Draconic Recall

Living with Harry was something completely different to what Draco had ever been used to before. It was not the cold austere Malfoy manor, it was not the dank solitary confinement that the Slytherin or the hopeful void of Sev's rooms. Harry moved his life, shifted his things and made room for Draco. He didn't so much as frown when the blonde requested a different place to sleep. He showed him the guest rond tnd told him to redecorate it however he wanted.
Potter had always been too fundamentally decent for his own sake, good to the last atom. It was the only thing that sullied the experience of living with him was that he was unable to comprehend the darkness that would always linger in his soul. Harry understood enough not to question when he moved to the window and stared for hours, but he didn't understand.
That was somehow more fundamental then Draco believed possible. Other then that"¦other then that, Harry was perfect. He took care of him without being overbearing, watched him without making him itch and most of all"¦he just knew that he loved him. It was in every breath and ill-made cup of tea. It was like a warm blanket after the longest winter of his life.
Nonetheless, he thought about Sev almost continuously. Harry carefully did not mention him, not even when describing the days when he doubtless had had to encounter the man for a staff meeting or conference. Draco had long since ceased to work for Hogwart's, so he could get away with hiding in Harry's rooms. Their rooms. He had found a spell that gave books a voice. They read themselves to him in a loud even tone, soothing and informative.
He told Harry that he spent his days continuing the research he had been doing while still living with Sev. In truth, he was just listening to various author's stately voices and absorbing everything he could. His world was shrinking, sense by sense and Draco had no intention of going out of this world without knowing as much about it as possible. He listened to books on dozens of subjects, anything that caught his attention.
It was something he had started the first time he messed up a potion Sev had had him working on. It wasn't as if Sev had said anything, but he had given him that Look. The Look that said, "˜Completely erroneous to the point of insulting. Detention Mr. Malfoy'. The one that pierced him soul deep. Gradually, using his al lal losses as excuses, he stopped working on potions and started his own topics.
He slammed the volume on Egyptian mythos closed. Dust rose from the pages. He wanted desperately to do something. To jump from the chair and run for the sake of running, he wanted to scream and really hear his voice, but more then anything he wanted to close his eyes and when he opened them he wanted to be back in the dungeon. He wanted to see Sev bent over his desk, muttering curses at third year Hufflepuff papers. He wanted to see Sev smile at him, if it was only once more and say something biting about Minerva. But Draco was used to being left wanting.
"Drake?" Harry's voice rang through the rooms. "I brought you dinner, if you want it."
"Thanks." He yelled back, wincing at his own voice, hoping it didn't sound to terrible. "I'll be there in a minute."
He put away his book and told the chair to take him to the kitchen. Harry was already sitting at the table, laying out the food he had no doubt charmed some house elf into giving him. Sev had always complained bitterly about having to take his meals with the staff and student body. He'd be pissed to know that Harry's mysterious disappearances from the nightly meals were little more then the man stealing from the kitchen like a little boy.
"It's stew. Again. I managed some of the bread you like though." Harry waved a hand over the buttered rolls that Draco practically lived on these days.
"Perfect."
They ate together, in comfortable silence until halfway through the chocolate cake, Harry started to twitch. It wasn't anything very noticeable, just the slightest movement of his bad leg periodically.
"What is it, Potter?"
"Huh?" For a moment, green eyes widened in bewilderment.
"What's making you twitch?"
"It's nothing really."
"You are the worst liar ever, Potter. Tell me now."
"Eat the rest of your cake." Harry scolded as if Draco had never spoken. "You're getting too thin."
"Mmm. I'm losing my manly figure. I might waste away." He let the subject change, gracefully. Whatever Harry was hiding simply couldn't be that important. Nothing was any more.
"I'm serious. Don't joke around. I want you here as long as possible. I can't"¦I can't lose someone else this soon." He reached across the table and laid a hand on Draco's arm. "Promise me you won't self-destruct."
