Hm. I wanted to do a pale-transparent-ish skin study. I ended having way too much fun with skin brushes I had for years and never used. I probably should have gone to bed earlier.
"He kept silent, unable to whisper reassuring words. But he held her tighter, rocking back and forth, unable to grasp what just happened. This little girl, still not quite out of childhood, had her world turned upside down by a single spell, just like him. She was… she was gay, just like him. He rocked back and forth for a long time, unable to fight against the helplessness that hit him, wave after wave. Slowly, the wails stopped, the sobs subdued. The girl cried herself to sleep. She was broken. Just like him.”
Contrary to his father's belief, Draco did not meet the Dark Lord during the break.
The Slytherin was glad it did not happen, if a tad disappointed. He knew he had to impress him, for his sake, and most importantly for the sake of his parents. Sleep deprived and thoroughly shaken by his conversation with his parents, Draco knew he was not in his best state to meet the man his father had raised him to admire. Relief, however, tasted bitter. Potter haunted his every waking moment, taunting him with his abhorrent satisfied smile.
You want me.
Preposterous. He was not bent. He was the last heir to the Malfoy family. He would find a pure-blooded witch, marry, have an heir, and go into business, politics, or both. Like every Malfoy before him.
Draco sighed. A few days ago, he was sure his future was set in stone. But now, the game had changed. The Dark Lord was back and he was, in an unknown amount of time, expected to join. What would be his role as a Death Eater? Would he assume a position in the ministry, influencing politics through the Malfoy's name and money? Draco could live with that. Hell, he would even enjoy it. Sparing with mere words, tearing his opponents apart for the right cause. Avenging his uncle. Make his father proud. Be the brilliant mind behind the start of a revolutionary society, standing, well respected, beside the Dark Lord...
Draco knew he was deluding himself. His name had a political weight that would benefit the Dark side. That much was true. However, his father already occupied the political position, leaving no room for a new, unexperienced, pawn in the game of power. Draco would have to prove itself before earning a position he could be proud of. As of now, he had nothing to offer to the Dark lord.
What could possibly have a fifteen years old that the most powerful wizard alive had not?
Draco did not know.
He was not familiar with the man's politics. His father had always been silent on the specifics. Speaking about his rise of power was impossible in open society, and not exactly welcomed by his parents either. Draco knew his father had escaped prison using a shaky excuse. Being under the imperius curse could not be proved, much to the Barty Crouch's chagrin, and the lack of evidence against this version had been enough to keep Lucius Malfoy out of prison. However, he had been under scrupulous watch during Draco's childhood. And the risk of a toddler babbling about the Dark Lord had been too high to speak about it. But pregnant silence, and discreet hints here and there over the years had been enough for the blond to realise the truth.
On the day of his eleventh birthday, he had asked his father to speak about the Dark Lord. Lucius had been cautious. He told him the man was a incredible powerful wizard, capable of great, but also terrible things. Knowing the imperius excuse, Draco had taken to heart the praise, and dismissed the critiques. He had started to admire the man his father seemed to be impressed by and never questioned it.
The conversation they had the first day of the holidays had been the first time Lucius had confirmed he had joined the Dark Lord of his own free will. His father had been blunt. The Lord had to be admired. But he also had to be feared. Draco shivered. What horror had he done to warrant such fear from a Malfoy?
And what could possibly do a fifteen years old to earn a Dark Lord's appreciation?
Draco looked at his parchment. A stain of black ink was spreading on the paper. The teen let out a desperate sigh, destroyed the parchment, and cleaned his massive desk. He had been thinking in circles for a few days and knew he was in an impasse.
He needed more informations to elaborate a strategy.
Maybe.... Yes! Books may have been written on the Dark Lord's ascension to power. That would give him more insights on the man's he had to impress!
Draco rushed to his personal study. A few minutes later, he was sitting in an enormous coach, holding a large book in his hands. The book read Instant delivery service catalogue, by Flourish and Blott.
Draco nervously flipped the pages. Arithmancy, Herbology...there, History. His finger trailed trough the subjects and years, until he got to 1975-1981- The Dark Years. Under his finger, around twenty books were available. Draco dismissed angrily the numerous ones on – infuriating – Potter (amongst which The Legend Behind The Scar, Harry Potter, Story Of A Salvation, He Who Survived).
One title caught the blond's attention: The Rise And Fall Of A Dark Lord, A Critical Analysis. No author name, but a publishing house – The Quibbler Editions.
Draco huffed. He knew the name. He had heard Lord Nott complain to his father about it more than once. Something about not being able to shut it down. The publisher, Lovegood or something, was... what had Nott said alread? Uncontrollable.
Would that mean the book would disclose real political secret? If so, then he needed it, badly. Slightly shaking – too eager or too nervous, he was not sure anymore - , Draco took his wand out of his pocket and tapped on the title three times. A bright flash, and suddenly an purple grimoire was floating in front of the blond teen.
“With the compliments of Flourish and Blotts, your favourite Bookseller in Diagon Alley since 1454.”
The metallic voice made Draco jump, before he remembered it was the usual delivery message. He glanced at the door of his study, before grabbing the grimoire and opening it.
“The background history of He Who Must Not Be Named is unclear. There are no traces of his existence prior to 1975, when he started to appear in various high political circles of old wizarding families. He is rumoured to be the last heir of Salazar Slytherin himself, as he possesses the ability to speak with snakes. Other informations about his young years are today still unavailable.
In the present chapter, we will try to understand and analyse how an unknown figure could rise to command the old wizarding families. The first part will address his early years, during which propaganda and blackmail where the main means to assert his power over the old families. The second part will address his transformation from a political figure to a Dark Lord, an era during which terror and death where his most used tools.
The Dark Lord's rise was founded on segregation of various groups, traditionally looked upon in wizarding history. His political discourse was mostly based on three groups: muggle and muggleborn (for more on blood purity, see below 1.1); werewolves, merefolks, centaurs and goblins (for more on magical creatures, see below 1.2); and deviant sexual behaviours (for more on homosexuality and other deviances, see below 1.3).”
Draco inhaled sharply. He stared at the last sentence, his heart missing a beat. Could the book know how to heal from... potential sick desire? Not that he had desired Potter, he justified himself, but his body had reacted. Maybe it was possible to get a potion to suppress these reactions, like the one to reduce fever.... He flipped the pages breathlessly.
“ Homosexuality:
In addition to blood purity and magical creatures, He Who Must Not Be Named has used the old prejudice regarding same sex relationships to build political support and justify his violent actions. His propaganda used several myths regarding homosexuality, amongst which: No one is born gay, gay men molest children at far higher rates than heterosexuals, same-sex parents harm children, people become homosexual because they were sexually abused as children or there was a deficiency in sex-role modelling by their parents, hate crime law will lead to the jailing of the Purebloods warning against homosexuality and lead to the legalisation of necrophilia and other deviances. While still controversial, all these arguments have been refuted by scientific muggle studies.
It is interesting to note that a huge political campaign was realised in 1975, aiming at raising awareness about mental health of homosexuals. The campaign lead to the recognition of homosexuality as a mental illness. A special ward was added to St Mungo, were patients suffering from deviant sexual behaviours were admitted. It is yet unclear which kind of treatment was given. Through cautious investigations, it seems that every patient who underwent treatment in the facility became fervent Death Eaters, the most infamous example being Bellatrix Lestrange. While it can not be proved by hard facts, it is the author's guess that the St Mungo ward was used as a way to brainwash young people already rejected by society in order to mould perfect devoted soldiers.
During the years of terror, it was common practice for a wizard to denounce his family members, friends, neighbours, for alleged homosexual acts. Officials would confirm the homosexuality of the person through the spell Attractio Revelo. The wand of the caster would pulse white if the victim is sexually attracted to male. It would pulse red if the victim is sexually attracted to female. Cases of different shades going from deep red to pure white have been recorded, leading to a certain margin of error in the interpretation of the spell.”
The book went on, but Draco stopped reading. Could he dare cast the spell? At least he would know if Potter was just messing with his head. But what if the light was white? It could not be white, right? Draco had not chosen to be attracted to male, nor suffered from sexual abuse during his childhood. There was no reason why the light would turn white. Absolutely none. So why was he so afraid?
“Come on, Draco, you're not a coward.” He mumbled, violently grabing his wand “Attractio Revelo!”
A soft, warm light filled the room.
It was pure white.
The Gala organised by the Malfoy on New Year's Eve was the most awaited event by the Pureblood Elite. Tasteful decorations covered the Ball room, only subdued by the splendid clothes twirling here, shining there. Young girls were flashing dazzling smiles to their male counterparts. Young men were drinking, spread thorough the ball room. In the middle of the champagne frenzy, a few daring couples were opening the dance. Head of families were observing the interactions with indulgent, yet attentive eyes. Alliance, lineage, and potential weddings were the peaceful guest of the gala.
