(looking for a beta, cus my spelling is lacking according to many of my reviewers…)
(Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.)
(This is a revised version of my past and unfinished story Desecrated , this one will be updated and hopefully finished. )
(Summary :this is a revision of Desecrated. DMHP. He wanted the pain to stop, the cuts to heal, and the memory gone... The blood under my feet turned cold and I stepped away, leaving small bloody foot prints...)
Waiting
Weariness dragged at his eyes as he slouched into the small confining chair. Aches stabbed at his body, causing him to twitch, until he groaned and sat upright. Sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains and warmed the stone under his bare feet. When he sat up a blanket he didn't know was there fell off his shoulder, instantly missing the warmth it had given him. Opening his eyes proved more difficult than expected, his hand coming up to cover the offended eyes from the light. Rustling came off to the side and a hand fell onto his shoulder, causing him to jump, open his eyes and see a blurry sight of Madam Pomfrey leaning over him, a warm steaming cup of tea in her hands. Harry smiled wearily; still unsure of what was going on. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he looked around. People were asleep in chairs all over the place. The scene was picturesque; the sun light against the brilliant white of the hospital wing sheets and the way it fell and created shadows on to the beds. A smile touched his lips. The light seemed to sparkle on the pale blonde hair of the person in one of the beds, his hunched over figure almost blending in with the shinny light that engulfed them. Harry's' thoughts paused.
Oh.
Memories poured into his now awake mind as he took in the image of Malfoy curled up in the bed. The only thing that seemed to stand out in the train of thoughts was the picture of his bloody footprints on the bare cold stone floor.
Madam Pomfrey pushed the hot mug into his hands and left.
Today was going to be a very stressful day, Harry predicted as he stood up from the chair, his cramped muscles crying out as they stretched.
Today was Thursday, he had Transfiguration at 8, and yet that fact that he was going to miss it, and all his other classes today didn't seem to be such a prominent thing in his mind either.
His friends were going to worry; he had Qudditch practice that afternoon. But all that seemed to matter was the fact that he was here, waiting.
Bloodbloodbloddbloodbloodbloodblood
When lunch came around and Madam Pomfrey was fuming about being bombarded with questions from a constantly appearing duo of Ron and Hermione, Harry got kicked out of the quiet wing and was told that when something happened, they'd let him know. Of course he had already missed Transfiguration and Charms, his two easy classes; now he was left with History of Magic and Advanced Potions. Still dressed in his PJ's and small blanket, Harry made his way up to the Tower as quickly as possible, daring to hope that he didn't run into anyone on the way.
His thoughts roamed as they always did these days, and Harry found himself reflecting on Potions. How the hell he had made in into Advanced Potions was beyond his imaginings and Snapes as well. Somehow he had passed the year end tests and gotten in. As he mused over the passed years classes' one thing kept popping up. He had always been paired with Malfoy. By anyone's standards Malfoy was incredible at Potions, just as good as Snape. So when ever Harry set up to make a potion Malfoy was always there to tell him what an idiot he was and that you didn't use dried pixie wings, you used pickled pixies with wings. On the joint essays he had always made sure that Harry knew everything there was to the topic, so that he didn't screw up the writing. A picture of Malfoy turning to him from a steaming cauldron with a frown on his face and a jar of something in his hands blazed a trail in his mind.
The three cups of tea tossed in his stomach at pictures of bloody hands and bruised hips. He mumbled the password, and slunk into the common room, suddenly not feeling up to going to class.
After showering and running a brush through his mass of tangled hair, Harry sank down onto his bed and looked around the room.
The room was draped in red fabric, from the curtains to the bed linens and it made his stomach heave with how close Gryffendor red was to Blood red. He flicked his wand and the fabric turned a deep forest green. His nose wrinkled in disgust, and the color changed to yellow, then blue then white. Harry shuddered at this last color, reminded of the hospital wing. He finally settled on grey, being the most neutral color he could think of. Of course his friends wouldn't be too pleased with the décor, but hopefully he could talk them around with keeping it for a few days without having to tell them why.
