A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 25

Living Was The Hardest Part

In the moment, when you are told precisely the last thing you want to hear, when your worst fears about yourself are confirmed, your heart stops. It does not die, nor does it kill you physically. It does, however, kill a part of your soul. In that moment, the heart freezes, mid-beat, and your blood runs cold. The moment gives you a taste of Death and the eternal fear that comes with knowing the unknowable. It is the most unpleasant experience imaginable, bearing the weight of the world and simultaneously being completely intangible. It is not something to be taken lightly and, when your heart starts again, you know that you will never be the same.

Harry’s heart stopped at Draco’s words.

Harry Potter had always believed, deep down in a place where no one could judge him, that the one thing he had to be proud of was his claim to the fact that he had never killed anyone. He lived through a war, through torture and kidnapping. He lived through battles and as many victories as there were losses. He fought more often than he ran. He faced Dark Wizards who followed no rule but their own and who seemed to think that ‘Unforgivable’ was a challenge. Many had fallen in his wake.

But Harry Potter had not killed any of them.

Even facing Voldemort in the battle –which was not so much a battle as it was a game of red hands –when the world proclaimed him the Defeater of the Dark Lord, Harry could still boast he never killed a soul. Voldemort had cast the Killing Curse and Harry had merely allowed the Elder Wand to work against Voldemort, doing what Harry never would.

Even during his most active years as an Auror, Harry never once killed a criminal. Not even the ones who deserved to be killed.

But, in one minute and one sentence, Draco Malfoy shattered all of Harry’s ideas of himself. The darkest mark on Harry’s history was when he cast that curse on Draco in the bathroom during sixth year. He had done terrible things since then, used Unforgivable Curses when necessary, and committed various crimes to achieve his ends.

Still, if he were honest with himself –which he already established he never was anymore –Harry still heard the echoes of Moaning Myrtle’s shrill screams of Murder! Murder! while he stood over Draco’s bleeding body. He heard them in his nightmares and he heard them when he faced down the memories of his past. He saw the blood on Draco every day, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

He saw the blood and he saw the fire.

“No,” he heard himself saying, trying to chant the word as though it would make it more real. “No, you couldn’t… you didn’t… “ He was stammering and was distantly aware that he had staggered backwards, his back against the wall. “I didn’t…”

Malfoy was standing, his fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving as he stared at Harry. His jaw was set and the scars on his shoulder shone dangerously red in the dimming light. The world jerked and tugged and Harry gritted his teeth, unwilling to accept any of the information he had just been dealt.

“Denial doesn’t suit you, Potter,” Draco said. His voice was smooth but his jaw was tight. Harry didn’t want to look at him but couldn’t quite find the nerve to tear his eyes away. “If not you, then who did it?”

Harry felt his throat tighten, his heart clench and his body shudder.He wanted to cry and sob and scream, but none of those things would happen. He couldn’t. Malfoy couldn’t be right. He must have been lying, or wrong, or insane.

He must be.

Harry…

“I didn’t kill you,” he rasped, his vision blurring slightly. He slid down the wall. He never should have used that spell. He never should have picked up that book. His body ached with the need to purge the darkness, the pain, the mistake from his soul. The ground was open beneath them, sucking at their bodies like Dementors suck the happiness from the world. Both were after their souls.

Then Draco was on his knees, in front of Harry, his face close. It was a mask of fear and anger. Harry gasped, feeling the heat roll off Draco’s body. The void pulled at them from their core. Harry was shaking now.

“You cut me,” Draco whispered. It was a dangerous sound. His sharp silver eyes pierced through Harry to his soul. “You bled me. I was cold, Potter. So cold. I felt it everywhere.” He leaned in even further until he was almost speaking against Harry’s lips, their eyes still locked. “Do you know how long it took for me to shake off the chill of Death?” Harry’s body shuddered with the effort of listening.

