Reckless

Slytherin.

Friends with Draco Malfoy.

Enemy.

And he completely and totally wanted to shag her senseless.

This was not good.

He would've preferred to be in love, spurned and heartbroken than to watch her everyday, knowing he couldn't ever touch her again.

***

Why couldn't he touch her? They were seventh years. Gryffindor, Slytherin, all of that wasn't going to matter anymore.

No, Ron reasoned, there was no point in even thinking about possibly talking to her.

She was part of Draco Malfoy's crowd, and they were all death eaters or going to be death eaters.

No matter how innocent she looked, she was part of it...

No matter how much he wanted to touch her again, she was part of it...

And no matter how much he tried to forget about her, the aching in his body wouldn't let him.

He knocked a bottle of ink over onto the table that he, Harry and Hermione were studying at in the common room.

"What's the matter with you?" Hermione exclaimed, brushing off the corners of her potions essay, which were now splattered with green ink.

"Nothing," Ron muttered, ignoring Harry's calls as he sauntered up to the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.

***

As many times as he had planned it out in his mind, Ron didn't quite imagine that the first time he saw her again, he would be drunk from Firewhiskey that he'd received from Fred and George.

"Oh no," he slurred when she came into his blurry vision, "Not you..."

"And why not me, Weasley? You didn't seem to have a problem with me in the hallway last week," she remarked sharply, stung by his words.

"And I don't now..." he muttered, eyeing her hungrily as he leaned on the wall for support.

She watched him for a long time, and he hoped she'd turn her gorgeous eyes away soon, for the just the sight of her eyes on his was turning him on...and making him think what her hands on his body could feel like, which was making him hard. And he was wearing muggle clothes...meaning no billowy outer robe to cover what he didn't want seen.

"Are you drunk?" she asked incredulously, cocking her head to one side.

"Hell yeah," he muttered. "Want some?"

Want some of what?, she thought, because she'd take whichever one he was offering. It wasn't past curfew for another two hours...she knew of an abandoned broom closet on this particular floor, and it wouldn't do for them to be seen together, and especially not while drunk.

"Yeah, but lets go hang out in the broom closet around the corner so no one will catch us."

He nodded, watching the sway of her hips and the curve of her ass as they walked. God, he wanted to put his hands on those hips like nothing else. She was too fucking gorgeous...it was sinful.

***

Pansy debated just much she should let herself go as she sat across from him in the broom closet with the dim light of their wands being the only thing that enabled them to see.

She placed her lips on the rim of the Firewhiskey bottle, her tongue flicking around the edge before taking a long sip, her eyes directly on his.

She smiled slowly when he licked his lips and she licked hers too.

"Stop that," he muttered, frustration tingeing every syllable.

"Stop what?" she whispered, her voice raspy. She took another sip in the same manner.

"That," he uttered, his breath shaky and his jeans becoming tighter and tighter by the moment.

"What? Drinking?" she asked coyly, taking another sip. "You offered it to me."

"You're not drinking that Firewhiskey," he hissed, "You're fucking making love to it!"

"Jealous?" she asked slowly, staring him straight in the eye.

"Hell yeah. If you don't stop that...I...I can't be held responsible for losing my virginity to you on the floor of a broom closet in the middle of the night."

Her eyes brightened. "You're a virgin, eh?" Pansy took another sip.

"Does this mean we're going to do it?" he whispered, eyes glazed over.

She set the bottle down. "Not on the floor of a broom closet-"

Pansy paused in shock when he passed out on top of her. With much difficulty, she managed to slide out from under his bulk, trying desperately not to wish that he were on top of her for another reason.

In the dim glow of the wand light, his usually brash orange hair seemed richer, redder. It was messy and sweat made it cling to his lean, freckled face. She stroked his hair and found it difficult to be annoyed with him for passing out when she was flirting with him.

Pansy smiled, kissing his forehead and closing her eyes to stem the flow of tears that had begun to stream down her face. She was safe, happy, and unworried for once. He could pass out every day if this was what happened when nothing was said between two people.

***

"Where were you last night?" Draco demanded.

Her eyes went wide. "Nothing...I just..."

He pushed her against the wall, and Pansy groaned when her back began throbbing in pain.

Draco's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who are you seeing behind my back, Pansy?"

She swallowed. "You and I aren't dating or anything Draco..."

"Who is it?" he shouted, trapping her against the wall.

"No one," Pansy whispered, not wanting anything to happen to Ron until he was purged from her system, which equated to lots of hot, sweaty sex.

"You're lying, you whore. You look at no one else, you don't leave my sight. You belong to me now."

"No!" she blurted out, her shock at her boldness mingling with the sting of the slap on her face.

"I said you're mine, and that's that," Draco hissed.

"No," she whispered again, and then repeated with more confidence. She just couldn't do this anymore. Ron's face swam into her view, and suddenly, she felt like this might be more than just sexual attraction.

Screw her parents, expectations and tradition...it was time for her to do what she wanted.

He growled and drew his hand back to punch her, only hesitating because he heard footsteps in the distance.

"I'll finish this later if you don't keep your mouth shut, Parkinson. Don't you forget it." Draco turned on his heel and left.

The red hand print on her face made it all too difficult to forget. Then again, it wasn't the only time she'd vowed not to forget something Draco had done.