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The opulent halls of Malfoy Manor resonated with an eerie silence, like a slumbering beast awaiting the touch of midnight. Inside his lavishly adorned bedroom, draped in the finest silks, lay Draco Malfoy, the prodigal son of an empire, headed by his father, Lucius.
At the tender age of sixteen, he embodied the essence of silver-spooned privilege, his life an intricate web of wealth and influence. But on this particular night, the moonlit hour seemed to conspire with destiny, weaving threads of danger.
The clock struck midnight, and as if in response to some cruel celestial cue, the balcony doors beckoned the night breeze into the room. A soft gust of wind carried with it the scent of distant adventure, tugging at the edges of the pristine white curtain that veiled the entrance. The curtain flowed gracefully, like a veiled ballet dancer, teasing Draco's senses and shrouding the balcony in an air of mystique.
Startled by an unexplained sound, Draco's eyes fluttered open. His silvery mane of hair cascaded over the pillows as he lifted his head, alert to the unusual disturbance that had penetrated his sanctuary. His piercing gaze was drawn to the source of the commotion, and a sense of curiosity swelled within him.
The moon's gentle glow cast a white sheen over Draco's features, emphasizing the contours of his chiseled jaw and the depth of his stormy eyes. As he peered towards the billowing curtain, his heart seemed to echo the rhythm of the night, each beat an unspoken question in the symphony of the wind.
Hesitant, but unable to resist the allure of the unknown, Draco's lithe figure slipped from beneath the layers of luxury, his bare feet greeting the cool marble floor with a hushed reverence.
He approached the curtain, his steps guided by a mixture of intrigue and apprehension.
Draco reached out, fingers trembling slightly.
Just as Draco's fingertips brushed the edge of the billowing curtain, ready to reveal the secrets that lay beyond, a dark and imposing shadow fell upon the balcony, casting an eerie pall over the once inviting night.
Startled, Draco stumbled back, his heart pounding in his chest like a captive bird yearning for escape. His pulse raced, beating against his skin like a drum.
"Who's there?" he managed to muster, his voice wavering like a flickering flame. "What do you want?" The words trembled in the air, creeping through the still night.
Silence greeted his anxious inquiry, the figure unmoving, a specter from a realm unknown. The man, tall and enigmatic, stood shrouded by the gossamer curtain, his features obscured yet radiating a presence that sent shivers down Draco's spine.
Then, the mysterious figure finally parted the sheer curtain, and Draco's heart nearly leaped out of his chest, thumping wildly in the presence of this stranger.
A cascade of emotions washed over him like a tumultuous wave, for before him stood a man of both elegance and danger. His untamed dark brown locks framed a face adorned with sharp green eyes that seemed to pierce through Draco's very soul. A black mask concealed the lower part of his face, lending an air of mystique to his already intimidating presence.
Trembling with an inexplicable mix of fear and fascination, Draco found his voice once more, though it quivered like the delicate wings of a butterfly. "Who are you?" he stammered, trying to steady his breath, his mind racing to grasp the purpose of this man’s arrival.
This time, the man answered, his deep voice resonating with a weight that sent shivers down Draco's spine. "Fawkes," he declared, and the name reverberated in the room like an ancient incantation.
Fawkes—the name that echoed through the whispers of high society and haunted the dreams of the wealthy and powerful. The most feared assassin for hire, a legend shrouded in shadows and secrets.
Draco's mind reeled with the realization that he stood face to face with a harbinger of death, a shadowy figure whose lethal skills were unmatched. The legends spoke of Fawkes as an unstoppable force, an avenging angel whose targets could only succumb to their fate. His name alone could send chills down the spines of even the boldest souls.
An unsettling silence settled over the room as Draco's thoughts whirled like a tempest, torn between the impulse to flee and the fear that held him in place. The allure of danger and the unknown danced in the air.
Fawkes, the infamous assassin, regarded Draco with an inscrutable gaze, seemingly aware of the young man’s inner turmoil. His presence exuded a captivating blend of mystery and power, like a sorcerer drawing Draco into an irresistible spell.
"You're here to kill me, aren’t you?" Draco finally managed to voice his worst fear, his voice betraying the vulnerability that lurked beneath his façade.
The air felt charged with an electrifying tension as he locked eyes with the dark figure before him. Fawkes wore an unsettling grin beneath the ominous mask, his dark laughter echoing like a haunting melody.
