Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10052129.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange, Draco_Malfoy, Albus_Dumbledore, Fred_Weasley,
      George_Weasley, Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, Lucius_Malfoy, Molly
      Weasley, Alastor_“Mad-Eye”_Moody, Narcissa_Black_Malfoy, Other(s), Remus
      Lupin, Ron_Weasley, Severus_Snape, Nymphadora_Tonks, Arthur_Weasley,
      Kingsley_Shacklebolt, Voldemort
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Language, Slash_sex, Self-Harm, Sexual_Content, Action/
      Adventure, Angst, Tragedy, Drama, Horror, Supernatural_-_Freeform, Hurt/
      Comfort, Mystery, Suspense, Romance
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-12-05 Completed: 2010-01-09 Chapters: 29/29 Words: 76416
****** For the Want of a Nail ******
by thewickednix [archived by HPFandom_archivist]
Summary
     Only months before Draco's upcoming initiation to the Dark Side, an
     unexpected situation in a dark alleyway causes distortion in his
     plans. Draco is forced to rethink his options of how he is to get
     through the war on the winning side. Because only one thing is for
     certain: he will live to see the end of it.
Notes
     Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally
     archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial
     reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its
     works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I
     e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but
     may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator,
     please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection
     profile.
***** Shadowplay *****
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned
by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury
Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is
being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
___________________________________________________________________
Prologue
I wanted a perfect ending. A clean cut. Now I've learned, the hard way, that
the poems don't rhyme. Our stories don't have a clear beginning, a middle, and
an end.
Perhaps I was a fool. I should've been smarter than to think that fate would
leave me alone so easily. I should've known I couldn't get away with my sins
without receiving a punishment. But I was ignorant enough to believe that I
could make my own destiny.
In the end, my only sin was to die before I had truly lived.
 
___________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1. Shadowplay
"Mr Malfoy, we're about to close."
I sneer at the gray-haired woman at the counter. "Yes, Madame Malkin." I state
coldly, reminding her that the money I have just spent here is well worth her
overtime. I hand her the latest of the robes I've tried on and put on my cloak.
"Would you be so kind as to send the clothes to Malfoy Mansion when they are
ready?" I stalk out through the door without waiting for an answer.
Every other shop in Diagon Alley has already closed. I wrap my cloak tighter
around me in the cold winter night and head for the Leaky Cauldron. Damn Madame
Malkin for keeping her shop on the other side of town. And damn Mother for not
giving birth to me six months earlier so that I could have an apparating
license by now. I curse out loud as I head down the dark street in a hurry to
get home.
The gray dust of sunset lays upon the town of Diagon Alley. The winter has
silenced the streets and the buildings surrounding them. All living noise has
disappeared, and all I can hear is my own ragged breathing as I make my way
towards the Leaky Cauldron. In spite of the freezing weather I can not help but
marvel at the beauty of this white season. This dry, cold time of the year that
suffocates all of nature, only to give it a new breath of life.
My breath wheezes, and in the northern wind and lightly falling snow I feel
entirely out of place. I stagger past the lake, its water black and ignorant,
the stars reflected on its surface looking like worn-out light bulbs. For a
moment I stop to wonder if it weren't easier for me just to wade out into the
lake's welcoming darkness.
You bloody coward.
As I walk past the deep black lake and frozen lawns, I go over the events of my
life. The twists of fate that have brought me here. I am turning seventeen in
June. That means I have five months before I am to be initiated to Voldemort.
Five months before I am to become a Death Eater. Five months before ickle Draco
Malfoy takes the final step in following his father's footsteps.
Five months before I die.
 
My thoughts come to an abrupt stop as I from the corner of my eye see a dark
figure moving beside me, a dull swooshing sound echoing in the quiet night. I
turn around gasping, only to find the street totally abandoned. All of the
streetlights are lit, there is no place for anyone to hide. I consider the
possibilities of different dark creatures that could hide in the night, slowly
pulling my wand out of my pocket.
I chuckle nervously, regretting it the moment the sound escapes my lips. The
high pitched laugh echoes in the empty street, seeming to hit every wall, every
light pole, every frozen alleyway before disappearing down the street, leaving
the air screaming with silence.
Turning back around and continuing my way home, I breathe slowly and fight to
walk at a normal speed with steady steps. I laugh silently at myself, what
exactly am I afraid of? Who would want to hurt little me?
...Well, don't want to answer that question, now do we?
But no matter how my voice of reason fights for control, I can only hear the
adrenaline pumping through my veins. I shiver as I take a look at my
surroundings with a frightened glance. The brightness of the lit street makes
the darkness around it even more tangible. Who knows what could be hiding in
those murky alleyways?
I increase my speed of walking a little, but refuse to give in to my ridiculous
paranoia enough to start running. The noisy tap of my shoes against the iced
street seems much too loud, yet reason tells me that if my steps can be heard
this well, then I can hear anyone approaching me within a mile's distance. The
thought calms me down enough for me to slow down my steps, letting my breathing
return to normal.
My fatal mistake, it seems.
I barely have time to register something moving towards me before I crash
brutally into an alleyway, landing on cold hard concrete. I open my eyes,
closed at the impact, only to find my mysterious attacker gone, and my wand
disappeared. I manage to find my feet, and take a few staggering steps
backwards towards the wall I know is behind me.
But instead of a wall, I suddenly find myself pressed to a human body. The
scream escaping me is trapped by a cold pale hand covering my mouth, while I
feel a strong arm sneaking around my chest and pulling me towards my attacker.
I struggle to break free, but the person, a man, is much too strong. Suddenly
he shifts our positions so that he has me trapped between him and the wall
behind me, pressing his hand to my mouth to prevent me from screaming.
This man, I find, is exceptionally handsome. Even in my panicked state of mind
I cannot help but to admire the man before me. He is about three inches or so
taller than me, and his slim frame doesn't seem to mach the raw strength he
obviously possesses. His hair, long and silky, glows like flames in the light
of the full moon. His eyes, almond shaped and decorated with pale lashes, stare
back at me with the colour of oak, of beer, of dark, dark gold.
The pale man presses one of his thighs between my legs, efficiently trapping
me, leering hollowly. I shudder as I am pressed further against the cold brick
wall. What does this man want from me? He is obviously not a Death Eater.
Perhaps I could rate him as a rapist or something, but he hasn't even got a
wand! Who rapes an armed wizard in the middle of freakin' Diagon Alley without
a wand?!
"Well, well. Aren't you quite a pretty one?" he mumbles, letting go of my mouth
to run his palm along my throat, seemingly addressing my neck instead of me. My
mouth now released, I would scream if it weren't for the cool hand pressed to
my throat, sending shivers down my body and silencing my vocal chords. Instead,
I try to look around to see if I might spot my missing wand.
The man chuckles throatily, an unnatural sound echoing in the darkness. The
hand that has been caressing my throat moves south to my collarbone, cold
fingers slowly tapping their way back up again while the man softly whispers:
"Eeny, meeny, miny moe
Catch the tiger by its toe..."
A finger stops abruptly just below my pulse point, and the man's chest heaves
slowly, as if he's taking in an expectant breath of air. Realisation dawns on
me. This is no ordinary man.
My eyes dart to those pale lips just to see them parting into a sneer, exposing
a set of shiny white teeth. I narrow my eyes, looking for confrontation in the
man's face. But I get no reaction; his grin merely grows wider as he leans
closer to me, and I instinctively press myself further against the wall,
desperately trying to escape.
The man's nostrils flare as he turns my face to the side and leans closer to my
throat. I imagine I can see his teeth flash in the dark briefly before his face
disappears from my zone of vision. But I have no time to think about that.
Because suddenly I feel a sharp, hot, stingy pain on my neck.
I gasp like a drowning man as I feel violent shivers go through my body. Panic
taking over, I writhe to break free from the man's, the vampire's, grip. I feel
him tighten his hold on me, his teeth sinking deeper into my neck. The bite
stings and burns violently, in deep contrast to the cool body I am pressed up
against. I struggle to get away from that ache, to get away from that burn...
To get closer.
All reasonable thoughts seem to escape me. I shudder violently as all the blood
from the rest of my body is drawn towards my throat in a wave of immense
pleasure stinted with pain. My body feels hot and my legs go weak. I cling
desperately to the wall, to the vampire's coat, to anything that will hold me
upright, keep me here. Digging my fingers into the vampire's shoulders to keep
myself standing, I moan loudly as I suddenly become aware that I am impossibly
aroused.
The vampire lets his grip on me ease somewhat, but without his strong arm
holding me upright my legs give way and I falter against the brick wall.
Startled by my sudden movement the vampire lifts his head from my throat and
grabs the front of my jacket to keep me standing. I hear myself moaning at the
loss of contact, and turn my head to look at the man who is currently staring
at me.
His eyes are a piercing shade of gold, deep like the abyss. His mouth, though,
is what draws me in. His formerly pale lips are now tainted with red, and as he
sneers slightly I see the bloody fangs his corner teeth have become. Blood. My
blood.
I hear someone laughing, and it takes a moment for me to realise it is me. The
the vampire arches a pale eyebrow and stares at me as if I were completely off
my rocker. I probably am. I stiffle my laughter and smile at him drunkenly,
trying to find the words to elaborate my behaviour. Why I think I should do
that, I have no idea.
"I'm sorry." I chuckle, blinking slowly. "It's just that well, here I go,
thinking about drowning myself in that lake over there. And the next thing I
know, I'm getting killed by a vampire!" I laugh dumbly.
As the vampire just continues to stare at me with a blank expression on his
face, occasionally letting the tip of his tongue grace his bloody fangs. I meet
his gaze and smile my last wicked smile, closing my eyes and leaning my head
back against the wall.
"Well?" I murmur, grinning as I hear the man's sharp intake of breath upon the
revealing of my bloody throat. "Isn't this what you came for? Take it."
I barely have time to finish the sentence before teeth sink into my neck once
again, and I groan loudly as the vampire presses his body against mine. I feel
my eyes grow dim, from the pleasure or the lack of blood, I do not know. Face
turned up towards the dark night sky, I smile to myself. As my sight grows
black, there is only one thought on my mind.
This is indeed the perfect way to go.
***** The Cold Kiss of Dawn *****

Author's notes: Draco's morning doesn't begin quite as expected.
===============================================================================
Chapter 2. The Cold Kiss of Dawn
I am woken by a blinding light. As my other senses kick in though, I realise
I'm hardly staring at the gates of heaven. I doubt one arrives to heaven laying
flat on one's back on cold wet concrete.
Focusing my gaze, I find myself staring up at the familiar sign of Ollivanders.
Groaning as I force myself to sit up, I look around in the alley where I have
obviously spent the night.
The narrow passage is completely empty, except for my wand that I see laying
about three yards away from me. I shake my head, thanking whichever god that
protected me from being killed, laying here in a dark alleyway completely
unarmed.
I stop mid-movement, as I realise I shouldhave been killed. Slightly panicked I
look down at my hands, and then out to the street behind me. Granted, only a
few people pass by, as it must still be early morning, but this is definitely
Diagon Alley. And I am here, alive.
I run a hand trough my hair while I fight to breathe normally. Could it all
have been just a dream? Maybe I just slipped, and I hit my head as I fell to
the ground?
But my instincts tell me it isn't right. It wasa vampire that attacked me. I
could not make this stuff up.
Could I?
Standing up, I brace myself for the back pain and sore limbs that come from
being attacked and sleeping in an snowy alley in the middle of December.
Strangely enough, the pain never comes. My body feels perfectly fine, even
though I just spent several hours laying on the cold ground. I shake my head
dismissively and walk over to pick up my wand from the ground. Maybe I really
did just hit my head. I mean, I am alive, aren't I? If I actually had been
attacked by a vampire, I would now be dead, no?
Yes, that must be it. I slipped, and the blow to my head made me crazy. No
biggie.
I straighten the front of my robes as I exit the alley. I stroll down the main
street towards the Leaky Cauldron where I was headedlast night. Trying to make
myself somewhat presentable, I reach for my hair. But as my left hand brushes
by my throat, I freeze in my steps.
There is a dull ache on the side of my neck, and as I feel closer to the centre
of the pain... there they are. Two small wounds, an inch and a half apart.
Sweet Merlin.
      ___________________________________________________________________
I have no recollection of how I made it home after that.
Luckily Malfoy Mansion is large enough so that Mother hadn't even realised I
didn't return home last night. I am able to make my way into my room unnoticed.
After locking the door and stripping off my shirt and robes, I step in front of
the mirror in the bathroom.
I cannot but to stare at my reflection.
The obvious changes are the two punctured holes on my throat, surrounded by a
small patch of reddened skin. But as I look closer, I see that my hair, which
before always has been the clean colour of platinum and ice, is now mixed with
pale shades of red. It is also longer, almost shoulder length. And though my
skin always has been pale, it is now if possible even paler, almost luminous.
My eyes are basically the same silver colour they have always been, though now
flecked with spots of darker grey, and my pupils are unusually dialated.
My face itself looks as if carved out of stone, white and refined. Dead. I try
to examine my teeth for any change, but they are the same as they've always
been, if a shade whiter.
I grab the green marble counter for support as I shake my head in frustration.
What is happening to me? I could brush it all off if it weren't for the
puncture wounds and the change in hair colour. That just isn't normal.
I look into the mirror again, sighing defeatedly. Obviously the vampire bit me,
long enough for me to pass out. How can I be alive? Why would he leave me to
live? And if he did bite me and leave me alive on purpose, that would mean
that...
Well, we don't want to think about what that means.
I avert my gaze to my mouth again. I bare my teeth in a predatory grin, but
nothing changes. No fangs, nothing. I close my eyes run one hand though my
ragged hair whilst gripping the counter harder with the other. What the hell is
wrong with me?
A loud crack startles me from my musings. I lower my gaze only to see a chunk
of marble in the hand that was just gripping the counter. Letting go of the
stone as if burned, I lean against what's left of the counter, hearing the loud
thunk of the marble hitting the floor.
This cannot be happening.
Staring from at my hand, then at the ruined table, and at my hand again, I feel
the adrenaline pump through my veins at superspeed. Turning back to the mirror
once more, I bare my teeth.
Come on, come on, show me them. I chant silently.
And suddenly, a vampire is staring back at me from the mirror. It is not a big
change, but a change nonetheless. I let the tip of my tongue grace my fangs,
just to make sure they are really there. And they are. Until I will them to
disappear again.
Terrified but the same time enchanted by my new powers, I spend the whole day
exploring them. Not just the obvious ones like the fangs and the hair colour,
but the others. I find that I really am inhumanly strong; ripping the thick oak
bathroom door from its frame was child's play. For a moment I am so blinded by
my new apparel and skills that I forget the reason for them.
But then, the house-elf Tilby brings me my lunch. And I cannot get down a bite.
Even the smell of that beautiful roast beef makes me nauseous. Looking into the
large mirror on my bedroom wall, I realise that I have been a fool. These
powers are not amazing and enchanting. They're disgusting. I'm not even human
any longer. I am nothing but a monster.
And it hits me, and I can only laugh at the irony of it all. I had been
planning my own demise for months now. I wanted to die so desperately. And
now...
Now I am immortal.
 
 
 
***** Flightless Bird *****

Author's notes: Draco needs to make decisions.
===============================================================================
Chapter 3. Flightless Bird
The Hogwarts Express seems never to have made its way over these moors as fast
as it now does, and yet the journey has never been this agonizingly slow. I
watch the never ending sceneries change before me, like the images I replay my
sixteen-year old life in.
Looking down at my scarred wrist, I sigh. How has it all come to this?
I have found it apparent that vampires can't commit suicide. At least not in
any usual way, considering the fact that we do not bleed. Technically I could
just cut open my chest and carve out my heart. But I'm sure that would be
unnecessary painful considering the fact that it probably would be just another
miserable failure.
I run my hand though my hair, which I have cut to the same short hairdo I had
before all of this shit.
How has my life come to this?
Realizing that we are approaching Hogwarts, I stand up on weak legs to change
into my school robes. I feel pathetic, being so weak that I can barely stand
without passing out. Still, it's better than the alternative.
Though my body screams for the release of drinking blood, my brain is still
strong enough to prevent me from killing anybody. I don't know how I am going
to make it through sleeping in the dorm, when getting on the train without
jumping somebody's neck was nearly unbearable.
I know I should tell somebody. My parents. Or Severus. But Merlin, Lucius would
only give me as a weapon to the Dark Lord. And my godfather, well... He would
lock me up. For my own safety, yes, but nevertheless. It really leaves me with
only one option.
I have to talk to Dumbledore.
      ___________________________________________________________________
Shaking legs carry me up the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Standing outside
the door I ask myself one last time if I am making a wise choice.
Certainly not.
 
From behind his desk, Dumbledore smiles at me warmly. As if he'd known I would
pay him a visit.
Well, who's to say he didn't?
"Young Mr Malfoy," The old man smiles, eyes twinkling behind half moon
spectacles. "What can I do for you? I do hope you haven't gotten yourself into
trouble already. The Yule Holidays have barely ended."
I hold my posture. "I have no time to lose, Headmaster. I need your help."
The old man's smile fades a tad at this, and he gestures for me to take a seat
at the chair in front of the desk.
"Would you care to elaborate, Mr Malfoy?" he asks, breaking eye contact
nonchalantly to conjure a tea set.
Offence is the best defence, eh?
"Considering that he is currently residing in Azkaban, I am positive you know
already, sir, that my father is one of You-Know-Who's closest followers. His
right hand man, one might say." I state in a challenging manner to get spurt
into this conversation.
Dumbledore just keeps smiling merrily at me. "Yes, Mr Malfoy. I did know. Alas,
I am intrigued. Why are you telling me this?" his eyes twinkle my way again,
before he once again turns to his tea pot. "Would you care for some tea?"
I almost retch at the idea of having to swallow the vile liquid. Even so, I
manage to keep my declination polite. "No thank you, sir. My incapacity to
accept leads me to the real problem." I inform the Headmaster, who has now
gained a small furrow between his brows.
"Please continue, Mr Malfoy."
"Yes, sir," I croak, my voice suddenly betraying me. You see, Headmaster,
during the Holidays, I visited Diagon Alley one night. And, well... I was
attacked." Looking down at my pale hands, I find myself unable to continue.
The old coot's reaction to my story so far is close to nil. Only a slight
raising of one eyebrow indicates that he even heard me. "By whom were you
attacked, Mr Malfoy? Not by a Death Eater, I'm sure?"
"If only it had been." I release a small chuckle, and the the Headmaster
furrows his brow deeper at that. Knowing I have to get this over with, I take a
deep breath. "I was attacked by a vampire, sir."
Finally, the old fool shows some kind of human reaction. His eyes grow wide as
he repeats my statement. "You were attacked by a vampire."
"Yes, sir," I nod, not caring to elaborate further. I know Dumbledore has
already understood.
And I am right. "How do you handle feeding, Draco?" Oh, it's Draco now, is it?
Fancy that. I feel almost as special as Saint Potter himself.
I sigh. "I don't. That is why I need your help, Headmaster. I will not kill
anyone just for me to feed. But an immortal starving himself to death... it's
not pleasant."
The Headmaster seems a little sickened by my gory statement. I would be lying
if I said I didn't find any joy in being the one to rip that merry expression
from his features.
As he does not answer immediately, I take the opportunity to continue. "Hence,
I ask to join your side in this war, Headmaster. I know I could be to great use
by making potions, not to mention my new-acquired strength and speed in battle.
What I ask in return is sanctuary, and that the affair of my feeding could be
solved. By blood donations for example, or something similar."
Dumbledore is quiet for a long moment. "The public will not be happy about the
light side having a vampire working with them."
I snort exaggeratedly before responding. "They'll be happy enough when we win
the war."
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
Our eyes lock for a second in the hall. He turns away fast, avoiding the fight
that is expected to occur whenever we meet. Weasley says something and laughs
with the decibel of a rabid dog barking, completely ignoring the fact that
Potter is barely listening to him. Granger drops a book, and blushes to the
roots of her bushy hair as Weasley picks it up for her.
I shake my head slowly, avoiding to look at the Golden Trio as I pass them by
to return to the safety of the dungeons. Not even my House is what it used to
be. I used to feel at home here. Safe.
Now I am haunted even by these walls. By my father. By Voldemort. By what I've
become. By what my future will hold. By Potter.
Potter has changed. It's been a while since I've seen him smile. Really smile.
Like he smiled when he won his first Quiddich game. Like he smiled when he
first flew his Firebolt. Like that time when he'd beaten the dragon.
That smile that turns the wizarding world around is faltering. His innocence is
fading. He's coming to realise the dirty truth of war. He believes he is
responsible. He believes that all those people are dying because of him. I can
see it in his eyes. I can smell it in his scent.
Potter is dying. Of guilt.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
This is it. I'm on my way to an Order meeting. Dumbledore told me to come to
his office at 11 pm. So either we're going to the meeting, or the old man has
decided to take me out on a late night rendezvous.
"Draco, I am pleased to see you are on time. We have to leave immediately."
Dumbledore states his hurried greeting as I enter his office. He reaches out
his arm for me. "I take it you have side-along apparated before?"
"Yes, sir," I answer. I bypass the temptation to inform the Headmaster that
though I may not be seventeen for a couple of months yet, I have known how to
apparate for three years. I hesitate in taking Dumbledore's offered arm,
fearing anyone's reaction to my cold hand. The Headmaster pays no mind to my
hesitation, but grabs my arm firmly to prove to me that I should not fear him.
when clutching to Dumbledore's arm, I suddenly realise that no one should be
able to apparate from Hogwarts.
A useless thought. The next thing I know I am standing on a cold, dark Muggle
street. Dumbledore hands me a paper, a handwritten note.
Grimmauld Place 12
As soon as I have read the note, it goes up in flames. A large black house
appears between two others right before my eyes.
Ah, Fidelius Charm, then.
Dumbledore doesn't say a word as we stalk over to the house. The large wooden
door opens into what obviously is a very old wizarding home. The hallway is
dark and damp, lit only with two ancient gas lamps. A big canvas covers the
wall behind the stairs. Though the hall is empty, I hear muffled voices from
behind two doors I can only presume lead to the dining room.
I follow Dumbledore to those doors, thinking my steps against the dusty dark
floor sound like canon shots in the night. Dumbledore walks through the door
before me and I hear cheers and what I recognise as Mr Weasley's voice.
"Albus! Glad you could make it. Should we begin the meeting, then?"
I can hear the smile in the Headmaster's voice as he answers. "Yes, we should
indeed. We have much to discuss tonight." He then turns smiling towards me, and
takes a step to the side so that I will come in view of everyone.
The room becomes completely silent.
***** Toy Soldiers *****

Author's notes: The meeting.
===============================================================================
Chapter 4. Toy Soldiers
They are all sitting around a big, dark, wooden table. Mr Weasley looks like he
might fall off his chair. Mrs Weasley, who is currently serving coffee to her
husband is shaking so badly she needs to grab the table for support. A woman
with appalling purple hair has tripped over a carafe with pumpkin juice, and is
in such a shock that she doesn't even notice the red liquid pouring down onto
her lap.
A chubby and dirty man, who reminds me disgustingly much of Pettigrew, is the
only one who doesn't seem to react. That on the other hand might have something
to do with the fact that he is currently filling his pockets with the
silverware from the table.
The Muddblood is grabbing the book she is holding so hard her knuckles are
whitening, while Weasley's jaw is about two inches off the floor. Potter is
staring at me with eyes the size of saucers, stirring his cup of coffee
frantically. And then, I see Severus, who has just walked into the room from
the kitchen, staring at me as if he has seen a ghost.
No one says a word.
"Albus, why is he here?" my godfather finally croaks, still staring at me as if
I will turn to dust as soon as he looks away.
Before Dumbledore has time to answer, though, I see a shadow approaching me
from the side. Weasley lunges pathetically past me as I take a leisurely step
backwards to avoid him. The red-head does a U-turn and jumps my throat again,
this time without me making any move to stop him.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here, Ferret? Sticking your ugly nose
in here too to get hold of information that'll get you in favour of daddy's
master, eh?" He is only inches from my face, roaring at the top of his lungs as
he presses his arm against my throat. As if I needed the air anyway. I snicker
to myself, knowing that I could rip that arm off with ease.
I do not fight back however, knowing that that would look bad for me. Besides,
Merlin knows what I could do if Weasley were to draw blood in our fight. The
thought of drinking a Weasley's blood is almost too disgusting to bear.
I swallow, Weasley's raging blood pulsing too loudly through his veins, too
close for comfort. I reach out and grab Weasley's wrist, removing his arm from
my throat with ease. I wouldn't have needed to use much force anyway, as soon
as my hand touches his bare skin, Weasley bounces back with a gasp.
With Weasley staring at me and gasping like a goldfish on dry land,
Dumbledore's voice seems miles away.
"Ron, that's enough."
It seems not even the Weasel is dumb enough to oppose the Headmaster's orders.
He returns to his seat, however reluctantly, rubbing his wrist absent-mindedly.
"Come over here, Draco. Sit down." Dumbledore gestures to one chair at the end
of the table, and takes a seat in the one next to it.
Face an ignorant mask, I approach the table. Weasley has sat back down and is
keeping quiet now, face still as red as ever.
Everyone else is still silent, waiting for Dumbledore to explain. Fortunately,
for once he begins without any ado.
"Draco came to me a week ago with a request to join the Order. After listening
to his reasons, I could not deny his request," the Headmaster begins, but
pauses to accept a cup of tea from Mrs Weasley.
"Thank you, Molly." He sips his tea for a minute, before putting it onto the
table and crossing his hands. "You see, Draco was supposed to be marked as a
Death Eater in June."
A low murmur fills the room. I snort, as if the information was surprising to
anyone. It is the woman with the ghastly hair who speaks up first. " 'Was
supposed to'? What changed?"
I narrow my eyes. Something is off about this woman. As she leans slightly
closer to hear the Headmaster's response, I catch a sniff of her scent. There
is something very familiar about it. I'm just about to ignore it when she
raises her hand to brush her shoulder length hair behind her ear to reveal her
throat. I raise an eyebrow in confusion.
"You are related to me."
All heads turn towards me as I watch the purple haired woman intently. She
stares at me for a second before regaining her composure.
"Yes, I'm Nymphadora Tonks. My mother is Andromeda Tonks, née Black."
I nod shortly. With that hair, I should've guessed that this is the
Metamorphagus daughter of my aunt and that Muggle she married.
Potter stares at me in as much confusion as the others. "How did you know?"
I give him a blank look. "I had a hunch."
Some of the people at the table are about to protest, but Dumbledore cuts them
off with a cough. "Gentlemen, -and ladies," he adds as Hermione and Tonks
snort. "May we please proceed to the actual--"
I cut off the Headmaster by standing up rapidly from my chair. A mere reflex
from hearing someone enter the house and approach the dining room. My instincts
tell me that this is no ordinary guest. Every hair on my body is suddenly
standing and my muscles are rigid and ready for a fight. And I suddenly realise
what is wrong with the newcomer.
I turn towards the door just in time to see the handle being pushed down.
Within a second from the opening of the door I have the newcomer thrown to the
wall with one arm, fingers pressed to his throat.
"Werewolf." I can but hiss, and I see the man's brown eyes stare back at me in
horror. I suddenly recognise him as Professor Lupin, the DADA teacher from
third year, but the notion does nothing to make me ease my grip. For all I now
know is that this man is a werewolf, a beast as much as I am, and no less
dangerous. My need for self-preservation tells me to off this monster when-
"Draco." I hear Dumbledore's voice from behind a thick veil it seems, and
suddenly I am drawn back to reality. "Let him go."
Narrowing my eyes at the werewolf one last time, I let go of his throat, and
see him lean against the wall as his legs give way. Ignoring my enemy, I turn
my anger towards Dumbledore.
"Who are you to tell me what to do? He is a werewolf, he should be killed as
soon as possible," I hiss between clenched teeth at the Headmaster, who doesn't
even blink.
"That is what most people would say about you, Draco," he merely retorts, a
twinkle in his eyes.
I feel the rage take over and a split second later I am standing face to face
with Dumbledore, my face inches from his. "Ican control my... problems. He, on
the other hand," I gesture towards the pathetic lump still leaning at the wall,
"loses his whole self as he transforms. If someone were to get in the way of
that... it wouldn't be pretty. He should. Not. Be. Here."
The old fool does not budge. "Draco, Professor Lupin is one of our oldest
members. His condition is well taken care of. You have no reason to worry."
I stare at Dumbledore for a minute before the vampire in me gives up. A
terrible nausea starts churning in the pit of my stomach. I turn and walk
towards the large window on the other side of the room, far away from both the
werewolf and the dining table. Panic fills my insides as I think about the fact
that I almost just killed a man. An ally, at that. I cross the last yard to the
window in a jump that lands me on the wide window sill. As my breath speeds up,
I fight to get the window to open. Tears stream down my face as I claw
frantically at the handle, leaving deep marks in the dark wood. Finally, the
large window opens. I lean out through the window, feeling sick but of course
unable to empty my stomach.
Eventually my breathing returns to normal. I wipe my eyes with the back of my
hand and turn back towards the others.
They have gotten the werewolf to sit down at the table, but no one is saying
anything. Everyone is just staring at me in deep shock.
I cross the floor on shaky legs, feeling the anxiety and lack of food wearing
me down. I notice everyone shift in their seats as I approach, so I stop in my
tracks a yard or so from the table.
I take a deep breath and brace myself for the inevitable humiliation of an
apology. "I am sorry that I accosted you, Professor. It was not my intention, I
just let my instincts run away with me. It will not happen again." Clenching my
jaw, I fight to keep my word and to not react aggressively to the scent of the
werewolf at the table.
Before Lupin has time to open his mouth, Dumbledore speaks. "You must excuse
Draco, Remus. He has had a rough couple of weeks."
Giving me a wary look, the werewolf turns towards the Headmaster. "Albus, what
in the world is going on? That boy's strength is not normal. And his scent,
it's odd. I can't interpret it, it's... just off."
Dumbledore nods understandingly before gesturing for me to take my place next
to him again. I look warily at the people around the table, still staring at me
in confusion and fright. "I think I'd better just stand here for a while. I
don't know if I should be that close to all of you yet. My emotions are still
running wild and... I'm just not sure if I can control myself properly right
now. Just give me a minute."
The confusion at the table intensifies, and everyone's eyes shift from me to
Dumbledore and back again as if watching a silent ping-pong game. Dumbledore
just nods, and turns back to the others.
"You see, in the end of the Yule Holidays, Draco was in Diagon Alley. There was
an accident." Everyone looks at me with a furrowed brow, and I can't help but
snort. "Accident, my arse."
After silencing me with a stern look, the Headmaster continues. "He was
attacked... by a vampire."
A stunned minute of silence before exclaims and uproars fill the room, and I
fight to keep my face neutral as everyone turns to stare at me.
"He- he can't have been!" I turn to look at Weasley's horror stricken face and
raise an eyebrow. "He wouldn't be alive if he were!"
I can't but snicker at the fool's attempt to deny what is on everyone's lips
already. I inspect one of my hands pale nonchalantly as I respond. "Who said
that I am alive?" And before anyone has time to react, I raise my hand to my
throat and slice my pulse point with my sharp thumb nail.
A shocked uproar echoes through the room as everyone rises from their seats. As
they rush towards me, only two notice that I am neither bleeding nor writhing
in pain, and freeze in their steps. I turn my gaze from Severus to Potter, who
is staring at my throat as if I were growing a second head there, before
averting his gaze to my face. Our eyes lock, emerald with the silver grey I
know Potter recognises. I see something in that gaze, something beyond the hate
and fright and shock I see mirrored in everyone else's eyes.
Recognition.
Because he knows how I feel, doesn't he? How it feels not to be living, yet not
dead. Breathing, but hollow. Buried alive.
The spell breaks as everyone reaches me, Mrs Weasley attacking me with a towel
and her wand raised, shrieking "Oh you poor boy, what have you done?" I stand
still and wait for the revelation. One minute, I have five hundred hands on me,
voices repeating that 'it'll all be OK'. And the next I know the hands are
withdrawn as if burned, while the room grows dead silent.
"Wha-" I hear Mr Weasley stammer as he looks at me throat which should be
covered with blood
"You don't bleed...!" Granger mutters as she approaches me anew, staring into
my eyes with both fright and excitement. "Your hair has changed colour, too,"
she states while gripping my chin gently and tipping my head to the side, to
get a better view of my cut throat. Then she reaches to touch my hand gently.
"You have cold hands..." I feel a trembling thumb caress the wound on my neck
as the girl whispers "...You're a vampire, aren't you?"
***** Half a Person *****

Author's notes: Revelations.
===============================================================================
Chapter 5. Half a Person
"...You're a vampire, aren't you?"
Well, bravo. Genius of the month.
It takes a minute for the words to register, and the second they do, Granger is
tugged backwards by Weasley as everyone backs away from me.
"Get out of here, you monster!" Weasley hisses, pushing in front of Granger to
shield her from me.
I snort at his ridicule. "You think you can protect her from me, Weasley?"
Weasley's eyes widen in shock and he takes a step backwards. I can smell his
fear, his and the others'. Their blood pumping rapidly through their bodies as
they grip their wands in a feeble attempt to make themselves believe they could
defend themselves from me. Fools.
I take a step forward, and watch the group take two steps back. "You think that
if I wanted to attack her, that you would be able to protect her?" I throw my
head back in a clinging, cold laugh. ”You are all fools, believing that you
could fight me off with a wand if I intended to attack you." I smile a vicious
smile at the group of terrified wizards. As fast as I can I lunge around the
table where Potter, Severus and Dumbledore are still seated. I stop to stand
directly behind Mr Weasley and my supposed cousin.
"Do you really think you could catch me?" I ask, drawing a shriek from the
entire group. Tonks and the older Weasley look as if they are about to faint as
they turn around and find me sneering at them.
"Draco, I think this is quite enough." I hear Dumbledore state from the table,
where he is still seated, sipping his tea calmly. I nod curtly and walk over to
sit down beside the Headmaster, who smiles at me before turning to the others
still standing. "Would you please take your seats? Draco is harmless-" I snort
and receive a stern gaze from my godfather "If he wanted to hurt any of us, he
would've done so already."
A few mutter in agreement, mainly Mr Weasley and Granger, but the others still
look very doubtful. They all sit back down in their seats though, warily
watching my every move.
"What do you want with the Order?" Tonks ask suspiciously, casting fast glances
at me as if uncertain if it's safe to look me in the eye.
"Frankly, I had little choice." I lean back into the chair and cross my arms.
"I was to join the Dark Lord upon my seventeenth birthday in June, but I
realised that when finding out about my... condition, my father would send me
to his master immediately. For much more gruesome purposes than being a mere
Death Eater."
"A vampire would indeed be a much more powerful weapon for the dark side than
we can afford to grant them." Mr Weasley answers thoughtfully, accepting
another cup of tea from his wife.
"Indeed." I state, watching the other wizards intently. "And as much as I was
raised up to stand on the Dark Lord's side, I do not wish for him to win this
war. So here I am, offering my services to you instead."
"What do you get out of this?" I hear Granger's voice from the other end of the
table. I narrow my eyes at her as she continues. "Even if you do not wish to
join Voldemort," I hiss slightly at his name. "you could just leave, run away.
Why would you stay and fight for a bunch of people whom you don't even like?"
My lips crack into a twisted smile as I narrow my eyes further. "Good thinking,
Granger. Yes, it would in fact have been easier for me to run away. After all,
not even Father could track down a vampire, even if it were his own son." I
place my hands on the table as I continue, disgusted by what I am forced to say
next. "But you see, there is a small detail that eliminates that plan."
My godfather sighs. "Your feeding."
Meeting his gaze steadily, I nod softly. Everyone else at the table are looking
confused and very uncomfortable about the subject of my feeding, and so I
continue. "I did not ask to become what I am, and I have no intention to kill
people just so that I could feed." I look down at my pale hands, only vaguely
aware that I am still speaking. "Though I am now immortal, and will not die of
starvation even if I do not feed, it is not so easy as to plainly go on a
hunger strike. When not being able to feed, I grow weak, my body seems to be
falling out from under me. This will continue until I am not able to do
anything else but to lie still in a bed, throat burning and gut aching from the
thirst. And that is to be my lot until someone is kind enough to plunge a
wooden stake into my chest."
The room is silent as the slightly green Order members ponder upon what has
been said. It is Mrs Weasley who finally opens her mouth to break the silence.
"So what part does the Order play in this?"
"He wants our blood." Granger pipes up, drawing gasps from the other members.
"Am I right?" she demands, furrowing her brow at me.
I try to concentrate on my answer. But with all the wizards in this room scared
and angry, all I can focus on is the blood running furiously through their
bodies. Their faces are flushed red from anger, and I can but close my grip the
table frantically to keep me from lunging at anybody's throbbing pulse point.
"Would... would you please calm down?" I mumble desperately, my grip on the
counter tightening.
"Calm down? You expect us to calm down when knowing that you want to rip our
throats out?!" Weasley screams, leaning over the table as he roars, as if the
words would reach me better.
"Ron!" his father exclaims.
But it doesn't help. All I hear is the furious pulsing in the Weasel's veins,
and that is the last drop. I feel the wood crack under my hands and I throw
myself from the table and into the furthest dark corner of the room to get away
from them. My head aches with the dull throb of blood rushing through their
veins, so loud I believe my head might implode. I claw at my throat to stop the
excruciating thirst that demands their blood. I feel my fangs appear, and I
push myself further into the dark corner, wondering when I started screaming.
 
Suddenly I am startled by finding my somebody grab my hands and prying them
away from my throat. My screams turn to whimpers and I open my eyes to find
Granger staring back at me, compassion in her brown eyes.
I hear everyone else in the room draw a sharp breath as Granger lets go of one
of my hands and turns her arm so that her bare wrist is right in front of my
face. Somebody shouts something, and I think it's Weasley, but all I can think
of right now is the scent of the blood that is being offered to me.
Slowly I reach for the offered hand, glancing at Granger for confirmation that
this is really what it seems. She nods slowly and shifts in her position,
sitting on her knees so that she is close enough, but not too close, to me.
I gently pull her hand to my lips and lap at the blue vein there, casting
Granger a final look.
"Tell me when to stop." I whisper, before baring my teeth and sinking them into
the soft flesh.
Her body shudders slightly and a pained gasp escapes Granger's lips, but her
hand is kept perfectly still. It is a good thing, for as soon as the warm
liquid touches my lips I cannot let go. The blood fills my mouth and spills
down my throat, filling my stomach with its wonderful metallic weight.
Soon I notice a different apprehension in Granger's body. She has stopped
shuddering in repressed pain and started fidgeting instead. I hear her
breathing heavily, and as soon as I have drank enough blood to soothe my
strongest need, I raise my gaze to look at her.
The girl is still sitting on her knees, but she is now leaning slightly forward
on her other arm, head bowed towards the floor and eyes closed. I suddenly
remember what happened with me when the vampire attacked, and I am shocked to
realise that Granger is actually aroused by this.
Fortunately the though has no time to go any further. Granger has started
swaying and I realise that the blood loss is making her weak. A few more gulps
of the warm liquid and then I withdraw my teeth from her flesh, lapping at the
puncture wounds to stop their bleeding.
As I let go of Granger's arm, it seems as if she is woken from a daze and she
raises her head to look at me with clear eyes, her breathing ragged and her
face flushed.
"Thank you." I nod, determined to show my gratefulness by not making Granger's
reaction into more than it is: just a reaction. One of a vampire's weapons. I
stand up from the floor, brushing the dust off my robes, and offering my hand
to Granger. She smiles weakly and grabs it, standing up onto shaky legs,
muttering a soft "you're welcome".
I now notice that all of the other people in the room are still staring at us.
Apart from Dumbledore of course; the Headmaster is still sipping his tea
merrily.
Each and every one of them are looking at Granger as if they are uncertain if
they should be worried that she's going to lose consciousness, or scared that
she's going to turn into a vampire herself. Weasley is staring at me as if he'd
like to rip my head off, but he keeps glancing at the destroyed table edge, so
I guess he realises that that is likely what would happen to him if he tried.
Potter, to my confusion, looks a lot like Granger does. His face is flushed and
a small blush is creeping up his neck. His eyes are a little hazy, but he
refuses to meet my gaze.
"You should sit down." I tell Granger, who's face is still decorated with a
bright blush. I lick my lips before turning to the rest of the crowd.
"I apologize for my behaviour. But in my defence, it's been two weeks since I
was turned and I had not fed once. My self-resolve was starting to get pretty
weak."
Feeling new power fill me from the blood, I take a new breath and continue. "I
know that it is scary and a lot to take, but I would only have to feed once a
week to keep myself healthy." I look around at the grim faces to stop at
Potter's now slightly less flushed one. "If I were to feed off a few of you,
and those few would take turns, then there would be more than a month between
the turns." I quiet down to receive my jury's verdict.
"Draco is correct." my godfather murmurs, looking at the others. "It would
hardly interrupt anybody's life at all, and think about of how much use he
would be on the battlefield."
I smile at Severus, grateful for his support, though it was to be expected.
"Besides," Mr Weasley pipes in, "it's bad policy to turn down anyone wanting to
join the Order. We need all the help we can get."
"But what if he attacks someone?" Weasley exclaims, clenching his fists. ”How
can we be certain that he won't suddenly go on a killing spree?"
"Yes," the Pettigrew look-alike narrows his eyes at me. "It's not like any of
us could fight him off."
To my surprise, it is Potter who comes to my defence. He sighs heavily and
crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Didn't the two of you see what
happened to that table? Don't you realise that Malfoy did that 'cause he was
fighting not to attack any of us."
"Well, there you go!" Weasley shouts, pointing at me in fury. "If it's that
hard for him to stop himself from making one of us his meal, then he shouldn't
be here!"
I sigh exaggeratedly, startling everyone. "Are you a complete idiot, Weasley?"
I ask, and silence his protest with a stern look. "I asked all of you to calm
down, didn't I? Don't you realise that I can smell all of your blood, and when
you get agitated the scent gets stronger? Stronger and also harder to resist."
I narrow my eyes at Weasley and the rat faced man who now both look
embarrassed.
The silence grows thick until Dumbledore breaks it by suddenly setting down his
cup on what's left of the table and standing up from his chair.
"So, it is settled, then?" he smiles in a grotesquely happy way, tapping his
fingers enthusiastically. "Why don't you decide who are going to be the donors
while Draco swears the oath with me?"
Without waiting for a response, he then strides out of the room, leaving for me
only to follow him and for the others only to do as ordered.
***** Things Happened That Way *****

