Windfallen

CHAPTER 8: Breathless and Bleeding

Wandering properties of death
Arresting moons within our eyes and smiles
We did rest
Amongst the granite tombs to catch our breath
Worldly sounds of endless warring
Were for just a moment silent stars
Worldly boundaries of dying
Were for just a moment never ours
All was new
Just as the black horizons blue
Then along the bending path away
I smiled in knowing I'd be back one day

"I don't want her to go," Harry said, his eyes very narrow. "I don't want her anywhere near me at the moment and certainly no where near you."

Malfoy laughed a little, though the sound was pained, and leaned heavily on Harry's shoulder. "Now is not the time to get all possessive, Potter...fuck."

"Well don't stand on it!" Harry snapped, helping him hobble over to the bed. "Honestly, it's your own fault... here." He helped him sit on the bed, knowing full well as he did that Malfoy was probably making the injury to his foot seem worse than it was. He didn't mind.

He knelt down at Malfoy's feet and gently pulled his shoe and sock off, inspecting the foot, holding it gently. "Don't move," he said, biting his lower lip and carefully feeling for fractures in the delicate bones.

Malfoy touched his lower lip and Harry's head snapped up, eyes widening. "What?" he asked, suddenly breathless.

He smiled. "Sorry."

A bit confused, Harry turned back to his foot, pulling out his wand and gently healing the very minor break in Malfoy's big toe. He did not want to let go of Malfoy's foot because it seemed somehow sacrilege to let it touch the cold and dirty ground.

He swallowed hard and looked up at Malfoy again, suddenly nervous. "Is it better?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

"Yes." He wiggled his toes. "You can let go of my foot now."

"Just don't go kicking anymore beds and you should be fine," Harry said, putting Malfoy's sock back on his foot, and then his shoe, tying it. Mostly all of that was an effort to stall the moment when he'd have to stop touching Malfoy and go about pretending that he didn't need that. Which he did, maybe as much as Malfoy needed it in his nightmares.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malfoy said quietly. Everything had gotten so quiet suddenly. "I don't kick beds, Potter."

"Obviously," Harry breathed, standing up. He was feeling strange, breathless.

Malfoy smiled. "Obviously."

Shaking his head, Harry sat on the bed, trying to puzzle through his hazy thoughts. "I think I have a fever," he mumbled.

Malfoy, apparently, understood much better than Harry himself did, because he kissed him suddenly, hard, turning to kneel on the bed beside him, one hand curling into his hair and holding him close, the other slipping down to rest on the small of his back.

Surprised, Harry mumbled a little against Malfoy's lips, closing his eyes and letting Malfoy kiss him sweetly, and it was the sweetest thing Harry could ever remember experiencing. Malfoy's tongue, very gently touching his, tracing his lower lip and Malfoy's hand on his back and in his hair...

Harry melted against him, letting Malfoy hold him up, which was something he had never done before, and the sensation was dizzying, even more so then the kiss. Laughing softly and kissing the corner of his lips, Malfoy nudged him and Harry let himself be guided until he was lying on his back, so Malfoy could kiss him more fully.

His eyes flew open. "M-Malfoy," he stammered.

"Mmm?"

"The gun."

Malfoy sat up. "What about it?"

"It's digging into my back." Harry rolled, still a little disoriented and startled that he'd forgotten everything that was supposed to matter because of a kiss.

Malfoy picked up the gun, studying it. "We've got to go," he said quietly. He looked up. "You distracted me."

"Certainly not on purpose. You're not taking that, you'll kill somebody."

Draco smirked. "I am taking it, and that could very well be the point. We've got to go find Granger."

"She's not coming," Harry said, shaking his head. "I don't want to see her."

"She has to come, she might as well get a good look at what else we've got in the library that she can use. You said yourself, Potter. This isn't about who's on what side anymore, we've got to work together and put all these personal grudges aside."

Harry frowned. "She hurt you."

He laughed scornfully. "I'm Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger couldn't hurt me if she tried."

"Give me the gun and I'll let her come," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes and got off the bed, straightening his clothes. "I was going to give it to you anyway," he said. "For your protection. I don't even know how it works." He handed Harry the gun, and it felt cold and alien in his hand.

"Let's go find her then, if Pansy hasn't killed her yet," Harry sighed.

Pansy hadn't killed Hermione yet, but that was not for lack of trying. Harry could hear the shouting long before he was anywhere near the kitchen and he glanced at Malfoy, rolled his eyes, and took off running towards the sound.

He burst through the door just as Pansy slapped Hermione hard across the face, and both girls froze when they saw him-- or, more correctly, when they saw Malfoy behind him, looking furious.

