HauntingTheDarkCorners

black_dreamz @ 2008-01-26T19:29:00

2008-01-26T14:29:22Z

I am a sick and sad person

black_dreamz @ 2007-08-01T22:09:00

2007-08-01T17:11:14Z

The Search for Cinderella
Another snippet I found hidden away in my folders..

Gareth’s face expressed his displeasure as he surveyed the sparsely lit, warm tavern. The oddly shaped room was full of inebriated men, young and old, teasing, laughing, smoking; in general acting like a gathering of a plebeian mob. Some were crowded in tiny corners, playing, from what Gareth surmised, illegal card tricks while others tried their luck with the local whores. The filthy inn owner made another crude gesture that caused another round of rancorous laughter among the people seated in the low ceiling room. The sound only made Gareth wince. He couldn’t believe how his own trained army of men could so easily turn to such low class, tasteless shenanigans.

It had only been a day since his troops had landed in the Calumrian lands and the men were already infamous in the local villages. Gareth shook his head in displeasure at the thought. He scanned the place for a quiet corner and found one at the very end of the room under a low lying beam. The dark haired man shimmied though the crush of people towards the goat skin covered bench. He had only settled in the spot of the briefest of moments when a warm arm came around his shoulder.

“Greetings, loyal brave commander of mine,”

Gareth muttered something under his breath at the person’s arrival and it was anything but welcoming.

“Ignoring me again,” The man snickered, leaning in further.

Gareth crushed his teeth together in an attempt to prevent himself from doing the man any bodily harm; after all he was his employer. Gareth wrinkled his nose as he realized the young man stank of smoke and cheap wine. Gareth mumbled under his breath something about ‘princes and paupers’.

The younger man gave a hiccup of a giggle and fainted dead away on Gareth’s shoulder.

The older man looked at the fallen man with disdain and decided it would be best to get his employer to his sleeping quarters. He hooked his arms under the man’s shoulders and rested his fallen head on the leather of his uniform making sure the silver medals, a sign of his status, wouldn’t bite into his charge’s skin. The younger man had always looked so disturbingly waif like, but more so now, Gareth thought as he lifted his employer. Prince of all the lands and still like the child he had met five years age. Gareth knew the prince was more then capable of killing a man with his bare hands; superb training and fine breeding had seen to that. The prince grunted in his shoulders as Gareth carefully manoeuvred him under a thick beam at the entrance of his room. Gareth had examined the room with intense scrutiny before he allowed his prince to even enter the room. King Joseph had few enemies but one couldn’t be certain in the perilous times they lived in, especially with the task at hand. The two guards, at permanent watch outside the corridor, made a move to come forward and help but Gareth shook his head in negation.

The room was almost bare; typical for the inns that dotted the rural areas. The crude, four paned, window was latched firmly to prevent insects and intruders. The bed of a solid piece of oak dressed in what was, probably, the tavern owner’s finest linen. The jovial, round man could barely contain the excitement he felt when Gareth had informed him that the royal party would be staying the night at his place. The lands they were visiting were so remote that the only royal encampments there had been abandoned years ago. The isolated castle was so musty and covered in overgrown weed that the prince had rejected it in one look. Gareth was reluctant to disclose that he agreed with the decision; the castle had looked quite vulnerable and unprotected.

The royal commander placed his prince on the mattress, who muttered feverishly in his sleep. It was a slight whisper; too soft for the untrained ears but Gareth caught it easily.

“I need to find her.”

Gareth winced as he heard those words being uttered. This whole debacle; trampling though forests; drilling through mountain ranges; fighting off desperate old hags; was all her fault. The pretty, winsome girl had arrived at the yearly ball and left with the prince’s heart. She had been so utterly beguiling that half the people at the ball had stopped at her entrance. Her pretty smile and appealing looks had charmed most men including the prince but Gareth was not someone to be distracted easily. From underneath her sweet scents he easily picked up the pungent odour of magic. She seemed harmful enough and certainly didn’t look more intelligent then the common ground hog so he let her be. After all many woman, including the court ladies, liked the oomph added to their beauty by the slight touches of home grown magic. It was nothing new but the amount and the strength was a tad more then the garden variety. Though Gareth felt slightly suspicious that she solely chose the prince as her dance partner throughout the whole evening, he had to admit it was easy to see why. The prince was clearly the most handsome man in the room. No one had the poise and grace the prince had inherited and nor was anyone as striking as he was. His golden features coupled with his dark hair gave him unconventional looks that most women would die for. Gareth himself was too dark and rugged to be of any comparison. Not that he really needed to look pretty for his job. He was merely a soldier; forever obliged to fight for his king.

Gareth woke up the next day before sun up. He had chosen to sleep on the wooden floor next to the prince’s bed to keep a closer eye on the darling of the court. He knew the younger man would never be happy seeing him on the floor. The boy was so stubborn about refusing the required protocol. In fact his prince was stubborn about plenty of things. The clothes he wore; the friends he kept; and the girl he wanted to marry. He had met only her once and he had fallen head over heels for her completely ignoring the fact that she had left without looking back. He didn’t know her name; her social status; her hobbies, interests, anything. Gareth knew his prince was a romantic but the height of his sense of romance was surprising. What wasn’t surprising was the fact that the King had given into his pampered son’s wishes and allowed him to follow his dreams and woo the woman he desired so much. The prince was his youngest child and remained the baby in the court’s eyes.

The woman they quested after had left at midnight, in such a hurry, that she left no clue of her identity except for one; her glass slipper.

Gareth’s sharp eyesight had found it wedged between the bends of red carpet at the edge of the grand stair case when he was ordering his men about to search the grounds. It was very dainty and looked so out of place in his rough hands. The prince, upon seeing it, had snatched it away immediately. That was frankly the first time Gareth had felt a bit put out by the eagerness the younger man was showing. Never had anything so greatly captivated the prince.

Gareth watched the slumbering prince for a few extra moments as the light, flooding in from outside started to grow warmer, before he headed out to see to the day’s plans.

Most of the straggling guards stood in awe at the mighty scene before them. One side of the cliff edge faced a deep lush valley laced with silvery streams that twisted from a purple haze of a mountain range.

Gareth held up the five stones on his palm and groaned inaudibly as he saw them pointing towards the far away mountain range. It was obvious that they needed to go over it to get to their destination. The mountains didn’t seem to have a great height and the weather was pleasant so Gareth made the calculation that it was going take them only a day and a half to get to the base of the mountain. From there his maps informed him the kingdom’s border was only a few miles. He fervently wished that the mysterious girl wasn’t from another kingdom because he couldn’t bear to have to go over diplomatic permission to get to the foreign lands. If the prince was to remain in command he would surely deem the protocol as a waste of time and move on in without permission. Gareth winced as he imagined the great faux-pas that would be.

The essence of the glass slipper had been solely made of magic so it was easy for the court mage to extract it and plant in the guiding stones. The essence always led to where it was created so the five grey stones would always point to the place where they were made. Gareth was worried this could all turn out to be wild goose chase that led to broken hearts and wasted supplies. They had already spent a month wandering in wilderness following a magic essence that could have been produced half way over the world. He really didn’t have the energy or the patience to follow the prince gallivanting into the high seas to find his true love. Easier would have been to see which woman from the whole of the kingdom would fit in the glass slipper. The silly idea made Gareth laugh but anything seemed plausible to his sleep deprived brain.

Gareth shouted an order to his contingent to move forward to the slope that would allow them to guide their horses safely.

black_dreamz @ 2006-10-23T17:01:00

2006-10-23T17:05:10Z

{Slash, Yaoi, Boy-on-Boy}Lord Dominic finally gets the opportunity to court the woman of his dreams but fate intervenes and he ends up saving a common thief’s life by announcing the man as his future consort.

