Apple Juice
I made my way to DT in a daze. Remus was a little concerned by my lack of concentration, and I had almost sliced my finger open with one of the saws. He made me sit out and do written work for the rest of the lesson whilst everyone else got to saw and carve wood.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn’t just imagined what Malfoy had said, and the way her eyes had looked, her voice sounded. Something about her confused my reality. First, I’d thought I’d seen her stop a van barehanded, and now this. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I’d confused with reality. That seemed more probable than that I really appealed to her on any level.
So I was impatient and nervous as Ron, Dean and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see Malfoy's face, to see if she’d gone back to the cold, indifferent person I’d known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I’d really heard what I thought I’d heard this morning. The table was lively with chatter and completely unaware of my inattention.
Disappointment hit like a punch to the gut as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? What was she doing now? Was she going to disappear every time something significant happened?
I followed Hermione through the line, crushed. I’d lost my appetite — I bought nothing but a bottle of apple Radnor. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.
“Malfoy's staring at you again,” Hermione said. I was one hundred percent paying attention as soon as she said her name. “I wonder why she’s sitting alone today.”
My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Malfoy, grinning, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Once she’d caught my eye, she raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared in disbelief, she winked.
“Does she mean you?” Hermione asked with scandalised astonishment in her voice. "After what she did last week?"
“Maybe she needs help with art homework,” I muttered for her benefit. “Um, I’d better go see what she wants.”
"Harry," Hermione fretted, a look of uncertainty for my well-being.
"It's fine," I brushed off, already a few steps in and my cheeks flaring red. I could feel her staring after me with worry as I walked away.
I all but wanted to leg it across the cafeteria and pounce on Malfoy like in that scene from Mean Girls. Malfoy was very Regina George-esque.
I am not a wild beast, though, and I did (hopefully) have enough decorum to stroll at a perfectly normal, inconspicuous pace around the tables and to Malfoy.
When I reached her table, I stood behind the chair across from her, unsure.
“Why don’t you sit with me today?” she asked, smiling. She lifted her long, shapely leg to push the chair opposite her out for me to sit down in.
I sat down automatically, practically collapsing into it, watching Malfoy with caution. She was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that she might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.
She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
“This is, uh, different,” I finally managed.
“Well,” she said, and then paused. I could tell there was more, so I waited. The rest of it followed in a rush, the words blurring together so that it took me a minute to decipher the meaning. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.”
I kept waiting, thinking she would explain, but she didn’t. The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed.
“You know I don’t have any idea what you mean,” I eventually pointed out.
“I’m counting on it,” she said, and then her eyes focused behind me. “I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you.”
Suddenly, I could feel all their eyes boring into my back. For once, it didn’t bother me at all.
“They’ll survive.”
She grinned with a wicked glint in her eyes.
“I may not give you back, though.”
Please don't.
I gulped too loud and she laughed.
“You look worried,” she said.
“No,” I said, but, ridiculously, my voice cracked. “Surprised, actually... What’s this all about?” I gestured toward her and the rest of the empty table.
“I told you — I’m tired of trying to stay away from you. So, I’m giving up.” The smile was fading, and her eyes were serious by the end.
“Giving up?” I repeated.
“Yes — giving up trying to be good. I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” The smile disappeared completely, and a hard edge crept into her velvety voice.
“You lost me again.”
It looked like she found that funny. “I always say too much when I’m talking to you — that’s one of the problems.”
Good. Because I had the same problem.
“Don’t worry — I don’t understand anything you say,” I replied instead.
“Like I said — I’m counting on that.”
We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn’t awkward this time. It was more... charged. My face started to get hot again. Funny how my stomach was rolling. Was it because I was hungry after all? Because she was smirking at me again with keen eyes?
Malfoy leaned forward, resting her pointed chin on her palm.
"You do know we can't be friends, right?" she said after a while of silence, her smirk dying on her lips, and I would have done anything to bring it back. She looked her best when she smirked in that deviant way of hers.
"Because you hate me?" I asked, not really sure what her problem with me ever was, looking back. I still forgot to ask.
