Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation
Sin Laced Sweet Infatuation
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of one completely and utterly brilliant Miss J.K. Rowling. Without her, well, these stories would probably be crap.

WARNING: *sirens blaring, neon lights flashing* If you are in any way uncomfortable with the idea of two boys obsessed with oneanother, and muwhaha doing bad things with each other, I suggest you leave. To put it shortly, this story contains slash.

Chapter 5- Smooth Criminal

Harry was afraid his lungs might collapse if he ran any longer. So gasping, he careened into an empty classroom and dropped himself heavily to the floor.

He lay panting against the door, sweaty and shaking, every bit of him poised and alert, each muscle ready to spring into action if the door behind him should be thrust open.

Every nerve was strained and adrenaline jetted through him, as he seemed to have a horrible sense that the door would be flung open any moment and a team of armed guards would wrestle him to the floor and lead him away, shackled hand and foot.

He felt like he was in one of those muggle films where a juvenile delinquent was on the run. Like he was some horrible teenage murderer, crouching breathless in dank sewers and sprinting down shadowed alleyways, pausing only to light a cigarette before plunging his bloodied knife into the next victim.

Tides of guilt drenched him, so he was left steeped in heavy regret. The last few moments in the potions room seemed like an out of body experience, like something out of a bizarre dream. Harry could hardly believe how angry he'd gotten, and...and what it had led him to. What had he been thinking?

*Oh god*, Harry moaned, the scene now thrumming through his head. He dropped his head into his hands plaintively, feeling his face burn with humiliation.

He'd hit Snape; a teacher. *Snape was a teacher*. The force of that statement seemed to hit Harry full on in the gut. What would happen to students who did that? Would they get expelled? Would he be locked away in some dungeon? Or worse yet, would he be forced to go through some sort of intensive new age therapy with Snape? Would he be forced the resign from the wizarding world, and have his wand ceremoniously snapped like in the military?

There were so many horrible possibilities, each more unpleasant than the one beofe. The truth was however, that Harry had no idea what they would do to him because he'd never heard of anything like this happening before. And the thought of this, was exhaustively terrifying in it's implications.

He still couldn't believe what he'd done. It was like, all these years the tension between him and Snape had just been building and building and building. Like an elastic band that just kept getting stretched and stretched so taught it was almost unbearable, and then finally, today, it had snapped.

Because now that Harry thought about it, Snape had been almost more crazed than he had. Harry placed a tentative finger to his wrist and almost bit his tongue in half as his entire face convulsed with pain. He looked at it now, his breath coming hard, hissing tightly between clenched teeth. Something about the bone formation no longer looked natural and there were horrible swelling splotches of blue and deep black purple blossoming all up his arm.

Harry glowered at it spitefully, *That neurotic physcopathic bastard, I think he broke half the bones in my wrist.*

And it was his right arm. He'd hardly be able to play quidditch if this didn't heal properly. Harry tried to flex his fingers but was once again jarred with pain and his eyes squeezed shut inadvertantly, muscles cramping in a sour cry of indignation.

Harry let his head fall back against the wall and let out a long, weary sigh. How had he gotten so angry? It was so uncharacteristic of him to snap like that, to just sort of explode. But Harry was constantly on edge now, wasn't he? Always tense and distressed, aching over his broken heart.

*Oh my god, Draco.* Harry suddenly realized, like a slap in the face, that he hadn't thought of him for longer than he could ever remember. But now that the fair haired boy had made a recurrence in his mind, the pain was intensified beyond imagination.

Harry hadn't even had time to agonize over what he'd done to Draco, but now all the horrible feelings that had been swept aside were once again tearing around inside him.

How he could he have done that to Draco? It was unfathomable; sheer and absolute madness. It was as if Harry no longer had a grip on himself, like he had lost control of his actions. A glance down to his hands, his madly shaking hands, and there was a sharp sort of realization inside him. The next time this happened, next time he snapped, he just might not escape from the perilous grasp of insanity; next time it happened, it might be too late.

His chest swelled with sorrow as he suddenly recalled the look in Draco's eyes, that raw, unmasked anguish. Like a fever, sweltering in the pits of his eyes, a disease staining Draco's soul. It didn't occur to Harry for a second why Draco should be torn apart by such suffering, it was only evident to Harry that it was all his fault. His fault.

The words scorched through Harry's mind in a blaze of guilt, a spasm of shame and Harry cringed, feeling that inevitable ache began to resound once more in his chest.

