Chapter Text
He’s been noticing her more and more lately. It's hard not to. She is in his friend group after all. Everyone's her friend. She's his friend. They're friends. They've been friends for some time now. Not as long as Theo's been friends with her of course, but they're friends nonetheless. He's been paying her increased attention too. For shits and giggles really. Hermione isn't bothered in the slightest. Finds it quite amusing actually. After all, Theo's an annoying little shit who deserves to be taken down a peg or two or ten sometimes, and Draco enjoys provoking him just because.
It's so easy to do, and she makes it even easier. Encourages it like the sly little demon she is because she also enjoys riling Theo up. Very much so. Takes great pleasure in throwing him off his game. Has made a pastime out of it really. When it comes to her, Theo's always a hair’s breadth away from self-destruction. Forever on a trigger wire the moment she gets close. Constantly on the cusp of going nuclear when she gets closer. The results are hilariously catastrophic every time, their favorite brand of disaster when it comes to him.
And Draco? He plays his role as instigator with increased devotion to the bit. A nudge here, a nudge there, a little push here, a bigger push there, just to see how much further she's willing to let him go.
He and Hermione have talked about it. This little fascination of his with her.
Lillith.
His little white dragon
(The debut of that particular pet name had been quite memorable. It was the day he discovered how easily his hand fit around the breadth of her neck. How tempting the hollow of her throat felt under his skin.)
It hasn't gone away, that little underlying something that always lurks between them. Despite how heavily in love he is with Hermione. Despite how obviously taken with Theo Lillith is.
It doesn't make him unhinged the way Theo becomes around her, but it does make him want. Rears its greedy little head at parties and gatherings, makes them lock eyes in a crowd or across a room, sits like a crushing weight on his chest until he’s finally moved to action to relieve the pressure. Little glances and gestures, fleeting touches and brushes of fingertips on skin, or sometimes the thoughtless vise of a five-fingered necklace adorning her throat. Theo’s breathing always becomes noticeably erratic over that particular idiosyncrasy.
Once it was a grip of the bare skin behind her knee as she walked past, so soft, so smooth, like satin. He’d watched her bait Theo all night then lure him hook, line and sinker into the bathroom. Knew she was about to let him fuck her, and Draco—he just couldn't stop himself. Had to leave a mark on her somehow, something to say he'd been there first. Even if it ended up being nothing more than the momentary press of his heated skin to hers that faded almost the instant he let go. The desire had been irrational and so unlike him. He hadn't understood it, but hadn't denied himself it either.
If it hadn't been Theo, it might've been him.
It might’ve been him.
She’s captivating, in a different way than Hermione, but alluring all the same. He'd be a fool’s fool to pretend otherwise. All finely-tuned, controlled chaos in pretty periwinkle wrapping—a stark comparison to the unbridled mayhem of her closest compatriots, Annie and Gigi, the hell-raisers—a wily, pastel-eyed, alabaster dragon. Always willing, always wanting to play. And he indulges…often. Takes every opportunity that presents itself. Laps it up with a nefarious tongue. She goes along seamlessly with it every time. A lingering look here, an innocent lean into him there, an ever-so-light touch to the back of his hand. A feathered brush of her fingertips through the ends of his hair as she passes by without stopping to chat. A decisive tug if she's feeling particularly feisty on a given day.
Their back and forth is nowhere near as intense as the game of cat-and-mouse she's got Theo caught up in (they are both the cat and neither can pretend at being the mouse). That ride requires goblin steel safety straps and the most advanced sticking charms known to man. The poor sod. Draco enjoys his suffering. It's entertaining.
No. Theirs is a more subtle, background type of current. Always lingering just under the surface. The one time Draco had dialed things up as far as he dared to go, he'd needed a bit of liquid courage to bolster his resolve. They'd all been drinking to be honest and he still doesn't really know how it happened to this day. How the ring didn't shred her for it. What he does recall is the way she warmed in his arms when he held her, how she shivered when he kissed her, how he savoured the little gasp she couldn't silence when he finally sunk his teeth into her skin. Though it had been just the once and never again, she was a rare, delicious thing and she’d let him in. Left him a wanting mess with an unignorable fever in his bones afterwards and didn't even blink twice. He's not fully sure she even remembers that night. They've never spoken of it.
Hermione had laughed uncontrollably for ten minutes straight the next morning when she saw the memories of him struggling to catch himself after Lillith had left him hard and straining on that balcony. To this day, she still bursts into hysterical peals of laughter whenever she recalls how it took him two whole days to shake himself out of the cunt-struck—the irony of that term—stupor that entire escapade had put him in. One's partner almost being killed by cursed ring magic while moving past second base, followed by oneself during attempted sex adds a healthy serving of fear to the experience. He still doesn't think it funny. Hermione wouldn't laugh quite so much had it been her instead. Were it not for the magic of his Malfoy signet coupled with the Black crest hanging around his neck (and buried beneath his shirt) countering much of the ring’s attempts, they'd likely have come much, much closer to exsanguination than they did.
Small miracles he supposes.
The adrenaline rush had been unmatched though. The memory of the heady thrill that flooded his body when they collided never fails to bring a self-satisfied grin to his face.
He’s roused from his thoughts by a familiar scent of lily and pear blossom curling into his nose. Looks up from the text he’s been drifting away over and sees her settle a few tables down from him. Watches her spread multiple papers and volumes out in the space in front of her. More research no doubt. That furrow between her brows confirms he's correct. She chews her lip while she scans her reading material. Her gloss is a pale pink today, almost the same color as her lips, but the extra shiny gleam gives away that she's wearing it. He wonders what it smells like, which leads him to wonder what it tastes like. Deliberates giving in to his shoulder demon for all of five seconds before—
She saves him the trouble, “Draconis.”
Of course she felt his eyes on her.
“Lillipad.”
“On the alert are you?” her smile is wry.
A corner of his mouth quirks, “I'm always ready…”
He lets the sentence trail off, the unspoken “for anything" left unspoken, because she knows what he means.
“Indeed you are. Serves us well.”
“It does,” he affirms.
Lillith's lips twist into a pensive smirk because she's already deduced the game is afoot.
“He's not even nearby and here you are so…eager. My, my. Is the little green dragon out to play today?"
