Limerence; Draco Malfoy

Chapter Fifty: Malfoy manor

On Christmas Eve, I woke up with a pounding head, a dry mouth, and chattering teeth.

It was deathly cold in Draco's king-sized bed.

To say I was surprised at the fact I'd woken up in to these surroundings, would've been massive understatement. I honestly didn't think he would've wanted me to stay on his sofa - let alone share his bed. I'd expected a re-do of what had happened in the prefect's bathroom: with him carrying me back to my own dormitory.

But the fact he hadn't done so filled me with secret relief. I hated the thought of being separated from him again.

Shuffling upwards, I quickly came to realise the reason why I felt like a human icicle: Draco was lay on the other side of the mattress facing away from me, and he'd stolen all the covers.

"Bitch." My whisper cut out into the silence through chattering teeth. Rolling my eyes, I drew my knees up to my chest, then scanned my gaze across the shadowy room.

It was dark. The fire was still crackling, its green glow the throwing shadows onto the walls. Draco was sighing softly in his sleep beside me. And the ticking clock on his bedside table told me it was only 1AM.

I started when I heard the mattress creak. He'd rolled onto his back, wisps of white hair falling onto the pillow. I took in the plain, white, short-sleeved top he was wearing, and moments later, my gaze fell on the dark mark on his forearm. I stared at it, transfixed.

A tiny, nonsensical thought popped up before I could swat it away: It looks hot.

But then I only had to remind myself of the marks ugly meaning to feel awash with guilt. That was the mark of a murderer, for Merlin's sake. My worst enemy.

But . . . it looks hot?!

- No.

No no no, Violet - I had to mentally shake myself. My thoughts couldn't be helped, but they were ridiculous all the same. I tore my gaze away from his arm and towards the bedside table instead, desperate for a distraction.

On it was an array of different things: my inhaler, his quill, a few sickles, a detention slip, a lighter, another detention slip and a black sharpie.

An idea sparked in my mind - sly and excitable - making the pounding hangover- headache I'd woken with fade slightly.

Now feeling wide awake and therefore in dire need of some entertainment, I picked up the sharpie, then shuffled across the mattress, smirking.

When I was younger, I used to fancy myself as a tattoo artist. And right now, Draco's dark mark looked like it could use some extra details. So, I got to work, anxiously shooting glances up every few seconds to see if he would stir. Luckily, sleep was generous to him tonight; he remained blissfully unaware whilst I doodled away, my tongue poking out of my mouth in concentration.

First, I added a little tiara over the skull, and then some stars at the edges, finishing off with a lovely garland of flowers entwining around it. The mark looked a lot less sinister, now that I'd added my little finishing touches to it. A lot prettier as well. I smiled, proud with my work.

He would probably slaughter me in the morning, but I didn't care. Maybe if he hadn't have deprived me of warmth by stealing all the damn bedsheets, I wouldn't have had to resort to such childish measures.

He suddenly sighed -- louder and deeper this time -- and stirred in his sleep. I dropped his hand, quickly clicking the lid to the sharpie back on and scooting to the other side of the bed. For some reason, a wave of shyness had lapped over me. Like it had suddenly dawned on me that he was actually there.