Fic: The Lovers' Circle
Jan. 9th, 2011 07:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nicevennAuthor: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nicevenn (applesntoads)
Title: The Lovers' Circle
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, brief and mentions of various other 8th years.
Summary: Tired of feeling alone, Harry agrees to play a matchmaking game with the other eighth-years. It's just a game, after all. What harm could it do?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): light bondage
Word Count: ~13,400
Author's Notes: This was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hd_holidays. Many thanks to nursedarry and khasael for Brit-pick and beta, and to kayoko_chan for the excellent advice and handholding. :)
I. The Lovers' Circle
♥
"Let's play a different kind of game tonight."
Mischief sparkles in Pansy Parkinson's eyes like Bonfire Night fireworks as she transfigures the rectangular table into a round one and sets an ornate wooden box down on it. Her gaze meets mine and I look away, faking disinterest. Having shared a common room with the other Houses since the beginning of eighth year, I’ve learned that some Slytherin schemes have a certain...appeal. A part of me is dying to know exactly what she's got up her sleeve.
As if reading my mind, Dean speaks up. "What kind of different game?"
I glance over at Malfoy and Zabini, who are occupying two armchairs near the fireplace. They know what Parkinson's up to, if the look they just shared over the tops of their newspapers is anything to go by. Daphne Greengrass, giggling as she slides from her seat to join Parkinson at the table, seems similarly well-informed.
"Just a naughty little Tarot game," Parkinson answers, looking not at Dean but at her two friends by the hearth.
"Pansy – " There's a warning tone in Zabini's voice.
"No one's forcing you to play, Blaise. You can stay there, sip your Firewhisky, and sulk while the rest of us have fun. And I daresay the results of this game are always satisfying." She smirks. "Right, Draco?"
A rosy blush creeps over Malfoy's pale cheeks; I suspect the cause is something other than the warmth of the fire. Oddly, the thought gives me butterflies. I swallow hard, willing my stomach to settle.
"It can be an entertaining game," Malfoy admits, "when played in the right company." He gives his issue of the Prophet a rough shake to straighten it and resumes reading.
Parkinson turns her attention to Dean for the first time since he spoke. "It's called The Lovers' Circle. It's a matchmaking game."
A few people who haven't been paying attention perk up at this. Lavender Brown leans forward to listen.
"How do you play?" Ernie Macmillan asks.
Parkinson's lips quirk. "The first step is getting matched. Everyone who wants to play is dealt a single card. Some cards form pairs. If someone else gets a card that is your card’s counterpart, then that person is your match for the rest of the game." Her smile widens. "Or longer."
Zacharias Smith draws his brows together. "But that means not everyone will get a match."
"No, unfortunately not," says Parkinson. "The idea – if you believe in this sort of thing – is that the cards match you with the person present who is most suitable for you. If no one is a good match, then you won't get one. Still, the rest of the game can fun to watch.”
"What happens once you're matched?" This from Ernie again.
Seeing Parkinson's gleeful smile, Malfoy sighs and tosses the Prophet onto the small table between his and Zabini's chairs.
"You take turns choosing cards and following their instructions to get better… acquainted with your partner." Parkinson pulls a small booklet out of the Tarot box. "Here, see for yourself," she says, and tosses the booklet to Ernie and Zacharias.
Lavender cranes her neck to read over the two boys’ shoulders. I look at Ron, who's rubbing his thumb over the back of Hermione’s hand and pretending he's not interested. Hermione has Hogwarts: A History open in her lap, but it’s clear she’s listening to the conversation. I poke her arm to get her attention.
“Have you heard of this game?”
“I have,” she says, without looking up. “The mystical aspects are nonsense, of course, but it has been known to bring people together. You should play.”
I want to protest, but my heart has already latched onto the hope that I’ll be matched with a bloke. Ron and Hermione have assured me that witches and wizards are more accepting of same-sex relationships than are Muggles, and I’ve had seen the evidence for myself – Dean and Seamus don’t get bothered about it – but that hasn’t made the process of actually finding a boyfriend any easier. Exactly how am I supposed to flirt with a bloke? And how will I know know if he's interested? He won't giggle and bat his eyelashes – I hope. If a party game can spare me these worries, then I’m willing to play. Even with Slytherins.
“So, who’s in?” Parkinson asks.
Lavender and the Patil twins, who have gained possession of the instruction booklet, volunteer with squeals of delight. Ernie and Zacharias are next, followed by Hannah Abbot, Terry Boot, Susan, and Neville. To my surprise, Malfoy and Zabini also get up and begin making their way towards the round table, though not without a great deal of muttering under their breaths – something about foolish girls and Slytherin exclusivity. I gather they're hoping to save their Housemates from being matched with Gryffindors – or worse, Hufflepuffs.
Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, and I are the only ones who haven’t moved to sit on cushions around the table. Of the five of us, I’m the only person who isn’t dating anyone, so naturally they're all waiting for me.
“Won’t you join us, Harry?” Daphne asks.
If Pansy had asked, I would have said no. But Daphne’s all right; I get on better with her than any of the other Slytherins.
"Er… sure," I say.
Ron's expression turns incredulous as I put down my Potions book and stand up. "You can't be serious," he says, but Hermione elbows him in the side and he shuts up.
Malfoy sneers at me as I seat myself on one of the cushions. “Fame couldn’t buy you love, eh Potter?”
“Looks like money didn’t buy you any, either,” I tell him. The hostile glint in his eyes sparks a heat inside me that I doubt even the contents of the bottle of Ogden's on the table could rival.
“Be nice, boys,” says Parkinson as she takes the Tarot cards out of their box and sets them down in front of her. Zabini Accios his and Malfoy's liquour glasses, along with new ones for the rest of us, and fills them up with Firewhisky.
I glance back at Ron and Hermione, and am relieved to see that Hermione has got her hands on the instruction booklet. As long as she’s involved, there’s a decent chance of a fair game.
“Before we start,” says Parkinson, “we must all swear that we will play until the last card is drawn, even if we do not like who we’ve been matched with.” She passes the deck to Daphne. “Daphne, you start. We’ll go clockwise.”
“What?” There’s an edge to Hermione’s tone that means she doesn’t approve of Parkinson's instructions.
Parkinson’s eyebrows rise a little. “Problem, Granger?”
“Yes – that's not fair!”