“ You surpassed yourself, Narcissa, my dear. The party is absolutely marvellous!” A large woman giggled, trying to hide tastefully behind a golden fan.
Narcissa Malfoy smiled gracefully, and waved her frail hand, dismissing the compliment. “Do not mention it, Lady Parkinson, it is an honour to host you this year again.”
“The pleasure is all ours, I assure you! I can't help but notice that young Draco has yet to make an appearance.”
“ I'm afraid my son is unwell. He had sadly not left his rooms for a few days and excused himself for the night. He very much regretted missing an evening in such brilliant company.”
“Oh, dear, I hope it's nothing serious...”
Narcissa hummed noncommittally, embracing the ball room in a glance. Everything was going well, indeed. Wait. One of the curtain was forming an odd bump. Frowning, Narcissa excused herself and reached for the odd fold, revealing an adorable young blond girl.
“Astoria? Why are standing behind the curtain, child?”
“Excuse me, Lady Malfoy, I was merely looking at your garden. They are beautiful.” The voice was soft, even.
Narcissa smiled warmly and gazed at her through white eyelashes. It was the girl first ball. She must be intimidated. “ Indeed, dear. You should go back to the room, now. I am sure your friends await you.”
“Yes, Lady Malfoy.” Astoria smiled, and left the safety of the curtain.
Narcissa looked at her for a few seconds, charmed by the grace of the child. Soon enough, Lady Parkinson reclaimed her attention to gossip on the newly couple dancing.
Astoria, however, did not join any group of friend. Eyes fixed on her shoes to avoid unnecessary eye contact, she walked calmly through the crowd, and left the dance, searching for the loo. She knew she could hide there for a moment without looking suspicious.
No one, not even her, noticed she took the wrong turn. A few minutes later, she was wandering aimlessly in the large and empty corridors. Being lost in the Manor was a perfect excuse too, she thought, listening to the faint rumour of the dance. No need to go back there. No talk about betrothal. No need to be sold tonight. Another ebony door crossed, and the music could not be heard anymore. No suitor could notice her anymore. That was a relief.
“What are you doing here?”
An hoarse voice made her jump backwards.
“Who... Who is there?” She squealed, searching for the voice.
“On the coach, you moron.”
Sprawled on the coach was indeed a teenager – Draco Malfoy, 5th year, Slytherin – her mind supplied. Heavy bags under red eyes, wax-like tan, he looked ill.
“What are you doing here?”
“I'm hiding.” She answered without thinking, before mentally slapping herself. Why did she say that? No one should know!
“Oh well, that makes two of us then.” Draco mumbled, rubbing tiredly his hands against his eyes. “What's your name?”
“I'm Astoria, Astoria Greengrass. You are hiding too? What from?”
Her naïve question made the teen smile.
“What do you think is there to hide from down there?” He said waving carelessly in the direction of the Ball room. “Pureblood duties. Reality. Marriage. Pick one.”
Astoria looked at the teen with wide eyes. “Well... You're right, that makes two of us, hiding.”she said. There was a pregnant pause. “ Can I hide with you? In here?”
"Sure, as long as you're silent." He answered, closing his eyes, visibly intent on going back to sleep. "Make yourself comfortable."
Astoria looked around her. She was in a small, cozy study. Draco was lying on the only coach, but there was a desk barely visible under a stack of books, and a chair in the opposite corner. That would do. She could sit there and read for an hour or two, before going back to the dreaded Ball room.
She sat silently, and – not wanting to disturb the teen – started to read the book already opened in front of her.
A dream. Flashes of white lights. A voice.
“You want me, I won.”
It was true - Potter had won.
But he was not one to go down without a fight.
Draco woke up a second time this evening at the sound of muffled sobs.
Disoriented, he blinked his eyes several times, trying to chase the blurriness away. Draco slowly raised his head. The girl from earlier was sitting at his desk. Tears were running down her face in soundless streams.
"What's happening?" He groaned sourly. He was not in the mood to deal with anyone's problem.
Wide blue eyes looked fearfully at him, before looking at the table.
The sobs increased.
Draco followed the stare. In front of the girl, and on that damned book, lay a wand – his wand. A soft, warm, red light was pulsing from the magical item. What the – and then it struck. The girl had done it. The Attractio Revelo. She was... she was like him.
“Oh, Merlin...”
“I - I...No! I don't... I...” She wailed.
The sound was heart-wrenching. Draco approached the crying girl and put his shaky arms around the frail body.
“Shhh... Don't cry...”
Ragged breath were his only answer.
He pulled her closer.
“I... You won't tell. Swear – Swear it!”
“I swear, Astoria. I swear I won't tell anyone.”
“O-on your magic?”
“Yes, on my magic.”
She cried harder.
He kept silent, unable to whisper reassuring words. But he held her tighter, rocking back and forth, unable to grasp what just happened.
This little girl, still not quite out of childhood, had her world turned upside down by a single spell, just like him. She was... she was gay, just like him.
He rocked back and forth for a long time, unable to fight against the helplessness that hit him, wave after wave. Slowly, the wails stopped, the sobs subdued. The girl cried herself to sleep.
The great thing about this story is that I don't control the plot. Harry and Draco do. Because I consider them complex characters, with huge range of emotions, values, beliefs and paradox, and I let them play in my mind, to come up with details and idea. Behind my closed eyes, they are real. I'm that deep in this ship.
Harry went back to the common room half an hour later. Ron and Hermione were sitting in the best seats by the fire. At the sound of the opening of the portrait, Ron raised his head and waved lazily at his best friend. Hermione kept writing, too engrossed by her letter to Krum to acknowledge Harry's return.
"What kept you?" asked Ron, moving up on the coach.
Harry collapsed on the spot where Ron's legs were previously sprawled, sighing tiredly.
Part of him wanted to share what happened a few minutes ago with his friends. But a larger part of him wanted to keep the events buried, to erase, to hide them under a large blanket of worry, fear and disbelief. He could not grasp what had happened... He remembered vividly the anger he felt when he spotted the tiny "Draco Malfoy" dot on the map, in the Room of Requirement. Anger that slowly melted into uncontrollable furry after the incident with Cho. Was it his fate to have Malfoy witness his every shameful moments?
"Are you alright Harry?" said Hermione, peering from the top of her quill.
Harry gave her a half-hearted shrug. In truth, he was not sure how he felt. Well, other than lost, that is.
Back in the Room, his furry had taken over. It had roared within his mind at the discovery, coiled in his gut at the Slytherin's panicked look, before launching a final attack. Harry had let this vengeful, foreign, feeling take over with glee. He had wanted to destroy his prey. He had taken pleasure in the panic, he had played with the blond, reeling in wonder at the feel of his power over another human being.
Harry felt nauseous.
His joyful furry had abruptly disappeared at his first step outside the Room of Requirement. The door had closed on Malfoy's despaired scream, leaving only an overpowering shame. What had he done?
It was beyond petty insults and flirtatious comment. He had almost forced himself on the Slytherin.
"What happened, mate?" The veiled worry in Ron's tone made Harry want to cry.
" Was it Cho?" Hermione was wearing a soft, knowing smile. Harry's heart ached at its sight. He could not tell them. He could not admit what he had done. What he had enjoyed doing.
"Cho?" Ron was looking at Hermione, frowning.
"Yes, Ron. Cho. She has been over her heels with Harry for a few month now. And in case you didn't notice, she was the only one still there when we left the room." Hermione put her quill on the table, before fully turning toward Harry. "So, Harry. Was it Cho?"
No it was not. But they don't have to know. They don't have to know what happened when Cho left. I'm not lying to them. I am just not telling the whole story. That's not a lie. That's not a lie.
Harry nodded slowly and began the tale of the tears and the kiss.
Hermione giggled. Ron pated his back with pride. Harry felt awful.
When he went to bed that night, all he hoped for was to wake up after a long, deep sleep. All he hoped for was to wake up and notice that it had all been just a dream.
Instead, he woke up in the middle of the night, screaming his lungs out, haunted by vision of a snake, a stream of blood, and a dying Arthur Weasley.
A few hours later, Harry was starring though the window of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. London was slowly awakening, oblivious to the shattering event the night had witnessed. Arthur Weasley had been found, bleeding to death, in the corridors of the Ministry.
The last news were soothing: the Weasley patriarch was out of danger and would recover in a small amount of time.
While Harry had been relieved to hear that Mr Weasley was no more at the verge of dying, he could not partake in the happy relief shared by all the redhead siblings. He had escaped the room, unnoticed, to try to find solace by petting Buckbeak, with no avail. Nothing could make him forget the taste of blood in his mouth, nor the feeling in his guts.
