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Love Is...
The world cracked apart in no more than a moment. Five seconds. Maybe three.
Harry's throat stung.
The two robed figures lay limp on the wooden floor of the abandoned cottage. Panting, Harry thrust their wands into his pocket along with his own. He ached with cold. Even the smallest movement took a force of will as his muscles felt like bags of icy sand.
Immobilise the Death Eaters.
Keep them here.
They'll know things.
Each thought seared Harry's mind, singular and abrupt. He acted; knelt below the wave of horror and sped through what he needed to do before drowning.
It was an old cottage--ancient, with a mouldering thatched roof and black painted beams caging the walls and ceiling. The floor was coated with dust and mouse leavings. Mustardy light seeped through cracked windows painting the shadows with just enough illumination for Harry to identify them as a sofa, a table, a chair and a chest of drawers. Harry inhaled thick, damp air, pungent with rot, and felt decay spread through his lungs. His head throbbed in time with the pounding of his heart.
Now.
Do it now before you stop being able to do anything at all.
Two thick joists supported the roof on either side of a stone fireplace. They'd do.
Harry dragged the smaller figure over to the beam on the left and propped it up so it rested against the wood. He pulled the arms back on either side of the joist and drew his wand. "Incarcerous." Instead of the rope he'd expected, iron manacles formed around the figure's wrists. Harry blinked. Metal felt right. The Death Eater deserved to be in chains.
The other figure was heavier and took more work to move. Harry gasped, his breath burning through his throat. His stomach felt as though a ravenous weasel was trapped in it, working its way up, trying to gnaw through his guts and into his chest. He had to move faster. Time was running out.
With clammy skin and shaking arms, Harry secured the second Death Eater. Similar chains bound this one's wrists behind the right-hand beam.
There.
They weren't going anywhere.
Harry took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, his lungs aching, and steeled himself to go outside and get Ron and Hermione.
He scanned the woods outside the cottage. There was no remaining sign of the rest of Voldemort's supporters. They must have fled.
Almost no sign.
Hermione lay splayed over the roots of a gnarled oak tree, her head propped against the trunk at an angle that distorted the lower part of her face. Her legs were thrown apart and the lack of dignity in the arrangement of her limbs made Harry's temples pound. As he knelt over her, he saw her neck and hair were thick with blood.
A split second of distraction was all it had taken. Hermione's head had snapped to the side when she'd seen Ron fall. She'd cried out. Then, "Die, you Mudblood bitch," and the curse had thrown her body against the tree with enough force to crack her skull. Not that it had mattered at that point.
She was so light. He lifted her easily, one arm beneath her neck, the other beneath her knees. He carried her inside and gently laid her down on the floor. He closed her eyes. Her face was still slightly warm.
Ron was much heavier.
He'd been face down in the mud -- thick, brown mud swirled with blood seeping from the gash running from Ron's ear, down his throat, and across his abdomen.
The rain started up again, smacking down in heavy drops and tickling icily down Harry's face and scalp. He wiped his sleeve across his face to get water out of his eyes.
He could just about lift Ron. He had to drag him inside the cottage. He grabbed him beneath his arms and pulled, looking down at the top of Ron's head. Ron's feet gouged through the soft, wet earth. Mud quickly squelched to fill the troughs he left behind.
Harry lay Ron on the floor next to Hermione and straightened his limbs.
There they were. Ron and Hermione.
All safe inside now.
Harry fell to the floor and sat beside them.
Done, done, done, all done. Nothing left to do.
He wrapped his arms around his knees, hugging them to his chest, and began to rock.
* * *
"Potter!" The word hissed through his ears, slithering through the electrical storm in his brain.
Potter, Potter, Potter.
That was him. Harry Potter. Haaaarrrry. A nonsense word. A nonsense person. A whole fucking world filled with nothing but nonsense.
Harry. Potter. Those were the names given to the husk enclosing his ticking, stuttering mind. Harry rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. His hands were filthy. He wiped them off on his jeans and looked up.
"You're awake," he said. His voice was deep and rough as if he had a cold.
The taller of the two captured Death Eaters nodded, his mask moving along with his face. "Look… Potter…"
His face may have been covered, but his voice was as familiar to Harry as the constant acidic burn behind his scar. He scowled and waved his wand at the mask. It quivered, but didn't vanish as Harry had intended.
"You can't Vanish them," the voice snapped. "You have to take them off." He pulled at his wrists as if to make a point.
Harry narrowed his eyes and rocked. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet. His joints popped and pain shot through his muscles at having been contracted for so long. Unhurriedly, he walked over and looked down at the white mask angled up towards him. Two grey eyes peered up through the holes, lashes fluttering.
Harry grabbed the mask and yanked it off.
Malfoy gasped and blinked, then went still, staring up at Harry, his face pale, eyes bright. He licked his lips.
"Potter…"
"You said that."
Malfoy's face was so pale and smooth. Like porcelain. Harry wondered if it would shatter if he punched it.
"I… I don't… I didn't…"
Harry crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side. Malfoy swallowed; his eyes shot over towards Ron and Hermione then back to Harry. "What are you going to do with us?" he said in a whisper.
It was a good question. What was Harry going to do with them? Malfoy and…
He turned towards his other captive, who was still masked.
"If you're smart, you'll let us go." It was a nasal, feminine voice. Harry's lip curled. "The Dark Lord will send people. They'll tear you up. If you have half a brain, you'll unchain us before they get here."
Harry took two steps and pulled off her mask. Where Malfoy had lost colour, Parkinson had gone red in blotches across her cheeks. Dark hair fell across one eye. She shook her head to dislodge it.
"Let them come," said Harry, his mouth cracking into a smile. "I'll give them a warm welcome."
Parkinson scowled. "I knew it. Idiot. Fine, we'll just wait. I hope he sends Bella. I'd love to see what she does to you."
Harry crouched down and looked her in the eye. Parkinson's nostrils flared and she raised her chin. He'd never noticed her eyes before. They were robin's egg blue and she couldn't keep them still. Beneath her bravado, she was frightened. Harry's smile twitched. "They can't do anything worse to me than they've already done," he said.
Her lashes fluttered. "That's what you think."
Every pore in her skin, her upturned nose, the cupid's bow of her top lip -- he hated her. Hated her face. Hated everything about her. But she was scared and helpless and suddenly Harry felt heavy. He turned away, stumbled towards the bodies of his friends, and then veered away through an open door behind the sofa. He entered a dark, cramped room filled with a small chest and an abandoned bed. It stank of rot. Harry blundered towards the far wall, smacking his shin against the wooden foot of the bed frame, and jerked the filthy window up and open. Chilly, rain-wet air slapped against his face. With his fingernails digging into the crumbling wood of the window-frame, he inhaled, sucked in as much oxygen as he could. When this did nothing to clear his mind or quiet the spray of razors churning in his gut, he choked out a sob.
Tearing off his glasses, he spun and fell onto the bed. A cloud of dust and spores erupted around him. Harry curled up in a ball. He wanted out; he wanted oblivion. All the strength had left his body and he couldn't do more than shiver. The future loomed in front of him, a solid block of ice in which he could neither move nor breathe.
His mind stuttered and sparked. His legs twitched. Gradually, little by little, he fell into a fitful kind of sleep.
* * *
Harry floundered at the bottom of the icy forest pool again. His lungs were being crushed. He jerked and flailed, his movements slow and useless. High above him a blurry shaped moved to shadow the sparse moonlight refracting through the water. Ron. Ron had come for him, like he would always come for him. Harry kicked. He forced himself upwards towards warmth and colour. His eyes burned. His nose and throat were on fire. The surface was only inches away. Yet he couldn’t do it. He couldn't break through. No matter how he struggled, the pool lengthened so he was always submerged, never breaking through. The shape that was Ron fluctuated and faded. Harry screamed, ice flooding his mouth and lungs, and a moment later he was conscious.
He rolled over, coughing and gagging at the taste of decay coating his tongue. For a long moment after he opened his eyes, the image of Ron stayed with him, silhouetted against the moonlight. Harry panted and caught his breath. His glasses had fallen off. Night had come while he slept and the room was pitch-black. He patted the mattress in front of him until his hand hit a lens, then he slid the spectacles into place.
Shivering against the chill of the midnight air, he slid off the bed and his skin erupted in goose-pimples. He took one vague step and then heard soft voices coming from the other room.
Right. Malfoy and Parkinson. His guests.
Harry crept to the doorframe and listened.
"…will just be grateful to see you again. You eat yourself up over what your father thinks of you. And they worship the ground you walk on, both of them, no matter what happens."
Parkinson's voice was different. Harry wouldn't have recognised it under other conditions. It was softer, almost gentle. His hand tightened against the doorframe as something hot and unpleasant rippled through his chest.
