Louder

Harry Potter (Harry/Draco)
PG-13
Spoilers: Yes.
Summery: How desperate do you have to be to convince the one yo love...that you love them?
Disclaimer: I thieve things. I thieve literary things. I'm a bad girl. With no money. :( (Don't sue!)


Potter has always been a real stickler for proof. Proof. Don’t just tell me you love me, show me. Don’t just tell me you need me, show me. Show me, regardless of whether it’s a danger to yourself, or whether it could hurt the ones you loved.

Don’t tell me you need me, show me.

Well, that part, I never minded.

I suppose I couldn’t blame him. He had to be careful, no matter who he was with. He trusted few people with his life and safety, and those he trusted showed him time and time again exactly why they were trust worthy.

Actions speak louder than words.

I wonder how loud my actions spoke when I jumped onto the table that year and…but I digress…we will get to that later.

I knew when our relationship began that it would be a long, arduous journey to reach Destination: Trust. After all, look at how many battles, skirmishes, verbal and physical fights, dirty rotten tricks and other unpleasant surprises we tortured each other with. It must have been one of the greatest shocks of Harry’s short life, when, instead of responding to a verbal insult of my father with a fist in the boy’s gut, I responded with my lips on his. That was the moment his relationship with me…and my whole life…changed irrevocably.

From then on we were a whirlwind of emotions and hormones. When we weren’t sexing each other up, we were screaming each other deaf. And, mind you, this went on for years. Until one day, the hurtful look in his eyes after yet another one of my insulting comments hurt me, as well. Until one night, we stopped having violent, vengeful sex, and started making love. And saw that love reflected in each others' eyes.
That was the night that he demanded to know where my allegiance lie. It was two weeks before our sixth-year term ended. I would be facing my father and Voldemort upon my return home, and I was certain that they would be able to smell Harry on me…and see my feelings for him in my eyes. I was terrified…of them, of the rest of the Death Eaters, of committing, and of Harry. So I refused. I did not give him the reassurance he needed to trust me. Instead, I fled, and we did not speak to each other for the rest of our lives.

Or, at least, that was how it felt. In reality, I knew that it was only several months, but it could have damn well been an eternity.

I was so angry. Malfoys are supposed to be self-sufficient. They are supposed to be untouched…unmoving. They are not supposed to rely on others, and they are not supposed to pine. And yet there I was, staring out my window all damn day…hoping for a flutter of white feathers…waiting for a correspondence I knew would never come.

One day, I stopped waiting. Just like that, I stepped back from the window into the shadows of the drapes. I pulled the curtains closed, and proceeded to march into my father’s office unannounced, demanding the Dark Mark on my arm. Now.

You see, I had a plan. And damned if Potter wouldn't know where my allegiance lie before I was done.

Because, after all, actions speak louder than words.

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The Dark Mark is, besides the enchanted business, much similar to a Muggle tattoo. It lies only on the surface of the skin, several cell layers deep, because it is to be believed that a Death Eater’s loyalties lay not skin deep, but bone deep.

Well, most Death Eaters.

Yet, unlike a Muggle tattoo, there is no “laser machine” to remove it. There is only a three-stepped process. A very painful three-stepped process.

One must first have a strong reason to remove the Dark mark. An emotion, like love, or hatred. One must then use a poisoned, tainted blade to carve the mark out of one’s flesh. And, most importantly, one must have an antidote to the poison on hand. The antidote is unique to the one with the Dark Mark.

Anyone could see why said Mark tends to remain on the servant’s flesh.

A few night's after receiving my "inheritance", I decided to push my luck, and convinced my father to come with me to Hogwarts. I told him I needed to show him something; I told him we needed to discuss things. He agreed to apparate outside of school grounds, and meet me in the castle. I told him that I would await his presence in the Great Hall.

On the train ride to school, I sat alone in the compartment across from Harry, staring at him as he determinedly avoided staring at me. At one time, I saw the Weasel make a move to address my unwanted appearance, but Harry stopped him with a swift movement of his arm. Apparently, I was beyond noticing at this point. I was simply…insignificant. It left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Piling into the Great Hall, I marveled at how many people were just living out normal teenage lives. They were not like Harry, who was destined to kill or be killed. They were not like me, who had been groomed for a live of evil servitude, a hatred of Harry Potter, and a task…the task of killing one’s lover.

I had planned my seating carefully. As a matter of safety, Gryffindors and Slytherins werealways kept on opposite sides of the Great Hall. Yet for the act of betrayal I was about to commit, I needed Harry as close to me as possible.

So I stood against the Gryffindor wall, waiting for my father.

There were others that leaned against that wall, as well. Parents, mostly, or guardians that had made plans to withdraw their children from school now that Voldemort had returned.