Author's notes: Confusion.
===============================================================================
Chapter 6. Things Happened That Way
"So..." Mr Weasley begins, rubbing his hands together anxiously. "I guess we
have to decide on who are going to be Mr Malfoy's donors."
Snape sits down at the ruined table and taps his fingers on the wood. "The
youths are the best option; they have the cleanest blood."
Hermione nods calmly while Ron looks as though he is about to explode. "What!
Should I become a meal ticket to that slimy-"
"Ron!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, appalled of her son's bad behaviour. "How can you
be so inconsiderate? The poor boy has enough to deal with as it is, without you
throwing sticks in the wheels!"
I can't help but snicker to myself. It seems that I am no longer the only one
to be called "that poor boy". I wonder what Malfoy would think if knowing that
he is bunched up with the 'Golden Boy'?
"Actually, Mr Weasley," Snape mutters, staring at Ron as though he was a bug
needed to be squashed. "I doubt Draco would ever even consider feeding off you,
so I believe you are safe."
Ron seems relieved, until he notices that there might have been an insult in
that sentence. Before he has time to recover however, Tonks pipes in.
"What about me?" she asks Snape. "Am I considered a youth or not?"
Snape considers the question for a minute before answering. "Considering that
you are below thirty, I would say that you should be a donor. But because you
are related to him, I doubt that it would be a good idea."
"Why does relation matter?" Hermione asks, and I stifle the urge to laugh. Even
in this situation she acts as if she were in class, quill and parchment at the
ready.
"Because," Snape begins, sneering at Hermione in a very Malfoyish way. "Tonks
is of blood relation with Draco, which means that their blood is similar in
context. That means that Draco could not get all of the energy he needs from
it, because he already possesses some of the materia in the blood. If he were
to feed from Tonks, he would have to do it two to three times a week instead of
one."
"So what, that just leaves me and 'Mione?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at the
Professor.
"But Harry!" Ron exclaims, gripping my arm. "You can't be a donor, what if he
kills you? Then the war would be lost just because we have to feed that... -
that freak!"
I consider the possibility for a moment, before twisting my arm out of Ron's
grip. "Dumbledore would never let that happen," I say, fully aware of how naïve
I sound. I then turn to Ron and mumble in a low voice; "Besides, do you really
want to send Hermione to Malfoy weekly?"
Ron goes very pale for a second, then shakes his head violently before
declaring me right. I feel the need to cheer, though I don't quite know why.
Why would I be happy to play Malfoy's canteen every other week? Especially
after my reaction to today's display.
I blush again as I think about what happened. I had never considered Malfoy
anything but a slimy miniature Death Eater, but... God, the greed with he drank
down the blood with, and the effect it obviously had on Hermione. How I had
wished to be there in her place! And when Malfoy then stood up, a small drop of
blood still on his lower lip, he looked transformed. The skinny, ragged boy who
had walked into the room an hour earlier had suddenly turned into a very
handsome youth. His skin was practically glowing, pearl white and luminous.
I couldn't look into his eyes, I knew if I did, he would know. He would know
that I just got a hard-on watching him eat off of one of my best friends. How
twisted is that?
I turn towards Hermione, and see her staring out the window, starry eyed and a
small blush gracing her cheeks. Somehow I feel a green eyed monster evolving in
the pit of my stomach. Why should Hermione look like that? She's supposed to
get together with Ron, marry and have a dozen red-headed big toothed kids.
She's not supposed to look like that when thinking about Malfoy!
I'm not supposed to be thinking like this about Malfoy.
"So, do we have a decision?" Mr Weasley asks, looking each of us in the eye.
Everyone nods quietly, and Mrs Weasley turns to look at the Grandmother Clock
on the head wall of the room.
"My, it's almost 2 am!" she exclaims. "You'd best be getting back to Hogwarts,
children. Tomorrow's a school day."
Ron is about to protest, but I mumble a "Yes, Mrs Weasley," and drag Ron
towards the door, Hermione in tow.
As we pull on our cloaks in the hall, Ron keeps muttering.
"I can't believe they still won't let us stay for the whole meeting! We're
sixteen now, we're old enough!"
A loud snort echoes through the hall, followed by Malfoy's drawl: "Well,
Weasley, maybe if you acted like an adult once in a while, they'd treat you
like one."
Malfoy sweeps down the stairs towards us silently as a ghost, and Ron grits his
teeth. "What did you say, Ferret?"
Malfoy sneers back at him, pushing past us and proceeding through the front
door. "I am merely suggesting that if you were to control your temper, your
adolescence wouldn't be all that tangible."
Hermione and I follow Ron as he shots down the yard after Malfoy's disappearing
figure.
"Would you talk like a normal human being, you ponce?" Ron shouts after our
common nemesis. "Besides, I didn't see you getting to stay either, oh Mr
Grownup."
Malfoy turns, sneering at the red-head following him down the street. "That's
obvious, isn't it. Dumbledore comes to the meeting and drops a bomb like he did
today, and you don't think the others would like to discuss it without the
bomb's presence?"
A valid point, as Ron also apparently realises, because he remains quiet.
Another sneer from Malfoy. "Exactly," he snorts, before turning to Hermione and
myself who have just now caught up with Ron and Malfoy. "Now if you'll excuse
me, I would like to return to Hogwarts. I have an essay that is due tomorrow."
"But you can't apparate, can you?" The words escape my mouth before I have time
to stop myself.
Malfoy stares at me for a few seconds, surprise clouding his clear eyes. "Not
legally, no..." he mumbles, still looking at me with a quizzical brow. "Aren't
you going to apparate too? How else would you get to Hogwarts from here?"
I chuckle and pull out three shrunken brooms from my jeans pocket. "You didn't
think Dumbledore would actually let us do anything illegal? It would not bode
good for the war if any of us were to wind up arrested for illegal apparating."
Malfoy seems to consider my words for a moment before he narrows his eyes at
me. "Are you trying to imply that I'm supposed to ride on one of those brooms
all the way to Hogwarts, when I might just as well apparate right to the
gates?"
A wicked smile. "Yes."
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
I am nothing but weather and wind. I am part of the snowstorm, flying forth
over blue moors and through green forests lightly as the snowflakes I'm
chasing. My limbs are like ice, and I am blinded by the snow. And I am
gloriously happy.
"Malfoy, are you crazy?" Potter's laugh cuts through the storm as I do another
loop around a couple of pines.
I circle a vine of jasmine, cutting my cheek on a frozen thorn. "Maybe I am."
Crossing the path right in front of Weasley's broom, I hear Granger squeal and
the Weasel curse as he has to avoid me. He turns his broom around and almost
hits a tree.
Chuckling I turn down the path, catching up to Potter and noticing a slight
grin on his face. I sneer, not able to believe it; Potter is actually laughing
at a prank I pulled on his friends. "Find something funny, Potter?"
He startles, smile hidden from his face once again. But I can still see it
glimpse in his eyes, I can still see his chest vibrating irregularly from
holding back his laughter. "Nothing, Malfoy. That was a mean thing to do." He
tries to sound angry, or at least irritated, but fails miserably.
Gaining this little piece of my supposed nemesis, I feel as though I should
repay the favour. So, I feel a small laugh escape my lips. "Nice try, Potter."
I fly past him down the road, out through the woods and into a golden field,
wondering why he looks at me with those green eyes.
Wondering why he sees me.
***** Castle on the Hillside, Mirror in the Pond *****

Author's notes: Solitude and cigarettes.
===============================================================================
Chapter 7. Castle on the Hillside, Mirror in the Pond
Walking through the Entrance Hall on my way to breakfast the next morning, some
second year Hufflepuff girl walks through the doors. A fresh breeze blows
straight for me, and I feel it calling me. Breakfast forgotten, I head for the
door.
The moon is still high above the silvery tree tops, and the air is sharp and
cold. I walk out onto the Quidditch Pitch and sit down on the ground next to
the Gryffindor goal pole. I taste the winter in the air as I light a cigarette,
watching the horizon where the white earth meets the dark green sky.
Steps in the snow behind me, and a shy voice is heard.
"Malfoy?"
Yes. Unbelievably, here he is again.
"Potter." I acknowledge coolly, and turn back to watch my horizon.
He rudely takes a seat in the snow next to me, and I cannot even be bothered to
be angry. "What are you doing out here?"
I snort humourlessly. "I could ask you the very same question." I tap the ashes
from my cigarette onto the clean, white snow.
To my surprise, Potter laughs. "A valid point, I guess."
We sit in silence for a while, I watching the deep green sky, Potter drawing
abstract lines into the soft layer of snow.
"Why did you come to Dumbledore instead of going to Voldemort?"
I am startled out of the silence by the question, shivering at the mention of
the Dark Lord's name. "Um, well. Wouldn't you have done the same thing?" I
sneer at him.
He gives me that 'yes-but-I-am-not-a-Death-Eater's-son-and-an-evil-Slytherin-
in-general'-look.

I give him a defeated look, staring down the hill and past it into the
distance. "I was never going to join him in the first place, but the
unfortunate events during the Yule Holidays put an ugly spin on it all. I
couldn't go through with my original plans. So I had to seek out Dumbledore."
"So you really didn't want to fight for the Light?" Potter's voice is small. As
I turn towards him I am forced to notice the disappointment in his eyes.
Confused, but mostly just irritated I turn away. I gaze towards the small
sliver of the sun raising up above the tree tops, fighting the moon for space
in the sky. Snorting, I crush the remains of my cigarette into the snow in
frustration.
"Don't get any ideas, Potter. I am no hero, no martyr. No noble saint who
suddenly realised his purpose in life is to fight evil. I am merely a
marionette, tossed around by the whims of fate. As I told you all at the
meeting, I had little choice but to do what I did." I mutter, draping my cloak
tighter around me as a cold wind rushes up the hillside.
A long silence follows, until Potter finally sighs. "I don't believe you." At
my offended raise of an eyebrow, he hurries to continue. "I believe that you
were driven to this by the circumstances, but that doesn't change the fact that
you did chose this path. If you really were the Malfoy I always thought you
were, the Malfoy you try to make everyone think you are, you would not have
hesitated to kill a few wizards to keep yourself alive."
I stare at him. He looks back with a steady gaze, his whole posture mirroring
the image of a hero speaking the complete truth. Or what he believes to be the
truth, anyway. "You chose to lower yourself to ask for help from Dumbledore,
which I have no doubt was no easy thing for you to do. So no, you may not be a
saint, Malfoy. But you are a hero."
I can think of nothing to say to that. Staring down at my pale, long fingers, I
wonder how these hands, these cold hands of a killer, could ever be the hands
of a hero. Lifting my gaze towards the field below once more, I see the sun
lose its fight against the moon. It blinds me with a few pale rays of light
before disappearing behind the horizon. I sigh.
"Do you think this goddamn winter will ever end, Potter?"
He chuckles as much as he dares at my silly, yet totally serious question.
Finally he sighs and answers softly:
"Of course it will. They always do."
A small smile playing on my lips, I draw my knees to my chest. "Well, that's
good then." Maybe for this moment, for this moment only, I could believe him.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
We do not have one of those talks again. A week later I am moved to Grimmauld
Place. Packing only a small suitcase with my most necessary belongings, I bide
farewell to my home forever. Who knows if Hogwarts will still stand when all of
this is over.
The house is dark and empty, a typical old wizard house with house-elf heads on
corridor walls and ghouls in the attic. I take my time to go through the whole
house, and eventually come upon a Family Tree in the drawing room. Realising I
am in the old Black House, I feel the urge to laugh at the irony of it. Being
in the position where I am probably soon to be disinherited, I suddenly find
myself actually living in the Most Noble House of Black. The one legacy Mother
has been dying to get her hands on.
Running my fingers along the long branches of the tree, I finally find my hand
resting on a familiar face. My own. The flame of the candle on the wall
flickers, and I find myself reaching for it. Before I know it, a black hole is
gracing the wall where the small picture of me used to be. The only thing left
now is my name. I blow out the candle.
From that day on, I live in darkness.
      ___________________________________________________________________
The Fidelius Charm and quite possibly some other charms Dumbledore has put on
the house prevent me from ever leaving it, and already after the third day I am
panicking. Luckily, pacing my bedroom one night I get the brilliant idea to
open a window. And though none of the doors and windows downstairs will budge
an inch, this one slides open with only a slight creaking sound. I cast a
Stunning Charm out into the cold air, and the sparks hit an invisible wall
about three meters from the house. Cursing the old coot who locked me up in
here, I climb out onto the window seal and raise my arms to grab the edge of
the roof above me. Though I manage to drop one of my shoes, swinging myself up
onto the snowy roof takes no effort at all.
Sitting on the edge of the roof, I try to Accio the fallen shoe from the ground
bellow. Unfortunately, it seems that there is another shield a few meters below
the bedroom window that rejects my attempt at saving my shoe. Cursing myself
for not bringing another pair of shoes, I toss the other one down the roof to
join its pair.
Staring at the far away horizon, dark and empty with no sun nor moon, I
suddenly feel completely alone, more so than ever. Standing on the roof top,
I'm ready to fall. If I only could.
I light a cigarette. And I laugh, long and hard.
Crying would be out of character.

      ___________________________________________________________________
I spend most of my days either hidden away in the big dark library, or on top
of the roof. As the days get longer and sunnier, I stay in the library for
longer times each day, reading through books of my condition, the Black family
history, advanced potions, and dark magic. But as the night falls, I climb out
onto the roof, sitting there for hours at end. Staying inside the house during
night time seems unbearable; I cannot stay in the bedroom because I no longer
need to sleep. I cannot stay in the kitchen because I do not eat. And I cannot
light a fire to sit in front of in the drawing-room.

Severus visits me from time to time. He brings me cigarettes and vials with
anonymous blood, one to drink every other day. It seems blood from a vial is
less nutritious than fresh blood. Before the actual war, I will have to survive
on that, but the small vials leave me chronically thirsty and aching for more.
Severus never says a thing about the dark house, but uses Lumos so he won't
fall over his feet in the dark hallways.
We don't talk about much beside my condition. Avoiding the topics of Voldemort,
Father and Dumbledore, that's pretty much all we're left with. Severus sits in
the big Slytherin green armchair in front of the fireplace in the drawing-room,
while I curl up in a smaller black one in the far away corner. He never
attempts to light a fire, though I suspect the house is freezing. I would
hardly know.
Dumbledore comes by once in a while, speaking of trivial things like the
Sorting Hat's love life and Severus' increasing bitterness. I ask him for
information about the upcoming war, but the only response I get is that there
is little information of importance. 'All details will be revealed as soon as
is needed'.It seems that for now, I am left alone and ignorant behind these
four walls.

      ___________________________________________________________________
It's getting close to spring. The snow is starting to drip off the roof in
large drops in the warmth of the morning sun, while freezing to ice taps in the
still cold night. Tonight I can hear a nightingale sing in the distance, and I
can but wish that I could jump off this roof and join him on his branch
somewhere in the woods. After a while he quiets down. When the small sliver of
the rising sun starts to climb the horizon, other birds' song take his place.
In a hurry to get out of their way, I swing myself down the roof and straight
through the open window into my bedroom.
I am greeted by the smell of candles burning. Terror surges through my brain,
as I realise that it can neither be Dumbledore nor Severus. Severus never
lights a candle, and Dumbledore visits very rarely, and then only in the
evenings.
I creep silently out into the still dark hallway, confirming my fears of an
intruder when seeing the faint light of a candle mirrored at the wall on the
top of the stairs. I hear faint steps coming from the entrance hall, and my
instincts kick in. Before realising what I am doing, I have crossed the
corridor with an immense speed and leaped over the railing of the stairs. I
land heavily on the intruder who yelps in surprise.
***** Sticks and Stones *****

Author's notes: Draco does something he regrets. Harry doesn't.
===============================================================================
Chapter 8. Sticks and Stones
When I come to, I find myself laying on the hard dusty floor, another body on
top of mine. I feel strong hands gripping my wrists, placed above my head, and
I open my eyes to find a familiar face looking down at me.
A very shocked Malfoy is staring down at me. An yet, it is not. Malfoy.
I see something buried beneath the surface of his pale features, and suddenly I
realise it is not me he's staring at, but my throat. Instinctively, I gulp, and
I see Malfoy's eyes widening further. His grey eyes are glowing almost silver
in the light of lamps on the wall, his chest rising and falling heavily. A pink
tongue darts out to grace his teeth.
Panic takes over as I see Malfoy trying to fight the vampire. I squirm beneath
his grip, but in vain. Suddenly I see his nostrils flare as he takes a deep
breath, and I know he has lost the struggle with himself.
A croaked "I'm sorry" echoes in the hallway, followed by my gasp as the sharp
teeth pierce my skin. The burn on my throat is fierce, and I cannot but to kick
my legs in a pointless struggle. In the moment I feels as though I'm dying, and
I can but wonder at how it all could end like this. Of all that I have
survived, Grimmauld Place will be my demise.
I'm not afraid of death. But I'm afraid that people won't remember me. They'll
only remember what I didn't do while I was alive. Like killing Voldemort. Or at
least coming as far as trying.
And then, Malfoy then settles his whole body on top of mine to keep me still,
and suddenly all such thoughts are caught off. With the sting in my throat
slowly fading into a pulsing burn, and Malfoy's thigh digging in between mine,
my breath catches in my throat. I suddenly realise I am enjoying death far more
than I should.
Death is a wonderful thing.
Malfoy's tongue darts out to lap once at the pulsing wound, and reflexively I
gasp and thrust up at him. Malfoy stiffens for a second, but suddenly he bites
his teeth deeper into my neck. He groans and ruts his hips hard against mine
for me to feel his arousal.
"Oh God--" I gasp, closing my eyes and throwing my head back, rolling my hips
frantically to get as much friction as possible. Malfoy responds with a throaty
growl that feeds my desire even more, as he begins rutting me into the floor in
a frantic pace. The floor is dirty and uncomfortable, and I'm positive I will
have dark bruises on my back tomorrow. And for all I try, I can't seem to care,
my own raspy groans overshadowing any voice of reason. It's all a glorious
blur; Malfoy's cool hands wrapped around my wrists. Malfoy's body against mine.
Malfoy's shallow breathing in my ear...
Malfoy.
Then I am coming, and he is too, grunting loudly but never letting go of my
throat. I feel my body go weak, my sight darkening. Just as I believe I am
about to black out, the already too familiar weight on my throat disappears.
I open my eyes to find Malfoy staring down at me, clouded eyes wide as saucers.
A trail of blood, my blood, escapes the side of his mouth.
"Potter." he rasps, and I can only snort at the sound of my name. Way to state
the obvious, no? He breaks the eye contact, looking around in the hallway. At
my cloak on a hanger, my broom in the corner of the hall and my suitcase
abandoned on the floor. Then Malfoy turns his face to the two gas lamps on the
wall that I lit upon entering the house. I see him suddenly become self-aware.
He jumps off me as if burned, backing into the shadows further down the
hallway. "Why are you here?" the pale shadow that once was Malfoy asks, wiping
away the blood from his lips as he leans against the double doors of the dining
room.
I stand up from the floor on shaky legs, very aware of the uncomfortable
wetness in my trousers. "Things at Hogwarts got a little... complicated.
Dumbledore sent me here." I mumble.
"You shouldn't have come." Malfoy mutters, maybe more to himself than to me.
"He should've known you couldn't come here!" Looking almost afraid, Malfoy
looks down at his hands, clenches and unclenches them experimentally. "You
barely got through the door and look at what I did to you." He turns to look at
me, furrow between his pale brows and guilt clouding his eyes like a veil.
I stare at him for a few minutes, silently cursing myself for being
disappointed that what just happened meant nothing to Malfoy. Why should it
mean anything to him?
Why does it mean something to me?
Quietly I turn to pick up my suitcase before turning back to the blonde. "I'm
all right, aren't I? Besides..." I take a deep breath, wondering what the hell
I am going to say. "...it's perfectly understandable that you'd attack anyone
coming through that door. You haven't fed in a long time, have you?" I state
hollowly, turning around and strolling up the stairs. All the while I am very
conscious of Malfoy staring at me with an expression I cannot read.
He then takes a jump two meters up and over the railing, blocking my way as I
am heading upstairs. "It's not supposed to happen!" he exclaims, seeming almost
panicked. "I am trying so hardto convince everyone that I am not some kind of
animal. That I can control myself. And what do I do the minute the Chosen One
walks through the door?!" he screams, more near me than at me. Malfoy sighs and
looks at me with desperation. "Do you really think even Dumbledore will forgive
me for that?" He pants as he is through, piercing me with wide metallic eyes.
I stare in surprise at this unfamiliar, straightforward Malfoy. I could never
imagine the old Malfoy expressing his worries to me, of all people, so freely.
I give him a slight sneer and try to push past him and into the second floor
hallway. "No one has to find out, do they?"
Suddenly I am pressed between the wall and Malfoy, his hands on either side of
my head and his face only inches from mine. "What are you playing at?" he
seethes disdainfully.
My blood pounds terribly loud in my ears. "Nothing," I croak, trying to calm
myself.
"Liar." Malfoy hisses, so close now that our noses are almost touching. "What
reason do you have to forgive me, be nice to me? I have never been anything but
horrible to you. Why should you treat me any different?"
Staring into those deep silver pools, I dare to smile softly. "Because
I'mdifferent."
Pushing a stunned Malfoy of my way, I walk to one of the guest rooms at the end
of the hall. I lock the door behind me and fall back against it, surprised
tears rolling down my face.
What the fuck am I doing?
      ___________________________________________________________________
What the fuck am I doing?
After quickly putting out the candles in the entrance hall, I withdraw into the
comforting darkness of the library. Sitting in a large plush armchair, I draw
my knees to my chest in an effort to make myself as small as possible. I close
my eyes and wish myself far away from here. Yet, as I open them again, I still
see nothing but the dark shadows of the books around me and the small rays of
light fighting to pierce the worn moth eaten curtains.
I hit my fists to my temples, trying to get the memory of what just occurred
out of my head.
You attacked Potter. Thud. You practically ripped his throat out in your frenzy
to drink him down.Thud thud. You drank him half dry, and then you practically
raped him!
Thud.
"No." I tell myself, running my hands through my hair, nails digging into my
scalp. He wanted it. He kept squirming and panting and gasping and- He wanted
it!
My conscience snorts loudly. Hewantedit? That's your excuse? Do you remember
the night you became like this? Didn't you 'want it' then, too? But he wouldn't
give it to you, would he? Because he knew that you would regret it. Just like
Potter will.
I can't help but to laugh out loud, the hollow sound echoing in the empty room.
Oh, how thoughtful of him! I'm sooo grateful of that vampire. Too bad he didn't
pay any mind to the fact that I maybe would regret being a fucking blood-
thirsty monster,too!
Don't change the subject, you idiot, the nasty voice of truth continues. You
know exactly what I'm talking about.
Before I have time to answer my inner voice fades away. I am left alone, my
constant thoughts of guilt and regret my only company.
***** Dazed and Abused *****

Author's notes: Harry tries to figure Draco out.
===============================================================================
Chapter 9. Dazed and Abused
It is though I am living with a ghost.
The only sign of anyone living in this dark, creepy house beside me is the
occasional rumble in the pipes as the water rushes up through them to the
bathroom in Malfoy's bedroom. That's all. There are never steps to be heard in
the corridors, never a sweater or a pair of shoes scattered around the house.
Never a chair moved, never the smell of a candle burning.

Never a light.

The whole house, except for my own bedroom, is kept in complete darkness. If I
light a candle or a gas lamp in the hallway, the next time I pass through there
it has been put out. The whole house is freezing. I have to wear two sweaters
even when sleeping to keep me warm. I keep myself from freezing to death in the
cold mornings only by sitting in front of the stove in the kitchen for half an
hour. Some mornings it's so cold that even the shoot of the dumbwaiter freezes
shut.
Malfoy never eats. Well, any food, at least. I don't know if he's unable to due
to his situation, or if he just doesn't want to. Anyway, it's not as if I can
ask him either.
 
My ignorance of Malfoy's condition is what eventually leads me to seek out the
library. Even if his presence barely acknowlegable, I am still living with a
vampire. Hence, I need to know as much of them as possible. And this house
being the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, I'm positive there is some
information on dark creatures stashed here somewhere.
I stalk the dark corridor in the West Wing. I walk past a room that was once a
study, a door down to the dungeons and what appears to be an old potions lab
before I reach the large oak doors leading to the library. The doors open with
a creek, and I step into the dark room. The only light are the thin rays of
sunshine piercing the old curtains from a single window facing the garden.
And old fireplace is built into the opposite wall, while all the others are
covered with books of all shapes and sizes. In front of the hearth two plush
armchairs in chocolate brown are placed, one of them which is surrounded by
stacks of books and pieces of parchment. It seems Malfoy has been spending some
time here too. The room smells of old paper, dust and cigarettes.
I look around the room nervously, but see no sign of the other boy. Relieved, I
make my way to one of the shelves; it's not like there are any places to hide
in here.
I reach out my hand to pull out some of the books from the shelf when the
silence in the room is sliced by a cold voice.
"What are you doing in here?"
Startled I turn around, searching for the familiar face of Malfoy. Finally I
see him, crouching on top of a bookshelf beside the fireplace.
"I- I just wanted to look something up." I mumble, nervously meeting Malfoy's
cold stare.
His expression remains emotionless, until he breaks the eye contact and jumps
down from the shelf. He lands gracefully on bare feet with a muffled thump on
the hardwood floor.
"I'll leave you to it then." Malfoy murmurs, heading for the door with long
steps.
He's almost at the doors when I find my voice. "Wait!" I exclaim, crossing the
room towards the blonde. "Why don't you stay? I won't bother you." Stopping a
couple of meters from him, I am silenced by the hard look in his eyes.
"You want me to stay." he states, as if my request is something utterly insane.
Most likely it is.
"Yes." I declare, as steadily as my voice may bear the words.
Malfoy raises an eyebrow, and the familiar expression gives me confidence, as
if Malfoy is almost human again. "Why?"
I break the eye contact, looking around in the dark library. "I don't know
about you, but at least to me this place is terrifyingly depressive. And being
alone here with no one to talk to... that makes the whole thing even more
unbearable." I look up to face Malfoy's stern features once again. "You must
miss your friends too, right? Miss someone to talk to."
Malfoy stands quietly for a long while before he turns around and walks over to
one of the chairs, the one with the books surrounding it. He sits down and
stares into the fireplace, as if there was a fire there, a dance of flames only
he can see.
"Why won't you light a fire?" I blurt out, regretting the words the moment they
cross my lips. This was probably not one of those things I should have
mentioned immediately after gaining this tiny shread of trust from Malfoy.
"Why should I?"
He turns his head to face me with a blank look, and for a moment I fear a
Dementor has payed him a visit; he looks completely soul-less. In a moment his
eyes clear though, and he looks back to his imaginary fire.
"There is nothing here to be seen." Malfoy murmurs, emptiness tainting his
voice. "I manage well without a single light, and I don't need other people
coming here and staring at me as if I were some circus animal. I don't need
Severus and Dumbledore coming here and looking at me with pity and fear as they
see my face." Malfoy swallows loudly, turning to face me again, nailing me to
the floor with that piercing gaze of his.
"Everyone will be happier if they can forget that I exist."
"I won't." I mumble, my legs carrying me towards Malfoy on their own. I sit
down on the floor beside him. Tentatively I place my hand on the armrest, only
inches away from Malfoy's hand.
"Malfoy, you may hide from the world in darkness, but even here you can't hide
from me." I look up into Malfoy's silver eyes. Behind that icy complexion I see
a scared boy, searching for something. Acceptance perhaps. "I know that I
cannot possibly understand what you're going through, but... I have seen you."
I exclaim, gently covering Malfoy's cold hand with mine. His hand shudders
softly and his lower lip trembles, but otherwise he remains perfectly still.
"I have seen you, Malfoy. Both who you were before and who you are now. And
believe me, if I were to call either of you a monster, it would not be the
person you are now."
Malfoy stares up at me, his eyes suddenly burning with a rage I had not
expected. "Fuck you, Potter. You know nothing about who I am."
With those words, Malfoy rushes up from the chair and disappears through the
doors.
      ___________________________________________________________________
I hear the rats walking the attic again as I try to fall asleep, my mind still
filled with thoughts of Malfoy.
Sighing, I turn around in my bed once again. I just don't understand him. One
minute he is very civil, even friendly. Then suddenly, he gets agitated and
bites my head off for no reason at all.
Half an hour later, I give up trying to sleep on the problem. Putting on my
slippers, I exit my room and walk to the third story of the West Wing, to
Malfoy's room.
I knock, but not a sound is heard from the inside. I almost turn to leave, but
decide against it. It would be right for me to wake Malfoy, considering he has
caused me to lay awake most of the night.
Another knock, but still no response. Finally, I lose my nerve and open the
door myself, common British courtesy be damned.
Again the thoughts of ghosts fill my brain as I enter Malfoy's room. It is
obvious that I am in the right room. The closet door stands open and even in
the darkness I can spot Malfoy's silver-green Slytherin robes hanging there.
But otherwise, the room seems completely uninhabited.
There are no personal possessions on neither the wooden drawer, nor on the
bedside table. The four-poster bed is empty and made, and as I approach it I
detect a thin layer of dust covering it. The only thing indicating any life in
the room is the open window, the cold wind bringing in small flakes of snow. I
run my finger across the edge of the bed, wondering. Has Malfoy slept in here
once since he got here?
"May I ask what you're doing in my room, Potter?"
I turn around to find Malfoy standing in the window opening, clad in but a pair
of slacks and a white t-shirt. "Um- I was just..." I sputter as I watch the
blonde boy gracefully jump down from the window sill and approach me.
"What is it that you want from me?" Malfoy asks, stopping a yard in front of
me, lazily putting his hands into his pockets as he observes me.
I avert my gaze from him and look beside me to the bed again. "Don't you sleep
in your bed?" I ask in a feeble attempt to avoid Malfoy's question.
"You didn't answer my question." he mutters, taking another step closer to me.
"You didn't answer mine." I retort childishly.
Malfoy stares at me for a minute before turning away from the bed. "I don't."
I turn towards him. "What?"
"I don't. Sleep, that is."
"Oh," is all I can say as I stare at the man in front of me. I suddenly realise
how hard this must be for him. Everyone around him is thinking about the fact
that he is a threat to them, that he might attack them.
But what about Malfoy? I look at the pale pointed features of the Slytherin and
realise he must be devastated. It's not only the fact that he now needs other
people's blood to survive. He cannot eat, he cannot sleep. To constantly be
reminded of the fact that you are different, to constantly be afraid that you
might hurt the person next to you...
"That must be horrible."
Malfoy looks at me with a blank expression for a minute before turning his eyes
to the floor and snorting softly. "Well, it gives me more time to study."
"But more time to think."
He turns back to me, surprise and something close to fear lacing his features.
Sitting down on the dusty bed, he sighs. "Too much time to think."
I take the liberty to sit down on the bed too, facing Malfoy and crossing my
legs in front of me. "What do you do on the roof then, if not think?"
"How do you know I was on the roof?" Malfoy asks with a stern voice, but in his
sneer I detect a trace of a smile. I raise an eyebrow.
"Well you had to have been outside since you appeared on the windowsill, and
I'm pretty sure we can't leave the house. So I figured those rats I've been
hearing in the attic at night aren't rats after all?" I grin as I see Malfoy's
face quirk into a Cheshire-cat grin. He leers at me from behind the blonde
strands falling in front of his face. "I thought so."
He rubs his neck absentmindedly, looking over his shoulder out through the
window. "I... I go to the roof to escape from this house. From it all. I don't
think on the roof, I just... listen."
I don't know what to say to that. We sit in silence for a long while, Malfoy
staring out the window, me staring at Malfoy. At that milky hue, those steel
gray, haunted eyes. That beautiful platinum hair that shines up like silver in
this dark room. I find it amazing how someone so beautiful can be considered
evil, a monster even. I see nothing evil about this skinny boy in front of me.
This scared, pale boy who even now carries himself with a posture of highest
grace.
"Can you eat or sleep, or is it just that you don't need to?" I finally ask,
breaking the silence that has almost pleasantly surrounded us. Malfoy turns to
me with a furrow between his brows, eyes piercing me with ferocity, though not
anger.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well," I laugh softly, a little breathtaken by Malfoy's intense stare. "If I'm
living with a vampire I might as well learn about them too, right?"
My companion seems content by that answer. He turns to face me, pulling his
legs up from beside the bed to cross them in front of himself. "I can't eat, as
my body can no longer process the food. As for the sleeping..." he looks
thoughtfully past my shoulder at something only he can see. "I guess I could
fall asleep, if I ever were to lie still long enough to do so. It hasn't
happened so far, but I guess one never knows."
 
***** New Dimensions *****

Author's notes: Double double, toil and trouble.
===============================================================================
Chapter 10. New Dimensions
Severus hasn't come by in two weeks. Not that I miss his awkward questions
about my well-being and sanity, but I finished my last vial of the bottled
blood eight days ago. Two nights ago I locked myself in my room, and I can't
bear to open the door anymore. The thirst is starting to claw at my throat as
the vaguely potent bottled blood leaves my body.
It's not like the key isn't still in the lock, and it's not like I couldn't
with ease remove the locked door from its frame anyway, but I couldn't not lock
it. At least now Potter can't enter the room, as he has taken the liberty to do
every now and then after that first night. I wonder what he's looking for here,
what he's hoping to find.
Potter wakes, I can hear his feet tapping as he crosses his bedroom to enter
the loo. My mind suddenly produces the brilliant idea to crush down the walls
that separate me from my prey. I leer. Potter wouldn't know what hit him.
Besides, I could even make him like it...
"Merlin!" I gasp, bolting for the bathroom. I feel sick, but of course it's
impossible for me to empty my stomach.
As I turn to look into the mirror, an aged thing covered in a fine layer of
dust, I ponder about my options. I still have my wand, I could try to break the
wards on the house and leave before I have time to attack Potter.
No. I shake my head as I use the long sleeve of my shirt to wipe the dust off
the mirror. The wards would just bounce back all my spells, probably knock me
unconscious, and by the time I woke... it'd be too late for Potter.
I have no way of contacting Dumbledore, no way of contacting Severus...
I stare into the porcelain face of the boy in the mirror. I thought my hue
couldn't get any paler, but now the fear seems to make me even more stone faced
than ever. The pain is painted on my features; my lips pressed together in a
thin white line, my eyes tensed in a permanent state of apprehension. As if I
were just waiting, seconds away of tasting my prey. A fanged mouth sneers back
at me in disgust; I haven't been able to withdraw the canines for three days
now.
I know this is all my own fault. If I hadn't attacked Potter that first night,
I could have gone to him immediately when the last vial was emptied. After all,
it was the original plan that I would get to feed off him once in a while. Once
in a week wouldn't have been too much of a stretch.
But after what happened... I just couldn't. And now it's too late. Were I to
encounter him now, I doubt I could stop in time.
 
My throat burns. Flames black and raw, ripping at my insides so painfully I
imagine I'll soon see them claw themselves out of my chest. I imagine I can
feel the flames hit the walls of my intestines, the horrendous voice of my
subconsciousness screaming Kill, killin the same rhythm.
I hear Potter enter the corridor in the North Wing, walking down the stairs
with heavy steps, probably headed for the kitchen. My mind just about blows. I
want nothing more than to rip down those walls, those useless pieces of stone
and wood that separate me from him.
In panic I suddenly find myself falling, my legs giving out from under me. I
claw at something, anything around me to keep me upright. When reaching for the
shower curtain I suddenly find myself falling head first into the empty bath
tub. There I sit, realising maybe it isn't the worst place to be right now. I
draw the curtain, efficiently secluding me in the small, cold white room I've
created. It works much like the lock on the door, creating the illusion that I
can't get out.
      ___________________________________________________________________
God knows how long I've sat here, knees drawn to my chest, slowly swinging back
and forth in a trance-like state. To keep myself from listening to every move
Potter makes in the house, I ponder about the fate of Severus instead.
Something must have happened. Severus is not stupid enough to stop bringing me
the vials just because I have my own personal canteen walking around the house.
I shake my head. Shouldn't Dumbledore be smarter than to bring Potter here,
right into the claws of one of the deadliest creatures on earth? Isn't he
supposed to be protectingPotter? The boy gets into mortal danger enough by
himself, it's not like he needs others to do it for him.
I am drawn back to reality by a low rumble escaping my burning throat, and I
realise Potter's even steps are approaching my door. I swallow to stop the
growling in my throat, hugging my knees closer to my body. I hear a knock,
followed by Potter's voice echoing in the corridor.
"Malfoy? You in there?"
I close my eyes, fighting to dream myself away into some distant universe where
no trace of Potter can be found. A useless effort, as his voice breaks through
my barriers anew a minute later.
"I haven't seen you in three days, I'm starting to get a little spooked." His
voice is a little high, breaking slightly at the last word. I hear him trying
the door handle a couple of times, only to find it steadily locked.
I hear a sigh and then rapidly retreating steps, an silently thank whichever
gods I don't believe in, embracing my victory with a groan. How long can this
go on? How long will it take for me to break? How long before I break down that
wall and-
He's here again. His steps filled with a determination that rocks the old floor
beneath him, Potter approaches my door. I hear a faint rustle, and then I hear
him murmur something.To my despair I then hear the door click open, the floor
creaking as Potter steps inside. "Malfoy?"
"Go away," I can but whisper, my hope that he will obey me the last chance I've
got.
Of course he doesn't. "Malfoy?" he repeats, following my weak voice towards the
bathroom. I can't fight the sob that escapes me as Potter crosses the
threshold. I know that I won't be able to hold on long now. He's close enough
for me to hear the blood running through his veins. "Please leave," I try
again, my voice raw and breaking.
"Malfoy?" Potter repeats again, and I can see his silhouette on the other side
of the shower curtain. "Are you OK?" he asks, voice clouded with worry. I see
his hand reaching for the curtain, and I know it's all over. The moment he
opens that curtain, I won't be able to resist.
"Don't!" I roar as a last resort, clenching my eyes shut. Hoping more than ever
that this is all just a bad dream I'll now wake from. But I know that it's not,
and settle to wait for the opening of the drapes; Potter's doom. My doom.
But I hear no rustling of the drapes. I open my eyes only to see Potter's
shadow lower himself to the floor with a thump. "What's wrong?" he asks, his
voice low and calming.
I take a deep breath, grasping the chance that I still could get Potter out of
here. "You have to leave," I manage to seethe, my arms hugging my knees to my
chest closer than ever. My fingers digging into my arms, drawing blood if they
could.
"Why?" Potter's melodic tone reaches me through the shower curtain, trembling
slightly but filled with worry. I can hear his heartbeat speeding up, the fast
pulsing in his veins throbbing in my ears.
Another sob escapes my lips. I swallow loudly, fighting to concentrate on
something besides the scent of Potter's blood. "Severus, he-" I whisper, my
voice breaking. "He hasn't come by for two weeks." I can only hope that Potter
understands the meaning of the words and has the sanity of mind to bolt for the
door right this second.
Unfortunately, my revelation is followed by nothing but a long silence. I sigh,
my breathing shallow and weak. "That means-"
"I know what it means," Potter cuts me off, rising from the floor slowly. I
manage to relax slightly against the tiles, closing my eyes and thanking Merlin
for making Potter finally gather his wits.
My praises are apparently given too soon. Suddenly I hear a loud rustling of
drapes and open my eyes to find my sanctuary awfully crowded. Potter sits in
the other end of the bath tub, staring at me with a curious expression. I feel
a growl grow in my throat and grasp frantically for the edges of the tub to
have something to hold on to, to help me hold on to my sanity.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?!" I roar, feeling the porcelain
shake and slowly give in under my grasp. I press myself against the wall behind
me, praying for this nightmare to end. Potter watches me warily, but a small
smile escapes him as he meets my gaze.
"Exactly what I'm supposed to do, remember?" he murmurs, and suddenly he is
crawling towards me. My mind is racing, screaming at myself for not just going
to Potter in the beginning. I can't be able to pay much attention to it
thought. The only thing I hear is the pulsing in Potter's veins. The fast
beating of his heart.
He is right in front of me now, and I almost jump him when he reaches out and
touches me. He slowly straightens out my legs that were drawn to my chest.
Potter then crawls over them, sitting down on my thighs, his knees on either
side of me. I stare at him in a mixture of shock and rage and desire. My whole
body trembles in resistance and my fingers finally break holes into the edges
of the tub.
Potter jumps slightly at the cracking of the porcelain, but a smile soon
overshadows the shock. He turns back to me, grinning wickedly. He leans forward
as I press my self further against the wall. I stop breathing as he presses his
cheek against mine, breathing against my ear. His pulse is closer then ever,
his throat just inches from my lips, and how I long for that throat. But I
close my eyes and feebly try to keep from breathing in the glorious scent of
Potter's blood.
He sniggers at my resistance, and takes a deep breath. "What are you waiting
for?" A whisper, his warm lips gracing the shell of my ear.
 
And I fall.
Letting go of the tub to grasp hold of Potter's upper arms, I turn my head and
sink my teeth into his neck. He gasps and shudders, apparently finding it hard
to keep himself upright. Without withdrawing my teeth from his neck, I reverse
our positions. Potter is now laying on his back in the tub, while I am
crouching above him.
Just like last time, my subconsciousness mutters. I beat it to a silent pulp.
I suck greedily at Potter's throat, feeling him writhe and gasp beneath me, a
loud "Oh, fuck...!" escaping him. Suddenly I feel a hand entangle itself into
my hair, while the other is gripping the hem of my shirt.
The warm liquid flows down my throat, soothing the fierce burn immediately. I
feel my strength return, my senses sharpen anew. I lap at the black haired
boy's throat ravenously, feeling that nothing, nothing in the whole world can
beat this.
Then suddenly Potter bucks beneath me, letting out a strangled gasp. The raspy
voice fills my head with images, and suddenly the blood isn't the only thing on
my mind. With immense self-control I manage to withdraw my fangs, lapping at
the small puncture wounds to stop them from bleeding.
I lift my head to look down at the boy laying beneth me. He has stopped
writhing now, and is only trembling slightly, obviously trying to get his
breathing under control.
My eyes flicker briefly to Potter's throat where the puncture wounds are still
clearly visible. But suddenly I find my mind clouded by a stronger desire than
the already sated thirst for blood. I look back up to those bright green eyes.
Confusion, fear and expectation is painted on his face.
My gaze leaves Potter's eyes, flickering down his straight nose, his rounded
cheekbones, down to his taut mouth, still half open and panting softly. I lean
down, only hoping that my fangs have withdrawn by now. I pause briefly half an
inch from his mouth, breathing deeply, taking in his scent, before pressing my
lips to his.
He is unresponsive at first, in shock, only trembling slightly. Then he opens
his mouth slowly, the warmth inviting me in, as trembling arms grab my
shoulders. Encouraged, I let my cool tongue flicker at the velvety heat of his
mouth. He tastes of toast, of coffee, of sun. Of life.
Then suddenly the cautiousness is long gone. There are only tongues flickering,
frantic breaths between kisses, fingers in my hair, hips thrusting. I sneak my
hand under his over-sized sweater, feeling his warm skin shudder under my cool
fingers. Suddenly I feel the urge to feel the rest of the beautiful, olive
body. I tug the shirt upwards, my eager fingers ripping holes in the cloth. I
freeze, for the first time listening to the minor part of my consciousness that
tells me I shouldn't be doing this. I break the kiss, looking down at Potter's
flushed face.
How fragile he is. How easily I could break him.
But Potter doesn't seem at all bothered by the ominous ripping of his shirt. He
merely smiles at me breathlessly and lifts his shoulders for me to slide the
sweater over his head. And I do, against my better judgment, lost somewhere in
the depths of that smile.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
A ripping sounds echoes in the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles, paralyzing the
before so eager body above me. Malfoy breaks the kiss, distancing himself to
look down at my face with a concerned crease between his eyebrows.
I should be terrified, laying beneath this freakishly strong vampire who just
accidentally mauled my shirt into little more than a dissected piece of cloth.
Yet the only thing I can focus on is that worry on Malfoy's face, the fact that
he's concerned about me. I feel a giddy smile spread on my face as I raise
myself to let him slide the shirt off me. For a second he hesitates, but then
it seems he let's himself go, pulling the sweater over my head quickly.
Malfoy looks down at my revealed chest. Never before have I felt so naked, even
though hundreds of times in the boy's locker room never bothered me. He bites
his lip, hypnotic silver eyes taking in every inch of my body. He then turns to
me, licking his lips. His kisses are hungry, filling my mouth with the taste of
musk, iron and cigarettes. Too soon I feel his lips leave mine, only to find
him kissing his way down my jaw. The touch passes over the still hot puncture
wounds, down to my chest. I feel like a total idiot, only being able to lay
here and gasp and shudder as Malfoy kisses and nibbles his way down my body.
As he reaches my navel and bites down at the soft flesh below it I tremble
violently with apprehension. My hands live a life of their own, seeking out
Malfoy's gorgeous blonde hair and woving into it. Then Malfoy moves to unbuckle
my belt, and I feel as though I'm falling over the edge of the earth. A
breathless "oh God" escapes my lips. This is too good to be true, this is-
"Harry?"
- not the way to be caught with a vampire when one is supposed to be hidden
away to be kept safe.
Malfoy jumps off me as if burned as the bright voice I recognise as Tonks'
echoes through the house. I quickly move to fasten my belt and pick up my
shirt, before I realise I can impossibly wear the dishevelled piece of cloth.
Malfoy seems to realise my problem. He bolts out of the bath tub quicker than I
can blink, and is soon back with a simple black t-shirt. I take the offered
cloth and try to tug it over my head at the same time as I stumble out of the
bath tub, chuckling hysterically.
"Harry-yy?"
The voice seems to be getting closer. I stumble out through the bathroom door,
desperately trying to think of a scenario where it would look natural for me
and Malfoy to spend time in his bed room. Malfoy walks past me, looking
entirely too calm for the situation. He walks right to the open bed room door,
turning to look back at me with a questioning eyebrow. Apparently expecting for
me to follow him.
"What are you doing?" I hiss, terrified that Tonks will hear me.
Malfoy sniggers at my panic. Can't imagine what he has to laugh about, fucking
prat. "Iam going to greet our guest, instead of getting caught here with you
looking like you've just broken grandma's favourite vase."
Grinning one last time at my hysteria, Malfoy runs a hand trough his for once
disarrayed hair. He leaves the room with long steps, his Malfoy-mask firmly in
place. I sputter to myself in shock and irritation for a few moments. Then I
feebly attempt to straighten out my messy locks, entering the corridor with
shaking legs.
 
