The Rivers Run Red

by Bleeding Star Goddess

DMHP COMPLETE. Harry is deadly, swift, and untraceable. He is also cursed. But when he gets too close to the target can he still do the deed? VERY DARK FIC, AU, Cannibalism, Gore

Title: The Rivers Run Red

Chapter: 1/1

Author: Bleeding Star Goddess (aka BSG) and can be contacted at or

Wordcount: 22,719

Beta: Beth

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Rating: A hard NC-17

Challenge Response: The Scratched Hearts Challenge

Challenge Scenario(s): B) Assassin! Harry

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.

Warnings: This story shall take place in an Alternate Universe and will contain elements of Asphyxiation, Blood Play, Extremely Questionably Sexual Intercourse, Gore, Cannibalism, Cross-Dressing, Relationships of the Homosexual Nature, Major and Minor Character Death, Abuse, Original Characters, and Domination/Submission situations.

I REPEAT, THIS STORY SHALL CONTAIN VAST AMOUNTS OF GORE AND EVEN CANNIBALISM

Summary: He is deadly, swift, and untraceable. He is also cursed. But when he gets too close to the target can he still do the deed?

---DMHP--DMHP---

The Rivers Run Red

I was frozen. My body was laid siege with the cold of the dead. My hands reached out for warmth and there! There was the racing pulse of a scared heart replying to my needy seeking hands. I gripped at the pulse, needing the fire rushing just beneath the surface. Soon there was a soft whimper, the scratching of nail-bitten fingers against my own, a face starting to redden, and a wild struggle for freedom underneath me.

I gazed into crying hazel eyes and smiled.

"Don't cry," I soothed as my hands squeezed harder. "I know it hurts but it will be over soon…"

A gasping word, "Why?"

My cold hands started to warm, stealing the wonderful heat of another's life.

"Don't ask lovely, don't ask," I cooed.

A sob, a breath, a scratch, and then… stillness.

I closed my eyes and pulled my hands away. My body tingled with heat; my blood slowly started to run through my veins. My eyes opened briefly so I could close the lids of her red-rimmed hazel orbs and placed two gold coins atop the tanned skin.

There is the always familiar soft scent of hemlock and deadly nightshade, a quick sliding of a blade, and the slice of air as my dagger embedded into the wall beside the newcomer's head, locking a strand of hair beneath its point, and then… a chuckle.

"You missed…"

I sighed as I stood and turned to look at the door of the small one-roomed shack. The rotten, termite-eaten floors didn't creak as I moved. My green eyes locked with gray, a smirk challenged my solemn lips, and a pale hand pulled out a strand of golden-almost silver-locks of hair from beneath the dagger's point.

"I never miss, Draco…," I whispered before I walked past the blonde.

I knew that Draco was gazing back down at the corpse, I made her red hair fan around her head, and I had straightened her corset and petticoats. She would look to be sleeping if it weren't for my gold coins upon her eyes. Draco will sneer, knowing that I had struck with perfect untraceable accuracy once again, not even red marks around her throat from the specified killing.

Draco will spin on his heel and then hiss as his cheek will be hit by the wind, and it will hurt. He'll stop and lift a hand to his face. His eyes will narrow as he pulls back his hand to see blood upon it, blood that is darker, richer, and so much sweeter. He'll cluck his tongue before smiling.

"Damn, he's still in the lead," is what he'll mumble, and I know he'll say it because I say it too when he's still in the lead.

And then Draco will walk out and walk away as I pray to the growing pyre for the woman's safe passage to the Underworld, to Hades, for no one else shall.

Besides, Draco shall chuckle outwardly as he walks through the woods on some Marquise's land, because even as I pray, he knows I'll come back to the Dragon.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"Of all the animals in the entire world, there are but two so deeply entrenched in magic and mystery that the very utterance of their names spark the instant ember of witches and demons in the mind. The ethereal visage of the cat and snake, two distinctly different creatures allied in enigma, elegance, intelligence and immersed in myth. They are beings whom have been praised and disgraced, worshipped and vilified all around the world in all cultures. Their attributes and flaws are vast and chronicled."

---DMHP---DMHP---

I watched as he walked into the rundown shack, following the cooing and simpering female in front of him. She smiled up at him, thinking she was worth his time, worth his night, but she'll never be, not someone like her.

The night was getting colder, I could see my breath with each exhale and I pulled my coat closer around my body, watching and waiting in the bushes as I watched them walk. They were headed inside, and as soon as they were inside he would be the perfect statue of a stoic god and the same old play would begin.

I got out from my hiding place and neared the door to make sure nothing went wrong - not that it ever did - and then took out a cigar as I leaned against the decayed wall, this too, was part of the same old scene.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"The snake and his cleverness, his fangs, his hypnotic dance, and with his honeyed words that sweeten his venom as he ensnares his next victim onto his dinner plate."

He looked up at the other with large eyes and grinned.

"Doesn't this sound hilarious Draco?"

Draco frowned as he looked over his shoulder again.

"Shh Harry! We can't be seen here or we'll get in trouble! Just keep reading!"

---DMHP---DMHP---

We were in the forest of a Marquise's land. The job was simple enough, the Marquise wanted the maid gone because the Marquis couldn't keep his dick to himself. I let out a ring of smoke from my cigar, taking in the heat that pooled through and past my lips. The Marquise requested strangulation, which was unusual, since the client rarely cared about how it was done just so long as it was.

I sneered around the cigar's length; we shouldn't even be doing a job like this. We were too good for it… he was too good for it. But he took the job, and thus, for a week, he flirted and gained the attention of the redheaded bint.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"The cat with her independence, her eyes, her nimble feet, her knowledge, and her soft alluring purrs as her claws and fangs tighten into her prey's throat."

Draco stopped Harry from continuing and pulled him back from the table and into the shadows of the musty library as one of the monks entered. They remained perfectly still, trying not to even breathe.

"Where are those boys?" they heard the monk mutter.

Harry bit his lip and leaned in closer to Draco, the book gripped to his chest.

Draco wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, trying to bring both of them closer into the shadows because they couldn't let the monk find them in the forbidden library.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I knew how it went as it usually goes the same when strangulation is requested. She would try to kiss him, they always try to kiss him, but he would put a finger to her lips before taking her hand and leading her to sit on the floor. She would follow, they always follow, and then he would run his hands through her hair. She'll say something stupid, they always say something stupid, and she'll say something moronic like his hands being cold.

And that's when the drama shall really commence.

He'll smile; it's the smile that a normal animal would run from… but humans' aren't normal. He'll smile and then trail his hands from her hair to her throat. He won't say anything, not yet. And then… and then he'll lean over her and squeeze.

She'll struggle; she wouldn't be human if she didn't struggle. She'll cry too, and that's when he'll talk, that's when he'll soothe her.

---DMHP---DMHP---

The monk left and both boys exhaled in relief. Draco suddenly shivered as Harry's breath ran across his ear. He couldn't turn his head and so he was stuck as Harry just kept whispering the words into him, the meaning engraving itself onto his mind for all of his existence.

"So, it is with the greatest and utmost care of Mother Nature to see that the two beings' cannot tolerate each other and that they are unable and wholly unwilling to procreate with one another. For were these two beings - as magical and dangerous as they are - were to have a child, that child would be, and in fact could be, nothing less than the nexus of all magic in the universe."

---DMHP---DMHP---

She'll get a word out, they somehow always get a word out, sometimes it's a question, sometimes it's a plea, sometimes it's just a word. And he'll answer, not because he feels obligated or guilty, but he'll answer and soothe her.

And then… then it's all over. He'll lay the coins on her eyes for Charon so she can get across the river Styx*.

I tapped the ashes off the cigar and stepped inside.

He could smell me, of course, he could smell a flea's breath a kilometer away if he so chose. He threw a dagger at me; I chuckled and gazed at my pinned hair logged beneath the poisoned tip.

"You missed…"

He sighs and stands with the grace of a jungle cat, sinewy muscle sliding under skin. He locks eyes with me, his fiery emeralds gaze into my steel. He has a wall, a mask, every type of dam possible to stop people from seeing into his soul-binding gaze. But not me… never me…

"I never miss, Draco," he whispers because sometimes I think he doesn't know how to talk above that level.

He walks past me and I grab his wrist, if only for a second but he doesn't comment, it doesn't register, because he's going cold again.

I gazed back down at the corpse, her red hair fanned around her head, her corset and petticoats straightened. But she never stood a chance. She looked to be sleeping if it weren't for the gold coins upon her eyes. No one ever stands a chance and I sneer, the Angel of Death struck with perfect untraceable accuracy once again, not even red marks around her throat from the specified killing.

I spin on my heel; it wasn't worth the time to gaze upon his victims, not when it was such a low caliber hit. I stopped and then hissed as the wind hit my cheek. I lifted the hand not holding the cigar to my face. My eyes narrow and I gaze upon the sight of my own blood, gleaming, darkening, and eternally red. I hear my tongue click and then I can feel myself smiling.

"Damn, he's still in the lead."

I walked out of the hovel and handed him my cigar so he could start the fire and set the damned hut aflame. All traces destroyed, all evidence ruined. I walked away, my boots crunching in the snow; I left the Angel to pray undisturbed.

Besides, I chuckled outwardly, as I walked through the woods on the Marquise's land, the Angel always came back to me. He had too because the Angel of Death belonged to me…

---DMHP---DMHP---

I didn't bother looking up from my book as I heard the Angel enter the room. Oh, it wasn't an obvious sound like a normal human might give off like a shuffle of the foot or an intake of breath. No, what gave him away - and something that he doesn't even know he does and something only I can hear - was the beating of his heart.

He walks quickly across the crimson rug and kneels before my armchair. He closes his eyes and rests his head on my thigh. I put my book down on the side-table closer to the hearth with its blazing fire. His gloved hands run up my legs and wrap around my waist. I smile as he gives himself up entirely to me, prostrating himself in the utter form of submission.

"My Harry," I cooed, "come closer."

He nods his head once against my thigh and stands smoothly before resituating himself on my lap. He straddles my legs and leans his head on my shoulder. I chuckle at his display of childishness.

"I'm--"

"Shh, I know" and I always cut him off because I always know what he is going to say in these situations.

The Angel of Death, my Harry, is always cold. The doctors say it's because of his blood, I know it is because of his curse. He does not love me; he'll never love me because he hates me with every fiber of his being, every seam, every muscle, every tendon, and every organ, filled to the brim with hatred for my person just as I do so hate his.

"Draco…"

I kiss his forehead and smile into his hair as I make quick work of his black pants and grip his flaccid length.

He hates me because he needs me, because I can always provide a constant warmth, warmth that no fire can procure, no blanket, no hot meal. I set his blood aflame and get it to move through him; l am unlike the heat of his victims, I do not turn cold, my heat does not dissipate. But I hate that I have to give it and I hate him more because our curse makes me the only one able to provide the everlasting heat. It is not just the heat and passion of sex, it is my heat, my life.

He whimpers, pawing at my shirt and I award him with slow movements of my hand against his growing erection.

"Tell me you want this," I hiss into his ear before biting at the sensitive lobe.

He pants and bucks into my hands.

"Yessss…"

I move my bites away from his ear and along his jaw. The marks are red against his pale skin.

There is no tenderness in this. He does not come to me for love or kindness because he hates both emotions because we knew neither when we were growing up. I divest him of the rest of his clothes, and he of mine. He sits naked and panting and needing and I have not stopped my slow torture along his cock.

He is groaning as he clings to me, his gloved hands gripping my shoulders tightly.

I bite at his lips, drawing blood and a moan from them.

"Take off your gloves."

He shudders as my command runs through him. My commands he must always follow and it is my commands he hates.

He hesitates, only for a second, but I see it, and I squeeze his shaft hard. He whimpers and quickly pulls the black leather gloves off.

"Throw them into the fire."

He bites his lips and I growl before I shove him off me and onto the floor, I follow him before his bearings could be gained and quickly pin him to the rug, uncaring if he is in any pain from the fall.

He likes those gloves; I made them for him for his tenth birthday. I grab the gloves out of his hands and throw them across the room, away from the fire.

I claw my nails down his chest and he hisses and I sneer at the seams of blood that follow my sharp claws which have lengthened for the occasion. I grab his throat and lean over him, sneering still to fuel his hate. He thrashes beneath me, moaning, panting, and needing. And my body sucks in the cold, needing it, as he demands my warmth, my heat.

"My little Angel, who do you need?"

"You," he gasps out.

My sneer transforms then, into a smile, because it hurts me what I must now do. He does not want tenderness or love, he wants hate and fear and death. He does not know how to deal with kinder emotions… not anymore.

I remove my hands from his throat and while I fist his length and he is distracted with the heat that pools there, I reach into the inside pocket of my discarded waistcoat. I pull out a dagger; it's a relatively small dagger, the blade no bigger than a woman's hand in length, but it is beautiful. The hilt is silver, and shaped like a snake coiled around a cat. Both creatures have precious gems for eyes. The snake is poised to strike at the cat's throat and the cat already has a claw near the snake's head.

It is my most cherished item, given to me by the Angel himself.

