Secrets and Shadows

~*~

"A hundred days had made me older

Since the last time that I saw your pretty face

A thousand lights had made me colder

And I don’t think I can look at this the same

But all the miles had separate

They disappeared now when I’m dreaming of your face

I’m here without you baby but you're still on my lonely mind

I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time

I’m here without you baby but you're still with me in my dreams

And tonight it’s only you and me..."

"Here Without You" by Three Doors Down

~*~

He used to look in the mirror far more often. That was back in the day when he was rich, and simple-minded... and young.

He was vain then. He had a right to be. He could afford to be.

He was young and beautiful then. A modern-day Adonis...

With his own goddess, eyes like hazelnut coffee deep and warm, and hair like crimson passion made tangible and silken.

He glanced at his hands, roughened by work. This cottage was out of the way, and he was almost a hermit. His hair was silvered by the hard sun, and despite the numerous charms, his skin was brown, almost swarthy.

He wasn't an aristocrat.

Loneliness, though, had always been his life. Well. Except for THOSE times.

He wasn't the elegant lover. No picture of his muse adorned the splintery wooden walls, unpolished, of this cabin.

He used to jeer at Hagrid's cabin.

There was a knock on his door, and he stiffened for a moment, listening carefully. One long knock, followed by two short ones, then another long one. Finally, a rapid tapping of fingernails on wood. Drawing a breath at the signal knock, he walked over and opened the door.

The young woman was standing on the doorstep, her hair and part of her face hidden underneath the overhanging hood she wore. The hood of a Muggle parka, white leather lined with fur. It was not hard for her... any of them... to learn the art of blending in.

She pushed the hood back as soon as he'd closed the door silently behind her, and a dark blonde head with a slightly weary face, hazel eyes smouldering jaded, a slightly upturned nose wrinkling at his over-long hair, appeared. She gave a little smirk. "Eating instant macaroni and cheese again, I see."

He shrugged slightly. "I can't cook."

"I am well aware. I brought you something." She held out a covered platter, and even as he thanked her and took it from her gloved hands, she remarked. "Strawberry angel food... your favourite."

He stilled for the briefest of moments. It was not easy to live like this. Amongst the Muggles that he had been brought up to despise so deeply. In complete isolation except for this friend, a world where almost everything meant something else.

Strawberry angel food. She was referring not to the cake on the plate... strawberry for the red hair and sweet lips of the girl he loved... and 'angel'... what that girl was. What he'd called her, back in the day when he used to be able to see her, when they made love in the private quarters that Snape afforded all his Prefects.

He uncovered the platter to reveal, yes, a cake, the smell of sugar and strawberries filling the small cottage, but he abruptly dug his fingers under the cake, getting crumbs and icing on his hands, and felt parchment under his fingertips. Pulling it out, he read it briefly, a faraway look entering his eyes, before he gave the blonde woman a curt nod in thanks, and threw the missive into the nearby fire. Both knew why he did not perform the spells. Except for wards and emergencies, he seldom used magic any more. Magic was detectable.

A brief silence, and then he gazed at his friend. "I can't thank you enough for this, Pansy."

She smirked again. "Well. You DID take me to the ball that year, despite the terrible robes that my mother sent. SO many frills... I looked like a perambulating wedding cake!"

He chuckled slightly. "Well. It was either you or Millicent Bulstrode as 'acceptable' choices. And I preferred someone with at least SOME intelligence."

She cackled slightly at that. "Why, thank you. And here I was thinking that it was because Millicent could probably have broken you in two like a china doll..."

"That too." He made an exaggerated grimace. "Want to eat with me?" He gestured the cake, and the plate of instant macaroni and cheese on the small, chipped table.

"That's all right, I'll pass," she replied, raising an eyebrow. "Not that I don't adore your culinary masterpiece over there, but I have a date tonight."

Draco nodded slowly, and took her hands in his for a brief moment. Just a light, brotherly squeeze, getting strawberry angel food cake all over her gloves and smirking slightly at her disgruntled expression. "Tell Longbottom to treat you well... or else he shall have to answer to me."

"He knows," Pansy replied, before re-adjusting her hood to shield her face once again. A pink cashmere muffler had the dual purpose of warmth, and hiding her nose and mouth from view. The rest of her face was thrown in the shadow of the hood.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, a cool gesture of friendship and gratitude. "Thank you, Pansy."

"Goodbye, Draco," she replied quietly, before moving towards the door again, pulling it open. "Happy Christmas, and good luck."

The door closed behind her, and he turned back with a small sigh towards the table.

Later, full, he sat on the small, worn sofa with its squishy, ugly brown cushions, the taste of synthetic cheese sauce, of strawberries and sugar, and of solitude, in his mouth. And his eyes focused upon his arms, bared in the firelight, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a black tattoo of a skull and serpent.

A Death Eater living amongst Muggles.

A Death Eater alone... shrouded in secrets, unconnected...

A rogue, more than met the eye. Danger... dangerous. Double. A double life.

It was a choice that he'd made, and with the Slytherin instinct and determination for survival, he would live with.

There was someone waiting for him to come back to her someday, after all. And even the hardest and iciest of storm-gray eyes would soften at the warmth and lovelight in hers.