Achilles' Heel
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, characters, names and indicia are trademarks and copyright to Warner Brothers and JK Rowling. All events and actions contained here within are fictional works of the author herself, unless otherwise stated; this is purely in the author's mind.
Warnings: This story will contain SLASH, which means a male/male pairing. If this offends you, please read no further. This is also a darkfic, which means lots and lots of nasty angsty stuff, mostly emotional. If this kind of thing does not float your boat, then please don't read it!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. The author accepts no responsibility should this fic offend anyone's ideals.
Rating: R – This means that this contains ADULT themes. Use your own judgement!
Pairings: Blaise/Draco, Harry/Draco
Spoilers: All published works. It's a Post-Hogwarts fic; something's bound to come up.
A/N: Ok…I haven't abandoned my other fics, not by a far stretch, but I had the urge to write something angsty, so this is the result. As I mentioned, Ragnarok Rising is on temporary hold because there are just too many kinks to be able to continue at any good pace…It will resume, but not yet – probably when this is finished.
Well, to the story. Bear in mind this is the Prologue. It's a little confusing, especially with the switching perspectives but please don't give up on me! It starts Blaise/Draco but it WILL BE a Harry/Draco!
Enjoy, I'm really proud of this one!
Normal = Draco
Italics = flashbacks
Bold = Harry
Prologue
"Blaise?" He murmured eyes fluttering open. He was greeted with the sight of his lover, already dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed, running his fingers gently through his hair.
"Yeah, Draco," the other boy, now young man, whispered back. "I'm sorry I woke you, love, but I wanted to say goodbye before I go."
"You're going on another mission?" He sat up slightly to rest his head on his lover's shoulder. "Now?"
Blaise only nodded, dropping a kiss onto his head, nuzzling his hair a little.
"Just before our anniversary?"
"I'm sorry, Draco, but they're his orders. You understand, right?" Blaise was still kissing him lightly between words. He could tell from the almost desperate hold that the man had on him that this mission was a dangerous one, so he clung back, wishing that Blaise didn't have to go – didn't have to leave him here. But he knew Blaise was doing this for him; he became a Death Eater so that Draco would never have to take the Mark.
"Of course," He smiled a little, through his tears. "I love you." His breathing hitched, and his voice cracked, betraying how close to actually crying he was.
"I love you too."
Their lips met in a kiss that rivalled the one they shared on their wedding day: heartbreakingly tender, conveying all the love, all the adoration, all the longing – emotions enough to last a lifetime. The only difference was, whilst the kiss on their wedding day had been one of promises, of hope, and of joy that signalled a beginning, this was a kiss of despair, loneliness and pain – though they knew it not at the time, it was a kiss goodbye.
"What?"
"Blaise is dead," Lucius snapped impatiently, without a trace of compassion. "He was killed in the raid last night."
Draco flinched as if he'd been slapped. His fists clenched involuntarily and he raised his eyes to meet those of his father's, his stance screaming defiance and denial.
"You lie," he hissed. "You are lying to me. Blaise can't have died. He –"
"Is dead," Lucius interrupted calmly, not at all affected by the anger radiating from his son and choosing not to notice the hint of desperation in the young man's words. "I saw him fall."
Darkness and cold fear gripped the battleground as the Aurors descended onto the meeting – the secret gathering.
'A traitor' whispered the breeze.
'A spy' whispered the wind.
Rumours were flying between them faster than the storm of spells. Mistrust was palpable, suspicion was practically physical, tension was so high it was almost visible.
On the other side, the Aurors were confident, calm and efficient.
In the middle of the battlefield stood Harry Potter himself – the epitome of the Light Side: confident…calm… efficient. Emotionless, authoritative and inspirational, he roused and rallied his forces, sending spell after spell, raising shield after shield.
Every spell was blocked, and any and every opening used to counter-attack; flawless technique and lightening quick reactions.
There were countless dead – many by Harry's own wand – and most of them were Death Eaters; they had been unprepared for the raid.
