22

That Sunday, the great hall was a mess during breakfast. I could hear their chants, yells and laughs as soon as I stepped a foot out of the dungeons; rolling my eyes, though grateful some things simply wouldn't change around here, no matter how much I did.

The first Quidditch match of the season always had all four of the houses — though, Slytherins and Gryffindors more so — riled up beyond belief. Usually, that included me.

It was a little different this year; I had better things to worry about— bigger things, even.

Still, Pansy had stuck one of the left-over "Weasley is our King" badges from last year onto the black fabric of my shirt; the text displayed gradually changing back and forth from those words to "He cannot block a single ring" while Weasley's face spun in the middle of the silver pin.

It was one of the few things Malfoy actually deserved the praise for — though Pansy probably helped with the lyrics to the song more so than the charm that hexed the badges.

Either way, I made sure to give the ginger boy a big smile as we passed him on our way to breakfast, his skin already sickly looking and his eyes nervously darting down to the identical pins on both mine and Pansy's chest.

He swallowed thickly as he saw them, any hint of former confidence in classes or when we passed each other in the hallways on other occasions gone.

He looked like he was about to start shaking with nerves as he turned back towards the hall, the rest of his house shouting good luck's and well wishes only seeming to make him more nervous.

As we passed him, I made sure to pat him on the back, a painfully sarcastic "Thank you in advance," slipping past my lips that made both Pansy and I laugh as we trotted over to the Slytherin table.

"What have you done to poor Weaselbee?" Malfoy asked, a fake pout on his lips before his eyes darted over to Pansy, the question clearly directed at her.

"Just a little preparation is all," The brunette shrugged, amusement lacing her words. My head turned as I sat down to watch the boy over at the Gryffindor table not even touch his food. Satisfied, I turned back towards my own table, grabbing a warm toast from the stands before the egg appeared on it as soon as I thought of it.

As I waited for it to cut itself, my eyes flickered over the rest of the table, every single student with a badge identical to mine pinned somewhere against their body. They wore it proudly, even Blaise having it pinned onto his quidditch uniform.

He'd have to take it off before the match, of course, though that didn't stop him from wearing it now; The rest of the team sharing his sentiments as they were discussing strategies and approaches.

Theo sat opposite me hummed the melody to "Weasley is our King," to himself, his head buried in the newspaper he held in one hand while taking a bite from the toast in his other.

Malfoy himself wore one of his badges against that black suit of his instead of the green uniform he wore just last year. It all made sense now; that he quit Quidditch.

The team was furious when he first announced the news — rightfully so, as even I had to admit he was a decent seeker — but Malfoy didn't seem to care, then. He, too, was moving onto bigger things.

Spirits were high, no doubt. And while I would've loved to see that spirit on the field, just like Malfoy, I had bigger and better things to tend to.

So, as the rest of the houses rushed over to the Quidditch pitch, laughing and cheering for their preferred winner before the match had even started, I made my way back down to the dungeons.

The common room felt odd, so empty and quiet with not a single student but me occupying it as I sprawled out on one of the sofa's, watching the fire crackling in its place.

The atmosphere was serene. No sound but that of my own breathing, the fire and the black lake behind the window. It should get my creative juices flowing more than anything; it did.

Though, unfortunately, I caught myself wondering what to do about Malfoy rather than Dumbledore.

The entitled silver-haired boy had never occupied my mind much, though now it was running overtime trying to figure out how to get rid of him for good.

Every now and then, a singular image of the both of us, pressed against the window in my dorm — the depths of the black lake behind us and the light dim, his lips attached to my neck and my own head thrown back — infiltrated my mind.

But, if anything, it only made me want to get rid of him faster.

Because that kiss was certainly better than whatever he did in third year — practise truly does make perfect, it seemed — and it was surely good enough to make me wonder what could've happened if Daphne Greengrass never came looking for her wand.

And while those thoughts lingered, my fingers absentmindedly traced along my neck, the small cut on my throat hardly visible anymore.

