Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.
It was cold. Cold enough that even without the smoke slipping out of my lips with each exhale, my breath would have still been visible. I was tucked into a tiny alcove outside of Hogwarts, shivering against the cold stones but ignoring the discomfort.
The night was beautiful; warm enough for thick snowflakes to skitter lazily across the sky, adding to the dense blanket of white that already covered everything, yet cold enough for me to bring my fingerless gloves. Somewhere between slipping out of bed well past midnight and lighting up my fag, I had forgotten to grab a scarf. And clothes that are actually warm, I added irritably, noting the threadbare muggle clothing I had thrown on in my haste.
Faded and holey blue jeans, a soft cotton that fit me perfectly, would have been better suited to the Common Room rather than outside in the middle of winter. My shirt was my nightshirt, a green silk top, courtesy of Luna's Christmas gift. The matching lingerie and miniscule shorts were tucked up in my trunk in Gryffindor Tower, and I wore my day-to-day white cotton bra instead.
My cloak was a testimony to what once was, nearly as thin as my shirt, but black instead of green. The ties had long ago been lost, so it was only tied halfway down, revealing my freckled bosom to the cold air. I had arranged my masses of red curls to act artfully as a second coat, but it still did little to dissuade the cold from entering my bones.
Taking another drag, I held on to the warmth of the smoke marginally longer than necessary before releasing it with a soft sigh. I examined my slender, skeletal-looking fingers emerging from the ratty grey wool, clutching a slim fag while I contemplated the falling snow.
I had been plagued with insomnia for the past five years. Six, if you count my wreck of a first year. But only ever when it was snowing. That I knew I could attribute directly to Tom Riddle. He had confessed to me that he was fascinated by the snow, and always had to be in it whenever it chose to fall from the sky.
I could also attribute my recent craving for fags to him, too. Tom had been a heavy chain smoker; I wasn't quite so bad, but if I was sneaking out in too-thin clothes to stand in some snow and smoke a fag, well…I was quickly on my way.
I took another drag, considering going back in to the warmth of the Common Room when I was done with this cigarette. There were only two other fag ends buried in the snow around me; three was probably good enough for one night, not to mention good enough for me to start working on catching up to Tom's smoking habits.
A muffled kind of shuffling made me pause with the fag halfway to my lips, snowflakes falling serenely across my view. The alcove wasn't that large; big enough for me, possibly another person, but there were a few reasons I liked it so small. There was less chance of me being found, it was a bit warmer, and it was someplace where most students wouldn't bother looking.
The sound of snow being stepped on reached my straining ears, and I drew in a breath, realizing that there was someone out there. Awfully close, too…
That certain someone stepped quickly into the alcove, only a few inches from me, before he realized that it was already occupied and froze. White hair that I'd originally mistaken to be colored that way because of snow turned into messy white-blond hair before my eyes, the snow and ice melting in it just enough to make his hair damp. It was hard to make out much of anything else, really; it was too dark.
I detected that he was wearing a scarf, vaguely striped in no doubt Slytherin colors, a warm looking dark cloak, and black gloves, all probably extremely warm and expensive. The bastard.
His breath ghosted out over my face, momentarily warming it until the cold crept back over my features. His eyes, right now a grey so luminescent that it was impossible not to see them, were locked onto my amber ones, probably trying to figure out just what the hell Ginny Weasley was doing out of Hogwarts in the middle of the night, freezing her figurative stones off.
In response to his non-spoken question, I allowed my partially forgotten fag to continue its journey to my lips, taking a long drag before sighing gently into his face.
He blinked, as if waking from a trance, and shook his head marginally, flinging wet drops of snow from his messy hair all across my cheeks as if he was aiming to hit all of the freckles there.
"Sorry," he finally mumbled, backing up a step. "Didn't know someone was in here." He started to turn, and without thinking, I reached out and grabbed his hand. Dragonhide, I thought absently, stroking the leather and remembering Charlie teaching me about the different textures of various dragons. Feels like the throat of a Herbridean Black…bloody expensive things…
Realizing that I was still holding onto his hand, I dropped it as if it was fire. Handholding was something far too intimate for me to ever do with any of my dalliances, and certainly not with Draco Malfoy.
