Crucify

Diagon Alley had changed so much that Harry Potter did not recognize any of the shops. It was like the Knockturn Alley he remembered: dirty, full of suspicious people and overflowing with mud. He entered the first tavern he saw--it seemed impossible to find The Leaky Cauldron--and tried to ignore the raw smell of vomit, Firewhiskey and a cloying odour he preferred not know the source of.

There were a couple of drunken wizards at the bar and more people on their own, drinking a blue beverage. Harry sat at a table in the corner of the room, where the light was dim, and placed his rucksack on the floor. A grubby man, drinking a couple of tables away, stared at Harry's kitbag, so he decided to move it under the chair, trapping it between his legs with the wall at his back. It contained his old school robes, Ron's and Hermione's, his useless wand... It was stupid, but Harry didn't want to get rid of those things, though the memories that they brought were painfully vivid.

An old blonde witch with a dirty wooden tray under her arm swayed towards Harry's table, offered him a smile that intended to be seductive, and asked what it was going to be.

"Butterbeer and pumpkin pie, please," he asked, avoiding all eye contact.

The waitress looked at him in awe. "A well-mannered boy!" She glanced at the bartender and yelled, "Hey, you should learn manners from him!" Then she batted her eyelashes at Harry and got nearer, leaning a little over him, offering him a good view of her breasts. "We have some free rooms upstairs, honey." Harry flinched at her proximity and felt the urge to push his chair back, but he didn't; he realized that if he had done it, he would have found himself trapped against the wall anyway. Panic rose, freezing his chest, and Harry felt his mouth going dry. She came even nearer and brushed a lock of his long hair away from his face, over his left shoulder. The witch did not seem to notice his shuddering or maybe she misunderstood it. "You should cut your hair, honey." Her voice contained a false sweetness, like thick syrup, he did not like, but Harry felt unable to move away; her lips were inches from his now. "I'm sure you have beautiful eyes under that black curtain, sweetie."

When Harry was young, he would probably have stopped her long ago, but now he could not; he was not used to it because he had not been allowed to make use of his freedom for so long.

The witch let out a gasp as soon as she cleared his forehead and saw the scar. Then she backed away, pointing at him, shaking and trying to find her voice. "Ha--...Ha--...Harry--...Harry Potter!" she shouted finally. He stared at her and told himself he should move, because he didn't know what would happen. He should run away. Fast. He gazed at the regulars that had fallen silent. They stared at the young man in the corner, who was immobile and looking at the witch blankly. Harry checked the clients to see if someone had drawn a wand, but nobody seemed to have done so. He told himself he should get out of the place, so he grabbed the pack and rose. His legs started to move, first almost with difficulty and then faster. Nobody tried to stop him at the beginning, but when he opened the door, he felt a curse hit a spot near his head.

Every finger in the room is pointing at me

I wanna spit in their faces

Then I get afraid what that could bring

I got a bowling ball in my stomach

I got a desert in my mouth

Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now

He didn't realize he was running; running away from the tavern, escaping from his past, trying to deny who he was and what had happened seven years ago.

~o~O~o~

Harry found another hostelry that offered rooms, and asked for drink and food to be taken to his room, where he could be on his own, not having to worry about prying eyes. The room was small and mucky, with a small window that overlooked a Diagon Alley he did not recognize.

The room had its own bathroom, but the faded tiles, the burns on the floor and the cracks in the mirror did not make him feel comfortable or safe. Not that he could ever be. He splashed his face and studied his reflection in the mirror, wondering who the 25-year-old man watching him was and why his eyes looked like those of a hunted animal. His hair was as long as Sirius' had been, and that memory made him feel uneasy; right now, he did not feel as daring as his godfather had been... Harry decided to cut his hair as soon as he was able to.

There was a knock at the door, so he opened it, expecting the dinner; but nobody was there, so he glanced down the corridor and checked that there was no-one to be seen. He shrugged and pushed the door closed. He was near the bed when it stopped its motion, ajar, and then opened again completely.

"You don't know where you are, do you?"

That voice. He had heard that voice so many times that he could not forget it. Harry turned to face the empty doorframe, and stepped back a little. He heard soft footsteps and the door closed behind the invisible visitor. Harry's body froze, waiting for a curse or an order, or both. His mind knew the rules and his body obeyed automatically. Nobody denied anything to a Death Eater.

An invisibility cloak slid down to the floor revealing a face he recognized. 'Tell me what you want and leave me alone.' Harry thought, but that was not the procedure:.

'Wait. Wait and listen. Do what you are told. And maybe, just maybe, you can go back to your room and cry on your own. Or maybe, we'll prefer to see you cry here, fighting against a boggart with dozens of faces. Because we know you could never beat him.'

Luckily, those times were over: Voldemort had grown tired of laughing at him, of breaking him, of his personal jester. It wasn't funny anymore to see the same show over and over again; so the last three years, Harry had only been called to celebrate the anniversary of The Dark Lord's victory; but he had received visits in his cell, and when he had been released he had hoped to get rid of them. Obviously, he had been very wrong.

"This isn't a safe area and you can't defend yourself."

It was true. Harry knew that without magic, he wasn't safe anywhere; but he didn't show any emotion. He was used to hear the truth from Death Eaters lips: 'You are a murderer; you could not save your friends and you are still alive; you have no powers, Potter, without magic you are nothing...'

Harry didn't answer:. He wasn't supposed to.

Malfoy advanced towards him and raised Harry's chin so that he looked the Death Eater in the eye. Harry diverted his gaze.

"You can speak." Malfoy's voice was soft; it didn't sound like a command.

