Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Draco had an itch. It was in or outside his hole – which was uncommonly slick and swollen. It itched. Grinding against the mattress didn't help. He put his sleeping blanket between his legs and crammed it between his buttocks. If anything, it only increased the highly and persistently increasing horniness. Draco Malfoy whimpered and clutched the sheet on his mattress with both hands until the white of his knuckles shone through the flesh of his tightly gripped fists. He was having a fit of something but he didn't know what it was called. It was a rapture, a flow of euphoria he had no control of. And it still itched! Laying on his stomach, Draco spread his legs and ground his hips into the mattress. Arching his back, he sighed a sigh of unfulfilled need. The arching ended elegantly with his neck tilted backwards towards his back as far as he could get it, exposing the Adam's apple. His blond hair fell backwards to his neck, tickling the nape there. Over the months, Draco had neglected his looks and his hair had grown longer. It fell into his eyes. His ribs could easily be counted on each side of his torso. A frail framed boy to start with – Draco had suffered under the rule of his new master. The Eudaimon Melchior.

How funny it was to crave both men and women. Whenever he suffered these fits – which came more and more often both during daylight as well as night time, Draco dreaded to be around Hermione, Snape and Harry. Ron was, in a sense, a safe bet. So was Neville. They had an ingenious way of shutting down these fits which turmoiled inside him simply by casting a glance at him. And that was a good thing. Defence Against Dark Arts classes were becoming insufferable. It was as if someone turned a switch inside of him, and he became as wanton as a bitch in heat. Suffering himself through these classes, Draco often devoured Snape with his eyes, eating him raw where he stood, stripping the professor bare with his imagination – and doing things – with Professor Snape. And Draco would squirm in his seat, becoming restless and dreamy, losing focus. Losing himself in a fantasy. They – Draco mused – could have had such fun, only Snape looked at him with pity. And remorse. It was mostly remorse which burnt in Snape's chest, thinking he had ruined the boy with what happened between them. And Draco had no idea of how to change that.

Melchior had taken to visiting him with less intensity, and whenever he came, he seemed moderately interested in torturing Draco. He exercised restraint and appeared almost disinterested in Draco's body. But Melchior had ignited a thirst in the Slytherin which was unquenchable. At night, Draco dreamt he chased Hermione Granger through the corridors of Hogwarts, catching up with her and tearing her clothes off whilst listening to her screams for mercy. Having classes with her was getting harder, for he remembered these dreams so vividly. And she seemed disturbed. Out of sorts. Bleary eyed and serious. Sending him the longest stares when she thought he wasn't noticing. Ron was unusual happy, these days, because he saw that the Slytherin and the Gryffindor wasn't talking to one another.

Lying in his bed, Draco's thoughts shifted back from Hermione to the eudaimon. It was safer to dream of Hermione. The eudaimon was uncontrollable, unpredictable. Sometimes inhuman. Other times ... a bedroom dream. But he was unreadable. His eyes lied. HErmione's eyes never lied. The eudaimon's lips and face would be alive with a smile or a wicked grin yet the eyes would speak a different language. They were ancient pools which had seen so much over the centuries. Draco wondered if Melchior ever had been human. Like really human.

Draco turned to lay on his back. Reaching beneath the blanket, his fingers travelled below, past his belly button, past the taut skin of his belly, ignoring his erect member which was screaming out its neglect and gingerly passing it and the sack until he found the wet alcove. It was coated with ointment. Checking the premises, Draco reached up to his erection and coated his fingers in pre-cum before travelling back to his begging entrance. What was this? He wondered and let to digits slip inside. Disappointed, Draco slid in another finger. Three fingers? It was nothing. Another then, he decided, and finally his entrance responded with something akin to recognition as it was reminded of the size it was usually penetrated with. The fingers soon became boring.

Energy burst through the small room as Melchior emerged. He was out of breath, his long hair billowing in mid-air around his head, framing his chiselled features with an air of softness. He was wearing more armour now than Draco had ever seen him in before, and in his right hand, he held a longsword dripping with black demon blood. He was looking at Draco with an accusing stare. Reaching out with his left arm, he bent forward and pulled the sheet from the Slytherin's body in one swift move. Draco gasped, withdrew his hand which was buried deep in his own hole, and sat up, awestruck by what he saw standing in front of him, and shameful of the disgraceful way he'd been discovered. He quickly closed his legs and modesty washed over him like a bucket of ice water on his neck. Melchior's expression changed. Looking surprised, he looked from Draco's face and down to the boy's erection and then back up at Draco. It was an expression Draco had never seen before, and it made him nervous. He tried covering his private parts with his hands, crossing his legs and uncrossing them as failed courage and lust kept switching places inside him. Melchior had stopped looking surprised. He fastened the tip of the sword to the floor with a loud noise, driving the tip into the cold floorboards.

«Well, well» Melchior said, «my whore is all dressed down and has no where to go. All though I am working, I guess I could spare a couple of minutes. Come here» Melchior told Draco sternly, losing the grin on his lips. Draco obeyed and got off the bed. «Now let me see if you can find it.»

Kneeling, Draco spent some time searching between the folds of heavy black silk before he found it, undid the fastenings and revealed a rock hard erection. Another fit seized Draco, starting between his thighs, travelling into every cell in his crotch, filling his already rock hard member to the tip with pumping blood, straining every muscle around and inside his rectum. And the longing came over him! The longing! He just wanted to be filled! To have anything inside, just anything, something! Someone! Draco wanted to climb onto the eudaimon like a spider climbed a wall and then just attach himself to the erect member which seemed to tease him where it lay inside his right fist. Stroking it, Draco let out a sight of dissatisfaction. He still hated it in his mouth. So he turned, and positioned himself by the bed, arching his back and bending forward, exposing his buttocks. He spread his legs, and tears of wetness trailed down on the inside of his thighs from his hole. All modesty was shoved aside. He wanted pleasure. All pleasure! Like a cat in heat, Draco rolled his spine and shot his back upwards at the touch of Melchior's hand. He'd taken off his gloves and stroked the blond's back.

«Please» Draco hissed between gritted teeth, «please just have me! I can't stand this! Take me!» he begged and ground his backside against Melchior's erection. «Please take me, please – take me!» Draco meowed and moaned.

«Now how could I possibly resist such an invitation?» Melchior sneered, before he crouched behind Draco, coming face to his hole. He parted the Slytherin's cheeks to find the boy's hole. It was just like he'd smelled it. The hole was a swollen red bud, dripping with fluids and glistening with ointment. Leaning forward, Melchior breathed and blowed on the waiting hole, earning himself some serious shivers from Draco. More whimpering, more frantic begging. He nibbled at the flesh of the cheeks just by the hole, watching bemused at how it would open slightly every time his breath ghosted the flesh nearby, and how more liquid would appear. Draco sobbed out his frustration and impatience. Standing again, Melchior took his time. He was planning to drag this beautiful moment out, but just as the tip of his erection touched Draco's glistening hole, the Slytherin pushed backwards and impaled himself on the erection in one fluid move.

Draco moaned and breathed heavily through his nose.

«You cheat!» Melchior said lovingly with a wicked grin plastered on his face. He was pleased with Draco's impatience and the way he'd taken command.

Draco froze. He opened his eyes in surprise and horror. What had the eudaimon just said? Terror curled up in his stomach into a tight knot and Draco felt how lust drained from his body like bathwater out of a tub. He lunged forward, felt the erection slide out of him and he withdrew to the corner of his bed. He was sick to his stomach with sudden terror. He had one thought in his head; He had deprived the master of his pleasure. Draco hadn't thought about it, hadn't considered it, and now the apparent mistake tormented him, made him feel nauseous. He was going to pay for this, he knew it! A mistake so basic!
Draco shut his eyes tight and focused on breathing. Looking up to Melchior again, Draco held his breath. The eudaimon had hidden away his erection in the folds of his clothes. He was looking intently at Draco, scrutinizing the blond, contemplating about something. His brows were knit tightly in a deep frown, as if he'd just seen something plastered all over Draco. He didn't seem pleased, Draco thought.

“My apologies” Draco finally said quickly, squeezing his thighs together. He looked away, expecting a blow to his face. None came.

“I should perhaps be angry with you” the eudaimon spoke sounding strangely calm. “But I had forgotten. How could I have forgotten?” he asked more himself than anything. And by that, Melchior disappeared just as quickly as he'd come.