Dominic sighed as he took the chance to look at Lady Delilah.
Her stunning brown-green eyes flashed as she laughed at another one of Lord Jeremiah’s jokes. Her sharply cut gown caressed every curve of her body delicately as she moved.
Dominic closed his eyes as the sight in front of him began to overpower his senses. He couldn’t believe the woman he had been obsessed with for so long would finally become his.
Ever since he had seen the woman, last spring at the governor’s ball, he had been infatuated with her. Her prominent features and flawless form had first attracted him to her but later, when he shadowed her progress in society; he had found her grace and vivaciousness just as appealing.
When he had come of age his parents had insisted that he remain unattached until he completed his military training and found favour in court. He had obeyed his parent’s wishes since he himself had found no one that commanded his attention at that point in time.
Now that the king had publicly and privately bestowed upon Dominic his favour, the man was free to do as he wished. His family and the public now eagerly awaited Dominic’s announcement of a pending engagement. Many noble women had been circling around him, each hoping that Dominic would notice them. Many would try ridiculous underhanded tactics in hopes of getting the popular brown eyed bachelor but none could replace fair Lady Delilah.
Dominic got up from his ornately decorated chair as he realized that he had finally found the chance to ask the Lady for the next dance. The hall was now clear as the exhausted dancers had taken a break from their merriment. Many were now taking extravagant gulps of wine as they tried to muster up energy to begin again. Lady Delilah was standing at the far end taking small sips from her own cherry.
As the man started to walk up to her the halls doors rammed open.
People backed up into walls as a brigade of guards raced in, following a fugitive. The man they were pursuing had shaggy brown hair and was wearing scruffy clothing. The insolent man jumped on a well laid out food table and ran across it scattering heaps of food on spluttering nobles. The man jumped down and looked around wildly trying to figure out an escape route. He suddenly attacked a feeble looking noble who was wearing his ancestral sword. Ignoring the wailing man’s pleas the escapee brandished the sword around threateningly as guards began to surround him. Dominic also pulled out a rapier from his scabbard as his military instincts came into action.
Dominic observed the man who seemed quite proficient with the sword as he took one guard down. The Lord readied for attack as the man turned his back on him.
With one swift motion Dominic had an arm around the man’s waist and a grip on his neck.
“One move and you are dead, peasant,” Dominic hissed in the man’s ear.
The man gave a slight twitch but remained passive.

Dominic then pushed the man into the hold of the waiting guards. He watched satisfactorily as they led him away.
“You were brilliant, Lord Dominic,” a melodic voice came from his left. Dominic blushed as he realized the source was Lady Delilah.

The next day Dominic woke up in a cheerful mood. He smiled as a sharp gust of wind hit his face as he opened his window. Not even bad weather could ruin his fabulous mood. Lady Delilah had finally spoken to him and that was all that mattered.

black_dreamz @ 2006-10-23T14:43:00

2006-10-23T15:58:18Z

Blue

My insanity

black_dreamz @ 2006-10-21T18:29:00

2006-10-21T18:46:10Z

Reality

Fuck this bloody reality, It’s broken from inside

Its shattered soulless countenance needs its respite

No glue can weld its trembling cracks

No pixie dust can mend

Dreams find death in reality

So I’m pushing it away to end

I'm not happy.. To improve my spirits I made a recommendation list.. http://www.fictionpress.com/c2/62/0/0/1/ I'm going insane...

Death to the Devil

2006-10-06T14:49:29Z

Death to the devil
The fiend of words
The pain of the mouth
The acid of the tongue
The fucking of hate
Making me the bait
Of life and fate

black_dreamz @ 2006-09-30T22:55:00

2006-09-30T17:59:45Z

The Master’s Servant

Chapter 9

Don’t have anything to say at the moment except that I’m baaaadddd at writing. I don’t know why but I have the urge to write in netspeak. I don’t seem to be improving my writing with this story. All my originals and the new D/H story, I wrote, look way better than this and I don’t know why. I seem to be stuck in a time capsule with this one. You have no idea how long I’ve stared at this first paragraph. It’s immensely frustrating to have your brain completely empty…

“You can’t be leaving so soon, master. It seems as if you just came yesterday,” Ma sobbed, miserably. She rubbed her eyes against her food stained apron. Her red hair had escaped the confines of its leather strap. Strands of it hung loosely around her round face. Her nose and cheeks were ruddy; the after effects of excessive crying.

Snape touched her face tenderly and then, overcome with emotions, enveloped her in a tight hug. He didn’t need to say anything to reveal his feelings.

Harry, nervously, shifted his weight at the balls of his feet. Looking at the man made him feel queasy. He had decided staring intently at his own entwined hands was the best option.

The man, who was currently encircling his thoughts and also ma, looked up at Harry discretely. Harry, who had finally decided that looking at ma’s back was safe enough, found himself gazing into the depths of Snape’s eyes. They shared a brief moment of connection before the older man lowered his gaze. Harry felt warmth rise up from his neck.

Snape gave Ma another firm squeeze before letting her go.

“I’ll leave tomorrow so I hope you can cook up something scrumptious.”

At the prospect of cooking, ma’s face brightened up. She wiped her face with her apron with a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh it’ll be a feast you will never forget.”

She gave a peck on the man’s shaven cheek and nodded at the servants to follow her. Harry straightened up immediately with the intention of following orders but ma stopped him with a wave of the hand. She put her hands on her waist and looked up at him.

“No, no, Harry, you must help Master Snape pack up for his journey.”

Harry stared at her with wide eyes and she frowned at him, “What are you waiting for, Harry.”

Harry stammered something as the heat around his face began to squeeze his precious supply of air. He ignored the pounding in his heart and dutifully began following the man back to his room.

Snape turned around to face Harry, “I really don’t believe I need your services.”

Harry heavily collided against the man’s chest because of the abrupt stop. The master of the manor put gentle arms on his shoulders to stabilize the green eyed boy. Harry very nearly shook the hands off himself. He ducked down to discreetly rub his assaulted nose. Who knew fabric could burn like that?

“Still angry are we,” The dark eyed man muttered almost too softly to be heard but his servant was close enough to do just that.

Harry, who still looking at his feet, completely ignored the man and his distressing comments.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for a servant to let his master deprive him of his tasks,” Harry, mumbled hotly.

Severus sighed as he nodded for the boy to go ahead.

As they both walked down the damp corridor they passed the picture of the master which Harry had been cleaning the first time he had met the man. Harry unaccountably remembered that day fondly. He felt lighthearted as he remembered how much he had hated the man because of incredibly petty reasons. Severus gave him an odd look when he observed how Harry’s temperament had changed. He looked blithe and pleasant and Severus was saddened at the thought that his leaving might be the reason for the change. The older man once again gave a sigh and moved forward to push into the medieval door that led to his chambers.

Harry’s automatic response was to light the fire as he sensed the chillness in the air as Severus opened up the heavy curtains to get the light in. A sharp gust of wind suddenly banged up against the window barging it open, startling Snape. Harry immediately got up to place a steadying arm around Severus.

“Don’t,” was Severus’ response as he shrugged off the hand and Harry felt pained by the fact that the man couldn’t even bear being close to him. The boy was visibly put down and his shoulders drooped in sadness as he realized how his earlier rebuff must have hurt.

Feeling the tension increase in the room Snape decided to distract himself by babbling about the weather. Harry morosely looked up and dully agreed with him that indeed the weather was terrible.

A loud crack of thunder made both men jump. Harry gave a slight panicked look and Severus gave his crooked, rare smile as he took in the fact that Harry was scared of the storm. Harry gave him the ‘what the hell is the idiot smiling about’ look and that immediately put a damper on Snape’s mood. Snape couldn’t believe he had finally deciphered most of Harry’s looks.

As Harry pulled out his entire wardrobe, reality struck him. The man was really leaving. Harry looked back at the solemn man and was surprised to find his heart break at the thought of seeing the man leave.

“Will you ever come back?” Harry asked impulsively. He bit his lip, taken aback by his own boldness.

The man started and looked up at him quite surprised, “No, I have no plans of returning, ever.”

The dark haired boy gave a disappointed nod and went back to packing his master’s belongings.

Roughly Cut Diamond

2006-09-24T15:04:41Z

Warnings: This is Slash, meaning Gay stuff. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Author’s note: My First Original Fiction so please be gentle with it.
Summery: A lonely boy wants a friend but finds a powerful lust demon instead. Demons are not meant to fall in love... Slash

The Alarm clock’s buzzer annoying rang once again but all in vain. Jay, the owner of the sliver, prehistoric clock slept on unaware that he was once again going to be late. This happened all the time but little did anyone know that this common occurrence, due to certain events, was going to change his life.

“Jay” a horrified shriek was undeniably successful in bringing the light brown haired boy from the land of the dead. The boy gasped and sat up. His hazel eyes were wide and he blinked like a fluttering butterfly. His mother sighed as her belief that only a dead person could compete with Jay in ‘who’s a more deeper sleeper contest’ was confirmed once again. “Look at the time, you’re late.” His mother pulled the blanket away and opened the curtain letting the sunshine shoot in. Jay just lay down back on the bed, his head hitting the pillow with a thump. “Wha.. uhh..aa.” The boy made a series of incomprehensible sounds when his mother jostled him. “Yes its 7:15 and you’ll miss the bus again.” She shoved the boy out of the bed and dragged him into the bathroom.

Inside, the boy finally woke up from his sleepy stupor when splashed his face with cold water while his mother waited outside with his uniform, cleaned and pressed. His face was still blurry to him in the mirror and even then he could see that his naturally highlighted locks were like a crows nest. “I’m waiting” He heard his mum call. He sometimes wondered how his mum managed everything so easily. She took care of him and Dad and worked as part time in the grocery shop ‘and’ kept the household running. He wished she could have had a better life then what had been given to her.

