Dark Times for Draco Malfoy

"Severus Snape: Dungeon bat and overall scary Potions professor" is a quote borrowed and adapted from a story published by LadyMalfoy. Thanks for the inspiration. Fun reading indeed.

Thank you for all reviews. Here goes chapter four:


The lies which had been the absolute truth
Crumbles between his hands
The futures are many.

Choose.


Two months passed. So great became Draco's shame and self-loathing for his own failures at expelling his rapist, that he sought refuge in his textbooks and in the classes during the day. The need to appear normal and sane was rapidly growing: The more the demon tortured him, the more mental relief Draco needed. He excelled in Potion's class with Slughorn, studied herbology vigorously and set his mind on paying full attention in Divinations- and Transfiguration class. He secretly observed Hermoine Granger. She was at the top of her class in most subjects - except Defence against the Dark Arts where Harry Potter naturally excelled- and Draco committed himself to a deeper study of the theory behind. To his horror, he'd discovered there were several chapters from last year and the year before that which he didn't know existed until he now breezed through old textbooks in hope of enlightenment. Competing with Harry in practical stuff in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, was the last thing he needed right now. There were new and extended volumes to plough through as Snape had set his pride in proving he was worthy of the position Dumbledore had given him. And Draco became obsessed with finding the accurate answers to every task as if it would help him in unlocking the mystery identity of the one who tortured him on a nightly basis.

Draco often felt Snape's gaze linger, and Draco had quickly understood that Snape probably was informed about Draco's task given by Voldemort. He could almost read the question in the sinister man's face sometimes during class. The question: Why aren't you doing anything about the Vanishing Cabinet? Draco did not know how to convey to Snape that his link to the Dark Lord had been broken. That someone else who was equal in power to Voldemort, had stepped up and intervened? Draco imagined Snape's wrath upon hearing the news. Sooner or later, Draco would have to tell him. He kept postponing it. He was tired and weary from the nightly onslaughts and the constant lack of sleep. A chronic expression of sadness and fear haunted his otherwise delicately chiseled face framed by platinum hair, and he'd lost his appetite. In the twilight, resting his back against the large window frame, Draco found himself spending hours just sitting there while troubled thoughts turmoiled through his head, spinning him emotionally until everything seemed hopeless. Shame and fear had effectively put a stopper to his actions. He knew not where to go or to whom. All he could do was to count down the hours and minutes until lights out at eleven p.m., every single night, and for Hogwarts to be shrouded in darkness.

There was a stubborn spark in him which refused to die, and sometimes it made him wander the corridors after lights out, hiding away to wander aimlessly about. He could spend hours doing that, not daring to shut his eyes, not wanting to lie down and admit defeat. Spreading his legs willingly to that thing was the last thing he'd do.
Whatever he did, wherever he went, it always found him. And more than once when it happened upon him when he had strayed down some desolate winding staircase to a remote room or along some not too frequently used corridor, that thing dressed up as his father would strike at Draco before he knew what hit him, dragging Draco screaming away to places deep below or high up in a desolate tower. One occasion in particular had branded itself into his mind. He shuddered just to think about it:

Draco had been walking aimlessly. He knew it was somewhere around 3 a.m.: The Hour of the Demon. The knowledge pressed him to move on, his feet walking faster and faster. Draco had long since lost his way, though he was confident he had to be close to the Hufflepuff tower. Coming up a flight of winding stairs, Draco abruptly stopped. There he was, Lucius Malfoy, or whoever it was hiding behind his mask, standing at the top of the stairs looking down at Draco. Draco immediately turned his footing, but he had trouble tearing his gaze away from that confusing sight which induced so many conflicting feelings. He nearly slipped on the step, but managed to get it right. He fled downwards as fast as he could, his heart beating fast at the thought of being chased. But no footsteps could by heard echoing his own. Nearly at the bottom of the stairs, Draco stopped as his brains just had deducted the information and reached a conclusion. There was no way he was being followed, or he would have heard. But his gut told him that Lucius was close. Like right behind him. Controlling his fear, Draco raised his wand which was glowing at the tip and shone a light up the flight of steps where he'd just come down.

Nothing.

