The Thing He Loved

You don't even suspect, do you? You are so confident, so secure in your own power. But how could you be anything else? You have always been so, even when we were younger...

Remember those very young days, my friend? I was the outcast--even among those of our house, the quiet one, lost in my books of potions. No one took notice of me unless it was to subject me to their cruel pranks. Until you came to Hogwarts.

We couldn't have been more different, we two. You were tall, pale, blonde--almost achromatic--and god-like, the strength and pride of hundreds of years of Malfoys coursing through your veins. I was smaller, darker, almost delicate by comparison. A negative version of you--black to your white, weak to your strong...

Why you would ever deign to befriend me I could not then fathom. But so you did. But perhaps it was a natural bonding, really. We shared common enemies--just about everyone. Your power to command was palpable and thus, you were almost universally hated by all but those in your own house.

I remember the day we stood back to back, our wands raised to fend off the circling ambush of Potter and his gang of Gryffindor thugs. Later, bloodied but unbeaten, we mingled our blood together, we swore we would always stand together against our enemies. And I truly believed we would.

I'd almost forgotten how very beautiful you are... Your hands, long, slender fingers curling around the glass, delicate, almost like a woman's hands. Who would guess the strength they conceal? Your beautiful face, older now, yet still with skin so flawlessly pale. Who would guess at the scars beneath the skin?

I remember when we received the Dark Mark, you stood silent, white-faced, tight lipped, the searing agony of the Dark Lord's burning brand flashing in your eyes. Yet you did not cry out as others did, nor did you fall to the ground shrieking in pain, as others did. No, your sire's rather unique parenting style stood you in good stead. I even thought I saw a flicker of pleasure cross your face. Not so I! No, I yelped in pain like a tortured puppy when the Dark Mark was burned into my flesh! Your arm--your right arm, twisted tendrils of smoke still risking from the fresh burn--reached out to my shoulder, steadying me--offering what comfort it dared. I could not meet your eyes.

Later, when the Dark Lord released us for the moment, we sat in this same study. You gave me brandy to help ease the pain in my arm. I remember the words you spoke as you stared into the fire, your voice soft, seductive:

"The mistake you make, Severus, is trying to ignore the pain, to banish it from your thoughts, from your body. Rather, pull it to you, make it part of your very being. Savor its scent, its taste, with every breath of your lungs, every pulse of your blood. Embrace it as a lover."

You looked at me, your usually cold eyes seemed to burn into my soul. "Make it your own. You can only control what you truly own..."

You reached out to me and touched the corner of my mouth, your fingers sliding gently under my chin, caressing their way around to the back of my neck, entwining in my hair. I stared back into your eyes, knowing that my own were revealing my entire soul, knowing that they were confessing my love, confessing my willingness to submit to you body and soul...

You were never a gentle lover, Lucius. You were never unkind, but never gentle. But the strength of your passion was all-consuming. Even now, after all the years that have passed since the last time... I can feel a wave of heat coursing through me as I remember. I feel my resolve wavering--for a moment.

But I remember another time...

As the Dark Lord grew in power, so your own power was growing, as well, almost rivaling His. I would shiver with barely concealed desire as you cast your Dark Spells, your eyes glowing fervidly, yet your voice as cold as ice.

"Do try to control yourself, Severus" you would murmur with a raised eyebrow and that ever so slight lift of your lip that was your smile.

Of all of his Death Eaters, you were the only one to dare meet his gaze straight on. And you paid for it regularly. One moment the Dark Lord would laugh at your audacity, your defiance, call you his most faithful, most creative disciple. The next, he would rail at your impertinence and send you to the ground, writhing and moaning from the torment the Cruciatus Curse.

But that was a pain you truly made your own, wasn't it, Lucius? The others looked at your twisting body and imagined your moans were caused by the agony of the most feared of the Unforgivable Curses. After all, everyone knew a Malfoy would never shriek--or even cry out in pain. No, a carefully controlled, almost soft moan was all that would be permitted a Malfoy!

Yes, the others thought that, and perhaps respected--and feared you just a little more for it. But I knew, Lucius. I knew you were embracing the pain, savoring its sweet agony. I knew the moans for what they truly were--for had I not heard them as we two lay shuddering in ecstasy in each other's arms?

You took such pleasure in inflicting pain and torment on others. The more innocent they were, the more heightened the pleasure. And your hatred of Muggles, of all that were not "pure" by the Malfoy definition, it drove you to dizzying heights of excess. If any knew how many horrific deaths blamed on the Dark Lord were actually at your hand, you would have long since received the Dementors' Kiss in Azkaban!

And I, I joined you in your revelry, at first with a lust for blood that matched - or nearly matched - your own. We were brothers in blood. I idolized you. There was nothing I would not do for you, no pain I would not endure for you, no risk I would not take for you...

Your lips curl into a slight smile that does not quite reach your eyes. How well I know that smile. What are you thinking, Lucius? What are you remembering?

I remember how it ended between us, how a chasm opened up between us so wide and abysmal that it could never be crossed. There was a girl... How very prosaic, really. Why does it seem that so many unbelievably tragic tales begin with "There was a girl..."? I won't dwell on the details, my friend, not even in my reverie. Suffice it to say that I was foolish enough to fall in love with someone I could not, must not love--a Muggle! A beautiful, sweet, gentle girl, yes, but a muggle just the same.

You never questioned my absences--you had no reason. You controlled my soul and you knew it. Though I must concede, Lucius, that you never ground my face in it. You left it understood but unspoken.

