by Perr - sore throat equals no muse. :(

Draco's POV

By Thursday, every girl I've passed has given me a look, and every male I've crossed paths with has looked away wearily. I dearly pray that Blaise doesn't yap anything about whatever tryst I have with Potter, because I'd be in shit if he did. I'm sure when that happens, everyone's going to forget that I'd ever slept with girls.

I find out what the word really is when Goyle approaches me.

He says, "Are you ok?"

I reply, "Yes. Why?"

And he says, "Cuz Blaise told us you had a situation with someone."

"Who?"

Then he says, "I don't know. I thought that maybe you got beaten up or something. He said you looked disheveled and a lil' worn out."

So I say, "I dropped by for some quidditch."

"With the Gryffindors?"

I take awhile to reply. "Well, you know, after they were all done, I couldn't resist. You know that I'd love to beat those prats one day."

"Yeah, I wanna do that too," he agrees, but he seems unsure about the rest of what I've said. "Don't you think you've become a little obsessed with quidditch?"

I shrug. "It's relaxing."

"I don't think it'll be all that relaxing anymore," he says. "I heard that Marcus Flint wanted to come back and coach us, because he thought our team was getting sloppy."

I'm feeling slightly cornered, and I don't feel like talking to anyone anymore. "Look, Goyle... I think it's best that you not believe what the gossip presents. In the meantime, I think I'll get to class early." Textbook in hand, I take my leave.

"Hello."

I look up from my desk. It's Pansy. There is so much indifference inside myself, I could cry. The sex was a mistake; it's never made us any closer, it just seemed like it. Anything that I've ever liked about her seems distant as my reach for the sky. I suppose I did like her once. But now, I'm hoping that she's not actually in full-blown love with me, because I'm terrified of her.

I was never one for such deep sentiment.

Which forces me to think about Harry, because what I feel about him frightens me so much.

Parkinson sits beside me. I look around. "Where's Crabbe?

"We switched seats. Only for today." I breathe a sigh of relief. "I heard Blaise saying how you were snooping around looking for fun."

"Fun? No fun!"

Which is the case because everything about he and I is absolutely un-bloody-fun. It's far from fun. It's like when you're a girl in ancient China and you've got to break and bind your feet so you'd fit into society. It's one of the things that you have to do, and I don't have a choice with what my heart gives me. There's no fun in that!

"Which girl would you go for, Draco, if we broke up?"

"I wouldn't."

She narrows her eyes and raises her brow for a second. I realize that she might have deciphered my code. "It won't be someone outside our house, will it?"

"No, no."

We remain silent for the rest of the lesson.

When it's actually finished, she tugs on my sleeve. "Draco, you know, I think we're special."

Yeah, we're special as the many meanings of it can stretch. "We're ok." I scratch my neck and remember his touch. Sighing to the memory catches her attention.

"You're not telling me something," she says. I seriously don't care, and I look for my friends. Midway, I bump into Weasley, who passes me a half-grimace, half-suspicious look. Everyone seems to know a little something about me now, especially him. I hope Potter hasn't cries oceans to him about how sharp my words were. "Hello, Draco, I was talking to you."

"Sorry," I tell her. "I'm really not in the mood for conversation." At the corner of my eye, I spot Blaise weaving in and out of the crowd. He's following me, I'm sure of it. He needs to get a life. I don't even know what he wants with me. What does he get out of it?

"But you're just hearing me talk, so that doesn't count as a conversation exactly." I continue my footsteps, but she stands in front of me to stop my progress. "Let's get married."

"What?!"

"I'm serious, let's get married!"

"No, Pansy, no!" I say, flailing my arms. People leave a meter-long radius around us. "We're not getting married!"

"But I don't want to lose you."

I pinch the bridge of my nose and think, I'd definitely like to lose you.

"Look, if you'd trust me enough, we'd have something to look forward to. Pansy, leave me alone on this for once," and I walk off quickly before she can add anything. I head to the library.

I choose to be accompanied by a big book. It's about a man and a woman. The pictures in it move, and because I am bored, it fascinates me somewhat. I sit and lean against the shelf I've just taken it from, skimming words that tell of an inevitable war between the two people and the sides that they fight for. It's quite entertaining.

As I read on, I realise that the story seems somewhat familiar. Have I read this before? The title is Cold War/Love, and I don't believe that I've ever come across it in my entire life.

"Hello."

This greeting is more comforting, more familiar. "Potter, nice of you to join me." I pat the space beside myself. "Sit your lard ass down." He does so with a smile. How... Unusual, after all that's happened between he and I. I'm surprised we are still this casual about things.

Potter sees the book in my lap, and tips one side of the book to the right to inspect the cover. "Cold War/Love, hmm?" He nods his head. "Hermione made me read that once. Quite gory, some pictures behind." He pauses. "Story about love and hate and blood altogether can be quite moving, you know."

Yes, I do think I recognize this story now.

Harry sits closer to me. I don't move away, because it feels quite nice to be next to him. Warm.

"I guess, Potter," I practically spit his name out, "we should take a story slowly."

He leans back and looks at a spot between bookcases, in deep thought. "Is that how you like things? Nice and slow?"

Oh my. I blush. Very, very deeply, and I can feel it coming off myself in waves. This is a pleasant, welcoming change. He isn't focused on me, so he doesn't notice it. Yet. I'm not used to things like that coming out of his mouth. Thinking of his mouth makes me shiver. Gods.

"No," I say, making him raise a brow, then continue nervously, "I just like to savor what I've read and enjoy whatever feelings that follow."

"Hmm," he says, then his head turns to see my cheeks red as beet. Both eyebrows are now raised. I make a mistake by using my fingers to try and rub them down in circles.

"Don't do that," Potter puts his hands on mine to stop me. "You look... pretty."

"I do not look pretty!" I respond incredulously. "I am a sex bomb. A bloody good looking sod---"

"Malfoy, this is a library..."

"---A damn excellent---"His fingers push against my lips, which makes my shoulders slump in defeat. To top that off, something close to a whimper escapes my throat. I do not whimper!

Then he presses his lips to mine, and takes away his fingers. I exhale deeply through my nose. If I can tell my body right, I may be literally melting into the ground.

A voice of the domineering kind shouts in my head, You are the mastermind, Draco! You are the controller!

But he starts to kiss me again, and again, and again, coaxing my mouth open until the soft of his tongue meets mine, burning away all my other senses while our hands are entwined.

I'm breathing very hard when we separate. What the hell is wrong with me? I keep making these high, brief noises whether we touch or not. "We are not having sex in the library," he says.

Which to me, is an equivalent to, We are having sex everywhere else.

However, this actually translates to, We are not having sex at all, when he stands up and straightens his pants. I would like to get into those, yessiree Bob. This makes me stand too, which in turn makes me a slightly grumpier because I'd rather remain on the floor like an embarrassing puddle of goo. "Where do you think you're going?"

He pulls at my belt and our mouths collide one last time. "Away from you."

He holds my face in his hands for a while longer and they feel very cool. Then he disappears. Like how I normally do.

Hey. That's my signature!

Standing with a book in hand, I think of something quite strange, as I try to normal my breathing rate. I think of Harry being king and I as the jester in the game we're going at. King Harry and Draco in tights. I have come to realise that this whole thing is backfiring on me.

I slip the gray hardcover of Cold War/Love inbetween two books and plan to borrow it another day. Bloody hell! This is not good.