Green-Eyed Beast

Green-Eyed Beast

If someone is so powerful you can't beat him, make sure to be his most loyal partner. That's what my father told me, that's what he did.

That's what I did. But I did not only become his loyal partner, I became his servant. His slave.

He beat me.

I never assumed he could, but he did. He conquered me.

Me, a Malfoy.

You probably think that I feel ashamed or mortified, but I don't. It's just a matter of power. He's more powerful than me, so why bother?

I accepted it, I had to. Now I'm loyal and more and I see that some of his power comes back to me with it. Now I understand what Lucius meant. What he always did and still does. It's all about power. And I always wanted it. I wanted to have control over him, but not now, not today.

My skin is still burning like it was worked over with sandpaper. It is so raw I feel every of his movements by the scraping of the thin cover over my heated back. My hair clings to the back of my neck where his breath dampens my skin even more.

I feel my sweat slowly soothing the heat and with this cold comes the coolness, the arrogance, and sly nature which is so natural to me. It creeps back into my bones like a virus. Like a disease it spreads into my bloodstream and turns me back to my normal self. And it doesn't bother me.

Not at all.

I turn around to look at him. To really look at him. I'm careful not to wake him, wake the beast in him.

It's curious how he reminds me of a wolf. The shape of his face, his slightly almond-shaped eyes, the dark hair - although everything is dark in comparison to me.

And wolves we are. A pack where he's the leader and I'm the follower. Where he can bite me and I bow to offer my neck willingly.

I feel a smile on my lips, but I don't feel like laughing.

I guess my father would kill me if he finds out. Because that's not what he meant. He meant to be loyal as long as it is of his personal use and to change sides when it's necessary. But somehow I don't want to. Unlike my father, I think I got some of his light instead of power.

I wince inwardly. How cheesy this sounds. But it's true. I can't betray him, at least not now...

In moments like these I can't bring myself to harm him. In moments like these he's close to me in some twisted way.

And I experience it more frequently these days.

Don't get me wrong, I still hate him, hate him now in this instant, but I have to save him from harm, to serve him and do as he orders.

He orders a lot these days, and I obey.

I turn my back to him again and wince in pain. The scratches on my shoulders where his claws** broke my flawless skin are still burning as the rest of my body slowly cools down.

I scrutinise my arms. My skin isn't that flawless anymore. It may appear so if you don't look closely enough, but now it's scattered with tiny, nearly invisible scars and marks you can't detect, but I know they're there and that is what counts. They are what makes me his, his property and I like them. They're battle scars and I wear them proudly.

The battle never ended. And it never will until I die... or betray him.

I still see his angry face, how his anger made him shiver and how he tried not to jump me. But when I challenged him, by throwing a forgotten insult at somebody dear to him, he knocked me flying to the frozen ground going down with me. His knees were painfully digging into my leg and the side of my stomach, leaving bruises.

It was funny, I didn't even feel the pain when he beat me up. Everything was blurred by a reddish curtain, leaving me confused and the realisation that I had lost.

I was beaten by Him. It was not because he did it physically, no, it was because I, a Malfoy, was outmatched and therefore lost.

My father had experienced the same thing with He Who Must Not Be Named. Of course it was a real magical duel and not a fistfight, but the result was the same. Well, nearly...

He stopped eventually and I opened my eyes. My face felt numb and I couldn't turn my head, so I just looked at him. And he stared down with wide moss-green eyes. I don't know how long he knelt there rooted to the spot, but then he suddenly stumbled back. He looked at his bloodied knuckles.

I could see the mad tinge of shocked disbelief in his eyes. I tried to get up, but couldn't move my head. It crunched audibly and I felt strangely numb. He took a few steps back.

I didn't say a word, I didn't accuse him or anything, I just waited. Waited for him to tell me what to do, because I had lost.

