Untouchable Face

by Amalin

When your memory is something that other people play with and your mind their discarded playground, what else can you believe in besides your own reflection? Lockhart and angst, what a combination.

4. I Loved You

Title: Untouchable Face (I Loved You)

Author: Amalin

Contact: Amalin32@aol.com

Rating: R

Disclaimer: This fanfiction is based on characters and settings in the books of J. K. Rowling. No profit is being made. The song "Dilate," from which the lyrics are taken, belongs to Ani DiFranco. Chapters Three and Four are titled after the Ani DiFranco song, "So What."

Summary: When your memory is something that other people play with and your mind their discarded playground, what else can you believe in besides your own reflection? When no recollection is a pleasant one, is it better just to forget? How many new lives are too many, before the past catches up to you? And what do you do when the face in the mirror is no stranger than the dreams you once cherished? What then?

c h a p t e r t h r e e -- i l o v e d y o u

"...when i say you sucked my brain out
the English translation is:
i am in love with you and it is no fun
but i don't use words like love
'cos words like that don't matter
but don't look so offended
you know you should be flattered…"

He was shivering on a bench when Lucius found him, teeth chattering in harsh counter-rhythm to the strains of music spilling from the Great Hall.

"You bloody idiot," Lucius chuckled, sitting down beside him. "If you're so cold, why didn't you come in?"

"Didn't want to." Tearing the last velvety petal from his dissected rose, Gil let the remains of the flower fall to the ground beside the bush from which it had come. He loves me, he loves me not... How ridiculous it all was, really. Lucius' arms were warm when they slipped around him, his silky robes smooth against Gil's skin. "W-what are you doing out here, anyway? If it's so cold?"

"Mm? I'm not cold." His body was so solid and reliably comforting, his gentle musk enveloping the boy's senses. "Came looking for you."

Gil glanced away. "Why? It's your last ball. Why look for me?"

"Just 'cause you have two more years doesn't mean you shouldn't have fun," Lucius retorted. "Face it, you've been avoiding me. I want to know why. I thought we had an understanding." Reaching out for another rose, Gil accidentally grasped a thorn with his thumb and pulled away with an angry gash. He sucked it defiantly, shrugging. "Come on, Gil," Lucius persisted, "what are you doing out here? Besides mutilating the school's rosebushes and sulking in the cold?"

"An understanding?" He glanced to the trampled snow, the pure white swirled with muddied slush. "Is that what you want?"

"What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want! It's not about me, is it? It never has been."

Gil was startled when the hand touched his cheek, surprisingly warm despite being in the icy air. He reluctantly turned to look at Lucius.

"I'm sorry, Gil," Lucius said softly. "But no one in their right mind... What were you expecting, a Lily-and-James romance?"

And, Gil realized, he had expected that - on some level, anyway. He thought for a moment about Lily, the girl he had idolized for so long. She'd graduated the year before, shyly announcing her and James' engagement. But then, it had come as no surprise, had it? He had yearned for that, wanted that in a way he couldn't explain. Wanted someone to look at him as someone, to regard him as special and important, share in his dreams and disappointments. He'd wanted that sort of romance, the ofttimes corny "love" that the two had so obviously shared.

But did he now? Would he trade?

"I wasn't trying to le-"

"No," Gil sighed, interrupting. Lucius actually seemed worried. "No, I - I should've learned not to expect anything, good or otherwise."

He seemed to be studying Gil, head slightly tilted, a partial frown slipping over his face. "You're different, you know," Lucius said quietly. "The boy I first met was-"

"Innocent?"

Lucius glanced away. "Yeah. Maybe that's it."

Gil shrugged, his bitter laughter but a soft echo in the wintery garden. "Everyone grows up sometime. Anyway, my parents died." They hadn't spoken of it since, though more than a year had passed. And then, looking at the older boy with his faded curls and winter snow in his eyes, Gil found himself not caring. Who was he to be bitter? There was something too human about Lucius to hate; he cared, somehow, in his own way. And somehow, in his own way, Gil cared back. He wanted to voice it, tell the other that he wasn't bitter, wasn't regretful, wasn't angry, but - The only words that leapt to his tongue didn't fit. Couldn't fit.

He reached for another rose, but Lucius stopped his hand. "Dance with me?"

"Here?"

"No, on the moon. Yes, here." Lucius pulled him to his feet, grinning, arm slipping about the boy's slender waist. "What, a cultured gentleman like you doesn't know how to dance?"