Draco lowers the quill he's been twirling between his fingers. Raises an eyebrow and that alone is question and answer enough. She surveys him with probing eyes.
“Gave you permission did she?"
He doesn't respond, because it's up to her now.
Tempered mirth dances in her gaze, “Oh my, she did. How brave of you."
“You're not so cowardly yourself, wife of Adam."
“Am I tempting you to sin, little dragon?"
She loves needling him with “little" when they both know who the moniker actually fits between the two of them.
“The fact that you're the one doing most of the talking…”
Lillith’s eyes darken a fraction at what is both very clearly a challenge and a not so thinly veiled insinuation. Cocks her head to the side as she figures him out almost instantly.
“Someone's in a mood today."
She's not the type to back down from anything, especially not their little tug-of-war, and he knows it. Her smile turns wicked as her posture relaxes and her body slackens in invitation. The space between her legs widens under the table, the fabric of her flowy miniskirt pooling in the gap. The billowing movement draws his gaze downward.
Game.
His books appear on her table instantaneously, pile on top of the ones she already has to form a mostly neat semi-wall to the front of them. But not too high. Someone could still see. That's what she gets for being mouthy today. If someone sees, they see. She loves the thrill of it anyway. Otherwise they wouldn't even be here.
Draco takes his time in walking over. Manual labour does have its benefits on occasion. Makes a show of sitting down, gets comfortable. Tests the air between them with the push of his left leg against the underside of her right. It slides around to the front of his and hooks over his knee with a slight, practiced maneuver from him. Draco angles himself to face her and her leg slides further out and away from her body, moving with him. His right hand comes up to grip the inside of her thigh (god it's so soft and warm), while his left arm slides across the back of his chair to splay out on the backrest of hers. Fingertips grasp the tip of her chin, angle her head upwards so he can stare directly into her eyes, his gaze heavy and serious.
Set.
“Who are you posturing for? He’s not here."
“I could ask you the same."
“Who says I'm posturing?"
“Aren't you? He's not here, remember?"
“Never. You know that."
“What I know is Hermione."
His grin is indulgent, humoring, “What about her?"
“It's a fun game we play, you and I, but it still is only a game."
Draco regards her for a moment. His eyes change, cloud the longer he looks at her.
“Is it?”
"When is it ever not?”
“I'm not playing, Lillith."
“We're always playing, Draco."
His thumb gently caresses the edge of her jaw, hovers over the swell of her bottom lip. The air between them changes, is suddenly charged, and she feels like she's holding her breath. His hand slides further up the inside of her thigh, closer to the heat at their apex, and calls her bluff. Her ring buzzes a tiny tantrum through the joints of her hand. Something in her chest turns. Why is he looking at her like that? Like he could—
“Are we?”
A beat. Two. She says nothing, though his eyes keep searching hers. They don't move, stuck in this strangely suffocating limbo they've found themselves in, until he releases her. His hand falls away from her face, the other retreats from between her legs. Draco blinks and clears his eyes, then that all too familiar aristocratic Malfoy smirk crosses his face and her stomach plummets.
"Have a good day, Hemlock.”
He casually strolls out of the library, hands in his pockets, bag slung over his back, full of books.
Match.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco scans his immediate surroundings, makes sure there’s no one around, then collapses under a large leafy bough of the Giant Shade Tree. His heart is a runaway bullet train inside his chest.
Why did he do that?
Fuck.
He knows why.
Hermione told him he needed to get it out of his system once and for all if he found it impossible to continue compartmentalizing any longer. His beautiful golden-hearted girl. More than anyone else she understands. Had held him comfortingly to her chest as he confessed the turmoil growing within him in relation to her.
The library was—
It was supposed to be—
He’d meant to—
Draco runs his hands frustratedly through his hair. Tugs at the platinum strands like that will somehow cause a solution to manifest in his brain. It sadly does not. He had every intention of kissing her. Touching her. In ways that would’ve angered that ring of hers immensely. The resolve had strengthened in him with every step towards her table, then petered out like a plume of smoke when she questioned what he was doing. She's never not encouraged him before. This is how they’ve always operated. It’s their thing. But now, is it still? Does this mean they’re—no longer whatever this is/was? Has there ever actually been anything to be considered something between them in the first place? That singular time not withstanding.
He thought there was.
Still thinks there is, but doesn't want to corner her about it. Then again, it's Lillith. She's not the kind to let anyone or anything corner her.
Ever.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Classes persist as normal. They see each other as normal. They interact as normal. Everything is normal.
Normal, normal, normal.
The only difference is she's aware now. Well, more aware. Of him. Of the fact that they’ve been playing at sharks in the water all this time.
Always circling.
Always on the lookout for a hint of blood.
Their game carries on. Their banter thrives. She continues to fuck with Theo’s head for funsies. Such a darling jealous boy he is. She enjoys the thrill. Looks forward to what each new day brings in that regard.
But Draco…
Once upon a time, she didn't think twice. Gave in momentarily to the tiny pull she felt towards him then never looked back. Had thought it was behind her. Behind them. But now she understands. Now she sees it.
How his eyes always find hers.
How they always end up in each other’s orbit, even if they only keep to the periphery, no matter where they are.
How he always finds a way to touch her, no matter how transient.
Always.
Had she just forgotten? Had she become so swept up in Theo that it's escaped her notice all this time?
His gaze is always piercing when focused on her. Always laden with things he never says out loud, but Nüwa help her, she wishes he would. Wants to hear him utter the words. Speak them into existence. Give them power. Give them life. Give her respite. Because now she’s burdened with this knowledge, until he chooses to relieve her.
Lillith wonders if she will let him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
An opportunity presents itself some weeks later. At one of Blaise’s upcoming parties to be precise. A lavish affair to be held at Chatsworth House for no particular reason other than that Blaise can, so he is. The entire campus is among his invited guests. Draco just knows the invitees will flock in droves. Blaise is well-connected and constantly forges new ones with every trip he takes between terms. What could possibly go wrong with so many of their generation, both local and international, in attendance?
“You'll be there, won't you Drake?"
“Zabini, when does he ever turn you down?" Pansy points out.