Breakfast in the Great Hall.
Hermione, Ron and Harry – plus every other student armed with this morning's edition of the Daily Prophet – sat grouped together as they scrutinized the front page which featured the Longbottoms, Neville's mum and dad. 'Return to sanity' the headline spelled with large fat letters. Draco wished for a big black hole to disappear into. For once he was seated with several other slytherins, though to them he was made from air. The article on page two in the Morning Prophet featured a lengthy article about Frank and Alice Longbottom. It covered four pages, starting off quite traditionally with a quick review of the backgrounds on how Neville's parents had ended up in the hospital fourteen years ago. Rita Skeeter had obviously spent a few hours researching, for the first section of the chapter was quite deep, though as usual it left the reader wondering about how much was truth and how much was Skeeter's own imagination. A large picture of the happy family reunited, was plastered over half of the page, featuring Neville, his mum and dad and his grandmother who had taken care of Neville all those years. The article was sprinkled with well formulated adjectives and long intricate sentences. Skeeter revelled in the happy family reunion before the article turned to the more serious questions combined with rhetorical questions concerning the Ministry and their use of SwaDs – Spirit Wards against Demons. A minister connected to the Security council made an average statement on the use of such wards, claiming that in ninety percent of the cases, the wards worked. From there, the article took a darker turn as Skeeter related the connections between Draco Malfoy and the Longbottoms – of course not forgetting to mention Draco's aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange – and that Malfoy supposedly had struck a bargain with an eudaimon none the less, to help the Malfoys. Hermione had to hand it to Skeeter on this one – she had angled it so that Draco appeared as a some kind of hero. The section was accompanied with a picture of a more serious Draco from earlier days. The following sections contained the words such as 'Former Death Eater', 'Death Eater Lucius Malfoy', 'demonic intervention', 'Dark arts' and 'redemption'. Someone – probably a student – had obviously talked about Draco and how he'd admitted to the things he thought he was being punished for by the eudaimon. All of this was followed by a brief section on eudaimons, their assumed origin and a general statement from an 'expert' on the subject. After flipping the page, the readers were presented with an article which was the direct opposite of the story of the Longbottoms and their happy ending. A large picture of a brief and tearful reunion between Malfoy mother and son, was plastered over the half of the page under the heading: 'The Demise of a Family'. Rita Skeeter had obviously taken advantage of a desperate Narcissa Malfoy and her need to pour out her despair. Gossip and facts about the Malfoy family was cleverly woven together until the reader became dizzy with information concerning her feelings and impossible situation: Her husband Lucius, a Death Eater, in prison in Azkaban for life. And now her son, her darling son, her only child lost to her, with a death sentence hanging over his head! 'A mother's worst nightmare: Narcissa Malfoy in an open hearted interview'. Hermione sighed heavily and read on, shaking her head faintly. ' “To sit alone in an empty manor, with a suicide letter from one's only child, knowing one is completely helpless against such overwhelming odds! It is inhuman!” cries Narcissa. She has tried to stay strong for her son, but says the situation would have been easier to bear if she only had her husband by her side'. Then Narcissa directed a plea towards the Ministry begging them to reconsider about Lucius, pointing towards the fact that she is all alone against this demonic monster which has seized control of her son. 'Eudaimons believe in hereditary sin, but it is excruciating to think that an innocent sixteen year old should be punished for crimes committed by a seasoned Death Eater – a devoted father and husband who only wanted the best for his family, thinking he did the right thing'. The quote from Narcissa made Hermione's skin crawl. The woman was trying to explain away Lucius' actions as if the man had been 'misled'.

Draco was again the talk of the Slytherin house. If it in deed were so that Draco had the eudaimon under his control, then what prize had he been paying? What kind of powers had he access to? How far did his power over the eudaimon extend? Draco would have to be watched. If he should emerge more powerful than ever, the Slytherins would have to have a sudden change of heart and invite him back into the warmth. Goyle and Crabbe sat with their noses deep in the newspaper, whispering and glancing at Malfoy. Draco combed his fingers through his blond hair, seemingly undisturbed by the news. Glancing over to his former friends/fan club, he had an unreadable expression of face. He finished his breakfast, wiped his mouth with a napkin before he left his seat. Leaving for the door of the Great Hall, he glanced at the Gryffindor table, seeing the Golden Trio seated together over two newspapers. Neville was with them, along with Dean and Seamus. Draco said nothing. He didn't even nod. He wanted to say something to Neville, but he didn't know what. Or how. Because Neville's smiled fainted whenever he saw Draco. It was as if the old hatred towards the Slytherin had awoken again. He could see how Neville was thinking: No body wanted to know anyone who supposedly dabbled with the Dark Arts. Draco was effectively being shut out from one community after the other, he thought.

“Draco?” the Slytherin heard his name being called. It was Neville. Coming to a halt, Draco turned and walked back to where Neville was sitting. Forcing himself to meet Neville's gaze, he cleared his throat and said: “Hello Mr. Longbottom. How are you?” as politely as he could.

“I'm not quite sure” Neville said and rose from his seat. “Won't you sit down? I'd like to talk to you if you don't mind?” it poured out of Neville. He was clutching the edge of the table, looking extremely nervous. Draco sat down next to a scowling Ron Weasley. Next to Ron sat Seamus and Dean, and opposite them, Harry and Hermione. Long silence ensued before Harry nudged at Neville with his elbow. Neville cleared his throat and said: “Uhm, I'm very excited about having my mum and dad back. It's something I've only dared to dream about. I understand you're behind it? Somehow? Do you think you could, uhm, perhaps clarify how it happened?” The words cascaded from Neville once more. He was developing a heavy red in his cheeks, and he swallowed repeatedly.

“I'm – I'm very glad for you Neville. But I'm afraid I have no explanation, other than that I've thought about you and your parents a lot, and how horrible it must have been for you to grow up with parents in such a state. And – and like I said in the letter – I feel responsible somehow, and I wished there was something I could have done to help you. But I never commanded him. I have no such power. I don't know why he did it. Or if it even was my eudaimon. It could have been someone else. He hasn't mentioned it at all, you see” Draco said, shutting his mouth. He had looked Neville in the eye while he'd been talking. Now, he lowered his gaze, feeling how the nauseating panic threatened to overwhelm him. Before his inner eye, he could see how Neville lunged at him across the table, seizing him by the throat, growing into some kind of vicious monster. He was sure Neville was angry. He didn't know why.

“The Ministry” Neville began, “seems bent on believing that you're up to no good. That you set this up so you could blackmail me” and here Neville paused as his voice began to shake.

“Why would I want to do that?” Draco replied lowly, locking gazes with Neville whilst his heart raced. He had come to rest his elbows and forearms on the table between them.

“I don't know. They say that 'once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater'”, Neville shot back and swallowed nervously.

“I've told you the truth, Neville. I have no reason to harm you. I was hoping we could put things of the past behind us and be on friendly terms while I'm still sane.” He looked at Neville with all the courage and honesty he could muster. Draco wanted to elope and cry. He had realised he was to be marked as a Death Eater for all eternity, even if he served another master. It would always lay there like a barrier between him and potential friends. Draco just wanted to go and find Melchior and bury his face in the eudaimon's soft dark robes and make it all go away.

“They say you've struck some kind of deal with him, since you're still alive after so long” Neville continued, toying with his glass between his hands. He seemed to relax now, seeing how Draco was on the defensive.

“A deal?” Draco combed his fingers through his hair again. “Well, yeah, I wondered about that one too” Draco said with a faint smile. He glanced at Harry. “The only thing I can think of which would slightly resemble a deal, is that he spoke about good boys and bad boys. And how the good boys live a little longer. He said that he was pleased with me, for striving to rectify my errors and for aspiring to do better. He said they were traits he seldom saw in the likes of me. And then he said something about...” and here Draco hesitated while he searched his brains for the words the eudaimon had spoken, “if I did his bidding then I would be rewarded in other aspects of my life. He said I could have years ahead, but it depended on my willingness to serve him.” Draco looked from Neville and over to Harry. Both Gryffindors stared at him as if trying to determine whether he was making it all up. At least, that was how it felt for Draco. “I think I may have said yes” Draco swallowed nervously.

It was Neville's turn to comb his fingers through his hair while he sighed, taking in the information Draco had just let out. Harry glanced at Hermione and Ron. Ron only rolled his eyes.

