She despised him. He was arrogant, he cared for no one other than himself, and every second of his life was spent trying to gain power. Then again maybe that was why, against her better judgment, she found him completely irresistible.
The fact that he was left a free man after the war was nothing short of a miracle. To his credit, he'd acknowledged his participation on the dark side - at least he'd been honest about that - but somehow he'd managed to convince the jury that he'd been under the Imperius for years and acted against his own free will. After a short sentence in Azkaban for acts that he couldn't prove he'd been forced to do, he'd come back to London and taken up residence in an apartment building at the end of Diagon Alley, one of the new ones built during the reconstruction.
By some twist of fate, she had moved into the same apartment building, and by an even bigger coincidence, she'd been given the flat across the hall from his. They occupied two of four flats on the sixth floor of the building.
If she and Harry hadn't taken a break, she might never have even moved there.
Their first encounter was barely civil, but thankfully brief, and a period of weeks passed before she saw him again. She did her best to time his comings and goings, and arranged her own to avoid him at all costs.
Their second encounter, however, was altogether something quite different.
She was coming back from the grocer, arms full of bags and packages, and she was managing to make a bloody disaster of getting into her flat, when the elevator dinged and out stepped her contemptible neighbour.
"Great," she thought. "Just what I needed."
She continued fiddling with the lock, balancing one bag on her hip and another on her thigh, barely holding herself upright and trying desperately to get into her flat before he made it to his door. Luck, however, was not on her side this day, and before she knew it he was standing behind her.
"Having troubles, Weasley?" he asked in his typical, snide tone.
"I'm fine," she growled.
"Yes, I can see that," he replied sarcastically.
He watched as she continued jiggling the lock, getting more and more frustrated by the moment.
"You know if you need help all you have to do is ask."
He was joking, right? Why would he help her?
"I don't need any help."
"If you say so."
She heard him open the lock to his door and push the door open.
"Try not to drop that everywhere and spill on the carpet, won't you? I have guests coming later and I don't wish for them to be greeted by spots and stains. This isn't a crooked little house in the countryside."
She stopped, getting a grip on her bags and blowing at the few stray hairs that had fallen into her eyes. "You're an arse, you know that, Malfoy?"
"So I've been told."
Despite her cold shoulder, he stayed behind her, continuing to watch her struggle. She refused to let his presence bother her, or at least noticeably bother her.
After a minute he said, "Well if you're not going to ask for help…"
"I'm not."
"Very well."
She thought she had finally gotten rid of him, but at that moment all of her bags shifted. Looking back on it, she'd almost swear that he must have had a hand in that.
"Careful there, Weasley."
She rolled her eyes and huffed. "Fine!" she said through gritted teeth. "Would you please help me out here? I wouldn't want to stain your precious entryway."
She couldn't see his face, but she would have bet 10 galleons that he was sporting the signature Malfoy smirk. He took the bag from her thigh, and then the one from her hip.
"Thank you." It was bitter, but she said it. She didn't want to, of course, but her mother had taught her manners.
She quickly unlocked the door and pushed it open, then turned to take her bags back.
"I can carry them in for you," he said dryly.
"No. Thank you."
It was his turn to roll his eyes. "Oh, come off it, Weasley. Don't think for a moment that I take any pleasure in helping you. But you know just as well as I that you'll only drop them as soon as you slam the door in my face."
She huffed again, knowing he was right.
"Fine, just set them over there," she said as she entered the flat and pointed to her dining table.
How they got from exchanging harsh words at the door to rolling around on the floor, half-naked and panting in ragged breaths, she'll never know.
She despised him, and with every hurried breath she wanted nothing more than to tell him to sod off. But something about the way he kissed her and the way he touched her, like he couldn't stand her, like he hated her as much as she hated him, made her want him even more.