He took a quick shower, ignored his hair, like always, and while he was still soaking wet he slipped on his clothes, as his mum handed them to him from out side the door. He heaved all the books in his bag and kissing his mum goodbye he made a run for it. He ran up to the curb, his bag and hair flapping wildly in the air, to find that bus had just left. “Wait! You’ve left me behind” But his cries were of no avail. The bus driver ignored him (Jay was sure, deliberately) and the bus roared ahead. “Damn” he whispered and looked at his watch. He still had ten minutes till the gates of his school closed. Maybe he could still make it he thought and began sprinting once again.

After running through plenty of obstacles, he grinned with delight as his school came into view and he urged himself to go faster. The second he touched the wrought iron gates they slammed shut. “Open up please.” He begged, “I know I’m still not late.” Maybe the guard would listen to him

As he finished the words the bell rang.

“Now you are Mr. Wyn.” The teacher in charge, with her sickeningly fake voice came up from behind the gatekeeper’s stand. “Tsk. Tsk. This is the ‘third’ time you’re late this week. I’m afraid I’ll have to ‘report’ you to the principal.” She said with a mock sorrowful voice. “You know the punishment for tardiness. Now go back Mr. Wyn, you cannot enter school now.” She left, her pointy-heeled shoes clacking against the gravel and navy blue work suit swishing with her movements. “Bitch” He muttered. The women always had had it for him. God knows what grudge she held against him. He knew he was poor unlike his peers and that he couldn’t pay for the ‘extra’ tuitions but really she shouldn’t harass him for something that wasn’t his fault.

He sadly made his way back home, his hazel eyes shimmering with tears of frustration. “I hate this.”

He walked toward the market, which was a short cut to his home. It was so crowded that even though the distance was short, one could never make way through the people fast enough especially when in a hurry. It simply took too mush time but as Jay’s stomach was rumbling, because he had missed breakfast, he decided he could pick up some food on the way and perhaps cheer himself up.

Tantalizing smells immediately caught him when he entered the local market. It was renowned for its tasty food and good bargains. Little trinkets or big furniture could be bought at reasonable prices. He really never went in there but it was his Mum’s haven.

A hand suddenly caught on his sleeve. “Buy these goods, dear boy, I’m sure you’ll like them.” A man as old as the hills, with crooked teeth and a bad breathe, beckoned him inside his rather dark and dusty shop.

“Uh..I” But the persuasive Man pulled the boy in. His white hair glinted in the mysterious red hue inside the shop.

“Look at these rings. Aren’t these precious? You like them don’t you.”

The man was right; Jay had a hard time taking his eyes from the glittering and shimmering Jewelry. Gold bands, Sapphires, emeralds, Rubies, all sorts of ornaments lay there. One caught his eye. It was simple. It wasn’t dazzling or looked very valuable. It had a simple gold band and a roughly cut diamond hidden under grime. Jay was not the type of boy who liked Jewelry. His best friend, Rowan, was a prime example of a Jewelry lover. The lucky bastard had rich parents who would do anything to fulfill his whims including his obsession with anything that glittered.

“I want that one” Jay pointed, mesmerized by the ring. The man took it out from its holder but he was reluctant to give it to Jay. He fetched out a cloth and an eyepiece. “Ahhh… fine choice, young master, its old but won’t you like this beautiful piece.”

Jay shook his head in negation at the rather gaudy Ruby ring.

He knew which ring he wanted.

In his room Jay sat staring at the ring. Even though the ring was cheaper then the rest he still had to give off his month’s allowance for it. It was an odd ring. It was neither pretty nor was it very unattractive. It had captivated him to no end. Seeing the dirt on it he wiped it with the end of his shirt.

“Jay… telephone!” His mom shouted from downstairs. Wrapping the ring in a handkerchief he ran down stairs.

The setting sun cast shadows inside Jay’s room. It was quiet inside but suddenly a ruffling sound broke the silence. A shadow began to form on the walls. The man slowly stretched and creaked his neck. He stroked his fingers through his dark long and tangled hair.

“It’s good to be back.” A husky clear voice drawled.

A rather unsatisfactorily short first chapter I must say. Hope its good enough to continue

Bye

I Hate u.. Commas

2006-09-22T13:01:06Z

Commas were put on this planet to annoy me.. that's all.. I give up.. I should have given up when I freaked my SAT Prep teacher by getting the highest marks in prep class even though I failed the grammar section.. really... MY SAT SCORE (cough1970coughdidn'tgoabove2000wah!!cough) etches in blood how fruitless it is to teach me any kind of Grammar.. Why can't I write like a normal human being!!

Ps.. Why is my journal starting to sound like a loadful of ranting and whining.. Bah! now I'm pissed of at myself..

How to kill ones Class Fellows

2006-09-16T16:09:19Z

No I am not a raving lunitic and no you won't see this on newschannels.. ahem.. but I'm sick!!!!! and tired!!!! of the people in my Uni courses. They're stupid, argumentative, Inspid, Idiotic, Pathetic that every time I attend classes with them my iq level drops a billion points. I've taken to pretending I'm antisocial so I won't have to talk to them...though I'm not......Argh!!! This must be the curse all those reviewers were talking about when I don't finish stories!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Locked in Battle

2006-09-04T18:35:43Z

I'm starting a new story about 2 Greek boxers preparing for the olympics..in ancient times. Yes I know.. It's crappy to start something new when I've got years of stories bending my back. You'll be happy to know I've been inching my way trying to do some chapters. I redid some of master's servants chapter..well kind of..and put them up. I can't deal with commas no matter what so don't mind the crappy grammar business.Btw I'm using real names and places. I'm doing research..I'm such a loser...

And bloody the Font doesn't seem to go down.. crap

Melankomas surveyed the palaestra with disgust. The city’s communal grounds were mediocre compared to his father’s prized training arena. All athletes followed a stringent regimen at his father’s palaestra that induced elegance and discipline even in the most unmanageable student. The blond sneered as he observed that none of the rowdy athletes, exercising in front of him, possessed any credible skill or aptitude for the Olympic Games. Even the flute performers, whose music athletes exercised to, were tawdry in comparison.

“The standard of Elean’s Palaestra has really gone down,” Theagenes drawled, as he jogged up next to Melankomas.

“Yes, they’re certainly not what I remember in my father’s days.” The blond replied.

Mel continued to walk up to the main building that contained the administrative office to announce their contingent’s arrival. The building’s entrance was simple and the only ornate thing it contained was a rough mosaic of Achilles in a godly pose. Mel felt himself sneer at the drab and uncultured confines of the building. His father may have a no nonsense outlook on vanity but he certainly didn’t let his standards go down this drastically. Noble families couldn’t afford to look shabby.

He walked into another airy room that had a young man sitting at a table with a name tablet in front of him. Without looking up he called out, “Name?”

Mel gave him a haughty, exasperated look.

“Melanomas Miloagusto, of the Cairan agency.”

The man still didn’t give him the pleasure of acknowledging his existence.

Mel resisted the urge to stamp away like a spoilt child. He placed his strongly sculpted hands on each edge of the undersized table and leaned in closer.

“Could you tell me where, Trainer Polydamas is?”

Stunning grey eyes peered back at him and Mel felt his throat constrict at the sight. His urge to swoon was minimized by the coldness the eyes exuded.

“He’s outside, training pupils,” the man replied, blankly, and resumed his job.

Mel wanted to throttle the man but decided behaviour of that kind would not be conducive for his team.

Mel was a young man who lived for his sport. He had chosen athletics because it was thought of as the most honorable path for a young man to follow. His father had also illuminated his family name by remaining unbeaten, even at retirement. Mel had not only inherited his father’s skill but also his devastatingly good looks. In his youth, his father had plenty of men and women enchanted by his looks and fame. From the looks of things, Melankomas was going in the same direction.

Mel was famous in his own right. He was known for his endurance that was constantly tested throughout the strenuous training regime he performed everyday. “Your body is your temple,” Mel’s father had once told him, and Mel had paid heed to this advice completely. Dedication that Mel exuded was rare in young men his age. He had been known to perform endurance increasing acts requiring him to stay in one position for days.

Even with the many noble virtues joined to his name, Mel, had been unable to resist one flaw; vanity. He was skilled, brave and beautiful and he knew it. He walked with a confident swagger and rarely associated himself with anyone having a less then noble standing.

Mel walked out of the building with his infamous strut.

He could see several trainers, with long sticks, pointing out incorrect body positions and other faults to the raw looking athletes. Most of those men looked hardy and experienced but one man stood out in particular. He was a tanned, olive skinned man with strapping muscles and a hawk like gaze. He was teaching a nervous looking man the correct positions for warm up exercises.

