The Forgotten Potter; DM

XLVIII. Not Another Bloody Dream

[2616 words]

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The corridor was quiet, shadows flickering in torchlight, but the silence was broken the moment their eyes locked, a few steps away from each other.

"Following me again?" Draco drawled, his voice low, every syllable designed to provoke.

"We both know it's obvious you wanted me to," Ivy sharply replied, lips slowly curving.

A slow step forward, another back. The distance shrank with an inevitability neither resisted. Ivy leaned into the wall, Draco closed in. Close enough to feel each other's breath, close enough that the tension was its own kind of touch.

"This supposed to intimidate me?" Ivy had asked, her brows raised. The words were soft, but there was no retreat in them.

"No, never intimidate." Draco's answer was barely more than a murmur. "Tempt."

That broke whatever restraint lingered. His mouth quickly captured hers in a kiss that was nothing like gentle. It was fire and teeth, a tug-of-war neither of them wanted to win. Lips clashed, breath tangled, and the weight of it was too fierce to call tender. Ivy pushed back with equal fervour, hands clutching at Draco's shirt, dragging him closer until there was no space left, only heat and the bruising press of lips that refused to yield.

She bit his lip, he let out a hiss of approval. The mocking curve of his smirk against her lips refused to stop. He caught her wrist and pinned it against the wall, not rough but commanding, answered only with another desperate pull forward.

"Is this what you wanted?" The whisper left Draco's lips and touched hers, rough-edged and ragged.

The only response was another kiss, harder, hungrier, her hand snaking around his neck to pull him impossibly close, until the corridor itself dissolved into darkness.

She let out a desperate hum of delight against his lips before gasping.

Ivy's eyes snapped wide open, breathing heavily in her bed. The dream was fresh in her mind as she stared up at her familiar bed. Her heart was racing as she sat up, her duvet and Snuffles falling off her. She was glad her curtains were closed around her.

She desperately squeezed her eyes shut, confused, annoyed, and shocked by the memory of her dream and why she had it. Her cold fingers fell to her lips, almost feeling the ghost of Draco's.

She blamed him and that stupid dare he gave her for the unappreciated thoughts that now took over her dreams.

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Professor Snape's classroom had been transfigured into a makeshift ballroom, and judging by his face, he'd rather have been teaching them the effects of poison than dance steps.

"This is not optional," He said flatly, as if he could already hear the protests. "The Headmaster insists you know the basics before humiliating yourselves in front of foreign dignitaries."

Draco leaned down toward Ivy as he tugged at her hair. "Can't wait to humiliate you in front of foreign dignitaries."

She looked back with a sharp, annoyed glare, smacking his hand away. "Bold of you to assume you'll be anywhere near me at the ball."

He smirked. "Oh, but you don't have a choice. You lost the bet, remember?"

Before she could bite back, they were interrupted.

"Mister Malfoy. Miss Potter." Snape's voice cut through their whispering. "Since you both seem so keen to participate, you can come up and give everyone a demonstration."