Defiled by xErised

The flames in the Room of Requirement were nothing but pure, bone-melting heat. Wrapping his arms tighter around an unconscious Goyle, Draco bit his lip and looked up frantically, hoping that Harry was out there looking for him, waiting to save him, because he knew, deep down that Harry won't abandon him to die like this, burnt and flayed alive by the blazing snakes and spitting Chimaeras that weren't all that different from the monsters in his own wretched and splintered mind-

Why? Why would he save you? Are you worth it? What are you to him?

He'll come, I promise, I promise, he will! He loves you, remember!

And then Draco could feel the pain again, pain like a thousand whips ripping across his heart, breaking it into a million distorted, broken pieces. I won't die here, not here, not now, Draco whimpered as he screwed his eyes shut and let out a thin, piteous human scream when the consuming agony radiated all the way down to the tips of his toes and the edge of his fingertips. Hot sweat dripped from his forehead to his eyes, and he hurriedly swiped the droplets away with the back of his hand. Curling himself up into a ball even tighter, he tried to keep as still as possible. The tower of desks supporting Goyle and him could give way any second-

And he couldn't let that happen, no, not before he saw Harry, touched Harry, heard him, loved him-

Biting back a sob, Draco felt the flames eat their way venomously and swiftly towards both Slytherins, solid fire closing in upon them on all sides, surrounding them, leaving them with no way out. Lifting his eyes up, the blond gasped as he saw Harry dive towards them on a rickety, heavy-looking broomstick. He felt Goyle sliding out of his arms towards Ron and Hermione, and Draco simply stared at Harry, stunned, trying to regain his senses I haven't been so close to him for so long, oh God, he's just as beautiful as ever- in such heavenly perfection.

Their sweaty, damp hands touched, and Draco felt his skin tingle with pleasurable delight when Harry hoisted him up to the broomstick and sped away. Turning his head, Draco could see the fragile pagoda of tables that had held their weight just mere seconds ago tumbling so close, so close- into the eager flames.

The fire licked and lapped at them remorselessly, swirling and dancing wildly, like the skirt of an uncontrollable flamenco dancer. Draco buried his head in the crook of Harry's neck, his fingers tracing the exquisite musculature of Harry's shoulders. He felt the Gryffindor stiffen, but Draco didn't seem to notice, because this was Harry that he was hugging, Harry that he was holding-

you can have my heart and we'll share it like the last slice-

His body thrumming with anticipation, Draco closed his eyes and let the brunette saturate his senses. Trailing his fingers up to the nape of Harry's neck, Draco tried to memorize the way Harry's flushed and heated skin felt beneath his own shaking fingers, under his thin, trembling lips as Draco dipped his head to kiss and nip affectionately at the other boy's neck. He tried to memorize how Harry tasted, how black Harry's hair was, those gorgeous brunette locks gleaming like liquorice, and most importantly, how Harry smelt, that precious, subtle scent that was life-giving oxygen to Draco, that scent that made Draco want to keep breathing it in even though his lungs were gasping, telling him that it was time to breathe out-

Draco moaned with elation as he wrapped his arms around Harry's abdomen and squeezed, desperate to feel every inch, every muscle in Harry's body. His stomach was a storm-tossed sea of undiluted hunger, zingy shivers darting down Draco's spine as he shifted on the broomstick, pulling the brunette closer to him, so close until he was so sure that Harry could feel his heart beating, throbbing like a pneumatic drill-

Malfoy was holding Harry so tightly that it hurt-

Harry tried to shrug Draco away by throwing his shoulders back, but Draco was fastened onto him like a barnacle on the hull of a boat, inert and stationary. It was a ridiculous feeling, Harry thought, gulping nervously. He felt light-headed like he had spent too long on a spinning fairground ride; the way Draco was touching him, this oh-so-physical touch that made those memories erupt passionately no longer a dormant volcano- through the surface. Draco's warm breath was circling Harry's ear, sending his nervous system into a frenzy. Harry's furiously pumping blood began to do some sort of strange happy dance when the blond slid his lips down the length of Harry's neck, pulling down the collar of Harry's robes to kiss more of Harry's flesh, and the Gryffindor cried out loud, feeling the voluptuous slither of skin against skin-

Does it feel better, darling?

Suddenly, Harry felt Draco's mouth open wide before the blond bit down hard on Harry's shoulder, sinking his teeth unexpectedly into Harry's flesh. The brunette hissed in pain and he snapped his head back, throwing a dirty glare at Draco. The blond's eyes were brimming with sheer hatred and disgust, his upper lip curled in derision and distaste as he met Harry's glare head-on.

Look at yourself in the mirror, Potter-

Harry shook his head he's just fucking with you-vigorously and concentrated on the task at hand. Tightening his grip on the broomstick, he stared straight ahead, and he caught a glimmer of the old, discolored tiara-

Draco felt like pushing Harry off the broomstick and letting him burn to death. The Slytherin's heart, which had been beating so joyously with affection and love, had flip-flopped down to his stomach. His unpredictable mood torn and broken in the shadows- had done a complete turn, his emotions beginning to start its spiraling descent into his own personal hell-

I hope Potter dies, I want to be the one to do it-

Grinning maliciously to himself, Draco's fingers stealthily snaked up from the back of Harry's neck, all the way up to the curve of his scalp. They didn't have much time now, they were speeding towards the exit. Taking hold of a bunch of Harry's hair, the blond curled his fingers and viciously yanked the Gryffindor's head back, jerking his chin up and exposing the tan, bronzed expanse of Harry's throat. His other hand was reaching up, skimming upwards from Harry's chest, circling around Harry's neck, strangling-

The brunette tried to nudge Draco away, but he had to steer the broomstick too, and he was afraid that Draco would fall into fiery death. But Harry couldn't move his head; he could only stare at the other boy, wondering what was wrong with him, why Draco's actions and emotions were see-sawing from one spectrum to the next-

What are you doing, Draco?! What are you doing to Harry?!