“Master Polydamas,” The older man placed his intent gaze on the boy.

“Yes,”

Mel, quite uncharacteristically, showed humility towards the world renowned trainer by bowing his head down solemnly. “My name is Melanomas Miloagusto of the Cairan agency and I am honoured to be in your presence, trainer Polydamas.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprised and then gave out a gruff short laugh. The trainer’s jumpy pupil fell down from his awkward position, in surprise. Apparently the man rarely laughed or let go of his surly attitude. The trainer pulled the novice up with one easy motion.

“You’re Milo’s son,” The man asked Mel with a twinkle in his eye.

Mel hesitated before giving a short sharp nod. The gargantuan man shook his head, indicating that Mel should follow him. He tapped his training stick on one stretching red head and then started walking towards a stone bench. Mel stared in unmasked awe as the man’s muscles flexed with each movement. Polydamas had been known to once kill a lion with his bare hands on Mount Olympus in a quest to imitate the labours of Herakles, who slew the Nemean lion. Mel had assumed that ounce of information was sheer fallacy but looking at the man he knew he had been wrong.

The man sat down on the crudely carved bench and motioned for Mel to sit down beside him. The rest of Mel’s Cairan friends also began to flock next to him. Theagenes crouched down besides the seated men.

“Welcome to our humble palaestra; I have heard great things about the Cairan training grounds and the athletes it produces.”

Mel smirked proudly at the comment, “I’m sure we won’t disappoint.” The rest of the gang murmured in agreement.

The burly trainer surveyed his audience and nodded in approval.

“Indeed,” The man agreed softly. He shot up suddenly with a clap on his thighs. “I must be going then. My nephew will lead you to your quarters.”

The man nodded to someone standing behind them and the group turned backwards to see who the trainers were referring to.

Mel’s lips parted in slight surprise. The grey eyed man he had met earlier was leaning against a pillar, waiting impatiently.

Found : Part of the broken story arc.

2006-08-10T12:06:47Z

Title: Found

Chapter: Three

Author: Black Dreamz

Summary: Draco is betrayed by his own father. Harry is there to help him. M/M, slash, yaoi. Sequel to Broken.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything

Notes: To get information on how this unlikely arrangement came about you’ll have to read the prequels “Broken and Need”

Email: vengefulblackdreamz@yahoo.co.uk

Noise of all kind permeated into his head through the blanket of darkness. Draco wanted to cover his ears but he couldn’t move an inch. Pinpricks of pain stormed his body in crashing waves while the rest of the time his body felt completely numb. His body refused to obey his brain’s urgent screams to wake up.

A hand slowly touched his forehead and Draco found peace at last.

“Draco,” a soft voice roused him from his dreamless stupor.

Draco groaned in protest as hot white light pierced through the protective cover of his eyelids. Opening them proved even more painful. His previously immobile hand lifted up to clutch his throbbing head.

“He’s up, he’s up,” Someone shouted from above him.

Draco tried to say something intelligible but all that came out was a mindless grunt. He tried to lift himself off the place his was lying on but a firm hand prevented his movement.

“Rest,” Draco’s vision was released from the cloudiness and all he could see was red.

A moment later, as his head cleared up, he realized the red actually came from all the Weasley’s looking down at him. Draco felt like chuckling his head off at his discovery but his mouth was too dry to move.

Draco blinked back at the tone. For some very ambiguous reason he couldn’t remember, he had been expecting them to shower him with accusations and hateful words.

“I, I,” Draco stammered but words failed him again. He looked down still feeling slightly muddled and found his bare chest in full view. He was proud of his trim physic but he really didn’t want his family secrets out and about especially in front of the ever so invasive Weasleys. Draco gave an envious glance at the oldest Weasley who really did have it all going on for him in terms of looks. Draco shuddered at the self admission as he leaned forward to grab hold onto the blanket placed at his feet.

The man with the dragon fang in his ear, who had been sitting at the end of the sofa armrest, suddenly frowned at him.

Draco draped the blanket on his chest self consciously and raised his eyebrow at him.

“What’s that on your shoulder?” He pointed out with his finger.

Draco gave him a sneer as he turned his head towards his shoulder.

Red finger marks marring his pale flesh made him feel dizzy. Scenes of the past night flooded back in his head and Draco suddenly made a motion to get up with a hand firmly clamped onto the marks. He pushed aside the dwindling barrage of Weasleys still loitering around him and made a frantic rush towards his room.

“What’s up with him,” was the last snide remark he heard before he left the living room.

He raced up to his room and sat down on the bed, his breath refusing to leave him.

“Shit,” Draco exhaled as he grabbed his head in his hands. Last night kept swirling in his mind. Questions and emotions kept knocking on his mind. Draco wanted to believe all that happened was a dream but he couldn’t deny the marks on his body.

Draco was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t sense Bill Weasley’s arrival. It was movement on the bed beside him that alerted Draco.

“Is there something wrong, well, other than the obvious state of affairs we’ve had to deal with?” The Weasley man asked with an obvious effort to sound calm and neutral.

“What affairs?” Draco asked, wanting to clarify the present situation.

“The ones where Harry Potter throws caution out of the window and disappears into thin air to pursue what is potentially a trap.”

“Possibly,” Draco bit his words carefully.

“And the marks, they look like you’ve been assaulted,”

Draco found offence in what Weasley was implying. He got up, feeling blood rushing to his ears, “I’m not some bloody girl to go off and get assaulted or some shit like that.”

The Weasley just looked back at him.

“I just bruise easily.” Draco muttered childishly as he crossed his arms and sat back in a huff.

The Weasley raised his eyebrow at the boy in front of him and wondered how to get him to open up to him. He had faced times when difficult siblings had created hell for him but they had been all been Weasleys and easily read. Malfoys were a different species altogether. He was closed like a lead safe with a broken key. It was a tough job but Bill was starting to get where the key lay to this apparently unbreakable safe.

“Does Harry have anything to do with your predicament?”

Draco Malfoy’s eyes opened beyond the limit that was considered normal. Emotion rushed through them like a freight train run off the tracks. He swallowed visibly and bent his head down in shame.

“How did you know?” Draco asked softly.

Bill Weasley tried to keep the shock and triumph out of his voice as he articulated the suggestion further. “You saw him last night,” The red head cleared his throat, “before he left.”

Draco couldn’t meet his eyes as he nodded in confirmation.

The eldest Weasley brother couldn’t decide whether the time for subtlety had come or gone. “So, you guys did… are...”

Draco looked back at him almost wildly. “Are you suggesting we’re…”

He made a faintly nauseated face. “No… never, he’s a guy, he’s Potter.” Draco, finally exclaimed, finding this to be the most convincing argument.

“As you wish,” The Weasley sighed. He knew Draco still had a lot of soul searching to do before he could explain or even accept anything.

The redhead got up to leave. As per habit he ruffled the slytherin’s hair, ignoring any protests, like he did with his siblings and left smirking at the boys shocked expression. The Weasley really felt like he was getting used to Malfoy being around.

Draco gaped at the fleeing back with an expression of stunned horror. Nobody had ever touched him with such familiarity before. His mother had been the only one who had touched him for any causal reasons but she too had that polite quality that came with high class breeding that required one to show decorum even in affection. Never could he imagine his family involved in any activity that included wrestling or even the joyous pat on the backs that the Weasleys seem to shower on each other.

Draco felt a strange pang of longing for something he couldn’t describe. He had never wanted someone to hold him this badly in his whole life.

Draco let his head hit the pillow as he felt himself lose control over the moisture in his eyes.

After the painfully awkward dinner, Draco sat down on the sofa in the parlour where he had regained consciousness that evening. Apparently the spell, he had been hit with, had been too powerful for one wizard to put off. It had taken the likes of Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley to fight the spell off him. Even after he was declared spell free, the physical toll of the spell had kept him unconscious.

He had been found early that morning by Tonks who had come in to change guard. She had first found the incapacitated auror in the great hall. She had been on her way to the fireplace to call for reinforcements when she had found Draco on the sofa. She had found a letter lying next to him. The letter contained a farewell note from Harry Potter who had run off on a wild goose chase to find his missing friends.

As he stared into the familiar fireplace a letter was thrust in Draco’s face.

“Here you go,” Bill Weasley grinned, as he sat down next to Draco.

The letter was creased and looked well read. He opened the letter and found unfamiliar handwriting staring back at him. Draco quizzically looked at the Weasley but all he did was shrug.

As Draco started reading the letter he realized it was from Potter.

The writing was sketchy and rough. The Gryffindor had written a short note on how he couldn’t wait around while his friend’s lives were at stake and that he was leaving to find them. It was all Draco had expected but the last part of the letter put of guard. It was directly addressed to him.

