Disclaimer: Harry Potter solely belongs to Ms. Rowling. No profit or infringement intended.

Warning: Mature sexual content and severe use of vulgarity.

Grammatical and spelling errors are all my doing.

Chapter III

Harry lost track of time from his supposedly brief swim. His previous experience with water in fourth year had embarked a permanent antipathy against anything deep and damp. But the moment his body touched the liquid surface, Harry found himself floating on clouds and had Griffin not came to retrieve him, Harry would've happily drowned himself.

Cleaned and dressed, Harry allowed the elf to take lead and awed at the eloquence of his surroundings as they made their way back. Malfoy Manor or not, it was apparently given that only a Malfoy can walk these halls and match its bizarre significance. Everything was only too beautiful. The ceilings were a step higher than heaven, the walls were twice as ivory as the previous corridor, the furniture twice as flawless at second glance. Yes, it all just screamed Malfoy at the highest note and Harry had to wonder why that didn't bother him the least. As it happens, a lot has taken place recently that Harry should disapprove of but even the mere thought of Lucius Malfoy sticking his tongue down his own son's throat became more of a nudge on Harry's lower and more interested parts than his morals. It all the more confirmed Harry's insanity. None of this was normal… his attempt in suicide, the peace he felt amidst betraying his most loyal friends, the pleasure in watching incest in its most sinful form… Harry knew the depth of the faults he'd done and about to do, but it felt so unbelievably comforting, this feeling of making mistakes and turning away from unwanted responsibilities, the reality that he could do it. There was no one to impress, no one to worry about, because no one depended on him, no one relied on him any more than he relied on himself and what a relief it was.

What a relief it was to be selfish and… evil.

"Masters await Mr. Potter's presence." Griffin said and gestured, with his very small gloved hand, to the doors before them. Harry watched him bow and disappear, vaguely devastated that he was to enter and feed himself to the beautiful demons alone. The sight of the large, ebony doors intimated him to no end that Harry nearly wished Voldemort would replace them. He inched closer, each step smaller than the previous one until muffled voices reached his ears. Draco and his father were talking. It wasn't at all surprising that the topic was engrossed on him. Harry leaned against the doors, suddenly appreciating its existence, and listened to the voices drumming against the wood.

"… Can't have given up. People trust him for victory. Potter's too much of a saint to turn his back on them." Harry instantly recognised Lucius Malfoy. This was the Lucius Malfoy he knew, fought and hated. It unsettled Harry, however, that this was the same man who'd burned his lips with Firewhisky earlier.

"Search his thoughts then and see for yourself. I've invaded his life long enough to know when Potter's bluffing. Trust me father, had I not been in Borgin's, Potter wouldn't be breathing by now." Draco's voice sounded breathless, like he just went through a fit of ranting.

"Speaking of Borgin, how did the transaction go?"

"Father, please, this isn't the right time –"

"Perhaps, it would be best if we limit our discussion to the matter at hand, Lucius," Harry's blood froze. He knew that voice anywhere. "especially when the evening's guest is present in our midst." A warm breeze caressed Harry's face as he watched, in horror, the door gradually swing open. He shut his gaping mouth at the first sight of a face – Draco's – who'd greeted him with a blank expression; and swallowed the bulk hovering on his throat at meeting the other Malfoy, who so despicably smiled at him; and finally, Harry lowered his eyes before they could encounter the arrogant and impossibly aloof façade of Severus Snape.

"I'm sure Potter would deeply welcome a cup of tea before he entertains us with his thoughts." The night seemed determined to amaze Harry. He'd never, in all his years at Hogwarts, heard Snape speak so… politely towards him.

A moment had passed before Harry was finally able to stable himself in a bit of ground and notice the porcelain cup floating before him. The hint of suspicion in his gut while staring down at the content calmed him entirely. There was still a bit of the old Harry Potter lingering in his consciousness, that particular bit that despised and mistrusted Snape. Harry snatched his wand from his back pocket and had to bite down a smile at witnessing Draco's sudden stiffness. "Specialis Revelio." He whispered and tapped the edge of the cup. It seemed ordinary tea until… "Veritaserum." Harry muttered, not at all surprised.

