Windfallen

There was a difference between remembering and dreaming, and of course Ginny was aware of that, but the exact line between them was blurring. She couldn’t quite tell when she was awake and remembering, or asleep and dreaming, and she didn’t think she wanted to.

It had been strange at first, and frightening, having been taken by men in cowls and cloaks who spoke in strange whispers and cursed her into unconsciousness. She’d been with Harry, they’d had lunch together, and he’d been walking her back to her flat when the men had come out of the shadows. Blackness had followed quickly, and she’d woken up in the largest bedroom she’d ever, ever seen, on a bed that was softer than any she’d ever slept on. She hadn’t noticed anything except the size, and the way it echoed like a cavern. She worried that she had died and this was some sort of hell, and then she had noticed the warmth and the silk underneath her and the window that showed endless gardens stretching all around, far, far below. Not hell, then; she didn’t think they had gardens in hell.

It was Malfoy Manor, she’d been told later. Not at first, when the house elf brought her a meal of sandwiches and pumpkin juice, because the elf had been told not to talk to her. It was later, after she’d thrown the sandwiches and juice against the wall and crossed her arms sullenly over her chest and glared in silence at the elf. A hunger strike against the feeling of powerlessness. It was that which called Lucius to her for the first time, and he had brought wine to calm her. After that, it sort of settled into a hazy blur. Fear subsided into something like dull compliancy, which then faded into emptiness. Hours felt like days and days seemed to last forever, and the only thing to break the monotony was Lucius’ visits. He came once a day, bringing food with him, and stayed until she’d eaten every bite, and it was only after the first week that Ginny noticed that she’d begun eating more slowly to prolong his visits, if only because it broke the emptiness of existing in this huge room with nothing to do except wait by the window and watch the hours and days slip by.

Sometimes Draco Malfoy walked in the gardens, she recognized him by his blonde hair, coarser than his father’s, and his stride, which was longer, more hurried, and not half as graceful. Draco never came to visit her, however, and sometimes she wondered if he even knew she was there.

She did not know why they took her and kept her at Malfoy Manor, and after the first few days, she slid into a blurry, dream-like state, and now, remembering those long, hazy days, Ginny wondered if there had been a potion in her wine. It made sense now, and made things less… frightening, if only because she could feel at least a little as though she was not responsible.

Days and days of endless nothing broken only by visits from a man who fairly dripped with aristocratic disdain and danger and yet offered no blatant threat… It was too easy to let her days begin to wrap around him, and then her mind, and her heart, and then—

“Ginny.”

Remembrances broken, Ginny blinked blankly at the doorway of her small, garish, rough, uncultured Weasley bedroom. It was always jarring, when realities shifted that way, and Ron was standing in the doorway.

“Ron.”

He looked worried, but then, he always did. “You alright?”

“Perfectly.”

He nodded, though he did not look sure. Cautiously approaching the bed, he lifted one hand but let it drop before he touched her. His hand landed on the bedspread and she studied it distantly, wondering what it would be like to be touched by a hand that rough and large, with nails bitten to the quick. It was hard to remember, the last time she’d been touched by him had been when she was a child, before the Chamber of Secrets, before she became something Alien and Strange and touched by dark magic, when she had still been just his little sister.

He’d asked a question but she’d missed it, too caught up in musing memories of childhood, so Ginny smiled vacantly and stretched a bit, like a cat. Her eyes, narrowed and lazy, noticed the way his watched her pajama top lift a bit, showing her stomach, pale and lightly freckled. Letting her arms drop, she watched as his eyes nervously skittered away, and she frowned, confused.

“I’m fine,” she said again.

“Right,” he stammered, and a slight flush was blooming on his face.

He left soon after and Ginny was glad, content to stare out the window and drift away in memories again.

***

Malfoy stirred and Harry woke with a start. His bed, his room, his house, his arms around Draco Malfoy. All realizations slammed into his mind almost simultaneously, and then Harry yelped and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the back of his hand and blinking. Everything was a blur so he reached for his glasses and things blinked into focus.

Rumpled blonde hair mussed up around a pale face, cheek creased from Harry’s pillow, one hand curled beneath the other cheek, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, he didn’t look like Malfoy. He looked… looked like a little boy.

