A.N: OMG, I am sooooooooooo sorry for the wait. Life has kicked me in the teeth lately, so please forgive me. I'm moving to Florida in may, and my girlfriend left for there a week ago, so I'll be alone for 5 months through Valentine's day, my 21st birthday (march 5th), and our 5 year anniversary (march 21st), so I've been a bit preoccupied with life. But I've gotten rough drafts written for the next three chapters, so I hope to have at least one out within the month. Or sooner. Forgive me? Please enjoy!
"talking"
'thinking'
time change, character change
observations
The War of Lemuria and the Prince of Avalon
Chp 5-The Soul of a Malfoy
(??'s POV)
Moonlight streamed through the large window to the left of the door, making the deep emerald walls glow with an inner light. The silver paint on the edges of the walls only enhanced the 'emerald cloud wrapped in silver lining' appearance. The silver curtains billowed slightly in a soft breeze, and I looked on.
Looking in from the window, the far left revealed a silver dresser, with green knobs and lining on each drawer. On top of the lovely dresser was a single photograph depicting a 5 year-old Draco wrapped in his father's arms, while his mother stood behind them with the vibrant smile of a young and beautiful angel. Also resting on the dresser top was a black vase, containing a single silver rose.
Next to the dresser was a desk. It was made of dark, glossy, cherry wood; and was nicely polished. Tucked neatly into the space was an emerald swivel chair, and upon the surface was a neat stack of black paper, with notes written in silver ink. Also on the surface of the desk rested a black notebook with a silver lock. It had a silver dragon on the cover, drawn by none other than Draco himself.
On the right side of the room stood a large black bookshelf with silver lining. It was full of thick, dark volumes, each one retaining to the dark arts. The bookshelf went from floor to ceiling, and seemed as if it were two shelves fused together, one on the end of each wall that formed the corner. It was a good design, and it provided extra space for the young master to pace the floor if he so wished it.
A little more to the right was a thick glass case, resting on an emerald stand that was covered by a silver cloth. Inside the case rested a silver scabbard, and next to that an elegant black sword. The katana had a silver handle, and red fingerprints reflected off it harshly. Draco was sometimes forced to train with the dark sword, but even Lucius did not fully comprehend its powers. When the katana was lifted, it drew its strength from the user; and with every drop of its opponent's blood that was spilled, the katana stole a drop from its carrier's fingers. Yet every time the katana's master lost a drop of blood to the enemy, it stole twice as much the next time it made contact with said enemy. And if the dark sword's master were to lose, his killer would also die, and the katana would slowly, painfully, absorb the killer's soul. Thus the katana gained much strength and power, and wielded many dark spells, for there were spells that could be combined with physical attacks, if you only knew how to do it. And Lucius had made sure his son knew how. The searing red fingerprints were of the boy's own blood, and few times had Draco succeeded in dealing his father a blow. But when he had, Lucius had lowered his own sword and left the room, allowing Draco silent compensation for the small victory.
Despite the interesting history of the sword, it wasn't that which drew my attention. I was more interested in the elegant, King sized bed that occupied the wall opposite the door. It was covered in a thick, velvet, emerald comforter. On the comforter lay two boys, the brunette sleeping soundly, while the silver haired boy tossed and turned, mumbling in his sleep. The bed was slightly hidden from view, as it was covered by a silver silk canopy. The carpet was a black deeper than the darkest of moonless nights.
Yet on this night, as the moon shone in, I saw an eerie glow that surrounded everything, and made the room seem alive and full of boiling emotions. The sword seethed anger and rage, and the walls wailed in unadulterated sadness. The bookshelf sighed in black despair, and the dresser silently screamed in eternal pain. The photograph held on protectively to its tentative joy and laughter, while the 5 year-old resonated innocence and a fierce passion for life. The silver rose sang of love unrequited, and pain so unbearable that it was buried deep within the subconscious mind. The locked notebook told that the love had as of yet to find a target, or else that perhaps the target was unbeknownst to the young master, buried as deep as the pain. The silver notes spoke of long nights spent studying, and a deep knowledge and inner wisdom that should not belong to any 16 year-old.
The desk itself shared memories of frustration, and angry tears that refused to fall. Of fists pounding into its wooden surface, and of blood dripping down from nails digging into pale palms. As if on cue, the silver dragon Draco had drawn seemed to come to life, and it breathed emerald and black laced flames at me, telling of a remarkable inner strength. The swivel chair recalled many times its master had sat upon it, bandaging badly wounded hands and still bleeding cuts on his arms and face. It recalled just as frequently the brunette sitting in it, holding the other boy in his lap as he bandaged Draco, who was too weak to protest.
