by Perr - being sick sucks.
Draco's POV
As far as I know, Honeydukes seems to be my place of interest right now. It might be a little late for me to grow myself a sweet tooth, but I'm feeling definitely not going to stop myself from grabbing things off the shelf by the handful.
Each wooden shelf is lined neatly, fully stocked, and divided equally into two by an imaginary line for two separate kinds of confectionery. Tops are chocolates, bottoms are sweets, and there are about six of these five- tiered shelves stretching from one end of the shop to the other. Honeydukes is no way any smaller than it looks on the outside.
I look at a basket of lollipops at the end of the shelves, right at the bottom, stashed away. They're wrapped in clear cellophane and I have an itch to pick at the weak wire bind keeping it together. A tag on the basket says, Not for children. Hmm.
Someone pushes himself to the front of me and makes an effort to cover it all up. "You're not supposed to be looking at these," a big, burly man says. Obviously, I did not notice the rest of the candy around it; Amazing Ambrosia, Black Sugar Caramels (apparently to get someone in the mood), Strawberrysomethings and some other sugary concoctions meant for bedroom parties. What can I say, I forgot to look at the tags that said 'Adults Only'.
My brows are raised when I turn around. Crabbe looks at the display and shrugs. Maybe I'll come back later to see what things I can sneak into my pockets.
I walk towards glass panel half-filled with butterscotch beetles, wicker toffee and neatly-packed boxes of chocolate frogs, under New Arrivals. None of these pique my interest except for Bertie Bott's, lemon sherbets and good ol' plain Muggle-brand Cadbury chocolate.
Before I can reach for the boxes and bars, a hand grabs my wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Potter." There's a stern look on his face, and I try to lose his hold, but I can't. He squeezes even tighter in response, which makes my mind go tick-tick.
Too many people around. Can't be seen like this!
Stupid thoughts are coming back to me. His glare is so penetrating, it practically screams his message, WE HAVE TO TALK, but I can't talk. I can't bring myself to. I'm not saying anything. I'm not admitting that I've got the hots for him---
---which is not the point that I just did.
"If you want to talk proper," I pry his fingers from my arm forcefully, "you're going to do it in a place where it won't ruin us both. Now go away." His face is plastered with slight pain. I almost apologise for it, but then I pass him a look of my own instead.
We speak no further.
To be rightfully honest, being so cold to him a lot of the time, is hard.
I feel fucking horrible.
Dinner isn't as forgiving either.
It's roasted chestnuts and trout, beside it, a plate of chicken again. Pumpkin juice is in my cup; I can't be bothered to change it. I'm eating slowly, being watched by Miss Parkinson and Mr. Potter.
Well, no prizes for guessing who my eyes are on, but it's so unbelievable that the entire world isn't looking at him now. He's licking his lips and sucking his fingers, and no one has any idea of what it does to me. I wonder if he's doing everything on purpose.
The pad of his thumb parts from his lips and I reckon the sound coming from it would be like that of a kiss. Then his head turns and
he talks to a girl.
It isn't Granger, this girl is one whom I've never seen before, or at least, never bothered to notice, until now. And you know what pisses me off most about it?
He looks at me at the corner of his emerald greens knowingly, proceeding to burst out in almost genuine (but convincing) laughter. The girl speaks, and then ---he can't possibly be faking THIS, to my disappointment--- he blushes, rosy red rising to his cheeks.
"C'mon Draco, eat up," Pansy encourages. "Don't make me feed you."
My head snaps to my right to stare. One last glance to Potter pushes me to an out-of-this-world decision, "Do it."
"What?" Goyle says with his mouth full. His brow is raised, as if he's hard of hearing.
Pansy also gives me a did-you-just-tell-me-to-feed-you look. There's a bit of a fluster, and then she quite gladly says, "Ok."
I definitely do NOT know what I'm thinking. I don't bother to see Potter's reaction because this requires intricate Malfoy care for it to work. Slim fingers pick a silver spoon from my hand. A quarter of the Slytherin table watches carefully. Gods, this makes me feel like I'm in a really bad porno.
She digs it into something on her plate that closely resembles bangers and mash. The spoon lifts to my lips, I open up and she ends up pulling out an empty spoon from my mouth, with utmost satisfaction. My lips automatically quirk up into a smile that's bound to make Potter pissed off quietly, as Blaise mouths at the same time, "Get a room."
"Hmm," I say, leaning back onto my chair and swallowing the spoonful. Maybe I look exceptionally happy, or relaxed to say the least, but all I'm feeling inside is a torrent battle to stop the start of an already formulated plan. I remain senseless as I speak to myself in silent, incoherent babble.
You get the 'senseless' part?
Dear Harry looks terribly displeased, as expected. He glares ferally and a little sexed up emotion crawls up my spine. Ha.
However, he counterattacks by leaning a little too closely to let the girl whisper into his ear. Can I throw up now?
I'm not jealous. Just in slight pain.
Ok, I'll raise a white flag for now. Like they always say, you may have won the battle, but you haven't won the war.
And since he's trying to play this little game with me, I'm going to prove him that two can play at this game,
And I'm going to win.
