This one's a bit longer then the others, hope you enjoy. Didn't feel right to split it into two chapters, so there ya go. Please review!
No Church in the Wild
CHAPTER TWELVE
Bleeding Out
"What happened!" Granger was demanding behind him. "Where were you?"
Potter and Weasley filled her in as they began quickly packing their things so they could move to yet another campsite and Draco let them contend with the busywork, blocking out their droning voices. He didn't care what they had to say- didn't care about Potter's sanctimonious crap about 'not using Unforgiveables'.
He stood with his back to the others, feeling the blood drip down his face through his fingers, hearing the argument with Potter still echo in his ears. He suddenly wondered... if the war did ever actually end and by some miracle he made it through... what if he was made to stand in court and defend his actions...? But Draco's thoughts stuttered to a stop here, teetering somewhere between disdain and uncertainty. The war ending. It just didn't seem conceivable at this point.
He shook his head, expelling air forcefully through his teeth, pushing the thoughts from his mind. What mattered was that he'd only been a hair's breadth away from being captured and back in The Dark Lord's hands. That was it. He'd proven his point to those Snatchers. Rules didn't matter to them, and now they knew- unwillingly etched in their memories for a long time he was sure- it didn't matter to him, either.
And as irritated as he was at Potter, at thoughts of having to possibly defend his actions, at the war, even at Weasley's revulsion on seeing the scars that Draco still struggled to accept as part of himself- it was his eye that needed attention now. It pulsed painfully, and he could ignore it no longer. A piece of tree bark had embedded itself in his skin when he'd dodged a Snatcher's lucky shot, but he couldn't tell exactly what was going on.
He pointed his wand towards Granger's bottomless bag, which Weasley had resting on his bunk and was currently stuffing things into. "Accio hand mirror."
A small mirror zipped up and out, nearly whacking Weasley across the face. This normally would have amused Draco somewhat, but the pain around his orbital eye socket was getting to him and he caught the handle of the mirror without any sort of smirk in Weasley's direction.
"Watch it Malfoy!" he heard the ginger oaf roar behind him.
Ignoring it, he dropped the hand that had been covering his face protectively, revealing his badly puffed-up, leaking, and bloodshot eye in the mirror's reflection and indeed, there was a piece of tree bark stuck in the delicate skin under his eye. He felt particularly nauseous as he noted how close it came to actually piercing the eye itself, seeing how it was pressing against it.
"Oh, that looks horrible!"
He looked over to see Granger heading towards him, surprised to see her face in a twisted wince of sympathy. He watched her approach warily.
"Malfoy, sit. Accio dittany!"
He hesitated, looking down on her, unsure.
She caught the little brown bottle. "Sit," she repeated impatiently.
Eventually, he acquiesced, lowering himself to his bunk. It might be wise to have some assistance with this.
"What're you doing Hermione?"
Not a moment later, Weasley was standing over him too, and at once Draco jumped back to his feet. Tried to grab the dittany from Granger's hand himself, but she held it away and out of reach. He still could have taken it from her with a little more effort, but with Wesley hulking over him, manhandling Granger probably wouldn't be a very shrewd move, he was sure.
"No," Granger said, "just sit back down Malfoy."
Annoyed, Draco looked over towards Potter, who was still packing and seemed to be ignoring the whole scene. He'd been planning to avoid saying anything at all to Potter after their argument in the forest, but seeing as the self-righteous prick was the only one around who could translate anything Draco had to say, he ordered loudly, "Tell Granger I don't need, nor do I want, her help."
Potter glanced over, face unreadable. Then he resumed his packing without saying a word.
Draco glared at his back, furious at being ignored. Grinding his teeth, he turned back to Granger and pointed impatiently at the small bottle of dittany clutched protectively in her palm. A clear indication that he wanted her to hand it over.
"Let him do it himself, he wants to," Weasley insisted, apparently understanding Draco's gesture.
"Ron, we're running low on this. So it needs to be applied carefully and sparingly by someone with a steady hand, not someone who's bleeding profusely from their own eye! Now Malfoy, sit down!"
Weasley gave up and threw his hands up in frustration, stomping off.
Draco watched his retreating back, then looked down at Granger. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.
He felt more blood dripping from his face, and it did hurt. He decided to sit.
"What happened, anyway?" Granger asked, grimacing at the oozing wound. "What is it?"
Stupidly forgetting she wouldn't be able to understand any answer he gave, Draco reminded her of this with a derisive snort and, obviously, saying nothing.