"We do not have time for this," Malfoy snapped.

"She just hit me!" Hermione cried.

Harry sneered, not feeling at all charitable towards her. "You're lucky. She told me she was going to kill you."

There was an uncomfortable silence, Hermione's eyes welling up with tears, and Pansy looking disappointed that she hadn't managed that. Malfoy just rolled his eyes.

"We're going to my library," he said to Pansy. "We shouldn't be too long."

She glanced at the gun that Harry still held. "Why does he have that?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Protection. Coming, Granger? That is, if you don't require medical attention for your face." He sneered and Hermione flushed, letting her hand drop from where it had been pressed to her cheek, where Pansy's slap had fallen.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. Malfoy nodded and turned away. As soon as he wasn't looking, she looked imploringly at Harry, but he ignored her.

***

Lucius was lost in madness and Ginny was right by his side, singing lullabies and holding his hand, though he held hers so tightly that she could feel the bones grinding. She didn't mind. She could hear her own madness and nightmares whispering in the back of her mind and she was aching to be taken by them, to join Lucius in his fever and terror.

The nightmares came soon enough, and she liked them, the way they crawled over her skin and spilt it and let her fall out of it and into Lucius' because they were one together.

The fever of madness flared and burned for a few hours and died, leaving her aching and tired, spent and lying weakly while the final waves of heat lapped through her veins.

She moaned softly and Lucius was there, holding her. He whispered and kissed her temple and Ginny would have been glad to die like that.

She laughed, not because she found anything particularly amusing, but because she knew he liked the sound. He kissed her and smiled against her lips.

"There are bruises on your neck, love," he whispered, licking them.

She stiffened in his arms, eyes widening. To distract him, she said, "Tell me how I die in your dreams," because she did not want to think of Ron's mouth on her neck, and maybe a little because she got off on knowing. Death and madness go hand in hand and she'd been flirting with death since the first time he took her.

"There is a dragon," he explained to her. "I hold you and you fall apart in my arms and then a dragon tears you apart and you die in my arms, bleeding."

A small smile played with the corners of her lips. "And do you die with me?" she whispered.

"I can do nothing else," he confessed. "I tear the dragon limb from limb and then die beside you."

She stroked his face and smiled. "And that is a nightmare? It seems a fitting end to me."

He bit her lower lip and then he kissed her. Closing her eyes, Ginny melted against him, wistfully wondering if this was madness or if she'd ever been sane.

There was a crash and the door flew open. A house elf stood there, eyes wide, glowing in the darkness. Outside, the sun was rising. Ginny wondered when the storm had blown over. "Begging your pardon, sir," the elf said. Ginny recognized her as Pinky, who had served her during her previous stay at the manor.

"I do not wish to be disturbed," Lucius snarled.

"Pinky knows that, sir, only there is something Pinky must tell Master Malfoy," Pinky whimpered.

"I'm sure it can wait," he said, burying his face him Ginny's hair.

"It can, Pinky knows, sir, only it does not want to. It is throwing a fit, sir."

"It?" Ginny echoed, frowning.

"The intruder in the library. Pinky found him, she did, climbing the gates to the Manor." Pinky's skin was turning a hopeful red, as if she were nervously wishing for praise.

Lucius finally gave his full attention to the elf. "Who is it?"

"Pinky doesn't know, sir, only that he is throwing books and screaming about... about Ginny Weasley, sir."

She paled. "Ron," she whispered.

Lucius glanced at her for a moment and then nodded curtly to the elf. "You left him in the library?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will attend to it."

Pinky withdrew and, without a word, Lucius got dressed and walked out of the room.

Cursing under her breath, Ginny hurriedly dried her own clothes with a spell and pulled them on, as the sun cast a shimmering glow in the eastern sky, starting to rise over the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

She hurried to the library, still cursing, and threw open the doors. Ron was bound to a chair in the middle of the room, a rather recent development, given the number of books that had been flung from the shelves. His face was white, except for two bright patches of red that were evidence of his rage. Lucius sat in an armchair nearby and watched him thoughtfully, with the air of a healer making a diagnosis.

"Ginny," Ron cried gratefully, when he saw her. "I was so worried, I--"

His voice cut off when she slipped into the library and over to Lucius, sliding onto his lap and curling up like a kitten. Lucius smiled at her and stroked her hair.

"Get away from him," Ron snarled.

Ginny turned to study him evenly. "You don't understand, Ron, I don't know if you ever did."

