Broken Fragments of a Mindless Dream

~*~

Part 1 of 3

While other people wore like clothes

The human beings in their days

I set myself to bring to those

Who thought I could the lost displays;

Sympathy in White Major - Philip Larkin

~*~

The blue sky had disappeared somewhere behind the smoke that polluted the air, the density of the dark cloud made it hard to see anything at all. Around me was a cacophony of sounds, a loud roar, the rush of wind, it was like being buried, like flying so high that the silence seemed to scream in your ears but I didn't know any of it.

My glasses had shattered some time earlier on and the smoke wasn't helping matters much, all I could see was fire, everywhere was ablaze, flames licking greedily away at the polished surface of the Hogwarts Express. The sounds were screams, of little children, of those whose life had ended before it had even begun and I wanted to shout, "It's all over now, there's no need to fight."

But no one could hear me, everyone was engaged in their own personal battle while I was fighting my own. I had to find him.

I had to do what was right, I made a promise but there was no separating the bodies. We were like one entity swaying with the dancing flames.

"He's dead."

And for a frightening moment I didn't know who I was talking about, Voldemort or...

"1, 2, 3..."

It was Halloween. As it usually is when something ominous or sinister is to occur. I was sitting in the empty dormitory, empty like everything else in my life. I suppose the other boys had concluded that mine was a disease, contagious, the way it had affected Ron. But that's another story entirely.

The door banged open and Hermione walked in with a parody of a smile plastered on her now mostly vicious looking face, her face looked pale amidst the fiery halo of her hair. I didn't recognize her, not the friend I used to know.

"Guess what?" she asked, and I didn't have to after all. "Malfoy's leaving to take up daddy's place as Voldemort's personal arse licker." She shook her head in amusement. "Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say." Then she looked at me as if noticing me for the first time, her eyes gained the familiar warmth, for a moment. "And don't you have any training to do? Can't have our hero slacking off," she said.

I nodded and moved briskly out of the room, followed by eyes through the common room until I was finally through the portrait.

It wasn't too hard to find him. He was standing in the Entrance Hall, surrounded by his owl cage and trunks. I remember he looked so last, so out of place against the backdrop of the night that spilled past the open doors. There was no air of aristocracy around him, no arrogance, nothing that screamed: Malfoy. He was just a lost boy and then, he saw me.

"Would you stay if I asked you to?" I blurted.

"Would you come if I asked you to?

"I can't."

He shook his head, causing strands of blond to come loose and fall across his pale face.

"Do you want to...?" he trailed off and looked away, as if unsure of himself.

Well I wanted a lot of things actually, Voldemort's demise, Dumbledore's sanity, maybe a girlfriend or two amongst other things but what was running through my mind at that moment was, 'Want to what?' And he wasn't any closer to providing the answer to me.

I realised that for once in our brief history together, he was giving me the choice without presenting me with an ultimatum and that is what terrified me, a way out: salvation.

I nodded though what it was I was acquiescing to, I don't think either of us knew until I found myself pressed against one of the House tables in the Great Hall, our lips trying to devour the other's.

In the frantic moments that followed, I found myself half naked, the splinters from the wooden table scratching against my bare back but the pain was welcome. It helped me keep in mind that this wasn't some random dream, this was real, what was happening was real and a hundred Obliviate spells wouldn't be able to erase this one memory from me, I wouldn't let it.

"Scared, Potter?"

"One of us has to be."

I could see he was surprised; I was too. I'm sick of being predictable, to have my life planned out for me, for once I wanted to do something spontaneous and this was a pretty random thing. Rubbing painfully against each other on what seemed like either the Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw table wasn't exactly marked down on our daily planner.

Nor was humping my archenemy in to oblivion though as they say we must trying everything at least once in our life. This was another form of struggle, this too involved pain and bitterness, I read somewhere that your body is a battleground and we were fighting it out, giving it our all as his sharp pelvis dug against mine, the bones creating cringing friction.

My trousers, alongside my boxers were pulled down to my knees, the heat from our bare flesh mingling created a sensation that travelled from the base of my spine and burst into a thousand fireworks all over my body. His face was tucked against my shoulder, our fingers entwined against the table, more for his balance than my convenience really, and as something tightened in the pit of my stomach, I felt him draw even closer to me if it was physically possible.

Light burst against my eyes just when I thought my stomach had been torn apart, and bloody hell did it feel good. As we lay there on the hard wooden table, or rather me as he was sprawled completely on top of me, the sweat on our body cooling rapidly, I felt like I was buried and if this is what it felt like then I never wanted to breathe again.