He let out a slight moan, and turned to walk down to the bottom of the stairs. No sooner had he turned his head frontwise, before his wand was struck from his hand. In the last flicker of light Draco had only time to see the face of Lucius Malfoy before he was struck in the face. Losing his balance, Draco fell against the wall, taking a hit at his right temple before he fell backwards onto the steps of the staircase. His backbone complained at the harsh impact with the sharp steps. The pain in his back made him pause for a moment, and it was just a moment too long. He was seized by the neck and pulled violently to his feet. He felt the muscles in his neck give way and a sting flared up. A warm fluid trickled from his nose and he tasted blood on his lips. Draco gurgled a half-hearted 'no!' as he was pulled close to his father's face. Lucius was aroused. There was evil in his eyes which spoke of terror yet to come for Draco. He tried to bend away the fingers around his throat which seemed to be as tough as steel. An unseen force undid the belt on his dark trousers. He felt the button give way and the pants dropped around his ancles. The light spell expired, and everything about him faded back into darkness. Draco screamed in terror as he felt one gloved hand find its way into his boxers, quickly embracing and caressing his privates. The hand fondled him for a brief second, before it continued to alleviate him of his boxers. Draco felt his knees grow weak, and he was forced down into a halfway lying position on the steps. He held his breath in terror as he heard fabric rustle as Lucius moved above him.

“Now, we're going to have some fun!” he heard Lucius say. “Open your mouth.”

“N-no!” Draco retorted.

“Where I come from, we don't believe in crude spells as the Cruciatus curse. We believe in more subtle, let's call it 'humane' method.”

Before Draco could begin to guess what he meant, he felt his abdomen tense as an unseen force made him flex every muscle. The erection came immediately, and Draco was filled with an immense impulse to come right there and then. The intensity of the lustful sensation was burning his insides and his mind was nearly overloaded by an instant influx of endorphins, a momentus exuberance which made him feel as if his heart would explode right out of his chest. Draco gasped. Time itself seemed to pause, and despite himself he kicked away his pants and his boxers and spread his legs wide. A burning wish fluttered to his mind from out of the blue, or rather the dark, as there wasn't even the faintest shred of light to help him distinguish shadows. The winding staircase was in utter unnatural darkness. He felt Lucius bend down over him. The stone edges of the steps cut into Draco's back most unpleasantly, and he gasped as he felt something of a soft, veined and large flesh touch his lips. The distinct smell of lust accompanied it. Beside himself with the unfathomable lust which ravaged him, Draco allowed the manhood inside his mouth. As it slid inside past his lips, inch by inch, Draco came hard, moaning out his orgasm all the while his mouth took in more cock until he nearly gagged. The orgasm was like a giant electrical outburst, but he did not go limp. Instead, the sensation of lust only intensified, making him eager for more. Draco was locked between the weight over him and the sharp stony steps beneath him, and all he could do was to support himself on his elbows. Feeling his tender flesh grow and harden again did nothing for the fear which lurked underneath the lusty surface. He was well aware that whatever had just happened, was not natural. A spell of some kind had been worked on him and he was completely helpless.

The taste of the hard cock in his mouth was sickening but arousing at the same time. To be impaled in his arse was one thing. He could distance himself from that because it was on a rather unseen location on his body. But to be fucked in the mouth was a completely different case, and it was a violation beyond words. Draco came hard a second time. His jaws were becoming sore from the unusual position and he felt his senses return and the lust diminish. His arms began to push at the body above, and he tried to scream. The last spark of lust in his groin died away and his back was beginning to ache severely. The next minutes seemed unbearable until Lucius moaned, filling Draco's throat with a bitter tasting fluid. A reflex made Draco gulp it down. He felt defiled. He had just been forced to eat filth and to him it felt as if the bitter fluid clung to the insides of his throat, making the awful taste linger. Lucius pulled out, released his grip on Draco's throat and moved away to somewhere above him.

“Let's play a little game, shall we? It's called: Find Draco's wand. If you find it before I do, we'll call it a night. If I find it first, I get to fuck you – again, and again until morning come!” Lucius' figure laughed. Draco vomited again and again while heard fabric rustle, light footsteps touching the stone steps. Forcing his limbs to get moving, Draco tried to remember the direction he thought his wand had gone.

“I can bend your body to my will, Draco Malfoy. I can throw you in to a state of complete euphoria, I can make your senses combust in orgasm after orgasm until you lose consciousness, or I can drown you in the outmost despair and trigger every painful nerve in your body. And I do certainly not need a puny wooden stick to do so!” Draco held his breath as he watched a familiar blue glow come to life at the end of an all too familiar wand. His wand! And it was in the hands of that - that thing!

“Please! No!” Draco sobbed.

