A/N: chapter warning: torture
Part 2, Chapter 9: Simple Human Kindness
The surface was hard and uncomfortable and cold, so cold. His fingers traced a line, that then broke and zig-zagged and met with another line, and another. There was no obvious order to them, but if he followed the line long enough he thought he could make out a rectangle. Stone tiles. Some sort of floor.
Harry opened his eyes to complete darkness.
There was no light in the room. No small window with bars on it. No hatch on the door. No lightbulb above. There wasn't even a crack where the door met the floor. He had no idea how long he'd been in this cell. He had no idea how long he'd been lying there, unconscious. He was stiff and freezing, shivering with the cold, and his head was throbbing and every single bone in his body ached. He had no idea how he got there or where 'there' was.
He tried pulling himself up. Perhaps if he could walk around the room, figure out its size... perhaps he'd find something more comfortable than the cold stone floor. As soon as he sat up it was as if his head exploded. He sent a hand gingerly to the most painful area, right above his ear, and met with some hardened substance - congealed blood, most likely, he knew. The clothes he was wearing were damp and freezing, and he wondered how much of that was blood as well.
He was shivering in earnest now. Movement hadn't warmed him one bit - if anything, he felt colder. He had no way of knowing how much of that was the room and how much of that was the blood loss. But he couldn't stay on that floor.
Biting his lips so that he won't cry in pain, he started feeling around for something - anything - to move to, any area that was less cold. His hands met something - a bench? a bunk? - but it was made of wood and not stone and he tried pulling himself up. He had to stop twice, control his breathing again before he tried, but eventually he managed to climb on the - bench, he decided. It was too small to be a bunk, almost too small for him. His mouth was dry and his head was throbbing worse than before, but it was too much effort to search for water so he curled down on the wooden bench and lost consciousness again.
He woke with a start - minutes? hours? days? - later in the darkness, and all of a sudden he remembered. The stone. It was still there. He could feel its weight in his pocket, but he sent his hand anyway, to feel it, to touch it, to make it real. A small pebble in his pocket which they hadn't found. His way to freedom. Now all he needed was a wand, for just three seconds. He curled back on the bench.
He wasn't thirsty anymore. Someone was pouring water down his throat, and he was drinking and drinking. It was getting too much and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe and started coughing and a familiar voice said, "Watch it, don't make him choke."
When did someone else get into the room? He opened his eyes. There was light now, and a huge wizard with an ugly smirk was moving back. With the eyes of a well-trained Auror he scanned the room in a second. The door was to his right, a heavy metal door, one that could not be opened from the inside, not without a wand. A red blotch on the stone floor - where he must have found himself earlier, he had no idea how long ago. And the wooden bench was the only thing in the room - no basin, no bed, nothing.
Behind the huge wizard he could see - Draco Malfoy, in heavy black robes. Holding his wand.
A wand! He lunged at Malfoy, hoping beyond hope to grab the wand from him, for just three seconds, for just two. He fell on the floor and the pain rushed through him. He didn't hear Malfoy speak the words but he knew the curse well enough. He managed to hold perhaps ten seconds before the pain was too much and he screamed and screamed but Malfoy didn't lift the Cruciatus curse, didn't stop. His entire body was on fire, his head must have split in two right along his scar, and it went on and on. He was thrashing on the floor, trying to find escape from the agony, but none came. Stop, he tried to say, but he didn't know if his voice was coming out at all, if he managed to form any coherent words. Stop, make it stop, end this, please, just end this, just kill me, stop, and the pain went on and on and on.
When he woke up it was dark again and he was alone.
He could taste blood in his mouth. He must have bit himself. He wanted to find the bench again, to lift himself from the freezing floor, but he couldn't find the energy to do it, couldn't find the strength to move. He closed his eyes.
When did he find his way to the bench? Did he manage, in the end, and just didn't remember it? It was definitely wood, underneath his fingers. But he could see even through his closed eyes that there was light in the room again. He wasn't alone anymore. Did they put him up there? He opened his eyes to see Malfoy studying him, in his heavy black robes. He didn't jump at that hated face again. Didn't try to grab the wand - not yet. Later. He had time.