His brown eyes flashed but, before he could speak, Lucius drawled, "You've put me in quite a difficult position, Weasley. I am sure that Ginny will not want to see you dead at my hand. However, there are always consequences for those who feel the need to break into Malfoy Manor."

"I don't care what you do to me," Ron said bravely, rashly. "As long as you let Ginny go."

Ginny turned her face into Lucius' shoulder to smother a giggle. Lucius laughed gently. "I do not think you understand the situation," he said. "Ginny does not want me to let her go."

"She doesn't know what she wants," he growled.

"Doesn't she?" Lucius purred.

Ginny lifted her head, eyes narrow, and spat, "And I suppose you do know what I want, Ron?"

"I know you don't want this," he said desperately.

"Of course I don't," she mocked. "I want your clumsy kisses. I want your rough hands. Yes, Ron, that's perfectly what I want, to lie underneath you and wonder what it would be like to die because I am so ashamed and so dirty and so wrong."

Lucius' breath hissed from between clenched teeth very slowly, deliberately, and his thumb stroked the marks on her neck. "What," he said very clearly, "are you referring to, love?"

Ron looked stricken. "Ginny," he implored. "I didn't... I'm...I'm sorry, I...You're my baby sister."

Seething with rage, she slid off Lucius' lap and shrieked, "Exactly! That's what it was, that's always what it was! You're so broken and stupid and fucking weak and you've lost everything and can't do anything anymore because you got hit by that stupid curse in that stupid battle that you're not even a whole man anymore. Who can respect that? A man who can't even do magic anymore! An impotent wizard! Who in the world would respect that? The only one who has to! His little sister! So don't tell me it was my body you wanted, Ronald Weasley, because you didn't and if you had thought about it for one second you would have known that fucking me wasn't it. It wasn't enough! You would destroy me to prove you're a man. You call that love?"

His eyes were huge and glazed with shock and pain. He was shaking, she could see it, and so, so pale, but Ginny would not let herself feel bad. "And what do you call what he gives you?" he whispered. "He did not even come for you."

She flinched, falling back onto Lucius and burying her face in his shoulder, shame making her ill. Lucius licked the bruises on her neck tenderly and then said coldly, "You're dead, Weasley. Every breath you take from this second on, you take only because I have allowed it, because I have not killed you yet. But your time will come. When Ginny is not there to see it, you will meet your end."

"He did not come," she moaned. "Because Draco Malfoy told him I was dead." Regret, then, for the first time since she could remember, washed over her. Regret for all the time that had passed, all the pain and the madness and the memories that had made her want to die... And she did not blame Ron for that. She blamed Draco Malfoy, both for taking her from Lucius, and for making her hurt Ron this way. Her hands clenched into fists, and all of her rage and hate shifted and focused on Draco Malfoy.

Which was why she was so grimly, furiously pleased, when he Apparated into the library a moment later. She did not see the people with him, did not focus on them at all. All she was aware of was Ron's pain in his chair, Lucius' hand on her neck, and Draco Malfoy's startled gray eyes across the room.

Ron was shouting something, something about spies and the Ministry, Lucius was speaking to his son, and there were other people, talking, talking, everyone was talking, and none of it mattered. Ginny did not want to talk, she wanted to hurt.

They were fighting, arguing. Lucius was getting angry, and Ron was crying. Ginny did not care. No one was looking at Ginny, no one, no one at all, so she slipped off Lucius' lap and grabbed the nearest weapon she could find. A fire poker from beside the hearth. Her wand lay forgotten in her pocket. She did not want a clean death, she wanted blood.

And no one was watching...

The gray eyes were dark now, with fury, sparkling with that snide arrogance that had inspired him to decide she was not worth his father. Ginny moved closer, eyes locked on his. She raised the fire poker above her head...

There was an explosion, a snapping of earth air fire water everything, all elements split in two and screamed, the explosion echoing and fading, and she did not understand. All sound was gone, and there was silence, such a heavy silence.

And then there was a white-hot sort of heat, and wetness. Her fingers went numb, and the poker fell to the ground. Somewhere, someone whimpered and broke the silence. She turned to see who had made that sound, and it took so long... Green eyes. Harry. Harry who had taken her from Tom who she had loved and was holding something strange and cold. She recognized it, after a moment. A gun.

It was then that blood trickled up into her mouth and she could feel it on her chest, growing stickier and stickier. Her legs crumbled beneath her and she fell...

Her vision started blurring a little, fading in and out with her raspy breathing, and then there was Lucius, beautiful eyes huge and terrified.

"No, no, not again, not now," he hissed as he gathered her up in his arms.

The dragon had come for her after all.