The bookshelf revealed stories of pacing in fear of what was to come as the boy frantically searched through his books for a way to defend against his father. It told of fear so thick the boy threw up, and of hatred so strong that many books had burned in a moment of anger that the boy never forgot. It told of self-loathing and many snide remarks, and of the brunette, raising his hand and striking the young master, forcing him back to his senses. The very curtains that surround me show me times of desperation, loneliness, and an aching heart that screams so loud you must me deaf not to hear it. I watched as the spectacle of the silver haired boy leaned on the window, silver curtains billowing and hiding his face from anyone else. But not me. I saw.
His eyes were desperate, yet fierce. He was lonely, and Blaise did not do much to ease the pain. He warmed the boy, I saw that now, but he did not bring light. The boy was left alone, in the dark. The young master's heart screamed to make it all stop, to end it now, to run away forever, and never look back. His eyes were filled with such longing, such a deep ache for freedom. Yet he stood strong, refusing to run away from his problems. He would never back down, even if it killed him.
Yet he was cold, freezing in the grip of eternal winter, and no one even noticed. But I do. I see everything. The spectacle disappeared, and the boy lying in the bed moved closer to Blaise, whimpering in fear. I see what even he does not; there is a thin, invisible layer of ice on his feet, and chest. The boy needs warmth, and as I watch it, the bed also relinquishes its secrets.
On a night similar to this, the young master was just as cold, and he was alone. He needed warmth, and then Blaise appeared. He took the ice prince in his arms, and kissed him fiercely, passionately. The other boy responded, clutching at Blaise's neck and deepening the kiss. He needed warmth, and his friend's mouth and body where surrounded by it. He held the kiss until neither boy could breathe, and when they pulled away the ice prince allowed the other boy to pull him close, warming him just a little. But when the brunette lifted his face, and planted a warmer, softer, kiss on his lips, the ice seemed to crack a little, and the young master was filled with burning desire and an ache to be closer.
As Blaise pulled him onto the bed and removed their cloths, the ice prince felt a slow warmth crawling through his stomach, and it was then that he understood that he was gay. But as Blaise pulled him close, and their bodies touched in the most intimate of ways, the ice began to melt. And so the boy kissed Blaise, and wrapped his legs around the other boy's waist, pulling himself on top of Blaise. Blaise looked a little sad, yet acceptance was written in his eyes and in Draco's as well. They both knew that the other boy did not love Blaise, but they also knew that the young master needed him. And so Blaise allowed himself to be taken, losing his virginity to the one he loved. And after Draco pulled out, he did the most unexpected thing. He curled up to Blaise, laying his head on the other boy's chest. He allowed Blaise to wrap his arms around him, and when he began to fall asleep he still did not move. When he began to have a nightmare, Blaise gently touched his arm, and the boy calmed.
All this the bed showed me, yet it shared the morning too. Never did the boys speak of what happened, for both knew it would end when school began. Instead they chose to continue their strong friendship, and at night Draco allowed Blaise to comfort him.
I see the ice prince turn again, and even as I watch another layer of ice coats his pale skin. He always hides his emotions, but not from me. Never from me. For I see everything, and yet he does not know I am here, watching him as he sleeps. His emotions are so strong, that his very room absorbs them, pulling in the feelings and memories of the past. His room is a reflection of his very soul, and I am glad for the ability to hear and see it all.
I jump back from the window, and onto the balcony of Lucius Malfoy. His room is red; the walls as deep scarlet as fresh blood, and carpet the blackish red of dark blood, borne from evil hearts. I care not for this room. Nor for the sleeping man who occupies it. He is a death eater, and I shall kill him. Yet as I enter the room, I stop. There is something different here, from last time. It smells different. I glance around and notice the faded silver of recently fallen teardrops on the black hardwood desk.
They glow in the darkness, to my sensitive eyes. That's when I recognize the smell. It's the same as the silver rose. This man loves his son! He is radiating grief, guilt, remorse. I sense wave after wave of bitterness and self-loathing roll off the walls. Yet the bed in which the silver haired man is lying speaks of protectiveness, and pain. And the carpet tells tales of a dangerous, forbidden desire.
I flee the room immediately, now is not the time. Perhaps I shall return later, perhaps there is something more to this death eater than I originally thought. I run into the night, bounding over the fence, and going past so fast the security spells do not sense even the slightest disturbance.
'I may be leaving now, but I will return young master, prince of ice. And when I do, you'd better be ready.'
How was that? Wondering who the mysterious stranger is? Let me know any and all thoughts you have, good or bad. Tell me who you think the mystery person is, and who you want it to be. please please please review? I desperately need feedback. I am open to suggestions, as well as challenges if anyone wants a particular type of story. Loves ya all!
Lunadia