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Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

Chapter List
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Blaise Zabini was certain he had seen him. He walked fast, uncertain of how to behave, scared of all of the new things he was witnessing. The cars, the technology, the Muggles. Blaise cut around the corner, hoping and praying that he would still be able to see him. Heart sinking to his toes, Blaise Zabini realised he had lost the sight of Draco Malfoy. It had to be him, there was none other which that stance, that way of walking, the blond hair and the high cheekbones. Blaise turned around to go back. Just as he turned, he fell into a black hole which had swallowed the concrete tiles which had been there seconds earlier. Falling fast, he felt queasy. He screamed and landed hard on his bum. The impact sent sparks of pain through his spine. A hand, large, rough and strong, reached out and closed its digits around his throat. The long, razor sharp nails dug into the flesh of his jawbone, and Blaise fumbled in panic for his wand.

There was no time. He was being dragged from dense darkness and into a cave brimming with smells, smoke and moving bodies. He was being choked, and wheezing, Blaise looked up to see that, yes, his assumptions were correct. It was an eudaimon. He'd heard the rustle of wings. Blaise was dragged over to a building of sorts, made from bricks, stones and dried clay. As the eudaimon let go off him, he fell to the ground. The building was divided into small sections, like a stable. Nearly every cubicle was occupied by some disgusting creature fetched straight from Blaise's worst nightmares. Half rotten corpses, their faces twisted and distorted, horns on their foreheads and disfigured bodies moved around, dragging unfortunate victims by the hair. It was a horrible orgy of violence. The creatures maimed and slaughtered their screaming victims which they dragged away from the cubicles once they had raped them.

“Welcome to the watering holes of Elsewhere” the eudaimon towering over him said with a sneer. Blaise didn't recognize him. He didn't think it was Malfoy's eudaimon. This one was dressed in armour, a bandanna around his forehead, and his long mane of black-brown hair flowed down across his shoulder. The eudaimon spoke with a slight Irish accent. And he had a small scar on his left cheek, not far from his lips. Handsome, with a certain roughness. He appeared to Blaise as some weathered and seasoned general. “An enemy of Melchior's is an enemy of mine, savvy? And Death Eaters in particular will not be entering Malfoy territories and live to tell the tale.”

“But I'm – I'm not a Death Eater!” Blaise heard himself squeal. The eudaimon hesitated.

“Whatever. You're a Slytherin, and that's all I need.” The eudaimon grabbed Blaise by the throat again, and promptly lifted him up. Before he knew it, Blaise was dropped down into one of the cubicles. He'd finally managed to untangle his wand from his secret place, and as soon as he got some distance to the eudaimon, he hurled out a curse. The eudaimon put one hand up in defence, and the spell was diverted away. Snapping his fingers, the wand was pulled out of Blaise's hand and landed in the palm of the eudaimon's now open hand.

“Let's have some fun, shall we?” the eudaimon said venomously. Blaise had never felt such fear before. He froze up, hardly able to move his limbs and fight back. He fought weakly back as the eudaimon began to rip his clothes apart. Those strong hands with the nails dug into his flesh, and Blaise could only think of Draco Malfoy, and how the blond must have been feeling the same back at Hogwarts. The nameless eudaimon was soon joined by another one, and Blaise registered how they resembled each other. The same facial expression, the eyes and the way the eyebrows arched when they spoke. This eudaimon as clad in red leather, and there was something familiar about him. Hadn't Blaise seen him once, at Hogwarts?The eudaimon kneeling between his legs opened his breeches, and revealed a huge fleshy instrument just waiting for a piece of Blaise. The sight of the manhood ready to conquer him, gave Blaise renewed strength, and he began to twist and wriggle, anything to escape the pain which would ensue. No matter how much he hit and clawed at his attacker, the eudaimon only held his thighs in a crushing grip, positioning that foul fleshy spear towards Blaise's puckered entrance. Howling in pain, Blaise tensed up at the intrusion. Pain flared up, and Blaise howled out his agony. He fought even harder now, but the eudaimon only chuckled, fending off the punches or not minding them. Suddenly, there was someone else standing next to the eudaimon clad in red leather. Blaise instantly recognized him, and a wave of relief washed over him.

