EXCHANGE FIC for scarletladyy: "Soul To Soul" (Draco/Tom; R) Title: Soul To Soul Author:orpheus_samhain Recipient:scarletladyy Pairing/Characters: Draco/Tom Rating: R Warnings: AU, dark Words: ~10,000 Summary:Draco has been thrown into his own dungeons. There is only one way out of there: feet first. Disclaimer: The characters belong to JKR. Author's Notes: My heartfelt thanks to Q, M and A for their support, encouragement, beta and bouncing off ideas. Without you it would be impossible. Dear scarletladyy, I'm very sorry it took me so long. I can only hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
Soul To Soul
Draco Malfoy tumbled down the stairs, moaning quietly. The edges of the stone steps renewed his bruises and fractures, but his sore throat wasn't able to emit any louder sound. The hands that had thrown him down here, into his own dungeons, were now bolting the door.
The pain and moaning notwithstanding, Draco felt relief for the first time in a... month maybe. Maybe it was only a week. It had been too long, and he'd lost his faith that it'd ever end. The only thing Draco had been able to think about had been the suffering. He'd wanted it to end, he'd wanted them to stop or kill him finally. He had been able only to distinguish two states: being tormented and being left alone. They had dumped him here, so they wouldn't torture him for a while. Before, they had kept him within reach.
With a final thud, Draco's back hit the bottom of the stairs. He laid his head carefully on the stone floor, not intending to move or change position. He'd heal or die here, right on this spot.
It was a very satisfying decision—his body, mind and soul agreed in equal parts. Having decided on that, Draco could take care of more challenging things, like drawing in a deep breath. A controlled one.
The pain was searing. Had Draco not been prepared for this, he might have fainted. As it was, he simply slowed the intake of air but continued until his lungs were full, and then exhaled carefully. Pain again, but not that strong. He must have broken his ribs, or maybe just pulled his muscles.
Whichever it was, Draco decided he would live. His hands were much more problematic. He didn't quite remember what had happened. Every single bone in his palms seemed to be broken, or at least cracked.
Carefully, Draco put his hands palms-down on his stomach. They were getting hot, causing more pain, and it was no good, no good at all. There was a possibility, quite realistic, that he wouldn't be able to use a wand any more. Draco's stomach churned at the thought. His bones needed a Mediwizard and a proper mending. All he could do here was not move his fingers and hope that it'd be enough.
Despite the pain, despite the cold, hard floor, the boy fell into a shallow sleep.
The fever went up and Draco thrashed, sweating dreadfully, not able to wake up and not able to rest. After a while, for no apparent reason, he calmed down and the sweat vanished. A dream came to him and it wasn't one of his torturers, but of a boy with black hair, who tried to read his mind, learn Draco's secrets.
Draco had enough of those snooping, dark-haired boys in his life. He fought against the intrusion, tried to push him away, but his opponent avoided his hands like a fish in the water. The dark eyes never broke contact with his, and their owner never backed away for more than two steps.
What woke him up was cold—terrible, overwhelming, paralysing cold. His teeth were already chattering, even before he regained consciousness. His muscles spasmed wildly, trying to muster a bit of energy to warm him. Even the stones under his back and air around him were warmer than his own body.
Draco thought briefly about standing up and maybe taking a few steps to improve his circulation, but a mere tension of the muscles told him that it would be impossible. He decided to check on his hands. Lifting them off his stomach, he examined them in the torchlight and tried to wriggle his fingers.
"I wouldn't do it if I were you," came a quiet voice from somewhere behind him.
Draco whimpered in fear. He had believed that he was safe, that the only thing that could happen here was death by starvation. His breath came in short, shallow puffs; he wasn't able to curb his panic. Frozen, he waited for a kick, a blow, a spell that would leave him agonised with pain.
A pair of black shoes appeared in his vision field, and a young man in a black suit knelt down at his side, reaching for his hands. Draco gasped, not knowing if he felt the pain—the fear was overwhelming. Cold, confident but gentle fingers examined his broken ones.
"Pretty awful." The comment lacked compassion, it was merely a statement, but the touch seemed comforting: it wasn't hurtful.
"I'm—I'm not sure I'll be able to use my wand again."
The black eyes, cold and impassive, met Draco's for a short moment. "That's possible."
Draco felt his breath hitch in his throat. "I mean, nothing's set in stone yet. There's a chance that they'll heal well enough."
"Not unless someone will set the bones."
Draco blacked out with pain when the fingers that kept his so tenderly suddenly started to move along his hands, kneading mercilessly, rearranging the shards that had once been bones. When he came to his senses, his hands were between the stranger's palms, and though his fingers still felt cold as stones, Draco could swear that he felt them tingling.
His breath slowed down, and Draco thought about yanking his hands out of the grasp, but fear of more pain kept him still. "Why did you do it?" he rasped.
"Do what? Heal your hands? I think that's what most people would do. A normal reaction would be gratitude, not hysterics like these."
The tingling stopped, and the stranger withdrew his hands, Draco's landing on his stomach again.
The boy stood up and walked away. A thousand different emotions fought in Draco's mind, from suspicion, to elation, to fear. "Don't leave me!"
"Oh, I don't intend to." The firmness in the voice reassured Draco. "This whole nursing exhausted me. I have to recover."
Draco understood exhaustion too well. "Thank you," he muttered before falling asleep.
~*~
"Porridge."
Draco opened his eyes wide.
"Porridge. Eat before it gets cold."
He was shaken out of his disturbing dreams by an image of the boy standing over him with a bowl in his hands. He was terribly cold again, and a meal—any meal—sounded great. Not sure how he should go about it, Draco raised his head a bit and reached for the bowl.
"I don't think so. Your hands haven't healed yet."
With that the boy squatted next to him and put the spoon full of porridge to Draco's mouth. The hunger, previously smothered by pain and fear, awakened the second his nostrils registered the smell. Draco ravenously caught the spoon between his teeth, not letting it go until he was sure he had licked it clean.
The stranger quirked a corner of his mouth in amusement. "All yours." Deliberately, he scooped another spoonful of the greyish goo, his eyes never leaving Draco's frantic face, and slowly put the spoon to his lips again.
Draco cleaned it in one go and opened his mouth for more. The boy didn't even try to hide his smirk now, but Draco didn't care. He was wolfing down the porridge, something he'd hated until now, and it was warm indeed.
