Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)

Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore, your brilliance is unsurpassed, my dear, as usual, lol. Sunday-Morning, (bows before you, oh review goddess) smooches! otaku sae, LOL, and glad you liked it! love ya! CrackingUp, thanks! (bows back) morphed, (snickers) it amuses me that it amused you, lol. :P – thanks!! mell8, thank you so much!!!! sillysun, (snickers) I liked that part, too, lol! Haunted-Shadows, THANKS! love ya!!!! Flower4444, well, I did say this was much different from most 'Fire and Ice' fics, lol. :P - and thanks! bigreader, hope you like this too, and don't worry, they're not going anywhere! gin rose raposo1, thanks, and here's more, as requested! AnitaBlake/BuffyFan, thank you so much! it's good to know someone appreciates them! love ya! Lithui, (sniffles and wails) I love you, too! :) Pia O'Leary, no, not yet, original fiction's next, lol. and thanks! me, totally awesome review as always, and I adore you for them!! thanks! Artemisgodess, you know, I think that's one of the best compliments I've received so far. thank you! Icy Lullaby, thanks, I was hoping someone liked them, lol! yo, OOC stands for 'Out Of Character', and OOTP stands for 'Order Of The Phoenix'. :) Lady Eros, thanks! that took a while, so it's good to know it was enjoyed!

Author's Note: I just want to say, before anyone fills my reviews with it, that I am one of those HP fans that pretends OotP never happened. If you disagree with that outlook, I respect that, but please leave me to my delusions. I like the happy little castle of denial that I live in, alright?

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I do not need to rest, Draco thought sourly, glaring at the back of his wife's head as she drug him forcibly down one icy hallway, their robes whispering over the frosty floor. What I need is to get back to work and preferably shag her silly before doing so. Sighing as she shoved open the doors leading into the Shrine of the Divine Pool, he knew there was no way to talk her out of this. She got this way every few years, all motherly and concerned, and he and Blaise suffered heavily for it with asinine shit like relaxing. Who could possibly relax when they were as close as they were to finishing the greatest achievement in the history of Terra?

Perhaps she'd let him go if he screamed.

But no, that wouldn't be very wise, he decided, since half the goddamned Palace would come running, and he'd get no peace at all for days. Wondering if it would be unseemly for a King to whimper, he settled on forming his face into a mask of pure agitation and annoyance, to make sure that she knew exactly how very generous and sacrificing he was being in not doing something extremely childish, like pushing her down and making a run for it. It was a tempting thought. His work tugged at his mind like an irresistible lure, demanding and cajoling, yet here he was, standing at the edge of their rippling, black-watered Pool, doting on his wife's hormones.

She was obviously trying to drive him mad.

"I am not." She hissed, spinning on one heel and narrowing those beautiful charcoal eyes. Hmm, he really hadn't meant to project that so strongly… "How could I possibly drive you more mad than you already are?"

"Your wit, my lady, astounds me each and every time."

"If only I were joking…" She trailed off dramatically, and he contemplated tossing her in the water.

On one hand, she was quite hot when she was irate. On the other, he really was quite intent on shagging her stupid sometime in the near future, and that might…dampen his plans. Getting revenge was a delicate situation with her, but he was more than up to the challenge. And then it came to him as he saw her eyes flicker over his lips in a very familiar way. He'd just use himself, of course. It never failed. Stalking away from her with a disgusted roll of mercury eyes, he turned back to the water as if pondering whether or not to bolt. But that decision was already made, and had he been a lesser wizard, he wouldn't have been able to keep the smirk off his face.

"Fine." He growled, and he caught her own smirk out of the corner of his eye. Oh yes, enjoy it while you can, lovely one… "I'll get in the stupid bloody Pool and relive my stupid bloody memories. I'm sure it'll all be very therapeutic or what-the-fuck-ever, and when you drag me out in two days, I expect to be shagged immediately, or I shall simply never speak to you again."

"I understand, love. And just remember: Blaise has to do it, too."

"Yes, that does soothe the sting, doesn't it? But it doesn't help being reminded that he doesn't have to yet, and is therefore still in our workrooms, stealing all my brilliance."

"'Your brilliance'? Draco, we all three—"

She stopped quite abruptly, and quite pleasingly, when stage two went into effect and Draco's robes slithered to the ground, leaving him in nothing but shimmery silver, black leather, and snow-white skin. Her sudden, indrawn breath and increased heartbeat were music to his ears, and the smirk he'd been suppressing rolled across his lips as he felt her eyes travel over fishnet that left naught to the imagination, leather that might as well have been poured on, and flesh of supple marble. He was beautiful, he knew that, too breathtaking to be simply handsome, but delighting her was delighting in itself each and every time, even if he was being a tad bit vindictive at the moment.

The shirt came off next, blending in with his hair as he pulled it slowly over his head, muscles bunching and flexing with the movement in liquid, graceful lines. Then it was off and being flung carelessly to the side, and when she took her first step toward him, he dove in without even bothering with his boots or pants, determined to make her suffer for making him suffer. No doubt that she'd be going back to their workrooms after making sure that he was fucking resting, and she and Blaise would be doing wonderful, grand things, or even, gods forbid, finishing before he was through with this drivel. He swore to himself then and there that they'd be fucking sorry if they did.

The ebony water was cold, and dark, and he found he'd missed it somewhat.

Begin Flashback:

His first worthwhile memory, not the blurry half-awareness of conception and development and infancy, nor the boring redundancy of his first two years, was of Blaise's eyes. He could clearly recall everything about that moment, their very first meeting, when a blond witch that looked a lot like his mother came into the nursery one day, a small child at her side that had one hand wrapped in her silk skirts. He reminded Draco of himself in the way that his face was shaped, in the fullness of his lips, but those eyes…they were so blue, a blue darker and more vibrant than any jewel he had ever seen, and he wanted to keep them and the boy that they were attached to.

If he'd known what 'forever' was, that's what he would have meant.

As it was, he only knew that he felt somehow lost, as if he'd wandered too deeply into the Manor on his own again, and yet somehow found, as if his father had come along, making everything alright once more with his mere presence. But the little boy wasn't his father, and yet he still wanted him to stay, unlike most of the males that he met. His mother said he hated them because he was still so young, that he was only following his instincts, and that he'd learn to control them soon. Then why didn't he wanted to order a house elf to hex the black-haired boy that was staring right back at him with the same confusion in those spellbinding eyes?

"Draco, darling, meet Blaise Zabini." His mother said, rising from the window seat where she'd been sharpening the knives that he used when she taught him to wield them in the afternoons.

