Flirt by xErised

Grim Reaper

"Why is he bleeding?"

Draco immediately tossed his quill down, pushed his paperwork away and hurried over to Harry's bedside when he heard Hermione's aggrieved whisper. Beside her, Ron frowned, circled his fingers around both of Harry's wrists and lifted his arms up. Tiny, random nicks of red gashed the inner arms of the brunette, as though Harry had been defending himself against shattering glass-

A snarled little groan escaped through Harry's gnashed teeth. His head was forced awkwardly to one side of his pillow, and Draco could see the way the tendons in his neck stuck out like cords. A gulf of pain crashed its way across Harry's features as he continued to bleed with vigor.

Worry swirled and tumbled in Draco's veins like the most potent poison while he ran out of the room to summon a Healer. When he saw no Healer in sight, Draco hissed in dismay and dashed why is no one around, there's always someone- through both ends of the hallway, his heart sinking like a dropped stone with every rushed step. Finally, he spied a trainee Healer out of the corner of his eye.

Draco practically pounced on her.

"Where's everyone? Where's Healer Wright?" Draco bit out impatiently, his words staccatoed with annoyance as he dragged the girl back to Harry's ward.

"They're all at a meeting! Where're you bringing me to! Hey, hey!"

Meanwhile, Ron had his lips pursed thoughtfully while he gently flicked a finger through Harry's wound, drawing a streak of his friend's blood on his fingertip. The redhead rubbed his forefinger and his thumb together speculatively, his eyebrows drawn together in curiosity.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, anxiety building up in her eyes.

But before Ron could answer, Draco and his quarry burst into the room. The ex-Slytherin relinquished his grip on the girl and gestured to Harry heatedly.

"He's bleeding. Do something!" The blond ordered imperiously, crossing his arms and surveying the nervous trainee with critical eyes. Behind him, Hermione stood up, concerned.

The girl paled as she took hesitant steps towards Harry's bed. "I would recommend some spells to stop the bleeding, but…" She trailed off when she picked up Harry's chart and studied it, biting her lip in apprehension. "He's in a magical coma, I can't… I apologize, but I'm not the right person to ask. You'll have to wait for Healer Wright to exit from the meeting-"

"Wait?! If I wait anymore he might be dead already!" Draco thundered, advancing on the trembling girl. His eyes were narrowed into slits and incandescent with indignation. Fierce, destructive spurts of anger were rising up rapidly within him as he regarded the girl with bubbling contempt.

"Do you know how long he's been like that?! Almost a week! And now, he's bleeding for no reason at all, and you're telling me that I've got to wait! Get in that fucking meeting and get Wright for me. Now," Draco fumed, his features fogged in inexplicable irritation.

"I- I can't just barge in like that-"

"Then what can you do?! Fine. You're just a lowly trainee. I get it. Get Harry in the biggest, most important ward in this whole hospital and I want Wright to make Harry his first priority every damn second of every damn day. Money is of no concern. Is that something that you can do? No?!"

Ron and Hermione watched, their eyes wide with both awe and fear as a rabid Draco hit danger levels of rage and fury.

"I'm n-not in charge of administrative m-matters-"

"Then find someone that is! I expect Harry to be shifted by today, and I expect Wright to come and meet me as soon as possible! If that doesn't happen, I'll tear this fucking hospital down, and no, I don't sodding care about its heritage and history and whatnot, I'll just tear it down and build a brand new hotel here as fast as you can say St. fucking Mungo's!"

"Draco, that's enough. I'll talk to someone else," Hermione finally piped up. She kindly wrapped her arms around the terrified girl and spoke in soft, soothing tones as she led her out of the room.