When he finished, his stomach was pleasantly heavy, although he wouldn't have said 'no' to another bowl or even five, and his blood seemed to be circulating like mad.
The boy put the bowl aside and reached for Draco's hands. The blond obligingly lifted them. The stranger's touch was as cold as before, and Draco remembered something suddenly.
"I haven't left you any," he mumbled.
The dark eyes shot him a keen glance; the boy then returned to his task. "There's no need. I've fed while you slept."
"Oh, good." The tingling in his hands diverted Draco's attention. His cellmate seemed very focused and didn't take his eyes from their joined hands. After a while, Draco dared to have a good look at him.
Regular features made up a very handsome face. Nicely cut-out eyes were set under a pair of black brows, currently half-hidden under a wavy fringe: strange, old-fashioned hairstyle. It suited him, somehow. Straight nose and angular jaw gave him a decisive look, assured that all those good looks didn't make him feminine. Draco's eyes hung on the lips set in a straight line. He wondered if relaxed they would look fuller.
This thought made him uncomfortable. He squirmed uneasily, and that earned him another glance. Draco averted his eyes.
"That'll do."
With regret, Draco felt that the boy released his hands. He searched for something neutral to say. "You know wandless magic."
"Needs must."
"Have you learned here?"
"More or less."
The evasive answers made Draco look up. The boy was standing next to him with his head bowed. He was very pale and looked tired. This reminded Draco that he, too, was very tired and sleepy. He wanted to say something more, but his eyes started to close of their own accord; the image of the boy standing before him wavered a bit.
"Rest," he whispered.
The boy blurred completely, and Draco fell asleep.
~*~
This time it wasn't the cold alone that woke him. His back hurt from the stones painfully digging into it, and his bladder threatened to explode any second. Peeing where he lay was out of the question, and it was high time to stand up anyway. Not bothering to call his fellow inmate to help him, Draco awkwardly rolled to his side, curled up his knees and levered himself up to a standing position, trying to spare his hands as much as he could. The dungeon whirled around him and he was sure he would faint any moment.
Finding the farthest corner, he propped his forehead against the damp stones and freed his cock. When a thin trickle of urine hit the floor, he groaned in relief. It took eternity to empty his tortured bladder, but the difference was so great that Draco could tell for the first time since the whole misery had fallen on him, that he felt excellent.
Moving with one hand over the wall, he walked around their cell. It had a few nooks and it seemed that in the past they were separate, little cells, rather than one big one.
When he came to the bottom of the stairs where he had lain, he saw his companion sitting against the wall.
"Hi! I didn't notice you here."
"You jumped up like scalded." The boy seemed to hold a grudge against him for that.
Draco looked at him more carefully. He still seemed sleepy and pale, even in the torchlight. Draco sat down next to him, his muscles and joints protesting violently. The boy moved away and Draco made a face.
"Sorry I startled you."
The other wizard merely snorted angrily.
"Thank you for feeding me," Draco continued. "And taking care of my hands. I think they are better now." He stretched them in front of himself and bent his fingers slightly. "What's your name?"
"I can't remember you introducing yourself."
"It's Draco."
"Tom," came the reply after a second's pause.
"I don't remember you from Hogwarts. You went to Hogwarts, didn't you?"
"Long time ago."
Draco laughed. "You're barely older than me. Were you a child prodigy and took your N.E.W.Ts in your first year? Or maybe they expelled you?"
"Some called me this, yes. A prodigy," the stranger answered in an even tone, completely ignoring the other part of the question.
Not able to help his curiosity, Draco asked: "And your surname?"
The reply didn't come immediately.
"Doesn't matter, now. Didn't help me one bit."
Draco pondered. He felt the same way about his own name. It didn't help that he was a Malfoy, that he was in his own house, or that his father was a high-ranked Death Eater. Draco had been tortured and dumped here with his father's blessing.
"Right. Why are you here, anyway?"
The boy's head snapped towards Draco, the light glittering wildly in his eyes, and he hissed, "Someone foolishly thought that I was disposable."
The blond nodded with understanding. The same story. Thoughtfully, he looked straight ahead to the bottom of the stairs and spotted something shimmering dimly on the floor.
"Look! What's that?"
"Where?" Tom asked uninterested, without even turning his head.
Draco didn't want to stand up, but curiosity got the better of him.
"Here," he groaned, getting up. Bending down to pick the item up was also a painful affair. The object turned out to be a locket on a chain, old and covered in dirt, but apparently valuable, judging by the considerable weight.
Draco moved his hand up and down, tried—without success—to open it, and then turned back to look at Tom.
"A locket. I was laying on it all the time."
"Who would have thought?"
Tom's tone was cutting, and Draco decided that he was still cross at him for abruptly standing up and disrupting his sleep. He walked over to his companion and dangled the locket from his fingers.
Tom looked up, brows raised high, and tilted his head. "Why don't you wear it?"
Draco hesitated. "Don't you want it?"
"No."
"What if someone comes here and sees it?"
"Hide it under your robes."
Draco eyed the locket, swinging like a pendulum.
"All right. If you ever want it, just let me know." He put it around his neck, slipped it under his robes and patted it. It was cold and heavy against the skin on his chest.
"I'll be sure to tell you."
The tone was rather sarcastic, but Draco decided to ignore it. He sat down next to Tom.
"I wonder who might have dropped it here. Was there anyone before me?"
"Plenty."
Draco made a face. It had been a stupid question. He knew very well that people landed here quite often, just not all of them made it out. It wasn't a pleasant thought. To distract himself, he delved further. "Who do you think it was? You didn't notice it, so it must have been quite recently."
There was no answer, so he looked sideways.
Tom sat with his head bowed and knees drawn up to his chest. "Maybe it was that crazy man. He shouted that he had something valuable," he muttered after a while.
Draco frowned. He remembered one of the cousins on his mother's side being dragged along the corridor, shouting something like that. And something about the last days of the Dark Lord.
"He's dead now." It was a statement. The Dark Lord didn't have a sense of humour, at least not of this kind.
"As a doornail." There was no emotion in Tom's voice beside the exhaustion. "I have to rest," he said. It sounded vulnerable.
"Me too." Draco slid lower against the wall, then stilled and looked at his curled up, miserable-looking companion. "We could snuggle up together. You know, to preserve body heat."
Tom looked at him, first with disbelief, and then with amusement flickering in his eyes.
