Prompt: Draco kidnaps Harry, who has been dabbling in the drug scene, trying desperately to take away his anguish about the war. He takes him to his manor and is adamant to get him clean, whatever the cost.

Disclaimer: I don't own. And if any 'drug' information is incorrect, I apologise, I don't have personal experience with them, it's just what I've read on forums and other sites. Ok, that's all the formal stuff out the way. Go and enjoy!

HEART FLICKER

By Lily Sterling

Chapter | One:

Shivers of uncomfortableness moved down his shoulder blades and spine, making him straighten his back. His fingers were laced and resting on the large, shiny desktop. The only give away that he was irritable was the dancing of his knee, it bounced up and down in a jittery pattern. Across from him, Narcissa sat perfectly poised in the opposite straight backed chair. Her pale blonde hair was tied back off her angular face and her lips were pinched together so firmly they turned white at the corners.

"You speak foolishness." She said at long last, her words sounded strong despite her frail appearance. Draco had seen her response coming, even from all the way across the desk, it was in the line of her slim shoulders, the lift of her chin, the set of her jaw. She screamed annoyance, and even though Narcissa Malfoy always tried to hide her emotions under a mask of iciness, Draco, as her son, saw through every façade she placed on. "You cannot expect me to condone this – fanciful – idea."

Draco let out the breath he hadn't known he had been holding. It rushed past his lips messily and he stared hard at his mother, seeing every weakness, despite her attempting to hide them all. He wouldn't call himself a body-language reader, but he was perceptive. The roundness to her eyes told him she was speaking the truth, she thought his 'idea' far-fetched and possibly utterly ridiculous. Some part of him felt a needle pierce his lungs and deflate his chest at that, but a bigger part just wanted to prove her wrong. It wasn't a fanciful idea. It wasn't far-fetched. Or outlandish. It was, in essence, bloody brilliant.

"You do realise," Draco begun, leaning forward over the tabletop and resting his elbows on the cold, shiny and smooth surface. "That I will do this fanciful idea with or without your approval."

Draco thought he saw Narcissa's nostrils flare briefly. Like some bad-tempered horse, she tossed her head with a jerk and pinched her lips together tightly. Draco almost waited for her to whinny. She didn't say a word, not at first, instead she sent Draco her best glower. When she thought he deserved a reply, she opened her lips and said, quite slyly, "What would your father say?"

It hit him low in the stomach and the air whooshed from his chest like he had just been winded. Narcissa knew what would hurt the most; only she underestimated Draco's resolve. Whatever she might think, his so dubbed 'idea' was much more than she could begin to fathom.

"He's dead." Draco counter. It was like a verbal parry, clean and effective. He saw her eyes flicker with some sort of emotion that was part surprise, part hurt.

The next verbal blow she dealt was equally as hard-hitting. "He would be ashamed, Draco." She exclaimed in a clear voice.

Draco pinched his lips, reminding himself of her while doing so. "He's not here to be anything, is he? And I am twenty four, well old enough to make decisions for myself."

Narcissa was getting desperate now, she leaned forward, keeping her back ramrod straight. Her hair, although tied back, was still loose at the back and it cascaded over her shoulders, making her look all the more fierce. "You're making a mistake." She told. Like it was obvious. But Draco didn't see it. He knew what he was doing, and he didn't need her blessing to put things into action.

"Perhaps it's a mistake I need to make." Draco replied. He lifted his chin, set his teeth and squared his shoulders. Looking imposing. Looking stern. Looking determined. Narcissa seemed to deflate in her chair, her shoulders sagged and she shook her head, as if Draco was a lost cause, and perhaps he was.

"Potter doesn't need saving." She informed. Her voice was strong, and Draco was reminded only by the wrinkles around her eyes and lips that she was frailer than she was tough. In strength anyhow. In magic, she was resilient.

Draco shrugged, a gesture that he rarely used. "He needs helping. I'm not trying to be his saviour, mother. I'm merely offering him hope. A way out of his current circumstances."

Narcissa blinked at him. Drew in a shallow breath. Let it out. Then got to her feet abruptly. Draco sat back in his chair, watching her stride elegantly to the door of his study. Her lilac robes rustling and whispering with each step she took. "Potter got himself into such a sorry state, you need not concern yourself with his adeptness at sabotaging his life." She said, and it was her final bid to make her son see sense.