Blaise smirks, “I can think of a time or two…”
Draco stares at his longtime friend, alarm bells pealing madly in his head like he's in a cathedral.
"Don't, Zabini.”
Pansy, having smelt blood in the water, refuses to let this go.
"Do tell Blaise darling, I'm absolutely dying to know.”
Parks herself primly on the unoccupied chaise lounge opposite the velvet green recamier both boys are splayed out on. Martini glass in one hand, unlit onyx cigarette holder in the other. Draco groans and drops the potions text he's been attempting and failing to read for the past ten minutes over his face. In true Slytherin fashion, the grin that stretches across Blaise’s face is utterly diabolical.
“Well, since you so desperately must know, far be it from me to deny—”
"I deny any and all knowledge of whatever he's about to say,” Draco interjects.
Pansy snorts delicately, "Would you like a drink, Dray? You seem…on edge."
“‘m fine," he mumbles from beneath his book.
“Quite fine. The finest in fact," Blaise teases and reaches over to pinch at his ear.
Draco half-heartedly tries to swat him away sans the use of his vision. It makes for a comical sight.
“Do you recall that socialite bash in Belgravia?" Blaise continues unbothered, "For what’s-her-name-or-other's birthday/debutante debacle—”
"Oh you mean the Keating girl? Annalise? I heard about that. Didn't someone die? Hmmm, honestly thought you'd have gone to that one Dray. You were on that badboy-playboy-partyboy bender of yours back then if I recall correctly…”
“Don't remind me."
Pansy giggles.
He wants to roll off his edge of the recamier and away from this conversation. Doom lurks just on the horizon. He can scent it in the air.
“Oh he came, many times in fact…he just didn't stay.”
Pansy’s giggling ceases abruptly. Draco freezes where he's halfway slid off the furniture. Blaise doesn't even blink.
"You absolute slag, you two fucked!” she accuses.
Draco throws himself all the way onto the floor and rolls, reminiscent of long-forgotten wartime maneuvers. Remains unmoving, face down in the first comfortable spot he finds on the carpet, wishes it would swallow him whole so that he could disappear. It's Blaise's turn to chuckle, the fucking prat.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me you hooked up with him! I can't believe you're only telling me now!” Pansy's exclamations grow more fervent than the last, “Does Theo know? Oh the poor dear. He's going to be so disappointed when he finds out he wasn’t your first.”
Draco's groan is pained, “He’s not going to find out because no one is going to tell him."
Pansy carries on as if she hasn't heard him, "I am insulted, quite frankly, that both of you kept this from me. Since when have we ever deviated from post-pillow talk recaps among friends?”
"I don't have any friends,” Draco grouses from the floor.
"Oh hush. I've seen the lot of you completely bare-arsed naked several times over and vice versa, though not as much in my case, but I digress. We were long past friends several bollocks sacks ago,” she tuts disapprovingly then nudges his prone frame with the toe of her shoe, "Well? Aren't you going to regale me with the details?”
Draco groans for what feels like the millionth time today, before turning over onto his back to face her. The tips of his ears are flaming red.
"Ugh, what do you want to know, woman?”
Blaise grins quietly into his whiskey. Weakling.
“Why everything of course. How did it happen? When did it happen? Where did it happen? How many times did it happen? And who was on top?"
Pansy says the last part rather salaciously, as if that's the most important tidbit to be gleaned from the entire affair. Draco glares up at her, but it doesn't prove to be as effective as he hoped it would be because her gaze doesn't waver.
“Why is that even necessary to know?" he grouses.
“It's the little things that make all the difference in the end, Drake," Blaise says in a tone that gives the impression he's imparting some deep nugget of wisdom when the truth couldn't be further from reality.
Translation: we just like making you squirm.
Pansy raises her glass to him in toast, "Hear, hear. Now, how was it, and why didn't you stay? I can promise you Zabini wasn't going to propose marriage the morning after. Such dreadful bedside manner Draco Malfoy, we raised you better than this.”
She sniffs haughtily at him.
“You are utterly insufferable, Parkinson. I don't know why I stand it."
“Because I love you, you ungrateful, purebred cretin and no one else puts up with you the way I do. Except for Granger, Circe bless her heart. I don't know how she does it. Must really have the soul of a saint to deal with your pathetic ass. Salazaar knows she'd probably have killed you by now otherwise."
"Pans, have I ever told you how much I adore you? You goddess of a woman,” Blaise professes, "Thank you for that.”
"You're sweet Blaise darling, but I'm still waiting Draco. Either you tell me or I'll let drunk-Blaise tell me the story. And trust me when I say you won't have any control over that narrative.”
Draco weighs his options very carefully in the next three seconds.
"How, he kissed me first—"
“I just couldn’t resist the way he looked standing there, all debonair in his finery, holding his wineglass ever so delicately between two fingers, the graceful way he held it to his lips, or the colour they eventually turned when the Merlot finally stained them,” Blaise details ever so helpfully, in an exaggerated swooning tone.
Draco’s responding groan—he is clearly incapable of producing any other sound at this point—could dislodge a coffin from the deepest depths of the Malfoy Family Mausoleum. Pansy's grin is terrifying. It's like watching her become sixty percent Cheshire in real time.
“When, two hours into the party—”
"Which turned out to be a disaster by the way,” Blaise volunteers ever so helpfully again.
“Yes yes, we know, someone died. I covered this already Blaise, keep up," Pansy dismisses a tad impatiently.
“I simply couldn't wait any longer. Two hours was far too long a time to wait. I just had to have him—”
Blaise sounds…wistful almost…and Draco is far too sober to unpack that at this time. Instead, he barrels over his friend, full steam ahead, wanting this interrogation to be over.
"Where, we kissed outside, in one of the gardens. Fucked in the big blue room in the west wing. How many times, I…” it is here that Draco falters and it's embarrassingly adorable to see.
"Come now, surely you aren't shy after…practically everything you've ever gotten up to? I swear Draco, sometimes you really are too dramatic.”
"We—” Draco is in fact too embarrassed to say that he is embarrassed.
“Don't hurt yourself darling," Blaise ribs, “It was three times, Pansy. We both topped.”
“If you both topped, then what happened the third time?"
