Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.
Alright, I know nothing super-significant happens in this chapter, but it's the best I could do.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.
(separating bar)
Draco tried not to panic.
He had it all planned out. He would avoid Potter, eat lunch in the Great Hall, surrounded by hostile strangers, thus eliminating the possibility that they could have any sort of conversation. He was going to walk to class behind Crabbe and Goyle, who he hoped Potter had sense enough to stay away from. He would spend any other time in his day in the Slytherin common room.
At least, this is what he told himself that Saturday morning when the sun arose. He hadn't gone to sleep. He had skipped all his classes, and knew he was probably in trouble. He had planned on staying in the common room throughout the weekends as well, but he hadn't been able to convince any of his house mates to speak to him, much less bring him a breakfast.
By noon, his stomach forced him to leave. He hadn't had anything to eat in roughly twenty-four hours… which was, in honesty, how long it took to convince himself Potter wasn't worth it.
He dodged approaching Professors (McGonagall, in particular, who appeared to be searching for him) and managed to find the way down to the kitchens. He tickled the pear, and glanced around for Potter before stepping in. He was immediately approached by a frumpy house-elf with extraordinarily large ears, one which looked vaguely familiar.
"Can we's be of helping you, sir?" she (or he?) squealed, folding their hands over the dirty apron. "What is your name, sir, tell Blinky and she will know what young master's favorite food is! Blinky watches these things, she does."
He told the elf his name, a strange feeling of foreboding settling into his stomach when she gave a surprised speak. "Oh, my." she said, twisting her apron in her hands. "Dobby!"
He flushed, looking quickly at his feet as the startled elf rushed toward him- and past. Through the door. The other house elves sped up their work and quickly averted his eyes. He stared down at Blinky, who was twisting her ears in her hands and tapping her foot. "Is something wrong?" he asked her. She shook her head vigorously.
"No, of course not sir…" she continued to look nervous, and quickly let spill an explanation. "It is just, well, we is run out of strawberry tart, and Blinky knows this is sirs favorite-"
He felt something strange in the bottom of his stomach. "You didn't have to…" he stopped suddenly, seeing a figure emerge through the doorway out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped.
"Mister Harry Potter!" another house elf squealed, dropping a plate.
(separating bar)
Jumping at the unexpected noise, Harry barely had time to register the look of horror on Draco's face. He backed against the doorway when he saw Draco's eyes fly to the only exit out of the room.
"We is sorry, sir," squealed Blinky, looking panicked as Dobby and another elf scrubbed up the mess. "She is new, and has heard far too many tales of you, sir-"
"It's okay," he called to not one of them in particular, keeping his gaze locked with Draco's. He could almost smell the other boy's terror. "Thank you, Dobby." He opened the door and motioned for Draco to follow.
Draco, who either didn't want to stay in a room with screeching house elves or had come to trust the Gryffindor, followed, watching his feet as he walked. Harry thought for a moment that he looked like a child about to be scolded by his mother.
When the door closed, Harry thought he would bolt, but was presently surprised when he stopped and turned, finally looking up. "What?" he asked quietly, blinking.
Harry frowned and shuffled his feet. "I just…" he took a breath. "I just wanted to, to maybe talk about it. Not fight or anything- I just- I'd just… like to know."
For some strange reason, Draco blushed. Not a light brush across the cheek, either; it was a full, scarlet, throbbing blush. Sweat beaded at his brow.
"Okay." he said after a moment, sounding strangely winded. "What do you want to know?"
(separating bar)
"Wait," Harry said, looking up at him. "Your saying that you starting this- this thing you can do- only a few weeks before the beginning of the school term?"
"Yes. It never happened before then."
"And you have no idea how it started?"
"No. It just… I just started hearing people's thoughts one day. I didn't say anything, and no one said anything to me, so I assumed no one else knew."
There was an awkward pause. Harry shuffled his feet, and Draco glanced from the wall to the floor. "Do you…" Harry stopped. "I don't want to ask you this."
