Draco was bored.
His boredom had become appreciable at eleven-fifteen, and now, an hour and forty-five minutes later, he was more jaded then ever.
It had started out as a typical Back-To-School-Party: betting to see which first-year could drink the most, teasing Crabbe and Goyle with firewhiskey and laughing hysterically over what they would do to have it, smoking pilfered cigarettes, et cetera. But things had tapered off at eleven, and every single Slytherin had been blasé by midnight. The first and second-years had gone to bed, complaining of headaches, and the third-years had begun whining.
So Pansy had started a spin-the-bottle circle (fourth-years and up ONLY), but instead of mere kissing, the lucky—or i un /i lucky… it depended very much on who you got—couple was sent to a cloakroom for three minutes. It had started out amusing, but again the enjoyment leaked out of it in twenty minutes. So far, the fortunate pairs to go in the infamous hall closet had been: Millicent and Goyle, Pansy and Nott, a girl named Bertha and Crabbe, Blaise and a seventh-year named Quentin, Pansy again with Montague, and a sixth-year named Fanny and a fourth-year named Yorick. There had been some dispute as to whether Blaise could spin again, since it had been a bit of a slash spin. But Malfoy had been determined, and they had had to go. Blaise didn't mind; in Draco's humble opinion, he was about as straight as a rainbow. Poor Quentin, on the other hand, had come out of that closet white, trembling, and mentally scarred.
By now Draco was more than not entertained: he felt his brain would leak out of his ears if something didn't happen. He wished something would.
Draco didn't know wishes can come true.
Millicent went to spin again, and the group of Slytherins began cat calling and shouting as the bottle slowed. Just as it landed on Quentin, the door to the fifth-year girl's dorm opened. They all looked up in unison, and Quentin, taking advantage of this situation, moved the mouth of the bottle to Goyle.
Rory was peeking from the doorjamb. Her hair was pulled back into a rough, bed-mussed ponytail and the hollows beneath her eyes were tinged purple with sleep.
Blink.
"'S up?" she asked, squinting from the little candlelight.
"Having a bit of fun," grinned Pansy, leaning back on the heels of her hands.
"Doing what? Fucking loud. No wonder you all look like the living dead; you must never get any sleep."
"Come off it; it's only one!"
"Yeah, sure. If one is early in the evening, then getting date raped is my idea of a good time. Good night, and do whatever you want, but just keep it down."
The door began to swing shut.
"Don't you want to know what we're up to?"
Everyone looked at Malfoy before he even realized he'd spoken. He mentally raised his eyebrows at himself. What the fuck?
Rory paused. She considered Malfoy, her small mouth curving to one side. "Fine, preppy, what is it you're doing?"
"We happen to be involved in a very sophisticated game that involves social know-how and serious talent; talent that I happen to have an excessive amount of. Obviously, Spin-the-Bottle." He sneered at her.
She smiled contemptuously back. "Alright, preppy, do you want me to play?"
Malfoy grinned at the surrounding circle. "Fresh blood, ladies," he whispered, and licked his teeth. They all giggled again: social hyenas who fed off the weak and made them their own. "Why not? Come over here and sit."
The rest of the group piped up too:
i Yeah, come on, fish Don't be a pansy Don't bugger out You KNOW you WANT to /i
Rory paused and stood halfway through the door. Behind her was her bed: soft, contouring, warm. And before her, House: different eyes, slitted against the firelight, and the glass in the middle of them. Cold, harsh, glinting. Draco saw Rory teeter on the edge of decision and topple when she closed the door behind her and walked to the circle.
The interest returned in a rush. Draco found himself sitting straighter as Rory took a place in between Blaise and Nott. Draco couldn't help but notice her pajamas were mismatched. Her shirt was a gray, skintight tank top that went halfway down her stomach, revealing a band of bronzed skin and her navel. A line of muscle went down the middle of her flat midriff, the effort of hundreds of sit-ups compacted into her stomach. Her bottoms were baggy, blue flannel trousers with navy plaid, cinched tight with a drawstring and low on her hips. Rory pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her wiry arms around them, pursing her lips unconsciously in an expression of one who waits.
"Hey," squeaked Bertha, pointing the mouth of the bottle to Rory. "She's a newbie in the game. She has to spin now."
