Inevitable Lovers

Chapter 18:

As a chill February turned to a brisk March, tempers and tension began to mount amongst the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams. As ever, the days before the match were riddled with spiteful hexes, jinxes and taunts from both sides. Harry and Draco, both knowing this was their very final chance of their whole career at Hogwarts to see whether Gryffindor or Slytherin would ultimately triumph, were not unaffected. Harry was valiantly trying to boost morale and improve tactics tenfold, rather than practising how to correctly aim a Trip Jinx at Goyle in the corridors. Despite this, he could not help but feel boyishly pleased on hearing that Jimmy Peakes, a Gryffindor beater, had successfully managed to send a small and vicious Slytherin player to the hospital wing. The player, by the name of Hobbs had gone to the Hospital Wing covered in green boils after a tussle after lesson one day.

Draco, on the other hand, was not even pretending to uphold fair play among the Slytherin team. Each member was firmly aware that foul play was the key to success - the more Gryffindors they could eliminate before the match, the better, was Draco's principle. This attitude was reinforced by Draco's continuing resentment towards Potter and Weasley - Potter because he was a stupid annoying twit, and Weasley because it was obvious he thought he was invincible...Keeper of the Gryffindor team and boyfriend to the Head Girl. Draco would have loved nothing better than to hit him with a good curse; or better still, a good punch in the face. His only consolation was that at least Hermione wasn't going out with Potter the Prat - that really would have been unbearable.

The morning of the deciding Gryffindor Vs Slytherin Quidditch match was a breezy, slightly grey one, as if the sky might be inclined to rain. Draco had woken especially early, and not in Pansy's Parkinson's bed - he had impressed upon her that he needed to be alone the night before. The sky was still a little murky from night-time when he sat up in his four poster, already tinged with Quidditch nerves, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Spying his racing broom in the corner of the room, he considered taking it outside for a quick practise just before the match, but found he could not face it. Instead he washed his face and dressed, and sat for a while having a flippant but nervous conversation with Arielle in the mirror, hoping to still his mind a little.

By the time breakfast time came about, Draco was feeling calmer and as determined as ever to lead his team to victory over Harry Potter. Part of him also inexplicably wanted to impress Hermione, despite the fact that he realised she wasn't likely to care if he did win. The Slytherin and Gryffindor tables in the Great Hall were especially raucous as he entered the Great Hall, and he was glad he didn't have to walk past the Golden Trio on his way to the table. A sea of green and silver greeted Draco; the team hastily cleared a space for them in the middle of one of the benches, and he took in the expression on each face. Crabbe and Goyle were smirking; they rarely became nervous due to the fact that they were liable to believe every word Draco had told them about a sure win. Some of the younger players looked apprehensive, and Malcolm Baddock was staring at his plate of scrambled eggs with a tight-lipped expression on his face. Draco threw his own Slytherin scarf around his neck and reassured the chasers sitting next to him that victory was in the bag. He allowed a smirk to play on his lips, and then saw Pansy staring at him dreamily from across the table.

Then Professor Snape was walking towards Draco in the corridor, and it was time to collect their brooms and Draco to lead the team down to the pitch. As they rose as one, whistles and applause broke out, and they all looked daggers at the Gryffindors across the Hall. Blaise Zabini caught his eye and smiled a little on the way out.

Once outside, Draco was glad of his scarf, as the wind was chilly and cold, the dew on the grass making it sparkle in the light. The changing rooms, however, were warm and bright, even if it was only temporarily, and it was here that Draco addressed the Slytherin team.

'Right, okay; we all know Gryffindors are prats, so let's not let them off easy,' he said vehemently. 'Fight hard, and remember, they can only get what they deserve. Let's go.' Shrugging on his team robes with the rest, they began to march out towards the now expectant students that had filed out into the Quidditch stands. A roar of sound greeted them, and house banners adorned the sky. Draco nodded towards his team one last time, and then they were on the pitch. Somewhere in the distance, Seamus Finnigan was calling out each player's name; as he said Harry's, Draco eyed him squarely, as he led the Gryffindors towards them from the other side of the trim green grass.

***

An hour and a half later, it was all over. Emerging from the changing room showers, his hair spiked up and a deep green towel tied around his waist, Draco wiped water out of his eyes and roughly grabbed his school uniform from one of the pegs. He made eye contact with no one, although was vaguely aware of two younger boys watching him apprehensively. Then he retreated to the shower room and thumped the door shut. He dropped the towel and began to dry himself briskly. When the door opened again and he returned, fully dressed and with hair that had gone dark blond with damp, it was with a definite scowl. Most of the Slytherins displayed looks of similar anger and annoyance. Draco slapped his wet towel down on a bench and swallowed.