The blond let his breath out in a sibilant hiss and passed a hand over the ridges of his gaunt face. He felt so fucking crippled, so useless. He didn't need to look at Ron to know that the redhead felt the exact same thing. Ron had been desperate to return to work to find a counter-curse, but Kingsley had refused outright, insisting that Ron fulfill his three days of medical leave. Ron had stepped in the office only to give Kingsley a commentary on what he had felt during his own coma. Little progress of searching for the counter-curse was made, since Ron and Harry were the main Unspeakables in charge of the case. One was still mired in his coma, while the other one was barred from work.

Draco growled and kicked the bed in a surprisingly frank show of frustration. Still bristling, Draco yanked open a drawer and snatched a clean towel. He sighed heavily and began to dab tenderly at the first few cuts and bruises scarlet seeping through snowy bedsheets- that peppered Harry's left arm.

"Malfoy. Don't clean him up," Ron suddenly said. Draco scowled and glared at Ron, then tilted his head when he noticed Ron's eyes glittering oddly.

"And leave him there like that? Have you gone utterly mad, Weasley?" Draco sneered. The blond barely gave Ron another look and continued wiping at the brunette's injuries.

"I said don't clean him up!" Ron snapped, flaring up. He crossed over to Draco with two easy strides, grabbed the towel roughly from Draco's hands and threw it hard onto the floor.

"What the fuck's wrong with you!" Draco lashed out viciously, his eyes sharpening with ire. He stood up and met Ron's upset blue eyes head-on. The air was clogged with adrenaline and tempers were running sky-high.

"You don't know anything about the case, Malfoy, so don't you dare argue with me-"

"I don't see you helping him in any way, do I?!" Draco retorted hotly. He had been bottling his aggression up, and it would probably feel bloody good to finally let it out. His jaw jutting out combatively, the blond took another step towards the other man and folded his arms, displaying his patented haughty expression that he knew irked Ron to no end.

"How dare you say that, Malfoy-"

"Ron!"

Hermione's sharp whip of a voice jerked both men out of their haze of testosterone. With that single word, Hermione had managed to defuse the situation. She hastily stepped in between Ron and Draco, her arms held out like a referee. Still glaring daggers at each other, both men retreated to their respective seats.

"Healer Wright will be here in ten minutes and Harry will be moved by this afternoon," Hermione said calmly.

"Thanks," Draco mumbled, suddenly shame-faced at his earlier immaturity. One quick glimpse towards Ron told Draco that the redhead felt the same. The blond scooted nearer to Harry and rested his upper body on Harry's bed. Draco's gaze locked pleadingly onto Harry's closed eyes.

It's already Monday.

Just when are you going to wake up?

It was like a film put on pause at the very last, exhilarating minute, that precarious, heart-stopping moment that kept him teetering on the cliffhanger of danger. The scene was fizzing in and out of focus, messing up his brain and his sight all at the same time, and then in that split second of redemption that was granted-

that cheeky wink-

that I've come to-

adore-

It was his last minute of reprieve. Everything suddenly slowed down around Harry as though they were moving excruciatingly slow in water, while the brunette jolted his legs into motion, his body limbering up like he had been released from a numbing curse.

Harry lunged up to a staggering run, his feet slapping hard and fast against the cold floor. He knew that he had little time left before everything snapped back to clarity and lucidity. With trembling hands, the brunette twisted the decaying metal doorknob of the third room and dashed towards the main door. The windows of the house showed the darkest and the bleakest black outside, causing Harry's breathing and heartbeat to pick up speed. All he had to do was to exit this hellhole of a house, run straight to the gates that he had yanked wide open, and then why was the door not opening?!

Harry rattled the knob desperately, but it refused to budge. He swiveled back and stared does it mean that I've got to enter those two before it'll open- at the first two rooms. He turned to his left and let out a shriek.

