Chapter 1 : A Love Story
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-A Remote Alcove-
My pulse races. Your warm breath on my neck is the most likely perpetrator. I tip my head back. Give your roaming mouth the freedom it demands.
Trails of electricity tingle in wake of your rough lips. I swallow a sigh.
You need to be in control. I want you to be in control.
I feel your hands. They are rough on my hip bones, pulling me firmly against you. I am on fire. This must be what it is like to die.
You are cruel. You know I am dying and pull away anyway. You hold me at arms length, watching as my breath struggles to catch up with my racing heart.
My chest is heaving, but I take advantage of these moments to examine you. Your dark red hair is messed, and your pupils are dilated. Faint freckles mar your otherwise pale cheek bones. Your lips are swollen.
You want me to beg for you, but I beg for nothing.
I slip out of your arms’ prison and grin. I am in control now.
“As a prefect, Potter, it is my duty to inform you that it is past curfew. You should really be heading back to your tower.”
I infuriate you. You grin and turn to leave our alcove. I watch as you walk away before turning to leave. It is late and he will be waiting for me.
-A Not So Remote Common Room-
He is waiting for me.
I inhale deeply and offer him my most convincing smile. He could never know where I sneak to every night. He would never forgive me. Others would say that he disapproved of my life choices, but I am his best friend. I know that jealousy, not disappointment would fill his green eyes.
I sit across from him and prop my feet up on the end table. I can feel his piercing green eyes examining me. I do not give him the satisfaction of making eye contact. Instead I pick up an abandoned Potions text book.
“So, did you have a good evening?”
I pretend that I do not hear him.
“So what’s her name?”
He is fishing. I force my face to remain blank.
“Erm, I’m sorry, what?”
I need to buy myself time, but my brain is lagging. It is still in the alcove with you. I look up at him.
“I asked what her name is.”
I can hear hurt in his voice and cannot blame him. He loves me. He had told me so last term, after we had shared an innocent kiss.
It had been a monotonous kiss. A safe kiss. Nothing like the searing kisses I share with you in our alcove.
I had lied to him. I told him that I wasn’t like him. I told him that I fancied some giggling skirt. The lie consumes me now. I am like him. I do not fancy any of the castle’s skirts. Can I be blamed for not fancying him? A voice in my head supplies my answer.
I fancy his brother.
And so my judgement is passed, I am guilty.
Guilt is a sign of weaknes, and I am not weak. I am better at this game than this. I snap the book shut and stand up from my seat.
“Aw, Potter, a gentleman never kisses and tells.”
The safety of my bed called my name.
My sleep is restless. It is filled with dreams of you and our alcove. Even in these dreams you want me to beg for you. I rationalise. It isn’t really begging if it is only in a dream. And he can’t hear my voice.
-A Potions Dungeon-
It is early. I had been summoned from my bed and now stand frozen staring at the scene in front of me.
You are lying in a puddle of blood. The shallow pool as red as your Quidditch robes is supplied by the slow trickle that runs from the gaping wound in your head. A bloody cauldron is spattered with your blood. It had been forced to play weapon. He kneels at your head. Tears run out from his bright green eyes.
You are dead.
He had killed you.
I am to blame.
I hear an elderly voice speaking words. I struggle to understand what they are.
“Scorpius, my boy. Albus has confessed to what happened here. Do you know anything that you may want to add?” I feel a comforting hand on my shoulder. “The Fella’s from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will...”
The words become incomprehensible. Buzzing in the background.
What had I done?
He is not to blame just as the cauldron is not the murder weapon.
I, Scorpius Malfoy, did it in the dungeon with my manipulative heart.
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