Chapter Eight
The dungeon was full of vapors and the odd smells that usually accompanied potion making. There were four steaming cauldrons, three sitting on a pedestal in front of three of the large tables that furnished the room. The last was on Slughorn's desk.
The class size was much smaller than Draco was used to. Only three other Slytherin's besides himself had been able to make the required O.W.L grade. Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and interestingly enough Taryn Davis.
There were also four Ravenclaws, and one Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillian, who quickly strode to share a table with Harry and Ron, who had unfortunately made the class as well.
The four Ravenclaws took a table as did the remaining Slytherins, Draco took a seat next to Taryn, leaving her on one the end of the table.
Slughorn lumbered to the front of the room, his large walrus mustache curved above his wide grin. "Welcome, Welcome. I must say that I am a bit surprised as to how small the class is, not to say that I am displeased. This will, of course, allow for greater focus. Now then, scales out, and potion kits. I hope that you all remembered to bring your copy of Advanced Potion-Making..."
"Sir," Harry said raising his hand, "Ron and I don't have all of our supplies. We didn't realize that we would be able to take Potions this year..."
"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention...don't worry m'boy. You both can use ingredients from the store cupboards today. There are some scales and a few books in there as well."
Draco smirked at Slughorn's ingratiating tone. He would wager that Slughorn would do an impromptu tap dance if Saint Potter indicated that he wanted one. He hoped that the entire year wasn't going to consist of him watching as Slughorn kissed arse.
He was actually looking forward to this year's Potions. It, other than Defense Against the Dark Arts, was one of his strongest subjects, and he often found himself feeling stifled at the lack of progression.
Snape was excellent at providing his students with a working knowledge of rudimentary potion making, but the teacher too often had allowed himself to get sidetracked by his obvious dislike of Potter. Like the incident that happened in DADA earlier in the week. He wished Potter would take far more advantage of his celebrity status and deem class unworthy of his attention. It would limit the brown-nosing in this class at least.
Slughorn sat two battered books, along with a pair of tarnished scales in front of Harry and Ron before returning to the front of the room. "Now then, I've prepared a few potions for you to examine. These are just a few the types of potions you ought to be able to brew after taking my class," his chest puffed, the buttons of his waistcoat threatening to pop off. "You have most likely heard of them, even if you haven't yet prepared them yourself. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" he said motioning toward the cauldron in front of the Slytherin table.
Veritaserum, Draco thought, eying the liquid in the cauldron. The bubbling liquid looked very much like plain boiling water.
Taryn's hand flew into the air. "Its Veritaserum, a colorless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth," she answered after Slughorn called on her.
"Very good," Slughorn said happily, "Now," he said pointing at the one nearest the Ravenclaw table, "this one here is pretty well known. It has appeared in many Ministry leaflets lately. Who can...?"
Taryn's hand hit the air again. Draco pushed back a smile. Her eager know it all attitude was actually kind of cute.
"It's Polyjuice Potion, sir," she said.
"Excellent! Now, how about this one here...yes m'dear?," said Slughorn in a bemused tone as Taryn's hand punched the air again.
"It's Amortentia!"
"It is indeed. It seems almost foolish to ask," said Slughorn looking very impressed, "but I assume you know what it does."
Draco would be very surprised if she didn't. His brow furrowed. She was reminding him of someone...but he couldn't quite put his finger on who exactly.
"It's the most powerful love potion in the world!" Taryn said.
"Quite right. You did, of course, recognize it by its distinctive mother of pearl sheen?"
"And the steam rising in spirals," Taryn said confidently, completely engrossed in her answer. "It is said to smell differently to each person, according to what attracts them to whomever they desire. I can smell new parchment, a deep spicy, woody scent, and leather..."
She stopped abruptly, her cheeks turning pink.
Leather? Taryn Davis was attracted to leather? Hmmmm, Draco thought.
"May I ask your name, my dear?" Slughorn asked, ignoring Taryn's embarrassment.
"Taryn Davis, sir."
Slughorn reached over to his desk, consulting the class list. "Tracey Taryn Davis? Might you be related to Nigel Davis? The CEO of Davis Line?"
"Um...he's my father," Taryn said, squirming in discomfiture.
"Interesting, that," Slughorn said. "Well, take twenty well deserved points for Slytherin."
