Stronger Chapter Five

Stronger

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER FIVE

It was a half-hour before curfew, and Pansy and I were walking slowly, our fingers entwined and our voices low.

“Draco, are you sure you’re ready for it?”

Her tone was anxious, but not her eyes; her eyes were ecstatic. They were gleaming with ambition, glowing with impatience: she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Pansy,” I said, exasperated, “if you want one so badly, why don’t you just do it and get it over with?”

There was a tense moment of silence before she abruptly wrenched her hand from my grasp and yanked up her sleeve. Laughing, I glanced down; a millisecond later my world had shifted on its axis.

I was falling, faster and faster, blurry memories and blurry faces cascading together and entrenching me in a whirlwind of perplexity; everything was too clear, too sharp, too vividly and frighteningly real. Sounds, horrible and unpleasant and unidentifiable, were barricading my eardrums shut, pounding through my head and echoing within my skull.

My gait, so steady and sure, had turned into an erratic stumble, my wrists knocking against the stone walls and my palms grazing my own face. She was asking me something, was reaching out to try and right the wrong she’d thrust upon me with no warning and even less reason.

There was color and motion, a kaleidoscope of sensitivity churning my stomach and escalating my pulse; blood was rushing through my veins, and I was sentient of every lost drop. I was clinging desperately to basic human instinct, my terror inconsistent and oddly rash: I was aching and there wasn’t a cure.

“How long?” I finally asked harshly. I heard her swallow, felt rather than saw her moisten her lips before speaking.

“Since summer.”

“So, what, you just weren’t ever going to tell me? Were just waiting for the ‘right moment’? What, did you think I’d be angry with you, or something?” I burst out, chuckling cruelly. Much to my horror, she sighed.

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” she replied coolly. “I knew you would react like this.”

“React like what? Do you really think I don’t have a right to be mad? You’ve spent the past five months lying to me, Pansy! How, in any way, is that insignificant?” I demanded.

“I never lied to you. I just didn’t tell you. Because I knew you’d be furious that I got the Mark before you.”

“This has nothing to do with the bloody Mark, Pansy!” I shouted, my temper finally snapping.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Draco. You can say all you bloody well want that this about loyalty and trust and all that sentimental crap you spin at me, but let me be brutally honest with you. It will always be about the Mark with you. It will always be about power and absolution and security. Why do you think I’ve always liked you? You’re just like me.”

“I would have told you, Pansy. I wouldn’t have kept a secret of this magnitude from someone I love,” I responded, my voice cracking.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“Why did you show me?”

She was silent for a long moment.

“I suppose it was because I didn’t want you to feel you were alone,” she finally answered.

“What are you talking about?”

“I really don’t know,” she smiled ruefully, scuffing her shoes against the flagstone floor.

“Do me a favor and tell me when you figure it out, then.”

And then I sauntered away, refusing to admit that my heart was crumbling to dust as she stayed quiet and I stayed alone.

OOO

I was rounding the corner, tying my scarf around my neck, when I saw her hugging them goodbye.

Weasley said something and she gave him a playful shove, her tinkling laughter a painful reminder of Pansy’s; Potter looked solemn as he squeezed her tightly, his fingers splayed unevenly across her back.

“How sweet,” I smirked, crossing my arms over my chest and leveling a sneer in their direction. “If it wasn’t so nauseating I might be touched.”

“It figures you’d find any meaningful display of affection ‘nauseating’,” Granger told me haughtily.

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s actually any meaningful display of affection involving you, Granger.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Weasley snapped.

I felt my mouth twist into a grimace of disdain as I regarded him.

“Further proof you’re a muggle-loving idiot like your father,” I sighed.

Granger snorted at this, her cheeks aflame as she pushed past her two friends to confront me.

“Don’t you have to go torture a house-elf, or completely ruin someone else’s farewell?” she asked me.

“Look around, Granger. Do you see any house-elves?” I whispered seriously.

“No, I see you. And it’s quite—what was the word you used, again? Oh, yes—it’s quite nauseating,” she responded, earning a chuckle from both Weasley and Potter.

And then they turned their backs on me, the boys flanking her as they walked her to the carriages.

I glared at her retreating form, my breath hitching as I thought of how utterly magnificent it would feel to wrap my hands around that milky white throat and press harder and harder, right up until there was no more resistance left. I imagined the panicked expression that would overwhelm her features, the alarm and the fear lurking behind the desperation; she wouldn’t just be weak, she’d be fighting a losing battle.

I wouldn’t just be rendering her useless and vulnerable; I’d be winning.

Three more days, I thought listlessly. Three more days until everything you’ve ever wanted will be your; three more days until everything you ever wanted will disappoint you. Three more days until you lose your identity and relish in anonymity.
And as I boarded the train, I realized suddenly that I’d never been happier.

OOO