False Wings

Chyna Rose

Disclaimer: Harry Potter I own not

Spoilers: Goblet of Fire

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Rating: R

Warnings: Slash, creep factor, character death; not for the faint of heart.

Author's Note: The only thing to say is… someone get the .Hack//Sign music away from me before I write again.

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I watch you from the shadows; you see me not. I cannot tell how long I have been there – always on the edge of your perception; just out of sight. But here I have been, and here I shall stay until such a time as I can make you mine.

You will not come to me willingly. We spent too much time building up an animosity based on pride and expectations. Our pride, their expectations. Some things cannot be, but in time, I will make you mine.

You are my angel, my salvation. With you I can break free of the bonds containing me in hell. You are my light; leading me from the darkness. It is only through you that I know of the sun. I bide my time until I can make you mine.

Patience pays off. You let your guard down during the party. Not a very smart thing to do when one has as many enemies as you. Still, that is what makes you you. And therefore is one of the reasons that I love you. You are mine.

You are drunk. We both are, but I am not as drunk as you are. I could never stand loosing too much of my self control. There are so many things in my life that I cannot control after all.  _Someone_ (I am not naming names, but it is easy to guess who) had smuggled in alcoholic drinks. By the time anyone figured it out, it was too late. Everyone was pretty much smashed. You know, I have heard others refer to alcohol as liquid courage. I can understand why they say that. But perhaps I would have still gone up to you and asked you to dance had I been stone cold sober. I know now, that it is time to make you mine.

We dance among the other couples. No-one cares that we, two enemies, are together. They are all that far gone. For song upon song, I hold you in my arms. And then, after we have danced for eternity, you give me the greatest gift. You kiss me. You were then mine; as I was yours.

It was not hard to lead you from the party. Others had slipped away for somewhere more private than the dance floor, although a couple were content with the darkened corners. You never questioned where I was leading you. I could have lead you to the very depths of hell itself and you would have gleefully (or is it drunkenly) followed. And should I have decided that it fit my fancy, I would have lead you there; so thoroughly were you mine.

Tonight was incredible; magic. Our joining was the most indescribable thing I have ever done. Sweet and sensual; a lesson in the erotic. Your breathless cries bore me upon ephemeral wings as I slid in and out of your slick tightness. And as I felt the proof of your love on my skin, I knew. I had made you mine forever.

You are mine, and I am about not to share you with the others. The others only want you for their own selfish needs. Never mind what you want. They do not deserve one as perfect as you. Thus, I cannot allow them to have you. No-one knows of this place, forgotten as it is. I shall keep you here where they cannot find you. You are mine; never theirs.

Two weeks and still they continue to search for you with their petty requests. I have been questioned, but never have I revealed that I know where you are. So much above them are you, that they have fallen completely apart without you. They can never hope wrap their shallow minds around our pure and complete love. For that I pity them. I wish they could understand why you are mine.

Oh love, why do you tremble so? Do I not take good care of you, cater to your every need? Everything you would wish to have is yours. All you have to do is command it. You know that I would never hurt you; not willingly. You are my life. What I do is for your well being. You are the only thing that matters to me. I am yours, heart of mine.

Shhh. It will be alright soon. The others are getting to greedy; too close. I cannot allow them to find you. If they do, I will never see you again. They want to take you from me. I cannot allow this. You are my life; I love you. Just lie still now. Soon, everything will be alright. I know it hurts, but it must be done. Like many of Madame Pomfrey's healing potions. They are often very painful – as we both know – but it is necessary in order to heal. Sleep now, my love. I swear to watch over and protect what is mine.

It is done. You need not worry about the what the world wants to rape from you anymore. Their world has no more meaning for you. You need not worry about finding things; finding jobs, finding a wife. I will take care of you. All you have to do is be yourself. Perfect me, and I shall worship you. For you are my angel. And I will see to it that you are forever mine.

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They found them after nearly a month of looking. It was a strange to see them entwined like that; Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Both boys appeared to be asleep, although it was clear that one, at least, was not. In death, his skin had become as pale as alabaster. His lips lay slightly open, and his delicate eyelashes lay curled upon his cheeks.

The room was just as hauntingly beautiful; a shrine to the boy. A shrine for the boy. Bare marble with a raised dais in the middle. On that dais sat a simple bed, where the two lay. The bed was dressed in the best and whitest of silks, and was surrounded by white flowers spelled never to die and candles spelled never to burn down. A flower crown of sorts had been fashioned, but did not adorn its intended bearer. Instead, it lay on a pillow; waiting to be worn. The boy was dressed in the same flawless white silk as the bed. If it wasn't for the warm lighting provided by the candles (the only source of illumination in the room save for their lit wands), it would be hard to tell where the boy from the bed or the fabric of the thin robe from the boy's skin.

A boy who would never wake again, never grow. Never laugh, or have a chance to have a family of his own. Instead he would lay eternally unchanged by the ebb and flow of time. A monument to obsession.

Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily, feeling each one of his long years individually, and motioned for Poppy and Minerva to approach the bed. They did so without hesitation. After a cursory check, Professor McGonagall lifted Harry from the bed. Most of the assembled professors were quietly fighting tears over the fate of both boys; one dead, the other driven to murder. Both Lucius and Narcissa would have to be contacted about what had happened to their son. It was not something that Albus looked forward to doing; but it still had to be done.

It was truly a sad day for the wizarding world. One of their best and brightest dead, another a warped killer. Albus would do what needed to be done with a heavy heart. And as he watched Severus gently lift up Draco, a single tear rolled down his aged face. There was, in the end, no way he could have predicted this. After all, Harry and Draco were known for their great animosity towards each other.  He would have to contact the Ministry of Magic, of course. A trial would have to be held after all; and perhaps a competency hearing. As he and the other professors filed out of the unintended tomb, Albus could just see what the headline of the Daily Prophet would read: Harry Potter: the Boy Who Killed.