The name instantly clicked, as memorizing the bloodlines was also practiced daily, and the Zabinis had been the first that he'd ever learned about, as his father had said that if the Malfoys had any equals, it was them. Immensely pleased that the boy with the fascinating eyes bore that surname, he abandoned the small doxy he'd been sticking large sewing needles through, leaving it pinned half-alive to his moving model of the solar system, Saturn not giving a shit if it was screaming. The boy's hand fell away from his mother's skirts, his head tilting slightly to the side as he moved forward as well, blue eyes flashing.

And…there was a spark in him, a spark like Draco had only ever seen when he looked at himself, and they stopped within an inch of one another, simply staring as the night within them both reached out slowly, so slowly, until it met itself and twined together. Who knows if minutes or hours or days passed? It could have been centuries and neither would have noticed before it fell back apart, taking something of its other half with it as it sunk back into each of them. Neither heard their mothers' startled gasps, nor heard the murmured exclamations of the house elves that had been drawn by something…strange.

They were inseparable afterwards.

Years were spent constantly at one another's side, since the quiet fury each possessed when separation was mentioned was more than enough to get their parents to back down. For they all knew what lived inside their children, had known since the first time that they'd held them, and they knew that their actions would be remembered and judged. And they had hoped for such, prayed for such, and took great pride in what lived inside them both. They nurtured those dark sparks, nurtured them and kindled them and set them ablaze with knowledge, and they marveled at what he and Blaise did with what they learned.

The first time Narcissa's roses bloomed dark green and silver one sunset and hissed at those that passed by, they said nothing, only stared and preserved them. When a house elf left their rooms one evening, its skin pale and smooth, its eyes gray and glowing, its hair as red as blood and its features sculpted into those of a young girl that promised to be radiant, they still stayed silent, watching as the effects slowly wore off over a day's time, even though the transformation shouldn't have been possible to begin with. They even stayed silent when Draco and Blaise walked in, stabbed their hands with their fathers' swords, muttered 'the night', and disappeared again.

But their quiet restraint broke when they woke up early one morning when it was still dark outside to silver light soaking through every wall of Morte Nera, casting shifting shadows and playing along the walls in living tendrils. They tracked the light to its source, and found that their sons had decided that the night didn't last long enough, so they'd turned Lumos into the moon. Or a recreation of it, to be more exact. Yes, then they started speaking, speaking of everlasting dynasties and ruling Terra completely, and Draco and Blaise were fascinated, immediately loving the sound of worldwide domination. Everyone and everything bowing before them?

Positively lovely.

And they weren't the only ones interested. Pansy and Anton slid from the wardrobe they'd been hiding from the blinding light in, creeping over to Draco and Blaise and sitting beside them on the thick furs while the adults spoke in rushed, excited voices, shooting their children fond looks every few moments. The imitation moon had been extinguished with a surprisingly simple charm, and the eight-year olds sat soundlessly in the low firelight, absorbing every word that was uttered. They'd all been raised to rule, of course, but this discussion was…different. It spoke of complete power, complete dominion, and they wanted it, even then.

And they knew that they could have it, too, for they might be arrogant, but they had plenty of reasons for that arrogance. They had not been raised blind, nor morally, and they had long understood that the magic they practiced was lethally dangerous. That's what made it so fun, after all. And they also knew, that in the right hands, it could overthrow the rule of an entire planet. It had been done before, though not in a long, long time, and their parents thought that Draco and Blaise were the next to do so. They said that it had grown too obvious to discredit, that the sparks were proof enough, and that when their Lord came back, they had to be ready.

And so the two boys trained harder, soaking in every bit of knowledge about everything they could find, going through text after text and scroll after scroll in the libraries of their main estates, which spanned floors of each home, multi-leveled mazes that seemed to stretch on forever. And when they weren't drilling or studying or going on muggle-hunts with their parents and family friends, they were flying, sweeping through the clouds without a thought but the endless stars all around them. It was hypnotizing watching the night sky, almost as hypnotizing as Blaise's eyes, and time passed swift and slow under its dark glory, days starting and passing unnoticed.

They traveled, of course, they had been since they were born, and they saw everything worth seeing, went everywhere worth going, and when they were done, they realized that there was still so much more to be seen, to be done, and it would start all over again. Their parents obliged their wishes when they would get captivated by some culture or artifact and need to see it themselves immediately, since it's not as if they were desperately needed somewhere that they couldn't reach by Apparating. Business managers took care of everything but major decisions, and their fathers came as often as possible, since they said trips with them were never boring.

Pansy and Anton were almost always with them, as were various other purebloods, Melody, Sebastian, Theodore and Daphne the ones that they liked best, and who were the same age as they were. But it was the first two that they kept with them the most often, and they were the only two that they ever took with them when they went to visit Bella, Rodolphus, Sirius and the other members of their immediate families that were waiting to be freed. Narcissa and Silana left with broken, angry hearts every time, while Lucius and Jeran would be cold and aloof for days afterwards, fury burning hotly in their usually blank eyes.

That's when Draco and Blaise would creep into their study, sneaking up on them as they sat before the emerald fire that they always had burning, crystal tumblers of firewhiskey in their hands and their hair unbound from their usual ribbons. They would be on a couch or a divan more than likely, leaning against one another as if drawing silent support, and their sons always gave them quite a start when they would just appear before them, crawling up onto their laps and whispering vicious obscenities about every Ministry official they could name until both ended up laughing, their rage distracted but never forgotten.

Then they would talk them into a hunt, complaining about knowing so many new curses and not having gotten to try them out yet, and their fathers usually gave in without very much trouble, since they enjoyed taking their sons on hunts and teaching them to kill and maim more than just about anything else. 'Bonding', they called it, and their sons agreed, for there was definitely something tangible and tying in the air when one helped another spill blood until it pooled around their feet and soaked the hems of their expensive robes, until it stained small hands and larger ones alike, white and crimson peaking from beneath billowing sleeves.

They hunted with their mothers as well, though not as often, since they liked going with their veela sisters most of all, and though their sons carried veela blood, they were not female, and therefore couldn't meld with their hunts as well. Not that they wanted to go anyway, considering that the 'sisters' never left them alone, cooing over them and patting their hair constantly, purring about how gorgeous they would be in a few more years and asking their mothers for bedding rights, which both always gave sneering refusals to. Their presence at a hunt usually ended in one of their mothers drawing blood, and not that of a muggle.

So they were more than content to let Pansy go with off with her kindred those nights, while Anton stayed with them, preferring to steer clear of such gatherings as well, since he had it nearly as bad. But their mothers had all demanded they go once a year at least, and those times were treated with the absolute loathing that they deserved from any self-respectable male, veela blood or not. And add that blood to the vampiric blood of Draco and Blaise's fathers' and the werewolf of their great-grandfathers', and they were a unique mix indeed, not to mention that strange, dark spark within them that highlighted their blood and made it…different from any other.