Back there, in Dumbledore's office, he had felt the weird sensation again. It was like if something cold was moving in his stomach - like if the snake was still inside him, ready to strike. And the anger... Harry could almost hear it bubbling at the surface of his mind, dangerously waiting for the right moment to explode. It was almost what had happened in Dumbledore's office, when he had met the Headmaster's gaze. It was exactly what had happened even before that, in the Room of Requirement, with Malfoy.
Harry felt sick. Somehow, his own reactions felt foreign to him. What was the cause of the latent anger? It had been there for a whole summer, growing on the tension provoked by Voldemort's return. Was it the cause of its action with Malfoy? Was he somehow loosing his mind?
"What is troubling you, Harry?"
Harry slightly jumped backwards, startled. Sirius was standing in the doorway, worry written all over his face.
"You know that Arthur will be fine, right? You basically saved his life by raising the alarm."
Harry sighed. Mrs Weasley had told him the exact same things three times already, trying to cheer him up. He felt guilty and egoistical to not be able to feel better at the news. He should have been ecstatic, not wallowing in self-pity. Harry stared at the window again, unable to withstand the worried expression of his godfather.
"It's nothing, Sirius."
"Don't even try, pup. I know you're not alright." Sirius closed the door and walked to the window, next to Harry. "What is it pup? Why are you all gloomy on me, hm?"
The teen remained silent, starring some more at the deserted street. The animagus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"You can tell me everything, you know that?"
Unable to withhold the tears, Harry turned suddenly and crashed in the arms of his godfather, sobbing heavily. Never before had he felt so bad and so good at the same time. As if he was meant to be held like this, as if it was chasing the worry and the fear away.
"Harry... Tell me what's going on, pup..."
"I..." The sobbing made it almost impossible for the teen to speak. "I... don't know... i-if I can...tell you Sirius. I-I'm so afraid... of loosing you."
"You will never loose me pup. Never." Sirius started to gently rub the back of the crying teen. " I love you too much for letting you go."
Hearing for the first time in his life that he was being loved, Harry cried even harder against his godfather chest. Choosing to believe him, he threw caution to the wind, and unburdened his soul to the only adult figure he had total faith in.
He told the marauder everything. From the latent anger to the snake asleep in his guts. From the way he was the attacker of Mr Weasley, and had enjoyed the blood spilling in his mouth to the ever-present will to crush everything around him. From his terror to face Voldemort again, the hurtful comments he was receiving every day from his classmates, to his desperation for the situation to evolve, for something – anything – to happen, to make them see, that he was right, that he was not loosing his mind, that Voldemort was back. But maybe, he was breathless, maybe he was loosing his mind? Otherwise why would he feel so much hate? Why would he enjoy so much to mess with Slytherins in mind games ? Why?
The slow and painful discovery of his sexual orientation and the dangerous episodes with Malfoy were left unsaid, silenced by a wall of shame.
"I don't have many answers, pup." Sirius was still rubbing the back of the teen, taken aback by the eruption of emotions that took place in his arms. "I don't know if I should tell you, but you have a right to know. Dumbledore seems to believe that your scar somehow connects your mind to Voldemort's. His emotions could be leaking through the connection, hence the anger..."
"Does... does this mean I am becoming evil, Sirius?" Harry's voice was terrified.
"No Harry. You are a good man. The fact that you feel bad because of these emotions and the actions you take under their influence proves it."
"But what will I do, then? I can't live like this. I just can't always be at war with myself when I already have to go on a crusade against the entirety of the wizarding world."
"There might be a way of warding your mind against Voldemort. I will speak to the Headmaster about it tomorrow, okay?
"O-okay."
"And in the meantime, try to avoid as much as possible situations causing you to loose your temper. That way you won't have to live with actions that will make you feel guilty. What do you think, pup, is that alright?"
"Yes. Thank you Padfoot..."
In the embrace of his godfather, Harry silently vowed to avoid Malfoy at all cost from then on.
Oblivious to the dramatic events of the night, Draco Malfoy was sitting morosely in the train taking him away of the castle for the Christmas holidays. He had not been able to sleep that night. He was haunted by what had happened in the Room of Requirement.
The way Potter had acted... Draco shivered, remembering how defenseless he had been in front of the wild green eyes. And why, why had his body reacted that way? Was it a jinx? But no one had know where he was heading to before he reached the assembly, and, hidden by Potter's invisibility cloak, no one had know there. No one but Potter. Could it be that Potter had somehow hexed him? No, Draco had been closely watching him the whole time.
"Are you alright Drakey?" Pansy was watching him, frowning. The blond dismissed the question by a simple wave of the hand. He was not trusting his voice to not shake.
Had he really been... excited by the way Potter had him pinned to the wall, kissing his neck, whispering with a dangerous voice? Draco gulped. It was impossible. He could not be attracted by Potter. It was not natural, he thought, forcefully.
"You sure you alright? You are shivering like if you had a fever!" Pansy to put her hand on Draco's forehead. The teen shoved violently the hand away. How could she touch him after what happened?
The arrival in London was welcomed by the Slytherin with a sense of reprieve. No Potter, no fucking mind games for two long weeks holidays. For the first time since the stepped out of the Room of Requirement, Draco felt a bit better. He said a polite goodbye to his friends, and exited the train, as supercilious as ever.
"Mother, Father." He said, walking to his parents waiting on the platform, carefully looking around him. If Potter was here, he would not let him see how miserable he was feeling at the moment. He would not give him this satisfaction.
"Draco, you look well, my dear." Narcissa took her son's hand, squeezing it so hard that her knuckles were white. Draco turned his head to face his mother, silently questioning the unusual display of affection. She squeezed harder.
"I'm glad too see you, son." Lucius Malfoy said, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder.
Draco threw a last look on the platform. A distinct lack of redheads made him shiver. Where the hell were the Weasels and bloody Potter?
The sensation of a hook in his belly, a vortex in time and space, was the only answer he got. The delicious fragrance of the manor of his childhood hit his nostrils. The smell let a bitter taste in the blond's throat. Something was off, something that let an astringent aftertaste on Draco's mouth. Dark magic.
Regaining his sense, Draco merely opened his mouth to ask what were the news, why did the manor reeked of dark magic, what happened with the Dark Lord, but he could not utter a single word be fore he was crushed by the emaciated arms of his mother.
"Draco, we need to talk." His father's voice was grim.
"Yes, Father."
Draco hugged his mother back, painfully aware of how thin she really was under her perfectly tailored dress. He breathed heavily, inhaling the perfume of comfort. He was at home.
He was safe. For how long? Draco shrugged, hugging back stronger.
"Narcissa, please, let us go to the Drawing Room. We have important matters to address today."
Narcissa sighed but complied. Draco noticed that her eyes were full of unshed tears. The three Malfoy walked down the aisle, forgotten luggages left in the capable hands of house elves.
A few steps behind his parents, Draco was the last to enter the Drawing Room. Candles were casting long shadows on the drawn faces of the couple, chasing all feelings of being protected away. The religious silence stretched in a pregnant pause, nurturing the unease gradually creeping in the teen's chest.
Finally, Lucius started to speak.
"The Malfoy family has been a prominent part of the wizarding world since centuries. We, as all noble and ancient families, have defended our kind against the hunt instated by the muggles during the middle age. We have ensured the safety of Wizards progeny by creating a second, separate world. A better world. Hiding was our only way to stay alive and to allow magic to pass through our blood, generation after generation. No pollution, no dilution of any kind. We had to stay pure, and cut from the muggle scum. So did we, successfully, for hundred of years."
He sighed, rubbing two delicate fingers on the worried frown disgracing his forehead.
"As you know, since the beginning of the century, our society started to change, slowly. A constant increase of mudbloods led to more leaks, hinting at he Wizards existence to an even more barbarous muggle world. Ten years before I was born, an horrendous muggle war started. Exploding devices rained on London for months, killing half of its population, muggles and wizards alike. Muggles" he spat "are able to create hell on earth. If they knew of our existence, if the hunt was to start again, this barbarian and inferior specie is able to... to kill us all."
Lucius' voice broke. Draco remained silent. He had heard this story once in his life, years ago, when he had asked his Father what had happened to his uncle. Lucius older brother had been killed by a muggle bomb, leaving a destroyed family behind. Lucius had been conceived teen years later. To replace, and to avenge.
"Despite the horrendous war, muggle-loving fools were still numerous. They had no respect. Not for the old ways, not for the pure blood they should worship, nor for magic. They were, and still are, a disgrace to our world. So when the Heir of Slytherin himself came back to us, and started to oppose these blood traitors, I joined his ranks. I became a follower of the Dark Lord. A Death Eater. We had to get rid of all these mudbloods to protect ourselves and to stay pure. The man is cold and cruel, but his ideal is right."
