The Space Between

What? What the fuck did I just say? No, no, no. Whatever Dark, writhing thing is inside me, it is not Voldemort. I am not harboring Voldemort in my soul.

The overwhelming urge to stamp my foot and stick my fingers in my ears while chanting, "No!" at the top of my lungs dissipates as I shove my wand further into Lucius Malfoy's neck.

"Harry?"

I jerk my head up sharply, fixing Hermione with a withering glare. I don't have time for her right now. At my look, she merely opens and closes her mouth, saying nothing.

The hurt on her face - that she transmits through our shared scars - tears at my soul. Conflicted, I think I need to say something to her, to say anything to her, to help comfort her. My thoughts are derailed when my captive begins protesting his treatment.

Malfoy Senior twists slightly in my grasp, testing for a weak spot. I return my full attention to him and tighten my hold on his throat, thumb and forefinger against his carotid arteries - tightening until he sags in my arms, not quite unconscious. I allow him to drop to the floor and toss his wand away into the corner.

"You shouldn't try that, Lucius," I warn, amused. Smiling, I whip my wand down and cast an Ennervate spell on Malfoy Junior. "Let's make things a little more interesting, shall we?"

Malfoy Junior shakes his head as if to clear cobwebs, then glares malevolently at me. I smile - and in the corner of my eye I see Hermione shudder in reaction.

"Potter," he spits. Running his eyes up and down my body, a smirk spreads across his face at my half-clad state. "Did you have a proposition to make? Weasley not enough man for you?"

I continue to smile, saying nothing. Malfoy shifts nervously after a long minute of silence, his aura deepening to a grey-silver. Not a trace of black.

How surprising. I guess he is different from his father in some respects.

"You aren't as evil as you think you are, ferret," I finally respond.

He wasn't expecting that.

"What?" he exclaims, outraged, as he scrambles to his feet.

I turn to Hermione and Ron and, with a wave of my left hand, send the vase Hermione had raised to bash Malfoy over the head with crashing into the wall.

"Stay out," I growl. She cowers again and I hear Ron's voice mumbling something to her, but can't distinguish the words. She replies in a soft whisper.

Their voices are just low enough to dance sensually along my nerves. They remind me of the low murmurings between us in bed.

With my attention distracted, Malfoy Junior attempts to tackle me. In the corner of my eye, I see him duck his head slightly and run at me. Shifting my arm slightly, I use my hand to stop him several feet away as effectively as throwing up a wall in the middle of the room.

"Why, Draco, did I hit a sore spot? Did you want to be as evil as Daddy?" Turning to fully face him, I wag my index finger at him as if chastising a child. "Didn't Daddy ever teach you not to pick fights with boys bigger - or more powerful - than you?"

"Bastard," he manages to spit out, struggling against the invisible wall I erected.

My eyes narrow. "I assure you...my parents were married." I lower my hand slightly and change position as if to wrap my hand around his throat.

Which isn't so far from the truth since that is exactly what it feels like for Malfoy Junior. I pinch my index finger and thumb closer together, squeezing his carotid arteries with a spell much like I did to his father with my bare hand.

When he begins prying at the virtual fingers around his throat, I laugh and, with a wave of my arm, fling him against the wall much as I did the vase. He lands against it with such force, several pictures crash to the floor, sending shattered glass into the room and raining down on Malfoy.

The Dark inside me is exalting in this use of destructive power like a dark pixie let loose on my soul. Though my mind knows it's wrong, my conscience is suppressed and my magic thrums through me like an electrical current just under my skin.

I can feel Hermione's horror, hurt and dismay, tinged with anger, but it's so small compared to this other Dark, seductive power, that I dismiss it.

Lucius Malfoy groans behind me.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy," I begin, spinning on my heel to look down upon him. "Could your precious Voldemort do that?"

He rubs his throat, slowly rising to his feet.

"I don't recall him ever quite using that method of...persuasion," he drawls, glancing dismissively at his son. I suppose lying in a crumpled heap at the base of the wall isn't enough to generate paternal sympathy among Malfoys.

Malfoy gives me the same slow once-over his son did, as if suddenly seeing me in a new light with the Dark in control. Something inside me wants to squirm under the scrutiny. Instead, I drop my wand arm lazily at my side and prop my other hand on my hip.

Insolence, project insolence.

A secret smile broadens Malfoy's mouth. With a distinct sneer in his cultured voice, he asks, "Is Weasley enough of a man for you?"

Revulsion.

It's revulsion that pours through me. That not one but both Malfoy men would proposition me - after trying to rape Hermione and kill the three of us - is beyond disgusting.

I saunter up to him, stopping well within his personal space. Those grey eyes flare wider but he allows no other sign of surprise to show.

Tapping my wand impatiently against my thigh, I lean close enough to kiss him - were I so inclined. Lifting my left hand, I trail my index finger over Lucius Malfoy's lips...down his jaw...down his neck. My touch skims over his skin, light enough to cause goose bumps.

