Chapter Three
It was like poetry, the way he flew. Something beautiful and pure. Something untouchable. At least for Lilith anyway. It felt sacrilegious to be here, to watch his face glowing as he dived and spun around in a breath taking, suicidal display.
"Did you drag me out here in the freezing cold, just so you could show off!" she asked incredulously.
Jamie glided slowly to stop beside her. He grinned at her, beaming innocently, his face flushed in exertion and hair wind swept back into black waves that curled in small blue tinted coils plastered over his face. He looked ridiculously cute.
It was a positively sickening sight.
The sharp featured girl crossed her arms in lazy irritation somehow managing to balance on the broom, her face a screwed mask of disgust. "Don't you possess a comb?"
Jamie just rolled his eyes. After over a year of constant insults, incessant whining and absolute contempt for just about everyone, he had finally come the conclusion that
A) you either simmer slowly into obsessive hate towards her.
or B) you ignore her and accept that she was a sarcastic little brat, that wasn't going to change anytime soon.
"You're just jealous" he told her pleasantly, running a rough hand through his hair. They hovered near each other, smiling tentatively in uncertain friendship, Jamie's smile was bright and painfully open, while her own was a small little smirk, that boarded on the realms of a sneer.
"I'm not jealous of you" added Lilith suddenly, flying slowly away from him, because the moment was too heavy. "You have awful hair, your skin is pasty and you're skinny and weedy"
"Stop insulting me, and play Quidditch"
Lilith pouted, "But I'm tired" she whined, her eyes dark.
The dark haired youth just grinned wickedly at her, "First one to get the snitch."
"I hate you" Lilith told him flatly, reaching up to coil her silk fine hair out of her face.
Jamie didn't hear as she passionately cursed him, as he was already half way across the pitch, a little blur of black and gold.
"So what did he say to you?"
Jamie streaked past her, his face creasing in lines, angrily. "he didn't. Hermione just told me he was working"
"Why don't you go and see him anyway?" Lilith shrugged passively.
He froze, his face dark with concentration, he often thought of disobeying Harry and more often than not acted upon it. His father was a powerful figure and he got a thrill every time rebelled against him, but this rule was not one that he could easily defy.
"Always follow the rules. How very boy scout." Mocked Lilith sharply.
" I can't" Snapped Jamie.
"And why not?" she asked softly, slyly.
"Because!" he told her.
"Your range of vocabulary amazes me yet again" she added, as he violently through the tiny gold ball across the pitch, watching in grim satisfaction as it sailed easily through one of the tall hoops at the other end of the field.
"I'm cold, tired and hungry" complained Lilith sulkily, as she lowered herself to the ground, "I'm going to drag my bruised and battered body inside, all because of you of course, abusive friendship this is…." she got to the ground still in the middle of her rant, before adding as an after thought "oh, you coming?"
Jamie shook his head, "I'm gonna stay outside for a bit"
She shrugged indifferently, swinging the broom over her shoulders, "Suite yourself, Superman"
Jamie smiled at the old Marvel hero reference, she had watched the program once and had promptly transfigured all his clothes into Superman's rather bright wardrobe. Wicked those Malfoys.
There were still photographs circling around the staff room because of her, he was pretty sure he'd seen Flinch harbouring them on the inside of his duffle coat.
Jamie pushed back his hair, before diving for the golden gleam that was hovering near the ground. He wanted to see Harry, he wanted to see his father. The force of his thoughts surprised him. The more his father pushed him away, the more he longed for Harry's approval. It was ridiculous because he had spent most of his life since turning 13 trying to rebel against him.
But this time it was different.
Lately the famous Harry Potter had locked himself away from everyone, he had forgotten his duties to the school, owls pilled letters at his empty place in the Great Hall, none ever got through to him.
Despite his friends and professors attempts to shield him from it, he knew what people were saying. They were asking if Harry Potter had finally lost it.
It seemed only a matter of time in some people's eyes. Harry had been obsessed with Voldermort since he was eleven, he had shouldered the burden of Hogwarts before he graduated. Everyone expected him to be the hero, the chosen one, the one who could finally defeated the Dark Lord, and even with all the fighting, he hadn't done it, not yet, it had been years, decades and he still fought, had to fight.
Was that too much, even for Harry Potter?
The reason he like Lilith was simple, she hated his father, god only knew why. But she utterly and completely despised him. Jamie had never met another person who openly displayed there hostility for his father. Somehow he needed that, he needed to know that his father wasn't the perfect person others told him he was. He liked the fact that Lilith had no trouble listing the headmaster's flaws, he only knew one other person who did that. Himself.
