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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 15: Chapter Fifteen - Hold Your Breath




What a sweet betrayal it was. Pansy, so owned and used and cracked and ashamed, in the arms of another, so amused and sharp-eyed. And Pansy was so bitter-sweetly elated, so vindicated and healed and distracted and still, so ashamed. Ashamed that she needed to be fixed, because all her pride came in that she was untouchable and unbreakable. Ashamed that she could want another, could feel their brushes and glances and kisses just as easily but could never hunger for them. Pansy, such a pretty masochist, was so good at putting away the hurt and being satisfied, as though she were absolving the sins of her coveting. She deserved to hurt, for being hurt in the first place.

And so it was that Blaise, with his lips soft and his attitude amused and yet somehow, still earnest, gave her a taste of what she wished she could want, but never did. And it was all momentary bliss, for Pansy. Pansy, who always appreciated the warmth of the sun while wishing for the storm to return. Thunder and lightning. Thunder never lasted long without the rain.

Was she cruel, to encourage, to kiss him back? Maybe. But cruelty was so easily forgiven.

“You were always such a good liar, Parkinson.”

The words slithered, threatened. Pansy could no longer block them out, as quiet as they were.

“It made you valuable.”

He advanced, his wand drifting in a steady circle, mesmerizing. Pansy was cold; they had taken her cloak, leaving her in the black dress she had worn to meet the Ministry official. It was true; everything about her was deception. Such a graceful, pretty, well-dressed killer.

“You’re not valuable anymore, Pansy. You told all the wrong lies.”

His wand stopped moving.


“You told me you didn’t betray me, Pansy. You told me the Ministry didn’t know anything. How is it, then, that three of my most secret messages have been intercepted? How do my Death Eaters keep winding up in prison?

Who could have told them, Pansy?”

Draco could feel the Minister’s hand tighten almost painfully around his as the wand tip touched them, and he himself could not stop a twitch. This was not the life he was supposed to be living.


“Do you swear not to betray the Ministry’s actions to any member of You-Know-Who’s party?”




“Do you swear that your actions will not harm any innocent or member of the Ministry or its forces?”


“Do you swear to return yourself to the custody of the Ministry after the fall, prompt to the best of your ability?”


The coils of flame that had emitted from the wand wound themselves around the clasped hands of the two wizards, so different, binding their words. Draco’s heart beat fast.

Wednesday, December 11th

The rain was falling again, heavier, this time, with the promise of darkness rolling in clouds from the west. Draco ignored the instinct to flee as he crept toward the gate to the grounds of the castle. All of his life, his instincts had served him well, but he couldn’t run even as he stepped out of one betrayal into another. He made himself believe she was waiting- the last thing left to die for.


He raised his left arm just as a rumble of thunder shook the sky, and the gates swung open to a chorus of rustles as members of the Ministry crept behind and around him, through the gate, into the cover of shadows. Wednesday the 11th, the day before the planned battle, the day every Death Eater would be here, waiting, and trapped inside the walls.



The sun was just setting in the window when he opened the door, almost noiselessly, though he knew she would hear it. She stood at the window, her back to the sill and head turned away, very still except for the hand that twirled her wand slowly around her fingers. She turned her head toward him just as the sun sank behind a hill, dimming the bloody light that had illuminated the room.

“Nervous?” he asked, leaning casually against a wall and crossing his arms.

“Hardly,” she replied, crossing the room in lithe steps. “But I bet they are.”


She nodded toward the window, toward the world outside.

“They should be, knowing they’re facing us.”

“Are you hungry?” she inquired dismissively.

“Not particularly.”

She seated herself on a sofa near the dark fireplace and conjured flames that immediately warmed the room. He moved toward a cabinet in the corner and poured himself a drink before taking the seat beside her. She ignored him, picking up a book on the table nearby, but after a moment she shifted, allowing him to stretch the length of the seat and crossing her own legs on top of his.


“Draco?” she said, after several minute’s silence.



“That’s not your first drink of the evening.”

“No it is not.”

“That is not an attractive habit, you know.”

“You’re still attracted, Pans."

Pansy scowled, and used her feet to push him away. He chuckled softly.

“I never overindulge, Pansy. Don’t pretend you’re the angel of abstinence.”


Draco could see, even in the dim light, the faint flush that his words provoked. The few moments of silence, however, proved too much for his attention span.


She didn’t reply; her annoyance was evident in her posture. Draco scowled and shifted closer to her in time to hear an irritatingly frustrated sigh as her eyes followed him. It wasn’t until he was closer that he could see the anxiety that was almost invisible but for the way her forehead wrinkled slightly in consternation.

