Trapped

Summary: His skin is paler that what Harry remembers, a sickly whitish-gray that was a common trait in all the newly dead. And his arms are holding Harry down, wrapping around him tightly. He can't escape no matter how hard he struggles. Trapped.

Warning/Squicks: This is slash, first and foremost, and then it contains necrophilia. In other words, sex with a dead body. It's nothing too graphic so I'd appreciate it if you had a read, but it's there. If you don't like it, turn back now and don't complain in the review that I'm a sick fuck, because I've already warned you. Otherwise, read on into my newest oneshot.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me. All characters mentioned here belong to J.K Rowling. Also, the concept for this story was based off the short fiction 'The Sound of Weeping' by Thomas S. Roche. You can find the story in the anthology 'Queer Fear', which is a book on gay horror fiction.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was not a happy place by any means. People came in, people left in a daily flow. People of different races, genders (more than female and male), and species were all connected in the same sense if they had a reason to be there. If people were lucky enough to live through whatever 'magical malady' or injury they had, they were free to go. But those who didn't, obviously, were kept in the hospital morgue. It was in this sense that the Wizarding world had similarities with the Muggle world.

"Why are we doing this, Harry?"

Harry doesn't answer, keeping his eyes trained on the screen above the receptionists head that had names and room numbers scrolling down at a snail pace. His hands shake slightly as the 'M' section goes by a second time and not once does he see the name he's looking for.

Ron is freaking out as he sees his friend tremble, verdant eyes glancing around wildly behind the lenses of his round, awkward glasses. He hasn't seen Harry this skittish since the moment before he went into battle with Voldemort, and even then, he had suddenly taken on a more confident aura and offed the bastard into the hereafter (if there was, for that scaly git) posthaste.

Ron repeats his question a little louder and his hand begins to stray towards Harry's shoulder, but Harry is moving now, moving towards the lady at the reception desk while gnawing on his bottom lip. It's adorable but Harry does not take any notice and waits patiently until the elderly lady in front of him has moved off.

Ron waits for Harry a little distance away, hears a name that sounds oddly like 'Draco Malfoy' coming from the receptionist's mouth and then a room, and then Harry is moving. Swiftly, he whirls away from the desk and flees from the room, and Ron can here a choked sob leaving his lips so he follows after.

Harry has occupied a small portion of a plastic bench in the hallway, beside a man who looked like he had a dragon-shaped tumour bulging out the side of his head. Ron's best friend rocks forwards and backwards, his head buried in his protective arms as his small frame shakes like a leaf in the wind. Ron asks the tumour man if he could possibly move.

He does and Ron sits next to Harry and wraps a hopefully comforting arm around Harry's shoulders, and Gods, Harry is so small, then embraces the younger boy. Harry is only seventeen. Ron is seventeen too, but Harry has seen so many terrible things in his life, he's practically a war-wise wizard twice his age. But sometimes, Harry needs to revert back to the child who was neglected all those years ago. Ron lets him.

When Ron asks Harry 'what's wrong?' Harry doesn't answer at first, but his body tenses and Ron can tell he wants to move away. Ron is unyielding, instead holding Harry a little tighter and waits patiently until Harry feels he is ready to speak.

It takes a little while but then Harry wriggles until Ron has moved away, then he stands and asks silently if they can visit the hospital morgue. Words choke in Ron's throat as he realizes what has happened. All these years spent wishing that the spoiled, snotty-nosed brat would get himself killed and now he's dead and everything is just so surreal that Ron can't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it, because no matter how much of a git Draco Malfoy had been to them, in the end he was on their side, standing with Harry against the evil maniacs who wanted to kill all that was good and holy.

Harry is subservient, dull eyes are shining with tears but cast down, hidden behind a flimsy screen of dark, almost black, hair. Ron's hand twitches a moment but eventually he stands and wraps it around Harry's shoulders and steers him in the direction of the morgue. Ron has been there before.

Fred Weasley was there now, with many other people like Tonks and Remus and Snape…

Harry had refused to go anywhere near them but now, now Harry is begging to go. Not to see anyone else, Ron realizes, but to see him. Malfoy. Harry lets himself be taken towards the morgue, his feet walking on autopilot but his mind flying elsewhere. Ron could tell, see, because Harry has this distant look in his eyes that even Ron can see when Harry's head is down. The way that Harry walks is almost mechanical, having no sense of what he was doing.

