Invitations
In my dream, it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Malfoy's skin and pale hair. I couldn’t see her face, just her back as she walked away from me with confident swings of her hips, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. I grew more and more frantic to get to her, until that anxiety woke me. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn’t sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.
To my dismay, I found myself the centre of attention for the rest of that week. Justin Finch-Fletchly was impossible, following me around, determined to make amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it — especially since nothing had actually happened to me — but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Ron and the others weren't very pleased.
No one seemed concerned about Malfoy — no one followed her around or asked for her eyewitness account. But I always included her in my version; she was the hero — she had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn’t even realised she was there until the van was pulled away.
I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed her standing so far away by her car, before she was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn’t like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Malfoy. No one watched her the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.
I sort of didn't really care, though — and I thought that was worse. But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was going on with Malfoy. Like she was up to something, or hiding something from me.
Malfoy was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for her first-hand account. People avoided her the same way they usually did. She and her family sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore. Colour me surprised when I saw that Malfoy was also in my Psychology class, sitting beside Luna in the empty seat by the wall.
When Malfoy sat beside me in Art class, as far away from me as the table would allow, like usual, she seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to her. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up — skin stretched even whiter over her knuckles — did I wonder if she wasn’t as entirely oblivious as she seemed.
She did have pretty hands, with dainty rings on a few fingers and a silver signet on her middle finger with some sort of winding pattern — a snake, most likely. I noticed she only wore silver jewellery. I wondered what she'd look like with gold.
I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and during the next Art class after the accident, I was going to. We'd both been so furious when we talked before, I still was angry that she wouldn’t trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But she had, in fact, saved my life, no matter how she’d done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded into awed gratitude. I didn’t think I’d thanked her properly.
Malfoy was already in her chair when I got to Art that Friday, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting her to turn toward me. She showed no sign that she realised I was there.
“Hello, Malfoy,” I said pleasantly, to show her I was going to behave myself.
She stayed perfectly still, with her arms crossed over her chest, one leg crossed over the other thigh, and leaning back in her seat to wait for class to start. The only sign I had that she'd heard me and responded was the slight lift of her fingers on her arm in a non-committal 'wave.'
And that was the last contact I’d had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, three days a week. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself — always from a distance, though, in Psychology, the cafeteria or car park. I watched as her silver eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were a luminous silver again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class, I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. I was miserable.
My mind worked feverishly and after waking from the occasional nightmare, when I finally fell asleep again, my dreams were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy.
Sometimes I'd wake up again to the sound of Hedwig hissing and meowing at the window. It unsettled me, so I made sure to lock my window and, unfortunately, shut her out of my room so she couldn't freak me out in the dead of night.
Sometimes she'd be fine, but then I'd wake again to the sound of her clawing at my door to get inside. It was impossible because when I then let her back in, she'd wake me up with more hisses and meows now at my door instead of my window. It was creeping me out, but I didn't know what else to do.
I was fucking exhausted.
And I was, just like every other year, pissy and sour when Valentine's Day came and went.
Despite my outright lies, the tenor of my conversations with Sirius alerted him to my depression. I tried to convince him it was just the weather and season that had me down to stop him from worrying. He had been saying that I seemed a little better until the accident happened. I could only say that it had shaken me a little, but other than that, I hadn't changed. He didn't seem convinced but didn't push further, just reminding me that I could always talk to him about whatever. I knew that, and had considered it. But I just couldn't yet bring myself to.
It was stupid anyway, obsessing over some girl like I was some horny guy who couldn't take no for an answer. Get a fucking grip, Harry.
She probably wished she hadn’t pulled me from the path of Justin's van — there was no other conclusion I could come to. Since she obviously preferred me dead, she was pretending that I was.
And, even through all this and my inner turmoil, I still said nothing to her, despite having so much I wanted to say. I supposed it would be better this way if I distanced myself and not get tangled up with her like her serpent's lamb or my rat king.
Neville was also a little worried, him being the only one privy to the nature of Malfoy and I's art lessons together. He'd noticed the shift in the lesson's atmosphere and how it seemingly affected me. I told him I was fine.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Ron was disappointed he’d never gotten to stage his snowball fight but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.
