Love
It crept up on me one day, completely unexpected.
First he was my teacher, who I hated.
Then he was my protector, who I resented.
After that he was my ally (unwilling), who taught me better than he ever had as my professor.
Next he was my friend, who I trusted.
Some time later, he was a very attractive man, I realised.
And one morning he was the man I loved, who I dreamed of, who merely glimpsed made my heart beat faster.
It is a strange alchemy, this thing called love. It makes the dark shadows into shimmering gold – or, rather, makes the shadows infinitely attractive.
I step willingly into them, embracing my doom.
I step into his dungeon, ready for my lesson.
Hate
Boy… you escape me yet again… as you have done too many years.
Too long… far too long.
You will die… yes, soon.
But first… first you will suffer… and scream… and beg.
Green eyes glitter… pain and grief… plead and whimper… beg forgiveness.
Then perhaps… with a laugh… I will grant your request…
For mercy… for death.
Mercy… death…
Your blood… has made me strong again, boy…
Your death… will make me stronger still.
Then… I will have my revenge… have my right… have my vengeance on the fool who denied me… and the fools who resisted me.
Just as soon… as you die, boy.
Soon.
Desire
"I want you." Clamp my mouth shut tight. That should never have been said.
A single flowing stride across the room.
Your mouth on my mouth. Sinful, glorious.
Your hands on my skin. Surely this should be forbidden.
Your body, guiding me to your bed. I forget, it is.
Your tongue on my erection. Forbidden fruit is sweetest.
You, inside me as far as you can be. This is far too sweet for me.
You, driving me to climax. It cannot be, cannot last.
Sweaty, sated, content, relaxed.
"I love you." Clamp my mouth shut tight. That should never have been said.
Guilt
I am a fool.
When a student claims to want you, kissing them is not the correct response.
When a student kisses you back, sleeping with them is not the correct response.
When a student claims to love you, replying in kind is not the correct response. No matter how sated you are.
When you wake up beside a student, pulling them closer is not the correct response.
I will wake him, send him away.
He will believe me when I say I lied.
It will, perhaps, assuage the guilt.
He will keep the secret, he could not do otherwise.
I am a fool.
It is the only thing to do.
Resentment
Why him? It's the only question I can ask.
Of all the people you could have had, why choose him?
You could have had me. If you wanted.
Hypocrite.
I want you.
Dignified response "I cannot have a relationship with a student, Draco."
I'm old enough. There's no law against it.
"It would not be right."
Why not just tell me you wanted him?
Maybe you knew.
Sickly green eyes, spindly frame, fish-bowl glasses.
Who would want him?
Perhaps my father would care to know this.
Yes, I think he might.
It is not a good idea to refuse a Malfoy, Severus.
It is time you learnt that.
Grief
They took him.
Death Eaters in Hogsmeade. It was supposed to be impossible. Nothing is ever impossible, but we will never learn that lesson. Too late to learn it now.
It's been three days. Albus cannot hide it much longer. I am amazed he has hidden it this far. "Harry is doing something for me," he tells them. "He will be back soon," he promises.
Too late for him, still a boy for all that he was almost a man.
Albus, of course, keeps hope. Keeps the faith. I know more intimately what they are. I cannot hope.
I find myself, at the oddest moments, thinking of him. Almost, regretting. I do not regret. Like second-guessing the past, it serves no purpose. For this, I would regret.
For him, I will grieve.
Pain
"Crucio."
Again, a whip-crack of pain through me.
How long has it been?
Someone must come soon, surely. Please, let them come. Let it be soon.
Resistance has been bled out of me.
Cannot save myself, now.
Save me, please.
Knife of searing agony.
He's back.
"Bow to your master, boy. Good boy. Now beg."
No. I won't. This one thing, I won't.
"Imperio."
No. I won't. You can't make me.
Familiar. Pain again. I writhe.
If they just gave me my wand. If they just stopped the pain, for a second.
One second.
"They told me about your lover, boy."
My lover? Oh, him. Not my lover. Not any more. Only for a night.
"Would you beg if I had him?"
For him, yes.
Cruel smile.
Relief
Harry… is alive. Better still, he is here. In a healing sleep in the hospital wing, but it is far better than it might have been. Could, so easily, have been. It is an indescribable relief to know that I did not, after all, send a boy out to die, assuming that I knew the outcome.
Somehow, he escaped. Somehow, he made it back. Not even I can understand how. It is another one of those miracles his whole life seems to be. I am simply thankful he is alive.
Sometimes I think I have failed him. Failed them all, the children who I watch over. Then I see once more that the war rages and even the children must fight, and soon.
Even Severus seems relieved. Grateful, that Harry was spared.
I wonder if Harry spoke to him, before he was taken.
He will be well again, and they will need to speak.
I? I will let them be. A little peace is no more than they deserve.
Resignation
It is done.
The war and his time as a child both.
He was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. Now he is the Man Who Conquered.
More than that, Man Who Survived, over and over again, the worst that could be thrown at him.
'Mr Potter, our new celebrity.' I concede, now. He deserves his celebrity. As do many others, but there is only space for one hero in the world's heart.
In my heart, perhaps?
And for me? I will go on as I always have, no doubt. There is no place for me in his triumphant blaze.
Not even if I wanted it.
Pleasure
I knock, heart pounding.
I wait, breath catching.
Door opens, he stands there.
I speak, as I did once before.
He responds, as he did the last time.
He still wants me.
Mouth, hands, skin, sweat, teeth, tongues, sheets, erections, semen, pleasure.
Caressing, gliding, pressing, stroking, sliding, opening, taking, loving, pleasuring.
All as it was before. Once.
Pleasure, pleasure, pleasure.
He will kill me with pleasure, as the other almost did with pain.
I speak, as I did once before.
He responds, as he did the last time.
I change it.
"Don't throw me out this time." Teasing tone, pleading eyes.
"I won't."
Happiness
This room is our kingdom, our refuge. Everything in it is ours.
Two chairs, flanking a fire. I promised I would not throw him out, and I have not. Will not.
A rug, spread before it, where he prefers to lie.
Our desks, side by side, as we are openly now.
Shelves, filled with books – Quidditch alongside Potions, music beside Ministry law.
Two wardrobes, old and new, the shine beginning to wear off his to match mine.
Our bed, sheets rumpled. He has begun to corrupt me, I fear.
Bodies tangled together. Not close enough, I draw him nearer.
Two hearts, beating contentedly, sharing in the closest to happiness I have ever known.