“On hands and knees, Draco. Do it now!” the thing with his father's appearance commanded. Draco watched him walk down the steps past him until he stood behind Draco. A gloved hand seized him by the neck, and the fingers squeezed until it hurt so much Draco had but to do as he was told and kneel down. He tried to escape the pain, grasping at the fingers but to no avail. He felt something touch his rounded cheeks, something sharp. And the way the light moved with it told him it was the tip of his wand. He gasped as he felt the pointy end caress his puckered entrance, and his worst fears were corroborated as he felt the tip of his own wand slide in and out of his opening, caressing the insides and then all the way up to the beginning of the crack of his arse on the outside. A warm, wet fluid accompanied the tip, lubricating its path, and Draco couldn't help but to feel aroused. The grip on his neck softened and he felt the fingers move upwards until they closed around a fistful of platinum blond hair at the back of his head. Draco gasped. The tip of his wand was quickly replaced by something softer but a lot thicker. Familiar as it was by then, his father's cock penetrated Draco's entrance, and Draco was surprised by how easily it slid inside. He breathed hard and shut his eyes tight, hoping for it all to end soon.

“It pleases me to see that you're finally taking your studies more seriously. It pleases me immensely to know that you see yourself as trapped, that you have no way out, and that you have begun to realize what a lowlife you are. Just imagine what your fellow Slytherins would say if they knew you were here right now, moaning and panting like a bitch in heat. You're dripping with unspeakable fluids and your breath smells of my sperm. The shame! But know that it's all for a purpose. I have to mark you as mine! And what better way to do so but to fill you up with sperm in every hole until it seeps through your very skin?” the demon wearing Lucius' shape mused, thrusting away at Draco's rear entrance. “I wonder” he continued, “what will you tell your mother when you go home for Christmas? What will you tell her when she asks about the smell? The stink? The filth which cannot be seen but which now stains every inch of your soft skin?! Will you tell her you're being fucked senseless by your own father? Are you going to tell her that you like it, or that you hate it whenever I force my entire hand up in your ass? Do you think she'll help you? Or will she cast you out? Cut you from your inheritance? Can you bear it, Draco? Can you bear the thought of rejection?”

Draco shivered. He was cold inside, and he felt feverish and sick. The words clung to his brains like a delicate spider web. His own erection had stopped at half mast, and refused to go beyond. Draco felt small. In every way. He felt a lump building up in his throat. He was tired, cold and miserable. His knees and wrists hurt, and the sensation in his entrance was becoming unbearable.

“I'll never let you go, you know” he heard his father's voice through the darkness, “it's going to be like this every night for the rest of your life. And not just the nights! Be glad I consider your education important, or I would make you miss out on classes. I'm going to push you to the brink, Mr. Malfoy, and then, when you think you can't stand it, I'll just fuck you a little more until you're so full or sperm it starts running out through your nose!” he heard the voice of his father chuckle.
Draco sobbed. He was feeling really low, and it despaired him to hear such harsh words in the voice of the person he'd adored the most. It tainted the otherwise stainless image he'd had of his father during Draco's adolescence. He wished himself away, to hide in a big black hole never to be found, away from this nightmare!

“Careful what you wish for!” he heard Lucius whisper. Upon understanding that whatever the thing it was, it read minds, Draco's blood seemed to freeze. “Perhaps you should consider ending it all” the voice continued, as the thrusts came harder and more frequently, “you do after all have greater enemies than your mother for the moment. Outside the barriers of Hogwarts awaits the Death Eaters and their master who grows more and more impatient by the day. And inside these walls, is Harry Potter and his friend Ronald. And I bet that Harry Potter is just waiting for an excuse to try out his newly discovered Sectumsempra curse. And that Ronald” the demon chuckled, “now the way he looks at you whenever you seat yourself next to Granger, is unmistakably like the way a murderer looks when he kills out of jealousy!”

Draco wanted to say something, to explain that he attended Ancient Runes class, not because of Hermoine but because it was interesting. It was a subject he'd started off with last year and it had opened the doors to an old universe he could take advantage of, and perhaps use against Harry Potter. Now, the fascination was more about the stories behind the runes and what mysteries they could unlock. And as far as Granger was concerned, he liked to sit next to her this year because he found he could draw some comfort and strength from her unyielding diligence and to the point annoying attention to detail concerning rune interpretation and decoding. She had an inexplicable way of bringing stability back into his life during class, giving him solace. It was almost incomprehensible to him, and he winced when she stared directly at him as if challenging his right to exist. Her chocolate brown eyes spoke volumes, and the way her mouth pouted was a tell-tale sign that she resented him even looking a her sideways. It was as if she didn't see the change he'd undergone on the inside, and he had begun to understand all too well how many bridges he'd burnt with his previous hoity-toity behaviour. He was thankful that neither Ron nor Harry attended the class. There were times during Potions class when he'd chosen to be at her table as well, and she grudgingly helped him whenever he asked. He liked potions class. Reaching out to non-Slytherin students was becoming his new hobby, and he practiced his new-found social skills there as he'd realized he achieved better results by asking politely rather than demand it sourly. He loved to talk herbology with Luna Lovegood during Herbology class, very conscious of the stares which the other Slytherins gave him. Talking to Hermoine briefly in Potions class proved to likely be a death-defying act in the long run as both Harry and Ron seemed to be pinning him to the floor every time he approached her. Ronald in particular was becoming increasingly aggressive. The demon was right. Ronald probably wanted him dead.

