x
Thirteen days.
Ron stared listlessly at the calendar, with eyes that itched with tiredness and sported bruise-dark circles.
Thirteen days since Harry had been snatched, leaving no trace and sending the Ministry of Magic into utter frenzy. Understandably, of course - to have the chosen exacter of Lord Voldemort's fate and their Golden Boy to boot stolen with apparent and great ease was disruptive, to say the least.
With a wrenching sigh, Ron pulled his reports towards him; the parchment was crumpled, well-leafed. The redhead had spent endless hours reading, and checking, and double-checking, and hoping that this time, the copies could show him something other than his failure to protect his friend. Roughly, he scanned a page, and almost threw it aside in careless frustration. It fluttered poignantly to the floor of his office so that the writing, blotchy with hot and helpless tears, could not be seen.
"Ron?"
The aforementioned flinched in surprise, and swivelled in his chair to see Ginny, looking pale with worry.
"Oh, it's you," he said unenthusiastically, and feeling guilty for it.
"Ron," she said soothingly, stepping forward to lay a cool, logical hand on his shoulder, "It's late. You should have left the Ministry hours ago."
Ron stifled the burning sensation in his throat to shout. "I can't," he said bluntly.
Ginny's face twisted with concern. "Look, there's nothing else you can do at the moment." Ron went to contradict her, but she barrelled on, "We have dozens of men on this case, and all you can do is analyse everything they bring to you. And soon, they'll bring the right thing."
Ron dipped his head, and remained silent. After all, what could he say? Confess his feelings of helplessness? Of guilt? His fear that it was too late?
Brother and sister lingered for a while, quiet in their grief and anxiety, Ginny absent-mindedly rubbing comforting circles on Ron's tense shoulder. Suddenly, without ceremony, Seamus burst into the office.
"Quick," he panted roughly, "they've found someone."
x
"Given him the Veritaserum?"
The small group, composed of Tonks, Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hannah Abbott and Dean Thomas, dispersed in surprise as Ron shouldered himself into their midst with Ginny at his heels.
"Just now," Tonks replied, glancing at their captive. The Death Eater was burly, but his eyes were dark with twisted intelligence. He looked gaunt, more corpse than man. For a moment, his ragged breathing as he weakly struggled against his bonds was the only sound that broke the tense silence.
"Flint," Kingsley began sharply, and the Death Eater looked up immediately, limbs falling still with resignation as the potion's effect manifested itself in his bloodstream.
"Yes." His voice was monotone.
Kingsley made to continue, but suddenly Ron was holding Flint's skull as though to crush it, staring with a burning resentment and anger at the hooded man.
"Where," he asked, and his voice was trembling with uncontrollable fury, "is my friend?" Flint was silent for a split-second; Ron, overwhelmed, shook him hard like a ragdoll. "WHERE IS HE?!!" He screamed, and Ginny looked away to conceal her anguished tears.
"He is in the moor lands," Flint answered, without emotion.
"We know that," Dean said gruffly, as Hannah Abbott slid a comforting arm into the crook of Ginny's elbow. "Give us a precise location."
"I can't," came the reply, "I do not know it."
"Is Harry alive?" Ron spat, not releasing his grip. Flint looked back at him blankly.
"Yes."
"Why? What do you hope to gain?" Kingsley's voice was suspicious.
"We are experimenting on him."
"Oh God," whispered Tonks.
"What exactly are you doing to him?" Ron growled from between clenched teeth, the muscles in his jaw tense.
"The Dark Lord intends to harness his power, and use him as a weapon."
Silence followed this bald statement.
"What?" said Ron, disbelievingly, just as Hannah demanded, "How?"
"A band of the Dark Lord's followers have successfully magically enhanced Muggle human performance serum. Potter's senses and reactions will become greatly heightened, as will his strength, speed and endurance. He will become increasingly difficult to kill."
"Harry would never work for him," Ginny hissed, incredulously.
"The Dark Lord is, of course, aware of this. According to reports, Potter is currently being subjected to another serum, which affects his mental state through pain, eventually resulting in loss of memories and rational thought. He will become a slave to the Dark Lord's bidding."
Here, Flint's slaw jaw formed a lop-sided, mocking grin. Unable to help himself, Ron smashed the side of the Death Eater's face with a shaking fist, and Flint's nose exploded in a spray of scarlet. Dean and Kingsley wrestled Ron away, whilst the captive man sat with blood dripping from his face onto the carpet.
"Are there others?" Tonks asked quickly, "is You-Know-Who forming an army?"