Harry frowned, running a hand through his hair and slipping from the bed. He dressed quickly, casting nervous glances at Malfoy from time to time, worried that the strange nightmares would return, or, worse, that the other boy would wake up before Harry could escape.

After he was clothed, Harry hesitated in the doorway for a long moment and then went back to the bed, carefully removing Malfoy’s wand from his robes and sticking it in his own. Then, he gently took the other boy’s wrist and cast a binding charm on it, securely tying Malfoy to his bed. After all, Harry could be tried as a traitor if it was found that he’d aided an enemy Death Eater and then let him go. This way, at least, he could claim to have taken him prisoner.

Besides, he still didn’t know how that new curse worked and wanted to ask Malfoy, if he could.

Leaving Malfoy still sleeping and bound to his bed, Harry hurried into the kitchen, grabbed something to eat, and then Apparated to St. Mungo’s. After a nurse updated him on the condition of the other patients, none of whom seemed as severely affected as Malfoy but all who displayed similar symptoms, Harry quickly Apparated to Hogsmeade and then walked to Hogwarts. Dumbledore was there, trying to figure out what the curse did and how to lift it.

He was too nervous to stay long, worried about how Malfoy was faring, whether he’d woken or not, so Harry didn’t linger there with Dumbledore. He only stayed long enough to learn what he could from his former headmaster, which wasn’t that much. The origin of the word cassesprit was French and a combination of the verb casser, which meant to break, and spirit, which meant mind. To break the mind.

Anymore than that, Dumbledore couldn’t say. The headmaster looked older than ever, discouraged and distracted and, had Harry not had Malfoy to hurry back to, he wouldn’t have wanted to stay long anyway.

Malfoy was awake when Harry returned to his flat, though there was nothing, initially, to indicate that. He would have expected, given the boy he remembered at school, screams and curses and threats at having woken up tied to someone else’s bed. Instead, there was only a tense and stilted silence after he arrived at the flat. Deciding that Malfoy must be still asleep, Harry first went to the kitchen, fixing himself something to eat and, after a short hesitation, something for Malfoy as well. He didn’t know if he was going to be up to eating, if he’d be awake or lucid or if he’d ever be again. But still, he fixed a sandwich and a glass of juice, and made his way into the bedroom.

Malfoy was lying on his back, both hands bound to the headboard, and looking murderous. Strangely, the silver fire in his eyes, while quieter than the rages Harry remembered from their days in school together, frightened him more, because it was colder and somehow seemed to go far deeper.

Though he didn’t speak, Malfoy’s jaw was tensed, even Harry could see it, and he swallowed nervously, setting the food aside. “I didn’t know you were awake,” he said, voice huskier than normal due to his nervousness.

“Let me go.”

Clearing his throat and rearranging the sandwich and juice on the dresser, he fidgeted for a long time before saying, “I can’t really do that.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, only watched silently as Harry gathered his courage and moved closer. “I, umm, brought you a sandwich,” he said, glancing hesitantly into Malfoy’s eyes and then away, wondering almost desperately how Malfoy seemed to have grown so much older than he had in the time since they’d seen each other last, at school.

Still, no reply, and Harry gently set the food down on the bedside table. “You seem better,” he ventured.

“I’m not.”

“Well, you’re not shrieking and flailing about, are you? I’d say that’s an improvement.”

Malfoy’s eyes skittered away and he turned his face aside, lips pressed tightly together. Finally, after a long pause, he asked, “What are you doing, keeping me here, tied to your bed? I didn’t see you as one for this sort of thing, Potter.”

“Don’t you remember?” Harry replied, shrugging. “You were screaming and the only way I could make it stop was if I touched you. So I brought you in here…”

This time, when Malfoy’s eyes flew back to Harry’s, they were glittering with cold amusement. “Slept together, did we?” he sneered.

“You could a bit more grateful!” Harry snapped, patience running out. “I could have left you there on the road like I was told!”

There was a short pause and then, quietly, “Why didn’t you?”

“You saved Ginny.”

