Harry Potter or any of the characters affiliated with it, are most certainly not mine. I'm just messing around with them…
This is a sequel of sorts to "Mischief". It probably will make a ton more sense if you've read that one. If you don't feel like reading that one…the long and short of it: Cedric and Lee were an item, and Lee's mother conceived Lee when she was raped by a death eater at sixteen. (Like I said, it makes more sense if you've read the other fic. X_x) But that's the pertinent stuff. The stuff in italics are flashbacks to GoF, the normal writing happens after they've gotten back from summer break.
Spider Webs
"Cho actually *agreed*?" I ask incredulously as I twist around to stare at my boyfriend, dumbfound. Hmmm…boyfriend. I love thinking that.
"Yes, and you've got that goofy smile on your face again." He teases. That immediately makes me scowl. Goofy? Goofy! I'll show him goofy! Er…wait. You know what, never mind. I never do think straight when I'm around him. Pun intended. "Yeah, her only stipulations were that you behave yourself and that you put a garter snake down Millicent's robes."
"There's always a catch." I joke as I lean back against him. He wraps his arms around me, like usual, and rests his chin on the top of my head. Sighing happily, I just close my eyes for a second, enjoying the way he feels against me.
This has very quickly become my favorite time of day. I have him here all to myself. I don't have to share him with his fan club, I don't have to pretend that he's with Cho, and I don't have to pretend like everything is fucking perfect.
Besides, bath time should be everybody's favorite time of day, right?
"I wish we didn't have to do it like this. I wish we could just go as us, you know." He sighs a bit wistfully.
"Me too. But with Skeeter around, I mean, can you just see the headlines?" Besides, I don't mind. I get him all to myself, even if no one else knows. He's needs the out, although I doubt he even realizes it. Next year or maybe the year after we'll be able to be more open about it. But this year? With him as one of the four champions? It's just not a good idea, and it wouldn't be good for him. Not when he's still trying to prove himself to his family, his house, the world…
I gave up on that sort of thing a long time ago. I'm not proving myself to anyone. He's commented more than once on my 'fuck the world' attitude, and maybe he's right, maybe I do need to give people more of a chance. But let's face it, when it comes to how people would react to the news of the school's hunky champion turning fairy…let's just say that my opinion of how they'll react is a bit more realistic than his 'I don't think they'd have a problem with it. I think they'd be happy for us'. Yes, this is why he's the optimist out of the two of us.
It's just that he takes the things that people say to him to heart. And while that's great when it comes to the good things…He hears the bad, and I guess like me, he just finds those words easier to believe. I dunno, maybe he sees it as advice or something. Actually, no, it's more than that. He takes a criticism, no matter how kindly phrased, and turns it somehow into a sign that he's inadequate as a person. It's like he doesn't even realize sometimes that he's supposed to be human and not God.
We're all flawed in some way, some more than others, but still…it's impossible to perfect. And somewhere along the way, you have to stop trying to be prefect for everyone around you and start seeing yourself for who you really are. The way I already see him for who he is.
Besides, perfection is boring and intimidating. And Cedric is neither of those.
He runs a thumb along my collarbone, and I fail miserably to hold back a sigh of contentment. To whatever God up there who's decided to look kindly down on me: I owe you one, buddy.
"I think it'll be fun to take some polyjuice potion. I always wanted to see what it would be like to be a girl." I finally add as I grab his hand and thread my fingers through it. They're all soapy, but I can still feel the calluses he has on his palms from flying. He gives an exaggerated shudder, and I have to turn around slightly to see the grin on his face.
"I kinda like you the way you are…" He hugs me closer, and kisses the side of my neck. I swear, I will never get tired of that. Or of the way he looks at me like I'm handing him the world on a platter or something. I have no idea what it is that he sees in me, I'm just glad he sees *something*. Something other than the goof ball who's always hanging with the twins, anyway.
"I dunno," I reach up to tug playfully on his hair. It's silky soft, and slightly damp from when I accidentally dunked him earlier. "Think of it like a fairy tale or something. I turn back into myself at midnight. CinderCho."
