Author's Notes: indicates POV change, ~*~*~* fames lyrics, * indicates passed time in one POV, and //...// indicates thoughts.

Not All Sugar And Spice

Chapter Five: Seeping Between Your Fingers

By Lilyria Ali

       

I don't know who to trust no surprise

Everyone feels so far away from me

Happy thoughts sift through dust and the lies

Trying not to break. . .

Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet

All the tiring time between

And how trying to put my trust in you just takes so much out of me

       

"A most interesting turn of events," agreed Voldemort, drinking from a smoking goblet. "Yet, Bellatrix, you say we can turn this to our advantage?"

"Indeed, My Lord," said Bellatrix Lestrange, smoothing her hair. "The Malfoy boy is quite-upset-as they say, about being disowned, am I right, Lucius?"

"Very much so," answered Lucius.

"And we have heard. . .about his soul partner?"

Lucius laughed a brittle laugh. "*Him*. Yes. Go on, Bellatrix."

"Your son does have exquisite and most-unusual-taste, Lucius," remarked the Dark Lord mockingly. "I wonder if it's inbred in Malfoys?"

Lucius stiffened. "I cannot begin to fathom what you are suggesting, My Lord-"

"I'm sure it's beyond your grasp, Lucius," sneered Voldemort. "But continue with your plan, Bellatrix."

"We will use him to break his soul partner when the time is ripe, bribing him with what he wants most." Bellatrix said, her eyes flickering in triumph. "You know what *that* is, Lucius?"

Lucius nodded.

"I see, but how to break his soul partner?" asked Voldemort.

Bellatrix smiled a lengthy cat-like smile. "We use our flower."

       

Half an hour later Lucius stepped gracefully out of his office to find Narcissa pointing an accusatory finger at him.

"YOU BASTARD!" she screamed.

Lucius stilled. "Narcissa," he said, deadly calm, "Did you-"

"You said you'd let him go free! You said you'd DISOWN him. . . you bastard. . . you hypocrite-this is our SON! Lucius-OUR SON!"

Her screams rang throughout the manor.

Lucius pulled out his wand.

"It's too bad you're shielded against memory charms," said Lucius carelessly.

Narcissa backed away. "You bastard!" she spat. "I can't believe I married you-you despicable rat! I shouldn't have ever helped you out of Azkaban!"

"That comeback is growing old," said Lucius, pointing his wand directly at his wife. "Goodbye, Narcissa."

       

Tension is building inside steadily

Everyone feels so far away from me

Heavy thoughts forcing their way out of me

Every time I try to make myself get back up on my feet

All the tiring time between

Take everything from the inside and throw it all away

       

Molly Weasley was freezing as she unwrapped her Chocolate Frog. Her life in the Burrow seemed so faraway now, chatting with her children as she cooked while chastising Fred (or was it George?) for eating the cake dough and kissing Arthur fondly; and in the end, her cake still turned out delicious (or so they say).

She wondered how she could be so blind. Warning lights should have flashed through her mind when she saw that Skeeter's sister, with the charming young smile, the beautiful honey eyes, the wandering hands. . .

She had thought her Arthur could resist that kind of charm, alluring, inviting, and sexy as it may be. She had thought Arthur could resist that kind of charm for *her*.

People always said she thought too much and considered too little.

She looked at her dingy surroundings. An oil lamp was dripping oil all over her bag.

"Oh, dammit," Molly muttered, casting a cleaning charm on her bag. "This is ridiculous."

"Ma'am?"

"What?" she snapped at the house-elf peeking from the doorway.

The elf trembled.

"I'm sorry about that dear," she said immediately. "What's that?"

"Someone's here to see you."

"Someone is here to see *me*? In Knockturn Alley? At midnight?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Who?"

"He refuses to give his name."

"What does he look like?" Molly asked apprehensively.

"Short, red hair. . ."

"*Arthur*. . ." she scowled. "Tell him I'll be down in a minute."

"Yes, ma'am."

//I'm settling this once and for all.//

       

I'll take everything from the inside and throw it all away

Cuz I swear for the last time I won't trust myself with you

       

Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Love-strung men," he said.