***** Want *****

Author's notes: Something has shifted between Harry and Draco, and they both
know it.
===============================================================================
Chapter 11. Want
"Harry!" my cousin cries out as Potter finally enters the kitchen, dropping the
cup of tea she was holding in excitement. I shoot out to grab it before it
reaches the floor, and the today turquoise-haired woman looks at me with
surprise that quickly fades to embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she apologizes desperately, biting her lip, not quite able to look
me in the eyes.
I fight the urge to let out a sigh. "It's nothing," I state calmly, walking
over to the sink to wash the warm and sticky liquid off my hands. God, I hate
these people who think I will turn into Mr Vampire/Killer as soon as they look
at me. One reason I appreciate Potter, I guess; he is one of the few people
that look me in the eyes when they speak to me.
I turn to cast a glance at Potter, and find him looking at me with a furrowed
brow. When he realises I have turned towards him he hurries to stumble to the
table and engage Tonks in a heated quiz on who is doing what and with whom in
'the real world'. It startles me to realise that he misses that world so much.
That place which I'd rather hide away from forever than set my foot in again.
I look around in the dark room. Only two candles are lit, barely allowing Tonks
and Potter to speak face to face, yet I feel disgustingly exposed. I plan to
exit quietly to my beloved library, when I suddenly realise there actually
issomeone in the real world that I care whether they live or die.
"Tonks?" I ask in what must have been a very scary voice because both Potter
and the Metamorphagus jump slightly in their seats. I ignore them and move on
to my question. "Do you know what happened to Professor Snape?"
Tonks stares at me for a long minute before turning to cast a questioning look
at Potter, who's face has suddenly gone very grave. He swallows loudly and
averts his gaze to the floor, leaving Tonks to turn back to me with a
crestfallen expression. "Professor Snape..." she begins quietly, fingers
nervously tearing at the napkin in her hands. "He disappeared three weeks ago.
We were able to locate him, but by the time we got there..." She trails off,
lowering her gaze to her hands.
And there really is no need for her to say more. "How?" I hear my voice ask
hollowly, vaguely wondering when my lips moved. My cousin doesn't raise her
eyes, she merely keeps fidgeting with the napkin as she speaks. "It seems it
was Cruciatus before they... the snake."
Nagini. I wince, a shudder going through my body as I imagine my godfather's
last moments. Regaining my composure, I avert my eyes to see Potter staring at
me, compassion marring his features. I clench my jaw. I don't want their cheap
pity. "Excuse me," I murmur, leaving the room as swiftly as my legs can carry
me.
Whilst I run to my room, I realise there is no escaping this. I can't run to
escape, I can't leave to get some release. Some alleviation for this churning
pain in my gut. I enter my room, closing the door behind me but finding myself
unable to lock it: Potter still has the key.
Sitting down on the edge of the dusty bed I wait for the tears to come. They
don't. I just feel hollow. Angry. Angry at all these people that didn't even
bother to tell me. They didn't bother telling the only person in the world who
would truly mourn the death of Severus Snape.
I despise them. Those weak, cowardly people. People like Potter, sitting down
in that kitchen right now pretending they care. Pretending to give a fuck so
that they have the right to pity me. I feel the shocks of anger rush through
me, finding myself compelled to grip the poster of the bed to keep myself from
running downstairs right now and ripping the throats of Potter and my clumsy,
weak cousin.
I pull my knees to my chest, rocking myself slowly back and forth as I stare
into oblivion. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could forget, if even for just a
moment. For forever.
I want to die.
 
      ___________________________________________________________________
What could be either hours or mere minutes later, I hear Potter's steps
approach my room. "Malfoy?" He knocks softly before opening the door with a
slight creaking sound. I do not bother to avert my gaze from the far-away wall.
Not that it is focused there either way.
"Malfoy?" he repeats, approaching the bed cautiously. For a moment I wonder
when my rage faded to a dull hollow ache, but the thought dissolves as soon as
it came. "You knew?" slips from my mouth in that same monotone voice from
before.
"I'm sorry," Potter sighs, sounding truly apologetic. Not that it matters
anyway, his apologies won't bring Severus back. "They forbade me from telling
you, thinking it could get dangerous with only the two of us in the house..."
"Ah," is the only thing I manage to reply. It's cruel, but I understand. It's
perfectly reasonable. After all, no one wants to be alone with a grief-blinded,
bloodthirsty vampire.
Like Potter is now.
"Why are you here?" I ask in what almost resembles my normal voice, confusion
overthrowing the numbness. I turn my head towards the brunette, who seems
surprised by my question but also pleased to finally get a real reaction from
me.
"I came to see if you were OK. Do you want me to leave?" he asks quickly,
seeming somewhat forlorn about the idea. "I sent Tonks home, thinking you
probably wouldn't want her in the house..." He rambles on, looking at me
cautiously from under his long, dark lashes.
I stare at him in wonderment for a minute, before I burst into a loud roar of
laughter. The boy's ability to still be so stupid, so thoroughly naïve amazes
me. Whilst Potter is trying to find out what the fuck is wrong with me, I laugh
my heart out.
It's good to know some things never change.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
We do not speak of that day. Not of my hysterical reaction. Not of Severus. Not
of the bath tub.
Never of the bath tub.
Life continues much as it has. I spend my days studying, in my room or the
library. The only difference is, Potter seems determined to follow me
everywhere. It's not that he sits beside me when I read, or keeps me company
when I brush my teeth. It's the little things.
He finds reasons to come knocking while I'm in the library, looking for these
and those books. Yet I know he just spends most of his time here going through
Sirius' old stuff. My room he enters now and again, every time just as politely
asking if he could borrow some shampoo, a pack of cards, an opinion on some
Potions text I know he has never even read through.
I might admit I've quite grown to appreciate his company. He doesn't avoid the
topic of my condition, but neither does he focus on it. And while I could live
without his nonsensical jabbering about all those Quiddich teams, I quite enjoy
the lengthy monologues I trick him into having by ignoring his ignorant
questions. It's a little game of our's. How long can I keep on pretending he
doesn't exist while he pads along after me, talking to himself. When I lose,
how long can he keep me socializing with him before I realise I am a Slytherin,
not to mention a vampire, who shouldn't get chummy with anyone. Least of all a
Gryffindor. Least of all Potter.
      ___________________________________________________________________
He doesn't hide away from me anymore. Were I a little more arrogant I might
even suggest he seeks out my company.
I look around in the large kitchen, smiling to myself as I turn to pour myself
another cup of coffee. It's my favourite room in the house, apart from the
library. It's also the only room which I have taken liberty of keeping lit. The
only room where Malfoy won't put out any candle I light.
The only room where he will come to me.
One minute I am alone here like I have been for all these weeks. Then, I turn
around, to find him sitting at the table reading a book. As if he has always
been there.
"Morning," I smile while seating myself on the other end of the table, gaining
a muffled grunt in responce.
He never says much. A great difference from the bragging, loudmouthed Slytherin
I thought I knew in school. But school is far away from us now, I realise as I
sneak a glace at the pale boy in front of me. The Draco Malfoy, the Harry
Potter from that time, they both seem so distant. As if all of that was
something that happened in another time. Between two totally different people.
Never between us. Never betweenthisMalfoy, thisPotter in this easy, comfortable
silence we have created around us.
For the most time he ignores me, always making sure to keep his nose buried in
a book. I feel as though I am watching him through a shield of glass; I talk
and talk and he can't seem to hear me. But when I finally manage to lure him
out from behind that shield, he's nearly human.
"What are you looking at?"
I'm startled out of my ponderings by that deep voice to realise I have been
staring at him for god knows how long. "Nothing," I mumble, feeling a faint
blush creep over my nose. He keeps looking at me with a puzzled expression. I
fidget in my seat, not knowing where to look. Those steel gray eyes never fail
to make me totally speechless. After a while I see one corner of his mouth rise
into an involuntary shadow of a smile. He snorts with amusement, turning back
to his book.
I watch his eyes quickly follow the lines in the book, his slender fingers
tapping softly against the cover as they always do. As if the book allows him
to hear a song, a secret melody meant only for him.
"You're staring again." he says, ill-disguised amusement in his voice, not
lifting his eyes from the book.
I ignore him, suddenly realising we have something more important to discuss.
"Don't you have to feed today?" I ask, my voice trembling slightly besides my
best efforts, efficiently breaking the comfortable atmosphere in the room. The
tapping stops, and after a few seconds Malfoy turns slowly towards me. "It has
been a week," he admits, voice soft but reserved.
I nod softly, smiling reassuringly, somehow trying to fix what was broken. The
feeding is the worst part of our week. The best part of my week.
Ever since that day, the day of which we do not speak, we made a silent
agreement that he should only feed off me as he did off Hermione that one time.
It's still hard; even through the wrist I can feel the pull. But it's only a
slight resemblance to the one through the throat. I try to push the thought
away, reminding myself that the last time was a mistake. A foolish thing to do,
we could both get hurt in the process of letting it go too far, like we did.
Bloodthirts and teenage lust is not a good combination, of course someone would
get hurt.
Decidedly me.
I sigh, making Malfoy's eyes turn to me with a worried glimpse. To not worry
him of anything, to get to over with so that our lives can go back to normal, I
raise from my seat. "Well, shall we?"
I do not wait for his answer, knowing there will be none. I feel his discomfort
as he pads silently behind me to his room. There I sit down by the head of the
bed, and Malfoy takes a seat a good two feet from me, making sure no parts of
us touch. I reach out my right arm for him to take, sighing softly. This is not
what I want.
He glances at me with slight concern, before grabbing my hand with cold, yet
surprisingly gentle fingers, pulling it towards his mouth. I cast him another
reassuring glance before I watch him sink his bared fangs into the flesh. A
shudder travels through my body. From the wonderful, familiar hot ache in my
arm, up to my shoulders and down my spine, fluttering like butterflies. And
still, even after all these weeks in which I have gotten used to the though
that this is all I'll get, it's not right. It's still not enough.
I shudder again as another shiver runs through my body. Of course it feels
wonderful. But it's only a spark. I need more. I need the flames, the fire.
This is not enough.
I feel Malfoy's urgency take off, and soon he is lapping at the wounds. As soon
as they are closed, he casts me a apologetic look, let's go of my hand and
bolts through the door. My arm, seemingly unable to support itself, falls
limply to my side. I sigh, the noise coming out like a sob, and I swallow
loudly a few times to keep the tears away. I lie down on my back, reminding
myself of my promise not to shed any tears over this. It's totally idiotic.
It's just a little blood.
Yes, I sigh as I stare up at the cracked roof above me.Just a little blood.
      ___________________________________________________________________
Silence.
A slight clucking sound echoing around me, bouncing off white porcelain and
whiter skin. The water shifts me gently back and forth, squeezing me.
Suffocating me. Keeping me safe, keeping me in my dreamlike state. A green
light from somewhere above breaks through the surface. Green, like Potter's
eyes.
But there is no Potter here. Only the vast silence. No noisy raven-haired boy
disrupting my haven. I wish I could stay here forever. Wouldn't that be lovely?
No more having to interrupt my studying to watch the dimwit eat lunch. No more
having to explain every other word I say just because Potter wouldn't open a
dictionary to save his life. No more candles to burn down my walls. No more
warmth.
Only calm and quiet. Darkness. Serenity.
Loneliness.
 
Silence.
Panic filling my lungs with water, I surface.
      ___________________________________________________________________
It must be May by now, I realise as I watch the moon reflect its blue light on
the last patches of snow on the otherwise bare ground. How surprisingly quickly
time flies when one doesn't sleep; it all feels like a very long day, until one
day one realises the months that have passed. Or maybe time has just passed
quicker since Potter got here.
I shake my head, trying but not managing to make myself hope for the boy to
leave already. I have grown too accustomed to the house smelling like candles
again, to all the noise he makes, to his incomprehensible chatter about all
things involving Quidditch. To that longing expression he gets when he stares
at me for a long while.
A shiver runs through my body, though the wind blowing over the rooftop is the
warmest I have felt here yet. I look over the rooftops ahead of me, feeling the
despair that has been churning in the pit of my stomach all day.
I can't live like this. I can't keep falling into that comfortable life we
lead, only to be brutally shock out of it every time I find him staring at me
like that. Only to break it when I have to feed again.
Every time I have to break away and leave him with that bewildered, lost,
abandoned expression on his face, I promise myself it'll be the last. That next
time I will go longer without feeding. Next time I will wait until they bring
someone else over.
But then he looks at me, that soft, sad smile playing on his lips. "Well, shall
we?"
And I lose. For while I can't bear to leave him, resisting him is much harder.
Useless.
I run a hand violently through my by now overgrown hair, a low growl erupting
from my throat. I can't keep going like this. I can't give him what he wants.
And still... I can't seem to take it away either.
The growl softens into a sob as I stare out in to oblivion. I can't live like
this, with him.
I can't live without him.
***** Arrogance and Ignorance *****

Author's notes: The house gets crowded. Tension ensures.
===============================================================================
Chapter 12. Arrogance and Ignorance
"Didn't Dumbledore use to come and visit you once in a while?"
I cast a glance at Potter over my book. "Yes, he did. Before you came here." I
mutter, barely paying attention as I turn back to the pages. "Why?"
After a few minutes of unresponsive silence I sigh deeply and peer over my book
anew. Potter is sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, which he has
rudely taken the liberty to light. He holds a book in his hands, yet he is not
reading. "What is it?"
Biting his lip, he looks up at me warily. "Don't you wonder? Why he hasn't come
to see us, I mean."
I fight to keep my expression neutral as I realise the meaning of Potter's
words. "I'm sure nothing has happened. We would know." I state, trying to
convince myself more than him.
"Would we?" he asks, voicing my worst fears with a furrowed brow. "There are a
lot of wards on the house, right? Dumbledore is most likely the only one able
to get through them. If something has happened-"
"Then we will find out eventually," I mutter, turning my attention back to my
book and taking a more comfortable position in the plush chair. Potter keeps
staring at me though, and soon I am forced to acknowledge his existence again.
I sigh. "Yes, Potter, what is it?"
He refuses to break eye-contact. "How can you take this so calmly?"
With another sigh I put my book aside. "The most likely reason for Dumbledore
neglecting to visit us is probably that he is very busy, with the war and all
going on." I state coolly, enunciating every word carefully as if addressing a
child. Which he is, at least mentally. "If, by some miraculous means something
wouldhave happened to the Headmaster and we really were stuck behind these
wards, then what? I doubt that we could break the wards even if we tried."
Potter looks as if he's about to protest, and I hurry to cut off any objections
he might have. "We are fine here, and you won't have to worry about starving to
death either. I doubt the dumbwaiter would stop working even if something were
to happen to Dumbledore."
Potter sits quietly for a long minute, but I can see by the angry pout of his
mouth that this conversation is not yet over. Patiently, I wait for the raven
haired boy's response.
"Do you really not care about the other people out there at all?" he finally
asks, pinning me to my seat with a gaze of both rage and sadness. "With me
locked up here, were Dumbledore to die, there would be nothing left to stop
Voldemort."
I jump at that name, but my attention is caught by something else Potter said.
"Potter, you don't actually believe all that crap about you fighting the Dark
Lord, do you?" I ask in a dazed state of wonderment for the boy's naïvete. "I
know that you have escaped him loads of times, but... Isn't it time you ignored
what everyone else tells you that your 'destiny' is, and started to think for
yourself? Then you might finally realise it is all a bunch of nonsense."
I expected him to get mad at me and yell at me until he realises that I am
right, but surprisingly enough Potter just smiles at me softly. "I'm sorry
Malfoy, but all that nonsense really is true." Smile widening at my sceptical
sneer, he continues. "When I was little, a prophecy was made. It says that for
all of this to end, Voldemort will have to kill me, or me him."
A prophecy? The word echoes in my subconscious and I suddenly have a hard time
breathing. "A realprophecy?" I finally manage to catch my breath to ask. "Not
one of those tea-readings Trelawney does?"
Potter sneers slightly, but nods. "Well, it was Trelawney, actually." he
admits. I snort loudly at this. "But it is real. They had a copy of it at the
Ministry."
For once I find I have nothing to say. Descending from a long line of pure-
blood wizards, I am not foolish enough to doubt the power prophecies possess.
Potter says it's either him or the Dark Lord. But it won't be the Dark Lord,
not in a million years.
He is going to die?
I think of the people who did this to him. Dumbledore cannot seriously believe
that Potter stands a chance, can he? I stare at the boy in front of me; that
strong face, that shock of inky hair. The long, lean body he holds with that
lazy posture I have grown so familiar with. He looks skinny and ragged, not the
image of a hero at all. And yet he is so damn beautiful.
He will never stop being beautiful.
The realisation shocks me to the bone. He will never have the chance to grow
old and pale and wrinkly, to gain thatches of gray in that unruly hair. Fucking
Dumbledore. Had he not started training Potter to be the boy hero from the
moment he entered the wizarding world, the Dark Lord might have ignored Potter
all together. Did not Dumbledore realise he was setting the prophecy in action
by letting this boy, this child take over the burden of killing the most
dangerous wizard of all times?
"Malfoy? What's wrong?" Potter's voice sounds from somewhere distant. I focus
my gaze on his green eyes, and it pains me to realise he really is nothing but
a child yet. He knows nothing of war, nothing of the evils of this world. And
why should he? He should allowed to be carefree and naïve and sixteen for what
little time he has left.
"I'll look after you." I hear myself murmur, surprising myself more than him.
But to my disturbance I realise that what I said is true.I'll look after
him.I'll be as close to him as I can. To stop him from realising that the boy
hero's glorious victory over the madman only happens like that in fairy tales.
To protect him from having to suspect even his closest friends of betrayal. To
prevent him from agenising his own mortality.
Yes, I'll look after him. Until the end. His end. For I will have to live on to
see the hell this world will become.
___________________________________________________________________
"I'll look after you." he says gravely, steel gray eyes thatched with
foreboding. It frightens me to realise that if even Malfoy is scared enough for
my well-being to tell me so himself, I really am in trouble. And what frightens
me even more is that I don't even have the presence of mind to bescared; right
now I only manage to feel giddy about the fact that Malfoy actually cares.
Enough to voice it, to a degree at least.
I can only smile back at him, in great fear of doing something stupid if I were
to try and say anything. I turn back to my book, and watch from the corner of
my eye as he does the same, latching us into silence once again. This
comfortable silence that we are both so terrified of breaking.
It is as if we are frightened of filling the silence with unnecessary words.
Too many conversations leave too many things unsaid. But how I long to put that
cat up on the table. If Malfoy were anyone else, I would. If I still were the
person I used to be, I would.
"Are you afraid?"
I look up at him, as surprised as ever when Malfoy starts a conversation. "Of
what?" He furrows his brow, annoyed, knowing that I know exactly what he's
talking about. "Of facing the Dark Lord."
I snort softly, casting a glance into the fire next to me before turning back
to Malfoy. "Somebody has to do it."
He stares back at me, angry now. "It doesn't have to be you." I shake my head
at him, closing my book loudly. "Didn't you hear me properly? It does have to
be me."
"Nothing is wrong with my hearing," Malfoy, too, puts his book aside. "But
prophecies are subjective. They only show one of many possibilities."
"What?" My voice sounds a lot weaker than I would like it to. The prophecy is
just one possibility? Why didn't Dumbledore tell me this? I stare into Malfoy's
bright eyes, searching for confirmation. He looks back at me with something
resembling compassion, if a Malfoy is able to feel such an emotion. That's all
the confirmation I need.
So it really is true. I don't know whom I am more angry at; Dumbledore for not
telling me, or myself for believing Dumbledore so blindly. I turn my head to
the floor in an attempt to hide my disgrace.
But in the end, it makes little difference.
I hear Malfoy get up from his chair and move towards me until I see his feet
right in front of me. He sits down, cross-legged, on the floor. Far closer than
our silent agreement allows. "So you see," he murmurs softly, leaning a bit
towards me. "You don't have to try and fight the Dark Lord on your own. You
don't have to-"
"But I do," I cut him off, raising my head and focusing my gazing somewhere
beyond Malfoy's left shoulder. "If no one knows of any other way to beat him,
and there is a chance that I coulddo it, then I have to at least try." I turn
to face the blonde in front of me, and find his face closer to mine than I
expected. He stares at me with a blank, yet somehow forlorn expression. I try
to look away, but find I can't break the eye contact. The air grows very
silent. It is thick with expectation, and I suddenly find it increasingly
harder to breathe.
"Aren't you scared?" Malfoy asks again, inches from my face, whispering as if
afraid to break the spell that surrounds us. In spite of myself I realise I'm
leaning closer, trembling with apprehension. "Terrified." I whisper, feeling
his breath on my lips. I lean just a little bit closer, and-
He startles away, up upon his feet, looking towards the double doors to the
library. "Malfoy, wha-" I begin, but am cut off by Malfoy's hand suddenly
pressed against my mouth as he grabs my arm and jerks me to my feet next to
him. "Shh!" he whispers, head still turned towards the door, as if listening.
He still has a iron-like grip on my arm, keeping me pressed to him. My heart is
beating a hundred and five, so loud he can probably hear it. But Malfoy shows
nothing of that, only staring intently at the door.
"Somebody is in the house."
I would gasp if it weren't for the cold hand on my mouth. "Stay here, don't
come out unless I tell you to." he whispers, letting go of me and exiting the
room without looking back, silently as a ghost. I watch he double doors click
shut and am left only to wait, wishing I hadn't left my wand in my room.
___________________________________________________________________
"Terrified," he whispers, so close to me. Too close to me. I am spellbound by
that word, unable to move away despite my better knowledge. He is so close that
I can hear his rapidly beating pulse, I can smell the coffee he drank this
morning, I can se the shudder of his eyelashes as he leans ever closer.
And that's when I hear the noise from the East Wing.
I jump to my feet in less than a second, leaving a startled Potter on the
floor. He begins to protest but I cut him off by dragging him to his feet and
covering his mouth. His breath is hot against my hand and his body trembles
against mine, making it harder for me to focus on the noises. "Somebody is in
the house," I tell him before letting go and pushing myself from him. "Stay
here, don't come out unless I tell you to."
He hasn't time to answer me before I have already shut the doors behind me. I
stalk the corridor, putting out the few lit candles on the wall to give me at
least the cover of darkness. As I approach the East Wing, the voices get
louder. I can only assume the uninvited guests are not trying to keep their
arrival undetected. Still, one cannot be sure if they are friends or foes. The
closer I get though, the more I'm starting to think I'd rather have Death
Eaters visiting me than these people. The Weasel's rabid growl echoes in the
hall. "Harry!? Harry!"
"Ron, stop shouting." I hear Granger scold her idiot boyfriend. The Weasel
answers with a snort and an even louder growl. "Where is he? If that disgusting
serpent has laid a single hand on him I will-"
"Will what?" The Weasel practically jumps through the roof as I step past the
corner. I leer viciously at the moron, looking past him at the other arrivals.
Granger stares at me with surprise, as does my cousin who stands behind her.
Behind them Mr and Mrs Weasley are just entering the house. They have taken the
liberty of lighting all the lamps in the hall, something I won't forgive them
for as easily as I would Potter.
"Oh, Draco. Good afternoon," Mr Weasley exclaims, making an effort to look calm
though I can sense the fear radiating from him. "Excuse us the disturbance, but
there is to be an Order meeting tonight. We came in early to prepare." His
voice shudder slightly, as if he is afraid I will kill them all if I don't like
what he is saying. As if a true Malfoy would ever behave so barbarically.
"Certainly, Mr Weasley," I state in the most terrifyingly civil voice I can
muster. "Make yourselves at home, you know where everything you need is, I
presume?" They all nod, except the Weasel who seems to be somewhere between
throwing a rage-fit and wetting himself. "Good," I smile, which seems to
terrify them even more. "Ask me if you need anything. Now if you excuse me, I
think it is best that I go and fetch Potter for you." With these words I turn
around on my heels and stalk back towards the library.
To my surprise, Potter actually obeyed my command of staying put. As I open the
doors he jumps up from the chair, mychair, that he has been sitting in. "Well?"
he whispers, hurrying towards me.
"You have guests," I state coolly, turning around back to the hallway again.
"Who?" he asks, his steps loud behind me. I ignore him and lead him in silence
through the dark corridor. There is nothing for me to say anymore. Nothing to
make these last months count now that Potter's real friends are back.
We step out into the hall, and stupid fond feelings emerge within me as I watch
Potter blink frantically to get used to the bright lighting.
"Harry!" both Granger and Weasley gasp, and within seconds the they have
pounced on Potter, filling the room with hugs and shouts and hundreds of
questions. The Golden Trio calms down and Mr and Mrs Weasley join in, and I
believe this is the first time I wished to be a part of that family with the
hideous red hair. I sneak around the heap to retire to my library, to anywhere
really where I don't have to look at these people. These people who are like
rodents, who will soon devour the fragile truce Potter and I have built around
us.
Now, where is that arsenic?
___________________________________________________________________
Suffocated by Hermione's fierce hug, I am forced to watch Malfoy sneak out of
the room over her shoulder. "Oh Harry, it's so good to see you again," Mrs
Weasley smiles at me warmly.
"You too, Mrs Weasley," I smile back, turning to hug her as well. As I pull
away she turns to pick up a big box from the floor. I bet it contains food. And
I'm right.
"I'd better get started on dinner, everyone will arrive in about two hours."
she says hectically. Mr Weasley smiles at me again before following his wife to
the kitchen. As I turn back towards Ron and Hermione, I realise they are both
carrying luggage. "What are you doing with those?" I point to their bags.
"Oh," Hermione picks up her suitcase. "Well, since school's over for the year,
we are going to stay here for the summer." They both smile widely at me. "Yeah,
isn't that cool?" Ron grins, picking up his old and worn gym bag. I stare at
the both of them with wide eyes. "School's over? Already?"
And now they're staring at me like I'm the freakshow. Just like the good old
times. "Harry?" Ron stares at me like I've grown a second head. "You didn't
know that school ended? We thought you'd be counting minutes here." I stare at
the floor, realising I too had thought I'd be counting minutes when I heard I'd
be coming here. And yet... I didn't even know it was May already.
"Well..." I begin, biting my lip. "I've had other stuff to do." The silence
that follows is tense, and I realise they both think I've spent all this time
moping in Sirius' room. I did, in the beginning, but... better not tell them
about the rest.
The silence grows uncomfortable. I cough loudly. "Uhm, we should probably take
your stuff to your bedrooms."
"Oh, sure," Hermione smiles softly, following me to the stairs to the North
Wing. Ron looks a little doubtful at first, before tailing after. "OK, just see
to it that I won't have to sleep anywhere near the Ferret."
"Don't worry," I grin at him, opening the door to one of the guest rooms.
"Malfoy sleeps in the West Wing."
Ron swings his bag up on the four-poster bed, looking like he's about to say
something else. Luckily Hermione cuts him off.
"So, how are you getting along? Is he still as mean as ever?" Before I have
time to answer Ron cuts in. "Of course he is still as mean as ever. I don't
care what Dumbledore thinks, the git is throughout evil. He won't change,
believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair."
"Ron! That's not even a real metaphor!" Hermione scolds, but I can hear the
smile behind it. Then she turns serious. "I know Malfoy has never been anything
but mean to us. But that doesn't mean he's evil." She turns towards me. "Don't
you agree, Harry?"
I'm glad the room is still not lit, so neither of my friends can see the blush
creeping over my nose. "Uhm..." I mumble, exiting to the hallway again.
"Malfoy, he- well yeah, I mean he's not nice, per se, but... I don't believe
he's evil, either."
Ron starts shouting something inane, but Hermione cuts him off by wielding her
heavy suitcase to his knee. While Ron drops to the floor swearing, Hermione
smiles at me warmly. Too warmly for being because of the subject of our worst
nemesis. "Yeah, I told you," she sneers at a still-in-pain Ron. "He can't be
all bad. I mean, he didchose to fight for us instead of running away."
Ron's snort echoes in the hall. "Yeah, because he's a freakin' monster who
needs human blood to survive."
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione glares at the red-head. "Don't be so insensitive.
Malfoy didn't choose to become what he is. I think-"
"Can't we talk about something else already?" I sigh, the conversation about
Malfoy heating up way too much for comfort.
"With pleasure," Ron growls as we enter the other guest room. "It's enough that
I have to live with the git, no need to talk about him all the time too."
I snicker as Hermione smacks him with the suitcase a second time before
starting to unpack her things.
 
***** Another Bag of Bricks *****

Author's notes: The spell.
===============================================================================
Chapter 13. Another Bag of Bricks
Dinner is an awkward affair.
I bump Professor Dumbledore and the Aurors Kingsley Shacklebolt and Madeye
Moody in the hall on my way to the dining room. In fact I would've been thrown
into a casket if I still were mortal, as Moody decides to test his theory that
vampires indeed can be killed with spells. Dumbledore just chuckles cheerfully,
calmly stating that it's probably safe to say that the theory failed.
Mundungus Fletcher arrives just as Mrs Weasley serves us the Shepherd's Pie. I
fight the urge to tell Mrs Weasley to switch his silver cutlery into plastic
ones. Maybe he wouldn't steal those.
They all chat merrily about inane things like one big family. Until of course,
somebody remembers that I exist, and has to try and include me in the
conversation. Each and every attempt ending in an awkward disaster that keeps
everyone quiet for the next five minutes until they come up with a new subject.
No one looks at me for more than a split seconds time, and everyone avoids
looking at the empty table in front of me where my plate should be.
Of course, it's not really all that bad until Lupin arrives. Just like the last
time, all the hair on my body is standing as soon as the werewolf walks through
the front door. Despite the fact that Iknow I'm not supposed to slaughter my
old professor, the vampire in me doesn't. Trying to keep the monster in me at
bay, I look over to Potter on the other side of the table. He meets my gaze and
I see realisation dawn on his face. "Malfoy..." he whispers, but with that my
consciousness slips under the vampire's. With a snarl I rush up from my seat,
knocking over both Tonks and Mr Weasley on the way. I make it to the dining
room doors until I manage to get hold of myself.
Pushing myself away from the doors, I rush over to the oh, so familiar corner
of the room. I lean back against the wall, my hands clenched so tight my nails
are digging into my palms. Swallowing loudly several times, I manage to calm my
breathing just in time to hear the doors open.
From the corner of my eye I watch Lupin check twice to make sure that I'm not
attacking him before he enters. Unfortunately, that makes him linger by the
door, far too close to me. "Would you- ...please... Would you just take a seat
by the table?" I grit through clenched teeth at the professor who freezes like
a deer in the headlights as I address him. "Yes. Yes, of course." Lupin
mumbles, skitting to the table with a speed I would not have thought him to be
capable of.
Eventually my breathing calms down and I am able to unclench my hands. I return
to my seat between Mr Weasley and Tonks, still clenching my jaw in an effort
not to roar at the werewolf on the opposite side of the table.
A terrified silence lays like carpet.
_____________________
 
"So, shall we move on to the subjects of the evening?" Dumbledore's cheerful
voice cuts through the thick silence like a hot knife through butter.
The meeting is adjourned in the living room while Mrs Weasley serves everyone
tea. After serving Granger she turns to me. "Draco, would you like some-" When
realising her mistake, she takes a deep breath, taking two steps back. "Oh."
The room grows dead silent for the second time this evening. The fact that
something so small can break the mood so thoroughly is positively ridiculous. I
myself am more appalled by the fact that Mrs Weasley dared think me so familiar
as to call me by my first name, than the fact that she forgot I'd rather drink
her blood than the tea. I look around in the silent room, locking eyes with
Potter for a brief second before turning back to a terrified Mrs Weasley.
I plaster my most sincere polite fake smile onto my face. "No thank you, Mrs
Weasley. Caffeine is not good for me."
The silence continues, until suddenly I hear a laugh from the other side of the
room. I don't have to look to recognise Potter's clinging voice. He sits on the
couch between Lupin and the Weasel, who both stare at him as if he is crazy.
Well, I guess one can't be totally sane when laughing at a vampire.
I sneer wickedly at Potter, unable to put any real malice in my actions towards
the laughing idiot. "Well, you know I have trouble sleeping."
Dumbledore's cough cuts off Potter's next laughing spree. "Excuse me, Draco.
Maybe we could return to the actual topics?" Everyone nods in agreement and
take their seats.
"As most of you already know, Kingsley examined the scene of the breakout, but
didn't find any vital clues as to how it happened." He turns to give the word
to Shacklebolt, but warning signals have gone off in my head. Breakout?
"What?" I croak. "What breakout?" I lock eyes with Potter, who suddenly looks
very self-conscious. The others just turn to stare at me in surprise,
Dumbledore being the first to speak.
"The breakout from Azkaban," he explains, seemingly startled that I'm asking
about it. "A number of Death Eaters managed to escape from Azkaban two months
ago. The whole wizarding world has been in disorder since then. Didn't you know
about it?"
I shake my head in confusion. "No, I didn't. How would I have-" Oh.Realisation
dawns on me as I turn towards Potter. "You. That's why you came here. With
people breaking out from Azkaban, not even Hogwarts is safe." My voice is cool
and collected, yet Potter shudders under my gaze. I want to scream at him. I
want to hurt him. God, how I despise him in this moment. And yet I can only
bite back my rage and turn back to Dumbledore. "Which were the Death Eaters
that escaped?" I ask, though I fear I already know the answer.
The pity I see and despise in the Headmaster's eyes confirms my fears.
"Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, as well as Rodolphus' brother Rabastan,
Vincent Crabbe Sr and an old man named Caleb Ivanovic." He sighs deeply. "And
Lucius."
I nod, not having expected anything else. Foolishly hoped, perhaps, but not
expected. I shudder at the thought about Father, somewhere out there, searching
for me. Merlin, I had forgotten the chilling sensation of having his shadow
hanging over me. "How did they escape?"
"That is what we are trying to find out." Shacklebolt answers in Dumbledore's
place. "The other prisoners were blinded by some unknown spell. They couldn't
tell us much anything."
"And the Dementors?" I ask, barely paying attention, mind still wondering about
said blinding spell. I look at the other peoples faces and immediately see the
fear and discomfort my mentioning of the nightmarish guards of Azkaban has
brought out. Shacklebolt, too, looks around, and looks much like he would like
to end this conversation as quickly as possible. "They have left, to join You-
Know-Who we can only presume." his deep voice utters, much in a fashion stating
that the subject is thus concluded. Like I would give everyone such a pleasure.
"That is most likely," I mumble, mainly to myself, leaning back into my chair.
Everyone seems to think the conversation is over, and hastily move on to
discussing the protection of Muggles and Squibs against the Dark Lord. I listen
only with half-a ear. What Shacklebolt said, something about a blinding curse,
piqued my interest. Such hurtful spells are very rare, very dark. Technically
it could be the work of any Death Eater, and yet something tells me it isn't.
"What did the prisoners tell you about that night?" I ask Shacklebolt, drawing
the uncomfortable silence into the room again.
"Uhm," the Auror swallows, seemingly caught off guard. "The outbreak happened
just after visiting hours, at approximately 8 pm, and the prisoners seem to
have been blinded sometime around 7.30. Most of them couldn't tell us anything
though, the blindness seems to be permanent and makes them very disoriented.
Many are so scarred by what happened that they refuse to eat."
"It's no less than what they deserve!" roars Moody, gaining a disapproving
glance from Mrs Weasley. "They have to atone for what they have done! Have they
earned pity or forgiveness for their crimes just because they are now blind?!"
Moody's words cut trough me like a knife. Suddenly all the pieces fit together.
Blindness, distortion, nausea...
Forgiveness.
It all sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?
 
"Father, please stop this!" you scream as you blindly crash into the furniture.
You reach for where the table is, but suddenly it moves and you hear a beastly
roar. A high pitched laughter echoes all around as you fight to escape from the
monster in the darkness.
"Son, you must learn your lesson before you can be pardoned." your father's
voice sounds form somewhere through the wild laughter. "Father!" you scream and
try to make your way towards him, but laying on the floor in the darkness you
find you cannot rise. The insane laugh grows louder and louder, closing in on
you from every side, echoing in your ears, in your head until it becomes
painful. You scream and feel a blow to your gut for your insolence.
Suddenly the laughter stops, and the silence is deafening. You hear a quiet
trickle of water form somewhere, and suddenly the roar of waves surround you.
"Father, I'm sorry!" you sob before the waves take you over, pulling you deeper
and deeper down. The breath goes out of your lungs and violent nausea takes
over. You feel so sick you think you will throw up your own intestines. And
then there is that familiar cold, hollow laugh in the water. It surrounds you
from every angle, suffocating you. You try to escape it to the surface, but you
no longer know which way is up. You're sinking, sinking...
And suddenly it is over. You blink and find yourself on the drawing room floor,
staring at your father's boots. There are no longer any wild beasts, no water
apart from the tears wetting your cheeks. Your father bends down, grabbing your
chin with a cold hand and lifting your face up.
"You are forgiven."
And he smiles.
 
___________________________________________________________________
"It's no less than what they deserve!" roars Moody, gaining a disapproving
glance from Mrs Weasley. "They have to atone for what they have done! Have they
earned pity or forgiveness for their crimes just because they are now blind?!"
Hermione stares at Moody with disgust, I myself quite agree with the crazy old
Auror. I'm just about to ask Hermione how she can side with murderers and
rapists, when Ron tugs at my sleeve.
"Look, mate. What's up with the Ferret?" he whispers. I look to where he is
pointing and see Malfoy sitting in his chair, on edge like he's sitting on
needles. He stares at the floor without really seeing it, his hands gripping
his knees frantically. I rise from the couch, ignoring Ron's surprised
"Harry?".
"Malfoy?" I cross the floor, turning everyone else's attention towards the pale
boy in the corner.
"What's wrong with him?" A loud crash follows Tonks' question as she drops the
plate she was holding.
"Harry, what are you doing?" I squat down in front of Malfoy. Malfoy is paler
than ever, his face stiff as if carved out of marble. But his hands are
shaking, his sharp nails digging into the fabric of his trousers. "Malfoy?" I
ask cautiously, waving my hand in front of his face. "Malfoy?!"
Suddenly his eyes focus, and he seems to come to his senses. He looks at my
hand in front of his face and sneers at me. "Do you want me to bite off your
hand, Potter?" In spite of his cold tone, I know there is no malice behind the
words. While everyone behind me takes a sudden intake of breath, I just smile
at the blonde. "Glad to have you back. Are you OK?"
He is quiet for a long moment before staring past me and addressing Shacklebolt
again. "Do they have hallucinations?" It takes me a while to realise he is
still taking about the prisoners. Shacklebolt too, apparently. He looks
startled for a minute. "Uhm, yes, they do. How did you-"
But Moody cuts him off. "Crazy as kneazles on Prozac, each and every one!" He
roars. Now it is Dumbledore's turn to silence Moody with a stern look. The
professor turns to Malfoy with a furrowed brow. "Do you know this curse,
Draco?"
I turn to look at Malfoy just as he straightens his posture and tightens his
jaw, assembling his perfect Malfoy-mask. "Yes, the Venia curse. It's an old
family charm. From the Black side, naturally - they are known for their dark
spells." He looks out the window and sneers to himself. "My mother taught it to
Father. He quite liked it."
Ron mutters something that sounds an awful lot like "Why am I not surprised?",
but Malfoy silences him with a single glance. He stands up and walks past me to
the window, standing with his back towards us. I stare at him in awe. There is
just something in his being, his presence that demands everyone's undivided
attention.
"It is not a simple blindness spell. The occurring blindness is just one of the
symptoms." His voice is deep and somewhat quiet, and still it carries perfectly
to everyone in the room. "Other symptoms are the hallucinations, distortion and
a gut-turning nausea." Malfoy turns around, the sunset from outside creating a
halo of light around him. He looks much like a fallen angel, foretelling the
destruction of the human race. I shudder with foreboding. "You might hear
voices, feel wild animals maul you to death or have an experience of drowning,
all the while while the nausea tears your intestines apart. The hallucination
changes constantly, and never for the better."
I look around the room and see disgusted faces all around me, Mrs Weasley looks
much like she wouldn't want to hear anymore. Only Moody and Professor
Dumbledore look unmoved, though all traces of cheerfulness have disappeared
from the Headmaster's features.
Malfoy seems not to notice all of this, he only continues in that cold,
impersonal, inhuman voice. "As I said, it is not a blindness spell in
particular. It is a forgiveness-spell." He looks out into the room expectantly,
but his words don't seem to lit any lights in anyone. Malfoy sighs and
continues. "Piaculum Venia is a kind of punishment. It dissolves only when you
are sorry for what you've done. Weird thing to use it on criminals though,
since it's used particularly for chastising children."
At this Mrs Weasley gasps loudly, and everyone else looks just as horrified.
"Children?!" Hermione exclaims in rage. "That's barbaric!" Everyone nods in
agreement, only Malfoy looks completely unmoved. He only raises an eyebrow at
Hermione. "Granger, it's a mean to teach obedience. Nothing more."
"Nothing more?!" a horrified Mrs Weasley shrieks, staring at Malfoy. "People
who do such things should not be allowed to have children!" I turn to look at
Malfoy, who seems genuinely surprised that everyone else is so appalled. He
sighs and rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes. Do you want to hear what I know or not?"
"Yes, Molly, please let Draco finish," Dumbledore smiles at Mrs Weasley, who
still looks like she would like to say a few chosen words to Malfoy. Malfoy
casts a grateful look at Dumbledore before his face turns to stone again.
"Anyway, it's been used in the Black family for as long as anyone can remember,
and my mother taught it to Father when they married."
"So," Dumbledore murmurs, looking at Malfoy with a furrowed brow. "You believe
that it was your father who cursed those prisoners?" Malfoy snorts at the
Headmaster as if he were an utter fool.
"Well, one would think that," he drawls at everyone in the room for being
idiots that did think that. "But you see, though it was one of Father's
favourite curses, he could never quite master it." And then every emotion dies
on his face. "Never quite like Mother."
***** Precious Things *****

