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

Windfallen

Cinnamon

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

Chapter 10

Chapter Summary:
A new Unforgivable is spreading like wildfire and only Harry Potter is immune to its power, and only he can soothe its effects. When Draco is hit by the curse and left for dead by his own side, a misguided sense of duty compels Harry to care for him, and in doing so, he learns more than he ever thought possible about nightmares, hatred, love, and above all, the true nature of forgiveness. Harry/Draco, semi-consensual Charlie/Harry, Ginny/Lucius, and Ron/Ginny. Post-Hogwarts, post OotP, and very dark.
Posted:
04/22/2004
Hits:
4,604

Windfallen

Chapter Ten: Claustrophobia

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy

The sun had fully risen when Harry finally made it to Hogsmeade, the brilliant lights of dawn dulling to the ordinariness of the day. The city was nearly deserted. If people still lived there, they hid in their homes and nursed loved ones or suffered the effects of the curse themselves. It was silent, hushed, and eerie.

The Floo Powder Hub was empty, and Harry nervously helped himself to some leftover powder and tossed it in the nearest fireplace. Green flames roared up and he stepped into them, all his movements automatic. He was following Draco's orders blindly. Getting as far away as he could.

But then, standing in the flame, he could not think of where in the world he should go.

"Diagon Alley," he said halfheartedly a moment later, and then he was spinning like a top and exploding into the abandoned Leaky Cauldron.

A fine layer of dust had settled there. No one was drinking or skulking in the shadows, which he supposed was a good thing. Sort of. No one to turn him into the Ministry, if even that still existed.

He walked to his home, which was near Diagon Alley, and did not see a single other person on the way. It was all very quiet and strange, and Harry was unnerved. He hadn't given much thought to the effects the curse would have on the world at large. Up until this point he had been focused on what it meant to him personally, which was that Draco was weakening and losing his mind. He could barely imagine a world without Draco Malfoy in it, and now was suddenly faced with the prospect of a world without anyone in it at all. Whether they had died of madness and suicide, or were home nursing loved ones, or cowering under their beds, they were gone, and Harry was more alone than he had ever, ever been.

The door to his apartment complex was standing open, and Harry let himself in, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell. He opened the door to his apartment, glanced around dully at the furniture that no longer seemed his, and the rooms that had stood empty for lifetimes or more, it seemed. Kicking the door shut, he made his way slowly into his bedroom, eyes burning and dry, and fell, face-first, onto his bed.

He lay there unmoving for three days, sleeping or staring blankly at the wall, breathing shallowly and without making a sound. He left the room in a daze every now and again to go to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and staring emptily into the mirror, and then returned to his room and stared.

Finally, when hunger drew him into the kitchen, he moved slowly, his legs not used to such a long journey, his body trembling with hunger it had nearly forgotten how to feel.

He ate half a sandwich made on bread charmed never to go stale and it was all he could hold down. Shaking with nausea and the strange feeling of having lived in complete silence for three entire days, without even the sound of his own voice, he moved to the window, hungering for any sign of another human being.

There was nothing there.

Listless and craving something he could not define, that could not be human contact because he never wanted to have to talk to anyone else again, at least not until it was all over and Draco came for him, Harry left his apartment. He made his way up onto the roof, staring out over the rooftops of London. There were odd patches of complete darkness, where people did not even bother turning their lights on anymore, and other parts that blazed with more lights than ever, as if people thought brighter lights would mean the madness stayed away. Or maybe they just seemed brighter next to the patches of dark.

He stretched out on the low concrete wall that ran around the perimeter of the roof, lying on his back, arms folded under his head. There was a cool breeze blowing, and it was the only sound.

For hours, he lie there, staring up at the stars that grew brighter and brighter as the night progressed and he stared at them. The lights of London were slowly fading out, as people fell asleep or into the curse or death, and others gently shut them off. Dark was stealing over the city and with it, the stars shone brighter.