Draco blushed, but kept his gaze. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Oh, I didn't either." Tom smiled, and for some reason it sent shivers down Draco's spine.
"Fine." Not able to hold the gaze any longer, Draco lay on his side, turning his back to Tom.
"There's no need to be so feisty." A slender arm wrapped itself around Draco's waist, and he felt a body pressing against his back. And, Merlin, was Tom cold.
Still a bit resentful, Draco was glad that he'd made the suggestion. "I'm not feisty, and you can lie on the other end of the cell, if you prefer," he said moodily, hoping that Tom wouldn't move.
He only snuggled closer, if it was possible, and rubbed his palm against Draco's stomach, up to his chest where he pressed it against the locket. "No. No, I'll stay where I am, thank you."
The blond sighed and decided that sleep brings health and wisdom, while bickering leads nowhere. He closed his eyes, and slumber claimed his sore body.
~*~
Draco woke up cold as ice. He wasn't sure whether he would be able to move his limbs: maybe they would crack like frozen metal. He wanted to call Tom to help him stand, to rub him—anything to get rid of that killing cold. His mouth wouldn't open, though, and he couldn't utter a word.
He tried something else: tried to rock his body to make it fall on his back. Somehow, he managed that.
"Oh, you're awake," came the voice from a distance, cheerful and energetic. The cell echoed with the sound of the steps and Tom's head hovered over Draco. "You don't look well."
Draco could swear his dungeon-mate was pleased with it. He didn't like it one bit, but there was no other choice for him but to ask for help anyway. He tried to open his mouth, but to no avail.
"What? Cold?"
Draco nodded stiffly.
"I'm not surprised." The bastard was smiling. Draco wanted to kill him. "They brought more porridge for you. I think it might cheer you up a bit."
Draco saw a bowl hovering next to the head. He wasn't able to reach for it.
It seemed that pity finally knocked on the bastard's heart, because the head and bowl vanished, and the next thing Draco felt was a sharp pull under his arms. Tom dragged him to a sitting position and seated himself behind him, propping Draco's stiff body against his own.
"Now, let's eat, shall we?"
A spoon landed at Draco's mouth, and it turned out that he did manage to open it. The porridge slid down his throat, and before long the spoon scratched against the bottom of the bowl.
The heat returned to his body, and Draco noticed that the boy behind him was still cold.
"Have you eaten yet?"
"I have. Why?" The words rolled slowly.
"You're cold."
"It's cold in here."
"I've noticed." Draco's tone was rather unamused. "But after that porridge, I feel better."
"Good for you. After your porridge, I don't feel better."
Draco rolled his eyes. Someone was looking for a fight. "I'd have shared with you. You could have asked."
"I know. You're a good boy and you share." Tom squeezed Draco's shoulder with false appreciativeness.
Being patronized infuriated Draco more than anything else. "I share when I choose so. I'll be careful not to offer any more."
The boy behind him chuckled, sending Draco's body into gentle shaking. "If you're aware of it, yes. I'll be careful not to ask."
His companion was excellent at spoiling the mood. Draco pressed his mouth into a thin line of rage and made to stand. Slender arms encircled him immediately, halting him gently but insistently.
"Stay. Isn't it better like this?"
Draco stilled, took a few calming breaths, and leaned back against the other boy. "Rubbing helps," he whispered.
"Yes, a lot."
Draco took it as consent, lifted one of the hands that kept him in place, and tried to rub the cold skin. His own hands were still tender, though, and after much teeth clenching, he gave up. "Never mind."
"Never mind," whispered Tom. "Say, why are you here? Were you one of those simpletons who thought that they could oppose the Dark Lord?"
Draco's breath left him in an dry chuckle. "I'm not that stupid."
Tom stroked Draco's stomach briefly. "Good, because I don't like fools. What earned you a stay here, then?"
Draco dropped his gaze to his knees. "I didn't obey an order."
"Ah, that was not so wise. Was it worth it? You must have known what awaited you for disobedience."
Unconsciously, Draco started to knead the fabric of his robes. "I couldn't," he whispered.
"It must have been very important for you."
"He wanted me to torture my—friend. I couldn't do it."
"By 'he' you mean the Dark Lord, I take it. Very cruel of him." Tom's voice seemed too casual to Draco. "And tell me, what did this friend of yours do to earn this punishment?"
Draco huffed indignantly. "He didn't earn it. He's got a biting tongue, that's all. That's the way he is."
"Or was." Tom's comment was offhand, and Draco felt his jaws clench. This was something he had avoided thinking about until now.
Turning around, he hissed through his teeth, "What are you trying to say?"
Tom merely lifted his brows and answered calmly, "Your friend risked his own life, and yours as well, simply because he couldn't keep his mouth shut, if I understood correctly."
The blond turned to look straight ahead again, leaning forward so not to touch Tom, and muttered under his breath, "He didn't mean it."
"As I said, I don't like fools. They are dangerous." Draco had no reply to that. "And they put you here... Where is it, exactly?"
"Malfoy Manor. It's my home."
Tom laughed an unexpected, shrilly laugh, and the blond turned abruptly to glare at him through narrowed eyes.
"Forgive me, but the thought that you're a prisoner in your own dungeons..."
"Either, you've been here for too long, or you were mad before you landed here." Draco moved to stand up, when Tom grabbed his hand, stopping him.
"Don't you see that it's a dream situation?" The black eyes were boring into his.
"No, I don't." Draco pulled his hand sharply and hissed when it sent a shot of pain up to his shoulder.
Tom wasn't letting him go and said with emphasis, "You know the house, and your family is here. Once the Dark Lord leaves, they'll free you, or at least allow certain... liberties, and what better opportunity to escape?"
Draco snorted. "Brilliant plan. Only it was my father who led the tortures and threw me here. He would never risk his position for his disobedient son." Smirking bitterly, Draco gazed at Tom, noting his evident disappointment.
"You know the house," Tom repeated slowly. "The food appears here, so Apparition is possible—"
"Only for the house-elves," Draco cut this train of thought with the twisted satisfaction of a person who already knew that there were no chances.
"So we should cause an uproar here, lure someone—"
"How? Do you intend to shout? Spare your throat; nobody will hear."
Tom's black eyes didn't leave Draco's face. "What if someone died here? You, for example. They would certainly venture down for your body." The blond shifted nervously and Tom raised his brows. "We could pretend that you're dead," he finished slowly.
