Draco sat up in bed staring at the drawn curtains in front of him. He’d been sitting this way for what seemed like hours. He was still in his school uniform, but it didn’t bother him.
His conversation with the Bloody Baron had left him with a hollow feeling inside of him that clawed at his insides. I probably should’ve listened to Snape, he thought, pulling at a loose thread on his bed covers.
Draco had missed dinner, but he couldn’t care about that either. He needed this new information to sink in.
The Dark Lord was part Muggle? It didn’t make any sense. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him? It hurt that nobody had divulged this information to him. He’d often prided in being in on classified information, happily throwing it out in other people’s faces, especially with Potter.
His father and his friends had kept him in the know how for a long time. Since he’d been a boy, he’d been aware of the Dark Lord, his devoted followers, and their attempts to mobilize over the years. He knew of their plans, no matter how queasy they made him feel at times, and he could hold his head up high with pride.
He’d been aware and supportive of the incident that had occurred during Draco’s second year at Hogwarts. He knew that some form of old magic had enabled the Chamber of Secrets to unleash a terrifying beast that was taking out students one-by-one. Draco shuddered involuntarily at the thought. It had been all talk and empty threats at first, but when students started turning up petrified; Draco wasn’t sure what he thought of the beast. In fact, if the rumors had been correct, Ginny Weasley had nearly died within the Chambers.
He’d been aware of the plot to finally kill Potter once and for all during the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone had mercilessly tormented Scarhead, Draco included, for finding a loophole and entering himself in the competition. But Draco had known what was really going on. Oh, he’d wanted Potter dead just as much as the next Death Eater. It had infuriated him that the attention-mongering, four-eyed prat had once again become the hero of the school. And so Draco had been pleased with the way things had been going. Of course, nobody had bothered to inform him that Mad Eye Moody had in fact been a Death Eater in disguise, and it was him who had transfigured Draco into a ferret for all the school to see.
But when Potter had made a surprising return back to school very much alive with a very much dead Cedric Diggory, Draco’s stomach had clenched and he’d felt weak and feverish. Diggory’s haunted eyes stared blankly at the sky while his mouth hung open not in horror, but in odd sense of awe. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body, not even when the wailing of Amos Diggory rang so loud in his ears, he felt as though his chest would burst open.
Draco had also been aware of his father and aunt’s pursuit of a much needed prophecy. He wasn’t told of the contents, but he knew that Potter had been the key. The Dark Lord had been incredibly impatient, hounding after Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters to get him the prophecy. He’d taken his anger and frustration out on his subordinates, and Draco’s family had shook in fear on a regular basis, wondering what he would do to them. And in turn Draco took out his misery on the most viable target – Potter. He tormented him by joining the Inquisitorial Squad. While he didn’t care much for the toad-like Umbridge, he admired her ideals on blood purity, which she shared with some of the Slytherin students in private. And so he served her to make Potter’s life a living Hell.
Draco had also been present when his mother had met with Kreacher, the Black family house elf. The wretched old fool had complied with his mother’s plan to keep Sirius busy. Their blood traitorous cousin’s absence had sent Potter and his save-the-day obsession into the hands of awaiting Death Eaters.
He’d known all these things, and yet he’d been left in the dark about his Master’s own blood purity. Draco had been painfully initiated into a movement aiming to cleanse the Wizarding race of impurities. For as long as he could remember, Draco had felt as though he was superior to Muggles. He saw their lack of magical abilities as an embarrassing handicap and didn’t like the idea of them mixing with his own kind. And so he despised Muggle-born and Half-blood wizards and witches. They were inferior, filthy, and impure.
Draco didn’t want to think it, but he couldn’t help himself. He continued to absently pull at the loose thread on his bed covers. But doesn’t that make the Dark Lord impure?
The thought scared him and tried to shake it out of his head.
Does it matter what he is? Draco thought glumly.
Of course it does.
But something else didn’t make sense to Draco. Did the others know of this? It appeared as though they did, what with Snape reacting the way he did at the mention of Tom Riddle.
