Russian Roulette Chapter 6: Fire At Will, a harry potter fanfic

Title: Russian Roulette (6/?) Author: Princesspepper
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 10,700
(A/N): So… it's been a while, hasn't it? I feel bad about letting such a long time go by, but allow me to explain. My computer crashed some time in July, and I lost this chapter, which was fully written at that point. This being over ten thousand words, I'm sure you understand how overwhelmed I felt at the prospect of having to write it over. Thankfully, I had emailed it to corasmama from fictionalley so she could look over it, so she was able to send it to me. However, I got pretty depressed since I lost the majority of the stuff I had been working on, including the next chapter, which was partially written. I'd like to say I'll update again really soon, but I can't promise anything. I've got a lot going on right now, both with school and my personal life, and I don't know when I'll have the time to write. Not only that, but I've totally lost motivation when it comes to the Harry Potter fandom; as much as it pains me to say it, I feel like I may have moved on. I am not abandoning this fic, though. I hope to complete it some day, because I think it had potential. Anyway, I'm sorry for the huge delay, and I really, really hope you enjoy this. Special thanks to RocklifeDude whose email inspired me to post this finally. Simple, yet effective.

Chapter Six: Fire At Will
Can you grant me one last wish?
PLAY RUSSIAN ROULETTE AS WE KISS.
I'll be your cheap novelty…
BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT ON ME.

When Harry awoke the next morning, he could not remember a time when he had been more disoriented. It was the kind of feeling one gets when one has just spent a long time underwater—you don't know which way is up, and which side of your body is touching the floor versus facing the surface. He was able to clear the physical confusion relatively easily; he moved one of his arms, and suddenly the world seemed to snap into place. He was lying on his back in bed, facing the ceiling. But… he didn't remember where he was. It definitely wasn't Gryffindor tower. Not only that, but, panicking, he realized he had no memory of what he had been doing before he fell asleep.

He shifted his other arm slightly, and suddenly memories came rushing back at him at a dizzying pace: drinking a Potion, kissing Malfoy, being at a party, falling in love, having a fight, more kissing, more intimacy, having sex—

Harry froze. He had already been still, but he found that other things that normally went on in his body came to a halt as well. His breathing hitched, his eyes widened unblinkingly, and most important, his thoughts came crashing to a sudden stop. He felt numbness spreading from the center of his chest, slowly moving out to his extremities, creeping along like the cold winter air.

His mind could no longer register coherent thought. His thinking consisted of only images; images of things that had happened in the past three months, all rolling together into one big bowling ball—and he was the lone pin sitting right in the middle of the lane. Only one clear thought was able to make itself known: What was I thinking?

All at once, he was able to think, and breathe, and move again. His head was still buzzing from the shock of realization, but he no longer felt frozen in time. He slowly moved his head from one side to the other, trying to further understand where he was. It was then that he realized he wasn't alone—and he should have realized that from the start, but because of his disorientation, the fact had managed to escape him. Draco Malfoy was lying next to him, one arm draped over Harry's stomach, breathing evenly with his eyes closed. He looked completely at peace. How could he look so calm at a moment like this?

Only to complicate things further, Harry soon realized that he was completely naked; save for the pendant that hung from his neck that Malfoy had given him the previous night. How to go about this? He needed to get away from Malfoy before he puked at the idea of what they had been doing… As soon as Harry thought about it, he suddenly began to gag, so he sat up in bed—or at least tried to.

At his movement, Malfoy tightened his grip and stirred, moving almost completely on top of Harry. Harry felt a rush of dizziness coming on. Did Malfoy have any idea who he was with? Malfoy began to stir again. This time his eyelashes fluttered as he began to kiss Harry's neck.

That was where Harry drew the line. He sat up, more forcefully this time, forcing Malfoy to slide off of him. Finally somewhat awakened by the movement, Malfoy opened his eyes to look at Harry, clearly affronted.

"What are you doing?" Harry hissed, grabbing one of the sheets off the bed and wrapping it around his waist.

Malfoy blinked a few times, confusion written all over his face. "What's wrong?" he said, getting up, the covers starting to slide off him.

"Ah! Stay where you are!" Harry shouted, turning his head the other way so he wouldn't have to see Malfoy naked. Again, Harry reminded himself, cringing.

Malfoy was silent, and Harry decided it must be safe to look at him by now. Malfoy was still staring back at him, and had Harry been paying enough attention, he would have noticed the hurt in his eyes. "What are you just sitting there for? Get dressed!" Harry began to turn around when Malfoy finally spoke up.

It was as if a switch went off somewhere in his head; a switch that set off the realization of what had happened, and what was now happening. "Where do you get off telling me what to do, Potter?" he snapped, getting up anyway but taking the comforter with him.

"Oh, come off it, I just don't want to have to see your naked arse!" Harry yelped, still more than a little shell-shocked. This has got to be a dream… That's it, just a nightmare…

Malfoy huffed, falling back down onto the bed. The two just stared at one another, seemingly in disbelief of everything past, present, and, inevitably, future, because they both knew that this, whatever this was, would have repercussions. Finally, Malfoy sprang to life again. "Why don't you get the hell out of here!" he shouted, his cheeks becoming blotchy from anger. "If you're so offended by the sight of me get out!" He thrust an arm in the direction of the door, pointing.

"That sounds like an excellent idea!" Harry shot back, grabbing his discarded clothes from off the floor. He was halfway out the door when he stopped, remembering something. He reached up to his neck and tugged on the pendant, causing the fragile chain holding it to break and fall from his neck. Harry spun around and chucked the necklace at Malfoy as hard as he could, then stormed out the door without another word.

As Harry ran, he could think of nothing but the look Malfoy had given him before he had realized what had been going on. How could Harry have ever felt like that about Malfoy? It was revolting! At this point, Harry didn't know if he could live with himself; he had just—he didn't even want to think about it. Harry mentally shook himself and continued on his way to Gryffindor Tower. Thankfully, it was only about five-thirty in the morning, so there wasn't anybody in the corridors to see him running around wearing nothing but a sheet.

