http://www.thehexfiles.net/viewstory.php?sid=4158

The St. Valentine's Day Massacre and other monologues.: The money shot.

by Calanthe

Authors note � This story will stand alone but is best read as part of the �Chasing the Dragon� ongoing fic. In terms of chronology, it should be read after chapter 11. It is the second interlocking story from Draco�s point of view. The first is called �Money can�t buy the best Christmas presents�, which fits in between chapters 6 and 7.

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The St. Valentine�s Day Massacre and Other Monologues.

I�ve given it a lot of thought recently and I can unequivocally confirm that life is fucking weird. I can barely remember the time before any of this had started, when life was sane. When I was in control. A time when I was lonely and without hope.

Of course, it began long before the Christmas holidays, but that�s the time I really started to apply my not insignificant brainpower to solving the delicious puzzle of my secret lover. How wanted I felt then, with my beautiful gift; my perfect dildo, as I pleasured myself at his whim and burned with longing to be his. To finally be someone�s. Someone who wanted my body and not my title. Someone who paid attention to the little details, the ones that made his seduction so perfect.

In the beginning, I made a list. The list was very short. It contained the names of those whom I felt capable in the practical sense of performing the necessary charms to win me. On the list were two Slytherins, one Ravenclaw, and two Gryffindors. I know! I imagine you�re shocked about that! Remember however, that I am talking about magical ability here, and not my own fancies of whom I wished the person to be. When my spectacular Christmas gift was revealed, two names dropped from the list as if they had never existed. Pansy and Granger. Anatomically incorrect, you understand. What a bloody relief that was too, let me tell you! The thought that either of them could intuit my most closely guarded needs was too terrifying to contemplate.

And then there were three.

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Do you know what it�s like to always be in charge? To always be the one all others look to for leadership and strength? This is the story of my life. It could not be any other way; I am a Malfoy. How marvellous. Although I would never admit it, I don�t always know the answers. As My Father often says, �When in doubt, lie.� This pearl of Parental wisdom has served me well and I do not plan to abandon it now.

Sometimes - very occasionally, you understand - I want someone else to make the decisions. I want not to be in charge. And this is precisely what I was given by my fantasy man. He controlled our interactions; he controlled me. And while I would not wish it all the time, it has long been my private desire to submit to the will of another. The night before the Quidditch game, in my bed for example, could not have better fulfilled my needs had I planned it myself. I think back on it now and I am hard in an instant.

I remember the smell and the taste of him but most of all, I remember him calling me by my name for the first time. If it hadn�t already happened before that time, then love punched a hand into my chest and squeezed my heart tightly at that moment. And now my heart is racing again, pattering its manic rhythm as it did that night. I can feel the pulse in my throat and my groin. You will have to forgive me if I touch myself as I tell you what he did to me that night.

I could not see a thing; the darkness was thicker by far than it should have been. A clever trick by anyone�s standards. My panic passed as I realised it was him. I used my shaky breaths to try and inhale the scent of him, to pull him into my lungs, and hold his breath inside me. And then he said those words- the ones that are etched into my memory with acid, so powerful was their effect on me.

��suck me off with that beautiful, dirty mouth of yours.�

Can you see me shaking? God! How I wanted him. How I want him now, to possess my mouth as he did that night. The knowledge that I was finally to taste his body pulsed the blood straight to my groin, made me sob in the back of my throat. And then he bound me. I knew my body was beaten, that he could take whatever he wished, but my heart and soul soared high in the sky, free as a bird and light as a feather.

I cannot help but touch myself now as I think of his tender care of me that night. He was so concerned, so kind that I knew he would never, ever harm me. To him, I was a precious thing on which to lavish love and attention. His actions spoke as loudly as his few words. The way he checked my bonds for comfort and the delicate brush of his fingertips against my sensitised skin. I remember with love when he asked me if I wanted it, and I said �God, yes,� wishing I had the strength to tell him never to stop. But I was afraid my need would scare him away, so I said nothing.

I need to feel love. Not power, which My Father thinks is the same thing, I am sure. I am desperate for it, that previously unknown warmth enveloping me and holding me as if in a cocoon, the feeling that I am wanted, whatever my faults. I have never known it before, but I know it now. He wants me. He wants me to give in to him, and I will.

I remember his tentative touch on my skin that night, how his fingertips pressed coolly into my burning body, learning my contours and stealing that heat which I would have freely given. And then I remember his mouth on my nipple. I must stop my story for a moment, until I can breathe again.





His tongue flicked out and lashed across it, circling the peaked flesh there, pulling it without mercy into his mouth, and latching onto my chest as he suckled me. I wanted to scream, it felt so good. I am stroking that same nipple now, feeling its tiny button press into the pad of my finger, even as I continue to stroke my cock in time to the events of my story. I am as wet under my palm as he was in my mouth that night. But I cannot taste as good as he does; he is perfection to me.

I can still feel how he ran his fingers through my hair that night, pressing into my scalp, and drawing handfuls of it up towards his face as if he would smell it. He murmured softly as he did it, but I didn�t have the courage to ask him what he said and shatter the moment for us both. I kissed him then, but on the chest and not his mouth. I knew in an instant that he wanted to kiss me properly. I felt his hesitation as my lips touched his bared flesh, and the deep, sad moan as he tried to pull away. I wanted the kiss so much, but I knew why he withheld it. Our first kiss was too precious to waste. We would save it, I believed, for a time when we knew each other.

