Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Thirty-One: Strange objects

Draco

Violet Lockwood had mysteriously remained out of Draco's sight for the rest of that day, not even making an appearance in the dining hall that evening. The next day, Draco skipped classes - for... quidditch practice - so he went without spotting a glimpse of flame red curls. And that suited him just fine.

But then Violet Lockwood did not turn up to detention that next evening.

Not for the first five minutes, not for the first ten. Draco's gaze kept obsessively shifting over to the clock on the wall. And then the door. Then back to the clock, the door, the clock, the door. Clock, door. Door, clock...

He wouldn't dare admit it to himself, but his nails were bitten raw.

An envious wind rattled through the windows, blasting icy air across the classroom until it hit Draco like an unwelcome thought.

He found his eyes flitting over to the view outside; the winter months had been rolling in, snatching away the last bits of daylight, allowing for nightime to close in around the school earlier and earlier each day.

He sought out the startlingly pale full moon, who was modestly hiding herself behind smudges of blue clouds. It wasn't half a foreboding, ominous scene to look at; and it didn't half make the knot in Draco's stomach worsen, until he wondered - couldn't help himself - where she could be, on such an unforgivingly cold night as this. Wondered if she'd forgotten about the detention, or... or...

Draco readjusted his position in the stiff chair, letting a sigh drag out of him. The quill he was gripping with too much force was acting as more of a fidget toy rather than something to write with, and the blank page before him on the desk was patiently waiting for Draco to begin scrawling out his lines...

Lines.

Ah, fuck.

He pressed his palms to his eyes, squeezing them shut. If Hagrid hadn't had been sitting behind Snape's desk a few meters away, Draco would've felt no shame in pulling out his last, precious bag right there and then. But Hagrid - stupid, fat oaf - although big and clumsy, still had a sharp eye, which is probably why he'd been asked to step in as substitute teacher for tonight's detention.

Currently, he was busy having a hearty chat with Fred Weasley. Fred Weasley, who at present was standing in front of the desk with his back turned to him; the persistent drawl of his stupid sing-song voice igniting irritation in Draco with every passing syllable.

He didn't know what they were talking about. Didn't care. Draco couldn't help but think that Hagrid's lax attitude towards this whole detention only proved his father's point further, being that Hagrid was not fit to teach at Hogwarts.

He was treating it like a mothers meeting, gossiping with bloody Fred Weasley. Soon they'd be bringing out the teacups and cupcakes.

Please Merlin, forgive me if I accidently on purpose flick my wand, set this whole bloody classroom, the two lumbering idiots in it and myself on fire... The numbing thought crossed Draco out of nowhere and made him run his tongue distractedly over his pointy canines - a strangely soothing habit he performed whenever he was irritable.

Then his bottom lip was being pulled between his teeth and being bitten down hard - hard enough for him to taste his own blood - and the muscles in his neck were tense again; his heart was throbbing, and something else may or may not have been threatening to start throbbing as well-

Because she had rudely barged into his thoughts again. Again.

Cheeks aflame. Sunset curls messy. Twitching and withering and trembling at the slightest movement of his fingers. Clenched hands like rumpled roses, dimpled and shaking in their restraints. Green eyes fluttering, rolling back, glazed over with arousal. He'd done that to her. Hell, all he had to do was whisper in her ear and she'd turn so sinfully soft in his hands.