"Why else would I be visiting you, princess?" Fawkes' voice danced through the room, chilling Draco to the core. The word "princess" was laced with both mockery and a hint of malevolence, and seemed to peel away Draco's veneer, exposing him to the ruthless truth of the situation.
Draco's breath quickened, his instincts urging him to flee, but his trembling legs refused to obey. He shuffled backward, step by hesitant step, until his knees collided with the edge of his bed, and he fell back onto its plush surface. Still, he never broke his gaze with Fawkes, for there was something in the assassin's eyes that held him captive, a magnetic pull that defied reason.
In a desperate attempt to buy some time, Draco found his voice, his words trembling like fragile petals in the breeze. "I've got bodyguards," he stammered, his tone a mixture of desperation and defiance. "Just outside my door, in fact. They'll hear you."
"Bodyguards?" Fawkes raised a brow, amusement glinting in his menacing gaze. They both knew he was lying.
"They're skilled, powerful," he insisted, his voice wavering. "They'll hear you, and they won't let any harm come to me."
Fawkes' menacing grin only widened, the gleam in his eyes daring and unyielding. "Ah, the illusion of safety," he retorted, his voice dripping with a sinister charm. "You really believe they can protect you from me, princess? Your bodyguards, however devoted, are but ants in the face of a storm."
Draco's heart sank as Fawkes shattered the last remnants of hope that clung to his fragile facade of courage. Fawkes was a force of nature, a phantom who defied logic and surpassed all mortal limitations. His reputation was built upon tales of unrelenting precision and an arsenal of talents that knew no equal.
Yet, even in the clutches of fear, a glimmer of defiance flickered in his eyes. "Then, tell me, why are you here?" he demanded, an ember of rebellion burning amidst the fear. "What do you want from me?"
Fawkes' dark eyes locked onto Draco's, and for a moment, it seemed as if the shadowy veil around the assassin wavered, revealing a hint of raw honesty beneath the enigmatic exterior.
"I am a servant of destiny," he murmured cryptically. "Our paths have crossed for a reason, one that neither you nor I can escape. Your life, young Malfoy, is entwined with a grander design, and I am but a conductor in this symphony of fate."
The weight of Fawkes' words bore down on Draco like an anvil, and he found himself drawn into the abyss of uncertainty. The night held its breath, the stars bearing witness to the meeting of two seemingly opposing forces—haughty privilege and unfathomable horror.
The air crackled with tension as Draco, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of fate and the enigmatic presence of Fawkes, found himself exasperated. He couldn't bear the poetic and mysterious air that surrounded the assassin any longer. "Stop acting poetic and mysterious," he groaned, waving his hands dismissively, his frustration evident in the furrow of his brow.
Fawkes, for a brief moment, appeared taken aback by the audacity of this young man who dared to question him. He regarded Draco with a mixture of surprise and amusement, as if he had encountered a rare creature in the wild.
"Oh, do forgive me," Fawkes drawled, his voice tinged with wry amusement. "I didn't realize you preferred a more straightforward approach."
Draco's cheeks flushed slightly at the recognition of his own audacity. He hadn't intended to be so forward with someone as fearsome as Fawkes, but his fear seemed to meld with defiance, leading him to speak his mind despite the danger that loomed. "I just want to know why you're here," he insisted, trying to regain some semblance of composure.
Fawkes regarded him with an arched eyebrow, the dark mask concealing his expression, leaving Draco to wonder what lay behind that stoic facade. "Curiosity burns in your veins, doesn't it?" Fawkes mused, as if peering into the depths of Draco's soul.
The air seemed to hum with anticipation as Fawkes tilted his head curiously, intrigued by Draco's insistence on seeking answers despite the impending danger. "Why do you want to know, anyways?" Fawkes questioned, his voice a low rumble that sent a chill down Draco's spine. "You'll be dead soon, so I'll just be wasting breath telling you."
Draco scrunched his nose defiantly, a spark of bravado flickering in his eyes. "Well, you've been wasting breath this whole time being poetic," he retorted, his voice tinged with sarcasm, "so tell me. It's the least you can do, before you kill me."
Fawkes couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. He had encountered countless intriguing victims, but rarely had he encountered one who dared to challenge him so openly in the face of imminent doom.