My father walked in, with the cool Malfoy confidence I used to admire. He smirked, misinterpreting my request of his presence here as a subtle hint that I wanted out of school. I smirked back. I'd let him think what he wanted. It wouldn't matter in a few minutes anyway.

As McGonagall began to speak, my plan took action. I leapt from my spot against the wall and jumped directly onto the Gryffindor table, right in front of Harry. His head was literally in my croch area, but I had no time to worry about that now. The noise of shattered dishes and my hasty movement had drawn every eye in the room to me. Good. The more attention, the better.

I threw my arm into the air and let it linger there long enough for the sleeve of my robe to fall, exposing my Dark Mark for the world to see. A collective gasp filled the room.

Somewhere in the back of my head, my mind cataloged details: my father being restrained by Severus, who were both screaming; all of Hufflepuff cowering; most of my house looking impressed but thoroughly un-shocked; and the teachers being held in their places by a well-aimed petrificus totalus Dumbledore had thrown. He looked at me as if he knew what I was about to do, and gave his consent. But like I said, those were all details.

What was foremost in my mind was Harry: the way he looked when he realized what was on my arm. His face crumpled with an expression filled with more pain than one human should possibly be able to feel. His green eyes filled with tears as he simply…gave up. I don’t know what else to call it. He laid his head down on his arm and sobbed.

If possible, the pandemonium got worse when I drew the cursed knife from the folds of my robes. Three fourths of the room began screaming Harry’s name, warning him. The Slytherins looked eager, and those who actually truly knew what I was about to do wore a mixture of expressions.

Harry just waited, the sparkle of his eyes dulled by pain and disappointment.

That look changed when I brought the knife up to my wrist.

I let out a scream of anguish as I began to carve the mark out of my arm. The pain was indescribable. It spread without hesitation throughout my whole body, making it impossible to focus on more than one thing at a time. I put breathing aside right now, (I would worry about that once I was in his arms, or dead, whatever came first) and continued the movement of the blade. The poison spread through my limbs, numbing them, while still leaving the rest of my body in unbearable pain.

Harry’s face was a mask of horror. I continued to cut, as blood and skin fell to the table in equal amounts.

Once the mark was removed, I should have bent down for a kiss. Harry, after all, would be my antidote—him, or no one at all. But I wasn’t done yet. I was a Malfoy. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it all the way. I fumbled through my pockets, and with nerveless fingers, drew out an amulet. An old family heirloom, which, in my father’s eyes, I was about to forever disgrace. With unfeeling arms, I held it up to him, waving it with a malicious grin plastered across my face. At this point, the Granger girl leapt up to help me. Leave it to her to figure out what was going on. I let he help finish the ceremony. It would even add further insult to my father’s pureblood disposition.

She grabbed the amulet, and rubbed the blood from my arm into it. Looking into my eyes, she asked an unspoken question. Is this for…? I nodded, and immediately, she dropped it into Harry’s lap, thus sealing the blood binding charm I had cast upon it.

I tumbled, nearly unconscious, onto my beloved, and distantly, I could hear Hermione begging him to kiss me. He clearly didn’t understand, and my time had run out. I caught random words…Draco, bound to you, poisoned, cure.

I whispered softly now. “You’re my antidote, Potter, my love.” I’m not sure if he understood, but I swear I could feel soft lips on mine as I descended into darkness.

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I awoke in the healer’s ward. Harry sat sleeping, curled like a cat in a chair next to my bed. His hand was stretched across the distance between us, fingers interlaced with mine. I gave them a squeeze, hoping the pressure would wake him.

Success! As he gave a stretch, I could see the shape of an amulet underneath his robes. I grinned.

“That necklace once belonged to Salazar Slytherin.”

He looked confused for a momnet. “Then why is it of a lion?”

At this, I grinned. I had loved researching this well kept secrete. “He wore it to remind himself of Godric Gryffindor.”

Harry nodded. “Ah, yes. I remember the sorting hat telling us…they were best friends.”

“And lovers,” I added. I grinned again at the shock in his eyes.

“What? I couldn’t have just heard that correctly!”

“Ah, but you did,” I answered. “And that's more: I researched our genealogies this summer. You are a direct descendent of Gryffindor, and I have blood ties to…” At this, I grimace. “You-know-who…which makes me a blood relation of Slytherin. You know, Harry, Godric and Salazar never saw each other again after the fight that tore apart the school. They let themselves be separated by pettiness. They fought each other on opposite sides.” I looked into his eyes. He would see my matching serpant amulet when we made love tonight. “And they were never reunited.”

Harry leaned in, placing a soft kiss on my lips. “Until today.”

What can I say? Actions speak louder than words.

Fin