I felt it, though, and it made my thoughts snap back onto the important things;

How to get rid of Malfoy— No, Dumbledore.

I groaned audibly at how sidetracked I've become, head falling back, my eyes pointed towards the ceiling. Another gust of air escaped my lips, acknowledging the light ache in my head and the strain in my back.

Stress had always had a particularly strong effect on my body. So, weeklong migraines and neck strains weren't uncommon during exam seasons or a particularly busy week of classes, homework and assignments.

I've stopped passing by Pomfrey's office for them a long time ago. Otherwise, the matron would probably be my closest acquaintance in- and outside of Hogwarts.

Instead, I opted for long naps, over-the-counter painkiller-potions or the music out of my family's wooden music box to lull me into a painless sleep.

I've given it to my sister just at the end of last year, as one did once the next in line turned thirteen. Though, she never minded my borrowing for a particularly nasty headache.

I wasn't quite sure what it was about the soothing music coming out of the small box that knocked me out instantly but combined with a potion, it did wonders.

Though, now, my head thudding just slightly, I decided against a painless sleep and concentrated on Dumbledore and Malfoy instead.

Unfortunately, I noticed quite quickly that with Malfoy breathing down my neck — while simultaneously trying to murder the same man I had to — he had to be the first one to go.

It wasn't a particularly hard decision. After all, he was the one who tried it first.

Seeing as I was now planning the same thing, I couldn't really blame him for it.

And while the thought of him dead didn't particularly strike me as a painful one, the thought of Pansy, Blaise and even Theo mourning his death surely was. Only Merlin knew what it was about that boy that made them care so much about him.

My gaze still laid upon the ceiling — eyes threatening to shut — arms crossed under my head and my legs spread out over the entirety of the sofa when the sharp sound of a voice made my eyes snap wide open.

"You not watching a match; that's a first," Malfoy's voice drawled, and I quickly heaved myself into an upright position, eyes narrowing in on his as I watched him carefully. He sat down on the opposite sofa so casually, brows furrowing in confusion as he noticed my tense body; you'd almost think he had forgotten what happened the last time we were in a room together.

"You not playing a match; now, that's a first," I retorted, though my voice didn't sound nearly as casual as his. It was more of a strained hiss as my hand reaching for my wand only to realise I must have left it in my dorm.

"Funny, it's almost like you were only watching the games for me, to begin with." He observed me carefully, eyes darting down to where I had previously felt for my wand. My mind was still too occupied with the prospect of having to fight him off without so much as a wand.

I wondered how rusty my wandless magic had gotten.

As a small smirk played on his lips, my attention snapped back onto him. He quirked an eyebrow as he asked, "What's wrong with you?" amusement lacing his words when he got no reaction to his previous comment.

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head lightly as I shrugged sarcastically. "You act like you weren't the one who tried to kill me just two days ago," I huffed, though relaxed just slightly as I realised he made no attempt to do so now.

"What are you? Scared?" He scoffed, his eyes diverting to watch the flames dancing in the fireplace to a melody in the air only they could hear.

"If I had any reason to be scared of you, I'd already be dead," I spat, all hints of a playful conversation wiped off both of our faces now. "Don't act like you could've gone through with any of it."

My chin tilted up defiantly, observing how his head tilted as he thought about my words. Eyes previously on the floor, they batted open to look at me again; something in them I couldn't quite put my finger on.

"Do you know how thin the ice you're walking on truly is, Hayes?" He muttered lowly, then, tongue flicking over his lips as he waited for my reply. When I didn't, he swiftly got up from his spot on the sofa, making long, purposeful strides as he walked over to the one I sat on.

I hope he didn't notice the way I swallowed thickly as he sat beside me. "Look at you," He scoffed half-heartedly after a long pause. His hand raised to cup my chin, the touch immediately making my eyes twitch into a glare. Though, I didn't resist. "Think you're so tough, don't you?"