“Malfoy” Blaise squealed, “help me!” The way the eudaimon pounded into his orifice was killing him, and Blaise had no problem laying aside his dignity. It really was him, Blaise observed, the Muggle clothes, the blue company shirt over a thin sweater …! It was Draco he had seen just minutes earlier. Blaise's certainty that Malfoy would come to his rescue, soon faded. Malfoy remained standing, his hands in his pockets and just stared contemptuously at Blaise. There was no longer sleek elegance over Malfoy. His chest was broader, his muscles leaner and bigger. He had roughened and toughened up, not caring about his surroundings. And the change about the blond sent cold shivers down Blaise's spine. Malfoy had something new, something cold and dead in his eyes. The eudaimon on top of him couldn't have cared less it seemed, still pounding away. Blaise could feel hatred and anxiety battle inside of him, the way this disgusting act made him feel only added to his misery.

“Friend of yours?” the leather clad eudaimon next to Malfoy asked.

“Used to be” Malfoy answered. He turned and made as to leave. Then he turned and said to the eudaimon between Blaise's legs: “I'd like a word with him before you kill him.” With that, Malfoy left Blaise to his misery.

Blaise was later chained to a large iron ring which had been cemented into the wall of the structure. He was left with his hole ravaged and bleeding, his pride broken and his senses overwhelmed by the violence. He managed to move his sore and stiff-limbed body as far away from the opening as possible, and he huddled by the stone wall, hoping no one would notice him. Hoping against odds, waiting for the one man who was his only opportunity to get out of there. After what seemed like a small eternity, Malfoy finally reappeared. He had changed clothes, showered and combed his hair. He crouched by the opening of the cubicle and said: “Still not a Death Eater, Blaise? I'm impressed.”

“Get me out! I'll tell you what I know!” Blaise replied. It sounded far more of a plea than what he'd intended. He watched Malfoy fish out his wand. He pointed it at the iron ring, and the chain loosened itself from it. Taking on a life of its own, it hovered outside, and Blaise could do nothing but follow as best he could. To a nearby, withered old tree where the iron ring ascended and fastened itself around some of the taller branches. Blaise was forced to raise his arms. He watched nervously as Malfoy lowered his wand and walked over to the tree. Malfoy was so … changed. This new evil in his eyes was something Blaise couldn't remember having seen before. His calm, calculative nature was at best eerie.

“You will talk. I will listen and ask the questions, and then we'll see. That's how this goes. You're on my turf now. There aren't any Slytherins or house rules which will come to your aid.”

“I never agreed with them!” Blaise replied instantly. He watched Malfoy pick up a thin branch which had been chopped off. Aiming his wand at it, the branch came alive, changed shape and coiled itself into an intimidating brown leathered whip. “I – I never wanted you to leave Slytherin!” Blaise continued. He watched Draco put away his wand, instead bending the whip and feeling the leather, as to assert its strengths and skills.

“You had a funny way of showing me that.”

“I seated myself next to you in classes, didn't I?” Blaise exclaimed.

“I didn't notice” Malfoy replied quietly. “I was too busy hating you all.”

“It's – it's nice to see you're alive.” Blaise was trying to buy himself time. Noticing that Draco seemed less angry, he had tried to lighten the mood even further. But flattery was obviously not Malfoy's cup of tea. The lash hit his back with full impact, leaving a thin, red line diagonally across Blaise's brown back. He hissed at the pain which flared up, felt every muscle tense up anew. This wasn't going according to plan. If Blaise at all had one.

“The good thing about this place, Blaise, is that there are no rules. It's the survival of the fittest, and so far I'm doing excellent. Do you know what they call me down here?!” Draco waited impatiently for an answer. Blaise eyed him through the pain, understanding that there was a lot of the good old evil Draco left in there. A lot more than expected. The change in nature that Draco had during his sixth year at Hogwarts hadn't gone unnoticed by anyone. It was unavoidable to see how he had withdrawn from the world, his sharp edges rubbed away and replaced with modesty, attentiveness and finally, love for a muggle-born witch. Blaise couldn't help but to wonder what had become of her. “They call me Lord Malfoy. I command them by the thousands.” Draco pointed to the fields ahead, where a thick haze of dust and grime covered the battling forces of Hell. “Unless you want to be handed over to them, I suggest you start explaining why you followed me.”