--“I know the way I left you was horrible but I had no choice. I knew you wouldn’t let me leave like this. I fixed your foot and put you back on the sofa.”—

At this sentence Draco looked down at his fully booted foot and realized that his foot had been completely flawless.

-- “I also want to apologize for what I did…last night. Not for why I did it but about how you must have felt. I know what it’s like to be forced…Never mind.”--

The concluding part of the letter was an apology to all the other people living in the house.

Draco’s shocked haze was broken Bill Weasley’s shinning face. He seemed to be very smug about something and Draco felt very transparent as he gave the letter back to the man.

“Nobody really understood this part of the letter until…” He pointedly looked back at the place where he had seen the marks on Draco’s body.

Draco got up, indignantly, “I really don’t see that this is really any of your business.”

With a huff he stormed out of the room. In all of the thoughts swirling in his mind, one was very clear. He needed to talk to Potter. It didn’t matter where Potter was or what he was in the middle of Draco had to get to him. Even if it meant going into Voldemort’s clutches to get him. With that thought Draco sat down on the middle of the floor with his wand in his hand in his room. He placed it in the middle of his hand and whispered “Point me.”

Draco had never thought he would ever board a muggle bus; or be in a five meter radius with an old, muggle lady; or wear muggle clothing but he was doing all three. He was sitting in a ‘Peterson Guides for the adventurous’ bus with an old lady, practically drooling on his borrowed muggle sweatshirt and jeans. Draco was really very uncomfortable.

The bus was ridiculously overcrowded with mostly senior citizens. The old jazz music was running on a scratchy cassette that kept rewinding itself. Draco had stopped counting when he listened to “Whispered HeartBreak” the fourth time over. The old lady snorted as the bus took a lurching turn and snuggled in further with Draco.

An old man behind him kept muttering about killing someone in his sleep while the man next to the one behind kept playing with an odd contraption his son had given him for his sixtieth birthday. He had asked Draco about the latest mobile models to which Draco had replied with a shrug. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand what he was going on about.

The tour guide had given up any hope of interesting her current audience. She had taken to making eyes at Draco who really wanted to throw something at her. He wished he could pick up the old lady and throw her at the guide. He knew the old lady wouldn’t be any less comfortable on top of the tour guide. Draco could swear that the girl’s shirt kept opening further every time he looked. He was sorely tempted to just spell all her buttons open. At least the old men behind him would have a great time.

The bus slowed down miraculously and the girl gained some composure to start speaking to her audience.

“We just passed the glorious Oakgreen forest and we now have a marvellous view of the DragonGrove Castle. It was built in the mid 1300s by…” By this time Draco had lost complete interest in what she was saying. He knew he had reached his destination.

I just wanted to make clear that the spell, Harry had stunned Draco, with was of the common household variety. Harry never meant to put Draco out of action indefinitely. It was only the emotions he was feeling at the time that had made his strength for spells a lot more.

I also wanted to say that I love old people and really didn’t mean to make any fun of them in this story. It’s only Draco who severely hates senior citizens.

Part 1
Part 2

My own gun shooting moment

2006-07-29T09:50:28Z

Never in my whole life did I imagine that I would ever, ever, ever, see anything like that...

I was having classes for Uni entry test prep and me, with bunch of girls, were hanging out on a small balacony that overlooks the busy road the building is on. We got bored and our maths class was about to begin so we started going inside when suddenly loud bangs started coming from the road. I thought something electrical blew up but the sounds didn't stop coming and a guy's screams joined in with each bang. The sounds combined with the man's shouts were almost deafening. We ran out immediately and with a wall slightly obstructing our view with saw the man almost jump a foot in the air as he got shot.

All of us almost at the same time realized that the shots were not stopping and they could randomly come towards us so we got down a bit. The drama subsided in a few minutes and people started gathering with the traffic police arriving immediately.

Our classes resumed. The guys just kept peeking out curiously while some of the girls around me started crying. Our teachers were the ones who called the ambulance and they informed us that the guy's wounds weren't fatal and he was hit on the leg. The reason for all of this ruckus was a stick up gone wrong. The guy was carrying quite a bit of money and a random small time crook decided to have a shot at it. The obvious uncrontrollable shooting is evidence to the fNever in my whole life did I imagine that I would ever, ever, ever, see anything like that...

I was having classes for Uni entry test prep and me, with bunch of girls, were hanging out on a small balacony that overlooks the busy road the building is on. We got bored and our maths class was about to begin so we started going inside when suddenly loud bangs started coming from the road. I thought something electrical blew up but the sounds didn't stop coming and a guy's screams joined in with each bang. The sounds combined with the man's shouts were almost deafening. We ran out immediately and with a wall slightly obstructing our view with saw the man almost jump a foot in the air as he got shot.

All of us almost at the same time realized that the shots were not stopping and they could randomly come towards us so we got down a bit. The drama subsided in a few minutes and people started gathering with the traffic police arriving immediately.

Our classes resumed. The guys just kept peeking out curiously while some of the girls around me started crying. Our teachers were the ones who called the ambulance and they informed us that the guy's wounds weren't fatal and he was hit on the leg. The reason for all of this ruckus was a stick up gone wrong. The guy was carrying quite a bit of money and a random small time crook decided to have a shot at it. The obvious uncrontrollable shooting is evidence to the fact that they were small timers caught off guard by the resistance.

I wanted to get this incident out of my system once and for all and share another fact that I feel most embarassed to share with people I know. They keep asking me how I'm feeling and I don't really feel much. I'm not an emotional person but seriously I thought I would feel a little bit more. I feel like such a bad person for not feeling properly upset. I'm more shocked at the fact that it happened 11 0' clock in the morning on a road full of traffic. People in cars had kept going on because they didn't even notice anything wrong. Not that this kind of thing happens often but because it's something that people don't consider a possibility.

I feel so sad that media has de-sensitized me so much that I can't feel properly horrified by something that truely is 'that' horrifying. Although now I can empathize with people living through wars. I can't imagine how they live with the constant fear and the sounds. The sounds will probably stick to me the most. I have never heard any human being making more painful and loud screams then that guy.

Need

2006-07-14T16:37:55Z

Chapter: Two

Author: Black Dreamz

Summary: Draco is betrayed by his own father. Harry is there to help him. M/M, slash, yaoi. Sequel to Broken.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything

Note: To get information on how this unlikely arrangement came about you’ll have to read the prequel “Broken”

Email: ‘vengefulblackdreamz at yahoo.co.uk’

Draco woke up once again feeling like someone was strangling him. He clutched onto his neck trying to shake off the feeling of clammy finger pressing into his flesh. Once the feeling subsided, his colour returned to its pale former self and his breathing slowed down a little. Finally, feeling a bit calmer, Draco pushed off his bed covers and went to the bathroom to splash water on his face. After his ablutions he sat down on the closed toilet seat with his hands on his face.

Draco still couldn’t believe all the changes that had happened in his life. He had suddenly become an escapee from home; all the people he considered near and dear were trying to hunt him down and he was living with Potter.

All of the events were obviously very unbelievable but the last one was simply mind boggling. He knew that taking up a lifestyle that involved eating mice and sleeping in caves wouldn’t have surprised him as much as his taking up residence with Potter did. It was still a smack in the face kind of a thought.

He was currently living in a house that he knew he had visited once upon a lifetime. He remembered holding onto his mother’s hand, feeling scared of the shadows and mouldy house elves. The shadows and house elves were still there but now they seemed less scary then the outside world.

Draco walked back to his bed and giving his clock a glance he made the decision to give sleep another chance.

“Wake up, Malfoy,” An annoying whine broke Draco’s dreamless sleep.

“Wha-” Draco shot up straight in his bed as a finger prodded him in the shoulder.

“You’re so damn lazy,” The same voice criticized him. The sentence was punctuated by noises of someone trying to make the bed before Draco could even get out of it.

“Do I always have to listen to your voice first thing in the morning, Granger?” Draco groaned as he tried to get his legs out the tangle of bed sheets the girl hovering above him was trying to fold him into.

Granger just ignored him as she helped him up by shoving him off the bed.

“I just love your kind and gentle attitude,” Draco mumbled bitterly as he made way his way to the bathroom. Potter was much easier to deal with then his grovelling groupies. At least he had the decency to ignore him completely. The weasel mutt had the horrible habit of endlessly staring at him with the most stupid look on his face while Granger kept on trying to figure out how to dissect him and his actions. She had tried the ‘lets be friends’ thing; the ‘I’m going to kill you’ conversation; ‘Lets feed HIM to the sharks’ debacle and now the green light for the ‘I’m ignoring you’ plan had been given the go.

Draco sighed at their so called attempts at maturity and shrugged his cream coloured shoulders.