The truth was that he had not demanded many things since he had seen Harry crushed for the first time, lying on the dungeon floor after a visit from Narcissa. Draco had entered to mock him, thinking he would see him standing in the middle of the bright room--to bother his sleep as much as possible--, looking at his enemies defiantly. However, Harry Potter had been curled up in a corner crying, ashamed, naked, and bleeding. Voldemort and his minions had needed only a year to destroy his spirit, and all that time, Draco had thought they would never manage, that Potter was too strong for them. Obviously, he wasn't. Malfoy had been nauseated at the scene, not because his enemy was ashamed, naked and bleeding--he had seen that many times before--but because Harry was curled up, embracing himself, finally acting like a trapped animal; not the defiant rebel anymore. He was scared, hurt and horrified; his gaze was lost, looking at a bulk that was laying on the floor. Luna Lovegood. Narcissa had finally managed the Imperius curse on Harry and had made him strangle his friend, and then she had left the corpse in the dungeon, so Potter could see what he had just done.

Harry had been 19 at that time.

I've been looking for a saviour in these dirty streets

Looking for a saviour underneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands

Drive another nail in

Just what God needs

One more victim

"Potter, you are free. You can say whatever you want." The news didn't seem to sink in. Draco realized that healing Potter was going to be a long and difficult issue. Well, he had suspected it anyway, so he tried something different. "What were you going to do now?"

 

"Have dinner, Sir." The answer was automatic.

"Don't call me that." Draco spat. He was used to that special treatment, but despised it when it came from Potter. There had to be a way to make him understand he was free now. "You can do whatever you want. Do you want me out of this room?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know." It was true, he didn't want a Death Eater near, but Malfoy had been the only human being that had talked to him for the last two or three years; besides, maybe it was a trap, maybe they wanted to make fun of him again. He realized he should have said no, if that was the case.

Malfoy didn't seemed bothered by the answer, and nodded. "Do you know that--" A knock on the door interrupted him.

He opened and found a very thin man in greasy garments with a tray full of food. As soon as he saw Draco, the man begun to yell at Harry, who had frozen, "Hey! You asked for a single room. I stated clearly that we don't admit visitors so you gotta pay if he's gonna stay here!" Draco, smirking, grabbed the tray and placed it on a small table by the bed, while the man continued shouting, "I knew I didn't like your looks!" Then Malfoy placed himself in the doorframe, between the man and Harry. "I hate when people try to cheat on me and--" Draco had drawn his wand with his left hand and tucked a lock of his fringe aside; while doing this the innkeeper had been able to see the Dark Mark on Draco's arm and the ring that was a sign that he was a high ranking Death Eater. "I...I...I'm sorry, Sir. I...didn't know... Sometimes people..." The innkeeper bowed with his eyes fixed on the wand. "I'm very sorry. Would you like anything else? On the house, of course."

"Bring Firewhisky," Malfoy ordered and closed the door with a thump, then turned and looked at Harry. "Have dinner. You must be tired."

Harry nodded imperceptibly, sat on the bed, and started to eat. He was used to being observed all the time and not having privacy, so he didn't seem bothered by Draco's presence.

"What I wanted to ask before is this: Do you know that you cannot get out of the magical world?" Harry stopped eating and stared at Malfoy, confused. "They didn't tell you? Bastards! If you go out of the magical world, you'll die. They put a charm on you before you were released. They probably thought it would be funnier if you found out by yourself."

Harry had flinched at the insult. It hadn't been directed at him, but at the Death Eaters... But Malfoy was one of them, so how could that be? Was it some kind of game? 'Maybe this is not real,' he thought, 'maybe I'm under a curse...' Malfoy read the doubt in Harry's eyes, and wondered if he could tell him what was going on, if he could trust a mind so badly broken, and decided to wait.

A knock sounded again, and Draco opened the door, grabbed the bottle from the innkeeper's hands and closed the door without a word. He then started to drink right from the bottle while Harry finished his meal. "I'll take you to a safe place, but first, you will finish your dinner and rest. I'll come back tomorrow." Harry saw Malfoy open the door. Before leaving, he said, "I'll put a spell on the door so nobody can enter the room. I told you before; this is not a nice neighbourhood." With that, he left, leaving an almost-empty bottle on the floor.

Harry finished his food and collapsed on the bed, thinking that, ironically, he was going to spend his first night of freedom locked up.

~o~C~o~

When the Dark Lord summoned Malfoy, making his Mark burn, Draco had a good idea of what he was going to be asked. He kneeled in front of Lord and Lady Voldemort, bowed his head and waited until he was given permission to move. The first words he heard were:

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?" With his eyes fixed on the floor of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Draco heard Voldemort rise and couldn't help shuddering.

"What have I done, my Lord?" As soon as he finished the sentence the word Crucio pierced his ears and the spell hit his body. He felt his chest being slashed apart brutally and his extremities pulling away from his trunk. Suddenly everything stopped and Draco laid on the floor, panting, cold sweat covering his body. Narcissa, sitting by Voldemort, looked at her son indifferently, knew she could not help him.

"Don't try to be smart with me, Malfoy. Get up." Without any expression, not even pain, the grey eyes looked at the red ones. "Why were you with Harry Potter tonight?"

"Today is the anniversary, Sir," was the answer, but it did not seem to please the Dark Lord, who was looking quizzically at one of his most valuable Death Eaters. "He killed my father seven years ago. I wanted him to remember it and suffer."

"You've been visiting Potter's cell once a week for these years, haven't you?" Draco knew when he should lie, and this was not one of those occasions; on top of it, the man in front of him could not be deceived easily, so he just nodded. "Was your father's death the cause of your visits, too?"

