Draco’s shoulders shook with the intensity of what he had done. In his left hand was a knife, stained with what might be the greatest regret of his life and the blood of his enemy.
He didn’t mean to kill McLaggen. It was, frankly, what they say ‘spur of the moment’.
They were at a party hosted by the Ministry, and Draco was enjoying himself until the part where he found McLaggen all over Harry in a corner of a darkened room.
McLaggen had his back to him and Harry, pressed up against the wall, looked over McLaggen’s shoulder and at Draco, wicked green eyes telling him to give into temptation.
And so Draco did, grabbing the knife practically presented to him at the nearby table before hauling McLaggen away from Harry.
Draco slammed McLaggen on the wall, ignoring the satisfaction that settled within him at the sound of McLaggen’s bone cracking against the hardwood.
“You won’t kill me,” McLaggen said, eyes unfocused but a sly smirk upon his face, as though he’s the one holding the knife. “You’re too busy being a good little boy for your saviour, aren’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Draco spat, pressing the knife harder against the base of McLaggen’s neck, enough for a single drop of blood to drip down from the broken skin.
“Kill him,” Harry said from beside Draco, his voice cold as ice and sending a shiver down Draco’s spine. “He means nothing to me — to us.”
McLaggen looked offended. “Potter, what the fuck—“
“Do you remember the war, Draco?” Harry continued, stepping closer and leaning in to whisper in Draco’s ear, “It was seven years ago,” he put his hand over Draco’s own, not allowing room for Draco to move or drop the knife. “I died for you back then. It only makes sense for you to kill for me now, doesn’t it?”
“Harry,” Draco pleaded, fingertips numbing as sweat formed underneath his velvet suit. “I can’t–“
“Yes, you can,” Harry said, his voice hypnotising like an illusion from Draco’s wildest dreams. “Kill for me, Draco, and I’m yours for the night.”
Draco hesitated, before asking, “Forever?” It was all he could ever want and more.
Harry looked briefly surprised, but recovered quickly as he placed a kiss on Draco’s mouth and murmured, “Forever,” like it was the easiest thing in the world.
It was the last thing Draco heard before the scene before him played like a flashed-forward memory and cries of agony echoed in his ears like a peculiar promise.
“I killed him.” It was more of a statement than a question, because, well, McLaggen’s body lay on the carpeted floor, Draco’s heel on his chest.
“And I love you for it, my Draco,” Harry whispered before prying the knife out of his hand and vanishing it. “Let’s leave before someone else sees us.”
Draco let Harry take him away as the sun hid in the sky, rain pouring like the greatest grief from above. The earth stained their shoes on their way up the grassy hills, and behind them, the rest of the world dissolved, along with the blood in their hands.