Warning-----------------This story contains slash ---- that is homosexual
relationships. The author takes no responsibility for offence taken. YOU
HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
and if I tell you
(lover alone without love)
what will happen
(lover alone without love)
will you listen?
(lover alone without love)
- frou frou
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Breakfast passes slowly. My feet tap beneath the table as I grip my spoon tightly with bloodless knuckles. It is a struggle to contain my fidgeting when all I want to do is leave and all I want to do is stay. I am more on edge than before; paranoia tells me not to let Potter out of sight, but I am tired of the discussions around me, the low murmuring of fear, panic, of plans.
The Slytherin table is awash with agitation as the owls sweep into the Great Hall to deliver their mail. I look up and search them instinctively - there, I can see the Malfoy owl sweeping through the mass of feathers. I hold a piece of toast at arm's length and the bird snatches it from me as it swoops down without landing, a small envelope dropping onto my plate. The scrawl across the front is in my Father's hand. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I ease the seal open.
Draco
Your Mother will meet you off the Express tomorrow night. Clear your dorm, leave nothing behind.
Congratulations on showing some brawn for once. However, your indiscretion does your family no service. I expect to hear of no such incident between now and your return to the Manor.
L. Malfoy
Nausea sweeps through my body. I fold the note carefully and drop it into my glass of milk, stirring the liquid with my spoon. Trails of black ink swirl upwards, staining the pure white.
Looking across the Hall, I can see Weasley eating quietly. His face is clean and smooth, but I cannot dispel the image of blood and smashed bones in my mind. Surely no one deserves what I did to him. Not a muggle-lover, not anyone.
He raises his head suddenly, and a jolt runs through me as he stares in my direction. There is so much hostility emanating from those eyes, I can feel the nausea return. They bore across the room into my own, his face completely neutral.
A black-clad figure moves in front of my table, breaking the connection. As my eyes follow the torso upwards, Snape tilts his head to the door. I leave my untouched breakfast and follow his swirling cloak outside.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I halt in the doorway of Snape's office to take in the scene. The room has been completely cleared; the shelves are empty, the scrolls are gone, there is not so much as a quill, ingredient or potions book in sight. His desk seems to have shrunk in its state of emptiness, and he does not sit behind it but before the small fireplace.
"Spring cleaning, sir?"
He ignores my quip and motions to the chair beside him. He is grim, even for Snape.
"Draco," he begins as soon as I am seated, "you are aware the train leaves at 8 o'clock tomorrow?"
I had an inkling. "Yes, sir."
"And will you be on it?"
I examine him closely, wondering which answer he wants to hear. "Yes, sir," I reply, trying to mask the reluctance in my voice.
He sighs softly, and folds one long leg across the other knee. I trace the lines on his face in an attempt to establish his age. His eyes sag at the edges and his brow is marked with deep furrows. He looks tired, defeated. Prematurely old.
"Draco," he says finally, "I want you to understand that there are...other options."
I tense unnoticeably. This is dangerous territory to walk through, especially following one whose motives are hidden.
He leans forward in his chair and his eyes are intense. He pulls his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing his left forearm. The Dark Mark stains his skin like a bruise, and it is glowing with the Dark Lord's summon. I feel repulsed by it.
"Why are you showing me this?" I demand, suddenly tired. "I know what you are."
"There are some things you don't know, Draco." He is staring at the tatoo, his mark like that of branded cattle. I wish he would pull his sleeve back over it. His eyes meet mine again.
"Draco," he sighs, and drops his sleeve, "I am working for Dumbledore. For the ministry."
I do not react. Nothing is quite connecting right now.
"I am an insider, a sort of spy, working to bring the Death-Eaters down."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
It is already growing dark outside when I eventually leave Snape's office, but instead of returning to the Slytherin dorms I instinctively make my way upstairs. In the Entrance Hall I find what I am looking for; a small figure leaning against the wall, fidgeting with his glasses. I clear my throat and his head cranes towards me. Silently, he ascends a series of unfamiliar staircases, glancing behind every few minutes to ensure I am trailing at a safe distance. Needlessly so, as the icy corridors of the castle are already deserted. Eventually I follow him into an empty classroom, where he mutters a warmth spell before shutting the door behind me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
"You've got to be kidding."
His face is an angry crimson, his eyes wide. I am already regretting telling him. Maybe if I'd just left...
"Snape does it," I put in unconvincingly.
"Yes, and look at him!" He is shouting now. Practically foaming at the mouth.
"Malfoy," he says, softer, "do you have any idea what they'll do to you?"
