I Don't Want To Feel
Chapter Seven
--
I never really wanted you to see
the screwed up side of me
--
Harry Potter stared at his lightly illuminated hand as if it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. Moonlight flowed into his Gryffindor dorm room and cast an eerie glow over the only student awake in the tower. Anybody watching him now would wonder why he had such an avid fascination with his hand, but only two people in the world knew that information. One lay in his bed, wide awake; and the other lay on a cold, stone ground, trying to sleep but failing miserably.
Harry closed his eyes as he relived the same moment he had been watching in his mind for five days now. As much as he complained to himself about this, he was glad that he had moved away from the piercing grey eyes. This time it was a pale, thin hand grasping his gingerly; accepting something he never thought would happen.
Oh yes, as the young Death Eater stared at his hand, he hated himself.
He had let his well-built facade drop completely, and offered his hand to a Malfoy. A captured Malfoy.
Yet--that hand. That clammy, pale hand. As Harry had grasped it, he didn't feel regret; he didn't feel anger, sorrow or remorse. It felt right. Absolutely right.
But that was five days ago, and Harry feared for his life. Five days he had spent in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fire. Five days he spent staring at an imaginary hole in the wall, trying to block out the voices of the two people that once had been his friends. Five days he spent, without one word from Lord Voldemort. And he was nervous.
Had he found out about what Harry had done? Had he grown tired of Harry? Had something happened?
Harry sat up in bed, sleep completely forgotten. Snores from two of his remaining room mates sounded from their private beds, and Harry knew they were both very much asleep. He pulled up the sleeve of his left arm and stared at the marking on his forearm. He sighed and quickly got up, throwing on his robes and invisibility cloak.
If there was one thing Harry utterly hated, it was being ignored. And he had put up with it for too long.
Harry apparated into the eerie Riddle House, and turned towards the direction of the dungeons. He was stopped, however, by voices coming out of the main hall. Harry smirked. Trust Voldemort to be having meetings at three in the morning. The young Death Eater spun on his heel and walked towards the giant double doors, pounding on them once. A few voices could be heard, and after about a minute or two, the doors opened slowly and Harry found himself face to face with Lucius Malfoy.
"Of course. Mr. Potter." Harry narrowed his eyes at the tone Lucius used, and the blonde haired man before him just smirked.
"Malfoy."
"Well, do come in Mr. Potter. It's always excellent to see you."
"Indeed." Harry muttered, pushing his way past Lucius Malfoy and striding towards the snake-like man who sat on a throne-like chair, an eerie smile on his face.
"Ah! Harry! How wonderful of you to join us! And at such an...hour!"
"My Lord." Harry countered, starting to bow.
"Why Harry, child. What have I told you about that? You really have no need to bow."
From behind him, Lucius let out a loud coughing sound and patted his chest as both Voldemort and Harry turned their attention to him.
"Why Lucius, are you sick?" Harry mocked, raising an eyebrow. Voldemort turned his attention back to Harry quite quickly, and Lucius took that as an opportunity to glare at the younger man. Harry could do nothing but roll his eyes and avert his gaze back to the Dark Lord.
"I have been expecting you, Mr. Potter. I am quite surprised, really, that you survived five days."
"I thought you'd be needing me to watch the..." He shot a look at Lucius Malfoy, who had slowly made his way next to him, "prisoner."
"Yes, well, I decided to give you a few days off."
Harry suppressed a snort. A few days off? Who was he kidding?Of course, the young man did not ask the Lord this. He chose his words carefully.
"Well...thank you, Sir."
"Yes. Oh, and we had to leave you at Hogwarts for a few days as not to raise any suspicious thoughts."
"Of course, Master. Good thinking."
"Hmmm..." Voldemort murmured, eyeing his youngest follower. His thoughts were thrown off, however, when Lucius Malfoy--the bumbling fool that he was--let out another loud cough.
"Cough drop, Lucius?" Harry said, almost sweetly, to his counterpart. Voldemort had to smile. His two most trusted and most powerful followers hated each other--and he loved it. Harry Potter had a secret way of knowing just what to say to get under the older man's skin. Lucius Malfoy glared at the younger man, and sniffed.
"Well...as entertaining as this is, Lucius and I must continue discussing. Harry, do you mind relieving Nott of his guard duties? You'll only need to guard till nine."
"Of course, my Lord." Harry agreed, not because he didn't mind but because he knew that that wasn't a friendly question; it was an order.