"No. No more perverted fairy tales. The last time we had a conversation like this, something in the Forbidden Forest almost ate us in the middle of making out." He pokes me in the ribs, knowing that I'm ticklish there. Laughing, I bat away his hand.
"Well, you know, after the birds ate their crumb trail, Hansel and Gretel had to deal with the baddies too." I flip around all the way, straddling him while he leans back against the tub. He rolls his eyes, but gives me a lopsided grin anyway.
"I don't think Cinderella had dreads." He adds, reaching up to tug gently on my hair, before pulling me down against him.
"Spoilsport."
"One of us has to be realistic." I have to laugh at that as he says it. I mean, this is coming from Mr. Over Achiever. If Amos Diggory proclaimed that digging tunnels to China was a sign of excellence, Cedric would think it perfectly logical to attempt.
But maybe that's what makes him so great. To him, there are no limits to what can or can not be done. Whether he's talking about himself, or someone as hopelessly far gone as me.
"I love you, you know." He says quietly. It's completely random. Nothing that I can tell prompted it. He does that a lot when we're alone like this, and I hug the words close to my heart. I mean, I know he means them when he says them at the appropriate times, but when he says it like this? It's just special.
"I love you back, you know." I return before kissing him. And I do love him. I mean, the twins have always been my best friends, we know each other almost better than we know ourselves sometimes. But with Fred and George? They have each other; they've always had each other. And while they know me so well, there are things that I just could never bring myself to talk to them about. I don't know, maybe it's that I thought they wouldn't completely understand. Or maybe it's just that when it comes to the things I'll talk about with Cedric…
In Cedric I've got someone who's just mine to share things with. With him everything's private and personal and intimate. I can go to him when something's chewing at my insides. I can tell him anything and know that he'll listen and that he'll care, and for the short time that I'm telling, I know I'll be the center of his attention.
I can come to him, with every weakness bared and every bad thing about myself out in the open between us, and he'll still love me. He'll still pull me close and tell me that he thinks I'm the best thing that ever happened to him.
"So what do you think I should tell Harry?" He asks as he runs his hands lightly up my sides. I can feel him growing hard beneath me, and I've been there since the moment I flipped around to straddle him.
"Er…tell him to take a bath."
"Yes, because I wouldn't sound like a total weirdo telling him that. 'Oh gee Harry, it's easy to figure out what the egg's all about if you're naked and your lover's curious'." He teases as I feel myself blushing.
"That was an accident, and you didn't seem to be complaining at the time. And all that aside, didn't Moody tell you to do the exact same thing a couple of nights ago? Harry won't think anything funny's up with you. He's what? Fourteen?" I run my hands over his chest, and lean over to nuzzle his neck.
"If I'd come up to you when you were fourteen, you don't think those thoughts would have been going through your mind? I know at fourteen they were going through mine, I almost flew into Oliver once because of it."
"Really?" I ask as he rests his hands on my thighs.
"Really. You were commentating and you were just so excited because Gryffindor was up by a couple of points and your eyes…" He breaks off and looks at me for a second.
"What? Is there something wrong with them?" I joke. He shrugs off the tiny frown that's formed on his face and rolls his eyes.
"No, they're gorgeous, and unusual, and you've got soap suds on your face." I blink and he attempts to wipe the suds away, although I think he's managed to get more soap on my face than off. When I look back at him, he's got that tiny frown on his face again. It's his 'serious thinking' frown. Like he's had a revelation and he doesn't like it much.
"Spill." I demand as I lazily trace my fingers over his nipples and down his chest.
"It's just that you know, eyes like yours? I mean, Lee they're *silver*. That's not a normal color, and there's only one other person in this whole school who has eyes like that…" He breaks off, and if I weren't draped naked over his naked body, maybe I'd give what he's saying a bit more thought, but as it is…I'm not exactly thinking straight. I grin at him as my hands snake their way down. "You know what, never mind." He growls with that cute wolfish grin of his and then turns the table.
*****
"Okay, do you have the samples on you?" Dean asks calmly as he holds out his hand. Almost mechanically, I watch as my own hand goes into my pocket and pulls out the 'samples' he's looking for. Two separate swatches of hair that couldn't possibly be more different in color or texture. I have to be losing my mind to even be considering this.