"You, of all people, Potter should know to expect that." Snape said and, although his form was hidden behind the chair he seated on with only the tip of a greasy head visible to Harry's view, Harry just knew a bitter smile forming. "Unless you prefer it throttled down your mouth." Snape's hand raised and so did the cup, inching dangerously close to Harry's lips.

"I think I'm more than capable of being honest, thanks." He said and caught the cup.

"I disagree, Potter, after all, you've just molested my son into bringing you here, as he so explicitly told us." Lucius continued to smile, Harry could practically see the delight in his eyes at Draco's discomfort. Harry watched his rival from the edge of his eyes, Draco had taken a liking in narrowing his attention down to his shoes.

"Pity I didn't get to him first." Harry said, catching Draco's wide-eyed stare before turning to Lucius.

"Why, Harry, I wasn't aware you expressed such interest in my son."

"I wouldn't call it interest. Obsession better fits it." Harry kept a composed glare at Lucius' slow smile, the gasp that passed his ears tempted him to turn and relish a sight that, no doubt, would've made this night all the more appealing.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, is it really that impossible to maintain a level of decency and not act like a pair of sick perverts that you so painstakingly truly are?" Snape's voice, as ever, bubbled of boredom and irritation that amused Harry more than it usually irked him.

"Now Severus…" Lucius' movements could only be appropriately described as elegant. Harry only managed a small protest against his mind's silent disappointment that the man had decided to cover himself with unnecessary clothes. If he wasn't still slightly doubtful about his mentality, he would've actually admitted liking Lucius half-naked. "Don't be such a spoilsport, dear, you owe the boy as much after your little history." Lucius caressed Snape's arm, his eyes steady on Harry as he unbuttoned the professor's collar. Harry couldn't resist following Lucius' fingers as it disappeared beneath Snape's robes. Snape's eyes slit furiously.

"Mind your limits, Lucius." He hissed, one hand strangling Lucius' wrist and wrenching it away from his violated skin. Harry looked away out of decorum, his line of vision landing on Draco's immobile presence. The blond looked as though his thoughts were preoccupied with serious matters and that the whole exchange between his father and the professor was no more than an ordinary occurrence that was obviously meant to be ignored. But, after intensely watching him stroke the edge of his wine glass against his bottom lip, Harry could spot the brief glances he gave at the two adults. Draco was frightened. It was only when Harry saw the dread in Draco's eyes did he notice a body passing him by, the sound of hard footsteps made him turn and Harry saw the last of Snape leaving the room in anger before the door banged closed.

"Must you always upset him?" Draco's angered tone caught Harry by surprise.

"He must learn the vitality of freeing himself from that dog." Lucius responded seriously, strolling to one corner and making himself a merry glass of alcohol that looked stronger and darker than Firewhisky.

"I regret to disappoint you father, but not everyone in this world is as cold-hearted and unfeeling as you are." Draco was walking to the door where Snape vanished to, Harry would know, he was being dragged by the blond by the arm. He tried advancing his steps with Draco and before they'd completely left the dragon's den, leaving the monster with his fire, Harry heard Lucius mutter, "Pity."

:: :: :: :: ::

"Griffin, prepare a plate for father, he'll be eating in his chambers tonight. And makes sure by the time he finishes his sixth bottle that he lands on his bed. I hate to find him sprawled on his desk the third time." The elf nodded as though the order had been given more than once at the past. Draco hadn't spared a word nor a glance to Harry since they've left Lucius on his own. Harry didn't argue, he wasn't quite sure what to argue about and it was certainly a relief that he wasn't under the spotlight for now. Draco kept walking and Harry followed. Somehow, Draco's mood seemed to blanket the atmosphere of every corridor they walk through, the lights dimmed, red roses blackened, portraits lost their smiles and colours, all that was left was Draco's shadow looming over like a plague. Harry had trouble containing himself from looking over his shoulder every passing minute, expecting dementors looming near.

