A/N: thank you all once more for the lovely reviews. especially to skep for the 'fowl/foul' correction. i had foul in the first place, but then second-guessed myself. if you (or anyone else for that matter) find anything else wrong with the text, please let me know. spelling and grammar are incredibly importantant to me. i don't read a story if i find either in the first three paragraphs.

-also, don't know if you noticed, but i'm not british, no matter how much i'd like to be (which is a whole whole lot, i hate america with a passion). so if some of the terms i use are not up-to-date or are used incorrectly, please let me know and i will change them. thank you :)

-- chapter 1 -- chapter 4.1 -- chapter 3.1 -- chapter 2 -- chapter 4.2 -- chapter 3.2 -- chapter 4.3 --

- January 20 - 1997 - Sixth Year -

I had fallen asleep in Muggle Studies and no one had bothered to wake me up. Scared that I would be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, I was running down the fifth floor corridor, not paying attention to where I was going, too worried about being late, when I ran straight into a suit of arms. I fell face-first onto the ground and let out a cry of pain at my throbbing knee. My bag had fallen open and half a dozen items were scattered across the floor like so many pebbles on a beach. Frustrated, ignoring the huffs of the affronted coat of arms and the pain in my knee, I scrambled to collect my belongings. My mind was whirling with a million excuses as to why I was late, falling asleep in Muggle Studies being insufficient to earn me anything but a deduction of House points, when that voice came languidly into my ears from above.

"Well, well, well, look what we've got here."

I looked up to give him a scathing glare as I struggled to fit the items back in my bag, "Sod off, Malfoy. I'm in a hurry."

"In a hurry, are we? I'd say you're already about three minutes late. No point in even going, really, if you ask me."

I stood cautiously to see him preening his nails with a bored expression masking the glint of a grin in his eyes. "Lovely for you, I don't have time to chat right now, though. I have to go." I tried to push passed him, but his hand shot out with reflexes that told me his father's brooms weren't the only reasons he was the Slytherin Seeker.

His fingers coiled around my robes as he shoved me against the wall, his face mere centimeters from mine. "You don't talk to me like that. You will listen or I will Make. You. Listen. Understand?"

My eyes were focused on those lips that I wanted to kiss more than anything else in the world, but I knew he would get even angrier if I touched him in an even remotely sexual manner in an open hallway. "I'm listening."

"You will forget about whatever useless class you are hurrying off to because you are already late and there is no longer a point in going. Instead, you will meet me behind the tapestry in five minutes. If you are not there, I can not describe to you the sorts of torture I will put you through. Do we understand each other?" I had held my breath throughout his entire speech and now nodded in response, taking in a single needed breath before he let me go and continued down the hallway. I watched him glide away, proud and as though he possessed the most powerful gift in the wizarding world and was not interested in sharing. It had been two weeks and I had to fight the lustful need rising inside of me to go after him and take him right there in the middle of the hallway. I righted myself and turned down the opposite corridor, finding an alternative route to our secret room.

He was sitting in his usual chair with one ankle propped on the opposite knee and his hands folded neatly in his lap. He hadn't heard me come in, and his eyes were transfixed on the golden blaze, his brow slightly curled into a scowl, and I could see the thoughts milling about in his mind. I momentarily wondered what they looked like, what went on inside of his sadistic brain. Was he thinking of me? Perhaps his father? The Dark Mark I suspected he would soon receive? I made my way towards him quietly, hoping to catch him still in that reverie, but the sound of my bag being deposited near the door alerted him to my presence and he turned to me. The look changed. I'd like to say that it softened, but that wasn't exactly true. His lips curled into a smirk, but those eyes, those gleams of grey that always caught me in shocked wonder, they were dark with something unspeakable, and almost… despair. As though he was slowly dying with every moment passed and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He stood and met me in the middle of the room, not bothering with a greeting as he began removing my robes and then my shirt. I watched him, watching his eyes dart over my clothing, avoiding my glance. He had begun to pull my shirt out of my pants to get at the final few buttons when his eyes accidentally caught mine and I took my chance, leaning in to capture his lips. His hands stalled and it was like the entire world had stopped as our tongues melded into each other. I reveled in him, in the feeling of him that I had been anticipating every moment since our last meeting. I was so lost in his mouth that I didn't notice that he had managed to strip me to my boxers and was surprised to see that my hands had made quick work of his clothing as well, until we were both down to nearly nothing and clinging to each other, trading nips and tugs and scratches as we struggled to the floor.