"You don't know him, Pansy. He'll be disgusted with me. Again."
Harry swallowed. He'd heard Malfoy's voice like that only once before, in a bathroom at Hogwarts moments before they'd duelled.
"But it doesn't matter," Malfoy continued. "Because Potter's going to--"
"Potter's not going to do anything. He's Potter. Pathetic. I'll widen my eyes and pout, and he'll crumble."
Malfoy took a long, shuddering breath. "It's different now. Weasley and the Mudblood are lying right there and our lot killed them. Potter's not himself. Did you see his eyes?"
Harry heard a shuffle and the clanking of chains. "Listen to me. Nothing is going to happen to us. I promise. Look at me. Look at me. Draco!"
"I'm looking at you."
"He'll make a mistake. We'll get free. And we'll go back to the Manor and the Dark Lord will reward us beyond our wildest dreams."
"Or kill us."
"Not if we bring him Potter. This is an opportunity. Don’t you see?"
There was a silence broken only by Malfoy's heavy irregular breaths.
Parkinson went on, her voice soft once again. "You and me, Draco. Like always. Taipan and Opaleye."
Malfoy snorted.
"You remember," Parkinson purred.
"We were twelve."
"But it's still the same. You and me. Snake and dragon."
"Ah, Pansy."
"You and me, Draco."
There was a short pause. Then Malfoy repeated after her, "You and me."
We'll go with you, wherever you're going, Ron had said. We're with you whatever happens.
Harry couldn't tell fury from envy. You and me. He was so utterly alone now. And he wanted to hurt them, to smash their you and me to pieces the way his own had been shattered. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. And if he didn't stop listening he was going to do something he'd regret.
He retreated back into the bedroom and slammed the door shut behind him.
* * *
By morning, Harry's skull had tightened into a helmet of pain. He blinked his sore, swollen eyes and pushed himself up to sit on the side of the bed. Meagre light produced by the grey and misty dawn strained through the window. For a moment his mind was blank. Then reality slammed home; he curled forward and covered his face with his hands.
Everything was ice. Pure ice.
It was the need to piss that finally got him moving. He got to his feet and lurched on stiff limbs out of the bedroom. Avoiding glancing into the sitting room, he turned left into the bathroom. It was bigger than he'd have thought with a rust-stained, clawfooted tub. Harry flinched away from his fragmented reflection in the cracked mirror over the sink and stood over the toilet. The water in the bowl was yellow and coated with dust. He unzipped and began to urinate. Strange how it was still necessary, how the minutiae of the world continued despite the voice screaming in his head that it must stop, it had to stop, it couldn't possible go on.
The stream lessened to a trickle and then finished. Harry tucked himself away. The sink tap creaked as he turned it and the water ran brown, yellow and then finally clear over his knuckles and fingers. Numb, Harry watched it swirl down the drain. He turned off the tap, but it continued to leak.
He gripped the edge of the sink and forced himself to look in the mirror. There he was. Fractured. Glacial and melting. The porcelain felt cool and gritty beneath his fingers.
A sharp cry came from the sitting room. On reflex, Harry jerked and immediately darted out to see what was wrong.
As he approached, Parkinson blinked and yawned, just waking. Malfoy, however, lay rigid, grimacing in revulsion with his eyes directed towards Hermione. Harry snapped to follow his gaze. Hermione was still -- stiller than the previous day, somehow. Her skin had lost its colour. Harry watched as the clump of hair lying to the left of her head bulged and shook. Her face quivered, the movement following through down her neck and shoulders. Despite the clear information provided by his eyes, a sick, irrational twist of hope flared in Harry's chest. Then a loud squeek erased even that feeble illusion. A grey rat struggled out through the mat of her hair and poked its nose in the air before returning to gnaw on her ear.
"No!" Harry shouted, and the rat scurried away. He shook, tasting something sour in the back of his throat.
"That was nasty." Parkinson's voice was thick with sleep, but grating as ever.
Harry spun on her. "Shut up!"
"You've got to do something about them, Potter."
"Merlin, Pansy," said Malfoy.
"What? They're going to start to smell soon."
Parkinson shrieked and flinched sharply. Harry's extended arm trembled, his wand pointing straight at Parkinson. It had only been a stinging hex, but he'd been barely aware he was doing it.
"Nice. Hex me while I'm helpless. Very noble." Parkinson's lip wavered beneath her glare.
"Sor--" Harry swallowed the apology and turned away. Once his eyes focused again, he looked at Ron and Hermione. They were gone. Their bodies were still there, but all warmth, personality and evidence of who they'd been had melted away. Ron's eyes lay half open and blank, his face turned slightly to the side.
Come back. Harry's shoulders crumpled forward. Don't leave me on my own.
His eyes ran down Ron's dried-brown blood-stained neck and clothes, coming to rest on the locket, gleaming gold on the centre of Ron's chest.
Right. That.
Harry approached him and knelt down. He pulled the locket from Ron's body and held it in his hand. Its weight spread a prickling, uncomfortable heat through his palm and fingers.
Harry's turn now.
He looped the chain over his head and felt the locket settle over his heart. He'd see things through. He had no choice. If Ron and Hermione's deaths were going to mean anything, Harry would have to complete the quest they'd started together. Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, he prepared himself to say goodbye.
* * *
By time Harry lurched back into the cottage, his hands raw and bleeding, his feet numb with cold, he'd lost the impetus to do anything but stare back at Malfoy and Parkinson. They gaped up at him, Parkinson in disgust, Malfoy in fear, both in horror.
He hadn't had a spade. He'd dug Ron and Hermione's graves using rocks, Levitation, and his bare hands. At some point the nail on his left index finger had been torn off. His knuckles bled freely. He'd had to wipe sweat off his face, and it felt crusty, smeared with blood and dirt. He could barely see through his glasses.
He'd watched his friends' faces disappear, little by little, beneath the earth as he had buried them. On Hermione's grave, Harry had embedded a spare fence plank; Ron's was marked with a large, granite stone.
Neither of the Death Eaters spoke. Harry didn't mind. He wasn't in a chatty mood.
He moved into the bathroom to wash up. Cleaning spells got rid of the worst of the mud on his clothes and boots, but he had trouble trying to heal his hands. The healing charms barely took. He filled the sink with steaming hot water, cleaned his glasses then scrubbed at his face until it stung. Dull pain throbbed through his arms and shoulders. As he leaned forward to inspect a cut on his cheek, the locket clanked against the sink.
Locket.
The ring and the diary had been destroyed. He needed to find the rest of the Horcruxes and figure out how to see to them. By himself now. Dumbledore hadn't figured that into his calculations. The task stretched out in front of Harry, a dark and twisted road obscured by heavy fog. It was impossible.
We know Ravenclaw's artefact is at Hogwarts, Harry. Hermione's voice echoed through his mind. It's a strong lead. Don't give up now. You can do it.
She's right, mate, said Ron. You're our best hope. Do it for us. We're with you till the end, no matter what.
Rubbing at his eyes, Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. Then he went back into the sitting room.
"Are you planning to starve us to death, Potter?" asked Parkinson.
The hot wire of her voice sizzled through his ears. "Hungry, are you? Shame that." He crouched down, resting his hands on his knees. Parkinson narrowed her eyes. "Here. I'll ask you a few questions, and if I like your answers, I'll find something for you to eat."
"I'll die before I tell you anything, you fucking cunt."
Harry widened his eyes. "Some mouth on you."
"What do you want to know?" asked Malfoy
With a start, Harry turned to him. Malfoy was looking at Parkinson, though, not Harry. Malfoy waited until Parkinson met his eyes and then gave her a look Harry couldn't decipher -- his lips pressed tightly together, his eyebrows raised. Parkinson huffed and glared.
Parkinson's a dead loss, said Ron. Try Malfoy. Just shake your fist at him and he'll crumble like a week-old fairy cake.
Blinking, Harry moved over to Malfoy. Malfoy sighed, and focussed his dark-ringed eyes on Harry. A memory of the despair in Malfoy's voice the previous night flickered through Harry's mind. There was nothing soft or vulnerable about his expression now, though. His eyes were cold as frozen lake water. A hot buzz bloomed in Harry's chest. He drew his wand.
"How did you know we were here? You all Apparated in as if you'd been given directions."
Malfoy pursed his lips. "Feed us first. Then I'll talk."
"I'm not an idiot."
The corner of Malfoy's mouth twitched. "Listen, Potter," he said, "You've got us caught. I'm tired, my shoulders hurt and I'm starving. If you want an answer, you'll give me -- and Pansy -- something to eat. If I refuse to live up to the bargain, then you can just starve us some more after that." Colour bloomed against the parchment of Malfoy's cheeks. "We're in chains. Give us some bloody food."