Author's notes: Plans are made.
===============================================================================
Chapter 14. Precious Things
"Your mother?" Hermione speaks up, staring at Malfoy with a strange mixture of
confusion, disgust and fascination. Malfoy looks at the girl with dead eyes.
"Yes."
"But she hasn't ever been under suspicion for being a Death Eater, even when
Lucius was sent to Azkaban. No Dark Mark was found on her." Dumbledore objects,
looking to Kingsley for confirmation. Kingsley nods slowly, looking from Malfoy
to Dumbledore and back again. "That's true, we never found any proof against
her. And believe me, certain people really tried." he adds, raising an eyebrow
in Moody's direction.
"Oh no, Mother never took the Dark Mark. She doesn't approve of tattoos."
Malfoy confirms, causing Moody to huff disbelievingly into his pocket flask.
"But," Malfoy continues, taking a seat in his chair again. "She would do
anything Father asks of her. Besides, how else would Father have got a wand
into Azkaban?"
"But visitors aren't allowed wands either, right?" Ron asks, challenge in his
voice. Malfoy sneers at him in disdain. "Obviously not, Weasley. But such
mediocre checks as they do are easy for a Malfoy to bypass." A wicked grin
spreads on his face as he leers at Ron. "I once smuggled in mywand, and I was
only eleven."
Everyone stares at Malfoy in shock. Surprisingly, I am the first to speak.
"You've been in Azkaban?" Hmm, that was probably not the question everyone was
wondering about, for Hermione cuts off Malfoy's answer by shrieking: "Why would
you dosuch a thing?!"
Malfoy just sneers at Hermione, and turns towards me. "Yes, I've been to
Azkaban. Visiting aunt Bella. And," he turns to Hermione, looking very bored
and annoyed by this conversation. "Not that it's any of your business, but it
was a test."
"A test?" Mr Weasley asks, cautiously voicing the question that is on
everyone's lips. Malfoy nods, running a hand through his hair and sighing in
obvious ennui. "Yes. Father wished for me to go to school in Durmstrang, but
Mother insisted on Hogwarts. The only of his decisions she ever objected to, I
believe." A slight scoff escapes him.
"Anyway, Father told her he would let me attend Hogwarts, on the condition that
I passed a test of his choice. This way I was to prove that I was... Malfoy
enough without needing to go to Durmstrang. So," Malfoy shrugs slightly,
leaning his head back in a leisurely manner. "I was to smuggle my new wand into
Azkaban. And I guess it's quite obvious to say I passed." Malfoy lifts his
chin, looking very pleased and proud of himself. As if he still were that
eleven-year old boy who miraculously managed to trick the staff of the prison
of Azkaban.
I shake the astonishment off me and turn to glance at the two Aurors. Kingsley
stares at Malfoy in as much awe as everyone else, but Moody looks quite like he
would like to rip the boy's head off. I wait for the outburst of the one-eyed
Auror, but it is interrupted by Dumbledore's all too merry laugh.
"That's very impressive, Draco. It's good that you have informed the Aurors
that they need to tighten the security in the prison." he smiles nonchalantly
at Malfoy, who only raises an indulgent eyebrow in answer. Dumbledore's smile
soon turns more serious, though the twinkle in his eyes never disappears. "So
you're certain it was your Mother who led the breakout of Azkaban?"
Malfoy purses his mouth in disdain. "No, she did not leadthe breakout. She most
likely only smuggled a wand past the guards, used the Venia curse on the other
prisoners, and got the wand to Father. Then he broke out my aunt and the
others, while Mother probably walked silently behind him, wondering which
petunias to set in the garden this summer." Steel gray eyes blaze at the
Headmaster. "Father led the breakout. To my mother it was most likely just
another order from Father. And like any such it had to be obeyed."
"Are you trying to say that she is to be considered innocent?" Moody spits out,
getting out of his seat in such a hurry that his chair falls over. "Because
that's not going to happen. She is going to Azkaban for this."
I watch Malfoy in fear, waiting for his attempt to protect his mother. Malfoy
sighs again, looking slightly down his nose at Moody. "Calm down, I know she is
guilty. But we can't send her to Azkaban."
"What?!" Ron and Moody roar at the same time, both being silenced by a very
stern look from Mrs Weasley. Malfoy just snorts and looks over to Dumbledore.
"As at least the Headmaster probably realises, there is a very high probability
that Father is in contact with Mother regularly. She won't get those messages
in Azkaban."
"But Draco," Kingsley begins with a furrowed brow. "We've been monitoring Mrs
Malfoy's mail since the breakout, and have found absolutely nothing even
remotely suspicious." Malfoy only sneers back, an arrogant smile on his thin
lips. "You wouldn't, would you?"
That is too much for Moody, who draws his want in rage. "Now you insolent
little-"
"Moody!"
Before I have time to realise what I am doing, I find myself standing in front
of the Auror, staring down at the wand pointed between my eyes. Moody's face is
red with anger and surprise, but suddenly those emotions are tinged with
fright. I look over my shoulder to see what Moody is staring at, and find
Malfoy standing right behind me. He looks past me at Moody, his whole body
rigid and shaking in suppressed rage. His eyes are wide and stone hard, and his
mouth is wrought into a sneer, exposing long, white fangs.
"Potter, move." he murmurs quietly, not even looking at me. Before I have time
to move my feet, somebody pulls me backwards, leaving me to stare at Malfoy and
Moody in shock. Malfoy takes a step forward so that he is staring right down at
Moody's wand. "So, what are you waiting for?" His voice is full of challenge
and insolence,an I can see Moody shake with restraint.
"Alastor, that is enough." Dumbledore's voice comes from somewhere, but neither
one seems to notice. Malfoy only leans further forward, his challenging sneer
widening, baring more of those lethal teeth. "You want to curse me, feel free
to do so. You want to kill me, be my guest. I am at your mercy." He stretches
out his arms, never breaking eye contact with Moody.
I don't know how long we stand there, watching this bizarre, frightening scene;
Moody pointing his wand at Malfoy who is just standing there, waiting, in the
middle of the floor. Finally though, Mr Weasley seems to realise something
needs to be done. He walk slowly up to Moody, grabbing the Aurors hand and
lowering it slowly. "Alastor, enough."
Moody cast one last hateful glance at Malfoy before putting his wand back into
his pocket and walking back to his chair. Malfoy watches him go, lowering his
arms slowly. When Moody has taken his seat their eyes meet again, and Malfoy's
face turns suddenly serious. "I know you don't trust me. I know you
don'tlikeme, god forbid. But as one of the most successful Aurors in Britain
you must realise that we need to find those Death Eaters. As soon as possible.
And the fastest way is through my mother."
Moody stares at Malfoy for a long moment, and finally averts his eyes in what
can only be interpreted as agreement. Malfoy nods curtly before too walking
back to his own chair at the other end of the room.
"Good," Dumbledore smiles, eyes twinkling worse than ever when turning towards
Malfoy. "So what do you have in mind?"
Staring silently out the window for a minute, Malfoy turns to the Headmaster.
”I will interrogate her, then she will be sent to Azkaban." He leans back into
the chair, voice clear and light as if he were talking about the weather. I
stare at him, my gut aching when thinking that someone can speak like that
about their own mother, evil as she may be.
"Shouldn't someone qualified be the one to do the interrogation?" Hermione
pipes up, gaining agreeing nods and mumbles from the others. Only Dumbledore
shakes his head. "She has been interrogated before. I think if someone is going
to get any information out of her, it is Draco." He gains a grateful nod from
Malfoy, and smiles before he continues. "But someone else will have to
supervise it. Kingsley, would you do the honours?" he asks the dark man.
Kinglsey looks surprised, but agrees nevertheless. "Of course I will, but I
doubt she will give up any information with me there."
Before Dumbledore has time to answer, Malfoy turns to Kingley. "Of course you
would be under a concealment charm, so she wouldn't see you."
"How will that work?" asks suddenly Tonks, furrowing her brow at Malfoy. "My
mother always told me there are strict security charms on the Malfoy Mansion,
alerting the family of any uninvited visitors. How will Kingsley get in without
your mother noticing it?"
A wicked smile spreads over Malfoy's features, as at a child knowing a secret.
"That is true." he sneers at the purple haired witch before turning to inspect
his own nails nonchalantly. "But you see, dear cousin, the head of the
household can take away those security charms without anyone else noticing. And
when Father was sent to Azkaban, it was not Mother who inherited the estate."
"It was not?" Hermione stares at Malfoy. The blonde only snorts. "Of course
not. Only when there is no other option do women in the Malfoy line inherit.
When Father was imprisoned, everything was passed on to me."
"So," I begin, turning Malfoy's attention towards me. "Even though Lucius is
now out of Azkaban, you own everything?"
"Yes." he nods, his intense stare making me sway. Luckily he soon turns away,
addressing Kingsley again. "I can just remove the charm for however long it
takes, and Mother will never know anyone else was there."
"That sounds very good, Draco." the Headmaster praises, though no one else
seems to agree. Kingsley, Mr Weasley, Lupin and Tonks look grave-serious, while
Mrs Weasley and Hermione just look worried. Moody and Ron on the other hand
look like they would rather die than trust Malfoy and his plan. "What do you
say, could we be ready for this to take place within a week's time?" Dumbledore
asks Malfoy in that well-known way that makes it sound like one has a choice
while it's obvious that they don't.
Malfoy nods once. "Yes, I don't believe that will be a problem." When no one
objects and Dumbledore just smiles, Malfoy looks around the room. "If you all
excuse me, I will retire now and do some research."
And he hurries past us to the door, his jaw as tense as I have ever seen it. I
look after him until he closes the doors behind him. I turn back, trying to
listen to what Dumbledore and Kingsley are saying about the protection of
Muggles during the war. But somehow I always find my thoughts winding back to
Malfoy, what he is doing. How he is doing. I can't shake the feeling that I
should go to him, but I can't just leave the meeting to look after Malfoy.
Besides, he wouldn't want you anyway.

I tell my conscience to stuff it, just in time to realise that everyone is
leaving. Absentmindedly saying goodbye to Moody, Dumbledore, Kingsley and
Tonks, I still can't stop wondering about Malfoy.
"Now, off to bed with the three of you. It's late." Mrs Weasley commands,
ignoring Ron's objections. "Harry, would you be so kind as to show Remus where
he can sleep?"
"Of course, Mrs Weasley." I nod and smile at Remus. Bidding the others
goodnight, I lead Remus towards the South Wing.
"The real guestrooms yet unvacated are actually in the West Wing, but that's
where Malfoy spends most his time. I figured you wouldn't feel too easy
sleeping there." I grin at Remus as we pass the dining room and the kitchen.
"The kitchen is here as you can see, so Malfoy rarely comes to the South Wing."
Not after today, at least, I add to myself, knowing that it's true. He most
likely won't talk to me at all now since Hermione and Ron are here to stay.
Especially since I didn't tell him about the breakout from Azkaban.
"You seem to get along pretty well." Remus suddenly says, smiling softly at me.
I take a fast intake of breath. "What do you mean?" I play indifferent. Poorly.
"Well, I had been under the impression that you two were something of arch
enemies at school," He chuckles slightly. "But now I see very little of that.
Draco seems to hold an enormous hostility towards the entire world. Towards
everyone except you." I snort. Ridiculous.We have reached the bedroom, and I
stop by the door, grabbing the wall in relief to have something to hold on to.
God, I wish I could believe Remus.
I shake my head slowly, snickering softly. "You are mistaken. Malfoy no more
likes me than a rat likes arsenic." I try to keep my voice steady, but Remus
doesn't look convinced. He opens the door to the bedroom, but remains on the
threshold, smiling. "Don't dismiss it so easily, Harry. That boy has had a hard
life, and his current situation is making it no easier." he says, so serious I
almost feel self-conscious. "I hope you can let go of whatever grudges you hold
against him, because I can see that you have grown to like him too. You
wouldn't have stepped in front of Moody like that if you hadn't." Remus smiles
widely, and I can only wish that he doesn't notice the blush creeping over my
nose.
As I remain silent, Remus continues. "Friendship is a rare thing to find,
Harry, and is at times like these more valuable than ever. Try to remember
that." he smiles and enters the room. "Goodnight."
The door shuts with a thud. "Goodnight." I answer the empty corridor, wondering
about everything just said. Remus is right, even though he has no idea of all
that has happened. I should be able to let go of old grudges. I think we did
for a while, Malfoy and I. But how can I do that now, with my old life
breathing down my neck? With Hermione and Ron here, reminding me of it every
day? I can't just give up the past, not with them here.
But I can't give up the present either. I can't give up all those talks with
Malfoy. Those talks that yet so subtle, are so irreplaceable. I can't give up
all those hours in the library. All those books I pretended to read just to be
near him, all that time I spent just waiting for him to grow accustomed to my
presence. I can't give it up.
I run to the West Wing.
___________________________________________________________________
He is not in the library. I guess he must be in pretty messed up, then. I walk
upstairs to his bedroom and knock on the door. Once. Twice. Nothing.
"Malfoy, if you're in there, please open the door." I focus my ears to search
for his voice, for steps, for a single sound indicating he is in there. I
measure my options for a moment. I could just leave him alone now and talk to
him tomorrow. But if I wait until tomorrow, he might get angrier still during
the night. Besides it'll be hard to escape from Ron and Hermione during the
day.
I knock again, harder this time. "Malfoy, please open up. I'm sorry I didn't
tell you about the breakout. Can't we even talk about this?" Eventually I get
angry, and common courtesy be damned I open the door without permission. When I
enter though, I can't see Malfoy anywhere. But the window is open, and I walk
towards it. Standing up on the windowsill, I manage to peek over the roof edge
to see the ember of a cigarette glowing in the dark.
"Malfoy, I know you're up there. Please come down. I need to talk to you." I
plead.
"Just go away, Potter. I don't have the energy to listen to you right now."
Malfoy answers, his voice low but filled with wrath. I sigh, but am too
stubborn not to try again. "Please Malfoy. I know you're angry with me, and I'm
sorry I didn't tell you about the breakout. But seriously, it didn't seem like
such a big deal, and I-"
I get no further before I am violently pushed in through the window, landing
quite painfully on my back on the floor. Malfoy is crouching on the ledge,
staring at me with flaming eyes, his jaw clenching fervently. "It didn't seem
like a big deal, did it?" he hisses, so snake-like I wonder if it isn't
Parseltongue. "Well guess what, Potter?" he continues, barefoot stepping down
from the windowsill and walking slowly over to me.
"It was a big deal. It was vital information concerning the war. Concerning my
family!" Malfoy snarls, a beastly sound echoing in the room. He squats down in
front of me, exposing his fangs, and for the first time I'm actually afraid of
him. "Have you any idea of how stupid I felt, hearing about this?" He leans
closer, and I shudder.
"I am already despised by most of the people who were in that room. And now I
had to stand there and look like an utter fool, realising that you didn't even
trust me with that small piece of information. How did you think that felt?" he
growls, leaning over my legs onto his arms . I lean up on my elbows, staring at
the vampire above me. Malfoy stares down at the floor for a second before he
turns back to meet my gaze.
"I realise that you may not like me all too much, but at least I thought you
trusted me more than most. But I guess I was wrong to think that you could let
go of old grudges enough to see past them." His voice breaks at the last word,
and the snarls sound more like sobs now. I lay paralyzed, staring at the blonde
above me for I don't know how long, unable to move or speak.
Eventually Malfoy seems to think I won't answer because his accusations are all
true, and he moves to pull away. Then suddenly I find my body, and before I
realise what I'm doing I have reached out and tugged Malfoy's face towards
mine, pressing my lips to his.
***** Traitor *****

Author's notes: Tea and interrogations.
===============================================================================
Chapter 15. Traitor
 
From the first touch of our lips, Malfoy seems paralyzed. I ignore it and
continue to ravage his mouth, just waiting for him to push me away. Because we
both know that is what will happen.
But instead I feel a cool hand uncertainly seek its path up my neck, behind my
ear and wove itself into my hair. I gasp and pull myself higher from my
uncomfortable position on my elbows until I am sitting upright. Malfoy kisses
me back tentatively, his tongue cautiously seeking out to meet mine. He moves
from crouching above my feet to sitting down on his knees, practically in my
lap. I feel as though I'm in a dream, and hurriedly wrap my arms around
Malfoy's neck, frantically trying to prevent him from vanishing.
He doesn't. Instead he reaches out his other arm to wrap it around my waist,
his hand seeking its way under my shirt, bringing our bodies together. Malfoy's
hand is cool against my flushed skin, and I shudder at the mixture of sensation
it brings. I thrive in the knowledge that this is happening, without the impact
of Malfoy's vampiric needs. This is just me and him, me and him...
"...Draco."
It's a mere whisper, barely audible. But Malfoy hears it and freezes. He breaks
the kiss and pulls away slowly, eyes never leaving mine. "I- I can't... we
can't-" he whispers, almost sobs. His face looks calm, except for the small
frown around his mouth. Malfoy sighs heavily as he stands up.
"I'm sorry." he murmurs, face to the floor, disappearing soundlessly from the
room. The only thing I hear as I am left alone on the floor is the door
clicking shut behind him.
I can only wonder about who it was that decided for my life to be this fucking
unbearable.
___________________________________________________________________
The following week goes by filled with an unbearable amount of noise and life.
Ron and Hermione won't leave me alone for a second, after all the three of us
have been apart for over three months. And after Lupin and Mr and Mrs Weasley
left, Ron doesn't bother to keep his unnaturally loud voice down anymore. The
only thing silent is Malfoy.
Him I've seen only two times in the past week, once in the entrance hall and
the other time when he came to ask if Hermione would be so kind to let him feed
off her. I felt as if I was suffocating, watching the two of them leave the
room, Hermione looking much too happy. She came back fifteen minutes later, her
giddy and flushed expression causing Ron to throw another fit. I didn't care
any longer, the only thought in my mind was that he asked for her.
Not for me.
___________________________________________________________________
I walk past Potter into the drawing room, where Shacklebolt and Dumbledore are
already waiting. The raven haired boy doesn't even look at me. He only stares
at the floor silently, looking much like someone just died. I force myself to
ignore him and greet the Headmaster and the Auror instead.
"Draco!" Dumbledore exclaims merrily, while Shacklebolt only nods quietly. "Are
you ready?"
Ready? No. Never for this. "Yes, sir."
"Good," he smiles, eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles as he looks over
to Shacklebolt. "Kingsley here will be under a basic Disillusionment charm. We
thought nothing more advanced would be required since Mrs Malfoy is hardly
expecting you to bring anyone. And," he adds, suddenly more grave. "I just
connected Grimmauld Place to the Floo network. It will close at 6pm, for
security reasons, so you will have to be back by then. That gives you
approximately three hours."
I nod slowly. "That's fine. I erased the security this morning, so we should be
able to Floo there as soon as Mr Shacklebolt is ready."
The Auror hurries to do the charm on himself, and we all watch him disappear
before our eyes. I take my wand out of my pocket. The wood feels alien and hard
in my hand, unfamiliar after so long without using it. I watch as an invisible
Shacklebolt makes the urn with Floo powder levitate from its place upon the
fire place towards me. I take a hand full of the powder and step into the fire
place. Taking one last glance at the people in the room, I throw the powder
into the flames. "Malfoy Mansion, Draco Malfoy's quarters!"
The last thing I see as I am swirled away into the flames are green eyes
staring back at me.
___________________________________________________________________
I step out into a familiar bedroom, decorated in silver and green. I snort. How
different my life was, how different Iwas the last time I was here.
A whooshing sound is head from behind me, green flames flicker and an invisible
person covered with soot steps out into my room. Shacklebolt spells himself
clean and is totally invisible once more. I follow his example before I take a
deep breath and walk with steady steps towards the door to the hall.
Shacklebolt is a good Auror, I can barely hear his steps behind me.
I clench my hand around my wand as I walk through the corridor and down the
stairs into the main hall. I don't have to wonder where Mother is, at three
o'clock she would rather die than not be enjoying her afternoon tea. I head
downstairs for the main drawing room, making sure my steps are totally
soundless. The door is half closed, and I push it open, walking inside to meet
my mother's horrified stare. She drops the cup she was holding, tea scattering
over the persian carpet.
"Draco?" she asks, voice shrill and frightened.
I nod curtly. "Mother."
Narcissa rises from her chair slowly, and walks with staggering steps over to
me. "Where have you been?" she asks, reaching out a hand to caress my cheek.
"The school told me you had run away..."
I smile softly. "It's a long story. Shall we?" I gesture towards the sofa.
Mother nods quickly and pulls me down next to her. I hear Shacklebolt enter the
room and stand inside the door, not far from us. I look around at the familiar
room. Though I feel like I've been away for years, everything is exactly the
way I remember it. The purple walls and the massive chandeliers, reflected in
the magnificent mirrors on the East wall.
"Tea?" Mother asks, already pouring me a cup. I nod though the mere idea of the
liquid makes my stomach turn, and accept the cup with a smile. Pretending to
take a sip, I then put the cup down on the coffee table.
"So, where have you been?" Mother asks again. "I had people searching for you
everywhere, and no one could find a clue to where you had gone."
I smile at the confused woman, as I would to calm a crying child. If against
all odds I ever were to care for a crying child, that is. "I acquired some
problems with some of the other students at school, so I left to join our Lord
a little earlier than previously planned."
My words have very little effect on my mother. "Really?" she asks, voice now
calmer. "Your Father hasn't mentioned anything about that."
I am a little surprised, I had not expected to get Mother to speak of Father so
fast. He would be so pissed to know she isn't being more careful, even with me.
"You are in contact with Father, then?" I ask, bypassing Mother's disguised
question.
The woman smiles softly, as happy a smile as a Malfoy is allowed. "Yes. Not
often, as you realise it is not safe. But he Floos in once in a while to tell
me if there is something he needs done, and I do it for him. Otherwise I can't
be of much use to him." she sighs softly, and I wonder how much Mother truly
adores her husband. I used to believe she was only afraid of him, but it seems
I was mistaken. The realisation makes my task even harder, though I know what
must be done.
"Is he with the Dark Lord?" I ask coolly, taking another pretend-sip of my tea.
My mother furrows her brow at me, looking slightly worried. "Have you not seen
him? I do not know his whereabouts, it is not safe to share such things, even
with me..." her voice fades away into a whisper, her hands shaking softly.
I realise any information Mother may have about Father, she will not give me
voluntarily. I look at the proud woman before me, and sigh, knowing that the
time to pretend is over. Putting down my tea cup once again, I straighten my
posture and take a deep breath.
"Was it you who used Piaculum Venia on the other prisoners in Azkaban?"
My question seems to shake Mother more than I had expected. She stares at me in
wonderment for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yes. Yes, it was me. Why do you
ask?"
I ignore her question coldly. "Did Father tell you to do it?"
Mother stares at me for another minute, confusion and sadness marring her
features. "He asked me to, once when I visited him." she says quietly,
furrowing her brow. "Why do you want to know that?"
I stand, finally ending this useless pretence. Drawing my wand, I watch horror
flick over Mother's face. "Draco?" she whispers, disbelief lacing her voice.
"I need you to tell me where any letters you have gotten from Father are." I
command, voice cold and harsh, leaving no room for objections.
"In the top drawer of your father's desk." Mother answers automatically, as if
forced to by an un-cast spell. In spite of her fright and confusion. "But
Draco, why does the Dark Lord need-"
Stupid woman.
"The Dark Lord probably doesn't need those letters, but I do." I cut her off,
deepening the crevice between her eyes. "And he won't be happy if he ever finds
out I was here." I add as an afterthought. Still pointing my wand at Mother, I
walk towards the fire place. "If you would be so kind, Mother, I would like you
to come here." I command, and suddenly find the fire lit. Shacklebolt is an
efficient colleague, I find.
Mother stumbles towards me, as if compelled to obey in spite of everything.
"What is this, Draco? What are you doing?"
I silence her with a raised hand, and turn towards the doors instead, waving my
wand. "AccioFather's Letters," I murmur, imagining the letters in my Father's
desk. A moment later a thin pile of paper floats through the door and into my
hands. "Shacklebolt," I command, looking to where I hear his breathing. "Can
you Apparate to outside the head quarters with my mother? I will go by Floo and
tell Dumbledore to meet you so he can let her inside the house."
"Yes." Shacklebolts low voice murmurs. Mother gives out a high pitched shriek
and stares at the empty room in horror. "Draco, who else is here?" I look down
my nose at the woman I once feared almost as much as Father. "That is none of
your concern right now, Mother. Now behave, don't try anything stupid, and
everything will be all right." With those words I nod towards Shacklebolt,
produce a handful of Floo powder from an urn, and step into the flames.
___________________________________________________________________
I step out of the fire place and am immediately greeted by Dumbledore, Potter,
Granger and the Weasel. "Well?" the Headmaster asks.
"Shacklebolt is bringing her here. You have to go outside, sir, to let them in.
I can't because of the Fidelius." I speak fast, before hurrying out to the main
door.
"Narcissa Malfoy is coming here?!" I hear the Weasel shriek, but I manage to
ignore the oblivious fool. Dumbledore says nothing, but goes outside. I look
out just in time to see Mother appear out of thin air, holding on to the no
longer invisible Shacklebolt. She looks without fear into Dumbledore's face as
he speaks to her, before handing her a note. Mother's eyes flicker over the
paper, and within seconds it bursts into flames. I see Mother's eyes focus on
the house, and on me, standing in the doorway.
"Draco!" she gasps, obediently following Dumbledore and Shacklebolt into the
house. Her face holds nothing of the fear I saw in the Mansion. Of course, no
true Malfoy would let it be shown in front of strangers. I lead her into the
drawing room, where I order her to sit. She does so, facing me where I sit in
another chair.
"Draco, what is this?" she demands, fighting to keep her calm and watching as
Dumbledore and Shacklebolt enter the room. The Golden Trio try to enter the
room, but the Headmaster shuts the door in front of them. He then takes a
comfortable seat in a chair and keeps smiling, while Shacklebolt goes to stand
by the wall.
"Mother, I need you to tell me everything you know about Father's whereabouts."
I command, bringing both fear and anger to her face. The emotions vanish in a
second though, for Mother has realised she is not amongst friends anymore. A
calm and collected witch sits before me. "I have no idea what you are talking
about, Draco. I have not spoken to your father since I last visited him in
Azkaban." Her voice is cool and steady. Were I not knowing she was lying, I
would have no reason to doubt her words.
"Don't play games with me, Narcissa." I order in that cold impersonal voice I
know will work against my mother. And yes, she shudders under my gaze and seems
to shrink in size. "You told me before you were in contact with him.
Shacklebolt-" I gesture towards the man by the wall, "was there all the while.
We know. Now I just need you to confess what you wouldn't tell me earlier."
The silence drags out, as Mother fights to collect herself and gather her
previous strength. Mother is a good actor and looks completely calm, but I can
hear her blood pulsing furiously through her veins. "I know nothing. There is
nothing I can add to what I told you before." Proudly Mother looks around her
at the people witnessing the scene. "I cannot believe you would to this to me,
Draco." she states coldly, sky blue eyes meeting mine steadily. "That you would
betray your own mother, your family, for these blood-traitors and Mudbloods!"
She looks much like she would like to continue, but I break her off with a
humourless snort.
"Well Mother, the disappointment is equal." I tap my fingers nonchalantly
against each other. "I, for one cannot believe that you would lower yourself to
being a meaningless pawn in the Dark Lord's games, just because Father told you
to." I stand and walk slowly towards my Mother, who now looks ever angrier.
"You could have walked free. You had not yet done anything irreparable. But
this stunt you pulled in Azkaban..." I leave the threat unsaid. I can smell the
fear on Mother now, though her face remains unmoved.
I sneer, a wicked smile marring my features as I approach my mother. "Was it
worth it?" I drawl hollowly, seeing the fear in her eyes as my features twist
into the cold facade I've learned so well from Father. "Was he worth it,
Mother? Was he worth giving up your freedom? Worth risking your life for a
useless cause? Worth giving up your son to a madman?" For each word I say my
voice becomes more like a growl, and the last comes out is but a snarl. "Was he
worth killing your only son for?!"
Mother stares at me with confusion and fright, but with no less anger and pride
than before. She stands up from her seat, facing me bravely. I almost feel the
urge to applaud her braveness, stupid as it may be.
"What are you talking about, Draco?" she asks noncomically, raising a pale
eyebrow. "The decision for you to join our Lord was not mine, but your
father's. And you did not die, or whatever you are trying to imply. Nor would
you have had to, if you had not made the wrong choice." Narcissa narrows her
eyes as she leaves the threat hanging in the air. She looks defiantly around
the room, giving both Dumbledore and Potter an especially disdainful glare.
I stare at her in silence for a minute. Though I try to muster up all the anger
I have felt inside me for so long, now all I can grasp is numbness. I feel
sorry for this woman, who understands so little, and cares for even less. And
now it is too late for her.
"You could have opposed to his decision." I whisper, turning Mother's face back
towards me. "You could have stepped up, for once in your life. But you didn't,
did you?!" My voice heightens to a roar, and suddenly all that lost rage has
erupted. I clench my hands into fists, feeling my nails eat their way into my
skin. "You sent your only son to die, Mother. I was going to off myself before
the night of my initiation, so that bastardcould never lay a hand on me." I
hiss the last words, the suppressed rage causing my body to tremble violently.
But I smile viciously as I continue, staring into my mother's shocked face.
"But you see, Narcissa. Fate got in the way." And I chuckle mirthlessly at the
horror on my mother's face as I bare my fangs at her. She stumbles backwards,
falling back down on the sofa. "You- you're-..." she only manages to mumble,
her breath quickening in panic, her pulse throbbing in my ears.
"Yes." I grin venomously, reaching out for the table and picking up a silver
fork. "I am. And guess what?" Smirking at Mother, I swirl the fork in my hand.
"I cannot die. So now..." I close my hand around the cutlery and clench my
fingers around the metal. "I'm going to eliminate every reason why I should."
And I open my hand to reveal nothing but sparkling dust, slipping through my
fingers.
I turn back to my mother, who is staring from me to the dust on the floor and
back again. Suddenly she looks so much older. She shudders as she stares up at
me, as if she didn't know me anymore. "You are just like your Father." she
whispers, and I feel my breath get caught in my throat. When I finally manage
to breathe freely again, I turn around and walk back to my seat. "You will tell
us everything you know. If you refuse, I will make you."
Sitting down, I sneer at the woman I once called Mother.
TBC
***** What are Little Boys Made of? *****

Author's notes: Breakdown.
===============================================================================
Chapter 16. What are Little Boys Made of?
 
The interrogation draws on forever. I don't know if I'm more afraid of it to
never end, or more terrified that it will.
Mother can't tell us much that I didn't know to begin with. Mostly she just
rambles on about family values, looking at me with distaste. Reminding me that
my treachery has forever separated me from my past life.
If it only were that easy.
She carries on in a monotone voice about family before all else, crime and
punishment, and the shame and disgrace of bloodtraitors. As if Dumbledore and
Shacklebolt were here to listen to that. As if they could ever understand it.
In my mind Mother's quiet words replay a series of those same lessons, those
same rules. Those rules that were repeated again and again, followed by slaps
or curses to punctuate the importance. Those rules now since long embedded in
the core of my being, my very soul.
It's a good thing I no longer have one.
In my hand I hold the letters Mother received from Father. There are only four
of them, in each Father's alias is a carpenter named Elias Floamy. But these
letters contain no information, hidden or otherwise. Mr Floamy claims to be in
excellent health, but beside that, no additional information is given. The last
letter is dated on March 23d.
While Dumbledore and Kinglsey interrogate Mother, I silently try to make the
letters reveal their hidden message. But nothing comes forth, no matter how
many times I repeat old family mottos. I don't understand this.
Finally, I realise the room has gone quiet, and awake from my ponderings. I
stand up just in time to watch Shacklebold spell a pair of handcuffs on to
Mother. She clenches her jaw before she looks at me one last time, her cold
face betraying no signs of fear for her fate. Then she turns away and follows
Shacklebolt out through the door, disappearing from my life forever. I will
never I forget that last accusing look she gave me. Still, somehow I feel proud
over her perpetual pride, her ability to hold her armour into the very end.
Mother is indeed a true Malfoy.
"I'm sorry, Draco." Dumbledore says, placing what he thinks is a comforting
hand on my shoulder. I stand silent for a minute, fighting the urge to shrug
the hand off me and scream at the Headmaster. He is not sorry at all. Yes,
sorry that I suffer, but not sorry for Mother. It's all for the cause, he says.
I finally find my feet again, and without a word to the Headmaster, I leave the
room.
I just sent my own mother to Azkaban.
I step out into the dark corridor, and only now do I realise how late it is.
The Golden Trio has long ago grown tired of waiting and left for their rooms.
For some reason that thought makes me feel even worse.
My life will always be like this, I realise as I walk slowly up the stairs to
the West Wing. Maybe I won't have to send everyone I know to Azkaban, but
eventually I will have to say goodbye to them. Eventually they will all wither
away and die, while I remain here. Unchanged. Unmoved. No matter what the
outcome of this war is, no matter what we will have to sacrifice, I will be
here to witness it.
Alone.
 
I stop cold in my steps outside my door. I stare in wonderment at the sleeping
form leaning against the wall. This boy, laying here like a marionette with cut
strings. This boy still so full with life.
Oh god, please don't let me have to watch him die.
I am just about to consider sneaking into my room without waking Potter, when
the raven haired boy opens his eyes sleepily. He blinks a few times, then
startles as his eyes focus and he realises I'm staring down at him.
"M-Malfoy!" Potter mumbles, standing up quickly. He looks at me warily, not
certain of what to say. "I- How are you?" He looks at me with such sincerity,
such suffocating empathy that I am disgusted.
I can't breathe.
"I don't want to talk about it," I growl, perhaps harsher than is necessary. I
push past him, but he grabs my arm before I make it through the door.
"Malfoy, I-" Potter begins, eloquent as always. I stare at him numbly, forcing
myself to form the words. "Just go, Potter." And I slam the door shut after me.
I can't do this. I can't want him. Unfortunately, it's getting ever harder to
deny the fact that I do. Want. Him.
I can't be alone. But I can't not be alone. If I let him into my life now, how
will I cope when he leaves? Because we both know that eventually, he will.
Standing still in the middle of the floor, I keep wondering what to do with
myself.
I need a shower.
Before I know how I got there, I am standing in the shower, clothes and all,
the water scaling my skin.
 
God knows how long I've stood here. Time and space have long since disappeared.
My robes are soaked through, as are my pants. Their weight keeps dragging me to
the floor, yet it is nothing compared to the weight I feel on my shoulders.
Nothing compared to the sinking feeling in my stomach. I stand completely
still, staring straight ahead. And I wonder if I could stay forever like this,
under the running water, in this mindless state. I feel myself falling,
falling, and I wait with tremor for the moment when I hit bottom.
Then suddenly the bathroom door opens, and Potter steps inside. He stares at me
quietly for a moment before he turns to close the door behind him. I open my
mouth to tell him to leave, but no sound comes out. I close it again. Potter
crosses the bathroom swiftly, kicking off his shoes and tossing his glasses
into the sink as he does. He stops just out of range of the spraying water,
just looking. I stare at him blankly, a thousand and none thoughts running
through my head. I swallow and try again to speak.
"I told you to leave." I croak, my voice raw. Potter stares at me for another
moment, before suddenly taking a step forward and putting his arms around me.
My breath catches in my throat and my body goes rigid.
"You know I can't."
His voice is slow and quiet, just as broken as mine. It's too much. I shudder
in his arms, fighting to get away. And though I am so much stronger, I can't
fight him off. I fight and scream and growl, and still I can't get away. Potter
only tightens his hold on me.
I can't. We can't- This can't- I...
I can't be alone.
The tears start rolling. I make a last attempt to push Potter away, but somehow
I end up pulling him closer instead. I bury my head into the crook of his neck,
and tell myself he won't know I'm crying 'cause his clothes are already soaked.
As I relax, I expect Potter to, too. But he only tightens his hold, letting me
know he's here. And I know. I cling to him like a drowning man, sobbing
silently into his shoulder, my fingers tearing through the fabric of his shirt.
And I think that maybe just this once, maybe just for one night, I could let
go. Maybe just for one night, I could forget.
I pull away slightly, raising my head and staring at the boy in font of me.
Potter looks back at me through soaked strands of hair, his hue pale and his
eyes glistening behind wet eyelashes. His nose is wet and flushed, and a small
drop of water has gathered on his upper lip. I reach up slowly and wipe it away
with my thumb, the palm of my hand gracing Potter's cheek. A pink tongue darts
out to flicker over his lips, and finally my resolve vanishes.
I lean towards Potter slowly, giving him a generous amount of time to rethink
the situation and get the hell out of here. But he doesn't move, and barely
allows himself to take a quick intake of breath before I press my lips to his.
He relaxes immediately in my arms, sliding his hands up my arms to my
shoulders. The kiss is slow and sweet and tentative, such a kiss that you read
about in romantic 19th century novels.
I keep still as Potter's hands run over my body; in my hair, over my face, down
my neck. But when he gets to my chest, he freezes. He pulls away from the kiss
slowly, leaving me to stare at him in agony. I knew this was too good to be
true.
But to my surprise, Potter makes no attempt to leave. He only takes a small
step back, a deep furrow between his brow, and keeps staring at my chest.
"Potter, wha-" I begin, but my words are cut off like my thoughts when Potter
reaches forward and starts unbuttoning my robes. His fingers work over the
buttons efficiently, and soon the black cloth is sliding over my shoulders and
onto the floor. Without a word of explanation, Potter then continues with my
white collar shirt. Once he is finished, he slides his right hand under my
shirt and presses it flat against my chest. I shudder at the contact of skin
against skin. Potter stares at his hand in deep concentration for a minute
before he looks up to my questioning face.
"...You don't have a heartbeat."
___________________________________________________________________
"....You don't have a heartbeat." I utter, unable to believe the truth in what
I am saying. I stare at Malfoy, waiting frantically for him to deny it. He
doesn't.
"No. I don't." he answers warily, as if expecting me to run off at any moment.
I keep staring at him in silence. It's not that I didn't know that vampires are
as close as you can get to being the living dead. I know that they don't sweat,
that they don't bleed. But to think of Malfoy as dead... I just can't.
He is standing here in front of me, I can feel his chest rising beneath my hand
as he breathes, he istouchingme... How can he not be alive? How can I have lost
him before I even had him?
In a crazy fit of denial I throw my hands around the blonde boy and kiss him
for all I'm worth. I press myself against him, clawing at his shirt to get it
off him. As he tentatively starts to lift the hem of my sweater, his hands
sliding against my back, I feel enormous relief. As long as he keeps moving, as
long as we keep moving, he can't be anything butalive. No matter what anyone
else says. No matter the condition of his heartbeat.
His soaked collar shirt clings to his body as I fervently fight to tug it down
his arms. Finally Malfoy lets go of me to do it himself, sloppily throwing his
shirt into the corner of the shower. I can't slow down enough to stop kissing
him and actually look at him, I just run my hands all over his naked chest and
back. Memorizing the skin beneath my fingers.
Malfoy starts tugging my sweater off me, only breaking the kiss to pull the
cloth over my head. My T-shirt goes next. Once I am free from it I hurriedly
throw my arms around Malfoy's neck, ravaging his mouth. He returns the kiss
with such furiousness that his strength makes me take a few steps back out
through the shower. I shudder at the cold air away from the hot water, and
Malfoy breaks the kiss to look at me with concern. I ignore his expression and
lean past him to shut off the shower. As I turn back, my eyes flicker over the
bathroom door. I look back at Malfoy, seeing the usual doubt and resistance
ever growing in his eyes. I reach out and wove a hand into his hair, pulling
his face to me for a deep kiss.
"Don't think," I whisper against his lips, and start pulling him towards the
door, my lips never leaving his. Malfoy follows slowly but obediently, and we
enter his bedroom, leaving puddles of water on our trail. Crossing the floor
our kisses grow ever more frantic, more desperate. Only when I haul Malfoy down
on top of me on the bed does he stop and pull away. He looks down at me, water
dripping from his hair onto my skin. He breathes heavily, staring at me for a
long moment.
"...This is lunacy," he finally murmurs, but makes no attempt to move away. I
smile at him and his morals, still trying to convince himself that this is
wrong. Even when it's so clear that we both want it.
"I don't care," I answer him, pulling him down to me for a heated kiss. He
doesn't resist anymore. Malfoy runs his hands down my chest, his nails scraping
my skin slightly. I shiver at the surprising thrill the added sensation brings.
He reaches my jeans, hooking his fingers on the hem of them. I let out a gasp
of apprehension, and Malfoy chuckles against my lips. I suddenly wonder how
many times he's done this.
The thought is gone with the wind as soon as Malfoy breaks the kiss again to
start unbuckling my belt. He tugs the over-sized jeans down my legs without
even having to unbutton them. To my surprise though Malfoy leans back to
continue kissing me, making no attempt to remove my boxer shorts. Slightly
irritated I manoeuvre myself so I can reach the top of his trousers,
unbuttoning and unzipping them rapidly. Malfoy breaks the kiss with a gasp and
stares down at me.
"Potter, are you- ...What-" he rambles, obviously uncertain of how to present
his question. I take a deep breath and meet his gaze with seriousness.
"I want this," I begin, before raising my hips against Malfoy's, causing him
gasp loudly. "And I can feelthat you want it, too." I smirk as Malfoy fails to
deny what we both know is true. Before his paralyzing astoundness of my
bluntness takes off, I hurry to pull his trousers down to his knees.
Surprisingly enough he gives, and proceeds to kick them off all the way. Hands
on my hips again, he tugs at the hem of my boxers and gives me a questioning
look. I take a nervous breath but smile encouragingly.
Malfoy pulls my boxers down my legs slowly, before moving to remove his own,
leaving us both as naked as the day we were born. He then lays down completely
on top of me, kissing me firmly but sweetly. The air is cool against my skin,
but that is not the cause of my shuddering. I run my trembling hands all over
Malfoy's body, over his strong back, his arse, and his long legs. Everywhere I
can possibly reach, feeling for every second more grateful that I am alive to
feel this.
But I need more. More than touching Malfoy and kissing him and feeling his body
against mine. Just... More.
Breaking the kiss, I meet Malfoy's questioning gaze. It takes a minute for me
to be able to collect the words. "Please... I want- I need you." I plead,
hoping that he will understand without me having to say it out loud. Malfoy's
eyes widen, and stops breathing for a minute. Then he slowly manoeuvres his
legs between mine, looking back at me without looking convinced that I am
serious. To clarify my desire I swiftly wrap my legs around him, my heels
digging into his back and jerking him towards me roughly. He gasps loudly at
the sudden contact, my own voice echoing his.
I almost chuckle with relief when Malfoy then finally moves to kneel beneath my
thighs. I shudder as I hear a whispered lubrication charm, and feel a cool
finger seek its way beneath my legs and circle around my entrance. Malfoy looks
at me for assurance, and I nod breathily, not trusting my voice to speak. He
smiles as his finger then slowly enters me, and I can only lay here trembling
as my body gets used to the alien sensation.
Before I know it, a second, then a third finger is added, and I am shuddering
with pleasure and apprehension. I don't know how much more I can take before-
"...Draco, please-" I croak, and his eyes flicker to me immediately at the
mention of his first name. He stretches me a little more, and smiles as I gasp
and throw my head back. "Oh fuck! ...Now!" I gasp. A disappointed moan escapes
my lips when he withdraws his fingers, but I draw a deep breath as I feel
something else breach me. I clench my eyes shut but can't fight the pained
groan that escapes me as I feel flesh slowly give in. But the sound of Malfoy's
breathy groan reaches my ears, and I smile into the darkness. When Malfoy is
fully sheathed I feel his cool lips against mine, and I open my eyes. He smiles
at me softly, before starting to move slowly. In spite of the burn a flaming
pleasure start building up, and soon I am moaning ceaselessly.
Malfoy seems encouraged by my moans and speeds up. Then he changes the angle
slightly and were he not laying on top of me I'm sure I would have jumped
through the roof. Hundreds of electric pulses run through my body and I can but
groan. "Oh god... fuck...!"
I meet Malfoy's gaze as he keeps moving in me. His steel gray eyes are blazing
intently, staring hungrily down at me. He looks so calm, so content, so
completely focused on me and me alone that I feel like my heart is going to
burst. I feel the emotions gathering in me with every stroke, reaching higher
and higher and higher until I feel as if I'm on the edge of the earth. Then I
see Malfoy's lips moving softly, and his dark voice pierces the room.
"...Harry!" he pants.
The sound of my name on his lips echoes in my head as I come, shouting out and
my body bucking beneath his. I tremble violently as I feel him drive into me
hard one last time. A breathy growl escapes him as I feel him fill me, before
his arms give way and he falls down upon me. Wrapping my limbs around him I let
the aftershocks run through me. I breath in the musky scent of his skin. My
head is spinning and in this breathtaking, ecstatic moment I feel as though the
world is turning in these sheets. A content sleepiness begins to take over me,
and I relax down on the bed.
Malfoy too stops trembling eventually. After a long while he slides off me, but
only to lie down beside me. He pulls the blanket over our cooling bodies and
lays his arm over my chest. He plants sleepy kisses on my collar bone, while
his fingers play affectionately with my hair. Exhausted and half asleep, I turn
my head to look at him. I watch the clear lines of his face, his taut mouth,
the pale eyelashes on his closed eyes. I realise that this moment, all we are
in this moment, is all I ever want to be. I tighten my arms around him, and
from my lips he draws the words.
"I love you."
***** A Higher Wall *****

