Disclaimer: I only like to use these boys for a bit of fun every now and again. Alas *sighs longingly* they are not mine, they belong to the divine Miss J.K. Rowling. And the quotes that belong to Bauhaus and Oliver Stone, I believe, from Natural Born Killers aren’t mine either. Duh. If I’ve gotten the source of that original quote wrong, pleasepleaseplease let me know because I really don’t want to get into trouble.

Warning: Not really a whole hell of a lot of slash, just some basic relationship shite. Should this sort of thing squick you, and you insist upon reading it anyhow, please take into consideration that I was sweet and kind enough to warn you of the nature of this beast. Even though there’s not a damn thing wrong with it.

A/N: This chapter is really just a bunch of rambly shite, though it’s all saying something. I swear. If I should seem insensitive, I should warn you that I am, though I am not meaning anyone any harm. It’s just the bane of being me and I don’t know how to help it.

Keep Feeling

Being so damn short really sucks. Being so damn small period really sodding sucks. If I were maybe three inches taller, I probably wouldn’t get picked on so damn much. Stupid fucking Blaise Zabini has been tripping me all the way through the dungeons. Why does it have to be so late at night when no one else is around? I already tried running, he just ran faster. What I wouldn’t give to be invisible at this very point in time… I’d trip him and then kick the shit out of him once he hit the floor.

“Stop it, Blaise.” Real effective, that. Now he’s poking me in the back whilst stepping on the backs of my shoes. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“What everyone else seems to get from you.”

If I hadn’t just spent my last three evenings in detention for one teacher or another I would probably curse the motherfucker right here and now. But cursing one of Snape’s favourites directly after leaving detention with him would not be a wise idea. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Oh, shit! He’s grabbed my robe and thrown me against the wall. All my potion ingredients are scattered across the floor. That’ll take me forever to clean up. Fuck that. Blaise has got his arms on either side of me, so I don’t have any way to get away now. Face bending down to my level, he’s got that trademark Slytherin smirk plastered all over. Please, please, please let me get out of this okay…

“You know exactly what that means, Finnegan,” he whispers in my ear and makes my skin crawl. I thought Draco was the perfect Slytherin. Bitch being wrong, you know. This guy is the perfect Slytherin.

“Get away from me.”

“Or what? I don’t see any of your boyfriends around to save you.” He looks around as though to prove the point. It’s a sarcastic gesture, but it’s starting to scare me. I try to avoid altercations with this kid, but I think my options are starting to run out.

“Look, Blaise, it’s late. I’m tired, you’re tired-“

“I’m nowhere near tired,” he hisses as he grabs my wrists and holds them against the wall.

Having such a bony body is painful enough without fucking pricks like this pinning it to a stone wall in the dungeons. Can’t fight, though. There’s no point. If I fight, he’ll overtake me (as though he hasn’t already) and I’ll be too worn out to care. Well, not too worn out to care, just too worn out to do anything about it. And I don’t even want to know what he’d do to me then. Shit. I am totally fucked. Or I will be if I don’t get the hell out of here very, very soon.

“Well, then, care to take a jog around the lake? You’ll feel much better when you’re done, I’m sure.” Great. Waffle on like that some more, Seamus. Let’s see just how far you can push him before something really fucked happens. “Or, hell, you could even chase me down the hall some more. I was just starting to enjoy that before you stopped me.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“I don’t think so.”

His feet are on top of mine. He’s pressing his entire body against me. I’m so trapped. Fuck. Help. I need help. I can’t even reach my wand. Fuck. I could scream. Right. That sounds like a good plan.

Okay, so that didn’t work. Fucking piece of shit had to belt me right across the face. Do not panic. Donotpanic. Do NOT panic.

“Please don’t, Blaise. Really.”

“Or what?”

You know, that’s a damn good question. Screaming didn’t work, just got me hit. And apparently no one heard it, anyway, as we are still all alone and everything is painfully silent. Shit. Fuck. What to do… what to do… Start thrashing, you idiot! He’s licking my neck. I don’t like this I don’t like this I don’t like this this is scary this is really fucking scary.

“Please stop. Please.”

“No.”

Crying isn’t going to solve anything but I don’t know what else to do there’s nothing else I can do please god just let me get out of this please please please I’ll do anything just please let me get out of this I’ll tell my mum I love her I’ll raise kittens I’ll go straight I’ll stop throwing dungbombs in Potions I’ll quit going after other people’s boyfriends I’ll stop looking at women’s undergarments I’ll stop wearing women’s undergarments I’ll do fucking anything just please let me out of here…

“Stop crying, Finnegan. Or do you like to advertise what a girl you are?” Blaise demands.

“Fuck you.”

Fucking brilliant, you fucking moronic idiot.

“That’s exactly right.” He’s grinning like the sadistic fuck he is as he says, “Actually, I should be the one to tell you that.”

I will die a thousand painful deaths before I let Blaise fucking Zabini into my knickers without a damn good fight. God, I wish I had more muscle power. Why did my mum have to give me her damn short genes? Why do I have to be so fucking femmy? Most of the time I like being exactly who I am and that sentiment only falters when I am pinned up against a wall by a giant guy who’s trying to do me while I’m trying to fight him. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Fuck.