“Six years,” Harry heard whispered. It sounded like his voice but he did not remember speaking. Malfoy nodded very slightly. It had taken six years before the world felt warm again.

“I saw it, Potter,” Draco breathed. He pulled back slightly and Harry sucked in the air as though he had not been breathing for hours. “I was at the otherworld’s Platform. I stood before the train. I heard the voices calling to me, whispering and promising.” Draco shuddered and leaned back so that he sat, leaning against the table. “I saw the shades, the shadows. I saw the Dead.” His voice was barely a whisper but Harry heard every word as though they were being spoken with a Sonorus. “I heard them calling to me. They wanted me. They were hungry for my soul. They want to consume me, Potter.”

He sounded broken, then. Harry watched him for a moment, his entire body screaming for released. He felt too much, too quickly. He felt as though he was going to explode.

“You still see them,” Harry whispered hoarsely. His breathing was heavy but he couldn’t pretend any longer. He owed it to Malfoy, now. “Don’t you?”

Draco swallowed and nodded once.

“You still see them, too,” he answered for Harry. He let his head turn slowly to the bookcase in the corner. Harry’s eyes followed his but could not identify what he was looking at. “The shadows in the darkness. You feel the world opening up to swallow you whole. The ground moves under your feet. Rooms spin around you. You can’t do anything to stop it. You know no one else feels it, so you can’t tell them. You feel like you’re losing your mind and the earth itself is doing everything in its power to make that happen.”

Harry swallowed, his breath steadying slightly. He nodded. He might have felt reassured at having found someone who understood, who experienced the same maddening experiences every day, who felt just as mad as he did. But he didn’t.

He knew that the only reason that Draco felt what he did was because of him.

I cursed him with this because I k…. I killed him.

“It still… feels strange,” he said, knowing the words were poor representations of the feeling. “When I stand on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters… to see my children off to Hogwarts. I still feel it pulling at me. I feel the otherworld calling.”

Malfoy shivered. There were tiny bumps that erupted all over his bare flesh. Harry bit his lip and the hole in the world shrank slightly.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, every time.” Draco shifted and a look of bliss crossed his features briefly. Harry wanted that bliss. He wanted to be the cause of it and the result. “I can only escape the pull when I…” Draco began softly before trailing off completely. Harry sat up straighter, eager for a way to be free of the unpleasant tug.

“When you what?” Harry asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice. Malfoy looked at him sadly.

“Fly,” he answered. He brushed some of his hair from his face. Harry slackened and let the hope leave him. “When I fly, I don’t feel it anymore.”

“Oh,” was all that Harry could manage. He stared into the middle distance which was somewhere behind Draco’s navel.

This whole situation was both horrifying and relieving. Harry was pleased to find out that he was not, in fact, insane (though he supposed there was still a chance that Malfoy was just as mad as he was). However, the knowledge that he had actually killed Malfoy and forced this whole thing upon him was a poison that coursed through Harry like Basilisk venom.

Dumbledore had not warned him, that fateful night, that facing his own Death would mean a lifetime of madness afterward. He supposed that there was a reason that people did not, generally, survive Death. Still, it would have been nice to have some warning.

But didn’t he say something about it? Of course it’s all in your head, Harry, but why should that make it any less real?

Had that been his warning? Knowing Death was a path along which Madness lay. Was that Dumbledore’s point? Harry was really mad but it was still real?

Harry’s head began to throb just at the thought of it. He didn’t have the proper brain capacity for madness. He was sure of that.

Then something occurred to Harry.

“When I cast the spell on you,” Harry ground out eventually, unwilling to speak the name of the curse again or refer to the event in any more specific terms. “Dumbledore was still alive…” Malfoy stared at him, one eyebrow quirked. “Who was waiting for you on the Platform, then?” Harry’s eyes sought recognition and understanding in Draco’s. There was only a flash of confusion. “Who told you to come back?”

