Title – My Adonis
Authoress – Phoenix Tears
Summary – Fourth in a series of short vignettes, 'Bad Faith', in which Blaise professes his love for Draco, but also reminisces about Pansy's desire for revenge.
Rating – PG-13.
Warning – Slash. Don't like – don't read. Angsty.
Disclaimer – I own nothing, except for this plot. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling, including Draco, Lucius, Blaise, and Severus.
Feedback – Of course, as for every writer, questions, thoughts, and constructive criticism are all greatly appreciated. Thank you, and enjoy.
~*~
Oh, how I long for him to hold me in his arms again.
How I wish for him to whisper sweet little nothing into the shell of my ear, and make my whole body shudder with expectation and love and longing and desire.
How I wish for him to take me, wholly and completely and sensually, driving into me hard, and making me throw back my head in ecstasy against his pale shoulder.
How I wish for him to hold me, cradle me, embrace me, envelope me in a warm cocoon of love and caring, brushing my hair and tracing my cheekbones.
Oh, but how I wish. I know none of this can ever happen again.
I betrayed his trust – his trust, his love, his happiness, and his faith – all because I couldn't break through Pansy Parkinson's damn Imperius Curse.
Draco Malfoy, do you know what you do to me?
~*~
She came to me in the dark of night, all sultry and dark. Pansy is an attractive girl, I admit, and even though I swing both ways, she isn't really my type. She has a perfect hourglass figure, – generous in the upper portions and slim hips – curly ringlets of golden blonde hair, and cutting sable eyes. She is the model Slytherin.
Pansy has always liked Draco. Ever since before Hogwarts, when the Parkinsons would go over to Malfoy Manor for tea or such, she has been enamoured with the silver-haired, silver-eyed Adonis.
My Adonis. My dragon, my love, mine. Mine.
But mine no longer.
I knew all of this because Vince and Greg told me a few months ago, when I asked them about why Pansy would always steal furtive glances at my dragon. They're really not as stupid as everyone makes them out to be, really. Vince has a wonderful talent for abstract poetry, and Greg has this passion for art. They're both quite skilled, actually. Draco prefers his music and swordsmanship, while I stick with books.
But I'm getting off track.
When Pansy found out Draco and I were in a relationship, she flew into a rage. I heard from Millicent that she nearly wrecked the whole girls' dormitories. Though I really have no clue as to how she knew. The only people that know are Vince and Greg. And Lucius Malfoy, of course, but he's Draco's father.
She came to me, that night, dressed in black leather. From head to toe, all in black leather. Her blonde curls were wet, her lips red with lipstick, and her sable eyes flashing. I didn't know how she knew the password to the prefect's dormitories, but I didn't ask. Draco was out that night, on patrol for any out-of-beds students. I was alone in the dorm.
Pansy smirked – the perfect, evil Slytherin smirk – and asked me if I loved Draco. I had always been a blunt, candid child, as all Zabinis are brought up to be, and thus I answered her truthfully.
Yes, I did love Draco. I loved him so fucking damn much it hurt.
It hurt because I knew he would never be mine.
Never be my Adonis.
And then she told me I would pay for stealing Draco away from her – I was about to point out that Draco had never been hers – and she disappeared.
Two weeks later, on a Hogsmeade weekend, she placed me under an Imperius Curse – I was not surprised she knew the Unforgivables, even I do – and made me fuck her. I had been so certain that I could overcome Imperius, as Draco had nonchalantly told me how he had been able to throw it off for over an hour at ten years of age. Ten years old! I was seventeen, and couldn't even hold it off for five minutes.
I felt so weak and ashamed of myself at that moment, but couldn't do anything but have sex with Pansy. I hadn't felt any guilt while doing it. No one would see us, no one would tell, there would be no big deal.
However, I hadn't known that Pansy – damn her cunning Slytherin mind – lured Draco to the Shrieking Shack, using my owl to give him a note, saying that there was a surprise waiting for him. I didn't know how she forged my handwriting perfectly; I didn't know why my eagle owl willingly sent it.
I had no idea why Draco came.