“Get off of me, RIGHT NOW!”

Another fist to the face. That feels real good. Maybe a few more of those and I won’t be conscious so I don’t actually have to know what he’s doing to me. That’s probably the best plan of action I’ve come up with so far.

“You’re fucking pathetic, you know,” I tell him, setting my plan into action. Please just let this work. “Can’t even get fucked without forcing it.”

Yep, that worked all right. That one’s gonna leave a bruise.

“Oh, not at all, Finnegan. I’m just forcing you because I like to.”

Both of my hands are behind my back. Fuck. He’s holding me so tight it’s getting hard to breathe. Oh, god, please just make him stop. My robe is open near my waist. His hand is so cold against my stomach.

“Sick fuck.” Cool, now I can have matching bruises on both sides of my face. “Does it hurt to be so stupid, Blaise? I know I couldn’t live with myself if-“

How many blows am I going to have to take before I pass out? I don’t know how much longer I can really keep this up. Either he’s just going to have to do it or beat me to a literal pulp. Okay, what other plans could I possibly dream up?

“I don’t know how you live with yourself as it is, pretty boy. You should have been born a girl.”

No shit. I’ve been saying that since I was a kid. Leave it up to this motherfucker to make it sound like a bad thing. I spit in his face.

“Cheeky,” he says as he elbows me in the face. “Keep your filthy mouth shut if you ever want to use it to suck your boyfriend’s cock again. Wait, make that boyfriends, plural.”

“Ah, so nice to see at least you know basic components of communication. Here’s a quiz: what is the opposite of plural?”

This is almost starting to feel good. Well, maybe not good but I am starting to go numb and that can’t be a bad thing. Oh, who the hell do I think I’m kidding? This is misery, complete and utter misery. This is the worst experience I have ever been through in my entire life. This is worse than the time my mother found the neighbour boy fucking me on her bed when I was fourteen. This is way worse than getting the piss beat out of me at that Anti-Flag gig by those skinheads last year. This is way worse than watching Harry cry while I was on top of him.

“No wonder you’re such a slut. If I had a body like that, I’d make people pay for it. But that’s just me,” he whistles cheerfully.

“Whore.”

OH FUCK! My wrist.. that was my wrist. Was being the operative word. I think the bones are crushed because that was a hell of a noise and I can’t feel a damn thing in my left hand at all.

Well. This has really turned out to be a pisser of a day, you know that? I get detention first thing in the morning to be served promptly first thing in the evening with the worst fucking git I possibly could. Then I’m finally off for bed and what happens? I get fucking jumped, that’s what. And not in that really cool sense like Harry and Draco do it. I get my fucking face pounded in and my wrist broken. Wonderful fucking day this has been. Hope I have tons more just like it.

“Sodding degenerate.”

“Have you learned nothing, Finnegan? Keep your mouth shut.”

He really likes to accentuate his words with pain. Maybe I say this because this is what, the seventh (?) blow I’ve taken so far. I’m sure my face is thrashed beyond recognition at this point. My wrist is thrashed beyond all recognition. I wonder what he’ll break next. Maybe he’ll finally break my jaw and make me stop talking. …don’t really care. I just want it to be over.

Letting him have his way with me is not what I want to do but do I really want to get beaten to death? I imagine I’m going to be here for a while so it really couldn’t hurt to take a moment to consider my options. My face is already broken, my wrist is already broken, and my dignity is already broken, what the hell else do I have to lose? Besides, if I walk out of this I want to be able to say that I fought my hardest. Actually, at this point I think I would rather die trying. But that’s all particulars at the moment. His hand on my chest is making me fucking crazy. I want him to stop touching me like this right now. Looks like I’ve made a decision, then.

Thrashing around really isn’t doing me a whole lot of good. He’s just pressing harder against me and touching me more softly. Ouch. That was my foot. Or my ankle. It’s kind of hard to tell because so much of me is either numb or in pain.

“Blaise?” It’s Draco!

Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouwhoorwhateveryouarethatlovesme!

“Oh, hello, Draco,” Blaise replies coolly like this were an everyday occurrence.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just having a bit of fun with pansy-Finnegan. Care for a go?” Cheerful, wanking son of a-

“Thank you, no.”

“Uh, Draco? What are you doing?” Ah, his voice is a bit more strained now.

“Let him go right now, Blaise.”

“What?” Complete disbelief.

“Let. Him. Go.” Draco’s voice has a very icy finality to it. Pulling his body away from mine, Blaise lets me drop to the floor. Draco is standing about five feet away, wand poised and ready. “Get out of here this instant.”

The other Slytherin slowly backs up against the wall and slinks around the corner, eyes trained on Draco all the while. Draco’s face is pale and cold and hard like it usually is but there is something else passing from him. It’s like he’s feeling absolutely murderous and passing it along to other boy. Though Quidditch has given Draco a very strong body and more height than me, though that’s not saying much, Blaise could easily overtake him. Or just draw his own wand. But instead he just goes away.

Once Draco is sure that Blaise is gone, he runs over to me. “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

No. I’m not okay at all. My fucking head hurts, my robe is hanging open, my wrist is all fucked up, I can’t stand up, Blaise fucking Zabini just tried to fucking rape me, and I can’t stop fucking crying.

