Title: Bladed

Summary: "You know," Neville said absently as the long blade etched a deep line down Draco's heaving chest, "I've always been good with blades…" Neville shows his darker side... a much darker side. Seventh year, could be DM/NL if you've got your slash goggles on. Some torture. One shot.

Rating is T, because of Neville's nasty side, some bloody torture, and a very chaste kiss.

Alright, let's get it over with. I own copies of Harry Potter. I read them religiously. Unfortunately for me, I do not own the actual rights to Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be telling you this disclaimer.

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He'd been caught out of the area of the castle Slytherin controlled. Honestly, he couldn't believe he'd been so stupid, but it had been known to happen, and at the moment, he really didn't want to think about what the people looked like after the various members of the Gryffindor enforcer squads that wandered the castle halls had finished with them. With Hogwarts as divided as it was right now, all of them had zones, sections that they controlled, and he'd stepped over the boundaries right as a squad rounded the corner. As the masked people dragged him off, arms tight behind his back, his wand in someone else's hand, he wondered if they'd torture him. He wouldn't put it past them at this point: even he'd nearly screamed when the littler of the Creevey's had been tortured in front of them at breakfast. They were probably out for vengence right now.

He hadn't been paying attention to where he was being taken until they dropped him in front of steel toed boots at the end of a hallway. He stared at them, wondering if the owner would be the one in charge. They looked very similar to the ones Voldemort liked to wear, he reflected sourly. He knew the man's boots very well- they had a fondness for his ribcage if he or his father had done something wrong.

"Please tell me that that is not Draco Malfoy."

Silence. Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. They'd taken him to Neville? A man who was almost a squib? What did they think he'd do, throw a plant at him?

A sigh ripped the quiet like a sharp knife. "Pity. I was hoping for Zabini. He's got a lovely scream. Keep him quiet, would you?"

Chills rolled up his arms, and he opened his mouth to demand an explanation. A gag was shoved in instead, the cloth muffling any protests. A muffled yelp was all he managed as he was once again hauled upright, his arms brutally yanked behind him. Looking up, he looked straight into Neville's chilly brown eyes. His skin crawled at what he saw within them, the dark, dangerous heat that he'd never known the other to possess. Neville was in his element right now, and Draco was a fish out of water, about to be slit down the middle.

He stumbled as someone kicked him. "Move it, Malfoy," a voice hissed in his ear. "He's pissed off already, and I assure you, you don't want to make it worse on yourself."

Had that been Seamus? He didn't have time to process the idea as he stumbled forwards, and Neville turned away. A dark black- or was it blue- cloak stretched behind him, seeming to flutter in a non-existent wind. A flash of silver caught his eye, and his eyes widened as he saw a dagger shoved through Neville's belt. It was wicked sharp and silvery, bringing to mind virgin sacrifices and blood stained walls. Curved like a scythe blade, the thing looked like it was made for ripping and tearing.

"Nev's mum's maiden name is Lestrange," Seamus (?) whispered softly as they began to walk. "And it's not just your dear auntie Bella who's got a bit of a nasty streak. Do what you're told and he's alright. He's only like this at night-won't have a clue if you ask him tomorrow."

"You say something, Seamus?"

This time, Draco heard it. It was small, but still, it was there there: The faint hint that not everything was quite right in Neville's mind. It was that curiously childlike tone, the same one that Bellatrix used when she was talking to Voldemort. He shuddered violently, and the grip on his right arm tightened.

"Just muttering to myself. You know how I get."

Neville flashed him a smile, and Draco could tell. He was mad as a hatter, and twice as unpredictable as his aunt. There was a faint look of insanity in those eyes now, the look that Bellatrix gave his father every time he might have the inclination of speaking out of term. Sad, he thought, half terrified, half oddly amused, that all of his memories involving real craziness were of his aunt.

They'd reached a far corner of the castle by now, deep inside the territory controlled by Gryffindor. His eyes searched the darkness, but the squad was alone with a madman, and Seamus had gone silent.

"In there," Neville said silkily.

The door to an empty room opened silently on well-oiled hinges. The stench of blood teased into his nostrils, making him gag. Evidently, he wasn't the first to be taken to this room. The thought made him cringe, but he didn't have time to think about the impending torture as the gag was roughly withdrawn from his mouth. He was shoved brusquely inside the blood-smelling room, stumbling a bit at the roughness. His feet scuffed the floor, and he tumbled, barely catching himself. The door closed with a soft click, and he looked up to see Neville standing over him, knife lazily held in one hand. He flipped it over in his hand, the silver twirling end over end. The hilt, wrapped with black leather, landed in his palm with a steady thud, thud, thud that had Draco's hair on the back of his neck standing at attention and saluting stiffly.

"Hello, Draco. Care to tell me why you were out and about tonight?"

Draco gulped. "I was hungry, and I wanted to go to the kitchens." He attempted to sound commanding and arrogant, but didn't think it worked.

The knife continued to spin. He couldn't stop staring at it, a pit forming in his stomach. He had a really bad feeling about that knife. It was the same feeling he got whenever Voldemort's temper was wearing thin.

"Eyes on me, Draco."

He dragged his attention away from the horrible blade and up to those horribly inhumane, pitiless eyes. Neville smiled slightly, but it didn't reach the eyes. "Very good."

