A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 19

Got You In My Sights

Every once in a while, perhaps the time between the appearances of a blue moon, Draco found he regretted his own snarky nature. Generally, he quite enjoyed playing the part, particularly when it worked to his advantage.

But on occasional, as previously mentioned, his brimming contemptuousness landed him in pain or some form of trouble. Or both, on particularly unpleasant occasions.

This time, it was pain.

Draco growled at no one as he shivered and shook, lying on his bed, unable to cover himself and completely unwilling to do so if it had been in his power. He was entirely naked, his back arched in a vain attempt to avoid touching the comforter. It scratched painfully at his shoulders and legs, causing the steady stream of curses that were spilling from his lips.

His bed linens were none but the finest silk and blended cotton. They were warm and soothing to the flesh as a general rule. But when rubbing up against the raw, red welts that still decorated Draco’s body, they had somehow lacked in finesse.

He gritted his teeth and tried to lay himself down flat so that he could stop moving entirely. It wasn’t working well, given that every time he tried to press his back to the sheets, he would slip slightly and the short slide of material against him caused a fire to erupt under his skin.

“Fuck,” Draco breathed through his teeth. He steeled himself and then just dropped, hoping to get most of the pain over with in one go.

He immediately regretted it as his body instinctively convulsed. He forced his head back and pushed his arms down, palming the sheets and screwing his eyes shut.

No Apparition or Floo Travel for two weeks, the Healers had told him. His body could not yet stand the painful compression of Apparition and the fires of the Floo would probably aggravate his burns. They had suggested he fly, first. Then, realizing their foolish mistake, they had all begun to splutter and stammer, shifting amongst themselves and trying to pretend they hadn’t said something so stupid.

Draco had glared venomously at all of them before Nott stepped in and rolled his eyes. Draco had never been particularly close to Theodore in school, but he had come to know him better following the war.

Theodore Nott was the one who suggested that Draco apply for a position as a Healer, first. He had even offered himself as a reference. The Ministry did not seem to care.

After a particularly explosive row between them, which was entirely Draco yelling and breaking things while Nott watched quietly, took it, and repaired the broken items, Theo had finally offered his final idea.

He was the one who convinced Draco to try out for the Catapults. They had been in need of a new Seeker for years, to salvage their shreds of a reputation. Draco hardly believed he was the one to turn things around for them, but Nott insisted.

Draco tried out, earning cutting looks and disdainful remarks from all of the evaluators. They had all criticized his flying, his technique, his speed, his attention, his hair, and anything else they could to ensure he could not be chosen.

All of them except one.

Oliver Wood was single-minded. He cared about Quidditch and nothing else. He watched Draco with critical eyes but they were not marred by hatred like everyone else. He was looking for potential, for talent, for skill. He was looking for a Seeker when everyone else was looking for a poster-boy.

Wood saw a Seeker, while everyone else saw a Death Eater.

It was Nott and Wood that turned Draco’s life around and neither of them had to do it. Neither of them was bound by any kind of debt, any kind of obligation. In fact, both of them had ample reason to want to punish Draco, to push him down further. But they had both offered help when no one else would.

It was mostly for those reasons that Draco’s face changed when Nott walked into the room. He informed Draco that he would have to take the Night Bus back to his home, or else arrange for some Muggle transportation. There was no way he could safely return otherwise.

Healer’s orders, he had said.

Draco had nearly retched at the thought of taking Muggle transportation. He had been inside one of their… cars before, and had thoroughly distrusted the whole experience. Things that grumble and wheeze the way the strange metal carriages did should not be considered safe by anyone.

Draco firmly believed that anyone who did use them was completely bollocking mad.

Utterly.

He had argued with Nott for long moments before he informed his friend that he did not give a Hippogriff’s arse about Healer’s orders and he was going to use the Floo. Then he would owl Nott a smug message about how wonderful the trip had been and how un-burnt he felt back at home.

Nott shrugged and sent him on his way.

That had been hours ago and, much to Draco’s dismay, he had collapsed on the floor of his sitting room, his entire body alight with pain from the experience. He felt as though he was being eaten alive by the fires, despite that the green flames of Floo Travel should have had no effect on him whatsoever.