“It’s fair,” Daphne says. “If everyone who isn’t immediately happy with their partner could just quit, there would be few people left to play, wouldn't there? The point of the game is – “
Parkinson cuts her off mid-sentence. “No one will die if they should decide to break the oath. The jinx cast on these cards won't cause permanent damage to anyone who chickens out – just a lot of discomfort and embarrassment.”
Hermione looks at me, and I shrug. It isn’t as if I can’t handle being paired with someone I'm not attracted to for an hour, which is the worst-case scenario. I give Daphne a nod to indicate that she should start. She places her right hand over the deck and says, “I solemnly swear to play this game until its conclusion, and to carry out all the instructions given by the cards my partner and I draw.”
Once we’ve all sworn the same oath, Parkinson points her wand at the deck and whispers a spell. The cards float up into the air, shuffle themselves for about twenty seconds, and then land in a haphazard stack in front of her.
“Granger, would you like to deal the cards?” she asks.
Hermione considers the offer. Then, to my surprise, she shakes her head. Smiling, Parkinson picks up the deck and deals the cards.
Again, Daphne is the first to start. She turns over her card and shows it to everyone. “Queen of Cups.” Her tone is playful. “Who will be my king, I wonder?”
She looks hopefully at Malfoy, and his expression hardens. To my inexplicable satisfaction it’s Zacharias, not Malfoy, who turns over the King of Cups and becomes her partner.
Turning over The Sun and The Moon, Hannah and Neville also become a couple. Lavender, the Patil twins, and Susan are the next to turn over their cards. Lavender, after getting matched with Parvati, gives a shriek of dismay and Parvati twists her face in disgust. But they stay in their seats, determined to keep their oaths.
When my turn comes, I realise that my mouth has gone dry. I try my best to keep my fingers steady as I turn over my card.
A hideous horned figure holding a whip stares back at me. Before him stand a naked man and woman, shackled and chained to each other. The card reads XV at the top and The Devil at the bottom.
I don’t remember any of what I learned about the Tarot in Divination, and I’ve no idea whether or not The Devil has a match in The Lovers' Circle, but I’m pretty sure it's not a card people usually want. Parkinson’s smirk confirms my suspicion.
“The Chosen One doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Parkinson opens her mouth to respond, but Hermione has already begun to read the answer from the instruction booklet.
“'The Devil/Lovers combination is the strongest in the game. It describes a passionate, though often volatile and obsessive relationship. In its most positive aspect, this card pair points to the potential for a true and enduring love. Most commonly, however, relationships begun under this combination end as quickly and violently as they began.'" She looks up at me and then back down at the book, continuing. “A popular superstition states that a curse will befall any two people who draw this pair and fail to consummate their relationship within a fortnight.”
Once she’s finished reading, she shakes her head and closes the booklet. “This is nonsense.”
She’s right, of course; there's no sense in worrying. The Tarot, like any tool of divination, is unreliable. The cards are dealt purely by chance, and it's likely that I won’t get a match anyway.
Terry Boot is next. His card is The Emperor, and he gets paired with Susan. Then it’s Malfoy’s turn. He touches the back of his card lightly with his fingertips, as if he's afraid to see what's on the other side. Finally, he turns it over. Parkinson covers her mouth with her hand and gasps. I read the name of his card and choke on my Firewhisky: Malfoy has turned over The Lovers.
“Ever the brave Gryffindor – ” Malfoy drawls as I struggle to collect myself. “Choosing death by Firewhisky over a jinx or a few kisses with his enemy.”
He’s sneering at me, but I see a flicker of something else in his expression. My eyes are drawn to his lips, thinner than usual now they are pressed together, and my stomach flips again at the realisation that I might be snogging him tonight. That is, if he doesn't decide he'd rather get jinxed. I wouldn’t. There’s no contest between an angry kiss from Malfoy and a case of toad pox in my book.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. I don’t spare you enough thought to call you my enemy.”
Malfoy glares at me but stays in his seat. Zabini and Parkinson are the last to turn over their cards, and they become a match. Big surprise there.
Those who weren’t matched – Padma and Ernie – stand up, disgruntled, and return to their former seats. Left to play are Daphne and Zacharias, Hannah and Neville, Lavender and Parvati, Terry and Susan, Zabini and Parkinson, and, of course, me. And Malfoy.
Those of us who aren’t sitting next to our partner have to switch seats. Terry and I trade places so that he's next to Susan and I'm next to Malfoy, who doesn't look pleased with the new seating arrangement. He stares straight ahead, ignoring my presence as if I were the Bloody Baron.
Parkinson gathers up the cards and reshuffles them. Then she spreads them out at the centre of the table. Daphne draws the first one. “Ace of Cups. Everyone drinks.”
I can hear the shuffling of pages behind me as Hermione verifies the instructions. All of us gulp down as much Firewhisky as we can in one go – except Zabini and Parkinson. They each take a delicate sip, as if they're enjoying wine at a posh French restaurant.
Next, Smith draws the Page of Wands. He doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the card, and looks to Hermione for help. She turns a couple pages and reads, “Pages represent communication. Whisper a promise, a secret, or a compliment in your partner’s ear.”
Smith grins and, without a moment’s hesitation, leans over and whispers something to Daphne. She blushes scarlet and smacks him on the arm.
The game continues in a similar fashion. It’s rather tame to start, really – mostly drinking – but my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest because within the next couple minutes I might have to say or do something to Malfoy. It doesn’t come to that, though. I draw Temperance on my first turn, which means Malfoy and I must drink from the same vessel. I take a generous sip, and then hand him my glass. His grey eyes pierce like daggers as he takes it from me. My heart seems to stop for a couple seconds as our fingers touch on the glass. He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rim before taking a sip, then sets the glass down on the table in front of me and picks a card from the table. Page of Swords.
Malfoy is only a second longer than Smith in thinking of something to say. The warmth of his body sends tingles through me as he leans in, his breath tickling my ear.
“You better be careful which cards you draw, Potter, because if you lay a single finger on me tonight, I’m going to hex your balls off and feed them to the Thestrals."
He gives me a sweet smile as he sits back, and I return it with one of my own.
“That’s very nice,” I say with mock politeness. I wonder if that kind promise even counts for the purposes of the game, but it must or he'd be jinxed by now.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sight of Zabini unbuttoning Parkinson’s blouse, lifting one of her breasts from her bra, and drawing the nipple between his teeth. I don't know which card he drew, but I’m sure glad he picked it before I had the misfortune to. (I would like to keep my balls, thanks.)
