Hey, I'm sorry I haven't been replying to all the reviews I've been getting but it's getting to the point where I have so many that to reply to all of them would make my replies longer than the chapter and make you all very mad at me for making it look like the story is twice as long as it really is. I'm gonna try something new after this chapter and I know this sound horrible but…after this chapter I will reply to five reviews and five only, the best I suppose, and just complimenting me won't work although it will do wonders for my ego. Ask me questions, suggest things, give me ideas (I'm kinda running low on my own) That kind of thing. Don't hate me I just…I dunno, don't hate me 'k?

Dreams Of Remembrance

2.

The Artistry Of Pain

Harry pov

I sat in that compartment for the longest time, trying to think. To identify where the hell those memories had come from. Memories? How can I call them memories when they are simply images I think are a future past. A future past? Maybe I finally lost it. But, they were so real, it was like looking back into a past through your eyes, a past that didn't exist, that isn't real but at the same time is.

They stopped as well, once Draco left the room the images stopped as suddenly as they started. Draco? Why does it seem so natural to call him Draco? Was that last image true? That horrid vision with Draco covered in bleeding wounds and badly healed scars, that voice, his voice, broken as if filled with tears; and only two words, 'my father'. It's like a broken jigsaw puzzle but with only a handful of pieces how can it ever make a complete picture?

I touch my neck and tilt my head down, "What do you make of it Proscrit?"

Proscrit uncoiled himself to raise up and look into my eyes, "Master, I know not what to tell you but this, snakes are the creaturs of evolved evil, the form the devil first took. Because of this no god can touch us. A snake, never forgets anything."

"Then you know?" I ask.

"Yes, but as I said before, Master, I can tell you no more. But perhaps, an old saying of our kind, one I have said before. A snake, without a mate is forced to eat its own tail. If you do not solve your jigsaw puzzle you will destroy yourself."

"Thank you Proscrit, although I'm not sure if I can ever make sense of your riddles, or warnings."

"You will one day, Master."

I nodded and pulled one of my quill sharpeners from my robes, rolling up my sleeve, exposing rivulets of long past healed scars, curling and winding in exquisite patterns. Underneath clothing you could see the designs stemming directly from the center of the chest, as if my very heart was exploding and raining down my torso and arms. I hadn't shown anyone these, they were a representation of my pain, my pleasure, my life.

I'm not exactly sure, just how it was that I became enamored with pain. I was angry once, locked in my room with very little than my own precious belongings and myself, my own body. At first I could handle little more than a quick, shallow cut, maybe only a centimeter or longer. Now the wounds become as long and as deep as my body can handle, often ten centimeters square filled with intricate spiraling designs leaving the skin loose and filled with blood.

The scars, no, the artistry had reached past my wrists on both arms, down my chest and back. I now work down my legs and possibly even my hands. Yes, my hands should be next. I lick my pen knife to clean it of past, work. It's become slightly dull. I have to remember to sharpen it, harder to work with when it's dull.

Before I start I pull from my bag, bandages; hopefully enough to stop the bleeding so it won't show through. I'll do my right hand first, I can hope there won't be too many writing assignments this early in the year. Next on the list is an excuse as to what happened, I can't tell them the truth, whatever I say must be believable but embarrassing enough that they won't try to take me to the hospital wing. Ah, yes, I know.

I close my eyes and it takes hold of me, that plague of darkness, it wasn't before. Isn't that odd, before I enter this compartment before the memories, the plague was not. It was white and pure like liquid ivory. Then again, my mind tells me that it has been bled with darkness for a long time. The darkness is stronger as well, easier to control, it holds my point steady and sharpens my gaze until I see every pore and hair in my skin, a tapestry unto itself and; I shall destroy it.

I allow the knife to take a life of its own, to carve its own path. My magic, the beast that inhabits me, that I have just a year or more ago discovered how to manipulate. That day I went against everything I had been built up to be and I told no one about it. It wasn't until I had this power that I realized how insignificant that power my peers struggled to control. What they don't understand is that, you don't control it, it controls you. That is the key to true power.

Blood struggles to overflow, hinder my work, a thread of darkness escapes my control and presses the blood down, suppressing the blood, effective. I allow more magic to escape. A smile unwittingly crosses my face, it's eerie how enjoyable it's become and how, every time I find myself pressing my body more and more, testing it's threshold of pain. I've blacked out more times than I can count but when I wake I simply start anew.

Wait. Something invades my senses, outside the door. Draco, he's back but why? I look around. A bag near the window, he must have forgotten it. He's stopped? No paused, he's trying to discern as to whether I have left or not. The door opens and he steps through, looking behind him instead of to where he might have seen me. Closing the door, he turns around, his shocked expression indicating that he had been under the assumption the compartment was empty. Then his eyes drift down.

They lock onto my hand, now bleeding freely after my concentration broke. His face turns pale, his expression mingled to that of shock, horror, and repulsion.

"You forgot your bag." I murmur, a grin still suffices my face and I am unable to look away from his face.

"My god." He whispers, his usual finesse lost in the moment.

I look down at my blood drenched hand and glance back up, "What's the matter, Draco? You should be honored, you're the first person to see this."

Draco blinks rapidly and I am suddenly taken again by a vision, snow all around me and then Draco, looking at me; he smiles, not a smirk, a real smile. His cheeks are flushed with cold and his eyes glitter with happiness. He leans forward, closing his eyes and…

…A kiss…

I look back at Draco, he is turned away from me, moving to get his bag. I stand up as he tries to leave, grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face me, my blood dripping off my hand and soaking into his robes. He tries to pull away but I grab his face between my two hands, blood running freely unto his face, his eyes are wide with shock and possibly fear but he stops struggling. My thumb gently caresses his bottom lip, he pulls back slightly, away from my hands, like a faded beasts last struggle before yielding.

I lean into him, kissing him gently, deeply. A million feelings explode within me in a way that reminds me of…coming home. His face flushes and his eyes reluctantly close as if he no longer has control over his body anymore. He leans into me, bringing the kiss together, pressing into me. Then before the kiss has even begun it ends and Draco startles back to the reality of now. He pulls away, shock and horror mark his every feature. He leaves, blood upon him as if his wounds had reopened.

That image, this is more than I could ever believe or dream, the past, future. Draco and I…I will solve this puzzle and, and I will, make him remember, remember…loving me….

TBC