Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warning: I guess the rating jumps up a notch now. Blood and violence and nasty things in the past...
A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long. I blame computer trouble, microbiology and laziness... I want to thank my betas Minerva Solo, Lisa and Lynn, any remaining mistakes are my own. A big hug to everyone who has posted reviews and poked me to see if this fic was still alive. It means so much :)
"If a door closes in your life, a window will eventually open in its place. Sometimes doors close in your face and break your nose, but don't worry; you will probably look back at this with a fond smile in only a couple of years or so (If you survive). And remember: bloody noses heal eventually even if it might seem messy at first." – Lavender Sphinx
The sound of footsteps made him turn around, press his back to the wall and listen. Someone did follow him. When an unknown man walked passed the place where he stood pressed against the wall he jumped out and attacked the stalker.
Faceless. Always faceless in his dreams.
He shoved the other man violently, grasping the front of his shirt and pushing him up against the wall. When he discovered who it was who had followed him his anger grew even more. That bastard had got a haircut, but he could recognise that face anywhere. He was smaller than Black-boots was, but the surprise of the attack made up for that.
"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled. "Why are you following me?"
Every question was emphasised with a new shove. He was angry but, more importantly, he was scared, and scared dogs bite. The other man seemed to be too surprised to even try to shake him off. A flash of emotion flickered across his brown eyes. Fear. Was he afraid? He should be!
Slut, slut, slut. Worthless animal. You're enjoying this aren't you?
He had acted on impulse when he pushed the other man up against the wall, and now he started to fear that Black-boots would kick his sorry arse when he finally snapped out of the initial shock. One part of him wanted to scream and kick and hurt until there was nothing left but a shivering puddle on the ground, one part wanted to run and run and never turn around, and another part wanted neither of that. He was torn between the impulse to flee and the urge to fight so he ended up doing noting but holding on to the other man for dear life. As long as he didn't let go the man couldn't hurt him. Right? Right?
Black slowly opened his eyes and looked down on him. He seemed to be puzzled by the lack of action.
She wasn't trying to get away anymore. Slut. She wanted this.
Somehow this was all Black-boots fault – And even if it wasn't he was going to pay. Since he had first met him he had started feeling things, and he had started hurting again. The numbness he had carefully built around his person had started to crack. Something bled inside him, it hurt, and someone was going to pay dearly for this. It would feel better if someone else was suffering too.
"You bastard," he muttered, "you fucking bastard."
He slammed Black against the wall again for good measure. The man cowered and shut his eyes, as if to prepare for a blow. Oh yes, he would hurt him. Injure him. Make him pay.
He was fairly certain it wasn't his idea from the beginning. Who went first? He couldn't remember. Crabbe? Goyle? She might have screamed at first but when it was his turn she was quiet. He remembered a wet, warm sensation. Girls were supposed to be wet and warm. He tried to tell himself the little slut enjoyed this, but somewhere deep inside he knew this wasn't exactly the kind of excited wetness he had heard about.
This was the nearest she would ever get to a real pure-blooded wizard. She should be proud to get the chance to see what it was like. Fucking slut. She did enjoy this. He felt nauseated.
Someone must have heard a noise or seen something because suddenly they herd sirens coming closer. They ran. Everyone but him. Surprisingly he had managed to disarm the phu-leese, a simple Expelliarmus was all it took. He laughed at the silly sticks they used as weapons. No one could touch him. No one. That was what he thought. He never got to know who crept up behind his back and whacked him in the head. It couldn't have been her, could it?
It wasn't until later he discovered the blood on his hands, on his... No. He didn't want to think about that. He had wiped himself off and closed his trousers in a hurry when the phu-leese started swarming in . Everything looks black in the dark, and he hadn't noticed the blood on his hands. Her blood. Blood. Blood on his hands. Virgin blood.
The world blurred in front of him. Now he held on to the other man for support more than blood lust. He suddenly found himself sitting on the cold ground without knowing how he ended up there.
"Put your head between your legs. There. Try to breathe slowly"
The other man gently pushed his head down and the fog in his head started to clear. He took a couple of deep breaths before sitting up straight again.
"Better?"
He snorted. Obviously.
"You know, I'm sorry I shouldn't have... I was just curious, I didn't mean to..."
"Oh shut up," he said irritably, "you're not making sense."
"...is this where you sleep?"
Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at the other man. "Sometimes," he admitted, "Further up the alley."
Black-boots studied his hands as if they where the most interesting things in the universe. "You really have no-one, have you?"
Well thanks for rubbing that in... "There's a couple of distant relatives on my mothers side."
"Oh?" Black-boots perked up, "What about them?"
"They're all nuts," he said with a glare, "and would probably hex me if they ever recognised me."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
"No loved ones huh?"
"Love?" He spat on the ground and made a disgusted face, "Who believes in love nowadays?"
Black-boots dragged his finger through the dirt on the pavement. He traced the figure eight and then kept on dragging his finger in the same track. Eight. Draco cocked his head. Turn it over and it stays the same. Put it on its side and it's the sign of infinity.
"My parents loved each other," Black-boots whispered.
Draco studied the man from the corner of his eye. The small wheels in his head had started to turn. Wizard. Red hair. Something he was supposed to know. Yes of course – The Weasleys and their stupid family-values. This one was almost too good to pass.
"You say that like it was a thing of the past," he said with a smirk, "She died, didn't she?"
He sat close enough to feel the other man jerk before stumbling to his feet. Smiling he rose much more gracefully, taking great care to brush off every invisible grain of dust from his trousers. Definitely a Weasley, he knew how to handle, or rather manhandle, those.
"Maybe they did love each other," he admitted "but look where that got them. More children than they could afford. They where fooled to believe in everlasting love, but no one had the time to teach them a simple birth-control charm."
Oh that had struck a nerve, the idiot didn't even stop to think how he could know about his family conditions, he seemed to be busy vibrating with suppressed anger. Draco watched the clenched fists. They were shaking slightly. Fascinating. Who was hurting now? Huh? Who was bleeding? He wanted to scream at the Weasel in front of him, tell him it was his own fault, but instead he twisted the knife further. What's better to kick than someone who's already halfway down?
"Pity she didn't snuff it sooner," he drawled, "that would have lessened the world's overpopulation considerably."
He had barely finished the sentence before Weasley hit him. A cracking noise and the pain that made his vision blacken for a moment told him that something had probably broken in his nose.
Next chapter: A letter, another piece of the past and I guess we have to do something about that nose...