Draco mentally kicked himself.
Why had he said that? He had narrowly escaped the situation unscathed, only to go and open his big mouth to Potter of all people? Still…his smile lingered, though his temples pulsed and he felt feverish with anticipation. His hands were also shaking slightly, as they had the night he watched her walk calmly away from him…
Potter was going to confront her. He did and he didn't like this idea. She wouldn't know what the hell he was talking about of course, but then again, what if his confrontation forced her memory to react? The spell didn't work that way…that Auror from his father's office still had no clue what happened that day, other than a routine raid that turned up nothing unusual or suspicious. Even though he had gotten a right good cane to the chest for witnessing that little encounter, Draco knew it had been worth it.
The look on Potter's face…yes it was worth the risk just to needle him good. So what if he had a silly row with his girlfriend because he was jealous? She wouldn't admit anything, and it would probably make him angrier, that temperamental Potter, wouldn't it? And perhaps they'd break up over it? That would be only too funny. And good…yes. Draco felt very good about causing trouble between them. And it wasn't just about Potter, either, he knew. It was Angelina. His mind became dark for a moment as he thought about what he had done, but very quickly he pushed it to the background again. The matter at hand: things were going his way. Umbridge had accepted his blackmail, he had Angelina's playbook, and now Potter was about to go and get himself dumped. Draco chuckled and began to saunter down the stairs as if he had all the time in the world, giving Mrs. Norris a casual salute as he went.
It was like poking a struggling insect with a stick.
There was really no other way to describe his state of mind as he caught up to her easily and walked along behind her silently for a step or two, immensely amused that she was so enveloped in her own world. She hadn't noticed or heard him coming at all. Her long, dark hair was pulled up, but he thought he liked it better when it hung down her back. Her Quidditch boots were grinding the grass beneath them as she walked slowly with her head held at a funny angle, lost in thought.
Draco raised his eyebrow at her back as his lip curled up, but these gestures were only witnessed by the night sky above them.
"Out for an evening stroll, Johnson?"
She jumped and spun around, dropping her bag to the grass. He enjoyed the split second of instinctual fear that passed through her eyes and features just before she realized it was him and they became forbidding. "What the hell do you want?" Angelina hissed at him, reaching down to collect her bag.
He shrugged, his hands now in his pockets, and took a step in her direction.
"Daydreaming about your little Pottykins, were you?" he said spitefully, ignoring her question. She stood upright again and narrowed her eyes at him. He decided to poke a little more while he had the time…Crabbe and Goyle should've been over the gate by now, and well on their way down into the changing rooms…if the two clumsy oafs had managed it. "Or were you trying to think of ways to sack Weaselbee from your team without hurting his feelings? What a poor excuse for a Keeper…"
"You really want to talk about poor excuses, Malfoy?" she retorted sharply, "You couldn't see a Snitch if it flew up your nose."
Draco felt that hot pressure in his chest again—the kind he always got when someone insulted him. Shame he was so good at taking the mickey out of other people, but when the shoe was on the other foot he had still not quite mastered himself. Somehow or another being insulted by her made his chest tighten rather more than usual. This of course annoyed him—who the bloody hell was she?
"Watch your mouth, Johnson."
"Grow up, you little dung beetle." She turned and was on the point of leaving him there as if she couldn't be bothered to waste another moment of her time on him. He would have let her go—he had other ways of getting back at her—but she stopped as if her mind had found something in the darkness and grabbed hold of it until revealing light could be shed. She turned back, her eyes probing. "What are you doing out here at this hour?" Her eyes grew wide with anger before he could properly retort and she marched back toward him. "Were you spying on us, Malfoy?"
She looked about ready to sock him in the mouth like her pathetic boyfriend had, but she didn't. She merely stood glaring at him expectantly, her chest rising and falling with tense anger. He laughed. "You think I need to spy on you to know Slytherin's got you Gryffindors pinned?"
"Slytherin hasn't got anything and knowing your sneaky little mind, yes…" She lifted her lip in disgust, which really got his goat, to see her looking at him as if she wanted to scrape him off her shoe like dog shit. "I should have known. I'm going to Umbridge."
She was turning around again, but his reaction was swift and without restraint.