Oh yes, they had plenty of reasons to be arrogant.

But their never-ending days were put to a halt when their Hogwarts letters arrived, side by side with ones from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, but there had been no real choice. They would go in Slytherin, of course, just as every member of their families' head branches had since the school had opened. Any other family members that went to Hogwarts had been sorted either there or in Ravenclaw, but they had long known which House they would belong to. There really wasn't any question about it. But what they were told the night before they were to leave squashed their excitement and made them doubt their fathers for the first time that they could remember.

"This year," Lucius started that night at dinner, "will be the first in your true path to adulthood, and we expect you to uphold the family names at all times, not that we're concerned that you won't. You will be given your own rooms, of course, a suite for you to share, and we have decided on something that you will not like, but that is necessary."

"We want you to stay away from one another outside of Slytherin." Jeran continued at their questioning looks, and both shot up out of their chairs when he voiced that command.

"What?"

"Only until our Lord returns." Jeran had continued, not that it had calmed them whatsoever. "Dumbledore remembers all too well what happened after the last Malfoy-Zabini…partnership in that school, and we do not want him watching you too closely."

"Fuck that stupid mudblood-lover." Blaise spat, his eyes infuriated and growing ever darker. "I will not deny myself my best friend's company just to appease that old fool's suspicions."

"You will." Jeran said, meeting his son's eyes and holding them, which most would not have been able to do. "And you will both wear glamours until that time, as well."

"Glamours?" Draco questioned incredulously, one hand unconsciously going to his long, silver hair. "Glamours and separation? Are you bloody mad?"

"It's only during the day that we ask this of you." Lucius replied, elegant fingers twirling a sharp letter opener absently. "And as two, you will be able to hear more than you could as one."

"But we are one, goddamn it!" Blaise argued, swatting the letter opener from his hand irritably. "What you ask is impossible!"

"Keep your link open, and it will get you through it." Jeran said neutrally, a small bit of sympathy showing in expression.

"How would you know?" Draco snapped, reaching the end of his already limited patience. "You faced no such trial, did you? And it is different for us still, and you know it."

"I am aware of the differences, but it changes nothing. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle will stay with you, Draco, and Anton and Theodore will stay with Blaise. And Lucius has another task solely for you."

"Well, doesn't this just get better and better?" Draco asked sarcastically, turning to glare at his father. "Well, go ahead. Next you're going to tell me that I have to be nice to Potter if he actually shows up."

Silence.

"Oh, you have to be fucking kidding!" He exclaimed, his hands balling into fists as several vases flew off a nearby shelf and smashed into the far wall, quickly followed by a heavy marble bust of Cleopatra. He could feel his emotions shutting down one by one, and a glance at Blaise let him see that wood was cracking under his friend's fingers, the edge of Lucius's desk being reduced to dust and splinters.

"Actually," Jeran said carefully, "you both have to be civil. But you have to try and befriend him."

"Ohhhhh, you know what?" Draco seethed through clenched teeth, spinning and facing them again. "You can go fuck yourselves. This is the stupidest shit that I've ever heard. Befriend Potter? Potter, the one who stole our Lord away? Potter, the halfblood? Have you fed today or is this some weird fucking vampire lapse that we've failed to encounterso far?"

"Our decision stands." Lucius said, a note of finality in his voice, and Draco and Blaise shared an enraged moment in each other's mind before turning their backs on their fathers for the first time in their eleven and a half years, speaking not so much as a word as they stalked from the room.

They arrived early and separately to catch the train, though as soon as they utterly ignored their parents long enough for them to give up and leave, they sought each other out. Locking themselves up in an empty compartment with Pansy, Anton, Melody, Daphne, Sebastian and Theodore, they only reluctantly let Crabbe and Goyle in when they practically beat the fucking door down looking for him. Apparently, they were under strict orders to obey his every word and not let anything happen to him. Anton and Theodore had received speeches much the same, but they were actually friends of theirs, and possessed more than five brain cells between themselves.

They stayed a while, catching up on what they'd done over the summer and promising to show each other new hexes and curses once they were safely in the walls of their House. Macmillan stopped by not long after, as his father had most assuredly told him to, and they wondered when the boy's family would just realize that he was hopeless. They best they could hope for was a child from him that came out better than he had, because he was beyond a lost case. He sat down between Crabbe and Goyle stiffly, looking from one to the other with more than a bit of fear, but not nearly as much as he directed at Draco and Blaise.

"You look different." He said after a few false starts, and they nodded the barest bit, their minds on other things.

"Yes, yes, fucking glamours."

"Leave them alone, Macmillan." Anton said brusquely, hazel eyes narrowing to slits. The boy gulped and sat back, nearly lost in between the mountains of flesh that were Crabbe and Goyle, and Pansy gave him a condescending smile.

"You'd better get into Slytherin, Macmillan, or your sisters might not ever speak to you again. Not to mention what your Housemates will say if you get sorted into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw and they remember seeing you in here with us." She said lightly, and they all watched with satisfaction as he turned slightly green. Hurriedly making his excuses, they were rid of that presence soon enough, and their friends' attention turned back to them.

"So, is it true?" Pansy asked hesitantly, her eyes flicking between Draco and Blaise in nervous disbelief. "They're separating you?"

"Yes." Blaise hissed, a nasty sneer twisting those full lips. "I'm surprised Father didn't ask me to try for Hufflepuff at the rate they're going."

"And I have to go make friends with Potter." Draco said distastefully, standing and almost hurting something when his new cronies rose to flank him. That was going to get real old, real fast. "Excuse me, let me correct myself. I'm supposed to go make friends with Potter. I'll be back after the monumental failure that I can ensure this will be."

And, surprisingly, when he returned twenty minutes later with a bleeding Goyle, having gotten to insult a Weasley and start quite the good rivalry between himself and that Potter buffoon, he was actually in a much better mood, as they all noticed by the evil grin spread across his face. Recounting the incident, he felt quite pleased about it all. No matter what his father said, he would not be friends with that halfblood, Gryffindor-bound idiot. The train ride was over soon enough, and he sat quite miserably in a boat without Blaise, listened to McGonagall prattle without Blaise, and lined up for the Sorting Hat without Blaise. Life had certainly gotten shitty.

One highlight was Macmillan getting sorted into Hufflepuff of all things (his family was going to disown him if they had any pride at all), and even better, the Hat barely brushed Draco's hair before screaming 'SLYTHERIN!' and practically jumping off. Like there had been any other option. Sitting beside Crabbe and Goyle, his eyes followed Blaise down the line where he waited at the very end, barely noticing the other students get sorted, even Potter, who became a bloody Gryffindor, as expected. Then, finally, it was Blaise's turn, and he sat upon the stool gracefully, barely letting the worn wood touch him.