"Back to the potion," Slughorn continued, "Amortentia doesn't actually create love. It is impossible to manufacture or imitate love. This instead causes a powerful attraction or obsession. It is probably the most dangerous potion in the room..."
Draco and Theo smirked skeptically at each other. Draco didn't subscribe to notions of love, and he damn sure wouldn't let a potion force him to do so.
Slughorn noting their disbelief stated, "When you have lived as long as I have, you will not underestimate the power of obsessive love, or rather a force that resembles it."
"Now," Slughorn said rubbing his hands together, "it is time to start work."
"Sir, you haven't told us what is in this one," Ernie Macmillian said, pointing to the last cauldron sitting on Slughorn's desk. The potion inside looked like molten gold, roiling like ocean water, drops leaping out of the liquid like fish, and landing neatly back within.
"Oho," said Slughorn. Draco was sure the bootlicker hadn't forgotten the potion, but had merely waited to be asked for dramatic effect. "Well, that there is a curious little potion called Felix Felicis. I take it," he turned, smiling, to look at Taryn who had gasped, "that you know about the properties of Felix Felicis, Miss Davis?"
"It is liquid luck," Taryn said excitedly, "it makes you lucky."
Draco, as well as the rest of the class, sat up straighter. Slughorn now had his full and undivided attention. A little luck would go a long way toward completing his task. With Felix Felicis he might even make the next year with all of his limbs intact.
"Yes, indeed. Another ten points to Slytherin. Yes, its a funny little potion, Felix Felicis. It is extremely difficult to make, and can be disastrous if prepared incorrectly. However, if brewed properly, as this has been, you will find that all of your endeavors tend to succeed...at least until the effects wear off," Slughorn said.
"Why don't people brew it all the time then?" asked Terry Boot eagerly.
"Well there is the previous mention of difficulty of brewing, and if taken in excess Felix Felicis causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence. In addition it is highly toxic taken if taken in large quantities, but if used sparingly, and very occasionally..."
"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Michael Corner asked with great interest.
"Twice in my life. Once when I was twenty-four and again when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoons with breakfast. Two perfect days," answered Slughorn, gazing dreamily into the distance, obviously lost in memory, before snapping back to the present. "And that," he continued, "is what I shall offer as a prize in this lesson."
In the resulting silence after his statement, the bubbling and hissing of the cauldrons seemed to amplify.
"One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis," Slughorn said, drawing a small cork stoppered vial from his pocket and showing them all, before filling the tiny bottle with the golden liquid. "This is enough for twelve hours' luck. From dawn till dusk you will be successful in in everything you attempt. Now I must warn you that Felix Felicis is a banned substance in organized competition," he said eying several of the students who were quidditch players, "so the winner is to only use this for an ordinary day. An ordinary day that will soon become extraordinary!"
Draco inwardly scoffed. Slughorn was naive if he thought that anyone would follow that particular rule.
"So, how do you intend to win my fabulous prize?" Slughorn asked, his tone suddenly more businesslike, "Please open your textbooks to page ten. There is one hour left to us, which is a decent enough time for you to make a stab at the Draught for Living Death. I know that it is more complex than anything that you have attempted thus far, so I do not expect a perfect potion. I do, however, expect you to do your best. This class is about experimentation and challenge. The best potion will win little Felix Felicis. Now, off you go!"
The scrapping sounds of cauldrons being drawn closer echoed throughout the room. Draco cracked open his book, the pages crisp and new. He forcibly tamped down the bit of hope that rose within him. He had to keep his mind on the prize. This was, perhaps, the most important potion that he would ever brew. It could be the difference between his life or death.
He ignored the glances being thrown his way, methodically chopping his valerian root, and consulting his book between every step.
Soon a bluish steam flowed around the room. Slughorn appoached his table. "Wasn't your grandfather Abraxas Malfoy?"
Draco pushed down his irritation at being interrupted. "Yes sir, he was."
"I was sorry to hear when he died, thought it was not unexpected. Dragon Pox is a nasty way to go. It's nice to see his grandson so interested in potions..." Slughorn droned on.
I would be, Draco thought, if you would bloody leave me to the potion making. He had to forcibly keep himself from snapping at the man. Eventually the man moved away to pester Potter and Weasley.
"And...time's up," he said shortly thereafter. "Stop stirring please!"
Slughorm moved slowly among the tables, stopping occasionally to stir or sniff. He gave an approving nod at both Draco's and Taryn's cauldrons as he moved further down stopping before Harry's.