When he grasped my chin and leaned in to me, I knew it was time. I wanted him deep inside my beautiful, dirty mouth to taste, to lick and to suck. Especially that. The delicacy with which he moistened my lips with his wetness brought silent tears to my eyes. I can remember in minute detail the feeling of his silky soft end pressing gently into my lips. I felt the contour of the dome and the tiny dip underneath where his pre-come was the thickest, the warmest. As he stroked his rose petal flesh around my mouth, I breathed his musky scent deep inside and tasted the first hint of him on my tongue. My breath could have burned him, it seemed so hot to me. When he said my name I lunged forward in desperation. I had to have him inside me as the sound of my name still rode the air between us. I couldn�t contain my moan of joy to finally have him pulsing in my mouth. His arousal matched my own, as my erection twitched and pleaded for attention in my lap.

He tried so hard to make love to my willing mouth, but I knew he wanted to fuck it. It was what I wanted and I already knew we were completely in tune, even back then. I ate him noisily, loving the gasps my slurping sounds drew from him, and using my tongue forcefully on the underside of his gorgeously fat length. I pressed the vein as far as it would go into his solid, meaty cock, feeling the pulsing and contractions of his pleasure as I did it. He murmured my name repeatedly, pushing me on to greater and greater efforts to complete his experience.

As I lie here now, my body mimics those wet noises again, yet I am alone. My masturbation has become frenzied and frequent since he has been torturing me with his attentions. Tonight is no exception. I am pressing my fingertips into my vein on each pump of my fist, remembering back to that night, remembering the feel of his silky flesh against my wet tongue. If I don�t hold back, I will come before I finish my story.

When he came in my mouth, I was blessed. I have no religion, yet I was filled with light and love. His vigorous spurts hit the back of my throat with force, flashing across my taste buds in an instant and filling my mouth with the unique flavour of him. I could not let him go, I was so desperate to milk every last droplet from him. As he pulled away I smiled happily to myself, imagining his come filling my stomach and sustaining me. In that moment, he gave me his life and I took it to myself covetously.

I laughed as he praised me, thinking blasphemously that he was my god, not the other way around. I needed him to give me purpose, to put my existence into perspective. He became my religion, if such a thing is possible. I would gladly worship at his alter whenever I was allowed.

And then he showed me his sign. He bit me. When I begged him, he bit me harder. I almost came when he did it. My body was in sensory overload with his touch, his taste, his sounds and his smell all around me. I knew if I bore his mark, he would understand that there was no going back from this experience for either of us. We would play it out to the end, whatever it may be. Whoever he may be. And that would require me to transform my long-held beliefs, especially if he turned out to be Potter.

What? You think I hadn�t considered him? He was the second name on my list, if you must know. After Blaise. But I digress.

I knew he would touch me before he left me, and I was not wrong. His hands paid homage to my body with the softest of touches. He held my testicles in his hand as if they were his own � with familiarity and reverence. Feeling the press of his thumbs on my tightening flesh was almost too maddening for words. When his hand circled my soaking erection I heard his gasp of surprise. He travelled the length of me so slowly, working the moisture up and down, up and down, making me scream and wishing I knew his name, so I could scream it for him.

My own hand is soaking now as I wank myself furiously, remembering the heat of his breath in my lap as he lowered his head to devour me. I couldn�t wait. I could not wait for my release, as I cannot wait any longer for it now. I am so close�just a little more�so close�

�Harry��

�

I say his name now because I know it. He was the reason for that night. He is the reason for this night, too.

As I absorb the warm afterglow of my orgasm, I go back to that night after he had gone, and remember the feeling of loss as the bindings slipped and released me. I gathered their silky cloth to me and burrowed down into the covers. I pulled all the bed linen close around me, hoping to catch a lingering scent of my dream lover so that I could fall asleep happy.

He had wished me luck in the game the next day. I almost crossed Harry off the list right there and then, convinced that such a thing could never be; unsure whether such a thing should ever be.

But I had considered him, just so that you know.

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When I discovered the scarf the next morning, I did not automatically decide it was Harry. Remember, Blaise was still on the list. And being a Slytherin, I knew him to be perfectly capable of devious behaviour. I could not rule out the possibility that the scarf was a red herring.

It�s funny looking back on that morning now, and the odd emotions I experienced. As my hand closed around the scarf, pulling it up from the foot of my bed, my first thought was to smell it and see if it smelled of him. I was devastated when I could not remember, bereft of a most precious memory. Of course, I then thought of Harry, (Potter, as he still was at the time) and how it would be if he was the one. I tested it out in my head. ��Draco and Harry���My boyfriend, Harry�� It was unimaginable. Yet really, honestly, was it? Would it not be oddly right, that the two greatest rivals, of equal stature and power, could be attracted to each other? Of the three candidates, I had to grudgingly admit that he was my equal where the others were not. I could not see myself as submissive to either Blaise or the Ravenclaw, Featherstone.

