Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter
Genres:
Drama Slash
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Quidditch Through the Ages Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them
Stats:
Published: 09/02/2003
Updated: 06/01/2004
Words: 97,555
Chapters: 13
Hits: 86,243

Windfallen

Cinnamon

Story Summary:
A new Unforgivable is spreading like wildfire and only Harry Potter is immune to its power, and only he can soothe its effects. When Draco is hit by the curse and left for dead by his own side, a misguided sense of duty compels Harry to care for him, and in doing so, he learns more than he ever thought possible about nightmares, hatred, love, and above all, the true nature of forgiveness. Harry/Draco, semi-consensual Charlie/Harry, Ginny/Lucius, and Ron/Ginny. Post-Hogwarts, post OotP, and very dark.

Chapter 05

Chapter Summary:
A new Unforgivable is spreading like wildfire and only Harry Potter is immune to its power, and only he can soothe its effects. When Draco is hit by the curse and left for dead by his own side, a misguided sense of duty compels Harry to care for him, and in doing so, he learns more than he ever thought possible about nightmares, hatred, love, and above all, the true nature of forgiveness. Harry/Draco, semi-consensual Charlie/Harry, Ginny/Lucius, and Ron/Ginny. Post-Hogwarts, post OotP, and very dark.
Posted:
12/17/2003
Hits:
5,574

Windfallen Chapter Five: Respite

I'll lie by your side and whisper your name.
I'll clock all your dreams and knock over rails.
I'll let go my past, write your name in my skin.
I'll travel through time to love you again.

There were books, piles of books, and parchment, all tucked away in another stone chamber. Pansy led Harry there later on in the day, gesturing to the books.

"These are the books we used to develop the curse. I'm going to teach you exactly how it works, all the steps we took to arrive at the final spell." She looked tired, and hooked a piece of hair behind her ear. Harry wondered if the exhaustion was due to the curse, or from having been part of the people responsible for the plague.

"How do you know what steps were taken to create the curse?" he asked.

"Because I was the one who created it."

She wouldn't say more as she flipped through one of the large textbooks, reading over pages heavily scribbled with notes in the margins. Harry finally gave up questioning her, and waited until she was finished flipping through the pages. She looked up.

"You know, of course, the basics. A Dementor feeds on hope and good thoughts, good memories, all of that, and in return, gives off negativity. Nightmares, madness, fear. It's an exchange of energy, good for bad. The good is taken inside the Dementor and returns back to the victim as everything dark and bad. So it's almost twice as powerful as you'd assume, because not only is it blasting darkness into you, it's sucking out light. The more light you've got inside of you, the more the Dementors can feed on. You've got a tremendous amount of light, that's why they affect you so strongly."

"Then why doesn't this curse affect me?" Harry asked, sitting heavily beside her.

"Because the curse is just a twisted version of this power. I'll explain that in a moment, I don't understand fully myself. Anyway. I spent a few weeks with a distant relative of mine, an aunt. She's a Squib, my parents don't acknowledge her, but I rather like her myself. She had a television, and spent hours trying to explain satellites to me. The idea that a single image could be taken and shot into the sky and then distributed so widely was what basically inspired this curse. It acts like that, like a satellite. Naturally, the Dementor's magic is wild. It isn't specifically aimed at anything, it just naturally latches on to anything with light in the vicinity. What the curse was designed to do was harness that energy and direct it into the mind of the victim hit with the curse. The Dementor's power was sort of melded into a collective consciousness, which is drawn from for the curse. We didn't realize it would be contagious." She shrugged.

"Oh, because it would be perfectly fine to just have it affect your enemies. It's only wrong when it spreads to your side as well." Harry rubbed his forehead, developing a headache.

Pansy shrugged. "It was war, Potter."

"Mmm. What do you want me to do about your curse? I still don't understand why I'm the only one who is immune."

"I don't fully understand either. It's got to have something to do with the strength of your Patronus, or the spell that kept you alive as a child, or the strength of your light and hope and all that. I'm not sure." Her head snapped up suddenly and her eyes narrowed, as if she were listening to something in the distance. Then, she was up and out of her chair, walking briskly towards the door. "Draco needs you," she said sharply over her shoulder.

"Save the world and be Malfoy's nursemaid at the same time?" Harry mumbled sarcastically, even as he took off quickly after Pansy.