Inky had come to collect him and helped Draco to his room, though he had been forced to banish his clothes completely. They itched and dragged over his skin like jagged razors and he could not stand it.

Inky had offered to fetch Aurora, or even Draco’s mother and father, but he had refused. His pride would not allow for anyone to see him in his current condition. He could not stand the look of scorn that would surely adorn his father’s face, the look of worry that would mar his mother’s, or the look of… well, who could ever really tell with Aurora? She was just as likely to spurn him for not listening to the Healers as she was for his inability to simply suck up the pain and deal.

Draco groaned to himself and gripped at his wand. He lifted it with one convulsing arm and fought to think of the right words for a cooling charm. Once he had cast it, he felt his entire body relax as the cold washed over him and soothed his burning skin.

He sighed deeply and relaxed his jaw. He realized, then, that he was breathing very heavily from the effort of withstanding the pain. He tried to even his breathing but knew he had little time for what he needed to do. The cooling charm would only last so long before the heat returned.

He summoned the unguent that Nott had provided him – just in case –and uncapped it with slightly shaking fingers. He dipped his hand in and began to spread it over the most painful areas.

As he spread the cool cream over his stomach and below his navel, his mind flashed, completely unbidden, to the image of Potter painting him with salve. He gasped as his skin prickled from the memory of the intimate action. The slide of linen over his groin as Potter moved lower to access his wounds made him ache.

“No,” Draco whimpered as he felt heat pool in his belly and blood rush to his cock. The feeling of the swell between his legs was simultaneously pleasurable and painful. His skin was sore from his stubborn refusal to listen to the Healers but the excitement was something Draco always relished.

Now, however, he glared accusingly down at his prick, knowing how painful it would be to try to bring himself off. He was also bothered by the fact that the image of Potter had caused this reaction for the second time, but he fought valiantly to ignore that notion completely.

Draco growled, deep in his throat, and continued determinately to apply the salve to the rest of his body. He pointedly ignored his erection as he covered himself in the cream. It seeped deep into his thirsty skin and immediately began to work its magic –no pun intended.

He found himself moaning unintentionally as his hands travelled over his own thighs, carefully spreading the liniment. He gritted his teeth again as he realized that his cock was really the only place he had not yet attended to… well, that and his arse, but he was not going there.

No.

So Draco, setting his jaw and putting on a brave face as though it was quite the sacrifice to be doing it, wrapped his oily hand around his own cock and began to move in slow, deliberate strokes. The cream was still cool and the combined temperature with the pressure of his hand elicited delightful feelings that any normal wank would not have accomplished.

“Oh, Merlin,” Draco murmured as he began to stroke faster. The long fingers of his other, unoccupied hand, slid down and cupped his testicles briefly before sliding even further to press the cream against the tender flesh behind his balls and before his entrance.

Suddenly, the image of Potter’s arms on either side of his head, pinning him down, his dark and determined face looming over Draco’s, their lips nearly touching, slightly parted, flooded Draco’s mind. It burned there, behind his eyes, for what felt like forever. Draco tried to force it away but failed. Then…

”I’m promising you.”

Draco was unprepared for his climax. It quaked through him, causing him to brush painfully against the sheets beneath him and cry out in both pain and pleasure. He felt his own release splatter his stomach. The hot liquid, mixed with the cool cream, created a strange harmony on his skin and he slackened, ignoring the fact that he was still hurting, that he had forgotten his back in the flurry of need, and opened his eyes, gasping quietly.

“Fuck, he’s going to kill me,” Draco whispered to himself, aware that talking aloud to himself was probably not the safest thing, let alone the sanest.

He picked up his wand, his muscles groaning at his demands on them. He cast a quick charm to clean himself and then turned onto his stomach, glad that his front was no longer hypersensitive to touch.

He paused, staring at his headboard for a moment, wondering how he was going to reach his back to apply the cream. He toyed with the idea of calling Potter to enlist his help, but then quickly quashed the irrational desire.

I’m not a teenager anymore. I can’t play these stupid games anymore. No time for these stupid fantasies.

Draco’s lip curled into a snarl and he flicked his wand back to cover his bum.

“Inky,” he called out quietly. A faint pop was heard and Draco did not turn around. “I need you to apply the cooling salve to my back.”

