Blood Clot

I'm a walkin' in the rain

Tears are fallin' and I feel a pain

A wishin' you were here by me

To end this misery

--from "Runaway"

Harry's POV

PART FOUR

Trapeze

My mind, for some strange reason, was unexplainably sharp, and I was more alert to things, movements, everything around me. That look Malfoy had given me as we stood across from each other ...It was so powerful, spoke of so many things. It was like he unknowingly opened himself up to me, and through the windows of those blue-grey orbs I could see all the pain, the hurt, the need, and want inside of him. He was spoiled, drowned in luxury, yet he was missing out on things that could truly make a person happy...friends...special presents (any presents he got were so ordinary for him they meant nothing)...and most of all, love. He had none of these.

I suddenly understood this, knew he was not the spoiled nasty prat I'd thought him to be for so many years...it touched me, somehow. Although part of me whined and wailed that I was showing even an ounce of anything but hatred towards Malfoy...it felt right, somehow, to show him that I understood and to put all our past behind and team up for one night.

The touch he gave me on the top of my hand...It made tingles shoot up my arm, and somehow spoke volumes to me that words never could...it seemed suddenly like everything he did, said, every look he gave, made me understand Malfoy more.

It was frightening.

And so, turning to the chandelier, I rubbed my hands together, trying to prepare myself for the long work ahead of me...of course, I was already prepared, energized, and ready to do something other than wander the halls of Hogwarts. But something stopped me from acting normal, from talking...my body almost protested against movement. It was because of Malfoy...his very presence made my nerves jingle; I told myself to be cautious. Nice or nasty, he was still, well...Malfoy.

I ignored the little voice in my head that said: Just because he's Malfoy doesn't automatically make him nasty, evil, selfish, worthless, and all those other things you call him in your head on a daily basis!

I was about to start picking up the glass splinters, bending down, my fingers just touching a piece, when Malfoy spoke. Surprised, I pricked my finger on the glass, and stood up, my eyes on the tiny dots of blood that dribbled from the spot. My mind, however, was on Malfoy.

I continued to look at my tiny blood drops on my finger, listening as he said, "Potter, have you ever...wondered what it would be like, to want to tell someone something, but not be able to for fear of losing them? I mean, even if you didn't know them very well, or weren't even close, but kept something hidden from them...for your own sake?" His tone of voice was strange. As if he knew something I didn't, and wasn't sure whether to tell me or not. It wasn't nasty, or sneering, or mocking, like usual, but...contemplating. The pauses in his speech seemed ominous, me unknowing what he would do next. But every word he said seemed thought out so well, I could almost think that, laced beneath that thoughtful, slightly challenging tone was...caution.

Being sure to keep my gaze lowered from his, I wondered, yes, I did...I wondered why Malfoy was acting so uncharacteristic all of a sudden like this! Was he always different wandering late at night through the corridors? Like that night before Christmas...his lips on mine...

Quickly brushing away such thoughts, I ignored that he'd even spoken, turning to the chandelier, and saying, "Let's get this over with, come on!" He turned to me, the look in his eyes forcing me to lock gazes with him. God, I hated when he did that. I tried to look away from those eyes as much as possible. They were so...empty, usually. Like tunnels...tunnels I didn't want to crawl through.

Now, though, those eyes were filled, not empty, and glowing at me like sapphires. Glowing with mirth. Taking his wand from his pocket, Malfoy grinned at me, amused, and said, "Potter, tell me, how thick can you get? It's simple: Reparo." And watching the chandelier become repaired and good as new, floating up to hang where it was supposed to, I realized I should have done that in the first place.

Argh.

Stupid weariness making me forgetful.

Stupid nightmares forcing me to wander the corridors in the first place.

Stupid Malfoy and his annoying smirk.

Deciding he really wasn't worth my time anymore now that I didn't need him to help me with anything, I turned around and began to walk back to Gryffindor tower, replying with the typical Muggle end-of-conversation not-knowing-how-to-reply comments: "Oh, whatever. Shut up."

