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Dragon Noir	By : agelessdrake Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1949 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- 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
- 5
- 6
- 7
"Now I find myself in question
They point the finger at me again
Guilty by association
You point the finger at me again."
~Run Away, Linkin Park

Chapter Five~
"Death," Iphigenia Luc stated blandly, striding the aisles between the desks as the sixth year Slytherin class watched her maliciously. "Comes in three basic types, and two common apparition forms, besides the obvious hooded-man. Miss Parkinson!" She slammed a hand onto Pansy Parkinson's desk, and turned to regard the snide young woman, leaning into her personal space a bit. "Can you tell me one of the basic types?"
When the young woman didn't answer, Iphigenia tsked; she was tired, didn't want to deal with these things.
"Ten points from Slytherin. Read your text, girl," she stated in the evenly bored tone she'd been using for the day. "Now, the three types of death are mental, which can be cause by brain trauma, various curses, a stroke, going into a coma, et cetera; emotional, and I'm sure you can all figure out how that would work; and physical, which is the biggest obvious thing I've ever heard of - amazed you haven't, Miss Parkinson.
"Now, the forms that death choices to take are classical The Grim, a large wolf or dog like figure, and The Raven, which in some cases is also referred to as Hades, the god of the underworld in Greek mythology, or Orpheus, who in Greek mythologic was torn apart by a group of angry, vengeful women."
From a darkened corner of the room, there was an indignant squawk. Several students flinched as a large black bird swooped from the rafters, but Iphigenia had no reaction as the bird landed pensively on her shoulder, though it's talons dug a little into her shoulder.
"Now, who can tell me how mythology is important to the practice in this class?"
~~~
Draco stared at a crack in the ceiling. He'd been laying there for a while now, staring at that crack, trying to make it shift on the roof, or grow, or shrink, or anything to take his mind off the dullness of the Hospital Wing.
When he'd first woken up after collapsing, Madame Pomfrey had practically shoved a tall glass of potion into his hands. When he'd said he wasn't interested in anything, that he was, in fact, feeling quite good enough to do a jig on the Teachers' Table, she'd taken the glass, held his noses until he opened his mouth, and poured it down his throat.
"I'll not be having you keel over because you've decided to keep your ish ish figure, boy," the Mediwitch had snarled and stalked away without another word.
Twice more, she had repeated the procedure, though by the third coming, he simply snatched the potion away and swallowed it dully, showing off his tongue to prove he'd swallowed it. It wasn't exactly a filling brew, but it took the edge of the ache in his stomach. no doubt they'd try to ease him back onto food.
He'd heard her talking with Dumbledore, feigning sleep as they talked a few feet away from him, not bothering to hush their voices. Madame Pomfrey said he had forced himself into Bulimic-Anorexic-Nervosa.
Draco had heard it being referred to, knew what it was; some of the Slytherin girls were even worse then him, as twoulwould completely binge when they actually ate. It was a mildly disgusting sight, when it happened.
He didn't want to think of that. He slept, for a while, and awoke to find himself staring at that crack on the ceiling. And so he'd stayed, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze as distant as the stars and planets.
"Mr Malfoy, you have a visitor," Madame Pomfrey suddenly proclaimed. Draco grunted, and dimly heard the woman waving the other person in; his gaze drifted slowly from the scar on the roof down to the visitor. He nearly cursed, returning his gaze upward instead.
"Come to gloat at me, Potter?" he snarled in what he hoped was a menacing tone. Even to his own ears it sounded whiny and annoying; he cringed a little at the grate on the edge of it, telling of the wear on his throat. Potter sighed a little, shifting where heod, od, and wandered to the bedside, where he deposited a small, old looking book and a box about the size of his palm.
"Professor Luc wanted me to give these to you, wanted me to... talk with you." It seemed hard for the dark haired Seeker to get even that much out, let alone hold a conversation with the blond teen. Draco sat up a bit, snatched the little box up, and opened it.
