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I Spy	By : Abremaline Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1253 -:- 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
- 1-I Spy
- 1
Title: I Spy

Author : Abremaline

Pairing : Draco/Harry (also references to Draco/Others)

Rating :NC17

Series : 1/?

Disclaimer : Based on characters and situations created by J.K.Rowling.
Please also note that all characters are over the age of 18.

Word Count : 1664

Summary : The Deatheaters have a spy. Meet Draco Malfoy. He takes little
blue pills, has a potion to make him look like anyone, and he hates it. He
abhors every night he spends sleeping around, and detests the little blue pills
that he needs to take in order to do so. Well, all except for maybe that one
time�but he isn�t going to admit that one in a hurry. Not even to himself. He
isn�t even going to admit that it wasn�t part of the job. Its always
part of the job. Isn�t it?

I
Spy

Chapter One

Fucking around is part of the job. You would think that would be the best thing
about it; believe me when I say, it�s not. Its really not.

Take right now for example. I�m standing in a peach coloured florally decked
bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I don�t even look like me. I never
look like me anymore. I�m almost perpetually polyjuiced to look like someone
else. I stole a few moments as myself earlier, I shouldn�t have taken the chance,
not for as long as I did. I could have been caught. It felt nice to see my own
skin for a little while though.

There is a blue pill in my hand � an invention of Snape�s. It is by far his
worst and best yet - A combination of various plants, animal parts and other
things that I�m sure I don�t want to know about. This pill is going to make me
hard as a rock for at least three hours. Three hours of the least enjoyable
erection any man has ever experienced.

This induced �pleasure� promises to bring me no sense of euphoria, no
elation, no excitement - nothing. Just three hours of �slight� pain that can
only be described as something like having a cruciatus curse directed at your
dick .

During this time, I have to paste a smile on my face (one that isn�t scary,)
and listen for any titbits of information that might slip the tongue of
whatever�thing they have me fucking tonight. Nothing ever does. But that has
never stopped them hoping.

At least tonight�s partner is fully human, an increasingly rare bonus lately.
Still the wrong gender, but I�m not about to tell the Lord of Darkness, a man
who doesn�t even like Muggles, that I�d rather be fucking blokes. It�s just a
suspicion - but I�ve a notion that wouldn�t go down too well.

The pill in my hand is glimmering. That means that the �lady� must be back from
wherever she has been.

I�d like to go without. But I�ve seen the lady, and I know that it�ll simply
never get up on its own. Oh well � swallow it down. �Good boy, Creepy Creevey.�
My mirror reflection tells me.

Yet another insult that I have been handed with this job - I get look like
Colin Creevey tonight. Why is it never someone whose body I could enjoy at
least a little?

�Because Snape makes the polyjuice, and he�s a cruel Mudblood bastard with a
truly sick sense of humour.� The mirror tells me.

At least my reflection is still allowed to talk and think like me, I suppose.
No doubt there�s a pill on the way to fix that soon.

�Ginny! You took ages, I was starting to worry that the Deatheaters had gotten
you.�

* * * * * * * *

There�s a book hidden in the third drawer of my bedside table. It is made to be
invisible to all but myself. It is this book that I pull out now. With the help
of a cute little spell found in an ancient Malfoy tome, it will record the
events of my evening - In all its repugnant detail.

Voldemort doesn�t know of my book. My father doesn�t even know of it. They are,
however, both in it, and the information on them is rarely flattering to
either, so let�s hope that they never find out about it. If they do, then it�s
safe to say that I�ll get a first hand comparison between my blue pill and the
torture curses.

I don�t even know why I started the book, it�s a memory that I have hidden from
myself. So there you go I suppose. I don�t know why I�m recording these things,
and I can�t know either, or I might say something while under torture or
Veritaserum. I�ll find out when (or if) I ever need to know. I know myself well
enough to know that I would have put that recollection onto the first page. The
page that is seemingly blank right now. It�ll only show its information when I
need to know it.

There are a lot of pages like that � blank. It makes me wonder how much of my
memory I have hidden from myself. It surely can�t be good for the brain to
delete that much of its contents. But then, the alternative is probably worse.

