DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author Notes: This story contains both SLASH and blatant drug use. If these themes offend you, please do not read this story!
The characters in this story may seem a little out of character, but give it a chance. Consider this story a "coming of age" tale about the characters developing into adults. I anticipate many flames telling me off for my OOC-ness. So be it.
This story is COMPLETE. I will post new chapters weekly.
WARNING: SEVERE ANGST. That is all.
Chapter Seven: Haunted
The Mississippi's mighty, but it starts in Minnesota
at a place where you could walk across with five steps down.
And I guess that's how you started--like a pinprick to my heart,
and at this point you rush right through me and I start to drown.
And there's not enough room in this world for my pain.
Signals cross and love gets lost and time past makes it plain,
of all my demon spirits I need you the most.
I'm in love with your ghost
Dark and dangerous like a secret, it's whispered in a hush.
When I wake the things I dreamt about you last night make me blush.
And you kiss me like a lover, and you sting me like a viper,
I go follow to the river, play your memory like the piper.
And I feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me.
But I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly.
And dance the edge of sanity--I've never been this close.
I'm in love with your ghost
Oh, unknowing captor, you'll never know how much you pierce my spirit
I can't touch you--can you hear it?
A cry to be free, or I'm forever under lock and key as you pass through me.
Now I see your face before me; I would launch a thousand ships
to bring your heart back to my island as the sand beneath me slips.
As I burn up in your presence and I know now how it feels
to be weakened like Achilles with you always at my heels.
And my bitter pill to swallow is this silence that I keep
that poisons me, I can't swim free, the river is too deep.
Though I'm baptized by your touch, I am no worse at most.
I'm in love with your ghost
"Ghost" by the Indigo Girls
The rain was relentless, coming down in sheets, blurring the world into a surreal vision of misty gray. There was a large crowd in attendance. It was, all things considered, the social event of the season. The young Malfoy heir was dead, slain by Harry Potter, the very one who saved the wizarding world from the clutches of evil.
The mourners consisted of friends of the family, the Hogwarts faculty, the entire population of Slytherin House (both past and present) and business associates of Malfoy Enterprises. Even Ginny Weasley was there, gripping Pansy's arm tightly. All of the attendees huddled under individual umbrellas while glancing nervously at the ever-darkening sky.
The ebony casket containing the remains of Draco Malfoy sat under a black awning to protect it from the rain. At the foot of the casket, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood, holding each other, tears streaming down their faces. The casket was closed, at the request of Narcissa, who could not bear to see her son's emotionally void face.
At the opposite end of the casket, just outside of the protective awning, stood Neville Longbottom, his dark hair plastered to his head, rain rolling down his face. The Malfoys had tried to persuade Neville to stand with them under the shelter, but Neville had shook his head resolutely.
Neville's arms hung limply at his side, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Draco's final home. He hated that black box. He hated it for having what was rightfully his. His hope, his love, his truth were mere moments away from being buried beneath the earth forever.
Neville shivered, but not from the freezing rain or biting wind. His body and soul ached for Draco. He wanted to crawl into that hated box and be buried alongside his love. How could he go on without Draco? Where would he go? Why would he go on? He had anticipated living his life with Draco by his side. And now, he was alone. He hated that black box. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to fall down dead.
A rumble of thunder rolled over the funeral procession, causing the crowd to shift nervously.
Neville had run out of tears the day before. His body had lost the capability to form them. He had not eaten or had so much as a sip of water since the night of Draco's sudden demise. He had, in fact, not spoken one word since the pronouncement of death in the Slytherin dungeon. He had no words for the searing pain that was coursing through his soul, and there were no thoughts that contained anything as important as his pain. Everyone had tried to get him to speak or eat, but he only shook his head or walked away. He wanted his pain. Draco was dead and he survived. He needed his pain.
He became dimly aware that the officiating wizard was addressing him from underneath the shelter, although Neville could not process the words being said. The somber wizard stepped into the rain with a long, slender box in his hands. The man held it up for Neville, who looked down at it without accepting it. There, nestled in a bed of emerald velvet, was Draco's cherry wood wand. The rain promptly saturated the fabric and began to fill the box. The wizard pushed it toward Neville, insistently, his lips forming words (Take it, son).
Neville reached into the box and took the proffered wand. A rush of living energy surged through Neville, sparking a fresh wave of welcome but unexpected tears to spill from his dark eyes. Draco's wand, Draco's energy.
