We Can't Wake Up

Marcus was furious with himself as he lay on his bed, staring darkly at the emerald green curtains surrounding him. Why had he let her get so close? Why had he gotten so close to her? He was going to have to show her that it wasn’t allowed.

Morning arrived and Marcus hadn’t slept at all. He dressed and walked up to breakfast in silence. No-one within a ten foot radius of him dared to utter a word. Breakfast was a silent meal at the Slytherin table. All the other tables were abuzz with excited talk of going home for Christmas, even though that was still a long way off.

Classes did not seem to pass quickly enough for Marcus. He found himself wishing the time away, definitely something he didn’t usually do.

When lunch-time finally arrived, Marcus strode away from everyone, down past the lake and into the trees to the clearing. He walked to the very center of the clearing and lay down on his back. His arms spread out to the sides, eyes closed, his dark messy hair falling away from his perfect pale skin.

He lay like this silently, drinking in the cool air, listening intently to all the noises of the trees, swaying gently in the breeze.

He was most certainly not looking forward to the Christmas holidays. It meant going back to London to that stupid place his guardians called home. It meant another imprisonment in the dank, smelly rooms that he was forced to live in. It meant no freedom to do as he pleased until he came back here. Until he came back home.

Marcus definitely considered Hogwarts to be his home. It was where he felt most comfortable, most secure, most…..at home.

The trees creaked and groaned as the breeze picked up intensity, almost as if it could feel Marcus’ anxiety.

But at Hogwarts there was Anne; a definite problem now. She hadn’t been much of a problem before when she hadn’t taken much notice of him. Or so he thought. But now that she had confessed that she loved him, Marcus didn’t know what to do. Everytime he saw her, a fatal battle was raging inside of him. He wanted to kill her, torture her until she begged for death. But he wanted to hold her close to him, kiss her, stroke her hair…….

Marcus’ eyes scrunched in frustration and he let out a hiss of anger.

Something stroked his cheek gently, comfortingly. Marcus’ hand shot out and grabbed the arm of the person. She let out a cry out pain. Even without opening his eyes, without needing her to say anymore, Marcus knew that it was Anne.

His grip tightened as his eyes opened. He stared straight into Anne’s open face. Her brow was furrowed from the pain igniting in her wrist.

“Please Marcus,” she whispered hoarsely. “You’re hurting me…..” she trailed off as the intensity burned darkly in Marcus’ eyes.

Marcus pulled her down to him and pressed his lips firmly against hers. He could feel her quivering from fright and delight. His grip remained fierce as his other hand moved to the back of her head.

Anne responded, kissing him back ardently, as if she were hoping that he might decide to let go of her wrist.

Marcus did not let go of her wrist, only pulled on it so that she was lying on top of him.

Then he let go, his hand moving down to press against her back. Anne used this opportunity to move both her hands to Marcus’ face. Her fingers traced it, trying to memorize it for the future, in case she never had another chance like this.

“You are so stupid!” Marcus scolded her harshly after he broke the kiss. “You know what I can do, but here you are. You keep coming back for more like some stupid mutt.”

Anne blinked quickly, struggling to keep the tears from overflowing. Marcus’ fingers danced lightly across her cheekbones, wiping away any tears that had escaped.

“Why are you so awful?” Anne whispered her eyes still closed. “And then so wonderful?” Her eyes opened and they locked with his. “Why are you like this Marcus?”

Marcus stared intently into her eyes; he could see his own reflection, the face stony and emotionless, the eyes barren and cold. What a contrast to her face, he thought, her face that is so open and warm, nothing hidden.

Anne remained silent, knowing not to push him for the answer. She waited, watching Marcus’ blank face.

“Because of you,” he whispered. Anne’s face crumpled in hurt. His fingers traced the curve of her lips and her cheeks as more tears trickled down.

Marcus pulled her closer and slowly traced the line of her neck with his lips. Anne’s heart rate and breathing increased as Marcus brushed his lips along her jaw and to her lips. He could feel her tears against his skin as they kissed and, as everything concerning her, Marcus felt himself divided into two; part of him was pleased and the other was horrified. It annoyed him that she could make him feel so divided.