Greetings Readers,

This work is an excerpt from chapter 5 in my Forbidden Desire work. I was looking back over it and thought that it would be a good stand alone piece and also a bit of a teaser for those of you who are reading it. You don't have to have read the other chapters to enjoy Draco's POV, it would work for many situations. I hope that you enjoy it and I hope to continue to hear from you all. Thank you for reading.

Alexandrite Moonlight

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_____________________________________The Story _______________________________________

I wince. The rivulets of torn flesh pulsed with pain as they rub against my shirt. Even silk feels like gravel against my abused skin.

They'll fade. They always do. My Power wont let them remain long and soon my back will be smooth, pale, and flawless once more. Too bad he realized it.

"Damn him!" I curse under my breath as I lean back against the roof. Focusing on the rise and fall of my breathing I push the pain from my mind. A useful accessory to have, that distancing of mind and body. It would be permanent if I could maintain it, but it takes focus and concentration that no one can maintain against the searing and fiery kiss of a whip. So, the blessing fails me when most needed.

Of course if it weren't for my futile struggles and inventive vocabulary during the sessions I am sure that the lacerations would never cease. That is his pleasure, his purge, and his escape.

My cries of pain and offering of blood are exactly what he seeks; and I give them to him. I have learned the art of torture through torture. I could tell you exactly which slant of the lash brings the most blood, and which the most lasting pain. With time I have grown accustomed to the chaffing of metal restraints, the bite of leather, and the coppery taste of oblivion, I can survive them. A blessing in disguised?

No.… I can't say that I would have relived the entire period, for the simple ability to stand it.

I never wanted that and if I could have lived without it I would have been grateful, but, as he repeats constantly, like a chant: "Father knows best."

Each repetition emphasized with a sharp crack and even sharper lick of leather until I could swear that the words are imprinted under my very skin, tattooed eternally upon my flesh and soul.

He never over does it, never finishes what he started when I was conceived. I am too valuable a toy. The Master would be displeased if I were lost.

Even beyond my Power I am a treasure for my simple ability to heal quickly and well. Every Death Eater should own one. I can see the advertising now.

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Is you dungeon becoming too monotonous and crowded?

Victims dying too quickly?

Need something new that will last a lifetime of torture?

Voldemort Enterprises in conjunction with Malfoy Inc. are please to present to you...

!Draco Malfoy!

The self-healing whipping toy!

Perfect for your every sadistic enjoyment!

Ensured to last a lifetime, HIS!

Limited time only. Void where prohibited. One Year Guarantee._________ _______

If they could find a way to mass-produce me it wouldn't be near as humorous as it sounds. They'd attempt it if it were possible; it isn't, but they don't understand that. What I am cannot be duplicated. I am unique and one-of-a-kind. Well, not entirely anyway. I mean, I am not alone after all.

I am not the only one with such abilities. There are four of us, all told, different and yet so similar. Unique, wondrous, and damned by the very magick that courses through our veins. Burdened with choices and a fate that is already determined.

Written in the goddamned stars no less! Never mind on parchment where manipulative hands could grasp it and seek to twist and bend it to their will.

I wont let them! I wont let it work its course!

… For you… Only for you…

You have no idea; do you, of just how much I am willing to sacrifice for you. It was such a quick change, such a swift shock to the system, the moment that I learned that I loved you. A change of direction that comes that fast is both steadfast and true or a momentary lie that comes with desperation and a loss of mind.

The first few weeks of realization were spent in denial. I wanted to be insane, to have it all put down to the latter consequence. Love wasn't written in my stars; marriage by alliance, death and darkness by birthright, and isolation by choice were always there. I always knew what was in my future. It use to break my mother's heart, that despairing, bleak, and, unfortunately, unerring view that I expressed about my future. She was robbed of the hope, joy, and thrilling uncertainty of her child's course in life. That which every mother should be entitled to: concern, anticipation, innocent joy, was all stolen from her the moment she was born.

It is strange the similarity between us; mother and son, both deprived of freewill, our course set by other hands before we could even comprehend what life was. She was born, bred, and trained as a dutiful and demure wife, but within her is a wild streak so cleverly disguised that even my father over looks it, and that is saying something.

Betrothed, bound, and heartbroken, she was given to my father. She tried to love him, I have seen it. Desperation to hold onto something precious and forbidden lighting her eyes as she continually goes out of her way to please him. It is beautiful, sad, and sickening all at the same time.

I use to wonder if that is what awaited me in my betrothal.

I glance down at the ring encircling my pinky. A grand and delicate affair of silver and gold intertwined in snake-like coils with a center piece of peridot and amethyst resembling a snake and a weasel; the symbols of mine and Pansy's families. I hate the ring and usually don't wear it outside of Malfoy Manor.

My father insists upon it and with Pansy's family in constant attendance in our home he makes sure that it never leaves my finger in their presence. But he can't enforce it in Hogwarts and Pansy is easily satisfied with my defense of not wishing to damage it.

I slip it from my finger and bring it to reflect the moonlight. It is beautiful and I always find it humorous that Pansy's family adopted the weasel as its symbol. It is quite fitting.

I slip it back onto my finger and smile as a breeze blows against my face. Cool and gentle.

Turning my face and mind from Malfoy Manor and all things connected with it, I turn to the stars and darkened skies. It is exciting to have high goals and yet it is torture, as I struggle to them, to think that I might not reach them.

To think that I might not reach you.