Large, full-length mirrors had replaced the windows, just mere seconds after Harry had glanced at them. They were funhouse mirrors, those wavy, distorted mirrors that were omnipresent in carnivals. They were disorientating him, dizzying him, distracting him the longer he stared at them. Dangerous, indistinct thoughts that made the backs of Harry's knees tremble lurked within the frames of the mirrors, drawing him in, sucking him in and amplifying each and every grain of distress to colossal proportions. The mirrors whirred to life, and the scene of Lily and James' wedding was playing again in all the mirrors, but this time, the eyes of his parents were replaced by two black, cavernous pits that seemed to blaze right into his paralyzed soul, their smiles stitched and sutured onto the lower half of their faces-

Harry recoiled, his back pressing unbelievably close to the main door, his fingers scrabbling uselessly on the icy stone. The brunette suddenly shouted wordlessly when he felt the door behind him open just a fraction. But even before he could pry the opening further, the door clicked resolutely shut. Discordant notes oozed steadily from the slat between the door and the floor, plaguing him with every passing second-

He didn't know what it was, whether it was human, spirit or malevolent ghost that was excavating his fears like this. His energy was being sapped it-, his body was being enervated has- with every smoky slither of noise only- that curled and coiled around his legs just-, and it was moving up to his hips, his everywhere-

The door of the third room creaked open begun- maliciously.

Harry could see no one exiting from the room, but he could feel, oh how he could feel because it's so much easier to be scared of something that you cannot see-

They were attacking him from both ends.

Harry fought off the fatigue and weariness with as much vitality as he could muster. Alarm bells clanged deafeningly in the back of his head. He scurried to the second room and slammed the door behind him.

The scenes, formless and flinty, congested the room like the most acrid smoke, a never-ending slideshow of death and misery that clutched hard and took siege in Harry's whimpering mind. There was Dumbledore, falling lifelessly off the Tower like a discarded rag-doll, and more, more-

The bleached remains of Harry's long-lost skeletons that skulked and lurked behind barricaded doors finally broke loose, performing their ruthless ambush with shocking accuracy. Every memory now stung like an open, bleeding wound, complete with the scars of the deepest sin sunken into his skin they died because of you, all because of you-. However much as he wanted, Harry couldn't tear his horrified gaze from the scenes in the blind hope that he could salvage something from the wreckage. And there was Sirius losing grip and collapsing into the snapping, gaping maw of the Veil-

It was a stagnant museum of things that he couldn't quite remember, yet never entirely forget.

won't you cry for us, Harry-

won't you die for us, Harry-

The voices were like splintered shadows tossed mischievously around the four walls, voices that were gradually gaining an efficacy and vehemence of their own, playing their own secret games that involved a lot of whispering, shhhhh, whisper, don't let him hear, it's so much more fun that way-

His parents were the crowning glory.

Harry rubbed his eyes as though he wanted to gouge them out, and he hung his head, feeling something warm and wet tears of rust- dribbling down his cheeks. He relived the disaster of the death of his parents so much green, ava-avada-avada-kuh-kuh-davra- and Harry's toes twitched in his shoes, as though he wanted to run towards his mother to shield her from the curse-

The darkness was phasing through the walls.

Harry could stay there and drown in the pounding surf of memories that hurt like a million bloodied, biting kisses, or he could obey the visceral, guttural, primal instinct that sliced hotly through his spine-

get the fuck out.

The brunette swiped roughly at his eyes and clambered out of the second room. Without even throwing a backwards glance, he threw open the door of the first room and scrambled inside, his heart palpitating fast and hard as to what was next in the queue of terror that awaited him eagerly-

It was total devastation.

Cobwebs danced and shimmered with macabre joy, concealed cleverly in the dark recesses of the bookcase. Spines of books and tombs were ripped out, scattered on the floor of the room like corrupted gold dust. The candy-pink wallpaper had been brutally torn out, peeling from the walls in heavy, filthy chunks. Only flaky, black paint lingered on the walls, encrusted and caked with thick layers of grime and soot.

