Windfallen

CHAPTER 7: Dragon

Well I was there in the beginning
And I saw you choose your path
I watched your candle burning
And I knew it wouldn't last
'Cos when experience comes knocking
Innocence will pass
And all that once seemed child-like
Is now ugly, crude and crass
And you wonder how you lost yourself
So many years ago.

Harry woke first, and sometime in the middle of the night, they had shifted, and now they were lying face to face. He watched Malfoy sleep for a long time, thinking about kisses and things, things like shame and regret and how none of them seemed to apply. Charlie had kissed him and there had been shame in that, and regret, of course, and Harry had come to think of kissing as shameful. Kissing had meant standing really still and hoping that kissing was where it would end.

But kissing Draco Malfoy... there was no shame in that. Perhaps there should have been. He should be crying and throwing himself off a bridge somewhere, wailing something about his only love springing from his only hate. Something melodramatic. Instead, all he wanted to do was kiss Malfoy again, and that wasn't melodramatic at all. It was rather...soft.

So he did kiss him again, barely brushing his lips across Malfoy's, surprised when Malfoy instantly and instinctively responded, mumbling in his sleep and sliding closer. One of his arms slid up around Harry's shoulders and his eyes opened a crack.

Licking his dry lips and burrowing closer, Malfoy murmured, "Potter?"

"Mmm?"

"Did you just kiss me?"

"Yeah." He flushed a little, and Malfoy smiled sleepily, eyes closing again.

"Oh." There was a thoughtful pause. "Right then."

"We should probably talk about that," Harry said reluctantly.

"I don't think so," Malfoy sighed contentedly.

"Why?"

"Too early. Sleeping."

Harry sighed and smiled and wondered when things had gotten so simple and yet so complicated all at the same time. "Sleep then," he said, but it didn't matter, because Malfoy already was. "You're impossible," he said softly, so as not to wake him, even as he rested his chin on Malfoy's head and closed his eyes.

He fell asleep again quickly, falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, and there, Harry started to dream.

In the dream, he was not Harry at all, he was a dragon, with huge, black wings, stretched leathery skin spread between fragile networks of bone sprouting from his shoulders, a long, arching neck, and a thick layer of scales covering his body. He was angry, and flame was slipping from his mouth, scorching the ground far below, leaving ash and soot in his wake. His wings beat easily and his body cut cleanly through the air, destroying everything in his path. Trees, animals, and even people burst into flame and died beneath him, sometimes even people he recognized. Hermione died, and Ron, Ginny, Pansy, Charlie, people he had known before and people he'd never seen before, all screaming as they burnt to death.

And then he saw someone it took him a moment to recognize. It was himself, lying bound on the ground below, arms spread wide, blood leaking from his torn hands and feet, where swords had been driven through to pin him to the ground, like a butterfly. Blood stained his face and his neck, his clothes were torn and bloody, and his eyes open, spiteful and sneering up at Harry the dragon.

The urge to destroy was more intense than ever. So strong was Harry the dragon's hatred for the Harry who lay prone beneath him that he did not want to burn him, he wanted to tear him apart with his talons and his teeth. So Harry the dragon dove until he was crouching over Harry on the ground, who twisted and laughed and spat at him.

The dragon's talons tore into the flesh of Harry's stomach easily, ripping and pulling as Harry's laughter was cut off with shrieks. Harry the dragon began tearing at the face, aiming for the eyes, snorting smoke and flame from nostrils that burn with the heat of it.

Harry the dragon would have been content to keep ripping Harry on the ground into pieces, until he was bloody and unrecognizable, but Harry on the ground was shouting something now, but it was in English, and Harry the dragon didn't speak English.

So he kept scratching and pounding with claws that gradually, gradually, shifted and changed, until they were fists, human fists, pound and pounding, and Harry the dragon looked up, horrified, into Harry on the ground's green eyes. He blinked, and the green was gone.

It was Malfoy beneath him, gray eyes startled and terrified.

As the last wisps of the dream faded away, Harry stiffened, suddenly aware that he was straddling Malfoy, pining him to the bed, and that his own fists were wet with Malfoy's blood.

There was blood leaking from scratches across one of Malfoy's cheek, from his nose and his lip as well, and one of his eyes was already starting to swell.

Harry's eyes widened, disorientation gradually giving way to absolute terror. "Oh my god," he whimpered, leaping off Malfoy and crouching at the edge of the bed, his entire body trembling. Sitting up slowly, Malfoy did not tear his eyes away, did not reach up to his face to try to slow the bleeding from his mouth or nose. He just stared, terror gradually disappearing from his eyes, replaced by confusion.

"Potter?" he whispered warily. "Are you--"

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes widening even further. With a strangled moan, he leapt of the bed and ran from the cavern into another not far away, that had been converted into a bathroom. He threw up there, violent retches combined with harsh sobs, the taste of vomit and tears mixing in his mouth. Then, as soon as the nausea faded away, he turned on the tap, cupped his trembling hand under the water, and scooped as much as he could into his mouth, rinsing and spitting. It didn't help.

Claustrophobia was threatening, his breathing coming faster and faster as memories of ripping himself apart whispered in the back of his mind, combined with the knowledge of what he had done to Malfoy.

He was nearly blind with panic when he took off running from the cavern, desperate to get as far away from Malfoy as he could, as if that might help him forget what he'd just done, what he'd just dreamed. Help him get the taste of vomit and tears out of his mouth, help him stop imagining he could taste blood there as well.

He ran into Pansy, nearly knocking her over.

She grabbed his arm, eyes narrowing. "Potter," she said. "What on earth... there's blood on your face."