Lavender made me aware of another event looming on the horizon — she called the first Tuesday of March to ask about who I was planning to take as my date to year 13's Prom. Jesus.
I told her that I wasn't going with anyone because I wouldn't be going at all. She gave a scandalised gasp, claiming it as outrageous that I wouldn't allow myself to go. I let her ramble to me.
Neville and I were chatting idly as we made our way to Art a few days later, and he followed me to my table. As always, I was electrically aware of Malfoy sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if she were merely an invention of my imagination.
Neville's eyes anxiously flickered over to his table where Hannah was already sitting before he looked back at me.
"So," he began quietly, leaning in close so only we could hear each other, "I was thinking about asking Hannah to Prom."
I leaned back, beaming a smile up at Neville leaning against the desk.
"That's honestly great, Nev. I think you should go for it," I encouraged enthusiastically.
"D'you think?" he questioned nervously, fidgeting a bit with his eyes downcast. "I don't know what she'll say."
"Absolutely," I confirmed. "I say go for it. It's ok if she doesn't accept, you'll still have the others to go with," I reassured, referring to our friends without dates.
"Yeah," Neville nodded, standing straight and firm. "You're right. Thanks, Harry." He smiled when he saw my dimpled grin until his smile dropped. "Wait, are you not going?"
I saw, from the corner of my eye, Malfoy's head tilt reflexively in my direction.
"Ah, uhm," I floundered. "No, probably not."
"How come?" he asked, disheartened and expression crestfallen.
"I just don't think I can stomach it, Nev," I shrugged with a regretful half-smile.
Neville frowned, saddened by this but understanding my reasoning. Neville was always understanding when it came to people's feelings — never one to try and give advice, but just listen to what you have to say — but often was clueless about most other things. I found it was easy to be honest with him, and I was glad that Neville felt comfortable enough with me to be the same. I thought he was just a sensitive, empathetic soul, and I admired him for it.
Neville nodded in acceptance and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat, but not before I could shoot him a suggestive look toward Hannah with an eyebrow wiggle. Neville blushed with an eye roll, and I was relieved he returned to his seat with more pep in his step.
I watched him and Hannah talk casually from the corner of my eye, silently cheering him on. When I looked straightforward again, I noticed Malfoy was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in her black eyes.
I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look quickly away. But instead, she continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes. There was no question of me looking away, and we found ourselves locked once again in one of our staring competitions. My hands started to shake. I couldn’t believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me — just because she’d happened to look at me for the first time in a half-dozen weeks. I couldn’t allow her to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.
I, reluctantly, broke eye contact first by looking down at my work and starting just before the lesson began. It was Friday, so I only had Art for one hour during the second period before the rest of my day was free of classes. I tried very hard not to be aware of Malfoy for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to her to gather my things, expecting her to leave immediately as usual.
“Potter?”
Fuck.
Her voice shouldn’t have been so familiar to me, as if I’d known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.
I turned to her quickly, mentally kicking myself for looking so eager. I didn’t want to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. My expression was wary when I looked back at Malfoy; her expression was unreadable. She didn’t say anything.
“What? Are you speaking to me again?” I finally asked, an unintentional note of petulance in my voice.
Her lips twitched, hardly resisting a smile.
“No, not really,” she admitted.
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, aware that I was gritting my teeth. I could smell her intoxicating perfume that smelt so clean and simply delightful. She waited.
“Then what do you want, Malfoy?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to her coherently that way. I felt a thrill go through me as I said her name, and I hated it.
She was quiet for some time — hesitant or unsure of what to say, I assumed.
"We shouldn't talk to each other anymore."
I opened my eyes. Her hauntingly beautiful face was very serious.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, my voice guarded.
“It’s better if we stay away from each other,” she clarified. “Trust me.”
My eyes narrowed. I’d heard that before.
"Are you stupid?" I asked incredulously. She let out an offended scoff at my insult. “It’s too bad you didn’t figure that out earlier,” I hissed through my teeth. “You could have saved yourself all this regret.”
“Regret?” The word, and my tone, obviously caught her off guard. “Regret for what?”
“For not just letting that stupid van squish me.”
Malfoy was astonished. She stared at me in disbelief. When she finally spoke, she almost sounded mad.
