“I really don’t see why we have to go look at—”
*quietly* “Shut up, Fudge. Just shut up. I… oh my God.”
*fastidious* “I know, it’s rather vile, isn’t it?”
*soft* “Oh God, Draco.”
“It’s the empty—Mr. Potter, what are you doing?”
*brush of hand on cheek* “Oh God.” *steps away, violent slam of a hand against stone* “Oh God. I can’t bear it.” *low, violent* “I can’t, I can’t—”
“You’ve split open your hand, man. Come on, let’s get away from it.”
“What’s going to happen to him?”
“What can happen to it, now? Throw it back into the jail. Nobody’ll bother to spoon-feed it, it might eat by itself. Usually they don’t. What does it matter? The bodies die after a while, they always do.”
*pause* *low sound of dry heaving*
“Mr. Potter, you’re not well, you’re going to—”
“Don’t touch me!” *pause* “I’ll take him.”
“What? Of course you won’t—”
“I will. Why shouldn’t I? He’s not a prisoner anymore, is he, he’s not a criminal, you have to be a person to be a criminal. He’s just a—worthless piece of rubbish you’re chucking into a cell until he dies, an inconvenience, he’s nothing and you want to be rid of him as soon as possible. Well—I’ll take him.”
“Nobody could expect you to—”
“I don’t think you’re understanding me. I’m going to take him.” *hard voice* “He’s nothing now. Isn’t that right? You’re done with him. All of you. It’s a—kind of safety, having and being nothing. He doesn’t own himself, he doesn’t even have a self, and you don’t want what’s left.”
“It’s a thing—”
“I want him. And I’m going to have him. He’s mine.”
“Look, Mr. Potter, I think you need to—”
*whip of a knife through the air* *softly* “I need you not to tell me what to do. Understand this—I’d rather like to kill you.”
*faint scared sound*
“I’m going to take him. I’m going to keep him. Don’t you dare even question me.”
*gasp* “Are you completely crazy?”
*bright smile* “Maybe.” *quick steps, helping upright* “Come on, Draco. We’re going home.”
*soft sound of a door opening*
“Here it is. This is home.”
*pause*
“Well. Something like home. Sirius helped me choose it. He said it was in—a good location for socialising, that it was near his house. But then—well. You know. He was killed by one of the stray Death Eaters, before we could round them up. One of your people. Six years and then after the surrender, after he thought it was safe… I wanted to have you all rounded up and shot.
It’s a mess. Sorry.”
*sound of steps, one set shuffling and slow*
“The kitchen and the sitting room have big windows. That’s what I liked it about it. I… used to like the light coming through the windows at sunset, when Sirius was alive and there was hope left. And then… when… I liked it again, I thought about you standing here with the red light in your hair, and how you would look, and I watched it—for your sake.”
*silence*
*bitterly* “And here you are. Oh, God!” *pause* “I—hadn’t bought any furniture except for a bed. But then I saw this couch, and I thought, I thought you might like to sit on it and read a book, and you might rest your head on my shoulder while you did it.” *longer pause* *slowly* “I… suppose I can still do that.
Sit down, then—here—like this. And I’ll put a book in your lap. It’s about—the Demen… about people who’ve had done to them what was done to you. It says things like—they still have motor functions, like babies, like animals, and they’re disturbed by loud or unpleasant noises—I couldn’t stand reading it, I couldn’t stop reading it. But it’s all right now. It’s just a book.”
*silence, sound of fingers through hair*
*slow, almost dreamy* “It’s so soft. I thought about this, too, when I could only reach to touch a few strands behind your ear. Just having all of your hair to stroke—I thought that might make me happy.”
*long silence, soft continuous sound of fingers through hair*
*rousing*
“I should make dinner… I thought about that, too. About how I should feed you, because—God, you’re so thin. I thought that we could learn what the other liked to eat, but not wanting to seem weak enough to ask what it was and having to watch, and I thought we could take turns cooking and you’d complain and…” *vibrato of pain* “I don’t even know if you can cook. I never will know now. I could have known what you liked to eat, I could have watched you at school, but I didn’t and now it’s all lost and…”
*choked-off sob*
*roughly* “Come on, get up. This way. You can come into the kitchen—you’re going to stay with me now, I’m not going to let you out of my sight.”
*hasty steps and the shuffling, the sound of a stumble and a hasty grab*
“Oh, God—Draco. I’m sorry. I was angry, I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t let you fall. I never would.”