Once he finally reached Gryffindor Tower, a thought struck him: Hermione. He smacked himself on the forehead, thinking, how could I be so stupid? Hermione had been right all along. He should have listened to her. If he had, this whole mess could have been avoided. Sure, he would have spent three months in a constant state of frustration, but he was sure that would have been better than living the rest of his life with the knowledge of what he had done in those three months…

Harry ran up the stairs to the dormitories, yanked on a pair of boxers, and fell down on his bed, covering his face with his hands. "He said he loved me," Harry muttered through his hands. "I said I loved him." He shuddered again, pulling the covers over him and trying to fall asleep. He lay there for an entire hour, willing sleep to take him, to relieve him of these thoughts, but it just wouldn't come. I should have known, he mused vaguely as he sat up. There was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep after what just happened.

Harry grabbed some clothes and made his way to the showers, turning on the water as hot as it would go. He took a neatly folded washcloth off the top of the pile next to the sink, wet it, and began to furiously scrub every inch of skin he could reach, as if he could scrub away the memory of what had happened.

An hour later, he emerged from the bathroom, his skin red and raw, and his hair dripping into his eyes. He impatiently shook it out of his face and shivered, despite the fact it wasn't cold. Slowly and with motions filled with dread, he descended the staircase leading to the common room. Before actually entering, he peered around the corner to see if anybody was there, namely Hermione. He just wasn't ready to deal with her at this point. Thankfully, she wasn't there, so he began the long walk down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast.

As it was only eight o'clock on a Sunday, very few people were there. To Harry's dismay, however, Hermione was one of them. He thought to turn tail and leave, but before he could make a decision, she caught sight of him.

"Harry!" she called, jumping up from where she sat and rushing over to him, a horribly worried expression on her face. How could she know already?

When she reached him, she leaned forward and grabbed his shoulders, bringing her face close to his. "Have you heard the news?" she whispered wildly, her eyes darting behind him.

"No, what news?" he said suspiciously, taking her forearms and lifting her hands off him.

"Oh, this is not good," she muttered, biting her lip. "Where's Draco?" she said, looking around, expecting to see him.

Harry cringed visibly. "Yes, about that… why don't you tell me your news first?"

Hermione looked agitated, but she continued nonetheless. "Draco's father is dead!" she hissed, her face inches from his.

"What?" Harry snapped, torn between shock and the desire to be indifferent.

"Yes, it happened last night! Oh, how will we tell him?" she exclaimed, wringing her hands.

"Never mind him. You mean he just died?"

"What do you mean 'just died'? He was in Azkaban! People there do tend to get unhealthy fairly quickly!"

Harry shook his head in disbelief, walking to the Gryffindor table with Hermione following him. "You read it in The Daily Prophet?" he asked, motioning towards the paper.

"Yes, see?" she responded, anxiously tapping an article on the page it was opened to. "It says here he died at two-thirty this morning." Hermione sighed, closing the paper. "We've got to tell him, Harry. He can't find out from the paper, that'd just be too awful."

Harry stared at his hands, which were folded in his lap, his eyebrows drawn together. "Harry?" Hermione called, cocking her head to one side. "Shouldn't you be concerned? I mean, I know Draco and his father didn't have the best relationship, but he's still going to be upset!"

Harry's head snapped up suddenly. "I don't give a shite whether or not he's upset!" he bellowed, slamming a fist on the table.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and leaned back, shock apparent on her face. "I take it you had another fight?" Harry just glared at her. "Honestly, you two! How many more times is this going to happen?"

"None," Harry said quietly, returning to staring at his hands.

"What?"

"He and I are through. The Potion wore off, Hermione. How could I…? Ugh, I don't even want to think about it!"

Hermione was silent for several moments, so Harry looked up. She was the perfect picture of shock; her eyes widened and her mouth hung open unattractively. "Wh—what?"

"You heard me," Harry snapped irritably, using his anger to distract himself from all the confusion he was fighting.

"Oh—oh Harry, I'm so sorry… I don't know what to say."

"It's fine, it's fine," he said, waving her off. "You tried to warn me and I didn't listen; that's all there is to it. I suppose it's not such a big deal, anyway… just a bit of a shock, you know?"

"A bit of a shock? Not a big deal? Come on, Harry, don't lie. This is a huge deal. You must feel like you've been dropped on your head, am I right?" She said, reaching forward and patting his hand comfortingly.

"Yeah… maybe a little…" he said, starting to crack.

"Why don't you tell me what happened? You'll feel much better after you talk about it." Hermione looked hopeful as she said this, and even though Harry suspected she just wanted to hear the dirt, he realized she was right.

"Yeah, alright," he said, picking up a napkin and a few rolls. "Why don't we take this to the common room? I bet Malfoy will be here soon, and at the moment I'm pretty much intending to avoid him for the rest of my life…"

As soon as they had seated themselves in the common room, Hermione folded her hands in her lap and turned to Harry intently. "So what happened?"

Harry sighed, beginning to regret his decision to tell her. He wasn't sure he felt like reliving the memory. "Well, I woke up this morning and I felt… well, different. I was really confused, too. I honestly had no idea where I was, or what I was doing there for that matter. I kept trying to recall what had brought me there, but I kept coming up empty. That was probably the worst part—not knowing what was going on."

Hermione nodded as he spoke, and Harry could almost see her storing this information for later use. Under normal circumstances, this would have annoyed him, but he was too upset to care. "Anyway," he continued, sighing, "I eventually realized what had happened, but not like you usually do when you first wake up. I was confused for longer than normal, and when I remembered, it all came to me at once. I basically panicked, and… well, Malfoy woke up and started kissing me." Harry shuddered, and tried to ignore the look on Hermione's face. "I think he was still confused, too, at that point, and it took him even longer than it took me to realize what was going on. Eventually, we started screaming at each other, I threw this necklace he gave to me back at him, and then left. I think that's it." Harry paused, trying to remember if he left anything out. After a moment, he nodded, allowing Hermione to speak.

"Wow," she breathed, sitting back on the couch, closing her eyes. "That's really awful. And I'm not just saying that, you know."

"But aren't you happy that you were right?" Harry said bitterly, running his fingers through his hair distractedly.

"No!" Hermione said, surprised that's what he thought. "I was hoping I had been wrong! I just didn't want you to end up… well, like this. But I must admit, this isn't what I truly expected to happen."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, looking back at her sharply.