“It's the prophecy!” Blaise answered rapidly.

“What prophecy?!” Draco spat back at his former class-mate.

“The prophecy! About you being the next dark lord! The new Voldemort!” Blaise sobbed. Draco hesitated, staring at Blaise for several minutes in disbelief. Then anger set in, and Draco swung the whip so hard it ripped right through the skin on Blaise's back. Draco hit again, before he walked over to Blaise, opened the fly on his pants. Out of his underwear jumped an erection at half mast, but the sight of Blaise's perfectly rounded, dark cheeks soon sent sparks through his groin. The blood on the inside of his thighs had dried up, but as Draco forced Blaise's cheeks aside to reveal his hole, blood sifted out once more. Blaise howled in pain, and he screamed: “It's the truth – I swear! Trelawney had a prophecy! The Carrows told Voldemort –!” Blaise was cut short by the pain which flared up anew as Draco forced himself inside. The tightness made Draco's cock harder, and he coiled the whip around Blaise's neck, commanding him to stop squirming. This was definitely not the Draco Malfoy which Blaise knew from Hogwarts. This was something else. Something darker, someone colder. Someone a lot more like his eudaimon master. He winced as Draco began to thrust in and out of his orifice.

“I used to like you back at Hogwarts. You always went your own ways and I respected you for that. But this – is stooping a bit low, don't you think?! I wonder what the Carrows have been offering you since you chose to abandon your once so noble principles!” Draco told him contemptuously between gritted teeth. He continued to pump into Blaise's orifice, digging his fingernails into the soft skin of his hips. The way Blaise's fit body, the lean torso and the muscles covering the ribs rippled when he moved, added to Draco's aroused appetite. He leaned in towards Blaise's back, reached around and found a half erection on the front. He wrapped it in his right hand, heard Blaise protest then moan.

“I – I” came to warn you, Blaise wanted to say, but the sensation, the overwhelming way his sensuality was triggered by Draco's apparent knowledge about how to please a man, made Blaise speechless. Then, Draco's sharp and commanding voice was in his ear, saying; “Come on, spill it! If you haven't told me anything of value concerning this prophecy by the time I come in your ass, then I will leave you to the vultures. See the flock of demons over there?”

Blaise glanced to the left and saw a crowd of demons gathering. They were glaring at the humans. With hungry eyes.

“I need to show them who's in charge, right?” Draco grunted into Blaise's left ear. “If we were two humans just standing over here, chatting away like old friends, they would be tempted to have a bite. But now they know that we're not here for the fine weather. This way, they know who's the boss. This way, they know that if they touch you, they will have to answer to me. Now – start talking.”

Blaise swallowed. The pain which followed every thrust sent shivers up to his neck. “Trelawney had a prophecy! Now the dark lord knows! The Carrows are sending out spies from Hogwarts in an attempt to lure you out from your hiding place. Voldemort wants you dead!” Blaise had to shut his eyes. Through the pain, there was a dull sensation of lust which was growing by the second. “I was summoned to the headmaster's office. That's where they get their orders! The Carrows and Snape! They order the students …!” Blaise groaned then sighed. The sensation – the good one – continued to grow, and Draco continued to stroke him. “I pretended – to be loyal – to Voldemort!” Blaise pressed the words through his gritted teeth.

“Who issued the orders? Snape or the Carrows?”

“The – it – was – Snape!” Blaise groaned.

The pressure inside, the pain and the growing pleasure suddenly subsided as Draco pulled out. It left Blaise with an unattended, rock-hard cock. Draco tucked away his erection and arranged his clothes again. Obviously deep in thought. The two Slytherins then eyed one another. Draco looked like he was going to leave Blaise where he was.

“Severus Snape” Draco repeated the name and sighed. Blaise glanced from Draco and to the crowd of hideous demons who was beginning to circle them.

“Please don't leave me here!” Blaise wailed in despair, “please don't leave me!” He watched breathlessly as Draco flicked his wand. The chains loosened. Blaise lowered his arms which were numb, drained of blood and sore from the iron gnawing at his wrists. The demons were closing in on them, and Draco took Blaise by the arm. A blue portal opened just behind them, and Draco dragged Blaise through it. They were on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It was March. And Blaise was naked and bloody. It didn't stop Draco – who still seemed as cold as ice – from pointing his wand to Blaise's head. The tip of his wand came to rest at Blaise's right temple, and the man was forced down on his knees in the rotten snow.

