Chapter Fourteen: Silver and Gold
They sat quietly on the bed as Ron slept without looking at each other. After falling into a mountain of what was once the Manor's fourth and fifth floors, Harry and Draco were able to crawl out unscathed. Harry had held Ron to him as if he were his child, glaring cooly at Draco. But Draco was in delirium. Exhaustion took its toll and he collapsed. Leaving him there, Harry had wandered down the hall to find the room where he and Ron had discovered clothes before falling into the Deatheaters. When he lay Ron down on the bed, the redhead's eyelids fluttered and he made a small sound, gripping Harry's hand in the faintest of holds. For no reason, Harry had then went back to where Draco lay curled up, fingers clutched awkwardly over his chest, and helped him stand. Now they sat in silence, both mulling over the rage Draco had experienced. The dislike between them had faded in the face of this new dilemma.
"What's happening to you?"
Draco laughed. It was quiet, barely a whisper of breath. "Lucius always had it planned this way." He refused to say anything more.
Harry ventured to the drawers of the dresser and found cloth for Ron's bandages and a new shirt for himself. Malfoy came behind him, and Harry watched from Ron's side as the blonde tried to open the drawers. His frail arms - looking wasted and brittle - were obviously useless. With a stiff regard, Harry pulled the drawers open smoothly for him. Without looking at Malfoy's face, he went to the wardrobe where he and Ron and fallen through, and pulled out a heavy black traveling cloak with a large volumous hood. Mutely he handed it to Malfoy and the boy threw it on over his new shirt from the dresser, securing the long row of brass clasps down his front with fumbling fingers. Harry almost helped him, sickened by the sight of Malfoy so weak. Though it puzzled him as to why, Harry always thought Malfoy as a strong person. Seeing him now made Harry feel almost helpless. If Malfoy's iron reserve melted away, only Harry was left. Shaking it off, he ran his fingers through his hair, watching Malfoy move his hand over the deep hood. After he lifted it, Harry couldn't see any inch of skin exposed. An eerie feeling stole over him when Malfoy glided back to the bed and sat down again, frame hunched. One frail hand, surrounded by heavy cloth, rested on Ron's arm. A wave of protectiveness rose in Harry, followed by a bleak weariness. He joined the pale eyed wizard on the bed, lying down next to his friend and gently closing his eyes. The last sight he saw before sleep was the side of Ron's face, ivory white.
Draco pulled his knees up to his chest, watching Potter's black lashes shiver, and Ron's remain still. The redhead looked almost dead, and yet in his face there was a peace more prominent than the blank tension over Potter's features, seeming to pool in the empty socket like poison. It took all of Draco's will not to lie down beside the two other wizards and sleep. But he couldn't. With tired eyes he looked down at his uncovered wrist, and how the blue veins turned green under the translucent yellow surface of his skin. If he slept, if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again. He would never wake up. Potter curled his fingers under his cheek, tucking his chin into his chest, and exhaled slowly. The sound scraped along the white sheets. Next to him, Ron's steady breath breezed past a few wild strands of black hair, sending them swaying. The scene threw Draco and he rose from the bed slowly, the cloak sliding after him like a living figure of dark shadow.
Malfoy Manor was dying, and he was dying. Lucius was dead. The Death Eaters were all dead, the Dark Lord dead. The Dementors gone. And the Hell Scythe banished again into its birth of fire.
And Ron had done it all. This pale boy with this bloody bandage had massacred them all. Draco reached out to touch him, then drew his hand back with a clamoring breath.
The metallic gold glow to his skin reflected the light of the remaining torches in the chamber. He twisted his thin wrist as an earth shattering boom crashed to life above his head, and he looked up, drawing his arm back beneath the cover of the cloak. They must keep moving.
He hadn't wanted to touch Potter, but his voice wasn't strong enough to rip the boy from slumber. With the lightest of touches - Draco unable to hold back a wince at how his hand stood out harsh yellow against white skin - Potter's hands shot over his torso to grip Draco's wrists, that one green eye trained on his face. While Draco could almost feel the bones in his arms shattering into mush, the other boy sat up, moving automatically away from Draco, in turn putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. The redhead didn't stir and Draco felt a sizable feeling of triumph that Potter was unable wake his friend.
"We'll have to carry him," Harry pointed out, speaking slowly, resenting the slur of exhaustion shaping his words. Malfoy had risen from the bed like some gaunt bag of bones. He couldn't see the boy's face at all, and part of him wanted to rip the cloak away, just to see. "Can you do it, Malfoy?"
"Can you?" Draco shot back, eyes squinting against the torch light, liquid draining from his blinking eyes. Not that Potter could see.
"Not alone," Harry grated out grudgingly, avoiding Malfoy's eyes from beneath the hood while he anxiously moved Ron's hands to his sides. "Let's try and at least wake him up."
They both reacted as a small sound escaped from Ron's mouth and suddenly he was looking at them, blinking slowly, mouth turned down while he tried to fit where he was. Both hands moved over his bandage and he gave them a little smile.
"Did I take a fall or something?"
Harry burst with a smile. "You were attacked by the ceiling."
Ron's eyes moved to Draco and he laughed a little, hollowly. "You haven't killed each other yet?"
Draco managed a weak smile, but meeting Ron's eyes pained him and he looked away.
Noticing Malfoy's unease and worried Ron would become suspicious, Harry hooked an arm under his friend's upper back and raised him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?" Even to sit made the muscles in Ron's back tighten and Harry shook his head, lowering the redhead back down, his chest constricting. How could they get out fast enough?
"Don't," Ron coughed weakly, squirming back up to grip Harry's shoulder tightly, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. Dots of white light danced before him and he steadied his shaky breathing. He could feel Harry's breath labor to even hold him sitting and he ground his teeth with the effort to keep himself upright. Harry's as bad as me, he thought bitterly. Stopping to grip his head, Ron realized the thickly bound wraps were moist in one area. He brought down his hand and paled. There was a thin discoloration over his palm; blood. A sense of urgency filled him and he pushed himself off of the bed, Harry catching him on his feet. Air rushed to his head and he wavered momentarily before steadying. He looked back at Draco, who kept his head down.
He was going to ask him what was wrong, Draco thought in a panic. His eyes flew to Potter as the boy moved to distract Ron. But the redhead began coughing and Draco was spared. "We need to get moving," he said quietly, stomach turning at the rancid hot breath which poured from his mouth. His lips abruptly came together, sourness sliding over his swollen tongue. He flushed under Potter's blatantly curious stare and turned sharply toward the door, already starting out.
The going was tough enough with his own troubles, but Ron definitely couldn't make it alone and Harry would be damned if he made the redhead work too hard. With each painful step he would watch Ron sidelong, measuring each breath his friend took, watching the hurt brown eyes squint in the dust. Merlin, Ron, he thought desperately, Please hold on.