Draco felt sick. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and hugged it close to his chest. If they know….then why do they follow him?
That night Draco had a fitful sleep of haunting dreams that were so terrifying; he believed them to be real.
A dark shadow with an eerie green-like glow chased him as he ran through the streets of a Muggle town. It was black as night and the only source of light was a lone street lamp that flickered.
“Somebody, help!” Draco called out.
It was raining and his feet made sloshing sounds as they frantically thumped across the wet pavement. The town was quiet and nothing moved.
A lone figure stood within his reach and he made a grab for them. “Please,” Draco gasped.
His Muggle Studies professor turned to face him, her face stark white and her eyes wide with fear.
“Draco, how could you?” Charity Burbage cried, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
“But I had no choice!” Draco sobbed, stepping back from the woman. She crumpled into a heap at his feet.
Draco cried out and jumped backward only to remember the dark shadow. He whirled around, coming face to face with the Dark Lord. His eyes were glowing so red, Draco didn’t think he’d seen anything so bright, so fiery. His face was contorted into an expression of intense fury; it made the hair stand on Draco’s neck.
“You dare question me!” the Dark Lord bellowed, his icy cold breath piercing Draco’s skin.
“N-no! My Lord! I wouldn’t d-,” Draco tried, dropping to his feet, his head bent forward.
“Silence!” the Dark Lord hissed. “You have failed me, Malfoy, and you shall pay!”
Draco felt a severe burning sensation grip his chest and he cried out in pain.
A hand gripped his shoulder and shook him. “Draco!”
“Noooo!” Draco howled, entangling himself in his bed sheets.
“Draco, it’s just a dream,” Blaise Zabini’s sleepy voice caught him by surprise.
Draco opened his eyes to see Blaise staring at him curiously. His housemate looked unabashed as a yawn escaped mouth, and yet his eyes revealed a small trace of concern.
“Oi, Malfoy, you think you could keep that ruckus to yourself, yeah?” Theodore Nott’s voice rang out from somewhere in the dormitory.
Draco grunted in response. Blaise continued to stare at him for a moment before retreating to his own bed. Draco sat up and allowed the cool air in the room to soothe his nerves. His hair was matted to his head and his pajamas were drenched in sweat. His breathing was still shaky, but his heartbeat had calmed down. It was so real, Draco thought, nervously.
He slowly got out of bed and threw a dressing gown on. There was no going back to sleep for him tonight. He left the Slytherin dungeons and made his way to the Prefect’s bathroom. Perhaps a nice bath would do him some good. His nerves were still worked up and he couldn’t help but to flinch every time he heard a creak or groan from the aging castle walls.
He thought he heard footsteps behind him, and as he paused to listen, the deafening silence engulfed him. He felt a shiver go down his spine. Draco, get a hold of yourself! Now is not the best time to let your imagination run wild!
Draco hurried his footsteps and quietly murmured the prefect’s password into the entranceway of the bathroom. As expected, it was empty. A dim glow from an array of lights surrounded the bath. He shook off his clothes and allowed the warm water to surround him as he waded in.
After five minutes he was feeling much better.
You need to think about pleasant things, like…er..
Draco tried to think of something other than the Dark Lord. It was almost difficult, since that had been all he’d been thinking of the past few months.
Think of Astoria Greengrass. You’re taking her to the ball. She’s got those gorgeous green eyes that bat themselves whenever she looks your way. And her red hair…
Draco splashed water onto his face. Red hair? She’s a stunning blonde. Why on earth are you thinking of…
Draco splashed some more water onto his face. This is ridiculous. I’m not even alone in my pleasant thoughts!
He rose out of the bath to dry himself off and get dressed. Before he left, he peered at both ends of the hallway to make sure no one was in sight. When the coast was clear, he made his way down the hallway back to the dungeons. His goal was to get there as quickly as possible, but a soft murmuring sound stopped him.