"If you promise me something." It was something that Draco had wanted to broach previously, but didn't know how. "I want"¦Harry. When I loose everything..the year when I can't speak or hear or see at all anymore..don't let me live through that year. I've studied the curse. My heart is the last thing to go, what will eventually kill me, but there will be a whole long year trapped in my own mind. I don't think I could handle it."
"You want me to kill you?" In his late twenties, Harry's voice could still crack like an adolescent.
"I want you to put an end to it. I want to know it was you."
"That's"¦how could you put that one me? Why not"¦" Then Harry trailed off as he realized how completely Draco had isolated himself since the war. The blonde had had no friends beside himself, Ginny and Snape. Not that you could even really count Snape and Ginny was dead. "Oh."
"I wouldn't ask if I could think of anyone else. I want it to be someone who loved me, Harry. If you refuse"¦ I'll find someone else. Don't make me find someone else." The blonde pleaded, curling his own hand around the one Harry had left on his arm.
"I'll do it." Harry muttered around the lump in his throat. "Now promise, yoube abe around for me to do it."
"Nothing self-destructive. Promise." He let it sit between them a moment, then broke the silence. "So what were you nervous about?"
A knock resounded through the rooms and Harry rose from his chair, leaning on the cane, he limped towards the door. As he went he spoke,
"I want you to know that I had nothing to do with this. I don't want you to think I had to yell or beat him into it. He came to me." With that mysterious statement, Harry opened the portrait to the rooms and limped away to his own bedroom. Not that Draco noticed.
Because Severus was standing in the doorway. He looked absolutely horrid. After years of being with the man, seven as his student, two as his battle companion and five as his lover, Draco had seen him in every state possible. This was one of the worst, aside from the bloody almost carcass he had been at the beginning of the war. He had dark bags under his eyes and it looked like he hadn't eaten in the three months since he had told Draco he was no longer welcome in his apartments.
Draco groped for the right words, wanted to say something, anything to fill the horrible voiding silence. It seemed that they were going to stay there locked togethersomesome strange limbo. After what might have been hours, Sev moved. To be more precise, he walked. He took even slow steps until he reached Draco's chair. It was familiar pose for them, Sev standing over him, talking down as if to a child. It was something Harry would never do. Draco shivered, slightly, intimidated as he always was by the man who could provoke such deep emotion from him by standing there and just breathing.
In a move so sudden and fluid that Draco barely had time to register it, Sev fell to his knees in front of him.
"I am sorry, Draco." The words fell into the blonde like stones, sinking into him and filling him with confusion.
"For what?" He managed to ask.
"For throwing you out of our home."
"It isn't our home. You've never let me make it mine." He surprised himself with his own firmness. This scene was radically different from anything Sev had ever done before, it threw him off kilter, but he would never let it show.
"I know. But that will change. As much as I can change, I will for you." Sev lifted his head, dark eyes meeting one blue. "I know this is not what you have come to expect of me, but Draco"¦ I thought I was doing the right thing, for you. You were supposed to be happier with him."
"I rarely do what I am supposed to do, Sev. You know that." He raised his right hand to touch the silken mass of black hair. It felt as wonderful as it always did and he sighed.
"I spent the past three months, looking up and expecting to see you and you weren't there. It was like having the mark again. You've insinuated yourself into my life, Draco. I don't know when, but somewhere along the way you made sure that I couldn't live without you."
"Don't make it sound like it's my fault, Sev. All I've ever wanted is for you to love me. And you never will. So I'm better off here, even if it makes me feel like dying." Carefully, he unlaced his hand from jet-black hair and turned his face away.
"You ridiculous boy." The tone turned him back and he saw the smile curving on the lips that most saw only in its permanent frown. "I've loved you since you were a willful child. I loved you when you turned on your father and when you crawled into the bed of a boy you hated to tell him that you would fight by his side. I loved you when you kept your promises and when you found out about your curse."
"But all these years"¦you never and I thought"¦the way you"¦" Draco managed to choke out.
