Confusion in a cupboard

Let's get one thing straight.

I, for one, am not used to being dragged into broom cupboards when walking along an apparently deserted corridor on my way back from the library. It's not generally something that one imagines would happen, which is why when I felt a muscular hand encircle my wrist and pull me roughly into a cupboard I was terrified, to say the least.

"What the hell!?" I exclaim as I hit the stone wall of the inside of the cupboard and feel my textbooks tumble from my shaking hands. My heart is beating erratically at the shock of being crept up on unexpectedly.

"Granger?"

Hold on a minute.

I would recognize that snobby and arrogant drawl anywhere. There is only one person in the whole of this castle whose permanently conceited tone it could be.

"Malfoy?" I demand in horror, and sure enough, as my eyes adjust to the blackness of the cupboard we're in I can just about see the unruly mass of platinum hair that is unique to Malfoy.

What the hell is he doing pulling me into a cupboard?

"At your service," he drawls and I can tell that he is sporting his infamous smirk. Typical. I rub the shoulder that I hit on the doorframe when he dragged me into this extremely confined space.

"What the hell were you thinking Malfoy? Explain yourself, or I will happily punch your pathetic ferret face again," I demand angrily into the darkness.

My eyes are slowly becoming accustomed to the darkness and now I can make out his pale pointed face where, as I guessed, the smirk has resurfaced.

He doesn't answer my question immediately, and my mind immediately jumps to the various rumours that circulate around Hogwarts about the nature of meetings in broom cupboards.

Surely he doesn't want to…?

"I know what you're thinking Granger, and trust me, there's no reason to worry about that," he snaps, but his voice is lacking its usual venom, and I notice him give me a look from my trainers to my curly hair with his eyes lingering uncomfortably on my mid-section causing me to doubt his honesty. I fold my arms sub-consciously over my chest.

"What do you want then?" I hiss, ignoring the way he is looking at me with one eyebrow raised and a humorous smirk painted over his aristocratic features.

"Are you really dating Weasley?" he asks in an innocently curious tone.

I frown, taken-aback, and my mouth drops open. Did he honestly just ask me that?

I look at him and he is leaning against the shelves with his arms folded, awaiting my answer.

I close my mouth and speak, "Why do you want to know?"

"I just didn't think you were one for the red-heads," he replies, with a shrug. "But, seriously, are you dating him?"

I look at him, completely baffled as to why he is asking such a question. "I don't really see how it's any of your business," I tell him, with a frown still marring my face.

"Just wondering. Are you?" he demands insistently.

"It's not your business," I remind him. He snorts arrogantly.

"Just tell me," he says, still remaining calm, although I can picture him rolling his eyes at this moment.

"No."

"Come on," he pleads.

"No. Is that what you pulled me into a cupboardto ask me? If I was dating Ron?" I ask him.

"Actually, no. I was going to ask you when the prefect meeting is, but that kind of slipped out, I guess," he says, and I give him a bemused expression.

"For your information, the meeting is next Wednesday, and for future reference, please just ask me in a corridor, I'd rather not experience being a cupboard with you again," I say, leaning down and picking up the books that I dropped when he dragged me in.

I stand up and clutch the books to my chest, with the clear intention of leaving. "Oh, and no I'm not dating Ron, not that it's any of your business."

A trace of a smile flashes across his face.

"There was a reason I didn't ask you in a corridor," he pipes up as I am trying to locate the door handle without dropping the pile of books in my arms.

"Pray tell, ferret," I say, exasperated, shifting the heavy weight in my arms around.

I feel warm hands touch my own and the heavy books are lifted from my arms, a second later a dull thud can be heard as the books are put back on the floor.

"Uh…Malfoy, I need them," I tell him, pointing towards the books.

Suddenly, I am aware of just how close Malfoy is to me.

It worries me how I don't mind him being so close that I can almost feel the heat emanating from his lean muscular body.

It worries me that I find the scent of his cologne more alluring that nauseating.

But what worries me the most is that when he bends his head slightly and his lips touch with mine I don't pull away. Instead, I instinctively reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, and entwine my fingers with his short messy hair.

My head is spinning as he closes his arms around my waist and pulls me towards him so that I can feel myself pressing up against every inch of his Quidditch-toned body.

After what feels like a lifetime, he pulls away and mutters, "I couldn't do that in a corridor." His breath is ragged and rushed.

"I…don't understand," I mutter back, my hands still firmly in his hair.

"Nor do I," he admits, and I feel his breath as he laughs tickle my neck.

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