Draco folded his arms over his chest. He didn't need to say anything, Narcissa knew she had lost. She sniffed disdainfully and nodded, more to herself than to Draco before leaving the study with a rustle of robes. As soon as she was out of earshot, Draco let out a huff of air and relaxed back into the hard-backed chair. Draco: 1. Narcissa: 0.

#

Tie the knot tight, Harry thought, as he wrapped the shoelace around his arm. Keep the needle steady. Hold your breath. Find the blue of a vein. He reiterated to himself. Push the point of the needle into the vein, don't wince. It was a pain that was over within a breath of a second, but still Harry grimaced while he pushed his thumb against the plunger. Injecting the heroin into his system.

The rush came after ten seconds of utter silence. He had just enough time to pull the needle from his arm and then the effects took place. A rush of euphoria hit him like a wall of bricks crumbling on top of his head. His limbs relaxed and he fell backwards onto his mattress. A dopey grin on his face, a glassy gleam to his eyes. His glasses were knocked crooked from his fall back onto the bed, and he stared at the ceiling, following the cracks in the plaster with his eyes, studying it like it was all he could focus on. His body felt warm, like he was being hugged by a thousand people all at once. Like he was standing in one of the fireplaces at the Ministry. Like a warming charm had been cast on his entire body. He felt…peaceful. Strangely, utterly at peace.

He closed his eyes. Feeling his body relax, if possible, further into the lumpy mattress. His head was fuzzed up with warmth. His skin felt like it was buzzing with heat. He felt so relaxed, so calm, so serene. And even though he knew the come-down would wreck him, he couldn't summon up an ounce of care.

He laid on his bed, grinning at the ceiling and feeling an overwhelming sense of warmth flooding his veins and warming his muscles. It was like his bones had gone rubbery, he felt loose, floppy, calm and warm. It was a sensation he craved, this blissfulness.

Vaguely, as if his hearing was blurred and dulled by cotton-wool. He heard the latch on the front door clatter open. He was too comfortable to move and check if he was hearing correctly. Plus, who would visit him at such an hour? It was nearing one in the morning. Looking at the ceiling he wondered if he could get his arms to cooperate and reach out to try and touch the spider-webbing cracks. Would he be too far away? It felt a bit like he was floating, so maybe he could touch the ceiling.

He could hear footfalls coming down the hall, he should have been worried, curious at least, but he was so calm and chilled out that he didn't even flinch when a voice called his name – or rather, his last name.

"Potter?"

The voice sounded familiar, but Harry couldn't place it. It was as if he had known the voice a long time ago, but hadn't heard it for years. He rocked his head to one side, catching sight of dark denim jeans and shiny black shoes. His eyes rolled into his head, eyelids fluttering as he felt the euphoria crash through his body again, like waves of warm water washing up his body. He heard the voice speak again. This time the sharpness to the tone caught him off guard.

"What have you done?!"

He wanted to say, 'gone to heaven' but his tongue was heavy in his mouth, thick and uncooperative. He felt like he was in heaven. Peaceful. Calm. Nothing bothered him. Not even the stranger in his house.

Almost hesitantly, Harry felt someone touch his arm, tug on the shoelace that was still wrapped securely around his arm. It came loose, the pressure of it ceased and he could feel it slide away from his skin. Then fingertips trailed softly down his forearm, touching uncertainly. Harry, still in his enraptured state, attempted to push his arm into the touch, it was hard to do considering his body wasn't taking orders from his brain. He felt the hand move away and he would have frowned had his face not been so relaxed. A moment later it was back, this time under his head, it lifted his head gently and when Harry felt the hand lower his head softness met him. A pillow perhaps?

"Your arm is a mess." The voice said. Smooth, but deep, decidedly male. Harry hummed, smacking his lips together in reply. "Do you have any pride left?" the man asked, Harry felt it must be a rhetorical question; considering he was currently lying on his bed, high as a kite and wearing only his boxer shorts. No pride was left, but he didn't care. He was blissful. He was safe when he was high. Happy, in the sense that he was too tranquil to be anything else.

He felt the sudden need to roll over, to see the person who was talking, muttering quietly at the side of his bed. He blinked once, a heavy sort of blink that made everything go black for far too long, and he realised he might have actually fallen asleep briefly, or began to. Swallowing thickly Harry rolled clumsily, slowly and awkwardly over onto his right side. When he did his stomach churned, he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast, surely that and the heroin in his system wasn't helping his nausea. He made a sort of strangled groan, that could barely pass for a swear word, and fumbled with the sheets, bunching them in his palm. Knuckles white.

