Descending Orpheus

The Killer in Me.

Harry tried to keep his face as neutral as possible, but he already knew he was not doing a very good job of it as he listened to what Lord Voldemort was telling him.

All in all though, Harry couldn't say he was very surprised. Hermione Granger was nothing if not tenacious and he also knew that she would never give up fighting as long as there was the vaguest trace of hope around.

Proving what a pathetically foolish and deluded Mudblood she really was.

"I see," Harry, said when Voldemort finished. "I should have guessed she'd do something like this, but no matter. Their only strength it seems is Granger herself."

"I suspected as much. From what you have told me of her she is rather talented. For a foul, female Mudblood at any rate," The Dark Lord murmured thoughtfully. Harry hadn't missed the purposeful hint Voldemort had flung into those words – Harry hadn't actually told him all that much about Hermione at all. He'd never desired to, feeling the acknowledgement of any kind of personal connection between himself and her was far too much of a compliment for Hermione.

If I do say so myself.

"Be that as it may, I'll have them watched carefully. No need to let any loose cannons rock the boat now, is there?"

"No my Lord." There was a pause. Voldemort was stood in front of a fire in what was probably once a teacher's office, but now a study of some sort for the Dark Lord. It was a surprisingly welcoming room, decked in dark greens and blues and Harry rather liked it.

"Is that all?" he asked of his master. Voldemort turned and nodded and then frowned, appraising the room with a puzzled look.

"Where is Nagini?" He asked. Harry thought he was rather over fond of that dratted snake but wisely kept his own counsel on that matter. Besides, Nagini had helped his Lord's rebirth so it made sense that Voldemort might feel somewhat attached to her.

"I don't know," Harry replied shortly. Voldemort gave him a searching look. He had that one ability that made Harry feel as though he were being X-Rayed. The only other person to have possessed that particular gift had been one Albus Dumbledore.

"You do not like her?" Hissed the Dark Lord, a note of disapproval clearly evident.

"I don't think she likes me," Harry snapped defensively. "She seems very suspicious of me because I can speak Parseltongue like you." Voldemort scowled deeply at the way Harry had spoken, causing Harry to grip the arms of the chair he was sat in tensely. He got away with a lot more than the Death Eaters ever could but that didn't mean he was never punished for insubordination.

Fortunately, Voldemort did not punish him. He dismissed him and that was that.

He walked the corridors carefully, wondering what would happen if it would come down to a fight between him and his former friends. Harry found himself relishing the chance. The chance to show them what he really was, what he was really capable of...they had never had any idea then and probably still wouldn't now. Hermione was frankly over confident and Ron was just...useless.

A tall, lithe figure stepped out in front of him and Harry, attention elsewhere, almost ran into the person. He looked up to see whom he had almost collided with and saw it was Narcissa Malfoy. She looked at the ebony haired young man coolly – it was always hard to discern what the ice maiden was actually thinking, a gift Draco had once possessed but apparently had lost at some point.

I broke it, I broke him.

Harry had never really interacted with her that much, mostly because they utterly despised each other. When Narcissa had discovered her son's orientation, which she had been disgusted by, that had pretty much dashed any possibility of friendship between her and Harry since he was the object of Draco's affection.

And speaking of...

"Have you seen my son at all?" She asked sharply.

"No." The corner of her mouth twitched. He was getting to her and he was really enjoying doing so.

"Do you have any idea where he is?"

"Probably laying naked in my bed waiting for me to come and ravish him," Harry goaded, achieving the desired effect. Narcissa practically bared her teeth at him and strode off, no doubt convinced that Harry's answer was truthful.

I wish.

Draco had been very distant with him after what had happened several nights ago. It was a little harsh but it seemed Draco assumed he could do what he wanted and Harry wouldn't question it. He could not allow that, he was in charge of their relationship, such as it was.

Surely that night had made him receive that message loud and clear and it was natural that Draco would resent it – he wasn't a submissive person.

And neither am I.

On a sudden impulse Harry wandered off on a Draco-hunt of his own.

Might as well see if he's got over it.

At one time Harry may have loved Draco. Fleetingly at any rate. He was not entirely sure, as he had purposely blocked a lot of his earlier, happier memories as he found them useless and distracting. Still, Harry knew at one point, despite the violence and the hatred that had started it all, he had felt something very warm and pleasant for the former Slytherin.

However, whatever it had been, it was long gone now. And Harry wasn't looking to rediscover such feelings any time soon. Or ever.

Draco was his possession, something he could use. That was all.

The most beautiful possession I've had, Harry mused as he slid in to Draco's allotted bedroom that he hardly ever used. His mother was already there and Harry tried to hide his annoyance that she had found him first. Mother and son sat on the bed staring at the intruder; apparently Harry had interrupted an absorbing conversation. A serious one if the strained look on Draco's pointed face, which was paler than normal, was anything to go by.

After a very uneasy silence Narcissa said firmly, "I shall speak to you in the morning." She then left, giving Harry a frosty stare from her ice blue eyes as she went. Still he had to hand it to her, she was a smart woman.

She knew exactly why Harry had come up here.

Draco apparently wasn't too sure.

"What is it?" The blond man asked rather tiredly. Harry did not like that tone.

He closed the door firmly and padded over to the bed, Draco's eyes watching his every move. Harry sat down on the bed, took hold of the right side of Draco's pale cheeks firmly and pulled him in to a very forceful kiss. Draco held back a wince at the uncomfortable familiarity of such a kiss, but thankfully there was no hate and spite this time.

Finally Harry pulled away and smiled as Draco fought to catch his breath.

Gasping, I like him gasping.

A mad urge struck Harry forcefully. He threw Malfoy back onto the bed and straddled his body, effectively trapping the beautiful blond young man beneath him. Draco wasn't unduly alarmed, to put it mildly Harry often liked it rough, but there was a glint in those wondrous green orbs that he didn't like. Not at all.

Harry locked him in a bruising kiss, one hand holding Draco's cheek again the other snaking up his chest, caressing firmly, occasionally raking the alabaster skin with his fingernails. A couple of times he succeeded in breaking the skin and Draco let out a small hiss of pain.

No doubt that delighted his lover.

His hand continued to stroke but curiously it was moving slowly upwards. Malfoy was just wondering about this when he felt Harry's hand clamp tightly around his throat, choking off his air supply.

"Stop it!" He managed to eek out, but Harry only let out a gasp of semi maniacal laughter. Draco struggled but knew in his heart it was a lost cause. Harry was strong and he wasn't.

The last thing he saw before he passed out was Harry's eyes.

They looked dead, just as Draco assuredly was.