Author: Reika

Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.

A/N: This is just a little one shot that entered my head and I *had* to write. Please note…this has *NOTHING* to do with my other story, What It Means. NOTHING. Totally separate. Anways, please read and review. I know this is a bit different than my other stuff…but I still enjoyed writing it.

“You do realize that this is the last time?”

He looks at me, his ethereal green eyes half lidded and unobscured – his glasses tossed away long ago. I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about this…not now…not ever. But it must be done. There is only one thing more painful than the ache the boy who lived sets into my skin with his touches, and that is the thought that he will remained disillusioned…in denial. He surges up at me, aiming for that spot on my neck he seems to love so and his hand reaches out to caress my face. I catch it in mid-air…I cannot let this go. He sighs and looks at me pleadingly.

“I don’t know why you say such things. You’ve said yourself that your father is a bastard, yet still you insist on following him.”

I can feel my eyes narrow and I release his hand roughly. “If you think this has *anything* to do with my father you are less intelligent than I had imagined…”

He sighs and sits up, facing me. I try not to let my gaze linger along his naked torso, slick with sweat and beset with faint red marks…my marks. “Tell me then, Malfoy…” he says “…what *does* this have to do with?”

I am unfazed by the use of my surname. There have been moments…fogged and dazed by tooth and nail and lips and tongue that we have forgotten the rules, our given names slipping out unexpectedly. Otherwise, it is always Potter…I can never allow my lips to utter ‘Harry’…not when I am cognizant, in any case. To do so would be a betrayal…although the rest of my body has long since apostatized me…not my lips…no, never my *words*.

“Have you ever been hated, Potter?”

He glares at me…I hate when he does that. I think…that I would give my very soul to give him back his innocence – to see him bright eyed and thoroughly annoyed with me, ignorant of my touch…my taste. But no…I cannot give back what I, myself, did not take. This world took it from him…the day he lived and all others died. It took him seventeen years to realize it, and when he did…he changed. I think I am one of the only ones who noticed it. Even that mudblooded genius he calls a best friend is unaware of the darkness in him.

Finally, he answers me. “By you…”

“No.” I tell him. “Have you ever been hated for what you *are*? Because I have…”

He cuts me off. “Yes” he says and proceeds to go into a tirade about his horrible muggle family and the cupboard they kept him in. It boggles the mind –that Harry Potter could have grown up facing the kind of backwards prejudice that fuels my decision. And still…he fights for them. He’s willing to *die* for them.

“How then, Potter, can you *not* understand why I have to go? Why aren’t you going *with* me? I would think you would jump at the chance to give the same suffering right back to them.”

The look on his face is almost…frightening. His eyes gleam with determination and pride like I have never seen before. “Because I am *better* than that, Malfoy.”

This is when he is at his best…this is when I almost give up all I have ever fought for just to stay by his side. This is why people follow Harry Potter…this is why people follow me. *This* is why we are destined to oppose each other – together we are too strong…we will throw the world off balance. Can he not see this? Perhaps he can…perhaps he doesn’t care.

“Commendable Potter…but I will *not* live in the shadows. I will not deny the gifts with which I was born because they are misunderstood. Don’t you get it? They will *never* accept us…if something doesn’t change it will continue until the end of time…or until we die out completely.”

His arms cross over his chest while he looks at me disapprovingly. I’d like to think that this argument stems from his need for me…I know, however, that it most likely comes from the fact that my hero cannot bear to lose a soul to the other side…the ‘evil’ side. “And you think Voldemort will fix all of this? Do you think he is any better? That there is any less hatred?”

I am beginning to wish I hadn’t brought this up…or had done it before now. The longer this goes on, the nearer I am to leaving this school for the final time. We will graduate and I will walk the path allotted to me. Not because it is prearranged for me, but because I *choose* it. Every sigh or look he sends me is taking the place of a touch – flat palms running along smooth skin before fingers curl and jagged nails drag along heated flesh – forever marking us in remembrance of this night.

“No. I cannot say that I support his methods…they have, however, been the only effective ones. If there were an easier path I would take it.”

He enraptures me, enthralls me, enrages me. I find it hard, at times, to believe that all the faces I see belong to the same person. There is the Harry Potter that comes to me late in the night, without warning, and holds my wrists above my head while he takes me roughly, and without preparation. He cries, you know. During those nights. Between the grunts and groans it never fails…eventually I will feel the small splashes against my neck, my chest. Those are the nights he tells me he hates me and takes real joy in hurting me…and I let him. It feels inexplicably liberating to be told what to do…to be held down. Ironic, I know. It leaves one with no control, and thus, no responsibility…no decisions or allegiances.

Then there are the other nights. He still comes to me without warning, only on these occasions he wishes to be held down, and hurt. He wants me to tell him I hate him…maybe I do. I pull his head to the side by his hair and draw blood with my teeth across the expanse of his neck. He screams out when I take him, then. He immediately follows his cries with a plea of ‘don’t stop’, afraid I’ll coddle him like everyone else. Oddly enough, these nights so full of physical pain…he never cries. I do not go easy on him…it is not in my nature.

Then there are nights like this one. Still without warning, he comes to me. He looks at me with an emotion in his eyes that I am either unfamiliar with, or unwilling to recognize and he *holds* me. He clings to me and smiles at me with orbs that, although no longer bright with purity, are still the closest thing to God I have ever known. He wants to kiss me and pet me and tell me everything will be alright – although I think he is telling himself more than me. It is these nights that he takes me gently, whispering to me all the while and fluttering kisses along my sweaty forehead. It is these nights he wraps his legs around my waist and twines his arms around my neck, pleading with me to have him. And I do. I go slow and run my nails along his scalp while he purrs in contentment like a feline. It is these nights I find myself so deep inside this boy that I might never come out again.

