"You've been at that for hours," I whined, running my fingers along the shiny door in complete boredom. All I could see of Draco was the backs of his grey trousers and a highly-flattering posterior view, but I wanted him to pay attention to me and not that stupid cabinet I had found accidentally, no matter what this implied about my IQ apparently.
"You aren't a patient one, are you." He sounded thrilled and amused by this, as though he would have chucked me under the chin had he not been waist-deep in some vanishing cabinet.
For what seemed like the umpteenth time he sprang up and darted from the cabinet to a fireplace, where he shoved his head into the flames. This didn't bother me as much as it should; instead of being concerned for his welfare, I found myself upset that he was looking into a pile of smoldering logs rather than in to my (possibly smoldering-hot) face. At least, assuming he found me as attractive as I found him, which seemed a statistic impossibility. Judging by my intensity…
Initial findings had proved inconclusive, because, of course, my first impression was not influenced by whatever hocus-pocus was now toying with me like a puppet master. Evidence: residual traces of attraction towards other boys (example: Blaise, Harry, Ron). Explanation: the spell and its somewhat increasing doses of whatever love potion I was duped with currently. As I pondered my dilemma, I enjoyed the view of Draco crouched into the fire from my vantage point as I leaned against the cabinet with undisguised glee.
He shifted somewhat uncomfortably in the fire.
"I hope you aren't burning off that hair of yours," I called teasingly.
He turned to regard me with a smirk, his left shoulder disappearing into the flames as though it were simply a curtain. Then he turned back to the flames, calling back towards me, "You know I hate it when you check out my arse like that."
I giggled despite myself.
"Don't tell me you wouldn't do that same," I replied, suddenly extremely interested in my fingernails as he stood to return once more to the cabinet.
"That," he murmured as he passed me, raising a single eyebrow, "would be completely different."
He was now buried completely in the cabinet so that I could only see the shiny soles of his perfectly new-looking black shoes.
"Sexist," I called after him, peeking into the unfathomable depths of the cabinet.
"Hey," he replied, suddenly forcing me out of the cabinet and pinning me against the nearest wall. "What did I just tell you?"
We both dissolved into giggles for a while too long, and he dipped his face dangerously close to mine in an effort to regain his breath. Somehow this resulted in a completely vertical embrace, that needed only an obliging couch - or, dare I say, bed - to facilitate some activities that both of us would probably regret in approximately nine hours.
Of course, we both came to realize this at the same point and he quickly stepped back, returning a comfortable personal space that buffered our intensely-muddled minds and bodies. Somehow I was fixing his tie absentmindedly.
"I hope I didn't get you into trouble," I murmured. He smoothed the top of my hair in a somewhat condescending way that I didn't really mind.
"It's just like them to set me up like that."
He sighed heavily and returned slowly to the cabinet, probably worrying about what (an apparently invisible) Harry had heard outside his bedroom door.
"Did I at least make up for it?" I asked hesitantly.
There was a moment of silence and he slowly crawled back out of the cabinet, grinning broadly.
"I would say so." He pulled open the door and gestured for me to enter. "It's fixed."
I took a step forward gingerly, peering into the blackness with some remaining reservations.
"Really?"
He took on an offended pout as though my questioning his skills was some affront, and then trotted obligingly before me.
Somehow we both fit.
"Ready?"
He had asked me this before; I hoped the sensation following wouldn't be that rollercoaster-falling.
It was worse.
When I could finally breathe again (this time gasping without even the appearance of laughing) Draco was opening the door onto some dingy room.
It was silent. I had spent the previous hours in a room with an annoying bar of opera and the fluttering of charmed letters like gnats above my head. This room was like a vacuum, and the light filtered in green instead of that rosy-glow that the flames of his school gave.
I cautiously tip-toed out of the cabinet. Draco strode out impatiently behind me.
"Where are we?" I whispered, reaching out with curious fingers to brush my hands across the grimy glass cases around.
Draco was suddenly grim. "Still en route," he murmured.
"To where?" I asked, the thrill of excitement (as though I hadn't had enough of that already that day) flushing my cheeks as I whirled to look at him.
"C'mon." He grinned, mirror to my sudden high, and grabbed my hand. He towed me quickly out of the greenish shop down a dingy corridor. We were running, up a flight of moldy stairs and suddenly we were standing in the sunlight, and he was gradually towing me past these bright stores where candies and owls and magic tricks were proudly displayed in the storefronts.