I love- No, it didn't fit. But they hovered on his tongue, dangerously close to slipping out. They were gently swaying under the frosted night sky, the trailing clouds like icing drizzle. Though Gil had finally, miraculously grown at the end of his fourth year, Lucius was still several inches taller. It was a sweet sort of harmony, the way their bodies curved together - for once not an urgent coupling but a gentler sort of rhythm that led them tracing languid circles on the stones and melted snow.

I love your eyes; the way you look at me sometimes, like you're working out one of your difficult Arithmancy problems. I love your smile: its fleeting, guarded appearances. I love your voice - the way you say my name sometimes, as if it might mean something. I love the way your hair slips over your forehead, the flush in your cheeks, the careless, gliding way you move; I love your hands, your body, your superiority. And I lo-

No.

"I never-" Somehow, the words choked on the way out. "I never thought of you as the romantic type."

"Romance?" Fingers played over his back; searing blue met tarnished gray as their gazes interlocked. "This isn't romance, Gil."

"It's dancing," he pointed out. Dancing under the stars, dancing in the winter twilight chill but kept warm by the heat of each other, dancing as their visible breath formed smoky halos about their heads - or were they nooses? Dancing with their fingers intertwined, bodies pressed together, one - it was romantic - moment of a starlit night.

"Yes," Lucius conceded, "it is."

How did Ganymede feel? Horrified? Flattered? Conflicted? Did he long for the mundane comfort of mortal life, or did he cherish the promised immortality and perpetual youth? Did he chafe at the bonds of his captivity? Or, drinking in the intoxicating ambrosia scent lingering on the skin of his lord and lover, did he simply feel...

Satisfied?

-=-=-=-

The hallways were dusky with shadows, swooping like exaggerated swallows and chasing each other into oblivion. Gil clutched his wand tighter in his pocket, though he knew it would hardly do him any good. It wasn't as if he could do much more than light it.

He tripped, sprawling on the floor in the dark corridor. Scrabbling to his knees, he found himself staring into the menacing glare of Patrick. Patrick's best friend, Derrick Lorrel, loomed up behind him.

"We've missed you, Gil," Patrick snickered. "Been a month or so, hm?"

"Goddamn fag's been busy, hasn't he?" Derrick punched him without warning, watching dispassionately as the more fragile boy stumbled. "Malfoy's little whore, eh, Lockhart?"

Gil staggered, trying to catch his breath. His cheek stung sharply where he was punched a second time, tripping into Patrick. So it had been for a year, taunting the boy when they were too frightened to mock Lucius. No one dared to speak out to the flamboyant seventh year, but there was little hesitation when it came to Gil.

He waited for the next blow. It never came.

"Is there a problem here?" Impressively ominous as he glided from the shadows, Severus Snape also held the added weight of being a Prefect. And, as all three boys knew, Prefects could often issue detentions.

"No problem," Patrick said smoothly. "We're all friends here, aren't we? Sorry if we're disturbing you."

"Indeed?" Snape scowled. "You shouldn't be down here, anyway. Kearny, Lorrel, get out of here." They lingered until the considerably larger shadows of Crabbe and Goyle emerged from the well of darkness that coated the hall; their footsteps echoed long after they were out of sight. Gil fidgeted, both grateful and horribly embarrassed. He rarely had contact with Lucius' friends - Crabbe and Goyle were all right, the two sixth years too dense to catch any but the most obvious innuendos. Snape, however, seemed to taunt Gil every time they met. Not exactly in the heartless cruelty of Patrick and his friends, though it wasn't friendly jest. There was no friendly jest between those who weren't friends. Still, they rarely interacted unless Snape was instructed to run some message for Lucius.

"Er...thanks," he said slowly, eyes focused elsewhere.

"I would think," Snape said condescendingly, "that you would know how to keep out of trouble by now. I should give you detention for being out and about so late."

"It's only..." he checked his watch, "nine o'clock!" Gil never knew just how Snape got to be a Prefect. Of course, he excelled at all of his classes, as Lucius could attest, but he abused the privileges horribly. At least, so it seemed to Gil.

Snape smirked. "Anyway, I happen to know a certain seventh year who's cleaning trophies tomorrow night. You'll be expected at nine. And don't go wandering nights anymore." Almost before the words had left his mouth, he had turned away. "Later, Lockhart."