"Yes," she said, then teetered her head from side to side in thought. "And no."
"Okay," I said, drawing the word out in long syllables. "Why no?"
She tapped her long, dainty finger against her cheek as she thought through her answer.
"I'm not really a good friend for you to have," she shrugged a shoulder half-heartedly.
Malfoy looked as if she didn't want to admit that.
"That — I can understand," I agreed, watching a frown tug her heart-shaped, glossy lips down.
"Why?" she questioned, seeming genuinely unsure.
"Because you're a massive bitch who's mean to people," I scoffed like it was obvious. Because it was.
"Oh," she said. "Yes, that makes sense." She didn't even try to argue with that fact. I didn't know if it was better or worse that she was fully self-aware.
"Why are you such a bitch?" I asked since I knew she wouldn't deny it or argue about it.
"Because the world bores me and I hate everyone in it."
I was a little taken aback by her brutal honesty. She said it as she glanced around the room in boredom and dislike.
She shrugged again. "Well, almost everyone," she corrected. I could only assume she meant her family.
That was fine by me. I wanted Malfoy to hate me, as long as it was me she was directing her attention to. I'd rather be the only one she hated than be grouped together with the rest of the world. I didn't care what she felt towards me, as long as she'd take out her emotions on me.
Still, that wasn't an excuse to be an awful person.
"Do I bore you?" I asked, my distaste for her shitty behaviour evident in my tone and expression.
Malfoy glanced down at the table, tapping her finger against her pink-tinted cheek again. When she spoke next, I felt the gravity of her words and tone shatter something inside me.
"You are the only thing in this world that has truly piqued my interest in a very long time, Potter."
And she said all this without even looking back up at me.
I slowly drew in a long, gasping breath. Now she peered up at me through her long, pale lashes.
"You are far from boring. Don't disappoint me."
What was that I said about decorum? Sorry, I don't know what that word means.
I clenched my thighs together, my right knee jerking up and down rapidly.
"If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me,” Malfoy said, raising a brow.
Then, I had to smile, and I watched as she grinned automatically in response.
“I thought we’d already concluded that I’m an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever.”
"You really are," she breathed out, a husk of her normal tone, and eyes so intense that I could physically feel the weight of her look splitting open my gut like a dagger.
I stared down at my hands wrapped tightly around the bottle of my fizzy apple juice, palms sweaty, not sure what to do. It was so strange to sit here with her — like normal people. But I could feel that nothing about this was normal. I wasn't normal, and neither was she. She had basically just admitted that she was just as interested as I was, abnormally so, and I had no idea what to do with that information, regardless of the fact that I was certainly delighted. What would I get out of this, if not friendship?
I knew we were similar in some ways, with our home life more than anything. But, to be the sole object of interest was mutual. I hadn't been so riveted by anything in a long time. I hadn't felt so much and so fiercely in months. And we both wanted more.
Something, at this very moment, had changed very drastically for us.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked curiously. "And stop knee-jerking. It's annoying."
I chuckled, looking up at her. She was staring again, her silver eyes curious and — like the first time I’d seen her — frustrated. Once again, my thoughts refused to pass through the appropriate filter.
"You."
She was visibly pleased by this answer, practically preening.
“I’m wondering what you are,” I elaborated.
Her smile tightened like her teeth were suddenly clamped together, but she held it carefully in place.
“Are you having much luck with that?” Her voice was casual, like she didn’t really care about my answer.
The tips of my ears burned, and I already knew they were flushed just as cherry-red as my cheeks. During the last month, I’d given it some thought, but the only solutions I could come up with were completely ridiculous. Like, witchcraft and Catwoman — level nonsense.
She tilted her head to the side, staring into my eyes as if she was trying to see through them, right into my brain. She smiled — inviting this time, impossible to resist.
“Won’t you tell me?”
But I had to try to resist. She already thought I was an idiot. I shook my head. “Too embarrassing.”
“That’s really frustrating,” she complained. "And stop knee-jerking," she scolded, lightly nudging my ankle with her shoe. She just touched me.
