Disclaimer: I own nobody. Not yet anyway. MWAH HA HA HA.

NB. Please R+R. I'll love you forever.

Chapter 4: Roses

Draco found the first roses on the 23rd, on returning from a solitary lunch. He thought nothing of Harry's absence from the dinner hall. In fact, he was quite relieved by it.

There were half a dozen white roses arranged in a clear vase, a black ribbon tied around the neck, on the bedside table. Draco sat and stared at them- their long thornless, stems; their delicately curved petals; their seemingly pure innocence hiding a pathetic attempt at an apology- for a long time, his conflicting emotions simmering under his pale skin.

In the end he couldn't stand it any more. He fled the dormitory, ambled through the portrait and ran blindly forward. He ran and ran, not knowing where he was going, just needing to get away from those beautiful, complex flowers. Finally he threw himself down by the lake, barely aware of the snow numbing his arms and face, and cried, his tears melting the soft whiteness beneath him.

Harry watched from his window and tears silently coursed down his face to his upward curving lips.

When Draco returned resentfully to the dormitory his breath caught in his throat. He felt the strength leave his legs and, although he didn't collapse or stumble, he couldn't move forward.

The roses were glowing. The light was a misty blue, which seemed to radiate from the centre of each flower and threw light onto the bed and spilling onto the floor. The room got darker the further away from the flowers it was, but the only really dark places were in the corners.

Draco realised he'd been holding his breath and exhaled. The thought of the roses being a mere apology dissipated. He struggled for a moment to place the new emotion he felt for Harry, and was horrified when he recognised it as forgiveness. He covered the short space to the bedside table in two loping steps and dashed the vase against the far wall, sending shards of glass skittering over the wooden floor.

It wasn't until three months later, a little before the marks started appearing on his flesh but a little after he realised that he could never leave Harry, that he noticed the tear shaped burns in the yellowing wallpaper.

Bdbdbddbdbdb

The number of spells in that small book shocked me, but as soon as I saw it I knew that was the one I needed. That spell would get Draco back and punish him for daring to think that he could leave me.

Bdbdbdbddb

The next day there was a rose in each of the torch brackets on the walls. They lit the room perfectly, but as it grew dark Draco gathered them and threw them out of the window, the petals lighting the path of their descent.

He slept fitfully, partially because of the darkness, but mostly because he knew that he would take Harry back. He loved him, after all, and nobody wants to spend Christmas alone.

Bdbdbdbddbdbdbd

I remember everything He's ever done to me- the cuts and bruises, the regular hospital visits, the rape, the scars that run too deep to see- and I know what I have to do. I look into my face, no longer afraid that I'll run from it, and see the fear, which has been waiting just under my skin for fourteen years, surface, as it does every time He returns home with a frown and a creased brow. I look into my face, searching for the courage I need and, although I don't see it, I find hope, and that will have to do.

I unlock the door and step into the hall. My legs are trembling beneath me and my heart beats irregularly, like my rasping breath. I start to walk and don't stop until I reach the front door. I open it and carry on walking. He'll probably find me, in years, months, weeks, maybe even moments from now He'll round the corner, and I won't run, although I should.

But I have to try to get away. If I don't He'll kill me. Or worse, He won't.