He almost wished Harry would stop looking at him. The pain he felt was humiliating because it was Harry who had to support him. Like always. Frowning, Ron focused up ahead on Draco. The blonde moved through the dust like an old shadow; he was bent over and while he walked, the cavernous hood hiding his face would jar sharply, as if his head were connected to his shoulders by spring wire. And it made Ron no more comfortable the way Harry would cast Draco odd looks, something strange burning in the single eye. He was tempted to ask, but knew that speaking would take too much effort and that by opening his mouth he would be risking the dust entering his lungs heavily, and it stung enough now. Once they made it to wherever Draco was taking them, he could rest and get the answers to the questions which passed the time as they all kept walking.
Draco had never noticed how wide the halls of the Manor were. The rumbling and tumbling of the ceiling beams had stilled for about a quarter of an hour and what was left in the dusty stillness was something like a forest of debris. Great huge beams stretched far above their heads, leaning against the walls like old growth trees. Shafts of speckled sunlight danced between gaps in the debris, cutting the side of Draco's face like a fine warm knife. Morning had risen, or the dusk was settling in. Draco couldn't know, as he didn't even know what lay in front of him with each step he took. But he regretted that he couldn't see, that he couldn't turn his head and look Ron in the face; shove Potter away and help Ron alone. A slow sneer worked across his shriveling lips and he hunched into the cloak. He wanted to get out of this silence.
As Ron lifted his leg to step over a broken chair, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look, pulling Harry to a stop. Up ahead Draco turned as well.
Floating over the debris was a wraith, its frosty body thin and brittle looking. It drifted from broken object to broken object, laying over it and trying in vain to pull things back together. And as it flew, its body began to break. The frost crystalized and the creature slowed lower and lower, a thin whisper like a sad memory emitting from it. The melancholy flight ended as it lay itself, an ever cold blanket, over a beautiful broken sculpture, covering the stone face like a mother embracing her child. In silence the three boys watched it die, still trying to pull the split face of the sculpture back together, finally coming to a ridged stop and simply melting away.
They were moving past another great chasm in the floor when Harry looked away from Ron's unsteady footing.
"What is it, Harry?" Ron craned his neck to see what Harry saw, but it tore at his cut and he looked back at the boy's face. "You hear something?"
Draco snarled, the rancid breath burning out of his mouth like fluid. "Come on," he demanded.
"No, I hear something," Harry said, leaving Ron against a heavy piece of what was once a bathroom wall. He picked his way over an upturned table scoured with dents, and carefully slid over a huge rounded pillar of marble.
What the hell is he doing? Draco fumed inside. The Manor could begin to crumble again any second and Potter was no doubt playing hero.
"What is it?" Ron called after Harry, pushing away from the tiled wall and shuffling over the floor, curiosity dulling the unpleasant feeling of movement without support. He managed weakly to get to where Harry was before he sat down again, staring at what Harry had found.
Frustration fueling the panicky sense of heat swelling over his body, Draco followed them both, anger nearly spitting out of his eyes. When he saw, he scowled, shame moving his hands to tug the covering of the hood closer over his face. "What the hell is this, Potter," he growled.
"We've got to help them," Harry said, pacing back and forth, the cries of the trapped house elves torturing his mind and his ears. He remembered Dobby suddenly.
The elves were all in a pit where the floor had caved in, crying and screaming, climbing over each other to scrape uselessly at the sides of the floor. When Harry had come into sight, they all rushed to the side closest to him, crying out, "Young Master will save us!"
He could already see where several had been crushed under wreckage from before. Feeling helpless, Harry turned to Draco. "We have to get them out."
His mouth set in a firm line, Draco turned away, hearing Potter's voice plead behind him.
"We can't let them die here!" He turned wildly back to the elves, shouting down, "Use your magic!"
"Young Master will save us," they chanted, teeming around the wall under Harry's feet like little children.
Harry's heart wrenched into his throat and he fell to his knees, leaning down to reach them pointlessly, and falling short by at least twenty lengths. Anger crowding his face, he yelled, "Malfoy, your cloak could reach them all, they have to have clothes. Only yours can free them!"
Potter came at him as if making to rip the cloak away. Draco wrapped it closer around his body, frightened, the heat boiling over his brow, body soaking down in salty sour sweat. Behind Harry, Ron doubled over, opening his mouth and vomiting up a thin steaming green substance. Draco clenched his teeth. Ron's stomach was empty; he would die if they didn't get out soon.
Harry rushed to Ron's side, holding him and shutting his eye to block out the increasing screams of the elves just to the side of him.
"Young Master! Save us!"
"Dobby," he whispered. He could almost feel their little hands scratching the wall as if it were his own back. Still holding Ron, he looked over the edge and saw their bloody fingers ripping at the solid stone, hysteria in their buggy eyes. Why didn't they just use their magic like Dobby was able? But he knew; Lucius probably learned his lesson with Dobby and must've spelled his other elves' powers useless. His gaze shot to Malfoy, his own voice thin and urgent, quickening as he heard distant creaking of stressed beams. "Malfoy! We don't have time! Set them free!"
"I won't. You give the bloody things their freedom if you care so much." He put out his arms for Ron. If Potter wanted to die here, than so be it, but he wouldn't be taking Ron with him.
The creaking of the beams grew louder and they all felt the air shift, even Ron weakly tilted up his face. Below in the pit the house elves all grew silent, drawing away from the wall and coming together in a tight group, their huge eyes turned upwards, their little mouths open and gasping for breath. Numerous stringy trails of blood went from the wall covered in red hand prints to where it ran from their red stained fingers. Harry stared down at them and their shallow little chests heaving, delicate ribs outlined with each rasping breath. Their eyes darted over the ceiling, green and blue and hazel orbs swiveling like marbles in their sockets, trying desperately to pinpoint the creaking above their heads. Then the creaking stopped altogether. In the ringing silence Harry could only hear their breathing.
With the sound of a thousand roaring beasts, the ceiling directly above the pit exploded, pouring down in a mass wave of booming dark. Harry screamed, "Use your magic!" as all of the huge eyes focused on the same point, then were smashed out of view.
Dust swallowed them up like the mouth of a giant whale. Draco threw his hand over his face, shielding his mouth and eyes. His curling lids wouldn't close and he yelled, the sound drowned by the rushing whoosh of the dust coming over them.
Gloom filled the room as the dust choked it in pillowy softness. In a bed of drapes and poles, Ron's red hair stood out like the single flame in the dark on a wide hill. The hair stirred and disappeared under the dust, replaced with a white face emerging, gasping in breaths of air. Like a chick emerging from an egg, Ron wriggled and worked until he lay out on the soft bed of thick dusty drapes, tiredly casting his eyes around for the other two boys. A little ways off he could see Draco in his cloak, looking like a pile of dried crows' wings. And Harry was draped only feet away over a shredded painting, the subject's painted hand fluttering from the air and settling over his face. It was a woman's hand, Ron noted wearily, before letting his head fall back unconscious.
