Title: Shadowpeople
Summary: Ron. Draco. Shadowpeople.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
I've always hated judgmental people. People who couldn't be bothered to look behind the shabby clothing, to see through the façade I put up. In a way I hate my friends. The people who think that what you see is what you get. How can smart people like Hermione be so stupid? How can brave people like Harry not be brave enough to read the signs? Maybe they just don't care. Maybe they are happy with the boy they're spending time with. I wish I could be happy too. I wish I could accept the façade instead of hating it more and more each day. I wish I could look into the mirror and be pleased with the person staring back at me. I wish I could be like Luna, who is herself in every situation, no matter how many people are staring at her. In a way I wish I was more like Draco, whose attitude radiates power and confidence. People don't question your personality when you emanate confidence.
I hate myself. I hate everything about me, from the freckles and fiery hair to my big toe that is all bent and hairy. It's not just my looks either. I hate being the sidekick, always there to help in time of need but never the one to come to the rescue. Never the one to be noticed, to get credit. I hate closing off when people question me too much. I hate not being able to tell my friends what's going on. I hate what I am doing every night. I hate the way my body moves, the arousal that surges through my veins. I hate giving in to someone I loathe. I hate being the judgmental person that I am.
Oddly enough, he doesn't hate me. He accepts me the way I am. The real me. The person that neither Harry or Hermione nor my parents and siblings know. The Ron that gives in to pleasure mixed with pain. The Weasley who has become a bloodtraitor by fraternizing with the enemy. They don't know that side of me, nor will they ever. I won't tell a soul and neither will he.
Because he is just like me. He too is being judged by his cover. His appearance. He pretends to have power he only experiences with me. He tries to be on top of the world, only to find himself down in the dungeons yet again. He pretends to hate me, but his body keeps dancing this age-old dance with mine. He pretends to be in control when the only time he truly experiences control is when he slams my body into a wall. I pretend that I am not afraid, but I am.
We're shadowpeople.
It's late at night and I'm sitting in the Common Room. I've been playing Wizards Chess for the last two hours, hoping that the room would soon clear out. The fire is cracking merrily while I feel anything but peaceful. He won't like it when I'm late. He'll hurt me again. I shiver, both out of anguish and arousal. I'll never tell, but I love how he bites my lip and takes control. At the same time he scares me. I scare myself. The want I feel. The need. It's just not natural is it? Sure, I know about being gay, it's not that big of a deal. Being with him is though. People would think I'm sick. Or insane. Sometimes I think they're right. I mean, I have to be insane to actually enjoy being abused by him.
Hermione comes back from Prefect duty and is surprised to see me there in the Common Room. She smiles at me before heading to bed. Sometimes I get the feeling that she knows. But she can't know. Sometimes it feels like she wants something from me. Something I can't give. It's not that I don't love her, but I'm not one of those wizards that marries a woman and fools around with men. He is. He is still betrothed to her, though he has admitted that he doesn't love her. Sometimes, after a particular nasty conversation with her he comes to me. Those times he won't shove me into walls or bite my lip until the metallic taste of blood spreads through my mouth. He talks to me. About his father. His engagement. The wants and needs of a pureblood riche who are just as ignored as mine. He has called me lucky a few times. I can tell the world. He is forced to marry a girl, produce a few heirs. I can be me, he says. That just shows how much we talk. He doesn't know anything.
And everything. He knows the way my mouth tastes. He knows the touch of my lips. The roughness of my hands on his bare skin. He knows me. Inside and out. He has mapped out every inch of my skin and yet he has never touched my heart. He has never cared for it. The closest he has ever come to even acknowledging that I have a heart is when his hand wraps around my throat and he makes me choke. Strangely, it is the only time I truly feel touched by him. I must really be sick.
I guess that in some weird twisted way I do this to hurt my parents. And to protect them. I know that they want me to get settled, to find a nice girl – to find Hermione. How on earth am I supposed to find somebody who has been there all along? I know everything about her and she thinks she knows me. I could never be with a girl that easily fooled. I could never be with a girl period. It's just not what I want.
What I do want however is something I can't have. I want him. I want the lust. The rough carresses. The broken down man I see whenever he returns from Malfoy Manor. I want that. I want to hold him when he's crying. I want to be able to break down in front of him, though I know that he will never allow weakness. Even without weakness he knows me. He thinks he forced me to show my true colours when I have never even tried to put up my guard with him. He thinks he is in control, and even though it seems like that's true, I know that I have power with him. He has the power to hurt. I give him the power to heal. He can get rid of his frustrations with me and be a better son, a better Slytherin. A better Death Eater one day. And even though he hurts me he is healing me in a way too. He gives me a place to unwind. To relax. He makes me a better friend, a better son in a way. He is the person backstage handing out the masks.
He forms a person out of shadow.