Disclaimer: I own nothing! Except, again, for Anton! He's mine, damn it! (cackles gleefully)
Responses to Reviewers: tkmoore, darling, you are the mightiest, most divine being ever -- but for the boys, of course – as always! Sunday-Morning,its reviewers like you that make my day. (gives you a silver star cause Gryffindor gold is ugly) Haunted-Shadows, LOL! omg, that had me cracking up! good to know I shocked you. (smirks) and just when are you updating by the way?? (pouts) sillysun, exactly, you know me so well, lol! and thank you!! otaku sae, lol, glad you liked it! :P AnitaBlake/BuffyFan,thanks so much!love ya!XnovemberX, THANK YOU!!!! bigreader, damn, you know me too well! lol – and thanks for reviewing, as always! MeghanBlack, thank you so much! hope you like this chappie too! Virginia Riddle-Malfoy, thanks! and not in this one, but you very well may get your wish, lol! mell8, thanks, and you should get both if I stay on track! :) childofoceans, so…was that a good or bad 'oh my'? lol gin rose raposo1, sorry if it was confusing, and thanks!! Flower4444, well, go you! and it's okay, I'm sick too, lol. and thank you!! entrancer, Blaise's daughter. :P Pia O'Leary, sorry to have disappointed you, hope you like this one better. :) Artemisgodess, sorry if it squicked you out, but I never said this was gonna be fluff and roses, lol. me, calm down, they're not blood related, lol. and I doubt I will be anyway, so no worries. thanks for reviewing! Aleurier, riiiight. well, have fun in your deprived little world. and incest is when they're blood related, which corpus and Draco are not. how rude. (pouts)
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?
Author's Other (slightly annoyed) Note: (sighs) For the love of all that's damned, people, honestly! Corpus is not Draco's daughter by blood, she's Blaise's. Therefore, it's not technically incest. If it still squicks you out, I'm sorry, but I warned you that this was not your typical 'F&I' fic, so please don't bother me with explaining just how it squicked you out, alright? And really, if you're still reading this, then we shouldn't have any problems, hmm? Wonderful.
Now, on with this depraved bit of lunacy that keeps spewing forth from my fingertips.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
"Come on, love, wake up." Draco vaguely heard a voice calling, but he knew it wasn't calling to him at the moment, and he was content to lie still before the water took him under its spell once more.
"Papa?" A sleepy voice answered from beside him, and the water shifted as she did.
"Oui. Go on, firefly, return to your chambers and rest. I'll stay with him."
"But it is not your t-turn yet. And I am n-not tired." She said, yawning, and lyrical laughter was the only reply, rippling as the ebony water rippled, entrancing as it entranced, and she mumbled in agreement before slipping under the surface and swimming to the edge still half-asleep.
A familiar form wrapped around his, silky hair falling over his face and chest like wet spider webs, and both stayed still as something underneath them rose to touch them briefly before sinking back into the Pool's depths, and it was followed shortly by another, then another…Growing tired of their attention, Draco felt his lover send out a silent warning and rebuke, and the hesitant, needing caresses stopped, the creatures reluctantly leaving them be. Unable speak more than disjointed words or obscure phrases, he simply twisted his fingers in that long hair and buried his face in a smooth, pale throat, breathing in a scent that had held him captive for years upon years.
"You are constantly full of surprises, beloved." Blaise said softly, tracing his fingers down Draco's chest and over the muscles of his stomach, to where the laces of his pants had been ripped open. "Were you anyone else, you would be dead." Amusement heavily laced that velvety tone, and Draco's lips curved into a smile.
And then he heard nothing but faded voices from a long-dead past.
Begin Flashback:
They barely even noted the passing of the next summer, even the Quidditch World Cup hardly interesting enough to note, and for once, even the sweet pleasure of torturing muggles seemed somehow unfulfilling, and they lacked any inspiration whatsoever. All they could see was another year of bans and boredom and bullshit, and they went back to Hogwarts with cold hearts and bad attitudes. They knew something was off about that Moody fellow, and they knew their fathers knew what it was, but they weren't talking, not that their sons had asked them, as that would have required speaking to them. So they followed him that first night, followed him into their dungeons.
He went inside a small room, a disk in his hand that he used to talk to…the Dark Lord? A deeper look into him had revealed all they needed to know. So, Crouch had escaped, had he? Interesting. And the Dark Lord was back again? Even more interesting. Their fathers had told them about this Crouch fellow before, about how Bella had loathed him from the moment they'd met, and how the Dark Lord had never liked him much either. They'd told them that he hated Lucius, hated him because of Jeran, whom he'd been quite infatuated with. But he hated Jeran even more after he'd publicly humiliated him at some function years and years ago.
He turned then, and Draco shoved Blaise back into another side passageway, warding the entrance quickly before that magical eye could spot the raven-haired boy. He looked too much like his father, and Draco wasn't taking any chances about the man's sanity, as he knew what Azkaban could do to people. That rolling eye settled on him, and those lips curled in a sneer, the disk disappearing. Draco saw the outer shell, the shell of the old, scarred Auror, and the true one, that of a stringy, ravaged-looking man with wild eyes. He saw the knowledge in Draco's own that the Slytherin didn't try to hide, and he stepped forward, apparently trying to be menacing.
It didn't work.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Professor Moody." He crooned, watching fury flash across that false, pitted face. "Whatever are you doing down in Slytherin?"
"That's none of your business, Malfoy, nor is anything you heard or anything your abnormal arse sees."
"Isn't it?" He asked, cocking one silver eyebrow and smirking. "Because I heard everything and I find it most intriguing. Now get the fuck out of our dungeons."
"You can't order me around! I'm a professor here, and I can go anywhere I like, you insolent little shit!"
"Well, I'm not speaking as a student to a professor. I'm speaking as a Malfoy to a Crouch, and you will obey or you will be foresworn before the gods. Now, go!"
"You will pay for this." Crouch hissed, before spinning on a heel and stomping off down the hall.
Waiting until his footsteps had faded, Draco dropped the wards and braced himself to deal with an extremely annoyed Blaise. He didn't hear the end of that for over a day, not until Crouch made the stupidest decision of his, thereafter dramatically shortened, life. Granted, it was partly Draco's fault as well, since he should have kept his shielding at full power even in that den of weaklings and white witches. But there had never been a reason for more than abysmal shielding within those hallways, and he was more lazy than usual that day. So when Crouch hit him with a transforming spell packed with power, he was caught, for the first and last time, unaware.
Thank the gods his glamour spells stuck after he changed back, because he was a lot worse off than it seemed to most. Blaise nearly had a fucking heart attack, and then nearly committed murder right there in the open, only stopped by Anton, Pansy and four older Slytherins who had one hell of a time dragging him to Severus's office before he could draw attention to himself and cause quite a…bloody scene. But the other Slytherins were angry too, so angry, because they could see through Draco's glamours, and several waited inside the entrance to the dungeons for him when he and Crouch came through, their rage thick in the air.
Crouch laughed, laughed and turned down a side hallway, leaving Draco with them only half-conscious and swaying on his feet. He'd been able to halt the blood flow until he was away from so many sets of prying eyes, but he lost that hold then, and his Housemates very nearly panicked when blood starting streaming from his head in thick rivulets. His left arm was broken, his right kneecap shattered, at least five ribs had been crushed, and one of his lungs was punctured, causing him to spit up mouthfuls of blood that hadn't helped his friends' horror at all. Adrian Pucey tried to ask Draco if he would let him carry him without cursing him, but he couldn't talk.