The milk on the counter had gone sour and rancid, the strawberries were bleeding an ugly red metallic color that made Harry's skin crawl and sputter like fat on the pan. Worms wriggled and writhed gruesomely we'll feast on what's left of you, oh my love, my love- in the cupcakes and brownies, accompanied by hordes of ants that basked in the remnants of sweet drinks that had spilt to the sticky floor. The table and the fireplace were littered with shards of carelessly abandoned broken beer bottles.

The house was withering and wilting, having an eerily unlived feeling, as though it was haunted by the stale ghosts of a thousand deaths-

Harry's neck twinged neurotically as he swept a frightened gaze through the hideous, desiccated remains of his imaginary childhood. He was weeping freely now, his nose running and copious, colorless tears leaking from his narrowed eyes. His fists were clenched in agitation, his fingers buried in unkempt tufts of black hair, his sanity slipping like smoke through petrified fingers, unable to hold it in I'm going to die here, I'm going to die-

Harry heard the clawing, shredding sensation of flesh being sliced from pearly bone, and he jerked his head towards the row of dolls. Their mouths parted in a cacophony of silent yells as they regarded Harry with glowing, piercing, bloodstone eyes. Their smooth, porcelain limbs had been amputated, their prettiness lopped off mercilessly, stubs of fake hair had replaced their ponytails, the grinning expression on their faces were now substituted for angels with dirty faces. The birthday candles that had originally been on Harry's birthday cake were now spiked through the dolls, through their cheeks, their temples and their stomachs-

This was how the parents of this world passed down their heirlooms of death.

And now the army of dolls was crawling on their torsos towards Harry like big, juicy, white maggots, their hypnotizing eyes focused intently on a panting, immobilized Harry-

but not for long-

Harry summoned up as much strength as he could and scrabbled out of the melee. He let out a deranged wail and heaved the main door open it's going to be fine, the gate, the gate, get to the gate-

Funny how the gate seemed to be much, much further.

we didn't expect you last this long-

but no matter-

what's up next won't go wrong-

The stars overhead glimmered with black humor, scattered carelessly amongst the horrifyingly dim sky that rumbled threateningly. The skies were colored a marbled yellow and purple, just like how a bruise would look. The shape of a dog and a werewolf flickered like lightning in between gloomy, funereal clouds. The house that Harry had just ran out was no longer the cozy cottage that Harry thought it originally was; instead, it had mutated into a forbidding, vile mansion that towered wickedly above Harry, sending haunted barbs of fear puncturing their way through Harry's heart-

Beneath the suffocating cover of the heavens, the trees turned their trunks creakily towards Harry. Their branches were like accusing, sinister fingers that pointed relentlessly at Harry. The brunette backed away, but not before he saw-

The wedding attire of Lily and James were hung dully on the twigs of one particular tree. Sinuous vines slowly slithered and devoured their way up the legs of James' pants and the frilly hem of Lily's beautiful dress. They snagged and shivered and seized, as though they were in paroxysms of pain, his parents, his parents strangled-

take harry, please, leave me and james alone-

Harry clamped a hand over his mouth, the air cupped in his palm vibrating with the force of his muffled scream no, they loved me, they loved me! They died to protect me, they died, they died because of me, because of you, Harry-

Beside him, a delta of lightning, skeletal and lethal in nature, snapped and cracked just inches away from him, destroying something in his peripheral vision. Harry leapt back like a frightened rabbit and looked up in escalating panic.

Meteors of liquid, boiling-hot lemon drops were slowly beginning to spout from the skies.

Harry gasped and retreated, stepping back neatly into a waiting vine. It looped itself cleverly around Harry's ankle and yanked him to the ground. Harry screeched and grappled helplessly we'll luh-luh-love you with your hands tied- at the sullied soil, his fingers sunken as deep as possible into the earth, his elbows trying to gain some sort of purchase, some sort of resistance before he fell prey to soul-sucking death-

in this obscene dirt of the dead-

it's about time you've made your bed-

"Let me go, please, please!" Harry yowled, looking back fearfully with round eyes. Glistening, sharp teeth that had replaced petals of flowers gnawed and chomped ravenously on thin air, their intensity and frenzy increasing when they caught a whiff of pure, full-blown terror and Harry knew that he was going to be eaten alive-

t'nod eb deracs-

ev'ew enod siht erofeb-

A scalding torrent of lemon drop landed on the vine, severing it fully. Harry could feel the grip on his ankle slackening as the vine shriveled up, siphoned the color of the dirty brown soil before fading away into the dirt. Harry quickly shook the vine off, shunning its treacherous snare. The meteor had narrowly missed Harry's feet, but he could still feel his toes tingling with sheer, molten heat.