She coughed and there was a trickle of blood on her lips when he kissed them a moment later, and he licked it tenderly, carefully. And then Ginny died.

It all happened so very slowly.

***

It all happened so fast. Harry was left with a series of images, like Muggle photographs. The library with the books all over the floor, Ron tied to a chair, Ginny on Lucius' lap, and the sun rising out the large bay window behind the armchair they sat on together. And then there were flashes of conversation, strings of words.

"You are not welcome here."

"Father..."

"...he's a spy... Hermione, he's betrayed us all..."

"Get her out of here..."

"...took her from me..."

None of it mattered, Harry was in shock. Nothing was making sense because this was not going as planned. Lucius was not supposed to be here, Ginny was not supposed to be here, and Ron... Ron said he was a spy... still thought him a spy... And Ginny...

Was standing up. Was staring at Malfoy.

It was instinct. It was a wild, natural, instinctive thing. Someone meant to do Malfoy harm. No.

And so he aimed the gun and pulled the trigger, all in one heartbeat, without thought, without reason, without anything except the fierce and possessive knowledge that anyone in the world who sought to bruise, mar, hurt Draco Malfoy would die at Harry Potter's hand.

And the shot. Oh god, the shot. Nothing had ever been so loud as that shot.

There was a trembling moment of shocked silence, broken when a whimper tore from his throat, and then the sounds, so many sounds, slammed into him in an indistinct roar. Someone was screaming (Ron?) and someone crying (Hermione?), and someone was calling his name... Malfoy... that had to have been Malfoy. Harry was still pointing the gun at where Ginny had been standing, and now she wasn't standing at all, she was down... down, and there was blood, and Lucius was holding her and-- oh god, oh god, why was he holding her? Kissing her? Suddenly that was what mattered. That Lucius Malfoy was kissing Ginny Weasley and Ginny was dying-- or was she dead? Oh god oh god and the gun was so hot in his hands but he could not remember how to work his fingers to drop it.

He turned away, because he could not stand to see the blood (he had not done that, he had not done that. Harry Potter does not kill anyone who does not deserve it-- did Ginny deserve it? She had sought to kill Malfoy... but Malfoy deserved it...did he deserve it? No, no, oh god, but nor did she...) Instead of seeing Lucius and Ginny, Harry was aware, very distantly aware, of Hermione and Malfoy just out of his line of vision... and there was Ron, who was sobbing and trying so hard to tear free of his magical bonds...

Harry stepped forward to help, acting blindly, his mind still reeling and trying to talk him into some sort of understanding that just was not coming. Ron snarled and tried to kick him, hated him with every bit of passion that he still had in him, that had not died when Ginny died... Ginny died. Oh god.

Flinching, Harry turned away, at a loss. He was the hero, he was the fucking hero, what would a hero do now? Kiss her lips, revive her, bring her back, but Lucius had already tried. Oh god.

He was going to be sick. He was going to will himself into death. Death could take him and leave Ginny and everything, everything in the world would be evened out, Harry would be dead and Ginny would still be laughing and putting her elbow in the butter dish and Mrs. Weasley would be alive again and Mr. Weasley... and Ron would still smile and he'd still cast fires and turn on lights with the merest flick of his wand, still unlock locks with magic because the magic was not locked inside him and... and..

And Lucius Malfoy was picking up the bloodied, fallen poker and his eyes were so dark, so dark, with madness and rage and maybe, maybe faint reflections of dragons... not as if he himself was a dragon, but as if he was looking at a dragon, which would mean that Harry was the dragon... which was just like that dream. The dream where Harry was the dragon... and dragons were meant to be slain, so Harry held very still and watched Lucius come closer and closer and at the last second he whimpered, flinched, turned away, and the blow fell across his shoulder blades and knocked him to the ground. The poker raised up again, for a killing blow, and he closed his eyes and waited for it to fall.

There was a flash of green that danced on his closed eyelids and Harry's eyes flew open, staring in shock as the light in Lucius' went out. He fell, slowly, slowly, and landed hard on the floor nearby. Something cracked when he fell-- had something broken? Oh god, oh god, nothing was making sense.

But Harry's eyes were wide and staring, because he could see the window still, and the sun was rising... it had been so long since he'd seen the sun, so long living in a cave, and here was the rising sun, and he could only see it because Lucius, who had been blocking his view, had fallen.

And then there was Malfoy. Standing there, wand still raised, and eyes very wide, because it had been his Killing Curse that had killed his father, and everything (except the sun), was very, very still.

Harry moaned, a weak, pained sound, and closed his eyes.

