Only Ash Remains

Chapter 10: Draco POV

Draco limped out into the corridor and listened; all was quiet. Good. He turned back to his room, feeling his left leg ache and lag a bit more than usual. He gritted his teeth. Just a few more steps.

He sighed in relief when he'd closed the door behind himself, lowering his body into the modified wheelchair and tapping it, levitating himself with ease.

He'd not trusted the thing at first, and had ignored it for a few days and then spent a few more running it through every test he could think of. But now he was confident that Potter hadn't been trying to trick him. The chair worked as it should.

He'd rather not have to use it at all, but he needed to check on one of his potions, and there was no way his leg was up to the task of traversing all those stairs.

He navigated cautiously through his door and down the stairs, smiling in relief at the ease and speed with which he covered each flight. They would have each taken him long, painful minutes on his leg alone, even with his cane. On a good night.

Once he'd settled himself behind his bench, he realised just how much energy he'd been expending each night, labouring up and down those stairs. Even though he was in pain, and every movement was more difficult than usual, he felt brimming with energy.

It was enough to make him consider using the chair openly, but he quickly discarded the thought. He'd never allow Potter to see him using it. His dignity couldn't handle it. And, anyway, he wouldn't allow him the satisfaction of knowing his offering was being put to use.

But he would definitely be using it in secret.

He frowned, wondering what strange impulse had driven Potter to offer the chair to him in the first place.

Their bickering had developed an odd undertone too — sometimes, he even though Potter might be amused by it. Fond, even. And some of his insults felt more like teasing, without the barbed sting behind them. But, no. That could never be.

He paused in his chopping, dismayed at the realisation that he was starting to enjoy his regular arguments with Potter. He was even going out of his way to provoke him. In fact, he was horrified to realise that he had been doing it for some time without realising.

He shook his head, trying to shake away the warmer feelings Potter evoked in him now. He could never let himself become fond of Potter. It would break him. The safest thing to do would be to forget any of it had happened. But try as he might, he couldn't force the thoughts of Potter out of his mind.

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As he was winding his way back up the stairs to his rooms he took a detour, almost without meaning to. He found himself in the attic, staring at the trunk where they'd locked the dangerous artefacts. He reached out, as if his hand were no longer obeying his brain, and opened it.

He stared down at the glowing Remembrall look-alike. The one that would make him forget...

He watched his finger come up, reach out hesitantly, as if this were someone else's body. He didn't want to touch it, did he? Didn't want to forget everything. But even as he thought it, he found he wasn't sure. There were so many painful memories locked inside his head. It would almost be a relief to be rid of them all. And it would mean forgetting this strange and dangerous attraction to Potter. He would be free.

He stared into the swirls of red, seeing how there were more colours there than he'd first thought. Streaks of orange and gold twisted through the red. Fiery. Tempting.

He leaned closer. What could it hurt?

Then he jerked back and slammed the lid closed, breathing heavily. He locked the lid with shaking fingers, wrenched himself away from it, pushing the chair so fast it felt for a moment like he was flying.

But he could still feel it as he settled into his bed. Pulsing, up there at the top of the house. Calling him.