Strange Love

Strange Love Chapter 2: An Eye for an Eye

At 11:55 pm, Sirius Black was disturbed by a faint knocking on his front door. That's strange, he mumbled to himself, peeling a tangle of white bed sheets off of himself. He pulled on a bathrobe and wallowed down the hallway towards his door. His dark hair was in complete disarray and he smelled faintly of rose perfume--sort of an aftertaste from a woman he had been with at the moment, who was, presumably, still in his bed. He peered through the door--it was enchanted so that one could see anyone standing at the doorstep from inside the house. He instantly recognized the lanky, shadowed figure as Harry. Sirius opened the door at once.

"All right, Harry?" Sirius motioned for Harry to come inside.

"Er, yes, and sorry about the hour. I just had to stop by... last minute thing I need to discuss with you..."

Sirius nodded. A soft echo of footsteps made their way down the hallway, and Sirius's girlfriend peered out to see what was going on. She managed to keep herself hidden behind the lingering shadows of the moonlight.

Sirius sensed that Harry was in a bit of a hurry; he seemed a little jittery and anxious.

"I'm dueling someone tonight, at his house, with no seconds. I just thought I'd let you know... in case something were to happen to me, which is not going to happen," he spattered quickly.

"Enlightening. I suspect you are going to tell me a little more?" Sirius questioned.

"Yes. I'm dueling Draco Malfoy. We're meant to meet in Knockturn Alley in a few minutes, and then it's on to his house for the duel." Harry shot glances at the front door.

"You're dueling a Death Eater on his own turf?" Sirius was about to comment on how stupid it would be to do that, but instead he decided that Harry was able to make decisions and that offering advice would be much more practical. "Well, expect tasteless tactics and cheating of all sorts. They'll do anything to defeat their opponent. Don't ever turn your back without knowing what's behind you." Sirius thought hard. "Listen, keep me posted. I don't like the sound of this at all."

"I figured you'd say that. I'm skeptical as well." Harry paused. "It's strictly for the job. Malfoy's got to be arrested, and someone has to do it."

"Here, take this and call me when you're through or if you need me." Sirius reached into a table drawer and pulled out a cell phone, of all things. He tossed it in Harry's direction.

"Why do you have--"

"These gadgets are very useful for communication. I'd come close to commending Muggles for their electronics, and not many wizards will recognize a phone and know how to use it. Anyway, my number should be programmed in there..."

"Thanks, Sirius." Harry tucked the phone into his robe pocket next to his wand, wondering why the hell Sirius kept extra cell phones lying around. He helped himself out of the door, leaving with a simple, "See you."

Sirius nodded in return, and watched Harry Apparate off the foot of his entry way. He snuck back into his house, then to his bedroom, where an attractive woman with long chestnut hair and cerulean blue eyes was waiting innocently.

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy felt his muscles tighten up as midnight approached. Knocturn Alley was wonderfully creepy when mysterious wizards and creatures were not lurking around. The place was empty except for Draco, or so it seemed. Draco's thin lips pressed into a smile as he glanced across the narrow alley; he had called upon Marcus Flint (who proved to be competent enough to be trusted with certain things) to help him with the duel. There was a small voice in Draco's head that pleaded silently for a fair fight, but the Slytherin boy inside of him won over as always. He knew that Potter would come along, expecting to be face to face with his foe and only his foe, but Draco did not want to lose a chunk of his face in a duel, thus Flint would make an appearance (not literally, however; Flint was tucked safely under a sweeping Invisibility Cloak).

"Come on Potter, I haven't got all night. Where the hell is he?" Draco muttered to himself.

"Behind you."

Draco whirled around; his eyes widened. Always punctual, always here when you want him to be, Draco thought, smirking. Harry stood only a few feet from him now. He could barely make out his features in the darkness of the alley. Harry was still small as he had always been, but he looked much older. He had grown out of his boyish face and his hair was tame. His robes concealed his figure, though Malfoy assumed he was still a scrawny little thing.

"Good evening, Harry," Draco smiled, outstretching his hand.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco was expecting a handshake, eh? Interesting, he thought. He's stalling, the bastard...