"These are the samples?" I can hear the obvious doubt in Dean's voice, and it makes me smile, although there's nothing the least bit amusing about this. "Lee, I don't want to pry, but what on Earth makes you think that these might be genetic matches?"
"I'm hoping they aren't." I tell him honestly. At least he hasn't asked from whom I've gotten my 'samples' from. Oh, I'm sure that the dark brown springy hair pretty much is a give away. He knows that I've asked him to do a genetic spell for myself. He just doesn't know whose hair the other 'sample' belongs to. That's probably part of what's perplexing him so much.
"Well, it's gonna take a couple minutes to set up." He announces, summarily dismissing me for the moment. I manage a wry grin, but he's already working on the preparations so I sit back on his bed and watch.
A part of me wants to yell at him to hurry it the hell up. I want to know. I want to know for my own peace of mind, so that when I walk down the halls everyday and see him, I don't have Cedric's words echoing in my head. I want proof that he's not.
But, a part of me also wants to reach over, snatch the swatches back and call the whole thing off. There's always that small possibility that this spell might prove all my worst fears true. I don't want a half brother. And what's more, I don't want his father as my father. I don't want anyone as a father.
I used to sit by myself when I was younger and try and come up with excuse for him. Variations of what could have happened and why. Anything, if to come up with a reason that made him less of the monster that I knew deep down he was. But truth is, there is no excuse. Nothing I could come up with then or now makes the man who spawned me any less evil.
How much of who we are is genetic and how much is environment? Maybe it's a trivial bullshit question to everyone else. I'll admit myself that it seems kind of stupid to contemplate sometimes. I mean, who cares? You can't change the way things are either way, really. You're born into a position in the world, and you deal with the circumstances you were dealt. Is there really any more choice in your environment than there is in the genes you were given by your parents?
Evil or Good? Do you have a choice, or is it something that's already decided for you the moment you come out of the womb? And is it really that simplistic? I say that he's evil. I hate him for what he did to my mother. I hate that he put her through that kind of agony. But whatever, whoever, he is; he's a part of me as well. I wouldn't exist if it weren't for him and that one awful act.
Was he predisposed to inflicting that sort of pain on other people? I mean, I suppose it could be entirely possible that his personality could be dictated by the blood running through his veins. The blood that's now running through mine. Who's to say that genetic variations don't affect how you think, react, behave? They say that depression is a result of a chemical imbalance in your head, there's an increased likelihood to become schizophrenic if someone related to you is schizophrenic as well, Huntington's disease is inheritable. There's a whole list of diseases that affects who you are as a person. And if craziness can be handed down or inflicted by the genetic make-up of a person, who's to say that other things don't trickle down much the same way? Good or evil…
Is a person born inherently good or evil? Or are we all just blank slates that our environment writes on, bringing out the things that might be hidden in our make-up? But to say that we're either good or we're evil…Do evil people honestly think they're evil?
I've chased these thoughts around my head countless times before this, but before it was always with an uncertain shadowy figure as my father in the back of my head. Up until now, he's been a non-entity really. He seemed less real, and I could tell myself I'm less tainted, because I didn't know who he was. There wasn't anything solid to compare myself against. I didn't have to agonize over this or that trait that appeared to be similar to his. I didn't have to worry about picking out the things that made me more like him everyday, because I didn't even know who he was.
Isn't it enough that I know how I came into being? That my presence in this world is the result of an act of violence of the worst kind? Isn't it enough that I wake up each morning, look at my face in the mirror and wonder how it is that I'm supposed to become better then my beginnings? Do I really need to know who he is?
But I'm getting ahead of myself, as usual. I mean, really, the possibility that I'm related to that pale, skinny git is pretty fucking slim. So we have the same fucking eye color. Big deal.
"Lee?" Dean asks as he turns to look at me. "You ready?"
"Sure. Why not." I return with a nonchalant shrug, masking the nervousness I feel. It's not like I have to try very hard though. I think everybody in my house—hell the whole school—is fairly convinced I don't have a serious bone in my body. I'd love to pin the blame for that entirely on the twins, but it's as much my fault as it is theirs. Besides, in situations like this, it has its advantages.