"No, sir, I wanted to make sure he was still broken and submitted." That wasn't the whole truth, of course, but he hoped it would be enough.

There was a pause, and throughout it, Voldemort seemed to be pondering something. "Your mother has talked to Pansy." Draco didn't like the change of topic but tried not to show it. "She says that you're not...a good husband." Voldemort was talking deliberately slowly, waiting for the effect his words would produce on his stepson.

"She's got two brats, what else does she want? To be like the Weasleys?" Draco's voice was steady, but his tone oozed venom. The next time he saw Pansy, she was going to be sorrow for saying that. "She knows I hate her, does she really expect me to go to her bedroom?"

"Maybe I want you to have more children," Voldemort drawled and waited for his subordinate's reaction.

"I will if that's your desire, Master." Draco hated every second of this enslavement, hated himself for accepting it, and hated Potter for not being able to withstand his fight against it.

"We'll see, we'll see." Another pause. Why did this man have to be so theatrical? "What about Potter?"

"Excuse me, my Lord, I don't know--" Red eyes flickered with malice and showed a clear threat. Malfoy realized what his master meant. "No. Never," he answered firmly.

There was a long pause, and the Dark Lord seemed to be pondering the answer. Malfoy thought that next logical question would be 'why?' knowing the behaviour of many of the Death Eaters towards the prisoners. He wondered if his master knew he had never been one of those. "I want you to remember you serve, Malfoy, and that I hate weakness." Draco nodded and saw Voldemort making a gesture that usually meant he was dismissed; when he was bowing again to leave, Voldemort spoke again, "Meanwhile, Crucio! Remember I don't permit treachery." Malfoy wasn't expecting the curse this time, and collapsed onto the floor while his body felt like it was being torn apart, every single bone breaking and every nerve sending pain signals to a brain that magic wouldn't allow to faint. He didn't realize he was crying out until the curse stopped and he felt his sore throat.

Why do we crucify ourselves?

Everyday

I crucify myself

And nothing I do is good enough for you

Crucify myself

Everyday

I crucify myself

My heart is sick of bein'

I said my heart is sick of bein' in

Chains

Chains

Malfoy slunk along the corridor that led to the dungeons. He wanted to leave the place as soon as possible. His body was still shaking from the curse, which had lasted enough to be considered a real punishment instead of a regular warning. That meant that Voldemort was really angry at Draco, and he was probably lucky to still be alive.

"Draco! Draco, wait," Narcissa grabbed her son's arm and made him face her. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I'm going home to give Pansy her comeuppance. She should know better than that." He wondered for a second if he had the family he deserved.

"How can you be so blind? Next time I'll tell our master to punish you harder to see if your senses come back." Draco simply stared at her, wondering if she realized she was selling herself to Voldemort just to keep her power and be admired. "She's jealous and that makes her dangerous."

"I think she's the one who should be frightened," he said and tried to get rid of her grip--in vain.

"Don't underestimate her. She convinced our master to free Potter."

Draco couldn't believe what he had just heard; he was completely shocked. "Why should--?"

His mother interrupted, "I told you, she's jealous. She learned that our master wanted Potter alive to prove to everybody that his victory was complete. Pansy thought that to actually show him to the world that was a better idea."

"You mean she did it to push him away from me?" Draco started to laugh; his wife was clearly out of her mind. "Mother, that woman is more stupid than I thought!" Narcissa stared at him quizzically and he added with a snort, "She was jealous of Potter! How foolish."

"Draco. I'm your mother and I haven't said this before because I never thought you'd make a fool of yourself, but now I'm beginning to doubt it: If you ever dishonour me in front of our master, I'll kill you myself." Malfoy was utterly surprised at this outburst but he knew she meant it. Narcissa had always been more ambitious than loving.

"You don't know me," he hissed and jerked his arm free from her clutch. "At all."

While he was descending the stairs to floo home he heard her say, "Better than yourself."

And that made him change his mind about what he should do.

~o~O~o~

Draco flooed to a house in Diagon Alley where he knew nobody would ask questions or say anything about his presence, because discretion was one of the keys to their business. With a wink, he gave the witch at the door some gold and left.

The Alley seemed empty, but he found a man in front of the tavern. From Draco's position, he could see Harry's window and the distance was more than adequate to Apparate. It would be no effort. He would have to be very careful with the use of magic, though; he did not want to be seen.

A cracking noise echoed throughout Harry's room and Malfoy Apparated in the middle of it. He realized the bed was empty though the sheets were messed up and the rucksack was still on the floor. Draco was beginning to wonder if someone had trespassed his guards when he heard a rustling sound and saw Potter; he was sleeping on the floor, by the window.

 

"How come you are sleeping? Didn't you hear me Apparate?" Draco shook Harry until he woke up. "What's up, Potter? Freedom doesn't suit you?"

"I--," drawled Harry.

"Why are you sleeping on the floor?"

"I couldn't sleep on the bed; I'm used to the floor." Draco stared at him, not believing what he had just heard; though maybe, it made sense.

"All right. Pick up your things. We're leaving." Malfoy grabbed the now empty bottle of Firewhiskey and said, "Portus." Then he hesitated and glanced at Harry. "You still remember how to use one of these, don't you?"

"Yes S--, Malfoy."

Draco nodded and said, "Wait a minute. Give me your rucksack and your cloak." Harry did as he was told and received the portkey. "You'll be safe there; I'll be with you in no time. I just need to take care of some people out there."