"I can see it right up there."
Harry squinted, but didn't see anything. From the floor, face squashed up against his knee, Ron coughed. Harry glanced down at him, worried. The dust coated all of them heavily, turning Malfoy's cloak gray. He glared at the Slytherin and jabbed his finger up at the gigantic hole in the ceiling, which opened up like a sky window to the higher floor, displaying a wall still intact and a magnificent arched ceiling above that. "Well, I don't. And I'm not risking our necks to climb over some makeshift bridge to get to something I can't see."
"Potter, if you have to turn your head like some daft fowl to see clearly, than do it. The bloody tapestry is right there, and that is where we have to go."
The words stung. He hated Malfoy, and he hated his one eye. I *am* like some stupid bird, he seethed.
"Merlin, let's just do it," Ron moaned, clutching his middle. The burning pain flowered up from his stomach and he arched forward.
Forgetting his anger, Harry dropped to his knees, holding a tattered piece of cloth to Ron's lips and wiping away the thick spittle trailing over them. "C'mon, Ron," he whispered, "Just keep it in." He sighed when Ron gave him a wry smile, pushing the cloth away. "That's it."
"Listen, Harry. I think we should do it."
His relief seeped away like retreating shadow. "What do you mean? You actually want to *try* his bloody insanity!?"
At least *someone* has sense - and he's the one with the injured head, thought Draco sourly, crossing his arms and closely watching Potter's face.
"Anything to get out of here, Harry. I can't breathe." He touched his throat, eyes rolling up to the opening above them. "Just because Malfoy said it doesn't mean it's wrong," he whispered so that only Harry could hear. Something glittered in his eyes. "You can't let him think you're scared."
Harry instantly remembered Malfoy's comment on his vision and bristled. He whirled toward the blonde, nearly knocking Ron over, and spat, "Let's just make the fucking bridge."
Ron marveled at how in a matter of minutes Harry seemed to gain ten of himself, lugging pieces of debris up the hill of loose wood and soft dust with an air of rekindled energy. Draco helped, testing Harry's trail up the mountain and feeling the sturdiness of the makeshift pathway up a makeshift slope. Seeing the two boys communicating and trading insults made Ron relax. Everything would be fine. The danger seemed less now that both Draco and Harry were yelling at each other on top of the hill, Harry motioning wildly and Draco's thin voice slicing the air cleanly. Ron leaned back, feeling useless but content with being useless. The weariness in his limbs pulled him down and he closed his eyes.
"This can't work. If the path shifts, or we misstep, we go down into a gap and get smothered!" Harry thought of the elves and blanched.
"Then you can bloody well rot down here; I'm not letting your fears sacrifice my life or Ron's."
"Don't say his name," Harry hissed. "And I'm not afraid."
"He's not yours, Potter." He smirked beneath his hood. "Possessive liar."
"I'd hit you now if I could be sure I wouldn't catch the plague you've turned into."
Draco went silent. He felt like killing Potter. The blind rage filled him again, and he faintly remembered the feeling of his hands around Potter's throat. "Shut up," he croaked. The fluid from his eyes ran thicker for a moment, quenching the bottom half of his eyes which his shriveling eyelids couldn't reach.
Harry grimaced. "Ron goes first."
Ron nearly had to be carried up the path, nicknamed the "plank" by Harry to make him feel easier. At the top he found himself almost eye level with the above floor. Stepping into Harry's hands, he was heaved upward, crawling the rest of the way onto the vast marble floor nearly untouched by debris. After him came Draco, rolling up over the side. And last, Harry.
He reached out for Ron's hand, the tip of his foot just leaving the hill as the top board suddenly slipped back, disappearing into a long gap running sideways and cutting the path in two. All three of them stared down at the giant mass as it fell quietly into itself with a low murmur muffled wood, like a blanket tent dropping to the ground.
The tapestry - the way out - was only feet away. Draco made for it swiftly, hand running over the frayed edge where Ron had ripped it that one night that seemed like centuries ago. Oddly, he had the need to smell it. As he lifted it to his nose, closing his eyes, he uttered a low gasp as a puff of air came from the cloth and punched into the naked half of his eyes. He threw it away from him just as Potter and Ron came up.
"Not the one?"
"Accusatory tone, Potter. This is the right one."
"Than what are we waiting for?"
Draco looked back at the tapestry, rubbing the cloth between thumb and finger, eyes dreamily fixed on the woven battle. "Nothing," he muttered as he yanked it off the wall.
The lower they descended, the stronger the smell grew; the tangy sharpness of old water and moss. Ron peered through the imposing dark, broken by the thin gold of light from Draco's wand. Familiarity draped over his mind; he had been here before, but in a dream.
Dost thy heart fail beat within the lightless night.
Ron fell back heavily against the wall. The words had been a loud pulse in the middle of his forehead. He could hear Harry ask him if he was all right. But he wasn't. Merlin, he could remember. The hallway had been cold and wide and he had been carrying a light he had taken from Draco's room. As if drawn, he had come upon the tapestry and stumbled into it, pulling it aside, the stiff cloth slow to move. He had uncovered the ugly entrance, but didn't know. Falling and running down the stairs into the dark wetness, until his legs gave way and he was covered in cold water.
The wand light bathed Ron's features in a pale glow. Draco wanted to touch his face, to hold him closely because he knew what Ron was reliving. He recalled finding the boy down in the cave, half dead in the cold water. "Ron." The name came from his mouth before his lips even moved, and it seemed that only Ron could hear him, the scared brown eyes finding him in the dark and locking onto his gaze. Potter wasn't there, it was just Ron. Ron and Draco.
"Hell," Harry groaned. "Malfoy, keep that light steady and let's go on."
He felt the spell break like frost into tiny pieces. The cold rushed in upon him, fighting with the sweaty heat and cursing him with chills and fever, flame and ice. Breathing became so painful he had to stop and clutch his chest. Behind him, Potter cursed. Then Potter's voice was faraway and he was being beaten on each and every side with heavy stones, giants' feet, rolling him through the air and stabbing into his side, choking him, throwing him, killing him...
"Fuck - Malfoy!" Harry yelled, yanking Ron against him as the blonde keeled forward and disappeared into the dark like a phantom, sharp cries following the jaggedly thrown light. Ron's head lolled on his shoulder and so Harry ran heavily down the stairs, lugging Ron on his back and calling for Malfoy, his voice growing desperate with no audible answer. He's dead he's dead he's dead. Real fear sinking into him, Harry held Ron with one arm and reached up with the other, sighing with relief as his fingers brushed stone. It was his guide down the slippery steps, until he came into a huge empty draft of darkness, yelling with surprise as his leg was submerged into a shallow pool of ice cold murk. He yanked it out, shaking it, feeling the coating of slime through his pants. Pulling Ron around the edge of the pool, he cocked his head as he heard tiny splashes. "Malfoy?"