"Why don't you play dead, huh? Who says it has to be me?"
"Who would care about my dead body? There'll be much more fuss over yours."
The abrupt change from the speculations to the straightforward statement shocked Draco. For a moment, in his mind's eye, he saw himself: chalk-white and indifferent, on a catafalque in the middle of the parlour, his relatives passing by his open coffin, saying their last goodbyes; his mother weeping in the corner, supported by the other mourners who would pat her sympathetically on the hands; his father tall, stone-faced and as adamant as always. Then, they would cover him with a heavy lid and put him in the catacombs to rot peacefully among the generations of Malfoys.
Draco shook his head violently.
"How am I going to pretend that I'm dead? They are not stupid. They would notice at once, and then I would be in trouble."
"You are in trouble." Tom smirked. "How? As convincingly as it's possible."
"It's not possible, that's the point! Besides, how would that help us escape? They, providing that there will be a 'they', and not a house-elf, would have wands, and there are several security enchantments on the way up, and I don't know them—"
"Leave it to me," said Tom calmly.
Draco froze with his breath caught, then spoke while exhaling.
"Rrright... I still don't see how my body being carried away from here, or being Apparated, for that matter, would fit into your plan. Do you think they'll ask you for help? You're going to wait until they have their backs turned to you and then pounce on them, or what?"
"Or what."
The hood of Draco's robes slid on his head, over his forehead until it covered all his face. When Draco reached up to remove it, the fabric tightened around his face, making breathing difficult. Panicking, he started to fight in earnest when he felt he was losing his footing. He was being lifted by the hood caught under his chin. He hung helplessly in mid-air, motionless and waiting.
After a few seconds, his toes touched the floor and he landed safely. With one jerky movement, he threw the hood off his face and caught his breath, staring wide-eyed at the smirking Tom, who said, "Do I have to pounce? All I need is someone getting down here."
"I'm not sure if it's not a house-elf who—" Draco swallowed, "removes the dead. Just like the empty bowls."
"You live here and you don't know?"
The incredulity and condemnation in Tom's voice couldn't be more obvious, yet Draco only muttered, "I wasn't curious," under his breath. "I don't think my father would make an exception for me."
After a brief staring contest, Tom unexpectedly lowered his gaze and said quietly, as if to himself, "So it seems that this plan is infeasible. I shall have to think of something else."
"Think hard, prodigy. No one has ever escaped from here. Feet first, it's the only way!"
Tom looked up at him with eyes like two voids. "You said your boyfriend had a biting tongue, and look where it brought the both of you. Haven't you learned anything?"
Draco felt an acute need to put some distance between himself and the other wizard. He moved to sit on the opposite end of the cell.
"All I meant was that there's no way of escaping from here. We could only land ourselves in worse trouble," he said, feeling ill at ease with his companion.
"Thank you very much for your word of advice. I shall take it into consideration."
Draco curled on his side, wrapping himself in his robes as best he could. Falling asleep wasn't as easy as it used to be.
~*~
The cold wasn't any more bearable simply because it was familiar by now. Draco tried to suppress the trembling, but his body was past any limits of resistance. He opened his eyes and for a moment forgot about his predicament. What he saw took his speech. Tom was standing with his back against the wall, pushing against it with all he was worth. The effort and concentration was evident on his face and in his tense posture.
Tom's cloaked warning about a biting tongue still rang in Draco's ears, but he couldn't stop himself.
"C-c-considering that we're t-t-ten feet underground, you'll need some help to push those walls."
Tom snapped his head up, his hair tousling over his forehead, and Draco gasped as the torchlight reflected red in his eyes. Detaching from the wall in something that looked like a charge to Draco, Tom was on him in three swift steps. The blond scrambled to his feet hastily, despite the paralysing cold.
"You might, in fact, help me a lot." Tom's nose was almost touching Draco's, the taller boy bending over him menacingly.
"Ah," Draco stammered out, startled by the murderous look in Tom's eyes. "Sorry. I—Sorry!"
"Oh, not at all." Tom revealed his white teeth in a predatory smile. "I'll gladly accept your assistance."
"What—What do you need my help with?" Draco tried to sound collected, and at the same time surreptitiously move away. He successfully took one step to the side.
"I need you to tell me more about the Manor."
The second and third step were equally easy. "Sure. Um... What would you like to know?" The fourth one—
"Where are you going?" Tom asked softly, following Draco with his eyes. The blond snapped his head up, meeting Tom's challenging gaze. He didn't realise that he had bent his head down like a guilty child.
"I—I wanted to sit down. So we could talk comfortably." Draco took a few more steps away and sat down.
"You're right," Tom agreed unexpectedly and sat down right where he stood, propping his back against the wall.
"What would you like to know?"
Tom shook his head. "Ah, we won't be talking like that. First, come here." He patted the floor next to him. "Preserve body heat, remember?"
Draco didn't obey at once, but finally got up and walked to Tom. He made to sit down next to the other boy, but when he was about to hit the floor, Tom snatched him around the waist and sat the blond between his legs.
Draco stifled a cry of surprise and tried to keep a straight face. He turned his head slightly, risking a sideways glance at the other wizard. The first thing that met his eyes was Tom's chin, decidedly outlined against the torchlight, and when his gaze travelled a bit higher—parted lips. This sight quickened Draco's breath. The lips curved up in amusement.
"Snuggle up," they said, and Draco was pulled back, until he felt Tom's chest against his back. "So. Tell me how a usual day looks like at Malfoy Manor."
The gust of air woken by his words moved Draco's hair, tickling his ear. He could only focus on one thing: imagining those lush lips pronouncing the words. It was disconcerting to talk to someone he couldn't see, and Draco's other senses heightened.
"Um... The usual day... Uh... When the Dark Lord is here, we pretty much spend the whole day around him, unless he sends us away. When he's not here, we have a bit of time to ourselves. We can meet with other people, not invited by him..."
"You didn't enjoy the company?" Another breath tickled Draco's ear. He rubbed it against his shoulder to get rid of the sensation. Tom shifted and adjusted Draco. "Go on. You can meet other people. Does it include that Blaise of yours? Or does he live here?"
Draco stiffened and demanded after a pause, "How do you know his name?"
"You talk in your sleep," Tom answered calmly.
Draco's forehead furrowed. The tortures, the fever, his fears... "Maybe," he muttered.
