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+ Infest: A Harry Potter Song Fic by Canarde +
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+ Chapter Seven: Revenge +
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"Chaos is what she saw in the mirror;
Scared of herself and the power that was in her.
It took over and weighed heavily
On her shoulders.
Militant insanity is now
What controlled her.
It's alright, we're in love,
Can't live with or without.
Kill it before it reaches you."
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"It was a mercy killing," he said, and he disappeared into the trees.
Draco stood beside the broken body lying at his feet, the blood, still warm, spilling from the knife wounds below the ribs and near the collarbone and along the spine. Zabini had been so calm when this intruder had burst in on them, his knife -- Draco's knife, actually -- Lucius' knife -- stolen for this exact purpose but never used before tonight -- with the flick of the wrist had taken such an innocent life.
They had been Marked less than a week before this night, and there had not been a moment when Draco had been allowed from Zabini's sight. They had eaten together, slept together, bathed together, and now, they had killed together.
"He was innocent," Draco said, breaking through the foliage behind the lanky boy. Zabini shrugged, handing him the sleek blade. The silver moonlight was heavy in the air and glinted through the pale pommel stone on the knife's handel; Draco suddenly wished he was inside the castle, in his bed in the dormitory, with Ron curled up beside --
"Oi! Hold on a moment."
Draco stopped abruptly, his thoughts shattered. As Zabini listened, his dark eyes searching the shadowed trees around them, Draco tucked the knife into his robes.
It was close to dawn before the pair of them had returned to the clearing beside Hagrid's crumbling cabin, and Draco's very bones ached.
"Back there," he said quietly, reaching out for Zabini's hand. "He was innocent; you killed him for no reason. He only -- "
"Draco," said Zabini, puzzled but amused, "he was a centaur."
Horrified, Draco gasped, "But it was a life taken! How can you possibly live with yourself after committing murder?"
Zabini wrapped himself around Draco, guarding him against the biting wind of the morning, and buried his long nose in Draco's platinum hair.
"We vowed loyalty to the Dark Lord," he said. "Killing is involved sometimes -- and a centaur isn't worth more than, well," he glanced toward the cabin, "that excuse for a professor, Hagrid."
Draco felt very cold. He had never gotten along with the groundskeeper, but he understood that Hagrid was capable of emotions, as the centaur had been.
"Now, forget about it all, and let's go to breakfast, shall we?" The blond followed numbly, the indifferently cruel glint in Zabini's eye haunting him.
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The mirror reflected what Draco felt; a gaunt, pale boy with no soul behind his eyes. In place of a soul, his eyes held a dark swirl of confused chaos where he had once seen a calm, arrogant heir to the Malfoy wealth. But he no longer felt a Malfoy, even now that his father had risked his life in asking Voldemort for freedom from the Death Eaters.
In fact, Draco felt even less a Malfoy now that they were not involved with Voldemort. His entire life he had known of their strong connection and loyalty to the Dark Lord; now that bond had been broken, and he felt empty, betrayed, with no sense of right or wrong. Nothing mattered now that he didn't know what he was fated to become.
Very suddenly he felt a boiling rage toward Zabini, who had caused the deaths of at least three souls, who had such an obsession with being Lord Voldemort, who was constantly pressing Draco to be with him at every moment of the day.
Draco violently lashed out at the mirror, throwing a fist into the glass, which spider-webbed and shattered. Oblivious to his bleeding knuckles, he began tearing over the countertops, smashing everything in sight against the impersonal stone floors and walls. When the bathroom had been reduced to empty ruins, Draco stormed into the dormitory, throwing a fist through a painting hanging on the wall.
He tore through the room, destroying not only his own things but also his roommates'. He ripped pages from books, snapped his wand in half, shredded bedspreads and pillows and curtains from the beds, and drapes from the windows near the ceiling. He took his father's knife to the mattresses and tore robes apart at their seams.
His fingers were battered and bleeding, but he did not hesitate until the door was flung open and Zabini swept into the room, his dark hair a mess in his worry.
"Draco," he said loudly, rushing to the blond's side. Draco threw a fist into Zabini's nose; Zabini yelped and grappled in trying to pin Draco's arms to his sides. The blond fought him, clawing at the dark boy fervently.
Zabini seemed nothing short of frantic as he pinned Draco to the ground, sitting on his chest and holding his hands. Eventually, the blond relaxed and closed his eyes, breathing heavily.
"Draco," Zabini whispered, shifting ever so slightly and coming to lay on top of Draco, "I know we aren't bound as Brothers anymore." Though surprised, Draco remained silent and dormant. "But I do love you."
He was met by an almost inaudible grunt, but seemed content with this. His hands clutched at Draco's passionately, caressing the scrapes and splinters and bruises with a gentleness not quite like him.
"I can't live without you," he insisted, placing a kiss on Draco's slightly parted lips. At this, Draco sat up, ignoring Zabini's protests, and gazed at him with intensely silver eyes.
"And yet," he said calmly, "you can't seem to live with me, either."
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All characters used in this piece of fiction are property of J.K. Rowling and copyright Warner Brothers.
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Song lyrics are property of Papa Roach and copyright Viva La Cucaracha Music.
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Chapter Eight coming soon to a fan fiction archive near you.