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Disclaimer: As always, I still own nothing. Though at least now my plot just may be getting original enough to be called my own.
Chapter 12: Questions and Answers
"My house was built for loving, not a theatre of war. . .
he's my man and I've been doing him wrong."
- Beth Orton, God Song
Harry's mind spun so fast that his consciousness could barely register the thoughts. Love? He knew that he wanted Draco - no one had ever excited him the way the blond Giver did. But no one riled him like Draco either; and he was convinced that this was because of Draco's. . . 'difficult' personality. Yet Harry felt strangely inclined to indulge him, but was this because of pity? Did he feel pity? He didn't think so. . . when he thought of Draco's pain, he swelled with anger and grief and he himself suffered. He didn't think he felt pity for him, he wanted to protect him and ease his misery. And the idea of changing Draco was absolutely abhorrent, as was the idea of forcing him back into whatever roles he always played. He wanted to. . . to be there to see Draco open up and discover his real self, to be the first to see what precious and fragile beauty lay underneath. He wanted to see Draco as he had nights ago, open and vulnerable, and racked with pleasure. Just the thought filled him with such emotion that it had to be love, didn't it?
((He can never love you. You are beneath him and shouldn't even be trying to hold him back. Even if he does say he loves you, it will only be to appease you so that he can use you. Watch him debate if its worth it.))
Draco frowned at him for a long time, watching Harry go through the inner debate, but finally the damage to his pride (all he had) grew too great; and he spun around and briskly strode out of the alley. "Harry wouldn't lie to me about something like that," Draco muttered to the voice.
"Wait, Draco!," Harry called, trotting after him onto the bustling street, where he made the same mistake he always did of grabbing Draco's arm. Draco, of course, ripped his arm away and continued on without even turning to him. "Leave it, Harry, I'm famished."
"Wait!," he tried again irritably. "You were right!"
That made Draco slowed in his tracks, though several jostles from fellow pedestrians got him walking again, though at a more reasonable pace. Harry took this as encouragement and continued, "You're right, I mean. Asking you to be nice was asking you to pretend. I'm sorry, that's not what I want and it's not fair to you. I really do want you to be yourself and I want to be there to see who that turns out to be. Because I don't think my life will be quite as worth living if you're not in it. I wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for you, and Voldemort would be. It was your wand that I used to kill him. Give me time, I am definitely falling in love with you. But, for the moment, all I can do is swear that I'll protect you from your father, and everyone else; and that we'll find a way to deal with the voice. I am on your side, and yours above all others." He was not eloquent, but his words were heartfelt.
((Hahahaha. You can't seriously believe that load of swill!))
Draco felt himself quiver violently inside, but he didn't break his stride, and Harry gazed searchingly at an expressionless face (was that a fleeting grimace?), trying to avoid the oncoming walkers. Had he gotten through that thick skull? His concern was answered when he felt a soft, slender hand take his and grip it with surprising force. Harry turned his head back to face forward, sporting a silly and rather unexpected grin, though he felt like a bit of a retard (luckily, his self confidence was enough to deal with this). After several moments of giddiness, he thought to ask, "So, where are we going?"
"I thought we could find a supermarket and use your invisibility cloak to steal food," Draco replied smoothly, almost making Harry stop in his tracks.
"We can't do that! That's stealing!," he cried with righteous indignation.
"I know it is, that's why I called it that, but we need the food more than them. And you have no right to be outraged, I am well aware of the laxity of your moral code."
((Of course you are. After all, my little child slut, you corrupted him.))
Harry had no response to that, having been reminded of the fact he had done far worse in the name of necessity, but he definitely registered a grimace and a faint wince this time - he was beginning to become attuned the little reactions provoked by the voice.
"What did he say?," he asked darkly.
After a moment's hesitation, Draco replied with apparent indifference, "He says that I corrupted you. And then he called me names."
Again, Harry was almost stopped in his tracks. How he wished that they weren't having this conversation on the move! "You know that's absolute shite, don't you? The supposed laxity of my moral code dates back to fifth year, a year in which we barely had any contact. You have been the victim of it, not its cause. And besides, I hardly think myself corrupted!," he ended in a huff, as Draco spotted a Sainsbury's and dragged Harry across the street by his hand.
When Draco didn't reply, being too intent on getting food, Harry continued, "Is this the kind of shit he always says?"
It took a moment for Draco to tear his thoughts away from the food displayed in the shop they had just entered, but he finally answered absently, "Yes, worse sometimes. He's a real fucking asshole."
((No, sweetie. You're the asshole, I'm just the one doing the fucking. Even if I never am able to again, I'll do it forever in your dreams.))
"That's got to be the understatement of the century," Harry commented dryly. He smiled at Draco with wry amusement, which turned into genuine amusement at seeing Draco gazing hypnotically at a box of cereal. "Fancy the chocolate puffs much?"
