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Sinners by ciararose

Format: Novella
Chapters: 18
Word Count: 39,570

Rating: Mature
Warnings: Strong Language, Strong Violence, Scenes of a Sexual Nature

Genres: Drama, Romance, Angst
Characters: Draco, Pansy
Pairings: Draco/Pansy

First Published: 11/12/2006
Last Chapter: 01/21/2008
Last Updated: 01/30/2011


Gorgeous banner by silv3r_ic3 @TDA

3 years have passed since Graduation, and the war continues. The line between good and evil has become blurred and wearied. In a battle that has changed each participant in a different way, can there be a beautiful side to evil? No matter how tainted or regretful, can love exist among the cruelest of Dark followers? Through love, grief, joy, fear, and death, this is not the story of the saint. This is the story of the sinners.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five - Thunder and Lightning

The third house… this was interesting.


No alarm spells, save for one at the back door. No Dark Detectors, but a series of trap jinxes placed along the front walk. For some reason, it alarmed his senses more than had the first house, which had no security at all.


Draco’s orders said to go inside, and go inside he did.


Avoiding the trapped front walk, he led the others toward the front door. It was locked and sealed, but Draco ran his wand across it, muttering, and it opened with a squelch.


The house wasn’t lavish, but it looked comfortable enough. Draco noticed, however, that for a family that seemed close knit, there were surprisingly few pictures adorning the walls and mantles. Indeed, there were only one or two, immaculately straight and aligned above the fireplace.


Draco slipped upstairs ahead of the rest, entering the first bedroom he found. It seemed to be a guest room, because the bed was made and no one occupied the room. Draco swept the light of his wand behind curtains and under the beds, but found nothing- except for that the people living here were immaculately neat. It seemed even the floor under the bed had been dusted, and for homeowners without house-elves, this was quite an achievement. Except, that is, for the bed. Upon closer inspection, Draco saw that it was made messily, the corners crooked and the sheets loose, rather than tucked in. One of the pillows seemed crooked as well, and a depression lingered where someone’s head had lain last time they had guests. Draco was reminded of his own feather-stuffed pillows, awaiting him back at Hogwarts. Not the only thing waiting for him.


His own feather stuffed pillows, certainly more comfortable than these, mere cotton.


Cotton, and firm.


That should not hold an impression longer than a few minutes.


Draco’s eyes swept over the badly made bed, noting that one corner of the bedspread was still turned over. As though someone had recently vacated the bed hastily.



His heart suddenly thumping, Draco strode from the room, not bothering to keep his footsteps quiet. He blasted the door beside it open with his wand. The room was empty, even the closets save for special occasion wear, as thought no one had stayed here for days. The next room was empty, and the next. By now his noise had attracted the others, who watched his actions, confused.


“Get out of here,” Draco snarled loudly. “It’s a trap!”


Pansy sat at her piano once more, this time not in her bedroom at home but in the room she occupied at Hogwarts. Once again, her fingers were still, as though trying to re-create the spell of whatever magic had brought him to her that day.


It didn’t work.


Pansy sighed, raising her eyes to the window, where once more all was dark. Three nights since she had gone to bed dreading the morning and woken up alone.


Three nights.


Was he simply on a longer mission than usual? Had he been captured? Was he hurt, lying alone somewhere? And why, of all people to send, had the Dark Lord sent Draco with the least clever of all of his servants? And why, of all people, was Draco missing the Dark Lord’s planning now? For he had a plan, certainly, one that Pansy had been witness to only an hour before.



Pansy awoke suddenly, alone in the room and gasping. The mark on her left forearm was burning painfully, jet black against her pale skin. She grabbed her arm, biting her lip against the burning, as intense as when it was first scorched into her skin.


She rose and hurried to put robes on over the nightdress she wore. Grabbing her wand, she left the room and closed the door behind her with a soft snap. She met Blaise in the hall, heading in the same direction and also clutching his arm. She nodded at him and then walked together toward the Great Hall. Once they arrived, Pansy knocked three times and waited for only a second before the door was opened inward and they were admitted inside.


Once within the chamber, she saw that they were far from the only ones there. Avery, Nott, and many others were also assembled, kneeling in the torchlight before their master. Pansy joined them and they waited in silence while three other Death Eaters arrived.


The Dark Lord rose before them and stood fingering his wand.


“Ah, my faithful Death Eaters,” he spoke, in barely more than a whisper, but Pansy caught every word he said.


“You will observe that we have assembled in full force once more, my friends. The time is upon us again.”


Pansy shivered.


“The battle will break out again soon. Two weeks from today, on Thursday the 16th of December, at the Ministry of Magic. And this time we will not be driven back. There will be no warning, and no mercy.”


He stared sinisterly down at them all, a hint of a smirk upon his deathly face. “You will fight, or you will die. That is all.”


He dismissed them with a wave of his hand, and one by one they bowed before leaving the hall.


Every nerve in her body told Pansy that Draco should have been there. Draco had seemed to uncertain when he had returned from his audience; had seemed genuinely unsure about the Dark Lord's plans. Her intuition was tingling, but no explanation presented itself. Pansy’s heart felt contracted, and she breathed deeply in an effort to untwist it. It wasn’t natural, she told herself, to feel this way about someone. Her feverish need for him had to be the result of the flu, a virus, a spell gone wrong.