He opened the creaking wooden door, walked in, two butterbeers in hand – oh, how I could curse him for his consideration – and saw me. I saw him at the exact same time, and strained to get up, out of the vice-like grip of Pansy and Imperius, but she kept me right where I was. Pansy smirked and began biting my neck sharply.
I saw the turmoil in his eyes – those beautiful, stormy quicksilver orbs of his that had mesmerized me ever so much – and saw the butterbeers drop out of his hand. I saw the glass crash and the foamy buttercup yellow drink leak out and spill over the floor. I saw him give me a disbelieving, hurt, betrayed glare, and I saw him storm out.
But not before casting Petrificus Totalus on us.
When Harry Potter walked in with a shaggy, bulky black dog, I was utterly mortified. Pansy was too, I could tell.
Potter, ever the noble Gryffindor, closed his eyes and released us from the spell. His dog seemed to be doubling over with mirth. Upon Finite Incantatem, Pansy stormed from the shack, whipping on her clothes with lightning fast speed.
I didn't care that Potter and his mutt were in front of me, and I didn't care that I had almost nothing on, and I didn't care that a Zabini and a Slytherin like me was not supposed to cry.
I sank down, hearing the neglected wood beneath me creak with age, and cried. I cried my heart out that night, sobbing for seemingly hours and hours, until my face was wet and streaked with so many lines of tears.
Having worked with me upon occasion in Transfiguration and deeming that I was not the typical, evil-minded Slytherin, Potter came over to me and awkwardly wrapped his arm around my shoulder.
I didn't care that he was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, or that he was a Gryffindor. I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed – Draco would be ashamed of me, if he still knew I existed – like there was no tomorrow. When I broke away from his embrace, I saw that there was a large wet patch on his black outer robes. The dog sat there, with his unnervingly pale-blue stare, and tilted his shaggy head with sympathy.
Apologizing to Potter, I said a quick whispered, "Desiccus" and his robes were soon dry. He offered to let me talk with he about what was wrong, but all I said was an agonized "my dragon". I soon left, leaving Potter to contemplate life with his dog.
Wherever it came from, anyways.
I slipped into the Slytherin prefect's dormitories, and put every lock on the door I knew of to keep Pansy out. No doubt she would come and try to gloat. I sank into my four-poster bed and inhaled the scent of the green silk sheets. Draco's fragrance still lingered there – mint and raspberries. I fell into a deep and fitful sleep.
The next morning, when I woke up, I heard a banging on the chestnut door to the entrance of the Slytherin section of the prefect's dorms. "Alohomora! Damnit, Zabini, can you not even let me in to get my fucking clothes?! Ouvirus! Devranqe!" Draco was apparently trying to get into the dorm, and shouting all the unlocking spells he knew.
I woke up immediately, kicking off the bed covers and rushing to the door, just as he got rid of the last locking spell. Our eyes locked for a brief moment, and I was stunned by the sheer hatred and betrayal in his molten silver eyes. "Get out of my way, Zabini," he snarled. "I need to pack my belongings."
Numb, I moved out of his way and watched soundlessly as he summoned up all his clothes and made them fold themselves neatly, before settling into his trunk. He took his broom, textbooks, quills, everything, and packed them into his trunk and bag. Using a Levitation Charm, Draco made them float behind him, as he was about to exit.
"Wait!" I found myself shouting. "Draco!"
Draco paused, and turned towards me with a cold, icy glare in his eyes. "Yes?"
"Where – where are you going to be living, from now on?"
"Professor Snape procured a suite for me, so I could be away from hypocritical, cold-blooded whores like you," he spat angrily, before whirling around and storming off.
My heart broke as I watched him storm off, not caring that the Ravenclaw prefects next door were giving me strange, pitying glances, nor that the Hufflepuffs on the other side were looking confused and sympathetic.
I never did find out where Draco moved, after that, but the Slytherin section of the prefect's dormitories still had two beds in it, and sometimes I would sleep in his bed, crying myself to sleep and dreaming of a silver Adonis.
~*~
Authoress' Note: *sobs* Poor Blaise. Though he really should've tried harder to throw off Imperius, eh? Please review and tell me if you would like Blaise to be shunned for the rest of the stories, if you would like him to be redeemed and forgiven, or whatever other ideas for further plots you may have. Thank you, once again, for reading!