Author's notes: The morning after.
===============================================================================
Chapter 17. A Higher Wall
I wake up to the tickling of breath against my nose. Then I realise I
shouldn'tbe waking up. I open my eyes to find emerald eyes staring back at me.
"Good morning." Potter smiles at me, a slight blush creeping over his nose. My
eyes widen in remembrance.
"I love you."
Last night when I heard the words I was too far gone to even react. Now I don't
know what to do with them. I can't reciprocate to his words. But how am I to
inform him that Malfoys do not, cannot love? And yet, his words create a warm
and disturbingly fuzzy feeling that I cannot distinguish. I force myself not to
show all those feelings on my face. "How long have you been awake?"
"A while." he answers. "I liked watching you sleep," he admits with
extraordinary honesty, his blush deepening slightly. I ignore the ridiculous
fluttering in my stomach and sit up slowly. "I can't believe I fell asleep..."
I mumble, mostly to myself, running a hand through my hair. I look back at
Potter, who is looking down at the bed, a frown around his mouth. I follow his
gaze to the indigo sheets. Our bodies aren't touching, and I realise the
distance has created a void between the two of us. Between today and what
happened last night. Of course, it is for the best. At least that is what I am
telling myself.
Potter looks up at me with pleading eyes. I can hear his pulse beating in
anxiety. He is asking me to deny what we both know is true. And I can't do
that.
As silently as I can I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, as if any noise
would make this situation too real to bear. I find my still damp trousers and
stand up to pull them on, all the while feeling Potter's eyes on me. Making
sure to keep my back to him at all times, I walk over to my wardrobe to find
myself a shirt. As the oak doors creek open, I hear the rustling of sheets and
Potter's light steps on the floor. I hear him picking up his jeans and
fastening his belt, and I sigh in relief for the fact that he is not trying to
make this any harder than it has to be.
Then I feel arms wrap around me from behind and a muscular chest pressed
against my back. "I won't let you do this." Potter's warm breath puffs against
my shoulder. His heart beats fast against my back, his pulse echoing in my ear.
"Let go of me. Please." I murmur, my voice not quite as steady as I would like
for it to be. When he doesn't obey, I grab his wrists and remove his hands from
my body. But when I turn around to repell him from me once and for all, I
suddenly find myself with an armful of Potter. "I won't let you." he repeats,
his voice breaking slightly.
"Potter, please..." I grab his shoulders to push him away from me. He keeps his
hands around my neck, but pulls away enough to look at me. He looks at me with
a desperation I've never seen in those eyes, and I forget what I was about to
say. When I finally remember, he rudely cuts me off.
"I know what you're trying to do. You're trying to convince yourself that last
night meant nothing to you. And maybe you have succeeded in fooling yourself,"
A sad smile appears on Potter's face. "But you can't fool me."
All my objections are cut off as he then throws himself around my neck,
pressing his lips to mine. I slam the breaks but the wheels roll on. In spite
of the objections my mind is repeating, my body seems determined to ignore
them. My arms sneak around his waist, and I hug him closer to me. Too close to
me. Not close enough.
When I finally gather the presence of mind to pull away, Potter lets me go with
a huge grin plastered on his face. "I knew it."
As any denial would surely be unsuccessful, I try to convince him using the
simple laws of reason. "Potter, don't you see?" I ask, turning around and
reaching for a clean collar shirt from the closet. "We can't do this. I am
sorry to have indulged this, but it must end now. We can't-"
"Oh, shut up." Potter snorts, tugging the shirt over my shoulders and beginning
to button it. I marvel at the fact that somehow Potter dressing me is almost
more arousing than him taking my clothes off. A small smirk ghosts on his lips
and his voice is low and husky. "I know you have all these principles and
morals. But quite frankly," he smiles, straightening my collar, so close that
his breath ghosts over my lips. "I don't give a tiny rat's arse."
My words stuck in my throat at this appalling rudeness and... other sensations.
I lick my lips and take in a desperate breath of air. "This is not just about
my principles, Potter. The whole wizarding world-"
"It's Harry," Potter insist, pouting childishly. "And I don't care about what
the wizarding world thinks." he exclaims. "I care about what you think."
I am taken aback by the unbashful honesty this boy manages. How is one to
respond to such insolence?
"If you say that you don't want this, then I'll accept that." Potter continues,
still clinging onto my shirt. "But if you say that this is wrong because of
what otherpeople might think..." he trails off, leaving the unspoken accusation
in the air. I shake my head softly. To him it might sound silly to care so much
about other people's opinions. But I doubt he would deny that he cares about
what his friends think.
"On the contrary, Potter, other people's opinion does matter. Or do you deny
that you would not be too eager to inform your little friends about last
night?" I hiss, with more venom than necessary. But it helps. I see the self-
consciousness on Potter's features. He too knows I'm right.
"It's still Harry," he continues insisting, and a soft smile spreads on his
face. "But you're right, I doubt the information would agree with Ron and
Hermione. But since we already crossed the line once..." He throws his arms
around my neck again, and I just can't find the energy or the willpower to
throw him off. "-why would we have to tell anyone about another time?"
I stand paralyzed for a moment, considering Potter's words. The whole situation
is ridiculous, I should just walk straight out of here and never think about
this again-
And then Potter presses his lips to mine, "I love you, Draco." whispered
between us. And I give in. Pushing him back towards the bedpost and proceeding
to kiss my name from his lips fervently. In this moment I am gloriously happy
and utterly disgusted with myself at the same time. I curse myself for becoming
so weak. For as the Malfoy I am I know that what goes up will surely fall in
disgrace. And now I can only count down the time.
___________________________________________________________________
For the second time this morning, I throw the blanket off me. Potter remains in
bed, curled up in a fetal position and sleeping soundly. I pull on a clean pair
of trousers and a collar shirt before I sit down on the edge of the bed again.
I have lost. One time is no time, but two times... That is no longer something
I can deny. And honestly, I don't know if I want to.
I lean towards the sleeping boy on the bed. His eyelids flutter in his sleep,
the side of his mouth twitching into a smile. He looks oddly different without
his glasses. As if someone took away the shield guarding him. I smile down at
Potter's sleeping form. As long as no one finds out, everything will be all
right.
"Harry." I state, shaking his shoulder softly. "You have to get up."
"Mm... come back to bed..." a very sleepy Potter mumbles, tugging at my sleeve.
"Just five more minutes..."
"Potter!" I growl, though with only mild irritation and more humour. "If you
don't get up now, people will notice you're not in your room and come looking
for you. They can't find you here." I shake him harder. Potter finally opens
his eyes and looks up at me.
"You called me Harry before."
I sigh, but can't stop the small smile spreading on my face. "Harry." I
emphasize. "Please get up." Potter's face lights up and he sits up immediately.
He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, rumbling off the bed in a hurry, a blush
spreading on his face. I snort at his antics and curse the ridiculous
fluttering in my stomach, scooting off the bed and walking to the door. "I
think I'll spend the day in the library." I state clearly, exiting the room
swiftly, leaving the silent invitation hanging in the air.
I hear Potter's clear laugh cling behind me all the way downstairs.
___________________________________________________________________
I chuckle as I watch Draco leave the room, casting tempus to see how much time
I've got. Turns out it's almost twelve, someone is bound to come looking for me
soon. Still, I take my time looking around Draco's room as I get dressed. I'm
still having a hard time believing the events of the last twelve hours. It's
not that it shocks me, though maybe it should. Never mind the fact that Draco's
a boy, but he's Malfoy. My arch nemesis for six years. And it's not as if my
opinion about him didn't change months ago, but... I just didn't expect for it
to change this drastically.
But what truly frightens me is not the things I will have to hide from Ron and
Hermione. What scares me is Draco. It seems that the whole 'gay'-thing is a
much bigger issue for him than it is for me. If this mornings reaction is
anything to go by, the next days are not going to be easy.
I exit the West Wing and enter the kitchen, Draco still on my mind. Hermione
and Ron are sitting at the kitchen table, eating sausages and fried eggs. Ron
looks up as I enter.
"Harry! You're up! We knocked on your door but you didn't answer." he rambles,
mouth stuffed with sausages.
Hermione looks concerned. "You weren't up too late worrying about Malfoy and
his mom, were you?"
Ron snorts loudly, gulping down a couple of fork-fulls of eggs. "Who in their
right mind would lose sleep worrying about the Ferret?"
I ignore Ron's comment and walk to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee.
"No, I just didn't sleep too well, that's all." The answer seems to suffice,
and Ron continues eating while Hermione changes the subject.
"So, speaking of Malfoy, have you any idea how the meeting went?" she asks as I
take a seat at the table. "I ran into him a few minutes ago, he didn't seem too
bad off."
"I don't think they discovered anything of big importance. At least not
anything about Voldemort's whereabouts." I mumble absentmindedly, looking into
my coffee cup. Of course I cannot be absolutely sure about the truth in my
answer, as Draco and me had... other things on out mind after the meeting. "But
I do believe Narcissa was sent to Azkaban."
Hermione shivers while Ron only sniggers slightly. "Typical Malfoy. Doesn't
even mourn the fact that he sent his own mother to prison."
Hermione turns furiously to Ron. "How can you be so ungrateful? Just be glad
that he did send her to Azkaban, instead of helping Narcissa aid Lucius." Ron
looks both surprised and annoyed at our friend's sudden outburst. He turns to
look at me for support. Unfortunately for Ron, I can't give him any.
"Hermione's right, Ron." I mutter seriously. "Besides, it's not like Malfoy was
raised to show his emotions in public. And he doesn't exactly like any of us,
why would he tell us how he feels?" Not the complete truth, but close enough. I
feel unbelievably privileged, having been allowed to see some of those emotions
Draco hides so carefully from everyone else.
Hermione looks at me, wondering. I wonder if she suspects something. But then
again, how could she?
"I still think it's disgusting," Ron mutters to his plate where he stabs the
remaining sausages with his fork. Hermione grins at him, picking up a book on
Advanced Charms.
"So do we know anything more about the war?" she asks, eyes flicking over the
pages.
"No, nothing new." I mutter, feeling both disappointment and relief fill the
room. Of course it would be good to gain new information, but every information
we have gotten so far has been bad. All pieces of news are about more people
killed by Death Eaters, mysterious explosions both in the wizard and Muggle
world, or the number of Aurors killed in raids. One can but wonder how long
this hell on earth will last.
"Did Dumbledore say when someone is coming to visit us next time?" Ron asks,
breaking the tense silence. I try to remember something, anything about
yesterday that doesn't involve Draco, but all I can think of is his face, his
body, his voice, his-
"I think he mentioned Lupin and your parents coming over in two days."
Hermione's voice cuts off my remembrance, and I can but blush at the thoughts
just running through my head.
"Good," Ron grunts, rising up from his chair and stretching his back. "I hope
Mum brings some food, the shit that comes out of the dumbwaiter is disgusting."
"Don't be ungrateful, Ron." Hermione scolds, but the words come out more of
habit than actual annoyance. She looks up from her book at the both of us.
"What are you two going to do today?"
"Absolutely nothing." Ron grins, falling back into his chair lazily. Hermione
raises her eyebrow in dislike. "How surprising."
"Actually..." I begin, drawing the attention of the old married couple. "I was
planning on spending the day studying in the library." A stunned silence
follows.
"Harry!" Hermione then squeals in delight. "I'm so proud of you!" She turns
towards Ron. "You could learn from Harry, Ron. See how he's learned
responsibility during the last months." Hermione glows with pride over my
sudden literary interests. Ron only looks mildly disgusted over the whole
matter.
"But Harry..." he whines, looking positively horrified.
"Sorry, Ron." I grin, emptying my cup of coffee in a haste as I rise from my
chair. "I'd better get started, as I've slept away most of the morning."
Ron groans loudly, the sound sounding something like "What the hell is the
world coming to?" while Hermione only smiles. "That's good, Harry. I'd join
you, but I have yet to finish all the books Dumbledore let me bring with me
from Hogwarts. Maybe next week."
I smile at her as I exit the room, wishing that her own pile of books never
ceases. I almost can't restrain myself from running through the halls to reach
the library. But as I cross the corridors, I debate with myself if I even
should be going there. Outside the library I stop. What if Draco doesn't want
me there? What if I just end up annoying him, and he gets sick of me and-
I take a deep breath before I dare to reach out and open the double doors. The
doors open with a creak, and I step inside on shaking legs. The room looks
empty, but knowing Draco he is not far away. To my surprise the fire place is
lit. Something Draco has never done before. Something I scarcely dared to do
when in his presence.
I walk over to one of the brown armchairs, the one where Draco always sits. I
take a seat just as a deep voice echoes through the room.
"I didn't expect you so soon." Draco says, standing in the far away corner.
Holding a book and smirking, looking exactly like he expected me. I grin at
him, rising from the chair. "Don't think I'm stupid," I smile, all too widely.
"You can sense every approaching human on a mile's distance."
Draco sneers back at me and puts the book back into the shelf. He walks past
me, grinning softly, and takes a seat in his usual chair. He doesn't say a
word. And I feel I can't either. I look at Draco, sitting there in the
armchair, grinning at me wickedly. He enjoys watching me fidget uncomfortably,
he always has. Then he picks up a book and begins reading.
I stand still for another minute before I sit down on the floor in front of the
fire place. "Have you found anything use against Voldemort yet?" I ask,
watching Draco shudder at the mention of the ominous name.
"Not yet," he murmurs, waiving the book he is holding. "I'm searching through
this copy of Sortilèges avancés right now."
Pardon me? "Sortilje avans?" I stare at the blonde boy who suddenly decided to
speak martian to me. Draco snorts superiorly at me from his chair, and for a
second I am reminded of the few times I've met his father.
"Sortilèges avancés," he repeats. "Advanced Charms in French."
"You can speak French?" I feel like an idiot. Of course he can speak French.
What can't he do?
"Yes." Draco turns lazily back to his book. "We Malfoy's descend from France.
Father insisted I learn the language from an early age. It is important to keep
up traditions." he mumbles absentmindedly. Repeating the words as if out of
habit, without really paying attention to what he is saying. I am suddenly
reminded of what Ron said.
"He won't change, believe me. A Malfoy doesn't dye its hair."
I wonder if Ron could be right. With habits and lessons so deeply impregnated
into his entire being, how could Draco cut himself away from it just like that?
How can I expect that from him?
I hear a rustle beside me and look up to see Draco taking a seat beside me on
the floor. He sits down cross-legged and leans back against the other armchair
behind us. When he meets my questioning look, he just shrugs. "I was never
allowed to sit on the floor as a child. Best to make the most of it now." With
those words he turns back to his book.
Staring at him for another minute, I feel a giddy grin spread on my face. I
pick up a different, non-French book on spells from the floor and lean back
against the chair. Our shoulders are touching, such simple human contact I know
Draco resents. But he doesn't pull away. I open my book and sigh happily,
feeling the distance between us grow smaller with each passing second.
***** All We Are *****

Author's notes: Of infatuations and solitude.
===============================================================================
Chapter 18. All We Are
Two and a half hours later Draco hasn't lifted his gaze from his book once. And
I am bored out of my mind.
"Can't we take a break soon?" I whine, throwing my own book over my shoulder.
As if I were reading it anyway.
"Be my guest." Draco mutters, eyes still nailed to the pages. I sigh
exaggeratedly and stare at him. "Can't you take a break, too? We could play a
game of chess, or something."
Finally the blonde lifts his gaze, but only to raise an amused eyebrow at me.
"You doknow I would beat you in a second, right? Besides, I have all the time
in the world to take breaks later. About five centuries of time, at least." he
adds morbidly.
I shudder. I hate it when he talks about his condition. Most times I can forget
about his eternal sentence. And most times, he forgets about mine.
"But I don't. Have all that time, I mean." I mumble, turning my gaze to the
floor. An awkward silence spreads between us as we both try to sympathize with
the other. But I can't begin to understand how it might feel to know you will
live forever. And how could he know how it feels to have everyone in the world,
yourself included, expecting you to die in the next year or so? How it feels to
have everyone marvelling at the fact that you've even survived this far?
 
"I knew this could never work." The cold voice cuts through the silence like a
blade of ice through my chest. I lift my face to stare at Draco. "What?" is all
I can muster strength to say. He sighs and looks at me with a sad frown, but
his voice keeps its coldness.
"This is too hard," he murmurs, averting his eyes from mine and putting down
his book beside him. "It's not just about the fact that we're both guys and
have hated each others guts for the past six years. And not just about the fact
that everyone would go ballistic if it ever came in to common knowledge. All
that's hard enough. Including the fact that we are from totally different
social statuses and have grown up learning completely different values in
life." Draco sighs, and turns to look at me with the most despaired expression
I have ever seen on his face. "But when we add the fact that you are who you
are and I am what I am... This is just too hard."
I stare at Draco for a long while, going over his words in my head. I sit up on
my knees, facing him so that he can't look away from me. "So you think it would
be different if I weren't Harry Fucking Potter?" I sneer, bringing a small
smile to Draco's face with the reminder of his favourite nickname for me.
"Yes," he admits, smiling at me softly. "But that doesn't even begin to cover
it." Another deep sigh escapes his lips, and I wonder silently if he's
despaired over the situation or just annoyed with me. "But Harry, we would have
a hard time with our... situation any way, even if you weren't the Boy Who
Lived. I mean, think about it." Draco exclaims, furrowing his brow at me.
"I am what I am now, and I can't change that. I am not a wizard, not even
considered human anymore! And you being who you are... If it ever got out that
there was something between us... Have you any idea what that would do for our
cause?"
I gaze at Draco quizzically. "I know people would be shocked and all, but they
would get over it. It's not like everyone would go scurrying off to the Dark
Side just because I'm gay." I don't know if it was the mentioning of Voldemort
or the word 'gay', but something suddenly makes Draco look very nauseous.
"You don't understand," he shakes his head from side to side slowly. "I don't
know about the Muggle world, but in the wizarding world things aren't that
simple." He looks up at me gravely. "Maybe people won't join the Dark Lord
because of your... preferences, but they certainly will rethink their alliance
with the Light." Draco stares at me, and I see his anxiety when he understands
that I still don't believe him.
"The masses are not like your friends and family. They will not see past it and
focus on other things. They will lose faith in you, in the whole cause." he
groans hopelessly. "You cannot afford that right now. Not right before the war
breaks out in earnest."
I stare at Draco for a long minute. Of course I understand that it would be
hard. But god... does that mean I should be unhappy for the rest of my life, my
very short life, just because the masses can't handle the truth? Suddenly I
feel uninvited tears burning behind my eyes, and in spite of myself they start
spilling over. I lean towards Draco, resting my forehead against his shoulder
so that he won't see my tears. He startles at my sudden movement, but doesn't
move away.
"I can't do this," I mumble to his chest, digging my fingers into the front of
his shirt. An awkward hand comes up to stroke my back slowly. I muffle a sob
and continue. "I don't care what they think. What right do they have to judge
me? They don't have to face Voldemort in battle. Their expected lifespan isn't
at a maximum one or two years. They don't have to watch other people give their
lives for them, when they themselves can't do a fucking thing about it!" By now
I am screaming into Draco's shoulder, and his arms have tightened around me in
a embrace.
"It's not fair." I whisper, a series of sobs finally escaping me.
___________________________________________________________________
"It's not fair."
I stifle the urge to laugh. Or cry. "No. It isn't." Of course it isn't. It's
not fair that he will have to die. It's not fair that I will have to live to
see it. It's not fair that until that time I will have to refuse him again and
again, my resolve getting weaker for each time I give in.
And still, I know he doesn't get it. He doesn't realise that what separates him
and me is not what has happened between us in the past, but what will happen in
the future.
It pains me greatly to have to be the one that has to explain it to him. I take
a deep breath and run my fingers through Potter's thick locks. "But as you see,
this can't work. You could be risking the whole war for an infatuation. And me
being what I am, I will have to watch this end, one way or the other. It might
as well be now." The words are hard, but I keep my voice soft and cool.
Potter stills in my arms and lifts his face slowly. He has stopped crying, and
his face is suddenly completely expressionless. "Infatuation?" he repeats
hollowly. "That's all you think this is?" Suddenly he is screaming, flying to
his feet. "God, how stupid are you?" he spits at me, enraged. He paces back and
forth in front of me as I watch with wide eyes.
"Infatuation?! Of all the-" he roars, gesticulating wildly with his arms. "You
think I would do all this for an infatuation? You think I would do this with
you, of all people, for a fucking crush?!" He swears and kicks a pile of books,
unread pages fluttering everywhere. I stand up to make sure he doesn't break
anything. Like his bones, for instance.
Potter stops right in front of me, glaring daggers. "Is this just an
infatuation for you? If it is, you'd better tell me right now." He stares at
me, holding his breath for the answer.
I have none. I am supposed to say yes. Make him disappear from my life so that
he can't hurt either of us anymore. But my mouth refuses to form the necessary
words.
After a long while Potter releases the breath he was holding. Slowly his mouth
spreads into a wicked grin. He chuckles. "I thought so." Throwing his arms
around my neck, he presses his forehead to mine.
"Don't you ever try to get rid of me again."
___________________________________________________________________
"That's a nasty habit," I mutter, watching Draco light a cigarette. He sits
down on the wide ledge by the window and leans against the wall.
"It's not like they'll affect my health." he answers morbidly. I shudder at the
words as I take a seat next to him.
"Don't talk like that." I hate it when he says such things. And he knows it.
Draco stares at me blankly before taking another bloss and looking out into the
warm June night. "But it's true." he states coolly.
I sigh. Does he think that makes me feel better? That it's true? And still I
wonder if the thought doesn't frighten him more than it does me. And still he
makes a point of reminding himself and me about it all the time.
"Why do you do that?"
He raises a pale eyebrow at me. "What? Smoke?"
I snort noncomically. "Why do you make everything you do about what you are
now?" Draco stares at me completely expressionless. I sigh deeply and continue.
"I mean, if I'd talked to you last November and told you smoking is a nasty
habit, what would you have said?"
Another moment of silence before he answers. "It doesn't work that way."
I furrow my brow. "Why not?" I press on stubbornly. Draco sighs irritated,
crushing the remains of his cigarette into a brick on the outer wall.
"Because," he says. "you wouldn'thave talked to me in November."
Admittedly, it is true. I wouldn't have. But that's not the point. "Okay," I
begin anew. "So tell me, why did you start smoking at all?"
Draco throws out his arms with a frustrated growl. "Why do we keep talking
about my smoking?" A good question. I shrug. "I'm just trying to learn things
about you."
He stares at me incredulously. "What things?" he asks, as if my sentiment was
totally irrational.
I shrug again and purse my lips. "Normal stuff. Like what's your favourite
colour. Or favourite flavour of ice cream. Where you grew up, stuff like that."
Draco still looks slightly annoyed, but a small smile has appeared on his lips.
He relaxes back against the wall. "You do know that we're not normal, right?"
I smile softly at him. "I know." Of course I know. I've never been normal. And
I guess I'll never have the time to become normal, either. I stand up and grab
Draco's hand. He stares at me in surprise.
"Let's just pretend for now, shall we?" I pull him towards the unmade bed.
 
Afterwards I lie with my head on his chest, slowly getting used to the idea
that I am not supposed to hear a heartbeat. "You should cut your hair." he
mumbles, running his fingers through my locks.
"So should you." I snort, raising myself to look at Draco's by now shoulder-
length hair. He only smiles and doesn't say anything more. I lie back down and
curl myself around his body. I close my eyes and listen to the blowing of the
wind outside, slowly falling asleep. After a long while Draco breaks the
silence.
"White." he says. I manage a surprised "huh?" in my half-asleep state, but
cannot find the strength to move. He continues nevertheless. "My favourite
colour." After a few seconds of silence he sighs deeply and relaxes into the
mattress.
I smile happily into his chest and let sleep claim me.
___________________________________________________________________
"Weasley's mother is here."
He looks up from his book first in surprise, then in wonderment. "It's so weird
when you do that." He shakes his head smiling. I snort. "It's no trick. One
could smell that ghastly amount of food from New Zeeland."
"Well," Potter stands up from the floor, waiting for me. "Let's go."
"What?" I ask incredulously, keeping my nose in my book. Potter sighs
exaggeratedly. "I thought you Malfoys were supposed to have good manners."
I sneer in response. "Well, yes. We do. But I used to think Saint Potter wore a
Gryffindor-gold thong and had a picture of Dumbledore tattooed on his arse.
Illusions break." A sniggering Potter raises an eyebrow and reaches out his
hand for me. "Come on. They're really nice people. And I bet they have some
news about the outside world."
When I still only stare blankly at him, he finally resorts to begging. "Ple-
eease?" he whines, stomping his feet and pouting like an overgrown child. As if
I would fall for that.
Unfortunately, I do.
"All right," I growl, rising from the floor with what I believe is a very sour
look on my face. Potter shines like the sun and hugs me quickly before
scurrying off to the doors. "Come on."
I leave the sanctity of my library and follow him to the kitchen, dragging my
feet after me. When Potter enters the room, I remain standing in the hall.
Family reunions are just too disgusting to bear.
"Harry!" I hear Molly Weasley's voice and peek around the corner just in time
to see Potter being embedded in a motherly hug by the red haired woman.
"Did you hear, Harry? Dad's in the hospital." the Weasel says, voice shaking
slightly. Potter's eyes widen in panic. "What? Is he alright?"
Molly Weasley smiles. "Arthur is just fine. He was cursed in the leg during a
raid yesterday, but they say he'll be as good as new in a week or so." The
woman smiles encouragingly at the Golden Trio. "It's nothing you three should
be worrying about. Besides, I though that as long as Arthur is in at St
Mungo's, I might as well stay here. It's a good thing, too, that I can be here
and cook for you. Growing children need proper food, and the stuff that comes
out of the dumbwaiter is absolutely appalling."
I snort at the Weasley mother and am just about to sneak off when I hear an
ominous bang from the North Wing. Two seconds later I watch in mild horror as
two red-heads fly down the stairs on a pair of very scruffy brooms, followed by
a cloud of thick greenish smoke. The red-headed duo stops cold in their tracks
and just about fall off their brooms when they see me in the doorway.
"Malfoy!" Whichever one of the twin shrieks, pulling his scruffy broom to an
abrupt stop. The other red-head has no time to react and crashes right into his
brother. When they finally manage to collect themselves and their brooms from
the floor, they don't even have courtesy to be intimidated by my irritated
expression.
"Hah, Malfoy!" I guess it's the second twin that is addressing me now.
I sigh irritated. "I guess we have established that yes, that is infact my
name." The twins only laugh at that, and the other one hurries to continue.
"You are just the person we wanted to see." he grins wickedly.
I raise an eyebrow. "I highly doubt that." The red-head opens his mouth to
elaborate, but is silenced when his brother elbows him in the side.
"Mum!" he hisses. The others confused look turns into a grin once again.
"Later," he mutters, just as Mrs Weasley walks into the hall.
"Fred! George! What was that noise I heard just-" She jumps slightly as she
turns and sees me leaning against the wall. "Oh! Draco, I didn't see you
there..." I snort. That much is obvious.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Weasley." I nod curtly. Then I look past her and see the
Golden Trio peeking into the hall. Granger looks worried. "What was that
noise?"
Molly Weasley raises an eyebrow at her sons, and the twins fidget under her
stern gaze. One of them scratches his ear as he begins. "We were just flyin-
uhm carrying our luggage to one of the guestrooms, but the broo- uhm
suitcaseflew into one of those house elf-heads on the wall."
"And well... it exploded." the other one continues, not looking too sorry about
the incident.
Mrs Weasley doesn't look all too pleased with her sons. "Are you two trying to
get yourselves killed? Isn't it enough that your father is at St Mungo's. Do
you want to join him?"
The twins purse their mouths, muttering a not to sincere "sorry"
simultaneously. Potter looks at the Weasley family with a concerned brow.
"Where's Ginny?"
Despite myself, I feel a green eyed monster feeding on my chest at the
mentioning of the Weaslette. Why does Potter care anyway?
"Oh, she's fine. She's staying at my sister's house. I wouldn't like for a girl
in her age to be caught up in all that's happening here." Mrs Wealsey assures
him, seemingly happy that Potter pays interest to her only (thank god for
that!) daughter.
"Yes, she's probably thrilled to death that she gets to stay at aunt Paddy's."
Fred scoffs, his words drenched in ill disguised sarcasm.
"No doubt." his brother answers in the same manner, picking up his poor excuse
of a broom. "We'll take our things to our room now."
Molly nods, but I cough slightly to gain their attention. "There are no more
vacant rooms in the North Wing. You may sleep in the West one." I nod towards
the stairs to my sanctuary. Potter, Granger, Weasley and his mother stare at me
cautiously. The twins only grin. "Great!" They summon their suitcases and walk
towards the West Wing.
"Well, I think I'll begin the preparations for dinner." Mrs Weasley mumbles,
withdrawing to the kitchen. Potter still looks at me worriedly.
"You don't have to have them in your wing, you know?" he says, ignoring
Granger's and the Weasel's confused stares. I only shake my head dismissively.
"It's fine. But if they blow up anything, they're out of there."
Potter looks like he still wants to say something, but I hurry to turn away and
stalk towards the West Wing. Just to make sure where the twins of destruction
have made camp. I hear a rumble from the master bedroom, and walk in to find
the twins unpacking their things into the closet. I lean against the doorway.
"Weasley!" I roar, and they both jump slightly at the sound of my voice.
"Damn, Malfoy!" the one I by now have been able to identify as George sniggers.
"You just love sneaking up on people, don't ya?"
Fred also turns around and chuckles. "Ah, here the pretty boy is."
I ignore them and say what I came here for. "Just so the two of you know, the
bedrooms in the West Wing are the Black family quarters. If you destroy
anything in here, I will personally see to it that you die, strangled with your
own intestines." Though I give away nothing that tells of the fact if I am
joking or not, the twins only laugh.
"Okay, Malfoy. We get it." Fred sniggers.
"No explosions." George affirms.
I nod. "Thank you." Just when I turn to leave the twins yell. "Wait a second!"
George hurries past me and shuts the double doors in my face. "Cast a Silencing
Charm, will you?" he tells his brother. "Just in case Mum comes sniffing
about."
As Fred casts the spell I take a seat in the only chair in the room. I sneer.
"What's this about?"
"Well," Fred begins, sitting down on the bed while his brother sits cross-
legged on the floor. "You've heard of the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes, haven't
you?"
"Yes," I confirm, raising an eyebrow at the unexpected topic. "You made those
Canary Cream-stuffs, didn't you? Montague once ate one just before a Quidditch
match. Professor Snape threatened to expel anyone causing us to lose the game
because of feathered vertebrates again."
After the twins have stopped laughing, George continues. "Okay, so we can see
that the Canary Creams work just fine. But we have a certain problem with our
Skiving Snackbox."
I must have misheard that. "Your what?"
The twins snigger. "The Skiving Snackbox." George repeats.
"Contains Fainting Fancies, Fever Fudge, Nosebleed Nougat and Puking
Pastilles." Fred elaborates. "All you need for skiving unpleasant classes."
They both smile proudly. I silently wonder which bizarre universe I have been
sucked in to.
"And what do I have to do with this?" I ask incredulously. What could I
possibly have to do with this?
"Well, you se," George begins, taking out a green wooden box from one of the
suitcases. "We are having small problems with the Nosebleed Nougat." He digs
through the box for a minute before holding out his hand towards me. I reach
out and take the two small sweets he is holding, one orange and one purple.
"The orange one is the one that causes the nosebleed, while the purple one is
supposed to stop it." Fred explains.
"The orange one works just fine, but we are having some problems with the
purple one..." George continues.
"So," they say simultaneously. "Lee Jordan told us that vampire venom might
work to coagulate the blood so the nosebleed stops."
I raise an eyebrow at the twins. "You want me to give you venom?"
Fred grins. "Yes, please."
"And maybe a hand with the brewing?" George pleads. "Rumor has it that you are
quite good at potions."
I think about the proposition for a moment. It's not like I can't take an hour
off once in a while from the research. And god, it's been long since I sat a
foot in a potions lab. And it actually sounds quite interesting. But to
experiment with these...Weasleys...
"You do understand the risks involved with this experiment?" I bore my eyes
into the twins. "If you make a tiniest mistake, you could be turning people
into half-morphed vampires for good."
"That's why we need you." the twins press on.
"If it doesn't take too much out of your grooming time." Fred jokes.
I remain quiet for another minute before I finally exhale and shrug. "I guess
someone has to look after you to see to it that you don't blow up the house."
"Wicked! Thanks mate." the twins cheer, both patting me friendly on the back as
we rise from our seats. The concept is utterly disturbing; a Malfoy being civil
with Weasleys.
"Well, I think I'd better go now." I mumble, walking towards the doors. In the
doorway I turn back towards the twins. "You can find me in the library when you
need me."
"Sure thing, mate. Thanks again!"
I close the doors behind me and walk down the stairs to wards the library. How
the hell did I get mixed up in such idiotic and pointless dissipations? Though
truthfully I wait with anticipation to have something else to do besides read
all day long. Even though I've started to sleep a few hours each night thanks
to Potter, I still have an enormous amount of time on my hands each day.
 
Potter is not in the library. Maybe I shouldn't have expected him to come here
any more today. He has the Weasel and Granger here now, I shouldn't expect to
spend as much time with him as before. Not that I miss him when he's not here.
It's just that it is slightly less entertaining to talk to oneself.
 
***** Spinning Wheel *****

Author's notes: Suspicion.
===============================================================================
Chapter 19. Spinning Wheel
"You don't have to have them in your wing, you know?"
Hermione and Ron look at me disbelievingly, but I ignore them, only focusing on
Draco. He shakes his head dismissively. "It's fine. But if they blow up
anything, they're out of there."
I want to push the matter further, but Draco turns around and follows the twins
upstairs. I turn to Ron and Hermione.
"What was that about?" Ron asks me with a furrowed brow. I play oblivious.
"What?"
Ron purses his lips. "Why would you be concerned over if Malfoy wants Fred and
George in the West Wing or not? It's your house for Merlin's sake!"
Yes, it does seem pretty odd, doesn't it. Mostly I just don't want the twins in
the West Wing because they might notice how much time I spend there. It's not
like I need any more challenges with this whole Draco-thing. Of course, that is
not a suitable thing to tell Ron and Hermione.
I shrug nonchalantly at Ron. "I'm just worried about the arguments the three of
them might get in to. Your brothers aren't exactly the quietest of neighbours."
Ron thinks about my words for a moment, but finally seems to agree. "You're
right. It wouldn't be fun to have to be the one going between them in a fight."
I fight the urge to sigh with relief and hurry to change the subject instead.
"I don't feel like going back to the library right now-" A blatant lie. "What
would you say to a game of chess? I'll be sure to beat you this time."
Ron grins disbelievingly. "In your dreams." But he scurries off to the North
Wing after the chess board. I feel a relieved sigh escape me and turn towards
Hermione. She is staring at me with a furrowed brow, looking as if I were a
particularly hard Arithmacy problem she is trying to solve.
"What?" I ask her, feeling somewhat self-conscious under her intensive gaze.
Hermione keeps staring at me for another moment before she answers.
"You're hiding something." she states coolly.
I force my face to look totally innocent. "Am not." It doesn't sound too
convincing.
Hermione raises a doubtful eyebrow at me. "You're lying. You always widen your
eyes and look unnaturally innocent when you do." Unfortunately I realise her
words are true. I swallow loudly and immediately relax my saucer-sized eyes.
"What would I have to hide?" I ask her, grinning and trying to make her believe
her accusations are completely unjustified. Hermione narrows her eyes and
studies me closely. "That's what I'm trying to find out."
The smile fades from my face as I realise I am too late in faking innocence.
"Well, you won't." I say, clearly indicating that Hermione should just forget
about the whole thing. For her own good.
But of course she won't. She looks very surprised at my extremely defensive
position, though. "We'll see." she mutters, just as Ron rumbles down the
stairs.
"Sorry I took so long, the Queen had run off again. I found her harassing a
cockroach under the bed." he huffs, holding forth the magical chess piece.
"Well?"
"Yeah, let's go play." I mutter, casting one last wary look at Hermione before
following Ron towards the drawing room. In the doorway, Ron turns back towards
Hermione.
"Aren't you coming?" he asks.
"...No," she states slowly, giving me a wary look. "I think I'll go to the
library. I hope I can find a book I'm searching for there." She turns and walks
towards the West Wing. Ron and I watch her departing, Ron looking rather
forlorn.
"How are things going with you two?" I ask carefully, giving him a cautious
look. It's not like Ron and I have ever really discussed him and Hermione, but
for as long as I can remember I've thought it's only a matter of time before
they get together. But with all the fights they have ever had, I've never seen
Ron look this blue.
"Let's just play chess." he mutters, stomping into the drawing room and
throwing the board onto the table with a crash.
I nod silently, casting one last look into the empty corridor before following.
___________________________________________________________________
My fifth cigarette. Potter still hasn't come.
Absentmindedly I eye through the pages of Knives are for Mudbloods: A Hundred
Spells for Murder, finding myself listening intently for the sound of steps.
This library is driving me crazy. I go over book after book after book, and
nothing useful comes up. Is there truly no way to defeat the Dark Lord? These
books are filled with dark magic, potions and horrifying spells, and yet
nothing catches my eye as anything that would work against the greatest dark
wizard of all times. There is nothing here that can make Potter's powers mach
the Dark Lord's.
Frustrated I light my sixth cigarette and am just about to give up when I hear
the light tapping of feet in the corridor. I become excited for a second,
before I realise those steps do not belong to Potter.
The double doors open, and over the threshold steps Granger. She looks
surprised at seeing me, but proceeds into the room nonetheless.
"...Malfoy. What are you doing here?" the bushy haired girl asks, warily taking
a seat in the other armchair. I raise an unamused eyebrow and lift up my book
for her to see. Just in case it wasn't obvious what one does in a library.
"Oh, of course." Granger blushes forlornly, lowering her gaze to her hands. She
sits there for a moment, staring at her lap. After a minute I get utterly bored
with the uncomfortable silence and decide to ignore the girl, returning to my
book.
"What are you reading?" Granger's voice cuts through the concentrated bubble
I've created around me. I sigh irritatedly, reading the title out loud for her
before turning more unread pages.
"A Hundred Spells for Murder?" the girl repeats horrified, interrupting me
again. "Why would you read something like that?"
Because I am a perverted sadist who likes to boil little children in oil, of
course. Is the girl an idiot or what? "I am investigating spells that Potter
might be able to use against the Dark Lord." I mutter, intently hoping that
thus the conversation will be concluded. I am to be sorely disappointed.
"Really?" Granger looks more surprised than she should be. "You're going
through all these books for Harry?"
I take on my most vicious expression. "Not for Potter, you silly girl. For the
cause." I hiss. Granger doesn't seem to believe me. Luckily she doesn't start
arguing, only gives me a quizzical look as she rises from the chair.
"Mind telling me which books you've gone through, so that I don't waste my time
with those?" she asks, looking around the room.
I point to the wall behind her. "I've read all those on the back wall and some
on the long one. If you stay by the shelves next to the window you won't get
mixed up." I turn back to my book, determined to ignore the bushy haired witch
from now on.
I hear Granger rumble around by the shelves, looking at some or other book
before putting it back into th shelf. My cigarette burns out and after a while
my head starts to ache from irritation from the tension in the room and the
racket Granger makes. It amazes me how such a small girl can step so heavily on
the floor and make so much noise just putting books into the shelves. I think
gratefully of Potter who always makes a point of not being too loud around me.
"Don't you have to feed soon again?" Granger asks, her tentative voice breaking
the silence once again. In spite of myself I draw in a loud breath at the
question. Whenever I manage to forget about my condition, someone always gets
the brilliant idea to remind me of it. I raise my gaze from the book to look at
Granger murderously. She shudders under my cold gaze, but doesn't look away. I
find myself forced to answer.
"It's been a week tomorrow." I mutter. The situation reminds me of the
conversations I used to have with Potter not long ago. It's only been a week
since our situation changed. How can that time seem so distant?
"Well, tell me when you need me." Granger says. It is not the words that shock
me, but the way in which Granger says them. Her voice is low and soft, and she
looks at me from the corner of her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. If
I didn't know better I'd think Granger was flirting with me. I stare at her for
a terrified minute, unable to answer.
Soon it seems Granger realises she's said something deeply perturbing, and
turns back to her book, an embarrassed flush covering her cheeks. She seems to
be shrinking in the chair, making herself as small as possible. I too return to
my book, sincerely hoping that I am imagining things. But it's hard to ignore
the fast beating heart I hear from across the room.
And here I thought my life couldn't get any harder.
Three excruciating hours snail past. Granger turns the pages of her book
nonchalantly, but the rhythm of her heart doesn't slow down. The sound is
driving me crazy, and I dig my nails into the armrest of the chair just to stop
myself from screaming at her to get over whatever the ridiculous fantasy she is
having.
Of course I have had girls have crushes on me before. But earlier I wasn't this
over-sensitive to their reactions. And back then it was girls like Pansy or
Daphne Greengrass. Not Granger the Mudblood.
Not my lover's best friend.
Granger can't have a crush on me. I can't have her clinging after me, snooping
around all the time. She does enough of that either way. I can't have her find
out about Potter and I.
Finally I look over to the window and see the sun setting behind the horizon.
Sighing relieved I then rise from my chair. "It's getting late and I've been
here all day. I think I'll retire now." I nod at the girl and before she has
time to answer, I stalk out through the door.
My nails dig furiously into my clenched hands as I walk through the corridors.
I don't know who exactly I am angry at. Granger, for being an absolute fool for
thinking- well, anything about me? Myself, for being what I am? Or Potter
perhaps, for existing and bringing that horrid girl here to bother me?
Potter.
Before I know it, my feet are carrying me towards the North Wing. An unfamiliar
area of the house, not because I rarely go there but because it is the guest
quarters. As this is the Black house, the quarters are not dirty or shabby. But
they are not the glamorous rooms of Malfoy Mansion, nor as luxurious as the
family rooms of the Black House have once been. The guest rooms of Grimmauld
Place are more dilapidated than any place I've ever slept in. Except for the
street that cold night in December, of course.
I have never been in Potter's room, yet I find it easily. How many nights have
I not been tortured by hearing him move around behind these walls? I reach out
for the handle of the oak door, and the old hinges creek as I slide it open.
Potter sits by a small desk in front of the window with his back turned towards
me. He jumps slightly at the sound of the door opening and turns around. His
face lightens up as he recognises me.
"Draco!" he smiles, stumbling up from his chair and almost falling over in
excitement. "What are you doing here?"
I plan to give him some kind of answer, but as he rises and moves towards me, I
can't find the words. The only thing I am thinking is that I can't have Granger
mess this up.
I can't lose him.
Potter reaches me, and we are both equally surprised when I grab him around the
waist and pull him to me. His surprised yelp is muffled by my lips against his,
and turns to a moan as he trows his arms around my neck. I push the door shut
behind me as Potter starts clawing at my shirt. He slides it off my shoulders
just as I start tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. We break the kiss and Potter
takes a step back to let me tug the cloth over his head.
I meet his intense gaze and can but stare at him for a moment, both of our
laboured breathing echoing in the room. I smell the night air in the room and
the apple shampoo in Potter's hair. Then as one person we throw ourselves at
each other, and this time I can't let go. I lead Potter backwards towards the
drawer at one wall. His back arches and he has a hard time staying upright as
he leans backwards over the drawer. I wrap my arms hands his knees and lift him
up closer to me, and he wraps his legs around my waist. As I put him down on
the top of the drawer he keeps his hold on me, kissing me fervently.
I run my hands over his back and pull away enough to be able to kiss my way
down his chin to his throat. The loud pounding of his pulse makes me dizzy, and
I feel my fangs appear, a low growl escaping my lips. Potter startles slightly
and pulls away to get a look at me. I smile apologetically, ashamed of my
inability to control myself.
Potter grins widely as he sees the fags, and a small light awakens in his eyes.
"Oh." is his only response, a wicked smile spreading on his face. I am startled
as he proceeds to kiss the breath out of me, before grabbing my right hand and
bringing it up to his throat. He pulls away and smiles encouragingly. His
nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath and throws his head back, exposing his
pale throat. I do not need more encouragement.
Potter shudders as my teeth pierce his skin, his heels digging into my lower
back. The warm liquid flows down my throat, and I feel myself take a steadier
grip on Potter. Potter trembles, his at first quiet moans getting louder for
each passing second. For the first time in this huge house, I suddenly fear
someone might hear us.
With strong willpower I withdraw my teeth from Potter's hot skin, my thirst not
yet sated. He turns to look at me in surprise, and I hurry to kiss his gaping
mouth, whispering between our lips. "...We have to be quiet."
I don't even know if he heard me, he only continues kissing me. After a minute
I pull away again to continue ravage his throat. Potter trembles like before,
but closes his eyes and clenches his teeth to keep from moaning out loud. The
room is deadly silent, Potter's heavy breathing echoing eerily in the quiet
evening.
My thirst finally sated, I withdraw my fangs and proceed to lap at the small
wounds. Potter moans from the loss of contact and opens his eyes to look at me
with brilliant green eyes. I lose myself in that gaze, gasping surprisedly as
Potter turns to kiss me. Within seconds I am ravaging his mouth, my fingers
digging into his back as I hug him as close as possible. His hands are in my
hair, around my neck, on my back.
"Bed." Potter orders between kisses, taking a firmer grip around my neck. I do
not hesitate to lift him up, carrying him to the bed. I lay him down upon it
and he pulls me to him, his legs still around my waist. I jerk off his shorts
before removing my own trousers. Potter's smile is bright and expectant. He
shows nothing of nervous insecurity of our first time. Gods, was it only a week
ago?
I prepare him quickly before slowly sheathing myself. He grimaces slightly as
his flesh gives in to the intrusion, but the pained groans are soon replaced by
loud gasps of pleasure. I kiss his lips, his jaw, his sweaty forehead,
repeating his name over and over again between kisses. I would be embarrassed
were he not repeating my name just as loudly, demanding it harder, faster,
more, forever. Breathless promises echoing into the core of my being, the dept
of my existence.
Time and time again we give ourselves away to this ephemeral moment of
happiness, this fading feeling of belonging. This completion. This joy that
I've for years watched other people find in everyday life. The joy that I could
never feel.
I had to die to find it. In this brief, deranged moment I almost tell him I
love him. But of course, I don't. Because even looking down at his beautiful
face, his perfect lips repeating my name and my name alone, I know that
eventually this will all be lost. And for that particular reason I am eternally
grateful of this moment. To know happiness; the mad, beautiful happiness I feel
right now, is more than I could have ever asked for.
For while happiness is a fleeting, fickle thing, memories can be carried on
forever.
 