Malfoy laughed harshly and it startled Harry. Taking a few quick steps towards the door, he was disgusted to find himself trembling. “So in return for saving that girl’s worthless life, I get taken prisoner by the illustrious Potter? We are even now, aren’t we?” The last was sarcastic and Malfoy spat, “Maybe some people would find being bound to your bed a privilege, but I don’t. Let me go, Potter, or my father will make you most sorry.”

“Just like back in school, you still have to rely on your father for all your threats?” Harry scoffed, safe now and speaking from the doorway.

“It’s not a threat, Potter,” Malfoy said softly, almost wistfully. “It’s just the way things are. You think if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be alive?”

Harry watched him for a long moment and then said, “What do you mean?”

There was a slight smirk on Malfoy's lips now, one that echoed of that snotty child who had once wished desperately to be the Heir of Slytherin, and he sneered, “Ask your precious Little Weasley about that.”

“Ginny?” He frowned and Malfoy didn’t reply. Frustrated, Harry snapped, “Eat your sandwich, Malfoy.”

“You tied my hands.”

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Feeling rather stupid now, Harry unbound one of Malfoy’s hands, tossed the sandwich on his lap, and retreated to the safety of the doorway, watching Malfoy nervously. His head was turned towards the window, the golden light bathing his face. “Malfoy,” Harry called after a long moment. “That curse. What was it?”

“You think I’d tell you?” was the lazy and bored response. “Besides, it’s over.”

But Harry had the feeling that it was just beginning.

***

“Ginny, love.”

But Ginny didn’t move. Frustrated, Charlie sighed and blew out the candle he was holding to light the way. He was about to leave when Ginny called softly, “Charlie? Tell me a story.”

“A story?” he smiled, just a little, and set the smoking candle aside. It was late afternoon, but the shutters in Ginny’s room were closed, darkness cloaking it. She’d been trying to sleep, Ron had said.

Charlie sat in the chair by her bed and saw her eyes glimmering in the darkness. “Go on,” she prompted.

“What sort of story?” It was strange, Charlie thought. In the days since she’d been rescued, Ginny hadn’t ever shown a sign of wanting any sort of interaction with anyone around her. She answered when spoken to, most of the time, but seemed far more content to drift off and stare into space.

“A love story,” she said. “A tragic love story about people who were never meant to be but couldn’t help it.”

“A fairy tale?”

“Fairy tales always end happily, Charlie.”

“You don’t want a happy ending?”

“Those who want them rarely get them and those who do, never see it coming until it’s slipped away.” There was a pause, Charlie didn’t know what to say, and she sighed. “Not a fairy tale, Charlie. Just a story.”

“Once upon a time, in a far away land —” he began.

“Oh, don’t make it too far away!” she cried. “Make it close. Something real, Charlie, tell me a real story.”

“A real story?” He was beginning to get frustrated. “And what’ll I get out of it?”

She considered for a moment, and reached out and touched his hand, which was rough from dealing with dragons. “You tell me a story,” she said, “and then I’ll tell you one.”

Sighing, he tried again. “Once upon a time, in a place not too far away, there lived a boy who had been in love for as long as he could remember.” He wasn’t very good at love stories and he paused.

“With who?” she asked softly.

“With someone with green eyes,” he replied, taking a deep breath. “And pale skin and dark hair. Brave and noble and too young but somehow old at the same time.”

She was smiling when she spoke next. “And what happened?”

“One day, when the whole world was falling down and the boy was aching, the boy that he had loved —”

“Boy?”

“Erm, yes. Boy.”

“Go on.”

“The boy that he had loved nearly all of his life had come over, and the first boy, the one who had loved him, had been so distraught that he couldn’t think straight, and he kissed him. And they had… well, umm, they had…”

“Charlie, they can shag,” Ginny pointed out. “In real stories, they nearly always shag.”

He was blushing, that unnerved him, and he didn’t know whether to scold his little sister for saying such a thing, or to ignore it and go on with the story. Finally, sighing, he said, “They shagged, yeah.”

“And was it marvelous and magical and everything the boy had ever dreamed of?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“He felt terrible.”

“Oh.”

“The end.”

