She was worried.

Her hands where twisting together, the thumb, indexfinger and middlefinger of one hand, rubbing and pinching at the indexfinger of the other. They left small red marks along the entire finger, it almost looked like she had burned herself, or dropped firewhiskey on it. The soft lips where parted in a smile, a lock of brown messy hair lay across them, moving everytime she exhaled. Even her eyes where filled with a wordless joy, sparkling softly. But her hands...
The smell of parchment filled the air. Dust that lay on the books among them made it thick and hard to breath, like trying to sift polyjuicepotion between your teeth. And still it was safe, and calm. Like sitting inside a piece of cotton. The library among them, with it's high shelfs and massive volumes seemed to absorb the very essence of sound, leaving nothing but a few whispers behind. Even if you tried to scream at the top of your lungs, nothing but a deep throaty whisper would emerge. He was sure of it.
The hands stopped twitching momentarily. They had went into her ridicilously overfilled bookbag, it was gonna burst anyday now, and came back up with a quill, ink, and a piece of parchment. As the slender fingers started removing the cap on the inkbottle, he felt his stomach surge. Pressing just slightly, so that the fingertips turned white, they twisted softly, the thumb straightning ever so little, it made his heart flutter. The fingers made an arch, almost cupping, and he thought of something that those fingers would cup so amazingly.
A hot flash so strong he blushed, forced him to turn away.
Heart thumping in his chest, beating with a frenzy he had not felt without being on a broom, he looked down on his paper. It said something about about potions. Or herbology. Or astrology. He wasn't quite sure. It was words, and every single one of them were floating together, even though he tried to keep his eye on the paper. If he looked up, she would see him blushing. Like she hadn't caught him staring before. All those bickerings, every fight, every hars word spoken between them... It was all because she had caught him staring, and he knew it. Or atleast... He thought he knew it. Closing his eyes, tounge without his knowledge caught between his lips, he thought of her.
Annoying at first. Terribly annoying at first. The know-it-all. A strong memory, pressing on his mind. Potionsclass. Her hand flying in to the air, almost making HIM feel embarrassed. Hadn't she seen? That by emploring that she knew the answers, she would only hurt herself more when she didn't? When the right ones came splurging out, he had felt like a git. For a couple of seconds.
Second year. Annoying still. Still knowing everything that came into her path, still impossible to shut up during class. And yet...
Third year. Difference. He had to make her mad. Every chance he got, he had to make her mad, nag at her, do anything to make her turn unto him in fury and give him a flash of those eyes, glowing with anger.
Fourth year. She was a woman. He remebered closely, too closely. When she's walked into the ballroom. The otherwise bushy hair so smooth. Wonderfully so, the blue dress making the body that was last year a childs, this year a womans, the center of attention The only thing not perfect about her, was the man hanging on her arm. Suddenly he realised that anger wasn't the best way she could look at him. It did not give the same thrill as her eyes did now, as they swept the room and for a seconds eternity, stopped on him. Measuring him up. Telling him of without having to say a single word what he thought, and had thought, for the entire month.
"You should have asked her first."
Torture. That, and that only, could sum up the year that had followed. Every laugh, every smile, every angry look, it all had made him feel things that burned into his flesh. Never before had he listened so closely in the dorm at night for the others to fall to sleep, so that he could think about her. Her eyes. Her smile. The small glimpse of milky white thigh he had seen when she crossed her legs in potions. Just thinking about it now made it burn so intensly that he wanted to put something in his lap to stop his trousers from raising a tent grindylow-scouts could sleep in.
Eyes still closed, he softly stroke the parchment before him. Rough texture under his finger did nothing to sooth him. It only reminded him of what her skin would feel like. Soft. Warm. Silkysmooth. Burning, again. Shite.
Shyly, he glanced up. Her fingers had stopped their twitching, and she was writing. Bent over a bit over the table, head resting in her palmm she was mumbling to herself. Legs crossed, the sock had slid down a tiny bit, showing her white knee.
Oh God.