I take the cold dagger and sneer down at him; it is cold like his body, like the cold I thieve from him as he takes my easily given fire. I continue to stroke him, yanking the base of his length to deter him from completion ever time. I wave the dagger in front of his lust filled orbs and I see hate fill those wonderfully expressive, cryptic gems. He thrashes harder underneath me, bucking his hips into my naked pelvis.

I cannot shiver in pleasure, to shiver would show weakness in front of him, and if he sees any weaknesses, he will turn cold and feed upon it and I will become his next victim whether he wants me to be or not, it is within both our natures.

I sneer instead, as I am not allowed to shiver, and run the flat-side of the blade along his chest. He, however, shivers, I allow him to show such a weakness, such pleasure, because he knows I crave to see him react, to see him pant and moan and need me. He does not deny me that craving or his cold because I do not deny him his heat.

The Angel's legs wrap around my waist, he is warm and when he is warm, he loves me as well as hates me.

I graze the blade up to his neck and kiss him before I flick my wrist and start to carve into his skin. He cries and whimpers and pants as I dig deeper into his skin with each centimeter the blade moves, but he does not thrash. Oh no, not my Angel, he lies perfectly still as the dagger works it way from the base of his throat to the top of his navel. There is no real design but as the blood spills between our bodies I grow harder, hungrier, and the pattern becomes fiercer, sharper.

I bite his lips again, his blood pooling into my mouth as well as his own.

"Need you," he moans.

I sneer and grip his throat, bringing the dagger out of his stomach and close to his eye.

"How do you need me?" my voice is a hiss, something that will forever drive him wild.

The blood on the dagger starts to drop onto his cheek and I lick it away. I want to bite off the skin where the blood drops; I want to be a ravenous wild predator and tear off his skin, I want to rip out his heart and feast upon it as if it has been my only meal in years. I want to tear him limb from limb and bathe in his cold blood that only I can warm, stealing his cold for my own body! I grip his throat harder and I know the gleam has entered my eyes. I have not lost myself, I have not lost control! I have become what I hate to be, what I'm meant to be, what he is able to drive me to be!

"Need you… in me!" he wheezes.

I snarl, I have become the beast; I have become the fire breathing Dragon.

I do not prepare him; to prepare him is a kindness and a kindness is something neither of us wants nor need.

I ram into him. He arches into me and I bite at the largest bloody seam along his chest. He claws at my back and I scrape my nails down his sides, there will be blood, so much blood, so much beautiful, delicious dark blood!

Over and over I slam into him, bang, bang, slap! Blood slicks his entrance and removes the oppressive friction.

"Scream it!"

I grip his throat again, the dagger lies near his head, forgotten, but in our frenzy we know it's still there.

"I belong to you Draco!" he yells and I slam into him again and again and again, bang, slap, slap, bang. Harder and harder, more and more blood! There must be more blood!

My hand claws into his hip moves and yanks at his cock, harder and harder, faster and faster!

"Do you love me?" I hiss as I bite his ear, drawing more and more blood for the pool around us because there must be more! Always more!

"Never…"

I yell as I slap him across the face, it is not what I want to hear, not what he wants to say. And we hate each other for this dependence.

"The truth!"

I slam harder and harder into him, my nails dig into his chin as I force him to look me in the eyes.

He smiles then, the smile that would make any normal animal run away because it is the smile of a predator, but to me, it his smile of undying, eternal devotion and love.

"Always," he whispers before kissing me as he reaches for the dagger.

I smile into the heated kiss because I know what happens next, because it always happens although not always in the same place. He picks up the dagger and rams the blade into my shoulder - this time - bringing both of us to climax.

I yell in both pain and pleasure and he follows behind me as I continue to tighten my grip around his throat.

And together we lay in darkness, in the abyss of orgasm and pain, and glorious heated and cooled blood, intertwined.

I woke to warmth and softness. I knew by the scent of the sandalwood before opening my eyes that we were in our bedroom. The cold body of the Angel's was wrapped and intertwined with mine. I smiled as I ran a hand through his long silken black tresses.

"You're awake," he whispers against my shoulder.

"As are you," I trailed my hand down to his chin and lifted his head.

"Does it hurt?" he asks as he strokes my bandaged arm.

"Did you miss?"

He recounts the evening in his head and the blow, I know the answer.

"No."

"Then it doesn't hurt."

He sits up and leans over me, kissing me chastely before stretching, he is not bandaged because he is no longer wounded; only light scratches (which those too will heal faster than mine) are left behind.

"Nessa and Charles had a fit last night."

I chuckle as I pull him back down for another kiss by his hair.

"I imagine they would, we just replaced that rug after all."

It was the second rug that week; Harry liked to see how fast we could get rid of it. Nessa and Charles, our most loyal servants and when we were young, our protectors, didn't approve of how the Angel and I expressed our relationship though they understood we could prove it no other way.

"I didn't like the rug," he mumbles as he breaks from the kiss.

"Oh?"

"It wasn't red enough," he idly runs his fingers along my bandages, "It wasn't your red."

I sit up completely the black silk sheets of our bed falls down to my knees. I am careful of my shoulder, but as any other time he struck without hitting a bone or an organ so; I wasn't in any real danger as long as the wrappings and medicines were reapplied when they needed to be; besides it would only be another day or two before it completely healed.

"Get up."

He purrs and remains contentedly pooled in my lap. The Angel is regaining warmth and I am gaining cold and in those rare moments where it is just us, no mission, no outside, no ownership, no curse, we can be a little bit like we once were when we were children.

"No, my Dragon's lap is so warm and squishy."

I growl as I smack him upside the head.

"I am not getting fat!"

He laughs, and just wraps his arms around my waist in a steel grip, nuzzling my navel with his cheek.

"Of course not my Dragon, but you are just so warm!"

I smile as he purrs louder and I run my hands down the path between his shoulder blades. He doesn't tense, because he knows it is my touch.

"What do you want for breakfast?" I ask idly, not really caring because I know Mia will make anything for us in a heartbeat.

"I want Dragon with a side of toast."

I chuckle and shake my head.

"But you had Dragon for dinner, too much of it and you'll get sick of it."

"Sick of Dragon? Never," he whispers.

It is at this time that there is a knock on the door because there is always a knock on the door when Harry and I forget the outside world, to remind us that we are not allowed to forget, to forget the outside would mean we would forget our curse and our hatred.

We both let out a sigh and he unwound himself from my heat and I from his cold. I watched him stretch like a cat, purring even, and I just chuckled before I got up out of the bed.

Uncaring of my state of undress I opened my door. I raised a questioning brow at Nessa.

She rolled her eyes, not even bothered by my nudity before she took her hands off her hips and crossed them over her ample chest.

"A messenger is here My Lord, and he would love to meet your wife."

I heard Harry snort in disgust behind me.

"Very well Nessa, tell our guest that my wife and I shall be down soon enough and please express we find it terribly rude to intrude on our home before we've even had breakfast."

She nodded.

"Yes sire."

I closed the door and turned to see Harry already pulling out a light blue dress with silver trim for the Duchess Malfoy.

"You don't have to come Angel; I could lie and say you're not feeling well."

Harry snorted before slipping on the pantaloons and petticoats. I went over to him as he sat in front of the vanity and I wrapped one arm around his waist and another around his shoulders.

"My pretty Angel," I whisper in his ear as I bite harshly at his shoulder.

"Enough Dragon or your wife won't be able to make an appearance in time. Besides, you need to get dressed."

I kissed his temple before helping him with the corset and then removing myself from him taking his blessed cold with me and going over to my own closet to get ready.

I put on dark blue pants and a dark gray shirt before putting a lighter blue waistcoat over it. I put a blue jacket with gray trim over the waistcoat. I was always careful of my shoulder and it was stiff as I tied my blonde hair back with a simple leather tie.

I strapped my boot dagger around my shin on both legs before putting on my black boots. I placed another dagger in the inside pocket of the jacket and my favorite dagger just in reach under my waistcoat. My arsenal of poisoned needles sat snuggly near my right wrist while my lock-picks rested around my other arm.

I turned to look at Harry and smiled as I gazed upon the beautiful visage of the woman before me. His black tendrils were pinned to the top of his head by several poisoned needles and lock-picks, beneath his skirts were two pistols loaded and ready. Between his imaginary ample breasts was another dagger well concealed beneath the corset. And, most likely, four (though sometimes he would put five) more daggers sat sheathed under his sleeves.

He put on light makeup, a little powder on his cheeks to hide the already fading bruise from where I had slapped him.

"You look lovely my dear."

"Thank you My Lord," a soft voice neither male nor female and yet both replied. "Do you like my dress?" my Harry asked as he picked up his fan from the vanity.

"Very pretty," I kissed his temple as I opened the door and gestured for him to leave first.

We walked down the manor arm in arm, passing the portraits and artifacts that we have acquired over the years. What servants we passed bowed or curtsied, and upon seeing Harry, some of them sighed in awe for the "Duchess Malfoy".

I leaned in close to him.

"I think you have more admirers when you are a woman," I whispered in his ear.

He looked up at me and smiled, running his fan along my jaw (1).

"That's because they think you truly have a wife and that when I am a man, I am just a good friend that visits," he whispered right back.

We passed two of the newer maids talking furiously together.

"Isn't it romantic Annie? The Duke and Duchess are so in love!" they giggled and I gave them a slight smile while Harry pretended to blush and hide behind his now open fan.

We walked down the main staircase and were greeted by Charles.

"My Lord, My Lady, the guest is in the drawing room."

"Very well Charles, and Charles," I called after him as he started to leave, "have Mia prepare us some breakfast after our guest leaves."

"Of course my Lord and what shall I have her prepare?"

The Angel and I shared a glance and I was almost tempted to reply Dragon with a side of toast, but that was conversation meant for our world, separate from the outside.

"Something light."

Charles bowed and we headed to the drawing room. Jacob, one of the slightly older servants, opened the doors.

I gazed upon our visitor and instantly knew it was a young Lord in disguise, certainly not a Duke, perhaps a newly titled Baron, but the boy was either a good enough actor to fool even Nessa and Charles or a complete and utter fool that our two head of staff didn't think him smart enough to be a noble.

I motioned for the doors to close behind us and then moved Harry to sit upon the small couch and once he was comfortable and all of his skirts straightened, I sat down after him.

"Duke, Duchess, please allow me to--"

"You requested to see my wife, a rather impertinent demand for a mere messenger," I cut in, to request for 'my wife's presence' business needed to be done and I was in no mood for a horrible dance with this boy for I knew he couldn't follow the steps in the slightest.

I kept my mask in place as I watched him bristle at being called a messenger.

"It was of the greatest import--"

"My husband and I are very busy with all of our charity work boy," Harry whispered from behind his fan (2).

Harry and I were playing the game, the boy was not, the messenger act only worked for so long and the both of us were already bored.

"Will you please let me finish!"

"And why should we? Who are you to demand such a thing? You, a mere servant?"

The young Baron stood, huffing.

"I am NOT a mere servant! I am Baron Finnigan!"

I raised a brow in question at him and sneered, so it was Baron Seamus Finnigan, was it?

A horrible realization came across the boy's face and he looked around him quickly. It was rather comical really, in a pathetic sort of way. I glanced at Harry and saw him get increasingly bored and a bored Angel was never a good thing for anyone's life or health.

"Quiet," I hissed.

Finnigan gulped as he locked eyes with me.

"Sit."

He instantly sat down.

Harry 'hmmed' and tapped his temple with his fan (3). In reply, I picked off an imaginary piece of lint off my jacket, telling him that I thought the boy to be too stupid to be luring us into a trap, but better to keep on the safe side.

"Now Lord Finnigan, as you seem to lack the finer subtleties of the dance, just tell me why you requested our… expertise," and in truth, the young baron truly didn't know the intricacies of the dance he was too young and too newly titled.

We once had a Marquis request our services, a Lord Snape; he had been an excellent dancer. Every word we had spoken between the three of us needed to be turned over on all sides for a different and hidden meaning. The kill had been a challenge as well, he wanted twenty-six barbaric thieves who had raped and harassed his five children killed in some of the most painful ways. Some had been poisoned, others dismembered, we even let one or two get caught by the authorities so they could be hung. Those two were the first in fact, a warning to the others.

It had taken us two weeks for all twenty-six thieves, the leader had been especially tricky but we caught him and even allowed the Marquis to join in. It was rather spectacular for the Marquis was a genius with poisons and herbs. He was able to keep the thief completely conscious while a poison ate away at his skin.

Harry's foot gently nudged my own, bringing me back to the pathetic excuse of a Baron at hand.

"I-I want to throw a-a-a… charity…"

I glanced back at Harry and gestured for him to get us some tea. He nodded and stood, gliding over to the tea set near the bay window.

"Is that so? And what is this charity for?"

Finnigan glanced at Harry.

"Perhaps this isn't conversation for a gentle woman's--"

"Nonsense," it was best to dissuade that they held any power, besides, I could tell his stupidity was grating on the Angel, "you requested to see my wife as well as I, well we are here. Besides, I do not throw a single charity without my wife."

"It's a charity--" he started again.

"So you have said," Harry replied softly as he handed me a cup of tea before sitting down with his own.