He grabbed her by the arm and she cried out in surprise. Getting his hand over her mouth a split second later, Draco slammed her against a nearby tree. He slammed her so hard that her head bounced off the trunk and she squeezed her eyes shut, going limp for a moment before shaking herself out of the daze the blow induced. Angelina struggled commendably then, but she had underestimated Draco's strength. He did not often use it—he was not usually a hands-on person. He held her fast and firm to the spot. He laughed again as she shook her head furiously; her heated "Let me go!" stifled by his cold hand. Draco hadn't thought he would enjoy this so much-as fleeting and dangerous as it was. To have her thrashing about under him as he pinned her to the tree was extremely exciting. He felt a surge of power that rarely came for him over his enemies. Of course, in his conceited mind her being a girl automatically made her vulnerable to him, and he did not contemplate the source of his surprise show of might.
No, he didn't think about it much. His only instinct was to enjoy this…and Draco spoke to her with a hushed, malevolent voice, relishing the feel of her beneath him. There was such the shape and ripeness to her body that truthfully Draco had always rather admired. Angelina's body pushed and undulated against him, struggling…struggling…the fierce rage in her intense brown eyes…the angry glow of her smooth skin…the grunts of frustration vibrating in her throat and against the palm of his hand. Oh yes—this was fun.
"Watch yourself there, Johnson." Draco drawled. "I am a prefect, you know. I could take points if you aren't nice." He exhaled on her through his lips as he spoke. "Five points…ten points…you keep that up."
She said something that sounded like "go to hell" and kicked him hard in the shin. Damn those ostrich hide boots…they were made to last, and it hurt. She was off again fast, but he managed to allow the instant rage she had kindled overcome the pain in his bone and grabbed her by the fabric of her Quidditch robes, pulling her to the ground. The cloth tore, and she growled as he wrestled with her on the damp grass.
"Malfoy get—off—now!"
"Not until you apologize…" he said hoarsely, holding her wrists with all his strength as she thrashed about. Instead of apologizing, Angelina tried to get one of her knees under him in a particular angle. She jerked violently and he laughed at her. What followed was several seconds in which both of them struggled for the upper hand. She clawed at his hair and tried pushing him off every time he lost his grip on her wrists, but he always gained it back again and enjoyed restraining her. She let out a squeal of rage, wrenched a wrist out of his hold, and slapped him hard across the face.
"You blood-traitor bitch!" Draco's temper rose ferociously and he slapped her back. She looked shocked that he would, but quickly recovered, hissing at him that she would scream if he didn't let her up.
He should. He would. Her eyes were on fire, burning into him. An idea flickered dimly in his head, his lips dry again. She was breathing so hard her chest was slamming uncomfortably into his, the mounds of flesh that were her breasts caving slightly against his stiff frame. In the split second it took for his eyes to slide down to rest on her full, tender lips, the idea became much more than a flicker and he knew with certainty that his curiosity could no longer be denied. It was a curiosity that was creeping up his legs and into his stomach and flooding hot into his groin. There it gathered and there it pushed at him to act on his desire. The question of Angelina Johnson…he wanted it answered.
"Give us a kiss, first." He couldn't stop himself; it was almost surreal. He was leaning in, pressing himself against her, pushing her down into the damp earth. The hot pressure gave way to a full-blown erection and when she felt it, she gasped, which motivated his desire all the more. "Just one kiss…"
"You're cracked, get off me!" Angelina tried once again to land a blow to his balls, but as she was taller than him by at least an inch, her aim was too high and she got him in the abdomen instead of her intended target. He groaned and his grip loosened, giving her a chance to escape him. Sobering panic seized his mind and he remembered himself as he watched her get to her feet; he was sure she was going to run straight up to the castle and tell the first teacher she saw. She didn't do this. Instead she grabbed her bag and jammed her hand down into it, clawing at the contents rapidly. Draco realized what she was going for and his wand was out of the folds of his robes and being aimed just as she had found hers. She jabbed her shaking hand at him and opened her mouth.
"Impediment-!"
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
Her wand flew out of her hand and landed between them. She dove for it, but he was too quick. Draco grabbed it up and aimed it at her. She glared at him, her chest heaving, her hair disheveled and coming out of her ponytail. "That wasn't very nice, Johnson," he breathed almost whimsically despite the knot of panic developing in his throat.
"Touch me again and I'll break your fingers!"
Draco saw lights flickering up ahead; people were moving about in the castle. Had someone heard them? Was someone coming? He felt cold dread creeping up on him. What had he done? What was he doing? She was going to blab to anyone who would listen. Umbridge wouldn't believe her, though, would she? No way…but he couldn't take that chance. Umbridge might not care about a stupid playbook, but assaulting a fellow student the way he just had…if his father found out he would be punished severely.
"You tried to…to…" Angelina was sputtering out, now, her eyes shrinking at him with disgust. Draco did not like the way she was looking at him. He had to think, quickly. He could see it now…McGonagall's nostril's flaring, bull-like, and her eyes widening with explosive rage as she screamed: "HE TRIED TO WHAT?"
