Thor's Note: Why yes, this did take forever to write. I was plottless for an unforgivably long stretch of time. In order to avoid this in the future, you could leave suggestions of things you'd like to see in your reviews—requests for more detailed descriptions, minor character's you'd like to see, what Draco should buy for Viktor… I'm a feedback whore. Anything's welcome.

The usual blah blah blah: I don't own them, they don't own me. This story contains boy-love, darkness, and misuse of bananas. Okay, that last bit was a lie. (Mango, anyone?)

…………………………………………

The first thing he looked was dangerous. Tall and lean, with his Durmstrang coat falling off his shoulders in seductive curves, opened wide enough to reveal a barely buttoned silk shirt and black pants balancing of the sharp edge of his hips, held up by a wide black belt with a silver buckle. He steps out of the fire, his bags floating carefully behind him.

He is scarred, a long brown line from above his eye to his lip. He smirks even when relaxed, with the raised line twisting his lip. He has grown so much from the small silver-haired boy I met so many years ago. But grown into what? A snake, a poisonous young man with an unnatural grace and delicate features—or simply a beautiful young man? He is my godson, he is my burden, he is Lucius' gift to me.

"Welcome home, Draco. I'm sorry Lucius couldn't be here to welcome you himself—"

"I'm not. It's good to see you again, Severus." He sets his bags on the floor with a wave of his wand. "It's been ages!"

"Yes, I suppose it has been." As if I hadn't noticed the time draining away from us, as if he were still a laughing boy. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

"Mother would have been glad that you were here. She used to smile whenever you visited." A young boy, but not without some manipulative skill. However obtuse and obvious it may be. "She rarely spoke of you, but when she did, it was to praise you. I believe she tried to arrange private potions lessons with you, when I was younger. She wanted me to learn from the best."

She had wanted easy access to a kind face and a willing body, and was not above using her son as a bargaining tool. She was worthy of the Malfoy name, however she came about it.

"She will be greatly missed." I have found that platitudes decrease in their usefulness the more they are employed.

"No, Severus, she won't be missed at all. Me, Father—perhaps you, as well." His eyes burn with determination. He will live a remarkable life, or at least he will die a memorable death. He will not follow in Narcissa's shallow footsteps. "But that is neither here nor there."

"Lucius is at dinner party that he could not get out of. He's given me access to the Gringott's account if you need to purchase anything for the funeral. Otherwise, I suppose that you can settle in and the house elves will provide supper—"

"I'd like to settle in a bit. Shall I meet you in the great hall for supper at—would seven o'clock be suitable?"

I nod and offer to carry his bags. He declines my offer and saunters out of the room. The last of see of him he is vulnerable, all façade with only a desperately lonely boy underneath. Danger and sadness, he is full of conflict and desperation.

"Ai, Lucius. What's to become of this?"

…………………………………………

My room is not the same as when I left it. The walls have been redone to a deep mahogany shine, the candles replaced with magical lanterns that light the room evenly and leave no shadows. The bed has been replaced by a four-poster king-sized bed with an iceberg of satin pillows.

My old broom is in the corner, leaning against a trunk that I know must contain my childhood belongings. Quidditch posters, books—I have very few possessions that belong solely to me.

I am in a room that I do not know, a room designed for me by a father who only knows who I am supposed to be—a dark shadow of who I am.

I remove Fido from my bag and set the rest of them in the corner. I'll be leaving in two days, it would be foolish to unpack. I set Fido on the bed, which smells faintly of lavender. Narcissa must have had a hand in the decoration. Suddenly, the redesign seems not an imposition, but a parting gift. My life changed with her death. It is only fitting that my settings should change accordingly.

I have half on hour free before I am to meet Severus for dinner. He looks exactly the same as I remember him—greasy hair, a hooked nose. He still looks at me as from a far distance away, as though he is searching for me, as though he does not know I am right in front of him.

Narcissa told me once that had Father not extended her an offer of marriage, it would have been Severus she would have chosen to spend her life with. But she dared not defy the Malfoy's request, and perhaps in her own fashion she might have felt some affection for him. I know that she loved him. I know how painful it was for her. But I do not think she liked him. It is hard to tell, as private as they both are—were—and I was home for such short periods of time. Of all the people they knew, I might be the worst judge of them.

I take off my coat—in the Manor, with heating spells on every room, it's stifling me. It's all too much—the room, the heat, the silence—I walk to the window and swing it fully open. The snow hits me, needles and pins, freezing my skin and pushes me back inside.

I lean against the wall as the cold air fills the room and waves the drapes around my bed like a flag, like I am fighting a war and decadence is my standard and my army.