The head injuries were the worst, he knew that, and nothing seemed to be working, not his lips nor his fingers nor his toes, and he slumped almost in slow motion, not even noticing Adrian mumbling frantic, rushed apologies as he scooped him up and bolted down the winding stairs, the other Slytherins on his heels. They met a completely discomposed and enraged Severus halfway to his office, but Draco could barely stay awake, let alone soothe his worries. And he had every reason to be worried, because if Draco couldn't concentrate long enough to fully merge with Blaise and heal himself, then they had serious problems.
And strangely, the night stayed utterly silent within him.
Or perhaps he was just too confused and dazed to let it in, perhaps he was unconsciously blocking its efforts, but he couldn't even think on that long enough to reach a conclusion that made any sort of sense. His father and Jeran were there by the time they reached Severus's office, and both nearly exploded when they saw him. But their reactions were nothing to Blaise's, who'd been pacing the room like a caged cat. Springing forward, he lightly touched the blood seeping through silver hair and dripping on the floor, his indigo eyes misting over with a look that even Draco had never seen before, and he spun on their fathers.
"Now do you see?" His voice was low, carrying, acidic, and their fathers flinched the barest bit, while Blaise took Draco from Adrian as if he weighed nothing, and laid him carefully on one leather couch. He continued speaking as he started stripping the blood-soaked garments from his best friend, who would lay docile for him and only him, and Severus ushered the other Slytherins out before shutting the door. "If I had been at his side, that curse never would have hit, because I would have been watching his back as I am meant to do. But instead, I was across the hall thanks to your idiocy. Now will you lift this gods-forsaken ban?"
"We cannot." Lucius spoke quietly, even more so than Blaise had, and those sapphire eyes turned to him momentarily, full of contempt.
"Your son's near-death isn't enough for you to see that this is folly?"
"Yes." A pause. "We can see that now."
"Then why?" Blaise finally snapped, demanding an answer that they had so far left alone.
"We just cannot."
Closing his eyes, his face filled with disgust and the beginnings of hate, he ignored them and set to healing his best friend, not noticing their mothers and Sirius arrive, nor the repeat of the same argument with them. Draco vaguely felt Blaise reaching out to him, brushing his mind in a long-familiar way, and he was tempted to resist, to sink under the rising waves of blackness, death calling him like an irresistible temptation, but Blaise had never failed to reach him and never would. His call was sweeter than even that of the Reaper, a Siren's song of sinful seduction, and Draco responded, throwing their power together and finally hearing the night's furious rebukes.
"Oi, that fucking hurt." He groaned when his body was done suffering the assault of so much serious healing all at once. Apparently, he had been blocking the night, and it was not pleased with him in the least, acting like a wounded lover. Honestly, it's not as if he'd done it on purpose.
"Are you alright?" Lucius called softly from the chair he had sat in at some point, but Draco tactfully ignored him. Sirius rushed over with Severus and their mothers, the two dark-haired men for once forgetting their feud, and they knelt around him on the couch as he sat up, running hands over him to make sure that he was hale once more.
"Are you alright?" Sirius repeated his father's question, and to him, just to be spiteful, Draco delivered a dazzling smile.
"I'm fine, uncle. You worry too much."
"'Worry too much'?" Sirius gaped. "You—"
"It's useless." Narcissa cut in, brushing a lock of bloody hair back off of Draco's face. "He never listens, and he's obviously in a mood. Not that I blame him." She shot a nasty look at her husband and his best friend.
"'Cissa, I've told you—" Lucius started, but she held up one slender, graceful hand.
"There is nothing you have to say that I wish to hear unless it is that you have either decided to finally end this…whatever it is that you're doing, or that you're at least going to fully explain. Until then, I do not wish to listen to a single word from either of you." She said coldly, and Lucius nodded shortly, looking away and shutting his mouth firmly, which had her glaring. Before she could say anything more, Blaise spoke, his low voice seeming loud with the gravity of his words.
"I will play your little game." He said, looking at Jeran and taking Draco's hand in his. "But only for another year and a half, for I wish to leave the family when we turn sixteen. I'll take only what's rightfully mine, of course, and it is your decision whether to try for another heir or not. All I ask is that you accept this quietly and do not try to stop me, for if you stand in my way, I will kill you."
The last was said evenly, emotionlessly, and completely honestly. Silana looked crushed and infuriated, spinning on Jeran and spitting out several choice words in Old Gaelic and French, and Narcissa looked to Draco, fear in her husky-like eyes. But that fear didn't stop him from saying the same to his own father without the slightest bit of hesitation. Then neither said anything else, not bothering to look and see if their fathers were affected, because they simply couldn't care anymore. Eventually only Severus and Sirius were left, and both sat silently for a long while, before their mouths opened and they spoke in unison.
"You could become Blacks…"
"You could become Snapes…"
They glared at each other.
"As if they would pick the Snape name over mine!"
"And why not? I've practically raised them—"
"Oh, and that's really my fault! You'd be in Azkaban if it wasn't for me, spy-boy, and—"
"Shut up!"
Both grew silent once more.
"Fucking really, can't you two grow up?"
They stayed silent and slightly sheepish, while Draco and Blaise stayed annoyed and more than angry.
Two nights later, their foul moods ceased for a time, as they were presented with something that couldn't fail to amuse even them. Parvati came creeping through the entrance to the Slytherin common room, her hands knotted into her robes being the only outward sign of her anxiety, and she came to where they sat on the second level, stopping before them and nervously running one manicured hand along the edge of the table their books were spread out on. She opened and closed her mouth once, twice, yet no words came forth, and she looked at the floor before turning her eyes back up and giving them a wry, embarrassed smile.
"What is it, Parvati?" Blaise asked impatiently, his attention mostly on the scroll before him that he was filling with his elegant scrawl, translating a Mongolian book of necromancy into flawless Latin.
"Well, I…I mean—" She tripped over words, and Draco finally regarded her with mild interest, since she was usually much more composed then this. "I mean…oh hell."
"Yes, do get on with it." Blaise said with a small wave of one pale hand, and she nodded slowly.
"I've brought you a bloodline to restore." She said, and then stepped back as she had their instant, full attention boring into her through eyes going dark and primordial, hungry and driven.
"Which bloodline?" The question was a command, and she took another step back, her legs hitting the railing circling the balcony.
"The…The Longbottom line."
Interesting. With their leave, she went back outside before pulling Neville in by his robes, which caused him to trip over his own feet. He fell through the entrance, landing in a crumpled heap on the emerald rug, and laughter broke out through the common room, making the Gryffindor's cheeks heat as he pulled himself up. To do so, he braced his hand on the wall, only to make it halfway up before the stone realized that whatever was touching it wasn't Slytherin and sucked the limb in like a piece of spaghetti, solidifying again and holding him trapped up to his shoulder. He started shrieking, beating at the wall with his other fist, his face turning purple.
It was suddenly very hard to breathe as laughter consumed them.
"Looks like you're stuck here now!" One of the younger Slytherins called out, throwing an ink well that hit Longbottom's other shoulder and shattered, shimmery green ink splattering all over his face and robes. His struggling ceased and he turned his head away, his shoulders starting to shake. More objects flew with quick precision, potion ingredients and candles and chess pieces, and even a shrunken head that latched onto him with rotten black teeth, cackling as it tried to gnaw its way through his robes. That had him screaming again, performing a strange, swatting dance with one arm and nearly braining himself on a torch bracket.
"Stop!" Someone cried out above the mocking laughter. "Stop, I said!"
And the Slytherins did stop, because that was the voice of one of their own.
"Fucking hell! Why must you always be so goddamned heartless!?" Millicent broke through the jeering circle that had formed around Longbottom, ripping off the shrunken head, while her Housemates stared in blatant shock for a moment, before all emotion melted away, leaving them expressionless and cold in a single, controlled second. Pansy stood from where she'd stayed seated by the fire after a glance from Blaise, and the others parted for her instantly as she made her way to the front of the circle.
