Predatory

Predatory

Every head in the Slytherin common room turned when they heard the tell-tale crack of knuckle against bone. Draco stood before the entrance portal that led to the hall, a bloody fist clenched, arm shaking as he stared down at Blaise Zabini. The boy was on the floor, trying to hold back the blood dripping from his nose.

"You bastard," Blaise hissed.

"No more than you," Draco shot back, and whirled out of the common room. As his blonde head disappeared, the students in the room returned to their homework, quickly disinterested. Gossip was for Hufflepuffs. They had actual work to do.

Blaise picked himself up and performed a quick healing spell on his nose before stalking out after Draco. Draco always went one place when he was royally pissed off - the Quidditch pitch. If Blaise was lucky, he'd be able to catch him this time. Last time Draco had flown so quickly Blaise had had no hope of intercepting him. As the Slytherin grabbed his broom on the way to the field, he hoped this time would be different.

A tiny black dot hovered high above the earth, almost invisible, obscured by clouds and dusk. Blaise rose into the air and came to rest facing Draco. It was amusing to see his hair whipped by the wind, mussed so differently than when they made love at night. The wind was trying to own him; Blaise wanted only to touch him.

"Go away," Draco hissed. "Or I'll knock you off your broom."

"You don't want to do that," Blaise replied, leaning back. His body molded effortlessly to the curve and slant of his broom. I'd like to see you try.

"And why, pray tell, would I not want to do that?" Draco snapped, his eyes flashing fiercely. Blaise felt a small spark of pride that he could rouse Draco this way, though that spark was quickly deluged with anger.

"Who will get you out of detention for playing around with the Potter child?" Blaise shot tersely, only his markedly relaxed position hinting that he was lit with anger. Like a snake ready to strike. "Who will hold you at night when you awake screaming from a nightmare? Who-"

"Blackmail," Draco cut in over him. "You evil, conniving, manipulative-"

"Slytherin." Blaise's grip tightened on his broom, a strained smirk cracking his lips. "You yourself said I was perfect for the house. Remember that night? You had just come out of the shower..."

"You would have done better in Hufflepuff," Draco spat, a faint flush coloring the top of his cheeks. "Stay away from me."

"Do you really want that?"

"Why are you doing this!?" Draco finally shouted. Blaise relaxed a fraction. Finally, the crux of the problem. "How could you do something so utterly stupid!? I thought you were smarter than that, that it didn't matter what your parents said." His voice arched higher and higher.

"My parents have nothing to do with it," Blaise snapped at Draco, shocked the other would even mention it. Draco shot him a withering glare and dipped his broom, dropping to the ground too fast for Blaise to catch up. Draco had always been a fantastic Quidditch player; much better than Blaise could ever hope to be. It hadn't been his father's money that had gotten him on the team, that was for certain.

Blaise touched the ground and no sooner had his feet sank into the grass than Draco launched himself at him, catching him hard around the waist and dragging him to the ground. Blaise loosed soft cry as his back slammed against earth. The wind was knocked out of him, and he only had a moment to catch his breath before Draco smashed a fist into his eye and grasped the lapels of his shirt.

"I told you what they're doing!" he shrieked. "You know what they've done to me! How can you join them!?" He lifted Blaise's head once and slammed it back down. Blaise reached up and delivered a swift right hook to Draco's jaw, knocking the blonde off him.

"If you're not going to talk reasonably I'm going to leave," Blaise spoke in his low, dangerous voice.

"How do you expect me to talk reasonably when you just told me not an hour ago that you were going to die!?" Draco roared, his face now a furious red. Only in the absence of crowds did Draco allow emotion to control him so completely. That was what made him so incredibly good in bed.

"I never said anything about death," Blaise replied calmly, rubbing his knuckles. Punching someone hurt.

"Serving Him is death." Draco reached for Blaise's lapels again, but didn't shake him this time. "You can't."

"You have no right to tell me what I can and can't do," Blaise shot back. "You've been working for Him all year. You did a crap job trying to hide it. Even Goyle figured it out." Draco's face paled.

"You can't do this." Draco did what he did best, and ignored the fact that Blaise knew about his covert operations.

"You're not in any position to order me around," Blaise responded quietly. Draco seemed calmer. His body, astride Blaise's waist, had stopped trembling so violently.

"You can't. I won't let you. You have to stay here." Draco had lost his edge. His voice was low, guttural almost. Predatory.

"The decision's been made; there's nothing you can do," Blaise answered quietly. Draco closed his eyes, his face suddenly scrunching in pain. He bent down low over Blaise's chest, fists gathering into the front of Blaise's shirt. His forehead touched Blaise's clothed collarbone and then, to Blaise's horror, he heard a soft, sudden, choking gasp.

"Draco, you complete asshole." He put his hands on Draco's shoulders. "Look at me." Draco brought his head up, and Blaise cringed. His eyes were red, and tears leaked down his face. "Stop crying." It was a command, a blatant order. Draco sniffed, drawing his sleeve across his nose once.

"Merlin, I hate you," Draco growled. "I hate you so much."