Silence reigned, and after a while, Tom's thumb started to draw lazy circles over Draco's stomach.
Suddenly, their closeness took on a completely different meaning. Draco tensed up again. "What are you doing?"
Tom chuckled. "You mean this?" He parted Draco's hair with his nose. "Or this?" He drew back and his thumb resumed the circles.
"I said I don't mean it like this!"
"Don't you like it?" Tom leaned closer until his forehead rested against the back of Draco's head.
"No."
"And I say you were quite relaxed until you started to think."
Moving slightly aside, Draco stammered: "What do you want from me?"
Tom stilled and didn't speak for a while. Then, he pushed Draco away.
"Fine. Stand up." His tone was crisp.
Draco turned around to look at him.
"Get up. Quick." Tom shoved him again.
Draco slowly stood up and walked to another corner of their cell, his back turned to Tom. He crammed his hands into his pockets and frowned. He didn't hear Tom move. The torches sizzled in the otherwise deadly quiet dungeon.
Opening his mouth, he frowned some more.
"It's not like I—It's not like I wouldn't want to, just—You could be anyone." Draco turned to his companion, his hands still in his pockets. "I don't know you."
Clearly bored, Tom stared at the wall. "I believe we introduced each other. What do you need, letters of credence?"
Draco didn't rise to the bait. It was important, and he wasn't sure if he was making a mistake by even mentioning this. He lowered his gaze and moved the tip of his shoe over a protruding stone in the floor.
"You could have been sent by my father, for example."
Tom snorted. "What for? To encourage you with my irresistible charm to mind your parents? I don't think so."
Draco looked up. "Why not? To earn my confidence would be enough."
Tom tilted his head and lifted one corner of his mouth in a jeering smile.
"Are you that trusting, Draco?" His name out of Tom's mouth sounded startlingly, even if it was pronounced with mocking care. "Do you think that after a few kisses or even groping in this lovely surroundings, you would walk after me and obey me if I had said 'Do what your father says'?"
"No, but you could always try." Draco half-smiled. Voiced, his fears sounded rather silly.
Tom sat silent for a while, then stood up and walked over to him.
Draco fixed his eyes on the wall on the opposite side of the cell. He didn't know what to do and didn't want to spoil what was coming... What he thought was coming...
Tom's fingers, cold as always, touched his cheek and travelled downward to his jaw.
Draco breathed deeply: one slow intake, followed by an exhalation, followed by an intake...
"You were calling out quite a few names, actually..." Tom bent over Draco, propping himself with one hand against the wall. His nose parted Draco's hair. Draco wasn't even curious whose names they were. He only waited for a—
Cold breath enfolded his ear. Draco started, ducked under Tom's arm and hastily took a few steps away. He stopped in the middle of the cell, eyes wide with terror and his mouth open.
Tom didn't move, apart from turning his head. He stared at Draco in silence, still leaning against the wall.
"You!" Draco gasped finally. "You're not—You're not—" He wasn't able to finish the sentence. "Who are you?" It came out in a strained whisper.
Tom straightened up and twisted his lips in a wry smile. "Who do you think I am?"
Draco took a few more steps backwards. "You're not alive!"
Tom shook his head, never taking his eyes from Draco. "And here I thought you were smart. How many 'not alive' people have you seen walking, talking, taking care of you...?"
"You won't fool me! You're always cold; you don't eat."
"I assumed you'd have noticed that this is not the warmest place on earth—"
"Oh, yeah, you've said so before, only, you know," Draco's eyes narrowed into slits, and he bent at the waist to have a better look at Tom, "your breath is cold as ice," he rasped in a low voice. The dark-eyed boy stared at him in silence, and Draco couldn't stand the tension. "What living... creature, do you think, might have cold breath?"
Tom's brow quirked up. "A vampire?" He fed Draco an answer.
The blond looked at the other's mouth, then began to pat his neck feverishly.
Tom laughed a high-pitched laugh. "An Inferi?"
Draco stilled.
"Only Inferi are not alive and they look quite different. What sort of mark did you get in Defence Against the Dark Arts? Abysmal, I'm sure." Tom shifted his weight to the other leg, and Draco moved farther away. "All right. Since the dreadful word has been said... I am not alive in the sense of the word you might think of." Draco clung to his words. "But I'm not dead, either. I am merely in need of a body. A nice, suitable body that will allow me to act..." He eyed Draco carefully. "You see, I am very limited, as it is now, and I have a score to settle."
Trust was miles away from Draco at that moment.
"You have a body," he said in a low voice.
"This?" Tom raised his hand and turned it this way and that. "It's only temporary, and not self-sufficient. An illusion, if you will, albeit an excellent one, the keeping of which costs me a lot. Me, and as a result, you." His hand dropped to his side.
Draco continued to watch Tom with apprehension, his brows furrowed. Not even a flicker of understanding dawned in his eyes.
Tom sighed. "Maybe a demonstration would be in place." His silhouette frayed at the edges, wavered a little and then the dungeon's wall was visible through his body.
The other boy felt a surge of heat and gasped. "You did this before! I saw you! I thought that it was me being exhausted and seeing things!"
"You thought. That's the problem with you."
"What are you?"
"Me? A memory. Someone's past and future, showing up unexpectedly, soon-to-be a nightmare."
"Surely my nightmare," Draco muttered. "It was you in my dreams," he stated without surprise.
"I won't pester you any more. There won't be need for it, will it? You will tell me everything I need to know."
Draco was brought back to reality. He lowered his gaze and whispered, "Yes."
"Good." Tom, still transparent, moved swiftly to the other end of their cell.
Draco watched him with a strange expression on his face. "Are you going to walk like this?"
Looking over his shoulder, Tom smiled sardonically.
"I think you should be most concerned if I wouldn't. You see, it's your energy that allows me to assume the solid form, and this one as well, even if this one requires far less from you. Haven't you felt exhausted, haven't you been cold all the time?"
Pressing his lips together to stifle the reply that first came to his mind, the blond took a few calming breaths before asking.
"You've fed while I slept, huh? I have been tortured and injured, I needed all the strength to heal, and you robbed me of it. Why did you even show up?"
"I needed to mend your body. A wizard who cannot use his wand would be worthless."
Being referred to as a 'body' did nothing to encourage the trust.
"And what did you need my—Oh!" A completely girlish cry escaped his mouth, but he couldn't care less at the moment. He swayed on his feet and quickly propped himself against the wall.