Clutching his head in his hands he began to rock compulsively, back and forth, back and forth.

He sat like that for what seemed an eternity, an eternity in Harry's dark, troubled mind, until it began to gnaw at him. Reality. The fact that he had to *do* something. He couldn't just sit there forever, wasting away. All though it seemed the sole thing Harry wished to do at the moment.

Scraping together his remaining tattered scraps of strength, he climbed haggardly to his feet, and threw open the door to stick his head wearily into the deserted corridor.

Of course, it was empty.

Right.

Harry felt his shoulders sag with a little sigh of relief. He bit his lip and stared back and forth down either passage. Which way to go? Not like it really mattered. So shaking off the horrible cold prickling of apprehension, he swung out to his right and began walking briskly with his eyes to the floor.

He found his feet leading him up staircase after staircase, unconsciously taking himself as far from anybody as possible. Disgusted at his own undercurrent of cowardice he turned around to maybe lead himself in the *direction* of Dumbledore's office. Of course he wasn't going to go there right away, he wasn't nearly *that* brave.

So he plodded along, the usual tirade of thoughts battering around inside his head, the usual emotions wringing his heart, so lost in thought that he didn't notice as someone fell silently into step behind him. He in fact, still didn't notice as that person drew close enough behind to fall into alignment with his shadow.

Then all of a sudden, like a bomb exploding in his path, he was jarred out of his troubled reflections as he was knocked forcefully to the ground, his arms twisted behind his back. Harry gave a yelp of pain as his crushed wrist was wrenched unpleasantly.

He lay there gasping as someone leapt nimbly off him, but pressing his arms to his back as they paused to pull something from their belt.

The seconds were stretched to eternity as thousands of thoughts stampeded across Harry's mind. Was this it? Was he being taken away because of what he'd done to Snape?

His chest felt tight as if oxygen was trapped in his lungs, and as he struggled to breathe he was hauled roughly to his knees, the grip around his arms tightening fiercely. The pain in his wrist was almost unbearable and a hollow cry escaped his lips.

Almost immediately a mouth was at Harry's ear and he felt something sharp jammed into the small of his back. Harry bit his lip to suppress another cry of pain, then froze as the voice began to whisper harshly in his ear.

"Not another sound Potter or this knife is going straight through your spinal cord. Now you're going to do exactly as I tell you, you're going to stand up and you're going to walk quickly and silently wherever I lead you. If you breathe so much as a whisper do not doubt for a second that none of your faithful little sidekicks will ever find your remains."

Harry was so overwhelmed with shock he nearly choked. Or maybe that was because his heart had rocketed into his throat where it now throbbed incessantly. Something like indescribable joy was coiling Harry in it's querulous fist and the ice in Draco's words took several seconds to sink in.

It hardly occurred to Harry to be at all apprehensive from the dangerous glint of unharnessed anger that was brazenly evident in Draco's tone. He was flying on wings of pure elation, thrilled beyond belief that Draco was pressed against his back. He was glad Draco clasped him so tightly, for Harry knew, had he been standing on his own he would have been trembling with titillation, knees collapsing as his body went weak with pure joy. Harry's head swam with euphoria and the world swayed slightly as Harry became delirious with rapture.

It took at least a full minute for Harry's brain to catch up with his heart. The warm swell of delight blossoming in his stomach suddenly froze.

It abruptly occurred to Harry that there was a knife thrust into his back. Draco's words suddenly began to swirl about in Harry's brain and an impetuous chill encased his heart. The edge of anger engrained in Draco's tone stung Harry like needles dipped in venom, the frigid abhorrence that lurked beneath his words carving acrid lacerations on the surface of Harry's soul.

The fear that began to simmer in Harry's chest was then strangely calmed, as once again he was struck with the inescapable feeling of joy that just because it was Draco who was doing this to him it didn't matter. This was Draco, *his* Draco, meaning everything else sort of became inevitable. That was Draco's hand curled fiercely round his wrist and Draco's voice slipping into his ear, Draco's breath, hot against his neck. Draco, Draco, *Draco*.

Then Harry felt sick, overwhelmed by the violent paroxysm of emotion that seized him. So exhausted from the onslaught that he felt he might collapse. So confused, because it seemed he didn't know what to feel, and the shock delivered Harry a vicious blow, so he was left staggering blindly, trying to balance out the tirade of emotions. A hand snaked around Harry's waist to slide into his pocket and grasp his wand. Agile fingers slipped back around Harry's waist and Harry felt a flicker of fire against his ear, "I think *I'll* hold on to this for the moment."

