Author:
![[info]](http://stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
kaaleeRating: PG-13
Canon: post-HBP.
Length: 1,600 words.
Scenario: I promise not to get so emotional.
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor pretend to own any characters or locations within the HP Universe, they remain the sole property of J. K. Rowling, Warner Bros., Christopher Little Agency and associates. No money is made from this work, it is purely a work of fanfiction.
Notes: This is written in a in a relatively stark, odd style. Thank you dearly to
naadi and shikishi for the very helpful beta work and to mpuppet for advice on several bits and for saying "omg" about the first section. I might not have written it had she not. ♥Who were we when not familiar?
He awakens and the fear and pain is there but he can't remember why - if? - it's so familiar. Swallowing against the jagged lines of recent screams coating the back of his throat, Draco wishes for something to ease his parched mouth.
Almost immediately he hears footfalls, and raises his head. Blinking, he panics. There is some light here, but what little there is shines in serrated lines across the floor. Sharp. Like it would cut you if you-
"Ouch!" he cries as his foot hits the floor. The sun is like a razor, slicing his foot and he pulls it back onto the bed. But, oh.
Not a bed, it's a cot. Cot. Cot. Hard. Scratchy. Noisy. It creaks when he moves.
Looking wildly around, Draco thinks: Grey. Dark. Cold. He wonders if he's going to start crying. A voice in his mind says, "Again?" and he doesn't know what to answer.
The footsteps stop outside the bars � two people. Two people, four feet, he thinks. Four people, eight feet.
He can still add.
One of the men is in front of the other and unlocks something with a clank. Clank! Draco's mind echoes and he shakes his head because he thinks he should probably pay attention for this.
The uniforms are hard. Hard and dark and... probably rough, he thinks. The two guards come in and one's lips are thin. Straight line. Line. Drawn with a wand, not a wobbly quill.
The other's are full and dark and... something.
Something at the back of his mind. Something like-
"Malfoy!" one of them barks.
He looks around for a second, thinking: My father? But...
No Lucius Malfoy in the doorway. They're looking at him. Watching. Staring. Staring with eyes like peeled onions and boring holes into him. The uniforms are so hard. Hard like the front one's gaze and Draco suddenly realizes,
"Me?"
"Yeah," the same one sneers. "Who'n the bleeding hell you think we're talking to?"
Draco thinks: You're the only one talking. The other one is only-
Something in the back of his mind prickles. Lip. Bite. The other guard has bit the corner of his lip, looking pointedly at Draco and- oh!
He can almost remember...
Beautiful, sweating, panting, blinking and above and over and always so warm. Always in the air and words and words and love. So much and so short and so intense - like a sudden rainstorm when the air is so dry it could cut your throat.
Oh, it is.
Green eyes watching and fluttering and beads of sweat rolling down, down creamy-pale skin and lips are biting, biting (hard!) those perfect lips and, god, the anticipation because, because it means-
Fingers tightening and eyes closing and "Draco, fuck!"
Panting and shuddering and warmth just seeping in. Blistering shocks battering through him like a deluge and he's clinging.
And silence. The silence of skin: content, softening, and fragrant.
Dark now.
Draco can't remember if they left or when they left or if they were even here. Things feel muzzy in his mind - like he's looking through shattered glass. There's no clock. No watch. No ticktocktick that never stops. Just...
No time.
Maybe it's-
Noises again. He freezes and tries to hide. Folding in upon himself, like maybe he used to when he was younger and no one had yet figured out that he played games with the House Elves and-
It's that guard. So dark. He can't see his lips. Can't see because the uniform is too dark. He wonders if maybe he just might be-
A hoarse voice interrupts. The guard says, "Sleep now."
He does.
The light doesn't hurt now. He can open his eyes completely and he feels almost calm. The cot creaks as he shifts and his throat is raw again. A familiar raw. Screaming scrapes things into tattered shards and he tries to swallow gently, but winces when it burns, stings, brings tears to his eyes.
Things are starting to come back. (Again?) Little things first. Feelings and staccato images flashing through his mind. They're rocking as one, panting, sweaty, together. The look above him is happy and locked on his eyes and smiling like you can only do with someone you'd let see you at your worst. Perfect. Vulnerable. Harry.
"Yes!" he calls out, blinking, trying to clear the fog in his mind again. Awake?
The footsteps start again but he's not there anymore. Anywhere. The sharp footfalls echo down the corridor and the images splash onto the floor and evaporate.