"Sorry," I apologized softly, lazily drawing the fag to my lips for another drag. He didn't make a move to leave. "You don't have to go, Malfoy," I said after a time, dropping my fag to the ground and burying it in the snow with the tip of my trainer. "I'm heading in, anyway," I explained, justifying why I would allow Malfoy to stay anywhere near me.
"You don't have to go either, Weasley," he offered, looking as if he was sucking on something sour by being somewhat decent. I grinned at him ruefully.
"No, I mean I'm all out of fags. Those were the last ones I could afford—" I stopped abruptly, nearly wincing at the sudden silence and frowning at myself. As if he needed any more ammunition to use against me…
A flurry of movement brought my focus back to Malfoy. He was pulling out a slim case, probably full of expensive fags, along with a lighter.
"I've got plenty, if you want one," he offered casually, acting as if being generous was something that he did on a regular basis. Being the recipient of his not-so-generous attention quite a few times, I knew that this was an act, and he probably wanted something in return. He looked up and met my eyes briefly, and the look in them made me bristle.
He didn't think I'd do it. He thought I was just going to scurry back to my tower with my tail between my legs. Who did he think I was? Ginevra Weasley, back down from a challenge? Hell, I was the girl that had been dared to offer Professor McGonagall sexual favors in return for an O on our upcoming test—and I had accepted it. Of course, the detentions had lasted all the way until Christmas break, but luckily, I was done with those now. I wasn't sure if I could stand one more minute of being in the same classroom as a horrified McGonagall and not burst into laughter.
"Alright," I agreed sharply, returning his challenging gaze with a haughty one of my own. It probably wasn't that good of an idea to get into a pissing contest with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but since when had I listened to reason?
I watched silently as Malfoy pulled his gloves off, revealing hands as ivory as the snow while he tucked the black gloves into his cloak. He kept his eyes on the movements of his hands as he clicked open the fag case and withdrew a black cigarette. He was acting deceptively relaxed, as if he was scrutinized by cheesed off Weasleys every day. Well, that was probably the case; he did share quite a number of classes with a certain thickheaded brother of mine…
I followed the ebony fag up to his lips, where he held onto it as if he was going to take a drag. I was mildly miffed that he hadn't offered me a fag first, so maybe he was just being a prick and had offered only just to shove it in my face.
Instead, I found my thoughts slipping away as his mercury eyes caught mine, piercing me as I watched with a dry throat a tiny flame flicker into existence from the lighter. I was caught; I couldn't look away from his eyes, but somehow, my gaze made it down to his lips and stayed there, as if stuck by cement. His lips were a pale pink that was an even bolder color than usual due to the cold, and nicely formed. They were puckered around the slim fag, tightening things low in my body as he did something as mundane as lighting a cigarette.
He puffed smoke into my face, and abruptly, the light flickered out. Now, all I could really see in detail was the flowing ember tip of the fag and Malfoy's (unfortunately) mesmerizing eyes.
Wordlessly, his eyes locked on mine, he withdrew the cigarette and offered it to me. I struggled to breathe normally, taking the small bundle of paper and tobacco and bringing it to my own lips. Repeating his motions, I pursed my lips around the fag, feeling a spur of triumph when his eyes drifted away from mine and rested on my own lips.
He watched long enough for the smoke to curl its way out my lips, before he looked away and stepped beside me to lean against the wall. He was close enough that his arm was touching mine, but neither of us moved away. A click, and a moment later he was puffing on his own cigarette.
There wasn't anything to be said. It should have been awkward, slouched against the wall with Malfoy, but the Tom Riddle in me was happy knowing that my smoking buddy (at least for tonight) was the one person that was probably most similar to him. Both were Slytherins (and could claim lineage to Salazar Slytherin himself); both were geniuses; both were Dark wizards. Well, I was pretty positive Malfoy was a Dark wizard. Even if he wasn't a Malfoy, I could feel it.
It didn't bother me that Malfoy was a Dark wizard; half the school knew that, anyway. What nearly bothered me was that I wasn't bothered by it—but then I realized that I didn't care, so I just let those thoughts drift away like the cool snowflakes.
I shivered slightly; it was getting colder. Either that, or I was just getting covered in snow. I glanced at the blond out of the corner of my eye; he was looking out of the alcove, not paying attention to me. Stealthily, I casually readjusted my footing, finding my left side pressed lightly against his right when I was done. Perfect, I thought to myself smugly, hiding my grin behind my fag.