Draco’s arm is around my waist and he’s trying to get me to stand up. He’s draped my arm around his shoulder and is pulling me off of the floor. “Come on, love, lets go see Madame Pomfrey.” He’s half carrying and half dragging me to the stairs. “What happened back there?” His voice has taken on a harder edge. “What did he do to you?”

He did lots of things to me. “He… um…” I don’t want to tell him. “Draco, am I a slut? Do people talk about me like that?”

Stopping dead, he looks me directly in the face. “What would make you say such a thing? Did he tell you that?”

“He said I was a slut and everyone gets it from me and-“

“No one talks about you. They better not. If I ever hear anyone say anything of the sort in regards to you, that person is going to be spending a lot of time in the infirmary recovering from very nasty bodily wounds.”

“Draco, I love you,” I sob.

“Shh, love.” His arms are around me and he’s petting me as he whispers in my ear, “It’s all right. Everything is going to be just fine, all right. Trust me.”

With my life. I trust him with everything.

“Come on,” he says as he picks me up and starts walking toward the hospital wing. While I really love being held by this guy, I really hate feeling so fucking weak. I can’t believe I let that happen. Fuck, I begged for it. Had I opted just to keep my big mouth shut, I probably wouldn’t be being carried to the fucking infirmary at this very point in time.

“I’m sorry.” For everything. I’m sorry you had to find that I’m sorry you have to see this I’m sorry you have to do this I’m just so sorry…

He snorts before saying, “Believe me, you did nothing wrong.”

But I did. I did lots of things wrong. “But I…” didn’t mean to.

“Seamus,” he starts, voice straining to remain in control, “pay attention because I am only going to tell you this once: the only thing that kept me, and is still keeping me from torturing that bastard to a very slow and painful death is my overwhelming desire to make sure that you are taken care of. One more unnecessary apology or comment of the same nature and I swear I will put you down right here and now and go hunt him down. I am only telling you this because I want you to understand why I snap as soon as you’re okay. Okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

“Good answer.”

Okay, so this might not be a bad time to review the lesson of the past oh, I don’t know, fifteen.. twenty minutes. I have so totally learned my lesson about opening my mouth and talking shit to a guy that’s roughly twice my size and three times my strength. There isn’t enough of anything in this entire world to make me do that again. Sodding dumbass that I am, I deserve feeling like this. First, for opening my mouth; second, for making Draco break it up and then making him carry me to the infirmary; third, for sleeping around in my sixth year; fourth, for being a pansy; fifth, for making Draco carry me. Oh, I already said that. Better say it once more just for good measure. I deserve feeling this fucked up because I made Draco do this.

Kicking the door to the hospital wing brings Madame Pomfrey running. The door swings open and I hear her say, “What’s all this then?” She’s trying to get a better look at my face. “Goodness… Uh, follow me, Mr. Malfoy.”

She leads the way around the corner and into the first room where Draco lays me down on a bed. Well, he tries to lay me down, but only succeeds in sitting down himself with me still on his lap. I’m a bit embarrassed, to say the least, but my whole body is all locked up and like paralysed. I can’t move my arm from his shoulder so he can lay me down. Considering what I just did and all the rest, I don’t think I’ve got any real shame even left to bruise, so I guess there are worse things than embarrassing myself in front of Madame Pomfrey.

Pomfrey is running around, collecting various bottles and jars. I hope she doesn’t make me swallow one of her horrendous healing or sleeping concoctions. I hope she doesn’t use anything that’s going to sting. I hope she’s got a better method of fixing my broken parts than Skele-Grow. I hate that shit; it’s the worst. I had to re-grow a leg bone in second year when I fell off my broom and shattered it. Fell thirty-three feet, I did, right into a sodding tree. That really sucked, but not as bad as this.

“Now, is someone going to tell me what happened?” she asks, finally standing still directly in front of Draco.

“Actually, Madame Pomfrey-“ Draco starts.

“I fell down the stairs to the dungeon,” I interject. She doesn’t really need to know the true story. Really.

“You fell down the stairs?” she repeats, disbelief in her tone.

“Yeah, right into Blaise Zabini,” Draco mutters. Fucker is not going to give the game away. I will kill him.

“Zabini, ay?” She doesn’t sound even remotely surprised. “Now, Finnegan, do you want to tell me what really happened?”

“No.”

“Fine, then.” She turns my head and assesses the damage. “What else?”

“My wrist.”

“Right or left?”

“Left.”

“And?”

“My right leg, I think. Or my ankle. Or my foot. I’m not really sure.”

“Must’ve been a nasty fall,” she observes lightly.

“Oh, it was bad all right.” To put it lightly. That was fucking horrid. Really fucking awful.

“This is going to be pretty painful to fix, dear,” she says, turning my wrist as delicately as she can. “You’ll have to be here for a while. Draco, you can return to your dorm, please.”

“I would rather wait outside.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yeah, I don’t want homicide charges brought against me before morning.”

“Go ahead.”