Inhaling sharply through his nostrils, Harry tried to tamp down the effervescence of rage heating his stomach. "You think I want this? That I enjoy having to look after two baby-Death Eaters? Well, I don't. Just the sight of you makes me sick. And if you hadn't barged in and--" His chest heaved. "Murdered my friends, then you wouldn't be in chains."
"Fuck you, then." Malfoy's eyelashes fluttered. "You can rot."
Harry got to his feet. "You can rot! You can both go to hell. I should just leave you here to freeze and starve." The locket seemed to suddenly treble in weight, making the chain dig hot into Harry's neck. He pointed his wand at Malfoy's forehead. Malfoy cringed and flinched away, his bravado crumpling. "How did you find us?" Harry shouted.
Parkinson yelled, "Leave him alone!"
Harry spun and leapt, crashing to his knees in front of her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and jabbed the point of his wand beneath her jaw. "You tell me then! You think I can't make you talk?"
Parkinson made an animalistic sound and then kicked Harry hard. He cried out and crumpled over as pain exploded through his stomach, but he didn't let go of his wand. Instead, he forced his eyes back open, pointed at Parkinson, and said, "Furnunculus!"
As fat, red boils erupted across Parkinson's face, she shrieked and shook her head back and forth. Harry gasped and held his stomach.
What are you doing, Harry? asked Hermione.
Both Malfoy and Parkinson were shouting at him. Harry pushed himself up and ran into the bedroom.
You can't hex someone when they're unable to fight back, continued Hermione. It's wrong. In fact, it isn't right to keep them chained up like that. What are you hoping to achieve? Owl Kingsley. Turn them over to the Order. This won't end well if you don't.
Leave off, said Ron. It's just Malfoy and Parkinson. What does Harry care if they get peckish? Let them suffer; they deserve it. And they might have information that--
They won't know anything. They're just kids. You think Voldemort would tell Malfoy where he hid the Horcruxes?
"Shhhhh!" said Harry. He threw himself face down on the bed, knees tucked beneath him, and covered his ears with his hands.
Once his heart stopped pounding, he tried to think. His thoughts were a writhing tangle and he couldn't pinpoint a single thread long enough to follow it. It occurred to him that he hadn't eaten since the previous morning either. His stomach still throbbed from Parkinson's kick, but he didn't feel hungry. The idea of eating made him gag.
But Hermione was right. He couldn't intentionally starve people. That was just the sort of thing the Death Eaters would do, and Harry wasn't like them. He flopped over on his side. He'd feed Malfoy and Parkinson. There must be a kitchen through the remaining door in the sitting room. He'd see what was there, he'd fix them something, and then they'd have to do as he said.
Harry ignored Malfoy's baleful stare and the expletives Parkinson shouted at him as he passed through the sitting room. Once in the small kitchen, he cast a powerful Lumos and looked around. It was dusty, but not filthy. A small relief. He found a tin of baked beans in a cupboard and emptied it into two bowls, then heated them with his wand. As he pulled open a drawer and reached for some spoons, he realised that unless they were unchained, he was going to have to spoon-feed them like babies.
He gritted his teeth.
They must have smelled the food, because by the time he brought it to them, they'd gone quiet.
Parkinson curled her lip in disgust. "What is that?"
"You don't like the look of it? I'll give yours to Malfoy, then." He stood over her, holding the bowls. He could see her struggling between pride and hunger.
Finally, she hissed, "Just set it on the floor."
Harry waited a few moments, then crouched and banged the bowl down in front of her. Parkinson stared at it. When Harry slid Malfoy's bowl in front of him, Malfoy looked down at it as if he were looking at a bowl of worms rather than beans.
Standing, Harry rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "I'll unchain you. One at a time. If either of you tries anything, I'll stun you. Got it?"
Parkinson sneered. Harry decided to let Malfoy go first. He pointed his wand at the shackles binding Malfoy's wrists and said, "Finite."
As his arms fell free, Malfoy groaned. Slowly he moved his right hand to massage his left shoulder. "Salazar," he whispered to himself.
Impatient, Harry moved towards him, wand extended. Malfoy recoiled, shooting Harry a look of terror.
Ron laughed. Look at him. Pitiful little Ferret. Told you he'd crumble.
He thinks Harry's going to hurt him, Hermione responded. He hasn't got a wand to defend himself. Of course he's scared.
"Calm down," said Harry to Malfoy. "I'm just going to heal your shoulders so you can eat." Malfoy closed his eyes as Harry tapped each of his arms in turn and then sighed in relief as the spells took effect. "Not going to thank me?" Malfoy gave him a look that made Harry raise his wand again. "Here." He handed Malfoy a spoon. "Be quick."
"Of course," said Malfoy, scooping up a spoonful of beans and creasing his brow as he looked at it. "Wouldn't want to upset your busy schedule." He sniffed the food, then slid it into his mouth.
"Is it as disgusting as it looks?" asked Parkinson.
"S'fine, Pansy," said Malfoy, and continued to eat. Despite crouching on the floor in slept-in clothes, he managed to make the process look elegant. Harry's stomach rumbled, but he couldn't imagine actually taking a bite of food himself.
Malfoy finished and with a resigned expression allowed Harry to re-chain him to the joist. Harry moved on to Parkinson. He had to be especially vigilant with her. She ate her beans quickly with her nose wrinkled, as if she was trying to get the process over with as soon as she could. When her bowl was empty, Harry moved to refasten her shackles.
She cleared her throat and stared at Harry until he met her gaze. "What?" he barked.
"I have to… I need the loo. Or were you planning on making us piss ourselves as part of this whole sick humiliation, power-trip you're getting off on?"
"Believe it or not, there's not a single aspect of this situation I'm 'getting off on'." Harry watched her smirk. "If you need the toilet, then get up."
Shakily, Parkinson rose to her feet. Harry kept his wand trained on her. When she reached the doorway to the bathroom, she looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow.
"You've got one minute," said Harry, then let her disappear inside and closed the door. He counted the seconds off in his head, aware of Malfoy's gaze but ignoring it. As he reached sixty, he heard the sink running. "I'm coming in to get you." He opened the door. The bathroom appeared to be empty. With his heart pounding, he stepped inside. A noise came from behind the door. He looked behind it, saw Parkinson's strangely swollen cheeks, and then staggered backwards as she spat a mouthful of water in his face.
Parkinson didn't hesitate, but leapt at him, grabbing for his wand. Taken off guard and blinded by the water coating his glasses, Harry hit out at her but missed. He felt her grab the end of his wand. Without thinking, he swung his fist through the air and connected with the side of her head. The shock of the impact reverberated through his arm. With a pained cry, Parkinson fell to the floor.
Cold, mate, said Ron.
Oh Harry, said Hermione. Harry could picture her shaking her head at him. Was that really necessary?
Harry looked down at Parkinson as she held her head and trembled on the cracked linoleum. "She tried to take my wand," he whispered.
Parkinson opened her eyes and stared at him.
* * *
Ron and Hermione spun across the floor of the Great Hall, Hermione in her blue dress, Ron in his ridiculous old-fashioned robes. They danced together while Harry sat to the side and watched them. It would be nice, he thought, to join them on the dance floor; they looked so free and happy. He glanced around the room and creased his brow at the dry, brown needles of the Christmas trees. Snow began to gently fall from the ceiling -- real snow, not an illusion. As Ron lifted Hermione at the waist and twirled her around, the snow began to build up on the floor. It grew heavier and began to fall in clumps rather than flakes. His friends continued to dance. Their feet -- bare, Harry noticed -- moved through the icy, white drifts as if they didn't feel the cold. Even as they froze, as their feet cracked and bled, turned grey and then black, they never paused in their waltz. Harry tried to make himself stand, but found he couldn't move. He looked down. His own feet, also bare, were frozen solid. He couldn't feel them. The frost travelled up his ankles and calves. It swept through his entire body until it seemed as though his bones were made of ice.
He woke up gasping, shivering so hard his jaw ached. His stomach felt raw and hollow.
You have to eat at some point, Harry, said Hermione. You'll get ill
You can't let yourself get weak, added Ron. They'll notice and take advantage.
It was still pitch black outside. Harry sucked in a lungful of cold, dusty air and pushed himself up. His skin prickled with goose-pimples, so he spent a few minutes rubbing himself down to get his blood moving. His knees cracked as he stumbled out of the bedroom. A quick glance told him that Parkinson was asleep but Malfoy awake and gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes. He headed into the kitchen.
Peaches. Spaghetti. Asparagus. Sausages. More beans. Nothing tempted him at all. His head was beginning to buzz from lack of food, however, so he spelled open a tin of sausages and forced them down. They tasted of salty fat. He gagged and made himself swallow. Afterwards, the chemical flavour coated his mouth. It remained even after he drank a glass of rusty water from the kitchen tap. The sausages sat, cold and heavy, in his stomach, but at least now he'd eaten.