The windmills of Draco's mind screeched with panic when realization gradually dawned on him. Immediately letting go of a choking Harry, Draco held back a whimper and instantly embraced Harry again, holding Harry so tightly like how a dying man would grasp at a glistening life-line, but they were nearing the door already, he had to tell Harry that he didn't mean to, he didn't mean any of it-

I'll die in flames for you-

Straightening up and hoping that his voice was working, Draco leant in nearer to a disoriented Harry. His breath shallow with worry and self-loathing, the blond's word came out in nothing but a dry, brittle croak, almost indiscernible amongst the roaring of the fire and the crackling and burning of items in the Room.

"Inc-carceramour…"

But Harry seemed not to hear him. Bending forward, Harry gave the broom one mighty, final push and it wasn't long before both boys tumbled out of the Room, their mouths drawing in much-needed lungfuls of fresh air. Harry immediately threw Draco off the broom and took a few steps away from the other blond, warily remembering how Draco's hands had locked down on his neck. Draco's sense of balance left him completely, and he toppled down coming down to earth- on the floor weakly, emotionally and physically drained by the ordeal.

Harry Potter is nothing but a fucking hero.

I want to scoff. I want to laugh. But I... can't.

Both boys looked at each other, their gaze snagging and hanging in the air, as delicate as a vulnerable, perfect dewdrop on a single blade of grass. The blond's blood was fizzing like firewhiskey in his veins as he admired the way Harry's tanned skin glowed, exuding welcoming warmth. Draco's eyeballs were clamped on Harry, mesmerized and unwavering as the blond's eyes licked Harry, trying to memorize this very moment, this moment as fragile and feeble as a cobweb, storing and scanning it in his mind like a Muggle computer, because he didn't know when he would see Harry next-

The silence that ensued was alive with intensity, crackling with electric current. The tendons on Harry's neck were standing out aggressively like rope cords. Harry took in the white pallor of the Slytherin's thin face, his singed robes and his fingers, blackened with soot and ash. Draco felt his heart do a little jump when the stiffness in Harry's shoulders relaxed, and his mouth, which had been flat and unrelenting like a switched-off life support machine, begin to quirk up quizzically at a corner.

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows and sat up like a little boy, a small, hopeful smile playing on his lips. He knew that Harry was going to walk over, ask him whether he was okay, whether he was alright, because he loves you-

But at that second, the diadem from Harry's wrist began to vibrate violently and break apart in his hands, and then Harry heard the scream of pain from Voldemort's Horcrux-

Voldemort.

Squaring his shoulders, the brunette shuddered when he remembered the Dark Mark on Draco's once-perfect arm. Harry narrowed his eyes at Draco venomously and spun sharply on his heel, stalking off towards the direction of Hermione and Ron.

The smile died on Draco's lips, but a small part of him felt that it didn't matter at all, because every detail, everything that had transpired in the Room of Requirement had been indelibly stamped into his brain.

He didn't know how long this particular memory would sustain him and keep the demons in his head at bay. For a month? For a week? But Draco didn't care, because all he could do now was to cling desperately on the glorious, lovely fact that Harry had risked his own life to save him.

And for now, that was enough.

The sky was a happy-go-lucky blue daubed with innocent pillows of fluffy white cloud. Gulls swooped and cooed overhead, basking in the alluring caress of the sun. A gentle breeze fluttered, ruffling the crowns of the nearby trees, bestowing a glittering yellow quality to the lush leaves. The brilliant sunshine was full of sparkle and promise, and Harry wrapped his hands tighter around his mug of tea and grinned affectionately at Ron and Hermione.

The trio was in the kitchen of The Burrow, their mouths split into happy beams as they talked and joked whimsically. The painful memories of the war, which had concluded a few weeks ago, had been buried in the corner of their minds, an unpleasant chapter in their life which they had gotten through successfully. The three of them were more than eager to forget everything about the battle and move on with their life. Hermione smiled at both boys before lifting her cup to her lips and sipping her drink primly.

But there was still something bothering Harry. The brunette gulped and took a shaky swig of his tea before clearing his throat and speaking, breaking the companionable silence.

"What's Incarceramour?" Harry asked as casually as he could, his tongue tripping over the foreign word.

Ron and Hermione stared back blankly at him.

"That day, in the Room of Requirement, when I saved Malfoy from the Fiendfyre, he… he whispered that word to me. He seemed quite mad, actually. Holding onto me so tight, and… touching me all over," Harry explained, trying with difficulty to keep his voice neutral.

"Touching you?!" Ron exclaimed in horror as he made a gagging sound.

Hermione's head was bowed in concentration; her eyes scrunched shut and her fingers snapping while she tried to make the connection in her mind. "Incarceramour, Incarceramour, I remember reading about it somewhere… It's something Dark, very Dark, oh my!" Hermione squealed. Pushing her chair back, she quickly scuttled out of the kitchen and mounted the staircase towards the rooms in the Burrow without a backwards glance.