'Right, well,' he began, with no real idea of what to say to them all. 'It wasn't that much of a loss, and obviously we know McGonagall, like the half-wit Hagrid, loves Gryffindor - that foul she gave against us was complete bollocks. But don't you worry,' he added maliciously, 'The Gryffindors are such useless losers that there's still a chance we'll win the Cup...they'll lose to Ravenclaw, and then we get our chance. And I think,' he added inspirationally, 'That I'll ask Snape to referee the next match, and we'll se who wins then. If Potter or any of the others try to rub it in today, you know what to do. I want to see at least one of them in the Hospital Wing by the end of the day.' The thought of Potter's leering face made him want to hit something. He turned away dismissively, and snatched up his school bag. Then, without a word to Crabbe or Goyle, he left the changing room, striding out into the breezy air.

After an extremely dispirited lunch, during which the Gryffindor table was especially noisy and upbeat, Draco slipped away out of the Great Hall and up to his dormitory, snapping at two fifth years on the way for blocking the corridor. Once inside the empty, quiet tower, he fumed silently. He had no desire to go to afternoon lessons, where Potter would be grinning, Pansy simpering and Hermione watching; even though he knew he had a whole pile of homework to complete.

Pacing the room, Draco came to the window opposite the door and noticed it was open slightly; the air was still wintry. He pulled it shut with a bang, and turned to his bed. He was just about to throw himself upon it, when he noticed a folded piece of parchment, sitting in the middle of the deep green coverlet. He seized it. It was sealed with red wax, on which the letter 'M' was imprinted. With an ominous feeling, he slit it open to reveal Lucius Malfoy's swooping black handwriting.

Draco,

I do hope you have heeded my words since our last correspondence. I take it your acquiescence to my last letter means you have considered your future carefully, and I appreciate this. Regarding the Parkinsons, all seems as it should, as Mrs Parkinson tells me she has heard great things of you from Pansy. This pleases me, although do not forget the other expectations I have of you; that one day you will be a devoted server of the Dark Lord. It is only a matter of time before it will be possible to get you initiated - something which I am sure, Draco, you anticipate eagerly.

On a different note, I must confirm that your ally Theodore Nott is safe and well, having departed from the watch of the great Muggle-lover, and joins the Dark Lord's younger followers. He tells me that you were certainly acting as though you were a Malfoy at Hogwarts of late, for which I am most pleased - although now we shall only have Miss Parkinson to be witness to your behaviour. However, it would simply look too suspicious if you were to vanish so soon after Theodore, so for the time being you will simply have to remain at Hogwarts.

The Dark Lord is at present keeping a close eye on his followers, and any that try to harm them - and as Death Eaters, we have the privilege of indulging in the punishment of those that stray from their cause. Doubtless, you have heard of our old friend Rookwood...such a terrible loss; why, one could even say he deserved it. Obviously, we, the rest, are careful to stay close; no need risking reputations where such petty matters are concerned. The decapitation of course happened after his death, it was not the cause as the Prophet had printed - your father does not relish carnage, Draco...I am human, if not forgiving...

On a final note, all I can say is please continue to uphold our family name, son. I am thus pleased with the way you have been conducting yourself.

I will be in touch soon,

Your father, Lucius Malfoy

Draco raised his eyes from the letter, his mind racing. His father was pleased with him...well that made a change...not that any of the things he had been telling him were true, but Lucius had seemed to believe he was being a Good Boy. And Theodore had put in a good word for him...he must have been the person Lucius was talking about when he said people were watching Draco at Hogwarts! Pansy and Theodore...what a sickening pair. He violently swiped a hand through his hair. But most worryingly; Rookwood. He glanced over the words again.

"..Indulging in punishment...he deserved it...I am human..."

Draco felt a stab of dread. Had Lucius been involved in that murder? It was not crystal clear, but implied...perhaps he did not kill him personally, but from the sounds of it, he at least witnessed it. The urge to desert the Malfoy name was stronger than ever. He did not want to be involved in this; these people seemed mad and deranged. Yet Theodore had already gone, and if Draco wasn't careful, he would be next. The letter slipped from his fingers, and fluttered to the floor. Draco stared straight ahead of him at the wall, feelings mingling furiously within him. Anger, at the match, still, but also fear, and disgust; he felt as though he was trapped into a life of doom, beginning with the Dark Mark. The idea of encountering Voldemort personally, of having that irreversible mark burned black into his ivory skin, was damning. He wanted to rip the letter to shreds, but knew it would not solve anything; he may need to refer to it later, anyway. Not knowing what to do, but wanting to escape the dark luxury of the room, he left, snatching up his wand from the bedside table and stowing it in the pocket of his robes.