*careful steps towards the kitchen*
“Stand here… That’s right. I’m going to make—something. I don’t know. Something. I could chop some vegetables or—Jesus. This is all so stupid.” *sudden fury* “You don’t care what I make. You don’t care about anything—you never cared about anything. Or maybe you did, I don’t know, it doesn’t make a difference, you never cared about me and that’s enough. I couldn’t ever make you feel anything, and now you can’t ever feel anything again, for anyone. So it’s the same as it’s always been. It doesn’t matter.”
*pause*
*musing* “I could make you feel again, though. Of course I could. You still have nerve endings, you can still scream. I could put this knife—” *slide of metal out of a sheath* “—against that beautiful throat and I could draw it across, I know how to do it, I’ve done it a thousand times before. And then you’d be nothing more than all the others. You do deserve it. You deserve anything you get—even this.
You said once that you never loved pain like I did, but you were lying, weren’t you? Because you have to love pain, to be so good at causing it, you have to love it enough to have made it bloody art… You lied, and what can you say now?
*voice raised* “People have screamed and burned because of you before this, haven’t they, you fucking Death Eater, you who liked to crawl in filth and blood. I should do it and nobody would blame me, nobody would even care—but I won’t do it, because you belong to me, and you’re not getting away!”
*pause, then soothingly*
“Shhh. There. I’m sorry. Don’t flinch, I’m sorry, I forgot about the noise upsetting you. I’m just going to cook now, and we’ll just—we’ll just be quiet.”
*prolonged silence, filled with the sound of cooking*
“I think chicken and rice should be safe. Everyone likes chicken and rice, and besides… you should eat something. Anything. You’re terribly thin. I’ll—okay. Here. I’ll feed you a spoonful and then I’ll eat a spoonful and we’ll be eating together. That’s right. Hmm. Careful.”
*sounds of eating*
“There, that wasn’t so bad. I thought about our first meal, too, and—and that wasn’t so bad. I—I’m sorry, I’ll come back, I—”
*running into another room, the sound of vomiting* *sound of running water*
*steps back*
*voice trembling* “You’re still here. I was only gone for a second and—it doesn’t make any sense, but I thought you’d be gone. I—God, I didn’t ever mean to be afraid or to panic again. You make other people lie too, don’t you. You devil. You make me…
*voice softening* “I could tell you all the times I thought about you, all the ways I thought about you here. You were supposed to sit on that couch with your head on my shoulder and you were supposed to eat in my kitchen and it was supposed to be our kitchen. I wanted you to be here in any kind of way—in every way. You were supposed to have your clothes in the wardrobe and your coat on the rack and this was supposed to be home, home at last, because there was you, and…
*raw, muffled* “I hate you.”
*pause*
”… You’re filthy. You smell of sweat and your clothes are dirty. No wonder you’re not—that’s not right. Okay. Come on then. I’ll run you a bath.”
*careful steps*
“Sit here… That’s right. Now…”
*taps being turned, water running steadily*
“Good. Now—let me just get your shirt off—right, that’s it…” *rustle of fabric* “And… I… Oh.”
*pause, hesitant touch*
“I’ve never… I… Oh God, Draco.” *husky* “I thought about you so often.”
*slow sucking kiss into a collarbone*
*pause*
“Oh my God, what am I…? Oh God. Oh Christ. I’ve got to—I’ve got to get out of here, I can’t—”
*sound of running steps*
*slow, constant flow of water*
*dull sound of a door being slammed shut*
*soft sound of a door opening*
*staggering, slight stumble*
*slightly slurred* “I—Draco?”
*splash*
“I… oh, I left you here, and the water was running, and you could have… tipped forward or drowned or, oh…” *slam of a body against a wall* “How could you be so stupid? Can’t you even put your shirt back on, how can there be—be nothing left, how could it be so easy to lose you…”
*rapid breathing*
*slowly* “No, not lose. I never had you, did I, my darling? Oh, my darling. I never could have called you that… you would have laughed…”
*slow, lingering kiss*
“You made me afraid and you made me suffer, and you… Oh, you did deserve this. You deserve anything anyone could do to you, you’re so cruel and you—you bastard, how could you? Look what you’ve done… look what you’ve done to me…”
*desperate kissing*
*panting* “You evil bastard. You deserve everything you get. Oh God, Draco…”
*steps, the creak of a door opening*
*creak of bedsprings*
*more kissing, soft slide of skin on skin*
*heavy breathing, soft cries*
*a moan*
“Oh God, I love you.”
*soft click of a door swinging gently shut*