Malfoy stared at him in silence for a very long time. Harry feared that the blond had actually expired. Then he blinked and his brows knitted together.

“What do you mean, Potter?” he asked quietly, a sharp edge to the words. Harry blinked and frowned. “Professor Snape saved me. He brought me back.”

“You said you went to the Platform in the otherworld,” he repeated, hoping to make himself clearer. Fear bloomed behind his eyes as he watched Draco. Did he not know? “Professor Dumbledore was there when I was killed. He told me to come back, that I didn’t have to die.” With every word he spoke, Harry lost confidence and his voice steadily grew quieter. Malfoy’s face was incomprehensible as he stared, mute, at Harry. “But when you… died… he was still alive. Who was waiting for you?”

Draco’s eyes darkened and Harry saw the shadows shift in grey, broadcasting a deep and overwhelming sadness. Harry suddenly knew the answer to the question and he hated himself for not realizing it sooner. He felt something gnaw at his stomach and nearly turned away from Draco before he even answered.

“No one was waiting for me, Potter,” he answered quietly. There was no sneer or snarl in the words and Harry knew that Draco’s Sectumsempra wounds never really healed. He was still bleeding inside. “No one told me I didn’t have to die. No one told me to come back.”

+++++

Draco’s thoughts were maudlin and he did not care for them. He felt a dagger rip through his heart, felt the Sectumsempra scars open again at Potter’s words. He knew that something was off about the experiences between them. He thought it had to do with Voldemort, but he was wrong.

They were different because Potter died and was supposed to live. Draco lived and was supposed to die.

He shut his eyes and let the shudders run through him. He wanted to let the emotions run their course so that he could close them away in his mental boxes, his mental chests to match the one that held the letters. He wanted to push it all away and forget that he knew that Potter still meant more to everyone in the world than he ever would.

The world would not weep for Draco if he were killed. They would rejoice.

“Draco,” Potter said suddenly and Draco knew he was close. He shook his head and pushed Potter aside without looking at him. It didn’t matter.

“No, Potter,” Draco said, unsure of what he was refusing. He shook his head again and stared into the fire. He wouldn’t let himself go there. He didn’t want to hear what Potter had to say.

“I…” The Auror was insistent.

“I said no,” he shot. “It doesn’t matter.”

Potter’s hand was on him and he felt himself being turned to look into those green eyes again. He did not want to. He couldn’t face the depths of them. He could not face the guilt or the pity.

Draco did not need pity. Not from Harry Potter.

“Draco, I’m –”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he snapped suddenly. “It doesn’t matter.”

He yanked his arm away from Potter and pushed himself back on the floor so he could get to his feet. His muscles wouldn’t quite hold him so he pretended to rearrange himself instead, hoping Potter had not noticed and knowing that those green eyes were probably still trained on him.

Fuck it…

“I don’t care,” Draco heard himself say. He shuddered violently and picked up his glass of wine. Downing it in one, he tried to ignore Potter watching him.

“Fine,” he answered eventually. “Fine.” Potter slid back to his spot on the floor by the wall. “Then what does all this mean?”

Draco stared at him and opened his mouth to answer but there was a flickering in the fire that drew his attention. He suddenly realized how close he was to the hearth.

Far too close for comfort.

As he edged away from it, wincing as the flames flickered and crackled, a face appeared in the centre.

“Draco,” Oliver greeted with a sigh of relief. He gave Draco a strange look, perhaps shocked to see him on the floor. “How are you feeling?”

Draco cleared his throat and fought the urge to lean into the flames to speak. The firecall would work at this distance. He couldn’t get close to the licks of flame. No.

“Much better,” he answered in his usual drawl. “How is the team?”

Draco could feel Potter bristling next to him. He was hidden from the hearth so Oliver could not see him. Draco was quite happy to pretend he wasn’t there.

“Fairing alright,” Wood admitted. “But we’re all worried about you, mate. Are you alone?”

Draco gave him a thin smile.