“I’m telling you, Ron, he was there,” Harry Potter obnoxious voice hissed. Draco pressed himself up against a wall, taking care to hide in the shadows.
“Harry, it’s really late, I don’t care where Malfoy is at this hour. He could bloody well be in You-Know Who’s lair at this very moment, plotting something sinister and dastardly, and I’d still prefer being tucked away in my warm bed.” If Draco wasn’t startled to hear this, he might’ve been amused. Have they been watching out for me?
“But isn’t it highly suspicious that he’d be awake right now?” Potter sounded impatient.
What are they playing at?
“Sure, whatever, m-m-mate,” Weasley yawned. He heard retreating footsteps. Malfoy held his breath, waiting for the second pair to follow in pursuit. After a moment, he heard Potter sigh and trail after Weasley.
Draco shuddered in panic. I’m being followed! Thoughts whirled around his head. How long had they been doing this? How much did they know?
His panic soon became fury. Bloody Potter! Who did the sodding git think he was, anyway? He struts around the school like he owns the place. And now he’s keeping watch on me? I’m a prefect. I should be able to haul his arse to Dumbledore’s office right now and have him punished for being out past curfew.
Draco muttered some choice words into the dark.
“The nerve of you young people!” a voice echoed from one of the slumbering portraits.
He suppressed a growl that had been building inside of him as he stomped down the dark hallway. Potty is going to pay for this.
He was too riled up to return to the dungeons, so instead he made his way towards the Astronomy Tower to cool down. The winter air immediately bit at his skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. Draco closed his eyes and took deep breaths.
Relax. You can’t lose control of yourself. This isn’t the time.
The sound of footsteps made his eyes snap open. If it was a professor, he had no time to duck for cover. If it was a student, he surely had enough rage in him to singe the hair off their head with a quick spell.
Draco was startled to find Ginny Weasley in the stone archway entrance to the tower.
“Malfoy,” she nodded.
“Weasley?” he asked dumbly. She was wearing a satin dressing gown, her hair falling loose about her face. It was the first time he’d seen her since the night Hannah Abbot’s mother had died.
“I know how Harry knew where you were,” she said casually, leaning against a stone wall as she hugged herself.
Before he could respond, she had her wand raised and murmured a spell that hit him square in the chest.
Draco jumped from the impact, more from panic than anything else. “What the bloody hell did you just do to me?” He shook in anger.
“It’s a hideaway charm,” she said simply, tucking one side of her hair behind an ear. “Harry has a way of knowing where anyone in the castle is at any given moment. I’ve just concealed your location.”
Draco really wanted to ask how Potter had managed to do something like that, but instead he asked, “And why would you bother concealing my location?” He sneered at her.
She stared at him for a moment, taking in his obnoxious attitude. “Well, for one thing, if Harry caught you doing anything remotely suspicious, I can guarantee you’d find yourself next to Daddy dearest before you could say ‘hippogriff’ fast enough.”
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her thoughtfully. “You didn’t answer my question. Why would you bother concealing my location?”
She rolled her eyes, but refrained from adding anything more. He turned his back on her and leaned against the cold, stone balcony of the Astronomy Tower. His knuckles were white from the cold.
“Why are you really here, Weasley?” he asked, without looking at her.
“I thought Harry might find you the same way I did,” she said quietly.
“So let him,” he said. “It’s not your concern.” He didn’t understand her, or better yet, them. She’d seen him in one moment of weakness and had apparently declared them friends. He didn’t dislike her, but he didn’t like her either. He’d been hoping she would’ve forgotten the whole thing had happened. And if she was going to look out for him, well then that was quite problematic.
She remained silent, so he turned around to stare at her. A gust of the cold night air swept over them. Ginny’s dressing gown blew open to reveal her nightgown. Draco averted his gaze. “You have no allegiance to me. You have nothing to gain from keeping this from them.”
Ginny quickly closed her dressing gown and raised her head defiantly. “I told you I wouldn’t, and perhaps one’s word doesn’t mean a whole lot to a Slytherin, but it sure does to me.”