He was almost back in the bedroom when Malfoy called out to him. Harry halted, rubbed his eyes, then turned to face his captive. Malfoy's knees were drawn tightly to his chest. In a shaky voice, he said, "It's so cold. I can't sleep. We'll freeze to death." There wasn't even a slight edge to his voice. He was practically begging. Harry shifted on his feet, and the locket slid icily below his collarbone.
He wasn't doing this for fun. He wasn't that kind of a monster. With a sigh, he cast a Warming Charm powerful enough to last until the morning on Malfoy. Malfoy closed his eyes and sagged with relief. "Pansy, too. Please, Potter."
Malfoy had said please. Harry hesitated a bit longer, but then did the same for Parkinson as he'd done for Malfoy. She stirred in her sleep; her legs uncurled and she made a soft sound.
What am I doing? thought Harry. What the fuck am I doing?
* * *
"Who is it?" Harry leaned forward toward Malfoy, tapping his left knee with the tip of his wand.
On top of the fridge, the contents of which Harry hadn't fancied exploring, there'd been a box of unopened Cheerios. There was no milk, so breakfast had been served dry. Malfoy ate quietly and without comment, but Parkinson muttered continuously about Muggles being too stupid to know any better than to poison themselves with terrible food. Didn't stop her from eating it, though. Harry choked down a single mouthful of cereal and left it at that.
When they were done, he began questioning Malfoy. It didn't go well.
"I told you, I don't know. I'm not allowed in his inner circle and that's where they discuss that sort of thing." Malfoy closed his eyes and rested his head back against the joist. "There's an informant. One of your people. Somehow we're getting information from him."
"It's definitely a 'him'? If you know it's a him, how do you not know which him?"
Malfoy's eyes snapped open. "Maybe it's a him. I was just using the male pronoun for convenience. I have no idea if it's a him or a her or a house-elf!"
Harry sighed and rocked back on his heels. He wasn't cut out for interrogation. He was too impatient.
"Are you surprised, Potter?" Parkinson's sharp voice sliced through the murky air. The boils had faded, but her right cheek bore a vivid, purple bruise. "Not all of your little friends are hopeless idiots. Some of them are smart enough to realise that the Dark Lord will win and they want to make sure of their place once his reign begins."
Shooting her a look without giving her the satisfaction of any other response, Harry decided to try another line of questioning. "Has he ever mentioned…" He fingered the locket and felt it vibrate against his skin. "Any special objects? Things he's kept hidden?"
Malfoy shook his head, eyebrows raised. "Special objects?'"
Harry's legs were going numb, so he got to his feet. "Maybe a cup?" He didn't want to say more and risk giving anything away.
"A special cup?" Malfoy's lip curled.
Harry, said Hermione, her voice gentle. I don't think he knows anything. Nothing useful, anyway. They're too young. Voldemort wouldn't trust them with sensitive information about his plans.
Or maybe Malfoy's just playing dumb, countered Ron. His father's always been right there in the thick of it. Something must have filtered through. Keep at it. He'll slip up sooner or later.
Harry thrust his fingers into his hair and curled his hands into fists. He wasn't asking the right questions. Hermione would have known what to ask and Ron would have given him the courage to ask so he got answers. "If you want to get out of here," he said, "then tell me something I can use. Anything. You lived with him! You've got to have heard something at some point."
With a sigh of exhaustion, Malfoy shook his head and looked at the floor. "It was late afternoon. He called us. We went to him. Bellatrix and Yaxley were there with Portkeys. The Portkeys took us here. That's all I know, Potter." He lifted his eyes to meet Harry's. "I swear. If I knew anything that would convince you to let us out of these fucking chains, I'd bloody well tell you."
He's lying, said Ron.
"Be quiet!" said Harry. "I can't think."
"I'm just answering your blasted questions!" Malfoy shouted.
"He's not talking to you, Draco," said Pansy in a silky voice. Harry snapped to look at her. She met his gaze with a smirk. "I've heard all about you and your visions and voices, Potter."
Trying to restrain the rage making his wand hand clench, Harry took several measured steps towards her and knelt down. "Heard I'm mad, have you?" He moved closer and her smirk fell away. "You heard right, Parkinson. I'm completely. Fucking. Barking. Who knows what I'll do?"
Harry ran the tip of his wand over her bruised cheek. She didn't flinch away, but he noticed her hand curling tight. His nostrils tingled. He took a sniff and pulled back in disgust. "You stink."
"Of course I bloody stink. You haven't given us a chance to bathe. You're treating us like animals.
Her voice was a hot wire vibrating in his brain. "You're no better than animals."
"You've got that backwards, half-blood."
"Still on that track, are you?"
"Prove me wrong. Let us have a bath. We'll only stink worse if you don't."
Harry blinked. "Together?"
Parkinson looked at him like he'd sprouted tentacles. "What?"
To his humiliation, Harry felt his cheeks heat. "You and Malfoy have a bath… Forget it."
He figured he should let them bathe. It would be cruel not to and the cottage was small enough that it would quickly become intolerable if they really began to smell. Harry left Malfoy chained and accompanied Parkinson into the bathroom. He couldn't let her do it on her own, not after what she'd tried the day before.
"Keep your eyes to yourself, Potter." Parkinson's arms shook as she took off her clothes, shoulders hunched and keeping her back to Harry the entire time.
Harry scowled and kept his eyes firmly averted. "I don't want to be in here. You brought it on yourself."
"Pervert. I always knew there was something wrong with you. We all did. You might have fooled the rest of the school, but the Slytherins aren't that stupid. We had you pegged as wrong from day one."
Harry rolled his eyes and tried to ignore her. He leaned back against the tiles and breathed in the mould-scented air. Parkinson slid down into the water. Harry only watched out of the corner of his eye. He had no interest in seeing her naked. The idea of it -- Parkinson bare and vulnerable -- he didn't want to see that.
The situation wasn't tenable. If they knew anything useful, he didn't know how to drag it out of them. The Hermione in his head was right. He needed to contact Kingsley or Remus or McGonagall and turn them both over.
And then what?
He'd have to continue the Horcrux hunt on his own. The idea of it, the sharp bite of cold loneliness, made him wish he could evaporate like the steam misting off the bathwater, just disappear, become nothing.
You can't give up, Harry, said Hermione, Everyone's depending on you. You're all we've got. Giving up at this point would be weak. It would be selfish.
Don't let us down, Harry, said Ron. We died for you. Make those bastards pay.
Harry ground his teeth together.
"Muggle soap." Parkinson's whiny voice wiped his mind clean. "It smells like my great aunt's knickers drawer."
"You're lucky you've got that. You're lucky you're getting a bath at all."
"Lucky, am I?"
A band of heat tightened across Harry's forehead and his chest hummed in pain where the locket rested against it. He strode over to the bathtub and gripped its side, then leant down towards Parkinson, not caring about her lack of clothes. She covered her chest with her arms and cringed away from him, eyes wide.
"You're lucky I haven't slit your fucking throat. And if you keep on, you'll stop being lucky."
The bath water swayed from side to side. The sound of Parkinson's breathing echoed off the tiles.
The locket cooled, and Harry's chest contracted with shame. He stood and backed away, squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck," he whispered to himself.
"You're losing, it Potter," said Parkinson.
Harry opened his eyes. "Get out and dry off. You're as clean as you're going to get."
* * *
For some reason, being in the same room as Malfoy when he was naked was even more unbearable than it had been with Parkinson. Harry fidgeted and bit his fingernails as Malfoy undressed. Malfoy didn't turn away like Parkinson had. He just pulled off his robes and let them fall to the floor, his movements jerky and listless. Malfoy had really long legs.
When Malfoy slipped into the water, Harry let himself fall back against the mouldy tiles, exhaustion biting at his will. His eyes slid back to Malfoy and the flickering gleam of candlelight on the surface of the bath water. Malfoy's back was to Harry, but Harry glimpsed the wavering, fragmented reflection of his face for a moment before Malfoy scattered it by scooping up water with his cupped hands. Harry watched mindlessly as Malfoy rubbed his skin with soap -- neck and shoulders, through the golden hair beneath his arms. Sudsy water dripped down his back. Malfoy's breathing sounded loud in the silence of the bathroom, only broken by his quiet splashing and the constant plink, plink, plink of the leaky sink tap.
Harry blinked slowly. He was so tired. So empty.
He needed to lie down. But if he slept, he might dream. He banged the back of his head against the wall. "Right, you're clean. Out now."