"Save it for someone who actually listens," Blaise whispered, pulling Draco down on him. Their lips met in a hot, wet kiss, tears slipping across Blaise's lips with Draco's mouth following. Draco jerked up with a harsh gasp, but Blaise didn't give him a chance. He dragged his hand through Draco's hair and meshed their lips together. Draco tried to suck a breath past his lips, still panting from his little crying episode. Blaise didn't let him, cutting off Draco's air with his tongue and lips.

Draco yanked back, coughing, and sucking in air. "Blaise," he choked, and Blaise could see he was caught between crying and snogging. He was patient - he waited till Draco had drawn a full breath before pulling the boy to him again. Draco squirmed over him, simultaneously trying to disentangle himself and get closer. Blaise's hand snaked between their bodies, scrabbling for the waistline of Draco's pants.

"You can't - you can't just -" Draco gasped when Blaise released his mouth and started a slippery trail of kisses down his jaw and neck. "Blaise, for Merlin's sake --" Draco released a low moan from the back of his throat as Blaise touched a particularly sensitive bit of skin with his teeth. "I hate you," Draco growled, finally succumbing. He slipped a knee between Blaise's legs, pulling himself up over Blaise to settle his hips against the other's.

"This is it," Blaise whispered, one hand at Draco's hair, the other struggling with the zip on Draco's pants.

"No," Draco moaned weakly.

"I leave tomorrow."

Draco stopped all ministrations and collapsed on Blaise, dead weight atop his half-bare chest. Blaise found his hand uncomfortably wedged between Draco's body and his, not yet touching enough skin. "You can't do this to me." Draco thumped a fist against the ground.

"I will not apologize, and I will not change my mind. Draco, you are acting immature."

Draco jerked his head up, staring into Blaise's eyes. He set his lips into a fine line. "Answer me this," he demanded finally, eyes hard. Blaise's fumbling for the zip stopped when Draco gripped his wrist painfully. "Was it just for the sex?"

There it was. What Blaise had been waiting for. "Wasn't it for you?" he answered, ignoring that prickling feeling he was getting behind his eyes. It confused him; he had never felt it before. Draco's eyes flashed nearly black for a second, and then he leapt to his feet. Blaise felt mild triumph in the back of his mind that he had managed to get the zip halfway down before Draco had come to his senses.

"This isn't over," Draco growled, his face a marvelous display of color and passion. "We'll meet again, and you won't like it." And he turned and stalked off.

Blaise rolled over onto his stomach and rubbed his eye. It would turn black and blue by tomorrow if he didn't do anything, but for some reason that didn't bother him. Nothing bothered him. He felt empty, as if his entire life had led up to this point and now that it was over, he had nothing left to do. In a way, his life had indeed led up to this. To driving Draco from the clutches of Voldemort. No, he was not afraid to say His name, unlike others. There were worse things to fear than a name.

Like the sound of Draco screaming as nightmares ripped through him in the dark.

Or the thought of holding Draco's cold, lifeless body.

He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. He left his broom; it didn't matter anymore. He wouldn't have need for it.

Blaise left the next day.

...*...

That had been four years ago, Blaise recalled as he stared at the wand pointed at his forehead. If he just leaned a bit further in... he would feel the tip cool against his aching head. He closed his eyes.

"Just answer me," that sultry, sly voice issued again, and Blaise forced his eyes open. Draco stared at him, his wand arm steady. "What did we have? Could I have saved it?"

Blaise shot a look at the other person in the room. The only other person. Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. But Harry, his face set hard and determined, only had eyes for Draco. Blaise twitched against the bonds that held him to the chair.

"You wouldn't have wanted to," he answered finally, his voice hoarse from days of abuse. The Dementors had really done their worst. "Seems you found something better."

"Draco," Potter hissed urgently. His face was pale and taut with anxiety for Draco. Blaise wondered vaguely if he had ever looked that ridiculous.

"I can do this, Potter," Draco spat. "Blaise Zabini, you are charged with first degree murder, sedition, bribery, and blackmail."

"Guilty," Blaise maintained. The mark on his arm burned fiercely. Just end it.

"You are sentenced to death."

Blaise blinked at Draco. Death? Not the Kiss? He flicked his eyes towards Potter. The boy scowled behind his huge glasses. "I didn't do it for you," Potter growled, his voice low with venom. "I did it for Draco. Don't think this is mercy. I would've let them Kiss you." Blaise had killed little Ginny Weasley. Poor girl.

"After you do it I have something for you." Blaise looked back at Draco. "I left it in my cell; they wouldn't let me bring it." The wand shook just a fraction. A hand clamped down on Draco's shoulder. Potter, trembling with something like fury, gripped Draco.

"Haven't you done enough?" Potter hissed. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Draco's ear, whispering something. Draco shivered subtly, and shook Potter away.

"Avada Kedavera."

...*...

Draco picked up the piece of paper left on Blaise's cot. Harry stood behind him, waiting in the doorway. He was pale and clammy; the Dementors still causing him trouble even after so many years. Draco unfolded the paper, read it, smiled wistfully and crumpled it into a ball. He tossed it on the floor and turned to Harry. The boy's green eyes narrowed in curiosity.

"It's all right," Draco said softly, slipping an arm around Harry's waist as they left. "Just something he should have said a long, long time ago."

I love you Draco.