"Draco! Oh, I've missed you so much! You've gotten so tall! And your HAIR! So long, so luxurious—" Mirrors love me. They really, really love me. It's a very fulfilling relationship. "And the scar—so…butch! It makes you look like a dark, brooding rebel…"

"Or like I lost a fight to a really big piece of paper."

"Hah! I get it! Paper cut! You're witty as well as being devastatingly handsome."

"Yes, I know. What I don't know is what to wear to dinner…"

"Is this a formal occasion? Who else will be attending? I know you've got that new sweater…"

I stand in front of the full-length mirror, and watch as my face grows cold and distant. "It doesn't matter what the dress code is. It doesn't matter who else is going to be there. It's always the same dog and pony show, the same act of the same play in the same theatre. I'm playing the part of Draco Malfoy. And that is all."

Everything in my wardrobe is black, white, or grey. Malfoys dress as they view the world—good, evil, and those who have yet to be recruiter. None of my clothing has been touched, as per my request. The wardrobe is spelled to repel dust; the house elves need not maintain them.

"Severus thinks of me only as my father's son—he's to 'keep an eye on me' at school…so what am I going to do about it?" The mirror has no tactical suggestions. "Should I let him know I know he's in my father's service? Pretend I've no idea what's going on? Should I challenge him?

"If I were to challenge him, would I win?" The wind rustles the clothes in the wardrobe. I've no one to answer me; I've no audience to play to, no foil to balance me. I need an ally at Hogwarts, and Severus is probably the best option I've got open to me. I've got to let him know that I know what's what without implying that I will do anything with the information.

I pull on a soft grey cashmere sweater, one with a wide neck that exposes the dip of my collarbones. I put on some of soft loafers that are soundless on the floors, pull back my hair into a ponytail, and step in front of the mirror.

"What do you think?"

"Why, you're the spitting image of your father at your age!"

That's the problem with family heirlooms—they know to bloody much, and yet so very little. I take my hair out of the ponytail and cast a braiding spell on it. I fetch my jewelry from my bags, and but on small diamonds earrings and a thin silver necklace with the Malfoy crest as a pendant.

"Ah, that's much better. Those earrings bring out your eyes, and the sweater clings in such a tasteful manner—"

I look good. I look really, really good. I smile a dangerous smile that I use when preying on the unsuspecting. "It's good to be back."

…………………………………………

Supper is a five course meal that stretches on about four courses too many. Draco wandered in half a minute late, and has been a gracious host ever since. He's inquired into my wellbeing, my job, what he is likely to encounter at Hogwarts—he's a delightful conversationalist, a talent he must have inherited from Narcissa. Lucius has always been dangerously blunt and to the point.

Draco makes me nervous with the way he laughs, irritates me with the twinkle in his eye. He's trying too hard to make his cheer look effortless and he's succeeding. I hate small talk, I hate cheer, I hate five course meals, and I hate Lucius for making me baby-sit this child who looks so much like Narcissa—

His graceful wrists, his quiet nods, the way he tilts his head and the shine of his hair. He moves with her grace, but with none of her airs. He has Lucius' strength to back up the playful teasing note in his voice, and it is almost too much to take.

Narcissa's beauty and Lucius' danger in this one young man. Voldemort must be exceedingly pleased.

"Severus—Severus, are you quite alright? You drifted away from me! I'm dreadfully sorry, I don't mean to bore you. You must be quite exhausted. All of your work at Hogwarts and then Father calls you up to baby-sit some irritating chatterbox." His tone is light but his eyes are dark as they bore into mine.

"You must be quite close to him. I know he counts on you for a lot. I know he counts on you to look after me." He leans back in his chair, a carefully calculated move that pushes his sweater down his shoulder and reveals an expanse of his smooth, white skin. "I know he asks a lot of you. It must be quite…exhausting."

He has Narcissa's veela allure, I tell myself as my pulse quickens with a careless tilt of his head that exposes the graceful curve of his neck to me.

"I've heard quite a bit about you from both of my parents, Severus." He has indeed become a mix of both of those beautiful, insane people that I have loved. "I don't know if you've heard quite as much about me. Not that there's all that much to know—in fact, I do believe there's only one thing that I hold as crucial about myself." He stands, and places his napkin, neatly folded, next to his porcelain plate. "I am not my father's toy, and I will not be yours."

He leaves as he walked in, as though he has no purpose in remaining and little motivation to leave.

I hate false cheer, I hate five course dinners, and I really, really detest small talk.

…………………………………………

Dearest Viktor:

I've just come from dinner, and I do believe it went quite well. I won't bore you with the details, but I think I left quite an impression on my godfather, Severus. Father didn't find it necessary to meet me when I arrived home—Sev said he's at a dinner party. He's probably out with one of his whores, or running about at V's request.