The wizard stepped back under the awning, his robes already drenched, and ended the ceremony by inviting the mourners to return to the warmth of Malfoy Manor. The group moved as a phalanx and began the trek across the large lawn to the Manor, which loomed large and impressive before them.
Lucius opened a large umbrella bearing the Malfoy crest and guided Narcissa into the rain. As the couple passed Neville, who had not moved since accepting Draco's wand, Lucius stopped and looked at him. Neville looked horrid. There were dark circles under his eyes, several small cuts on his cheek stood out against his abnormally pale skin. And he was shivering violently, from the cold or from grief, Lucius did not know. He had wanted Draco's lover by his side during the funeral, but Neville had steadfastly refused. It was as if the miserable boy was taking comfort in the cold, hard rain.
Lucius laid a gentle hand on Neville's thinning shoulder. Neville flinched and shrank away from Lucius' touch. Narcissa exchanged a confused glance with Lucius, but Lucius dutifully dropped his hand, not wanting to increase Neville's discomfort.
"Stay here as long as you like," Lucius said, his voice rough with tears. "I have told them not to—they won't—"
Lucius swallowed convulsively, unable to force the word "bury" from his lips. He could not fathom the thought that his beloved son would soon be under the earth, a feast for the worms.
"I will see that they give you as long as you need," he finally said. "Come up to the house when you are ready. Narcissa and I would like to talk to you."
Neville nodded jerkily, his wide eyes still fixed on the sleek black box holding his lover's body. He could not look at the surviving Malfoy man. The resemblance between father and son was too great, and looking at that familiar face would serve no purpose other than further crushing Neville's heart.
Lucius moved to pat Neville's shoulder, but thought better of it. He sighed heavily and began the long walk back to the Manor, leaving Neville alone in the rain.
The day slipped away before the Malfoys could scarce believe it. The people who had come to express their sympathies had long ago departed, leaving Malfoy Manor eerily quiet. Lucius compulsively opened the cupboard in the foyer to look at Draco's broom and Quidditch equipment, recently sent to them from Hogwarts. Narcissa stood by the window in the drawing room, her head bent, not wanting to look out at the Malfoy Cemetery. Before today, it had been one of her favorite places on the property. She would often walk there, running her hands along the carved letters on the tombstones, remembering each person's history or legend. She knew now that if she ever went back, it would be to sit by her son, and that thought tore her to shreds.
A bright light caught her eye and she looked out the window. The magical light that was set to trigger upon complete darkness had come one. Narcissa had been the one to insist upon a light. It was sad to her that the tombs should ever be in total darkness.
"Lucius," Narcissa called out urgently. "Come here! Look at this!"
Lucius shut the cupboard door and went to his wife with worried eyes. She gestured to him to look out the window. He squinted into the darkness, silently cursing the fact that his eyes were not what they had once been.
"Well, I'll be damned," Lucius breathed in disbelief. There, bathed in the magical light, stood Neville Longbottom, in the same exact spot as he'd been standing earlier. "Narcissa, that boy is still out there!"
"I assumed that he had gone with Pansy and Ginny Weasley," Narcissa said sadly. "Lucius, you have to go bring him in. He will catch his death--"
The mourning parents simply looked at each other, sharing their pain. Their only son was dead. He would never fly again. He would never inherit Malfoy Manor. He would never love again.
"I will go," Lucius said softly, kissing Narcissa's forehead. "We have lost one. I do not care to lose this one as well."
Neville's legs had started shaking two hours before Lucius made his way back down to the cemetery. Although somewhere deep inside Neville knew that he had to leave, he just could not do so. He did not want to.
The rain had not stopped for even a moment. Neville's clothes now weighed heavily on him, sticking to his skin. His head was spinning from his lack of nourishment and sleep. His hand cramped from clenching Draco's wand too tightly for too long. He swayed slightly, willing himself to pass out, inviting blissful unconsciousness.
Help me, Draco.
"Neville."
Neville's eyes slid shut, two tears seeping from beneath his lashes. Draco. He knew he was losing his mind, but he was adamant in his belief that if hearing and feeling and seeing Draco was the reward, then crazy he was happy to be.
"Neville," Lucius gingerly touched the hand that gripped Draco's wand. "It is time to come in."
The trembling teen slowly turned his head to look at Lucius. A tired but ecstatic smile lit Neville's face, joy dancing in his eyes. Lucius drew back his hand, curious as to the happiness on Neville's face.
