhat embarrassed as he speaks:

'What is it Weasley? Worried that I won't be your perfect evil toyboy? Don't bug yourself - By the Ball I'll have all the 'accessories'… And I've got spells that'll cover blemishes right up. You'd know about them, I suppose, if your mother could afford them for her brats.'

And I'm * that * close to hitting him, or storming off, or yelling. And inside I'm like 'Toyboy'? 'Toyboy'? What the fuck is he on about? I even step closer to him and open my mouth to speak and really let out some vitriol…

…when I'm cut off by him leaning forwards and swallowing my words into his own mouth, as he presses his lips against mine…

…Oh…Oh dear god…How the * hell * did I forget this, how could I have forgotten this? How could anyone forget Draco Malfoy - heat and slick and baking soda toothpaste - pressing into them and just * into * them and how in the name of Merlin could I have forgotten this? If his tongue feels this good in my mouth it must feel so fucking * good * elsewhere, and I know I must have had that and I can't * remember * and what is wrong with me? How in the hell did I forget?..

…and once more I'm kissing Draco Malfoy in surprise and shock, and knowing that I could probably struggle harder if I wanted to. I can't help sliding a hand into his hair, and I feel his arm around my waist.

One arm. Only one, because?

Because, as I see when I open my eyes, his other hand is raised in one-finger salute to the entire Hufflepuff Quidditch team, who're passing the Owlery on the way to practice…

Oh.

I fall away from him, ungracefully, breathing too fast and terribly aware of how flushed I am. He shifts back slightly, his mouth hanging slightly open and his eyes glazed, but he's frowning. He seems to speak with an effort:

'Yeah, break the effect, Weasley.'

'What the fuck was that?' I can't seem to speak, I can feel an awful sensation in the pit of my stomach…it's all that fear returning and swiftly. I feel…I can't describe it…Like he just saw me naked or something, so horribly, horribly vulnerable.

'It wouldn't be exactly convincing for them to see us arguing would it? I had to stop you hitting me. I don't want this deal to be broken remember.'

'I wouldn't. I mean, it wouldn't have been your fault. I wouldn't have blamed you if it had gone wrong, I wouldn't have gone to Dumbledore again. I'm not like that.'

'Just put on your fucking clothes and let's get out of here.'

I flinch. I've been trying to repress what I said that morning…But it sounds so much worse from him than ever in my memory.

I get a brief flash of green sheets, white skin, blonde hair and a smile. The only smile I've ever seen him give.

Did I really swear at him? Did I really sound that dismissive?

I pick up the jacket he's referring to and try to ignore the blush that still spreads over my face. He doesn't look exactly composed himself. Something strange is going on. When this whole mess began he was in charge, then I somehow took over, and now neither of us seems to have the upper hand…Which freaks me out. I can feel the fear returning and I speak hastily, wanting to restore the status quo, worried about the plan:

'Whatever.' Like I don't get what he meant, like I don't even remember that morning.

It's safer like this. It's easier like this.

And he flinches as I walk away…

No it's not.

~~***~~

There are times when you just wish you were still eleven - back when girls were aliens, boys were a fellow-species of monkey and everything other than sweets and Quidditch was unworthy of attention.

Times like when you're sweaty-palmed and freaked out and practically demolishing your ticket folding and re-folding it, terrified and excited and waiting just * waiting * for someone to turn up for you.

The Main Hall is decorated in some subtle way to be like an undersea cavern. The light is dim and blue and ripples like waves, some charm allows hazy images of exotic fish to stream past our heads, and all the dancing partners almost seem to float. The atmosphere is pretty intense as it is…

And then Draco enters and it's like my vision almost narrows - all I can see is him, his face, his movements. I can't help staring.

Because you know you've got about five minutes left to stare in.

He walks over to me, and holds out his hand. I take it and he guides me to dance floor.

I put my arms around him, and I can see we're getting few onlookers, although it's to the credit of the atmosphere that most of the couples are too absorbed in each other to really register us.

Just my luck to get a slow number.

He leans into my neck, and I can feel his hot breath. He smells…how I can describe it without sounding facetious?…He smells of green sheets, and hangovers, and warmth, and fear and bicarbonate of soda toothpaste.

I thought that by this point I've have to keep repeating to myself that the whole damn business is almost over, but I find I want to keep that fact as far to the back of my mind as possible.

Maybe three minutes left…two minutes fifty-nine seconds…

I wish more than ever before, more than I've ever wished for anything, that I could just remember that night. Because then I might be able to remember if he was nice, if he was kind, if maybe I had him wrong.

I've been thinking all day, I've been thinking all through the days ever since he kissed me in the Owlery. And I think I've figured some stuff out. I think I've made some mistakes.

I * know * that there isn't one person in this room, or indeed on the Planet, that I'd rather be dancing with.

We move slowly to the music, I put a hand in his hair, so soft and pale, and he shivers slightly.

I don't fear him. How could I have thought that I did? He wouldn't hurt me. I should have realised that after he helped me. I just felt so ashamed, worried about what Harry would think. And Harry - I think I over-reacted to him as well. And Hermione. Because then I was really guilty about Draco, and I wanted someone to blame.

Oh god, I've really messed up haven't I?

But I can't seem to worry. I can't seem to feel that drop and pressure of fear and depression.

Because I feel Draco's heartbeat, I can feel his hair under my fingers, I can feel his warmth through my clothes, and I don't need anything else. I don't need anything but this.

Five

The music ends.

Four

He pulls back, and narrows his eyes at me, and I want to say 'Stop' because I know what happens next - we practically scripted it together:

OK, Malfoy, I'll say 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?' and you'll reply, 'Don't you know, kid?'

But my throat won't make the words.

Three

No, Ron, You'll say 'Are you seeing someone else?' and I'll say 'Does it matter? You're still getting it.'

He's staring at me, waiting for me to speak, widening his eyes to try and prompt me.

No, I'll say 'Why can't it always be like this?' and you'll say 'Because I deserve some pleasure in this relationship too you know.'

All those ways we thought of breaking up, when we knew just how to hurt each other already, instinctively.

Two

And there he stands waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to put the last step of my plan into action, waiting for me to en-act my life as I thought I always wanted it.

But I don't. I don't want it. And I don't speak…

One

It's all supposed to finish now.

The music for the next dance starts and I hold out my hand to him, waiting to see if he will take it…

~~~

…Part seven soon…*g*