I move slowly through the kitchen, watching my hands skim over the leftover ingredients from the dinner I just made for us three. That's what it seems to have been for a while now; three of us, so no more can I rely on just two plates for dinner, or two cups to drink from in the morning. No, now it is three and for a reason unknown to me, I find it hard to remember that number. I cautiously, to avoid the original problem of loving you, avoid even talking to you anymore. It seems long now, a long time since you and I were just together and working to restore the things I know I have forgotten. It seems a long time since the price you paid, saved me from constant whoring sessions just to pay for food. Never anymore, do I have to lay under heavy men, with protruding stomachs, and lay like a good boy. Never anymore do I have to fight against them, as some sick form of foreplay. I should be lucky, I should be happy but no, I'm not because I have to fight against this feeling for you and watch you smile, laugh and love someone so worthy of you.
Me? I am Draco of the prestigious Malfoy line. Me, whose birthday cannot be justified because I was born from dark magic, is just a broken form of all the things he once was. So I skim my way past ingredients, towards the staircase and to my bedroom to shun away from the laughter. I forgot again today; I forgot something I know I remember. You had that friend round, the one that smiles with wisdom and there is a faint recollection in my mind that you and her where once on the end of my sharp tongue. I just can't remember, even though you told me who she was.
"Draco!" I hear you call, wondering where I have disappeared to. The number is supposed to be three; one plate for the happy family that lives under this roof. I cannot be in a three; this forced twisted relationship. You have the best of both worlds, the best of me and the best of Calix and I want to cry because you destroy me. I don't even realise there is tears falling around me, because every time you said my name it would cut yet another piece of me.
I ignore the calls of my name and the protest from Calix. He wants you to leave me alone, which I thank him for silently, because he knows the upset rage from you and I will kick of any moment, like it always does. I slip into bed and wonder about all the things that have changed over the past few months. Christmas had come and gone, a crescendo of you and Calix and me being the only wrapping on your present which is life. My twenty seventh birthday had come and gone, leaving but a whisper on my life because none of the presents, or places you and Calix had taken me to could have been any use. It has nearly been ten years since I fell from the platform of prestige I was once on, and it has nearly been ten years since the time I became a whore, since the time I lost my virginity to some huge black wizard, who like small white boys. I would like to forget that, I really would.
I don't want to die yet though. I just want to be free and facing my problems on my death bed seems to be the way I am heading.
This morning I woke up, feeling liberated. The night before was spent with just me and Harry, cuddling up on the sofa talking about my past. I don't know how he managed to do it, but the hero complex in him managed to get my mouth working against the demons inside of me and I lit up like a bulb when I started. Thinking about it now makes me smile, as I stand making breakfast for Harry and I and something tells me my happiness is more due to Calix being on business for the next two weeks. I smile at that thought, because it doesn't hurt to think of some real time between me and Harry, and I cannot wait until the next time we get to talk like we did last night.
"Explain to me," He asked, "About what went on when you first became… like this." He had gestured with his hands, and briefly mentioned my obsessive re-sorting of the dish cloths. Indeed, I still was overly confident in doing almost everything for Harry yet I cannot deny his liberal attitude had changed me somewhat.
"The day after I was cursed," I explained, "I was sent by one of his minions to a place just outside London called Reading, where an illegal whorehouse for wizards of ill intent went to explore themselves." Harry looked engrossed in what I was saying, and even though hard for me to tell my story, I thought it best I did. The little house-elf in me had begun to serve his need to know, and I couldn't go against it even if I tried. "I was bought up that night, by an African man with a gruff voice. The price he paid was very little, as rumour had it that I was not a virgin and with no way to really prove that, I could only be sold off as yet another toy.
"It hurt and once he started it didn't stop. I begged for him to go slow, because he was hurting a virgin, but that only made him speed up… go so fast." I paused, breathing in Harry's smell for comfort. "In the day I served the guy who ran the place, but once he got fed up with me he sent me on to this old guy, who wanted a pretty boy on his arm whilst he travelled around Europe. At first it was lovely, because the man would dote on me giving me a taste of my old lifestyle, but soon it wasn't very happy. I thought at first he loved me, but when the fist connected with my jaw it was the first sign he didn't. I let him though, never trying to run away or fight back."
I breathed for a little while, looking at Harry with eyes of wonder, "Then, he sold me on once he got bored to…" I got scared as pent up memories came to me, "The next one was a man from England who kept me as a punch up doll. He threw me around like a rag doll, but kept me locked in a cupboard when ever his girlfriend came round, because the disgrace of me was to high for his 'pretty little thing to see'. Then, one day I met her…"
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"I don't want to talk about it just yet." I stated, because in reality I couldn't remember. It wasn't like I really couldn't remember, I just didn't want to.
Harry comes down, into the kitchen, his morning smile pulling me from my reverie. I notice not once have I had to look at the notes he has made for me, to help me along with my cooking and I feel so proud at having remembered how to do the small things like make eggs, sunny side up. Harry smiles directly at me, whilst ruffling his hair up with his beautiful hands and I smile back, and laugh. "Morning." He addresses and I tell him in a happy voice that I have succeeded to make this breakfast all on my own.