It was the same scene for him, the lightest brush of the Hat over the top of his hair, before 'SLYTHERIN!' was screamed once more without the slightest bit of hesitation, and the Hat repelled itself away. Blaise met his eyes, triumph floating contentedly within them, the joy of the moment only ruined when he started to sit by Draco, just to have Pansy hiss a reminder at him and grab his elbow, leading him a few spots down and sitting him next to her and Daphne. The Slytherins that didn't yet know of their forced separation looked at them oddly, as if they couldn't quite believe that they weren't glued together as they always were.

They got used to it, though, and the weeks and months flew by at night when they were in their House, together, and then crept by during classes, when they'd be mere feet from each other and not able to speak a word except in vague passing. It ate at him, bugged him constantly like an itch that couldn't be scratched, especially when they'd gotten the letters from their fathers about Quirrell. They'd had to wait all fucking day to talk about it, marveling over the fact that their Lord was in the very castle with them, and yet they had not felt him. They'd immediately gone to Snape as their letters said to do, and he'd fed bullshit to Dumbledore and played his part.

But then Potter, the slimy little bastard, defeated Quirrell's useless arse at the end of the year, and they went home to a Manor full of enraged Death Eaters, which resulted in many muggles suffering their ire for weeks on end. Their fathers forgot about Draco's failure to befriend the moron, but they did not lift the ban on them seeing each other. And gods, it galled to know that if they'd just quietly disposed of him one night, like the night Draco had been with him in the Forest, then their Lord would be back and the ban lifted. But when Draco had seen Quirrell drinking unicorn blood, he'd been under orders to report to Snape immediately.

Unicorn blood had not been part of the bargain.

But Quirrell was a bigger fool than Dumbledore by far, and the idiot had partaken of the sacred fluid from a dead unicorn, which cursed the blood irredeemably. The only good thing was that he'd drunk it, not Voldemort, who wouldn't have been so stupid. Of course, the Dark Lord hadn't objected, as the amusement factor was sure to have been quite high. But Quirrell had damned himself even in the dark gods' eyes, and he would regret that decision for a very long time to come. That didn't, however, appease Draco or Blaise in the least. They were more than tired of hiding and pretending, and it had only been a year.

They were not fun people to live with that summer at all.

End Flashback

He still wasn't sure if he'd ever really forgiven their fathers for those years that he and Blaise had been separated. Probably not. He wasn't very good at forgiveness, since most who crossed him died before that could become an issue, and he wasn't entirely sure that he even knew what it felt like. Perhaps he did in passing, like when the children made him want to show them the nastier side of the Menagerie from the victims' point of view, or when Virginia teased and teased until he and Blaise both snapped, forgetting that they were in a meeting, or on a public street, or any number of other places, in favor of reacquainting themselves with her sweet skin.

But there wasn't anything to really forgive them for, since neither his Queen nor his Consort could ever really do anything that he wouldn't agree with on some level, as they were too much alike, too internally tangled with one another. And their children…well, their children were perfect little devils, and he liked them just fine that way. To say they were spoiled was redundant, but they were smart and clever and sly as well, vicious and deadly and cruel, and he loved each as much as the other for simple, yet somehow profound, reasons. Because when he looked at Cruoris and saw his eyes staring back at him, his eyes surrounded by Virginia's hair, he was captivated.

And Corpus…Corpus was a mix of the two people that he had devoted the rest of his immortal life to, that hair framing those eyes, and he was lost. Both knew that they had quite a bit of sway over their parents, but they also knew the limits, for a High Royal's temper, once awoken, does not discriminate in the same ways they usually would. They knew, because they themselves had it in them, so they stayed within the wide lines laid out before them, having seen what their parents were capable of enough times to not want their go with that feral, primal intelligence and mercilessness. They were anything but stupid.

And so were Lucius and Jeran.

Begin Flashback:

To try and soothe them when they first returned, their fathers gave them a diary, a very special diary. Their Lord's diary, actually, and they had quite a bit of fun with it in between bouts of making their parents feel like utter shit. Their mothers were finally turning on their fathers and saying that it wasn't fair, it wasn't right, to keep them away from one another so much at school. And, of course, that would be their cue to come in looking quite content and pleased until they purposefully looked up at them, cold masks sliding into place with long, familiar ease. This would be when their mothers started getting teary, since before the ban, their children had trusted them, which was not an empty word among people as dark and wild as they were.

But those masks spoke of lost trust and broken faith.

Their fathers would flinch the slightest bit, imperceptibly to anyone who didn't know them well, and they would start to speak when either Draco or Blaise or both asked a single question and no more. 'Have you stopped this lunacy yet?' And they would slowly shake their heads, ignoring their wives' obvious pain and fury, their eyes somewhere just above their sons' hair, as if they no more liked what they were doing than the others did. But that was impossible, for they apparently felt nothing if they could torment two that had never been anything more than loyal to both and that shared such close blood-ties with them, as well.

So, with disgusted sneers and haughty hands, they would intertwine pale fingers and back out of the room slowly like cornered cats, never letting their eyes leave them or their backs turn to them. The first time they had done so, Silana had screamed, turning and shoving Jeran, knocking him into the roaring fireplace and then falling to her proud knees. He had just sat there, his eyes glowing oddly as the green flames had scorched robes and boots alike, though it didn't harm that long raven hair or the pale skin that had once been golden from the Italian blood he carried so thickly within him. Lucius had drug him out and turned to stop their sons, but they were no longer there.

That had been only days after they'd returned home, and they'd received the diary a night later. And granted, they enjoyed the present, as Tom was most interesting, but as smart as the decision had been, seeing as how they stopped being so aggressive towards guests and such, it did not warm their hearts enough to…forgive. And it was even harder to forgive when almost every person they knew was on their side, even the adults, although they stayed silent. Their friends didn't though, murmuring late at night when curled up in the huge bed they all usually shared, saying that it was wrong to keep them apart, that their fathers didn't truly see the strain it caused.

Because from their first night in their new House, they had monopolized the ruling of it, even at age eleven. And the older students wisely backed down when one or the other spoke, because of their names and because of what they glimpsed inside them, for they had long known them through family connections and social events, and they had no wish to die. They had seen Blaise shoot the Killing Curse at eight, simply because he had been greatly annoyed, they had seen Draco throw a dagger in the blink of an eye, hitting a living target across a crowded room, and they had seen much more besides. Their pride knew its limits.