Parkinson, who doesn’t seem at all embarrassed about what just happened, eyes the cards on the table. Once she completes her turn, we will have finished the first round. We have twelve players and seventy-two cards, which means there will be five more rounds. It doesn't sound like much, but a lot can happen in that time. And knowing my luck, it probably will.
The Firewhisky is starting to take the edge off a little. I savour the burn in my chest because it's better than listening to Neville reveal his most fervent sexual desires or watching Lavender and Parvati stick their tongues down each other's throats. And yet, despite all that's happening, and the fact that I've angled myself away from Malfoy to the furthest extent possible, I remain aware of his every breath. I doubt there's a single nerve in my body that isn't attuned to his presence.
My second turn comes much too soon. I pull another card from the deck. The High Priestess. The woman on the card looks cold and impassive; she's definitely not going to show me any mercy.
Hermione flips a page, then reads: “'In divination, The High Priestess sometimes foretells the revelation of a secret. If you have known your partner before sitting down for the game, divulge the most intimate thought you've had about him or her, prior to today. If not...' Well, you know each other, so the rest doesn’t apply."
The sudden urge to hang my head and give up is overwhelming. What am I supposed to say? I've never thought about Malfoy intimately before. Except maybe...
“Well, let's have it," Malfoy says.
It's probably best to just get this over with.
"I've wondered if you have any scarring from... you know," I tell him. Perhaps that's not what most people would consider an intimate thought, but it does make me imagine what's underneath that crisp white shirt.
Once again, I see a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion on his face, but then he snorts and it's gone. My eyes travel down the line of his neck as he chooses a card. The Sectumsempra curse hit him on the neck as well as his chest, but there's no sign of it there. Snape probably managed to prevent it. I feel sort of horrible for being disappointed about that. It's as if some small part of me wished I'd left my mark on Malfoy.
The lucky bastard draws an Ace, and we all drink. I finish what's left in my glass and refill it. It's best to be prepared. Who knows what's next?
My limbs are starting to feel heavy; it’s getting easier to watch and listen to the others carry out the cards’ instructions. Right now, Susan’s giving Boot a strip tease. It doesn’t do anything for me – I guess I’m just not much of a voyeur – but at least I’ve stopped blushing.
I entertain myself by imagining what would happen if Malfoy had picked that card. It’s meant to be an amusing thought, but it turns out to be more arousing than it is funny. I banish the picture from my mind before my cock has a chance to respond – I’m wearing thin cotton pyjama trousers, for Godric’s sake.
“Potter, it’s your turn.” The sound of Malfoy’s voice brings my attention back to the game.
“Oh, right.”
This time I turn over the Eight of Swords. On the card, a bound and blindfolded woman stands within a circle of swords. Malfoy smirks gleefully.
It doesn’t take me long to put two and two together.
“Let me guess,” I say as Hermione locates the instructions for the Eight of Swords. “I’m supposed to let Malfoy tie me up and blindfold me.”
“For the rest of the game,” Hermione adds with a sympathetic smile.
"Not bloody likely," says Ron.
Malfoy, however, seems to think it is likely because he has just taken out his wand.
Ron springs upright. "You put that wand down! Harry, you're not gonna to let him do it, are you?"
The colour drains from Ron's face when I shrug and hold my wrists out for Malfoy.
"Behind your back," Malfoy says. His sneer grows as I reposition my hands behind my back. My hate for him bubbles inside me like an overheated caustic potion, but I clench my jaw and wait.
"Incarecerous!" There's a sadistic undertone to Malfoy's softly-spoken spell.
He puts his wand away and reaches up to his neck to undo his green-and-silver tie. The sight makes my breath catch; I turn away to hide any visible reaction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rise onto his knees and lean towards me. His fingers brush my hair as the warm silk covers my eyes. I'm not sure which of these sensations is responsible for the unwelcome shiver that runs down my back.
Life, it seems, is full of surprises. Twenty minutes ago, I thought this was going to be a typical Saturday night. Now Draco Malfoy is blindfolding me with his tie. I can honestly say I never saw this coming.
"You look stunning, Potter." Something about the way he says that makes me swallow hard. I wish I could see his expression.
Daphne giggles. "Choose a card, Draco."
I hear the sound of a card being turned over.
"Eight of Wands," he says.
Hermione flips through a few pages in the booklet. "'This is a card of communication. If your partner is someone you've known prior to beginning the game, tell him or her something you've not yet had the chance – or the courage – to say. Your partner should do the same.'"
Malfoy gives a dramatic sigh. The git. He's not the one who has to sit bound and blindfolded for the rest of the game.
I expect some sort of witty insult, like in the first round, but instead he says, "Thank you." His tone is solemn, the words thick with layers of meaning. I don't ask for an elaboration; I don't need one.
I give a small nod and scramble to think of something meaningful to say.
"Potter?" Zabini prods.
"I'm sorry."
The words, directed at Malfoy, escape my mouth before I've even had the chance to consider what I'm sorry about. That I refused to be his friend when we were eleven? That his father was sent to Azkaban at the end of fifth year? That I pulled those wands out of his hand before escaping Malfoy Manor? I'm not sorry for any of those things. And yet, on some level, I am.
His response is little more than a whisper. "So am I."
After a short pause the game continues. Zabini's card instructs us to drink, and I'm glad for it; the buzz has started to wear off. Malfoy raises my glass to my lips; I take a long sip, then try my best to block everything out until it's my turn again.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Hermione says, while Terry carries out his task of kissing Susan in nine places, "you're exempt from choosing cards for the rest of the game."
"Excellent," I reply, but I'm not sure if I mean it.
Now it's Malfoy's turn again. The room goes silent after he chooses his card.
Hermione is the first to speak, and she sounds embarrassed for me. "Well, I think we all know by now what the twos mean."
I do. Lavender and Parvati chose a two in the second round – right before they started swapping spit. Ron mutters something under his breath, and Zabini sniggers, but otherwise nothing happens. I close my eyes against the thin slivers of light that Malfoy's tie is letting in. I expected that if it came to this, Malfoy would take the jinx rather than follow through with the task. I didn't care before, but now that he's about to do it I feel a wave of disappointment rush through me.
"Kiss the boy, Draco!" Parkinson's definitely enjoying herself more than I am.
