The Heart Of Your Sins
Title: The Heart Of Your Sins
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Morag MacDougal/Draco Malfoy
Rating: R
Warnings: Het, angst, character death, suicide
Summary: Draco leaves Morag because he thinks it will protect her.
Notes: For hp_100songs and 50_darkfics. Many thanks to hecticity for helping me and putting up with my angst.
Prompt: Autumn To Ashes~Autumn's Monologue (#68), Forsaken (#69)
"I don't understand!" Morag declared as she watched Draco Malfoy pack his things, perched on her bed, their bed, tears beginning to fall from her eyes as an old ripped shirt, one that she had ripped in a fit of what could only be called passion or lust, carelessly fluttered to the floor, left unheeded by it's owner like some dying butterfly, unworthy of his notice. "Why? What have I done, Fire, please, tell me!"
Draco looked away, straightening one of his incredibly expensive imported silk shirts so they wouldn't crease, unable to look at her like this, not when she was crying and calling him that. She was better off without him, and if she saw through him as plainly as she always did he could never leave her, never give her what she needed, what she wanted. "It's not anything you've done, MacDougal." He said gruffly, barely able to hear his words over the sound of his heart breaking. "You're just not enough for me."
A strangled sob stopped in her throat, feeling as if she had just been hit with the most painful curse she could ever imagine, one that made the Cruciatus seem like a tickling charm. "Stay." She said weakly, pitching to the side so bad as she shook that she might fall from the bed. "Please, Fire, stay with me. Have anyone else, fuck them in our bed for all I care, but, please, just stay with me. Don't leave me like this." Morag was inwardly cursing herself now, for turning into some swooning, pining, begging girl that she had sworn she would never be. She relaxed slightly as the familiar arms wrapped around her and looked up through eyes that were hazy with tears. "I need you, please..."
Draco reached out to grab her as she very nearly fell off the bed, moving her gently further in so that she wouldn't harm herself, forcing his expression hard and stoic as she looked up at him, her offer making him die inside s little, furthered only by the pain on her face. No, he couldn't. This was for the best, this was for her. She thought she needed him like he needed her, but she didn't know what loving him could cost her. "Be that as it may, MacDougal." he said, his voice unintentionally harsh. "I don't need you." I can't let myself...
Oh, Why cant I be what you need
A new improved version of me
But i'm nothing so good
No I'm nothing
Morag had an image of what she would look like as he left her, stoic, calm, unfeeling, but she had never been so wrong in her life--except for maybe, once, so long ago, when she promised that she could never love him, could never get so attached. Instead, she was a crying, pale, emotional mess, her hair wild behind her except for the pieces that fell in her face only to darken with the bitter water of her tears. "please..." She said again, quite certain now that she had said please more now today then ever before. "Please," She didn't know what to say, how to put her need into words.
"Once more, Fire, just once more, lo...fuck me once more, just take me once more, and I'll say not another word." She was almost sure that she was lying, but she'd say anything, do anything, at this point to prove it all and perhaps she could be more convincing with actions then words. "Then you can think nothing more about this pile of bones, violence and blood never again. Certainly you ow me that, at least?"
Draco was facing the door as she spoke, hands clutching so tightly around his bag that his knuckles were white. He so badly wanted to turn around, to correct her, say she was right the first time, that he loved her, take her in his arms and hold her until her shaking stopped and he could kiss away the unnecessary tears, but he held fast. He was putting her at risk, and it would be far easier for her in the long run to be hurt now, emotionally, then to lose her precious life because of him. "I owe you nothing." he snarled, "And don't call me Fire." He'd never be able to let go if he held her now, even if he did nothing more than hold her.
Morag walked up behind him and slipped something into his free hand, biting his pulse harshly until she tasted blood, her tears streaming down his neck into his robes, and she was sure, making the wound sting. Before she could say anything more, before he could break her further, she let out another stifled sob and did yet another thing she swore she never would, she ran from him.
