(no subject)
Author: pandoras_chaos
Title: Deserve the Kiss
Summary: The Savior of the wizarding world didn’t look so proud when splattered with the blood of his loved ones and cowering before the one person he’d counted on for safety.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Dark, Character death
thanks to lucilla_darkate
It is always cold. Cold and damp. The walls of Azkaban prison are always echoing with the screams of its victims. It is so easy to play the victim in a world full of death where every breath you take tastes of foul guilt and incoherent madness.
“How could you turn on us like that?” he’d screamed through the pouring rain. “How could you turn on me?”
Draco’s lips curled into a malicious grin before he flung another curse towards the boy standing before him.
The screaming never ends. Tortures long past replay themselves like picture shows, flickering bloody and rancid through your mind. It’s difficult to sleep when breathing feels as though your lungs are on fire with air that is stale and rank with the scent of liquefied flesh.
“You brought this on yourself, Potter. You should have joined us when you had the chance,” Draco drawled, still holding Harry at wand point. The Savior of the wizarding world didn’t look so proud when splattered with the blood of his loved ones and cowering before the one person he’d counted on for safety.
People who leave Azkaban are never the same.
Any ministry official will tell you this. People go mad in Azkaban, locked within their own criminally insane minds. The dementors suck any happiness out of you. Any third-year school book will tell you that.
There was a streak of lightning and the loud rumble of thunder when Harry Potter lunged himself forward, throwing Draco temporarily off balance.
But the people who write the books have never been there. They’ve never had to suffer the constant screams. They’ve never had to smell the sickness and insanity in the very air. They’ve never felt the walls closing in so tight that you’re sure you’ll die, but you know you won’t because that would just be too easy.
“I can’t let you do this, Malfoy,” Harry panted, pinning Draco down in the mud with his body weight. “You’re not a Death Eater. You’re not evil. You don’t want to betray me and I won’t let you do this.”
Draco spat in his face and threw him aside.
Draco Malfoy feels the cold, same as everyone. He hears the screams, yet he is beyond them himself now. The ministry receives daily owls on the inhabitants of the prison, noting who is still alive and who is lost in themselves. Draco Malfoy hasn’t screamed in weeks. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.
“You can’t do this, Draco. I-”
“Don’t say it, Potter. I know you don’t mean it. And it won’t make any difference.”
He found out firsthand that being a Malfoy means absolutely nothing to the dementors, just as it had meant nothing for his father. Just as Lestrange meant nothing for his aunt or uncle. Loyalty is nothing when the one you were loyal to is long since dead. “Pureblood” is nothing in Azkaban, just a forgotten ideal, a memory of when the world was simpler.
“I can do whatever I please, Potter. My loyalties lie with no one but myself.”
“You don’t mean that,” Harry whispered, still kneeling in the mud and looking defeated.
He sits in his cell quietly now, his grey eyes blank and unfocused, refusing to open his mouth for even the smallest bit of broth to keep him alive. You can count his ribs now with obscene accuracy. The Mark on his left arm that landed him here in the first place has been worn away by madness. In its place now is a large ugly scar, still crusted over with blood. They’ve had to cut his nails right down to the quick to stop him from tearing the flesh away more.
“Do you see this, Potter?” Draco spat, shoving the left sleeve of his robe up over his arm and displaying the Dark Mark. “This means I’m not to be trusted. It means I’m evil. I kill because I enjoy it. I torture because I think it’s fun. I am deceitful and manipulative and I will kill you.”
Nobody knows even the smallest extent of the horrible things he’s done. Nobody knows what goes on in his wretched mind. Nobody knows what it’s like to watch Harry Potter plead for death. Nobody but him.
He doesn’t even blink when they tell him he is to receive the Kiss. Instead, there is only the faintest twitch of his lips as though he would smile if only he could remember how.
“Fine. Kill me then. But answer me this, did you ever love me?”
Draco smiled slightly before he raised his wand.
The Dementor’s Kiss is administered to those with nothing else left to lose. For some, the idea of losing your soul is an overwhelming horror. For others, it feels as though they’ve already lost it. For Draco Malfoy, it’s hardly a loss at all, because you can’t lose something you never really had.