He stared down at the small red ball within, his gaze confused, before it drifted back up to meet Potter's eyes.
~~~
"How are you feeling?"
"Ah... better."
"Good. Look, erm... If you need to talk -?"
"Actually..." Draco bit his lip, looked up and down the , be, before grabbing Blaise's arm and rushing them both off down the hall before somebody noticed.
"Dray -."
"We ciss iss a class," the blond stated as he stormed almost vehemently towards the tower they had taken as their own personal sanctuary since the beginning of school. "I'll just get Pansy to give us the notes later. She always takes relatively neat notes."
"Relatively for a cross eyed pig-fuck." Draco shot Blaise a look, and unlocked the door to the tower, rushing in with Blaise's robes slight clutched in his hands. He slammed the door shut and sighed, dropping his grip, leaning against the oak. "Dray?"
"I fmisemiserable, and I'm hungry, and I'm confused, and angry, and the STUPID professors think I have a problem, so they sic the GOLDEN Boy on me; of all people, POTTER! Honestly. I can see them doing that if they wanted me to kill myself and save my father the trouble, but REALLY -."
"Dray," Blaise interrupted, turning Dracound.und. The blond found himself staring at Blaise's jumper covered chest a moment, before his gaze slid slowly upward, locking with the dark haired boy's through his long, dark golden lashes.
For what seemed the first time, Draco actually noticed the color of Blaise's hair; how it took on a blue tint in the light, and cascaded in these wild little waves all around his face, caressing his high cheekbones and the corner of his mouth and swirling arohis his ears; he had a golden stud in the left lobe, standing gloriously against his rather sallow skin. His eyes had the slightest Asian fold to them; or maybe not Asian. Maybe Middle Eastern, or Mediterranean. His eyes were a swirling mix of brown and green; a perfectly lopsided combination of emerald and topaz, with much more of the green.
Draco's breath caught as the second thing he noticed was how very close Blaise was standing. The thin robes and jeans he was wearing did nothing to hamper the heat of the dark haired boy's body. He bit his lip demurely.
"Draco... tell me what's happened. You worried me, when you didn't come back from talking with the professors -." With a growl, Draco shut Blaise up, wrapping his arms around him, under his arms and digging his fingers deep into the nearly shoulder length black tresses, kissing him hotly.
Blaise ed, ed, after getting over the shock. It was quite pleasant, really, kissing Draco; he'd thought it would be.
Draco gasped when Blaise pushed him firmly against the door, pressing against him, rubbing and grinding into his hip. A flash of memory wormed through Draco's initial reaction, and he groaned in displeasure.
"No... Blaise, stop..." he murmured. But Blaise had other ideas, kissing Draco's next tenderly, sucking, marking him, parting his thighs with his knee. The memories were roaring back, of calloused hands that weren't nearly gentle enough, of growled cursing and mutterings of distaste.
"You feel good," Blaise whispered, nipping Draco's neck, working his hands into the blond's robes and under his jumper and shirt, along his tensed stomach. "Taste good... smell good..."
"Stop it, Blaise," Draco growled, trying to pull away. There was a hand in his hair - not Blaise's, no, it wasn't really there, but he could feel, of GOD, he could feel that hand, pulling and yanking, drawing his neck back and biting him until he was moaning, just because it was the only way to make it STOP.
"So good," Blaise was nearly chanting, opening their robes, striving to find skin-to-skin contact. Draco was muttering at him, trying to pull away, whimpering; he was saying something, something bad, and Blaise di wan want to do what Draco was telling him, but he wanted to do this.
Draco whimpered louder as Blaise bit his collarbone, sucking heavily on it, leaving a mark. He'd gotten his robes off, pooled around the blood's feet, and his loosened his tie, working on the jumper-vest, yanking it; it tore and Draco let out a little sob as he felt scrambling fingers on the buttons of his shirt.