“Loyalty belongs to the Hufflepuffs,” he said.
“And bravery belongs in Gryffindor. Anyone can stick up for their friends, but can anyone do the same for a foe?”
“Then you’ve made a fool’s choice,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
She laughed, and he wasn’t really sure why. He noticed that the red of her hair was the only vibrant color that defied the blinding white of the moonlight. Neither had he noticed how close they were standing to each other, with only a meter’s distance. The satin dressing gown she was struggling to keep closed hugged the contours of her body. Her brown doe-like eyes danced with intrigue and her cheeks colored pink as she noticed him staring. Not staring, he reprimanded himself, observing.
“We’re not friends,” he said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her lips twitching.
“I don’t even like you,” he said.
“Me neither.”
He took a step closer to her and leaned in for a kiss, taking her lips into his own. It was an exhilarating feeling, and she created a sensation in him that he hadn’t felt before. She pulled back slightly but he placed his hands on her hips, drawing her closer to him.
The feel of the soft satin and the soft body underneath made his knees weak. She moaned into him.
“Malfoy-” she gasped as he trailed kisses down her jaw line. She clung to his arms, almost begging him to keep her up. He moved her against a stone wall, pressing himself even closer to her so he could savor the touch of her soft body against his. His lips grazed her throat and he could feel her shuddering in his arms, short gasps of pleasure escaping her. His lower abdomen was throbbing in frustration.
“Stop,” she whispered, placing her hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away.
“Why,” he asked, but not really asking at all, as he slid a hand down her back.
“Please,” she pleaded with him, arching into him as his lips wandered dangerously close to her ample chest. He wanted to touch her breasts, but restrained himself.
“Please what?” He smiled against her porcelain skin.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his face level with hers. Her eyes were hungry with desire. Draco kissed her deeply until she moaned so loud, he was sure Filch would come running. He drew away from her embrace.
“Weasley.” he nodded to her before heading back into the school, a smile on his face.
His conversation with the Bloody Baron had left him with a hollow feeling inside of him that clawed at his insides. I probably should’ve listened to Snape, he thought, pulling at a loose thread on his bed covers.
Draco had missed dinner, but he couldn’t care about that either. He needed this new information to sink in.
The Dark Lord was part Muggle? It didn’t make any sense. Why hadn’t anyone ever told him? It hurt that nobody had divulged this information to him. He’d often prided in being in on classified information, happily throwing it out in other people’s faces, especially with Potter.
His father and his friends had kept him in the know how for a long time. Since he’d been a boy, he’d been aware of the Dark Lord, his devoted followers, and their attempts to mobilize over the years. He knew of their plans, no matter how queasy they made him feel at times, and he could hold his head up high with pride.
He’d been aware and supportive of the incident that had occurred during Draco’s second year at Hogwarts. He knew that some form of old magic had enabled the Chamber of Secrets to unleash a terrifying beast that was taking out students one-by-one. Draco shuddered involuntarily at the thought. It had been all talk and empty threats at first, but when students started turning up petrified; Draco wasn’t sure what he thought of the beast. In fact, if the rumors had been correct, Ginny Weasley had nearly died within the Chambers.
He’d been aware of the plot to finally kill Potter once and for all during the Triwizard Tournament. Everyone had mercilessly tormented Scarhead, Draco included, for finding a loophole and entering himself in the competition. But Draco had known what was really going on. Oh, he’d wanted Potter dead just as much as the next Death Eater. It had infuriated him that the attention-mongering, four-eyed prat had once again become the hero of the school. And so Draco had been pleased with the way things had been going. Of course, nobody had bothered to inform him that Mad Eye Moody had in fact been a Death Eater in disguise, and it was him who had transfigured Draco into a ferret for all the school to see.
