Pain – has an Element of Blank –
It cannot recollect
When it began – or if there were
A time when it was not –
It has not Future – but itself –
It's Infinite contain
It's Past – enlightened to perceive
New Periods – of Pain
"There is a pain – so utter" by Emily Dickinson
The Slytherin dormitories were dark, though Draco preferred the term pitch. The enchanted window that unleashed rays of sunlight during the day did not show the moon. It made stumbling around without a wandlight difficult after hours. Theodore, Blaise, and Draco had learned to pick up after themselves if only to avoid getting tangled in their clothes and books when they were trying to be sneaky. Crabbe and Goyle were lost causes.
Draco listened to his roommates breathing. Silencing wards were already placed around Goyle's curtains, restraining his snores, but it was easy to pick out Crabbe mumbling incoherently like a puppy and Theo's slightly nasal breathing since the boy had recently caught a cold. Draco stared into the darkness, trying and failing to get to sleep, his thoughts, as always, consumed with Dyre.
No one had seen hide or hair of him all day, not that they expected to. Still, the idea of him alone in the forest, suffering through Yrsa's departure, upset him. Though, he supposed he wasn't alone, he tried to soothe. He had those horrible hounds and the centaurs, who put up with the lad much more heartily than they tolerated any other human. But the fact remained that he wasn't with Draco. And that truly seemed to be the sticking point.
He turned over, sighing irritably. He just wanted Dyre to confide in him, for him to be the one he came to when he was hurt. He had never thought that way with any of his other lovers. Part of his prior relationships involved coming to each other with troubles, but it had always existed more like a contract, and Draco had never been emotionally invested in his partners' woes, just average teenage angst.
He lied on his back again. This was stupid and… selfish. Dyre wasn't a normal boy. He probably didn't need Draco worrying about him like this. He wasn't even in danger. For once. This was just Draco wanting to be the knight in shining armor. What a bloody Gryffindor.
He was lost in thoughts, but he still heard the slight sigh of the door opening. He did a quick check in his head. Yes, they were all here, and no one had sneaked out. Maybe it was Pansy wanting to slip into Blaise's bed. Draco pulled the pillow over his head, not wanting to deal with listening to the two of them going at it but too lazy to reach for his wand.
Silence continued without the whispered mumblings of the girl coaxing herself into a bed. Draco held his breath against the pillow, wondering perhaps if it wasn't her after all.
The footsteps were light, much lighter than the way Pansy usual trod in. Draco waited, feeling his heart climb into his throat. He heard his curtains move and someone sat at the edge of his bed. He sat up, eyes struggling through the darkness, unable even to make out a shape.
"Dyre?" he whispered, hands reaching out to feel him.
He was met with a shoulder, but the hands that came up to grab him a moment later were Dyre's. He relaxed, smiling. He started to speak but was cut off as Dyre kissed him. He grunted in surprise, and Dyre grabbed his wrists, moving them out of the way. He sighed, happy to allow Dyre all the power in the kiss. The northman pressed their tongues together, his boldness startling Draco a little. He remained at the edge of the bed, and Draco thought distractedly that he probably didn't want to get his shoes on the covers.
The kiss continued for a moment, urgent and thick. Draco moved to wrap his arms around Dyre's neck, but the gentle hold went hard and forced his hands to his side. It was this more than the way that Dyre suddenly bore him down onto the sheets that told Draco something was wrong.
"Dyre, wha-" he tried to say but Dyre snatched his mouth again.
He forced his head backward, thrusting his tongue, and Draco lost track of what he wanted to say for a second. He struggled against the hold half-heartedly, still captured in his arousal. Dyre knelt over the bed, crawling forward on his knee to push his wrists into the pillows and kiss him more deeply.
"Dyre," Draco said, managing to disentangle their mouths, still trying to keep quiet less he wake up his roommates. "Wai-" he cut off for a moment thrashing with a gasp as Dyre sucked on his neck. "W-wait, would you? Dyre."
