*softly* “Hi, Draco.”
“Here you are, then. I suppose it won’t be any good telling you should leave?”
“Nah.”
“Nice shirt. Should I take it that you dressed up for me?”
*mutter* “Yes.”
“Perfect! Just perfect. Well, now you’re here—what do you want?”
*mumble*
“I can’t hear you.”
*pause* “Can—can I touch you?”
*pause*
“You don’t… waste time, do you, Potter? Well. Yes, of course you can.”
*steps, clink of a watch against bars*
“What—what are you doing?”
“I’m sorry. Is this not right?”
“It’s not that, it’s—why are you stroking my neck?”
“I like it. It—I like looking at it. It’s soft.”
“Oh.”
*whisper sound of fingers against hair* “I’ve been thinking about you all week.”
*relaxed, lazy* “Hmm?”
“Yes.” *clink of glasses against bars* *small soft sound of a kiss*
“Oh.”
*low, tender* “Yeah. Oh.” *quietly* “I love you.”
*jump back* “Oh God. Oh God. You’ve lost your mind. Get out of my cell! Maniac.”
*indulgent* “Come back here.”
“Ha! Ha! Muahahaha… ha… Do I look crazy to you?”
“Well, slightly. When you’re cackling like that. Come back here, Draco.” *pause* “Please.”
*pause* *steps*
“I am insane.”
*clink of a watch against bars* “Yeah. But it looks good on you.”
“Everything looks good on me. Even this appalling prison garment. Nevertheless, I am not looking my best, nor am I at my most physically accessible, so I’d like to know what the hell you think you’re doing.”
“You were right. I’ve been thinking about it.”
“I am utterly unsurprised at the thought of my being right in any and all situations. And I absolutely refuse to believe, given current evidence, that you can think.”
“Hush up, you talk too much. I like it, of course, but I have something to say and we only have an hour a week. You were right about the camp, but I didn’t realise—I—how could I? But I do now—and I’m glad I do.”
“You’re mad mad mad… Oh, don’t.”
“Shhh. I’ve been thinking about you, about having something that feels right. I’ve been thinking about what that would mean—to have someone—the right someone—to reach for after the nightmares. Something to make where I live seem like light and warmth and home.”
“A very charming idea, I’m sure, but—”
*voice sharpening* “Shut up. You’re very comfortable with the physical aspect of things, aren’t you, Malfoy? But when it comes to emotional territory—”
“We’re not in emotional territory! It takes two to territory!”
“Shut up and don’t talk about things you don’t understand. I didn’t have nightmares last night, or the night before. I dreamed about you. And the night before that, I couldn’t sleep at all, but I came to the prison and I stood on the hill outside, and I looked at your window.”
“You can’t see my window from the hill. I think you were looking at the window of Confucius the ogre.”
“I want you to stop doing this.”
“No, I want you to stop doing this! Listen to yourself, what the hell are you saying? Hearts and flowers, you’re so desperate for something sweet and light that you’ll dig yourself a grave looking for it. You come here all tremulous and honest and do you realise, this could be the last shred of honesty and dreams that you have, you can’t give it to me, do you know what I could do to you?”
“Yes!”
“You can’t—what?”
“Yes, I’ve thought about it. You have this image of me, Draco, and it’s so skewed, because that’s what you want to see. You want to see that boy who had all those high noble ideals, because you want to think that such things can survive after the war. Well, they can’t. I can only be like that… Sometimes. With you. And I know it wouldn’t always be like that, it’s not even always like that now! I know some days I’d look at you and see nothing but the blood you’ve shed, the blood your side shed, and your guilt and all the blackness.”
“That’s why—”
“I know sometimes it would be—we could be sharing a bed, and I would watch you sleep and think you were beautiful, and then search under my pillow for a knife.”
“You’re twisted.”
“So are you. Sometimes I would hate you, and there would be nothing to stop me from hurting you, I’d want it and I’d be able to do it and you’d deserve it, and the only reason I wouldn’t do it would be because despite everything, I can’t live without you!” *harsh breathing* “And you’d feel the same. I know that much. But it would all be right, because it wouldn’t be a lie, and I wouldn’t ever think you were dead in the darkness, because it would be real, flesh and bone and understanding, and it would be a life! The only life I can imagine having. And it would be hearts and flowers sometimes, and it would be blood and darkness sometimes, but it would be a life, and I have to have some kind of life. I have to have—”
*shaken* “You have to think—”
*savagely* “Don’t argue with me! I want you. Do you understand that? And I don’t much care what you say against it, or what I have to do. Is that unromantic enough for you? I want you. And I’m going to have you. This belongs to me, and no filthy Death Eater can take it away from me. Do you know what I’ve suffered, the pain and the blood and the filth… I’ve had a thousand nightmares. I can have this. You’re mine.”
“You are sick and extremely disturbed.”
*sound of a body being pulled hard against bars and a zipper being undone*
*low voice* “Yes.”
*gasping* “Oh God. Potter, please, stop.”
*still low* “No. I want you there for me when I come home from work. I want to see you listening to the Weird Sisters. I want to walk out on you on Christmas Day and be so furious and upset that I slip on some ice and fall in the gutter and sit there cursing and screaming and still wanting you.”
*movement, more gasping* “Oh God.”
*lower, and almost menacing* “I admit it, is that what you wanted to hear last week? I didn’t even think about what I was doing, but I kept the image of you back in that camp, until it became part of who I am. I’m set now, set in blood and steel, I can’t love anyone else, and I want to, I wish I could, I didn’t mean to memorise the curve of your throat…”
*low moan* “Please—”
*tenderly, but still almost menacing* “I am who I am and you are who you are. And it’s twisted, and wrong, and I still want you. As my one pure thing and as my whore. I want you. Do you understand now?”
“Please!”
*voice sinking lower than the moans* “You’re beautiful.”
*strained and breaking* “My—my face is too pointy.”
“I know. You’re beautiful. When I was thinking about you, oh God, for years, when I was thinking about you every night…”
”… yes…”
*murmuring* “I didn’t know I was thinking about this. What you’d look like—right now—just about to—”
“Yes…”
“I love you.”
“Yes!”
*sagging against the bars, brush of the other hand over hair and skin*
*softly repeated* “I love you.”
*shakily* “Your logic is compelling, Potter, but you overlook a few salient details. Such as the fact that I’m incarcerated for life. I can’t even kiss you properly, let alone move in with you.”
“I’ll use some pull. I’ll use Snape’s letters. I’ll do anything I have to. I’ll work it out.”
“Oh, how lovely. My life will be flung into the palm of your hand just so I can be your sex toy.”
“If that was all you were, I’d kill you within the week.”
“You’ll want to.”
“Oh, yes. And you’ll want to. Almost every second of every day, I’ll see a knife in your eyes.”
“What if you did get me out—and I did kill you?”
“Then you would.”
*knock on the door*
“I’ll be back next week. Don’t argue with me.”
“Even I sometimes get tired of wasting my breath.”
*soft, sideways kiss* “I love you.”
*soft exhalation of breath, kiss back* “You’re a fool.”
“Mmm.”
“Mmm.”
*step back* “Goodbye. Oh, and Draco?”
“Yes?”
“Clean yourself up.”