He remembered a while back. The raids of wizards' homes for dark artifacts. His father's study…the Auror who had come to inspect them. Lucius had not been aware that Draco was standing in the hall, watching everything through the open doorway…
There was nothing for it.
"O-Obliviate!"
Angelina's expression of shock melted from her face, replaced by such abnormal sereneness that it unnerved Draco. Her shoulders relaxed and she stared at him blankly, her hands falling to her sides as she stood there before him—inanimate and vulnerable. He blinked at her, still a bit panicked by his own actions and the situation he was now facing. He licked his dry lips. What had his father done? Simply spoken to the man…
"Johnson?" She blinked. "Angelina."
"What?" her voice was just as hollow as her expression.
"Are you paying attention?"
"Yes…"
He didn't have much time to modify her memory. She would wake from the spell and find him there, not knowing how they ended up in this predicament, and then he'd have to do it all over again. "Listen to me. You're going back up from practice. You're tired, and you want to take a shower and go to sleep."
"Right. Tired."
"Get your things." She obediently reached down and grabbed her bag from the grass. He hesitated, but held out her wand to her and she took it. Angelina turned and walked away. "Oi, Johnson, wait." She stopped and turned. That damned look in her eyes was making his skin crawl. He hadn't been able to see the man's face when his father did it, but now he understood why only wizards who were of age and who could handle it (and for that matter, certified in some capacity – Healers and Ministry officials and such) were allowed to use this spell. It was tricky and very dangerous business, tampering with people's memories.
"What?"
"You didn't see me, understand? You took your time going back so you could think about how pathetic your team is, but you didn't see anyone else along the way." She inclined her head in something resembling a nod and turned to walk away again. Draco had a thought, could not help himself, and with a slight smile called her back again. The spell turned her around for a second time.
"Yes?"
"I think you were thinking that when Potter touches you it feels a bit like being rubbed by a slimy sausage."
The muscle under her eye twitched, and he thought that he had gone too far—the spell had worn off and she was going to slap him again and go screaming to McGonagall. But…she merely turned yet again to make her way up the path toward the castle.
He watched her go, feeling like he had just narrowly escaped the gallows.
Draco lifted his hand to his smarting cheek, rubbing the spot where she had slapped him gently with his fingers. He reached up also with trembling hands and smoothed his hair down again. He heard lumbering, dragging footsteps behind him and knew that Crabbe and Goyle were approaching.
He turned. Sure enough, they were shuffling their heavy bodies up the path towards him. Goyle looked flustered and was breathing as if he'd been jogging laps around the pitch. Crabbe was clutching the playbook in a hand that gripped Goyle's shoulder; his other hand was covering his eyes. Draco frowned at them, trying to ignore the painful throbbing in his shin.
"What happened to you, Crabbe?"
"She jinxed her stupid locker. Got me right in the eyes when I tried to open it…"
Draco smiled. "Let's have a look, then." Reluctantly, Crabbe lowered his hand. His eyes were crossed so badly that they looked like one single pupil in the center, joined at the very top of the bridge of his nose. Draco snorted and shook his head, reaching out for the book. "Got to hand it to her…"
Crabbe gave him the book and hastily covered his eyes again. "What do I do about this?"
"Go to the hospital wing, what do I care?"
"But what if Pomfrey asks how it happened?" Goyle put in, showing an unusual hint of shrewdness.
"Just tell her you're stupid. She'll believe you." Tucking the book into the folds of his robes, he nodded them off. They went and he turned to go in the opposite direction. Angelina had already disappeared through the front entrance. He could not wait to get up to his room and catch up on his reading…and of course, reliving the feel of her body underneath his over and over again was on the agenda as well…
Harry's temper…
Yes that was a well-worn subject by now. People thought it clouded his judgment. It only got him into trouble, they said; only hurt him in the long run. Both his quick, flame-like anger and his passionate stubbornness were things no one really understood. Hermione, Ron, even Dumbledore …none of them could seem to grasp that his passion (and even his anger, yes) fueled his survival. Harry couldn't articulate this: not to them and not to himself either, but it was a certainty – just as surely as it was that he needed to talk to Angelina now.
And as for the trouble…well they told him that he could more easily avoid trouble if he kept is temper in check. Rubbish. Trouble always found a way.
Harry descended upon the Great Hall like an owl delivering an urgent message, his eyes searching out the person he had come for. He ignored the chattering, laughing crowd of students all around him. He ignored Cho's gaze, ignored the staff table where Umbridge was now squeezing her plump bottom into her usual seat, and completely disregarded Hermione and Ginny. His sole purpose was to get to Angelina…there she was, picking at her food whilst Fred and George talked amongst themselves, occasionally forcing a laugh at something they said.
