Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

Midnight. Stonehenge lay desolate in the eyes of the living. The huge pillar-like stones glittered with frosty diamonds, adding an unearthly touch to the megaliths which had outlasted generations of Mankind. The clouds on the nocturnal sky were fleeting, hiding and exposing the new moon as they saw fit. The faint moon rays illuminated the thin, spiderlike veils which were all that was left from mighty druids long since passed. They moved about silently, shifting in form and shape. Their energies everlasting, served as boosters to an already powerful, ageless magic within the stone circle itself. For a moment, the energies of druids past shifted violently as their auras were temporarily disturbed by an enormous power surge. A faint flash of blue light took place in the midst of the circle, and out of nowhere appeared two figures. Both male, one was considerably larger than the other, winged with an aura defined with evil. The other one, a boy aged seventeen, with blond hair, was dressed in black, his eyes dark and watchful. His hair hung down in his eyes, and he kept his wand at the ready. He immediately saw the two Death Eaters who had been guarding the megaliths. Behind the blond, the winged eudaimon reached out into the air, and flexed the muscles in his right hand as if he was gripping something unseen. The Death Eaters dropped their wands. Their faces went rigid with horror, their eyeballs bulging, and blood dripped from their noses. Clutching their chest, their faces distorted in what must have been excruciating pain. Without another sound, they fell dead to the icy ground.

Draco Malfoy kept silent, only watching as his master virtually ripped the life from their bodies. The eudaimon's ferocity and power was alluring, and the blond boy could not help but to feel aroused by the elegant and aloof way the eudaimon did what he did best: To exact pain and death upon his victims. Turning to face one another, master and servant fell silent. Draco took off his backpack, hid it in a cavity next to a large stone, and proceeded to once more enter the circle. He took several deep breaths, knowing what was to come. He could see the wavering energies of the ancient druids. A fact which Hermione had once shared with him about Stonehenge, surfaced in his head: Muggles only knew so much, and they believed that Stonehenge never was used by druids. That it was only a popular belief. But wizards and witches knew better. Druids were the eldest form of wizards, and they had been the first ones to start construction of the Stonehenge some five thousand years ago. Around 1400 B.C., the druids had abandoned Stonehenge and its magical source for reasons unknown. Standing in the midst of the circle, he now felt its power penetrate him. He had been here as a spoiled child, not understanding the importance of this place. Gaze-locked with Melchior, past, present and future melted together, and he saw the druids past, the power of Stonehenge creating dangerous rogue dark wizards, usurping the very humanity in them. If there was ever such a thing as a Voldemort-factory, this was the spot. No wonder the Dark Lord had chosen Malfoy Manor, which was only a stone's throw away, as his nesting ground.

Draco hated what now happened. He endured it though, because he knew that it inevitably gave him the help he needed. He undid his pants whilst Melchior took his arm and gently but firmly guided him over to one large megalith which had caved at some point in history. Draco dropped his pants along with his underwear. He thought of the bottle with lubrication at home, thankful for possessing it, knowing what was about to happen wouldn't be as painful as it could have been. He wrapped his hand around his limp member, focusing on a swift arousal, focusing on the positive effects from what was about to happen. As always, Melchior's cock was hard, and Draco's breath hitched as he felt it probe his entrance. The eudaimon did not speak. He entered the boy slowly and persistent, listening intently to Draco's body language. This was not a romantic intercourse. From this came no pleasure. Melchior was persistent, holding back slightly as he entered his servant. He buried himself to the hilt in a matter of seconds. The blond tensed up, breathing hard, frantically stroking himself to alleviate the pain of the sudden intrusion. The intercourse served only as a practical means for the eudaimon to boost Draco's already magnificent magical powers as a dark wizard. Neither did the blond oppose, as the sensation of being filled by something far larger than the eudaimon's cock, slowly seeped upwards from his abdomen, blooming in his belly and drowning his lungs and chest. As Melchior obliterated behind him, his dark matter seeped in through Draco's orifice and further up through his intestines, possessing and drowning every cell, every bundle of nerves on its way to the former Slytherin's brains. Draco began to shake. He always did at this stage, as his body's functions naturally began to fight the intruder. It was a power struggle which Draco had learnt to lose. The quicker he gave control over to Melchior, the quicker he could get started and the less pain there would be. As the eudaimon seeped into his mind, his beautiful grey-blue eyes drowned in pools of black filling the entire eyeballs. It was like wearing shades on a clear day, only the shades weren't there. The difference being one could still feel the sunglasses.

Melchior and Draco had spent many missions sharing Draco's body this way. When Draco's eyes went black, the eudaimon was in complete control, leaving Draco a puppet to be steered. It was a comfortable state in many ways, for Draco did not feel pain neither did he feel guilt about the misery he wrought upon his victims. And he had no recollection of the deed in question. Melchior numbed him in order to protect him from going mad. And that was a great comfort to the boy, and he chose to think of it as benevolence on Melchior's part. Draco could regain partial control also, when there was a situation which sparked his mind in a particular way. He had once been possessed in front of Hermione, in order to show her how he was in such a state. Face to face with his own wife, Draco found that his love for her was a power source stronger than anything else he'd ever experienced. Melchior could not match it. And it gave Draco tremendous comfort to know he had an escape door in case Melchior refused to leave him. All he had to do was to think of his children, and the eudaimon's will immediately weakened, allowing Draco partial control. He could not make the eudaimon leave, but he could at least fight him.
Partial control was a nice thing in the situations which required more of Draco besides being a killing machine. In situations which called for humanity, compassion, consideration – situations involving victimized children and their mothers – partial control was a good thing. Having normal looking eyes proved to be a lot less intimidating.

Yes, possession was a sentiment he had learned to like. He couldn't get any closer to Melchior than this. Having him inside, to truly be possessed by his master – to feel his true being on the inside – made him strangely horny. He became one with his master, feeling invincible. Being submissive turned him on, and had Draco been able to fuck himself, he would have. Once the shivers stopped and the very last part of his brains had been conquered, Draco pulled up his pants and rearranged his clothes. His face was blank, almost thoughtful. His manner had settled into fluid, elegant movements which bore close distinction to that of Lord Voldemort. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Draco made distinctions between the rotten grass, the smell of magic, the smell of stone, nocturnal air. Nearby was a fox hiding. It was on the air. He even smelled the beginning decay of the Death Eaters' bodies. Eyes black by possession, Draco tilted his head upwards, put his nose in the air and drew another deep breath. His hair had settled with its usual impeccable neatness worthy of any Slytherin student. He wore an air of aloofness and cynicism, and it was a strong reminder of what and who he would have been, had not Melchior interfered a year and a half ago. He could not help but to admit to himself, that a part of the reason why he liked being possessed, was because it allowed the Slytherin in him to fully bloom. Possession had become a safe way to vent forbidden feelings and thoughts. Thoughts which were typically Malfoyish.

