I pulled a simple cotton vest, cropped, over my head. I didn't want to be presumptuous with Draco here, but I also didn't want to risk being caught in old sweats. On went my red shorts with a high waistband, and clean white socks. I didn't look sexy, but I could pass for cute. Satisfied, I dried the ends of my hair with my wand, and climbed into bed beneath the thick, clean comforter.
My heart hammered in my chest at the thought of Draco in the house. Living here, with me. I longed to pore over what this all meant, and what it made us, but I refused to go down that mental rabbit hole. It wouldn't end well — I'd learned that much so far.
I'd just dimmed the lamps when a knock came at the door. My heart jolted into a quick pace once more, thumping so hard it was practically audible in the quiet of the night.
"Draco?" I murmured, just loud enough he could hear.
Without saying a word, he let himself into the room and closed the door again behind him. Slowly, he walked to the bed, only his pale hair glinting in the moonlight. I held my breath as he kneeled on the mattress, coming to lie beside me with soft hands caressing my face.
"Draco," I murmured once more, as he pressed his thumb to my lower lip.
"Do you want to?" he asked, his voice smooth in the dark.
"Of course I do. But we can't keep doing this." In spite of my words, my own fingers roamed his bare chest. I traced patterns against his collarbone, extending all the way to the lean muscle of his shoulder.
He leaned in towards me, his breath a peppermint tingle against my neck. "Why not?"
My eyes rolled back in my head as his hands found my waist, but still I clutched to any semblance of sanity I could find. I'd learned not to be too direct with Draco. He showed his affection with actions and decisions, not words or gifts.
"I have a Quidditch game tomorrow night," I said.
He tugged at the strap of my vest. "Okay."
"Would you like to come watch?"
It was a test, and brazenly so. I expected Draco to stop, to sigh and make excuses. But he only leaned in further until he answered with lips brushing against my own.
"Yes."
Our kiss sent the same familiar sparks shooting through my navel, brought the same gasp to my tongue. It went on and on, an unending taste of heaven, and still Draco didn't advance the situation any further. This puzzled me at first, until he laced his fingers into mine and pressed his lips to my forehead. Then I realised — Draco hadn't come to my room for sex. He'd come for this.
At this revelation, the murky haze of feelings and pain transformed into complete clarity. I realised it, in plain english, for the first time.
I was hopelessly in love with Draco Malfoy.
I heard the hooting of owls downstairs, sensed the light of day beyond my closed eyelids. I felt Draco slip away.
"You've got to stop leaving like this," I groaned, still in the clutches of sleep.
"I don't want to wake you." His voice was warmer than usual, but still clipped. Not completely vulnerable. "Besides, the owls need feeding."
I yawned, reaching for my wand. It was a strange habit of security. "What time is it?"
"Almost eight."
Xenophilius had told me just to pen my first article from home and send it by owl. I still had to choose between a re-telling of that awful evening with Marcus, or a laughable piece about surveillance owls. On paper, the choice was clear. One could diminish my career. The other could redeem it.
I washed and dressed in high-waisted jeans, tucking in my sweater. Both black. When I went downstairs to get some coffee, the sight of Draco brought a grin to my lips. He was wearing clothes just like mine, only the straight leg of his jeans and the crew neck of his sweater emphasised his masculinity. He looked hot.
"Coffee?" he asked, gesturing to the French press.
I pulled a face. "Where's the sweetener, the milk?"
"Coffee's not meant to taste sweet."
Deciding not to press the argument, I poured my own cup and added the rest to the mug. I peeked at Malfoy, sat at the table and writing something on a long piece of parchment. I didn't want to be nosey but, well, I was curious.
"What are you writing?" I asked, taking the seat opposite him.
"Ordering some bloody food," he grumbled. "Before I waste away."
"You just catch me at the end of the week," I waved a hand. "I usually keep this place well stocked."
"With beetroot and cheese?" he snorted.
My mouth twitched. "You'll never catch me without coffee, mind."
"A small saving grace."
"If you'd like to hire a house-elf, by all means, go ahead."
Before Draco could retort, a knock came from the door. I scurried quickly to answer, grateful for the interruption. There was never any malice behind our banter — at least I hoped not — but it was no secret Draco could make quick work of me in a game of wits if he chose to.
"Blaise," I said in surprise.
He gave a curt nod, hands in his suit pockets. "How are you, Astoria?" Without waiting for a reply, he continued. "Is Draco here?"
I bit my lip. "Draco," I called back into the house. "It's Blaise."
"Tell him to piss off," came his drawl, his tone cold once more.
I shrugged at Blaise, who gestured inside. "May I come in?"
I led him to the kitchen, where I stood awkwardly with my hands clasped. Part of me wanted to hide away upstairs and let them speak in private, but I worried Draco might lose his temper.
"What are you doing here?" he asked. "How did you even know where I was?"
"I work for the Floo Network, you twat. You order food from your vault number, I get an alert. You could have told me, anyway. I've been worried about you."
"Clearly."
"Look, my dad didn't mean to be a prick. The ministry are starting to crack down on his holdings, wanting fucking collateral or some shit."
I saw a flash of recognition in Draco's eyes at these words.
"You know, it didn't really work out swell for me either," Zabini continued. "It turns out Hestia, she's… Well, she's a lot."
Draco barely blinked. "I could have told you that weeks ago, you prick."
"What can I say? I was blinded by love." Zabini grinned, his head flicking between us both, as though only now connecting the dots together. "It seems, as are you!"
"Of course not," Malfoy said coolly. "I'm here as a friend."
I shuffled my feet awkwardly. That stung.