Actually, Draco was rather horrified to see that the brown and orange swirling and bubbling and. . . twisting into a face, a face that leered suggestively and looked suspiciously like his father. He tried not to react, but he couldn't stop the blood from draining from his face, yielding a distinctly pasty color that Harry couldn't help but notice. "Draco, what is it?"
Draco forced his eyes from the cereal box, then forced a weak smile. He grabbed the nearest box that wasn't chocolate puffs and said, "Nothing. Uh, lets get this."
((Hahaha. Hallucinating now, are we? What will Harry think when he finds out that you're batty, on top of everything else?))
"Granola?," Harry asked sceptically, a little concerned.
"Get something else if you want. Lets just get out of here," he muttered, walking away. Harry grabbed a box of Apple Jacks and hid it, with the granola, under his invisibility cloak, then followed Draco out of the store. They found a park a couple of blocks away and sat on the grass to ravenously stuff handfuls of cereal into their mouths.
"So, any idea where we should go?," Harry asked with a mouthful of food.
"I don't suppose we can stay on the street? . . . I feel safe here. There's lots of people here, it'll be hard for my father to find me and almost impossible for anyone else," he replied longingly.
Harry frowned as he chewed. "I don't think so. First of all, we're gonna need showers eventually. Secondly, we can't stay here forever anyway. And finally, we need to get you help. If you really do have Voldemort rattling around your brain, then this is a serious matter. Surely you must realize that."
"Maybe it'll just go away." I am NOT crazy.
"What? Are you crazy?," Harry asked disbelievingly.
"I must be to but up with you, Potter," Draco answered angrily.
"Ugh. Not back to this again." Then he had a thought. "Listen. . . what about your mother? Can she help maybe? Surely not everyone in your family is a psychopath."
((Yes, Malfoy, tell him about your mother. You're becoming just like her, you know?))
"No, she can't," the blonde said bitterly. "She's a non entity."
Confused, Harry pushed, "What do you mean?"
Draco sighed. "She's autistic, she can't relate to the world beyond pleasantries and absolutely useless manifestations of absurdly powerful magic. Lucius only married her because her mother was a Giver and she has some latent powers that suggested she could be used to produce a child like me."
((Instability runs in families, but you probably don't need me to tell you that. There are certainly enough examples in your family to make it obvious. Join the club.))
Harry looked rather appalled, and Draco looked away into the distance. "I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.
"Don't be. . . So, who else? Now that we've established that everyone in my family is, in fact, mentally ill." Including me, his mind added. But he needn't have omitted it, for Harry was more than capable of hearing the unspoken words. He himself was concerned for Draco's state of mind - in general, really, but especially since being tortured by Voldemort.
The obvious solution would have been the Weasleys, had they not been dead - Harry grimaced at the memory. Draco probably would have refused that solution anyway; but the only other person Harry could come up with was Dumbledore, and he knew Draco wouldn't be amenable to that suggestion. Even Harry had his doubts about the Headmaster's trustworthiness. Whatever greater cause he was working for, he was certainly not on Draco's, or even Harry's, side.
"I would suggest Hermione or Ron, but I don't think they could help. And your father would find you at St. Mungo's."
"My father will eventually find me no matter where I am. I would suggest Pansy, and she probably could help hide me, but I doubt she could do anything about my. . . uh, other problem. If she's even alive," Draco concluded wistfully.
"Why wouldn't she be?," Harry asked apprehensively. He didn't know if he could stand any more disillusionment in the world; he could barely understand how Draco could continue to live such a bleak existence.
"We made a pact that if we were ever forced to join the dark side, we'd kill ourselves. Of course, being the bastard that I am, I made the pact knowing that I was already helping their side," Draco said derogatively.
((See? You betray everyone, you untrustworthy whore. If you loved Harry, you would leave him - for it's only a matter of time before you betray him.))
A flinch provoked Harry's question, "What is he saying now?"
With a resigned sigh and downcast eyes, the voice slowly wearing him down, Draco replied, "He's saying I should leave you before I betray you like I have betrayed everyone else."
Harry dropped the box of cereal and grabbed the limp hands, "Don't you dare! He's just trying to get you killed!"
Draco looked morosely into Harry's pleading eyes. "I don't know, Harry. What he says echoes my own thoughts so closely sometimes . . . I don't know what to believe."
Feeling somewhat desperate, Harry finally voiced his true thoughts. "We have to go to Dumbledore. No! Hear me out. . . The mediwitches and wizards at St. Mungo's haven't had much luck with this sort of thing, be it Voldemort's spirit or just an after effect of the Cruciatus. Whatever his loyalties and however sneaky his behaviour, he has never actually lied to me. I can't promise that it won't end undesirably, but at least Lucius won't dare to get you when we are with him. Besides, we can't just wait on the street until your father and his cronies do find us. We might be strong enough to fight him alone, but even we are not strong enough to take on a whole army."