"Stop," he begged, squeezing his eyes to try and ward of tears and seeing this. But he couldn't ward of feeling it, no. And that hand was still in his hair, tugging at him, and there was that silken voice, telling him how tight he was, what a good fuck he was, what a good whore.
Blaise had Draco's shirt open, and was moving his head slowly downward, trying to catch a nipple. There were scars, little imperfection that he'd never seen before; they'd always had communal showers, but Draco had been coming in earlier or later. Maybe that was why, not because he was scared of what would happen, but because of those scars.
"Oh, god, no!" Draco moaned, as Blaise continued downward. "Blaise... Blaise... ZABINI, you HAVE to STOP!" He was whining now, moaning and whimpering and whining and begging, oh god, how he begged, because that voice was saying what a good whore he was, and how hot and sweet he was.
Blaise grunted, half acknowledging Draco's words. He didn't want to stop. He'd wanted to do this for so long, to taste the illusturous, infamous, great Draco Malfoy in such a way.
"STOP IT!" Draco suddenly roared, and brought his knee up, trying desperately to break away. It connected with a sickening 'SNAP' with Blaise's chin, and the black haired boy snapped back; his jaw was off kilter, and he stared up at the dishelved, weeping, shivering blond boy with confusion marked squarely in his eyes.
"What the -. Why did you -? Damnit, Malfoy, YOU kissed ME!"
"Don't... Don't talk to me..." Draco was trying desperately to right himself, to fix his shirt, despite the fact that it was now missing buttons from Blaise's haste. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Damnit... God DAMNit, Blaise!"
"What!?"
"I... I thought I could trust you, and then you go and... Oh, oh god... Oh god oh god oh god oh god, he's right... He was right, I-I am a whore... I'm just a fuck, that's all anybody sees, and... oh god oh god oh god..." Draco slid down the door, shaking, tears rolling down his cheeks, mumbling that same mantra over to himself.
"Draco -." Blaise reached out for the blond, who flinched back harshly.
"NO!" he shrieked. "No... d-don't... don't touch me, don't touch me... God, god... make it stop, make it stop... please..." He was rocking back and forth by then, gripping his knees. "Go away... Just... just go away..."
"Dray...?"
"GO AWAY!"
~~~
Harry had a headache, one that pounded just behind his right eye. And there was this voice inside his head, mumbling at first, and then growing more intense; just one voice at first, and then two and sometimes a third, but mostly just those two. Andn thn they formed into words, and at first he was confused, because he KNEW those voices; and then he blushed, because of what the deeper one was saying; and then he blanched when he realized half of what was going on.
But he couldn't understand what was going on: why was he hearing this?
"Mr Potter, are you quite all right?" Professor Luc murmured as she walked past. She looked over his shoulder at his notes on Dark Witches and Wizards of the Middle East. Her eyes darted up to him.
"Ah, headache," he whispered back. The voices were louder, more cruel and odd, sitting at the edge of his hearing.
"Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing?" Her gaze was pointed then, telling him to get her permission, stand, leave and go find out what was wrong. And he had to, because he had made her a promise, and forced himself to start going through with that promise.
He nodded. She stood, tore off a piece of parchment, scrawled a quick note, and past it off to him.
"Tell me how you feel after you get back?" He nodded once more, gathered his things, and started out of the room.
Where he nearly ran into Blaise Zabini, looking flustered, frustrated, confused and perfecting seething. Carefully, he stepped out of his way, staring at him with wide eyes as a wave of pure loathing and lust roiled off him.
The dark haired Slytherin pulled to a stop a few feet in front off to his right, whirled, and pierced him with a glare, before it softened slightly, and he stalked back towards him; Harry cringed as the wave of feelings returned, all the more intense and snarling for memories not his own that seemed to be stuck on loop.
"He's... He's in the Western Tower, between the Astronomy and Divinations ones. The low one. But he won't talk." Blaise scoffed, and smiled sardonically. "Especially not to you."

TBC~
- 5
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Dragon Noir