Title: Deserve the Kiss
Summary: The Savior of the wizarding world didn’t look so proud when splattered with the blood of his loved ones and cowering before the one person he’d counted on for safety.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Dark, Character death
thanks to lucilla_darkate
It is always cold. Cold and damp. The walls of Azkaban prison are always echoing with the screams of its victims. It is so easy to play the victim in a world full of death where every breath you take tastes of foul guilt and incoherent madness.
“How could you turn on us like that?” he’d screamed through the pouring rain. “How could you turn on me?”
Draco’s lips curled into a malicious grin before he flung another curse towards the boy standing before him.
The screaming never ends. Tortures long past replay themselves like picture shows, flickering bloody and rancid through your mind. It’s difficult to sleep when breathing feels as though your lungs are on fire with air that is stale and rank with the scent of liquefied flesh.
“You brought this on yourself, Potter. You should have joined us when you had the chance,” Draco drawled, still holding Harry at wand point. The Savior of the wizarding world didn’t look so proud when splattered with the blood of his loved ones and cowering before the one person he’d counted on for safety.
People who leave Azkaban are never the same.
Any ministry official will tell you this. People go mad in Azkaban, locked within their own criminally insane minds. The dementors suck any happiness out of you. Any third-year school book will tell you that.
There was a streak of lightning and the loud rumble of thunder when Harry Potter lunged himself forward, throwing Draco temporarily off balance.
But the people who write the books have never been there. They’ve never had to suffer the constant screams. They’ve never had to smell the sickness and insanity in the very air. They’ve never felt the walls closing in so tight that you’re sure you’ll die, but you know you won’t because that would just be too easy.
“I can’t let you do this, Malfoy,” Harry panted, pinning Draco down in the mud with his body weight. “You’re not a Death Eater. You’re not evil. You don’t want to betray me and I won’t let you do this.”
Draco spat in his face and threw him aside.
Draco Malfoy feels the cold, same as everyone. He hears the screams, yet he is beyond them himself now. The ministry receives daily owls on the inhabitants of the prison, noting who is still alive and who is lost in themselves. Draco Malfoy hasn’t screamed in weeks. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all.
“You can’t do this, Draco. I-”
“Don’t say it, Potter. I know you don’t mean it. And it won’t make any difference.”
He found out firsthand that being a Malfoy means absolutely nothing to the dementors, just as it had meant nothing for his father. Just as Lestrange meant nothing for his aunt or uncle. Loyalty is nothing when the one you were loyal to is long since dead. “Pureblood” is nothing in Azkaban, just a forgotten ideal, a memory of when the world was simpler.
“I can do whatever I please, Potter. My loyalties lie with no one but myself.”
“You don’t mean that,” Harry whispered, still kneeling in the mud and looking defeated.
He sits in his cell quietly now, his grey eyes blank and unfocused, refusing to open his mouth for even the smallest bit of broth to keep him alive. You can count his ribs now with obscene accuracy. The Mark on his left arm that landed him here in the first place has been worn away by madness. In its place now is a large ugly scar, still crusted over with blood. They’ve had to cut his nails right down to the quick to stop him from tearing the flesh away more.
“Do you see this, Potter?” Draco spat, shoving the left sleeve of his robe up over his arm and displaying the Dark Mark. “This means I’m not to be trusted. It means I’m evil. I kill because I enjoy it. I torture because I think it’s fun. I am deceitful and manipulative and I will kill you.”
Nobody knows even the smallest extent of the horrible things he’s done. Nobody knows what goes on in his wretched mind. Nobody knows what it’s like to watch Harry Potter plead for death. Nobody but him.
He doesn’t even blink when they tell him he is to receive the Kiss. Instead, there is only the faintest twitch of his lips as though he would smile if only he could remember how.
“Fine. Kill me then. But answer me this, did you ever love me?”
Draco smiled slightly before he raised his wand.
The Dementor’s Kiss is administered to those with nothing else left to lose. For some, the idea of losing your soul is an overwhelming horror. For others, it feels as though they’ve already lost it. For Draco Malfoy, it’s hardly a loss at all, because you can’t lose something you never really had.