I take in a breath, seconds away from asking if I can take this bloody blindfold off since Malfoy obviously wants out, but then I hear him move. I expect his mouth to crash against mine, angry and eager to get this kiss over with. But instead I feel just a light, hesitant brush of his lips against mine.
The sound of our shuddering breaths fills my ears as he leans in further. My tongue acts without my permission, pushing past his teeth and into the warmth and wetness of his mouth. The sensation causes a tightening low in my belly. Malfoy, however, stiffens.
Embarrassed, I start to pull back, but he raises his hand to the back of my head and returns the kiss. I can't help but wonder if his stomach is aflutter, like mine is.
The gentleness doesn't last long; his lips press harder and harder against mine, his tongue delving deeper into my mouth. I want to put my hands on him and pull him down on top of me, but I can't, so I pour all my frustration into the kiss.
By the time his mouth leaves mine, I'm more aroused than I've ever been in my life – which puts me in a humiliating position, considering that my arms are tied behind my back and I'm wearing thin pyjama trousers. I can't see myself, of course, but I imagine I'm quite the spectacle.
It's hard to hear anything over the pounding in my ears as the others continue the game. I still don't think the cards we're playing with have any power, but the tasks do seem to be getting kinkier. My intoxicated mind produces images of Malfoy wanking for me. I wouldn't be able to see him if he did, but I'd love to hear the changes in his breathing, the sound of his hand stroking his cock, maybe an occasional suppressed moan. Merlin, what has this game done to me?
When it's Malfoy's turn again, I find myself holding my breath. There's a slight tremor in his voice as he announces his card: Strength. Daphne and Parkinson giggle as we wait for Hermione to read the instructions.
"'Strength speaks of our ability to control our passions, to tame the beast within. In sexual terms, this means practicing self-control and allowing ourselves to enjoy the journey rather than rushing towards the destination.'" She pauses before continuing. "'Without removing your partner's clothing, bring him or her to the brink of orgasm, then stop.'"
My jaw drops. Malfoy probably will do this one, just to watch me suffer.
Ron yawns loudly. "Wow, it's really late. I better get to bed if I'm to keep the Quaffle out of our hoops tomorrow. Goodnight!" A moment later his footsteps can be heard going up the stairs.
Malfoy laughs, and I'm startled to hear his voice coming from in front of me – I never noticed him move. Next thing I know, his hand is on my thigh, sliding upward. My breath catches.
"You can pull out of the game if you want," he says. "Then the jinx will fall on you." His voice sounds hopeful, but I'd have to be an idiot to choose a jinx over being brought to the brink of orgasm – even if the latter promises to be just as painful.
"I think I prefer you to do what the card instructs," I tell him, grinning.
His hand starts travelling in the wrong direction on my thigh: it should be moving towards my cock, not my knee. And definitely not down my shin.
As his fingers slide down to my ankle, I feel his teeth press into my knee. It isn't exactly a bite; he's just resting his mouth on my raised leg. After a moment of non-motion, he begins to slowly bite down on the fabric of my trousers. Once there's a bit caught in between his teeth, he pulls back roughly, giving the cotton a tug. My heart picks up speed: Malfoy wants to play dirty.
It's funny how, without the sense of sight, it's even more difficult than usual to focus on anything but my cock – when I'm turned on, that is. And right now I'm definitely turned on.
I'm seconds away from shouting at him to do something when his tongue swipes the tented fabric over my cock. My head starts to spin. Maybe it's been spinning all along, from the alcohol, but I've been too preoccupied with my thoughts to notice until now. Malfoy's tongue on my prick is a lot to take in. Given the card's instructions, I assumed he’d touch me there, but not with his mouth.
He wraps his arms around my thighs for leverage, then takes my shaft gently in between his teeth and drags his tongue back and forth a few times. When he lets go, I exhale, unsure of how long I held my breath. A moment later he takes the head of my cock into his mouth, licking and sucking until the cotton is thoroughly soaked and clings to my dick. His hands never leave my thighs as he goes through all the motions of a blowjob as best he can with my pyjamas on.
I'm finding it hard to breathe. But what do I expect? Draco Malfoy is, to all intents and purposes, giving me head in front of over a dozen people.
His hold on my thighs tightens. The movements of his tongue are getting more insistent by the second. I tilt my head back, mouth open around a suppressed moan. The pressure in my groin has built almost to a peak. I wonder what would happen if I reacted as little as possible and fooled him into thinking I wasn't quite there yet. Would we get jinxed if I came?
Unfortunately my ragged breathing gives me away. His mouth and hands are gone in an instant, and I'm left wanting. Fuck this game.
"Wow, that was intense." Daphne sounds as if she might be fanning herself with her cards.
If my hands weren't tied behind my back I'd collapse right now, but I have to settle for taking a series of slow, deep breaths to calm down. It's a good thing I'm blindfolded – I'd surely die if I saw Malfoy's face right now.
Zabini's card gives him and Parkinson five minutes to do whatever they please. The silence that follows suggests that they're putting on a good show. I give a start when, out of nowhere, someone straddles me. I can only assume it's Malfoy. His cock is hard against mine; I can't help but jerk my hips as he presses his lips against my ear.
"Do you want to get this over with tonight?"
That was the last question I expected. Our card combination did say we are supposed to 'consummate' our relationship within a fortnight, but I've never put much stock in what cards say, and I didn't think he did either. My jaw drops because I honestly don't know what my answer is. Of course I want to get shagged, but with Malfoy? I get nervous just thinking about it. With him, I'd definitely be performing under pressure. And if I didn't please, he wouldn't be shy about letting me know.
This moment of hesitation determines my decision. I've shown weakness, and with Malfoy that's something I can't allow. Even now, with our cocks pressed together and aching to be taken out of our trousers, we're at war. I can't let him win.
"It's just a game, Malfoy. A superstition."
I can feel him tense. His response, when it comes, is acerbic. "Right, what was I thinking?"
He springs from my lap as if burned. The rest of the game goes by without another word exchanged between us. His last card instructs us to drink, which I'm sure he's happy about, but I can't honestly say I am.
There's an emptiness in my chest when I finally take off my blindfold and catch only a glimpse of his back as he leaves the common room. The Slytherins are all glaring at me; everyone else is oddly silent. Hermione casts her eyes downward when I look at her.
They must all be crazy. Malfoy and I could never get on.
