Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Next morning, Draco gave Hermione the letter.

It was The Letter, in which he excused his existence, apologizing for every callous side-ways glance he'd ever thrown at her, every unthoughtful and hurtful word he'd spoken to her. Frankly and heartfelt, he thanked her for her smile in Potions class, explaining to her his vision of her and how it had affected him. It was immediately followed by an apology for his rudeness, and he explained that he couldn't die without her knowing how his heart had changed. Then his best wishes for all possible happiness for her in the future. Ronald Weasley was, without a doubt, a lucky boy. He'd signed it with his name, leaving out insignificant details about how he'd loved to experience the touch of her lips against his.

Draco thought Hermione would read it once and then throw it to the flames of the Gryffindor fireplace, or show it around to all of her female friends, rolling her eyes and laugh. She would tell Harry and Ron for sure, and the friendly tone he'd manage to establish with the Gryffindors would surely be lost. With each passing day, a knot of anxiety grew taller and wider in his stomach, and Draco Malfoy decided it was best to keep his distance from Harry. Harry was dangerous. He had power. He had Dumbledore. He had everybody on his side.

Draco had no one.

Staying away from Ron was the order of the day. It was difficult. They shared many classes, together with Harry and Hermione. Draco stuck to the end of the Gryffindor longtable in The Great Hall, ate his food and minded his own business, studied texts and kept to himself hoping Ron wouldn't consider him too much of a nuisance. Sometimes, when panic struck, he joined the Ravenclaws or the Hufflepuffs. Not once did his pride allow him to even consider going back to the Slytherins.

Yes. Hermione had shown the letter to Ron and Harry.

Unknown to Draco, she had shown it to Luna, Parvati and Padma (who in turn had shared fragments of what they remembered with their friends, who again shared it with their friends and so on). None of it helped. She was distressed over Draco's misfortune and touched to tears by his sincerity. To Ron's great annoyance, her brown puppy eyes would search for Draco whenever she entered a classroom, a corridor or whenever she was outside, catching a breath of fresh air between classes. Draco Malfoy suffered every single night, Harry had told her, and the knowledge combined with the memory of the rape she'd witnessed, made her mad with rage over her own helplessness. Whenever she laid eyes on Draco's weary shape seeing his bleary red-rimmed eyes, brooding, eyes darting anxiously, she began to really see his pain, how he had changed. She'd taken to mentally beat herself up. All she had to show for, was a pathetic smile during a session in Potions class, while he fought for his sanity alone in the dark.


Charms class
He felt her eyes on him for the entire duration of the session. He guessed she was angry with him for having disclosed his emotions in the letter. He felt so immensely beneath her, as if he was trash which had soiled the tip of her shoes. And the guilt over having called her a Mud-blood was branded all over his skin. He felt like a lowlife. He had hurt her, and it felt as if everybody could see just what sort of evil monster he was.

Professor Filius Flitwick took no notice of him, and that was a relief. Today's class was all about theory, and he did his best to pay attention. But Draco found himself lost in thought, thinking about Melchior. He felt so lost he could cry, and the only person he could imagine crying openly in front of, was the eudaimon. He longed for this dreadful day to come to an end so he could sob alone in the dark with the eudaimon between his legs. Draco longed for the intimacy, however void it was of warmth and care. Draco spent Charms class daydreaming of some kind of closeness to Melchior. An understanding. Of passion, compassion, tender caresses and an all consuming lust to blow away all of the pain which slowly crushed Draco into a million shards inside. He dreamt of peace of mind. Of silence and eternal rest. He dreamt of slitting his wrists, imagining how the pain inside him would dissolve as life ebbed from his veins.

He absent-mindedly flipped the pages in his textbook, and managed to focus on professor Flitwick for about five minutes. It was crucial – Draco thought to himself – that he behaved as normal, or else the rest of the student body would suffer for it. He didn't want to embarrass them. He so desperately needed to stay in the familiar environment Hogwarts provided.