Pansy’s fingers found the keys again, and this time, a note sprung from them, hovering in the air around her, beating and echoing against her spine. Another note, and then one more, holding it, until her left hand joined her right in caressing the keys. Moonlight Sonata began to resonate around her, so perfect a piece for creature as consumed in nighttime as she, and she closed her eyes to the night as she remembered….



The drawing room was dark, not due to the lateness of the hour, for it was still relatively early, but from the storm clouds gathering above the house. Pansy, at fifteen, was a visitor once more to the Malfoy Manor, and while she usually enjoyed her stays there, this one found her more pensive. The rain that was threatening to sweep the windows pleased her but added to her thoughtful mood. The Christmas holidays had only just begun and she would not be returning to Hogwarts several days. And while Christmas promised to be as satisfactory as always, she felt a little sad. Gone were the holidays of childhood, when she had barely contained her anticipation for the ball, the presents, and the lights. Gone where the days when she had seen her family not for who they were, but for who they seemed to be- her mother so beautiful, her father so strong. And while she still loved the holiday, while she was still enchanted by the ball and the splendor, she couldn’t bring herself to feel the same awe she once had.

The magnificent Christmas tree gleaming in the corner still delighted her, and that was why she had chosen such a place to be perched on this, two days before Christmas. The piano was there also, and so Pansy was content, for now, to stay in the room, filling it with notes that floated from the instrument at the command of her fingers.


Pansy didn’t notice her mothers eyes watching her daughter from the doorway. Observant as always, Mrs. Parkinson could see that her daughter was deep in thought, and left without a sound from her heels on the marble.


Barely a moment later, another figure descended the stairs, in search of the source of the music. Draco stopped for a moment as her mother had done, but then continued into the room, making no noise on the plush carpeting until he stood beside the piano. Pansy continued playing, though surely she knew he was there. Instead, her eyes were focused out the window, as though she were playing to the thunder that was holding its interruption until she were finished.


When the music came to an end, the sound took a moment to disapate into nothing, Draco, uncharacteristically courteous, waited until they had finished before speaking.

“Ready for gifts?” he asked her, watching her eyes slide over the Christmas tree.


“I was looking at the lights,” she said, tearing her eyes away.


Draco looked surprised, but then followed her gaze back to the tree. They really are a spectacle, if you look, he thought. Trust Pansy to be the first to see anything. But Draco could see her fascination with them- the way they sparkled, the way they gleamed off of every surface, looking for all the world like a flock of fairies. When she turned back, he saw the reflections in her eyes, and for a moment they sparkled as brightly as did the lights on the tree.


He sighed. “We’re thunder and lightning, you and I,” he said to her, taking a seat beside her on the piano bench. She looked at him in that way she sometimes did, right into his eyes, and agreed.


“You’re right,” she said simply, and smiled.


 Thunder and lightning. So different, yet so alike, and both so dazzling, but always in the grasp of something so much more destructive.

‘It’s a trap!” he snarled at them, pushing Crabbe out of the way. He started to descend the stairs, but before he had gone more than a few steps, a wand was at his throat.


“Throw down your wand,” a rough voice said. Draco lowered his wand before, quick as lightning, her grabbed the wand holding him still, spun, and broke it neatly. His raised his wand and quickly paralyzed the man before running down the steps, jumping the last few. He made it almost to the door before a series of Pops filled the air and he found himself surrounded. Another rough voice shouted something and Draco snarled as he was bound in ropes. He thought quickly but could find no means of escape. Incredibly, Draco Malfoy was caught.


 He heard the sounds of several others being bound and dragged to the ground floor. Even as he twisted in the ropes, he knew it was pointless, but the thought of Azkaban kept him active.


“Let’s go, kid,” said a rough voice, hauling him cruelly by the rope in his mouth. With a Crack! they disappeared.


Draco emerged in a filthy corridor. His captor dragged him toward something he couldn’t see, twisted as he was. The ropes cut painfully into his skin as he was pulled, and with every struggle they became tighter. They turned a corner, and then another, and Draco desperately hooked one foot around the wall, but the man gave an impatient tug and Draco’s yell was muffled through his gag as his ankle broke.


Struggling to breathe through the cloth, Draco could nonetheless taste that the air was stale and heavy as he was thrown into room. Staring up at the man murderously, he could see that his captor was rough and dirty, much unlike the usual clean cut Aurors. His methods were certainly efficient, however- as he locked the door and stared at his captive through the bars near the top, Draco knew he couldn’t escape. The man leered before leaving Draco’s view.


Draco slumped against a wall, exhausted from three nights with no sleep, as well as his struggles. Panting against the pain in his ankle, he felt a wave of nausea. He forced his mind to focus on anything but the situation he was in- it was highly unlikely he could escape from such a cell, which was surely guarded by spells, not to mention probably deep within the Ministry of Magic. At this thought, he felt a strange notion brushing at his conciousness, but before he could grasp it properly another thought struck him.




What would she think when he didn’t return?