She was oblivious to his disdain though, only muttering to herself, "I suppose it doesn't matter really, it just needs to come out. Hmm... oh, I know. Accio tweezers!"
The instrument went flying into Granger's waiting hand and wasting no time, she leaned into his personal space, forehead wrinkled in concentration. In return, Draco had to resist the very strong urge to lean back and away. It was incredibly uncomfortable and awkward being this close to her, especially when he could feel Weasley's stare practically burning a hole through him from the other side of the tent.
As soon as the metal device was clamped around the bark, the awkwardness was forgotten. He couldn't help drawing a sharp breath through his teeth as he felt a strange pressure, deep in his head.
"I'm taking it out. On three. Ready?"
He braced himself, eyes shut.
"One, two-"
There was a sick, pulling feeling. Draco smothered the half formed bark of pain and felt warmth rolling down his cheek. More blood.
Eyes still closed, he could feel something being stuffed into his hand and he looked down in confusion. A wash cloth.
"It needs to be cleaned off before I can use the dittany. I can't really see the wound with all the blood..."
Of course she wasn't going to do it for him, he thought somewhat sardonically as he took the offered cloth, her Gryffindor-benevolence only went so far.
He dabbed carefully at the gash, then wiped some at his cheek before turning it over and repeating the process. He glanced up to see Granger looking unsatisfied. "Just get the dittany on there," he snapped when it looked like she was going to ask him to clean it up even more.
Weasley spoke up, "Hermione we have to go, those Snatchers-"
"We're almost done. Lean your head back Malfoy. Further. Okay, don't move."
He closed his good eye and sat there, stretching his neck back as far as it would practically go. Finally he felt the delicate touch of a drop of medicine dabbing onto his skin, followed by another and immediately, there was a wonderful lessening of pain and he could hear the steam of the green smoke billowing up from his healing wound.
"We have to take the tent down now," he heard Potter announce, "come on."
Granger's voice in front of him still: "You can open your eyes. It's already healed the majority of it."
He blinked. He took Granger's mirror, noting that the swelling around his eye had already gone down quite drastically and he could now open it properly. "Good."
"You're very welcome," Granger said kindly, wrongly assuming that he had thanked her.
They'd finished packing. Draco made his way outside, joining the others in the afternoon sun, still holding the mirror and washcloth. He worked at his face, trying to get all the smeared and faded bloodstains off while Potter took down the tent and stuffed it in that ever-useful beaded bag. Next to him, Granger held her wand aloft in the air, whispering soft words and Draco felt the protection of the wards around them drop and disappear.
Potter was saying something about where they would Apparate next and Draco listened with half-an-ear, more focused on what he was doing. But he felt he'd gotten as much of the blood as he could with the dirtied cloth and just as he was about to put the mirror down, was in fact, lowering it towards his side, he caught a glimpse of something moving, reflected in the glass behind him.
Draco stared, heart leaping into his throat.
A long line of black cloaked figures adorned with bone colored skull-masks, appearing one by one from the woods behind them, each brandishing a wand.
Draco felt the blood rush from his face, the mirror falling from his hand. "Death Eaters!"
A yellow, crackling spell exploded at their feet just as Draco gave his frantic warning, and the group was blown back violently. Granger lost her footing and practically fell into Potter while Weasley and Draco managed to dodge in the other direction.
"The Snatchers must have tipped them off!" Weasley yelled as they all scrambled back looking for some sort of cover. But there was nothing, only the shallow creek winding its way around them.
Another spell hit the ground at his feet and Draco felt a second whiz by his head at the same moment and he ducked frantically, skipping back. Weasley was being forced in the same direction, while Potter and Granger drew further the other way.
He and the others were desperately sending spells back, but it was a losing fight. There were too many Death Eaters and on top of that, they had the advantage of the tree cover on their side.
Then, from the corner of his eye, Draco saw an unknown spell- orange and blazing- shoot like a firebolt from out of the trees and across the landscape, the long grass parting as it flew past. Too fast, there was no chance to dodge or block, and it struck Weasley hard in the shoulder.
He was spun around from the utter force of it, tripping and falling back into the creek.
"Ron!" Granger's voice cried out, horror-stricken over the roaring laughter from the Death Eaters.
A spell hit Draco's hand in his distraction, numbing it, and his wand flipped up and out of his grip. "No!" He watched it desperately. It arced through the air until finally landing in the creek as well.