Like half of the class, Harry had trouble focusing on Flitwick's lesson as well. His eyes remained glued to Draco. The Slytherin's platinum blond hair was like a beacon in the room – a magnet drawing Potter's attention. Flitwick wasn't unaware either, and made a serious effort to engage the students and involve them in the lecture in an attempt to draw attention away from Draco. Having so many eyes on him, couldn't be good for the poor boy. Draco seemed to ignore them and it was a good thing.

There was something about the eudaimon business which Harry's mind wouldn't let go. Harry couldn't help but to think how convenient it would have been to have such a formidable force as an eudaimon fighting Voldemort alongside the Order of the Phionex, and a part of him almost felt angry with Draco for not trying to recruit the eudaimon in the battle. But obviously, Harry argued in his own ind, Draco was in no position to bargain. Draco – as a threat or ally – had been completely immobilized, both to Harry's benefit and backdraw.

Harry had to admit to himself that a part of him – a very bad part of himself – actually loved the fact that Draco was punished. At the same time, Harry loathed himself for even thinking it. He knew that the Slytherins were saying out loud what many were thinking: Better Draco than them, but it was gut-wrenching to see the healthy blond wither away into a shadow of his former self. And the change had come so fast. Harry almost missed the blond's daily scoldings. He couldn't even begin to imagine how frightened Draco was feeling all of the time.

With class finally over, Draco sighed relieved and returned to his room. At his door, he hesitated, eyeing the half open door to Professor Snape's office. Draco didn't know how to feel about Snape. He held no grudges, but he wondered if the professor was all right with what had been forced upon them the other night.


On her way out from the classroom, Hermione Granger deliberately slowed her pace so Draco would catch up with her. It wasn't intentionally, and no matter how he adjusted his pace to avoid her, she adjusted hers again and again until they were the last two people remaining on top of the staircase. She turned to look at him expectantly.

“After you” Draco told her politely, smiling briefly before he realised that Ron and Harry were waiting at the bottom of the stair. She, on the other hand, seemed to pay them no heed.

“I wanted to talk you. About the letter” she explained to him softly. She heard him sigh, understanding that he'd rather avoid the subject. “I was hoping we could sit down somewhere. Alone.”

Draco felt his heart start to race. She wanted to talk to him. Alone. Him! He who wasn't worth the paper he'd written to her on. This couldn't possibly be good. He wanted to refuse her, but how could he, with Ron and Harry watching? And Ron's face was turning an angry red already!

He looked Hermione in the eye and said: “If that is what you want. Where do you want to go?”

“We could go to your place” she said, her big, brown puppy eyes etching into his very soul. He wanted to tell her yes.

“I – I don't think that's, uhm, I mean, I...” Draco stuttered. He felt like an absolute fool in her presence. “It's not a very cosy place, I mean. And...and then I fear that if I bring you there, then – then he will find out” Draco sighed, “and – and I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to you because of something I did.” Draco forced himself to look her in the eye as he spoke. She stared back at him, blank for a minute, before comprehension set in and she replied: “I'll take my chances.”

“You can't! I really mean it, Miss Granger. It's not a good idea.”

“Too late, I've made up my mind.” Hermione smiled at Draco, watching bemused as the Slytherin sighed a troubled sigh. She obviously wasn't taking no for an answer.

“Miss Granger, I have obviously not made myself clear here; I would rather you stayed away from that place because some rather awful things have happened there.” He couldn't possibly be more blunt than that. But mere words would not move Granger's decision. She had that typical 'I will do what I mean is right to do' -look on her face, something Draco had loathed her for in the past and Harry and Ron had sighed over at least a thousand times knowing it would bring them in trouble. Now, Draco realised there was no way he could escape those brown commanding eyes of hers.

“All right then. Five minutes. Just the quick tour and then we'll go some place else, if you're still interested in associating with me.”

Smiling contentedly, knowing she'd just gotten her way with Draco Malfoy, she started down the stairs as if nothing had happened. Draco rolled his eyes and sighed again. Ron was going to kill him for this. He watched the female Gryffindor join her friends at the bottom of the stairs where she announced loud and clearly that: “You two go on ahead. We'll meet you for dinner in the Great Hall later.”