If Draco's guests hadn't shown up, giggling in the hall and knocking loudly on his door, there's no telling what might have happened. But, by some chance they did, and as though someone had just splashed them both with ice-cold water, they separated, quickly snatching up their clothes and getting redressed. He was dressed before her, and she realized then that she had been mistaken - she was the one who was almost naked, not him. He had lost only his shirt in the heat of the action and somehow she was down to only her bra and knickers.
He stood up quickly and smoothed his hair while she scrambled to cover herself. With his hand on the doorknob he stopped briefly, looking back at her as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. Their eyes met for a moment and they shared a cold, emotionless stare, and then he was gone.
She wanted to be sick. The guilt that burned in her stomach was overwhelming. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She was completely ashamed of herself, knowing what her parents and brothers would say if they ever found out she'd had a romp with Malfoy, but she was even more ashamed knowing that deep down inside she wished they hadn't been interrupted.
The weeks that passed by after that event were awkward at best. She once again took every measure to avoid him, and did so successfully. And yet she couldn't help but be slightly disappointed that they hadn't crossed paths again. Her right mind told her she was best not to ever see him again in her life, but the annoying little voice in her head kept close tabs on every sound she heard from his side of the hall.
It was like she had been possessed by some other person, like a recurrence of what had happened to her during her first year at Hogwarts, and she found herself subconsciously doing things to try and lure his attention, only to realize hours later what her primal intentions really were, and she chastised herself for that.
The lengths she went to trying to subtly gain his attention surprised even her. Several nights in a row she'd played her music loudly, secretly hoping he'd come over and tell her to turn it down; she felt like a black widow trying to lure the male to her web. The music she played had the same bumping, erotic beats that filled the local night clubs where young people tried to escape their nightmares and memories of the war. The same beats that drove them to drag their dance partners - strangers they had never seen before and never intended to see again - to a dark corner or restroom stall, for just a few minutes of passion before the night was through. She had seen him in these clubs on several occasions, but by chance or by fate they had never partnered up. To her relief and despair, this tactic didn't seem to work and he never came banging on her door.
A week later she had broken down completely. After finding a large infestation of bugs in her kitchen that were seemingly immune to her spells, she crossed the great divide of the hall between their doors and knocked, softly at first, and then with much more force, convincing herself that she wasn't giving in to her desires, but just asking for his assistance, after which she would promptly show him out of her flat and get on with her life. She fought internally with herself, half hoping he'd answer, half hoping he wouldn't. Again as fate would have it, she didn't see him. He didn't answer, and she went back to her flat deflated, but knowing in her heart it was for the better.
She felt like a schoolgirl again, recalling the days when she and her girlfriends would pace the halls outside the Ravenclaw and Huffleuff dormitories, hoping that by chance they just might bump into whichever boy it was they had a crush on at the time. They would, of course, make up some excuse as to why they were there if it ever happened, but now things were different. She didn't need an excuse to be in the hall outside his door, because it was her hall as well. Yet as time went on, she found herself out there more and more often, making excuses to come and go from her flat when she thought he might be coming or going, instead of avoiding it as she had done just weeks before.
After nearly a month of not seeing him, a very small period of which she had actually forgotten him for a day or two, she began to wonder if he'd moved out. She hadn't heard a noise from his side of the hall in weeks, and there'd been no sign of life from his flat. Until, that is, one particularly lonely Friday night.
She'd been home alone all night because her other friends were occupied and had left her to entertain herself. She decided a Girl's Night In was in order, and spent the evening pampering herself with a facial, painting her toenails, and taking a long, hot bath. After indulging in a dinner of ice cream and pastries, she got comfortable in a tiny pair of satiny pyjama shorts and a thin, lacy camisole. She cuddled down with a glass of wine and a book, one she'd been intending to read for months, and found its story hauntingly familiar; the heroine who carried on a torrid love affair with the man who was her sworn enemy. She read for hours, getting lost in the pages, particularly curious about how it would end.
