He didn't think much of it when she didn't come to meet him after
classes that day. He never thought much of anything. Wasn't like it would
matter, not later on, anyhow. Because he'd be dead then. Dead, or in
Azkaban. But his first choice was death, and a Malfoy always got his first
choice.
He walked down the hallway, stopping at the loo to push his hair back. Straighten up, really, except he wasn't doing much straightening. The boy with the silver-gold hair always wanted to look messy. But he was pretty anyway. He knew it, and that was the reason he was the way he was. Part of the reason, anyway.
In the hallway between Potions and Charms he found her. Her cloak over her face, books gathered in her arms, bent into herself as if she didn't want anyone to notice her. It never occurred to him who exactly she didn't want to be noticed by, and that was why he strode into an empty classroom, drawing her with him. He was male; he didn't notice anything different. Didn't notice the tense quality the air suddenly had; didn't notice the shrillness of her voice when she tried to speak. "Draco," he didn't even hear her say, "we can't ... we shouldn't ..."
She never really wanted to cut class. He always wanted her to. They usually compromised with an occasional hallway meeting under pretense of getting a quill, or something equally unimportant. And then he'd try to get her to stay longer. Tried to get her to, later, say that she had been sick. That she went back to the dorms. Sorry, Professor McGonagall. I didn't think to tell you.
But she never really wanted to. Just like she never really wanted to do anything that he wanted her to do. Although she always did it anyway, just to please him, because if she lost him, she'd be alone. She needed him; he didn't need her, but he had her anyway. Because a Malfoy always had his way. And she wanted the same thing he did.
They were in the classroom, and she heard the bell ring. He heard nothing. Saw nothing, only her, only her face and a tear starting in the corner of her eye, meandering slowly down the side of her cheek. It was the fifth class she had missed this week. But he was a Malfoy, and a Malfoy always got what he wanted, so he reached out and traced its path, brushing it away and kissing her lips. She looked at him, and he could see the fear in her eyes because she never knew what to expect. Never knew when he might think her worthless, and toss her away like a shattered crystal ball, good for nothing more. Good for no future.
He wasn't the prince she had dreamed about when she was little. Or when she was older, for that matter. No one's prince was real, not anymore, but she had hoped for someone a bit decent. Not her. He was a mystery to her. Danger. Deceit. And she had liked that, at first. She had liked having someone who wasn't afraid to kiss her. Someone who wasn't scared of anything. She had thought he would protect her forever.
But now she was the scared one. Because she was being led against everything she believed in. And she didn't like it anymore. And she feared more and more every moment that he didn't care about her anymore. That he wouldn't protect her any longer. But she still liked the way he kissed her, though her anxiety showed in her eyes every time. She knew he was used to it by now. And he had never brought it up. He never had noticed. And he always got his way.
Because he was a Malfoy.
He walked down the hallway, stopping at the loo to push his hair back. Straighten up, really, except he wasn't doing much straightening. The boy with the silver-gold hair always wanted to look messy. But he was pretty anyway. He knew it, and that was the reason he was the way he was. Part of the reason, anyway.
In the hallway between Potions and Charms he found her. Her cloak over her face, books gathered in her arms, bent into herself as if she didn't want anyone to notice her. It never occurred to him who exactly she didn't want to be noticed by, and that was why he strode into an empty classroom, drawing her with him. He was male; he didn't notice anything different. Didn't notice the tense quality the air suddenly had; didn't notice the shrillness of her voice when she tried to speak. "Draco," he didn't even hear her say, "we can't ... we shouldn't ..."
She never really wanted to cut class. He always wanted her to. They usually compromised with an occasional hallway meeting under pretense of getting a quill, or something equally unimportant. And then he'd try to get her to stay longer. Tried to get her to, later, say that she had been sick. That she went back to the dorms. Sorry, Professor McGonagall. I didn't think to tell you.
But she never really wanted to. Just like she never really wanted to do anything that he wanted her to do. Although she always did it anyway, just to please him, because if she lost him, she'd be alone. She needed him; he didn't need her, but he had her anyway. Because a Malfoy always had his way. And she wanted the same thing he did.
They were in the classroom, and she heard the bell ring. He heard nothing. Saw nothing, only her, only her face and a tear starting in the corner of her eye, meandering slowly down the side of her cheek. It was the fifth class she had missed this week. But he was a Malfoy, and a Malfoy always got what he wanted, so he reached out and traced its path, brushing it away and kissing her lips. She looked at him, and he could see the fear in her eyes because she never knew what to expect. Never knew when he might think her worthless, and toss her away like a shattered crystal ball, good for nothing more. Good for no future.
He wasn't the prince she had dreamed about when she was little. Or when she was older, for that matter. No one's prince was real, not anymore, but she had hoped for someone a bit decent. Not her. He was a mystery to her. Danger. Deceit. And she had liked that, at first. She had liked having someone who wasn't afraid to kiss her. Someone who wasn't scared of anything. She had thought he would protect her forever.
But now she was the scared one. Because she was being led against everything she believed in. And she didn't like it anymore. And she feared more and more every moment that he didn't care about her anymore. That he wouldn't protect her any longer. But she still liked the way he kissed her, though her anxiety showed in her eyes every time. She knew he was used to it by now. And he had never brought it up. He never had noticed. And he always got his way.
Because he was a Malfoy.