"He has tested the serums on selected Death Eaters. Many died. Others were successful - one Death Eater in particular. However, once Potter has been fully treated, he shall become the Dark Lord's most powerful weapon." Flint's drone was thick with blood.
"But," Dean sounded confused, "why would You-Know-Who want to make Harry so strong? Surely he'd just want to make him weaker, so that he could...uh, finish him off?"
Flint smiled again with blood-stained teeth. "The Dark Lord is no stranger to irony."
Ron flinched away from Kingsley's grasp , touchy with barely controlled anger. Ginny watched him warily and with white knuckles. The room was dense with tension, its presence like a choking gas.
"Who knows were Harry is being kept?" Hannah asked eventually, and Flint took a breath that was shuddery with mucus, before spitting out a few names. Tonks had conjured a quick quotes quill, which flashed acid-green as it scribbled the names that Flint so reluctantly gave.
"Right," said Ron tersely, making a snap decision, "Send him to Azkaban, and make sure they know we'll probably need him for more questioning."
"Where are you going?" Ginny's voice was steely.
"To find those fuckers."
x
Draco's tongue was black. Absent-mindedly, he had been sucking the nib of his quill, and the ink tasted almost coppery, like blood. He surveyed the reports on Potter's progress without particular feeling. The spidery writing seemed to dance in the light of the fire, which was licking the study's hearth.
Without warning, muffled screams began somewhere far away. Draco barely glanced up. Yes, Potter's reports were full of screams; apparently they varied between those of terror, pain and anger. He paused momentarily to listen to Harry, chained within his mirrored prison, and decided that these were screams were of pain.
Shuffling the papers disinterestedly, Draco scanned the remainder of the reports. It was a shame he had not been present to witness these occurrences himself, he thought mildly; it was clear from the erratic nature of Potter's reactions that the serum was beginning to take desired effect. Two days ago, he'd apparently began fitting rather spectacularly. Sometimes, he shivered noiselessly and uncontrollably, huddling into the foetal position. Others, he screamed obscenities until his throat bled. Occasionally, Potter would begin to babble nonsensically, speaking of fictional names and places (his temporary minders had run fact checks to be sure he was not spilling potentially useful secrets). Mostly, though, he lay silent and stoic, sticky with his own perspiration.
The screams were seeming to subside slightly. Draco settled momentarily in the faded velvet armchair, feeling the warmth of the flames on his fingertips like dry, hot lips.
Maybe it was time to pay Potter a visit.
x
Harry's wrists were black. Congealed blood often looks black, when not washed away by merciful water. There were wine-dark stains on the prisoner's forearms, and the deathly pale translucence of his skin made Harry look like a corpse. He was refusing to eat; his ribs stuck out defiantly.
Draco observed him silently; today, Potter was half-curled, restrained by the chains. He watched the beads of cold sweat form on the shuddering body of The Boy Who Lived, and watched as they ran, disturbed, down over the satisfyingly regular bumps of his spine.
"Potter."
The captive twitched in response. The chains clinked softly in reply.
"Face me." Draco's voice was commanding, but neutral.
Silence, but Potter's defiance was numbed by the way he was now trembling with apparent fear. Unreasonably, it irritated Draco no end.
Tensing his jaw, he stepped smartly around the bed, and regarded Harry's face. It was devoid of colour, but for the blue of his deadening lips and the green of his glassy eyes. They were full of tears. Draco felt like hitting him.
Harry tried to flinch weakly away from him, unsuccessfully. His ruined wrists twisted in their chains.
"Are you frightened of me, Potter?" Draco asked quietly.
"Yes," Harry breathed.
With a sudden, jerky movement, Draco smashed him around the face, and the chains clanked angrily as Harry flailed.
"Don't hurt me anymore I'm innocent I've done nothing it hurts it hurts oh God," he babbled through his sobs, temporary insanity lilting his disconnected words.
"Shut up," Draco spat, hot with sudden and unexplained rage. "Shut up."
"It hurts it hurts," Harry whimpered, chest heaving as the tears ran down his emaciated cheeks.
Draco placed a palm squarely on Potter's ribs, and pushed, hard. Harry went to scream, but was silenced as in one fluid motion, Draco swung his leg over his jutting hipbone, straddling him, pulled out his gun, cocked it, and aimed directly at Harry's head.
"Shut up, Potter," he said deliberately, in a voice of forced calm, "or I shall put a bullet in your fucking brain."
