Chapter VIII

November 17th 1996

I had a most disturbing dream last night, and I’d do anything to get it out of my mind. It even woke Ron up because I was thrashing about so much.

In this dream of mine – or nightmare, I suppose – Ron and I were in this dreadfully dark room. As my eyes adjusted and the dream came into focus, I realised that the walls and the ceiling were dripping with blood. And we were both covered in it, drinking it, revelling in this horror world. Oh God, and Ron... he was so cut up, so bloody; something tells me that most of that blood we were soaked in was his.

I can’t tell him about this. It would scare him too much. I don’t want him to worry about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine on my own.

January 1997

Friday

Before they left the bathroom, Ron had reluctantly burned his shirt. His disappointment must have been obvious on his face, because Draco quickly handed over his own shirt for Ron to wear instead. Well, to keep, actually; but Ron still had full intentions of giving it back at some point.

After a few parting kisses, and one long, comforting hug; they each retreated back to their own dorms. It took Ron quite a bit longer to reach Gryffindor Tower because of his sore leg, but it gave him plenty of time to do some unwanted thinking on the way there. He hadn’t intended to dwell on what had happened, but one’s mind tends to wander during long, uneventful walks.

His mind replayed the horrifying night over and over in vivid detail, each time renewing the growing sense of nausea that he thought was gone for good. The worst part of it all was that he had been a perfectly willing participant. After Draco’s initial forcefulness, Ron had eagerly joined in. He drank Draco’s blood; reopening the cuts again and again with his teeth.

Ron’s stomach clenched at the thought, and he willed it back long enough to mutter the password to the Fat Lady and stagger up to the dorm. He had hoped that lying down would help ease his unsettled stomach, and it might have, if he had actually made it to bed.

He had only just entered the room when his stomach heaved, violently spilling blood-saturated sick onto the floor of the dorm. The sheer force of it brought him to his hands and knees, and he could do nothing but tremble helplessly and his body fought to rid itself of Draco’s blood.

The loud gags quickly roused the other boys from sleep, and Harry was the first one out of bed and at Ron’s side. At first, all he could do was stare in horror at the massive amount of deep brown gunk that had poured from Ron’s mouth, realising immediately that it was probably blood.

“Ron,” he gasped, kneeling down beside him. He carefully kept his hands to himself, giving Ron space. “Ron, are you okay?”

Ron could do nothing but groan in response as his body lurched again, forcing out the last of its contents. Sweat and a few stray tears from the effort poured down his flushed face and dripped off the end of his nose.

The other boys were now rushing to his aid, all crouching down beside him in a supportive circle. They were all talking at once, and Ron could barely understand them – he was barely even listening.

The burning, tingling sensation he had felt when Draco touched his wounded thigh in the bath was creeping up his body; smothering him in its uncomfortable grasp. It seemed to cling to him like a second skin; hiding all that was right and good and sane about him, revealing its ugly mask of pain and despair.

“Hermione was right,” Harry’s voice crept through Ron’s defences in an echoing whisper. “He’s really sick.”

“Let’s get him to the hospital wing.” Dean’s voice, possibly, but Ron didn’t care. The only thing is brain latched onto was those last two words.

“No,” he croaked, slowly pushing himself back to sit normally. “I’m fine,”

“You’re not getting out of it this time.” Harry said in a gentle but firm voice. “You should have gone a long time ago.”

Harry suddenly realised why the situation seemed so odd. Why was Ron entering the dorm around five in the morning? Why was he fully dressed and his hair wet? Now was certainly not the time to ask those questions, but Harry couldn’t help but wonder if they were missing a huge part of the puzzle.

Ron shook his head slowly, refusing to move from his spot on the floor. Madame Pomfrey would be able to figure out everything. Everything would be ruined and it would be all of her fault.

“Come on,” Harry said, grabbing Ron’s arm. “Guys, help me carry him.”

Dean took Ron’s arm next to Harry, while Seamus and Neville grabbed Ron’s other arm. Before they could begin to move him from the floor, Ron screamed; a desperate, broken scream. He thrashed about, trying to free himself from their hands. They weren’t allowed to touch him, no one could touch him; only Draco. Draco’s burning touch now seemed like the soothing hum of a violin compared to the raging, crawling hold of the other boys’ hands. He needed to be with Draco. Draco was the only one in the world who could understand; who could help. No one else mattered. Ron’s wild eyes fell on the puddle of bloodied sick before him, and he made to press his face down into it, to suck the essence of his love back into his body where it belonged.