“Hear me, spirits of Stanhengist. I command Thee: Release the Beasts of the Crossroads!” Melchior flexed the muscles in Draco's hands, twisted them in an elegant manner, and in a wisp of black smoke, Draco Malfoy was gone.

Malfoy Manor was dark. Only the lamps at the gate illuminated the front entrance. There was a faint candle light in some odd windows, and outside in the gardens, paced silent Death Eaters on patrol. They did not notice anything unusual, but drew their coats tighter around their necks as a wisp of cold air rushed past them. A tiny voice in the back of his head – Draco's voice – wanted to go directly for his mother's bedroom. He dreaded the worst: That Narcissa might be in bed with someone else but her husband. But Melchior had other plans. He made Draco move down to the dungeon. Moving faster than any skilled wizard, time itself seemed to slow down, and on his way through the corridors, he saw people move in slow motion. A horrid smell immediately filled his nostrils as he opened the heavy oaken door and slipped inside. Coming down into the dungeon, he finally slowed, reaching normal speed. Here, hidden in the darkness, he had to refrain from touching himself, all though every impulse told him to soothe the aching erection in his pants. It was the darkness, the danger in the situation. It was Melchior's sure presence inside him, filling him, reminding him of countless sexual encounters, the passion, the alluring evil within. Oh seductive darkness! Draco muttered incoherently to himself.

Surveying the area, the different cells, his possessed gaze was drawn to a familiar shape. Terror flared up inside him, and Draco's mind shoved its way forward. The blackness disappeared from his eyes, as he whispered: “Neville!” He watched Neville stir, watched his schoolmate and friend shift wary limbs. He came to stand, looking ill, tired, worn and greatly despaired. Behind him, in the cell opposite Neville, someone else also stirred, and when he turned his head, Draco stared into the dirty and defeated face of Harry Potter. Ron looked up also. He was sharing cell with Neville. A deep cut in his forehead looked really bad. Neville mustered a brave smile. Reaching for Neville, their hands met in a strong shake, and Draco watched a spark of hope rekindle in the Gryffindor's eyes.

Draco wished he could pull Neville through the bars and hold him close, squeeze the life out of him! Neville looked pale, he had lost lots of pounds and his clothes were smelly and dirty. Neville Longbottom had become such a dear friend. The once shy and chubby boy had – during the year – come to grow on Draco. Those timid eyes, the modest smile and brilliant humour had completely captured him. Neville's concern and courage was heart-wrenching. He was, alas, no soldier. He lacked the fast wits and cold determination which gave Harry the edge in most situations. No, Neville was synonym with care, concern, herbs, long and thought through decisions, with a solid, down to earth view of life. He did not fit in here! He did not belong in a dungeon, especially not the Malfoy dungeon! Draco grasped his shoulders and stared into Neville's dark orbs, searching – searching, and waiting for Neville to beg him to take him far away! Neville belonged in a safe home, with his parents by his side! Not here! Not now!!

“Ah, Melchior. How good of you to come” a familiar old voice suddenly said, tearing Draco's musings apart . Turning, Draco gazed at Dumbledore. He was locked in the same cell as Harry Potter, but seemed in better spirits, looking quite good. “How good of you to honour our agreement. Thank you for taking good care of young Draco. It cannot be easy for him. Harry and his friends need to be evacuated before the fire. I recommend Shell cottage.”

“Yes of course” Melchior replied with Draco's voice. Neville and Harry exchanged glances with wonder and fright. Who was the blond talking to?

“It's a sad business for Harry of course. I was hoping I would be able to spare him the sight of me …! But the damage is done now.” Dumbledore looked down at his decaying corpse, then over to where Harry was standing.

Draco hadn't seen it until now. The Boy Who Lived was very consciously standing as far away from Dumbledore's body as possibly. Draco read it in his eyes. He let go off Neville and walked over to Harry. From there, he got a better view at the terrible sight in the corner farthest away.

“It was Snape” Harry swallowed hard. His eyes were red-rimmed from countless sessions of crying. “Snape killed him”.

“I'm sorry –!” Draco began quietly.

“ – why are you here, Draco?! Come to check on Mommy and Daddy to see if they are all right and perhaps strike up a conversation with You-know-who? I thought you had a family to protect?” Harry winced as he realised his mistake. The words flowed out of his mouth before he had a chance to think.

“Strong words from a man behind bars” Draco retorted softly. There was no mistaking the edgy way in which Harry behaved. His eyes wandered restlessly, everywhere but at the corner where Dumbledore lay decaying. Harry seemed greatly haunted, a shadow of himself. Draco stood back and flicked his hand. The lock on the doors opened instantaneously. Harry put one foot in the opening, put one hand on Draco's right arm and looked him into the eye, really looked at him.

“I'm sorry. I really am. It's just –!”

“ – Your attention when I was lying in the gutter at Hogwarts is something I'll never forget.” The words seemed to hit Harry straight in the face. He widened his eyes and stared at Draco, unused to the clear speech from the elusive blond. There was no telling why Harry always went for confrontation when it came to Draco. Perhaps it was because Harry was face to face with a superior opponent now. Draco had, for many years, been a safe opponent. A peer in many ways. Without Draco to distract him, there was only Voldemort.

Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's neck, sighing relieved.