Draco gnawed on his lip, standing stiff as a board as Neville approached, still spinning the knife. He was surprised to see that he was much shorter than the man. He'd never thought of Neville as tall, but then again, he didn't think of Neville very often. He was thinking about him a lot right now, as the steel toed boots clicked on the floor. Neville circled him like he was some item he might buy, his eyes like Draco's fathers when he was surveying him for any possible flaw. Draco stayed stalk still, feeling sweat trickle down his neck.

"Lose the shirt."

"I-"

His protests were cut off as the curve of the blade found his throat. Draco sighed dramatically in resignation, and began to strip. The thin layer wasn't much protection from the cold room anyhow. He was intending to say something witty, but froze as the icy sharp touch of Neville's blade found his back. The tip began lazily tracing his back, jumping from scar to scar. His back was covered with them, most from Voldemort's less than tender ministrations.

"Where did you get this scar?" Neville asked quietly, tracing it with the tip of the knife. His least favorite, it stretched from his left shoulder to the middle of his back, right in the middle of his spine. It was thinner now, not as dark as it had been.

"Borgin and Burkes. I accidentally touched a cursed whip, and it tore me open." He stared at Neville, wondering where this was going or why he was telling him this.

Neville considered this, and then pointed to a wall with the dagger. "Go stand over there. Back to it."

"Why?"

Neville just looked at him with eyes that brooked no argument.

Draco took a deep breath, trying for one last show of bravado. "What do you think you're going to do to me?"

Neville merely smiled darkly and pointed. Trying not to tremble, he did as told, even though every step he took was like pure agony. Nothing he'd ever done had terrified him this much, not even when he'd been given the Dark Mark. He'd gone through the Cruciatus Curse more than 20 times, but the thing was…with the Cruciatus, you knew it would stop. There would be an end to the pain, a fast end. There wouldn't be a fast end to a knife thrust into his skin.

He reached the wall, turned around, and pressed his back to the icy stones.

Neville sat on a desk that Draco could have sworn wasn't there before, watching him and tossing the knife. It swirled and dipped through the air, beautiful and terrible. Draco stared at it, wondering how many others had been in his situation, watching as the blade that would soon rip them open danced through fingers normally clumsy in their ministrations. In a way, he thought, that was the worst part. He'd never seen Neville like this before, so inhuman and terrifying. Neville had never been anything but gentle and kind, sweet and innocent, even naive, truth be told. Where had this come from?

"Stand very still," Neville said softly. "Very still…"

Draco stood dead still, trying not move, trying to not even breathe. Neville stood up, and sauntered over to him. Pressing the edge of the blade to the v of his collarbone, he stared thoughtfully into Draco's eyes. Draco shivered, gritting his teeth together to avoid pleading with him for leniency.

"I've watched you for a long time," he said softly, and Draco's breathing sped up as Neville's free hand tangled in his hair. "A very long time. It's hard to not watch you, after all. You're like a walking spotlight."

Draco closed his eyes, shivering as Neville leaned in, inhaling softly by his ear. The sound sent his heart hammering in his chest, chills spilling over him as his hand moved to his neck, fingering the curve of the flesh. The calluses felt odd on his skin, an alien sensation not unpleasant. The knife pressed in deeper, and Draco whimpered, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. The blade hurt.

Neville pulled back and smiled at him as a single droplet of blood spilled down the blade that he left on Draco's collarbone. He considered him, eyes flicking over the slim body. He seemed to reach a decision, and began to move the blade.

"You know," Neville said absently as the long blade etched a deep line down Draco's heaving chest, "I've always been good with blades… My mother was too, supposedly. It must run in the family."

Draco couldn't have responded if he'd wanted too. His teeth were too tightly clenched to keep him from screaming. The agony was breathtaking, the pain causing stars to explode in his eyes. He threw his head back, teeth grinding as he fought to keep control of his vocal chords. Not once had he screamed during the Cruciatus, even when Voldemort had held the wand to his head, and he certainly wouldn't be screaming here, in this far flung corner of the castle for a madman with a knife.

The blade stopped just short of his navel. Neville pulled away, looked at his handiwork and the blood smearing the silvery blade, and smiled at him.

"I hope you've learned your lesson," he said softly. "Now promise me you won't go wandering again."

Draco looked up at him, and then nodded through his pain, darkness fluttering behind his eyes. He wondered if he would faint and what would happen if he did. Somehow, he doubted that it would be pleasant.

"I want to hear you say it," Neville said softly, eyes glittering dangerously when there was no verbal reply. With Neville in this mood, he could end up dead.

"I- won't go w-wandering around i-in y-y-your territory without permission ever again," Draco choked out, holding his head high.

Neville smiled sweetly, leaning over and gently brushed his lips over Draco's. "Now be a good boy and let Seamus patch you up." Draco nodded, dazedly, wondering if he was going into shock and he'd just imagined the kiss. Neville smirked slightly, licked the blade and stowed it in his belt again. "One thing... If I find you've broken your promise, Draco... I won't hesitate to add to that scar."

Pushing open the door, with a swirl of the blue cloak he was gone.

Draco collapsed, gritting his teeth as the pain hit him full force. He wanted to curl into a ball and just die. Looking down at the hot blood trickling down his side, he welcomed the darkness of unconciousness as it spilled into his mind, and finally passed out.

AN: Wow…uh. Well, I didn't think it was going to get this intense. But it did… I am messed up. Anyways, I'm almost terrified to ask but…reviews?