“Oh for fuckssake," Draco loses any shred of decorum he had left, “we sixty-nined Pansy! How was it? It was fucking amazing! What happened afterwards? I fucking ran away. Why? That's none of your fucking business. Are you happy now? Is that what you wanted to hear?” he all but screams at her, then levers himself off the floor and storms out the room.
The debilitating anguish he carried around with him during that particular period of his life is not something he ever wishes to discuss. His feelings about Blaise were, and still are to an extent, complicated. Hermione is the only person he's ever confided in about the whole thing and as long as Draco can help it, it will remain that way.
They're silent for a beat, two, then Pansy remarks, “Well, can't say I've ever seen anyone have that kind of reaction to sleeping with you before Blaise. Clearly your skills in the bedroom have degraded with both time and age. Which means I am now disappointed in you as well.”
"Pansy we're the same age,” Blaise replies flatly.
“Yet no one's ever run out of a room screaming over fucking me, have they?”
No retort is forthcoming.
"Didn't think so.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The itch returns.
Licks across Draco’s teeth like fire. Even the usual occasional swipe of his tongue over his canines does nothing to soothe it. His entire body feels like it's been strung out over a live wire. Hermione fucks it out of him the best she can—his body was literally made for that sort of pleasure and he'll never be ashamed of it—and when that still doesn't bring him down, leviosa’s him straight into the Great Lake, casts a thirty-minute tempus and takes a nap on the shore. The freezing cold water apparently dislodges something in his brain because the next time he sees her, he feels unnaturally calm.
Her eyes are ever the same. Tonight they're opaque lilac moonstone that mirrors the flashing neon lights of the club. Theo is still Theo and Draco slips mindlessly back into the game. Casually plays with a lock of her hair while he occupies the seat beside her, a simple, surefire way to wordlessly provoke Nott, who's chosen to seat himself on the opposite side of the table for some unknown reason. The man is his own worst enemy sometimes. Hermione's steady gaze on Draco from her spot by the bar helps him stay grounded, keeps him off the rails.
The three of them exchange mostly inconsequential small talk until Draco decides to move things along and segues into an offhand “what is that absolutely divine smell?” with a pointed inhale in Lillith’s direction. The air around them is rife with the scent of smoke and varying alcohols of choice. They all know he's on shit. He doesn't care. Throws caution to the wind and skirts the length of her neck with the tip of his nose. The ring does not appreciate his proximity or his sense of humor. Nott’s grip on his glass tightens infinitesimally, but he doesn’t react otherwise. They all notice it though. Draco wedges the knife in a little deeper and caps things off with a lingering kiss to her temple then takes his leave. Enjoys the vein that visibly pulses in Theo’s neck and his audible exhale as Draco nonchalantly struts sway. The expression on Lillith’s face says that she’s about to enjoy the consequences of Draco's actions too.
He downs the drink Hermione slides towards him when he reaches her, clasps her hand in his, and disappears into the dark, glittering pit of the dancefloor. Lets the black orchid and cinnamon of her skin silence the cacophony within him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lillith's eyes follow the line of Draco’s black-clad back (she will admit that no one else wears the colour quite like him) over the rim of her glass as he walks away. Loses him in the dark crush of the crowd. Her fingertips are buzzing (fucking ring), restless. Theo threads them with his own.
“Lil-li-pad…” he entreats, softly, gently, teasingly.
The buzzing quiets.
She rises from her seat.
He follows.
Finds a nice empty corner in the shadows and swallows her whole. She doesn't think about platinum hair or dragons for the rest of the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The party at Chatsworth requires a different form of apparel to what currently hangs in the closet of Lillith's dorm. None of her existing dresses, as gorgeous as they all are, will do. She needs…something extra…something a little bit more…something to—
She bangs on Annie’s door. The sound of feet rushing across the floor before the door swings wide open greets her.
“I need a dress—”
Annie squeals.
“—for Chatsworth.”
Her squeal increases in pitch.
Lillith snorts.
"You are way too excited about this.”
"As I should be,” Annie exclaims, "Gigi’s decided to go the extra sexy, extra slutty route—”
"As she should,” Lillith nods in agreement.
"—and while I myself am also of the sexy variety, I am not nearly half as slutty as she plans on being—”
"Her dress is going to look ridiculously fucking hot isn't it?” Lillith groans, throwing herself onto Annie's bed.
Annie pats her back pityingly, "Exceedingly so. All part of her plan to, among other things, make as many of the stodgier portraits about the grounds gasp and clutch their ancestral pearls in horror, maybe even flee their frame, as she can.”
They burst into giggles at the mental image. Annie sobers faster than Lillith does.
“D’you know what you want?”
"I have—a photo,” Lillith hedges, a little nervous whether Annie will think it's too much or just flat out not her style at all.
"And may I see this photo?” Annie inquires, "Or does it involve more naked skin than the very naughty selfie you sent Nott that one time?”
Lillith giggles again. The memory brings a smile to her face. That photo had seriously fucked with Theo's head, made him absolutely feral for her (more than he already was). He’d spent the three weeks after she sent it to him, in a permanent state of arousal. During that time, Draco regularly regaled her with stories of Theo’s numerous, inopportune hard-ons like the loyal friend that he—
How easy it is for him to infiltrate even her mundane thoughts. She doesn't know who's more to blame. Him? Or her? Wherever the fault lies, now is not the time. Lillith seals all thoughts of him away as best as she can, produces her phone again, and thumbs through her gallery until she finds the folder she wants. Hands it over to Annie.
“It has the silhouette and general style I'm thinking of," she explains as Annie flicks through the folder in silence, “especially the gauzy look of the fabric. It's sheer, but so finely woven that you really only get the illusion of skin under—”
“...Lils this is—”
“—neath. I think I want the back like that photo lower down. Deeper plunge at the front though.”
"Yes, but Lilli,” Annie persists, "It's a we—”
"Whatever you're thinking, cease and desist immediately.”
"I'm thinking my best friend just told me she wants to wear a wedding dress to Blaise’s party…”
"I said no such thing—"
“Is that what's been going on with you lately?" Annie asks gently.
"I—what?”
