Torn

Draco propped his feet up on the trunk at the end of his bed and sighed noisily. Teasing the Weasley girl hadn't been his original intent when Potter had intercepted him on the seventh floor. He, Crabbe, and Goyle had been headed towards the owlery to create some havoc. He frowned and folded his arms beneath his head as he lay atop his silver and green comforter.

Potter. Damn Potter and his damned luck! Why should he always have the best of everything? He'd been allowed onto the Quidditch team in their first year. When Draco's father had bought the entire Slytherin team Nimbus 2001's, Potter had somehow acquired a Firebolt! He'd been allowed into the Tri-Wizard tournament, even though he was too young, and Hogwarts had a champion - and then he'd gone and won the damned thing!

Draco fumed silently. And now Potter had Ginny Weasley on his arm. He scowled at himself. Why should he be jealous if Potter and Weasley were together? He didn't know why it should bother him, but it did. When he'd seen Potter kiss her, he'd wanted nothing more than to strangle him. Of course, he reasoned silently, There's never a time when I don't want to tear his throat out. But when he'd seen the way she'd looked at Potter afterwards, he'd wanted to kill both of them.

Why didn't girls look at him like that - like they worshipped the ground he walked on? He thought about it for a moment. No, he did have girls who looked at him like that. Weasley, though - something had been different about the way she'd been mooning over Potter. She'd looked at him like he was the very oxygen she needed to sustain her. His fists clenched beneath his head.

Potter always got the best of everything. While Weasley wasn't exactly the best, she was a damn sight better than that stupid Chang girl that Potter had been dating for the last year. His mind drifted to the redhead's face in the library. He wasn't used to seeing girls think in front of him - usually they were mute, or just spouted answers that they thought he wanted to hear. She'd been different, though; she'd spoken her mind, and hadn't backed down when he'd openly criticised her. She hadn't wavered under his bullying, either.

He bit down hard on his lip, and tasted the salt of his own blood. Why had she been occupying his thoughts so much lately? He raised a milky finger to his mouth, touching it gingerly before drawing it away. The red on the tip made him think of scarlet hair, lit up from behind by the sunlight. Scarlet hair, being whipped around by the wind, and the sunlight glinting off of it. He scoffed at himself. Weasleys were foul, dirty creatures, unworthy of the wizarding world.

But if that was true, then why was she the only girl who'd held his attention for more than thirty seconds at a time? He squeezed his eyes shut until little white stars erupted behind his eyelids. He was glad that he'd decided to try and nap before dinner. After seeing Weasley nosedive, then witness her kissing Potter, he'd seen enough for one day. He rolled onto his side and stared blankly at the stone wall.

Why had he yanked on her broom tail, anyway? He hadn't meant for her to fall off; he'd just wanted to intimidate her and show her that Potter couldn't keep him from her if he wanted to get at her bad enough. She was a good enough flyer that he'd thought he would've just rattled her cage a little. Apparently, though, she hadn't even noticed him during the match, which had upset him more than anything else. He hated being ignored - especially when he'd been painfully aware of her since before they'd gotten into the air.

She was almost as good as Potter on her second-hand broom, he admitted grudgingly. She'd looked like one possessed when she'd headed towards the goals, clutching the Quaffle for dear life. She'd been oblivious to everyone and everything else, so intent was she on scoring. He groaned and buried his face in his pillow, wondering how she managed to pour so much passion into everything she did.

Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and it startled him so much that he sat upright on his bed. He would steal her from Potter. It would be so easy, and no one but the two of them would ever have to know what was happening. All he'd have to do, really, would be to poison her mind. Just plant the seed of doubt and cultivate it; watch it grow until it spiraled out of control. He'd turn her against Saint Potter, and then - then what? Then he'd make her suffer. He'd cut off all contact with her, and leave her alone to wallow in the misery of losing him and her precious Potter!