“From now on, you're mine, Zabini. Get it? Go to the castle, clean yourself up and tell Snape – not the Carrows! – that I have been informed. Are we clear?”

“Yes, lord” Blaise replied, shivering so badly he couldn't keep his teeth from chattering. The reply made Draco stop and eye Blaise for a second. Then he Apparated away.

How in Merlin's name was he going to tell Hermione? Draco, a dark lord? Oh come on! Upon finding the Dragon's Lair empty, he stole inside and took a warm shower. He wanted to rid himself of everything that had to do with Blaise Zabini. Knowing he had fucked another Slytherin from his house made him sick. What had he been thinking? Elsewhere had a funny way of making him horny, sending his testosterone level sky-rocketing. Seeing Blaise's tight ass quivering under the blows from the whip just – well – it was extremely arousing, Draco had to admit to himself. Dressing again, he found Hermione returning to the house. They met in the living room. Draco – wet hair and towel around his hips – , Hermione – wind-blown hair and already undressing him with her brown eyes. Draco tore the towel from his waist. He tossed it defiantly to the floor. He looked at her, grey eyes speaking volumes. She did nothing, just smiled wickedly as she watched his penis grow. And grow. And rise, rise like the leaning tower of Pisa. She proceeded to undo the buttons on her shirt. Draco struggled to keep a serious face, attempting to come off as the 'I am hereby conquering you'-hero. It didn't work. He couldn't hold back a silly smile as she let the blouse fall to the floor. Her jeans fell into a pool around her ankles.

“When the polyjuice potion is finished, I am going to help Harry get the real locket and break into Gringott's” Hermione sighed.

“I am apparently the next dark lord. You-know-who's successor, if you will” Draco admitted, sighing too.

There it was. The truth. He loved how it worked. They could stand in front of one another – she, half naked, and he – completely naked with a massive hard-on, and explain the state of things to one-another. He watched her take off her underwear. They went into the bedroom. Draco opened the window, the way they always did to hear the children in case they woke while sleeping in the twin carriage outside. Then they lay down and made love.
He felt bad for leaving her. She looked so peaceful. Asleep and no worries. He wanted to stay beside her, in her arms, falling asleep while smelling her hair, her soft breath on his skin. He wanted it to be like it had been in the beginning, when they had fallen asleep in each other's arms, pretending this house was the hub of the world, protected from all evils. He stole outside, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, not caring about the cold. Outside, it was dark. The world it seemed, had gone to sleep. He stole across the courtyard. There was a light in the living room window of Port Royale. It meant that Melchior was home. Draco hurried, knocked on the door and stole inside.

Melchior, the eudaimon who had conquered Draco Malfoy during his sixth year at Hogwarts and stolen him from Lord Voldemort, sat casually in his sofa nipping gently at a glass of red wine. He was staring intently into the fire burning in the fireplace. As Draco walked into the living room area, he turned his head slightly.

“Good evening” he greeted Draco with a low, velvety voice. His long, dark brown hair which was full angelic curls cascaded down his shoulders, and shrouded most of his upper arms and chest. He wore a black silk shirt which stood in contrast to faded black jeans which had wear marks on the knees. The black feathered wings which grew from between his shoulderblades were gently resting over the edge of the sofa, and the room had an arousing aroma of bananas, vanilla and rum. Melchior had been to the Caribbean. Draco could tell from the smells which enticed his nostrils. “How is your wife coping? How are you coping? I told you it's not imperative that you work. Just say the word and I'll conjure up a coffin stacked with gold and jewels for you.”

“Thank you, but we'll manage. And thank you for your kind inquiry” Draco added. He was still standing, patiently waiting for permission to sit in a chair.

“I like the way you say it. We. You're in this together. Mr and Mrs Malfoy.”

“Forgive me for – uh – for not being able to be more … available – to you.” Draco emphasized the word 'available'. He averted his gaze, suddenly not feeling like he was worthy to be standing where he was.

