Disclaimer: I own none of these lovely characters...or anything for that matter.


Thanks so everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story and for everyone who gave me the much needed advice!
I hope you enjoy the last chapter and I hope the ending suffices!






I can still feel his touch as if it had been burnt into my skin. It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't stop placing a hand where he touched me, reveling in the memory. I've always wanted to touch him, the feeling is almost overwhelming when he's near me. But I haven't touched him yet. No. Instead he reached out and caressed my skin. He ran his fingers over my bare skin making me almost weak with desire. Now, more than ever, I want him to touch me again. My skin sears under his touch and it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt.


I can't get enough of him. The past week, since we met in the Prefect's Bathroom, I can't stop watching him. Usually I can control it. It became second nature to simply force my gaze elsewhere. But now it's impossible. I'm praying no one has noticed the change in my behaviour. It's lucky the people I spend the most time with are too dense to even understand what 'behavioural change' means.


Potions was the worst. I couldn't help turning around and watching him cut his ingredients, taking notes, stirring his potions. Watching the fingers which had touched me so sensually. Watching his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he tried to make the potion correctly. I noticed in one lesson that he wasn't cutting his wolfsbane properly and I was almost bursting to go to him, drape my arms over his shoulders, put my hands over his and guide him. I wonder if he would push me away? Pretend to be revolted. I have no idea how he'd react under the watchful eye of our classmates. Not that I would really do it. I'm sure it would result in my fellow Slytherins being guilty of grievous bodily harm if they saw me do that. Not to mention what Snape would do. The fact that I actually helped Potter, rather than me practically hugging him, would make Snape positively irate.


But the week hasn't brought any opportunities for me to be alone with Potter. Occasionally I catch him staring at me and its a great battle to fight back the blush that threatens to creep into my cheeks. We haven't had any fights or arguments since I sent him that letter. Particularly this week. I haven't even had the chance to send little digs in Weasley and Granger's direction. I hope they haven't noticed. I hope no one has noticed. I have an explanation worked out already though. It's quite simple really. I don't want to waste my precious time and energy on them. They don't deserve it. And thats all I'll say. That's all I need to say.


I'm up early again on Saturday morning. I force the horrible images playing in my mind away and crawl out of bed. Today I have a reason to be up this early. It's Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor. Quidditch. I love flying. I always have. I think the best present my Father tried to buy my loyalty with was a broomstick. It gave me the most enjoyment anyway.


I know that I'll need ample time today to psyche myself up, to prepare, so I'm not begrudging the fact that I'm awake this early. I wonder if I'll be able to concentrate on the Snitch with him flying around. He's the reason I've never caught the Snitch before him. My attention seems to be consumed by watching him fly. Watching the graceful movements which he executes with perfect precision. But today I feel it may be considerably worse.


I enter the Great Hall alone and move swiftly to my seat at the Slytherin table. There are only a few other students seated this early. Mostly first years, who else would be daft enough to be up this early? As if answering my silent question the large wooden doors swing open and a tired looking Harry Potter slouches across the room to the Gryffindor table. Most of the students turn to watch him as he sits down, me included. But I don't watch him for the same reasons as the pathetic Hufflepuff first years. He pulls a piece of toast onto his plate and watches it apprehensively for about a minute before pushing his plate away. It's humbling to know he still gets nervous before a Quidditch match. Or is it perhaps the same reason I am feeling somewhat nervous? Not just the Quidditch game, but who I'll be sharing the pitch with.


Students begin pouring into the Hall and I'm soon surrounded by my team mates. I let Blaise Zabini take the role of Captain at the beginning of the year and he's now talking enthusiastically beside me, reminding the team of our strategies and game plan. I force my gaze away from the Gryffindor table and stare down at my empty plate, willing myself to pay attention to my Captain. A Seeker doesn't really need to take in the team strategies as much as the other players because usually we just concentrate on the one task...catching the elusive Golden Snitch.


I rise from the table, hoisting my Firebolt X series over my shoulder. My gaze is drawn to the Gryffindor table one last time before I leave the Hall and to my great pleasure I find a pair of emerald eyes lock with mine. Everything around me seems to disappear, my whole world becomes deathly silent as I look into his green depths. The emotions in his eyes are to intense to hold down and label, so I don't even try and simply loose myself in an ocean of green. The distance between us doesn't seem to exist as I'm drawn further into his gaze. It feels like I'm close enough to reach out and touch him. A small smile flickers over his lips causing my stomach to do back flips. My knees feel weak and it seems the only thing holding me up is those eyes.


A hand clapping down on my shoulder brings me crashing back down to earth. I turn abruptly to Zabini and am lead out of the Hall with the rest of my team.