"Say goodbye to your friends little bitty Potter!" a familiar voice, louder then the others, jeered. He'd recognize it anywhere, and Draco's stomach flip-flopped as he looked back, feeling a heavy sense of doom overcome him. Bellatrix had arrived. Standing at the front of the other Death Eaters who were leaving the cover of the forest behind her, she cut a particularly imposing figure with her wild hair, billowing cloak, and mask-less face. He wondered fleetingly if his deranged aunt recognized him or not, if she was even aware she was attacking her own nephew.
"Avada Kedavra!"
He cowered, defenseless, sure he had met his end, but when he looked up he realized Bellatrix's Killing Curse had not been sent his way after all. The intended target had been Granger of all people, the green lightning bolt had only narrowly missed her. And that was only because Potter had grabbed her arm and ripped her out of the way at the last second.
Granger tried to push away from him, completely distracted, desperately looking over at the water where Weasley had yet to surface, calling his name.
"AVADA-" Bellatrix started to screech.
"Malfoy!" Potter yelled, and he looked up to see Potter's anguished face glancing at the creek, just as yet another beam of green light was sent in Granger's direction.
"-KEDAVRA!"
Potter sent a pleading look at Draco, meeting his eyes.
Then Potter and Granger disappeared with a loud CRACK. His aunt's Killing Curse flew harmlessly through the now empty air.
Draco blinked in confusion, thoughts rapidly going through his head as he stared at the blank space where they had been. They'd Disapparated. They'd left Weasley behind. Why had Potter called his name?
"Did I hear that right! Malfoy? Is that my Draco?" Bellatrix demanded, amusement playing in her voice. When he looked back at her though, he saw the hot anger burning in her eyes. She was incensed that Potter and Granger had managed to get away unscathed. "My my my! What an unexpected treat! Another family reunion for me! Crucio!"
Draco didn't hesitate. He jumped up and dove straight for the creek, landing in a great splash.
The icy water shocked him, the warming spell had long since worn off and most of the air was pushed from his lungs. He tried to remain calm and let himself sink to the bottom, trying to focus and think. Quickly, quickly. He had no time. The Death Eaters could reach him any second and it didn't matter that Bellatrix had recognized him, it changed nothing, she would kill him just the same or eagerly deliver him to Voldemort... with the same result he had no doubt.
He twisted around in the water, hating how his ill-fitting clothes dragged and pulled against him, slowing his movements as he searched desperately for his wand. Or maybe he could find Weasley's wand.
And just as that thought crossed his mind, a dark stick sunk down right in front of his eyes, nearly tapping him on the nose.
Draco was so relieved that he snatched the wand with both hands, squeezing it tightly. Making sure it wasn't just an illusion. There was no time to celebrate the miracle timing though, the choking, desperate feeling of having no air was starting to overwhelm him and Draco kicked his legs, swimming forward.
The freezing water was clear, and he could now see the drifting figure of Ron Weasley, bobbing low in the water, unmoving. That spell must have knocked him unconscious.
As he reached forward and grasped Weasley's ankle, he closed his eyes and thought, trying to remember where their next Apparition location was supposed to be. Potter had been talking about it before the Death Eaters had ambushed them, but Draco had been distracted... he hadn't really been listening...
It took a moment of concentration, but thankfully, an image of the place bloomed in his mind and the pull of Apparition responded instantly, coiling deep in his gut.
Tightening his grip on Weasley, he felt them begin to twist away into nothingness... and it was in this instant, that moment right between disappearing in one place and reappearing in another, that a sudden flash of insight came to him, and he realized with a shock why Potter had called his name so desperately earlier. Potter had been asking Draco to save Weasley's life.
Wind. It was the first sensation he felt after materializing. Followed quickly by cold.
Lungs desperate for fresh oxygen, he sucked in the air greedily, laying flat on his stomach for a moment, getting his wits about him.
Finally regaining his breath somewhat, Draco looked up, expecting to see some familiar faces, but as he took in the view around him he didn't see Potter or Granger anywhere. He and Weasley seemed to be alone. Only large boulders dotted the otherwise sparse and barren landscape around them, surrounded by sand and rocks that led to up to to the edge of a cliff some distance away.
Draco thought he must have missed the mark by a bit, which was known to happen when Apparating under stressful circumstances, so he wasn't all that surprised.