Malfoy looked at me, arching an eyebrow that said, "And you thought you were being subtle?" I blushed darkly at his recognition of my attempt at tactfulness, looking back at the ground.
"Warmth," I mumbled out by way of an explanation, trying to muster up the courage to look at him again. "It's cold," I added on lamely. To my statement there was an unsurprising silence, and then the sound of fabric on fabric as Malfoy moved around. I refused to look up; I was still working on diffusing my monumental blush.
Suddenly, something warm was sliding around my neck, and I looked up when I saw green and grey tassels enter my vision. Malfoy had given me his scarf to wear. He wasn't looking at me; he was gazing ahead again, looking for all the world that the exchange hadn't taken place. If it weren't for the scarf around my neck, I would've thought that I was hallucinating.
I looked back down at the scarf; it was still warm from his body. Glancing at him again, I knew that a thank you would have been unappreciated, and moved the fag to my lips so I could adjust the scarf properly. I looped it around my neck, the ends hanging down in front. Discreetly, I loosened the part around the front of my neck and raised it to my nose, inhaling, before replacing it when I had confirmed my suspicions. It smelled like him: smoke, the faint odor of expensive cologne, fresh cedar, and a hint of the forbidden.
I found myself wondering what he would taste like.
Dismissing the thought on the grounds that I was delusional, I took another drag of the cigarette. He hadn't moved farther away from me when he had removed his scarf; rather, it seemed to me that he was pressed even closer to me than he had been before. I was warmer, though, even if it was just my left side and neck, so I sure as hell wasn't complaining.
"How long?" The voice startled me out of my dangerous musings of how warm Malfoy was, trying to understand what he was asking. His metallic eyes met mine and the confusion in my amber orbs was enough for him to decide to elaborate.
"How long have you been doing this?" he rephrased, waving his fag slightly to indicate what he was talking about.
"Since the beginning of fifth year," I answered, remembering the familiar craving easily. "You?"
"Summer of my fourth," he replied with a breath of smoke.
"Why?" I asked impulsively, before I realized that it was a highly personal question and he was probably just going to brush it off with a sneer and take his scarf back, strangling me at the same time. Instead, he looked almost contemplative, taking a drag from his cigarette. I absently noted that Malfoy's fags must have been charmed; there wasn't any other explanation as to why the ashes kept disappearing off the end of my cigarette.
"Mostly my father," he stated unemotionally, taking another long drag. I didn't bother with any other questions; either he was going to tell me, or he was going to allow the three-word response stand and let me make what I would of it. Already I was jumping to conclusions: his father was a very well known Voldemort supporter, and playing slave to that half-man made him inferior in my opinion. Tom Riddle's views on blood purity were much less petty than Voldemort's. Instead of going about taking over the world, Tom had wanted a more subtle approach.
Of course, fifty years later, he wasn't quite so patient and tactful anymore.
"Voldemort?" I queried offhandedly, wondering if that would open him up more. His eyes narrowed, and he nodded fractionally. "He's a half-blood, you know," I added, watching Malfoy visibly reel in response.
"You're fucking bonkers," he said in quiet wonder, eyes a touch wider than normal. I was quickly discovering that he wasn't quite as emotionless as he wanted people to think; his eyes were telling, as were his lips.
His lips, though…
I forced myself to answer his stab at my insanity—or lack thereof.
"Am not," I snapped peevishly. "He was in my bloody head for a year; do you think the only thing we did was kill chickens and attempt to kill mudbloods?" I could see him begin to assess me in a new light, especially when I used the deep insult that most people of polite circles would refuse to even mention in the vaguest of terms.
"Where the hell have I been all these years?" he questioned idly, running his free hand through his slightly wet hair and taking a soothing drag. "Well, fuck. What else do you know about the illustrious Dark Lord?"
"His name is Tom Riddle. He was sixteen when he first split his soul into a diary. He can be completely charming when he wants to be, but when he's frustrated and no one's around he'll curse like a bloody sailor. He's also a massive chain smoker." I paused to take a drag for emphasis, and nodded at Malfoy's inquiring glance. "Yeah, leftovers from Tom. I also got his need to be in falling snow, his penchant for drinking absinthe, and his weakness for blondes." Quirking an eyebrow, Malfoy smirked.