He was nestled between my legs and pulling at my boxers, my nipple encircled by his teeth. I barely had time to whisper a lubrication spell before he was inside and pushing against me with this strength, almost anger. I moaned and closed my eyes, arching into him. He leaned over me and pressed his lips to mine, growling into my mouth as my fingernails trailed down his back. He trailed kisses down my neck and nibbled on my collar bone, and my head dropped back into the carpet. My eyes were closed and all I could think about was how much I had missed his touch, even as his teeth sunk into my shoulder enough to draw blood. I moaned his name and a string of thoughtless phrases, but I was so lost in the way each thrust made me swoon in ecstasy to realize what I was saying until it was too late.

He pulled abruptly away from me with a look of disgust, wiping my blood from his lips. "What did you just say?"

I was shocked to be without him so suddenly and just looked at him in stunned silence for a moment. "I.. I.. I don't know… What did I say?" I stuttered, trying fruitlessly to regain my composure and sit up. I felt like a puppy that had just been abandoned by its owner with no alternative shelter.

"You said you loved me." His voice was bitter ice and his eyes glared at me with a frigid anger that made me shiver.

"I… I did? I… I didn't realize… I was kind of… lost in the… moment…" I looked away, down, anywhere but those eyes.

"This is not love, Weasel. This is fucking. Do you understand the difference?" His voice maintained its icy tone and he spoke slowly, as though I were a child.

I growled, "I know that! I'm not stupid, Ferret-face! Do you actually think I would be stupid enough to fall for a cruel, sadistic, spoiled git like you? Don't flatter yourself. I wouldn't bother." I stood, frustrated, and began to pull my clothing back on.

He just sat back on his knees and watched me coldly as I pulled on my boxers and then my pants. When I reached for my shirt, he pulled it out of my reach and grabbed onto my arm. "Where do you think you're going? I never said you could leave, yet. Get your pants back off, we aren't done yet."

I glared at him, "If you think for one minute that I'm going to continue sleeping with you when you think that I would be nutters enough to fall in love with your, you've got-"

"Oh sod off." He pushed me onto my back on the floor and crawled over me to strip me of my pants and boxers once more. I tried to protest but he grabbed his wand and put a binding spell on my hands to stop their fighting. When I was naked once more, he turned me onto my stomach and thrust so hard into me that the wind was momentarily knocked out of me. A few thrusts later, he pulled me up on my knees and wrapped an arm around my neck to pull me into his chest. He continued to move as his mouth came next to my ear and he hissed, "If you ever even consider leaving me without finishing again, I will not hesitate to 'Crucio' you, and don't think I haven't learned how." I didn't doubt that he knew how, knew that he had been trained by the Deatheaters to perform all sorts of torture and death, knew he was expected to join the ranks if his father remained in jail. I would have said so, but his arm was restricting my breathing and his nails had clawed into my shoulder to keep me with him as he continued to thrust into me. I could only nod my understanding, grasping for precious breath.

His grip lessoned and his lips attached to my neck. I closed my eyes and let my head rest on his shoulder, giving into him as I neared orgasm. A few more movements and I teetered over the edge, my seed spilling out onto the carpet. A few more and he let out a loud moan as his orgasm followed. We leaned against each other as our heartbeats settled. He pulled away eventually and released the bindings on my wrists as he stood. I rubbed at a wrist thoughtlessly as I watched him go over, mumble an incantation that elongated his chair into a comfortable couch, and fall onto it with careless grace. His eyes closed as he let out an exhausted sigh, looking as though he were going to fall asleep. "Come here," his voice called out, his eyes remaining shut as he turned onto his back. I did as I was told, slipping onto the couch next to him and curling into his side with my cheek pressed against his chest. His fingers languidly played with my hair as I shut my eyes, drunk on his scent of sex and sweat and some cologne that probably cost more than my father made in a month. I drifted off just as his arms wrapped comfortably around me, pulling me closer to him. We didn't wake up until just before dinner.

- October 7/8 - 1997 - Seventh Year -

I lay in bed for hours, starring up at the curtains, lost in indecision. Was it worth it? Was he worth it? The way I felt when I was with him was a muddled mess of scents, touches, and impossible feelings of love and hate. Not real love, not the kind you would die for, not what I felt for family, for Harry, for Hermione. No, it was that intoxicating passion that possessed no stopping point. Irritation that was irresistible, tingling, electric. He made me feel more alive than any adventure with Harry or the twins ever did, more than any Quidditch match either. Pure need, desire, frustration, pain, anguish, and yet, tender care. The situation was impossible. He was impossible.