death is but-

the next great adventure-

No, not now, not like this!

The world was closing in on him.

Harry dodged the approach of another vine, and then he was running, following the path set out for him. He felt as vulnerable as a pinned butterfly, with death coming at him from all perimeters and angles. Hysteria and dread was thundering in his blood like a swarm of wild beasts, there was something tearing through his hair, tearing through the ends of his jeans, rasps of little threads unraveling from the hem of his shirt, but he didn't stop, he couldn't, wouldn't stop running, because he knew that if he did-

suck out and devour your soul and turn it upside down-

oh no, can't you wipe off that p-r-e-t-t-y (itsy bitsy teeny weeny) l.i.t.t.l.e frown?

Dangers slinked and cruised out of the corner of his eyes, but he failed to register them, his legs keeping up the pumping adrenaline, the monotonous rhythm of moving, because when you move they can't catch you- But still, darkness was keeping pace, stalking him with the spurn and spite of a cruelly jilted lover, the wind whistling maniacally in his ears, and Harry was so sure that he would crash, running as though the hounds of hell were chasing him. But it seemed to be getting harder as though he was being pulled back by shadows, as though he was wading thigh high though the thickest, most viscous mudslide of chocolate-

It was a heaven where they collected infections of the souls.

Midnight and twilight, both loathsome guards of this wretched world, dogged and dragged at the soles of his feet, but Harry soldiered on with incredible, almost inhuman determination, his teeth gritted and his fists balled. And yet, that snake of a voice-

in this place where we sell wishes with a high price: (your) soul

be it bat//tered bro- -ken blud_geoned brui-ssssssed it wouldn't matter we'll take them-

all

and keep you+yourtears here

for all etuuuuuuurnity

Harry didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he managed to reach the hallowed gates by the skin of his teeth simply by a slip of a miracle. Sobbing with relief, the brunette clutched at the shafts with both hands and shook it wildly.

It was locked.

the grand finale's starting, did you like the scenes we penned-

but it's such a shame that you won't be around to enjoy the end-

Harry's eyes flitted around the gate, his hands wandering and pressing on every available crevice in a wildcat desperation to unlock it I've gotten this far, I can't stop here, I can't-

An hourglass was perched right at the very top of the gate.

Harry had never seen it before.

Grains of time cascaded through the tiny slit, and judging by the rapidly diminishing pile of silvery satin sand on the higher tier, Harry didn't have much time left. His heart was beating with echoes and visions of the horrors of death and insanity and filth, and he slumped down, so tired, too tired to think, to breathe, so tired, and that rope of snake was tightening and closing around his neck, squeezing bit by bit-

How did you get in?!

Sinking wearily to his knees, Harry located his name on the gate and dashed a finger across it, his heart jumping marginally with mild solace this is it, I'll be out-

Nothing happened.

An abused shriek tore savagely from Harry's throat and he lifted his eyes up to the hourglass, whole-heartedly expecting the sand to have flowed through, the curtain call of his death sentence descending-

The hourglass was frozen in place.

The pressure around his neck ebbed fractionally, before vanishing completely.

Shocked, the brunette sat up straight and stared what does it mean, the key's got to be in the names- at his name again. He ransacked his mind with renewed vigor as he studied the long succession of names. The roadblock in his brain seemed to have alleviated, and he felt it all rushing and crashing back into crystal clarity-

These were the names of all the people who had surrendered to the Dark Artifact and who were still trapped in their magical coma up to this very day.

