Jerusalem

Draco dreams. His dreams are ice and fire, blood and rage and fury, the inescapable fact of his destiny and duty. In one, he rescues his father from Azkaban to finally have the man thank him; in another he opens the cell only to cast a Crucio, and hear the sweet screams pour from the mouth that never could form any shape or syllable of love.

He dreams of his classmates, of murder and death and justice; his justice being the only thing he knows, and the swift punishment that follows for their contempt. He dreams of power, of potency, of glory beyond his imagination, and wakes up in a cold sweat, the screams echoing off the stone walls of his room.

Even in dreams, Draco knows he is incapable to the task he has set.

Terry Boot appears in his dreams, tall and charming, dapper and handsome, pureblood and aristocrat and intellectual. Even in dreams, he never expected to fall for Terry, which is probably why he did. The Ravenclaw overwhelmed him with the force of his wry humour, his passion, his bookish endeavour. In a world of madness, fallen ambition and conceit, where Draco was little more than a slug, fool and object of contempt, Terry was Draco's way of proving he could still screw someone over, still capable of claiming and creating hurt and pain and payment. Instead, Terry showed Draco that he could not, would not, and should not remain the ball of sound and fury he always thought he was, which is why he broke Terry as best he could, to assuage what dignity he had left.

Draco knows what a cruel and heartless punishment it was he handed out to Terry; it haunted him and haunts him still, driving him to apotheosis and beyond. There is guilt; there is love; there is fear - there is Draco, holding steady to all three. Somewhere, deep inside, Draco always knew he was inferior to any feeling, unworthy of such devotion.

Terry loved him, and that sin could never be forgiven.

When he returned, fresh from the south of France, his father's execution, Beauxbaton's and the Ministry's reclaimation of the Malfoy family assets, he had found his apotheosis. Having lost everything - having gone beyond himself and found he could - he knew no fear. He was capable to any task, any endeavour, any barrier - even love. He had grown, obvious and evident, and the mature, forthright man showed little sign of the tortured boy he had been. Everyone would see that. Terry would see that, and all would be well.

On the first day of his return to Hogwarts, at the start of seventh year, Terry Boot quietly informed Draco Malfoy that he was now seeing Harry Potter, and the man fell apart and the boy returned. Draco knew too well of Harry's temptations, his indelible sanctity, the purity of his committments. He knew that here was a rival he could never exceed, never beat, never overcome. Terry had chosen the better man, and that was that.

Alone now, he sleeps and studies and dreams. He knows that all his choices have lead him here - that he is nothing but true and his surety is only ever self-destructive - that he can never be anything but homeless forsaken friendless and alone. Draco Malfoy is the sum of his memories, the end point of all his patterns. To break them would be to deny their use; to do so would be so deny himself. He can do neither, so continues on. In dreams he sees himself rising, driven always by hate and the hidden, secret lack and loss at the heart of him. Rising to power and glory with a Mark on his arm and followers at his feet.

In dreams he meets Harry, who looks at him with sad pity, and Terry, who looks at him not at all - his eyes are too full of the Hero, as is right and good and proper.

When Harry casts him down, as he has to and must and should, Terry simply laughs, and pokes the corpse with a foot.

Shivering underneath his blankets, Draco dreams, and guards his grudges well. Dreams never forgive - and neither does he.