"I'm here," he answered, voice grating. Through the dark he could hear the two figures shuffling over to the sound of his voice. "Lumos."
Ron lay sleeping next to him as he watched Malfoy. He felt cruel doing it, knowing Malfoy could feel his gaze, but curious, too curious to care. "Why don't you stop moving?" he asked. The blonde's eyes flashed dangerously at him, reflected from the pool of glowing water in which lay his wand. Water magnified the light so that they all could see the huge cavern clearer.
I'll melt or I'll freeze, Draco screamed in his mind. His whole body ached so horribly. He felt like an ice statue who was melting in the dark heat of a black sun.
"Did your father do that to you?" He felt the smirk spear him from under the hood.
"Why, now we have something in common, Potter." Draco could see him stiffen. "Both my parents are dead, and so are yours. Pity I didn't get a nifty scar to show off though. Just this." He thrust out his arm and Potter's single eye widened. The yellow color had deepened into a rustic gold, the veins swimming beneath the skin, black as pitch. Where his nails had once been it was raw and bleeding with the ebony fluid. And as Potter watched it with sick fascination, Draco found himself yet again captivated by his own decay. A clump of hair broke away from his temple suddenly and fell across his arm, a stinking chunk of scalp still clinging to the hair follicles.
"What's happening to you," Harry breathed.
"It's *my* version of your scar, Potter. Except *this* one doesn't last." There was a sound of rustling cloth and Draco whipped his arm back under the cloak, turning away from the light as Ron awoke, peering deliriously around him.
Dream memory had faded and Ron groaned; "Why aren't we out?"
"Just rest now, Ron." Harry lay a hand on his friend's arm. A confused gaze swept over him, sliding on to look deeply at Malfoy. He frowned. "Ron," he said sharply. His voice brought Ron's head around and he looked at him. "C'mon."
With his arm for a pillow, Ron lay still for a long time, steadying his breathing and listening for Harry to do the same. He suspected Harry would fight sleep and waited anxiously for hours before the boy finally succumbed to his own exhaustion. Ron climbed to his feet quietly. His face was still choked with dust. Hands out in front of him, he came to a pool, dipping his hands into the water and dashing it onto his face. When he stood up, tucking a loose end of the bandage back into place, he noticed something white floating in the middle of the pool, adorned with ripples marring its white surface. He let out his breath, looking upwards and seeing through a small hole up above the moon, staring down like a heavy blind eye into the cave. Wonderingly, he knelt again and touched the reflection, watching it dance. As the moon swirled in the water, a cold feeling gripped his heart as his fingers curled around his left arm. The moon shone with the bare light that it had on the night Riddle....
"A sickle for your thoughts."
He didn't even turn. The moon continued its dance, weaving under silver streaks of water.
Merlin, how he wanted to touch him. The compelling urge almost drove him into a frenzy and behind the half cover of his lids he saw his own fingers sliding through Ron's fiery hair and him dragging the freckled face back so that he may swallow the boy's lips and taste that lost sweetness. But... now he would not approach the one whom he wanted so much. The feeling flowed out of him, just like the sick heated infection did. Though the river of emotions hit a strong barrier, and it was Draco's own consciousness of how he must appear.
Ron looked up at the moon again, smiling faintly. The last time he had heard those words, he had been so different. Unconsciously his fingers closed over his left arm and he bowed his head, hearing a faint sigh from behind him. Now he turned, looking at Draco, just a dark shadow in the moon's pale shade. He stayed that way. Ron couldn't tell if Draco was looking at him or not, and suddenly he took a step towards the other boy, frowning when Draco regressed back into the dark. "Draco?" he said quietly. The boy shrunk from his voice. Ron was reminded of the wraith and the jaunty way it had moved, half dying, half struggling. He reached a hand forward, hovering over Draco's chest. A rotting smell wafted through the air, but he ignored it. There was a tight feeling in his heart and Ron's eyes drifted to his hand, hovering closer to the blonde's chest. Draco had frozen, and Ron could hear wheezing in the cave's quiet. His own breath staggered when his hand made contact with the cloth. It was warm and moist.
Draco shook beneath the cloak, the wet heat pressing closer and closer as Ron's hand smoothed over his chest, coming to rest directly over his heart. A quiet sob slipped from his mouth as Ron flexed his fingers.
The dreamy gaze in his eyes flashed and he was caught by the sight of his fingers splayed over Draco's chest. Raw fear dropping like a veil of rain over his eyes, he slowly bent his index finger, feeling the beat of Draco's heart. As the finger curled, Draco uttered a breathy cry, body convulsing. Ron let out his breath deeply, a strange feeling clouding his chest. His eyes snapped wide to his arm, grazing over the bare white patch. For only an instant of memory he felt the skull's eyes glaring back.
His legs flew from beneath him, and suddenly he was caught in Ron's arms, a gust of rotting air blowing up from his body, heat rolling beneath his skin, the liquid pouring from everywhere and sticking hotly to the cloth of his cloak as his body crushed against the redhead. Panic flooded his mind and he ripped away from the other boy, hobbling from the moon's ghostly illumination, feeling brown eyes following, his heart thundering in his ears.
~*~
He could not sit, nor lie down. His legs felt like sticks filled with biting termites. Inside his mouth his tongue lay bloated and black, a dead fish caught halfway down a man's throat. Once fingernails now left the skin bare and raw and burning with insane pain that streaked up his arms like shots of wire. But what hurt most was that his regressed, dead eyelids did not allow him to cower from the sight of his hair falling in clumps from his rotten scalp, plopping into the pools of water as he paced the cave with a pungent odor of fetid meat. At one time during the night's slow turning, Draco turned and threw himself into the curving wall of stone, bashing his broken fists against the unyielding surface, slicking it with his own black blood and the oily yellow liquid which he cursed with sobs. Frustration hurt almost as much as the physical pain, driving him mad and he felt that if he didn't escape he would explode.
As Draco rolled along the walls in agony, lashing out at visions of Lucius' dead smirk condemning his only heir, he at once came to the furthest reach of the cave, crawling into a tight space and screaming as best he could, tasting the sour spittle bathing the bloated beast that was his tongue. And as he screamed, he pounded his fists against the ceiling. While the pain boomed when each blow struck, he noticed something else, though unwillingly through his uncovered eyes.
Loose soil.
A/N: *guilty grin* Believe it or not, I've been doing a lot of editing. One more, folks!