II. The Lovers' Curse
nicevenn (applesntoads)Title: The Lovers' Circle
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, brief and mentions of various other 8th years.
Summary: Tired of feeling alone, Harry agrees to play a matchmaking game with the other eighth-years. It's just a game, after all. What harm could it do?
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): light bondage
Word Count: ~13,400
Author's Notes: This was written for
hd_holidays. Many thanks to nursedarry and khasael for Brit-pick and beta, and to kayoko_chan for the excellent advice and handholding. :)"Let's play a different kind of game tonight."
Mischief sparkles in Pansy Parkinson's eyes like Bonfire Night fireworks as she transfigures the rectangular table into a round one and sets an ornate wooden box down on it. Her gaze meets mine and I look away, faking disinterest. Having shared a common room with the other Houses since the beginning of eighth year, I’ve learned that some Slytherin schemes have a certain...appeal. A part of me is dying to know exactly what she's got up her sleeve.
As if reading my mind, Dean speaks up. "What kind of different game?"
I glance over at Malfoy and Zabini, who are occupying two armchairs near the fireplace. They know what Parkinson's up to, if the look they just shared over the tops of their newspapers is anything to go by. Daphne Greengrass, giggling as she slides from her seat to join Parkinson at the table, seems similarly well-informed.
"Just a naughty little Tarot game," Parkinson answers, looking not at Dean but at her two friends by the hearth.
"Pansy – " There's a warning tone in Zabini's voice.
"No one's forcing you to play, Blaise. You can stay there, sip your Firewhisky, and sulk while the rest of us have fun. And I daresay the results of this game are always satisfying." She smirks. "Right, Draco?"
A rosy blush creeps over Malfoy's pale cheeks; I suspect the cause is something other than the warmth of the fire. Oddly, the thought gives me butterflies. I swallow hard, willing my stomach to settle.
"It can be an entertaining game," Malfoy admits, "when played in the right company." He gives his issue of the Prophet a rough shake to straighten it and resumes reading.
Parkinson turns her attention to Dean for the first time since he spoke. "It's called The Lovers' Circle. It's a matchmaking game."
A few people who haven't been paying attention perk up at this. Lavender Brown leans forward to listen.
"How do you play?" Ernie Macmillan asks.
Parkinson's lips quirk. "The first step is getting matched. Everyone who wants to play is dealt a single card. Some cards form pairs. If someone else gets a card that is your card’s counterpart, then that person is your match for the rest of the game." Her smile widens. "Or longer."
Zacharias Smith draws his brows together. "But that means not everyone will get a match."
"No, unfortunately not," says Parkinson. "The idea – if you believe in this sort of thing – is that the cards match you with the person present who is most suitable for you. If no one is a good match, then you won't get one. Still, the rest of the game can fun to watch.”
"What happens once you're matched?" This from Ernie again.
Seeing Parkinson's gleeful smile, Malfoy sighs and tosses the Prophet onto the small table between his and Zabini's chairs.
"You take turns choosing cards and following their instructions to get better… acquainted with your partner." Parkinson pulls a small booklet out of the Tarot box. "Here, see for yourself," she says, and tosses the booklet to Ernie and Zacharias.
Lavender cranes her neck to read over the two boys’ shoulders. I look at Ron, who's rubbing his thumb over the back of Hermione’s hand and pretending he's not interested. Hermione has Hogwarts: A History open in her lap, but it’s clear she’s listening to the conversation. I poke her arm to get her attention.
“Have you heard of this game?”
“I have,” she says, without looking up. “The mystical aspects are nonsense, of course, but it has been known to bring people together. You should play.”
I want to protest, but my heart has already latched onto the hope that I’ll be matched with a bloke. Ron and Hermione have assured me that witches and wizards are more accepting of same-sex relationships than are Muggles, and I’ve had seen the evidence for myself – Dean and Seamus don’t get bothered about it – but that hasn’t made the process of actually finding a boyfriend any easier. Exactly how am I supposed to flirt with a bloke? And how will I know know if he's interested? He won't giggle and bat his eyelashes – I hope. If a party game can spare me these worries, then I’m willing to play. Even with Slytherins.
“So, who’s in?” Parkinson asks.
Lavender and the Patil twins, who have gained possession of the instruction booklet, volunteer with squeals of delight. Ernie and Zacharias are next, followed by Hannah Abbot, Terry Boot, Susan, and Neville. To my surprise, Malfoy and Zabini also get up and begin making their way towards the round table, though not without a great deal of muttering under their breaths – something about foolish girls and Slytherin exclusivity. I gather they're hoping to save their Housemates from being matched with Gryffindors – or worse, Hufflepuffs.
Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean, and I are the only ones who haven’t moved to sit on cushions around the table. Of the five of us, I’m the only person who isn’t dating anyone, so naturally they're all waiting for me.
“Won’t you join us, Harry?” Daphne asks.
If Pansy had asked, I would have said no. But Daphne’s all right; I get on better with her than any of the other Slytherins.
"Er… sure," I say.
Ron's expression turns incredulous as I put down my Potions book and stand up. "You can't be serious," he says, but Hermione elbows him in the side and he shuts up.
Malfoy sneers at me as I seat myself on one of the cushions. “Fame couldn’t buy you love, eh Potter?”
“Looks like money didn’t buy you any, either,” I tell him. The hostile glint in his eyes sparks a heat inside me that I doubt even the contents of the bottle of Ogden's on the table could rival.
“Be nice, boys,” says Parkinson as she takes the Tarot cards out of their box and sets them down in front of her. Zabini Accios his and Malfoy's liquour glasses, along with new ones for the rest of us, and fills them up with Firewhisky.
I glance back at Ron and Hermione, and am relieved to see that Hermione has got her hands on the instruction booklet. As long as she’s involved, there’s a decent chance of a fair game.
“Before we start,” says Parkinson, “we must all swear that we will play until the last card is drawn, even if we do not like who we’ve been matched with.” She passes the deck to Daphne. “Daphne, you start. We’ll go clockwise.”
“What?” There’s an edge to Hermione’s tone that means she doesn’t approve of Parkinson's instructions.
Parkinson’s eyebrows rise a little. “Problem, Granger?”
“Yes – that's not fair!”
“It’s fair,” Daphne says. “If everyone who isn’t immediately happy with their partner could just quit, there would be few people left to play, wouldn't there? The point of the game is – “
Parkinson cuts her off mid-sentence. “No one will die if they should decide to break the oath. The jinx cast on these cards won't cause permanent damage to anyone who chickens out – just a lot of discomfort and embarrassment.”
