Author: Kooriblue
Aim:kooriblue
Rating: PG13 (just barely)
Category: ummm?
Warning: HP/DM; Abused!Harry;
Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all. Just keep the men in the white coats away. Author Notes: I know I can't write. Normally, I wouldn't even put such a horrific thing out there. It's all Jeffina's fault. Also, title has no relation to actual "lemon." Sorry. And DEID is "died" backwards. I feel stupid, is it an acronym or something?
Dedication: To Jeffina
Summary: War has an ambience of desperation and helplessness. Sometimes, when you're torn between orders and soft words, you find yourself slipping to apathy and as the ground collapses, death isn't so frightening anymore. Killing Harry Potter shouldn't be so hard for Draco Malfoy. Dying shouldn't be so easy for Harry.
Chapter Two. (In which Draco's gone insane, Harry doesn't care, and everything is in present tense again)
It had been easy to leave the Gryffindor common room, Harry remembers, sitting on the dusty trophy room floor. He'd unburied the neglected invisibility cloak from the depths of his trunk - Didn't they used to have so much fun with that thing? But he hadn't needed it; Ron hadn't even been there - probably snogging Hermione in the Astronomy tower. And the rest of the boys' snores had all been accounted for.
Nevertheless, he is sitting here, cloak draped over his shoulders, and wondering when he will stop hearing the ... of the clock hung on the wall. It makes an odd noise, not the tick... tock, of a normal clock- more of a tick... tick... tick that is so constant it drives a person insane for want of variety. Pattern. The same pattern, Harry thinks, that drives a person insane for want of uniformity.
Harry tries to remember what Hermione had said about silence. How it made her feel calm and in tune with the world. Harry closes his eyes and tries to feel in tune with anything. All he can imagine is that somewhere, something, somebody, is bound to be making a riot. He sees screaming children jumping on a merry-go-round, each cycle creaking in tune to the ticking of the clock. Every other beat, geese are spewing their warbling calls. On the half beat, a dog is barking, a teapot is shrilling, waves are crashing upon rocks that have moss and mussels built up so much that he can't decipher if the rock was originally gray, or if it was red. Though maybe it was purple?
There is no such thing as silence. If a deaf person is at a birthday party, in a room with noisemakers and streamers and screaming, singing people-he can't hear them. Does that make the room silent?
The noise is there; you just can't hear it. The silence is there; you just can't find it.
The is getting louder and louder until the noise itself seems to put pressure on Harry's mind. Louder and louder until he wonders why half the school isn't waking up. But it doesn't desist, no, it defies the rules of language itself, ringing in Harry's ears. Then, abruptly, it stops. It stops because Harry can't hear it anymore- it's overlaid by a much louder sound- footsteps. The footsteps, so quiet, pattering down the corridor, are louder than the barely audible tick.. tick... tick, of the feeble clock.
The footsteps approach- they approach- every so silent. Ever so deafening.
The footsteps enter the room, and, curiously, bring a body with them. Tis the body of Draco Malfoy, who is looking around. The clock: 11:04. Malfoy's back slides down the wall, and his hands come up to his face with a single word- You're late.
At the sound of Harry's voice, Draco looks up. But no one is there. He looks to the door, nothing. Malfoy's aren't supposed to be late Malfoy's weight is on his feet again. He can pinpoint the exact location from which the voice emanates, but it consists of and is surrounded by nothing. He knows that the sound belongs to Potter. Malfoy's turning pale but Harry can't really tell the difference between pale Draco and regular Draco, who is pale anyway. The door is still open, and he peers round it into the corridor. The only thing there is a painting of a marsh; a heron's head is folded under its wing. He turns around- Harry is standing there, as solid and present as anyone would expect him to be, except Malfoy, who jumps a foot high.
Did I scare you? This rhetorical question is voiced from Harry's lips, but its real meaning is in his eyes. Malfoy doesn't know why people have such an annoying habit of doing that- asking useless questions. Potter should have just said, I scared you, the real meaning in his words- in his eyes.
Draco eyes the cloak lying on the floor. He makes the connections. Jesus, Potter- where did you get one of those?
Harry laughs. Jesus? Do you even know who that is?Do I care?
Harry smiles, You wouldn't. He leans up against the door, closing it. Well, what?
Harry sighs, If I know anything about you, Malfoy, it's that you wouldn't set up a chit-chat with me in the middle of the night. It doesn't occur to Harry that maybe it wasn't a good idea to attend a secret rendezvous with Malfoy at midnight, while the rest of the castle is conveniently sleeping.
