My Secret Keeper

The Knowing.

Draco Malfoy is his Secret Keeper, and when you tell him he's made a mistake, he tells you that there is no one he trusts more than Draco. He tells you stories sometimes, about how Draco loves him and holds him when he hurts. When he's just so tired of the world. He tells you stories about how Draco kisses him each night before they sleep, and the way Draco whispers how they will always be together.

You tell him that it's stupid, and he's made a wrong choice, and he ignores you - like he always does. Draco is his Secret Keeper, and he always will be.

So, you wonder sometimes, who is wrong? Is it you? Or is it him?

Draco.

He whispers I love you before you both sleep, and his voice is warm and affectionate and his breath tickles your ear. You chuckle, and you notice the red color appear on his cheeks because of it. He reacts lovingly to everything you do, you know.

When he's asleep, you love to run your fingers through his black hair, and that it feels so soft. It feels like silk between your fingers; it's slightly ticklish if it brushes against your palm, and it smells like rain and Quidditch and happy times. You love his hair, because it reminds you of when everything was right in the world.

His smile is the sunshine itself, but you don't tell him that, because he doesn't want to be reminded of the dark times and creeping secrets and fiery feelings and sly looks accompanied by lying men. You don't want to be reminded of that either.

So when you finally fall asleep, you don't notice that your hand remains in his hair, as though it might disappear from your grasp before you have a chance to blink.

The Knowing.

You watch them together. You want to say that they fit together so completely, and so perfectly, and when they kiss, you know they're in love. You don't know what's holding you back, though.

They've been together since their seventh year, and probably earlier (you don't know, and don't care to know), but they've been enemies for much longer than that. You want to say that Draco Malfoy is right for him, and that he's a great Secret Keeper because when you look at those two together, you know he makes the dark-haired boy very happy. You're tired of seeing your friend looking incredibly sad and stressed, it's almost unbearable.

But you just can't accept him, and you just can't define why. They look perfect, but you can't say they are perfect. You know the difference, and if you say it, then you'll believe it.

You watch Draco kiss him on the cheek before he whispers quietly, I love you.

You still don't know what's holding you back.

Draco.

His voice is accusing and angry, but you don't know why. He looks at you and screams out, I hate you, Malfoy! Get out of my life, I hate you I hate you I hate you! He collapses on the ground in a fit of heart wrenching sobs that fill the area. You watch him curl up into a little ball, and something grips your heart while your forearm burns.

"Come here." You say the words soothingly, and like always, he does come to you because he needs you. You're his secret keeper; you're his lover and his brace. You let him curl up beside you on the floor as your back leans against the wall, and you can't help but pity what the green-eyed boy goes through.

You know that evil emerges in the slyest ways, but you don't want to explain how you know that for obvious reasons. Evil is dark and incredibly persuasive, and hot and warm and cold at the same time. It teases and confuses you, and then, before you know it, evil kisses you sweetly on the lips and then you die.

You don't want to tell him how you know this. The other boy goes through so much, and he especially doesn't need this.

Before you know it, he's asleep on your lap. You don't want to wake him by lifting him up to the bed, but you clench your fingers in your lap because of a stinging pain that burns under your sleeve.

You try not to think of your fight, and why it hurt. But it shouldn't hurt, you tell yourself. Then you laugh. It shouldn't hurt, because sometimes, he has the right to vent and scream and yell and kick the wall.

You tell evil to go away for now, and to return when you're ready.

The Knowing.

You don't see Draco there when you visit. But it doesn't seem to bother the brunette, because there are bags under his eyes, from which he tries to distract your attention with his forced smile. You decide not to say anything about that today, because you know he can't handle it.

But you know that something is wrong by the way he looks. This is not the first time you've seen him with bags under his eyes, or sitting as though he had an invisible weight sitting on his back. Even if you know it was Draco's fault this time, before, you know there were times in the past where there wasn't.

You-Know-Who is getting stronger, and that you can admit because it's true. It's there, and visible, and undeniable. You're not allowed to see what Dumbledore has up his sleeve, and now, you're not even sure you want to know.

You watch him. You're very afraid he's going to fall, no; not physically, but emotionally and mentally. He needs Draco, and you know that. You don't want to ask where Draco is, because you don't want to upset him more.

You hear the door being opened, but you continue to watch him. His eyes are wide and big behind his glasses. He stands up, and you see from the corner of your eyes that Draco is there with an unreadable look on his face. They hug, and you look away as they kiss quietly, and you hear him whisper, I missed you.

Draco is his Secret Keeper. You are nothing but The Knowing, not a person, or a thing, or anything physical, mental, emotional or spiritual. You are just there, and you know what happens.

