What I've Become
There was nothing between them, no emotional attachment. It was the sensation, the need of someone to be there. Late at night when the sun was hidden, when they were locked away from the world and all they had was the want, hands running over smooth skin, tongues battling for the dominance both tricked themselves into believing they wanted. The gasps and moans that escaped barely parted lips lost in the silence around them. No words were spoken for they weren't needed. It wasn't love, it was sex, neither needed telling, words aren't needed when there is nothing between people.
Nails would scrape, cutting into skin. Teeth would bite too hard, red beads of blood mixing with sweat. There was nothing soft or sweet about it. It was hard and rough. It was angry and careless. It was about themselves, not each other.
They'd never stay together threw the night after, no words ever passed their lips in the others presents. But the next night, they'd be back, and the night after that, both for their own reasons.
The only emotional that had ever been shared between them was hate.
None of it shown during the day…
George would continue on, pretending to be happy, pretending he didn't just want to disappear, pretending each day he didn't die a little more inside, pretending that he never lost Fred. He'd become a good actor since the war three years ago. He'd hid behind his mask, but nothing was there to hide his aching heart. He'd smile and laugh, being the George Weasley everyone expected him to be, but how could there be a George with no Fred? How could he laugh and joke when he had no one to laugh and joke with? How could he have survived the war when there was nothing of him left but an empty echo? George had died that day, right along side his brother, as he clutched the cold, still form. The moment he looked into Fred's blank unseeing eyes George's soul had died.
Draco would continue to be cold to all around him, feel only what he needed to feel. Long ago, before the war, before Hogwarts, he'd learnt to shut off the emotions he didn't need. Each day he'd do as expected off him, all he new how to do. He'd be the Malfoy that he is. Only when he was alone would he remember. Remember the death of his friend. Remember the restless nights in his bed, knowing the Dark Lord was roaming the corridors. Remember the faces of the blood traitors and Mudbloods as Voldemort made him torture them. Most off all, he'd remember his mothers sobs and his fathers ashen face as the Dark Lord gave him the most impossible job of getting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and killing Dumbledore, the price of failure his and his family's life.
Only at night, hidden away in that room would they let it all out, a place where nobody could ever see what they had become. But always, one small part of them, was always wondering why nobody cared enough to see threw the masks.
