One Thousand Instances Left This by Charli J

His hands curl around Draco's throat, and Harry can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse against his palm. He pushes Draco's head back with his thumbs. Draco pulls fruitlessly at Harry's robes, his jumper, but mostly cooperates. It's not like he wants his neck snapped.

Defiantly, Draco spits in Harry's face, and Harry squeezes slightly. Tighter, tighter; and Draco winces, holding off a sputtering cough.

He wheezes, murmurs, "You don't have the gall."

Fred and George rip Harry away. He kicks his shoes down into the dirt to try and gain some leverage, to maybe run left as they turn right.

Draco sits up, leaning on one arm. Harry gives up with a gasp resignation and sees Draco wrap free fingers over the spots where Harry thinks he may have left evidence.







Harry thinks, sharp and neat, and then hisses.

Draco digs his nails into the webbing between Harry's fingers and grins, derisively. He arches Harry's wrist back until it's painful, muscles in his forearms stretched tight and burning.

And it all happens within a few seconds--the nails, the sneer. Harry watches Draco's teeth and imagines them in place of the fingers--

Draco snatches Harry's wand and shoves Harry onto stone. He places both of their wands to his lips and mutters quickly. He tilts them forward, points directly at Harry's forehead.

Harry blinks, breathes in.







Someone tugs on the chains, and Harry's cool metal cuffs grind against thin bone and bruised flesh. Harry shuts his eyes and faintly hears chuckling.

Footfalls stop abruptly, near his head. He opens his eyes and through the blur makes out yellow amongst endless black. Lucius was there earlier; he'd held Harry under the Cruciatus Curse until various parts of his body went numb. He still can't feel his mouth.

Something scratches against the sides of his head, and then Harry can see Draco relatively clearly in the darkness.

Draco stands back, pulling Harry toward him by the shackles. Harry imagines himself biting his lip. He can't be sure that he does it.

Harry waits, concentrates on the swell and collapse of his lungs. Breathing, slowly breathing--Draco raises a skeleton key and grazes Harry's face with it. There's a vague tingle on Harry's cheek.

"Stop. Stop that," Draco says, and Harry's not exactly sure; that could mean anything, but. Harry closes his eyes again and, in his mind, forms entire conversations he and Draco will never share.

He stands and inhales and only realizes that Draco kisses him because Harry can taste his breath.