Their pride knew when to kneel.

And Draco and Blaise, they knew how to play power games, and play them smoothly rather than foolishly. So when the seventh years had dropped to their knees that first night and willingly handed over control of Slytherin House to the heirs of the bloodlines that they owed their allegiance to, Draco and Blaise had accepted, of course, but they had also made them a deal. The seventh years could govern as they saw fit, as they would have had the two of them not started school that year, and as long as they didn't fuck up or do anything major without telling them, then they wouldn't have any problems. It did wonders for gaining true respect.

Because even though the Slytherins knew who truly ruled, it looked better for the older students to mostly dictate outer-House relations, and the fact that Draco and Blaise understood that fact and worked around it rather than weakening their House's front was widely admired. They found it all too easy to make people adore them and fear them all at the same time, and desire was already on that list as well, though none of the older students would have dared without a direct summons, which they weren't likely to receive. And because of their control over their Housemates and their dark, bewitching effect on them, Pansy spoke true when she said that.

Because their fathers knew, in the abstract, what it was like. But they didn't know that Draco and Blaise's agitation seemed to leak from them, spreading from pureblood to pureblood unbeknownst to most, and it was definitely causing a strain. But their fathers didn't much seem to care, and a rift had opened, growing larger over the school year until when they'd come back, that misplaced trust wasn't nearly as much of an act as they would have liked. Because that first time, when they'd been told no, it had been remarkably easy to stop feeling anything, like slicing the head off of a well-loved pet just to prove that you could.

But they had not done it then for proof. They had done it because they had found, to their disquiet, that the men across from them had looked like strangers. And strangers could not be trusted, no matter how like you they appeared. Which is why they never told them of what had happened their second day back, when they had gone to Knockturn Alley with Severus and the Romanian witch he'd been fucking that week. He'd gone off with her…somewhere, and they'd picked around, trying to find something, anything, that was new or even relatively interesting in any way, mostly just enjoying the freedom to go without their glamours.

But those had had to be replaced soon enough, as Blaise suddenly had a fierce urge for ice cream, which was one of the few things you couldn't get in Knockturn Alley if you knew the right people. So they'd donned the damned glamours again, stalked out into the nightmarish sunlight, and ignored the three werewolves and the veela that were flanking their movements, flicking from rooftop to rooftop above them, unseen by everyone else. Blaise had gotten his ice cream and gotten horridly sticky in the process, since he said that it ruined 'the experience' if you cast charms to keep it frozen in the sunlight. Draco had helped him clean up, of course.

Blaise and chocolate positively demanded serious attention.

Having retreated to Madam Malkin's, a shop that their fathers owned, they had nodded to the lady herself before disappearing into their fathers' office. To her credit, she didn't look the least perturbed at the sight of them carefully cradling dripping ice cream cones and snickering as they fell through the door, Blaise's vicious tug on Draco's robes all the affirmation she needed to know what was occurring. She had known them for their entire lives, had watched them grow, and knew exactly what kind of environment they thrived in. She was a pureblood herself, after all, and one of enough worth to know how the dark circles lived.

So when they'd emerged an hour or two later, still snickering and straightening velvet robes that she herself had made, faint chocolate stains on places that she was sure there hadn't been any before, she'd merely smiled and asked if they'd be needing anything that day. Not bothering with pretenses or appearances as they shook their heads and flashed her wicked smiles, she wondered if they were at odds with their fathers, since they usually paid more care to their actions when in the lighter wizarding sections of their world. They knew all this because they could see it, as they always saw through everyone.

It was usually both an informative and disappointing gift.

And while they loved everything the night awoke within them, most people were either boring or trying too hard not to be boring. Thank the gods the dark ones were there to keep them sane, for there was always something at least mildly interesting about them. And leaving that shop, they had been surrounded by just the sort of people they hated. Making for the dark refuge of Knockturn Alley once more, they'd just made it past the shadowy border when Draco had seen a missed spot of chocolate on Blaise's throat, and the urge to lick it clean had been much too strong to resist. Slamming him into the nearest wall, he'd done just that.

"Draco!" Blaise had tried to hiss, but it came out sounding more like laughter than anything else. "Someone could still see us, you know."

"Well, let Lucius and Jeran explain to the Prophet why their twelve-year old sons know exactly how to get each other off." He'd whispered before his lips had closed over that alabaster skin once more, and Blaise had moaned before shoving him lightly.

"You're such a bastard."

"Right now, I almost wish I was." He'd said before really thinking about it, and Blaise had met his eyes swiftly, questioning and understanding all at once.

"Yes. But they will see their folly soon enough."

"Will they?" Draco inquired softly, his breath lost in Blaise's ebony hair. "And what will it take to make them see their error in parting us? Must one of us nearly perish for them to realize that they are wrong?"

He had no idea how true those words would prove to be.

"We still have the nights, and—"

Blaise had stopped abruptly, and Draco had felt his wonder through their link. Looking back over his shoulder, Draco had sought what had held him so enthralled. Or more like who. For there had stood a girl with hair like beloved blood, like the deepest of rubies spun into pure silk, corkscrewing past narrow shoulders to a slim waist, and her eyes…For the second time in his life, Draco Malfoy had found himself completely spellbound, this time by irises like dying embers, embers that he'd wanted to ignite and set aflame with hellfire and dark passion, with want and need unlike any ever seen before he'd discovered the one he had pinned to the wall.

The night within them howled.

And like a sensory rush, flashes of dreams and visions had sped behind their eyes, dreams that they had never spoken of aloud, for there had been no need to do so. And suddenly, they had craved, craved to have her and possess her and to make her theirs for always. The night had clawed at them, screamed at them, begged them to move, and they would have had she only looked away, because they were frozen in that so-shocked gaze she had leveled on them. Blaise's hand had tightened impossibly on Draco's hip, sharp nails digging through thick fabric, and Draco had leaned farther into him, feeling more than a bit dizzy and lightheaded.

'Vermilion and ash.'

Then she was gone, swept away by what appeared to be twins, and both had stood completely dumbfounded for the first and only time they could recall. They'd never thought that the girl they had dreamed of was real, but she was, and something they couldn't, and didn't, want to understand had started twining within them. Their own bond had been solidified with their first touch of flesh on flesh so long ago, and they had been so young that it hadn't been questioned, just accepted. But they didn't know what was happening to them then, and they'd only been able to collect themselves when one of the werewolves had dropped down before them.

"Forgive me, young masters, but are you well?" He'd asked, bowing, his eyes frankly concerned. He'd guarded them most of their lives, and he genuinely cared for them, as a single, swift glance could easily tell.