Please don't say it.

“Where are you going?” Harry asked innocently.

Please, please don't say it!

“To Draco's, wherever that is.”

Bugger.

“You're going with him? With Malfoy? All alone?” Ron objected, throwing a thumb at Draco who was descending the staircase. He shot the Slytherin a venomous glance but said nothing as the blond passed them at continued out to the corridor. Hermoine only rolled her eyes at Ron and replied hastily: “It's a private conversation. You can't come.”

“You don't think it's a wee bit improper to go off with Malfoy just like that?!” Ron exclaimed. The outburst made Hermione turn on her heel and retort: “Ronald Weasley! I have two words for you: Lavender. Brown!” Ronald flinched as her icy stare hit him square between his eyes. Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, only staring after her as she flicked her heavy hair and turned on her heel to run after Draco.

“Women” Ron stated sourly, “you can't live with them....!”

“She's being smart, Ron. How can we help Draco if we don't know where he's living?”

“Are we helping Malfoy now? I'm beginning to think the Slytherins were right to throw him out.”

Hermione held her breath as Draco opened the door to his little room. He didn't say anything, only lighting the candles for her to see better. She shuddered as she entered. It was cold and unfriendly. Scattered clothes, the books and the boxes piled in one corner of the room were the only signs telling her that someone actually lived here. Draco turned to face her. Dressed impeccably in his Slytherin school uniform, wearing his dark robe also, Draco seemed completely out of place. She sat down on the edge of his bed and smiled. Draco pulled out a chair and seated himself on it. Their knees nearly touched. He watched her fold her hands and lay them to rest in her lap.

“It – it was a nice letter. A very unexpected letter” Hermione said quietly. “It rendered me completely speechless at first, and I have been looking for the right words all day long. I really just wanted to tell you that all is forgiven and forgotten. And that I would really like to get to know you. A little more. That I would like to be your friend, and if there is anything I can do for you-....!” Hermione stopped speaking as she watched Draco slide from his seat and down to kneel infront of her. In one fluid movement, he took her hands in his and gently moved them, leaning forward, resting his head in her lap. Hermione held her breath, listening to Draco's laboured breath, feeling his tears soak her skirt. His left hand rested on top of her right hand. He was shaking, and it made Hermione realise just what kind of pressure Draco was living under. Being with another man besides Harry or Ron, was mind blowing. It broadened her senses and it was refreshing to be this intimate with a boy she hardly knew other than as a bully. He was everything Ron wasn't: Sensitive, elegant, passionate, smart and heart-wrenchingly open about his emotions. She moved her left hand up to gently touch him. She could smell the scent of of his hair. Stroking his hair gently, she felt a tingle in her abdomen. The stroking was a highly intimate act, and she could feel his breath through the woollen uniform skirt. She saw that he relaxed under her ministrations and she continued despite Draco lifting his head slightly to brush her thigh with his nose, inhaling her scent. His silent tears had dried and he was coming back to his senses. He moved his hand to gently clutch the skirt next to her hand which was resting next to her right thigh. It told her he wanted more. That there was an unrequited desire for intimacy of a different kind. She suppressed the urge to indulge him his wish. She was afraid. It was unknown territory and it was too soon. She was lost in thought as he sat back on his chair, composing himself once more before he said: “I'm sorry. I – I got carried away. Your words – they mean so much to me” Draco said softly, glancing up at her. She smiled encouragingly at him. “I'm not sure what to do with Ron though. If having your friendship means trespassing on what you have with Ron, then I'm not sure if I can-...!”

“- seeing how Ron's got himself a girlfriend already, I don't really think that's a problem.”

“It – it's not you?”

“Lavender Brown” she replied with more hurt in her voice than she intended.

“I see. Well, for what it's worth, I think you deserve someone way better than Ron Weasley. He shouldn't be squandering away such a – a jewel” Draco replied timidly, gazing into her brown eyes. There it was. Her beautiful smile again. He'd obviously managed to flatter her, and it made him feel good to know he'd lifted her spirits a little.


