Draco

Hogwarts

The night of the second detention - 1996

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What in the name of Merlin's left tit was he doing?

Draco walked at a blistering pace through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts. Periodically, he'd shake out his hand, trying to rid his body of pent up adrenaline.

"Fuck!" he cursed out loud, his gruff voice bouncing against the stone walls.

He was a master of control, second to none, other than his Mother, perhaps. How could he not get a handle on this?

After all, there were bigger issues for him to consider, such as having to kill Dumbledore. Yes, he still had to think through that.

But some how, his sick fascination with Granger was trumping all of that.

Draco barreled around a sharp corner, clipping it with his shoulder painfully.

His hand flinched at the memory of her skin. Merlin it was so soft, and warm. And her eyes, the way she cut through him made him want to renounce the Dark Lord on the spot.

She had moved in towards him. He could have swore it wasn't just his doing.

He scolded himself for even entertaining an internal negotiation of this madness. There had to be an ounce of his voice of reason left within him.

His new addiction withered away at that voice, though. Was it an addiction, or a distraction from the inevitable?

Regardless, bickering with the insufferable witch, or finding ways to be close to her when no one else was looking, it consumed him. It was a light in a room of darkness. It was a singular point of focus.

Arguing with her in classes was innocent enough though. What happened that night after detention, that was dangerous.

His mind replayed their interaction, and it made him squirm.

Yes, he had wanted to tell her that he wasn't a fool, that he didn't truly believe touching a muggle born would dirty him somehow. Logic would deem that absurd. But he needed her to know that he knew that. He felt an urgency to have her to understand him.

Why he needed that though… now that was the fucking question.

Because what he thought would cure him of all of this was to feel her, not to explain himself to her. He could feel his body demanding a release to this obsession with something physical. That is why he reached out to her. That was his intention: To take her, shove her up against the wall, and take her mouth with his and finally put a rest to this madness. He knew that would be all he needed.

But he couldn't even do that. He was a fucking mess.

Everything halted when Draco, not paying attention and halfway into the Slytherin common room, collided directly with Theo.

"What the hell!" Theo croaked, peering down to the floor where his previously held cup of tea now laid. Draco looked down at his sleeves to see the water had scorched him, and red welts began to form. But he didn't feel anything.

Draco just peered at Theo blankly for several seconds before Theo grew unnerved and snapped his fingers in front of his distant friend.

"Blimey, Draco," Theo started, giving Draco a once over. "What happened to you?"

Snapping to attention, Draco examined himself, thinking something was physically wrong.

"No, nothings on you," Theo clarified, this time leaning in closer to his friend. "You're all, jumpy."

Draco sucked down a forced, slow breath, calming down his senses. He steadied his face into cold granite.

"Nothing has happened," Draco explained evenly, perhaps too stiffly. Theo gave him a lengthy look before turning away. Draco deflated.

"How was detention with Granger?" Theo asked, causing Draco's skin to sizzle.

"Obnoxious. Long. A waste of time," Draco sputtered out.

Complicated, maddening, everything … his mind corrected internally

"Just one more left," Theo shrugged, walking back towards the dorms.

Draco stalled. Yes, there was only one more detention left. Why did that make the pit of his stomach drop out?

Alone in the Slytherin common room, Draco forced himself to work this problem out.

Whatever it was that he was doing with Granger, well, it made him feel whole. Or at the very least, pulled him from the ledge of his dark thoughts.

The likelihood of him surviving past the year was minuscule. Hell, he hadn't even decided if he would earnestly try to kill Dumbledore, despite promising his Mother that he would. His life was bleak.

But the past week antagonizing Granger and breathing in her flowery scent before each Runes class was the happiest he could remember being for a long time, and it begged him to consider the possibilities of it all.

He was going to die. The absoluteness of it buzzed in his bones.

So what if he indulged? Draco had heard of the concept of a "last meal" for those awaiting death. What if he let this play out with Granger? If there was nothing he could do to save himself, what if he made her his last meal?