Certainly, Featherstone held the least complications should he prove to be the one. After all, I had no previous attachment to, or relationship with him. This also meant I could judge him the least. A sixth year student, Charles Featherstone excelled in many subjects, applying himself with quiet confidence to his tasks. I know, because I bribed others to spy on him without explaining why. On the plus side, he is of a pure-blood wizarding family. On the negative side, this could indicate some hidden involvement with the Dark Lord; my reasoning being that the majority of pure-blood families are involved with him in one way or another. Having already decided to leave the service of that raving lunatic, I sensed a risk there. I had to admit, however, that he was and still is most pleasant to look upon. But he did not seem the type. Not confident enough, for want of a better word.

And then there was Blaise.

In many ways he was the safest option, but in other ways, the worst of the three. If Blaise was the one, it was for nefarious reasons and not for love. As my closest confidante, he was the best placed of the candidates to intuit my secret drives and desires. I have always been careful to hide my true self below the expected Malfoy façade and this extends even to my closest friendships. In many ways, I have shocked myself by laying myself open to intimate scrutiny by an unknown. It was a risk that I have not regretted.

In truth, I would have been surprised if Blaise could read me so well. He is the archetypical Slytherin as well as the product of a self-obsessed mother � Blaise�s world revolves around his own needs. Don�t mistake me, however; I do not judge him for this. I merely offer that he would not be able to put himself in my shoes because he is so used to his own. Of course, I believed that if Blaise was the one, he was doing it for Pansy. I have known for some time that he is in love with her. He tries so hard to hide it, as does she. Oh, yes. She returns his feelings, although she feels the weight of our parent�s decision that we will marry, regardless of other factors, just as I do. For that reason, she is more circumspect with him. But her eyes can�t hide her feelings any better than his can.

Yes, if it was Blaise, then he was plotting a scheme to break the bond of our parents. That in itself would not have been a negative thing as far as I was concerned. But, I would be destroyed in my body and my soul if it proved to be him. He would not love me � he could not, as he is a lover of women first and foremost. He would only ever have been toying with me and the thought of it was too painful to bear. He would know me in a way I could never permit. I hated to think of what I might have to do to protect myself from him, should he use his knowledge against me. But I am a Malfoy, and I would have done what was necessary. At least our friendship would have given me the tools to exact my revenge. If I am honest, then the thought of my phantom lover being Blaise was the worst of the options. Even worse that the thought of it being Potter.

So, what about Harry?

Yes � what about him indeed. If it was him, then it was love. There could be no other explanation that I could find. Perhaps it started as something else, but I scrutinised every encounter, every word, every action for signs and they all pointed to attraction at the very least, if not love.

How did it make me feel to think that Potter might be in love with me? Confused. I hate to be outdone at anything as you know, and the thought that he could overcome barriers and prejudices that I could not irked me somewhat. If he could do it, then so could I. But Potter? I admit, I started off completely repulsed by the idea. I hated everything he stood for; everything his house stood for. What is bravery without cunning and intelligence? Fucking Gryffindors � storming in to situations shielded by their righteous indignation � who do they think they are? But then I got to thinking, as I thought about all the candidates.

I made myself a list (I like lists, as you may have noticed,) of the positives and negatives of each candidate. I was surprised to find only two negatives for Harry; he was a Gryffindor and he was not pure-blooded. His opposition to the Dark Lord and his �poster boy� status for the side of good would have been on the negative list even one year ago, but with the current situation I could not in truthfulness pretend they were still bad. The pure-blood issue is a little more serious, but let's be honest � it�s not like we can make any babies, so the family tree will be safe! Then there are his eyes. The most startling emerald green you have ever seen. I have always been jealous of their shade and depth. They were on the positive list I can assure you, along with his leadership qualities and natural ability with practical magic.

I knew he was good to look at, but could that ever be enough? I asked myself. Could I overcome the obstacles whoever it proved to be? Only time would tell.

So that�s how it was. When my head wasn�t in the clouds, it was throbbing with the pressure.

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Whenever he visited me or wrote to me, he was faceless, invisible. At no point did I overlay the faces of any of my candidates onto my lover. If I chose the wrong one, I would have felt unfaithful. And I needed to be true to him. I am not true to anyone else. Even myself, I fear.

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I was on fire with him when I played Quidditch against Ravenclaw. We had won before either team had even mounted a broom. My body could barely contain my heart; it was so huge and full of love. I felt more alive than I had ever felt in my life and it was magnificent. I was suddenly twice my normal size; I could have taken on My Father and won � that�s how fantastic he made me feel. This is power, I thought to myself, pitying My Father that he might not know this himself. It was an alien state of being, but oh, so addictive. Once I had felt it, I could not give it up. I knew with unwavering certainty that my secret lover�s path was the path I must tread.

My hand was at my throat for days after his visit. Just touching the skin where his mouth had been was enough to make me hard and panting with desire. I took a mirror to bed with me, and lay staring at the bruise for hours, a soft smile on my face. I stroked the skin during lessons when I should have been concentrating. I was not myself and I knew it must show. I could not hide my hope. Such a strange emotion, hope. Something I was ill acquainted with before he came along.