"Excellent."
"I will see myself out, Master. Have a good evening." Harry inclined his head towards his master, and purposely dramatized his heel-spin as to be sure to hit Lucius Malfoy with his robes as he strolled out of the giant room and into the halls, towards the dungeons.
Harry Potter stared down at the snoring man sat on the wooden chair, and rolled his eyes. What a pathetic waste of life.
"Nott, if you do not get up right now, I will cast the Killing Curse on you myself and then feed you to a pack of werewolves." And as expected, Nott jumped about two feet in the air and quickly took a few steps away from danger. "Excellent. Your services are no longer needed--be gone." Harry added, as if talking to a child.
Some people may have stayed firm and argued about the patronizing, but not Nott. He was gone before Harry could say...well, gone.
The raven-haired young man sighed and sat down on the uncomfortable chair, eyeing his surroundings. He began to fall into a stupor when a voice pulled him back to reality.
"Excellent show, I must say. I liked the part where he ran; quite entertaining. And the werewolves--wow, you sure have a way with words."
"Malfoy." Harry groaned, massaging his temples. "What in the world are you doing awake at three in the morning?"
"I really should be asking you that. I'm the one that has a stone floor as a bed."
"I couldn't sleep." Harry replied simply, and continued massaging his head. Draco Malfoy, as pale as ever, appeared from the darkness of his cell and wrinkled his nose.
"Please don't tell me you came here by choice."
Harry shrugged.
"I know I say this too much, but you really are crazy, Potter."
Harry shrugged again.
"Unless, of course, you couldn't bare to not see my face for another day. You missed me, didn't you, Potter?"
"You wish, Malfoy. For your information, I've been at Hogwarts, lazing around on plush sofas and relaxing." Harry lied, his mind flashing back to him pacing impatiently and then lying awake, staring at either his hand or forearm. Draco just smirked.
"Well, I missed you, Potter."
Harry sharply raised his head to meet Malfoy's smirk, forgetting about the imaginary hole his eyes had created on the freezing ground. He glared at Draco and yet again averted his gaze.
"Look at you, Potty. You can't even look at me."
"Why should I?" Harry snapped, running a hand through his hair. "All I'll see is a malnourished, pathetic excuse of a man."
Silence.
"I see." Was all Malfoy replied, as he shuffled back into a dark corner of his cell. Harry continued to stare at the ground for a few more seconds and then stood up and began to pace.
Hours went by and by the time nine o'clock came around, Harry's eyes were bloodshot. He had not slept the whole night.
"Well, I'm off." Harry announced, and surprisingly there was a sigh.
"Oh, so you remembered I existed."
"Don't sound too bitter about it, Malfoy."
"Oh I'm sorry, do I sound bitter?" Malfoy started, and a shuffling meant he was walking towards the bars. "After all, I'm behind bars. I should be rejoicing."
Harry glared at the sarcasm, but his reply stayed at the tip of his tongue when he noticed something on Draco's face and neck. Scratches. Hundreds of them.
"What in the..." Harry whispered, his eyes moving down to the scratches that lined Malfoy's arms. "What the fuck have you done to yourself, Malfoy?"
Something crossed the blonde's face then; a look that Harry could not name or decipher. Was it fear?
"It's nothing." the blonde replied quickly, and began to back away into the shadows.
"Malfoy, somebody just doesn't sprout cuts randomly!"
"I said it's nothing." came a voice from the darkness, and Harry knew that it was the last thing that would be said. He stood there for a few more minutes, trying to figure out what had happened. Shaking his head, Harry slowly turned and made his way up the stairs.
Upon reaching the top, he bumped into a man that was about to make his way in the direction Harry had just come from. It was Lucius Malfoy.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. How is my beloved son doing?"
Harry narrowed his eyes, replacing any walls and barriers that may have dropped that night.
"Oh absolutely splendid. And how is your cough, better, I hope?"
The older man glared at that comment and scoffed.
"Oh yes..." Lucius started, taking a threatening step towards Harry. "Much better."
"Excellent! Well, don't let me get in your way!" Harry replied, feigning kindness. Lucius cleared his throat, and with a deliberate push against Harry's shoulder, made his way down the stairs. The Boy-Who-Lived watched the man's flight down the stairs, and observed Lucius pulling out his wand before turning a corner and disappearing from view.