Dean nods, mutters a couple of words and points his wand as his brow furrows in concentration. The two swatches start pulsing out different muted colors of light, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief right there. We're not related, and my fears were completely unfounded. "Well, that was fun…" I start to say, but Dean impatiently waves at me to be silent.
Frowning, I turn and watch the pulses of light. Is it just my imagination or are the colors becoming more similar? I look to the concentration on Dean's face, and after a few seconds, he gives a satisfied nod and waves the wand in his hand. There's an audible snap as well as a bright flash of light. When I open my eyes, I look to see that we're both staring down at what used to be two completely different swatches of hair. But it's impossible now to tell where one 'sample' ends and the other begins. It's almost like they've melded into each other.
"They're a match." Dean says quietly as he picks up the odd configuration of blonde and brown strands. "Lee, whoever this is, you're related to them, fairly strongly if this is any judge." He says, but I'm barely even listening.
Malfoy.
Now I have a name, whether I like it or not.
******
He said I should give things a chance. That I should have faith in people, because they might just surprise me. He said the world wasn't as bad a place as I made it out to be, and I wanted to believe him because it was *him*. Because he knew the truth about me, and he still saw something *decent*. Because he could look at me and see past the smoke screens I threw up.
But truth is that everything he ever told me was just bullshit. I gave him—I gave the world—a chance, and like I knew it would, it chewed me up and spit me back out.
I've got my blankets on me, and I can hear everyone else in the dorm sleeping soundly, but I'm freezing. I can't stop shivering. I can't fucking stop. It almost gives new meaning to the words cold fury.
"Lee? Lee are you…"
"…okay?"
I turn slightly to see the twins peaking uncertainly through my bed curtains. I open my mouth, with the intention of telling to get the fuck away from me and just leave me the hell alone to rot in peace.
"No," is what comes out instead. Damn it, Lee! You don't fucking need them! My fists clench on my blankets and I almost bite clear through my lip. I can taste the blood as it trickles over my tongue. I don't need them. I don't need anyone. I don't want anyone.
Because I *needed* him. I *wanted* him. And look where that fucking got us.
I look up as Fred pries the blankets out of my fists and crawls in underneath them. On the other side of me, George is doing the same. They're both looking at me with muted pity in their eyes. I can fucking see it, but I can't bring myself to push them away either. I can't bring myself to do anything but lay here practically comatose it seems.
"Do you want to talk about it?" George asks. Do I want to talk about what? About what it feels like to have known what life could be like with him, and knowing now that I'll never have that back again? Can they even conceive of it? How exactly are you supposed to communicate to someone that your world has just completely shattered and that no matter how many hours you spend picking up the pieces, you will *never* be able to put it back to the way it used to be?
It will *always* be distorted and ugly.
"No." I manage hollowly and I feel both of them sneak their arms around me, sort of sandwiching me between them. But even their warmth can't make me quit shivering.
I haven't cried yet. I keep waiting for it. I *want* to. But everything just sits there stubbornly in the back of my throat, and instead of bawling hysterically like I know I should be doing, all I can do is lay here and fucking *shiver*. I can't share what I'm feeling, not with anyone.
I can feel Fred and George attempting to murmur comforting words as they hug me protectively. If I were able to tell anyone, I should be able to tell them. But I just fucking can't. They mean well, but they aren't Cedric. And Cedric was the only one I could share feelings like this with. I love the twins like they were my own brothers, but I don't know how to explain things to them in terms they'd understand. I just *can't* tell them what I'm feeling any more then I could tell my mum or my step father. For all that they're wonderful and open…It's me. Maybe I'm just fucking scared. Maybe I've always been scared. But I just want to take these feelings and nurse them close to my heart, and not let anyone see.
"Say Lee," Fred whispers quietly in my ear, "you remember Rob?" My mother's old boyfriend? Sure, I remember him. Kind of hard not to.