Then Harry was dragged roughly to his feet, the knife still twisted into his back. "Walk Potter."

So Harry walked. Draco first keeping tight hold around Harry's wrists, then sliding one arm possessively across Harry's chest, his fingers ground painfully into Harry's ribs.

Harry couldn't even think, it was like his head was in a steel clamp, all thoughts ground mercilessly to a halt. He felt frozen all over, numb with shock. In fact, it was remarkable that his legs continued to march stoically forward, it was like being on auto-pilot. Every now and then Harry would glance down to see the rise and fall of his chest beneath Draco's arm, just to make sure he was still breathing.

They walked on, sinking lower and lower into the castle, no doubt heading toward the dungeons. The hallways were completely lifeless, void of any people whatsoever, but they did seem to be hurrying down a lot of narrow crooked passageways that Harry didn't recognize.

There was one tense moment when Draco dashed hastily behind a curtain because the bell rang and the hallway suddenly flooded with crowds of chattering students.

Harry could hear his heart pounding in his ears as Draco pressed him to the wall, hand over his mouth. The knife was now at Harry's throat and Harry watched Draco's eyes as he stood frozen, ears strained, waiting for the babble of voices to subside. His eyes were intent, narrowed, with tight little lines at the corners. They had that cold, dead look when they seemed to frost over, void of all emotion, irises painted an icy, frigid grey.

The chilly gaze burned a hole right through Harry's heart; it pained him to see Draco so malignant, so bitter so much like... his father.

Harry swallowed tightly, feeling the cool blade sink into his neck, but it was at that moment that the muffled voices beyond the curtain were beginning to thin and Draco lowered the knife, his face still rigid with concentration.

Finally the ringing voices faded away and the sound of doors closing ceased. Draco paused, listening, but upon hearing nothing he spun Harry quickly around and they slipped from behind the curtain and hurried on their way.

They continued to descend sloping stone staircases until Harry knew they were in the very depths of Hogwarts, as the air was dank and heavy and the walls glistened with some nameless slimy moisture. A chill hung in the icy corridors and the torches on the walls shuddered every so often, dancing meekly as a mysterious draft set them cowering in their brackets.

They finally paused beside a portion of the stone wall and Draco hissed something at it, causing it to rumble slightly before grinding back to one side to reveal a dimly lit, dreary looking room. With a stab of recognition, the image of the Slytherin common room came flooding back to him and a new surge of fear swelled sloshingly in Harry's stomach.

Cold, cold dread seemed suddenly to take it's claim on Harry and sank like ice into his flesh, and as Harry remembered the spiteful gleam in Draco's eye he realized there was no escape. The hopelessness of the situation suddenly struck a cord in Harry's chest, shattering any hopes he had of this nightmare somehow twisting into a dream.

It was fear suddenly, and it was real and fierce and alarmingly truculent as it burned a rash across Harry's soul. He felt himself prodded across Slytherin's sinister common room: an obsidian nightmare of flickering, cackling shadows.

Draco led them to a door to the left of the fireplace and kicking it open, Draco gave Harry a fearsome shove so that Harry found himself teetering at the top of more stairs, spiraling dizzily downward and melting away into volumes of nothingness.

Harry tried to steady his racing heart as he tripped blindly down the winding stone steps. He was feeling lightheaded, with the pressing darkness and the narrow slanting steps continuing to spiral down and down. It was unbelievable how far into the earth Hogwarts seemed to go and Harry decided not to think about it as his foot caught, pitching him dizzyingly forward into space. But Draco's hand was there, grasping his arm, pulling him back against his chest, the knife once more thrust into Harry's back.

Harry not only felt dizzy he was beginning to feel violently ill. Sick with fear, and overwhelmed at the same time by the knowledge that whatever Draco did to Harry would shatter all predetermined perceptions of ecstasy, because Draco was like his drug, his opiate. He craved him with everything he possessed, everything he knew to be real and everything he knew to be not. It became like poison filtering through his heart and he could almost taste it in his mouth and in some distorted respect it was bitterly delicious, like split blood in a struggle he couldn't control. He felt mad with indecision but all he knew was that there was no turning back and though it lay like hell before him there was simply *no other way*.

Then finally, *finally* they reached the bottom of the never-ending stairwell and Draco reached an arm around Harry to push the door open and shove Harry inside.

