The Darkness that Dreams Are Made Of
Sing Me A Love Song
He stood in the cold night air, wearing only thin pajamas, the frost seeping through the grates high on the walls in mocking of windows. The room itself was eerily depressing; with the high stone walls covered in lichen and mildew and the floor damp and sour. Sour from stains of blood. The entire room was splattered with dried blood and smelled of death.
He was scared, to say otherwise would be to lie and father punished severely for lying. Father liked to know when his son was afraid, he had always enjoyed the knowledge that he could cause his son such fear, and pain.
The boy stood next his father, trying to fight down his shivers and to keep from fidgeting. The father pulled something out his coat pocket; long and black it seemed to suck the very light into it, a wand, his father's wand.
His father handed him the wand and led the boy over towards the center of the room where a bundle lay curled upon the ground.
"Look what the I have found for you to play with. He will be an excellent target to practice your crutio on."
The Father rolled it over with the toe of his steel tipped shoes. It whimpered and scuttled back a bit, a head poking out of the confines of the blanket.
The head that emerged was no older than the boy's own but what caught his eye was the fact that the boy was covered in freckles underneath a mop of, if it had been clean, flaming red hair. The child stared at Draco with an incomprehensible fear, glittering in his eyes he begged for help, begged for mercy.
"One of those disgusting, useless Weasley creatures. It's nice to know we could put one to good use. Go on my boy, the prey won't wait forever."
The boy looked back and forth between his father and the ragimuffin redhead, clutching the wand with both hands, while the poor innocent started crying helplessly.
Suddenly the boy dropped the wand upon the floor and walked over to stand in front of the Weasley. He faced his father, face set, heart pounding.
"I will not. In exchange for my disobedience you may beat me as much as you like, tourcher me in any way cause me any amount of physical pain so long as you send him home."
The Father turned a violent shade of red began to flex his hands in unrelinqued hatred. He stooped and picked up the wand, a smile twitching its way onto his face as he stood.
"Very well, son. Let us say we don't send that waste of a boy home yet, eh? Let us have him watch."
The boy was trembling visibly in sheer terror now, but the Weasley boy would be safe. No one deserved to take the punishment that was given to the son, no one.
The Father was now smiling outright, a hungry, glassy look in his eyes.
"I was going to have you perform the spell four times, so for punishment I will give you few examples to learn off of," He began to tap his wand in his hand rhythmically, "twice the amount you were to do yourself and fifteen lashings. Provided you survive I think that will provide a sufficient lesson."
The son nodded dumbly a drop of blood sliding down his chin where he had bit his lip too hard.
"Come my little dragon, let the games commence."
Draco woke up suddenly, shaking and dripping with sweat, he realized with shame that he was on the verge of crying out, which would wake everyone in the dorm.
Tears began silently coursing down his cheeks as he tried to hold back a sob, that's why I hate you, you stupid thick headed Weasel. I suffered so much pain that night and you don't even remember and you never ever thanked me. You just blocked it out, in a way I have never been able to fathom. I never forget such things, it is impossible to forget such things.
Draco was aware of a slight tightening around his chest and for a moment he forgot where he was and almost panicked until he realized it was Harry's arms that encircled him. The sob he had been fighting down escaped into a strangled cry. Harry's arms held him closer and even as Draco was about to appologise for waking Harry, he felt a whisper in his ear.
"In my heart's sequestered chambers lie truths stripped of poet's gloss. "
A song, whispered in the softest of baritones.
"Words alone are vain and vacant and my heart is mute.
In response to aching silence memory summons half heard voices, and my soul find primal eloquence and wraps me in a song, wraps me in a song."
Draco began to relax, lulled by Harry's soothing murmmer and entranced by the words of the song he sang.
"If you would comfort me sing me a lullaby.
If you would win my heart, sing me a love song.
If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem, sing me to heaven."
Draco's eyes went dry and his eyes began to sink.
"Touch in me all love and passion, pain and pleasure.
Touch in me grief and comfort; love and passion, pain and pleasure."
Draco sighed softly contentedly, barely managing to stay awake to hear the end.
"Sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.
Love me, comfort me, bring me to God:
Sing me a love song, sing me to heaven."
Draco slept and this time his sleep was undisturbed by haunting visions of past but filled simply with the soft darkness of trust and contentment.
"Sing me to heaven, my Draco."