Hermione eyed him warily. "Don't get mad, okay?" she muttered before continuing. "I did think that at least one of you had taken the Potion… but I thought the most likely explanation was that it had been Malfoy who had taken it, not you. And certainly not both of you… if you think about it, the odds of that happening are very slim."

Harry glared at her, but got over it quickly. "What am I supposed to do?" he groaned, hanging his head, his hair falling into his eyes.

"Harry, there's nothing you can do. What's happened has happened, and there's no way to change that." She paused. "Well," she continued, "there's no legal way to change that. But let's not go there.

"In all seriousness, though," she said, taking on a comforting tone, "this isn't the end of the world. You've had bad relationship experiences before, and you've always gotten over it. Life goes on, Harry."

"You make it sound like I got dumped," he said dryly.

"Well, in a way, you did. You both got dumped, but not by each other; you dumped yourselves. I know it doesn't seem like it makes much sense, but think about it; that is what happened."

Harry didn't answer her; he just kept staring at the wall. After a few moments he groaned, holding his head in his hands. "I still feel like I've just gotten hit by a truck. I think the fact that I woke up next to Malfoy made things a lot worse."

"You did?" Hermione said; her eyes widening as she put two and two together. "Had you two just…? Oh my…" She stared at Harry for a few moments, waiting for him to confirm her suspicion.

"Yes, we had," Harry said bitterly. "For the first time, too. If you could imagine what that's like, waking up the next morning and hating the person's guts."

Hermione actually looked as if she were on the verge of tears. "I can't even begin to say how sorry I am," she said, wringing her hands uncomfortably.

Harry shook his head, dismissing her sympathy again. "I told you, I'm not sad. I'm just angry, mostly with myself. It's going to be impossible to be in the same room as Malfoy now, you know."

Hermione nodded. "I'd give you advice, but I honestly don't know what I would do if I were in your position," she said, sighing. "You'd think I'd have thought something up by now, but all that time I was researching Potions and such, I was doing it thinking of it as a worst-case scenario. I don't think I thought about what we'd do if it turned out that I was right."

"All I know is that I'm glad today's Sunday," Harry said, getting up from where he sat. "It gives me a whole day to mope around and be depressed before I have to see Malfoy again."

Hermione eyed Harry with concern. "Try not to isolate yourself too much, alright? It'll just make things worse."

"Yes, yes, I know," he said, casting her one last look over his shoulder before once again retreating to the boys' dormitory.

Harry spent the next three hours shut behind his bed curtains, thinking. What would he say to Malfoy next time they saw one another? His first thought was to say absolutely nothing, and ignore the other boy altogether. He soon realized that this probably wouldn't work, as Malfoy was never one to take being ignored. No matter the circumstance, Malfoy would always be in his face; making whatever situation he was in worse. His second idea was that he'd pretend nothing had transpired between them; simply forget the last three months happened and revert back to how he acted around the other boy prior to the whole experience. After Harry ran a few dozen scenarios in his head, he realized that it all depended on how Malfoy acted. He, Harry, could not control the situation simply because he could not predict how Malfoy would choose to treat him. Well, he could predict—Malfoy was generally predictable when it came to his taunts. However, these were extenuating circumstances, and there was no telling what would happen.

Harry rolled over in bed and attempted to fall asleep, fully clothed with his glasses on. He lay there for a while, listening to the movement coming from the other side of his curtains, where the rest of the world was functioning as if it had not been spun on its head. Harry belatedly realized that it hadn't been spun on its head; everyone else felt like they did yesterday. It was only himself and Malfoy who had been changed.

After a long period of complete silence, Harry heard the door of the room creak open, and he heard the soft footfalls of someone trying not to make a lot of noise. The footsteps came to a halt as they reached his bed, and their owner seemed to be assessing the situation.

"Harry," a voice called softly; a voice that Harry soon determined to be Ron's. Harry ignored him, pretending to be asleep and hoping his friend would walk away. However, Ron was uncharacteristically persistent.

"Listen Harry," he said, a bit louder this time, "I know you're awake. So either come out here, or I'll go in there." He waited a full minute before pulling the curtains open, as Harry wasn't moving.

Ron stared at him, slightly bemused, for several moments. Harry stared right back at him emotionlessly, waiting for him to say something. Instead of talking, Ron sighed and sat down on the foot of Harry's bed, pulling his legs up so his feet rested on the covers. He shut the bed curtains again, leaving them in darkness.

They sat in silence for longer still, before Ron figured out what he wanted to say. "Hermione told me what happened," he prodded, seeing if Harry had anything else to offer. When he didn't say anything, Ron continued. "That really sucks, doesn't it?"

He seemed to be at a total loss for words as he fidgeted uncomfortably; Harry saw his faint silhouette playing with a small hole in his robes. "Look," Ron said finally, "I'm going to be honest with you. I really hate to see you like this, mate. Not only that, but I wish you'd tell me what you're thinking. I've got to admit that the fact that you always go to Hermione for stuff like this makes me a little jealous. I know you probably don't want me here right now, because you want to be left alone, but just remember that if you ever need someone to talk things out with, I'm here."

Ron got up, opened the curtains, and began to walk away. He was halfway to the door when Harry finally sat up in bed. "Ron, wait."

Ron paused and turned around, looking at Harry expectantly. Harry got up off his bed and crossed the room slowly, seeming unsure of what he was doing. When he reached Ron, he looked him in the eye and seemed to be struggling internally over what he wanted to say. Finally, he gave up and wrapped his arms around his friend.

Ron stood there shocked for a few seconds before he responded, patting Harry on the back awkwardly. When they pulled away, Harry looked Ron right in the eye. "Thanks," he said sincerely, "I needed that." Ron smiled good-naturedly and gave Harry a small wave before leaving the room, and leaving Harry to his thoughts once again.

Holding on to the phone,
Holding on to this glass,
Holding on to the memory of what didn't last,
Waiting for better words, they'll never come,
So dry your eyes, it's better now it's done…

Draco remained in the same position for several minutes after Harry left, his eyes narrowed into slits, staring at the door as if he could light it on fire just by looking at it. His entire body pulsated with shock, and anger towards everyone and everything: he hated himself for being so stupid, he hated the room he was in for looking like nothing horrible had happened in it, he hated Pansy for making him participate in that goddamned game, he hated Hermione Granger for trying to warn him… but most of all, he hated Harry fucking Potter for making him fall in love.