Sobbing once, dryly, he tried to pull away. She did not let go, pulling him into the cavern she'd just left, which was her bedroom.

"Stop it," she instructed firmly, closing the door. It was dark in the room, and that calmed him a little, as he stood in the center of the room trembling and breathing heavily. She studied him in silence and then nudged him until he was sitting on the bed.

There was a basin of water on the desk near the door that he could barely see in the light of the dim lamp that was hanging from the ceiling, and Pansy fetched that and a clean washcloth. She sat beside him and wet the cloth and began gently washing the blood from his face. "What happened?" she asked.

"I... I hurt him," he admitted roughly.

The cloth stilled. "Draco?"

"I didn't mean to..." He started crying heavily, his face crumpling, and he pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face there. Pansy cradled his jaw and tilted his face back up, and continued washing.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"I was dreaming and I woke up and I was on him," Harry confessed, sniffling and staring at her beseechingly, waiting for her condemnation. After all, she loved Malfoy.

"What were you dreaming of?" she asked instead, rinsing the cloth and then washing his tears away. Harry had not even stopped to grab his glasses.

"A dragon," he whispered. "I was a dragon and I killed everybody and I saw myself on the ground and I ripped myself apart and woke up and it was Malfoy."

She considered for a while, stroking the hair off his sticky forehead and letting her fingers linger there, as if checking for a fever. "Is he alright?" she asked finally, her hand falling away.

"I don't know."

"I'm sure he is. Calm down, Potter."

For all her firm tone and her brisk attitude, she was being remarkably gentle, and Harry sighed. "Why are you taking care of me?" he asked quietly, swallowing hard.

She laughed softly. "You're Draco Malfoy's, Potter. It is my job to protect anything belonging to him."

He opened his eyes and studied her in the darkness for a long moment, before whimpering softly and letting himself fall forward, until his head was pillowed on her shoulder. She stroked his hair and sighed. "I don't know what's happening," Harry whispered.

"With the dream?" she asked.

There was a pause. "With Malfoy."

"What do you mean?"

Harry considered for a moment, and then said, "I kissed him."

"You love him."

"I can't."

She was quiet for a moment and then said thoughtfully, "Why not?"

"Because he's Draco Malfoy. Because we fight for different sides. Because he would see my best friend tortured and killed for having Muggle parents. Because he is egotistical, impossible, and irritating. Because it would be a betrayal to my friends and my side in the war."

"And what about you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"It would be a betrayal of your friends if you loved him, but what about yourself? Wouldn't it be a betrayal of yourself not to love him?"

Harry frowned. "I am not meant to love him. Anyone can see that just by looking at us. It isn't possible."

Pansy touched his chin, tilting his head up until his eyes met hers. "Listen to me," she said quietly, her voice very strong. "Anyone can tell, just from looking at you. If anyone ever tried to tell you that you could ever love anyone else as completely as you are meant to love Draco Malfoy, they never really saw you."

Tears were still stinging in his eyes, and when Harry closed them, a few escaped and rolled down his cheeks. "I owe them more than this."

"Owe who?"

"Dumbledore. Ron. Charlie." He could have gone on naming people, but Pansy snorted.

"Dumbledore's been using you since you were a child. Ron gave you up for a spy after you saved his little sister. Charlie turned you in for a spy after trying to take advantage of you."

He flinched and did not comment.

After a moment, when Pansy's shoulder grew sharp and uncomfortable, and Harry shifted restlessly, there was a knock on the door.

Pansy opened it, and Hermione was standing there, looking uncertain and nervous. "Malfoy's going mad," she said. "He's pacing around shouting and throwing things." Harry moaned and hugged his knees to his chest and Hermione glanced at him worriedly. "Did something happen?"

"Harry had a nightmare," Pansy explained briskly, stepping out of the room and closing the door, taking Hermione with her.

Harry was left alone in the dark in Pansy's bedroom and, weakly, he fell back onto the bed, curling up as small as he could get and smothering a whimper by biting his lower lip. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself into death or unconsciousness, because he could not get Malfoy's terrified eyes out of his mind.

The bedroom door cracked open, letting in a sliver of light. Malfoy peered nervously through it. "Are you still here?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Harry whimpered, flinching away from the light. At the sound, Malfoy pushed the door open further. "Hey," he called quietly.

Swallowing heavily, Harry didn't reply.

"How are you doing?" Malfoy tried, edging into the room.

"Are you still..." He trailed off.

"Am I still what?"

"Bloody." His voice cracked.

"Oh." Malfoy let his breath out in a rush. "Granger cleaned that up and healed it." There was a pause, and Malfoy crept farther into the room, closing the door.

"You were throwing things," Harry said softly. "Why?"

"Oh, that. Uhm. I came after you when you ran away and before I could catch you, you ran into Pansy and... I guess Granger got protective. She must have seen the blood and... stopped me... wouldn't let me come in... I was sort of...angry."

"At me?"

There was a surprised pause. "Why... why would I be mad?"

"I..." He winced, voice cracking. "I hurt... made you... bleed... I'm...S-sorry... Malfoy..." And then he couldn't help it anymore, and he started crying, harsh sobs making his throat burn.

Malfoy was there suddenly, leaping onto the bed and wrapping his arms around him, holding him tightly. "Stop. Stop it, Potter, it's alright, it's alright. Fuck, it's okay..."

Harry choked on his tears, clinging to Malfoy and sobbing harder than he could ever remember having cried before. As his crying started to calm a little, Malfoy stroked his hair and shifted him, so that Harry was lying on his side, head in Malfoy's lap, while Malfoy stroked his hair.

"It's alright," he said again. "It's okay. Stop crying."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nodded blindly. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"You had a bad dream?"