They nodded, masks firmly back in place and a plan starting to form. They treated this new problem as they would any other. Three days of careful consideration later, a slow, but sure, conquest was laid out and ready to be set in motion. They had known who she had to be from the moment they had seen her, with the flaming hair and freckles, and the two twins they'd noticed later had confirmed it. Her being a Weasley was an issue, of course, but not one that couldn't be handled, and they actually saw it as a blessing, since a Weasley's return to the dark would be a most spectacular bonus. But first, prior conditioning had to be broken.

They were well aware of how she had to have been raised, and their lives would come as quite a shock should she simply witness them, especially at their best, or in her family's opinion, their worst. But the spark they had recognized within her couldn't be denied, and she would undoubtedly prove to already be much different than them. Perhaps not so different from the twins, since there had been something, however lesser, in them as well, but different from the rest. So it would take persuasion, and knowledge she wasn't allowed to learn, and it would need to come from someone or something believable.

And someone or something that preferably wasn't them. Because she needed to have already chosen a dark path for her to be the most susceptible to what they could teach her, and a solution had come rather brilliantly to that problem. They would give her Tom. He agreed to help them, to tell her enough but not too much, as he wished to see a Weasley brought back into their fold as well. So later that summer, when it was time to go shopping for their school supplies, phase one was set into motion. Had their fathers released the ban, they might have told them their reasons that day, but as they hadn't, Draco and Blaise gave as much empathy as they got.

None.

A clipped request had their fathers' eyes widening over the table at the restaurant they'd been cornered into eating at, had them flashing briefly with pain, before the two wizards had collected themselves quite quickly and asked why they would want such a thing. Pointed, venomous glares had been their only replies, creating an uncomfortable silence that they were not accustomed to, and their fathers had dropped the subject, even though Draco and Blaise knew that they were more than curious as to why their sons would want Lucius to slip the Weasley girl Tom's diary. And they were hurt, hurt in a very basic way that even they couldn't fully ignore.

It was the pain of a parent when shunned by their child, the pain of a parent when all that's reflected back at them from faces they've watched change daily for years is loathing and resentment. But that was as far as their sons looked into them, because they were wary to see deeper and find something that would change everything. Not betrayal, not really, but they feared seeing that their fathers didn't plan for the ban to ever lift, and if that were the case, then things would change irrevocably. It was one thing to hope that their fathers did have some sort of reason for it besides 'Dumbledore's suspicion', and another to know that it would never end.

Because that would be quite…unacceptable, and if they were truly worried about what that old fool thought, then two things became much too clear. The first being that Dumbledore was unlikely to die anytime soon enough for their tastes, which meant that they would be hiding for years…and that just wouldn't do. And secondly, if their fathers had gone soft enough to worry about washed-out fucking Light wizards' opinions, then it was time for them to start thinking about the duty they had to their bloodlines as the heirs. They had been born for ascension, to one day take their fathers' places, and if their fathers were weakening, doubting…

Then within a few years, they would have no other choice but to act.

But that was not a worry for then, and after a quick dealing with that oily Borgin fellow, Harry Potter's stink thick in the smoggy air and making every word they spoke a game, Draco and Lucius arrived at Flourish and Blotts in time to see Harry with that Lockhart fool. After meeting Virginia's eyes for the barest of moments, silent understanding flowing between them, he started a chain of events that would change the world irrevocably. He knew the diary would cause a stir no matter which way it went, but he didn't know just how much. He didn't know that the Fates spun new threads that day, threads thick and strong and different, dark and divine and royal.

"Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter?" He drawled, and Harry looked up quickly, eyes wide. "Famous Harry Potter can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!" Virginia spat, glaring, and he wondered if he was the only one that could see the mirthful glimmer in her eyes. But no, the twins were looking at her, too.

"Potter, you've got yourself a girlfriend!" He shot back, and ohhh, she didn't like that at all, her cheeks heating and her glare becoming more real.

It was then that he realized just how stunning she would be in a few years.

Everything went smooth enough from there, Arthur giving Lucius the perfect opportunity to slip Virginia the diary after he attacked him. Draco almost wished his father hadn't been bound by his word to his son, as Arthur would have been going straight to St. Mungo's for that foolish move. Lucius was infuriated, his fists clenched tightly and his eyes iron gray, but Draco wasn't until he was a few feet out of the store. Hagrid's words drifted to his sharp ears, and a thirst for the half-giant's blood grew within him. 'Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy's worth listenin' ter — bad blood, that's what it is…'

And they called them prejudiced!

Oh, Hagrid would pay very, very dearly for those words, and he could see it in his father's face, too. Perhaps Lucius wasn't going soft, after all. Perhaps he was just a fucking arse and wanted to see how much it would take for his son to snap and leave the family. But if that was it, his father should have known better than to use Blaise in his little game, because nothing but Blaise could make him forsake his name and take the fortunes left to him by his grandfathers to get out of Europe altogether. And if this insanity continued with their fathers' minds hale and whole, then his sixteenth birthday would mark the first time a Malfoy had ever broken away from the family.

It would be a cold, cold day in the Halls of the Ancestors.

But he would, damn it, because he'd be more damned than he already was if he lived under such restrictions for much longer. He barely spoke three words to his father the rest of the holiday, and even less to Jeran, who'd always been like another parent to him. But no longer. They had always been taught that mercy was not a necessary trait, nor was compassion nor pity nor even love, but respect and devotion to your family, both blood-kin and those tied to you through dark magic, was of great importance. For they were all you had in a world filled with those who walked sightless, and they were the only ones that it was requisite to show kindness or affection to.

Yet they were being punished when they had not even done anything wrong, and their control over the night within them would not last much longer. And the night didn't give a shit about fathers or restrictions, didn't give a shit about appearance or duty. If held off much longer, something…unfortunate was bound to happen, and someone would almost assuredly die. That year was difficult because of it, but they enjoyed watching Virginia scrawl sentence after sentence in their diary, her eyes growing ever darker day by day. The twins, too, were taking on very shadowy edges, and soon after, their roommate did as well.

Their glee was farther intensified after the tryouts for Slytherin's open Seeker position, which Draco had easily acquired. Flint hadn't had any doubts to begin with, having played with him numerous times out of school, but after Draco had caught the Snitch four times in less than twenty minutes, it was official and none of the Slytherins doubted the choice. Lucius had come himself that night, sliding through the fire with eight brand-new broomsticks under his arm, which had sent the Slytherin team into near-ecstatic convulsions. The last had been for Blaise, who refused to be anything but a Beater, and was therefore waiting for Bole and Derrick to leave school.