The gears in Draco's head immediately began to turn, thinking of ways to get revenge. He'd start with this room; in no time, it'd look as fucked up as he felt. He grabbed the small lamp off the table next to him and threw it as hard as he could against the wall next to him, causing the plaster to shatter, and covering the carpet around it with a thin layer of dust. He turned to the table that the lamp had previously sat on and gave it a shove, knocking it to the floor with a loud crash. He picked up his wand and sent a hex flying at the clock on the wall, making the glass crack and fall off in shards onto the floor next to the door.

Draco was breathing heavily, his chest heaving with emotion as he got off the bed and began running at full speed towards the door, shoulder first. He collided with it, causing the wood to make a horrible cracking noise, but it didn't break. Draco felt his shoulder throb as he slid down the length of the door and onto the floor, curling himself into a ball. His breathing gradually began to slow; he drew his knees up to his bare chest and threaded his fingers through his already tousled hair, pulling as hard as he could without actually yanking any hair out. Even though he seemed to be calming down, he still felt that unidentifiable feeling bubbling up in the pit of his stomach, and slowly rising up his throat like bile, until it was right in the back of his mouth… and it came out in the form of an inhumane noise. It lasted for what seemed like hours, and all the while, he scratched at his arms and smashed the back of his head against the door, until finally he fell still, exhausted. When he had the energy to raise his head again, he realized that, to his immense shock, he had tears rolling down his cheeks.

He hated himself.

He hated himself.

Before he could even realize what he was doing, or think things through, he had picked up a piece of shattered glass from the broken clock, and was holding it against his forearm. But before he could do anything else, he stopped. Hurting himself wouldn't solve anything; it would just complicate things further. And why should he give Potter the satisfaction of knowing that he had gotten to him? So, he threw the piece of glass across the room before he could change his mind and do something stupid.

Draco allowed an hour to pass before he attempted movement again. At this point in time, he really didn't trust himself, and that fact scared him more than he would care to admit. He did his best to keep his mind blank, but no matter how hard he tried, something would always come back to him as he attempted to regain his sanity, and he would feel another flare of anger or hatred or despair.

Finally, Draco was able to gain the majority of his composure back, and he allowed himself to rise from his awkward position on the floor on unsteady legs. He hobbled over to the foot of the bed where his clothes lay in a heap from earlier that night, and he began to dress, putting on everything but his outer robes.

Draco was so eager to leave the room that he nearly forgot the pendant Harry had unceremoniously chucked back at him. For a moment, he considered leaving it where it lay, but he quickly decided against it, instead dropping it into his pocket as fast as possible so he wouldn't have to look at it.

Draco moved swiftly and silently through the deserted hallways, hoping no teachers would be alerted of his presence and question him. That was the absolute last thing he needed at that moment, and he was in no mood to think up an excuse for what he could be doing in the hallway at six thirty on a Sunday morning. After what seemed like miles of brisk walking in the near darkness, he reached the Slytherin common room. As soon as the wall slid open, he bolted up the staircase to the boys' dormitory, collapsing on his bed. The only sound he heard for several minutes was the pounding of his own heart; either from shock, or the running, he would never know. But with every beat, he was able to remind himself that life would go on. It wasn't the end of the world. But even as he thought this, he was still unable to convince himself.

A few minutes later, Draco heard stirring coming from the bed next to him, soon followed by a croaky voice.

"Draco?" It was Blaise. "Is that you? What are you doing back here now?"

"Go back to sleep, Blaise," Draco hissed back, hoping the other boy would leave him alone.

Draco heard a yawn, and the creaking of a mattress. "You sound upset," he said, and Draco feared he was going to get out of bed.

"We'll talk in the morning. Go back to sleep," Draco said, more urgently this time.

"Fine," Blaise said, and Draco heard his mattress creaking again as he rolled over. A few minutes later, he was breathing evenly again, and Draco let out a sigh of relief.

After Draco had settled back down, intent on falling asleep (or at least trying to), a thought struck him; he probably looked like he was just in a train wreck. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, cringing at the creaking of the mattress, and padded over to the bathroom, gazing into the mirror as the torches on the walls automatically ignited. He instantly groaned; he had been right. His hair was a mess, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy from crying, and his skin looked like parchment. He knew this was largely due to the fact that he had gotten a minimal amount of sleep, but there was no way his friends would accept that as an excuse.

Draco froze. Upon thinking of his friends, he realized something: he didn't have all that many in actuality, and those he did have weren't even that close. He knew Blaise probably wanted to know what happened, but there was no way he was going to tell him; he had already started thinking up excuses for why he was upset when Blaise questioned him. He'd never be able to confide in any of his friends what was going through his head, like he had been able to with Harry those past three months. Thinking of Harry made him realize something else still: not only had he managed to lose his lover overnight, but also the boy who had somehow managed to become Draco's closest friend.

Draco cast another reluctant glance at his reflection, taking in again how bedraggled he looked, before he began to furiously wash his face with freezing water, hoping the cold temperature would bring some color back to his cheeks and lips. He watched with relief as the blood began to rise to the surface of his skin, making him look much less dead, if only at first glance. He knew that anyone who really knew him wouldn't be fooled so easily.

After drying off, he combed his hair carefully, trying in vain to make it less limp looking. After a moment, he replaced the comb on the ledge of the sink and tried to fluff his hair up with his fingers, but all that did was make it more tangled. Sighing in resignation, he gave himself a final inspection, turning his head from one side to the other. He looked okay, he thought with mild satisfaction. Less utterly heart-broken, at least. Just as Draco was about to leave the bathroom, he spotted a red blotch on the side of his neck. A love bite. Draco could feel the anger in his stomach boiling up again as he groped for his wand, and then cast a bit of an overly-enthusiastic concealment charm on his neck, making it burn slightly before the mark disappeared.