Draco stood there a few moments longer, listening to her footsteps recede, his neck burning harshly from where her teeth had been moments before, from where her teeth had been so often. Carefully, he opened his hand, looking to see what she had left him, blinking back tears viciously as he stared at the bone hilt of her knife, the one she was never without, the one she carried over her heart, the one still warm from being nestled between her breasts lay perched in his hand. He laid it gently down on the counter, before opening the door, stepping out and slamming it behind him. He couldn't take her with him like that, his heart wouldn't let him. She needed that knife, far more than she thought she needed him. But if he was right, why did it feel more like sin then anything before in his life?
Just bones, a lonely ghost burning down songs
Of violence, of love, and of sorrow
I beg for just one more tomorrow
Where you hold me down, fold me in
Deep, deep, deep in the heart of your sins
Niall MacDougal could only think of two times he was ever happier in his life, then the day he watched Draco Malfoy leave the claim with his suitcase in hand, sure that his sister had finally come to her senses, regained whatever Ravenclaw logic and sanity she had left and finally, finally kicked the ex-Death Eater out on his pasty white arse.
"Dado?" His eight-year-old daughter asked, confused and hurt. "Where's Mr. Dragon going? When is he coming back, Dado?"
"I don't think he is, Beatiris." Niall said, unable to hide his glee. "I don't think he is. Why don't you go see your Aunt Mora? I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."
Beatiris nodded, wiping back tears at the idea of the nice Englishman that had been teaching her to fly never coming back. She crept up to the castle, opening the door easily and wandering around the house, looking for her beloved aunt. She stopped as she heard crying at the door of the master bedroom, easing it open and shocked to see her Aunt Mora, the strongest person she had ever known, crying hysterically into her pillow, her body shaking from sobs and shuddering, gasping breaths.
It was too much for her young mind to handle and she ran back home, throwing herself into her father's legs. "Dado..." She cried, her own tears returned. "Aunt Mora's broken! Fix her, Dado! Make Mr. Dragon come back and fix her!"
Morag heard the door close again and her head popped up, a hopeful smile crossing her face as she thought perhaps it was some ill-timed, very wrong joke. "Fire?" she asked plaintively, opening the door and staring into the hallway, glancing back and forth, half-expecting or hoping to see his pale form appear, only to break down even more as she heard the door slam again.
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me, you don't...
As a child, Morag had always hated sleep--she had always compared it to a fever, and had gloried in her insomnia when she required little to no sleep, but never in her life had she ever thought that sleep would become a refuge for her. If you had suggested it to her she would have laughed in your face, told you that you really ought to check into St. Mungo's, but in the days following Draco Malfoy's abrupt and unexplained departure, the hell of her sleep became far better than the long stretches of consciousness.
The cruel and utterly hellish dreams that swallowed her mind at night; visions of the way she and Draco used to be, moments recalled in that dreamlike place, only to have him ripped away at the worst times, or horrible concoctions of her masochistic brain as she watched unable to do anything as she watched through her mind's eye as he took others, dying inside a little every time she dreamed him confessing love to someone else.
Even that, even that torment was nothing over the long grey stretches of days, somewhere between light and dark, where she had to face the reality that he had left. That he hated her so much, cared so little that he would discard her last gift, something she had considered a part of her, so easily. But, she supposed that if he could abandon her without her emotion, a bit of bone and steel meant nothing to him.
Here I'm in between darkness and light
Bleached and blinded by these nights
Where I'm tossing and tortured 'til dawn
By you, visions of you then you're gone
The people of the claim were expecting Morag to be down for a few days, even distraught, but very few people understood how much the outsider had meant to her. They certainly hadn't expected her to isolate herself completely, sequester herself in the castle, hidden in shadows. It was when one of her old contacts came by that they found out how deep she was hurt--she was no longer working. She had written a letter resigning, saying she could no longer kill.
Niall didn't particularly like his sister, but he did love her--so he did what any misguided, but good-intentioned brother would do, he went to see her. It shocked him to see how much she had changed. Morag's red hair that she had once been so proud of was dark and stringy around her face, almost brown against the drawn, wan, cold pallor of her face. "Mora." He said, touched emotionally despite himself as he watched her sit in a chair in the parlour, legs curled under her in such a manner that the large chair seemed to almost swallow her. "You don't look well."
"Really?" Morag asked, unable to be sarcastic. "I wouldn't know, I haven't looked, what's the point?"