He had asked Lucius about Snape, once. Lucius had only shrugged. Gil suspected, or at least he had, that Lucius was sometimes jealous of Severus - but Lucius had never agreed with this hypothesis, laughing it off. "It's a sort of loyalty," he had said casually. "Our families go back pretty far together, anyhow."

And Gil didn't ask questions. Lucius was the sort, anyway. The type of person with the charm and charisma to lead. People followed without question; maybe because they had no other choice. They were drawn to him.

Like the helpless prey ceases to squirm in the eagle's talons after so long. Like the clouds of Olympus become more familiar than the beauty of home. Like loneliness becomes need becomes adoration becomes...

Gil bit back the word, shifting his train of thought. Trophy room, he could do that. Snape, well...he wasn't all that bad, sometimes. Smiling faintly into the shadows, he set off for the Slytherin tower.

...loneliness...need...lust...adoration...worship...love...

-=-=-=-

"It's almost kinky. I mean, the Astronomy Tower's one thing, it's expected, but the Trophy Room? It's like you can see yourself in all these miniature brass mirrors."

Gil just raised an eyebrow.

"Did you tell Snape to give me detention?" he asked instead of replying, sitting up and leaning against a glass case. "Yesterday?"

"No. He can get creative, huh?" Lucius grinned. "Made sure that git Patrick learned his lesson, too. This morning while you were in Divination." Seeing the mixed emotions on Gil's face, he shook his head. "Don't give me that noble expression, Gil. If Snape beat 'em up as much as they've picked on you, they'd be six feet under."

"Snape beat them up, you say?" Gil echoed, grinning.

Lucius shrugged. "Crabbe 'n Goyle, same difference. He's still the dark overlord watching from the shadows."

"Oh, that's not you?"

Halfheartedly tossing his polishing rag at Gil, Lucius grinned. "Nah. I'm not much in for the lurking."

Shadows fluttered their exaggerated wings on the walls, swirling in a desperate chase of tag. The shapes merged and separated, looming like ungainly shadow puppets with consciousness of their own. Gil sighed, eyes flickering to the washed out reflection that wavered in the glass. The boy that stared back was almost unrecognizable, less lanky and timid than he was used to. But then, he didn't look in the mirror, much. He never liked people staring at him, least of all himself.

"Is something the matter?" Lucius sat up, distractedly scratching his head. "You look..."

He never seemed to find the right word, always let Gil finish for him. Possibly it was a simple ploy to get Gil to talk; he didn't mind, he liked the way they shared sentences. "Sad?" he offered obligingly.

Lucius shrugged. "I suppose. C'mon, two months to go! Cheer up, Ganymede; you look cuter when you smile."

He clung stubbornly to his wavering frown. "So?" Two months, two simple months that weighed on his mind every day. Two months...and then what? Then they would part ways? A friend-like hug, possibly a handshake - a simple glance and he would be gone? He didn't like to admit it, but...

Gil wasn't sure if he could deal with two more years of Hogwarts without Lucius.

"What's got you all moody tonight?"

"Nothing."

Lucius frowned at him for a few moments, still trying to work out the puzzle. Finally, he just grinned. "Well, if it cheers you up, a few Hufflepuff sixth years think you're quite the item. Heard 'em giggling about you at dinner." Raising an eyebrow, he added, "Last week there was a secret admirer letter for you at breakfast. Got some friends you aren't telling me about, Gil?"

Gil snorted. "Not likely. I don't pay attention to those." He hated it, really, the awkward attention such letters brought. The way people pointed and giggled, sometimes, in the halls.

"Good." Lucius trailed a finger lazily up his arm, then paused, a mischievous smile twitching his lips. "And don't worry about it. I told them you were gay."

"Hey!"

"I thought you said you paid no attention to them." He grinned.

"I don't."

"Well?"

He hated that - hated and loved it - how Lucius never failed to make him smile. It made him feel weak, giving in to his charm like that. But he really didn't mind; it was comforting, somehow. "Well, what?"

"Well, what's going on? You've got that look."

"I have a Look?"

"Sort of skeptical and sorrowful and poor little Gil all at once," Lucius suggested helpfully. "When you're thinking."

Gil might have been offended if he hadn't been so flattered. Lucius - he noticed when Gil was looking like that, noticed when he was thoughtful or upset. Gil bit his lip. "'S nothing. I'm just worried about graduation, er. You know? In a few months."