Malfoy slumped forward. With a shuddering sigh, he grasped the edges of the tub and pushed himself up. He rolled his shoulders and Harry watched water running in rivulets down his spine. The candlelight made his skin glisten. Harry ran his eyes down the smooth curve of Malfoy's lower back and came to rest on the swell of his buttocks, which were pale, the skin moist, slick and smooth. Harry felt his pulse flutter at the base of his throat. He shifted on his feet and the locket flared with heat and slid an inch across his chest.
When he looked up again, Malfoy was staring at him.
Malfoy had gone stock-still. His face was blank as a mask, but when Harry met his eyes, he blinked. For a long moment they looked at each other. Heat travelled from the oval of the locket and through Harry's chest; it curled up his throat and jaw and settled in his cheeks.
With his eyes slightly narrowed, Malfoy pursed his lips and stepped out of the bath. Harry pressed himself flat against the wall. In the back of his mind Hermione was saying something shrill and condemnatory while Ron growled with disgust, but the beating of Harry's heart drowned their voices out.
Malfoy, still shining and naked, knelt on the floor in front of Harry. His hair -- a shade darker when wet -- clung to his face. Malfoy lifted his chin and looked up at Harry. He licked his lips. Then he reached out and unbuttoned the top of Harry's fly.
Harry's breath hitched. He moved his legs apart.
He wasn't empty any more.
He was full of blood.
* * *
For once, Parkinson was speechless. As Harry and Malfoy left bathroom, she merely gaped up at them, lips parted, skin blotchy.
Harry had been loud. She must have heard everything. He stared at her until he caught her eye and then smirked. Parkinson shuddered, then turned away to focus on Malfoy.
Malfoy crossed his arms and raised his chin. "It's fine," he said shortly. "I'm fine."
"Draco…"
Harry reckoned it was the first time he'd seen her look truly frightened.
Automatically, Harry pulled Malfoy over to his joist. Malfoy let himself be yanked about and manipulated. Harry didn't meet his eyes. He had to chain him up. He didn't have a choice.
Once Malfoy was secured, Harry retreated into the kitchen. He felt strange. Disembodied and unreal, as if he were floating through water. A search of the cupboards revealed several still-in-date tins of beef and vegetable stew. He emptied the contents into bowls and heated them. He finally had a bit of an appetite.
Despite his exhaustion, Harry couldn't fall asleep that night. He lay on the mouldy mattress and stared up into the darkness. There wasn't anything to drown out Ron and Hermione's voices in the late, quiet hours.
When Malfoy's long, pale fingers had worked their way inside his pants and pulled out his cock, Harry knew he should jerk away. It was a pathetically transparent play for leniency. Allowing it was wrong. Harry had no right to experience any kind of pleasure with Ron and Hermione lying cold in their graves and no right at all to take it from a prisoner. But his cock was already half-hard from watching Malfoy in the bath, and Malfoy's hand felt so amazingly good. Once Malfoy, his eyes still canted upwards and locked on Harry's face, extended his pink tongue and licked at him, Harry was lost. He groaned and gave in.
He grew thick and fully hard in Malfoy's mouth; the hot, sucking pleasure in combination with the locket smouldering against his chest melted the cold of the cottage. No one had done this to him before. He'd barely been touched in a sexual way. And there was Malfoy, his enemy, kneeling in front of Harry and sucking him. As Malfoy took Harry in deeper and used his hands to fist the root of his shaft and fondle his scrotum, Harry rose up on the balls of his feet. His knees had gone wobbly, so he pressed his palms hard against the wall to keep from sliding down.
Malfoy sped up and Harry couldn't help it; he cried out.
It wasn't as though he'd made Malfoy do it. Malfoy had volunteered.
Remembering, Harry brushed his hand over his stomach and shivered.
This -- this fever, this sudden want -- cocooned his grief into something thick and damp, something he could shove away. It was blessedly distracting. His mind floated back through years of duels and taunts, through broken noses and attempted Unforgiveables. Harry remembered the terror he'd felt during those horrific moments when he thought he might have actually killed Malfoy -- his pulse racing in his temples with sickening speed as the world narrowed to Malfoy's body splayed and shaking on the watery floor with crimson flowers blooming across his chest.
His fingers curled around his hardening cock. He dug his teeth into his lower lip.
Harry, this is vile. Hermione's voice rang cold. He's your captive. You took complete advantage of him.
Why shouldn't he? asked Ron. It's only Malfoy. If he wants to suck Harry off, why should Harry bother to stop him?
With a groan, Harry arched his back and began to move his hand. He'd not been able to stop himself thrusting forward towards the end, and Malfoy had whimpered, but hadn't pulled off -- not even when Harry came, moaning and shaking. There in the bedroom the memory of it brought him to the edge again. He spilled over his hand and stomach, quiet this time. Everything sounded so much louder in the dead of night.
Malfoy had crouched on the bathroom floor and coughed and spit, Harry's come dripping from his lips and down his chin. Harry panted bonelessly against the wall; he'd barely been able to keep his footing. It wasn't until Malfoy struggled to his feet and snatched the ragged towel off the rack to wipe his face that it occurred to Harry that Malfoy could so easily have used his distraction to go for his wand.
Malfoy's hands shook as he pulled on his clothes. "Liked that, did you?"
The shame made Harry want to strike him. His hand closed around his wand. But he controlled himself. The locket had gone cold, but the blistered skin where it rested still stung. "It doesn't change anything," he said.
"Of course it doesn't." Malfoy was hoarse. The dark circles under his eyes looked cavernous in the shadowy bathroom.
Later in the night, the sound of soft voices resonated from the sitting room and pulled Harry from his memories. He spelled himself clean, slid off the mattress and straightened his clothing. Malfoy and Parkinson were talking again. Whispering to each other. He crept up to the door and pressed his ear against it.
"But you're still chained up. I don’t see what good it did," said Parkinson.
"We had proper food to eat, didn't we?" Malfoy sounded sharp and defensive.
"Merlin, Draco."
"It's something, all right? A way… into him. I know what I'm doing."
There was a silence, which Parkinson eventually broke. "I'll bet he's got a tiny cock."
Harry heard Malfoy snort. "Wasn’t bad, actually. More than a mouthful."
"Ugh, stop!" Parkinson giggled, and Harry had a flash of memory -- a girl gazing down in adoration at the blond boy resting his head in her lap. "You'll make me sick."
"He came like the Hogwarts Express. Almost choked me." Parkinson shrieked a laugh, and Malfoy said, "Hush, Pansy. You'll wake him."
"Can't help it." Her sniggers trailed off. "Draco," she said, much quieter, "you didn't actually… like it. Did you?"
"Of course not! It's a means to an end. We can't go on like this. One of us had to do something."
"Oh, so you're saying I should have--"
"No! God." Malfoy's voice became fierce. "I wouldn’t have let you."
There was a longer pause.
"Just don't… Allow him to get to you," Parkinson finally said. "He was always under your skin at Hogwarts.
"I won't," said Malfoy.
"You and me, Draco. You and me. Don't forget."
"You and me, Pansy."
"We're going to get out of this."
"We are."
As they lapsed into silence, Harry scratched against the splintery wood of the door to keep himself from pounding it.
* * *
It wasn't raining, but the early morning air outside the cottage was thick and wet with mist. Taking a deep breath, as if the damp could wash away the muck clouding his mind, Harry stood over his friends' graves and tried to focus.
He could go.
He could walk away, leave the Death Eaters chained in the cottage, and owl someone as to their whereabouts. They weren't his responsibility. He was meant to be finding the Horcruxes. And destroying Voldemort.
Where would he go next? Ron and Hermione were silent on the subject. Maybe Godric's Hollow. He imagined seeing the spot where his parents had been murdered. No one to pat his shoulder or hold his hand. No one to keep him strong.
Interrogating Malfoy had gone badly, but he hadn't tried Parkinson yet. Not really. She might know something.
Harry turned and went back into the cottage. They'd be waking up now. He had to let them take their turns in the bathroom and then feed them.
Malfoy gazed blearily up at Harry and yawned, then closed his mouth and curled his legs closer once he caught Harry's expression. Malfoy's hair hung into his face. He shook his head to get it out of his eyes, but it clung. Without thinking, Harry reached down with his hand and brushed it back. A tremor went through Malfoy's pink lips. Harry spelled open his shackles and said, "Come on."
Harry shot a glance at Parkinson and saw her watching from narrowed eyes as he led Malfoy away.
You didn't actually like it, did you? she'd asked. Of course not, Malfoy had responded.
Once they were in the bathroom, Harry closed the door behind them. He watched Malfoy's back as he pissed.
Hermione floated into his mind. You need to stop this right now, Harry. This isn't who you are.
They've made you who you are, said Ron. Fuck them.