But when Potter had made a surprising return back to school very much alive with a very much dead Cedric Diggory, Draco’s stomach had clenched and he’d felt weak and feverish. Diggory’s haunted eyes stared blankly at the sky while his mouth hung open not in horror, but in odd sense of awe. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the body, not even when the wailing of Amos Diggory rang so loud in his ears, he felt as though his chest would burst open.
Draco had also been aware of his father and aunt’s pursuit of a much needed prophecy. He wasn’t told of the contents, but he knew that Potter had been the key. The Dark Lord had been incredibly impatient, hounding after Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters to get him the prophecy. He’d taken his anger and frustration out on his subordinates, and Draco’s family had shook in fear on a regular basis, wondering what he would do to them. And in turn Draco took out his misery on the most viable target – Potter. He tormented him by joining the Inquisitorial Squad. While he didn’t care much for the toad-like Umbridge, he admired her ideals on blood purity, which she shared with some of the Slytherin students in private. And so he served her to make Potter’s life a living Hell.
Draco had also been present when his mother had met with Kreacher, the Black family house elf. The wretched old fool had complied with his mother’s plan to keep Sirius busy. Their blood traitorous cousin’s absence had sent Potter and his save-the-day obsession into the hands of awaiting Death Eaters.
He’d known all these things, and yet he’d been left in the dark about his Master’s own blood purity. Draco had been painfully initiated into a movement aiming to cleanse the Wizarding race of impurities. For as long as he could remember, Draco had felt as though he was superior to Muggles. He saw their lack of magical abilities as an embarrassing handicap and didn’t like the idea of them mixing with his own kind. And so he despised Muggle-born and Half-blood wizards and witches. They were inferior, filthy, and impure.
Draco didn’t want to think it, but he couldn’t help himself. He continued to absently pull at the loose thread on his bed covers. But doesn’t that make the Dark Lord impure?
The thought scared him and tried to shake it out of his head.
Does it matter what he is? Draco thought glumly.
Of course it does.
But something else didn’t make sense to Draco. Did the others know of this? It appeared as though they did, what with Snape reacting the way he did at the mention of Tom Riddle.
Draco felt sick. He grabbed a pillow from his bed and hugged it close to his chest. If they know….then why do they follow him?
That night Draco had a fitful sleep of haunting dreams that were so terrifying; he believed them to be real.
A dark shadow with an eerie green-like glow chased him as he ran through the streets of a Muggle town. It was black as night and the only source of light was a lone street lamp that flickered.
“Somebody, help!” Draco called out.
It was raining and his feet made sloshing sounds as they frantically thumped across the wet pavement. The town was quiet and nothing moved.
A lone figure stood within his reach and he made a grab for them. “Please,” Draco gasped.
His Muggle Studies professor turned to face him, her face stark white and her eyes wide with fear.
“Draco, how could you?” Charity Burbage cried, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
“But I had no choice!” Draco sobbed, stepping back from the woman. She crumpled into a heap at his feet.
Draco cried out and jumped backward only to remember the dark shadow. He whirled around, coming face to face with the Dark Lord. His eyes were glowing so red, Draco didn’t think he’d seen anything so bright, so fiery. His face was contorted into an expression of intense fury; it made the hair stand on Draco’s neck.
“You dare question me!” the Dark Lord bellowed, his icy cold breath piercing Draco’s skin.
“N-no! My Lord! I wouldn’t d-,” Draco tried, dropping to his feet, his head bent forward.
“Silence!” the Dark Lord hissed. “You have failed me, Malfoy, and you shall pay!”
Draco felt a severe burning sensation grip his chest and he cried out in pain.
A hand gripped his shoulder and shook him. “Draco!”
“Noooo!” Draco howled, entangling himself in his bed sheets.
“Draco, it’s just a dream,” Blaise Zabini’s sleepy voice caught him by surprise.
Draco opened his eyes to see Blaise staring at him curiously. His housemate looked unabashed as a yawn escaped mouth, and yet his eyes revealed a small trace of concern.
“Oi, Malfoy, you think you could keep that ruckus to yourself, yeah?” Theodore Nott’s voice rang out from somewhere in the dormitory.
