Atlantis

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Chapter Three

Shouldn't be this difficult to breath

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"You know why I'm here, don't you?" Professor Dumbledore asked, fixing a very disapproving look on to Draco. He blinked, tugging at the bounds keeping him tethered to the bed, then shrugged. Dumbledore sighed softly.

"You tried to claw Ronald Weasley's eye out. You could have blinded him, if Poppy hadn't seen him in time. As it is he'll be wearing an eye patch for months while his eye grows--"

Draco made a show of rolling his eyes. Yes, yes he understood all of that. He just wanted to know why this old coot was pestering him instead of Severus. The other man was really much better company than the headmaster was.

Dumbledore stared at him, expression going from scolding to worried. "You know my boy this would really be much easier if you would speak."

Draco just stared. Somehow or another Dumbledore would figure it out. He always did. Maybe he had some kind of psychic power or something. Finally Dumbledore blinked him the sighed and nodded, apparently reaching a decision.

"I hadn't…but I suspect it may be best coming from me and not one of the other students." Draco decided he didn't like the sound of that and turned his gaze to the glass pitcher sitting on the desk across the room from his bed. "The Hogwarts Express was attacked on its way here, by some of the remaining Death Eaters, looking for vengeance of some sort. Thankfully, injuries and casualties were minimal. However, it was unforeseeable that Cho Chang had changed sides and went after Mr. Potter-"

Draco held up a hand for Dumbledore to stop. He was already tired of the tale and just wanted to hear the end result, though he already suspected what he was about to be told."

"Severus and Mr. Potter both perished in the fight."

Draco arched an eyebrow. Potter was dead? Is that why the Weasel had decided to join the rest of the deeply disturbed down here? Couldn't take the pain?

Draco really wanted to think something scathing about Weasley's apparent inability to cope with a little bit of loss but he found that his chest ached and something in his head was wailing and he knew why… Severus was dead. The man had been far from a saint or anything of that matter, but he'd been one of the few to actually help him when he'd needed it.

Not to mention the only family Draco had left.

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Draco Malfoy

Journal Entry Six

Year Seven

Number: 191213

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I don't like this whole…writing thing and I certainly don't like the idea of someone reading this later but…what's it matter anyway?

"Malfoy." The cold voice reached out and seemed to seep into my body, waking me from my restless sleep. I opened my eyes slowly, as they'd crusted shut with a mixture of sleep, sweat, and blood after I'd passed out.

My arms were stretched above my head, as I was suspended for what looked like a beam in the ceiling by silver chains. My feet just touch the floor, which was cool and slick to the touch. Or had been, I was kind of numb now. I wondered aimlessly how long I'd been up here. I found I didn't mind this so much…but before, that's what had been bad. This was almost a walk in the park compared to that.

I recalled my father telling me once that the worst torture a person could endure was the lost of control over oneself and that Death Eaters were masters of that art. I'd learned that this was very much the truth. There is nothing quite as…humiliating and soul-crushing as losing control of your body under the hands of someone you hate.

I would have preferred they'd killed me, to be brutally honest. At least then it would have been quick. It'd been so long since my parents had vanished, so long since I'd been placed under constant supervision…and then, finally, the Dark Lord had grown wary of mollifying me and decided to drop the act he had his followers putting on for me.

He had no need for me after all, what was I but a foolish boy? He'd have seen me dead, but decided that his followers were entitled to a warm body for their efforts.

Severus Snape, my godfather as well as my parents' best, and maybe only true, friend. He had been surprisingly absent the last few…however long it'd been. I'd lost track of days and nights and it'd all sort of blended together in my mind. It was like on continuous nightmare, stretching on for hours and hours with no end in sight…

"I hear you've been stubborn." He said, crossing his arms over his chest. I smiled crookedly. If by stubborn he meant unwilling to be anything but smug and lofty, as Malfoys were taught to be early on, than yes…I'd been stubborn. You could never let them see you break.

You took in the pain, swallowed the humiliation, rode out the suffering, and accepted the ugliness they inflected upon you because…because the moment you let yourself slip they had won. But if they grew weary of you and killed you, you'd won.

I didn't know if they'd grow weary before I cracked. I could fell the mask slipping away already. As the days wore on, becoming an abstract painting in my brain, and one torture bleed into another, I was beginning to forget things.

Forget the proper response, forget what my parents would have done…I was forgetting why I was going this far. Even forgetting who I was at times.

The pain was overwhelming and it made my mind shut down at times. It was like I could see things, through the eyes of some distant unattached person, but I didn't understand them anymore.

I wondered if that had anything to do with the numbness setting into my body.

"And to think, your father doubted your Malfoy Pride." Severus said, eyes roaming my body. "You are aware your parents are dead, aren't you?"

I nodded. I'd known the very first day that they were gone. I was many things, but I would never be accused of being a fool. Not to my face at least.