Blaise�s reaction to the love bite was interesting to say the least. It was a mixture of vague disgust and veiled amusement. I could not decipher what it meant, whether he was acting or not. He pressed me for names but bored quickly of it when I ignored him. Hiding my smile was the hardest thing to do. If it was he, I did not want to admit so plainly my vulnerability. I followed Featherstone surreptitiously with my eyes every mealtime, trying to gauge if he was watching me in turn. He looked at me after the Quidditch game but then, everyone did. And Harry always watched me, as a handler watches a poisonous snake, so I could deduce no further information from his glances.

I wanted to thank my mystery lover for my performance that day on the Quidditch pitch, but my housemates would not leave me alone. I tried in vain to escape their celebrations. I wanted to celebrate by myself with my Christmas gift. I knew my lover would understand the significance; that it would make him smile. I had to wait until way past bedtime before I was alone. I amend that comment � I was never alone after he came into my life.

I had become practised at hiding the wooden box from my dormitory mates, so it was not difficult to deposit it within the confines of my bed. I stripped myself naked and lay on top of the covers, stroking the wooden box with one hand and the bruise on my neck with the other. I closed my eyes and imagined it has him touching me. I imagined him caressing me with greedy hands, murmuring my name into the heated silence, taking pleasure in my moans. I waited until the urge to writhe was upon me and I whispered,

�I beg you,� and when the box popped open, I added,

�I love you��

And I meant it with all my heart, I realised. I oiled the dildo and rubbed it across my body, making my nipples shine with the odourless liquid. The sensation of the firm but soft curvy head of it pressing into my chest transfixed me. I pinched them hard between impatient fingers, imagining his wet mouth closing over them one at a time, sucking them, worrying them with his teeth until my flesh was raw with his abuse. My cock throbbed wildly at the thought of it.

I brought the dildo to my lips, staring at it from close range, before closing my eyes and imitating the darkness of the night before. I traced it around my lips, pressing and stretching the flesh until they were swollen from the attention. My breathing hitched as I had a sudden recollection of his smell, his glorious taste. My other hand had sought the scarf from beneath my pillow before I had registered any desire to touch it. I balled it up in my fist, knowing he had touched it, even if it was not his. I pursed my lips together and pushed the familiar broad length into my mouth, trying hard to fool myself that the oil was his body�s lubricant. I licked the vein lovingly, pressing into it all the time with the firm flat of my tongue. I circled his furled foreskin with the tip of my tongue, pressing into the slit, lapping at the imagined softness of his skin. I made love to my mouth, as he had tried so hard to do, pushing it with care to the very back of my throat and holding it there as I masturbated myself at a steady pace, hand still wrapped in the scarf. I could feel its woolly softness against my most sensitive skin.

When I wanted my orgasm with a burning desperation, only then did I give in and oil my anus. I had always loved to feel myself in there, marvelling at the heat and tightness and texture, but now I only ever touch myself enough to prepare for the entry of his dildo. To do anything else would be a travesty. The press of the beautiful broad head against my hole always causes my chest to rise in a gasp of anticipation. My heart beat so fast that night, I thought I might die. I fancied I could feel his teeth once again in my neck. I arched my body up from the bed and slid him inside me. I held his firm yet delicate sac in my fist and pushed. I called aloud, although no one could hear me, and clenched my muscles to make his journey more difficult. I created a resistance, but I also created more friction, and my prostate loved me for my thought.

Keeping my hips high off the bed, resting only on my shoulders and heels, I thrust my body onto the length of him, gyrating my hips to stroke him over and over my hidden nerves. My cock jerked and begged to be touched, but I would not do it. My thoughts were only on his delicious invasion. On every inward stroke, I felt the mass of him push my breath out of my body in a tortured moan. I felt sure I could have made him come with my display. I was wanton and shameless. God! But I am hard again as I recount this to you. I can smell my wetness, as I could smell myself that night.

Every time I use the gift on myself, I have to fight against fucking myself from the first thrust. I yearned that night to make love yet lost the will for a gentle completion once he was inside me.

I cannot help but call my dildo �he�. It is no inanimate object, as far as my desires are concerned. It is his avatar. He makes me come, when I pleasure myself with it. Only him.

I turned him inside me occasionally, until the press of the firm balls pushed into my perineum. I stroked myself there, wishing it were his hand that did it. I rarely wanked myself as his organ buggered me; I never needed to. His precious gift will make me come every time, building an immense, explosive feeling deep inside me that expands outwards and outwards until it encompasses my groin and makes my cock jerk.

But on that night I gave in as I always do, to working his length into me carelessly and with force. Each entry into my body pushed me a step closer to my goal. I called for him in my mind, wishing he could hear me, wishing I could make him see me. I thrust myself violently onto his length, until the orgasm ripped through me and the gouts of thick white semen covered my stomach. I screamed aloud as I came, dedicating my pleasure to him.

