Fatal Attraction | D.M. (Soft Rewrite)

Chapter Forty-Two - Take Two

'I forgot there were so many steps,' Ophelia called.

Her hand sliding across the bannister, as she hurried upstairs. The varnished wooden fixture bolted to the wall - was the only thing stopping her from stumbling over the uneven steps. Their once flat surface now dipped in awkward places, to accommodate the memory of past centuries. The footsteps of each generation sculpted in stone.

'It was all the firewhisky,' Draco quipped back.

His presence a shadow over her shoulder. His voice a delightful break in the silence.

The feel of his palm against her back - encouraging her to keep walking - set her body spiralling.

She wasn't an idiot. She had an imagination. And there was obviously a reason Draco wanted them to go, otherwise they would be in the room of requirement. If privacy was all he wanted then this journey was unnecessary.

The numerous flights of stairs gave her an opportunity to reflect on what happened at the summit of this almost never-ending turret, the night of the ball. A place Ophelia had no good reason to revisit until now.

They both solemnly hoped to replace the way that night ended with a better kiss. Not one interrupted by her necklace or spoiled by miscommunication.

'...Although I do have my flask, if you want to change that?'

'Really?' Ophelia giggled. Not taking another step, she paused to turn and face him.

'Don't doubt me,' he warned, while retrieving the leather-bound container from his pocket, 'it lives in these robes.'

'Good to know you're still upholding that bad boy stereotype...I was beginning to worry you'd gone soft,' she teased.

'Soft?' Draco scoffed. His insides now flagging a huge warning sign. But instead of reacting - he took a generous swig from his flask. And focused on the fiery taste, not Ophelia's comment, which was obviously intended to rile him.

'A little,' Ophelia prodded, before playing innocent. Chewing her bottom lip, then slowly releasing it from between her teeth. She watched how this drawn out motion affected him. How Draco's eyes were trained on her mouth. His lids widening, his pupils dilating.

A wicked grin quirked over his expression, as Ophelia reached for his flask.

Her smile was too smug for his liking. And he was happy to serve a gentle reality check - a light reminder - so she didn't mistake his submission last night for permission to misbehave.

There was still a way to rectify the situation... Even if he was planning on behaving even more 'soft,' as the sun bade farewell on the horizon.

Draco's reflexes acted before she could blink. Her hand closing on empty space, to feel just a trace of leather hide against her fingertips.

Draco couldn't resist tossing the container in the air to catch with his other hand. The seamless transfer, provoking the best response from Ophelia. Whose face fell at the exact moment his flask whisked past, to be snatched out of reach and held behind his back.

Her plump bottom lip dropped, and her arms defiantly crossed over her chest. As she braced herself for some snide comment or tactless celebration...but it never came.

'That wasn't very nice,' she murmured, as her brows furrowed.

'No,' he corrected impassively. Then switched his tone to say, 'it's not nice to take without asking,' in a mocking voice that both imitated and exaggerated the way she sounded.