Harry and Ron blinked questioningly at each other, nonplussed. Harry couldn't help but feel a small thread of adrenaline rise up in him. Finally, some answers.

Hermione hurried back into the kitchen with a thick, leather-bound tome clutched in her hands. Not bothering to sit down, she quickly gave her index finger a swift lick and riffled the worn pages wildly. Ron ducked his head to peek at the cover and it didn't take him long to recall that this was one of the books that Hermione took during their year-long journey to destroy the Horcruxes.

"Secrets of the Darkest Art?! Hermione, why is it still with you?! Aren't you supposed to return it to Hogwarts?"

"This book would be handy if any one of us chooses to pursue a career as an Auror. Besides, we don't want anyone to find out how to create a Horcrux again, Ron. Oh, it's definitely here somewhere…" Hermione trailed off distractedly, her deft eyes scanning each chapter at lightning speed.

Harry felt his heart plummet like a dropped anchor. He swallowed nervously and ran a hand through his unruly hair. Darkest Art… It can't be anything good…

"Here it is! Incar… Incarceramour! It's a… love spell, Harry," Hermione said, her voice dropping a notch. Tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear, Hermione continued to graze the pages of the tome, her expression becoming more and more aghast by the second.

"Love spell? What does it do? Makes Malfoy cut out clippings of Harry and moon over them? Trace Harry's name out in little squiggly hearts on parchment? I think Malfoy deserves more than a lurve spell," Ron snorted derisively, rolling his eyes.

"What, you mean… Dra- Malfoy's in love with me?" Harry chortled, a bubble of hysterical laughter rising to his lips. But his laugh seemed just a bit forced, his smile just a bit glued on. There was a strange hollow churning sensation gripping his stomach, and the brunette tried to ignore the way anxiety skittered like a squirrel in him.

"No, Harry, it's… it's much, much worse than that. I… I don't know how to explain this, but… Malfoy hates and loves you at the same time. It's horrible, Harry. No decent person would wish this on their worst enemy," Hermione said, throwing a pointed glance at Ron.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione recited a paragraph from the book. "The pain is bearable when the curse is cast, but the intensity of the memories and emotions will increase for the months to come if the object of the victim's affection does not return his feelings. The mind will eventually overtake the body, until the sufferer has no choice but to-" Hermione suddenly grinded to a halt, her eyes wide and round with shock.

"But to what, Hermione? What?!" Harry was sitting as taut as a bow now, an avalanche of muddled emotions warring within him. Malfoy was suffering, exactly what Harry wanted in sixth year, but this curse… this curse which sounded so destructive and gruesome that even Ron blanched when he stood up and looked at the pages of the book over Hermione's shoulder.

Harry wanted to grab the tome from Hermione and read it for himself, but it was as though his strength was sapped from him bit by bit. A black tide of remembered misery did you get what you deserved- welled up inside Harry. The muscles of the brunette's forearm were quivering agitatedly beneath his skin while he gripped his mug of tea so hard until the skin near his fingernails turned a constricted bright yellow.

"Until the victim has no choice but to surrender his soul, answering the final beckon of death," Hermione finished grimly, her voice wobbling precariously. The last uttered word hung like a condemned wraith over the trio, clamping down on the light-hearted mood like a vise.

will he find solace in death-

"He belongs to you now, Harry. Every single part of him, his heart, his mind, his body, his soul," Hermione's voice was nothing but a mere whisper. She lowered the book, gazing into the brunette's astonished green eyes.

"B-But who would do this to him?!" Harry stuttered out, but even before he finished the question, he had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.

"Chances are that it was Voldemort. If it really was Voldemort that cursed Malfoy, he… he only has roughly two years to live, at the most. The power of the wizard that casts the spell is proportional to the magnitude of the curse."

Harry stubbornly shook his head like a petulant child, his hands balled up into obstinate fists. He refused to believe anything that Hermione was saying. "There's got to be some way out! Voldemort's dead! Won't the curse be lifted?"

"No. There's only two ways to help Malfoy now. Either Harry has to die-"

"No way, mate!" Ron exclaimed sharply.

"Or you have to spend the rest of your life with him, like a proper… lover. But the nature of the curse is extremely volatile. This involves raw, powerful human emotions, Harry. If you choose to… love him, he could break your heart anytime because he hates you, or he could simply reciprocate your affections, but you would never know when that love will dry up, leaving nothing but the hate. No one will know what's going to happen, Harry," Hermione elaborated further, each word heavy and grave.

Malfoy had almost strangled him in the Room-

"But right now, what he's feeling, what the rest of his life will be is simply a fate worse than death," the witch continued morosely, lifting her eyes off the book.

This new deluge of information pressed down on Harry like solid concrete. His thoughts were ricocheting in what felt like a million directions, and Harry ran his tongue inside his mouth, feeling that his saliva had turned to sawdust.

I love you forever, Harry.

Harry valiantly tried to control the whole ocean of longing that flooded out, vast and uncontrollable. It was what he'd always wanted all along, Draco's love, but… but not like this-

But forever is over.

Shaking himself out of a daze that enveloped like a stifling duvet, Harry unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth and queried softly. "What if- what if I choose not to do anything?"

"Some of the victims of the curse starve and waste away, some of them become deranged-" Hermione replied carefully, but Harry knew that she was hiding the worst prognosis.