Everything had been quite perfect afterwards, rubbing it in the Gryffindors' faces and, of course, the Weasel making himself throw-up slugs. But then…then a letter came, eleven days later and bearing the Malfoy seal, and he knew, from the moment that he touched it, that he would not like its contents. And oh, he more than disliked what he read; he hated it. Hated it in a way he had rarely hated anything, and he wasn't the only one. Blaise hated it, the rest of the team hated it, Severus positively fucking loathed it, and their mothers had actually left their fathers, going to Silana's mother's mansion in Iceland.

Because they decreed that he was to win, but not against Potter.

Rage and fury weren't strong enough words for the atmosphere in their common room that night, the entire House spread out on silk and velvet cushions, words of rebellion and resistance dying just before they spilled from pure lips, and he knew that his sixteenth birthday would be a freezing, bloody dawn, indeed. No one spoke for hours, everyone thinking the same thing. 'There is something very wrong with Lucius and Jeran.' They knew it, but they did not voice it, not yet. Not until they had more proof, not until the heirs to those bloodlines were even just a year older, old enough to rule by their mothers' sides until their majority.

After the silence stretched and twisted and screamed in the absolute void of any sound but for the torches along the walls and their almost imperceptible breathing, Draco stood, every eye turning to him as he balled the letter up in one fist and threw it in the flames. Then the glamour he'd still been enfolded in slowly melted away, revealing hair of molten mercury that hit his hips and eyes that could make a Dementor think twice. He was almost shaking from the need to hurt something, himself or someone else, and he'd slammed his fist through the marble mantle before he even thought of moving. His thoughts slowly focusing, he pulled a hand covered in fine dust from the hole.

And his Housemates recalled, once again, why it was wise to fear him.

"I will do as he says." Draco hissed into the silence, and they jumped as if cursed. "For now."

"And later?" Blaise asked indolently, the only one who looked even mildly in control of himself. But he wasn't, Draco knew that, felt that, and he knew that Blaise was reaching the point of not wanting to wait any longer. Their fathers' actions started to reek of duplicity and lies more and more often, and if they didn't think that their sons knew they were full of shit over this Dumbledore business, then they really had fucking cracked up.

"Later," Draco sneered as the bones in his hand re-knit, "later we will know their reasons, and make a decision from there. I thought they knew better than to make us their enemies, but they seem to be trying awfully fucking hard. And if they have betrayed us," he spoke what no one else but Blaise would dare, "then I am not adverse to kin-slaying."

The tension eased knowing that they would not stand idly by forever.

Resolute and furious, they survived the year by watching their plan progress even better than hoped for, as three Weasleys and a Jordan were returning to the dark, not just their little vermilion vixen. And they had a spot of fun with her, too, when Valentine's Day rolled around. They'd heard her moronic brother spewing some drivel to Granger about Virginia marrying Potter one day, saying he knew Harry liked her, and they had decided to nip that right in the bud. Cornering a Hufflepuff, they'd told her quite simply to write the stupidest, most Hufflepuff thing she could about loving Harry Potter. Her tears had smeared some of the words, but they were readable enough.

Potter's face was priceless when that first line spilled out. 'His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…' Virginia's grimace was quite classic, but it turned into horror when Draco scooped up Tom's diary. Infuriated, he almost accused Potter of stealing it, before he'd seen the answer in those charcoal eyes. She, for some reason, wanted him to have it, probably because Tom wished to talk to him. Expressionless, he taunted Potter as if he thought it was his diary, and didn't stop his elementary Expelliarmus when he tried to get it back. Looking appropriately angry, he sealed the end of anything remotely possible happening between their Virginia and that halfblood.

"I don't think Potter liked your valentine much," he called as she passed him to enter her classroom, and her eyes flickered to him in disbelief for a split second before realization sunk in and she covered her face with her hands.

"Oh my fucking gods." He heard her mutter before she disappeared inside, her tone dismayed and satisfyingly revolted.

Always watching, they knew when she got the diary back and her lessons continued. So they slowly, but surely, gained four purebloods of old lines back into their fold instead of one, though they would have been perfectly content had it only been her, as they had only taken an interest and then acted in order to win her in the first place. But it was always rewarding when plans drew in such bonuses; just as it was rewarding to trick the tricksters when Potter and the Weasel hadn't known that he could sense Polyjuice at work in a heartbeat. Baiting them was entirely too much fun, as was confusing them heartily about the heir's identity.

Yes, Tom had told them his fee for helping them.

And what did they care if he and Virginia played with a snake at the expense of useless mudbloods? And play they did, although, quite disappointingly, no one died. But Hagrid got shipped to Azkaban and Dumbledore removed from the school, and that had definitely been a good night altogether. But then…Oh, they could have killed Potter when they felt the diary's destruction, and distantly, Virginia's anguish. Their Housemates had scattered before their fury that night, even Anton and Pansy retreating to the far side of the common room, and it had surpassed even the communal fury of nights after Gryffindor-Slytherin matches.

It was salt in already-festering wounds.

They spoke not a word to their fathers all summer, staying at Morte Nera only a week before they packed up and left for Iceland without leaving so much as a note behind. Their fathers had come to find them, of course, but for the first time, they were barred entrance, 'by the young masters' orders'. And surprisingly, they had left after asking only one question. 'Will they ever come home?' And to that, the servants had told them what they had been instructed to say. 'Only when you lift both bans.' And truly, Draco and Blaise didn't have much time for anymore thinking on them, because their hands were full with planning Sirius's escape. He would be the first of many.

Late that July found them on broomsticks, a mile off the coast of Azkaban Isle, the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean rough and choppy ten feet beneath them. Draco and Blaise sat mounted and cloaked next to their mothers and four of their uncles, awaiting the black dog that would soon be joining them. Dementors, when paid with an innocent enough soul, will turn a blind eye once a century for a person they deem dark enough. Narcissa Black-Malfoy was just that. And she had not paid with one unsullied soul, but three. Twenty minutes later, the dog came paddling into view, ice coating its fur and its limbs shaking so badly that it could barely stay afloat.

Warming spells were a blessing at times.

Swooping down the short distance, Draco, being the least effected by the numbing water, scooped his mother's cousin out of the water by the ruff of his neck, and Sirius managed to change back to human form and straddle the broom. But that was all, as he was much too weak and frozen through besides, and his wandless warming spells to keep him alive during the swim had completely drained what little strength he'd had. But Draco was anything but drained, and his warming spells stayed thick and strong, enveloping Sirius like an invisible, wavering blanket, and he was dry in an instant and croaking a raspy thanks.