"So, you and Lovegood…" he trailed off, leaving the end open for me to fill him in on the sordid details. I grinned darkly, managing to not blush at the implications.
"Luna and I are friends, yes—"
"But more than friends?" he pressed, giving voice to the suspicions of the student body. Of course people noticed that Luna and I were extremely friendly. The only downside for them was that we were very private, and any inquiries toward our love life were typically met with a curse from yours truly.
But I figured that whatever was said here, tonight, was meant to go no further, so I decided to tell him anyway.
"Not like girlfriends," I elaborated slowly, trying to figure out how to give words to what we had. "More like friends with non-sexual benefits." He looked confused at this, so I decided to attempt to explain further.
"She's twisted, insane, and is filled to the brim with imaginary creatures, but she's far Darker than most people believe," I added slowly, still trying to figure out how to explain it. "She sticks around with me because I'm similar to who she likes, and I guess I stick around with her because she is blonde." I could literally almost see the gears turning in his head—well, faster than gears, since he was a Slytherin.
"Lovegood's got the fucking hots for the Weasel?" he demanded incredulously, to which I only puffed out smoke, allowing him to bask in impatience a bit longer. I had figured he'd focus on that point; it was really the only important thing in there I had said.
"Of course not," I said slowly, relishing the way Malfoy seemed to lap up the information. "Who else is a redhead in this school?" A slightly contemplative frown crossed his face.
"No one comes to mind, unless she's cradle robbing that second year from my house." I fake gagged.
"Ew, no thanks. I've seen that kid; he doesn't have a snowflake's chance in hell of ever being shaggable." At this statement, now Malfoy was the one looking a little green around the edges.
"I could have done without the visuals," he grumbled. I giggled, secretly reveling in my ability to distract him from the subject at hand, even if I had to resort to below the belt tactics.
When a moment of silence swept through the alcove, neither of us apparently having anything to say, Malfoy suddenly muttered a curse.
"Fuck me, Weasley, I didn't know you were that Slytherin," he said with admiration at my skillful subject-turning abilities. I preened; that was an enormous compliment coming from the epitome of everything Slytherin, Draco Malfoy.
"Tom rubbed off," I admitted with a smirk. "A lot more than most people believe." He nodded in agreement.
"Must be hell to keep it quiet," he said, showing a burst of sympathy. I shrugged, brushing it off. I didn't need his sympathy. "Who is it?" he asked, sensing my desire to turn the subject.
I briefly weighed the pros and cons of telling Malfoy who Luna liked, but then decided that it didn't matter, since she wouldn't hear of this anyway, and chose to tell him.
"I guess the better question would have been who were redheads at the school. It's Fred and George." Truth be told, I had been a little shocked myself, but then figured that all three of them were just insane and wild enough for it to work. Malfoy cocked his head, taking a drag, before nodding decisively.
"Makes sense," he finally admitted. "But," he added, turning to me craftily. I felt something drop around my shoulders, dragging me closer to him—was it his arm?—before I could hardly breathe properly, so close I was to Malfoy's wonderful eyes and his spellbinding lips.
"But," he continued slowly, dragging out the singly syllable until I was positive I would be able to take the word, bottle it up, and pull it out later that night in the tower where I would be able to rub it back and forth across my skin sensually. "If you're similar to Fred and George—easy to see the similarities there—who is Lovegood similar to?" he whispered huskily, tweaking forbidden things inside of me that I didn't ever get unless I was thinking about the very blond that he was talking about.
I scoffed, attempting to debunk this theory of his. "Luna's similar to no one. It only goes one way; I don't have a thing for a blond someone in the school," I said dismissively, furious with myself.
I was silently cursing myself for dropping so many hints—his hair was the only hair in the entire school that nearly matched Luna's scraggly moonlight blonde hair, so it would only make sense that I, in turn, fancied Malfoy. If he wasn't a goddamned Slytherin…I thought to myself hazily, having it finished with a darker voice in my head that I had come to associate with my inner Tom Riddle, you wouldn't have even begun to fancy the bugger.
