Chapter One: Lesson 1 - Kissing

I was asked once to describe myself in three words. Do you know what I came up with?

Rich. Beautiful. Rebellious.

Those are the three words that everyone will know, but only very few know the real reason why I chose those words above all else.

Money can't buy you happiness. Beauty is only skin deep. And being a rebel is the only way I can pull the puppet strings of my father when he's not ruling the corporate world, and everything else along with it, including me sometimes. If I don't follow the rules, I have his attention. If I make a spectacle of myself, he can't ignore me.

So when I met kindred spirit, Draco Malfoy, for the first time, I knew that I wasn't ever alone. There are many of us who covet for our parents' attention, and many of us fail to do so and fall deeper in a pit of self-depravity, such as my young hero. I, on the other hand, choose to reject the norm according to my father, and I once thought I could do the same for Draco. I, of all people, should have realized that this was not going to work. How foolish I was to think I could tame the untamable, when I am no more tamable than he.


I spun around at the sound of my name. I looked around frantically, trying to find the person who had called me. My eyes fell on the approaching figure of my best friend, Racquel. "What?" I called back, exaggerating exasperation.

"You have a letter!"

I rolled my eyes. It was just like Racquel to yell across a crowded common room bustling with people, just to inform me I had a letter. Since we'd been friends for years, she knew that I only got mail from two people, and one happened to be in Australia at the moment touring with her theatre company in a production of Hamlet. My mother was famous for her portrayal as Ophelia. She had had much practice over the years living with my father (the only alternative sender of the letter), and decided after ten years of marriage that enough was enough and took her learned skills elsewhere. Australia was a reasonable choice because it was so far away, and although no corner of the earth was far away for Loden Morris, who had more money than he had time to spend in 50 lifetimes, it was a start. My father also didn't bother to bother himself with Madalynn Corey anymore. His new girlfriend, of two years now, Candy Monroe, a busty blonde with annoying perkiness, kept him happily occupied when he wasn't busy making my life a living hell.

So, I deduced that my father was summoning me once again for a weekend photo shoot. As the face of BonneChique, a thriving multi-trillion galleon corporation with headquarters all over the world and millions of galleons of sales world-wide every day, I couldn't shirk the responsibility all the time, but it did keep me away from school too often.I pondered briefly the consequences of dying my hair blue, but I figured that might be pushing it slightly. My father would probably have a hissy-fit and disown me, and that was another problem I didn't need to deal with right then.

Racquel had reached my side, her long blonde hair swinging back and forth like a pixie. She handed me the envelope.

"I don't see why he sends these formal summonses," I muttered. "He knows I have a busy school schedule. I can't afford to miss anymore school, the jerk knows that!"

"Sweetie," Racquel said with a small endearment that was meant to calm my system, but didn't quite work…like ever, "you and your father can afford more than most."

I looked up from the tearing of the envelope to glare pointedly at Racquel. I saw immediately she was joking. Yet I was still uncomfortable with the comment. "Ugh! I can't wait until I'm seventeen! I hate being stuck under his stupid thumb. Do this! Do that! He owns me right now, and is abusing that fact. I wish my mother could have taken me with her."

Racquel put her arm around me, "But…" she faked a pout, "then we never would have met and become soul mates."

"I don't have a soul," I quipped back uncaringly, glancing down at the letters on the pristine piece of paper my father had one of his multiple secretaries write and then send via owl post. He irritated me to no end.

"You have a soul. Or at least had one. I stole it from you," Racquel joked lightly as we walked up to the dormitories.

I laughed, "And what are you doing with it?"

Racquel waggled her eyebrows. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

I shook my head. I tossed the letter in the woodstove and moved around to my bed, searching for… "Where's my bag?" I shrieked.

"Which one?"

"Designer! Gold clasp! It has my life in it, not to mention my wand. Shit, shit, shit!"

"Maybe you left it in the library earlier?" Racquel suggested.

"Piss it!" I bolted for the door and ran down the stairs, faintly registering the taunting "Run like the wind" yell that came from Racquel. She was right, we were soul mates, but right now was not the time to be cheeky. A wandless witch might as well be a dead witch and thanks to all my worrying about my father and all the school I had missed, this witch had become the most absentminded witch on the planet.

I sailed down the corridors, probably frightening half the first and second years, and made it down to the library in a record four minutes and forty-eight seconds. Thankfully I hadn't had to wait for any staircases, which would have been truly unfortunate. I checked my watch and let out a small squeak when I realized that my bag had now been left unattended for about twenty minutes. "Shit, shit, shit," I muttered under my breath as I entered the library.

I'm sure Madam Pince would not be impressed if I zoomed up and down the stacks like hell on wheels, which I certainly felt like, so I dialed my pace down to a brisk strut.

I reached the row of books that lead to the table I had been sitting at. As I neared the table I saw that there was someone already sitting there. The bleach blonde hair gave it away and instantly I was infuriated.