“Draco,” Melchior began soothingly and with deep, velvety voice, “I dream of burying myself into you every single day. There are times when I think of you every single minute and I masturbate endlessly to no avail. But you have chosen to commit to your wife and your little family and you do not differentiate between Ivory and Hugo. Every day you bust your back to earn money so they may have food on the table. I cannot think of anything more honourable and you're doing it for the reasons I hoped you would.”

“But – but the prophecy …!” Draco began, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He rubbed his face in his palms before he looked at Melchior once again. “Is it true?” he nearly whispered.

“Think of it this way, my young servant: The future is a many-faceted diamond. You are the next dark lord, that's inevitable. But the way you become it and how you become it and what sort of dark lord you become, is still not set. The good thing about it is that you alone decide your path towards becoming a dark lord. The bad thing is that while you're treading this path, you will have to watch everyone around you die.”

“I will not end up like Voldemort!” Draco exclaimed. “I will not!

“And you will not, either. You'll be a different dark lord than that of Voldemort, for you will not aim to control people, you aim to protect those who are left.”

“Armageddon” Draco replied, knowing all too well the scenario Melchior had presented to him a few times during their time together so far. He ventured closer to Melchior. His master, whom he had shared so much, who was his master and mentor in many things. He knelt boldly and Melchior parted his legs without a word. He sipped from his wineglass while Draco moved in, and fabric brushed against fabric. Draco put his hands on Melchior's thighs.

“I miss you” Draco told him, looking up into that handsome, ageless face.

“Despite what I've put you through the last year? I'm not sure I believe you. My theory is that you do what you must to survive. Now, you're here to remind me that you still exist, silently praying not to be forgotten and perhaps shoved out into the cold. You're acting the way whores do when they're in need of money. Go home. Go to bed. Be with your wife” Melchior said. He sounded like he'd all of the sudden fallen out of his good mood, if he'd at all had any.

“I can't” Draco replied softly, fondling the fabric of Melchior's crotch. He gazed into Melchior's eyes, silently asking for permission.

“Oh you sweet thing ...” Melchior purred, not able to suppress a grin. He stopped Draco's hands before they could dig into the confines of his underwear. He eyed Draco, who paused to look into the brown nut-shaped eyes which Melchior had inherited from his grandfather, Jack Sparrow. “There are other ways to express gratitude, you know.”

Is there? Draco wanted to ask. His thoughts went to all of the times Melchior had drilled into his head how worthless Draco was. With every rape there had been a flow of malevolent words designed to break him down. And the first lesson Draco had learned, was that he was a worthless scum. His only asset was his hole and his imagination about how to use it to please his master. Remember – you're living on borrowed time, Mister Malfoy – the eudaimon used to add. When things had gotten really bad, and Draco had been sleepless, despaired and alone in the dark hours before dawn, he'd often conjured up the image of the eudaimon and pretended that the winged man had exonerated him and made love to him. It was in those hours that Draco had touched himself and dreamed of a different kind of master. And of freedom in death. And somewhere during those hours alone, Draco had found the will to change. A courage to face himself and come up with a plan on how to do just that. Exonerate himself to his fellow classmates who had endured years being teased and bullied by him. The memory stung.

Exonerate. Discharge. Dismiss. Liberate. Release. Absolve. Exculpate.

“Of course” Draco swallowed and lowered his gaze in repentance. “Forgive me. I've trespassed on you. A thousand apologies.” He got up and backed away, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. “Ho – how is professor Snape?” Draco asked, attempting to flee the uncomfortable situation. He was more or less backing away from the living room.

“Severus Snape is fine. Your idea about giving him a reward was very good. He accepted it. I think he will be very pleased. In time.”

“Good. Thank you. He … he was forced to send Blaise Zabini after me. Right? It wasn't him, it was the Carrows?”

“Blaise Zabini will come very in handy for you over the years. Play nice with him, though, and he will be a good friend to you. Only problem is, that Bahadur son of Saieros has claimed him. And Bahadur is loyal to his demon father and not Jack Sparrow.”

“He's not a nice eudaimon? This … Bahadur?”

“Bahadur can be really nasty. And he doesn't give his targets any second chances. The only reason you're tolerated is because you're the designated bearer of the Demon's Bane. It's the weapon he fears, not you.”

