Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Forty-One: Limerence

A lighter.

He'd pulled out a small, green lighter.

He began clicking it with his thumb: on and off, on and off -- transfixed by the flame which he held up in front of him. I became transfixed as well, wondering in growing dread why the hell he had pulled that out. And why his enigmatic eyes had suddenly clouded over, glazed with thought.

Leaning back further in the chair, he dragged out a weary sigh before speaking. His voice sounded flat and cruel, dripping with contempt.

"I don't smoke. So less of the silent judgement, Lockwood." He gave a sharp sniff. "Maybe... maybe I just like lighting candles?" The lighter went out; he flicked it on again -- and those unfathomable, glimmering eyes locked on mine over the flame.

"Or maybe, even more conveniently, I just like setting fire to things? The good old-fashioned muggle way. . ."

My eyes widened and I'm sure he noticed, because a faint smirk played on his lips.

"Sure, I could use magic to make fire. But where's the fun in that, right? And there's so many things out there basically begging to be burnt to ashes: Neville Longbottom's homework. Granger's homework. Diggory's broomstick. The letters from Dumbledore which came in over the holidays, the ones the owls drop off at the manor. Petty, rambling letters droning on about class absences and -- and report cards." Draco huffed in scorn. The lighter clicked off.

Yet he kept his troublesome gaze fixated on where the flame had been flickering. Never blinking. Only darkening.

"-- Stupid old man doesn't realise that if my father were to ever find out that I'd skipped a class, or failed even one exam, then he'd only..." I watched him visibly swallow, eyes not quite meeting mine. My skin prickled with dread. Then he'd only go and what?!

I didn't dare interrupt. Far too busy hanging onto every bitter word.

"-Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. Because my father never sees them anyway. He never will. Burning things practically makes them disappear. As though they never existed in the first place."

The sudden drop that followed next in his voice was alarming. It sounded distant, coming from a part of him I don't think I'd ever seen before. A dark, unfeeling part which made ice creep across my heart.

I suddenly became all too aware of the fact my hands were tied. And I was naked. On the bed. In a dark and cold bathroom. With a psychopath slouched on the armchair next to me.

As if he could hear my racing thoughts, his gaze snapped up to mine.

"-Sometimes I half want to do the same thing to people." He flicked the lighter on again. On. Off. On. Off. The switching between the two was rapid, just like his behaviour. Dark then light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. Each click sending my heart pumping faster - making my chest constrict more and more. I pressed my trembling thighs together as tight as possible, like clenching them would somehow keep me in control.

"Yeah," Draco went on nice and slow, his tone strange and chillingly relaxed. "There's a few too many people who I'd love nothing more than to make disappear... Dumbledore. Filch. The Weasley clan... Potter." He scoffed, glaring straight into the flame and gripping the lighter tight -- tight enough to allow for his blue veins to show up in the dim light.

I found my voice -- still breathless. Still thick with nerves and exhaustion from being repeatedly edged, teased and kept in a maddening state of suspense. Despite this, curiosity fought its way through me, and I couldn't resist asking him.

"W-why do you hate them so much?"

Regret swept in quickly when his eyes snapped to mine in a heated glare, his whole body turning eerily still as the lighter flicked off.