"Lucius, my dear, is it really safe to say such thing? The Dark Lord - "
"No, Narcisssa, he must know. He must understand what happened, and realize what will be. You know what is at stake."
Draco saw his mother deflate in her chair. Resting on the massive coach, heirloom of the Malfoys' past grandeur, her thin frame looked more fragile than ever before.
"Once you join, Draco, there is no turning back. The Mark is forever be branded in your skin. You are part of the cause, body, heart, and soul. You have to be successful, otherwise he'll punish you... But the cause is right. We have to protect our blood, our values, and our world, Draco. Do you understand? You fail him, you die. We all die. Do you understand Draco?"
"Yes, Father. I understand." his voice was raspy, from fear or from emotion? Draco was not sure. "But why do you tell me all this, Father? He is back, isn't it? Potter was right?"
"Yes, Draco. He is back. And in a day, a month, or perhaps a year, my son, he will request you to join his ranks."
Draco froze. The Dark Lord was back. He was expected to join. The question was hanging in the heavy atmosphere, left unsaid.
Will you join?
Or will you let us die?
Draco breathed heavily. He glanced at his mother. She had closed her eyes, waiting for the future agony. She was either losing a son, or a husband. In a way, Draco thought bitterly, she had already lost both. He turned to the feverish face if his Father. The expression struck Draco to the core. A mad glint was present, the expression of a prey or an attacker, not sure yet if he is facing his executioner, his victim, or his most prized ally.
They were conflicted. Not ready to give up their beliefs, not ready to give up their son to the Dark Lord. In a way, all they wanted was to protect him: from the muggle threat, from the Dark Lord treacherous ire, from the world itself. And they knew whatever road they chose, they would fail. Draco felt a surge of love for both of them. Overcome by the emotion, he swallowed his tears, and silently vowed to protect them, at all cost, from then on.
"I will not fail you." He said, looking in the eyes of his father. "I will not fail you, Father. I'll be by your side. I'll make you proud."
In the silence that followed his words, contemplating the worried smile gracing his father' lips, and the silent tears flowing from his mother's eyes, Draco realized that the choice had never been his. For as long as his father had taken the Mark, since the day his uncle died, maybe even before these fateful events, he had been the propriety of the Dark Lord.
An angry sigh answered the piercing scream. Looking at his nemesis Draco could not help but think that Potter was the biggest nuisance of the century. One would have learnt after a few days, a week at most, that confronting Umbridge was the best way to end up in detention with the hateful woman, but no...The boy of wonder was too stupid to remember to stay silent more than two days. He could not keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it. And now, his Majesty the Prince of Scarred Freaks was at the verge of exploding, if the pulsing vein in his neck was to be believed. Not that Draco cared, an evening of detention meant an evening free to roam the castle without being harassed.
The blonde teen turned a page of his book, pretending to read. Inside, he was fuming. Since that fateful day on the Quidditch pitch, Potter had been restless. Every time Draco was alone more than a few minutes, he would appear out of nowhere, whispering inane words in his ears. Sometimes, he would not even utter a word, and just stare at him with an appreciative smile. A smile that was screaming 'I want to eat you for my dessert, with a tad of Chantilly and maybe a cherry or two'.
Draco hated that smile. It made him feel like a chased prey, defenceless as a bunny.
What could he do? Draco could not out Potter without risking a backlash on his own reputation. Potty could claim that he had been seduced by Draco, or that it was a blatant lie to hide his own tendencies... Even if Scarhead kept his mouth shut - which Draco very much doubted -, the wizarding world would automatically consider that the Slytherin had been sullied by the attention of another man. No it was too risky. Draco had to deal with it, privately.
But how? Insults were not working. Making his disgust obvious did not help either. What could he do? Draco sighed. This question was obsessing him since days, but he could not find any answer. He knew that Potter was not bluffing his interest, he could almost still sense his hardness under him. Draco could only blame himself for that. He had been provoking him for weeks after the bathroom incident, too afraid to be humiliated to notice the weird behaviour of the Boy who Lived. And now, the situation had grown out of hands. Being mean was his only resort to defend himself against Potter weirdness. And somehow, it was not working... Perhaps being meaner would help?
"Mister Malfoy? A word, if you please."
Draco cringed. The Toad was smiling at him in the most disturbing manner. The slytherin stayed behind while a wave of happy students crashed on the corridors, taking his nightmare with the flow.
"Now my dear, why don't you sit?"
Draco obeyed, remaining silent. He knew that woman was up to no good, his father had warned him, ordering him to stay in her good side.
"Mister Malfoy, Draco - may I call you Draco, dear? Brilliant -, as I'm sure you've noticed, this school is... plagued by lunatics. I just started to clean it where professors are concerned however I find myself dreading that some of the students are far more dangerous than a divination teacher. You certainly know who I am talking about, don't you, Draco?"
"Potter, Professor." Draco almost marvelled at how his voice sounded disinterested while the simple mention of this name made his inside boil in hatred and disgust.
"Oh Draco, I see we share the same concerns dear. I was right to consider you for this particular task." She transfigurated some tea with a ridiculously pleased laugh. "You see, it has come to my knowledge that Mister Potter has started a little rebellious group, on the instigation of Dumbledore himself. Isn't that preposterous? Imagine if this idea of rebellion was spreading in the student body, using some ridiculous rumours to recruit them. Ah! The Dark's Lord return, what kind of twisted joke is that?"
Draco nodded. On a plate hanging on the wall behind Umbridge, two kitten were viciously fighting.
"My dear Draco, I am sure you understand that I just cannot let this behaviour slide. Potter is too dangerous for the students. That is why I had a wonderful idea. I am selecting a few trusted students to keep the order and to hunt down Potter. I am forming an Inquisitorial Squad."
One of the kitten had lost the fight and was lying on his back. He looked dead. Umbridge smiled with glee.
"Would you like to be the head of the Squad, my dear?"
Head of a squad in charge of making Potter's life miserable? Draco smiled coldly.
"It would be an honour, Professor." He said.
The kitten did not even twitch.
The slytherin common room was almost empty. It was the last day of the semester and most of the students were busy packing their belongings. Draco however had already done so during the day and was sitting in front of the common room, face blank and eyes staring into the fire.
Tomorrow, he would go back to Malfoy Manor. A weird sensation nestled in his stomach. His father had sent him cryptic letters. Some hinted at the arrival of an important guest, some at how he was expected to behave as the perfect Malfoy heir. Nothing had been clearly written down but the teen was almost sure of it: the Dark Lord was back, and would visit his family.
Draco was not sure he welcomed this turn of event. Sure, he was excited at the idea to meet the greatest dark wizard of the century. However, something that he admitted only in the safety of his thoughts, he was scared. Shitless scared. What if he disappointed the Dark Lord or his parents? What if he was not deemed strong enough to be part of their circle? What if he was overlooked in favour of any other slytherin student? His whole empire would crumble in a few weeks at most. He could not allow that. He had to be the best.
The Return of the Dark Lord... Draco chuckled softly. To think that Potter had actually been right the whole time about it. The truth was a sweet syrup that tasted like revenge for the blond teen.
Potter. He had not seen the Gryffin nuisance in a while. Almost two weeks had passed since the last incident. That was a welcome change. Ignoring his inner voice that accused him to search troubles, he blond had even tried a few bold moves, such as roaming int the corridors alone, stay up late to study in the library, but the distinctive mop of black hair stayed out of sight. He even went as far as going to the Prefect Bathroom, ignoring the hollow voice in the back of his head accusing him of searching and ravel in Potter's freakish attentions. Draco snorted. As if.
A few young snakes entered the common room, giggling softly. Running after each other, they were soon in the dorms, leaving the blond teen alone. His glaze was still glued to the fire. Draco hated christmas at Hogwarts. The decorations dripping from every armour, the constant goofy mood of his peers, it was disgusting. In the middle of the tornado of cheerfulness, Draco felt utterly alone. Like he was currently feeling, sitting by himself in the too cold common room, alone and bored out of his mind.
Watching the fire claiming the last bit of wood, Draco's mind eventually drifted back to Potter in a burst of rage. Despite the calm, Draco was growing restless. Scarhead was up to something, he was sure of it.
"Malfoy?" A soft voice took him back into the realm of the living. A small girl was standing a few feet away from the coach. Unsure and uncomfortable, she was swaying on her feet. Draco lifted an eyebrow at the intruder.
"Parkinson spotted Potter going to the 7th floor, again. She told me you would be interested."