"Pathetic," he thought the man said to him. He wanted to throw the middle finger at him, but the nausea was roiling deep in his gut now. Making him wish he had the energy to vomit. He heard a tsk, saw a flash of white-blond, smelt the delicious scent of lemons, tangy and fresh. And then he was being forcefully manhandled off the bed. He wrapped his arm around a steady shoulder, and clung to a soft sweater with his other hand. He stumbled to walk when the man led him to the bathroom and before he could register what was happening, he was being placed down in front of the toilet bowl.

"Wha…?" was that really his voice? It sounded so strange and raspy. Like he had tried to eat sandpaper and it had scratched his throat on the way down.

"You look green, Potter. This saves you from vomiting on your bed." The voice was equally strong and tender and Harry felt an inkling dash through his head, speeding through so fast he lost it before really cataloguing what it was.

He would have said thank-you, but the moment he opened his lips, vomit raced up his throat, from his churning stomach, and he only just managed to bend over the porcelain bowl in time. He heaved up his guy, seemingly. And after a good minute of vomiting he sat back, feeling better, feeling relaxed like before. He almost had the desire to sleep. But apparently the man had other ideas. With a steady, strong hand he guided Harry to his feet, held him when he swayed and then turned him on the spot and walked him over to the vanity mirror.

Harry saw his appearance come into his line of sight and giggled at his messed up hair that was unruly and awry.

"Take notice of yourself, Potter. Is this who you want to be? A druggie. An addict. A sad, hopeless man who can't work through his problems without the aid of some drug?"

Harry looked hard at his reflection. Watching his lips twist and pucker in thought and his dark eyebrows draw downwards. He felt the man behind him shift and then he came into view also. It was a wonder Harry didn't faint at the sight of his school-boy rival. Maybe it was the heroin in his system that took the surprised edge off. Whatever it was Harry stared at the reflection of Draco Malfoy, studying his grey eyes. Silver almost under the luminescent light of the bathroom. They watched him back with calmness, but Harry could feel the chest behind him rising and falling rapidly.

"Do you want to be this person, Potter?" Draco said.

Harry let his eyes fall back onto his own appearance, he saw the dark smudges under his washed out eyes, saw the gauntness to his face and the paleness to his lips and skin. And despite the high he was experiencing he felt a pang of gut-wrenching irritation. Irritation about who he had become.

"I can help you," Draco whispered fervently. "You don't have to live like this." He added.

Harry blinked and everything went black.

#

Harry needed the darkness to last just a little bit longer, he wasn't ready to wake up and face the after effects of the heroin. He felt like he was floating on a cloud, a fluffy, cotton-wool-like cloud that was so soft and so comfortable. The darkness he was in faded away and he felt his eyelids open, fluttering. He was staring at a white ceiling. But, strangely there were no cracks in the plaster. Odd, he thought, that's usually the sight I wake up to. He stretched out his limb, forgetting about the non-existent cracks and focusing instead on the warm, silky sheets underneath his bare feet and legs. He only used plain cotton sheets. And, come to think of it, his pillow was much flatter than the one currently under his head.

Sitting up suddenly a trail of unease made its way down his spine. Zinging from the base of his neck to the small of his back. When he eyed the room he was in, all the air in his lungs went stale and was expelled with such force he felt dizzy. Light-headed. Faint. The room was large, overly large in his opinion. And stark white. The heavy curtains that draped over the large windows were white. The carpet, white. The bedding also white. It made his head hurt just looking at it. Or maybe that was the come down from his high?

Harry, his breathing coming in gasped lungfuls, ripped the covers off his body and slipped out of the bed on clumsy feet. His bare feet hit the carpet with a dull thud, and then the sound of a shrill alarm made itself known. Harry winced but didn't flinch and by the time the jarring, singing alarm was on its second scream he was at the door to the bedroom and wrenching it open.

He threw his body over the threshold and was adamant to keep running, but someone grabbed him around his middle and dragged him back against a firm chest. A chest that was rising and falling with shallow breaths. When warm words were spoken into the shell of his ear, Harry froze up. His muscles becoming rigid.

"Calm yourself."

Flashes of what had transpired flickered across his vision.

He was lying on his bed, admiring the cracks in his ceiling.

He was hearing the latch on the front door open.

Someone was coming down the hall, speaking his name.

Strident words were being thrown into his ears.

Vomiting.

Seeing his reflection.

"Do you want to be this person, Potter?"

Malfoy!