I was glad my jaw wasn't dislocated from his blows, because I saw the need to break the silence. I wanted to say his name, but only a rattling croak incomprehensible in its meaning left my lips. His eyes widened even more and his now pale face contorted into a grimace - pained realisation of just how badly he had injured me.

"Draco," he whispered and I heard him fall to his knees behind me.

It was the first and only time he used my first name. Then there were gentle wet hands.

I knew the sticky fluid was my own blood, but their touch was soothing as they wandered down my skull to the base of my neck, carefully feeling the damage they had done. At some point his fingers fluttered away and I heard him take a sharp intake of a shuddering breath.

He had found the spongy spot where the vertebra was crushed. It's a wonder I'm still alive. Then suddenly there was a splash of moisture on my forehead that wasn't sticky blood.

His choked order is something I'll never forget, for it was his first.

"Lay still. Don't move!"

I snorted - as if I could. But it was his order. I had lost and so I obeyed. If it wasn't for my defeat I would probably have moved and taken my chance on being permanently paralysed just to show him I was not his pet.

I submitted to my Alpha. As my leader, he cared for me and licked my wounds.

Later, he did it literally...

After our fight he was so afraid I would die, and I asked him to get someone beside Madam Pomfrey to heal me, because I was not going to tell anybody what had happened. That I spared him from being expelled was just a side effect I couldn't avoid...

He got Ron to heal my injuries. How I loathed his touch, although it was surprisingly gentle, like feather caresses on my skin...

Even after Ron healed my bones, Harry seemed to be in some kind of shock.

And so was I.

After that I felt split.

There was me, who sneered, insulted and hurt, and found my pleasure in it, and there was me trying to obey him. Part of me hated myself for all that had happened, and the other part reminded me of my loyalty.

He stirs beside me and I turn again to face him.

His eyes pierce mine and he turns around and sits up without another word.

People think the curse just left a scar, but I know better. His whole body tells its story, he radiates it.

The death it carried, the life it left, the wish of a body to die that should have died many years ago.

He bows his head and passes a hand through his hair in a somehow desperate manner. But then he sits straight up and turns to me.

"You're still here? Shouldn't you be gone by now?"

That's the sign for me to leave as usual. These words don't sting like 'piss off', but they mean quite the same. And it's ok, because I don't need to cuddle, I don't need to be held. I feel quite comfortable with the pleasure I receive.

But he gets more and more violent every time he sees me. Everybody seems to turn that way. Even my father does.

But I... I get softer and softer inside with the dark foreboding of a brutal war on the horizon is drawing near.

I'm not weak, dammit!

I never was, but now...

Well, I never was anybody's servant either. This weakness is probably something that comes with it naturally.

I gaze at him a moment longer, no emotion showing in my eyes. What emotion should there be, anyway?

I gather my things, not bothering to put on anything else but my jeans and leave him alone in his room.

~*~

Back in my room - I've one for myself, I stare at the reflection in the tall mirror beside my bed. I turn slightly to have a closer look at the wounds on my back ripped by sharp nails. They are not serious this time, thank Salazar. And the old ones slowly heal and fade.

My fingers flutter over the back of my neck without me realising I have even lifted my hand. There's something that is never going to heal. Something that will always mark me as his and remind me of my defeat.

The spike of the sixth vertebra doesn't stand out like it did before. It was crushed so badly Ron couldn't regrow it again. Lucky me it was not fatal...

Lucky me...

I smile a bitter smile. This is even more effective to mark me than a steel collar around my neck, and he knows it.

I wonder if it's the same for him with Ron. If he does the same things to him he does to me.

I don't think so, because in general he's more gentle to him.

I'm the Omega in his pack and that he even touches me is an honour. Whether it's a gentle touch or one meant to hurt doesn't matter here.

Thinking of it, I realise I can't remember ever touching him, really touching him, except for the sake of keeping my balance, that is. He never allowed it, never told me to, never wanted me to. But I remember that for the blink of an eye my hand had wandered to the soft skin of his side in our last encounter this night.

