When the Snow Melts

Misery

Draco's head was pounding. Unsure of the reasons why, he carefully opened his eyes and took in the startlingly familiar setting of his room in Malfoy Manor, still exactly as it had been when he had left it several months ago. He couldn't remember how it was that he had come to be here. He rolled over with a moan, his stomach lurching as a dizzying sensation overcame him.

"Oh, you're awake," his mother exclaimed. Somehow he hadn't noticed her sitting there next to his bed. "Try not to move, you took a nasty blow to the head. We've healed it up as best as we can, but it will still be a while before you feel up to doing much of anything."

"How?" he croaked, his throat dry.

"Your Aunt Bellatrix hit you with a stunning spell before Nott's killing curse could get you. Unfortunately, you took a bit of a tumble. She brought you here right after. Everyone thinks you're dead."

"Harry?" he questioned, his raspy voice sounding harsh to his ears.

She frowned in disapproval, her lips tightly pursed. "You needn't worry about him. Your Aunt Bellatrix is taking good care of him."

Icy cold fear shot through his veins - he knew what that meant. He needed to worry about him, he needed to worry a lot. He tried to get out of bed, his vision blurring as his head spun.

"You need your rest," his mother warned, leaning over to push him back down into his bed before picking up a small glass off the nightstand and handing it to him. "Drink this." With her help he downed the drink, noting in alarm towards the end the familiar after-taste of dreamless sleep potion. Before he could protest, he was succumbing to its effects, the world slowly fading into darkness.

<<<<<     >>>>>

His head wasn't throbbing nearly as badly when he next woke up and his thoughts seemed more coherent. He had to assume that Pansy's plan had been a success or else he would have awakened in the Infirmary instead. His heart felt like it was being crushed - he'd tried so hard to get to Harry in time.

The distant screams of someone in an unimaginable amount of pain startled him from his misery. It was Harry. He jumped out of bed, his head spinning briefly as he stumbled to his bedroom door. It was locked. A desperate feeling overwhelmed him, his need to save Harry overtaking all other thoughts. Frantically, he began pounding on the door, screaming with everything he had until his fists were bloodied and his voice was raw, tears streaming down his face.

The door opened suddenly and he stumbled forward briefly, scrambling to keep upright so that he could make a break for it.

"That's enough," his mother snapped, her tone of voice freezing him in his tracks out of habit. "You should be in bed."

He ignored her, shaking off his momentary surprise to trudge down the hall in Harry's direction. His legs felt weak and the hallway kept slipping sideways, but he couldn't stop - Harry needed him.

"Draco," his mother shouted in a commanding voice, "for once in your life, will you just listen to me and get back in bed."

He placed a steadying hand against the wall to help him stay on his feet and continued, Harry's screams drawing him further down the hall.

"Stupefy," his mother cried out in anguish.

The spell struck him, dropping him to his knees as he struggled in vain to remain conscious - to get to Harry.

<<<<<     >>>>>

The next time he opened his eyes, she was sitting in the chair beside his bed, her eyes red and puffy, her pale face blotchy from crying. He sat up suddenly as his memories solidified, tearing off the covers and making a mad dash for the door.

"Please," she begged brokenly. "You can't save him."

He stopped, turning to stubbornly face her. "I don't care. I'll never stop trying - until my dying breath."

She stood abruptly, closing the distance between them with a heartbroken expression on her face.

"You foolish child," she cried, striking him across the cheek with her dainty hand. "We thought we were saving you when we disowned you, giving you a chance to make your own choices. Why'd you have to go and throw it all away? Why'd you step right back into the fray? You could have lived a life free from all of this."

"Because I love him," he whispered back, choking back a sob as he realized that he'd never told Harry that. He'd said it in other ways, but never just those three simple words - I love you. He'd give anything to have Harry back in his arms, safe and sound. He'd whisper those words until his voice ran out, until forever.

"I know," she sobbed, resting her face against his chest in anguish, her hands desperately clawing at his shirt. "But there's nothing we can do. You have to let him go."

"I can't."

He pushed her away gently and made for the door once more. He heard a rustle of fabric from behind him as his mother turned her wand on him.

"Please don't make me do this," she pleaded, her voice unnaturally strained.

A renewed round of haggard screaming echoed through the manor and he ran for it, chasing after the source. When he was half-way down the hall, her stunning spell hit him, sending him crashing to the floor. He tried desperately to crawl forward, his vision slowly fading out.

<<<<<     >>>>>

The first thing he did when he woke up was try for the door. Unsurprisingly, he found it locked. He pounded and screamed for what felt like hours, but no one came. Occasionally, he'd catch the sound of hiccuping sobs through the door and with renewed vigor he'd scream for his mother to let him out. The sobs would intensify, but still, no one came.

He tried the window and fireplace, tried throwing furniture at them - all to no avail. He was locked tight, unable to escape, unable to get to Harry whose piteous cries haunted him even when he was silent. The silence felt worse somehow - left him wondering if Harry was okay, if he was dead.

When food finally appeared in his room, he threw it against the wall in a rage, fuming at the very notion of it. His stomach protested his decision, but he ignored it, falling backwards into his bed to stare in desolation at the ceiling.

Time lost all meaning, just a blur of days stretching out endlessly to the backdrop of Harry's screaming, his voice always giving out long before the day was through. Sometimes he slept, sometimes he ate, often he did neither.

One day he found some of his old art supplies and lacking paper, had sketched image after image of Harry upon every barren section of wall. When he awoke the next morning it was all gone, his room returned as it always was to pristine condition. He did it again and again with a sense of crazed determination until he no longer had anything left to work with, his pencil just a tiny useless nub that was too small to hold.

On days when he felt up to it, he would trash his room, smashing furniture against walls and doors. He'd break pictures and vases and expensive art pieces. He'd tear the curtains off the window and scream until his voice was hoarse. It would always set itself back as he slept, reminding him that nothing he did was enough, that no matter how hard he tried his efforts were futile.

Most days, he didn't bother leaving his bed, instead choosing to close his eyes and let the sounds of Harry's agony wash over him.

When he could take it no more, he smashed one of the pictures on his wall and retrieved a jagged piece of glass. He pressed it deep into the flesh of his wrist and cut downward, bright red blood pouring down to drip off his fingertips and onto the floor. He watched in fascination as it pooled beneath him, mildly shocked by how much of it there was before he started to finally feel woozy. He stumbled and lost his balance, collapsing to the floor next to the pool of his own blood.

He awoke the next day with only the tiniest bit of a headache, his wrist completely mended, and the blood all gone. Just like everything else in his room, he had been returned to his previous condition overnight.

He tried it several more times with the same effect. He'd never in his life felt so useless, so helpless, so beyond any sense of hope. It was maddening. He felt his sanity slipping as the days became weeks and the weeks became months. There was no escaping his misery.