He squeezed my hand, reveling in my awe.
"It's beautiful," I murmured, staring over witches' hats into the clear British sky.
"Stop staring," he quipped, "you're making me jealous."
"Let me try that."
I leaned over and slowly licked the perfect dollop of ice cream that was perched as a third tier on the massive cone Draco was holding with complete composure.
"Mmm," I enthused.
"You like it?" he asked genially.
"No, not so much," I admitted, laughing.
"It's pistachio," he admitted, pausing to reconsider the cone with a somewhat questioning glance. "At least, basically." More laughter. It seemed too good to be true, the massive ice cream cones we each had, where several scoops were towering. Even in the bright sunlight and cool crispness of the sunny day, we weren't rushed by the melting ice cream, something I could accept as magic and just enjoy.
"I don't understand," I explained, mouth full of cookies and cream (or its magical equivalent, which also included chunks of fudge and something peanut-buttery) "how anything that doesn't include chocolate could even attempt to be defined as a dessert."
"What about pie?" Draco asked between his obscene licking attempts. I made a face at his lewdness to which he responded with a laugh. "Not even apple?" he persisted.
"Nope," I replied decisively, taking a taste of the fudge (my second layer). "What about you?" I asked.
"I like pie," Draco responded, turning his cone upside down and munching on the bottom of the sugar cone. Apparently these were gravity-resistant ice cream cones – each scoop remained affixed. It was hard to determine what was more amazing, the ice cream or the wizard.
"No," I corrected myself, "I mean, what about you is weird?"
He looked confused, as though the very idea was insulting. "Nothing."
"No, no," I continued. "Like my dessert pet peeve. What about the world seems really wrong to you?"
"Pie is something really wrong with the world?" he asked, his eyebrows peaking in unbridled amusement, either changing the topic with surprising ease and avoiding my prying, or still so amused by my idiosyncrasies.
"Yes," I replied archly, taking a ladylike lick of my mint chocolate chip layer. "It is falsely qualified and a resolute charlatan of dessert-ed-ness. Now. Your turn."
He thought for a minute, tipping his cone sideways as he stared out into the topiaries that surrounded us (I was particularly amused by the unicorn, witch, and especially the fairy-shaped shrub that was actually fluttering above our heads somehow).
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I guess no one's really asked me that before."
I sat silently, watching him and daintily enjoying the amazing ice cream.
"I mean," he continued, facing me finally, "there were always assumptions about me – I'm sure Potter gave you a few examples [his voice turned dark at this point, and then cleared somewhat] – and so there was never any time for there to be anything weird about me… Because, of course, my parents had these assumptions too."
He sounded disgusted by his parents, and once again resumed the massaging of his inner arm while wincing.
"Nothing weird about you?" I asked teasingly. "Or should I just chalk this up to a blonde moment?"
"A what?" he asked, as though he had never heard the term before.
"I rest my case," I murmured to my cookie dough ice cream.
It made me feel like such a girl, but I couldn't finish the ice cream mountain no matter how I tried – Draco found this amusing, which made me tempted to attempt eating at least another scoop, but he quickly dismissed this (bad) idea and chucked my cone in a trash bin.
"Now," he said, rubbing any residual ice cream traces of his hands with a businesslike air, "where to?"
I looked at him innocently and he smiled, grabbing my hand to once more pull me through the crowds. He paused under an awning that alternated raspberry and chocolate colored stripes.
"Although you aren't a patient person," he began calmly, tucking a few stray curls behind my ear, "I want you to try and hold it together, okay?"
I was distracted by the contact his warm hand made as it brushed my neck, but not distracted enough to not be miffed by his little insult. In response, I made a highly-attractive face at him that may have included me sticking out my tongue in mature disapprobation.
There was a little bell on the door that tinkled as I entered, my heels shushing across the luscious wine-red carpeting. At the noise of the bell a small witch poked her head out from a sort of back room and came trotting over.
"Hello Mr. Malfoy," she began obsequiously, sounding out of breath as though frightened of the gorgeous blonde boy that had an arm around my shoulders.
"Madam Malkin," he replied by way of greeting somewhat condescendingly, thunking a large pile of gold coins that he had somehow found in his pocket on to the counter. "My friend here needs some dress robes."
Feeling left out of the conversation, and needing an excuse to lean in towards Draco, I whispered jokingly into his ear, "Don't worry, I already have a bathrobe." He smirked at my exaggerated ignorance and rewarded my attention-mongering with a gorgeous grin.