Calloused hands touched my cheek and I jerked back on instinct, bile rising in my throat. No more hands…god, I couldn't take anyone else touching me. I didn't want anymore hands, any more…bodies. I couldn't take it, those touches in mockery of gentle caresses…

His hand stopped and for a moment it just hung there, unmoving and rigid, before he dropped it to his side and turned away from me. His hands clenched and I sighed, slumping forward.

I wanted him to kill me. I think I would have appreciated that more than anything. I managed to say as much, though it was far from easy. Nary a sound had left my lips in a very long time and my voice was dry and hoarse with disuse.

He shut his eyes. "And why would you offer me the esteemed pleasure of ending your life?"

"Because if you do it," My voice sounded so empty to my own ears. "I know it'll be because you care. If they do it, its because they've gotten bored."

He was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Very profound. I suspect you've have much time to think. I will…see what I can do. One more day Draco, and you'll get out one way or another."

I closed my eyes and just hung there, considering that. One more day.

One more.

One more.

I'd been here that long. One day would be fine.

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Ron sighed, rubbing his wrists anxiously as he watched the scene. Mourning…everyone was mourning. The Great Hall was done in black and every table was solemn, save the Slytherin Table. They all looked smug, as if they'd triumphed over something.

And they had, after a fashion.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Dared-To-Live, the Golden Boy, the one who stood to oppose their lord even at the cost of his own life…had finally done just that. Lost his life.

And Severus Snape was finally exposed for what he was. A spy, a betrayer, one who had turned his back upon Voldemort and dared to take information to Dumbledore and the side of Light, sending their best laid plans into shambles.

Severus had caused almost as much, if not more, trouble and failure than Harry Potter had managed to.

Dumbledore rose to give his little speech and Ron lashed out, kicking down the screen. They were all watching on an enchanted screen the memorial service for the two fighters. (Except for Seamus, Dean, and Malfoy, who were all absent) Ron really wasn't in the mood for it.

Professor Bare just shot him a long-suffering look, of one who was used to the mood swings of teenage boys, then set about setting the screen back up. He stormed out, at a loss for what else he could do, and went down the first hall he saw.

He didn't know where it led, but was content to fallow it until he managed to get rid of the…emotions that threatened to spill over. Any mention of Harry made his entire…being ache with a sort of pain he would have never imagined. All consuming numbing pain.

And he couldn't get the scene out of his head. Cho Chang in all her tall toned glory, had raised up her wand to hex her hapless boyfriend, who could only stare with wide green eyes.

Then Snape, coming from almost no where, and moving in the line of the shot. Then the flash, purple and green light, filling the train and…nothing.

Absolutely nothing. To him it was like shutting his eyes and then opening them in the infirmary, to see Remus holding a crying Hermione as Dumbledore broke the news.

Then black again…

He'd failed his best friend. Fucking…failed.

He had…

What?

He took a step back and peered into a room. Inside were a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, a desk, and a bookshelf. Against he far wall, next to the desk, was a window seat which gave a nice view of the lake. Half of the window was underwater and Ron could see mere people swimming past.

The memory of the encounter he'd had with them in his fourth year made his chest tighten up.

Then his attention turned back to the bed, where Draco Malfoy was strapped down. His face was turned from Ron and towards the window and his eyes were open, but seemed to be staring into nothing.

That was something Ron understood. For a long time he'd felt…nothing. He'd seen nothing, felt nothing, had been…nothing but numb. He'd rather enjoyed that.

Then Draco glanced over at him and Ron noted that his eyes were blood shot and his skin was stained with tracks left by tears. Ron blinked, a little taken aback, then looked around.

Suddenly he felt as if he were intruding upon a…very intimate moment, not meant for his, or anyone else's eyes. Maybe…Especially not his eyes.

He really didn't like this sudden stirring in his chest at the sight of Draco Malfoy, his enemy and bane upon his life, crying for…crying for what, he didn't know. He didn't want to know, because knowing would make it real and he didn't…he couldn't have it be anymore real.

None of this could be real. None of it.

He wouldn't let it be real.

Because if this was real then Harry was really gone, Seamus was really fucked up, Dean was really…something, and he was really in here and insane and…he didn't want to be crazy. He didn't want to be here.

He couldn't let this be real.

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Ronald Weasley

Journal Entry One

Seventh Year

Number: 071823

The subject of this first entry, according to Professor Bear, is when my 'self-destructive' behavior began and how it spiraled out of control. I, of course, have no idea what the hell that means, and thus I'm not sure how the answer it, but I think I have a general sort of idea, maybe.

It was in my fifth year, after Sirius died. I was just sitting with Harry, because he was crying. He wouldn't let anyone else see it, but I'm good old dependable Ron, so it's okay to let me see this sort of thing. He doesn't have to be strong around me if he didn't want to.

I had my legs stretched out in front of me and for some reason that I can't remember his head was pillowed on my lap and I was running my fingers through his hair.