He rolled onto his back and smiled smugly at the ceiling. When Potter found out that she'd had any kind of voluntary contact with Slytherin's Prince, he'd never want to look at her again! And then maybe, just maybe, if Draco was able to touch her the way Potter had, and see that holy light from her eyes directed at him, he'd finally be able to put her from his mind.

"What are you so happy about?" Draco closed his eyes again.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" his voice came out sounding extremely bored - good.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I got up here?" she asked, smiling. He sat up and smoothed his hair back, then bent to put his shoes on; not noticing or caring that her smile had faded. "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked, annoyed.

"Aren't you going to ask me how I got into your room?"

"You walked, I'd imagine," he said dryly, moving towards her stealthily. He stopped in front of her and sniffed gingerly, then turned away in disgust. "When was the last time you bathed? You stink as bad as a Weasley."

"Really!" She ignored his hurtful comment and stomped her foot angrily. "Draco, if I didn't know better, I'd think that you actually liked that muggle-loving moron!" Draco's eyes flashed dangerously - hadn't she learned her lesson at breakfast?

"It's a good thing that no one's paying you to think, then," he snarled.

"You know she's with the Hero of Hogwarts now," she said, ignoring him again. "The whole school is talking about how he rushed to her side after she fell off of her broom. Millicent told me that Sally-Anne Perks told her that she's even seen them holding hands in the hallways!" Her face flushed crimson as he turned to face her. He was arrested by the fleeting thought that Ginny's blush was much more becoming than Pansy's, and sucked in a deep breath as the thought hit him.

His housemates were going to suspect something if he didn't keep up his appearances better. Instead of insulting her and raging at her, he grabbed her arms roughly and covered her mouth with his. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely registered the fact that he was squeezing so hard, he was probably hurting her. His grip tightened. He swirled his tongue viciously around in her mouth, ignoring the feel of his teeth grating against hers. When he tasted blood, he pulled away. He knew that the blood hadn't been his own. He turned his back to her so she couldn't see him wiping the taste of her from his lips.

When he turned back to face her, he knew that everything would be fine. The dazed look on her face told him that she was still in love with him, and she'd enjoyed the kiss, as brutal as it had been. He shrugged to himself as he walked out of his room and heard her following. If she enjoyed being abused, it would only mean that she'd enjoy being married to him when the time came.

He sat down heavily in his regular seat at the front of the Slytherin table. She sat down beside him and shot Millicent a triumphant look, then began piling food on her plate. He sighed in annoyance; she was going to blow up to the size of Bulstrode if she kept eating like that. She raised her fork to her mouth, but he knocked it away from her, and proceeded to remove food from her plate.

"What are you doing?" she asked, bewildered.

"You eat too much. I will not have a cow for my wife." He gave Bulstrode a pointed look, and watched with satisfaction as she sat her fork down and stared at her plate. Pansy blanched.

"You've never said anything about marrying me before," she said softly. "I didn't know you wanted to." He snorted into his glass as he took a drink.

"Desire has nothing to do with it, Parkinson. You'll marry me because our fathers have already arranged it." She blinked in surprise.

"They have? When?"

"Great Merlin, Parkinson!" he said, gripping his fork tightly. "Do you never shut up? They arranged it after our first year here. Why else do you think I took you to the damned Yule Ball?" She looked stung, but said nothing in reply. She stared down at her plate for the rest of the meal. When Draco finally chanced a look at the Gryffindor table, he scanned for a red head.

His eyes fell on her as she was putting her fork down. He noticed that her plate looked almost untouched; there was a mountain of food still on it. He nodded slightly with approval - Pansy could learn something from her. His temper flared slightly when Potter's dark head came into view and said something to her. He nodded towards her food, obviously trying to coax her to eat. Draco frowned. Couldn't he see that she didn't want to eat anything more? Draco recognized the look on her face, and felt a pang of - well, he didn't know what he felt.

