IWSC Round 6

Story Title/Link - A Face Of Stone

School/Theme - Ilvermorny/Death of a leader

Mandatory Prompt - [image] Medusa

Additional Prompt - [word] Hopeless

Year - 4

Word Count - 2366

A Face Of Stone

Draco knew that when someone described you as having a face of stone, they often sought to imply you were devoid of emotion. There had been many times in his younger life that people had aimed such a description at him, accusing him of hiding behind a stoic pureblood mask. It had always made him feel proud that he had concealed himself appropriately as his father had meticulously taught him. Nowadays, those words held a different meaning since they were now used to describe Harry. His Harry, whose face was always open and free. It had been several hours since Draco had seen him and his skin prickled with need as he trod the familiar path to where Harry would be, where he always was, waiting.

It was quite a walk, considering he was merely going from his potions lab to the walled garden, but then, most people didn't live on a Georgian estate that spanned several acres. Its wards were completely impenetrable for optimum privacy, which was a Godsend considering the multitude of Harry-disciples that kept trying to visit his 'resting place'. As it was, Kreacher still had to clear away dead flowers and offerings from the front gate every couple of days. Harry had been a bit wary about living in such a large house, but it had been a compromise between living in Harry's small London flat and Malfoy Manor, and the expansive grounds perfect for flying had been the main selling point for Harry. Draco pushed his hands into his trousers pockets and smiled as he made his way along the gravel path, the main house finally in sight. He couldn't remember how many times Harry had come home covered in mud; his cheeks wind-burned from a long fly in what was usually crazy weather, shrugging off Draco's concern about hypothermia and accidents waiting to happen. But that was Harry, daredevil extraordinaire.

Draco worked in one of the smaller outbuildings a few minutes away from the main house. The distance could be a pain, especially if the weather turned foul, but it ensured that he wouldn't be easily distracted from his work. Not that distraction would ever happen nowadays. Nothing was more important than his work. Nothing.

He pushed open the heavy door leading into the kitchen, one of the servant's entrances from days long past, and stepped inside. The warmth of the aga chased the worst of the April chill from his skin, tempting him to linger, but Draco didn't slow his pace as he strode through the spacious kitchen and out into the conservatory. This had been one of his favourite places to sit in a thunderstorm. Harry had thought him crazy for it, but there was something infinitely relaxing about the sound of heavy rain on glass. There wasn't time to linger, however. Harry would be waiting for him.

He crossed the glass room and stepped out onto a narrow path lined by tall hedges, and picked up his pace, his heavy boots crunching the gravel as he went. The high borders could be oppressive at times, but Harry had loved it. He'd said it was his secret passageway to his secret garden, much to Draco's amusement.

The path abruptly opened up into a large square expanse of green. The tall hedges had widened their scope, lining the edge of the garden like towering sentries. In each of the four corners stood a large Swietenia Mahogany tree, the thick base of each lined in every species and colour of lily known to Muggle or wizard, Harry's homage to his parents. In the middle of the garden sat a large white pavilion built in the middle of a pond. A sturdy wooden bridge connected the pavilion to the gravel path. Draco paused to catch his breath, one foot on the bridge slats, his hands resting on the beginning of the railings, and breathed deeply. His eyes roamed, taking in the beauty of the spot, until at last, they rested upon Harry as he stood, straight and tall, at the centre of the pavilion.

Draco couldn't help but grin as he was finally able to wrap his arms around Harry's stiff shoulders, holding the pale, hard body as tightly as he could, before pulling back to press a light kiss onto Harry's cold lips.

"I'm so sorry, my love," Draco murmured against the unyielding mouth. "I got caught up with a new theory, and I lost track of time. Forgive me?"