Shivering, Harry nodded again. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Shut up."

Harry laughed tearfully, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Okay," he said.

"It wasn't your fault, it was mine, anyway. I was... sometimes that happens. If someone gets hit by the Dark Patronus... sometimes it takes a while for their mind to adjust to not being in the nightmares, while they're asleep mostly. What happened in the dream?"

"I was trying to tear myself apart," Harry whispered, sighing. "And then I woke up and it was you and I was scared you'd be mad. I mean, I hurt you. Why... why didn't you push me off?"

Malfoy ran his fingers through Harry's hair. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said quietly.

Turning his face until it was pressed into Malfoy's leg, Harry started crying again, and Malfoy sighed and stroked his back, and Harry distantly wondered how there could be something even softer and sweeter than kissing Malfoy, and how it could be crying and having Malfoy touch him.

He pulled away rather sheepishly a moment later, drying his face on his sleeve and clearing his throat. "Hermione must be worried, I should..." he trailed off.

"Are you alright?"

"Pansy... Pansy called me yours." He didn't know why he said it, nor why he watched Malfoy's face so carefully when he did. He was a bit surprised by the slow smile that spread across Malfoy's lips.

"Did she?" he asked innocently, climbing from the bed and taking Harry's hand.

"Uh huh," Harry said, letting Malfoy tug him from the room.

"Smart girl, Pansy," Malfoy commented without looking back at him, leading him out of the room. Harry's eyes widened and he stumbled, trying to figure out what exactly he could have meant by that.

***

Hermione was chewing her quill, and Harry watched, wondering where she'd picked up that habit. She looked stronger already, the curse not having caused her to deteriorate to an extreme degree, and the potion Pansy gave her giving her strength.

"I'm not sure I understand," she said. "Where exactly are we?"

"I think it's a sort of fortress, a secret, underground series of caverns. Probably created as a final retreat for the Death Eaters. No one knows we're here, I don't think." Harry flipped a few more pages in his book.

She considered for a moment and then said, "And you're immune to the curse."

"Yes. And I think I can stop it if I kill all the Dementors."

"I don't know if Dementors can be killed."

"They can! Malfoy knows a spell, a Dark Patronus, that kills Dementors. He's trying to teach it to me."

Hermione frowned. "Harry... what's going on with you and Malfoy?"

"What do you mean?"

"You had a nightmare this morning, right?"

"Yeah."

"And you hurt him in your sleep?"

"Yes."

"Why were you sleeping with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry blinked and then shrugged. "I... He needs me."

"Harry..."

"What?"

"I just don't know if it's wise to trust him. He's fighting for the other side."

He lost his temper. "There aren't sides anymore, Hermione! Everyone is dying! It was stupid to have sides to begin with. Over blood. We were fighting over blood. It all tastes the same and it all feels the same under my fingernails and I know that because it's been there and none of it matters anymore! This isn't us against the Death Eaters, it's Draco and I against... against everything."

"You called him Draco," she whispered.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So? What... what is he to you?"

"He...takes care of me. We take care of each other."

She sighed. "Harry, you've never needed anyone to take care of you."

He stared at her blankly. "I haven't?"

"You're the strongest person I know. You're a hero, Harry. I don't... it's just... I don't understand, I can tell you're attached to him, and I don't understand why. All of this is his fault, and the fault of people just like him."

"It isn't just their fault. If they hadn't invented the curse, we would have, eventually. It was war. It was fucking stupid. Everyone thinks they're right in arguments like this, theological ones. Who's to say that they aren't right to segregate the wizards from the Muggles?"

"That's... that's a terrible thing to say!"

"I didn't say I believed it! But think about it. Muggles are dying too because of this curse. We're not good for them. And they've been burning us at the stake for years. Maybe we can't get along. I'm not saying we should run around killing and torturing them, or that purebloods are better than anyone else. I'm just saying, the Muggles have never been all that interested in cultivating a relationship with anyone who is different than they are. Maybe it's better that we remain a secret from them. Maybe... maybe it's better for the Muggles and us if we stop having relations with them."

"Did Malfoy tell you all of this?" she whispered.

Harry scowled. "We've never discussed it."

"How can you say these things? How can you believe them?"

Harry snapped, "I don't know what I believe, just that I don't believe in giving everything I have for a world where nightmares are driving people mad! I don't believe in spilling blood in a mad attempt to save lives, I don't believe in killing people for what they believe in, and I don't believe that you could possibly believe that I have never needed anyone to take care of me!"

Hermione's eyes were sparkling with tears. "I'm sorry," she said.

He sighed. "Let's just forget it. I'm sorry that you've had to go through all this. I mean, Pansy and all that must have been terrifying enough, and then everything this morning, now this..."

She touched his hand. "Harry..."

He pulled away, because something in her touch made him shiver, but forced a smile. "It's fine."

She sighed. "Pansy wanted me to meet her in the kitchen so she could teach me to make the potions. I suppose I ought to go anyway."

He watched as she left and then turned back to the book he'd been studying, feeling frustrated and annoyed.

It came as a complete surprise when Malfoy was there suddenly, tilting his head up and slamming his lips down onto Harry's, kissing him hard. Surprise melted away into a perplexed sort of enjoyment as Harry kissed him back, closing his eyes and letting all his frustration fall away.

When Malfoy pulled away, he asked breathlessly, "What was that for?"

Malfoy kissed him again and again, until Harry's head swam and he was so dizzy that just staying in his chair took effort. When he was clinging to Malfoy's shoulders and panting loudly, Malfoy finally broke the kiss and said, "I was spying from the doorway."