"I did not understand myself, I did not want to watch you die. But I've come to realize that it would be worse if I was not with you in the years you have left, I would regret it for the rest of my own time." Gently, in a way he had once reserved only for his beloved potions, Severus cupped his lover's face with one hand. "Will you return to me?"
"Yes." There was no need to think, no need to wonder at his own release of anger. Severus Snape loved him! He had said it! And meant it. It was"¦it was more then anything he could have expected.
"Then by all means let us go and leave Mr. Potter to himself. I'm sure he will enjoy having his rooms returned to order." The ros rose, but not before placing a gentle kiss on pale lips. It was the first of many that day.
Harry was resigned to letting go his temporary companion. His rooms were empty again and he had to keep reminding himself to be happy that everything had worked out for his friend. His heart felt heavier and finally, he decided on inviting Ron for a visit. The Auror was more then happy to take some time off from his work and they spent a very pleasant week together, catching up. After the red head was gone, the sense of emptiness had lessened a little. He kept a continual flow of students in his study, tutoring and counseling, enjoying being Head of Gryffindor again.
In the stillness of the night, he thought of Ginny, keeping his memories sharp. It was better then any photograph, muggle or wizard to have her in his mind. Sometimes, when things were particularly dark, he would talk to her favorite chair as if she could still hear him. Barely thirty and he'd turned into a doddering old man.
Draco was happy though and it showed every day. He came to meals now and ate with gusto, winking at Harry every time he took a second helping. The blonde began chatting amiably with others again, turning on the charm that everyone thought lost with his youth. On his part, Snape changed little in his behavior towards the world at large, but his entire affect with Draco had changed. Even in public, he would lay a gentle han thn the younger man's knee or help him cut his meat. It was an incredible change.
That October Draco lost his sense of smell. It was such a small thing, so ridiculous compared to the other losses that had been incurred on his flesh that he scorned it and made frequent jokes about it actually being a favor as he could no longer have to endure the smells of Sev's laboratory.
Time began to move at a clip again as Harry learned to live without Ginny and in a way, without Draco. He coped and did his job and the year came around again and took Draco's other eye. Severus took two weeks off, the first time in recorded history, and helped Draco learn his way around without vision.
The next year it was his other ear. Draco was almost entirely isolated from the world. Severus approached Harry and together they worked out a series of symbols that they could trace into the still sensitive skin of Draco's right arm to communicate. The blonde picked it up slowly and knew the differences between the touch of his lover and the touch of his closest friend. Whenever he was sure it was Harry, he would whisper in harsh tones.
"Keep your promise."
That summer was spent trying to ignore the fact that this was the last they would ever share together. Harry found himself frequenting the dungeon more then ever and making his peace at last with Severus Snape. They spent many long hours, creating the language they used to the talk to Draco. The language that would soon become useless. They spent time talking as well of things that had been done and would be done. They talked about the school and how well or poorly Minerva was handling the Head Mistress title on any given day and what Dumbledore might be doing in his long over due retirement.
The fall came to quickly and Harry found himself anxious all the time, his mind jumping from one problem to the other. There were his students first and foremost, helping in the first years, dealing with new problems and conflicts. Then there was the horrible weight of responsibility on him, a balance of chance. If Draco should loose his right arm come October, then Harry would not be able to bring himself to keep his promise. If he lost his voice"¦Harry had begun to go threw methods.
In the beginning, he came up with all sorts of crazy schemes. It was easier to approach it like an interesting problem then to think about actually stealing the life of his best friend. Eventually September began to wane and it dawned on him that he would have to come up with something. This wasn't something he could fudge through as he always had, even in the war. He wanted to give Draco a stately and fitting death that wasn't easily traceable back to him. No matter what Snape would probably suspect what had happened, but there was no point in making it obvious.
He contemplated using potions and went so far as to check out books from the restricted section on poisonous combinations. Most of them were fairly gruesome and many more would reveal themselves to Snape with little trouble. He almost gave up on them entirely until he stumbled upon the answer in a much more innocuous book.