Draco drew a shaky laugh and got off to lie beside me and we stared at the starry September sky together. I looked at him and saw a bead of sweat trail down the side of his forehead; he looked at me from the corner of his iridescent eyes and I found myself growing warm again.

"Who were you waiting for before?" I asked.

He sighed, "Redemption,"

"Did you find it?"

He got off the table and started dressing again. "I'll let you know the next time we meet." He pulled me off the table and against him, my arms automatically wound around his thin waist, just to feel those sharp bones jutting against my flesh again.

And then he was gone.

"...46, 47, 48...49,"

Draco Malfoy never failed to amaze me, whether I was pleased by that surprise was of no consequence. What mattered was that all of Hogsmeade was in chaos and I was staring at this boy - no, this man - whose hand shook as it raised a wand and pointed at some discreet shadow, someone I didn't much care to know about.

I don't know how I managed to move so close to him but I could make out the hiss of words that escaped past his lips, the slight quivering of his jaw and the flicker in his eyes as the silver turned away a split second before the green light engulfed the figure on the floor.

I seriously can't remember moving at all, but as he stood there motionless my hand on his shoulder brought him back to life. He looked up at me as if not recognizing me and then walked off into some alley. I followed him into the darkness.

He pushed me against the cold stonewall and that night in the Great Hall came rushing back to me. My back had been raw and bruised after that and having his mouth eating at me; all thoughts of pain escaped me.

Memories with him have been distorted throughout time but what I remember most about that night was the blood that spilled from his full lips like a prayer, and I'd like to think I answered it.

"Make me forget," he whispered against my lips. "I can't think when I'm with you, stop me from thinking." I opened my mouth to accept his offering of kisses. "Can you apparate?"

Before I could answer, we heard some noise at the mouth of the alley. I looked up and saw the lone figure of Hermione standing there, staring at me, at us, dumbfounded.

"Harry?"

He apparated us out of the alley.

"Where are we?" I asked looking around at the vast countryside. When I turned to him I got the second shock of the night.

His hair was as black as mine, an effect that made his face glow in the night, especially his glittering eyes. I'm no expert in art but if anyone asked me that was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.

"It's a place we - " he stopped. I looked back and saw the old pub with the name 'King Louis VI' written in gold. "Come on." He grabbed my arm and led me down to the pub.

The inside was very cosy, not many people there but the ones who were present were very drunk. I looked at everything with a child's amazement; this place was nothing like The Three Broomsticks or The Hog's Head, there was something very...personal about this.

A plump lady was cleaning glasses and putting them away behind the bar. She looked like a fatter version of Molly Weasley with curlers in her hair and a blue apron around her large waist.

"Excuse me, please," Draco said politely.

The woman peered at us suspiciously, her large blue eyes inspecting us from top to bottom. I could almost hear what she was thinking, these two strangely dressed boys, obviously under aged with no supervision, inside a pub.

"We're kind of lost here and there isn't any other hotel nearby so we were wondering would you have any rooms to let?" he was asking.

"Lost, you say?" the woman asked. "Where're your folks?"

"We were just going to visit them but got lost," the lie rolled off easily. No one mentioned the fact that they didn't hear a car nor any local buses ran at this hour.

She gave us another suspicious look and came out from behind the bar, holding a rifle in one of her hands. I felt Draco go stiff beside me, I didn't blame him, my heart had suddenly found residence in my throat.

"Can't be too careful." She shrugged and walked towards the opposite end of the pub. "It's usually a very quiet place but the murders a couple days back has set everyone on edge. Very strange ones too."

I narrowed my eyes at the now black head walking beside me but he was deliberately not looking at me. We climbed up some stairs and came across a small, dirty hallway. She stopped in front of two doors.

"This ones yours," she said to me. "And - "

"No we'll sleep in one room," Draco said quickly.

She narrowed her eyes at us and once again looked at us. We weren't standing too close, I don't know what she saw but a knowing look crossed her round face. She turned sharply and walked to the end of the hallway and opened a door.

"It's £17 per person for a night, you use hot water, you pay for it," she said in a business like manner. "Breakfast's at 8 am, if you miss it, tough. And one more thing," she paused. "Don't think I don't know what you two are up to, I've had my own share of wee lads who are up to no good, make sure I don't hear any of it."

The room was very small with only one double divan bed with no headboard in the middle and a small television on the opposite side. I walked towards the bedside table to turn on the lamp and the room filled with eerie shadows, the small window didn't let much light in.