"No," Malfoy hissed, and he was there suddenly, beside Harry. "No. You're alright. Potter. Don't..."

Harry opened his eyes, because he was not dying, though he wanted to. He was broken and raw and aching, but not dying. Malfoy didn't know it, and he picked him up, cradling him and burying his face in Harry's neck, breathing deeply and struggling for a calm that seemed to have deserted him.

His father was dead nearby, and Ginny, broken and bloody, was by the fireplace. Hermione had untied Ron and they were now clinging to each other, and crying.

And still, even so, just out the window, the sun was still rising.

***

There was a shuddering moment, and then Malfoy found the calm he'd been seeking. He lifted his head, carefully studied Harry's face, and said quietly, firmly, "You're alright." Then he gently set Harry down, careful not to hurt his back, which burned from the blow. "We've got to find that book."

Harry blinked, because that did not make sense. Books did not matter anymore, had never mattered, nothing mattered, there was nothing... But Malfoy's hands were shaking and Harry could understand, distantly, that Malfoy could not fall apart because a Malfoy never did. So he let his hand fall away from where it had wrapped itself in Malfoy's shirt, and he let Malfoy go.

So then Malfoy was gone and Harry was alone with the rising sun. People were crying, wailing softly, and Malfoy was looking for that fucking book, but Harry didn't care. He crawled over to Ginny, whose eyes were still open and staring in shock. She was wet with blood, and very light, so he picked her up and cradled her, studying her face in silence. He slid across the floor, still holding her, until he was beside Lucius.

Malfoy was suddenly kneeling beside him. "Harry," he said, very gently. "What are you doing?"

His eyes were very wide, and he stared at Malfoy for a long moment before things crumbled and he started to cry. Instinctively, Malfoy grabbed his shoulders, shaking him roughly. "Stop it," he snapped. "Stop, stop, oh god, Potter, don't..." And Malfoy was kissing him, instinctively, holding his face roughly and pressing his lips hard to Harry's, squeezing his eyes shut. "Stop," he said again. Harry closed his eyes and whimpered and nodded. Resting his forehead against Harry's, Malfoy took a deep breath. "Leave her here, with... with my father..."

And Harry nodded again, because that had been the point, the point of all of this. So he put her down carefully right beside Lucius, so it looked as though they'd died together, and then he said, "They need to be covered," as he closed Ginny's eyes, and then Lucius'. It was a plea for forgiveness, for absolution, because all he could see in her brown eyes was accusation.

Malfoy stroked his hair, and nodded, kissing his forehead and then leaving the library to get a blanket.

Harry glanced up while he was gone; the sun was up and the golden lights were fading into the mundane brightness of day.

It was a silk sheet that Malfoy found, and he helped Harry spread it over them both.

"I've got to take Ron to safety," Hermione said softly from behind them. Harry turned to look at her, feeling raw, distant, and broken. She looked just the same.

"Where will you take him?" he asked. He glanced at Ron, who was now standing at the window and shaking like he would crumble at any moment.

"I don't know."

Malfoy stood and took a ring from his finger, pressing it into her hand. "This will bring you back to the caverns," he said. "If you plan on coming back."

"I do," she said distantly. Her eyes welled up with tears. "I will be back, after I care for him. He needs me, and..." She glanced at Harry now, and then back at Malfoy. "And you two take care of each other."

Draco nodded. "Hold it in your left hand and say 'Pendragon'."

Nodding, she went back to Ron then, and talked softly to him. Malfoy took Harry's hand, because Harry was staring longingly at Ron again, and shaking. His hand was stiff with blood, but Malfoy didn't seem to mind. "Come on," he said, still so gently. Taking care of Harry was the one thing keeping Malfoy from falling apart, Harry knew. "We've got to get back before anyone senses all of that magic and comes to investigate."

All of that magic? There had only been one spell, only one... Harry's eyes flew back to the black silk sheet at his feet, and started breathing too quickly and erratically. Malfoy kissed him lightly, right near his ear.

Hermione glanced at them with huge, sorrowful brown eyes, and then she and Ron Apparated away. Malfoy squeezed Harry's hand and they did the same, leaving Lucius and Ginny together under a shroud of silk.

***

He staggered a bit, when they reappeared in the caverns, because Harry was under the distinct impression that his legs were going to give out from beneath him at any moment. Malfoy caught him before he fell.

"Alright?" he asked, worrying.

Harry just closed his eyes and shook.

"Sit down," Malfoy said, pulling him over to the bed. "You'll be alright."

Nodding, Harry sat down heavily, swallowing. "I'm fine," he said, though his voice was gravelly.