Ginny snorted softly, and then said, “Alright. My turn then, I suppose. Once there was a girl who was empty inside and a man who was the same. A dragon took the girl far away from her family and her life and everything she loved, and he gave her to the man for safekeeping. She stayed with the man forever, and he let her drink wine and he let her eat the finest food she’d ever seen and they grew to know each other and to love each other, and then he let her sip the same wine from his goblet and he fed her tiny bits of food from his hand and she did the same. And she let him fill her up inside until she was fairly bursting with butterflies and bubbles, until she forgot the roughness and the dirt and the dragon, until all she knew was his voice and his touch and nothing else in the world mattered, because she was in heaven.”

Charlie was frowning and he whispered, “And then?”

But Ginny didn’t reply, her eyes had closed and her breathing slowed and she was lost to him again.

***

It was early evening when a low, muffled moan came from the bedroom, and Harry dropped the book he’d been reading and crept to the doorway, peering in. Malfoy, still bound by one wrist, had turned his face and buried it in his arm that stretched above him, trying to mask the panting, desperate moans falling from his lips.

“Malfoy?” Harry asked softly, slipping into the room hesitantly.

Malfoy turned to look at him, eyes wide and panicky, like a trapped animal. “Get out,” he snapped.

“What’s wrong? Is it the curse?”

“Get out.”

“If I touch you, will it —” He had come closer as he spoke, reaching out and touching the back of Malfoy’s hand. Before he could finish his question, Malfoy’s hand turned over and wrapped around his wrist, holding tight, even as a strangled whimper was torn from Malfoy’s lips. “Oh,” Harry said weakly, unnerved and falling heavily until he was sitting on the side of his bed, gripping Malfoy’s wrist just as tightly as the other boy was holding his. “Alright,” he said, his other hand coming up and flattening on Malfoy’s chest, which was heaving from the effort it took to restrain whatever effect the curse was having on him. “It’s alright,” he whispered, biting his lip and watching Malfoy worriedly. “I won’t let go.”

“Oh fuck,” Malfoy panted, and then his eyes squeezed shut and pressed his face into Harry’s hand.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Harry said, horrified at the change in Malfoy, from the cold man to the desperate, trembling mess he was now. “It’s alright.”

“Get out,” Malfoy begged, but Harry didn’t move.

It got worse, and soon, it was the same as it had been before. Malfoy wasn’t conscious, and his entire body was trembling and bathed in a cold sweat. It was as if he were caught in a nightmare or something and Harry felt weak and powerless, only sitting there beside him and holding his hand. It may have been only Malfoy there suffering that, but there were still tears stinging Harry’s eyes. He hated helplessness, and soon slipped onto the bed, pressing himself against Malfoy, wrapping his arms around the other boy, and whispering soothingly into his hair.

***

They were tangled together and certainly Harry hadn’t meant for that to happen. For his arms to be wrapped around Malfoy, for one of his legs to be locked around Malfoy’s, for his face to be buried in Malfoy’s chest.

The most nerve-wracking part, however, was that Malfoy was awake. He was lying very still on his back, one hand still bound to the bed, the other arm stretched out, shoulder pillowing Harry’s head. His eyes were open but glazed and hazy, head turned so he was staring at a spot over Harry’s head, and his breathing was soft and even.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he said, voice distant.

Harry sat up, rubbing the lines from Malfoy’s jumper out of his cheek and blinking sleepily. “Wha’ happened?” he mumbled sleepily.

Malfoy’s eyes finally turned to him, studying him silently. “You fell asleep, I guess.”

Malfoy looked incredibly uncomfortable and, because Harry was still sleepy and not all that coherent, he broke the binding spell on his wrist. While the other boy massaged his wrist and sat up slowly, Harry stretched, running a hand through his hair. “Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh yes, Potter. Waking up with you has always been a fantasy of mine. Thrilling, really.”

The sarcasm stung and Harry stood up, backing towards the door. “Sorry,” he said, face flushing. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I —” he turned to hurry away but Malfoy’s voice stopped him.