Draco Malfoy had been the sworn enemy of most of the sixth and seventh year Gryffindor students, as well as most of the younger students, for as long as I had been at school. He had a reputation for being a cruel and unforgiving bastard, and I knew as well as anybody that these traits were hereditary and inherited from his father, also a cruel and unforgiving bastard. I had hoped somewhere deep inside that he would grow out of them, but thus far the end was nowhere in sight.

I walked up to his left and my eyes widened when I saw my designer gold and silver bag sitting on the table in front of him. But what made it worse was the fact that he was twirling a wand around in his fingers. My wand.

He didn't look up, but he knew I was there. "Morris." His voice was low as he said my last name, almost like a growl.

"Malfoy." I held out my hand, "My wand, please." I had the common decency to start off polite, whereas he was rude right from the get-go.

He didn't budge. "You shouldn't leave your personal belongings lying around, Morris. It might lead to theft. Having you accusing people of stealing would probably be bad for your reputation. You're usually so level-headed—I'm told at least."

"Oh, you're so full of it, Malfoy. Your taciturn bad-boy act is really getting old. So last season. You might consider changing things up from time to time, you know?" I made a mock smile appear and then disappear on my face, a trick I had learned from my dear father who made the face at my mother on number of occasions over their ten-year marriage. "Give me my wand, now."

His head finally turned and his gaze fell on my face. He was looking very grave and serious, a look I had often seen on his face. It wasn't cruel…yet. He held out my wand by the tip and I snatched it away from him.

My snatch had been quick, but his movements had been quicker. With a bookshelf on either side of the table, and a long row back the way I came there really was nowhere to go, so he backed me up into a shelf and put both hands on either side of my head. He startled me, which made me gasp, a reaction that he mistook as fear I suspect. But I wasn't afraid. I had never been afraid of Draco Malfoy. My father was ultimately more powerful than his, despite where his father's loyalties lay. He couldn't crush me anymore than he could crush a hippogriff. (I was there third year for that particular lesson, which had given me much pleasure watching and recounting to my friends later on for several hours.)

He glared at me. I glared back. He didn't intimidate quite as well as he thought he did. He spoke. "You have a sharp tongue, Morris. Do you have sharp actions to match?"

He was pressed close to me, but I was still able to nimbly pop my wand hand between us and press the tip of my wand to his chin. "Test me, Malfoy. I dare you. Test me, and we'll see how well you hold up."

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, which had an annoying affect on me. I had never seen him smile without cruelty, and this was definitely not cruel. It was—dare I say it—a smile of admiration. I felt a tingling sensation in the pit of my stomach that just felt all wrong.

"You're much more fun than Potter," he commented. "Potter doesn't smell as good as you."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm flattered, Malfoy," I replied dryly before narrowing my eyes at him. "But I'm afraid I'm immune to your flattery. It's probably your bad breath that's the real issue here, but it could also be the fact you're a cold, heartless guttersnipe."

He didn't back away. He got closer! Inside my mind was screaming. What the heck was all this? Malfoy had never acted like this with me before and we'd had more than enough confrontations. What was different? What the fuck! Was going to kiss me?

Oh, he was damn close. I held my resolve however. I didn't move a muscle. My eyebrow muscle probably twitched but that's about it. We were almost nose to nose when he stopped advancing and just stood there, stalk-still. My wand was still under his chin and despite the spells flooding to mind amongst all the questions, I did not feel threatened enough to extricate myself from the situation. I could have accomplished this quite easily, in fact, but I didn't.

His gaze hovered over my face—my eyes, my nose, my cheeks—and finally stopped to linger on my mouth. "A very sharp tongue," he whispered the barely audible words.

His lips closed over mine before I could even realize what was going on. They were surprisingly soft and molded to mine with ease. I was stunned so much it felt like an out-of-body experience. I wasn't controlling my actions anymore. I responded! Shit, this was so messed up!

The kiss got deeper without my really knowing it. I had a tingling sensation in my toes it was so deep-inset into my system. I knew there had to be a line that he would cross though. He hadn't touched me other than with his lips…yet, and there was no…oh no, there was the tongue. Line crossed!

I exploded!

My arms, still at my chest, pushed outwards without having to make any contact with Draco. My wand did all the work. He was blasted backwards into the bookshelf, thankfully not knocking the entire stack over, just a few shelves out of the way. And the same shelves of the stack behind it as well. Malfoy ended up two stacks over from where I was. I stood there breathing heavily for exactly seventy seconds before I grabbed up my bag from the table and walked extremely quickly, as fast as humanly possible without running, out of the library before bolting up the hall and up subsequent staircases towards the Gryffindor Tower.

What the fuck had just happened?

The question resounded in my skull like an echo in a huge cave.

I almost smashed through the Fat Lady because she couldn't open fast enough and when I was behind closed doors I leaned my back against the cold stone.

I'll tell you what just happened, I thought to myself, Draco Malfoy just kissed you, and you blew him to the other side of the library in thanks.

Thanks! Why was I thinking about thanking the dirt bag for this assault? Ugh, because it didn't feel like assault. It felt weird, yes, but at the same time—and admitting this to myself was really hard—it felt really good. It was then I realized; kissing Draco Malfoy had probably been one of the most rebellious things I had ever done. And another realization; I wanted to kiss him again.