As I stilled my rapid breathing, I turned my head and looked once again at the scarf. I raised it to my face until my forehead rested against its snuggly warmth and I smiled a small, knowing smile, just for myself. Only once my wetness had cooled did I bother to clean myself and climb into bed. I snapped the box shut and placed it under my covers, as I so often do when it has known me intimately. I gave it my preferred side of the bed and sank into the side that is usually empty. I clasped the scarf to my chest, stretching it out until I could feel its baby soft texture against my stomach, my nipple and my cheek. And then I fell asleep. Warm in his glow, warm and loved to the very core of me. A winner in every sense of the word � for a change.

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Have I told you about my family? Perhaps I should, as you might understand me better, then. I am the sole heir to the Malfoy millions. I jest you not. My parents, Lucius and Narcissa were only able to produce me, much to the disgust of the older generations. In both My Mother�s family line (the Black�s, of course) and My Father�s, there have been few children born either in wedlock or outside of it over the last one hundred years. It is my personal belief that constant inbreeding between the decreasing numbers of pure-blood lines has reduced us to this state of affairs. Soon enough we will be completely sterile, I feel sure.

The Malfoy family line has always been pre-disposed towards standoffishness, even amongst themselves, with the Blacks demonstrating many similar traits. I cannot remember a single embrace or kiss on the cheek from either of my sets of Grandparents. I remember holiday visits filled with oppressive expectations to �sit still�, �be quiet�, �mind your manners�, �speak when you are spoken to and not before�, �behave like a Malfoy� and many other such directives. There was no childhood for me. There were no other children with whom to play. And so I would sit in silence with the adults, invisible to them by their will and mine. If I drew attention to myself for any reason I would be most severely chastised. I learned the cold touch of humiliation from an early age.

Yet I was valued as well. After all, I was the destiny of my bloodline, and regardless of my faults or perceived shortcomings, there would never be another to replace me. My position was unassailable. My arrogance grew from this firm foundation, nurtured by my families� belief that a cast iron heart is a strong heart.

My failings were many despite my best efforts to excel. I believe My Parents often forgot I was a child � they certainly treated me with the contempt they usually reserved for particularly stupid adults. But I loved them, having no other model to compare them too. I love them still, although the love is now a strained habit rather than unconditional or spontaneous. As a child, I chose to see their constant fussing with my appearance and manners as their way of loving me. When I grew older, I came to consider that they had no space to love me; I believe their love is reserved for each other. I was the child of expectation, and of necessity, never made to enrich their lives. I believe I am merely an obstacle between them, to their all-encompassing desire for each other alone.

I grew cold before I realised I had become them. Leaving the Estate to attend school, I saw for the first time what I had missed, or rather, what had been withheld �for my own good�. The happiness of others ate at me and turned to acid in my stomach. I could not bear to witness the innocent joys of my fellow pupils; joys I would never know within my own family. The more I hated others for their safety nets, the more I wanted it for myself. I became increasingly cruel in response to the chasm inside me, inside my soul that longed to be filled with someone�s love. A love I had been taught I could never hope to earn. My future role in life would not permit such a weakness.

Of recent, I had found myself counting the months until My Father would give me up to His service, and laughed at the irony that all of their starchy reserve to �toughen me up� would have been for nothing. There would be no surviving Malfoy to extend the family name. We would all be dead. On the losing side, where no amount of money or influence could buy our safety.

I could scarcely believe My Father�s announcement that he planned to leave his Dark Lord in search of freedom and safety. It is my belief that the maniac must have threatened My Mother. Surely nothing else could have prompted such a change to his life-long flirtation with dark magic. I am thankful of his decision - His cause has never attracted me.

That decision was my first ray of hope. My secret admirer was my second. He filled holes inside of me that I never knew were there. And now, I don�t want to die a slave to family tradition or the slave of the Dark Lord. I want to live and be loved. I want to love. And I desperately want to belong. He wants me; I feel it in my bones. I so want to belong to him.

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When I awoke that morning, I was hot from a dream of his hands on my body, his mouth at my throat. I stretched languorously and felt the silky sheet caress my erection. I smiled and thought to myself, �Happy Valentine�s Day.�

My hand had already travelled far towards my groin when I saw the box. I stilled in an instant, eyes popping out of my head. My pulse shot up to a frantic pace as I reached to take hold of it. I collected the box and the parchment in my hand before moving to sit up. Once I was comfortable, I laid the box in my lap in the dip between my engorged cock and my hip and concentrated on the parchment.

I turned the simply folded piece of paper over and over in my hands, scanning for markings, absorbing the feel of the paper through my fingertips. I raised it shakily to my nose and sniffed at it, filling my lungs with its fresh, woody scent. I laid a soft kiss against it before unfolding it and reading.

The torturer becomes the tortured.

I closed my eyes, leaning back into my pillows, resisting the urge to scream out loud, HE LOVES ME! Where there was a seed of doubt before, now there was none. I must have read it a thousand times that first morning. I was unable to concentrate on any other words. Up to that point, I had always thought I am his. But now I also thought, He is mine! I don�t know what I had done to him to make him love me but in that moment I didn�t care. I could have sang aloud and danced around the common room, stark naked and aroused as I was, with just the note clutched to my chest.

I exhausted myself on the note before I would permit myself to consider the box. It was perhaps four inches square and less than an inch deep and covered in darkest green velvet. It was light and it made no noise as I gently shook it for clues. His presents bring out the child in me. Such behaviour would never have been tolerated at home.