I shake him off my arm, frustrated. "Don't be a tit, Potter. I grew up with it."
"Then how the fuck can you want this?" I've never heard him swear before. It's not very becoming.
"I have never done anything, Potter. I need to do this." He stares at me the way people stare at lunatics. "Why?"
"I need..." I pause to consider my words more carefully. "I need to stop making excuses for myself. I need to stop being like my father."
He snorts derisively. "Oh, what a load of crap -"
"No!" I yell, "It's not a load of crap! I lie and I hate and I hurt people, I bashed the shit out of your best friend, Potter! Bloody hell," I am quiet again, "I'm him."
He turns away from me, walks over to the window. It is dim in this room, and outside I can see tiny white flakes float and spin by the glass. He presses his forehead against the pane and fog pools out with his breath. The pain inside me is fresh, an open wound again.
"Harry..." I try to move towards him but my legs are lethargic, my steps slow. "I have to." How can I explain this to a boy who sees the world in black and white when my eyes are grey?
I slide my hands around his waist and press against him so tightly I can't breathe.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I watch the hand of the clock move slowly past the twelve.
"It's one am." I shake Harry gently off my arm. "We'd better go."
He blinks owlishly and I press my lips against his brow, his cheekbones, his nose. I am leaving in barely seven hours. He is beginning to wake up, moving into my mouth more demandingly. Only seven hours...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
We creep through the empty Slytherin Common Room guiltily, like criminals, and move into the dark hallway with stifled laughter. In front of the door to my dorm, Harry pulls me down to his face and runs his tongue across my teeth then down my neck. I nip at his ear and move one hand under his jumper and shirt, the other hunting for the doorknob behind me. He jolts as my cold hand runs over his smooth warm abdomen and up to tug gently at a nipple. He laughs quietly against my skin as the door clicks open and we stumble inside.
I use both my hands to grip his hips as I move back into his mouth, smiling. His lips and tongue are still suddenly, and his muscles tense beneath my hands. I pull back and his face is drained of colour.
"Harry?"
His eyes are fixed behind my head; I follow their gaze nervously.
Above my bed, Morgaine's pink carcass hangs from the ceiling, dripping slowly. She has been completely skinned. Behind her, a blood-spattered wall spells out the word "TRAITOR".
Disclaimer----------------all characters belong to the goddess J.K.Rowling. This is a non-profit work of fanfiction purely written for the purposes enjoyment.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
and if I tell you
(lover alone without love)
what will happen
(lover alone without love)
will you listen?
(lover alone without love)
- frou frou
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
Breakfast passes slowly. My feet tap beneath the table as I grip my spoon tightly with bloodless knuckles. It is a struggle to contain my fidgeting when all I want to do is leave and all I want to do is stay. I am more on edge than before; paranoia tells me not to let Potter out of sight, but I am tired of the discussions around me, the low murmuring of fear, panic, of plans.
The Slytherin table is awash with agitation as the owls sweep into the Great Hall to deliver their mail. I look up and search them instinctively - there, I can see the Malfoy owl sweeping through the mass of feathers. I hold a piece of toast at arm's length and the bird snatches it from me as it swoops down without landing, a small envelope dropping onto my plate. The scrawl across the front is in my Father's hand. Sucking a deep breath into my lungs, I ease the seal open.
Draco
Your Mother will meet you off the Express tomorrow night. Clear your dorm, leave nothing behind.
Congratulations on showing some brawn for once. However, your indiscretion does your family no service. I expect to hear of no such incident between now and your return to the Manor.
L. Malfoy
Nausea sweeps through my body. I fold the note carefully and drop it into my glass of milk, stirring the liquid with my spoon. Trails of black ink swirl upwards, staining the pure white.
Looking across the Hall, I can see Weasley eating quietly. His face is clean and smooth, but I cannot dispel the image of blood and smashed bones in my mind. Surely no one deserves what I did to him. Not a muggle-lover, not anyone.
He raises his head suddenly, and a jolt runs through me as he stares in my direction. There is so much hostility emanating from those eyes, I can feel the nausea return. They bore across the room into my own, his face completely neutral.
A black-clad figure moves in front of my table, breaking the connection. As my eyes follow the torso upwards, Snape tilts his head to the door. I leave my untouched breakfast and follow his swirling cloak outside.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I halt in the doorway of Snape's office to take in the scene. The room has been completely cleared; the shelves are empty, the scrolls are gone, there is not so much as a quill, ingredient or potions book in sight. His desk seems to have shrunk in its state of emptiness, and he does not sit behind it but before the small fireplace.