Draco unhappily considered Harry's words and, while he was not convinced that Dumbledore was the answer, he was well aware of the truth of the rest of what he said. They couldn't just wait until his father found him - the wait would surely drive them both insane, especially if they were living on the street. So he nodded dejectedly, wondering why every time Harry convinced him if something, it felt like defeat. "Okay, Harry. You win again."
((There's a surprise: the weak, pathetic faggot conceding to the real man.))
*
Instead of going strait to Hogwarts, still Dumbledore's stronghold, Draco apparated them to Hogsmeade, saying that there was no way he was going to confront the Headmaster without a drink first. Harry felt oddly inclined to agree.
This turned out to be a very bad idea and the boys found the town in ruins. Most of the shops had been burnt out or abandoned, and there was no one in sight - not that they looked very hard, rushing instead for the secret tunnel to the school, though not without stumbling across a decapitated body. They both reached the underground passageway considerably worse for the wear; but it was the that Draco encountered his second hallucination, much more vivid that the last.
Lucius stood before him, his pants undone and his hands and manhood coated in blood. He sneered and said smugly, "So sweet you are. Such a tight ass. I never wanted children, but the Dark Lord was right about you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Did you know that you had a twin sister? She probably would've been the better Malfoy, much healthier, but even as a toddler it was obvious who had the more useful genes."
"Draco?," Harry worriedly asked his petrified companion.
Lucius advanced on him, malice gleaming in his eyes, and Draco couldn't help but back away; but in his fear he stumbled and fell on to the floor, only to crawl backwards away from his towering father. Wasn't he much bigger than usual?
"I don't think I feel strong enough. We should do it again," Lucius growled, reaching out for his son.
"Don't! NO! I WON'T LET YOU!" Panic and hysteria raced through Draco as he tried to fight the larger man off.
"DRACO!" A sharp slap on his face made Draco blink and see Harry crouched next to him, a firm grip on each of his arms.
"Harry?," he gasped.
"What the hell happened?"
Draco had a pretty good idea what had happened and scrambled to his feet. "Uh. . . nothing. I'm okay now. Lets go." But he was too shaken to lie well, his thoughts reeling from what had happened and what his father had said, and it was obvious to Harry what had happened.
"What did you see?," Harry pressed, following Draco to a standing position.
Draco swallowed and started down the tunnel. "Really, I'm fine. Can we go please?"
But Harry wouldn't let him go - he grabbed Draco, with both arms and pulled him close before he could jerk away. "What did you see?," he asked again, softly, intimately. "Was it Voldemort?"
((No. The little slut only has rape fantasies about his first lover.))
Looking into open green eyes, Draco was compelled to be honest. "I saw my father, but he's gone now, right? So it's okay." He smiled weakly, his voice hiding repressed hysteria. Had he really had a twin sister? The idea was horrible, but incredible.
Harry kissed him tenderly, soothingly, teeth gently clinging to a soft lip. "We'll figure it out. . . We'd better go to Dumbledore now."
"That's what I've been saying," Draco replied with another meek smile, inching towards Hogwarts with Harry in his arms. Harry gave a supportive smile in return and moved with him. They reached the doorway then passed into Hogwarts proper, and then made their way to Dumbledore's office, meeting absolutely no one on the way. Harry made a few attempts at guessing the password (Snickers? Twix?), before the door swung open on its own and they climbed up the stairs to Dumbledore's inner layer, where the Headmaster sat in the large chair behind his gargantuan desk.
"Harry, Draco. I can't say I'm surprised to see you," stated the wizened voice.
Draco glared at him silently, and Harry took it upon himself to talk to the old man. "Yeah, well, I'm hardly surprised either. So, since you know so much, why don't you go ahead and tell us if you can help or not?"
His words came out a little more aggressive than he attended, but Dumbledore didn't appear to notice. "I'd rather hear it from you," he replied stoically.
Draco gripped Harry's arm, then interrupted before Harry could speak. "Voldemort is in my head, talking to me. Harry thought you could help," his voice more than matching Dumbledore's for its lack of emotion.
Bushy eyebrows frowned and the man was quiet for an uncomfortable moment. Finally, he spoke, gravely, "Not quite what I was expecting, but I might be able to help. It will, however, require a great deal of trust."
((Please. Just how stupid are you?))
It was Harry's turn to frown, but it was an impassive Draco, filled with suspicion, that asked, "What do you mean?"
Dumbledore reluctantly answered, "There is a rather unpleasant and quite obscure spell that allows the caster to scan another's mind. If you were willing, I could do this and uncover any hidden elements. Don't worry Mr. Malfoy. As I'm sure your aware, I already know your worst secrets - you have nothing to hide from me. But if Voldemort does, indeed, reside in your mind, then this is a very a serious matter."
"No shit," Draco retorted harshly. But the truth was, he didn't know what to do - he didn't think he could survive with the constantly degrading voice and escalating visual hallucinations. And he had long been aware (and quite bitter about the fact) that the old man knew what had been done to him for so long. For most of his life.