"Thank you, Greengrass. That is indeed useful. On behalf of the Inquisitorial Squad, I thank you." The haughty tone did note betray his inner turmoil. The small girl nodded once and left.
Draco smirked. The timing was perfect. He would catch Potter and destroy his little club as a wonderful early christmas gift. Without rushing, he went into his dormitory to retrieve a shimmery fabric. Using Potty's possession against him, that was a nice prelude to the expulsion of the little lion's club.
Hidden under the invisibility cloak, Draco slowly made his way to the seventh floor, an infuriating smile glued on his face. On the last few stairs, Zacharias Smith rushed past him. As silent as ghost, the Slytherin tagged along. The idiot would be the key to Potter. He followed him through the corridor, stopping in front of a large wooden door. Smith entered, an invisible Draco on his heels.
The room was huge. It reminded Draco of the Malfoy's Ballroom, drowning in incredibly distasteful christmas decorations . However, the blond's attention did not dwell on the hideous ornaments. More than twenty students were circling a puppet Death Eater, throwing hexes at him at an incredible speed. Draco gulped, incredibly happy to be concealed by the magic fabric. Trying to stay as discreet as possible, he slowly went in a corner and sat there, barely breathing. His heart was pounding in his chest like a caged animal. Praying that no one would discover him, he observed the meeting.
Slightly withdrawn from the attacking circle, Potter was checking a shabby piece of parchment. He was frowning.
"Harry!" Granger's smile did not erase the frown "Everyone is there, we can begin."
"Sure Hermione." Potter whistled loudly, making every other students look at him. "Hello everyone, and welcome to the last meeting of the Dumbledore's Army of the semester!"
Draco almost chocked. Dumbledore's army? No wonder Umbridge was over her heels at the idea of that club. The Dunderhead knew how to piss her off.
"Alright folks, we will not learn a new spell today. Instead, I would like that you form a group of three and revise the spells we covered since the beginning of the DA."
The students complied as if Potter's words were magic. After a few minutes, they were all throwing spells at each others face. Impediments jinces, stunners, wards, jellylegs jinxes were flying in the room. While he would never admit it out loud, Draco was impressed. They were far from perfect, but they could defend themselves, if needed. Draco's stomach did yet another backflip: that was more than he could do.
As the lesson flew by, Draco resigned himself to three facts. One, he would have to wait for the end of the meeting to escape. Second, despite all his others flaws, Potter was a good teacher. A good leader, even. They were all listening to him with eagerness, all ears out for a little piece of advice here and there. Even Longbottom had improved beyond recognition. Third, he was far behind. Hidden in the shadows of the Room of Requirement, Draco vowed to surpass them all.
The meeting finally ended after what felt like hours. Cramps due to immobility were slowly killing the blond teen. One by one, the students left, biding goodbye and a merry christmas to their leader. The Golden Trio collected the cushions and stacked them neatly away. Draco waited, eager to leave, until Potter was left alone with the Ravenclaw seeker. Chang something. Draco had noticed she had been beaming at Potty the whole lessons.
Chang let out a hearty sniff. In the blink of an eye, tears were pouring down her face.
"What's up?" Potter asked, clearly uncomfortable.
She shocked her head and wiped her eyes, mumbled something about the death of Diggory that could have been avoided by learning a few jinxes. Draco felt the urge to roll his eyes, disgusted by the display playing in front of him. He was still thoroughly enjoying the look of pain flashing on Potter's face, delicate ornament to his general awkwardness.
"If Voldemort really wants to kill you, you don't stand a chance." Potter's voice was cold, freezing Draco's gut.
"But you survived!"
"Yeah, well... Mere luck." Potter was growing more and more uncomfortable with each minute, his eyes frequently looking everywhere in the room but at her. The Slytherin teens had the disturbing impression the other teen was looking in his direction more than in the others. He stopped breathing. Was he too noisy? Had he been discovered?
"Mistletoe." said Chang, quietly, pointing at the ceiling over her head.
"Yeah..." Harry answered. "It's probably full of Nargles."
She laughed weakly and stepped closer. Draco's eyes grew bigger. Was she really hitting on him?
"I really like you, Harry."
She was hitting on him! Draco's heart clenched. What a disgusting thought. He felt his entire body lit up by a cold rage. Potter was not moving, he seemed to be petrified. The crying girl moved a step closer. How could he not move. That.. that freak! He was leading her, making her believe she had a chance with him! Draco forced himself to stay silent. He could not reveal himself. Not now. He had seen how good they could be a few minutes ago, and was still outnumbered.
Inhaling sharply, he watched as she leaned towards Potter, mesmerised. He felt a jolt in his gut when she pressed their lips together. Awkwardly, the raven haired teen hugged her half heartedly.
After a few seconds, the girl withdrew slightly. She started to sob, loudly.
"Cho..." started Harry, unsure.
"Harry, I... I" she stammered, looking at the door. "I...I..." Unable to say a word, she fled.
Draco felt instantly relieved. Potter let his face fall in his hand in a desperate posture. What a shameful scene. The blond almost snorted but held back at the last second.
"Malfoy." Potter's voice was harsh. He slowly raised his head. "I know you are here."
What? How! Draco could not believe his hears. Had he betrayed himself. Did one of his foot show out of the invisibility cloak? No, he was safely tucked under it. Potter must be trying his luck. He just had to stay silent. He had no possibility to know where he was.
Trying not to breath and ignoring the loud thumps in his chest, Draco watched as Potter slowly retrieved a shabby parchment piece on the floor. He whispered a few words that the Slytherin could not catch.
"I know you're here. Do both of us a favour and show yourself" Potter lifted his head from the parchment, looking right were Draco was sitting. A smile of a Cheshire cat in front of his prey spread on his face. "Unless you prefer to play hide and seek... Come on Malfoy, let's play together."
Draco searched frantically in his pocket. Empty. He had forgotten his wand. His body froze in panic as Potter slowly stepped towards him.
"Little Malfoy came to play... Let's try to find you, shall we? Little Malfoy came to play... I think I found you." he said, in a mocked playful tone.
How could he know? Draco gulped.
He was defenceless.
Suddenly, Potter tore the cloak away, discovering him.
The horrendous smile grew bigger. The raven-haired teen took Draco's shirt in his hand and lifted the blond up on his feet.
"Found you" he purred, pushing the teen against the wall.
Their faces were not even an inch apart. Draco was trapped, terrified. How could he forget his wand? What could he do? He had to get rid of Potter now! But there was no escape. Potter's frame was blocking every escape route. And these eyes, they were too shiny, too close. Draco turned his head away from them, unable to withstand their intensity.
Potter laughed. "Now we can play."
Draco let out a yelp of surprise when lips attacked his neck. No! He could not allow it. He tried to push Potter away, but the other was blocking him. The lips continued their attacks with ardour.
"Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed.
But the other did not listen to him. Instead, Potter started to rub his hip between his legs.
"Come one Malfoy, why should I let you go? You were the one who sought me out in the first place..." His tongue trailed Malfoy's jaw. Fist clenched, Draco shut his eyes. He could fell his stomach jump backyard. "You sought me out, because you want this. You want me. Even more than I want you."
"No. No, it's not true, let me go." His plea was growing weaker.
Soon, Potter's lips were on his own, imposing a forceful kiss. It was rough, desperate. Draco felt like burning and jumping in a bath full of ice at the same time. Disgust and disbelief were overpowering him. And this feeling... It was like having a fire in the pit of his stomach. It was like going to hell and back and to hell again.
"Little Malfoy came here to play..." Potter whispered in his ear as one of his hand trailed down Draco's chest. The Slytherin's eyes grew bigger. What was he going to do?
The hand stopped on his crotch and slowly started to massage his member through the heavy fabric of his pants. Draco let out strangled desperate noise. Nausea was overcoming him. He felt ready to puke. To Draco's utter mortification, he felt his shaft growing hard under the attention.
Sensing the answer too, Potter stopped his ministration and leaned against the blond. "Little Malfoy came here to play." he said, in the same mocked playful tone. "You want me." Draco shivered. He wanted to scream no, that it was the freak's fault, that he was not a deviant, not a pervert, that he was at the verge of throwing up from disgust.
Potter looked at him, his smile wider than ever. He slowly kissed the blond one last time. Draco felt ready to cry.
"You want me. " he said, stepping back. He took the cloak and the piece of parchment. Draco did not answer, too shaken to say anything.
Potter opened the door, ready to leave, but turned back.
"You want me. I won." he said, before disappearing, melting in the shadows of the corridors.
Left alone in the secret room, Draco put his arms around his shacking chest and let himself slide on the cold stone of the floor.
