Memory\'s Ghost

“Draco exists,” Harry snarled, his face filled with determination. “Hermione, Ron, Hogwarts, they all exist. You don’t.”

Voldemort chuckled, slowly circling the two young men and Harry turned his head to match the madman’s pace in order not to let Voldemort out of his sight.

“But I am here,” the Dark Wizard said, “and they are not. What does that tell you?”

“Nothing. It tells me nothing, except that you’re lying, as you always do.”

“Really? Then how do you explain him?” the monster asked, pointing to the beauty in Harry’s arms, and Tom raised his head to glare at his counterpart. Harry just tightened his grip around the ghost.

“I don’t have to. He isn’t you. He has nothing to do with you. I don’t know what he is, but he is not yours. He is mine.”

“But he is me, Harry.”

“I am not you!” Tom shouted. “I am nothing like you.”

“You are me, my boy, though I will admit, it’s been a while since I’ve worn this face,” Voldemort said, lifting a single finger to trace a path down Tom’s cheek, the ragged nail leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

Tom gasped at the sudden pain, placing a hand against his cheek. Drawing it away, he stared with wide eyes at the redness staining his palm. “I’m bleeding.”

“Of course you are,” Voldemort said with a low chuckle. “I can make you do whatever I want. Bleed, feel, suffer, die, all are within my power.”

“Stay away from him!” Harry growled, holding onto Tom and backing away as he searched the cave for a way out, but there was nothing. The cave had no entrance, no exit--it was a solid cavern made of crystal reflecting their helplessness from every angle. “I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Let me?” Voldemort laughed. “You can’t stop me. There’s nowhere you can go to escape me. I am in you, Harry. I always have been. He was supposed to set me free,” he gestured towards Tom, “but the Malfoy brat was stronger than I anticipated.”

“What does Draco have to do with this?” Harry demanded.

“Whatever it is that’s between you manifested in the world I created to seduce you, making him my foil while protecting you when you should have been mine.”

“Sounds like your world was flawed to begin with because the Malfoy you just described is unlike any Malfoy I’ve ever met.”

“Are you so certain? I’m inside your head, Harry. I’ve seen your life with him, I’ve seen how much you love each other. It would be sweet, if it wasn’t so nauseating,” Voldemort said, his already warped face twisting with disgust.

“I do not have a life with Draco!”

“You don’t?” the Dark Wizard asked smugly and suddenly all the facets of the crystal walls were illuminated with images of Harry and Draco, the same images that had been haunting him for a year. Everywhere he turned, Harry saw scenes of them sharing what could only be considered a life together--moments of them enjoying intimate dinners, spending time with friends, reading to each other interesting tidbits from a newspaper, making love in Draco’s enormous bed, arguing and making up and arguing some more. It was everything he’d ever wanted, only he’d never known it till that moment, and just as he realized this life with Draco was the culmination of all his dreams, he was hit with the pain of its loss.

“Draco. . .” he whispered, his heart beginning to ache as the life Voldemort had stolen from him slowly seeped back into his memories.

“What have you done to Draco?!” Harry shouted as every facet changed to a single image, that of Draco smiling at him, a true genuine smile that illuminated his beauty and stole Harry’s breath away.

“What have I done?” Voldemort asked with a dark laugh. “I have done nothing! Look upon what you’ve done!”

The image changed to one of Draco looking much older, his skin sallow, bruises under his eyes, lines of worry creasing his face as he murmured in a voice filled with pain and defeat, “Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you.”



St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Draco Malfoy stood in the square amidst the sparse grass and struggling potted plants which made up the courtyard. He lifted his head to blow a cloud of smoke into the sky, then took another drag off the Muggle cigarette in his hand. His long blond hair was held at the nape of his neck with a golden clasp, and not a single silver-gold strand was out of place. His clothing was equally impeccable from the perfectly tailored white pants and shirt to the off-white vest that fit tightly around his chest and trim waist. From behind, he looked almost angelic in the early morning light. From the front, no one would have mistaken him for an angel. No angel carried that much sadness in their eyes.

“Malfoy, there you are! I was looking for you.”

Draco immediately attempted to conceal the cigarette in his hand as he turned to greet the new arrival. Seeing that the redhead was alone, he heaved a sigh of relief, releasing the smoke he’d been holding in his lungs.

