I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison
Chapter 7
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews.
The entire theatre company had been in an uproar ever since the Phantom had presented the managers with his new opera. The seamstresses' fingers were sore from sewing costumes in great haste. The dancers' toes were bandaged from all the new blisters they received after relentless hours of practice. The orchestra was tired; the wind players' lips numb and the violinists were rubbing their achy shoulders. McGonagall's walking staff had nearly splintered from her beating it on the ground like a metronome.
There were hundreds more who were exhausted, all in their own ways, but no one dared complain to the managers about it. They had not been told of the plan to capture the Phantom during the show, but they were very aware that the terrible being would be watching his written work brought to life. They had witnessed his anger before, and they did not want to stir it up by slacking off or refusing to perform.
But none were as weary as Harry. It was the emotional turmoil that was exhausting the young cross dresser. The media was still inquiring about his true gender, and so he had been restricted to his room, dressing room, and practice. His meals were brought to him by Hermione and Ron, and the occasional visit from Luna. They all tried to entertain him, but it only put a small dent in his loneliness.
Harry found himself sneaking down to the little chapel room more than once every day, but not to light a candle for his parents. He felt like he could escape there, praying fervently for some kind of rescue. Draco had decided not to run, saying that the Phantom would always pursue them unless they put a stop to him. And Harry so wanted to be free from the dreams that haunted him every night, the voices that always lingered in his ear although no one was around.
Ron, trying to lighten their moods, would jest that Harry only went to pray so he could drink the communion wine. Of course Hermione retaliated, sourly stating that drunkenness would not solve their problems. And Fred and George would tease that they had far better a stash hidden away than the weak wine in the chapel.
Yet no matter how much Harry prayed for some piece of mind, it seemed the further away he was from it. He insisted on not knowing what plans were made to catch Severus, hoping that the less he knew, the less his fear. And the voice that always whispered to him in his dreams could not be answered if he was ignorant of all schemes.
It seemed like all too soon, yet it felt like an eternity, that opening night was upon them. The audience was humming with gossip that could not be filtered out by the heavy curtains. Lupin and Black were sitting in their box, trying to pass off their nerves as excitement of another opening gala, which would make their pockets even heavier. The patrons seemed indifferent to the tense atmosphere. They did not notice that after they had all been seated, and the main doors shut, that several officers were lurking in the shadows, armed for whatever dangers may arise.
The house lights were dimmed, the great chandelier overhead still burning lightly, casting an eerie glow about the room on the people below. The heavy curtains were pulled back as Dumbledore's baton dropped, and the room was filled with tense music. The audience seemed startled, since the theatre had produced mostly comedies the past few years. Some were eager, though, hoping the night promised a good tragedy, and not some lovesick drama.
As the chorus came out, some of the elder women in their seats nearly swooned from shock at the offensive lyrics and provocative dancing that centered around a giant faux bonfire. The two managers could see below them that already their patrons were starting to whisper. But with each passing minute, they worried less of the crowd's opinion, and more on when the Phantom would make his appearance.
From behind the side curtains, Harry waited for his cue, looking out into the audience. His breath caught in his throat when he saw Draco looking back at him. He could just make out an officer hiding in the shadows behind him, his rifle resting against his shoulder.
Were they going to kill Severus, here, in front of all these people?
Before he could think any further on it, the music altered, reminding him it was time to start his role in the dangerous play.
"No thoughts within her head, but thoughts of joy. No dreams within her heart, but dreams of love."
Oh, if only it could be that simple.
Harry knelt down on the stage, setting down the basket of roses he was carrying. He tried to control his nerves while picking at the thorns, waiting for Peter to return as was in the script.
But the voice that rang out in the auditorium was not Peter's.
If the audience realized this, they did not show any reaction. It was almost as if they were instantly hypnotized by the seductive tone that tickled their ears. Nor did they seem to notice that the masked leading man had suddenly grown over a foot taller, and was much slimmer. No whispers, no curious glances. It was like a spell had been cast.