Disentangling himself from me, Draco sets me down on the bed. Reading his face is a virtual impossibility as he has got the most blank of expressions. He’s just standing there, looking down at me. He’s probably thinking what a dolt he is for getting involved with such a fucking weakling. Not that I blame him. Hell, it hurts being so fucking weak. Really. I’ll probably have scars to demonstrate how weak I am. That will just make my fucking world, you know. I’ve always wanted to advertise what a pathetic git I am.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” I tell him, trying to make this appear normal. I hate using his last name only, but I don’t want to make things more difficult for him by making our… er… relationship common knowledge.

“Sure.”

He’s gone out the door. At least he’s waiting for me. That’s a good sign, at least. Much as I hate to admit it, I have the feeling that nothing is ever going to be the same between us ever again. Goodbye to carefree, juvenile relationship bullshit. I’m reasonably certain that if the whole school doesn’t know about this yet, they will before the night is over. Then Draco will have to face the music and deny that he ever had anything to do with me. What other option is there? Lucius won’t want to have a damn thing to do with him when all is said and done. So, I guess it’s goodbye to you, Draco. Damn it all.

“Well, your ankle is the part of your leg that’s broken. Your wrist is shattered. Aside from the bruises, there’s really nothing wrong with your face. We’ll get you fixed up in no time, dear, so just relax.”

Blaise fucked me up all good and proper. I hope he’s fucking happy. I hope he does get the fuck beat out of him by Draco. But that really wouldn’t solve anything, just get Draco in trouble. I guess there’s not much else to do now except wait and get fixed. *sigh* On the bright side, it’s fixable. Best not to think anymore, just try and get some sleep. Right.

Everyone’s got this notion that Slytherins are all evil and mean. And that is true, to a point. But I honestly believe that most people are inherently good, Slytherins included. Usually, I’ve got no problem fucking with a person, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a bad person. I’ve gotten over my urge to kill others; I got over that during the summer between fourth and fifth year when I saw my own father torture Muggles and wizards alike to death. To be more correct, I would have to say that I don’t really care one way or the other about most anyone, though there are a few exceptions to that rule: my mother, Harry, and Seamus.

Apathy, though we all like to think that we’re above such a thing, is an inherent part of humanity at large, not just those who came from Slytherin house. Take Peter Pettigrew, for example. He was a Gryffindor and wound up being the servant to give his flesh that brought Voldemort back from a half-existence. My father tried to initiate me as a Death Eater, but my mother would have none of it. She threatened to leave him if he did it and he would never allow that to happen. Lucius knows no remorse except when it comes to my mother. And look at Harry. If he’s not one of the most apathetic creatures ever to walk the face of the Earth, I don’t know who is. Not that I blame him. If I’d had his life I would be a whole lot more than just apathetic. I would probably be borderline suicidal all the time and on some kind of daily medication. But to label everyone to ever come out of Slytherin as apathetic, mean, and/or just plain evil is like labelling every Hufflepuff as dense, kind, and generally uninteresting. As we have seen from none other than Justin Finch-Fletchley, one cannot generalise a whole house for the famous members of it.

The door opens and Harry walks in. He’s looking a bit worried and I don’t blame him. I should have told him, but there was no way I was leaving Seamus alone.

“Draco? What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Sit down, Harry.” He sits in the chair beside me. “Might as well wait with me. Seamus is still asleep.”

“What happened to him?” he sounds almost panicked. Not that I blame him.

“Blaise Zabini beat the shit out of him.”

“WHAT?”

“Blaise got it in his head that ‘no’ means ‘yes’ and tried to take advantage of Seamus. Or so I would imagine, being as he called him a slut and almost had his robe all the way undone when I found them.” This is kind of hard to do. My voice is starting to crack. It’s impossible to think about it without wanting to go kill the motherfucker right here and now. “He’s all right for the most part, but he’s still pretty beat up.”

“Have you gone to Dumbledore yet?”

Dumbledore? That never occurred to me. I kind of figured that I would just mosey on into the common room, do a short, quick body-bind on Blaise, and then proceed to dig all of his major organs out of his body with a spoon. Saving his heart for last, of course. But then I would get expelled, and I really don’t want to do that, this being my last year, and all. He may have something here…

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about my original plan.”

“Which is?”

“Cutting him up with a very dull serving implement.”

“Kind of counter-productive, don’t you think? Fighting violence with violence.”

“No, not really.”

He stands and offers me his hand. “Come on.”

As I take it, I ask, “Where are we going?”

“Headmaster’s office.”

“Good plan. That one’s sure to not get me into trouble.”

“That’s what I figured,” he replies dryly.

Madame Pomfrey doesn’t even look at us as we leave the hospital wing. She was up all night, fixing Seamus. Lovely woman is probably exhausted. I know I am, and all I did was sit there. Out of all the health care professionals I’ve dealt with, Pomfrey is the best. She’s cool enough not to press matters that needn’t be pressed right away and she does a damn good job. She’s a bit cynical, though I find that to be one of her more charming qualities. Cynicism amuses me, especially coming from this lady (who has treated me more times than I care to admit) but if I’d seen all the things she’s seen, I would probably be a bit jaded as well.

About halfway to the gargoyle that serves as the door to Dumbledore’s office, we run into Snape. Harry immediately drops my hand, and thank goodness Snape doesn’t even notice.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to class?” he points out upon falling into step beside Harry.