And why wouldn't I do that? He knows he wouldn't, he doesn't need an answer. Here is the difference between need and want, but not quite like you learn in economics class.
Because you're Draco Malfoy.. and I'm Harry Potter. This equivocal response ties all explanations together, so that the result is more descriptive than any description could ever hope to be.
Draco smirks. I hate you, He says simply. He watches Harry throw up his hands and say, If I'm not mistaken, we established that fact a while ago. Try- A couple years...
Draco puts on a face of mock exasperation. I'm leading up to my point, Potter.What an opener! Bravo! but he resigns himself to listen.
I hate you, and you hate me, Draco says. Harry rolls his eyes. And I'm sure we can both agree, that there have been.. certain times... during which you might have felt the need to.. er, cause me bodily harm, Draco is picking his words carefully, watching Harry's reactions thoughtfully. The latter raises his eyebrows. Maybe sometimes go so far as to wish I had never been born, or something along those lines...Malfoy, are you trying to pin me with Death threats or something? Cause if you are, I'll kill you.Do you not take anything seriously, Potter? Malfoy placed both his hands on Harry's shoulders.
Harry looked down at one, then the other, shifting his feet. Umm... Why would I do that?
"Why wouldn't you? Life is serious."
"If you say so, Malfoy."
"You cannot possibly tell me that you think life's a game?" His hands are still resting on Potter's shoulders, trying to absorb something, anything, from the other boy. What is he thinking?
"As soon as you're born you start dyin', so you might as well have a good time," Harry watches a bewildered Malfoy with a smirk, then wishes he would take his hands away. He cannot possibly understand.. he would never understand. His eyes are grey, but it's not the color that draws Harry's attention. He can see something there, but what is it? Something's there, underneath the splash of grey. He can't see it, but he knows it's there. How do you know? Can you feel the tug at the end of the rope? Can you believe? Is it about faith, now? Harry doesn't think so. "You know, Dudley would never play Monopoly with me, but I bet I suck at it."
"Your life isn't a game, Harry."
"Are you- are you actually-" Harry steps away from the blonde, "There is no way you're Malfoy. Is it just me or did you.. what did you just say to me?"
"Harry, this isn't a game!"
"Aha! I knew it! Who has you under Imperious? Or is it Polyjuice? Who are you?"
"Bloody hell, Potter, listen to me!"
"That's a bit better.."
"I'm not here to play around!" Malfoy's a little angry now, and he still has that thing in his eyes. Potter has never seen it there before...
"Oh really? 'Cause I am!" Harry has a moment of mock realization, "You mean this isn't the party I got invited to? Must've got the wrong note."
Malfoy lets out an exasperated sigh; his eyes shift to the floor. He's standing in a strange position, feet apart, his right hand clasping his wrist, and Harry can't figure out why. "Would you take things more seriously if you knew you're life is in danger as we speak?" Blonde hair had fallen over grey eyes, obscuring them. It's a bit eerie, but not enough to stop Harry from laughing.
He clutches his heart, "Is it Voldemort again? He takes things so personally! You know, that one time I refused to meet him for tea, and he's been trying to kill me ever since!" Malfoy's eyes are shining in the dusty light, but not from elation. "Tell me, how's he planning on doing it this time?"
Malfoy puts his left foot forward, reaches inside his robes, pulls out his wand and levels it at Harry. He does this slowly, perhaps because he knows Harry can't run away, because he knows he'd be stubborn and try to fight, because he overestimated his own skills, but perhaps, perhaps he took his time because he knew all along..
"You're going to kill me? You?" He pauses, "actually this makes a lot more sense than the last thing he tried." He stares at the tip of Malfoy's wand, is this it? Is this what dying feels like? Is this the last thing he's going to see?
"Are you that willing to die, Potter?"
"As willing to die as to not. As willing as you are to do the deed." He's not scared. Or nervous, really. His thoughts resemble the word, "Finally."
"That's our problem, though, Potter. I'm not really. At all." The wand is no longer in front of Harry's eyes; it retreats back into the depth of Malfoy's black robes. Why is it that Malfoy's robes seem blacker than Harry's? Of darker shade, but purer in colour.
Blonde hair jumps away from grey eyes, touches the tip of Malfoy's ear, then swings back again. Malfoy tugs it out of his eyes, to have it stubbornly return. He gives up. There is something in those eyes, Potter knows it, closer now, to the surface. Not yet visible. Only then does Harry notice Malfoy had turned his head to his left, so that his chin is nearly resting on his shoulder. Potter follows his gaze and sees something he has been expecting, but never really hoped to see. Grey reluctantly rises to meet green and he expects something, some kind of reaction, Harry knows.