Back in the bedroom, Draco began to ponder his options. It seemed as if something like getting dumped was trivial in the grand scheme of things, but when it came to Draco, nothing was ever as trivial as it seemed. The reason for this particular issue was the fact that the presence of Harry Potter at Hogwarts was among the few things keeping Draco at said castle, and this was not meant in a purely romantic and sappy way. True, Draco's relationship—previous relationship, now—with the wizard had a lot to do with it, but there was also the fact that Draco felt safe around him because of their mutual trust. Now that Potter was feeling less than warm and fuzzy about him, Draco wasn't so sure if his level of safety would continue.

The truth of the matter was that Voldemort—and a good number of Death Eaters within his inner circle—believed Draco to be dead, and if they ever found out they were wrong, they would rectify the fact without hesitation. The fateful night took place over the summer, and it was no coincidence that it was the same night that Draco had made his hasty return to Hogwarts...

(Eight months earlier…)
July 15th, 1997

It seemed like a fairly normal night. Well, as far as normal went while one was within a mile radius of Lord Voldemort.

Draco had been in Riddle Manor—the temporary location of Death Eaters within Voldemort's inner circle if they had nowhere else to go. More specifically, he was in his own private bedroom. Draco had been surprised at how accommodating the so-called Dark Lord had been; it wasn't at all what he had expected from Voldemort. Then again, Draco wasn't exactly comfortable; the constant fear of death could do that to you.

On this particular night, Draco was reviewing the plans for the day ahead of him; he was supposed to be a part of a raid the next day. He wasn't exactly looking forward to it, but that was nothing new for him. This whole thing had been forced upon him, so he was just trying to bite the bullet at this point.

He knew that Severus, his mentor and temporary guardian, was definitely up to something, but he most certainly wasn't about to complain. Quite the contrary, Draco had confronted him about his suspicion and begged Severus to let him in on it. The older man had told him that he wasn't to get involved, which left Draco feeling as if he were eleven again. He didn't complain though, because he had a gut feeling that things were about to come to a head, and at that point, he'd be able to find out exactly what was going on.

Draco was suddenly jolted out of his relative peace by the sound of heavy footfalls approaching his room. He instantly straightened, his senses alert. When the steps came to a halt outside his door, Draco called out in slight panic.

"Who's there?" Draco could see the knob jiggling, but he had put a rather strong locking charm on the door.

"Draco, open up!" he heard the unmistakable voice of Severus hiss.

Draco got off his bed and strode towards the door quickly, sensing the urgency in Severus's voice. "Finite Incantatem!" he hissed, and he heard the lock clicking open as the door swung towards him. Draco jumped out of the way to avoid being hit by it, and was now face to face with the panicked visage of Severus Snape.

Draco had never seen him so distressed; his eyes were darting all over the place, and every little sound was making him jump. Almost instantly after the door opened, Draco found his wrist being grabbed by Severus as he began to drag him down the deserted hallway.

"What's going on?" Draco said urgently, to which Severus only answered by telling him to be quiet.

"What's going on?" Draco said again, this time in a low whisper.

"We're getting out of here," Severus said simply, continuing to haul Draco, now beginning to descend a staircase. Draco could see Severus had a generally grim look about him, his jaw set and his eyes fixed straight ahead.

By now, they had managed to reach the front door. Whatever was going on, it must have been terribly urgent, and Draco was glad Severus knew his way around the huge Manor. However, it did help that Draco's room had only been on the second floor.

As soon as the two men came in contact with the outside air, Severus broke into a run, still holding Draco's arm in a death grip. Draco was yanked forward, surprised out how fast the middle-aged man had taken off.

"I take it something bad's happened?" Draco hissed between breaths. It seemed as if they were heading for the woods in the distance. Good strategy, Draco thought, for if someone would be chasing them, they'd be harder to find amongst the trees. Not only that, but the anti-Apparition wards ended on the other side of the forest.

"What gave you that idea?" Severus shot back, obviously in no mood for a conversation. After a moment of silent running, Severus shook his head abruptly. "I suppose I do owe you an explanation." Draco perked up, ready to listen. Severus sighed, or at least it seemed like he was sighing. It was somewhat hard to tell, as he was breathing heavily from the running. "You had guessed right last month, Draco. I have been working as a double agent. Unfortunately, nobody on the light side of the war is sure of my true alliance anymore…." Severus seemed bitter at the thought but quickly shook himself out of it. Draco could see the panic in the man's face; they were still very far away from the trees, and if someone were to see them from the house, they wouldn't be all that hard to hit with a spell.

Severus managed to shake himself out of his thoughts so he could continue. "Anyway," he said between breaths, "the Dark Lord… has figured me out… too complicated to explain just now…" Draco could plainly see that the strenuous physical activity was quickly catching up with Severus. "They'll be after us any moment. I was fortunate enough… to hear part of a conversation… that tipped me off. They're associating you with me, Draco. You're in danger too!"

Draco felt Severus's words hit him as if he had been punched in the face. His vision even started to blur. There was no way they'd be able to get out of this one. Voldemort was merciless with traitors. He only hoped Voldemort would send some of his minions after them rather than taking care of them himself…

Finally, the woods were within reach. Draco could see the trees looming only a few dozen meters away from him… maybe there was hope after all. However, just as the thought entered his mind, he heard a cry coming all the way from the house. "Shite," Severus muttered, picking up his speed slightly. Draco took a moment to turn his head, hoping against hope that he wasn't right, but his fears were confirmed.

He saw a couple of Death Eaters standing just outside the doors, both pointing at them. At first, Draco thought there was still a chance that they could outrun them on account of their monumental head start, but he soon realized he was sadly mistaken. Within moments, the two Death Eaters had each mounted brooms, and were zooming towards them at more than triple the speed that Draco could run.

They made it exactly three meters into the woods before they heard the cries of "Petrificus Totalus!" halting both of them where they stood. Draco closed his eyes tightly as he felt his feet rooting themselves to the ground, his mind frantically trying to come up with a way to get out of this.

He heard the two Death Eaters touch ground behind him, and soon after heard them guffawing as they celebrated the capture.

"What now?" one said to the other in what he probably hoped was a quiet voice.

"I dunno," the other said, obviously not much smarter than the first. The two strode in front of Draco and Severus, observing their captives.

"I always knew there was somethin' fishy about those two," Death Eater Number One said. Draco faintly recognized him, but didn't know his name; there were so many coming and going on a daily basis that it was hard to keep track.