And yet it had been a year. An entire bloody year of violent rendezvous behind the tapestry. It was almost unbelievable. And I was brought back around to the beginning of my thoughts. Was it worth it, all that time? Had I been wasting hours, days, of sleep, peace, class? Was all that I sacrificed overturned by the feeling of it? Of us?

Around 1:30 I came to a decision. Neville and Seamus had been snoring loudly for over an hour and Harry had just begun to whimper in his sleep when I climbed soundlessly out of bed. I snuck to his trunk, poked around until it was in my hands, and then slipped away into nothing as I left the dorm. He would be gone, but there would be a fire and the couch pillows would smell of his shampoo. And so I made the trek down five flights of stairs and ten empty hallways to the wall where the ancient bit of clothe hung. I checked the passage before slipping behind it and down stairs only to halt at the last cold stone step. For the smallest of moments my heart had ceased beating and breath had left my body. I knew without a moment's revolt that this was it, the thing, the real thing. It wasn't what poets spoke of or paintings depicted, but it was tangible and it was ours.

His white blonde hair hung in loose strands across his closed eyes, his cheek slumped against the side of the chair. He wore baggy pajamas pants, a Slytherin sweater, and no shoes. Chocolate-covered strawberries were melting in a bowl on the table in front of the fire. I crept to his chair, still under the cloak, but not wanting to wake him. He made a tiny noise as I brushed the hair from his forehead and kissed the exposed skin, letting the cloak slip just a little.

As I moved to kiss his cheek, I could see a mark on the side of his neck, peeking out just above the neckline of the sweater, a mark I knew I had not made. I pulled away and stood back to contemplate him. It was true, he had been with the pug-faced Pansy Parkinson. I wondered how long it had been going on, how many others he was spending time with as well. I felt again that pang, that hopelessness. I turned to the table and picked up a strawberry, careful not to get the softened chocolate on Harry's cloak, and began eating it as I walked to the door. One last look at his sleeping form and I turned my back on him, promising myself that I would not allow him to persuade me into his arms and that room again.

- October 20 - 1997 - Seventh Year -

What was a bad morning was turning into a bad week. I failed an important Muggle Studies test, which was ironic because I only took Muggle Studies as a blow off class to replace Advanced Potions, which I didn't get into, thank Merlin. Peeves apparently had chosen me to torment all week because every time I turned around, there he was, making the loo explode when I flushed or pulling my robes up over my head from behind. Nearly Headless Nick finally took pity on me after a particularly hideous incident involving a bowl of mashed potatoes and Harry's cousin's socks that I'd really rather never think about again, and got the Bloody Baron to call him off. I accidentally, and I stress ACCIDENTALLY, made a rude comment about Hermione's new boyfriend looking a bit like Neville's toad, and she had spent the rest of the week hulled up in the library, ignoring anything I tried to say as way of apology. It really wasn't my fault, though, that she was dating a male version of Umbridge. If she was going to be so sensitive about the bastard, she shouldn't have let me meet him. She knows how I am with the people she dates, she's like my sister, and I want anyone Ginny dates dead.

So, anyways, I was having problems all week, and to top it all off, this thing that was going on between Malfoy and the human dog looked like it was going to become rather regular, much to my chagrin. At least I knew that he was only doing it in order to make me jealous. We were in History of Magic, and Professor Binns was lecturing about something so boring that even Hermione seemed to have tuned him out. I was leaning over the desk with my chin in my hand, about to doze off when movement across the classroom caught my eyes and I looked over to see someone's hand creeping under a girl's robes and into her skirt. I looked higher to see who it was and locked eyes with him. He was leaned back as far as he could be in his chair with that self-satisfied smirk that always drove me completely insane, and his eyes were glinting with obvious pleasure at seeing me notice what he was doing. As his hand moved around in Pansy's underwear, it became very obvious what he was doing to her. Her, with her head tossed back and a grin hidden under a forced look of concentration, looking as utterly canine as usual. I wanted to strangle that podgy neck of hers, dotted with pink bruises of varying sizes, undoubtedly won from him in order to make me more incensed than I already was. I glanced down to see his hand moving a bit faster and her legs twitching about as though she was becoming uncontrollable under his touch. I knew what that felt like, dreamt about it, wanted it back again so badly I would have sold my soul; but I was not about to let him know I felt anything of the sort, so I looked back up at him and sneered. His smirk only widened as his eyes danced at mine. I growled under my breath, gaining a look from Harry, and tried to focus on doodling to take my mind off of what Malfoy's fingers were playing at in Parkinson's skirt.