A wide smile spread across his face as he peered into the cauldron. "Perfect! A clear winner! It seems that you have inherited your mother's talent at potion-making, Harry. Here you are. One bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised. I hope you use it well!"
Draco cursed under his breath. Harry Potter was decent at Potions, but he knew that he was better. If fucking Slughorn had just let him alone, rather than distracting him, he might have had a chance.
"How did you do that?" he heard Weasley ask as the students exited the classroom.
"Just got lucky I guess," Potter said.
Bullshit, Draco thought. Nobody was that lucky with such a difficult potion right away.
Potter irritated him further that week by continuously producing amazing potion results. It got to the point that whenever Slughorn opened his mouth everyone expected more Saint Potter worship to spill from his lips.
Draco made the effort to ignore Potter, and he was sure that his lack of hostility was more than confusing to the other boy. He just didn't have the time. Both his task, and a certain cinnamon haired girl had prime spots in his thoughts these days.
He had tried to push the Taryn business to the back of his mind. He found that it was actually much harder than he had assumed it would be, and he didn't like it one bit. Never before had a witch occupied his mind on such a level. He wasn't used to such intensity. Sexual attraction he understood, and it was something that they had in spades. Sometimes his fingers literally itched with the effort of keeping from grabbing the girl and taking over her very kissable lips, but he handled the notion with steely will. He at least had to set his plan in motion before he could entertain more pleasurable diversions.
Mostly, though, it was the emotional aspects that he found himself ill equipped to deal with. He found himself thinking about how much he liked the way she looped her hair up, sticking in a chopstick to get the heavy strands out of her way while preparing ingredients in potions, or how her face would flush whenever their eyes locked.
He often had to rip his eyes away from her lush mouth, pushing back the urge to kiss her every time her tongue darted out to moisten them.
He knew that his hot and cold attitude was confusing to the witch, but he couldn't bring himself to completely ignore her, so he would often engage her in conversation, even starting a debate just to watch her eyes spark with passion as she tried to prove her point. Then at other times he would pretend not to see her while walking through the corridors, or make noncommittal comments addressing whatever she was talking about. He often had to bite back a grin at her clear annoyance.
It was dangerous, this attraction. He refused to label it as anything else. He couldn't afford to allow himself to get distracted, at least not until after he had killed Dumbledore, if he got away with it. He didn't think she would be as interested if he was found guilty of murder and sent to Azkaban.
He had begun to plan the way to best get the Opal Necklace to Dumbledore. It would be tricky. He had to find a way to get the necklace to Dumbledore that couldn't be traced directly back to him. He would need an intermediary. Someone that Dumbledore would trust and he wouldn't expect to betray him.
He was sitting at Slytherin table, cutting into a piece of grilled chicken breast when he felt a familiar searing pain race across his left forearm.
He was glad that he was wearing a sleeved shirt because he wasn't sure if he would have been able to maintain the glamour covering the mark. He didn't want anyone to know that he was marked, and had decided that even though he knew that many already speculated that he was a Death Eater, it was much more preferable to leave it in question. He didn't think he would be able to pretend to be proud. It wasn't a mark of pride for Draco. Instead it was a constant reminder of his servitude, his slavery, the fact that his mother wasn't yet out of danger. Also it reminded him that he was a failure. He couldn't keep the darkness away, and it was taking too fucking long to find a solution.
He stood abruptly, striding away from the table and ignoring curious gazes that followed his lean figure from the hall.
He stopped by his room to retrieve a dark cloak, and a knitted hat to ward against the chill. He also affixed a small pouch to his belt. He was certain that he would need the items within.
Because of the anti-Apparition jinxes that riddled Hogwarts and its surrounding grounds, he was forced to fly his broom to Hogsmeade to the nearest public Apparition point. He, of course, made sure that a Disillusionment charm was firmly in place to protect against prying eyes.
He stashed his broom and the pouch under a convenient row of bushes before Disapparating, allowing the mark to lead him to Voldemort.
He appeared in a damp, misty graveyard. In front of him was a mausoleum designed like a Greek revival building, surrounded by a low wrought iron fence. It had once been beautiful, he could tell, but now its walls were covered in moss, ivy and neglect. By the moonlight, he could just read the name carved above its iron double doors. Utteridge.
He swallowed against his fear, pushing through the fence, and ignoring the protesting screech of metal as he forced the rusted gate out of his way.