"It's for a bastard child…"

My attention caught at this.

"Oh? Bastard children are usually swept under the rug, Baron Finnigan, their mothers with them. How do you know this child is not already dead?"

"Because this bastard child has been staying with me… a ward of my manor," Finnigan fidgeted, he had nothing to occupy his hands.

"How kind of you my Lord," Harry whispered after he sipped his tea.

"Yes well… my wife… she had a baby…"

"A boy I presume?"

He looked at me.

"Yes."

"Congratulations Lord Finnigan," Harry continued.

"Yes well, with my son around… my ward needs to leave…"

"I'm curious my Lord," I began after taking a swallow of my tea, "why did your ward remain in your house to begin with?"

"Well… my son is only a year old and my ward is seven…"

Harry and I didn't need to share a knowing glance. The young baron had committed a classic biblical story, he was Abraham, his wife was Sara and the heir was Isaac. Only this time, Ishmael would not be allowed to live.

"Very well, would you like this charity done any certain way?"

"He's just a child!"

"You wanted the charity did you not?"

Finnigan bit his lip and both Harry and I were disgusted by the display of weakness.

"Make it quick then, I want it quick and… painless…"

"And the mother?"

"Dead," he whispered.

I raised a brow at that.

"Childbirth, she died in childbirth, I suppose it was for the best really…"

"If you say so my Lord…"

"Of course," Harry whispered, pretending to blush, "we won't do this charity without certain help you know."

Finnigan began to panic; he started sweating and fidgeting more.

"H-H-Help?"

"Yes, it does cost to put on these charity events you know, the base price for putting on a charity event is always two-thousand, and from there it shall increase or remain the same…"

He licked his lips and started tapping his thighs. I worry about these new aristocrats, these Lords and Ladies who get their titles by just having enough cash. Finnigan couldn't be much younger than Harry or I, in fact, no more than ten years our junior… less probably.

"How much-What would be the best price?"

"It always depends my Lord, you want it quick so that is in your favor, you want it painless, and that is in your favor too. But how many do you want to know about the charity?" the Angel always decided whether or not to take the job, I always decided the price but I stayed silent as Harry continued to explain how the price for the kill might change.

"No-No one!"

"Clean as well, the boy's mother is dead and as your ward has no other family, there shall be no one seeking retribution for having a miserable time, correct?"

"Yes, um, I'm--"

"No need to go into particulars Lord Finnigan, we're just trying to figure out how much you need to put in for this charity!" my Harry giggled, fanning himself and signaling to me exactly what he thought of Finnigan (4). "To continue though, how exactly does your young ward live with you?"

"Um, he has a Governess, but she's been sick lately, beyond her no one knows about him, not really. The servants think he's a nephew staying with me until my brother and his wife return from their voyage for their new trading route and my wife knows but she hates him."

"Does this Governess know about the charity?"

"No, no one knows, not my wife and… no one… and I don't want it to be a surprise…"

Harry turned his head towards the window and fanned himself again (5) business was done and the price to my decision.

"Very well," I started, taking Harry's tea and mine back over to the server, "your part in the charity shall be 2460 in gold. You will pay all of it before the charity or the occasion shall not commence, at any point in time you decide not to proceed with the event you shall pay a quarter of it on top of your earlier investment." I came back and sat down next to him, smiling. "And one more thing Baron Seamus Finnigan, if you or anyone else betrays us or you do not pay or slight us in any manner, if you allow our names to slip to certain friends in law enforcement perhaps. Know this, you cannot and will never be able to redden both of our hands and one of us or the other will hold a charity, free of charge in your honor and I promise you it won't be a quick occasion. Do we understand each other?"

Seamus gulped.

"P-P-Perfectly Duke Malfoy!" he squeaked.

I smiled and stood, offering my arm to Harry.

"Wonderful, my wife shall contact you sometime soon about the event's date while my servants show you out."

I opened the door and looked back over my shoulder.

"And boy, tell your Master and Mistress that no matter how inspired they are by our work, that we shall not receive them in our home, my wife and I are far to busy to entertain a young Lord and Lady's whim."

Finnegan looked confused for a moment, before recollection came upon him. He got up and bowed.

"I'm very sorry to hear that you will not meet my Master's, Duke Malfoy, but I thank you for your time."

I nodded and gestured to Jacob.

"See to it that he is shown out promptly."

We walked back towards our room, and I caught Charles by the elbow.

"Charles, have Nessa bring our breakfast up to our rooms, we shall be dining there this morning."

He nodded.

"Of course my Lord," he whispered before heading off.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I chuckled as I stroked his cock through the skirts and nipped his earring-adorned ear.

"It will never work," he sighed as he leaned back into me, his gloved hands messaging my thighs.

We stared at ourselves in his vanity mirror, or more precisely, we stared at him in the mirror.

"And why not?" I purred as I ran my hand up his corset to grip his chin, our eyes locked through the mirror. "The family is dumb enough."

"My face is too recognizable as the Duchess Malfoy; they'll never buy the Governess sham. And if we use the identical twins explanation people are going to wonder why my "sister" is a mere governess."

He turned his head and caught my lips, his body starting to warm.

"They won't recognize you, perhaps the Baron but not the family," I whispered as I wrapped my hand around his throat. His breath hitched and he gripped my hair tightly, biting my lips and making them bleed.

"What do you mean?"

"You never actually appear at the charities as the Duchess Malfoy, oh, you're there; I don't think you've missed a single one. But do you really think people remember the face of the servant who is just refilling their wine goblet?"

Harry pulled away and sneered.

"And that Baron is so afraid of being caught he won't even comment on it, let alone ask if I might be the Duchess Malfoy."

I chuckled as I caught his lips again and leaned him over the vanity, my blood pooling into his mouth.

"Yes… how lucky for you," I hissed as I started removing the weapons under his skirts.

He shivered as the cool fabric of the dress pressed against his heating skin.

"No," he whispered.

I sneered and yanked him forward by his hair.

"You don't get a choice," I hissed before biting his ear.

He groaned and arched up into me.

"More," he pleaded.

And more I gave him.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Nessa and Charles circled Harry as he stood before them in an extremely high-collared autumn red dress with brown trim.

"Your posture is impeccable, that's good, they'll expect that of a Governess. Your bun needs to be tighter, no ornament beyond what is necessary to keep it there and in place," Nessa commented. "This means you're going to have to be more decisive of the needles and lock picks."

Charles turned to me.

"My Lord is there anyway to get him glasses?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Charles nodded before handing Harry a simple plain black fan.

"You'll only have one fan as a Governess, don't lose it sire."

Nessa took a handkerchief and wiped at Harry's cheeks.

"Less makeup sire, nothing but lipstick, and make sure it's always a very dark red."

"When you walk, either have your hands clasped in front of you or behind your back, never at you sides and never near your face," Charles instructed as he demonstrated a little.

"And while you're walking, keep your eye-level straight ahead, and when the Baron or Baroness walks past you, nod your head but do not curtsey, you are a Governess, not a servant, you're educating their children."

I continued to watch in my naked and newly bloodied (though already healing) state from the bed as Nessa and Charles warned and cautioned Harry about certain traps the Baroness might lay since she knew of the bastard son and would try to get Harry to leave.

We had decided to kill the child with a poison, it would be painless when it took full affect but until it did, it would act upon the boy's system and show every sign of a very bad cold. We instructed Finnigan to throw a small ball in honor of his heir's and wife's good health, the Duke and Duchess Malfoy were to be invited, sadly, only the Duke would attend, and while the signs of the poison would just be halfway through, the bastard child was to come as well, although he would eventually be forced to leave as it got worse.

We had also coordinated a small charity ball in their home since they helped "donate" so much to the cause. By this time, the poison would be fully affective and sadly, the bastard would not be able to attend. As the Duke, I would request to dance with the oh-so-proper Governess since I enjoy her dry wit, and while she was away, the child would die painlessly.

And what was truly great about the plan, as Nessa had pointed out once I and the Angel had told her and Charles, even if the original Governess returned (which was unlikely), I could easily change my request to her.

I smiled, as Harry absorbed all the information given to him. And again, I was struck by how much a part of our lives Nessa and Charles were and what would have happened if they hadn't found us.

---DMHP---DMHP---

They shivered and shook in the freezing rain, tears running down their eyes as they clung to each other. It was okay to cry when was only just them, even if they were both boys. It was okay because they both understood each other completely. But what was happening to them?

Harry let out another sob and Draco clung to him tighter.

Suddenly the rain stopped falling on them and Draco and Harry looked up into the kind amber and green eyes of a young man and woman.

Draco scrambled backwards, still clinging to Harry just as tightly as Harry clung to him.

The woman smiled and knelt down as the man continued to hold the small umbrella.

"Hello," was all she said, her voice like the soft strum of a harp.

Neither boy said anything, both still crying and holding each other. Draco opened his mouth to speak, but when he tried his voice was still too raw.

"Do you boys know who I am?" she asked gently.

Harry shook his head.

"I'm Nessa, and that's Charles, we know all about you boys."

"H-H-How?" his voice was rough, almost as raw as Draco's, but Harry forced the word out.

"Let's get you boys warmed up and I'll tell you all about Charles and me."

She opened up her arms and without any hesitation took both Harry and Draco into them, she was so strong, and her arms were so warm.

Both Draco and Harry had fallen asleep in her hold, still clinging to each other as Nessa's lullaby soothed them to sleep. They were both big boys yet kind, harp Nessa could carry them both just fine as silent Charles kept the rain off of them.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I smiled as I placed the fake thin-rimmed half-square glasses atop Harry's nose and then stole a kiss from those darkly painted lips. My Angel smiled and ran a hand through my hair before wiping the paint off my lips.

"Leave it," I breathed softly as I nipped gently at the pads of his fingers.

"I bet you would make a beautifully woman," he whispered.

I chuckled and ran my hand up the side of the corset.

"Perhaps, but I'd pale in comparison to you my exotic wife."

Harry smiled as his fingers caressed my chin before he drew me in for another kiss.

I gazed into his eyes, so filled with adoration, love, and hatred towards me and smiled softly, my eyes probably reflecting the same.

We weren't quite in our own world, not completely, but the ride in the carriage was close and so the hatred lingered just at the edges.

"I'll be over often enough," I whispered, reassuring him, "saying that I must work with the Baron on the charity. Will you see me?" even though I had asked, I knew the answer, he would have too, he would be so cold if he didn't, his body would be close to nonfunctioning if he didn't visit me, to gain warmth.

The child's death was two weeks away and without heat in between that time, my Angel would die.

"Yes," he breathed before kissing me again.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I watched as the Dragon departed in the carriage, my trunk and a servant who didn't know me as the Duchess Malfoy or the Duke Malfoy's closest friend stood just a bit behind me.

I watched with both longing and gratefulness as my husband and keeper rode away in the carriage but I did not linger on the useless emotions before I turned to the large wooden doors and had the servant knock.

It opened and the always formal "How may I help you" was my greeting.

"I am Miss Potter, the Baron sent for me and my specialties concerning education and etiquette."

When we were in our own world, the Dragon would often comment bemusedly on how I have the amazing ability to be any gender I chose, with or without all proper genitalia. I never reply to that but he could easily do it as well, either as a beautiful woman or as a commanding man.

The servant nodded and sent a runner to bring forth the Baron and I had Nessa's sweet harp-like voice reminding me that I was to act strict and demanding and highly concerned in proper etiquette.

"Well you fool!" my voice became a slight shriek, "are you going to invite me in or be extremely rude and leave me to stand on the doorstep like some beggar?"

The servant acted accordingly to being reminded of what my profession probably pertained too, what he was doing, and what type of person I was.

I was lead to a drawing room; the manor that Finnigan resided in was homey though small. I sat down, the dress carefully folded beneath me.

Not much later did Finnigan come in, stopping dead in his tracks at the sight of me.

I stood and gave a slight bow of my head.

"Baron Finnigan, a pleasure to meet you again."

"Duc-"

My eyes narrowed just the slightest as I quickly cut him off.

"Yes, yes, Miss Potter so very honored you remember me and I'm sure you're surprised by my promptness to your letter."

I locked eyes with him, although, I suspected him too stupid to make the complete connection.

He made enough of one though and suddenly nodded, forcing a smile.

"Of course, Miss Potter, a pleasure to meet you again. I'm so glad you are taking the Governess position until Mrs. Weasley is returned to us in better health."

I nodded my head, it would do… for now. I removed the small envelope from my sleeve and handed it to him, its contents pertaining to when the Dragon would come over and the likely date for the child's death.

"A letter, Baron, from my previous employer, as you requested. Now," I turned to one of the servants and purposefully made my voice sharper, "take me to the child."

---DMHP---DMHP---

I gazed upon the child, unnoticed, as he played with a small set of hand-painted soldiers and dragons. He was a pleasant enough looking wretch, though I never cared for children, bastards or otherwise. His playroom was like any child of privilege, bright, airy, and filled to the brim with useless toys. He possessed very few features of the Baron Finnigan, though some of the traits were there, his eyes, his bone structure. I could now easily see how the servants readily accepted the child to be a mere nephew and nothing more.