Her face turned pink, and she pecked Potter on the cheek lightly with those full lips before rising and heading towards the door of the Great Hall. His heart began to pound wildly. It didn't look like Potter was going to follow her; he was involved in a conversation with the Mudblood and the other Weasley moron. He glanced quickly at his own housemates, who were all but oblivious to his presence. Pansy had risen and moved to sit near Bulstrode - when had she moved? - and Crabbe and Goyle were entertaining them with their rapier wits. Draco smirked to himself, laughing inwardly at his little joke, then rose and made his way silently out of the room.

He didn't see her anywhere - how far could she have gotten? His feet were silent as they moved across the stones on the floor. Suddenly he heard a noise from his left, and his head snapped in that direction. He groaned inwardly. It was the girls' loo! Of course, he thought nastily. The first moment I have a chance to execute my plan, and it comes in the form of a trip to the loo. He shrugged and turned to make sure no one was looking, and then ducked inside.

He blinked in surprise - the girls' loo didn't look much different than the boys', except that there were no urinals, of course. He peeked under each stall, and stopped in front of the only one with shoes visible beneath the door. He stood and waited with his arms folded across his chest, smirking. What would she think when she saw him standing there? He got his answer when she opened the door and screamed.

He jumped forward and put his hand over her mouth, and she struggled wildly against him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that she was arousing him; he loved a good struggle. He fought down his more primal urges and remained calm.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he drawled softly. She stopped struggling immediately, which startled him for a moment. "If I take my hand off of your mouth, will you promise not to scream again?" She nodded, and he took a deep breath before removing his hand. She turned and looked at him. Her normally ginger-colored eyes were the color of chocolate, indicating her distress. For the second time, he realized, he was aroused. The thought disturbed him.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing, you pillock?" she hissed, backing slowly against the door of a closed stall. "This is a girl's lavatory!"

"I know," he said, resting his own back against a closed stall. "I saw you come in here and thought you might need to talk." She blinked, surprise crossing over her features.

"What? Are you watching me now, or something?" She put her hands on her hips angrily.

"I just thought you needed to talk to someone," he repeated, shrugging. She stared at him as though he was a three-headed dog.

"You thought I needed to talk," she echoed dumbly. "And what, in Merlin's name, would have given you that impression?"

"You didn't eat much at dinner," he said smoothly. Her face paled.

"Let me rephrase that," she said softly, crossing her arms over her chest. "What, in Merlin's name, gave you the impression that it was you I needed to talk to?"

"I believe I'm the only one who noticed that something was wrong," he pointed out with satisfaction. "Your precious boyfriend didn't notice anything was amiss, now did he?"

"And you expect me to spill my guts to the person who knocked me off of my broom and left me for dead, is that it?" she retorted hotly. He blinked in momentary surprise, and then felt his face settle into a smile. Her bottom lip began to tremble; she'd never seen Malfoy smile before - it frightened her. It made her knees weak, but it frightened her all the same.

"That was an accident, you know," he admitted coolly. "I only meant to antagonize you a bit."

"And you know I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth."

"That's as it should be, I expect," he shrugged. She shivered; she was suddenly cold - when had it gotten cold in here? "But I'd like to change that, eventually."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confusion passing over her features. It was almost too easy - she looked as though she actually wanted to believe what he was saying! He almost laughed. "Change what?"

"The whole trust thing," he said vaguely, waving his hand in the air. She blinked.

"You want me," she pointed at herself. "To trust you," she said, pointing at him. He nodded. "Riiiight." She gave him a lopsided smile that made his heart feel as though it had stopped beating momentarily.

"I'm serious," he said, taking a step towards her. He saw the warning look flash in her eyes, and stopped himself. "I want to be your friend."