When I lifted the lid I knew my eyes must be as wide as cauldrons. There, nestled against the dark interior of the box were two identical pieces of jewellery. I found I had raised a hand to touch my nipple as I looked at them in awe. He wanted to pierce me! Were they a metaphor I wondered, half laughing at my overactive imagination. As I watched, the silvery snakes came to life. At less than an inch long each, I could not believe the intricate detailing on them. They were perfectly realistic in every sense, each biting into a silvery hoop so that they would hang suspended from the ring by their mouths. The constant motions of their tails would keep my little nipples hard and sensitive. They would always be ready for his mouth, I thought, with something like a smirk.

I realised that I had forgotten to breathe. As soon as I drew a breath, I felt my insistent erection begging me to touch it. I admit that I slid my hand there and circled my cock. I stroked it gently as I examined my newest gift. An image came to my mind then, of his mouth closing around my pierced nipple and his tongue battling with the coiling snake adorning it. I could feel a stab of pleasure in both nipples, drawing them up to instantaneous hardness as I thought of his mouth tugging my flesh into him, of the precious metal stretching my skin. I know my eyes fluttered closed for a while as I masturbated slowly, contemplating the pleasure and the pain I would experience in wearing them. I would wear them as soon as I could. I knew just the place in Hogsmeade, a quiet and discreet Apothecary who would be able to help me fulfil this newest fantasy.

My eyes never left the box as I increased the pace of my busy hand. I had to move the sheet back though, so I could see myself in my peripheral vision as I continued to admire my jewellery. These are permanent, I said to myself. He is telling me something with this gift, I reasoned.

As I neared my orgasm, I dared to detach one ring from the box. I lifted it slowly towards me, and slid out my tongue. I laid the snake against my tongue and felt its erotic movement and the way its tail responded to any touch against it. I took it between my lips, pursing them together slightly so that I could feel the ceaseless wriggling and teasing of the silvery reptile. Platinum, I amended internally. Wow. Pricey.

And then I lowered it to my nipple and held it against the flesh it would so soon come to know intimately. The moment I felt it flicker against me, my orgasm came. I lay back in the golden glow, my body in shaky spasms, feeling love fill up the space made inside me by my so recently departed seed. But alongside that sensation was another � a new one. He had found me a new experience and I would embrace it fully. Saturday could not come soon enough.

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

It was Professor Snape who told me about Hubert Coral�s Herbal shop in Hogsmeade. He is renowned for his range of peculiar plants and I had shopped with him before when concocting my own potions. A well-travelled and somewhat Bohemian wizard, Mr. Coral was my first and favourite candidate for assistance with my piercings.

Shaking off Crabbe and Goyle was always easiest in Hogsmeade, as they could spend hours poring over the many displays of sweets and cakes to be seen, but most of all, they liked the wizard comic books in the Post Office. After five minutes of frustrated browsing, I made a half-true excuse about purchasing some ingredients and set off for the tiny Apothecary shop.

As anticipated, Mr. Coral did not so much as twitch one of his extraordinarily bushy eyebrows at my request. He ushered me into his back room with warmth and enthusiasm, all the while explaining the options available to me for the completion of the procedure. It was, he told me, possible to cast a Perforatoria hex and �spell� the hoops into my flesh. I would feel a mild tingling sensation as the hoops located themselves and then they would be healed. I refused this option before Mr. Coral had even finished his fervent explanation.

My anticipation of the pain was as important to me as experiencing the pleasure I would receive from the piercings when my phantom lover finally touched them. I opted for the manual method of introducing the platinum into my nipples. I did permit the application of a topical balm to numb my flesh somewhat, but that was all. I remember he touched my arm gently and smiled at me as he positioned the hollow needle next to the tiny nub of peaked flesh. I wanted to watch it pierce me but found I couldn�t control my breathing if my eyes were open. I was terribly aroused and terribly scared.

The burning hot pain, when it came, snapped all sentient thought to my abused nipple. I know I jerked forward at the intensity of it. There was less blood than I expected but that was a secondary concern to the seething agony of it. I watched Mr. Coral�s calm, steady fingers detach the little snake, revealing the open portion of the ring. I watched him hook the ring into the hollow of the needle, feeding it finally into my flesh and withdrawing the instrument. I forgot to watch him reattach the snake; my eyes were too tightly screwed shut.

Once one was done, Mr. Coral rumbled some comforting words and forced a drink on me. I had not realised my mouth was so dry. The drink helped; I don�t know what was in it but I was calm again before he commenced the second piercing. This one was easier than the first when it should almost certainly have been harder. I would very much like to know what was in that drink! As I dressed myself, I allowed him to press some ointment into my hand to speed up the healing process. He convinced me of the necessity of reducing the risk of infection, but by then I was only too grateful for any solution to the stinging pain. I tried for a moment to savour it, but it was too raw � too fresh, and I could not.

I�m glad I could not see the shock on my face when I exited the back room and came face to face with Harry and the Weasley twins. My instantaneous thought was, They know! And I wanted the piercings just for me, at least just then.