When she finally looked at the clock it was well past midnight, and she knew he hadn't come home. Of course, she didn't actually know if he'd been there at all, but the one thing she was certain of was that he hadn't come or gone since she'd been home or she'd have heard him. Although she was using the book to try and distract herself, somewhere deep inside she was wishing more than anything that he'd choose this night to come over and borrow some sugar, or a roll of loo paper, or anything that would let her have a chance to see him again, but on her terms.
Around one o'clock she grew restless and decided to get up for a stretch. She grabbed her rubbish bin and peeked out the front door to see if the hall was clear. It was, and she quietly snuck out to dispose of her trash.
"You're completely mental," she told herself as she walked. "You're really messed up, you know that? You don't need to see him. You don't want to see him."
She spoke the words over and over in her mind like a mantra. She reached the end of the hall and dumped the bin, then made her way back toward her door, unable to keep her eyes from glancing at his door.
"Oh, who are you kidding, girl?" she groaned, this time out loud. "You want to see him more than anything in the world."
As if the gods had been listening, at that moment she heard the ding of the elevator at the other end of the hall, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart raced, realizing that no matter who it was, they were about to get an eyeful of her in her nightie. She gulped, already flushing in the face, and held the rubbish bin up, her best attempt at covering herself. Walking quickly, she made a beeline for her door, but she didn't make it in time.
The elevator doors opened and the passenger stepped out. It was him. Alone. He walked slowly, not noticing her at first, but as he approached his flat he looked up, and he caught sight of her.
"Weasley," he said almost cordially, his words very slightly slurred.
She felt her face go beet red, but she held her head high and continued walking toward him, unwavering in her path toward her flat.
"Malfoy."
"Out for a stroll, are you?" he asked with a sneer.
As she got closer she could tell he'd been drinking. If the slurred speech hadn't given it away, the glassed-over look in his eyes was a clear indication.
"Just taking the rubbish out." Why did I let myself come out here like this? I'm such a glutton for punishment! God, he looks hot!
He laughed. "If I weren't pissed right now, I could probably come up with some smart-arse remark about that. You, coming from such a poor family…half naked with only a rubbish bin…."
Those words had been just enough to snap her back to reality, to the realization that she would always hate him, despite his annoyingly handsome face and those alluring grey eyes.
"I don't doubt that you would."
They reached their doors at the same time, but he didn't move to unlock his.
"Got a man in there, then?" he asked, sporting an evil little grin. "Is this how you dress for your dates?" He looked her up and down, and she wondered how much he could really see through the liquored-up blur in his eyes.
"Sod off, Malfoy," she said, growing more and more irritated with herself. How could she have spent the past month and a half secretly lusting over this pompous jerk? Even worse, why was she getting this little feeling of a thrill from the way he looked at her?
As if he were reading her mind, he suddenly crossed his arms and leaned back against his door and asked, "Why do you hate me so much, Weasley?" Although his tone was quite serious, his obnoxious, arrogant sneer was still plastered to his face.
She was stunned, and couldn't even begin to form an answer to that question. Clearly he was drunk and slight of memory as a result. Quickly coming to her senses, she said the first thing that came to mind. "I don't have the patience nor the time to even begin to list all the reasons, Malfoy."
Somehow those words seemed to please him immensely, and he stepped forward, closer, just inches away from her and her rubbish bin.
"Give me just one."
She glared at him and opened her mouth to speak, but something came over her. The smell of his cologne mixed with firewhiskey and his own sweaty scent, no doubt from dancing in one of the nightclubs, wafted in her direction and knocked her senses clean away. Her mouth bobbed open and closed as she tried to regain her senses and come up with a reason…surely she could come up with one reason…but no words would come.
Finally she turned and grabbed the door handle, wanting nothing more than to be far away from him.
"Goodnight, Malfoy," she said coldly.
He laughed a quiet, breathy laugh."Good ni…Well actually, it hasn't been a good night."
She fully intended to go directly into her flat and lock the door behind her, but the bluntness of his words stopped her once again. With her back still to him, she listened.