***

"It'll still happen like that," Pansy told him, fiddling idly with a goblet of water. Malfoy was sleeping, the nightmare having worn off, and Harry was aching and exhausted. "He'll have the nightmares. They're incredibly draining, but the potions will help recover strength. He'll need to work at it, though. The lack of undisturbed sleep has drained him physically, he'll need to start working on building that back up, as soon as he's strong enough. The curse has weakened his magical strength, so he'll need to start working on that. It's incredibly damaging, not just to the mind. Not to mention that the nightmares don't only have an effect when he's suffering from them. They disturb the mind. That's why madness is the inevitable result. After experiencing that which you most fear for so long, it becomes hard to stop reliving it, even in the waking hours, unless he is distracted."

Harry frowned. "Distracted. What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure." She looked, suddenly, quite tired and weak herself. "Listen, Potter, I don't know… I mean, it's getting harder." She shifted, looking uncomfortable.

"What is?"

"Remaining upright for so long. Not screaming when I sleep. Not listening to the whisperings of fear in the back of my mind. I don't know how much longer… I don't want him to know… I mean, I've told him it will be slow, he thinks I've got weeks or even months until the full curse hits me, but I don't. I can feel it coming, even now, and I don't want him to know. And I don't want you to waste your time making it better for me."

Harry blinked. "But it'll be hell, and you told me that I can make it a little better. Why wouldn't you want me to?"

She shrugged and smiled a little and said, "Because Draco needs you and I don't. I want you to protect him at all costs."

"Why do you care so much about him?" Harry whispered.

"I owe him about a thousand favors, you should understand what that's like."

"I do," he said softly.

"Besides… it's… it's my fault. This whole curse. It's mine. And I deserve to suffer with it."

Harry didn't like her, hated her for creating a curse like this, so he didn't argue. Somehow, he felt Malfoy would have hated him, if he ever found that Harry hadn't even bothered to argue. But since when had Harry placed any stock in what Malfoy would have hated him for?

***

"Ginny."

She didn't blink, didn't move, didn't hear him at all. Ginny wasn't even aware that he was there, and it wasn't because she was dreaming or remembering or anything of the sort. She was dead and broken inside and Lucius had let her go and she did not want to be Ginny Weasley anymore because Ginny Weasley had never been worth anything until Lucius Malfoy had touched her, loved her.

"Ginny," Ron said again, and he touched her shoulder, and then stroked her hair, brushing it over her shoulder so it fell down her back. Ginny didn't move. Ron cleared his throat. He swore under his breath and grabbed her so roughly by the wrists that they would bear fingerprint bruises afterwards. He jerked her forward, until she fell against him and out of her bed with a startled squawk.

"Ron!" she yelped. "What are you —" The rest of her words were cut off as he lifted her and slung her over his shoulder, and she shrieked and pounded against his back with her fists. It was more life and fire than she had shown in weeks, and Ron wondered why he'd suffered so much patience when patience was obviously not what Ginny needed.

"What did he give you?" Ron asked calmly, as he maneuvered her down the stairs.

She quieted, breathing loudly, listening.

"What was it that he had for you that made you hate this? This house and this life and this family?"

"I never said I hated this," she said, her voice husky, on the edge of tears.

"You've been talking in your sleep since you arrived."

Ginny took a ragged breath but did not reply.

"Wine, was it? And silk, and fine clothes, and books, and poetry, and roses that changed colours in the sun and shadow? I think I remember all of that."

"Ron," she said quietly, pleadingly. "I meant no offence."

Ron was carrying her through the kitchen now. "But really, who wouldn't love what Lucius Malfoy has to give over what we have to give? What I have to give? Who wouldn't want grace and poise and velvet furniture and silk bed sheets and windows that gaze out over hills and hills of formal gardens? Anyone raised in a hovel like this would desire that. Anyone who was sent to school with second-hand books and robes would long for that." He paused. "Hell, I would have longed for that, once. Before I learned what really mattered."

"Please put me down," she whispered. He didn't.

They went out the back door, into the back garden, and she flinched and whimpered at the sudden brightness of the sun.

"Who wouldn't give their heart and body to a monster if he offered them all the riches of the world?" Ron asked her, solemnly. And then he put her down and spun her, away from him. Her eyes were held tightly shut, against the light of the sun, and he braced his hands on her shoulders. "Someone who had all of this waiting for them at home. Open your eyes, Ginny."