“I's all going to Hell!” Harry heard himself admit. It was a thought he had been hiding to himself for so long, and now it just poured out. He shut his eyes tight and buried his face in Draco's neck. The blond smelled of stewed chicken pot, of Hermione's perfume, of home and safety – far, far away from the evil and darkness which now threatened to consume him. He felt Draco's arms close around the small of his back. Draco drew him close and held him in tight and reassuring arms. It was in deed Draco's turn to rescue Potter. It's what Harry had been waiting for, all those months while watching Malfoy from a distance. And all the time he had wondered: Would the blond got pull through? Would he be there the day when Harry needed him? Really be there? Would Draco be for real? Harry felt Neville's arms envelope them both. Longbottom rested his head next to Harry's. A short embrace, yet right there and then, time stood still. They had each other. They were going to get out of here, right now. When the emotional moment was over, Draco felt Melchior pull at his body. He made the blond turn towards Ronald Weasley. Oh boy. Draco offered him his hand. Ron stood on stiff legs and took it. They shook hands for a brief moment. A noise made Draco turn his head to the left. Luna Lovegood was crawling out of her cell, and she came to stand, wide-eyed as she realised it was Draco. She came towards him and flung herself in his arms. He gave her a real, earnest bear-hug, and in his mind, he was strung back to the river, and the sensation of being half-unconscious, dragging her limp body out of the icy water with stiff and frozen arms. They would forever share the special memory, thought he admitted to himself she had been unconscious and didn't wake up until later, finding herself naked and tucked neatly in with Draco in Hagrid's bed! That was her special moment, and she never let the occasion pass where she could remind him of that time. It always made him blush. Luna Lovegood – like Neville – represented something sacred and untainted. And preserving such innocence had been Melchior's first lesson to Draco.

The door to the dungeon opened with a loud bang! Everyone scattered back intot he shadows of the cells.

“Little Neville Longbottom” a familiar female voice sang sarcastically, followed by a teasing laugh, “it's time we finished what we started, right? I'm afraid the Dark Lord won't take no for an answer. You either join our ranks or you join our ranks. Remember what I told you last time, little darling? Your parents can go insane a second time around, you know? But you wouldn't want that to happen now, would –!”

She was cut short as Draco stepped out of the shadow behind her. Turning her head, the mass of black curls flew through the air. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her nephew with a dagger in his hand. Before she could spin on her heel, excruciating pain flared up between her shoulder blades, knocking the air out of her. She fell forward. Feeling him rather than seeing him above her, she instinctively knew it was her nephew. Her wand fell from her hand. Harry dashed forward to pick it up. She snarled at the sight of him released. Pain flared up in the back of her head as Draco grabbed more than a fistful of curly hair and pulled her neck back severely, causing her to see stars. She felt the cold, sharp blade against her throat, saw the mass of blond hair in a blur as she clawed out in defence, saw Draco's determined cold face. She hissed like a wild cat backed into a corner, clawing for Draco's face.The knife severed her throat. She felt the skin part, the head go in one direction while the rest of her body went another. She felt the warm blood gush out, felt it soak her chest, and in panic she tried to call for help. It came out only as a gurgling noise. The Dark Lord wouldn't help her now. She thought of him, but somehow she could not reach his mind. Her vision grew dim. Her body grew cold and Bellatrix LeStrange lost consciousness. Draco stood. He met Harry's wide-eyed stare with a blank, black-eyed and cold expression. He turned to face Neville, who looked completely stricken. The

“Now Draco has truly repaid the both of you” Draco's voice said.

“What –!” Harry began. But he was cut short by a warning gesture from Neville. This wasn't Draco. This was something else.

“Malfoy Manor shall not go down in history as some nest of evil which had the privilege of housing the Dark Lord. It will burn. And you better not be here when that happens. Go to Shell Cottage. To Bill and Fleur Weasley. Get everybody, do it now.”

Draco raced up the stairs with the head of his aunt. Being possessed was like a drug, it kept you high, boosted your confidence. And how easy it was, Draco thought in a grand moment of self-insight, to become addicted. Outside his mother's bedchamber, he paused. Melchior stretched out with his mind, skimming the edges of her consciousness. He softly subdued her so she wouldn't be awoken by the creaking of the door as Draco entered. He was looking forward to this, taking great pleasure in understanding that Draco intended to punish her. He would have no qualms. He would regret nothing. Melchior would simply have to linger in the background of Draco's head and make sure that cock stayed rock hard. A touch of glee sprouted on the inside. This was going to be fun!

Draco reached out with his hand and slid it softly from left to right. The candles which surrounded the bed came alive with flames. He placed the head of her sister on the night stand, and commenced to patiently wait for Narcissa to wake. Outside, the heavens opened its bowels and sent cascading rain to cover all of southern England.

His cock ached impatiently while he watched his mother sleep. It was uncanny and exhilarating to be possessed, to be relieved of one's inhibitions, one's fears and one's conscience. It was a real turn-on to know that he would be permitted to perform the evil act ahead, and all he could think of, was that she deserved it. He pushed away the tiny voice which cried out somewhere in the back of his head, that for Merlin's sake, this was his own mother! He moved his right hand from his right hip, across the growing bulge inside his black pants, and over to his left hip and then back again. The bulge grew accordingly. A man's cock could be his greatest weapon. And his most horrid torture instrument. He watched Narcissa stir, then she blinked her eyes and sat up, momentarily disoriented.

“Lucius?!” she called faintly. Perceiving who it was that was standing at the edge of her bed, she widened her eyes in surprise. “Draco?” she whispered. Draco kept Melchior at bay. Partially possessed, he craved to be able to remember this moment. “Why, have you returned?” she asked him faintly. He saw a smile spread across her lips, but seeing his apathetic stare and cold manner, she knew something was wrong. Her smile went out. “How is your wife?” she asked reproachfully as she suddenly seemed to remember who she was. She waited for a reaction. None came. Turning her head, she came face to face with the head of her dead sister. Draco snapped his fingers and the room went soundproof. No one heard Narcissa scream. She almost stood erect in the bed, shaking from head to toe, screaming from the top of her lungs. Recovering momentarily from the shock, she turned to discover that Draco was slowly pulling off the sleeping blanket from her legs. She gasped and sobbed, and had no time to respond as Draco reached out for her and grabbed her by the left ankle. Seizing it, he also caught her other ankle, and he commenced to pull her to him.

“What have you done! What have you done?!!” she screamed, fighting him frantically. “Bella!! No! Bella!! Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, “help!! Someone help me!!” A strong slap to her face silenced her, making her see stars. Her nose began to bleed, and just as she looked up at her son, another slap sent her ears ringing. When she came to her wits again, Draco had opened his pants. He was spreading her legs. He felt morbid pleasure bloom in his chest. It was a demonstration of power and he loved bit! He forced her arms down into the mattress and seized her by the throat with his left hand and squeezed. She stopped wriggling, gasping for air. He could feel her moist sex at the tip of his erection. Sliding into her, he watched repulsion wash across her ageing features.