"I know you and Theo have gotten much closer, like much, much closer,” Annie wiggles her eyebrows lasciviously as she says this, "but I didn't think this was where your head was at already—”
“Annie, I've been completely focused on my Masters since I enrolled here,” even as she says it she knows it's a lie. She's been distracted…by him. "What on earth has been making you think that marriage is my polestar?"
“—and it's thrown me for quite a loop I have to say. Wait, you're not? I know you're extremely dedicated to your scholastic pursuits, of course, but Lils you have to admit you've changed since you and Theo reconnected. And he talks about you—your—relationsh—friendship fairly often—”
Lillith snorts indelicately because what Theo says to Annie or anyone else about the two of them, she doesn't know per se, only that he's possessive of her, completely mad for her, and apparently everyone is aware of this. What she does know is that he yaps—he is an actual yapper that boy—about their betrothal to Draco weekly. Every other day if he can get away with it, until Draco usually gets annoyed to the point of hexing him with a silencing spell (or one of the more creative ditties the two of them came up with together) just to get him to shut up.
There he goes again, infiltrating her thoughts like it's nothing. She should probably look into Occlumency training, learn to properly lock him away. He occupies far too much real estate rent free in her mind and it's becoming a problem.
“Annie, I love you, but I do not have marriage on the brain—” the unimpressed look levelled in her direction is almost withering, "—at this time," Lillith amends, “I have too many things to accomplish before I even contemplate marriage and uprooting my entire life. It's simply a dress,” and casually slips the phone out of Annie’s hand back into her own, “I could commission something bespoke from our atelier back in Japan, but I'd have to apply for multiple Ministry portkeys to be able to go back and forth for fittings and such directly from here, or go through the Japanese consulate’s floo network, which is a significantly longer route and frankly, not worth the hassle. So are you willing to help or not?"
“What kind of question is that even—show me the rest of the inspo you have saved."
Lillith opens the folder again. Annie examines them thoughtfully.
"This will definitely be too bespoke for Madame Malkin’s. Twilfitt and Tattings could likely do it. They're high end and thankfully do accommodate 21st century fashion now. Pansy's got loads of contacts though and this does look like it'll need specialty sourcing. Probably the pearls and crystals too if I know you. You are rather particular about those.”
“I can take care of that myself,” Lillith confirms.
“I don't know whether to call you the little mermaid or a cat burglar,” Annie muses fondly.
“Oh shut it you, and floo call Pansy.”
"Aye aye cap’n!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The night of the party comes. Chatsworth has never looked more majestic, its massive, sprawling grounds aglow with thousands of glittering lights floating overhead. Acres upon acres of land illuminated to the nines as far as the eye can see, the effect doubly magical against the backdrop of the inky night sky. Dancing fountains, artistic thousand-year-old marble and alabaster sculptures, curated gardens, manicured lawns, and well-trimmed hedges. Aeons of painstakingly-preserved painted history gleaming proudly by candle, lamp, and fire light. A mixture of house elves (decked in finery of their own choosing) and human staff serve the masses. Robes and suits and dresses and gowns in a plethora of colours fill the space like a kaleidoscope. A sea of glittering jewels, dazzling gemstones and sparkling sequins, silks and satins, brocade and lace, everywhere you turn.
Music courtesy the eighty-piece orchestra assembled in the Painted Room on the first floor—Pansy and Draco spent an entire day talking Blaise down from securing the two hundred-piece orchestra he originally wanted—spills through the floor-to-ceiling glass doors left completely open to the adjoining balconies, where clusters of people linger about the ornate railings, and filters down to the vast courtyard below. The constant chatter of conversation interspersed with the clink of glasses, the delicate chime of crystal, lingers in the air as the champagne flows. It's an opulent opera of sights, sounds, and smells.
Blaise’s efforts are impossible to ignore, as are the huge bouquets of freshly cut flowers that decorate every table and flat surface, their perfume pleasant but not overpowering. He truly has outdone himself, and praise follows him throughout the night from the many attendees, drunk and sober alike. Sobriety levels may vary but the sole ability to appreciate and acknowledge that Blaise Zabini's abilities are unmatched? That remains thoroughly unimpeded. Magic indeed.
The Hogwarts crowd arrives in twos and threes, fours and fives. Disperses among the throng of partygoers, greeting familiar and unfamiliar faces alike. For many, this is the first time they've seen Chatsworth in person. It does belong to muggle royalty after all, and even then it isn't often open to their public, far less the wizarding world. Something of a national heritage site with its high vaulted ceilings and multi-tiered chandeliers. The oohs and aahs are warranted.
Lillith opts for a late appearance, as she committed to the completion of an undisclosed allotment of pages for her thesis first. Annie had offered to hang back until she was done, so they could get ready together, but Lillith managed to talk her out of that and into going ahead with Gigi. It's almost two hours into the festivities when she finally apparates onto the grounds. A footman greets her at the apparition point, decked in royal blue raiment with polished gold accoutrements that highlight the breadth of his shoulders. She fights a smile at the way his eyes widen and the appreciative once-over that swiftly follows as she smooths the sides of her dress before he schools his features back into their neutral state.
Men.
So different yet all the same. She wants to giggle but refrains. Takes his offered arm and allows him to escort her inside. More than a few admiring stares are thrown in her direction as they make their way up the pristine, finely-gravelled path to the house. Catcalls and whistles hail from some of the rowdier guests, comprising both those who recognize her and others who don't. But they all know a beautiful woman when they see one.
“Looking good, Hemlock!" someone yells out.
“God bless your mama, woman!" another cries.
"Damn girl, save me a dance later. Imma ditch my man and come find you!”
“Hate to see you leave bella,” must be one of Blaise’s Italians, “but I’m enjoying very much watching you walk away.”
“Oh my god, I'm suddenly no better than a man."
Lillith has no way to discern where and who exactly the comments are coming from, there are ever so many people around, but her laughter breaks free regardless. Clearly the libations are strong and have been flowing without abandon. She can't find it in her to be offended when it's more hilarious than anything else, and quite flattering if she's being completely honest.
