Skin Of Pure Ice

chapter eleven

It is Thursday.

I am sitting in the Library after three whole hours of training. My body is on fire, along with my brain, but I am managing the pain with the book in my hand and Malfoy is across the way. Just far enough to where I do not feel the energy between us that pulls us closer but he is struggling in his seat and is trying to push farther back on the couch. Rearranging positions like he is uncomfortable.

We haven't talked since a week ago and even during training he was barely saying a word. I understand why.

The book in my hands is explaining the notion of love. What it is, who is love, how is love, when is love, and where is love. We don't know what love is. We have no clue who love is. We don't know how to love. We don't know when love is.

Besides my memories, I have never been in love. But has he? And I have no choice in asking the question because I know that if I haven't it would gnaw at me for the rest of my life which we all know is not a very long time.

"Yes..." He takes a breath. A grunt. "I have been in love before."

I am now in utter shock when he answers my question let alone says that he has.

"You, Draco Malfoy, have been in love before?" I don't turn down the tone in my voice as surprise. "I refuse to believe that you have any room in that dark, histeric heart, that you have ever been in love."

I could feel that he was offended by that but we all know it's true. He shuts the book and puts it on the table next to him. "Well believe me or not I have been." His face is dropping with each word. The mere thought of it gives him nausea.

"I don't believe it." I do the same to my book.

He seems to hesitate before he responds: "Sixth year, Slytherin, I will not give any names or associations."

"One of your fucks?"

He looks even more hurt after that comment. "No. She was not."

"So it is a she?"

His face is now distraught. "Yes, she is a she."

I choke out a laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Go on, explain this mystery woman."

Malfoy takes in a breath before he does. This pains him to talk about but my fascination takes over my empathy.

"She was..." He can't find the correct words. He sits there looking for a minute. "She was unimaginable. She was like this...this beautiful thing that captivated me in every way. She was kind, charismatic, and the most determined woman I have ever met. She never listened to anyone. She was like this fire that was always lit. She was so surreal. I fell in love with her–'' He thinks. "I don't know when but I did. I only did too late."

"Where is she now?" I feel like something is caught in my throat. Tears are fighting their way out of my eyes.

"I don't know." He looks down at his hands. "I lost her after the battle."

"I hope you find her one day."

"Me too."

* * *

It is now Friday.

Malfoy was at a meeting in the morning that leaned into most of the afternoon. The note was slipped under my door.

I had my fittings done by mid-afternoon and during the entire thing I couldn't stop thinking of that woman. Who was she? A Slytherin. Could be me. During the sixth year. Where my memory is the most distant.

"Alright, what do you think of the dress?" Narcissa finishes tying the back and dares I say it was gorgeous.

It was a long black satin dress. The top was a corset almost. Thin straps. The top design trailed down the middle of the dress and the sides were a solid black. My breasts were hardly poking out of it and I felt well covered enough. Better than that red napkin that called me a whore every which way.