Draco felt a light weight shift the bed.

“Yes, Master Draco,” his house-elf’s voice assured him. Draco laid down more comfortably as the elf used a brush to paint on the cream, much as Potter had done.

Inky did not, however, elicit any physical responses from Draco.

Thank Salazar, Draco mused to himself. Or I would have to surrender myself to my stalker, on principle.

+++++

Harry gasped. He was sitting bolt-upright in his bed, sweating and breathing heavily. His hair was nearly sopping from the heat of his body. His chest heaved and he pressed a hand to his forehead, as though wondering if there was any outward signs that his mind had been stolen from him in his sleep.

He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, no matter what he did and his eyes travelled down to his lap, where his sheets were bunched around him and wet in places. He swallowed audibly and groaned softly.

He lifted the cloth gingerly, afraid to confirm his own suspicions. He dropped it back down and groaned again, wiping his face with his hand.

He blinked around for his wand. His fingers found it on the bedside table and he cast a quiet cleaning charm on himself and the sheets. He couldn’t believe…

That that had happened?

Harry blinked into the darkness of the room, seeking answers that would not reveal themselves. The images of his dream played back in his mind.

He had been looming over a warm body. Long legs were spread around his own, miles of soft flesh lying beneath him, calling carnally to his body. Soft, smooth hair was playing over his fingers as he pressed his hands into a pillow. His lips hovered just over another pair, their breath mingling, the moist air wetting his mouth. The body writhed beneath him, moaning softly and the head angled back slightly. It was just enough to force their lips to brush together.

Electricity shot through Harry’s body and heated him deeply. He felt himself buck and writhe, wanting to touch the body beneath him, wanting to feel it and consume it. Soft skin and something hard pressed against his cock, pumping it slowly and steadily. The pleasure he felt was blinding as it moved through him.

He leaned in closer, their lips against one another now without kissing. He found himself speaking, whispering against that hot mouth.

I’m promising you.

Harry had come so hard it jerked him back to consciousness, though he would tell himself, for as long as he could believe it, that he had been roused from the horrifying nature of his dream, from the horrifying feelings the image had evoked.

Harry dropped back down onto his side of the bed and pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to bore out the image but he couldn’t. It was a fabrication of his mind and nothing he could do to his eyes would change that.

He had read, once, in some meaningless Muggle publication, that dreams in which you were sexually intimate with a person you did not like, or did not know well, it simply meant that you wished to get to know them better. Hermione had scoffed at this and brushed away the notion, calling it poppycock.

But it was possible that there was some truth to it, right? It was possible.

After all, Harry had already told himself he was going to make an effort with this person, hadn’t he? It was just his brain coming to terms with the notion in the only way it could.

Yes. That was it. Passion is passion, right? Whether it’s love or hate. The unconscious brain cannot differentiate between the two, that was all.

Why else would Harry dream of kissing and getting off with Malfoy?

Harry shivered as the image rushed through him again and he pulled his sheets up further, despite that he was still sweating.

He was very glad, in that moment, that Ginny was not there.

+++++

The Grim is the most harrowing omen of Death. Sometimes called the Black Shuck, this massive, shaggy dog is the hunting hound of the Reaper. There are numerous and often contradicting reports on sightings of the Grim. Depictions of this creature include details remarking on the canine’s flaming red eyes, though there are also accounts that mark the dog’s eyes as being green.

Regardless of eye colour, the Grim is the final scout for unfortunate souls. It seeks out the Marked Ones with dogged determination, shadowing them faithfully throughout their last days. It has been known to appear to witches and wizards in their final hours. It’s appearance is the omen itself, indicating that the unlucky soul to have witnessed it is very near his end.

Some accounts of the Grim profess that it hounds the dying person and guards his soul until Death, himself, can arrive to collect it. Other sources proclaim that the Black Shuck feasts upon the soul of the departed in order to pass through to the Next World. One such account comes from Cedrella Black, whose son Bilius Weasley was apparently a victim of the Grim.

He was a horrible sight to see, poor Bill. He came home one day, white as a sheet, and told us he had seen the Grim. We were all in quite a tizzy after hearing that, knowing what it meant, being Purebloods. We all waited for the blow to fall. I didn’t know what to do with myself. He was my son! I’m his mother and I couldn’t save him from the Grim.

