Aphrodisiac
PROLOGUE
I VENTURE THEE ___________
He gulped down the poison with one, solid gulp. He knew, he knew what was wrenching inside of him - the cuts of Devil's snare and the blood of a unicorn, he knew it was pure and it was sin, and he tasted it, and it tasted like nothing. His clammy, sweaty hands pushed against the walls, his white-frothing lips pressed against the white wall with a drawing of two snakes coiling each other - his lips lusciously devoured the taste of the plastic wall, the false illusion of the surface.
"Password?" hissed the voice of the serpent, it's red eyes now luminous and wide, glaring pointedly at the poison dripping from his lips.
"Dareka Symphony," Draco said, in the clearest voice he could manage - but the Devil's snare and the white, pure flawless liquid from a unicorn tasted like an acid substance choking his throat and making it whole.
The serpent said nothing, but the other serpent's head was moving sideways - the wall was sliding backwards - leading to a strange, unmoving hallway, a déjà vu, a dream, the hallway. It filled with such shades of white he had never seen before in his life. He pictured himself at the age of five, where his father had taken him to this strange hallway - the odd corridors and no paintings on the walls---others called it nothing, but Draco knew it was important. He knew, in every single wall, there lay the vials of blood of every single witch or wizard that ever lived-at least, they did now.
He pressed his body, slamming it against the familiar wall of the end, and slammed it three more times, sinking his fingernails into it until it drew a picture of an S with a line like the curve of a knife that could kill infants through it. The rules were complex-but Draco had fit into them so beautifully there was no reason to change, no reason to change at all.
The door opened behind him, and he caught himself in an exhale-
"Late again, I see," clicked the tongue of the vicious voice. The halting, spirited voice that made him feel as if he was drowning into a pool of lungs, and he would have to eat them all to survive.
He gazed up, trying to mouth out the words-but with an inhale, he vomited the poison all over the floor, scattering every single white and skin over the black tiles.
Voldemort was not pleased.
//s.y.m.p.h.o.n.y.//
The wound, the gash across his forearm felt remarkably soothing as Ginny touched his skin with the middle of her palm, feeling it -"Don't - Harry, you shout, you scream, it'll hurt even longer."
"I want this to be over," he said, gritting his teeth, the snake fang now protruding as Ginny hesitated to pull it out without surrendering to agony.
"We all do," she whispered in a promising voice, and closed Harry's eyes with the slide of her fingers, before she painfully struck the fang out. He gasped, kneeling to the ground.
"Antidote," she hissed, dabbing a fresh new, small tissue with the lurid, violet substance. He seethed - it was a stinging bliss.
A stinging bliss, it was. He said.
"Ginny?" the concerned voice erupted behind her.
Ginny turned around, and sighed in relief. "Oh! Hermione, thank God! I thought an intruder was in the house---Dad's put all the securities on but- "
"Ginny, it's important," Hermione said urgently in barely a whisper. Somehow, there was something different about her expression - stenched, drained and strained.
Harry, however heard her. "Is it Ron?"
Hermione bit her lip, and shook her head. "Ginny, I need your help."
Without an answer, Hermione yanked her wrist forward forcefully, and they both escaped from the room, leaning against the wall near the door. Hermione's grasp on her wrist wrung even more agonizingly.
"Listen," Hermione said, all expression and concern gone in her voice. "We need to Apparate."
Ginny was speechless. "Apparate? To where? Hermione, what are you saying?"
"We need to Apparate," she repeated in a dead-prone voice.
"Hermione! We can't leave Harry here alone, he'll-"
Hermione sighed exasperatedly, pushing a finger between Ginny's lips. "You are a tricky, little bitch, aren't you?"
Ginny's voice appeared to be muffled in surprise-
"Shut up, there are no time for games, you silly little girl. We have to Apparate."
Something was wrong - Hermione did not swear, Hermione did not act like this - and her hands weren't sticky, with a foul-smelling depth---in realization, the redhead made to gasp, but it was far too late for her "silly little games".
She pulled Ginny to her chest, until her head was tucked into the crook of her neck -Hermione's skin was changing, from the dark ivory to the lightest ivory she had ever seen, so pale, like the wither of snowflakes on the ground while they melted- suffocation was a need, a growing, drowning need and she was choking on it as a whirlwind of nothing white blew around her, she could feel Hermione's wand jabbing across her back, could hear the door opening, could feel herself trying to mouth Harry's name aloud in a scream everlasting-- Ginny spit out a mouthful of her hair before she realized that her hair was not the usual, bushy brown, but a curly, suave black.
Brown was turning into ash.
