Love Doesn't Exist

Word Count: 1460

Summary: Written for the Reviews Lounge Summer Collaboration Project. Draco will never admit that love exists, least of all to a Ravenclaw.

Author's Notes: Written for the Reviews Lounge Summer Collaboration Project in which you have to select a character and write a one-shot about them using the prompt 'summer'. I chose Draco Malfoy. I really enjoyed writing this knowing that I had a deadline so that I couldn't just brush it off like usual. I love Draco/Astoria and I hope you like my shot at them. Please review!

It is the heat that does it, he is sure; the heat that sends Draco Malfoy ever so slightly mad, making him lust after girls that are not in Slytherin. Well, one girl. One girl he is spending most days of his summer with this year, because of his mother's 'accidental' last-minute change of plans.

He was supposed to be going away to their summer house in France, like he usually did with his mother and father for the first four weeks of the holidays. But now his father is in prison, the Dark Lord is out in the open and suddenly his mother doesn't think a family holiday is the best idea. And it turns out her new best idea is sending him away, to live with another family, to 'lie low' for a while.

He has been staying with the Greengrasses for 32 days and 4 hours and will remain with them for another 3 days (it is the heat that makes him count- it has nothing to do with knowing how much time he has left in the company of the second Greengrass sister.)

It is early on the thirty-third morning and Draco is in the garden, sat beneath a tree in the shade because it is already far too hot (it is making him light-headed again and he really dislikes these light-headed thoughts.) He is reading, strangely, a novel, but it is difficult to continue because the story revolves completely around love, which Draco doesn't like because he doesn't want to believe in love (another reason why Pansy is so perfect for him as she is real and also knows that love does not, cannot, exist.)

After he has been staring at the same page for Merlin knows how long, he gives up and leans against the bark of the tree, closing his eyes and resting the book in his lap. Maybe the heat will let off just a little to let him sleep, but he doubts it, so instead he concentrates on the sound of his own rhythmic, steady breathing. (In and out, in and out.)

"What are you doing?" He knows to whom the voice belongs and a shiver runs through him before he manages to collect himself and open his eyes.

"What does it look like?" he asks sardonically, gesturing to the book in his lap. "I'm reading."

Astoria frowns at him and he takes this lull in conversation as time to look at her. She has her dark brown hair tied up in a clumsy ponytail; several strands have fallen forward by her ears, a perfect juxtaposition against her ivory skin. She's wearing a red dress and sandals with little bells around the heels, reminding him of some sort of gypsy. He tears her eyes away from her feet and looks at her face again. She's still frowning.

"You're not doing a very good job of it," Astoria says and kneels down, taking the book from his lap and looking at the cover. "You know, the words are inside- it might help you read if you opened it." She glances up at him with a smirk and then back down at the book. "Oh! You like Henry Merryweather?"

Draco looks at the cover of the book as if noticing the author's name for the first time (he won't admit to anyone that Henry Merryweather is his favourite author). "No, I'm don't, actually. All this drivel about love- it does my head in." Draco would never admit that this is his third time reading the novel- although he insists he only has because the main character reminds him of himself.

Astoria glares at him and clutches the book to her chest protectively. "Why are you reading it then if you hate it so much?"

Draco shrugs, not knowing what to say and watches as she looks back down at the book's cover and opens it to the first page. "How far have you got?" she asks.

"About halfway maybe- Scorpius is struggling to admit his feelings about Hera." Draco leans forward to show her the page and then relaxes back against the tree, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt.

"Oh," Astoria says and turns a few pages. "You haven't got to the best part yet."

"There's a best part? I'd hate to see what the worst part is, then." Although, he does already have a best part, even if he'll only admit it to himself. It's when Scorpius first admits to himself that love must exist (even though Draco knows it doesn't, it's nice to read someone else's reasoning.)

"Shut up," she says and he smirks. They've both got used to the witty banter by now. "Of course there is, there is in everything."

"Like the best part of your summer is my outstanding company?" He flashes a cocky grin at her while tangling his fingers in the grass to keep him firmly in reality so he doesn't hope that she'll blush and admit that yes, it is.

Astoria deadpans. "Ha ha." She flips a few more pages to somewhere in the middle. "Shall I read you my favourite part?"

Draco plucks the grass that he was holding onto so tightly and gathers it in his palm. "If you must."

Astoria crosses her legs and sets the book in her lap, leaning forward to read. More hair escapes from her ponytail as Draco waits with baited breath to see which her favourite part is (although he is almost certain it will be the end when Scorpius and Hera get together, as it would be with all girls.)

"'This wasn't him. Like he should, like he always had, he hated love. Love was stupid. Only fools or girls believed in love. And Scorpius wasn't a fool or a girl, but when he was with Hera, he certainly felt foolish. Because how could love not exist when such a feeling arose in him whenever he was with her? How could love not exist when her voice made his heart soar? How could love not exist when he looked at her and knew (whether he wanted to or not) that she was everything he needed? Even though he didn't want it to, and didn't know how it could, Scorpius knew that love existed, because there was proof of it in his very being. He was in love with Hera, and wanted nothing more for his feelings to be returned.'"

Draco stares at Astoria as she closes the book and looks straight at him, her warm brown eyes boring into his own. For a moment everything else falls away, and there is only Astoria staring at him and Draco staring at her, and he feels it, the very feeling he believes does not exist. He can feel it in the air, hear it ringing in his own head and see it in her. They are leaning in towards each other and the atmosphere is enveloping them and suddenly Draco can't take it- he hits the brakes and yanks himself backwards, tearing his eyes away from hers. "You don't actually believe that bullshit, do you?"

Astoria opens her mouth to speak and pauses, as if having an internal struggle over what to say, then decides better of it, standing up, still holding the book. She throws the book at him and he catches it (even though he isn't as good as Potter, his seeker reflexes are still good). "Yes, I do, actually, and maybe you should try to too. Who knows, you might need it some day." She is angry at herself for not thinking of a better retort, but it's all she can manage.

Draco frowns at her. "And why would I need love?" he says, throwing the book aside.

"Nobody can hope to live without love," she says, staring at him coldly (he tries to ignore the tears in her eyes), before turning on her heel and marching away from him, bells around her ankles jangling.

He entwines his fingers once more with the grass to anchor him to the ground, to prevent him from stopping her from leaving; to stop him from telling her the truth. He breathes slowly and concentrates on it. In and out, in and out.

(He tries to convince himself it is the heat that does it.)