**A/N: Final Chapter! Thank you so much, to everyone that had such nice
reviews: vashsunglasses, Lyssander, Rube, Kenna Hijja, Lidi, Rae, Lady
Doncaster, Deity, and Maeglin Yedi. It meant a lot to know that people
enjoyed my story ^_^
**Also... this chapter is a bit depressing. I don't know where it comes from, but I have these morbid little plot bunnies lurking about my head. I hope you like it, and don't think it's too much. If it's truly horrendous, I'll do a re-write. If you're interested in any of my other work, I'll be updating "The Lines We Walk" soon. Ginny/Riddle is so intriguing! Anyway, enough of my ranting - on to the story!
It was black. Not just black, but deep, penetrating black. The kind of black that smothered you, rolled over you, took over you completely.
That was what Harry first saw, as his body slowly gained consciousness. He groaned as the pain hit him head on, his head throbbing, pain shooting through his chest with every breath he took. He coughed, a deep racking cough, and blinked, attempting to clear his vision. His glasses were on the floor, so he reached out and grabbed them, and put them on.
He peered around the room, noting that, seemingly, he was alone. He was still undressed, but his clothes were laid out on the bed, neatly, as though someone had kindly remembered. Harry doubted anyone really cared. Harry knew no one cared.
He sat up, feeling the blood rush to his head, feeling his limbs shake, feeling his body sway. He struggled to his feet and made it as far as the bed, before he collapsed again. He gasped for breath, feeling the pain in his ribs, certain that several were broken. Slowly, he dressed, taking his time, easing his body first into his boxers and pants, and then into his shirt.
Finally finished, he gathered his strength and stood up, holding onto the bedpost for support. After several deep breaths, he limped to the door, barely managing to pull it open. Torches glittered in the hallway, emitting small sparks of fire, but not really giving off much light. Harry stumbled down the hall, one hand following the wall, slowly making progress. As the hallway same to an end, he walked into something lying on the floor, almost pitching right over it.
Glancing down, his stomach lurched, heart pounding. It was Lucius, limp on the floor, face paler than usual, pale as winter snow. Harry stared at him for a long time, just looking at him, seeing his features, his hair, the way his face looked finally relaxed, unguarded. He slowly bent down and put his fingers to the other man's neck.
There was no pulse. Harry sat heavily on the ground, still staring. One hand moved to touch Lucius, smoothing over his hair, brushing against his lips, running down his arm. Harry sat and sat, yet no one came. There was no sign of Voldemort. No sign of Draco. No sign of anyone.
After what seemed an eternity, Harry stood up and left the hallway, left Lucius, left the only happiness he had had in a long, long time. He made his way to the study, all the while looking out for anyone else. There was no one.
He finally retrieved his supply of floo powder, called out Hogwarts, and stepped into the still-burning fire. Moments later he stumbled into the Headmaster's office, which mercifully was empty. Harry walked towards Gryffindor Tower, dazed, eyes unfocused, seeing nothing. He was astonished to find himself in front of the Tower, amazed that he had gotten all the way to the tower, never mind out of Malfoy Manor in the first place.
He gave the portrait the password, and eased himself through the frame, finally arriving in the common room. A few people were awake, some older students gossiping by the fire, a few younger students diligently studying.
Harry saw none of this. His legs kept on moving, as he made his way to the stairs that led to his dormitory. Ron and Hermione met him there, faces confused, worried. Ron put a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry shrugged him off. Hermione, too, started to speak, but Harry silenced her with a shake of his head. He pushed past them, ignoring their worry and concern, and made his way, alone, to his dormitory.
Alone, he entered the room. Alone, he undressed and eased himself into bed. Alone, his mind surged, images flashing before his eyes, mind unwilling to stop the pictures that he saw; Lucius, touching him. Draco, crying. Voldemort, angry and violent. Lucius and Draco taking him, being taken by him.
Alone he was racked with guilt, racked with pain. Ron and Hermione did not go up to him. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. He was alone.
The next day Harry found his way to the Great Hall. He couldn't eat, the smells made his stomach churn. Ron and Hermione still stared, but there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do.
Harry saw Draco across the hall. His face was bruised, a deep purple welt under his left eye. He caught Harry's gaze and returned it, staring, searching, probing. Eyes revealing nothing, only an empty shell. Then he turned away. And Harry was left alone.