Harry turned his back to Dumbledore so that he could face his pale lover. "Draco. . . isn't this what we came here for? We have to know what's going on." He pleaded, despite the very real reservations that he also had.
Draco freed his arm from Harry's hold and rubbed his temples and face for several long moments, as the two others watched him expectantly. "Okay," he finally conceded. "What do I have to do?"
((You deserve every single thing that has ever happened to you. You do it to yourself and your stupidity could topple great kingdoms. Just wait and see if this next disaster cannot be blamed entirely on yourself.))
"You two might want to take a rest first. This doesn't have to be done immediately." Was that a hint of wishfulness in the aged voice?
"No," Draco responded firmly and immediately. He was not going to stay within the clutches of the old coot any longer than he had to, nor did he want to put off dealing with the voice. And he certainly didn't want to give himself the time to experience another hallucination. "I want to do this now."
"Just come to me then. I will place my hands on your face and see what I can be seen. You will likely have flashbacks about whatever your psyche in preoccupied with, but it shouldn't hurt beyond that." Dumbledore's voice was tired and melancholy: he knew he was going to hurt this poor boy even more. No matter what the spell came up with, Draco would suffer for it, and he deeply regretted this fact. More than once the old man had thought that Draco was probably the greatest victim of this war and that he would have been far better off dead. But Draco didn't believe this and Dumbledore was convinced of the necessity of the Giver for the Light's ultimate victory. So many had died in the last months - allies, students, protégés, even friends. Even Minerva, his lover and greatest supporter, now lay recovering from a nearly fatal injury in the room behind his office. Each new death became easier as the total number grew, but he had begun to yearn for the day when death freed him from having to hurt the worthy for the benefit of the many. At what point did the good of the many no longer outweigh the good of the few, of the one? When did the ends no longer justify the means? Dumbledore knew that he had lost his ability to recognize this, but he also knew that he would not be able to rest until this war had seen its end. How he yearned for the day that he could leave this world and this awful role into which he had been cast. Or into which he had cast himself. Such distinctions had become inconsequential.
Draco approached him as the condemned would approach their execution. Harry followed, but kept a distance at a wave of a withered hand. Dumbledore stood and sadly regarded the broken boy before him, then he gently placed his wrinkled palms on either side of the smooth face. "Devo regardae che non po vuorae."
*
Draco screamed as he felt the agony of the Cruciatus pulse though his body. He had tried to take the pain silently, but even he had his limits - limits that his father and Voldemort were always capable of breaching. But just as he thought blissful unconsciousness was about to come, the torture stopped, allowing him to recover for an incoherent moment before it began again in a new form. Rough and bruising hands on his beaten body, forcing his legs apart, vaguely allowing him to register the imminence of the new torture, then he felt something ripping into and through him and he screamed again. Some remote sentience rebelled, refusing to let this happen again; but it was already happening again. He was being speared, skewered, and his head was violently smashing into the wall with every violent thrust, splitting open the thin skin covering his skull. The blood acted as a lubricant, but it wasn't anywhere near enough to compensate for the pain that rushed through every nerved in his abused body, radiating from the inside out, and as unconsciousness again approached, he heard familiar words muttered.
"Father!," he gasped, then he passed out.
*
Draco jerked away from Dumbledore so quickly that, on stumbling backwards, he lost his footing and crashed painfully to the marble floor. "You fucking bastard," he managed to wheeze between huge breaths. Harry was almost instantly beside him, cradling him. "What the hell did you do?," he accused.
Dumbledore looked rather pale himself. "Nothing. What you saw in your flashback was entirely a result of subconscious choice. Indeed, I received the distinct impression that you are rather obsessed with it."
"I wonder why," Draco snapped viciously, though his hands clung to Harry's support.
Harry wanted to leave Dumbledore's presence so much that he was willing to forgo anger in favor of acquiring the necessary information. Angrily, he demanded, "What did you find?"
"I can fix the problem," the old man replied sombrely.
"Like hell you can!," Draco cried, at the same time that Harry forced from gritted teeth, "What is the problem?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, both feeling and looking his age. This was not going to pretty; he could only hope that their hatred for him would not prevent them from finishing their work for the side of the Light (or had enough lines finally been crossed that both sides were merely different shades of grey?). "The Cruciatus has damaged and weakened your mind's natural defences - specifically, the ones that allow you to ignore seemingly irrelevant information, among others. As a consequence, your subconscious is registering the presence of a nearly undetectable spell that has been placed on you. The hallucinations and the voice you have been hearing are probably your psyche's attempts to counteract this spell."
((You see. Your own mind knows the truth about who you are. What you are.))
Harry was, momentarily, too stunned to react, this being not any of the possibilities he had been prepared for. Draco, however, had much quicker reflexes. "What was the spell meant to do?," he hissed dangerously.
In a rare display, Dumbledore exhaustedly pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was meant to make you more amenable to Harry here."
XXXXX
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Disclaimer: As always, I still own nothing. Though at least now my plot just may be getting original enough to be called my own.