“Word on the street, these days, mother, makes it difficult for me to walk with my head held high. Do you know why?” he whispered seductively to her. His tone dripped with venomous contempt. “You see, I hear, that in my father's absence, someone else warmed your bed. And possibly Bella's at the same time. I wouldn't be surprised” Draco snarled at her whilst thrusting hard, “if you perceived it as a privilege to be serving your Dark Lord in more than one way. To give him not just your own son, your flesh and blood like a lamb to the slaughter, but also your body! Yes, I'm sure mother, it must have felt like the ultimate sacrifice!” he snarled, letting go off her throat and continuing to slam relentlessly into her. She was in shock, staring at him in disbelief with wide-open eyes, sobbing, the tears hiding into her thick, dual-coloured hair. The bedchamber was dark, lit only by candles, leaving great dark shadows which loomed over the evil riding her. The shadows seemed to take the shapes of great black wings. The realisation of what went on with Draco silenced her. He was here, he was really with her. Still, it wasn't him.

“Pl – please, Draco!” she stuttered, “please, nothing happened! You must believe me! He – he tried, but I never gave in! Please, stop! I'm your mother!”

“Now, we both know that any decent mother would have prevented her son from joining that ludicrous half-breed madman! But you never stopped to think twice, did you?!”

“What has happened to you? Why are you acting this way?!” she shrieked, attempting to push him away. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her arms to the bed, squeezing them hard until she cried of pain. He continued to pound into her, feeling the wetness of her vagina.

“I intend to stop you from ever serving him again, in any way, do you hear me? Your allegiance to that thing ends now! You will get yourself ready, pack yourself a suitcase with whatever clothes you need and then you will wait here until I fetch you. I demand complete obedience, and if you fail to comply, I will rape you again, and again, until you learn your place!!” Draco snarled. He felt his anger grow for bestowing upon her such mercy as to spare her life. An anger unlike anything he'd seen before was festering in his chest and now it threatened to boil over. Thrusting violently into her, he grit his teeth, pouring onto her long since bottled-up hatred. He didn't come inside her. He was way too angry for that. He left her on the bed, rearranged his trousers and brought with him the severed head and her wand. He did not look back.

Lucius bedroom was alight with candles. Unlike Narcissa, Lucius did not sleep. He was sitting in an armchair with a glass of red wine, staring apathetically into the floor, lost in dark thoughts. The door creaked as it opened. He looked up, and saw his son come inside. The blood froze in his veins as he saw the severed head dangling from Draco's left hand. In his right hand, he held his dagger at the ready. The door swung silently shut behind the blond. Father stared at son. Son stared at father. Draco was unreadable. He stepped forward with measured steps. For a moment, his eyes clouded over with blackness, only to clear up again, leaving Draco in charge. The glass slipped out of Lucius' hand and fell to the floor with a crash. No one heard it. Again, Melchior's spell of soundproofness worked to perfection.

“So, this is how it ends? This is it? I am next?” Regret washed over Lucius' face, and he shook his head faintly. His voice was sounding thin, bleak and defeated, as if he was on the verge of tears. “How I have missed you!” he whispered, feeling his throat go dry. “You've grown. Look at you, quite the man!” Lucius mustered a faint smile, his face a mask mixed of admiration for his child and pure terror for what rested within. “Are you really – here?!” Lucius watched as Draco put Bellatrix' head on the table next to the bottle of red wine.

“You will kneel and swear your allegiance to me now” Draco said uncommonly soft. “Malfoy Manor shall burn! You will proclaim yourself to me now, this instant, or you will suffer the consequences!” Draco's words ended in a snarl. Anger bloomed quickly, and the blond was shaking with restrained fury.

“Never! The Dark Lord has been my only path for the last twenty years –!” Lucius retorted, sounding a lot less convincing that he opted for. His son cut him short.

“ – because of you, I have no future! I have no prospect of a proper job, no honour, no say in important matters! I cannot set foot in good wizarding community because of you! You destroyed it all the day you joined the Dark Lord!” Draco spat in his father's face, growling! “Our family name is stained with the blood of the innocent whose lives he took! You knew he was going after the Potter family, you knew he was going to annihilate them, that he would slaughter infants, and you just stood by and did nothing!! As far as I'm concerned, Lily Potter's blood is on your hands because you chose NOT to act! You're a murderer! And murderers burn in Hell!” Draco thundered, his voice going dark, snarling at his panic-stricken father. “I will never be able to hold my head eyes and look into Harry's eyes again, knowing the shame you've brought upon us!”

“Harry is of no concern, he –!”

“ – I released him!”

Realisation. Lucius' eyes might have popped out of their sockets if they knew how to.

“What have you done?! What have you done?!!”

“Oh, you think the Dark Lord's winning?!” Draco laughed an eldritch laugh which went through bone and marrow. A really creepy laughter which reminded Lucius strongly of dangerous mental patients. “Let me just tell you that the Dark Lord – or Tom Riddle – is nothing more than a crazed, mutilated half-blood who wants to rule the world! Inevitably, dear father, he's nothing but a mere mortal! A drop in the great Red Sea of Blood! And he will no longer disgrace Malfoy Manor with his presence. Trust me when I say that Tom Riddle isn't the only one who can play this game. There are dark lords everywhere, and Riddle's nothing out of the ordinary. And I am going to prove it!”

Lucius watched his son dance across the room while he gave this little speech, flailing his arms, combing his fingers through his hair and looking quite frightening. Completely mad, as if he'd lost it all the way. And he spoke like a madman, no, he spoke like Voldemort on a good day, and that – that was the most uncanny thing of it all. The way he moved his long limbs, with fluid elegant movements was eerie. For a moment, Lucius thought to himself that this – this creature, might just as well have been Voldemort's son instead of his. So alike was the eccentric behaviour it gave Lucius goosebumps.

“Now swear! You shall be mine and no one else's!” Draco suddenly came to a standstill, pointing his bloodied dagger at Lucius, speaking with an accent Lucius didn't recognize. And that's when it dawned on him that Draco was in facto possessed. The pieces – the incomprehensible pieces of the mysterious dreams of late – fell into place. Draco was playing a dangerous game with the eudaimon who obviously was in control. This time, it was the eudaimon speaking. And for the length of a heartbeat, Lucius saw Draco's eyes cloud over with darkness.