He was resting. He had promised that he'd break the curse and he would, but he was so tired. It was all empty and echoing, silent and still, and all he wanted to do was die. He couldn't, though, of course he couldn't. Harry Potter Boy Who Lived did not lie sleeping while the world fell apart. The world would fall into despair and madness and death and everyone would die, and Harry would be the only one left. But he had no energy to move, let alone fight.

He was too exhausted to cry about it, and finally closed his eyes. He slept there, right on the edge of the roof, and woke when the sun was up and there was a faint murmur from the streets below; the guilty whispers of those in a hospital or funeral home.

He stared blankly up at the sky, which was blue and cloudless. He moaned softly, the sound startling him and breaking the silence. He closed his eyes and fancied he could hear Draco sneering about how pathetic this all was. Lying here and waiting for the world to end when it was his responsibility to do all he could to stop it.

So he got up, ran a shaking hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. "Ready," he whispered, voice husky, promising himself that he would do whatever it took. Wasting away on a rooftop would not save his own life, nor would it save Draco's.

He went back inside, full of determination with no clear idea what he was going to do. He had fleeting ideas of himself armed with something archaic like a bow and arrow, flitting through shadows and assassinating Dementors one-by-one, until he'd killed them all. There was no time for such trivial ideas, however, and besides, he wasn't a very good shot.

But there had to be something. He still couldn't cast the Dark Patronus, which was the only known way to kill a Dementor. He had another fanciful idea of he and Draco stalking the Dementors together, combining their magic and casting both Light and Dark Patronus Charms, but that idea seemed even more farfetched than the first.

Growing irritated and disillusioned, Harry scowled; it was Hermione who came up with the plans, at least the ones with any hope of succeeding. Harry wasn't a strategist.

He fell back into his armchair, sighing. The chair nearly tipped over, and he started swearing under his breath. One of the legs had broken off before all of this with Draco had even begun, and he'd been gone so long that he'd forgotten.

Randomly reaching for a few books off his bookshelf, Harry started stacking them under the chair to balance it, and, on the third title he'd pulled off the shelf, his hand stilled. Pentigrams and Particles: A Magicular Theory on Magic.

He started to laugh, his voice harsh with the irony and pain of discovering the book that had sent him to Malfoy Manor to recover, right in his own living room.

The laugh ended in a choked sob, and he finished stacking the books under the chair and then curled up in it, holding the book Hermione had decided held all the knowledge necessary to stop the curse on his lap.

Charlie had given it to him, he remembered. For his birthday, which had fallen a few weeks after the first time he had been with Harry. Charlie had never known him, not really, and had thought he'd like it. Harry had smiled an awkward sort of thanks he did not mean, and stuck it on his shelf, never looking at it again.

On the inside front cover, Charlie had written, "Harry- Thanks. For everything. -Charlie."

Harry let out a sharp breath and turned the page.

He read for hours, learning more about the natural properties of magic than he ever had before, even in school. It was different, sitting through hours of classes and wondering rather absently if he'd have to remember anything from that class for his N.E.W.Ts. This meant life or death, for the wizarding world, the Muggle world, and Draco. This was everything.

So he turned page after page, learning about magic as a physical thing, with a set quantity in the world, like any other element. How different sorts of spells took up different amounts of energy, how that energy had been recycled from different elements, and how, if he did manage to end the curse, there would be a horrific amount of magical fallout created. He learned all the molecular theory behind the different brands of magic, light, dark, natural and unnatural. Magic that manipulated space and time, magic that added to existing things, and magic that subtracted from it. He learned of the different ways they interacted with the natural environment, taking elements from nature and shifting it to various degrees to cause what Muggles would ignorantly call unnatural results.

In the end, after night had fallen and he had carefully read every page, he felt he knew nothing more than he had to begin with, which was that magic could be neither created nor destroyed, just like energy.

Distraught, frustrated, and on the verge of a panic attack, he went into the kitchen and made another sandwich with peanut butter and jelly.