Both his thumb and index finger dug into my cheek as the words left his mouth, squeezing — tightly enough for my lips to part — and tilting my chin upwards to level my eyes with his.

My breathing was shallow, though the ferocious glare on my face didn't falter – not even when his face was mere inches from mine.

Not even when I was positive he wasn't even seeing it anymore, his eyes on my lips rather than the rest of my face.

Not even when his eyes snapped back up, lips so close I could feel his own breathing on mine.

My lips twisted into a cruel smile, then, my head tilting in his loosened grip.

"You don't think I know how thin the ice I'm walking on is?" I questioned, almost mockingly as I raised my own hand slow enough for him to not even notice. His gaze too busy darting back and forth between my eyes and lips to notice anything underneath that.

And then, my own hand wrapped around his neck, his eyes blown wide in surprise as soon as he felt them squeeze the sides of his neck.

"You truly don't think I know, Malfoy?" I repeated, and his brows furrowed in anger, eyes narrowing as they flickered down to my hand around his neck.

"I'm positive you don't," He seethed lowly, piercing grey eyes burning into my own.

I hummed in amusement, the previously flattered smirk on my lips reappearing as my tongue absentmindedly flicked over my lips. His eyes immediately darted towards them at the movement.

"Show me, then," I challenged, my voice silky, knowing I had the upper hand when he didn't immediately fire a comeback at me.

Instead, his eyes had darted back up to mine, his brows knitting together slightly, clearly taken by surprise by my words. I could feel him swallow thickly under my palm, biting the inside of his cheek in irritation.

Victoriously, the smirk on my face turned into an amused smile. "That's what I thought," I scoffed, brows rising. "You talk, and talk, and talk... but you never—"

The sheer force with which his lips landed on mine made me suck in a sharp breath of air before my body reacted to his all on its own. My hand around his throat finding its way up the back of his neck, pulling his white hair whenever he bit my lower lip.

The low groans and muffled, breathy moans filling up the otherwise empty common room having victorious smiles form on both of our lips, the thudding in my head disappearing and reappearing in my chest, instead.

His other hand snaked down my back, cupping my arse as he greedily attempted to flip us over, resulting in me under him. Instead, though, I pressed my entire body weight against the motion, straddling his hips without our lips ever disconnecting.

His hands secured me on his lap instantly, holding onto my hips tightly — slipping under the fabric of my jumper simultaneously — as his teeth dug into my bottom lip. With another low, breathy groan, I brought no more than a few inches between us, my lip dragging out between his teeth before he let go of it.

Breath heavy, pulse thudding against my skin in a fast, unsteady rhythm, I finished the sentence he so rudely interrupted before. "—Never follow through."

A singular, low laugh rattled through his chest, a brow raising as he asked, "Never?" A mocking tone in his voice and his ringed fingers digging into my hips, tightening his grip around them.

The metal of his rings, as well as his hands themselves, were cold enough to make a chill run up my spine at the motion, though I tried my best to not let it show.

Head tilting in a mocking manner, I nodded. "Never," I spoke lowly, inching my face closer to his until there was barely any air separating our lips from each other anymore.

And before I had the chance to do something I'd surely regret later — my eyes flickering down to his lips one last time — I got up to leave, his hand around my wrist the only thing that stopped me from doing so.

"You just broke through," He informed, a facade of indifference on his face as the words left his mouth casually. My brows furrowed.

"What?

"The ice; you just broke through it; that's how thin it was before," He clarified. "So, if I were you, I'd watch my back."

"Is that a threat?" I pulled my wrist out of his grip, turning around completely to look down at him. Noticing, he quickly rose to his feet as well, towering over me now.

His eyes darted through the common room once before landing on me again, a smirk displayed on his lips.

"It's whatever you want it to be." 

A/N: Longer chapter yay!!!

This was fun wasn't it :)

How are we feeling so far???

I hope you liked this chapter. <3