She did.

The garden was lit brightly with strands of sunlight, and flowers that, while not roses, and not changing colours in the sun, glowed with more colours than anything in Malfoy Manor ever had. Bright colours that were not inhibited by what was fashionable, by not wanting to seem crass, and that very disregard for rhyme and reason made it beautiful, wild, as Ginny once had been. There were twisted, broken stone paths that her father had laid down himself, in Muggle fashion, with stone and mortar and a shovel, beaming with every flagstone he put in. There were brambles and thistles, overgrown raspberry bushes, and the faint giggling of Garden Gnomes playing chase in the weeping willow beyond. And beneath that willow, the two modest graves of Arthur and Molly Weasley.

She swallowed heavily and her knees buckled, because there was not a smooth, rounded edge here, no peace or comfort in richness and grace. It was wild, untamed, and it was that secret part of Ginny that she had always loathed and loved with the same passion. The part her father had called her fire, that her mother had called her spirit, the part that Lucius had calmly tamed and destroyed when he made her into his doll.

Ron's hands slipped off her shoulders and to her elbows, holding her because she swayed dangerously and almost fell.

"Do you see it?" Ron asked.

"D-Dragonflies," she murmured weakly, because there were so many of them there, and Ron had used to catch them for her.

"It isn't velvet and lace and wine in crystal goblets," he said quietly.

A strangled whimper stuck in her throat, and she took two trembling steps towards the graves of her parents. Somewhere, a bird sang, and a gnome giggled.

She stumbled and Ron caught her, holding her hand tightly as she made her way over the broken path towards the willow tree, and he followed her to the ground when she collapsed in the thick grass beside their mother's grave.

Ginny was shaking, and Ron brushed the hair out of her face, over her shoulder. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

"Ginny, I —"

She kissed him, because it was very quiet in the garden, and because it was easy, like falling into him, against him, and he caught her instinctively, he always had. She kissed him because it stopped whatever difficult thing he'd been about to say, and because he'd kissed away her tears and kissed her awake and then blushed and said it had been an accident. She kissed him because there were tears in his eyes and he was like her, scared and scarred and falling apart in the middle of a war that neither had wanted and neither had anything left to give to. She kissed him because it suddenly seemed so simple, and because… because it was so very quiet in the garden.

And he kissed her back and somehow, it got quieter, and the only sound was the whisper of dragonfly wings.

***

"What are you doing?"

"Are you alright?"

"Potter."

Harry blinked and glanced uncertainly into Malfoy's eyes. "Yeah?"

"I don't need your assistance standing on my own."

He smiled a little and stepped back. "Sorry."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "What did you bring me here for?"

They were standing in a large, empty cavern, lit with sconces in the walls. There was no furniture or anything, and Harry had brought Malfoy there partially to distract him from the fact that Pansy was very weak and had been sleeping all day, and partially on her advice, to help him rebuild his strength.

"I want to teach you how to cast the Patronus Charm."

Draco looked at him in silence for a long moment, and then smiled, a strange, small smile. "Alright."

"I don't know if… Well, it's difficult, and you might be too weak, but we can try, I…"

"Potter. Just get on with it."

"Right. Right." Harry nodded. "Okay. You have your wand? Okay, watch." He demonstrated the charm. He'd used it so often that it did not even take a Dementor to bring the strength he needed to conjure up a strong enough memory. The silver stag pranced about the room and then faded away. Malfoy did not look all that impressed.

An hour later, however, he looked weak, exhausted, and his face was bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. He hadn't produced anything more than a weak silver cloud, and the fury at having Harry so easily create a stag when he couldn't even do half as well, was making him tremble.

"It took me a while to get it," Harry offered, watching Malfoy worriedly.

Malfoy didn't reply.

The next day, they tried again, and the next, and the next. Malfoy's frustration grew, but so did his strength. Still, it was not enough, he could not produce a full Patronus.

"Maybe you should try focusing on another memory," Harry said desperately, after watching another silver mist disappear. "A happier one."

Malfoy was furious. He had never liked to be beaten at anything, Harry knew, and now it probably seemed to him that Harry was purposely parading the fact that he could do this charm and Malfoy couldn't in front of him, gloating him. Harry wasn't.

"A happier one?" Malfoy snarled. "A happier memory? I haven't got one!"

