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Salt in Our Wounds	By : thewickednix Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7362 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters portrayed herein. This is made for fun, not profit.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Part II

The Art of Losing

�Oh teeny tiny little Draco! How are you this afternoon?�
My aunts shrill sing-song voice cuts through the air, awaking me from what was either sleep or unconsciousness. For a moment I keep my eyes closed, hoping desperately that if I keep pretending that she doesn�t exist, she will disappear.
But when she kicks the bars, sending a loud, strident sound through the metal, I force myself to open my eyes. Not that it makes much difference, laying on my stomach on the floor I can still only see her shoes and the hem of her robes.
Bella doesn�t seem to care. �I just came to inform you that we are leaving now.�
I brace myself for what can only become a very uncomfortable moving trip. My aunt seems to sense the gathering tension in my body, and snorts loudly.
�Don�t think that you are coming with us,� she drawls mockingly. �While I don�t think you have suffered enough for what you did, it is getting quite tedious to try and keep you alive.�
At those words I let out a breath that I seem to have been holding for ages. All my life I have feared death more than anything, but now that it finally stands before me, the only thing I feel is relief. Whatever mysteries death holds, it cannot be worse than this.
Faced with my silent acceptance instead of pleadings for mercy, Bella�s voice becomes enraged. �You coward!� she exclaims, and before I have the time to react I feel a tinge of magic and I am flown around in the air, landing violently on my back on the stone floor. I cannot help the pained yell that escapes me. As I lay there groaning and breathing shakily, I am finally able to look up into my aunt�s scornful face.
�You are just like my sister,� she sneers, the disgust evident in her voice. I feel the rage begin to boil within me at the mention of my mother. Bella sees it and continues, grinning: �Refusing to fight back, thinking that there is any dignity in dying bloody and bound on the dirty floor of a dungeon. Hah!� Bella exclaims with contemptuous mirth. She leans down slightly, her gray eyes boring into mine as she leers at me.
�Dying is losing, Draco. There is no dignity in death.�
The snort that escapes me sounds more like a cough, but it doesn�t stop me from sneering back at Bellatrix. �Where is the dignity in hiding in places such as these dungeons for the rest of your life then, dear Bella?� I drawl, fully awaiting the Crucio when it comes. And when Bella finally lowers her wand, I am still chuckling through the pained sobs.
�We�ll see if you are laughing when you rot to death in here,� my aunt grits through clenched teeth, disappearing in a swirl of robes that would have made Severus proud. My raspy laugh dies out after she leaves, but her words do not stop amusing me. My fate might be death, but it is much better than the lifetime of pursuit that will be fate of Bella, Rodolphus, Nott, Yaxley, and all the other Death Eaters who haven�t yet been caught by the Ministry. My fate is much better that that of those already caught and trialed by the Ministry, now locked up for life in Azkaban.
I haven�t been a saint. I have done many things I am not proud of. To tell the truth, I thank Merlin for getting me off the hook this easily. And for letting Father, Mother, and Astoria die before they had to see me like this.
For preventing Potter from finding me.
In the end, death approaches easily. Gently wrapping around me like a warm, dark blanket, swallowing what is left of the pain and suffering.
Yes, I have absolutely nothing to complain about.

******
�It looks completely abandoned,� Tonks mutters quietly, ascending the front stairs of the Manor and casting a disbelieving glance at Chief Hunt. She doesn�t believe there to be anything here, because she�s visited this house several times during the last four years. And each time it is found just as empty and uninhabited. I�m not as convinced, but answer with an agreeing �Mmmh,� for Tonks� benefit.
The difference between us is that I spent two months here four years ago, and still have a hard time swallowing the fact that any traces of those years have disappeared. The dungeon was left, of course. Not that I know which one it was, as all the cells in the Manor are identical.
�Potter, Tonks,� the Chief mutters warningly under his breath. Every one of us steps as quietly as possible on the marble floor as we enter into the Entrance Hall. Even after all these years, the abandoned house looks exactly the same. The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling are free from cot web, the floor is shiny and clean, no door hinge cringes under our touch. I suspect the house elves keep the mansion in perfect condition, even as its owners have long since disappeared.
�Jones! the Great Room and drawing room. Conway, you are coming with me to the dining room and kitchen,� Hunt directs the two Aurors, before turning towards Tonks and me. �Potter! Search the upper East Wing. Tonks, you take the guest quarters.�
I nod obediently even as a shiver runs through my body. A place I�ve never been. The East Wing, where the master bedrooms are.
Draco�s room.
�Depart!� Hunt hisses at me, and I realise I�ve remained in my place, staring at a wall.
�Yes, sir,� I hurry to answer, stalking towards the wide staircase which Tonks has already ascended.

