Disclaimer: Oh yes, of course they're mine. Just as the sun is made of ice
and money grows on trees. Miss Rowling? If you wish to sue please find
someone else, I can't even afford a lawyer let alone a settlement.
Warnings: Nope, none.
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.
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Blood & Nails.
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Part One. Dazed, De-Spirited, Drugged.
Eyelids slowly lifted and presented beautiful, grey eyes to the world. Draco sighed spiritlessly at the prospect of another day. By now he knew his routine perfectly and pulled it off every day, flawlessly.
Get up, go to classes, report anything and everything, pretend to like his friends, pretend to like his girlfriend, pretend to like his life.
Ignore Harry. Ignore his beautiful smile, ignore his musical laugh, stop craving the sensation of his touch, stop craving his mere presence.
Go to bed, feeling empty and cold.
Ignore the loneliness, ignore the anguish.
Ignore the way Harry sometimes looked back at him. Ignore the slight hope it gave him. Because Draco could never have him.
He must never approach him, never go after him, never endanger him more than the damnable boy already did for himself.
"My love is a curse." Draco announced to the ceiling. Before his brain finally woke up a little more and realised that he shouldn't see a ceiling. He should see the canopy of his bed.
He slowly lifted his head, looking around and almost yelped when he saw Dumbledore sitting to his right. Much to the blonde's gratitude, the sound came out as if he was mildly annoyed. "Dumbledore? Where's my room?" He sat up studying the elder wizard carefully. "And what happened to your beard? Why is it so short?"
Dumbledore's beard only just reached to his chest. The headmaster waved his hand in dismissal of the questions. "Draco, Draco, all will be explained, I promise. But first I need you to drink this for me." Dumbledore lifted up a glass filled with clear liquid and handed it to the very confused young man.
Draco sniffed it. "Veritaserum?" The sharp smell of fresh Jasmine, lemon and blood was a dead give-away.
"Yes, in water. Ahh, here they are." Draco frowned as four men walked into the room and shut the door behind them. He didn't recognise any of them but a couple were wearing Auror robes. "Please, Draco, just drink it." Dumbledore finished as the men took seats around him.
"Aurors? Am I being charged with something?"
"Please." Dumbledore motioned to the glass.
Seeing nothing else that could be done about the situation, Draco took a deep breath and drank it down, ignoring the bitter taste. An odd, but not completely unpleasant, tingling feeling swept through his body. A sensation he remembered well.
"Just answer our questions Draco, then Dumbledore will explain anything you yourself might have questions about." Said one of them men.
"Real explanations or Dumbledore explanations?" Draco drawled sarcastically. "There's a huge difference, you know?"
The men all smiled and Dumbledore tapped his foot, mildly insulted. "I shall be asking the questions. They felt that it would be the most productive course of action. A friendly face and all that."
"Very well, sir. Let's get this over with." Draco looked around the bare room. Almost like a cell. "I want to get back to my dorm. .... Well, maybe not." Cell or no cell, Draco was pleased to see that Crabbe and Goyle were no where to be seen.
"What year is it?"
Draco blinked slowly as his mind ran through a few answers. "Er, Dumbledore? Just a thought, but have you gone just that little bit further and therefore *completely* around the bend?"
"What year is it, Draco?" The headmaster repeated patiently.
Draco sighed and shook his head in worry. "1996."
"How old are you?"
"Are these standard questions? Surely they can't be? You don't ask everyone these things do you? It's not very productive, in my opinion."
"How old are you?"
The young man decided that the quickest way to get this over with, and then demand to know what these people had been smoking when they had hit upon the idea of shoving him into a room and dosing him up with truth serum, was to answer their questions. No matter how insane. "I turned sixteen last June."
"What did you do yesterday?"
Draco bit back a nasty comment. "Um, I went to my classes, watched the Quidditch match, tolerated Crabbe and Goyle as they prattled on about Voldemort and world domination and then gratefully escaped to bed." Draco left off the fact that he hadn't slept well. He'd had odd dreams of blood and Harry looking at him sadly.