“I will not yield! I know my – my place! And it's beside He-who-must-not-be-named” Lucius' voice trembled.

“Somehow, I don't believe you” Melchior spoke with Draco's voice. Draco's face smiled wickedly. Moving closer, he didn't stop until the tip of the blade touched the unshaved skin on Lucius' throat. Draco's eyes cleared up. The only audible sound in the room was the ticking of the old clock on the wall. It was nearly two A. M. Draco took out his wand and flicked it. Once. Lucius cringed, and doubled over. He fell to his knees. “Go to your master then. Show yourself to him, and inform him that your wife has betrayed him and that she has brought Harry Potter to her bedchamber. Tell your beloved half-blood leader that she is currently kissing his wounds better and intend to Disapparate him away, grief-stricken as she is over losing her one and only son!”

Lucius hesitated. He looked up at Draco's unreadable face. The soft words chilled his blood. The older Malfoy got up on shaky legs. The sudden and very aching erection in his pants made him unable to stand straight. Pain was fanning out from his erection and into his abdomen, and fear of being raped and little else made him leave the room in search for Voldemort. Too many times had he suffered at the creature presenting itself as his son. He had learned to fear Draco's appearance the way the sight of spiders automatically induced fear into the hearts of men! Once his father had left, Draco looked through his father's writing desk. He found a small black book. He had to know. He had been too afraid to ask Melchior, to even think the thought out loud. Looking up 'Beasts of the Crossroads' his grey eyes widened in terror. Reading swiftly, he then closed the book and hid in the breast pocket inside his coat. There was going to be a bloodbath.

He waited, spending the time going through his father's things. Sensitive documents concerning employees at the Ministry working undercover for Voldemort. Long lists. Passwords and codes. Various talismans and objects. He looked under his father's bed. Under the mattress he found a pouch with a considerable sum of galleons, bonds and real estate papers to properties Draco had never heard of. He put them inside his pocket along with the black book. Listening by the door, he heard Voldemort's voice, footsteps rapidly approaching. It was time.

Taking the head in his left hand, Draco Apparated from his father's bedroom and over to his mother's chamber. It was seconds after that Voldemort had arrived, barging through Narcissa's door. He found her fully clothed, her travelling case packed, but no Harry Potter. Caught unaware, Voldemort heard a loud POP and saw Draco Malfoy Apparate. He threw Bellatrix' head into the air, and in pure reflex the Dark Lord spread out his arms to catch. Draco spun around 360 degrees and planted the Demon's Bane straight into Voldemort's back, splintering the spine. Draco smiled a genuine evil smile and eyed his father with a 'I-told-you-so'. Then, Hell broke loose.

Draco cast Fiendfyre. The walls ignited instantaneously. Through the windows crashed a tall creature, a black-skinned hybrid between a dragon and a Thestral. It roared, bearing its fangs. It jaw was littered with spiky looking teeth. Saliva dripped from its lips as it sharply inhaled, obviously discerning the different smells. It had tiny pinholes for eyes, and its oversized nostrils suggested it relied mostly on smell. Judging by the description in the black book, these creatures were walking heat detectors, discerning objects from living meat by their smell. Standing on its hind legs, it raised itself up. Its crowned head-bone which fanned out like the beautiful tail of a peacock, gave the creature a majestic look. It roared again – an otherwordly, hellish cry which pierced flesh and bone, making their ears hurt. it lashed out after the nearest Death Eater and shattered his skull. Narcissa screamed, got up from the bed. Clinging to her suitcase she threw herself at Lucius, and they scrambled through the door. Voldemort managed to Apparate, but not before Draco threw himself at the half-blood, following the pull of magic. They landed outside the front door. The Death Eaters outside were scrambling to help their master or run away. Beasts from the Crossroads were everywhere, roaring ferociously and chewing up their victims. Draco kicked Voldemort's wand out his hand, cursing Melchior's momentous prophecy about Harry being the hero and not him! He could have finished this now! Right now! He spun about and lashed out in anger at the nearest Death Eater, cutting off the man's hand, slashing his face diagonally. Draco twirled and kicked a Death Eater who was helping Voldemort, straight in the chest so he fell several metres backwards. The blow knocked the air out of the man, and just as he regained his wits, a Creature leaped onto him, digging its maw into the stomach. He watched in anger as Voldemort crawled away, getting to his feet and limping towards the dark gardens. The Dark Lord was obviously put off, tumbling and turning to watch in horror as his followers were being attacked everywhere by these legendary beasts. For a moment, he stopped to stare wide-eyed at Draco. Wondering what he was looking at, Draco turned his head to the side, and found two of the creatures flanking him on each side, all of the looking in Voldemort's attention.

He thinks I am commanding these beasts.

Draco swallowed hard, attempting to keep his cool. The beasts raged above his head, dwarfing him in comparison. He saw Nagini in full flight with two of the creatures on its tail. She seemed more busy with running than actually retaliating.

Turning towards the Manor, Draco directed his wand towards the towers and sent forth Bombarda. The first blow was the hardest. Watching the towers of his beloved home crumble, he felt a sting of sadness. The towers exploded, sending a hailstorm of heavy rocks crashing down. He aimed again, commanding a furious snake of fire towards the roof and the windows. Coiling, its fiery grasp severed bricks, windows exploded, and the flames roared as they devoured the interior, the roof and several Death Eaters. There it went, his childhood home. Where was Voldemort?!

Guided by Melchior's whispers in his mind, he caught up with Voldemort in some of the darker parts of the garden. Draco cast Avada at him, missing with intent. It sped the limping dark lord up, and like cat and mouse, Draco chased the loathsome creature to the very gates of Malfoy manor. Blasting them open, he sent another hex after Voldemort, taking out the Death Eaters who tried to intervene. Voldemort saw that. He saw everything of what Draco did, he saw the anger and the ferocity and the determination in his face. No more blank stares. Draco ran as fast as he could, getting so close he could have reached out and touched the bleeding scar on Voldemort's back. He could have grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled Voldemort from his footing. Draco was in great shape. He had spent the entire year running, chasing Voldemort's shadow in front of him on his long runs. The anger had fuelled his legs. He could outrun Voldemort any time, and Voldemort knew it. Again, it was a power demonstration, and Draco enjoyed every last moment. A crowd had gathered not far down the road. It was the peasants who lived and worked the lands which belonged to the Malfoys. Seeing the young master of the manor chase away Voldemort himself, was beyond everything they'd dreamt of experiencing. Amongst the crowd stood a young boy with a camera.