Harry narrowed his eyes as his mind went back to the sight of scratches and cuts on pale skin.
To say Harry Potter was in a bad mood would be an understatement. He sat on an armchair in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fire and trying his hardest to block out the voices of Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger.
"You agree with me, don't you Harry?" came Hermione's voice, and Harry glared at the fire. He had absolutely no idea what the mudblood was talking about. "Harry?" Hermione repeated, touching his arm lightly.
"What!" Harry snapped, jumping at the contact and snatching his arm away from reach. Hermione shrunk away, hurt, as Ron just raised an eyebrow.
"What's wrong with you, mate?"
"Absolutely nothing." Harry muttered, turning back to the fire. Behind him Ron and Hermione shared a worried look as his mind travelled across the country to a freezing dungeon.
To say Draco Malfoy hated life would be an understatement. Everyday he lay on his bed of frozen stone, and stared at the thick walls around him as they seemed to close in ever so slowly. Upon his capture, Draco had been sure that someone would come for him and break him out; but nobody had shown up.
Well, nobody except Harry Potter.
Death Eater Harry Potter.
Ever since that day, Draco had lost all hope. He couldn't even begin to imagine the fiction Harry must be feeding to his followers to keep his kidnapping silent. And Draco had shook his hand!
The young blonde not only hated life--he hated himself. Not that that was new to him, of course. Nothing about hatred was new to the Malfoy heir. Well, ex-Malfoy heir. The extraordinary amount of money in the family's bank account was just a dream to Draco now.
Draco was a disappointment.
But so was Harry Potter.
Draco had dropped every single inch of pride inside his body as he saw Harry Potter descending those cold, dark stairs--only to find that the Boy-Who-Lived was on their side.
Disappointment was only the beginning of what Draco had felt.
Now it was two weeks since that day, and Draco had bigger things to think about. Was he ever going to get out of here? Would he rot in a dark cell for the rest of his life? Would he continue being a coward? Would he continue to believe that Harry Potter had changed?
Draco had seen them; the tears, as they flowed down Harry's cheek. But somedays, he had to convince himself that that day had been real. Part of him did not believe that the Dark Harry Potter had broken that easily.
'Or maybe he already is broken...' came a voice in Draco's mind, and he had to push it away. It was impossible--the man was made of steel. He could talk about killing muggles like it was a boring hobby.
Draco shuddered. The thought of the Wizarding Worlds' saviour killing innocent people was frightening.
The thought of Harry Potter killing anything was frightening.
Draco remembered the boy he used to see at school; the ever-smiling face surrounded by all his "fans". What would they think of him if they knew the truth? What would they do to him if they knew the truth?
Draco's thoughts were broken when he heard footsteps making their way down the stairs and his heart skipped a beat. He glared. He hated the way he made him feel. He got up and walked towards the bars, but stepped back when the footsteps died and the new arrival entered the dungeons.
"Well hello there, Draco." Lucius Malfoy said in barely a whisper, walking towards the cell. Draco could only take another step back and hold in a whimper that threatened to come out. "How have you been? I missed you."
Draco took another step back.
"You can't get away from me, my dragon. You're all mine here."
Draco whimpered and Lucius scowled.
"Pathetic! Crucio!"
Draco's screams shook the silent room and Lucius' scowl became a smile. He released the spell.
"Now Draco, I will ask you the question I ask you upon every visit. Will you stop this stupidity and give yourself to the Dark Lord?"
Draco used his hands to stand up from the curled up position he had fallen on the floor with and walked up to where Lucius Malfoy stood on the other side of the bars.
"Never."
"Very well." Lucius whispered, his eyes livid. He spun on his heel and began his walk up the stairs. He turned, however, after about four steps and pointed his wand at Draco, mouthing a spell.
He continued his calm walk up the stairs as Draco's screams filled the dungeons again.
Harry hid in the shadows as Lucius Malfoy entered the hall from the dungeon steps, and then descended the stairs at a slight jog. He had a feeling that something was not right. As he drew closer to the dungeons, Harry heard screaming. And not just any screaming--tortured screaming. A Malfoy's tortured screaming.
And he ran.
The sight that met his eyes as he ran up to the cell would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. There, writhing on the ground was Draco Malfoy--blood streaming out of cuts all over his once flawless skin.
Thanks to everybody who reviewed--thanks amillion! I hope this chapter was good enough & that you enjoyed it.
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