Malfoy's mouth curled into an unpleasant smile. "Learning, are we? Good."
Harry didn't reply.
Malfoy took a step closer, his wand aimed at Harry. Out of instinct more than anything else, Harry backed to the wall. Malfoy paused, then inspected his wand. He looked at Harry again, still smiling his unpleasant smile, but didn't step closer.
"Where am I?" Harry's voice came out hoarse and heavy. His throat hurt when he spoke.
"In a Ministry facility," Malfoy answered. "Somewhere near Edinburgh. You'll forgive me if I don't give you any more details."
"Edinburgh?" Harry repeated. "But I was - I came - we were in the Ministry. In London."
"That was five days ago, Potter."
Five days? Could it really have been that long? Harry wanted to believe that no, it was impossible, but he knew that he had no way of knowing. It might very well have been five days. But that would mean - would the others wait this long before they came for him? And if he really had been removed from the Ministry, was that because they had tried - and failed - to free him?
"Ah, yes," Malfoy said in his usual sneer. "Your friends. Such loyalty. They did try and come after you."
Try? "What happened?"
"You proved quite an excellent bait, Potter. I should commend you for it. We tried to wake you for the execution yesterday, but you proved quite..." Malfoy looked at his wand again, "- stubborn, shall we say?"
No. Can't be. He was lying. Malfoy was lying. Harry still had the stone, and if he could just get the wand, just activate it, the rest of them will come, Ron will come...
"Crucio," Malfoy's voice was almost gentle.
Harry opened his eyes. The soft light of dawn entered into the room from the high, barred window. He felt exhausted, like he hadn't slept at all. His head was pounding. And he was so, so thirsty.
He noticed a tap at the corner. He crawled to the tap and tried to pull himself up, using the basin as leverage. It took him so long, it could have been an eternity before he was high enough to spin the dial at the top of the tap. One, two... a few drops of water came out and they were the best thing he'd ever tasted.
When he finally quenched his thirst, he looked at the room. It was different from the one where they held him before. The door was smaller and wooden. There was a barred hatch at the end. He took one tentative step towards the door, then a second, thinking he might be able to see what was outside. But his legs shook underneath him so violently that he knew he would never make it that far. There was no bench in this room, but the heap of straw in the corner looked so inviting that he crawled there and fell asleep again.
When he opened his eyes, the darker light of dusk came through the window. He slept the entire day, but he didn't feel refreshed at all. He felt as if he slept only minutes. He was still so, so exhausted. And he was thirsty again.
Someone shoved a glass of water into his hand and told him, "Drink." He drank without question, until the water had all but run out. Only then did he raise his eyes to see Malfoy, the collar of his black robes open.
Could he use the glass as a weapon? Break it on Malfoy's face? Then what? Grab his wand and Apparate? Could he Apparate from here? If he turned the stone on, could he do it? And Apparate where? Now that they're all dead...
"Why did you keep me alive?" he asked. His voice was still hoarse, his throat still painful.
Malfoy looked at him in confusion. "You offered yourself up to us, Potter," he said.
"After you executed the others."
"Executed - what?"
"Ron... and Hermione... and..."
Understanding dawned on Malfoy's face. "Are they coming after you?" he asked. "Is this some sort of plan? Well, I'm sorry to say, Potter, but they're not going to find you. We're not in London anymore."
"But... you said... you killed them! You said they came after me! You said..." he started coughing, the pain in his throat stronger and stronger.
Malfoy looked at him with growing confusion. "Potter, this is the first time in the three days since you got here you've been lucid enough to have any sort of conversation. I haven't talked to you since we finished our little chat at my office in the Ministry. Although I definitely would have liked to execute your annoying little friends. If you just told me where they are..."
He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. But Harry remembered, he remembered that other cell, he remembered Malfoy's words, he remembered the pain.
"You said five days," he said.
"What are you talking about?"
"Last time. You said it's been five days. Not three."
"It's the first of January, Potter. It's been three days."
"You said five."
Malfoy sighed. "I'm growing tired of this nonsense. If you insist on talking, perhaps you could tell me where your friends are hiding?"