He didn't hate his father, just the thing that his father represented, everyone expected him to be just like Harry Potter. Heroic and brave and ready to lead everyone into battle.
Well he wouldn't, he couldn't.
He tilted his broom to the left, letting it balance on the edge of the wind. He looked for a glimmer of gold lazily, the silver beacon of Lilith's hair annoyingly easier to spot. Her hair shone like white fire in the velvet darkness of sky, harsh against the smoothness of the night. At first he had thought she was just an arrogant, insulting, vain, sarcastic, pointy-faced girl.
Now he knew she was exactly that. Strangely enough he liked her for it.
He knew Tristan dislike her, but he would never get them to like each other. Tristan was a Weasley and Lilith was a Malfoy. They had been brought up to hate each other and nothing was going to change the years of resentment that they had grew up in.
Jamie rolled his shoulder thoughtfully, before diving suicidally to the ground, hand reaching for the snitch.
The buildings loomed over him, tainted red by the crimson mist that was rolling in waves in his vision.
The youth stumbled, biting his tongue sharply. Pain blossomed in his mouth, accompanied by the metallic taste of blood. Dimly he wondered where he was. But he wasn't stupid enough to ask, and his tongue was throbbing like hell.
"Move"
A hand sent him flying ahead, in the shadows of the city he was walking in. Narcisse cursed silently as he stumbled again, spitting bitterly as he felt the harsh feel of the man's hand against his skin once more.
He shifted, trying to find more comfort in the tied position he was in. His wrists were pinned in front of him, bound by lengths of heavy, discoloured rope. He winced as glass cut his feet. He had been dragged away still only clad in some jeans, his feet were already stained red and his pale skin was streaked with rain.
The hand moved him again, he carried on silently, he couldn't get angry. He had to think.
Where was he?
Nothing, all he could see was endless roads, either side filled with tall and black stoned buildings. There was no windows anywhere, instead on every wall were lights, dim and wavering. Weak magic, more likely used to create pitch black shadows that light.
The darkness was too intense and heavy for him to be able to see the sky. No sighs, everything was the same, there was nothing here. No noise. No light. No people.
The hand slapped his back once more. Sending his skin into stinging pain.
Ok, what had happened?
Draco.
His father was vivid in his memory.
Then he had left, laughing. Narcisse shook his head angrily. He couldn't remember anything after that. Something inside him told him that it was all his Draco's fault, he had had him kidnapped. But his brain told him it wasn't. Draco was hiding, he couldn't pull this off. Both sides on the war were looking for him, he couldn't do anything, he was powerless.
Unless…
"This way" grunted the monster of a man behind him. He pointed to the building in front of them. What a surprise, it was the tallest, darkest and largest building in this place Sighing Narcisse walked into the building, he was so tired suddenly.
"you're late"
The hand gave him a final shove, sending him to his knees at least two feet away, right into the middle of the room. The floor was marble, who had marble floors?
Narcisse rose to his feet, trying to regain what ever was left of his dignity.
"I liked you better on your knees"
He didn't respond, searching in vain for the owner of the voice.
"Over here"
He turned to direction of the taunting voice. Sitting in the shadows, one leg lazily slung over the arm of what could only be described as a throne, was Voldermort.
Narcisse knew him immediately.
The Dark Lord clapped his hands together almost happily. "You look just like your father."
Narcisse tried to keep his face passive, but manic laugh told him he'd failed. The horrible sound echoing painfully around the marble throne room, ringing dimly in his ears.
Stretching like a contented cat, Voldermort peered at the youth.
Narcisse resisted the urge to wrap his arms around himself suddenly. He let his fists unclench, staring coldly at thing. Voldermort's eyes were massive round things, bleached of any trace of colour, they seemed completely white. His long thin body was more of a corpse skin so pale it was tainted blue from the vivid spider web of veins that looked like rope beneath his flesh. His bones looked like blades, check bones that could cut glass loomed out of his thin face.
He was a horrendous sight, yet wonderfully and uniquely beautiful. His head was haloed by a untameable mass of tar black hair, his mad eyes were framed with dusty black lashes, he had a wild grace and elegance that showed even as he settled down lazily into the massive throne. If there was ever such things as fallen angels, they would like the body that Voldermort inhabited. The Dark Lord leaned forth, smiling.
"You and I have a lot to talk about"
Sorry it took me so long to get up. wow 6 reviews, I'm delighted.
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