He lingered into the contact a moment longer before pulling back, his eyes devouring every nuance of Harry's pale face. The crinkle at the edge of his eyes, the affectionate smile twisted with a tinge of fear and regret. He gently cupped Harry's face, smoothing his thumb across the soft stone of the cheekbone. Merlin, would he never tire of this man? He breathed a broken sigh as memories of touching Harry's face washed over him in a tidal wave of nostalgia. Whenever Harry was worried or upset, he would rub his thumb across his cheek exactly like this. Even now, he made sure to do it every day, mindful of the small dent under the pad of his thumb where the stone had begun to wear away.

A face of stone, but not inexpressive in the least. It seemed that love had etched itself into every little crevice of the concrete mask as if someone had pressed pause at an intense moment. Which, of course, they had.

Then, seemingly all at once, the memory of Harry's not-death, because Draco knew he wasn't truly dead, began to play out in his mind, the images as vivid as the day they happened.

It was so bright, the summer sun lighting up the garden as Draco stumbled towards the pavilion. Harry's black hair shone in the light as he visited with his parents. Draco could hear Harry's laughter as he retold George and Ron's most recent prank, knowing his father would appreciate the trickery involved. He was so absorbed; he hadn't noticed Draco staggering up the gravel path, breathless and pale and disoriented.

"Harry." he gasped, the words coming out as a hoarse whisper. "Astoria, she hit me with something I didn't recognise. I feel funny—"

Harry didn't hear him over his laughter, and Draco blundered onwards, determined to reach his husband at all costs. Each step felt arduous as he pressed forward, each second stretched into pliant minutes until he was close enough for Harry to hear him finally.

He'd stood a few feet from Harry, his hands braced on the pavilion railings, as Harry turned to face him, his expression changing from carefree to concerned in an instant.

And then it happened.

His weary grey eyes met Harry's anxious green orbs, and suddenly, something zapped within Draco's very core. Before Draco could react, Harry gasped loudly, his eyes widening in shock.

"I can't move." Harry gasped, his eyes widening in shock. "Draco, I can't move!"

Draco closed the distance between them and ran his hands over Harry's face, looking for some sign of injury.

"What? You can't move what?"

"Anything. My legs, my arms."

"Can you move your head?" Draco tried to tilt Harry's face with his hands, whimpering when it would only move an inch from side to side. "What the—"

"Draco, my feet, what—?"

He swayed as he watched Harry's boots turn to stone, the black leather fading to an off-white. Upwards, over Harry's calves, it crept, leaching the faded blue from his jeans.

Draco clenched his fists into his hair. What was he to do? He recognised the curse from stories he and his friends used to tell when they were younger, but he'd never seen it cast before. More importantly, he had no idea if there was a counter-curse.

"Draco!"

Harry's voice penetrated the fog circling his brain, forcing him to snap out of his panic.

"Please, listen to me. I don't have much time."

The firm urgency of Harry's voice chilled him as he realised what Harry was doing.

"Don't!" Draco cupped Harry's face with both hands, his thumbs rubbing familiar circles, and pressed their foreheads together. "Don't you dare say your goodbyes. You'll be alright; I just need to think."

"It's spreading, love. I can feel it."

"There's time—"

"There's not. It hurts to breathe."

Draco could hear Harry's breaths grow more shallow, the usually pink lips pale.

"I just—I always thought there was time—." A tear leaked down Harry's cheek, and Draco caught it with his thumb as he stroked the cooling skin.

"There is time! There has to be," whispered Draco. "You didn't survive bloody Voldemort just to have it end like this."

"Life's funny like that," wheezed Harry, his eyes twinkling with tears and irony. His eyes crinkled as pain shot through his body as stone spread over his chest. "Merlin, I sound like Dumbledore, don't I?"

"Don't, Harry. It's not bloody funny."

"Do something for me — tell Ron and Hermione I l-love them." Draco sucked in air through his teeth as his heart throbbed with every word Harry spoke. "Teddy too. Look after him and d-don't let him forget me."

Harry's legs, arms, and stomach were now solid stone. Draco could see the skin on Harry's neck grow paler as the seconds ticked by. He fixed his eyes upon Harry's, hungry for the fire that always burned there, but even that was beginning to dim.