A trace of fear crossed Harry's face when he touched the device and then disappeared. The room was still dark, and from the window, Malfoy could see a couple of Death Eaters stalking the tavern. He pulled the hood of Harry's cloak up, put the pack at his back, and left the room.

Those men were already dead and they didn't even know it.

~o~N~o~

Malfoy Manor was very quiet when he arrived. He had used his old family portkey, a serpent shaped ring. A house elf appeared promptly and took Harry's cloak and bag from Draco's hands, and offered dinner to his master. Draco ordered the elf to take his things to his private room and strode to Pansy's room. She always locked the door, but nothing in that house would avoid a direct order from a Malfoy.

She was sleeping in her four poster bed, completely oblivious of her husband's presence in the room. She was wearing a black nightgown, so fine that her body could be traced with no difficulty though it was totally opaque. Draco moved his wand and a set of ropes appeared and tied Pansy's legs and arms to the bed, while she woke up, enraged.

"What the he--?" She broke off, staring at Malfoy's face, a sneer on his lips.

"What's wrong, dear? Can't a husband visit his wife at night?" He drawled, coming nearer to the bed.

She stared at him with hate. "Go. Away."

He smirked even more and sat on the bed at her feet. "No, dear," he put as much sickly sweetness in that word as he could, deciding to have as much pleasure as he could from this. "I have been talking to our master." She froze when she felt his thumb on her ankle, tracing light circles on her skin that had suddenly turned cold. The rest of his hand followed lightly. "I reckon he might want us to have another child." He slowly ascended his fingers to the inner side of her leg.

 

"Might?"

"Well, dear," Draco could feel that her breath was getting uneven, and he praised himself because he still remembered what he should do. "I think that someone has told him that I might be betraying the cause..." His fingers had reached Pansy's knee and she shuddered though he could not be certain if it was entirely because of fear.

"And--," She was getting nervous and he was enjoying every single moment of it. "Why should he think something like that?"

Malfoy moved closer to her, his fingers now caressing her thigh teasingly. The temperature of her skin had risen in that part of her body. He leaned over her, slowly, looking at her intently. Her breath was getting slightly ragged. He smiled inwardly and whispered in her ear, "If you ever talk to my mother again about our private life, be sure you'll end up in St. Mungo's, because you'll spend a whole day under the Cruciatus curse." She stared at him in horror as he stood up. "I know you don't have enough power to tell the Dark Lord what to do." Then he smirked and said, "Sleep well. Dear." And exited the room, leaving her tied up.

Got a kick for a dog beggin' for love

~o~E~o~

The Burrow had been a cheerful place once, but now it was totally abandoned; the Weasleys were dead or in prison. The house looked like a wreck, or a ghost under the moonlight.

Draco opened the door that creaked due to the lack of use, and entered the house. He could not see any light.

"Potter?" he called, but received no answer. "Lumos." He started the search for Harry. He couldn't be far away, could he? Draco looked through several rooms and then decided to go upstairs. In the corridor, he saw a bulk on the floor, by one of the rooms, a head over a pair of knees and a small movement of the back. "Potter?"

Harry stood up quickly and stared to some point over Malfoy's shoulder. "Yes, Sir?"

"What--" The wand lighted Harry's face, and made his tears obvious. He was trembling but he had learned to stand when he was addressed. Malfoy walked inside the room, bathed by the moon. In the opposite wall, there were two twin shadows imprinted on the painting. A dark halo surrounded a couple of bright forms where the curse had stricken them. "The Weasley twins." For a brief moment, a shadow crossed Potters eyes and then was gone. "They died right there. Voldemort himself did it." Malfoy stared at the other man's eyes waiting for another reaction, that didn't appear. "I was here, Potter. Did you know that?"

"No, ...Malfoy." Something had flickered again in Harry's eyes.

There was a short pause. Draco leaned carelessly against the wall by the door.

"Do you want to hit me, Potter?"

"No, Malfoy." Harry was staring to some point inside the room, and had stopped trembling.

"Don't give me that crap, Potter! They died right there, trying to defend themselves against five Death Eaters, one of them the Dark Lord himself. Are you sure you want to listen to this story?" Harry tried to keep his sight inside the room, though doubt could be read in his eyes. "All right then. They were alone in the house when we arrived. You had been in prison for a couple of months by then." Malfoy grabbed Harry's face and turned it. "I like when people look me in the eye when I speak, Potter, otherwise I have the feeling they're not listening." Their eyes locked and Draco saw that the rage was there, he just needed to set it free. "They ran to this room. I don't know why, because they knew they were trapped from the beginning, but they tried to delay their death as much as they could. I guess they didn't expect the Dark Lord to keep them alive just for fun." Harry's eyes were burning with rage, though nothing else showed any other sign of hate. "Come on, Potter. You want to hit me. You can do it. You. Are. Free."

I gotta have my suffering

So that I can have my cross

Harry's mind was whirling, trying to think, struggling to stop the rage. It had been an old Death Eater game: They would make him lose his temper and then he would be punished for it. But that had been a long time ago and he wasn't sure if he was going to yield this time. He avoided Draco's eyes, and stared around the room again.