 
***** Brother *****

Author's notes: Oh brother.
===============================================================================
Chapter 20. Brother
I wake to the sound of birds singing. Opening my eyes, I see the morning sun
coming in through the open window. The room is freezing in the chilly morning
air, but I can't bother to get up. Instead I snuggle closer to the sleeping
body beside me. Drawing the blanket higher on top of us, I curl up beside Draco
and bury my head in his neck. I breathe in his strong scent of musk and
cigarettes, and marvel at the simple perfection of this moment.
After a moment Draco stirs beneath me, and I lift my head to watch him slowly
open his eyes. "Morning," I smile.
He grunts acknowledging. "Have you been awake long?" he tries to stretch his
body as much as he can with his right arm still stuck beneath me.
"Only a little while," I say, in awe watching Draco's flexing muscles. He gazes
back at me, cocking an amused eyebrow at my dreamy stare.
"I'd better get up," he then says, pulling his arm out from under me and
swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He reaches up and stretches his
arms with a groan. I watch the lean muscles of his back with a small frown.
Even as Draco has given up trying to fight that he wants me, it is as if he is
still trying to deny the whole situation. It is as if we are not with each
other, we are nothing beyond before.
I watch him get up and pull on his rumpled trousers from yesterday. Sighing, I
sit up in the bed. I feel childish and ungrateful complaining about this. When
I've already gotten so much further with Draco than I could've ever imagined,
what right do I have to complain? I know I am too greedy. But try as I may, I
still can't deny the fact that I do want more. More than this momentary
affection, this occasional surrender.
Draco turns to me upon buttoning his shirt, furrowing his brow at my frown. I
can see that he recognises my disappointment, and I make no attempt to hide it.
He stares at me for a long moment, his features somewhat mournful but
determined. Finally I can't take it anymore. I climb out of bed and walk over
to him. Stark naked I throw my arms around his neck and press my forehead to
his. Closing my eyes, I breath in his musky scent and just stand there, trying
to keep whatever contact I can for as long as possible.
His arms come up to wrap around my back, and I hear him take in an uneven
breath. Neither of us says a word. What could I say? I can't ask him for
anything more than he's already given.
I just wish that I didn't have to ask.
For a moment I wonder if maybe Draco was right in the first place. Maybe this
truly is too hard. Perhaps it would be easier for both of us if we just ended
it now, before we get too involved.
I open my eyes to look at him. Staring into his eyes, those silver pools gazing
back to me with such intensity, I realise I am too involved already. Maybe
Draco is able to protect himself from this pain by lying to himself, but I
passed that point long ago. Or maybe he isn't lying to himself, but I am? Maybe
all of this really is just in my head?
I feel tears burning behind my eyes, and as I try to blink them away Draco's
hand comes up to caress my cheek. Hot, salty tears spill over, and I feel my
lower lip shake as Draco wipes them away. He pulls me towards him, pressing me
against his chest so tightly I can hardly breathe. I cling to his shirt,
smiling through my tears.
In spite of it all, I know he does care. Even if he will never say so. Even if
it will never be enough.
We stand like this for a long time. Even as my tears run out, Draco keeps
holding me ever so tightly against him. I feel exhausted, but refuse to let go
in fear of losing this. Just as I fear my feet might give out from under me, I
suddenly I find myself hoisted up into strong arms. Draco lays me down on the
bed and pulls the covers over me, chuckling slightly as I refuse to ease my
grip on him. Eventually he climbs into the bed next to me, on top of the covers
but so close that I am able to keep holding on to him.
"Go back to sleep, it's still early." he breathes softly, laying a comforting
arm over me. I bury my face into his chest and feel myself instantly drifting
off to sleep. Draco's hand comes up to gently run through my hair. "I won't
leave you." he whispers, probably thinking I am too far gone already to hear
him. But I do hear him, and with a smile on my face I fall into
unconsciousness.
This has to be enough.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
Another thing we do not speak of afterwards. I watch him smile at me sadly
every time he leaves me to join the Weasel and Mudblood. As if he expects me to
disappear from his life while he is away. And I cannot smile back reassuringly.
I cannot promise him that I will be here when he returns to my rooms, to my
arms. I can provide him with no certain answer.
There is to be an Order meeting in a week. The 2nd of July. I realise my
birthday has passed almost a month ago. The 5th of June, my seventeenth
birthday, legally providing me with the right to preform magic unsupervised.
The moment I have been waiting for my whole life.
And somehow it passed unnoticed. The absurdity of the idea that the Malfoy
heir's coming of age was neglected, forgotten even, hits me. I laugh so hard
that I drop the book I am holding. Potter stares at me with intrigued
confusion. "Why are you laughing?"
My laughter dies out and I turn to the inky haired boy laying beside me. His
tousled hair is floating over the pillow, his eyes are half open, sight
slightly hazed from sleep and the absence of his glasses.
"Your birthday is soon." I tell him. Yes, The Chosen One's coming of age. I can
hear the gospels already.
Potter snuggles further into the mattress beside me. He yawns. "And how come
that's so funny?"
"I was just imagining the state of the house after you have tried your new
unrestrained magic on it." I drawl.
He snorts noncomically, smirking up at me. "I appreciate that your faith in me.
Besides, it's not as if the house doesn't need a renovation anyway."
I huff, but refrain from answering. I couldn't expect this Muggle-raised dimwit
to understand that one does not just 'renovate' the Ancient and Most Noble
House of Black.
"What are your plans for today?" I ask him, setting my book aside on the
bedside table. Potter smiles widely, happy for this rare occasion when he has
my undivided attention.
"Well, Ron and I wanted to practice duelling, like we did yesterday. But that
didn't end so well, so Hermione forbade us from continuing with that until
we've finished our summer homework. In other words, never." he mutters, not
completely without amusement. Even though I am disgusted by the mere idea of
even thinking it, I must admit I am grateful of the Mudblood. The stupid Weasel
could have easily killed Potter by mistake with that wand of his. "You then?"
Potter asks.
I shrug. "Same old, same old." It's not exactly true. I promised the twins I
would help them with their experiments today. "And of course, preparing for the
meeting next week."
"Oh, right." Potter's face falls at the mentioning of the meeting. "I had
forgotten about that."
Though I do not understand Potter's dislike for the meetings, I can certainly
relate to it. I hate all those people, coming here and turning our already
disrupted life into a sodding circus. Is it not enough that I have to live with
the snoopy Mudblood, the Weasel, and his loony brothers? But to have all those
other people in this house, sitting at that table, each time questioning my
presence and my motives... It's positively repulsing.
"We just had a meeting. We do we have to have a new one already?" Potter
mutters. I raise an eyebrow at him. "What?" he asks incredulosly. "It's not
like they ever tell us anything new anyway!"
I snort at his childishness. "Maybe nothing major, but any trivial minor detail
we come about now might be of big importance in the future. You have to think
of the bigger picture."
He doesn't like me scolding him. Mostly because he knows I am right. Pouting he
buries his nose in the pillow. "I still don't like it."
I chuckle and run a fingertip over his bare shoulder. "Neither do I." He
shivers at the brief contact and I snigger slightly as I lean over to kiss him.
"Let's take a shower." I murmur as my lips brush over his, briefly wondering
where those words suddenly erupted from. I climb over Potter and off the bed
before he even has the time to shut his gaping mouth. "T-together?" he
stammers, sitting up rapidly and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
I only chuckle as I disappear into the bathroom.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
In an extremely pleasant mood I approach the Potions lab in the West Wing. From
a far distance I can hear the Weasley twins crack jokes about some or other
ridiculous subject. Important questions like "have you ever wondered how Blast-
Ended Screws mate?" or "what type of heroin do you think Trelawney mixes in her
tea?" call through the walls. I brace myself for hours of the twins' agonizing
company as I walk through the door.
The twins jump at the sudden opening of the door. "Geez, Malfoy!" Fred grins.
"You could at least knock."
"I think he must have a serious fetish of sneaking up on people. Don't you
agree, Fred?" George chimes in. His brother nods enthusiastically. "Yes, I do.
I recall a time in fifth year when he snuck into the girls' dorm and caught
Angelina Johnson in her underwear."
Excuse me?
"No, no, Fred. That was you." George reminds his demented brother
sympathetically.
Fred grins. "Yes, it was." He shrugs apologetically. "I do anything to tell
that story."
I roll my eyes at the laughing morons and walk over to the large black
cauldron. A light purple potion is stewing on the fire, bubbling lightly. "Is
this the potion for the Nosebleed Nougat?" I ask, cautiously lifting a ladle
with the lilac liquid to examine it closer.
"We've only just started. That's the base to the potion." George grins proudly,
handing me a small piece of parchment where messy notes are scribbled. "This is
the original recipe."
I read through the notes carefully twice before turning to the twins. "I am
surprised to have to admit that this is really quite good work." I drawl,
pointing to the parchment. "But for the venom to be added, some fine
adjustments must be made."
The twins nod enthusiastically. "We expected as much."
I walk over to one of the shelves and grab a piece of parchment and a quill.
"The pixy eggs must be reduced from 30 ounces to 25 ounces, as the besoar
extract won't be able to serve to keep both the toxic pixy eggs and the venom
at bay." I explain clearly while I scribble down the notes on the parchment.
"Because of the reduced amount of pixy eggs, only one blueberry root will be
required. And we might have to add a dove heart, just in case."
I walk over to the cauldron, the Weasleys' recipe still in my hand. "What of
all this is in the base?"
"Frog's breath, the besoar extract, the bark from a Juniper tree..." Fred
counts up the ingredients on his fingers. "Oh, and the bone marrow of a hare."
he explains.
"Well, then," I grin. "This will take a while, but we're up to a good start."
      ___________________________________________________________________
I never realised how much I'd missed Potions. The smoky room, the refined,
valuable substances. The way the subject demands ones undivided attention and
precision in measuring and preparing the ingredients.
Truly the hobby for neurotics.
Five days later, we are finally at the final stage. "Well," I say as I add the
ground fang of a bat. "I guess it's time for the venom." I can't quite manage
to keep my voice as steady as I would like for it to be. I turn to Fred as I
walk towards the table with the ingredients. "Stir the potion 23 times
clockwise, then 11 times counter-clockwise. Not too fast, not too slow." I
command.
Picking up a needle and a small vial, I tug up the sleeve of my left arm. In
spite of their attempt to hide it, I see both of the twins casting cautious
looks at my forearm. As if there by now were any doubt that I do not have the
Dark Mark. Fred turns away quickly when I catch him staring, but George keeps
his eyes nailed to my arm. I follow his gaze to the still pink scars on my
wrists. Swallowing loudly, I hurry to push the needle into my arm.
"Minuo" I mutter under my breath, and the toxic blood runs smoothly from the
needle to the vial below it. It is as if I was still alive and actually able to
bleed. When the vial is filled, I withdraw the needle and the blood in the
wound coagulates instantly. George's eyes are still fixated on my arm even as I
pull down the sleeve.
"Why did you do that?" he croaks, cautiously meeting my gaze. I don't even
bother to pretend not to know what he is talking about.
I avert my eyes and turn to measure the crimson liquid. "I had to test the
theory that vampires can't commit suicide." The following silence is awkward.
Fred keeps stirring the potion and pretending that he doesn't hear what's being
said. I can only hope he doesn't miscount.
To my surprise, George pushes the subject. "You actually tried to off yourself
because you became a vampire?" He sounds as if what he is saying is totally
ridiculous, as if he can't believe it. "I guess that could be called a well
prolonged beauty sleep."
I sigh incredulously. "Not because I became a vampire per se, but to make a
long story short; I guess one could say that, yes." I carry the measured blood
over to the cauldron, and pour it while Fred keeps stirring. The stewing
mixture turns from a bluish green to inky black within seconds. "Now there's
only the pixy eggs and the dove heart left." I state, therefore concluding the
previous, very uncomfortable subject.
We hurry to add the missing ingredients, and watch with trepidation as the
potion starts oozing something terribly. As the grey smoke fades away, we see
the liquid slowly turn from pitch black to the same tone of purple as the base
had.
"How do we know if it works?" I ask the twins, who look at each other with
raised eyebrows. "One of us tries it." they say simultaneously, grinning
merrily. As if they weren't just assigning one of them to voluntarily
swallowing vampire venom.
"Remember," I warn, meeting both of their gazes gravely. "Once the venom gets
into your system and starts its process, it can't be reversed. If we have
failed in negating the tainted particles and preventing the intoxicational
process... there's no going back." I look back and forth between the two of
them. "Is this Skiving Snackbox really worth that risk?"
Fred and George look at each other and shrug. "It's our life's work." Fred
grins.
"Yeah. If we don't do this when we have the means, who knows what that could
prevent us from in the future." George agrees.
I swallow. I guess I can't stop them. And on some level, I don't want to. I
want to know that I succeeded in this. I want to feel accomplished in
something, after spending all those moths in the library without finding a
single useful spell against the Dark Lord.
I nod at the twins and turn towards the door. "I can't be in here when one of
you gets the nosebleed. I'll be just outside." The twins grin eagerly and I
shut the door behind me. Soon I hear George exclaim "Geez, Fred, don't bleed on
my shoes!". Leaning against the wall of the corridor, I count the seconds.
Two minutes creep by, and I am starting to get anxious. Soon I can't take it
anymore, and reach for the door handle.
"Draco! What are you doing here?"
I freeze in my steps and turn towards Potter walking towards me in the hall.
"Harry, I don't think this is the time." It's not that I think Potter would
mind knowing I spend time with the Weasley twins. But I do not want to see the
expression on his face if he finds out I almost turned Fred into a vampire.
Well, 'almost' is a ominous word right now, as I don't yet know what has
happened.
Potter is standing right in front of me now, looking at me with a furrowed
brow. "Why? What is it?" He sounds concerned. I open my mouth without even
knowing what I am going to say, but before I even have time to think about my
answer the door suddenly bursts open.
 
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
Things happen so fast.
George bursts through the door with a wide grin at Draco, shouting "Success!".
For a fragment of a second I wonder what he is on about, before I turn to look
at Draco. His body has gone totally rigid, and his nostrils are flaring as he
stares somewhere past George's shoulder. I cast a glimpse into the room and see
Fred standing in the middle of the floor, grinning widely, the front of his
shirt stained red.
Blood red.
I turn back towards Draco but I am too late. The only thing I have time to see
as he jumps past me and George is a black shadow and a flash of flaxen hair.
The next thing I know is that there is screaming, there is blood, Draco is...
Draco.
"Draco, NO!" I shout, rushing forward to pull the ravenous vampire off Fred. Of
course I am no match for Draco in strength, but I manage to push my hand flat
in front of his mouth. His canines pierce my skin deeply, and a low cry escapes
me. I keep my hand in place though, and Draco lets go of Fred to keep my hand
still. Fred lays paralyzed on the floor for a moment before he seems to find
his limbs and has the presence of mind to scramble to his feet.
I myself sit down on my knees in front of Draco and fight to keep my hand
still. I manage in spite of the trembling that begins when the pleasure starts
seeping through the bite. Draco lets go of my hand and grabs my forearms
violently, pulling me forwards towards him. He drinks from the palm of my hand
with closed eyes, but doesn't let go of my arms. I put my free hand on his
shoulder gently before turning to look at the horrified twins in the doorway.
"It's all right." I mumble, trying to think of a way to convince them that
Draco really isn't dangerous. Not right now, at least. "Fred, I think you
should get away from here as soon as possible." I nod to his blood drenched t-
shirt, trying to figure out what he's done to make himself look like that. "You
aren't hurt, are you?" I ask, worried for both Fred's and Draco's sake.
"N-no" Fred stammers, clenching his drenched shirt. "Nosebleed Nougat..." he
manages to mumble, before he quickly backs away and flees down the hall. I can
only hope he doesn't run into anyone. That would do great damage to the fragile
truce between Draco and the other Order members.
I look at George pleadingly. "Could you run after him and make sure he's all
right?"
George looks at the vampire in front of me cautiously. "I don't know-" he
murmurs doubtfully. I cut him off. "I'll be fine. Just go make sure Fred's all
right, OK?"
After a final suspicious look towards Draco, George hurries down the hall after
his brother. I let out a deep breath and turn to look at Draco. The almost
panicked urgency is gone, and he is only lapping at my hand now. Soon he stops
altogether and opens his eyes to look at me. I withdraw my hand as I watch his
consciousness slowly return. He blinks a few times until the vague expression
disappears from his eyes. "What happened?" he asks, voice trembling slightly.
I smile softly. "Apparently Fred ate some Nosebleed Nougat, god knows why, and
well... I guess you were caught off guard."
"Oh god..." Horror washes over Draco's face as he processes the information.
"Is Fred all right?" He jumps to his feet, already hurrying towards the door.
"Wait!" I exclaim, stumbling to my feet as well. "I'll come with you. You
know... just in case." I try to smile encouragingly. It does not seem to work,
Draco still looks as panicked as ever. Walking towards Draco I throw my arms
around his shoulders and stand on my toes to kiss him lightly. "It'll be all
right." I convince him, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the hall after
the twins.
 
 
We find them in their shared bedroom. Fred is sitting on the bed without a
shirt on, looking pretty shuck. George stands beside him, handing him a wet
towel. They both look utterly confused, but not as scared as I would have
expected.
"Hi, Fred." I say cautiously, trying to find out what they're both thinking.
"Are you all right?"
Fred looks cautiously at Draco for a moment, then nods slowly. "I'm fine." I
let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. I tug at Draco's arm and
pull him past me. His face is cautious and embarrassed as he approaches the
twins.
"I apologize." he murmurs, looking from Fred to George. "I shouldn't have let
that happen. I should've known better. I-" He sighs deeply. "I'm sorry."
The apology is stiff and impersonal, done by someone who is not used to saying
they're sorry for anything. But the twins don't seem to mind. They stare at
Draco in silence for a moment before they both break out in their usual
mischievous smiles.
"It's OK." Fred says, standing up from the bed and patting Draco on the
shoulder. "You just frightened me a little, that's all." Draco looks
uncomfortable by the familiarity of the gesture, but smiles gratefully
nonetheless.
"Yeah," George continues, also smiling at Draco. "We should've known better,
too. I mean, Nosebleed Nougat near a vampire, please. A Dursley could have
figured that out!" The twins laugh.
"We forgive you, mate." Fred grins, and Draco looks like a heavy burden just
fell off his shoulders. I cannot but wonder when these three have gotten so
close that Draco actually cares what the twins think of him. Relieved, I smile
to myself and turn to leave the three of them to work things out.
 
 
 
 
 
***** The Approachig Curve *****

Author's notes: Something wicked this way comes.
===============================================================================
Chapter 21. The Approaching Curve
"We forgive you, mate." Fred grins at me, and I feel enormous relief. Merlin
knows why I seek acceptance from these people, they're Weasleys for fucks sake!
My ancestors are turning in their graves as I smile back at the red haired
twins.
I hear Potter move towards the door behind me, but by the time I have turned
around he is already gone. Turning back towards the twins, I furrow my brow at
their shared grins. "What?"
"Nothing." says Fred, his grin widening further. "You're pretty good friends
with Harry nowadays, it seems." George's grin matches his brother's.
"Not particularly, no." I lie through my teeth, raising an unamused eyebrow at
the grinning morons. "Is there something wrong with your faces?"
If possible, their smiles only widen. George chuckles. "Oh, nothing at all. We-
"
"-feel positively peachy." Fred finishes.
"You two are truly frightening human beings." I mutter. The twins laugh.
"Oh, don't pretend you don't like us." Fred teases as he walks over to the
closet and pulls on a fresh shirt. "No Malfoy would voluntarily spend time with
a Weasley otherwise."
I prefer not to answer the insult, mainly because it's completely accurate. I
can only keep to sneering dryly. George on the other hand seems very interested
in continuing the subject. "Yes, my dear brother, you have a very good point."
He then turns to me. "But I was under the impression that apart from Weasleys,
Malfoys are also supposed to hate all kinds of boy wonders and general heroes
on the light side. Isn't that so?" George widens his eyes to make himself look
unnaturally naive and innocent.
I do not like where this is going.
"Oh yes, George. That is infact true." Fred declares overly theatrically. "But
then-" he turns to me dramatically. "You must not be a true Malfoy."
"Yes," George agrees, his wicked grin back in place. "For did we not see Harry
holding your hand just now, before your dramatic apology?"
Fuck.
"Highly doubtful." I drawl dryly, in a feeble attempt to deny it. How could I
be so stupid as to not react to the fact that Potter was holding my fucking
hand in front of the Weasleys?! No wonder the twins were looking at me weirdly
when Potter and I entered the room. And here I thought it was because of the
attack. Apparently I am not as scary as I thought. Damn.
The twins grin at me for a long moment, obviously not buying my lie. "Whatever
you say, mate." Fred chuckles, looking at his brother.
"Yeah," George sneers wickedly. "We'll find out the truth sooner or later."
Unfortunately, I am quite positive that they will.
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
"Come on."
He leans over the back of my chair, breathing seductively into my ear. "Tell me
what's wrong."
"I have work to do." I mutter, trying to keep my focus on the book in my lap.
As if that was by any means possible with Potter's husky voice by my ear.
"You have a huge amount of inane work assinged to you by none other than
yourself. Now I order you to take a break." Potter reaches over and twists the
book from my grip, pulling it out of my reach. I twist in my seat to face him.
"What is it that you want?"
A clearly practiced pout graces Potter features. "I want you to tell me what's
bugging you."
I sigh. "It's just the twins. Nothing for you to be concerned about." Yet.
"The twins?" Potter sounds suddenly concerned. "They're not still weird about
the... incident, right?" He meets my gaze gravely.
Another deep sigh escapes me. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just that..." I
take a deep breath, pondering on how to present the issue at hand. "They're
just being a little nosy, that's all. About us, I mean."
"What do you mean?"
A crease forms between Potter's brows. I curse inwardly. I knew I shouldn't
have told him. Potter overreacting always leads to certain disaster. "It's
nothing, really. They just hinted on certain things a few days ago." I mutter
nonchalantly, looking around to find another book to disappear into.
"What things?" Potter asks gravely, taking a seat on the armhold of my chair. I
lean back into the opposing arm hold to face him.
"Nothing much, just how it is somewhat weird for a Malfoy to be holding hands
with Harry Potter." I drawl, raising a meaningful eyebrow at the raven haired
boy. Clueless as he is, he ponders on the matter for a moment before
realisation dawns on him.
"When have we- OOH!" he exclaims, his eyes widening comically. "Shit!"
"My sentiments exactly." I mutter. Though my sentiments would be less plebeian.
Potter rubs his neck absentmindedly, as if the source of his limited
intelligence lies there. "What should we do?"
This was exactly what I feared. "Absolutely nothing." I state, scoffing at his
doubtful expression. "They suspect nothing even remotely close to the truth.
Mostly they just want to get me to admit that I like you. You know: like, as in
a totally platonic way. Therefore we will lay low, giving them no further
reason to suspect anything."
Potter seems to consider my words for a minute before a grin spreads on his
face. " 'Giving them no further reason to suspect anything'? Would the two of
us sharing a chair count as such an act?" He grins wickedly, leaning closer to
me, laughter in his eyes as always when I contradict myself.
I sneer. "If you wish to leave, be my guest." I murmur huskily, my tone of
voice giving no indication to the fact that I would like for him to leave. Not
that Potter takes any notice of my words, anyway. He leans ever closer, his
face only inches from mine as he whispers: "It's been a week since you fed,
right?" As if he would have to ask. He knows exactly how many days it's been.
He always does.
I refrain from answering and instead claim his lips in a fierce kiss. His hand
reaches out and entangles itself in my hair, tugging my head backwards as he
climbs into my lap. Potter's other hand caresses my chest, seductively
unbuttoning the buttons on my shirt. My hands reach out and we break the kiss
for as long it takes for me to tug his over-sized T-shirt over his head.
Shirtless, he now straddles my legs properly, claiming my mouth anew. I draw my
hands over his naked upper arms and back as the kiss intensifies, my nails
leaving long red lines in their wake.
Out of breath and trembling from anticipation, I feel the shivers travelling
down Potter's spine as my hands reach the small of his back. He breaks away,
panting lightly, husky eyes smiling down at me. He runs a hot hand up my
stomach, butterflies forming under his grace. The hand reaches my face, and
lightly caressing my cheek Potter runs his thumb over my upper lip and kisses
me with a light smile. As he breaks away for the second time, I feel my fangs
erupt. I can hear the beat of Potter's blood racing through his veins at a
furious speed, but he keeps smiling at me. Still keeping my face still with his
hand, he leans closer, offering me the side of his throat. "Take me." he
whispers, the end of the sentence breaking into a gasp as I bite down.
The glory of this moment never fails to amaze me. The mixed sensation of the
metallic liquid filling my mouth and Potter panting in my ear, his fingers
digging into my shoulders desperately, never ceases to enthral me. His heart
beats furiously against my chest. I feel it to the core of my being, beating
into my soul the rhythm of Potter's breathing, the incoherent words spilling
from his lips. As my frenzy for his blood starts to take off, Potter's
sensation seems only to intensify. When I start lapping at the wound I have
left on his smooth neck, his whole body trembles from pleasure.
As soon as I pull away from his neck he crushes his face to mine, ravaging my
mouth as his skilled fingers start to unzip my trousers. Our attempt to rid
both of us of our trousers in the small chair turns out to be quite feeble. I
have never been a patient person. I roll down onto the floor, pulling Potter
with me. His protests are soon silenced by my mouth as I pull off my trousers
and straddle him.
I pull away to start unbuckling his belt, watching in awe as he stretches out
in front of me, his olive skin striking against the stone floor, glistening
from the warm light of the fire. I prepare him quickly, and he gasps
breathlessly when I enter him. The stone grinding almost painfully into my knee
caps, I move in him slowly, the fire flickering beside us. He moans loudly,
incoherent sentences escaping him as he reaches out on the floor for something
to hold on to. Finding only hard, cold stone, he settles for digging his hands
into my back.
"God... Ooh... fuck! ..Draco!" he pants, eyes closed and breathing irregularly.
His heart is beating louder than ever, somehow anchoring my body to his.
Entwining our souls into one being, our heat like the fire beside us. In this
ecstatic, frenzied moment neither of us hold on for long, and soon we are
pushed over the edge simultaneously; him crying out loudly, me repeating his
name as I pump into him furiously.
As we lay on the floor afterwards, I find my greatest pleasure in listening to
his irregular breathing evening out. "Wow." he utters when the words finally
find him again. "I guess this qualifies as one of those things that would give
the twins further reason for suspicion?"
I prepare a biting comment to his insolent comment, but my mouth refuses to
form the words. I can only scoff noncomically. Though I can't stop the
malicious smile that spreads on my face as I imagine the twins' faces were they
ever to stumble upon an incident such as this. It would be quite a comical
scene.
Then again, perhaps not.
 
      ___________________________________________________________________
 
Another useless meeting. I sit for hours at end at the end of that dreaded
table, listening to members of the Order repeating the same inane observations
of this war as always. There are never any changes, never any valid
information. Everything told just keeps coming back to the fact that the war is
acceleratingly getting worse. Fast.
What do they expect from us? Locked here behind these walls for all this time,
how are we to understand the horrors of Muggle-born and 'blood-traitorous'
wizards and witches, going into hiding just so they won't become the next
victims of rampaging Death Eaters? We have not seen Hogwarts slowly emptying
from students, nor Hogsmeade closing up its shops for an indefinite amount of
time.
We do not understand this. What do they expect us to do?
But of course, there is one of us who does understand. I watch Draco's stone-
like face as he listens to the horrors Kingsley and Dumbledore describe. For he
has been there. He has seen it.
No, worse. He has grown up within this corruption. Rather than being a victim,
he has been the inflictor. And now that he is the victim himself, we won't
accept him. The Aurors, the Weasleys, even Dumbledore sometimes, look at him as
if he were the villain here. As if he could help being born a Malfoy. As if he
didn't chose us over them already.
But they do not see what I see. They do not see his face now carved in stone,
not from indifference and malice, but from concealed pain and ache. They have
never watched his mask fall, his walls crumble down from sheer desperation.
They never have to witness him trying to rebuild those same walls each day.
Of course, I too have a rare privilege to see those things. It is not often
that I manage to see a crack in that perfect Malfoy-armour of his. When that
happens, he conceals the failure so quickly, so thoroughly that by dawn no
traces of his scars are visible. It is as if I had imagined the whole thing.
Much like our relationship, the human part of Draco seems to be something only
for private eyes, something shameful to hide from the rest of the world. But
much like our relationship, I have a hard time understanding why it must be
kept hidden. I can't help but dream that if we were to be pulled out of this
secrecy, than maybe I wouldn't have to work so hard to make him show me the
true him. To make him happy.
But he would never let this become known. Even now, like a hawk he watches me
from the other end of the table. Looking after me, protecting me. Even from
himself.
Sometimes I wonder if my fate truly is to die in this war. Maybe he knows it.
Perhaps that is why he is so protective of me, always shielding me from others
and himself. Perhaps he knows that us being together will only hurt us both in
the end.
But if that is how it is, than I will not give this up. I will live the last
while of my life fully. Perhaps I truly will have to die and leave Draco
behind. But until that time, I will remain selfish and keep him by my side. For
he will live on for a thousand years, and he will forget me in two.
I only realise that I am frowning when Draco meets my gaze with a concerned
gaze. I hurry to smile back reassuringly, and while still looking doubtful,
Draco turns back to listen to Dumbledore.
Yes. I keep on smiling. For there is nothing to grieve about. What is my
suffering compared to that of those tortured Muggles? What are my tears to
those of people losing their families in this war?
What is the loss of my life if it can save theirs?
      ___________________________________________________________________
"Draco. Draco?"
I turn my attention back to Dumbledore, trying to avert my thoughts from
Potter. Why does he wear that face again? It makes me feel so uneasy, so
desperate when I see his features twisted in sadness. He will never tell me
what it is. Because I already know. He hates the secrecy, the lies he has to
tell to keep our relationship unknown. Time and time again I have to remind him
that it is essential to the outcome of this war.
But he does not understand. He did not grow up in this homophobic community,
hating anything slightly differing from the normal. In a world relying
completely on age old tradition, different has in time become dangerous. Even
for the Golden Boy, coming out would have serious consequences.
"Draco?!"
Dumbledore wakes me from my thoughts again. I wonder when it has become this
hard for me to remain concentrated.
"Yes?" I answer politely, in no way expressing my embarrassment for being
caught spacing out staring at Potter. Dumbledore smiles at me warmly. Too
warmly. No one smiles at a Malfoy sincerely.
"Have you found anything new through your research?" the old coot asks, sipping
his tea. I sigh. This is the moment I have feared. The moment where I have to
admit to all of the Order members and myself that nothing of particular use can
be found in the Black library. And the consequences of that.
"No. Nothing." I admit gravely, keeping my face in check and bracing myself for
what I will have to say next. "I think I might have to research the library at
the Manor."
"Malfoy Manor?" Mrs Weasley asks incredulously. Fool. Of course Malfoy Manor.
If there is one library better than that of the Black family, it is the Malfoy
one.
"Yes." I have dreaded this. This horrendous instant where I have to volunteer
to go back to that place. That place of my ancestors, of my family, of all that
I've now turned my back on.
Dumbledore smiles as widely as never, but everyone else look quite sceptical.
They fear that letting me out of their sight will cause me to run to the Dark
Lord and rat them out. I can't exactly blame them.
Potter looks at me with a worried frown. I hurry to turn my gaze away from him.
Thinking about him right now will only make this worse. "I think there will be
more useful material there."
"That is probably true." Dumbledore agrees. "But I cannot agree to be opening
the Floo here all the time. It is far too risky." A knot forms in my stomach at
the words. Not that I hadn't expected them. I had only hoped-
Only hoped.
"I understand that completely." I agree in what I find is a very small voice.
Coughing once I reattain my usual cold vocals. "I was thinking about going
there for maybe three or four days? Then I would spend a couple days here
before returning there if needed." A shiver runs down my spine at the thought
of staying in that massive house alone for three days. I suppress the desire to
scream.
"That s probably a good idea." the Headmaster nods thoughtfully. "The
arrangement would of course require that you stay hidden in the Manor as well.
We cannot let you be seen. It would raise too many questions."
"Of course. It would by no means cross my mind." I state, and imagine I can see
the heavy burden fall of the shoulders of several Order members. It will be
easier for them to supervise that I don't have any suspicious interactions with
anyone if I am only allowed to stay inside the estate borders.
"Would you like to leave immediately?" Dumbledore asks, and my silent heart
freezes in my chest. "I could open the Floo 'til tomorrow morning, and you
could return on Friday?" I breathe out. So he didn't mean immediately
immediately.
"That will be just fine." I agree. My eyes then flicker towards Potter, who
stares at me sadly, unshed tears in his eyes. I marvel at his stupidity to
always wear his heart on his sleeve. He seems to recognise my irritation and
blinks frantically to rid his eyes of the fluid. I turn my gaze away, rising
from my seat. I can't stay and deal with Potter right now. "If you excuse me, I
think I will go and plan for tomorrow. I'll leave you to enjoy your meal."
I leave the room just as Mrs Weasley brings in the chicken soup.
 
      ___________________________________________________________________
"Draco!"
I don't even make it to my room before he shouts after me. I turn around slowly
in the shadowy hall. "Yes?"
Potter stares at me in the shallow light of the rays the setting July sun is
letting through the window. His jaw is tight and his eyes are blazing, but I do
not know if he is angry with me or just feels sorry for me. I don't know which
I detest more.
"Why must you go there?" He approaches me slowly, carefully taking my hand in
both of his. I realise that he detests the image of that house almost as much
as I do. But naive as he is, Potter still seems to think one can only do the
things one wants to.
I clench my jaw. "Because I have to. I do no good here." I declare, pulling my
hand from his grasp as I enter the familiarity of my room. "Why is it such a
big deal, anyway? It's not like I'm leaving you."
Potter lets go of my hand reluctantly, a pained expression on his face. "Are
you sure?"
Unable to look at him, I turn to face the window. No, I'm not sure. How can I
be sure about anything right now? I'm not sure that I won't be leaving him
after this is over. I'm not sure that he won't be leaving me.
Because that's just it. The reason I fear that house, that realm of my past so
much. I fear that it will change me back, make me again who I once was. Who I
was supposed to be.
"I'm not sure about anything anymore."
 
 
***** Ashes, Ashes, We all Fall Down *****

Author's notes: Choises.
===============================================================================
Chapter 22. Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down
"I'm not sure about anything anymore." he croaks, staring out though the window
into the light summer night. I sigh, marvelling at the fact that such seemingly
small things can break us. Walking up to him, I lean against his back and wrap
my arms around his chest, burying my head into his neck. He sighs deeply and
relaxes back against me, remaining silent.
I don't know what to say either. What can I say?
I don't know why he fears going back to his home so much. As much as I have
knowledge of the matter, Draco seems to have had a perspectively happy
childhood. What has changed so?
And suddenly I realise, it's Malfoy.
During his time here, he has just been 'Draco'. Draco who is nice and sweet and
funny, at least to those closest to him. And now, he has to go back to Malfoy
Manor and become a Malfoy again. True Malfoys do not follow Dumbledore and the
Light. True Malfoys do not mingle with half-bloods or Wealseys. True Malfoys do
not sleep with Harry Potter.
True Malfoys are not vampires.
Most times I have managed to separate my thoughts of Draco with those of that
ominous name. But once in a while, in times like these, I have a hard time
distinguishing the difference. For with all the lies that I may be telling
myself, that name still is, and perhaps will always be, a part of Draco.
His childhood, being raised as the perfect little Malfoy heir, I now realise
will follow him throughout life.
Like our inheritage, our origin, our values will never be quite alike. Even
though his family might no longer recognize him as their kin, even if I were
able to completely overlook his past, there will always be a void to separate
us.
His name.
He fears, as much as I do, perhaps even more, that that house will change him.
Who am I to say it won't? Who is he to promise it won't?
"I'll miss you." I whisper against his back. That is the only thing I can say.
The only certain truth. I will miss him when he goes. And I will miss him if he
leaves me.
He turns around, looking down at me seriously. "I know."
They are not words confessing affection or love. And yet I love him the more
for it.
      ___________________________________________________________________
I kiss him softly on the forehead, and he murmurs something in his sleep. It
feels almost heartbreakingly intimate. I hurry to leave the room before he
wakes and stops me. Because in this instant I'm certain he could.
I hurry to my room, where I quickly grab the notes I have made from texts I've
found in the Black library. Walking back downstairs and to the drawing room, I
can't but cast a longing glance to the North Wing. Hoping that he would be here
to stop me. Breaking my heart with my own foolish illusions when, of course, he
is not.
Dumbledore turns to me from where he has been studying the family tree, smiling
encouragingly. "Are you ready, Draco?"
I nod stiffly. "Yes, sir. The Floo is open, I take it?"
The Headmaster smiles. "Indeed it is. I will close it within a minute after
your departure, and it will be opened again the 6th of July, at 5pm. You'd
better be on time, it will only stay open for three minutes."
I hurriedly thank the Headmaster and reach for the jar of Floo-powder. Taking a
deep breath, embracing myself for what is to come, I step into the green
flames.
      ___________________________________________________________________
The drawing room is as I last left it. The house elves have cleaned away the
cups and the tea pot, but the air feels just the same. I half expect to see
Mother's reflection behind me in one of the mirrors on the East wall. In a
hurry I exit the room and close the doors behind me.
I listen quietly for presences in the house besides my own, but the only living
beings here seem to be the house elves. The spells on the house tell me of no
intruder, and I breathe out.
So I am alone. Good. Now I just have to remain sane.
I cross the hall to the library immediately, determined to find something
useful as soon as possible so that I can get the hell out of here.
As a child I always feared this room, almost as much as I feared Father's
study. The magnificent, beautifully decorated thick wooden doors, the high
roof, the tiny windows with the curtains drawn. The dark crooks and corners of
the room, stocked with books of all shapes and sizes. The screaming silence,
punctuated only by my steps echoing on the stone floor.
Even now, grown up and faced with so many things worse than a silly library, it
is still not a pleasant place. It is beautiful and majestic, but cold and eerie
compared to the one at the old Black House. I hurry to search through all the
hidden corners of the room, just to make sure that there are no unpleasant
surprised waiting for me. Granted, unpleasantries are not uncommon in this
house. But I truly do hate surprises.
After finding nothing too disturbing, I seat myself in a hidden corner by a
small window, a place where no one can sneak up on me from behind. The passage
between the shelves to my sanctuary is small enough so that most people would
pass by it without even noticing it. I quickly gather an armful of books and
seat myself in my chair. With my back against the wall, I feel even remotely
safe for the first time in this room.
 
Night dawns. Not that it matters. Without Potter, it's not like I could sleep
anyway. At least not here. It's better to just stay busy. Incredulously, I go
through the circumstances that I know yet again.
Number 1. -The Dark Lord did not die when the Killing Curse jumped off Potter
and hit him. Why?
Number 2. -Can I truly buy this crap that it was Potter's mother's love that
saved him that time?
Number 3. -Potter has to kill the Dark Lord. Horrible, yes. Unfortunate, yes.
Hence, we will ignore this note for as long as we can.
Number 4. -If not even that old fool Dumbledore can off the Dark Lord, how is
Potter supposed to do it? What does he have that Dumbledore hasn't?
Reading book through book I ask myself that question. What does Potter have
that Dumbledore hasn't? What is Potter's weapon? A weapon that not even he
himself is aware of?
The days crawl by. Soon I will have to leave empty handed yet again, forced to
return here in three days time. I plunge my mind frantically around the issue,
cursing the hours slipping past, the countdown to my doom. In the morning of
July the 5th, I still have not found anything. Powerful spells, yes. Hundreds
of dark curses, yes. But what spell is more powerful and dark than Avada
Kedavra? I grip the bridge of my nose as I walk back and forth over the floor,
thinking desperately. What am I missing?
Dumbledore is the most brilliant wizard in a century. (If one chooses to
believe such things about the old coot.) Potter on the other hand is a sixteen
year-old foolish whelp. How could he possibly beat the most powerful dark
wizard of all times? He has no special talents, except Quidditch. He isn't even
an Animorphagus! He is not particularly skilled in spells or charms, he can
barely wave a wand better than the Weasel...!
I stop in my tracks and drop the book I am holding. Potter's wand!
Father once told me that during the battle in Little Hangleton during the
Triwizard Tournament, the Dark Lord could not kill Potter because their wands
connected in some way. 'Twin-core wands' what is I think that he called the
phenomenon.
Why didn't I think about this before? I curse myself as I eye through the book
shelf, searching for-
"Ah-haa!" I exclaim out loud as I find what I am looking for, grabbing
"Connections of the Wand" and dragging the heavy book with me to my seat.
Shuffling through the pages, I feel incredibly stupid for not realising this
earlier.
I finally find the chapter of twin-core wands, Priori Incantatem. The book
calls it an "extension to the spell Prior Incantato", a spell which causes the
targeted wand to recall its last spells. Reading on, I realise that Priori
Incantatem is exactly the phenomenon Father described.
Priori Incantatem is called "the reverse-spell effect". It happens during a
wand combat, when a simultaneous spell-casting by two parties triggers an
effect where both wands become linked through a golden thread of energy. The
two wand holders then compete in a battle of wills, in which the loser's wand
is forced to display in ghostly form the spells which had been cast by the
aforesaid wand. It occurs only when two wands which share the same source of
their cores are forced to duel.
Twin-core wands. So Potter and the Dark Lord have the same core to their wands.
I suppress the will to cheer. Finally, I have found something useful! Nearly
ecstatic, I read forward, searching for charms connected to this spell. There
are but a few, most of them are only different versions and extensions of Prior
Incantato. But just as my hope starts to flail, there is one that catches my
eye.
"Contandem Recolo" I read half aloud to myself. The name itself has the
distinctions of a dark curse, but luckily I am not one to dismiss it only based
on that. I read forth.
The Contandem Recolo is a rarely used spell, invented in 1012 by Count Mauriz
Grim, a wealthy wizard in the Sweden of that time. One night a burglar entered
his house and he caught the man, but found he couldn't capture him because
their simultaneously cast spells triggered Priori Incantetem. When the spell
finally broke, the burglar fled.
Count Grim became very frightened of the occurrence, and in time grew paranoid
that the thief would return. Afraid that if such an event would occur he would
not be able to defend himself, Count Grim set his mind on creating a spell that
if used in a situation of Priori Incantatem, would cause the opponent's spell
to reverse and blast back upon it's caster.
Mauriz Grim created the spell and set out to find the man with his wand's
brother. After searching for several years, Count Grim finally found the
burglar. The thief attempted to cast a simple Stunning Charm on Grim, and as
Count Grim now made use of his new spell, something unexpected happened.
Instead of reflecting the thief's Stunning Charm back at it's caster like
intended, or simply forming a golden thread of energy like during Priori
Incantatem, the spells met with a crash mid air and the energy blasted back
upon both Grim and his opponent. Stunned and unconscious, they fell to the
ground and awoke no more in this life. That, incidentally, had little to do
with the spell and more to do with the fact that laying unconscious in the
middle of a street, they were both robbed and killed.
Mauriz Grim was only a mediocre magician, but he did succeed in creating a very
powerful spell. Of course, it didn't work as he had planned because he had no
opportunity to test it, but the spell can be very useful if used right.
Contandem Recolo only works between duelers with twin-core wands. It has the
effect that whichever spell your opponent casts at you, if met with Contandem
Recolo, will blast back at it's caster with both his own magical energy and
yours.
The downside is of course that it will either way hit you.
Somehow, I do not find the book's sarcasm particularly amusing.
Of course it would work. That much is obvious to me even now. The Dark Lord
would cast the Killing Curse, and Potter would answer with Contandem Recolo.The
spell would blast back to the Dark Lord with double its original force, and he
would fall. Not even the Dark Lord could survive that amount of magic. The
wizarding world would celebrate, and Potter would be called a hero for all
eternity because he sacrificed himself for the cause.
I feel as if someone just poured a gallon of iced water over me. For all this
time I have been conscious of the fact that Potter most likely will not survive
to see the end of this war. But to see it written down like this, to be
expected to hand him his death sentence...
Because that's just what this is. A clear way to defeat the Dark Lord. A death
sentence for Harry Potter.
      ___________________________________________________________________
There is nothing more. Nothing more about Priori Incantatem. Nothing about
Twin-core wands. Nothing.
When the clock strikes 4:30pm, I find myself on my knees in the middle of the
floor, and I realise I have failed. I feel tears of desperation and hysteria
burning behind my eyes, but despite them I cannot cry. Malfoys do not cry.
Feeling my last shreds of hope jerked out from under me, I put the books back
into their places and drag my feet towards the drawing room. I keep only
"Connections of the Wand", which I shrink and put into my pocket, creating a
glamour of the book in its place on the shelf. Just in case.
I stare with tears in my eyes at the ashes in the fireplace as the five strikes
of the clock sound through the room. I blink my feelings away and light the
fire, stepping into the flames and throwing the Floo powder to my feet.
      ___________________________________________________________________
For three days I stroll around Grimmauld Place. Searching for something to do.
Searching for a purpose. Seeking him. Looking for any traces of him; a
mirthless laugh, an insulted Weasley.
Nothing. It feels as if he has disappeared from the face of the earth.
He has taken nothing from his room. Why would he, he is home now. He needs
nothing from here that he hasn't got there. I lay on his bed, counting the
minutes to his arrival as I stare up at the cracked ceiling. Reading the
patterns which I've learned by heart in all the time I've spent on these
sheets.
I wonder where everyone else is at. I've never heard the house this unnaturally
quiet. But I guess it's the fact that Draco's room is on the third floor that
makes the difference, the noises from the twins' experiments and Ron and
Hermione arguing don't reach this far.
There is only silence. An empty, expectant silence that seems only to be
waiting for something bad to happen. It's eerie.
 