The Beasts of the Crossroads were rounding up the last ones, including his parents. Narcissa and Lucius stood at the courtyard, watching their beloved home burn ferociously, their fellow colleagues eaten in front of them. They clung to one another, averting their gazes from the horror going on just next to their feet.
Draco walked towards them with measured, strong steps. He clenched his fists together, and met his parents' gaze as he came towards them. Eyeing them, Draco suddenly felt sick. He fell forward and from the pores in his skin came black smoke. It grew solid, taking the shape of a black-clothed, winged creature. Draco got to his feet, accepting Melchior's hand offered as support. The possession was over. The manor was burning, and the screams of the last living Death Eaters were fading away. It was over. A handful had escaped, including Fenrir Greyback. Draco stared at his parents, wondering what would come next.

“Excellent work, my dear servant” Melchior told the blond softly, “Riddle will now have to lick his wounds and regroup somewhere else. And as for you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, it is time to leave. I believe you will both find Chateau de Trémazan quite entertaining this time of year. There you both will stew, until you both find it in your hearts to swear your allegiance to your son.” Melchior waved his right hand, and a portal of shimmering blue light appeared. Both Malfoys hesitated. Narcissa would not look at her son. She stared lethargically at the shimmering blue light, drawing deep breaths. She looked at Lucius. But Lucius was busy eyeing his son, searching for some hint of mercy. Realising that Draco wasn't going to budge even a millimetre, his pleading look soured.

“I gave you everything! How –!”

“You gave me nothing! Nothing!!” Draco snarled over the roaring flames. “You and Mom had me out of duty! I was only a necessary evil to the both of you! You two are the most selfish people on the face of the planet! You gave me everything I pointed at, but you never gave me boundaries! Because of you, I have no idea of right and wrong! All I've ever done is mimic you, but everything you've done in life, is a lie! Where's your precious master now?! I don't see him sticking up for you! But that's how it is, isn't it? Everytime someone prods that bloody half-breed maniac with a needle, he runs off, leaving his servants behind to deal with the shit!”

Lucius paused a second too long, and Draco knew he'd hit a sore spot in his father. Lucius had, for a very long time been thinking what Draco was saying out loud. The older Malfoy looked as if he wanted to say something. But the words eloped him, and he resigned himself to silence. He didn't seem angry. Only defeated.

“Go on then. Go. The both of you. You make me sick!” Draco lashed out verbally, doing his best to hide the growing lump in his throat. It was clear in his mind now. He saw how necessary it was, for the health of his family, for Hermione and the babies, that he removed himself from his own. Hesitantly, Narcissa and Lucius stepped into the unknown. Fighting the tears, he watched as Lucius' back was swallowed by the blue light. Melchior made as if to follow. He stopped in front of Draco, his face bathed in orange light, washed soft with compassion.

“The right way is not always the easiest” he told his servant. “We do what we must to protect the ones we love. Go now. Go home” Melchior softly commanded, embracing his servant. He then followed into the blue light, across the abyss and to a similar portal which had opened on a location in France.

Draco stopped by Stonehenge to pick up his backpack. It was three A.M. The witching hour. He shut his eyes tightly, picturing Hermione and the twins safely nestled in their warm, comfortable beds. He suddenly felt tired, used and dirty. He couldn't go home directly. He had to make sure Neville and the others had arrived safely. He pictured shell cottage, and with a POP, he was gone.

Bill and Fleur's cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, its walls embedded with shells and whitewashed. The walls gleamed white against the dark sky, and Draco hesitated before he knocked at the door. The lights were still on, and after a long agonizing moment, the door opened. He was met by the tip of a wand to his face, and a scrutinizing Bill. He was allowed inside. Bill wrinkled his nose, as Draco smelled of charred wood. Neville was the first to greet him, and Draco – against all proper decorum – accepted his big embrace, hugging the Gryffindor with heartfelt emotion.

“I had to know you were all right” he told Neville in earnest. He hadn't seen Harry standing in the doorway. Harry was hesitant. The sudden and strong embrace between the Slytherin and the Gryffindor reminded Harry strongly of the dreams he'd had about them. Harry felt as if he was now witnessing the very creation of the future romantic relationship between Neville and Draco. There was something absolute an unyielding in Neville's eyes. A darker shade of blue, Neville's eyes were like Draco's: Open, with an invitation to look closer past the beautiful blue orbs and into his very soul. Neville had changed during the course of the year. Ever since he received an apology in a letter written by Draco when the blond was at his lowest at Hogwarts, Neville had found a strength inside he had no idea he had. It had sparked courage and determination, prompting Neville to make some changes in his life. He had watched Draco endure the torments Melchior had put him through. He had watched the cocky Slytherin fall from his high horse only to get up on his feet and become something greater than he had been. Draco seemed fearless, embracing whatever that was thrown in his face. He had lived up to his responsibilities, blooming in a relationship with Hermione. And tonight, Draco had taken on Voldemort himself. There was nothing Draco couldn't do, nothing he wouldn't attempt. All those things combined, was enough to spur admiration and affection in Neville. Neville was almost demanding in his attitude towards Draco. He dared the blond to hold his gaze, silently staring into those grey-blue orbs as if hoping to unlock some hidden mystery. Draco knew he was searching him for signs of weakness, for a hint of truth about what had gone on at Malfoy Manor. The blond suddenly felt compelled to do something. He took Neville by the hand and dragged him outside. He shut the door behind Neville, grabbed his left shoulder with his left hand. It was early dawn. The landscape surrounding them was bathed in magical fog, twisting and distorting every shadow. After the madness and the chaos, after Erebus – came light and salvation. A new morning, as pristine as ever, washing away the darkness and the foul deeds of the night. Draco leaned in and kissed Neville softly on the lips. Neville looked as if Draco had just stolen his lollipop. He wrinkled his nose, looking unsure of what to do next, before he resolutely grasped Draco on both sides of his head and drew him close. Neville pressed his lips down on the soft lips of the blond, drawing in the scent of smoke and burnt wood. They stood in silence, holding the kiss for a very long time.

