i... what desire makes foolish people do

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WICKED GAME!



" None of that compared to the feeling of Draco bloody Malfoy's lips on hers

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" None of that compared to the feeling
of Draco bloody Malfoy's lips on hers.
And she hated that b—stard.
... Didn't she? "

𓆙

2 AUGUST ; 10:02 PM


2 AUGUST ; 10:02 PM

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I.








It happened at the end of the year, just after Voldemort's return and the End of Year Feast.

She was haunted nightly by the emptiness of her brother's eyes and by the fear that Voldemort's return wrought. Truthfully, the girl already had enough problems besides new trauma and the genocidal murderer; she was getting older now, 'older and prettier' said the boys in her House, and so she went to Dumbledore. For Harry, for herself. She begged him to let them hide the summer away at Hogwarts, and once more — four years in a row, the Headmaster ignored her pleas.

So, that last night before they got on the Hogwarts Express back to hell, she drank.

The Firewhiskey was cartwheeling hotly in her stomach, and the pounding need to escape the rising numbness that came every time they returned to Privet Drive had burrowed beneath the surface of her freckled skin.

They found each other breaking curfew.

They'd said something, some mean and scornful, which wasn't at all surprising. They simply stood in the corridor, staring at one another, both shaken and tear—stained. And suddenly she was marching towards him, and seconds — minutes — hours — later, she had reached him. Her fingers curled around the Slytherin green and silver tie, and when she pulled him close, he came willingly.

Suddenly she was grabbing, kissing, tasting, biting, everything, everything, all at once.

It was a battle not of wills but of their mouths, both searching for a safety that no longer existed. They sought each other's lips greedily, hungrily, because she had never been kissed before, because now she never wanted to stop. Neither of them could be satisfied, not without the other, not now.

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