"And what do your other friends think about this proposition?" She saw the cold look in his eyes and nodded. "Ah, I see. You haven't told them. Well, it looks like we're at an impasse, Malfoy. Your friends wouldn't approve of you stooping to speak to me, and I'm sure my boyfriend wouldn't approve of me stooping to speak to you, either." She didn't miss the icy look that washed over his features at the mention of Harry, and she wondered at it.

When he remained silent, she decided to test the waters again. She took a step towards him, and savored the surprised look that surfaced in his eyes. She took another step, and then another, until she was so close that she could feel his breath hot on her face. She gazed up into his cool slate eyes and smiled.

"So, you want to be friends, do you?" she purred. He nodded silently, his breath caught in his throat. "For starters, tell me about your bride-to-be. Is she as sweet as she looks?" He blinked, and she laughed softly as she turned and walked towards the bathroom door. He shook his head to regain his thoughts (how had she muddled them so easily?) and stepped in front of her.

"How did you know?" Was all he could manage. She shrugged.

"It's a given, isn't it? Your parents are good friends, you're both purebloods, you're both wealthy. You took her to the Yule Ball." He bit the inside of his bottom lip. She understood far more about him than she should.

"You're a pureblood too, you know," he drawled, his voice barely above a whisper. She laughed, and then covered her mouth with her hand.

"Yes, how astute of you," she said, her voice thick with amusement. "And I'm sure in the next few thousand years, that might make a lick of difference to someone. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have homework to get done." She ducked under his arm, and then left the loo. He stared after her in amazement - how had she managed to turn his own game against him?

And why did he feel so disappointed that nothing more had transpired between them? He opened the door of the loo a crack to make sure no one was coming, and then quickly darted out into the hallway. He got halfway back towards the Slytherin dorms when he froze in his tracks. She'd said she was going to do homework - was that a subtle clue to where she'd be? A veiled invitation? He wasn't sure, but now he had to find out.

He went to his room and grabbed some of his books at random, then made his way back through the empty common room, and down towards the library. When he got there, he instinctly moved to the corner of the library where she normally worked, and felt a curious stab of disappointment when she was nowhere to be seen. He heard giggling and turned, stunned. There was no one there.

He arched an eyebrow, then moved silently through the shelves of books, looking for the girl responsible for the infernal noise. Suddenly the lights went out, and he was plunged into darkness. The giggling came again, closer this time. He froze. He could feel a cold sweat break out on his forehead and upper lip, and he went rigid with fear. Why was all of this so familiar? He knew that voice; knew that it was something to fear, but didn't know why.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, then clambered clumsily to his feet. More giggling - was she behind him? In front of him? She sounded as though she was both places at once. He swallowed hard and put his hands out to feel around in the darkness. Suddenly a voice broke through, and he blinked. The lights had been restored, and he was in the arms of a slender, redheaded girl. Weasley.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her brow furrowed in concern. He sat down in a stiff-backed wooden chair and put a trembling hand to his forehead. It was damp - he knew he'd been sweating. He turned wide eyes to her.

"When did the lights come back on?" She gave him an odd look, and he frowned. He was unaccustomed to his questions going unanswered. "Well?"

"The lights were never off," she said, pressing a warm hand to his cool forehead. "Maybe you should go and see Madam Pomfrey, Malfoy. Your forehead is clammy." He pushed her hand away feebly.

"I'm fine," he protested, his face assuming his normal cold expression. She looked at him for a moment, then reached into her robes and pulled out a small vial. She pressed it into his palm.

"Drink this. You'll feel better." He eyed it warily, and she sighed in annoyance. "It's only Pepperup potion."

"And why should I believe you?" he asked, standing. She took a step backwards.

"You said you wanted to be friends, well, here's your first chance, Malfoy. Don't blow it." She scooped her books off of the table and started to leave, when his hand shot out and grabbed her. She looked at him in surprise; he wasn't being rough.

"Why?" he asked quietly. She shrugged.

"I know what it's like to have people pushing you to do things you don't want to do." She turned on her heel and left, leaving him staring after her.