13
The first time we met I was in braids and a violet dress. He was the most fascinating thing I'd ever seen, with his light hair. I didn't dare to say one word to him even though we were meant to play. We were in the garden of their manor and he found me so incredibly boring that he just resumed playing with his stuffed dragon toys, and didn't give two shits about me for the rest of the day.
When we were seven we began playing Quidditch together. That was when he deemed me fun and cool enough to have around.
At fourteen I went along with him and his family to the World Cup. Watching Quidditch all day and then sneaking out to have a drink in some bushes. And at first it was lovely in every way. I just love his family, they're like a second family to me, a better one. And it was brilliant between me and Draco. He had hurt himself playing Quidditch so he let me take care of him and he was too tired to do anything so he usually just lied around. Which meant we talked and hugged a lot and it was just very sweet, he was so devoted to me without his bloke friends around. He even kissed me in front of his parents, and held my hand all day long. I think that was when I began falling in love with him.
But then Draco went sour again. He actually left me to go out with Crabbe and Goyyle and a few other Irish Pureblood blokes we'd met at the World Cup, and he left me with his mum who felt sorry for me, and I was just so embarrassed that he forced me upon his mum. Fortunately she sympathised with me. She understood more than I realised I think.
She said, "I know it's difficult but try not to care about what he's doing right now. He has his aggressions." Which I very well knew. I knew him inside out and I knew his flaws. I knew he could get heartless sometimes. Yet I was still infatuated, not in a nice way – in a consuming, burning kind of way. In an anxiety kind of way. And so I lay in bed at night waiting for him to come back, waiting for him to apologise. And he did. Sneaking out of his room and into mine late at night. Behind my back I heard him entering and undressing, smelling like alcohol, smoke and mixed perfumes - and all of my heart and body wished (ached) that he hadn't touched anyone else, but I could never know. Yet he crawled into bed behind me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed the back of my neck gently and repeatedly murmured, "I'm sorry... you know how I feel about you... I'm sorry... I'm missed you all night..."
I think he meant it when he said it. And then he switches back, back to his bad sides. Yet I forgave him.
When we started Hogwarts in September we hadn't spoken about our late night cuddle, and went back to being friends.
Then he asked me to the Yule Ball. I had just come back from the library where I had felt forced to spend a couple of hours, an early December evening, due to loads of assignments. He was sitting around the fireplace in one of the large armchairs with all the boys when I came inside the common room, and his eyes instantly met mine, sending an electrical signal through me. When he smiled and waved me over I lit up. When he, in front of all the Slytherin boys in our year and the Quidditch team, held out his arm for me and invited me to sit on his lap on the armchair where he sat, laid-back and looking extremely confident, I felt oddly warm for December. And when he, for everyone to hear, asked me to go to the Yule Ball with him, I absolutely melted.
At fifteen we had sex for the first time. I was shaking because I was so excited. He was like a drug I needed more of. A lollipop that satisfied my sweet-tooth, but only for a while, until I needed a refill. I saw only light in him. He was the coolest thing I'd ever seen.
By then I was hooked.