Harry stopped short where she sat, breathing hard and sweating a little but not really noticing as he nearly shouted: "I need to talk to you. Now."
She looked up at him, her eyes widening with surprise. "Harry, what's the matter?"
"Can we get out of here?"
He didn't wait for her to answer him. Almost blindly he reached down and took hold of her arm, guiding her up from the bench. Her spoon clattered to the tabletop as she stumbled before Harry turned to lead her back out the way he had come. Many pairs of eyes watched them; some of the laughter and chatter died away as the two of them walked in silence through their midst. Harry was tingling all over, that familiar white noise in his ears and vision again as he led Angelina out of the Great Hall and into a small corridor behind the stairs. The corridor led to the stairs that would take them down to the Slytherin common room and the kitchens. He stopped with her there, the two of them looking at each other in tense silence before he could gather the calm to speak.
"I've just come from a row with Malfoy," he began, licking his lips again. They were dry and his stomach felt hollow but queasy. He just needed to breathe. Harry did this, the air streaming out of his nostrils warmly and disturbing her hair. He hadn't realized he was standing so close to her. She waited for him to continue. Her eyes were fixed and blank. "He said—Angelina, he said some stuff…"
"What did he say?" Her voice was diminutive, unlike the voice she normally used to speak to him. Harry thought with no small amount of unpleasantness that she sounded like Cho.
"Stuff about the two of you having…having 'fun'. That he…knows why I like you, now…t-that you…"
Harry had to stop. His young mind was finding it very difficult to grasp Draco's words at the same time that it produced images of things Harry had seen that would confirm them. Dirty hair. Red palm. Tear in her robes…
"Well what was he talking about?" Angelina stared at him intently.
"Did he…? Angelina you would tell me if he…?"
"What?"
"Put his hands on you. F-forced you to do something…" He was finding it difficult to speak.
Her eyes grew wide with shock and disgust. "You think he forced himself me? Like…" Angelina lowered her voice, "…like rape?"
Harry shuddered upon hearing that word. It had indeed been what he was thinking; even if he didn't choose to let the word materialize in his fifteen-year-old head. "He didn't." His voice was a grave whisper. This was not a question. If Malfoy had…Merlin help him.
"No!"
"And you'd tell me if he had?"
"Bloody hell, Harry, have you cracked completely? What did that little toerag say to you?"
"He-he said…" Harry was beginning to feel his anger mutate into a kind of two-headed 'I-can't-believe-I-fell-for-it/but-he-sounded-so-smug-and-convincing' beast. "He implied that…"
"Well he was obviously lying." Her voice had taken on that tone again, only this time Harry did not like it at all. "Goodness, he's running 'round like mad to get you to react to him, and you don't seem to be getting any better at calling his bluff—Harry!"
For Harry had turned and was now striding back out into the foyer, his feet carrying him almost of their own will towards the Great Hall again. He didn't know what he was going to do, but just then all he wanted was Draco. Was he sitting now among his smug friends at the Slytherin table, boasting to them about putting his hands on Harry's girlfriend?
Harry's feet were carrying him closer, he was almost at the threshold, but Angelina seized him and pulled him back roughly, much as she had done in his dream. She had to struggle hard to get him to come back with her, but when she finally managed it they were standing in the little corridor again, breathing loudly at each other, their eyes locked.
"I'm sorry I said that, but Harry you have to leave it alone," she said, her own temper flaring. "What did you say to him to make him tell you that?"
"What?" Harry couldn't believe his ears. "Are you…? You are not defending him!"
"No, I am not." Angelina closed her eyes and tried to steady herself. He watched her, his temples pulsing with anger. "But Harry, you have to get a grip on yourself." She groaned. "I knew this would happen…"
"You knew what would happen? That I would kill him? Well, you were damned right!" Her eyes were still closed to him, though she gave a slight twinge when he yelled at her. Harry stopped and looked about, his eyes searching for those phantom helpers again as they had back when Ron was telling him about his crush on Hermione. "What do you want me to do, then? Just act like he didn't say those things?"
"Well…" Angelina looked at him finally. "It was a really disgusting thing to do, but…"
Harry blinked. "But…?"
"Listen: it was just like the practice drill. He was just being Malfoy."
"Angelina, you're not telling me that his basically bragging about having his way with you was anything like-"
"No, but I'm saying he was lying to get this—us bickering like this—to happen."
