All I Ever Wanted

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write...are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.

Author's Notes: So ends the Second Story Arc for this fic. The Third and final is starting up full strength now. My thanks go out to everyone who stuck with this so far and mean to see it to the end. The reviews and ratings make me blush with pride when I see them, and have the power to keep me writing long after my initial rush of inspiration has faded...Thank You All. Beta-blessings go forth to Constant Vigilance, with many bows and much scraping.


"All I Ever Wanted" chap. 35 'Too Much To Bear'


Narcissa Malfoy lay quietly in her bed, half between the realm of dreams and that of nightmares. Her mind flitted between happy memories of some fifteen years ago, and the ugly realities of the here and now.

Lucius. Being in his presence had been like standing in the sunlight, and she had bloomed brightly. Now he was absent, would be evermore, and she felt utterly starved for the lack of him. Her dreams plunged fully into the realm of nightmares as her mind's eye saw him, slack-eyed and filthy, in a horrid little cell beneath the earth.

This could not be the way he would leave her...shouldn't be, but it was. It wasn't a nightmare; it was real. This time, there would be no escape, no pardon, no return to a shadow of normalcy.

This time, her husband would not come home, not write to her, not even speak again. Sharp grey eyes, that once speared through her heart, were now just dull and lackluster orbs that lolled at random.

In her sleep, her sobs were stifled by her lack of consciousness, but the painful tightness in her chest snapped her back to reality.

Still in her hand, was the letter the solicitor had delivered the day before. Lucius' last letter to her; so eloquent and passionate, a final thing of beauty from a mind that had been bent by cruelty for so terribly long.

The irony was crushing. That after praying and pleading for years to bring the best of him back to the surface, she finally had in her hands written evidence of the man she had adored, just in time to lose him finally and absolutely.

It hurt so bitterly. Everything was so sharp and hard and cold. Even her breath came uneasily, shallow little draughts that scarcely gave her strength. Food tasted like ashes and bile. She didn't want to rise, and in truth she didn't want to wake. She didn't want to breathe or think or feel anymore.

Would eternity be a clock that counted seconds and minutes, but never heralded her husband's return, leaving every day a battle against her own heartsickness and sorrow?

Narcissa had never been a strong person. Her husband had been the strong one; just by his presence she had felt sure and certain about the world and their place in it. She had little strength of her own, and now, without him, she seemed to have none at all.

The clock read nine in the morning. It was time...Lucius' last minutes. Seconds ticked by cruelly, and even though she was awake, her mind's eye captured a glimpse of a shambling, pitiful ruin of a man being led back to a hole in the ground to wait for death.

Her chest tightened, her breath caught hard in her lungs, and for a brief and sparkling second the pain was searing. Then it was over, and she felt free and fine, almost young again. She sat upright quickly and stepped out of her bed. As she glanced back, she saw the pale little body that still lay amidst the tangled sheets. How frail and tired it looked.

Was that really her? Lying there wracked by grief and looking so worn and thin and still. It seemed unbelievable to her, and yet now she was free of it. Done with life and its cruelties and pains. She wanted to take a deep breath, but felt no need for air. Wanted to walk away, but felt no substance, no floor beneath her.

She thought of the one she would be leaving behind. Her child...he would surely miss her. She would miss him, too, but she knew there was nothing that could be done to change that now...there wasn't time.

Voices were calling her...familiar and friendly ones, her parents and their parents as well. It was time to go...and with a last, faint prayer of well wishes for her child's life, she slipped away, knowing instinctively that she would see the spirits of those she missed again someday. It would be her among the chorus of voices calling others home someday. Her time here was done, and then she was gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harry and Draco entered the Manor, and were relieved of their coats by a house-elf. Draco quickly instructed the elf staff to conduct a complete inventory of the property, beginning with books, which was to be written and delivered to him as soon as it was complete. Then he sent an elf ahead to let his mother know they were coming, while he and Harry walked through the long halls of the Manor to see her.

They held hands again as they walked, this time looking at the splendor that was now Draco's domain in a different light. How empty the place seemed, how quiet and without joy the halls were. These were the grim thoughts that hovered unspoken between them as they wound their way to Narcissa's suite.

A house-elf stood trembling at the opened door of the suite, and the very air around them was suddenly tinged with a palpable sense of wrongness. The teary-eyed elf began to stutter something, something terribly important, but Draco shoved through the door and into the room with a fluttering panic rising in his chest. "Mother...?"

"Mother?"

"...mama...?"

