Title: A Devil's Prayer
Author: Reese
Summary: The devil loves nothing more than the unhappiness of others.
Rating: R just to be safe
Spoilers: --
Notes: Just a small writing wibble that I was tempted to write. It's a composition of fragmented sentences, juxtaposes, and greatly inspired by a broken form of poetry. Intentionally written this way. This might be a side-story to one of my upcoming fics. If not, don't think of a setting and just read with no prior thoughts. You'll just confuse yourself.

Blinded by emotion, he, the shattered youth with the coloured locks of moonlight and eyes as cold and dense as the watery oblivion, struggled towards his shivering haven: unruly, chestnut tendrils, misted eyes and parched lips, a slender form huddled underneath black robes that seemed to engulf her petite form. So alone. Alone and vulnerable and broken. Broken to the extent to which she could not be pieced back together. Like glass. Looking so weak and irreparable like a pair of torn, gossamer wings.

So he struggled - struggled and fumbled awkwardly towards heaven's child made of fine porcelain and virgin skin. He needed her. Wanted her - wanted her to take him to her peaceful dreamland of crimson and golden veils and leather-covered tomes - to take him to her saturated dream of wasted tears. Take him to any place but where evil waited for him with open arms. He wanted her. Needed to seek comfort in the only person left able to give it to him. This comfort, this unreachable release from the strains of hardship and unimaginable expectations - this broken-winged angel who fell. Fell down with him in a whirl of tattered feathers and blood and bruises. They were the children dropped from heaven and into the fiery depths of hell, where the black flames consumed these fallen, hopeless angels.

It was a nightmare. But to him ... to him, they were the only ones who were truly alive and needed to stay alive. He needed her to stay alive. Who would save him from those shadowy figures dressed in black and lived by rules of authority? This girl - a girl whose life and blood was wasted after the name of filth - was the one who had the potential to save him. Save his soul. Save his life. Save him from everything that made him who he was and those who would make him become. Save him from his own miserable abyss.

So he crawled over to her form.

She looked up with her deadened eyes and drank him up at the sight of him. Small hands fingered lightly at his feather-soft strands that absorbed the glow of moonlight. Small hands traced his elegant brows and brushed his sharp cheekbones. Fingertips grazed his lips with an unidentified tenderness. The look in her eyes. Gods. Sultry and thick with unbridled desire, yet lacking the spark, the mirth that made her eyes so irresistable. So beautiful.

Nimble fingers traced patterns along his bare back and chest. She looked at him with her god-forsaken, dead eyes and closed them - as they should have been - and took him in with a kiss. A kiss that defied all others because maybe, just maybe, it would be their last. Tongue on tongue, skin on skin, two figures in a tangle of black robes in the midst of night. He slid gently, slowly inside of her before picking up a rhythm that neither could hear. Slick velvet and silk skin. He wanted more. More. Wild lips searched, frantically, for hers. He tasted her. Tasted her like he could no more. He wrapped his arms around her body and kept her there as he desperately searched for release. No words were passed between them except the passionate and hot gazes often shared between small intervals.

God. Where was that release? He needed.wanted.desired it. There was the molding of bodies, the intense euphoria that escalated beyond imagination and the endless skies. Ohoh, yes, there it was - a blazing fire. Hot and tempestuous. Came rapidly towards him and overpowered him. Drowned him into a blissful abyss where those crimson and golden veils lay. Where books of age lay scattered across a glass floor with nothing to support it.

And then he found himself in a black room. A room with no doors or floors or ceilings. A room where nothing could come in and nothing could go out. And yet. Yet rippling figures dressed in black slipped through invisible cracks and came for him with open arms. Pale arms that were outstretched and laced with the black markings of evil.

You're one of us. Come with us. Oh, the youngest heir, come with us. You belong to us. Hereherehere. Nowhere else. Just here.

Shallow breaths escaped his lips as he stepped backwards with every step forward they took. He moved back and back down a place that seemed neverending. And they caught up with him. Black robes engulfed in red of dragon's ire. Disappointed. Furious. They hated him. He defied them.

Traitor!Traitor! It was a chant that haunted him, echoed in his ears and never ceased.

Wands from beneath their robes were brandished and pointed at him. Oh, Merlin help him. Where was his saviour? That damnable angel. That filthy mudblood. She was supposed to protect him from this. Gods. Where was she?

Sparks of light erupted at the tips of their wands, and he knew time was running out. Death came closer and closer. Smiled at him with sinister glee. He spun around and light seemed to welcome him. She was there. Standing with open arms. Beckoning him with a happy glint in her eyes. He ran towards her, didn't dare look back.

And suddenly, she was moving away. With every step he took, she seemed to move farther away from him. She furrowed her brows in confusion, looked about her in fear. She couldn't understand either. Why couldn't he come to her? The once mirthful eyes turned black with fear. Hatred. Betrayal.

Draco. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.

He wanted to cry. Cry because they were moving apart for a reason he couldn't quite identify. He picked up his pace. She moved closer. Oh, he was elated. His heart beat faster with anticipation and she was just at arm's length. Oh, he could feel her already. The smile on her face was breathtaking, intoxicating. He could feel the tug on his lips and yes, that was it - the brushing of fingertips and soon she would be in his arms and then-

Avada Kedavra.

Draco Malfoy shot up from his bed in an upright position, a broken scream escaping his lips. When he finally composed himself, he breathed hard and took in his surroundings. He was still in his room and his fellow Slytherins were still asleep, it seemed, for none of them had come rushing into his bedroom. And thank Merlin for that. A leg propped up, he leaned one elbow against it and breathed in and out. Slowly, oh-so-slow. Droplets of sweat ran down his face and, despite the sultry heat in the midst of autumn, he was cold and shivering.

In his bedroom, he pondered. Pondered about that stupid mudblood that was giving him nightmares. The mere sight of her seemed to put him in even more danger. Questions flooded his mind. Why her? Why did she haunt him in his dreams the way she did? What did he ever do to deserve her presence?

Because you love her, you fool.

He still didn't understand, no matter how many times he tried to convince himself. Why, why, why?

And then he felt it. A warm hand on his bare shoulder. He looked beside him to see a half-upright witch looking back at him with curiosity and concern. And she fully propped herself up and wrapped her arms around him, pressing a kiss on the angel wing before bringing him back down to the bed and snuggling beside him, tightening her hold around him as if she would never let go.

They were two figures silhouetted by moonlight, two lost children who continued to fight their way towards the light. Then, somewhere in between their dreams and the heavy night that shrouded these two ill-fated lovers, they only found darkness.

And she let go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - L A S T . W O R D S

Dreams aren't supposed to make sense. So use that as an explanation if you got confused somewhere in the middle. :) Lame excuse, I know. I'm not going to explain the title's association with the story. Let's see if you can analyze that on your own. It honestly does have a significance. Just keep the following in mind, however:

separation:unhappiness :: unhappiness:devil

I'll give you a cookie if you figure it out. (Grin) I'll eventually explain myself later.