Harry stood in the middle of the carnage, surveying the destruction. Looking down, a flurry of emotions crossed his features as he recognised the corpse: Marcus Flint.
Recognition. Pain. Regret.
He jumped a little as a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts, and looked over to see Remus Lupin standing there, compassion in his eyes and his stance. A few hurried words, softly spoken, and an offered strained smile, and they disappeared, apparating away from the chaos.
Lucius stepped away from the shadows smiling grimly; a smile of cynical amusement. The Dark Lord would not be pleased; there was nothing to report except death and failure.
Reaching into his robes, Lucius pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it, almost carelessly, at Draco.
The smaller blonde's Seeker reflexes kicked in and he found himself catching the object automatically, clutching it in his fists. He knew what it was, yet he was unwilling to actually look at it. If he didn't see it, he could deny the truth. If he didn't see it, he could make-believe.
He forced his fingers to unclench and his vision blurred when he saw what he knew, yet dreaded, he would see. It was proof; proof that he would never see his lover's smile, feel his lover's touch, hear his lover's voice ever again.
In his trembling hand lay Blaise's wedding ring.
Draco smiled, eyes locked onto Blaise's as the other boy slid the gold band onto his finger, glowing with happiness. Blaise looked up and blue eyes met silver, both shining with joy and adoration; both drifting close slowly as their lips met in a kiss that said what could never be expressed in words.
When they parted, Blaise took his hand, clicking their rings against each other significant, before leaning in to whisper into Draco's ear.
"I'm never taking this off."
"Me neither," he replied, before closing the distance between their lips again.
Blaise kept that promise. He never took it off, just as Draco never took off the matching band; it would have to be forcefully pulled off of his dead body – or indeed, Blaise's dead body.
"Who?" He ground out, knowing his father would understand what he meant.
"Harry Potter."
"Harry, are you okay?"
"Fine Hermione," he ground out, needing to get away from her pitying looks before he broke.
"How was the raid?"
"Fine," he said, emotionlessly. Even to his own ears his voice sounded cold, hollow – dead.
"Harry," she asked compassionately, "What went wrong?"
He didn't answer her, turning away, and shaking his head lightly.
"What happened?" She tried again.
Harry gave up. Hermione had always been good at extracting information from him; bothering him until he reached his breaking point. It was better to just tell her a small part of it; so she would be satisfied and not ask about the rest.
"It's just…" he began, struggling to get the words out. "There were so many dead – so many people I recognised, so many that I knew – and so many that I killed."
"Oh Harry…It's war and they picked the other side. We are fighting for what it right and – "
"But what IS right, Hermione? What is it that gives us the right to choose whether they should die or live? What is it that tells us that we are right?" Harry exploded, her offered comfort having the opposite effect.
"Harry – " She tried again, but he cut her off – again.
"Forget it, Hermione." He turned around, facing the stairs to his dorm. "I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed. I know what you'll say, 'Mione," he said, looking over his shoulder and smiling in resignation, before asking a question rhetorically, using the words she would have said to him, had he not cut her off.
"What can I do?"
"What can I do?" he asked through clenched teeth.
He was blinded by absolute fury. Not only had Potter stolen the spotlight and caused his so much pain and suffering at the hands of his father when they were at school, he had dared to take the only person – the only thing – that Draco cared about away from him. Potter would pay.
Lucius smiled maliciously. "Get close to him, Draco, and find out his greatest weakness," he said to him, almost seductively. "Then we can hit him where it hurts the most; in that moment – when we strike – Potter will really know pain."
To Be Continued…
A/N: I hope that wasn't too confusing! If you have any questions leave them in your review and I'll answer what I can without giving it away next chapter.
Well…what do you think? Like it? Hate it? Couldn't care less? *points frantically at the review button* Please take a little time to tell me what you think! If you want to be added to my mailing list, tell me as well!
Thank you all for reading and thanks to Varada for looking over it and smashing sugar for coming up with the name! You both rule!
As always, comments are adored. Flames are used to toast marshmallows.
~*Dea*~