"Well… you have to, because that one's not working," Harry said reasonably. "What's the memory?"

"Oh, yes, Potter, I'm about to spill my secrets to you."

"Hmm. No need to get bitchy. Maybe it's just that you don't have anything to practice on. When I learned, Lupin had a Boggart that would take the form of a Dementor—that's my biggest fear—and I practiced my Patronus on it."

"Well, we haven't got any Boggarts here," Malfoy snapped, before stalking away. Harry watched him go, feeling strangely dejected but not going after him. He knew it didn't matter, Malfoy wouldn't go too far away, and in a matter of hours, he would be weak and falling apart in Harry's arms.

Later that day, when the curse hit Malfoy and he lay panting and moaning, locked in nightmares, Harry held him and cried. He was so scared and so lost, and this curse was going to destroy every person he knew and loved and millions more he didn't even know, and now, holding Malfoy tightly and stroking his back, crying into his hair, Harry could not help but be thankful for it. For the madness that let him have these moments with Malfoy where he did not have to be on his guard, did not have to suffer Malfoy's arrogance, nor his cruelty. The madness allowed Harry to hold him, made Malfoy need him, and in those moments, Harry could wonder about that almost-kiss that Malfoy seemed to have forgotten, think about that soft smile that had caused the world around him to shift. Think about how good and how right it felt to hold Malfoy.

And it was so, so wrong to wish that the curse never left. To wish that Malfoy could suffer this curse forever, just so Harry could keep him, like a pet, or a child, and sometimes, like a lover.

So he held Malfoy and he cried and he wished that things were different, and in another cavern a long distance away, Pansy fell prey to the madness and screamed, but no one came.

***

Malfoy was sleeping, Pansy was brewing potions, and Harry was sitting alone in the cavern of books. There were burning candles all around, and his hair was wild, his eyes burning from lack of sleep. Crumbled parchments lay all over the floor.

He was drawing, because he'd spent so many consecutive hours writing notes and ideas and thoughts that words stopped having any distinctive meaning. The English language was blurring into indistinguishable sounds and sketching and scribbling seemed to be infinitely faster, and to convey more meaning.

The only sound was the hissing of candles and the scratch of his quill, and Harry was lost in dark, panicky thoughts, as he sketched the same thing, over and over again.

It was Malfoy's face, and it was bathed in tears. Harry couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, couldn't break the fucking curse, all he could do was doodle Malfoy's face all over his parchment, and every picture showed tears raining down his cheeks. He couldn't do it, couldn't, would never… he wasn't a hero, anyone who thought he was one was wrong, was incredibly naïve. The world could not be saved by a boy like him, who was so scared and so weak and so alone, who owed the world so much and had nothing left to give, except blotchy, ink sketchings of a boy who was going mad.

Harry snarled and threw his quill, collapsing in tears on the table. His tears mixed with Malfoy's inky ones, and the drawing blurred and twisted beneath him.

"I can't," he whispered, after the tears had ebbed. "I'm not a wizard hero, I'm just a boy. How can I stop a curse like this? I didn't even know I was a wizard until I was eleven, and was always too busy to study. Hermione should be the fucking hero…"

He trailed off, resting his chin on his folded arms, unaware of the ink stain on his cheek that so closely resembled the ones he had drawn on Draco's face. He thought about Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron, and how much simpler it was to find the Philosopher's Stone and beat Malfoy at Quidditch, than to save the world from a contagious curse and hold Malfoy every time the other boy descended into madness. And where were Ron and Hermione now?

It didn't matter. The war had destroyed more important things than the first friendships he'd ever had.

"They're lucky," he mumbled, thinking of Malfoy and Pansy. "Their nightmares don't last forever, but I'm stuck in this one and no one holds me and keeps it away. They threw me into this. It's a fucking nightmare."

Maybe he'd lost his mind to the curse like everyone else, and this was his Dementor-inspired nightmare.

But even if it was, Harry would beat it. Even if it wasn't real.

He began reviewing everything Pansy had told him about the curse and how it operated, determined now to find something, anything. He mumbled under his breath while he went over his notes.

And then a sudden thought made him sit up straighter. "It channels the Dementor magic like a satellite," he whispered. "Like Muggle television. Well, how do you stop the signal from being transmitted to a television? Cut the wire…" he trailed off, chewing his lower lip. "Or… or destroy the source of the signal."