"What happens to most of them?" Harry cut her off impatiently, trying to ignore the way the hollow spot in his heart that Draco had sliced out trembled and thumped.

"They… end up killing themselves."

With that, Hermione flipped the large book around and placed it on the table with a loud thud, sliding it slowly towards Harry. The brunette licked his lips twitchily, before tearing his gaze from Hermione's solemn expression and glancing at the compendium.

His petrified green eyes were immediately drawn like magnets to the crude, disturbing diagrams on the brittle, yellowed pages. Each sketch was the epitome of violence, each death savage and demonic, chilling Harry to the bone. Clawed, broken fingers gripping bloodied daggers slitting arteries, enraged eyes pleading for mercy, mouths a never-closing circle of twisted screeches, nothing but maniacal, macabre maws of hysteria, gurgling desperate, treacherous gulps of potent, fuming poison, and so many, so many pictures of decomposing, rotting, maggoty bodies that had died, forsaken and abandoned-

He's screaming, he's crying for you, he belongs wholly to you now, Harry.

Isn't this what you've always wanted?

Isn't it?

Harry had seen enough; he slammed the book close with a bang. Jerking his head up a fraction, he looked at Ron and Hermione, who shared his expression of utmost incredulity and consternation. Harry opened his mouth to stutter, but closed it when he realized that he had nothing more to say. The two of them couldn't help him to decide what ultimately to do.

That choice depended on him, and him alone.

incarcerate: to imprison

amour: love

incarceramour: to imprison with love

Draco stared numbly at the food that his mother had left for him. Blinking groggily, the blond uncurled his weary, shrunken body and crawled pathetically on the floor towards the basket that was crammed to the brim with staples like bread and cold cuts. Reluctantly lifting up a leaden arm to tug the hamper down from the table, Draco fished out a loaf of bread. Not bothering to cut it or slather it with butter, something that he used to do, he simply tore chunks of crusty bread with his bare fingers and fed them slowly into his mouth. Moving his jaws seemed to require a gargantuan effort, and Draco ended up painfully swallowing the too-large lump of mushy bread after a handful of munches.

What's the point of eating, Draco? It'll be so easy to starve to death, just like how you're starved of his affections, oh you poor, poor thing- Eat, Draco, please! He'll come to save you, you know he will, you want to be strong for him, don't you-

The basket of food was nothing but a physical reminder of how helpless and weak he had become, not being able to do the basic chore of finding his own food. Some days he wouldn't eat at all, but instead gulp down gallons of water, hoping to cleanse and wash away the voices and the very thought of Harry. His taste buds were numbed; it didn't matter at all what he ate. He could be presented with a bowl of scrumptious soup bursting with herbs and flavor, and it would taste as bland and passionless as mineral water.

It had been seven months after the episode at the Room of Requirement. The days and weeks ahead bled into each other, long and sluggish. Closing his eyes lazily, Draco mechanically ate half of the bread, before he gave up and dragged himself back into his room, not bothering to clean up after him.

Draco had continued to stay at the Manor after the war, but even though Narcissa and Lucius tried to nurse Draco back to health with the best of their ability, they could feel that Draco was enveloped in his little bubble of a world, sliding and slithering away from them with every passing day. But the both of them had gritted their teeth and soldiered on, showing their son that he would never be abandoned by them, no matter how broken and isolated Draco would eventually become.

Draco had tried to appreciate every single thing that his parents did, but he could feel that it wasn't working, nothing was working, all of this emotion, this gnawing, debilitating pain that chewed at him mercilessly, was struggling to blow up the tissue of lies I'm okay, please don't worry- that the blond uttered all the time, threatening to endanger everyone-

"Draco, you're bleeding!"

"Mother, leave me alone, please-"

"No!"

"What the fuck, why did you touch me, no one can touch me except for Harry, no one-"

"Draco, please-"

"What's wrong with you?! Are you retarded? God, leave me alone! Stop touching me!"

And then Draco had lost complete control, failing to rein in his temper, which he always kept so carefully in check. He had launched himself at his mother, his own, beloved mother, scratching and clawing and screaming and tearing, nothing but a whirlwind of pure madness, at her beautiful, porcelain face and her long, elegant, aristocratic neck-

Narcissa had screwed her eyes shut, swallowing her pain and tears bravely while she let her own son attack her because maybe, it would make him feel better- like a wild animal. Until Lucius had thundered down from the steps in a homicidal fit of rage and pushed Draco away, cradling his bloodied and shattered wife protectively in his arms.

"What have you done, Draco?!"

Draco staggered back, staring at his hands, blood and skin caked under his unkempt fingernails. He gazed at his weeping mother with bruises purple and red on her face like lipstick scrawled over white paper- and his horrified father, and he felt that he was a monster, nothing but an insane demon. Draco knew that he was spiraling out of control, and he was scared, so scared that he would kill his own parents with his own bare hands-

That night, Draco had padded over to his parents' bedroom, his head hung in remorse and utter self-disgust. Under Lucius's wary, watchful eye, Draco had sank to his knees beside Narcissa and held his mother's shaking hands between his own, trying to ignore how his skin scorched and bubbled like hot molten lava. He stayed like that for a long time, his mouth uttering words of sorrow while he cried, begging for forgiveness, promising that it would never happen again.

The next morning, Draco had packed his things, located a tiny, abandoned apartment in Muggle London and moved in there. No matter how much his parents had pleaded for him to return, Draco had shook his head steadfastly and dug his heels in, refusing to torture his beloved parents any longer.