"Draco," Neville croaked, his voice rusty from disuse. "Draco! They said you'd died!"
Lucius paused, taken aback. Draco?
Neville dropped the wand in his hand and threw himself at Lucius, wrapping his arms around the older man's waist. Lucius took a step back, reeling as Neville burrowed against his chest.
"Draco," Neville sobbed, clenching at Lucius robes. "Draco, you are alive! Or, or am I dead? I don't care. I'll be dead. I'll be dead!"
"Neville," Lucius voice was a mere whisper, pained by the boy's delusions. Hearing him cry out for his son was his just punishment, he knew. It was his drugs that had ultimately killed his son. "Draco is dead. You are alive."
"But you are here," Neville said forcefully, pulling Lucius more firmly against him. "I can feel you and smell you and hear you. You are here."
"Neville, stop."
Neville shuddered and shook his head. "Dragon."
"No," Lucius gently pried the hysterical boy off of him and held him at arm's length, bending slightly to look into Neville's wild eyes. "Look at me. I am not Draco, I am Lucius. Lucius, not Draco."
Neville's chocolate eyes swept over Lucius face, slowly realizing his mistake. His face contorted in agony. How could he have mistaken Lucius for Draco? Lucius' mouth was slightly broader; his eyes were closer to blue than Draco's beloved grey. The hands, though...
Neville recoiled in horror. Those hands! They were exactly like Draco's! He twisted frantically, trying to escape Lucius grip. Draco is dead.
"Neville," Lucius barked, shaking the boy slightly. "Stop it! Think of Draco! What would he think?"
"He would think I am a failure," Neville rasped, his energy rapidly failing. The world was closing in on him. He would be out cold in a matter of minutes. "I did not save him. He died. He is fucking dead because of me. He died and it was my—"
"No, boy," Lucius shook him again, causing Neville's head to snap back. "It was me. It was Potter. It was not you."
The Slytherin boy's knees buckled suddenly, sending him to the muddy ground. He lurched forward in the mud, his hands sinking into the sodden earth. Lucius squatted next to him and picked up Draco's dirty wand.
"You've got to get up," Lucius placed his free hand on the top of Neville's head. "Live. Draco would have you live."
"I've got nothing," Neville whispered brokenly. "Draco was my life."
"You've got your family," Lucius countered.
"No," Neville shook his head underneath Lucius' palm. "The break. Draco. They could not accept it. I am alone."
Lucius closed his eyes against the rain. He knew that had Draco lived, Neville would have been a permanent fixture in life at Malfoy Manor. He had been privileged enough to see their love first hand. Draco had, during his week suspension, yammered incessantly about Neville. Several times, Lucius had caught his son scribbling out rambling letters and hastily drawn sketches. He smiled, thinking back on his conversation with his son. One of their last.
"What are you drawing?" Lucius peered over his son's shoulder.
"Nothing," Draco hurriedly slid his parchment under a book on his desk, his cheeks flushing.
"So, that definitely was not a vision of Neville leaning against a wall?" Lucius teased. "And he certainly wasn't smiling."
"Dad," Draco groaned, burying his face in his arms, utterly humiliated. Only his father could reduce him to a blushing child.
"Too bad," Lucius squeezed Draco's shoulder reassuringly. "It was quite good."
"You think so?" Draco peered up at his father curiously.
"Oh, yes."
"Do you—" Draco gulped, suddenly nervous. "Do you want to see them?"
"I would be honored."
Lucius, in fact, was thrilled to sit by his only child as they looked through nearly a hundred sketches. They were all of Neville. Some depicted just Neville's hands or eyes ("my favorite bits," Draco had shyly confessed.); some showed Neville and Draco, wrapped together in a sweet embrace; some were of Neville smiling. Mostly though, there were images of a sleeping Neville.
"He doesn't know I draw him," Draco admitted, running is finger over a sleeping Neville's lips. "But I just sit there and watch him sleep. He is so trusting. Anyone could hurt him."
"But you won't?" Lucius asked curiously.
"I'd die first."
Lucius opened his eyes, his heart aching at the memory of his son's words. He wanted to uphold Draco's intentions to care for Neville.
"Get up, Neville," Lucius grasped Neville's arms and pulled him to his feet. "We are your family now. You will live here at the Manor with us."