As I finally leave Draco's room to go meet him when he arrives, I bump into the
twins on the second floor. They look at me surprisedly, then cast a glance at
the stairs from which I've just descended. I smile at them feebly and continue
hurriedly past them, before they have time to ask me what business I could
possibly have in the 3d story of the West Wing.
I cast tempus as I hurry down the stairs, and realise the clock has already
struck five. Practically flying across the entrance hall, I enter the drawing
room just in time to see Draco enter through green flames. I stop in the
doorway, staring at the blonde before me.
Draco looks tired and ragged, dark bruises flawing the undersides of his eyes.
He brushes off the soot from his clothes, and it seems to take a minute before
he even notices me. I cannot but feel slightly hurt; here I've been, counting
every minute we've been apart, and he doesn't even bother to recognize my
presence?
The tears I've been holding back for days threaten to spill over, just when he
lifts his face to look at me. He stares at me for a minute, looking much like
he's seen a ghost or a phantom from a dream. "Harry," he croaks weakly, and the
next thing I know I have my arms around his neck and I am kissing my name from
his lips.
He answers just as desperately, claiming my lips forcefully as he pushes me
back against the wall. I suddenly find myself with my back against the family
portrait, and can but fight the urge to laugh at what Sirius would say of this
if he'd known. Thoughts of laughing disappear immediately thought when Draco
starts tugging at my clothes. He breaks the kiss to draw in a deep breath by my
throat, nuzzling my ear. "I've missed you." he murmurs huskily, slipping his
hands under my sweater as I weave my fingers into his hair.
"Draco!" I can but moan, my hands roaming over his body, grabbing for anything,
everything. God, how I've missed his body, his scent, his presence. I am just
starting to tug up the hem of shirt when I hear a slight creaking of the door.
In the same instant Draco's body stiffens, and he jerks his face away from
mine. We turn around to find two very surprised looking Weasleys staring at us
from the doorway.
"Uhm..." Fred utters, slowly taking in the scene of Draco snogging me senseless
against the drawing room wall. At the same time Draco seems to become aware of
our compromising position, and pulls away immediately, straightening his
clothes and coughing slightly.
"We- uhm..." George repeats his brother's sentiment, looking slightly less
surprised and slightly more amused than Fred. I try to take advantage of their
bemused silence, but I suddenly find my mouth very dry and can only come forth
with single syllables.
"We.. uhm... you- uh... this 'sn't..." I stagger, biting my lower lip
furiously. As I look to Draco for support, I find him looking only very grim
and slightly bored.
"Can't any one of you form an actual sentence?" he asks incredulously, raising
a mocking eyebrow at the three of us. I marvel at his ability to turn even this
situation around for his own benefit. I swallow loudly and clear my throat to
regain my ability to speak coherently. Though of course, Draco would say I
never had one.
"Fred, George... We... I know that this is probably quite... surprising, but we
would really appreciate it if-" I begin weakly, but a loud chuckle from the
twins cuts me off.
"Surprising?!" George repeats with wide eyes and a mock serious face. "Surely
not! Why would you think that this is surprising in any way?"
His brother catches on. "Yes, you foolish boy! How could finding a Malfoy
snogging the breath out of Harry Potter against a bleedin' wall be in any sense
surprising?!"
I see Draco's temper starting to boil at the twins' jokes already, but I myself
am only happy that they are joking instead of running off writing letters to
Rita Skeeter. The twins study us in silence for a minute, and after a while it
starts to feel somewhat unnerving. "What?" I finally ask, the intense staring
getting on my nerves.
"Oh, nothing," Fred grins, staring from me to Draco mischievously. "How long
has this been
going on for?"
I look to Draco, trying to get some hint as to what he wants to tell the twins.
But he keeps his eyes fastened on the twins. "A while," is his vague answer.
And I guess that is the proper answer, as it is all a matter of from where one
counts.
"So..." George snickers, eying the two of us. "the Boy Who Lived and the son of
the most notorious Death Eater ever. Where the bloody fuck is my popcorn?" The
twins burst out laughing, and Draco snorts at them irritatedly. But I can see
the relief on his features, for whatever reason he has come to like the twins
and seems to care much for what they think.
"Oh, by the way, Harry," Fred grins, raising an amused eyebrow at me. "Your fly
is open."
 
 
***** Simplest Mistake *****

Author's notes: Fatal oversight.
===============================================================================
Chapter 23. Simplest Mistake
"It'll be all right." he tells me, kissing my neck as I pull on my trousers.
"You saw the twins, they don't care!"
He thinks that I am still upset because of the twins. Of course I am, upset
that we could be so stupid as to get caught. But that plays a very small part
in my misery right now. I turn towards Harry and am met by brilliant eyes
aflame in worry. I kiss him gently on the lips before pulling away. "I know."
A bright smile lights on his face, and he lays back down on the bed to watch me
get dressed. "This has its silver lining, you know?" he smiles. I raise a
questioning eyebrow at him. "We have at least two people to cover for us if
needed, and I don't have to sneak past their room each night when I'm coming to
your room."
"'If needed'?"I repeat, seething at him. "Do you plan on getting caught again?"
He snorts loudly and throws a pillow at me, which of course misses its target.
I snicker. "Don't spend your whole day in bed." I holler at him as I exit
through the door. Yes, don't spend your whole day in bed. You don't have too
many left.
I want to kick myself for thinking that thought. I cannot do this. I have to
find another way. Who says I have to go to Dumbledore with my find? I can just
tell them I haven't found anything and go back to the Manor to look for other
options.
But... If I find nothing else, they will eventually send Harry out either way.
And he will die. And the Dark Lord will not.
And we will all be doomed.
I sigh deeply as I walk the hall to the library. I silently ask myself why I am
not spending what little time Harry has left with him. But I refuse to think
like that. I cannot change my routines because of that spell. I refuse to
acknowledge that it makes a difference. For if it changes something, then it is
real. If it is real... Harry will die.
Harry. Not Potter anymore. One cannot possibly call a dying man by his last
name.
___________________________________________________________________
 
For three days I wander the dark corridors of this house aimlessly, a thousand
and none thoughts running through my head. One minute my mind is totally blank,
and in the next I have so many thoughts I just want to scream. The minutes run
by, and I sink deeper, deeper into this madness. Nowhere do I see a solution.
I cannot be near Harry. He has already noticed that something is wrong. He asks
me about it, he yells, he pleads me to tell him. But what can I say? I hate him
for dying.
During the night, I fall. I seek him out, push the hate somewhere when I cannot
feel it, and love him until morning. But when the sun rises, and I see his pale
face laying there beside me, all I see is death. All I see is the inevitable.
It is in one of these moments I realise that this can't go on.
I leave for the Manor again. On the fourth morning I wake and creep soundlessly
through the house. In the drawing room, Dumbledore is already waiting for me.
Like last time, he tells me of the time of day when I should return, and bids
me farewell. Nothing is different. Yet, I feel as if he watches me
conspicuously. As if he knows something is wrong.
As always, he probably does.
I hurry to enter the Floo before I have time to even consider telling
Dumbledore about my findings. I doubt even he would jeopardize Harry's life
like that, but... One can never be too careful. The green flames swallow me,
and seconds later I find myself in the Malfoy library. I brush off the soot and
am just about to put reach into my pocket and "Connections of the Wand" back in
the shelf, when I realise I am not wearing the same robes as I did three days
ago.
"Fuck!" I exclaim out loud, and kick the shelf in frustration. Why didn't I
check to see that I had the book back with me? Now I can only hope no one finds
it at number twelve.
I cast those worries aside and begin anew my quest for finding a spell against
the Dark Lord. The next morning I seem to have gone through all the books
specialized on curses, and can no longer find a single new spell. Whilst pacing
back and forth in front of the fire, I suddenly realise that the library is not
the only place with books in the Manor. With trepidation I make my way to
Father's study, the perhaps most terrifying place in the whole house.
I reach the thick black door, and it opens with a creak under my hand. It opens
to a large bright room, so familiar yet so strange to me. It feels almost
humorous to find the room empty, without Father leering at me from behind his
large oak desk. Still feeling cautious, I look over my shoulder as I turn
towards the bookshelf covering the Eastern wall. Any Auror who came here would
only see everyday literature such as "The Standard Book of Spells" or "Advanced
Numerology". But as a Malfoy, as soon as I touch the shelf, the books reveal
their true identity to me. I am just about to open "Secrets of the Darkest Art"
when I suddenly get the feeling I am not alone.
Indeed, when I listen carefully, I can hear someone walking upon the marble
floor in the great hall. Panic starts to rise within me as I hurriedly put the
book back in its place and creep towards the shut door. I lean against it, ear
to the wood, and hear a pair of steps climbing the stairs to the second story.
When they finally speak, I feel my mouth fill with ash.
"Do not complain, Bella." Father's cold voice echoes against the stone walls.
"It was perfectly right that you were punished. After all, what good does
torturing Muggles do if you let them escape in the end?"
"I do not question my punishment, Lucius!" I can hear my aunt's heels stomp
furiously against the floor. "I question the lack of yours!"
"What are you insinuating?" My Father sounds irritated.
Bellatrix's mad laugh mauls my ears like knives. "You are a fool, Lucius. First
your son disappears to Merlin knows where, and then you let your wife be taken
away right under your nose! Why the Dark Lord has not punished you more
gravely, I have no idea."
"Stay out of it, Bella!" I can hear Father grind his teeth while they reach the
top of the stairs. "No one else noticed the Aurors entering the house, how
could I have? To this day I cannot figure out how they got past the wards! And
what becomes of Draco, I can not imagine where he has gone."
"Of course you can't." Bellatrix leers sarcastically. "But remember that our
Lord is losing patience with you, it won't be long before-"
Their voices fade as they enter the library. As soon as I hear the doors shut
behind them, I exit the study quietly and head for the other room that is
closest: the drawing room. I sit down on the sofa, furiously trying to think of
a way out of this.
It is only a matter of time before they realise I am here. And I cannot Floo
back to the head quarters for two more days. I draw a deep breath. There is
only one thing I can do. If I cannot hide from them, I have to let them find
me. As inconspicuously as possible.
I call for Tilby the house-elf, and luckily she appears before me within a
minute.
"Mr Draco called, sir." she says, her large eyes larger than usual. "Tilby did
not know you were back home, sir."
I sigh at the nosy elf. "Yes, yes, Tilby, that is irrelevant. Bring me today's
Daily Prophet, will you?"
"Yes, sir. Tilby will bring it right away, sir." With those words, the house-
elf disappears. I rise to light the fire in the fire place, and as soon as I am
done Tilby has re-appeared with the paper on a tray.
"Thank you, Tilby. You may leave now." I mutter, walking past the elf to the
double doors and opening both of them widely. Then I return to sit down upon
the couch, and wait.
I do not need to wait long. Soon I hear the doors to the library open, and two
pairs of shoes exiting the room. I pick up the Daily Prophet, and make a big
fuzz of opening the paper so it will make as much noise as possible. I hear
Father's footsteps slow down.
"Did you hear something?" he whispers to my aunt, who's steps have now also
stopped.
"No, what is it?" she asks quietly.
"I'm not sure..." is the answer. I sigh and hurry to move the table with my
foot, causing a loud screeching noise. It seems to do the trick. I no longer
hear words, only slow approaching footsteps. I hide my face behind the Daily
Prophet just as my father and aunt reach the doors.
"Expelliarmus!" Father roars, and I feel my wand go flying from my pocket.
Acting surprised, I take in a loud breath and look up from the paper.
"Father!" I exclaim, rising from my seat. "What are you doing here?"
"We could ask the same of you." Bellatrix answers before Lucius has the time
to. The witch sneers at me suspiciously. "Where have you been?"
"It's a long story." I leer back at her before turning to my Father. "How long
have you been staying here?"
"Since the end of March." Father answers cautiously. He looks like he's about
to continue when Bellatrix cuts him off again.
"We have to take him to the Dark Lord, Lucius!" She hisses, still holding her
wand pointed at me. "He could be a spy for Dumbledore!" While I snort
incredulously at my aunt, Father nods and charms a rope to restrain my hands. I
make no move to free myself, only raise an amused eyebrow at the ropes. Lucius
watches me cautiously as he commands Bellatrix to pick up my wand from the
floor. My aunt obeys, and soon I am being led down the stairs.
I curse myself for not having realised it earlier. Had not Mother told me
Father had spoken to her via the Floo? One cannot Floo into Malfoy Manor unless
the Lord of the Manor has opened the Floo Network, which I at that time had
not. When the Floo Network is closed, Flooing is only possible within the
Manor.
I want to kick myself. The answer was right in front of me!
As we descend the stairs all the way down to the basement, I realise I would
probably have noticed the Death Eaters' presence had I entered the first floor
the two last times I were here. But through the stone walls, I could not feel
them all the way up to the second story. How ironic that my own home has ben
harbouring the inner circle of the Dark for months, right under my nose. And
now I am to be taken to them myself.
Lucius leads me down the stairs and into the dungeons. A large wooden door
opens before me, a door I recognize as the one leading to what used to be my
old study. Now a large table occupies one end of the room, at the end of which
a very pale, snake-like man is sitting. He raises an eyebrow as we enter, a
vicious smile spreading on his thin lips.
"Well, well, Lucius. What is this that you have brought for me?" Lord Voldemort
enquirers, his voice sending shivers up my spine.
"Draco Malfoy, my Lord." Bellatrix interrupts Father, bowing for her master.
"We found him in the- Aaagh!" Her words end in a scream as the Dark Lord raises
his wand at her.
"We do not speak out of turn, do we Bella?" he asks sweetly after having lifted
the curse. My aunt rises from the floor on shaking legs. "No, my Lord."
"Now," Voldemort continues, looking at me with interest. "Lucius, release your
son."
"Yes, my Lord." Father bows, and with a swing of his wand my ties have
disappeared. I let my hands fall to my sides and look directly at the Dark
Lord.
"Where was it that you found him?" Voldemort asks Father, not taking his eyes
off me.
"In the second floor drawing room, my Lord." Lucius states, looking from
Voldemort to me with slight concern. For me or for his own skin, I do not know.
"Why did you not make your presence known, young Malfoy?" the Dark Lord
enquirers, his red eyes seeming to pierce my soul. I take a deep breath and
fight not to shudder from fear of this monster before me.
"I did not know there was anyone beside me in the house, my Lord. Had I known I
would have been by your side immediately." The words leave my mouth so
naturally I wonder if there is some truth in them. But as I let thoughts of
Harry run through my mind, I find to my relief that there is not. In this
moment I promise myself that whatever sacrifices I make, I make for Harry. I
have to escape this, for Harry.
 
"So, Draco, tell me..." The Dark Lord smiles at me, thin lips curling around
yellow teeth. I fight hard not to sneer back at him. "What have you been doing
these past months? Your father has been awfully worried about you." He looks
over to Lucius, still standing beside me. My father looks very calm, but I can
hear the blood rushing through his veins at a furious speed.
Father is terrified.
Somehow the thought calms me, and I suddenly know exactly how I will be able to
escape from this place. "I was in hiding, my Lord. I thought that much was
obvious." I drawl.
Voldemort raises an eyebrow at my cheek. He turns to my father again. "Lucius,
haven't you taught your son any manners? Punish him for his insolence!" The
Dark Lord turns back to me, a vicious smile gracing his lips at the thought of
teaching me a lesson. Lucius hesitates for a second before he lifts his wand.
He takes a deep breath.
"Crucio!"
I feel the spell hit me, but instead of producing the desired effect it seems
to bounce off me as water from a raincoat. I sneer at the Dark Lord, with mirth
watching his smug face fall off as he realises what just happened. The dark
wizard stares at me for a second before he turns back to Lucius in frustration.
"Can't you even produce a simple curse, you fool?" He leers as he draws his own
wand, pointing it at me. "Crucio!"
Again, nothing happens. The Dark Lord furrows his brow, while Father and
Bellatrix look positively terrified. I let a chuckle escape me, the sound
echoing hollowly in the almost empty room. "There is no point. It will not
work."
"What are you?" Voldemort asks calmly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Looking
at me as if I were some very fascinating new weapon. Which infact, I am.
My smile widens. "A vampire."
Tremor spreads through my father's body at my statement, and horror flickers
over his face. Bellatrix in turn hisses at me viciously, much like a cornered
cat at a snake. I leer at them and turn back to the Dark Lord, who is still
observing me thoughtfully. Those red eyes pierce me like blades, and though I
want to, I dare not look away.
"Why have you not made this known earlier?" he asks, eying me suspiciously. I
force a vicious smile onto my face as I answer.
"I have been travelling. Quite afar, actually." I sneer. "I had to keep myself
on the move all the time, so the Muggles wouldn't get too suspicious of all the
peculiar deaths."
The Dark Lord raises his eyebrows, his mouth forming into a satisfied leer. "So
you've been feeding off Muggles?"
I snort amusedly. "Of course. I couldn't very well hunt wizards when there are
too many Muggles as it is."
The smile spreads over the Dark Lord's face. "Well, well, Draco. Who knew you
would be such an asset to me?" He raises a pale eyebrow at me. "I assume that
you have come to offer me your services?"
I smile mischievously, bowing deeply. "Of course. Anything for you, my Lord."
Oh, how easily it goes. One needs only to prove one's immense power and then
proclaim eternal loyalty to him, and the Dark Lord will welcome you to his
inner circle. Just like that.
He calls for his closest servants. They sneak into the room, one by one
narrowing their eyes as they see me. Some, such as Nott Senior, leer at me
viciously, probably thinking that they're going to witness the fabulous show of
torturing Malfoy Junior.
Too bad for them.
"Friends!" Voldemort calls out as he steps into the circle formed by the Death
Eaters. "I have the joy to announce a new member in our society." He gestures
towards me, and I hear several questioning mumbles as I step forward. I ignore
them and keep my attention focused on Voldemort.
The Dark Lord continues. "We have now amongst us our greatest weapon!" The
confusion spreads within the hooded circle. I snort inwardly at the Dark Lord's
antics, but play my part nonetheless. Baring my fangs, I leer at my audience.
Shocked gasps echo in the room along with Voldemort's chilling laugh.
"So you see, my dear friends! What could Dumbledore, what could Harry Potter do
when faced with a vampire?!" Half-heartedly the Death Eaters join in in the
Dark Lord's enthusiasm, nervous chuckles escaping them as they watch me
carefully. The only one not laughing is Lucius, who is staring at me with a
furrowed brow. I decide to worry about him later, and turn back to observe
Voldemort.
"Have we not waited so long to be rid of that brat Potter! Now, we have the
perfect means!" the Dark Lord laughs madly, a pale skeleton-like finger
pointing at me. "What better way to end the glory of Harry Potter, than to let
his army of petty blood-traitors be destroyed by a vampire? Lord Voldemort's
vampire!"
The Death Eaters roar, and I smile inwardly. This was easier than I could have
ever predicted. As long as I can convince the Dark Lord that I am on his side,
as long as he stays at the Manor, I can lead Dumbledore right to him. And maybe
if we play on a home-field like this one, Harry won't have to fight.
Harry won't have to die.
___________________________________________________________________
 
"Where are you going?"
I turn around to find myself face to face with Lucius. He stares at me with
narrowed eyes as he glances past me to the stairs.
I raise an eyebrow. "I am going to spend the night in my own room. I can't stay
down here, you all smell like garlic after that dinner you had." I drawl,
turning around to proceed to the stairs. I hard hand grabs my wrist and pulls
me back.
"What are you up to, Draco?"
Suppressing the rising anxiety in my stomach, I snort at my sire. "What are you
talking about?"
Lucius looks around us, confirming that no one else is close enough to hear us.
He then turns to me, eying me suspiciously. "What have you been doing all these
months?"
I raise an eyebrow at him. "Weren't you listening earlier? I was on the move
all the time. Hunting."
Father sneers at me, leaning closer, hissing. "Then why didn't you come back
when your mother was captured? One would think that would have lured you out of
your hiding place."
I put on a mournful face, which isn't hard considering the topic. "I'm sorry
Father, but what would it have helped Mother if I had revealed myself? The only
thing I can do is to fight for our Lord, and a suicide mission such as rescuing
Mother from Azkaban does nothing to help that." Putting on the most believable
little Death Eater-face I can muster, I sigh somberly. "When our Lord rises
again, Mother will be rescued, and our family will be rewarded for our
loyalty."
Father nods slowly. "I am pleased to find you have finally taken your rightful
place in our family." His words are pleasant, but I still sense suspicion
behind them. Unable to do anything about it now, I nod curtly and turn towards
the stairs.
"Good night, Father."
Father does not answer, and I do not expect him to. Walking in a leisurely
pace, I make my way to the third story and my own bedroom. I close the door
behind me and lay down upon the bed. As if I really could sleep.
I let out a tentative sigh, not quite sure if I should be panicked or
celebrating. I did not find another spell. I found the Dark Lord. I found a way
to lead the Order straight to him.
I found a way to save Harry.
Now, all I have to do is convince the Dark Lord to let me leave tomorrow. I
will tell him I need to feed, and Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. From there, I
will then Floo to Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore will then summon an emergency
meeting, and a plan will be made. Then, after three or perhaps four days, I
will return to the Manor. The Dark Lord will be pleased and have no reason to
suspect anything. Should he suspect anything... Well, he cannot torture me, so
how would he find out anything anyway?
Yes, this will work beautifully. As long as everything goes according to plan.
_________________________________________________________________
 
He left again. Not that I hadn't known he would, but I had hoped, wished
foolishly.
Three days is not a long time. But it is hard to keep up the facade in front of
everyone else, it's hard to pretend no to be worried. Because I am. Worried.
As a lay awake in the night, trying to sleep, my mind gets no rest. What if
something happens to Draco? What if he, like everyone else I know, will get
into danger because of me? What if something happens when he is away, and no
one notices he is gone before it is too late?
I rise from my bed and walk as quietly as I can to Draco's room. Laying down on
his bed, I stare up at that familiar ceiling, trying to imagine him next to me.
It doesn't work. I reach for a pair of robes laying on the floor and pull them
next to me in the bed, breathing in the scent of Draco. That at least makes
things a little easier.
But as I hug the cloth close to me, I feel something hard dig in to my side. I
reach for the pocket, and pull out what I find to be a miniature book. Why
would Draco carry around something like that?
Curiosity getting the best of me, I reach for my glasses and my wand. I put on
my glasses and point my wand at the book. "Engorgio!" The book enlarges to five
times its original size, and I can finally read the worn out cover.
"Connections of the Wand" I read out loud, wondering silently what Draco was
doing with such a book. This hardly has anything to do with defeating
Voldemort. As I turn the book in my hands though, I notice a marked page. I
open the book at the marked spot, dust and soot flying into my eyes from the
pages. When I finally manage to stop coughing, I can read the small script.
Contandem Recolo.
***** The Boy Hero *****

Author's notes: Fatal decisions.
===============================================================================
Chapter 24. The Boy Hero
I stumble out of the fire place into the drawing room at number twelve. To my
surprise Dumbledore is already there waiting for him. I let out a loud breath
of relief.
"Sir!" I breathe heavily, anxiety still in my throat. "The Dark Lord! He is at
the Manor!"
Surprise spreads over the Headmaster's face, but he doesn't look quite as
pleased as I had expected. "Voldemort is at Malfoy Manor?" he asks
disbelievingly. His face turns very grave, and somehow he looks much older than
the last time I saw him. For a moment he looks as if he is in another world,
but finally his gaze focuses on me.
"Please, sit down, Draco. Tell me what you know." he gestures towards a chair,
and takes a seat in another one himself. I take another deep breath before I
begin my story.
"They have been hiding in the dungeons! I couldn't sense their presence because
they were so far underground. But they found me, sir. My father and aunt did.
They took me to Him."
Dumbledore's brows rise an inch. "You saw Voldemort?" he asks, looking puzzled.
"How did you escape?"
I snort softly, my breathing slowly evening out. "I didn't, sir. I convinced
the Dark Lord that I was on his side. He was very eager to have me, of course.
Today I told him I had to feed, so of course he let me leave for that." I take
in a deep breath before I finish. "I Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron before I
Flooed here."
The Headmaster stares at me silently for a moment before he rises from his
chair. "We must gather a meeting immediately. If you excuse me, I must contact
a few people." Dumbledore strolls out of the room and disappears. I stare after
him for a minute, silently wondering about the old wizard's peculiar behaviour.
I've never seen him act quite so... off.
Then it suddenly strikes me that something else is wrong. Harry.
He is not here to greet me. In spite of myself, I feel worry gather within me.
He knew I would return today. At this hour. Where is he?
I exit the drawing room to begin my search for my lover, but find myself caught
by Lupin and Mr Weasley.
"Draco!" Lupin exclaims as he sees me. "Albus told us about You-Know-Who. Is it
really true?"
They both look at me with expectation and the air grows thick. As I nod curtly,
their expression changes to a terrifying mixture of joy and horror. I can
certainly relate to it.
"Merlin!" Mr Weasley exclaims, eyes growing wide. "I have to tell Molly!"
I am left standing with the werewolf in the hall as Mr Weasley runs off. Lupin
looks after the red-head, sighing deeply. "It's starting, then."
_________________________________________________________________
"You-Know-Who is at Malfoy Manor?"
All eyes are on me, wide and horrified. The silence lays thick as a carpet as
they wait for my response. I swallow once before answering.
"Yes."
The expected outrage begins. I look across the table to where Harry has taken a
seat, but he refuses to look at me. He shudders slightly at the sound of the
others arguing, but doesn't say a word. Even as the Weasel roars something
inane to him, he only shrugs. An ill-boding feeling gathers in the pit of my
stomach.
Dumbledore's voice carries over the mass. "Silence! Please."
Everyone takes their seats, casting concerned looks at each other. The
Headmaster smiles. "This is an unexpected turn of events, yes. But it is a good
thing; we now know where our enemy resides."
Many still look doubtful. Moody casts a vicious look my way before he turns to
Dumbledore. "Are you quite positive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is still there?
What if this is just a trick? We might be set up for an ambush!"
"It's not a trick." I respond before Dumbledore has the time to. "The Dark Lord
believes me to be on his side. He doesn't doubt me."
Moody narrows his eyes at me. "The 'Dark Lord', huh? What proof have we got
that you are noton his side?"
With those words I rise from my seat. "You have no proof. Nothing beside what I
have given you already!" I roar over the table at the ragged man. "Have I not
done as much as all of you? Have I not sacrificed family and friends just as
much as the next person?"
Moody swallows once and looks like he would like to retort, but remains silent.
I take a calming breath and sit back down. "The Dark Lord suspects nothing.
What reason would would he have to doubt me? I am a pure-blood, a Malfoy. A
fucking vampire in his service!"
Dumbledore puts a hand on my shoulder. "Language, Draco." He turns to the
others. "If we plan this carefully, we might very well be able to defeat
Voldemort once and for all." The Headmaster smiles calmly, looking over the
gathering. "Time is of the essence. We need to inform any trustworthy Auror, we
will need all the help we can get." He looks over to me again. "Draco will be
able to get us into the house unnoticed, won't you?"
I take a shaky breath as I nod. "Yes. They didn't notice me and Kingsley when
we were there interrogating Mother, they won't detect us this time either." I
pause before I continue. "The Dark Lord gave me four days time before I have to
return. We have to come up with a strategy until then. About when the attack
will take place, who will take part in it, and so on."
An ominous silence lands upon the dining room. Everyone looks at each other
with trepidation. The final battle has begun. If we lose this, we lose the war.
Suddenly Dumbledore coughs softly, gaining everyone's attention. "I have a
further annunciation regarding our situation." The Headmaster stands up from
his seat. I am immediately alarmed by his grave expression, so uncharacteristic
for the silly old wizard. It seems everyone else notices this too, for the room
grows quiet within seconds.
Dumbledore breathes deeply before he begins. "We have found a solution as how
to kill Voldemort."
"What?" Mr Weasley exclaims, and pretty much everyone echoes his opinion in
shock. I look over to Harry, but am not met by my confusion mirrored in his
face as I had expected. He sits quietly, staring down at his lap, still
refusing to meet my gaze. As Dumbledore proceeds his explanation, I turn my
attention towards the end of the table, trying not to think of Harry.
"In desperate times we become in need of desperate means, and that is exactly
what this is." the Headmaster announces. I feel myself and everyone around me
go rigid, my whole body tensing up in apprehension of what sounds like a very
ominous declaration.
"I time we have had to dismiss countless ideas of how to defeat Voldemort. Now,
as we know his whereabouts and have him in our hands, we are running out of
time. Thus, we have to make use of such a solution that pains me to the core."
Dumbledore takes a deep breath and clenches his jaw as he continues. "There is
a spell, a spell that makes use of the unusual connection between Voldemort and
Harry."
I feel my blood run cold. They cannot know. They can not. Forcing myself to
remain calm, I watch as everyone's attention is turned towards Harry, who still
does not raise his gaze from his lap. The Headmaster continues:
"The spell is a mutation of Priori Incantatem, and makes use of the twin-core
wands Harry and Voldemort possess."
And thus, my world scatters. My vision crows dim and Dumbledore's words start
echoing in my head, while my own subconsciousness repeats those dreaded words
again and again.
"Contandem Recolo." I croak, and every head turns towards me. I ignore it, for
it is in this moment that Harry finally lifts his head to meet my gaze. I
confront him silently, and his answer is right there before me. His eyes are
glazed, but his jaw is set determinedly. He stares back at me with a mixture of
sadness and spite. And I realise that he knows that I knew about the spell.
In sheen terror I can vaguely separate Dumbledore's voice from somewhere far
away, muffled beneath the dizzy throbbing in my brain.
"...between duelers with twin-core wands..."

This cannot be happening, I tell myself. How could they find it?
" ...whichever spell your opponent casts..."

This has to be some kind of practical joke, they can't be serious...
"...will blast back..."
They can't kill him.
"No!" I state, rising from my seat and growling. Not at Dumbledore, standing at
the end of the table and looking rather as much surprised as everyone else. But
at Harry, who is looking at me with a mournfully furrowed brow from across the
table. "No." I tell him, positive that if I state my claim determined enough,
he will obey me. That he will tell me he won't do it and I will laugh in relief
and be mad at him for days for even considering this preposterous idea. But he
doesn't, and I don't, and I am left standing here, staring at him in
desperation.
"What's going on?" Lupin breaks the silence. I stare at him and the others in
brief sympathy, for they have yet to become aware of the consequences of this
horrible plot. Frantic, I turn to Dumbledore.
"You can't do this." I tell him, pleading for him to end this nightmare. But
the Headmaster only shakes his head sadly.
"There is nothing else we can do, Draco. We're running out of time. If Harry is
determined to do it, I cannot stop him. It was his idea."
What? I turn back towards Harry, who's eyes are now blazing more brilliantly
green than ever, determination shining through his thick glasses. I shake my
head slowly at him, silently pleading him to decline this farce. When he only
keep staring at me silently, it hits me that this is real. He has decided.
"No!" I croak in disbelief, but as the word leaves my mouth I realise there is
no other possibility. I look over at Harry, and to my desperation I see him
lift a book onto the table from his lap.
Connections of the Wand.
I feel an icy hand wrap around my already dead heart, squeezing until I find it
impossible to breathe. Struggling for breath, I suddenly become aware of all
the confused and more or less horrified faces staring at my crumbling posture.
With tremor I look into Harry's eyes, and find him staring at me with disgust.
Before I have time to utter a word, to offer an explanation, he has risen from
his chair and made his way out though the door. In spite of the other confused
Order members calling after us, I rush after Harry.
I catch him in the hall. Crushing into him I trap him between myself and the
wall, arms on each side of his head.
"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" I roar at him. Harry returns my
gaze with suppressed wrath.
"Let me go."
"No!" I scream, banging my hand into the wall so that I hear the wood creak.
"Don't you understand that you won't survive it? You will not make one of your
miraculous escapes this time!" I feel my voice break as I whisper:
"Harry, you will die."
I try to meet his gaze, but he looks away, a guilty look on his face. "I have
to do this. There's no other way."
"I won't let you!" Another time I hit my fist into the wall, and Harry jumps at
the loud crack. He turns to me, resentment in his blazing green eyes.
"Who are you to tell me what to do? Who are you to pass judgment on me?" He
sneers at me with disgust. "You didn't even bother telling me about the fucking
spell!" He screams, his lower lip trembling and his whole body shaking.
"I didn't want this." My voice breaks at the words, and I don't know what else
to say. What else can I say?
Looking into Harry's eyes I realise that this is it. He has decided. He's
remembered the halo on his head. It disgusts me. He is sick, holding onto that
picture they have painted of him as their martyr. And still I know it's me who
has been lying to myself, in my own way. Thinking I could save him from
himself.
Young and hopeless, we're both lost.
"I didn't want this." I repeat desperately before crushing my lips to his. He
startles for a second before lashing his arms around me, clawing at me with
anguish. I feel tears, both mine and his, mingle in our kiss, and in this
moment I just want to die. To disappear and never wake again into this reality.
"Harry?"
Reality calls too soon as Granger's voice carries through the room. I pull away
from Harry and look behind me to see Granger standing in the doorway. Some part
of my brain realises the horrifying situation, but somehow I fail to care.
Somehow this becomes the last drop. In my dazed state I feel the vampire in my
subconsciousness take over, and I gladly let myself slip under the power.
Feeling my self-awareness sinking under a soft cloud, I realise as if I were
only a spectator of this scene, that I am running. Where to I do not care, as
long as I get away.
___________________________________________________________________
"Harry?"
From somewhere far away I hear a voice that does not belong to Draco. As he
pulls away I open my eyes to find Hermione behind Draco, Hermione staring at us
with a mixture of shock and horrification. I look over to Draco, expecting him
to trow a fit or play indifferent once again.
But he does nothing. He stares at Hermione for a long minute, eyes wide and
shiny with tears. I suddenly realise that I have never seen him cry.
Then suddenly his face turns to stone and his gaze becomes unfocused. He seems
to find his feet and within a second he has disappeared into the West corridor.
I watch the vampire blend into the darkness like a shadow, taking a few deep
breaths before I turn towards Hermione. As I do, I realise that more people
have filled the hall. Ron, Remus, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Tonks, Kingsley, they all
walk past the immobilized Hermione, and for a moment I think they all saw. But
as Ron pulls me to him and starts crying, as everyone's voices blend together
in a horrified mix of wails, I breathe out.
They do not know.
As it then dawns on me why they are all crying, I almost want to laugh. Here I
am, worried about if they saw me with Draco or not, when-
When circumstances are what they are.
I have had two days to think about it. I have decided. I have made my peace
with it. With dying for them.
It's nothing I haven't known for long I would have to do. Still, that knowledge
was never concrete, never definite. Now that it is, I don't know what to do.
Should I cry with them all? Should I paint on a noble face and sing the usual
verse of a martyric hero?
Or should I tell them the truth? That I am scared. Terrified. Horrified.
Absolutely disgusted to have to die voluntarily. And not only to have to die,
but to have to cast the spell myself.
I will die. In three days. A week. A month. Whenever the Order decides it.
Whenever it suits them.
I can't do this.
Pulling myself from the comforting arms of Mrs Weasley, I look up at them.
Scared, worried, pitying faces, all staring at me as if a was an animal up for
slaughter.
That joke is not funny anymore.
I try to tell them to stop. To not look at me like that. But my lips do not
move, no words leave my mouth. A trembling breath later, I run. Ignoring the
shouts and cries behind me, I run. I run after Draco, I run after my life.
In his room I find him, face drenched with tears and eyes still frighteningly
abstract. His gaze focuses as I approach him. He tries to open his mouth and
say something, but I hurry to kiss him before he does. Before he says anything
to make the situation real. Before he says anything to make Dumbledore's words
matter. To make Voldemort matter. To make the world matter.
I leave no room for objections. Clawing at Draco's clothes, I kiss him
violently. "Make me forget." I whisper against his lips. He pulls away for a
second, staring at me silently. Just as I am about to continue, he claims my
lips again. Harshly, desperately this time. Within minutes we have ridden
ourselves of our clothes, and I finally have him to myself again. Like moths
before the fire we flutter together in our last moments. In my last moment.
His hands on my skin, his body against mine, his eyes meeting mine. In the
violent rhythm he repeats my name, and I echo his desperation. Once again I am
his. Once again he is mine. Like we were always meant to be. Like we will
always be.
Forever.
 
***** Running Up That Hill *****

Author's notes: Living the nightmare.
===============================================================================
Chapter 25. Running Up That Hill
Nightmares. Sometimes they plague us during our daily rest. These horrible
dreams persecute us until we find them too real to be anything but true. We
hate them. We fear them. Like formless Dementors they bring cold and darkness
upon our world. But then we wake up, and find the world much as it was, and we
breathe out as we realise it was all just a bad dream.
This is nothing like that.
I sleep until too late, only to wake up to the room filled with sunlight and a
cold bed beside me. Only to find my worst nightmare to be my reality.
Slowly making my way out of bed, I try to suppress all the thoughts penetrating
my mind. As my subconsciousness screams, feebly trying to convince me to leave
this house and never come back, trying to convince me to live, I get dressed. I
button my jeans, I make sure my T-shirt isn't on backwards. I even run a hand
through my hair to try and tame my unruly locks.
I concentrate on anything. Anything to stop me from thinking. Anything to make
me forget.
___________________________________________________________________
"It's too soon, Alastor! We don't have the time!"
We all sit in silence, staring at Lupin and the crazy old Auror. I almost feel
the need to applaud the werewolf, I have never seen him express an opinion that
is less than cooperative. Against anyone except me, of course.
Mad-Eye Moody seems less impressed. He bangs his wooden leg to the floor with
frustration. "We cannot wait! What extra time we grant ourselves we also give
You-Know-Who! By the time you find us to be ready He might have left the
Manor!"
Lupin exhales loudly. "But we are not prepared! Harryis not prepared!" His
voice reeks of desperation, and I watch a dark cloud land upon the group. Even
Moody seems to back down a bit, though he mutters under his breath.
"He is as prepared as he will ever be."
No one seems to object to this morbid sentence. Why would we, when it is true?
On the outside I show the same cold mask as I always do. No one will have to
think this situation to be grave enough to bring feeling to my face. Though I
expect my dread was all revealed last night, they will not have to be reminded
of that. Because in the end, my fears, my shear despondency, nothing of it
matters. It will not change the circumstances. It will not affect the ending of
this tragic fairytale.
So I remain stone on the outside. On the inside, I am screaming.
 
"Albus, what do you think?" As a last desperate resort, Lupin looks at
Dumbledore. I am surprised to realise that the Headmaster had barely said a
word during the whole meeting. Now he sighs deeply, sitting up straighter in
his chair as he gathers his words.
"For Harry's sake, I wish we could wait longer." The old man sighs, and I feel
a sinking feeling in my gut. "Alas, Alastor is right. We have to strike while
we are on the strong side of this. The more time we waste, the more time
Voldemort has to gather his own weapons," Dumbledore turns at me sadly. "the
more time Voldemort has to become suspicious of Draco. We have three days until
Draco has to be back at the Manor. I think that we use those three days to
plan. On the fourth day, we strike."
I hate myself for becoming such a big factor in this. I hate myself for going
to Dumbledore in the first place. I could have lived a fairly normal life.
Feeding off Muggles now and again, living of blood flavoured lollipops in
between. Instead of finding myself in the midst of a raging battle. A bloody
battle not only of good and evil, but of morals and impossible guilt.
Instead of finding myself in love with the foolish boy who was selected for
immolation.
Father used to say that the war would bring us peace and glory. But I see no
glory here. I see no peace. What glory is there in sending an innocent boy to
sacrifice himself for us? What peace is there in living with that guilt
forever, even after the flames of the battles have died out?
Some little calm sweeps into the room with Dumbledore's proclamation. Even as
our world becomes embedded in this horror, it is good to know when to expect
the tragedy. Three days is not much. But it gives us a chance.
It gives Harry a very long last mile.
___________________________________________________________________
I descend the stories to the first floor. From the dining room I hear a voice I
recognize as Dumbledore's. For a second I am offended that they dared to start
a meting without me. But then I hear those dreaded words.
"We have three days until Draco has to be back at the Manor. I think that we
use those three days to plan. On the fourth day, we strike."