"And just what has suddenly given you a heart, dear Millicent?" She asked, stepping from behind Adrian and tapping her wand absently against her thigh. Many backed away as they saw that slender piece of spalted maple, but Millicent stood her ground, though her eyes became very wary, never leaving that length of wood. "Or should I say who?" That was punctuated by a disgusted look at Longbottom, who was dripping ink and blood and looking altogether pathetic.
"Leave it be, Pansy." Millicent said, lowering her voice.
"No."
"Leave it be, Pansy!"
"Answer the question." Draco said, standing from their table in the shadows and dropping over the railing, landing in their midst before most saw him move at all. Millicent paled, but did as she was told.
"I…care for him, alright?" Neville turned green. "I…forgive me, my lord."
Then she fell to her knees, her eyes lowering and her face falling as she awaited some punishment. Sneering, Draco ignored her for the moment, and spoke a clipped word in German, causing the wall to release Longbottom, who fell backwards and right on top of Millicent, knocking them both to the floor. They lay sprawled out at his feet for a moment, before Millicent scrambled up and back onto her knees, Longbottom clumsily following her lead, though he stayed a careful distance away. Draco couldn't decide between anger and mirth, and a whisper of displaced wind announced Blaise's presence at his back.
"Why are you here?" He asked, and Longbottom thankfully understood that he was addressing him.
"I w-want…er," gulp, "I w-wanted t-to…er…"
"Bloody hell. Just shut up."
And without another word, Draco let his eyes un-focus the barest bit, drawing on the night and looking deeper, past the skin and bones and into the heart, into that beating, pulsing fount of pure blood, and he knew everything he needed to. The boy was tired of being scared, tired of being weak and useless, and Parvati promised that if they would agree, then they could make him strong, confident…and possibly even feared. He would pay any price, any price at all; he would give his very soul for it, for it and for a place to belong. But they didn't want his soul; no, they wanted something else, something much more important.
"We will do what you wish." He said, his eyes refocusing on Longbottom's stricken face. "But we want something in return. Besides renewed blood oaths of loyalty between our lines, of course."
"B-Blood oaths? B-But my g-gran…"
"You are the Longbottom heir." Blaise said, watching him through hooded eyes. "Not her." Neville nodded slowly, seeming as paralyzed as a bird before a serpent, his breathing erratic and his pupils dilated.
"W-What else d-do you want?"
Draco smirked and Neville shivered. "Why, your children, of course."
The rest of the year was mediocre at best, the Tri-Wizard Tournament offering only mild amusement, although they did enjoy having the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons in the castle, as all were pure and most were dark. They'd known many of them for ages, and they were better company than Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs by far. Except for one Gryffindor, whom they strongly suspected would be quite pleasant company, indeed. Another year and she'd be ready, they could feel it. So the time drug by, their magic and sex the only things that kept the Slytherins halfway sane, until the end of the year, when the miraculous happened.
Voldemort was back. And for real this time.
They felt the very moment of his true resurrection, felt it while the others stayed unaware and panicking over Potter's disappearance, and when Potter came back, they ghosted after him, sticking to shadows and staying silent as Crouch led him off into the school. They heard every word said inside that room from down the hall, and saw Severus, McGonagall and Dumbledore come not too long after. They watched Severus leave, listened to his whispered confirmation of success as he passed them, and Potter and Dumbledore appeared a few moments later, heading the opposite direction. McGonagall stayed alone with Crouch.
The time had come for revenge.
It did not take long to decide on what to do, and they went to the entrance hall, where Severus entered with Cornelius Fudge almost fifteen minutes later. Before the man could so much as scream, they pulled him off into a small room filled with old tables and chairs, and Severus followed after shooting them a disbelieving glare. Fudge struggled, of course, but he fell still soon enough when he saw who held him, looking between them and Severus with more than a bit of trepidation. Shoving him down into a chair, they marveled over how utterly pathetic the man was. Flitwick could have made a better Minister, but at least they owned Fudge.
"What are you doing?" Severus hissed, stalking up to them. "You can't abduct the Minister at Hogwarts!"
"Honestly, Severus." Blaise scoffed, rolling his eyes. "We're not bloody abducting him. We just need to call in a favor."
"A f-favor?" Fudge stuttered, his eyes wide as he took them in without their ever-present glamours, and they nodded. "F-For your fathers?"
"Sure." Blaise said evenly, mockingly. "The man you're going to see, the Death Eater, we don't like him much."
"In fact," Draco continued, letting his masks fall away and his eyes fill with a ferocious, primal light, "we want him dead."
Fudge whimpered. "D-Dead? I…I can't k-kill someone."
"But you do it everyday." Blaise argued, his own masks dropping and causing Fudge to start shaking, which was most gratifying.
"N-No…"
"Yes." Draco countered, moving closer, twirling a wand he hadn't needed in years between his fingers idly. "We know how many execution contracts you sign. Now we're simply telling you to sign another."
"W-What are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"I—I don't know. You sp-speak of death so c-coldly…"
"And you do not? Do not play the righteous fool with us, Cornelius Fudge. We know who you are, we see who you are, and you don't lose any sleep over the things that you have done. We want Bartemius Crouch dead, his soul devoured and destroyed. Call in a Dementor."
"A Dementor?" His voice was suddenly steadier, and he sat up straighter. "And if I do this, one of my debts is gone, paid for?"
"Yes."
He nodded vigorously. "Could always say I feared for my life, I suppose. And this Death Eater, it has the Mark?"
"Of course." 'You stupid git,' was left unsaid but clear.
"And did you say Crouch? But Dumbledore said he—"
"Crouch Jr." They clarified, and the Minister's eyes widened.
"But—"
"Look, you really don't need the details. Just get the fucking Dementor here, and do it before Dumbledore's done with Potter. McGonagall guards him, but the Dementor won't give her time to resist if you give it the okay before you enter. Don't fuck this up, or you'll owe our families double."
"I won't."
"Then go."
They followed him and Severus, of course, trailed after them to the nearest floo, where Fudge summoned a Dementor to his side. He went back to wait for it, and thirty minutes later, the entrance doors opened and one swooped in, graceful and dark and oddly beautiful. It seemed to turn to them as it passed by, seeking them out in the shadows, just as the few they'd seen the year before always had. It looked as if it would have stopped, turned, come towards them, but Fudge called out impatiently and it continued forward, coating the hall in ice. They followed once more, followed until Fudge, Severus and the Dementor disappeared into the room holding Crouch.
McGonagall immediately started screaming, Severus started shouting for good measure, and Fudge began bellowing as well. Then the black-haired witch stormed out, absolutely furious, and Severus and Fudge followed, Fudge spitting orders at the Dementor to leave. They rounded the corner just as the Dementor glided out, and it did stop then, facing the alcove they were concealed in. Curious, never having been quite so close to one before expect on the train in their third year, they walked out to meet it, stopping a few feet away, delighting in its icy chill. It regarded them for a moment, before a brush along their mental shields had them cracking them open the barest bit.
'Ssshan't bow now, little lordsss. Thee doesssn't yet posssesss the power to ensssnare me and mine.' A harsh, gravely voice hissed in their heads as it sucked in a rattling breath, tasting their essences. 'Thy isss misssing sssomething.'
Then it was gone, flying down the hall in the blink of an eye, and they looked at each other, unable to stop their victorious smirks. Leaving before they could be found there, they reached Slytherin before anyone else, the rest of the school still outside and only just starting to be let back in, as they could hear by the thundering echo of feet above them as they passed through the damp passageways. They slid through the wall and into their common room, immensely pleased with the day's turn out. Three years they had watched and done nothing as Potter played the hero, three years they'd sat by and let him win.