One day, Lucius had sat Draco gently down and murmured tentatively to him, each word sounding forced and rehearsed.

"Have you… have you tried contacting Potter? Maybe he could be of assistance-"

"Father, I can't-"

"Just try, Draco, please-"

"I destroyed him in sixth year. He won't-"

Draco knew how desperate Lucius had to be to suggest Draco to seek help from Potter. Lucius, always mindful of his pride, had never been one for dramatic, loving gestures, and Draco was grateful for that concession that spoke volumes. Draco had then smiled at his father, his lips turning up into a weak grin that was as rare as gold dust.

His parents dropped by the apartment every single day to check on Draco. Narcissa would always purse her lips in despair whenever she saw the amounts of untouched food that she had brought in the day before, before stubbornly replacing it with a fresh cradle of food. She always harbored a glimmer of longing that her son would start eating properly to save himself-, but with every single day, that precious, delusional hope seemed to fade just a little bit more.

Draco used to take pleasure in leaving his puny home and walking in the sunshine, where he blended into obscurity with the nameless and faceless pedestrians in the streets. His hands jammed deep into his pockets, his head hanging low, Draco would continue to put one foot in front of the other like a monotonous sleepwalker. By doing this, he could pretend, for a few short glorious hours that he was just like any other normal person, not cursed by this spell that would eventually kill him after months of torment.

Sometimes he would walk for hours to nowhere, sometimes he would stop in a café, order a meal for two and act as though he was waiting for Harry, sometimes he would simply throw himself on a park bench and stare unblinkingly at the other regular couples half plus half equals one- wrapped lovingly and comfortingly in each other's arms. It was at times like these when Draco felt like a poor little boy with his nose pressed against the windows always on the outside looking in- of a tantalizing confectionery shop. And then he would stubbornly tell himself that he will see Harry again, that he will hear Harry's voice again, that Harry and him will one day be one of those couples embracing like there was no tomorrow.

It's just a matter of time.

Along this line of thought, Draco could feel his emotions chug upwards gradually like a train. The blond would try on future visions of happiness how would it feel like to wake up beside Harry every morning, how would it feel like to see him smile so disarmingly at you again, how would it feel like to fall asleep in his arms, with your ear pressed against his chest, because you know that he will never leave you- like a little girl trying on dressing-up clothes. He was trapped in a frozen world of make-believe, where real life, horrible and raw, couldn't lay a finger on him. And Draco's face would melt into a dreamy smile whenever he thought of Harry's mouth, a rich strawberry pink, kissing his worries and fears away. The blond would then indulge in bouts of cautious euphoria, an aura of blissful happiness surrounding him like ectoplasm. He could stay like that for hours, maybe weeks, his feelings and emotions buoyed simply by mere memories of Harry.

Those were his good days.

But now, he no longer bothered to leave his flat at all, instead locking himself and corroding away in his little secluded hellhole, not choosing to speak to anyone, and muttering only monosyllabic answers to his heart-broken parents. He had been mentally limping away from the voices in his mind, trying to summon enough strength to walk, and he had walked until he could run, then run as hard and fast as he could ever since, but-

You can't run from yourself, can you, Draco?

He was afflicted with this one-sided love that was sustained by the fragile sieve of memories that he kept so dearly in his mind, holding it in his cupped hands. It provided some semblance of comfort that proved to Draco that yes, Harry did love him-

Draco fumbled into his room and yanked out the letter, that letter of mushy drivel that Harry had sent to him during sixth year. The blond dissolved into a heap on the floor, his fingers smoothing out the tears and rips at the edges of the parchment, his wild, darting eyes greedily devouring each word-

"After the war, we'll be together, I promise, I love you so much, Draco-"

And then Draco would remember the way messy clumps of Harry's hair would fall over his forehead adoringly whenever he did his Potions assignments, the familiar, soft tinge of pink that stained his cheeks when Harry blushed, how sweet, how shy Harry looked whenever he bit his lip, the endearing way that Harry would always spill crumbs over his robes whenever he was buttering his bread during breakfast-

If I drown tonight-

Will you save me tomorrow?

Each memory about the brunette was prized and idolized, held gently and obsessively in Draco's cupped hands, each recollection letting Draco paper over the cracks of his soul, but now, they no longer seemed to work their redemptive magic anymore. The memories were slipping through his fingers like smoke, knocking teasingly and mockingly on every door of his empty apartment, whispering sweet nothings, murmuring empty promises-

Why can't I remember the color of Harry's eyes, what color are they, how did it feel when he touched me, I can't recall, what was he wearing when he saved me from Fiendfyre, please, I need to know, I need to know before they come to get me, he still loves me, doesn't he? Doesn't he?!

How would it feel like to reign in hell, Draco love?