Harry took the moment to survey his opponent. He was tall; Harry came up to about the base of his neck. He had definitely spent some time at the gym... hell, he probably had his own gym at home. His arms were sculpted, his shoulders broad, waist trimmed. He might have been intimidating if Harry hadn't defeated him three years in a row playing Quidditch back at Hogwarts. Harry tried to make out Malfoy's expression though the black veil of the night, but it was impossible. He only saw two apathetic eyeballs glaring malignantly in his direction. And that was the last thing he saw.

Draco's arm was still outstretched, disappointed. He had wanted to feel the flesh of his rival, he had wanted to embrace Harry's bony hand, and crush it and shatter it. But, on cue, Marcus Flint moved silently towards Harry's back, pointed his want, and shouted, "Stupefy!". Harry had slumped to the ground, landing with a thud.

"Thank you, Marcus," he whispered.

"My pleasure. Never thought I'd take out him, of all people..." Flint seemed very pleased with himself. There was a bit of prestige in hitting the amazing Harry Potter with a curse... not everyone got such an opportunity. "Have fun with him, Draco," Flint coughed.

"Oh, you know I will, you know I will..."

Marcus Flint handed the Invisibility Cloak to Draco and disappeared.

Draco knelt over and reached into Harry's robes, searching for his wand. "Ah, nice abs, the man's not as skinny as he looks," Draco said brightly, "Whoops, no, the wand, Draco, you're looking for the wand." Draco smiled to himself and withdrew the Auror's wand. He felt something else in the inner chest pocket; it was a small, rectangular object, made of something hard and covered with buttons. He pocketed that as well for good measure.

"All right, time to go home, you're going to have to Apparate along with me, Harry. It'll be fun," Draco looked at the unconscious Harry, whose bangs were brushed to the side, revealing the legendary scar. Draco paused to brush his finger over it, to feel it, the small mark that set Harry apart from every other wizard...

* * * * *

Seamus Finnigan went into the office the following day (he worked for the Department of Magical Games and Sports). He still looked quite depressed, and quite furious at the same time. His eyes were lit with fire, he could still see Dean's limp carcass lying on the floor.

"Finnigan, you look terrible," a coworker commented coolly.

"Fuck you, Flint," Seamus grunted. Flint smiled to himself.

"So fuck me, then."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Seamus asked, wondering if his ears were failing him.

"Oh, just commenting on a Muggle truck I saw once..." Flint chuckled. "My, my, we're in a bad mood today, aren't we, Finnigan?"

Seamus liked his job (though the wrath of the public opinion was quite a nasty bugger; they grew very angry when the department had to shut down the Quidditch league), but he hated some of his contemporaries. Particularly, Marcus Flint was a moron, always turning down Seamus's ideas, being an unfriendly prick, always wanting to raise the prices of Quidditch tickets and such...

"Shut the hell up. Don't talk to me today, I'm not in the mood for dealing with you," Seamus muttered.

Flint raised an eyebrow. Usually Finnigan wasn't so grouchy... not to mention quite handsome... not a bad person to work with most of the time... then it occurred to him. Seamus had been good friends with Dean Thomas. Ah, he's being a bastard because he's mad about his dear old friend. "You're still going on about the murder of Thomas, aren't you, Finnigan?"

Seamus paused, maybe he'd listen to Flint this time.

"Killed by a Death Eater, they say?" Marcus decided he was going to toy with Seamus's mind. He enjoyed that activity. "They don't know what they are talking about. He was killed by two Death Eaters. I know them very well. Friends from school."

"You know who killed Dean?" Seamus asked, his voice hoarse and quiet. He was shaking. He looked at Flint's amused face with fervent hatred.

"Of course I do. But it wouldn't do me any good to tell you, so if you're aiming at finding out, don't bother..."

"Who killed Dean?" Seamus demanded, still quivering.

"Why, are you going to go after them? Not a chance, they'll kill you in an instant." Flint went along, pretending to be interested in some files in a large metal cabinet in the corner of the room.

"Damn you, Flint. You're going to tell me, whether you want to or not." Seamus reached his hand toward his wand, preparing to strike. He could feel his whole body on fire, burning to the core in outrage.