Chapter 12: Questions and Answers
"My house was built for loving, not a theatre of war. . .
he's my man and I've been doing him wrong."
- Beth Orton, God Song
Harry's mind spun so fast that his consciousness could barely register the thoughts. Love? He knew that he wanted Draco - no one had ever excited him the way the blond Giver did. But no one riled him like Draco either; and he was convinced that this was because of Draco's. . . 'difficult' personality. Yet Harry felt strangely inclined to indulge him, but was this because of pity? Did he feel pity? He didn't think so. . . when he thought of Draco's pain, he swelled with anger and grief and he himself suffered. He didn't think he felt pity for him, he wanted to protect him and ease his misery. And the idea of changing Draco was absolutely abhorrent, as was the idea of forcing him back into whatever roles he always played. He wanted to. . . to be there to see Draco open up and discover his real self, to be the first to see what precious and fragile beauty lay underneath. He wanted to see Draco as he had nights ago, open and vulnerable, and racked with pleasure. Just the thought filled him with such emotion that it had to be love, didn't it?
((He can never love you. You are beneath him and shouldn't even be trying to hold him back. Even if he does say he loves you, it will only be to appease you so that he can use you. Watch him debate if its worth it.))
Draco frowned at him for a long time, watching Harry go through the inner debate, but finally the damage to his pride (all he had) grew too great; and he spun around and briskly strode out of the alley. "Harry wouldn't lie to me about something like that," Draco muttered to the voice.
"Wait, Draco!," Harry called, trotting after him onto the bustling street, where he made the same mistake he always did of grabbing Draco's arm. Draco, of course, ripped his arm away and continued on without even turning to him. "Leave it, Harry, I'm famished."
"Wait!," he tried again irritably. "You were right!"
That made Draco slowed in his tracks, though several jostles from fellow pedestrians got him walking again, though at a more reasonable pace. Harry took this as encouragement and continued, "You're right, I mean. Asking you to be nice was asking you to pretend. I'm sorry, that's not what I want and it's not fair to you. I really do want you to be yourself and I want to be there to see who that turns out to be. Because I don't think my life will be quite as worth living if you're not in it. I wouldn't even be alive if it wasn't for you, and Voldemort would be. It was your wand that I used to kill him. Give me time, I am definitely falling in love with you. But, for the moment, all I can do is swear that I'll protect you from your father, and everyone else; and that we'll find a way to deal with the voice. I am on your side, and yours above all others." He was not eloquent, but his words were heartfelt.
((Hahahaha. You can't seriously believe that load of swill!))
Draco felt himself quiver violently inside, but he didn't break his stride, and Harry gazed searchingly at an expressionless face (was that a fleeting grimace?), trying to avoid the oncoming walkers. Had he gotten through that thick skull? His concern was answered when he felt a soft, slender hand take his and grip it with surprising force. Harry turned his head back to face forward, sporting a silly and rather unexpected grin, though he felt like a bit of a retard (luckily, his self confidence was enough to deal with this). After several moments of giddiness, he thought to ask, "So, where are we going?"
"I thought we could find a supermarket and use your invisibility cloak to steal food," Draco replied smoothly, almost making Harry stop in his tracks.
"We can't do that! That's stealing!," he cried with righteous indignation.
"I know it is, that's why I called it that, but we need the food more than them. And you have no right to be outraged, I am well aware of the laxity of your moral code."
((Of course you are. After all, my little child slut, you corrupted him.))
Harry had no response to that, having been reminded of the fact he had done far worse in the name of necessity, but he definitely registered a grimace and a faint wince this time - he was beginning to become attuned the little reactions provoked by the voice.
"What did he say?," he asked darkly.
After a moment's hesitation, Draco replied with apparent indifference, "He says that I corrupted you. And then he called me names."
Again, Harry was almost stopped in his tracks. How he wished that they weren't having this conversation on the move! "You know that's absolute shite, don't you? The supposed laxity of my moral code dates back to fifth year, a year in which we barely had any contact. You have been the victim of it, not its cause. And besides, I hardly think myself corrupted!," he ended in a huff, as Draco spotted a Sainsbury's and dragged Harry across the street by his hand.
When Draco didn't reply, being too intent on getting food, Harry continued, "Is this the kind of shit he always says?"
It took a moment for Draco to tear his thoughts away from the food displayed in the shop they had just entered, but he finally answered absently, "Yes, worse sometimes. He's a real fucking asshole."
((No, sweetie. You're the asshole, I'm just the one doing the fucking. Even if I never am able to again, I'll do it forever in your dreams.))
"That's got to be the understatement of the century," Harry commented dryly. He smiled at Draco with wry amusement, which turned into genuine amusement at seeing Draco gazing hypnotically at a box of cereal. "Fancy the chocolate puffs much?"
Actually, Draco was rather horrified to see that the brown and orange swirling and bubbling and. . . twisting into a face, a face that leered suggestively and looked suspiciously like his father. He tried not to react, but he couldn't stop the blood from draining from his face, yielding a distinctly pasty color that Harry couldn't help but notice. "Draco, what is it?"