And his own name was right there, right at the very end. It seemed to have been carved in pencil, but irreversible, irrevocable ink was slowly seeping in to fill the cracks and traces of the penciled marks, starting with the crucifying curl of the H in Harry.

"No, no, no!" Harry screamed and rubbed violently at his name, feeling the heat gather in between the space of the metal and his finger. But the ink still continued to flow gleefully, it was now at the R-

The hourglass was still halted, so it had to mean that he had done something right. Harry clicked his fingers together desperately, his unwavering eyes still glued onto the ink, J in James-

Harry licked his finger and dragged it on the gate. The ink paused for a split second, but continued its relentless assault, P in Potter-

Harry looked down at his arms. His cuts on his left arm seemed to have been wiped dry of blood, and Harry frowned, knowing that he didn't clean his wounds. However, pinpricks of blood were still present in the tiny nicks on his right arm, so he quickly streaked some on his finger and pressed it against the gate.

As though its very nature had changed, the crimson liquid startled into life and flooded the grooves of his name, forcefully pushing the ink back. Emboldened, Harry continued to draw blood from his injuries and smear them on his name.

shed some blood-

and we won't drag you through the mud-

this is your last salvation-

against eventual death by asphyxiation-

The gates swung open.

Harry lunged up to his feet and threw himself over the threshold.

Behind him, the hourglass cranked back into motion, the fine sands of ethereal time trickling in it once more. Harry gasped it's not over yet, is it- and bolted urgently forth.

His vision felt like it was being obscured with a haze of heat. There were five doors in front of him, and they were gradually gaining momentum and spinning, not unlike the doors at the battle of the Department of Mysteries so long ago-

"What am I supposed to do, it's so loud, I can't hear myself, I can't hear anything, let me go, let me go!" Harry howled, his palms braced on his ears, and that black, black voice invading his consciousness, but yet, he could detect something softer, gentler, something more human-

it was brilliant, there was Mum and Dad fussing over a younger me, and then I was on the first train ride to Hogwarts with Harry, it was our first meeting during our first year, and Hermione was there too… I was Head Boy, Quidditch Captain... Rose and Hugo were all grown up and getting top marks in school, I breezed easily through the Unspeakable tests, even though everyone said that I might have difficulties with it, everything was so real, so perfect in there, then suddenly George was there, telling me that if I went to the last room Fred would come back to life-

but it wasn't like that at all, I saw so many corpses, so many dead bodies, it was the last battle with Voldemort and everyone was dead, Mum, Dad, Harry, Hermione, they were all dead, only Voldemort was left, only I was left, don't tell me it's fine, that it's all just a dream, Kingsley, because it's not, it was so real, and the anger, the pain, this debilitating horror taking over me and I couldn't, I was so scared, so scared that I would be all alone for the rest of my life, don't you understand?!

I couldn't wait to join all of them, I couldn't wait to die together with the rest of them-

and then I heard Rose's voice, whispering to me, and suddenly Fred was there, protecting me, saying something like you're not taking my little brother like this, and then I woke up.

just like that.

Something else trilled in Harry's mind. The words were softly murmured, a sharp contrast to the agitated shouts before. The voice rolled gently around his ears, each word like an unsung melody, but containing the same amount of pain and anguish, crackling like a broken promise-

you promised me-

two months-

The voices were coming from one of the five doors swiveling in front of Harry, helping him in the battle against the realms of insanity. The air around him was whirling, swirling, hurting like a dozen paper cuts on his skin. He thought he would be confused, but-

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes focused on that particular door like how a marathon runner would gaze intently at his finishing line. He ran and plunged himself through that door, and he heard an unearthly banshee scream no, no, no, he would have been so delicious- slipping through his fingers. Harry had successfully breached the twisted nether of the two dimensions that cut intimately into each other. There was this blinding flash of green light, no no, not avadakedavra green, but-

Lily green.