Harry’s hands moved to Ron’s chest to stop him, thinking he had simply lost his balance. He was starting to seriously worry; something was dreadfully wrong with Ron.

Hands seemed to be roaming all over Ron’s body now, prickling like a thousand spiders on his skin. His breathing hitched in fear and he glanced down. Spiders were crawling all over him; under his clothes, over his hands and face – everywhere. His body was barely visible through the dark, swarming, skittering mass that covered him. With a sudden burst of strength, he fought out of the other boys’ hold on him, and scampered over to the other side of the room; desperately trying to brush the spiders off. He was crying from fear and his every breath was a terrified moan that became louder and louder, almost to the point of screaming.

“Ron, what are you doing?” Harry demanded worriedly, watching as Ron brushed frantically at his clothes as if there were something on them. The other boys just stared in shock.

Harry quickly stood up and crossed the room, grabbing Ron’s arm again to still him. Ron squirmed to get away but Harry tightened his hold, refusing to let Ron move.

“Draco!” Ron screamed helplessly. Draco would know that Ron had been touched; he would be mad. Ron had to get help and Draco was the only one who could.

Harry froze. “What?” he whispered, not daring to believe what he had heard.

Ron laughed. Of course. Harry didn’t know him as Draco. “Malfoy,” Ron moaned, reaching toward the door as if he could somehow pull Draco to him. “Where’s Malfoy?”

“Neville, hold him,” Harry said quickly. Neville immediately crossed the room and grabbed Ron’s arms. Ron wasn’t even struggling anymore. He was just standing there, staring blankly at the door; his arms limp at his sides, his head tilted as if broken at the neck – like a broken doll or a marionette without strings.

Seamus and Dean warily made their way over as Harry ran over to the end of his bed and began digging through his trunk.

“What are you looking for?” Neville called.

“My map,” Harry answered, pulling it out. He immediately realised that the other boys knew nothing about the Marauder’s Map, and decided he might as well tell them now as they were already looking at him questioningly. “It belonged to my dad; it shows the location of everyone in Hogwarts. Since Ron seems to think Malfoy’s done something to him; I’m going to find out if he’s in his room or not.”

“Just let me sleep,” Ron said mournfully, shifting in Neville’s grasp. “Please, I’m so tired, let me sleep.” It was the only way to escape; he needed their pity.

“I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good,” Harry said quietly, pressing his wand against the Marauder’s Map. A detailed map of Hogwarts appeared, along with all of the little dots representing each person. Harry quickly located the Slytherin dorms. “He’s in bed,” he announced.

“Ron’s obviously not thinking clearly,” Dean said worriedly. “Let’s take him to Pomfrey.”

“No!” Ron snarled, his body tensing and returning to life. “I’m just a little tired! Let go of me!” he added harshly to Neville. Neville quickly released him.

Ron threw off his robe, glaring at each of them in turn. “I don’t need you all hovering around me like I’m some kid.”

Neville looked away shamefully.

“I’m just a little tired,” Ron repeated, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He paused, however, when he realised what that would reveal: so many small scratches and bruises, also the healing bite mark on his neck. They weren’t allowed to see how much Draco loved him – that was private, sacred. He flopped onto his bed; fully dressed. “Now leave me alone!” With that, he yanked the curtains closed.

“What should we do?” Seamus asked after a moment of tense silence.

“Mischief managed – leave him, I guess,” Harry mumbled, tossing his beloved map back into his trunk.

“What do you think he meant about Malfoy?” Neville asked.

“Who knows?” Harry answered, crawling back into bed. “Maybe he hates Malfoy so much that he convinced himself that Malfoy had done something to him.”

“I wonder if they were fighting?” Dean mused, slipping back into his own bed. “Why else would Ron be fully dressed this early? I bet they arranged a time to duel.”

“But Malfoy was in bed,” Neville answered from beneath his blanket. “He’s quick – but not that quick. If Ron came straight back here, there would have been no way for Malfoy to get all the way back to the dungeon and into his bed.”

“Unless they duelled in Slytherin territory,” Seamus offered.

“Ron would know better than to do that,” Harry said, “at least, I hope he would. It would be stupid to duel there. You know what a foul git Malfoy is, he could have set up another trap like he did for us in our first year.”

Ron listened angrily from within his curtains. How dare they speak about his beautiful, perfect Draco like that. He settled down onto his back, staring up sightlessly. It sickened him that they had had their hands all over him – he felt ruined and dirty. Draco was the only one who could touch him.

