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A Valentine's Day Massacre	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11071 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Five

~*Pounce and Capture*~

“Closing time, gents.”

Saved by the clock, I sighed, relieved beyond all comprehension.

Rosmerta bustled over to us, efficiently wiping the bar down with one hand, and with the other, scooping our empty glasses away to drop them with a watery clink into the sink.

“Thanks, Madam Rosmerta.” I smiled at her warmly.

She grinned back. Draco laid a few Galleons on the bar before sliding his hands into jet black leather gloves.

My eyes were riveted to the contrast of his pale white skin disappearing into the ebony recesses of that suppleness; it was a strangely pleasurable sight. My breath hitched, and I forced myself to look away. He had elegant hands, an aristocrat’s hands, unblemished by anything as mundane as yard work. Bastard didn’t even have the decency to have any remnants of ink stains.

My own hands looked so woefully inadequate next to his, especially the still present white scars telling tales of my past battles, “I will not tell lies”.

He was right. I was pathetic. Sidelong, he glanced at me expectantly, either waiting for me to take the lead, or gauging my reaction. His fingers rapidly flew down the row of clasps on the front of his cloak, then settled over the silvery snake head of that cane.

Funny how I hadn’t noticed that damned thing all night. I followed suit, securing my cloak, then put on my gloves.

“Shall we, Potter?” He motioned towards the door with his cane.

I turned and strode with purpose. He matched my speed just to my right and half a step behind. Was he showing deference or herding me?

Somehow, I remembered hearing, or maybe reading, that one showed respect to a superior by following from the left. So he was herding me, then. We jostled past Rosmerta’s shrunken heads all talking crazily in a jumble of confused words. I shoved that heavy door open, and the blast of cold wind made my eyes water. We bravely thrust ourselves back out into the cold night.

He made to turn right, towards the train station; I leaned left, back towards Hogwarts. He stopped, staring at me over his shoulder.

“Not going home, Potter?”

“No, Malfoy. I don’t want to wake my wife. She needs her sleep.”

Cranky, I sounded like a petulant little boy.

He arched a coolly appraising eyebrow at me. I simply stared back at this stranger who reflected so many of my memories like a warped mirror. With an impassive, unreadable expression, he scrutinized me with his eyes moving from my face, slowly down to the tips of my boots. My skin grew hot under the strength of his magnifying glass. I was completely taken in by the way the full moon cast its soft shimmer over his black cloak, the dark gray shadows of his face, and the transformation of his white-blond hair into molten metal just falling over the top of his collar. He truly was beautiful, and I couldn’t believe that I admitted that to myself as we stood there staring at each other in the midst of an arctic wind storm.

As if he could sense what I could not name, Malfoy lunged forward, hooking that damned snake’s head in the clasp of my cloak, preventing me from backing away lest I tore the whole thing. He stepped in to me, very close, too close, appraising me. We stood stock still, staring into each other’s eyes until I broke first.

“What, Malfoy?” He moved suddenly, like a flash of quicksilver, jerking me close to his body, his arms like bands of steel around mine as the still-nauseating disorientation of Side-Along-Apparation pulled us toward his chosen destination. I gasped for air, stumbling when I felt solid matter under my feet once more.

Thoroughly infuriated, I shoved against him with all of my strength. He stumbled backwards. Rage coursed through me. Every minute cell of my very being screamed for retribution. My fingertips felt as if they were on fire, ready to hex him into the next life.

“You bastard!” I shouted, wand instantly appearing in my hand. I carefully trained its lethal tip right between his disdainful eyes. “Where the fuck have you brought me?”

Frantically, I searched as much of the room as I dared, not wanting to divert too much of my attention from Malfoy.

“My family’s guesthouse,” he answered smoothly, brushing snow from his sleeves, and then elegantly resting both hands on that fucking cane again, just watching me casually.

“And who all did you invite to this little Death Eater reunion?”