~*Villain*~
They sat quietly on the bed as Ron slept without looking at each other. After falling into a mountain of what was once the Manor's fourth and fifth floors, Harry and Draco were able to crawl out unscathed. Harry had held Ron to him as if he were his child, glaring cooly at Draco. But Draco was in delirium. Exhaustion took its toll and he collapsed. Leaving him there, Harry had wandered down the hall to find the room where he and Ron had discovered clothes before falling into the Deatheaters. When he lay Ron down on the bed, the redhead's eyelids fluttered and he made a small sound, gripping Harry's hand in the faintest of holds. For no reason, Harry had then went back to where Draco lay curled up, fingers clutched awkwardly over his chest, and helped him stand. Now they sat in silence, both mulling over the rage Draco had experienced. The dislike between them had faded in the face of this new dilemma.
"What's happening to you?"
Draco laughed. It was quiet, barely a whisper of breath. "Lucius always had it planned this way." He refused to say anything more.
Harry ventured to the drawers of the dresser and found cloth for Ron's bandages and a new shirt for himself. Malfoy came behind him, and Harry watched from Ron's side as the blonde tried to open the drawers. His frail arms - looking wasted and brittle - were obviously useless. With a stiff regard, Harry pulled the drawers open smoothly for him. Without looking at Malfoy's face, he went to the wardrobe where he and Ron and fallen through, and pulled out a heavy black traveling cloak with a large volumous hood. Mutely he handed it to Malfoy and the boy threw it on over his new shirt from the dresser, securing the long row of brass clasps down his front with fumbling fingers. Harry almost helped him, sickened by the sight of Malfoy so weak. Though it puzzled him as to why, Harry always thought Malfoy as a strong person. Seeing him now made Harry feel almost helpless. If Malfoy's iron reserve melted away, only Harry was left. Shaking it off, he ran his fingers through his hair, watching Malfoy move his hand over the deep hood. After he lifted it, Harry couldn't see any inch of skin exposed. An eerie feeling stole over him when Malfoy glided back to the bed and sat down again, frame hunched. One frail hand, surrounded by heavy cloth, rested on Ron's arm. A wave of protectiveness rose in Harry, followed by a bleak weariness. He joined the pale eyed wizard on the bed, lying down next to his friend and gently closing his eyes. The last sight he saw before sleep was the side of Ron's face, ivory white.
Draco pulled his knees up to his chest, watching Potter's black lashes shiver, and Ron's remain still. The redhead looked almost dead, and yet in his face there was a peace more prominent than the blank tension over Potter's features, seeming to pool in the empty socket like poison. It took all of Draco's will not to lie down beside the two other wizards and sleep. But he couldn't. With tired eyes he looked down at his uncovered wrist, and how the blue veins turned green under the translucent yellow surface of his skin. If he slept, if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again. He would never wake up. Potter curled his fingers under his cheek, tucking his chin into his chest, and exhaled slowly. The sound scraped along the white sheets. Next to him, Ron's steady breath breezed past a few wild strands of black hair, sending them swaying. The scene threw Draco and he rose from the bed slowly, the cloak sliding after him like a living figure of dark shadow.
Malfoy Manor was dying, and he was dying. Lucius was dead. The Death Eaters were all dead, the Dark Lord dead. The Dementors gone. And the Hell Scythe banished again into its birth of fire.
And Ron had done it all. This pale boy with this bloody bandage had massacred them all. Draco reached out to touch him, then drew his hand back with a clamoring breath.
The metallic gold glow to his skin reflected the light of the remaining torches in the chamber. He twisted his thin wrist as an earth shattering boom crashed to life above his head, and he looked up, drawing his arm back beneath the cover of the cloak. They must keep moving.
He hadn't wanted to touch Potter, but his voice wasn't strong enough to rip the boy from slumber. With the lightest of touches - Draco unable to hold back a wince at how his hand stood out harsh yellow against white skin - Potter's hands shot over his torso to grip Draco's wrists, that one green eye trained on his face. While Draco could almost feel the bones in his arms shattering into mush, the other boy sat up, moving automatically away from Draco, in turn putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. The redhead didn't stir and Draco felt a sizable feeling of triumph that Potter was unable wake his friend.
"We'll have to carry him," Harry pointed out, speaking slowly, resenting the slur of exhaustion shaping his words. Malfoy had risen from the bed like some gaunt bag of bones. He couldn't see the boy's face at all, and part of him wanted to rip the cloak away, just to see. "Can you do it, Malfoy?"
"Can you?" Draco shot back, eyes squinting against the torch light, liquid draining from his blinking eyes. Not that Potter could see.
"Not alone," Harry grated out grudgingly, avoiding Malfoy's eyes from beneath the hood while he anxiously moved Ron's hands to his sides. "Let's try and at least wake him up."
They both reacted as a small sound escaped from Ron's mouth and suddenly he was looking at them, blinking slowly, mouth turned down while he tried to fit where he was. Both hands moved over his bandage and he gave them a little smile.
"Did I take a fall or something?"
Harry burst with a smile. "You were attacked by the ceiling."
Ron's eyes moved to Draco and he laughed a little, hollowly. "You haven't killed each other yet?"
Draco managed a weak smile, but meeting Ron's eyes pained him and he looked away.
Noticing Malfoy's unease and worried Ron would become suspicious, Harry hooked an arm under his friend's upper back and raised him into a sitting position. "Can you stand?" Even to sit made the muscles in Ron's back tighten and Harry shook his head, lowering the redhead back down, his chest constricting. How could they get out fast enough?
"Don't," Ron coughed weakly, squirming back up to grip Harry's shoulder tightly, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness. Dots of white light danced before him and he steadied his shaky breathing. He could feel Harry's breath labor to even hold him sitting and he ground his teeth with the effort to keep himself upright. Harry's as bad as me, he thought bitterly. Stopping to grip his head, Ron realized the thickly bound wraps were moist in one area. He brought down his hand and paled. There was a thin discoloration over his palm; blood. A sense of urgency filled him and he pushed himself off of the bed, Harry catching him on his feet. Air rushed to his head and he wavered momentarily before steadying. He looked back at Draco, who kept his head down.
He was going to ask him what was wrong, Draco thought in a panic. His eyes flew to Potter as the boy moved to distract Ron. But the redhead began coughing and Draco was spared. "We need to get moving," he said quietly, stomach turning at the rancid hot breath which poured from his mouth. His lips abruptly came together, sourness sliding over his swollen tongue. He flushed under Potter's blatantly curious stare and turned sharply toward the door, already starting out.
The going was tough enough with his own troubles, but Ron definitely couldn't make it alone and Harry would be damned if he made the redhead work too hard. With each painful step he would watch Ron sidelong, measuring each breath his friend took, watching the hurt brown eyes squint in the dust. Merlin, Ron, he thought desperately, Please hold on.