"I'm not..." Harry stared at him. What was going on? It must have been a nightmare, he realised. The dark cell and the execution. He must have dreamt it all. "I'm not going to tell you a thing," he said at last.
Malfoy looked almost regretful. "I really hoped you wouldn't say that, Potter," he said, and aimed his wand at Harry. The glass shattered in his hand as the pain took over.
There was the smell of blood everywhere. Going into Harry's nostrils and taking over his thoughts. And dampness - something warm trickled at the tip of his fingers. He was too tired to open his eyes or raise his head. He was too tired to see what it was. But it felt like water. The liquid was too thin to be blood, and would blood run so freely on the floor? He was so, so thirsty. He opened his mouth, just a bit. The water was disgusting, tasted old and foul. But it was better than nothing.
After a while, he tried to move away from the water. There was straw here, wasn't there? Somewhere. But when he opened his eyes the room was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing. He tried to feel for the corner of the room, but all he felt was water and water and water. The water was freezing. If he didn't get up, he'd freeze to death. He was too weak to pull himself away. All of a sudden he realised he was hungry, so hungry, but there was nothing to eat, nothing but the trickle of old freezing water.
Perhaps somewhere else in the room? He forced himself to move away from the frozen puddle. He forced himself to lift his head before it, too, would freeze, together with the water. There should be straw here somewhere, he thought angrily, but there wasn't, everywhere he crawled there was just frozen water and a cold stone floor. He wished there was some light there, he wished he could see. There wasn't even a wooden bench, but then, the wooden bench had never been real, had it? He covered his head in his blood-soaked shirt and shivered until he lost consciousness again.
He woke up to see a pair of shoes next to him. They were fancy shoes. Made of black leather, and with an odd decoration at the tip. He looked up to see likewise heavy black robes, and Malfoy's face peering at him with a disgusted expression from above.
"Good," Malfoy said coldly. "You're awake."
Harry tried to crawl back, but slipped on the icy floor. "Where am I?" he asked. His voice was so hoarse that his question came out in barely a whisper.
"You're in the Ministry, Potter. The same place you walked into twelve hours ago." Malfoy looked amused. "Which was, pardon me for criticising, a very stupid thing to do. Very good for me, of course, but still. Very stupid."
Twelve hours? Harry didn't understand. But it didn't matter. He was in the Ministry. All he had to do was activate the stone - he knew it was gone before he sent his hand to his pocket. He could feel - or rather, not feel it. There was no weight there, no oddly-shaped pebble.
"You're looking for this?" Malfoy flashed something before him. The stone. "Honestly, Potter, I've seen some bad plans, but this - this outdid them all. Your friends aren't coming for you."
Harry tried to reach for the stone, but his palm closed on empty air, as Malfoy moved away, laughing. His palm, which was crisscrossed with scars. A glass had shattered in his hand, he thought, but when did that happen?
"Now, we've got some things to discuss," Malfoy said, ignoring Harry. His face contorted in disgust as he surveyed the cell. "And I really don't fancy this place, so let's make it fast, shall we? What were you trying to achieve?"
Harry stared at his palm. A glass shattering... it was a dream, wasn't it?
"This is the fourth time you've broke into the Ministry in a week, Potter! What are you trying to get here? And this stupid plan - you wouldn't have done it unless it was absolutely necessary!" Malfoy grabbed him, forced him up. Harry's head throbbed in the side, where the congealed blood from his injury covered his ear. "What were you trying to do here?"
"It was an accident," Harry tried to explain. "We shouldn't be here at all."
"No," Malfoy agreed. "You shouldn't." He threw him back to the floor. Harry's head hit the stone with a bang. He didn't even hear the curse spoken before he closed his eyes.
Malfoy was with him when he woke up. He heard his voice, giving orders. "Search the streets. The rest of them must be here," he told someone. "Check every hiding place they've been to before. Check the Leaky Cauldron. Check anyone who's a known sympathiser. Check anyone you even suspect, d'you hear me?" Harry nodded, wanted to say that he heard him, but he was too tired and the thick carpet was so comfortable, so he didn't open his mouth.