"Alright there, mate?" Harry whispered, leaning into me. I glanced up, my eyes catching Malfoy's and locking before I even had the chance to look at Harry. I only growled again and looked back down.

"I'm fine, just disgusted. When is this class going to end?" I whispered back, starting to draw a picture of Malfoy swinging from a gallows with a vulture pecking at his eyes. Harry must have noticed what I'd been looking at because the next thing I heard was a horrified intake of breath.

"Is Malfoy seriously doing what I think he's doing to Pansy Parkinson?" He hissed at me, gripping my arm in disbelief. I didn't dare glance up, knowing that I would just get caught up in those eyes again and want to throw something, preferably him, against a wall.

"Looks like it."

"Oh Merlin, I think he's doing it just to make us squirm. He's looking right over."

Again, my eyes remained on the parchment I was defiling with Malfoy's swinging corpse, "Probably thinks we're going to be jealous of him getting action over us."

Harry gave a muffled snort under his hand, "As though anyone could be jealous of fucking Pansy 'Pug-faced' Parkinson. Oh Merlin, I think she's going to return the favor. I don't know if I can keep my breakfast much longer." My eyes shot up at his words and I was not by any means pleased with the site I was given. Draco had removed his hand from a very pleased looking Pansy's skirt and was now relaxing as her hand crept slowly through his open robes and over his groin, looking as though it were about to unzip his pants. Malfoy's smirk had widened even more as my eyes connected with his and I suddenly forgot how to breathe. I could not believe I was watching this transpire. I had to look down, I had to look down. Why wasn't I looking down? His tongue broke the seal of his smirk and rolled sensually over his top lip, reminding me of other moments when that tongue was licking my come off those same lips. I felt my heart jump into my throat and my lower regions twitched in agony.

Harry's grip on my hand tightened as her fingers slid down the zipper and delved inside the shadows of his boxers. I wanted to climb over the desks and pull her out of her seat by her hair, throw her against the wall, and yell at her to keep her hands off of what did not belong to her. I wanted to cut that claw-like hand off and serve it to her in a meat pie. I wanted to shout at him for letting such a filthy cow sodden him with such vulgarities. My leg began to shake anxiously and my hand clenched and unclenched as though in preparation of throttling her.

It was only Harry's whisper in my ear that brought me back to the reality of the classroom, and I almost kissed him for the distraction. "Don't look over there anymore, it's disgusting. When is class going to end? I can't stand this anymore."

I nodded in agreement and looked back at my paper to continue my drawing of Malfoy's untimely demise. The minutes crawled along as though time itself was in on Malfoy's game to destroy my sanity and make me beg for him. I managed to fend off my desires to look at him until the bell sounded to allow my freedom from this horrific torture. He gave me a salacious grin and indicated more than a few unspeakable acts with his eyes. I tried to hide a gulp as I tore my eyes away and gathered my things to leave with Hermione and Harry.

"That was depraved. I can't believe that Malfoy could stoop so low, just to get a rise out of us. I'm going to be doing scouring charms on my eyes for weeks." I looked at the paintings on the passing walls as we headed for the Great Hall for lunch, trying not to think about the visions Draco's smile had manifested in my head.

Hermione gave Harry a look to say that she thought he had officially flipped over his rocker, "What are you on about? I know you don't like Professor Binns, but I highly doubt that any lecture he gives could be labeled as depraved."

Harry scowled at her and shook his head, "I wasn't talking about Professor Binns! I was talking about what Malfoy and Pug-face were doing across the room from us. Were you asleep the entire time?"

"Yes, well, I was up last night doing my arithmancy homework. What were they doing?"

"Wanking each other off under the desk. And Malfoy was watching us the entire time, like he was doing it just to see us squirm. It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life; wouldn't you say so, Ron?"

Hermione looked appalled and put a hand to her mouth as she gasped. I glanced up at Harry and nodded, not really listening to the conversation, my mind still wrapped around Malfoy's tongue playing fiercely in my mouth.

"He was actually looking over at us? Did anyone else see? That's disgusting even for Malfoy."

"Nothing's too disgusting for Malfoy," I muttered, my mind still not in the moment. They both looked at me and Harry snorted.

"That's true. But still… and right before lunch! Bugger!" He continued to go on about the lewd behavior of such miscreants, but I stopped listening, being instead mesmerized by the bright gleam of said miscreant's eyes across the hall. I don't think I said a word all of lunch.