And as each horrid thought unfurled like tapeworms in his brain, the love and hate roaring and pumping aggressively in his boiling blood, Draco felt like he was bent in two hovering at death's door- like a marionette whose strings have been snipped. He was trapped at the bottom of a well, its sides impossible to get out, unless Harry, Harry, Harry- slippery and black, this emotional… gangrene, infecting, terrorizing, rotting, flowing like an oozing, poisonous wound with no antidote in sight, each sliver of his sanity vanishing like mist before the morning sun, each destructive thought like slimy, soggy maggots crawling out of the woodwork-

once a tickle, now a rash, soon a scourge-

Each memory had turned fuzzy and cloudy, and everything that Draco thought he could hold onto was ripped out cruelly out of his hands. Every lovely moment that Harry and Draco had shared was darkened and soured by the voices that remorselessly occupied his oh-so-crowded mind. There was one day, one fateful day when it all seemed too much for him, and Draco had lay, slumped and numbed against the wall, a small, but deviously sharp knife held in his right hand, tracing teasing, playing with- the delta of thin blue veins at the heel of his other hand-

you'll be Death's favorite child, dancing burnt and bloodied in the shadows, your friends, your playmates waiting for you there, laughing and clapping their hands in the devil's playground, where they rape the willing and kill the innocent- shut up, shut up, you don't want to die, Draco- what's your life like now, Draco, do you like looking over your shoulder all the time, just in case dear, darling Harry's there, smiling that delicate, loving smile that you used to take for granted- Draco, Draco, Draco… simply waiting for the guilt to rip your fucking soul apart, letting whatever sorrow that remains in your dead, shriveled heart leak away like a pierced balloon- he-loved-you… I want you to bleedHURTscreechDIE right down to the very core of your broken bones, isn't it easier to give in, isn't it easier to plunge the blade in your veins and end it- remember how he kissed you, remember, can you- you're left with nothing, Draco, nothing but memories that tauntTEARtwist your heart, your pathetic, splintered heart- remember how he always SMILEDnuzzledTOUCHEDyou- you can sweep the tattered glass pieces of your heart under the rug of denial, but I know, Draco, I know that at the end of the day you'll come crying back into my arms, hoping for release, the bitter-sweet release of death-

And then his mind would reverberate with great hoots of mirth, Draco's hand shaking with a mixture of fury and fear as vice-like spasms of excruciating pain gripped him like a claw. He had felt the burning of incipient tears as he eyed the dagger defiantly, daring himself to-

I will never pull the trigger-

But I've cried wolf a thousand times-

Each screamed word had been like a slow blade turning in his stomach, but then he suddenly thought of his parents, his parents that shone like a shimmering beacon in his mind, giving him a last-minute reprieve-

Do you think that you could spell precious Harry's name on the walls with your spurting blood when you slit your- Draco, you're bleeding!

Snarling angrily to himself, Draco had immediately gotten up from the floor with his head held high and stalked over to the window, flinging the knife as hard as he could out of the house, out of his reach, out of everything-

And then Draco had crumpled to the floor, his body collapsing like a rag doll with all of its stuffing yanked out, his howls of grief rocketing to new levels as the blond sank back into wistful melancholia with a vengeance.

That was how Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy had found him that evening. Draco boasted shallow, thin, scabbed-over cuts on his arm while he laid, quite still, on the bathroom floor, his body as rigid as a board, eyes staring unseeingly up on the ceiling, his bloodless lips twitching as Draco sang his little song of death.

love is the red that rose from your coffin-

But he was still breathing, and to Narcissa and Lucius, that was all that mattered.

The next day, Draco realized that his parents had tossed out all the cutlery and knives in the apartment and replaced them with their disposable counterparts.

Every day brought about a fresh spell of fear that blossomed like a mushroom cloud while Draco valiantly clung onto his tiny shred of hope with the edge of his fingertips, but he was slipping, balancing precariously on the edge of the crevasse, falling any second now-. Draco cart-wheeled unpredictably from happiness to fury to sadness to loneliness, and he hated this encircling emotional and physical firewall that only Harry could break through, the pitiful sound of his desperate sobs echoing in the silence, engulfing him in his lonely, tiny flat.

The sweetest, the fairest, and the most beautiful of them all-

How does it feel like, Draco, bleeding out on the floor?

Sometimes Draco wondered how it felt like to wake up every morning with a smile on his face.

you never tried-

Hauling himself wearily out of bed, the blond drew back the curtains of his room, staring unblinkingly at the ashen-fingered dawn that greeted him outside. His sleep patterns were being disrupted now, he could survive on a mere three hours of sleep some days, and on other days, he demanded a full twelve hours of slumber. Draco gazed forlornly at the pewter grey sky, the unwavering shadows of the trees that swung gloomily, darkening forebodingly against the bleak backdrop of the sky.

Draco idly pondered what today would bring.

Rubbing his eyes dully, the blond dragged himself to the bathroom to perform his daily morning routine. Emerging minutes later, Draco yawned sluggishly, before fumbling over to the living room, his eyes still half-closed.

Harry Potter was sitting stiffly on his threadbare sofa in his own apartment, waiting for him.

Draco stared, slack-jawed. It had to be some sort of hallucination, some cruel dream that decided to jeer at him. It's impossible, there's no way, no way- Draco quickly rubbed his eyes and blinked furiously.

He was still there.

The blond's stomach had done an incredulous swallow dive and was somewhere down at his knees now, his heart thumping an insane metronome against his rib-cage. Draco's limp fingers scrabbled wildly at the unyielding, immobile wall behind him, his horrified, wary eyes never leaving Harry.

The brunette kept his face carefully inscrutable, although his own heart was leaping erratically like a dancer with no sense of rhythm. He continued to gaze at Draco Malfoy, trying to ignore the crashing tidal wave of memories and pain that mercilessly assaulted him.

