Sanguinis Memoria by Tori Siikanen
Sanguinis Memoria by Tori Siikanen
Rating: call it PG for slight violence
words: about 680
disclaim: you all believe that I'm a rich scottish lady with kids, right? right. and I have a bridge to sell you...
(I also played catch-up on the challenges I missed. Me so tardy...)
“You’re so tough when you have your toughs, Malfoy, but without them, you’re nothing. You’re too cowardly to face Harry alone.”
Hermione’s taunt flew true, struck him in the heart, but he just called her a mudblood and stalked away, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after. Draco ignored their muttering support, walking fast enough to make his robes billow behind him. He’d never let her know how right she was. After encountering Harry in the hallways one night before Christmas, he swore never to run into him alone again.
He’d been on patrol that night, and Potter had been wandering along the fourth floor. Draco had leaned up against the corridor entrance, insolent smile and all, ready for his chance to take Potter to task, and take points off Gryffindor. It was good to be on the Inquisitorial Squad…
But Potter had stopped and looked straight at him, lips curling up in a tiny little smile. “Malfoy. Alone, I see. What are you doing out in the halls at night?”
Draco pushed away from the wall, but he couldn’t find anything to say. Potter had stolen his line.
“Perhaps… perhaps you were looking for me?” his smile a little wider now, and Draco squinted. His mouth… something wasn’t right about his mouth-
Potter hissed something, tongue flicking out fast, twining around the twin needle-pointed teeth, and Draco couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away, as Potter moved with all the slow confidence of a hunter on a cornered prize.
“You know what I wonder, Malfoy? I wonder, why… why would a boy of your social standing - and awareness of his status, let’s not forget - why you would speak to a stranger in a robe shop. Once I learned who you were, and what you were like, it struck me that you should have never stooped to speak to me. After all, you hadn’t a clue who I was. So why did you?”
Draco couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away from those eyes.
“You want to run, don’t you? But you can’t,” Potter whispered this last in his ear. “There’s nowhere for you to go…”
Potter tilted his head, breathing over Draco’s neck. “I wouldn’t shake your hand. Do you remember?”
Draco’s answer was pierced by Harry’s mouth on his throat, and a high, hot pain that warmed into a flow…
And he remembered. Remembered how the rejection burned in his chest, wrapped itself around his heartbeat and squeezed-no one had refused him his friendship, no one had refused him anything, until Potter-he hated him, hated him, and he couldn’t help but look every time they passed in the halls, and the thorns of that handshake refused…
Harry sighed and sealed his lips over Draco’s throat, drawing deeper, feasting on his memories. Warmth just over his chest, a gentle squeeze--Potter’s hand, resting there as he drew more…
And his heart leapt in his chest, his knees turned to water as Harry dodged a blast of fire from the Horntail. Draco’s fists clenched as he watched Harry scramble over rocks, pitiful and small and about to die. Draco hadn’t noticed that he’d nearly bit his lip in two, that he had been silently chanting no, no, no, no until Harry had leapt on his broom and dodged, safe now, and Draco could breathe again...
Harry drew more with every beat of his heart. Draco could only stand still as his memories were flayed bare, his secret... Every glance, every wish, every prick and stab that dogged him ever since he’d laid eyes on the untidy boy with brilliant eyes in the robe shop.
Draco had believed he hated Harry because Harry wouldn’t be his friend.
Harry showed him that wasn’t quite true.
A warm, wet lick, a whispered hissing charm, and Harry drew away, green eyes unslitting, needle teeth gone.
“Come to me of your own will next time, Draco. No more games. Or-“
Draco reached for his throat, shocked at his ability to move. “Or?”
“Or you’ll never bleed for me again,” Potter had said, and walked toward the staircases.
Draco vowed again-he would never let Potter catch him alone. Not even if the thorns went deep enough to bleed him forever.
Rating: call it PG for slight violence
words: about 680
disclaim: you all believe that I'm a rich scottish lady with kids, right? right. and I have a bridge to sell you...
(I also played catch-up on the challenges I missed. Me so tardy...)
“You’re so tough when you have your toughs, Malfoy, but without them, you’re nothing. You’re too cowardly to face Harry alone.”
Hermione’s taunt flew true, struck him in the heart, but he just called her a mudblood and stalked away, Crabbe and Goyle trailing after. Draco ignored their muttering support, walking fast enough to make his robes billow behind him. He’d never let her know how right she was. After encountering Harry in the hallways one night before Christmas, he swore never to run into him alone again.
He’d been on patrol that night, and Potter had been wandering along the fourth floor. Draco had leaned up against the corridor entrance, insolent smile and all, ready for his chance to take Potter to task, and take points off Gryffindor. It was good to be on the Inquisitorial Squad…
But Potter had stopped and looked straight at him, lips curling up in a tiny little smile. “Malfoy. Alone, I see. What are you doing out in the halls at night?”
Draco pushed away from the wall, but he couldn’t find anything to say. Potter had stolen his line.
“Perhaps… perhaps you were looking for me?” his smile a little wider now, and Draco squinted. His mouth… something wasn’t right about his mouth-
Potter hissed something, tongue flicking out fast, twining around the twin needle-pointed teeth, and Draco couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away, as Potter moved with all the slow confidence of a hunter on a cornered prize.
“You know what I wonder, Malfoy? I wonder, why… why would a boy of your social standing - and awareness of his status, let’s not forget - why you would speak to a stranger in a robe shop. Once I learned who you were, and what you were like, it struck me that you should have never stooped to speak to me. After all, you hadn’t a clue who I was. So why did you?”
Draco couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look away from those eyes.
“You want to run, don’t you? But you can’t,” Potter whispered this last in his ear. “There’s nowhere for you to go…”
Potter tilted his head, breathing over Draco’s neck. “I wouldn’t shake your hand. Do you remember?”
Draco’s answer was pierced by Harry’s mouth on his throat, and a high, hot pain that warmed into a flow…
And he remembered. Remembered how the rejection burned in his chest, wrapped itself around his heartbeat and squeezed-no one had refused him his friendship, no one had refused him anything, until Potter-he hated him, hated him, and he couldn’t help but look every time they passed in the halls, and the thorns of that handshake refused…
Harry sighed and sealed his lips over Draco’s throat, drawing deeper, feasting on his memories. Warmth just over his chest, a gentle squeeze--Potter’s hand, resting there as he drew more…
And his heart leapt in his chest, his knees turned to water as Harry dodged a blast of fire from the Horntail. Draco’s fists clenched as he watched Harry scramble over rocks, pitiful and small and about to die. Draco hadn’t noticed that he’d nearly bit his lip in two, that he had been silently chanting no, no, no, no until Harry had leapt on his broom and dodged, safe now, and Draco could breathe again...
Harry drew more with every beat of his heart. Draco could only stand still as his memories were flayed bare, his secret... Every glance, every wish, every prick and stab that dogged him ever since he’d laid eyes on the untidy boy with brilliant eyes in the robe shop.
Draco had believed he hated Harry because Harry wouldn’t be his friend.
Harry showed him that wasn’t quite true.
A warm, wet lick, a whispered hissing charm, and Harry drew away, green eyes unslitting, needle teeth gone.
“Come to me of your own will next time, Draco. No more games. Or-“
Draco reached for his throat, shocked at his ability to move. “Or?”
“Or you’ll never bleed for me again,” Potter had said, and walked toward the staircases.
Draco vowed again-he would never let Potter catch him alone. Not even if the thorns went deep enough to bleed him forever.