He knocked sharply on the metal door, the sound echoing through the stillness of the graveyard. The door swung open, and a lighted wand was shoved into his face. The wand was quickly lowered, revealing Wormtail's ugly visage.
"Come in boy, you are expected."
It seemed that the temperature was at least ten degrees lower within the mausoleum. There were two large marble tombs, carved with the outline of resting figures.
He watched as Wormtail approached the rear wall of the small mausoleum. He tapped his wand against a stone, muttering a quiet incantation. The stones slid back, much like the wall to Diagon Alley, revealing a fire lit entrance.
"This way then," the Wormtail said.
Beyond the gaping dark hole of the entryway was a descending stone corridor that seemed newer than the mausoleum behind it. There were sconces affixed to the green columns that lined the corridor. The columns held up heavy arches, beyond which was only darkness.
"Where are we?" he asked, his voice echoing through the gloom. He could hear the drip of water sliding down stone walls, and plopping against the floor in the distance.
"Does it matter?" Wormtail answered, turning toward him and raising a brow in question.
"I guess it doesn't," Draco returned. His eyes closed for a minute as he mentally prepared himself for the Dark Lord's presence.
The walk through the grim corridor seemed interminable, but soon Draco found himself in front of another large doorway. The large, wooden double doors had two huge silver door rings carved like ourobori. Pulling the door open, Wormtail waited for Draco to enter. The room beyond was a long, narrow reception hall
The walls inside were covered in emerald green velvet, and decorated with silver gilded mirrors, that upon closer inspection had people trapped inside their silvered depths. Within one, a middle aged witch beat against the glass, her hands bloody, mouth open in a silent scream.
The floors were bare green marble, their decoration only a silver tiled runner leading to a large throne cushioned in more green velvet, upon which the Dark Lord sat.
Draco took in the room with a quick, yet thorough, glance. There had to be another exit. Voldemort would not leave himself trapped. He also would bet his entire inheritance that there were anti-Apparition charmed firmly in place throughout the room.
The room was decked out like a dark revel. Many people were in attendance, dressed in finery or simply their Deatheater robes. Draco had to restrain himself from approaching his mother when he spied her standing with Bellatrix against the wall.
"You may approach," Voldemort hissed, reclaiming Draco's attention. "Make room!" he snapped to the Death Eaters, who quickly moved to either side of the long floor runner.
Draco walked silently down the silver tiles, stopping a few feet before the platform upon which the throne sat.
"My Lord," he said quietly, dropping down to his knees, head bowed.
"I have given you a tasssk to complete. A difficult tasssk for one sssuch as you, but an order nonethelessss. Where are you regarding the preparationssss?" Voldemort asked, his low voice hissing through the now silent room.
"I have began the task, my Lord. I believe that it will be successful. The timing is the most important factor. The plan that I will set into motion is dependent upon optimal timing," Draco said, eyes on the floor. He trembled. Not just with fear, but also with a healthy dose of anger, and resentment that he was forced to hide the emotion.
Since his head was down, he didn't see Voldemort raise his wand. He only heard the "Crucio", before he was racked with terrible pain, his muscles seizing in protest. He fell from his knees into a ball of twitching agony, writhing against the freezing stone floor.
He heard his mother's gasp, and he grit his teeth, determined not to let a single cry pass his lips.
"I want more progresssss! I have other plansss that are contingent upon the completion of your task," Voldemort snarled. "Crucio!" he said again as the spell began to wane.
Draco almost bit his tongue as another wave of pain seized his body.
"Please, my Lord! It's only been a few weeks!" Narcissa cried from the sidelines.
Voldemorts head whipped toward her, his concentration wavering, and Draco finally felt blessed relief.
"Did I give you leave to speak?" Voldemort asked, directing his comment toward Narcissa.
"No, my Lord," Narcissa said, cowed. She looked like a beaten animal, one that had a broken spirit and only anticipated more cruelty.
Voldemort smiled chillingly at her, delighting in the shiver that visibly raked her body. "I expect to sssee sssome resultssss sssooon. You may ssshow your appreciation for my attentivenesss," he hissed in a soft, menacing tone while glancing down at Draco.
Draco painfully pulled himself from the floor. Ignoring the fact that his body was spasming with the aftereffects of the curse, he lowered himself once more to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes.