"Well done!" He tells me in a glorious, raspy voice which I remedy with a glass of orange juice that I pour expertly from its carton. I watch him drink, between me piling food on the plate, and I too reach out to take a sip from the glass he has just put down. He watches me do it, almost amused at my actions, before taking both plates of food to the table whilst I follow. I sit opposite him, eating small bites of wonderful food and I consider the possibilities of why I didn't stall once today.
"Hermione and Ron have invited us to lunch." He says after finishing his last bite, and I smile, because I can faintly remember the smell of the girl called Hermione, and there is an image in my head of a girl, who is way beyond her years in wisdom, standing, laughing, with Harry and the man I remember as Ron. The image though, is not a recent one and I know that from the robes the girl wears.
"It will be nice," I comment as I stand to clear empty plates off the table out of habit. Harry follows me, bringing other things from the table and in unison we begin to put them away, in their respective places or in the sink. The light coming through the conservatory's glass where the breakfast table is, adjacent to the kitchen, lights up the work we are indulging in and I watch the light illuminating the bubbles in the sink, and I pour thick green liquid into the water. Harry stands close to me as I begin washing up, and before he grabs the dish cloth he turns on the radio in the kitchen so no silence between us will be unbearable.
I push my hands into the warm water, rubbing the sponge over the plates to clean them. The china in my hands feels so solid yet breakable, and as I make this point the guitar solo on the radio washes the heat of Harry's eyes on me right through my body. I look over and smile, and because I recognise this song I begin to sing a little, handing him the plate I have rinsed so he can dry it and place it in the cupboard. The song changes, and moves around the mood in the room drastically, so much so that the recollection of this song breeds a sense of relation between the words to Harry.
"And what if you held the world in your arms?" I sing, my voice okay and strong compared to the previous that I sang. Harry stops moving and watches me, and I ignore his stare to keep cleaning and keep singing because I'm enjoying my mood today. It isn't like I never feel that things could go wrong, or I am worried that one day soon I will die because this moment, this small little moment will probably define the rest of my life because I will be able to think to myself 'I felt like that, right then and there'.
I place all the dishes on the drying rack, knowing that Harry has given up helping but I neither care nor want to complain because I know, I can feel that he is happy just watching me, which is making me happy. The song changes yet again, and I wonder how music can make time go so quick. It's poppy, but its making me want to move to the beat and something ignites inside of me, so that I move my hips before I grab the cloth out of Harry's hands, and dry the remaining objects. I move in a dance around the kitchen, putting things away and a laugh escapes Harry. I get bubbles on my hand which I flick at Harry, who immediately does the same back. "Hey! That's not fair!" I complain, but he does it again and its not long before we are in an all out bubble war.
"Your gonna get it!" Harry shouts after me as I run out of the room, and I hear him coming after me up the stairs. He is slightly growling, and my groin twitches at the sound he emits, and in turn to his noise I whimper; adrenalin I haven't felt since my last quidditch game runs through me. I run into my bedroom, slightly panting but before I can close the door, a bubble covered Harry runs in after me. He throws himself at me, and we go flying back onto my bed, all the bubbles rubbing together and fading and he's on top of me and laughing. I let myself laugh to, and wriggle because he is now tickling me, determined not to loose. School would have been so much easier if this was how it would have happened.
"Giving up?" He asks, the music from the kitchen following us up the stairs and into my room. Its hot, and heavy and the beat is pulsing over us wickedly, and for a moment I wriggle my hips in time to the music whilst shaking my head no. The movement from my hips lowers his reserves, and I am able to throw him off. I turn myself over, about to put my feet on the floor but the reflexes in Harry are way to defined, and he has he underneath him once again, pinning me down. The music seems louder against the silence we make, only the heavy breathing from Harry can be heard against the music. It's raspy and sensual and for any outsider to walk in it would seem that Harry and I are lovers.
He has me pinned at the wrists, and my heart is beating as he looks down into my eyes. I smile, because there is nothing else to do and I recognise the heavy breathing in me too. The music has be under it's spell, because I move my hips and anything else I can in time to it's beat, faintly feeling the rub of our bodies together and it feels good. Music, it makes time go so fast, especially when the songs are short, and it seems the continuous music has its own plan for me, as the most ironic song for our situation comes on. The singer cant really sing, but the words she uses fits my situation somewhat perfectly, 'I'm a, slave for you.' And I sing along, having previously heard the song a few times before.
Harry's watching me with interested eyes, but I can't help myself. It's seductive and I know it, and my movements are making him hard and I can feel it. Funnily though, we are still in the same position, and I wonder whether I should wriggle again. I don't, because the song finishes and we still haven't moved, so all I can do is look at Harry who seems so afraid, and interested and lustful.
"Say something Harry." I ask softly, because I'm scared of what this could be. He looks deep in me, releases my hands from his strong grip and pushes some hair out of my eyes.
"You quite often leave me without words, Draco."
So, you guys really must hate me for not keeping up with the H/D pairing right. God, seriously, can you acctually stand so many stories where there is no struggle between the most volatile pairing of all? It makes it worth a read, dont you think? Anyway, it made me sad that I didnt really get any reviews on the last chapter, except one saying they thought my story was boring and were'nt going to read it anymore.
The Sad Ashes