Ron, for a moment, thinks that if he walked towards a cliff, Harry would walk right over it and fall. Harry is listless for the too-short minutes that they spend walking towards the hospital morgue. Then finally, they arrive at the morgue, the doors are tall and intimidating, a blank white like the rest of the rooms and corridors with metal handles. Ron is suddenly choking back tears as Harry stiffens and realizes what he's doing. Harry tries to run but Ron doesn't let him and they're fighting and arguing and people are staring. Then Ron does the unthinkable. He slaps Harry, tries to knock some sense into him.

And Harry, he finally wakes up from the negative thoughts that consume him as he stares at his best friend in shock, then collapses into Ron's arms, weeping piteously. Ron's heart aches as he watches Harry cry brokenly, whimpering words, names beneath his breath like a forgotten prayer. Again, Ron is patient, waiting for Harry to calm down while soothing him. And when Harry is ready, he leads him inside.

Here at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, visiting the dead was allowed at most times, except if you were an evil necromancer with a complete lack of respect for the deceased. The only man in the room, a nurse, stops them from entering until they state their business for being there. Ron tells him that 'Harry Potter wishes to pay his respects to those who died during the battles' and the man's eyes flicker towards Harry's scar in awe, then nods and promptly leaves the room.

Harry edges closer towards Ron, not liking the super sterility of the room. Running along the left expanse of the room and curving around the back, are square metal drawers with little name plates on them. On the right are gurneys with various instruments and tools for dissecting and inspecting, and Harry has to close his eyes momentarily in order to stop the wave of dizziness from sweeping him off his feet.

There is sufficient lighting in the morgue but it feels just a little bit darker compared to the rest of the hospital and Ron wonders if it's because of the purpose of this place. Ron asks Harry if he wants him to stay. Harry nods but starts moving towards the metal drawers. Ron knows what's in them.

Harry bypasses 'L' for Remus and Nymphadora Lupin and doesn't even reach 'S' for Severus Snape, before he stops in front of 'M'. Ron watches. Harry scans.

A hand is trailing across the cold metal surfaces, delicately tracing unknown patterns over the reflective silver before Harry stops. His hand is resting against a particular drawer and Ron can see the fingerprints that Harry's hand has left because he's sweating now, nervous.

Ron's not even sure if they're allowed to do this, but then Harry sucks in a breath, hand on the handle and tugs. The unnatural silence is almost deafening as the drawer slides open cleanly, without a groan or squeak of protest. Inside, a black body bag, zipped closed. Harry's hand rests upon it.

"Harry…"

But Harry isn't listening, doesn't take notice. His eyes are trained solely on the task at hand. The sound of the zipper being opened is almost deafening and Ron swears that the people outside the morgue could hear it, and oh God, what was Harry doing?

Ron can feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest, feel it in his throat, choking him; hear it in his ears, deafening him. He tells Harry to wait but his best friend does not wait. The redhead can see inside the body bag, now that Harry as pulled the plastic away to reveal their long time enemy. Rival. Pest. Whatever he was to them.

Draco Malfoy is as pale as ever and for someone who's been dead for a week, he hasn't changed at all. The effects of death were probably halted magically and Harry appreciates this as he runs a tentative finger over Malfoy's forehead, shying away from a horrible scar that looks like a mock imitation of Harry's famous one. It laughs back at them, a painful reminder of Malfoy's sacrifice during the battle. A decoy. He had carved Harry's scar onto his own forehead instead of using a glamour which could easily be seen through. Now it is there as a memorial to Harry of the loss a young life had to take.

He chokes and Ron looks away, and then Harry's crying because he thinks it's all his fault and Ron doesn't have anything to say this time. Harry just seems too far away to comfort now, even though he's physically within reach. Harry has mentally distanced himself away from Ron, lost in his own world.

"Beautiful… so beautiful," Harry is whispering and Ron has to do a double take in order to realize what had just come out of Harry's mouth. What?

And then Harry is stroking Malfoy's face carefully, almost possessively and now Ron's almost afraid to touch him in case Harry turns his wand on him. He way he touched the blond was eerily similar to a man keeping his most prized possession at hand. Ron waits, and waits and waits, but Harry does not move, does not stop touching Malfoy.

But Malfoy was dead, oh God, and why on earth was Harry doing this? Why had Ron agreed to come? Because he was his best friend. Of course, of course.