The Draco that Harry saw now was like a faded yellow-tinged shadow of the boy that Harry had loved and adored so long ago. Draco now had a fragile and brittle beautiful, but damned- aura enveloping him, and he was so thin, so skeletal and frail that Harry was scared that if he approached, Draco would simply fall apart. The blond's skin was stretched taut over his sharp cheekbones, but his bone structure was as stunning as Harry had remembered. Harry sat there quietly, his palms resting primly on his thighs as he eyed the other boy narrowly.

Draco took a deep breath to marshal his racing thoughts. His hands were clenching and unclenching with agitation and confusion, and he bit his lip hard, trying to ignore the sudden attack of the voices warring for dominance in his mind, trying to scrub away the ghost of you-

he's back for revenge, Draco, he knows he exerts full control over you, why would you want to numb the pain when it's just going to be worse in the long run- he's back, Draco, he came back for you- he won't leave you tomorrow, or next week, or maybe next month, but one day, he will abandon you like a used toy after he's done playing, the exact same thing that you did in sixth year- can't you see he still loves you, don't you love him too- revenge, don't you love the way it sounds on your tongue, nothing but punishment and misery and power when you hiss it out loud?

"Come to watch the freak show, Potter?" the blond spat out venomously, his upper lip curling in hostility, suspicion crawling over his skin like ants.

The microscopic slivers of compassion seeped out of Harry's eyes, and he fixed Draco with a level stare. Shrugging his shoulders casually, and tamping down the commotion in his mind, the brunette replied neutrally.

"I just came to see how you were doing."

"How noble! How self-sacrificing! Should I get down on my knees to thank you for your concern? Oh, or were you looking for an apology?" Draco parried acidly, his slate grey irises staring back coldly, almost challengingly. Harry's shoulders were set rigidly as he held Draco's contemptuous, wintry glare. Arching an eyebrow questioningly, the brunette aggressively took a step forward.

"For someone that's about to die-"

"Rubbing it in my face now, aren't you, Potter? Anything is better than living through the next few months. I'm glad I'm going to die, Potter. In fact, I can't wait," Draco bit out deathbed confessions-, cutting Harry off in mid-sentence.

"You don't mean that," Harry riposted sharply, an imperceptible, glacial smile playing on his lips. "I know you don't." With that, the brunette crossed the distance between them with a few strides, until he was an arm length's away from Draco. The first-rate quality of Draco's sneer faltered, and he looked down furiously at his feet, his head bowed.

"Get out of my house," The blond's tone was flat, leeched of emotion as he began to inch away to the side, anxious to get away from Harry.

run, run, run as fast as you can, because when you move he can't get you-

Harry felt like grasping Draco's shoulders and shaking some sense into him. "You don't mean that too," he snorted derisively before he advanced ruthlessly on the shivering blond. Galvanized by action, Draco slid away urgently, his back pressed lightly on the wall as he tried to bolt for the kitchen-

But Harry was stronger and faster. Taking an assailing step towards Draco, the brunette hooked his hand around Draco's wrist and twirled him back into his arms, pushing the blond up against the wall. Lightning, sudden and irreversible, rippled across Draco's crackling nerve endings when Harry pressed the length of his body to Draco's. Draco couldn't help but shudder at the shock of Harry's touch so foreign, but yet so familiar-. Harry's breath was hot and welcoming, teasing and playing on Draco's neck.

The blond scrunched his face up and lifted his arms to push the brunette away, but Harry immediately latched his own hands on Draco's trembling wrists, slamming his arms down. Desire scythed across Draco's glistening flesh, and he helplessly felt his skin warming to Harry's touch, his pulse quickening, igniting no one's touched me, no one at all- the whole of his being, suffusing and suffocating him like a drug overdose to the brain, enough to send his whole system haywire.

his eyes are green, Draco, the most brilliant, the brightest, the most vivid green that you'll ever see-

It was like moving onto dry land after frantically treading water for far too long. Draco had stitched his heart up and bandaged it up like a mummy, and that touch, that touch from Harry was enough to break open the sutures that surrounded it so fiercely. Fresh pain exploded like a fireworks display, as though Draco had scratched a just-formed scab off a wound. The thread that was looped around his heart that kept him together, that thread that had been so frayed, pulled so taut, stretched to the very point of snapping, had suddenly melted, going all rickety and relaxed.

so weak, Draco, so weak, skin on skin, nothing but a Gryffindor plaything-

Draco suddenly leapt away from Harry like a frightened rabbit and crumpled down onto the floor, curling himself up into a trembling little ball of doubt. Bowing his head so that Harry could only see the whites of his eyes, Draco growled terrifyingly through stiff lips, each word precise and passionless.

"Fuck off, Potter."

Harry froze, his lips pressed together into a thin line, drained of blood. His eyes raked Draco's shivering frame with a glittery gaze. Without a word, the brunette turned sharply on his heel and started to shuffle slowly away, his hands jammed deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched.

Draco screwed his eyes shut bury me here and forget about me- and sank his head in his hands. He felt the cold rush of sing-song voices increasing in intensity and agony, escalating swiftly like a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon rousing itself from slumber, embracing him like an unwanted, long-lost relative.