"You were--" Harry started to echo contentedly, and then he stopped, eyes flying open and going very wide. "Malfoy," he hissed. "You can't do that! Can't just listen to people's private conversations!"

Malfoy was nuzzling the side of his neck, kneeling beside his chair, and he asked absently, "I can't?"

"No!"

"Hmm. That's unfortunate." He bit Harry's neck lightly.

"Malfoy."

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

Malfoy pulled away, laughing. Harry was incredibly startled by the sound, staring in shock. It took him a while to realize that it was because he couldn't remember ever having heard Malfoy laugh before. "I'm sorry," Malfoy apologized, sounding more like he had back at Hogwarts than ever. Both snide and smug and irresistible all at once. "I was overcome and not thinking clearly."

"Overcome?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Quite."

"Why?"

Malfoy's smile turned from smug to something almost like shy, and he cleared his throat. "Because I was worried that you'd let her brainwash you into hating me again and I was listening from the doorway and... and because... well."

"Well what?"

"You're sort of..." He wrinkled his nose, searching for the right word. "Well... kissable, I suppose. When you're all indignant and ranty, I mean."

Harry wondered if he was blushing and touched his own cheek, just to check. He cleared his throat and said, "Thank you, I think." He took Malfoy's hand and, acting on instinct, kissed it. "Kissable?" he repeated doubtfully.

Malfoy nodded, grinning. "Yes. I couldn't help it." He pulled another chair over and straddled it, gesturing to the books. "What are you working on?"

"You sure you want to hear? I mean, should you be resting or something?"

Looking offended, Malfoy said, "I feel fine. Better than I have in a while." He looked serious for a moment and then said, "I think... I think you took my nightmares, this morning. Maybe, because of that, I'll have less."

Harry considered it for a moment, and then leaned forward and kissed Malfoy again, a sweet and lingering kiss. "Then I'm glad for it," he said earnestly.

"Shut up," Malfoy said playfully, rolling his eyes. "It's fine. But tell me what you've found out. The sooner we figure it out, the sooner we can leave these blasted caves."

So they worked together for a while, though Harry was more easily distracted than ever, both by Malfoy's playful mood and his own contentedness. He hadn't felt so warm and young in years.

Afterwards, when they went to get some lunch from the kitchens, Hermione smiled nervously at him and Harry smiled back, an unspoken agreement to forget their fight. It was for the best anyway, since living in the dark caves was claustrophobic enough without fighting to make it even more tense.

Harry spent the evening trying to learn to make a Dark Patronus and failing miserably, because he kept giggling breathlessly, not over anything in particular. Malfoy even had a bit of trouble creating one, he was so distracted by Harry.

Malfoy kissed him goodnight before they fell asleep, curled up together and smiling sleepily.

***

Ginny was lost and wondering almost absently why it didn't hurt, why it was so cool and empty and a little harsh around the edges, when before, with Lucius, it had been so smooth and soothing and perfect.

This was not sex, nor fucking and certainly not making love. This was something shameful and meant to be kept secret and the stuff nightmares were made of, because she was Ginny Weasley and he was Ronald Weasley and he was inside of her and such things had never been meant to be.

She wondered what Charlie would say, or her mother, her father. What Lucius would say, if he could see her now, naked and pale beneath Ron as he moved inside her and kissed her sloppily and whispered empty promises into the hair at her temple and she cried.

He was crying too, and she was not surprised. He knew that this was wrong. Knew that it was a violation. Knew that she could not, would not, love him the way he loved her. Maybe he was ashamed of marking his baby sister's skin with kisses and bruises and love bites and such.

Ginny felt more and more dirty and sullied with every kiss and movement.

And then he was trembling and coming and she was thankful that it was over and wondering if she was crying.

She touched her face; she wasn't. That was a relief at any rate.

It had started out as a nightmare and had become worse. She'd woken up screaming and he had been beside her and had held her and kissed her and touched her in an effort to offer comfort, which had become more. More, more, more, she had thought it was alright. It was Ron, she owed him loved him did not deserve him and a thousand things more that she could not even recall, as he pulled her pajamas off.

It smelt of shame, as he lay spent and weak above her, if shame had a smell. Rather like burning leaves and old tires, she decided, though the smell that burnt her nostrils was not real, but just an image in her mind. A hazy, floating image of a used and dirty tire rotting in a field.

How had it come to this?

And then Ron's body stiffened with guilt or shame or something else, and he said, in an attempt at justification, "You will not be his doll anymore."

She looked at him blankly, her compliancy of before giving way to a cold and deadly rage. "Better Lucius Malfoy's doll than your whore," she spat.

He flinched. It was not his fault, she knew. She had wanted it. Wanted someone's fingertips to wipe away Lucius', because he had not come for her, not wanted her, not remembered her.

Before Ron could think of a reply, the door downstairs slammed and Charlie called his name excitedly. Ron paled. "Oh my god," he whispered, getting off of her and grabbing his trousers. He pulled them on while she lazily stretched and grabbed a sheet that had fallen to the floor, draping it over her hips and pulling it up and over one shoulder.

Charlie threw the door open and did not even think about Ron's naked chest or Ginny's wild hair. He grabbed his brother by the arm and tugged him out into the hall, swinging the door shut behind him. It did not close all the way, and Ginny heard every word he said.

"The stupid bugger's got it," Charlie hissed. Ginny wasn't particularly paying attention. There was an itching in the back of her mind, and she felt sure the nightmares were waking. There was a stickiness on her thighs and it made her want to vomit.

"Who?" Ron asked.

"Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy."

Her head snapped up and her eyes narrowed. Ron closed the door further, but she still heard. "What? He's got what?"