While the bastard did have a few traits similar to his fathers, those traits were common to the Finnigan line as my research into the family ancestry had told me. I was roomed only next door, the entire south wing was the bastard child's, Evan I learned his name to be, but I needed to stick close to make sure the poison would do it's job and what needed to be done in case he was one the few whose antibodies could actually fight the poison.

Evan turned his head, his sandy hair swaying a bit at his shoulders but his soft blue eyes locking onto me and widening just a fraction.

We were alone so I was not worried that the unfooled eyes of a child would ruin me.

"You're not a woman," he stated simply, curiosity edging his voice.

I raised a brow at that, neither confirming nor denying.

"I am your new Governess; you will refer to me as Miss Potter or Ma'am. I have been informed of your abysmal education that you received from your currently unwell Governess, a Mrs. Hermione Weasley; I will not be so lax."

The child looked me up and down again, accepting that I wasn't a woman with the innocence and unusual wisdom that a child customarily possesses.

"I don't think you're a man either though."

Oh that was curious, children usually can tell I am a man instantly.

"You will rise earlier, eat healthier, and I shall be far stricter with your manners."

Evan tilted his head, locks of his sandy hair falling into his eyes.

"There are no servants here sir."

I gave him a small smile; while I didn't care for children I always enjoyed intelligence.

"Alright Evan, what do you know?"

"You aren't a woman."

"Obvious was it?"

He shook his head, still smiling.

"No, you just don't sway your hips when you walk, Lady Finnigan and even Mrs. Weasley do it, even the servants, but you don't."

I nodded my head, it was a slight mishap and one I wouldn't repeat.

"And are you aware what I'm going to do to you Evan?"

He smiled a sweet blindingly innocent and trusting smile; I took in a deep breath to push down the pull in my chest as I felt all of his hope in the smile.

"You're going to kill me sir, now that Christian is here."

I smiled as I stepped forward, walking around the toys and the books. I ran my gloved hands through his hair, the black cloth stark against the light tendrils.

"When it happens it will be quick and painless."

"Mrs. Hermione will be sad."

I patted his cheek.

"She'll be the only one."

He laughed a little, going back to playing with the knights and dragon.

"You are a perceptive little boy aren't you Evan."

"Of course I am; I had Mrs. Hermione as a Governess."

He gave me another blindingly sweet smile and I sighed before walking back towards the door.

"You are taking this well."

"I have to; I'm just a bastard child. Besides, I expected you years ago. I've lived this long… It could have been worse."

"You would have been alive."

"Mmm, but I would have hated it."

I walked out of the room leaving him to his toys and headed towards the room that would be mine for a short time.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I was cold; I wrapped myself up in as many blankets and quilts as I could. I couldn't shiver, I couldn't move. I wished for my Dragon, for his heat, his blazing touch, his smoldering eyes. I knew he yearned for me as well, if he got too hot, he would die just as cold death would grip me without him.

I think I fell asleep, I think I dreamed.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Harry and Draco gazed up at Charles and Nessa both had warm smiles on their lips. Draco sat slightly in front of Harry and they both held steaming cups of hot chocolate in their hands.

"It's a good thing we found you two before any of the survivors," she laughed.

Harry blinked.

"But… there were no survivors, the Dragon and I killed them all…"

Nessa and Charles suddenly stopped smiling, their mouths slightly agape.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"Evan you will stop that disgraceful running this instant!" my voice carried down the hall but I knew he wouldn't stop; it was something I was relying on as my Dragon was visiting today.

He skidded to a halt when he heard my voice and ran right into the chest of my Draco. He was about to fall but Draco caught him and steadied him, smiling slightly. Evan's cheeks were flushed and he was breathing harder, the poison was finally showing affect after I had slipped it into his afternoon tea two days ago.

Draco was studying Evan, seeing him for the first time after bringing me to the Finnigan Manor three days ago.

He looked up and spotted me, his predatory hunger instantly flashing across his eyes. I did not smile nor did Draco as I neared them I bowed my head slightly.

"Thank you sire for catching my unruly ward, I sometimes think him the child of the wind with how much energy he has in him."

Draco smiled.

"The wind, madam? Then I am surprised I caught him."

"Indeed, but then again, perhaps the child is of the gentle south wind instead of one of Aeolos brood**."

Draco patted Evan on the head.

"Perhaps, but he may be so inclined as to be part of the West Wind's pack."

I opened my fan and gave a slight chuckle. The hunger returned to his eyes and the meeting was set (6).

I longed for his heat.

For the rest of the day as Evan and I strolled the manor and went through his lessons, I couldn't completely focus. The cold in my bones would freeze me up and I would just stand in the middle of the hallway or in the garden, gazing at nothing as my body shook and shivered. A noise that reminded me of my Dragon and his fire would snap me out of it, reminding me that I only had to wait a little longer.

Evan, through out the day, kept gazing at me, his eyes slightly narrowed with child curiosity but he said nothing. And he would always say nothing, for there was an understanding between us. He was dying, I was his killer, and I would not mourn him.

When it was time for afternoon tea again, I didn't need to excuse myself from him, he didn't care where I went because he knew (somewhat) of what I was.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I gently closed the door behind me and then groaned as I was slammed against the wall with my lips caught in a fierce kiss.

Sharp nails clawed down my cheeks and I was digging my own nails into my Dragon's neck.

Deliciously sinful heat coursed through my hands and my lips as I kept taking more and more of the inferno from within him.

He hiked up my skirts, throwing my pistols and poisoned daggers to the ground before entering me in a swift, hard, unprepared, luscious thrust. I hissed in ecstasy as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

"Faster!"

---DMHP---DMHP---

Evan gazed up at me as I continued to sew in my chair. We were in the drawing room, light pouring in through the windows. He sniffled and I handed him a handkerchief, he blew his nose and kept it for later use.

I shook my head, the poison was working faster than normal, probably because Evan was a child and not an adult, and while children were faster healers, their bodies were smaller, the blood circulated through the body faster.

I ran a gloved hand through his hair, constantly resisting the need to take his heat.

Draco had left only two days ago; five days had already passed and tomorrow would be the first ball, the celebration for the heir and his mother's health.

The entire staff was aware that Evan was getting sick, something that would make my job easier. Children, no matter how old, often died from illness, if Evan were to die it would be sad, but not uncommon.

He gave a small smile, his crooked teeth not diminishing his sweet smile at all. I felt myself return the gesture, and shook my head slightly before looking out the window again.

"You like those gloves ma'am?"

My head snapped to look at him, my eyes narrowed behind my fake glasses.

"What do you mean Evan?"

He sneezed into the handkerchief, though he still beamed up at me.

"Those black gloves, do you like them, you wear them with everything?"

I stilled my hands from clenching as Evan continued to speak about them. This I would not change, if it became odd, the gloves were a gift from my Dragon, just as my dagger was a gift to him.

"I adore them, Evan, and I would thank you kindly not to speak of them again," my voice was low, treading on masculine, but I allowed it since the boy was well aware I was not a woman.

Evan gulped, fear flickered across his eyes and for a moment, I regretted having scared the bastard child. He had asked a simple question from a child's pure innocence and wasn't aware of what he had unwittingly incurred.

"Evan," I soothed, my voice once more returned to its androgyny, "why don't you go up to your room and get something to play outside with? Perhaps the fresh air will do you some good?"

It wouldn't, he knew it and I knew it, but we had an act to keep up, and the smart child that he was understood he had no choice, his life had been good and now it was over.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Blood. There was blood everywhere. On his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his toes, his legs. Just... everywhere.

A warm bloodied hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped and spun around, claws ready to kill once again. Emerald met steel and he collapsed into the waiting warm arms.

He was getting so cold.

The corpses had given him warmth, beautiful sating warmth that filled him and shot to the marrow of his bones. But now that warmth was going away. It never lasted long, whether it was one body or a hundred, or in this case, two hundred.

But steel eyes - serpent eyes, the knowing cold eyes of a dragon - they and the body they belonged too, were warm. It was that warmth that survived, lasted, filled.

Those warm, bloody arms - bloodier than his - wrapped around him and held him close, a greater protection than any of the walls could provide.

Claw like fingers, so similar to his own, linked their digits together, not shying away, not afraid of the carnage left behind underneath the nails and trapped in the cracks. Those eyes and hands were unflinching because the hands that belonged to those eyes were covered in just as much blood.

A blood covered face leaned in, those steel eyes closed and hot breath ghosted across his cold bruised shoulder.

"We've killed them."

He didn't know who said the words, his lips were numb, maybe it had been him maybe it had been the holder of the steel-gray eyes.

His hands wrapped around the warm body, just as the warm arms had wrapped around his.

He was scared now. Now what were they to do? Everyone was gone, they had killed them all. The cobblestones of the monastery were swathed with the corpses and blood of the slaughter yet the walls stood proud, surrounding them. The walls thought they were protecting the monastery from the world outside, the threat, the danger. How innocent those walls were, because the massacre came from within.

Dead, all of them dead.

Corpses floated in the ponds, were dismembered in the gardens, in the shrines, the libraries.

But the bloodiest copse of all, the one that he and the steel eyes had killed together, the corpse that they had even feasted on the heart and flesh like wild starving beasts, was the cruelest, was the one who cursed them, the one who made them the monsters.

Lying on the altar, destroyed and tattered, was the great sinner and head monk, Voldemort. He had created the beasts. He had brought on his own death by creating it.

His flesh had been vile, his heart tasted as black and charred as it truly was, but they had rejoiced in his death. They had danced around his corpse and had used his bones for toys and toothpicks.

The steel eyes, with their fire, had grabbed his hand when they had danced, just as they were holding his hands now - unflinching, uncaring, devotedly, assuredly.

Steel-gray eyes, the eyes of a dragon - he now realized - looked into his own emerald. He didn't know what the dragon saw, but he knew what the dragon knew.

Bloodied hands touched his face again, and bloodier lips pressed against his forehead.

"I will protect you."

The words were but a soft whisper, his Dragon's throat was still too sore from all his roaring. He smiled and gazed down at their linked hands. Their hands which were so very much the same, so bloodied, so dangerous, so covered, so guilty of countless sins.

He looked up from those hands, hands perhaps he would later hate and revere. He smiled into the steel-gray eyes that would look at him for comfort, for cold, for reassurance.

"I will protect you," he repeated the words back to his Dragon as he pressed his bloodied lips to the Dragon's forehead.

It was an oath, a promise. Through everything, they would remain true to each other.

He gazed back down at their joined hands and gave a gentle squeeze and felt it returned easily.

It was unspoken, they had to leave, they had to get out. Though they need not have, they both started to run, their limbs pushed to the limit.

As if nature agreed with them and wanted to see them to safety, the clouds opened and sheets and sheets of stinging cold rain hid them from sight.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I snapped my fan on Evan's shoulder.

"Behave," I hissed as the maid - Karen - finished buttoning up his jacket.

"But Ma'am!" he whined and I would have none of that, I struck his shoulder again.

"Listen closely to me Evan, the ball will commence with or without you, I assure you, however, that your night will be far more agreeable if you attend as a gentleman."

He sniffled, the poison halfway complete and for a moment I thought how cute he was, his nose a little red, his cheeks a little flushed, and his eyes slightly wide while his small hands kept gripping at the hem of his shirt. I shook my head, disgusted by the mentality that a sick, sniveling child (or any human) could be adorable or anything less than repulsive.

Karen stood, bowing before she left us alone and I glanced around the room before running a gloved hand through his hair.

"Listen to me Evan, your father's son, your half-brother, is having his good health celebrated, and we must show the Baron what a strong boy you are. That you're able to hold your head up high even as you stand so close to death, even as you are thrown aside because you are less than dirt and have been since your birth no matter what finery they dress you in or the education you receive. Because dirt is still dirt."

Evan's hands clenched as my cruel words ran through his ears. I would not soothe him, I would harden him. Death was not a glorious affair for those who were dying, but I would give Evan strength.

He nodded his head and I sneered before giving him a gentle shove with my fan towards the door. The doormen opened it and we entered through the side access, the grand entrance would be reserved for the Baron and the guests of honor.

I looked around, taking in every noble, every aristocrat present. I instantly spotted my Dragon, surrounded by men and women alike as he regaled them with nonsense but they would eat it up and think him so extremely witty and never realize that he never really told a story.

He glanced at me, for the briefest of moments and I sighed in happiness or something like it as the need to strangle him filled me. He knew I was here and he would see that our plan was completed.

Evan looked prim and proper, acted as it as well and a gentle tap of my fan on his shoulder would remind him when he was stepping out of line.

The musicians suddenly came to a halt before taking up once more, the music a heralding as the Baron and his family came down the grand staircase.

The Baroness Finnigan, from the few times I saw her within the manor, was not ugly; she - like her husband - was plain and extra-ordinary. It wouldn't be hard for some of the other nobility to outshine the guests of honor, however rude it might be.

But I think that the Baroness was well aware of her plainness for the dress she wore was extremely luxurious. All the little mirrors and jewels in the rich blue and gold fabric caught the light coming from the chandeliers and glinted. Glitter had been applied to her body and a large sapphire hung around her neck. Makeup brought out what features they could. Her pale blonde hair was done up in curls.

