This Bitter Earth

TWENTY EIGHT

A/N: Strap in, dear readers. This is the sacred twenty eighth chapter.

Soundtrack- "Vermilion Pt. 2" by Slipknot and "Bare" by WILDES

TWENTY EIGHT

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Draco was shivering so badly his muscles ached from the constant strain and tension. He could feel each one of them, taunt and tight, pulling against the inside of his skin. It was worse under his scars. Draco rubbed his hand over his burned arm, trying to get the blood moving under the marbled skin. He didn't know if it was working.

He couldn't feel anything.

He was numb.

Slowly his wracked body started to still. Exhaustion was finally winning out over his instinctual attempts to stay warm. Still, every now and then, his whole body would give a great lurch and the shivering would start again in an almost maddening fit.

One of these times, he happened to bite his tongue when his jaws snapped against each other. Snarling to himself, Draco ran the sore bit against his bottom gumline. Expelling a puff of thick white breath, he quickly shut his mouth, trapping inside the bloom of heat from his blood.

It was the first bit of warmth he had felt in... how long had he been here? It was hard to tell. The storming clouds covered the sky and blocked out the moon, stars, and sun—anything he might have been able to draw from his Astronomy lessons to keep track of time. It had to have been months though. Azkaban was always cold, but now, it had sunk to a new level, to the very darkest depths of hell, where even the heat of the fire didn't reach.

That's where he was. That's where he'd stay.

Nursing his bloodied tongue and rolling it around in his mouth, Draco made the most of the small amount of warmth he got from his blood. That was all it was good for now. There was a time he would never have believed it, that Malfoy blood, pure blood, was only worth a few seconds of temporary relief from a lifetime of suffering. Now he couldn't deny it, even if he wanted to.

Draco swallowed the last few drops and closed his eyes. What had he become? He had been reduced to this—a shivering, miserable wretch. Even if he could get out, would Granger even want him now? He looked down at the torn neck of his shirt, giving him a view of his fucked up chest.

Scar tissue marked him, standing out and sinking in, and all of it a mottled shade of purple with greying edges. He looked disgusting. He looked... like a corpse. Revolted by his own image, Draco closed his eyes and long locks of dirty hair fell over his face. It brushed past his shoulders now which only gave more evidence for the amount of time he had been locked up.

Another fit of shivering took him over and when it stopped, Draco sat slumped against the stone cell wall.

He was so tired—so damn tired. His chin hit his chest a few times and Draco blearily roused each time. He had the vague thought that if he fell asleep right now, he may not wake up.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe then he could rest.

But he wouldn't.

He would rise again. Even that was taken from him; even eternity.

Draco forced his eyes open. He had to stay awake. At least until the food came and he could get a bit more energy to keep himself warm.

"G-Granger-er?" he called out, stumbling and shivering over her name. "G-g-grang..."

Nothing happened. She wasn't coming.

But he needed her. He needed to remember what this was for and... and... if he could just see her, just have her here, it would be okay. He would be okay. As he repeated this to himself, it felt... familiar. It had worked before, hadn't it?