“We found a way to channel the power of the Dementors into a human mind.” He licked his lips and continued hollowly, “It sort of snaps the mind, so that it’s like… like you’ve got a Dementor in your head, I guess. It comes and goes, the madness. The nightmares. It’s like you’re trapped in what you most fear, a nightmare you can’t wake from.”

“Does it… does it last forever?” Harry whispered, horrified.

Malfoy looked away. “How am I to know? It was only developed days ago. The… the test subjects didn’t have time to display any long-term symptoms.”

“Test subjects?” A terrible thought occurred to him. “G-Ginny?”

Shooting him a dirty look, Malfoy shook his head. “No, she wasn’t one of them.”

He nodded, swallowing hard and not asking where they found their test subjects. “It… is it bad?”

“Dying and going to hell would, I think, be the same,” Malfoy said tonelessly. Then he glanced at Harry and swallowed hard. “Human touch… your touch … repels the nightmares. I don’t know why. But when you touch me… when you touch me, the terror fades. I’m still trapped in the nightmare, but I can remind myself that it isn’t real. I… It’s like I suddenly remember to be brave.”

“You know hardly anything about it and yet you still use it in battle?”

“It gets rid of our opponents, takes less energy than the Killing Curse as it channels energy from the Dementors… We don’t need to understand it, as long as it works, and it does.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, so he stared at his hands and cleared his throat.

“Are you satisfied now?” Malfoy snapped. Harry looked at him inquiringly. “I told you all I know about it, now let me go.”

“I can’t let you go.”

Fury replaced that dull compliancy in Malfoy’s eyes, and he snarled, “Then turn me over to your prison, execute me, something! I cannot stay here tied to your bloody bed, Potter!”

“You’re not tied anymore,” Harry pointed out.

Malfoy blinked and frowned. “Would you try to stop me if I left?”

“You need me. And I can’t let you go.”

“I won’t stay here,” Malfoy spat.

“I’ll have to tie you then.”

They glared, both too stubborn to give in, and then Harry jerked his head towards the door. “Bathroom’s over there, Malfoy, use it now while you’ve got the chance.”

“And if I leave?”

“I’ve still got your wand.”

Malfoy’s fury grew hotter, and he stalked from the room and into the bathroom, slamming the door. It was only when he wasn’t there to see that Harry allowed a slightly smug smirk to cross his lips.

***

“Everything is twisted,” Ginny said, and Ron glanced up from the pawn he’d been studying, startled. It was the first thing she’d said in over an hour.

“What?” he asked, setting the chess piece aside. He’d tried talking her into playing a while earlier but she hadn’t responded and he’d drifted off into thought with the pieces on his lap.

“Twisted. The whole world is twisted. I’m so tired, Ron.”

Frustrated and angry, Ron snapped, “What happened to you? What made you like this?”

She blinked and looked at him, looking a little stunned, and he was snidely glad at invoking that change in expression. “What happened to me?” she repeated hesitantly.

In the days since she’d been home, Ginny hadn’t said a word about what had happened when she was being held at Malfoy Manor, and Ron couldn’t take it anymore. “Tell me what happened,” he begged.

“Nothing… nothing really happened.” She was frowning, and he took her hand, holding tightly when she tried to pull away.

“Do you remember when we were children?” he said desperately. “When you were just a little girl with wild red hair and sparkling eyes who couldn’t help getting into trouble? And I’d always be covering for you with mum and dad, always be helping you out of whatever mess you’d gotten into, cleaning your cuts and kissing your bruises better?”

She was nodding slowly, and Ron closed his eyes. “Why won’t you let me help you this time?” he whispered.

Pulling her hand away, she shook her head and whispered, “It’s not natural. It’s all so twisted.”

“What’s not natural?”

She looked at him and then looked away, licking her lips. “The way you look at me.”

“Ginny.” He was scared now, and he grabbed her hand again, holding tightly with both of his. “What do you mean? I look at you the way I’ve always looked at you.” But he didn’t. Something had changed in the time she’d been gone, and now that she was back, he never took his eyes off her for fear that she’d slip away again. She was his, she’d always been his, and a darkly possessive rage had been boiling inside him ever since she returned, distant and daydreamy and sad.