Suddenly I felt his hand land on my shoulder, and grabbing tightly, he managed to twist me around to face him. I had never seen Malfoy so angry. His eyes were narrowed to glinting silver slits, yet in place of what I had thought to usually be empty tunnels or nasty glares, was a boiling, blazing fire of rage.

Scowling at me darkly, pearly teeth flashing, he snapped, "Don't you walk away from me, you bastard. That's all you ever do, is walk away. Ignore, walk away, you only face the things you believe matter to the world or yourself! Not until the situation is really threatening do you ever pay attention! You nonce! Be alert to danger all the time, whether it be mild or not.

"Just because I annoy you and haven't actually injured any of your friends seriously doesn't mean I don't matter and am thus to be ignored whenever possible. Just because he's far away doesn't mean you shouldn't fight against Voldemort unless he's threatening yours and tons of people's lives. You think that people who aren't obviously close by and homicidal are unimportant little buggers. I hate that about you! Damn it, I'm not a Death Eater or Lord Voldemort. Sure, I'm your enemy, but only because I hate your friends and you do everything that pisses me off. But I have a life, just like you and the rest of them. Treat me like a human being, for god's sake."

I was speechless, bewildered, confused, shocked, frozen, all of those. This couldn't be happening...just, no way! It was weird, unheard of, unbelievable. Did Malfoy actually think all of that? He actually cared that to me he was nothing but a fly that occasionally tickled my ear? But...I didn't think he would care, I mean, I was worthless to him, right?

But it didn't seem so.

Blushing, headache pulsing furiously and unsteady in speech and balance, I asked quietly, "Is that why you always stare at me in class? You want me to pay attention to you, to notice that you exist?...I thought you just did that to annoy me."

He shook his head, whispering, "No. It only seems to you that I do it to annoy you, because you never think I do anything with a real purpose!"

Then, comprehension dawned on me. There was something hidden away in there, in Malfoy's soul (he actually had one). Maybe he didn't want to be an enemy anymore, wanted to be noticed, wanted to be...friends? I was confusing myself. What exactly did he want?

-----*-----

Quidditch was always satisfying. It should always have been, and usually, it was. But what with the troubles with Malfoy, along with classes, and not being able to talk to anyone about any of it, the satisfaction I usually got from Quidditch was leaking out a bit. I still felt that thrill when flying, that release from everything, but my body wasn't in the best condition due to lack of sleep. Things just weren't normal anymore, and it was impossible to ignore.

Sighing, I brushed a strand of hair from my face, wishing the job of Seeker wasn't so sweaty. But all those twists in the air to grab the Snitch, all that fast flying...it took its toll on me. Even now, thirty minutes after the game, cleaned up and back in normal clothes, my broom polished, the sweat from the game remained.

Today hadn't been that bad, actually. Basically it was a normal day, but the conversation with Malfoy last night still lurked, dark and deep, inside my mind. I looked up as I heard two familiar voices. Smiling, I waved at Ron and Hermione, walking up to join them.

I noticed the difference immediately.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. They were very serious looking, grave and solemn, like statues, almost. Having won the game, I couldn't think of any reason why they would be so seriously sorrowful. My gaze flitted back and forth between them; Ron, his lanky form slouched, red hair blazing, had his head tilted down; Hermione, brow furrowed slightly, was looking at me with the deepest sadness. Both made me fearful. What could be wrong?

Tightening my grip on my broom tensely, I asked, "What's wrong? Are you angry at me for...?" Ron shook his head no, still preferring to stare at his shoes or the floor then face me, it seemed. And Hermione was beginning to really worry me with that concerned look in her eyes.

Chocolate gaze finally not sadly fixated on me, Hermione cleared her throat, and said, "We have some bad news, Harry." Silence fell then, for a moment. But it seemed like years, as my apprehension furthered. Finally Hermione spoke the news.

"Hedwig...she died."

Shock slammed into me like a million-pound stone.

"WHAT?"

"After the Quidditch game, after congratulating you, Ron and I went back to the common room...and found her there."