When he was ignored again, his temper flared. He pushed against the hold, throwing out his shoulder. Dyre backed off, the hands leaving him.
"Dyre, what's wrong? This isn't like you," he said quickly, half afraid the boy would pounce on him again and he'd lose all manner of thought.
It was silent for a moment, and Draco took the time to control his breathing and will his erection away. He was relieved when Dyre didn't leave. Honestly, his silence was beginning to freak him out, and he was starting to wonder if this was Dyre at all, which terrified him a lot more than it should.
"I… I apologize."
Draco expelled his breath. "It's alright. You just… startled me, and you usually aren't so… rough," he said, unable to think of a better word.
"Did I hurt you?"
Draco grunted in frustration. "No, of course not."
Dyre moved, sitting at the edge of the bed a little further away from him. Draco scooted forward, ignoring the slight squeak of the mattress. His hand fumbled for Dyre's shoulder and found his arm.
"Dyre, I'm a male teenager. I'm going to be horny as fuck. Don't treat me like some sensitive girl. Really, it just wasn't like you." He paused for a second, debating with himself before just deciding to go all out. "You're upset, and as much as I'd love for you have your dastardly way with me, I don't want our first time to be when I can't see you, and I have to keep my voice down."
That drew a smile from Dyre, though he couldn't see it. "I'm sorry," he apologized again, though his voice was calmer. "I don't know what I was thinking."
"Well," Draco said, getting annoyed with being unable to read his face (though there really wasn't that much to read; Draco just liked looking at him). "Can we go some place to talk about it? Or did you just come here to shag me?" he said, only slightly reproachful.
Dyre's silence was undecipherable, and Draco feared he might have put too much censure in that last statement.
"We can talk," he said at length.
Draco took his hand and started to disentangle his legs from the sheets. He didn't bother with a robe or shoes, following Dyre in the darkness to the door. (And how did the man do that? Everything was bloody invisible!)
The common room was silent and empty, and though Draco would have much preferred to settle in Dyre's room, he sat them both on the suede couch before the fire, ignoring the slight chill in his pajamas. There was a seat of space between them that Draco didn't like but respected anyway. He pulled up his knee, resting his cheek on it so he could regard Dyre.
"So, are you ok?"
Dyre's expression was solemn. Though nothing of his clothing or disposition had changed much, there was a slight wildness in his unhindered eye that made Draco concerned.
"I am fine," he said succinctly, and it was the first time that Draco could tell that he was lying.
He dared to move a little closer and rested his temple on his shoulder. Dyre did not move nor did he acknowledge him.
"I'm sorry, Dyre," he said gently. "For Yrsa. I actually really liked her," he confided. "Though I don't know much about the whole wife-husband thing."
Dyre shook his head minutely but did not speak.
"I wish I knew something to tell you," he continued. "But I'm really happy you came to me. You're… you're private. You don't have a lot people you can trust and losing one… especially one that's known you so long… I can't even imagine.
"I'm not trying to turn this on me," he said a tad tensely. "But when you kissed her, and I knew you were thinking of me, the way you did it was just so… so gentle and kind, and it made me think about losing you the way you were losing her… and I'm sorry, Dyre, but it was just so awful. And I'm so sorry that things have to be this way with you two. That you had to feel that… No one should have to feel that. I'm just so happy that you're here."
He pressed his hands to his mouth. When he couldn't stand it anymore and dared to look up, the sight he saw surprised him. Dyre was crying. Not like Draco, who made a great mess of things like a fussy child, but just crying, a single trail of wetness falling over his right cheek. Draco crawled into his lap.
"I'm so sorry, Dyre."