"Fred…" George gives a warning hiss, and instead of making me fly off the handle, like it usually would, I find myself managing a small smile through my shivers. The shit Rob put me through is nothing compared to what I'm going through now. The two aren't even comparable. Rob merely reinforced what I was already beginning to suspect about the world. Cedric had given me hope that it might somehow be different. Better.
And maybe I had become a bit too cynical after Rob, but really? That's life. You can't escape it. The world ain't fucking rose petals and friendships and love. It's death and betrayal and discrimination and maybe there are a few brighter points mixed in, but you know…
"After Rob you thought there'd never be anyone who'd ever be a good enough man for both you and your mum, but you were wrong about that, weren't you? I mean, just look at Frank…" Fred says. I know what he's trying to do. He's trying to get me to see past the doom and gloom. But you know, I really don't fucking want to. What's the point in hoping that tomorrow will be better and that there will be something in the future that will make going through all this shit worthwhile? Why set myself up for another disappointment?
Because, you know, even though my mum dumped Rob the moment she discovered how he *really* felt about her little rape child bastard, I still carry a piece of him around inside me too. You can heal scars, and you can hide them, but they'll still always be there, marring the thing that once held no blemishes.
And yeah, Frank in all his greatness did come soon after that. But even Frank can't erase the scars, how can he when the scars are in part what makes me keep him at a distance?
And what makes the twins think that I'll ever let someone that close to me again? Like Cedric was? Fuck that. I opened myself up to him. With him I could be exactly who I was without the pretenses and without the bullshit. Why the fuck should I *ever* let anyone that goddamn close again?
C'mon Fred? George? Why? So I can have my fucking heart ripped out of my chest again? So I can sit here and feel this fucking empty inside when they leave me like I know they're going to?
I lived just fine before Cedric, and I'll live again after him. But the scars are already there.
"Thanks you two," I tell them, because I know that's what they want to hear. They want me to feel better, they want to know that I'm okay…or at the very least that I'll be okay again soon. "If it's all right with you, I think I just want to be alone for a little bit." The words fall woodenly, and they both give me a quick hug before quietly agreeing. I pull the blankets up tight again as they leave. They can't understand that things will *never* be 'okay' again.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to rage and I want to be fucking hysterical because I'm fucking entitled to be. But it's never going to come out like that. The most I'm ever going to express it seems is this goddamn shivering.
I want him back beside me. More than life itself.
*****
I'm ditching Herbology for the third time this week. I'm becoming quite the delinquent. Not that I wasn't before. But all the same…
I have to wonder what Professor Sprout thinks. I got such good grades in her class last year, and now I'm very much flunking. Managing a wry grin, I turn to walk down the hallway towards the Quidditch locker rooms. Only I stop short as I see that I'm not the only one blowing off my afternoon classes.
"What do you want, Draco?" Justin asks, sounding almost bored. What the hell is he doing out of class anyway? It's understatement to say that he doesn't do things like that. For Christ's sake he's a Hufflepuff. For the most part, hell will freeze over before any of them do something that will so obviously get them in trouble. That's why their house has such a bad rep for being full of goody two shoes.
Malfoy doesn't bother responding, he only pulls out his wand and scowls in what I suppose one might—if they were being incredibly generous—describe as a menacing way. I pull out my own wand, and I get ready to hex the little bastard before he can do anything, but Justin cuts me short.
"You got me to ditch class so you could hex me?" He looks so completely unconcerned by the prospect that I can't help but smile as Justin gives him a rather withering look. "What's the point?"
Malfoy almost looks thrown by that, but I can tell the kid'll rally pretty damn quick.
"Listen, Mudblood, it's nothing personal. I just have to get rid of the trash." He sounds like fucking B rated movie. I roll my eyes, relaxing as the seconds tick by. Justin doesn't look particularly worried either. If anything, he looks awfully damn close to bursting out into laughter. Boy wouldn't that just piss the little wanker off.
"Only in the wizarding world would it be considered an honor to be inbred." Justin shakes his head in mock dismay. "I guess I just don't understand, because you know, if my mother was banging her brother, I don't think I'd be bragging about it to everyone within ear shot."
I manage to stifle a chuckle, but Malfoy looks absolutely livid. It appears as if maybe Finch-Fletchley might have hit a sore spot.