“Really?” I raised my eyebrows, stilling my bouncing leg. “Frustrating like... someone refusing to tell you what she’s thinking, even if all the while she’s making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean... Frustrating like that?”
She frowned, her lips pouting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.
“Or is it frustrating like, say, she’s done a bunch of other strange things — for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next — and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? And then she insults you afterwards and then, the next second, she wants to hang out with you. Frustrating like that?”
Her frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. “You’re really not over that yet?”
“The saving my life part? No. Not quite yet.”
“Would an apology help?”
“An explanation would be better.”
“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?”
"Terrible, really."
She pursed her lips, then glanced over my shoulder and snickered.
“What?”
“Your girlfriend thinks I’m being mean to you — she’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend," I said frostily, "and you’re trying to change the subject.”
She ignored the second half of my statement.
"She absolutely wants to be your girlfriend."
All this talk about girlfriends had me getting itchy with sweat.
“There’s no way that’s true.”
“It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read.”
“Except me.”
“Yes, except for you.” Her eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. “I wonder why that is.”
I had to look away from the intensity of her stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my apple Radnor. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
Her stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief.
“No.” I didn’t feel like mentioning that my stomach was already full — of butterflies. “You?” I looked at the empty table in front of her.
“No, I’m not hungry.” She smiled like I was missing some inside joke.
“Can you do me a favour?” I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.
She was suddenly wary. “That depends on what you want.”
“It’s not much,” I promised.
She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.
“I just wondered if you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me. For my own good. Just so I’m prepared.” I looked at the Radnor bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.
“That sounds fair.”
She looked like she was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.
“Thanks.”
“Can I have a favour in return?” she asked, batting her lashes at me.
Anything.
“Sure.” It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?
“Tell me one of your theories.”
Whoops. “No way.”
“You promised me a favour.”
“And you’ve broken promises before,” I reminded her.
“Just one theory — I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.” I had no doubt about that.
She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long, silver eyes glittering like ice crystals underneath.
“Please?” she breathed, leaning toward me.
Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank, and my leg started bouncing again.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. “Um... what?”
“One little theory,” she purred. “Please?”
“Well, er, witchcraft?” Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?
She rolled her eyes.
“That’s not very creative,” she scoffed.
“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” I said, miffed.
“You’re not even close,” she teased.
“No radioactive spiders?”
“Nope.”
“And no time-travel machines?”
“None.”
“Damn,” I sighed.
She chuckled. “Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either.”
“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?”
She pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.
“I’ll figure it out eventually,” I warned her.
Her humour vanished like a switch flipped off. “I wish you wouldn’t try.”
“How can I not wonder? I mean... you’re impossible.” I didn’t say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.
"I'm also not nice," she stated like a simple fact.
"Well, yeah," I huffed a short laugh. "I'm very aware."
"No, you're not understanding, Potter," she snapped, and her sudden seriousness caught me off guard. It was like she was trying to communicate something urgent through the hardness of her eyes alone.
"So... you're trying to push me away because you think you'll hurt my feelings?" I questioned, trying to solve her unspoken riddle.
"More than your feelings."
“...Oh,” I said, as several things she’d hinted fell suddenly into place. “Oh, okay.”
She waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of her walls seemed to disappear.
“What exactly does okay mean?” she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.
“You’re dangerous?” I guessed, and there was doubt in my voice.
She may be taller than me, but she was delicately built, and as out of shape as I was (not so much now that PE had me working out more), I was probably stronger than her. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like her. But she was not normal, and there was no one like her. And I had completely forgotten, for all of five blissful seconds, that she had pushed away and lifted up a fucking van with her bare hands.
I remembered the first time she’d glared at me with hate in her eyes, and I’d felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn’t understood that reaction in the moment, and I’d thought it foolish later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to her slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn’t make sense of it. And she’d been trying to warn me all along.
My pulse quickened as I realised the truth of my own words. And yet, she didn't scare me at all. I was no longer afraid of her — at least, not like that.
She just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn’t comprehend.