"Why? You're not graduating. Don't you think you've got good enough marks this year?"

All right, so perhaps Lucius wasn't so perceptive as to be omniscient. Gil shook his head.

"What does that mean? You're going to fail the year?" Another shake. "Um...hey, this is like charades...or not, but, er, something...you're...worried about me graduating?" Silence. Teasingly, "Why? I've certainly got the marks to pass, don't I?" Shaking his head at Gil's hurt expression, Lucius laughed. "Come on, I was joking. Don't get all twisted up over it. It's months away."

"Two."

"Eight weeks?"

"I guess." Gil looked away.

"Come on! Deal with it when it comes, right? That's the best way." Lucius shrugged. "Think about the Quidditch match next week! Slytherin is going to beat Gryffindor once and for all."

"You don't like Quidditch."

"I never said that!" Lucius grinned, having temporarily distracted the other. "I'm just not real interested. But I have school spirit, huh?"

"Sure." Gil tried not to smile. He did. "Are you, er, going home for the Easter holidays?"

Lucius shrugged. "I haven't decided. Prob'ly not. Mum likes company, but I think she's invited the family and I don't want to deal with them." He frowned slightly, gazing into a polished trophy but looking at some fardistant point. "Doesn't matter. Father'll be busy. Are you?"

"Nah. My aunt 'n uncle don't want me."

"Ah. All right."

Silence. Gil glanced nervously into the shadows, sighing inwardly. "Are..." he began hesitantly. "Are the others staying? I - I mean, Snape and Crabbe and Goyle and the rest-"

"Don't think so. Just you 'n me, Gil."

They both grinned rather uncertainly into their separate corners of the room, each staring at the flickering shadows on opposite walls. "Should prob'ly...go to bed now," Gil finally said, shattering the silence. "'S late."

"It isn't that late," Lucius insisted. "Here, I've got some Butterbeer stashed away, I could go get some-"

"I don't drink it," Gil said flatly. The simple word conjured the same bitter taste in his mouth, the same swirling image of swallowing darkness... "Er, don't ask. I just - I don't drink it."

"What an enigma you are, Ganymede," laughed the other. "All right, then. I guess it's late enough, then."

Gil nodded with a sigh. "I'll-"

"Wait." Lucius held out a hand and Gil pulled him to his feet. "I'll walk back with you. No reason to linger about here." Thousands of coppery reflections stared back at them, and Gil turned away. A comradely arm was slung over his shoulders. "C'mon. S'pose you're right, it is rather late. Got a Potions exam tomorrow."

"But you're good at Potions," Gil reminded him in a whisper as they slipped out into the abandoned hall.

Lucius grinned. "Oh, yeah. I am."

Their footsteps echoed softly in the dusty corridor and the shadows spilled around them as they walked on into midnight.

-=-=-=-

Gil contemplated the boy. He was thirteen, blandly brown hair flopping over his forehead in limp waves. His eyes were generally blank and disinterested in the world. He seemed utterly oblivious to the fact that someone was staring at him with - if looks could kill - a death glare.

However, Gil was.

"Someone's a little preoccupied," Lucius noted, waving a hand in front of Gil's face. "What's the matter?"

Gil did not miss the fact that Lucius seemed to be asking him that every day now. Was he always so sullen or did Lucius simply assume?

"And someone's a little jealous," Snape snickered, looking up from his reading. His dinner was barely touched.

"What do you mean?" Trevor was not the only Slytherin who seemed oblivious today. Lucius frowned. "Severus, what are you talking about?"

Snape could not help rolling his eyes. "Who stole your brain and used it for a potion? Come on here, this isn't complicated Arithmancy." When Lucius only frowned, he resorted to pointing at Gil, then gesturing towards Trevor.

Slowly, Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Why are you staring at Trevor, Gil? Are you angry with him?"

Snorting when Gil frustratedly rose from his chair, Snape shook his head. "Can you be any denser? This isn't complicated." The two seventh years watched Gil slow to a walk as he exited the Hall: one perplexed, one amused. "Oh, for Merlin's sake! You were using him, Lucius! Of course, he knew that, but he didn't want to believe it. My guess is, he ran across you and Trevor the other night."

"Wha-"

"You aren't always the most discreet," Snape added, smirk still lingering on his lips. "The common room, really, Lucius. Yes, before you ask, you should go after him; I know you aren't cruel enough to calmly eat your dinner while little Gildy sobs his eyes out up in the tower."