Hermione's dismay at my actions seeps into me like a slow leak in an otherwise tight dam.

Delight leaps inside me when Malfoy's eyes darken with desire.

Bloody fucking bastard.

"You are nothing, Lucius Malfoy," I drawl sweetly, nearly matching his trademark voice of loathing, as I trail my finger lower...over his shirt buttons...to his waist...to his fly.

A wisp of nervousness is evident in his sudden swallow and blink. He allows no other sign of weakness to show.

I cup him, thoroughly disgusted to find him hard.

Given his proclivities and that Hermione and I are both half-naked in front of him, why am I surprised he's hard?

I lean forward and flick my tongue over his lips, enjoying his sudden intake of breath and the tensing of his body.

"Nothing," I repeat.

Staring until he meets my gaze, I allow the corners of my mouth to turn up in what might be mistaken for a smile. He shivers.

I caress him once through his trousers, enough to raise his hopes so to speak, then brutally squeeze and twist. I intend to cause damage. I intend to cause pain.

He screams, the sound immersing me in joy as complete as jumping into the Weasley's lake on a hot day. Tears spring to his eyes, making them seem human for the first time since I first saw them at age 12.

When he drops to his knees, a bark of laughter escapes me. I bend low to rasp in his ear, "You are nothing compared to the man Ron Weasley is."

Love surges through me with my words, causing an almost-physical pain that makes me double over, groaning. It feels even more like I'm losing my mind now.

Before I can reflect on the physical reaction, my Dark instincts take over. Lifting my wand, I call, "Accio Lucius' wand." The ebony wand rockets into my hand from the corner where I threw it.

Straightening up once again, I toss the wand to Malfoy. It clatters on the floor before him. He grasps it with one hand and points it at me, then brings his eyes up to glare at me from under his curtain of white-blonde hair.

The pure hatred in his gaze throws me back in time to the day I freed Dobby. He would have cast an Unforgivable curse on me that day, I'm sure, had Dobby not thrown him down a stairwell and had nearly the exact same look in his eye.

"Your parents weren't half as much fund to taunt," he says, with a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

The statement - so unexpected in the current situation - leave me speechless for a moment. Malfoy takes the opportunity to stand, pointing his wand at my heart.

"Oh, yes, that's right," he adds derisively. His aura has remanifested itself, still a nearly opaque black but quite easy for me to see through. "You didn't know your parents - the precious Potter and jumped up Mudblood."

He's just trying to get a rise out of you, Potter. Don't take the bait.

"Better than pureblood inbreeding," I respond. Cocking my head to one side and again idly tapping my wand against my thigh, I add, "Tell me, if the bitch isn't a good breeder, do you shoot her? Do you kill the runt of the litter?"

Red is not a good color for a Malfoy. Fury rushes into his cheeks, staining them red with anger. It clashes horribly with the white-blonde hair and makes him look like a clown. But you've finally got an honest reaction out of him.

Malfoy narrows his eyes at me. His aura flashes silver for a moment while he regains control of himself. Then, with a genuine smile, he shifts his wand from my heart to Hermione.

When worry surges through me, it is accompanied by pain. I can't tell if the worry is mine or Hermione's, but it's causing the same gut-wrenching pain as my love for Ron. Buried at the back of my mind is the thought that anything positive wars with the Dark and causes pain, but I still don't have time to examine it.

Because, with careful deliberation, Malfoy casts the Killing Curse at Hermione.

However, before he can complete the two words, I scream, "NO!" and, pointing my wand at Malfoy before I can fully think about it, I lift him off the floor like a puppet. He dangles in the air, unable to finish the curse.

In a voice that sounds nothing like my own, I cast a spell I've never learned, though the results are fascinating: "Aufero Pectus."

An invisible scalpel incises Malfoy's chest over his breastbone. Blood pours forth from the wound as the scalpel drives deeper.

Malfoy's screams are different from those earlier as he's surgically cut open - while still fully conscious.

Hermione's horror is felt distantly. I feel it with the same clinical detachment I'm using to watch Malfoy being sliced open. The same fascination as holding a magnifying glass over a bug and watching it burn to death.

The invisible scalpel turns, slowly cutting a circle into his chest.

A tugging on my right arm - my upraised wand arm - draws my attention to my side.

It's Hermione. I watch her say something to me, but can't hear the words. It's just her mouth, that beautiful, sluttish mouth, moving silently.

Lust. Lust rockets through me as I watch her. Reaching across my body, I grip her chin with my left hand and bend down to kiss her brutally. I taste blood.

When Malfoy's screaming ceases suddenly, I break off the kiss, shoving Hermione away, returning my attention to my victim.

There is a wet, bloody red hole in his chest. His heart lies on the floor at his feet.