Niall was taken aback and he resolved to do the only thing he could think of--try to shock her into her senses. "You need to get over this, Mora! He doesn't love you, he never did! If you had bothered to look at the gossip section of the Prophet you'd have seen that he's already with Daphne Greengrass! You were nothing to him, you can't let yourself waste away like this!" This was an utter lie, of course, there had been nothing in the Prophet about Malfoy, but the point still stood.
He was shocked, however, when Morag didn't rage, kick him out of the castle. He sat there, feeling utterly weak and helpless as she turned even paler and silent tears began top run down her cheeks, staring at him, beyond him, with empty eyes, saying not a word. he sat there with her for at least an hour, watching as the tears stopped, but she moved not a weakened muscle. Sighing, he gave in to her silence and left.
The shock lifts the red from my face
When I hear someone's taking my place
How could love be so thoughtless, so cruel
When all, all that I did was for you
It was Durgvail MacDougal, Morag's closest uncle, who finally gave in and did what no one else could or would. It was nearly a week and a half after the Englishman left, that he sat down and composed a letter.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I trust that you still remember me, as it hasn't been that long since I've seen you last. Unfortunately, I fear that this is not a social letter. I am writing to you on behalf of my niece, the youngest child of my deceased twin brother whom you must recall. We have tried everything we can think of to restore her to who she was, but we fear your departure has broken her permanently.
I beg of you, every person on the land, begs of you, if you ever cared at all for the darling girl, to please return and do something. She has not left the keep since your departure, is no longer working, and Gormlaith and Beatiris must visit her to force her to eat. She looks nothing like she once did, and I humbly ask of you to consider her before you throw this letter aside.
Sincerely,
Durgvail Ian MacDougal
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me you don't..
Draco held the letter in two shaking fingers, staring at the parchment in something akin to horror. Broken her permanently, his mind was helpfully repeating, the words thumping in time with his heart, no longer WORKING.
He looked around his room as the letter fluttered to the floor, as if he half expected to wake up from this nightmare at any moment. "She doesn't need me," he whispered futilely, "She doesn't. It's a trick."
But in the face of such hard evidence-- if only the letter would go away, then he could go back to pretending that he didn't want to jump every time he looked out the window-- the spoken words were meaningless. After only a moment of hesitation, as if giving his fate one last chance to stop him, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
When he opened them again, he was surprised to find himself in the kitchen. Normally this room smelled delicious, like whatever had struck Blood's cooking or baking fancy at the moment, but it didn't smell like much of anything at all. Blinking, he looked around, trying to reorient himself.
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me you don't...
It took Draco a few moments to see a piece of the familiar copper-washed parchment hanging limply in the air and he plucked it from where it hung, half-expecting this to tell him that he had fallen for the trick. He stared at the familiar slanting handwriting for a few moments, trying to process the words, stained and smeared as they were with tears.
I'm so sorry. I just can't do it anymore. I'm broken and cold. I need my Fire. Niall, take care of Beatiris, don't let her be weak like I was, don't give away the land, and please don't remember me like the coward I've become.
Blood I can't be Blood without him, I'm sorry.
Morag
I break in two over you
I break in two over you, over you
I break in two
I would break in two for you
"No," Draco whispered disbelievingly, even as his eyes filled with tears at the possessive. "Your Fire's here, Blood, no..."
Before he knew what was happening, his feet had carried him up to the door of their old bedroom-- now hers, but dear god he wanted it back--and threw it open without bothering to knock.
Morag lay on the bed, red hair clean and pulled back for the first time in a week and a half, dressed perfectly in the same black skirt, blouse and heels that she had worn so long ago, when she and Draco had first met again after Hogwarts, in that small muggle cafe, where he was feeding her information on a hit for the Death Eaters. She looked almost like she did that day, except for two things: the deathly pallor of her skin, her lips already starting to turn blue, and the knife buried in her heart. She had chosen not to let herself waste away, as Niall had suggested, but she had taken a route he had never dreamed. It hadn't mattered, really, the cold steel felt as if it had been buried in her heart ever since he had left it behind, she had merely made reality follow emotion, and let her blood flow out underneath her body in their bed, because there would have been no where else she'd rather die than perhaps his arms, but by the time he got there, it was too late.