They finally arrive at a set of mahogany doors that look friendlier, Draco was yet to reach it entirely when two house-elves popped. Draco made no indication of stopping, he simply walked and just when Harry was about to hold him back, the elves pushed the doors open, revealing a room twice as large and well-furnished as the previous one. A long table was established on the middle with two live fireplaces on opposite walls. The room glowed with light and when Harry stepped in, he assumed he was entering another house. It was the sort cheerful people are expected to live in. Until he noticed Snape seated at one side of the table, his appearance and mood completely unaffected by the room's aura. Harry was once again reminded of the incident earlier. Snape's face hadn't released its distasted scowl.

"Sit, Potter." Draco directed and sat at the front of the table, Snape on his left and Harry, after looking quite a bit lost, took the one vacant on Draco's right.

"Took you long enough." Snape muttered all of a sudden as he prepared himself for the arriving food, of which blossomed from the surface of the table. About more than a dozen plates were settled, all smoldering with delicious fumes that called to Harry's appetite. He barely recognised half of the dishes filling his plate and Harry was sure the other half was completely foreign to him. But it had been a long night and Harry only made his stomach impatient after recalling the last meal he'd eaten at the Dursleys, all of which were but bits of rubbish compared to this extravagant buffet.

"Indulge as best as you can, Potter." Draco said, raising a glass of what looked like bubbling Butterbeer to his lips. "It's going to be a long talk afterwards."

The dinner was silent and Harry was suddenly reminded that he was no longer in the presence of Ron, who'd always surpassed the limits of normal human food intake, and Hermione, who'd long since given up scolding Harry of his lack of manners whenever and wherever food is available. This was a different company, probably the opposite of his usual Gryffindor mates, and Harry wasted a full five minutes hopelessly staring down at the number of spoons, forks and knives surrounding his plate. He watched Draco from his peripheral view and was yet to receive any reaction from his lack of enthusiasm towards his plate and finally, after careful deliberation, Harry peeked at Snape's direction. Snape was blankly examining the contents of his wine glass, his plate only half empty. And Harry began to realise than neither seemed to pay him any attention at all, in fact, they seemed highly uninterested in one another. He'd so gotten used to being constantly scrutinized by his surroundings that he nearly forgot the type of people he was dining with. These were known enemies who'd loathed Harry more than ever. They didn't care one bit about Harry upholding his dignified status, they'd probably laugh at him if he tried.

Harry tried then, grabbing a random fork from his left and a spoon from his right and waited. Neither of the two acknowledged him. He picked a piece of what looked like mashed potato with his fork and brought it to his lips, absently moaning and closing his eyes at the heaven he'd just tasted. When Harry was finally satisfied, having savored his first bite and swallowing it, he made an attempt to continue eating when he felt the familiar sense of being watched.

Draco's eyes were on him. And Harry swore the slight curve of his lips were mere notions that he'd been holding a smile earlier on. "How is it?"

"What?"

"The food."

"Oh. It's… delicious." Harry nearly forgot the word. Draco Malfoy looked delighted, almost honoured. Harry had never seen him try to hide a smile before, smirks, yes, especially during times when he watched Harry being tormented by Snape or other forms of authority after their quarrels, but never a smile, let alone, a genuine smile. "Give my regards to the chef." Harry said, feeling an urge to witness that smile, to have it directed to him.

"Tell him yourself." It was Snape who spoke. For a moment, Harry was ready to spat back a remark, knowing, in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind that it was not because of self-defense, as it usually was, but because he wanted, very much, to maintain his current ability to make Draco Malfoy smile. But at seeing Snape face, smiling, if you can call it a smile, at Draco's direction, Harry immediately realised he was teasing.

Harry examined the silent interaction between the two, his eyes particularly hovering at Snape's direction. Yes, Snape was smiling, there was no evil or malice. Just smiling. And the way his eyes bore to Draco, it was… loving. It lacked intensity, but there was so much truth in it. Harry knew, because he'd often caught Sirius giving him the same looks in more than one occasion as do Mr. Weasley each time he saw his children together. There was no lust, not the way Lucius stared at Draco earlier, it was gentle loving, father loving, friendly loving, honest loving. Harry had to blink once, twice. The way he did it, the way he looked at Draco was so like Sirius. Harry looked away instantly, now is not the time to dwell on tender memories.

