Disclaimer: The title belongs to Trent Reznor, and all identifiable characters to J. K. Rowling.
This is my first experiment in squick. I fully blame AnathdeMalfoy's Lucius/Draco stories for this dark ficlet.
Beauty is the sixteen-year old girl kneeling in front of me, peace is her swallowing my seed and enjoying it.
When I close my eyes, the brave little Gryffindor cupping me, licking me, becomes another, lost to me far too soon. The ring on my left hand grows heavier; it has been years since its mate was worn. I will never remove it. I don't seek this out, but cannot turn it down when offered by one so similar to my beloved.
Pleasure is merely the absence of pain.
I am not sure what my companion gains from this encounter, for it will not be in the way of academic standing in my class. I do not know either if she will be back. We are using each other, but she has lost a great deal as well. We all have to this fratricide of a war.
My father preferred the company of young boys; I did not inherit his predilection in spite of all his efforts. Even throughout my years as an active Deatheater, I did not stoop to such a level, avoiding the young captive Muggles and Muggleborn the others used as meat. Before her, I sent all with the audacity to approach me crying back to their Common Rooms. I thought that my first time violating one of the children in my care would be all I ever needed; fate disagreed. Not that she seemed a child to me at the time. Her mind was perfect, far beyond all her peers and the vast majority of adults, masking her inexperience. I loved her young flesh all the more for it.
She came to me despite my cruelty, her compassion a unique balm to my soul. I dared dream happiness for myself with her. And I was, deliriously happy, for a while.
Guilt, the one constant in my life, cannot comfort me here. I lost her to the Boy-Who-Would-Not-Die through no fault of mine. Her stupid bravery ripped her from me, but I cannot begrudge her that. All of her was precious. I am only alive still because her final words to me requested it. She absolved me of all my sins, but would not allow me to follow her. I abide by her wishes the best I can, but this half life will kill me soon enough.
Truly, I expected her to outlive me and this pointless war. In my more hopeful moments, I imagined a child, our child, growing up in a world free of violence and pain. That dream shattered with her body, broke into a thousand pieces when she dove in front of the curse meant for the alleged savior of the Wizarding World. I suppose I should be grateful that it was not the killing curse, which would have robbed me of hearing her for one last time.
I no longer care for the future. I have paid my dues in blood, mine and that which mattered more to me. Dumbledore can come down from his tower to watch, even, for it concerns me little. This particular sin can only let me ascend several levels of Hell. Cocytus will certainly be my resting place, for I play Judas to two masters.
The ring burns as my testicles tighten. My release is silent as usual, but in my mind I cry out to the better part of my soul.
Hermione.
A quick cleansing charm later, my robes are fastened and my student stands up in front of me.
"You are dismissed, Ms. McAdams."
As I turn my attention back to marking papers, she leaves, taking a piece of me with her that I will not get back.
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