I didn't know what to feel, my brain froze up, I couldn't think, the shock was so strong.

"H-How did she...?"

Ron finally spoke up. "We don't know, Harry. We found her in her cage, just lying there. We were making sure she had enough food, and..."

I immediately felt a pang of guilt. The last week or so I'd been so busy that I'd been neglecting my owl for a while. I was the one who had decided that instead of keeping her in the owlery I would bring Hedwig and her cage to stay in the dormitory so we could keep each other company more often. Perhaps her death had had something to do with that, the change in atmosphere, weather, maybe...?

As we began to walk back to Gryffindor tower, I thought in silence. How had she died? What was the cause? Why? I had had so many plans for her, so many things we could have done...she had become like a relative to me, closer than a friend, even.

Walking up to the dormitory, I took a deep breath. Hermione had went back to the Girl's dormitory, and Ron was still down in the common room. I had to face the sight of my lifeless owl in her cage all by myself. I still couldn't believe it, I never had thought anything like this would happen...

And there she was, lying in her cage, eyes still open, stiff, wings drawn in close, neck tilting to one side. Tears welled up in my eyes, as the truth was laid plain for me, and I knew there was no turning back, no disbelieving it had happened now. Mindless to the tears that fell from my eyes, immersed in grief, I turned away from the sight, and hastily went to my bed to climb in. I lay there sobbing into my pillow, breathing uneven, tears streaming down my face. It seemed like I lay like that for eternity, crying, I couldn't comprehend anything but the loss...

I was brought back to reality as I heard Ron's voice from behind the curtains I'd drawn closed around my bed.

"Harry? You alright?"

Hoarsely, I replied, "Yeah, I'm fine..."

I heard the shuffling sound of feet stepping away, and then reached out to grab my owl book, and began to skim through it. Now to answer the question of the mystery: How had Hedwig died?

-----*-----

My search for the answer had been mostly futile. This morning she had been perfectly healthy, normal. I'd made sure she had enough food and water, and everything had been fine. A few hours ago, I had forced myself to do the task of putting her stiff body on top of plastic into a box. A burial was arranged for tomorrow.

Now it was dinnertime, but I lay on my bed in the dormitory, wondering why she had died. Never had I even considered Hedwig's departure; she had become a natural part of my life, I'd owned her for five years and a few months, and now suddenly she was gone forever.

For some strange unexplainable reason, an image of Malfoy came to mind, and I wished for a moment that he was here, here so I could be distracted from my pain. But no...that was just wrong. Why was I wishing that? It was all so confusing!

Rolling over, I proceeded to attempt to sleep, knowing I'd wake up in a while once again wallowing in tearful grief.

It seemed like I was always moving in life; everything continued to change. It never stayed the same constantly. I was elevated high up in the air, like an acrobat doing trapeze tricks, precariously swinging from one to the other, risking my life for the sakes of others, and never once being in the mode of sorrow, happiness, or anything in between. It went by too quickly, each mood that I felt each day. I wished for once I could hang on one trapeze for a while.

You've left something in the far reaches of the grey sky,

and you keep on searching

as you wander.

In the night when your heart shook, and I can't see tomorrow

I can't believe anything, and close my ears

--from "Change the World"

Harry's POV

PART FIVE

Tunnels

"I'm sorry, Harry..."

"It's okay, Hermione. It wasn't anyone's fault."

Shaking my head, I slumped down heavily onto a chair in the library, resting my head on my arms, feeling the softness of my cotton jumper against my forehead, breathing in the scent of polished table. Then, slowly, I lifted my head, and gave Hermione a weak imitation of a reassuring smile.

"It's alright. I'll be fine. I just need to...think for a while. I'll be okay."

She nodded, hesitant and doubtful, concerned in that Hermione way of hers, but reluctantly said goodbye and left for her own section of the library. Sitting up, I sniffed in the old, crispy odor of yellowed paper in books. I had always liked the books with stories in them, fantasy and sci-fi stories especially.