"That's not what you'll be saying when they torture you." Malfoy hisses as he advances on Justin. "They'll make you scream and they'll make you beg, but nothing will ever make you good enough for them. You might be considered the cream of the fucking crop here, Finch-Fletchley, but the real world's a different place. They'll find you and every other mudblood in this place and they'll hunt you down like the animals you are. You think what your little Hufflepuff hero Cedric got was bad? It will be nothing compared to what you get."
My hands are around the bastard's throat before I even realize that I've crossed the hallway. This. This is what I come from.
He's already dropped his wand, and he's goggling at me as he claws at my hands trying to get a breath. I manage a savage grin at that as I slam him up against the stone wall behind him.
"Lee?" I hear Justin ask hesitantly. Not that I fucking care.
"You're going to hunt mudbloods down like animals, huh?" I unclasp one hand and punch him hard in the stomach with the other. "And then what are you going to do? Beat them? Rape them? Violate them?" It's like there's someone else in my body almost. I let go of his throat and land a solid hit across his face. There's a sickening crunch of fist on bone, but I can't bring myself to stop.
How dare he? How fucking dare he!
"Lee! Lee, stop, he doesn't understand." Justin's tugging at me, but I've already landed another few good hits on Malfoy. The bastard's not even really fighting back. And I guess I know I should stop…but on the other hand…
"I don't care, Justin. Go run and find someone and tell them if you have to, but I just don't care." Malfoy's gingerly wiping blood from his nose as he takes advantage of the small reprieve Justin's managed to give him. He glares at me through his good eye. His good silver eye. My fist flies out smashing into it.
Like I need a fucking reminder.
"So who is it?" Malfoy demands as he staggers to his feet.
"Who was what, you little shit?"
"Which one were you fucking, Justin or Cedric?" Shaking, I grab my wand. Fucking? Fucking?! What right does he have to sound so goddamn superior? Like he's somehow better than the rest of us because of what? Because of blood?
How dare he describe something that meant so much to me like that! Where does he get the right?! Because he looks so fucking much like our father? Because he's the legitimate one?
"Crucio." I aim, and watch with satisfaction as he writhes on the ground. See. See this is what it's fucking like. To have your insides twisting inside everyday. Knowing secrets that you can't tell to anyone. Knowing that no matter how hard you try or what you do, nothing will ever be good for you.
This is the agony that I feel every fucking day! And you never feel it because why? You were born two years later? You're just as vile as he is, fucking with people's lives. Not caring at all who gets stomped along the way.
You're just like him! You look like him, you act like him, and you're just as responsible as he is!
And so am I.
Draco twitches in pain, and instead of the rush of anger that was seizing only seconds ago, I feel sick. Shaking, I recall the curse. He lies still and my heart slams into my throat. I take a few steps, and then fall down beside him, carefully flipping him onto his back.
"I'm sorry." I whisper, already knowing that that isn't enough to excuse the way I've acted. He cracks a swollen eye as I smooth the hair out of his face. For a moment, I simply stare at that confused silver eye.
Silver like my eyes.
Because he's just like me. And…
"I'm just like him." The words fly numbly out of my mouth.
"Who?" I look down at Draco and I blanch. His entire face is swollen and bloody. He's clutching his stomach in pain and he's shuddering from the aftereffects of the curse.
"Our father." I pick up his wand, put it in his hand and then leave; half hoping he'll hex me or something. But I make it through the locker room doors without incident, and then running, I find my isolated spot on the far side of the Quidditch field and throw up the contents of my stomach.
They say that every person adds to the whole. That everyone is connected by some invisible thread and that we're all made up of bits and pieces of the people around us. We're all tangled up somehow in this web of life. And there is no escaping, except through death. So you struggle against the ties that bind you, knowing that you'll never escape. Never escape unless you become the spider yourself.
And I'd rather die than do that.
Shuddering, I give a few more dry heaves before falling to my knees on the grass. I have to learn how to live in this spider web without becoming the spider myself.
*****
So the verdict? Was that too terribly bad for an attempt at a semi-dark fic? Reviews will be rejoiced over! Thanks! ^-^;;;