It's only been one day and I miss you. It's too quiet here, too warm, too lonely. I don't think I shall ever be as relaxed or as happy as I was those last few months with you. I am back in the real world, Viktor, I am back to being Malfoy instead of your Draco. I must fully act the part. It's not that much of a hardship, to be sure—you know I can be a cold bastard when the mood takes me. Now I've just got to do it without any apparent motivation.

I'm to bed, now. The funeral is tomorrow morning, and then off to the tailor's for a new uniform. Sunday I have dinner with my father and then it's off to Hogwarts.

I do believe I'm a little … nervous, perhaps, about what is waiting for me there. As always, the best I can do is my best and my best is pretty bloody good.

Draco Malfoy

…………………………………………

I wake up to a dark room and the smell of whiskey. My father is leaning over me, his face perilously close to mine and his break reeking of alcohol. He laughs as I push him away, and whirls in a circle.

"Tonight is a glorious night, my Draco!" He stands in the center of my room with his robes askew, his eyes too bright and unfocused and his hair in disarray. "Tonight, you become a man."

"Father, I did that quite some time ago. I think you've had a bit too much to drink, and it would be best for all concerned if you just went to bed. To your bed. Away from me and my apparent lack of manhood."

He laughs and cocks his head as if considering my proposal. "No. You may be a man in the eyes of the world, Draco, but not in mine. Not as a Malfoy, you aren't a man—not a man Malfoy, not a Malfoy man…"

I inch towards the bedside table and my wand, cursing myself for not keeping it under the pillow. He's completely and totally smashed, and this rite of manhood thing does not sound pleasant.

I can almost reach my wand when he whips his out, faster than I can follow, and accios my wand. "What do you want, Father?"

"I want you to follow me. I've brung you a present, Draco. It's time for you to become a Malfoy." He points both wands at me and gestures towards the door. "After you."

"At least let me get dressed properly." My black flannel pants and undershirt are hardly appropriate for anything other than sleeping.

"No. I daresay he's in no state to care."

"He? Who? You haven't done anything to Severus, have you?" He laughs and follows me out of my room.

"What an imagination you have. No, of course not. I'd never do anything to hurt him." His laughter echoes down the long dark hallways, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and back down. "Just wait. Just wait, and you'll see. You'll see if you'll wait, wait and see just you wait and see…"

My father, when drunk, becomes a punmaster. One of those tidbits of knowledge I could live a much happier life without knowing.

We arrive at the hidden entrance to the dungeons and he whispers the password so I can't hear it. A solid marble wall rearranges itself to let us through. A long spiraling staircase leads to the dungeons of the Malfoy Manor. Father gave me a tour my tenth summer, and I've not been encouraged to venture back down into them since.

I balk at the top of the stairs. "Tell me what's going on, or I'll not go a step further." He steps behind me, uncomfortably close and again the odour of alcohol is nearly overwhelming. I refuse to move. "Tell me what's going on."

"It's about revenge, Draco." He touches the scar on my right shoulder. "That's all, really. Revenge." He traces the line and I shiver, my bare feet on marble floor and his fingers on my shoulder. "Now you can walk down on your own, or I can force you to walk down."

I have been under Imperio before, and feel no need to repeat the experience. When I reach the bottom, the faintest sound of crying reaches my ears.

"Who is it?" He's still behind me, warmth and alcohol spurring me forward, away from him.

"You know who it is." He pushes me forward, so that I can see into the nearest cell. "You know who it is." It is not Viktor, as I feared it would be. That would have been much too risky, and my father, while reckless at times, is far from stupid.

"Your school notified me when you had your accident. They said you fell from the fourth floor of the school, nearly died from the force of impact and the cuts from the glass shards. I did my own investigation, Draco. And now it's time for you to end it."

It was a year and a month ago. His name was Kevin and I had loved him fiercely, with all the illusions and trust that accompany a first love. We both played cello, and had met while playing a duet together. He was a tall, handsome boy with black hair and a loud laugh.

I had loved him fiercely, and he had used me. He used my money, he used my body, he used up all that I was and the whole time he led me to believe that he loved me. Sometimes, I think he must have loved me (he loves me he loves me he loves me).

Eventually I suppose I must have grown tiresome to him. I must have bored him somehow, failed to live up to his expectations.

He had got all he could out of me, and I was no longer useful to him. He told me to meet him on the fourth floor, in the corridor with the full-length windows that the astronomy classes used when it was too cold outside.

"You know I love you, right?" He had whispered to me.