His mind drifted back to their short moment of intimacy in the bath, and how soft and warm Draco had been in his arms. No one else felt like that. It was like Draco was the only warmth and life in a cold, dead world. A touch from anyone else was agonising pain.

“I’m so sorry,” Ron whispered to the darkness, shoving down his trousers to pull at the cuts on his thigh; reopening them. He closed his eyes at the perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. It was almost as if Draco was there with him; cutting him, drinking his blood, and loving him, loving him, loving him.

The hours passed like minutes and Ron didn’t get a single moment of sleep. He couldn’t sleep alone anymore – he absolutely had to have Draco with him.

He tossed and turned, but each position was more uncomfortable than the last. His mind slowly began to wander; picking apart everything that had happened and sorting his thoughts back into their proper places. The rape and the blood and pain were pushed to the side where he wouldn’t have to think about them. To the front of his mind, thoughts of purity and innocence from so long ago resurfaced, reminding him that he wasn’t at fault for anything Draco had done. Ron had done nothing wrong; nothing to deserve guilt or shame. His only responsibility was to take care of Draco, since he was obviously having a hard time right now.

When the time came to get up for breakfast, Ron slipped out of bed to find Harry, Dean, Seamus, and Neville already standing around waiting for him.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked immediately.

“Fine, thanks,” Ron answered cheerfully, straightening out his shirt. He bent over and grabbed his robe from its spot on the floor, slipping it on with unusual grace.

“So what were you on about this morning?” Seamus asked.

“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Ron answered, making his way out of the room. The mess on the floor had already been cleaned up by house elves.

He wasn’t surprised to find that Draco wasn’t at breakfast. He knew immediately that Draco must have gone to the hospital wing, just as Ron had requested. Ron smiled as he started loading his plate. Now he just had to hope that Draco said what Ron asked him to. He was certain that there was no way cuts on Draco’s arm would relate to the two of them being together, so he wasn’t the least bit concerned about it.

He was worried, however, about how Draco would cope with being there. Draco hated going to the hospital wing when he really needed it; the only time he went on his own was when he wanted to draw attention to himself. Ron really hoped that Pomfrey would see that there was something dreadfully wrong with Draco and give him something to make it better. It was horrible to see Draco so paranoid and unhappy. If anyone could fix it, Pomfrey could.

Draco had wanted to lie about going to see Pomfrey and just go to breakfast, but a nagging conviction in the back of his mind made him change his plans at the last minute.

He headed toward the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle, trying to squelch the sweet tone of Ron’s voice in his head begging him to go. He rubbed his wounded arm lightly, testing if the pain was bearable.

It wasn’t.

“Go ahead without me,” he said shortly to Crabbe and Goyle, changing direction.

They grunted something unintelligible in response, but Draco didn’t even bother to try to decipher it. He strode purposefully down the corridors, reminding himself over and over that he was only doing this for Ron.

He paused outside the door to the infirmary, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “For Ron,” he reminded himself in a whisper, pushing open the door. The room was blessedly empty except for Pomfrey.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy,” she said, bustling over to him. “What will it be today?”

He hesitated, suddenly unsure of what to say. He couldn’t just jump right in and say he had hurt himself. That would just be... odd.

Pomfrey’s stern look softened when she saw the nervousness on Draco’s face. Perhaps there really was something wrong with him this time. “Are you alright?” she asked as gently as she could.

He bit his lower lip out of habit, shaking his head tightly.

“Come here,” she put a hand on his back, guiding him over to one of the beds. He sat down heavily, suddenly regretting his decision to show up. There was so much she could find out; things that even Ron didn’t know.

“Now,” she said kindly, sitting down next to him, “tell me what’s going on.”

Instead of answering, Draco shoved back his sleeve, revealing the cuts on his arm. She stared at them for a long moment before speaking.

“You did this to yourself, didn’t you?”

Draco couldn’t have been more relieved. At least now he didn’t have to sound like a prat trying to explain it. “I did,”

She nodded curtly. “Well, they look to be infected,” She stood up and dug through a cupboard full of potions. She pulled out a flask of purple liquid and brought it back over to the bed. “This might sting a bit,” she warned as she dabbed it on to his cuts. The liquid began to smoke when it came in contact with his skin.

“That should do,” she said, picking up her wand, “now...” She poked at the cuts with her wand, and they healed instantly.

“Thanks,” Draco said shortly, moving to stand back up and leave.

“Wait just a minute,” she said sternly, freezing him before he could even stand completely. He collapsed back onto the bed. “Now, I normally don’t ask questions, but when health is at stake, I’m afraid I must.”