“But – but Blaise? How will he survive?!”

“He's not Bahadur's target. He was simply on the wrong place and at the wrong time. Bahadur has no interest in him as long as he remains inactive. You didn't by any chance challenge Bahadur, right?”

“No.” Draco thought about it. “I – I might have been a bit bold when I brought Zabini back to Hogsmeade.”

“I told him … I, I said he was mine.”

“Oh dear. That's all, I hope?”

“No …! Back in Elsewhere, I – I, oh Merlin's beard what have I done?!” Draco winced as realisation dawned on him.

“You what? Did you penetrate him?”

“Yes …!” Draco said with great regret.

“Did you come inside him?”

“No” Draco replied with even greater despair.

“When Bahadur confronts you – and he certainly will – then you must either decline or accept responsibility for Blaise. If you accept, then Bahadur will either fight you for the right to Blaise's body, or he will simply give the right to you. The trick is – to avoid that Bahadur beats you to a bloody pulp – is to get Satan to show up. By taking it to a higher level, Bahadur will have to answer to Satan and you avoid a great deal of pain. Do you know how to summon him?”

“No.” Draco went quiet. He sighed, having gone from complete despair and watching his life pass before his inner life, to finding a glimmer of hope.

“And you call yourself a Slytherin” Melchior said with a wide grin. “Any decent Slytherin knows how to summon the Dark Lord of dark lords, right? The big D?”

“I'm not a decent Slytherin, Sir” Draco replied.

“That's right. You're something much than that” Melchior replied with sudden gravity in his voice. “You're a Slytherin with a conscience.” For a moment, the reply hung in the air, and Draco was forced to see the sincerity in Melchior's eyes. He really – really meant it.

“Thank you” Draco replied quietly.

“A Thank You is all I need. Mostly.” Melchior eyed him again. “Showing gratitude doesn't have to be more complicated than that.

A week later, the polyjuice potion was ready. Hermione had spent her free hours to do some surveillance around the Ministry. It felt good to be back in the game, somehow, but at the same time, the stakes were higher than before. If she was caught, she risked never seeing her children or Draco again. Unexpectedly, Melchior involved himself and said that Neville Longbottom couldn't be a part of it. It was imperative that it was just Hermione, Ron and Harry. He didn't explain why. So Neville stayed behind with Draco in the Dragon's Lair at the Lighthouse Farm, doing his best to accept things the way Draco did. What do you do when your wife is in the process of infiltrating the Ministry? Neville wondered how it was possible for Draco to go on with relaxed shoulders. He loved to come around to Draco's house, to be with the blond and smell his hair as he passed by on his way back and forth between the living room and the kitchen. The father of two had developed an efficient technique on how to start the process of making food for them both. Neville watched amused, before he had to stifle a yawn. Life on the run was tough on him, much harder than first anticipated. Sitting here in this comfortable sofa, Neville wanted nothing but to dive into Draco's pants. It annoyed him that he had these fantasies about the blond. What was wrong with him? He'd never been attracted to a man ever before. Why wouldn't it go away? Ignoring the growing monster in his pants, Neville decided to bring up the topic which had been circulating in the wizarding world for some time.

“We need to talk” Neville began, stuffing his hands further down into his pockets as if to steel himself. He met Draco's gaze, who, for some time had been lost in observing the tiny faces of his babies. He was very much focused on feeding wheat porridge to the boys, and they ate like a pair of hungry horses. Neville decided to change tactics. In stead of standing, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen, he grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down next to Draco. He needed the blond' attention for this conversation. “I'm not accusing you or anything …! None of us are. But I wondered if you could confirm or dismiss the rumours which have been aired on Potterwatch lately.”