"No need for violence, don't reach for the wand, Finnigan. I'll tell you. You know why? Because I like you."

Calmed, Seamus let his hand fall to his side.

"All right. But I want something first," Flint said, groping at Seamus. "Fuck me. I'm not kidding, you know. I could use a good fuck from someone like you..."

"Oh god..." Seamus had no idea Flint was gay; he'd never really thought about it. He was alarmed with his own reaction. Rather than being absolutely disgusted, he was shocked. "You want sexual favors? Who the hell do you think I am? Fucking bastard..."

"Then it's settled: I won't say who killed them. Might work out for the better. They'd probably kill me if I told you anything..."

"Wait, I haven't said anything yet."

* * * * *

Glasses removed, Harry found it difficult to see. He was in a bedroom, one decorated in various shades of green velvet. The walls were painted white, the furniture was old fashioned and was adorned with intricate carving designs--what looked like skeletal faces made of wood. He was still drowsy. Harry realized his head was propped up on deep green pillows, and he was not alone in the room. Malfoy was there, sitting in a green armchair, taping his fingers absentmindedly on one arm rest. "Ah, you're awake. Took you long enough. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting?" His mouth was curved acutely and he was staring blankly at Harry. "What should I do with you, Potter?" He arose from his sitting position and began gliding through the contents of the room. He paused, scanning some type of portrait that Harry had not noticed. He sauntered over to a bedside table and reached his hand out for a pair of what looked like glasses... Harry realized they were his and attempted to snatch them before Malfoy was able to, but when he tried to move his arm, a slashing pain shot from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers.

Malfoy smiled. "No, I don't like you in these. Mind if I toss them?" Without giving Harry a chance to protest, Draco flung the glasses away, not bothering to see where they landed. He leaned in closer to Harry, who seemed unable to move and was in a bit of pain, and touched his cheek gently. "Yes, you look much better without those horrible things."

Harry was infuriated. Malfoy... that scum... he had cheated... If only he were strong enough to retaliate... what had Malfoy done to him? He couldn't move a muscle without searing pain. His body was on fire; he felt as though he were burning.

"Don't try and move, Harry, you're under a curse. Sorry it had to be this way," Malfoy sputtered, every word spoken with disdain. "I wanted to duel, we could have settled our differences. I almost went through with it... Imagine, we would have cursed each other silly. But I've taken a liking with you. Who wouldn't? I was expecting you to be an ugly little rat, like back at school, but look, you've grown up. Lovely green eyes; they remind me of poison." He smiled, gliding closer to Harry and looking deep into his face. "What am I going to do with you? Is that what you're wondering; why do I want you?"

Harry did not answer.

"You are quite the commodity. Funny that I'm the one with money, but you're the one with value..."

"You're going to sell me," Harry croaked.

"That's right. To The Dark Lord. He's got that grudge against you..."

"You're not going to sell me to Voldemort," Harry muttered. "You'd rather kill me yourself. You'd rather watch me writhe on the ground going mad from the Cruciatus Curse, than sell me to some freak." Harry wanted so badly to fight, but he restricted himself to barely moving a muscle until he found out what Malfoy had done to him.

Potter is good, though Draco. Everything he said made sense to Draco, who was nodding along to Harry's words, thinking things over. Honestly, he had no idea what he was going to do with Harry. He felt safer now that he had control over the Auror, and it was time to prove himself the better man. He had been waiting for this.

He was sick of watching Harry succeed, he was sick of how everyone fell head over heals just because the boy had survived a curse, probably by luck. He was sick of Harry beating him in Quidditch year after year, he was sick of watching Harry trotting around, flanked with friends, when Draco had none. He had money, not friends.

And now was his chance to unleash everything bottled up inside him. Torture... he thought about torturing the Auror. That seemed like an obvious thing to do. But something told him that Harry was strong enough to resist most curses. Harry was willing to die for his cause--perhaps he did not care if he was his with pain beyond his wildest dreams. Harry was probably used to that. It was in the job description.