I went to see him the next morning, wanting to try to calm him, offer him some soothing words. He had been up all night, according to his father. When I got there… his body was frozen in place, he was clutching his chest and he had a look of utter horror on his face. I knew then that they were right. The Grim ate his soul and he was stuck in that position forever! My poor, poor boy…

While it is possible that Bilius Weasley’s soul was, indeed, consumed by the Grim, it is far more likely that her son suffered a heart attack and the rest was the hyperbolic descriptions of a grieving mother.

The Grim’s presence in the lives of those near Death has been documented in other ways. Many documented cases identify witches and wizards who, prior to their actual death, took ill, were injured, or otherwise faced with detriment to their health. The victims of the Grim can expect to come near death a number of times before finally being shuffled loose the mortal coil.
+++++

Draco was suddenly cold. His skin was still raw, but it did not hurt, thanks mostly to the unguent and his house-elf’s careful ministrations. He had managed to get out of bed and don a pair of loose-fitting cotton trousers in order to walk about the house. The cotton was light enough not to chafe his sensitive skin. He wore no shirt, nor any other clothing.

But Draco’s chill had nothing to do with his lack of clothing, nor the temperature of his home.

He pored over an ancient volume. The pages were frayed and curled at the edges. The leather binding was cracking and torn in various places. The curling lettering on the front had been completely worn away, but the ink and the words still remained. They were the source of Draco’s shivering.

Having been through the war, having faced the devil himself in person and come out alive, Draco put little stock in old wives’ tales like the story of the Grim. Knowing what he did, having been where he had, Draco knew that there was no dog to pad into your life and warn you of your impending doom. There was no warning, in fact, for coming near Death.

It just happened.

Whatever his feelings on the Grim, however, Draco did believe in Death and knew that it could affect one’s life in particularly strange ways.

Other than to end it, of course.

His silver eyes lingered on the final line of the section on the Grim. He felt his skin prickle at a non-existent breeze. He had the impression of someone blowing softly over his back and, irrationally, glanced over his shoulder.

Jerking his head back, angry with himself for submitting to such a childish reaction, Draco focused on the words once more. He couldn’t fight the fear that grew within him, uncoiling like a snake inside his stomach and spreading steadily through to the rest of his body.

He ran his fingers over the words, hoping illogically that they would change as he did so.

This was the only book that held any kind of information that was useful to him. All other tomes he had perused made only glancing remarks, vague statements and unclear questions on the subject of Death. This one addressed the matter directly, however inaccurately.

Draco knew that it was only so useful, being that it was written by living people. Draco knew that there were only two people on Earth that had any insight into the truth, and even that was very limited, given the repercussions of that knowledge.

He tried to relax his muscles but they refused. He was too frightened by the possibilities. Carefully, he counted out the things he did not want to contemplate. He searched the deep, dark recesses of his mind to find the memories he had cautiously wrapped and boxed and locked away where he would never have to see them again.

He opened those little compartments of his brain and bit down hard on his lip as he felt the unfamiliar rush of emotion. It coursed through him like he imagined poison might do. He sensed the memories, the awareness, flood his veins and fill his every inner-crevice. Draco shook from the onslaught and then, when he thought they had all been opened, he counted.

Ten.

Ten times he could count in his memory where he had been dangerously close to Death. And the numbers had doubled in frequency and severity in the last month.

Draco swallowed and willed all the memories back into their respective compartments, locking them away once more so that he could regain his composure.

But it was too late for that. Draco shut the book in front of him and screwed his eyes shut, shaking.

He knew, Grim or no Grim, that he was running out of chances, running out of lives.

I can’t keep escaping forever. Eventually, I’ll get caught.

It’s only a matter of time, when Death is the one hunting you.

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A/N: This chapter... was interesting to write, lol. XD Anyway, yeah. that's all I have to say. I also enabled anonymous reviews if you like! I like knowing who is reviewing but if you prefer to review anonymously, or just don't want to login, you can still review now! LOL SUBTLE hint there, I know, isn't it?

XD I heart you all! Love for reviews! I want cupcakes now. *toddles off*