Hermione looks at me, and I shrug. It isn’t as if I can’t handle being paired with someone I'm not attracted to for an hour, which is the worst-case scenario. I give Daphne a nod to indicate that she should start. She places her right hand over the deck and says, “I solemnly swear to play this game until its conclusion, and to carry out all the instructions given by the cards my partner and I draw.”
Once we’ve all sworn the same oath, Parkinson points her wand at the deck and whispers a spell. The cards float up into the air, shuffle themselves for about twenty seconds, and then land in a haphazard stack in front of her.
“Granger, would you like to deal the cards?” she asks.
Hermione considers the offer. Then, to my surprise, she shakes her head. Smiling, Parkinson picks up the deck and deals the cards.
Again, Daphne is the first to start. She turns over her card and shows it to everyone. “Queen of Cups.” Her tone is playful. “Who will be my king, I wonder?”
She looks hopefully at Malfoy, and his expression hardens. To my inexplicable satisfaction it’s Zacharias, not Malfoy, who turns over the King of Cups and becomes her partner.
Turning over The Sun and The Moon, Hannah and Neville also become a couple. Lavender, the Patil twins, and Susan are the next to turn over their cards. Lavender, after getting matched with Parvati, gives a shriek of dismay and Parvati twists her face in disgust. But they stay in their seats, determined to keep their oaths.
When my turn comes, I realise that my mouth has gone dry. I try my best to keep my fingers steady as I turn over my card.
A hideous horned figure holding a whip stares back at me. Before him stand a naked man and woman, shackled and chained to each other. The card reads XV at the top and The Devil at the bottom.
I don’t remember any of what I learned about the Tarot in Divination, and I’ve no idea whether or not The Devil has a match in The Lovers' Circle, but I’m pretty sure it's not a card people usually want. Parkinson’s smirk confirms my suspicion.
“The Chosen One doesn’t do anything halfway, does he?” she asks.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Parkinson opens her mouth to respond, but Hermione has already begun to read the answer from the instruction booklet.
“'The Devil/Lovers combination is the strongest in the game. It describes a passionate, though often volatile and obsessive relationship. In its most positive aspect, this card pair points to the potential for a true and enduring love. Most commonly, however, relationships begun under this combination end as quickly and violently as they began.'" She looks up at me and then back down at the book, continuing. “A popular superstition states that a curse will befall any two people who draw this pair and fail to consummate their relationship within a fortnight.”
Once she’s finished reading, she shakes her head and closes the booklet. “This is nonsense.”
She’s right, of course; there's no sense in worrying. The Tarot, like any tool of divination, is unreliable. The cards are dealt purely by chance, and it's likely that I won’t get a match anyway.
Terry Boot is next. His card is The Emperor, and he gets paired with Susan. Then it’s Malfoy’s turn. He touches the back of his card lightly with his fingertips, as if he's afraid to see what's on the other side. Finally, he turns it over. Parkinson covers her mouth with her hand and gasps. I read the name of his card and choke on my Firewhisky: Malfoy has turned over The Lovers.
“Ever the brave Gryffindor – ” Malfoy drawls as I struggle to collect myself. “Choosing death by Firewhisky over a jinx or a few kisses with his enemy.”
He’s sneering at me, but I see a flicker of something else in his expression. My eyes are drawn to his lips, thinner than usual now they are pressed together, and my stomach flips again at the realisation that I might be snogging him tonight. That is, if he doesn't decide he'd rather get jinxed. I wouldn’t. There’s no contest between an angry kiss from Malfoy and a case of toad pox in my book.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Malfoy. I don’t spare you enough thought to call you my enemy.”
Malfoy glares at me but stays in his seat. Zabini and Parkinson are the last to turn over their cards, and they become a match. Big surprise there.
Those who weren’t matched – Padma and Ernie – stand up, disgruntled, and return to their former seats. Left to play are Daphne and Zacharias, Hannah and Neville, Lavender and Parvati, Terry and Susan, Zabini and Parkinson, and, of course, me. And Malfoy.
Those of us who aren’t sitting next to our partner have to switch seats. Terry and I trade places so that he's next to Susan and I'm next to Malfoy, who doesn't look pleased with the new seating arrangement. He stares straight ahead, ignoring my presence as if I were the Bloody Baron.
Parkinson gathers up the cards and reshuffles them. Then she spreads them out at the centre of the table. Daphne draws the first one. “Ace of Cups. Everyone drinks.”
I can hear the shuffling of pages behind me as Hermione verifies the instructions. All of us gulp down as much Firewhisky as we can in one go – except Zabini and Parkinson. They each take a delicate sip, as if they're enjoying wine at a posh French restaurant.
Next, Smith draws the Page of Wands. He doesn’t seem to know the meaning of the card, and looks to Hermione for help. She turns a couple pages and reads, “Pages represent communication. Whisper a promise, a secret, or a compliment in your partner’s ear.”
Smith grins and, without a moment’s hesitation, leans over and whispers something to Daphne. She blushes scarlet and smacks him on the arm.
The game continues in a similar fashion. It’s rather tame to start, really – mostly drinking – but my heart is trying to pound its way out of my chest because within the next couple minutes I might have to say or do something to Malfoy. It doesn’t come to that, though. I draw Temperance on my first turn, which means Malfoy and I must drink from the same vessel. I take a generous sip, and then hand him my glass. His grey eyes pierce like daggers as he takes it from me. My heart seems to stop for a couple seconds as our fingers touch on the glass. He takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rim before taking a sip, then sets the glass down on the table in front of me and picks a card from the table. Page of Swords.
Malfoy is only a second longer than Smith in thinking of something to say. The warmth of his body sends tingles through me as he leans in, his breath tickling my ear.
“You better be careful which cards you draw, Potter, because if you lay a single finger on me tonight, I’m going to hex your balls off and feed them to the Thestrals."
He gives me a sweet smile as he sits back, and I return it with one of my own.
“That’s very nice,” I say with mock politeness. I wonder if that kind promise even counts for the purposes of the game, but it must or he'd be jinxed by now.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sight of Zabini unbuttoning Parkinson’s blouse, lifting one of her breasts from her bra, and drawing the nipple between his teeth. I don't know which card he drew, but I’m sure glad he picked it before I had the misfortune to. (I would like to keep my balls, thanks.)