Feeling bleak and helpless, Harry left the peanut butter and jelly out and went back up to the roof. He sat on the edge of it and watched the stars for a while again, thinking about how hopeless it all was and feeling very, very small. He couldn't beat this. He couldn't even save himself, how could he save anyone else in the world? He wasn't a hero... he was nothing. The only way he knew how to define himself anymore was when he was with Draco, and he was beginning to think that letting Draco fly away and leave him there alone was the most foolish thing he'd ever done.

He could barely breathe without Draco. How was he supposed to do this without him?

It was getting too much, the silence and darkness, and the huge sky he'd missed so much was pressing down on him, making him claustrophobic. Harry went back inside, desperate for some sound other than his own heartbeat and breathing, the warmth of someone's hand touching him because his skin was going numb from not being touched. It was strange that he'd gotten so used to physical human contact in the relatively short time he'd been with Draco.

He stared at the book he'd read that day, which he'd left on the table, and something cold seemed to coil up inside him and make him shiver. Charlie knew what loneliness was, Charlie knew how to make loneliness go away. Charlie would touch him, and Harry was beginning to forget what it was like to be touched. Charlie... Charlie liked to touch him. Of course, Harry did not like to be touched by Charlie...

But he was so lonely.

Picking up the book, he went into his bedroom and fetched his broomstick, climbing back onto the roof. London was so intent on curling up in a little ball and dying of madness that he hardly thought they'd care if a boy flew over them on a broomstick. So he did.

He flew through the dark skies for an hour, landing outside a small house on the outskirts of London, where Bill and Charlie had lived together before Bill had died a few years before.

As far as Harry knew, Charlie still lived there.

There were lights flickering on the second floor, and Harry knocked lightly on the door. When no one came, he knocked again, louder, and then louder still.

Finally, the door opened and Charlie stood there, his hair wild and eyes wilder still. It took a moment for his eyes to fall on Harry's face, and then he went incredibly pale.

"You're dead," he said, but it wasn't a threat. It was empty and dull, as if he could not muster the strength to care. There were echoes of nightmares all around him, in his skinny frame and mad eyes. Obviously, the curse was thriving within him.

"I'm not."

"Oh." Then Charlie hit him, his fist suddenly slamming into the side of Harry's face, cracking his nose and gashing his lip on his front teeth. Harry had a moment to blink, startled, before he was falling sideways, his head smashing into the pavement, and then there was only darkness.

When Harry came to, it was by slow, painful degrees, and the first thing he was aware of was a sort of buzzing, that was a pain he could not quite feel yet but that radiated from his cheek and nose. After the pain had become actual pain, instead of that strange vibrating whisper in the back of his mind, he realized that someone's hands were running feverishly over his body, and that he was being held, cradled, like a child. And finally, he heard a voice, which was Charlie's, of course.

"Oh, shh, Harry, Harry, I'm so sorry, so sorry, wake up... c'mon, baby, I'm sorry," he said, and Harry finally opened his eyes, staring blankly up at him. Charlie's face was paler now even than before, and his eyes wide and shining with tears. "I didn't mean to, I swear, are you alright? I was just so... so... You're bleeding. Oh god."

"It's alright," Harry tried to say, but the words were slurred and broken because of his slashed lip. It didn't matter, because Charlie was lifting him, holding him, supporting his head and angling him carefully as he made his way through the doorway into his house, and Harry could only protest weakly before he was carefully placed on the couch.

"Alright? Alright?" Charlie kept chanting. He gently touched Harry's nose and Harry flinched. "Aww, fuck," he whispered. "Broken. I'll fix it." He left, to get water, ice, and his wand to heal Harry's nose.

While he was gone, Harry, feeling weak and trapped, helpless, like a mouse who willingly walked into a trap he'd escaped once before, started to cry. He did not want to be here, did not want Charlie to touch him, did not miss being touched so much as being touched by Draco and now he was bleeding and aching and Charlie had touched him and it didn't matter... Harry was still so very, very lonely.

He remembered the last time he'd seen Charlie, how Charlie had kissed and touched and scared him, and how Pansy and Draco had protected him. Now there was no one and nothing except for Harry's blood and Charlie's madness and he was a fool for coming here.

