• 1-Closer

The Harry Potter books are the property of JK Rowling. The song Closer is the property of Nine Inch Nails. The dementia involved in combining the two is entirely my own. ;)

Draco Malfoy blew across the grounds of Hogwarts with the intensity of a roiling storm
cloud, his black robes flapping behind him as he strode over to Hagrid's paddock for
Care of Magical Creatures. Crabbe and Goyle trailed in his wake, less than an
afterthought to the pale blonde Slytherin. His long legs crossed the grass in a handful of
strides. His expression of arrogance and disdain didn't waver as it came to rest upon The Boy Who Lived and his friends.

With a squeal of delight Pansy Parkinson rushed forward to grab Draco's arm and lead
him over to the other Slytherins. "Oh, Draco!" she simpered, her pug-like features
crinkling into a very self-satisfied grin. "You just have to see the new robes that my
mother sent me for the Graduation Ball!" Pansy brushed her fingers up the expensive
fabric that covered his arm. "Maybe I could model them especially for you later," she
breathed and winked at him.

Draco fixed her with a smile that came nowhere near his icy grey eyes. "As generous as
the offer is, Pansy, I'm going to have to pass," he informed her abruptly as he prised her
fingers loose. He and Pansy we so alike in many ways—twisted and bitter, disillusioned
and empty. He loathed her for those same qualities that they shared. He raised his eyes
to look over the top of Pansy's head, and his eyes darkened as he locked stares with the
Muggleborn darling of Hogwarts. She turned her attention to whatever that red-haired,
pauper Weasley was saying, and Draco returned his glance to Pansy. "I have other plans
for this afternoon," he purred as she led him toward Hagrid's latest batch of monsters.
He needed it like an addict.

Draco had sided against Voldemort's followduriduring his sixth year. He had passed
information directly to Dumbledore. Every letter and article sent to him by Lucius,
everything that he gleaned from Crabbe and Goyle, he'd given it all to Dumbledore.
Eventually it led the Headmaster and his cadre to a time when Voldemort and his band of
Death Eaters would be vulnerable. That had been April of Draco's seventh year.

That final confrontation inedined perfectly clear in Draco's memories, and he could
remember the scene down to the last detail. Draco had been the one to kill his father,
Lucius Malfoy. It was a task he would have trusted to no one else—not after everything
that man had done. Draco hadn't been sure what to expect when the man he'd idolized
and hated for most of his life was finally lying dead at his feet. Lucius had richly
deserved it really, but Draco had felt neither triumph nor grief. In fact, Draco had felt
nothing. In the months since, he'd continued to feel nothing except during those fleeting
sexual rendezvous when he could lose himself in her pulse, in the taste of her, her breath,
her body. He just had to make it until four, and he would be able to be with her again.

Draco hurried up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower in an attempt to outpace his own
footfalls. Windows and paintings rushed past unseen in his desperation to reach the top.
How much further did he have to go? Two flights? Twenty? Finally, the door came into
sight, and Draco flung it open, panting as he stepped inside.

She stood waiting for him with her back to the door. Her robe was spread out on the cool
stone for them. Draco's summer robe immediately joined it on the stone floor. She
gazed back over her shoulder at him, and her brown eyes appraised him calmly while she
waited for him to make a move.

Draco stepped forward, and with a relieved sigh he wrapped his arms around her waist,
pulling her tightly up against his chest. The scent of lavender drifted up from her hair
and filled his senses. His fingers sought out those lavender scented curls, as he drew her
face closer to his own, seeking out her lips with his hungry mouth.

From the moment he touched her, he was able to feel again. As he devoured her honeyed
kisses and twined his tongue with hers, the deadness inside him receded. He wanted that
terrible emptiness to disappear. He wanted to feel alive. He needed to get closer to her,
and it was making him crazed.