With so many eyes about, she doesn't register the weight of a singular gaze zeroed in on her with laser-like precision from an exterior balcony on the second floor. It's quiet, private, inaccessible to other guests. Those eyes mark every step she takes, catalog the clusters of stars that adorn the curves of her ears and halo her hair, commit the outline of her body in that dress to memory. A half-empty whiskey glass goes forgotten in masculine hands. She disappears from the unknown onlooker's line of sight as she enters the ground floor.
The violent crack of disapparation rents the night air.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The footman deposits her under the archway of a grand staircase that she'll have to descend in order to get to the dancefloor. Turns and bows.
“Have a good evening, Miss.”
Amber eyes hold hers meaningfully as he rises, then he departs as swiftly as he appeared.
Oh.
His voice. It’s deep, deeper than she thought it would be, not that she had expected him to speak at all. The kind of deep that could possibly make her toes curl if whispered against her naked skin. Lillith smiles to herself. The dress is doing exactly what it was designed to.
Good.
Tonight will be fun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The noise of the party rises up to meet her as she slowly descends the carpeted stairs that lead into the center of the revelry. Washes over her like a wave of sound, soundtracked by the lively tempo of the orchestra. The room is brilliantly lit, sconces flickering on the walls, light reflecting off every polished surface. She tries to pick out her friends among the sea of partygoers as she walks. A server materializes before her with a tray of champagne. She reaches for a glass, thinks better of it and grabs two instead. Downs both in succession, then scoops up a third to nurse while she hunts for an empty corner to observe things from. Once she locates her friends, or they find her first, it’ll only be chaos from there on out. No peace at all. Better to stock up on it in advance.
She lifts her eyes to the baroque, gold-wrought catwalk that wraps around the upper right half of the room and wonders if one of the many observation balconies up there would prove a better vantage point instead.
“Plotting your escape already?" a knowing voice cuts through her thoughts.
“Teddy."
She didn't even feel him approach.
"Hello, Lillipad.”
He presses an innocent-but-not-so-innocent kiss to her cheek that's closer to the corner of her mouth than her cheek, stands close, keeps his body angled intimately towards her. The musk of his cologne mixes in her nose with the scent of what he's been drinking—something smoky, buttery, a little peppery—it's heavy on his tongue and she breathes it in deeply. The combination appeals in more ways than one.
“You look ridiculously beautiful. It's offensive, and I'm actually upset."
"You clean up quite nicely yourself.”
He hasn't gone the black tie route like some of the other guests, but the tailored fit of his jacket and trousers doesn't escape her notice, nor does the three undone buttons of his silk shirt. They display a tantalizing strip of muscled chest and the memory of the feel of it against her bare skin drives her a little wild. Theo smirks, an all too familiar wicked gleam in his eyes as he fiddles with one of the delicate chains of pearls draped over her upper arm.
Artwork by Crymsy
“This dress would look so much better on the floor. You should take it off."
He means to be trouble tonight and she can tell.
“Behave Teddy,” she responds sweetly, takes a pointed sip of glass number three to obscure her response from curious eyes, “before I make you.”
Someone is always watching.
His hand finds its way to the curve of her waist, mindlessly traces the outward flare of it into her hip, “Is that a promise or a threat?”
"Both.”
His face looks like the cat that got the canary.
"Both is good.”
“Lilli!" someone screams excitedly from somewhere behind them.
"I'm going to hold you to that, Lillipad,” flexes wandering fingertips covetously into the meat of her flesh.
She's suddenly accosted by a semi-sloshed Annie who flings slightly sweaty arms wildly around her in greeting—this displaces a now disgruntled Theo from his cosy position—a far more sloshed Gigi, and an ever-steady Achilles. Kai is suspiciously absent.
Her friends have been having quite the time since they arrived it turns out. Gigi has successfully scandalized no less than fifteen portraits and counting. She flashed one lord who toppled all the way off his horse and broke his decorative sword in two because he fell on it. The group bursts into intoxicated giggles at the recollection. Annie and Achilles have slow-danced with each other, several times in fact, her friend shyly recounts, matching blushes present on both their faces as she says this, and have yet to separate from each other. Lillith feels especially proud of this development and raises her fifth drink of the night to them in toast of the achievement. Annie flips her off but mouths an ‘I love you' in the same breath.
The boys become increasingly taken with her dress as the night progresses, a development Annie has difficulty keeping quiet about in her excitement. They make a game of coming up with creative ways to touch her while waltzing without disrupting the pearls. It's silly but wholly endearing and Lillith’s heart swells. Could just be a side effect of all the champagne though. Glass number seven? Her uncontrolled giggles as they spin about the room indicate she’s likely miscounted. The orchestra retires some time around eleven and then it's the hour of the DJ. After a far too brief respite, she gets dragged back onto the dance floor and loses herself in the music with her friends. It's nice to just be sometimes and not have to think about much of anything.
Kai finally surfaces much later on. She thinks she sees Blaise and Pansy somewhere in the background behind him, but is distracted by the languid, easy way he cuts through the dancing throng to get to her. His gait is that of a panther’s, confident and sure, fully aware of himself, the space he takes up, and how to best utilize that space to his advantage. And “himself” is partially disheveled as per usual—fuck his naturally sex-tousled-hair ten times over—sleeves rolled up, forearms on display, and much too attractive for her liking. Sweaty bodies part and meander around him like the ocean as he approaches. More than a few stray hands reach out and touch him, more than a few brave souls dance into his path, but his eyes are fixated on her. The sight of him is electrifying, reminds her of things past. She tamps down the urge to rub her thighs together and immediately strikes those thoughts of him from her head because it’s far too early to be feeling this on edge already. Then she spots the glint of a silver brow piercing—oh, that’s new—between the strands of hair hanging over his eyes and suddenly feels compelled to rub herself all over him like a cat. To add insult to injury, he also sports shiny new helix jewelry on both ears. Memories of those particular piercings caught between her teeth rip through her faster than she can blink. The devil is clearly on the prowl and in the mood to test her tonight.
Sharp emerald eyes soften when they meet their periwinkle counterparts. His words, however, are not soft at all.
“I'd fuck you right here Li-chan,” he says by way of greeting, “if I knew you wouldn't instantly kill me for even daring to try,” eyes drawn to all the bare leg the sinfully high slits of her dress aren't keeping hidden.