Too late to look away. That knee made his eyes wander. Up, up, her stomach, wich wasn't completely flat but had a tiny roll of fat from being bent over, forced him to bite down on his tounge. Perfect. Perfection, she would be soft in his arms, when he took her in his arms she would be perfect and sweet. Hips, curved. Gripping them would be like touching a piece of perfect art come to life. Up, up. Her shirt had slid open, just a tiny bit. It wasn't perfectly buttoned, and it had slid open just enogh to show the curve of a smooth, white breast inside a plain, muggle bra.
His heart stopped in his chest. Unable to stop staring, he felt his groin turn into a hot, raging pit of fire, and the only way quench that fire was the wet pool between her legs, or the sliding of her tounge.
Fantasies took him over, and suddenly he was with her. Close to her, his hand covering her cheek, her surprised eyes as she realised that all of those feelings she had always had, all that anger she had felt, every single one of their debates, had been sprung out of emotions so deep she did not herself understand them.
"But I thought u-"
"Hush... Never mind all that..."
Their first kiss was spectacular. Her lips melted to his, a perfect match, as he had always known it would be. A tounge slid against his, and her taste was just as he had imagened, like a mixture between the library smell, something sweet like pumpkinjuice, and just a tad of HER. Her essence. It would be stronger somewhere else, and he needed it. Forgetting every bit of selfcontroll he'd ever had, he slid her down unto the table. Kneeling in front of her, he slid up her skirt, but first, before doing anything, he kissed her knee. It was smooth, and sweet. Tracing a line of kisses across her thigh, listening to her pant and indulging in what could only be called an appetizer set for Gods, he stopped. The panties where slid of easily, and put in his pocket. For later. She wanted him, panting, she gripped his hair and forced him against her, and suddenly he had a mouth- and noseful of the sweetest ambrosia. Savouring it for just a few, wonderful moments, he then wolfed down on her. Her screams was the only clear sound the library had ever heard, and would ever hear. Really they didn't deserve to hear it. She was a Goddess, and the mortals that walked this place should fall at her feet.
Her hands in his hair, tugging at him, forcing his mouth into the sauvory folds before him and making his tounge twitch and ache with the urge to lick faster than he could think just to tastemore, told him that he had done good. Getting up, smiling broadly, she undid his pants. Sliding into her, meeting heaven in her silky innards, he kissed her neck. Panting, she gripped his hair, whimpering his name into his shoulder, she bucked against him. His lips twitched, neck strained so hard the veins popped a little, he told her about it all. About all the love, about all the secret feelings that had filled him, tormented him, made him feel unwoarthy of ever talking to her. And she, gripping his hair, told him that she felt the same. That she had always known she felt the same, that they're we're meant to be. And when it all came together, when the light from the dusty windows fell on her body, making it gleam, Godlike as it was, she told him in a soft voice,that she loved him.
Shuddering, he opened his eyes. Neverbefore had there been such a ache within him, in his groin, nor his heart. He sould tell her. Their sixth year was always over, it was almost too late. She would go home, and it would be so many, painful months before he could see her again, and...
Looking up from his paper, he realized that she was standing in front of him. Hands on one hip, the eyes filled with anger and hardly restrained mortification, she handed him the piece of paper she'd been writing on.
"It's cruel of you, to sit here, and stare at me until I leave. I thought we had moved pass this, but perhaps I was wrong. Here."
The piece of paper lay down in front of him. He stared at it, unable to understand for a couple of moments.
"It's a list of places you will NOT run in to me for the next few weeks. I thought you might need it to stay out of my way."
Turning around, she returned to her bookbag, flinging it over her shoulder. The light from the big window fell on her, and when she looked back, her eyes gleemed again. Her hair a bushy gloria around her head. Lips parted, she was about to say something. Then she closed them again, and angrily stormed of.
Draco looked down at the paper. Softly he ran one finger along the ink, that had hardly had time to dry, and restrained his lower lip from trembling as the warmth she had left at the paper left it. Folding it neatly, he put it into his shirt pocket, and swallowed around that bitter lump in his throat. For a while, he sat there, staring into the air where she had minutes earlier been. Then he got up, took the paper from his shirt, and started memorizing all the places he wouldn't go to the next few weeks.