"I've got to go tell Pansy..." Malfoy hesitated.

"Go on," Harry said.

After studying him worriedly one more time, Malfoy left. It was very silent after that, and Harry stared blankly at the ground, biting his lip. The numbness that had acted as a sort of insulation in his mind was wearing off and replacing it was a whirling, panicky series of images. Ginny staring at him in shock, Ginny falling, Lucius holding her and coming at him in a rage, all of it, over and over in his head. As the numbness faded, he began feeling the searing pain across his shoulders were Lucius had hit him. A harsh sob cracked in his throat and Harry winced, burying his face in his hands, which were still stained with blood.

It was strange, he'd killed before, had been stained with blood before, and never reacted like this. He had tried to convince himself that death did not matter, but he had only ever killed men in masks before, never Ginny Weasley, who used to love him, who he'd spent so much of his time saving...

But then, he should have expected it. Everyone who had ever meant anything to him was punished for it in the end--

His eyes widened and a painful breath lodged in his throat. Oh god. There was no one in the world that mattered as much to him right now as Draco Malfoy did.

When Malfoy returned a few minutes later, Harry was mumbling to himself under his breath and digging through the chest at the foot of the bed.

"What... what are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

Harry glanced up. His eyes were wide and stinging with tears. "I have to go, Malfoy."

"No."

"I have to."

There was something other than that strange, dark control Malfoy had been exhibiting since killing his father. Panic. "No. Why?"

"I'm a disease," Harry said, going back to digging through the chest, looking for his possessions. "I hurt and I kill and anyone who I love gets hurt."

There was an endless silence, and Harry finally grew unnerved and looked up. Nothing could have prepared him for the black rage on Malfoy's face.

"It doesn't work that way," he hissed.

Harry stood up, eyes widening. "Malfoy..."

"You don't do that to me."

"Do what? Calm down! I just--"

"You don't leave me when I have just given up the one thing that mattered to me more than anything else in the fucking world! I killed him! I fucking killed him, for you, and you're going to just walk away? After everything.... after everything I gave you..." he was breathless, voice harsh with fury.

"What...what did you give me?" Harry whimpered.

"Parts of myself that I have never even let other people know existed," Malfoy said, voice all at once bleak and painful, and so, so angry.

"But Malfoy, that's why I have to go," he said, closing his eyes because they were filling with tears and he did not want to cry. "This is my fault and if I stay, you'll end up... dead like Ginny or weak like Charlie or broken like Ron or--"

"Shut the fuck up," Malfoy snarled. "I'm not a fucking Weasley, I'm not going to fall apart, and none of that was your fault! You're not... not a disease, you're... you just..."

Harry touched his shoulder gently. "I just don't want to hurt you. I have to go. If I go far away, no one will get hurt."

"I will."

"Malfoy, I have to--"

Malfoy shoved him. "No, Potter, I don't think you're understanding the situation here. You're not leaving."

"I have no choice--"

He shoved him again, anger glowing brighter in his eyes. "No. I will not let you go."

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted, growing frustrated. "It isn't your choice!"

Grabbing him roughly by the front of his shirt, Malfoy leaned very close and hissed, "I'm making it my choice, Potter. You're mine. You think I will let you walk away from me?"

"Sometimes you don't get a choice," Harry snarled, trying to pull away.

"You think I don't know that?" Malfoy shouted, shaking him. "You think I had a choice about this fucking curse? Or being stuck here with you? Or killing my father? Maybe I didn't have a choice about that, but I do have a choice about letting you go, and I won't."

With the last word, Malfoy shoved Harry so hard that he flew back onto the bed, casting a binding charm that tied him there. He landed hard on his back, which was already bruised deeply and aching, and he arched up and cried out, pain shooting through his body. "It hurts," he whimpered, sucking in a startled breath.

All of the rage in Malfoy hissed out in a rush, and he whimpered, crawling onto the bed so that he was straddling Harry. "Oh god," he whispered, his lower lip trembling. "Oh fuck. I'm sorry, I just... " He touched Harry's face with trembling fingers. "You can't go, you can't, not now, please."

Harry's eyes, already burning from the throbbing pain in his back, welled up with tears. "You have to let me go or let me die or something. I don't want to hurt you."

Malfoy was shaking his head, eyes closed. "You can't go."

"You can't keep me tied to your bed," Harry said quietly, gently.

"You did it to me," Malfoy said. He ran his hands through Harry's hair. "Does it still hurt? Your back, I mean."

"No." It had faded to a dull throb. "Let me go."