Now you see me
Now you don't
Now you need me
Now you don't
A loud, keening wail filled the room as Draco's mind slowly began to comprehend what he was seeing, but he barely even realised that it had come from his mouth. He tried to run to the bed, but his legs collapsed beneath him and he half-stumbled, half-crawled instead. It felt like ages before he touched the blankets, fisted his hands in them and pulled himself up, and his mind scolded him cruelly: if you hadn't fallen, maybe she'd still be alive, if you could just walk like a normal person...
"Nononono," he murmured mindlessly, reaching out with one shaking hand to touch the knife, and pulled it back. "Ohgod, Blood, no, nonononono..."
Then she was in his arms, and he had somehow managed to sit on the bed without falling over again, and he was getting blood all over himself, but it was his Blood, and it was all he had left. 'No' turned into 'please' and then somehow into 'I love you I didn't mean it come back', and finally into an all-consuming guilty fury. It dried his eyes with its dry, burning heat, and with it came a calm, ice-cold clarity, as cold as the skin beneath his lips.
He fumbled around in his pockets for a moment, searching for his wand. There, there it was, exactly where he'd put it, and when the bed had caught on fire he thought that maybe, finally, he was doing something right.
"This isn't the kind of forever I wanted for us, Blood," he whispered instead of screaming, even as his namesake began to eat at his flesh. "But I was too late, and now it's all I can give you."
And as the room filled with smoke, just before Draco's eyes closed for the last time, he tightened his arms around her body and screamed, "I'm sorry!"
The self-protection charms all over the castle kept the fire contained to their room, so nothing owned was really lost, save everything in the room and the two bodies of the two people who were reunited only in death as good intentions had kept them separated from life.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Morag MacDougal/Draco Malfoy
Rating: R
Warnings: Het, angst, character death, suicide
Summary: Draco leaves Morag because he thinks it will protect her.
Notes: For hp_100songs and 50_darkfics. Many thanks to hecticity for helping me and putting up with my angst.
Prompt: Autumn To Ashes~Autumn's Monologue (#68), Forsaken (#69)
"I don't understand!" Morag declared as she watched Draco Malfoy pack his things, perched on her bed, their bed, tears beginning to fall from her eyes as an old ripped shirt, one that she had ripped in a fit of what could only be called passion or lust, carelessly fluttered to the floor, left unheeded by it's owner like some dying butterfly, unworthy of his notice. "Why? What have I done, Fire, please, tell me!"
Draco looked away, straightening one of his incredibly expensive imported silk shirts so they wouldn't crease, unable to look at her like this, not when she was crying and calling him that. She was better off without him, and if she saw through him as plainly as she always did he could never leave her, never give her what she needed, what she wanted. "It's not anything you've done, MacDougal." He said gruffly, barely able to hear his words over the sound of his heart breaking. "You're just not enough for me."
A strangled sob stopped in her throat, feeling as if she had just been hit with the most painful curse she could ever imagine, one that made the Cruciatus seem like a tickling charm. "Stay." She said weakly, pitching to the side so bad as she shook that she might fall from the bed. "Please, Fire, stay with me. Have anyone else, fuck them in our bed for all I care, but, please, just stay with me. Don't leave me like this." Morag was inwardly cursing herself now, for turning into some swooning, pining, begging girl that she had sworn she would never be. She relaxed slightly as the familiar arms wrapped around her and looked up through eyes that were hazy with tears. "I need you, please..."
Draco reached out to grab her as she very nearly fell off the bed, moving her gently further in so that she wouldn't harm herself, forcing his expression hard and stoic as she looked up at him, her offer making him die inside s little, furthered only by the pain on her face. No, he couldn't. This was for the best, this was for her. She thought she needed him like he needed her, but she didn't know what loving him could cost her. "Be that as it may, MacDougal." he said, his voice unintentionally harsh. "I don't need you." I can't let myself...
Oh, Why cant I be what you need
A new improved version of me
But i'm nothing so good
No I'm nothing
Morag had an image of what she would look like as he left her, stoic, calm, unfeeling, but she had never been so wrong in her life--except for maybe, once, so long ago, when she promised that she could never love him, could never get so attached. Instead, she was a crying, pale, emotional mess, her hair wild behind her except for the pieces that fell in her face only to darken with the bitter water of her tears. "please..." She said again, quite certain now that she had said please more now today then ever before. "Please," She didn't know what to say, how to put her need into words.
