The Party's Over; No, It's Just Begun. Slash HP/DM, SB/RL. In the aftermath of the war, Harry Potter and Remus Lupin had been reduced to lost men caught up in their own despair. Then Sirius Black returned from his fall through the veil and hope arrived on his heels.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter Characters belong to JK Rowling.
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The party was raging; there was much to celebrate. Voldemort was dead, the wizard world looked to be getting back on its feet and Hogwarts had re-opened. But the party was not primarily to celebrate these things; it was in celebration of the small wedding which was to take place at noon the next day.
Remus Lupin had finally given in to the ever persistent Tonks and agreed, still against his better judgment, to marry her. He still believed that his being a werewolf would make their married life hell, although she insisted it would not; he still believed she was too young, though she was adamant that the tribulations of war had matured her along with everyone else.
He still believed that the position he'd accepted as the alchemist professor at Hogwarts would not garner him sufficient funds to care for a family for many years to come, but Tonks obstinately argued that money was of little importance to her. He didn't tell her that his heart could never really be hers; she already knew that, but that knowledge hadn't seemed to deter her determination to marry him in the least.
Everyone around him had encouraged him to marry her; they insisted that the life of a lone werewolf would be bleak. He knew it was true and that he was tormenting himself with his stubborn refusal to move on and let go of the deep, black sense of loss that had resided in his soul since his mate had fallen through the veil in the Death Chamber at the Department of Mysteries. Sirius…his Padfoot…had fallen through…died…a mere two days after they'd discovered the love between them and how deeply it ran, had run, for many years…and how deeply it bound them together.
Now some four years later, he'd finally let go, outwardly anyway, and allowed himself to be placed in the delicate hands of fate. He was to be married to a woman he admired for the courage and honor she had shown during the war. But love…that was something he had given once and no longer possessed.
A Metamorph, Tonks' appearance was affected by her state of being and it had been mousy until the day Remus agreed to marry her. She had crawled through each day with dull, deep brown hair, shallow skin and droopy eyes. These days, Tonks' eyes were shining and her hair, bright Pink.
Remus stood speaking with Harry Potter and tried to act like a groom who was eagerly looking forward to his wedding on the morrow.
Remus had a smile plastered to his face while he spoke to Harry, but he wasn't paying very close attention to the conversation. It didn't seem to matter, Harry didn't seem to be paying much attention to it either. They spoke like two robots that had been programmed to speak effective small talk at parties.
Harry's appearance was worn out and haggard; his eyes were sullen and lined by dark circles; his pallor was pale and his normally vibrant, emerald eyes were murky, making them look darker in color and lifeless. Harry had lost people close to him during the war; Dumbledore, his godfather, his Muggle relatives and of course his parents, but they had died before or near its inception and Remus had seen Harry rebound from those loses.
This was something new; something had occurred near the end that had deeply affected the young hero and it had happened prior to his killing Voldemort. Harry resisted the efforts of his young friends, Hermione, Ron and Ginny to talk about his depressed, troubled state and he was no more open with the older group of people that cared for him, including Remus.
Harry seemed to grow more distant by the day. He would go missing for long periods and return to the burrows, where they had all been staying, late in the evening, retiring without a word to anyone. His relationship with Ginny had all but deteriorated since the war, as had all of his relationships. He hadn't wanted to come to the party, but Remus had asked him personally and the companion depression he saw in the werewolf's face drove him to make the effort to attend.
But Harry and Remus didn't speak of Harry's depression, or of Remus' obvious less-than-groom-like emotional state at the party. Laughter rang out around them and the noise level of the men celebrating Remus' last eve as a bachelor was deafening at times, drowning out their words. But neither seemed to notice; their 'conversation' was in essence, not a conversation at all.
'We are planning to travel immediately to Hogwarts,' Remus said dully. The fake smile returned to his face.
'It is chilly up there this time of the year,' Harry responded, his voice similarly lacking any life.
'I have tried to convince Tonks to pack lightly, but she insists on bringing her entire house along with her. I don't know how we will fit it all in the rooms we have been provided.'
'You were always a good professor.'
'I expect it will be quite cramped.'
'I am sure the students will take to you, as we did.'
'I used to feel claustrophobic when I had the rooms to myself; this will be quite trying for us both I am certain.'
'Of course Snape will be there again,' Harry's eyes narrowed over some private thought, 'it is clear he was only interested in saving his own skin the whole time. I imagine most did the same thing during the war, regardless of the effect it had on…others.' His voice had taken on a scornful and derisive tone, but Remus didn't seem to notice.