He wanted Draco and whimpered his name softly, just as Charlie came back into the room. Charlie froze and then, after a moment, came close, kneeling beside him. He gently began cleaning away the blood on Harry's face and Harry flinched, terrified of his reaction.

"Shh," Charlie cooed. "It's alright, Harry. It's alright." He smoothed back his hair as Harry tried to wonder desperately how anything was alright. "I would have done the same."

He made a sound of protest in his throat, and Charlie, met his eyes and then looked away. Harry pushed his hands away and sat up, swallowing the blood that had run into his throat and coughing. He pulled out his own wand before Charlie could react or reach out to stop him and healed his own nose with a soft spell. There was a split second and then the bones slid back into place, erasing the pain, and he cleaned the blood with Charlie's cloth and then healed his lip as well. Charlie had sat back on his heels and watched all of this with the faintly indulgent smirk of a father watching his child learn to walk for the first time, fully expecting them to fall.

Harry let the cloth fall to the ground and then looked nervously at Charlie. "It's fine," he said, voice a little rough. "What do you mean?"

"By what?" Charlie sat beside him, too close.

"You would have done the same."

"I would have."

"The same as what?"

"If it was me." Charlie ran his hair through Harry's hair. "It must have been so hard. I...wanted to tell you how sorry I was. I was startled that day. At your flat. When Malfoy came out of the bedroom, with that girl. I wasn't thinking. I mean, I should have known..."

"Known what?" Harry was confused, nothing was making sense, and he was quite sure this wasn't the way things were supposed to go.

"Known that you were innocent. I mean, you're Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. You don't go harboring enemies and that sort of thing, you're... you're a hero. Infallible. It's one of the things I admire most about you."

Harry stared at him for a long moment, and then said, "I was, though."

Charlie ignored him and slid an arm around his shoulders. "I was just...well... I was jealous. I thought..." he laughed quietly, burying his face in Harry's shoulder. "I thought that you and he... It was stupid."

"Charlie." Harry edged away. "What did you think it was, if not me harboring enemies or... or sleeping with them? I mean, what the hell else could it have been?" He was beginning to get indignantly angry.

"Obviously, Malfoy was there after you. He was attacking you. And then when I woke up and escaped, threatening to send the Ministry after him, he ran. I'm just glad I was able to keep him from taking you. After I heard about you escaping the Ministry, I was frantic. I was so worried he'd find you and hurt you." Charlie scowled furiously. "He didn't, though, did he? If he touched you, I'll kill him."

Harry leapt off the couch, an angry flush blooming on his cheeks. "Okay. Okay, Charlie, just... stop talking. Because every time you open your mouth, something fucking stupid comes out and I need to think, before you make it worse." He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head furiously.

"Harry, calm down," Charlie said pleadingly. "Come and sit with me. What's wrong? Did I say something--"

"You fucking said thousands of things! Everything you've ever said to me has been a complete waste of my time and your breath!" He was shouting and he didn't care; it was a strange feeling, shouting and not caring that he was saying things he'd regret when he was calm. He spun back towards Charlie and hissed, "He did touch me, Charlie, and I fucking liked it, which is more than I can say for when you did it."

"Harry." Charlie sounded shocked.

"What, did I disappoint you?" he sneered. "I'm not a hero, Charlie, I never claimed to be. If that's the thing you admire most about me, you don't even know me. Draco was in my house because I brought him there. I wanted him there. You were there because I felt pity for you."

Then Charlie was there, wrapping arms that should not have been as strong as they were around Harry's shoulders, pinning him against Charlie's chest. "Shh, Harry, just calm down, alright?" he whispered. "It's alright, I won't hurt you... God, I'm so sorry, I didn't know..."

Harry froze, confused. "Didn't know what?" he asked warily, sure that Charlie was misunderstanding again, because if he knew what had really happened, he'd be beating Harry again, like he had when Harry had shown up on his doorstep.

"That he hurt you."

"He didn't."

He sighed. "Shh, baby, I understand."

"I don't think you do."

"Like I said, I would have done the same."