"Go ahead. You want to know if I ever use it on you."
He blushed. "Have you?"
"Not intentionally. I can't control it, really."
"Oh." He shuffled his feet again. "What did you, um, hear?"
Draco thought for a moment. "Nothing, really. Except the time."
Draco can hear when Harry takes a small, bracing breath. "What about… in the Great Hall…"
"What about it?" Draco asked softly, his breath catching.
"I know about… you know… this summer." Harry was watching him now, anxious to say it aloud.
"What about this summer?" Draco said, his voice sharp. "My father? Thomas? Voldemort?"
"No." Harry said, grabbing Draco's shoulder, silently telling him to lower his voice. "About her, Draco."
Draco recoiled as though stricken, throwing Harry's hand off of his shoulder. "You don't know anything." he said desperately.
"I know you did the right thing." Harry whispered.
"Like I said." he breathed. "You don't know anything."
"Then tell me, Draco." Draco wondered whether he knew what hearing his name like that felt. "Don't you think I deserve to know?"
"Don't you think I deserve to forget?"
"Please." His eyes were begging. "Tell me. For God's sake, I need to know. Tell me."
Draco's breath was shallow. He couldn't speak. He shook his head, ignoring the burning in his throat. "No."
"Draco, tell me."
"No! I can't- please- just, just stop, I can't, okay?" Draco hoped he wasn't crying, but knew he was. "I don't want to talk about it."
He could almost see the internal struggle in Harry's head by just looking into his eyes. "But…" he sighed. "Fine. But tell me, your not just keeping this secret because you don't trust me, are you?"
"No." he coughed, reaching up and wiping his eyes. "I trust you. Kind of. It's just…" he looked at his feet, shrugging. He jumped when he felt Harry's arms wrap around him.
"Why do you do that?" Draco asked, feeling his own body momentarily stiffen.
"I don't know." Harry replied honestly.
"Do you just need the contact?" Draco asked, relaxing his shoulders. It was comfortable. "I mean, after-"
"After last year." Harry finished him. "You know what happened. I don't know how you know, but you know. About him."
"Sirius Black?" he whispered, feeling suddenly cold. He had been told. He just didn't know if he believed.
He felt the arms around his torso tighten. "Yes." Harry murmured, leaning his head against Draco's shoulder.
"Do you need to talk about it?" Draco asked, leaning against Harry's neck. Awaiting an answer, he reached up and belatedly returned the embrace.
"Yes." he said after a minute. "I do. But I won't. Not until you talk, as well."
Draco tightened the embrace without even realizing it. "Fair enough."
(separating bar)
The sudden sound of parchment being torn to bits was loud enough for a faint echo, perhaps even down the corridor. None of this was noticed by the Potions Master, who was far too frustrated at his own incapability to write a simple letter. He had been trying for quite some time now; since September, actually. Months and he hadn't written a single letter.
He downed the small glass of Vodka in front of him and grabbed his quill, dipping it into his ink hard enough to tip the small jar over. He ignored it and began scribbling.
Michael;
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you need to know something. I should've told you before now
He knew he was avoiding the subject, but he didn't care.
But I haven't been able to. I can't seem to admit it to myself, really. Perhaps after you know, I'll finally come to accept it. I doubt it,
Come on, he mentally scolded himself.
But, like I said, you have to know. It would be wrong if you didn't. I suppose I should just shut up and tell you.
He took a deep breath and skipped a few inches, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. He could feel the cold sweat on his palms, and he tried to wipe it on his robe, which only succeeded in dripping ink on himself. He managed to ignore that long enough to dip his quill again, and set it to the parchment.
Over the summer, I
He dropped his quill, gasping at the sudden, searing pain in his left arm. His eyes watered as he stood.
Voldemort was in an impatient mood.
He reached out to write to Dumbledore, but the pain in his arm intensified by the second. He flung open the door and ran, not even bothering to grab his cloak.