Disclaimer - It all belongs to JK Rowling and her affiliates. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N - I originally posted this on my Livejournal as adonis-flammea. This was written for the awdt prompt "How do you plan to get rid of him/her/them?" It started out as a quick drabble but got a little longer. The title is from the song Only Ashes by Something Corporate.

"And how do you plan to get rid of him?"

His mother's voice is hushed, and she is speaking in a tone that would be aggressive if it weren't so desperate.

"Don't worry," Draco says, as coolly as one can when crouched under a staircase and shaking with fear. "I have some plans."

Or, at least, he will have some.

His mother straightens up, and Draco pretends not to notice the way her hands tremble as she brushes off her robes.

Draco is relieved to be returning to Hogwarts. With his father gone from the Manor, Draco has lost his centre of gravity and is painfully aware of his drop from that orbit.

Other Death Eaters stalk through the halls, hoping to take advantage of some small part of the power vacuum that has been left in Draco's father's wake.

Draco passes them sometimes, when they are lurking in the corners, and their faces twist at him in disgust and mockery. He wants to curse them, scream at them, but he just touches his left arm and stays quiet.

Sometimes he thinks about how, if his father dies in Azkaban, the Manor will be his.

Potter is staring at him from across the Great Hall again. Draco looks fixedly at his hands, folded on top of the table next to his plate of unfinished food. He can feel his skin stretched across his face, drawn and tight and dull, and he can feel Potter's eyes on him.

When Draco leaves the hall, he doesn't look back. He listens to the loud falls of his footsteps as he heads to the seventh floor.

"And how do you plan to, shall we say, get rid of him? You can tell me, Draco."

"I have it under control," Draco says, voice stiff, back stiff. "Professor."

Snape's face is partly concealed by shadows as he leans forwards. "Do you?"

Draco thinks of the gleam of opals, and of throwing up in the washroom, and of ignoring Potter's stares, and of practising the Imperius Curse on Vincent and Gregory. He nods, too sharply, and leaves, too quickly.

The first time Potter catches up with him after class Draco shakes him off and ducks into a crowd of people, wondering when he started trying to avoid confrontation.

The second time Potter catches up with him, Draco has forgotten all about avoiding confrontation. The hallway is emptying out and Draco's neck is between Potter's arm and the wall, and Potter is yelling.

"What the fuck are you up to?" The accusation is clear in his voice. "I know you're the one who nearly got Ron killed—"

Draco gives up struggling against Potter's arm and yells back instead. "Have you gone mental, Potter? Get off me!"

Potter does take the arm pinning Draco to the wall away, but he doesn't get off of him. Draco can feel his body pressed against his own, and he can't think through the fog of panic in his mind.

Potter shifts his body ever so slightly and Draco hears one of them whimper quietly, and he doesn't have time to hope that it wasn't him, because Potter is pushing his left sleeve up.

Draco leans against the Vanishing Cabinet with his eyes closed. His throat is raw from crying, from those unfamiliar sobs that wrench their way out of him.

His eyes are closed, and lines from the last letter his mother sent run through his head. He is growing impatient, and wishes for me to tell you so… Draco, dear, please let Professor Snape talk to you… I know you miss your father, but it's important that you focus…

His eyes are closed, and he thinks of Potter, and of Potter having found him in the bathroom, Potter pushing him onto his knees, pushing into him. Potter, who is just a teenage boy with no real power or skill.

At the thought of the Dark Lord and the sheer power that he emanates, Draco almost wants to feel sorry for Potter. But he thinks more of those snakelike eyes and that sleek voice and can only feel sorry for himself.

"And how do you plan to… get rid of him?" Potter's voice chokes out the last four words, as though they are physically painful for him to say. Perhaps they are. "I've figured out what you're trying to do, Malfoy."

Potter's glasses are reflecting the torchlight and Draco can't see his eyes. It terrifies him, and Draco shakes with anger.

"It's none of your fucking business," he says through clenched teeth.

"It isn't?" The expression on Potter's face is dangerous and is making Draco feel weak at the knees. He wants to punch him, so he does, and relishes the feel of his knuckles bloodying Potter's nose.

Potter hasn't retaliated, so Draco tries to speak again. "You wouldn't under—"

"I wouldn't understand? Malfoy, you bastard." Potter hits him now.

When Potter leans over him, Draco realizes that he is on the floor and can't remember having fallen. "You know, Malfoy," Potter says, "I don't think you'll succeed. How could you? You're a failure, just like your father."

Draco hates himself for letting Potter kiss him.

Their gasps and groans echo in the empty hall, and the torchlight makes the blood on Potter's face look even redder. When he finally comes Draco thinks that the only thing worse than having moaned Potter's name was that whimpered "please."

He doesn't know what it is that he's pleading for.

Draco is trying to keep his hand from shaking as he points his wand at the old man. Dumbledore can barely stand and Draco feels disgusted by the display of weakness, of vulnerability.

Draco is listening to Dumbledore, but he can't allow himself to hope, can't allow himself to falter. Dumbledore looks at him and says, "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now," and all Draco wants to do is get down on his knees and beg, beg, beg.

He hears footsteps coming up the stairs behind him.