Rory blinked and her mouth momentarily opened in surprise. "I… oh." Then her mouth hardened again. She sent dagger eyes to Malfoy, but she did a little slanting grin. "You failed to mention that, fucktard," she hissed.
Draco shrugged and straightened his silk blouse. "Omission is my specialty," he stated simply. His minions howled laughter, and the apples of her cheeks pinked. He smiled a sideways smile that somehow incorporated a silent calumny into it.
It was that grin that made her play. It was Draco's best weapon, and did that boy know how to use it. Rory found her hand grabbing the bottle ("Blair's Brewed Butter Beer", it said) and, with a flick of her wrist, spun it. Twenty-six eyes followed its nose. First it was just a shimmering crystal blur that captured the oxidizing yellow from the fireplace. It was slower now… A bit slower… Revolving lazily, teasingly… At Quentin… Millicent… Pansy… Crabbe… Blaise… Goyle… Draco… Draco…
Draco…
Pansy sucked in a quick breath and hugged herself. "Finally, things get good! Well, I think, as a special treat, we should up this one to six minutes. Agreed?"
It was a unanimous vote.
Draco couldn't believe it.
Moments later, after having knowing winks thrown at them and pushing hands propel them, Rory and Draco were in the cloakroom, defenses and masks laid aside. Draco had an elbow propped up on one upright knee; Rory was opposite him with her ankles folded.
Pansy and Blaise filled the small doorway in a vision of sideways glances and tittering, making sure their victims couldn't escape before the door was shut and guarded.
"Don't forget, slags," said Blaise, "you've six minutes and they better be well spent."
"Yeah, show that yoof a good time." Pansy added puckered lips to this declaration, and they shut the door, giggling.
They wasted their first minute merely sitting. Draco tapped on his pant leg, and Rory was somehow pleased at how off-guard he appeared. She knew she didn't look much better, though. She had nothing to say but "Uh", and nothing to do but sit like a flaming idiot.
"By the by, Evans, what exactly are you wearing? A bit snug for just sleeping, what say you? Having anyone over while you had the dorm to yourself?"
Rory's tongue unlocked. "Shut up. I just got here; who would I know? And it's a sports bra. Duh?"
Draco gasped dramatically and covered his face. "Oh, my poor eyes! You're wearing your second story knickers and nothing else? Why would you do this to us, your first day and we've already been tainted—"
"Oh, come on, I'm not falling out, if you haven't noticed. At home, people wear these in public all the time."
"Because Americans are mad."
"Because they work."
"Please, no bosom-business at this time of night… let's just skip it."
"Fine."
"Fine."
Rory licked her lip. Draco brushed off his shirt and smoothed the hair above his right ear. Rory rubbed her neck. Draco straightened his black trousers.
After a second or so, he began to nod. "Sure, he whispered to himself. "Why not?" He got to his knees and inched toward Rory. She looked up; sleep now no more than a long-ago memory beneath her lashes. Draco seemed to measure her critically, flint eyes taking in the tanned skin and sprung hair. He touched her arm lightly, felt her muscles jumped beneath the skin. She was wound up tighter than a violin string. He raised his eyebrows at her. She smiled, apologetic.
"Sorry."
"What's it with you?"
"I—did Dumbledore tell you all how I could come here?"
"Some Ministry official 'sparked the knowledge of an average fifth-year' into your brains."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "Sort of… I don't know anything about the school… but I know spells and stuff. And the…" she paused. "Ministry official said that the side effect to this would be nervousness. For a month or so. He said my mind had to become used to the information it was given."
"Well, that's why the Sorting Hat put you into Slytherin, love. So I could show you the art of leisure."
"Nice."
"What can I say? I am without a doubt the hottest thing created in the history of man."
"Hmmm…"
Slowly, the smile dropped from his face. It was replaced by nothing. His face was ice. Draco placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes all the while. She did not jump this time.
"Fish," he said, not unkindly. "You do know you participated willingly in this little experiment. I mean, it's not as if you could gain nothing from this." His face broke into the first real smile she'd seen all night. "Considering."
"You are such a whore," she retorted, admiration leaking into her voice nonetheless.
"I'd rather be a slag than a prude." His pale eyes widened in sudden horror. ""You're not a virgin, are you? Say no! At least have snogged! Be it with a lezzie or a lad, I don't care, but at least have i experience /i !"