Parkinson, who doesn’t seem at all embarrassed about what just happened, eyes the cards on the table. Once she completes her turn, we will have finished the first round. We have twelve players and seventy-two cards, which means there will be five more rounds. It doesn't sound like much, but a lot can happen in that time. And knowing my luck, it probably will.
The Firewhisky is starting to take the edge off a little. I savour the burn in my chest because it's better than listening to Neville reveal his most fervent sexual desires or watching Lavender and Parvati stick their tongues down each other's throats. And yet, despite all that's happening, and the fact that I've angled myself away from Malfoy to the furthest extent possible, I remain aware of his every breath. I doubt there's a single nerve in my body that isn't attuned to his presence.
My second turn comes much too soon. I pull another card from the deck. The High Priestess. The woman on the card looks cold and impassive; she's definitely not going to show me any mercy.
Hermione flips a page, then reads: “'In divination, The High Priestess sometimes foretells the revelation of a secret. If you have known your partner before sitting down for the game, divulge the most intimate thought you've had about him or her, prior to today. If not...' Well, you know each other, so the rest doesn’t apply."
The sudden urge to hang my head and give up is overwhelming. What am I supposed to say? I've never thought about Malfoy intimately before. Except maybe...
“Well, let's have it," Malfoy says.
It's probably best to just get this over with.
"I've wondered if you have any scarring from... you know," I tell him. Perhaps that's not what most people would consider an intimate thought, but it does make me imagine what's underneath that crisp white shirt.
Once again, I see a flicker of some unidentifiable emotion on his face, but then he snorts and it's gone. My eyes travel down the line of his neck as he chooses a card. The Sectumsempra curse hit him on the neck as well as his chest, but there's no sign of it there. Snape probably managed to prevent it. I feel sort of horrible for being disappointed about that. It's as if some small part of me wished I'd left my mark on Malfoy.
The lucky bastard draws an Ace, and we all drink. I finish what's left in my glass and refill it. It's best to be prepared. Who knows what's next?
My limbs are starting to feel heavy; it’s getting easier to watch and listen to the others carry out the cards’ instructions. Right now, Susan’s giving Boot a strip tease. It doesn’t do anything for me – I guess I’m just not much of a voyeur – but at least I’ve stopped blushing.
I entertain myself by imagining what would happen if Malfoy had picked that card. It’s meant to be an amusing thought, but it turns out to be more arousing than it is funny. I banish the picture from my mind before my cock has a chance to respond – I’m wearing thin cotton pyjama trousers, for Godric’s sake.
“Potter, it’s your turn.” The sound of Malfoy’s voice brings my attention back to the game.
“Oh, right.”
This time I turn over the Eight of Swords. On the card, a bound and blindfolded woman stands within a circle of swords. Malfoy smirks gleefully.
It doesn’t take me long to put two and two together.
“Let me guess,” I say as Hermione locates the instructions for the Eight of Swords. “I’m supposed to let Malfoy tie me up and blindfold me.”
“For the rest of the game,” Hermione adds with a sympathetic smile.
"Not bloody likely," says Ron.
Malfoy, however, seems to think it is likely because he has just taken out his wand.
Ron springs upright. "You put that wand down! Harry, you're not gonna to let him do it, are you?"
The colour drains from Ron's face when I shrug and hold my wrists out for Malfoy.
"Behind your back," Malfoy says. His sneer grows as I reposition my hands behind my back. My hate for him bubbles inside me like an overheated caustic potion, but I clench my jaw and wait.
"Incarecerous!" There's a sadistic undertone to Malfoy's softly-spoken spell.
He puts his wand away and reaches up to his neck to undo his green-and-silver tie. The sight makes my breath catch; I turn away to hide any visible reaction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him rise onto his knees and lean towards me. His fingers brush my hair as the warm silk covers my eyes. I'm not sure which of these sensations is responsible for the unwelcome shiver that runs down my back.
Life, it seems, is full of surprises. Twenty minutes ago, I thought this was going to be a typical Saturday night. Now Draco Malfoy is blindfolding me with his tie. I can honestly say I never saw this coming.
"You look stunning, Potter." Something about the way he says that makes me swallow hard. I wish I could see his expression.
Daphne giggles. "Choose a card, Draco."
I hear the sound of a card being turned over.
"Eight of Wands," he says.
Hermione flips through a few pages in the booklet. "'This is a card of communication. If your partner is someone you've known prior to beginning the game, tell him or her something you've not yet had the chance – or the courage – to say. Your partner should do the same.'"
Malfoy gives a dramatic sigh. The git. He's not the one who has to sit bound and blindfolded for the rest of the game.
I expect some sort of witty insult, like in the first round, but instead he says, "Thank you." His tone is solemn, the words thick with layers of meaning. I don't ask for an elaboration; I don't need one.
I give a small nod and scramble to think of something meaningful to say.
"Potter?" Zabini prods.
"I'm sorry."
The words, directed at Malfoy, escape my mouth before I've even had the chance to consider what I'm sorry about. That I refused to be his friend when we were eleven? That his father was sent to Azkaban at the end of fifth year? That I pulled those wands out of his hand before escaping Malfoy Manor? I'm not sorry for any of those things. And yet, on some level, I am.
His response is little more than a whisper. "So am I."
After a short pause the game continues. Zabini's card instructs us to drink, and I'm glad for it; the buzz has started to wear off. Malfoy raises my glass to my lips; I take a long sip, then try my best to block everything out until it's my turn again.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Hermione says, while Terry carries out his task of kissing Susan in nine places, "you're exempt from choosing cards for the rest of the game."
"Excellent," I reply, but I'm not sure if I mean it.
Now it's Malfoy's turn again. The room goes silent after he chooses his card.
Hermione is the first to speak, and she sounds embarrassed for me. "Well, I think we all know by now what the twos mean."
I do. Lavender and Parvati chose a two in the second round – right before they started swapping spit. Ron mutters something under his breath, and Zabini sniggers, but otherwise nothing happens. I close my eyes against the thin slivers of light that Malfoy's tie is letting in. I expected that if it came to this, Malfoy would take the jinx rather than follow through with the task. I didn't care before, but now that he's about to do it I feel a wave of disappointment rush through me.
"Kiss the boy, Draco!" Parkinson's definitely enjoying herself more than I am.
