Disclaimer: I do not own Draco Malfoy or Theodore Nott... They are property of JK Rowling.
Summary: Draco Malfoy gets what he wants. Always. Because he really is a selfish boy....
Unbroken Darkness
Draco Malfoy was not a quiet boy. He did not like taking orders. He hated being ignored. He hated being outdone. Come to think of it—he really hated everything. Except himself. So why was it that he yielded to the whispers of the taciturn, reclusive character known as Theodore Nott?
Why?
Because Draco Malfoy was selfish. Theodore was an enigma in every sense of the word. He was a sharp wielder of silence and possessed wit beyond anyone else in Slytherin. Perhaps greater than Granger's even. But he never showed it. He never spoke to anyone. And when he did, it was short and simple, a quick burst of sounds and words that obscured his true purpose: to watch. To listen. To know. To understand. Everything.
Theodore lived in silence. And Draco Malfoy was the only one who could say he had that silence for himself. Because he really was a selfish, selfish boy.
Draco had never really taken in the importance of human contact. After all, he had basked in it in his youth between his doting father and his adoring mother. He loved the attention. And it simply baffled Draco how Theodore seemed to avoid—despise—the attention that Draco thrived on.
Draco was a vibrant child. His brilliant hair caught the sun and reflected radiance to all those who surrounded him. His pale eyes gleamed menacingly and his snowy skin contrasted with the utter dankness that it concealed (shells are deceiving, after all…). Draco was radiant. Theodore was not.
Theodore was a wilted child who resembled a flower that didn't get enough water and sunlight: hunched and unhealthy looking, but still beautiful. He hardly ever spoke…. But his eyes said so much. Eyes the bruised color of the sky just after a storm and melancholic as if he just returned from a funeral (a funeral where his heart and light were put to rest deep within the earth). He never got involved in arguments; rather he watched the reactions of the people around him and studied their every move.
Theodore existed in silence and darkness—oh, unbroken darkness—and Draco was a shining light with a voice that resounded off the air. A voice that may seem to hush when Theodore spoke, but in reality held the leash on the fragile wilted heart of a defeated soul.
Draco finds touching Theodore amusing. Whether it is a simple pat on the back, a brush in the hall, a kiss on the neck…. With every touch the tenuous hold of Theodore's spirit shatters and the fragments cascade to the floor like the tears on his cheeks. And Draco loves it.
Every touch is like poison; it consumes the bloodstream and attacks every internal organ until finally striking the heart and shutting down life and thought leaving the victim vulnerable and pitiful to the eyes of the slayer (slayer of life, or slayer of mind…). Draco doesn't stop.
Draco doesn't stop. He roams his fingers over Theodore's skin as if it were a map in brail, taking in every curve and twist of Theodore's sobbing form.
Every touch is like poison.
Every touch causes a fragment of a glass soul to descend to the floor at Theodore's feet. And as Theodore sinks to his knees Draco bends down and picks it up, stowing it in his pocket to return to the chest filled with the crystalline pieces that shimmer when the morning light reflecting off of Draco's hair hits them—they wouldn't see the sun any other way. With every touch, Draco steals another piece of Theodore's soul.
Because he really is a selfish, selfish boy.