He almost wished Harry would stop looking at him. The pain he felt was humiliating because it was Harry who had to support him. Like always. Frowning, Ron focused up ahead on Draco. The blonde moved through the dust like an old shadow; he was bent over and while he walked, the cavernous hood hiding his face would jar sharply, as if his head were connected to his shoulders by spring wire. And it made Ron no more comfortable the way Harry would cast Draco odd looks, something strange burning in the single eye. He was tempted to ask, but knew that speaking would take too much effort and that by opening his mouth he would be risking the dust entering his lungs heavily, and it stung enough now. Once they made it to wherever Draco was taking them, he could rest and get the answers to the questions which passed the time as they all kept walking.
Draco had never noticed how wide the halls of the Manor were. The rumbling and tumbling of the ceiling beams had stilled for about a quarter of an hour and what was left in the dusty stillness was something like a forest of debris. Great huge beams stretched far above their heads, leaning against the walls like old growth trees. Shafts of speckled sunlight danced between gaps in the debris, cutting the side of Draco's face like a fine warm knife. Morning had risen, or the dusk was settling in. Draco couldn't know, as he didn't even know what lay in front of him with each step he took. But he regretted that he couldn't see, that he couldn't turn his head and look Ron in the face; shove Potter away and help Ron alone. A slow sneer worked across his shriveling lips and he hunched into the cloak. He wanted to get out of this silence.
As Ron lifted his leg to step over a broken chair, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look, pulling Harry to a stop. Up ahead Draco turned as well.
Floating over the debris was a wraith, its frosty body thin and brittle looking. It drifted from broken object to broken object, laying over it and trying in vain to pull things back together. And as it flew, its body began to break. The frost crystalized and the creature slowed lower and lower, a thin whisper like a sad memory emitting from it. The melancholy flight ended as it lay itself, an ever cold blanket, over a beautiful broken sculpture, covering the stone face like a mother embracing her child. In silence the three boys watched it die, still trying to pull the split face of the sculpture back together, finally coming to a ridged stop and simply melting away.
They were moving past another great chasm in the floor when Harry looked away from Ron's unsteady footing.
"What is it, Harry?" Ron craned his neck to see what Harry saw, but it tore at his cut and he looked back at the boy's face. "You hear something?"
Draco snarled, the rancid breath burning out of his mouth like fluid. "Come on," he demanded.
"No, I hear something," Harry said, leaving Ron against a heavy piece of what was once a bathroom wall. He picked his way over an upturned table scoured with dents, and carefully slid over a huge rounded pillar of marble.
What the hell is he doing? Draco fumed inside. The Manor could begin to crumble again any second and Potter was no doubt playing hero.
"What is it?" Ron called after Harry, pushing away from the tiled wall and shuffling over the floor, curiosity dulling the unpleasant feeling of movement without support. He managed weakly to get to where Harry was before he sat down again, staring at what Harry had found.
Frustration fueling the panicky sense of heat swelling over his body, Draco followed them both, anger nearly spitting out of his eyes. When he saw, he scowled, shame moving his hands to tug the covering of the hood closer over his face. "What the hell is this, Potter," he growled.
"We've got to help them," Harry said, pacing back and forth, the cries of the trapped house elves torturing his mind and his ears. He remembered Dobby suddenly.
The elves were all in a pit where the floor had caved in, crying and screaming, climbing over each other to scrape uselessly at the sides of the floor. When Harry had come into sight, they all rushed to the side closest to him, crying out, "Young Master will save us!"
He could already see where several had been crushed under wreckage from before. Feeling helpless, Harry turned to Draco. "We have to get them out."
His mouth set in a firm line, Draco turned away, hearing Potter's voice plead behind him.
"We can't let them die here!" He turned wildly back to the elves, shouting down, "Use your magic!"
"Young Master will save us," they chanted, teeming around the wall under Harry's feet like little children.
Harry's heart wrenched into his throat and he fell to his knees, leaning down to reach them pointlessly, and falling short by at least twenty lengths. Anger crowding his face, he yelled, "Malfoy, your cloak could reach them all, they have to have clothes. Only yours can free them!"
Potter came at him as if making to rip the cloak away. Draco wrapped it closer around his body, frightened, the heat boiling over his brow, body soaking down in salty sour sweat. Behind Harry, Ron doubled over, opening his mouth and vomiting up a thin steaming green substance. Draco clenched his teeth. Ron's stomach was empty; he would die if they didn't get out soon.
Harry rushed to Ron's side, holding him and shutting his eye to block out the increasing screams of the elves just to the side of him.
"Young Master! Save us!"
"Dobby," he whispered. He could almost feel their little hands scratching the wall as if it were his own back. Still holding Ron, he looked over the edge and saw their bloody fingers ripping at the solid stone, hysteria in their buggy eyes. Why didn't they just use their magic like Dobby was able? But he knew; Lucius probably learned his lesson with Dobby and must've spelled his other elves' powers useless. His gaze shot to Malfoy, his own voice thin and urgent, quickening as he heard distant creaking of stressed beams. "Malfoy! We don't have time! Set them free!"
"I won't. You give the bloody things their freedom if you care so much." He put out his arms for Ron. If Potter wanted to die here, than so be it, but he wouldn't be taking Ron with him.
The creaking of the beams grew louder and they all felt the air shift, even Ron weakly tilted up his face. Below in the pit the house elves all grew silent, drawing away from the wall and coming together in a tight group, their huge eyes turned upwards, their little mouths open and gasping for breath. Numerous stringy trails of blood went from the wall covered in red hand prints to where it ran from their red stained fingers. Harry stared down at them and their shallow little chests heaving, delicate ribs outlined with each rasping breath. Their eyes darted over the ceiling, green and blue and hazel orbs swiveling like marbles in their sockets, trying desperately to pinpoint the creaking above their heads. Then the creaking stopped altogether. In the ringing silence Harry could only hear their breathing.
With the sound of a thousand roaring beasts, the ceiling directly above the pit exploded, pouring down in a mass wave of booming dark. Harry screamed, "Use your magic!" as all of the huge eyes focused on the same point, then were smashed out of view.
Dust swallowed them up like the mouth of a giant whale. Draco threw his hand over his face, shielding his mouth and eyes. His curling lids wouldn't close and he yelled, the sound drowned by the rushing whoosh of the dust coming over them.
Gloom filled the room as the dust choked it in pillowy softness. In a bed of drapes and poles, Ron's red hair stood out like the single flame in the dark on a wide hill. The hair stirred and disappeared under the dust, replaced with a white face emerging, gasping in breaths of air. Like a chick emerging from an egg, Ron wriggled and worked until he lay out on the soft bed of thick dusty drapes, tiredly casting his eyes around for the other two boys. A little ways off he could see Draco in his cloak, looking like a pile of dried crows' wings. And Harry was draped only feet away over a shredded painting, the subject's painted hand fluttering from the air and settling over his face. It was a woman's hand, Ron noted wearily, before letting his head fall back unconscious.