But not that year.
In a fit of good humor, they borrowed some Polyjuice from a suspicious Severus, since they didn't have any made, and on the train the day they returned home, they sleekly abducted three first year Gryffindors. The Imperius works wonders for fun, and the first years swallowed the potion without any complaint. They also went to Harry Potter's compartment without any complaint, starting a whole slew of shit while Draco and Blaise sat in the next one laughing quite hysterically. They thought the twins might have heard them, but if they did, they said nothing except for curses quite dark if you knew they were shaping the vowels differently than usual.
Pulling the Gryffindors in once Potter and crew had cursed the shit out of them and kicked them out into the hall, the twins disappearing inside after shooting awfully knowing glances at their compartment, they had been very nearly paralyzed with mirth for long minutes afterwards, especially when the first years had woken up. They'd tormented them for quite some time before finally casting memory charms when the train started slowing, and they were in good moods until they stepped off the train and came face to face with their fathers again. Using the well-worn tactic of completely ignoring them, they portkeyed to Iceland without a backwards glance.
Then they went to their Lord.
End Flashback
'Lord', my arse, he thought disdainfully. Foul, scheming, treacherous fucking halfblood. Fury had cloaked him for many years after that betrayal every time Voldemort was even so much as mentioned, and it had been made forbidden to speak of him early on. But that fury had dimmed, cooled, iced over and buried itself until his inner darkness could erode it into nothing but an unpleasant memory with soured edges. Almost two centuries had passed since they had killed the mighty Dark Lord, and he hadn't thought of him in over eighty years. But now, with the resurgence of memory, the hate and rage returned, only to be soothed away by soft words and softer fingertips.
"Shh, mon un péché mortel. He was nothing, and we were only children. Think instead of our creation, of what our ambition has birthed. Think of something, anything but him, for he was only an irrelevance, and barely even that." Pretty words from pretty lips, words that smoothed over his ire but not much else, and both knew it. ((my deadly sin))
Because the Pool doesn't let go until it's ready, not even for the King.
Begin Flashback:
He remembered them writing to him, of course, and they were greeted like long-lost sons, Marked that very night before the first and second circles and once again ignoring their fathers. As their visit had been rather unexpected, since Lucius and Jeran had told their Lord they would wait a week or so before bringing them to him, the celebration to honor their entry into his ranks was still two weeks off. But that didn't stop the first and second circles from…entertaining themselves, and they went prowling that night, reveling in the freedom and unrestrained violence, reveling in the smell of thick, fresh blood and the scent of utter terror.
They came back to wine and music and dancing, to spice and flirting and fucking, and time blurred, their world nothing but shifting colors and pulsing heat, mad laughter and breathy moans. Stars glittered and streamed on the enchanted ceiling, haunting chords and deep drums slithered and pulsed through their veins, and the air was as sweet and cool as an autumn night, smelling of chamomile and cedar. Blaise's lips on his were warm for once, tasting of Château Ausone Impériale and vanilla, soft as sin and twice as addicting, and the perfection of their melding was only ruined by a hand on his shoulder and a much-too-sober voice.
"Come, we must speak with you." Lucius said, and Draco slid from his grip, hissing at the contact. His father looked taken aback for a moment, before his face shut down and his eyes hardened. "Now."
"I will not take any more orders from you." Draco spat, meeting those cold eyes with his own. "Is what you've done already not enough? Must you come back to torment us some more?"
Lucius looked away. "It was not my wish to torment you." He said slowly, his words barely heard over the spectral, bewitching music.
"I care not for what you wish or do not wish." Turning away, his back still not fully towards his father, he started leading Blaise away. "I care not for you at all."
"Draco!" His mother said, shocked, one small hand over her mouth as she moved up behind Lucius. "You do not mean that!" She exclaimed, and he glared at her, noticing her positioning.
So she had gone back to him? Then fuck her, too. He started to say something when Jeran wrapped a hand around Blaise's upper arm and his best friend turned, striking out as he did so. Silana moved between them with veela speed, and even Blaise didn't have time to stop his fist before it made contact with her sculpted porcelain jaw, sending her slamming back into Jeran as bones broke under her son's strength. Had she not been what she was, her neck would have snapped. As it was, blood was already streaking down her face as Jeran caught her and stopped her from hitting the floor, and the music died off into nothing as the others stopped and stared.
"Shit!" Blaise reached for her, and then stopped, his eyes narrowing. "Why did you do that?"
But she couldn't answer, so Jeran did. "We talked and—"
"And she has joined you once again." Blaise finished for him, shaking his head disgustedly. Those healing fingers fell back to his side, intertwining with Draco's as his eyes lost any compassion they might have held. "So be it."
"Blaise—"
"No." And with that, they started backing away, their eyes never leaving their parents for a moment, and they only turned when they reached the doors, a mental push throwing them open.
"Stop." It was a soft command, but a command all the same, and it was issued from the only lips that could order them to do anything anymore. They spun back around to face Voldemort, and each dropped to one knee slowly.
"Yes, my lord?"
"You are angry." He said, stating the obvious. "Why?"
"We tire of their game."
"Ah." Tom intoned, sliding closer and bidding them to rise. They did so, and he stopped before them, almost close enough to touch, his red eyes serious and careful, as if he were dealing with potions on the verge of exploding. "About keeping the two of you apart?"
"Yes, my lord."
"That was my doing, actually." He said casually, and they internally reeled, while not a single bit of that inner turmoil reached their eyes or faces. They said nothing even though they knew he waited for them to speak, because they feared that if anything escaped them, it would be something vicious, something they would regret.
So they stayed silent and received their long-awaited answers.
"When that fool Quirrell first found me, wandering and bodiless, the first thing I did after possessing him was return to the two most loyal to me. Lucius and Jeran welcomed me, of course, and told me all about their heirs as they stirred brews to make me strong and keep me strong. Yes, they told me so very much about you both, about how dark and powerful you were becoming, about the amazing feats you had preformed even at such a young age. And I…I saw great things for you both, and for myself as well. Until Hogwarts, only the dark purebloods had seen you as you are, had seen what lives within you, is that not correct?"
They nodded.
"But that castle is full of others, not to mention Dumbledore, and I did not think it was time for them to become fully aware of what you are just yet, especially not that old bastard, and I still do not. But now that you are Marked, I can ensure that you won't…leak around one another and let the other's glamours down without warning due to anger or desire. I can ensure that you can be around one another and still stay safely hidden until the time is right. And as for the Quidditch…I wish for Harry to stay sure of himself for now, until it is time to start breaking him. So while the ban of your separation can now be lifted, that one cannot be."
Did he say…did he say the ban was lifted?
"Yes, lifted." He repeated with a small smile and a flick of his forked tongue. "Keep each other's company at your will, just don't release your glamours, and don't beat Gryffindor. Not yet. And your fathers did nothing but follow my orders faithfully, even though they despised making you suffer so. They even pleaded your case after the incident with Crouch, who paid quite dearly for harming you long before the end of the year, I can assure you. He was useful, if only for a moment, but that was no excuse for what he did. I am told, however, that you yourselves dealt with his punishment. Did you…speak to the Dementor, by any chance?"
Something odd, and yet frightfully familiar, flickered in his crimson eyes, and they paused, their words of affirmation dying before they made it to their lips. Because they knew that look, they'd seen it too many times, and it intrigued them and worried them all the same. It was definitely something that they shouldn't have seen from him, of all people, and that's what caused the worry. But the intrigue…Well, who wouldn't be intrigued when seeing what they saw and knowing what it meant? He…fears us. It was startling and strange, and they pushed that thought back, pushed it deep inside and locked it away to be forgotten for years.
But the first seed of doubt was planted nonetheless.