The conditions for Quidditch are perfect. The sky is overcast meaning vision will be good as the sun won't be blinding me. However the lack of light means the Snitch may be harder to find as it won't be glistening in the sunlight. A slight breeze ruffles our robes as we make our way to the change rooms.


My stomach knots up as I slip into my Quidditch robes. I'm feeling jumpy with anticipation to get out on the pitch and see him again. But I'm also feeling very apprehensive about this game. Apprehensive about him being there. Zabini drones on, trying his best at a motivational speech. Motivation is not what I need. If my team is going to win I need to put some sort of repellent charm on Potter so my eyes won't be forced to watch him constantly.


It's a real pity I can't think of a charm because as soon as I fly onto the pitch my eyes are instantly drawn to his scarlet robes flapping lightly in the wind as he hovers a few metres above the ground. I'm grateful there is a reason for me staring at him. He is my opposition. The students and Professors are used to me watching him on the Quidditch pitch. They seem to think that's my game strategy. But really I could be searching for the Snitch myself but I find it much more exhilarating to watch him fly. Watch him search for the Snitch.


The whistle is blown, the balls are released and the game begins to a tumultuous roar from the crowd. I take off at top speed, bent low over my broom and shoot upwards through the air. It's easier to keep an eye on things when situated above the game. My eyes flicker over the players below me, soon finding a black mop of hair. He's circling the pitch a couple of metres below me. Deciding this is a good idea I take off once again and begin circling the pitch in the opposite direction. The only problem with watching him constantly is that it becomes infinitely harder to avoid bludgers. I don't fancy being bruised and bloodied by a bludger so I try desperately to keep my eyes on the game while continuing to search for a flicker of gold.


As we continue to circle the pitch the inevitable happens and we pass closely by each other, which does make it almost impossible to keep my eyes on anything but him. He slows his broom, almost to a halt as he approaches me for the third time and just stares straight at me. Straight into my eyes. My grip tightens on my broom handle, not wanting to get caught up in the moment and slip off my broom. He smiles almost shyly at me before his eyes avert and catch on something behind me. He lowers his body over his broom and he propels forwards, rushing passed me as he continues his circling of the pitch.


Perhaps this is one of his tactics? Render me helpless by smiling at me during a Quidditch game. If it is, his plan is succeeding in every possible way. But why would he, of all people, need to sink to such tactics when it's highly unlikely that he'll ever loose? Unless of course a dementor runs out on the field.


It's an evenly matched game, as most Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor games are. It's about half an hour into the game and I let my attention flicker to the booming voice that consumes the stands. "Another goal to Gryffindor, they lead Slytherin 110 to 90." Finnigan's commentating rarely interferes with my game, but right now I'm looking for any distraction from the green-eyed golden boy currently flying closely in front of me.


Anyone would think that the competitiveness streak that comes out in most Malfoy's would have me more than engrossed in finding the Snitch. I would like to win. I would love to win. My team would love to win but I can't for the life of me get him out of my head. It's like some sort of treacherous disease. And I've been living with this god-awful disease for as many years as I've been at Hogwarts. At first the disease was hatred, at least I thought it was hatred. Then I realised it was something quite different. Something more than hatred. Something that I really shouldn't feel. But I do. And there's not one thing I can do about it.


Thinking these things isn't really what one should be doing in the middle of a Quidditch match so I stop to hover in midair and watch the game unfold below me. There hasn't been a glimpse of the Golden Snitch as of yet, not by me or the other Golden one gracing the pitch today. I ignore the blatantly biased commentary of Finnigan and focus my attention on all players except him. It's a lot harder than it sounds as he continues to fly around, searching for the Snitch, constantly dragging my attention to him. I wonder if he's aware of what he's doing to me right now? Probably not. He seems to be too focused on the game to even realise what I'm doing, which of course is keeping a watchful eye on him. But he hasn't seen the Snitch yet, not a single sighting, and with the fine conditions today it is a rarity. He should have really caught it by now. Perhaps there is something out here distracting him from the task at hand?


Shaking my wishful thinking from my mind I urge my broom forwards not wanting to be stationary for too long which would most definitely result in a tirade from Zabini. I drive my broom downwards, dropping 10 feet as a bludger comes hurtling my way. It whizzes passed me and continues along it's haphazard path towards the opposite side of the pitch. I watch as Potter executes a series of graceful loops, avoiding the same bludger that had been sent my way. It's admirable really, the way he flys. Every single person here today should feel extremely grateful to be graced with such exquisite flying. Witnessing Harry Potter fly is definitely a sight to behold.