"Weasley," he said, looking back to where the other boy remained sprawled ahead of him, still motionless. He poked the wand hard into the Gryffindor's calf.
There was no response.
Draco got to his hands and knees, crawling closer. The side of Weasley's face was turned towards him and he could see it was a sickly, unnatural grey. The color of death. Draco lifted his wand, droplets of water falling from its end as he waved it. "Rennervate!" he ordered.
But he'd never been very good at healing enchantments, and Weasley remained still, absorbing the spell without reaction.
Draco tried again, louder, with more force and twirling of his wand.
Nothing.
After another unsuccessful attempt, he finally sat back, feeling queasy as he looked down at the other boy. It was too late, he realized, in a sort of daze. Weasley had drowned.
"Ron! Ron!"
Draco startled, turning to see Granger and Potter running towards them. They must have heard him trying his revival spell, out of view behind one of those boulders.
"Ron!" Granger cried out again, reaching his side while Draco backed out of the way, giving them a wide berth. She didn't acknowledge him in the slightest and she immediately grabbed Weasley and started to pull at him. Potter arrived and helped, and together they flipped him onto his back.
Granger had her face low and turned to the side, ear hovering above Weasley's mouth. Her voice was tight as she announced the obvious: "He's not breathing," and she tilted Weasley's head back, helping his mouth to drop fully open.
From the way she was moving, Draco realized she must know another healing spell that he wasn't aware of. There was purpose and intent in every motion she made.
Then, she plugged Weasley's nose and placed her mouth over his.
Draco blinked and watched this in utter bewilderment. Granger's air forced Weasley's chest to rise, but as soon as she pulled back, it stopped.
After a minute of this perplexing behavior that seemed to be having no effect, Potter then came forward and took his hands, one over the other, and suddenly started shoving down on Weasley's chest. Hard. Again and again. "Come on mate," Potter urged, as he pumped. "Come on!"
A Muggle resuscitation attempt, Draco realized with a wince. He thought he'd heard something crack, one of Weasley's ribs no doubt. How crude.
They switched off, Granger forcing air again.
Time passed as they kept at it, never slowing, seemingly undeterred by Weasley's complete lack of response to their desperate efforts. Draco continued to watch them without comment, holding his arms close to his body as the wind began to make him shiver, soaked clothes clinging to his dampened skin.
Then, right about the time when Draco had started to wonder just how long they were going to keep trying, a terrible gagging noise broke the silence and Granger was rearing back. "Oh thank god thank god," she said like a mantra, taking Weasley's head and turning it to the side, where, to Draco's surprise, foamy liquid actually began pouring from his mouth as he spit and retched violently.
Potter sighed, relief practically emanating from him as he ran his hands over his own face. "Too close... that was too close..."
Weasley coughed some more, glassy blue eyes finally opening a crack. Color was returning to his freckled face, the death-like pallor being chased away. Granger smiled down at him, brushing the damp hair back from his forehead and looking like she might actually begin to cry.
"Oi, what'd you do to me," Weasley groaned, voice raw, rubbing weakly at his chest.
Granger and Potter burst out laughing like it was the greatest joke ever told. Granger leaned down and hugged Weasley, giggling and wiping at her eyes while Potter sat back and surveyed them both, looking happy.
Unwanted feelings suddenly rose in Draco, defying his efforts to stifle them and he turned from the scene, staring out towards the drop of the cliff. Jealous that he didn't have any friends that cared whether or not he choked to death on some creek water. Jealous at how happy the three managed to be, even in such a horrible situation. Their togetherness only made him feel more alone.
After allowing them another moment of their 'yay we're alive' celebrations, Draco finally broke it up, telling them to set up the bloody tent already, he was freezing.
The next few weeks passed in a mostly uneventful blur.
His days were filled with reading Granger's books, just to have something to do to pass the time and to prevent himself from getting caught up in the dark, depressing thoughts, a gnawing worry growing in his gut as each day passed. His mother's pregnancy would be reaching nearly seven months along at this point. What would happen once she gave birth? He didn't know if Voldemort planned to kill her along with his spawn and time was running short.
He wasn't the only one trying to distract himself though. Granger would often interrupt his reading, coming up and demanding whatever book he currently had, taking it back to the table and scouring through it herself. It was clear she'd become desperate to find some piece of information that she'd somehow missed in her earlier viewings.