I take in a breath, seconds away from asking if I can take this bloody blindfold off since Malfoy obviously wants out, but then I hear him move. I expect his mouth to crash against mine, angry and eager to get this kiss over with. But instead I feel just a light, hesitant brush of his lips against mine.
The sound of our shuddering breaths fills my ears as he leans in further. My tongue acts without my permission, pushing past his teeth and into the warmth and wetness of his mouth. The sensation causes a tightening low in my belly. Malfoy, however, stiffens.
Embarrassed, I start to pull back, but he raises his hand to the back of my head and returns the kiss. I can't help but wonder if his stomach is aflutter, like mine is.
The gentleness doesn't last long; his lips press harder and harder against mine, his tongue delving deeper into my mouth. I want to put my hands on him and pull him down on top of me, but I can't, so I pour all my frustration into the kiss.
By the time his mouth leaves mine, I'm more aroused than I've ever been in my life – which puts me in a humiliating position, considering that my arms are tied behind my back and I'm wearing thin pyjama trousers. I can't see myself, of course, but I imagine I'm quite the spectacle.
It's hard to hear anything over the pounding in my ears as the others continue the game. I still don't think the cards we're playing with have any power, but the tasks do seem to be getting kinkier. My intoxicated mind produces images of Malfoy wanking for me. I wouldn't be able to see him if he did, but I'd love to hear the changes in his breathing, the sound of his hand stroking his cock, maybe an occasional suppressed moan. Merlin, what has this game done to me?
When it's Malfoy's turn again, I find myself holding my breath. There's a slight tremor in his voice as he announces his card: Strength. Daphne and Parkinson giggle as we wait for Hermione to read the instructions.
"'Strength speaks of our ability to control our passions, to tame the beast within. In sexual terms, this means practicing self-control and allowing ourselves to enjoy the journey rather than rushing towards the destination.'" She pauses before continuing. "'Without removing your partner's clothing, bring him or her to the brink of orgasm, then stop.'"
My jaw drops. Malfoy probably will do this one, just to watch me suffer.
Ron yawns loudly. "Wow, it's really late. I better get to bed if I'm to keep the Quaffle out of our hoops tomorrow. Goodnight!" A moment later his footsteps can be heard going up the stairs.
Malfoy laughs, and I'm startled to hear his voice coming from in front of me – I never noticed him move. Next thing I know, his hand is on my thigh, sliding upward. My breath catches.
"You can pull out of the game if you want," he says. "Then the jinx will fall on you." His voice sounds hopeful, but I'd have to be an idiot to choose a jinx over being brought to the brink of orgasm – even if the latter promises to be just as painful.
"I think I prefer you to do what the card instructs," I tell him, grinning.
His hand starts travelling in the wrong direction on my thigh: it should be moving towards my cock, not my knee. And definitely not down my shin.
As his fingers slide down to my ankle, I feel his teeth press into my knee. It isn't exactly a bite; he's just resting his mouth on my raised leg. After a moment of non-motion, he begins to slowly bite down on the fabric of my trousers. Once there's a bit caught in between his teeth, he pulls back roughly, giving the cotton a tug. My heart picks up speed: Malfoy wants to play dirty.
It's funny how, without the sense of sight, it's even more difficult than usual to focus on anything but my cock – when I'm turned on, that is. And right now I'm definitely turned on.
I'm seconds away from shouting at him to do something when his tongue swipes the tented fabric over my cock. My head starts to spin. Maybe it's been spinning all along, from the alcohol, but I've been too preoccupied with my thoughts to notice until now. Malfoy's tongue on my prick is a lot to take in. Given the card's instructions, I assumed he’d touch me there, but not with his mouth.
He wraps his arms around my thighs for leverage, then takes my shaft gently in between his teeth and drags his tongue back and forth a few times. When he lets go, I exhale, unsure of how long I held my breath. A moment later he takes the head of my cock into his mouth, licking and sucking until the cotton is thoroughly soaked and clings to my dick. His hands never leave my thighs as he goes through all the motions of a blowjob as best he can with my pyjamas on.
I'm finding it hard to breathe. But what do I expect? Draco Malfoy is, to all intents and purposes, giving me head in front of over a dozen people.
His hold on my thighs tightens. The movements of his tongue are getting more insistent by the second. I tilt my head back, mouth open around a suppressed moan. The pressure in my groin has built almost to a peak. I wonder what would happen if I reacted as little as possible and fooled him into thinking I wasn't quite there yet. Would we get jinxed if I came?
Unfortunately my ragged breathing gives me away. His mouth and hands are gone in an instant, and I'm left wanting. Fuck this game.
"Wow, that was intense." Daphne sounds as if she might be fanning herself with her cards.
If my hands weren't tied behind my back I'd collapse right now, but I have to settle for taking a series of slow, deep breaths to calm down. It's a good thing I'm blindfolded – I'd surely die if I saw Malfoy's face right now.
Zabini's card gives him and Parkinson five minutes to do whatever they please. The silence that follows suggests that they're putting on a good show. I give a start when, out of nowhere, someone straddles me. I can only assume it's Malfoy. His cock is hard against mine; I can't help but jerk my hips as he presses his lips against my ear.
"Do you want to get this over with tonight?"
That was the last question I expected. Our card combination did say we are supposed to 'consummate' our relationship within a fortnight, but I've never put much stock in what cards say, and I didn't think he did either. My jaw drops because I honestly don't know what my answer is. Of course I want to get shagged, but with Malfoy? I get nervous just thinking about it. With him, I'd definitely be performing under pressure. And if I didn't please, he wouldn't be shy about letting me know.
This moment of hesitation determines my decision. I've shown weakness, and with Malfoy that's something I can't allow. Even now, with our cocks pressed together and aching to be taken out of our trousers, we're at war. I can't let him win.
"It's just a game, Malfoy. A superstition."
I can feel him tense. His response, when it comes, is acerbic. "Right, what was I thinking?"
He springs from my lap as if burned. The rest of the game goes by without another word exchanged between us. His last card instructs us to drink, which I'm sure he's happy about, but I can't honestly say I am.
There's an emptiness in my chest when I finally take off my blindfold and catch only a glimpse of his back as he leaves the common room. The Slytherins are all glaring at me; everyone else is oddly silent. Hermione casts her eyes downward when I look at her.
They must all be crazy. Malfoy and I could never get on.
II. The Lovers' Curse