“Dangerous,” I murmured again, trying to fit the word to the person in front of me. Her porcelain face was still vulnerable, without walls or secrets. Her eyes were wide now, anticipating my reaction. She seemed to be bracing herself for some kind of impact.
"Do you want to physically hurt me?" I asked, grinding my teeth.
I wanted to know if I'd somehow end up like my parents because of her. Which was fucking wild to think about or even consider. Only this morning I had been more worried about me hurting her.
"No!" she shouted in shock before she could hold it back. "I mean," she swallowed and exhaled a quick, deep breath, "do I want to bitch-slap you and drag you across the floor by your hair? Absolutely," she nodded with furrowed brows. I could tell she wasn't lying.
"Same goes for me," I said lightly, unthinkingly.
"But do I want to hurt you?" she repeated like she couldn't fathom ever taking it that far. But there was something else there.
She looked down, reaching out to steal the lid of my bottle, which she then spun like a top between her fingers. I took advantage of her inattention to stare some more. She meant what she was saying — that was obvious. She wanted me to be afraid of her, but not, at the same time.
I felt anxious, on edge... and, more than anything else, fascinated. There were nerves, of course, being so close to her. Fear of making a fool of myself and the fact that she could very well hurt me if she wanted. And she hadn't answered her own question, which was definite cause for concern. But all I wanted was to sit here forever, to listen to her voice and watch the expressions fly across her face, so much faster than I could analyse them.
Malfoy's gaze landed on my open bottle. She slid her hand slowly toward it, and I just let her take it, watching as she pulled it close to her and ran her fingertip around the lip edge like I had. A droplet of the juice landed on her finger. I watched, completely still and my heart in my throat, as she lifted her fingertip to her parted mouth, licking the droplet of apple juice off. She swallowed the taste. I was mesmerized as the (almost impossible to notice) single hint of taste registered poorly on her fine features.
So of course that was when I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.
I swallowed the saliva forming in my watering mouth, trying not to make my ragged breathing so noticeable like I was asthmatic.
I shoved my chair away from the table, and she looked up. She seemed... sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction she’d been waiting for.
“We’re going to be late,” I told her, scrambling to my feet.
Malfoy looked up at me with surprise.
I held out my hand, offering for her to take it and help her stand.
She looked down at it, glimpsed back up at me through her lashes and rose to her feet, not taking my hand. I let it drop back to my side, concealing my disappointment.
She screwed the cap back onto my bottle and handed it back to me, her hand lightly grasped around the bottleneck, so I didn't really have an opportunity to graze my fingers against hers when I took the bottle back.
I would say she could keep the bottle if she was thirsty, but based on her reaction to a single droplet, I don't think she liked the taste.
Besides, I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to drink from where she had touched.
She picked up her bag from the chair beside her before we began walking side by side, although there was a little space between us, and she always made sure to keep her distance whenever I subtly attempted to close the gap.
It was frustrating, but I enjoyed the feeling of walking with her immensely, probably more than I should.
I spotted Neville just leaving the cafeteria, and I called to him, waving my hand to beckon him over.
"What are you doing?" Malfoy hissed to me between clenched teeth, but kept her expression neutral and indifferent.
"I always walk with Neville to Art," I said, waving to Neville again as he looked at us with uncertainty. "Do you have a problem with that?"
Malfoy glanced down at me with irritation, and then at Neville as he made his way over to us.
She kept quiet, turning her head away to look elsewhere — another win.
"All right, mate?" Neville greeted me, and I could tell he was anxious from body language alone. "Malfoy," he nodded.
"Longbottom," Malfoy greeted back shortly.
Neville bit back a smirk and leaned in close to me, taking a big, audible sniff.
"Don't worry, Harry. You don't stink today," he grinned.
My eyes bulged from their sockets, shooting a betrayed look to Neville walking on my left side. My whole face burned a bright, embarrassing red. I didn't think I'd ever been so red in my life, and I could only tell because I could feel it. I hung my head, letting my messy mop of hair flop around me to hide my mortification.