"Potter," now Malfoy was talking to him. Someone kicked him. "Potter!"
He opened his eyes. He was in Kinglsey's office at the Ministry. No, not Kingsley. Malfoy. That was the man who was standing over him now. Malfoy. He could see his shoes. Big leather shoes. And the edges of his black robes had stains on them. Where did the Minister for Magic walk?
"Potter!" Malfoy barked again. Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy's glare. "We're going to move you, Potter. Don't think you're going to stay here in place for your friends to come and rescue you."
"Let me guess," Harry said, and the words came out in a hoarse whisper. "A nameless facility near Edinburgh."
Malfoy looked annoyed. "There are no Ministry facilities in or near Edinburgh, Potter. Stop talking nonsense. We're moving you to Leeds."
Harry laughed. It just seemed to annoy Malfoy more. "Your shoes are dirty," he said. Malfoy stared at him. "And the hems of your robes."
His head was killing him. Throbbing and throbbing and throbbing. He brought his hand to scratch at the itching there but his hands were tied. So were his legs, he suspected. Even without his glasses on, he could see that there were scars on the palm of his hand.
"How many times did we have this conversation, Malfoy?" he asked.
"What conversation, Potter?"
"I ask where am I, you give me some bogus information, you tell me some ridiculous number of days I've been here, then you start asking questions I have no intention of answering."
"I think it's pretty clear we're in my office, Potter," Malfoy said in irritation.
Harry just laughed. "What day is it?"
"What day - what's wrong with you!"
"What day is it?"
"It's Thursday!"
"Sure it is," Harry just laughed again.
"Get a Healer here," Malfoy said to one of his unseen minions. "I think there's something wrong with him."
"May have used the Cruciatus curse once too many, Draco," Harry offered his opinion.
"I've got more important things to do, Potter," Malfoy retorted. "I'm going to leave that to the guys up at Leeds."
"Sure you are."
"You will talk, Potter. Sooner or later." Malfoy's smile made him look like a shark. "They all talk, in the end." He crouched on the carpet, next to Harry's head, and moved his fringe a bit, revealing his scar. The tips of his fingers traced Harry's scar, like the movement of lightning over his forehead. "I'm going to break you, Harry Potter," he said quietly, and he sounded so sincere that Harry could find nothing to say. A shiver went down his spine.
"Get him up, I need to have a look at him," someone said. The Healer.
"Get up, Potter," Malfoy said and stood up as well. Harry tried pulling himself up but couldn't. In the end, someone grabbed him and forced him to stand. The throbbing in his head brought bile up his throat and dizziness and he swayed. Someone caught him.
"That does it, that does it," said the man. "Does he need to be tied up?"
"Yes," Malfoy answered.
"Alright then, at least get rid of that disgusting shirt, I can't see anything with it."
Someone waved their wand and the shirt was ripped from Harry's back. The spell was a bit stronger than planned - or, perhaps, not - and Harry could feel an angry itch on his back where a cut was made to his skin.
The Healer stood in front of him perhaps five seconds, and then declared him 'fine'. Harry could feel his dizziness growing. He thought he might vomit on the healer's shoes. Or maybe on Malfoy's.
"Give him something that would knock him out, though, will you?" Malfoy said in a bored tone. "I don't want him waking up while we're transferring him."
"Of course, Minister," the healer said, and forced a gobletful of potion down Harry's throat. Harry tried to resist, but it was no use. He could feel the liquid trickling down his throat. The drowsiness and exhaustion that he had managed to keep at bay until that point took over. He closed his eyes.
The chill was in his bones even before he woke up on the cold stone floor, in complete darkness. He coughed and started to shiver. His mouth was so dry. He started feeling around, looking for something - anything - when his hand encountered a wooden pole. No, not a pole. A leg. A leg of a bench. He tried pulling himself up, but couldn't. It just made him cough again, gasping for breath. He tried again, and failed again, and his bare arm fell to the floor. When did he lose his shirt? He tried to sit up, reduce contact with the freezing floor, and leaned on the leg of the bench. In the darkness, he wasn't sure whether his eyes were opened or closed.