The still, cool, alien thing on the bed in front of him offered no answers...and understanding struck him like an explosion. Mercifully, Draco's mind shut down completely and he fell to the floor in a dead faint, briefly oblivious to what had just passed.

Harry stood in the doorway, taking in the tableau before him in quiet agony. His lover had just been effectively orphaned in one vicious morning. Harry came unfrozen a second later and pulled Draco to his chest and carried him out into the hallway. Once he was sure that his lover was breathing normally, he stepped back into the room and pulled the sheets over what was left of the sweet and funny woman that had been Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry had seen a lot of death in just six short years, and though he wasn't comfortable with it, he had learned to handle it calmly. He laid one hand on the chill skin of Narcissa's brow and offered a silent goodbye, and a promise that he'd look after her son. Then, he slipped the sheet the last few inches over her head and left the room.

Draco wasn't there anymore! Still, he couldn't have gone far...it had been less than a minute or two. Harry hurried down the hall in pursuit, sure that Draco had probably wandered in delirium and would need him.

Draco came conscious on the cold stone of the hall, and for one merciful second, all he could gather were thoughts along the lines of 'What happened?' and 'Where am I?', then reality crashed back into place, and he knew with a stark certainty what had just passed. It was too much, too much for one mind to take in so quickly...he may have been awake, but his state of mind could not have been called fully conscious by any means.

An aching void consumed him whole. Every place that once held happiness or joy was awash in a sea of total anguish. His very being was on fire with pain that made seconds feel like days. Overloaded and glassy eyed, he stumbled down the hall. This could stop, he could make it stop, these things he was thinking would go away.

His father's suite. Down the hall. Something there would help him...make him not feel this. He found the room and walked calmly to the nightstand by his father's bed. There, in the drawer, he wouldn't have to know these THINGS anymore!

It was small and yet heavy; an ugly, yet strangely elegant Muggle tool. A 19th century pistol; filigreed silver and polished ivory, his father's 'secret' weapon for emergencies. It could make everything go away. Draco raised the clumsy thing to his traitorous skull, so packed with thoughts that hurt and tore and burned...and then he pulled the trigger.

Harry burst through the open door of the suite down the hall and saw the thing in Draco's hand rising to his head. Most wizards knew little of the Muggle world, but Harry knew precisely what that thing in Draco's hand would do.

He raised his wand and almost screamed, "Expelliarmus!", sending the pistol careening across the room and into wall just as it fired, the single bullet released tearing through the wood of the bedpost. Draco turned to look at Harry with eyes that burned. Then he began to shake...and then he screamed.

Harry ran to him and held him as tightly as he could, but the screams didn't stop. This was something almost beyond grief; this was near total insanity. Draco screamed until his throat was a raw and bleeding ruin. He screamed until Harry thought his own eardrums would burst. It may have been an hour, perhaps a bit longer at the most, but it felt like days.

Harry remained wrapped around his lover, weeping onto the back of Draco's shoulder, waiting for the storm to pass before they could carry on. When full-throated screams were no longer possible for that ruined voice, inarticulate howls replaced them. Akin to the sound of a wounded animal, dying alone and in pain, they pierced through Harry's soul and left him desperate to offer some kind of comfort, anything but having to watch helplessly while Draco suffered in some private hell of the mind.

In time, Harry became conscious of Draco's stillness, and when he wiped his eyes and loosened his grip, he looked into vacant eyes that held no sign of recognition. He remembered the Muggle term from the telly hospital shows...catatonia. Draco had lost touch with reality in his grief. Fear filled Harry suddenly and crept through every thought that followed. What if it was permanent? Did magic have a cure for this? How would he get help here? Draco held the wards! No one could enter or leave without his permission, and he was completely incapacitated, trapping them both here! Harry's mind raced for answers. He called out for a house-elf and one instantly appeared, it's wizened face somber and nearly stricken by the death of its mistress.

"What's your name?" Harry asked quickly.

"Engy, sir," answered the little creature.

"Engy...your new Lord is sick and needs help. I can't break the wards here and someone has to be told. Can you leave here by magic and return? I know house-elf magic is strong."

"Yes, but who would Engy go to, sir? Engy only knows this house. Engy doesn't know any others."

"Go to Hogwarts School. If you can't find Professor McGonagall, well, find Professor Snape. Tell them the Lady Malfoy passed away and that Draco is so distraught that he tried to kill himself. If they can find a way to get here or get us out, I know they'll try it. Remember, this is for your new master, he needs your help even if he can't say it right now!"

"Right, sir, yes, sir, Engy can do this, for the master...right," and with a faint pop the elf was gone.

