Chapter Text
September, 1996
I hated taking the train to and from school. The only measure of enjoyment I received from the long, drawn-out and bumpy ride was that I usually got to spend hours talking to and touching Draco Malfoy, the love of my life.
The trade-off to such an enjoyable past-time was that I had to endure the uncomfortable attentions of Blaise Zabini, Draco's best mate. Thank Merlin there were others about us at all times (usually the tag-team lummoxes, Crabbe and Goyle) to keep me from actually being alone with the darkly-brooding Italian, however, as he had always made me decidedly uncomfortable.
From the day we'd been introduced back in first year on the initial ride from King's Cross Station to Hogwarts, Zabini had ever been able to manipulate a seating arrangement so he was parked across from or at an advantageous angle to face me, all for the irritating purpose of engaging me in a heated staring contest. It's always been my belief that he employed such passive-aggressive behaviour because he was jealous of my close relationship to Draco and wanted to oust me from that place of power (everyone knew that a nice pair of breasts trumped the male bond, and as a result, I was privy to more of Draco's innermost secrets than his guy friends). Undaunted by his rude manners, I tended to ignore Zabini most days, refusing to acknowledge the odd fluttering in my belly that he unintentionally created each time our eyes met. I was Malfoy's girl – had been from day one and always would be, and nothing and no one would change that. I refused to be chased from my position at his side, especially as a result of something as pathetically benign as staring.
Today, my platinum-haired boyfriend lay sprawled across my lap, taking up two seats in our private compartment, and I listened to him rant about Professor Slughorn's first invitation-only chat, which was supposedly an introductory feeler for those select students that the man had deemed privileged enough to join his legendary 'Slug Club'. Zabini had been invited to that soiree, but Draco hadn't, and I could tell that the snub had burned his britches. "Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at 'the Chosen One,' but that Weasley girl! What's so special about her?" he sneered.
"A lot of boys like her," I stated, my eyes zeroing in on Zabini across from me, whom I believed to have a fascination in the feisty redhead, as the two had a Quidditch rivalry that nearly equalled Draco's for Potter. I kept my boyfriend in my peripheral vision, though, trying to note his reaction, too. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"
His handsome face darkened with an emotion I didn't like and his eyes narrowed. "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," he coolly stated.
For some inexplicable reason, a small knot in my chest loosened with that proclamation.
The conversation went on for a bit longer and I interjected commentary here and there, but eventually it lulled and Draco laid his head back against my thigh to allow me to continue my ministrations. I ran my fingers through his baby-fine hair, scraping the scalp as he liked with my nails and silently contemplated my earlier reaction to the conversation about Ginny Weasley. Clearly, my relief at Blaise's answer had more to do with the fact that I didn't have to worry about the man's loyalty to our group. He'd made it clear that he wouldn't cross House lines, no matter how enticing the slag, and had boldly stated his allegiance to the cause of blood purity in one fell swoop. That meant that he was still one of us, and no Gryffindor pretty bird was going to change that. That was the source of my relief.
Yes, that's all there had been to it. I wasn't concerned for any other reason than that.
Right.
When we pulled into the station in Hogsmeade, and Draco stayed behind in our compartment, encouraging me to go ahead of him, I reluctantly followed Goyle out. At the torch-lit carriage area, I waited for the next coach, but my gaze was glued to the platform behind as I waited for Malfoy to reappear. What had held him back? Was he meeting with someone? For a moment, I panicked that it was another witch. Had he found someone else? Was that the reason for his nonchalant dismissal of me?
So caught up in my imaginings, I failed to notice Zabini crowding in against my back. His hot breath tickled my ear lobe as he bent his head to mine and his warm, rather solid chest pressed against my spine. Aligned just perfectly with my body, I felt the undeniable press of his hard erection. "You should know better than to be jealous of the She-Weasel, my vixen," he whispered the secret against my skin in a low, enticing tone. Unconsciously, I shivered in response.
Angry that he would dare to take such liberties, I turned with a scathing rebuttal upon my lips, but he was already gone, hopping into the same carriage as Crabbe, Goyle, Warrington, and Pucey, leaving me to catch the next ride with Millicent, Tracey, and Daphne, who were just now approaching. His dark, heated gaze locked onto mine through the coach's window and didn't waver until it turned a corner down the lane and was out of sight.
I rubbed my arms to ward off the chill, insistently attributing my goosebumps to the evening air of autumnal Scotland.