Draco remembered sobbing violently the long lasting minutes there, in the dark winding stair while that thing thrust away at his entrance. The all-overshadowing loneliness ate away at him. No body knew he suffered there in the dark, and no one probably cared. And those who would care, he couldn't tell. Closing his eyes, the one thing which lingered in the dark was the menacing image of Harry Potter and his friend Ronald scowling at him across the table laden with smoking cauldrons and ingredients. And at the opposite table, the frowning Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs. He was a friendless worm in the shadow of the boy who lived.

Back in the present, the Christmas holiday approached rapidly. A few more days and the school would become quite desolate except for a select few.

Draco decided he'd brave the monster's warning about contacting his mother, and he wrote her a letter in which he courteously described his progress in the various subjects at school and he expressed a regret over not being able to come home for Christmas. Weeping as he wrote it, Draco struggled to keep it as impersonal and cold as possible, hoping the monster would allow it. He had to protect her, even if it meant pushing her away. Just as anticipated, he felt his mind being ransacked the following night after he'd sent it, once that thing once again appeared before him as his father. Nothing was said about the letter. And Draco remained limp, looking away to one side as he experienced to not be numbed completely before he was mounted whenever it happened in his own bed. Somehow, Draco knew it was his reward for staying within the given
perimeters when contacting his mum. Apart from that, it was business as usual. A disgusting, non-consent union with a thing or a person he'd no idea what or who was.

Next day was the last day before Christmas Holiday. The evening would see a Christmas party, before most students departed in the morning. Draco had every intention to attend, hoping it would get his mind off things for a few hours. After classes, he spent some time in the library, and on his way out, he came across Granger and Lovegood sitting at a study desk, pouring over ancient books. When being spotted by Luna and Hermoine, Draco nodded silently and smiled faintly. Not knowing what to say, he tried his best to convey a friendly body language as Hermoine immediately frowned at him upon seeing him. It was Luna who said hello first. That girl always had a surprised look on her face, but she smiled as if she didn't have a care in the world. Benefiting from the rather good chemistry they'd developed in herbology, he decided to brave the mighty Granger and approach them. Remembering his etiquette lessons at home, Draco stopped and returned the unexpected smile, this time a little stronger while he replied.

"Hello Miss Lovegood", he replied. He then eyed Granger and said: "Miss Granger."

He then eyed a large, thick book just right in front of him. None of the ladies were currently reading it, and it caught his attention because it was old and tattered, but filled with drawings. He looked at the front page, and read: Stumbleweed's Great Book of Deamonology: A guide to deamons, fiends and monsters. Limited Edition. 1660, London. The book was littered with pictures which moved much just like the portraits which hung everywhere at Hogwarts. They were meant as sample of the beast's movement and appearance. Draco felt his heart beat faster as he skimmed the index entry.

"It's a - uhm, from the restricted section, isn't it? The book I mean?" he looked over to Hermoine then at Luna. Neither of the girls replied. "Do you mind if I just sit down and - and look through it?"

"Are you thinking about attending Advanced Demonology next year?" Luna suddenly asked. Draco felt himself slide down on the vacant seat opposite the girls. His heart was racing fast. Hermoine Granger. This was the moment with a capitol M where he had the chance to impress her with his good manners and possibly get through a more nuanced image of himself to her.

"Perhaps. I hear it's an extremely tough study which occasionally take lives. And with Professor Snape, dungeon bat and all over scary Defence against the Dark Arts professor at the helm, I'm not sure it's worth it" he spoke softly, with a mild lopsided smile. He earned himself a giggle from Luna. Granger wasn't smiling. She was simply observing him, apparently on her guard. "So, what's with all the books?" Draco ventured.

"None of your business, oh we're looking for information about the Half Blood Prince", Hermoine and Luna answered simultaneously. Granger glanced at Luna, then at Draco, putting up a rather hostile face in order to convey unsaid emotions about his presence.