Draco grunted in response. Blaise continued to stare at him for a moment before retreating to his own bed. Draco sat up and allowed the cool air in the room to soothe his nerves. His hair was matted to his head and his pajamas were drenched in sweat. His breathing was still shaky, but his heartbeat had calmed down. It was so real, Draco thought, nervously.
He slowly got out of bed and threw a dressing gown on. There was no going back to sleep for him tonight. He left the Slytherin dungeons and made his way to the Prefect’s bathroom. Perhaps a nice bath would do him some good. His nerves were still worked up and he couldn’t help but to flinch every time he heard a creak or groan from the aging castle walls.
He thought he heard footsteps behind him, and as he paused to listen, the deafening silence engulfed him. He felt a shiver go down his spine. Draco, get a hold of yourself! Now is not the best time to let your imagination run wild!
Draco hurried his footsteps and quietly murmured the prefect’s password into the entranceway of the bathroom. As expected, it was empty. A dim glow from an array of lights surrounded the bath. He shook off his clothes and allowed the warm water to surround him as he waded in.
After five minutes he was feeling much better.
You need to think about pleasant things, like…er..
Draco tried to think of something other than the Dark Lord. It was almost difficult, since that had been all he’d been thinking of the past few months.
Think of Astoria Greengrass. You’re taking her to the ball. She’s got those gorgeous green eyes that bat themselves whenever she looks your way. And her red hair…
Draco splashed water onto his face. Red hair? She’s a stunning blonde. Why on earth are you thinking of…
Draco splashed some more water onto his face. This is ridiculous. I’m not even alone in my pleasant thoughts!
He rose out of the bath to dry himself off and get dressed. Before he left, he peered at both ends of the hallway to make sure no one was in sight. When the coast was clear, he made his way down the hallway back to the dungeons. His goal was to get there as quickly as possible, but a soft murmuring sound stopped him.
“I’m telling you, Ron, he was there,” Harry Potter obnoxious voice hissed. Draco pressed himself up against a wall, taking care to hide in the shadows.
“Harry, it’s really late, I don’t care where Malfoy is at this hour. He could bloody well be in You-Know Who’s lair at this very moment, plotting something sinister and dastardly, and I’d still prefer being tucked away in my warm bed.” If Draco wasn’t startled to hear this, he might’ve been amused. Have they been watching out for me?
“But isn’t it highly suspicious that he’d be awake right now?” Potter sounded impatient.
What are they playing at?
“Sure, whatever, m-m-mate,” Weasley yawned. He heard retreating footsteps. Malfoy held his breath, waiting for the second pair to follow in pursuit. After a moment, he heard Potter sigh and trail after Weasley.
Draco shuddered in panic. I’m being followed! Thoughts whirled around his head. How long had they been doing this? How much did they know?
His panic soon became fury. Bloody Potter! Who did the sodding git think he was, anyway? He struts around the school like he owns the place. And now he’s keeping watch on me? I’m a prefect. I should be able to haul his arse to Dumbledore’s office right now and have him punished for being out past curfew.
Draco muttered some choice words into the dark.
“The nerve of you young people!” a voice echoed from one of the slumbering portraits.
He suppressed a growl that had been building inside of him as he stomped down the dark hallway. Potty is going to pay for this.
He was too riled up to return to the dungeons, so instead he made his way towards the Astronomy Tower to cool down. The winter air immediately bit at his skin and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself tightly. Draco closed his eyes and took deep breaths.
Relax. You can’t lose control of yourself. This isn’t the time.
The sound of footsteps made his eyes snap open. If it was a professor, he had no time to duck for cover. If it was a student, he surely had enough rage in him to singe the hair off their head with a quick spell.
Draco was startled to find Ginny Weasley in the stone archway entrance to the tower.
“Malfoy,” she nodded.
“Weasley?” he asked dumbly. She was wearing a satin dressing gown, her hair falling loose about her face. It was the first time he’d seen her since the night Hannah Abbot’s mother had died.