Neville stood unsteadily, the rain still beating down on him unforgivingly. Lucius pressed Draco's wand into Neville's hand firmly.
"You are now the Malfoy heir."
It was three weeks before Neville returned to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The time he spent at Malfoy Manor was cathartic to his soul. He had been able to while away many hours in Draco's room, touching his clothes, reading his books, sleeping in his bed. Lucius had presented him, several days after the funeral, with Draco's sketchbook. Neville had not known that Draco was such a proficient artist. He was grateful for the book of drawings, as it reaffirmed that Draco had indeed loved him.
With the knowledge of that love firmly ensconced in his heart, Neville entered the Great Hall on the Monday morning that he returned. He left his trunk in the entrance hall, not able to bear the thought of his cold and empty bedroom in the Slytherin dungeons.
His entrance was met with sweeping silence. He had lost weight and his eyes were sunken, making him look extremely sickly. His sleek black robes hung loosely from his frame and his movements were slow and deliberate. He held his head high and moved toward the Slytherin table. There was a two-person wide gap in the crowd where Draco and Neville had always sat. Neville made his way to that gap and calmly sat in his space.
Don't look at Draco's seat.
Despite his own warning, he turned his head slightly to look at the empty space beside him. His heart lurched and he suddenly did not feel like eating. He jerked his eyes away from the horribly empty bench and turned to Pansy, who was watching him with haunted eyes.
"Hello, Pansy," he smiled weakly.
"Neville," Pansy swallowed thickly and put her hand on his wrist. Her eyes were wide and concerned. "Are you—?"
"Please don't, Pansy," Neville cut her off quickly. "I will be fine if we just don't talk about him. Please."
Pansy nodded, understanding perfectly. She had been beyond consolation herself. Draco had been her best friend and constant companion for nearly fifteen years. And now, suddenly, she was alone. She needed to remain close to Neville, for her own sanity.
"Are you going to classes then?" Pansy asked, spooning oatmeal into a bowl for Neville.
"Yes," Neville yawned, a familiar exhaustion settling into his bones. He made a note to see Madam Pomfrey about a sleeping draught. "I need to get back to normal life."
The pair sat in companionable silence as they munched through their breakfast. Neville watched the students in the Great Hall avoid looking at him. He could feel their curiosity. He wished that they would all bugger off.
His eyes sought out the Gryffindor table, sweeping over the montage of blondes, brunettes and red heads, wanting to find that one raven-haired boy who was the reason for the unbearable silence at the Slytherin table.
Harry sat surrounded by the usual suspects: Hermione, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Colin. Ginny, however, was not there. Neville scanned the table for his friend.
The small red head sat at the very end of the table, alone. Her face was bent low to the table and her back was hunched, as if she was trying to curl up inside of herself. Neville's heart gave a tug of pity. Her unhappiness was palpable and Neville wanted to take that pain away.
"What is up with you and Ginny?" Neville asked of Pansy abruptly. Pansy's cheeks flushed pink and she fumbled with her fork. "I mean, are you two dating or anything?"
"She is confused right now," Pansy said defensively, her eyes landing on Ginny's back. "She does not want anyone here to know what is going on."
"What is going on?"
"We are talking," Pansy said hesitantly. "She left Potter. And she is very upset about Dra—about him—about Draco."
Neville brushed aside the anguished feeling inside of him. He would be hearing Draco's name, and he had to maintain his composure or else all of the power he had gained would dissipate, with no chance of it ever being regained.
"The Gryffindors have pretty much turned on her," Pansy continued quietly. "But she is loyal, so she refuses to come sit with us. She says that her parents would cheerfully murder her if she was caught at the Slytherin table."
"Okay, well," Neville took a sip of his juice and then got to his feet. "Why don't we go sit with her?"
"Are you mad?" Pansy looked up at Neville, her blue eyes wide. "Do you really think that those stupid Gryffindors would actually tolerate us in their presence?"
"I think that if Potter has an inkling of intelligence," Neville said bitterly. "Then he will give me wide berth."
Pansy reached out and grabbed Neville's hand. "Are you going to kill him?"
Several Slytherins turned to hear Neville's response to this question. They had all, at one point or another, wished Harry would die, but no one had ever seriously plotted to kill him.
"Oh, yes, I will kill him," Neville's eyes narrowed into the smallest slits, his voice low and dangerous. A collective gasp swept over the table. "Now, are you coming?"