He shook his head at her, still not seeing anything her way and determined to flush out the rat. "B-But what was wrong with you that night? Angelina, you were acting strange."
"What?"
"Last Tuesday you were all dirty and your robes were torn!" Harry snapped impatiently, his skin growing hot all over. "And you-you barely let me touch you."
"Harry, that…that was…I was just…" Her head shivered back and forth slightly like she was shaking it to clear it and her eyes became unfocused as though she were trying to remember exactly what he was talking about. "I-I don't know, but it had nothing to do with Malfoy. I told you already, we were practicing hard. I got roughed up a bit at practice, maybe…"
"Maybe?"
"It doesn't matter!"
"Damn it, Angelina!" He stamped his foot. He was confused and angry.
"Would you look at yourself? You're acting like-"
"Don't say it." She stopped and looked at him with solemn eyes. He sighed as he realized that arguing with her was getting him nowhere. "Fine. We'll pretend that he didn't just tell me he felt you up then. I'll just grin and bear it like a chump and everyone will be happy…" He said this in a defeated manner, but in reality he was far from it. Even if nothing happened (he had no reason to suspect she would lie to him), Draco was still gonna get it. Harry didn't know how yet…oh but it was coming.
To his utter irritation, she laughed quite abruptly. He scowled at her and she clapped her hand over her mouth, shaking her head in apology as more muffled giggles escaped her.
"What?" He snapped, quite incensed.
She sighed and removed her hand from her mouth, her eyes full of fondness. "It's just…soo cute how you leap to my rescue like that. And we've only been dating for a week."
Harry narrowed his eyes at her dubiously, crossing his arms. "Angelina, be serious."
"I am." And the smile faded from her lips. She stepped closer to him and sighed. "I've been really stressed out and feeling a little…off for the past few days. You've been really patient. I appreciate that."
"Yeah, well…" He looked away from her stubbornly, still fancying the idea of wringing Malfoy's neck. Or a good exploding-puss-polyps hex would do that sneaky git right. He fancied he'd ask Fred or George for advice on the best method for getting Malfoy to cry. Yes…Harry fancied he wanted to see the blond rat cry a bit. Angelina spoke, pulling him from his dark thoughts.
"Malfoy is scum. We know it. He'll continue to be. But Harry I just don't want you to get into trouble again."
"The things he said, though." He turned back to her, looking into her eyes, suddenly determined to make her understand how scared he'd been. She seemed to be lost in this gaze for a moment, her own eyes shining with something he couldn't read. He was scared he'd uncovered something in that look, but she merely nodded.
"I understand."
Harry reached out suddenly and pulled her into his arms. Her warm body melted against his and he closed his eyes to relish the feeling. The thought of Draco putting his slimy hands on her filled him with cold, hard rage. Coupled with that, though, was another more powerful emotion. He did not recognize this emotion right away. Growing up with virtually no trace of the thing had deprived him of the ability to determine its presence easily. It wasn't yet as strong as how he felt about his parents…but it was glinting at him from some place deep within him, making him hold her still tighter for a moment.
He suddenly remembered something and released her. "He was talking to Umbridge."
She frowned. "What?"
"Before I ran into him and he said that stuff about you I overheard him and Umbridge talking. They were planning something. He's got something on her." He pushed the nasty business he had just confronted her about aside and began rattling off everything he'd heard.
"Harry, slow down, you're stammering."
"Sorry," Harry stood from his leaning position against the stone wall and grabbed her hand, leading her back out into the entrance hall and towards the sounds of laughter and talking. "Come on, I wanna talk to Hermione. You'll get the details while I'm talking to her."
Harry forced himself to let what Malfoy had said alone, for the moment. Soon enough though, he would regret it; Harry would make sure of that.
He did not know, however, that Angelina was thinking—thinking hard—as he lead her quickly back to the Gryffindor table to join Hermione. What he told her made something click in her mind. Her mood the last few days had been the result of all that stress she had mentioned, true, but more so than that she had been struggling with the overpowering feeling that there was something wrong with her. Something had happened to her and she could not catch hold of the memory with witch to light the dark room she'd found herself standing in when she looked down at her bruised wrists and knees in the shower Tuesday night.
She was frightened, but she could not let Harry know. What…what was that empty hole that kept reappearing every time she tried to remember what she had been doing that would cause her wrists to bruise? The thought of Draco's tale filled her with wretchedness beyond revulsion. She made the plan to do a little confronting herself, as this boy she loved to kiss led her to his bushy-haired friend. She didn't know that Harry was planning a version of the same thing.
Oh how trouble finds a way.