All You Want

12) So Close With You On My Lips

He rested a hand on a desk and leaned heavily on it as he tried to sort out how exactly the situation had gone from snogging Granger to having Granger ask him to Owl her in a day or two if he wanted them to have sex.

He didn't think he understood Omegas. That, or Granger was just confusing as hell. Either way he was painfully hard, and standing in a classroom thick with the scent of her arousal. He could taste it in the air, and it made him groan with frustration. He kicked a chair across the room.

Why on earth had she expected he'd say no to sex?

There was a part of him that wanted to go hunt her down, drag her into the nearest alcove, and ravish her in order to demonstrate just how willing he was.

But apparently sex was not an option that day. Granger had decided they required a period of—reflection. As though he hadn't already spent the last month reflecting on how he'd kill to shag her again.

Bloody fucking hell. He buried his face in his hands and groaned again.

Finally, after giving himself a few more minutes to try to clear his head, he picked up his satchel, and headed stiffly toward to Slytherin common room. He took an extended and ice-cold shower while he reviewed his entire conversation with Granger carefully.

The whole thing was just surreal from the moment she closed the door up to the moment she bolted.

He'd felt extremely on edge being alone with her again. It would never have occurred to him that she was trying to get him alone in order to ask him to scent-mark on her.

When she'd shut the door and then faced him, she'd looked visibly uneasy; which had been demoralizing but unsurprising.

She almost always looked uncomfortable around him, like she was bracing herself for something. It was painful to even look at her. A constant repeat of watching the moment she'd emerged from her heat; her expression had abruptly shifted from happy and open and trusting, to stunned and horrified and betrayed.

He'd braced himself for that eventuality but it had still fractured something in him.

They'd just had sex the last time, he'd still been knotted inside of her and she'd looked—blissful, relaxed, and happy, curled up in his arms. Then, suddenly, her eyes cleared and she'd turned nearly grey with horror.

She just froze and stared at him speechless for a full minute. Then the first thing she said was ask why he'd care if she were hurt.

Draco hadn't known what to say. The question had caught him so off-guard he couldn't even find any words.

It was like being gutted.

He'd realized then that she still saw him as exactly the same person who'd stood by and let her be tortured in his house; someone who would turn and look away when she was screaming and crying, and not do anything.

That was the kind of person he was to her.

She hadn't testified for him because she thought he would or could be anything different. She'd done it for Potter, without expecting Draco to have the decency to even appreciate it. Without ever expecting him to care if she were hurt. Without ever expecting him to extend the courtesy of protection to her.

Then she looked away before he could find a way to answer. They couldn't physically separate from each other so she'd just buried her face in the crook of her arm, and hadn't even been willing to look at him for the rest of their conversation. When he'd apologized, again and again, she hadn't acknowledged it. As though she were willing his existence away. She buried her face, and eventually he realized she'd fallen asleep.