And they shared the sorrow, Dyre allowing himself to grieve.
o.O.o
The days that followed were nice. They could be better, but Draco considered any time that Dyre did not spend in the infirmary, or in a life-or-death circumstance, very successful. Victor and Hermione (and wasn't that relationship rather startling) often joined them in conversation during the meals and in the library. Even Neville Longbottom stopped by every once in a while to talk to Dyre. The third task was in a month, and Draco was torn between wanting the Tournament to end and dreading when the northmen would have to return to Durmstrang. After Yrsa's farewell, Dyre's position at the moment was ambiguous, though of course Draco could hope.
Everyone was doing a lot of hoping these days. The small feeling that something was wrong, which had fled in the excitement over finding the Potters' son, had returned. Though Sirius was no longer working at the Ministry and Remus had taken a desk-job communicated by owl, they both still received accounts of the strange frenzy of Dark activity reported to the Aurors office. Two students from Slytherin suddenly left and another two had to return home on quick notice to attend funerals of family members whose magic had been caught in some peculiar vortex that ate out their core.
Over all, life at Hogwarts did not change, but the newspapers were broadcasting a strange medley of disturbing events, including an illness that broke out among the seers. Dumbledore was often gone from dinner. What assistance he could offer though remained to be seen.
The days were dark.
o.O.o
Dyre and Victor had taken to escorting Draco and Hermione, whom Victor was still not officially courting, to Herbology. It was the only period that the sixth year Slytherins and Gryffindors had together, and though Hermione was not really a friend of Draco's, the two were amiable to walking together with the northmen. They quickly found conversation in the other, seeing as how their escorts were both rather taciturn.
The atmosphere was friendly and warm, Dyre noted. The way Victor watched Hermione's mouth whenever she spoke, even if she wasn't talking to him. The way Hermione and Draco lost themselves in an argument. How the girl pulled books with hardly a thought from her bottomless bag when she wanted to prove a point. The way Draco puffed up and ended a discussion he had lost with "Well, my father…" They always spent so long walking, taking as much time as possible so that Hermione and Draco were almost always late.
Dyre had known it was going to happen. With Dumbledore so often absent, he knew that some things were going to surface no matter how much he tried to push them down.
"Boy!" Karkaroff shouted.
He had come through an arch, and Dyre had been so focused on the way Draco's hair was brushing his neck that he didn't know whether this was some planned interaction or an accident. Victor placed a hand in front of Hermione, who was watching him with proud distaste, holding her books against her chest in a way that Dyre knew was her battle stance rather than a defensive gesture.
Karkaroff's face was etched in the sharp lines of his origin, his beard making his face darker than it should have been. In the formal attire of the Durmstrang headmaster, he was tall, imposing, and merciless. But Dyre noticed the stains at the edge of his tunic, the frayed hem of his trousers, his lackluster boots, the stress lines that folded his eyes.
He drew himself up, having no time to summon his obedience, not when his first reaction was so unforgivably strong. Then, because he knew showing his pride was a mistake, he faltered, lost for what to do. Karkaroff bore down on him with a wrath reminiscent of a harpy, eyes blazing with the knowledge of his power. Power Dyre did not have.
Then, suddenly, Draco's hand was at his back, forcing him to abandon the small move he had made to step back. Having time for nothing else, he focused on what it meant for Karkaroff to be marching up to him and how he alone had the power to take that hand away from him. It was enough to steel him, for his anger to overcome the reason why he should be very afraid.
Karkaroff halted a ways in front of him, a snarl in his unsightly narrow eyes. His gaze swept to Hermione and Draco, ignoring Victor all together.
"Made friends?" His voice curled around the last word, and Dyre nearly flinched from the disgust in his tone. He turned his stare back to Dyre, hot with vice. "You think you can be real?" he said quietly.
Dyre knew that no one would understand what that meant except for him. This time, he did flinch.
"I believe both my father and Dumbledore have instructed you not to approach him," Draco said, stepping forward.
Karkaroff's eyes flicked to him, and Dyre suppressed the urge to tell him to be quiet or yank him back.