"No." Malfoy slipped off him and left the cavern, returning moments later with a basin of water and a rag. While Harry watched, he wet the cloth and gently washed the blood from Harry's hands, face, and neck. Harry's breathing hitched a little at the careful consideration shown there, and it only strengthened his resolve to leave.

When he was done, Malfoy started unbuttoning Harry's shirt, smoothing it back over his shoulders so that his chest was bare, and then washing that as well. Some blood had soaked through his shirt from where he'd held Ginny against his chest.

"Malfoy," Harry said, very softly, because there was no blood left on his chest and Malfoy was still washing in an attempt to avoid having to look him in the eyes again. "Look at me." He didn't. "Draco."

Draco looked up through his lashes. "What?"

"I need to--"

Draco kissed him suddenly to shut him up, and when he pulled away, Harry opened his mouth to talk again. Before he could make a sound, Draco was kissing him again, desperately, and Harry tried to turn his head aside. Whimpering into his mouth, Draco cradled his face, stroking with his thumbs to soothe him, calm him, keep him still, and Harry finally relented with a soft sigh he could not restrain. Draco was straddling him, leaning on him, kissing him, and it wasn't like he had much of a choice... and so he moaned quietly and kissed him, opening his mouth again when Draco licked coaxingly there, and slipping his tongue into Draco's mouth when the other boy teasingly demanded it with his own. His hands were still tied and he shifted restlessly against the bonds, growing frustrated with the inability to move.

Draco broke the kiss but left him tied. "Stay," he whispered hotly, kissing his jaw lightly.

"I can't."

"Harry."

"I can't." He was going to cry, and that was embarrassing, but he could still see Ginny's accusing and dead eyes and he had caused that. He refused to hurt Draco, refused...

Draco evidently gave up on pleading, and instead slid lower, kissing his neck. He rocked his hips a little, and Harry yelped, eyes flying wide. "Draco," he stammered, because that was different and he was not sure he wanted it. Wanted to give to Draco what Charlie had taken. Because Charlie had been a mess and had needed comfort and now Harry was the mess... and he refused to do to Draco what Charlie had done to him.

"Mmm," Draco whispered, licking his neck lightly. "It's alright. I won't hurt you."

Harry frowned, because that was not what he was concerned about. He did not want to cause hurt. But Draco was licking his collarbone, rocking his hips again, straddling Harry, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and moaned in terror. Nothing good could come of this. Nothing good ever had. Only shame and guilt and fear.

"Please don't," he whimpered.

Draco lifted his head and bit his lip, looking a little hurt. "Why?" he whispered.

Harry licked his lips and swallowed hard and tried to think of what to say. "Because... because I'm afraid," he admitted finally. He flinched, expecting laughter or a smile or something. He didn't get it; instead, Draco just kissed him again, carefully and gently, stroking his face and smoothing his hair.

"It won't be like that," Draco growled softly, biting Harry's lower lip. "Do you trust me?"

Harry was broken and Draco was broken and maybe their broken edges would fit together. He stared up at him for a long moment and then nodded hesitantly. Trust was an important part of fitting together.

Draco nuzzled him and smiled against his skin, just a little. Maybe he did need this, but Draco needed it too, so it was different than it had been with Charlie.

Then Draco's hips shifted again, differently, grinding down, though very carefully. Startled, Harry shifted suddenly in shock. The wound on his back grated down against the mattress, and he sucked in a painful breath, eyes widening with the sudden pain.

Draco cursed softly and undid the binds, forcing him to roll over. He pulled Harry's shirt off, gently inspecting the vivid bruise there, making Harry wince despite his care. Then, rolling his wand over the tender place between his shoulder blades, Draco whispered healing charms, and the marks faded, and with them, the pain. Kissing the spot where the wound had been, as if he was trying to smooth it away with his tongue, Draco ran his hands down Harry's back, over the muscles there.

Nervous again, Harry whimpered, turning his face to the side, his hands folded under his chin. He was breathing heavily, nearly panicking, and Draco leaned down and kissed his cheek. He was straddling Harry's back now.

"It's alright," he whispered again, and he kissed the back of Harry's neck.

"Mm hmm," Harry agreed, though he was shaking, terrified.

Draco could tell, and he laughed softly, sitting up and running his hands down Harry's back, along his spine, again and again until Harry could not help but relax. burying his face in his folded arms and closing his eyes. Gradually, Draco's touch grew firmer, until he was massaging all of the knots of terror and tension from Harry's back. He had oil then, which he massaged into Harry's skin, smoothing it over and over in long strokes down his naked back, until Harry moaned softly into the pillow and arched up into his touch.