Draco�s room is easy to find. After searching through the master bedroom and finding it completely empty, I approach the second largest bedroom door. The solid wooden door looks heavy, but moves like air beneath my hands. I enter into a large room, with a fire place and two armchairs by the West wall and a four poster bed by the East one. A massive closet rises beside the bed, and a smaller door leads to what must be the bathroom. Everything is clean and simple, coloured in various greens, blacks, and greys.
In spite of what my actual task is, I immediately find my feet moving towards the gigantic closet. I open the door and am met by a variety of robes in different colours and sizes. Apart from the robes, most of the shelves are half empty; it is obvious that they were cleaned out as Draco left.
I feel a tug in my ribs at the reminder, and cannot hinder myself from reaching out and tugging at a set of pitch black robes, pulling them towards myself. I lean in and press my face against the cloth, closing my eyes and breathing deeply, taking in the scent of musk, cedar wood, and ginger flower. The scent of Draco, preserved even after all this time. The exact same scent that I could taste on his skin, the same note that seemed to linger in the sheets of that ascetic bed long after he had rise from it.
The scent that has haunted me throughout these four years.
Desperate to get away, to rouse myself from these plaguing memories, I blast my eyes open and pull myself back rapidly, the black robes balling back into the closet. I watch the cloth sway from the movement for a brief second before I slam the door shut, deciding I have by far overstayed my visit in this room.
�Did you find anything?� Tonks asks me as we descend the stairs together. I shake my head, not quite trusting myself to speak quite yet. A large lump that I cannot seem to swallow seems to have gathered in my throat.
�Me neither,� the witch sighs. �Though there was a nice coat laying on one chair that I wouldn�t have declined to take with me�� she grins, completely oblivious to my silent despair.
Hunt looks at us inquiringly as we approach him, Jones and Conway in the hall, and I shake my head. �Nothing,� I croak, and Hunt doesn�t look surprised.
�There never is,� he mutters, taking a deep breath and observing the room somewhat absentmindedly. �Let�s check out the dungeons yet before we leave.�
An involuntary shudder goes through my body, and Tonks pretends no to notice. Still, she touches my shoulder, briefly but comfortingly, as we stalk towards the end of the hall where a small door awaits. The door itself seem to indicate that we should not pass through it, and it does nothing to help my mood. I defy it by being the first one to reach the door, reaching out and opening the handle.
It swings open reluctantly, and I use Lumos to guide myself down the stairs in the dark hallway. The air is cold and damp, a light odour of mould and fungus irritating my nostrils. For a second I feel like retching, but I bite my lip and fight to swallow the nausea.

This is ridiculous! I think to myself. I�ve been here so many times since I was held captured, and still every time I just feel like running away and hiding.
�Potter, Conway, you go left,� Hunt orders from somewhere behind me, and I find relief in being able to concentrate on something beyond the panicked screams in my own head. Hunt and Tonks disappear down the hall to the right, and am left alone with Conway. He doesn�t like me, that much is obvious, he never has. Not really surprising, as I got into the same department at the Ministry as he after a twenty-minute interview, when he had been studying and working to reach that place for nine years.
Conway walks past me in the hall, not speaking and completely ignoring me. It is a little unnerving, as uncooperative behaviour in the field can be fatal. Luckily, the dungeons seem just as abandoned as the rest of the house. I pass by green door after green door, a knot appearing in my stomach each time I push the door open and see the inside of the room. I don�t come across the cell that was my prison four years ago. I probably wouldn�t even recognise it if I did; all of these rooms look identical, all portray the same image of my memory.
Suddenly Conway�s voice cuts through the air. �Potter, in here!�
Maybe it is my panicked expectance for something to happen, or the fact that for the first time Conway is addressing me directly, but I jump where I stand. Shaking legs carry me to the door among others where I last saw Conway enter. The man has stopped in the middle of the floor, his face unusually pale and horrified. Afraid but nevertheless compelled to know what has shocked the Auror so, I follow his gaze.
There, on the floor inside a black metal cell, identical to the one was held hostage in, lays an immobile body. I barely have time to think before I am pushing past Conway and moving towards the cell, refusing to think that this person is just another Muggle killed by the Death Eaters. I don�t know if I can stand another failure.
But as I reach the cell, something seems to hinder me. Taking a closer look at the body in front of me, I see what I couldn�t see before. I see what Conway probably already noticed, what prevented him from running forth first.
The face of the person, the man, in the cell has fallen to the side, away from me, but it is his hair that catches my attention. Like his clothes his hair is dark and dirty from mud, blood and grime. But as the light of my wand falls over it, strands of light, platinum hair become visible.
My legs sway and I must grab the bars I front of me for support.
��Oh my god!�

******
I never thought that death could be interrupted. Apparently, I was wrong.
An unfamiliar male voice startles me from what was supposed to be my final rest. For a moment I am uncertain if it was real or just in my mind, but soon a chilly draft starts creeping under my clothes and into my consciousness, and I realise someone has opened the door.
Steps are heard from the corridor, approaching rapidly until they enter the room. Growing irregular for a moment, the person then seems to startle and then rush forward to my cell. I still can�t seem to open my eyes, not to mention move my head to look at the intruders. Instead I concentrate on wishing them away.

People have absolutely no manners these days. Intruding on a dying man, how rude!

A light falls on the side of my head, piercing through my eyelids and irritating my eyes. I hear a small gasp behind me, and the thud of something hitting the metal bars.
��Oh my god!� the raspy voice of another man utters. And something in that voice awakes a feeling, the distant trace of a memory that makes me force my eyes open. Squinting at the light, I slowly turn my head towards the source of it.
My eyes blinded from the light I am only able to see the silhouette of the man before me. But as I turn my head I hear him take in a harsh, sudden breath, and before my eyes even focus I know whom I am faced with. Still, the brightness of the green eyes I perceive as I grow accustomed to the light is as breathtaking as ever.
�Draco,� he utters, a strange mixture of relief and despair in his hoarse voice.

Harry fucking Potter.

The resolution puts an end to my misery, and I fall into unconsciousness.

End of part II
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Salt in Our Wounds