Minerva bit down a chuckle before turning serious again. "But now we need a replacement Potions Master."

"Now," Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. "I say we give the students a break. Cauldron fumes weren't my best friend at a young age either."

Minerva looked slightly startled at the suggestion. "Of course, Albus. Severus shouldn't be gone for *that* long. . ."

"Indeed," said Dumbledore.

       

There had been many reasons why Severus Snape turned from the Dark Side. The same things he'd left behind when he turned *to* the Dark Side, except now he couldn't take them back, even with his tears and prayers. They were lost.

The Dark Lord had offered him a permanent memory charm to forget all that had happened years ago, everything he'd given up for a tiny epitome of power. It seemed such a good deal back then. . .that bit of power. . .who was he to judge love to last forever?

He didn't know why, but he had refused.

Years later, as Severus gazed at the Mark on his left forearm, he fought his hardest not to let the tears fall from his eyes. He knew why he'd refused that day.

Because this love lasted forever.

       

"Severus Snape, Potions Master. You are sent from Dumbledore, *Professor*?" asked Percy Weasley, cocking one eyebrow smugly.

"Yes," replied Severus shortly.

"I'm sorry, but even Dumbledore cannot enter that Department. It's locked off. Only Mr. Fudge, the Unspeakables, and *I* can enter."

"This is vital to the Order!" growled Severus as a last resort.

"There will be no Order soon."

"What?!"

Percy nodded. "As I said, *Professor*, Mr. Fudge, though recognizing the return of You-Know-Who, believes that the Order should be reset and mingled with Aurors instead of being of group of Dumbledore's. . .personal sidekicks."

Severus clenched his hand into a fist. "I see, *Mr.*Weasley. I will be going then." he said.

"Enjoy your day."

Severus had walked but two steps before turning around and shouting "Imperio!" Pointing his wand at Percy Weasley.

//Open the door to the Department of Mysteries,// commanded Severus.

Percy shook slightly, but opened the locked door.

//Thank you,// Severus thought before briskly walking in. He had to do this fast.

Instantly, the room spun so he had no idea which door he had entered from.

//Damn. . .which room was it. . . //

"Severus." A breathy woman's voice-it seemed familiar. . .

Severus jumped. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Are you from the Ministry?"

"No. I know what you're looking for. Follow my voice."

"How do I know this isn't some trick?" asked Severus suspiciously.

"You don't."

Severus sighed. Something was better than nothing. The Ministry would be after his blood in a few minutes' time.

The voice was coming from his left. . .he opened the door. . .there were steps, leading up to an old archway on a dais. A black veil hung there, rippling slightly.

That veil was the fine line between life and death, the fine line separating him and. . .

Sirius.

Severus wanted to walk into that veil and find Sirius in all the people, wanted to find him and tell him how much he loved him and how he'd never *ever* leave him. . .not ever again.

"You bastard," whispered Severus, falling to his knees. "Why'd you have to get yourself-killed. . .god, I *hate* you. . .oh, why don't you just come back. . .I love you. . .I always did. . . I refused that memory charm. . .you *bastard*. . ."

Only the gentle fluttering of the veil could be heard.

Then suddenly a voice, different this time, called out to him:-

"Look up, Severus."

Severus looked up to stare into the eyes of Sirius Black.

       

Take everything from the inside and just throw it all away

Cuz I swear for the last time I won't trust myself with you

You

You

       

Harry had trusted many things. He had trusted what people told him, believed them unconditionally. He had trusted that what starts in a way, ends the same way. He had trusted that Slytherins were evil, Gryffindors good, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in-between. He had trusted love to be forever and friends to stand with you all your life. The deepest, most fundamental structure in his soul had been trust.

*Had* been.

It was always a bitter reflection to think that all the little things you didn't care about never left your side, and the bigger things you needed forever always crumbled and fell.

To Harry there were pieces of his trust lying all over the floor, and he pieced them together, held them by little silk strings next to his heart, and tried to forget.