"You may leave now," Voldemort said, waving his hand in dismissal.
Draco resisted throwing once last glance at his mother, turning on his heel and leaving the way he had came.
Back in Hogsmeade, he cast another Disillusionment charm before staggering to the row of bushes to retrieve his broom. Opening the pouch, he downed the bitter pain relief potions, before tiredly climbing back on his broom to return back to the castle.
He had been gone less than two hours. He still had time before lights out to obsess and fine tune the beginning of his plan.
Halfway through October came opportunity for an official student trip to Hogmeade.
Draco had waited on pins and needles, afraid that he would be called before the Dark Lord once again. Voldemort was impatient for either his success or death it seemed.
Draco woke early that day. He stayed in his room, forcing down a bowl of cereal, and attempted to study while he waited until it was time to leave for the village.
When the time finally arrived, he dressed carefully. For what he was going to attempt, he wouldn't be able to wear the clothes that his mother insisted that he buy. Those clothes consisted of the usual sweaters, trousers, and the like, and wouldn't do for what he had in mind. He couldn't be exactly like the other men that roamed through the village. He definitely couldn't be the preppy version of himself.
He would have to bring more of Ryu to the table.
Ryu was Draco at his most primal, his most basic self. The person that he kept hidden. The stronger piece of himself, and the steel in his backbone.
Soon he was attired in dark wash jeans, a grey shirt that matched his eyes, and a buttery soft black leather jacket. The weather, which was proving stormy, made the addition of black boots, gloves, and a black scarf a must. Because he disliked extra layers, he placed a warming charm upon himself, before pulling a black beanie on his head. He pulled a messenger bag over his shoulder, wrapping the Opal Necklace in a Tueri cloth, and stuffing it inside.
The walk to Hogsmeade was only slightly bearable, and he ended up casting another warming charm to join the first just to keep his skin from feeling raw from the cold. He walked by himself, telling Crabble and Goyle that he was meeting a certain lady. He let them guess as to her identity.
Watching Harry Potter and Ron Weasley enter Honeydukes, he kept on his course, soon arriving at the Three Broomsticks.
Inside the inn, it was cozy and warm. His face, blessedly, began to lose its chill. As always it was full of people, each table crowded to the maximum. Laughter and voices abounded.
Walking up to the bar, he questioned the bartender, "Where is Madame Rosmerta?"
The man, who obviously thought that he was a pretty boy, eyed him with one raised brow. The man had dark chestnut brown hair, and bright green eyes, and a tall solid build.
"What do you want with her?" Jealousy filled the man's tone. Obviously he and Rosmerta had something going on the side, regardless of the fact that the man had to be a good ten years younger.
So the witch liked younger men? Maybe that would work for him.
"She is expecting me," Draco lied.
"The hell she – " he began angrily, "You know what? Fuck it. I'm tired of this shit. She's in the storeroom getting more getting more rum. Left doorway. Be my guest," he huffed, walking away to slam a glass in front of a surprised wizard.
"Hey, man! I didn't order this!" Draco heard the wizard saying as he went through the door.
The doorway led down a short hallway. At the end of the hallway was the storeroom, and he could hear the shifting of items within. He turned the knob – the door wasn't even locked! – and went inside.
He watched the witch grasp a small bottle of rum, pulling it down from the shelf.
"Need some help with that?" Draco asked quietly.
"Holy Merlin! What are you doing in here?" Rosmerta asked, pushing a thick blonde lock behind her ear. The woman was in her thirties, much older than he was, but she was still quite attractive. He body was curvy in all the right places, rounded, and mature. At any other time he might have enjoyed what he was about to do.
"I just thought that you might need a hand," he said drifting closer to her. He stopped mere inches away, looking down into her brown eyes. He watched her mouth open slightly, as she gasped in a breath.
"Don't stand so close. Do you have any idea what this will look like if anyone comes in here?" she asked breathlessly. He didn't miss the interested glance that she scanned down his body.
Draco knew she wasn't as unaffected by his presence as her statement would have it seem. He watched her eyes darken. Draco wasn't above using sexual attraction to achieve his means. Up to a point that is. He wasn't going to shag the witch. He merely needed her alone and distracted.
He leaned in closer, watching her eyes close and her lips part as she anticipated a kiss. Pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, he reached for his wand. "Imperio," he said quietly, pointing his wand near her temple.