Harry's hands stray lower and lower, inching dangerously close to the hem of Malfoy's shirt and then he's lifting it up, slowly and surely until pale, white-gray skin is revealed. It is the skin of the dead, unnatural, but Malfoy is still the same as he was when alive – flawless. Not a wrinkle or mark on the smooth expanses of his stomach, not a decaying cavity in sight.

It takes Ron a moment to realize that there is no smell of rotting flesh that usually accompanied a body after a week of being dead. Again, perhaps a preservation spell…?

Ron wants to tell Harry to stop, that this was wrong and disrespectful to the dead, and that they should leave immediately but Harry isn't listening. Again, Harry pays Ron no mind and his movements are almost trance like as they trace over Malfoy's body, trembling out of awe, perhaps, but certainly not fear.

Ron knew Harry well enough to know when he was scared and there was no trace of fear in him at all. But Ron, Ron is scared. Ron is bloody frightened as Harry deftly undoes the button and zipper of Malfoy's trousers with a practiced ease that is too familiar to go unnoticed. He opens his mouth to warn Harry, to tell him to move away and God this was sick and wrong, but Harry's not listening again and he's massaging Malfoy through the cotton boxers.

"Harry, Harry, stop, please!"

But Harry shakes his head, and Ron realizes that Harry can hear him because then Harry's whispering, "Leave. Leave us be. I need him, Ron. So long, it's been so long…" and Ron obviously has no clue what's going on. He hesitates to leave but then Harry has turned slightly and his voice is raised, "LEAVE!"

Ron hurries out of the room, his heart pounding and flitting about in his chest like a rabbit being chased by a wolf. The door swings shut behind him. Now he can only sit and wait.

"So beautiful, Draco… Draco… I'm all yours Draco, you're all mine," Harry whispers as he slides a hand into Draco's boxers and strokes the flaccid flesh inside. Draco is cold – deathly cold – and Harry wishes that he was warm enough for the both of them because now he's freezing, inside and out, and all he wants is for Draco to wrap his arms around him.

Harry begins to shake, trembling as his hand wraps around Draco's ice-cold flesh and he tugs and tugs, but nothing's happening. Slowly, ever so gently as if he were afraid he would break him, Harry leaks just a little bit of his magic into Draco's corpse and the place where their skin is meeting is starting to grow warm.

And, oh, yes, Harry can remember this, and he doesn't feel so cold anymore as Draco's body heats up, and this is wrong, so wrong, but he can't help it because he misses him so goddamn much! Draco isn't moving, of course not, because how can the dead move? But then Harry is wishing, hoping that Draco will wrap his arms around him and then…

Oh wow. Harry feels a bit absentminded suddenly, as if he's in a daze as strong arms wrap around his waist and hoist him up onto Draco so that he's straddling him. Draco's cold hands are on his hips, under his shirt and pressed flush against Harry's skin, drinking and draining at his warmth, his life. Harry is shivering, not from the cold, but from excitement. It's Draco! Draco is back!

Harry closes his eyes and shudders, snuggling into Draco's body but he's careful, always careful, because even though Draco was so strong, he looks so fragile now, so beaten and delicate. Harry wriggles atop him, and oh, there's Draco's hard cock pressed against his thigh. Harry wants it, needs it, so he uses it and starts to grind against it. Draco doesn't make a sound. He doesn't moan or groan or whisper encouraging words to Harry, and Harry wishes that he would because he misses him so much.

His hands are on Draco's chest now, tweaking at the nubs of dusky nipple so that they were erect and even more of Harry's magic is leaking out now, almost visible to the naked eye. It crackles and sizzles but Draco isn't hurting and neither is Harry so he keeps on doing it. He keeps on bucking and grinding against Draco until he can feel Draco moving against him. So strong. Powerful. Harry wants it.

Harry needs it. He can feel Draco's straining cock against his arse now, pressing so insistently and Harry misses the feeling of Draco inside him, wishes he could feel all over again, because he thought Draco was in hospital and Harry was more than willing to wait, see how long until Draco would be back. But then the lady said Draco was dead. Harry's heart had never shattered so badly in his life, but now Draco was back!

"Draco… I miss this… I miss you," Harry is whispering, almost as if he were afraid someone would hear them. It feels like they were back at Hogwarts again, sneaking out to see each other in the dead of the night, occupying empty classrooms and broom closets and hiding from the teachers and anyone on patrol.