"Did you think I'd be surprised? Did he tell you I'd be surprised? Angry, maybe?" Potter's eyes show no emotion. Malfoy is wondering, does he feel anything at all? Please, let him feel something. Malfoy needs him to feel something. Anything. This blank stare is pushing through his barrier, threatens to destroy everything Draco has lived for, everything Draco was bred to be.
"Well, something."
"Well, nothing." Harry turns away from the blonde, who smirks. Now there is something. Harry scorns him. Harry despises him. He can work with that. "You've always been one of His, Malfoy. Do you think I didn't know that? Do you think that thing on your arm changes anything? Well, It's official, now. But not different." Harry wants so much to find out what is behind Malfoy's eyes, it's there hiding behind the grey shroud, taunting him, mocking him, but he's not sure he has the energy.
"I came here to kill you, to murder you, bring you to Voldemort, make it so that I was important, I did something. People would've remembered my name, Potter, for generations."
"You're the first deatheater I've witnessed to say His name. Impressive."
"Yes, I'm so proud.." Draco says sarcastically.
"So what's your point? Why can't you kill me?" Harry wants to sleep, he's tiring of this game. Just another game. Stupid, pointless.
"I'm not sure. But it's a problem."
"A problem that isn't mine. Right then, Malfoy. I'll see you around," he goes to turn the knob on the door but suddenly there's Malfoy, blocking him. Always blocking him. "What do you want me to do! Kill myself so you can take credit for something you're too cowardly to do?"
"You think I'm being a coward, do you? You think valuing life is weak?"
"It's certainly stupid, on your part. Let me through." He reaches down to his invisibility cloak and wraps it around his shoulders.
"I won't," Malfoy is trying to meet the brunette's eye, but it's rather difficult, seeing as he's invisible. Harry sneaks around to Malfoy's side.
"Move." He whispers this in Malfoy's ear, who is expecting his voice from the front. He exclaims and jumps to the side, away from Harry's voice. "Thanks," Potter smirks and reaches for the door, but Draco doesn't see anything until the knob begins to turn.
"Wait!" He grabs the doorknob but ends up grabbing Harry's invisible hand. "Will you please help me save your goddamn life?" He is looking at Potter's hand because he knows where it is. If he tried to look at Potter's face, he'd be lost. Always lost. It's not possible to look at something you can't see.
The look on Malfoy's face is pitiful. Harry wishes he could laugh at it. Right now, he can't do it. Why can't he laugh at him? He takes his hand from Malfoy, who backs against the door like a cornered mouse. His head whips around, trying to get some kind of clue. He's losing control. He's becoming lost, again. Always lost. "Are you begging me?" Potter's voice comes from the right. "A Malfoy? Actually begging /i ?" This from the left.
"Potter, stop it... You're freaking me out."
"You're freaked out? Lemme get this straight- you go to deatheater meetings, kill people daily, live with Lucius Malfoy, and you're freaked out by me? Besides," Harry's mouth comes so close to Draco's ear, "It's amusing..."
"What the hell do I have to do to get you to help me?" Draco pleads him. Harry almost feels sorry for him.
"Depends on what I have to do..." Harry says. He still doesn't know why Malfoy can't kill him. Did he forget that he hated him? Can one forget such things?
"You can.. you can teach me .."
"Teach you.. what? How to kill someone? Who you already happen to hate?"
"No.. Occlumency. You can teach me occlumency."
"Why the hell would I be able to teach you occlumency?"
"Snape taught you how.. now teach me."
"Bloody hell, how do you know Snape taught me occlumency?"
"I.. umm, long story. But you can teach me!"
"That won't help you learn how to kill me."
"That's beside the point."
"Oh it is? I thought it was the point."
"Will you at least think about it?"
"Only if you get out of my way.." Potter's voice is tired. He's tired of thinking. He's tired of wishing, of waiting, of waking every morning. "I'm tired."
Draco moves out of his way. "Tomorrow?"
"Actually, at this point, it'd be tonight."
Malfoy looks at his watch. "Whatever.. tonight, then, at ten?" He calls to Harry who's already out the door.
"Don't be late this time." A slight shifting of the dust in the corridors is all that Draco sees of Potter's footsteps as they fade around the corner. Draco takes a deep breath and heads in the opposite direction.
Tonight, then.