"Don't." Malfoy grasped Harry's cheeks and obliged him again to look back. "If you're a coward who is going to do nothing, you'll listen to me, at least." Fire burned over a green background, and this time, it remained there. Malfoy smirked. "Where was I? Oh, yes: The twins. When we arrived here they tried to face the Dark Lord--Gryffindors 'till the end. Goyle senior threw an Imperius at one of them and--"

"No!" Harry's palm had hit the wall by the left side of Draco's head. "NO!" he repeated, hitting the wall again, but stronger this time. Then, Harry's left fist punched. "MURDERER!" his voice was getting hoarse, and he was starting to babble incoherent things that didn't seem to make sense. "Justafuckingmurderer..." He kicked the wall. Draco stood still, waiting to be punched. Harry's eyes were lost and he was hitting the wall mercilessly. "Neverdone..." Draco started to fear whatever he had awoken in Potter, though it was necessary. "My fault!" The blow was even harder this time, accompanied with the sound of bones breaking. The arm fell to his side limply.

Harry was now only using his left fist to punch and Malfoy realized he had to stop this. "Potter!" Draco grabbed the other man's fist, which kept on kicking the wall, and pinned Harry against the opposite side of the corridor by the shoulders. "It wasn't your fault! You were in prison."

"Yes, it was... They trusted me... I should have saved them..." Harry was crying desperately and his legs gave in, so Draco was the only support.

"Listen to me, Potter." He wished Harry's eyes would look back but they didn't. "They were very lucky you had killed my father." It was a whisper and Draco wondered if he had really said that aloud, though he had thought that was true for a long time. During the second war, his father had been more cruel than effective when dealing with prisoners: He had known how to torture them, but most of the times they weren't sane or healthy enough as to speak afterwards.

Harry looked Malfoy in the eye and wondered what kind of wicked game this was. "What the hell are you playing at?" His voice sounded hoarse and ragged, and his face was stained by the trails tears had left.

"I want you back. I'm not playing." Draco cursed both Dumbledore and Voldemort in silence, who had put the world onto Harry's shoulders. Then he cursed himself for doing the same.

"Why...?"

"You are the only one who can kill Voldemort, but you need your courage back." Malfoy allowed Harry to slide to the floor, and kneeled by his side. Then he grabbed Potter's broken hand and began to heal it. Everybody had learned healing skills during the war and Death Eaters were no exception, though they used them less frequently than Dumbledore's followers; sometimes the Killing Curse was more efficient than to heal someone. Harry's surprised and distrusting gaze was stilled fixed on Malfoy, and made him be honest at last. "I'm not playing, Potter. I'm using you. Just like Dumbledore did."

I know a cat named Easter

He says Will you ever learn?

You're just an empty cage girl if you kill the bird.

~o~L~o~

Draco Apparated at the house in Diagon Alley again. He was well known there. The woman in the front desk greeted him with a smile and offered some tea he rejected, though he accepted a glass of Firewhiskey. She led him to a drawing room, decorated in blue with exquisite taste. He settled down onto a sofa and waited; he didn't felt like going back home too soon.

A long haired vampire entered the room and smiled at Malfoy; after all, he was one of their most distinguished clients. "It's an honour to have you here, Mr. Malfoy; it has been a while since we were honoured with your presence."

Draco stood and they shook hands. He loved to be flattered, and it certainly helped him to forget Potter and what had happened minutes ago. "Good evening, Bysshe. It's been quite a while, indeed."

Bysshe never questioned his clients' reasons, and he knew that this certain man appreciated his discretion and lack of questioning. This client was very special, not because of his tastes--normal and oddly bloodless for being a Death Eater--but because of his motivations: Malfoy only came up when he felt tired, depressed and guilty. He wasn't looking for fun, didn't want to talk about his life. Sex was just a form of escape, a way to numb his pain. Unconsciously, Bysshe licked his fangs. He would like to taste the savour of that blood, to sink in that neck and feel the life cease. Blood of people in despair had always a sour tinge that was intoxicating for him. He stopped those thoughts because he had never harmed a client, and to mess with Death Eaters wasn't a good idea. He asked, "What can we do for you today? We have gorgeous men and women at your service."

"A woman, Bysshe, since I can't have you." They had been playing that game for a long time, and the vampire smiled politely.

"Do you want something in particular? Black hair, blonde, red-haired?"

"Blonde, please," he answered, gulping the remains of his Firewhiskey. The glass refilled as soon as it reached the table.

"Any preference about the eyes? Green, blue--"

"Black," Malfoy cut in.

Bysshe smiled and was distracted by Draco's neck for fraction of a second while he gulped the liquor down. "As you wish." The vampire bowed and added, "she'll be ready in a minute."

I've been looking for a saviour in these dirty streets

Looking for a saviour beneath these dirty sheets

I've been raising up my hands

Drive another nail in

Got enough guilt to start

My own religion

~o~O~o~

Draco went back to the Burrow a week later. He had left Potter enough food and had charmed a bedroom--Ginny's, according to Harry--to be a comfortable place to sleep in.

Harry was in the kitchen cooking and, as soon as he spotted Draco, he stopped seasoning a dish and stood very still, staring at the floor. Draco frowned in disappointment.

"Potter!" Draco greeted him.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Didn't I tell you that you can look at me, and talk to me?"

"Yes, Malfoy," said Harry but kept his attitude.

"Relax, Harry." Draco's sounded really tired, and he fell in a chair. Harry's shoulders seemed to relax slightly. "What are you cooking?"

"Rice, with some meat and spices."

"Should I come later? I mean, you seem busy."

Harry seemed to ponder the answer careully, finally looked at Draco in the eye, and said, "I don't trust you."

Draco gaped and then laughed. "I guess you shouldn't. I'm leaving then." He rose and walked towards the door.

"Wait." Malfoy's hand that was at the doorknob, stopped its movement. He glanced at Harry questioningly, but didn't get an answer.

"What, Potter?"

There was a pause, and Harry didn't seem to be keen on answering, instead he was looking intently at the floor.