Draco had the habit of sleeping in the nude but Granger had soon cured him of that. The shrieking, his first night over, had been unbearable to say the least. Draco had woken up screaming rape while Granger had bawled over how she had been scarred for life. They had made the silent agreement that a pair of pajama bottoms would be an acceptable compromise.

Draco took a brief shower and came out to find that the Weasley women had laid out ironed clothes for him. Draco put them on silently and walked down to breakfast.

No matter what the weather was and how solemn the situation was outside, breakfast was always a sunny affair. The Weasley women kept on piling greasy lots of food on everyone’s plates adding a lot more calories on Draco’s palate than he cared to count. He wanted to be rude and moody at the irritatingly busy table but everyone’s jolly mood quashed his own grumbling one. Most of the people usually ignored him though Tonks, an unfortunate relative, seemed to want to chummy up with him.

Her ‘Wotcher, Draco,’ greeting made him want to throttle someone but its persistence made him reply with his own nondescript nod of the head. She always beamed at his response and that made Draco feel a little lighter inside.

That day she wasn’t there so nobody really acknowledged his arrival though the Weasley lady did keep on uttering on his malnutritioned status. He sniffed snobbily at her criticism of his perfectly toned body. His mother would have never have allowed him out of the house looking anything less then perfect.

Potter gave him a look over his newspaper making it clear that he wouldn’t tolerate any unpleasant behaviour from Draco.

Draco sneered at the thought of following Potter’s orders but he obediently drowned in his breakfast.

Potter like Draco wasn’t allowed out of the house. The Order of the Phoenix didn’t want to risk another kidnapping incident occurring again. Potter was given such abrasive security on his rare visits outside that he preferred to stay indoors. That evening not many residents of Grimmauld Place had stayed behind to give them company. Granger, with her tag along Weasley, had decided to visit the Wizarding Library to follow the new leads in their Dark Lord research program. The Weasley lady had gone back home to manage her affairs on that side of the squalor while all the bustling aurors were off onto their various ministry jobs.

Draco yawned feeling a little itchy at a place on his back that he couldn’t reach easily. Potter was sitting at the fireplace, in a large armchair, staring intensely into the blaring fire. The red reflections of the fire on his pale face disturbed Draco a little. Draco looked around not sure whether he wanted to engage with Potter in any kind of conversation while he was in such a strange mood. Draco considered his alternatives and decided to have a seat in the armchair placed opposite to Potter. He shuddered at the thought of any contact with the hideous painting that had taken a liking to him and his pureblood status. Apparently it didn’t mind his runaway status because, for it, he had come back to his original family home. During its frightful fits of anger Draco would be the one sent to pacify it. Apparently his father’s bargaining skills had passed down to him.

At the thought of his father, Draco felt a ball of lead form in his stomach. Draco had never considered how easily he would forget his former life. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the seat.

A moment of silence passed before Potter acknowledged his presence.

“Everyone gone?”

Draco didn’t want to open his eyes because Potter’s gaze on him usually made him feel tingly and exposed but he did anyway. “Yes.”

The shadows across Potter’s profile made his face strangely angular and he looked a lot more rugged and older. Draco gulped at the seriousness in his eyes.

“Malfoy,”

“Yes,” Draco’s voice was now very small and quite unsure of what to expect.

“You do know what strategy we are currently pursuing in our hunt for Voldemort.”

Draco shivered at the name but with each passing day spent with Potter and his gang of idiots he got used to it. Draco nodded with eyes fixed at Potter’s nose. Potter leaned closer looking grim.

“Well, we have recently been angling our policies towards taking down specific death eaters to reduce Voldemort’s power. We have been successful at taking down Mr. Lestrange and we’ve been looking at bigger fish.”

Draco gulped knowing what was coming next.

“So, how far have you come in tracking…my father.”

“We’ve been having insider help in knowing Lucius’ day to day plans.”

Draco’s eyes shot up.

“My mother,” It wasn’t a question but more of a statement. Draco felt his throat constrict at the thought of how much his mother was willing to risk for him.

“I…” Potter looked hesitant for the first time, “I’m sorry for the way your family’s breaking down.”

“I guess it’s all the bad karma we’ve been stacking up,” Draco mumbled to his hands.

A hand slowly patted his shoulder but Draco didn’t look up. He didn’t want Potter to know how much this was affecting him.

“I’m also sorry for what I said the other day.”

Potter crouched down next to him. Draco frowned as he tried to remember what Potter could have done that warranted any apology.

“For what?” Draco’s face scrunched in confusion. Potter shifted a little looking uncomfortable.

“I said some things I shouldn’t have… on the train.”

Draco nodded, not quite sure on how to answer.

‘I’m sorry,” Potter began again not really sure of how Draco was taking in what they were taking about. The green eyes were almost braced for some sort of unexpected whiplash.

Draco wanted to get up and get away from Potter’s apologetic eyes but he really had nowhere to go especially with Potter nearly blocking his way by practically lying down in front of his seat like a bloody cat. Draco almost felt like laughing at the idea of his owning Potter in that way. Suddenly the image that came in his mind made him want to lose his dinner much less the need to laugh. Draco felt a blush creep up his ears and he wanted to cross his legs but Potter really hadn’t left him any leg space.

It was probably at that moment Potter realized that he was in too intimate a setting with someone who was still effectively an enemy and rival. He shifted back against the bottom of his abandoned armchair.

They settled back in heavy silence both in contemplative remembering mood.

Suddenly without warning the fireplace erupted. Draco backed up into his armchair with half a shout while Harry jumped towards him and held onto his leg. Draco wondered in a complete moment of madness how Potter had managed to have such an amazing shot at his leg though the layers of robes that he had refused to replace with muggle garments.

“Thank God,” Potter breathed as Tonks’ familiar face came into view. She on the other side didn’t look a least bit relieved or even pleased to see them.

“What’s wrong,” Draco was the first one to notice something amiss. Her face broke its painful grimace into something frightfully gloomy. “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong,” Draco repeated again more urgently as he kept on switching his focus alternatively on Potter and then on Tonks. Potter had gone deathly pale.

“Has something happened to my friends,” Harry whispered softly.

Tonks looked down and hesitated as she spoke again, “Nothing can be said right now but the Library Square has been attacked fifteen minutes ago and your friends have been officially added to list of those missing.”

Potter gave in a very tight, short breath but he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, Harry, we’re doing all that we can to find them,” Tonks said apologetically and backed out of the conversation. The fire returned back to normal.

“Potter,” Draco wasn’t sure what to say. The nice genes had never really existed in his family.

Potter looked back at him with his amazingly liquid eyes and looked down again. “I… I think I need to be alone.”

With that announcement he got up and left. Draco wasn’t one to argue with people over things like these.

Draco tossed and turned in his bed. The dim light of the moon invading his room was annoying him and Potter’s strange mood was troubling him. He had always wished that the two sidekicks would disappear into thin air but now that it had happened he didn’t feel any better. Draco knew he hadn’t started liking them or anything so he couldn’t place his concern. The Aurors, combined with the Weasleys, had made a visit later that night. The Weasley mother had cried while the rest of the redheads had looked on morosely. Draco had been completely ignored in the entire hustle bustle of activity that evening and he preferred it better that way. At least they didn’t look at him everything single time they mentioned death eaters. Potter had stayed in a corner the whole time looking at a picture of the trio. His eyes were red rimmed and lonely.

Later when they had left Draco had tried another awkward attempt at comforting Potter but he was repulsed once again.

Draco turned to the other side as he tried to go back to sleep but Potter’s haunted eyes kept invading his mind and the sense of dread took a turn for the worse.

An alarm, specifically made for Potter’s protection, suddenly started ringing wildly. Draco shot up from his bed and raced out of the room. Never had any instinct touched him with such powerful force. He knew that leaving Potter by himself had been the worst thing he could have done.

He raced up the stairs that he knew led to Potter’s room. As he had instinctively known Potter’s room was empty. The red sheets were completely made and there was no sign that anyone had slept in them that night. The desks were relatively messy and they lacked the one important item that Draco knew was a permanent fixture there; the picture that Potter had been holding earlier that evening.

“Shit, Shit, where have you gone,” Draco muttered frantically as looked around in the other rooms hoping to search for some clues onto Potter’s whereabouts. Draco knew a lot more than just an alarm had been set up for Potter’s protection and he couldn’t help wonder if the Gryffindor had taken them down. Coming down the stairs Draco’s suspicion was confirmed as he nearly tripped over a bewitched auror. Numerous attempts at awaking him proved futile so Draco decided to re-engage in more pressing matters.