"I can see it right up there."
Harry squinted, but didn't see anything. From the floor, face squashed up against his knee, Ron coughed. Harry glanced down at him, worried. The dust coated all of them heavily, turning Malfoy's cloak gray. He glared at the Slytherin and jabbed his finger up at the gigantic hole in the ceiling, which opened up like a sky window to the higher floor, displaying a wall still intact and a magnificent arched ceiling above that. "Well, I don't. And I'm not risking our necks to climb over some makeshift bridge to get to something I can't see."
"Potter, if you have to turn your head like some daft fowl to see clearly, than do it. The bloody tapestry is right there, and that is where we have to go."
The words stung. He hated Malfoy, and he hated his one eye. I *am* like some stupid bird, he seethed.
"Merlin, let's just do it," Ron moaned, clutching his middle. The burning pain flowered up from his stomach and he arched forward.
Forgetting his anger, Harry dropped to his knees, holding a tattered piece of cloth to Ron's lips and wiping away the thick spittle trailing over them. "C'mon, Ron," he whispered, "Just keep it in." He sighed when Ron gave him a wry smile, pushing the cloth away. "That's it."
"Listen, Harry. I think we should do it."
His relief seeped away like retreating shadow. "What do you mean? You actually want to *try* his bloody insanity!?"
At least *someone* has sense - and he's the one with the injured head, thought Draco sourly, crossing his arms and closely watching Potter's face.
"Anything to get out of here, Harry. I can't breathe." He touched his throat, eyes rolling up to the opening above them. "Just because Malfoy said it doesn't mean it's wrong," he whispered so that only Harry could hear. Something glittered in his eyes. "You can't let him think you're scared."
Harry instantly remembered Malfoy's comment on his vision and bristled. He whirled toward the blonde, nearly knocking Ron over, and spat, "Let's just make the fucking bridge."
Ron marveled at how in a matter of minutes Harry seemed to gain ten of himself, lugging pieces of debris up the hill of loose wood and soft dust with an air of rekindled energy. Draco helped, testing Harry's trail up the mountain and feeling the sturdiness of the makeshift pathway up a makeshift slope. Seeing the two boys communicating and trading insults made Ron relax. Everything would be fine. The danger seemed less now that both Draco and Harry were yelling at each other on top of the hill, Harry motioning wildly and Draco's thin voice slicing the air cleanly. Ron leaned back, feeling useless but content with being useless. The weariness in his limbs pulled him down and he closed his eyes.
"This can't work. If the path shifts, or we misstep, we go down into a gap and get smothered!" Harry thought of the elves and blanched.
"Then you can bloody well rot down here; I'm not letting your fears sacrifice my life or Ron's."
"Don't say his name," Harry hissed. "And I'm not afraid."
"He's not yours, Potter." He smirked beneath his hood. "Possessive liar."
"I'd hit you now if I could be sure I wouldn't catch the plague you've turned into."
Draco went silent. He felt like killing Potter. The blind rage filled him again, and he faintly remembered the feeling of his hands around Potter's throat. "Shut up," he croaked. The fluid from his eyes ran thicker for a moment, quenching the bottom half of his eyes which his shriveling eyelids couldn't reach.
Harry grimaced. "Ron goes first."
Ron nearly had to be carried up the path, nicknamed the "plank" by Harry to make him feel easier. At the top he found himself almost eye level with the above floor. Stepping into Harry's hands, he was heaved upward, crawling the rest of the way onto the vast marble floor nearly untouched by debris. After him came Draco, rolling up over the side. And last, Harry.
He reached out for Ron's hand, the tip of his foot just leaving the hill as the top board suddenly slipped back, disappearing into a long gap running sideways and cutting the path in two. All three of them stared down at the giant mass as it fell quietly into itself with a low murmur muffled wood, like a blanket tent dropping to the ground.
The tapestry - the way out - was only feet away. Draco made for it swiftly, hand running over the frayed edge where Ron had ripped it that one night that seemed like centuries ago. Oddly, he had the need to smell it. As he lifted it to his nose, closing his eyes, he uttered a low gasp as a puff of air came from the cloth and punched into the naked half of his eyes. He threw it away from him just as Potter and Ron came up.
"Not the one?"
"Accusatory tone, Potter. This is the right one."
"Than what are we waiting for?"
Draco looked back at the tapestry, rubbing the cloth between thumb and finger, eyes dreamily fixed on the woven battle. "Nothing," he muttered as he yanked it off the wall.
The lower they descended, the stronger the smell grew; the tangy sharpness of old water and moss. Ron peered through the imposing dark, broken by the thin gold of light from Draco's wand. Familiarity draped over his mind; he had been here before, but in a dream.
Dost thy heart fail beat within the lightless night.
Ron fell back heavily against the wall. The words had been a loud pulse in the middle of his forehead. He could hear Harry ask him if he was all right. But he wasn't. Merlin, he could remember. The hallway had been cold and wide and he had been carrying a light he had taken from Draco's room. As if drawn, he had come upon the tapestry and stumbled into it, pulling it aside, the stiff cloth slow to move. He had uncovered the ugly entrance, but didn't know. Falling and running down the stairs into the dark wetness, until his legs gave way and he was covered in cold water.
The wand light bathed Ron's features in a pale glow. Draco wanted to touch his face, to hold him closely because he knew what Ron was reliving. He recalled finding the boy down in the cave, half dead in the cold water. "Ron." The name came from his mouth before his lips even moved, and it seemed that only Ron could hear him, the scared brown eyes finding him in the dark and locking onto his gaze. Potter wasn't there, it was just Ron. Ron and Draco.
"Hell," Harry groaned. "Malfoy, keep that light steady and let's go on."
He felt the spell break like frost into tiny pieces. The cold rushed in upon him, fighting with the sweaty heat and cursing him with chills and fever, flame and ice. Breathing became so painful he had to stop and clutch his chest. Behind him, Potter cursed. Then Potter's voice was faraway and he was being beaten on each and every side with heavy stones, giants' feet, rolling him through the air and stabbing into his side, choking him, throwing him, killing him...
"Fuck - Malfoy!" Harry yelled, yanking Ron against him as the blonde keeled forward and disappeared into the dark like a phantom, sharp cries following the jaggedly thrown light. Ron's head lolled on his shoulder and so Harry ran heavily down the stairs, lugging Ron on his back and calling for Malfoy, his voice growing desperate with no audible answer. He's dead he's dead he's dead. Real fear sinking into him, Harry held Ron with one arm and reached up with the other, sighing with relief as his fingers brushed stone. It was his guide down the slippery steps, until he came into a huge empty draft of darkness, yelling with surprise as his leg was submerged into a shallow pool of ice cold murk. He yanked it out, shaking it, feeling the coating of slime through his pants. Pulling Ron around the edge of the pool, he cocked his head as he heard tiny splashes. "Malfoy?"