Death Eater Number Two grinned stupidly, leering at Draco. Draco cringed, wishing he could move himself into a less vulnerable position. He knew he was going to die, but he could at least do so with dignity. He didn't want to spend the last moments of his life being eyed up by a man thirty years his senior.

Death Eater Number One, the obvious leader, turned to his companion and shrugged. Draco began to pray desperately that they wouldn't be brought back to Voldemort. It would be thousands of times worse if that were the case…

Finally, Death Eater Number One spoke. "I guess we should just get rid of 'em. That's what the Master said to do…"

"Shouldn' we torture them a bit first?" suggested Death Eater Number Two, a malicious glint reflecting in his eye.

"That's not a bad idea." Death Eater Number One seemed to be getting off on the power he had as he raised his wand to Draco. "Finite Incantatem!" he said, and both Draco and Severus stumbled slightly as they tried to regain their balance. The Full Body Bind always did that, but Draco faintly realized that this was soon to be the least of his problems.

Death Eaters Number One and Two looked at one another, nodded, and simultaneously shouted, "Crucio!"

Draco grit his teeth together as his body immediately collapsed on to the floor and he began to convulse involuntarily with pain. Every fiber of his being was telling him to scream, but he fought it with all his might, not wanting to give his captors the satisfaction of hearing it. The distinct lack of noise was telling him that Severus was obviously attempting the same. After a few minutes of the curse, Draco found himself faintly realizing that it could have been a lot worse; his captors were such idiots that they didn't have enough mental capacity to deliver a truly excruciating Cruciatus. Not that it wasn't excruciating—anybody who could cast the curse could make it painful—it just wasn't as bad as some of the others Draco had faced.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped. Draco felt as if his nerve endings had been rubbed raw, but it didn't exactly hurt anymore. Draco knew that, if he lived, he'd be feeling the after effects for as much as twenty four-hours, but he also knew that there was no way he'd be living that long.

"On your feet!" Death Eater Number One barked roughly. Draco felt his muscles protest as he stood up shakily, but both Death Eaters still had their wands on him, and he didn't want to feel that curse upon him again.

This was it. Draco saw the Death Eaters muttering to one another, seemingly debating how to kill them. Draco couldn't see why they didn't simply use Avada Kedavra, but he supposed they felt creative in their moment of power. There were plenty of other dark curses that provided instant death, so he wasn't surprised it was taking so long for them to pick one.

Finally, they stopped talking, and turned to face their respective prisoners. With a final nod, they raised their wands, and Draco saw the jet of red light coming towards him in slow motion.

Draco could have sworn he heard Severus muttering something, and he thought he saw a flash in the corner of his eye, but he didn't dare risk movement at that moment.

As the red light made contact with him, Draco felt himself falling, and falling, and falling, thinking he'd never stop…

But amazingly, when he hit the ground, he found that he wasn't dead. Sure, he had been thrown backwards a good five meters, and his face was currently pressing up against some damp dirt, but he was very much alive. To his surprise, from the mutterings that the Death Eaters were making, they seemed to be under the impression that Draco was dead. Draco held his breath as he listened to the sound of crunching footsteps turning away from him.

"Should we jus' leave 'em here?" one of the Death Eaters was saying.

"I don't see why not," the other one answered, sounding exasperated.

Draco couldn't believe his luck. They were really that stupid that they didn't make sure that their victims were dead. He held his breath as he heard the sound of their brooms taking off, and didn't even attempt movement for a good ten minutes, making sure absolutely nobody would see.

Finally, he picked his head up and cast a quick look around to assure that nobody was watching. When the fact was confirmed, he slowly got to his feet, and walked over to where Severus lay, some twenty meters from where he ended up.

Draco had thought that since he was still alive, Severus would be too; they had been hit with the same spell, after all. However, upon attempting to rouse the man, Draco discovered he was horribly mistaken. A quick test showed that he had no pulse.

Draco sat there for several minutes, sitting next to the body of the man who had watched over him for the past month. It didn't make any sense. Draco wanted to cry out with frustration. What was different about the two spells? Draco thought maybe he had gotten the more dimwitted Death Eater, and he perhaps hadn't cast the spell properly… but then he remembered something.

Severus had muttered something in the few seconds it took for the spell to reach them. Was it possible…? Maybe he had managed to save Draco.

Draco cast another forlorn look at the dead body. He must not have had enough time to protect himself as well. This was so horrible. Severus was dead, and nobody was going to appreciate what he had managed to do. Well, nobody but Draco, that is. And that was when Draco started running, not quite sure of his eventual destination…

(Present time…)

Draco snapped out of his reverie, trying not to let the emotions from that night catch up to him. It had been tough, and it still was, but he had gotten through it, and he continued to do so with each passing day.

The only other person aware of what had transpired that night was Draco's mother, who had been sending letters to him for the past several months warning him that his safety was in jeopardy. She wasn't able to tell him of the specifics, in case the letters were somehow intercepted, but Draco understood that Voldemort was managing to find supporters within Hogwarts, and word of his betrayal was bound to slip out eventually…

Draco just tried not to think about it; both the memory of the night he had managed to get himself into this mess and the knowledge that he was a marked man were repressed. He didn't feel comfortable talking to anybody about it, and would only bring it up if he were forced to.

That all being said, Draco knew that his presence at Hogwarts was unwise; when he had first come, he did so because he knew he would be able to find safety within its walls, but that was soon changing. He himself had proven last year that the walls of Hogwarts were far from impossible to breach, and for all he knew, he could already be in immediate danger, especially because the threat seemed to be moving in.

Draco shivered at the thought and closed his eyes tightly, as if doing so could protect him from whatever might be lurking in the dark corner of the room. He knew that he couldn't stay here forever; he had never planned to, but on the other hand, he hadn't considered where he'd go if he left, either. The only place even remotely safe that he could think of was Malfoy Manor, but although it did have the potential to conceal him, there's no way he would be able to hide without anybody finding out. The wards around the Manor were and always would be open to Death Eaters, and even the Dark Lord himself.

That settles it, Draco thought, I've got no choice but to stay. He had originally been planning to graduate, but he knew deep down that there was little chance he would get that far; yes, he would stay, but how long until the danger became too immediate to pretend nothing was wrong? He'd have to have a Plan B. Too bad he had no idea where to begin when it came to that.

