Chapter 6 : Chapter Six
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 3|
Background: Font color:
AN: Yay new chapter! This is sort of the crux of the story, just a couple more now :D I hope you enjoy! And thank you of course to the wonderful Cassie Potter for my delicious reviews :3
Disclaimer - all belongs to JKR!
Damn her, he can’t do it. He’d fully meant to call it off that day in the library, but he couldn’t. It’s insanity. The whole thing is insanity. He can’t be with her, he can’t do without her. He’s trying to keep away from her; he hasn’t seen her in a couple of days, but this generally just leads to an outburst of frustration. Last time they both missed class because he grabbed her from the back of her group of friends and dragged her into a broom cupboard, which was a cramped and dusty and amazingly erotic experience.
It might be the way her hair is always tangled. It might be the way her upper lip is just slightly fuller and overhangs the lower just the smallest bit. It might be the way she breathes in sharply when she’s climbed to the top of the North Tower without pausing. It might be the way she chews her food with one hand over her mouth. It might be the way she bites the tip of her tongue as she measures potions ingredients.
All he knows is, he is utterly in love with her. He must have her. He’s going insane, he’s feverish all the time, he can’t eat, all he can think about is her.
Their NEWTs are approaching and she is studying so hard; but still he knows that if he sends her a note in the library, or grabs her after class, or looks at her across the Great Hall, she’ll be his for however long he wants her. He knows how important these exams are to her and he tries to reign himself in, to give her time to study, and this alarms him. Normally he wouldn’t care.
Easter rolls around before he knows about it. She goes home, but he stays at the castle. His father sends him an egg, one the size of his head, filled with Every-Flavour Beans. He imagines her receiving a Chocolate Frog egg. He can’t know that she gets several eggs. He has no way of knowing or even imagining that.
On the day she gets back they planned to meet in the Room of Requirement. Unusually, most unusually, she is there before him.
When he enters, he stops short. Whenever she is first, only one or twice, she’s turned the Room into small cabins or just a bare room with a bed. This, however, is her bedroom.
It’s large, and lit by bulbs set into the ceiling. It’s a pink-white colour, a couple of black-and-white prints on the walls, and one wall is, of course, taken up with bookshelves. Her bed is just a metal frame really, with fairy lights tangled round the headboard, and there’s a chest of drawers and a table covered with pots and tubes of makeup and moisturisers, and a hairdryer and straighteners. The only hint that this is a witch’s room comes from the photographs on a board above the desk; her cousins and her, her family, a couple of girls he recognises from Gryffindor. One boy in particular catches his eye. He’s tall, with brown hair and eyes, and occurs in only a couple of photos – but he’s sure, he’s certain, that that is the boyfriend. He can’t know that Teddy Lupin went through a phase of turning himself to look like his father.
All at once he feels a rage he has never felt before. It’s strange to feel the need to crush her and own her again, after weeks of wanting to protect her. He tries to push the darkness back; and she tackles him, taking him to his knees, nipping her little teeth into his neck, and it all rises up again, breaking over his head. He pins her to the cream carpet, bites her neck just over the pulse, where she likes, she cries out. Their clothes are ripped, she gasps as he digs his fingers into that spot between her shoulder blades and groans, her lips are at his earlobe, whispering, whispering things and licking and biting and sucking and, oh, god, he needs her, he needs her now and he takes her and for once she responds… he’s not sure he likes it, he’s losing control, but it’s so good, her body moving with his and she falls first and then again and finally, finally he follows…
They lie there on the carpet, on the floor of the bedroom where she grew up, staring at the ceiling. He’s the first to move, to pull his robes on. She copies him slowly.
He doesn’t realise until she sobs. Her head is bent, her face hidden behind her hair. No one would ever know she was crying, but she made a noise, and gave the game away.
He’s at a loss. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s afraid he’s made her cry somehow. He reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder but that feels inadequate so he just takes it off again.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, hating how young he sounds, how afraid and unworthy he is.
She won’t tell him, she just cries and cries. No longer quietly but big gulping sobs now, covering her face with her hands.
He can’t think of anything to do so he leaves her there, goes out and closes the door behind him. He walks down to dinner thinking that she deserves someone like that boyfriend of hers, someone who knows what to do when she cries and wants to take care of her, not hurt her. He’s decided he must break it off. He’s not worthy of her.
The next morning at breakfast he receives an owl. Frowning, he takes the letter from it. It’s not his father’s owl, and Draco is the only person who owls him.
He turns it over.
He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest by a horse.
It’s his mother’s writing.
His mother has been dead five years.
There’s his name, in his mother’s cursive. Spread across the paper like a reminder of childhood.
He sticks his thumb under the thick parchment, pauses.
Does he know? Somewhere in his mind, does he know what ruin this letter will bring upon his life? Yes. Does he have it in him to put it down, burn it, forget it? No. He must know. Perhaps he already does, in some segment of his mind that knows all denied things. He has known all his teenage life, since Aunt Daphne died back when he was a child, and no one would tell him how, or even knew.
He breaks the seal.
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
Other Similar Stories
Life in Pictures