"Don't overdramatise it. What would you have done without my help? You needed your body in good shape as much as I did."
"You thought you could use me."
"We would both benefit from it."
"I fail to see how."
"You'd let me use your body and I'd help you get away from here."
Draco laughed hysterically. "You thought I could lead you out of here? Whoever told you that I am ever getting out of here? Do you think I was thrown in here because I was in good favour with them?"
"Typical. Just because you can't draw conclusions, you think I can't either." Tom stood up and walked to Draco, who moved back until his shoulder blades hit the wall. "You," Tom adjusted Draco's robes, and smoothed them, "happen to know the Manor, and the current going-ons. I'm—" he dropped his gaze for a moment, "I've been a bit out of the loop recently." He smirked and put his palm to Draco's cheek. "You could be my guide."
They stood opposite each other, eyeing each other carefully.
"You're thinking again, Draco."
Draco lowered his gaze, before mustering his courage and snapping "If you're a ghost, why don't you simply walk through the wall and be gone from here?"
Impatient, Tom moved away. "Ah, no, not that again. I would have if I could. Did I say that I'm a ghost? No. That's what I need your help for."
"To become a ghost."
"You could say that."
Draco clapped his hands and exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, "Brilliant plan, count me in!"
Tom pivoted on his heels and his eyes flashed red. He raised his arm, and suddenly Draco felt his collar tighten around his neck, digging into his flesh and cutting off his breath. He scrambled with his hands to tear the cloth from his wind pipe, but to no avail. The air didn't have access to his lungs and blood couldn't drain from his head, making his face swell and redden. Despite his mouth wide open, only a gurgle left his throat. The dungeons vanished from before his eyes, giving way to darkness speckled with tiny, golden sparkles. He could hear his heart desperately pumping blood.
Right when all senses failed him, the pressure on his throat ceased, and he slumped to his knees. Propping himself with one hand against the floor, he massaged his throat, desperately gasping for air.
"That was your final warning." Tom waited motionless until Draco's breath returned to normal and his face regained its usual paleness. "Can we talk now? I have an offer to make and I think you're in no position to refuse."
Draco nodded shakily.
"Splendid. What I have is knowledge of how to force substance through a solid barrier. What you have is the strength for me to do so. Together—after a bit of preparation—we can get out of here with no one any wiser."
"Do you really know how to walk through walls?" Draco carefully left any offensive notes out of his voice.
"Yes, I do." To Draco's relief, Tom seemed calm. "And you would, too, had you been studying carefully. It's all in the books."
A frown appeared between Draco's brows. "They didn't teach anything of the sorts at Hogwarts. I know very well what was in the textbooks—"
"Transfiguration: the theory of the matter according to Pacey Punsunby—"
"You mean that ghost who tried to talk the living wizards into disregarding the doors?"
"The very same."
"Only, you know, he was a ghost. He could walk through the barriers all he wanted."
"Maybe it gave him the opportunity to study the subject closer, from the inside, so to speak..."
"He was given as an example of failed studies."
"And you believed without checking."
"Many have checked before me."
"Who?"
Draco was getting impatient.
"I don't know who. Someone must have checked it if they put it in the books."
"I've always wondered if it's ignorance or laziness."
Draco clenched his teeth, but remained silent.
Tom smirked. "The other clue was in you Charms textbook, fifth year. But let's not waste time on things you don't understand."
"Let's," Draco muttered under his breath.
"I need you. I need to accumulate enough energy to overcome the matter's resistance. As you've seen earlier, what I have now isn't even enough to sink my hand in."
"If you've almost killed me to gain the energy, and it's still not enough..."
"Oh, don't worry about this. I will assume a less... demanding form." Tom walked to him and rapped his index finger against the locket under Draco's robes. "I will stay here and you will eat your porridge, and everything will be as it should."
"Here? What exactly does it mean?" Draco asked very slowly.
"It means that when I'm there, it doesn't cost you a thing."
Draco's lower jaw moved forward, and his expression became thunderous. He started to speak slowly, the nerve going under his eye. "'Look! There's a locket!' 'Where, oh, where?'" he assumed a mocking surprised voice. "'A locket? Who would have thought? Why don't you wear it?'" He stopped abruptly, and then spat, "You were oh-so-generous. And to think that all it would have taken, would be for me to throw it away!"
"I was generous. I offered you a choice. And if you hadn't worn it, all would have ended for you right then and there."
Draco was silent, trying to collect his thoughts. "You wanted to kill me?" he said faintly after a while.
"I needed your body. I didn't need you to interfere. I needed to remove you from it. Those who cannot think wider call it killing, yes."
Draco parroted Tom in disbelief. "Cannot think wider?"
Tom took a few brisk steps away from Draco, crossing his arms at the wrists behind his back.
"We won't be discussing the ethics here. It's a matter of perspective, nothing more. What you need to know and what is important to you now, is that I don't intend to kill you any more."
"Not any more?" Draco snorted. He was bordering on panic. "Do you think I believe you?"
"I think you don't, but I think you better. That way we can both escape from here."
Draco looked around as if looking for witnesses to his cellmate's madness, before speaking to Tom again.
"You're basically saying that you wanted to kill me to escape from here, and because you decided that you need me alive to do that, I'm staying alive. For now." The last phrase was pronounced very hard, without Draco's usual wavering.
Tom regarded him for a moment. "Maybe I made a mistake."
Draco's heart skipped a beat. "No—"
"Maybe I should have considered other choices from the beginning."
Draco breathed again.
"There are a few things we have to clear up, before we begin our undertaking. I hope it will ease your mind and allow you to focus on important matters. I don't enjoy killing. I am not looking for another victim; this is not my goal. My goal is to get out from here and—well, pay off debts, so to speak. And you will only benefit from it. You won't rot here, and our goals coincide in many points, I dare say."
"I don't believe you."
"I can't offer you anything more."
Draco's head whirled. He tried to think reasonably. To refuse meant to outright reject the possibility of getting out, of at least listening to Tom's ideas—for Draco had none—and of an alliance, however fragile. Open hostility, here, in this enclosed space, when it was Tom who had the advantage of his magic and state, was suicidal. Unfortunately, the idea of accepting didn't seem appealing, either.
He looked at his feet to not betray his thoughts. "I agree. I just need to know the plan. I don't want to be a marionette and might be able to help. I know the Manor and the customs here. Without this knowledge, it would be harder."