Struggling mightily, I regained some of my control, tamping down the flames of my fury in the face of outright fear, all of my senses hyperaware, waiting for the attack I knew Draco had planned. I did not dare to allow my thoughts to focus on how the bastard had lulled me into such a false sense of security. I absolutely had to keep a tight rein on my emotions. My life depended on that, or so I thought. My family and friends depended on me. I had to keep my wits about me. Bloody fucking arse laughed at me at that point — threw his pretty boy head back and fucking laughed.

“Paranoid, Potter? How can one wizard be so pathetic? No Death Eaters here. Father most likely drank himself comatose hours ago, so don’t count on him showing up.” He sniggered. “I meant to offer you a puppy to kick. That’s all.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, as if this were an everyday occurrence for him. He had to have watched every unnamable emotion I was experiencing race across my face. Time seemed to freeze. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I wasn’t certain I had heard him correctly.

“What?” My mind reeled. I used every ounce of my strength to keep my wand hand steady.

Ceremoniously, he set that damned cane on a side table, a buffet I think. He moved his hands back out wide, and held absolutely still. He looked strikingly like a sacrificial offering; the fucker even bowed his head, lowering his eyes to the carpet in a blatant pose of submission.

“Me, Potter, as your puppy to kick to your heart’s content. Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? Revenge on me?” His biting words sliced open old, not well-healed scars.

Incensed, I lunged, grabbing him by the throat, distinctly unsatisfied by the lack of skin-to-skin contact prevented by my very own gloves, but loving the way his neck snapped back with the up thrust; his eyes were large and boring into mine. Oddly, I read no fear in those eyes, only triumph.

“NO!” I hissed directly in his ear. “No revenge. No more hate.” My voice didn’t sound right to me. It wasn’t soft or unsure -– no, this voice was harsh, demanding, authoritative. Where had I learned this? Where had this voice come from? I felt like I was watching someone else operating in my body.

Astonishingly, Draco melted into my clutches, soft, yielding, ever so compliant, willing even. His eyelids melted shut as a look of pure bliss overcame his features. Mesmerized by the change in him, my fingers slackened. He moaned at the loss even as he rasped for much needed air. I used every ounce left in my control to release him.

“Pathetic still, Potter,” he groaned, still goading me, trying to manipulate me, almost begging for me to grab him again. His chin dropped to his chest. “Kick me, already.”

“NO!” I bellowed, backing away lest my hands move of their own accord once more.

“Don’t I deserve it? Or…” He took a long pause before lifting his eyes to mine once more. “Am I not good enough?”

Now I saw pain in those eyes -– pain and humiliation. Two emotions I never thought Draco Malfoy to be capable of revealing to anyone, least of all me -– the ever fucking Savior of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived.

“Draco… ” Shocked, I backed away from him even more, running into a table. My hands scrabbled against the hard surface, clutching it like a lifeline, an anchor against these rocking waves of insanity.

“What, Potter? Come on, already. You know you want to…” The bastard advanced on me.

Idiot! I screamed mentally; now I was trapped between him and that table.

“Kick me,” he purred, still closing the safe distance between us.

Didn’t the bastard know? After all he had seen me do, didn’t he understand what I was capable of inflicting upon him? I had to fight it. I had to fight. I couldn’t find any fortitude. Those bloody thundering waves of my damned insanity ripped my strength out to sea, gone in a flash. My heartbeat thrummed so loudly in my ears that I swore my own blood was about to flow from them. I could barely breathe. Everything that the darkest recesses of my soul begged for in my nightmares was presenting itself, gift wrapped, and tied with a silver bow. Where was I going to find the strength to fight against this? How could I fight against something I wanted so desperately, something I absolutely needed to deny myself. A tiny voice spoke in my mind, cajoling me, urging me not to hurt anyone again.

“You’re no puppy, Malfoy, just a sneaky snake.”

Incensed, he hissed and launched himself at me. His hands locked around my wrists; his pelvis shoved forward, pinning me violently against the hard edge of the table. The heat from his body permeated the heavy wool of my own clothing. Or was my own body heat rising up to meet his? Bloody fucking hell! Was I rising up to meet him?

A/N: Well folks, halfway home. Welcome to the new readers and a warm hello to re-readers. Any and all comments are welcomed. :)
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A Valentine's Day Massacre