“You look at me like you want to kiss me,” she said solemnly. “It scares me.”

Stunned, he laughed, jerking away from her and dropping her hand. “Kiss you? You’re my sister!” he cried. Even as the words left him, his eyes were drawn to her lips, and he licked his nervously. “That’s crazy, Ginny. Besides…” he wanted to ask why that scared her. He wanted to cry because that had hurt and he didn’t understand. “Besides,” he said again. “How would you know what someone looks like when they want to kiss you? You’ve never been kissed, Ginny.”

A strange and slight smile flirted with her lips and she whispered, “I have.”

“Have not!”

“Have too.” She shifted in the bed and glanced away. “Lucius kissed me.”

Cold, black rage blinded Ron. That his sister should have been kissed by that monster, his sister, touched by a Malfoy… It wasn’t bearable, wasn’t possible, wasn’t imaginable, and he wanted, needed, to kill. “He’s dead,” he snarled. “You’re my sister, mine, and he touched you… I’ll tear him apart. No one else gets to touch you, no one.”

“But Ron,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to touch me.”

“Well, neither is he!”

She closed her eyes slowly and sighed. Ron was too busy planning Lucius Malfoy’s murder to notice.

***

The changing tide of madness was taking its toll on Malfoy. A few days had passed now, and he looked quite ill. He was pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and had lost so much weight that Harry wasn’t sure how he was still alive at all. His voice was so husky and dry whenever he spoke that it was painful to listen to. Harry was worried, though he didn’t quite know why. If Malfoy died, what would it really matter? Sure, it would be better if he didn’t, but if he did… So many people had died by Harry’s hand already in the war, if he couldn’t save one, who would really notice or care?

“Potter?” Malfoy rasped, and Harry blinked. He’d been standing in the doorway to the bedroom for a few minutes, watching Malfoy sleep, and hadn’t known the other boy had woken.

“Yeah?”

“I-I’m thirsty.” He rarely sounded arrogant anymore, rarely sounded furious. All he had the strength for was exhaustion and thirst.

Harry hurried to the kitchen to fetch some water and brought it back, carefully helping Malfoy (who’s skin felt fragile and thin, and who weighed scarcely more than a butterfly) sit up. Holding the glass of water to his lips, he carefully helped him drink. The first time he’d tried that, Malfoy had thrown the glass of water at him. Now, he was so tired that all he did was drink.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked carefully. Sometimes, when the madness took him, it was easy to forget it was Malfoy he was tending to. But at times like this, when he was lucid, Harry didn’t know what to say or do. It just didn’t seem natural, Draco Malfoy wasting away in Harry’s bed, with one hand always bound to the headboard.

“You know what you have to do,” Malfoy whispered.

Harry pulled away, looking stung. “I won’t.”

“It’s the only way to make it stop. Please…” He knew how much that must have cost Malfoy, asking him for anything. Still, Harry refused to give in.

“I’m not going to kill you.”

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment and then closed his eyes and turned away. Before they could say another word, Harry heard a knock on his front door.

“Shh,” he cautioned. “No one can know you’re here.”

It was Charlie at the door, and when Harry opened it and saw him there, his stomach went cold. “Ch-Charlie.”

“Harry.” His eyes looked wild and feral, his face pale, body twitching with nervous energy. “Can I come in?”

He wanted to deny him, but instead, Harry stood aside and Charlie entered. “I’m sorry, it’s just… I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t stand it. Ginny’s lost her mind.” He ran a hand through his hair. “So I had to get away and I had no where else to go… I didn’t want to go anywhere else. It’s like… it’s like when you’re around, nothing bad can happen. Like you’re… safe.”

Harry blinked. “Thank you,” he said shakily, and he didn’t mean it. He didn’t want Charlie there, didn’t want to be Charlie’s safe haven.

Charlie went into the other room and sat on the couch, and Harry closed his eyes. The instant he’d come inside, the entire energy in his home had mutated, become louder. For the past few days there’d only been Harry and Malfoy, a soft, hesitant air around them, and now everything shook and trembled and Harry wanted to run to his bedroom and curl up around Malfoy and sleep, the way he had every night since Malfoy had come.