Tom turned fully to him on that and smiled. "I knew you would see reason. It's the only way. I know how, and you can help yourself by helping me. Isn't it the best solution?"
"The best solution is relative. You didn't mention one thing: how am I going to get out of here." Draco put his hands to his very material chest. "It leaves me behind."
Tom smiled. "I have no intention of leaving you behind. But, as with all plans, the most important part is to set it in motion. Why not start now?"
With that, Tom's half-transparent form changed into smoke. It whirled and soared towards Draco, who involuntarily took a step back. The wisp slid under his robes and for a brief second Draco felt the locket burning his skin.
Draco stared in disbelief at the empty dungeon. Being alone here was as disconcerting as Tom's volatile presence.
~*~
The first thing Draco noticed when he woke up was the bowl of porridge sitting on the floor. Still warm and lazy from the undisturbed sleep, he reached for it and ate all. Turning on his side, he tapped the locket and said, "You lied to me, you know. After my porridge, you do feel better."
There was no answer, and after a while Draco dozed off, luxuriating in the warmth and the sensation of the full stomach. When he opened his eyes again, he started to study the walls. There was no reason to stand up.
"You know, the dungeons were initially next to the Manor. It was much smaller back then. Later, when it expanded, one wing was built over them." Tom didn't respond, and Draco thought that he wasn't interested in the history.
The return of heat wasn't something Draco was going to complain about, his solitude and boredom, however, were hard to bear. Tom was strangely benign and didn't enter his dreams, as he had promised.
"You know, I think we should talk." Draco's voice was very firm, even if he didn't expect Tom to reply. To his surprise, Tom did.
What about? A faint voice sounded in his head.
Momentarily confused, Draco answered, "Your plan. You could explain that theory to me."
I thought we were going to spare your energy. That was the plan.
"You could show up for a while. Transparent, that wouldn't cost me all that much."
Tom remained silent and Draco occupied his time with counting the stones and measuring the cell with steps.
Eventually, the voice sounded again. That way madness lies...
"You mean hearing voices or walking through the walls?"
The locket burned briefly and Draco smiled smugly.
Much later, when Draco was already falling asleep, Tom's voice echoed in his foggy mind again.
Have you ever killed anyone?
Draco sat up, spluttering, "What! Are you mad? Of course not!" He sat still waiting for an explanation for that bizarre question, but Tom didn't speak any more. "Why did you ask me that? You!" He rapped the locket, and when it didn't have the desired effect, he fished it out from under his robes and tried to open it. The locket remained silent and inaccessible. Draco felt the need to announce aloud, "I didn't kill anyone."
Good to know. Tom's voice sounded as if he was dozing off.
Still frowning, Draco lay on his side, calmed a bit. "Was it your kind of a bedtime story?" He didn't wait for a reply, and indeed, there was none.
~*~
Porridge. You were supposed to eat. Get up!
Draco was miles away from the grim dungeons when Tom's voice brought him back to reality. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of his daily muck. The boy groaned with exasperation and rolled onto his other side.
Don't waste it. You must eat it when it's warm. Get up and eat.
"You sound frighteningly like Dobby. 'Master must eat his porridge. Mistress Narcissa will punish Dobby—' Ouch! Ouchouchouch!"
Draco jumped up, forgetting his sleepiness, and grabbed desperately at his robes, trying to drive the locket away from his skin. The burning sensation stopped after a few seconds, and Draco said hastily, "All right, all right, I was going to eat it."
Now.
The porridge was growing in his mouth, he could hardly swallow it. Putting the empty bowl aside, he asked moodily, "When do we leave here? I don't want to eat this shite ever again."
Soon.
"What do you mean by 'soon'? How many more gruels will I have to eat?"
A few.
"Can't you be more specific? Please, say no more than three."
We're not ready yet. We need more time.
"More time? I'm bored out of my mind. Can't we talk at least?"
"I think we can more than just talk."
The wisp of smoke emerged from under Draco's robes, and Tom materialised in front of him. Draco was truly glad of it. The fact that Tom's expression could only be described as hungry wasn't bothering him at all. He felt the same kind of appetite, which had the wondrous property that it could be sated only with another who was craving.
Hairs stood up at the nape of his neck when Tom's cold fingers glided across his cheek. They took hold of his chin and tilted his face up. The blond tried to steady his breath, to not seem so desperate, but Tom's face was getting closer, and the anticipation of those lips he had dreamed of before took all conscious thought away from him. When they touched his, already parted, they were cold, but soft nonetheless.
The sigh that escaped Draco was instantly swallowed by Tom, who deepened the kiss. Draco gave in, dizzy from Tom's fierceness. He wished he had a wall behind him to lean against; his legs were threatening to give way any second. He clutched Tom by the lapels, and that earned him hands grabbing his arse, and a leg shoved against his cock. Draco ground against it desperately, his climax building up at breathtaking speed. He didn't feel the release for so long that he couldn't think of anything else but their joining. Tom was smothering him with his ravenous kisses, yet Draco still couldn't get enough. Everything inside him was tightened to the extreme, begging for the release. When he thought he wouldn't be able to take it any more, something inside him snapped and his violent release left him totally exhausted, limp and feeling empty.
He sagged against Tom, who lowered him to the floor, whispering "That's a good boy."
With disgust, Draco felt his sperm cooling quickly against the skin of his crotch. "As if I wasn't dirty enough," he muttered.
Tom slid his hand into his underpants and smeared his fingers in the ooze. With a silent spell it all vanished, leaving Draco's skin clean.
"Thanks." Draco was still giddy from the intense sensation. He could swear that it's never been like this. On the other hand, the circumstances had never been like this. He reached out to touch Tom. "You didn't come."
"No, it can wait." He moved Draco's hand away. "How do you feel?" His eyes were searching Draco's.
"Aren't we smug?" Draco chuckled. "A bit weak, if you must know. I'll stay like that for a while."
Tom lay behind Draco, resting his palm against blond's chest.
Draco couldn't stand the silence.
"What did you do after Hogwarts?"
"Travelled." Tom's voice was barely over a whisper, but it suited Draco's mood perfectly.
"Where?"
"Around the world."
"Was it interesting?"
"Very. You know," Tom glided his finger along Draco's jaw, and the blond turned his head as much as he could to look at him, "I came across a tribe which members never kissed anyone on the lips, in fear that someone could suck out their soul."