"Your father's not here right now, boyo," he said. "And Dumbledore has no right to detain what is mine."
"Dyre is an individual," Hermione said, her knuckles white over her books. "You can't treat him like an object!"
Victor pushed her back a little, watching Karkaroff warily. Hermione shot him a glare.
Karkaroff looked startled for a moment before he looked like he was struggling with a smirk. Dyre contemplated running. He always thought about it whenever he did something that made Karkaroff think he had to remind him of the collar around his neck. A shiver ran up his spine and he swallowed. But, as always, he clenched his fists and prepared to bear it, preferring shame to cowardice.
"Really?" Karkaroff said. He gave Dyre a leer. "Boy. Come."
Dyre could disobey some commands, but he felt Karkaroff's temper brushing over him, leaving fear in his skin and knew this was not a battle he could win. When he was younger, he protested. He rebelled and spat in his face like a she-cat in heat, and he'd suffered for it. That first spark of pain, so wretchedly human, gave way to habit. So he knew that some of his emotions were human, had been beaten into him when he had been very young and that he should know how to escape them now that he was older.
He hated him. He hated that Karkaroff could still make him feel like a small boy. He could see it in his face, the desire to case him pain, and maybe because he was the first, the first to strike at him with intent, Dyre had never been able to overcome it. Maybe it was also the curse, the curse that made his moods so vital to Dyre's survival rather than human instinct.
Every muscle in his body tensed, Dyre took a step forward. He could feel the doors that he had opened here, here in safety with Draco and his parents, closing behind him. He refused to turn from Karkaroff's gaze, refused to allow him complete dominance. He'd take his beating, but he wouldn't die, and he wanted Karkaroff to know that, to see it before he felt the smugness of victory.
"Dyre!" Draco snarled, snagging his sleeve. Dyre was so startled he stopped breathing. "You don't have to anymore," he said with the fierceness of the protected. "You don't have to go to him."
For a moment, Dyre felt lost, like he did when he was trying to figure out what he wanted from his parents and what they wanted from him. He noticed the flicker of Cetis disappearing around the corner, calling for help, and he stared at this beautiful boy, trying so hard to keep him when he knew it was impossible.
Because he hesitated, he felt the bond between him and Karkaroff. He'd felt its absence only because it was Igor who threw him from his sight. But under the new order, he felt it slither along his spine, planting compulsions in his mind. Making him want to return to Karkaroff.
He hissed. The curse wasn't sentient, but sometimes he felt like he could communicate it. It fell docile again, but Dyre could still feel it, coiling in anticipation in some dreamed space inside his back and shoulders. It could turn him mindless. Dyre was careful never to let it.
He touched Draco's hand and bade him to release his sleeve. "Aye, I do."
Draco looked devastated, and he couldn't help letting his fingers linger around his temples. Karkaroff was getting impatient though and he turned away. He felt somewhat stronger walking the distance, focused on the hate and rage he felt filling the gaze between them. Karkaroff looked less pleased with the victory, but a conquest was a conquest.
He wrapped his hand around the back of Dyre's neck. "See," he said, pinching so that he was forced to face them like a claimed prize. Dyre curled his lip, not minding that it made him resemble a dog. He kept Karkaroff in his vision, but he saw Draco reassemble himself, concentrating on the headmaster rather than Dyre.
Good, Dyre thought with relief.
Karkaroff was an idiot. He should have gathered his spoils and retreated, but he had always been weak to complacency. He stood there, gloating, and Dyre's curled lip fell into a cruel smile. He continued speaking, sprouting inanities, and Draco, Hermione, and Victor let him, feeding him with helpless fury that Igor soaked up like fresh blood.
He didn't think they'd find Dumbledore. That would have been too much of a miracle, and the man had been absent for too many odd hours to appear like a white knight. Dyre caught movement from the corner of his eye, and though he saw nothing, he knew that he was surrounded by people who cared to protect him. The feeling was quick relief, one that made him want to shiver. His shoulders fell and he almost wanted to cry. They would have no idea what they'd saved him from.