"Don't you think Harry smells good, Malfoy?" Neville grinned.
I could punch him right now.
I peeked through the curtain of my hair at Malfoy walking at my right side. She was stiff, biting her lip and clenching her hands into fists.
Good God. Neville wasn't lying to me, right? I swore I cleaned myself well enough after PE and used enough deodorant, just like the first day I met Malfoy.
Could she just smell me better than anyone else? No one else thought I stank.
"She smells fine," replied Malfoy curtly, but her rigidness suggested otherwise.
She shot Neville and I an odd look, like she thought we were deranged. She turned to her purse with a put-out sigh, rummaging around its contents for something. Then, she pulled out a clear bottle, passing it over to me.
"Here, If you're so worried," she groused.
I almost dropped the — what I now realised was — perfume bottle when our fingers touched. Her skin was shockingly cold, like she'd just buried her hands in snow. Her skin was pale enough to look like snow itself, and the tips of her fingers and knuckles were as pale pink as her cheeks.
Thankfully, I didn't drop the perfume, and I mumbled out an embarrassed thanks.
I looked down at the 100ml bottle; it was simple in its design — clear glass and liquid with a black cap. It was called 'White Coconut,' the scent being coconut, vanilla and amber. I was surprised because I had seen this perfume in Marks and Spencer's, and it was only ten pounds. I would have thought Malfoy would wear disgustingly expensive perfume.
I popped the cap off and sprayed a bit on my jacket sleeve, taking a sniff.
My eyes dilated. It was the exact same perfume Malfoy always wore, the one that had me gasping lungful's to smell more. I sprayed some more all over me.
"I'm keeping this," I said, popping the cap back on and stuffing the perfume inside my bag.
Malfoy gave me an undignified scoff in dismay.
"No, you are not," she scowled, shoving her hand inside my bag to take it back.
Neville rubbed his hand over his mouth to conceal his laughter, shaking his head in amusement. I'm glad he found it funny, embarrassing me like that in front of Malfoy. I wondered when he got so brave.
As we walked together, people turned their heads in surprise at the odd little trio we made, probably never expecting Malfoy to be part of it. Some looked resentful, others looked slightly awed. I found I didn't mind this attention, and actually quite enjoyed people noticing me with Malfoy and Neville. Malfoy looked good with us, I concluded. I almost felt... proud. My head was spinning faster than the cap of my apple Radnor. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. That always seemed to be the thing with Malfoy — she'd answer a question, only to leave me with more. At least the rain had stopped.
When we reached the Art class, Neville gave me a pat on the back and whispered, "Good luck, mate," as he passed, heading over to his table with Hannah. I should be the one wishing him good luck, but I had a feeling I would need it.
We got out our paints and grabbed provided pots of water and stained aprons. I took the opportunity to ask Malfoy to tie mine at my back. She complied, pulling the string tight into a secure bow. I wanted to tie hers, but she had already done it in a neat bow with nimble fingers and twisted her hair up and out of her face, securing it with a claw clip. Her hair looked good both up and down, and I knew then that she'd look good no matter what she did with her hair and clothes.
"So," I began, clearing my throat, "When are we going out?"
Not on a date.
"Saturday, if you want," Malfoy shrugged, coating her brush in paint. "Or, next weekend when we break up for Easter."
"This Saturday is good," I answered, internally panicking about what the fuck I'm going to wear. "I'm busy next weekend."
"Really?" Malfoy drawled, giving me a side-eye. "What are you up to?"
I fought back a smirk.
"I'm going to Brighton Beach with my friends. Why don't you come with us?"
Malfoy curled her lip in distaste.
"No."
"Why not?" I frowned up at her.
Malfoy didn't say anything, and I simply waited for her response as she began her underpainting, watching her skilful hands coat the page of her sketchbook in dark colours.
"Neville is coming," I said after a while.
"Oh yes," she scoffed with a nasty grin, "I'll be sure to come then, since my new best friend, Longbottom, will."
"Really?" I said in false cheer.
"No."