Back when I was eight or so, I once missed the bus from school to Privet Drive, and ended up at this used books store. I had stayed there for hours, reading so many books and loving each one. After a few weeks, I began, in eagerness, to read more and more advanced books, and to purposely miss the school bus just so that I could read, regardless of the punishment that came from it afterwards. Books became my life, for a while.

I sighed heavily. The three weeks since Hedwig's death seemed to have lasted an eternity. The game the day of her death had been victorious, but just recently, Gryffindor had lost the game to Slytherin, for the first time in years. And all because of me. Stress from Hedwig's death and other things had caused me to get Shingles, a painful rash that remained for weeks and took a long time to cure--even with Madame Pomfrey's magical treatment. So Malfoy had caught the Snitch before I could.

As someone crashed into me heavily, I grabbed onto the table, but was too late to stop my chair and I from falling to the ground backwards, my glasses flying from my face. Waiting for the world to stop spinning, I became aware that it was hard to breathe because the person who had crashed into me was now sprawled on top of me.

"Oof."

The person got up off of me, and I opened my eyes; it was all just a blur. The particular blur of the person I thought was the one who had collided with me was green, black, and gray. Definitely Slytherin. Slowly sitting up, I wondered where my glasses were. Suddenly, I found myself face to face with another boy, only inches away. Blinking, I stared back at the blue-grey gaze, finding myself swept up into the shimmering orbs; it was as if a magnet pulled me into the core of his soul.

I couldn't stop staring; the way he looked at me, so serious, so needful, and yet accusing--the gaze was so intense, I couldn't help but gawk. Then, that cord that connected us snapped, as a flash of red tumbled in front of me and wrestled with the Slytherin. Carefully, slowly, I brushed my hand against the floor, eventually finding my glasses. When I put them on, I was greeted with a strange sight that gave me mixed feelings: Ron trying to murder Malfoy.

Malfoy?

He was the one who had managed to entrance me simply by looking at me?

Blimey, I thought, What is wrong with me?

-----*-----

Bolting to a sitting position, I clutched my blankets to me, trembling, swathed by the suffocating heat. Gulping in great gasps of air, I slowly clambered out of bed, hissing as my bare feet touched the icy cold floor. Blearily pulling on a pair of jeans, I put on my glasses, grabbed my invisibility cloak, and crept out into the darkness of empty Hogwarts halls.

Feeling the silence ringing in my ears, I finally walked off my sleepiness and images of the nightmares, and yet my wanderlust wasn't fulfilled. I kept walking for about a half hour more, but then froze in my tracks when I heard a rustling noise.

Cautiously I crept to the window, and looking out I saw a dark, slender silhouette underneath the tree below. I couldn't stand walking around Hogwarts alone anymore, and the thought of attempting to sleep without being plagued by nightmares seemed impossible. So I edged out of the window and hung by my fingers to the sill before dropping to the ground, shedding the invisibility cloak. Apparently the person had keen hearing, for he then came to stand in front of me.

Somehow, I immediately recognized him. Malfoy. Again. What was with our late night encounters? I was beginning to hate it; I felt like he was stalking me, almost. He was so eerie, now even more so since our strange bumping into each other began. His wand remained pointing at my chest threateningly, until his eyes lit up with recognition.

"Well, well, well...We meet again, Potter. So who is it you spend late night rendezvous' with?"

I shivered as his wand glided up my neck to my jaw, facetious, the point of it, in my opinion, as cold and ruthless as it's master. Wishing his eyes didn't have such a captivating effect on me, I gulped. At day, it was anger, malice, and irritation that I directed at him. Now, though, he was in his element, and I was a mouse in the cat's paws.

"I don't spend late night rendezvous with anyone, Malfoy. Unless you mean people who stalk me, like you. It's none of your business why I'm out here."

Voice husky, smooth as silk, he replied, "It's quite a shame that you get stalked, Potter. Because if you were all alone, I could take advantage of this situation."

