*sound of weighted footsteps*
“Well, Potter. This is a surprise. I can only think of one meeting place less comfortable than a jail cell, and it’s a meeting with one person in chains, in the anteroom to…”
*voice taut with pain* “Don’t! Don’t say it.”
“You won’t have to undergo it.”
”… I know. As soon as I heard—I did everything I could. I—”
*negligently* “Oh yes, yes, your efforts were tireless, I’m sure.”
“Will you stop being such a stupid bastard! You know what’s—what’s going to happen to you in there, in that room, in—God, an hour, how can you be so—”
“I’ll be whatever way I like. It’s no concern of yours, or have you forgotten our last talk?”
*cold, flat* “You know that you’re going to be Kissed in an hour. You know that everything you say—everything!—is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”
“And yet I really couldn’t care.”
“God. I hope you rot in hell.”
“The significant difference between rotting in hell and rotting in prison is that you’re unlikely to visit. For a while, at least.”
*sharp breath* “How can you be so—”
“No, how dare you come here! This is my last hour of life, do you think I want to spend it being told how to act, having you inflict your—”
“I thought you might want someone here who loves you!”
*pause, then in clipped tones* “Your perversions are of absolutely no interest to me. And no, I don’t want you here. Why should I?”
“I… had to come.”
“And so the truth comes out.”
“Why should I care about your feelings? You never cared anything about mine, you’ve made that painfully clear.”
“Quite so.”
“I wanted to see you again, and so I came. I don’t care if this is your last hour; I want it. I can be as selfish and as brutal as you.”
“So I see.”
*quietly* “But I did fight it. I would have done anything to get the sentence reversed. I did fight it.”
“Very touching.”
“Oh, Jesus!”
“You wouldn’t hit a man in handcuffs, would you, Potter?”
*thump of two bodies against a wall*
“Well, I suppose that answers that.” *voice sharpening* “Now get away from me.”
“Like hell I will. I don’t care if you don’t love me. I don’t care if this is your last hour. I don’t care that your malicious little mind is going to be sucked out of your mouth, I only wish that I could do it, that I had the power, so I could have your mouth and your soul at once…”
*kiss*
*deadly cold* “I said, get the hell away from me.”
*intense* “And I said, the hell I will. I don’t care, I don’t—I won’t even think of it. I don’t have to. Oh God, Draco, how can they do it? How can they—I hope it hurts, you bastard. I hope it’s fucking agony. Oh God, please keep looking at me, then nothing can happen—”
“Get your face out of my neck. You disgust me—”
“When I heard, I thought it serves him right, and I was so glad. Then I smashed everything in my apartment.”
“Are you crying, Potter? How unbelievably pathetic. Did you cry like this about the Weasels, about every last one of them, even little Virginia? Or do you only cry for the ones you want to—”
*fist against flesh, sound of someone slammed to their knees*
“Most heroic, Potter. Hitting a man who’s in handcuffs. I think my lip’s cut open, I do hope it doesn’t discommode the Dementor—”
*hissed* “Stop talking like this!”
“If you don’t want to hear me talk, get out. I wish you would. What did you come here to hear me say? To see the light, see your great love, leave you with some soft words? It doesn’t change anything. I’m going to—I’m going to worse than die, and I still can’t love you, and I don’t want to.” *spits out blood, slowly tries to stand* “So go to hell. I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your touch and the one good thing—the one good thing is that I never have to listen to you again.”
*yanks him up by his hair*
*hissing* “I’m so glad they’re ripping out your black little soul from the filthy depths of your being. I’m going to listen at the door, and remember your screaming, and it’ll keep me warm at night forever.”
*cool* “How precisely do you mean that?”
“Shut up!”
“No, you shut up! I don’t want to leave this world with nothing but your words ringing in my ears, not as the last thing, not for always, not your endless stupid words—”
“I don’t care what you want.” *press of bodies against wall* “Have I not made that clear? I can.”
“Step away from me, or I’ll be sick.”
“Oh God, I hate you.” *soft sound of a sob*
“Get away!”
”… You’re so pale. Are you scared?”
”… Yes, of course I am. I’m so scared I can barely stand up straight, I don’t need this, please stop—”
“No.” *soft, frantic whisper* “God, you’re shaking. Oh God. I can’t bear it. Don’t stop, keep talking, I want to know you still can, I can’t stop—”
“I don’t want this!”
*savagely* “I don’t care! Lift your face. I want to see you, I—Draco, why are you crying?”
“Because I’m scared!”
“I’m glad. I hope you are. I hope you’re so scared it’s twisting your intestines. Oh, damn you, don’t you think I’m scared? It’s been two months and I haven’t been here and now you’re not going to be anywhere and oh God, I hate you, how can you do this to me? I can’t bear it…”
“I told you to stop this!”
*hungry licking* “I don’t care. I said I didn’t care. Oh, Draco, I hate you—”
*wrench away* *quick breathing* “No, Potter.” *coldly* “I hate you.”
*door opening*
“I’m sure your feelings are not particularly interesting to Mr. Potter, especially since you will presently have none. It’s time.”
*small, dreadful pause*
“Draco.”
*strained* “I’m ready, Fudge.”
“Draco—”
“Oh, but what are suitable last words? Those who are about to die salute you? And forever, my brother, hail and farewell?”
*steps*
*muted* “Those aren’t your words.”
*softly* “Well, Harry. Did you ever really want to hear what I was saying?”
*sound of a door closing*
“At last justice is served. We should have done this years ago.”
“I wish to God you had.”
“Are you—all right, Mr. Potter?”
“Fine. Just shut up. I want to hear—something.”
“Oh, they usually don’t get in more than one scream.”
“Oh Christ.” *thump*
“Mr. Potter… your fist is bleeding.”
*savagely* “That doesn’t mean I care. I like blood—surely you’ve heard that? I like pain, I hope to God he screams…”
*silence*
*sound of a door opening*
“It’s done.”