No one bats an eye at that. They're all varying shades of drunk and inebriated. His tone is fond, but she knows he's serious. Knows he means it.
"Maybe I'll let you,” she says against the shell of his ear as she reaches up to hug him, “the night is still young."
He's deliciously warm when he embraces her and she revels in the heat of his arms around her waist. The chilly night air hasn't affected the interior atmosphere in the slightest, even with all the ballroom doors wide open—Blaise clearly has extremely strong warming charms in place—but she enjoys his body heat all the same. They stay pressed against each other, the music demands it, his hands magnetized by the pearls that span her back and dangle down her spine. Can't keep them off her body—they have always been very tactile with one another. Rests them in the dip of space where the back of her dress stops just above the curve of her ass and toys with the edge of the lace there. Her ring buzzes out a harsh warning. Theo's eyes flash dangerously nearby. She brazenly locks eyes with him as she scrapes her nails through the sweaty tendrils of hair at the nape of Kai’s neck. Feels Kai shudder under her hold and the kick of his hips into hers at the touch. The ring amplifies its voltage. Her grin is impudent and defiant in Theo’s direction as she grinds into Kai, flicking her tongue out to trace the line of his earlobe. He responds with a reedy groan that echoes in her bones.
“Li-chan don't—" but she knows he doesn't mean it.
Knows that if she keeps going she'll fall back into him, and he will let her. He'll always let her.
If there's one thing Kai is incapable of, it's letting go.
The feral look in Theo’s eyes—one flashes a menacing crimson, but she's had quite a few drinks so it's possible she imagines it—indicates that he's contemplating slaughtering Kai in private rather than right here on the dance floor in front of everyone out of pure consideration for her. A giddiness bubbles up in her blood at the thought. He doesn't look away from the two of them though. Holds her gaze, dares her to up the stakes with that stupid, goading smirk ever present on his face.
He should know better by now.
She never plays a game she can't win.
Lillith catches the edge of Kai's ear between her teeth and nibbles, lips moist from the champagne she's been drinking. A muscle twitches in Theo's neck, the line of his jaw as hard as his eyes. She sucks the soft, thin, damp skin between her lips. Kai's hands drop to her ass and clench. Theo scratches restlessly at an irritated, burning spot on his arm then shoves his hands—they've balled themselves into fists now—into his pockets before he sheds blood.
Kai's forehead pitches forward, lands in the crook of her neck, “Onegai…” breathes the plea shakily across her skin.
He always did beg so nicely.
“Don't collapse on me already, Kurokawa," she murmurs.
He digs his fingers into firm, rounded muscle for support.
"Fucking Higanbana."
She laughs delightedly, unabashed. When she looks for Theo again, he's gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It only strikes her as the night progresses that she hasn't seen Draco at all, or Hermione for that matter. Blaise, Neville, Pansy, and Ginny all make appearances at some point. Apparently all Slytherins are the same and ooze charisma from their ridiculously rich pores. She thought Theo was bad? Nüwa help her, the Zabini charm is infectiously deadly and inescapable. He leaves her tongue-tied where usually she's quick with a comeback. She blames her lacking on the champagne.
Pansy is exceedingly proud of how the dress has turned out and she and Ginny can't stop making Lillith twirl so they can inspect it from every angle. Combined with all the champagne she's consumed thus far, this goes about as well as one would imagine and ends with her flopped dizzily on the floor in a very pretty pile of giggles. Neville is the one to help her to her feet. He's got very nice, very big, very firm arms, and doesn't say much, but if she receives another approving look from him she may need to excuse herself to the ladies room. They stick around for a song or two, during which time he smoothly reels her into his arms and verbally praises her in that quiet but intense way of his that she's previously only heard stories about in passing (the stories and the streets both say that Neville Longbottom can talk a girl through anything). A stunned blush takes up permanent residence on her face at the sound of his voice, the way he tucks a loose tress of hair behind her ear, fingers the delicate crystal cuff encasing it and calls her a “pretty little star". Lillith just barely manages to physically restrain herself from climbing him like a tree and clinging about his broad shoulders like a baby koala, though Pansy would probably consider it a compliment to her man if she did.
They eventually disappear among the masses to mingle with the other guests. Well, in Ginny's case, Potter comes and drags her off to sober up lest she lose another shoe. Even Luna manages to say hello in passing. A handful of other people from their year. But no Draco and Hermione. It is curious, though she tries not to give it too much thought. Chatsworth is quite extensive after all and the guest list equally so. It's practically impossible to see, much less meet everyone in attendance. Unless you're the host of course, which she is not. Lillith douses the thought with another champagne.
She remains consistent through the night and doesn't mix her alcohols, though she desperately needed vodka after dancing with Kai. Somewhere around her eleventh or perhaps twelfth drink of the night, Achilles decides it's time to cut her off.
“Your eyes are way too shiny, your face far too flushed, and your pout much too pronounced, Hemlock. You clearly need some water.”
"You're not the boss of me, Fontan."
“Perish the thought. Now drink your water."
“Nooooooo," she declines, pout even more pronounced than before.
“Keep that up and I'm liable to do something about it."
"My, my, Achilles. How scandalous! Whatever would Annie say?”
"She'd say you need to drink more water.”
"She'd also say I'm about to pee myself in this dress if you don't stop treating me like I'm a plant.”
"What, you don't like getting wet?”
Lillith gasps and mimes clutching her pearls in faux horror.
"My flabbers have been gasted.”
"What does that even me—”
Gigi pops up out of nowhere, barefoot, eyes bright, hair wild, with someone's grey silk tie tied around her thigh like a very expensive garter, another looped lopsidedly about her head, "Who knew you had it in you vision-boy? I should tell Annie.”
Achilles sighs long-sufferingly.
"What are you two up to all alone out here anyway? Enquiring minds want to know."
“Sobering Lillith up. She needed a breather."
“I resent that Achilles, I most certainly did not."
“You've been wobbly on your feet since five drinks ago."
“Been keeping count have you?"
“Someone has to, when you're clearly determined to outdo your shot record from Halloween."
