Disclaimer: Characters are property of J.K. Rowling. Story by me. Harassment by the FBI.
Author's Note: I'll try and keep this as short as i can, but i have a bit to say so bare with me, or just skip straight to the story i don't care which! I noticed some comments about some of you not thinking Draco is trustworthy. Mmm, we'll see. I can't express how great an experience from a fan point of view it is to explore the characters like this. I'm really enjoying it, particularly in regards to Harry. Hope you all are enjoying it too (and if not, tell me why. All constructive criticism is welcome, it only can make me a better writer after all).
Summery: The war has ended, evil has triumphed and it is not only Voldemort who is reaping the rewards.
Rating: R
The first time
we made love, I: I wasn't sober.
(And you told me you loved me over and over!)
How could I ever love another, when I miss you every day:
remember the time we made love in the roses?
(And you took my picture in all sorts of poses!)
How could I ever get over you, when I'd give my life for yours?
Lucky ~ Bif Naked
At 3 am that morning, Draco finally abandoned any further attempt at sleep. Slumber had teased him like an unfaithful lover, warming him with its nearness but then retreating again and leaving him cold.
He climbed quietly out of bed so as not to wake the still sleeping Harry and wandered out of the room, not really taking much notice of where he was heading. The corridors were icy cold and the wind howled angrily. He paused by a window and looked out over the expanse of snow outside. The grounds looked exactly as they had done for a month now, only the snow was considerably thicker. However, it was no longer snowing now.
Turning his gaze to the sky, Draco saw that it was clear and that the stars twinkled happily in the vast expense of black. He had never really liked Astronomy that much, as he had seen the midnight lesson every Wednesday as an interruption at his attempts to snatch as much 'beauty sleep' as possible. Or at least, that had been his complaint officially; the actual reason was that it meant that he couldn't see Harry on those nights.
Harry.
Draco reminisced on how much he had loathed Harry Potter, loathed him beyond all reason in fact. But then, he had hated everything that was not like him and therefore opposing of both himself and his opinions and beliefs. He still did hate such things and sometimes he still hated Harry. The past summer had been hard on him as well…choosing a side he thought he never would go to no matter what and then being spared death when he would have welcomed it with arms outstretched.
How had hatred turned to love? Draco supposed it was all down to the passion at the very centre of these extremities of feeling. That core was almost identical in each case and both very able to tip one way or the other. Passion had led to an obsession and obsession to fierce desire.
Yes, the high and mighty Slytherin found himself wanting Harry Potter. And Harry Potter wanted him right back. Isolated and used by all those around him, Harry had tried to find some way of focusing his anger, frustration and pain and Draco Malfoy had been an obvious target.
Those times, the first, they had never been loving or caring with one another. It was all about venting frustration and claiming dominance – every night saw one of them regain their crown only to lose it the next time.
Both had needed that closeness. It had in short, made them feel alive. Set them on fire. Sometimes, Draco thought he preferred that animalistic version to now – it had seemed more just really, considering their feelings for one another. More fitting.
And it hadn't made him a prisoner.
Suddenly, he thought he heard footfalls and the slither of a cloak nearby and Draco immediately slipped away. He wasn't feeling up to any confrontations tonight…this morning.
When he slid back into bed, Harry turned over to look at him. Draco tried to make his face look neutral, unreadable, but Harry seemed to see something wrong there anyway and his face suddenly looked rather hard. He could be exceptionally difficult when he was annoyed or angry and Draco knew immediately that he was a mixture of both of those at this moment.
"Where did you go?" He ground out.
Draco shrugged, inwardly wondering when exactly he had lost his ability to hide his real self. Ok, he had been a sneering little snot-rag at school and that had always showed, but it didn't exclude him from having feelings he didn't want anyone to see sometimes either.
The shrug was evidently not enough, and Harry now sat up in bed and glared, his pretty green eyes seemed to have glazed over, as if covered in a mild but bitter frost.
Frost. Ice. When did Harry Potter become a colder mortal than a Malfoy?
"I couldn't sleep. I went out to stretch my legs. Last time I checked, that wasn't some sort of crime against the Lord's wonderful regime!" He knew immediately he'd said the wrong thing. Harry's eyes flashed dangerously, and with incredible speed he had reached over, grabbed Malfoy and pinned him underneath himself. He was breathing heavily, his breath surprisingly warm for someone so chilled, right down to his very bones.
"How dare you say that? How dare you be so insolent!"
"How dare I? HOW DARE I? In case this slipped your notice Potter, that…thing wanted to kill me! Forgive me if I don't exactly feel the love for him just yet!" Draco spat back, never one to back down from a fight, even if the odds were highly stacked against him.
Harry laughed, a laugh that was completely devoid of mirth. It reminded Draco uncomfortably of Lord Voldemort's laugh, although not as chillingly and unnaturally high-pitched. He leaned forward so he was looking directly into the blonde's silver eyes and said, in a deathly whisper, "I can always change my mind about that, you know. I could easily say I have no use for you anymore and – " Harry snapped his fingers there and laughed again.
Then he kissed him. But it was a horrible kiss, filled with hate and spite, the kind of kisses they used to share, once upon a time.
Finally, Harry let Draco up; he turned his back on him and went back to sleep as if nothing had happened. Draco, on the other hand, remained awake still, trying to fight off a humiliating feeling, a pricking at the inside corners of his eyes. He knew from experience that you never, ever let Harry know he's won. It invited only more pain if past experience were anything to go by.
It was such times as these that Draco felt his old, burning hatred for Harry Potter return. He turned his eyes briefly to Harry's strong back, eyes blazing with the kind of killer stare he could never use openly.
Right now, he despised Harry Potter.
Running her hand through her once unruly but now merely curly hair, Hermione Granger rubbed her eyes and stared absently at the clock on the wall. 3:30 AM. No wonder the words on the parchment had started running together and now made absolutely no sense at all. She had never been fool enough to believe bypassing Voldemort's defences would be easy but perhaps vestiges of her old snobbish confidence still clung to her because Hermione had never reckoned on it being this hard.
There was also the small matter that if she succeeded in her plan, the one she wished to contact would have no interest in helping Orpheus. A cold and extremely proud individual like that was just as likely to slam the proverbial door in her face as not.
But, Hermione thought, you shall never know until you actually try. It had always been her motto and one that Hermione was trying to instil in the members of Orpheus. Ron, whom she had practically persecuted with the motto at Hogwarts, was far more receptive of it. Some of the other members, Hermione felt, seemed to be really there to reassure themselves that they were doing something in the way of resistance to Voldemort and not because they really held out any actual hope of success.
She was looking to change that.
Finally giving up on her work for the night, or day as the case in fact was, Hermione put the parchment down (feeling a great sense of relief when she did so) and headed to bed. Ron was fast asleep already and she smiled when she gazed upon his serene face. He looked so much younger and carefree. It reminded her very strongly of more innocent, happier days...and that there was nothing but nightmares awaiting them in the future.
It was all Hermione could do to stop herself from weeping for what they'd all lost.