Poison Ivy || Draco Malfoy

17 - Where Would You Like Me, Miss Parkinson?

"But you did," Draco simply shrugged, swiftly removing his feet from the table and standing up. "And if I don't do this, then you'll be responsible for my untimely death."

He crossed the room, instantly closing the gap between us. He was so close I could smell the woody scent of his cologne, the coffee on his breath and the rain in his hair.

My heart raced in my chest matching my shallow and rapid breaths. I couldn't take it, and he fully well knew it.

"Don't worry," he growled, moving his lips to my ear so that his hot breath tickled against my skin, "I draw the line at fucking the teacher."

And all of a sudden his hands were on my waist, making me gasp. Before I could register what he was doing, he manoeuvred me out of the way of the door, stepped past me and yanked it open.

What the fuck have I done? I thought in upmost panic as the class filled with excited cries at the appearance of the Slytherin Prince; of whom had instantly removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, flashing his Dark Mark to the flustered women.

"Well?" he asked, turning back to face me; a smirk playing on his lips as his silver eyes twinkled in amusement. "Where would you like me, Miss Parkinson?"

*****

I honestly couldn't decide if this was worse than the birthday I had to spend watching Draco sticking his tongue down my sister's throat.

At the end of the class, every single woman flocked around the Slytherin Prince, flicking their hair and giggling like silly little school girls.

I watched as many of them slipped him pieces of paper, no doubt with their numbers written on them.

Not one of my students thanked me, instead they stood blowing kisses and making googly eyes at Draco as they reluctantly left through the door.

"I have never seen such a pathetic display in my life!" I spat, feeling ridiculously hurt that no one had been there for my teachings.

"Oh hush, Parkinson," Draco muttered, pocketing the pieces of paper. "Jealously is such an ugly emotion, you know."

"I'm not jealous," I spluttered, angrily ripping down the rubbish half arsed drawings from the easels that had been created that session from those stupid bimbos. "I just wish people would take this class seriously."

"Oh, they seemed serious enough to me," Draco chuckled, watching me with an amused expression on his face. "You never know, we could have even met the future Mrs Malfoy tonight."

I almost didn't want to bother with the second class. Instead, I had the strongest urge to go home and cry myself to sleep.

"Oh, come on, Parkinson." Draco continued as I rammed the drawings into the bin. "We've got a whole term of this to get through. You can't blame me for wanting to make it enjoyable."

"If this second class is the same as the first, then I'm quitting!"

"Then not only will you have my death on your conscience but you will also have a shit load of pissed off witches who have paid your extortionate fees to draw me for the next four months baying for your blood! And I'm not getting paid a single fucking Knut so maybe you shouldn't begrudge me a lay or two!"

"My fees are not extortionate!"

"Pfft, whatever. You wouldn't catch me paying twenty Galleons an hour to draw a fucking loser."

This last comment took me by surprise; I felt whiplashed by his constant change in mood. One second he was referring to himself as though he thought he was some kind of god; the next he was putting himself down.

Blaise wasn't wrong about him being messed up.

"You're not a loser," I said, slowly turning to look at him.

There was an odd expression on his face that I couldn't quite read. He seemed sad, somehow.

"Yeah?" he said swallowing, causing his Adam's apple to bob in his throat as his silver eyes pierced mine, "then why is it that women only seem to want me for one thing?"

"You want more?" I asked, not being able to hide the incredulity from my voice. "Because I'm not being funny Draco, but you certainly don't act like it."

A sudden hiss escaped his lips as his face flickered in anger. "You don't know me, Parkinson, so shut the fuck up."

Feeling stung, as though I'd been slapped, I turned away from him and continued to set up the room in silence.

When the second class entered, I couldn't help but notice Draco had completely dropped the cocky attitude.

He sat, his face set in a stony expression as I explained to the new class of adoring ladies how to capture the beauty of the human portrait.

I made sure to excuse myself this time when the witches gathered around Draco at the end of the class, and went and hid myself in the kitchen, busying myself with cleaning the cups as I listened to them all gush over him.

When I eventually re-emerged, after the last student had left, Draco was stood, already coated up and ready to leave.

"Well," he coughed, looking somewhat awkward. "I guess that's me then, until tomorrow night."

"Thank you," I spoke, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He moved to the door, but then paused, seeming to hesitate.

"Fancy a birthday drink?" he asked, to my complete surprise.

I swallowed, finding that I really, really wanted to.

"I'm sorry," I said regretfully, "but Percy will be worried if I'm late."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, before yanking open the door. "It's not as though I'm short of company."

When the door slammed shut behind him, I found myself feeling an unexpected wave of sadness.

But it didn't compete to the level of shock when I accidentally knocked over the bin upon going back to my desk to retrieve my bag.

For, as I bent down to retrieve the scattered bits of paper which had fallen out over the floor, I realised something.

Draco had binned the numbers.

*****