His tone was dangerous, and yet hemmed with sly implications. My first reaction to his comment was that he meant he wanted to do something to me, hex me, put a curse on me, something like that. We were enemies, after all. If it was just he and I--which I knew it actually was--he'd probably make his dream of "get rid of Potter" come true. So for a few moments I thought what he meant by saying this was that he could injure me.

Then, I remembered...the kiss.

I pushed him away, turning around, shaking my head in denial, forcing myself to shove away the troublesome thoughts that suddenly swirled in my head. Malfoy...couldn't be. He just couldn't be, no, not like that, no way in the world!

But he was, I knew it, and it made me barely able to walk. I wanted to run away, to scream, but at the same time, I wanted to collapse on the ground and give up.

I had always wanted to hate him. Hate him with all my heart, all my soul, not look close enough to see that he was surrounded by darkness, enveloped in a cage of constant pain. All I had seen was the image he wore in public, the image of the boy who had tormented me for so many years. Why take the time to see past the fake covering and yank back the curtain? No, I would rather hate him, envy him, stay at a distance.

But now, these days, he was opening himself up to me, giving me looks that weren't glares, telling me so many things, wanting to be something more than an enemy in my eyes. I didn't understand why he wanted it to be so, but I understood that he wanted it. And that was all it took to smash part of my world apart; the wall separating our worlds began to crumble.

Everything that I'd have never before thought conceivable suddenly lighted up in my brain:

He doesn't want to be an enemy, never did.

He wants me to acknowledge his existence, welcome him, not give glares and insults anymore.

He hates my friends, but not me. Not me.

He admires me, wants to be close to me.

And none of these things he wants have evil intentions behind them. Not a one.

Morse-coding signals

they pulsate

they wake me up

from my hibernating

--from "Pagan Poetry"

From the CD Vespertine by Bjork

Harry's POV

PART SIX

Lust

Tic-Tac-Toe. I never had liked the game much. Whenever I played it, I played it against myself. X never won O, and vice versa. It could get quite boring, sometimes. But of course, why else to play it at all--especially against myself--except when bored? Finally unable to stand wasting my time playing the game, I put down my quill.

I looked up, complacently gazing upon the chaos around me. The last half hour or so of Transfiguration was wild. Especially since Professor McGonagall was out of the classroom. Peeves was out harassing the Gryffindor First Years. Again. He must have done something horribly messy or injuring for Professor McGonagall to be gone so long.

Draco Malfoy stood "in all his glory," as they say, entertaining the burly Slytherin crew with his horrid jokes. Poor Neville, who was quickly growing elephant ears and had a duster instead of a nose, was the one being ridiculed.

Malfoy had gone back to his normal nasty self since our last encounter. It was strange now, seeing him. Although I wished differently, my views about him had changed. He confused me as well as irritated me. It was aggravating, yet I tried to ignore it, tried to see it as unimportant. Either way, he had changed, although the difference wasn't obvious as it had been--he was being nasty again. I couldn't say whether I was truly glad about that, or not.

Hermione's efforts to stop the mayhem were all in vain. Usually I would help, but I really wasn't in the mood for another confrontation with Malfoy, because although an actual confrontation would be more normal, deep down I would know the whole time that it just wasn't the same anymore. Sighing, I rested my head on my arms, watching as Malfoy raised his wand in the air again. Everything he did was precise, eloquent, every movement graceful. But no matter what, I still hated him.

...Or so I thought, then.

McGonagall stormed into the room only moments later. I hadn't expected much less, however, I remained on the alert. She stood there, wretchedly exasperated, her mouth for a moment going into that sharp, thin line it always did when she was angry. Then she screeched, "MISTER MALFOY! I cannot even count HOW many times I have had to give you detention! Your attitude in class is ridiculous; appalling! And yet you STILL have the gall to keep this disrespectful, utterly horrifying attitude. You DARE to disrupt the peace of my classroom! I shall never wish upon anyone to have a Malfoy in their class, that is for sure. I am shocked at seeing how you treat your fellow students."