"Well," I said, cutting through the silence. "I need to get some work done, so I'll just head upstairs."
"Before you go," Blaise said, "I actually came because Nott's holding another meeting tomorrow. Apparently there's been a development."
Draco frowned. "What sort of development?"
"I don't know, mate. But I think it's worth finding out."
Zabini's words troubled Draco all afternoon, though he hadn't been able to press any further with Tori so close by. He couldn't bring himself to tell her about his mother's news, about Voldemort… He needed to protect her at all costs. Though, that would be a mean feat if Nott's news turned out to be the same thing. There seemed to be only one reasonable solution, and he hesitantly brought it up as they walked across the Quidditch pitch.
"I don't want you going to the meeting tomorrow."
Tori's face stayed indecipherable, the wind whipping at her hair. "Why?"
"The list is endless, Greengrass. I thought you were trying to refute the death eater rumours?"
"Talking with people about current events doesn't make me a death eater, Malfoy. It's my job."
"You're not reporting on any of this."
"I still like to be informed."
Draco shook his head, infuriated. "They don't trust you. It's too dangerous."
"All the more reason I need to prove my loyalty."
Draco swore. "Do you have to be so fucking stubborn?"
"Do you have to be so fucking obtuse?" she turned, facing him with crossed arms. Luckily they were only approaching the rear of the stands, and nobody seemed to be watching. "I'm in this with you. Where you go, I go."
Draco hesitated, unsure how to take the words. "You sound like a Labrador."
Tori only shook her head. "I'll see you after the game."
Draco muttered to himself the whole way up the stands, trying not to mull over how stunned he felt. He knew he was dangerously close to veering astray, to giving in to temptation and giving himself to Tori fully. He balked at the very notion. Once the floodgates opened to the depth of how fucked up he truly was — and once his vulnerability crept in, once he allowed himself to be attached to her, to love her — she would surely run in fear. Any sane person would. And by that point, the heartache of losing Tori would kill him. Because as much as he tried forcefully to believe otherwise, he was becoming far too accustomed to sleeping beside her at night.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he groaned at the sight of Potter and Weasley once more.
"Watch it," Weasley warned.
"Why the hell are you here again?" Draco demanded.
"My brother happens to be beater for the team," Ron said, cheeks turning red. "You?"
Draco pretended not to hear the last word. He fought the urge to disapparate and deal with Tori's disappointment later. Instead, he took his usual seat at the back. Next time, he was bringing Zabini. Would serve that bastard right and all.
"Hello, Draco. Mind if I sit?"
It just gets better and better. Loony Lovegood smiled dreamily, gesturing to the seat beside him. Draco shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage, and she sat pleasantly. This better be a quick game, or I'll jinx that snitch myself.
"I'm a friend of Astoria's, you know."
Draco grunted.
"I think she's rather fond of you."
"Is she?" He tried to sound uninterested, but in truth, found himself very much wanting to hear this.
"Oh, yes. She doesn't say a lot. I think she's quite a private person. But she gets a great influx of wrackspurts whenever you're mentioned, so that's a good sign."
Thankfully, the arrival of the players on the pitch saved Draco from finding a retort. He scanned the green robes, looking eagerly for Tori. Lovegood offered a pair of omnioculars.
"I'm sharing the commentating with Lee," she explained. "We do a match each, so they gave me a pair, but I've already got my own."
Draco took them with a grumbled thanks, and fought a groan. With that Gryffindor loser commentating the game, this was quickly becoming a fever nightmare of everything he'd hated about Hogwarts.
But as soon as the players kicked off, Draco became completely entranced in watching Tori play. He loved to watch her on a broom, shooting past the other players, darting around skillfully. He felt an unexplained swell of pride in watching her. Once or twice, he found himself lost in a daydream where they practiced together, both fighting for the snitch. He was busy pondering which scenario he preferred — the victory of winning, or the sexual tension of losing — when a flash of lightning seemed to spread across the grounds, blinding his eyes.
Three hooded figures flew onto the pitch mid-game, and sent jets of light from their wands. In the scramble to see what the fuck was going on, Draco focused his omnioculars to see Tori's face, her eyes wide and mouth gaping in shock, as the three curses hit her at the same time.
"No!" he yelled, leaping from his seat.
He pushed forward through the stands, oblivious to the cries behind him, and watched as Tori fell from her broomstick. She plummeted through the air, lifeless like a rag doll. Draco howled in agony, pulling himself up on the edge of the stands and preparing to launch himself into the air just the same, with no thought given to the fact he'd be lying dead beside her.
Hands grasped at his robes and pulled him back, held him back, but he fought and fought to tear away. Finally he was free, but with his rational mind now returned, he could do no more than pant in agony. The screams of terror finally reached his ears. He knew he ought to look over the side once more, to see Tori, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He raced down the steps, three or four at a time, not caring when he stumbled and slid down two flights, bruising his tail bone and possibly breaking a rib. If anything, it only served to get him there faster.
He raced across the pitch to the crowd now formed around her. Didn't they know, didn't they understand, that she was his? He pushed and shoved his way through, not giving a single fuck for the angry or shocked reactions. He didn't even blink when he sent the medic flying, a small, flimsy man. Finally he reached Tori, his face distorting in anguish at the sight.
She was pale, far too pale. Her hair looked shades darker, perhaps in the dusk light. Her limbs were crooked from the fall, one arm bent backwards the wrong way. A pool of blood leaked from her head.
And worst of all, she wasn't breathing.
a/n : Thank you so much to everyone who has liked / followed! I hope you're enjoying the story as much as I am. If there's anything you'd like to see let me know and I'll see if I can work it into future chapters :)