Ron’s eyes instantly narrowed. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? If Mione catches you--”

“But she’s not going to, is she?” he said, giving Ron a meaningful look, and the young man sighed.

“I’m not telling her,” Ron said as he walked over to the white jacket hanging on the back of one of the courtyard chairs. He dug into the pockets until he found a small bottle, opened it up, and tapped a single tablet onto his hand. “But you have to take this.”

Draco eyed the pill with distaste. “Thank you, but no.”

“Look, you selfish bastard, if you think I’m going to be the one to take the blame when you die of lung cancer, you’d better rethink that right quick. I will not spend the rest of my existence hearing, ‘Ron, why didn’t you stop him? I know you boys thought it was just a lark, but it’s not a lark now, is it, with Draco lying cold in the ground? If you’d made him take the medicine that would have countered the effects of his smoking, he’d be here today!’” Ron ended his dead-on impersonation to give Draco his sternest look. “So take the damn pill.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco popped the pill in his mouth and swallowed. “Happy?”

“Don’t you see me jumping up and down with joy?”

A smile quirked at Draco’s lips as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. Ron just sighed.

“Selfish bastard.”

“Relax, Ronniekins. If I die, it won’t be from something as mundane as a Muggle disease. I’ll make some grand suicidal gesture, and that way, you won’t be to blame.”

Ron just gave him an incredulous look. “You’re kidding me, right? You know Mione. If you commit suicide, I’ll spend the rest of my days hearing, ‘Ron, what did we miss? Did you see any signs that he was depressed? We should have done more.’”

“All right, all right,” Draco chuckled. “You win. I’ll try and get hit by a bus, make it look like an accident.”

“It’s the least you can do,” Ron grinned, then glanced up towards the eastern windows shining gold in the rising sun. “How’s he doing?”

“How do you think?” the Slytherin answered bitterly. “He’s the same. The same as yesterday, the same as a week ago, the same as a month ago, the same as he’ll be three months from now. He’s always the same. He always will be.”

“You don’t know that,” Ron said, his voice quiet. “He could wake up tomorrow.”

“It’s been a year, Ron!” Draco snapped, exasperated with the situation, not the redhead. “What do you think the odds are that he’s going to wake up ever?”

Sighing, Ron sunk into one of the uncomfortable metal chairs, its legs uneven so he rocked slightly as he sat. “Hermione and I have set a date.”

Draco paused mid-irritation to stare at the young man. “You have?”

“Two months from next Saturday,” he nodded. “We want more than anything for Harry to be there, but we also want to be married and to start a family. We’ve kept our lives on hold for too long. First there was the war, and then dealing with the aftermath, and then she went off to complete that graduate program, and then the thing with Harry happened, and it’s just been long enough. We’re ready to begin.”

“And you should,” Draco said, kneeling down in front of him as he snubbed out his cigarette. “Congratulations. I applaud you--I applaud you both for having the courage to move on, no matter how painful it may be.”

“Thanks,” Ron said with a half-smile. “I can only hope Harry will feel the same.”

“He’ll probably yell at you for waiting this long.”

“Yeah, most likely,” he said with a full smile this time before his face grew serious once more. “Draco, there’s something I want to ask you. Normally, I’d be asking Harry this, but since I can’t, I figure you’ll have to do.”

“Thanks, I think,” Draco said wryly and Ron gave him a dirty look.

“Could you put the sarcasm on hold for ten seconds? I’m trying to ask you to be my best man, and it’s not an easy thing to do, considering what a right bastard you are.”

“You’re what?” Eyes widening, Draco was momentarily thrown off balance, both mentally and physically, and he found himself sitting on the ground staring up at a laughing redhead.

“I hope you’ll say yes, but if you don’t, I won’t care. It was worth asking just to see your reaction.”

“Glad I could amuse,” Draco grumbled as he stood up, brushing away any specks of dirt from his white pants as he glanced at Ron out of the corners of his silver eyes. “Do you mean it?”

Ron stood up and placed both hands on Draco’s shoulders. “I mean it. Ten years ago, if someone had told me I’d be asking Draco Malfoy to be the best man at my wedding, I would have punched them. But things have changed a lot in those ten years, including the two of us. I would be honored to have you stand by my side on one of the most important days of my life.”