"You're a fool," he chuckled recklessly, cutting Igor off mid-word.
Regardless of what Karkaroff was, he had enough battle instincts to realize what had happened. He pushed Dyre in front of him rather than ogle like a green lad. Dyre went vapidly, lacking the height or berth to be a proper shield. He saw Severus distend from the shadows. Certainly terrifying for an enemy but it made Dyre add a dark glint to his eyes that felt like vengeance, bitter but satisfying.
The professor had his wand trained, and Black and Lily joined him at his sides, along with James and Lupin. Draco and Victor were at his back, and yes, even Hermione Granger, had her wand up.
Dyre made a jackal's smile, watching and feeling Karkaroff tense behind him.
"He's mine," the man snarled, taking out his wand. He began backing away.
"Release him," Sirius Black demanded in an auror's voice.
Karkaroff moved his wand to Dyre's neck, poking into the cavity beneath his jaw. He rolled his eyes, tilting his head so the pain was minimal. He wondered if he could slither out of the grip if he was fast enough, but he did not chance it, not with Karkaroff.
"You have no right to take what's mine."
"I ask for sanctuary," Dyre said in a clear voice, preempting the battle. His eyes found and held onto Severus first, who, as a professor, had authority to take him before Dumbledore for his request to be heard. The man nodded, backed by Lily.
"You heard him," Sirius smiled, jerking his wand as if to say "get on with it."
Karkaroff was surrounded and cornered. He'd backed into a wall to protect his back. Dyre had stripped the law from him. As a private institution, Hogwarts could provide asylum from any government just like a temple, and Dyre had a right to claim it. He knew however that the curse between them wouldn't care one whit about legalities, but he figured he could bear it for however long it was needed. It had never truly impeded him before when he managed to escape to the Tower.
He hissed when Karkaroff's hand came up around his neck, pressing into his trachea. He felt Igor's beard scratch his cheek as he was forced to raise to his toes or choke.
"Part or I'll hurt him."
"I will kill you," James Potter promised, wrath in his eyes.
"And I will tear you apart," Lupin added, no wand drawn. Not that he needed one with the flash of gold in his gaze.
Karkaroff laughed. Dyre's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to warn them. He felt it through his flesh, the curse traveling through his arms and down into the pit of his stomach in a stronghold. The words caught against the hand on his throat, and he merely gargled incoherently, kicking against the man's shins.
"Stop breathing, boy."
It was immediate. He gaped like an idiot as his throat tightened and closed. He could feel his lungs pull against the blockage, sucking. He heard the sounds he made, half wheezes incomplete. Even though he knew it was useless, his hand went to his throat to try to remove the binds. He scraped against his skin, digging for invisible rope.
Panic surrendered to pain. He began reaching for comfort, anything to hang onto though he didn't know how that would help either. He continued to gape compulsively, the wheezes turning to terrible screeches.
When he was ten, four lords forced his head into a barrel of mead. They pulled him out and shoved him back and continued until he stopped kicking. They left but one stayed. One lifted him up and gently put him inside the barrel, held him down with one hand when his feet touched the bottom and he tried to push up. He drowned and woke on the floor. The lord did it four more times, gentle as a lover, before a professor found him. Dyre's fingers and toes had turned blue and half his lungs were still swimming in ale. He should have died. The professor reprimanded the boy and took Dyre to the Tower. The Maiden healed him and suffered his bouts of terror around anything liquid, until Karkaroff began to call him again.
He learned later that She had sunk Her hand into his mind and pulled out the disease that the trauma had caused. He still couldn't drink mead, but She'd taken his terror into Herself so he wouldn't have to suffer, so he could survive.