"You see it's rather tedious to be famous, even if it's more infamy than celebrity. But so many women are turned on by the bad boy image, you know? They throw themselves at me all night, and really it's just lost all of its appeal. I'd hoped to have an enjoyable evening, bring home a girl or two, and instead I found myself getting pissed just to try and forget they were there."
She turned back to face him again, astonished by his blatant arrogance. "How sad," she said sarcastically.
"It is, isn't it?"
She rolled her eyes and started to go into her flat again.
"But I suppose fame has done you well. Some bloke's waiting in there for you now, isn't he? Sprawled out across your bed, just waiting until he can get it up again so he can have another go at fucking the famous Ginny Weasley."
She took a deep breath before she turned on her heel, intending to tell him off within an inch of his life - if she could restrain herself from wringing his bloody neck - but she nearly fell back into the door when she spun around and found him even closer than before, just a breath away from her face.
She closed her eyes and composed herself, furious with him as well as herself.
"There is no man in my flat," she said, looking at him sternly. "Not that it's your business. Not everyone has to get shagged every day to be happy."
"Oh, of course not. You're right," he grinned, and though she didn't think it was possible, he moved closer yet again. "But having a good fuck every once in a while is nice, isn't it?"
Before she could even blink, his hand was suddenly on her thigh, making its way up quickly, and the contact sent electric jolts throughout her body. The truth was that she hadn't been so much as touched by another man since her last encounter with him, and before then it had been months since she'd been with a man. With Harry.
She willed herself to push him away, to knee him in the groin, or do something to stop him…but she couldn't seem to do anything but stand there and let him touch her. Her heart beat rapidly and her breaths grew shorter as his hand climbed, and in seconds he'd reached his destination, rubbing gentle strokes across her satiny shorts.
"Do you want me to stop?" he whispered, leaning up to her ear so his hot breath would tickle her neck.
Her eyes were already closed, and try as she might she couldn't open them. She bit her lip as she fought the inner battle of brain against hormones, and finally managed to nod her head.
"Then say it. Tell me you want me to stop. I want to hear the words."
"Damn him!" she thought. "He knows exactly what he's doing, and he knows I can't bring myself to stop it."
She opened her mouth to try and spill out the words, but only managed to moan softly as his hand slipped around the edge of her shorts and she felt the contact of his rough fingers on her soft skin.
Her mouth hung open as she gasped for air, and then just as if he'd read her deepest desires, his mouth covered hers in a deep, lustful kiss.
"What's the matter?" he whispered, leaning back. "Cat got your tongue?"
She tried to speak again, wanting to tell him what a bastard he was, but she was stopped short by the sensation of his finger entering her, sliding in and out at a pace that made her shudder. All that she managed was an even louder moan than the last one.
He chuckled softly, obviously quite pleased with himself. "You'll wake the neighbours if you keep that up."
He kissed her again, this time taking the rubbish bin from her hands and dropping it to the floor as he pushed her back against her door. She could feel the warmth of his body and the pressure that was building in his pants. Not knowing where to put her hands and barely able to think, she reached backwards and grabbed the doorknob, turning it and nearly collapsing between the weight he pushed against her and the lack of support now behind her.
Somewhere in her mind her intention had been to get away from him with this action, but instead he came in with her, pushing the door shut behind them with his foot and guiding her to the sofa, all the while keeping her locked in a passionate kiss. He laid her down and draped himself above her, nimbly sliding her camisole up. Apparently the drunken stupor he'd been in just minutes before had dissipated and he was quite capable of controlling his actions, if not his lust.
She felt strange. It was almost like having an out of body experience. Her brain kept telling her to stop him, and her hormones kept telling her brain to shut the bloody hell up. So far they hadn't done anything more than they had done the last time, but he had the advantage of catching her half-naked to begin with this time.