He blinked. "Destroy the source. Kill them all. Fucking kill them all."

"You've got ink," came a bored, lazy voice from the doorway. Harry instantly recognized it as Malfoy's. "On your face, I mean."

He glanced up and stared blankly, his exhausted mind unable to process the fact that Malfoy was there, and had been for a while. Watching Harry lose his mind, listening to him talk to himself. "What?" he asked.

Malfoy frowned. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Slept?" Harry echoed, blinking.

Malfoy swore quietly, came into the cavern and took him by the wrist, tugging him out of his chair. "You're going to sleep," he told Harry. "C'mon."

"Can't," Harry mumbled, even as he swayed dangerously, eyelids fluttering weakly. "I have to research… have to… and then we were going to try the Patronus again, and… and…"

"Shut up." He tugged Harry into the bedroom and nudged him out of most of his clothes and then forced him onto the bed. Then he turned to go, and Harry grabbed his hand.

"No," he said sleepily, shaking his head. "Don't go… please, Malfoy? Stay with me…"

Malfoy studied him with dark, unreadable eyes, and then said, with a sardonic smile, "What, Potter, and hold you even after I threw you into this nightmare?"

"Please," Harry whispered, but he needn't have bothered. Malfoy was already crawling into the bed and curling up around him, holding him and stroking his wild hair soothingly.

Harry was asleep in seconds.

***

Ron had left and memories of Lucius were whispering, but Ginny would not fall prey to them. Lucius hadn't come for her, hadn't stopped his son from taking her away, had not stopped Voldemort from nearly killing her when he'd found out about her and Lucius. Instead of remembering, she paced the kitchen where her mum had spent so many hours cooking, remembering everything she could about her. How she smelled and spoke and moved.

It helped keep her mind on the present until Ron walked in, looking tired and worn as he always did these days. He smiled when he saw her though; a nervous, frightened smile.

"Something strange is happening in London," he said.

"What is it?" She didn't care, but it seemed the polite thing to say.

"I'm not sure. Something strange. Dumbledore wasn't well."

She blinked. "Wasn't well? He's always well."

"I went and saw him. He says he's suffering from nightmares and not to worry. But after I saw him, I went to Diagon Alley to meet Fred and George, and they looked just as ill. Nightmares, they claimed. And even the Muggles on the bus were whispering about nightmares."

"It's only natural. Surely even Muggles are aware of something terrible going on. Everyone's got nightmares from the war."

Ron nodded and looked distracted. "It seemed strange, that's all. And as I shook Fred's hand in farewell, I couldn't help but worry that I'd never see him again."

Ginny didn't reply. A long moment passed, and then she said weakly, "Was there any news of…"

"Of who?" he asked.

"No one," she whispered. Still, Ron looked furious. "And Harry?" she asked swiftly. "Have they found Harry?" Harry's name was spat with fury, because Ron expected it, because Ron had told her before he left, that he missed the old Ginny, the one with fire. She had no fire left, but she could pretend, for Ron.

"No," he said shortly.

He was angry and she was too numb to be anything. It was silent. And then Ron's fingertips brushed her cheek and Ginny flinched, an indefinable something passing from his touch into her body and mind. It felt like there was something screaming there, in the back of her mind, some part of her dying.

***

"Malfoy. Come on, it just takes practice is all," Harry said, frustrated. Malfoy was sprawled in a chair by the hearth, sulking, and three silver stags pranced around the cavern and disappeared.

"Fuck practice," Malfoy said. "I don't feel like doing it."

Harry considered this for a moment, and then said, "I've… brought you a present. It might help." He was incredibly nervous, hadn't been sure he was going to do this at all, even when he'd spent all those hours that morning preparing it.

"A present?" Malfoy perked up a bit at that. "What is it?"

Harry studied him for a second and then let out a careful breath. "Let me get it." He left the cavern and returned a moment later, holding a shallow silver bowl with both hands.

Malfoy looked at it skeptically. "Food?" he asked distastefully. "How will that help me?"

"It's a collection of my happiest memories, in a Pensieve."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he didn't reply. He approached the bowl, however, and stared into the silver liquid, an unreadable emotion in his eyes. "I don't want your memories, Potter," he said, after a moment.

"Your memories won't work. You can borrow mine."

