Simply Complicated

Simply Complicated

Draco slinks down the hallway, his tight-fitting robes making only the barest of swishing noises. He glances at me, plastering me against the wall with his gaze. For a second his eyes linger, darkening from a silver mist to a cloudy grey. I can no longer breathe, or even think, and I wish that this moment would never end.

But like all things, it does. His self-satisfied smirk never falters and he continues his leisurely pace. But that's normal by now and I don't expect much more.

"Tonight. Prison Block," he drawls dismissively as he passes me by. Too soon, I am left alone in the dark corridor, shuddering from the onslaught of memories the nickname 'Prison Block' dredges up.

It is an infamous room, one of Filch's favourites.

The one with the torture equipment in it.

+

My plan to creep into Potions quietly is ruined by Pansy, who sticks her leg out to trip me and succeeds. Snape smirks, even nastier than usual and goes through his daily routine of insults. First me, my dad, me, then Sirius and my dad, and finally, me again. My cheeks flush, more from anger than embarrassment and thankfully it ends soon with a final reduction of points.

"You look like you ran from Hogsmeade!" Ron whispers, as I slip into the seat next to him. I shrug it off casually, responding with, "Turned out to be under my bed..." I nod at my potion scales and Hermione rolls her eyes. "You'll have to learn how to be more organized!"

Our conversation ends there, and the silence weighing heavily in all our minds. There's been a slight tension hanging over us for a while now. And the source of that tension was a row behind me, several seats to the left and cracking jokes about Mudbloods right at the moment.

One word sums it up. Malfoy.

I stare at my parchment, frowning. I can't concentrate. When I try, all I think about is my arch enemy turned sex god. He's so close, in the same room, yet I must be distant, I can't even look at him strangely or else the rumours will fly. Ron whispers something at me again, but I pretend I don't notice. Would he understand?

Definitely not.

What kind of kind of friend am I, to go behind his back and sleep with the enemy? The Malfoy family has been the bane of his and his family's existence for who knows how long. And Hermione too, she's been enduring his Mudblood cracks and devious scheming since day one.

Me liking the blonde is just unfair to everyone. But I can't stop it...

What would Mrs. Weasley do? Would she be mad? Disgusted?

I'd never be able to see the Burrow again, and honestly, who could blame her? She's never treated me wrong, and has always treated me like her own son. She's the only living mother figure I have, and is this how I repay her?

It would be different if Draco were different from his father... But he is every bit, if not more, the cold, unscrupulous and conniving bastard, the older man is.

Lucius had driven both Mr. Weasley and Percy from the Ministry, leaving them to sink even more into debt and poverty. Their peers from in the Ministry were blackmailed, bribed and even threatened until they fired both Weasleys from their branches. The way Draco talks, it seems like he'll be following in his father's footsteps.

And what does that make me?

My stomach clenches up as I see Ron sending worried glances my way. I turn to him, hiding my guilt with a weak smile. He asks me what's wrong, and I mouth back 'Hagrid's treacle tarts'. This earns a quiet snicker and he turns back to look at the board, shoulders sagging in relief.

I sigh. Where did I ever learn to lie like this?

The lesson drags on and on, without me hearing a word of it. It doesn't matter to me; I wouldn't care if I failed the whole year, if it meant that I could be with Draco. My body mourns his absence and I want to jump him right here and now. The only thing that keeps me from doing just that is the promise of another late night session.

Finally the bell rings, and everyone collectively jumps to their feet. I am eager to leave the room, Draco's presence proves to be too much for me to handle. My eyes are blinded by him, my hearing deafened and my senses brought into a state of hyperawareness. I feel sick, I feel elated.

It's a turmoil that will not fade, until his lips press against mine, and my hands disappear into his robes. I rush out of the room, Hermione and Ron by my side. As we pass an open window, a fresh autumn breeze wafts in, clearing my mind.

At my bidding, we head towards the library. I am intent on getting the day's homework done, and so we do just that. Ron and I start separate assignments, so we can copy each other later on, and we both sneak looks at Herm's.

+

Without much interruption, or even conversation, we finish before dinner. Ron leans back in his chair, complimenting my speed. I give him a distracted smile, and tell him I made all of the answers up. Hermione changes the subject, abruptly.

"You look tired, Harry," she says, studying me closely. I turn to her, a lie formulating itself in my mind. By the time I'm looking at her, I have a faultless excuse on the tip of my tongue. I bit it though, and just shrug.

"I haven't been sleeping much, I've been up studying hexes." Her face brightens, and she looks as if she has just been handed the last piece to a puzzle. She instantly offers to help, and names random books we should go over.

I refuse the offer and Ron backs me up. He's not too keen on doing extra work, on top of all the other classes. Hermione finally accepts the answer, looking as if we told her Christmas isn't coming. Another surge of guilt rips through my insides, but I ignore it.

"Look guys, I think I'll go get some rest." They both look up from their impending argument. Herm tells me that I'll get sick if I don't eat, but Ron getting defensive, tells her that it wouldn't be good for me to fall asleep in my dinner anyways. The argument starts again, and I slip out while they're distracted.