Malfoy washed his hands and splashed water on his face then drew some through his hair to keep it back. Such long fingers. Hot pressure rumbled to life low in Harry's stomach. Malfoy glanced at him sideways, and spots of colour appeared in his cheeks. His hand shook as he turned off the tap.
Malfoy was slightly taller than Harry, but Harry had a wand. He waited, blocking the door, until Malfoy approached him to get out, then he grabbed Malfoy's shoulders and slammed him against the wall.
With a high gasp, Malfoy went still as Harry pulled apart his robes and tore open his trousers. He stared at Harry, but didn't stop him. Harry's hand found Malfoy's cock, and the memory of how expertly Malfoy had touched him the night before froze him for a moment. He didn't know what to do, could only guess and imitate what he did to himself from the opposite angle. Yet Malfoy did start to harden. Harry squeezed him and moved, sliding his fist up and down, moving faster once Malfoy was fully erect.
Harry fixed his own eyes on Malfoy's. He watched bright fear change to something darker. His chest stung from the heat of the locket, but the pain in the centre of his chest had grown so constant that he hardly noticed. He was too riveted by Malfoy's red lips and fluttering eyelashes, by the way the flush in his cheeks spread down his jaw. He was absorbed by the smell of Malfoy's arousal, and the silky, vital way he filled Harry's fist. Harry's own cock ached, as hard as Malfoy's now. He thrust forward, and Malfoy groaned and grabbed Harry's hips. Malfoy's breath caught in his throat, and then Harry felt him pulse and come.
Harry backed off, his dripping hand extended in front of him. He listened to Malfoy's harsh breathing and watched the pearly mess, not his own, drip from his fingers onto the floor. He'd done that. He'd made that happen.
"So, what?" asked Malfoy, still flushed and breathing harder than normal. "We're even now?"
Harry shook his hand, then wiped it on the frayed towel. "Give me back Ron and Hermione. Then we'll be even."
Malfoy went quiet as he straightened his clothes. "I would if I could."
Harry didn't know how to respond to that.
He bit down on his lip to stop himself from apologising as he locked Malfoy back up. He was still hard, still aching with want. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed calmer than ever. Kneeling, Harry checked the shackles to make sure they were fast. He felt Malfoy's eyes on him and turned. Malfoy smirked. Their faces were inches apart.
Harry pulled sharply away. Agitated, he stalked over to Parkinson. She glared up at him.
"You want to get out of here, Parkinson?"
She pursed her lips together, then said, "Yes."
He drew his wand. "Then tell me the name of our traitor."
She gave him a little cat smile. Her eyes shot up to the left and then back towards Harry. "I'll tell you. No skin off my nose. It's that weird Ravenclaw you hang out with. Loony Lovegood."
"You're very funny. I'm laughing my arse off."
"What, you think I'm not telling the truth? It's her. I heard them talking about her at a gathering. A bit of Cruciatus and she sings like a snidget, that one." She grinned.
Grinding his teeth, Harry knelt down. "You won't buy your freedom with lies."
"You're thinking about it though, aren't you? She was in the Manor. And you can't know for certain she didn't talk. Best be safe and have her killed."
"Luna never new anything about our plans." Parkinson batted her eyelashes at him. Harry wanted to kick her teeth in. "You make me sick."
"It's mutual."
With his heart pounding, each beat echoing against his chest and through the locket, Harry said, "How do you live with yourself? Supporting a monster like him? You see what he does. Torture. Murder."
Parkinson laughed. "I support him because he's right. Because he's going to turn the world back into what it should be. Stand in his way and you deserve--"
"My parents didn't deserve to die. Ron and Hermione didn't--"
"Look, Potter, I don't give a fuck about your dead blood traitor or that Mudblood bitch, Granger. They got what was coming to them, and--"
Harry hadn't spoken. It must have been the look on his face that choked off her sentence.
Mudblood bitch…
Parkinson's voice. A hot wire in his brain. His nostrils filled with the stink of burning skin.
Die, you Mudblood bitch.
Parkinson's face crumpled and she shrunk away from him.
"It was you," rasped Harry. "You killed her."
"Draco!" cried Parkinson.
"Crucio!" Magic pulsed through Harry's veins and shot from the tip of his wand in a stream of blood-red light that hit her straight in the heart. He meant it. Oh, how he meant it. A high scream tore from Parkinson's throat, her back arched, and her legs kicked spastically.
It felt so good -- like coming in Malfoy's mouth. He poured all the hate, rage and fury he could muster into the curse. Parkinson's eyes bulged. Droplets of blood sprayed from her mouth. Her body shook, thrashed and then slammed back against the joist. Her scream choked off into a gurgle.
"Potter!" Somehow Malfoy's voice pierced Harry's frenzy. "Stop! For the love of Merlin. Please."
Harry's hand shook. The curse faltered and then ended. As Parkinson gasped and continued to twitch, Harry spun to face Malfoy.
"And you!" he shouted, his chest heaving. "Did you kill Ron?"
"No!" Malfoy shook his head, eyes wide with terror and pushed back against the floor with his feet as if he couldn't help but try to move away.
Harry sprang towards him, wand outstretched. "Bet you did." He didn't recognise the sound of his own voice. "Bet you're in heaven. You can torture who you like. You can murder who you like. This whole war must be a dream come true!" He moved right up close to Malfoy and drew back his elbow. He could hear Parkinson sobbing in the background.
"I didn't kill him!" cried Malfoy. "I didn't kill anybody!"
"Why should I believe you?" The will to perform the curse had dissipated, but Harry couldn't look away from Malfoy's blown pupils and trembling lips.
"I swear! I swear on my mother's life. It was Dolohov. Or Yaxley. I don't know." He took a deep shuddering breath. "Please don't curse me, Potter. I can't…" He shook his head. "I can't take it anymore."
Harry's pulse slowed. Malfoy was begging. He hadn't been the one to kill Ron.
As Harry stood, a wave of disorientation passed through his body. He felt dry and scorched. His head ached and his mouth tasted of putrid lemons.
"My arm," moaned Parkinson. "Something tore in my shoulder. Oh god, you fucker!"
"Shut up, Pansy!" Malfoy kept his eyes on Harry.
Knowing he couldn't remain standing, Harry backed away. When he reached the bedroom, he finally turned, then went inside and closed the door. He managed one step towards the bed and then collapsed half on top of it.
Oh, Harry…, said Hermione, cold and repulsed. An Unforgivable Curse.
"She murdered you!"
She did. And now you're no better.
"It wasn't the Killing Curse. It was only Cruciatus."
And the bitch deserved it, said Ron. She's lucky Harry didn't do her in completely. He had every right.
You've lost the ability to handle the situation, Harry. That is, if you ever had it. Turn them over to the Order. You'll regret it if you don't.
No one could blame you, said Ron. Imagine how it would feel to really have a go at Parkinson. Your fist in her face. Your foot in her stomach. Cut her up, break her bones. It would feel good, wouldn't it?
And Malfoy's done nothing. He's just a scared kid.
He's a Death Eater.
You know why you're really keeping him here. It's disgusting. You're disgusting.
Imagine what you could do to him, Harry. He's completely at your mercy. You could get him to do anything.
Harry crawled the rest of the way onto the bed and curled up, hugging his knees to his chest. Outside, the rain was coming down in earnest. The window rattled. Cold crept under his clothes and licked at his skin.
He was too tired to think about anything. He'd think about it later. Come up with a plan later.
He listened carefully, but the other room was silent. Neither Parkinson nor Malfoy said a single word.
* * *
He had Malfoy naked on the bed. All that soft pale skin spread out beneath him and Harry didn't know what to do with himself. Breathing hard, he bit down on Malfoy's shoulder. Malfoy arched and dug his fingers into Harry's back. Harry grabbed Malfoy's thigh just below his knee and pushed. The bent leg moved back and Harry thrust harder into the fold between Malfoy's thigh and groin.
It was okay, because it hadn't been Harry's idea.
He'd spent the remainder of the day he'd cursed Parkinson on autopilot. He'd fed his captives without looking at their faces, his mind buzzing and whining with static like a bad radio connection.
The next day when he'd unbound Malfoy's shackles, Malfoy grabbed his wrist. He held Harry's gaze despite the wand point immediately thrust beneath his chin and dragged Harry into the bedroom.
Harry didn't know what he wanted, other than to push his fingers through Malfoy's skin, to dig into him, hold him and claim him. He wanted to eat him up from the inside out. Instead, he bit down until he felt bone beneath his teeth and shuddered at Malfoy's resultant cry. Malfoy's cock -- that private, secret part of him -- poked hard into Harry's stomach.