Draco forced his eyes from the cereal box, then forced a weak smile. He grabbed the nearest box that wasn't chocolate puffs and said, "Nothing. Uh, lets get this."
((Hahaha. Hallucinating now, are we? What will Harry think when he finds out that you're batty, on top of everything else?))
"Granola?," Harry asked sceptically, a little concerned.
"Get something else if you want. Lets just get out of here," he muttered, walking away. Harry grabbed a box of Apple Jacks and hid it, with the granola, under his invisibility cloak, then followed Draco out of the store. They found a park a couple of blocks away and sat on the grass to ravenously stuff handfuls of cereal into their mouths.
"So, any idea where we should go?," Harry asked with a mouthful of food.
"I don't suppose we can stay on the street? . . . I feel safe here. There's lots of people here, it'll be hard for my father to find me and almost impossible for anyone else," he replied longingly.
Harry frowned as he chewed. "I don't think so. First of all, we're gonna need showers eventually. Secondly, we can't stay here forever anyway. And finally, we need to get you help. If you really do have Voldemort rattling around your brain, then this is a serious matter. Surely you must realize that."
"Maybe it'll just go away." I am NOT crazy.
"What? Are you crazy?," Harry asked disbelievingly.
"I must be to but up with you, Potter," Draco answered angrily.
"Ugh. Not back to this again." Then he had a thought. "Listen. . . what about your mother? Can she help maybe? Surely not everyone in your family is a psychopath."
((Yes, Malfoy, tell him about your mother. You're becoming just like her, you know?))
"No, she can't," the blonde said bitterly. "She's a non entity."
Confused, Harry pushed, "What do you mean?"
Draco sighed. "She's autistic, she can't relate to the world beyond pleasantries and absolutely useless manifestations of absurdly powerful magic. Lucius only married her because her mother was a Giver and she has some latent powers that suggested she could be used to produce a child like me."
((Instability runs in families, but you probably don't need me to tell you that. There are certainly enough examples in your family to make it obvious. Join the club.))
Harry looked rather appalled, and Draco looked away into the distance. "I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.
"Don't be. . . So, who else? Now that we've established that everyone in my family is, in fact, mentally ill." Including me, his mind added. But he needn't have omitted it, for Harry was more than capable of hearing the unspoken words. He himself was concerned for Draco's state of mind - in general, really, but especially since being tortured by Voldemort.
The obvious solution would have been the Weasleys, had they not been dead - Harry grimaced at the memory. Draco probably would have refused that solution anyway; but the only other person Harry could come up with was Dumbledore, and he knew Draco wouldn't be amenable to that suggestion. Even Harry had his doubts about the Headmaster's trustworthiness. Whatever greater cause he was working for, he was certainly not on Draco's, or even Harry's, side.
"I would suggest Hermione or Ron, but I don't think they could help. And your father would find you at St. Mungo's."
"My father will eventually find me no matter where I am. I would suggest Pansy, and she probably could help hide me, but I doubt she could do anything about my. . . uh, other problem. If she's even alive," Draco concluded wistfully.
"Why wouldn't she be?," Harry asked apprehensively. He didn't know if he could stand any more disillusionment in the world; he could barely understand how Draco could continue to live such a bleak existence.
"We made a pact that if we were ever forced to join the dark side, we'd kill ourselves. Of course, being the bastard that I am, I made the pact knowing that I was already helping their side," Draco said derogatively.
((See? You betray everyone, you untrustworthy whore. If you loved Harry, you would leave him - for it's only a matter of time before you betray him.))
A flinch provoked Harry's question, "What is he saying now?"
With a resigned sigh and downcast eyes, the voice slowly wearing him down, Draco replied, "He's saying I should leave you before I betray you like I have betrayed everyone else."
Harry dropped the box of cereal and grabbed the limp hands, "Don't you dare! He's just trying to get you killed!"
Draco looked morosely into Harry's pleading eyes. "I don't know, Harry. What he says echoes my own thoughts so closely sometimes . . . I don't know what to believe."
Feeling somewhat desperate, Harry finally voiced his true thoughts. "We have to go to Dumbledore. No! Hear me out. . . The mediwitches and wizards at St. Mungo's haven't had much luck with this sort of thing, be it Voldemort's spirit or just an after effect of the Cruciatus. Whatever his loyalties and however sneaky his behaviour, he has never actually lied to me. I can't promise that it won't end undesirably, but at least Lucius won't dare to get you when we are with him. Besides, we can't just wait on the street until your father and his cronies do find us. We might be strong enough to fight him alone, but even we are not strong enough to take on a whole army."
Draco unhappily considered Harry's words and, while he was not convinced that Dumbledore was the answer, he was well aware of the truth of the rest of what he said. They couldn't just wait until his father found him - the wait would surely drive them both insane, especially if they were living on the street. So he nodded dejectedly, wondering why every time Harry convinced him if something, it felt like defeat. "Okay, Harry. You win again."