She wasn't here now. By the fifth time he'd passed out and woke gasping, he could feel the madness. They'd tried spells on him. He'd felt the curse consume them, eaten by the scars on his back. Now, he couldn't feel anything. The pain was madness. Deprived bred depravity. He felt it eating the corner of his mind as he began to lose rational thought. It replaced eternity. Death wasn't even a presence. He could breathe when he slept – he knew it logically because otherwise he simply wouldn't have woken. But it brought no blessed relief.
He screamed soundlessly, feared the weariness in his limbs because of a disjointed belief that he could fight off his own need for air. He would not die, but he was going to destroy himself if it didn't stop. It won't stop, something horrible whispered in the depth of his mind.
He'd stopped looking up and around him, disgusted by the helplessness in their eyes, stopped listening to anything save his own starved screeches. Someone was holding his hand though and that alone reminded him that this was a spell and not the way he was born.
Finally, he fainted and the darkness stayed still.
o.O.o
MASSIVE BREAKOUT AT AZKABAN!
Written by Madelee Sawyer
On the 2nd of March at approximately seven in the morning, Matthew Donnelly and Maxamillian Kent, respected guards of The Prison of Azkaban, took a rowboat out from the harbor at Oakley. They were sent to investigate the strange silence that had descended over the prison. This silence, in the most famed and guarded prison, is most unusual.
When these two guards approached the front entrance of the prison, they immediately noticed that the dementors, those creatures who guard the prisoners (see page 4 for more information), had not come out when they docked. It was later discovered that the 400 dementors (precise accounts vary) left their posts and are now considered missing. Never before have dementors left the prison without a Ministry summons, and when summoned, our prestigious Ministry is always careful to monitor their numbers and whereabouts.
After searching the prison, aurors discovered the remains of several inmates (see page 4). Only the supporters of You-Know-Who, who was vanquished by our Ministry fifteen years ago, remain missing. These supporters, known as Death Eaters, are highly dangerous, convicted of crimes (see also page 4) that led to their immediate incarceration and life sentences. Aurors urge witches and wizards to remain cautious while they search for the missing prisoners and please be vigil. Contact the auror office in the Ministry by Floo or owl if you have any information regarding these individuals. (see page 4)
Bellatrix Lestrange - convicted for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Aurors Alice and Frank Longbottom, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgiveables,
Rudolphus Lestrange - convicted for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Aurors Alice and Frank Longbottom, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgiveables,
Rabastian Lestrange - convicted for the torture and permanent incapacitation of Aurors Alice and Frank Longbottom, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgiveables,
Antonin Dolohov - convicted for the murders of Fabian and Gideon Prewett, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgiveables,
Fin Nightlee - convicted for the torture and murders of Auror Juniper Redhart, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Nneka and Justin Nightlee, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgivables,
Ernest Mulciber - convicted for the murder and torture of muggles and the use of Unforgivables,
Augustus Rookwood - convicted spy and user of the Imperius Curse,
Johnston Powers - convicted for the rape and murder of numerous muggles and the use of the Unforgiveables,
Weston Nott - convicted for the murder and torture of muggles and the use of Unforgivables,
Leslie Travers - convicted for the murders of Marlene McKinnon and her family, the torture and murder of muggles, and the use of Unforgivables,
Fenrir Greyback - werewolf, convicted for the intentional infection of numerous muggle and wizard children,
Redan Redwyrm - known necromancer.
These witches and wizard are extremely dangerous and should not be approached under any circumstances.
Sorry to be so late with this update. Usually, I don't give excuses but I felt you deserve a reason for the long delay. I had a massive block on finishing the story, one that is still not completely cleared up. I also had to rewrite a portion of this chapter. I'm working on minor changes to some previous chapters, nothing that changes the plot. I wanted to include something though and had to change Dyre's duel with that prick Farkoff. I am a massive editor, and I feel bad bothering my beta over the summer. (This chapter is un-betaed by the by.) Again my apologies to the readers who have been with me since the start. Hopefully, you haven't given up on the story. I assure you, I certainly haven't.