Harry shoved him away. "Done the same as what?"

"Convinced myself I loved him because I was alone and scared and because that would make it right."

Harry was shaking, just a little. "Make what right?" he whispered.

Charlie looked very solemn. "The fact that I could not make him stop touching me." He touched Harry's chin. "Did he rape you, Harry?"

Harry started laughing in a way that was painful and soon cracked and he was crying. Charlie rocked him and stroked his back and told him that it was alright, but it really, really wasn't. It was so morbidly wrong that Harry wanted to die. Or go crawling back to Draco and let him lick all of Charlie's fingerprints off his skin.

"Don't touch me," he said finally, sobbing. He shoved Charlie back with all his strength. "Don't, because I don't like it. I... I like...Draco... and... and you shouldn't touch me because Draco would kill you if he knew." The last was said all in one breath.

Charlie was watching him strangely, as if he didn't quite recognize him. "Then what are you doing here, Harry?"

"I wanted to give this back to you." He pulled out the book Charlie had given him. "Thank you. For giving it to me. But I don't want anything from you, anything." It wasn't exactly why he had come, but Harry suddenly could not think of anything except getting as far away from here as he could.

Charlie took the book, staring at it blankly. "Don't you--"

"I don't," he said quickly. "And... I'm sorry. For everything. But it wasn't my f-fault. It was an accident. Ron and your parents and G-Ginny and--"

Charlie blinked. "Ginny?" he echoed.

"I didn't mean for her to die."

There was an endless silence, and then Charlie croaked, "Die?"

Harry's eyes widened and his mouth went dry. Charlie didn't know. "It... It was an accident..." he stammered. "I... I should go. I... I...Charlie..." he held out one hand pleadingly.

"I think you've made a mistake," Charlie said, very coldly.

Harry nodded frantically. "I have, I know. It was a mistake. I didn't mean to do it, but she was going to hurt Draco and I--"

Charlie twitched and his eyes darkened. "I'll kill him. I'll rip him apart. He deserves to be hurt. What the hell happened to Ginny?"

"She... she died, Charlie. And he doesn't. Deserve to die. And if you try to hurt him, I-I'll kill you too." It was a weak threat, and he swallowed convulsively.

"You killed her." It wasn't a question, but a soft hiss.

"By accident," Harry whispered.

"How?"

"I had a gun. And she tried to hurt Draco. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Charlie, I swear, I'm sorry, I--"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because Charlie growled, the same blank rage that had led him to hit Harry before darkening his eyes again. He grabbed Harry roughly by the front of his shirt and shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back onto the floor.

Charlie was bigger and stronger, despite having lost weight during the curse, and he kicked Harry, hard, in the side. Moaning, Harry flinched, curling into a protective ball and starting to cry.

"It isn't true," Charlie growled, the madness from the curse showing itself more than ever. "Tell me it isn't true."

"It's not true," Harry whimpered. He deserved this. This was his punishment for letting the world down. For letting Draco down and not being strong enough to stay with him.

"It's not," Charlie agreed, crouching over Harry. He stroked his side where his kick had fallen, gently. "You're injured," he said, as if he could not remember having struck him.

"It's nothing," Harry lied. He could barely breathe through the pain.

"And you never liked it when Draco Malfoy used you like a whore."

Harry was dead silent.

Charlie shook him a little, and Harry moaned. "Tell me you lied, Harry."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry didn't say a word.

"You lied," Charlie whispered mournfully. "You did. You had to. I've loved you my whole life."

"You haven't known me your whole life," Harry wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

Charlie didn't seem to have heard. "I forgive you, for lying," he said. Then he tried to kiss Harry's mouth, but Harry turned away. Kissing his cheek and then his neck, Charlie began whispering against his skin, his hands stroking down Harry's chest. "You had to have lied," Charlie said, after a moment. "Because you're mine."

Harry tensed. "What?" he whispered.

"You took Ginny from me, and Ron, and my parents, and all of my other brothers died because of your useless war--"

"My war?"