"You should have seen it, Harry," Hermione laughed as she ladled out fish porridge. "He transformed your ward into a makeshift office! And that poor trainee Healer! She was practically in tears after being yelled at!" Hermione finished, her eyes shining with amusement.

"He did all that?" Harry said, incredulous. His body was bathed in a warm, misty feeling, and the brunette grinned goofily.

"Draco really cares about you," Hermione said softly, handing the brunette his lunch.

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, his mouth splitting into a wide beam. The brunette rested his gaze on the enormous bouquet of flowers that Draco had sent. Each rose was as big as a cabbage, and Harry's grin widened when his eyes dropped down to Draco's card, written in the blond's neat and precise handwriting. Harry's stomach did a little wriggle of delight and he sighed blissfully, loving how his heart felt like warm, melted butter.

Still smiling like a madman, Harry took a mouthful of porridge. Suddenly he blinked and sat straight up, as though he had remembered something important.

"Did Draco eat?" Harry asked worriedly.

"Now that you brought it up, I rarely saw him eating during the first few days. But Mum brought some soup for him, and I sometimes pack some food for him from home," Hermione said, tapping a finger on her lip speculatively. "Do you need a change of bandage?" The witch asked abruptly when she saw Harry's hand crawling up to his other arm and absentmindedly scratching his wounds through the bandages.

"No, it's fine, really," Harry reassured and instantly stopped scratching, even though his bruises were still itching like mad. Hermione gave Harry a searching look, and he averted his eyes, choosing to look down at his porridge. The recurring nightmares that he had every night would probably go away in a while, Harry hoped. Hermione had taken too much time off work to care for Harry and Ron, and the last thing Harry wanted to do was to make Hermione fret unnecessarily.

"Well, this week's the end of the two months, isn't it?" Hermione said cheerfully, pulling a chair up and sitting beside the brunette. "Have you thought about where to bring Draco for your last date?"

"I'm seeing him on Saturday, so that probably gives me four days to think about that. I was thinking of something simple, yet really romantic. You know?" Harry said, wrinkling his nose.

"Maybe you can treat him to the expensive dinner that he missed out on the very first date. Candlelight, flowers, the works. And this time, no missing out on the reservations simply because Draco could have been there before!" Hermione said cheekily, wagging a finger playfully at Harry.

"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, his lips hiking up into a delighted grin.

The hotel restaurant was high-ceiling and chandeliered.

The pair was sequestered away in the VIP lounge of the restaurant. The booth was as private as possible; filmy muslin curtains the texture of satin separated both men from the common crowd. Beeswax candles bestowed a seductive amber glow over the starched white tablecloth of their table, highlighting the sparkle of scrupulously polished cutlery and refined crystal champagne flutes. A cooled bucket, filled with an appropriate amount of ice, held an unopened bottle of champagne.

Draco glimpsed cursorily at Pietro Labelle, then speedily jerked his head away when he realized that Pietro had been eyeing him up all the time.

"Eating more than last time, haven't you?" Pietro pointed out breezily, raising an eyebrow at Draco's near-empty plate. The older man finished off his wine and pushed his own plate away, which was still half-full with filet mignon.

"I hardly think that it's any of your concern anymore," Draco coolly shot back with an equally smooth rejoinder as he rebelliously polished off the last piece of his steak.

Pietro didn't bother to retaliate. Instead, he smiled, his teeth glinting dangerously in the light. His smoldering blue eyes were midnight sultry, hot and intense while he let his honeyed gaze slide and slip up Draco's hands and neck, every curve, every contour of irresistibly illuminated skin. That little furrow in between the younger man's brows, the way he fastidiously avoided Pietro's piercing, penetrating looks spoke volumes to him. Yes, Draco was nervous and intimidated, but it wouldn't be long before Pietro put him at ease. Pietro knew Draco's body as well as the back of his own hand, having caressed every inch of pale, unblemished skin. He knew exactly which part of Draco's body to touch, to lick, to nibble that would reduce Draco into a helpless heap on the bed.