Oh, she was pretty for the night; there was no doubt in my mind about that. But what made her beautiful to me and my Dragon was the beating heart and the heat coursing through her as well as the glow of a mother.

The babe in her arms was silent; it was, in fact, a surprise that the small child was brought at all, even if the ball was in his honor.

Evan sneezed and dabbed his nose with the light blue handkerchief he would be using for the rest of the night but my attention only slid to him briefly before once more gazing around the room.

Finnigan's drivel on how glad he was about everyone being here to honor his wife and son, about how beautiful his wife was, and the baby's health went through my ear and I could, if necessary repeat the entire speech. But I continued to just look around.

Countess Lavender, one of my main sources of information (though Draco teased it was just gossip) was on the arm of another would be suitor. The Earl Zabini, one of our most reliable contacts, was with his Mistress. The faces were many, and most of them known.

As always and what truly never ended my amusement was the sight of people looking for the Duchess Malfoy and knowing that it was yet another party that she did not attend. Oh, the others would politely return their attention to the Baron and Baroness, but quick glances would shy over my Dragon, curious to his empty arm where surely his wife should have been.

I stopped and gazed at my Dragon; openly staring, though I was sure only Evan knew of it. And once again, for the briefest of moments, his steel-gray eyes caught mine, and they shifted to they're serpentine beauty. A shiver ran down my spine as the look of ownership crossed those deadly orbs. But our locked gaze ended as everyone started shifting to allow for the Baron and the Baroness to have the first dance, the child having been taken by a nursemaid.

The music was beautiful - a common classic piece - and the Baron and Baroness swirled around the dance floor before other nobility joined.

My Dragon headed towards me-- though not in an obvious manner. He would glide from group to group, slowly making his way in my direction. But it would have to be me, as the Governess, to call out to him, no matter how undignified it might be. People would be suspicious if the high standing Duke were to start up a conversation with a mere Governess.

Just as he was passing Evan and I (Evan was sneezing again), I called out to him.

"Ah, why if isn't the Duke Wind Catcher."

Draco stopped and turned, smiling.

"Wind teacher," he nodded as he kissed the back of my gloved hands, "a pleasure to see you again." Draco gazed down at Evan and gave a slight smile. "Why, if isn't the young wind himself."

Evan gave a bow, knowing Draco was of a much higher position. And my Dragon took in all detail of the bastard: Evan's frightfully red nose and cheeks, slightly glazed eyes, runny nose, stringy hair, and the air of the doomed.

But despite all this, my Dragon gave a slight inclination of his head.

"Madame Wind teacher, would you care to dance with me?"

I opened up my fan and started to fan myself (7), hiding my blush.

"I would be delighted Duke Wind Catcher."

Draco kissed the back of my hand again before leading me to the dance floor, catching just about every noble and aristocrats' eye.

He gently turned me before we started dancing arm-in-arm; to all observant we were just a little closer than necessary. To my Dragon and me, a chasm lied between the distance forced upon us and a cruel flimsy bridge made of the contact allowed to us linked the sheer-cliff edges.

"You look so beautiful Harry," my Dragon whispered as he spun me.

"I'm so cold Draco."

His hand quickly rested at the small of my back and I felt his inferno leak into me.

"Meet me tonight."

I was gently lifted into the air with his hands resting on my hips while his strong arms lifted me high. Some of the other women were merely lifted a few inches off the ground because the men they danced with were more fragile than they were. He set me down and we continued to waltz with the other dancers.

"When, where?"

"Midnight, garden" he whispered.

And then we switched partners, I would not get to dance with him for the rest of the song, and even when the music ended, I wouldn't be able to dance with him for the rest of the night.

As planned, when I returned to Evan he was having such a coughing fit that we left the ball. My hand rested on his back as I guided him up to his room.

I would stay with him for a few hours and once he fell asleep I would go and meet my Dragon.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Evan's maids and butlers were ready for us long before we arrived to his rooms. Two cups of steaming hot chocolate with just enough cream for it to be warm for him and scalding for my own awaited us on his dresser.

The covers of his bed were pulled back and on his pillow rested his favorite toy Morgriff, a stuffed lion. A warm bath had been drawn and by the door of the bath were his night clothes. His chamber maid quickly saw to his undressing and Evan was too tired to argue against the bath like all little boys do. I left the maids to do what they did so well and went over to the small selection of books and pulled out Aesop's Fables to read to him until he fell asleep, which would be soon.

I sat myself down on the small stool beside the large bed and opened the book. Ginny, the boy's chamber maid, led him to the bed with a smile before she paled at the sight of me.

"Thank you Ginerva, you will leave now and I require that the rest of the staff exit as well. You are welcome to enjoy the ball; I will speak to Lord Finnigan if a problem arises from it."

"Err, yes, of course Miss Potter… Thank you…"

---DMHP---DMHP---

When the door closed behind he last servant I removed my glasses and gazed down at Evan, safely tucked under the covers but such an act was wasted as no tenderness would cure him.

He gave me a small smile and I felt a pain in my chest, a pull. I ran a gloved hand through his hair and smiled.

"You did very well Evan."

"How long?" his voice was a whisper as he gazed down into his hot chocolate.

"Another week, and then, well, it will be quick Evan, you'll grow tired, you'll go to sleep and --"

"Never wake up…" he gulped.

I nodded and continued to keep smiling as I caressed his cheek.

"Goodnight Evan," I stood, brushing the front of my skirts.

He shivered and I exited the room, closing the door behind me.

---DMHP---DMHP---

I walked out in the gardens, the full moon looming over my head like a blood covered coin. I was alone in the garden maze; the corner I had secluded myself in had higher hedges than the rest of the maze and hid me from sight.

I heard a soft shuffle and the smell of hemlock and deadly nightshade wafted towards me and I smiled as burning arms wrapped around my waist and harsh biting fangs mauled into my throat. I felt my body fill with warmth as blood spilt past the wound and into his mouth. He feasted upon my cold blood.

I reached back with my gloved hand and wrenched at his hard cock through his pants.

"Draco," I moaned as I bucked back into him.

"I missed you so much Harry, my angel."

"My dragon, soon, so very soon I promise."

Claws scoured against my cheeks and I sunk my nails into his skull.

"Need you, need to be in you, need your cold," he hissed as he started to snap at the lobe of my ear.

"Stupid boy," I hissed as I spun us around so that I now had his back turned to me and I was gripping his skull tighter, blood soaking into my gloves.

I sucked at the skin I could see and felt my fingers lengthen into claws, the black fabric tearing and ripping to accommodate the change.

"Angel."

"Yes Dragon?" I sneered.

"You can't do it."

I growled as I shoved him into the bench, his clothed back prostrated to me.

"Can't I?"

He stood bent over with his hands resting on the surface of the bench before he spun around and the steel eyes of the Dragon caught mine. I stepped back as he sneered, his fangs glistening with poison.

"No," his voice was deeper and a drop of poison spilt past his lips, "you can't Angel."

I snarled as I took off my gloves and ran at him, claws ready to strike.

I got a blow across his chest, shredding his waistcoat before his own claws snapped out at my neck and slammed my head against the very same stone bench.

"I hate you!"

I was suddenly lifted into the air, his claws gripping my throat.

"It doesn't matter Angel."

I kicked out and struck his ribs. He stumbled back, releasing his grip and I lunged at him. I knocked us to the ground and started to slash at his clothes and once I saw his pale flesh I began to tear at it.

"I hate you I hate you I hate you!" I screamed.

I gazed into his eyes and saw nothing but understanding there, understanding and adoration. Eyes that kept saying "no you don't and I know you don't." They weren't right they weren't! No! No!

I moved to gouge out his eyes but he caught my wrist and sat up smiling gently as his dragon eyes just kept gazing at me. I was straddling his waist and he kissed the inside of my wrist before kissing away my tears. His poison tingled my skin as it burned away some of the layers of dead cells.

"I know," he whispered in my ear before he soothingly pushed me back against the ground. "I know," his hands hiked up my skirts before trailing up my thighs. "I know."

I shook my head but my Dragon just kept kissing my skin.

"My strong Angel," he nipped at my jaw.

"I hate you," I sobbed. "I-I h-hate you so much," my words were coming in sort gasps as he tenderly stroked my cock.

"I know, you want to claw out my heart and rip out my throat."

"I hate you, I want to hate you."

He smiled, his fangs scraping against my body while his hands were sure as they worked over my cold skin. His heat coursed through me, from his lips, from his eyes, from his hands, from his blood.

"I know."

"I'm sorry Dragon."

"Shh Angel, your Dragon is here now."

"I hate you."

I pulled his chin towards me and kissed him, poison seeping into my mouth and I gulped it down. Its scathing burn trailed through my body and I jerked with a moan.

"Show me how much you hate me," he whispered against my lips.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Draco peeked out from behind the legs of the monk standing at the gates, gripping onto the fabric of the robes and blinking as more and more monks gathered around them. The sun was rising and the wind had blown away all the storm clouds and yet the pavement was still wet from last night's rain. The golden stones of the ancient brick walls and the morning glories and ivy that covered them still glistened with the dew and raindrops.

"Awbus?" he asked as he gazed down at the crumpled looking doll woman that was lying on the steps of the monastery entrance.

He raised himself on the balls of his bare feet. Staring at her pale and bruised body, her red hair was fanned out around her like a fiery halo and her pale green eyes were left open and staring at nothing, the gleam of life gone from them.

The ancient monk gazed down at him and smiled sadly.

"Draco, what are you doing here, you should be having lessons with Tom."

"Who is… the lady?" he asked as he tip-toed closer.

Albus sighed before he stepped forward and knelt down. He gestured for Draco to follow him and kneel down as well.

"Draco this woman is an innocent soul we could not save."

He tilted his head to the side, his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He heard a soft noise - a whine - and instantly he gently pushed the woman's body aside.

"Draco!" he heard one of the other monks scream but kind Albus stopped him from moving further in protest.

He blinked as he watched the white bundle shift and nudged it with his foot. A soft whine sputtered from the folds and he got on his hands and knees, leaning over the covered bundle.

He pulled back one of the folds and blinked down at the chubby red face. Its eyes were red and tear streaks had dried along the boy's face.

"Look Awbus!"

The wise monk smiled, his blue eyes twinkling.

"Help him up Draco, he must be cold, and we can save at least one innocent this morning."

Draco's small arms reached out and took the other four-year-old within them, he struggled to help him, the child probably wasn't used to someone of Draco's demanding personality. The boy smiled and started gurgling; its plump hands grasped Draco's fingers and began to suck on them.

"Eww! Awbus Harry's drooling on me!"

Albus laughed as one of the monks helped him stand.

"And how do you know his name Draco?"

Draco tried to pull his fingers away, but Harry would start tearing up so Draco just pouted but allowed the four-year-old to continue. He glanced up at Albus.

"Oh! He told me his name Awbus! He said it's Harry!"

Albus paused and gazed down at the two young four year-olds, Harry's sparkling green eyes slowly lost the rims of red and Draco continued trying to distract Harry so he could get his hand away. He watched as Draco's steel-gray met Harry's emerald and he shook his head. His smile saddened and he held back a sigh.

He would protect the boys as much as he could before their horrible fate was forced upon them.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"Draco! Harry! Get back here this instant!"

Both boys skidded down the tiled halls, towels and clothes flailing in their hands as they ran naked with peels of giggles abound. Draco gripped Harry's hand as they turned down a smaller, darker corridor and watched Nessa stride with haste down the hall afterwards looking for them.

They both backed up so they would be hidden more in the shadows, a hand over their mouths to quiet their laughter.

Draco jumped when his naked back touched something soft and he spun around. He blushed when he saw Master Albus smiling down at them.

"Bath time is it Draco?" he asked the seven year-old.

Draco blushed and Harry just peered up at Albus from behind Draco.

"Erm… yes sir and --"

"No need to explain my boy," Albus chuckled, "but let's get you into the tub before Nessa punishes you yes?"

Draco nodded and Harry continued to grip his hand.

Albus wrapped their towels around their bodies and took their clothes from them after they folded them.

"You know Draco, Harry, it isn't a very good idea to make Nessa angry."

"But sir she wants us to take a bath!" Draco whined.

Harry remained silent as he clung onto Draco. Ever since the boy had arrived he hadn't spoken a word to anyone but the other boy. But Draco reassured Albus that Harry did indeed talk, quite a bit in fact.

Albus opened the door to the bathing pool, steam spilling out as he opened the door to the small bubble filled tub that had been added just for them.

"Well boys?"

Draco pouted as he gazed at the water with distaste before he helped Harry into the bathtub and then followed closely after him.

"We're in now Albus."

Albus smiled and ran his hand through Draco's hair and then Harry's.

"So I see, shall I get Nessa and tell her she can end her search now?"

"Awww do you hafta Albus!"

He chuckled before he gently pinched Draco's cheek,

"Now now Draco, it isn't very nice now is it?"

Draco pouted after having rubbed his cheek.

"No sir, it isn't," he mumbled.

"And what is one of the Five Crystal Teachings Draco?"

Draco sighed.

"To always practice kindness and assistance to those in need and in hardship," he replied as if he had been forced to repeat it a hundred times before.