"Would he really-"

"No, he wouldn't literally cry his eyes out."

"Argh, I meant, would he really be so...upset? Before there's been..."

"The straw that broke the camel's back, so to speak."

"What?"

Snape turned back to his book exasperatedly. "Just go."

Lucius went. Footsteps urgent on the worn floors and the flights of steps, he made his way to the Slytherin common room. Snape's words echoed in his ears. He found Gil staring angrily at the fire; not, as predicted, crying, but undeniably upset. He stood there for a moment, unsure whether his presence was known or not, but nevertheless somehow unable to bring himself to speak.

"What do you want?" Gil asked bitterly without turning. "Scheduling problems? Trevor not available tonight?"

"It's not like that!" Lucius, his own temper flaring for a moment, strode towards the couch. "You've known me for over a year, what did you think? You know everything! I haven't been-"

"I know." Gil did not look up. "It's no secret."

"Well then, why-"

"You really don't get it, do you? We're all nothing to you, people you toss around without thinking. For your own selfish uses. You never stop to think that maybe we care, maybe we notice! Maybe we're actually people who actually feel, Lucius! Did that occur to you?" His gaze was empty fury, lost in the firelight's glow. "Did it...did it matter to you?"

"Gil, I-"

Silence. A sigh, a softer tone. Try again.

"What did you think, Gil? I was in love with you?" The voice wasn't derisive, only concerned, and that made it so much the worse.

"No." Pause. "Yes. No."

"Gil," Lucius said urgently, "love doesn't exist. All right? You knew that from the beginning; we didn't exactly start out consensual, remember? Love is lust, Gil, or it's hate, or some fanciful illusion. Nothing else is real."

There was a long silence. "Why?"

Lucius misinterpreted the question. "Because my life is laid out for me. Because I knew where I was going from the day I was born. Because in three years - yes, it's planned - I'm getting married, inheriting Malfoy Manor, and becoming my father. These were my last years, Gil. I needed to have my own fun."

"Fun? Is that - is that what I am? Fun?"

"Of course you're fun." Lucius grinned, though it faded at Gil's tortured expression. "Look, it wasn't just the sex. If I ran my life, would it be different? Who knows. But sooner or later, we're all someone's dog.* The question is, whose?"

Before Gil could stutter a reply, his lips were very much occupied. Lucius managed to be both insistent and gentle. He tasted bitter like smoke and sweet like velvet wine, tongue teasingly caressing Gil's upper lip. Their breath mingled in the quiet.

After a year and a half, it was their first kiss.

Later - much later - in the seventh year dorm, Lucius rolled sleepily onto his stomach and sighed. "Gil-" he began.

"I didn't expect you to love," Gil said quickly. "I never thought you were going to. Just, uh, so you know. I wasn't - expecting anything."

"-I just wanted-"

"And maybe you're right about love not existing. Maybe it doesn't. Maybe there are just these things, these moments, that we like to call love, because there's nothing else. Because we need something to hold on to. It's - it's a stupid concept anyway, isn't it? No one can ever tell if it's really love or not." He was babbling, trying vainly to stop sounding so desperate. "And if we make things that aren't love into love, then it doesn't matter if it exists or not; it turns out that-"

"Will you shut up?" Lucius ruffled his hair, almost fondly. "I was asking you if you wanted to stay the summer holidays."

Gil's mouth opened and shut. "I-" He meant to say no. I couldn't possibly. No, thank you. Sorry, I can't. I'd better not. Nah, I couldn't. Thanks, but no. He opened his mouth but no words fought their way out.

All he could do was nod yes.

______________________________________________________________________
* = Taken from (I think) Terry Pratchett's Jingo. Or at least one of the Watch books. Vimes said it, I know that. Terry Pratchett rules all!

Ah, meaningless chapter, but the beginning scene was undeniably fun. I feel it captures both of them perfectly. Besides that, meaningless chapter, but romance is all right. (Not as good as angst, but on occasion it works.) For the record, Trevor the boy is later complicatedly transfigured into Neville's toad, which is a unique and delicately interwoven plot twist that no one saw coming and creates all sorts of wondrous, previously unseen, brand new - okay, he has no relation whatsoever to Neville's toad. In case anyone was wondering.

And a great big thank you to limeade and bluechocobo; both reviews made me ever so happy. Muchas gracias. And now, adios...'til next time!