"You're absolutely right, it's none of my business" Draco replied meekly, sensing his presence was unwanted. "Look, Miss Granger" Draco swallowed hard, "I'd really like to have a look in this book. Now, with your permission, I'll get lost to over there" Draco motioned for a seat two desks away, "and read in it until you need it again. Is that all right?"

"Shouldn't you be off somewhere torturing some innocent first grader?" Hermoine retaliated sourly.

"Do you mind if I borrow the book?" Draco prayed his sincerity would be able to penetrate her hostile barricade.

"I'll be watching you" she only replied. Draco took it as a yes, and brought the book over to a safe distance from Hermoine. He felt his heart skip a few beats as he quickly read through the chapters concerning demons, possessions and exorcism. It was as if the answer was straight in front of him, but he just couldn't see it. It was something Hagrid had said during a class in Care of Magical Creatures, once. About demons and their ways. And for sure, there it was!


The Christmas Party.
Unlike the actual Christmas Ball on Christmas Day at Hogwarts, this was a student party arranged for students only. A going away party. The information he'd learned from the Stumbleweed's Great Book of Deamonology: A guide to deamons, fiends and monsters, was still circling in his head when he finally made it down to the informal party, dressed in a grey sweater, black trousers and black coat. He was on to something vital, and what he had discovered so far was shocking. It gave everything a whole new meaning. And most of all the sentence: 'Their victims are often tortured into insanity before they commit suicide.'

Draco was going to get pissed. It was the only way to deal with his discovery. He needed to drink until he passed out. So disturbed by the prospect of his future was he, that he didn't see Hermoine Granger who'd just come to a halt in the doorway leading in to the party. Not seeing her, he accidentally bumped into her. Seeing them standing there together, the crowd inside began to shout and whistle, chanting “kiss! Kiss!” Both looked up discovering the mistletoe hanging there. Hermoine's cheeks flushed with an angry red, and she looked at him with a 'don't-you-dare-disgrace-me look. It only added to his nervousness. She looked gorgeous in a white frock with a bodice and long flowing skirts. He eyed the bystanders, ignoring the Slytherins' crude comments before he cleared his throat and turned towards her. “Miss Granger? May I be as bold as to ask you for a kiss?” It sounded daft. But he said it with sincerity, and he said it as softly and politely as he could muster. For long seconds, she simply eyed him, scrutinizing him with her brown eyes, wondering if he was playing some cruel joke on her. Draco tried to hide his nervousness, realising he was actually holding his breath. If she were to say no, he would be mortified. But it served him right if she brushed him off, right? He hadn't been treating her nicely the previous years. He was giving her an opportunity to get even, and she hesitated. He watched her eye him, then the crowd which was rapidly growing, then eyeing him again. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin under the mistletoe together! Just perfect.

Being somewhat taller than her, he decided to lean in. She wasn't backing away. That was a good sign. He decided to ask again. “Miss Granger? May I?” She nodded, though he could see she was fuming at the embarrassment of being caught under the mistletoe. Draco cocked his head and leaned in so close he could smell her perfume. Inch by inch, his lips closed in on hers, and finally they met. Hers were soft, full and lush rose petals. Draco recalled he'd forgotten to brush his teeth. He lingered for as long as he dared, and it was with regret that he broke off the kiss. Her look on him afterwards was not what he expected. Her brown eyes had widened, her lips half open and her brows raised in wonder. Embarrassed by the unwanted attention about her reaction from the onlookers, he smiled at her briefly before he mumbled a 'thank you', then leaving for the bar. Draco's heart was pounding fast. He felt excited. He felt alive for the first time in months. A kiss! It had been a moment of bliss he'd never have again with another girl, Muggle or no.

He got himself a cola, pulled out a small bottle from his inner pocket then poured the contents into it. He wished it had been poison. 'Here's to Draco', he said to himself, 'soon to be lunatic and suicide boy'. Brooding, he tasted the bittersweet liquid while he imagined himself falling off the chair and dying in a dramatic fashion. Thus died Draco Malfoy, a nobody. He downed the entire contents of the glass before making himself another one. Glancing at Luna Lovegood who sat at a table not too far away, he let that drink linger as something came to mind. A small but important revelation. Blaise and another Slytherin member joined him. They chuckled and patted him on his shoulders, saying: “You completely dazed that Mud-blood Granger. Did you see her?! She went completely cross-eyed over you, man!”