“What about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? How does the eudaimon feel about him?” Neville said. He was feeling bolder now, seeing how Draco wanted to shrink away in his seat.

“He thinks Voldemort is a joke” Draco said bluntly. “He calls him 'that Voldemort character'.”

“And how...”, began Neville, “how do you feel about that?”

“I'm not sure” Draco replied with a sigh, contemplating about how to phrase his next thought on the subject. “Being in Lord Voldemort's presence gave me the willies. Really creepy guy. But with the eudaimon, it's like... like I'm totally petrified with fear. I get so scared I can't move. Or think. With Voldemort I could think. I could see where he was going. But with the eudaimon, I'm completely in the dark. Still, the eudaimon is different. He isn't all together evil. There's more humanity in the eudaimon's left pinky than Lord Voldemort ever could hope to harbour.” Draco finished it with a deep sigh, rubbing his face in his hands. He then glanced up at Neville again.

“And – and if you could? Would you go back to – to you-know-who?”

Draco only shook his head. There was too much to explain. Hermione, Ron and Harry had been listening intently. Neville had asked a lot if important questions which they'd only dared to think about, not to mention having an open discussion about it. A new Neville had appeared in front of them, displaying diplomatic skills Harry and Hermione only could dream about. Mapping out Draco's new allegiance was something which had added to Harry's stress level. He had been pondering about this ever since Draco was first targeted. All though Draco hadn't said it out loud, he understood why Draco would never return to Voldemort's service, at least not willingly. Draco felt remorse. And Harry could also see how welcoming him into their midst had altered the Slytherin's opinions. The Gryffindors had caught Draco in a web of early friendship, and provided they kept on spinning, Draco would in time grow to become a close friend and ally. Harry saw himself in the future, entrusting Draco with his life the way Dumbledore trusted Snape.

“Thanks for sharing this with us, Draco. For sharing it with me. It's important, you know” Neville said whilst glancing up at Draco, “because you've got the entire Ministry divided in this. They don't know what to make of it, other than that you must have turned into a dark wizard. It's the only explanation they can come up with. And now they're waiting for you to …. turn about and show your true self. But I wasn't content to go about wondering, listening to their conspiracy theories. I wanted to hear it from you. Whatever you did, it was brilliant though. There are no words which can express the way I feel. Neither how my parents feel.”

“You don't have to thank me. Really, I didn't do anything” Draco replied shyly. He was flattered and felt awkward at the same time. He felt strongly as an outsider, yet he was sitting amongst friends. Or at least a group of friends who had for the moment decided to invite him in. He would not trespass on their hospitality. And the way Ron glared daggers at him was doing nothing to reduce the awkward sensation of being misplaced. As no more questions were directed at him, Draco felt he should be leaving. They had gotten what they wanted. He was probably no longer wanted. Or needed. He made as if to get up, but suddenly Neville said:

“Uhm, haven't seen you on a broomstick this year.”

“Well” Draco replied, seating himself again, “I – I sort of lost interest.”

“Too bad” Harry all of the sudden said, “you're a heck of a player!”

“Thank you, that's … nice of you” Draco replied. He had a hard time coming up with what he considered proper replies.

“Will you be watching the game?” Neville asked, referring to the oncoming Quidditch match between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors.

“I haven't really decided yet – …!” Draco replied. Small talking to Neville Longbottom was something he definitely wasn't used to, and he was both flattered and grateful that Neville asked, though Draco suspected the Gryffindor only did so out of politeness.

“Why don't you do us all a favour and not show up then, mister Centre of all Attention!” Ron suddenly blurted out. He put his tea cup down with a loud bang. Hermione stared at Ron in disbelief. Harry was about to protest, but Ron cut him short.

“You like to keep us all in the dark, don't you? 'The misunderstood hero'! And you prance about on your high horse, pretending to be the victim while you're actually sitting there just hanging around for the right moment to become the next bloody Voldemort! Well, you're not fooling me! Or Ginny!”

“What?!” exclaimed Ginny.

“And who is to say it's not just arranged, all of it? For all we know, your eudaimon could be in league with Voldemort. Perhaps they're just waiting for the right moment! And I know you, Malfoy. You've always been an ambitious son of a bitch! Isn't it convenient how you all of the sudden have a change of heart now that your precious dad's in jail and your family has lost its good name and reputation? What are you opting for? Sainthood?!”

Harry slammed his fist on the table so hard the plates hopped about an inch. But he nearly only stared at Ron in anger and disbelief.

“Yeah! And keep me out of this as well!” Ginny added, glancing from Harry to Ron. Neville was devastated. His jaw had fallen to the table, and he gazed after Malfoy who had long since lost his nerve and left the table. Hermione unseated herself, staring coldly at Ron.

“I can't believe you, Hermione! You've completely lost your head over that bloke!” Ron said, mimicking her and getting up. He strode after her as she hurried through the Great Hall after Draco. He caught up with her outside the door and took her arm. She twisted around and slapped his face with all the force she could muster. Letting go off her, Ron staggered backwards, muttering a 'bloody hell' under his breath. Women. He'd never understand them.

Defence Against the Dark Arts class.
Professor Snape said nothing but looked him up and down, doing his best to wear a cold, unreadable mask. He tried something new, this time, in this class. He separated the usual pairings and placed them with their opposites: The Gryffindors with the Slytherins, Slytherins with Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws with Slytherins. Draco didn't know why Snape had resorted to something so unusual, but it boosted his confidence a little to find every one out of their ordinary place, seemingly just as insecure as he felt. He did however, feel his heart sink to his toes when he saw he was being paired up with none other than Ronald Weasley. Weasley was in turn glancing over to Hermione Granger who was positively fuming over being paired up with Pansy Parkinson who stood a few metres away looking daggers at the female Gryffindor. And Harry Potter turned towards his partner, Vincent Crabbe, and the pair of them – Slytherin versus Gryffindor – measured each other silently, their dark eyes speaking volumes about pain to come. Vincent was obviously not particularly pleased about being paired up with The Boy Who Lived, knowing this was the living nemesis of Lord Voldemort himself.

Hatred was in the air, and Snape rubbed his palms against one another in pure delight. Hermione said nothing, and quietly slipped Draco his wand.

“Advanced duelling techniques” Snape's measured monotonous voice thundered out across the classroom. “Not only is it important to know the spells – practising them until you know how to cast them with a blindfold – but technique is equally important. Technique is half the spell. Technique is what allows a wizard to dance between hexes. Technique” Snape emphasized, as he meandered through the crowd of waiting students, “is the one component which is more likely to save your lives than just knowing how to deflect the spell itself. A true wizard” Snape continued, raising his wand up to his face with such precision that it barely touched the tip of his nose, “is as elegant as he is deadly. Technique is what we will be working on today, and we shall refine what already has been incorporated. Now to add a little … spice … to the lesson, I have paired you differently.”

Was that a faint smirk on Snape's face? Harry narrowed his eyes and looked again. Draco saw it too. They exchanged glances. This could get messy.


Harry versus Vincent.
Harry was faster than Vincent. He cast nicer spells than Vincent – nicer in the sense they made less damage. Vincent proved dangerous and unpredictable. Attempting to compensate for his nervousness, Vincent hurtled spells all over the place, not bothering too much about his aim. He was like a dancing elephant on two legs, wobbling here and there while he tried to mind too many things at once. His hopeless aim put an abrupt stop to the laughing students surrounding him as they chose to dive for cover in stead. Harry was deflecting spells more than he attacked, and he did a good job at it, but he paid no attention to technique, using his own self-taught variation on the subject. It was effective enough in its own way, yet clumsy and ungraceful. Snape stopped them both, scolding the Slytherin as well as the Gryffindor for their lacking abilities, and Snape compared Harry with a fish on land.


Hermione versus Pansy.
Ladies' round. The tension in the air heightened as Slytherin student Pansy Parkinson ploughed her way past Draco, hitting him in the shoulder as she strode by. She immediately displayed a strong female commanding presence, and Draco discovered a cold shimmer in her dark eyes which he had seen before somewhere. She had a haughty stance. A clear 'I am so much better than all of you' air about her. Typically Pansy, Draco told himself, but there was something else about her. Something new and meaner. A conviction. A deeper knowledge. His breath became shallow, and for a moment everything blurred before he realised it: The cold look in her eyes were that of a woman with a mission. It was the same expression he himself had been wearing ever since he got his assignment from Voldemort. A clear conviction combined with anxiety. Pansy had struck some kind of deal with the dark lord. She had become a Death Eater!