"Once more, Fire, just once more, lo...fuck me once more, just take me once more, and I'll say not another word." She was almost sure that she was lying, but she'd say anything, do anything, at this point to prove it all and perhaps she could be more convincing with actions then words. "Then you can think nothing more about this pile of bones, violence and blood never again. Certainly you ow me that, at least?"
Draco was facing the door as she spoke, hands clutching so tightly around his bag that his knuckles were white. He so badly wanted to turn around, to correct her, say she was right the first time, that he loved her, take her in his arms and hold her until her shaking stopped and he could kiss away the unnecessary tears, but he held fast. He was putting her at risk, and it would be far easier for her in the long run to be hurt now, emotionally, then to lose her precious life because of him. "I owe you nothing." he snarled, "And don't call me Fire." He'd never be able to let go if he held her now, even if he did nothing more than hold her.
Morag walked up behind him and slipped something into his free hand, biting his pulse harshly until she tasted blood, her tears streaming down his neck into his robes, and she was sure, making the wound sting. Before she could say anything more, before he could break her further, she let out another stifled sob and did yet another thing she swore she never would, she ran from him.
Draco stood there a few moments longer, listening to her footsteps recede, his neck burning harshly from where her teeth had been moments before, from where her teeth had been so often. Carefully, he opened his hand, looking to see what she had left him, blinking back tears viciously as he stared at the bone hilt of her knife, the one she was never without, the one she carried over her heart, the one still warm from being nestled between her breasts lay perched in his hand. He laid it gently down on the counter, before opening the door, stepping out and slamming it behind him. He couldn't take her with him like that, his heart wouldn't let him. She needed that knife, far more than she thought she needed him. But if he was right, why did it feel more like sin then anything before in his life?
Just bones, a lonely ghost burning down songs
Of violence, of love, and of sorrow
I beg for just one more tomorrow
Where you hold me down, fold me in
Deep, deep, deep in the heart of your sins
Niall MacDougal could only think of two times he was ever happier in his life, then the day he watched Draco Malfoy leave the claim with his suitcase in hand, sure that his sister had finally come to her senses, regained whatever Ravenclaw logic and sanity she had left and finally, finally kicked the ex-Death Eater out on his pasty white arse.
"Dado?" His eight-year-old daughter asked, confused and hurt. "Where's Mr. Dragon going? When is he coming back, Dado?"
"I don't think he is, Beatiris." Niall said, unable to hide his glee. "I don't think he is. Why don't you go see your Aunt Mora? I'm sure she'll be glad to see you."
Beatiris nodded, wiping back tears at the idea of the nice Englishman that had been teaching her to fly never coming back. She crept up to the castle, opening the door easily and wandering around the house, looking for her beloved aunt. She stopped as she heard crying at the door of the master bedroom, easing it open and shocked to see her Aunt Mora, the strongest person she had ever known, crying hysterically into her pillow, her body shaking from sobs and shuddering, gasping breaths.
It was too much for her young mind to handle and she ran back home, throwing herself into her father's legs. "Dado..." She cried, her own tears returned. "Aunt Mora's broken! Fix her, Dado! Make Mr. Dragon come back and fix her!"
Morag heard the door close again and her head popped up, a hopeful smile crossing her face as she thought perhaps it was some ill-timed, very wrong joke. "Fire?" she asked plaintively, opening the door and staring into the hallway, glancing back and forth, half-expecting or hoping to see his pale form appear, only to break down even more as she heard the door slam again.
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me, you don't...
As a child, Morag had always hated sleep--she had always compared it to a fever, and had gloried in her insomnia when she required little to no sleep, but never in her life had she ever thought that sleep would become a refuge for her. If you had suggested it to her she would have laughed in your face, told you that you really ought to check into St. Mungo's, but in the days following Draco Malfoy's abrupt and unexplained departure, the hell of her sleep became far better than the long stretches of consciousness.
The cruel and utterly hellish dreams that swallowed her mind at night; visions of the way she and Draco used to be, moments recalled in that dreamlike place, only to have him ripped away at the worst times, or horrible concoctions of her masochistic brain as she watched unable to do anything as she watched through her mind's eye as he took others, dying inside a little every time she dreamed him confessing love to someone else.