"Potter, can I come back to visit you?"

He nodded as a response and turned to his pan. When he heard Draco leave, Harry turned off the cooker, sat at the table and placed his head in his hands.

Harry was alone, and was ashamed that the only company he could have was the same Death Eater he could see in prison. Draco had visited him regularly there, used to read books to him and had made him feel free for short moments. Other times he would sit by his side on the dungeon floor and just stay there. Not speaking. Harry didn't know sometimes Draco used to stare him for no reason, because he was gazing at the floor, as he was supposed to be doing. It was true that Harry didn't trust him, but he also felt that he had no other choice if he wanted to live.

Why do we crucify ourselves?

Everyday

I crucify myself

And nothing I do is good enough for you

Crucify myself

Everyday

I crucify myself

My heart is sick of bein'

I said my heart is sick of bein' in

Chains

Chains

Week after week Malfoy went to visit Harry, encouraging him to continue working in the house that Harry had painted and fixed in some parts, though there was a lot of work left to do. All that work seemed to help him improve his mental state. Their relationship was awkward. Harry wasn't able to forget his captivity easily, and sometimes he still used 'Sir' and avoided Draco's gaze. Still, he was getting more and more confident.

On the other hand, Malfoy knew Voldemort didn't trust him as much as he used to and had been relegated of his high rank work. A couple of Death Eaters had died in Diagon Alley throwing curses at each other. They should have been watching Harry Potter, but they had duelled instead, killing each other in the end. One of them had fallen from a substantial height and the other had burnt to death. Draco had been investigated by his mother's order, but he had gone home from Hogwarts. On the other hand, the Dark Lord was increasingly worried about Potter's whereabouts and nobody seemed able to find him.

Pansy tried once and again to know where he was spending his time, but the most she learned was that he sometimes he went to a house in Diagon Alley with a dubious reputation. Crabbe used to go there too, and told her he had met her husband a couple of times in the last three months. She was furious about it and went to talk to Bysshe, who was charming to her but told her nothing about Draco. His clients' problems might help his business, but were private.

The spring led lazily to summer and the days were getting warm. One day Draco went to the Burrow with a box and handed it to Harry.

"Happy Birthday!" he said cheerfully. He had discovered he found peace when visiting Potter, watching him recover, and thinking that for once he was doing the right thing.

Harry took the box. "Thanks." It was heavy so he placed it on the table and opened it. There was a silver dagger inside it. The tilt was carved with runes that glowed faintly. "What?"

"It's the Dagger of the Transfusion." Draco sat and so Harry did. "It will help you if you want to recover your magic."

Harry's heart started to pound hard and looked intently at Malfoy. "How?"

"It transfers magic from one person to another, but it has to be the same magic." Harry didn't seem to understand what he was hearing. "Voldemort stole your magic, and kept it in his own body, feeling more powerful by doing it." Harry remembered that moment perfectly; it had been a Dark Magic ritual that had been used very often in the Middle Ages. It involved the killing of a Muggle and to spray both wizards with the blood. He still remembered the cries, sticky blood all over his body, the taste in his mouth, chants, and pain. The pain when the magic started to abandon his body, the agony when he breathed after the magic had left him. He had been so drained he hadn't been able to move for a week.

"Are you telling me that I have to stab Voldemort," Draco flinched, "to get my magic back?" Harry was about to laugh.

"You'll kill him by doing that." Malfoy's gaze seemed like he was almost pleading.

Please be

"No."

"You can do it. You're the only one who can vanquish him, Granger told me."

Save me

Draco realized that talking about her had been a mistake. They had pretended most of the time that there was nobody outside The Burrow, and that Malfoy had never hurt a friend of Potter. "I think you should leave."

Malfoy nodded and left.

 cry

~o~C~o~

August had been hot and Harry was watching a couple of fires in the distance from The Burrow. He was in the garden, his back against a tree, watching a couple of helicopters trying to extinguish the flames when Draco arrived and sat by his side.

"How was your week?" Harry asked. He didn't feel like speaking of what had happened the last time.

"Pansy is too happy." Harry frowned at that answer, and Draco felt he should elaborate it. "She talked to my mother last week. I already knew it, but as Voldemort's party is coming near--"

"Voldemort's party?"

Looking for a savior in these dirty streets

"He's giving a party next week--I don't know why--and Pansy is too happy about it." Malfoy refused to say what he was thinking at that moment and just stared at the helicopters.

Harry offered him a butterbeer and they drank in silence, watching the helicopters spray water over the fire and drinking little by little.

"I think he'll give me some Veritaserum."

Harry, who was about to drink, stopped his motion and gaped at him.

"All this time I've made sure that I ate or drank nothing that Pansy could have touched; but she's still suspicious and I bet she's planned it with my mother." Draco sighed and drank. "I can't refuse to go to the party. I can't reject the Dark Lord's food or drink."

"Why don't you leave all that, Malfoy? What are you doing with those people?"

Draco drank up his butterbeer and stared at Potter in the eye. Harry's eyes were almost as bright as they had been at school and he seemed interested in what he had just asked. Leave everything and start a new life somewhere far away from Voldemort was his perfect dream; but first of all he wanted revenge. "I want to make him pay. I want him dead and--"

"Why?" Harry had never understood the motivations of Malfoy. He didn't want to be Voldemort's slave, his minion, he was far too proud for it, but there was something else; that desire for vengeance. He seemed to regret his past actions, but he wouldn't stop belonging to Voldemort.