Harry rocked forward again, skin rubbing against skin. It hurt and it wasn't satisfying. "Malfoy," he breathed. "I need… Let me…"
"Just do it, then." Malfoy's voice came from deep in his throat.
"I don't know--"
"You want to fuck me. So do it."
With a hard shudder, Harry moaned into Malfoy's neck. Such a brutal, dirty word. That was what he wanted. Exactly that. Once he'd caught his breath, he pushed himself up on his arms. Malfoy, face pale, gazed steadily back up at him. "I want to fuck you," said Harry and Malfoy inhaled sharply through his nostrils.
"Get your fingers wet," said Malfoy.
Keeping their eyes locked, Harry touched Malfoy's lower lip. Soft. Slightly chapped. Malfoy opened his mouth and Harry pushed inside. He watched fascinated as Malfoy licked and sucked at his fingers. Once they were dripping, Malfoy moved his thighs apart and guided Harry's hand between them. Harry fumbled between his arse cheeks. He saw Malfoy's throat bob as he swallowed, tried to meet his eyes, but Malfoy glanced off Harry's face to focus blindly on the ceiling.
"There," said Harry, locating Malfoy's entrance, and pushed. He slid in easily, just a finger, but he shoved it in to the knuckle. Malfoy's lips parted and he squirmed. "Okay?"
Malfoy nodded. Harry moved the finger in and out and gasped as he felt Malfoy's cock twitch in response. Malfoy's eyes fell shut. His cheeks went red. After a moment, he sighed and arched his back a bit.
Breathing hard, Harry withdrew his finger and then pushed it into Malfoy again along with a second one. Malfoy bared his teeth and shifted his knees to cradle Harry's hips.
"All right," said Malfoy. "Okay. There's a spell." He said the word and Harry repeated it after him. It made a clear oily substance seep out of the tip of his wand and pool in the palm of Malfoy's hand.
Malfoy slicked the stuff up and down Harry cock.
The locket swung between them, gleaming gold over Malfoy's throat. Malfoy watched it, his eyes moving back and forth as if hypnotised. "Do it," he whispered. "Do it, Potter. Fuck me. I want you to."
It was okay because Malfoy wanted it. It had been his idea. He'd pulled Harry into the bedroom. He'd taken off his clothes. Malfoy wanted Harry. Harry wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't sure of that.
Drawing his knees to his chest, Malfoy gritted his teeth as Harry began to push his cock inside him. It took a bit of pressure, but then something gave way. It felt… incredible. He tried not to think about Malfoy's shaking thighs or the way he began chewing frantically on his lower lip.
"Shhh," said Harry, and gripped Malfoy's shoulder, rubbing the top gently with his thumb. He pushed forward again and Malfoy grunted beneath him, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. One more thrust and that was it. Harry was deep inside Malfoy, hips to thighs. Harry groaned and let his head drop. "Merlin. That feels..." He tried rocking his hips back and in again. "God!"
"Just please get on and fuck me already, Potter," said Malfoy through his teeth.
Harry lowered himself to his elbows. As the locket settled on Malfoy's collarbone, Malfoy's eyes shot open. "What is--" Harry tried a more forceful thrust, and Malfoy arched his back and keened.
This was what Harry needed; just this. He snapped his hips forward, again and again. Each time Harry plunged into him, Malfoy cried out -- that, with the creaking bedframe and Harry's own gasping breath blended to drown out the voices in his head. Nothing was left but heat, pleasure and the violence of Harry's body moving inside Malfoy's.
Malfoy writhed as if he was in pain, but he was still hard and not telling Harry to stop. Harry thrust his fingers into Malfoy's hair and said, "Keep still."
"I can't."
Harry bent down and bit his jaw, then started moving harder and faster. He could smell burning flesh, but he didn't know if it was Malfoy's or his own. Malfoy moaned and whimpered. He grabbed hold of Harry's shoulders. Harry could tell -- he could tell by the sudden tension in Malfoy's body and the way he arched his neck. "Yes," Malfoy gasped. "Just there. I'm--" His fingernails dug into Harry's skin, he gave a broken cry, then Harry felt wet heat spread between their stomachs.
With a grimace and a whimper, Harry pounded into Malfoy's now limp body and finally came, twisting fistfuls of Malfoy's hair.
It took several long minutes for his heart to slow down.
Proud of yourself? asked Hermione.
"Leave me alone!" Harry shouted, and Malfoy jerked and cried out beneath him. "Sorry!" Harry gingerly disentangled himself. "Not you," he said, looking at Malfoy. Malfoy just stared at him.
Harry rolled onto his back. It was over and the room felt cold.
"Potter," said Malfoy. Harry turned his head and met his eyes. "Don't hurt Pansy again."
It was like being struck. Harry felt his face crumple, saw Malfoy take that in, and had to try very hard not to hit him. "She murdered one of my closest friends."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Harry sat up.
"You've every reason to want to hurt her. But... Don't."
Harry pressed his lips together. There were deep, red teeth marks on Malfoy's shoulder. His stomach still shone with come.
Dumbledore would be disgusted with you, said Hermione. He'd know he made a mistake. You're weak. Pathetic. Just like Parkinson said.
Harry ground his teeth together to stop himself from replying out loud.
Give me a break, said Ron. Malfoy was gagging for it.
"You all right, Potter?"
"What?" Harry focused. Malfoy pushed himself up and shook some hair out of his face. He winced a bit as he settled on his bottom. Harry felt his face heat with shame. What was he going to do now? He couldn't chain Malfoy back to the joist. Not after doing that to him. He thought for a moment then cast a charm to seal the lid of the chest where he'd stashed Malfoy and Parkinson's wands. "You can sleep here tonight."
Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise. "Th-thank you." He blinked. "What about--"
Harry narrowed his eyes. "She stays in there."
"Right." Malfoy lowered his eyes.
"You should get cleaned up."
They got dressed in silence. When they entered the sitting room, Parkinson glared at Harry through red, puffy eyes. "You… You fucking rapist."
Harry stopped short, winded. He heard Malfoy suck in his breath and looked away from Parkinson to check his reaction.
Harry wasn't. He wasn't… that.
For a split second as he looked at Parkinson, Malfoy's face creased in anger. She saw and flinched, fresh tears running down her cheeks. Malfoy collected himself and said, "I'm fine, Pansy. Potter didn't rape me, thanks very much."
"Come on," said Harry, and pulled Malfoy away into the bathroom.
* * *
It was so much easier to fall asleep pressed up against Malfoy's back. Harry hadn't meant to; it hadn't been what he'd planned when he let Malfoy into the bed. They'd started the night with Malfoy on his side, curled away from Harry. Harry faced the opposite direction, one hand resting on his hip, the other clutching his wand to his chest. But the bedroom was so cold. As darkness fell, it only made sense to seek out the warmth of Malfoy's body. Malfoy stiffened when Harry first touched him, but then eventually relaxed.
It was fine at first. Harry dreamt, but it was a good dream. He was back at Hogwarts, before the war had started. He was young, magic was new and wonderful, and Dumbledore was there, watching over him with twinkling eyes.
Then he woke up to see Malfoy staring at him intently with one hand trying to grasp the bottom of his wand. Harry tightened his grip and Malfoy shrunk away from him. It was ridiculous, given the circumstances, to feel betrayed. But he hadn't chained Malfoy up. He'd let him sleep in his bed. And there Malfoy was going for Harry's wand while he slept. His lip curled and he reached out and took Malfoy by the throat. He jabbed the tip of his wand into Malfoy's cheek. "Want this, do you?"
"I… I'm s-sorry."
"Guess I made a mistake."
Malfoy shook his head. "I… No. I only…" He took a deep breath and his eyes filled. "Are you going to kill us, Potter?"
Harry blinked, his anger evaporating. He loosened his hold on Malfoy's neck and lowered his wand. "No," he said. "No, I promise."
"All right." Malfoy shook. "Okay."
"Don't try that again, though."
"I won't."
In the morning Harry locked Malfoy in the bedroom and went outside to check on Ron and Hermione's graves. The earth had shifted a bit, but the rain hadn't otherwise disturbed them. He thought of Hermione's warm, brown eyes and terrifyingly clever mind. He remembered the feel of her hand in his and how nothing could put a dent in her resolve once she became determined. Harry thought of Ron's easy grin and wicked sense of humour. He remembered his fierce bravery and lightning quick temper. Ron would do anything for the people he loved.
They'd been his. He barely knew who he was without them. The world was broken. It made no sense.
It was cold, but the air was crisp. Harry unlocked the snarl in his mind and shoved away all thoughts of the future to think about the past. His back and shoulders heaved. The burning in his throat had nothing to do with the locket. By the time he was dry and empty, the sun was high and dim in the sky. Harry scrubbed at his face with his sleeves.