To forget washed away pain and tears. To forget meant you could never get hurt. To forget meant you could deny things even if you knew they were true. To forget meant you could throw your trust away.

His trust was concealed in that little crystal ring he'd bought at Wompy Jewelers a year ago, now hidden somewhere in dust under his bed.

Harry wanted to give his trust to Hermione and let her unleash it to the world.

Too bad Hermione broke it before she even opened the box.

       

Night fell like snowflakes, dancing around the firelight. Harry retreated further into his robe and rubbed his eyes.

"What's that Malfoy?"

"You still haven't told me about the girl you shagged," Malfoy yawned, trying to lie vertically on the log they were sitting on.

Harry looked away. "You first."

"Fine. None."

Harry's jaw dropped. "None?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Now you."

"One."

Malfoy looked incredulous. "You're kidding! You-got *laid*? Who was it, goodbye present from Chang?"

"None of your business," said Harry through clenched teeth.

"Fine."

Silence.

The night stretched on, and the fire backed down shyly.

"Why aren't the Slytherins supporting you this year?" asked Harry, rummaging through the bag Dumbledore had given him.

"None of your business," said Malfoy flatly.

"No really. You're not looking so up-to-shape this year."

Malfoy's eyes flashed. "I said-"

There was something in the way Malfoy's frame had gone rigid and tense, the way his eyes were spitting angry sparks, the way he knew he was rubbing salt on bruised flesh that pleased Harry. Because he knew he could hurt someone too.

"Sore point?" Harry knew that he wasn't acting like a Gryffindor, and frankly, he didn't care.

Malfoy stood up. "I'm leaving."

Harry looked at him. "Leaving, as in leaving the campsite, or leaving Delhi in general?"

"Campsite," muttered Malfoy, and stomped off.

//Sore point indeed,// thought Harry.

       

Possibilities were always good, Lucius had said to Draco when he was young. Even the bad ones.

Draco liked to live life dangerously, and sometimes that shot him down.

He had wanted the possibility to love, even with the possibility that he'd get hurt. Even bad possibilities are still possibilities, which made them good, in a sense.

When he was younger he trusted people to say what they stood by. Later he learned all people were hypocrites. But by the time you realized who didn't go along with what they said, it was too late.

Some possibilities led to dead ends. The one Draco chose were one of those.

"It's better to light a candle than to curse the darkness,"* people say soothingly. Draco wondered what happens when there are no candles left.

Needless to say, he had no candles, no matches, nothing but a special blade and a healing potion.

It was enough for now.

       

Draco looked down at the blade, admiring its faultless hilt, the angle light reflected off the edge. Everything had to be timed perfectly.

It was dark out, only the distant campfire and moon sources of light, so Draco clutched his vial of potion carefully. He had one minute to enjoy the sensation.

Potter had brought back too many thoughts he'd rather forget. Tried to forget. He doubted that Potter didn't know the answer. It was too obvious. He (legally) *wasn't* a Malfoy, and his *allies* didn't want anything to do with a past Malfoy. They wanted a present Malfoy. It was all in the legal status.

Draco sliced into his upper thigh, watching the blood pour out in rivulets like Fawkes' tears. It was so beautiful, the wet trail of it, coursing down his leg. Like ice and fire, swirling together in his blood. Draco smiled and un-stoppered the potion.

But in the end, beautiful things never last.

       

Harry was getting worried. //No,// he thought. //Let me restate that. I'm merely wondering if Malfoy has gone off and killed himself//

He surely hoped Malfoy wasn't suicidal.

He didn't want to let Dumbledore down, and he didn't particularly think a dead Malfoy would help that goal.

//Oh, goddamit,// he thought. //I'll just go after him.//

       

//Just a second longer,// Draco implored to himself. //Just a tiny little bit longer.// It was completely dark out, and Draco knew if he stepped over the one minute line he was a dead man.

But then, even the bad possibilities. . . are still possibilities.

       

//This *was* the way he walked. . . wasn't it?//

Harry wasn't sure, but he kept walking, holding his wand out in case of prowling nighttime animals. He didn't light up his path, not wanting to give Malfoy a clue that he was trying to find him.