Then Harry leans down and kisses Draco for the first time, feels his icy-cold lips pressed against him and then it doesn't feel right anymore. It feels… it feels… cold. Lonely. Isolated. Like death.

And then Harry realizes. His eyes open and he panics. What was he thinking? He wasn't thinking at all! Draco is dead! Dead! Harry struggles and attempts to push away but Draco is holding on so tight he feels like he's going to bruise. Draco doesn't make a sound but his eyes open and Harry can see that they're the same as ever except they're cold and blank with no amusement or smugness, and not Draco Malfoy. Not his Draco. Not the one from his memories.

Only now, in his mind's eye, Harry begins to compare the two. His skin is paler that what Harry remembers, a sickly whitish-gray that was a common trait in all the newly dead, but aside from that and his eyes, Draco is pretty much the same. But Harry can't ignore those eyes. What was like molten silver once is now arctic steel and Harry wonders, if only for a moment, if he had any regrets doing this.

Harry cannot make up is mind in time, as in that moment, he hears the sliding of a drawer, and another, and another and Harry is starting to freak out. He pushes against Draco's chest, trying to get away but Draco's arms are pinning him down. No matter how hard he tries to escape, all his efforts are in vain.

There is an odd silence, a deadly silence in the room. None of the bodies make a sound but they're all sitting up from their gurneys on either side of Harry and Draco. The drawers above them and below them don't open, but then Harry is gripped with absolute fear as Remus', Tonks' and Severus' drawers slide open and their corpses animate.

"No. No! Please, Draco, let me go. I'm sorry I disturbed you. I love you, please, please, if you love me let me go!" Harry whimpers, shaking and trembling like never before as the temperature in the room drops down a notch or two.

Remus and Severus, both strong while they were still alive, were ambling over to them and Harry is thrashing about, even more wildly than before, trying to get away, but he can't. Then he feels two pairs of arms on either side of him push him down towards Draco. He can still feel Draco's cock, hard and throbbing against the cleft of his arse but instead of comforting him, it frightens him. He feels disgust at himself when he realizes that his body is reacting to the sensations and then he, too, is hard.

Severus and Remus are pushing him down now, harder and harder, and with so much force that Harry can't resist. They pin him against Draco and Harry is sobbing into Draco's bare chest, and it's cold and Harry can't hear or feel his heartbeat anymore.

Harry is scared.

"Please, Draco, if you love me like before, let me go…" Harry attempts one last time, but then Draco removes one arm and reaches up to the small ledge above them and pushes against it. His heart almost stops when he realizes what's happening. They're sliding in, into the drawer, into that dark little place and then Harry realizes he can't escape anymore.

The sound of the drawer closing shut doesn't even register in his ears, nor does the fact that there is now complete darkness in the little, cramped space occur to him. Harry is trying to breathe but he can't. He feels like he's suffocating and his heart is beating like mad, but he's still as hard as ever and Draco…

"I'll never let you go," comes a familiar voice from beneath him, but its cold now, and isn't filled with any affection like the Draco that Harry remembers in his heart. It freezes him on the spot and then Harry realizes he's trapped as the darkness beckons to him.

It's bright. Too bright. And Harry is wondering what's going on. He lifts his arm to shield himself from the excessive light but it seems to penetrate through his arm. He tries to sit up but he feels like he's being weighed down.

"Harry?"

Harry glances up into the smiling face of Draco Malfoy and he feels the warmth again, because it's in Draco's eyes, his smile and his voice. Draco's hand is on him and he can feel Draco all around him in his embrace.

"You found me again," Draco whispers, and kisses him, and it's warm and happy, and not like before. Not like when Draco was dead and Harry was alive. Finally, they were reunited.

Rice-Ball247: Again, I'd really appreciated if you took on a mature view while reading this and review with constructive criticism. This was my first squick ever (I don't actually like this, but it wouldn't stop buggering me until I had written it). Also, I changed my normal writing style on purpose for this because I felt... well... as if it were writing itself and that I was just there to type it. I dunno how it came out to be like this, but as soon as I started typing the first sentence, it call just came together and I didn't even need to think back.

The 3rd chapter of The Pursuit of Happiness (and Harry, somehow) is currently being beta-ed and will be posted as soon as it's ready.