Distant rumbling clouds signalled the predictability of the unpredictable British weather and Draco hoped that Potter hadn’t been stupid enough to run off into a brewing storm. The entrance hall was extremely chilly and Draco was thoroughly frustrated as he realized that he was wearing almost nothing. The main door was wide open and Draco made the swift choice of walking out into the street following the obvious clues the runaway had left behind.

“Potter,” Draco gave a hoarse shout as a gust of wind hit his face. He screamed the name again a little further out. Draco mentally vowed that in the future he would sleep wearing his complete set of robes in case of more unexpected emergencies. As the chill of the windy summer night reached his bones Draco’s voice reached a strangled pitch. The street was completely deserted with no signs of life except the odd animal.

“Potter, I’m going to fucking kill you,” Draco growled as something sharp pinched his bare foot. Draco bent his foot at an odd angle to see that it was bleeding.

“This is the last straw, you idiot,” Draco shouted into the nothingness of the dark, “I don’t care what you’re up to, Mr. hero, I’m not taking responsibility for anything you do so I’m leaving,”

Just as he finished his tirade something grabbed Draco from behind. A hand firmly clamped onto his mouth while another around his waist. Draco breathed in heavily as he tried to get away.

“Stop struggling, Malfoy,” Potter’s soft whispering breathed into his ear. Draco pressed a hand onto his ear as the voice slowly ticked it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” Draco hissed as he let Potter drag him back to the foyer.

“Taking you away inside, of course,” Potter replied calmly. Draco struggled some more but gave up again. As they reached steps Draco let his weight give out under him and he slumped heavily onto the marble.

“You are an absolute shithead,” Draco announced bluntly as he folded his arms across his bare chest.

Potter looked down at him pointedly but refrained from a comment. He looked at his watch and then towards the sky.

“I’m leaving,” Potter said with no emotion.

“I know,” Draco looked away sulkily, “You’re going after them aren’t you.”

“Yes,” The clouds gave another crackle and rain started dribbling down the marble overly.

“So you’re leaving me behind,” Draco grabbed hold of Potter’s shirt and pulled himself up using it, “with all those damned people who’ll point fingers at me the second they find out you’re gone.”

Potter chuckled hollowly, “Still thinking about yourself, Malfoy.”

Draco glared into Potter’s eyes, for the first time, not scared. “Yes, who else would I be concerned about?”

Potter’s chuckled some more and then he started to turn away but Draco still had a grip on his clothes.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Draco growled forcefully.

Potter raised his eyebrow.

“Look I need you, Potter, Damnit, What will I do without you,” Draco’s voice turned hysterical with each word as he realized that Potter really was leaving.

Potter looked at him with an odd look in the eye. Draco stared completely unaware of how much the distance between them was decreasing. Suddenly Potter’s hands tightly grabbed onto his shoulders and lips landed on Draco’s.

Time stopped completely for the Slytherin.

Draco could feel the rain splashing down around him: cats yowling at some distance; his foot throbbing; Potter’s hands on his shoulder but he couldn’t feel or even believe where Potter’s lips were at that moment. Draco jerked as one of Potter’s hands slowly started to slide down his chest. The slight caress was manoeuvred down to his side as it griped onto waist.

Draco could feel his heart in his ears as Potter gave a slight exhalation of breath between their mouths and pulled Draco closer. Potter bit onto the edge of Draco’s lip and pulled at it hungrily.

Draco wanted to shove back but he only positioned his head with a slight tilt making it easier for Potter to lean in further taking the intoxicating war of breath and tongues into Draco’s mouth.

One groan was emitted between the two of them and it was a mystery as to who produced it. Potter leaned back slightly and Draco could see that he was breathing heavily. Before Draco could say something Potter leaned for another wet tongue twining into Draco’s slightly open mouth. Potter’s teeth clacked furiously with Draco’s own in an aggressive and dominating bid to take control of Draco’s personal space. His hands bit into Draco’s vulnerable skin viciously.

A second later Potter broke the kiss. Before Draco could realize what was happening a blast of light entered his vision. The last word Draco heard before blacking out was, “Sorry, Draco.”

Part 1
Part 3

Broken

2006-06-29T20:01:17Z

Title: Broken

Chapter: One

Author: Black Dreamz

Summary: Draco is betrayed by his own father. Harry is there to help him. Pre- M/M, slash, yaoi.

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Don’t own anything

Email: ‘vengefulblackdreamz at yahoo.co.uk’

I've been trying to write something like this for ages. The back story for this harry universe has been doing rounds in my mind for a long time so I've decided to put it down and finish these daydreams once and for all.My Physics teacher is going to be happy to see a less then blank stare

He gripped tightly onto his blood encrusted hand and shook violently. Not because he was in pain. Stabs of pain were shooting up his arm but the throbbing in his hand was the last thing he could care about.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” She murmured, “I didn’t want to be the person to break this news but someone had to.”

He couldn’t look at her. He was afraid that he would take her pretty blond hair and cover them with blood too. Maybe strangle her till her jugular collapsed or her lungs stopped expanding. He didn’t feel too much in control.

“Is there anything I could do,” She once again spoke with those hushed tones as if someone had died. He felt like he had died that day.

“No,” His voice resounded, “Leave, Pansy.”

His voice left no chance for arguments. It was solid, harsh, completely broken from inside. His throat was swollen from shouting and no matter how much he swallowed he couldn’t relieve it.

A slight snick of the door told him that she had left.

The shaking grew more violent and ache in his head unbearable. His eyes weighed down on him as his vision became sharply blur. Forgetting all the great rules of Malfoys and Slytherins, tears started pouring down his face.

His father had betrayed him once again.

He had let down his father plenty of times. One of his most embarrassing moments that had stayed with him was from the time, when he couldn’t recite the basics of “MageElven” act of 1621 in front of the minister of magic when asked to, at the age of 9. His father had proclaimed him a blubbering dunderhead the second they had reached home. He never forgot a lesson after that.

Lying on his bed, still clutching onto his hand, he brokenly recited bill 21 and a half. Even his favourite bit about the hanging of publicly mating elves did not cheer him up.

He sighed as his thought about the wounds his father had created in him. They were far worse then the one in his hand. He had always been pawn, a useless, pathetic, miserable pawn in his father’s twisted games. And now nothing had changed. This time what he was being offered to do wasn’t a simple recitation game to please the minister of magic but a bid to please their lord.

How pleased their lord would be when offered his faithful servant’s son? And how merciful a father, Lucius, was to make sure that the last person who found about this transaction was the son himself.

Draco hadn’t asked questions when his father had decided to burn his collection of mad muggle comics. He certainly hadn’t enquired when he had found evidence that his father had been sleeping with a lot of people and he certainly wasn’t going to question it now. He would simply obey and let his father change his ownership.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself be dragged around like a homeless dog. He had to end the continuous cycle of pathetic-ness he had wallowed in all his life.

Draco dragged his suitcase onto the platform. Crabbe and Goyle had offered help as usual but he had declined, opting to stay alone with his thoughts rather than the awkward silence he would have to face with his fellow Slytherins. Some of them felt sorry for him while others cheered him on for the service he was about to partake. He sneered at both kinds indiscriminately.

“Slytherin slut,” someone hissed at him as he pushed his luggage trolley past a group of Gryffindors.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t care to. He knew it would be the assorted group of the Weasleys, Mudbloods and Potter. He couldn’t look at them, especially Potter.

Potter had become more of an enigma after his rendezvous with Death Eaters at the end of their fifth year. The Dark Lords minions, including his father, were able to break the stronghold of the Order during battle and managed to capture Potter.

Potter had been rescued three weeks after the occurrence and rumour had it that he wasn’t the same. Stories had flitted about how the Death Eaters had managed to crack the boy through abuse of all kind. Draco had laughed then but now, looking at his own fate, he wasn’t too sure.

Rumour also had it that his father was somehow the cause of Potter’s escape. Apparently he had given Potter the chance by getting too distracted while indulging himself with the boy. Draco felt sick to the stomach at the thought that this was probably the reason why his father was being punished in the way he was. A boy in exchange for the one he had lost. An acceptable bargain his father must have thought. Draco felt another nauseating chill run through his spine. He stumbled and a steadying hand held his shoulder. Shocked at the sudden contact, Draco hissed and jumped back.

He was stunned to find Potter’s green eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t touch me you filthy…” Draco began in a harshly wounded voice but before he could complete his sentence Potter limped away almost as if nothing had happened.

Draco glared at the retreating back. Potter had been limping ever since he came back from his ‘adventure’. Draco had heard that the wounds on his leg were treatable but Potter had refused any medical help to make the ailment go away.

Suddenly Draco felt a rain drop fall on his nose and he rushed in the train to avoid any sudden downpours. He found a comfortable, empty apartment at the rear of the train and proceeded to place his belongings under his seat. He hoped that no one would be stupid enough to want to join him, especially with the foul mood he was in.