“What rumours? I don't listen to that channel much” Draco replied, flashing an apologetic smile. Their gazes met for a brief second, and Neville's devotion for this rogue Slytherin seemed to mirror itself in Draco's grey-bluish eyes. He didn't linger to see Neville go blank and swallow hard. This reaction as a sign that Neville was steeling himself whenever he was addressing a difficult subject. Hugo Malfoy screeched, demanding more food, and Draco rose from his seat to mix some more porridge. As soon as his father wasn't looking, Ivory was quick to lunge forward, grabbing both plate and spoon at the same time. Exhibiting early signs of independence, he attempted to load his spoon with porridge. When it didn't work, he dragged the spoon out from the plate and onto the table, and there he commenced to draw an epic picture of porridge art, knocking his bottle over in the process. It fell to the floor, and the hood opened at the impact, spilling milk all over the kitchen floor. Neville jumped from his seat on an impulse and watched all of this. Looking back at Ivory, who was clapping in his hands and giggling wildly, Neville smiled. Then he looked at what Ivory had drawn on the table. A swastika. The way the spiralling lines were formed, were so deliberate that it gave Neville goosebumps. A five month old baby wouldn't –!

“Scary, isn't it?” Draco said, looking from the table with the porridge swastika on, and to Neville. “He is his father's son, that's for sure.” Draco turned around, and continued with mixing the porridge for Hugo. He left it to cool while he swung his wand around, cleaning up the mess on the floor. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” Draco had stopped to look at Neville, waiting for him to reply. His face was calm and friendly, relaxed and attentive. It was an exterior Draco put on whenever Neville was around. He had decided that he would do whatever it took to maintain this friendship. Gone was every pretence that they had nothing in common because he was Slytherin and Neville was Gryffindor. Draco was prepared to defy even Melchior for Neville's sake. He watched the Gryffindor as all of these emotions and thoughts ran through him. Then he glanced down at the swastika. “You know, Neville, without your unwavering support since we left Hogwarts, I don't think I would have been anywhere near as … fortuitous as I am today.” Draco met Neville's gaze. His honest, grey-blue stare which brimmed with thankfulness, made Neville weak in the knee. And Neville swallowed hard, knowing that it would be impossible to talk about the prophecy. Any hint, any word about what Sibyl Trelawney had seen, would in deed sound like accusation.

Evening came and Draco put the children to bed. Neville remained in the living room, and he looked at the enchanted photos of Draco and Hermione. Their Hogwarts are so different. Draco; Haughty, serious and noble, impeccable in his Slytherin uniform and his hair cut sharply, not a straw out of place. For a moment there's a change of expression in response to the photographer's demand. The – 'I wouldn't be caught dead smiling, so don't even try it' – language flares across his eyes. Hermione, with her Gryffindor tie, warm smile and puppy eyes. On the moving photo her smile evolves into a laugh as she tilts her head backwards slightly, obviously flattered by the photographer's experienced remarks.

Draco came down stairs. As he entered the living room, he stopped, stuffed his hands into his jeans and stared at Neville.

“Is there something wrong, Neville? You seem so on edge” Draco began.

“No” Neville lied.

“Would you like to have a game of chess with me?”

“Yes” Neville lied again. He had already accommodated the need to rectify the situation in his pants. While Draco had been upstairs, Neville's hand had sneaked inside to give his erection some space and put it in the right direction. It helped, but it continued to grow hard. Chess wasn't really what was on his mind, and he felt strangely guilty for being so one-track-minded. Draco moved his gaze downwards. The bulge in Neville's pants was becoming painfully obvious.

“I didn't realise you got hard-ons by looking at photo's, Neville” Draco shot him a lopsided smile.

“It's not the photos” Neville replied quietly. “It's you. I don't know why you have this effect on me. I'm … not gay.”

“Neither am I” Draco replied promptly. “I think it's … something Melchior calls Demon Nature.”

“Demon Nature?”

“Demonic forces, like lust and greed, which works like a magnet to ensure that we stay … bonded, or something. It occurs when to two people are destined to – be – together. In one way or another. Because it benefits the eudaimon, mostly” Draco suddenly regretted every word, seeing how it could be misunderstood.

“So … the attraction is a – !”

“ – very annoying fringe benefit.”

They both burst out laughing. Neville because he was relieved to understand that he wasn't gay, and Draco because he understood that Neville was okay with it.

“So” Neville said once he caught his breath, “what do we do about it?”

“I don't know. Go with the flow, I guess. As long as no one else gets hurt. Having seen me and Melchior together, I think Hermione would totally understand if she were to walk in on us. I'm not sure you would survive it, though.”

“Is it like this with anyone else?” Neville wanted to know, smiling of the comment Draco had made about Hermione. He imagined the horror it would have been to have been discovered by her in a passionate embrace with her husband. Complete disaster, that was the word.