"The curse. Apparently the degree the curse affects you is somewhat connected to how much you have to fear. Apparently he has a lot to fear." Charlie snickered. "I hear he's already gone mad from it."

Ron said something that Ginny didn't catch, because she was too horrified to listen. Lucius all alone and mad with terror while she lay beneath her brother and stared up at the ceiling while he fucked her? She could not bear the thought.

Charlie and Ron were still talking, but Ginny couldn't hear a word. The itching in her mind had become a sort of frantic screaming, that tore from her lips and shattered the heavy terror that always hung over her bedroom these days. She writhed and shrieked as the nightmares came back, and Charlie and Ron were there by her side instantly.

"She's got bruises on her neck, like fingerprints," Charlie mumbled, touching the hickeys Ron had left there gently.

Ginny was not coherent long enough to hear Ron's reply to that.

***

They dozed sleepily all morning, for the first time in weeks. Generally, the instant they became aware of being in the same bed together, touching or tangled together, they'd react instantly by putting as much distance as they could between each other. This time, both were content to sleep, because they'd never felt safer.

When Harry finally woke for good, Malfoy was gone. Startled, Harry glanced around, smoothing his hair back and reaching for his glasses, feeling stung.

He left the cavern and made his way to the kitchen, where Hermione and Pansy were standing over a boiling cauldron and Pansy was snapping something about the concentration of belladonna in relation to the speed of the boil.

"Is Malfoy here?" he asked, nervous at mentioning him while Hermione was there. Hermione didn't even look up from the potion.

"Haven't seen him this morning," she said absently, concentrating hard.

Pansy glanced over her shoulder. "Researching," she said. Harry nodded his thanks and made his way to where he'd been conducting his research.

Malfoy was there, bent over a large book, frowning and tracing the words with his finger as he read. He glanced up and smiled when Harry paused at the doorway.

"I was worried," Harry said.

"Why?"

"I woke up and you were gone."

Malfoy scowled, rolling his eyes. "You slept like the dead, Potter. I tried to wake you."

Flushing a little, Harry said, "You did? Usually I'm a light sleeper."

"You were exhausted. It's fine. I've been researching. Do you know why the Unforgivables are called Unforgivable?"

Harry took the chair across from him and frowned. "No," he said.

Flipping back a few pages and pushing the large book across the table towards Harry, Malfoy said, "It's the nature of the curse. The original three correspond to ancient religions and what was seen as 'capital crimes'. Causing pain, taking away free will, and taking a life. Those are the things for which no one can ever be forgiven."

"And the fourth?" Harry asked, staring in horror at the black and white drawing Malfoy had shown him of the original Unforgivables. There were men twisting in agony and men with blank circles for eyes to signify the effects of the Imperius curse, and bodies sprawled over the ground, flashes of lightning around them. Then, towards the edges of the illustrations, were people whose mouths were open as they screamed, eyes squeezed shut and hands brought up to their faces in despair.

"It takes from them their sanity, their will to live," Malfoy said quietly.

Harry glanced up from the picture and met Malfoy's eyes. He cocked his head, brushed his hair off his forehead absently, and considered this for a moment. It was a heavy burden, trying to find out how to stop something that could not be forgiven.

"I don't think I want to be the world's hero," he decided finally, looking down at the picture again and shivering. His voice was bleak, all of the sweetness and giddiness of the day before fading as he remembered his purpose and the weight of everyone in the world resting on his shoulders. He glanced back up again. "But I'll be yours, if you want me to."

Malfoy smiled a little. "Mine?"

"Your hero," Harry clarified.

"Why?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "Don't you think that's a waste of your time? I don't need a hero."

Harry bit his lip and considered this for a moment and then said, "You need a hero more than anyone I've ever met in my whole life."

Malfoy laughed, but it was not scornful or hurtful, but something gentler. Something inspired by the way Harry was letting Malfoy take care of him, and Malfoy was letting Harry be his hero.

Closing the book with its horrible images, Harry set it aside. He'd just opened his mouth to say something when Hermione walked in. Her eyes had dark shadows under them, and her hair was messy and pulled back off her face. She looked exhausted.

"Harry," she said briskly. "I was researching this morning--"

"Already?" Harry asked, surprised.

She smiled a little. "I tried to wake you, you sleep like the dead."

He glanced at Malfoy and cleared his throat, rolling his eyes. "Oh." It was amazing, at any rate, that Hermione had gotten the effects of the curse under control that quickly. It was mostly fueled by her desire to help him fix it, he knew.

"I was looking into the magical process of how the curse could channel the power of the Dementors. I mean, based on the laws of magical conservation, there has to be a transfer of energy or something of the like. I just want to make sure that Dark Magic works and reacts the same way as White Magic." She pulled out a scrap of parchment, reading over some notes she'd made that morning. "Also, I was thinking that maybe you are immune to it because of that whole thing when you were a baby, surviving the Killing Curse. Maybe your mother's protection spell extends to this as well."

Malfoy looked grudgingly impressed at all the thinking she'd done in the single day she'd been there. "You can't find that information in the books we've got here?"

She shook her head. "No. They're mostly on the Dementors themselves, there isn't anything on the theory of magic conservation or on how Dark Magic differs in reactivity from Light. I need Pentigrams and Particles: A Magicular Theory on Magic, it's a book in the Hogwarts Library."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, scowling. "We can't just walk into Hogwarts and take out a book, Hermione."

She frowned. "I know that. I mean, given the fact that if Draco Malfoy even tried to walk onto the grounds at Hogwarts, he'd be killed on sight, and that you're a wanted fugitive..."

"I know where we can get it," Malfoy said abruptly. "We've got a copy in my library at home."