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Remus sank down onto a plush chair in the living room of Gordric's Hollow, a glass of Rye in one hand a newspaper in the next. Last night had to have been the most horrific night of his life since joining the Order. When he had accepted the mission he had jumped at the thought of finally being involved in action, instead of being shoved into a stuffy library and instructions that were rather sketchy in design. Now he wished for a dusty book with the title worn off. His main goal was to make sure that the Malfoy boy was okay, or at least determine what side he was on. But after searching the house with the rest of the group, and only finding layers of dust that had collected in the bedrooms, horror had built up in the pit of his stomach. It was a fact that Draco Malfoy had been picked up at Kings Cross Station by his parents and driven to Malfoy Manor. After that none of the Malfoy family had been seen for the rest of the summer, and a little into the school year, no one seen in the gardens, through the windows, not a sound came from the Castle.
Nothing.
There were no house elves, no maids, or butlers. When they came charging into the house, nothing stirred but the curtains. When everyone rejoined in the main hall and the only thing found was a couple locked doors, Remus took off on his own to find Draco.
He remembered teaching him in Draco's third year. The boy had been a right prat, Remus snorted and took a sip of the alcohol. Always a rude comment at least once a day, there was word of Harry's and his fights through out the year. But Remus remembered admiring his concentration. When he got into a subject, his face took on the look of pure curiousity. It was amazing, one class they were learning about Veela's, and Draco even raised his hand before asking a question. There wasn't a whispered snark about his being a monster, not a single glare at any of the Hufflepuff's in his class. He just sat there, reading passage after passage, so deep in the writing that he didn't notice when the bell rang.
Remus swirled the drink around in the glass, listening to how the ice clinked against the sides. Merlin, but that boy reminded him of Sirius so much. His pride, his sarcasm, his way of walking. A prickling started at the corners of his eyes and Remus threw back the drink, feeling the burn as it tracked its way down his throat.
When the thought of Draco not being there, of being dead had crossed Remus's mind, he went into a near panic, reminded of how much pain he had felt when Sirius fell through the veil and disappeared from their lives forever. The world needed people like them, so that people like him and Harry could survive.
Staring at the now empty glass, Remus felt the depression sink in yet again, dragged down by the thought of Draco's voice, horse and chocked up, saying those heartbreaking words over and over again.
Bloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood
Draco could feel the warmth of the sunlight on his cheek and craved that feeling even more with every second that it touched. Eyes squeezed shut, pain ripping through his body, he revealed in the feeling of the warmth, and quiet and peace that clung to him.
His thoughts weren't all together coherent and the sounds around him were hard to hear over the ringing in his ears, but one thing he did know with out a fact, was that he was free. Free from the blasted dungeon, free from the chains, free from his father. FREE.
Good just thinking that word made his heart hurt with how much joy it brought it him. Draco felt the tears start to trickle, and opened his eyes so he could brush them away.
In a chair across from his bed, slumped over and asleep, sat Snape, one hand wrapped around the fabric of Draco's sheets. He sniffled, and brushed away a few tears a painful smile twisting his bruised and chapped lips. The pain forgotten, the future left to the side, Draco reached out and rested his hand on his godfathers hand.
"Look Severus, "he rasped out with a cough, more tears falling to wet the pillow beneath him. "… I'm finally free." A chocked laugh caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, drifting off into much needed sleep.
Bloodbloodbloobdbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodblood
Ron Weasley trumped up the stairs to the boys' dormitories, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder and a piece of paper clutched in his hand. "Damn it, where the hell was Harry?" He growled under his breath and he stomped over to their dorm and shoved the door open with his shoulder.
There Harry was, curled up and asleep on his bed, hair still wet from his shower. Ron snorted and dropped the bag down by his bed and went over to look at his sleeping friend. He took off Harry's glasses and set them aside on the bedside table, and pulled up a blanket to cover his shoulders. Rolling his eyes at his best friends stupidity he removed Harry's runners from his feet and put the piece of paper rolled up inside one. When Harry woke up, he'd be in for one hell of a day, Ron mused as he picked his backpack back up and left the room, making sure to close the door quietly.
Ron was halfway out the portrait hole when he paused, "isn't our room red?" The fat lady shot his a look and he waved her off, "never mind." And continued on his way.