But I was more observant than even you credited, my friend. I saw the way your veiled eyes would linger upon me speculatively, searching my face. I saw the flicker of withdrawal when you caught the scent of her on my skin. You were always so good at picking up a scent.

I suppose it was the scent of her that led you to that house that night. You were particularly aroused that night, your eyes sharp, your nostrils flared, like a lion on the prowl, out for blood.

"Ah, the unmistakable smell of a Muggle female!" you drawled, sniffing the air. An expression of distaste marred your beautiful features. "Musky-sweet, rather like partially rotted fruit. I wonder how they stand each other!"

You looked at me and smiled, that smile that did not quite reach your eyes. "How fortunate we are, you and I, that we don't have to mate with them."

I could feel the blood draining from my face as I saw the unmistakable glint of knowledge in your eyes. I saw something else there, as well--was it jealousy, the bitterness of betrayal, pain? But it passed so quickly I was not sure I saw anything at all, wasn't sure that my guilt had not imagined it there.

The look of fear in her eyes as she looked from me to you was primeval--the visceral fear of the prey when confronted by the predator.

Your lips slipped into a deadly smile. "I give her a gift, Severus." You looked coldly at her, your eyes travelling over her as though she were a particularly distasteful specimen of house elf. "I doubt she is capable of appreciating the magnanimity of the gift I give her, Severus, but I know you shall appreciate it."

You raised your wand, "Crucio!"

She fell to the floor, screaming in unfathomable agony.

"I give her the gift of pain, sweet, delicious pain. I share my pain with her, Severus."

"No, Lucius! Please stop this! Lucius, if you love me, please!" I cried out in desperation.

You rounded on me, wand raised, eyes blazing. I drew back instantly, closing my eyes against your assault, my breath coming in short gasps. Her tortured screams echoed in my head. I wanted to run to her, scream with her, but I could not move. It took all of my resolve to open my eyes, to look up at you once more. I felt my blood turn to ice as I watched your eyes cool, your lip curl delicately.

"Love you? Why on earth would you think that, dear Severus?" Your voice was soft, gentle almost. "Because we have hunted together? Because we have jointly known the delight of inflicting pain? Because we have savored the sweet scent of death together? Or could it be because our bodies have entwined in passion upon a few rather memorable occasions?"

There was a flicker in your eyes and the curl of your lip became more pronounced, your voice became more disdainful. "Love you?" more softly, " Love anyone?" You shook your head in mock sadness. "I'm afraid that is your curse, Severus, not mine."

You turned from me. "You'd best rid yourself of that weakness, my friend, if you would continue to serve the Dark Lord. There is no place for it in our world."

You raised your wand and coldly ended her screaming. "Avada Kedavra! There, if it pleases you, Severus, I withdraw my gift. She suffers no more."

Without a backward glance, you walked from the room. Without a hint of any feeling at all, you walked from the room where I knelt weeping, bent over the sweet Muggle girl who had given me the only true, pure joy I had ever known. You had killed her, killed her for the sheer pleasure of killing a Muggle.

It is a fine line that is drawn between love and hate, Lucius. A tenuous thread, easily snapped.

We never spoke again after that night. When summoned upon the Dark Lord's command to the place of meeting, our eyes never met. I dared not meet your gaze, lest you see hatred now burning in the eyes that had once confessed my love. You knew, of course, you had to know. You never achieved a result you did not intend.

I plotted my revenge upon you daily. I killed you in every horrific way imaginable. Sometimes I killed you quickly, decisively, walking away from your corpse without a backward glance (as you had killed her). Other times, I killed you slowly, savoring your cries at the pain even a Malfoy could not endure! Other times, still, I turned you over to the Aurors, watching in righteous pleasure as you were led away to Azkaban, pleading for your life to be spared!

But the only pain I have ever truly owned, my friend, is the pain of cowardice. I could not kill you, even though I hated you, even though I loved you.

My hatred turned to all things associated with you--oh, not the physical you, your family, your "friends" or any of that. I could hardly hate your poor family, Lucius! I know what they suffer at your hands! No, my hatred was for all that made you who you were (and all that made me what I had become).

I turned from the Dark Lord while he was at the height of his power. I became charged with the desire to defeat him, to destroy him and all he had created. (Destroy you? Destroy myself?) No one would suspect that I would betray Him, that I would have the courage to become a "snake in the grass"! No one would suspect me, "Malfoy's pup" (for so I had been called on more than one occasion) of being anything more than what I appeared: a fearful, weak but devoted servant to the Dark Lord.

I have been quite successful, really. Subtlety was always my innate skill, Lucius. It's what drew me to potions in the first place. And espionage is such a subtle profession. Many of the Death Eaters now languishing in Azkaban (and several of those who languish there no more!) are there upon my evidence.

I know you know, Lucius. Why you have not turned me over to the Dark Lord, now that he is regaining his strength, mystifies me somewhat. But then, I suppose you wonder why I haven't turned you in. Doubtless you think, if you think about it at all, that I still harbor deep feelings for you that transcend the rift that has grown between us. You are so self-assured.

Your obvious complacency now, inches away from your own death, enrages me! It enrages me not because I know you are unaware of my presence, unaware of the fate that awaits you, but because I know that were you to see me now, see the hatred in my eyes, see my wand poised, pointing at your beautiful face, see the words forming on my lips, you would simply smile your damned complacent smile and say "Do try to control yourself, dear Severus"!

"Avada Kedavra!" Damn you to hell, Lucius!

"...each man kills the thing he loves, By each let this be heard, Some do it with a bitter look, Some with a flattering word, The coward does it with a kiss, the brave man with a sword."--or a wand?