Somehow, amid his pensive wallowing, Draco had managed to fall asleep sprawled across the covers of his bed, and he stayed in that awkward position for hours, his dreams riddled with strong calloused hands, soft red lips, lightning bolt shaped scars, dark hooded figures, and menacing green light until all the images meshed together and Draco couldn't tell whether he was having a good dream or a nightmare; it was all the same, he soon realized, for if they were good, he'd have to wake and deal with the knowledge that they weren't real, and if they were bad, he'd have to wake and deal with the knowledge that they may become real. In any case, when he did wake, it was not due to the sun teasing his eyes, nor to the grumbling of his stomach as it begged to be fed; instead, it was to somebody prodding him; obviously trying to be gentle, but not succeeding.

Draco cracked his eyes open enough to see a mass of dark hair and a pair of blue eyes gazing at him with concern. "'Morning Pansy," he grumbled, unsuccessfully attempting to sit up.

"Draco?" Pansy whispered, and as Draco blinked the sleep from his eyes he was able to see the worry on her face much more clearly. "What happened last night? You look like shite."

"That makes me feel loads better, thank you Pansy," Draco said sarcastically, sitting up finally.

Rather than retorting to Draco's snide remark as she usually would, Pansy just continued to stare at him intently, now worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Is something wrong?" she asked him, raising both eyebrows.

"I should be asking you the same question, judging by the look on your face," he answered.

Pansy looked more distressed than he had ever seen her before, and that was saying something. She was cracking her knuckles nervously, and compulsively tucking her hair behind her ears. She certainly seemed like she had something to say, and was having no easy time saying it, but Draco was in no mood to help her.

"Yes, Draco, there is something wrong," Pansy said, not meeting his eyes. It was obvious she was struggling with what she wanted to tell him, not quite sure of how to go about it. "I… I really didn't want to be the one to tell you this, but it's better than finding out from… well…" she stopped, sighing heavily.

"What are you trying to say?" Draco asked seriously, the alarm bells in his head beginning to go off. Pansy usually had no shortage of words, and now she couldn't get out one measly sentence.

"Draco, last night you father passed away," she said softly, already cringing as she attempted to anticipate his reaction.

There was no reaction. Draco was completely dumbfounded. Amid all the insanity of what was going on, all thoughts of his father had slipped from his mind. As the words left Pansy's mouth, Draco almost thought he was hearing things, or she was joking, or he was still dreaming, because this day was just so surreal as it was. He was already dealing with the emotional whirlwind Harry had unceremoniously shoved him into, and now this…

Draco felt as if the metaphorical rug had been pulled out from under his feet. It was like waking up from a bad dream and then realizing it wasn't a dream at all. It was like getting shot in the arm, and then in the back of the knee. It was like pulling the bottom support from a house of cards and watching the rest of them collapse.

And even after this information was processed, and he truly believed it, because there was no way that look on Pansy's face was a joke, he still didn't know how to react. Did he hate his father? Yes. Was he glad he was dead? No. True, Lucius Malfoy had done many less than virtuous things in his time (that being a major understatement), but the man was still Draco's father, his very own flesh and blood. Draco figured it was next to impossible to completely despise someone that close to him, if not only because he raised him. There were many things Lucius did that Draco hated; he had put an endless and crushing amount of pressure on his son, much of the time causing Draco to be blinded to what was going on right under his nose. Lucius was able to justify anything; it was one of his many favorable traits. If he so desired, he could make anybody like him with the right manipulations. Well, almost anyone.

Not only that, but Draco's dislike of his father was a constant in his life. Could he continue to resent him now that he was…

Draco couldn't think the word. It was just too unreal.

Draco finally looked up from his hands back at Pansy, who had been waiting for several minutes in silence for him to say something. Although he was now at least acknowledging her, still no words came.

Another minute passed in silence, until Pansy finally spoke. "Oh bugger," she muttered under her breath. "What do you want me to say, Draco? You're not making this easy. Let me know if you want to be alone or anything like that, you could kick me out! Just say something!"

"What do you want me to say?" Draco exploded finally, standing up abruptly and beginning to pace the room. "What do you say after someone tells you your father's dead?"

"Well most sane people would have the decency to look a bit sad, as that's normally how it goes." She raised an eyebrow at him, apparently not quite sure how to react to his words.

Draco, who currently had his back to Pansy as a result of his pacing, spun on his heel mid-step. "You want to see some tears, Pansy? Is that what you want?" he growled, advancing on her.

She quickly held up her hands in defense. "I didn't come in here planning on picking a fight with you, I don't know where you got that idea."

Draco promptly realized how unreasonable he was being and sat back down on his bed, looking tired again. "I'm sorry," he said, which was rare in itself. "I've had a really tough morning and I seem to be taking it out on you."

"'A really tough morning'?" Pansy said, snorting slightly. "I'm sorry," she quickly said, but then continued. "That seems like a bit of an understatement, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. You don't even know the half of it, though," Draco said, putting his head in his hands. It could be good to share his situation with at least one other person.

"Oh?" Pansy said; her interest obviously piqued. "I must admit I was surprised to find you in your own bed… I thought I'd have a much rougher time tracking you down."

"Yes, about that," Draco started, sighing. "Myself and Potter broke up this morning, before the sun even rose. The Love Potion seems to have worn off." Draco conveniently left out the more shocking half of his news, not intending to tell her now, or ever, if he could help it. "And in telling you this, I'm not asking to get the Third Degree, I'm really not in the mood to recount it."

"Talk about having a bad day," Pansy said, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm making light of this. I can't believe we're even having this conversation, in fact. I thought you would have thrown me out or completely gone off your rocker, or something else to that effect."

"Oh, don't worry, you'll see the craziness soon enough. I'm still in somewhat of a daze."

Despite what Harry wanted to believe, the day would eventually end, and that it did; before he even knew what had hit him, he was waking up on Monday morning with the knowledge that he was to be forced to see a certain blond-haired young man that he preferred not to think about. Harry wasn't normally one to run away from his problems, but he deemed this an exception; it's not every day that you're forced into a practically wordless breakup with no warning.