When he'd pulled the camisole up high enough that her breasts were exposed, he ran his finger over them lightly, making her nipples grow hard and quite sensitive. His tongue clashed with hers, mimicking his hand motions, and as he swirled his fingertips around each nipple, he did the same with his tongue in her mouth. After a minute or two of being almost gentle, at least compared with their last experience, he became gradually more aggressive, progressing from kneading her breasts lightly, to harder massaging and then to pinching her nipples. With each pinch tiny explosions went off in her head, and she wasn't sure how much more she could stand. She squirmed under him, moaning into his mouth.
Just before she thought she might have to grab his hand and make him stop, he did so on his own accord, brushing his fingers lightly down her stomach and over the outside of her shorts once more. His mouth traveled down as his hand did, and he stopped at her breasts, licking her nipples lightly before taking them into his mouth one at a time and sucking on them.
The sensation made her push her hips up to his hand, which in turn made him rub just a little harder and faster. Her baser instincts took over, and she reached down, pulling up the sides of his shirt until he sat up briefly and removed the garment. For a moment their eyes met, but sensing that eye contact would kill the savage nature of this affair, she closed them again quickly.
Following her lead, he pulled her camisole up and over her head before returning to his previous actions. This was about where they had left off last time. She briefly thought of asking him if he was expecting any visitors, but his earlier statement had answered that question for her. Besides, if she took the time to make conversation, she'd probably find herself able to stop him from going further.
He slowly moved his way back up to her neck, licking and nibbling along the way, and in one swift move he slid a hand behind her back and the other behind her arse and pulled her upright to her knees so that she was kneeling on the sofa. He was on his knees as well, kissing her again, and began running his fingers along the waistband of her shorts.
Just the thought of what this motion implicated made her head spin. She reached out and loosened his belt blindly but quickly, then unbuttoned his trousers, finally tugging at both sides to unzip the last obstacle. She slid them down his hips quite easily, but was stopped when she reached his knees. At this point he took control, practically ripping her shorts off her body before pulling his own trousers down, all without breaking their locked lips. She wasn't sure how he did it, but she was certain a little magic was involved.
She was now completely naked, and he was left in only his shorts. He sat back on the sofa, pulling her down to straddle him, and she felt the steady pulsing of his erection between her legs. Suddenly she felt exposed and vulnerable.
Before she had time to start questioning their actions, he pulled her face back to his and resumed kissing her. He slid his hands down her arms as he kissed her, then moved them to her waist, slowing making his way up back her sides. His hands stopped just beside her breasts, and he let his thumbs move across her nipples. Even though her eyes were closed, she felt them roll back in her head.
She, however, was not sure what to do with her hands at this point, as her mind had begun thinking semi-rational thoughts again and she was feeling more and more uncomfortable by the moment; not because of what he was doing, but because that guilty feeling was creeping up on her. There was something too intimate about running her hands through his hair, she thought, deepening the already forbidden kiss with her sworn enemy, but she didn't know where else to put her hands since his back was against the sofa. Draco soon solved that problem for her.
He took her hand in his, and gently moved it between their bodies, urging her to touch him through his shorts. If she hadn't been so caught up in the moment, she might have laughed. They may hate each other, but she was sure this was a sign of trust. With just the right movement she could render him powerless, even without her wand. But the desire to hurt him just wasn't there. Not now. Instead, she moved her hand up and down his length and he let out a quiet moan.
Her touch seemed to set off a chain reaction, and in a flash he had managed to lift her body with his thighs and slide his shorts off. He pulled her back down to straddle him again, and this time the heat of their exposed bodies felt searing. He guided her hand back to its prior activity, which he clearly enjoyed. It seemed as if his hands and lips were all over her, everything a blur of sensations and reactions. Her hand was the only thing between them.
This was it, she realized. There was nothing stopping them now. It was quite literally the point of no return. Just a few millimeters more and they would cross into a place they could never come back from...somewhere she never truly imagined she'd be. She'd fantasized about it over the past weeks, to be sure. But she never thought it would actually happen. Would their lives ever be normal after this happened? She knew there was no chance of a real relationship here, and she didn't want one. He was still Draco sodding Malfoy. But could she look at him anytime she ran into him for the rest of her life and know what they'd done without feeling remorse? Guilt? Shame? The Wizarding World was small, after all.