I want to break your heart and give you mine, love is nothing but chaos of the highest order-

why did you let him go, why, why, why, he came back to you, only Harry can banish the voices, only Harry can-

"H-Harry. C-come back. Please," Draco begged pathetically, his blood running cold and his face flushing hot. Draco's resistance had dissolved into fine dust; the teetering tower of pride and aloofness that he constructed so carefully around him was collapsing into shards at his feet. But that was enough, that was exactly what Harry had been waiting to hear.

we're broken but I can't throw us away-

In a flash, the brunette rushed back and hugged Draco, like a mother comforting her weeping child. Cradling the other boy possessively in his arms, Harry knelt in front of Draco and brushed his lips tenderly across the length of Draco's neck, down to the slender curve of his bony shoulder. The blond let out a faint sound, a cross between a sob and a sigh as he clutched at Harry tightly, not wanting to let go, not daring to let go, because he was afraid that Harry would suddenly vanish like a ghost in the daylight, and then Draco's sky-high hopes would crumble, crumble all the way down to the murky bowels of hell-

"Did you… feel anything for me in the first place?" Harry murmured, his voice quivering like a leaf. His words were like lighting a match around pure dynamite. Draco urgently dislodged himself from Harry's grasp and scuttled back into his room. He quickly pulled out the letter from his drawer beside his bed and hurried back out.

I need to show him, I need to let him know, I need to-

Draco thrust the note into Harry's hands. Sitting beside him quietly like an obedient little puppy, the blond wordlessly watched the recognition register on Harry's face. The edges of the love letter that Harry had written to Draco in sixth year were frayed and worn from too much tender handling. The ink had faded like an old sepia photograph left too long in the sun, but Draco had continued to gaze at the letter every single day like a lovelorn fool, as the letter was the only piece of physical evidence that Harry had once loved him-

"You kept it. You kept it even before you revealed yourself to me," Harry whispered disbelievingly. Draco nodded silently, before sliding towards Harry, trying as hard as he could not to lose his composure. His fingers slowly skimmed the dusky, petal soft skin of Harry's perfect cheek, exploring old territory again. Balancing on his wobbly knees, he let his lips ghost over the side of the brunette's face, before planting a soft, delicate kiss on Harry's temple, the very first show of affection Draco had showered on Harry.

A lock of black hair flopped over Harry's forehead, but before Harry could lift up a hand to push it back, Draco had rapidly swept it away without thinking. The blond's hand froze in mid-air as both boys stared at each other, both remembering that Draco always did that habitually when they were together-

"Why now?" Draco asked quietly.

Harry choked back a soft sob of his own. "I was so angry at you. When you left me, Voldemort did his best to dim every remaining memory that I had of you. It was… horrible, I had nightmares almost every night. And then I found out about the curse. I didn't want to bother because I thought that you deserved it. I wanted you to suffer for what you did, I wanted you to hurt as much as I did," Harry let out a hollow, dry laugh. "I tried to pretend that I didn't care."

"But I can't do that, Draco. I can't, because…" Harry paused, tucking a finger under Draco's chin and forcing the other boy to meet his gaze.

"Because I never stopped loving you with the pieces of my heart."

The brunette wanted to smooth away the hurt on Draco's face, and he hesitated for a split second before lacing their fingers together. Harry knew how fickle and unstable the curse could be. But he didn't care, because Draco belonged to him, every single part of him-

but oh my love, my love, we'll go down together-

Harry's words had detonated an emotional landmine in Draco, and the blond had a sensation of a tightly coiled spring letting go violently and bouncing undone in his chest. He bit his wobbling bottom lip, struggling to quell unstoppable tears as he felt the emotions that he had been holding onto so tightly pouring out like a waterfall. The voices had subsided to mere murmurs now, faint whispers that Draco could block out oh-so-easily. He felt the hate floating, irrelevant, nothing but a footnote buried at the end of a long, complicated passage. Draco started to sob, his cries loud and choking, but he could hear the pure, unadulterated joy trying to break through-

hold me thrill me kiss me kill me-

but please don't leave me-

Draco swiped at his teary eyes with the back of his hand while he sniffled to a stop. And then, Harry dipped his head towards Draco, kissing as sweet as a sugar-lipped kiss- the blond with tantalizing slowness, making Draco tingle all over. Both boys moaned when they felt the old magic come flooding back, rekindling bonfires throughout their bodies.

The wind was howling madly through the trees now, shovel-loads of gravel hurling dementedly at the glass. The rattling rain was flung almost horizontally past the windows, beating a thundering tattoo against the glass, bending the trees outside like springs. But Harry and Draco didn't care, the world could disintegrate into pieces, and it didn't matter nothing mattered- as long as they had each other-

you're the flickering flame that lights up my darkest hour-

you're why I get up in the morning-

you're the reason my heart beats-

you're in my blood my brain my body-

Gently breaking the kiss, Draco felt the aching void in his heart melt away like mist. He directed a shy, apprehensive gaze up at Harry, feeling like a virgin, helpless and enthralled by the prospect ahead. With that simple look, Draco had conveyed a thousand unspoken, over-due apologies to Harry. The brunette's eyes crinkled up in a delighted smile as he lifted up his hands, using his thumbs to affectionately brush away the residual tears on the blond's cheeks, his soft green eyes searching Draco's face with an intensity that melted Draco's once-splintered soul.

Sliding a finger underneath Draco's unkempt fringe, Harry fondly smoothed back the other boy's beautiful blond hair slowly, like how a bridegroom would lovingly lift up the veil of his beloved bride. And as Draco fell into Harry's arms, he felt that the last missing piece of life's puzzle had finally dropped into place.

Harry Potter is innately honorable.

He is everything that I am not.

And for that-

I love him.

/fin

A/N: I solemnly swear that my next fic will be a happy one.