Chapter One
Draco stared across the common room at Parkinson with his eyes narrowed and arms crossed. She was practically rolling all over the floor like a mutt wanting its belly rubbed and it sickened him.
He didn't know why he had sought solace from her for so long; perhaps it was because he knew he did not have to work for her affection. He certainly knew it was not because he was attracted to her; the girl was the most annoying he had ever come to know.
Except perhaps Granger.
A smirk tugged at Draco's lips. The Gryffindor know-it-all had it coming and he was just bidding his time, waiting for someone to pounce and put her in her place.
"Draco," Parkinson whined, getting up off the floor and crawling towards him.
Draco sneered down at her approaching figure. Yes, mutt is definitely an accurate description.
"What do you want now, Parkinson?" he sneered lazily.
"Why didn't you come find me last night?" she moaned, pawing at his leg.
"I gave you explicate instructions to meet me in the broom closet on the third floor, Parkinson," Draco snarled. "You stood me up."
And caused a delicious little encounter with my intriguing mystery witch…
"There are seven broom closets on the third floor!" Parkinson whined, looking up at him with what Draco assumed were supposed to be puppy eyes. "I didn't know which one you meant."
"You really are an insult to this house, Parkinson," Draco snarled. "I told you to meet me in the closet next to that statue of Rogus the Wrecker. Or did your canine brain find such directions hard to decipher?"
Parkinson look confused and Draco's sneer deepened.
"Go away," he demanded, pushing at her shoulder lightly. Her stance made it difficult to move her. She growled slightly before pulling her 'puppy eyes' attempt on him again.
"Parkinson, if you do not leave right now I will tell this entire room about the lice you became acquainted with over the summer –"
"You wouldn't dare!" Parkinson gasped, scrambling to her feet and clenching his shoulders hard in her hands. "That's private!"
"Well you should have kept them to yourself then, shouldn't you?" Draco drawled, moving his face away from hers slightly as he spoke. He gave her a smirk before lazily getting to his feet and heading for his dormitory.
Draco handed Crabbe a glass flask containing a thick lilac-coloured fluid.
"She's some blonde second year," he explained as Crabbe looked down at it stupidly. "The hair was easy to get; she fell for my charm in seconds."
Crabbe gave a rumbling chuckle and gulped it down. Draco smirked and looked away, studying the stretch of wall before him.
"I shouldn't be longer than an hour," he said. "Keep an eye out for anyone who might cause trouble."
He turned and looked at Crabbe, not surprised that he was now four feet shorter and sprouting blonde curls. He handed over a jar of frogspawn, nodded and headed for the door that had suddenly appeared in the wall.
"Remember to drop that jar as soon as you sense trouble."
The room was, as always, monstrous in size, with towering piles of junk and forbidden objects. He'd been in here so many times that he was not fazed by the labyrinth passages between shelves and junk piles. He headed straight forward through the first passage, looking around at the objects carefully. He often wondered if perhaps something in this massive hall would help him in his mission but he found little time to investigate.
Reaching a towering pile of ruined books, Fanged Frisbees and Exploding Gobstones, Draco took a right and an immediate left before heading down another endless passage of junk. About ten metres away sat the ruined cabinet and Draco sighed.
It was always a relief to see it still there; not touched by anyone but him.
He looked down at his golden watch before taking a seat on a chair he had conjured many moons ago. Taking off his book bag, he groped around, extracting a large book and opening it to a dog-eared page.
A moment later he pulled out his wand and an hour after that, Draco was confident that he knew what to do.
As he left the Room of Hidden Things, he immediately sent Crabbe away and off to dinner and made his own way to the third floor bloom closet he had met his mystery woman in a week previous.
He had found a total of three private sanctuaries this year. One was the Room of Hidden Things, where he underwent his work, another was the second floor bathroom where he went when he was frustrated, angry and, though he hated to admit it, scared. The closet next to Rogus the Wrecker on the third floor was where he went to think, to relax. There was no light and as the corridor outside was also quite dim, very little light filtered in. He liked the darkness; it erased distraction.
He had come here this night, however, to see if his mystery witch came back for an encore. After minutes of gentle kissing a week ago, Draco had spoken to her in a voice that was dissimilar to his own.
"Next week."
He had said it because he was intrigued by her, by the nature of her kisses, the softness of her hands so gentle in his hair.
In a way, her nature scared him. She was everything Parkinson wasn't. She had not kissed as though she was starving, she had not growled loudly at his tongue entering her mouth.
She had breathed and absorbed him entirely.
She was not a Slytherin.
The door creaked as it opened and he saw her silhouette dancing against the dim light of the corridor behind her. Once again he couldn't see her face and he knew she couldn't see much of his either but he did not mind; he enjoyed not knowing, he enjoyed the secrecy that surrounded their encounters.
He groped for her arm and pulled her once more into his sanctuary. He placed his hands on either side of her face and just held her there a moment. She did not move; she did not attempt to jump away.
He leant in and placed an experimental kiss where he knew her lips would be. Her breath came out in a tiny sigh that his ears barely heard. He moved his hands from her face and felt at her hair. When he found it tied back in a long pony tail, he lightly, blindly smoothed a hand through it and he smirked slightly.
Curls. Soft curls.
He liked curls. They meant passion, they meant fire. They meant rebellion.
He wrapped his arms around her and continued to kiss her, just as lightly and intently as she was kissing him in response. She was so perfect, so deliberate in guiding her lips over his that Draco knew not how to describe just how passionate it was.
Once again he was struck with how this scared him slightly but he ignored it, lightly touching his tongue over her lower lip. She obliged immediately and surrendered to the passion.
He was lost.
Several minutes later they broke apart and Draco leaned back against the wall, holding her hips lightly.
He listened to her breathing and smirked again to himself.
She shifted against him slightly and drew herself away. A couple of moments later she had turned the doorknob, opened the door and left. She had not spoken a word, as she hadn't during their last encounter.
Draco found that at that moment he did not care at all.