Someone kicked him. Poured a bucket of freezing water over his head. Harry was too tired to open his eyes. "Go away," he mumbled. Someone kicked him again, and he was hit with the Cruciatus curse without warning. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The curse was blissfully short this time. More water over his head and finally, he opened his eyes. Malfoy was sneering above his head. His shoes were filthy.
"Wake up, Potter," Malfoy said.
"Thought your boys in Leeds were going to do it," Harry mumbled. He wasn't sure where the idea of Leeds came from.
Malfoy was just as confused. "Leeds?" he asked, then sighed in mock exasperation. "Are we going to have to go through everything anew every day? You're in Edinburgh, Potter, Edinburgh. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the two weeks before that. Edinburgh."
"How long," his voice came out in rasps.
"How long are we going to do it? As long as I want to," Malfoy answered.
"Can't - tell you - nothing."
"I don't need any information from you, Potter. Don't you remember? Your little rebellion, all destroyed? Your friends screamed before they died, Potter. Screamed and screamed, just like you."
"No," he tried to shake his head, but it felt heavier than lead.
"Do you want to see their bodies?" Malfoy asked cheerfully. "We still haven't decided what to do with them. I thought of presenting them in the middle of Diagon Alley. Or perhaps in Hogsmeade, what do you say?"
"Lie," Harry rasped.
"Bring it in," Malfoy ordered some unseen minion. He was pulled up, and a trolley was brought in front of him. Malfoy removed the sheet that covered it.
The first thing he saw was the mess of brown bushy hair.
Hermione's face was frozen in terror, the last expression before her death. Her mouth was wide open. She was screaming when she died, just like Malfoy said.
"You know," Malfoy said in a voice that communicated nothing but interest, "you didn't scream nearly loud enough earlier. Crucio."
Eventually, Harry found his voice again.
His head was lying on something soft and comfortable. A warm hand was going over his hair. He was burning up, he knew, but a wet cold rag was washing his forehead. He opened his mouth, just a bit, hoping for the water to trickle from his burning forehead to his parched throat. His head was throbbing.
"Harry," someone said. A pleasant voice. A woman. He knew her. "Drink this." She held a goblet to his mouth. He drank greedily. She raised his head, so it would be easier. He didn't think he could raise his head on his own.
Eventually, he turned his mouth away. Enough. The thirst still burned in him, but he didn't think he could drink any more.
"Harry, open your eyes," she whispered. He opened them. Hermione.
"How long?" he could barely get the words out.
"A couple of days," she said. "Longer for you. You lasted three days before you started talking, Harry."
"Five days," he muttered.
"I don't blame you," she said with such sadness.
"Blame?"
"That you talked. You couldn't - no one could keep quiet that long. And you... we should never have sent you, not after Voldemort."
"Voldemort?" What was she talking about?
"After what Voldemort did to you. All that time. We should have known... I don't blame you, Harry."
"I didn't..." he shook his head. He knew he didn't say anything to Malfoy. "I didn't talk."
"You told him about the orchard," she said sadly. "Ron's dead. And Dean. I don't know about Neville. I think he was still alive when I was captured. Padma..." she bit her lip. "It's not your fault, Harry. No one could have lasted that long, least of all you."
"I didn't say anything," he insisted. To his surprise, he found his voice again, despite the burn in his throat. "I didn't tell him about the orchard."
"It's okay, Harry," she just repeated, as if she didn't hear him. "It wasn't your fault."
He tried to raise his head from her lap, to protest, to tell her it wasn't him, but he couldn't, he couldn't move.
"It's okay, Harry," she said again. "Just go back to sleep."
He closed his eyes and gave in to sweet oblivion.
When he opened them again, he was alone.
December 2010?
The pain subsided. "Where are your friends?" The Death Eater shouted. Harry didn't answer. More pain. "Where are they hiding?" the other Death Eater shouted. Harry shook his head. Pain.
Then the pain lifted, and he could breathe again. The Death Eater aimed his wand at him, but a new voice was heard. Someone Harry knew. But he didn't know where from.