“You think I regret saving your life?”
“I know you do,” I snapped.
“You don’t know anything. Such an Idiot.”
She was definitely mad. I loved it.
I loved getting under her skin, crawling inside so deep that I was able to incite emotions and tear away at her cocky, arrogant, smug attitude. I wanted to know how she felt, about me, about others, about anything. What made her laugh, what made her mad, what made her cry, what made her Draco Malfoy the Ice Queen. What made her the serpent in her drawing.
I wanted to be the reason. I wanted her to feel every emotion because of me. I eminently wanted to reach inside so deep that I could see what she was really hiding behind her cool exterior. Why did I aggravate her so much, and why was the feeling mutual? Anyone else I could have ignored, but this girl, this crazy, wonderful, enchanting, utter arsehole of a girl had slithered and scuttled her way inside of me, and had me gnashing my teeth and vibrating for her to notice me, look at me.
You don't know anything, she said.
No, I didn't. But I desperately wanted to. I wanted to know everything.
I had never wanted so much. But Malfoy wanted none of it. She wouldn't play this game with me anymore.
It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this girl, bad enough that I thought about her all the time, dreamed about her every night. I didn’t need to sit here like the moron she thought I was and just stare while she insulted me, knowing all the while that she was right — I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from her.
I clenched my jaw against all the wild accusations and insults I desired to hurl at her and yanked my sketchbook from the table, stuffing it into my bag, along with my pencil case before I shot out of my seat, attempting to sweep dramatically out of the room like she so often did. But I accidentally bumped into the corner of another table, which tugged the strap of my bag off my shoulder, sending my things spilling out over the floor. I could hear Malfoy's melodious laugh behind me.
For fuck's sake.
I would have preferred to kick all my shit rather than pick it up and put it back into my bag. But Neville was already by my side, picking up my pencil case. I sent him a tired but grateful look and picked the rest of my stuff up with him before we left the Art room together, not looking back.
I sat with Hermione, Ginny, Parvati and Seamus in the library during our free third period. I was mulling over the previous interaction with Malfoy when Ginny pulled me aside around a row of books for a 'quick chat.'
"What's up, Gin?" I asked, trying to sound as light-hearted as possible.
Because my head was still so filled with Malfoy, Ginny's words took me completely by surprise.
"I was just wondering... if you would go to the Prom with me?” she asked, blinking her fluffy brown lashes at me nervously. "I know it's early for me to ask and it's only for year 13's, but I asked McGonagall if they were allowed to bring year 12's as dates, and she said yes," she quickly added, a little breathless.
"...Oh, shit," I blurted.
It caught Ginny off guard by my mindless cursing, and I quickly shook my hands in apology.
"Sorry, I didn't mean—" I sputtered, unsure of how to handle a situation like this. "I'm sorry, Gin," I said clearly with sympathy once I recovered my composure. "I'm not going to Prom."
"Oh," she said.
"I'm so sorry," I apologised again with a pained look, "I didn't mean to upset you and sound like a twat. I'm just a mess with stuff like this. Thank you for asking, though, but I can't dance so you'd be saving yourself the embarrassment anyway," I chuckled awkwardly.
"No, it's fine," she giggled, waving me off. I was thankful that she was much smoother at this than me. "How come you're not going?"
"Just..." I shook my head with a sigh, "I don't want to go, to be honest."
I watched as Ginny's face fell upon her realising the underlying cause.
"Is it because of your parents?" she asked straightforwardly, but gentle in tone.
I liked that about Ginny; she never beat around the bush, but was nice as a person.
I hung my head and nodded, pushing up my glasses to stop them from falling off my face. I figured I owed her this little bit of honesty after fucking up the rejection so badly.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said with a small, warm smile and lightly placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "Let's just hope whoever Ron asks rejects him worse than you did me," she laughed lightly.
My shoulders instantly sagged in relief that she wasn't upset with me, and I gave a short huff in amusement.
"I feel obligated to stick up for him as my friend," I smirked, "but I'm inclined to agree with you out of embarrassment."
She giggled again and guided us back to where we were sitting.
I was so perplexed by the fact that Ginny had wanted to ask me to Prom that I almost missed the moment a tall figure harshly bumped into Ginny, and I had to catch her as she stumbled into me.