"It doesn't work that way. Besides, you can't take bits of your goodness, pour them into a bowl, and expect me to absorb them."

Growing irritated, Harry snarled, "How do you expect me to teach you this if you won't even try?"

"It's not going to work!" Malfoy shouted, losing his temper. "You don't understand, it won't work! Who cares if it works? I don't need it and I don't need you, just fuck off!"

"You do so need me! Without me, you'd have lost your mind a long time ago!"

"Maybe I already have," Malfoy hissed.

Furious at himself for allowing such vulnerability, for giving his most precious moments to Malfoy only to have them thrown in his face, Harry swiped at the bowl, sending it crashing to the floor. It shattered, silver drops spraying up and showering them both.

For a long moment, there was no movement and, startled, Harry's eyes locked with Malfoy's and then the world dropped away and they were plunged into some of Harry's favourite memories.

Harry had not chosen the memories specifically, had almost randomly plucked them from his mind, sure that, after they were finished practicing, he could take them back. Now, he found himself terrified, because Malfoy was facing him, looking horrified, and all around them, a strange fog was drifting. Harry waited nervously for something to happen, either for them to be thrown out of the memories, or the memories to start unfolding… something. Malfoy released a shaky breath.

"Get us out of here, Potter," he said. It echoed strangely in the mist.

And then they weren't alone. Harry could hear voices, shouting and echoing, words indistinct but coming closer. And then a very young Draco Malfoy stalked passed, nearly walking right through the older version of the same, who leapt back with a yelp. Fourteen-year-old Hermione followed him quickly, and slapped him across the face.

Malfoy glared at Harry, lifting his eyebrows, and Harry laughed softly. He hadn't known that was one of his fondest memories.

The younger versions of Hermione and Malfoy faded away, and before Harry could suggest they try to get out of there, Malfoy flew by on a broomstick, shouting indistinctly over his shoulder. Wind was ruffling his blond hair, and a smirk lit up his face. There was a Remembrall clutched in his hand.

"Fondest memories?" Malfoy drawled, as Harry flew by, chasing Malfoy. They flew around and around, shouting at each other and then faded away before the Remembrall left Malfoy's hand.

"I don't know," Harry whispered, confused. "I didn't pick them distinctly. Maybe I messed the spell up and chose all my memories of you."

Malfoy glanced away, because another memory was coming out of the mist, and this one didn't include Malfoy at all. Instead, it was Christmas time, and somewhere, someone was singing ‘God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs'.

"Sirius…" Harry breathed. "Oh god." And then he took off into the mists, following the singing, panting desperately, longing for even one glimpse of his godfather.

Malfoy followed, shouting his name. "Potter? Potter! Damn you, what the hell are you doing?" And then he was gone, fallen behind in the mist, and Harry was alone in the swirling fog, with only the distant singing to guide him. Even that was getting quieter, and then it disappeared all together.

Harry slowed and then stopped entirely, spinning in a slow circle. "Sirius?" he cried. "Sirius, where…" he trailed off, swallowing hard. "Malfoy?" he whimpered. "Someone?"

Dead silence, and swirling mists. "I fucked up the spell, I fucked it up, this isn't a Pensieve, it can't be…" Harry spun around, searching the mist for Malfoy. He screamed the other boy's name but there was no reply.

And then a giant troll lumbered past and there were screams and Harry, at eleven years old, dashed through the mist after the troll. Harry flinched, startled, and then, moments later Hermione, Harry, and Ron walked back, together.

"Malfoy?" Harry whimpered.

And then Malfoy was flying by, face taut with concentration, and Cho Chang was following him, watching him rather than the skies. A Quidditch Match, Ravenclaw vs. Slytherin.

Malfoy grabbed the snitch and beamed, and Harry blinked, suddenly understanding why that memory was in here. He'd never seen a more beautiful smile.

And then there was a golden cup and two boys were running for it, together.

"No, no, no," Harry chanted, because that was not one of his favourite memories, that was one of the worst. Except that moment, seconds before their fingers brushed the cup…

Harry turned away, panicking, and there he was, beaming at his godfather after Sirius offered to let him live with him instead of the Dursleys and there he was, seeing his parents in the mirror of Erised and holding the Quidditch Cup and there was Malfoy again, smiling a private smile that no one saw except Harry in Potions. And there was Dobby, crying because he was free. And Aunt Petunia, and she was covered in pudding. And Aunt Marge, and she was floating near the ceiling. And then a phoenix, and it was soaring, a young Harry clinging to its leg.