“Under normal circumstances, yes we would. But I am afraid we need to see the headmaster before that is going to happen,” I inform him. I know he won’t question me so I don’t even give Harry a chance to speak. I’m afraid he might flip out and say something he shouldn’t, he’s so sodding tense.

“And what might these current circumstances be?”

“If you please, Sir, I would rather not say. A bit personal, and all.”

“Personal enough to share with Potter?” there is a slightly amused note in his voice. He’s not angry and I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even care; he’s just looking to get a rise out of Harry.

“Actually, it is at Potter’s request that we should see Professor Dumbledore,” says I. “He is attempting to keep me from getting myself into irrevocable trouble.”

“Is that so?” he asks, smiling his devious smile. “And what, pray tell, would you be in trouble for?”

“As I already said, Sir, I would rather not say.”

“Potter?”

“I’m with Malfoy. Sorry, Sir, but I don’t feel that it is my place to disclose the motives of others,” Harry replies rather cheerfully. I’ve never seen him react to Snape like this before. This could get interesting…

“And since when have you and Malfoy been on speaking terms?” he raises an eyebrow in question.

“Since…” Now he turns to me and asks, “How long have we been on speaking terms?”

There are so many potential answers to that question. There’s the honest reply or I could just make something up. Being spontaneous may not be such a good idea. “Quite a while, actually.” There. That was ambiguous enough, I think.

“I see,” Snape replies with that same amusement in his tone.

We’ve reached the gargoyle, finally. “Uh, Sir, would you..?” Harry asks, pointing to the stone sculpture.

Snape gives the password and the gargoyle jumps aside.

Giving Snape a smile, Harry says, “Thank you. You’ve been great help. Now, if you would excuse us.” Bowing a bit, he starts to ascend the stairs. Snape and I are a bit thrown, I think, because all either one of us can do at the moment is stare at him.

“That kid’s got some serious bollocks,” I mutter.

“Yes, I would say so,” replies Snape, just as quietly. “Perhaps you’re starting to rub off on him, Malfoy.”

“Mmm. Thank you, Sir.”

“Indeed.”

Running to catch up with Harry, I meet him about halfway up the stairs. “What was that all about?”

“What was what all about?” he asks innocently.

“All that. With Snape. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so sarcastic, especially to a teacher.”

“Yes, well. Snape is the last person I really wanted to see this morning. I just don’t feel like pretending to be polite at the moment. Surely you understand.”

“Yes, I do. But Christ, Harry, that was Snape. What the hell would possess you to do such a thing?”

“You’re making it out like I just set fire to a nursery full of babies. Fuck Snape, I don’t really care if I impress him or not. What’s the worst he could do?”

“Point taken.”

We’ve reached the door to the main of the office. Harry knocks a few times and the headmaster’s disembodied voice comes through the wood, “Come in.” So we do.

“Hello, boys. Please do come in,” Dumbledore tells us as we walk through the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“Expel Blaise Zabini,” Harry replies without hesitation.

“That’s a rather hefty request, Harry. Would you care to tell me why I should do such a thing?” The headmaster steeples his fingers as he looks very intently at us.

“Actually, I think Malfoy should explain.”

“Draco?”

Okay. How do I explain what I saw? “Well, it’s like this: I heard some yelling out in the hall in the dungeons last night and I found Blaise pinning Seamus Finnegan to the wall.” This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’ve got to take a deep breath just to keep myself in control.

“Continue.”

“So, uh, Finnegan’s pretty beat up, Sir.” Great conclusion. That was a very long tale, Malfoy, very descriptive.

“I take it that he is in the infirmary, then?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Well, Sir, I think he was trying to get into Finnegan’s knickers. His robe was almost off when I found them,” I add on. Trying to paint a complete picture of such a gross act isn’t all that easy when that act involves one’s lover.

“I see. That changes things a bit, then,” Dumbledore says. He’s now shuffling through parchments. “Harry, do you have anything to add?”

“No, Sir.”

He scribbles something on one of the parchments and hands it to Harry. “You may go now. Draco, I would like to discuss this with you a bit further, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” That is such a lie.

Harry stands and looks down at me. “See ya,” he whispers and heads toward the door.

“Draco, this is obviously a difficult thing for you to talk about, and I don’t blame you for not wanting to do it. But if you really want to help Seamus out, I need a bit more complete story.”

Of course. All right, deep breath. “I thought I heard something going on in the hall, so I went out and I saw Blaise pinning Se- Finnegan to the wall. I asked him what was going on and he asked if I wanted ‘a go’ with him and I said ‘no’ and made him go away and I brought Finnegan up to the infirmary.”

“Why didn’t you come to me right away?”

“Because… to be perfectly honest, the thought never crossed my mind. I was kind of planning on taking care of it myself. Well, maybe not take care of it, but I just couldn’t do a whole lot other than thinking up ways of hurting that- You understand.”

“Of course.”

“So Potter came in and dragged me up here.”

“You stayed in the infirmary, then?” he sounds a bit surprised, though he doesn’t really look it. As is his style.

“Yes. I thought it would be better than doing something stupid immediately.”

“That was a wise decision on your part.” He’s distracted and rummaging through his parchments again. “Perhaps you’d better get off to class now,” he says as he hands me a piece of parchment that will excuse me from being late to class.