He insisted on Draco taking a shower before he left them. All though he objected repeatedly, Fleur would hear none of it and dragged him inside. Draco cast his eyes down and followed meekly. At school, he had noticed her, flung her a smile now and then but never had an interest. Now, she wouldn't let go off his hand, and showed him the way to the bathroom. She warned him, on her highly accented English, that he would not be allowed down before he had taken a proper bath. Neville followed him. Into the hallway, into the bathroom. There, he closed the door and leaned on it whilst watching Draco expectantly.

“So” he began quietly, “how are you really?” He gazed at Draco. The blond commenced to undo his shirt. He peeled off his socks and shoes.

“I really should get back to Hermione” Draco replied quietly. He was unused to Neville's increasing attention, not understanding the Gryffindor's intent. Standing only left with his trousers, Draco paused to gaze at Neville. He didn't know what to say. Or what to do in front of his schoolmate. Neville seemed all of the sudden breathless. He looked surprised, and began to peel off his clothes. Draco wondered if he was dreaming. The situation seemed unreal, but he was curious as to where this was going. He watched Neville's torso reveal itself from beneath a grimy looking shirt which smelled after months of neglect. Neville had starved out there, together with Harry Potter and Ron. He had lost lots of body fat, which in turn revealed lean muscles. Tall and quite handsome looking, his hair had grown also, falling into his eyes. Neville looked dashing when he didn't smile. The teeth gave his otherwise improved looks something of a particular look.

“I guess the shower is big enough for the both of us” he said quietly, suddenly afraid someone would hear him. Neville glanced at Draco.

“I don't think it is. You go ahead first” Draco replied.

“Join me” Neville retorted quickly.

“No really, you're the one who's been in the field the longest –!”

“ – join me?” Neville cut him short. Coming eye to eye with the Gryffindor, the modest request which in deed could have been about two boys showering together and nothing else, Draco read the real meaning in Neville's eyes. “Will he punish you?”

“Nah.”

Draco undid his pants and pulled down his underwear, revealing a sudden half erection. It stood like a broken pole in a pool of ashen blond curly hair, looking as if it didn't know what to do with itself. Draco couldn't help himself but to glance over to Neville's magnetic spot. Hidden in a mass of dark curls, his member was shyly protruding, as if excusing its entire existence as well as its size. Seeing it, Draco felt courage bloom in his chest. He strode over to Neville, cupped Neville's limp member and his testicles in his left hand and slowly pulled. Neville's eyes opened wide, his face adopted an immediate shocked expression and an angry red colour of sudden embarrassment. His blue eyes screamed silently at Draco: Where is the black hole in which I can hide?!

“Now look. Trust me when I say the shower isn't big enough for the both of us. But it's fine. You can stand on the outside. I have all I need right here” Draco said teasingly and nodded downwards to Neville's jewels resting in Draco's palm.

“Not funny” Neville said. He swallowed hard. His cheeks burned and his courage failed despite feeling himself grow hard in Draco's soft grip. His sack tightened, drawing the testicles closer to the body, as if saying : We're ready and strapped in for the ride now! It had dawned on Neville just what he had gotten himself into. Here he was, in a Weasley's home, hanging outside a modest shower, his precious manhood dangling inside, in the hands of a boy who was the professional concubine of an eudaimon! What ever could Neville have to offer that Draco Malfoy hadn't tried before?! The whole situation was hilarious, Neville's feet colder than the inside of a thick glacier, the lump in his throat incomprehensibly large and the butterflies in his belly had just turned into flesh-eating piranhas! Still – Neville's cock grew, and it grew large – taking on a life of its own as if trying to defy Neville's very, very second thoughts. Draco's hand released the by now non-existent sack and proceeded to grip the erect cock firmly. He pumped it with a few careful strokes to see Neville's reaction.

“I – I'm not gay!” Neville swallowed and glanced shyly into Draco's open and honest eyes. “I'm just doing this – because – because –!”

“ – Neville? Shut up. You're ruining the moment. There is no need for explanation. You can wallow in guilt later.” The blond pulled slowly, compelling Neville to step inside. The shower did in deed room them both, stacking the both of them torso to torso with Draco's hand firmly around Neville's member. He stroked apprehensively now, putting more effort into it. Anew, Neville's cheeks went red. He looked away. “Look at me, Neville. You have a beautiful body. There's nothing to be ashamed about” Draco whispered seductively. He drew closer, brushed Neville's chin with one finger and made the Gryffindor look up and into his eyes. “It's just you and me in here, and frankly I'm flattered that you wish to bestow upon me such intimate attention. I've no idea what you were thinking, but I absolutely do not care, and I am absolutely grateful that you did.” Draco's soft words spurred Neville's courage again. The brown-haired boy looked up, gluing his gaze to the former Slytherin's. This intimate situation was more than anything Draco's turf. It was a pattern, a social sexual behaviour he was very much familiar with. And all though he did not witness it, Melchior's tenderness with Draco had paid off; The blond knew how to conduct himself with grace and dignity, not embarrassing his lover but instead encouraging and guiding. Neville's lips glued themselves to Draco. The water dampened their heads, their shoulders, eased the friction between their bodies. Draco took some soap and began to wash Neville's member thoroughly, the soapy substance working as lubrication, heightening the sensation, accentuating the innuendo in the sensual stroking. Neville's lips were soft and eager, clumsily searching for parts of Draco to kiss, not caring where they landed as long as it was on flesh. Like a small blind piglet searching for its mother's tit. Suddenly, Draco broke the kiss. He searched his lover's eyes for a long time, before descending. Neville wondered where he was going.

Neville's cock was nothing compared to its owner. Neville would, at Hogwarts, forever be remembered as the shy, plump little boy who excelled only in Herbology, afraid of his own shadow. And gloomy professor Snape. The boy with the funny teeth and clownish looking ears sticking out. Kneeling in front of what used to be this boy, Draco's eyes now widened as he took in the monstrosity which now had revealed itself. It was monstrous in the sense that it was huge! A perfect, symmetrical sample of a cock the size of a fit African-American beast of a male often to be found in Muggle porn movies, with muscles rippling all over, including in this spot! Draco smiled wickedly, and extracted his tongue. The tip of the tongue touched the glistening head of the cock, and Neville shuddered.