"This way, Miss," the Malkin lady called, somehow still sounding breathless, and led me behind a curtain where she unceremoniously began to strip me.
"I can undress myself," I muttered crossly, feeling uncomfortable as she unabashedly began removing my socks.
I heard Draco guffaw from outside.
"You really don't have to stay, honey," I called back sarcastically.
He poked his head into the dressing room, apparently unaware of the increasing scantiness of my outfit as the Malkin lady began removing more layers. "It's alright," he murmured, indecorously trailing his eyes over my body. Madam Malkin made a little noise in the back of her throat as though this upset her, but apparently she remembered that stack of gold coins and contented herself with clucking to herself and shaking her head.
"Any chance that you'll be getting some robes?" I inquired with false politeness.
"Oh no," Draco replied, grinning. "Madam Malkin just finished another lovely dress robe for me." Somehow he produced a hanger holding what appeared to be a very nice tuxedo that he had been concealing behind his back; he draped it unceremoniously across a nearby chair.
"Would you like to step over here?" asked Madam Malkin. I followed obligingly to an angled set of mirrors. Still making barely-audible noises of disapproval, she began to measure me quickly as Draco watched from the red velvet chair with undisguised delight.
"How is it," I asked casually as Madam Malkin shuffled away to go find something in the back room, "that you always manage to undress me while remaining completely clothed yourself?"
Draco grinned. "I'm a sexist pig, remember?" he asked, my favorite expression of his, this sexy little half-smirk, making me temporarily forget that we were in a public setting.
"Not fair," I repeated instead, turning back to the mirror in faked superciliousness.
"Fine," Draco smiled. I heard him walk over, and by the time I turned he was unbuttoning his shirt. "I suppose I should check to make sure this doesn't need any last minute alternations."
I have no idea what Madam Malkin thought when she returned to find both of us in our skivvies (Draco's a somewhat posh green silk variety; mine a sadly mundane white cotton set), but I couldn't really think to care, to be honest. I was somewhat distracted by the muscular planes of Draco's bared skin. Because as much as I hated the way he had been eyeing me like a piece of property for those past seventeen hours, I couldn't help but explore the perfect curves of each muscle.
"What did I tell you about staring," Draco murmured out of the corner of his mouth at me. I was surprised to see the traces of a blush on his snowy complexion, and blushed in response. Madam Malkin resumed her clucking and shoved a garment over my head.
When I could see something other than the dark plum fabric over my face, I was staring at my own reflection. With my peripheral vision I was vaguely able to establish the fact that Draco was buttoning up the tuxedo-type white shirt. My own attire was equally fancy. Madam Malkin was tugging at the straps so that the sweetheart neckline fell perfectly. I fiddled with the clinging bodice and the long strait skirt of the dress. My legs felt a cool brush of wind; apparently there was a thigh-high slit along my right side. I investigated it in the mirror to determine just how revealing it was.
"Stop it," Draco muttered next to me, now affixing mother-of-pearl cufflinks. "You look gorgeous."
The gravity-pull I had been feeling must have been originating in his silvery eyes; as he turned to look at me, I felt puppet strings pulling me towards him. It was like I wasn't moving, but instead the world was moving around us.
Madam Malkin chose this moment to stab me in the ankle with a pin (I hadn't realized she was even hemming the dress) and I quickly withdrew from my somewhat amorous intentions.
"She cannot watch those pins, can she," Draco whispered somewhat nervously, as though he was embarrassed about just how close we had come, once again, to kissing.
"Yeah," I laughed, sounding somewhat asthmatic for some reason. I coughed to hide the feeling, and we continued staring straight ahead into our respective mirrors in silence.
It seemed like an eternity until Madam Malkin straightened up and somewhat angrily said, "All done."
The distance between Draco and me was almost tangible, as though I could feel his aura somewhat a foot to my left. We were both staring at our own reflections and secretly trying to check each other out from the corners of our eyes.
Suddenly a thought occurred to me.
"Draco," I began slowly, turning to him, "I can't let you buy me this."
"Why?" he asked, scowling. "I want to."
"You want to now," I replied, feeling suddenly cold in the spaghetti-strap gown. "But tomorrow…"
He turned and glared at me in a very scary and very attractive way.
"I want to show you my life for the next six hours," he replied in a somewhat overly-intense way.
"Why?" I asked, sounding awed despite myself.