Time crawled for Harry while he sat with Draco curled in his arms. He whispered every word of comfort he could imagine into the ears of his lover, hoping that somewhere inside his fragmented mind, Draco was hearing how loved and wanted and needed he really was. Harry recited these things like a litany of adoration, letting his mind roam while his lips continued an endless prayer of affection and love.

Finally, after what had seemed like an interminable length of time, Severus Snape walked through the door in a flurry of robes, bearing a satchel full of supplies and a worried scowl.

Harry stumbled over an explanation of what had passed, babbling almost incoherently, hovering on the edge of tears now that someone else was present. Snape listened impassively and began withdrawing materials from his satchel while Harry spoke. Then he handed a small vial to Harry.

His voice betrayed nothing, but Snape was nearly overwrought as well. "Potter," he said in a perfect neutral tone, "...drink this. It will calm you without rendering you useless. I have need of your assistance, and you must retain a clear mind for what I mean to do."

Harry gulped the rather pleasant tasting fluid down quickly, and felt a slow creeping ennui overtake him. He was clear headed, but utterly calm and detached from the situation. It was no longer a struggle to clench back tears. Meanwhile, Snape poured a different potion down Draco's throat by using a slender funnel that ensured it would be properly swallowed without danger. Then he turned back to Harry.

"Clever of you to think of the house-elves, Potter. I'd not thought you had the wits to come up with such a thing. You've done well. It appears you've saved his life by quite a narrow margin. I will not repeat myself again, and if you should mention this to another soul, I will make your last months at Hogwarts an abyss of detentions, but you have my most profound gratitude. If you hadn't acted as you did, my godson would be dead now."

Snape read the surprised expression on Harry's face easily and frowned annoyance. "Really, Potter! Who needs Occlumency when you wear your thoughts on your face that way! I was present at his birth and was named his godparent by Lucius and Narcissa. With the exception of a few cousins from distant families, Draco is now the last family I have left. I helped him ward this house after Lucius' arrest, thus I was able to enter. He was a remarkable child, and one of the few joys in my life. Now he is an even more remarkable young man, and I should not want to lose him to grief like this."

Snape settled his flinty gaze on Harry and looked almost kindly when he spoke again. "We have to get him out of these suites and into his own bed. He needs to be somewhere less painful to him when we do what must come next. I believe you care for him as much as you proclaim. It's time to use some of what I've been trying to teach you. Now pick him up and come along."

Harry lifted Draco into his arms and held the smaller youth almost gingerly, walking carefully down the halls of the Manor until they reached Draco's rooms. He placed the limp body of his boyfriend on the bed and set pillows to make him comfortable, even if he didn't respond.

Snape was mixing herbs with a small mortar and pestle while chanting softly. Harry wasn't certain of what to do and remained at the corner of the bed holding Draco's hand. The Professor finished his work and pulled a chair close to the bed. He sat down and used his wand to quickly ignite the mixture he'd prepared. The smoke slowly filled the room and left Harry's senses tingling with the awareness of magic.

Then Snape spoke calmly and with deliberation. "Occlumency and Legilimency, Potter, have more than just a couple of uses. Aside from defense and interrogation, they can be used to heal wounded minds. St. Mungo's has used these techniques for centuries, and that is what you will do now. Any fully accomplished Occlumens can do this, but it is still best if someone beloved by the patient does the work. I believe you fit that description."

"Yes, professor, but I've never quite done this, just read about it a bit and practiced the basics. What if I can't do it right?" Harry was glad the potion he'd drunk was working...roiling just beneath the calm surface of his mind, he could feel the tension and gnawing fear that had overwhelmed him earlier.

"If you fail, you may try again. If you cannot do this, then I shall try. Only by great folly or ill-intent could either of us harm his mind, so do not be afraid of action.

You will be looking for the moment he walked through that door and saw his mother, as well as the few minutes afterwards. When you find them you will soothe those memories in the way you were taught, make them a little more distant and safe, then his conscious mind can assert itself without further stress. He will not forget anything, not completely, but he will be able to function when he wakes. Take up your wand, Harry. The sooner this is done, the sooner Draco will be well again. Do it now."

Harry hadn't time to register the shock of being spoken to so gently...by Snape of all people, much less being addressed by his first name! At this moment, all he thought of as he raised his wand was how much he loved the slender youth on the bed before him. He could do this...he had to. Harry cast the spell more gently than ever before, the word a mere whisper as he moved his mind forward.

"Legilimens," and then he was in Draco's mind.