There was an uncomfortable silence and Draco seemed to be considering whether to speak or not. He finally did. "I learned things about Voldemort I guess I shouldn't have." Harry looked at him interestedly, but Draco's gaze was now fixed on the floor, where he was drawing random patterns with the bottom of his bottle. "Like that he was half Muggle. Besides, I also learned that muggleborn wizards can be braver than pureblood ones and...there was you."

Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets

"Me? What do you mean?"

"Let me finish."

I've been raising up my hands

Harry nodded but Draco didn't even look at him.

"The day I killed Granger--"

Drive another nail in

Suddenly the world looked as if it had stopped and Harry suddenly felt cold. He had suspected it, that was why, the previous week, he had urged him out of The Burrow, but had been afraid to ask. She was dead. Draco had killed her. He wanted to rise, to run away, to cry, but his body didn't seem to respond.

"She told me about Voldemort's origins and she also showed me that a mudblood," he said the word with a respect Harry had never heard, "could be more loyal and brave than most of the Death Eaters I had fought with." There was a pause and Harry could hear his breath getting faster. "It was fast and she didn't--"

Where are those angels

When you need them?

Malfoy let Harry punch him until he fell unconscious.

~o~O~o~

Malfoy woke up in an armchair, feeling dry blood in his face. His nose was broken and hurt awfully. Harry was sitting on a couch, staring at him.

"I'm surprised I'm not dead." Malfoy tried to smirk, but his face ached too much.

"I have questions." Harry's tone was not even as menacing as Draco had expected.

"Go ahead."

"How do you plan to kill Voldemort?" Malfoy imagined that he was going to be questioned about Granger's death, and was surprised by Harry's request.

"At the party. I plan to portkey Voldemort to Malfoy Manor and kill him there."

Harry chuckled. "Do you think he'll be stupid enough to allow a portkey at the party?"

Draco showed him his right hand. There was a ring on his thumb. "This is a family portkey, I've worn it before at the Dark Lord's parties."

"You told me he didn't trust you." Harry frowned.

"He won't allow me to have my wand, that's true, but he's too proud for his own good. I don't think he believes you're healthy enough to harm him."

"This is suicidal. If something goes wrong you won't even have your wand." Harry seemed to ponder something else, but said nothing.

"He might kill me during the voyage, too, if that's what you're thinking."

"No, I was thinking I should bring my wand in case I recover my powers."

"Harry?" His head snapped up. "I'm sorry. Not only about Granger, about everything."

Harry denied with a gesture, "Don't. If we end up alive, I'll decide if I should kill you then."

They stared at each other for a while and finally Draco nodded and said, "I have to go."

Harry watched him recover his wand and heal his face--though not completely. "You don't usually go home from here, do you?" Draco was surprised, but did his best to hide it.

"How do you know?"

"Because when you do, from the moment you arrive, you complain about having to see Pansy afterwards."

Draco grinned but his smile turned sour slowly, while watching Harry's green eyes. "Don't worry; it has nothing to do with the Dark Lord." He had almost said 'with you'.

Why do we crucify ourselves?

Everyday

I crucify myself

And nothing I do is good enough for you

Crucify myself

Everyday

I crucify myself

My heart is sick of bein'

I said my heart is sick of bein' in

Chains

Chains

~o~N~o~

When Bysshe saw Draco sitting in the drawing room, he felt that something wrong had happened and that it had nothing to do with the bruises the man had on his face. His vampire nature could feel his client's heart beating, his blood calling him and his desperate feelings willing to be vanished. Malfoy rose to welcome him and Bysshe walked towards Draco, almost blind by thirst.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, "Mr. Malfoy, I know you don't pay me for of my advice." He broke off and stared at those grey eyes. Draco realized something was wrong and stepped back. "But for your own good, I guess you should leave." Draco's artery was pounding in his pale neck and Bysshes fangs grew, feeling the blood near. "And please, don't come back until you have solved whatever is hurting you. You won't be safe otherwise."

Draco moved towards the door and Bysshe seemed more poised.

"You were not helping yourself coming here. I think you were trying to escape from a problem and you have to resolve that."

Malfoy used his ring to go back to the Manor and fell onto his bed, exhausted. If something went wrong during the party, he would be dead as soon as his lips touched the Veritaserum.

Why do we (Why do we)

Chains (crucify ourselves?)

Crucify ourselves

Everyday (Why do we)

(Crucify ourselves?)

Chains...

~o~E~o~

Next time Harry saw Draco, he was dressed in a very expensive robe, too thick to be used in summer. He didn't seem as poised as he used to and that worried Harry; he didn't like the idea of waiting for Voldemort and Draco in Malfoy Manor, without knowing what was going on at the party either. If Draco was discovered, he was dead too.

"I've charmed the ring so it will take us to my chambers instead of the hall." Malfoy explained. They both knew that kind of portkey was linked to a place, and could only be tuned in a certain distance. "There might be problems, as my wife, Pansy has a ring like this one."

"And your mother?"

"Probably." Harry realized what Draco meant, 'if I die, you might have to face them both.'

"Shall we go? Pansy was almost ready, according to her house-elf."

Draco touched Harry's shoulder and took a deep breath before making the portkey work, and then they felt their feet leave the ground and land on the soft carpet that covered Malfoy's room.

Someone was knocking at the door impatiently, "Draco, talk to me! I know you're there and you're not going to ignore me as you usually do. Not today. Our Lord said that we shouldn't be late and I think he's right because, well, he's always right, but..."

Harry sympathized with Malfoy and smiled at him. Draco smiled back, hesitated and ruffled Harry's hair. Then he whispered in Potter's ear, "Your hair looks better like that," and walked out of the room.