Draco could feel the weak body beneath him shaking helplessly, but ignored it. Potter's wide, mad eyes were staring down into the hypnotic blackness of the gun's barrel, lips moving soundlessly. The seconds stretched.
"Please," Harry whispered, and the word felt like a slap around Draco's face. Without thinking, he aimed at Harry's frightened eyes and pulled the trigger.
Harry's body bucked automatically beneath him, and Draco watched in rapt fascination as his terrified expression cracked in the mirror where the bullet had struck, and shattered into a thousand silver splinters.
For a split second, the sound of broken glass like rain filled the silence. Then Potter, or this weak imitation of him, burst into broken, desperate tears.
Draco dropped the gun. It clattered away.
Inexplicably, he tried to gather Potter's crumpled body into his arms. The chains strained. Harry gasped harshly, choking through his tears, "Ow, ow..."
Draco touched the chain with freezing fingers, and more chain appeared between them as he muttered a lengthening spell in a voice like dead leaves.
Harry's eyes were bloodshot, crimson tributaries running into a bottle green lake. Still he cried, helpless.
The blonde crushed him gently to his robed chest, face blank, and Harry coughed words into Draco's bony shoulder, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't help it, I can't..."
"I know," said Draco, deadpan and dead-eyed.
Hours seemed to pass, with a softly moaning Potter in his arms, and a slice of ice where his feelings should be. Draco got pins and needles in his left foot.
Then the moans began to change. They strengthened, doubled in volume, and suddenly Harry was in his face, screaming. Draco jerked back instinctively, and Harry lunged for him, roaring like an incensed animal, clawing with nails that were bloodstained to the quick.
The ice melted, and Draco felt the rage return in full flame.
Harry struggled madly against his bonds, fresh blood appearing in a brilliant flash of red. His screams were as nonsensical as his babbling, and his tear-stained face was contorted with rage.
"DON'T - EVER - FUCKING - MALFOY - KILL - BEG - YOU THINK -!"
Draco laughed.
The chains creaked dangerously as Harry hurled himself against them, twisting wildly, screaming and swearing.
"KILL - YOU! I SWEAR -!"
Draco's mouth was twisted in a grin, but there was a coldness in his stomach now. This was the second time that Potter had expressed this particular sentiment, and it wasn't welcome.
"I'LL MAKE YOU BEG!" Harry's voice was a guttural rumble, his teeth bared like a feral animal. "BEG - CHOKE! I- !"
"Potter," Draco began, his own tone inflected with schoolboy taut, "if I released you from those chains, I could crush you. Like a worm. An insect." He bit down hard on the last word.
"COWARD! DON'T - " The chains shrieked their protest, but failed to drown out Harry's incensed roars.
Draco lunged, and the adrenaline that coursed through his veins was sweet. There was a terrible heat in him that wanted to obliterate Potter, this screaming, snivelling wreck that so often blundered, unwitting and unfeeling, into his path. His hand came down, cold and hard as iron, on Harry's throat, pinning him to the headboard with such force that blood burst stickily from the prisoner's lips.
"You ought to see your face," he sneered, right into Harry's blood-filled mouth, hating him with eyes like coals, "when I bring out that needle. You look like you want to die, Potter. Well, too-" He slammed Harry's ragdoll head into the board, hard, for emphasis on every word, "fucking - BAD!"
Harry coughed, and Draco tasted the coppery tang of him enemy on his lips. Automatically, he licked away the red, metallic residue. The flavour of it made his body ache.
Time inexplicably slowed, its fluidity resumed, and the silence was broken only by harsh breathing.
"Leave- " Potter's lips moved numbly, the initial flame of his hatred burnt down to the crumbling cinders of a resigned bitterness. Draco resisted the animalistic urge to suck the stains from his mouth.
"Fuck it, Potter," he hissed, unpeeling his fingers from where they rested in an iron grip against Harry's windpipe, "why won't you just die?"
That night, it took six bottles of Firewhisky to wash the taste of blood from his mouth.
x
A/N: Few words to say. Firstly, I'm having mixed feelings about 'Fragility,' but I'm pretty sure that's because it's so unsatisfactory compared to my songfic 'Lilac Wine' (if you haven't read that, please please do. It's one of the best things I've ever written, if I do say so myself). However, I've still got a couple of ideas, so I'll try and soldier on with this little ditty. :D ALSO, I was a little high off anti-allergy drugs at this time of writing the last passage, so apologies if it is completely nonsensical. Lastly, thankye muchly for reading, folks.