I couldn't help it; my fingers felt numb, and I nearly dropped the cigarette, but everything else on me, particularly the places that were pressed up tightly against Malfoy's expensive clothes and hard body, were over sensitized to the point that I was positive I could feel his breath stroking something inside of me.
"No one?" he asked slowly, smoldering eyes locked onto mine.
"No one important," I forced out in a breath, trying to focus on something like the snow, and not his lips or if that certain something pressing into my hip was what I thought it was. He quirked his eyebrow.
"So, I'm no one important?" he asked darkly, a touch of anger entering his eyes even as I saw the desire double. "We'll just have to see about that," he promised, entangling his hand in my hair and crashing his lips to mine.
My mouth was still full of smoke; I hadn't fully released it yet, so I had the peculiar sensation of him sucking the smoke in my mouth into his, and down his lungs, and when that was all gone, he began to suck my tongue into his mouth, almost as if he would eat me alive from the mouth.
The way his entire mouth captured my tongue, wrapped around it so delicately yet so sharp, had me moaning low in my throat. His tongue was massaging mine, occasionally pressing hard enough to push my tongue into his teeth, a sharp, painful sensation that made me hiss in pain before it instantly turned into a hiss of pleasure and I could hardly tell the difference between the two.
I tried to wrest back control from him; even though it was absolutely wonderful the way that Malfoy was sucking on my tongue, I still didn't like to be so much at the mercy of someone like Malfoy, so I pulled my tongue out gradually, wrapping it around his slightly and indicating without words that I wanted to return the favor.
Instead, with his tongue halfway to my mouth, I realized that the lightheadedness was due only in part to his amazing snogging skills, and the other part was my lack of air. I pulled back reluctantly, panting heavily as I leaned on his chest. He was panting as well, looking down at me with inscrutable eyes.
"Does that let me qualify for being important?" he eventually asked, still holding me tightly. I had dropped my cigarette somewhere, and mourned for its loss. It had been a damn good fag.
"Well…you're almost there," I replied coyly. "I think maybe a bit more would convince me." Smirking devilishly, he raised a hand to his mouth, revealing that he had managed to hold on to his cigarette even when I had not. He took a long drag, before leaning down and going in for a kiss.
I realized that he was trying to repeat the smoking snog from before, but reversed, and eagerly complied, dragging the smoke sensually from his mouth like a thick chocolate. I had heard of this before—the smoking through another person's mouth—but had never actually done it. I hadn't realized just what I was missing, either, until now. Or, my traitorous mind replied, it's only this good because it's Malfoy that's doing the snogging.
I could hardly argue with logic like that, especially coming from myself, and decided instead to just cease thinking all together and focus on the sensations that Malfoy was drawing from my flesh.
And what sensations those were! I was having trouble focusing on any one area, preferring to just sink into the waves of pleasure that seemed to undulate across my entire body. There were a few focus points: my mouth, connected to his, sucking down his smoky taste; my head, where I was sure the fag was going to light my hair on fire any moment now, but couldn't bother to care; my lower stomach, where something very warm was dizzyingly pressing against me insistently; my right hip, where Malfoy's hand finished wrapping around my back to clutch me to him tightly; and my right leg, which was slowly inching its way up the long, sleek muscle that I had determined to be connected to his leg.
His tongue was currently busy infusing that smoky taste everywhere inside of mouth, pressing just hard enough that I was positive I would forever taste him embedded inside of my mouth. It was all I could do to keep up, encouraging his tongue with my own in playful, teasing jabs.
There was a moment where both his hands tightened simultaneously, and that was the only warning I had before I was in the air. I didn't have any sense of direction, but I did have the sense to wrap my legs tightly around his hips to keep my balance so I could still be attached to his lips. When the warm heat of my center was suddenly pressed against the burning fire of his, I couldn't help the delicious friction and a moan slipped out of my lips, an answering growl forming low in his throat.
The snog instantly turned sharper, more frenzied, as I was nearly shoved against the wall. I realized just why he had felt the urge to move me; up against the wall like this, it was much easier for me to reach his taller height—and stay in contact with much more intimate places—and I couldn't help but love the contrasting feelings of everything.