"Watch where you're going, Weasel," sneered Malfoy furiously. Because, of course, it was her.
I glared at Malfoy's back with contempt as she stalked away.
Before Ginny had the opportunity to retort, I snapped back.
"Shut up, Malfoy," I snarled with loathing, my anger flaring for a second time today, simply because of her. God, I hated her. "Maybe if you opened your eyes instead of your fat mouth for once, you'd realise we're in a library and look for a book about manners."
Malfoy halted in her tracks for a second or two before she smoothly spun on her heels to face me with narrowed, challenging eyes.
"What was that, Harriet? I didn't quite catch that."
My left eye twitched. I stepped forward, accepting the challenge.
I really shouldn't be so affected by her using my given name in such a nonchalant way, rolling off her tongue so effortlessly in that crisp, posh accent.
"Or maybe," I scoffed derisively, "find a book about planets and learn that the world doesn't revolve around you."
"That's rich," she hissed, stepping closer in one long stride, "coming from some four-eyed bitch who wears glasses and still can't see a table before crashing into it."
"Leave her alone," Ginny scowled at Malfoy, stepping forward to pull me back.
"Oh, look, Harriet," Malfoy smirked, taking another step closer to get in my face. I inhaled a lungful of her perfume. "You got yourself a girlfriend."
I began to lunge forward to strangle Malfoy and rag her by her hair, but was blocked by a tall, dark figure slipping in front of us and pushing Malfoy away lightly.
"Oh, just leave it, Draco," Blaise, her brother, tsked with an air of boredom in his deep voice as he steered his sister away from me.
I stayed rooted to the spot, watching him casually push Malfoy around and her just letting him, despite her looking up at him with her face twisted in wrath. Blaise simply rolled his tired eyes.
Malfoy glimpsed back at me over her shoulder, and I felt Ginny tug on my arm lightly.
"Come on, Harry," she said, trying to conceal the hint of laughter in her voice. "Let Malfoy get scolded by her big brother."
Malfoy's eyes flickered, for a split second, down to where Ginny was touching me before she turned away and shoved Blaise's hand off her, stomping off around the corner and out of sight. Blaise followed her in a leisurely stroll, hands in pockets without a care in the world.
Ms Pince, the librarian, came whizzing around to us, shushing Ginny and me and telling us to keep the racket down before whizzing away again. We weren't even that loud, and I doubted she even heard what we had been saying.
I let Ginny guide me away, back to our seats. I, too, wanted to shove her hand off me. But I didn't.
Ginny recounted the argument to the others with a snicker, thankfully leaving out the part she got rejected. Silently fuming, I sat in quiet for the rest of my free periods.
It was a relief, as always, to finish school. I almost ran to the Nimbus 2000; there were just so many people I wanted to avoid. The Nimbus had suffered only minimal damage in the accident. Sirius had to replace the taillights, and if I’d had a real paint job, I would have touched that up. Justin's parents had to sell their van for parts.
I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a figure leaning against the side of the Nimbus. Then I realized it was just Justin. I started walking again.
"Hey, Justin," I sighed.
"Hey, Harry," he smiled back, but it faltered when he watched me yank the truck door open and jump inside, slamming it loudly behind me, not having any time for chit-chat as I wanted to leave as quickly as possible.
"Uhm," he cleared his throat, knocking on my passenger window.
I suppressed an eye roll and swallowed down another sigh before I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.
Malfoy was walking past the front of the Nimbus, looking straight forward, her lips pressed together. She stopped outside her car two spaces down — leaning against it like she was modelling for some bloody Playboy magazine or something — to wait for her family; I could see the four of them walking this way.
"What is it, Justin?" I asked, trying hard to keep the impatience out of my tone. I just wanted to go home already.
"I was wondering if you would like to go to Prom with me?" he called through the opening in the window, having to lean up to speak through it.
This could not be happening.
“I’m not going to Prom, Justin.”
My voice sounded a little sharp. I had to remember it wasn’t his fault that Malfoy had already used up my quota of patience for the day, as usual.
"Oh," he slumped. "Why not?"
"I just don't want to," I repeated for what I prayed was the last time.
Then, a thought popped into my head.