Supper in the Great Hall.

Hermione made Draco join her and Harry for dinner. He poked absent-mindedly in his food while he listened to them talk among themselves about Dumbledore, the Death Eaters, Voldemort and Horcruxes. Without saying so, Draco had to admit that Harry was up to his ears in formidable opponents and virtually unachievable tasks. Nevertheless, there was never any talk about giving up and it spoke to Draco about considerable strength in character. Harry suddenly eyed him and said: “Draco, you're not eating?” Draco smiled briefly and impaled a few chunks of roasted meat on his fork before putting them into his mouth.

“I'm fine” he replied shyly, just to find Neville Longbottom seating himself next to Harry. The two friends nodded briefly, before Neville produced a familiar piece of paper and placed it on the table between himself and Draco's plate. It had Draco's signature at the bottom. Glancing up at Neville, Draco saw that the Gryffindor was clearly nervous. It wasn't hard to imagine why Neville had chosen this moment instead of facing Draco on his own.

"I don't know if it matters, but - but I don't agree with you” Neville hastily said, “I don't blame you for what happened to my parents. You've been a real pain these past years, but I don't think those sins are sufficient to justify what you're going through right now.”

Draco's eyes began to water. He quickly wiped away the tears, trying to hold his composure together. Draco wanted to tear open his ribcage and show Neville just how grateful he felt for the words falling from Neville's trembling lips. Startled by the Slytherin's strong reaction, Neville cleared his throat and eyed Harry and Hermione nervously. Addressing Draco Malfoy was something new, and he was getting anything but the reaction he'd initially expected. It was as if Malfoy had gone paler than his own haircolour, and he suddenly seemed very old. His eyes grew red-rimmed and he was clearly distressed. Or relieved. Or something. Hard to tell about Malfoy for Neville didn't really know him. Neville found himself feeling bad for exploiting Draco's vulnerable state, both in terms of the misery he was undergoing but also because he'd chosen to address Draco in the public, drawing moral strength from Harry's presence.

"Thank you" Draco replied.

In his room, Draco did not go to sleep right away. He wrote a last letter to his mother. He then went to sit on his bed, opened up the sleeve on his left arm and rolled it up to his elbow. Taking his wand, Draco pointed the tip of his wand against his wrist. Holding his breath, he moved the tip from left to right. The wound stung, and a gush of blood ensued, dripping down onto the floor.

Drop after drop of precious blood. He thought about Neville and his parents, feeling sorry for the Gryffindor. Neville had parents yet he was still an orphan. He had to stand by and watch as their best years went by, not knowing he was their son. Draco wished he could have done more for Neville. Set things right. Give him his parents back. Neville deserved that, he deserved something good in his life.

Draco's thoughts wandered over to Hermione. Had things been different, Draco would have courted her. He would have made a real effort to make her like him, to get to know her. To perhaps marry her, if she wanted him. Holding on to the image of her in Potions class, smiling at him as a halo of golden light crowned her head, Draco felt himself go cold. He began to shudder, but did nothing to warm himself. He knew this was it. There were no second chances to be had. His head began to hurt and his eyelids grew heavy.


St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries - Janus Thickey Ward.

The Figure which apparated into the closed ward looked like Draco Malfoy. It looked like him down to the very last straw of blond hair on the boy's head, except for the height and the stance. Draco looked taller, his chest was wider. He looked more mature. His moist lips curled up in a nice wicked grin as he eyed the door leading to the solitary room of Alice Longbottom.