He almost stumbled down the stairs, gripping the banister tightly. On the last stair, he stopped. Hermione, a picture of serenity, was sitting quietly in an armchair in the open room, carefully making notes with her quill. Her thick hair fell over one side of her face, and her eyes were cast down to her parchment. His heart felt as though it had liquefied. Suddenly, she looked up.

'What are you doing here?' he said quickly, before she could speak. Not out snogging Weasley then?

'Free period,' she said nonchalantly, but looking a little apprehensive, in that way he remembered just before he bent to kiss her. He fought the urge to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her one more time. She was Weasley's now. He felt a surge of resentment.

'Is that Potions?' said Draco, so strong was his want to get back to normality, he was talking about homework.

Hermione nodded. 'It's quite tricky.'

'Want me to have a look?' he offered, unable to believe his heart was beating rather fast after all this time.

'Thanks Draco, that would be kind,' she said, still with a hint of a blush. He supposed they hadn't had a sustained conversation in weeks, after all. It was almost like the days before anything had ever happened between them, like they didn't know each other intimately.

He advanced across the room until he had reached the chair, and pulled another one over. She smiled a little, and turned the parchment, so he could see what was on it.

Ingredients: Dulse and Dilisk, Asphodel and Dragon's blood...

'I just wanted to make sure,' she began, 'that I've got the right formula for the answers.'

Their eyes met, and she looked away quickly, a real blush beginning now. He glanced unseeingly at her neat black script, reminiscing about that blush...it had always turned him on secretly, the idea that they were doing something naughty and that she was the innocent party. He realised it was quite a debauched state of mind, really, and hurriedly scanned the piece of homework. It was perfect; everything made sense. He knew it, and he knew she did, too. Perhaps she was not as innocent as he thought....

'Hermione,' he said in a low voice, his eyes darting from her eyes to her lips. He was experiencing that familiar feeling of sexual charge that he had not truly felt for some time, and he was sure he would soon not be able to control his own body...She certainly didn't look flawless. Her hair was ruffled, messy even, and she was only wearing school uniform. He did not care.

'What?' she whispered.

'It's perfect,' he replied, passing it back, his eyes full of candid longing. 'Here.' His hand reached over.

The kiss could have, should have, happened right at that moment. But it didn't. Neither initiated it, and the moment slipped away. The words Draco wanted to say died on his lips, and he stood up.

'Thank you,' she said quietly. He nodded, and slowly walked away, leaving his chair pulled up opposite hers. He opened the painting-door and left the tower.

***

Hermione stared down unseeingly at her homework as the door clasped shut. Her heart was thumping. She thought the spark she'd had with Draco must have fizzled out, but no...of course, she had not cared to test it for a long time, and ever since she had resigned to be with Ron, she had hardly even spoken to Draco, apart from cordialities and when they had to do duties together. She did not know whether Draco knew she was with Ron now, as she certainly hadn't made it obvious like Pansy was apt to.

Draco had looked so gorgeous then, she let herself admit; all ash blond hair and porcelain skin. Ron, of course, had a pleasant enough face, freckled and wholesome, but he just wasn't striking like Draco, who seemed to almost have a beauty to him. Ron never took control of her like Draco had, and he came across as cautious and inexperienced, which, she supposed, he was. Now she had had a taste of someone as dominant as Draco, it was strange to kiss Ron so gingerly. He treated her as though she was glass, and could shatter as any moment. Not that they had done anything else but kiss so far. She couldn't imagine going much further with Ron; it would seem indecent. It had taken him three days to even muster up the courage to kiss her in the first place, but she had complied, for what else was there to do? Protest that she loved his worst enemy? Harry's reaction had been more than satisfactory as a deterrent of doing this - and her confession to him had been peppered with euphemisms.

The first kiss with Ron had happened very respectably in a far off stretch of the Hogwarts grounds...on the way back from Hogsmeade; with absolutely no secrecy or breathlessness or hurried goodbyes when it ended. Ron had barely touched her when their lips met, sweetly and chastely. He certainly did not arouse in her feelings such as an encounter with Draco had, when afterwards she had felt so full of lust she could well imagine tugging his clothes straight off him; but knowing she had had to rush back to class, back to work, back to the reality.