"I can help you," a promise that had torn his heart in half at the boldness of the statement.

"I don't need your help!" Harry hissed through his teeth, half talking to the memory, and half talking to Draco in the here and now. "Let go of me!" he added, hoping his voice came across as an order, rather than a plea. Draco tightened his arms around Harry's waist, cuddling his back and breathing heavy in his ear at the effort in keeping Harry restrained. When Harry realised that Draco had no intentions of letting him go, he growled low in his throat. "I swear to God, Malfoy!"

"I should have taken more precautions." Draco said to himself. "I was lulled into thinking you'd be compliant, I guess it was the drugs making you that way. Never mind, we'll rectify my mistake."

Harry found himself being pushed toward the bedroom, he dug his heels into the ground; a polished, white stone that was slippery and made his efforts seem futile. Draco huffed out an irritated breath and then boldly lifted Harry off his feet and carried him the rest of the way. He only dropped Harry onto the bed once Harry stopped struggling, and then a wand tip was being placed delicately under his chin. Harry's eyes widened and then went narrow, he glared at Draco.

"Why'd you bring me here?" he asked. Hoping for a straight forward reply. But knowing Draco wouldn't give him what he wanted.

Draco pressed the tip of his wand upwards, lifting Harry's head until Harry was forced to acknowledge that Draco was towering over him, all angry eyes and thin pressed lips. "Do you have any idea how stupid you are?" he asked and Harry was put out, caught off guard and he gaped like some guppy.

"What?" he questioned.

Draco flicked his wand away from Harry's chin, letting his head drop back down, and instead aimed it at the bed. He didn't say any spell out loud but shimmering turquoise light radiated from the tip of his wand, encased the mattress and then faded away into nothingness. Harry stared in confusion at Draco's smug expression. "You will be looked after here." Draco said, ignoring Harry's previously uttered 'what'.

"What was that?" Harry wanted to know.

Draco smirked his patented smirk. Twisting his pale lips and arching one perfectly shaped eyebrow. He took a step backwards from the bed, lowering his wand. "Come over here, Harry." He said. It was a polite order, but an order nonetheless. Harry bristled.

"Why should I?"

"You wanted to know what I have done to the bed. So, come over here and you'll know." Draco replied with a calmness Harry wished he felt.

Huffing out a breath of annoyance Harry jerked his fringe off his forehead and made to climb off the bed. Only problem was, once he was at the edge of the mattress his body wouldn't go any further. He jolted to a stop, trapped by magic, by invisible walls that surrounded the bed. He shot a surprised look up at Draco, his eyes wide, his nostrils flaring.

"What did you do?" he snapped.

"Simply took precautions. A modest confinement spell. But an effective one. Wouldn't you say?" Draco smiled than, something Harry couldn't ever recount seeing. It was a smile that showed his teeth; straight and white. A smile that crinkled his eyes and he held it just long enough for Harry to know he was pleased with himself. Harry gritted his teeth, baring them like Draco, instead of a smile however, it was a sneer.

"Undo it!" Harry said, his voice was deep with anger and he glared so intently at Draco he feared he'd burn holes through the blond.

"No." Draco said, concisely.

"No?!"

"You heard me. I won't undo it. It's for your own safety. I'm detoxing your system of heroin. This means you'll go through withdrawals. The bed is the safest place for you for the interim."

Harry saw red, his palms were clammy from dread and trepidation and his heart was throwing itself against the prison of his ribcage so forcefully he thought it might be bruised. "You can't –"

Draco pocketed his wand. "I can, and I will. I'm going to get you clean, get you to deal with your demons like an adult. You'll go through a bout of symptoms. Sweating, severe muscle and bone aches, intense heroin cravings, insomnia and cramping in your limbs are just a few. They will get worse before they get better, but I'll help you through it,"

"I don't want or need your help, Malfoy!" Harry screamed. It hurt his throat and he was sure it startled Draco a fraction.

"You don't have any say in the matter." Draco replied. His lips were pressed and he folded his arms across his chest. "I'll bring you some food, you look like you haven't eaten in a week." He said absently. He turned on the spot, spinning on his heel and began walking to the door. Harry made to follow, but the invisible walls kept him confined to the bed and he growled low in his throat.

"Malfoy!" he called, watching as the blonds shoulders stiffened, but he didn't turn around. "Let me go! I mean it!" Harry continued to yell, but it got him nowhere, by the time the door had closed behind Draco, angry tears were burning hot trails down his cheeks and dripping off his jaw.