Looking at Tom's lips, Draco laughed. "They didn't want you to kiss them? Primitives!"
"Yes, they were primitive. They didn't realise that only a shattered soul would come out easily. If it's whole, it would have taken a powerful wizard to remove it."
"I bet they treated you to more blubbering like this."
"Oh, yes. And what stories they were. No one would believe."
"I certainly wouldn't," Draco stretched lazily. "I think I'm falling asleep."
"That'll be best. I won't tire you any more."
Draco chuckled again. "I don't mind, just not now."
Tom dissolved into thin air, and Draco felt the locket heat up faintly—it stayed like that until the boy started to breathe evenly.
~*~
Your last meal, sounded in Draco's head, and when the meaning of the words broke through the fog in his mind, Draco jumped up immediately.
"You're not joking?"
No, I'm dead serious. Eat your porridge.
The enthusiasm with which Draco devoured the entire bowl could only be compared to that of the beginning of his stay here.
"Done!" The vessel clattered on the floor.
Great. We have some time to kill...
The locket was still warm against Draco's chest, and that reminded him of the previous day. "Are you going to... stay there, or..."
Tom appeared before Draco. "No, there's no need any more. I believe it's my turn today."
Draco wasn't about to argue. He only wanted to do it in a more comfortable position, but Tom beat him to it. He pushed Draco until his back touched the wall. Draco had already fisted the fabric of his suit. When Tom's mouth descended on him, it was harsher than yesterday, more insistent, unyielding. Draco met him head on, enjoying the weight of the body pressing him to the wall. He could already feel the hardness of Tom's cock pressing into his thigh and he spread his legs farther apart. Tom instantly took advantage of this, and Draco was pinned to the wall like a butterfly to a cork board. Only his arms remained free, and he wrapped them around Tom's shoulders, gliding his palms against the cold skin of his neck and the slick hair.
Tom was rubbing against him with increasing urgency, and Draco couldn't stifle a moan. Somewhere deep inside, he could feel Tom's arousal and need, and it turned him on more than anything else. The lack of oxygen made itself felt; Tom was sucking the breath out from him. He jerked his head to the side, breaking the kiss.
"I need some air," he gasped.
"Not any more."
Tom caught his lips again, and put two fingers to his wind pipe. Tom's hips started to move frantically against Draco's thigh. With mounting horror, Draco felt the air shut from his lungs, and the orange glow of the torchlights dimmed before his eyes. He wanted to protest, but only a strained groan escaped his throat. He tried to shove Tom away, but there was no room between them. He tried to drag him away by his hair. He flailed his arms around, searching for the purchase, but there was nothing that could help him.
Familiar golden specks began to float before his eyes, and as his senses faded, Draco felt Tom spilling against his leg. What was worse, he felt his own release.
His legs kicked helplessly one last time and Draco stilled. Tom waited, panting, until he was sure there was no return. He broke contact and the heavy, lifeless body slumped to the floor.
After a while, Tom's silhouette became transparent. "Are you ready?" he directed his question to the empty cell.
Draco's body seemed to wriggle on the floor, but then it was obvious that the body remained motionless, and something like Draco's shadow sat up, disoriented. The transparent Draco looked around and spotted the body: eyes popping out of the head, terror still visible on the features, mouth open in a silent cry. Draco flung himself at the body, but managed to grasp only air as his hands passed through it. A moan ripped from his throat, and he turned accusing eyes to Tom, who was waiting wordlessly.
"Murderer!" Draco shouted. "You murderer! You killed me, you liar!"
He lunged at Tom, but passed right through him. Confused, he turned around.
"Are you quite finished?" Tom asked calmly. "You can't see past your narrow beliefs, can you? Do you need to stay here, pacing from wall to wall and eating porridge every day to feel alive?"
"You won't fool me again with that talk! That is my body lying there!"
"To continue this childish recital: yes, that is your body, but this," Tom's finger pointed at the immaterial Draco, "is your soul. Which one is more important?"
"I didn't want to die!" Draco sobbed, slumping to his knees.
Tom twisted his lips with annoyance. "You were right in one thing. Feet first is the only way from here. You were getting weak on that steady diet of milk and oat, even if you didn't notice it yet, and I with you. We cannot stay for much longer. There's no possibility to gather enough strength to take your body. What choice did you have, anyway? You would have died regardless—soon, and I guarantee: in a much more unpleasant way. Would you really like to come back to the tortures?" The black brows rose in challenge. "Besides, you didn't die. You're still here, all you need is another body."
"You say that as if they were lying along the roads, ready to pick up. You have to kill someone to get one. I don't want another. I want this one!" Draco's voice rose with every word.
"Inferi are very useful in certain circumstances, but I'm not going to drag one out of here."
The hard-hearted comment made Draco look at the motionless form clad in the frayed robes, and he swallowed hard. "You know many things, please, tell me how to come back to my body. There must be a way." Draco's voice took on a pleading note, and he raised his eyes to Tom.
The other wizard shook his head. "None. All ties have been severed. We don't have much time. I have to take care of several things, preferably before anyone notices what happened and starts to wonder how."
Draco's face contorted into a stubborn grimace.
"You won't make me come with you. I'm staying here."
"If I recall correctly you were very anxious I'd leave you behind. When I don't, you refuse to come with me. Is there any logic to your behaviour? As for your staying here…" Tom's finger sunk into Draco's face where his lips were. Despite having no body Draco could swear that he felt them warm up. "It's too late for this decision. I've already ensured that you'll follow me. When you so foolishly gave yourself to me, our souls became bound." Draco opened his mouth to interject, but Tom didn't let him speak. "Otherwise, it would have fled the moment it left your body. Don't make me force you. You might have no body, but it won't be any less unpleasant. I do have more means that you'll ever know."
When Draco still didn't move, Tom added, "Think of it this way: in a moment you'll be outside and you'll have several possibilities available. Here, you have none. And when I'll be attending my business, you could always pay a visit to your father to give him your regards."
With that Tom turned around and walked to the wall. Draco found it very difficult to stay away from him. He suddenly thought about the sun and fresh air, about his mother. Casting one more glance around the dungeons and at his body, Draco came up to Tom. The fact that he could see through his face didn't seem so disconcerting any more.
Tom took one step forward and the boys merged before sinking into the wall.