Solely Yours
Draco stared at the blood rolling over the palm of his hand. The slow moving droplet left a trail of crimson behind, almost like a track for the next droplet to follow. Once in a while, a new track would be laid, and he could feel the trickle of wetness claiming new territory over his body.
Footsteps echoed through the darkness, sending a startled chill over his spine. Quickly, the Slytherin grabbed his wand and cast a healing charm over his wrist. He rubbed the wet tears from his cheeks, hiding evidence of anger and pain that he knew should be kept inside at all times.
Lucius knocked at the wooden door and stepped inside. He grimaced at the sight of his son, swollen faced and kneeling on the floor.
"Your final semester at Hogwarts starts tomorrow, Draco. It is the last amount of time you will have to prepare yourself for the real world. You know as well as I do what will take place on your next birthday. I am sure you will have mastered hiding any emotions, good and bad at that time. I will not have you embarrass me. " Lucius spoke firmly.
"Yes, father I will be ready." Draco subsided.
"Goodnight. " Lucius gripped the handle of the door and shut it behind him as he left.
Draco was left alone, anger filling him once more at his instructions, his path chosen, his future. He slid his fingers over the cool metal of the razor while thoughts circled in his mind. Lucius would feed him like raw meat to the Dark Lord in less than seven months. Draco had known this since he was a child, and early on he had been excited at the idea of being just like his father. He had neither understood nor envisioned what would change in years to come.
Draco pulled the blanket around his shoulders, his porcelain fingers holding so tightly, they threatened to shred the material beneath them. When he was seven, he never expected to fall in love with a girl, they were not pretty like his father explained when discussing them. They smelled too much like flowers and dressed in light summer colors instead of bold strong ones. At twelve he never expected to fall for anything else, girls were what everyone wanted. They were prize possession to the older boys, like trophies that could talk and pay compliments to those they were with. At fifteen he realized he was not attracted to girls the way others were. He did not fancy their breasts or long nails raking over his skin. He did not become excited in the pit of his stomach, or anywhere else for that matter, when one paid him extra attention. Their hair was much too long and got in the way when kissing and their waist had too much curve for his hand. He did not tell anyone this, but let it become an angry beast inside his mind. Sharp talons clawing at his brain every time he spent the night with a girl only to meet the expectations of those around him. He did not dare spend too much time with Slytherin boys of much intelligence, to limit his attraction to them. His father could not know of this.
Ronald Weasley was not Draco's type. He never had been and to find himself pressed against the boy in the Gryffindor quidditch changing room in any way other than a fight, was unexpected. Fire burned in Ron's eyes, anger and hatred radiated from his glare. Deeply rooted emotions gave extra physical strength as they stared one another down and tore to uncovered flesh. Draco could feel his heart racing, adrenaline clouding his mind as he sat atop the sweat covered boy. Mouth pressed to mouth, the tension changing from hatred to lust. Battling to dominate the kiss they both struggled to hold the other down. Intense friction of thigh against member, thick layers of clothing separating their lower regions, rough movement caused Ron to arch, pressing harder against Draco. Draco's lips covered his to muffle the cry of ecstasy before Ron buckled beneath him panting.
Draco had won that night, he won the fight the second his lips scorched Ron's in an angry distracting kiss. He won again, when Ron became the first to let go and become vulnerable by his inability to contain himself. Lastly, he won the moment Ron's fingers snaked beneath Draco's pants to finish the job that had been started.
Draco flinched as sweat formed on his brow, closing his eyes he pushed the memory away and focused on the razor once more. He could not be servant to the Dark Lord and stay with Ron, sooner or later one would ask him to destroy the other. Ron was close to Harry, but Draco was sure Harry had no idea of their relationship, now going on a year's anniversary. Ron would not share all his secrets with Potter, but in turn would not leave the boy's side either. Draco knew asking Ron to join him under Voldemort was one battle he would not win.
Pressing the blade to his skin, Draco opened the flesh releasing his anger as he released the blood from his body. A thought occurred to him. Months from now he would have a mark on this very arm, a mark that would not leave, the dark mark. Dropping the blade to the wooden floor beneath him, Draco slid his thumb over the sticky substance making a puddle in the floor. With the pad of his finger, he marked a capital R in the exact spot his father had the mark on his arm. He stared as moonlight fell over the smeared letter and set his jaw in a determined manner. He would not heal the cut on his wrist this time, it would be his own dark mark of sorts. It would stand for Ron, and though the R would wash off, the scar just below his palm would not.
In June he would accept the burning mark, knowing inside his mind that he was never fully going to serve Voldemort, the first mark on his prefect body belonged to Ron, as did he. Possibly he would turn down Voldemort openly, standing before his father and other Death Eaters. He would die then, but know that the man had never had the chance to mark him, and he would solely be Ron's.