She pointed towards the door, arm rigid, and bellowed, "Mister Malfoy...OUT! Now. Get OUT OF THIS ROOM!"

Smirking at the attention of so many pairs of eyes, Malfoy picked up his belongings and glided out of the room. He made sure to slam the door.

-----*-----

Malfoy was always causing trouble. After Transfiguration I had rushed out past Malfoy--who, surprisingly, simply sat glumly in the corner--to lunch. My mind was stuck on Malfoy, however. I couldn't stop stewing on how bothersome he was, and so once finished eating I walked out of the Great Hall, trying to get away from anything Slytherin or Malfoy related. I was on my way back to the common room when I chanced upon Malfoy in a corridor. As soon as I had shut up Malfoy's singing candles, he began pestering me. No freedom for me. Nope. No way. Impossible.

Damn him.

Eventually, we got into an argument, which soon got a bit physical. Luckily his wand had been taken from him after the singing candles choir practice. Thumbs up to that passing by prefect who'd helped me silence the bloody things. After minutes of arguing, we stood, hand gripping hand, feet shoulder width apart, bracing ourselves against each other. We simultaneously tried to push each other down.

I glared at him fiercely, never blinking a lash. He stared back at me, eyes smoldering, dark smoky grey in fury. Then, a silent agreement passed between us, and we pushed away from each other. We stood on opposite sides of the corridor.

We angered each other so easily, yet it dissipated so fast. I had no really good reason to hate him, and vice versa. Yet we never stopped being enemies. I wasn't sure if I actually wanted it to stop, but peace was better to have. I was about to open my mouth to speak, and offer a truce, when Malfoy marched forward. Shoving me against the wall, hard, he bared his teeth at me like a rabid wolf.

I pushed against him, struggling to free myself. Sneering, he grabbed my wrist, extending my left arm, and pushed it back up against the wall so it was useless to me. Then he moved to place one leg of his between mine, taking away my opportunity of kneeing him in the groin to escape.

I bit my lip in frustration. I was trapped, sandwiched between cold, harsh stone wall and an even harsher human being. Remaining relentless, I continued to struggle, my breath coming fast because I was so tightly pinned. His chest, firm and masculine, pressed hard against mine. I could feel the contours of his body rippling against me, slender and muscular, as he made slight moves to prevent each of my escape attempts.

The sensation of his hot breath burning against my face sent prickles up the hairs of my arms. Against my own judgment, my gaze was drawn to his mouth, slightly open, glistening, moist and soft. Those lips glowed sweet peach, so tender. I almost leaned forward towards him, but stopped myself. Closing my eyes, feeling his body so close, his image in my head, my denial weakened.

My wriggling and pushing was futile. As I moved to slide against the wall, it was then that I noticed the press of his erection hard against my thigh. My breath caught in my throat, and my mind, confused, swirled with lust and tension. I had aroused him! Mentally, I gave a bitter laugh. Of course Malfoy, so condescending, always wanting control, would be aroused as he dominated a helpless fellow student, pinning them against the wall. I was his captive, and his enemy. He loved the superiority.

But then again, why me? We hated each other. At first I thought the mistletoe kiss incident had been an accident. He must have mistook me for someone else, or been ill, perhaps even drunk; something had got to have been wrong with him. It had seemed so impossible, ludicrous, for it be otherwise. Later, however, I had considered the idea that maybe it hadn't been. Just the thought made me shiver--with what, I didn't know.

Smirking at me, he licked his lips. Gulping, I watched that tongue slowly slide against those tantalizing lips. Hormonal instincts stirred within me, yet I hated he and myself for it. Pressing against me even harder--yes, I found out, it was possible--he leaned closer. Mouth only inches from my ear, he whispered, "You're so vulnerable, Potter. Close the window; hide yourself."

"What d-do you mmmean-n?"

I choked back a whimper as his tongue slid slowly against my ear. Oohh, that tongue was so hot, so quick, so caressing. My knees felt like jelly; if he wasn't holding me up, I knew I would fall. I hated this weakness, hated the desire that coursed through me, and hated Malfoy. But this hate didn't aid me; I was putty in his hands. He was seducing me, and I knew it!