((There's a surprise: the weak, pathetic faggot conceding to the real man.))
*
Instead of going strait to Hogwarts, still Dumbledore's stronghold, Draco apparated them to Hogsmeade, saying that there was no way he was going to confront the Headmaster without a drink first. Harry felt oddly inclined to agree.
This turned out to be a very bad idea and the boys found the town in ruins. Most of the shops had been burnt out or abandoned, and there was no one in sight - not that they looked very hard, rushing instead for the secret tunnel to the school, though not without stumbling across a decapitated body. They both reached the underground passageway considerably worse for the wear; but it was the that Draco encountered his second hallucination, much more vivid that the last.
Lucius stood before him, his pants undone and his hands and manhood coated in blood. He sneered and said smugly, "So sweet you are. Such a tight ass. I never wanted children, but the Dark Lord was right about you. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Did you know that you had a twin sister? She probably would've been the better Malfoy, much healthier, but even as a toddler it was obvious who had the more useful genes."
"Draco?," Harry worriedly asked his petrified companion.
Lucius advanced on him, malice gleaming in his eyes, and Draco couldn't help but back away; but in his fear he stumbled and fell on to the floor, only to crawl backwards away from his towering father. Wasn't he much bigger than usual?
"I don't think I feel strong enough. We should do it again," Lucius growled, reaching out for his son.
"Don't! NO! I WON'T LET YOU!" Panic and hysteria raced through Draco as he tried to fight the larger man off.
"DRACO!" A sharp slap on his face made Draco blink and see Harry crouched next to him, a firm grip on each of his arms.
"Harry?," he gasped.
"What the hell happened?"
Draco had a pretty good idea what had happened and scrambled to his feet. "Uh. . . nothing. I'm okay now. Lets go." But he was too shaken to lie well, his thoughts reeling from what had happened and what his father had said, and it was obvious to Harry what had happened.
"What did you see?," Harry pressed, following Draco to a standing position.
Draco swallowed and started down the tunnel. "Really, I'm fine. Can we go please?"
But Harry wouldn't let him go - he grabbed Draco, with both arms and pulled him close before he could jerk away. "What did you see?," he asked again, softly, intimately. "Was it Voldemort?"
((No. The little slut only has rape fantasies about his first lover.))
Looking into open green eyes, Draco was compelled to be honest. "I saw my father, but he's gone now, right? So it's okay." He smiled weakly, his voice hiding repressed hysteria. Had he really had a twin sister? The idea was horrible, but incredible.
Harry kissed him tenderly, soothingly, teeth gently clinging to a soft lip. "We'll figure it out. . . We'd better go to Dumbledore now."
"That's what I've been saying," Draco replied with another meek smile, inching towards Hogwarts with Harry in his arms. Harry gave a supportive smile in return and moved with him. They reached the doorway then passed into Hogwarts proper, and then made their way to Dumbledore's office, meeting absolutely no one on the way. Harry made a few attempts at guessing the password (Snickers? Twix?), before the door swung open on its own and they climbed up the stairs to Dumbledore's inner layer, where the Headmaster sat in the large chair behind his gargantuan desk.
"Harry, Draco. I can't say I'm surprised to see you," stated the wizened voice.
Draco glared at him silently, and Harry took it upon himself to talk to the old man. "Yeah, well, I'm hardly surprised either. So, since you know so much, why don't you go ahead and tell us if you can help or not?"
His words came out a little more aggressive than he attended, but Dumbledore didn't appear to notice. "I'd rather hear it from you," he replied stoically.
Draco gripped Harry's arm, then interrupted before Harry could speak. "Voldemort is in my head, talking to me. Harry thought you could help," his voice more than matching Dumbledore's for its lack of emotion.
Bushy eyebrows frowned and the man was quiet for an uncomfortable moment. Finally, he spoke, gravely, "Not quite what I was expecting, but I might be able to help. It will, however, require a great deal of trust."
((Please. Just how stupid are you?))
It was Harry's turn to frown, but it was an impassive Draco, filled with suspicion, that asked, "What do you mean?"
Dumbledore reluctantly answered, "There is a rather unpleasant and quite obscure spell that allows the caster to scan another's mind. If you were willing, I could do this and uncover any hidden elements. Don't worry Mr. Malfoy. As I'm sure your aware, I already know your worst secrets - you have nothing to hide from me. But if Voldemort does, indeed, reside in your mind, then this is a very a serious matter."
"No shit," Draco retorted harshly. But the truth was, he didn't know what to do - he didn't think he could survive with the constantly degrading voice and escalating visual hallucinations. And he had long been aware (and quite bitter about the fact) that the old man knew what had been done to him for so long. For most of his life.
Harry turned his back to Dumbledore so that he could face his pale lover. "Draco. . . isn't this what we came here for? We have to know what's going on." He pleaded, despite the very real reservations that he also had.