The nurse peered anxiously around the corner. The SWaD – The Spirit Ward against Demons had gone off, and now she kept her distance while she waited for back-up from aurors. Quite despite herself, her feet moved closer to the door. Was she hearing right? Did the demon sing in there? Shaking with fear, she moved to balance on her toes, peering in through the window. It looked like Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy's boy. And he was kneeling in front of Alice who was sitting on her bed, and he held her hands and looked her in the eye. And she – Alice – couldn't tear her gaze from him, and her eyes were unveiled, her face alive with emotion. And he – the demon – was singing to her, from the top of his lungs – clear – commanding and compelling – while the air was electric and alive with music. The nurse felt the hairs on her back stand and her knees felt wobbly as immense magical forces discharged. Peering in through the glass, the nurse saw Alice Longbottom rise from her bed to stand calmly. She was crying, her face a stark mask of gratitude, and as Malfoy stood, she embraced him for a long time. Through the door, the nurse heard her ask: “Where is my Neville? Where's my little boy?” The nurse balanced on her toes again, peering in through the glass, but the room was empty. She couldn't believe her eyes. Thinking swiftly, she ran as fast as she could and as silently as she could, down to where Frank Longbottom resided. Rightly so, again, the air went alive with magic so strong it poisoned the very air she was breathing. Feeling dizzy, the nurse peered through the glass, and her heart raced as she found her assumptions to be correct. Alice was holding Malfoy's hand, squeezing it tight as she watched the blond sing her husband back to sanity. Frank Longbottom's blank, slightly lost expression disappeared as it was replaced with comprehension and awareness, and after so many years he fixed his gaze on his wife's face, instantly recognizing her before he looked at Malfoy. The melody was so beautiful the nurse wanted to weep, the words hitting her hard in her gut – sincere, heartfelt, serene. When it was over, she didn't realise the aurors had finally arrived. She stayed glued to the glass, looking as Malfoy stepped back to let Neville's parents melt into a long embrace and a kiss. Then there was a flash of brilliant white light, and Malfoy was gone. The aurors stormed in to find the Longbottoms looking at them in wonder, as if a bunch of strangers had all of the sudden walked in on them while they were in bed.

Draco awoke in his bed in the storage room which had become his home. The candles were lit, and the room was feeling warm. He stretched out his arm to check the clock on his night stand, and that's when he saw the thin line across his wrist, the only mark to give away what came across to him as a bad dream. He shut his eyes hard for a moment. He didn't want to be thinking about that right now. It was a defeat he wasn't ready to deal with just now. Draco was starving. His bladder was full and his head throbbed with pain. Getting up took a while, for he felt dizzy. Finally getting to his feet, he checked his watch again. It was nearly 3 a.m. He cursed silently before putting on some slippers. Eudaimon or no, Draco Malfoy had to go to the bathroom or he would surely wet himself. Opening the door quickly, he trudged off to the nearest toilet, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Upon returning, he jumped to find the eudaimon already waiting for him. Holding his breath, Draco entered his room. The door swung shut behind him. Silently. Draco shuddered. It was as if all warmth had been sucked out of the air. Draco felt himself dissolving inside. His head pounded wildly.

“Already back on your feet. A good sign, wouldn't you say?” Melchior spoke softly. He had a mild expression on his face, almost compassionate. “I'm contemplating whether I should have you first and let you eat after, of if you should eat first and then be taken. Difficult choice. I think, perhaps, considering the circumstances, you should eat. A sudden aroma of roasted chicken, sweet potatoes and stewed cabbage in white sauce filled the room, and as Draco glanced over to his desk, he saw a silver tray with a plate on it. The plate was brimming with delicious smelling food. The scent of sweet white wine danced towards him, and Draco felt his mouth water. But he was nervous. His belly growled as his senses were overcome, but Draco felt too distressed to eat. It reminded him of the last meal of a condemned prisoner sentenced to death.

“Oh it's not like that at all, I assure you. Au contraire, my young dragon, you've deserved it. You've been a good boy today. And good boys who do the right thing, get to live a little longer.” Melchior spoke softly, and it was strange for Draco to hear the eudaimon do so. Praise from the lips of an eudaimon was unheard of. He looked at the meal again. Draco shuddered. He looked for a sweater, glancing nervously back at Melchior while he searched.

“You tremble” Melchior said, arching one eyebrow at the blond, “are you cold?” Draco only nodded absent-mindedly, finding his sweater and putting it on. Melchior flicked his right hand, and immediately, the temperature rose to a comfortable state. Draco took a few timid steps over to the inviting looking tray of food. Draco looked at Melchior and shook his head meekly. “Thanks, but I'll wait until breakfast.”