Draco glanced over to Harry, but the Gryffindor was busy watching Hermione take her place by her opponent. She too, had a sense of cool determination. Her face was unusually smug, with a hostile gleam in her eyes. She had a small wrinkle on her forehead, and her jaw was set in competitive mood. She was clenching her vacant fist, threw her head back so her long brown hair cascaded down her back, shot her chest out and drew her stomach in, positioning her feet wide apart. The bystanders sensed a dirty catfight.

For a moment, Draco couldn't help himself but to picture her armed with her wand, wearing a battle armour over a flowing white gown, the silk billowing, revealing a flawless thigh – ! Professor Snape's deep, rumbling voice broke off the momentary daydream, and Draco directed his gaze to the duellists. Hermione beat Pansy to the first strike by less then a second, sending the female Slytherin hurtling backwards by a simple yet powerful Stupefy spell. Hermione's move were down to earth, practical and forceful. Deadly precision combined with a natural female elegance gave her an almost ethereal stance. An edge yet to be seen by any of her male colleagues. Pansy got to her feet. She looked mortified and angrier than before they'd started.

“So! The Mudblood bares its fangs!” she hissed at Hermione. Hermione raised her wand at Pansy again, giving no other reply than a petrifying look. Pansy raised her wand also, her earlier grin wiped away from her face leaving nothing but hatred. They circled each other for a brief second, like a pair of predators scoping out the strengths and weaknesses of the other. Pansy made a peculiar lunge forward which reminded more of a fencing move than anything else, but it was enough to throw Hermione off her guard. She flinched and took a step backwards, and it was all Parkinson needed to hurl out a – Petrificus Totalus – full body-bind spell. Ducking, Hermione held her breath, and the curse missed her by a millimetre. Draco saw a Hufflepuff student fall to the ground with a loud boom. Hermione stood up and pointed her wand resolutely, shouting Avis – and a flock of canary birds suddenly emerged from from the tip of her wand. It was instantly followed by Oppugno – and the birds commenced a fierce attack towards Pansy. Effective. Draco turned to stare at Ron as the red-haired Gryffindor shuddered at the sight. Draco had no idea what it was all about. He turned his head just in time to see the canary birds evaporate in a small size explosion as Pansy discharged a Reducto curse at the swarm of angry attackers. The crowd – Slytherins in particular – cheered at this. Pansy raise her wand once again and shouted Serpensortia – immediately conjuring a serpent which landed on the floor and began to slither towards Hermione.

Draco was fully convinced now. Pansy had given herself away. She had become crueller. Nastier. Deadlier.

Hermione was panicstricken. Her lips moved but she couldn't get herself to do something. Then Snape intervened, with a stern and commanding Finite Incatatem, much to Hermione's relief. He graced Hermione with a condemning look before turning to Pansy, commending her for her creativity, addressing her stance. Turning back to the defeated female Gryffindor, he said: “Perhaps Miss Granger will have a care to remember this lesson and endeavour to imitate Miss Parkinson's fine manoeuvres, next time.” Snape did nothing to hide his contempt for the Muggle born. Before Draco could get himself moving to where Hermione was retreating, he heard his name being called.


Draco versus Ron.
Draco didn't feel like fighting. But when he'd taken his place and looked up to meet Ron's determined, cold-hearted stare, Draco raised his wand realising he would have to at least defend himself or risk being torn to pieces. Pansy – Draco realised – wasn't the only one who had changed. Ron looked … mad. Weasley's face was a mask between utter fear battling utter hatred for his Slytherin opponent. It was written across his stupid expression, the half open mouth and the beads of sweat on his upper lip and the way he kept blinking away that ridiculously unruly red hair from his eyes: This fight was about Hermione. And Ronald wanted her back. Sod Snape and his supposed techniques. Ron would strangle Draco bare-handed if he had to.

The crowd held its breath.

And then Draco awoke. He somehow saw the Stupefy spell before Ron had even launched it. It was like watching in slow motion, and Draco bent over backwards in good time as the curse came whizzing. Getting back up, Draco slid left and retaliated with a similar Stupefy. It hit Ron dead in the chest and sent him reeling through the air, hitting his back hard against the stone wall. Draco looked from where Ron had stood and over to his own hawthorn wand. What was that?! Ron didn't get up.

Snape walked over to investigate, and it was clear that Ron had to be taken to the medical wing. He sent a Hufflepuff and a Slytherin away with Ron, before he spun on his heel and paired Draco with Harry. They were to duel right there and then. Snape's eyes were ablaze.

Harry nodding his apologies to Draco, before he hurtled Expelliarmus at the Slytherin. Draco felt the tug of the force against his wand, but he held on to it. The crowd gasped. Harry, wide-eyed and gaping, cast it again, but Draco only felt his arm jerk backwards but he still managed to hold on to it. It seemed natural to extend the movement his arm already was in, and he swung his arm around casting a Stupefy which hit Harry in the face. Harry somersaulted backwards, landing hard on his buttocks a few metres away. Getting up, Potter shook his head as if he was clearing off the shock of the punch. Harry retaliated with Stupefy, but instead of ducking, Draco found it more natural to raise his wandless hand up in stop-sign. The purple light advanced at him and seemed to bounce of the vertical palm of his hand as if there was some unseen barrier. The crowd gasped again, looking from Draco to Harry just in time to see Harry take the mirrored punch in the chest, flying backwards to land flat on his face and belly. Harry groaned. He got back to his feet with great effort, swaying slightly as he made an effort to get his bearings. Draco was ready for him once more, with feet wide apart, his balance on the back of his heels, the hand with his hawthorn wand raised gracefully over his head and he held his other arm stretched outwards, ready to deflect any incoming spells. He never let go off Harry, focusing on every move the Gryffindor made. The crowd held its collective breath.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Draco shouted, pointing his wand at Harry. He watched the Gryffindor elevate, losing his balance in mid-air and twist about his own axis quite ungracefully. Coins and candy fell out of his pockets, and the crowd – the Slytherins in particular – cheered at this, laughing loudly. Draco smiled apologetically, and reached out with his wandless hand, thinking about Harry's wand, made of Holly and with a Phoenix Feather core. It slipped gracefully from Harry's hand and flew over touching Draco's vacant palm. He embraced it with his fingers, feeling the wood warmed by Harry's hand in his fist.

Another fit seized Draco. He almost crumbled to his knees, but remained standing, fighting it while he willed Harry softly down to the ground. As Draco had touched the Gryffindor's wand, he had contemplated the warm touch of Harry's hands on the Slytherin's skin, and what it would be like. His abdomen tightened into a knot, he saw himself in a passionate embrace with Harry Potter, saw Harry's tongue slither its way up Draco's crack and into his waiting, wet hole. Back in the present, Draco waited for Harry to get up. Everyone had gone silent since Snape had stepped into the circle, he was scrutinizing Draco. Coming back to his feet, Draco extended his arm, offering Harry back his wand. He had seen the question in Harry's eyes for a brief moment. Would the Slytherin be difficult and deny him his own wand, or would Draco Malfoy be a good boy?

“Sorry about the … uhm, the stupefy things...!” Draco mumbled. He turned to the professor, expecting a speech on how not to duel.

“Mister Malfoy” Professor Snape began slowly, looking the boy up and down, “I'm afraid … I have nothing more to teach you. It has become evident, that in the field of magical combat, I have been surpassed.”

Draco looked at him curiously. Surpassed? By who? He wanted to ask, not seeing himself at all in that role. All Draco cared for at the moment, was to make a trip to the bathroom so he could find himself an empty booth and be rid of a persistent and annoying erection which was growing inside his pants. He looked over to Harry. Harry was gazing from Snape, to Draco and then back again, his brows drawn in a solid knot. Draco could almost hear the machinery inside the Gryffindor's head working frantically to piece together what the words actually meant.

“It would, however, be my pleasure …” Snape began again, “if you would continue to attend my lessons, and perhaps explore your talent in various directions?”

Various directions.

It made Draco think of various positions and what that term meant and could lead to. He smiled faintly and wanted to get lost in the crowd, confused about what Snape was really talking about. Draco felt seriously uneasy. He felt as if Snape was branding him as an outsider. A freak.

When the lesson was over, Draco wandered away from the classroom lost in thought. He had had some sort of revelation in there, and as he was walking, Harry came jogging to catch up with him.