You know Draco is his Secret Keeper. Even if you are the knowing, you cannot understand the blond sometimes. You just don't feel right about it - about them. You don't know why, and you try to explain yourself, and even if they are in love and nothing - nothing could come between them, you just cannot say it. You just can't.

But you are nothing, after all; nothing but the Knowing.

Draco.

You make love to him that night, slowly and sensually. You want to feel how good it can be, with him writhing and arching and gasping and moaning under you. You like being on top, because it makes you feel in control. It makes you feel like you have power over something; something - or someone - like him.

Your lovemaking is giving him pleasure, and nothing else. You don't want to take back pleasure, because you've taken back so much that he doesn't know. He deserves the feelings of climax and orgasm during these times. He deserves your kisses on his face, and your whispers of love in his ear, and you helping him achieve nirvana. He deserves it, because he's been 'dominant' for so long, and now, he wants to lay under you and feel you in him. He wants to feel you love him, and you give him that, because he deserves it.

His hair is damp from sweat, and when you're both done, he curls up in a ball and you drape your arm around him. He trusts you completely and wholly, it sometimes makes you wonder how completely and wholly. But you don't ask, because you want to hear it, and that makes you selfish because it's his feelings and not yours.

You hear him whisper, I love you, Draco before he falls asleep. You want to hate him, sometimes, but you can't, so you resolve to this and whisper I love you too back to him.

You pull your arm back, though, when you're sure he's asleep. Your heart is still beating loudly in your chest, even twenty minutes after sex. You're sure this is bad, so you close your eyes and go to your small kitchen.

Evil is outside your door, but tonight, you don't open it just yet.

The Knowing.

As The Knowing silence reigns in the air, you wonder where they are. You search the small house, before you look in the last place you want to look. You look in the bedroom.

To your surprise, you see them both there, sleeping peacefully. You've never seen them look like this - together as one. As you move around the bed and watch them, you feel like you've invaded something sacred and personal and private; but now, you wonder... are they really perfect?

Draco's arms are holding him tightly; his face is buried in the other's neck. His black hair mixes with Draco's, and the contrast is exceptional. The blankets don't hide much, but they hide enough. Your eyes roam over their bodies, and how their legs are entwined and how the rise and fall of their chests goes with the ticking and tocking of the clock on the wall.

You make your way outside, and close the door quietly behind you. You really don't know what to say, except, maybe, just maybe... they are perfect together. Draco really is his Secret Keeper, and after seeing them as you did on the bed, you realize that they couldn't do without each other. You say it to yourself, over and over again, They belong together. They do.

You've finally said it. Evil laughs at your stupidity.

Draco.

He's in the living room, reading a book. You watch him from the kitchen. You watch as he shifts slightly, and before you can look away, his eyes catch yours and he smiles. You cannot turn back now, so you smile at him tightly despite your efforts.

Evil is close, and you can feel it. You can really feel it.

You are his Secret Keeper, and you love him more than the World itself. But you love something more; much, much more. You can't define what you love more exactly, but Evil knows. The Knowing knows. You let them define it, because you don't want to.

You make your way to the door. It's almost time, and Evil's fingers are raised and about to knock loudly. There are few who know where you live. Dumbledore, of course, knows. You and he know. The Knowing knows, of course. You want to know who else knows? Evil knows, now, because you told him.

You open the door, and Evil has a red, blood-dripping smile.

The Knowing.

Something is wrong, very wrong. You see him look up from his book and call out Draco's name. His eyes are very open and very, very green. Draco doesn't respond right away, but then he says to come there because he has something very special to show you.

His wand remains on the table and you point to it, trying to tell him, Take this, I don't feel right about this, take it, because you have to be prepared. He ignores you again, because he tells you, "Why should I need my wand? It's just Draco."

The air is still as he stands up. He stretches a bit which is nothing out of the ordinary.

You just don't feel right about something. Something is wrong. You follow him as he rounds the corner and, you watch quietly as Draco smiles at him. Draco tells him that someone is there to see him.

He gives Draco a confused look, because no one is supposed to visit. You see him shrug, though, because Draco is his Secret Keeper, and his judgment is always safe. You still don't feel right.

Something flickers before your eyes, and you look to see Draco's arm flashing a very fearful mark. As you look up, and a hovering Mark appears outside of the house, glowing bright green and red and blue and silver and black.

You know what's happening - Harry, run!

But he falls to the ground as Evil speaks green, malicious words to him, and beside Evil, stands Draco with a tight smile. The words Avada Kedavra ring through the house. They ring through the woods where you hide, and they ring loudly through the world.

It's too late, and Draco smiles evilly because he was Harry Potter's Secret Keeper.

Finish.