We remain on opposite ends of the pitch for sometime but the distance between us doesn't deter my eyes from finding him. Watching him with nothing but respect and adoration. It's strange how it took nearly 7 years for me to realise how amazing he is. And it's not just because of that retched scar that taints his forehead. But because of what's in his heart. In his soul.


I'm still thinking of him, watching him, when I see the tiniest flutter of golden wings out of the corner of my eye. My head snaps to the side to find the Golden Snitch hovering barely 20 metres from me. My seeker reflexes instantly kick in and I'm flying towards it before I even realise what I'm doing. I know Potter is still on the other side of the pitch as I only just had my eyes on him. This could be it. This could be when I finally beat Harry Potter.


The Snitch evades capture by darting upwards when I am only 2 metres from it. I pull at my broom handle, loving the feeling of the wind whipping at my face as I surge upwards, hot on its trail with one thought in the back of my mind; I wonder if he's seen it yet? I force myself to concentrate on the tiny golden ball in front of me, willing myself not to think of him now. Anytime but now. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but I don't think they've realised what I've seen. The roar is because Gryffindor just scored another goal, which certainly helps in spurring me on even more.


My whole world is focused on the flicker of gold and I'm mere inches away from holding the illustrious Snitch in my hand when I feel a stab of pain searing through my side. The wind is knocked out of me and I'm thrown sideways. A second stab of pain hits me before I have time to re-balance and my broom falls from beneath me. A collective gasp from the crowd is the last thing I hear before I begin falling to the ground.


The wind rushes around my body and I feel an awful sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the ground moving towards me at an incredibly fast rate. I am grateful for the height I was at when I was knocked off my broom because it will take longer for me to make contact the with ground. But at the same time, falling from such a height will not be helpful if I want to continue living.


Before I have time to register any other thoughts I feel a strong arm tighten around my waist. I'm not entirely sure if it belongs to me, trying in a feeble attempt to comfort myself before I fall to an early death. Then I'm jolted forward and I abruptly stop falling. My legs dangle in midair and I feel myself being lowered slowly to the ground.


My eyes refuse to open but feeling my feet firmly touching the ground is somewhat of a comforter. My knees go weak trying to support my weight but the arm that is still clutching at my waist holds me steady. As curiosity overtakes me I slowly pry open my eyes, searching for whoever is attached to the arm that has a firm hold on me.


Frightened, concerned, emerald eyes are all I see when my eyes finally open and my whole world seems to be consumed by whats in front of me. Realisation hasn't hit me yet that I just free fell over a hundred feet. That I was plummeting to a likely death. The shock and adrenalin coursing through my body masks any pain I should be feeling.


What does finally hit me though, is that the arm still clamped around my waist belongs to one Harry Potter. He looks ruffled. His hair messier than usual and his face seems to be drained of most its colour. As another realisation suddenly dawns upon me I feel as if I'm going to pass out from the joy that instantly washes over me.


I feel my heart jump into my mouth as I realise he's still holding me close to him. The roar of the crowd has somewhat dampened and I know every pair of eyes is focused on us. Probably waiting for me to lash out at him. Throw a tirade of insults at him. Waiting for a repeat of what happened two years ago in this exact same place. I always tend to disappoint a crowd of people and today is no exception. But I don't care. I don't care about any of them. The only thing I care about is that his arm is still wound tightly around me. That his eyes are watching me with concern and compassion, something I've never seen before. Everything slowly fades into nothingness except those mesmerizing emerald eyes.


He caught me. He saved me. But why?


I swallow hard, willing my vocal chords to work.


"Why'd you catch me?" My voice is barely a whisper but his gaze doesn't waver as he looks at me intently. A smile erupts over his lips and his eyes twinkle at me from behind his black mop of hair.


"Because I know how much you hate falling."


I feel dizzy. Dizzy because he caught me. Dizzy because he saved me, and not just from that fall either. Dizzy because he knows I hate falling. Dizzy because his lips just brushed against mine.


Soft full lips pressing down on mine. For the first time I surrender to the urge to touch him. The feeling of wanting him close, oh so close, is overwhelming and my arms loop around his waist, drawing him nearer. Our bodies fit together like he is the missing piece of the puzzle that is my life.


His tongue slides over my bottom lip seeking out entrance. I tremble involuntarily and eagerly comply, deepening our kiss, surrendering my body to him. Surrendering my everything.


His ever so tempting hair that I no longer have to resist is softer than I ever imagined. The feel of it finally skimming through my fingers, his hand cupping my cheek gently stroking down to the sensitive skin of my neck, our lips joined, his tongue caressing my own is enough to send me over...


The ironic thing is, it's now that I continue falling....


End.