A blurry scene popped to her mind, and she imagined bumping into him at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as she saw her youngest child off for her first year at Hogwarts. Her husband, whoever he was, nodded cordially to Malfoy and his perfectly gorgeous wife. Malfoy's cold eyes met hers, and for a moment there was a spark…an old, buried memory coming back to life briefly before they both looked away, trying to forget that night of passion. Would she regret it? She couldn't tell. Would her husband know? It was all too blurry an image, but she was sure that whoever she would choose to spend her life with would have earned her trust, and would accept everything about her, both the good and the bad.
She had to decide now.
She shouldn't do it. She knew that.
But it was easier to deal with regrets over things done than to dwell on regrets of things you didn't do, she told herself. It was now or never.
Now or never…
Now.
She'd worry about remorse later.
With newfound fervor, she kissed him harder, sliding seductively up and down his hardness, without taking him inside of her. He returned her passion, grabbing hold of her hips and guiding her motion at a more rapid pace. He was hitting just the right spot, and she felt the slickness between them increase.
He gasped and broke their kiss, breathing heavily, and pulled her body closer to him so that they were each panting in the other's ears. She felt his chest rising and falling under hers, and a shiver shot through her body with each breath he took, his chest rubbing against her nipples with the motion.
This was it. She positioned her body over his, prepared to take him inside of her.
She was lost in the sensation of it all when he said something. It was the first word either had spoken since they'd been in the hall, and his voice was raspy. Between her concentrating on their bodies and the breathiness of his voice, she hadn't understood him.
"What?" she asked in a whisper, kissing his cheek, his cheekbone, his ear.
"I said stop," he panted quietly.
She realized then that he had moved his hands to her shoulders and was pushing her back. She leaned back, sitting almost upright, and looked at him with confusion. Was he going to bring up birth control now? Would it break the moment?
He ran his hands through his hair and closed his eyes as his head fell back to the sofa. He stayed that way for a moment, as if he were trying to collect himself.
"I, uhh…" she stuttered. She had no idea why he'd told her to stop, and had no idea what to do now. He lifted his head and caught her gaze. Her eyes searched his for an answer, but the longer she looked at him, the less she liked what she saw. The fire in his pupils had left and they were icy cold in seconds.
His upper lip showed just a hint of a curl. And then he spoke.
"You didn't think I was actually going to let you fuck me, did you?"
Though she wished with everything in her that she had been prepared for that statement, that she could have made a witty comeback or given him some snide, Malfoy-ish look instead of letting her mouth fall open and her eyes widen, it was the unfortunate truth that she only did the latter of those options.
"Ahh," he said with a sneer. "You did. Silly girl."
She remained speechless, but was at least able to close her mouth. She didn't want him to see it. She didn't want him to know how much it hurt. She didn't want him to see that he'd gotten to her, but she could feel it in her own eyes. It was obvious, and they both knew it.
He pushed her aside and gathered his clothes, pulling his shorts on rather nonchalantly as he explained.
"I'll tell you the truth. You see, Ginny Weasley, I…am a virgin," he said as he stepped into his trousers, and her brow furrowed in disbelief. Then he chuckled as he added, "In a manner of speaking, of course. I mean, I've slept with women before. Hundreds of women. Witches all over the world. Beautiful. Wealthy. Both cunning and naïve. But not one of them, not a single one, was a blood traitor. None of them disgraced the name of wizard. And I have a reputation to uphold."
He put one arm into his shirt, then the other, and began buttoning it, his back to her.
She was furious. How could this have happened? How did she let things get to this point? He was right. Did she actually think that he would sleep with her and not humiliate her at some point of the act? Or after? He was practically her sworn enemy, and despite the obvious mutual lust (whether he would ever admit it or not), he was still Draco Malfoy, the boy who would betray his own family for the right price, be it fame or power. Betray his family, but not his prejudice, not his beliefs. In what world would this have worked?