“You refuse me? Ah, you think I have poisoned the food. I will not take no for an answer, mister Malfoy” Melchior said almost cheerfully. He arranged Draco's sleeping blanket, then took the tray of food and put it on the middle of the bed. “Sit” he said, pointing to where he wanted Draco. Draco didn't dare to object this time, obediently seating himself on the left side of the bed. He watched Melchior sit down on the floor on the right side of the bed, stretching, resting his elbows on the bed. The mighty black wings descended to rest casually on the floor, and Draco pulled his feet closer, not wanting to step on any of the feathers. Incidentally, the eudaimon's wings covered the entire stone floor. Draco looked from the feathers to the food. The seductive smells tore in his nostrils, and his belly growled once more. “Come now” the eudaimon spoke softly again, “eat a little, Draco. You're awfully thin. And while you do so, allow me to tell you a little about the future which I see.” Melchior looked expectantly at him, and Draco felt compelled to pick up the silver fork and pierce the nearest lump of juicy roasted chicken. It tasted of pineapple and thyme, and the first bite only made him crave more. He kept his gaze low, only glancing up now and then to see Melchior's reaction, and when he pierced a potato with the elegant silvery fork, Melchior smiled contentedly.

“The future is a silvery river. And it's made up of events which binds one another together” Melchior spoke seductively. Flicking one slender hand with an elegant movement, the glass of wine floated casually over to Draco, who reached out to hold it. Sipping of the wine, he listened as Melchior continued: “The River of Fates runs out into the great Sea of Blood, which is the great eternity – where every man and woman who has ever lived, float about till the end of time. It is the Waterhole of waterholes, a never-ending supply of food for demons. It lies beyond Hell. It lies beyond Heaven. It is what every demon craves – it is our final goal. Until then we must be content with preying on the souls which float in the great river.” Melchior smiled again, seeing how he'd managed to get Draco's attention. He watched the blond slowly empty the contents of the plate on the silver tray. Draco slowly began to let his guard down. An expression of contentment could be read in his grey-blue eyes, and Draco downed the last drop of wine, licking his lips briefly. He wished there was more wine. He was still thirsty. Looking down at his glass again, it had suddenly refilled.


“I am telling you this, because you – like everyone else – is in that river. And when I look into its shifting waves, I see your future.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. Melchior was getting to a subject Draco had dreaded from the very beginning.

“Certain elements are set for you.” Melchior paused to see Draco's reaction. The blond was holding his breath. He held the glass of white wine to his lips but put it down instead. The boy's heart beat so loud and fast Melchior had no trouble hearing it from where he was sitting. “I see you, Harry Potter and Voldemort. I see you holding a Demon's Bane. I see the walls of Hogwarts covered in blood, and your fellow Slytherins dead by your -...!”

“-stop! Please, stop! Say no more! I don't want to hear it!” Draco said, covering his ears with shaky hands. Oh yes, he could very well see it now, how he would go mad and kill everyone around him.

“Very well” Melchior said with a grin. He flicked his hand and the tray disappeared. Getting to his feet in one fluid movement, Melchior eyed Draco and said rather amused: “You had a female visitor here earlier. Beautiful girl” Melchior added monotonously. “Do you desire her?”

Feeling horror on the rise inside, Draco shook his head desperately.

“You're lying” Melchior said venomously. He did not seem amused.

“I – she – uhm, yes, I fancy her. But it's of no consequence. She's in love with someone else.”

“Love. Is such a fragile thing, don't you think? I think it would be quite entertaining to watch you have it off with her, with or without her consent, I might add. Lord knows I haven't had some decent entertainment in months!”

“No! I will not rape her! Not Hermione! Not her!” Draco exclaimed. He was shaking with rage and terror as it just had sunk into his brains what Melchior had implied. “If she wants to, yes, I would bed her on the spot! But I will not force myself on her, no way!”

“Draco, my boy. You must consider this your reward!”