“You know what this means?” he said, sounding out of breath.

“What?” Draco replied. He'd set course for the bathroom. Between Defence Against the Dark Arts class and Charms class with Professor Flitwick, he had time to make a quick detour into the boy's bathroom.

“If Snape is convinced that you're better than him –!”

“ – you can bet that word will reach the Dark Lord, and that he'll attempt to recruit me again” Draco said. “Melchior won't allow it. He cannot and must not allow it!” Draco added, with a more concern than he'd intended.

“It's the eudaimon, isn't it? He's – he's doing something to you, your powers! You weren't this good a month ago.”

“I just wanted to start over …! I just wanted to be someone better, to repent for what I did, or didn't do or should have done or whatever” Draco shook his head as he turned the corner, striding briskly off towards the bathroom. “I just wanted to spend whatever time I had left feeling normal, to be a part of the crowd, I never wished for this! I don't want to stand out!”

“What are you giving him in return for your heightened skills?” Potter wanted to know.

“I don't know!”

“Your soul?”

“My what? Oh come on, Potter!” Draco strode fast across the hall to a flight of stairs. Potter jogged along side him, being slightly shorter in his feet there was no other way to keep up.

“You must give Dumbledore your word that you won't – you know – go and join Lord Voldemort again. Swear it, Draco!”

Draco stopped dead in his tracks.

“Dumbledore?” Draco asked, looking Harry straight in the eye. He couldn't keep his gaze, and his eyes fell on Potter's lips. They were slightly parted. Potter had beads of sweat covering his upper lip. “What about you? The Boy Who Lived? The Chosen One? If anyone, it should be you I should swear my allegiance to, not that old man!” Draco looked at Harry's puzzled expression for a minute. “Do you really have that little faith in yourself, Potter? In everything you do, you put your faith in old Dumbledore, to fix things for you if something should go wrong.” Draco shut his eyes tight, discovering his immediate mistake. He faced Harry again and said: “I'm sorry. It's just … I envy you for having him. But there are times when you appear like a headless chicken, and all I hear is Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that, like you don't have a mind of your own”. Draco shut his eyes tight again. “Sorry!” He turned towards the stairs again. He was nearly there. Seven minutes left for Charms class. “I'm sorry Harry, I didn't mean to be so blunt. I didn't meant to hurt your feelings.”

'Let me make it up to you in a booth in the boy's bathroom, let me undress you, slowly, and nibble your ear with my teeth, let me taste your skin and play with your cock, let me feel it in my ass, its size, the soft skin of your flesh-like sword as it creates friction against my insides …!' Draco had shut his mouth a long time ago but in his mind, he was picturing what he wanted to say the most.

He took his bag full of books and moved it ever so slightly in front of himself. Potter watched him move awkwardly towards the right side railing. There, Draco turned his back to him and was apparently gazing at the moving staircases which floated on their own accord between the doors and floors. Draco gripped the railing. His eyes were wide open, and intrigued by the sudden change in behaviour, he walked over to where Draco was standing. The Slytherin had a funny expression on his face, and Harry couldn't quite tell what he was looking at for the blond's eyes kept swivelling around, darting from staircase to staircase. Draco had developed a hectic ruddiness in his cheeks, and his mouth was half open. He was breathing laboured. Then Draco shut his eyes tight, leaning slightly forward. Whatever had happened, seemed to pass, Draco sighed heavily and seemed to compose himself before discovering Harry standing next to him. Draco smiled faintly, looking immensely embarrassed.

“Again, I am extremely sorry” Draco spoke, looking like he was apologizing for being alive. Five minutes left. “Harry? May I borrow your wand?” Draco asked out of the blue. “Hermione has mine you see. Uhm, it's only going to, uh, take a minute. I need a … a Scourgify spell.”

“What's Hermione doing with your wand?” Harry asked, handing Draco his wand against all better and previous knowing. Shifting his hold on the satchel with books, Draco had to expose himself, and Harry's eyes widened as he saw the stain. Draco muttered Scourgify and the stain disappeared.

“I don't trust myself with it when I'm alone with her. The … it's I'm getting some sort of fit when she's around. And she said she kept getting the same. It's the eudaimon. He's trying to force us together.”

“So you're taking precautions. That's good, Draco. Real good” Harry said as Draco handed him his wand back. “Did you just come?” he whispered to the Slytherin. Draco nodded, obviously embarrassed. Harry couldn't hold back a smirk.

“It's not funny, Potter!” Draco said.

“No it isn't. And you know what? I'm seriously beginning to like you, Malfoy.”

“Oh the horror” Draco blurted out. It had seemed like a natural reply, but he started as Harry cringed with a roaring laugh. It pretty much made Draco's day. He'd made Harry Potter laugh so hard the Gryffindor cried.

Charms class.
Draco was thankful for the Scourgify spell. He made it to class. Barely. And his pants were back in order. Entering the room, the only vacant seat was next to Hermione Granger. She leaned in and whispered that Ron was still in the hospital wing, that he would be attending classes after lunch.

The Slytherin gazed into her lovely brown eyes, watched the way her eyelashes moved and the way the small hairs curved. He shouldn't be seated next to her. Already, the prelude to another fit was growing in his loins. Draco wished himself away.

“Mobilicorpus!” Professor Flitwick said and flung out his arms. “Expecto Patronum and Petrificus Totalus. What do these spells have in common?”

Hermione knew the answer. But she kept stealing glances at Draco Malfoy and forgot completely where she was. She had saved a seat for him. She glanced at how his white-yellow hair fell into places, forming a flowing pattern from his forehead down behind his ear. She explored the jawline, his outline, the nose and the way he –! Draco turned his head to gaze at her momentarily.

He'd said he loved her.

She didn't know how to feel about it except that it was all so intimidating. Saving a seat for him all of the sudden seemed ludicrous. She was behaving like a – a – like Lavender Brown, all head in the clouds over some drops of attention from a boy. And this wasn't just any boy. It was Draco Malfoy. She dreamt of him at night. And last night, she dreamt he had come in the middle of the night to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He had spoken the password. He had been looking vile, with an evil grin on his face. And he had rolled up the sleeve and shown the fat Lady his Dark Mark, and the snake had been alive on his arm. She had dreamt he had made his way into the Gryffindor common room. The further he got, the more alarmed had she been in her sleep, knowing just how many metres, how many steps on the staircase there were until she had dreamt that she had been dreaming and that he had entered the room she shared with the other girls. And she had been so frightened, she'd awoken, freezing and sweating at the same time. It was Draco Malfoy. He was a Death Eater. Could she give herself to a Death Eater?

Draco was flicking his wand aimlessly while he listened to professor Flitwick. Every student was in a bore. Theory lessons could be such a drag. He thought about Hermione, laughing and smiling at him in Potions class, and all of the sudden, a jet of silvery blue light sprouted from his wand and out into the classroom. Of everyone present, Draco gaped the most. In the air above their heads danced a silver scorpion. Draco looked from the scorpion, to his wand and then back at the beautiful scorpion. Professor Flitwick only cleared his voice, produced a small book he noted grades in, and flicked a lot of pages.

“Ah. Here we are. Draco Malfoy. One Patronus. Very good. Now, back to the responsibilities of – …!” professor Flitwick continued as if nothing had happened, tucking his book away. Draco's patronus trotted off before it disappeared in thin air. The students seemed to have been awakened, and as Draco glanced over to Hermione, she saw that her weary expression had faded. She seemed happier. He returned her smile weakly, again wishing for a big black hole in the ground as he had everyone's eye directed at him. Hermione flicked her hair, and it sent a wave of freshly shampooed scent over to his nostrils. His guts formed a tight knot. The muscles in his abdomen clenched tightly, and his cock rose to instant attention. His hole screamed 'fuck me!'. Draco lowered his wand behind the desk, moving it over to Hermione's lap. He felt her start as his hand touched her thigh, but she quickly understood he was handing over his wand. Meeting her gaze, Draco gave a start as well. Her cheeks were flushed, she looked disrupted and out of sorts. She was shifting in her seat. She looked terrified, as if happiness had been drained from her. Draco got up from his seat and fetched his bag. He left quickly and silently. Only once he was outside, did he dare to breathe. He set off once again towards the bathroom, cursing himself for getting into all of these situations which brought him unwanted attention. Where was Melchior? Why wouldn't the eudaimon come and have his way with him? He heard the door slam above him as he directed his steps down the stairs. Someone else was leaving as well. Someone in a hurry. Reaching the base of the stairs, Draco had a growing suspicion. He half walked, half jogged away. Then there was a third bang as the great oak door slammed shut once again. The Slytherin barely registered it. He ran up the stairs towards the bathroom. Looking behind his shoulder, he saw Hermione running after him. She looked angry. She caught up with him, and pulled him inside the boy's bathroom, right into the nearest vacant booth. She closed the door. Her eyes were wide open, her lips lush and kissable, her hair in disarray and she was wringing her hands desperately.

