Green Eyes

Water dripped somewhere in the dungeon, just beyond the circle of torchlight. Draco sighed. He was new to the service of the Dark Lord, but he was already starting to recognize the man's tendency to melodramatics. A dark, gloomy, rank dungeon was nothing without the mysterious dripping water in the distance. He wouldn't have been surprised to find someone out there with a puddle, a glass of water and orders to create the effect.

A dark-haired boy stretched out naked on a stone slab in the middle of the room. Manacles spread his arms to the corners, shining dully. Only the occasional movement betrayed that he still lived. Bruises tinted his pale skin in shades of sickly green, and more than one cut still oozed blood. The worst was a particularly vicious cut near his left eye that still bled freely, thick red sliding down to stain the stone under him. Death Eaters crowded around, hidden behind their pale masks but still eager to see the very final end of Harry Potter.

Draco's gray eyes watched from behind his mask, there to see the demise of the one thing he's always wanted and could never have. He hung as far back as it was safe, feeling vaguely ill at the entire thing and not quite sure why. Something about the entire thing struck him as obscene, immoral. Something worse than killing was happening, and it was far too late to back out.

Lord Voldemort stood straight and tall at the side of Potter's slab. Long, arduous spell-work had restored him to his former glory, making him look almost as young as the boy before him. Even the set of his chin spoke of power and charisma, a full-lipped smile inviting things that tightened Draco's stomach with fear and arousal. His eyes glowed red, and Draco tried to look as interested as his cohorts when they slid over him. Appropriately for the savior of Wizard-kind, he wore a robe so white it glowed against the darkness around him.

"My friends!" The Dark Lord's voice bounced off the high ceiling, full of rounded vowels and slithering sibilants. "Tonight, we witness the strongest of the enemy meet his fate." Cheers erupted from the gathered crowd, and the Lord waited peacefully for them to quiet. "From this point on, we shall be more powerful than ever, and the world shall bow at our feet!" Noise sang out again, but the Death Eaters fell into hushed silence as he held up a fist. "And our enemy shall be our guide."

Stomach churning, Draco forced himself to watch as the Dark Lord's long, slim fingers brushed through Potter's blood-sticky hair, smoothing it down like a loving father. Potter's eyes opened, hazed from pain and the concussion. He looked up at the Lord uncomprehendingly.

"Yes," Voldemort hissed, "he shall be our guiding light and most favored weapon." The hand he pulled away was dark with Potter's blood, and Draco realized that the cuts on his face weren't the worst wounds after all. The knowledge left a cold ball in his gut. Almost to spite it, he pressed forward for a better view.

Without support from the Dark Lord's hand, Potter's head fell to the side. On his forehead, the infamous was scar a livid red, bleeding almost as much as the fresher wounds. He blinked, vivid green eyes focusing for the first time as he saw Draco. For a moment, Draco was sure he saw Potter's lips frame his name, but how half-conscious Potter had recognized the robed and masked him he couldn't explain. His stomach lurched, and it took almost all Draco's concentration to keep his dinner from re-appearing.

"See the power of your Lord," the Dark Lord's voice cut through his musings, though not enough to let him pull his eyes away from Potter. "So ends all enemies of Wizard-kind!"

Potter's eyes widened in a flash. Draco yanked is eyes away as the boy arched up off the slab, straining against his chains. Voldemort's arms had burried itself in Potter's chest to the elbow, surrounded by a glowing multi-hued light so bright many Death Eaters hid their faces. Potter's jaw opened in a gut-wrenching scream, eyes still locked on Draco as he arched, spine bent so much that it should have snapped.

Draco couldn't have made himself look away to save his own life.

The Dark Lord laughed at his enemy's pain, face locked in a rictus of sadistic joy. The buried arm tightened as though clenching something, and Potter's scream cut off as though it never was. As the Lord withdrew his arm, the light faded slowly enough to save Draco's eyesight. It took the spring-green of Potter's eyes with it, leaving empty dead-grass gold in its place. His eyes closed in a final sigh. Something delicate fluttered towards the ceiling and popped like a soap bubble.