He went back inside. Parkinson looked at him as if she was about to speak, but kept her mouth shut when she saw his expression. Harry didn't want to deal with her. He'd have Malfoy feed her later in the day.
Malfoy sat up when Harry entered the bedroom. He stared at Harry's face, and Harry was sure that he repressed a shudder. Harry scowled. His limbs tensed. The locket shivered awake and melted away the remnants of the outdoor cold on his skin.
Malfoy's robes already lay crumpled on the floor. He pulled off his shirt, kicked off his pants and trousers, then rolled onto this stomach and buried his face in his arms. Harry checked before he pressed into him. He slid an arm around Malfoy's waist and grabbed hold of his cock. Malfoy was hard. Malfoy wanted him. It was fine.
* * *
Afterwards, Harry didn't want to move away from Malfoy again. Malfoy lay limp, staring at the ceiling as Harry watched his face.
"When…" Harry began. "The other day. You said… 'I can't take it anymore.'"
Malfoy turned his head away.
"You'd been hit with the Cruciatus Curse before."
Harry thought Malfoy wouldn't answer, he stayed quiet so long. Finally, however, he said, "Yes."
"By him."
"Yes," Malfoy said again.
Harry moved onto his side and wrapped his arms around Malfoy's chest.
"After…" Malfoy continued in a voice so soft Harry had to strain to catch his words. "When I arrived back at the Manor. With Snape. The night Dumbledore... died. The Dark Lord wanted to kill me. I was on my knees in front of him and he wanted to kill me right there with my mother watching. Somehow, Snape talked him out of it. I don't know what he said."
Harry buried his face against Malfoy's neck and held him tighter.
"He didn't let me off completely, though." Malfoy swallowed. "I don't even know how long it lasted. My mother said it was more than an hour. I lost two fingernails from clawing at the floor and bit clean through my lower lip. I couldn't speak for three days. I thought I'd lost it. Thought it was all over."
As the familiar hatred for Voldemort filled Harry's mind, the locket's chain shifted slightly on the back of his neck.
"Then Father came home," Malfoy continued. "The Dark Lord found it particularly amusing to make him watch while he cursed me." A tremor went through Malfoy's body. "And he forced me to cast it on others."
"Yet you're still fighting for him," Harry said. "You're still on his side."
"He's in my home," Malfoy snapped. "My parents are there. Father doesn't even have a wand." He took a deep breath. "I haven't got any choice."
Harry watched Malfoy's chest rise and fall. His features were so much softer than Harry remembered. "I will never curse you, Malfoy," he said. He reached out, took Malfoy's jaw in his hand, and turned his head to face Harry's. Their eyes met. "And neither will anyone else."
* * *
Parkinson wasn't looking well. Her normally heart-shaped face had become gaunt and her eyes dull and shadowed. If Harry was in the sitting room, she watched him. Her gaze never left him. Harry could practically see her hatred curling towards him in smoky, grasping tendrils.
Harry leant against the wall as Malfoy fed her spoonfuls of tomato soup. She tore her focus momentarily away from Harry and looked intently at Malfoy. "You and me, Draco," she whispered. A trickle of soup dribbled down her chin. Malfoy wiped it away with his thumb, but didn't say anything in response.
Once Parkinson had finished the soup, Harry took Malfoy back into the bedroom. They sat on the bed, the silence only broken by the muffled sound of Parkinson's sobs. Malfoy's shoulders slumped forward. Harry put his hand on his arm and squeezed.
He had to move on. Harry knew it. He couldn't waste any more time. In the morning, he'd send his Patronus to Kingsley with a message. Then he'd go. With Malfoy. That way Malfoy would be safe and Harry wouldn't be alone.
That night, he woke to the sound of thunder and a sharp pain in the middle of his forehead. Parkinson's face looked cadaverous in the dim moonlight. Her grin stretched wide; her eyes bulged from sunken sockets. She had Harry's wand pointed at his head and Harry had no doubt at all that she intended to kill him.
"Suck it, Potter," she rasped. "Tell me where our wands are and I'll make it quick." Something wet dripped onto Harry's chest. Parkinson's wrist was bleeding. Harry noticed that she had his wand in an awkward grip between her first and middle fingers with her thumb hanging useless beneath them. She must have forced her hands out of the shackles. Harry should have checked them.
Malfoy stirred on the bed next to him. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he sat up.
"Pansy…" His eyes moved from her face to Harry's, then back again.
Parkinson's face lit up. "I told you we'd get out of this. Search the room for our wands. Then--" She lowered her face until Harry could smell her fetid breath. "I'm going to slice this fucker up."
Heart pounding, Harry moved his eyes to look at Malfoy, who appeared to have frozen. Malfoy stared at Parkinson.
You've really made a hash of things.
It wasn't Hermione's voice. Nor Ron's. And yet he recognised it.
A sharp bolt of fiery pain shot through Harry's chest. He winced, and Parkinson pressed the wand harder against him and said, "Don't move!"
Cold, skeletal fingers slid along the inside of Harry's skull. He could barely see Parkinson. He couldn't hear anything but the silky voice slithering through his thoughts. Such a weak mind. If you'd killed them when you had the chance, you'd be miles away and free. The fingers poked, digging deeper. Harry clenched his jaw. Free from emotional ties. Free from responsibility.
"No," said Harry, his voice little more than a breath. Parkinson's laughter echoed in the distance. The mattress shifted as Malfoy moved away from him.
I could get rid of her, you know. I could give you the power. The Malfoy boy, as well. He'll weigh you down. Hold you back. Just like the other two did.
The fingers twisted. Harry's mind was splitting apart. "No," he said again. "Get out!"
I know you, Harry Potter.
In an instant, the fingers went from icy cold to scorching hot. Harry arched his back and screamed. His hand flew to his throat to tear off the locket, but the chain twisted and tightened. He kicked and struggled. He scratched at his neck.
Give in, Harry. You cannot fight me and win.
With the last of his strength, Harry forced his fingers beneath the chain and yanked upwards as hard as he could. The metal burned as it slid over his face, but the instant it cleared his head, the pain vanished and so did the voice.
Panting, Harry opened his eyes. The chest's lid was open. Both Parkinson and Malfoy stood at the wall, pointing their wands at him.
He felt so strange -- light and empty.
"Get the necklace," said Parkinson. "We'll give it to the Dark Lord. Along with Potter's body."
Malfoy took a step towards Harry. Harry looked up at him. "Malfoy…"
Malfoy swallowed. "What is it? The necklace?"
There was nothing to lose. "It's a piece of his soul."
Parkinson gave a yelp of triumph. "He'll be so grateful! Can you imagine how he'll reward us?"
Malfoy grimaced. Harry continued to look him in the eye.
"Why aren't you taking it? Salazar, Draco. You've been bloody useless lately." She moved forward, eyes on the locket, and reached out.
"Expelliarmus!" said Malfoy, and Parkinson's wand flew out of her hand and across the room.
Her mouth fell open. She gaped at Malfoy, her face white and her eyes filling. "You can't choose him," she gasped. "You just can't."
"I'm sorry." Malfoy's face crumpled. "I'm so sorry, Pansy." He pointed his wand at her.
"Opaleye!" cried Parkinson.
A jet of red light shot from Malfoy's wand and Parkinson collapsed to the floor.
Malfoy looked down at her. He shuddered. Then he moved towards the bed and picked up the locket. "Do you know how to destroy it?"
"Sort of." Malfoy stared at Harry. Slowly, Harry pushed himself up, moved to the foot of the bed, and picked up his wand. "And there are more pieces. I have to find them. That's what we were doing. That's why he wants to stop us."
"'A special cup.'"
"That's right."
Malfoy closed his eyes, took a breath, and then opened them again. "I'll help you," he said.
A fierce and wild joy took hold of Harry. He leapt off the bed and grabbed Malfoy's arm. Malfoy didn't flinch. He was only startled. "Come on," said Harry.
He pulled Malfoy out of the bedroom, through the cottage and out the front door. Malfoy didn't resist.
In the distance, over the hills, the sun was rising.
"You can't leave me." Harry's hands tightened into fists in Malfoy's shirt. He pulled Malfoy closer, giving him a fixed look to drive the point home.
Malfoy shivered, widened eyes fixed on Harry's, then licked his lips and nodded. "I won't."
"You're mine." He gave Malfoy a little shake. "Do you understand that, Malfoy?"
Vigorous nodding. "I do. I'm yours. All yours."
"You and me."
Malfoy stared back at Harry, his eyes bright and glistening. He swallowed, then said, "You and me. You and me, Potter."
Harry watched him for a bit to make sure his expression didn't waver. Then he leaned forward and kissed him as hard as he could.
The rain had stopped.
Harry couldn't understand why Malfoy's face felt so wet.
-- The End