She was alone with him, and he looked just as desperate as she felt. He tightened and un-tightened his fists. His fingers itched for her. His gaze fell to her skirt, and he imagined his hands roaming beneath it, lifting it up, tearing it asunder. He felt something evil within him stir. He wanted to put his hands around her throat and squeeze. Her hands moved and moved, ghosted his chest time and time again. She didn't know what to do with them. She wanted to put a hand to his crotch, to feel him, his most private parts. She wanted him to hold her.

He had cast a patronus! Draco Malfoy had cast a patronus!

No known Death Eater could cast Expecto Patronum. They had to know love to do such a thing.

Draco Malfoy knew love.

“I don't want to hurt you!” he more snarled than whispered at her. His eyes were shut – his face a troubled mask, like he was fighting something inside of him. “If I touch you now, I won't be able to stop myself!”

Hermione clenched her thighs together as another throe washed over her, fanning out through her genitalia. His breath hitched. He shuddered, but bent down and in an instant, their lips met. He drank in her kiss, her scent, her touch, greedily. They both jumped as a loud bang on the door woke them back to reality. The enchantment lifted.

“Alohamora!” Harry's voice rung commanding through the bathroom. The lock turned and the door to their booth swung open.
“Harry! Thank Merlin, you came!” Draco exclaimed exasperated. Hermione didn't greet him. She was on the verge of tears. She strode out, looking absolutely crestfallen.

“What happened? Did something happen? One minute the two of you were sitting in class – !”

Hermione spun on her heel, and snarled: “Mind your own business, Harry! Just leave us alone!” Her voice was brimming with restrained tears. Draco resisted the urge to run after her. “What's he going to do, Harry?!” Hermione fumed, her eyes suddenly flowing over with tears. “He has given me his wand!” she wailed. “Get your wand out of his face” she shouted to Harry, fishing out her own wand, “or I'll pulverize you from where I stand!” Her hand was shaking. She pointed it at him none the less, attempting to exercise some control.

“What is wrong with you?!” Harry exclaimed, frowning at her. She seemed to crumble, and next minute, she dropped her wand before she glanced at Draco through tear-filled eyes. She turned and ran off.

The fit didn't stop. It more or less flowed and ebbed like the tide, one wave releaving the other. Draco grit his teeth together and put in every effort on ignoring Hermione and paying attention to every word the professors said. By lunch time, he was weary from the constant pressure, the insatiable, unquenchable flame that was lust ravaging his body. She, was dissolved in tears, unfocused, her fit unanswered by his. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco thought he saw Melchior, grinning wickedly, several times. Draco sat alone. He dared not glance in her direction. He'd left Harry standing alone in the bathroom. He'd said nothing, only looked despaired at the Gryffindor. He had seen Hermione in deep conversation with Harry when he'd entered the Great Hall. Had she scowled at him? Draco probably deserved it. He felt as if he was trespassing on her somehow, making her feel all of these feelings she didn't want to. He would not – could not be close to her. He cursed silently at Melchior. In his head, he could almost hear the eudaimon chuckle. Draco ate mechanically, mostly because his stomach growled and his head swam.

After lunch, Draco walked briskly to the bathroom. He took off his vest, tossed it at the nearest bench and turned on the water. He looked himself in the mirror. His face was pale, dark half moons beneath his eyes. He wore a constant crease on his forehead and his white-yellow hair tickled his eyelashes. He bent down and soaked his face in water. Turning off the water, he could no longer hold back the sobbing. He froze as he saw Melchior – in the mirror – leaning casually against the front of the toilet booths. The eudaimon had a smug grin on his face.

“I can't do it....” Malfoy sobbed, “I can't – I – it won't work … I won't let you …!” Draco turned his head to glance over to where Melchior was standing. But it was as if the eudaimon had never been there. It was all in Draco's mind. This is it, Draco thought and pinched the bridge of his nose while his tears still streamed, this is it! I'm going mad! He looked up as the bathroom door shut with a loud bang. With a great shudder, he looked in the mirror again, discovering Ronald Weasley staring wildly at him. Ron had obviously recovered from their previous encounter in class earlier. Draco wheeled round only to discover that Ron had drawn his wand and it was aimed at Draco. A blast of fiery red soared through the air, and Draco ducked just in time as the spell hit the mirror over the grimy basin where he'd been standing. He heard Ron shout Levicorpus, and Draco lunged himself behind the nearest door, crawling, gasping, sobbing – his heart racing wildly – and getting to his feet. Hide – hide! He had no way of protecting himself. Hermione still had Draco's wand. He heard Ron shout in a start as Moaning Myrtle squealed: “Stop it at once! You're ruining my bathroom!” Draco moved silently, aiming for the door, but then the bin behind his legs exploded into a million shards. He ran for it. Draco toppled over as pain bloomed on his right side and in his back. He felt as if he had been stabbed in the back of his right thigh, but he continued despite the pain.
“Sectumsempra!” he heard Ron shout, and not a second later, he felt a searing, unbearable pain flare up on his back again. He couldn't move. The pain was immobilizing him. Draco's knees buckled beneath him. A Stupefy hit the nearest cistern just as Moaning Myrtle popped up from it to have a closer look at Malfoy. It smashed and water poured from it, logging the floor where Malfoy lay flat on his stomach. Myrtle screamed. Draco coughed and gasped, shuddering uncontrollably partly because of the pain, partly because of the cold water. Moaning Myrtle cried at the top of her lungs: “Murder! Murder in the bathroom! Murder!”

“No – I didn't – you brought this on yourself – Malfoy!” Ron said, looking bewildered from Myrtle and down at the bleeding Slytherin. “Just stay away from her, all right?! Stay away from her with – all that dark magic stuff. I don't know what you've gone and done to her, but I swear I'll – !” Ron rambled on, but the rest drowned as Moaning Myrtle once again screamed bloody murder. “You're making her miserable, you stupid sod! She's crying and it's all because of you! You brought this on yourself! You're a Slytherin! You don't know how to make other people happy! You could never make my Hermione happy!” Ron said, staggering towards the door.
The door banged open and Snape rushed in along with professor McGonagall. Snape's face was livid, and it turned an angry purple as he saw Ronald Weasley, his wand still smoking, and Draco lying on the water-logged floor, drenched in his own blood. Moaning Myrtle was sobbing and wailing overhead.
Professor Snape knelt in the blood-mixed water, directed his wand across Malfoy's wounds while he began to chant: “Vulnera Sanentur” whilst moving his wand across Draco's wounds. Snape did this three times, before Draco's body stopped shuddering. Half-lifting Malfoy into a standing position, he said: “You need the hospital wing.”
“I .. I have Transf – Transfiguration class in – in five minutes” Draco mumbled, shuddering involuntarily.

“You are in shock, and you need to take some dittany immediately. Come...” Snape said, supporting Malfoy across the room. He turned at the door and shot Weasley a cold stare which went through bone and marrow. But he said nothing, knowing McGonagall was about to give him an earful.


The Hospital wing.
“I'm late for Transfiguration class!” wailed Draco. Madam Pomfrey shot her patient a stern glance as she tucked his feet under the sleeping blanket for the fourth time.

“If I see you out of bed once more, Mister Malfoy, I'll send for Hagrid and have him stand guard!” she said in a caring yet commanding tone.