“Harry” Draco admitted quietly. “But I just leave it alone. He can't stand the sight of me, and I can't stand the thought of him touching me while he can't stand the sight of me. So there you are.”

Neville nodded as he heard this. Harry wasn't easy being around, constantly obsessing about things. “But … in theory, I mean if the two of you got along and … –!”

“ – perhaps. But we're nowhere near that theory. Harry's not really my cup of tea anyway.”

“ ...but I am?” Neville swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly for reasons he couldn't explain. Draco hesitated but smiled secretively.

“Chess and a cup of coffee?” Draco finally asked, avoiding the topic. He crossed his arms above his chest, raised his eyebrows in an expectant and teasing manner, waiting for Neville's reply. Neville mimicked his stance, crossing his arms above his chest, feeling irritation begin to simmer on the inside. He hated how Draco would slither through his fingers and back into his hole, leaving Neville with a bunch of unanswered questions and an unattended erection which would keep him awake all night. Neville had discovered that it didn't help to alleviate himself during the nights. It didn't help if he did it one, two or three times. Draco was still on his mind and only his touch could put Neville's at rest. Neville tapped with his foot on Draco's living room floor, pressing his lips together into a thin line and replied: “If that's what you want.” He regretted it the same moment, and said: “I'm sorry, I shouldn't be giving you a guilty conscience. I mean, I don't want to press you into doing something you don't want to …!”

“Thank you for saying that” Draco replied sincerely, and unintentionally, he made Neville feel even more of an unsympathetic cock. “You know, you've got that nuance in your manner which enables me to hit softly and bounce back whenever I feel inclined to turn down an offer from the hand of a friend. Harry doesn't have that nuance. Turning him down is like running my head against a stone wall. He's like this black hole I keep pouring energy into without getting anything back. At Hogwarts I struggled to tell him and the eudaimon apart. Retrospectively, they're not really that different. Harry's my ally for as long as it goes his way.” Draco emphasized the word ally, as he dug out a small box of chess pieces with a game tablet. Neville noticed that. He went into the kitchen, resigning himself to his fate as this evening's chess-mate to Draco. Perhaps Draco was right, Neville thought, why hurry with it? If Hermione accepted it, and Draco accepted it, then why stress about it? So they were bound by demon magic. It would be sensible to let sex be sex and concentrate on the friendship. Draco seemed to be in a talkative mood, and that was something which pleased Neville immensely. But – Neville said to himself – would he be able to accept it? He would be a secret lover. Something on the side. Could sex exist side by side with friendship? For the time being? Yes. Considering that Neville's name was among the most wanted names on the pages of the corrupt Ministry, a definite yes. And – Neville added to himself as he poured the freshly brewed coffee into two awaiting cups decorated with the words 'Mrs. Landcrabbe' and 'Mrs. Landcrabbe' – it wasn't prudent of him to be thinking about sex this evening. Draco was obviously concerned about Hermione. Neville brought the two cups of steaming coffee into the living room and sat down opposite from Draco who was arranging the pieces with a flick of his wand.

“Harry's never going to be your friend, is he? Just an ally?”

“It wouldn't be proper of me to impose on him by labelling him as friend, since it takes two to have a friendship. He should be the first to proclaim me as his friend, making it official, if you will.”

“I thought he did that at Hogwarts. You went out on a walk and all.”

“Yeah, the Epic Walk with Harry Potter” Draco rolled his eyes and smiled. “Things were going better with Melchior then. And I was trying very hard to accommodate Harry in every way that I could. Then the eudaimon pronounced that if Harry wanted me, all he had to do was say the word. Everything became awkward after that. If Harry should – you know – want me, then I would have to comply.”

“Because the blood of Harry's parents, which should have been on the hands of your father – !”

“ – which in stead are on mine.”

“Harry wouldn't do that” Neville replied immediately.

“Honestly, I don't know what to think about Harry. He's like day and night sometimes. Jekyll and Hyde. Harry and Voldemort” Draco replied, not knowing how right he actually was about that assumption. “Your move” he then said, and his thoughts inadvertently went to Hermione, who was out there in the dark somewhere.
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Dark Lord Rising