'I suppose I could request more space, eventually…if it works out,' Remus mused in a bored and despondent tone.
Harry and Remus' nonsensical ramblings might have continued throughout the night; neither felt like joining in the festivities. However, Harry's planned non response to Remus' last statement shuffled back down his throat as the door to the little room they had rented burst open rather forcefully and a hush fell over the room.
Everyone's eyes were trained on the tall, dark figure that stood in the doorway and the only sound was that of glass shattering as Remus' drink slipped from his hand. Casually posed in the door frame, as if he'd done nothing more than appear late for a party to which he had been invited, was Sirius Black.
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Surprisingly few deaths had resulted from the war, but the cells of Azkaban, now run by Aurors, were overflowing. The eradication of the Dementors during the war did not mean an end to mental torture.
Weekly spells were cast, implanting scenes of each prisoner's individual crimes in their minds which played at repeated intervals throughout the day. The scenes were accompanied by painful surges that passed through their bodies as they watched the scenes. The blood-curdling cries and screams of the prisoners; hallow voices begging for death and relief; that was the ambient sound of Azkaban.
Draco Malfoy was on his knees with his hands covering his ears as if it would drown out the scene that was flashing vigorously through his mind. His own screams from the pain washing through his body were made louder as a result of his action, but he didn't remove his hands.
An unfamiliar woman on her knees before him, begging for her life.
Draco's mouth gapped open, saliva running to the ground as his vision blurred and the scene grew vivid, dragging him into a panorama of horror. Pain shot through his head as he desperately tried to block the oncoming scene from forming. He clawed at the remnants of his mind, attempting to shift the implanted vision with one of his own making. Harry laying on the soft ground, his brow slightly moist with sweat and his eyes closed, his mouth rounded in a deep moan of ecstasy -
Draco screamed as the pain again racked his body, coughing wildly as he tried to breathe through the jolts, so forceful, his body jerked reflexively against the hard floor.
The swift green flame left his wand and splashed through the woman's body. Deep, raucous laughter spilled from his throat as he watched her fall to the ground, her eyes vacant. The fat bald man, running in to save the woman who already lay dead at his feet.
Draco grasped for sanity; trying desperately to replace the images. Harry pulling him close, hot breath filling his throat as their mouths twisted together in a hungry kiss of need and desire-
Another scream, his own, as his self-made vision faded. Unbearable pain; he had to die, no one could live after suffering this much pain-
Another shot of green, an ear-splitting cry of pain and the fat, balding man joined the woman on the ground, eyes vacant. More heinous laughter, his.
Crimson flooded his vision and a hallow groan erupted from his lips as Draco frantically fought to deflect the scene. Harry, at the height of passion whispering heated words of love- Draco's mind faltered; his mind losing all ability to divert the scene as searing pain cut through his senses. His yell of pain deafening this time.
A young boy, screaming at the sight of his parents lying dead on the floor, more guttural laughter, insane mirth as he met the boy's eyes which widened as he saw Draco aim the wand toward his heart…
Draco began banging his head on the ground, forceful slams that left white spots swimming before his clouded eyes and electric shocks of pain shooting through his skull. It had almost worked; blackness came, but went again denying him the sweet relief of unconsciousness. The scene played on, less clear, but still visible in the depths of his mind. Again.
When it was over, the pain continued to surge, slamming through every nerve and fiber of his body. It was worse this time due to his having bashed his head against the ground – if there was such a thing as worse.
Draco awaited death, but as usual, he lived. The pain began to subside, although the throbbing from his self-inflicted damage remained. His body was slumped against the stone floor, still twitching in the aftermath of the pain and visions. He waited for the world to stop spinning and the capacity of his mind to return; though it seemed to him that less and less of it returned after each scene experience.
Even when the scenes ended and the pain ebbed he would not move. He would lie still on the hard, cold, dirty ground until they forced him to eat, or until the scene began to replay itself or…until the new form of torture began.
They had informed him that he would be undergoing a series of interrogation sessions. During these, Aurors questioned the prisoners about their crimes, attempting to gain information on others who might have been involved and not yet captured. A session of endless questioning and threats of more 'scene' time if answers were not forthcoming.
It hadn't mattered to Draco; he would endure it all until it eventually killed him as it already had many others. It hadn't mattered when they told him that his name had been bumped up and his interrogation would start earlier than expected. None of it mattered until they told him that his interrogation session had been specially arranged and that his interrogator would be Harry Potter.
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R&R please, shall I continue? Eventually DM/HP, SB/RL