“You know that I’m right.” He says. “You know your place is here…with me.”

At this I lunge away from him, against the foot of the bed. “There is no place for me Potter. There never has been. I have made one from what *I* believe…and *no one*…not even you…will take that from me.”

I’m not sure what realization would be harder – that the last year, with Potter, has been a waste; or that the last *seventeen* years have been a waste. To choose one will negate the other…and yet it must be done.

“Do you really think your Order would have me?” I ask him. “Perhaps they would spare me…and even begin to trust me…after they found out that the Great Harry Potter trusted me enough to allow me inside him. Do you think I want that? Believe it or not, I’ve fought tooth and nail for my position. I’ve proven over and over again that I *believe* in what I am doing. It has taken me years to figure out what I want…what to have faith in. Please don’t take this from me, Potter…Harry…I have nothing without it…”

He crawls over to me, naked as the day he was born and not caring. When he reaches me he smiles again. “You have me.” He says…as though it were true at all.

“No” I tell him. “They have you…your people. And there just isn’t enough of you to go around. They’ll follow you…to hell and back if it comes to that…and that is amazing. I have it too…and I know how terrifying it is – to have people look at you like that…like you are their only saving grace.”

I reach over and stroke his thigh, noticing, not for the first time – but possibly the last – the difference in our skin tones. “Your faith is what makes you, Potter…faith in your people, your cause. I will see you dead before I see you abandon it. I can’t have you…they had you first…”

His mouth is slightly open and he nods slowly. A solitary tear rolls down his cheek and he looks away, unable to face me. “I’ll have to kill you.” He says.

I nod – there is no need for denial at this point. I know that I will die by another’s wand. Hopefully it will be Harry’s. I can only hope that I have changed my world in some small way for the better before that happens. This is my faith…my cause.

“Look at me” I tell him. He complies and we stare at each other for what feels like a lifetime. Maybe it is – forever preserved in another dimension where all children are the same color, same race…no wizards, muggles, black or white. A dimension where children do not go to war.

I maneuver him above me and lay us back against the bed. He is kissing me furiously – my eyes, my nose, my hair. I think sometimes that I could drown in the slickness of his mouth. I slowly bring my legs up around his waist and he looks down at me, shocked. Not once, in all the nights we’ve shared enshrouded in one another, have I ever offered myself to him. I have never denied him, no…but to concede and to offer are two completely different things.

For the first time in my life, I am aware of *every* nerve in my body. From the roots of my hair down to my toes. He stills inside me and looks down, a sad smile playing about his lips. He is so beautiful I think I might go blind. When he begins to move again, my head is tossed back – my back arched. I am vaguely aware of the tears rolling across my cheeks and onto my pillow. They are the first – in *years*. I do not know where they come from… I *choose* not to know where they come from. His hands find mine and he intertwines our fingers pressing deeply into the mattress – whispering something that I am sure I will spend the rest of my short life trying to forget ever hearing.

He does not tell me he loves me, nor I him. I don’t think either of us has ever known true love. I doubt I’ve known love at all…this, however, is the closest thing that I can imagine it to be like.

This is it…this is the closest to any God I will ever be. After tonight I will lead Hell’s army because I was *raised* there and will *not* see my home destroyed by ignorance and fear. I can only pray to Merlin that I am strong when the time comes. And when I die, Harry Potter will mourn my passing – on some level. He will live his long days, the savior of all that most deem just and correct. He will smile at them and hold their babies. He may even have his own. But never, in all of his years, will he make these sounds again. My words, my *life* will remain a part of him. Unknowingly I have fought for my cause already. Although, could I, I would leave him unafflicted.

He cries my name. Not Malfoy – my *name*. His tears mix with his sweat and when I kiss his face he is salty. He looks at me for a long moment before speaking. “We are bound, you and I, you have to know that.”

I simply nod…I knew that a long time ago…before I ever laid eyes on him. He continues.

“I will know where you are…but I want you to know, that no matter what you say, I *will not* kill you unless absolutely necessary. I will make sure no one else does either.”

I shake my head at him. I knew he would do this. My voice is gentle, despite the furor of my words. “Harry, I do intend for it to be absolutely necessary. I will fight you tooth and nail until my last breath…and I will use that breath to curse you.”

I’d like to hope that what I’d just told him was true. It may be…only time will tell. I, however, can only see using my last breath to thank whatever God there is for the chance to fight for my people, my family…and to know Harry Potter.

He gets that look of determination about him again. He is grabbing at the nightstand for his wand. I am unafraid. When he reaches it, he mutters something under his breath and small gash appears across his palm. He grabs my hand and does the same. I know what he is doing. When we are both slit open he smashes our hands together. This is no real magical bond…to do so would be dangerous. We are already bound and to strengthen it would put too many lives in jeopardy – as neither of us could be trusted not to use it against the other’s side. This is more symbolic than anything and, oddly enough, it gives me some semblance of comfort.

“Of all things,” He begins. “Of all places…and into the depths of heaven or hell know that I am yours.”

I simply nod at him, not trusting my voice and for the first, last and only time Harry Potter falls asleep against my chest…and I know that I can die a peaceful man.

END

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Oooookay. Don’t ask me where this little thing came from…it just popped in there and needed to be let out. So here you are. It’s quite a switch from my other story. But damn! That felt good!

Love and Kisses,

Reika