In my mouth, our tongues were grappling so fiercely it was hardly a surprise when either of us nicked our tongues on the other's teeth; it was all just a part of the snog, and I could hardly care. The cold stone against my back so was violently offset by the fiery muscle that made up Malfoy. Sweet Circe, I found myself thinking; even the words in my head were coming out in gasps. We've been going to the same bloody school for over six years and only now decided to do this? Holy fuck, I've been missing loads!
Now, at least, I knew what that pig Parkinson was always gushing about.
A sudden jerk at the scarf only managed to slightly choke me; I drew back, panting, while Malfoy almost violently shoved the fag into my mouth, tearing at the scarf wrapped around my neck. A mumbled cursing met my dazed ears as I realized that the scarf was proving to be a little bit too much for a lust-driven Malfoy, and managed a husky chuckle, taking a drag in a useless attempt to cool my nerves and raising a hand to his coat, ripping at his expensive buttons with an equal fervor.
He finally had the sense to unwrap the scarf off my neck instead of pull it off. I think he realized that a change of tactics was in order by the shade of blue my face was turning and the fact that those strangled noises emerging from my throat weren't simply me attempting to vocalize my pleasure and failing.
By that time, I had managed to get absolutely nowhere with his jacket; it must have been impervious to ripping, or at least charmed to be indestructible, and I was close to pulling out my own wand and seeing just how well it fared against a Weasley Diffindo. It didn't get to go that far, though, since Malfoy realized what I was trying to do and stopped pulling off my own jacket—I was kind of resentful to note that he was having far more luck with removing my clothing than I was having with his—in favor of halfway removing his own jacket.
Underneath, I was happy to find, he was wearing nothing. When his lips descended to my bared throat, I decided to test my theory of his clothing and shifted down low enough on his hips so I could reach a hand around his back to grasp his firm cheek in one hand. Right, I thought to myself dazedly when this elicited a mixed groan and hiss when he bit down on the juncture of my shoulder and neck. Silk pants. Pajama pants. I had been right: he had come straight from waking up.
The image of a sleep-tousled Malfoy only had a more violent affect on me, and I promised myself that one day, I'd see that vision up close and personal. For now, though, I doubted we'd make it to the bed.
I felt a savage breath escape me when he hoisted me up higher, scraping my back viciously against the stones. He angrily tossed some stray curls off my chest, drawing back only slightly and pausing to survey me.
Once, I might have blushed and modestly moved my hair back into place. Instead, I gazed levelly at his eyes, ignoring our short pants, and waited for him to raise his stare to mine. When he did, I slowly drew the fag to my lips—the spells on it must have been remarkable, since it was still the same length. Maybe it only burned when you inhaled?—and inhaled. Watching Malfoy watch me greedily, I couldn't help but feel a sense of superiority rise in me. No one else had made me feel like that.
Wordlessly, I raised my hand to his lips, allowing him to take a drag off the cigarette. He did so, not removing those pewter eyes from mine. I tried to ignore the way my hand was shaking.
It seemed natural to throw the cigarette to the ground and reach up and brush a few snowflakes from his damp hair. After I did that I took my cold fingers and streaked them across his high cheekbones, trailing melting snowflakes in their wake. My fingers trailed their way down his jaw, and I felt him swallow convulsively.
A small smile that was almost a precursor to a smirk twisted my lips, but it faded somewhat when my fingers found their way to his lips, tracing that bottom lip that was just this side of swollen and feeling each and individual crease as if I had a heightened awareness in the pads of my fingertips.
His breath ghosted across the frozen tips, warming them. He seemed to realize that they were cold and quickly captured them, sucking on them and massaging them with his tongue so much that I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep them in his decadent mouth or removing them and have that sensation in my own mouth. He made the decision for me when he let go of my fingers and leaned forward, catching my lips in a searing kiss.
He was direct in a sense that contrasted to his normal subtle nature, but I couldn't find it in me to protest. Malfoy seemed almost to energize my flesh with each touch, each feather light caress down my arms that raised tiny hairs along the way. The monotony of day-to-day life faded; replaced by the spontaneity, the recklessness that Malfoy forced me to engage in with a simple kiss.
Well, maybe not so simple, I amended when he gave a partial thrust up that was largely involuntary and drew a similarly unintentional moan from my own throat. Things were spiraling out of control, but I frankly couldn't give a damn.