"Why does that matter?" he asked, offering me his arm. I couldn't help myself; suddenly I was stepping into my heels and following him out the door.
Three hours later and I was wondering where the time had gone. It was a blur of perfect silverware and flickering candles and beautifully ornate rugs and a little magically animated fountain. I could taste the perfect food that Draco's gold coins were buying and see the crystal chandeliers reflected in his silver eyes.
Somehow I was standing from dinner, my mouth frozen in a tiny, shy smile.
"That was perfect," I remarked as we walked out. He was leading me down a pathway towards the dark alley we had originally come from. He smiled back at me, looking completely infatuated, just the way I was feeling. I could hear my heels striking the cobblestones below, but it was like my head was floating separate from my body, bouncing like some balloon happily, my whole body numb and separate in the happiness that kept my face in that somewhat silly grin. Somehow this made me blush and look down at the streets as they passed underneath my feet.
"Ladies first," he offered, holding open the vanishing cabinet. How were we back at the store already? It was all spinning so fast, as though time were accelerating.
When we emerged from the Room of Requirement so late in the evening (it must have been at least ten o'clock) Harry and his goons were no where to be seen. Draco led me back up the stairs to his dorm room; I recognized the way, but it was nice to have him hold my hand so I said nothing.
For a third time I was locked into his room, but this time it was with a somewhat suggestive grin as he snuggled into his silken green sheets, still in his Bond tuxedo. I curled up next to him, the grapey fabric of my dress folding into the green sheets.
We stared at each other for a few minutes.
"How long do we have?" I whispered.
In response, Draco unlatched his Rolex-type watch and chucked it into a pile of clothing in the corner of his room. We both knew that somewhere, some time soon, there would be a clock striking midnight. But as his watch impacted the ground with a resolute, decisive thunk, Draco turned to me with that insanely-attractive expression that kept me from worrying about what pumpkins and mice this evening could end in.
And finally, after twenty-three hours of torturous waiting, he leaned in to kiss me.
I awakened that morning without any blankets on. My brain was a mess of molasses sliding in my brain, and as I vaguely began to reconnect those synapses I felt a smile sneak across my lips as my fingers traced the outline of my mouth. My other hand trailed along the bed sheets, exulting in the warm softness of the jersey sheets.
I sat bolt upright (a mistake, as always) and was shocked by my mundane surroundings – my dorm posters, the later morning light sifting in through my small, dirty window, the glimpses of white cinderblock wall poking through between my pictures. A quick turn sideways (flinging my somewhat matted hair in a flip that recalled Severus Snape) and I found my room empty – no roommate, and no Draco Malfoy.
For some reason this uncoiled a sort of snake in my stomach, an uneasiness somewhere centered in my torso that made me wrap my arms around my midsection. I knew this was coming, I reminded myself, the low after such an amazing high. Had it been worth it? Why had they let me remember?
And if it was just magic, why did I feel like crying?
There was a knock on the door and I stood slowly, ruffling my hair. I took a sip of water from my bedside table to ease the somewhat cliched lump that was already tugging at the back of my throat. I had only known him for twenty-four hours, I tried to tell myself. And I didn't even have a glass slipper.
In fact, I didn't even have pants on - somehow I had torn them off in my sleep and they were in a little heap by my bed, but my head was throbbing and after spending half a day somewhat in Great Britain without pants on, I figured an American university dorm was nothing. I wrenched the door open with a little too much force and staggered as the hinges gave way too easily. A whiff of woodsmoke and ashes buffeted my face in the rush of wind.
"Can't you ever wear pants?" I heard an exasperated voice inquire.
Of course, it came out sounding like a strange foreign language due to his British accent. That took a few moments of my thought to decode it to real English.
His silvery eyes were smiling as they strayed unabashedly over my bare legs. And I was grinning as I looked over his familiar, muscular frame beneath that British school boy uniform.
"Hi," he smiled, "I'm Drake Malloy, the new exchange student." He flashed a shiny new student ID under my nose. "I'm a little jetlagged from the time change… could you show me around?"
"How?" was all I could ask.
"It's amazing what time difference and a little magic can accomplish," he whispered. "Especially when it comes to enrolling part time in two universities."
I smiled at him, besotted, clinging to the door frame to remain upright.
"So… are we starting with a tour of your bedroom?" He trailed his eyes over me once more.
I slammed the door in his face. This time, I was going to do this right.
THE END.