Almost as if the Gryffindor was going to start crying. And then an awful cold wet feeling had washed over in his dream, making him wake up.
"Quidditch match? Between who?" Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts.
"Er, you were there, you know? Okay, okay. It's was a Gryffindor verses Slytherin match. Gryffindor won, by the way." Draco said sarcastically.
"Why weren't you playing in the game?"
"I broke my back during practice when Ron Weasley smashed me with a bludger and I crashed into one of the stands. Pomfrey had wanted me to rest for a few days, just to be sure." Draco smiled. "Ron got a month's worth of detentions from McGonagall. It was worth it."
"Do you know a boy called Samuel Matthews?"
"No."
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
"I beg your pardon? Am I being charged with murder?" He got no response. "No. I've never killed anyone or anything. And I don't intend to, for your information."
"What is your relationship with Harry Potter?"
"I don't have one with him. He hates me."
"Do you hate him?"
"No."
"What do you feel for him?"
"I don't see why it matters." Draco was determined to keep his pride.
"What do you feel for Harry Potter?"
"I want to speak to Professor Snape."
"What do you feel for Harry Potter." Dumbledore was not giving up on this one.
Draco sighed. "I think I love him."
"You only think?"
"Well, I know what lust is, I know what a crush is. This is ..... different. Warm. Confusing." Draco looked up at the headmaster. "I love him. That's all I can account it to. But I would never approach him." Draco hurried on. "It would be too ...... er, " Draco trailed off, refusing to ever mention his job to spy on Voldemort. Even to Dumbledore. He knew exactly how easy it was to make or acquire Polyjuice Potion. "It would be far too inappropriate." He finished.
Dumbledore looked to the other men. "Is that enough?"
They stood as one answered. "Quite. We are satisfied with this. We have no objections to release him and cancel the execution."
"The WHAT?" Draco jumped out of the bed as Dumbledore lifted his hands.
"Please, Draco. I will explain everything. Just sit down."
Draco grabbed Dumbledore's beard and tugged, to make the elder wizard look up at him. "Would you like to start with why I was suddenly under the penalty of death?" He hissed, glancing to the men as they turned to leave the room.
"Draco, please. Sit down. You're going to need to."
Draco knew that could not be good sign of what was coming. He released Dumbledore and took a seat on the bed. "What's happening? I don't understand. What's going on? Why was I about to be executed? They haven't even passed that law yet to say that executions are legal."
"Draco. Now I want you to keep an open mind about all of this. I'm afraid you're going to be rather overwhelmed and I wish it didn't have to be so."
"Get to the point." The young man hissed out from between clenched teeth.
"It's the year 2001. You are technically 21 and, up until yesterday, you were under arrest for 27 brutal murders."
Draco was still struggling with the 2001 point. He head started to pound as he tried to incorporate this new information. He closed his eyes, rationalising that Dumbledore was insane and maybe just trying to brace him for the real news.
Deciding this must be it, he felt the urge to find solid proof. He stood up slowly and walked over to the small basin he had noticed in the corner of the room. He lifted his eyes to look at his reflection. The first things he saw were his eyes. It was him.
But it wasn't.
His hair was styled differently for a start. It was a slightly longer length, looking good for his face shape. It wasn't plastered to his head, like his father kept insisting. If this was all true and it was five years into the future, he didn't even know if his father was still alive.
He looked harder into the mirror, looking for the tell tale signs of the image being magically induced. Either on him, or on the mirror. There wasn't any. But there were slight scars on the left side of his neck. He brought his hand up to them and noticed the ring on his finger.
He was obviously married.
His brain ran to keep up with all these new things, as his body went rather numb. His eyes went blurry and he turned to Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to say something as thoughts rushed around his head.
He was 21. He was married. He was accused of murder. He was ........
He was now lying on the floor, as his brain, unable to keep up and process it all, shut itself off and plunged him back into merciful darkness.