"Wipe my eyes for me, would you love? I n-need to see y-you."

Draco plucked his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and carefully dried Harry's eyes before letting the silk cloth flutter to the ground as he returned his hands to Harry's face. The skin was cold, and Draco murmured a wandless heating charm. Warmth flickered in the air briefly, and Draco couldn't hold back a dry sob as the spell failed.

"Draco, I-I need you to p-promise me that you'll keep living. You have so m-much love to g-give."

"Harry—"

"Please," Harry begged, his voice no more than a rasp now, the words struggling to pass through his rigid mouth.

"I promise." Draco sobbed and clung to Harry's rigid upright form.

"S-stay with m-me? Dra—"

Harry's words cut off as his mouth turned white, freezing his lips mid-word, the ends resting closed, the middle slightly parted to reveal a slither of stoney teeth.

Draco pressed their foreheads together once again as Harry's nose turned white, boring his eyes into Harry's as the green began to leech away, from emerald to jade, then pear, and olive, until they settled into the same paleness that had taken over Harry's entire body.

And still, Draco held on to Harry's face, ignoring the white that spread over Harry's forehead and down each lock of hair. He held on even after the last tip of hair turned solid, and the sun began to dip behind the tall hedges, and his tears had long dried.

Draco shook off the memory and brought his attention back to the present. To Harry. He stepped back, letting his arms fall to his sides, and ran a critical eye over his lover's appearance. The stone was still perfectly white in most areas, except for the slight dulling of grey patches around Harry's feet and calves. The concrete was much less impressive than the marble monstrosity the Ministry had erected in Harry's honour, but Draco was grateful for that. Marble was the least Harry-like sculpture material in existence, as far as he was concerned. Harry would hate to see his own monument with the multitude of garish flowers littering the plinth base. Draco avoided it whenever he had to attend the ministry, unable to stomach the public's vision of his husband. The smile was too polished, the nose too straight. He looked down to Harry's right hand, where I must not tell lies was legible. He'd much rather let the world have their perfect version and keep the real Harry for himself.

Draco took out his wand and cast a light cleaning charm, smiling as the grey patches lightened considerably. It had been rather wet and windy the night before, and Draco was just glad there was no real harm done. He renewed the Impervious charm that kept Harry safe from the worst of the elements, slid his wand back up his sleeve, and leaned his head upon Harry's rigid shoulder.

"We got a letter from Hermione today; she misses you, you know."

He thought back to how she and Ron had finally arrived, summoned by an anxious Kreacher. They'd gasped and cried and demanded answers that Draco didn't have while the stars twinkled in the sky above them. Neither Hermione's gentle coaxing nor Ron's gruff insistence could convince Draco to leave Harry, and in the end, he had to be stunned and transported to St. Mungos. The days he'd spent there had been utter agony, his thoughts filled with Harry waiting for him alone in the garden. As soon as St. Mungos released him, he set up his lab to work out a way to reverse the curse. He wrote to experts in rare hexes and ordered reference books by the tonne in his quest to find a cure.

He knew everyone thought he'd lost his mind. He'd heard the whispered stories of 'Mad Malfoy,' who roamed around his secluded home messing about with life and death like he was some modern-day Frankenstein. What did he care about what others thought of him? His name, his very life, was worth nothing without Harry by his side.

Draco squeezed his eyes closed against the sudden burn of tears. He wouldn't cry. Not here, in Harry's garden.

"I'm close, my love. So close," whispered Draco, his voice catching on the words as his heart ached with every beat. "I'll bring you back; I swear it."

Everyone had said it was hopeless to find a cure for something that had no counter-curse, but Draco knew better. Even Avada Kedavra could be avoided with the right kind of sacrifice. There was always a cure; it was just a matter of finding it.

Hopeless? No, there was always hope. Harry had taught him that.