“You – you don't understand...!” his voice trailed off. She had made him drink a soothing tea mixed with a little bit of sleeping potion. He was sleepy now, yet he struggled to keep his eyelids up, “I have to … go to … to … class, or else I won't ...” He felt himself drift off to sleep, though he did so with fear in his heart – fear that he now probably had failed Melchior once again. No, not once, but twice. Good boys didn't get into fights with the Gryffindors. Good boys didn't draw attention to themselves. Good boys didn't miss class. He was sure Dumbledore would expel him now. He was encumbering everybody: Snape, Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, Hermione, the Slytherins, Neville, Harry, Draco's mum … oh the list just went on and on. He was confident he would be punished. There was now way the eudaimon would let this go. Draco forced his eyes open. His body wanted sleep. It wanted rest. It was tired and weary, but Draco ignored its wailing. Transfiguration class. He had to get to Transfiguration class. Or Melchior would punish him. The moment his feet felt the pressure of his weight, his knees buckled. His head hurt, his mind swam and he couldn't keep his eyelids open any more. He heard Snape's voice, rushed and authoritative, discussing with Madam Pomfrey. Draco didn't resist as he was put to bed once more. He managed to open his eyes for a short while, and gazed into Snape's concerned face.

Draco slept. In his half-dream, he sensed Hermione sitting by his sickbed, holding his hand. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he heard a woman's voice speaking hushed. He sensed several people by his bed.

“Poor boy” he heard the woman say in a low voice, “what a tragedy. Can we not fetch the poor boy's mother? And Easter is upon us” she sighed, “Where is he to go if he cannot go home?”

Next time Draco opened his eyes, he saw Hermione sitting on the chair next to his bed again. She held his hand in hers, enveloping it, stroking it with her thumb. She wasn't looking at him. She was staring at his hand, obviously lost in thought, a crease on her otherwise flawless forehead. She held his hand tenderly. Her hands were soft, dry and warm, and he couldn't help but to feel that she was there to comfort him. Maybe she was having second thoughts? Maybe she was thinking about how insane all of this was; This predicament he'd gotten her in. Maybe, just maybe she blamed him.
Draco struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted to be soaked with her beauty, to take in every detail of her while she sat like that, oblivious to his awakened state. In his chest there were conflicting emotions which threatened to tear him apart. He felt completely undeserving of her attention, and he tried his best to convince himself that she would let go off his hand at any minute, walk away and never want to know him again. He felt a lump grow in his throat, felt the tears press on as terror seized his heart and squeezed hard. He didn't want her to leave! He couldn't go on, day after day, knowing she hated him, that she never would know him again. She still loved Ronald, he was sure of it, had to be sure of it. How could she possibly harbour affection for someone like Malfoy? Draco was blind to the other residents of the hospital wing. There had been a fierce match between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, and the Slytherins had ground the Gryffindors in the dirt, causing a lot of injuries. He thought he heard Potter. Unbeknownst to him, Harry lay in the bed next to him. He had minor scratches but had suffered an injury to his ribs on the rights side of his chest. Ginny sat next to him, and they talked silently amongst themselves, and Draco thought he heard Weasley's name being mentioned. He drifted off to sleep once more, unaware of the glaring looks the visiting Slytherins sent Hermione as they walked past.

Suddenly, the doors to the hospital wing burst open. Narcissa strode briskly into the room. She was dissolved in tears, her cheeks burning with fury, and she was escorted by a hesitant Snape who seemed distressed than anything else.

“Madam, it isn't safe for you here. Make it brief” he spoke lowly to her back, gazing at the people in the sickbeds.

“Where is he?” She exclaimed, “where is my darling boy?!” Narcissa shouted out. She found him immediately with her eyes and walked up to him in a dramatic fashion. Once she saw Hermione, she came to an abrupt stop. She glared at the Muggle-born witch with utter contempt, before she hissed: “What is 'she' doing here?!” she said, directing her question to both Snape and Granger, emphasizing the word 'she'.

“Mrs. Malfoy, this is Miss Hermione Granger. A Muggle-born witch – !” Snape began. He was cut short by Narcissa.

“ – you! It was your arms he went to, instead of mine!” Narcissa took a menacing step closer before she said: “Don't you for one second think that you can replace Miss Parkinson! I will get to the bottom of this! Whatever it is you think you can press my boy into, you're not going to achieve it! I will not stand it! My beautiful boy and a Mudblood!” Narcissa spat out the last word, enraged by the way Hermione held her son's hand.

Hermione felt her knees go weak. She felt sick with fright, and was contemplating to leave when she felt Draco squeeze her hand tighter. He held on to her hand harder, as if he was listening to the conversation and not liking what he was hearing. She saw his eyes flutter open, but he seemed unable to focus. Then they sank shut again.

“Draco is my friend” Hermione told Narcissa. Her voice shook with nervousness, but Draco's reaction had given her courage. “And unlike his fellow Slytherins, I have no intention of abandoning him.” She stared Narcissa boldly in the eye. She saw she'd hit the jackpot as Narcissa went silent and lowered her gaze. At least they had one view in common. As to emphasize that, Mrs. Malfoy turned to glare at the Slytherins.

“You speak what others only think, Miss Granger, I'll give you that” Narcissa said while she eyed each and every of Draco's former house members with disapproval. She remembered all too well the news and the shock which ensued upon learning that her boy had been cast out of the Slytherin house. Then her eyes fell on Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter. Hermione saw how Ginny wanted to disappear in her seat under the stern and condemning gaze of Narcissa Malfoy. But Narcissa said nothing. She took a seat in the vacant chair on Draco's right side. Putting her purse aside, she took his hand and cradled it in hers in a similar manner to that of Hermione. For a long time, his mother gazed at Draco in silence. She wept openly and silently, and she reached out to stroke his pale cheek. Hermione felt Draco's hand relax in hers. She saw his eyelids flutter open, and he made an effort to look at his mother. She smiled – and in that smile, behind the conceited and arrogant mask she wore – Hermione saw the mother and all the love she harboured for her only child. Draco's eyes fell shut again, and moments after, he snored lightly. Professor Snape, who bore witness to it all, approached Draco's sickbed. He had folded his hands behind the small of his back and seemed uneasy.

“Mrs. Malfoy. You should not linger very much longer. If the eudaimon were to discover you here by your son's side, the consequences –!”

“ – don't speak to me of consequences!” she replied. “I am more than painfully aware of the consequences. There has not been one letter from Draco where he has not reminded me of those dreadful things! Not one single letter where he has not excused his entire existence, apologizing for inconveniencing me, his own mother! And then this horrible last letter from him not a week ago, telling me he was going to end it!” Narcissa sobbed. Hermione glanced at Draco's right wrist and immediately she saw the scarring. She hadn't noticed it before. Neither had Draco said anything. What Harry had said had been true; Draco would rather die than hurt her.

Hermione couldn't help herself. Through a veil of tears she glanced at Narcissa. Draco had told no one about another attempt at his life. It seemed that the two women despite their differences had a common platform after all.

Grudgingly, Narcissa left after a few minutes. She had trouble disciplining herself to go. Hermione could only imagine her internal struggle. Snape escorted her out. The further away she walked from Draco the more she seemed to return to her old self. Snape escorted her all the way to the wrought iron gates of Hogwarts, and there, she turned to face him. The angry red had returned to her cheeks. She had been deep in thought. But now she looked up at him and said; “What is to happen to the Weasley boy?”

“Normally, he would have been expelled. Considering his ties to Harry Potter, and given the fact that these are dangerous times” Snape raised his eyebrows in an effort to show emotion, “Dumbledore is prepared to let Weasley off with a warning.”

“Preposterous! The boy is a walking menace!” Narcissa turned right and left, quite restless. “When he graduates from Hogwarts, I'll make sure he'll regret it for the rest of his life!”

Draco dreamt. In his dream, he had followed Melchior into the bathroom. He wanted to have Draco in the bathtub, but he waved his hand once and every shower turned on. Steam rose, and the water had a nice hot temperature. Draco knew he wanted this. He took off his school vest, and began to unbutton his shirt. He stood in the bathtub with water to his knees, and suddenly Melchior had disappeared. He heard a laughter though. A wicked, malicious laughter, but it wasn't the way Melchior laughed. Draco froze with his fingers at the button. It was Ron. Draco knew he had to get out of there. He tried climbing out of the bathtub – coincidentally the same bathtub Harry Potter had used during the Triwizard tournament, but this he didn't know – but he kept slipping on the edge. Anxiety fanned inside his chest. Any minute now, Ron would be coming around the corner, all though Draco had difficulties pinpointing exactly where the laughter came from. Draco tried and he tried, but he kept missing the edge, there was no getting out of the tub. Then, to his horror he saw Ron coming around the corner. He had drawn out his wand. He looked amused. He walked over to the tub, and placed one foot on the edge. Draco staggered backwards and fell. Ron aimed his wand at the Slytherin. Draco went underwater, and just then he saw the jet of green light.