“In the room, yes,” he answered shortly. Potter opened his mouth to speak but Draco kicked him. “But Aurora is always around.” He did not want to encourage Oliver to Floo in.

“Ah,” he answered in complete understanding. “You haven’t got Aurors with you? No one? I thought Potter was going to keep an eye on you. He seemed really upset when it happened.”

“Was he?” Draco asked with a short laugh. “He doesn’t like to be around me, you see. Never forgave me for… well, anything.”

Draco expected a kick from the direction of the wall but did not get one.

“He should just spend time with you,” Wood offered. “No one ever gives you a chance.”

“No one save you, Wood,” Draco replied. Wood laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, I was mad, wasn’t I?” he smirked fondly at Draco and then nodded to nothing. “Well, it paid off, anyway.” Wood paused. “Will you be up to playing the next match, Draco? Greengrass can play if you can’t, but she’s nothing compared to you. That and we’re up against the Harpies…”

Draco silenced Wood with a motion.

“I’ll play,” he answered confidently. “Tell the team. I’ll be there.”

“I knew I could count on you,” Wood answered with a wry grin and then disappeared form the fire.

Draco stared into it for a few more moments before chancing a glance at Potter. The Auror was staring at him with sadness in his eyes. Sadness and regret.


“It was easier than explaining,” Draco began, unsure of why he was justifying himself. Potter cut him off.

“I don’t mind spending time with you,” he said. “I think I told you that.” His timbre was deep and rumbled like growing thunder. “And I have forgiven you. For… for everything.” He ground out the words as though he felt they were more important than anything else he would ever say to Draco. He might have been right. “Most everything, anyway. I couldn’t not forgive you… not when I know what you lived through.”

Draco felt his heartbeat in his ears and said nothing for long moments. He couldn’t figure out what to say. There were no words. He didn’t know whether it was Potter talking, or his guilt at knowing he nearly killed Draco for good.

Draco didn’t really care.

He licked his lips and glanced away.

“We were discussing something,” he murmured, blinking to wet his dry eyes. Potter nodded in Draco’s peripheral vision.

“I wanted to know what this all means,” he said after a long while. “The pulling and the shadows.”

Draco nodded and cleared his throat.

“It means we are marked by Death, Potter,” he answered, speaking faster than he wanted to. He needed to move away from the awkwardness of what Potter had confessed to him as quickly as possible.

Potter’s hand immediately went to the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead and Draco nearly laughed. He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“No, not physically, you dolt,” Draco shot, trying for normalcy. “Our souls are Marked by Death. We have escaped him when we should not have.” Draco took deep and even breaths. He knew the words by heart but did not fully understand them all. They terrified him. “Our souls were promised to Him and never delivered. We are living on borrowed time, Potter.”

A chill set in around them and the hole in the ether opened up, as though it could sense when it was called. Draco shut his eyes tightly and looked away from it. He could not look into that endless darkness again. Not then. He might just have thrown himself in.

“So, our souls are marked,” Potter repeated slowly, apparently keen to escape the awkwardness as well. “We are… partially of this world, partially not?” Draco nodded without opening his eyes to see if Potter had seen. “And the… the darkness pulls at us… because….”

Draco let his eyes open slightly because he needed to look at Potter for this part. He mustered up his determination from somewhere. He had no strength left.

“We are hounded by the Grim,” Draco explained in a deadly quiet voice. “And He will hunt us until His debt is collected.”

------

A/N: Errr... yes. There we have it! I hope you liked my complete and utter insanity. Because that's what I think this is. Insane. *headdesk* More to come. I start classes again tomorrow. Let's all hope that they don't kill me and stop me from finishing this. I have every intention of completing it. And I WILL. I MUST. *shakes fist at school* Anyway. Reviews are LOVE! I also drew some artwork for this fic. As soon as I get around to scanning it and colouring it... I'll post a link here :D

*glomps you all*