Draco stared at him, blinking rapidly away tears whose presence he would deny, and gave a solemn nod. “It will be an honor to stand by your side. Thank you.”

“Though, if Harry wakes up. . .”

“The place is his,” Draco smiled, and then his eyes sparkled with mischief. “But the stag party is still mine.”

Ron grinned. “Hell, mate, I’d want you to plan it anyway. Harry wouldn’t know a stag party if one came up and bit him in the arse.”

Laughing, the two men sat down and Draco lit up another cigarette, his eyes focused on the brightening sky. Ron gradually got a distinctly uncomfortable look on his face, opening his mouth several times as if to speak, but then closing it again. After about two minutes of this, Draco turned to him and arched an eyebrow.

“You’re fish on dry land impression was always impressive, but do you think you could hold off practicing until you’re back home?”

Ron flushed a bright red as picked at the arm of his chair, and Draco sighed.

“What is it you wish to tell me, Weasley?”

“It’s just that, Hermione and I have been thinking.”

“You mean Hermione’s been thinking,” Draco teased, and Ron grinned.

“Yeah, well, she’s always been the brains of this operation. Anyway, we’ve been thinking. We’re moving on with our lives and we were wondering if perhaps it might be time for you to move on with yours.”

Draco’s face grew shuttered as he stared at the redhead. “Are you sure you want to go there, Weasley?”

“I promised her I would, and I will, just this once, and if you want, I’ll never mention it again.”

The guarded silver eyes watched him for a few seconds, then slowly the tension drained from the lean body and he sighed. “All right, Ronniekins. Have your say, and that’ll be it. Better you than her. At least you’ll know when to drop the subject.”

“I knew you’d see the up side to this,” Ron said with a conspiratorial wink, then took a deep breath. “As you said, it’s been a year, a year with no change. How much longer are you going to wait?”

The Slytherin gnawed on his lower lip as he stared off into the distance. Though his friend was only asking a question he asked himself a dozen times a day, the answer was never easy. “We barely had any time together, Ron. First there was that year after school to deal with the aftermath, not to mention all the time I spent in here while recovering from the attack.”

Lost in his own thoughts, Draco missed seeing Ron flinch at the memory of the Slytherin’s resulting madness when he discovered what Voldemort had done. The redhead sighed to think he spent far too much time here comforting friends while waiting for others to recover.

“It took us another year after that to finally admit how stupid it was pretending we were better off apart,” Draco continued, eyes still focused on something only he could see. “We only had three years, three short years, before I lost him again. I don’t know if I can accept that there won’t be any more.”

“There will be, I’m sure of it, but that doesn’t mean you have to spend all your time waiting here alone. You’re young, Draco. You should be out doing something, anything--anyone. I’m not saying you have to get involved in a relationship, but you’re only going to drive yourself mad--again--sitting here every day with just yourself for company. Go have fun while you’re still young enough to remember how.”

Draco looked over at him with a rueful smile. “It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But what happens if, while I’m out there having fun, I find someone? What happens if I lose my heart all over again, and then he wakes up? What then?”

Ron sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

“Or it’s one I can avoid by doing exactly as I have been doing for the past year until one of us dies.”

“Oh, there’s a goal, all right. Sit on your arse and wait for death to come take you. Harry wouldn’t want that for you, and neither do I.”

“I’m not giving up on him!” Draco said a little louder than he’d meant to, and Ron’s eyes grew stormy.

“I’m not asking you to! All I’m asking is that you consider not giving up on yourself!”

Draco snorted and jumped to his feet, pacing across the small square like a trapped animal. “You don’t understand, Ron. He’s all I have.”

“That’s not true,” the redhead protested. “You have us.”

“And you’ve been better friends than I could hope to have,” Draco said, sending him a quick smile, “but you’re not Harry.”

“Yeah, tell me something that hasn’t already been pounded into my head,” Ron said, rolling his eyes.