I still was not connecting my candidates to the reality of my secret lover, but that safety blanket was snatched away as my eyes fell on Harry�s scarf. The carefully constructed compartmentalisation in my head didn�t just crumble; it shattered. Even as I stalked towards Harry with my best Malfoy mask in place, I tried to deny the evidence before me. It was too significant however, that I should have a Gryffindor scarf and he should be missing one. I thought I read his guilt in his eyes as I stood before him but when he spoke, it was confusion that coloured his words.

I tried for some still unknown reason to convince myself that Blaise had orchestrated this. I refused to accept that the sanctuary of my lover�s anonymity was past. I needed space to think fast, to learn how to live with the surely indisputable knowledge.


Unbelievable! It MUST be Potter, I thought. Swiftly followed by, Oh, god! I�m going to be the girl in this relationship. I just KNOW it!

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

I had to hide for a while until Crabbe and Goyle had given me up as having departed the village already. I did not want them or anyone with me at a time when I was so unsteady on my feet and in my head.

I would like to say I chose the clearing carefully, but that would be a lie. I barely even knew where I was as my feet set an automatic course for the school. I vaguely came around as I stumbled through the parted trees and decided that this was as good a place as any.

Think�THINK! I was telling myself both in my head and out loud. I scrabbled for the pieces to my puzzle, pacing erratically, gasping for air. The day was freezing, yet I was burning up. My palms were wet with perspiration and my nipples throbbed with a low, scorching heat, like red embers. I felt myself devoid of sanity for a while.

As I paced up and down, up and down behind the half cover of the trees and bushes I wondered how I could get irrefutable evidence; not watered down, but blunt and honest. That pretty much ruled out a verbal confrontation. He would undoubtedly find a way to justify his actions if I bade him talk. And I didn�t want justifications; I just wanted the truth of his feelings for me. If I had that then I could work out how to make the jump from virtual enemies to lovers for real. You are surprised? I thought I had made it clear that I had given myself to him already. The �who� of the problem was insignificant by this stage.

In my nervousness, I found myself a little pleased with my deductive powers. After all, my list had proved accurate in his respect and that had given me the necessary time to mull over the possibility of a union between us. As I have mentioned previously, Harry was not my worst-case scenario � that would have been Blaise. This realisation had given me a foundation on which to build a way forward for myself where Harry was concerned.

But I didn�t know what to do. After all, the power had always been his, but now the playing field was level. Would he still expect my deference or would I be permitted to make any decisions in respect of proceeding? I could not know. I thought then that Legilimency might give me the answers.

When the three of them finally sloped into the clearing, my heart was in my mouth. I was terrified of his rejection. I barely saw Granger or Weasley. I just seemed to fall into those big, sad green eyes. He looked defeated and I was filled with fear. I can�t even remember what I said as I tried to keep my wand steady and keep my �brave� mask in place.

The world narrowed down to him the moment I was inside his head. I riffled through his memories to find the ones I needed and I could not believe what I saw. He was laughing at me. The notes at the beginning, the taunts about the prefects bathroom; he had been laughing at me all along. It was as if his hand closed around my heart and squeezed the life out of it. I don�t know when the tears started to fall, just that they did. I was icy cold with devastation. The jewellery, the dildo � it had all been to taunt me, not to love me. I would never have believed this of him. Not Harry Potter. Blaise, yes � but not him. When had he become so cruel? The last thing I saw as I wrenched myself from his memories was his wicked grin as he stroked my beautiful platinum rings. He had meant them to mutilate me; I felt it for sure. But after everything I had been through, I knew I was not ready to part with them.

When I stopped staring through his eyes and finally was merely staring into them, I let him see the extent of what he had done to me. He had known all along that I was vulnerable, so why hold back now? I showed him my utter despair; that he had beaten me. And then I ran.

When I reached the castle, I went straight to Professor Snape. I told him I was ill and asked for a sleeping draught. He gave it me with few questions seeing my pallor, and I drank it down as I stripped for bed. I knew it was the only escape I would find from my thoughts at that moment.

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

My life that next week felt as if I was stuck in a time-turner. As it began, I relived every painful second as if it were a day long. I realised with some shock that somewhere along the line, I had come to depend on the fact that Harry loved me. I had been so sure of my conclusion! I had taken everything I knew about him and combed it for clues as to his capacity to be unkind. There had never been any indication that he could sink to these depths. I felt I had never been so wrong about anything.

But worse than that, I had realised that I could love him for himself, not just as my phantom lover; that the revelation of his identity as my mystery man no longer caused revulsion. I pined for him as I drew my first waking breath that day after the trip to Hogsmeade, and then with every single breath that followed. I examined every possible angle with regards to pursuing a relationship with him. I had many mad and stupid thoughts at that time. I wondered if he was punishing me for my discovery of him. I wondered if I was wrong, and he did want me, but only when his identity was hidden. Perhaps his pleasure could only be fulfilled if he was invisible to me. And now that he was not, he would cast me aside without a backwards glance.

I was conscious of the nature of our previous liaisons, and wondered if I was meant to wait patiently for him to come to me when he was ready. I made a concerted effort to hand him back his power on a platter, by remaining apart. I let him know I was punishing myself, too, by not touching myself all that week, even though I wanted it so badly. I would lie in my bed each morning and night with the wooden box open, staring through teary eyes at the dildo he had made for me, and I tortured myself by not giving in to its call. I wanted him to know the extent of my self-flagellation. I denied myself any kind of release. I would not touch myself until he said I could.