Instead, he went and sat across from Charlie.

There was a strange and tense silence, and Harry was the first to break it. “How’s Ginny?”

Charlie’s eyes grew cold. “Something happened to her, Harry. Something she won’t tell us. There are no marks or scars on her but something terrible happened and Ron says he thinks she was raped or something, but she won’t confirm or deny it.”

“R-raped?”

“She should be crying,” Charlie’s voice was very soft. “If they’d done that to her, shouldn’t she be crying? Or- or something? She just sits there like a doll and we can’t get through to her at all and I don’t know what to do, but I swear, Harry, if I ever see a single Malfoy again, I’ll tear him apart.”

Harry swallowed and hoped desperately that Malfoy hadn’t heard that. He wanted to die, and what better way than by letting Charlie know that he was here?

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. Sorry for much more than he was saying. Sorry for harboring Draco Malfoy after what he had done to Ginny. Had he just been getting rid of her because he was finished with her? She’d been so hurt and bloody when he’d found her, in Malfoy’s care.

Harry had drifted off into thought, and he was completely startled when Charlie was suddenly beside him. “Harry,” he said, a strange urgency in his tone that Harry recognized.

His eyes widened and hands started to tremble. “What?” he whispered.

“I’m just…” Charlie trailed off, his eyes falling from Harry’s face to his hands. He reached forward and laid his own over them. “It’s just… you looked so sad for a second.”

Harry didn’t reply, didn’t move, didn’t know how any longer.

“I… do you ever think about it? That night that we were together?”

He was honest. “Yes.” But, god, not the same way as Charlie did.

Charlie looked relieved. “Oh, Harry, me too.”

Oh god. But he couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat.

“I… We need to talk, Harry. I’ve got to confess —”

“I-I can’t. Can’t talk.” Harry leapt to his feet. “I’ve got to go, Charlie. Urgent… Urgent meeting with D-Dumbledore. I’m sorry… Later… We’ll talk later.”

Charlie looked startled, but followed Harry to the door. He didn’t speak because Harry was too busy babbling to let him get a word in, and soon they’d left the apartment and were parting ways on the busy street outside, which hardly left room for any touching that Harry wasn’t sure he could handle.

He did go to Dumbledore, though he hadn’t planned to. Anything to get away from Malfoy and Charlie. Dumbledore looked grim and so tired.

“Harry,” he said, sounding relieved. There were stacks of books around him, books he’d been studying in hopes of a cure for the curse.

“Have you figured anything out yet?” Harry asked nervously.

“It’s more difficult than it seems. The victims, in their lucid moments, can only describe the terror and panic that ensues whenever the curse takes them. It’s… difficult.”

“I… I think I know what the curse does,” Harry whispered.

Dumbledore’s eyes turned sharp. “What?” His voice was soft, gentle, as if he knew that Harry had secrets he could not tell and, rather than press the point, he was willing to let it go in return for Harry’s help.

“Dementors. Ch-channels the power of the Dementors into… into the mind. Living…living nightmares. They don’t know they’re nightmares, don’t remember what it’s like to be awake… so it seems to last forever.”

Dumbledore blinked, his face blank. “How…” he trailed off, and Harry didn’t answer the unfinished question. He couldn’t tell how he knew those things, and Dumbledore accepted that with a weary sigh. “Be careful, Harry. People are so quick to point fingers these days without hearing the whole story…”

Swallowing thickly, Harry asked, “Do you think there’s a cure?”

“I don’t know. If it’s the magic of the Dementors, then maybe a variation of the Patronus…” His eyes glazed over and Dumbledore was gone, lost in thought. Harry took that opportunity to slip out of the room, leaving Dumbledore to his research.

He returned to his home to find three worried neighbors standing in front of his door, looking frightened. “What’s wrong?” he asked them.

An instant later, Harry knew. A ragged, animalistic shriek tore through the air. “Oh fuck,” he hissed. “I… I’ve got a dog, in a kennel. He hates to be left alone,” he stammered, slamming the door in their faces.