Harry's eyes widened a little. "Malfoy, I thought your father--"

"My father shouldn't be there. He rarely was, after Ginny left."

Hermione looked at him sharply. "What happened to her?"

He smirked, probably just to irritate her. "She still hasn't confessed?"

Scowling sullenly, Hermione didn't look at him. "Fine, Harry, let him go home and get it. Hopefully his father will kill him and we'll never have to see him again," she said scathingly.

"Hermione," Harry snapped, though Malfoy only smirked. "Besides, I'm going with him."

This time, both Hermione and Malfoy had identical expressions on their faces: shock.

"No, Potter, you're not," Malfoy said smoothly, after a second of stunned silence.

"Certainly not. It's too dangerous," she agreed. It was a historical occasion, he decided sarcastically. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy agreeing on something?

"It's necessary. What if something happens?" Harry shrugged. "I'm going."

Shaking her head, Hermione asked, "Something like what??

"The curse, Hermione," Harry said very slowly, as if speaking to a child. "If the curse begins affecting him, I have to be there."

"No," Malfoy said.

Hermione glanced from Harry to Malfoy and back again, before snapping, "Because you two take care of each other."

"Exactly," Harry said with a nod.

"No," Malfoy repeated. No one listened.

"Fine! Go with him, then. But I'm going too. Like I'd trust him alone with you, Harry."

"Hermione, I've been alone with him and Pansy for weeks," Harry pointed out, exasperated.

She scowled furiously. "I don't care. Now that I'm here to take care of you, he doesn't have to."

"Just yesterday you were saying he didn't need anybody," Malfoy growled possessively.

"And he changed my mind," she replied coldly. "You should feel thankful, Malfoy. Now that he's got someone else to rely on, he won't be forced to rely on you."

A blind sort of rage burned in Malfoy's eyes, and two red spots appeared on his cheek. "Hermione," Harry hissed, furious.

"No," Malfoy snapped. "It's fine. You're not a child, Potter, you can choose whoever you want to look after you. If Granger wants to come along and hold your hand, then why the fuck should I care?"

"Malfoy," he pleaded.

"Forget it. I'm going to tell Pansy where we're going." With one last cold look at Hermione, he swept out of the room.

Harry was very still for a long moment, eyes wide and breathing shallow as he fought the urge to throttle Hermione or collapse to the ground and cry. Finally, turning slowly, trembling with fury, Harry snarled. "I can't believe you."

"Harry--" she said pleadingly.

"Don't fucking say anything," he snapped. "Just... just don't. I can't... I just... You don't understand and you're not even making a fucking effort and don't you think this is hard enough without... without... You hurt him! You act like you fucking like hurting him and he's hurting enough already and I just..."

"Harry," she said gently. "Just listen to me. It's not good for you, this attachment to Malfoy. I mean, I understand--"

"No," he said, standing up quickly. "You don't." Then, before she could say anything, and without acknowledging her look of contrition, Harry hurried from the room.

He went to the kitchen, breathless and worried. Pansy looked up from the potion she was still working on and frowned. "Have you seen Malfoy?" he panted.

"Oh bloody hell, Potter, what have you done now?"

"Wasn't me," he said, shaking his head. "Hermione--"

"Oh, I'm going to kill her," Pansy hissed. "I swear to god, I'm going to."

"I have to find him."

"Of course you do," she said, like it was ridiculous for him to think that there could be any other option.

Harry nodded and left, nervously sucking on his lower lip and trying to think of something-- anything-- to say to Malfoy when he found him to somehow make everything Hermione had said less harsh. If that was possible.

He knew where Malfoy was a few moments later, as he rounded the corridor that led to the bedroom they shared, because he heard a gunshot.

For a moment, Harry went cold, shivers running up and down his arms, his eyes widening as a strange sense of deja vu overcame him and he flinched, feeling almost like he'd been here before. Which was ridiculous, but he was so sure that if he walked into his bedroom, he'd see blood, running in rivers in the cracks on the floor.

He held his breath. He didn't want to move or open his eyes or go on living because he was sure, so sure, that there were rivers of blood...

Then the silence was broken by a harsh curse, and Harry nearly fainted from relief.

He ran into the bedroom and then slid to a stop. Malfoy was standing in the center of the room, holding Hermione's gun awkwardly and scowling.

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry snarled, relief turning to anger. There was no blood, Malfoy seemed unhurt, and Harry was furious at the scare he'd received, and unnerved at the images of blood still whispering in the back of his mind.

Malfoy turned quickly, eyes widening, surprised for one moment before a strange sort of empty cold drained even that away. He didn't speak, didn't smile, nothing, only turned away, still holding the gun.

Harry went after him and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Wait," he said pleadingly.

Malfoy stiffened and then very deliberately stepped out of reach before turning to face him. "What?"

"What are you doing with the gun?" Harry asked

Malfoy sneered icily, as if he sensed Harry's thoughts and was amused by the very idea that he could ever possibly be driven so far into grief by Harry that he would kill himself over it. "I'm bringing it. What did you think?"

He winced. Of course it was ridiculous. Like Malfoy would do something like that because of Harry. "I don't know. I was worried, is all. You're alright?"

"Fuck off." It was said with a casual shrug, and Malfoy turned away again.

"But... Just listen, okay?"

"To what? I don't think you're going to have anything worth listening to at the moment, and I'm rather busy."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" He sounded extremely uninterested.

"Stop trying to pretend like you're not pissed off at me! Let me explain!"

"Why should I be pissed off at you, Potter?" he sneered. "Wasn't your fault. Besides, she's right."

"How is she right?" he said weakly, feeling a bit stunned. He hadn't expected Malfoy to agree with her, when he so vehemently did not.