“Bor-ing," Gigi interjects, “come find us when you're done being a naggy old man, Fontan. Massive game of strip poker going on in the Great Room. Annie’s only lost two rounds so far, but there's already four pairs of shirtless pectorals on display. Who knows? Yours could be the fifth Abs-chilles! And respectfully Lilli, I can think of quite a few people who would love to see those fantastic tits of yours out of your dress. Come give the guys and gals something to gag over. A little cardiac arrest between friends never hurt anyone."
She smacks noisy kisses to the tops of both their heads then toddles off, shoes swinging from her hands. They stare after her retreating figure.
“Do you think she ever realizes what she's actually saying? Or does she just let words fall from her mouth in any order?" Achilles muses curiously.
"It's Gigi. No one knows.”
“Sooooo...”
God. He's like a dog with a bone.
"Are we going to talk about it?"
A very cute but relentless, somewhat annoying golden-haired dog. She knows he means well, but Lillith decides to feign ignorance for a change.
“I've no idea what you're referring to."
“You drank yourself silly, played Tug-of-war and Chicken with Nott with Kai caught in the middle— Don't think I missed that by the way because I didn't. We all saw it.”
"Kai's a big boy. He can handle himself.”
Achilles snorts, "Yes, he certainly had to. After that illuminating little show you put on.”
"I was hardly the only willing participant.”
"You've been strangely jittery all night, even if you didn't show it outwardly. And I know it’s not because of Nott. You have a completely different vibe around him. Chaotic yes, but tempered. Your energy tonight, it was like watching starbursts morph into supernovas. Your aura’s restless, unsettled, off. So I know this is something else.”
"Had another vision, did you?” she asks dryly.
"Don't need one to point out the obvious.”
He studies her in silence, then sighs and opens his arms. She crawls over and snuggles into the space, her back against his chest, his chin atop the crown of her head.
"You can tell me you know, I'd never judge you."
Lillith absent-mindedly traces the veins along Achilles' arms. The orchestra starts up again, a low, lilting melody. Slow and dreamy, a little romantic, a little melancholic. Like yearning. She closes her eyes and drifts, loses herself in the calming flow.
Achilles eventually bursts their comfortable bubble of silence.
“I'd wondered where they'd gone off to. Guess they're still here."
She opens her eyes.
It's him.
Standing there. In the ballroom. He's some feet away, but right there before them all the same, looking tall, dark, and devastating as is his trademark. Everything in her quiets at the sight of him.
Everything.
“Oh," Achilles murmurs.
It's the sound of a man enlightened.
“What ‘oh’?"
“I see."
“Achilles…” her tone is warning.
"That— I wasn't expecting that.”
They remain as they are, observe Draco guide Hermione effortlessly across the dancefloor. The pair always make a handsome couple. Tonight is no exception. The happiness on Hermione's face is exuberant. St. Mungo’s must have given her the time off after all. One rather elegant flourish puts her back to them and it’s at that exact moment that Draco looks up and meets Lillith's eyes.
Inadvertently positioned directly in his line of sight from where she sits with Achilles, Lillith is unable to avoid him, unable to avoid his gaze, and something in her stomach seizes. They’re too far apart for her to detect or decipher any microexpressions on his face or in his eyes, but Draco remains fixed on her. Drinks her in like he's been craving to do all night. Permits a carefully meted fraction of his desire to bleed into his eyes. The traitorous, covetous things. Too bad she can't see it.
The thing in her stomach slithers down to her abdomen. Winds itself around her lungs. Achilles is the stillest of statues behind her.
“This explains so many things, but also nothing at all.”
"There's not enough water in the world, Achilles.”
"You don't always have to be so secretive and strong you know. Keeping everything barred up inside will only kill you faster.”
"I'm already dying. I'm used to it.”
"It doesn't have to be painful.”
"I don't know any other way.”
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Hermione feels Draco's none-too-subtle full-body tense quite plainly. Notes the terse way his hand tightens around hers. He's been on edge all night and nothing has been able to make it go away. She really does feel for him. He's usually in complete control of himself, can corral his emotions with ease, but something about the Hemlock girl undoes him completely. It's a wonder to behold. Makes her brain itch to uncover the science of it all.
“Where is she?" she asks knowingly.
He turns them with a practiced step so she faces the exterior courtyard and her eyes fall upon a shimmering star curled up against the seer boy.
“Your agitation is understandable," because Lilith looks like a celestial goddess fallen from the sky. Her poor boy, as good as he is, never stood a chance. “Go. I know you want to."
“I don't," he says stubbornly, “I have you," and clutches her even more tightly to him.
His girl laughs merrily, “Darling, my place in all this remains unchanged. You and I are forever, but she, she will be gone soon, and it will consume you if you don't try."
“You're far too clever for me I fear.”
"Among other things,” she quips, "I'll handle Theodore.”
"And what, pray tell, are you going to do to him?"
His lioness is a crafty one.
“I've heard there's quite the game of strip poker going on in the Great Room. He won't be able to resist the chance to see me out of this getup."
The flowing, wine red gown she wears perfectly compliments the deep caramel of her skin and the Malfoy rubies his mother gifted her for the occasion. Would make lesser men weep in her presence. Draco is not a lesser man. He is only moved to tears when she makes him. The playful smile that accompanies her words is equal parts mischievous as it is disarming.
“Go easy on him, won't you love?"
“It’s like you don't know me at all."
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There's only so much spectating Lillith can subject herself to until she needs to remove herself for health reasons. Too many things are at war in her head and she grows tired of the clamour. Achilles helps her to her feet.
“Do I want to know the trouble you're about to get up to?"
"Go find Annie, Achilles. Stop worrying about me.”
She's rather steady on her feet for someone who has yet to consume a sober-up potion.
“Lilli—" he hesitates to leave.
"I'm just going to find something to eat—there's a cheese-nuts-and-fruit tray with my name on it in the dining room—and maybe have a wander around. I solemnly swear that I am not up to no good,” raises her palm in oath.
"Send out a patronus when you do.”
“Chivalrous, but I can take care of myself."
“It's not you I'm concerned for. Once Nott realizes you're a free bird, he'll come looking."
She laughs, "That's what you're worried about?" her eyes narrow to steely knives, “I love a good hunt."
"Merlin protect us all from the fallout,” Achilles chuckles in reply and leaves with a parting kiss on her hair to find Crazy and Green.