Divination was one of the most boring lecture offered in Hogwarts in Draco's opinion. Sitting in a corner of the room with Blaise, he was slowly sipping his disgusting tea. Reading in the tea leaves... what a joke, he thought. He looked at the Centaur in front of him, trying to mask his disdain. Besides him, two gryffin girls were speaking passionately in an ushered tone, trying to give themselves a mysterious look.
Draco Malfoy was proud to be a down to earth person. Unlike those two stupids women. More importantly, Draco was proud part of the Slytherin house. Not because he was continuing family's tradition, but because he valued survival over any other character trait. His first months in the snake den were spent observing the power at play within the stone walls of the common room. He learned how to manipulate his year mates, slowly asserting himself in a position of power. He was, after all, the heir of a rich and powerful family. He used his father's position as a threat to coerce the feeble minds. An empire of manipulations to build a hierarchy within the house, a hierarchy where is every sighs were answered.
Draco Malfoy was a skilled deceitful manipulator. He was in control. Always.
Potter was no exception to the rule. Well, Potter was usually no exception to the rule. Since their first year, the blond had learned every singsle push to anger the other teen. Making him loose all control was his favorite hobby. It was easy. He was so predictable.
But the teen had changed since the bathroom incident at the beginning of the year. Instead of confronting him with jinxes or a good fight, like they always did, Potter avoided him like the plague. At first Draco had taken a great satisfaction in this reaction – he had been able to avoid the utter mortification of being caught wanking. After a month, he was slowly getting bored. The lack of reaction was frustrating.
The blond blew on his tea, mentally snorting at the flowers pattern adorning the cup. Such a lack of taste. Closing his eyes, he gulped the tea and gave his cup to Blaise.
Potter... The unexpected outcome of their fight had left him utterly speechless. How could he have imagined that his taunts on the Golden Boy's sexuality were the truth? There has been no sign, no warnings. But Potter had been hard under him, there was no possibility to deny it.
Potter had been excited by a mere physical contact with him. He desired him. Draco was not sure how to feel about that. There was a tiny part of him that reveled in the attention, proud to be the one causing such feelings, but it was silenced by a loud voice screaming that it was weird, sick, unnatural. That the erection against him had sullied him. He felt nauseous. He felt dirty.
Shoving the uneasiness aside, Draco carefully considered his future course of action. He could not continue with the game he was playing. He could not taunt Potty with fake flirty comments anymore, not when he was one of those sick men for real. If anyone discovered Potter's freakiness and his game, they would assume he was being serious. No, it was too dangerous. He had to take revenge for his sullied honor the old way – insults and fights.
As Draco was about to learn, there is nothing more dangerous than a hurt lion with snake's fangs.
A scream snatched him away off his daydream.
Blaise was holding his hand in front of his mouth, batting his eyelash in an exaggerated way.
"I see, I see..." he stuttered dramatically. "Oh poor drakey-poo. I see …. the Praying Mantis. You will be eaten alive by the end of the year. "
Draco rolled his eyes amid the muffled laughs.
"Oh dear, what an horrible fate." his answer was sharp and cold. He smirked, his eyes wandering on the rest of the laughing class.
Potter was staring at him. Intensely. A slow grin flowered on his face, eating half of it away. Teeth and wild green orbs.
Draco shivered.
Focusing again on the cup in front of him, he silently wondered if a Cheshire cat ate human flesh.
Harry stared at the blond the whole lesson. He had a plan. A simple plan, one that could finally reverse the flow in his favor. He had schemed for hours before coming with the perfect idea. If he was honest with himself, it was far from perfect. The biggest flaw was his acting capacity. How to fake confidence when you've never been so unsure in your whole life? And if his plan backfired... No, Harry thought, it was no use to go in that direction. His humiliation would give him the strength to carry the plan, and he would finally take his life back in his own hand.
The bell rang. Not daring to wait a moment longer, fearing that his resolve would crumble, Harry discretely levitated an ink pot and spilled it on top of the blonde's head. Dark ink was running from his hair to his face.
"Who did that? Whoever did that is going to pay for it. Dearly." Vows of painful death were dripping through Malfoy's voice.
No one answered, too busy to exit the classroom - or the wrath of the Malfoy's heir. Harry told Ron to go ahead to lunch and packed is bag as slowly as he could. Once out of the classroom, he carefully took the Marauders Map out and searched for the slimy blonde.
He was in the bathroom, alone. Harry giggled inside. Perfect. Shoving the map in his bag, Harry went in the bathroom, ready to taste his revenge.
Malfoy was bent towards the sink, angrily washing his face.
"Why such a haste, Malfoy? Black suits you so well." Harry asked mockingly.
The blond jumped slightly. Recognizing the Gryffindor in the mirror, his face became murderous.
"You came to gloat? Or are you trying to corner me in an empty bathroom, you...you freak!"
Freak.
The word stung the raven-haired, setting his anger aflame. Freak... that was what he was in the eyes of the slimy git. Revenge suddenly tasted sweeter.
Harry slowly moved towards the blonde with a feral grin. Hate was fueling his every move.
"Don't move any closer Scarhead. I don't want to be contaminated by your disease." Malfoy spat.
Harry did not answer. He continued his slow walk towards the blond, stopping only a few centimeters away from his back. Malfoy's fists were clenched on the sink, frozen in anger – or was it fear? Harry stared at the blonde reflection, enjoying his look of panicked disgust.
"What do you want Potty?"
The raven-haired sighted softly, hovering over the other teen's neck, a few centimeters away. He observed goosebumps forming on the skin with fascination.
"What. Do. You. Want?"
"Oh but Malfoy, isn't that obvious?" Harry purred. "I want you."
Malfoy suddenly turned around. His fist connected with Potter's face.
Blood spilled from the other's lower lip. Potter touched it hesitantly and stared at the red liquid on his finger.
"Wow Malfoy, I never expected you to be so passionate."
"You... You sick bastard! Stay the hell away from me!"
Draco pushed him harshly on the side and rushed out of the bathroom.
Left alone, Harry laughed coldly.
He would enjoy this little game more than he had expected.
"Happy with your Quidditch ban, Potter? What crossed your mind to fight with Malfoy in front of Umbridge? You're really starting to lose it – oh wait, you already lost it."
"I'm not in the mood, Finnegan. Leave me alone."
"Or what, you'll attack me too? Losing one hundred points was not enough? Spreading lies that ashamed all Gryffindors is not enough?"
"I said, leave me alone."
" So you don't have to answer for your stupid behavior? I don't think so. You really are off the rockers Potter, but I won't stand this anymore. You will have to keep your big mouth shut in the future, we are fed up to lose points because of your lies."
Harry closed his fists tightly. Breath in, breath out. Don't enter in his game. That's all he wants. Don't punch him. Don't give him more weapons against you. Breath in, breath out.
The raven haired teen started to walk away, trying to keep his anger of showing.
"Why are you staying silent, Potter? Out of lies to cover your sorry ass?"
Breath in, breath out, just walk. Walk faster. Don't lose it. Harry brushed past the irish teen, his fists still clenched.
"That's it, run away, you coward. That's all you're good for!"
Harry reached the corner of the corridor and continued to walk at a steady rhythm. When he was sure Seamus was not following him, he entered an unused classroom and sat there, shoulder slumped, his head resting against the desk.
Seamus' insults were nothing more than what Harry was used to – growing up with Dudley was a good training in that regard – but the constant nagging was growing on his nerves. Sharing a dormitory, lectures, a table meant that he had to listen to this nonsense his every waking hour. He could not retaliate, it would only making him look more crazy. Harry had since long given up to convince his detractors of Voldemort's return. Instead he was expecting the first attack of the Dark Lord with trepidation. Oh, the look they will have on their face. Harry couldn't wait. He would be laughing. Hard.
But more than the sweet song of 'I told you so' he would be singing, Harry was looking forward something to happen. Something – anything – that would ease the tension.
Harry lifted his head up, wary. Voices were coming from the corridor. He cursed himself. Without the Map nor his cloak he had to be more cautious. He tried to hide in the shadow, hoping to be left alone.
"What is happening with Potter?" A deep voice said.
Harry listened carefully. That was a good question: what the hell was happening with him?
"What do you mean?" Came the answer.
The voices were not unknown to the hidden teen, but he could not replace them.
"Well he is avoiding us since the beginning of the term. And whenever he crosses our path he is deliberately fixing the floor... And on the pitch, a moment ago - I've never seen him react like that before. You did something to him, didn't you?"
Harry dared to move to catch a glimpse of the two students. Dark skin and blond hair - Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy. Harry tried not to breath. He was not sure what would happen if he was caught hiding by Malfoy after the incident earlier on the pitch, and he was not overly eager to find out. He could only take a certain amount of humiliation a day and he was well beyond the limit.
The blond cleared is throat, uncomfortable. He seemed flustered. Wait, was Malfoy blushing?