Draco sat down to observe the passing scenery as the train began to move. The landscape was lush, green, and totally devoured by the rain. He squeezed his eyes shut as the passing greenery reminded him of Potter’s eyes. His mind sometimes did strange things to him.

He loved to imagine how things would be different if events had occurred in different ways. He loved to dream of times when he would beat Potter in Quidditch ruthlessly or when one summer he would return as a sultry, exciting, sexy man and have everyone swooning over him. Sometimes he would dream of things preposterously traitorous. In his mind he would dream of being sorted into Gryffindor and trouncing Weasley at the loyal best friends’ game. That dream, both thrilled and disgusted Draco.

Draco put his head down trying to dispel Potter’s eyes that haunted him yet again. He often wondered why so many girls liked Potter. And now he knew his secret.

He heard a sound in the compartment but his head hurt too much to care.

“Malfoy,” A soft whisper breathed against his ear, “are you awake.”

Draco jolted up; shocked, that someone had broken his solitary confinement.

Potter’s eyes hit him again and Draco looked away.

“Come here to mock me, Potter,” Draco muttered bitterly.

Potter just looked at him and sat down after shutting the apartment door.

“I came here to talk to you,” he spoke. Draco just rolled his eyes in response.

“About what, Quidditch, girls or how your life sucks.”

Potter gave him a half-smile, completely unperturbed by Draco’s hostility. His expression became serious again as he leaned in closer.

“I know what’s going on, Draco,”

Draco’s eyes widened a fraction but he refrained from commenting on the use of his name. He would have sneered something vile at this point but he found no pleasure in baiting Potter any more. Their verbal sparring had come down to a minimum after the infamous events and he preferred to keep it that way.

Potter, owlishly, blinked back at the non-responsive Slytherin and resumed his pathetic attempts at starting a meaningful exchange.

“We know and we can help.”

“Who’s we,” Draco spat out, emotions finally bursting on the surface, “your little posse of friends or your arse-licking teachers.”

Potter growled a little and flicked a spell at the sliding doors of their compartment.

“What the fuck did you do?” Draco snarled as he jumped up. In response Potter just leaned back in his seat and an expression of nonchalance and self-assurance settled on his tanned featured. Draco kicked the corrugated glass door as all his efforts to open the door failed.

“We could do this the whole day.”

“Meddle, meddle, all you want, Potter, but you’ll get nothing from me.” Draco crossed his arms defiantly as sat down on the seat opposite from Potter.

“You don’t know what you’re going to get into if you go back home.”

Draco raised a pale eyebrow and leaned in, “Of course, you would know wouldn’t you, after all you’ve had first hand experience.”

Draco felt a slight quiver in his stomach as green eyes narrowed down on him.

“You’ll be thought of as trash, shared, and touched, like a filthy little whore.” Potter’s eyes flashed at him. Draco felt his hands tremble.

“My father wouldn’t-“He stammered but Potter cut him off.

“Your father would what,” Potter sneered, “He’ll probably want to watch.”

Draco leaped up and shouted, “You know nothing about my father.”

Instead of standing up to join the challenge Draco clearly provided, he got more comfortable in his seat and drawled in a very un-Potter like fashion. “On the contrary I know everything about your father. Did you know he likes boy or that he fucks like an animal.”

Draco squeezed his palms tightly on his ears. “Shut up, Shut up, Shut up,”

Potter got up to look Draco in the eyes. “It’s true, Malfoy, it won’t matter if you’re his son. He’ll still find some way to find some perverted way to get it up out of this situation.”

“Fuck you, Potter.” Draco, snarled in the other boy’s face.

“Sorry, Malfoy, your father has already had the distinction of doing that.”

It took all of his Draco’s energy to not knock Potter over. Instead his closed his eyes and fell back on his seat with a sigh that combined all the feeling coursing through his body. He felt sick, tired and cold.

A hand slowly made contact with his bandage wrapped one. “I know how you’re feeling Draco.”

Draco didn’t open his eyes.

“Your life will be destroyed if you accept this as your fate.”

“I’m already broken aren’t I? You have your friends to support you. My friends think this is an honour. I have nowhere to go and nowhere to hide,” Draco breathed in heavily not knowing how close Potter had inched nearer to him.

“You can come with us.”

Draco opened his eyes wide as Potter’s words were breathed on him. Potter’s eyes were right on his and he still hadn’t let go of his hand.

Draco leaned in closer, eyes still locked and whispered, “I hate you, Potter. I hope you haven’t forgotten that.”

With those words, Draco shrugged off Potter’s hand from his and turned his head away.

Draco looked, as ambling students passed by his compartment, happy and cheerful at the end of their journey. Potter had long gone back to his annoying pile of friends, no doubt craving their sugary, self emancipating environment.

Finally, getting tired of sitting around, he decided to get up and face his fate. Even though he remembered all the promises he made to himself he knew he didn’t have the strength to face his oppressors the way he wanted to.

He picked up his bag and made his way out of the train. Standing at the edge of the train doors he looked around and soon enough found his mother standing near a pillar. She looked just like he had left her but he knew that the proud, elegant woman he called his mother was completely shattered from inside. They made eye contact and she slowly shook her head.

Draco realized in horror that she was telling him not to come.

He slowly backed away in the train and jumped as he hit someone standing behind him. He turned around and once again found himself peering into Potter’s ever so green eyes.

“You know she’s right,” Potter spoke.

“I know,” Draco admitted defeat.

“So you’ll come with me.”

“Do I have a choice?”

I need someone to look at it because I haven’t re-read it at all. This was meant to be a one shot but I’ll have to post a sequel because of the way it ended up. I hope you guys want to know what happens next.

Please Review... Anything and Everything is appreciated.

Part 2
Part 3

black_dreamz @ 2006-06-12T23:24:00

2006-06-12T18:32:42Z

Poetry for me is too personal an experience to put out in the open for people who know me to see. I prefer putting it online where I'm sure no one will see it. This is one from my creepy, weird stage.

Fade

I‘m fading you see

For I’ve killed my past

I’m wading knee deep

In sins that’ll last

I’m feeding acid

to the creature I was

I’m trying to replace my mould

With flesh and blood

I'm back

2006-04-11T19:46:25Z

I haven't been here for a very long time.

I was feeling supremely jealous of everyone having exceptionally loaded livejournals while mine being quite skinny like a bag of bones was amusing at best. So I decided to check up on it and come back to the more non-passive life of an journal writer.

I Know that the next message will come after a year or two..My life is so sad

Bla Bla Black Sheep

2004-07-22T09:26:34Z

I feel like a dufus today (do ppl even use that word these days).

I'm bored and I've been trying to find good fiction to read but its absolutely impossible.

I feel like crap today.

I feel fat today. (understatement of the century)

(And hey that rhymes)

Oh God where's my muse.

_Babbling and babbling

I Hate Diaries and poetry muwaahaha

2004-07-16T11:55:56Z

I hate making commitments and I definitely hate writing on a day to day basis. And knowing that no one will ever read this I'll writing some of my stuff down. Mind you I'm no poet so me writing stuff like this is a bit rich.

Forgotten

The days gone by

The people long forgotten

The shifting sand t

he ruins downtrodden

the place is the same but the faces are different

loved ones lost

as the days drift by

Say what you must

Do what you can

but people forget

and your memory will scatter

like grains of sand

copyright_BlackDreamz

Rage..

2004-07-16T11:35:41Z

I hate my life... *sigh* Hell isn't freezing over (though my computer screen did) *Ominous sign 1*
There I said it.. I had to...
Its just one of these you have to say once in a while.

I've been feeling a bit pissed at the fact people can be so unfair... life can be so unfair. Being a controlling person I feel that I should at least have a reign on my life if I can't piss people off by manipulating theirs. I'm not outspoken or have any firm ambitions but I can't be ignored just because I choose to be invisible. I'm not sucidal nor am I creepy looking black clothes wearing person. I don't have a problem with happy people and its not false that I'm happy. It's just that I don't want to change. I want to be and not be judged because of that.

I just wish people would stop being judgmental. I hate that and I hAte hypocrites.

Sorry for ranting so much but I feel SO Angry and no event or incident has caused all this ruthlessness out of me.

This is the first time I've realized how ruthless I can feel.. (not be... never be) I've even refrained from writing stuff like cursing everyone to the 7th level of hell. uh... does that exist.. whatever, you know what I mean.

First Update

2004-04-05T12:10:05Z

Life's Dumb, boring, drab and did I mention Dumb.

Feeling rather high on the history I just studied (Yes, yes I get high on history), I sit on the computer looking just as vapid as I feel.

My Exams are coming and the time I spend on the computer are absolutely priceless and rather rare so I'm signing off at this rather horrifying note.

Bye
BD.