Harry rolled onto his back, eyes feeling sleepy and heavy, and he could not imagine being anywhere but here. Images of Ginny and Lucius and all the rest had faded, until it seemed distant and dusty and no way as vivid as Draco's eyes.

He was breathing heavily, every exhalation nearly a sob, and Draco smiled approvingly and kissed him hard, grinding down again, and this time, Harry was too lost in all the heat to be afraid of being ashamed. It built from there, like a fire where every movement and kiss and whisper added more and more fuel.

When Draco gently coaxed him onto his stomach again, Harry obeyed unquestioningly, and Draco leaned down and kissed him over his shoulder, trailing fingertips down his oily back lightly, teasingly, between his shoulder blades, following the line of his spine, and lower.

There was no shame in this, and Harry wondered how he could ever have thought that this and what he'd had with Charlie could even be considered the same thing. This was not a physical thing, was not Charlie taking comfort that Harry was too weak to refuse. This was... everything.

On the most basic level, it was Harry and Draco and Draco was behind him and above him, muscles straining and chest heaving with breaths that were both hot and trembling. This was trembling hands clutching sweaty shoulders and sliding down backs where muscles moved under silken skin. Eyes dark with hunger and a painful yearning that might have been there all along and that both had been to scared to see. Eyes sliding shut and lips parting for breathless moans and words that could have been English but had no real definition.

It was Draco's tongue running down Harry's back, tracing the bumps and hollows of his spine and swirling over the expanse of skin between his shoulder blades. It was fingers threading through hair and tracing circles over feverish skin, and soft cries, and heads tilting back and tongues on throats and collar bones. It was everything.

Harry's fingertips ran over Draco's face, tracing his cheeks and nose and lips, which parted the tiniest bit, and then Draco's tongue was tasting those fingers. His gray eyes fluttered shut and his tongue coaxed Harry's fingers into his mouth, warm and wet and tongue gently sucking and swirling and taking Harry's fingers deeper.

Harry wondered, as Draco's mouth took his fingers, if he could taste the blood there, the blood that stained his hands. His own blood, Ginny's blood, Ron's blood, Draco blood, and the blood of a thousand others who had never even had the chance to tell Harry their names.

It did not matter, because Draco's hands were cradling Harry's now, stretching them out flat against the mattress, palm down, Draco's hands laid over top, pinning them there. Harry's chest was pressed down against the mattress, his head tilted to the side, and Draco was kissing the back of his neck, whispering and nuzzling behind his ear, on top of him, behind him, holding him there, though Harry ached and strangled a whimper by pressing his face into the mattress. It came out sounding like a ragged sob.

But none of that mattered. The blood and the tears and the scars that marked him were nothing beneath Draco's hands and mouth and tongue.

Harry was feverish, aching, every nerve in his body singing, and Draco was there, all over and behind and above and inside, and Harry wanted to scream or die or... or fall apart. This was why the entire world had been created, he decided, in those hazy moments when all that mattered was Draco's breath against the back of his neck and every place they touched.

It would stay that way for the rest of Harry's life.

The entire world had been constructed for this, made for this. Made to fall apart for this.

If anyone ever tried to tell him that he could ever love anyone else as completely as he was meant to love Draco Draco, they never really saw him, and now Harry's eyes were wide and so very dark and he felt like he was seeing himself for the first time.

He could feel Draco's hair brushing his own cheek, as Draco kissed his shoulder and whimpered.

This was why he existed at all. The entire reason for Harry's existence was here, in the way Draco was grinding down into him, these breathless gasps and arching, fighting, melting... more, yes, like that. Yes. This was everything.

Nothing mattered, nothing had ever mattered, except the scars on his skin that Draco's tongue traced, nothing mattered, nothing had ever mattered, except this, and nothing ever would, ever could, ever...

And then he was moaning, Draco's name or something like it, some variation of some term of endearment or something, anything, it did not matter, for in moments like this, it all comes down to the same. And he arched and he came and he sobbed harshly, burying his face in his arm and pressing himself down, down, into the mattress and shaking.

There was a low cry, a whisper, a sort of longing whimper that was strangled and quiet but still made Harry shiver more than anything else, and then Draco was kissing his shoulders and the space in between, whispering husky things that Harry was sure weren't in English but that he was too exhausted to ask about.

There were shattered pieces in Harry's mind, like a wine glass had fallen and broken into tiny fragments of crystal, making some random design on the floor that looked like a pattern of fallen diamonds or raindrops.

They were raw and they were broken and had waited breathless and bleeding for so many years for this.