“Um, Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I should go to class.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Yes, I don’t want to kill that- I don’t want to get myself into trouble.”

“Zabini will not be in class by the time you get there, so you needn’t worry.”

“Thank you, Sir.” Guess I’ll be off to class, then.

“Draco?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Seamus will be fine.”

All I can do is stare at him. He said that with such a tone that would lead me to believe that he knows exactly why I am so fucking upset about this. Clearly he doesn’t disapprove, and that is somewhat reassuring. “I’m counting on it.”

I feel very unlike myself. I’ve never felt so fiercely protective over another person. I’ve never really been in love before. And shut up; I can hear you saying, “Draco Malfoy? In love? How very out of character.” So I’m a bit out of sorts at the moment. I’ve often been described as cold and aloof and for the most part that is a very accurate description. But I’m still human and I am still capable of feeling affectionate toward another person. Let my put it to you this way: if my father is capable of loving my mother, I am capable of loving anyone.

Rape has got to be the worst crime a person could commit. It’s a crime against one’s body in the worst kind of way. Murder, at the end of it all, leaves a person in a better situation. At least then one doesn’t have to face the humiliation of what was done to them. When everything else in the world disintegrates, one still has one’s body. It’s the only thing for sure in this world, aside from death. Imagining having my body so severely violated is almost impossible. I couldn’t imagine being forced to perform an act that has so many connections with love in such a dirty way. I couldn’t imagine how one could get off by forcing another into submission like that. It’s not even charming; it is disgusting.

Now, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that sex in itself is a beautiful thing, though it certainly can be. It is one of the most natural instincts that humans still possess. We do not only mate to reproduce, we are one of only a handful of species that do it for pleasure as well. There is a very fine line between the violence of lovemaking and the violence of rape. I think it all boils down to morality.

Violence is another animal instinct that not even humans are above. But the thing that separates us from the animals is the ability to moralise our nature. Because we have moralised our nature for so many thousands of years, we have become sensitive to violence like no other sort of creature has. Hyenas will eat their young, but if a human mother were to do that, she would be labelled as evil and heartless, then promptly shipped off to a prison. Sometimes my own morality disgusts me until a thing such as this happens to jostle me into feeling remorse.

I don’t pity Seamus for what happened, I am beyond fucking hurt for him. Nothing and no one deserves to be violated like that, especially not Seamus. He’s so kind and honest and valiant that he could commit no sin great enough to cancel his positive points out. Karma may be a bitch, but she isn’t unjust. Karma isn’t the messenger of universal vengeance, but the messenger of universal justice. Perhaps this incident really didn’t have a damn thing to do with him, he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps this was an event to test not Seamus, but Blaise. And I can guarantee that he failed it. I believe that everything happens for a reason, and there has got to be a reason for this. I just can’t believe that Seamus would be hurt like that for no reason whatsoever. What that reasoning is, I don’t really care to know. All lessons will be learned in good time, whether they come right away or over time.

So, in going with this whole theory of lessons, what have I learned? I think I’ve learned some basic humanity. Loving someone other than myself. So there isn’t merely a beehive where my heart should be! Shock! Horror! Yeah, I know. But as I said before, just because I’m Slytherin doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. There are very legitimate reasons for not having known about such things as love and humanity. I am Lucius Malfoy’s son, after all. Right, back to the moral of the story…

Harry has definitely been a component in this lesson, without a doubt. I love Harry, he’s taught me a lot about perspective and that it is important to look at the other side of the story before making any assessments. Of course it’s strange that the son of a Death Eater should be enamoured of the Boy Who Lived, but I think we’re beyond those silly titles at this juncture. At this juncture we are simply Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, just two human beings on equal footing with one another without any prejudices or preconceptions. Ever since that first conversation we had in the hall that evening what seems like a short lifetime ago, we have treated each other with respect and some measure of wonder, I suppose. I’m not really sure what else to call it. It’s like we just met each other and the previous six years of loathing and rivalry had never even happened. At the time I wouldn’t have been able to identify it as such, but looking back on it and kind of from a distance, I see the changes I’ve gone through. Metamorphosis of spirit, in a sense. This Muggle philosopher Seamus is always quoting, what is his name?.. Nietzsche, I believe, said something like, “The snake that cannot shed its skin perishes, as will the spirit that is prevented from changing its opinions.” I can’t remember the words exactly, but you get the gist of it. I suppose that I have, in some way, shed my skin. One skin, anyway.

The other skin was shed as a result of Seamus himself. He was the last person I ever expected to fall in love with. I always used to see him as this irritatingly chipper thing that didn’t know what the fuck he was doing at any given time. Now I see that he is just operating differently than anyone else I have ever known. Like Harry told me once, it’s like he’s on another level than everyone else in the world where life is better and always amusing. And when he teased me about getting high off of him, he was exactly right on. Harry is like my complement, and Seamus is my addiction. Being with him is intoxicating, no matter what is going on around us. Whatever it is he possesses that sets him apart seems to seep from his pores and into the air surrounding him, and one can’t help but be taken in by it. He is such an oddly charming person that could win even me over, so how the fuck could something like this happen to him?

“Nice of you to join us Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall says in an extremely snotty tone upon my arrival.

“Sorry, I had to see Professor Dumbledore.”