I hoped he would read from my lack of retaliation that I was waiting for him. But I saw nothing. At least, not at first.

When his team had Quidditch practice, it was usual for Slytherin to send spies. We did it for every team so we always knew what moves they were working on. It did not look out of place that I went with the others to watch. I felt confused as he held himself apart. But when he started to fly against the Weasley girl, I died inside. How could he be so magnificent, how could he fly so flawlessly after yesterday in the clearing if he cared for me? I could find no answer that I wanted to believe.

But as the week moved on, I began to doubt my initial reaction. He seemed to be in pain, too. I watched from a distance as he drifted through the days like a zombie and I felt the first flicker of hope return. I caught him looking at me from time to time, but his gaze darted away instantly so that our eyes never communicated anything between us. I could learn nothing from his face, other than that he was pursuing a course of self-destruct. I noted his detentions in my journal, just so that I would know where he was. I felt safer when I knew that.

By Wednesday of that week, I decided that I could not remain passive. Much as I wanted to show him I could be, I recognised that there is just too much of the dominant in me to remain down for long. I set to planning a venue for our showdown. At least if I confronted him I would know for sure where I stood. The lack of certainty became the thing that disturbed me the most. I sowed the seeds of a plan with an unknowing Professor Snape, causing confusion about a meeting with some parents that weekend. I wanted our meeting to take place in his classroom � it was as close as I could get to home ground outside of the Slytherin dungeons. Somehow, I didn�t think they were the right place to lure him! I knew of Harry�s detention with the professor, and I hoped to hi-jack it for my own purposes.

I watched Harry make the effort towards the end of the week to pull himself into shape for his Quidditch match that weekend. I saw his well-wishers and his beautiful, shy smile as he thanked them for their words, and I wished it was me that was saying them. I wished I was on the receiving end of his radiant smile. I decided to take a chance and speak to him if the opportunity arose. After all, he had wished me luck before my last match, and so it would not seem out of place for me to return the gesture.

He caught me by surprise when my opportunity finally came. I had to send Crabbe and Goyle on a hastily concocted errand to get rid of them. Looking back on it now, it seems like some odd kind of mating ritual, our little dance in the Charms corridor. I felt clumsy and ungainly as I blundered towards him. I could not look at his face for fear I would read my rejection on his features. It would rob me of the last of my courage, I knew. My chest felt tight as I caught his body language in my peripheral vision. He had almost stopped walking and I felt sure he was going to turn and run. It was only when my breathing hitched that he finally faced me. As his penetrating gaze pinned me, full of desolation and loneliness, I lost all my words. My mind went blank. My best intentions of wishing him luck dried up under his scrutiny. My cheeks burned with humiliation and I could not say a word. To stand there in silence would have robbed me of my pride so I turned and walked away, too scared to look back and see his triumph, or his crushing disappointment in my weakness.

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

He won his Quidditch game like he wins all his games, or very nearly. He did it in style. I was mesmerised by him. There were no other players for me, that day. I watched his quiet pride as he sat alone with the Snitch in his fist, scanning the crowd. I hoped desperately that he was looking for me. When our eyes met at last it was as if my heart was in his fist, not the fluttering golden ball. He held me in the palm of his hand, and he did not squeeze. I could still breathe! I had to look away to hide my elation. That was the moment I knew it could work; that it would work, if only I could pitch my little powwow correctly. I would have to lay the power at his feet; give him the lead to decide for us both how things would be. I would go to my special place that night to think my strategy through, to ensure my best chance of success.

But when I got to the Astronomy Tower, Harry was there. I could not bring myself to disturb him and he gave no sign that he had heard my approach. Never mind, though. I already knew how I would play the conversation. I am, after all, a Slytherin and therefore quite capable of manipulating circumstances to fit my required outcome.

My sleep that night was disturbed with dreams of snakes. I could not fathom what they meant. But after the dream I slept like a baby, assured of my success when Harry�s Potions detention came around.

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

And so here I am, back to present tense. You know, of course, what came of his Potions detention and therefore that I am ecstatically happy! Of course, I expected nothing less of myself, but Harry can be an unknown quantity and I believe I should never take his reactions for granted. All my dreams have come true at once, or should that be all of my Christmas and Valentine�s Day gifts are rolled into one! This truly is the first day of the rest of my life. And it is filled with hope. You think I�m being soppy and romantic? What can I say? I�m in love!

*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*{d}*

You want to know my side of the detention? What on earth for?! You�ve already heard Harry�s. Oh yes, I know what it is you really want. But you�ll just have to wait some more if it�s sex you want. There will be plenty more tales to tell on that score, believe me. I fully intend to have my wicked, dirty way with him. And I bet you�ll read every word of it! You are a pervert, but I love you, nonetheless.

Goodnight, and pleasant dream.

Next up - chapter 12 of 'Chasing the Dragon'. Monday coming!

This story archived at: The Hex Files

http://www.thehexfiles.net/viewstory.php?sid=4158

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