Harry was immediately overcome by the same impression he got from the Slytherin's common room: everything everywhere was black.

The room was painted in impervious, ebony shadows; everything five feet beyond Harry's line of vision dissolving into dusky, counterfeit pools of india ink. The long sepulchral bed-hangings were black, lined in gray satin, along with everything else and the only light came from several shivering ice blue flames held in torch brackets upon the wall. Thin light shimmered weakly to throw its light only a few feet in every direction giving the room an eerie trembling sapphire tint.

Harry had an immediate instinct to turn round and run at breakneck speed back up the stairs, but Draco was just closing the door and still held fast to Harry's arm.

Harry suddenly began to wonder why more Slytherins weren't committing suicide on a daily basis, it seemed only natural that nobody would survive living in a place like this. He glanced curiously at Draco, whose face was now bathed in shadow, the hollows round his eyes now enormous black pools and the way his cheekbones dipped in, emboldened by the darkness which painted heavy streaks down his jaw.

It was a wonder even Draco had survived this long and Harry was seized by a sudden horrible sadness and staring at Draco now he felt the familiar shard of longing twist sharply in his chest. He began to tremble, his knees going sickeningly weak, threatening forcedly to bring him crashing to the floor right then and there.

Draco paid no attention. He pushed Harry onto a bed, and crossed quickly to the door, giving the knob a sharp tap and muttering some spell. He then melted into the shadows at the foot of the bed and Harry sat, taut and rigid now, every muscle frozen in terror, restraining from any sort of movement, his eyes large and apprehensive. Harry's pulse began to quicken and he felt he had to draw enormous breaths, because the darkness was so oppressive Harry felt it smothering him, each breath he drew crushing his lungs.

Adrenaline began to jet through him, poisoning his blood with readiness, not knowing what was coming but still sensing something. He felt his heart hammering against his chest so hard he felt he might break a rib.

Then Draco appeared, sliding once more out of the shadows into a wavering puddle of bluish light. Harry hadn't quite gotten a look at him since this whole bizarre incident had begun and now Harry felt his heart in it the course of its hammering madness, simply freeze.

And Harry's jaw dropped.

And something between Harry's legs began to burn.

He was still a mess. There were coal colored smudges smeared beneath his eyes, his shirt hung sodden with blood, and his hair was everywhere spilling messily into his eyes, several golden arcs sweeping past his ears to brush his cheek.

But good *god*, was he gorgeous. Despite the general nastiness commonly associated with being bloody and torn and battered; Harry found it nauseatingly inevitable that no matter how objectionable Draco's appearance, he was sodding beautiful in Harry's eyes.

He was approaching Harry *ever* so slowly and Harry found his gaze riveted to Draco's eyes. That livid expression that could elicit something in Harry that he hadn't known existed. Cloaked so expressively in shadow that only the dramatic curve of his cheekbone was accentuated in an ivory arc against the pits that were his eyes and he became a painting because for a moment he didn't seem real.

Harry found that suddenly he couldn't breathe because he feared it was all a dream and he was only just going to wake up and realize fantasies of this kind were far beyond Harry's straining fingertips. Then at the same time something occurred to him quite shockingly; this whole situation was conventionally thought of as a nightmare, catalogued as terrifying to most rational groups of society and it was at that moment that he realized how deep this obsession ran, darker and more inviolable than blood, throbbing in sinuous ribbons beneath his skin.

*Nothing* Draco did could change Harry's feelings about him and suddenly everything clicked into perspective and Harry was scared out of his mind.

Then he was shivering all over and seemed to withdraw momentarily from his tortuous stream of troubled thoughts as with a sudden clenching of his insides his eyes fell to Draco's hands. There was an acrid twinge of recognition as the familiar linking chains of iron took on a name in Harry's mind.

Handcuffs.

Draco was holding handcuffs, and eyes glittering madly, he climbed onto the bed and pushed Harry rather forcefully back against the cold reality of the headboard and the world around him faded to blackness.

~ Hmm, I most definitely *need* feedback. Believe me when I tell you it's my life blood. I know it's sad and emotionally stilted and codependent and all that sort of thing but that's the way it is, I need to be reassured about my writing, and I mean seriously guys, how is it? Please tell me, I'm on my knees. Oh and sorry for the cliffhangerness but my original plan of making the whole thing one continuous chapter was sheer madness due to the fact it went on for ages. I've got the whole next part written and all that, just give me reviews and I'll see what I can do.