That summer was anything but dull, as cloaked attacks and quiet assassinations abounded, and not a day went by that someone didn't bleed and scream and die at their hands. Their Lord didn't truly reveal himself, but all knew, fueled on by Dumbledore's leaving speech and by his continued efforts over the summer to reveal the truth. He told Harry's story of Voldemort's rebirth, he named the names Harry had and more as Death Eaters and possible Death Eaters, and the lines were drawn. Light witches spoke only of war in the abstract, while the Ministry denied everything, as it was sitting pretty in the feared Death Eaters' pockets.
But the dark ones…they readied themselves for battle and bloodshed, for mayhem and murder, and the laughed as they did so, anticipating every minute of the following years with glee. Their domination begun, silent and stealthy until they were ready to declare full-on war, and he and Blaise quickly proved that fifteen was not too young for responsibility and power, not for them. They rose quickly in the Death Eater ranks, winning duel after duel and position after position until they stood in the first circle at an unheard-of age, and all knew that they had the Dark Lord's ear and favor. He adored them as much as anyone else did.
You could even say he loved them in his own, warped way.
But he loved their strength most of all, loved what they would be able to do give another year or two, and he said he saw triumph and glory every time he glanced at them. Which is probably why he kept them at his side more and more often, sometimes forsaking even Nagini in order to dine with them, plan with them, hunt with them. Some of the older Death Eaters more than likely felt resentment, but they kept it hidden well enough, and after the first few mangled, malevolent examples, they wisely stayed silent. Most were dark enough to understand, though, and those who weren't quickly learned; they were different, fey, and deadly, easy to anger and quick to kill.
And all before their majorities.
Many feared that day, their birthday, which they shared because of old family ties. The Malfoy and Zabini heirs have always shared a birthday, and it had been happening for so long that no one could remember how it started. But yes, many feared the dawn of their seventeenth year, because that is when a witch or wizard fully awakens to their magic, and if they were not already fully awakened, then what they would be after that was very nearly unimaginable. Many said they would become Dark Lords like Voldemort himself, while others said it would be too much and they would burn up and die. But no one really knew, not even them.
That school year started out much better than any other, differently, though no one but them noticed until they filed off the train to meet the carriages and the waiting thestrals. Still, nothing seemed too odd, not to anyone but the Slytherins, because they knew that Draco and Blaise weren't allowed near one another, yet they climbed into the same carriage. They said nothing yet, though, keeping quiet throughout the walk to the Great Hall, ignoring the looks of distrust and suspicion leveled on the Slytherins from all the other Houses. No, they only said something when they got to the center of their table and Blaise sat beside Draco, as he'd wanted to since first year.
"Blaise!" Pansy exclaimed softly, grabbing his arm. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"Waiting for the Sorting, of course."
She stared. "Oh gods, I actually thought you were getting along with your fathers again, too." She said, sinking onto the bench. The rest of the House, which had been undecided, sat as well, glancing at them every few seconds, waiting for some sort of explanation.
"We are." Draco said calmly, his eyes scanning the Hall and watching the other Houses get settled, the noise level slowly rising.
"What?" Goyle questioned loudly, his deep voice rumbling down the table. "What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, Goyle." Draco sighed, cursing fate for attaching them to him so cruelly. Then, with rising joy, he remembered that with Blaise at his side, he didn't need their hulking presence at his back constantly, not that he really had before. But it would have looked unseemly for a Malfoy to walk around alone, or so he was told. And now…"Oh, wait, there was one thing."
"What's that, Draco?" Crabbe, the slightly more intelligent — slightly, mind you — one asked, and Draco actually smiled, earning quite a few gasps for the effort.
"I'll no longer be needing your…services." He said, trying his damnedest to be somewhat civil and to remind himself that their bloodlines were very, very old and definitely worth breeding at the least. Crabbe stopped in mid-blink, and Goyle stiffened.
"W-What?" They asked together, slowly, and their voices shook the barest bit. Letting his eyes travel back over the hall, he answered flippantly, growing quickly bored and only halfway paying attention.
"You don't have to tag along after me anymore. You're free to pursue some sort of life that doesn't revolve around me, which I'm sure you'll be pleased enough about, as I'm fully aware of what a prick I am. One of the bans was voided this summer, and Blaise and I no longer have to stay apart in public. Have fun…doing whatever it is that you do. Eating, I suppose."
Silence.
Blaise nudged him, his blue eyes slightly wide, and Draco cocked an inquisitive eyebrow. He shook his head, obsidian hair consuming the candlelight, and tilted his chin in their direction. Looking back at his cronies of four years, he nearly fell off the bench when he saw them and then actually registered what he was seeing. They looked normal enough at first glance, huge and bulky, all rounded edges and blunt features, and quite a bit of muscle was constrained underneath robes the size of most people's tablecloths. But that's not what stunned him. No, the tears building in their eyes and starting to stream down their cheeks did that.
To say that he was horrified was an understatement of astronomic proportions.
They were crying. They were fucking crying, and he was utterly clueless. Crabbe and Goyle, the two who couldn't find their way out of a Zonko's bag if you held it open and threw them a broomstick, were actually starting to bawl, the silent tears turning into small, choked sobs, and Draco wondered if his mouth was hanging open. It would be a first, but the situation seemed almost unreal enough to merit it. Anton dropped the silver hip flask he'd just procured from one of his deep pockets, Pansy choked on nothing, and several more Slytherins reacted similarly, the word spreading down their table quickly. And Draco stared.
He'd never really seen anyone cry before, no one that he knew and associated with anyway, expect for a rare time or two with his and Blaise's mothers. But this…this was something new, this uncontrolled (or was it uncontrollable?) outpouring. And right on the heels of that thought came another. We're in the Great Hall, and they're disassembling in front of hundreds of light mages. Bloody fucking hell. He had to do something, because even though he didn't like them, they were Slytherins, dark purebloods, and they stuck together against outsiders even if they were only a second from killing one another.
"Crabbe, Goyle…" He started, but that only seemed to upset them more, and the other Houses were starting to realize something was up, turning to gawk.
The Slytherins quickly rose at a hand signal from him, and circled close around the center of their table, hiding what was happening with a wall of black and green robes. But some had seen, and whispers spread like a grassfire through the Hall. Crabbe and Goyle both rose, shot him wounded looks, and bolted, shoving past their Housemates and disappearing from the Hall with tear-stained faces visible to all. Mortified, the Slytherins all seemed frozen, not quite believing nor understanding what had just happened. Then they all slowly turned to look at Draco and Blaise, the seventh years not even trying to deal with this shit.
"We can't leave." Draco stressed softly when Blaise nudged him again. "The Sorting…"
"I know!" A voice carried to them from amid the many mumblings racing the width of the Hall, bits and pieces reaching their ears. "Really crying…can't believe it…don't want to be Death Ea…Malfoy's making them….known for ages…cousin in the Ministry, you kn…probably had them under the Imperius…if we were all like the Malfo…can understand why the muggles used to burn…"
The loud-mouthed wizard spoke not another word as Anton spun, a curse flying past several Ravenclaws and hitting the Hufflepuff who'd been next to their table in the center of his chest, sending him flying backwards onto his own table, shrieking, his skin rippling as if bugs crawled just underneath the surface. Others started screaming then, and Severus, Sprout and Vector waded into the students, shooing them back to their seats. Severus came over to Anton, his face blank but his black eyes shining with amusement if you knew how to look for it, and he took his arm, escorting him out of the Hall and sneering at the students who scrambled away from them.