Draco freed his arm from Harry's hold and rubbed his temples and face for several long moments, as the two others watched him expectantly. "Okay," he finally conceded. "What do I have to do?"
((You deserve every single thing that has ever happened to you. You do it to yourself and your stupidity could topple great kingdoms. Just wait and see if this next disaster cannot be blamed entirely on yourself.))
"You two might want to take a rest first. This doesn't have to be done immediately." Was that a hint of wishfulness in the aged voice?
"No," Draco responded firmly and immediately. He was not going to stay within the clutches of the old coot any longer than he had to, nor did he want to put off dealing with the voice. And he certainly didn't want to give himself the time to experience another hallucination. "I want to do this now."
"Just come to me then. I will place my hands on your face and see what I can be seen. You will likely have flashbacks about whatever your psyche in preoccupied with, but it shouldn't hurt beyond that." Dumbledore's voice was tired and melancholy: he knew he was going to hurt this poor boy even more. No matter what the spell came up with, Draco would suffer for it, and he deeply regretted this fact. More than once the old man had thought that Draco was probably the greatest victim of this war and that he would have been far better off dead. But Draco didn't believe this and Dumbledore was convinced of the necessity of the Giver for the Light's ultimate victory. So many had died in the last months - allies, students, protégés, even friends. Even Minerva, his lover and greatest supporter, now lay recovering from a nearly fatal injury in the room behind his office. Each new death became easier as the total number grew, but he had begun to yearn for the day when death freed him from having to hurt the worthy for the benefit of the many. At what point did the good of the many no longer outweigh the good of the few, of the one? When did the ends no longer justify the means? Dumbledore knew that he had lost his ability to recognize this, but he also knew that he would not be able to rest until this war had seen its end. How he yearned for the day that he could leave this world and this awful role into which he had been cast. Or into which he had cast himself. Such distinctions had become inconsequential.
Draco approached him as the condemned would approach their execution. Harry followed, but kept a distance at a wave of a withered hand. Dumbledore stood and sadly regarded the broken boy before him, then he gently placed his wrinkled palms on either side of the smooth face. "Devo regardae che non po vuorae."
*
Draco screamed as he felt the agony of the Cruciatus pulse though his body. He had tried to take the pain silently, but even he had his limits - limits that his father and Voldemort were always capable of breaching. But just as he thought blissful unconsciousness was about to come, the torture stopped, allowing him to recover for an incoherent moment before it began again in a new form. Rough and bruising hands on his beaten body, forcing his legs apart, vaguely allowing him to register the imminence of the new torture, then he felt something ripping into and through him and he screamed again. Some remote sentience rebelled, refusing to let this happen again; but it was already happening again. He was being speared, skewered, and his head was violently smashing into the wall with every violent thrust, splitting open the thin skin covering his skull. The blood acted as a lubricant, but it wasn't anywhere near enough to compensate for the pain that rushed through every nerved in his abused body, radiating from the inside out, and as unconsciousness again approached, he heard familiar words muttered.
"Father!," he gasped, then he passed out.
*
Draco jerked away from Dumbledore so quickly that, on stumbling backwards, he lost his footing and crashed painfully to the marble floor. "You fucking bastard," he managed to wheeze between huge breaths. Harry was almost instantly beside him, cradling him. "What the hell did you do?," he accused.
Dumbledore looked rather pale himself. "Nothing. What you saw in your flashback was entirely a result of subconscious choice. Indeed, I received the distinct impression that you are rather obsessed with it."
"I wonder why," Draco snapped viciously, though his hands clung to Harry's support.
Harry wanted to leave Dumbledore's presence so much that he was willing to forgo anger in favor of acquiring the necessary information. Angrily, he demanded, "What did you find?"
"I can fix the problem," the old man replied sombrely.
"Like hell you can!," Draco cried, at the same time that Harry forced from gritted teeth, "What is the problem?"
Dumbledore sighed heavily, both feeling and looking his age. This was not going to pretty; he could only hope that their hatred for him would not prevent them from finishing their work for the side of the Light (or had enough lines finally been crossed that both sides were merely different shades of grey?). "The Cruciatus has damaged and weakened your mind's natural defences - specifically, the ones that allow you to ignore seemingly irrelevant information, among others. As a consequence, your subconscious is registering the presence of a nearly undetectable spell that has been placed on you. The hallucinations and the voice you have been hearing are probably your psyche's attempts to counteract this spell."
((You see. Your own mind knows the truth about who you are. What you are.))
Harry was, momentarily, too stunned to react, this being not any of the possibilities he had been prepared for. Draco, however, had much quicker reflexes. "What was the spell meant to do?," he hissed dangerously.
In a rare display, Dumbledore exhaustedly pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was meant to make you more amenable to Harry here."
XXXXX
If you're dying to find out what happens, REVIEW! The next chapter is, like, an hour away from completion. Now its up to you to show me how much you want it. And hey, threats, begging, whatever works. =-)