"Maybe you should ask Lavender," I suggested. "I think she'd appreciate you asking her."
"Really?" Justin perked up, looking slightly confused but not uninterested.
"Just give it a go," I shrugged. "I think you'd have more fun with her than you would with me anyway."
Justin looked away, considering this.
"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly. "She's your friend, I don't want to make it awkward for you."
I appreciated how considerate he was with everything, but I seriously didn't care about who he went with to Prom right now.
"Nah, it's fine," I shrugged again. "Have fun."
"Uh, all right," he said, regaining confidence and smiling to himself. "Cheers, Harry."
"Anytime," I sighed, thanking the heavens as he sauntered away to presumably find Lavender and wait with her at the bus stop.
I looked forward, only to see Malfoy unquestionably shaking with laughter, laughing into the palm of her hand in an attempt to hide it as if she'd heard every word Justin and I had said. I saw her siblings then slide into the Volvo, and I figured she must have been laughing at something one of them said.
Malfoy swiftly got into her car in the driver's seat, her majestic hair whirling around with the smoothness of her movements, and I had the urge to jump out of the Nimbus and finish what we started in the library.
I revved the engine deafeningly and reversed out into the aisle. But Malfoy slid out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off and driving at a steady pace behind a car in front. I considered taking out the rear of her shiny Volvo, but there were too many witnesses. However, just thinking back to earlier in Art and the library, my foot itched toward the gas pedal... one little bump wouldn’t hurt any of them, just that glossy black paint job. I revved the engine.
Once the car in front of Malfoy had finally exited out of the car park and onto the main road, she sped off in the other direction as soon as she had the opening. I drove home slowly and carefully, muttering to myself the whole way.
When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chillies, my phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Sirius.
It was Lavender, and she was jubilant; Justin had caught her after school to invite her to Prom. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. She had to go, she wanted to call Hermione and the Patil twins to tell them. She once again lamented to me about how she wished I would go to Prom before we said our goodnights.
After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner — dicing the chicken especially; I didn’t want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Malfoy had spoken today. What did she mean, it was better if we didn't talk?
My stomach twisted as I realised what she must have meant. She must see how absorbed I was by her; she must not want someone so obsessed bothering her. I couldn't really blame her.
It didn't really seem like a very Malfoy thing of her to do, though. She seemed to thrive off of my attention before the accident, always grasping for it whenever I had threatened to take it away.
My stomach then dropped at the realisation.
Was she... actually just as obsessed with me as I was with her? But if so, why didn't she want to talk anymore?
I shook my head, ridding the ridiculous thought that she was interested in me. Of course she wasn’t interested in me, I thought angrily, my eyes stinging — a delayed reaction to the onions. I wasn’t as interesting. And she was. Interesting... and clever... and mysterious... and perfect... and beautiful... and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.
Some four-eyed bitch, I snorted. What other four-eyed bitch did she know? Did she even speak to anyone else at school besides me and her siblings?
Did she speak to anyone outside of school?
Well, that was fine. I could leave her alone. I would leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully figure out a career situation. Maybe take a gap year. I focused my thoughts on possible job positions as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.
﹌﹌﹌
The next Monday morning, when I pulled into the car park, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the black Volvo. I didn’t want to put myself in the path of too much temptation and end up owing her a new car.
Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, two black, platform high-heeled shoes stepped into my eyeline. I jerked upright. Draco Malfoy was right next to me, leaning casually against the Nimbus.
“How do you do that?” I asked in amazed irritation, shoving my glasses back up my nose and pocketing my keys.
"Do what?" she smirked lazily.
“Appear out of thin air.”
“Potter, it’s not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant, even with glasses.” Her voice was snarky, as usual — velveted and posh and melodic.
"Oh, back to Potter, are we?" I huffed. "Back to being 'civil,' then?"
"Hardly," she drawled.
I glowered at her deceptively angelic face. Her eyes were radiant again today; a metallic, piercing silver. Then I had to look down, to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.
“I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don’t exist, not irritating me to death.”
"I got bored."
It felt like the heat of my anger should physically burn her, but she only seemed amused.
“Only joking," she grinned that heart-aching smile that got my knees weak. "I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” she continued.
“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Justin's van didn’t do the job?”