"Hold on, we don't want to kill him," the voice said. Harry nodded. That was a sensible thing to say. He didn't want to die, either.
"How's his heart?"
"Racing like mad."
"Fever down?"
"Don't think so."
"Okay, let him rest for a bit. Hear that, Potter? We're letting you rest."
"Thanks," he answered automatically.
The familiar voice laughed. "Well, well, the great Harry Potter has finally learned some manners. Do you need anything?"
"Water."
A glass of water was shoved into his hand. Harry studied it for a moment. He thought he remembered this glass. Shattering in his hand. He looked at his palm. There were thin white lines there, like scars. But it can't have been, because the glass was whole. Then his thirst took over and he drank the entire content of the glass in one gulp. It was taken away from him.
Shoes shuffled into his vision. Big black leather shoes. Fancy. But these had blood and slime all over them. Perhaps from him. He didn't think the owner was very clever to wear them here. They looked too fancy for this place.
"Anything else I can get you?" the familiar voice asked.
"Ginny - where's Ginny?"
"Ginny?"
"Where is she?"
"Ginny Weasley?" the voice sounded incredulous.
"She's okay?"
"Ginny Weasley is dead, Potter. She's been dead for over two years."
"Where is she?" Harry asked again. He needed to know Ginny was safe.
"You've gone too far, you idiot! He's completely out of it."
"I just did what you told me to do!"
"Oh for - I can't take care of all of it. Merlin! I'm the bloody Minister! I can't be with him the whole day! I told you, if it looks like he's losing it, go easy on him! When did you last give him a break?"
Strong arms dragged Harry to a heap of straw. It was soft and he didn't mind that some of it was damp and squashed and that it stung over what felt like a vicious cut on his back. Another glass was shoved in his hand - not water this time, but a thick golden potion. "Drink this," he was told, and he drank without a moment's hesitation. When he finished, the glass was taken away. Worried grey eyes peered at him. "You just stay here."
"Is Ginny safe?" he insisted.
"Ginny's fine," the familiar voice reassured him. "She's fine. Where she is, no one can touch her anymore."
Harry nodded and closed his eyes.
He woke up on a wooden bench. The room wasn't completely dark this time. There was a soft light, hovering in the room. Edinburgh. Leeds. London. It all swam in his head, but he felt clearer than he had in... he had no idea how long had passed. He could feel the cut on his back. He could see the scars on his palm. When he sent his hand to his ear, he could still feel the thick layer of congealed blood there. He started coughing, forcing the cough through the lump in his throat, through the weight in his lungs. The air felt too heavy to breathe. His sight blurred for a moment, but he shook his head, closed his eyes, breathed deeply, forced his head to clear, his eyes to see again.
There was a stain on the stone floor in front of him. It still had a reddish tinge to it. How long before old blood turned completely darker? Harry tried to remember, but couldn't.
A quick look around the room confirmed that it looked just the same as the last time he had seen it. For a change, though, he didn't feel thirsty. He still felt exhausted, but less so than before. Was it possible this was the first time he was allowed to rest? But then - how long did that mean he was there?
The door opened. He could make out Malfoy, clad in heavy black robes. His wand out and ready. There was nowhere to run.
"Crucio," Malfoy said, almost softly. Harry fell from the bench to the floor, the pain taking over everything. His scream became a cough became a gurgle, he wanted it to stop, he just wanted it to stop, why did Malfoy keep going, why couldn't he just end it, why couldn't he just kill him?
Then the pain was gone and Harry was left shaking on the floor. He could feel the wound on his head opening up again, new blood flowing over the old blood. He could taste blood on his tongue. He opened his mouth and spat out only blood. He opened his eyes and saw Malfoy standing there, still at the door, unmoving. Harry climbed to the bench, still shaking, and tried to back away as far as he could from the door.
Malfoy left the doorway and entered the room.
He sat down on the bench next to Harry. His wand was aimed directly at Harry, but he didn't curse him again. Not yet. Despite himself, the memory of the curse, the fear of the pain engulfed Harry for a moment. He had to force himself to raise his eyes to his captor. They just looked at each other, green eyes meeting grey, for what felt like forever. There was no pity in the grey eyes, no compassion. No kindness. No shred of humanity left, and they terrified Harry more than anything else in that small, dank room.