“Shouldn’t you have gotten over this Potter associated low self-esteem by now?” the Slytherin smirked, and Ron stuck his tongue out at him. “And all I meant by that comment was that Harry. . . he understands me in ways no one else ever has. And with my parents gone, he’s the only family I’ve got left. He’s it for me, Ron. He always has been. No one will ever be able to replace him.”

“So don’t replace him. But it probably wouldn’t kill you to find a suitable substitute every once in a while.”

“Why are you pushing this, Ron?” Draco asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “If you’re searching to do a little experimentation before you pledge yourself to a woman for the rest of your life--”

“NO!” Ron hastily interrupted, waving his hands in front of his face as if to erase the idea. “Not me, you ponce! Hermione noticed a certain mediwizard eyeing you and thought that perhaps if you were opened up to the idea of seeing other people, you might want to take him out.”

“By the gods, the world must be coming to an end,” Draco groaned, slumping into his vacated chair. “Hermione Granger is trying to fix me up on a date.”

“Well, at least she’s trying to fix you up with a guy and not a girl.”

“And how is that better?” he growled, and Ron flashed him a grin.

“She doesn’t know that many gay wizards, but she’s got an endless supply of single friends just waiting to get their claws into someone like you.”

Shaking his head, he heaved a great sigh. “I’m not going to start dating, and that’s final. Tell Hermione I thank her for her concern, but if she mentions it again, I’ll make it rain on your wedding day.”

“That’ll only keep her quiet until the wedding.”

“Then I’ve got two months to think up other devious schemes to convince her to mind her own business.”

“Good luck with that,” Ron chuckled, rising to his feet. “Well, I’ve got to be getting off to work. I’m just going to go check in on him and say hello.”

“Tell him I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Will do,” Ron said, pausing to place a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

“I’m a Malfoy,” Draco said with a ghost of his traditional sneer cross his lips. “It’s what I do best.”

“Funny. . . I thought taking the piss out of me was what you did best.”

“That comes as a close second,” he grinned, waiting until Ron had entered the hospital before letting all traces of good humor vanish from his face.

With a sigh, he sat back in his chair and released the concealing charms surrounding his countenance. The spells vanished to reveal the deep circles under his eyes, the lines on his forehead, the lackluster color of his hair. All the Malfoy sparkle was gone, eaten up by worry and fear and a year of next to no sleep. Draco didn’t even dare look in a mirror anymore, afraid of what he would see.

If Harry didn’t wake up soon, he thought with a sigh, he’d end up using concealing charms permanently, and they were such a tedious drain on his energy.

Though a good shag might just be the cure he needed.

He knew the mediwizard Ron was speaking of. Tall, handsome, intelligent, sexy, just the type of man Draco would have wanted for himself, if he hadn’t already found his perfect match. Still, they’d shared a few smoldering looks, and Draco knew that all he’d have to do was indicate he was willing, and the nearest empty space would be filled with their frantic fucking.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t betray Harry like that, even if he deserved it.

Damn the Gryffindor to the deepest darkest pits of hell! He just couldn’t leave well enough alone! When the cave was discovered where Voldemort’s spirit had been hiding after killing Harry’s parents, did Harry have to go and inspect it for himself? No! There were a dozen other competent wizards would were more than capable of taking care of it. Just because it was Harry’s destiny to defeat Voldemort didn’t mean that he was responsible for every remaining artifact of the Dark Wizard that they found.

Though in Harry’s eyes, that’s exactly what it meant.

Still, he should have known better than to touch the crystals! Those sparkling rocks had been the very things Voldemort had used to focus his power and gain the strength he needed until he was able to possess Quirrell. It was common sense that there would be remnants of Voldemort left in the cave.

But then, common sense had never been one of the Gryffindor’s talents. Rush in headlong and to hell with a plan! That was the Gryffindor way of problem solving, and look where it got him--unconscious in a bed in St. Mungo’s, the odds against him waking growing larger every day.

And where did that leave Draco? In hell, right there next to him.

Unlike Ron and Hermione, he didn’t have the courage to let go, to move on. He would stay with his love until the last bitter breath was breathed, until their love turned to hatred and their bodies to dust, and he was begging for it all to end.

“Fuck you, Harry,” Draco sighed, rubbing his hands over his face as if to smooth away his suffering. “Fuck you.”


[Chapter 7 completed September 27, 2004]