Draco shook his head on that idea. He wanted to do something different, something that would destroy Harry psychologically. He wanted to slowly penetrate Harry's mind and drive him insane without using magic.

The trouble was, Draco didn't know how to do anything except magic.

* * * * *

Seamus quickly dressed himself, feeling in need of a shower. It was early in the morning; a thin gray layer of clouds was already beginning to roll in under the sky. He had just spent the night with Flint and made it alive, though he felt disgusting and slime--he never imagined himself fucking anyone to get information... Marcus Flint lived in a small, suburban house, all alone. He was still lying on the bed, relishing in the memories of the previous night. He had enjoyed it, thus displayed by profuse erotic moaning. It was still echoing in Seamus's ears, haunting him. At least I know I was good, he said to himself, trying to make the most of the situation.

He fumbled around the room for Marcus's wand. He was not going to return it until he had confirmed the names and locations of Dean's murderers.

"Wake up, ass hole," Seamus barked at Flint. He didn't have all day to wait for Flint to wake up. He wanted to leave as soon as possible; the house was quite cryptic and dark--weird gadgets strewn all over the place.

"Grmmpphhh..." Marcus grumbled into a pillow, rolling over languidly.

"I haven't got time for this, get your ass out of bed."

"Alll riiggght... commmmingggg..." Apparently, Flint was not a morning person. He moved like a sloth, but eventually he stood up. "Ah, Seamus, darling. Sex was good, sure you aren't gay?" he said, realizing that Seamus was there.

"I'm straight as a fucking flagpole, now give me what I want," he sputtered in annoyance.

"You sure didn't seem like it last night... no straight guy can do that well with another guy..." Flint said, grinning like an idiot.

Seamus narrowed his eyes. He was about ready to kill this guy, but managed to contain himself.

"Yeah, okay, you wanted some information. Who killed Dean Thomas? Who killed Dean Thomas. The answer my friend, is Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom. Surprise, eh?"

Seamus considered his options. "Oh. Coffee?" he offered.

"Yes, thanks, I'd love some coffee, Seamus darling," Flint murmured.

"Be back in a minute," Seamus answered, heading to the kitchen. He prepared one cup of instant coffee that he had discovered in Flint's cupboard. He reached into the inner pocket of his robes and held a small vial up to the light, checking to make sure it's contents were still there. "Nothing like Veritaserum," he commented to himself, dropping the entire solution into the steaming coffee. He returned to his colleague.

"Thanks, Seamus," Flint purred, taking a long sip of the drink.

"Let's try this once more. Who killed Dean Thomas?" Seamus asked.

"Adrian Pucey."

"You said there were two of them. Who is the other?"

"Draco Malfoy."

Seamus stopped, remembering to breath. The feeling of revenge shot through his veins again. He wasn't going to lay quiet until he killed them, until the men who murdered his best friend suffered a long, drawn out death.

"Where does Malfoy live?" he stammered.

"In a house."

Seamus knocked a lamp off Flint's bedside table in feral anger. It shattered.

"Fucking smart ass. Where does Malfoy live?"

Flint seemed shaken by Seamus's sudden hostility and began talking against his will.

* * * * *

Draco stretched out on a lawn chair by his pool. It was time for his sunset-ritual. This time he was eating raspberries. He had several piled in a small bowl, and was eating them carelessly. He did not stop to see if they were bruised or blemished; he just ate them. He didn't even care when he bit one down the center and crimson juice trickled down the side of his mouth, past his neck, and on to his robes. He didn't notice the sticky, fleshy taste; he didn't notice the crunch of the tiny seeds. He didn't care anymore. Something was on his mind.

He was scum. He didn't have any pride, he hated himself and what he had become. He had followed his father because that was the only thing he had been exposed to. He remembered his father... an arrogant bastard. Draco didn't want to be like that. So duel Harry, Draco. Duel him like a man with a conscience. Be fair.And if you die trying? That's all right. Better dead than lonely, he thought. Yes, I can do this, I can try something new. I can give Harry a chance to duel me like I should have from the start.

So then and there, Draco made up his mind, that when morning came, he would duel Harry. The decision made him miserable, but he was sick of life. He finished up his bowl of fruit.

* * *