“I know how Harry knew where you were,” she said casually, leaning against a stone wall as she hugged herself.
Before he could respond, she had her wand raised and murmured a spell that hit him square in the chest.
Draco jumped from the impact, more from panic than anything else. “What the bloody hell did you just do to me?” He shook in anger.
“It’s a hideaway charm,” she said simply, tucking one side of her hair behind an ear. “Harry has a way of knowing where anyone in the castle is at any given moment. I’ve just concealed your location.”
Draco really wanted to ask how Potter had managed to do something like that, but instead he asked, “And why would you bother concealing my location?” He sneered at her.
She stared at him for a moment, taking in his obnoxious attitude. “Well, for one thing, if Harry caught you doing anything remotely suspicious, I can guarantee you’d find yourself next to Daddy dearest before you could say ‘hippogriff’ fast enough.”
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her thoughtfully. “You didn’t answer my question. Why would you bother concealing my location?”
She rolled her eyes, but refrained from adding anything more. He turned his back on her and leaned against the cold, stone balcony of the Astronomy Tower. His knuckles were white from the cold.
“Why are you really here, Weasley?” he asked, without looking at her.
“I thought Harry might find you the same way I did,” she said quietly.
“So let him,” he said. “It’s not your concern.” He didn’t understand her, or better yet, them. She’d seen him in one moment of weakness and had apparently declared them friends. He didn’t dislike her, but he didn’t like her either. He’d been hoping she would’ve forgotten the whole thing had happened. And if she was going to look out for him, well then that was quite problematic.
She remained silent, so he turned around to stare at her. A gust of the cold night air swept over them. Ginny’s dressing gown blew open to reveal her nightgown. Draco averted his gaze. “You have no allegiance to me. You have nothing to gain from keeping this from them.”
Ginny quickly closed her dressing gown and raised her head defiantly. “I told you I wouldn’t, and perhaps one’s word doesn’t mean a whole lot to a Slytherin, but it sure does to me.”
“Loyalty belongs to the Hufflepuffs,” he said.
“And bravery belongs in Gryffindor. Anyone can stick up for their friends, but can anyone do the same for a foe?”
“Then you’ve made a fool’s choice,” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.
She laughed, and he wasn’t really sure why. He noticed that the red of her hair was the only vibrant color that defied the blinding white of the moonlight. Neither had he noticed how close they were standing to each other, with only a meter’s distance. The satin dressing gown she was struggling to keep closed hugged the contours of her body. Her brown doe-like eyes danced with intrigue and her cheeks colored pink as she noticed him staring. Not staring, he reprimanded himself, observing.
“We’re not friends,” he said.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, her lips twitching.
“I don’t even like you,” he said.
“Me neither.”
He took a step closer to her and leaned in for a kiss, taking her lips into his own. It was an exhilarating feeling, and she created a sensation in him that he hadn’t felt before. She pulled back slightly but he placed his hands on her hips, drawing her closer to him.
The feel of the soft satin and the soft body underneath made his knees weak. She moaned into him.
“Malfoy-” she gasped as he trailed kisses down her jaw line. She clung to his arms, almost begging him to keep her up. He moved her against a stone wall, pressing himself even closer to her so he could savor the touch of her soft body against his. His lips grazed her throat and he could feel her shuddering in his arms, short gasps of pleasure escaping her. His lower abdomen was throbbing in frustration.
“Stop,” she whispered, placing her hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to push him away.
“Why,” he asked, but not really asking at all, as he slid a hand down her back.
“Please,” she pleaded with him, arching into him as his lips wandered dangerously close to her ample chest. He wanted to touch her breasts, but restrained himself.
“Please what?” He smiled against her porcelain skin.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his face level with hers. Her eyes were hungry with desire. Draco kissed her deeply until she moaned so loud, he was sure Filch would come running. He drew away from her embrace.
“Weasley.” he nodded to her before heading back into the school, a smile on his face.
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