" Oh, that." He said lightly. "Nothing out of the ordinary - I've just applied the unofficial Slytherin golden rules and he is raising to the bait. He is way to naive."
"Ah, the rules..." Zabini said fondly " Always show an united front; never admit outright you were wrong; when you're caught doing something you shouldn't, keep on doing it; humiliate to avoid humiliation; never loose the upper hand... "
Malfoy was laughing, uneasiness still written over his face. "He is a good play-toy" he admitted shyly. " Potter has just no idea how to respond to that kind of manipulation. Like Nott in our second year. It was lovely to see him stutter every time you mentioned his looks."
Blaise chuckled, and the two slytherins left the corridor, sharing a few more anecdotes.
Left alone, Harry was fuming.
So that was it then. He had been fooled by some stupid rules. By catching Malfoy wank, he should have been able to blackmail Malfoy. But with this stupid trick – reverse psychology – Malfoy had conveniently reversed the game and left him defenseless.
The blonde's provocative attitude had however led to a revelation that he may not have doubted could occur in the first place. Harry could recall quite perfectly the shock reflected in the other teen when he had sensed Harry's attraction. Why did he not tell Zabini about what exactly happened? It would have been an awesome story to make fun of Gryffondor's Golden Boy. Why had he eluded the details? Maybe because he felt ashamed that he had been caught touching himself by Scarehead, no less? Harry was not sure. Maybe there was more to it? The slimy git had looked flustered by the event on the quidditch pitch. Uneasy, as if he was not sure how to react.
Not sure how to react... Exactly like Harry felt after the bathroom incident. A vicious smile bloomed on the raven haired teen's face.
Harry had caught Malfoy wanking. The bastard had used his surprise to blackmail him. He had continued wanking and humiliated him.
Now Malfoy had caught him being excited by their fight. The shock – still fresh – had left him unsure and uneasy. Harry just had to replicate Malfoy's game. He would use Malfoy's surprise to get his revenge.
'When you're caught doing something you shouldn't, keep on doing it.' he whispered to himself, grinning like a fool.
Slowly, he stretched himself like a lazy cat before leaving for the Great Hall, meditating about his next steps in this new game of power he was playing with a dangerous and slippery snake.
He was going to humiliate to get revenge, to gain the upper hand.
The fire in the common room was slowly consuming a huge log. Harry was sitting in the bumpy coach in front of it surrounded by his two best friends. A few days of bitterness and latent anger had made him realize how much he missed them, even if they were behaving like kids. Without them, he was alone. A sheep amongst the wolves. While they did not understand how serious the situation was, they were the only believing Voldemort's comeback. And that meant the world to Harry. Enjoying the warmness of their friendship and of the crackling fire, Harry listened to the mindless conversation.
"I told you a thousand times, Ronald, I am not dating Victor. He is just a very good friend ! However... " Hermione's voice turned rather pleased "I heard Dean is trying to woo Ginny."
"What ?!" Ron shouted " but she is too young, and he is a twit !"
"Come on Ron, she is only one year younger than us. Beside Romilda is the same age as her and you don't have any problem googling at her breast every time she is near you."
Ron turned a bright shade of red. Seamus, playing chess with Neville next to them, tried not to laugh, at least not to loud. Ron's admiration of Romilda's breast was well known in the boy's dormitory. There was no way the redhead could counter that one, Harry thought, smiling.
"Well, I'm sure Harry agrees that she is hot." Ron mumbled.
Hermione fixed her questioning eyes on the raven haired teen, waiting for a confirmation.
"I find her quite... dull." Harry admitted, truthfully.
"Then who do you find attractive?" the bushy brunette asked.
Slender hands, pale chest and blond hair flashed in front of Harry's eyes.
He blushed and looked around him. Seamus and Neville had abandoned their chess game to listen to them. The irish Gryffindor was one of the most violent red and gold student opposing Harry, constantly doubting his sanity. There was no way he could admit that he recently discovered an attraction for a man in front of him. He would not give him weapons to crush him further.
"The Ravenclaw seeker, Cho, she is rather beautiful." Harry said.
And it was true, she was quite a sight with her long black hair, Harry told himself, rubbing absently the scar on his hand. It was not a lie, just not the complete true.
How could he tell them that his new fantasy was not only a man, but Malfoy? Even if he told only Ron and Hermione, he was sure the revelation would not be well received. Ron had been raised in the wizard community. While Harry was not sure where he stood regarding homosexuality, he was very familiar with the feud opposing the Weasleys to the Malfoy. Telling him was signing his own death warrant. Speaking to them would be a risk that Harry was not ready to take. No, silence was the best policy on the matter. As long as he was true to himself, it did not matter, right?. It was not like if he planned to act on his attraction anyway.
Fortunately, the subject was dropped, in favor of a long rant against Umbridge. Hermione wanted to create a study group to practice defense. Once again, she asked Harry to be the teacher. Feeling guilty about his part lie, Harry agreed.
"I can't believe that that Toad fired Trelawney. As if she was a better teacher."
Hermione slumped in the place next to Harry, giving an disgusted look at the food on the table. He nodded, agreeing with the brunette. Even if the divination teacher was not really appreciated amongst them, the new had been quite a shock for the whole student body.
"At least we have the DA to learn a few spells. It would infuriate her if she knew." Hermione sounded smug. "And that's not even the best part."
"What is it then?" Harry asked, curious.
"Cho is making eyes at you every lessons. It is so obvious that she tries to impress you."
The teen looked at his friend, a brow raised.
"Don't give me that look Harry, it is blatant."
"Well not for me. I guess I am not good with girls, feelings and stuff." he answered sternly, focusing once more on his breakfast.
Somehow, his appetite had disappeared. Next to him, Ron was not eating either, but for a different reason. Today was his first quidditch match as the Gryffindor keeper. Fear was written on his slightly green face. He looked ready to faint. Harry patted him on the back, silently praying whatever deities were out there for the match to remain peaceful.
They did not listen to him.
The match had been a catastrophe. The Slytherins had come up with that awful song, 'Wealsey is our King', and shouted it during the whole match. Ron had been a mess. Harry sighed, trailing after the defeated Weasley twins to the broom closet. Not paying attention, he crashed into George - or was it Fred? - back. A cohort of Slytherins was facing them, laughing. At its head stood Draco Malfoy. He was looking at the Boy-Who-Lived with an excruciating smirk.
"Enjoyed the song, Scarhead? We wanted to write another couple of verses. But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see…we couldn't fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know… But you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter? Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you've been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasley's hovel smells okay… Or perhaps, you can remember what your mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasley's pigsty reminds you of it —"
Unable to hold on any further, Harry jumped on the blond menace. The twins had a similar reaction, engaging in a fight with the rest of the mocking group. Harry had never felt that angry before. The latent foul mood, the constant insults, Malfoy's game... He punched the Slytherin's face. Hard.
Carried away by the Gryffindor's force, they felt on the ground.
Harry was on top of the blond, punching his chest furiously. The other was struggling to break free, giving blow for blow. They fought violently for a few minutes, before the Slytherin managed switch their position, gaining the upper hand. Harry tried to escape, but the blond managed to grasp his wrist, pining him to the grass.
Suddenly, Harry was aware of the situation he was in. Draco Malfoy was almost lying on top of him, panting heavily. His face was flushed by the fight. His eyes were two burning hole. Vibrant with passion, he looked as disheveled as that one night, in the Prefect Bathroom. He looked exquisite. Harry wondered if he would as passionate in carnal pleasure as in fighting.
A familiar heat appeared in his lower belly. Blood was rushing in a lower region. Harry started to panic. His body was betraying him. With Malfoy half lying on him, there was no way the Slytherin would not notice his growing erection. He could not let that happen. Not now. Harry's struggle became more desperate, feverish, but the blond teen was too strong.
"Why the fight, Potter, you don't like the sight?" the blond asked in a mocking tone.
Harry tried to make him fall on the side, unsuccessfully. Malfoy tightened his grip and literally sat on the raven haired teen, right on his crotch.
The Boy-who-Lived's face became redder as the blond stilled. The grey eyes grew wide in shock.
That was it.
He had noticed the bulge.
Harry was utterly mortified. If he had the possibility to burry himself in his early grave, he would have done at that very moment. Instead, he used the blond shock to break free from his clutch. Pushing him hard on the ground, he got up and he ran away as fast as he could.
In the distance he heard Umbridge joyous scream.
"Potter, Weasleys! Quidditch ban for your violent behavior!"
It was a beautiful day of October. The forbidden forest had put his golden leaves hood. The lake was still and dark, ink stain in the landscape. The air was fresh but the sun kissed his face in a tender, shy embrace. The raven haired teen sighed. Why could he not appreciate the autumn last lights on the lake side with other students, worrying about the next essay, laughing at the latest Weasley's twins prank ?