"Spring cleaning, sir?"
He ignores my quip and motions to the chair beside him. He is grim, even for Snape.
"Draco," he begins as soon as I am seated, "you are aware the train leaves at 8 o'clock tomorrow?"
I had an inkling. "Yes, sir."
"And will you be on it?"
I examine him closely, wondering which answer he wants to hear. "Yes, sir," I reply, trying to mask the reluctance in my voice.
He sighs softly, and folds one long leg across the other knee. I trace the lines on his face in an attempt to establish his age. His eyes sag at the edges and his brow is marked with deep furrows. He looks tired, defeated. Prematurely old.
"Draco," he says finally, "I want you to understand that there are...other options."
I tense unnoticeably. This is dangerous territory to walk through, especially following one whose motives are hidden.
He leans forward in his chair and his eyes are intense. He pulls his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing his left forearm. The Dark Mark stains his skin like a bruise, and it is glowing with the Dark Lord's summon. I feel repulsed by it.
"Why are you showing me this?" I demand, suddenly tired. "I know what you are."
"There are some things you don't know, Draco." He is staring at the tatoo, his mark like that of branded cattle. I wish he would pull his sleeve back over it. His eyes meet mine again.
"Draco," he sighs, and drops his sleeve, "I am working for Dumbledore. For the ministry."
I do not react. Nothing is quite connecting right now.
"I am an insider, a sort of spy, working to bring the Death-Eaters down."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
It is already growing dark outside when I eventually leave Snape's office, but instead of returning to the Slytherin dorms I instinctively make my way upstairs. In the Entrance Hall I find what I am looking for; a small figure leaning against the wall, fidgeting with his glasses. I clear my throat and his head cranes towards me. Silently, he ascends a series of unfamiliar staircases, glancing behind every few minutes to ensure I am trailing at a safe distance. Needlessly so, as the icy corridors of the castle are already deserted. Eventually I follow him into an empty classroom, where he mutters a warmth spell before shutting the door behind me.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
"You've got to be kidding."
His face is an angry crimson, his eyes wide. I am already regretting telling him. Maybe if I'd just left...
"Snape does it," I put in unconvincingly.
"Yes, and look at him!" He is shouting now. Practically foaming at the mouth.
"Malfoy," he says, softer, "do you have any idea what they'll do to you?"
I shake him off my arm, frustrated. "Don't be a tit, Potter. I grew up with it."
"Then how the fuck can you want this?" I've never heard him swear before. It's not very becoming.
"I have never done anything, Potter. I need to do this." He stares at me the way people stare at lunatics. "Why?"
"I need..." I pause to consider my words more carefully. "I need to stop making excuses for myself. I need to stop being like my father."
He snorts derisively. "Oh, what a load of crap -"
"No!" I yell, "It's not a load of crap! I lie and I hate and I hurt people, I bashed the shit out of your best friend, Potter! Bloody hell," I am quiet again, "I'm him."
He turns away from me, walks over to the window. It is dim in this room, and outside I can see tiny white flakes float and spin by the glass. He presses his forehead against the pane and fog pools out with his breath. The pain inside me is fresh, an open wound again.
"Harry..." I try to move towards him but my legs are lethargic, my steps slow. "I have to." How can I explain this to a boy who sees the world in black and white when my eyes are grey?
I slide my hands around his waist and press against him so tightly I can't breathe.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
I watch the hand of the clock move slowly past the twelve.
"It's one am." I shake Harry gently off my arm. "We'd better go."
He blinks owlishly and I press my lips against his brow, his cheekbones, his nose. I am leaving in barely seven hours. He is beginning to wake up, moving into my mouth more demandingly. Only seven hours...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------
We creep through the empty Slytherin Common Room guiltily, like criminals, and move into the dark hallway with stifled laughter. In front of the door to my dorm, Harry pulls me down to his face and runs his tongue across my teeth then down my neck. I nip at his ear and move one hand under his jumper and shirt, the other hunting for the doorknob behind me. He jolts as my cold hand runs over his smooth warm abdomen and up to tug gently at a nipple. He laughs quietly against my skin as the door clicks open and we stumble inside.
I use both my hands to grip his hips as I move back into his mouth, smiling. His lips and tongue are still suddenly, and his muscles tense beneath my hands. I pull back and his face is drained of colour.
"Harry?"
His eyes are fixed behind my head; I follow their gaze nervously.
Above my bed, Morgaine's pink carcass hangs from the ceiling, dripping slowly. She has been completely skinned. Behind her, a blood-spattered wall spells out the word "TRAITOR".