The torchlight didn't seem bright enough anymore.

White robes shushed against stone as Lord Voldemort leaned over Potter, touching his cheek tenderly, lips brushing the boy's forehead. The black-robed Death Eaters were silent, whether in shock or admiration Draco wasn't sure. With a ringing click, the manacles opened, and the Dark Lord smiled and drew back. "Wake up, Harry."

Harry sat up, eyes opening to show that dead yellow. He slid off the slab, careless of his nudity, and fell to his knees, chin tipped back. His expression twisted into ecstatic joy and hunger as he accepted the kiss Voldemort pressed to his bleeding scar with a sighed, "Master."

In the middle of Harry's chest was a tiny keyhole. Light shined from it, and Draco realized with sickening finality that the light came from the torches behind him.

***

Hogwarts fell in less than three hours. Draco had been privileged to stand at the front line, by Harry's side, as they took the castle. With Harry on their side, even Headmistress McGonagall lost the heart to fight. The Weasel and Mudblood were the first to die. They'd rushed forward, thinking to save their friend.

Draco would never forget their faces when Harry reached in and took out their hearts the same way the Dark Lord had taken his. It would give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

The two Gryffindors had shimmered and vanished into the wind. Dark creatures like nothing in their texts started appearing in the ranks of the Death Eaters then, and Draco thought he knew where Granger and Weasley had gone.

By the time the coup was over, Hogwarts had been laid to waste. Not even the rats for Transfiguration had been spared.

A month later, while in conference with his favorite weapon, the Dark Lord vanished and an even more powerful creature appeared in the ranks. Harry assumed the position of Lord, with Draco by his side.

Five years after, all of the three kingdoms had been over-come. Wizard, Muggle or Squib, none of it mattered to Harry. He took their hearts, swelled his ranks with what they became, and moved on. Even Death Eaters started vanishing, but no one dared complain for fear of being next. Through it all, Draco stood by Harry's side, watching the entire world collapse and shatter around him. He was the only thing that was never harmed, never threatened, his status almost equal to that of Harry's. All the power in the world had tumbled into his lap, given to him by a dead-eyed Harry.

Now Draco curls under the scarlet silk sheets of their bed. Bare skin presses against him from behind, and Harry's arms twine around his waist possessively. His hair spreads out on the pillows above them, white-gold and long the way Harry likes it. The air hangs heavy with sex and sweat, and there's a damp spot under him that he doesn't dare move to avoid. Harry nuzzles his shoulder sweetly in his sleep, lips curled into an angelic smile against Draco's shoulder blades. The same smile he wears when he kills people.

"Mm, Draco?" Harry nuzzles him again, making little humming noises deep in his throat. He presses tiny kisses to the center of Draco's back, writhing slightly. "Are you awake?"

Draco swallows as heat rushes through him. "I am now, love," he breathes, shivering at the feathery touches on his stomach.

"Oh, good," Harry purrs, nipping and rolling him over.

As Harry caresses his skin, spreads him open and prepares him, Draco stares up at his lover and Lord's cold yellow eyes that the passion never quite reaches. Power, wealth, fame, Harry. He has everything he's ever wanted.

Burning slick pain-pleasure makes him close his eyes as Harry presses into him, fingers gripping his hips so tight that Draco knows his nails will leave bleeding cuts that take days to heal, since Harry won't hear of using magic to take care of it. A tear mixes with the sweat that stains the pillows, but Harry never notices. Harry's always silent when they make love, so only the squeak and groan of the mattress sounds in the bedroom as they start to move, damp skin slapping against skin in the oldest of dances. The keyhole in Harry's chest rubs against him, a spot of icy cold against his burning skin. As lightning arches through Draco to color the world, he keeps his eyes closed and pretends that when he opens them, Harry's eyes will be green.