Albus smiled indulgently.

"Very good Draco," he patted both their heads before he went to the door. "Don't worry, I'll see to it that Nessa doesn't admonish you too hard," Albus winked and then left, leaving the boys alone for a few minutes before Nessa would surely burst in, a lecture on her lips.

Draco turned to Harry and smiled.

"Don't worry Harry, Nessa isn't so bad!" he leaned in close and Harry followed his example, "Its Tom ya gotta look out for. He'll go on for hours if you let him."

Harry grinned before leaning back against the tub wall.

---DMHP---DMHP---

He clenched his fist and took deep breaths to stop the tears. He couldn't let them fall because boys didn't cry! Boys didn't cry! He was too old to cry! He was seven and he wouldn't cry! Not even when the only adult who cared for you, took you in, treated you like one of his own died. Boys did not cry!

He heard the soft shift of cloth and a warm hand gripped his own. He glanced to the side to see Harry gazing at him, his own face screwed up as he attempted to not let tears fall.

The other monks were praying around the unlit pyre, tears in their eyes as they performed the hand gestures, the prayer beads wrapped around their wrist like restraint seals.

Tom- Voldemort he called himself now, was the new high monk and was leading the ceremony. He had shaved his head and had gone through the rituals that were required of taking on the rank, and leading the funeral service of his predecessor would be the last step, and then tomorrow he would name himself as the new high monk.

Draco gripped Harry's hand tighter. Things would never be the same with Albus dead, never!

He couldn't take it anymore! He had to get away!

He ran, still gripping Harry's hand. He pushed past the monks not part of the ritual. He pushed past the hands that tried to stop him and restrain him. Liars! All of them liars! They didn't miss Albus! They couldn't have loved him like he did! They didn't know the pain.

"Draco wait!"

"Rude boys! Get back here!"

"Please boys!"

Lies lies lies lies lies lies LIES!

He ran and ran; making sure Harry was still with him. They rounded a corner and Draco stopped at a simple, nondescript door, panting for breath.

It was Albus' room.

He opened the door, it was always unlocked, it was always a place he could go at the very end of everything and anything.

He opened the door and allowed the cool wooden floors to root against the arches of his feet. Warm armchairs that were always squishy sat around an empty table that should have been filled with tea and chocolate biscuits. The empty hearth that was always supposed to have a warm welcoming fire sat like a giant's black stained mouth, the grates were sharp teeth waiting for the fire.

It was all so empty and all so very wrong.

The bookcase running across three of the walls was emptied, only small sporadic pieces of paper sat on the dust covering shelves. Another small nondescript wooden door was closed and lead to Albus' bed chamber; where, before Harry had come, Draco would go to Albus when his fear of the choking darkness gripped him too tightly.

He padded over to the door on silent feet, but he sounded like a clotting horse on cobblestone compared to the soft wind that was Harry's movements.

Draco opened it; the small bed with white sheets greeted his sight. It was so hard to picture Albus sleeping in such a bed, to even think of him sleeping, but there sat his bed, smelling of the lemon groves and cedar and soap.

The room was barren except for the bed and an emptied dresser.

His fist clenched so tightly he heard Harry give a small whimper of pain.

Not like this. Albus wasn't supposed to be replaced and forgotten this easily!

Tears slid down his cheek and he clutched Harry close to him as he sobbed into his hair.

"Not fair, not fair, not fair!"

Thin arms and a bruising hand wrapped around his shoulders.

"It's not fair Harry! It isn't! Albus is too great for this!"

Draco fell to his knees, Harry trying to bare his weight and guide them both gently to the ground.

"Why him, Harry! Why Albus!"

Harry closed his eyes and held Draco closer to his chest, rubbing his back in small circles. His own tears were spilling down his cheeks and onto his clothes.

They gripped onto each other, sobbing, because even if big boys didn't cry it was okay, because they were alone together and they could be little kids again just for a little while, just so long as they were together.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Solemn and quiet. Eyes of emerald and eyes of steel watched with bored disinterest as Voldemort lead the daily sermon.

"… the darkness welcome all to her arms…"

They gripped each others hands, black cloth sliding over pale skin. Harry never took off the black gloves, Draco's gift to Harry for his tenth birthday. They watched Voldemort from behind him and atop the dais he always made them sit upon during mass.

"She is the greatest power; she is greater than any light…"

All those surrounding them were new or forgotten faces. Voldemort had killed all those who had supported Albus that had not escaped in time. But not them. He and Harry were too important he had said.

But they didn't care.

Albus was dead, those they had trusted had left or died and neither had the decency to bring them along with them on the journey.

Be good boys, Voldemort had said.

They didn't care.

They didn't speak, not to the pathetic minions of Voldemort, and Voldemort encouraged such behavior, saying that it was alright because they were special, they were above them.

They did not care.

"And forget not what the darkness preaches…"

The five teachings had been altered, distorted, twisted, and the peons under Voldemort's reign allowed it easily, those who had been around under Albus' teachings were nothing but cowards as they bent over backwards to Voldemort's commands. The teachings Voldemort spouted were mockeries of what the true teachings were.

Always practice kindness and assistance to those in need and in hardship.

"Help only yourself to become strong no matter who you must destroy in the process."

Question everything, respect all, have faith in the light.

"Never question those stronger than you! You are but sheep, the strong your shepherd! Respect only the strong!"

Believe in the spirit to triumph.

"You are weak! You are sheep! The strong are your shepherd! I am your shepherd!"

Believe in yourself and your will to guide you and to lead you to the right path.

"Who amongst you dare think you are strong enough? If left alone what shall you do but wander aimlessly! Without purpose you are nothing but I give you purpose! The darkness gives you cause!"

There is always hope for the light, the good, the will of those who believe.

"The light is dead! Remember it is only the darkness that is strong! The light yields to the dark!"

And they didn't care.

Let Voldemort pretend he was important, let the braying sheep follow Voldemort.

Draco gripped Harry's hand that rested on the pew tighter; they would not follow. They were not sheep, they were children of the Five Crystal Teachings, they did not - would not - bend nor break to the twisted corrupted mess Voldemort spewed.

The mass ended and Draco and Harry got up simultaneously, the minions parting for them as they stepped down from the dais. They were Voldemort's precious boys, they weren't to be touched, weren't to be spoken too unless they spoke to you first.

The underlings gazed upon them in awe for Voldemort had often told them that Draco and Harry were gifts from the mighty Darkness, direct descendants from her unholy womb. And to appease those who had come from under Dumbledore's teachings he would claim that Albus had known as well, had tried to taint them with the light.

They allowed it, they allowed it only because they would never be believed if they said otherwise, not with the pull Voldemort had over the wool over their eyes.

"Harry, Draco," soft words like velvet tried to loop them, entrap them, but it always failed.

They stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned as one to gaze upon Voldemort in silence. He grinned down at them as he strode towards them. He reached out a pale sickly hand and Draco's eyes narrowed as he slapped Voldemort's hand away with a growl.

Tom… Voldemort gave a slight nod of his head in apology though his eyes narrowed just the smallest amount.

"Yes, forgive me, but will you boys please join us at the midnight mass? You always miss that one; don't you want to be with us in the hour when you are closest to your mother?"

Draco closed his eyes and Harry tilted his head. It was the same question every time after a morning mass and their answer would always be the same.

Harry would turn on his heel first and then Draco followed. They did not answer because it was a foolish question on Voldemort's part, they would not join because they did not care, and they never would.

---DMHP---DMHP---

"Ah, Dark children…"

Draco didn't even bother to look up from his book and Harry continued to "sleep" with his head rested on Draco's shoulder.

Lucius Malfoy, the only follower of Voldemort's that had some semblance of intelligence (however, he followed Voldemort so not much could be said for what little he had) stood before them, the simple monk robes looking fit for a king with how he wore them.

Ignoring him never caused him to leave for he was a patient man.

"Is there something you want Lucius?" Draco turned a page of the book, Voldemort had removed their ban from the Forbidden Library and so they never left it.

"I have a question for you is all," he appealed, his entire posture one of a man willing to bend but Lucius was not a man to yield, not even to Voldemort and certainly not to two ten-year-old boys no matter what the high monk praised them to be.

Harry shifted, his fingers gripping Draco's in a warning, Lucius was up to something again.

"We may or may not answer Lucius," Draco's voice was soft, a whisper.

"Could you tell me perhaps, why you have not rejoined your mother? Surely such mortal affairs have made you bored by now."

"Tell us why we should answer such a question Lucius?" Draco raised a single brow.

Gray eyes narrowed and met with calm steel.

"You--"

"Yes us? What of us? What concerns do you have about us?" Harry turned his head on Draco's shoulder, bored and leaving Draco to handle it.

Draco waited; so long as Lucius didn't react they would not ask him to leave. But wait... there, the clench of a fist, Lucius was still a patient fool and they did not speak to fools.

Harry heard it first before he gave a slight jerk of his head as a signal; Draco nodded and then sneered as well.

"Leave us Lucius."

An order and Voldemort had seen to it that their orders were obeyed. Just the slightest clench of Lucius' jaw, so, he was gritting his teeth was he?

Whether or not it bothered Lucius he moved away from them and left the library. He took in a deep breath and then blinked as he came in the direct path of the high monk.

He bowed at the waist in respect.

"Lord Voldemort," he whispered not knowing if the Darklings could hear him.

"Ah Lucius, a run in with Draco again?" he asked with a brow raised in inquiry.

Lucius took in another deep breath.

"Yes, unfortunately…"

"Lucius… walk with me…"

Voldemort held his hands behind his back, passing by the library door and glancing in, Draco was still reading and Harry was still "asleep".

"My lord?" he asked as they trekked further and further down the hall and towards the altar rooms.

"It is time to bring out the Darklings' full powers."

"Their full powers, my lord?"

Voldemort nodded his head and opened the door to the biggest altar, the dais was a raised circle in the center of the floor, candleholders were unlit but dried melted wax held them in place as the solidified wax was attached to the floor. The floors and walls were stone and the only light was the daylight that streamed past them from the halls.

Voldemort gazed upon the room with a sick sort of glee, a glaze over his eyes.

"Yes, their powers are equally destructive, but we'll bring out Harry's first, he will be the easier one of the two as he is the younger Darkling."

Lucius sneered.

"When shall it take place my lord?"

---DMHP---DMHP---

Harry yawned silently as he sat up in the bed, he smiled at Draco's sleeping form in the other bed before he slipped out from beneath the cotton sheets and silent feet padded across the wooden floors towards the bathroom down the hall. He closed the door behind him gently so as not to wake Draco from his light slumber. He hurried down the corridor.

Suddenly arms wrapped around his waist and a hand covered his mouth.

He struggled and screamed into the hand, kicking and biting.

"Such a fierce spirit."

Harry glared up at Voldemort, still struggling against the arms that held him.

"Now now Harry, this is for your own good, and don't worry, Draco will join you very soon."

Harry screamed again and bit at the hand around his mouth.

"Can we knock him out my lord?" the unknown voice of a minion sounded behind him.

Voldemort shook his head and then smiled, the look of the crazed and the damned in his eyes.

"No, the Darklings must be conscious for this," he smiled happily as he spoke.

Every step of the way Harry struggled as they forced him down the hall towards the added altars.

"Very soon Harry, you will be so powerful, filled with darkness and once more adjoined with your mother."

Harry's eyes widened in fear and he struggled harder as he was pulled further and further from his room and Draco.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Every step of the way he had fought them, those who held him were bruised and bloody, he had even managed to escape only to be grabbed around the waist and hoisted over another peon's shoulder.

All-the-while Voldemort just kept smiling and chuckling and spouting such nonsense as "Such a fierce spirit, such a fierce fighter…"

They all congregated to the second largest altar room, the raised dais a square instead of a circle but otherwise the exact same as the largest one. It had the same scent of blood and tears that clung to the icy chill in each shadowed stoned corner. The same white-waxed candles were lit and made the room even colder and darker, throwing shadows everywhere.

He was held down to the floor by two men as two others strapped chains and shackles around his ankles, wrist and neck.

He snarled and yelled inarticulate words at Voldemort's smiling face. Around him the twelve other monks did not watch as they had begun to remove their normal dress robes and put on raven black velvet robes instead.

"Let us begin in haste," Voldemort replied as three monks helped him on with the silver headdress and then they gathered around the edge of the dais murmuring and chanting.

Fear passed through Harry's eyes, but only for the briefest of seconds before pain was the foremost in his mind.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Draco turned the corner, his head whirling left and right in search.

"Harry? Harry!" he called out.

A cold chill ran up his spine, Harry had never left his side; he had been with him ever since he had come to the monastery. They had never been separated, never! He had woken up in a cold sweat and looked over to see Harry's bed empty. At first he had thought nothing of it, but he had touched the bed and it was ice-cold.

"Harry!"

"Ah, little Darkling…"

Draco spun on his heel and snarled at Lucius.

"Where is he!"

"Your dark brother?"

Draco charged, he lunged at Lucius and knocked him to the ground, his small hands around his throat.

"Where is he Lucius?" he hissed.