"She just is. Makes perfect sense. You don't need me anymore, you've got her." He tossed the gun negligently onto the bed, and Harry winced, expecting it to go off. When it didn't, he sighed with relief and then turned back to Malfoy, who was rummaging through a chest at the foot of their bed, face blank.

"I..." He trailed off, swallowing hard, eyes stinging with frustration as he tried to think up someway to explain. "Honestly, Malfoy? I've had her just as long as I've had you, either as friend or enemy, and I've always needed you, just as much, if not more, than I've needed her."

The result was not quite as he had expected it to be. Instead of reassured, Malfoy was furious. "Then why did you bring her here? If not so that you wouldn't need me anymore? If not to prove it to me. If not because you fucking like it."

"I... I needed her--"

"There? You see? She was right. It just took you a little while to remember, that's all. And now that you have, it's fine. I don't care."

"Then why are you shaking?" Harry said quietly.

"I'm not! I'm not fucking shaking and I don't fucking care and if you believe all that shit she said to you, I don't care!!" To emphasize his point, Malfoy kicked the bedpost, his face instantly going white as he gritted his teeth to restrain a pained moan.

"Smart," Harry snarled, instantly hurrying to his side, drawn to his pain. "Break your foot, because that makes all of this better."

Malfoy hissed, flinching away, and Harry tried to grab his arm to hold him close. Reacting instinctively, Malfoy shoved him, and Harry was so startled that he stumbled backwards and tripped, falling hard on his back and lying there, stunned. Before he could react, Malfoy sneered, "Get it through your head, Potter. I Do Not Want You."

"You don't have to," Harry whimpered, closing his eyes.

"So this is just another way to punish yourself?" Malfoy scoffed.

Harry lost his temper. "Don't you get it? Don't you fucking get it, Malfoy? Everything I have done from the moment you fell in that battle for me, has been for you! Because I cannot stand to see you hurt, because it hurts me to be so fucking helpless when you're terrified and stuck in the fucking nightmare! I don't care what Hermione says about you or this, whatever the fuck this is, because it has nothing to do with her! I brought her here so she could help me end the curse for you. Because all that matters to me is that you stop hurting. Nothing else matters and you're hurting right now and your fucking foot is broken or something and you're angry at me and it hurts and I don't know how to stop it! I can't save you! How can I save the world if I can't even save you?"

Sometime during this speech, Malfoy had moaned softly, an irritated sound of surrender, falling to his knees and crawling over to Harry. If Harry had intended to say anything more, it was lost when Malfoy kissed him suddenly, to shut him up and because he could not help it, or maybe because something was breaking inside him that could have been his heart or his mind or his will to resist this. So he kissed him, and Harry sobbed once, closing his eyes and tangling his fingers in Malfoy's hair and pulling him closer, forcing his tongue into Malfoy's mouth almost angrily. The kiss tasted of salty tears that hadn't actually been cried, and their tongues collided as Malfoy's hands came up to cradle Harry's jaw. Malfoy pulled away, breathing heavily.

"If you cry," he said, very clearly, scowling at Harry. "I'll be so disappointed in you."

Harry was trying very hard not to cry, and he laughed shakily, though it sounded more like a sob. "I'll try," he said.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Malfoy nodded, trailing his fingers almost absently down Harry's cheek, until his thumb was brushing his lip. "You'll be alright, Harry," he said.

Harry's eyes fluttered shut with shock, whether at the unexpected gentleness, or the suddenness of Malfoy saying his first name. "I will?" he asked.

"Of course you will. You think I'd let you be anything less?" Malfoy asked, and Harry smiled a little. With a weary sigh, Malfoy lowered himself down until his head was resting on Harry's shoulder, and Harry's arm automatically came up to wrap around him.

"We'll both be alright," Harry whispered.

Malfoy didn't reply.

***

It was an easy choice, when she considered the options and all the ways this could turn out.

Ginny Weasley had been taken to Lucius Malfoy, who had been told to hold her until Voldemort was ready for her. Instead, Lucius had... fallen for her? Taken advantage of her? Played with her? Ginny didn't know, all she knew was that she loved him, wasn't whole or sane without him, was losing her mind even further to this curse, and that she wanted to die and wanted to die now, but couldn't see dying anywhere but in Lucius Malfoy's arms, if he'd hold her, or broken, bleeding, and kicked at his feet if he wouldn't.

And so she left the Burrow without a note or a bag or so much as a change of clothes, hailing the Knight Bus and riding as close as it would bring her to Malfoy Manor and walking the rest of the way.

It was raining, and by the time she got to the front gates, she was soaked straight through. If there were security charms on the gates, they did not activate when Ginny touched them. They swung open silently, the falling of rain and splashing of puddles the only sound as she walked through them

Malfoy Manor was dark, a hulking and empty shadow, and she fancied she could see bats flying around the taller turrets and gables of the gothic style home.

The door was partially open, and a small stream of water had gathered on the front step and overrun the lower edge of the doorjamb, spilling into the front hall. In the darkness, she could make out vague reflections of solemn Malfoys reflecting off the walls and frowning at her upside down and backwards. She stepped into the hall and shattered their reflections, the rain soaking through her already dripping shoes.

She knew Lucius was there, despite the house being so empty, dark, and forgotten. If he was going mad, he would not want anyone around to see it, after all.

Pulling at the clasp of her sodden cloak and letting it fall to the floor, she walked silently through the halls to the main staircase, sliding her hand up the railing as she climbed them.

Up two floors, down a hall, around a corner, then another: Lucius' room was in the northern wing of the house.