“Whatever. Don't call her that. It's vile and cruel, and simply below any decent wizard.” Draco sensed them eyeing each other, wondering what's gotten into him. How easy it was, Draco decided. If he in deed was dying, he would do so with his conscious cleared. Getting a kiss from Hermoine had proved it was worth it. He knew he had a few people he owed an apology. And he was going to confront that thing which raped him every night with his suspicions. Draco needed answers or he would in deed go insane. Not knowing what he was dealing with, was the worst of it all. He had nothing else to relate to than his father's appearance. The only solace was that he didn't behave like his father. And Draco's true father was incarcerated in Azkaban.

Just then, Pansy Parkinson appeared. She stopped under the mistletoe and looked daggers at him. Blaise nudged at his shoulder, and he turned to see her standing there. She was fuming, killing Hermoine with her look, before eyeing Draco again. Obviously, she'd just learned what had happened. Draco rolled his eyes and turned his back on her. Moments later, she hit him in the back, and hissed: “What is wrong with you, Draco Malfoy?! Have you gone completely mental? Why did you kiss her?!” She was obviously losing it. She was shaking all over, and he watched as she turned on her heel and marched over to where Hermoine was sitting. Before anyone could react, she was out with her wand and aimed it at Granger.

“Get up, you cow!” she commanded Hermoine. Everyone froze as they watched the spectacle which unfolded in their midst.

Hermoine got up. She cautiously produced her wand.

“You're one piece of work, Mud-blood! No one steals boyfriends from Pansy Parkinson, especially not my Draco Malfoy. Get your wand at the ready for duelling, Muggle cunt! You're going down!”

Draco didn't want Hermoine suffering because of him. He hurriedly got off his stool and marched over to Pansy. Grabbing her duelling arm, he tore her wand from her, grabbed her by the neck and forced her outside while she showered him with protests. Outside, he let go off her and growled:

“What is wrong with you, woman? Do you plan on ridiculing the both of us?!” He smelled strong liquor on her breath. He wasn't half as intoxicated as she was.

“Why can't you just admit it, Draco? You and that bitch Granger! You're having it off!”

“Of course not! But I'll tell you this: There is somebody. But it's not Granger, or any other girl that you know. I'm sorry I haven't told you this sooner, but it's been kind of wild lately. I'm sorry, it's all I can say.” Draco felt miserable towards her, but not as sorry as he would have felt if she hadn't looked so ridiculous because she was wasted. She kept losing her balance, and he gave her the wand back. She took it stubbornly, and wobbled away into the early night. He had slighted her, and she would never forget it. Draco walked back inside only to find Ronald Weasley waiting for him. His arms were crossed in an angry manner, and Hermoine was sitting at the table where he'd left her, rolling her eyes at Ron. Eyeing Harry Potter, Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was sitting next to Hermoine but seemed as if he was having a laugh. He didn't seem annoyed at all, but the smirk faded when he locked eyes with Draco. Draco turned away and headed to the bar. He was at a loss, not knowing how to deal with the aggression which was on display in the Gryffindor corner. Perhaps he owed it to Weasley to let him beat the crap out of Draco? Weasley was and always would be a coward. And Draco had his share of blame in it. He'd been cruel and patronizing ever since their first year, Draco thought, taking a deep sip from his glass. Glancing over to where Ron was still fuming, Draco sighed. He downed the glass with doubtful beverage, and walked over to where Ron was standing. Draco said:
“I'm sorry about that with Pansy, she's..uhm, she was totally out of line.”

“Yeah? Well, she wasn't half as out of line as you were, Draco Malfoy. Keep away from Hermoine, or else...!” he watched Ron growl at him. The 'or else'-thing was annoying, but Draco let it slide.

“Would you rather I'd left her there to be mocked by everybody?” The question seemed to silence Ron, and Draco found it safe to continue saying: “I'm sorry about the kiss, Ron. It was a great kiss though, but I didn't mean to ruin it between you and Granger.” He watched Ron as the anger rekindled in the red hair's eyes. He also saw the fist coming, but he did nothing to avoid it. Admitting to Ron it had been a great kiss, was the smartest and the dumbest thing he could do. The fist connected with his nose, and Draco stumbled backwards as he saw stars with blood running from his nose. The sensation was nothing new. He felt as if he was in the hands of his rapist once again. It was a pain he was used to.