One particular page intrigues me. Mostly it�s blank like so many others: An
apparent �need to know basis� page. But every now and then, on nights
like tonight - when I�ve had to sleep around for the cause of darkness, some
words will appear. It seems I need to know why it is that I no longer find the
slut aspect of my occupation fun.

The parts of the page that I find myself reading yet again are largely like
viewing a porn film. I get flashes in my head of some of the things that
happened, the memories are fighting their way back through.

I wonder why it is that I need to know this. To know that I have at least once
had the kind of sex that everyone dreams of, and no one gets. Why would I need
to know that I have had that? Especially considering what I do for a job. It
just makes the work all the more depressing, when I know what it could be.

I like to piece together the snippets that the book lets me read. Sometimes
different things will appear than what was there the last time. I was under the
polyjuice it seems, and the usual ploys weren�t working, not at all. But the
disguise wore off, and well, the rest is as they say � porn.

It intrigues me this page, more than any of the others. I�ve a feeling
somewhere in my bones, that this page which tortures me during sex, is somehow
linked to the creation of this little journal that could one day have the
potential to royally destroy my own cause. This book could determine the fate
of the war if it were used correctly. After all, the spell records even the
most useless details. Things I didn�t know that I had seen until I read it
back. Such as the pattern on Voldemort�s socks when he crossed his legs back in
March.

Doubtful �Ol� Voldy�s� socks are terribly important � but it�s a war, and in a
war, you can never know what that deciding factor could be. It often is the
most trivial crap that wins in the end.

Not that any of this overly matters right now. No one is going to find the book
unless I need them to find it, and even then, they aren�t going to be able to
read much of it. I know myself well � I wouldn�t have begun this unless I saw a
need to safeguard myself from those I am working for. And when you consider the
people surrounding me, such a book becomes only smart.

I cast the spell now, before I can talk myself out of it. I go through this
internal questioning after each mission. Always the result is the same � I
don�t know, so I cast it anyway. Better to be safe if there is a reason
worthwhile.

The words appear onto the page. I don�t want to relieve my evening again just
yet, but I force myself to read it all back anyway. Its amazing some of the
things that I hadn�t realised I had noticed. Even in such a mundane task as
Ginny Weasley.

The spell has recorded her every huff, puff and groan. It is just as dull now,
as it was when I did it. Except�Sharp eyes catch a name further down the page.
Potter�s wand was on the coffee table. His shoes had being lying near the couch.

If Harry Potter was in the room, then he must have been there before I arrived,
which means he now knows that it wasn�t Colin Creevey who slept with Ginny
tonight. The man is entirely too blessed to have missed those few minutes when
the Poly wore off and I indulged in being me.

Assuming he knew, that he saw. Because somehow I know he did. Why didn�t he
save her from me? This is important, and Voldemort doesn�t know. His
interrogation of me was completed before I returned home. Interesting � I find
no inclination to make them any wiser to the knowledge. Quite the opposite in
fact.

I know what I�m going to do before I do it. I now recall the writings on all
those blank pages. The usual sadness sweeps over me as I take both the page and
the memory away. I don�t want to do it, but the memories are painful. Not to
mention the inherent danger of leaving stuff like that just lying around in my
subconscious. With the life I lead, practically anyone could read it if I left
it there.

Sleep brings the faintly ghosted sensation of someone�s arms around me. It�s a
forgotten memory, I know that. I lie for several hours wondering about those
arms. Are they in the blank pages? Maybe in that one with snippets that are
visible? I wish I knew who this was, and why the memory is so clear even
despite the fact that it�s not actually even there.

I want to know so many things. I�ve hidden too much from myself; it�s starting
to swamp me under now. The ghosted arms feel so incredibly real, and my eyes
are watering up. All from something I can�t even remember. I wander how my
mission went, with Ginny Weasley. Did I finally find something of value to tell
Voldemort? The power I could hold is unthinkable. I could surpass my father in
the ranks if I were to discover something useful. Determination encases me like
an icy-cold cloak.

Three a.m. the arms are still there, holding me as I finally fall asleep.

To Be Continued�
- 1
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I Spy