Intending to do some research into a question a student had asked during his fourth year Hufflepuff DADA class, he ended up taking out a book on ancient spells. Almost immediately, he forgot the question and found himself immersed in some very interesting notions. The spells of the ancient wizarding world were mostly defunct because something more effective had been found, but some had merely been forgotten and they might be helpful if the ingredients could be found. One page with a beautiful moving illustration of a blood red dragon caught his attention.
"Dragon Tear," the text began, "is a relatively simple potion derived from the distillation the rare mountain flower of the same name. It can be used, if heavily diluted, to heal major injuries. If used in its purest form, it would kill the patient by sending him into such an extreme state of healing that the body would shut down."
It went on to describe the legend behind the flower and the exact process of distillation could be performed. Harry didn't read any further. It was Saturday morning, so he left a note for his students that he'd gone away for the weekend and Apperated to the nearest range of mountains. Within hours, cheatwithwith magic, he had found the rare blossom that hung in startling blue clusters.
The potion took ten minutes to make and Harry began to wonder why killing his best friend was turning out to be easy. No, he couldn't kid himself, this waing ing to be the hardest thing he had ever done. There was nothing that could prepare him for this, no amount of death. He had never killed in cold blood before and this was a horrendous way to begin.
October fifth came all to fast and he spent most of it in a daze, glad he'd been teaching long enough to lecture on automatic pilot. Severus and Draco were nowhere to be found. Snape had taken off again, leaving his students to wonder what was so special about this time of year. Only three years before, the whole school had known about Draco, but it seemed time and an influx of new students had washed them blank. It wasn't as if the blonde had been particularly visible the past few years.
The night is worse because he can't go down to the dungeons. He wants to give Draco and Snape their last moments of full cognition. In truth, they had been saying goodbye to one another since long before Draco was cursed. It seemed to Harry sometimes that both the other men thrived on the long aching pains of love, rather then the softer pleasures of it. Maybe that was why Draco wouldn't stay with him, why Draco had chosen Severus again and again. Harry pushed away the feelings of rejection that had plagued him since childhood. There wasn't time to indulge.
Midnight came and went with no answer. He spent hours staring into the fire, a vile of crystalline id tid tumbling from hand to nimble hand. No word came, but really he expected none. Snape was the type of person who had to mourn in silence. He waited until he could see the sun peeking over snow-capped mountains before he reached for his beaten Invisibility Cloak, still the best way to be unseen.
The dungeons had never seen more formidable then they did in the earliest hours of the morning. Harry moved with practiced stealth into the rooms of his ex-teacher. The silence of stonewalls seemed accusing as he moved past the cluttered office/dining room. He stood poised in the doorway of their bedroom, on the cusp.
They were both asleep, judging by rise and fall of theets.ets. The older man was wrapped around the sleek form of the younger, protective. For a long moment, Harry chose not to move, but rather memorized the scene that could have been any couple in sleep. They were beautiful, he decided and with no little trepidation, stepped into the scene. Like the muggle idea of black robed Death, he drew forth the vial and whisperespelspell to stifle the sound of his cane.
With care, he settled himself on the bed, next to the still form of his one time lover, dreading what he would find, he reached for the pale right hand. It clenched around him so hard, he could feel his bones shifting to accommodate the harsh grip. Long fingers told him all he needed to know. A gentle finger on pale lips forced them open far enough to pour the entirety of the precious fluid down the paralyzed throat. Delicate massage forced the liquid down.
A long tense second passed when it seemed nothing at all would happen. Harry was about to give it up as a botched attempt when Draco's eyes flew open, healed and the same deep ice blue that pierced him to the soul. The hand still clutching Harry's own tightened even farther. A deep ragged breath and the blonde fell limply to the bed, no breath left in the beautifully healed body.
Draco Malfoy was finally dead and it seemed to Harry that the whole world had gone dark.