Crabbe and Goyle were found later, long after the Sorting, down by the dock, hanging by the rafters in the boathouse. Draco had been with the group that found them, and all he could remember thinking as he watched them swinging slightly from side to side, the ropes creaking eerily, their faces blue and black and purple, was 'What an awfully muggle way to go about it.' It was the talk of the school from then on, how the evil Malfoy had driven them to suicide and didn't give a shit. They said that he'd shunned them, and they all found out why the next morning, when Draco had entered the Great Hall with Blaise at his side for the first time.
They'd all been too distracted to notice them sitting together the night before, but they weren't then, and they looked both startled and dismayed, for many had been very pleased with the fact that for once, the Malfoy and Zabini heirs hadn't done more than occasionally acknowledge each other. Dumbledore had laid piercing blue eyes on them from the moment they entered, a sense of defeat within them that they'd never seen before, and it grew as the weeks passed and they were never more than a few feet from one another. And then, two months into term, their world changed subtly, yet completely, and all it took was eleven words.
They were in the gardens, their cloaks spread across the soft grass and their clothes spread in random directions, the moon bright and swollen above them, drowning out the stars closet to it. That moonlight shone over Blaise's ivory skin as if that's what it had been made for, as if it existed solely to bathe and frame this beautiful creature in a halo of silver radiance, to draw the eye to every inch of his pale perfection in worshipful reverence. He soaked every bit of the sight in that he could as he rode him lethargically, his split wrist dripping his life's blood onto and past those damning lips that never failed to drive him mad.
And then Blaise changed everything.
"Draco…" He growled, a warning in those words, but Draco paid him no heed, moving as torturously, agonizingly slow as he had been, only to find himself slammed back into one of the ancient limestone archways, Blaise's lips ravishing his as his legs wrapped around his waist.
There was no more teasing procrastination, no more listless leisure, as it went the way it always did between them; hard and fast and preferably bloody. Teeth and nails sliced skin sweetly, the pain like a thousand little pricks of pleasure, and their bodies ground together with enough force that they would have broken a normal human, but it only made them needier, more desperate, more ravenous. It was driving, all-consuming, a merging of the night within them, and it had always just been understood that they couldn't find the same anywhere else, and that they would always come back. But then, with eleven small words, a new thread of fate was spun.
"Keep me, own me, kill me." Blaise whispered decadently into his ear with a wicked twist of hips, a devout gleam in those blue eyes. "I'm yours. I love you."
The world stopped and then exploded, rational thought fleeing completely as those words echoed through his mind and his body dissolved at the seams into liquid ecstasy, scream after wanton scream torn from him and soaking into their aural shields as they melded with Blaise's own. And then…something new happened. Their mind link, fused the day they met so very long ago, changed, morphed and grew, and suddenly he was Blaise, feeling what both of them felt as it drug his orgasm out impossibly, and so lost in dark bliss was he that he didn't remember them sinking to the ground, didn't remember them curling tightly together.
But he remembered his next words, words almost as binding as Blaise's own.
"Steal me, want me, save me." That beloved hair ate his ardent words, tickled across his cheek and spilled over his prayerful lips. "Always yours. I love you too."
Their blood still stained the earth and arch, never fading.
Their Housemates knew something was different from the moment the stepped into their common room, but silence was silver and not a one said a word. That year was so much better than the ones before it, even after the disastrous start. They attended classes, shagged each other stupid in between them, and went to their Lord as soon as the last one ended. They learned ever more, for the capabilities of magic were truly endless, and they laughed as the Golden Trio whispered of ways to beat the spreading darkness. Only one incident stood to mar Draco's glee; the boggart lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which they were recapping for their O.W.L's.
He supposed he could call Remus to the side, seeing as how Dumbledore had persuaded him to come back, unable to find anyone else, and explain the situation, but that would look altogether too suspicious, since Draco supposedly detested Lupin from his scruffy head to his scuffed boots. He and Blaise had avoided it in their third year when Lupin had mentioned it one night and they'd made sure to skip class the next day, but they were already there now, and they couldn't very well just walk out as if they were scared, which they weren't. It was just a bit too revealing for their tastes, since their greatest fear was their greatest weakness, as well.
Because they feared only one thing, and it would have been all right for the Slytherins to see it, and they didn't even really care if the whole fucking world saw it, but their fathers probably would. Sharing a mildly concerned glance, they simultaneously decided that there was nothing they could do without appearing afraid, and they absolutely refused to look weak before anyone, let alone those of another House. Padma, Mandy and Terry grinned knowingly at them, while the rest of the Ravenclaws soaked up Lupin's every word, oblivious to everything else. The Ravenclaws went first, and then Slytherin after Slytherin until Remus called Blaise to have a go.
The Ravenclaws were anything but oblivious a few moments later.
It was strange, Draco thought, to see himself so lifeless and dead, but not so strange to see bruises staining his pale skin purple and silvery red blood flowing freely from various wounds. But this…this was worse than anything he had ever taken pleasure from, it was more like something they'd done to others when breaking their spirits by breaking their bodies first, and he internally started when one silver eye cracked open, because he'd thought the 'him' on the floor was dead, as he'd seen death enough times to know it. And then, he realized that Blaise's true fear was a mirror of his own and not just of him being dead.
No, there were worse things than simply dying.
How many times had they trapped a soul within a corpse? Enough to know that it was one of the two worst fates to have, enough to know that there was no hell that could drive men mad any quicker. And there 'he' was, his body dead and his soul caged inside it, agony and torment and eternal, ceaseless pain glittering clearly in his platinum eyes. Several Ravenclaws gasped and stumbled backwards, Padma, Mandy and Terry looked sick, and the Slytherins stared in genuine horror, understanding all too well what they were seeing. Pansy looked ill, Anton completely stricken, and Remus was horrified, glancing up at them quickly.
"I…" Remus started, but his voice seemed to snap Blaise out of the semi-trance he'd been in, and he ripped his eyes away from the battered figure on the floor.
"Riddikulus!"
A wave of black oak had the boggart morphing into Potter, the wounds becoming even more grotesque as it coughed up foul black blood that reeked of death and poison. Blaise snickered and Draco snorted, the Slytherins and a few assorted Ravenclaws hid their smirks, and the others looked severely nauseous, one running from the room with her hands over her mouth. Draco stepped forward as Blaise stepped back, and the thing changed again, warping into a Blaise that looked all too much like the Draco from a moment ago, and Draco suddenly understood why Blaise had frozen. It was entirely different seeing his love in such a state than it had been seeing himself.
He didn't like it at all. Blaise was anything but this weak, destroyed creature on the ground before him, and even though he knew it wasn't him, just the sight made him feel both queasy and heartbroken, two things he had never before experienced. It was strange, the odd fluttering of his stomach and the real, true, physical pain in his chest, spreading out to his fingers and toes like a toxic venom that ate everything in its path. There wasn't even room for rage past the engulfing grief gnawing at his soul, and that was new, too, as he'd never really known sorrow before, either. Then there was a hand on his arm, black nails digging in just hard enough to get his attention.
"Drac—" Blaise started, but stopped abruptly. Because as soon as he'd touched him, that black hair started spinning into scarlet, the sculpted features softening the slightest bit, and those eyes were melting into charcoal gray that would give them away.
"Riddikulus!"
A wave of ebony that time, Draco's voice as precise as his intent, and those eyes became sky blue instead, the red hair lightening and becoming shorter, the freckles darkening. Their secret safe behind the face of a very abused Ron Weasley, neither could help laughing with both genuine pleasure and relief as he started throwing up blood and thicker things, clawing at his face with cracked, yellowed nails until those cornflower eyes were nothing but thick, milky fluid that turned black as it fell down his cheeks in heavy globs. Some Ravenclaw was throwing up in the corner, another had fainted, and the rest had backed away until they'd hit the far wall.
The entire castle knew by nightfall.
