Chapter 4 : Chapter Four
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AN: It's been a little longer this time, but as you can probably see I was waiting for my beautiful banner :D thank you, Verloren :) also thanks to Cassie Potter for being such an excellent, admirable and consistent reviewer! :)
Disclaimer - it all belongs to JKR
Damn her. Damn the little bitch. He can’t get her out of his head. It’s hard to focus on lessons, even Quidditch; at night he can’t touch himself, it’s not enough, it has to be her. Like a fever, she burns in him.
He doesn’t know why he feels he has to mark her. Well, he does know, it’s jealousy over whatever damn Muggle she’s shagging. It’s the knowledge that she’ll never entirely belong to him. It’s anger that she affects him so badly. It’s bitterness that he should be in her place, he should be the loved child of the wizarding world, it should be him that everyone wants to know and be seen with. It’s a stab in the back to his father, the daughter of his enemies, and a half-blood at that.
He considers this to be what love feels like.
Once they meet in the Astronomy Tower, once he pulls her into a broom cupboard on the third floor, but mostly they meet in the Room of Requirement, where they can make as much noise as they like. Soon it’s every night, or almost every night, and she has potions that she takes, just in case; makes them herself.
Every time he even thinks of her he has to move, to shake off the boiling feeling in his abdomen. Quidditch is a good distraction, until he finds himself thinking about her and not about the Quaffle; the Captain shouts at him.
“Just because your father helped us out with these brooms doesn’t mean your place here’s confirmed, Malfoy! Do some bloody Chasing!”
Soon, too soon, it’s the Christmas holidays. They both go home, of course, but from their post-coital chats he knows that she loves Christmas, while he loathes it.
It’s difficult to see each other in the days and nights leading up to the last day. When he boards the Hogwarts Express to go home, he hasn’t seen her in three days. He’s restless, irritable, frustrated. His friends try with him and give up, ignoring him to chatter amongst themselves and play chess. No one notices when he slips out of the compartment.
She’s sitting with her cousins, only a couple of them, and a few other girls he doesn’t know or care about.
“Weasley,” he says insolently, sliding the door open. “Can I have a word? You,” he says pointedly to Rose. She raises an eyebrow at her cousin, follows him out. As her eyes meet his, she blushes violently. He leads them down to the end of the carriage, out of sight of anyone.
“I suppose you’ll be seeing him, then?” he leans against the wall. She doesn’t answer. He can sense her trembling. “Come on, Rose. Are you going to shag your little Muggle boy instead of me this holiday?”
He’s in front of her now, yanking her chin round to meet her eyes, so close he can taste her warm breath. She pushes up, kisses him. He’s unused to her taking control, he kisses her back, feels the blackness rise up, the need for her. He grits his teeth viciously, hand over her mouth to stop her crying out.
“Don’t sleep with anyone this Christmas,” he hisses in her ear, presses his fingertips into the taut muscles of her shoulders, massaging, making her gasp and arch against him. Fear and desire mingle in her expression.
He buries himself in her, hand over her mouth to keep her silent, lifting her against the wall of the train while it rushes on into the distance, into the future, into the vastness of possibility. Tears spill from her eyes; he kisses them away – fervour, passion, heat racing from body to body, gasping, pushing, breathing, building… and he’s gone and she follows, falling away into that void where they seem to spend so much of their time.
Afterwards she smiles at him and winces as she straightens her clothes.
“Ouch,” she comments, pulling a face. He grips her cheek, pulls her head back to kiss her.
“I told you, you won’t be sleeping with anyone this Christmas,” he tells her slyly, releasing her. They part ways without looking at each other.
He sees her on the platform with her mother and father. His father isn’t there, of course; he’ll have sent the car. He can’t wait until he can Apparate. He smirks, imagining himself inside her. Her brother joins them, sulking along.
There are no decorations up at home. He sends the house-elves out for some. His father will not notice, but it makes him feel better for trying.
Draco tries, on Christmas Day; he’s bought his son a new broomstick repair kit, a book about Apparition, new robes, sweets… enough presents for a whole family, when they only have each other, but it’s long before dinner that he gives up and goes into his study.
He is left feeling empty, floating in a sea of wrapping paper and misbegotten love.
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