Rory pushed Malfoy's groveling form off of her knees. "Don't be an ass. I'm no slut, but I'm not a prude. Ask my ex-boyfriend."
"Rowr."
"Besides, even if I was a virgin, why do you care?"
Malfoy sniffed and smoothed back his hair. "You have no idea how much coaching I've given out, Miss America, and how bad some of my students were. i No /i idea."
She giggled at this and checked the thick-banded watch around her wrist. "Only two minutes left. Shame, shame."
"Come on, Fish, I know you want some."
"Ew."
He ran his tongue over the edges of his top teeth. "We've still time…"
"Go screw yourself," she said cordially.
"How?"
The look on Draco's face was of such innocent surprise she had to smile.
Suddenly, they heard laughter from the other side of the door. Like the bunched fingers of a smashing fist, the unspoken adolescent rules hit them, smothering other choices and forcing them to see in a new light.
Draco leaned forward and kissed her.
At first, Rory's petite, petal mouth was soft, but then she began to kiss back. He was glad she hadn't stayed gobsmacked and that she wasn't a total prig. He would've hated that.
Draco put his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer. She smelled strangely heady and sweet, like spicy smoke. He had a crazy urge to press her neck to his nose and breathe it in like it was what he needed to live, but she was kissing him back, her hands encircling the base of his skull, his hands moving from her shoulders to the hollow at the base of her throat. It was very innocent; without staring eyes and the danger of unfulfilling repute, it really was as Draco had said: a tender experiment. His lips moved from her mouth. She breathed in.
"Draco—"
As suddenly as it started, it stopped. Malfoy's lips, now bitter and unyielding, moved away from her jaw line. His rigid hands now felt like a strangler's weapons, and he unclasped them from her neck. His pale eyes had turned disdainful, and his smile was a mockery. "Listen, Fish: there must have been one thing we forgot to tell you. I'm not Draco. I'm Malfoy. Nothing other, nothing else. Now gather yourself and get your paws off me. Your features repel."
Her hands tightened into fists. "Oh, this is coming from the local bitch, isn't it?" she snarled. "And in case you forgot, i you /i kissed i me /i ."
"Piss off, dear. I don't believe you recall this, but I'm perfectly innocent. You seduced me, child that I am, and took advantage of my prestigious assets—"
The door latch rattled.
In a flash, Malfoy had plastered his face to hers, his tongue wretchedly filling her mouth. His hands raked down her front and traveled to her back, and she was helpless, fucking helpless; and WHY wasn't she doing anything? The thought came like a cold dash of water: because she wanted to be powerless. They both knew this, he most of all.
At that moment, the door opened, spilling light into the gloomy alcove. She would have stopped then, but everything was raw: each nerve, every fingertip was emblazoned with whorls of air and the cream of skin.
She heard Pansy shriek glee. "And when it gets down to it, so do these two!"
Malfoy pulled away snake-quick, as if startled. "Pansy," he sulked reprovingly. "We were just getting to the best part."
"Aw! Well, tell your monty it's got to wait; your six minutes are up."
"I can't help it," said Malfoy, standing. "These yoofs just jump at me…"
Self-consciously, Rory went into the common room, afraid of what the others would say. It turned out to be nothing; she supposed it happened so often they didn't need to anymore.
After that, no one wanted to play. With some good nights exchanged (as well as a few passionate kisses, more so on Pansy's part), the girls headed to their dorms and the boys to theirs.
Before Draco could disappear, he felt a pluck on his shirt. He turned and saw Rory. Brushing back his hair, he asked lazily, "What is it, my mistress of night?"
She didn't smile. Despite the fact that they were the last people in the common room, she spoke low. "What was that about? I thought you wanted me off of your pristine virginity." The tops of her cheeks were pink with anger.
"I've a reputation to keep," he said, as though it was obvious. "What example would I be to the firsties if they expect a sex-fiend and they get a helpless romantic?"
"A good one."
"Speaking of goods, good night, red-hot lover. Don't have too many erotic dreams about me."
"Don't worry," she said, rolling her eyes. But her anger had begun to melt. It hadn't thawed completely, but it had begun.
They went their separate ways.
As she pulled her bedclothes up to her chin, Rory quickly reviewed her second ever kiss.
What?
She had a reputation, too.
Rory fell asleep and dreamed of sweet nothing.