While alone, the guilt is overwhelming. I feel dirty, like I am tainted and everyone can see it. What makes it worse, is that they don't know; they have too much faith in me. They are oblivious to the red marks lining my neck and the bruises decorating my arms. They don't see them, because they can't believe it, they're blind to it.

They do not know I am his, they don't know that he has marked me as such.

They do not know of the corruption in their midst.

I sigh wretchedly, hoping that Midnight will come soon.

I need to get some sleep.

+

Draco lies on canopied bed, tangled in a silken blanket. The room smells strongly of sex, and the contented smile etched onto his flushed face tells me he's been enjoying himself.

A woman's voice comes from somewhere behind me, but I cannot make out her words. She walks towards the bed, and into my line of vision. She looks to be in her late twenties, and is scantily clad in lingerie. She sways her hips languidly, letting the teenaged boy admire the view.

The sinewy muscles under his flushed skin stir and he sits up, letting the blanket drop to reveal his glorious nudity. He crawls toward the edge of the bed, and kisses her bare stomach. I'm jealous and curious all at once. But I find that I can't move nor turn away, so I am forced to watch.

Draco pulls away, looking towards the door. His glance passes through me, and the complete hunger in his eyes, shock me to the core. He looks ready to devour.

"The Professor?" he asks, his voice sleek, sounding provocative and questioning at once. And for the first time, I see the woman's face clearly. She has long ebony black hair, descending in a waterfall over her back. Her skin is pale, but not anywhere near the colour of Draco's. She looks like she might be foreign, with her high cheekbones and long nose. She looks familiar.

Abruptly, Snape steps out from the shadows, he has been here the whole time, if not longer. As he steps next to the woman, the resemblance strikes me. They are brother and sister.

I realize the blasphemy I am about to see.

The three of them talk for a moment, seemingly negotiating. It ends when Draco drapes himself beseechingly before the older man. Snape smiles genuinely, and somehow this looks more condemning than when he's sinister.

Both the siblings drop their clothes simultaneously. And Draco's smile widens in a purely hedonistic manner.

I sit up in my bed suddenly.

Sweaty and hard.

+

I enter the darkened room, hearing the door shut and lock behind me.

Should I give this desecration a merciful end?

Draco stands there, pale white skin hidden in the shadows as he studies me. He stalks forward, his lithe form melting and converging with the shadows. The school robes are all already off, his dress shirt open wide.

My doubts flee, a desperate sense of arousal claiming its place.

Abruptly, I pounce onto him, my hands roaming over the open canvas of his skin. And he reciprocates, ripping off my shirt. His fingers feel like pure heaven on my feverish body, and the rushed exploration lasts an eternity.

The blonde grabs my hair roughly, pulling me into a fiery hot kiss.

His taste is exquisite, something like spice and winter. It burns a trail straight into my pants, making my knees weak. Returning his favour, I push him up against the stonewall; our bodies fit against each other perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle.

His muscles are taut against my body, and I moan into the kiss. His tosses my glasses away, and I hear them crack and splinter on the floor, but I'm too far-gone to care. He guides me away from the wall, inching along in the dark.

His lips break away from mine, and travel lower until they reach the sensitive spot in the hollow of my neck. When his lips pull away, I whimper and move to pull his head back to mine again. But I find that I can't move my arms at all.

I gasp and look up. In the darkness, I can barely see the outline of iron manacles wrapped around my wrists. I protest loudly, but I cannot hide the fact, that he's really turning me on. He already knows; if the hardness against his thigh is any sign, but I doubt my enjoyment is of any concern to him.

The devious bastard had this planned out all along.

I nip his shoulders, none too gently, and I taste the warm metallic liquid that flows from the broken skin. He gasps, his eyes pinning me with a lustful gaze. No pleasure, no affection, just a desire to conquer.

His lips close around my nipple and I shudder convulsively.

I struggle against the bounds, cursing him under my breath. He laughs, not warmly, but instead a cold haughty one. He watches me, the lust searing through my body to my groin, and making me thankful that I do not have to stand up on my on.

His tongue flicks out, teasing it, making my cursing turn into a gasp.

A wanton moan escapes my lips, and as he hears it he pulls away. I whimper, and struggle against the unforgiving iron again.

His already bruised lips jut out, looking oh-so-kissable. And that's exactly what we do. Our mouths meet in the darkness, our tongues finding each other and melding together. His dexterous hands find his way to my pants.

He makes quick work of the fly as he makes a trail of bleeding nips and bruising sucking. The suffocating pants soon fall to the floor. Draco pauses, eyes returning to stare into my half-lidded ones.

"Beg for me..." he says, his voice hoarse and low.

And I realize, that I'd do anything he wants. I would give the whole world to him if he asked.

And it scares me.

+

Dear Journal,

I imagine the devil would be anything but ugly. I envision him as the absolute embodiment of temptation. His skin would scorch those he touches with a cold flame. And the unlucky person will melt and become frozen, lost in the pleasurable oblivion of those fathomless grey eyes.

I imagine the devil looks something like Draco Malfoy.

To touch him is to die, and to not, is to have never lived.

End