I looked up at Malfoy through my glasses, pushing them up the bridge of my nose, careful not to get paint on my face, and gave her my best puppy-dog eyes.
"You won't come for me?"
She glared down at me, unimpressed.
"No."
"Fine," I sighed. "This Saturday it is. It's a date."
"No, it's not," Malfoy drawled in a bored tone.
A thought came to me then, and I wasn't prepared for the unadulterated feeling of anger that came with it.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked, keeping my tone low and even with calm curiosity to not give anything away. "Or... a girlfriend?"
This got a smirk from Malfoy.
"Wouldn't you like to know."
Yes, I really would.
"I'll tell you if I'm single," I bribed.
"I already know you are," she huffed in amusement. "And painfully so."
"How?" I asked too quickly.
"You told me at lunch, idiot."
Oh, right. But, I could still have a boyfriend, and she wouldn't know.
"Besides, you don't strike me as the type of person to cheat on your partner by going out on dates with a girl you hate," she continued, keeping her cool gaze on her painting. She worked quickly and efficiently.
"I thought you couldn't read me," I reminded.
Malfoy's hand faltered for a second over the page before she readjusted her loose grip on the paintbrush.
"I can't. Just a vague observation. Are you, though?"
"Am I what?"
"The type to cheat?"
"No!" I exclaimed in offence. "I think cheating is stupid."
"I'm very glad we can come to an agreement on something," Malfoy hummed.
"Oh, you are, are you?" I grinned victoriously. She was glad we could agree, so she was glad we could get along, then.
"Don't be obtuse, Potter," Malfoy snarled at my obvious implication. "I despise anyone who disagrees on fundamental things such as that — the bare minimum."
I turned away, back to my own paintings of messy thumbnails of ideas for my final art piece. I still didn't quite know what I wanted.
Malfoy was wrong. Well, sort of. No, I wouldn't cheat. But when it came to Malfoy, I don't think I would trust myself to not be so... invested in her.
"What are you smirking at?" she glared at me with another side-eye.
"Nothing."
"No, do tell."
"Awfully nosey, aren't you?" I observed.
"Terribly so," she agreed easily. "I could say the same for you."
My knee-jerk reaction was to object in offence. But then again...
"Touché," I shrugged shamelessly. "I was just thinking that it's quite nice when you answer my questions. Such a shame you won't answer more."
"I don't owe you any answers."
"I think you owe me some."
"You're quite greedy too," she voiced quietly, more to herself.
"Oh, the double standards," I shook my head in amusement. "What happened to me being difficult to read?"
"You are," Malfoy frowned in frustration. "But you don't do yourself any favours when you pester me like this."
"Well, I don't think I'm that greedy."
I know I am a bit selfish, though.
"And there you go again," Malfoy huffed.
"What?"
"I do wonder what goes on in that brain of yours, Potter. I wonder how you see yourself, compared to how I see you."
My heart thumped.
"How do you see me?"
"An annoying little pipsqueak who won't leave me alone."
"Uhm, excuse you," I snorted, "I'm not that short, and I believe it was you who said you couldn't leave me alone," I reminded with dark satisfaction.
I supposed we couldn't leave each other alone, then. Good. Very good.
"Only because you make me feel something," Malfoy replied with an air of indifference.
My heart thumped again. I wished she wouldn't say such things like that and act like they didn't matter.
"What do I make you feel?"
"Annoyed. Now shut up and do your work."
I was alarmed by how much I wanted to kiss her at that moment and demand she shut me up with a kiss.
I had already, from the moment I'd laid eyes on her, knew that I was attracted to Malfoy. Who wouldn't be?
But now I feel like I'm in uncharted territory. I hadn't expected feelings to get involved, especially not so soon. And I couldn't, for the life of me, pinpoint what feelings. I just knew that one stood out, above all else: selfishness.
I left her be, but not before taking another glance at her painting. It was of the lamb and snake, but something was different about it this time. I unabashedly leaned over to get a better look, squinting my eyes against the darkness of the colours to identify the difference; the pencil lines were hardly visible. Malfoy just leaned back, giving me space to look.
