Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Sixty-Two: Reminiscence

"Well if you're scared then you better not leave my side then, had you?"

"I think it's more likely you're scared that I'll leave your side,"

". . . and I suppose what all this comes down to is quite simple, really: I think you're pretty, Lockwood. I think you're the prettiest witch I've ever lay my fucking eyes on, and no pure-blood or muggle-born or half-blood or anyone, can change my mind about that. . ."

"Oh, and Vi?"

"Yes?"

His eyes were bright and elated, hair ruffled; his mouth had curled up into this mischievous sort of smile -- wholly excitable. My heart skipped. Soared.

"I'm taking you to see the fireworks, tonight."

". . . No. . . no I don't think you're pathetic. . . And I don't want to hear you say that. You know. . . You know I don't actually think those things about you---"

"No - no. . . I am. . . I am,"

"No -- shhh, shhh, you're not. You're not. And I think. . . I think, you're lovely, Vi. . . And I -- I won't leave again. . . I promise,"

"Shut up-- it was an accident," He gave a sharp sniff, then gave my hair a sudden tug. I pressed my lips together to stop myself hissing out in pain. "You're not my bloody sweetheart,"

"No-- I didn't -- I don't know why I just did that--"

"Do you think I'd hurt you?" He asked, and his voice was sharp now, although there was still an underlying waver to it. A ripple of disbelief.

"No!" My whisper was hollow and it spilled out from trembling lips. I drew in a sharp breath, and then another -- forgetting to exhale. "I don't-- It's not you--"

"Can you sleep in my bed?"

". . . Lockwood . . . You know we can't. . . I mean - it's pointless. I'll be right down the hallway if you need me, for any reason."

". . . You doing okay under there?"

"You're right: you will die. But not tonight. You'll die in about eighty years from now, in a hospital bed or something, surrounded by people who love you. But you are not going to die in my house, at the hands of my dickhead of a father, on Christmas eve, at only eighteen years old."

"Shhh, Vi, don't make a sound,"

"I- I called for you, but you didn't come back-- you promised me. You said you'd come back?!"

"Violet, listen, I had to! They were going to figure it out if I didn't do something! I'm sorry! Please, just look at me--"

"The paintings. They see everything."

"What happened?"

"I- I don't know. I just got a strange headache. Must be the stress or something, I don't know. . ."

"She looks extremely beautiful."

"The bleeding will stop, but the lettering. . . I can't remove it." He looked up at me through strands of choppy platinum, for the first time ever looking and sounding defeated. "I'll find something. It'll take me some time, but I'm sure there's a spell or something that can fix it."