Him

Him

He used to be their hero.

Now He is their crook.

It's almost a shame HHe doesn't care. Almost

People always said He was a traitor.

People never wanted to believe the truth.

He was a coward. He was a liar. He was nothing. Or so they said after He left.

He meant nothing to most but He meant, and means, everything to me.

Granger and the Weasel pretended He was important to them while He was still naïve enough to be on their side.

Unfortunately, the only thing they were really worried about by that point was getting rid of Him for long enough to have a shag.

That became easier once He realised how much He really didn't care anymore.

He didn't give a fuck. Why the hell should He?

He was a tool. He was a symbol for something that couldn't be achieved.

All the planning. All the double agents.

It's always awful when double agents are clever enough to betray the side of the Light and the Dark.

I was sharp enough. As were Severus, Remus, Lucius and Sirius.

I became a Death Eater, why wouldn't I? But then...

I told the Order I would spy for them if they ensured I would go free once Voldemort's inevitable downfall occurred. But then...

I told Voldemort I would spy for him. And I did. That's where my supposed loyalties were. My real loyalties however were with Him and myself.

Him, who I would do anything for. I'd kill Him if He asked me to.

No matter how much it hurt me; I'd do it because He asked me. Luckily He never has; hopefully He never will.

As I was saying, while I pretended to spy for Dumbledore, I spied, in a manner of speaking, for Voldemort.

However, there were certain pieces of information that I kept to myself and those loyal to the cause.

That is: the real cause; the cause I was heading, leading, running.

Voldemort's inevitable downfall did indeed occur as planned.

If you're going by our plans, that is, and not those of the fucking Order.

We killed him and had a right royal laugh doing it.

The royal laugh meant we became royalty. First of Britain, then Europe. Country by country, continent by continent, we followed through.

We did with our cause what Stalin pitifully tried and failed to do with Communism.

Our cause was much more user-friendly than Communism, though, and that's probably why we succeeded.

Simple rule: Do what we tell you and we don't do anything to you.

We don't care if you're muggle, half-blood, mudblood, pureblood or a fucking troll as long as you accept and acknowledge us as your leaders.

People go on with their normal everyday lives.

Nothing happens unless they cause it.

Really, we're not that bad.

We just want power. Is that actually so awful?

People don't admit it but they want to have control over people. Like we have.

We merely put our views out there before anybody else got the chance.

We make speeches.

We rally the troops.

We give people hope that there will never again be another war.

They love us for it.

As they should.

There are no Draconian, excuse the inadvertent pun, laws here.

We seldom kill people.

Although the death sentence does exist under our rule, it's almost never used.

If it is, it's never without fair trial.

There is no Dark, no Light; not anymore.

There's just people. Or, to be more politically correct: just creatures.

There was no need for the destruction that took place when Voldemort fought the Order.

We all know this now.

Everybody wants power.

Dumbledore always said it was irrelevant. He was wrong. Like he didn't relish the power and superiority he had anyway.

Fucking hypocrite.

Dumbledore told us that knowledge was a greater tool than raw power.

Obviously he's never had a good, hard shag.

Oh but I have...

He is extremely knowledgeable but when He fucks me, He doesn't use knowledge, He uses raw power.

He is overtaken by lust; a driving force behind the animalistic tendencies He sometimes gets when He buries himself in me.

As soon as He knows what's about to happen, what we both want and need to happen, I'm sure all knowledge disappears from His mind.

Apart, of course, from the knowledge of how to pleasure me.

Make me beg.

Make me come.

Make me scream.

Make me scream His name.

He threatens to stop.

He threatens to leave me unfulfilled and alone for the night unless I beg Him; tell Him over and over that I need Him, want Him and nobody else.

Nobody else. Not ever .

He uses His power over me to get this and He loves doing it.

He loves being able to make me beg for it; beg to be fucked, beg to be dominated.

He loves having power over me.

I may seldom admit it but I love that He has power over me as well. You'd be surprised how good it feels to just give in to somebody.

It works both ways, mind.

I'm no pussy.

I fuck Him.

I make Him scream; scream my name.

I make Him plead, writhe, come oh so hard.

I threaten Him until He begs me.

He loves giving in to me just as much as I do to Him.

He feels the same as I do.

Even if He didn't tell me, which He often does, I can feel it.

In my gut.

In my head.

I would say in my heart but that's too trite. I won't say it but I do feel it.

I can see it.

In His eyes.

In His face when He's wantonly pressing up against me.

When He's urging me to immerse myself inside His body; take refuge from the world by shagging Him senseless.

It's not always rough.

Half the time, it's slow, languid, lazy, tender, loving.

You weren't expecting that, were you?

You weren't expecting me to say I'm truly, madly, deeply in love with the silly prat.

You weren't expecting me to say that one of the best parts of Him making love to me so achingly slowly is the way He holds me afterwards.

He gathers me up in His strong arms because I always, inexplicably, end up shaking, even crying sometimes, when He makes love to me like that.

Inexplicably.

Me, Draco Malfoy, reduced to a quivering mass of... of I don't know what. Nobody else has ever made me shake. Just Him.

Don't go thinking I've gone sentimental now.

I am merely stating the facts... Which, now that I think about it, actually makes this divulgence even more pathetic.

Oh well. It's not like you can tell anyone, is it? I could have you imprisoned for treason.

Anyway, yes, that's one of the best bits. He holds me, whispers simple yet beautiful adages in my ear.

Then He kisses my neck... feather-light, ghostlike... Then He caresses my jaw with the tip of His nose.

Always the same little actions, in the same order and nevertheless, they never become boring, never become old or mundane.

They always manage to feel new and absolutely perfect.

I stop trembling under His caring ministrations and then one of the other best things about the languorous lovemaking comes into play.

Those somnolent minutes where we're both too tired, too sated to put any effort into kissing but do it anyway.

Idle kisses and soft, drowsy exclamations and whispers of love before slumber fully takes hold...

My my, I have digressed, haven't I?

Then again, you asked about Him and I told you.

Rambling is one of the things I've picked up after being with Him for so long.

It's one of the little habits I thought endearing in Him and then started doing myself.

I don't know why I told you so much when you asked about Him actually. All you really need to know is this:

He'll always be my lover.

He was my boyfriend.

He is my fiancé.

In about an hour, He will become my husband; He will become a Malfoy.

You should also take note that anyone who hurts Him has me to deal with.

There's no way you'll come out on top after you've gone against me so I'd think it intelligent if you just stayed away.

Why will I always win, you ask? Because I have power and you don't.

Everyone wants power whether they admit it or not.

He admitted it along with a few others and myself; He knew He wanted the power and when it was there for the taking, He took it.

He knew what the right side was and because of that, He finally found a home.

Harry Potter found His home in me.

I've no objections...

Now, fetch me a whiskey to calm my nerves; I'm inexplicably shaking again.

- fin -