I found it. There was half an apple in the mouth of the lamb, and what looked to be an assortment of one other fruit surrounding the lamb, as if it were on a platter. I wondered where the other half of the apple was.
I leaned back over to my side, not giving a single comment. I took a quick peek at Malfoy, and she was staring back with that same look of frustration and curiosity, most likely wanting to know what I thought of her painting. I didn't entertain an answer.
I opened my bottle of fizzy apple juice, relishing the moment my lips sealed around the edge and the flavour hit my tongue and washed down my throat. I didn't have to look to know Malfoy was watching me, I could just feel her intent gaze boring into me.
It wasn't until near the end of the last period that Malfoy spoke again.
"Does Sirius approve of your bisexuality?"
I was so startled by such the abrupt question, I had to laugh.
"What?" she snapped.
"You're crazy," I giggled in disbelief. "You're the biggest hypocrite and contradictory person I know. How did you even know I was bi?"
"Not that hard to guess," she sneered, looking away from me.
"Oh?" I urged.
"Well, first of all, you didn't correct me."
"Right, but what made you guess?"
"I heard your little conversation with Justin," she commented idly with an arched brow. "You didn't reject him because he was a guy. It wasn't that hard to hear with you two shouting through the window like that."
I let out a subtle sigh of relief that my friends hadn't gone spreading my 'secret' around. I still felt pissed off that Malfoy had even heard Justin's Prom proposal.
"Fair enough," I bit out.
"Now that I answered your question, answer mine," she demanded self-righteously.
"Nosey and bossy. Got it," I nodded to myself at the observation. "Why do you even want to know?"
It took all of three seconds for her to answer.
"Just curious."
I looked up at her again, examining her (annoyingly perfect) side profile and pensive expression.
"Well, yes, he does," I said. "He's gay himself."
"Really?" Malfoy quipped, snapping her head to me with interest.
"Mhm."
Malfoy turned away again. Her hand holding the paintbrush (which I had noticed she sometimes swapped hands — she must be ambidextrous) dropped, resting against the tabletop as she stared off into space, deep in thought.
"That's nice," she hummed quietly.
"Mhm."
Based on her intriguing reaction, I couldn't help but wonder if Malfoy was having her own little sexuality crisis at home, where her family wasn't accepting. As much as I wanted to ask, I didn't feel it was appropriate right now.
"And how is Sirius?"
I frowned up at her.
"What do you mean?"
"How is he doing? Like, in family and health and all that?" she elaborated casually, resuming her painting.
"He's fine," I answered, confused. "I mean, I don't know much about his family, and he doesn't really have one of his own, so..." I trailed off, shrugging unsurely. "Why?"
"Just curious."
"Odd thing to be curious about," I commented.
"Not really. It doesn't hurt to be polite and ask how one's family is doing."
"So you're polite now?" I smirked derisively. "Did you find that book about manners, then?"
"Do shut up, Potter."
“No, now it's my turn to ask about your family,” I retorted to distract her. “It’s got to be a much more interesting story than mine.”
She was instantly cautious. “What do you want to know?”
“Dr Snape adopted you?” I verified.
“Yes.”
I hesitated for a moment. “What happened to your parents?”
“They died many years ago.” Her tone was matter-of-fact.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
"Me too," she said quietly, then caught herself. "And, of course, I'm sorry about your parents, as well."
I couldn't suppress the chortle I let out. So vain.
"Cheers. And, If you don't mind me asking, what about your cousin Luna?"
"I do mind you asking," she enunciated with a hard glance, eyes cold and demeanour suddenly closed off.
I had finally found something that had crossed a boundary and struck a nerve.
"I'm sorry," I apologised quickly but with sincerity.
"Just don't ask again. Or about my brothers and sister," she commanded with a hard edge.
"I won't. Sorry again."
I shrunk in on myself with guilt, chastising myself for my audacity.
I was quiet for a long time, not wanting to bother Malfoy again and, surprisingly, not wanting to upset her. Why should I care? I liked it when she was angry with me.
