Malfoy's Moon

earthquake

The tones of music begin to fade into a foggy horizon as she leads Malfoy out of the Great Hall and towards an empty storage room. She opens the wooden door and steps into the dimly lit room.

The moment she and him are inside, she tightens her hand around the handle of the knife under her dress and almost whips it out until he's suddenly pinned her against the wall, his knee locking her in place.

He slides his hand up and as she tenses, she can feel him grab the handle of the knife. With his other hand, he holds her arms to the wall so that she can't move, locked in an embrace of anger.

"I wouldn't do this if I were you," he says softly, his hand tightening around handle, making his fingers brush against her thigh.

A crashing sense of trepidation courses through her. She's never felt fear, not like this. This very horror that obstructs her airways, compresses her lungs as all feeling rushes from her aching head down to her thigh, where Malfoy still holds onto the knife.

She can hardly begin to mentally scrutinize the semantics in her panic. Was it the fact that she was having trouble looking him in the eye while dancing? Or had he maybe felt the nerves in her fingertips while gripping his shoulders as he spun her around the dance floor?

As Malfoy has her in a tight, breathless hold against the wall, Astra desperately finds a reason for what had given her away, for what had caused her to fail, for what had made him see right through her charming mask into her darker intentions.

"I don't know what you're trying to do," Malfoy says in a whisper, his lips close to her neck, "But you'd better stop, yeah?"

The rise in agitation from his voice causes her to choke out, her words vibrating within her dry throat. "Let go."

Malfoy slowly begins to drag the handle of the knife down her thigh, so painstakingly slowly, leaving her startled at how something that didn't draw blood could be so suffering by just being so deliberate and steady.

She knows he's fully aware of what he's doing, this slow terror that roughly pounds her mind, the very touch between skin and the handle of the knife that has the same vigor as the grinding of tectonic plates. And while he does it, he keeps his cold grey eyes on hers the entire time.

When he finally removes his hand, the knife stiffly held in it, from under her dress, the sudden lack of pressure sends nerve shocks with the same vitality of a thundering earthquake.

This dizzying energy stimulates something in her, an urge to do something. She lunges forward with every intent on taking the knife from his hand, but Malfoy slams her against the opposite wall, letting the knife drop away from her reach.

The pressure pounds in her ears and she's sure the walls will crumble from the electrifying force.

Thinking quickly, she knees him in the stomach and he releases her with a painful grunt, kneeling over.

She instantly takes advantage of his loss of control and nearly tackles him, causing both of them to fall gracelessly onto the floor. Her legs tightening their hold on either side of him while he lays on the ground, her hands find his weakness and clasp around his throat. She can see his eyes widen, the slightest notion of discomfort.

Keep him unconscious long enough to send a note to Crouch, where they'd retrieve him and –

Like an ocean current pulling a tide back to shore, she's brought off her thoughts when she can feel his hands numbly touch her back. Before she can fully register his actions, she can feel his fingers fumble around with the zip of her dress.

Her nerves thrum with terror as the aftershocks of an earthquake come pummeling down.

"Let go or it comes down," Malfoy chokes out, his breath limited by her hands clasped tightly around his neck.

"No," she whispers furiously. She can't let this happen, can't comprehend that she's this close to fulfilling her task, and it's beginning to slip away between her fingers. Or maybe she could never really catch a hold of it in the first place. Like rain spilling out of a cupped hand held towards the sky, if you hold it there long enough.

"Let go of me," he hisses through his teeth, his jaw clenched tightly. She contemplates holding onto his throat tighter, but then his finger begins to slowly pull the zipper down with a rough tug.

"Stop," she says, desperately.

As the zipper of her dress comes dangerously close towards the end, she's forced to let go of him, and he launches himself out of her way, banging into the opposite wall with another low groan of pain.

She weakly pulls herself up into a sitting position and rests her head on the back of the room, feeling her heart roar at a dangerous pace. She keeps her back towards the wall, which feels cool against her bare skin from which Malfoy had exposed by partly zipping down her dress.

For several heartbeats, the room is deadly silent except for Malfoy's heavy breathing.

"You're vile," she gasps, breaking the silence.

"Me?" Malfoy scoffs, his deep, vibrating voice ricocheting off the walls of the room. "You're insane, Hawkings."

As she tries to stand up, a rapid feeling of pain spreads across her abdomen and she slumps back down, clutching her ribs. Evidently, this was the result of Malfoy slamming her against the wall twice in the span of five minutes.

"Do you have your wand with you?" Malfoy says, noticing her discomfort with cold, watching eyes. She says nothing.

"Do you?" He repeats, dangerously.

"No, I don't," she says in an icy tone.

"Right," he responds with a scoff, "all you have is that bleeding knife." He draws out his own wand from the pocket of his black suit and points it towards her upper stomach, muttering something incoherent.

"What are you –" Astra begins to say, and then she cuts off into a groan as something strange rushes through her. When it's over, she feels slightly sore, but no longer those stabbing feelings of pain. While her thoughts are whirring in a pandemonium, she can hardly take the time to mull over Malfoy's unexpected action.

She strains her ears for the sound of lingering music left over from the dance, but she can barely hear anything. It must've been late at night. She stands up gingerly and then starts to exit the room when she can suddenly feel ice-cold fingers lacing around her ankle, nearly causing her to trip.

"You're not going to talk about this to anyone, you hear me?" Draco says, his fingers tightening around her ankle for a second. With his other hand, he reaches for the knife laying on the ground nearby. "And this knife... got it from the kitchens, did you?"

She feels enraged as she forces herself to meet his cold, haughty gaze.

"I'll take the liberty of returning it, then," he says, raising an eyebrow.

And it further antagonizes her at the state of ataraxy he was in, how poised and cool his voice was, even though she knew he was in pain from her attack at him.

In a sudden moment of recklessness, she kicks out at him, forcing him to let go of her ankle, and then she leaves the room.

Any last trickles of euphonious piano music leftover from the dance ball have died, the walls still sinking in the ghosts of the echoing sounds like some tranquil graveyard.

Whatever earthquake she had experienced, this is now the aftermath and she's utterly stranded.

a/n: thoughts?