With tears stinging the corners of her eyes, she grabbed her shorts and top, putting them on quickly.
He slid his feet into his shoes and stood, brushing wrinkles from his shirt, all the while silent, as if calculating just the right timing to push the knife in a final thrust.
She wanted to tell him to get out. Yell at him, curse him, anything to gain back her confidence, but everything she imagined saying or doing, she imagined him throwing back some quiet, sly comment and once again reducing her to a wither of a pathetic little girl.
Instead she waited, once again not knowing what to do. He held all the cards in this game.
Without a word he walked to the door, grabbed the knob, and calmly opened the door. He stepped outside and pulled the door to behind him, not once looking back at her.
He was so cruel. He hadn't taken the opportunity to throw one last insult, or give her a wicked glance, and that was quite possibly the most hurtful thing he'd done all night. It was as if he didn't even consider her worthy of the acknowledgement.
She sat on the couch for a few minutes, replaying the last 20 minutes or so in her head, wiping hot tears from her eyes before they could fall. She briefly considered getting her wand, storming across the hall and perfoming the Crucio curse on him, but he wasn't worth it. He wasn't even worth another moment's thought.
With anger beginning to overtake the shock and shame, she went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. At least she was over him now, and would never have those urges again. She could never tell anyone about this, and would do her very best to forget it ever happened. As far as she was concerned, Draco Malfoy was simply the ex-con across the hall, who truly deserved the Dementor's kiss. With any luck he'd slip up and land himself back in Azkaban. Maybe Harry and the other aurors would raid his flat after being notified of some suspicious activity…
Harry.
Oh, gods.
She reached for her wine glass, only to find it already emptied. She refilled it and quickly downed the ruby liquid.
Had she just committed the ultimate betrayal? Whether or not she and Harry ever got back together, could she tell him about this? Should she? Only time would tell, and she'd have to come to that decision when and if the time came.
Taking a deep breath to collect herself, she walked to the door and opened it, reaching outside to collect her rubbish bin. She didn't even look at the door acrosss the hall as she did so, and promptly locked the door once she was securely inside. She made her way to her bedroom, turning off the light and sinking somberly into the cool sheets. Hopefully the wine would kick in quickly and sleep would come before she'd have too much time to think.
It did. Luck was finally turning her way tonight.
Luck was with her after that night, as well. Either Malfoy acquired an invisibility cloak, or he did a bloody good job of avoiding her in the days, weeks, and months that followed. Likewise, she did her part to make sure she didn't bump into her neighbour in the hallway. Never. Ever. Again.
But before the year was out she ran into someone new in the hall; a middle-aged couple who were moving into the flat across from hers. She felt a huge amount of relief at this, and honestly didn't give fifteen seconds' thought to how Malfoy had moved out without her noticing. She was just satisfied knowing she'd never have to listen at the door before opening it again, never have to fear seeing those steely grey eyes glaring her way.
As time went on, she found it easier and easier to forget him…to forget that night entirely. In the disturbing moments that random memories did flash through her mind, she admittedly wished that the night had never happened, but in the end she was greatful for its cruel ending. If nothing else, she had learned something that night; she had learned that she should listen to her instincts. She should never give in to her baser emotions unless she is sure that she's with a person who she truly trusts. Someone she loves. She learned that, for her at least, intimacy was not something to be thrown about frivolously. And she learned that sometimes fantasies are best left unchased.
When Harry finally came round one day unexpectedly, his way of reopening the door for their relationship, she felt the ultimate liberation of closure. With remorse and honesty she told Harry what had happened, leaving out some of the finer details, and bore her burden openly. She couldn't start fresh with Harry while carrying the guilt around.
He was none to pleased to hear of the incident, and she imagined their reunion was less encouraging than he had intended, but she had to give him the chance to walk away.
He didn't.
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