To Be Continued.
Warnings: Nope, none.
.
.
.
Blood & Nails.
.
Part One. Dazed, De-Spirited, Drugged.
Eyelids slowly lifted and presented beautiful, grey eyes to the world. Draco sighed spiritlessly at the prospect of another day. By now he knew his routine perfectly and pulled it off every day, flawlessly.
Get up, go to classes, report anything and everything, pretend to like his friends, pretend to like his girlfriend, pretend to like his life.
Ignore Harry. Ignore his beautiful smile, ignore his musical laugh, stop craving the sensation of his touch, stop craving his mere presence.
Go to bed, feeling empty and cold.
Ignore the loneliness, ignore the anguish.
Ignore the way Harry sometimes looked back at him. Ignore the slight hope it gave him. Because Draco could never have him.
He must never approach him, never go after him, never endanger him more than the damnable boy already did for himself.
"My love is a curse." Draco announced to the ceiling. Before his brain finally woke up a little more and realised that he shouldn't see a ceiling. He should see the canopy of his bed.
He slowly lifted his head, looking around and almost yelped when he saw Dumbledore sitting to his right. Much to the blonde's gratitude, the sound came out as if he was mildly annoyed. "Dumbledore? Where's my room?" He sat up studying the elder wizard carefully. "And what happened to your beard? Why is it so short?"
Dumbledore's beard only just reached to his chest. The headmaster waved his hand in dismissal of the questions. "Draco, Draco, all will be explained, I promise. But first I need you to drink this for me." Dumbledore lifted up a glass filled with clear liquid and handed it to the very confused young man.
Draco sniffed it. "Veritaserum?" The sharp smell of fresh Jasmine, lemon and blood was a dead give-away.
"Yes, in water. Ahh, here they are." Draco frowned as four men walked into the room and shut the door behind them. He didn't recognise any of them but a couple were wearing Auror robes. "Please, Draco, just drink it." Dumbledore finished as the men took seats around him.
"Aurors? Am I being charged with something?"
"Please." Dumbledore motioned to the glass.
Seeing nothing else that could be done about the situation, Draco took a deep breath and drank it down, ignoring the bitter taste. An odd, but not completely unpleasant, tingling feeling swept through his body. A sensation he remembered well.
"Just answer our questions Draco, then Dumbledore will explain anything you yourself might have questions about." Said one of them men.
"Real explanations or Dumbledore explanations?" Draco drawled sarcastically. "There's a huge difference, you know?"
The men all smiled and Dumbledore tapped his foot, mildly insulted. "I shall be asking the questions. They felt that it would be the most productive course of action. A friendly face and all that."
"Very well, sir. Let's get this over with." Draco looked around the bare room. Almost like a cell. "I want to get back to my dorm. .... Well, maybe not." Cell or no cell, Draco was pleased to see that Crabbe and Goyle were no where to be seen.
"What year is it?"
Draco blinked slowly as his mind ran through a few answers. "Er, Dumbledore? Just a thought, but have you gone just that little bit further and therefore *completely* around the bend?"
"What year is it, Draco?" The headmaster repeated patiently.
Draco sighed and shook his head in worry. "1996."
"How old are you?"
"Are these standard questions? Surely they can't be? You don't ask everyone these things do you? It's not very productive, in my opinion."
"How old are you?"
The young man decided that the quickest way to get this over with, and then demand to know what these people had been smoking when they had hit upon the idea of shoving him into a room and dosing him up with truth serum, was to answer their questions. No matter how insane. "I turned sixteen last June."
"What did you do yesterday?"
Draco bit back a nasty comment. "Um, I went to my classes, watched the Quidditch match, tolerated Crabbe and Goyle as they prattled on about Voldemort and world domination and then gratefully escaped to bed." Draco left off the fact that he hadn't slept well. He'd had odd dreams of blood and Harry looking at him sadly.