It was then he tripped over something and fell bodily forwards.

He landed on something made of glass, complete with the tiny twinkling of its breaking.

"Ow," Harry muttered, reaching for his elbow, surprised to find liquid there. He hadn't thought the glass had penetrated so deeply. Harry shifted and sat up . . . to see Draco Malfoy staring at him in horror.

"Malfoy?"

"Oh my god," whispered Malfoy faintly.

"What?"

"I'm dead."

"You look quite alive to me," said Harry.

Malfoy glared at him and pulled out his wand. "Lumos," he whispered. Light surrounded them.

Harry stared. "You're bleeding!" he said, horrified. "God. . . rip off a bit of your cloth and wrap the wound up. . . it looks deep . . ."

"Too late," said Malfoy hollowly.

"What are you talking about?"

"That blade was a special blade-its cuts can't be healed unless that potion is applied within the minute."

"Did. . . did I just break the potion bottle?" asked Harry weakly.

Malfoy nodded silently.

"And your minute's up?"

Another nod.

"Oh," said Harry.

       

The possibilities.

Draco gaped at Potter before bursting into laughter. He pointed at the raven-haired boy and simply kept laughing.

Potter looked at him as if he'd gone insane.

"Malfoy?"

"I'm dying! And all you can say is 'oh'?" Draco managed between laughs.

Potter's expression turned from contemplative with absolutely aghast. "You're *dying*?!" he exclaimed, almost violently, "Malfoy. . . this better not be some sick joke."

"What does a 'wound that cannot heal' tell you?" Draco gasped out. "That flowers will sprout from my leg?"

"I thought-"

"What?"

"That's not the point-Malfoy. . . is there any way to heal you? Malfoy, STOP LAUGHING!"

The situation wasn't funny, Draco knew. It wasn't even the slightest bit amusing. But he was bleeding to death after all. . . he could at least laugh before he died. And once he began laughing, he couldn't stop.

"Why. . .?"

Potter grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "You are going to tell me a cure, right *now*," he growled. "You are *not* going to die, not while I'm here."

"I'm your enemy, Potter-not too big of a loss to you."

"No one deserves to die except Voldemort. No one."

"You sure?"

"Too sure. Now tell me."

"There is none," said Draco, and promptly began laughing (if possible) even harder.

"There *must* be. MALFOY!"

Draco quieted. "How do you know that I won't tell you to do something that will kill you? I am a *Death Eater* after all."

Potter looked at him levelly, his eyes so very green, like the lights of a tunnel, blinking back at him against the starry night sky. "I know because you don't truly want to die, and I know that because I know how you feel."

"No you don't," spat Draco. "You're a *hero*. 'Regret' is probably not even part of your vocabulary."

"How much," said Potter, his voice dangerously low, "do you want bet that's not true?"

Draco smirked. "My life," he said.

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Then you'd be dead."

At that moment everything became fuzzy, and Potter's eyes blurred into one disjointed-looking green circle.

"Oh really?" Draco murmured, suddenly feeling tired. His eyelids drooped.

//Soon I'll be in Hell. . .//

"Malfoy!" Potter's tone was frantic. "Malfoy! There *must* be a cure!"

"There is. . .one," slurred out Draco. "If someone doesn't want me to die. . . doesn't want me to die so bad they'd die so I won't die. . ." His head sagged from the lack of energy.

"Then?" whispered Potter, leaning closer.

"I won't die," said Draco, before everything tumbled into darkness.

       

Song by Linkin Park "From the Inside"

Author's Notes: Do those qualify as cliffhangers? Because. . .they're supposed to ^^

Again, I am so horribly sorry for the wait. Really. I rewrote this! I hope it did not disappoint.

The quote, I believe, is by Martin Luther King, but I'm not sure. It's a lovely quote though ^^ I used it in an essay once too. If you know for certain who stated this, please review (MORE MORE MORE!) and tell me or email me. I'll put it in Ch. 6.

This a new writing style for me, so please leave a review (MORE MORE MORE!) and tell me what you think about it.

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