Broken

Chapter 7: The Edge

“Virginia?”

She turns to face him. “Yes?”

“Calm down,” he says, smirking.

“I am perfectly calm, Draco. I don’t know what you mean,” she replies, narrowing her eyes.

He laughs softly. “I can hear you sighing.”

“Ok, I am a little on edge. But can you blame me? He almost killed me, Draco. If we don’t find out what went wrong, and soon . . .”

He suddenly finds that his hand is on her cheek, her eyes boring into his. “Nothing is going to happen to you. I won’t let it,” he whispers, his voice low and husky.

She feels warmth spread through her at the intensity in his voice. Somehow she finds her voice. Me, speechless? Now that is scary. “Why do you care what happens to me?”

He can’t find the answer, though many are swimming through his head. His face is inching toward hers, his body screaming out to be closer to her.

He leans in toward her and she tilts her face up in response. Hated pleasure courses through her. Before her eyes flutter closed, she is struck by the unguarded longing in his silver eyes. Then, as gentle as a butterfly’s wings, his lips brush across her forehead. She opens her eyes to look at him, but he has turned away from her. She sighs and shifts so that her back is to him, scolding herself for the disappointment bearing down on her. This is bloody Malfoy we are talking about. I do not, I repeat, NOT want to kiss him. He’s a git. Ok, maybe not a git. That’s reserved for Harry and my idiotic brother Ron. And, okay, he has been acting very un-Malfoy like for the past few days, but that doesn’t mean anything. Right?

Stupid, stupid, STUPID! I can’t believe I almost kissed her! Come on, Draco, get a hold of yourself. Okay, so she is kind of pretty. And you certainly don’t see Gryffindor girls with that kind of attitude often. And the things she does to me . . . He represses a groan, running a hand over his face. He is all too aware of how close she is, and no matter how much he argues with himself, his body still aches to be as close to her as he can get. I’m not so sure she hasn’t used a love potion on me. What else can explain this? Surely it’s not that I actually care about her. I’m a Malfoy. I only care about myself. And no girl is going to change that.

 

                                                                        *

They sit in the library, books spread out between them, attempting to locate the potion she had used on Harry. She is completely immersed in a rather large volume about dark spells, her eyes flickering over the pages. He is trying to concentrate on the book in front of him, but finds himself immersed in watching her. After a few moments, she sighs and slams the book closed. As her gaze travels to him, he quickly glues his eyes to the text before him.

“Nothing,” she says, putting both hands to her forehead. “All of these books and we’ve found nothing! I give up!” She rises to her feet and stalks toward him, prepared to leave. When she glances hi way, however, she stops in her tracks. “Wait . . . Is that it? I think that’s it.”

She points at the open book and he nearly jumps as he takes in the familiar writing. He nods and she slides into the chair beside him, leaning over him.

“Citatio Adamo is a potent love potion, unknown to many. The potion induces feelings of love within the subject. It works through either ingestion or being inhaled.” She stops and looks at him. “So I needn’t have gone through all the trouble of slipping it into his pumpkin juice. I could have just mixed it in with my perfume.”

“Well, yes, you could have, but there are two problems with that. First of all, I was the one to make it and let me tell you, it smells awful. Secondly, had you done that, over half of the school would be affected. Every male in school would be in love with you.”

She snickers. “That wouldn’t have been so bad.”

“Just read it already,” he snaps.

She rolls her eyes and continues reading. “The effects are more gradual than most potions of its kind, taking up to a week to reach its full strength. When this happens, the subject will forget that there was ever a time when they were not in love.” She scans the rest of the page. “Blah blah blah . . . very powerful . . . Wait.” Her face falls.

“What is it?” he asks. She simply shakes her head, her eyes unfocused. He leans forward and reads silently. As he reaches the fine print near the bottom of the page, he feels sick.

“Although usually harmless, this potion can have extreme and unwanted effects. In the case that the subject already has feelings for the giver, however mild or hidden they may be, the potion is highly dangerous. The feelings are multiplied, causing the subject to exhibit obsessive and sometimes violent behavior,” he reads.

“Draco, how do we make it go away?” she asks after a few minutes of silence. Her voice is weak and shaky.

“It–it doesn’t say.”

 She stands up, glaring at him. “What do you mean, it doesn’t say? There has to be a way, there has to be! Come on, Mr. Best-Student-In -Slytherin. You’re smart! Find a cure!”

She is shouting, her eyes filling with tears. Part of him wants to shout something back at her. Instead, he jumps to his feet and wraps his arms around her. What are you doing? This is not good, not good at all.

“I will, ok. But not now. I’ll get to it first thing tomorrow morning.”

She relaxes a bit in his grip and he pulls away to look at her. There is fear in her ash brown eyes. Fear, confusion, and another emotion he can’t identify, burning brighter than the rest. “Come on, Red. Let’s go get some sleep.” She doesn’t respond, but allows herself to be led out of the library and toward the dungeons.

*