"I'm here," he answered, voice grating. Through the dark he could hear the two figures shuffling over to the sound of his voice. "Lumos."
Ron lay sleeping next to him as he watched Malfoy. He felt cruel doing it, knowing Malfoy could feel his gaze, but curious, too curious to care. "Why don't you stop moving?" he asked. The blonde's eyes flashed dangerously at him, reflected from the pool of glowing water in which lay his wand. Water magnified the light so that they all could see the huge cavern clearer.
I'll melt or I'll freeze, Draco screamed in his mind. His whole body ached so horribly. He felt like an ice statue who was melting in the dark heat of a black sun.
"Did your father do that to you?" He felt the smirk spear him from under the hood.
"Why, now we have something in common, Potter." Draco could see him stiffen. "Both my parents are dead, and so are yours. Pity I didn't get a nifty scar to show off though. Just this." He thrust out his arm and Potter's single eye widened. The yellow color had deepened into a rustic gold, the veins swimming beneath the skin, black as pitch. Where his nails had once been it was raw and bleeding with the ebony fluid. And as Potter watched it with sick fascination, Draco found himself yet again captivated by his own decay. A clump of hair broke away from his temple suddenly and fell across his arm, a stinking chunk of scalp still clinging to the hair follicles.
"What's happening to you," Harry breathed.
"It's *my* version of your scar, Potter. Except *this* one doesn't last." There was a sound of rustling cloth and Draco whipped his arm back under the cloak, turning away from the light as Ron awoke, peering deliriously around him.
Dream memory had faded and Ron groaned; "Why aren't we out?"
"Just rest now, Ron." Harry lay a hand on his friend's arm. A confused gaze swept over him, sliding on to look deeply at Malfoy. He frowned. "Ron," he said sharply. His voice brought Ron's head around and he looked at him. "C'mon."
With his arm for a pillow, Ron lay still for a long time, steadying his breathing and listening for Harry to do the same. He suspected Harry would fight sleep and waited anxiously for hours before the boy finally succumbed to his own exhaustion. Ron climbed to his feet quietly. His face was still choked with dust. Hands out in front of him, he came to a pool, dipping his hands into the water and dashing it onto his face. When he stood up, tucking a loose end of the bandage back into place, he noticed something white floating in the middle of the pool, adorned with ripples marring its white surface. He let out his breath, looking upwards and seeing through a small hole up above the moon, staring down like a heavy blind eye into the cave. Wonderingly, he knelt again and touched the reflection, watching it dance. As the moon swirled in the water, a cold feeling gripped his heart as his fingers curled around his left arm. The moon shone with the bare light that it had on the night Riddle....
"A sickle for your thoughts."
He didn't even turn. The moon continued its dance, weaving under silver streaks of water.
Merlin, how he wanted to touch him. The compelling urge almost drove him into a frenzy and behind the half cover of his lids he saw his own fingers sliding through Ron's fiery hair and him dragging the freckled face back so that he may swallow the boy's lips and taste that lost sweetness. But... now he would not approach the one whom he wanted so much. The feeling flowed out of him, just like the sick heated infection did. Though the river of emotions hit a strong barrier, and it was Draco's own consciousness of how he must appear.
Ron looked up at the moon again, smiling faintly. The last time he had heard those words, he had been so different. Unconsciously his fingers closed over his left arm and he bowed his head, hearing a faint sigh from behind him. Now he turned, looking at Draco, just a dark shadow in the moon's pale shade. He stayed that way. Ron couldn't tell if Draco was looking at him or not, and suddenly he took a step towards the other boy, frowning when Draco regressed back into the dark. "Draco?" he said quietly. The boy shrunk from his voice. Ron was reminded of the wraith and the jaunty way it had moved, half dying, half struggling. He reached a hand forward, hovering over Draco's chest. A rotting smell wafted through the air, but he ignored it. There was a tight feeling in his heart and Ron's eyes drifted to his hand, hovering closer to the blonde's chest. Draco had frozen, and Ron could hear wheezing in the cave's quiet. His own breath staggered when his hand made contact with the cloth. It was warm and moist.
Draco shook beneath the cloak, the wet heat pressing closer and closer as Ron's hand smoothed over his chest, coming to rest directly over his heart. A quiet sob slipped from his mouth as Ron flexed his fingers.
The dreamy gaze in his eyes flashed and he was caught by the sight of his fingers splayed over Draco's chest. Raw fear dropping like a veil of rain over his eyes, he slowly bent his index finger, feeling the beat of Draco's heart. As the finger curled, Draco uttered a breathy cry, body convulsing. Ron let out his breath deeply, a strange feeling clouding his chest. His eyes snapped wide to his arm, grazing over the bare white patch. For only an instant of memory he felt the skull's eyes glaring back.
His legs flew from beneath him, and suddenly he was caught in Ron's arms, a gust of rotting air blowing up from his body, heat rolling beneath his skin, the liquid pouring from everywhere and sticking hotly to the cloth of his cloak as his body crushed against the redhead. Panic flooded his mind and he ripped away from the other boy, hobbling from the moon's ghostly illumination, feeling brown eyes following, his heart thundering in his ears.
~*~
He could not sit, nor lie down. His legs felt like sticks filled with biting termites. Inside his mouth his tongue lay bloated and black, a dead fish caught halfway down a man's throat. Once fingernails now left the skin bare and raw and burning with insane pain that streaked up his arms like shots of wire. But what hurt most was that his regressed, dead eyelids did not allow him to cower from the sight of his hair falling in clumps from his rotten scalp, plopping into the pools of water as he paced the cave with a pungent odor of fetid meat. At one time during the night's slow turning, Draco turned and threw himself into the curving wall of stone, bashing his broken fists against the unyielding surface, slicking it with his own black blood and the oily yellow liquid which he cursed with sobs. Frustration hurt almost as much as the physical pain, driving him mad and he felt that if he didn't escape he would explode.
As Draco rolled along the walls in agony, lashing out at visions of Lucius' dead smirk condemning his only heir, he at once came to the furthest reach of the cave, crawling into a tight space and screaming as best he could, tasting the sour spittle bathing the bloated beast that was his tongue. And as he screamed, he pounded his fists against the ceiling. While the pain boomed when each blow struck, he noticed something else, though unwillingly through his uncovered eyes.
Loose soil.
A/N: *guilty grin* Believe it or not, I've been doing a lot of editing. One more, folks!
~*Villain*~