Three days? As my heart suddenly catches in my throat, I have to lean against
the wall to stay upright. Three days. I had expected at least a few weeks, a
month perhaps. But three days?
I cannot enter the dining room as I'd originally planned. I cannot walk in
there and face the decision they have made. My heart still pumping fiercely, my
legs carry me to the library. Shutting the door behind me I take a seat in
Draco's chair. Closing my eyes I can almost pretend none of this is happening.
In this dark, familiar room, I can pretend nothing has changed. I feel Draco's
presence here, lingering in this chair, in these books, in these walls, even as
he plans my death in the dining room. I can pretend he stands behind me now in
the shadows, soundless and invisible as always.
My mind embedded in the fantasy, I barely register the door opening.
"Harry?" Hermione's voice cuts through the darkness, and I slowly open my eyes.
The girl walks up to me slowly, taking a seat in the other chair. "I thought I
might find you here."
I do not answer. I have a hard time thinking of what to say. What do I want to
say? I want to ask her about yesterday, what she thinks about what she saw. But
do I really want to know? Do I really care?
We sit in silence for a moment, before Hermione coughs softly. She looks at me
with big brown eyes, unshed tears glistening in the darkness. "Harry, I'm so
sorry." The next thing I know I find her arms around my neck and her bushy hair
in my face. Her tears wet my shoulder, and my arms come up around her in an
awkward hug. Somehow this claim of affection seems so out of place, so foreign
to me. I am ashamed to find myself so comfortable with Draco's arms around me,
yet so disquieted with anyone else's close presence. When have I grown this
distant to my closest friends?
"How could this happen?" Hermione sobs and shakes in my arms. "They say there
is no other way! Now they have locked themselves in the dining room, planning-
How can they possibly plan this?!" By now she is almost screaming, hitting my
shoulder with her fist. "How can they stand scheming for the battle, when- How
can Dumbledore, how can Remus? And Tonks and Mr Weasley and Malfoy and-"
"Draco is not scheming."
The words leave my mouth before I even have time to register them. Hermione
stops mid-sentence, her body tensing up as she takes a step back from me.
Trying to wipe away her tears, she raises her head to look me in the eye. She
stares at me with a furrowed brow, and I cannot help myself.
"Draco is not scheming. You make it sound like he is the enemy." I narrow my
eyes as I stare at Hermione. "He is doing nothing but trying to make the best
of the situation! Nothing except trying to help."
Hermione stares at me for a moment, raising an eyebrow and looking like she is
trying to get some perspective. "Harry," she finally begins, a frown around her
mouth. "What is this between you and Malfoy?"
I open my mouth to explain to her, but find I do not know what to say. There
are no words for what we have. Only feelings, only colours. The three words I
manage to utter seem way to insignificant to explain anything between me and
Draco.
"I love him."
Instead of the shock I expected, sadness washes over Hermione's face. She
fidgets and swallows a couple of times, as if uncertain if she should say
anything or not.
"Oh, Harry." she sighs, taking a seat in the armchair. "Don't you see how
messed up that is?"
I furrow my brow. "What are you on about?"
Hermione sighs another time, hands fidgeting over the hem of her skirt as she
thinks about what to say. "Harry, I understand. When Malfoy feeds off you, when
he bites you..." For a second Hermione seems lost in her own thoughts, and
jealousy rises within me, because I know exactly what she is imagining. "It
wakes... feelings. But Harry, it's not real." Suddenly Hermione is very somber
again. "I too thought for a while I had feelings for Malfoy. But it's only the
vampire. It's a weapon. Harry, it's not Draco Malfoy."
Somewhere deep inside me I feel the anger rise. But somehow I can't seem to
grasp it. Why would I need to anyway, I don't believe a word Hermione is
saying. So I just smile at her softly. "No Hermione, you're wrong."
She tries to cut me off. "Harry-"
"No." I interrupt her, starting to feel the anger sip through the numbness. "I
love him. I love Draco. Not the vampire, not because of his powers."
"But Harry, he is Malfoy! He is mean and snobbish and-"
And I snap. "Shut up!"
Shock is mirrored in Hermione's eyes at my outbreak, but I cannot seem to stop
there. "You don't know him, you have no idea what he's like!"
Hermione stands up from her chair. "Harry, he's using you! Can't you see it? He
needs to feed off you, of course he is nicer to you than to other people. But
it's not real!"
I am stunned to silence for a moment. I sigh and shake my head slowly, moving
towards the door. Narrowing my eyes, I cast a last look at Hermione. "It's real
for me. What does the rest matter when it will be over anyway in four days? If
he doesn't care for me I don't need to know it three days before I die!"
Guilt washes over Hermione's face, but I cannot stay and face the consequences.
I am already rushing out though the door.
___________________________________________________________________
 
"We enter through the fire place in the second story drawing room here..." I
point to the spot on the map of the Mansion I drew. "Then I and a couple of
Aurors proceed downstairs, while the rest of you remain on the main floor. The
Death Eaters will try to escape when we attack them in the dungeons, so we need
people to be there to... greet them when they do so."
"And what about Harry?"
Mr Weasley's words cut through me like knives, but I manage not to let it sip
through onto my features. I only clear my throat before I mutter:
"Potter will stay in hiding until... 'til it's time."
No one objects, no one utters a word. It is as if a chill has suddenly entered
the room. We have a plan now. A clear line to victory, to peace, to justice.
But how will we ever be able to celebrate that justice? What justice is there
in letting an innocent child die for this?
Of course, it is wrong of me to consider Harry's sacrifice more great than that
of the others' already dead because of this war. But none of them, were
willingly sacrificed. None of them had to take part in the battle, knowing that
they would not survive to see it end. None had to themselves cast the spell.
I suddenly feel very tired. Highly unreasonable, actually, since I never need
to sleep. But I reckon that this sudden exhaustion has little to do with a need
for rest. The silence in the room draws on as everyone stares at the maps and
notes scattered around the table. Letters and lines marking our victory, our
salvation. Marking my eternity of devastation.
I rise from my chair, and no one even looks up to acknowledge my leave. I close
the dining room door behind me, only to find myself face to face with a
Weasley.
The Weasel stares at me with an empty gaze, completely void of the usual enmity
shared between us. I am just about to move around the living dead red-head,
when he suddenly speaks.
"They're going to attack in three days?" he croaks, still staring straight
forward at the wooden door. I contemplate if he could possibly be speaking to
himself, but after a minute I find myself forced to answer.
"Yes."
Another silent moment runs by, and I turn to leave when the Weasel speaks
again. "They're really going to kill him?"
Razorblades dance in my gut at the words, and I take a deep breath, turning to
face Weasley again. I am certain that I am unable to hide the pain on my face,
but I'm not sure if it matters anymore.
"Harry is going to kill the Dark Lord. Everyone has but to accept the
consequences."
Suddenly an enraged Weasley is staring back at me. "How dare you call him
that?" I stare at the red-head in shock for a minute as he takes an
intimidating step towards me. "After all you've done to him, how dareyou say
his name?!"
A fist flies my way, and I do not even bother to step aside. A roar echoes
through the hall as the knuckles meet my face, but it is not me who s
screaming. To me the punch feels more like a light slap, while Weasley is now
clenching his hand in agony.
While in any other situation I would be laughing at the Weasel's misfortune,
now I cannot. I wish he had punched me properly. I wish it had hurt. For I
would have deserved it. The Weasel doesn't even know how true his accusations
are. He doesn't know how deep my betrayal goes.
I am contemplating a way to make Weasley's hit count, when I look past the
groveling figure and see Harry. He emerges from the corridor of the West Wing,
tears clouding his eyes so that he doesn't even see me at first. He stops in
his tracks, staring at me for a second before looking down at the Weasel.
"Harry! Wait!"
Harry startles at the voice of Granger from the corridor behind him, and he
hurries past me and Weasley, rushing up the stairs. The Weasel looks up as
Harry runs by him, exclaiming "Harry!", but the other boy doesn't stop.
Thoughts rush through my head as I turn my head from Harry to the Weasel and
back again, listening to Granger's approaching footsteps at the same time.
Rashly making my decision of what to do, I rush after Harry before Granger has
the time to appear and see me.
I catch up to him in the hall.
"Harry!" I grab his shoulder, but he struggles free.
"Let me go!" he exclaims and continues running. I grab him again, wrapping my
arms around him and bringing him to my chest. He struggles until the sound of
Granger's approaching footsteps reach him, and he stops to look up at me.
"Hide me." Harry croaks, his fingers digging into my upper arms. I stare at him
for a split second, before I grab him and drag him into the nearest cupboard.
Harry holds his breath desperately, not breathing out before Granger has long
since passed the door.
With the air come the tears. The former resistance has suddenly disappeared,
and it seems he can't get close enough to me. He clings to my robes, presses me
up against the dusty wall, his head tucked under my chin. The sobs grow more
incoherent as his tears start wetting the front of my robes.
"I don't want to die."
His voice is weak and desperate, as if he expects me to make it better, to take
pain away. And I want to, I do. So, so much. But all I can do is hold him, kiss
him, try to make him forget. But his days are counted. And even I can't turn
back time.
 
 
 
 
***** Stay *****

Author's notes: Insanity taking over.
===============================================================================
Chapter 26. Stay
My madness seems to become more distinct with each passing hour. As I chose my
fate I was not yet scared, only determined. Then the fear set in. Then the
anguish. Now I am so utterly terrified that I don't know what to do with
myself.
I cannot seem to stop crying. I attended an Order meeting where the details of
the battle were made clear for me. My part in it, at least. The pity and utter
devastation I saw in everyone's eyes as my barrier broke was dreadful. Through
a vail of tears I watched them all fidget in their seats, terrified and guilty,
unable to say a single word lest it would upset me more.
Draco tries to get me to join him every time he leaves for another meeting. He
knows I will not. I cannot bear sitting there in that room, watching everyone
fear that anything they might say will launch me into another fit of
uncontrollable sobbing. I know what I must do, that is enough. I need not know
of the other stuff, I need not be there to decide it.
The less I think about the matter, the better. As if I could forget.
___________________________________________________________________
I am with him whenever I have the opportunity, whenever I am not forced to be
at those meetings, deciding about his death.
My self-disgust increases with every meeting. Each time I leave him alone,
tears filling his eyes. Those tears that never seem to cease. It is devastating
to have to leave him, yet I cannot be absent from a single meeting. I cannot
risk them making a mistake without me there. We do not have room for a single
error. What if something goes wrong?
What if Harry dies in vain?
___________________________________________________________________
"Come in, son."
I walk through the door, and Dumbledore closes it behind me. I sit down in
front of the lit fire place, the fire casting shadows into the corners of the
drawing room.
The Headmaster takes a seat in another chair. While I wait for him to speak, I
desperately try to prevent myself from crying. It seems to be an impossible
task these days.
Dumbledore coughs. "Harry," he begins, stalling. "You do know that you don't
have to do this?"
Ah, that is why I'm here. I sigh. The old man feels guilty for my sacrifice,
more so than ever after having watched me sob and weep my way through the last
two days.
When I do not answer immediately, he continues. "No one will hold you
responsible if you change your mind. You are not obliged to do this."
I smile slightly, chuckling. "I'm grateful for your consideration, Headmaster.
I really am." I turn my attention to the fire for a moment, then back to
Dumbledore. "But sir, what you say makes no difference to how I feel. No
difference to my decision."
"Harry," the Headmaster sighs, his blue eyes staring at me gravely over his
half-moon spectacles. "You are only a boy. It is not your duty to sacrifice
yourself. No one could expect such a thing from you, from anyone."
That is where the old man is wrong. It is my duty. How many have not already
made the ultimate sacrifice in this war to save someone else? And did not many
of them have family, loved ones left behind? I have no one to leave behind, no
family that wouldn't recover from my death. Besides, I am not just saving
someone, I could be saving everyone.
No, no one could be expecting this from me. Except myself.
"Sir, as I said, I am grateful. But if this is the entire reason you have
called me here, then I will leave now. This is pointless." -And a waste of my
precious time. I rise from my chair, careful not to meet the Headmaster's eyes
too pointedly. If I did, he might notice the doubt within me. Dumbledore says
nothing as I walk past him and out through the door, but I feel his eyes on me.
I was not entirely truthful. How could I be? Of course I don't want to die, I'm
not that much of a fool.
___________________________________________________________________
"Is there anything you want to do today?"
He lies on his side, looking at me with grave silver eyes. I turn on my back
and stare up at the ceiling, wishing I could sink into the sheets and never
have to get up.
"No. I don't want to do anything."
Draco voices no objections, though he knows just as well as I do that there are
some things I will have to do today. I will have to bid my farewells. To Ron,
to Hermione. To Dumbledore, to Remus, to Mr and Mrs Weasley.
To Draco.
"How does one say goodbye?" I croak at the ceiling, unable to turn and look
Draco in the eyes. A long silence follows my question. I start to believe I
won't get an answer.
Finally I hear a sigh. "You don't."
And then he rolls on top of me, pressing his lips tightly against mine, pulling
the sheet from between our bodies. Skin against skin, I intertwine my fingers
into his hair. His hands roam my body, his thigh pressed between my legs. He is
harsh and rough, leaving no room for objections, no room for me to catch my
breath.
He sinks into me, biting my neck harshly as he does. I hiss and groan beneath
him, our mutual loud breaths echoing around us. I dig my nails into his back,
probably drawing long pink lines down his back. He shudders beneath my touch,
and I marvel at the feeling of being able to affect him like that.
Draco pants in my year, and I feel like my heart is beating out of my chest.
The feeling and mixture of senses is overwhelming, and it is over much too
soon. Draco comes with a throaty groan, his shoulders flexing and chest
shaking. He is absolutely gorgeous. He lets himself fall on top of me, burying
his face in my neck as the aftershocks run through us both. Draco trembles one
last time, and his lips part against my shoulder as he whispers:
"Don't you dare tell me goodbye."
A shudder runs through me, and I feel a tear run down my face. How could I keep
such a promise? How can I leave him, without telling him... Without thanking
him?
"Promise me."
So I do. How could I refuse him? How could I ever deny him?
___________________________________________________________________
"Merlin!"
I hear a sob from the kitchen, and refrain from entering as I had planned.
Instead I remain outside the door, waiting. Listening.
"Calm down, Molly." Mr Weasley's voice carries out to me. The sobbing doesn't
stop, but calms down a bit.
"I can't help it!" Mrs Weasley exclaims, and I hear the sound of a fist hitting
wood. "It is so unfair! How can they make him, make that poor boy-"
Mr Weasley sighs sadly. "No one is making him, Molly. It was his own choice."
Another cry echoes against the stone walls. "His own choice? Something like
that is never one's one choice! Especially not a young boy's! Oh, that poor
boy..."
I want to leave, but somehow I find myself frozen in place. I don't want to
hear this, those sentences, those words that everyone keeps repeating. Those
words that I keep repeating to myself.
I don't have to. I don't. No one is forcing me.
But I chose it. This. I chose my fate. While my head keeps telling me to run,
my feet refuse. Try as I may to tell myself that I want to live, there is
something I want more; I want them to live. Hermione, Ron, all of the Weasleys.
And Draco. If only I could give him a life, too.
I jump half a meter into the air as I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around
to find Draco behind me. He watches me gravely as he takes in my expression,
and I try not to look too gloomy. But he knows what I have heard, and he knows
how I feel. When does he not?
"Come on." he whispers, taking my hand. I follow him down the hall to the West
Wing. Silently we climb the stairs to the 3rd floor. I have the peculiar
feeling that I'm going to get scolded. Why, I'm not completely sure.
We step inside his room, and he closes the door. "Sit down."
I do so, on the edge of the bed. Draco stares at me silently for a moment,
before he moves forward to sit beside me. I feel the bed shift as he sits down,
but I do not dare to look at him. What is it now that demands such seriousness?
Oh well, dumb question.
"Harry," he begins, crossing his hands in his lap. "I know you are tired of
hearing this, but at the risk of repeating myself and everyone else; you don't
have to do this."
I cannot help the snort that escapes me. Draco's stern look pierces through me,
and I turn to look at him from the corner of my eye. "You're right, I have
heard that a couple of times." I laugh softly, earning another disapproving
gaze. "Is there a reason for you to repeat yourself?"
"Stop doing that!"
I jump at his sudden exclamation. I turn my eyes to the floor as Draco stands
up and steps in front of me. "Stop pretending it's not a big deal! Stop
pretending it's just one of those hard decisions in life that we all have to
make! It's not!"
I try to object, but feel the words stuck in my throat. Draco doesn't stop, but
falls to the floor before me. "I watch you cry each time someone mentions
tomorrow. Every time, except when they ask you to give it up!"
He grabs my hands, my fingers shaking beneath his. "I know I can't change your
mind, Harry, but..." Draco takes a deep breath and averts his eyes. "It's okay
for you to cry, you know? It's okay to be furious and scared." He looks back up
at me, grabbing my hands more firmly.
"Harry, no one wants to die."
I meet his gaze for a long minute, until I cannot help myself anymore. I let
out a pained cry and fall back on the bed. Staring at the ceiling like so many
times before, I feel the tears overflow.
"I don't want to die. I don't want to go out there tomorrow and-" I feel the
bed shift as Draco lies down next to me, ad I close my eyes so I won't have to
look at him. "I just want to leave here and...live! But... Fuck! If I don't do
this, I will have to stay here forever, cooped up behind these walls, hiding
forever..."
"Would it-" The bed shifts again, and a shudder runs through me as I feel Draco
draw his finger against my collarbone and neck. "Would it be so horrible? To
stay here forever? With me?"
My breath gets caught in my throat. Did he just say that? I turn my head to the
side and open my eyes, finding Draco on his side, staring at me seriously. I
wait for him to say something more, but when he doesn't I open my dry mouth and
croak:
"No, it wouldn't." I sob. "I would, Draco. I really would. But I can't have the
lives of hundreds of people on my neck just because I want to stay here with
you." I shake my head, sighing deeply.
"I can't."
Draco's expression doesn't change, I don't think he ever expected me to change
my mind. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to say it, wanted me to hear him say
it. He keeps staring at me for a long moment, until he leans closer, his face
so close to mine, breath ghosting against my lips. I take in his scent,
breathing in as deeply as I can until I can't take it anymore. I gasp
breathily, throwing myself around Draco's neck and kissing him furiously.
I fight with the clasp on his belt, finally ripping it open and zipping down
his pants. Pulling his shirt out, I fidget for a moment with the buttons until
desperation takes over and rip the shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. He
moves to tug at my shirt, but I slap his hands away. I push him to stay on his
back as I lay down on top of him. My hands searching his body, my lips kissing
his skin all over. He shivers and gasps beneath me, his hardness digging into
my hip.
"Fuck! Harry-" he finally croaks, and I stop teasing him. I look up to find him
staring at me, eyes glazed and desperate. Still, he doesn't move hastily.
Slowly he rolls both of us over, softly pushing me into the mattress and laying
himself on top of me. I watch his muscles flex as he moves his arms, sliding my
shirt over my shoulders. I shudder as the cold air meets my skin, and even more
so when Draco leans over me to nuzzle my throat. He breathes in my scent, and a
violent shiver runs down my spine. I had completely forgot about his feeding.
"Harry?" he whispers softly, asking. Pleading. As if he would have to.
"Y-yes!" I groan hoarsely, trembling with anticipation. I hear Draco take a
deep breath, and seconds later that exquisite pain pierces my throat. I gasp
loudly, my body arching off the bed. Draco presses down on me, keeping me still
while he sucks at my throat furiously. I try to concentrate on breathing, my
heart seemingly beating out through my chest.
Finally I realise that he has begun lapping at the wound, and soon he moves
away altogether. In that second I launch at him, pressing my lips against his,
tasting my blood in my mouth. My hands move down over his back, and I start
tugging at his trousers. He returns the movement by unzipping my jeans and
pulling away slightly, tugging the pants off my legs in one swift movement. He
shakes off his own, too, before he lays back down.
Skin pressed against skin, nails and teeth digging in to flesh, hands
everywhere. His body moulds perfectly into mine, as if we were made for each
other. We move together for what could be an eternity, thrusting, groaning. At
some point I realise myself shouting the words harder, faster, oh god yes, I
love you, I love you. And to my further ecstasy I hear Draco chanting my name
over and over in my ear.
"Harry! Oh god... Fuck! Harry..." he murmurs huskily, groaning.
"Harry...Please. Stay... with me."
My heart seems to stop beating, and before I know it, it's over. I'm coming,
and so is Draco, never more beautiful than when he looks down at me right now,
lower lip trembling as he whispers yet again.
"Stay with me."
I wish that I could tell him yes. I would give anything for that ability.
Because I realise that those words are the closest I will ever get to him
telling me he loves me.
I want to tell him. I want to tell him why I can't do what he asks, and what it
means to me that he is asking. But my mouth is filled with ash, and the proper
words won't form. All I can seem to do is shudder with the aftershocks and
stare into his pale face as I croak:
"Don't forget me."
___________________________________________________________________
 
"Don't forget me." he whispers hoarsely. The most ridiculous sentiment in the
world.
How could I?
I envy him. In truth and utter ridicule, I do. He is the one that gets to
leave. The one that gets to die. The one that won't have to remember. I will
have to live on for a thousand years or more, waiting for some kind soul to
come and kill me.
I don't want to forget him. But how can I live without him?
 
 
 
 
***** Castles of Sand *****

Author's notes: The end is near.
===============================================================================
Chapter 27. Castles of Sand
The black morning dawns. But there is no rain to match the dread and
destruction that comes with this day. Only the sun that shines in through the
curtains, the rays landing on the dusty floor. I turn my head to look at the
boy sleeping beside me. Black locks fill out the pillow under his head, his
deep breaths puffing against my shoulder. He is excruciatingly beautiful, in
his last moments more so than ever.
I rise and move to the bathroom to take a shower. Under the gushing water I
feel a chuckle leave my lips. It is ridiculous really, how we find time to wash
ourselves even in the midst of Harmageddon.
Soft footsteps tap against the floor. The shower curtains are drawn aside and
Harry steps in beneath the shower. He doesn't say a word or even look me in the
eye, but presses himself firmly against my chest, head safely in the crook of
my neck. I sigh and wrap my arms around him, holding onto him like my life
depends on it.
His does.
 
We stand like this for I don't know how long. Savouring these last hours. How
many times has he not been on death row? How many times has he not been an inch
from destruction?
But this time it is different. There is no chance to escape. This end is
absolute.
"We need to get dressed." I whisper into his ear, and he shudders softly
against me, as if he is waking up. Bright green eyes, glittering with unshed
tears look up at me. He smiles softly, letting go of me and disappearing out
through the door. I watch him go, slowly moving my arm to close the shower.
When he dies, it will be the end of me. When he leaves, my heart will go with
him.
___________________________________________________________________
Mrs Weasley is the only one in the kitchen this early. Her eyes threaten to
spill over with tears as soon as Harry enters the room, but luckily she seems
able to restrain herself.
"Harry," she croaks, her voice betraying her anguish. "Would you like some
breakfast, dear?" The woman seems determined to honour Harry's silent wish to
be treated 'normally'. Even today. Even this morning.
"Just some toast, thank you." Harry mumbles, and I almost jump at the sound of
his voice. It seems as if he is dead already, and I am hearing his voice from
beyond the grave.
"Of course." Mrs Weasley smiles sadly, loudly swallowing the tears still in her
eyes. She hurries to turn her back and starts preparing the breakfast. Harry
takes a seat at the table, and I sit down beside him. The room is eerily quiet,
except for Mrs Weasley who seems to have her mind set on making as much noise
as possible with her pots and pans. Harry doesn't seem to mind, he just keeps
staring into emptiness. He manages two minutes without crying before I notice
his lower lip starting to tremble. A tentative hand seeks my hand over the
table, his shaking fingers grabbing mine. A single tear falls down his cheek,
and I curl my hand over his. Then those green eyes are looking up at me again,
so grateful and terrified that I want to kill him right now just to stop him
from looking like that.
"Here is your bread, dear."
Mrs Weasley puts the plate in front of Harry on the table, along with a
steaming cup of tea. She doesn't even raise an eyebrow at our joined hands.
Maybe she just didn't noticed, she seems determined to look anywhere but at us.
Of course. She doesn't want Harry to die. But she wants peace, just like
everyone else. She doesn't really feel sad. Just guilty.
___________________________________________________________________
I have never seen an Order meeting this quiet. Not even Dumbledore dares to say
a word out of place. We go over the plan again. Yes, everyone has looked at the
map I drew of the Manor. Yes, everyone knows what they are supposed to do.
No, no one is ready.
Harry sits silently beside me. He has been informed of what he is supposed to
do. He knows who will accompany and protect him, he knows where he is supposed
to face the Dark Lord.
And while everyone else plan further, Harry needs not. The arrangement for his
deeds ends there.
Everyone is resolved to avoid the topic around Harry's confrontation with
Voldemort. Every other detail is worked through five times so that everyone is
absolutely certain that they know what will happen. But no one seems brave
enough to take up the topic of the Dark Lord's destruction. No one has the
heart to speak to this brave boy beside me about his death. No one is capable
of enduring any more of his tears.
"Harry? You know what to do, right?"
I feel the urge to snort out loud at the Headmaster. Of course Harry knows what
to do. His only task now is to stay alive, until...
But he nods bravely, eyes firmly fixed on the edge of the table. "Yeah. I
know."
___________________________________________________________________
There is no time for goodbyes. Before I have time to realise what is happening,
I am stepping into the fire place, Moody, Tonks, Kingsley and two Aurors named
Williams and Savage behind me.
I cast one last look into Harry's face before I am devoured by the green
flames.
 
I turn to the Aurors as we've all arrived into the Malfoy Manor drawing room.
"They will be in the dungeons. I will go in first, and you will follow at my
sign. Let's be quick, the others will be here in half an hour."
"Yes, yes, we know." Moody mutters, presumably pissed that he has to take
orders from a Malfoy when it come to his own area of speciality.
We walk as silently as possible down the stairs and through the main hall. It
has started raining, the drops running down the great windows to the orchard.
Creeping down the stairway to the dungeons, I can hear the noise of the Death
Eaters gathered below us. Stepping into the dimly lit corridor, Kingsley,
Moody, Savage, Williams and my cousin all stand back, pressed against the wall
as I move towards the door. I grab my wand firmly in my hand.
Each and every Death Eater quiets down as I enter. There are about fifteen of
them, and none look too pleased. Least of all Father. Only the Dark Lord,
sitting at the end of that long table, greets me with appreciation.
"Draco," he exclaims, gesturing towards a chair next to him, where another
Death Eater, Macnair, is already sitting. "You have returned as expected! Why
not have a seat here next to me?" The Lord casts a glance in Macnair's way, who
immediately rises from his seat to make room for me.
I only sneer, remaining standing by the door. "I don't think I will."
"What?" Voldemort furrows his brow, a frown forming around his mouth. "You dare
to refuse my wish?"
I grin. "Afraid so," And I raise my wand, aiming at the Death Eater closest to
me, Jugson. "Expulso!"
As Jugson is blown away, a second of complete silence follows. The all hell
breaks loose. The Aurors are at my back at about the same time when the curses
start flying. I hear Savage getting hit by a Crucio, but at the same time
Kingsley and Moody are able to bring down two more Death Eaters. A Killing
Curse flies Tonks' way, but she is able to sidestep it and answers it with a
Immobiulus Charm, neutralizing another Death Eater; my aunts brother-in-law,
Rabastan.
Alecto Carrow throws a Crucio my way, and is shocked when the curse hits and I
don't fall to the floor screaming. I sneer scornfully at the fool and flick my
wand, bringing him down with a Blasting Curse.
Some of the Death Eaters have by now escaped out through the door. I see a
flash of blond hair vanishing into the dark corridor, and I follow.
"Moody! It's time!" I shout, my back already turned on him. He follows suit
after throwing a last Immobilus Charm at Macnair.
When we arrive in the main hall it is filled with Death Eaters and the newly
arrived other Aurors. Through the cloud of spells and curses I pursue Lucius.
Moody runs towards the stairs, where I see Harry descending with Lupin as his
guard. I want to do the same, run over and do anything to keep Harry safe, but
for the moment I am not yet needed. Besides, right now I have another thing to
take care of.
Lucius seems to realise his inability to run from me, and he turns around to
confront me, thinking he might be safer surrounded by all the other Death
Eaters, Bellatrix and her husband not far away. I fight the urge to chuckle; he
doesn't even begin to understand how much trouble he is in.
"What has gotten you here?" Father hisses, sneering at me with disgust. "You
are a Malfoy! Malfoys stay with the family!"
I snort, lifting an eyebrow as I drawl: "Maybe you should take your own advice
and for once not choose the Dark Lord over your own son."
Lucius just laughs. "I never expected you to be such a fool, Draco." he spits.
My gut feels heavy. I never expected to get anything but a refusing answer, but
I can't deny that it stings.
"Loyalty and blood is all that matters." Father huffs again, curling his lip in
distaste. "You never could understand that. I always knew there was something
wrong with you. You were never a real Malfoy."
___________________________________________________________________
Around me is nothing but destruction. With Moody and Remus guarding me I feel
relatively safe, but outside of the shield they produce reigns chaos. I have a
hard time gathering what is happening; all around me people are screaming,
casting curses. The glass doors into the garden are crashed, the rain from
outside falling in. Black Death Eater robes flash everywhere around me, the air
is filled with screams. But as I am led through the main hall, there is only
one voice I listen after.
Then I hear familiar voice that sends shivers up my spine.
"I always knew there was something wrong with you. You were never a real
Malfoy."
I turn to the right and indeed, there I see Lucius and Draco. Father and son,
wands pointed at each other. On Lucius' face there is an expression of utter
disgust.
Draco snorts. "Too bad for you that you didn't do anything about it before. Now
it's too late."
"You really believe that you can win this battle, son?" Lucius huffs, looking
around in the hall. "With that old fool Dumbledore not even here? Who is going
to save you? Potter?"
My heart contracts in my chest, and Draco narrows his eyes. "It is you who
needs saving." And he swings his wand. "Confringo!"
The Blasting Curse misses Lucius by an inch, and while he avoids the spell he
turns towards the Aurors and me. A malicious leer spreads on Lucius face as his
eyes lock on my face. "Bella! Rodolphus! Take Potter!" he shouts, before
turning back towards his son.
An expression of shock and desperation appears on Draco's face as he hears
those words, and his eyes turn briefly towards me. Run! is the clear message,
but it's too late. Two Death Eaters are already approaching us.
"Potter!" Bellatrix coos, madness glazing her eyes as she walks closer, eyes
fixed on me. "So glad you could make it!"
"Not so fast, Bellatrix!" Moody roars, sending a curse at the witch. She steps
aside lightly, chuckling as the spell misses its target. As she raises her wand
at Moody, Rodolphus casts a curse at Remus. The adrenalin pumps furiously in my
veins as both of my guardians are pulled further and further away from me,
trying to fight off the Lestranges. I grab my wand furiously, trying to keep my
back towards the wall.
"Can't you do any better than that?!" I hear Lucius roar at Bellatrix and
Rodolphus, as he furiously tries to hit his son with curses. I cannot but
wonder how one could possibly fight their own family for life and death. The
thought has just run through my head as Draco swings his wand yet again.
"Sectumsempra!"
This time Lucius is distracted, and the spell doesn't miss it's target. While
the light flashes, a horrible memory surges through my brain. The black cloak
is ripped open and blond strands of hair are drenched in blood, but this time
it's not Draco.
Draco stops, staring at his father laying there on the ground. Remus breaks him
out of his trance.
"Draco! Take Harry!"
He seems to become aware of his surroundings yet again, and in a frenzy his
eyes search for me. When they find me, he surges to my side and pulls me out
through the trashed door into the garden.
"Are you alright?" He asks, looking over his shoulder into the house, keeping
an eye on how Remus and Moody are doing. I cannot control myself, but through
my arms around his neck and press my lips firmly against his. I try to savour
what most likely will be our last kiss, but Draco breaks it off soon. He tears
away my shaking hands, swallowing deeply. In that second we hear Bellatrix's
cry:
"Yaxley! Rowle! Go get Potter!"
They have all moved outside now. I watch two other Death Eaters approach from
further away, and Draco's body tenses beside me. He stands in front of me, and
I watch him crouch into a defensive position.
"Lupin!" he shouts, "Protect Harry! I'll take care of them!"
Remus casts a last spell Rodolphus way before he turns around and hurries our
way. Draco steps aside from me only when Remus has reached us. He looks at me
one last time, before he breathes in deeply.
"Take care of him." he mutters to Remus, who nods silently. Then Draco hurries
off to meet the three approaching Death Eaters. They all look doubtful at how
they are going to take on a vampire, but still seem to have trust in their
numbers. Approaching in a half circle, they all hold on to their wands tightly.
Remus pulls me with him even further away, closer to the orchard, but even from
a far distance I cannot bear to look away.
Draco raises his wand. "Everte Statum!"he shouts, sending Yaxley flying a
couple of yards away, landing in the wet grass. Rodolphus and Rowle look quite
shaken as they gaze after their fallen companion, but they keep moving forward.
Draco sneers viciously, revealing his bared fangs and crouching, ready for an
attack.
Rowle sends a Crucio his way, but Draco steps aside from it easily. He keeps
moving, running in a half circle to the left and taking on an unprepared
Rodolphus from the side. A muffled cry escapes the Death Eater, but is cut
short as Draco's hands close around his throat. The blood seems to be
everywhere and Bellatrix's vail sounds through the air. I am just about to look
away from the disgusting sight when I hear something even more discouraging.
"So, Harry," a cold voice calls over the yard. I turn towards the house, from
where Voldemort, followed by two masked Death Eaters, has just exited.
"Dumbledore thinks he can defeat me by sending his little hero and vampire
after me?"
Voldemort approaches me swiftly, seemingly gliding over the yard. His two
henchmen take off to the left, towards Draco. The rain increases, and thunder
strikes somewhere far away. A shudder runs through me as the snake-like man
casts a glance in Draco's direction, his face turning into a gleeful sneer. "I
must admit that the vampire's work is quite efficient, but it will hardly have
an effect on the outcome of this."
I hear another scream from Draco's direction, presumably Rowle's, but I dare
not look away from Voldemort. I fight to not look as afraid as I am. "Are you
sure about that, Tom?" I ask mockingly, raising an eyebrow. "The number of your
little Dirt Eaters seems to be shrinking rapidly, much thanks to Draco."
No doubt shows on Voldemort's face, but he turns to gaze towards where Draco
and the two Death Eaters are. Crucios and Avada Kedavras are cast, and the
Death Eaters are dumbstruck when Draco shows no reaction. I watch him make a
lunge for one of them before I turn to Voldemort again. Voldemort narrows his
eyes at the sight, but is still perfectly calm when he looks back at me. His
mouth turns into what supposedly is a smile.
"I think we should end this farce now, before I end up losing both Macnair and
Travers because of Dumbledore's stupid little pet."
Remus steps in front of me out of habit, and I wish I wouldn't have to ask him
to step aside. I swallow and take in a deep breath. "Remus," is all I have to
say. He turns around, looking at me with sympathy and anguish. But he knows and
I know what must be done. He steps aside, concentrating on keeping any other
Death Eater away from me. By now most of the battle has moved outside; the
Death Eaters have come to protect their master, the Aurors to protect me for as
long as I am to be protected.
I take a deep breath, trying to find a way to stand firmly on the soggy ground.
Voldemort leers mockingly at my pathetic attempt to duel with him, and I have a
hard time concentrating on anything beside the constant ringing in my ears. The
overdose of adrenalin is making my head spin.
"Any last words, Harry?" Voldemort asks, his white fingers firmly curled around
his wand.
I shudder. Yeah. There is much I would like to say. Much I will never get to
say. But it's too late for that now. I hear a blast of curses and gaze over to
Draco, where both Macnair and Travers now lay immobile on the ground. Draco
stares at me, his eyes pleading me to run one last time. But he doesn't realise
that his silent pledge is the one thing that keeps me standing here. If I do
this, he won't have to fight ever again. If I do this, Draco will be free.
I turn towards Voldemort, breathing deeply one last time. "Goodbye, Tom."
As Voldemort raises his wand, I embrace my death.
___________________________________________________________________
I watch in desperation as Harry approaches the Dark Lord. I fight between the
will to run after him, and the will to just bury my head in the sand to stop me
from watching. But somehow I cannot seem to do either. I can only stare as the
raven-haired, gangly boy takes one step after another, slowly approaching that
vile, dreadful madman.
Is there really nothing I can do? How can a spell not have a counter-spell? If
he could just step aside, when the curse hits... if only he had the speed I
have.
I hear screams and shout from around me, spells cast and hitting or missing
their targets. I watch with tremor as the Dark Lord says something, then raises
his wand with a cruel smile on his face.
I need to move, I need to do something, anything so I won't have to watch this.
Still, somehow, I cannot seem to react. Because I am too busy watching that
beautiful, stupid, stupid boy moving away from me, raising his wand, smiling at
death. I am too busy watching those happy days, our last months, repeated
before me. Mine and Harry's life, playing before my eyes.
As if I were the one to die.
And then I realise. Harry doesn't have the speed. But I do.
It's too far. I can't make it.
I have to make it. I lunge for him just as I hear those dreaded words.
"Avada Kedavra!"
As I run I watch from the corner of my eye as the green light approaches Harry,
at the same time as he takes a deep breath.
"Contandem Recolo!"
I am almost by Harry as the deafening boom is heard. But not close enough. The
two trails of light have met and have now lunged back towards their casters. I
won't make it. With all I have left, I trow myself into the air.
I realise I have saved him just as the curse hits me.
 
 
 
 
 
 
***** The Sacrifice *****

Author's notes: Don't forget.
===============================================================================
When I open my eyes, all around me is light. A moment I believe that I really
have died, until I feel the cold wet ground below me. As I slowly regain my
eyesight, I see someone standing over me. For a second I think it is my mother,
until that image is brutally shattered.
"Oh, whom do we have here?"
Bellatrix laugh cuts through the air like a gunshot, her voice sounding even
more maniacal than usual. I try to move but my head is still spinning and my
vision is off, so the only good I really manage to do is kick my aunt in the
shin.
She hisses viciously, before her voice turns into a chuckle once more. "You
think you can escape from me, do you? Itsy bitsy little Draco." she teases in a
song-song voice, getting down on the ground and leaning further over me. I claw
at her, my nails ripping her shoulder bloody, but she only keeps snickering.
"The brat Potter killed our Lord. And what did you do?" Suddenly her voice
turns dangerous. "You saved him! It wasn't enough what you did to Rodolphus!
You had to jump in front Potter!"
My aunt leans closer to me, whispering as she raises an indulged eyebrow. "You
love him, don't you?" As she sees my eyes widen, she chuckles merrily. "I saw
that kiss you exchanged. No use denying it."
Bellatrix leans back, a bitter, vicious smile spreading on her lips. "That brat
destroyed everything I love most. Now I'm going to destroy something of his!"
Before I have time to react she raises her arm, and seconds later I feel a
tearing pain in my chest. I gasp for air as a burning pain violates my body,
spreading like flames to every corner of my being. Bellatrix rises to her feet
and my body convulses as she withdraws the weapon from my chest. The wooden
stake glistens of blood.
Something distracts my aunt, and she looks over her shoulder, smiling silently
as she turns back to me. Her voice is thick with mirth. "For what you did,
little Draco, this is barely a punishment at all. You deserved worse." And she
disappears from my reign of vision.
___________________________________________________________________
 
It takes a long moment for me to realise that Voldemort really has fallen.
Swung away by the power of the spell, he is lying in the grass, unmoving.
Voldemort is dead. And I'm still alive.
Oh God. Draco.
Suddenly I regain my senses, and look around for Draco. I see him lying
immobile on the ground almost twenty yards away. A woman I recognize as
Bellatrix is standing over him, and moves away with a terrible smile as she
sees me. In a second I have forgotten all about Voldemort, and I almost fall
over my feet as I start running towards Draco. Tremor rises within me as I
watch the witch disappear. Remus steps in my way, and somewhere in the
background I hear the sound of the Aurors casting spells on Voldemort's corpse.
"Calm down, Harry." Remus says calmly, laying a hand on my shoulder. "Draco is
a vampire. A spell can't hurt him."
I hear the sense in Remus' words, but in the pit of my stomach I feel that
something is wrong. I shrug off the werewolf's hand and proceed towards Draco.
In the mud I slip and fall, but pay no mind to it as I desperately crawl
forward.
I fall to Draco's side in the mud, taking in his weak form. His clothes are
soaked, his black robe drenched with dew. His features are strikingly pale
against the dark ground, his blond locks forming a halo around his head.
"Harry," he croaks, eyes slowly focusing on me. I sigh out in relief.
"Thank God," I manage to finally breathe again. "I almost though-"
Draco cuts me off with a small cough, his whole body convulsing from the small
movement. Tremor rises within me anew. "What's wrong? Draco? What-" My words
get caught in my throat as I watch Draco's blood-tainted hand frantically clamp
around his chest. "Draco, let me see."
He looks at me pointedly for a second, but obediently removes his hand without
a word. I now see that the cloth around his chest is ripped, and the shirt on
his left ribs is tainted red. With a trembling hand I reach out to touch the
wound, Draco shuddering in pain beneath me.
"This can't be too bad, right?" I utter, desperately seeking confirmation from
Draco's pale features.
But I receive only a small, sad smile. "Harry..." he mumbles softly, grabbing
my hand with his shaking, clammy one. "What do you feel?"
I stare down at him, confused and frightened. What do I feel? Scared to death,
terrified by having him on the ground before me. Wounded, his clammy hand
holding mine-
Clammy.
I draw in a fast intake of breath and grab both of his hands in mine, trying to
stop us both from trembling. "Draco..." is all I manage to say, for my mouth
seems suddenly filled with ash.
"So you see," he says softly, holding on to my hand tightly. "Warm."
And he is right. His hands, which I have learned to love as cold and stony, are
now hot and sweaty.
"I don't understand..." I mumble, covering his cheek with one hand while
running my other hand gently over his wounded chest.
"Harry-" Draco begins, but is cut off when another cough takes over his body.
"Harry," he starts anew as the convulsing stops. "Bellatrix."
"Yeah, I saw her." I state, still seeming to miss the important. "But she can't
hurt you. You can't be hurt, you-" And that's when my hand brushes over his
heart.
His beating heart.
"Do you remember what I told all of you-" he croaks, gathering a new breath of
air. "the first time I came to the Order meeting?"
Frantically I play the events of that night through my head, desperate to find
the connection. He spoke about being immortal, about not being able to die.
Unless-
"-that is to be my lot until someone is kind enough to plunge a wooden stake
into my chest."
Draco smiles comfortingly as realisation dawns on me.
Oh God.
"No!" I gasp, staring at the boy in front of me in unreasonable disbelief. "You
can't die! You're a vampire, you're immortal...you're-" Tears well over as I
break down and sob against his chest. "...You're my Draco."
And he smiles again, a trembling hand coming up to wipe away my tears. "Harry,
all humans die. In death, even I become human again."
"No...!" I can only sob, clinging to Draco's hand on my face. He strokes my
cheek gently, his silver eyes shining through a veil of tears.
"I'm not afraid." he croaks, voice raw and breathless. "There is nothing in
death that frightens me." His hands shake softly. "But I'm afraid to leave you.
I'm afraid..." Draco smiles sadly, even as his body convulses from the pain.
"I'm afraid you'll forget me."
"I won't! No!" I exclaim, furiously claiming his hand. "No! Because you won't
die! You won't leave me! You can't leave me...!" My voice breaks into
uncontrollable sobs. Draco clenches my hand one final time, still bearing that
beautiful smile upon his face.
"Don't forget."
 
His heart stops beating just as the Aurors reach the scene.
***** Epilogue -Now We Are Free *****

Author's notes: Absolution.
===============================================================================
Epilogue: Now We Are Free
 
Through the pouring rain I watch the coffin being lowered into the grave,
wondering for perhaps the hundredth time why it isn't me. Why it wasn't my life
to be taken. Mine, which has caused enough suffering, enough death, already.
This should be my punishment, not his. Never his.
I look beside me and see Dumbledore standing there, his face unnaturally
expressionless. Mine can't stay that way. Even though there are about a hundred
people at this funeral, I can do nothing to hide the tears running down my
face. Ron stares at me as if though he doesn't really know what to believe of
all of this, while Hermione is looking at me with unconditional sympathy.
Somehow that disgusts me to no end.
I crouch down to scrape up a handful of sand and dust, before taking a deep
breath and letting it slip through my finger on to the hardwood coffin. Ashes
to ashes, dust to dust.
Dumbledore says a few words which I pay no mind to, for I know what whatever he
has to say makes no difference. Nothing will bring Draco back to me. No one
else says a word for him, not even me. Perhaps I should apologise for that, but
I won't. For who am I to dishonour his memory by telling his secrets to
strangers? He would hate me for that.
Once the ceremony is over, the people clear out one after one. I watch the
grave keeper fill the grave, watch Draco being buried by rocks and soil. Soon
the work is done, and I am left alone with my Draco.
Feeling the air being drawn out of me, I fall onto my knees to the ground. "I'm
sorry, Draco. I am so sorry." I croak, burying my fingers in the rain-softened
ground, imagining I can reach him through it.
"This wasn't how it was supposed to be." I sniff, feeling my nails scrape the
dust and mud and stones below. "I was supposed to die in that battle. You were
supposed to live on. And years from now, you would remember. You were supposed
to remember...!"
I wipe my teardrenched face with my knuckles, feeling my dirty fingers draw
lines of grime across my cheek. I stare numbly at the gravestone. The wind
blowing through the grass whispers Draco's name. I fight to focus on that
instead of on the falling rain, the sharp thuds marking every second of our
time together, falling into oblivion.
"I won't forget." I whisper into the rain, waiting for an answer.
 
Waiting for my absolution.
 
finis.
 
 
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