Through the haze he heard Hermoine scream angrily at Ron, and her voice mingled with angry Slytherin cries, booing and name-calling the Gryffindors. The atmosphere in the room suddenly tensed into a stand-off. Wands were drawn, and Draco felt as if he'd just started a war. This wasn't his intention at all! The feeling of amounting to nothing, returned. He felt like a failure, and he desperately tried to fix it by asking his fellow Slytherins to stand down. Ron wasn't worth getting expelled over. He heard Potter and Granger do the same with the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs. Kicking Draco's arse wasn't worth getting expelled over. He agreed with them. He'd acted foolishly. He should never have returned after he broke it off with Pansy. He wasn't worth it. He was rubbish! He was tainted. He was filth. Feeling the tears press on, he glanced quickly at Granger before he strode out. Several of the Slytherins followed suit, and thus ended what could have become an extremely ugly situation.

He remained with the fellow Slytherins for a while in the common room before he decided it was not worth lingering any longer. He was tired, depressed and hungry, and the alcohol was wearing off. He went to bed. The night had been disastrous, and it wasn't that many hours before he would be receiving more pain. His hole had gotten used to the onslaughts, but the real hurt was in his heart. It was the taunting words, the fear and terror, the threats which broke him. It was as if the devilishly handsome and always confident Draco Malfoy had withered away, and all he was left with, was an illusion. The lies imprinted in him by his father and mother, were crumbling away in his hands.

Face Thy Demon.
He looked at his watch. It was half past two in the morning. Everything was silent. Quiet. Soft snoring and an occasional mutter was all which penetrated the night time in the Slytherin dorms. The last of the party-goers had finally gone to sleep, but Draco kept writhing in bed. He was thinking about Demons and Eudaimons and what it meant to be an expert shape-shifter and a natural wizard. As natural as it was to breathe. Draco checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes left until three a.m.

A Eudaimon, he thought. A demon who targets the wicked, the cruel, the murderers and the traitors. They believed in hereditary sin. The sins of the fathers and the grandfathers become the sins of the sons and the future generations. So Lucius' sins were his own. Everything Lucius ever did in his lifetime, was on Draco's shoulders. And Draco could only begin to imagine all of the foul deeds, all from Lucius' first days at Hogwarts and on his way to a lethal Death Eater. To think he'd once admired that man!
The clock ticked and finally struck three. Any minute now, and the demon would come. And rightly so. Two minutes past three, the air went thick and unnaturally calm. All sounds faded, until all Draco could hear was his own heartbeats. He felt a heat rise in his groin all the while his toes went numb. His erection grew quickly while his thoughts swiveled slower. The heat spread down his thighs and bloomed through his stomach and into his chest. Draco reached for his father's watch and squeezed it tight in his palm. Unconsciously, he began to spread his legs. He felt his brains turn into oat meal porridge, and his fingers were going cold, a numbness spread throughout his arms, up to his shoulders and down his spine.

“I-I know what you are!” Draco gasped. He could feel his jaw going numb. He was running out of time. “You – you must obey the rules! You're an Eudaimon!” Draco lisped.

The familiar terror which wrapped itself around his very soul was nearly consuming him, and he desperately clung to the knowledge of his father's watch resting in his palm all though he couldn't feel it anymore. He saw his father's shape come to a halt just as it emerged from the half dark. Draco couldn't feel his own lips anymore. The figure faltered, then replaced itself with something more awe-inspiring:

Huge black wings came alive, and they moved slowly. The platinum blond locks of Lucius Malfoy faded, and was replaced with long dark curls. Stepping out of the shadows, Draco could see his true face: Narrow chin, high cheekbones, set eyebrows beautifully arched over nut-shaped dark eyes. He was slimmer than his father. Taller? No, about the same, Draco thought. It was difficult to judge through the half dark, and right there and then all he could move, was his eyes. Draco was relieved to feel the numbness recline, to be able to feel his lips again and to breathe more freely. But his limbs remained heavy. Using all the power he could muster, Draco squeezed the watch in his right hand. The great black feathered wings heaved and moved a little at their own accord as the eudaimon stepped forward until he was standing at the bedpost of Draco's bed.

“And” the handsome man said, “do I have a name?” referring to the only rules in existence between Man and Demon. A demon's true name was his only vulnerable point. Man's knowledge about his alignment was also of a binding manner, but of less importance. Exposing a demon's name meant more power. Unseen forces older than demons themselves came into work then, and the demon often found itself forced to obey.

Draco had found several alternatives. It could be Israel, Azrael, Melchior or Aloysius Goldeneyes. Draco looked at him closely. He was dressed in black garbs with an oriental styling to it. It was a tunic in black with delicate gold embroidery which emphasized the shoulders, the chest and outlined his waist in an elegant and becoming manner. Draco felt his pulse race. He'd managed to get this far. He'd gambled and won first round. The eudaimon was interested now, and to see his true face was in itself a great reward.