Almost as if the Gryffindor was going to start crying. And then an awful cold wet feeling had washed over in his dream, making him wake up.
"Quidditch match? Between who?" Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts.
"Er, you were there, you know? Okay, okay. It's was a Gryffindor verses Slytherin match. Gryffindor won, by the way." Draco said sarcastically.
"Why weren't you playing in the game?"
"I broke my back during practice when Ron Weasley smashed me with a bludger and I crashed into one of the stands. Pomfrey had wanted me to rest for a few days, just to be sure." Draco smiled. "Ron got a month's worth of detentions from McGonagall. It was worth it."
"Do you know a boy called Samuel Matthews?"
"No."
"Have you ever killed anyone?"
"I beg your pardon? Am I being charged with murder?" He got no response. "No. I've never killed anyone or anything. And I don't intend to, for your information."
"What is your relationship with Harry Potter?"
"I don't have one with him. He hates me."
"Do you hate him?"
"No."
"What do you feel for him?"
"I don't see why it matters." Draco was determined to keep his pride.
"What do you feel for Harry Potter?"
"I want to speak to Professor Snape."
"What do you feel for Harry Potter." Dumbledore was not giving up on this one.
Draco sighed. "I think I love him."
"You only think?"
"Well, I know what lust is, I know what a crush is. This is ..... different. Warm. Confusing." Draco looked up at the headmaster. "I love him. That's all I can account it to. But I would never approach him." Draco hurried on. "It would be too ...... er, " Draco trailed off, refusing to ever mention his job to spy on Voldemort. Even to Dumbledore. He knew exactly how easy it was to make or acquire Polyjuice Potion. "It would be far too inappropriate." He finished.
Dumbledore looked to the other men. "Is that enough?"
They stood as one answered. "Quite. We are satisfied with this. We have no objections to release him and cancel the execution."
"The WHAT?" Draco jumped out of the bed as Dumbledore lifted his hands.
"Please, Draco. I will explain everything. Just sit down."
Draco grabbed Dumbledore's beard and tugged, to make the elder wizard look up at him. "Would you like to start with why I was suddenly under the penalty of death?" He hissed, glancing to the men as they turned to leave the room.
"Draco, please. Sit down. You're going to need to."
Draco knew that could not be good sign of what was coming. He released Dumbledore and took a seat on the bed. "What's happening? I don't understand. What's going on? Why was I about to be executed? They haven't even passed that law yet to say that executions are legal."
"Draco. Now I want you to keep an open mind about all of this. I'm afraid you're going to be rather overwhelmed and I wish it didn't have to be so."
"Get to the point." The young man hissed out from between clenched teeth.
"It's the year 2001. You are technically 21 and, up until yesterday, you were under arrest for 27 brutal murders."
Draco was still struggling with the 2001 point. He head started to pound as he tried to incorporate this new information. He closed his eyes, rationalising that Dumbledore was insane and maybe just trying to brace him for the real news.
Deciding this must be it, he felt the urge to find solid proof. He stood up slowly and walked over to the small basin he had noticed in the corner of the room. He lifted his eyes to look at his reflection. The first things he saw were his eyes. It was him.
But it wasn't.
His hair was styled differently for a start. It was a slightly longer length, looking good for his face shape. It wasn't plastered to his head, like his father kept insisting. If this was all true and it was five years into the future, he didn't even know if his father was still alive.
He looked harder into the mirror, looking for the tell tale signs of the image being magically induced. Either on him, or on the mirror. There wasn't any. But there were slight scars on the left side of his neck. He brought his hand up to them and noticed the ring on his finger.
He was obviously married.
His brain ran to keep up with all these new things, as his body went rather numb. His eyes went blurry and he turned to Dumbledore. He opened his mouth to say something as thoughts rushed around his head.
He was 21. He was married. He was accused of murder. He was ........
He was now lying on the floor, as his brain, unable to keep up and process it all, shut itself off and plunged him back into merciful darkness.
To Be Continued.