“I need no reward. I just want you to leave me alone” Draco barked. He wanted his wand. He wanted to hurl something at the eudaimon, something which would seriously hurt. Like Bombarda.

“You will comply. I want to be amused!”

“No!” Draco cried out.

“I want to watch while you deflower your haloed virgin!” Melchior told him sternly.

“No! I won't do it!”

“Then perhaps if properly motivated, she will.” Melchior replied coldly, reminding Draco of his father. Draco felt a pull to his chest and some unseen force pushed him forward until he was staring at the embroideries on Melchior's dark collar. Seizing the blond by the throat, Melchior flicked one finger and Draco's trousers fell off to pool around the boy's ankles. Placing one hand over Draco's limp member, Melchior fondled the boy's balls, earning himself a whimper and a restrained moan. Forcing Draco onto the bed, he instructed the blond to position himself on hands and knees. Placing his razor-sharp fingernails on Draco's cheeks, he slid his palms across the skin of his backside. Draco swallowed, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. He was slightly shocked as Melchior bent down to caress the crack with his nose, smelling Draco's most intimate scent. Draco eyes rolled to the back of his head and his breath hitched as he felt a wet, slick tongue work its way from the beginning of the crack, following the valley – which Melchior's fingers created by parting his cheeks – all the way down to his puckered entrance. Draco tensed, his senses ultimately heightened by this new and unexpected caress. His dick twitched, and Draco swallowed hard again, wondering if Melchior was in his right mind. The tongue had sent a tidal wave of pleasure rippling through the blond' body, and Draco was shocked to learn that it was at all possible to know anything but pain with the eudaimon. He heard Melchior chuckle to himself, saying; “You really are just a boy yet, Draco Malfoy. You know absolutely nothing of the delights of the flesh. Your feeble fumbling with that Parkinson girl is meaningless compared to the adult games of demons!” Melchior moved closer, close enough for Draco to feel the eudaimon's erect member rub against his crack. But Melchior did no more than that. He only placed his hands at the small of Draco's bad, moving his palms up and down along the boy's spine, caressing the skin there, gently rubbing at the muscles flanking the spine.

“My brother” Melchior spoke softly, “has a target as well. Nothing like you, of course. Peter Drinkwater is...a shy little thing, broken and brainwashed as he is. And he's rubbish in bed. Lies there like some vegetable. But you're nothing like that, are you, Draco? I sense an awakening volcano inside you. With a little more confidence and a lot more skill, you'll be the bedroom dream of every girl and boy at Hogwarts. Wouldn't that be fun?”

“I – I just want Hermione” Draco moaned, as Melchior kneaded the muscles between Draco's shoulder-blades. He felt Melchior's hands slide down to his backside again.

“You haven't prepared yourself” Melchior stated. “You're drier than a desert lizard back here. Where's your ointment?” He let go of Draco, allowing the Slytherin to find the small jar. Draco applied it quickly before tucking it away on the floor underneath the bed. Climbing on to the bed again, Draco made to position himself as he'd previously done, but Melchior stopped him, motioning for Draco to turn around and lay down on his back. Draco spread his legs, feeling the soft sleeping blanket beneath his skin. He looked away, feeling tired from the emotional outbursts, the sudden anxiety about Hermione and the emotional events which had triggered the suicide.

“You will not know me?” Melchior said, almost sounding hurt. “I will not be ignored.”

“There – was a professor who said that I should have died months ago” Draco said with quivering voice as Melchior's erect member slid inside him. “How long do I have? What you said about – ”

“ – what I said about Harry Potter, you and Voldemort” Melchior spoke softly, “are events which among other events are set for you. I see you aiding Harry Potter in the final struggle against this Voldemort character.” Melchior bent down to kiss him. Moving on to nibble at Draco's earlobe, his neck and then his right nipple, Draco began to writhe beneath the eudaimon, pressing his hips against Melchior.