Witnessing a murder and the rebirth of the darkest wizard of the century was certainly a good reason, Harry thought bitterly. The burden of worry that had weighted on his shoulder the whole summer was slowly crushing him. Looking in direction of the lake, he could see a redhead lean to the ear of a bushy brunette next to him. They laughed, carefree.
Harry felt... put aside. Anger rose in his chest. They did not understand. They were still kids.
Harry resumed his walk, going in the opposite direction. A moment of solitude in the forbidden forest would allow him to sort his thoughts and calm him.
Voldemort was back, but he was still showing a low profile. Half, if not more, of the wizarding population believed he had gone off the rockers proclaiming his return. If the rumor mill was to be believed, the latest conspiracy theory painted him as the new soon to be Dark Lord, taking over the underground dark society and killing Diggory to assert his reign. It frustrated him to no end. He wanted to shake them, to make them understand. With Voldemort lurking around, they were not safe anymore. They had to take measures, to add wards to their home, to keep their children safely tucked in their bed. They had to do something! But no, a few lies printed here and there, and the population remained as docile as a sheep flock, happily following the carrots handed over by the Ministry.
The Order was supposedly working against the Death Eaters, but Harry was kept in the dark as to what they were doing. How was he supposed to defend himself against the press attacks when he had no clue about what was happening out there? And all this to protect him. Wonderful job so far.
As if dealing with immature friends was not enough, Harry had to manage the whispering mass that was the student body. Joy. One could think that the boy who lived would be used to all the rumors and the whispering, but he was sadly still not immune to them. If he could usually dismiss most of them, the nasty ones still stung. Feeling ready to break down, Harry took most of them too seriously. He knew it, but somehow he was not able to let go. He still tried to defend his position, making a bigger fool out of himself.
The worst was Umbridge. The pathetic excuse of a woman was a pain. Not only did she antagonize Harry every single lesson she taught, she clearly enjoyed to humiliate him. Her toad face was distorted by an hideous smile every time the teen grabbed that blasted quill. The result of a week of detention was a permanent scar on the back of his hand. "I must not tell lies". At first, taking the insult at heart, Harry had decided he would never lie. A hundred line later, he had cursed his truthful mouth. Resigned, he had stopped actively speaking the truth. As long as in the safe walls of his mind he was still admitting the truth, remaining silent was not lying, he told himself.
Malfoy's little stunt was the final straw. Since the bathroom incident, he kept on taunting Harry, making innuendos about his supposedly devious sexuality, making outrageous enticing move like eating bananas with half closed eyes, moaning. Or licking his spoon while staring at Harry. At the same time, he was provoking him, calling him a liar, a fool. This constant wobbling was disconcerting.
Already during the previous year, Harry had not been able to stay clam in front of the spoiled aristocrat. His doubts about Harry's sexuality and his insults somehow hurt more this year. His childish taunts were like scratching already raw flesh. So the raven haired teen had decided to forget about that fateful night, and to avoid the blond like plague. He had enough on his mind without dealing with the prat.
"Harry Potter."
Harry jumped, startled by the eerie voice. The blonde girl from ravenclaw – Luna was it? - was standing in front of him, caressing one of this horrible boned horse.
"Hello Luna" he answered, unsure.
"I can see them too, you know. The Thestrals I mean. "
She smiled. Harry had the weird sensation that she was speaking at someone behind him. Not daring to turn his head double check, he nodded.
"They are pretty nice to talk to, when your mind is too full. What is bothering you, Harry? Your brain buzzes with Nargles " Her back was no facing the other teen has she threw raw meat at the animals. "I mean, beside the Voldemort business and the Kornshak living in your trunk?"
Harry grunted noncommittally. What were Nargles anyway? The blonde girl was humming. She threw five more raw meat pieces. Harry watched the Thestrals fight for them, mesmerized.
"You know, the wizarding world is a bit behind the muggle world, where homosexuality is concerned. But you should not take that bullshit into account" She said after a while. "It feeds the Nargles in you brain." she added as an afterthought.
"What... what do you mean?" Harry asked, taken aback by the bluntness of the little blond girl.
"Wizards think gay people are mentally ill. But I am not crazy, nor are you Harry." She nodded to herself. "Beside, my father and I believe you, about you-know-who's return."
"Thanks I guess? Wait... you mean you like girls? But I don't, I mean I do like girl, not boys."
Harry winced. Even to him, it sounded more like a question than a statement. The little blonde looked at him, her face dreamy.
"Yes Harry, I like girls." She giggled.
"How did you know?" Harry asked, curious.
"It's simple, Harry. I tried both, and one was dull and the other exquisite."
Harry was not sure if an answer was needed. Luna's gaze was staring behind him again, out of focus. They stayed silent for a while before going back together to the castle. When they separated, in front of the Statue of Barmy Barnabus, the little blonde went to the left, bouncing.
On his way back to Griffindor's tower, Harry thought about what Luna told him. So the wizarding community was prejudiced against homosexual. That was not a real surprise, coming from a society were arranged marriages were usual, with an oligarchic political system and a taste for blood purity.
The teen crashed in his bed, savoring the solitude. The smell of washing powder exuded from the washing powder. Harry inhaled deeply. It smelt like home.
Poor Luna, both barmy and lesbian. Not a wonderful cocktail to get accepted in the wizarding world. At the same time, Harry was not mad nor gay, and the same wizards were ostracizing him. The thought hurt. All his childhood he had longed for acceptance, friendship, a sense of belonging. Yet, every body at the school was whispering in his back. Maintaining his relationship with Ron and Hermione was strenuous, his latent angry mood and their lack of maturity getting in the way every now and then. He was alone, again.
Luna, at least Harry supposed, was not. She said she had been with boys and girls before. She surely had to experiment a bit to be certain of her sexuality. Harry was envious. He had never kissed in his whole life, nor got any kind of romantic relationship before. Before Hogwart, the girls were afraid of him, or from Dudley. They avoided him. And here... well, he had usually been more busy trying to stay alive and save the school than getting involved in any kind of relationship.
Harry buried himself a bit deeper in his bed. There had been this girl, Cho, from Ravenclaw. Whenever she looked at him, Harry felt a bit funny. Last year, she had an appreciative expression that made him feel utterly self-conscious. She liked him, though he did not know if he liked her.
How would kissing her feel? He closed his eyes and tried to picture a smiling Cho. She would have been laughing at one of his joke, and then, she would look at him, mirth sparkling in her eyes. He would bent slightly his head towards her, and kiss her softly. Maybe he would even dare to caress her breast. What would she look like if he were bold enough to unbutton her shirt? Maybe she would wear a colorful bra. Or no, better, no bra. What would he do then?
Harry breathed deeply.
These forbidden thoughts were delightful.
Aunt Petunia would bring him to church right this instant if she knew he was laying in a bed, caressing imaginary boobs. It made the fantasy even more exciting. His aunt was such a bigot. Harry remembered pretty well the day when Petunia had discovered one of the neighbor lived with his homosexual partner. She had signed herself at least twenty times, rambling about demons and freak of nature living next door.
The teen remembered feeling curious about the freakiness of the neighbors. Little Harry, having no clue what an homosexual was, had often wondered if he had something in common with the two older men living next door, as he was a freak too. Old Harry had since understood that the two were forming a romantic item. Suddenly, the same curiosity that he felt as a kid possessed him. What kind of freakiness was that, having a relationship with another man? How did it feel like?
Feeling bold, Harry morphed the soft breast of the smiling Cho in a toned, hard chest. The skin under his imaginary hand still felt incredibly good. Curious, the fingers started to map the pec, caressed the nipple, trailed to the abdomen. The teen's breath grew faster. It was electrifying.
As he reached the hip of his unknown fantasy, a familiar heat was pooling in his belly. He dared to look a bit lower and was faced by the evident sign of male pleasure. Harry felt an answering tightness in his pants.
"Do you like what you see, Potter?"
Vision-Harry suddenly lifts his head to meet bottomless grey eyes. The scene is changing around him. In the madness of swirling colors, the grey gems stare at him. An undisclosed desire burning in the pupils. Suddenly, the colors stops their wild dance. Harry is in the Prefect bathroom.
He stares at the hand on the Slytherin hip. On the back of it, a red scar morphs into a sentence - I must not tell lies. He reads it over and over again. Then, slowly, he looks at the other face. A smirk is glued to the blond face, a taunt, daring him to admit the inadmissible.
Harry wants to push Malfoy away. He wants to ignore his painful erection. He wants to look at a smiling Cho. He wants it badly. Desperately.
"Yes," Harry says instead, softly. "It's exquisite."
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