Pansy was stunned silent, but rose, still clasping Neville's hand in her own. She had already resolved to stand by Neville, regardless of what happened. If he landed in Azkaban, well then, she would make the monthly visit up there and take him biscuits and fresh clothes. She shook her head, berating herself for having such little faith in Neville's ability to kill Potter without getting caught.
Neville entwined his fingers with Pansy's and started the walk to the Gryffindor table. Several Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs watched their progress with wide, scared eyes. At the staff table, Dumbledore motioned to Professors MacGonagall and Snape to go after the pair.
"Ginny," Neville laid his free hand on the small girl's shoulder. Ginny tensed reflexively. "Ginny, it's me."
Ginny whipped around quickly, her hair cascading over her shoulders in a tangled mess. Her blue eyes were sunken into their sockets, the skin beneath blackened from exhaustion. She looked both surprised and relieved to see Neville before her. Jumping to her feet, she threw her arms around Neville and buried her face against his neck. Pansy released Neville's hand so that he could completely embrace her.
Ginny's slender body shuddered as she gave into great heaving sobs. "I'm sorry, Neville, I'm so sorry."
Pansy covered her face with her hands, hot tears springing to her eyes. She hated herself for crying in front of her enemies. Just as she was about to turn and run from the Hall, she felt Neville's strong arm wrap around her waist and pull her close. She turned and put her arms around both Ginny and Neville, her face smashing against Ginny's shoulder.
Professor MacGonagall, arriving on the scene, opened her mouth to speak, but Professor Snape laid a restraining hand on his colleague. She turned to look at the Potions Master quizzically.
"There is no harm being done here, Minerva," Snape said quietly, his eyes on the desperately sad trio. "Let me talk to them."
"Fine, Severus," MacGonagall stepped back, allowing Snape to approach the group who was drawing so much attention to itself.
Neville looked at his head of house levelly, his arms tightening around the two crying girls. His gaze was steady and confident.
"Longbottom," Snape nodded by way of greeting.
"No," Neville shook his head. "I'm no longer a Longbottom."
"What?" Snape's eyes narrowed, wondering if the rumors that Neville had lost his mind were true.
"I am a Malfoy," Neville told him, a hint of pride coloring his voice. "Or to be more exact, I am the Malfoy heir."
Snape was speechless. The Malfoy heir? Had Lucius actually made this boy his heir? He scanned Neville's features for signs of lying, but found none. The boy was staring at him as if daring him to challenge his declaration.
"Fine," he finally said, deciding to check the facts for himself as soon as breakfast was over. "Mr. Malfoy, then. I think it would be best if the three of you retire to the Slytherin Common Room for the morning. I'll excuse you from your classes."
Neville nodded and shifted to gently guide the two girls out of the Great Hall. Behind him, he heard Professor MacGonagall ordering her Gryffindors to stop staring and return to their breakfast.
Harry Potter watched the sad threesome leave the Great Hall from beneath lowered lashes. It would not do for him to be caught staring at Draco Malfoy's boyfriend. Not in the current climate. Harry knew that every Slytherin in the room had their eyes trained on his figure, waiting for an excuse to attack. He could feel the sizzle of excitement. The Slytherin leader had at long last returned and that house was once again alive.
Harry spooned food into his mouth, oblivious as to what it was he was eating. He had lost the ability to taste on the night Draco Malfoy died. Madam Pomfrey had called Harry's reaction "shock". Yes, shock would accurately explain the feelings raging through Harry. How was he to know that Malfoy was going to drop dead at his feet? His enemy for nearly seven years was gone and he had been the cause. Yes, of course he was shocked.
He had not attended the funeral. Why would he? He was not sorry to finally be rid of the spineless prat. He had heard from school gossip that Neville had stood in the rain by Draco's casket for over eight hours. Harry shook his head and rolled his eyes. He could not grasp the concept that Draco Malfoy had been able to engender anything but repulsion in another living being. Although everyone knew that Neville was not exactly right in the head. Perhaps Malfoy had used Dark Magic to control him...
Harry glanced up at the staff table. As usual, the Headmaster's piercing blue eyes were locked on him. What did the man want? Did he want Harry to cry? Did he want Harry to confess? Did the old man want him to throw himself in front of Neville and beg for forgiveness?
Fuck that. I'm glad he is dead.
A/N: Bless anyone who forgave me enough to read on! I hope you will carry on. There is, I assure you, method to my madness.