I gasped as his mouth landed, hot and hungry, against my neck; my defenses crumbled, giving way to pulsing, quick libido. Automatically I tilted my head back, giving more leverage to him--or rather, his tongue. Although the trail crept North from there, I was still surprised when he kissed me. Immediately, the tables were turned. I pulled back, only to hit the wall. Major ouch.

Yes, maybe a part of me wanted this, or was deceived and thought it did, but this was taking it way too far. That first kiss, underneath the mistletoe, I had hated it. It had felt so entirely wrong. It was so sudden, so fierce, so unexpected, so forceful, hungry, carnivorous. Not at all gentle. But still, it was a kiss, albeit a passionate one. I hated the symbolism of kisses, and that one had been extremely unpleasant!

Not in the sense that he was a bad kisser--no, I had little experience with that--but in the sense that I was so unaccustomed to the sensation, and the person I was kissing; it had went against everything that I called normal, had been so odd. And much, much too intimate. Malfoy was my enemy, and had been for five years. I wanted to keep it that way, so I could stand on familiar ground. Regardless of lust, I still hated him, no matter what his kisses and abilities to seduce me meant!

Deep down, I was utterly bewildered. I hated him, the simple thought of him made my fists clench. But with the way he was acting towards me, everything I had taken for granted about him and our hostile relationship was transforming into a jigsaw puzzle! I had no idea what to do.

He must have sensed my tension and doubt, because, typical of Malfoy, he became more wily and harsh. I barely stifled a moan as he changed position; instead of having one of his legs between mine, he moved so that our positions matched, and spasmodically grinded himself against my crotch.

Every grind was torture to stifle a moan and calm the raging hormones, every slide of his tongue in my mouth was another urge to respond shredded apart. It took every ounce of my control not to let him have his certainly naughty way with me. Finally, I snapped.

Frantic, my heart beating so loud I was sure the world could hear, I banished his tongue from my mouth. He was startled: so far I had been easily seduced, but then, suddenly, rebellion. I took the opportunity given to me by his lack of movement, his pause of momentary disbelief. Knowing exactly where his lack of defense was, I steadied my balance, and then kneed him in the groin.

As he fell away, stumbling to the ground with a yelp, I slid down the wall. I crouched, leaning against it, face flushed. Sighing, I brushed hair from my sweaty brow. This was the worst situation between us yet.

I couldn't help but smile victoriously as I heard Malfoy grumbling and groaning in pain. But then I reprimanded myself, glee becoming concern; I had won, but that didn't necessarily mean all was well. This wouldn't stop our enmity, and I wouldn't want to be Malfoy for anything in the world--that must have hurt badly. Plus, his noises of pain were loud; he made such noise--I didn't want to cause a commotion.

I went to bend over his curled up figure. Perplexed, I asked concernedly, "Think you can get up and walk now?" Then I took a few cautious steps back; just in case.

Hissing like a snake, Malfoy retorted, "Fuck off, Potter."

Shaking my head in aggravation, I sat down at his side. The thought crossed my mind that I could resolve the situation by having a talk with him. But then I dismissed that idea, deciding he would never accept anything of the sort, after what had happened. It would never work.

His voice sliced into my thoughts--a sharp, still pain cracked hoarseness--"I scared you, didn't I?" he laughed. "Didn't I?"

I hung my head. God, he was perceptive. How did he do it? He was my enemy, and yet he understood me so well! I never had been very good at forming a mask for myself, like him.

"No, Malfoy, I wasn't scared at all." A lie if there ever was one.

His voice was back to normal, that familiar irritating drawl. "Oh, Potter, Potter." He sounded like he was sighing at a child's silly games. He just always had to put down people and make them feel stupid, didn't he?!

"Potter, don't go bullshitting me. I'm not stupid."

Deep down, I knew that it was true. He knew that, secretly, a little part of me had enjoyed having him so close.