Locking the door quickly, he winced as Malfoy screamed again. “Malfoy!” he cried, hurrying into the bedroom. “Oh shit, Malfoy, I’m sorry…”

Malfoy was twisting against the magical bonds, which were cutting into his wrist now, and bleeding.

“Oh god, oh god,” Harry chanted, climbing onto the bed and quickly breaking the bonds. “Malfoy. Shh. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He was stroking Malfoy’s face, twisted and pale and bathed in sweat, and just at that brief contact, some of the tension eased and Malfoy fell limply to the bed.

“Shh… God. I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. Guilt was nearly crushing him, despite this being Malfoy’s fault. He’d just left him alone and had no way of even telling how long he’d been in this state.

Grabbing one of Malfoy’s hands, he slipped the other around his back, pulling him against his chest. He hugged him close, so that he was touching him all over, and gradually, Malfoy’s heart rate and breathing slowed and steadied.

His eyelids fluttered and opened and Malfoy frowned weakly. “You… you weren’t here.” His voice was hoarse.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whimpered, flinching and burying his face in Malfoy’s hair.

“I… it’s alright…” But Malfoy’s voice was faint and so weak. Harry stroked his back and held him until he’d fallen asleep.

***

A while passed. Malfoy’s breath was feathery and light, brushing against Harry’s throat, and every now and again, he’d whimper in his sleep. Harry didn’t sleep, didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, only stayed quiet and watched Malfoy sleep, quietly panicking that the other boy was slipping away. He didn’t want to hold Malfoy too tightly for fear that he’d break him.

Malfoy stirred, moaning softly and burying his face in Harry’s shoulder. “Potter?” he whispered, voice rough.

Closing his eyes, Harry only held tighter. Malfoy was awake, he should be pulling away, running away, hiding, something or anything but he couldn’t. He just held him closer. “What do you dream about?” he asked.

Malfoy licked his lips and Harry felt his tongue brush the slid of his neck. “What?”

“The nightmares. What are they?”

Malfoy whimpered and it was so out of character and so telling of both his physical and mental disintegration, that Harry winced.

“Never mind,” he said gently.

Lifting his head, Malfoy brushed his hair out of his eyes. If he found clinging to Harry this way strange, he didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “There was someone here… Before you left.”

“Charlie. He’s Ron’s brother.”

Malfoy looked perplexed, eyes huge and dark and narrowed. “Why?”

“Why what?” Harry asked, stroking Malfoy’s back. He felt the other boy shiver under his touch but didn’t question it.

“Why was he here?”

“Ah. Ginny… Malfoy, do you know why…did you… what happened to Ginny?”

Malfoy smirked; strange that even weak and skinny and pale, he could still smirk. “She’d tell you, if she wanted you to know.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Good.” He closed his eyes and let out the breath he’d been holding. Then, quietly, “Charlie and I… we… he was upset one night and we…slept together, I guess.” Nervously opening his eyes, he saw Malfoy studying him silently, and when he didn’t comment, Harry grew more confident and said, “I didn’t… know. That it would be like that.”

“Like what?” Malfoy asked softly.

“It… hurt. And Charlie… I’m… scared. Of Charlie.” Why he was confessing this to Malfoy, Harry didn’t know. It was easy though, because this Malfoy was so different than the boy he used to know. So pale and fragile and quiet.

“Why does he visit then?”

“He doesn’t know…” Harry whispered. “But if he touches me one more time, I swear, Malfoy, I’ll die.”

“Don’t let him then. You don’t have to let him touch you.” Malfoy shrugged, and Harry bit his lip, worried.

“Don’t move so much, you’re so weak,” he whispered.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck you,” he growled.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I worry, and… and…”

“Worry?” Malfoy blinked. “About me?”

“You did help Ginny escape and the curse was meant to hit me and… and… you’re so weak, I don’t know how to help you!”

Malfoy looked like he wanted to fight about it, argue some more, but exhaustion was making him tremble. He closed his eyes with an irritated growl. “Tired,” he said.

“Go to sleep. I won’t leave this time.”

Malfoy’s eyes opened and for an instant, all of his fiery indignation and rage at being so weak and helpless was blazing there. Then they closed again and he rested his head against Harry’s chest and fell asleep.