"And so you...owe me." He kissed Harry's throat. "Because you took so much and--"

"No." This was wrong, this was all fucking wrong, and Draco would he furious if he could see Harry now, lying broken and scared underneath Charlie who was trying to claim him, when Draco already had. "Don't touch me."

Charlie kissed him again, though not on his mouth.

Harry twisted, though it made his ribs burn, and he cried out with the pain of it. "Don't touch me, don't, Charlie, I'm not yours! I was never yours! I'm...Draco's and I was meant to be and I want to be and he knows I am and you can't have me. He'd kill you... if he knew... he'd rip you apart. Get off me."

"I'll kill him," Charlie hissed. "For taking what's mine." Charlie was kneeling between Harry's legs, was sucking on his throat, his hands were under Harry's shirt, and Harry felt, for one split second, that he was going to be sick.

He wasn't, because Draco wouldn't have. Draco would have ripped him apart.

But Draco wasn't here and Harry was, and he was alone, so he would have to do it, for Draco. So he growled and arched up, throwing Charlie off balance. He rolled on top of him and twisted his fists in Charlie's shirt, lifting him and slamming him back into the floor, so that Charlie's head snapped up and smashed back down. He hissed, "I never wanted anything from you or the world, certainly not this fucking war, I never caused any of this, never wanted to be a hero, you all decided I would be and blamed me when you were too weak to win a war I never chose. I never wanted anything from you or from anyone else, except him, and that's the one thing you don't think I should have?" And with every word, he smashed Charlie into the floor again, pinning him with his legs.

Charlie's eyes were wide, startled, and Harry glared down at them and slipped his hands up around Charlie's throat. The blows against the floor had stunned Charlie, and his struggles were weak. Harry tightened his hands around the fragile throat under his hands and smashed Charlie's head against the floor again and again, because those stupid, stupid eyes were still confused and mad and alive and if Draco was here, he would tear them out for what Charlie had accused Harry of, what he had done to Harry and what he had tried to make Harry say. That loving Draco was a lie.

Which it wasn't.

So Harry choked him until he was dead, his scalp bleeding and torn.

And then the horror of what he'd just done washed over him and he froze.

"Charlie?" he whimpered.

There was no reply, except for blank, staring eyes that were no longer confused, nor mad, and certainly not alive. They were blank, and Harry could see his own reflection in them.

"Charlie." He carefully pulled his bloody hands away and bit his lower lip. "Oh. Charlie?" His voice was getting higher and higher, though a strange calm kept him from panicking. He smoothed Charlie's hair and then sat back, still straddling him. "You're alright," he told Charlie, though of course Charlie wasn't. Harry shook him lightly. "Don't," he whimpered, and then he could not help the panic nor the tears. "Please, please, no, don't do this, Charlie. I didn't mean it. Don't... I'll... I'm sorry. You're right, Charlie, you're right. It was a lie. It was all a lie. Of course I love you. Please, Charlie, please, I'll do anything. I'll give you anything. Please... just... just be alright and we can...can be together... you don't have to do this...don't have to...you can have...have anything. Me. You can have me. I've loved you my whole life."

And then he was sobbing so hard and so brokenly, that talking was impossible, and he collapsed on top of Charlie.

Charlie was going cold.

Oh god, oh god. Harry couldn't remember how long he'd been crying there, but Charlie was going cold. He crawled off of him, sticky with blood and tears. His book was lying on the floor, forgotten, and he picked it up, leaving bloody fingerprints.

He looked at Charlie and stared for a moment, swallowing hard. Everything was spinning too quickly and it was making him dizzy, but everything inside his head was so echoingly silent and still. He was frozen, broken, empty. And Charlie was dead and he had caused that.

What should he do? God, he didn't want to do anything, just wanted to die or... or curl up with Draco and cry... He would go home, and wash, and then he'd go back to Draco, and Draco would tell him that it was alright, because Draco would understand. Even what Harry couldn't, Draco would, and he would explain it and make it go away.


Author notes: The lyrics in this chapter come from Fiona Apple's song Paper Bag.

I don't really hate Weasleys, I swear...