"Very well, young prince," he conceded, his voice a silky blend of amusement and something that almost resembled respect– almost. "You have a point."
With the air of someone about to reveal a well-kept secret, Fawkes took a step closer to Draco. "And what if I said that it was your own father, Lucius Malfoy, that has sent me," he began, his words measured and deliberate.
Sudden tears glistened in Draco's eyes, yet he found himself nodding, the weight of Fawkes’ words settling upon his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
Fawkes paused, curious about the young wizard's composed reaction, and asked, "You don't seem surprised." Draco shook his head, his voice soft but resolute, "It makes sense."
Fawkes hummed thoughtfully, taking a step closer, until his legs brushed against Draco's knees. The proximity sent a shiver down Draco's spine, his heart racing with a mix of fear and something he couldn't quite put into words. He peered up at the silent assassin, his pupils blown wide. The moonlight painted a mesmerizing contrast of light and shadow upon Fawkes' face, making him appear both ethereal and hauntingly real.
Fawkes stared down at Draco, his gaze penetrating and inscrutable. The silence between them seemed to hold a thousand unspoken questions, and it was as if the universe itself paused to witness this pivotal moment.
The air crackled with tension as Draco summoned the courage to voice the question that hung like a heavy weight on his heart. "Are you going to kill me now?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper that echoed in the stillness of the night. Fawkes, with an air of solemn finality, replied, "Unfortunately for you, yes I am. It's my job, tonight."
Despite the grave pronouncement, the two of them remained locked in a mesmerizing staring match, a silent battle of wills.
As the weight of impending fate settled upon Draco's shoulders, he took a moment to ponder his next words, his gaze casting away. "Can I ask something of you? Before you kill me?" he said, his voice a delicate mix of vulnerability and determination.
Surprisingly, Fawkes found himself unable to resist the young prince's request, drawn to the flicker of something unfamiliar in Draco's eyes.
Fawkes regarded Draco with a mix of curiosity and caution, curious as to what he could possibly request in the face of certain doom. "Speak," he replied, his voice softer than he intended, betraying a hint of intrigue.
Draco looked up at Fawkes, his eyes soft and teary, vulnerability etched upon his features. His heart pounded with both fear and a yearning for something he had never experienced before. "Will you kiss me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've never been kissed before, and I'd like to experience it, before... well." The unspoken reference to his impending fate hung in the air.
Startled by the unexpected request, Fawkes choked on his breath, his eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment. He had faced countless dangerous situations and encountered innumerable pleas, but this was something entirely different—a plea for a tender and intimate moment. He found himself speechless, unable to form a coherent response to Draco's bold request.
Draco's heart hammered in his chest as he waited for Fawkes' reply, the vulnerability of the moment making him ache. This was one way to lose him kiss-virginity. Take that, Pansy, he did it first.
Fawkes found himself inexplicably drawn to Draco's plea, though caution still lurked in the corners of his mind. He assured Draco that if this was some sort of trick, it wouldn't work. Draco, however, vehemently denied any ulterior motives, his eyes shimmering with sincerity.
With a mixture of caution and curiosity, Fawkes hovered over Draco, their breaths mingling in the space between them. He bent down slightly, aligning their mouths, his eyes never leaving Draco's. It was a vulnerable moment, an intimate connection that transcended the roles they had been assigned the moment Fawkes entered Draco’s bedroom.
Leaning in, their lips met, and it was as if the world ceased to exist, dampened and quiet, as if it were mere background noise.
Draco held his breath, his heart racing like a soaring phoenix in flight. He let his eyes slip shut, surrendering himself to the moment. In that embrace, he felt the delicate brush of Fawkes' lips against his, a sensation that was both electrifying and frightening.
The kiss quickly grew heated, fueled by an intoxicating mixture of edge and desire that neither Draco nor Fawkes could deny. It became an unspoken clash of shrouded fear and raw passion, a dance of lips and tongues. The kiss became messy, sloppy, and unrestrained, a whirlwind of emotions that swept them both away.
Fawkes found himself caught in the whirlpool of Draco's ardor, unable to resist the allure of the young prince's unbridled enthusiasm. Draco began inching back, Fawkes following, until he was laying flat on his back, Fawkes on top of him.