"How did this happen?" he whispered at last. He thought of the Draco Malfoy he knew, a Draco Malfoy who was a bit of a prat, a bit of a creep, and a major pain every time Harry had to deal with him, but who, in the end, could never bring himself to kill, could never bring himself to destroy. "You were never a killer, Malfoy. You could never kill, not when he told you to kill Dumbledore, not when he..." his train of thoughts was cut short by a cough that threatened to tear his lungs out. Malfoy just looked at him coughing, and made no move to help him. He waited for the coughing to stop, patiently, methodically.
"No, I wasn't a killer back then," Malfoy said softly, and drew himself closer to Harry. Harry tried to back further into the wall, but the cold stone was cutting into his back.
"Do you know how they do it, Potter? First you just hear them. Listen to them scream. They brought their victims to Malfoy Manor. I was sixteen back then. And they would scream, scream all night. I closed the door, I put the pillow over my head, did everything I could to make the noise go away. But it never did. They screamed so loud that it could never go away.
"Then they made me watch. Voldemort himself ordered to bring me to the room. Oh, I was terrified," Malfoy laughed now. "You see them writhing and thrashing on the floor, screaming, their eyes roll back into the back of their head and they start drooling all over themselves, they bite their tongue, they bang their head on the floor and injure themselves, and the blood, there's blood everywhere. And they beg. Do you remember begging, Potter? 'Please, end this, just end this, please, I can't take it anymore, I want this to end, please, make it stop, please, please, kill me, just kill me, make it stop. Please'."
Malfoy considered his wand for a moment. "And then you have to do it, after a while. The thing about Unforgivable Curses - do you know them? How well do you know them?" Malfoy studied him. Now there was pity in his eyes. "Not well enough. Not nearly well enough. You have to mean it, Potter. You have to really, truly, mean it. You have to believe. If you don't believe, you see, they're not going to scream loud enough.
"And that's when you realise. It's their fault. They brought it upon themselves. They were the ones who screwed up. They messed it up. They messed it all up. You're doing it because you have no choice, because they were too stupid to see the truth and too lazy to escape properly.
"They deserve it. And when you realise that, that's when you really hate them, Potter. And you hate them because now you know, they're the ones who make you do it. They're forcing your hand. And then..." he smiled. "And then they scream."
"You're insane."
"No, Potter," Malfoy's face was now inches from his. "I'm a survivor. Two most different things in the world."
"And how do you rationalise this to yourself then? What do you tell yourself about me?" Harry's voice came out in short, low rasps. "Am I forcing your hand? Do you tell yourself this is my fault, too?"
"Oh, Harry," Malfoy said gently. "It's all your fault. You were our greatest hope. You were the only one who could vanquish the Dark Lord. You were the only one who could end it. And you failed. You failed all of us. You killed that innocent sixteen-year-old boy, Harry, who thought he could block the screams away by putting a pillow over his head. You allowed the death of my family. You let him win."
He sent a hand to Harry's face. Harry recoiled from his touch, but there was nowhere to go. Malfoy didn't hit him. He just touched the side of his face, where Harry's head was throbbing, where he could feel the warm liquid coming out of the wounds. And when Malfoy drew his hand back, Harry could see blood on the fingers. Harry's blood. Malfoy looked at his fingers for a moment, as if surprised to see the red liquid on them.
He drew himself closer to Harry, and Harry could feel his warm breath on his face. "You deserve to be punished, Harry. You've brought this upon yourself, when you've brought this upon all of us. You were supposed to win, to save us all. But you didn't." He leaned forward, towards Harry's face, and kissed him gently, a fluttering of his lips on Harry's forehead, next to the old lightning-bolt scar.
Then Malfoy got on his feet and walked to the door, and Harry's heart was filled with dread, numbing him, paralysing him, taking over everything else. "What are you doing to do?" He needed all of his willpower to let the words out.
Malfoy paused at the doorway. "I'm going to end this now," he said.