The mattress was stained and the room gave off a sense of old sex and loneliness, and expectation of something without a shape or name.

"Silencio." I pointed at the door with my wand.

He was watching my every move, a sensation not entirely pleasant but not unwelcome either.

"You killed someone." It wasn't a question.

"Does it matter?"

For a moment I stood dumbstruck with what he had said. I couldn't believe him, no wait, what am I saying, I couldn't believe myself. After all I witnessed, here I am in a dirty pub room, alone with him.

"How can you even say that?" I asked. "You took a life, probably an innocent one, you had no right."

"We're in a war, Potter."

"You can't justify murder."

He shrugged and I felt my blood boil. I had to restrain myself from punching him across his nonchalant face.

"Just a mudblood, they should be terminated - "

"You're fucking one."

" - from our - " he stopped and looked at me with surprise before his mouth creased into a smirk just as my words came back to me. "Eager much?"

"You filthy bastard," I growled.

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Let me tell you something Potter, who ever said that the earth is round was an idiot. It's well and truly flat and you and I, we belong to opposite corners." He stepped closer. "I've already come halfway, it's your turn."

"What do you want from me?" I whispered.

"I told you I'll let you know if I found redemption." He took another step. "It's standing right in front of me so I'm asking you now. Did I find it?"

"Malfoy - "

"I don't want to live in the past and I don't have a future," he whispered, his warm breath caressing my lips. "Give me the present, that's all I ask."

And this time I met him half way, our lips sealing over one another in a completion of a pact.

I remember the stiffness of the mattress beneath me, the hands that were then and there, on my back, on my chest, on my face, on me. And the television sound turned off with only the pictures flickering over lifting flesh. I remember the way he rose and sank in me as if releasing a content sigh and it made me question how anyone could lead their lives without this delicious intrusion.

That night as the rain pelted against the small window, I found myself tucked warmly against his chest, his hands wrapped tightly around my waist, needing more contact and I wondered how ever did we learn this talent for insatiability. This greed for something more, this yearning for a future, one that we were never going to achieve.

As the light of the early sun yawned through the window, something lingered in the air, an afterthought say of what had just occurred and what will. And I realised the weight of everything: he was a Death Eater, one I had seen in action and I was the pinnacle and hope of everything that was supposed to be warm and fuzzy in the world, boy were we messed up.

I tried to move away from him without rousing him and went to stand by the chilly window. I looked out on the backyard of the pub and a peculiar sight greeted me.

The pub owner, as I had assumed, sat polishing her rifle next to a gravestone, I don't know what compelled me but I decided to go greet her. The air was definitely colder than in our room, or maybe that was just the heat from Draco's body, either way my teeth chattered all the way to the little bench where she was sat.

We didn't say anything and I turned to look at the grey stone. All it had on it was an hourglass and the words: In hope.

In hope. Why would they put that above a dead person? Was it the corpse hoping or those still alive?

Does Draco hope?

"He must if that poor lad is with you right now," she said as she took a drag from her cigarette. I looked at her in astonishment, I mean I didn't exactly say it out loud, or did I? "Draco, strange name."

"How can you tell?"

"Have you heard the story of Pandora's Box?" she asked. I nodded. "Well the only thing she stopped from escaping was hope and that's what we must live by, that's what we must work to free because a world without hope is a world without life."

"But how can you tell he hopes?"

"I've been around for a while, I've seen hope grow and die and when two miserable boys stood in front of me, I could see the small candle of hope flickering between them and that's why I let them stay." She offered me the first smile and I couldn't help reciprocating. "Take care of him, he looks as if he needs it." She stood up and stretched then before walking off she looked at me again. "Remember breakfast at eight."

"Excuse me Mrs..." I called.

"Ham. Mrs. Ham."

"Who do you hope for?" I nodded towards the gravestone.

She smiled, "Of a love long lost."

He was still asleep when I got back to the room. His thin chest rose and fell as his lungs expanded to take in air, I watched the action as if mesmerised. I think he sensed it as his silver eyes flickered open and then shut against the light. He raised his left arm and pulled me down, against his chest. I tried not to look at the Dark Mark.

"Draco?" I said his name for the first time. It tasted strange, exotic, beautiful.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think we can win this?"

"Not a chance," he murmured against my nape.

I shivered as his warm breath caressed my skin, making hair stand up all over my body. Was I disappointed by his answer? Angry? I don't know. I don't know why I asked that or what I even expected him to say.

One thing was for sure, we both realised at the same time that I wasn't talking about the war.

"63, 63...64...1, 2..."

...to be continued...