And, for just a moment, I hated him. Hated the death that followed him like a plague, hated the danger that seemed to be more reliable that me at times…the only thing you could even count on where Harry was concerned. I hated the self-hate I saw in his eyes, hated the way he was slowly being pushed to a edge…

What edge I didn't know, but I knew he wasn't the Harry I'd met at King's Cross five years ago, and I hated him for changing. I hated him for our second year and putting my sister in danger. I hated him for nearly having me eaten by spiders and killed in a chess game.

I hated him for every injury I'd ever gotten, for every time I'd had to put something on hold because Harry needed his every faithful best friend at his side. I hated him because I was so damn dependable, because I was expected to be at his side.

I hated him for…everything.

And then he looked up at me, with these glassy emerald eyes, all red around the green and the black in the center much wider than it'd been before. His nose was running a little bit and his cheeks were splotchy and red and he looked…so pathetic.

And I wondered how I could hate something so weak and frail and I wondered why it had to be him and I wondered if I had any right to not want to be at his side if he needed me.

I should have been…grateful or something. At least someone wanted me. Most people didn't give me a second thought, didn't need me around…

Harry was different. I don't know why.

And I hated myself for hating him.

I think that's when it began, in a way. But not how it became truly…bad.

I sat up, sucking in breath as if I'd just been saved from drowning. My entire body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and I remember how it gleamed in the moonlight. It was our sixth year and the dorm was as silent as it was supposed to be at this hour. (Around two in the morning if I recall correctly)

And I'd just had a nightmare.

I'd turned my back on everyone. Turned my back, left them alone, betrayed them, and just…stopped. I didn't come when they called, I didn't listen when they spoke…

And they'd died. All of them. Everyone I'd ever known and cared about lay at my feet, cold and empty because I'd forgotten what I was there for. Because I'd been selfish, because I'd wanted to be normal. Because I wanted to be 'Ron', not…not what they made me into.

My heart hammered in my chest and I felt sick to my stomach all of a sudden. I all but fell from my bed and ran to the bathroom. I made it just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet. My throat burned and my eyes watered and one of my hands clutched my arm so hard I felt a trickle of blood flow down my arm. I say on the floor for a moment, not daring to so much as breath.

Then I looked down at the small half-moon cuts I'd made and ran my finger tips over the rapidly cooling stream of blood. The pinpricks of pain distracted my brain and began to push the dream away. Already the image of eyes, wide open and lifeless eyes, staring at me accusingly, demanding to know where I'd been, what I'd done, why I'd failed them…

Distraction. I needed…a distraction. Pain was a distraction.

I needed pain.

Pain is truly a funny thing. An addicting thing. You hurt and suddenly your body sends all sorts of fun chemicals through your bodies, because your brain is sending little pain messages all over the place and your body instinctively wants to heal itself.

What does your body care if you're the one hurting it? It still gives you that little boost and suddenly all the hurt fades away and there is this…wonderful sort of floating feeling, a high almost, that you want more and more. That you need.

I needed it so much. I needed to feel okay. I needed to be happy. I needed to forget that I hated my best friend and everything he stood for, because he wasn't really any of that stuff. I hated him for being weak when he should have been strong. I hated that I had to be strong for him…

Because I couldn't even be strong for myself. I didn't know how.

Pain can come in a variety of ways and I'd like to think I'd explored a few of them…some are more effective than others, some are easier to hide, some make you sick and wear away at your body, slowly but surely killing you, and others still are 'typical'.

But I think pain is one of those constant things, one of those absolutes in life. The only thing you can be sure about every day of your life is that you will feel pain at some point and that, eventually, you will die. You can't be sure when which is going to hit, or if pain will lead to death or if death will be painful…

But you can be sure they will be there.

But you aren't supposed to be sure. You aren't supposed to think about those sort of things, because its not normal or okay to think about what death would be like or want to analyze all of the types of pain and part of me doesn't really get why.

Then again, I don't get much of anything.

I think I used to get things. I guess I must have gotten something to be good ole' dependable Ron, I must have understood things once upon a time.

It is really hard to remember.

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Don't you love the completely random length of these chapters…?

Saturn: You actually pegged Seamus' dilemma pretty well and, by default, Dean's problem. Seamus seems happy like this but he can't really be happy because happiness is the thing that happens when you're no longer sad or upset and as far as Seamus is aware he's never not happy. Confused, yes, but not upset. Dean however doesn't really realize this, for all his Seamus based wisdom, and so as much as he wants his Seamus back he doesn't want to risk breaking him further by telling him the truth about what happened to him. He thinks Seamus is happy and so he's content to leave it at that. We will be talking about Travis later, he actually has a role (that's why he keeps popping up) and at the moment the boys are stuck in this…space of not knowing about the outside world so, by default, neither do we. I like the rambling, it means you're thinking which means I'm doing a good job.

Mechante: Ahh…yeah. I'm not going to be posting as much until I graduate because of some…school related difficulties. But I promise something every week…what, I can't say, but something. And you're right about Dean, it sucks but at the same time he's got what he wants, however flawed Seamus may be at present. Dean was a little unbalanced before he killed anybody, but that's another chapter…

Meep: In my head, of course.