“You're supposedly the good guy” Draco said in an attempt to stall. Maybe he could make the eudaimon tell something which would give him a clue. Demons lied all the time. One could never take their word for it. Eudaimons couldn't tell lies.

“You punish the wicked and you help the innocent” Draco heard himself say. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows. He was feeling immensely tired.

“And the wicked would in this case be..?!”

“Me” Draco answered meekly. He was running out of time. The eudaimon grabbed the bedspread and pulled at it, exposing Draco's clothed body. He slept in a t-shirt, boxers and sweatpants.

“Now, about that name, or shall we stop with the pleasantries for tonight and get on with the terror?”

“You resemble that man on the picture” Draco tried, dragging himself backwards until he was sitting against the wall. He watched in terror as the eudaimon crawled into his bed. The creature's piercing eyes nailed Draco to where he was sitting. His eyes spoke volumes about his plans for Draco. Draco's breath went faster, as he braced himself for some kind of onslaught.

“You are...Melchior” Draco held his breath. “Please be Melchior, son of Aloysius Goldeneyes.” It was a guess based on the live picture of someone resembling the eudaimon, but looking some years older. The name Aloysius Goldeneyes was printed beneath it, and Draco had immediately thought of 18th century pirates with their triangular hats and fancy clothes.

“Your wits are...commendable sometimes. By no means are you stupid, Draco Malfoy, you've just been using it wrong” the eudaimon spoke softly as he approached. Draco whimpered. There were no places to run to, and he'd just remembered that this was a creature who held the power to remove the Dark Mark. The likes of Voldemort was currently in his bed, tugging at the waistband of his trousers.

“Please” Draco swallowed as he was kissed for the first time. Having undone the waistband, the eudaimon's right hand slid beneath the lining, inside Draco's boxers until soft warm fingers found their treasure, fondling his limp member. “Please” Draco repeated, “you must answer me. The rules say you must give me an-!” The last word was cut off as the eudaimon pressed his lips passionately against Draco's once more. The eudaimon's lips were harder and thinner than Hermoine's, obviously belonging to a man. They were dark with lust, and Draco thought he tasted cinnamon and apple.

“I am Melchior of the Sparrows, as you guessed. Now, you will spread your legs for me.”

“Yes, yes” Draco mumbled. He had to take one step at a time, to be patient, remembering that he'd been on thin ice by challenging the eudaimon to give up his shape. One should never ask too much of a demon. Though demons sorted themselves in two groups; Your average evil demon type and the other one which was named eudaimon, supposedly on the side of good, they were nevertheless demons and they only had that much patience when it came to requests. Draco got rid of his trousers and boxers with stiff, clumsy fingers. The eudaimon was still influencing his limbs. A variation on what Draco knew to be the Immobulus spell. It was meant to keep Draco docile. The eudaimon Melchior retreated, allowing Draco to get into position in his bed. He spread his legs with reluctance, glancing at his watch. It was closing in on half past three. He clutched the watch tight in his hand, grateful for the idea which had sprung to mind while he'd been sitting in the bar, looking at Luna Lovegood. She had been gesturing to a friend through the loud music, pointing to her left wrist as if to ask what time it was.

“Please. Please be gentle with me..!” Draco whimpered, “I'm so tired.” The last sentence ended in a sob. He felt deflated and just wanted to be left alone. The heat in his abdomen was gone. He felt old and worn like a sack of potatoes. It was however, refreshing to have a new face to respond to. Through the half dark Draco could see that the eudaimon appeared to look outwards as if he was in his early thirties, but he was probably hundreds of years old. Feeling the familiar sting of pain as he was penetrated, Draco found it easy to focus on the face infront of him instead of the pain. The long dark brown curls cascaded down on the pillow, framing Draco's face on either side. The eudaimon was in deed adhering to his request, slowly inching his way inside, giving Draco an unusual amount of time to adjust. The fabric of the eudaimon's tunic brushed against his limp cock. It was a good sensation, and Draco tried to hold on to that when the first thrusts set in. Draco remained silent, just observing the man's face hovering above his own. He found it comforting to be able to look at him without feeling bad. The pain of being taken by Lucius and the treason it had represented, was gone. And that made it all the more bearable.

“Why must I die?! What must I do to redeem myself?!” Draco heard himself ask. The words had suddenly poured out of him, and looking into the eudaimon's eyes for an answer, Draco was instead cut short with another kiss. The eudaimon then leaned in to his ear and whispered: “Die, you all do. The narrow path, my dragon. Already you've begun to walk it. But the question is: Do you dare go where ever it leads you?”