As their lips collided again and again, he felt a growl rumble deep within him, his hands finding their way to either side of Draco's head, supporting him as they continued their fervent exchange.
Suddenly, it became extra wet, and a curious taste lingered on his tongue. For a moment, he was taken aback, but Draco's hands on his waist distracted him from the peculiar sensation, pulling him back into the allure of their fervent exchange.
Their lips collided with renewed fervor, their breaths mingling, their skin flushing. Draco's touch sent shivers down Fawkes' spine, the young prince's enthusiasm weaving an intoxicating spell that left Fawkes mesmerized. He was so pure , unlike Fawkes himself.
They kissed for what seemed like an eternity, each passing second leaving only the prince and the assassin entangled in a dangerous embrace.
Yet, as if summoned by some unspoken cue, Draco suddenly pulled away, his eyes glistening. He batted his eyelashes up at Fawkes, a hint of mischievousness in his gaze. The assassin stared down at him with reverence, his chest heaving with each panting breath.
Draco's voice quivered. He mumbled something, and Fawkes leaned in, asking, "What did you say?"
With a surge of bravery, Draco spoke up, his voice laced with a haunting edge, "We can die together, assassin."
Fawkes' heart skipped a beat, his mind flashing back to the strange taste he had experienced during their kiss. A horrifying realization washed over him—the substance Draco had fed him was poison, and he had unwittingly consumed it.
Enraged, Fawkes' eyes blazed with fury as he backhanded Draco, the force of the blow sending the young prince tumbling back with a whimper, his hand covering his now-aching face.
Fawkes pulled away quickly, his mind a tumult of emotions. He shuffled back, feeling as if he had been backed into a corner, his eyes wide and wild with disbelief at the deception that had unfolded before him.
"You... you poisoned me," Fawkes choked out, his voice a tremor of disbelief.
Draco's demeanor shifted dramatically, his expression transforming into something feral and unhinged. A grin spread across his face, and his eyes glinted with a strange sense of triumph. "I did. I did!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with a maniacal edge.
Draco's laughter echoed through the room, a wild symphony of emotions that left Fawkes both captivated and unnerved.
He had encountered many dangerous adversaries in his life, but none quite like Draco, who seemed to possess a complexity that defied his initial perceptions.
When Draco's laughter finally subsided, he moved with an almost feverish energy, crawling backward on his bed until he was concealed beneath the soft, silky covers, the colour a deep, emerald green.
All was quiet, for a moment.
Draco's voice broke the silence, the words laden with heavy emotions. "Come, lay with me, assassin. We can die together, hm?"
Fawkes remained silent, his mind swirling with conflicting emotions. Yet, without a word, he stood up and approached the bed, his steps measured and deliberate. He didn’t have the time for an emotional crisis over this, not with the poison quickly spreading to his vital organs.
With a steady hand, Fawkes lifted the covers and slipped into the bed beside Draco. The air seemed charged with an inexplicable energy as they lay side by side, their bodies drawn together like magnets, each drawn to the other in a way they couldn't comprehend.
In the stillness that followed, they lay entwined, the warmth of their bodies creating a cocoon of solace in the midst of chaos. Fawkes, still speechless, found himself drawn to Draco's side, his arm instinctively curling around the blonde man he found himself dying with.
“What is your name? Your real name?”
“..Harry. Harry Potter.”
As the drug's effects washed over them like a bittersweet lullaby, both men found themselves drifting into an uneasy slumber, unable to resist the seductive pull of sleep.
In the cocoon of darkness, their breaths synchronised like a whispered melody, and an unexpected sense of comfort settled between them, born from the shadows of their morally grey companionship. They were no longer the prince and the assassin, but rather two souls entangled in a dance of fate and choice, their identities fading into insignificance in the face of their shared mortality.
And as the first rays of dawn spilled into Draco's room, a hazy light painted the scene in delicate shades of gold. The air was heavy with anticipation, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded in the stillness of the night. As the young prince's adoring mother entered the room, her heart brimming with love and energy, she froze in horror at the sight before her.
Her piercing scream echoed through the grand chambers of Malfoy Manor, shattering the tranquillity that had once filled the space. Without a care for the second man in the bed, she fell to the floor, her hands trembling as they reached out to her motionless son.
"Draco! No, please, no!" she sobbed, her voice a haunting echo of grief that reverberated through the walls.
The morning was still, then.