Recently, even the studying-impaired Weasley had joined her in her efforts, which was somewhat amusing to see. He'd sit at the table, looking out of place and uncomfortable surrounded by her stacks of books, pulling each one she discarded close to himself and slowly looking through it page by page, obviously overwhelmed.
Of course, even Draco had to admit that Weasley's efforts were probably more aimed at calming Granger down than because he really thought he was going to find something she'd missed. The girl was looking more and more harried each time she opened another book.
Potter left them to it as he spent a lot of the time outside the tent, by himself, keeping watch. When he was inside, he was pacing and brooding and going over and over the stupid fairy tale of the Deathly Hallows with the others whenever the mood struck him. Very annoying, and Draco had to hold himself back from snapping at him, though he wasn't sure if he could for much longer.
Ever since the confrontation they'd had after the Snatchers had nearly caught Draco, he and Potter barely spoke. Even less than they had before, which hadn't been much anyway. The last time the two had really exchanged words was the evening after Draco had rescued Weasley from drowning at the Death Eater's hands...
Potter had actually approached him, taking him aside for a quick chat when they both happened to be outside the tent. His face was set, clearly resolved to say whatever he was going to say, though Draco sensed hesitance in his somewhat halting start: "Listen, I just wanted to... tell you... I mean, Apparating with Ron out of that creek, that was a stand up thing Malfoy. I had to get Hermione out of there, Bellatrix was intent on killing her, but- well, Hermione wasn't going to leave without Ron. And I couldn't- I'd thought he was-" he broke off suddenly, glancing away.
Potter was clearly haunted by the idea of losing one of his friends. And while they stood together with Potter looking off into the nighttime landscape, Draco found himself agreeing with his assessment. Voldemort had clearly marked his friends as expendable. His aunt hadn't been planning to stop her Killing Curses until Granger was dead, it had been obvious. To everyone but Granger, that is.
Potter cleared his throat before continuing, "I couldn't save them both." He looked back at him. "Anyway... yeah, so... thanks."
There had been a growing silence after that statement and Draco felt Potter expected him to say 'you're welcome' or 'no problem' or something else just as obsequious, but he found he didn't have it in him. He'd still been irritated with how Potter had spoken to him after the Snatcher incident, and when he met Potter's eyes all he could think was that the bespectacled prick should be grateful. He'd just saved his best mate from a watery grave, hadn't he?
At the same time though, he couldn't help but acknowledge the small olive branch Potter was offering, as the Slytherin part of him knew that goodwill could breed opportunity easier and more efficiently than enmity might.
So Draco smirked, a default expression for him when he was feeling conflicted about how to respond to something and finally he decided on some neutral sarcasm, "Now there's only Granger left, you know."
Potter had paused, looking confused.
"I've saved you and Weasley from drowning, it only makes sense that I finish the trifecta."
Draco recalled how his attempt at a joke had fallen rather flat. Flat, and very awkward. Potter'd remained confused, brows furrowed, like he wasn't sure if Draco was threatening him or what. "Never mind," Draco had said with a grimace, ending the whole thing quite gracelessly.
Some weeks had passed since that awkward moment and since then, Potter had not tried to engage Draco in any sort of meaningful conversation and he'd reciprocated.
A light rainfall could now be heard, beginning to tap rhythmically on the canvas of the tent above.
He sat at the table by himself, drinking tea and flipping through The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore once again while the other three formed a circle around the fire across from him. They were discussing what they might do next, where to go. He frankly thought the little conference was going in circles, he'd certainly heard it all before, and he just tried to block them out.
Draco turned another page, reading the passage where seventeen year old Albus Dumbledore wrote his condemning letter about Wizards and Witches reigning over Muggles "for their own good" and as his eyes scanned across Dumbledore's harsh words, a sudden, sharp stinging sensation came from his left arm.
He jerked and cried out in surprise, splashing tea down onto the pages. He could feel Potter and his friends looking over at him, but Draco coughed and rubbed at his nose, playing it off like he'd sneezed.
When their attention was drawn away, Draco laid his arm out on the table, trying to be casual about it. The Dark Mark on the pale flesh of his forearm should have been a faded red from disuse, but as he feared, he could see the tattoo darkening before his very eyes.
Voldemort was summoning him.
He was summoning all his inner-circle Death Eaters. Draco felt a rush of anxiety, though of course he wouldn't go, just knowing he was actively defying Voldemort scared him. It was a deeply rooted fear that he couldn't get rid of no matter how well he was hidden out in the fields.