Out of all the Slytherins, it was Severus, surprisingly, that found the tale the most entertaining. He walked around snickering to himself for days, and every time he saw Potter, he'd wipe imaginary blood from his mouth and cackle. When he saw the Weasel, he'd tap his cheek right underneath his eye, wink, and smile a creepy, creepy smile before turning away so quickly you wondered if you'd imagined it. It was quite unprofessional, but few things could truly amuse Severus, and when they did, they greatly amused him. Potter and the Weasel had no idea what to think, looking at Severus as if he'd gone fucking batty overnight.
The year slipped by as usual, but for once, there wasn't any climatic confrontation between the Golden Boy and the forces of evil, or some such nonsense. And while he ran around, looking for something to prevail against, they fell deeper and deeper into darkness, fell so fast and hard that they felt coated in it constantly, as if they'd acquired a new layer of resilient skin. They were beginning to heal even faster, their senses expanding ever more, and their magical reserves grew and grew, as if there was no stop to it at all, just a vast, swelling space within them and all around them that waited to give up its dark bounty at their vaguest beckoning.
It was not a matter of calling on the darkness for them, but more an issue of releasing it. It permeated every cell, raced through every vein, and small transfusions of their blood could change others, make them stronger, faster, better. They'd known that for quite some time, but the effects were strengthening, strengthening until Anton could throw off the Cruciatus and take a knife in the spine without dying. Strengthening until Pansy could hit the ground from four stories up and walk away without so much as a bruise. Strengthening until Sirius could blow up much more than a mere street with one curse, until Severus could hold the Imperius for days on end.
And it grew ever more silvery.
Their fathers again waited for them at the train station, and that time, they acknowledged them and returned home with them, their anger long cooled with the answers they had sought. They had not forgotten, no, but knowing that the bans had been Voldemort's ideas made it easier to talk to them, look at them, without wanting to spill that pure blood all over the immediate vicinity. That summer was to be spent with them from start to finish, a request their fathers had made in an effort to fix things between them. It was either going to work very well, or it was going to end in two of the four of them dying. Whatever the turnout, it promised to be interesting.
The third night of summer, the sun fell on Azkaban Isle just as the breach in the wards had them ripping open, Death Eaters spilling through en masse. Draco, Blaise, Voldemort and their fathers had been the first to arrive, their brooms hovering above the water and reminding him of the last time he'd sat over these icy waves and stared off at the looming fortress. They were there to seal the deal with the Dementors, one hundred and seven innocent souls trapped in spelled globes resting in packs slung across their backs, and the first hint of a cold much deadlier than the water beneath them had him tensing with anticipation.
He really liked Dementors.
"Well?" Jeran whispered next to his ear, and he smirked. Their elders had been immensely pleased to finally learn that he and Blaise could communicate with the creatures, and when asked if they could do it from afar as well, they'd agreed to try.
And it had worked, which brought them to this glorious glacial paradise.
"Patience." He replied calmly, and a few moments later, the first Dementor broke the surface, its robes drying as it rose from the freezing depths, and it swooped toward them as more and more appeared, until they formed a dome above them, and almost certainly below them, as well.
The first stopped scant feet from them, coating their robes and hair with ice, and another slid from the circle, joining it and staying slightly to the side. Draco started to say something, when the first Dementor shuddered and moved closer in a jerky movement, as if yanked on by a hook, and the second mimicked it, a strange, eerie, high-pitched noise leaving it in odd rings, reminding him of sonar. The shield of black-clad creatures around them wavered as the rings of that cry reached them, and the sky was blocked out completely as they moved closer, fitting together like puzzle pieces. Then the first spoke, a clawed hand reaching out.
'And ssso the little lordsss return.' It hissed, those sharp, poisonous nails grazing over his cheek almost fondly. 'But thee and thine are not ssso little anymore.'
'No.' He agreed, not so much as flinching as those claws ran over his lips and down his throat.
'Never hasss a mortal let me ssso freely touch them.' It sounded satisfied, convinced, though he knew not of what. 'They cower, they quake, they sssuccumb to memoriesss and horror, and the darker onesss ssstill themssselvesss, going deep enough into the blacknesss to block it out. But thee, thee and thy lover, neither of thee do. Doesss thee know why?'
'Because we are strong.' He responded, watching the other Dementor once again mimic this one's actions, its scaly flesh scratching over Blaise's skin.
'Yesss.' It conceded, sucking in its first deep breath, and he watched curiously as part of his essence flowed into it. 'But it isss more than that.'
'More?'
'Much more. Becaussse he,' its hidden face turned briefly to Blaise, 'tassstesss like a Consssort.'
Draco froze. 'A Consort? Who's Consort?' He demanded, forgetting etiquette. The only one of rank to keep a Consort was Voldemort, and though he loved his Lord, he didn't love him that much. Not enough to give up Blaise. He didn't love anyone enough for that.
'Thee worriesss over nothing. Doesss thee not sssee?' It paused, shivered again, and continued. 'No, no, thee doesss not, not yet. But thy will. Thy will sssee what I sssenssse. Becaussse he,' a turn towards Voldemort that time, who had blank, dead eyes, a side effect of resisting the Dementors' influence, or so they were told, 'he tassstesss like a Dark Lord.'
'As well he shoul—'
'But thee,' it cut him off, 'thee tassstesss like a King.'
Draco and Blaise nearly fell off their brooms.
'What?' Blaise snapped, the first he had added to the conversation, and the Dementor before him drew even closer, as if his outburst was quite delectable.
'Worry not on it now, Princcce of Ssshadowsss. Thy will underssstand all sssoon enough, I asssume. Now, doesss thee have our promisssed sssoulsss?'
'Of course.' Blaise replied, and they pulled off their packs, their fathers and Voldemort following the movement slowly, as they weren't altogether there at the moment.
'Good. Releassse them and gain entranccce to Azzzkaban. Releassse them and reccceive a…gift from usss, and thee gainsss even more.'
'A gift? What gift?' Draco asked, and it sucked in a long breath before responding.
'Our allegianccce.'
He felt like laughing, laughing or screaming. 'Liar. No Dementor has given such a thing since the dawn of recorded history.'
'None have been worthy sssince the fall of Atlantia. But the two of thee tassste worthy, worthy in a way we'd thought lossst.'
'And the price?'
'That thee reccceivesss our gift and feedsss usss yearly.'
'Feeds you what?' He asked, since he got the impression that they weren't talking about souls.
'Why, that pure, tainted blood, of courssse.'
A shared glance was all it took, a meeting of cerulean and silver, and they threw the packs into the air, speaking a short spell that had them bursting open, shortly followed by the other three. It was as if they'd just unleashed a slew of stars, stars that spun and swerved and dove like fireflies, and the encompassing circle broke apart, seeking the souls like he would a Snitch, like a bird of prey would a particularly pretty mouse. The two Dementors before them, however, stayed in place, their hoods as obscuring as always, their grayish lips the only visible part of them beside those hands, even to his keen vision.
'Will thee and thine accccept our gift?'
"Yes." He said aloud, aware that it would understand, and hoping his elders would, too. "And how shall you give us such a thing?"
And it, surprisingly, spoke three words aloud.
"With a Kisss."
Several things happened all together; the Dementors closed on them fully, their elders snarled and drew their wands, and dry, cracked lips descended on their own. Blocking his father's Patronus, hearing Blaise block Jeran's and Voldemort yelling at them to stop, he ignored everything but the new sensations. It was…odd feeling his soul being stripped from him, but it was much odder when it just stopped, some barrier within himself snapping up and barring entrance, and a second later, something within him started its own pull. His eyes widened as he started sucking in the Dementor's essence, and it tasted like death and grave dirt, like old blood and foul power.
It was sublime.