Draco cringed. This day really couldn’t get any worse.

“So tell me,” Pomfrey continued, “what would possess you to do something like that?”

“I was upset,” he lied.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know,”

She sighed exasperatedly. She would have to try a different tactic. “Listen to me, Malfoy, this is important. You need to answer honestly. Tell me, how do you feel on a daily basis?”

“Fine,”

“Clearly not,”

Draco growled and raked his hands through his hair. “Most of the time I’m just fine.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“I’m – I don’t know – stressed, I guess.”

“Upset, perhaps?”

“Sometimes. But who isn’t?”

“Tell me, Malfoy,” Pomfrey said slowly, “when you’re upset, how do you feel?”

“Upset,” he answered flatly. She stared at him sternly until he huffed indignantly. “I don’t know, it’s like,” he decided he might as well be honest. Maybe she could actually help him. “It’s like someone put me in a giant plastic bag and threw me into the lake. And as I’m sinking into the darkness, my mind tells me I should be drowning, but instead, everything is pushing in on me, trapping me, slowly suffocating me.”

She stroked his hair sympathetically. “Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?” she asked bluntly.

He laughed bitterly. “Again, who hasn’t?”

“I mean have you ever put serious thought into it?”

“Well, yeah,”

“Why?”

“That’s private,” he answered stiffly, “but there’s only one circumstance under which I would do it. I’m perfectly content with life otherwise.”

“And that circumstance...” she had been around children long enough to know that this had to be about a relationship, but she chose to leave that out, “is that the reason you hurt yourself?”

“You could say that,”

“Have you done it before?”

Draco paled. That had been the question he had been dreading. Truthfully, he had hurt himself many, many times in several different ways. Mostly, it was before he got with Ron. He often took out his twisted desires on himself. Part of it accompanied masturbation, but a lot of the time, he wanted to hurt something; and the only thing he had to hurt was himself. But he didn’t have to worry about that anymore. Now he had Ron to take out all of his desires on.

His eyes widened with shock and revulsion. That’s certainly not what Ron was meant for. That was wrong; sick and wrong. That was his problem, not all of this other shit. Ron wasn’t some doll for him to break when he chose.

“Malfoy?” Pomfrey said, concerned. “Draco, are you alright?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said hollowly.

She sighed. “Very well. You’ve given me enough information anyway.” She went over to the potions cupboard again, this time pulling out a bright pink potion.

“This,” she said, holding it out to him as she returned to the bed, “is a depression potion.” Draco bristled at the words, but didn’t say anything. “Don’t worry,” she said, noticing his wary look, “it’s not that bad. Actually, this one is quite good. And you only have to take it once and you’ll be cured immediately. If you don’t need it, it won’t do anything.” She thrust it into his hands.

He glanced between her and the potion, before quickly draining it.

“How do you feel now?” she asked, smiling knowingly as she took the empty flask from him.

He shifted his thoughts to Ron, easily forcing a smile. “Great,” he lied, “much better.”

“I thought you would,” she said, “now, run along and you’ll still make it to class on time.”

“Thank you very much!” he said cheerily, bounding out of the room.

As soon as the door closed behind him, his smile melted away. He felt just the same; trapped in a black abyss of pain and torture. There was no escape, not even Pomfrey could help him. His only outlet was Ron.

He skulked down the corridor, the torch light above flickering dimly as he headed toward destruction.

He made it to Potions class just after the bell rang. Snape continued lecturing as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, merely nodding in Draco’s direction as he entered the room.

Draco quickly walked over to his seat next to Ron; keeping his head bowed and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. No one in the world was worth looking at anymore... only Ron. As soon as he sat down, his hand immediately grabbed for Ron’s, clutching it tightly under the shelter of the table.

Ron was dying to ask him how things went with Pomfrey because, judging by Draco’s current mood, it didn’t go too well. Since Draco sat on Ron’s right side, Ron was able to subtly slide his hand up Draco’s left sleeve, feeling for the cuts. All he felt was that familiar, smooth expanse of pale skin. At least Pomfrey had healed him.

“Are you okay?” Ron whispered, barely moving his lips and keeping his eyes on Snape as if he were listening.

Draco just sighed heavily in response, which Ron correctly interpreted as a message meaning that they would have to talk later.

Snape finished his lecture early, allowing all of the pairs to work on their essays. Ron started flipping through his potions text, muttering under his breath. This was one essay he wouldn’t be able to copy from Hermione. He and Draco had to do it all on their own.