Anger flashed in her moonlit eyes. Her glossy lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humour gone.
“Potter, you are utterly absurd,” she said, her low voice cold.
My palms tingled — I wanted so badly to hit something. I was surprised at myself. I usually didn't want to fight someone so much.
"You're worse," I growled, turned my back and started to walk away.
“Wait,” called Malfoy. I kept walking, sloshing angrily through the rain. But she was next to me, easily keeping pace with an effortless, horse-like gait; hips swaying and hair swishing.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it was rude to walk away from someone mid-conversation?" she chided.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I grumbled.
“I wanted to ask you something, but you side-tracked me,” she chuckled, a deep, smooth sound — something similar you'd hear from a Disney's evil Queen before she'd burst out into a manic cackle. Malfoy seemed to have recovered her good humour.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I blurted with deep confusion at her rapid mood swings, grinding to a halt in my tracks. She stopped just as quickly.
"Just shut up and listen to me."
Ugh! Who does she think she is?!
I bit my lip and clasped my hands together, interlocking my fingers, so I couldn’t do anything rash.
I exhaled heavily through my nose, letting her sweet, citrusy perfume wash over me.
“Fine, then. What is it my lady the Queen of England so graciously wishes to ask a humble peasant, such as myself?”
Malfoy smiled, cheeky and breath-taking.
"Would you like to go out with me?"
I could have fell flat on my arse right then and there, despite standing perfectly still.
I staggered on my feet.
"What?"
"Don't flatter yourself," she smirked teasingly. "I didn't mean a date. I'm just going out and wondered if you wanted to accompany me."
Right. Of course. Not a date.
"You can't just say that and expect me not to take it that way," I sneered. "That's how you ask people on dates."
She scoffed lightly in irritation. "Go out — that could mean anything. Stupid way of asking people on dates," she tsked, voice quiet like she was talking to herself.
I scrunched my nose in bewilderment at her muttering. "Whatever."
"I'll pick you up, of course," Malfoy resumed, getting back on track to the topic at hand. "I’m not sure if your truck can make the journey.”
Finally, I was able to start walking again, goaded by the insult to my Nimbus 2000.
“Make fun of me all you want, but leave the Nimbus out of it,” I said.
Again, she kept up easily. “Why would you think that I’m making fun of you?” she asked. “The invitation is genuine.”
“My Nimbus is great, thanks.”
“Can your Nimbus make it to London City on one tank of petrol?” she taunted with a teasing smirk.
Before the truck, I’d never cared one way or another about any car, but I could feel a prejudice against Volvos forming.
“I don’t see how that’s your problem.”
“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s problem,” she said primly. "Well?" she asked, expecting.
'God, yes,' I wanted to scream. I wanted nothing more than to spend time with her.
But I was still stunned. And all I could get out was, "Why?”
"Because I want to?" she shrugged a shoulder, giving me a funny look like I was the crazy one for asking.
She wanted to. Malfoy wanted to spend time with me.Just because. I could have jumped for joy.
But I wouldn't let myself seem overly eager. I was still mad, and I still hated her.
“Honestly, Malfoy," I huffed tiredly. "I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore and stay away from each other.”
“I said it would be better if we didn't talk, not that I wanted to stop talking.”
“Oh, thanks, now that’s all cleared up.” Heavy sarcasm, but really, I was elated. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of one of the Courtyard's overhangs now, so I could more easily look at her glowy face flushed a pale pink. Which certainly didn’t help my clarity of thought.
“It would be more... prudent for you not to be my friend,” she explained. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Potter.”
Yes. I was, too.
Her eyes were gloriously intense as she uttered that last sentence, her voice smouldering. I couldn’t remember how to breathe.
"Will you accompany me on an outing?" she asked, still intense, but more careful with her wording.
Not a date.
I couldn’t speak yet, so I just nodded.
She smiled briefly, and then her face became serious.
“You really should stay away from me,” she warned. “I’ll see you in class." But then she grinned devilishly again with a wink. "Ciao,” she said, wiggling her fingers in a playful wave.
She swivelled on her heels and strutted back the way we’d come.
I had the sneaky suspicion I had just willingly fallen into the jaws of a serpent. Perhaps we were back in the game after all.