I wonder if you realize that Pansy gets upset when I call Weasley 'Weasel', she feels insulted at the thought of any comparison between her family and him, even if it really isn't a comparison. She is such a vain and petty git. Ron bears no similarity to a weasel, besides his name of course. You know, the only reason that I continued to name him such was that I realized the effect it had on Pansy. I use to hope that she would become so upset that she would call the engagement off, but the draw of power and the teachings of her family have left her steadfast at my side, or rather trailing safely behind me.

I don't want someone to walk behind me, to hide behind my status and name, who only supports when it gives them the advantage. I want someone who will walk beside me, someone with the character and strength to stand on their own, who loves me to the point that they support be because of me. It is an impossible desire, but I have found it and knowing it is worse than simply having the desire because now that I know you I know what I am missing every moment that you are not beside me, every moment that you don't love me.

I knew, unconsciously, that we belonged together all along. My father use to tell me about you, it was a topic of unending shame for him. Even when I knew that I would not be allowed to know you, you were on the 'wrong' side after all, I wanted to know you. I guess I have always wanted the impossible and Harry, you are impossible.

Even in pain you make me smile. That first day, the day that I asked you for your hand, I was ready and prepared, supported in my young and impetuous nature, to dare against my father just for the chance to know you. Something in your eyes, wide with wonder, gave me hope for a chance that I didn't even know that I wanted. You denied me of course. If I had been you I would have done the same thing. I was superficial prick and still am in some ways. Even if I was willing to chance any bond with you I wasn't open-minded enough to accept Weasley or Granger. What unknown love and awe could allow me to by pass in you; the teachings and upbringing I received were too engrained back then to allow me to accept them.

Now I know that not everything I knew was true.

Shocking isn't it?

I can see the constellation of Orion now. It is just over the tips of the ancient trees. I use to come out here and talk to him when I was younger. Looking back it is funny to see just how much of the conversations revolved around you, of course they weren't the nicest of comments. I smile to think of it now, but then I would have been ashamed at how much I let you pray on my mind, so much. I was too arrogant to realize the symptoms.

Did you know that Orion use to be worshipped by the Egyptians as a symbol of Osiris? To think all that time I was conversing with a god. Interesting to look back on now, living the dark life that my father set for me and yet to have such simplistic innocence! I can't even imagine how you must have been.

Of course, you're life wasn't that great now was it? I have heard rumors about your life with the muggles. Our pasts are both harsh aren't they?

We are what our pasts have molded.

But future is ours to mold.

Together…

I close my eyes, drawing your face to mind. Emerald eyes, intense, penetrating, and brilliant. ebony hai---

"Shit! What now?"

I can feel the light tremor of the roof beneath me; father calling me to him. Like a good pet I'll obey, like a good son I will follow behind him in darkness.

But like a better spy I will watch, learn and report.

Betrayal is hereditary anyway, right?

I leap from the edge of the roof, the brief desire to let gravity do its work, to let the ground have me, to let go of everything for good, tempts me for a whole second before your smile lights the darkness that has crept around me. A light in the darkness. A faint promise glistening in a sea of despair. You are what keeps me going.

I stop myself, this time like all other times before and all other times that will come after. I can't leave. I wont. Not yet. I have a part to play and the show must go on.

I have you… even if you don't know it.

The ground is springy beneath my soft leather boots, dew already forming on the individual blades. Such beauty in a world soon to be swallowed in the throws and terrors of war.

Between the roof and ground I have melded my mind and body together again and with each step the dulling throb of my wounds reminds me of fate. They are already beginning to recede and soon will be but pink lines lingering as a painless reminder until they too pale and smooth over.

I run my hand along the outer wall of the manor taking pleasure and strength from their rough and solid foundation and support. It is strange that I should draw my courage from the very place where my cries, screams, tears, blood, and sorrow echo from ever hallway and passage, but such is the turn of fate. More cruelty and deception has been executed within these walls than joy; decades of Malfoys have walked and breathed through the countless rooms, but I will be the first to betray the essence of our family for love rather than political gain or revenge.

Even with that I belong, belong as sure as if I were the very cornerstone of the building, as if I had existed here since it was first erected. I am a Malfoy after all and even with the distinction of my birthright and choices, at the core I am a Malfoy, bound to the heritage of my ancestors, cruel and manipulative as they may be, by pride, foundation, and a legacy that transcends all things.

I reach the side parlor door and enter into the house. I can feel the darkness, thick and suffocating, lingering in every crevice. It is strong and I know that he is here. It must be a private matter, perhaps a last minute lesson before my journey to Hogwarts, because he didn't call everyone via the Mark.

I turn my head sharply, his power reaching my senses, cold, clammy, and reeking of death. It is nauseating and putrid completely unlike my love's. He has taken something and made a detestable and misshapen replica of it.

The Sangoire Room. That is where I will find him. I narrow my eyes toward the door.

That is where I will find him and father.

Pushing my mind from my love, my deception, and my knowledge, I step toward the room. Maniac he may be, but Voldemort has the Power to use my thoughts against me.

I open the double doors, taking a deep inner breath and draw upon the strength of my family legacy, my home, and my soul. Stepping forward I enter the room becoming the Malfoy Heir, the Master's Pet, my Father's Whipping Toy, and another darkened soul lost to the mask and mark of the Death Eaters.

I close the door.

Closing myself into a blood-colored room, into a darkness that is virtually impenetrable, into a fate that was decreed long ago.

I close myself into the hands of those I despise.

Voluntarily walking into Hell….

For you… only for you…

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_________________________________End of excerpt/story____________________________________

If you enjoyed that check back in later, when I have the entire chapter ready to post and, if you haven't read my story, please look over it.

I will be away from my fan fictions for the next 4 days so it will be longer than I had hoped before I get to the next part of my chapter.

)o( Blessed Be )o(