A quick look of surprise and fear ran across Lucius' features but he grabbed Draco's wrist tightly and then sneered as he sat up.

"Fore shame Lucius, provoking the elder Darkling."

Lucius nodded as he began to stand, still holding Draco's wrist.

"Forgive me my lord."

Draco growled as he fought out of the grip holding his wrist together. He kicked at him but Lucius just gritted his teeth against the pain and then spun Draco around, his arms wrenched behind him, his back flush against Lucius' body.

Draco yelled as he saw Voldemort.

"Where is Harry!"

"So very much alike, such fierce spirits… But don't worry Draco, you will be with him soon… with him and like him."

"You sick bastard! What did you do to him!"

Voldemort 'tsked'.

"Come now Draco, it isn't nice to comment about my parentage. Bring him this way Lucius…"

Draco yelled and bit and fought to escape Lucius' hold on him, even with the pain in his shoulders surmounting.

"Don't worry Draco," Voldemort kept whispering with a grin.

He was being forced towards the altar rooms, the sick additions that Voldemort had added almost instantly after becoming high monk. The door to the largest room, the circle dais, was opened already, the door's opening a twisted mouth sucking him in closer and closer to the stench of blood and tears.

"Let go of me!" he screamed.

"All in good time Draco, all in good time Darkling…"

Lucius shoved him up the stairs of the platform and then once more to the center of the circle. Before Draco could run, hands gripped him and held him. He struggled, wrenching his arms away and yelling and snarling at the faceless, hooded minions that dare to call themselves monks.

Thick metal shackles that were laced with gleaming silver were strapped around his ankles and wrist and neck, immobilizing him to the floor.

He tried to turn his head, to see who was around him but only Voldemort was in his vision as the man loomed over him.

"You know Draco, when I took my reign and had killed all of Dumbledore's underlings, I was going to kill you too," he said softly as he knelt down by Draco's detained frame. "But then I found this in his library," he snapped his fingers and a large thick tome was brought forth, its cover split open to yellowed stiff pages with small forgotten text upon it.

"I had finally understood why Albus would keep children that had no use or intent to join the monastery."

His spider-leg fingers took the tome and flipped a single page back.

"And 'lo," he read, "two spawn of the dark womb, separated before birth and of polar guise shall rise to rule the earth with the darkest mother at their yield. They art the foul beast of children form but with souls surpassing the earth's deigned demise which they shall lead. The general and his serpent*** intertwined shall meet again and never shall they part. But weakened are they stuck with such mortal filth and so on the night of a new moon their powers must once more be summoned."
Draco's eyes widened, no, no Voldemort shouldn't have seen that book, it was the same book that spoke of the mighty cat and snake. This wasn't right! He struggled further.

"I am not blind Draco, I know you have read this book as well, had coveted it, perhaps you will recall this passage? Of all the animals in the entire world, there are but two so deeply entrenched in magic and mystery that the very utterance of their names spark the instant ember of witches and demons in the mind. The ethereal visage of the cat and snake, two distinctly different creatures allied in enigma, elegance, intelligence and immersed in myth. They are beings whom have been praised and disgraced, worshipped and vilified all around the world in all cultures. Their attributes and flaws are vast and chronicled."

"Stop it!" he screamed.

"Yes," Voldemort stood and turned the book back to its original page, " you are right, let us proceed with the ceremony."

"Let me go!"

They gathered around him in a circle, and he saw them start forming hand seals, as prayer beads were wrapped around their wrist like restraints. Endless chanting filled the air and one of the monks lit the ring of kindle surrounding him.

A look of fear crossed past his eyes before all he was aware of was infinite pain and a scream tore from his throat and bled him dry.

---DMHP---DMHP---

His eyes shot open and he sat up, the sound of metal bending and cracking as he rose was but a dull ache in his ears. He gazed down at what must have been his healed wrist that had earlier been rubbed raw done to the bone.

He felt cold, his blood was frozen in his veins and his bones were encased in ice. He needed warmth, he needed to feed. He stood up, the restraints around his ankles shattering and clunking to the stone floor. In his mind was a dull ache, things were fuzzy even though his vision was clearer than it had ever been. But was that true? Was there ever a time when his body had not been as it was? Yes, yes, he knew it had once been weak and feeble but pure and innocent.

He felt lighter, weightless and only the clothes he wore were holding him down to the dais. He opened and closed his hands; his skin itched at the tips of his fingers as if it was new. He twisted his head and heard the satisfying pop and cracks of the bones setting themselves to right.

He needed to find someone, someone who could warm him completely and melt the ice.

He took a step off the dais and glided through the door.

There, he heard it, he heard screaming. It was so close, as if it was happening inside of him. He headed towards the door from whence the screaming came and opened it, the wooden mass silent on its hinges.

There he saw thirteen black robed and hooded figures, murmuring, chanting, as they dared to bring their mortal hands close to the fire.

The fire looked so warm, so fulfilling.

But no, he knew he would find no warmth from the flames, he knew it by instinct. No, but he could tell that the warmth he needed pulsed within their veins, the greatest inferno was in the middle of the fire where rasping and hoarse screams emitted.

"H-H-Harry," he heard and he gasped.

He saw the figures turn in fear but he shoved them aside and then ran through the ring of fire to skid to a halt next to Draco. Strapped and bound to the floor, as he had been, bloody and bruised.

Steel eyes gazed into his and a restrained wrist tried to break free to touch his face.

"Harry," he whispered as Draco's blood pooled beneath them.

He leaned over his Draco and nuzzled the bleeding neck. Blood dripped onto his lips and he quickly licked it away.

Suddenly the fuzziness cleared from his mind, these figures were the monks, he was cold because they had done something to him. And in this fire, that flesh burning fire was Draco, being tortured, turned, changed, cursed like him.

He roared and screamed and yelled. He felt the skin at the tips of his fingers break open as his claws grew and sharpened. He cut his tongue on elongated fangs and the weightlessness turned heavy at his shoulders and soon he heard the sound of clothes ripping and a shower of soul black feathers scattered across the floor. And they clashed against the fire and froze the flames in place.

He brought up his wrist and bit away at the skin, pain never registering as he brought his wrist up to Draco's lips. His blood was taken greedily and then a matching, fiercer roar filled the air and he watched as the creature before him broke through the restraints and kissed him. Poisoned fangs met and clashed as a forked tongue wound around his. Glowing serpentine steel eyes sharpened and narrowed as a clawed hand ran through his hair.

They kissed again and he felt the cold in him melt away and was sure that the inferno that raged within the pale-blonde beast was being quailed. The fire around them died as it was sucked into both their bodies and as one they stood. Once the blonde beast had stood leathery bottle green wings broke through his back and he gripped the clawed hand that was not his own.

Glowing steel eyes locked with illuminated emerald and they gave fanged smiles to those who recoiled in horror around them. A feast was before them, and they were hungry.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Screams, they would be deafened by the screams of those they killed. With the exception of those that had been in the altar rooms their kills had been silent, quite, stealth, but then the other monks found the bodies and the beasts fed off the fear that filled the mortals.

He felt his body fill with warmth similar to the kiss of the creature he had found in the ring of fire but it was always fleeting, always a short ecstasy through his system. But they were not willingly seeking out these fearful mortals who so feebly tried to stop them with empty prayers. They were seeking out the monster that had brought on the beasts. They were seeking the blood of the foul sinful fiend that dared to call himself human, to call himself a monk.

They could smell his blood, black like tar and foul like sulfur. He was near.

As they turned the corner they felt their claws sink through the chests and throats of those that stood in their way, blood bathing them.

They were gods, they were demons, angels, the damned, they were beasts and mutants and they sought the head and heart of their creator.

They kicked down the door to the chapel, the place where the Five Crystal teachings had been spread, the place where Voldemort's dark masses were held at midnight.

Emerald and steel eyes narrowed and they hissed and snarled and roared.

Their creator stood there, on the dais, flipping through the pages of the book that had helped to create them.

They watched the monster turn around and gaze at them with a cold calm fear.

"Darklings…"

They both roared, eyes clenched shut and claws balled into fists.

NO!

They were not Darklings! They had never been Darklings! They were mortal! They had been mortal! But that monster, that unholy fiend had twisted them!

They stretched out their wings and had quickly appeared before him, they're flight could not be followed by his human eyes.

"Now Darklings…" he tried to soothe as he backed up, his hands in front of him.

"No," the steel-gray-eyed one hissed.

They couldn't attack, not yet, not until the first sign of fear, it wouldn't be worth it if they killed him and he still held his pride.

"You did this to us," the steel-gray-eyed one continued, his voice a coarse jagged piece of velvet. Poison slipped over his tongue and he spat it out, the stone floor sizzling as a layer was burned away.

"I made you stronger!" Voldemort growled, his back touching the table that held the candles and the prayer book.

Slowly the beasts started circling the monster. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

"Boys --"

"No boys here," steel-gray chuckled, "only beasts, only demons. You killed us."

"I resurrected you into beings that you can be prou--"

"Silence!"

The monster stopped as the steel-gray-eyed one commanded. Both beasts rolled their necks, the sick pops and cracks resonating in the empty chapel.

Waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Darklings, listen to me --"

"No," they both chuckled though only the gray-eyed one had spoken.

No sign of fear, not yet, not yet, not yet.

There! A small swallow and the smell of urine! They lunged and brought him to the ground, their claws tore into his thin chest and pale skin like a blade through paper and they ripped out his heart and bit into the black beating organ.

They feasted on his foul tasting body, taking his black soul into their own flesh. They ripped pieces off of the bone and bit in. Their fangs shredded and destroyed the flesh.

They had to destroy their creator completely, completely and utterly.

They smashed the bones against the altar or snapped them open and sucked out the marrow. Their feeding was quick, the taste in their mouths rank, but they continued to feast upon the corpse of the greatest sinner of all, high monk Voldemort.

When nothing was left but shattered bones and black blood they danced around his corpse, naked and soaked in the last remains of their creator

He was dead he was dead!

They stood as one, the filth of his soul and the weight of his sins slowing down their bodies, but it didn't matter, they had killed their creator. They walked past the shattered and broken wooden doors of the chapel and into the courtyard.

They separated there, seeking out the last of the minions and the idiots that would meet their fate today.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Steel-gray stalked through the lemon-tree groves, the scent of a human surrounding him and tainting the sharp smell of the fruit.

"Come out come out wherever you are!" he sang as he slinked through the trees.

He heard the sound of a leaf crunch and he spun around and ran in that direction, the racing of a human heart pounding in his ears.

"Come on out little sheep!" he snarled.

He skidded to a halt and an ecstatic pleasure ran down his spine as he saw Lucius Malfoy trying to escape over the monastery walls and away from the slaughter.

He sneered as he leapt far above his head and landed on the top of the brick wall, gazing down at Lucius. He crouched down and waited for the man to turn his head so they would be nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye. The blonde turned his head and his eyes widened when he met the fanged, poison-dripping smile of steel-gray.

"Hello Luciussssss," he hissed before he shoved the man off the wall and heard a satisfying 'crack' as he landed on his back atop the grass.

He swooped down next to the man, landing on his feet and sneered as pale blue eyes gazed into his own.

"Are you lost little sheep, you must be, I killed your shepherd, ate him right up, heart first, flesh second."

A look of disgust and fear ran across those blue eyes.

"What is it you want?" he asked. "Let me live and I'll give you anything!"

Steel-gray tilted his head and smirked.

"Anything? If I wanted your undying servitude you would give it?"

"Yes."

"How about your name, would you give me your name?"

"It's yours!"

Steel-gray knelt down.

"What about your eyes sheep? Would you give me those? You'd be alive," he whispered, his voice honeyed venom.

Lucius gulped and nodded.

"Could you do that sheep? Give me your name, eyes, and freedom, all for your life?"

"Yes…"

"Very well sheep," Draco chuckled.

He ripped out Lucius' eyes, a scream falling deaf on his ears as the human rolled around on the ground clutching his empty sockets. Draco stood and threw the eyes over his shoulder, uncaring for such useless items. He then put a foot atop Lucius' throat and dug in his heel.

"Come now slave, did you think I wouldn't do it? That it was an empty request?" he 'tsked' and pressed his heel in deeper. "Don't fight," he hissed.

Lucius' body trembled beneath him, both in pain and in fear.

"Your life is mine now sheep, as is your name. You are alive at my whim… and you know what?"

Lucius gulped and shook his head as much as he could.

"You don't know? But can't you guess sheep?"

Lucius shook his head again, the smell of urine permeated the air and fought for dominance against the clean scent of the lemon grove.

Steel-gray leaned over Lucius a little, tilting his head.

"You are alive at my whim my blind hapless little slave… but what good is a blind slave?"

Empty bloody sockets widened and the prone body began to struggle.

"N--"

But all sound stopped instantly as Draco smashed through Lucius' neck with his foot, coming in contact with the grass beneath the man's head.

He sneered as he wiped his foot on the grass and headed back towards the emerald beast that by now would have returned to the courtyard.

---DMHP---DMHP---

Blood. There was blood everywhere. On his hands, his tongue, his teeth, his toes, his legs. Just... everywhere.

A warm bloodied hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped and spun around, claws ready to kill once again. Emerald met steel and he collapsed into the waiting warm arms.