"Of course I know that…what's going on? What—"

"Shh, Draco, shh. You know that I love you."

He had the darkest eyes, long eyelashes and thick, smiling lips. His fingers were graceful on the hilt of the knife as he cut my face, as he disfigured me. His hair shone in the candlelight as he lunged towards me, the muscles in his arms tense as he kissed me one last time before I fell (before he pushed me) before I heard the glass breaking and the last thing I saw for a very long time were his thick smiling lips coloured with my blood (blood streaming down my face) and then pain, and then nothing.

He lies spread-eagle on a large stone slab, naked and crying. His wrists and ankles are manacled, and the chains are pulled taught to the corners. He is as helpless as I've ever wished him to be, as vulnerable and defenseless as I could have wanted.

"Why is he here?" What am I supposed to do?

Father hands me my wand and opens the door. The crying grows louder and then turns into pleading when Kevin sees me.

"Oh please, God, Draco, please, I'm so sorry I'm so sorry, just let me go, please, I'll make it up to you I promise I'll be nice and take you back please, just please let me go—"

I block out his whining and look him over. Blood seeps from where he's cut himself on the manacles. His muscles are tight from straining to get free. Glistening sweat covers his naked form. The dark curly hair on his legs and privates seems absurd, suddenly. His penis is slightly shriveled from the fear and the cold. His voice is high and tense, and breaks periodically.

He has become ridiculous in his fear, and I am supposed to kill him. I hold my wand in my right hand, preparing to kill this farce of a man, this boy. But I don't want to kill him. I don't want to see his head fall to the side, lifeless, and leave the room.

I want to see him to bleed. I want him to drip with blood, I want him to scream for mercy, I want him to want it to end and then I want to hurt him more. I want to strip him of his dignity and his skin and I want to tell him that I love him and kiss him and then I want the fucker to die.

My hand shakes as I hold my wand. I look over at Lucius, suddenly calm and composed and I realize the drunkenness was a ruse to get my guard down. He is leaning against the doorframe, waiting to see what I will do.

I cast a silencing spell on Kevin (it hurts to think his name, his name is Kevin Kevin Kevin is his name it hurts me).

"Yes, Draco?"

"I've never cast these spells before." He smiles.

"I'll teach you."

In the end, we are all three covered in blood. In the end Kevin is screaming and I am shaking from exhaustion and my Father is so proud of me I've become a man, become a Malfoy man and in the end I kiss Kevin and tell him I love him and then I strangle him with my bare hands.

I am a man. I am a Malfoy. I killed him and Father was right. It's about being a Malfoy. It's about revenge.

…………………………………………

The more you review, the more I write. This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful reviewers, I'm so sorry this chapter took so fucking long to get finished. It was a hard one to write, and your support kept me going through it all.

Slashness: Thanks! I sort of stumbled onto the Viktor/Draco pairing, and was really surprised at how beautifully they fit together. I hope you like this chapter, as well (even if it's sorely lacking in Viktor).

Less: Well. If there were more of me, this story would get written a hell of a lot faster. Your review made me sooooo happy. I was all blinkspasmblink

Loud-Bass-Woman: I was so worried about the accent, but after I wrote in it for a while I started writing other people with accents, too! It was really distracting!

Euphory: That review made me breathless! Thank you so much, for the suggestions and the questions! I've no idea what's going to happen between Hermione and Draco, but whatever it is, it's going to be sooo much fun to write. Thank you!

PNC: I hope your Viktor dreams were nice and steamy. I mean…happy. Nice and happy.

GaBo0: Well, here's some more evil!Lucius for you, with a smidgeon of evil (but still cute) Draco to top it all off.

Potts: Well thank you! I had doubts about it, too, but it's really earned its keep.

Anya Malfoy: Thank you so much! I'm really honored that you enjoyed it!

Beka: Yeah, he did get a bit babbly, but I forgave myself because I didn't want Draco to leave, and the more Viktor said the longer it took for them to part…and I didn't want them to part…sob I'm such a mean writer…I hate myself.

DragonBlade: Well, your review made me do a little happy dance. In a computer lab with many other people in attendance. It was quite an experience, that I hope to repeat many many times.

Glisteningsoul: It IS a shame that there aren't any other Viktor/Draco fics! Perhaps you should write one! hinthint

Amanda: Thank you so much! Sometimes it's harder to write when there's so many possibilities, places I can take the boys, places they want to go. It's an adventure for me and for them!

Mesentente: Yes, you should write many happy Viktor/Draco fics! And rest assured, there is MUCH more of the boys yet to come.

…………………………………………

me plus reviews equals more writing.

It's as simple as that.