Give You Peace

Disclaimer: I do not own Draco or Blaise, or Harry, or anyone else for that matter.

Author's Note: Decided to put all of the segments in one fic. If you’re reading, please leave a review and let me know what you think. This was written a while ago, I will work on completing the next part. The title of the overall fic might change if I feel it’s appropriate, for now, I’m leaving it as the title of the first installment

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The Calm Before the Storm


I watched him for the remainder of our final year at Hogwarts; watched him become colder than anyone could have imagined. It was quite amusing actually that those who did not dwell within the dungeons were unaware that this was the Draco Malfoy that should be feared. For, when he carried on as he had throughout the majority of our years together, Draco would relieve any hostility very soon after it had been born with his tongue. Undoubtedly, his verbal assaults were considered brutal to some, but those wounds left were ones that could be easily healed.


After being marked, Draco developed the understanding that the time for playground insults had passed. Any confrontation encountered by his reasoning, must be resolved in a manner that reflected the swift hand of his master.


I don't know whether it was divine intervention, or the panic of NEWTS (as the lower classes with few exceptions did not dare cross paths with Slytherin House) that spared Hogwarts of any casualties before the final battle. In truth, I would guess that it was a combination of the two, if the headmaster could be called divine that is. The fact that Severus Snape bore the mark of the Dark Lord was a fact lost to no one in Slytherin House. I, unlike my house mates however, did not accept that fact as a testimony to his alliances.


The final battle had been amazingly uneventful. Those that had joined the ranks of Voldemort only called upon to divulge information about the member's of the Order that had taken their places within the castle. My suspicions were confirmed when our beloved Potion's master caught five Death Eater's off guard, providing the needed distraction for Weasley, Potter, and Granger to reach Voldemort.


Graduation had been unremarkable as well. The side of the light had triumphed (there is a reason my family has always remained decidedly neutral at the rising of new dark wizards) and I had deferred my portion of the Heads' speech to Hermione Granger, preferring the option to sleep undisturbed over struggling to remain awake during her banter about 'fighting the good fight' and being the 'hope for future generations'.


Draco's life after graduation, much to his surprise, was just as he had envisioned prior to receiving the mark of his father's master. Lucius turned over the operations of one of the Malfoy Potion's labs to his direction and he secured a flat in Diagon Alley.


I agreed to join his staff, electing to leave the handling of my father's current business holdings to him and my elder brother. I used the excuse that I wished to learn more about running a successful potion's lab. In truth, I wanted to stay with Draco.


The business thrived under Draco's competent leadership. Our social calendars were full as we attended various balls and engagement parties for our classmates. From the outside looking in, nothing would seem amiss for two pure-blooded bachelors fresh out of school. But those looking in from the outside did not know him as I did. His sharp tongue and wit had vanished once branded. The only trace left appearing as degrading comments made under the cover of night when he took me.


I swallowed every last bit of pride I could swallow for him. I swallowed until I thought my insides would wretch because there was no room left. When that happened I would purge myself so that I could swallow more.


At times, Draco's touch would be gentle, almost reverent as he kissed and healed my wounds. I tried to create a fantasy where he felt remorse for his actions, but I knew him too well for that. He was carrying out the actions he felt were demanded of his marked soul on me. Though Voldemort was defeated, another sought to claim his place as leader of the Death Eaters. Draco could not lie in wait until he was summoned. The perfection that had been demanded of him all his life would not allow it.


And so, he trained; trained himself to know me his victim; to read my cries and know at what point I was about to break. When I lay before him broken, bloodied and bruised, he healed me. Not to bring me comfort or relief, rather to provide himself with a clean palate with which to continue his training.


It sickened me. I was horrified by his need to hurt me, as well as the readiness with which I succumbed to his sickness. But, I had no delusions as to my motivations. I loved him and feared what he would become without my pain to feed on.


During our seventh year, I foolishly thought that I brought him peace. But to take one look in those stormy grey eyes, you could see that they were far from peaceful. No, as I lay beneath his spent body, his tongue languidly lapping the cuts and bruises that he has inflicted, I realized that what I offer him are these moments. The moments when our heart beats still and we lay fused together, speaking no words, listening only to the sounds of our labored breathing; blowing as the winds before a storm.