Visitor

Here I am, but what the hell am I doing here? There's something ultimately false about this flat of yours. The walls are so pale that you can blend in like a frightened chameleon. The windows look as if you wash them every morning before breakfast. Trying to convince yourself of something, Malfoy? Trying to make this lie of yours all the more believable?

Puff. A smoke ring mingles with your fingertips. 'I didn't know you smoked.'

'You don't know much at all.' The cigarette is ground out carefully and disposed of. I still see the smoke in your eyes. 'Why in God's name did you come to see me, here of all places?'

I've only remarked on your smoking habits and you already have me uncertain. '...I wanted to talk, you know. Reconnect a little.'

'Run home then, Potter. Reconnect with your mirror, and fix your hair while you're there.'

'Reconnect with you.'

You smile- no, smirk. I'd forgotten that you simply do not smile. 'Now doesn't that change everything?'

'I don't want your sarcasm, Malfoy.'

'Well then, don't feed me your lies.' You change your mind and light another cigarette. The lighter flashes in and out of your hand quickly, as if you don't want it to be seen. 'You've come after me for one of three reasons. One- for a quick shag to brighten up your humdrum life. Two- to arrest me, or kill me, whichever is more convenient. Three- you want me to kill you.'

You don't amend, do you? Your drawl may become more businesslike, but you can't seem to hide that sneer. 'Malfoy, stop fucking around.'

'Have you admired my sign?'

I look at it now, and your eyes follow mine in amusement, gaze barely moving outside a faint flicker of the eyelashes.

'That's like...euthanasia. Putting dogs to sleep.'

'Sleep you call it?' You smoke harder when you talk about work. 'That's stretching things a bit.'

'Get much controversy?' I ask, for conversation's sake.

'Enough. Here and there. As it is, Potter, I'm hassled enough by you, thank you. If  you've anything of importance to say, out with it. A patient is coming by at nine.'

'At nine. All right. I'll see you around.'

Your back is retreating inside by the time I reach the end of the hall. You shake your head and slide back into your barren sanctuary, muttering under your breath.

And soon enough, you'll forget.

// // //

Click. Puff, puff. 'What the hell are you doing here, Potter?' You're furious now. I can tell- that cigarette is going off like anything and the business is fading out of your drawl. 'Look, Potter, I have a damn patient coming in and-,'

'At nine o'clock.'

'Yes, nine. Yes, you remember,' you growl, exasperated. 'Then why are you back here? I don't want to chat Potter. I don't want to reconnect with you.'

I smile and you hesitate, you won't inhale though the cigarette flickers temptingly.

'I have an appointment, Doctor.'

// // //

I find myself forced onto your white couch. A vase filled with roses sits on the mantle, the pale green stems seeming brazen for their shock of color. You thrust me inside and reach towards my chest, but your hand coils in on itself and you turn away.

Instead, you pick up your wand. It had been resting in a notch across your tabletop, but now it dangles from your fingertips as if you want to drop it.

'Take off your shirt, Potter.'

'What?'

'Take-off-your-goddamn-shirt. I need to get my wand as close as I can to your chest for this sort of work.'

You surprised me. I didn't expect it be like this. I begin to undo my buttons slowly, taking deliberate time. 'What? You don't use the killing curse?'

'Avada Kedavra can be traced back to me too easily. Some patients fear it- and no wizard can prove that it's entirely painless.' All I can see is the sharp white angles of your shirt, pressing conformity into your back.

Trying to hide your smile?

'Are you done yet?'

The last button. I look down and run my fingers over it before letting it fall open. 'Yes.'

'Fine. You can't be moving for the next step- lie down, or would you prefer for me to stun you?'

I choose to lie down. Your couch is leather and it runs a cold chill down the length of curve of my back. 'All right,' you continue. Cigarette pinched in the corner of your mouth, you move over and hover above me. Your fingers make quick measurements across my chest, brushing it lightly every now and then. It makes me shiver once, and I close my eyes.

'Look at me.' I open them again and peer up at you. The shadowed features of your face offer no advice. Slowly, terribly slowly, your hand descends on me and closes one eye, and then the other.

I can feel the weight of your wand, settled just above my heart.

\\ \\ \\

Draco lets the wand tumble from his fingers and turns away from the body. After all, that is all it is now- a corpse, dead and empty; he simply cannot let himself think of it as 'Potter' anymore.

He strolls across the room to the far wall and allows himself to lean against it. He is tired- not unusually so. But after a few moments he finds that he cannot close his eyes, and pushes the wall away, propelling himself towards the couch.

The body is still there. Some days he would return to the office, intending to dispose of the evidence and continue with his routine, to find the body gone, that he had already done so earlier. It always startled him, somehow, when he forgot them so easily.

But the body is still there, and it seems as if it is sleeping, waiting for the cock's cry or the kiss of life to open those eyes again. No matter how he tries to deny it, it is not just a body- it is Harry.

There is something painful about that. Draco can't put his finger on what it is; he walks over to it slowly, and does not take his eyes off of it as he kneels down to retrieve his wand. And, cautiously, he stands up again, and slowly backs away till he feels the cold resistance of the wall against the back of his head.

It's eyes are still closed. The faintest smile plays across Draco's lips, and he closes his eyes and kisses the end of his wand and screams.