Title: Burn
Author: xxForgotten
Pairing(s): HP/DM
Setting: Post-war, magical community. Generally ignores OoTP and all those onwards, but may contain mentioning:)
Warning(s): Slash. Also may contain spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you might recognize... especially the characters:( but I'd be ever so happy if someone gave them to me as a birthday present:)
Summary: Years after the war.. Fire meets ice. But will it finally melt this time?
A/N: My first fanfic! Please be nice:) R&R!
Chapter 1: Silk
She smiled at him and stood up, with a smile that would have melted the hearts of thousands and a grace that would have done the goddess of beauty herself proud. A lone nightingale sung, chords echoing in his empty heart. The faint sound of an enchanted piano reached his ears and he closed his eyes. He quickly opened them, however when her familiar scent suddenly became a bit too close for comfort. She breathed down his neck, "Watch me," and his whole world stood still.
She walked a distance, only to face him with a sweet smile and a feathery light, blown kiss. Her long, sleek brown hair hung low on her back, and her her expensive, black tailored gown was carefully made, fitting her just perfectly, showing off her body at just the right places and letting just the right amount of porcelain skin show from her back. She was what they all said was perfection, coming from a respectable family, having the elegance, otherworldly beauty and courteousness fit for a Malfoy's wife. Together, they would produce aristocratic little Malfoys.
Draco gave a small smile and looked at her. She returned the smile, and her dark eyes sparkled with happiness.
Her eyes. They were turquoise seas that numerous men longed to drown in. But not Draco. For him, she was never good enough. Her hair wasn't dark enough, her eyes not the right shade of green. But he was merely a pawn in his father's game, after Voldemort's, a tool that would produce more pawns, more pieces in his little chess game, a servant that provided entertainment. The dreams still haunted him.
She closed her eyes and raised slender arms, nodding slightly to the soft music, then gradually starting to turn and twirl in languid movements. A slight wind blew then, whispering in the empty hallways of Malfoy Manor and blowing out most of the candles lighting them. The soft moonlight illuminated her features, casting shadows over her cheeks. Draco pulled his robe tighter around his shoulders, shivering slightly but made no move to close the windows. The night breeze was pleasant. He shifted his glance towards her again.
She danced around the small study, the wind lifting her hair. Folds of soft black fabric lifted and fell about her slight form, twirling and spinning with her. The obsidian silk.. oh it felt so familiar. How he longed to reach out and touch it.. to hold on and never let go again... He took a deep, shuddering breath.. and it was then that the memories came flooding back, the feelings that he had opted to ignore, the passion that had been pushed back for just a bit too long. His vision swam and darkened, and he had grip the armrest of a nearby couch to sit down and gain his balance. She seemed not to notice, too lost in the music.
First year. Hogwarts.
"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks..."
The rejection. The hurt. The anger. The tormenting and verbal abusing for years on end. Then fourth year. The fear and the realization. The obsession and the distancing. The hidden desire and the masks. The torturing from his father and the dark lord in the summer. The... the raping. The sleepless nights that he had to cast silencing spells on himself to avoid anyone else to hear his screams of pain, agony and desire. The nights where he would wake up with sore throats and had to pay regular visits to Madame Pomfrey for cures to heal his raw throat. The times he had to attend multiple therapy sessions just to be able to live each day, just to hold on to whatever he had left. The sideglances. The empty hope that he would find himself in strong, comforting arms, in which he would be able to find peace, solace.
And finally, the battle. The victory. And the letting go.
The moment he had looked into the steely green eyes and found unwavering determination and triumph, he had let go of the tiny burning hope in him, the flame that had grown smaller and smaller over the years. Harry had gone on with his life, and Draco had stayed a while in Azkaban instead, for the name of being one of Voldemort's allies.
It was true, his father had been sentenced to life in azkaban, but his mother still had control over him. He had been released after two years, a comparatively shorter sentence than the others, but it was still very much long enough, as they had never found evidence of his associations with the fallen Voldemort. And they wouldn't either. Draco had refused all their orders, even the dark mark.. and had paid heavily for them too. But his reasons for defying his father were gone; what did he have to live for? His mother, who he doubted even remembered his name sometimes nowadays? His father, who had tortured him as heartlessly as some other muggle? Harry... Harry who would never know how he felt, who would probably have forgotten his existence already? His Slytherin friends, who were currently all spending time in prison, spare for a few?
Draco sighed. He had never truly seen how little he had. As a child he had been raised to a single goal: power, wealth, fame. Now, at 22, he had no more desire to require those things. He had more than enough money to last himself a lifetime, and he had never craved for any of them anyway. Looking up, his female companion was still dancing.
A/N: Short chapter, I know... I'll try to make the next longer:)