“Nervous?” he said again, this time speaking to the curve of her jaw, just below her ear.

“No,” she said, so firmly that Draco laughed quietly against her skin.

Draco crept toward the castle, trepidation growing insistent in his mind. He would surely die here, caught in this rain-swept land between two forces that would kill him before they let him go. He had only vague hints of a plan forming in his mind.

It was just as he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just as the Aurors behind him had filtered as close as they could under cover, that the world fell apart.

“Is that your way of saying goodbye?”

It took a lifetime for the doors to open silently, a lifetime for the black, masked faces of Draco’s fellows to spill onto the lawn, a lifetime in which Draco’s heart beat twice, in warning and promise and reminder. A lifetime in which the sky rained chaos, because this girl was all that was left, of years of innocence, and risk, and denial, and gasps and sighs and whispers. Because she could already be dead, and the words that repeated in his head might be just the remainder, the dead, gray light that burns for minutes after the sun has already set.

Draco stood perfectly still behind a tree, breathing heavily, listening to the sounds of yells and spells cast from the newly born battle behind him. He glanced toward the tower that was his destination, but couldn’t see anything in the dim light.

“I don’t follow your rules anymore, Draco.”

He circled the lake.


The sounds of cries were distant now, though Draco could have watched the progress if he had cared. What did it matter to him who won?

The boats were stored where they had been since that last, fated group of first years had entered the castle. Draco recalled his own journey as he propelled the boat forward with his wand, directing it into shadows and hollows in the bank. His first night at Hogwarts, so sure of everything, of life and its guarantees.


He passed beneath the cave’s mouth, low enough that he ducked his head. The cavern was pitch black without the lanterns that had lit the way that night. He lit his wand cautiously, quietly, and crept up the stairs to the hidden door. His mark granted him admission.

The halls were deserted, silent, and cold. The castle had none of the feeling of abandonment that he though he might find, instead, each corner seemed to threaten violence beyond, as though destruction lurked everywhere the wand light didn’t reach.

“God, Draco. Have a little faith.”

Minutes, perfectly timed with each heartbeat that grew louder in the silent corridors, crept by as he crept through the halls of the castle. If these walls could talk, would they? Would they stay standing without secrets to hold them up?

Up the stairs, sure that he was being pursued; he went quickly now. Down another hall, and it didn’t matter if they heard him, he was running. No future past that door.

“When have I ever run away from you?"

Up the spiral steps, dizzying, his breath coming in gasps, a stitch in his side, but he couldn’t slow down if he had wanted to, because these were only steps, only steps that disappeared and didn’t fight and didn’t die, and here was a door, behind which there might be a mystery and fights and surviving or might be nothing.


“Not alone.” 

He approached it, slow now, wondering, for some reason, if it was still raining outside, because she always loved the rain.


“Something’s happening.”

“You’ve been scarce lately.”

The door was locked, and his throat was dry, and his breath was thin, and the castle was cold and the rain was heavy and the thunder was loud, just overhead, audible through the roof, and he unlocked the door with his wand.


He couldn’t open the door, but it didn’t matter because it swung open on its own and he was greeted with a blast of icy air, damp air, and he saw there was no glass on the window before he looked down.

At first he thought she was crying, because he cheeks were pale and damp, but he realized that the rain blew in from the broken window and had settled in glistening streaks on her skin. Her eyes were closed, eyelashes dark against shadows under her eyes, and she lay limp on the ground, head against one arm, but she didn’t shiver in the cold.


Her lips were parted only slightly, as they always were when she slept, as though about to whisper.

He didn’t know he had moved until he was crouched beside her, and she was so still, and so cold, and suddenly the rain didn’t seem so icy where it struck him through the window, and he wondered if he sat here long enough, if it would wash away the perfect silence in the room.


 It felt like a betrayal to lift her arm from where it wrapped around her waist, but he had to know, had to know, had to know…

The rain seemed to fall in rhythm with the pulse of her heartbeat.

He leaned his head against the wall, and his mind, clever as it was, could offer no future except this tiny, freezing room, but he knew that something was threatening, approaching, and they couldn’t stay here, although it was this place that seemed to hold the culmination of a thousand breaths held.

He was calculating as he removed his cloak and robe and covered her in them, trying to hide the sensation of her frozen skin. In only his shirtsleeves, the room was arctic, and he slipped his arms beneath her hurriedly. He couldn’t run and carry her at the same time; he could only the hope that the battle was still being conducted outside.


Unbreakable Vow. He had bound himself to return to Ministry custody.

He felt a glimmer of familiarly smug triumph as a plan began to stir in him.

Yes, its back! What do you think about this turn of events? What's Draco's plan, eh?!