"You have come here, in pursuit of that deepest urge. In pursuit of that wish, which till now, has been silent. Silent…"
At the familiar sound of Severus' voice, Harry had set down the rose and slowly turned. That familiar feeling that tingled down his spine whenever he was in the Phantom's presence was returning. He wasn't sure if he should surrender to it, or fight it.
"I have brought you that our passions may fuse and merge. In your mind you've already succumbed to me; dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me. Now you are here with me. No second thoughts. You've decided… Decided…"
Harry rose then, gazing into Severus' cold eyes, which seemed to burn him with a heat he'd never felt before. His eyes never broke away as the Phantom approached him, circling him like he was a cat ready to devour a delicious mouse.
"Past the point of no return. No backward glances. Our games of make believe are at an end. Past all thought of 'if' or 'when,' no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend."
Before he could react, the Phantom pounced, grasping Harry and singing in his ear in that raspy, seductive tone. Harry found it harder to fight the burning in him that was threatening to take over his mind and body. Severus' hands were making his skin tingle as he brushed them against his throat, across his shoulders, and down his arm to hold his hand.
"What raging fire shall flood the soul! What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us? Past the point of no return. The final threshold. What warm unspoken secrets will we learn? Beyond the point of no return…"
When Severus released his hand, Harry suddenly had a clear mind again. He took a few steps back, confused as to what would happen next. Was he supposed to go on? Severus was here, the bait had worked. Why wasn't the militia taking action? Were they waiting for an opportune moment? Or like the audience, were they drawn in by Severus' voice and had forgotten what action to take?
But did he want to see Severus killed? For surely that was the plan. Why else would they have come armed? A quick glance confirmed his suspicions that the entire room and backstage contained hiding soldiers.
The ring on his finger suddenly felt warmer against his skin.
Draco watched anxiously from Box 4. He thought perhaps the Phantom would show himself in "his" box, so he had brought a guard with him, and waited. But what happened was not what he had expected. At first he was curious as to what happened to Pettigrew, but when the masked man started singing, and by the reaction on Harry's face, Draco knew that the Phantom was brazen indeed.
He felt rage building up inside him as this "ghost" touched Harry. He looked across the way, and saw Black and Lupin looking utterly chaotic. He motioned for them to stay still and for their guards to stand down. He didn't trust anyone to take aim at this devil when he was far too close to Harry.
So instead he had to suffer, watching the Phantom seduce Harry in front of everyone. And it grew worse as Harry continued on, only after stealing a glance up at Draco, which did not go unnoticed by those masked eyes.
"I have come here to that moment when words run dry. To that moment when speech disappears into silence. Silence… I have come here hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent. Now I am here with you. No second thoughts. I've decided. Decided…"
As Harry turned away, Draco felt a tug on his heart. Was this just part of the story, or was Harry really going to give in to this maniac? He could not turn his gaze away from Harry, even when the other dancers came on stage, dancing lewdly with each other in the background as Harry continued singing.
"Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong. One final question. How long should we two wait before we're one? When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?"
As they climbed higher up the spiral staircase and approached each other on the bridge above the fire pit, Draco felt himself standing up. He wasn't sure if it was to see them better, or if he was going to jump and run to Harry's rescue. He did know he did not like how this was going. The fire in the Phantom's eyes was burning bright, and Harry's body language gave Draco no comfort.
"Past the point of no return. The final threshold. The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn. We've passed the point of no return."
As Harry surrendered to the Phantom's embrace, Draco felt a tear fall down his own cheek. His chest felt tight, and he didn't know whether to scream out for them to stop, to signal the guards, or to continue standing there in agony as that man touched Harry in front of all the awestruck eyes in the room.