“Oh Oh!!” was all the Gryffindor could say. He flailed his arms, grasping for a hold somewhere, and found the edges of the shower wall. “Oh oh” he said again, looking as if he was about to vomit. Instead, his body tensed. Draco placed his palms on each thigh next to the massive cock, and slid them up and down. “Oh …!” Neville gasped again and closed his eyes. He inhaled sharply as Draco opened his mouth, taking it into his mouth. It was impossible to deal with the entire length, and before he could consider what to do about it, Neville tensed again. The boy began to shake, once again moaning his: “Oh!” as if something was happening which he could not name. Coming hard into Draco's mouth, the Gryffindor held on as best he could, not knowing what else to do. He was panic-stricken, shot down and mortified by embarrassment of coming in his best friend's mouth. Still, there was no hiding the awesome sensation of sky-rocketing high. It was as if his pelvic area had been removed from his torso, glued to a broomstick and then ejected into the sky, soaring thousands of metres in less than a second. And best of all, it happened inside a warm, wet cave. With teeth.

The silence which ensued was awkward. For Neville. He tumbled out, leaving Draco to finish his shower alone. Once the blond finished, Neville stepped inside and took his place, quickly working up a lather and rinsing in a heartbeat. Only then, when he came out of the shower to receive a damp towel which Draco had used, did their eyes meet anew.

“Thank you. For sharing that with me.” Draco said, taking the words right out of Neville's mouth. The blond dressed, putting on fresh clothes form his backpack. Neville only half-dried himself and wrapped the towel around his waist. Achieving eye contact with the blond was difficult. Draco looked as if he was in a hurry. “I need to get home now. I need to know she's okay.”

“All right. Yeah. Fine. Sure” Neville mumbled, nodding exaggeratively in lack of anything else to say. He fiddled with his fingers, not knowing how to handle the situation. This was where Draco's professionalism as an eudaimon's consort shone through. He was past the teenage nonsense about feelings and relationship and first-times. Past his sexual insecurity, teenage hormones and bashfulness. Draco eyed Neville with the gaze of a seasoned lover, an expression of face which stated: 'Same procedure next time, then?' Neville rolled his eyes. Not at Draco but at Neville's own shortcomings. He felt like a git. Like a virgin who had just had his first sexual intercourse and then blundered gravely, scaring off a potential future lover. He stood as glued to the spot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his towel, looking like a male version of Venus in 'Birth of Venus' by Botticelli. Feeling like a complete idiot in front of Draco whom he admired completely. Neville should have done something. Instead of freezing up in the shower, acting as if someone had stuffed something up his ass, he should have moaned, he should have shouted: 'Yes Draco oh Draco you're the best' or something. Anything, just not grunting like a Neanderthal in heat! He should have combed his fingers through Draco's smooth hair, he ought to have given Draco something in return! The blond git probably just did it to please him, not really liking it! Perhaps Neville had been too forward, cornering the blond? Neville beat himself up mentally while he watched Draco stuff his toes into his dirty shoes. The former Slytherin slung his backpack across his shoulder, made for the door next to Neville. Before the Gryffindor could come up with anything comparing to an excuse for taking advantage, Malfoy said; “Take care, Neville. Let me know how it goes.” Despite himself, Neville smiled. Then Malfoy was gone.

It was all over Potter-watch from the very next day. It was a dangerous piece of news. Dangerous because it showed a cowering Dark Lord who fled from a famous, yet burning mansion. Malfoy manor was on everybody's lips. Every eye who saw the moving photo, scrutinized the deep gash – the evident wound – in the Dark Lord's back. The moving photography then showed a snarling youth with a blond mass of hair bolting out of the gates not far behind the robed figure, his wand boldly trained at the snake-like creature's back, a bloody dagger in his left hand. Panning, the photo showed the Dark Lord turn his head one last time, revealing a frightened expression of face. And that face – a fearful face distorted by disbelief and shock – induced hope into the hearts of every man, woman and child in opposition to the Dark Lord. Malfoy's face spoke volumes, naked as it was with ferocity and unrestrained anger. Young Draco's eyes were wild and filled with hatred – there was no mistaking who it was projected towards.

'Experts' scrutinized the dagger. It was the fabled Demon's Bane. Against all common belief, young master Malfoy was still alive, and in possession of one of the world's most dangerous and powerful magical items. They scrutinized the shadows moving rapidly in the background, and they were identified as Creatures of the Crossroads.

The Crossroads was a term humans and demons put on a specific area in Hell. It was a stretch of space said to be made up of narrow paths crossing one another, seemingly then fading out in darkness. From these paths, all manner of unholy beasts could be summoned, provided one knew how to command them. Creatures of the Crossroads were its natural inhabitants, and they were said to be able to walk across time itself. They could not be commanded. They could be summoned but couldn't be forced to obey. The Creatures chose their master, not the other way around. And the choice was based on the intent of the summoner. The reason why.

The burning of Malfoy Manor quickly become an iconic term, referred to in fiery speeches from the Order of the Phoenix to the masses, now that Voldemort had suffered a blow. Twenty-seven Death Eaters had lost their lives that night. Many of them had held offices at the Ministry. The seats stayed empty for a long time, believed to be cursed. Malfoy had taken out not just them, but their predecessors as well. No one wanted to be next on his list.

The photo was copied so ardently that for every copy the Death Eaters tore down, two more were put up. They could be seen on every wall and every pole. The Ministry were quick to put up wanted posters of Draco Malfoy, along with Harry Potter. Wanted for crimes against the Ministry. Malfoy was to be considered armed and extremely dangerous. He remained to become quite the enigma. Like Potter, he was no where to be found, yet he was out there, making society a dangerous place for those who openly admitted to be Death Eaters.

Some months later, the front page of the Daily Prophet was black as night. A single white square with text on it shaped the only eye-catching thing to read, and it said:

'Know, that every day you confess your allegiance to the Dark Lord, you also confess to the murder of Lily and James Potter. You willingly accept the fact that each day, hundreds of innocent families suffer at your hands. Their blood cannot be washed off. All, because you choose to believe in the sentiments of Tom Marvolo Riddle, a deranged, self-mutilated half-blood without a conscience, who will not hesitate to wipe out your own family members, should it prove necessary. I walk among you. I see the blood on your hands and the blackness in your hearts.

Draco Malfoy.'


The End