Draco's POV
As far as I know, Honeydukes seems to be my place of interest right now. It might be a little late for me to grow myself a sweet tooth, but I'm feeling definitely not going to stop myself from grabbing things off the shelf by the handful.
Each wooden shelf is lined neatly, fully stocked, and divided equally into two by an imaginary line for two separate kinds of confectionery. Tops are chocolates, bottoms are sweets, and there are about six of these five- tiered shelves stretching from one end of the shop to the other. Honeydukes is no way any smaller than it looks on the outside.
I look at a basket of lollipops at the end of the shelves, right at the bottom, stashed away. They're wrapped in clear cellophane and I have an itch to pick at the weak wire bind keeping it together. A tag on the basket says, Not for children. Hmm.
Someone pushes himself to the front of me and makes an effort to cover it all up. "You're not supposed to be looking at these," a big, burly man says. Obviously, I did not notice the rest of the candy around it; Amazing Ambrosia, Black Sugar Caramels (apparently to get someone in the mood), Strawberrysomethings and some other sugary concoctions meant for bedroom parties. What can I say, I forgot to look at the tags that said 'Adults Only'.
My brows are raised when I turn around. Crabbe looks at the display and shrugs. Maybe I'll come back later to see what things I can sneak into my pockets.
I walk towards glass panel half-filled with butterscotch beetles, wicker toffee and neatly-packed boxes of chocolate frogs, under New Arrivals. None of these pique my interest except for Bertie Bott's, lemon sherbets and good ol' plain Muggle-brand Cadbury chocolate.
Before I can reach for the boxes and bars, a hand grabs my wrist in a vice-like grip.
"Potter." There's a stern look on his face, and I try to lose his hold, but I can't. He squeezes even tighter in response, which makes my mind go tick-tick.
Too many people around. Can't be seen like this!
Stupid thoughts are coming back to me. His glare is so penetrating, it practically screams his message, WE HAVE TO TALK, but I can't talk. I can't bring myself to. I'm not saying anything. I'm not admitting that I've got the hots for him---
---which is not the point that I just did.
"If you want to talk proper," I pry his fingers from my arm forcefully, "you're going to do it in a place where it won't ruin us both. Now go away." His face is plastered with slight pain. I almost apologise for it, but then I pass him a look of my own instead.
We speak no further.
To be rightfully honest, being so cold to him a lot of the time, is hard.
I feel fucking horrible.
Dinner isn't as forgiving either.
It's roasted chestnuts and trout, beside it, a plate of chicken again. Pumpkin juice is in my cup; I can't be bothered to change it. I'm eating slowly, being watched by Miss Parkinson and Mr. Potter.
Well, no prizes for guessing who my eyes are on, but it's so unbelievable that the entire world isn't looking at him now. He's licking his lips and sucking his fingers, and no one has any idea of what it does to me. I wonder if he's doing everything on purpose.
The pad of his thumb parts from his lips and I reckon the sound coming from it would be like that of a kiss. Then his head turns and
he talks to a girl.
It isn't Granger, this girl is one whom I've never seen before, or at least, never bothered to notice, until now. And you know what pisses me off most about it?
He looks at me at the corner of his emerald greens knowingly, proceeding to burst out in almost genuine (but convincing) laughter. The girl speaks, and then ---he can't possibly be faking THIS, to my disappointment--- he blushes, rosy red rising to his cheeks.
"C'mon Draco, eat up," Pansy encourages. "Don't make me feed you."
My head snaps to my right to stare. One last glance to Potter pushes me to an out-of-this-world decision, "Do it."
"What?" Goyle says with his mouth full. His brow is raised, as if he's hard of hearing.
Pansy also gives me a did-you-just-tell-me-to-feed-you look. There's a bit of a fluster, and then she quite gladly says, "Ok."
I definitely do NOT know what I'm thinking. I don't bother to see Potter's reaction because this requires intricate Malfoy care for it to work. Slim fingers pick a silver spoon from my hand. A quarter of the Slytherin table watches carefully. Gods, this makes me feel like I'm in a really bad porno.
She digs it into something on her plate that closely resembles bangers and mash. The spoon lifts to my lips, I open up and she ends up pulling out an empty spoon from my mouth, with utmost satisfaction. My lips automatically quirk up into a smile that's bound to make Potter pissed off quietly, as Blaise mouths at the same time, "Get a room."
"Hmm," I say, leaning back onto my chair and swallowing the spoonful. Maybe I look exceptionally happy, or relaxed to say the least, but all I'm feeling inside is a torrent battle to stop the start of an already formulated plan. I remain senseless as I speak to myself in silent, incoherent babble.
You get the 'senseless' part?
Dear Harry looks terribly displeased, as expected. He glares ferally and a little sexed up emotion crawls up my spine. Ha.
However, he counterattacks by leaning a little too closely to let the girl whisper into his ear. Can I throw up now?
I'm not jealous. Just in slight pain.
Ok, I'll raise a white flag for now. Like they always say, you may have won the battle, but you haven't won the war.
And since he's trying to play this little game with me, I'm going to prove him that two can play at this game,
And I'm going to win.