Maybe that's why I feel so bad now, maybe that's why my innermost self recoils and I feel sick.

My hand drops from my neck.

There's no strength left in my body. In my soul. I wonder if I even have one.

I need to sleep, to rest, gather my strength for the day to come... and the following night.

~*~

I'm lying in a field sprinkled with blood. Corpses are there and a lightless day.

A black wolf slowly strides towards me, the high grass caressing his sides.

His green eyes stand out of his black fur like Avada Kedavra itself.

I know that I'm falling, I see the scenery rushing by and I know I die.

~*~

Here I am again, sitting on the edge of his bed. I look at my left hand and still can't believe it.

For a fleeting instant my fingers had brushed his side again instead of grabbing the sheets to steady myself.

I feel so sick I can physically feel it in my veins.

It's amazing I'm not dead already.

I die every time.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Every time he kills more of me and I feel so sick afterwards it rips me apart from the inside.

I remember the first time it turned out that way.

I hate him!

Remember his strong hands pushing me into the solid wall behind me. The smell of sweat and his hair mingled with the dust of the deserted classroom. His hot breath next to my ear, panting, and his teeth marking the hollow between my neck and shoulder.

I remember my own excitement, the chills running down my spine, and the convulsing feeling of foreboding deep down in my stomach and the sickening thought that in the end I had become his pet.

Since then something in me has faded, something I needed, something I depended on. And he took it away.

With every pleasure he gave he took something away and I feel myself dissolving, vanishing.

He doesn't have the right!

I whirl around and grab his shoulders. I use my whole weight to press him to the bed and keep him there.

His big jade eyes stare at me expressionlessly. They're hard and cold like the stone itself.

For a moment he just lies there with me on top, but then his handsome face is overshadowed by a dangerous scowl like dark clouds on a blue sky.

"Malfoy! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he hisses with dangerous calmness through perfect teeth. He is stronger than me and even now he could throw me off easily, but he allows me to explain myself.

But I have nothing to say.

All that comes to my mind makes me sick. Even thinking about it makes my stomach coil in disgust.

I can't think of anything to say, so I settle for something that's so natural to me I don't even have to think about it. It's just there.

"I hate you...," I whisper into his face.

"I know," he replies darkly. "So why are you still here?!" And with a well-aimed kick to my leg he throws me off and I land on the hard floor, painfully reminded by a bruise on my back that it's a wooden surface.

"Malfoy, why don't you just pack your things and piss off, if you hate me so much?!" He shouts, his hands balled to fists in fury.

I just look at him and I have to admit I'm scared.

He's not going to throw me out, is he?

No way, he can't just leave me. I belong to him now, I'm his because he's won.

He can't throw... no way...

"But I-"

"But what, Malfoy? What?!" He screams now and towers above me in his naked beauty.

"I just- I- I- I want-," I can only stutter. He's so intimidating and I'm so scared. Scared not of his strength, but of my own loneliness and the power he holds. The power he has over me.

"Just go, Draco." It is suddenly softly spoken, my name, resigned and tired.

Tired of me?

My name...

Funny, it's where we started and where we end...

I never belonged to them, even if he allowed it, even when Hermione was nice and Ron accepted it, gnashing his teeth. They're a trio, not a quartet and he just told me to leave the pack.

But where to go? I have no place to go back to. No place but the one my father reserved for me.

Slowly I stand up and look at him, my usual arrogant facade returning. I level him in height although he's of a stronger, more muscular built. As the moment stretches to eternity I remember my dream and now I can grasp its meaning. Even if he throws me out, he will still be my master, my Alpha, and I will not die but by his hand.

I look him in the eye, cool indifference masking my promise. I grab my things and go.

~*~

This night I see three wolves with a black one in the lead slowly trotting away from me in the distance, where a blood-red dusk kisses the now darkly glowing plains.

The war begins.