Draco had finally revealed his smile and the moment Harry recovered and saw, his heart skipped a beat and jumped so high it hit his throat, he was ever so glad to spot a glass of water on sight. Dear Merlin, he forgot how to breathe. He forcibly drowned the liquid down his throat until the quivers and itches screaming all over his mind and body had subsided. Ginny's smile had never trigger that sort of affect on him, it was barely enough to catch Harry's eyes and Cho… He couldn't even recall the girl's face, much less, how she smiles.

"You made these? All of these?" Harry asked the moment he regained composure, it didn't stop him, however, from constantly rubbing his sweating palms against his napkin.

"Why, Potter, this a rare opportunity for you, having to find out that your most hated rival is a pampered, little cookie. I was hoping for a downpour of mockery." Draco said, and smiled again.

"Well, seeing as I'm still breathing," Like hell I am. "and the food is truly amazing, I think you deserve more than what you're hoping for." Harry held the gaze as long as he can and, upon witnessing Draco's defeat and the slight pink emerging from his cheek as he look down to take a sip from his glass, Harry inwardly toasted with himself. He'd just succeeded on making Draco Malfoy blush.

"Amazing, Potter, how you constantly surpass expectations." Draco continued, seemingly unable to keep his eyes from Harry without smiling.

"I wasn't meant to be predictable." He replied and proceeded with his dish, smiling in response when Draco was forced to pause and engulf Harry's words and the meaning behind it.

"For once, Potter, I agree." Snape drawled and even from just the tone of his voice, Harry knew that the man was aware of the unspoken interest behind and between Harry's words. Snape gave a look that told Harry that he was hesitant in approving of this new-found liking, however. But Harry had faced dragons before, and this was a challenge he was all the more willing to conquer.

When the plates were empty and the table cleared, the mood darkened that Harry could no longer bring himself in humouring his company with small talk. Draco took his time with his glass; Harry maintained a level of awareness each time the blond made a move, devastatingly expecting the blond to taunt him for an explanation at any moment. Admittedly, Draco Malfoy was a specimen difficult to ignore. It wasn't long till Harry felt intensely jealous of the wineglass. Draco was practically making love to it at every angle; his fingers would caress the fragile outline as though it were skin, his lips would linger impossibly too long after each sip, but it was the sigh, the contented moan that barely reached Harry's ears that did it all. Gods, the efforts Harry mustered to keep himself seated and immobile were simple torture. He was seating beside Temptation in disguise, and what a complete prat he is for making – forcing – Harry want to give in and just enjoy him in every wicked way.

Just as Harry was about to ask if he could excuse himself to the loo, deeply regretting the large amount of water he'd taken earlier, Draco called Griffin's name.

"Has father eaten?"

"Yes, master. Master Lucius has retired to his chambers."

"Good." A look of troubled contemplation crossed Draco's face. "Make sure we are not to be disrupted. By anyone." Griffin lingered, even as Draco waved him away. Harry peered at him and, for the first time, saw the struggle he'd often witnessed in Dobby appear in Griffin's expression. Like Draco's words were simply telling him to disobey. He vanished with a grave grunt.

"Now, Potter, talk." It was Snape who spoke. He suddenly looked more familiar to Harry. Intimidating and predatory. And, like every Potions test he'd encountered, Harry lacked the answer. He knew the question but lacked the answer. He looked at Draco and saw the blond was waiting as well. Only Harry could see the fear so bluntly that it looked as though Draco was asking him not to speak at all and just run back to being the Chosen One and kill the manic bastard Voldemort instead.

"Potter, I'm moments away from invading your thoughts, unless you speak now, I won't hesitate."

"I – don't want to fight. Anymore." Harry spat the words in haste before Snape's threat could completely sink in his head. Having Snape know his thoughts and the feelings attached to it was a distasteful experience. Worse than the most scandalizing news-spread the Prophet could come up with. It was not an option he was willing to take again.