He was getting so cold.

The corpses had given him warmth, beautiful sating warmth that filled him and shot to the marrow of his bones. But now that warmth was going away. It never lasted long, whether it was one body or a hundred, or in this case, two hundred.

But steel eyes - serpent eyes, the knowing cold eyes of a dragon - they and the body they belonged too, were warm. It was that warmth that survived, lasted, filled.

Those warm, bloody arms - bloodier than his - wrapped around him and held him close, a greater protection than any of the walls could provide.

Claw like fingers, so similar to his own, linked their digits together, not shying away, not afraid of the carnage left behind underneath the nails and trapped in the cracks. Those eyes and hands were unflinching because the hands that belonged to those eyes were covered in just as much blood.

A blood covered face leaned in, those steel eyes closed and hot breath ghosted across his cold bruised shoulder.

"We've killed them."

He didn't know who said the words, his lips were numb, maybe it had been him maybe it had been the holder of the steel-gray eyes.

His hands wrapped around the warm body, just as the warm arms had wrapped around his.

He was scared now. Now what were they to do? Everyone was gone, they had killed them all. The cobblestones of the monastery were swathed with the corpses and blood of the slaughter yet the walls stood proud, surrounding them. The walls thought they were protecting the monastery from the world outside, the threat, the danger. How innocent those walls were, because the massacre came from within.

Dead, all of them dead.

Corpses floated in the ponds, were dismembered in the gardens, in the shrines, the libraries.

But the bloodiest copse of all, the one that he and the steel eyes had killed together, the corpse that they had even feasted on the heart and flesh like wild starving beasts, was the cruelest, was the one who cursed them, the one who made them the monsters.

Lying on the altar, destroyed and tattered, was the great sinner and head monk, Voldemort. He had created the beasts. He had brought on his own death by creating it.

His flesh had been vile, his heart tasted as black and charred as it truly was, but they had rejoiced in his death. They had danced around his corpse and had used his bones for toys and toothpicks.

The steel eyes, with their fire, had grabbed his hand when they had danced, just as they were holding his hands now - unflinching, uncaring, devotedly, assuredly.

Steel-gray eyes, the eyes of a dragon - he now realized - looked into his own emerald. He didn't know what the dragon saw, but he knew what the dragon knew.

Bloodied hands touched his face again, and bloodier lips pressed against his forehead.

"I will protect you."

The words were but a soft whisper, his Dragon's throat was still too sore from all his roaring. He smiled and gazed down at their linked hands. Their hands which were so very much the same, so bloodied, so dangerous, so covered, so guilty of countless sins.

He looked up from those hands, hands perhaps he would later hate and revere. He smiled into the steel-gray eyes that would look at him for comfort, for cold, for reassurance.

"I will protect you," he repeated the words back to his Dragon as he pressed his bloodied lips to the Dragon's forehead.

It was an oath, a promise. Through everything, they would remain true to each other.

He gazed back down at their joined hands and gave a gentle squeeze and felt it returned easily.

It was unspoken, they had to leave, they had to get out. Though they need not have, they both started to run, their limbs pushed to the limit.

As if nature agreed with them and wanted to see them to safety, the clouds opened and sheets and sheets of stinging cold rain hid them from sight.

---DMHP---DMHP---

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against his Dragon's shoulder, the world passing by in a slow sort of haze as the carriage pulled further and further away with an unhurried pace from the death-loomed Finnigan Manor.

Evan was dead, the deed done as they had planned it, prepared it. It had been flawless, without any hitches, any suspicions, Harry had the envelope of the rest of their "charity funds". What were beasts to care of the goings-on of mortal men and their children?

But he remembered the boy's crooked-teeth smile and understanding of a child that he was going to die. He remembered him the way he remembered the woman with the fiery red hair that he had laid about her head like a halo and the two neighbors that had stolen a pig from one another. He remembered Evan like he remembered all of his targets, with curiosity and sadness and with a tinge of regret. This time I'll stop, I won't kill you, you can live and someone else can kill you he would say, the part that had once been pure and innocent trying to rise again. But his wise Dragon would gaze at him with those calm steel eyes and shake his head.

His Dragon would remind him that they can't stop, that the target would indeed die by their hands. They had to kill, they were the beasts, for they were the sinned and the damned and the filth. They had to because their bodies were made of sins, and if they stopped killing, if they stopped taking their targets' sins when they died then they would die.

You can never stop for you are sin, you are death.

Harry was naked against the fabric of the carriage, Draco and he had torn his dress and corset to shreds to allow for their heat and cold to be gained, for the inferno and the blizzard to be lessened and nullified, and for the sins of a young boy named Evan to be shared between them. It was sweet, Evan's sin, simple, his sin was living.

His wounds were already closing, the bruises from where he had been punched and the scratches from where he was clawed already gone, only the dried crusty blood lingered along his skin and caused it to itch.

He opened his eyes again and watched as Draco examined the deep blue tulip-bulb sized jewel in his hand. He would roll it between his fingers and hold it up to the light, the rays of the sun catching it and cascading shades of blue against the inside of the carriage. That too had been another of Evan's sins, theft.

"This is what then?" he finally asked.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his bones set themselves to rights.

"A last request," he breathed.

Draco blinked and looked down as if he had been slapped, although it was understandable with the words Harry had just uttered.

"Harry, we don't do a target's last request."

They only took their sins, made their souls clean, made them able to be allowed in heaven or to be reincarnated or to meet their gods.

The Angel felt his eyebrow twitch and his fist clench but he continued to rest his head on Draco's shoulder.

"Yes, Draco, I'm aware of that."

"Harry--"

"I'll do it without you if I have to."

Draco shook his head, no, no matter how much they hated each other they would not abandon one another, not ever.

"No, now tell me what the bast--"

"Evan."

Draco raised a single brow before nodding his head.

"Okay, what was Evan's last request?"

Harry shifted so he was sitting on Draco's lap, digging his nails into the wrist that held the jewel, blood gathering beneath his nails.

"To give that to his governess," he purred while nibbling on Draco's ear.

The Dragon wrapped one arm around Harry's waist while the other continued to examine the jewel.

"The Hermione woman?"

Harry nodded before he released Draco's arm to trail gentle patterns along the ivory-skinned chest.

"One and the same."

"Tomorrow then," Draco whispered as he set the jewel into a pocket between the door and the carriage seats.

"Tomorrow?" Harry growled.

Draco kissed his way up Harry's neck and jaw.

"Yes, tomorrow, right now I have an Angel in my arms," he purred before he gently pushed Harry against the other seat and caught his lips in a bleeding kiss.

"T-Tomorrow then," Harry gasped.

"Yes, it will be spectacular Angel, our first and last request from any of our victims."

Of all the animals in the entire world, there are but two so deeply entrenched in magic and mystery that the very utterance of their names spark the instant ember of witches and demons in the mind. The ethereal visage of the cat and snake, two distinctly different creatures allied in enigma, elegance, intelligence and immersed in myth. They are beings whom have been praised and disgraced, worshipped and vilified all around the world in all cultures. Their attributes and flaws are vast and chronicled.

Harry and Draco shot up from their seats when the carriage jerked and the horses whinnied in fear. The scent of dirt and grime and blood of men permeated their nostrils. The sound of a pistol going off and shouts rang through their ears and echoed against the sides of their skulls. They rushed out of the carriage, uncaring of their nudity, they were not men and modesty was not important.

They had taken only a few steps along the dirt road before they stopped in stunned and horror-filled regret.

Nessa and Charles had fallen to the ground, blood pulling around and beneath their bodies and staining the golden dirt of the road a deep brown almost black. They're prayer beads were out, Nessa had drawn her dagger Charles his gun… They had fought; the scent of other's death, the warmth of a human life fading was pulsing nearby, but that didn't matter because Nessa and Charles were still dead.

The bandits that had brought on the death of the only people that they cared for and likewise that had cared for Draco and Harry had gathered around them. Were sneering at them but Harry and Draco only felt the inferno and the blizzard rise within them in willingness to their masters' whims.

"Ne-Nessa?" Harry called out the same time Draco called out Charles name.

They couldn't be dead, not strong harp-voiced Nessa, not gentle knowing Charles. They were supposed to be like Albus, they were mortal but would live forever.

The roots from the earth finally released the hold on their feet and they ran over to them and knelt beside them, checking their pulses but it was useless, a gunshot right through each of their skulls. No, no they couldn't be dead, they were like Albus!

They heard the click of guns and the unsheathing of swords.

"Now gentleman, while we're sure you don't have any money or valuables on your person," this gained a roaring laugh from the twelve or so bandits around them, "I'm sure you have something in your carriage."

"You killed them," Draco whispered as he stroked Charles strong jaw with one hand while the other ran through Nessa's hair. Charles head rested in his lap, Nessa's rested in Harry's.

"Come now gentlemen, they were only servants," the leader 'tsked', unimpressed and ill-wary of the danger he brought himself and his men closer too.

The inferno was rising, the blizzard was growing.

"Why did you kill them?" Draco's voice was low, a purr, velvet and silk, causing the thieves to take a small step back.

"They fought and we -- We don't have to explain ourselves to you! Gold and gems now!"

As one Draco and Harry bent down and kissed Charles and Nessa's bloody foreheads, taking their sins and promising they would avenge them and send them to Albus.

The inferno dried the tears before they could fall; the blizzard froze them in place. They could not shed any tears for there would be no Nessa or Charles who would find bloodied and beaten and broken murderers and welcome them and sing them a lullaby even though they were men. There was no hot chocolate prepared for them and complete understanding at what they had been turned into, understanding and acceptance. There would be no harp-voice to whisper "It's not your fault" while strong and gentle and knowing arms held them as they screamed out in tears and rage.

There would be no one to roll their eyes when they answered the knock at their chamber door naked, nor sure hands that bandaged the deeper wounds after the both of them were welcome into the black abyss. Because those people were dead.

And their murderers were laughing.

As one Draco and Harry stood with the corpses in their arms, gently placing the bodies of their keepers in their carriage so that they would not be soiled by the blood they were about to spill.

The blizzard and inferno rose and encased them.

Bones were frozen over, marrow was melted.

Feathery wings as black as the soul, leathery wings as green as greed broke through skin and splattered blood across the earth.

The cat with her independence, her eyes, her nimble feet, her knowledge, and her soft alluring purrs as her claws and fangs tighten into her prey's throat.

Skin receded along the hands and the chest as ice enclosed along the bones that sharpened and lengthened, bottle green scales arose around the eyes and neck and trailed down the length of the spin.

Black waves of hair shifted, turned, molded around the skeletal body like a cloak with the black beating frost covered heart showing proudly through the ribs, vertebrae rose up and long spikes grew out, razor sharp, leathal, starting from the top of the skull all the way to the small of the back.

The snake and his cleverness, his fangs, his hypnotic dance, and with his honeyed words that sweeten his venom as he ensnares his next victim onto his dinner plate.

The tips of the finger-bones lengthened, the ice following it and sheathing them, talons replaced hands and pitch black ram horns broke through above ears and through pale hair to curl around the head.

Emerald eyes glowed, steel-gray eyes turned serpentine.

They would line Nessa's and Charles' pockets with so much gold as that they would sink Charon's boat.

So, it is with the greatest and utmost care of Mother Nature to see that the two beings' cannot tolerate each other and that they are unable and wholly unwilling to procreate with one another. For were these two beings - as magical and dangerous as they are - were to have a child, that child would be, and in fact could be, nothing less than the nexus of all magic in the universe.

They were the beasts.

But man, Mother Nature's greatest folly, has always tampered with her most magnificent work. And it is this foolishness of man, to take the elegant cat and the clever snake, and combine their most deadly and magical traits.

End

---Author Notes---

1) He looked up at me and smiled, running his fan along my jaw = Oh just you wait to see what's going to happen if you continue

2) "My husband and I are very busy with all of our charity work boy," Harry whispered from behind his fan = Either pick up on what we're saying or we throw you out

3) Harry 'hmmed' and tapped his temple with his fan = Perhaps this is a trap?

4) "No need to go into particulars Lord Finnigan, we're just trying to figure out how much you need to put in for this charity!" my Harry giggled, fanning himself and signaling to me exactly what he thought of Finnigan = Finnigan is an idiot

5) Harry turned his head towards the window and fanned himself again = We'll do the job

6) I opened my fan and gave a slight chuckle. The hunger returned to his eyes and the meeting was set = I need you your heat and soon

7)"Madame Wind teacher, would you care to dance with me?"
I opened up my fan and started to fan myself = The mission is going well

* He'll lay the coins on her eyes for Charon so she can get across the river Styx = Charon, in Greek mythology, is the one who takes the dead across the river Styx, but you have to pay him to get across or you'll remain waiting on the other side of the shore for eternity or until someone gives you the money to get across

** Aeolos brood = Also Greek mythology, Aeolos, depending on the myth, was a demi-god and lord/keeper of the North winds which was the harshest and strongest wind of all

*** The general and his serpent = Harry's name means General of an Army and Draco's name means Serpent

A/N: In all reality I don't know how long this fic will stay up considering everything, enjoy anyways