“D – Dumbledore said I could have years ahead of m – me!” Draco ventured, biting his lips, sharply inhaling air as Melchior swivelled his tongue around Draco's left nipple, toying with the swollen bud between his teeth. He kept his thrusts slow and soft, giving Draco time to warm up to his ministrations. “Years ahead” Melchior paused to repeat, “yes. Possibly. Depends on your willingness to serve me.” Their eyes locked for an incomprehensible amount of time. “I only like good boys, Draco Malfoy. Are you a good boy?” Melchior asked him rather seductively, the words floating out between swollen kissable lips like velvet over naked skin. Draco nodded his head at first, before he finally managed to mouth a 'yes'. Supporting his weight on one hand, Melchior had bent down closer to Draco, but he still pumped away at Draco's erection with his other hand while he was softly thrusting into the blond. Draco let out a moan, bucking against Melchior's restrained, carefully measured thrusts. The Slytherin was on fire. He was approaching his climax, and his hands roamed blindly across Melchior's still clothed body. “I don't think I quite heard you, Draco Malfoy. Are you a good boy?” Melchior purred again, bending down to kiss one erect nipple after the other. Draco's mind was blank with lust, an empty black void filled with one focus at last, and it felt extremely good to be so single-minded. There was no confusion. No repentance. No fear. Just lust.

“I'm a good boy. I want to be a good boy” Draco breathed heavily, “I want to be a good boy” he muttered in a praying tone. The orgasm rippled through his body, and Melchior thrust harder, angling his cock to a until then unknown spot inside Draco. The blond boy's body tensed up. He felt as if he was falling, floating on skies, consumed by an all encompassing darkness. Shutting his eyes tight, he surfaced, drawing much needed breath, gazing about, over-looking the water he was floating in. It was crimson red, littered with bodies – and for just a moment – he saw the outline of a ship, a large triple-masted ship with red sails. As the orgasm ebbed, Draco was weighed down. Going under, he awoke to find himself in bed again with Melchior ontop of him. Melchior commenced his thrusts, and the good sensation returned. Draco opened his feet wider and grasped Melchior by the waist, clutching at his buttocks, urging the eudaimon deeper, harder, closer. Draco found himself to insatiable. He wanted more – more of this – whatever it was, delicious thing. The eudaimon had a wicked smirk on his face, and Draco found it liberating to be able to gaze at him without feeling terror.

“Now you know how I reward good boys” Melchior said, his breath a little laboured. “Do my bidding and you'll see that you'll be rewarded in other aspects of your life as well. I am pleased with you. Not only do you repent, you strive to erect your errors. You aspire to do better. Traits” Melchior continued, thrusting vigorously in and out of Draco's warm, wet entrance, “I seldom see in the likes of you.” Melchior hissed out the last words, grinning widely as he came hard, shooting his demon sperm into Draco's cavity. He lingered inside the youth, bending down until their noses hardly were apart, and he said: “There. Now I've marked you again. Inaccessible to other demons. Only for me. And a select few, of course.”

“A select few?” Draco wondered. He held on to Melchior's buttocks, not wanting to let go.

“Miss Granger is one of them. Should she ask, I'd be more than happy to hand you over to her” Melchior teased, a lopsided smile forming. He winked at Draco, and only seconds later did it dawn on the blond that the eudaimon had actually made a joke. “Now, my beautiful dragon. You must promise me to put on some more weight, to get some air and to pay attention in class. And most importantly of all?”

“Uh, sleep?”

“Get the girl” Melchior said, disentangling himself from Draco's limbs.

“What's the point of getting the girl if I am to go insane and die anyway?”

“You try my patience, Mister Malfoy. The contract between us – the hunter and its prey, that's you by the way – does not cease to exist until you're dead. And even then, when you're dead, I could easily track you in Hell and claim your soul. You will lose your mind and you will die. But when and how it happens, depends on you and the choices you make. Good boys live a little longer. Bad boys die fast and horrible. Behave yourself and I will have no need to intervene with your day to day life.”

“Then there's no need for me to be cruel with Hermione – ”

“ – good boys also do as they're told.”

“Then I cannot be what you want me to be. I will not harm her. I will not! I'd rather die!”