Since Hogsmeade, Ron and Hermione's relationship had not been especially different to their friendship, only with more awkward moments. Harry and Ginny seemed not to be able to stop touching each other, and they often reappeared in the Gryffindor common room or at dinner when she was with Ron, looking particularly satisfied with themselves. She often saw Ginny just looking at Harry, or vice versa, for Ginny was rather a pleasing sight to behold, with her pretty mouth and large brown eyes. Hermione sometimes dwelled on this type of love, alone in the tower she shared with Draco, with nothing to do but homework, or sitting by the fire stroking Crookshanks. She had been hesitant about making new entries in her diary; ever since it had fallen out of her hands she couldn't help but feel that it was inexplicably tarnished. So, she had only made a few nondescript notes about the days with no reference to her feelings about what was happening at present.

Hermione's quill had dropped to the floor; she bent to retrieve it. Glancing at her watch, she realised there was only fifteen minutes left of the free lesson, before she had Arithmancy that afternoon. She scanned through her notes hurriedly, and sighed. If only she had been brave enough to initiate a kiss...just to feel those gorgeous lips upon hers once last time. She sighed again with the constraint of it all. Perhaps Ron would be brave enough to hold her hand walking down the corridor when she next saw him...she could only speculate.

***

Once the tower portrait door had sealed itself, Draco broke into a very brisk walk in the corridor. He passed several students congregating in groups or walking but was only unthinkingly aware of a rush of dizzying sexual heights, despite the tiredness he felt from that morning's Quidditch match. He took the stone steps down to the first floor two at a time, then at the Entrance Hall made a swift turn down to the narrow passageway leading the Slytherin dungeons. Even in daylight they were lit by torches, and gloomy shadows were cast on the rough stone walls. Hoping fervently, he reached the common room entrance and uttered the password he knew from Crabbe and Goyle - who were probably in lessons just then.

'Serpententia.'

Pansy was in the common room, whispering something to Millicent Bulstrode. Apparently most people were in lessons, as only a few of the older years occupied the green velvet armchairs scattered about the room. Draco simply looked at Pansy, and she immediately broke away from Millicent and came tripping up to meet him.

'Pansy,' said Draco in a strained voice. He took her arm and breathed in her ear, 'I need you.'

'Drakey!' Pansy giggled maddeningly. She took his hand. 'You're so bad!' Smirking, she led the way imperiously across the room, without a backwards glance at Millicent, out of the door leading to the dormitories and down the narrow stone passageway. Draco, feeling consumed by lust, did not speak. When they reached Pansy's empty dormitory, he pushed the door shut and turned her to face him. Roughly, he put his hands on either side of her face and began to kiss her fiercely.

'Oh, Draco!' Pansy protested, but kissed him back ardently. Before he knew it, Draco was sliding off her robes, reaching for the bottom of her school jumper and unbuttoning her shirt buttons. She smiled mischievously and pulled off her tie, and they simultaneously kicked off their shoes. Draco groaned as he slid his hands quickly up and down the sides of her body. She would do; all he wanted was the release. She made to remove her shirt entirely, but he muttered, 'I don't think I can wait,' and she smiled against his lips.

In the end, he had her sitting on the end of her bed, with her legs on either side of him, school skirt still attached at the waist and knickers kicked away. Pansy made all the right noises and he thrust his hips roughly, face in her neck, hands splayed at her waist. Hermione...if only Pansy could be Hermione...the thought of her wide brown eyes as she asked his approval on her homework sent him over the edge, and he groaned loudly until Pansy met him with breathy moans, and, panting, he relaxed, and loosened his grip on her. His aches from the Quidditch match seemed to rush back in double measure.

Pansy pulled back from him a little so she might see his face. She looked uncharacteristically bewildered, and gently pushed back a lock of hair from his forehead.

'What was that, Draco?' she said, in a rare moment of subtlety.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. 'Everything,' he finally muttered. 'Pansy - I'm sorry. Sorry.' Now it was over, regret had settled in his stomach like molten lead. He felt as though he had been torn apart. The match, Lucius, Theodore, Hermione...he realised now what he had really wanted was comfort, and Pansy wasn't the one to give it. He made to extricate himself, but she held him still.

'Draco, look at me.' Her blue eyes, pupils still wide from desire, bore into his, searching. 'What's wrong?'

He couldn't help it. He kissed her hard, quickly, full on the mouth. 'Just...just pissed about the Quidditch, that's all.'

'Bastard Gryffindors,' said Pansy complacently. 'You were the best, Drakey.'

He smiled humourlessly, feeling sorry that Pansy was able to be used like she was. 'Thanks.'

'Oh, Draco,' Pansy whispered. Their eyes met again. 'I love you.'

Draco felt a jolt of panic. 'Pansy...I-' They had never had real emotional connection before, and he certainly didn't want one now. He did not have the heart to scorn her, but nevertheless the words were on his lips...'Oh Pansy...I pity you.'