Harry felt completely lost in Severus' touch, but it was nothing like he'd known before. That fire in him seemed to rage, and the only thing that tamed it was his cool touch. Never mind that the audience was spellbound by such a display of lust that hadn't been seen in polite society before. Or that his friends below were looking franticly at him from down below, hidden off stage. The only thing that seemed to matter at that moment was the sweet voice singing softly in his ear at that moment.
"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Lead me, save me from my solitude. Say you'll want me with you, here, beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too."
Hearing his words, Harry was drawn from his lustful haze and opened his eyes, turning in the Phantom's embrace to look into his masked eyes. He reached out to cup his cheek in his hand, and Severus leaned in to the touch.
"Harry, that's all I ask of you…"
In that last word, Harry pulled at his mask, revealing his marred face to the audience. Whatever had rendered them silent for the performance was gone now, and there were shrieks and screams from all corners of the room.
Despite it all, Harry and Severus continued to look at one another. Severus' expression turned from a look of pleading and love, to disappointment and irritation. He broke his gaze to look up at the roof, and then down at the screaming audience. The soldiers were now coming out of hiding, and were fast approaching the two on the bridge.
Harry gasped when Severus grabbed him around the waist, pulling him close. As he did this, he pulled a knife out from under his coat, slicing through a red rope. Before Harry could see what it led to, Severus kicked at a latch that released the floor from beneath them, sending them falling towards the stage. There were gasps all around as they disappeared through the faux fire pit below, which hid a trap door leading to only God knew where.
Ron and Hermione raced on stage, stopping at the edge of the fire ring, its paper flames still dancing in the chaos on stage. The trap door had closed too quickly to see where it led. Before they could make any question about where Harry had gone, a grinding noise from overhead drew everyone's attention.
The new chandelier was rocking, and the ceiling around it was starting to crack. The audience started to scream more frantically as the giant structure suddenly dropped about twenty feet, and then raced towards the stage like a giant pendulum, painted angels and tiles falling down with it towards the innocents below.
Dumbledore and the musicians abandoned their instruments, climbing over the pit to escape the impending crash. Women tripped over their high shoes and long skirts, calling for help that seemed to land on deaf ears.
The shatter of the glass on stage was a deadly sound, sending pieces everywhere. But that was not the end of it. The oil from the lamps on the stage and the chandelier were set ablaze in the crash, and splashed on to the curtains. Within a minute the stage was a total loss, and the fire was racing down the aisles after any patrons still scrambling out.
"We're ruined, Remus! Ruined!"
Sirius was frantic as Remus tried to pull him to safety. He was right, of course. The evening had gone nothing like they had planned. Apparently the Opera Ghost was much too keen, and had planned an escape, making sure that they were punished for not listening to him. "He's kidnapped Potter," Remus stated, as he led Sirius outside towards fresh air.
"To hell with Potter! If it wasn't for their cursed infatuation, none of this would ever have happened!"
Draco was still inside the opera house, but fighting the horde of frightened people to gain access to the backstage. Smoke started billowing into the halls, so he unbuttoned his waist coat and lifted it to screen his mouth and nose. His eyes burned, but it was nothing to the hatred that was consuming him. He would find that damnable man and make a real ghost out of him.
"Count! Count Malfoy! Stop!"
He reluctantly turned to look back over his shoulder. Madame McGonagall, followed by Hermione and Ron, were close on his heels.
"Please, sir, wait! It's no use at this moment! The fire has blocked us off!"
Draco stopped as McGonagall grabbed him by the arm. "Please, trust me. Have patience. He will not harm Harry."
Draco glared at her, yanking his arm out of her grasp. "How can you be so sure? Look what he's done already!"
McGonagall made a grab at his arm again as he tried to continue on. "Sir, I beg you. You will die if you go after him right now. I can help you, if you will but have some patience."
"How can you help me?" he spat angrily. "What do you know about this proclaimed Phantom that could possibly help me?"
Her face suddenly looked regretful. "Because I brought him here. He's my nephew."