"Malfoy," Harry shrieked, because every happy memory was bringing up bad memories, of Voldemort destroying all of this goodness, and Harry did not want to have to remember these things. "Malfoy, w-where are you?" He was nearly in tears.

Malfoy was there suddenly, and furious. "You left me," he snapped.

Suddenly, a hazy Quidditch game memory unfolded around them, and they were standing mid-air. It was so disorienting that Harry grabbed Malfoy's wrist and his mouth fell open. They were hovering over the pitch on the same level that they'd be flying if they were playing Seeker in the game. A younger Harry was there, his eyes narrowed with concentration, his fingers wrapped tightly around his broomstick. He wasn't searching for the Snitch, however. There was a flash of white-blond and Harry turned his head to see what his younger self was looking at. It was Malfoy, across the pitch on his broom. A Bludger had just nearly taken his head off, and Malfoy was laughing as if he hadn't for one wild second nearly lost his head.

The Snitch hovered by Harry's cheek, the wings so close they brushed his skin, but Harry didn't look away from Malfoy. But then the game faded away like melting sugar and Harry winced.

"I remember that," Malfoy said quietly, when the mist was the only thing that moved around them. "I caught the Snitch a few minutes later. Seventh year. We won the cup.

Harry growled softly and didn't reply. "We should get out of here."

"Why would your fondest memories include the game I won?"

"How do we get out?" Harry said desperately.

"I don't —"

They were out suddenly, and standing in the empty cavern, staring blankly at each other. Pansy had come in and called their names, dragging them from the Pensieve.

A strange, dark look crossed Malfoy's face and, looking rather puzzled, he glared once before stalking out of the cavern.

***

"It's everywhere," Ron whispered, terrified. Ginny just stared at him blankly. "Oh god, Ginny, it's eating everyone, destroying them."

"The nightmares?" she had not slept in days for fear of the nightmares. "Where do they come from?"

"It's… I went and saw Dumbledore today. It's a new curse. It's the fourth Unforgivable."

This was all such a nightmare, this being awake, that Ginny did not care if someone were seeking to drive them all made with nightmares. Still, Ron was worried, and Ginny did her best to seem concerned. She lacked the depth to feel anything these days, anything but emptiness and restlessness and a vague sense of being stained by filthy fingerprints. "A curse?" she echoed.

"Dumbledore is researching it… But it's contagious. Nearly everyone in London has it, at least the beginning symptoms. And the first to be hit with it in the only battle it was ever used in, they've all died. Suicide. It drove them mad."

She smiled, then, because she was cursed with a curse that would drive her to madness? The curse would have to hurry to catch up to her, because she was already mad. "Suicide?" She hadn't considered that option, because Ron would cry and Ron loved her so. He did not love her the way he was supposed to, the way Charlie and her other brothers loved her, he loved her in the way that meant he wanted to touch her and kiss her. But he loved her and Lucius had lied and said he had loved her, but he hadn't come for her so it could not have been true. Ginny could not leave the Ron because she had hurt him so badly already. But maybe, now that the curse was driving him mad too, maybe they could die together. Kill themselves together. Then she wouldn't be leaving him behind. "Are you frightened?" she asked him, eyes narrowed. "You're cursed. The nightmares, they'll get worse, won't they?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I saw some victims in the last stage of madness, and it's… they're barely alive. They're so tortured and broken and terrified."

"I don't want to be that way." She pretended to be scared, and it worked; Ron gathered her up and rocked her.

"Hush now. You won't ever get to be that way."

"I won't?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Dumbledore will find a cure." Ron sounded so sure, and Ginny started to cry. There were no tears, but she made the proper whimpers and sobs.

"But Ron, what if he doesn't? Promise me, promise me, you won't let me get that bad. Please, Ron?"

"What… what do you mean?" he whispered.

She pulled back, eyes blazing with more feeling than she'd shown in days. "Promise me you won't let me break. I'd rather die than break."

"I… I swear it," he promised.

She smiled and kissed him on the lips.


Author notes: The song lyrics here come from 'I'll Change For You' by Roseanne Cash. Also, sorry for the delay with this chapter, school became dreadfully busy. However, I will be updating more quickly from now on.