Tears well up and drip and fall and he's so alone now. Something in the back of his head says: This was your idea and he thinks that might be right. He thinks he remembers Harry. Nodding. Sad. Resigned and ready and pulling him into a fierce kiss that nearly fused their bodies together with the heat of it.
But there isn't any heat here. Hasn't had it since they were together and right and yes. Draco shuts his eyes against the forced holes of manic memory and curses things he knows he can't remember.
He's screaming loud and over and over because everything has hit him all at once and it hurts - hurt hurtouch - like searing pinpricks in his eyes and the tears just won't come and he's wailing again and - oh.
In his arm.
Pain.
Pain like a quick jab of a kni-
"He's screaming again, Potter."
"I know."
"We can't have him give awa-"
"I know." The voice was clipped. A warning.
"Sir, research says that too many mem-"
"I don't know what you're missing here, Mulligan, but I've got things under control. We have merely days to put this in place and Draco is fully aware of the risks. If you'll remember his explanation, he cited various Healer's work and-"
"But, sir, memory charms can dam-"
Harry barked, "Ron!"
A voice, farther away, "Yeah?"
"Let's get Mulligan back to his post, yeah?"
"With pleasure."
Footfalls come and go; Draco thinks one set sounds almost sheepish. He turns to look at Harry. The eyes aren't hard anymore, but soft all over and he thinks about trees and flying and watching the sky as Harry thrusts and grunts above him in their ragged tent.
Opening his mouth to ask Harry when this'll be over, Draco blinks in surprise.
Oh. He's gone again.
If, well...
If he was ever there at all.
He knows there's a why. A reason. Some explanation for why he's here and not there. Wherever there is, his mind says.
Reaching out to trace the faint 'H' pattern on the cold wall, he knows it has to do with: "What did they do to you?" and "How you ever survived is beyond me." Harry's words. But Draco had always thought that was odd because wasn't Harry the living example of How in the bloody hell did you survive?
He blinks. He does remember. Well, remember-ish. He remembers the rain and a gathering near a fire. People are looking at him, nodding, but Harry's lips are pursed. He remembers looking at Weasley, not pleading, but telling, asking... Weasley nods and puts his hand on Harry's arm. "Harry, you know it's the only way. They've gotten too many and if this works, we can finally-"
Shacklebolt interrupts, "But how do we know that they won't just kill Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco says, "They won't" at the same time Harry says, "We won't let them."
The voice is hushed. Like a memory.
"You have to stop doing that."
"Wha-?" he says, blinking and trying to see but dark - in his eyes - so dark. Blanketing, smothering, why-can't-I-breathe-right dark.
"Draco, I worry when you keep screaming like that. They're going to hear something, learn something. Too much."
"I was screaming?" he asks. "Again?"
"Yeah." But the voice has a smile in it. A crooked, toothy, knowing smile. Maybe.
"I do that a lot, I think."
"Yeah, you do."
"I promise not to get so emotional. I can do this. The charms will make me forget."
"Draco." The voice was lovingly harsh. "That's not something to apologize for. You just get your arse in there and don't make trouble and wait for me to-"
"Always," he said around the fear that hides behind his heart, his lungs, in the dark recesses of his mind. "Always."
Loud shouts wake him and he thinks Where am I? and then, Oh! Still so cold. This time he knows it's a cot without thinking because the cold has settled deep into his bones.
Stones crash to the floor; he can hear screams and the sounds of hexes being cast. He doesn't remember what to do and he backs into the wall, eyes scanning the floor for a rock or a stick or a bloody insect that he could throw.
The corridor echoes with footsteps and he braces himself for the inevitable; thinks he must have failed and he'll never get the chance to know what he's done and tell Harry he was sor-
"Malfoy," a voice hisses and he looks up. Weasley. There's a wry grin and a shake of unkempt ginger hair. "Took us a bit longer, but we're here now. Harry's coming."
Draco stands and walks toward Weasley and the long, wobbly path from the cot is surprisingly smooth on his bare feet this time. Maybe... just maybe...
It's going to happen.
Weasley pulls out his wand and looks almost apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to-"
Draco nods and pulls his stringy hair away from his temple. Warmth fills him, hope; there is a thrilling rush of familiar anticipation and then: "Obliviate."
It begins again.
For the very last time.
Thank you so much for reading! ♥