Wrapping his arms around Sirius's waist, he didn't even really need to use any supernatural strength to keep Sirius safely in front of him, which was testament in itself to how light he was. It was the first time he'd touched him since he was a very small child, and the instant recognition of Black blood to Black blood was a bit dizzying, but passed soon enough. The next few weeks were spent planning and recuperating, and hairs were saved from Sirius's head when he was still thin and wasted, as they would be needed to cover up the once-again healthy man in the future. He recovered quickly enough, and agreed to win Potter's trust in his quest to kill Wormtail.

Their third year was spent sneaking him in Slytherin's wards at night and helping him scan the castle for Wormtail, the little traitor, whose presence they could sense, though he never left Gryffindor Tower. It was also spent in the company of Remus Lupin, whom Sirius had practically begged them to contact in the beginning of the year. They'd stayed after class one day, bending the ban more than a bit just by being in one another's presence outside of Slytherin, and had simply requested that the raggedy werewolf tutor them that night. Looking surprised, he'd asked, with the knowledge of a dark pureblood, just what he could possibly teach a Malfoy and a Zabini.

Smirks had been his only reply.

Needless to say, he'd nearly fainted when he'd walked into the Potions classroom, the only place they could all agree upon as long as Severus stayed away, and had seen the huge black dog sitting at their feet. Frozen for long moments, tears racing unheeded down his pasty cheeks, he'd whimpered before thawing and leaping at Sirius, who'd shifted back and embraced him almost tightly enough to break bones. Leaving them to their reconciliation, Draco and Blaise had stood guard outside, lost in the shadows and making sure that none disturbed their 'uncle' Sirius, as they had always called him, since he was a sworn brother of both their mothers.

So, many nights were spent moving between them and Severus in a never-ending dance of pretty words and soothing ruffled feathers. And speaking of ruffled feathers…the hippogriff incident was quite amusing, if he did say so himself. The eagle part disliked him anyway, since cats and birds rarely got along, but add a lazily chosen insult…Well, he'd said Hagrid would pay, and if shedding a little blood could cause that oaf misery, then so be it. He liked watching his blood run, anyway. It felt…sublime. And his act nearly had the mongrel in tears, so worried was he about losing his job. Because he knew, as well as most, that people always suffered when a Malfoy bled.

And oh, Hagrid suffered, all right.

Because Lucius was positively furious, as Draco quite conveniently failed to mention that he had deliberately done it for that very reason, and when he got in such a state, his revenge became colder, crueler. So he didn't go after Hagrid's job; no, he hit where he knew it would hurt the softhearted idiot the most. The hippogriff. Draco stayed mostly silent about the paperwork already going through different Ministry channels, and acted like a wounded martyr just to piss Potter off even more, which was always entertaining. But that Gryffindor was the least of his worries, two others ranking much higher on his list of importance.

The first, of course, being Virginia, whose darkening progress they watched with patient eyes, knowing that in another few years, the darkness would have solidified within her enough, the night becoming her as it had with them, for her to slide easily and gracefully into their lifestyle, should she choose to do so. The second was Pettigrew, who couldn't hide in Gryffindor Tower forever. Oh, that little shit would scream for months for his attempted betrayal, for trying to run to Dumbledore and confess. That confession would have sentenced hundreds more to Azkaban, including Draco and Blaise's parents, but Sirius had stopped him, damning himself in the progress.

But he'd always known his family would free him.

And Pettigrew had known that to reveal himself after that to either side would get him imprisoned at the very best. But Sirius would not so easily forgive one that he had considered a friend, one that had cost him twelve years of his life. And they would never forgive him either, for he had tried to betray their people and had forced them to grow up only knowing Sirius from in between seven feet of spelled glass. And then, at the end of the year, it all came to a head. The hippogriff was to be Macnair's next assignment, Sirius had found Wormtail, and Harry Potter ruined it all, as usual. He was going to suffer a most excruciating demise at their hands one day.

One day preferably soon.

End Flashback:

And Potter's fate most certainly did end up in their hands, and they had made the most of it. Nothing ordinary for him, oh no. But a slight ripple drew his thoughts away from that joyous experience, and he watched Corpus disappear under the surface, only to reappear next to him shortly afterwards, her red curls plastered to her face along with a smirk. She might not be blood of his blood, but she was blood of his beloveds' blood, and that was more than enough for him to utterly adore her. So he didn't protest when she wrapped her hand in his hair and pouted down at him, her pretty face scrunched up and her eyes mischievous.

"So she got you, did she?" She asked, looking towards the water all around them. "Funny how it seems to know when to plague you with memories and visions and when not to, hmm?"

Refusing to speak gibberish, he simply nodded.

"She hasn't been so bad about this in what now, almost a hundred and fifty years? Not since you started your super-secret project that's kept you all obsessed for ages. And don't even think it, I know I've helped, but I'm not nearly as bad as you three, and neither is Cruoris."

He had to agree with her there.

"It really is quite brilliant, though. Okay, it's beyond brilliant, but I've come to expect no less from you, you know. And this…well, you saw how excited Mother was, and papa's more driven than I've ever seen him, as are you. It must be killing you to lay here."

Well, he'd always known she was perceptive.

"Only someone like you three could come up with something like this. I mean, when mother said that rhyme so many years ago, I never suspected it would birth what it has. I always knew of your drive for ambition and power, hell, I feel it and possess my own as well, but…"

But what, darling one? Damn the Pool's waters!

"But you," she started again slowly, as if she had heard his thoughts, "you just have to conquer even the stars themselves, don't you?"

Then her lips were on his, and that took a moment to sink in fully.

Corpus was kissing him, truly kissing him, and he was kissing her back almost automatically, his mouth moving on a different level than his mind and devouring her own until she was moaning and pressing closer against him. Reality finally kicked in through the water's haze, and he wondered what the fuck was going on even as she climbed on top of him, the water easily holding their weight at her will. Still she kissed him, and he kissed her, until he tasted blood and she ground against him, making him fully aware of the fact she was nude. Pulling back and stretching that lean, curving body like a cat, she looked a question at him through hooded, smoky, familiar eyes.

And for once, he was clueless as how to proceed. For about half a second, anyway, until she took the decision from him and impaled herself on him with one swift movement, drawing a scream from both that had the Dark Knights closing in from overhead, though he was only fractionally aware of anything but her heat. Clarity came with that first thrust, the dark clarity that he had always received when opening fully to the night, and there were no more doubts as the water released him enough for him to rise up and grab her roughly, taking control and dragging scream after scream from that beloved throat, Virginia's throat, and making those eyes, Blaise's eyes, glaze with pure ecstasy.

And there was no guilt, no hesitation, because sometimes…sometimes, you just realized that you were already so fucked up a little added depravity didn't matter anymore.

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(snickers) Bet you didn't see that coming! Now review or I shall throw my computer from a cliff!