In the end, Harry was always alone.
**Also... this chapter is a bit depressing. I don't know where it comes from, but I have these morbid little plot bunnies lurking about my head. I hope you like it, and don't think it's too much. If it's truly horrendous, I'll do a re-write. If you're interested in any of my other work, I'll be updating "The Lines We Walk" soon. Ginny/Riddle is so intriguing! Anyway, enough of my ranting - on to the story!
It was black. Not just black, but deep, penetrating black. The kind of black that smothered you, rolled over you, took over you completely.
That was what Harry first saw, as his body slowly gained consciousness. He groaned as the pain hit him head on, his head throbbing, pain shooting through his chest with every breath he took. He coughed, a deep racking cough, and blinked, attempting to clear his vision. His glasses were on the floor, so he reached out and grabbed them, and put them on.
He peered around the room, noting that, seemingly, he was alone. He was still undressed, but his clothes were laid out on the bed, neatly, as though someone had kindly remembered. Harry doubted anyone really cared. Harry knew no one cared.
He sat up, feeling the blood rush to his head, feeling his limbs shake, feeling his body sway. He struggled to his feet and made it as far as the bed, before he collapsed again. He gasped for breath, feeling the pain in his ribs, certain that several were broken. Slowly, he dressed, taking his time, easing his body first into his boxers and pants, and then into his shirt.
Finally finished, he gathered his strength and stood up, holding onto the bedpost for support. After several deep breaths, he limped to the door, barely managing to pull it open. Torches glittered in the hallway, emitting small sparks of fire, but not really giving off much light. Harry stumbled down the hall, one hand following the wall, slowly making progress. As the hallway same to an end, he walked into something lying on the floor, almost pitching right over it.
Glancing down, his stomach lurched, heart pounding. It was Lucius, limp on the floor, face paler than usual, pale as winter snow. Harry stared at him for a long time, just looking at him, seeing his features, his hair, the way his face looked finally relaxed, unguarded. He slowly bent down and put his fingers to the other man's neck.
There was no pulse. Harry sat heavily on the ground, still staring. One hand moved to touch Lucius, smoothing over his hair, brushing against his lips, running down his arm. Harry sat and sat, yet no one came. There was no sign of Voldemort. No sign of Draco. No sign of anyone.
After what seemed an eternity, Harry stood up and left the hallway, left Lucius, left the only happiness he had had in a long, long time. He made his way to the study, all the while looking out for anyone else. There was no one.
He finally retrieved his supply of floo powder, called out Hogwarts, and stepped into the still-burning fire. Moments later he stumbled into the Headmaster's office, which mercifully was empty. Harry walked towards Gryffindor Tower, dazed, eyes unfocused, seeing nothing. He was astonished to find himself in front of the Tower, amazed that he had gotten all the way to the tower, never mind out of Malfoy Manor in the first place.
He gave the portrait the password, and eased himself through the frame, finally arriving in the common room. A few people were awake, some older students gossiping by the fire, a few younger students diligently studying.
Harry saw none of this. His legs kept on moving, as he made his way to the stairs that led to his dormitory. Ron and Hermione met him there, faces confused, worried. Ron put a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry shrugged him off. Hermione, too, started to speak, but Harry silenced her with a shake of his head. He pushed past them, ignoring their worry and concern, and made his way, alone, to his dormitory.
Alone, he entered the room. Alone, he undressed and eased himself into bed. Alone, his mind surged, images flashing before his eyes, mind unwilling to stop the pictures that he saw; Lucius, touching him. Draco, crying. Voldemort, angry and violent. Lucius and Draco taking him, being taken by him.
Alone he was racked with guilt, racked with pain. Ron and Hermione did not go up to him. They wouldn't understand. They couldn't understand. He was alone.
The next day Harry found his way to the Great Hall. He couldn't eat, the smells made his stomach churn. Ron and Hermione still stared, but there was nothing they could do. There was nothing anyone could do.
Harry saw Draco across the hall. His face was bruised, a deep purple welt under his left eye. He caught Harry's gaze and returned it, staring, searching, probing. Eyes revealing nothing, only an empty shell. Then he turned away. And Harry was left alone.
In the end, Harry was always alone.