/ s.y.m.p.h.o.n.y./
PROLOGUE
I VENTURE THEE ___________
He gulped down the poison with one, solid gulp. He knew, he knew what was wrenching inside of him - the cuts of Devil's snare and the blood of a unicorn, he knew it was pure and it was sin, and he tasted it, and it tasted like nothing. His clammy, sweaty hands pushed against the walls, his white-frothing lips pressed against the white wall with a drawing of two snakes coiling each other - his lips lusciously devoured the taste of the plastic wall, the false illusion of the surface.
"Password?" hissed the voice of the serpent, it's red eyes now luminous and wide, glaring pointedly at the poison dripping from his lips.
"Dareka Symphony," Draco said, in the clearest voice he could manage - but the Devil's snare and the white, pure flawless liquid from a unicorn tasted like an acid substance choking his throat and making it whole.
The serpent said nothing, but the other serpent's head was moving sideways - the wall was sliding backwards - leading to a strange, unmoving hallway, a déjà vu, a dream, the hallway. It filled with such shades of white he had never seen before in his life. He pictured himself at the age of five, where his father had taken him to this strange hallway - the odd corridors and no paintings on the walls---others called it nothing, but Draco knew it was important. He knew, in every single wall, there lay the vials of blood of every single witch or wizard that ever lived-at least, they did now.
He pressed his body, slamming it against the familiar wall of the end, and slammed it three more times, sinking his fingernails into it until it drew a picture of an S with a line like the curve of a knife that could kill infants through it. The rules were complex-but Draco had fit into them so beautifully there was no reason to change, no reason to change at all.
The door opened behind him, and he caught himself in an exhale-
"Late again, I see," clicked the tongue of the vicious voice. The halting, spirited voice that made him feel as if he was drowning into a pool of lungs, and he would have to eat them all to survive.
He gazed up, trying to mouth out the words-but with an inhale, he vomited the poison all over the floor, scattering every single white and skin over the black tiles.
Voldemort was not pleased.
//s.y.m.p.h.o.n.y.//
The wound, the gash across his forearm felt remarkably soothing as Ginny touched his skin with the middle of her palm, feeling it -"Don't - Harry, you shout, you scream, it'll hurt even longer."
"I want this to be over," he said, gritting his teeth, the snake fang now protruding as Ginny hesitated to pull it out without surrendering to agony.
"We all do," she whispered in a promising voice, and closed Harry's eyes with the slide of her fingers, before she painfully struck the fang out. He gasped, kneeling to the ground.
"Antidote," she hissed, dabbing a fresh new, small tissue with the lurid, violet substance. He seethed - it was a stinging bliss.
A stinging bliss, it was. He said.
"Ginny?" the concerned voice erupted behind her.
Ginny turned around, and sighed in relief. "Oh! Hermione, thank God! I thought an intruder was in the house---Dad's put all the securities on but- "
"Ginny, it's important," Hermione said urgently in barely a whisper. Somehow, there was something different about her expression - stenched, drained and strained.
Harry, however heard her. "Is it Ron?"
Hermione bit her lip, and shook her head. "Ginny, I need your help."
Without an answer, Hermione yanked her wrist forward forcefully, and they both escaped from the room, leaning against the wall near the door. Hermione's grasp on her wrist wrung even more agonizingly.
"Listen," Hermione said, all expression and concern gone in her voice. "We need to Apparate."
Ginny was speechless. "Apparate? To where? Hermione, what are you saying?"
"We need to Apparate," she repeated in a dead-prone voice.
"Hermione! We can't leave Harry here alone, he'll-"
Hermione sighed exasperatedly, pushing a finger between Ginny's lips. "You are a tricky, little bitch, aren't you?"
Ginny's voice appeared to be muffled in surprise-
"Shut up, there are no time for games, you silly little girl. We have to Apparate."
Something was wrong - Hermione did not swear, Hermione did not act like this - and her hands weren't sticky, with a foul-smelling depth---in realization, the redhead made to gasp, but it was far too late for her "silly little games".
She pulled Ginny to her chest, until her head was tucked into the crook of her neck -Hermione's skin was changing, from the dark ivory to the lightest ivory she had ever seen, so pale, like the wither of snowflakes on the ground while they melted- suffocation was a need, a growing, drowning need and she was choking on it as a whirlwind of nothing white blew around her, she could feel Hermione's wand jabbing across her back, could hear the door opening, could feel herself trying to mouth Harry's name aloud in a scream everlasting-- Ginny spit out a mouthful of her hair before she realized that her hair was not the usual, bushy brown, but a curly, suave black.
Brown was turning into ash.
/ s.y.m.p.h.o.n.y./