She takes the note out of my hand and reads it, looking rather disappointed. “Very well. Please take your seat.”

No, I was actually planning on standing in the doorway for the whole of class today. Stupid bitch. Dumbledore was quite right; Blaise is nowhere to be seen. Lucky motherfucker, that kid. He better not run into me. If he does he is going to hobble away with some very serious injuries.

Lecture day, eh? Very well. It’s not as though I can really concentrate. I’m hungry and exhausted and worried about Seamus. I don’t like thinking that he is in the infirmary getting bones regrown and god only knows what else. He’s probably in agony. Don’t even think about it, Malfoy. He’ll be okay. Seamus is one of the strongest people I have ever come across; he’ll overcome this obstacle.

I wonder how Harry’s taking this. I don’t know exactly what has transpired between him and Seamus, so I don’t know how close they really are. I am willing to bet that they’re pretty close, judging by the way Harry panicked when he came into the infirmary. What would I have done if it were Harry in the infirmary instead of Seamus? Would I have reacted as severely? Or more severely? That is a very good question. It wouldn’t come as such a tragedy, being as Harry lives tragedy day in and day out. He’d bounce right back from it after adding it to the little stew pot in his brain. But how will Seamus come out of this? All he did last night was cry. I’m sure he was scared out of his mind. I know I would be. Oh, that’s right, I was.

When Voldemort fell, I was hoping that maybe we would start to revaluate ourselves as a species. I was hoping that we might try to look below the surface, try to find the source of all the malcontent in this world. But all we did was fight it, win it, and went on with life as though it had never happened at all. Well, not as though it hadn’t happened at all, just that it had happened a lifetime ago. It seems so distant sometimes. Sometimes it seems too surreal to have actually happened.

It’s at times like these that I start to really resent being the saviour of the wizarding world. Sometimes I think we should all just perish, leave the Earth free of such parasites as ourselves. We’re given chance upon chance to improve ourselves and what do we do? We throw those chances on the ground and stomp them into the dirt. How many world wars have Muggles involved themselves in? And how many more are there yet to come? How much longer will the wizarding world live in peace with itself before some other power-hungry monster decides to give us a run for our money? How long can we really continue hating each other for such silly, petty reasons? How much longer can humanity survive with the way we discriminate against each other?

Coming from the background I come from predisposes me to discrimination in a way. Because the Dursleys were so sodding awful, I could just make a generalisation about all Muggles being worthless gits. But that isn’t right. And as we all know, two wrongs don’t make a right. I may be gay, but I don’t have anything against straight people. Except when those people try to take away my rights. And I don’t mean special rights; I mean civil rights, human rights. Just because my body chemistry is different from that of the majority, that gives no one any right to take away my freedoms or anyone else’s. My spirituality isn’t based on a singular dogmatic structure; I’ve taken my beliefs from thousands of belief systems and even come up with a lot of it based on my own personal experiences. That is what religion and spirituality are all about: taking what you can where you can to make yourself a happier, better person. Or so I would like to believe. All these things could make me the sort of person who discriminates against the discriminatory, but that doesn’t justify anything.

Draco’s earlier conviction of extracting a painful revenge from Blaise kind of upset me. Fighting violence with violence solves nothing, it only adds fuel to the original fire. Ghandi had the right idea with his hunger strikes. Fighting violence with peace, you know. Or John Lennon and Yoko Ono with their bed-ins. Or the fire suicides of the Buddhist monks in protest of the war in Vietnam. That was a bit counterproductive, I think, being as they were just being violent toward themselves. But that is rather beside the point. My point is that there is always an alternative.

The Dalai Llama chooses to pity those who cannot see the error of their ways. In some respects, he has the right idea. I cannot, however, see the validity of pity. Fuck pity, fuck sympathy, fuck all that. None of those emotions solve a damned thing; all they do is help to perpetuate the bullshit. Emotions like empathy and basic common sense are the things we really need to focus on. I seem to recall a line from a Muggle motion picture, Natural Born Killers. This guy is a mass murderer and being interviewed on national television. He says, “A moment of clarity is worth a thousand prayers.” Applying that statement to my earlier plea for empathy, if we only chose to open our eyes, perhaps we might eventually be able to come up with some kind of solution. What might that solution be? It seems so simple and obvious that I find it nearly impossible to believe that it hasn’t happened yet. There is a very simple statement that I live by: live and let live. There is no shortage of people who regularly get under my skin, but I don’t just run off and beat the piss out of them or even just curse them. It doesn’t really matter anyway, and if I were to give in to the bullshit, I would be no better off than they are.

Perhaps the part I played in Voldemort’s demise has given me a perspective that most people never know. I’ve got a greater appreciation for life in general. All the people that died at the hands of greed and lust… I couldn’t possibly explain. Reading the paper every morning, the death toll increasing exponentially, never knowing who your friends are and who are your enemies. That’s what it was like every single day that Voldemort ran the world. And then it came down to face to face combat, us cursing the hell out of each other. I sat in the corner of what used to be a branch of Gringotts, watching Voldemort literally shrivel up and turn to dust and I still don’t know how or why. At that moment I felt as though I was no better than him. I felt as though I were just the same kind of murderer that he was. Now I know that there was no other option; Voldemort had to die or he would keep coming back to wreak havoc among the wizarding community. Not a single day goes by that I don’t wish it could have been different. Not a single day goes by that I don’t question myself at least a thousand times as to whether or not I did the right thing. And I don’t think I will ever see the day that I don’t. And I don’t want to live to see that day because if I do, I know I will have sunk as low as is humanly possible.

“Potter? Earth to Potter.”

“What?”

Ron is sitting across from me looking very amused. “You’ve been sitting in the same position without blinking for the last.. almost five minutes.”

Ah. Well, Seamus is still on my mind. It’s hard to think about anything else. “Sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“’S all right. I’ve about given up, myself. This geomancy is a bunch of shite. I don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to figure anything out when-“ blah, blah, blah. “Harry!”

“What?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He’s looking a bit disturbed.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I’m just worried.”

“He’ll be fine. You saw him at lunch, right?”

“Yeah. But still…”

“Look, we’ve only got *checks watch* another fifteen minutes. You can do anything for fifteen minutes.”

“Except geomancy.”

Trelawney thought it would be really great fun to do geomancy today. It is quite possibly the most convoluted method of divination ever invented, and that’s saying something. You place a question then make a bunch of random dots on parchment and try to interpret it. Fucking rubbish. Even scrying in a bowl of water is easier than this shit.

“Did you come up with anything?”

“Yeah, amisso sounds good,” Ron replies.

“Loss, removal, defeat. She’ll like that. What should I have?”

He flips through his notes and thinks for a moment before saying, “How about rubeus? Hey, Harry, it’s Rubeus. As in Hagrid!”

Brilliant, Ron. “Great. What’s it mean?”

“A highly negative figure. Means a bunch of shit like war and violence and destruction. Blood, fire, the works.”

“Sounds really great.”

As crazy as he makes me with his apocalyptic divination, I love Ron dearly. He’s the best friend anyone could ever ask for. After all that shit with Voldemort went down, Ron was better than anyone else. He knew just the right things to do to make it all seem okay. His success only falters when I fall into one of those depressive cycles. Or he just flat doesn’t even think about it (like now, for example) because he’s falling back into ordinary, everyday kid shit. Like he should. Like we all should, though I don’t think I could ever be a kid like he can. That ship sailed long, long ago when my parents were murdered and I was left with the Dursleys. But today he’s been putting up with my obsessive worrying with unparalleled patience.

Yep, Ron’s pretty fucking cool. The best. But you knew that, didn’t you?

I’m safe in my own bed with my best friends surrounding me and I’m just thanking whatever is out there that I got out of that with as few injuries as I did. My pride isn’t so hurt anymore. It wasn’t really my fault. I kind of asked for the beating, but I did nothing to instigate the encounter and that’s why it doesn’t hurt so badly.

Both Harry and Draco were waiting for me when they released me this evening. I thought Draco was going to cry and he stood there and hugged me for probably ten minutes at least before walking me back to the Fat Lady. I was really chuffed; I had no idea I was so loved. I was so afraid that he would just walk away from me and never look back, but he didn’t. Instead, he was totally open with what we’ve got. God, I fucking love him. And then Harry and I talked for a while about it. I told him what happened and he started going off about pacifism and stupidity and hatred. Poor Harry. He must have an awful time with life.

Perhaps I should be more concerned with what happened than I am. But one can only dwell on the negative for so long before one either becomes it or works it out. That’s the problem with people: they love tragedy, it gets ‘em hard. Drivers on the road always slow down to look at an accident. And how many times did they show the planes crashing into the World Trade Centre on the Muggle news? I know I saw it at least ten thousand times in the fifteen minutes I watched the program. It’s fucking horrid the way people live for catastrophe. That’s half the reason shit like that happens in the first place. Everyone dwells too much on what actually happened and not enough on how to make it not happen again. I have found that when people surround themselves with war, they create war within themselves.

Blaise is one of those people who finds pleasure in pain. Sadism and masochism aren’t necessarily negative points, but it’s all about degree. There’s a pagan saying, “An’ it harm none, do what ye will.” This means that if you don’t hurt anyone else, do whatever it is that makes you happy. Blaise hurt me pretty sodding bad. And I am sure he is suffering the consequences of his actions. That doesn’t make me happy, but it satisfies me because I know that he will have learned that what he did wasn’t right. I don’t wish harm on him for what he did. If I did, I would be no better off than he is. And I just couldn’t see myself trying to force someone into doing something they felt was wrong. It’s just not my style.

So instead of sitting here and feeling sorry for myself I choose to think about the positive points in my life. I’ve got Harry, who is a prince among men, he really is. I’ve got Draco, who doesn’t let bullshit distinctions come between us despite the fact that he grew up learning to hate those who were different from him. Draco has transcended boundaries that most Buddhist monks can’t accomplish. Without Draco, I don’t know where I would be, and not just because he pulled Blaise off of me. And Harry has warmed to me like I never thought he could. So fuck Blaise Zabini. He’s got shit. And he’ll always have nothing but shit because he looks for nothing else.

Like I said before, I fucking love my life.




See. I told you it was rambly. Sex next chapter, I promise. I’ve got to make this a bit lighter, or I’m going to go insane. So, uh, review! Cheers!