This chapter contains sexual content, so if you feel offended by that kind of stuff, you probably shouldn't read this. Reviews are very much appreciated. They are extremely encouraging and it feels good to be acknowledged for your work. ENJOY!


It's the day you first make love to her that you know that you can't live without her.

"I know I'm irresistible Granger, but it's not polite to stare."

"Why'd you do it?"

"Call me daft, but I don't seem to know what you're talking about."

"Madame Pompfrey told me you stayed with me all night."

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, and your knees weak. You don't know what to say, so you don't say anything. You notice that her hair has taken the shape of corkscrew curls, no longer the unidentifiable bush it had once been. A stray strand falls apart from the rest and almost as if it were a subconscious reflex, you tuck it back behind her ear.

"Malfoy what is wrong with you?" You snap out of your silent reverie a bit dazed.

"You."

It's a quiet whisper.

One that you don't think she hears, but she does. It's her, it has always been her. She is your weakness.

Your downfall.

It's only obvious that she is your problem.

"If you hate me so much why do you do…this." She motions towards you.

You sigh, simply turning your back on her and walking away.

"Don't walk away from me damnit. Don't you dare."

You feel so weak. So pathetic. You don't spit fire at her, and instead of you, it's her that's asking the tough questions.

Your heart skips a beat when she grabs your arm, turning you around. And you tell yourself that it's her fault when you kiss her. You cup her face in your hands, your fingers digging into her skin. It's painful and not for the obvious reasons. Painful because a hurricane of emotions is coursing through your soul.

You feel like a dementor, taking hers' as well.

It's painful because you knew that this would happen. But it's most agonizing because she's not yours'.

And she never will be.

When it is absolutely necessary for you to breath, you break the kiss and rest your forehead against hers, your breathing shallow, her chest heaving. The taste of her mouth lingering on your own: strawberries pastries.

You're surprised that she hasn't hexed you into oblivion. Instead she simply pushes you away.

"Why do you keep doing this?"

She's leaning against one wall and you stare at her from the opposite.

"Why do you pretend that you hate me one day, then kiss me like you give a fuck the next? Do you give a fuck, or am I assuming too much?"

"I don't know."

"How do you not know? You don't know why you kissed me. Do you also not know why you called me Mudblood all these years?"

You close your eyes tightly, somehow hoping that she'll disappear when you open them again.

The heated passion in her voice reverberates throughout the empty corridors.

"No, I don't know why." You match her passion with your own.

"Bullshit," she spits.

You blame her for the second kiss as well.

You're standing before her in two quick strides; one hand at the back of her neck and the other at her thigh, making its way up her skirt. She moans in pain as the protruding stone digs into her back.

You silence it with your mouth.

When your heated kisses lead you back to your room, you waste no time in shedding your clothing. And she wastes no time in shedding her own. You admire her beauty, the way the moonlight from the over sized window hits her chest. The way her breasts look at that moment. The way the space between her thighs glistens like the morning dew. The way her hair is crazy, and for once it's in a good way. But what really drives you mad is the way her eyes are filled with lust.

Lust for you.

You approach her slowly, almost as if she will run away if you startle her. Snaking your arm around her back, you pull her in closer, her eyes never leaving your own. You wonder what she can see in your eyes.

Can see your demons caged deep down in the darkest recesses of your soul?

You take in the familiar scent of lavender, and allow your senses to be lost in it. You place a kiss on the space beneath her ear, and she breathes raggedly. Her hands get lost in your platinum hair somewhere along the way, and your own explore her body. Her skin as soft and supple as satin. She's growing impatient, you can feel it.

You can smell it.

The salty taste of her skin becomes one that you won't be able to live without, should you ever be denied it. But you know she'll come to her senses and you'll be strangers once more. The thought angers you, you want her all to yourself, because not only are you a coward, you are a greedy coward. You dig your fingertips into the hollow space behind her knees and carry her to your bed where you allow her to fall back into the dark green sheets.

You can't help but think she belongs there.

The contrast of her ivory skin against the silk of the fabric makes your breath catch in your throat. She looks up at you, the sheets intertwined with her body, beckoning to you like a siren. And you will gladly crash into a thousand boulders for her. You don't know when your love for her turns into an obsession. Perhaps it's the moment you take one of her nipples in your mouth and she moans beneath you, her bare legs rubbing up and down your own. Perhaps it's when you thrust into her and she cries out you name.

Draco.

You love the way her hair is matted on her forehead from sweat.

You worship her body with your own, slamming into her over and over as she makes noises that you will not soon forget. As she reaches her climax you kiss her on the forehead, lingering as you reach your own.

I love you, you want to say, but instead you roll onto your back, loathing everything you are once more.

She leaves, and you don't stop her. Mainly because she's not yours' to stop. You're left with nothing but your fire whiskey and an unpredictable, unstable heart.