Die For You- Plot bunny from this awesome fanvid: closed his eyes, as if it would stop the vicious onslaught. Maybe onslaught wasn't exactly the word, he considered, and neither was vicious… that implied some unspeakable horror, and this was no horror. Annoying, yes. Strange, yes. Uncomfortable, certainly. A horror? No.
But, Merlin, he didn't expect the affect to be so harsh. God. Just… God. His cologne, spicy and bitter, his eyes, a bright, constantly mocking silver. His hair, finally loose of it's constraining gel, falling past his pale, pale skin. An angel. An ethereal angel.
He ran his fingers through his own, more unruly, darker hair. Merlin. Obsession was a bad thing, he knew, obsession destroyed people… but… how could he not? How could he not be obessed with the young man? With the beautiful boy?
Though it would be all too simple. His feelings were not reprobated, he knew this as well. It was forever doomed to be a one-sided… what? Obsession? Crush? Loove? The last word was said in a tone of mocking indignity, turning the ideal into a horrid, ugly thing. As it is, as it should be, my dear own traitorous mind. As it is, and as it should be.
His head sunk against the mattress, the bitter refrain echoing. As it is and as it should be. A dark saying, reeking of disappointment and rejection. As the tears rolled down his face, he wondered… did Voldemort even have to fight him, to kill him? For truly this was more of a horror than any half-baked Dark Lord could possibly dream up.
As it is, son, and as it should be.
- Your father
He slams the letter down. Wonderful last words, really they were. You're dead, you crazy bastard! You're dead, and your last words to me are, 'as it is, son, and as it should be', sending me on some inane trip for the maniac who murdered you? NO! Never again, Father. He took you and my mother. Never again will I fight for him. Only against him. Only for myself. He threw the letter into the blaze, watching in grim satisfaction as it burned, the flames consuming the parchment. He missed the small note at the end:
I love you, my dragon.
He knew the news would spread fast. The ever-famous Draco Malfoy, epitome of the perfect little evil Slytherin, miniature Death Eater extraordinaire, turned good? Well, perhaps good was too strong a word. Turned… self-reliant. And perhaps he had a small score to settle. Well… his mouth twists into a smile… perhaps a rather large score to settle. And unlike the goody-two shoes Gryffindors, he used the Dark Arts. His eyes glowed, quite literally, with the prospect of revenge, the gray lightening into tarnished silver.
Anyone who had seen him would have been terrified.
A sharp knock on the door.
"Go away, whoever the fuck you are!" Draco hollers.
"It's me!"
"Yes, I had realized that."
"Harry, I mean!"
Draco stands up, making his way over to the door. "This should impact my decision, how, again?"
"Aargh! Stupid git, why the hell do you think I'm in these dungeons?! The Order sent me, okay, now open the goddamn door!"
Draco opens the door, stepping nimbly aside as Harry, who had been leaning with his full weight on the door, falls onto the hard stone floor.
"Why didn't you say so?" he mocks, smirking slightly. "Get up, then."
"Bastard," Potter hisses between clenched teeth.
"Well, not quite. But I understand the sentiment. Really, though, are you planning on staying sprawled on the ground? Because while it is amusing, I don't think we have the time."
Potter growls, but gets up. Draco smirks.
God. Oh Merlin, oh God. He didn't expect the effect to be this harsh, this horribly, horrendously intense. Draco is just laughing, white teeth glinting. God, he wants to kiss him, but he knows that would be a very bad idea. Draco is staring at him now, looking puzzled.
"So, what is it?"
"Uhm…"
"When did you forget how to speak? Really, I doubt you'd just drop in to see how I'm doing, Potter. Can you hurry it up?"
"The Order… they want you at their next meeting. Here…" he passes him a portkey.
Draco nods twice, looking pointedly at the door, then at him. The message is clear. Get the hell out.
Shunned. Denied by both friends and enemies, for choosing. For deciding to survive. For that curse, he is avoided. The Gryffindors look at him out of the corner of their eyes and whisper, as if they can't believe that he's really telling the truth. No one meets his gaze when he looks over, though. Never. They either think he's a traitor or a hero, but he couldn't care less- they think what they will. He was himself- as they said- Due to circumstances beyond my control, I am master of my fate and captain of my soul. And he didn't want his soul to be Voldemort's.
The Slytherins deny his existence now, as much as they used to embrace him. They ignore him- never making eye contact, never speaking. Draco is no longer the Slytherin Prince, now Blaise Zabini is. His is the outcast- the white sheep of the family, he considers bitterly.
But he's not really white. More of light gray, and that's stretching it. He wonders briefly what was wrong with Potter, but dismisses it out of hand. Potter was just a minor annoyance, and now not even that. He sighs. Well. And the battle is approaching, isn't it? In a few days?
He hears the Slytherins having a party, Usually he'd be the first invited. Now he doesn't even get a relucatant invite, 'on account of how you're a Slytherin pure-blood and all.'
Was it worth it? Losing everyone?
He sees his father once more.
Yes.
The battle approaches. Everyone is certain that Harry will win- after all, it is fate. No one's sure about Draco, but they accept him with wary arms and cautious smiles. Harry seems so happy, too happy. But the battle is coming, the last one, the one that will decided everything, so he begins to practice his magic. But then the saying returns, this time with a harsher connatation:
Due to circumstances beyond my control, I am master of my fate and captain of my soul.
In such a case, what can Fate do? Something is only real if you believe in it. And right now, the only thing Harry believes in is Draco. And Draco has no idea.
It wouldn't matter if he knew- Draco had no interest. Not in Harry specifically, or even boys. He didn't have an interest in anyone. Anything, for that matter. He ate because he had to survive- drank for the same reason. Studied for the simple use of advancing his magical ability. He didn't know what he'd do after school and didn't really care. He had one sole idea, one goal. It was repeated in every bone and fiber of his body, part of every word he said: Revenge.
It was a bad thing to live off of, he knew, but he couldn't honestly say he cared. It was all that mattered by this point. No family, no friends, nothing. Nothing but him.
No one noticed- if they did, they didn't care. Draco had become more and more secluded, but it was too be expected, after all. He didn't speak to anyone, barely met anyone's eyes. Didn't have patience with interrogations about what side he was on, or baseless accusations. He usually just ignored them, saying, 'I have better things to do than explain myself. Now, if you don't mind, or even if you do, I am going to get back to doing them.'
Those things were usually the Dark Arts. Draco began to comb through all of his father's books, mastering each Dark Arts spell, one at a time. Occasionally the Dark Mark would twitch, reminding him. Reminding him of his idiotic oath, of his previous madness. He would ignore it. It would burn, and he would ignore it. The pain would sometimes become more than he had ever felt, but he just remembered one thing: his father. How his father looked. And that was enough to keep him going, through the pain.
He wasn't sure what he'd do when Voldemort was dead. He didn't care. In the end, he didn't have too.
To Be Continued… (Soon, I Promise)
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