"You look so tense, Draco. Let me bring you up to our room."

It wasn't a question, nor was it a statement.

The words hung stickily in the air, and a quiet lull, crackling with expectation, ensued. Pietro's eyelids were held hungrily at half-mast, his eyes sizzling with ecstatic physical promises. His voice was like light silk, his smile was that of a sinner's.

Five years compared to a measly period of two months.

It was laughable.

A muscle twitched in Draco's jaw. How many times had they done this? When they were still together, Pietro would utter those same words. Draco would then jump at the chance and they would grope and fondle their way up to their hotel room. Pietro would decorate his body with marks and bites and fingernail indents all over, showing all and sundry that Draco is mine, and mine alone- there would be hell to pay if anyone dared to challenge Pietro for his property. They would fuck like a pair of teenagers, their moans and wails bouncing off the four walls as Pietro teased and sucked Draco to oblivion.

Until a stray owl or a business-related phone call distracted Pietro from Draco's needy, gasping body, of course.

Draco's cheeks were a deep scarlet as he recalled their trysts, and Pietro's predatory grin spread further. In return, Draco dredged up a ragged smile. He tugged his napkin out from its napkin holder and dabbed demurely at his lips.

"I apologize, but I'm due at Harry's soon. He's just recently been discharged, and I've promised to visit."

Pietro let out a snort of deprecating laughter, a haughty, avuncular expression poised on his features. The elegant cufflinks on his sleeves gleamed wolfishly as Pietro raised his elbows up and rested them on the edge of the table. He pressed the tips of his manipulatively long fingers together and licked his lips, a slight smirk forming at the corner of his mouth.

"You should be grateful that I didn't destroy you for what you've done to me," Pietro murmured, fully delivered with a chilly smile that didn't reach all the way up to his eyes.

"You should know by now that you can't intimidate me like this. I've cleared it up straight from the start. This dinner is purely business to thank you for being on call when you rendered your help in my place two days ago in the Monday meeting while I was in the hospital," Draco answered, standing his ground. Draco's thin lips were held as taut as a tightrope, and his glittery grey eyes stared back challengingly.

"Funny. I don't recall teaching you to mix your personal life with your work," Pietro commented, his eyes narrowing marginally.

"People change. Have you forgotten that that's what you taught me too?" Draco riposted fluently, not missing a beat. "I'll get the bill on the way out. Good night, Pietro," Draco said, hauling himself out of the booth. The ex-Slytherin stalked out with his head held stiffly and didn't bother to throw a last glance at the other man.

Astute blue eyes prowled like a bloodthirsty panther across Draco's body, up and down the ramrod tightness of Draco's spine, his hips and arse, that paragon of absolute, imperial perfection as Draco walked away. Pietro's smile frosted over before evaporating altogether. He tried to quash his disappointment, but jealousy, as corrosive as acid, dripped virulently onto his heart. Desire was scrabbling and clawing in Pietro's belly like a wild beast. His fingernails played a crafty drumroll on the table and a small spark of triumph registered in his eyes when he remembered the blush staining Draco's cheeks just minutes before.

the higher they are-

In a smooth, fluid motion, Pietro bent over and blew out the candles. He sat there silently for a while, his eyes scheming and sly in the sifting shadows. Pietro Labelle rarely lost, especially not to a small fry such as Harry Potter. The blond had learnt how to trick, negotiate and maneuver the pawns and chess pieces of life to guarantee that he had the checkmate in every single game.

the harder they fall-

And he was done biding his time.

Pietro smiled again, a formidable barracuda smile that was devoid of warmth whatsoever.

A lot of things were going to happen on Saturday.

/tbc

Do you think it'll end quietly?

Oh no, I don't think so.

Review! (: