Like the Finest Gold

You had to believe him, believe that he would spare you. You knew that. You had no other choice. All you could do now was wait, standing in front of him in the center of his library. As easily as he could bring you to his lips, he could leave you for dead among dusty, brittle volumes of parchment. He had the strength and the motivation to do either. You knew that, too. You hated the power he exercised over you, the way he consumed your thoughts. He was the one aspect of your life you couldn't control. You came to him because he held your secret. But wasn't it something more?

Just inches from your face, he stared into your eyes, and you stopped breathing in anticipation. Strange how the prospect of sex made you feel the same way as the prospect of death. You could smell him, like spearmint and snow, and your skin began to tingle. Everything about this was wrong, evil, hot, illicit. But you couldn't stop. This had gone far beyond its simple beginnings, and admitting to anyone that this was something you wanted would be handing him victory. It would destroy your lives and your families if anyone ever knew.

He had bruised you with that signet ring, the heavy gold one bearing the Malfoy crest. The metal, you thought, was going to cut you to the bone as he crushed your fingers between his. It wouldn't be the first time he hurt you, nor would it be the first time he'd left you with marks you secretly admired, little purple prizes from your encounters. He liked to leave those wounds, remind you of everything you weren't supposed to be.

In your time away from him you liked to think of the beautiful rhythmic words that sounded like his name: lucid, lucent, luminescent. Did he think about you the same way, rhyming your name in his mind? Did it matter, as long as he did to you what he did with his mouth?

How had this started, and where was it going to end?

The Potions lab, in the fall of your seventh year. Lily dropped a glass in the kitchen the other day, and you had to cover your mouth to keep from screaming in remembrance. That sound will always haunt you, won't it? Years have passed, yet every time you hear it you're back at the beginning. Even now you can see it so clearly in your mind, and hate the way it squeezes your heart. You can feel the broken glass all over again, pricking your fingertips with its sharp edges as you cleaned the mess.

He came into the lab while you were working late into a Friday night, trying to get over that block you had on the Dreamless Sleep potion. Yours always came out too thick, or the color of carrots, or smelling like burnt marshmallows. Damn it! Why hadn't you asked Sirius to help you? Never mind. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. He would only have approached you some other time. You'd barely heard the footsteps behind you until it was too late. The vial of chamomile you'd been holding slipped from your grasp, breaking into shards in an explosion against the stone floor.

"My potion!"

"That'll be the least of your worries soon enough."

He caught your fist on its way to his face, deflecting it back to your side.

"Feisty one, aren't you, Potter?" Why was his hand still lingering on yours?

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

You would never forget that smile as you jerked your hand away from his. What was he doing, touching you like that? And why did you wish that he would keep his hand there just a second longer?

"I like the sound of that. 'What do you want, Malfoy?' You should get used to saying it."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Get used to asking me what I want. You're going to be asking for a long time." There was that smile again, the one that he did with only one side of his mouth. He stared you down, refusing to break eye contact. It made the muscles around your spine contract in fear.

"Because?" Where was he going with this?

"Because from now on, I own you. You are going to do what I want, where I want, and when I want."

"Why would I do that?"

"Shall we say that I know a little something about you that you wouldn't want me to go telling all over?" He was close, much closer than you would have liked. You moved away from him but found the edge of the table pressing into your back. His smile grew wider as he stepped forward, knowing you had nowhere left to go.

"I'm hardly that interesting a person."

"On the contrary, I think Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew would say that you are a very interesting person, my...dear."

Your life came to a halt. The air stopped moving and you were left choking on your words.

"No. No! How...how did you..."

"Just a matter of being in the right place at the right time."

"When? Where? Prove it!"

"Last month. Moonlight is a lot brighter than you think, Potter," he said with a wicked smile. "As for proof, are you really that dense, to think you'd never be caught? Your arrogance is really staggering sometimes. You think I'm going to rat you out, but I won't unless you doggedly keep denying that--"

"Nobody would ever believe you for a second. Three underage wizards becoming Animagi? You might as well tell them that Peeves is going to start teaching Charms! Do you have pictures or something?" He didn't need pictures. You had his words. He couldn't have chosen those words by coincidence.

"Maybe I do."

Why had you smiled, you idiot? Why was that one of the traits you hated in yourself the most, the way you laughed at grave situations? He had you. If he spoke, it could mean your expulsion from Hogwarts, not to mention what would happen to Padfoot, Wormtail, and Moony. Biting the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing in disbelief, you looked into his eyes.

"You can't tell!"

"I can. Don't give me reason to do so. Give me what I want, never breathe a word of it to anybody, and we'll be fine."

"What's it going to cost me? A year of my Transfiguration homework? My dropping the Quaffle for the rest of the season?"

"Just your pride, Potter."

"My..."

With a hand under your chin, he tilted your head back, the first of countless times he would command your movements. He stroked your lips, and you were thrilled at the same time you wished the floor would open and swallow you whole. The scent on his hands reached you. Something unusual and sweet and heavenly.

"Rosewood."

He blinked, looking unsure as to what you meant.

"Your wand. It must be rosewood." It smelled amazing, like summer, the fragrance curling around the base of your skull.

"Sharp senses."

Were you supposed to say "thanks?"

He was so close his breath condensed on your lips. Why did you feel like you would melt from the suspense, your blood a river of molten lead? You were here only because you had to be, weren't you? Your submission was the only thing that would save Sirius and Peter from having their wands snapped, the only thing that would keep Lucius from spreading the news of what you did for Remus. You hated Lucius's condescending tone, yet there was something alluring about the way he held you, delicious and dangerous. You felt clouded by his nearness, cut off from the rest of the world.

There was another aspect to your love of breaking the rules, wasn't there? The same golden chain that bound you to your closest friends was now going to be the chain by which Lucius dangled your lives. You couldn't do what you thought he wanted you to do. It's not that Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot weren't worth it, but there had to be something more. It was your curiosity and independence, your need to do anything you were told not to do, and his knowing how much you valued your friends and your freedom.

You understood.

"My pride."

"Very good, Potter."

He left you starving for his mouth, your chest tight from holding your breath so long. This wasn't going to be easy. You were going to spend the year, possibly longer, lying to your friends and to Lily, all for someone you hated.

No, no, it was more than that. You were lying to protect your friends. Their safety was worth anything Lucius could take from you. But the way he made you feel...he stirred something inside you that made you want to scream. Something you couldn't live without. You loved Lily. You wanted to spend the rest of your life with her, but she had never made you feel like you were walking along a razor. She was gentle and brilliant and made you laugh, but Lucius...he was something new and intriguing.

Everything you'd ever been taught told you that you should want anybody in your life except him. What was that feeling you got when he touched you? You weren't sure whether you wanted to kiss him or break his nose. Either way, you were supposed to ignore people like Lucius. They were not supposed to be worth your time. You were supposed to go to school, meet a nice girl, get a good job, get married, and live life as everyone expected you to. There were rules to follow, rules meant to keep you in place and guide you to this perfection.

Rules were boring. Rules were made to be broken.

It started with a note slipped into your bag. All it dictated was a place and time, initialed in his elegant calligraphy. You thought about not showing up, but you were never good at passive resistance. That first night, you thought you'd never make it to one in the morning. If the desire didn't kill you, Sirius would. You barely ate anything at dinner and took yourself to the library to study in solitude. You couldn't risk slipping to the other three. Peter perceived you a little too well sometimes, and the last things you needed were his questions.

Lucius was already seated at Professor Flitwick's desk the first time he summoned you. Candles burned in every corner, and the fire...or was it your anticipation...made the room almost unbearably warm. He laughed at the load of books you were carrying. You were still trying to convince yourself that all he wanted from you were your academic abilities.

"Don't know why you brought all those books, Potter. I'm not interested in copying your homework. Put them aside and stand in the center of the room."

You did as he said, but silently. He was not going to get the satisfaction of your struggle. Then again, did you even want to struggle in the first place? He couldn't know that. Act like you didn't have the slightest bit of curiosity.

"Strip."

"What?" Forget not giving him the pleasure of your resistance; this was not what you had in mind.

"Take off your robes."

"No!"

"Do it!"

"Why?"

"So I can be sure you're not going to hex me. You know that would be your fastest way out of this school. And with you gone, what's to stop me from going after Pettigrew?"

No, please. Not Peter, the one whose talents did not lie in being able to defend himself. Not here, in your position. Hysteria was welling up inside you, giggles threatening to break free. Could there be a worse time to laugh? Steady yourself.

"You wouldn't!"

"Well, that depends on you. You know the terms of our deal."

"How do I know you're not going to go back on what you say?"

"I give you my word."

"That's supposed to be my consolation? The word of a Slytherin? Yeah, that makes me feel better."

"Potter, you frustrate me."

"You're most welcome."

He wasn't smiling as he turned his wand on you. "Enough of your lip."

Your hands weak and shaking, you undressed button by button, not daring to look at him. Shoes, socks, and robes were folded over a nearby desk.

"Are you satisfied?"

"Almost."

"No! I am not fulfilling whatever sick fantasy you have!" Your underwear was staying right where it was.

"Seems to me that I'm not the only one with a so-called sick fantasy. Seems to me you're enjoying this a little more than you should," he grinned, gesturing with his wand.

Stay calm, you told yourself. The heat rose in your cheeks, and you started mixing potions in your head to forget about the same heat rising elsewhere. Seven porcupine quills, one ounce of powdered unicorn horn...

"Finish what you started, Potter, or the whole school is going to know about Lupin's mysterious illnesses and why you and Black and Pettigrew always sleep through Divination two days a month."

"Everyone sleeps through Divination two days a month! Come on, you can't really expect that I've got my wand hidden on me! It's in the pocket of my robes. I'll show you," but as you moved toward the desk he shouted, enraged:

"Strip!"

So there you stood, naked, and shivering despite the warmth.

"It's not cold in here. Uncross your arms."

"What, the fact that I'm standing in front of you with my clothes five feet away isn't good enough?"

Finally, he stood, laying his wand on top of the desk.

"Not going to practice your curses on me, Malfoy?"

"I curse you enough as is." He moved so he was standing to face you, robes falling around his perfectly drawn posture. "James Potter. Star student. Quidditch hero. Adored by most of Hogwarts. Mine. My...plaything."

You wanted to spit on him, but your mouth went dry.

"Top of his classes and bottom of the common sense pile. Thinks he's invincible."

Breathe. Ignore his fingertips brushing your forehead as he pushed your hair out of your face.

"Thinks he's got everyone fooled."

Breathe. Stay steady as he took your wrists and forced them together.

"Thinks he can ignore the way this makes him feel."

Breathe. Resist raising your head to meet his.

"Thinks he can live in denial of me."

Breathe. Slow your racing heart, which he could probably feel as he aligned his chest with yours. His robes brushed your legs.

"What's wrong? Don't like the fact that I'm right? Don't like that I can see those wheels turning in your head?"

"Malfoy..." barely a whisper.

"Say it, Potter."

You wanted to say it, shout it, fall on your knees pleading. It was spinning through your head at a million miles an hour. Kiss me. Now.

Your voice refused his command.

"So much for bravery," he said, laughing in that sarcastic way he had perfected.

"This has nothing to do with bravery."

"Then why can't you speak?"

Because I'm scared. Because I'd sell my soul to have your lips on mine. Because I hate you for making me feel this way. Because I hate the way you know what I want before I even open my mouth. Because I can't let you know any of that. Because every time I see you in the halls I think of the glass broken at my feet and how some part of me that isn't even supposed to exist is slowly awakening. All the words coursed through you at once, fighting for prominence, each one stronger than the first. The muscles in your arms tightened, but he restrained you, aware of your need for flight.

"This is about more than just blackmail, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Only you have the answer to that."

"Bastard."

"You love it."

"Tease."

"A tease? Maybe, or maybe..."

His kiss, warm and soft and resonant of salt. The heavy fabric of his robes coarse against your skin. His hips against yours. The tip of his tongue against your teeth, drawing you into him.

"...not." He whispered into your mouth. You breathed his words, letting them sustain you.

"Why?" Why are you doing this to me? Why can't I resist? Why you?

"You don't get to ask the questions here." He transferred both of your wrists to one hand and traced patterns on your chest with the tip of one finger, circling your nipples and following the line of your collarbone. The last rational part of you held your head back from leaning in for another kiss. Somehow you got the feeling that he was never going to allow that, to allow you the chance to initiate. "You just do as I say."

You would do anything. Anything? You were ruining your life for one kiss, and worst of all you wanted more. What kind of a masochist were you?

"Just...please don't do this to my friends." I can't share you. I can't exist knowing that you could make anyone else feel like this, especially my closest friends.

"Don't worry. They only interest me half as much as you do."

"Oh that's reassuring. So when I bore you, you'll just start doing this same thing to Sirius, and to Peter. You'll carve little red and gold notches in your headboard." But at least I'll be the first...

"Shut up. Don't you think that if I wanted one of them, they'd be here instead of you? You're their anchor. Don't you see? I already have all of them, because you're here."

"If you ever so much as think about touching any of them, Malfoy, what's left of you after I'm done will fit between two slices of bread."

He threw his head back and laughed. "For all your brains, Potter, you can be incredibly stupid sometimes."

He released your wrists and placed his hands on your hips, dropping to one knee and looking up into your eyes. A stroke of his tongue under the tip of your cock and you had to hold your breath to keep from crying out in a mix of surprise, pleasure, and abject terror. Your hands found his head, his hair like thick blond satin tangling in your fingers. Stop. More. I can't. There. Please. I shouldn't. I want to.

"Malfoy..."

You wanted to hit him as he looked up at you, smiling salaciously. "I'm sorry. Did you want me to stop?"

"Yes. No."

He stood. "Watch for my notes." Retrieving his wand, he left for Slytherin as you stood frozen in your place, erect and aching for him.

He had branded you. Burned his mark into you with his heat. His kisses left scars deep under your skin. They might someday heal, but they would never fade. He was changing you from the inside out. Forget peeling away those proverbial layers; he had reached into you, torn your heart out of your chest, and was brandishing it over his head like it was the House Cup. After heading back to Gryffindor, robes a strangely heavy weight on your shoulders, you crawled into bed unsettled and had to start reciting charms to yourself to fall asleep.