He thought he saw a light spark of curiosity from the man's eyes. But Harry could only be the least certain. Severus Snape was the last man who'd ever truly express curiosity towards Harry, the man would simply yawn if Harry would choke himself now.

The silence that followed frustrated Harry. A word, even a facial reaction, would simply be lovely. But he was given none but tight lips. They wanted the story straightforward, bloody pricks. Harry would've fought and waited for them to take the mic, but it would mean longer silence. He wasn't in the mood to test his patience.

"I'm only going to say this once," Harry said with a gulp. "I didn't ask… to be the Chosen One. Or the Boy Who Lived. I didn't ask for the first eleven years of my life spent in a cupboard and the next six years being hunt down by a psychopath who wouldn't die. I didn't ask for dead parents, dead friends, dead family. But I still got them. And I'll keep getting them, whether I win or lose. I will still lose someone." Harry lowered his eyes and came face to face with his reflection, darkened by the table's ebony glass. "Now with everyone gone… didn't seem worth the trouble. Sitting in Dumbledore's funeral –" Draco snatched his glass " – was a right pain. 'He was a great wizard, a legend, a martyr, a hero.' That's all they kept saying… They were there for the wrong reasons. It only mattered to them what Dumbledore did during the war, what he did to go against Voldemort, what he did for them. And I knew that that's how they saw my parents, Cedric, Sirius… And that's all I was ever going to be, all I was ever going to be known for, to be remembered by. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One.

"I gave it a lot of thought afterwards. Then it dawned to me… It wasn't my problem to bother with. It never was. I wasn't meant for it because I never wanted it. All of this; Voldemort, the war, saving the world… they were all shoved down my throat even before I could swallow. Why should I even consider being a part of it even? I've lost everyone I could fight for. Ron and Hermione… they've got each other. They've got families. Ginny… She'd managed five years without me, what's a lifetime? But what do I have…? All that's left is that damn prophecy. And Voldemort. So it's pretty much as good as having nothing at all. So I thought I'd be selfish and mind myself for once. To hell with the rest of the world. First, I thought of flying my broom as high as I can and jump, or cast the Killing Curse against a mirror and have it backfire, or even shove a knife on my chest and die the muggle way just to piss Voldemort off… But it didn't seem enough, committing suicide just didn't seem to do the trick. So why not have Voldemort do the honours?

"Blimey, if I had the choice, I'd switch places with Neville if I could…" The room was still silent, only it was twice as deafening. Harry scanned his mirror self on the table and, finally, saw genuine unhappiness sketching his face.

The courage that had brought him to this room with this company and gave him the words to speak his confession had been drained entirely. Harry could not lift his eyes, the risk of seeing faces of enemies in triumph or sympathizers in pity were too great.

"Had I heard this in another setting, Potter, I'd be indulging in your moment of weakness without a second glance." Snape's voice was pitiless and it comforted Harry to no end, it frightened him, only a bit.

"Bet you would." Harry muttered. Snape pulled out his wand and Harry was nearly expecting a hex to pay for that remark till a vial appeared before him. It was as clear as water that Harry nearly thought the container empty.

"If you don't believe me –"

"It isn't Veritaserum. Idiot boy."

"There are other ways to kill –"

"As much as the opportunity tempts me, it's not poison."

"What –"

"Do you truly expect an answer, Potter?" Snape arched a brow.

"Just drink it. It'll help you sleep." Draco said. His voice sounded foreign, there was no malice at all. The blond didn't spare him a look even as Harry gazed at him with full force. He turned to Snape and saw his eyes narrow disapprovingly at Draco, as though he'd completely spoiled a brilliant joke.

"I'm not staying here." Harry said defiantly.

"You have no choice." Harry growled. Snape smirked.

Before Harry could think of grabbing his wand, his body stiffened and slumped on the glass table. Harry watched, with immobile eyes, Draco stand up and leave the room, a wand on hand.

Draco had not reached far when Harry's body began to move on its own. Harry could hear Snape chant. The spell seated him upright till his vision, partly clear and blurred from his broken glasses, caught Snape waving his hand. The man's eyes remained cold as the vial drowned its content on Harry's throat.

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