It only took until breakfast for Harry to realize how hard this was going to be; he had intentionally woken up late so he would be among the last people to eat breakfast in order to potentially avoid seeing Malfoy in the Great Hall. Much to his chagrin, however, it appeared as if Malfoy had gotten a similar idea, or had at least overslept. Harry tried not to look, he really did, but to a certain extent it was a habit he would have trouble breaking. They stumbled in within thirty seconds of one another, but unlike the previous three months, they didn't meet each other's eyes, and most certainly didn't smile.

Harry was somewhat shocked at how ruffled Malfoy looked; the only time Harry had seen his hair that unkempt was when…

Well, he wouldn't go there.

Anyway, Malfoy had bags under his eyes, and his face was even paler than usual; normally, his particularly red lips stood out in contrast to the pallor of the rest of his face, and his prominent eyes seemed to sparkle with life, but this morning his face was all one bland tone, as if he were made of plaster. Harry felt a sharp jolt in his stomach as he observed his ex-lover; perhaps it was just a grim reminder of his past feelings, but it unsettled him nonetheless.

Harry looked down at his plate of scrambled eggs and toast, now trying not to look back up at Malfoy. While he was concentrating on swallowing his food (which didn't taste like anything in particular), he could feel Malfoy's eyes on him, penetrating him with their intensity. Harry knew Malfoy thought he didn't know he was being watched, because the time when they'd play such games with one another had long since passed. After that initial gaze, Malfoy seemed to have looked down, but Harry felt watched at several other points throughout his meal, but those times, unlike the first time, it seemed like it was almost unconscious on Malfoy's part.

Things got even more confusing throughout the day, coming to a crescendo during Potions. Just to add to the long list of things that happened because of bad timing, they were to have a practical lesson for the first time in weeks. Harry groaned as soon as he saw the list of ingredients and procedures on the board, immediately trying to think up ways to get out of having to work with Malfoy. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to be willing to switch partners with him, so Harry sat himself at his and Malfoy's shared lab bench and waited with much dread for Malfoy's arrival.

Malfoy had much of the same reaction Harry did upon entering the classroom; Harry was able to see the distinct change of expression on his face as he realized they'd have to be working together. When he took his seat, he studiously avoided Harry's eyes, instead staring fixedly at Professor Slughorn.

The two of them somehow managed to make a mediocre potion without looking at each other. The whole time, Harry was almost wishing that Malfoy would acknowledge him in some way, because he really felt like he needed closure in this whole situation. It just didn't seem right that two days ago they were fixing to possibly stay together for years, but this day they weren't even acknowledging one another's existence.

Harry let is eyes drift towards Malfoy whilst stirring their cauldron. Malfoy appeared very tense, holding himself upright whilst mincing the dandelion roots for the potion they were making. His lips were pressed together so tightly that they were little more than a white line, and his eyes were staring fixedly down at his hands, not moving in the slightest. When he felt Harry's eyes on him, Malfoy let his gaze flicker to the side slightly without turning his head, then immediately returned to staring down at his hands, chopping more furiously now.

When Malfoy was done chopping, he lifted up the cutting board and turned towards Harry, who was still stirring the concoction. With the knife, he scraped the minced roots in, only letting his eyes move to Harry's face for a fraction of a second. However, in that fraction of a second during which Harry was looking into Malfoy's cold eyes, he felt this overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret, but he had no idea what he was supposed to be guilty for. They were in the same boat, right?

Just as the bell rang, Harry decided that he had to say something, or else he'd be kicking himself until the next time he got a chance to do so. Malfoy stood up quickly at the sound of the bell and began to make his way towards the door briskly, but Harry pursued him tentatively.

"Malfoy!" he called once he was only a few meters behind him. Harry knew that there was no way that Malfoy hadn't heard him, since he had called out pretty loudly, but Malfoy ignored him as he continued walking down the dungeon corridor, picking up his pace slightly.

So Harry started to jog. "Malfoy! I know you can hear me!"

Still faster Malfoy walked, shouldering through crowds of people on their way upstairs to the Great Hall. Harry shoved after him, still calling his name adamantly. After some more walking, they eventually came to a place where it was just the two of them, with nobody else listening in. So, Harry decided he was just going to say what he had to say.

"Doesn't it seem kind of inappropriate just to ignore each other?" Harry tried. Malfoy came to a sudden halt, rooting his feet to the ground but not turning towards Harry. "I mean," Harry continued, talking to Malfoy's back, "it's over between us of course, but… can't things just go back to normal, or at least something close to it?"

Harry saw Malfoy's shoulders slump, and his head turn down towards his feet. "Please, Potter," he said finally. "Don't give me the 'Let's be friends' bullshite. I've had enough of your diplomatic Gryffindor ways. You're full of shite, and I want none of it." With that, Malfoy continued walking, still faster, away from Harry.

Harry was not deterred by Malfoy's cold words. He needed more than that; otherwise he was just going to keep thinking about it.

"Malfoy, wait! You can't just pretend I'm not here!" No response. Harry started jogging to catch up.

Harry reached out to touch his arm. "Malfoy—"

Harry stopped abruptly as Malfoy spun around, gripped Harry's shoulders tightly and slammed him against the nearest wall, hard. Malfoy narrowed his eyes into his most deadly death-glare, and pressed himself against Harry until he was dangerously close. Harry gasped and tried to squirm out of Malfoy's grip, but the blond was surprisingly strong, not allowing Harry to even wiggle.

"Potter, can't you take a hint?" he said through clenched teeth, his eyes flashing dangerously. "I want absolutely nothing to do with you." To punctuate his words, Malfoy pulled Harry away from the wall slightly, and slammed him back against it, making a loud 'thunk' sound through the empty corridor. "Have I made myself clear?"

Harry glared at him, but nodded nonetheless, figuring he'd get nowhere by refusing to answer.

"I don't care if you're feeling sentimental about the whole thing. I find it utterly pathetic." Malfoy let go of Harry's shoulders, turning on his heel and storming away.

It was around that time that Malfoy disappeared.

End Of Chapter Six

--Songs: "Choke On This" – Senses Fail
"Now It's Done" – Straylight Run

(A/N): Who knows? Perhaps if you review, I'll find motivation within myself. :D And by the way, just so you know, my livejournal is now public. My username is princesspepper3, if you want to friend me, or just want to check it out.