He watched as her eyes blink open and then blank, as she waited for his command. He pulled the Tueri wrapped necklace from his bag.
"Open and raise your hands," he said, placing the bundled into her hands. "Don't unwrap this cloth yourself. You will find a way to give this to Dumbledore. I know that you are acquaintances and it will not look odd for you give him a gift. The only thing about this meeting I want you to remember is your desire to have this necklace given to Dumbledore with all due haste. You will not tell anyone that you are under the Imperius curse. No one. Not by look, word, or deed. After you have completed this task you will go about your life as per usual and await for my further instructions. Are we clear?"
"Yes," her voice was monotone.
He nodded once, then made sure to leave the room before her mind fully cleared from the spell.
He calmly walked back to the bar, and ignoring the bartender's glare, and ordered a butterbeer, wishing that he could have something a bit stronger.
"That was fast. I guess she didn't fuck you then," the bartender said maliciously.
Draco ignored the man and downed his drink, before leaving the Three Broomsticks. He had badly wanted to curse the man, but he didn't want anything to stick out about his visit to the inn.
He figured that Rosmerta would get the necklace to Dumbledore as soon as possible. The weight of the Imperius curse would only grow heaver the longer it took the witch to follow his orders. He didn't actually care how she planned to accomplish the task, he just wanted it completed. The sooner she acted, the sooner he could think of a way to get his mother from under Voldemort's thumb.
...
Walking back to the castle when he felt the unmistakeable weight of eyes upon his back. He pretended not to notice them, but he covertly palmed his wand. If they had wanted to hex him they had had plenty of time while he was thinking, distracted by the details of his plan to do so, so he figured that they had something else in mind.
He walked, not through the entrance, but along the grounds, trailing beside the castle wall. Suddenly he whipped to his around, slamming whoever was following him into the wall, his hand at their throat.
With a strangled gasp, the person's Disillusionment charm melted away.
It was Taryn Davis.
Draco immediately gentled his grasp, before asking, "Why are you following me?"
"Let me go!" she said angrily, wriggling in his grasp, her blue eyes flashing.
"Not until you tell me why you were following me."
He watched as she bit her lip, her forehead furrowing.
"I just wanted to see what you were up to. You have been acting strangely," she said.
Draco removed his hand completely, but didn't move away, content to invade her space. His brow rose. "You don't know me well enough to judge whether or not I'm acting strangely."
"And you don't give me the chance," she said in exasperation. "You are so hot and cold. I don't get you. One minute you look at me like I'm some kind of dessert, and the next like I'm a nest of vipers. You need to make up your mind!"
Draco's lips quirked. "That is quite an ultimatum, Miss Davis. You needn't have followed me. If you wanted my attention, you just should have asked."
"You are so vain. Its not about attention, its..." His lips crashed into hers, cutting off her next words.
At first she was resistant, but soon her lips softened, her arms looping around his neck as she rose to her tip toes. She tasted of mint toothpaste, and something intrinsically Taryn. He drew her lush body closer, deepening the kiss, his tongue twining with hers in a sensual battle.
He moved ever closer, his lips coming from hers to kiss the soft skin under her jaw. A soft moan escaped her mouth, kindling a rush of electricity through his veins. Neither felt, or minded the cold. The heat that was building between them seemed sufficient enough to warm them despite the chill in the air.
His mouth rose to claim hers once more, his hand rising from her waist and slipping under the hem of her coat and sweater. She jumped and shivered at the touch of his cold hand against her warmed flesh.
"Get a room!" a voice suddenly shouted at them.
They broke apart, turning to look at a group of first years passing by. The group dissolved into giggles.
"We can take this somewhere else," Draco said, his voice slightly raspy from passion, the hand raising to cup her chin and rubbing his thumb against her kiss swollen bottom lip. He wanted very much for her to agree, but he wouldn't force her. It would be entirely her choice.
Taryn's brow crinkled with indecision, and he was just about to give her an out, when her face cleared. "I have a roommate...It will have to be your room."
AN: A note on Madame Rosmerta: She is described as an attractive blonde witch in the novels and isn't as old as the actress that portrays her in the films. I kind of see her as maybe thirty-one or thirty-two. In real life I don't think that its okay for a grown woman to go after a sixteen year old guy, but in Wizarding society Draco is nearly grown, so it isn't as squicky. And, yeah, if Draco had really wanted it, Rosmerta would have totally hooked up with him, lol.