To: chisox727
Prompt: H/D; Ministry; angst
Rating:R

There are three kinds of tired in the world.

One that can be cured with a good nights rest.

One that could be cured with a bottle of gin.

And one that could only be cured by death.

Draco was too far gone for the first two, he had failed his mission, Voldemort and his parents had died and he was also to be killed the next day for his involvement with the losing side. God he was tired, he just wanted everything to be over. People were tiresome, they always wanted no…expected something from him, he could almost feel better about the fact he was going to die in less than 24 hours, friendless, in a room where every person hated him.

Well…everyone dies alone anyway.

The door to the holding cell swung open to reveal Auror Harry Potter, the Hero of the Wizarding World.

"Hello Draco," Harry said. Draco flinched at the sound of his name. For a brief moment Harry wondered why Draco would flinch at the sound of his own name.

"Potter. Why are you here?" No point in playing elaborate word games now, there simply was no time.
Silence.

"I know you gave us the position to Voldemort's stronghold in the final battle," Harry said without preamble, without prejudice, without the pain he had suffered from losing the one's he loved most.

Silence.

"I also know that this was after your parent's died."

"So what now Potter? I was wrong, and I paid the price for it. I am going to die tomorrow you know!"

"I wanted to thank you in person. I figured you should have some human contact before you leave this world," Harry said. Draco laughed bitterly. Human? People like him and Potter weren't human…they were monsters, bound by others' desires, unable to escape the shackle like constraints society had placed on their shoulders. Monsters did not thank other people after killing their loved ones…

"Am I your new cause? Are you going to reform me? Save me?"

"No," that one word was said in the same painfully neutral tone of voice that Potter had been speaking in the whole time. Where was Potter? There was nothing in this shell-shocked man who had seen too much, too young…

"Why? I thought heroes were supposed to save people!"

"You killed Dumbledore," a tone of bitterness creeping into his voice. Finally some emotion!

"And you killed Voldemort," Draco said.

"I know." Somehow hearing Potter admit that made the ache worse…not because he harbored any love for Voldemort, simply because Potter was so resigned so burdened like himself.

"And where does that put you, Potter. You're one of us now. A murderer, a wretch piece of insignificant crap just biding his time until-," Draco taunted stepping closer and closer to the dark-haired man, a lone streak of sunlight illuminating his face, the ethereal glow causing Harry to shiver.

"STOP!"

"You didn't some here to save me, you came here so I could punish you! You came here because you knew I would tell you what no one else would…" Draco breathed out. He had him, the proverbial cat had just caught the green eyed mouse.

"Do they call you a hero, do they sing your name out in the streets while you sit inside knowing you killed them, your own friends so you could win?" Draco said roughly pushing Harry up against the wall. He undid each one of the buttons on Potter's shirt accentuating each word with a brutal bite on the creamy perfection of Potter's neck.

Potter moaned, the sound breaking through the forlorn air, the "hero" dug his hands into the traitors' hair pleading for more.

Draco gave it to him. He ripped off his own pants, and then batted Potter's hands away from his own, preferring to remove it himself. He slowly teased Potter through the thick material, slower lower until he finally pushed his sweat drenched fingers behind Potter's balls stroking and teasing until Harry-no-Potter was a gibbering pleading mess of guilty pleasure and pain.

He was so hard…and Harry was so soft and warm, and more real than anything he had seen at the Ministry in years it seemed like. He quickly turned Harry over shoving him tell he fell on all fours his pert arse not high enough in the air for his liking, he quickly amended the problem by giving it a sharp slap. Harry didn't protect.

Draco knew he wouldn't.

He entered Harry with little preparation, watching the other man's face squeeze in pain, and still Harry didn't protest.

Draco knew he wouldn't.

He pinched Harry's nipple watched with fascination as it rose into a hard little nub, as he slowly moved back and forth until the all encasing heat was too much, he came with a desperate cry, the cry of a fallen man.

When Harry put his pants on to leave Draco watched him with the hunger of a starved man. He rolled over on his grade C quality mattress. The lone beams of sunshine that was let in earlier by the pint-sized window was now dulled and muffled by a large cloud.

He was tired.

It was nothing a little Death wouldn't cure.

THE END