Fortunately, Draco was just as good as – if not better than – Hermione in this class, but Draco was less likely to allow Ron to copy his work.

“Alright, Weasel,” Draco sneered, pulling out some parchment and slamming it down on the table in front of Ron, “I suppose I’ll be charitable. Although, I suppose you’ll have a hard time bringing yourself to write on that; it’s worth more than you are.”

“Shove off, Malfoy,” Ron mumbled, fighting the urge to laugh. Bickering with Draco was a lot more enjoyable when it was all an act.

The whole situation was rather amusing when Ron thought about it. To everyone else, they looked as if nothing had changed; bitter enemies who hated every moment in each other’s company. But the truth was hidden just beneath the table; their hands remained clasped, Draco stroking Ron’s hand tenderly with his thumb. Ron, regrettably, was going to have to pull his hand away eventually to write; but for now, he would do everything he could with his left hand.

“Okay,” Ron said with a sigh, finally finding the right page. “Here’s the list of ingredients.”

Draco leaned closer than necessary, nearly resting his head on Ron’s shoulder to get a look at the text. Draco scanned the list silently, then grunted in disgust.

“God, Weasel, can’t you do anything right?” He snarled, yanking Ron’s book away from him and flipping through it purposefully.

“Give it back,” Ron snapped, grabbing for his book. Draco held it up in the air, still awkwardly tilting it to make the pages turn with one hand, keeping it just out of Ron’s reach.

“It’s a wonder you can find anything in here,” Draco continued, “look how all the pages just keep falling out!”

Ron growled and threw himself at Draco - making him shriek indignantly - crawling over him in an attempt to get his book. Ron was the only one who heard Draco lightly giggling the whole way through their small skirmish. Draco squirmed and writhed, trying to get away from Ron; but Ron had successfully trapped him on the desk.

“What’s going on here?” Snape’s cruel voice brought an end to their game. They froze; Draco still with the book clutched in his hand, holding it in the air; Ron halfway sprawled across Draco’s lap.

“Professor,” Draco whined, “Weasley’s trying sabotage my grade, sir!”

“What!?” Ron cried, “He’s lying!”

“Five points from Gryffindor for accusing another student of lying.” Snape said with a smirk.

“Professor,” Draco said again, “he tried to trick me into copying the ingredients for Pepperup Potion for the essay instead of Polyjuice Potion.”

“Is that so?” Snape asked, his eyes flashing to Ron who still sat on top of Draco. “I’ll have ten more points for that, and another ten for attacking another student unprovoked.”

All the Gryffindors in the room groaned, and Ron clenched his fists in fake anger. He quickly scrambled to get off Draco, his face flushing when Draco’s hand gently caressed his leg.

In an attempt to draw attention away from his face, Ron took that moment to snatch his book out of Draco’s hand. Meanwhile, his other hand found Draco’s under the table again.

“Did I hurt you?” Ron whispered when Snape had returned to the front of the room.

“Of course not,” Draco whispered back, his hand tightening its hold on Ron’s. He leaned close to Ron again, turning one more page in the book. “There,” he said quietly, “Polyjuice Potion. Easily mistaken for Pepperup Potion since they both start with ‘P’ and end with ‘Potion’.”

“Oh, shut up,” Ron whispered, biting back a smile.

Now that they finally had the proper list of ingredients, they were able to start working on the essay. Draco wrote a thorough introduction, then let Ron write a couple of lines about the different ingredients. Working together, they wrote about lacewing flies and leeches, explaining how they contributed to the transformation process. They were just about to start on the relevant properties of bicorn horn when the bell rang.

As usual, they packed up their belongings with excessive slowness, waiting for the class to clear out and for Snape to leave. Once the room was empty, Draco turned to Ron with a smile.

“That was great,” he said, “no one suspects a thing!”

Ron grinned, but made sure to keep a watchful eye on the door. “I’m just happy we got a lot accomplished. That’s less for us to do this weekend.”

Draco finished packing everything into bag then swung it over his shoulder. “Ah, this weekend,” he said wistfully, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”

“Yeah,”

“Just remember,” Draco said, turning to face Ron fully, “you have to let me buy some stuff for you. If you don’t pick something out, I’ll just buy you the most expensive thing I can find.”

“I can’t believe you’re threatening me with a present,” Ron laughed, swinging his bag over his shoulder as well.

“You’re the only person I know who would feel threatened by a present,” Draco answered, giving Ron a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you at lunch,”

“I love you,” Ron said with a smile.

Draco nodded, gave Ron’s hand one last squeeze before pulling away and sauntering out the door.