It was silent, dead silent, and then suddenly, as she stepped into the master's chambers, there came a shattering of glass. She stumbled to a stop, surprised, having fallen into an almost dream like state, spurred on by the memories that were coming back, and the shadowy, hazy atmosphere of the manor.

There came anther smashing sound, and another. She followed the sounds into the master bedchamber, where Lucius stood, wearing silk like she remembered, his hair unbound and falling over his shoulders in a silver wave.

He was filling wine glasses with red wine and throwing them against the wall ritualistically, watching with utmost satisfaction as they smashed, and the red wine was spreading like blood on the marble floor.

There was a tall mirror near where the glasses were shattering, and when lightning flashed a moment later, he must have seen her reflection in it.

He turned, the last glass slipping from suddenly numb fingers, and shattering like crystals of ice on the ground around his feet. A strange sort of hatred flared in his silver eyes.

"Get out of here," he snarled.

Ginny flinched but did not turn to go. "There is no where else I am meant to be," she said.

"You are not meant to be here! I will not bear it for another second!" He was shouting, eyes wild.

She stepped closer, tears of broken glass grinding beneath her feet. "I am meant to be wherever you are."

"I will not watch you die again."

"Watch me die?" she echoed.

He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shook her, and even as her head slammed painfully backwards, she liked it, and gasped at the feel of his fingers on her arms. "Never again," he hissed. He kissed her hard, punishing her, bruising her lips with his mouth and her arms with his fingers. She moaned weakly, because she was always weak when he touched her, and his tongue was in her mouth, trying to bruise.

He lifted her and crushed her against him, growling against her lips. "I will not let them have you this time."

Her hands had instinctively wrapped around his neck, and now his hands slipped to her thighs, wrapping them around his waist and carrying her until they were falling together onto the bed with its silken sheets, and she moaned again, arching against him and scratching his back with her nails.

"Mine," he hissed, rocking against her and biting her neck hard. "You will not leave me again."

"Leave you?" she gasped indignantly, as he ground against her possessively and tore the buttons on her shirt. "Never left."

But this was feverish and wild and more animalistic than she remembered it being, because Lucius wasn't even all that aware that she was there.

It was like a dream, a hazy dream, the kind she'd been living in since she'd been taken from him, only much more vivid. A thousand things she'd forgotten-- oh god, how could she have forgotten? The way his hair fell over his shoulder and brushed her face and her chest, the way the muscles in his back flexed under her fingertips and nails, his breath against her throat, the dark shadows in his eyes, and his lips...

He slammed inside of her and her nails drew blood as she arched up against him and cried out, calling his name over and over again, drawing her legs up and around him. She traced her own ragged scratches in his back as he kissed her again, hard and desperately, all the force of his madness and her own behind it.

"More, more," she moaned incoherently, panting and begging and falling apart. He bit her shoulder, growling again, and she twisted her fist in his hair and tilting her head back so h could bite her throat.

It was over quickly, and they lay together for a long moment while lightning crashed out the window. His eyes were closed, he was still inside her, and Ginny was quite sure she'd died and this was some sort of hell. Certainly too sinful for Heaven, but if this was Hell, she deserved it, longed for it, would have done anything for it.

There was an endless silence between them, and she drew her fingers away from his back, studying the faint traces of blood there absently in the quicksilver illumination of the lightning spilling in from the window.

She licked one finger, and Lucius lifted his head and watched her. Before she could lick the other, he took it and drew it into his own mouth, wrapping his tongue around it.

Moaning faintly, she shivered, and watched until he pulled her hand away and flattened it beneath his on the bed.

"Ginny?" he asked, looking, for the first time in all his years, uncertain.

She touched his face, smoothing his hair over his shoulder. "Yes, sir?" she whispered, shifting against him to remind him that he was still inside of her, because she liked the power that gave her.

"You didn't fade away."

"Was I supposed to?" she asked, smiling flirtatiously.

"Is this a new sort of hell?" he snarled, and he pulled away so suddenly that Ginny whimpered in protest.

Lucius was naked, and Ginny rolled onto her side, stretching like a cat on the silk sheets and watching as he walked to the fireplace, wondering where his clothes had gone.

"Come back," she purred. "I didn't get to taste you."

He glanced over at her, looking untamed and perplexed. "You're not real," he told her, sneering.

"What do you mean?" she asked, getting off the bed, grabbing a robe he'd left on the foot of the bed, and wrapping it around herself. She crawled onto his lap and curled up like a kitten, tucking her head under his chin.

"You have died in my arms every night for weeks," he said coldly, even as he held her tightly.

"I haven't died," she said, pulling back and studying his face, frowning. "I should think I would be the first to know if I had." She licked his bottom lip. "Besides, a person can only die once, love."

"Die only once," he repeated, burying his face in her hair and holding her so hard that she fancied instant bruises formed. "But then over and over again in my dreams."

"Oh, that," she whispered, cradling his face and sprinkling light kisses over his cheeks. "The nightmares. That is what you dream of?" She remembered Charlie and Ron, saying that those with the worst nightmares deteriorated faster, and she smiled brightly. His nightmares were driving him madder than anyone and he dreamed of losing her? It was a compliment, surely. "I never died, Lucius, not even once."

He lifted his head. "This is just another form of madness," he told her. "My son saw you die."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Draco?" she hissed. "He told you I was dead?"

He smoothed her hair back and studied her face, not even seeming to have heard a word she said. "And yet if this is madness, then mad I'll be, I'd rather be mad and lose you every night knowing I'll have you the next, than sane without you."

She convinced him she was real after hours passed, hours of whispering and explaining where she had been and what she had done, as she wrote her name again and again on his skin with her nails to prove it. Blood and sex never lie, and so she scarred his tortured mind with images too vivid and sexual to be madness.