"Malfoy," I half whispered against his mouth, but he froze as if I had slapped him. I stopped too, disconcerted by this reaction. Suddenly, he nearly seemed to drop me, shrugging back into his coat and handing me mine as well. Perplexed, I took my coat, putting it on in the face of the sudden chill I felt outside of his arms.
"What's wrong?" I questioned, trying to figure out what the sudden change in attitude meant. He was looking out of the alcove, staring into the steadily falling snow as if there was an answer somewhere in the field of white. I fingered the tassels on his scarf, subconsciously raising a hand to my lips and gently stroking them.
His face was inscrutable. I took the opportunity his silence offered to sort out what I was feeling. Currently, I was feeling a mixture of confused and resigned. I wasn't sure why he had stopped, but I could take a guess, hence the resigned. It had seemed too good to be true that we'd be able to put aside a lifetime's worth of hatred and contrasting opinions for a single night of companionship, born out of the natural isolation that smokers felt.
I had hoped that it would be different—I was willing to throw those values to the wind for his drugging kisses, that was for sure—but apparently, it wasn't going to be.
"I'll just go," I said, rather accepting of the way of things. I started to walk past him, but something snagged on my arm and I stopped, half out of the alcove and half in. Malfoy had reached out and grabbed my sleeve as I walked by, managing to grab some of his scarf as well. Oh. I had forgotten about that…
Wordlessly, I started to take it off, but he stilled my movements by taking a step closer and tightening the scarf around my neck. Abruptly, he leaned the few inches between us and capture my lips in another swift kiss, short in length but no less potent in its ability to turn me to mush. When he pulled back, my arms were holding onto his forearms, using them to hold me up.
"It's Draco," he said in a breath. "And keep it. Slytherin has the pitch tomorrow morning, and I'll just borrow someone else's. Besides," he added with a mischievous smirk that seemed to be far darker and suggestive than any other smirk he had directed at me, "you'll probably need it next weekend. I can't have you freezing that nice arse of yours just for my cigarettes."
I blinked, finally realizing what he was talking about. In those long moments where I too had sorted out my feelings, he had obviously come to the same conclusion that I had made initially. I felt my own lips curving into a self-satisfied grin.
"Fine, then," I said, knowing that it wasn't as smart or witty as I could have wished and not caring anyway. "I'll have you know that I'm only going to be here for your cigarettes," I warned him, adding in my head, and not your terribly addicting kisses. He nodded seriously, not the least bit convinced of my lie but willing to pretend that he was.
"Cigarettes are good," he said casually. "But it's the other substances you have to be careful with. They'll draw you in and never let you go." He's warning me, I realized. Warning me away from him before it got too serious, since that was the only way this would last. It would be casual and pointless and a release at first, but something so potent could only turn into something larger.
"Don't worry," I answered nonchalantly, "I'm not afraid of a little addiction."
His eyes darkened in acknowledgment. Regardless of how this happened, we knew that this could have one of two possibilities: it could go damnably well, or it could simply eat itself from inside out and destroy us. But I could tell by the look in Draco's eyes that he was willing to put aside his normal opinions in favor of the smoke and snogs and shags that were sure to come.
So am I, I thought to myself, and realized that ignoring my conscience, my family, my friends, and everyone would be worth it. The payoff was far better than the cost.
EDIT 12/25/09: Fixed up the problem with italicized words running into non-italicized words. Merry Christmas!
EDIT 2/21/09: I went and changed that Luna bit, so if you're rereading it after this, can you let me know if it flows better? It's actually more words, but I think it makes more sense than what I had before.
A/N: So, I've basically been sitting on this for the better part of two months, because I had it in my head that I was going to turn it into a fourshot. But you know what? I think it works better as a oneshot with potential for sequels than a fourshot. God, I seriously can NOT write something with a conclusive ending.
Thanks goes to Melissa who took time out of her finals to read it over and catch my mistakes. You may think I'm losing my need for you, but I will never lose my need of you! :D
The tone of the fic should go something like this: chill, mellow, slightly apathetic, and hedonistic (of course!). Did you guys get that feeling when reading it (hinthint: review!)? Because I did when I wrote it!
In other news, please check out Malfoy Exposed: A Portrait, my latest that won all the awards it could in rowan-greenleaf's Ginny Draws Draco challenge. It's a lot funnier than this one.