But, I guessed that there were just some things that went too far, and incited negative emotions I'd rather not feel and have projected toward me. There was a limit to this little thing Malfoy and I shared. I had to accept that.
Noticing this, Malfoy sighed.
"You can ask another question, to make up for it."
I looked up at her beside me.
"You know what I'm going to ask," I said, eyes narrowed, referring to the car accident.
"Not that one," she cut off with a vague eye roll.
I thought about something else to ask, but there was so much. So many mysteries I wanted solved, but didn't at the same time, because I quite enjoyed the air of mystery around Malfoy. It made her seem unattainable — not that she wasn't already, with looks and attitude like hers. But she wore mystery well.
That didn't stop me from wanting to be in on it — the only one who knew everything about her and all her dirty little secrets.
"Why do you hate me?" I settled on. "I mean, you looked so angry with me on my first day here. Did I do something wrong?" I asked, pushing down the insecurity in my tone.
Malfoy froze mid-stroke of her brush. She gripped the paintbrush harder minutely, but the hard flex of her hand tendons beneath translucent skin was unmistakable.
"Your glasses repulsed me," she said simply.
"I was expecting an honest answer," I glared, grinding my teeth.
"I was honest."
"I don't believe you hate me because of my glasses," I combatted, "and, to be honest, I don't believe you hate my glasses either."
Malfoy exhaled through her nose like a disturbed dragon. I could practically see the smoke emitting from her nostrils.
Maybe that was what she really was — a dragon in disguise.
"I was just having a bad day," she admitted with irritation. She quickly glanced down at me before adding, "And because you stank of sweat."
My whole body seized up with overwhelming mortification, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead, my palms growing clammy.
"Oh my god," I breathed out, my eyes wide with horror. I rubbed my palms down my cargo's, leaning away from Malfoy. "Do I stink now?"
"No," she said, the corners of her mouth flicking with a suppressed smirk. "The perfume helped."
"I'm so sorry!" I spluttered, shuffling my chair as far away from her as possible.
"It's fine," she waved off dismissively.
"No, I really-"
"Potter, it's fine," she said seriously, leaning toward me to communicate her sincerity with her eyes and pulling my chair back to where it was before, making me yelp and almost topple over.
"It was only because you had just done PE," she continued, turning away to resume painting. "Besides, I have an unfortunately keen sense of smell. No one else could probably smell you, so don't worry about it," she shrugged elegantly.
But she could. Malfoy could smell me, and that was infinitely worse. Dammit, Neville!
I once again had that awful urge to shrivel up and die. And still, I had the gall to ask, "Are we still on for Saturday?"
Please say yes, please say yes.
Malfoy giggled. An actual humoured laugh that wasn't mocking or teasing. My heart melted at the angelic tinkle of sound, and I prayed to God that I would stop fucking sweating.
"Yes, Potter." My body instantly relaxed. "We are still on for Saturday."
The bell rang, signalling the end of the day.
Everyone rushed to pack up, including Malfoy, taking her claw clip out and shaking her hair out in silky platinum rivulets, and I quickly scrambled to grab my phone.
"Uhm, I'll text you the address," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat as I unlocked my phone and clicked to add a new contact.
I handed my phone to her, and she took it carefully, making sure we didn't touch.
I heard the keys click as she tapped away, adding her contact into my phone for me to treasure and obsess over. Because that is exactly what I'd be doing, and probably spam her once I felt confident enough again.
She lifted the phone up, snapping a picture of herself before she passed my phone back to me. I took it, looking down at her contact reading '🎀Malfoy🎀' and the profile picture she had just taken. Perfect and insanely photogenic, of course.
I looked up at her again, and she was staring back at me, one hand leaning against the table and her hip cocked.
I didn't know why I was expecting her to say anything — a 'goodbye,' or a 'see you tomorrow' perhaps — but she didn't. She simply waltzed around me, strutting off.
"Ciao," I mumbled, waving at her back.
She glanced over her shoulder at me as she walked away, and her smile was enough to melt icecaps.
I took another swig of my apple juice.