~o~L~o~

Voldemort's parties were always a mixture of food, drink, trials and death. The latter two usually took place at the beginning and Draco knew tonight was his turn. Pansy was wearing a robe that was too tight and was smiling at the richest men in the room. She clearly hoped to be a widow soon.

A house-elf brought Draco a goblet of red wine while the rest of the guests were drinking from the ones that were offered in levitating trays. He glanced at his mother who gave him a tight smile, and motioned as if he was making a toast in her direction. Then he faked that he was drinking.

The Dark Lord walked towards him, looking at him with those cold eyes that made the skin his left forearm prickle. Some people stared at them.

"Are you having fun, Malfoy?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"I'm afraid you haven't drunk enough of that goblet. If you have drunk at all."

Malfoy began to drink from the goblet slowly, but decided to drain it. Voldemort was looking at him, pleased. He finished it and turned the goblet down to prove there was no liquid left.

"None of my Death Eaters has ever done that before. Aren't you afraid, Malfoy?"

Draco felt the effect of the Veritaserum instantly, "Yes."

"Sir," corrected Voldemort, but Draco said nothing. "Kneel in front of me, Malfoy."

He did as he was told, wringing his hands. Everybody fell silent.

"You hate me, don't you?" said Voldemort, drawing his wand.

"Yes."

Malfoy didn't gave the Dark Lord time to react. He used his ring and grabbed Voldemort's right foot, hearing the Killing Course being cast and seeing a beam of green light dangerously near his shoulder. Then Draco's feet touched the ground, while the Dark Lord's head knocked onto the floor.

He saw the glint of the blade and then a flash of light crossed the room. Voldemort and Harry were crying out, and it looked like they both were linked through the dagger. Suddenly, Harry was thrown a couple of feet away and Voldemort remained on the floor limply.

"Are you all right?" questioned Draco.

Harry nodded, "I feel tired."

The door of the room burst open and Narcissa strode in. She let out a cry when she saw Voldemort's body.

"Your wife is a coward."

"I suspected it."

"I told you," said Narcissa, raising her wand and pointing it at Draco, "what I would do--"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Narcissa keeled over onto the floor with a surprised look on her face. She obviously hadn't expected Harry to do magic; she had probably thought he couldn't.

"You know, if I had thrown a curse I'd have cast the Killing Curse."

Harry glanced at Draco and said, "I know." Draco offered Harry his wand, but Harry shook his head, rejecting it. "We should leave."

~o~O~o~

The razor slid over his skin insecurely. Harry was trembling so much, he had cut himself several times.

"You've made a mess, Potter," Draco was talking to Harry's reflection in the mirror. "See, that's one of the reasons Granger's Law shouldn't have been approved. A house-elf would have done that properly."

Harry saw Draco grinning at him and grinned back. "My hand isn't as steady as it should be."

"I hope Weasley values all that. What did the healers tell you?" Draco snatched the razor away from Harry's hand and led him to a chair. "I'll do it. I don't want you to bleed to death, and then you can go and pick him up."

"Ron will be fine in a couple of months." Draco's firm touch calmed Harry; he had the feeling everything was going to be fine. "He's been through too much..." His voice faltered, and he closed his eyes. Ron had basically gone through the same as him, with the difference that he had lost many members of his family on the way: Fred, George, Charlie, Percy, his parents... Ginny and Bill were still in St. Mungo's and would need more time to recover. He didn't know if he could look at his friend in the eye. He was still ashamed of not having stopped Voldemort before.

It was soothing to feel the razor on his skin and Malfoy's hands tilting his chin, slightly moving down his face and thinking of someone who was taking care of him. His lips curved a little. "Damn, Potter! Try to stay still." There was something awkward in Draco's voice and Harry opened his eyes; Malfoy was staring at him.

"What?"

"I've almost finished." Harry already knew that, there was some foam on his neck. Draco leaned Harry's neck to the right and shaved the remaining zone. "Do you have aftershave potion?" Harry nodded and pointed at a flask. He smiled when he saw Draco's face at the scent; and then he leaned back again and close his eyes waiting for Malfoy to finish his job.

The potion was cold against his skin and made his cuts tickle, instantly healing them. Draco's hands were moving over his cheeks slowly, and then descended to his neck, carefully spreading the liquid. It was so relaxing... Then Malfoy's thumbs were on his back, massaging his nape and shoulders. Harry was feeling better than he had in a long time, moving slightly in the rhythm of Draco's hands.

There was a sigh and Harry felt lips at his neck, his eyes snapped open instantly. For a second it had felt good, but his brain had remembered images, feelings, sounds, of his imprisonment. He started to shake uncontrollably. He wasn't able to think properly, though he was aware that Malfoy was now in front of him and there were six feet between them. Draco was glazing at him with an unreadable expression.

"I don't reckon I should come back," said Malfoy, "I don't think Ron wants me around when he's back." Then he took something out of his pocket and left it on the nearest table. He seemed afraid of going near Harry. "Pansy doesn't need this anymore in France, and I want you to keep it in case you want to come to the Manor."

It was the ring; Pansy's ring. She was now in France were she had fled to with her children after Voldemort's death. Harry, mastering himself, rose and placed it in a pocket of his robe.

"I...Draco, in prison--" his voice faltered.

Malfoy shook his head. "I know. You're late, Harry and I guess I should be going home." And then, he Disapparated.

Harry tapped the pocket that contained the ring and grabbed his cloak to go to St. Mungo's. "I'll go, Malfoy. I'll visit you."

Never going back again

Crucify myself again

You know

Never going back again to

Crucify myself