Draco awoke with a start. He was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. His heart raced inside his chest. Once he realized where he was, he relaxed, grateful to still be alive. He was alone in the hospital wing. The Slytherins and the Gryffindors had gone back to the dorms where they belonged and were welcomed by their friends. Draco Malfoy had no one. He belonged no where.

Thinking of this made him cry. He lay his head down on his pillow and the tears streamed down his face, past his ears and onto the already damp fabric. He wished he could have gone with Hermione to the Gryffindor common room. In his despair, he looked up in the ceiling imagining himself sleeping on a couch there. Not that he knew what it looked like, he didn't have the faintest idea where it was. But then he recalled that Ron Weasley was a Gryffindor, so it was a rather bad idea. Draco remembered Weasley's shouting vividly:

“You're making her miserable, you stupid sod! She's crying and it's all because of you! You brought this on yourself! You're a Slytherin! You don't know how to make other people happy! You could never make my Hermione happy!”

He was right, Draco thought. He had been thinking it then too, in the bathroom, that Ron was right. Draco could never make Hermione happy. He saw no future for the two of them. He would have his hands full serving Melchior. He would linger on, on the brink of life, becoming more of a nut-case every month, abused and bruised, with a cock in his arse every single day. There was no way Hermione would stand such a situation. Why couldn't Ron see that?

The word Easter came to mind. Oh yes, the Easter holidays. Hermione would leave then. He would be left all alone at Hogwarts, but all the same, she would be out of his hair for a while. She would be safe. Draco shifted painfully in his sickbed. He wondered if he was strong enough to make it back to his room. He was sick for company. Any company, even if it meant harsh words and a rough intercourse. There would at least, for a while be another body present. Draco sat up, lifted the sheet aside and slid his legs out of bed. The floor was cold beneath his soles, and he set them down carefully, administering weight very slightly until he was standing fully on his own two legs. He felt a little dizzy, and stood still until he thought he would try to move. He supported himself on the beds, slowly making his way towards the doors. He sneaked past Madam Pomfrey, and continued on his way back to his room, wearing a pyjamas. He used the walls for support. Though some aurors saw him, they did nothing to stop him. He made it back. But by the time he got there, he was weary. He lay down in the cold bed, and was instantly reminded of the last time he'd been in it. Melchior had been with him. And Draco had angered him. He turned his back at the room and faced the wall. He began to sob, first silently and then a little louder. He despaired over his impossible situation. It was a living nightmare, and once again he felt as if he was made to atone for sins he couldn't name. He regretted his existence, and because he had no one else to reach out to, to touch, Draco touched the cold brick wall by his bed. He lay his palm against it, felt it warm to his touch and imagined it to be someone comforting him. A living, breathing being who cared. Solitude was shattering him inside. He was out in the cold with nowhere to go. No one wanted him. Draco Malfoy felt so incredibly small and insignificant.

Someone knocked on his door an hour or so later. He heard the hinges creak slightly, and he shifted in his bed to have better view at the intruder. In the blue light from the wand, he saw her face, and only her face. The rest of her was hidden beneath Harry's invisibility cloak. She stepped inside once she saw him and closed the door silently. She pulled off the cloak and swung it casually over the chair by his desk. Her brows were tied up in a deep frown, and she looked as if she had been crying. Draco sat in his bed, and for a silent moment or two, they just watched each other.

“Easter is – is three days away” she whispered in the blue light from her wand. “I'll be going home then.” She hesitated, before turning towards the candles. She lit them with the wand, and in the warm candlelight, he saw it was his hawthorn wand. She turned towards him again. She wore a pair of jeans. Slippers. A wool sweater. He watched her take off her slippers. She looked at him. Then she looked down and commenced to undo the buttons on her jeans. The fabric fell to her ankles, and she stepped out of the jeans. She had no underwear. Draco held his breath. He remembered to close his jaw. Then she pulled off her sweater, and dropped it next to where her jeans lay. She had nothing beneath it.

Draco pulled aside his blanket. He undid the buttons on his pyjamas jacket with shaky fingers, before he pulled off his trousers. She didn't hesitate, and as she moved forward, coming close to him, climbing to him on his bed just as he'd kicked his trousers away. He got an instant erection. She looked as if she was about to cry. She was shaking. Their lips met in a kiss and she placed one uncertain hand on his chest, causing a hailstorm of electrical currents in him. Draco slid his left hand around her waist, urging her closer, until she straddled him. He could feel her moist sex against his rock hard member, and another fit seized him. He lay down and directed his left hand from her waist down towards his erection, caressing the soft skin of her thigh as his fingers made progress. She hoisted herself up a little, allowing him access. Aiming his erection straight up, he waited for her to find her way with her hips, angling her abdomen. She held her breath, and pushed herself down onto Draco's fleshy sword. The world started turning. Draco felt so good he felt dizzy, but he resisted the urge to shut his eyes. Instead he watched her watch him, and they kept eye contact. It was as if he disappeared into her. Hermione hesitated – her face half hidden in a mass of curls and hair. Her features conveyed pain, and Draco knew she was struggling with the maidenhead. He resolutely put his hands on her hips. Then he let his hands wander the soft skin on her belly, her hips and her arms. The caress made her relax a bit, and Draco put his hands back on her hips and bucked his own hips upwards. Hermione let out a small cry of pain. The fit inside him seemed to explode, to overwhelm him, and he began to move his hips more and in rhythm. Hermione whimpered, but she did nothing to stop him. He watched her intently – watched her pained expression float by and be replaced by something else. She opened her eyes and looked down on him as if to tell him she was all right. She still wore the frown on her forehead, and she didn't smile. Neither did he. But her eyes were dry now and she seemed more relaxed. Content. Pleased. Aroused.

There was no stopping now. Draco could feel the orgasm surge under the surface, feel the throes of the final fit tear in his loins. He held his jaws in a set manner, a deep frown on his forehead. The fit drove him forwards – and upwards – , and he thrust away at her, enjoying the moans and the sighs and the whimpers he made her produce. And then he came. He felt as if he couldn't get deep enough inside her, and he thrust deep and hard into her entrance as if his life depended on it. The throes of the orgasm peaked then withered away, until his body relaxed. He lay his head back down on his pillow, and sighed. But he never stopped looking at her face. She remained seated with Draco's cock still inside her. He reached up and gently collected her hair to one side so he could see her face in the yellow light of the candles. She seemed calm. Composed again. And she smiled faintly. She disentangled herself from him and he made room for her closest to the wall. She rested her head on his arm, placed her hand on his chest, and Draco managed to pull the blanket on top of them both, shielding their naked bodies. They lay for untold moments, just holding one another. Then Draco turned on his side to gaze at her in her half dark. He stroked her face with one finger.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered concerned, with regret shining in his eyes. Hermione nodded, before she whispered in reply: “No.” Then she smiled reassuringly at him. His heart was still racing, mostly because they'd just done it, but now because she rested next to him and they were both naked. There were, however, things unsaid between them. Subjects which Hermione only had begun to address.

Would the fits wear off now? Would she hate him in the morning? Were they a couple? Would everything return to normal? Would Draco continue to whither away? Would Melchior continue to force them together?

Hermione shifted a little. “I have to go” she whispered with regret in her voice.

“Let me … let me escort you back. Please” Draco begged. “It's the least I can do …!” he went on. She nodded and gave him a brief smile. He watched her get out of bed, moving awkwardly. Draco immediately recognized the pattern. He had hurt her. She was sore. Draco felt immensely responsible, and all though he felt dizzy and weak, he got dressed as quickly as he could. She doused the flames. Before they left the room, she stopped and kissed him. They hid beneath the cloak, and tip-toed off. But as they closed on the intersection, Hermione directed her footsteps towards the hospital wing. Draco moaned silently and followed. Sneaking past Madam Pomfrey, they made it back to Draco's sickbed. It was exactly as he'd left it hours ago. He couldn't resist kissing her beneath the cloak. Hermione didn't draw away, she rather drew near and eliminated the space between them. “Please don't hate me in the morning” he whispered while his lips ghosted across hers. In response, she cupped his face with her hands, looked him in the eye and kissed him again, this time more passionately than before. She plastered her body against his, and he put his arms around her slim waist, crushing her in a fierce embrace. Then they parted without another word. Draco went back to bed, though he was wide awake with the images of Hermione naked on top of him still fresh on his retinas.