New Vinyl (A Draco Malfoy Story)

III

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked. I opened my eyes, the lapse of time between then and now unclear. His porridge sat forgotten in front of him, his quill set down from whatever essay he got up early to work on over breakfast. I smiled, pulling out my finger slowly.

"Eating is such a sensual act, isn't it?"

"Is it?" he asked. But I had already gotten up from my spot a few seats down from his. Leaning over the table, I pulled his spoon out of his porridge, the entirety of it coated in a light brown mush. Not particularly appetizing, but I felt determined to make my point. He watched me, somewhat captivated, his messy blonde hair mussed from the shower. His robes lay on the table beside him, his white sleeves rolled up to the elbows, his tie pulled loose. I brought the metal up to my lips, my eyes locked on his. Warm and sweet, I let the metal slide against my tongue. Nice and slow. A short moan came from deep within my gut. A flash of pink drew my gaze down to his mouth. His tongue pressed against his two front teeth, a reactionary motion. When the spoon cleared my lips, I licked them, soft and pink and coated with the lingering taste of the oat and cinnamon concoction. The utensil fell from my fingers, plopping back down into the porridge.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, the sound echoing all around the room. I turned around, uninterested in a word Draco had to say about my raunchy display. A small group of Ravenclaw girls walked in, chattering in anticipation of another day of learning. I felt sorry for them, picking at their eggs halfheartedly, more interested in the books they flipped through, pointing out God only knows what could be more interesting in the text than that of experiencing a truly fantastic food orgasm like the one I just experienced. One thing I knew for sure, exiting the Great Hall, my mind already upstairs lusting after the chocolate frogs in my room.

Food is fucking sexy when you're high.

Moving past the throngs of students headed to the Great Hall for breakfast, a shock of red hair attached to a very tall, very inconveniently placed human impeded my way. I swerved. "Imogene?" The sound of my name paralyzed me, so unexpected and random from the mouth of the infamous George Weasley. I acknowledged him with a nod. "You're Aimee's friend?"

"I don't know that I'd use that term, exactly," I said.

"Well, that's the term she used."

An imaginary knife tore at my gut. Side stepping the moment of discomfort, I crossed my arms, diverting any attention to how shitty I felt in that moment. "Do you need something?" I asked. In case I didn't feel like enough of a jerk already, his face fell at the sour note to my voice. I sighed, backtracking. "I'm late getting ready."

"Right," he said. He motioned for me to step out from the middle of the hallway. Humoring him, I took a spot against the wall, using a suit of armor as a shield from the masses. "Aimee asked me for a favor. She said you were looking to get out of the castle for a night?" My jaw dropped. He was talking about the Fairest concert. Taking the stunned expression as a 'yes,' George smiled. "I think I might be of some assistance."

By the time George led me to the Serpentine Corridor on the third floor, Aimee's name came up three or four more times in conversation. I noticed his ears and cheeks flush a slight pink each time, and suddenly this little favor made so much more sense. We stopped in front of a revolting statue, the name Gunhilda of Gorsemoor etched in the stone at the bottom of her feet.

"Poor woman," I said, pitying eyes surveying the unflattering representation of the woman in all her one-eyed, hunchbacked glory. George pulled out his wand and pointed it at the hunchback. "Woah!" I lowered his wand hand. "No need for vandalism. It's not worth getting detention over. No matter how much of an eyesore she is."

"Dissendium," he said, tapping the tip of his wand to the witch's back. The stone moved, revealing a hollow opening. I stepped forward, peering down into it. "It's a passage. To Honeydukes' cellar."

"Brilliant!" I jumped, clapping my hands under my chin.

"You can't tell anyone," he said. Taking my pinched index finger and thumb, I sealed my lips shut with an imaginary zipper. He gave a stern expression. "I mean it. Nobody can know. Not even your friends. The more who know about this, the more likely it'll be found out. Then nobody can use it. Got it?" The hump of the witch began moving again, the sound of stone grinding against stone, closing up the passage and returning to its normal, ugly self. As if nothing out of the norm had transpired.

"I won't say anything. I promise." The word of a Slytherin meant little to George Weasley, as was evident in the doubtful raise of his eyebrow. Clearly, he chose his adoration of Aimee over the potential consequences of leaking this secret to a lowly Slytherin, and looked to be regretting it. "You can trust me."

"I trust Aimee," he said.

Awkwardness settled in between the two of us. What to say to that, after all? I merely shrugged, looking down at my shoes. "Alright. Bye, then," Classes would be starting soon, and I did not want to deal with being seen with a Weasley. Especially so soon after the Aimee incident. Pansy would have a field day with it. He waved, shrinking away and getting lost amid the morning student traffic jam.

I re-traced my footsteps, returning back to the staircase leading down to the first floor corridor where George had taken me, trying desperately to put the route to memory. Third floor. Serpentine Corridor. Ugly ass witch statue with a hump. I took the steps down quickly, aiming for the Slytherin common room. The ruckus of students moving along the many corridors above to their first classes heightened. Breezing past an open door, a shrill call stopped me in my tracks. "Miss Hill." Professor McGonagall poked her head out from her office. She held a textbook in her palm, on her way to teaching her first class. "That is not dress code."

"I know," I said, thumbing my jacket sleeve. I counted my lucky stars the jacket was still buttoned closed. The professor might have had a coronary at the sight of the thin tank top beneath it. "I was just on my way to change."

"Which would make you very late for Professor Flitwick's Charms lesson, indeed," Professor McGonagall said. But she was no fool. She knew as well as I did that I had no intention of attending Charms. "Come in, Miss Hill. Sit." She held her arm to the open doorway. I sighed, following her into the study that was her office. The fireplace crackled a warm blaze in the corner. I sat in the chair opposite the desk, prepared for my scolding. "It is still early in your fifth year, Miss Hill. The route you're headed, you are unlikely to be prepared for your O.W.L.'s. This will have a drastic effect on your future."

"Maybe at a Ministry job, yes," I said.

"And you do not vie for a Ministry position, I take it?" I shook my head no. "Well, then," she said, clasping her hands over her lap, seated demurely on the corner of her desk. "What, might I ask, do you wish to do?" I pressed my lips together. They felt incredibly dry. The truth was, I didn't know. But admitting to even that much felt too exposed. "Miss Hill, I understand if you don't know. Or don't care. All I can say is, you show great potential. You are a bright witch. I urge you to do your best to keep as many doors open as possible. People have a tendency to change their minds with the passage of time. I'd like you to have that option."

"Yes, Professor." The office was far too small now. My body itched to spring from the chair and run away, uncomfortable under the professor's knowing gaze.

"Now, off to Charms with you." I jumped up, nodding. Halfway to the door, she added, "And I'll see you in detention tomorrow morning."

"What?" I nearly twisted my ankle, whipping around so quickly.

"Dress code violation. And tardiness," she said, very matter-of-fact.

"But Professor—"

"And should you for whatever reason not show up to Charms class, expect to tack on a Sunday detention, as well." She moved past me, taking the doorknob in her hand. I exited behind her, preparing any number of excuses in my head. But with the click of her office door locking, she turned and nodded my dismissal. "Good day, Miss Hill."

Fuming, I stomped off toward the Dungeons. Seeing as I already had detention for tardiness, I damn well took my time getting there.