Draco glanced at the others, their backs to him. He wondered if he should tell them that Voldemort was gathering his Death Eaters. If the information would even matter.
As he sat there in indecision, another wave of fire arrived, stronger than before, and a surprised Draco clenched his hand into a fist, fighting the pain and staring down determinedly at the tea-blurred letters on the page until it receded.
He let out a small breath, glancing down at his arm in shock.
A second, more painful, summons? That had never happened before. A summons didn't work that way. His thoughts raced: had Bellatrix reported back to Voldemort that she'd seen Draco with Potter and the others that day they managed to escape? Of course she had... but had Voldemort somehow devised a way to punish Draco for his abandonment through his Dark Mark?
Most importantly, did that mean this pain might continue?
Draco licked his lips nervously. His arm hurt already, and if he had to endure this for long it would probably get worse. He didn't have access to any soothing potions. No medications. Nothing.
Coming to a quick decision, Draco suddenly stood, going to his bunk where he kept the small collection of woebegone clothes that had been donated to him folded at the foot of the mattress. He selected a dark hooded sweater from the pile, shaking it out.
He didn't want to turn into some sort of a side-show event for the others. If the pain grew less manageable, he'd deal with it alone, not in front of people he could barely tolerate and who clearly felt the same way about him.
Potter glanced over, watching with mild curiosity as Draco pulled on the worn out sweater, but Draco said nothing to him, he felt no need to explain himself to anyone. Maintaining his silence, he went to the tent flaps, unzipping them and ducking outside.
The rain was still light, and when Draco pulled his frayed hood up he was more than protected from it. As he turned and finished closing the tent behind him, the painful fire from his Dark Mark rose again and Draco involuntarily grabbed his arm, squeezing tightly.
He let himself practically fall to a sitting position on the grass, trying to just focus on breathing his way through this.
When the pain finally subsided, Draco let out a big breath.
That had been worse than before.
He reached down, lifting his sleeve with a feeling of trepidation. As he feared, in the short amount of time since he'd last checked it, the mark had darkened even further.
He stared down at the black skull resentfully, full of bitterness. Not for the first time, he silently cursed the day he'd been forced to take the Dark Mark. Forced to pledge his unending allegiance to Voldemort under the threat of death, for him along with his family. Nothing good had happened in his life since that moment last year. Nothing.
"Ugh," a surprised groan slipped out of him.
The blistering pain flared up again, faster then it had before. Head down, teeth grit, he unconsciously held his arm out in front of him, like he was offering it to some unseen person. Draco felt sweat beading on his forehead. He stayed frozen in this position for another few minutes before the pain finally released him from its clutches.
It went on like this for a while. Waves of fire held him tightly, muscles knotting in response, before eventually, mercifully, receding.
With a shaking hand, Draco reached up, throwing his hood off to let the rain pour over him. He gazed at the gray sky and the dark, heavy clouds rolling around far above, some semblance of relief in the sensation of the cool raindrops slipping down his face, and he tried to focus on the feeling of that as he sat there, breathing hard. Tried to hold onto it and keep the next wave at bay.
But it wasn't to be.
The pain unfurled from his arm, spreading fast, further this time, and deep into his chest where it seemed to take root with a vengeance. He moaned, unable to help it. He hadn't wanted to make any noise, didn't want to draw attention, but that was just a fleeting thought at this point. It was pain that mattered now. Only pain. Draco was powerless against it.
The rain didn't help anymore. He couldn't even feel it. No, he could feel it. It burned him too. Everything burned, each drop like molten lava to his skin, every nerve on fire.
Before had been nothing he realized. A warning. Now he'd been thrown into the sun, left to wither and burn. The Cruciatus Curse was trivial compared to this; a ripple compared to an ocean of torment.
He wished it would end. Why wouldn't it end?
As he suffered the rain picked up, pouring over him in a torrential fashion, and he felt he was being battered.
Draco didn't know how long he sat there, rocking, shivering. His nerve endings were fraying and time was insignificant, just a hollow word, empty of any sort of meaning when he was in such utter agony.
There was a sudden heavy pressure on his back.
It didn't matter though.
A voice next to him now.
He tried to focus on it, tried to make out the words being said, but the pain seized him and he could not.
At some point he had curled down over himself, and his left arm was tucked protectively on his lap beneath him. But something was yanking on it now. Insistent. He hadn't the strength to resist and he felt it tugged free.