And there was no sudden stop to this Kiss, no safety barrier for the Dementor to retreat behind, and he was so giddy with the new energy that he didn't even think about stopping it before the creature started sagging, drooping from the air and into his arms. After all, what they were doing should have, technically, been impossible. It's not as if he was completely up-to-date on activities that hadn't occurred in over six thousand years. All he knew about Dementor allegiance and binding was that they were like a school of fish — nasty, venomous, deadly fish, mind you — in the way that they did everything perfectly in sync with one another.
If one gave allegiance, all gave allegiance through it, and it was not just the Dementor before him that he could taste — and sweet gods, had taste ever taken on a whole new meaning — but all of those near them, and more farther out through them, and on and on until he could hardly keep track of them all. But that graceless slump from a creature always mystically perfect with its movements made him become semi-aware of his immediate surroundings once more, and he pulled away slowly, the energy stretching like rotten taffy between them. He shut his mouth with a decisive snap, but the Dementor stayed motionless, its long robes dragging the surface.
"What the fuck?" Blaise said from beside him, the other Dementor in his arms on his broom as well, and Draco shook his head. The rest of the Dementors, freshly fed, started sinking from the air, and he had a moment of something resembling panic. But as he'd never felt such a thing before, he couldn't be sure that was it, and he felt awfully calm for that to be the problem.
"Kiss it." His mouth was forming the words and speaking them before he knew what he was doing. "Kiss it again."
And Blaise did, because he always did whatever Draco asked of him, no matter how deranged those things might seem to some. Draco followed his own advice, his hand wrapped in that thick hood and pulling those scaly lips back to his own, and he pushed the energy back, back into the source, twisting it with his own as Blaise did the same, and those lips moved under his, sucking and biting and trying to get more, always more. He was bleeding, bleeding and causing the creature to become crazed at the taste, clawed hands pulling him closer and tearing at his velvet robes, and he allowed it even though he knew he now ruled the being before him.
And all of those rising back into the sky in a frenzy.
End Flashback
That had definitely been one of their wisest alliances, not to mention one of their strongest. They were of great help during the war, and would be of even more help very soon in the future. Because the High Royals' project was almost complete, and when it was, their entire world would change. Nothing like it had even been dreamt of before, not until his beloved Virginia had spilled such fated words from crimson lips so long ago. The night had howled and roared and sung, and they had been captivated with the idea from the very first moment, visions of eternal glory and an endless reign whirling through their minds as they considered ways to create what was needed.
"Come, Draco, you've been in here far too long already." Blaise crooned, taking his hand and pulling him under, and the onyx water closing over him cleared his thoughts of everything but the present and their exalted future.
Surfacing, the liquid like wet felicity on his tongue, he was utterly entranced, positively mesmerized, when Blaise's raven head rose up next to him, that long hair lost in the blackness of the Pool's water, drops of which stuck to his eyelashes like dew on ebony spider webs. He wondered if it was strange to feel as drawn to him and desperate for him now as he had from the beginning, and decided that he didn't care if it was or not. He preferred the strange and unnatural anyway, and anything involving Blaise was highly desired to begin with. But he felt another craving, one that had stayed sated for many long years by Blaise's oath, and he determined to fulfill it.
Leaning forward in a movement vaguely reminiscent of a serpent striking, he captured that irresistible mouth with his own, surprising and pleasing its owner, who yielded to him readily. But as much as he craved the flesh, that was not his main hunger at the moment, and he poured dark power into that kiss, poured it and kept pouring it until Blaise was trembling, his nails sinking into Draco's sides enough to draw blood. Floating easily, held and embraced by the water, it was nothing and everything to snake one hand down that lean body and wrap knowing fingers around an erection that he prized even more than his own.
And their lips never stopped their ravenous dance.
His other hand wrapped itself in that dripping, silky mane, the strands tangling around his fingers as strong legs encircled his waist, and he was almost tempted to let go of those lips to moan. But Blaise tasted of magic and madness and devotion, and he was loathe to lose something so delicious even for a moment. Teeth sliced tongues until their blood mingled for the millionth (trillionth?) time, and both knew that their lips would be stained blue for hours afterwards. Then Blaise knocked his hand away, impatient for completion in the face of such driving need, and he'd sheathed Draco within himself a split second later, without so much as a whispered spell.
The pain was part of the poisonous pleasure, after all.
"Keep me, own me, kill me." Blaise's eyes snapped open as those damning words were murmured against his swollen lips. "I'm yours. I love you."
The smallest bit of wonder sparked in those sapphire eyes, because although Blaise had spoken that part to him forever ago in a forgotten garden, he had never expected to have the most desecrating part of the oath spoken back to him. Both had pledged such to Virginia, and she to them, but the fact that it held true both ways between the two of them had always been a silent pronouncement, something that was just…understood. And, truly, it wasn't befitting of the King to say such to anyone but his Queen, not even to their Consort, but when had Draco ever given a damn about propriety? And with those words, he gave himself to eternal servitude.
Just as Blaise had given himself years and years ago.
"Steal me, want me, save me." Blaise replied huskily, his body tightening as he ground into Draco again, ripping a scream from them both. "Always yours. I love you too."
After that, all was nothing but a blurred batch of unrivaled ecstasy, Draco's world beginning and ending in the wicked beauty that rode him, and he felt Virginia's delighted laughter like a silky internal caress. She'd apparently been waiting for such an occurrence. His lips finally agreed to leave the torrid hell they always found with Blaise's, a hell that he found most appealing, as his hand tightened in that shadowy hair and gave it a vicious tug, eliciting a hiss from Blaise as he exposed that so-white throat, his lips inching to it and leaving a trail of purple marks behind. Teeth sank into flesh, Blaise's scream was a seductive symphony, and both let go, spinning into darkness.
It burst from them in black waves even darker than the water around them, it seeped through the diamond walls and traveled through the ice, and it left them utterly rapturous and satiated, their bodies only relaxing when Blaise's voice died. Neither moved for what felt like ages, black bliss all they knew besides their wife's complacency, and when their heads finally cleared, they found the water had brought them to the edge and saved them from a lengthy swim. Draco crawled out, his hair hanging around him like a shroud, and Blaise crawled out next to him, bloody scratches littering his back, arms and hips, and only then did Draco really notice his own small (and not-so-small) fuck-wounds.
He would be very satisfyingly sore, indeed.
He never let such things heal instantly, as that would ruin half of the fun, and if anyone deserved to mark him in such a way, it was the sultry devil staring at him with haunting eyes through soaked strings of obsidian hair. The sultry devil that was working half the time I've been 'resting' he recalled suddenly, and a degenerate grin twisted his lips. Rising slowly and holding out one hand, Blaise took it without question or thought, his fingers cool and silky smooth against Draco's own. Brushing a lock of that heavy hair back and fully revealing one orb of breathtaking blue, Draco stole a quick, ardent kiss before shoving his mate back and into the Pool.
"Your turn." He smirked nastily when those eyes broke the surface, glaring and starting to lose their focusing capabilities.
Blaise's mumbled, "Shit," was barely audible.
"But don't worry; I'll come back half-way through to ensure that I get shagged for being considerate, just as you did." He mocked as those kohl-lined eyes starting drooping. Scaling one of the many pillars with ease, he was on the third landing's banister when he couldn't resist one more taunt, sure the water had snagged his bonded by then. "Meanwhile, I'll be spending some more quality time with your daughter, hmm?"
All was silent, and Draco snickered. Then…
"I know where Cruoris sleeps, you lecherous shit!"
Draco nearly fell off the railing.
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I'm soooooooooo sorry this took forever, seeing as I had it done two days ago, but this website's been all quirky and I couldn't post. But it was extra long to make up for it, so…
Please review!