Feeling feverish, he managed to open his eyes that he hadn't even known had been closed and through a curtain of rain he saw Harry Potter, crouching next to him. He'd pulled up his sweater sleeve and now he rotated Draco's trembling wrist to reveal the Dark Mark. It looked brand new now, a vibrant, inky, pitch-black.
The pressure on his back appeared again. Draco felt in a haze as he turned his head and saw a bleary image of Weasley kneeling on his other side. Confusion tinged his disoriented thoughts. Had they both been there the whole time? Weasley had his hand placed on Draco's bent back and he was saying something to Potter over his head.
Seeing this brought Draco back somewhat, distressed that Potter and Weasley felt it appropriate to touch him. It centered him for a moment, and he realized he could hear himself making pained noises. It was a terrible sound, like a beaten dog, full of misery. Was that really coming from him? How long had he been doing that?
Distantly, he was aware he'd been pulled to a standing position. Arms were hooked around him, holding him up. He was practically dragged forward because the mental effort of taking a step was too much to deal with and he found he was unable to coordinate his feet, clumsy beneath him.
The last time he'd been in pain even close to this measure was during the blood ritual. Hanging from the ceiling with Voldemort slowly circling him, sliding that sharp dagger, parting his skin... Draco felt confused. Was he back in that dungeon? Was Voldemort carving him again? Slicing him. Over and over. He desperately tried to break the shackles on his wrists, pulling madly, but they remained tight and unforgiving.
Voldemort paused and surveyed him, face passive when Draco cried out, begging for mercy.
"There is no mercy here."
Draco met those red, slit eyes, throwing down the tattered remains of his Occlumency shield, no longer caring if his torturer found any of his secrets, only wanting Voldemort to feel even an ounce of the pain he'd wrought.
The man who was no longer human chuckled. A hissing, wheezing laugh that chilled him to the bone. "You pledged yourself to me, young Malfoy. You are mine to do as I please." He raised his dripping dagger and dug its point into Draco's chest, continuing undeterred.
"No!" Draco lunged forward. He needed his wand. He needed to defend himself.
Hands were on him though. Pushing against him. Trying to keep him still. Was it Voldemort? Another spike of fire lanced through him and a groaning Draco was forced back down to the bunk, more focused on fighting the pain than on resistance.
He lay there, lost and confused. Memories of being in the dungeon flashed in his mind. He could smell the blood. He could feel the sweat dripping off him as he hung there. The ungodly pain. It was real. He knew it was. He was back with Voldemort to be tormented again. It was real.
"No, it's not real, Voldemort's not here."
Draco's eyes rolled back in his head, the bleak voice like a dream within a dream, barely understood, lost in the ether of trauma. And now the memories of his torture were expanding and changing, turning into horrid illusions. His mother was there now. She'd appeared, standing behind Voldemort who was using his wand to retrace the lesions he'd made across Draco's body, making them deeper, chanting, doing some sort of spell that Draco was in far too much agony to decipher.
She watched this with an anguished face, hands resting on her enormous belly. She was crying.
He tried to reach out, wanting to comfort her. He hated seeing her upset like that, he couldn't take it right now. Voldemort had moved close to her though, abandoning the ritual with Draco and turning his attention to his mother. "Leave her alone!" he pleaded, voice breaking in his desperation and pain. Voldemort ignored him, pressing the dagger to her stomach.
"You too, have pledged yourself to me, Narcissa..."
He plunged the blade inside her.
"No! Stop! Mother!"
Something was being pressed to his lips.
Draco opened his eyes, the vision of Voldemort and his pregnant mum shattering. Everything was a blur around him, he seemed unable to focus. He felt terribly weak.
"You have to drink it, Draco."
Under his nose was a small cup filled with a murky blue liquid. A distressed looking Granger was holding it out to him. He was vaguely aware of being propped up by someone else, hands on his shoulders, giving him the ability to drink without choking. He managed to swallow a few small sips of the bitter substance before another burning wave wracked through him and Draco shuddered, curling.
Granger urged again, "You have to finish all of it."
"Can't," he gasped.
"You can," Potter's voice came from behind him, "come on."
Somehow, he found the strength to lift his head back up and the cup was returned to his lips. Draco opened his mouth with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, trying to fight through the pain and just drink.
As the cup was finally pulled away, a sudden and insatiable need to sleep took hold of him and an exhausted Draco had no choice but to fall into it.
This chapter is named after a song by Imagine Dragons