Even that, even that torment was nothing over the long grey stretches of days, somewhere between light and dark, where she had to face the reality that he had left. That he hated her so much, cared so little that he would discard her last gift, something she had considered a part of her, so easily. But, she supposed that if he could abandon her without her emotion, a bit of bone and steel meant nothing to him.
Here I'm in between darkness and light
Bleached and blinded by these nights
Where I'm tossing and tortured 'til dawn
By you, visions of you then you're gone
The people of the claim were expecting Morag to be down for a few days, even distraught, but very few people understood how much the outsider had meant to her. They certainly hadn't expected her to isolate herself completely, sequester herself in the castle, hidden in shadows. It was when one of her old contacts came by that they found out how deep she was hurt--she was no longer working. She had written a letter resigning, saying she could no longer kill.
Niall didn't particularly like his sister, but he did love her--so he did what any misguided, but good-intentioned brother would do, he went to see her. It shocked him to see how much she had changed. Morag's red hair that she had once been so proud of was dark and stringy around her face, almost brown against the drawn, wan, cold pallor of her face. "Mora." He said, touched emotionally despite himself as he watched her sit in a chair in the parlour, legs curled under her in such a manner that the large chair seemed to almost swallow her. "You don't look well."
"Really?" Morag asked, unable to be sarcastic. "I wouldn't know, I haven't looked, what's the point?"
Niall was taken aback and he resolved to do the only thing he could think of--try to shock her into her senses. "You need to get over this, Mora! He doesn't love you, he never did! If you had bothered to look at the gossip section of the Prophet you'd have seen that he's already with Daphne Greengrass! You were nothing to him, you can't let yourself waste away like this!" This was an utter lie, of course, there had been nothing in the Prophet about Malfoy, but the point still stood.
He was shocked, however, when Morag didn't rage, kick him out of the castle. He sat there, feeling utterly weak and helpless as she turned even paler and silent tears began top run down her cheeks, staring at him, beyond him, with empty eyes, saying not a word. he sat there with her for at least an hour, watching as the tears stopped, but she moved not a weakened muscle. Sighing, he gave in to her silence and left.
The shock lifts the red from my face
When I hear someone's taking my place
How could love be so thoughtless, so cruel
When all, all that I did was for you
It was Durgvail MacDougal, Morag's closest uncle, who finally gave in and did what no one else could or would. It was nearly a week and a half after the Englishman left, that he sat down and composed a letter.
Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I trust that you still remember me, as it hasn't been that long since I've seen you last. Unfortunately, I fear that this is not a social letter. I am writing to you on behalf of my niece, the youngest child of my deceased twin brother whom you must recall. We have tried everything we can think of to restore her to who she was, but we fear your departure has broken her permanently.
I beg of you, every person on the land, begs of you, if you ever cared at all for the darling girl, to please return and do something. She has not left the keep since your departure, is no longer working, and Gormlaith and Beatiris must visit her to force her to eat. She looks nothing like she once did, and I humbly ask of you to consider her before you throw this letter aside.
Sincerely,
Durgvail Ian MacDougal
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me you don't..
Draco held the letter in two shaking fingers, staring at the parchment in something akin to horror. Broken her permanently, his mind was helpfully repeating, the words thumping in time with his heart, no longer WORKING.
He looked around his room as the letter fluttered to the floor, as if he half expected to wake up from this nightmare at any moment. "She doesn't need me," he whispered futilely, "She doesn't. It's a trick."
But in the face of such hard evidence-- if only the letter would go away, then he could go back to pretending that he didn't want to jump every time he looked out the window-- the spoken words were meaningless. After only a moment of hesitation, as if giving his fate one last chance to stop him, he closed his eyes and concentrated.
When he opened them again, he was surprised to find himself in the kitchen. Normally this room smelled delicious, like whatever had struck Blood's cooking or baking fancy at the moment, but it didn't smell like much of anything at all. Blinking, he looked around, trying to reorient himself.
I break in two over you
I break in two
And each piece of me dies
And only you can give the breath of life
But you don't see me you don't...
It took Draco a few moments to see a piece of the familiar copper-washed parchment hanging limply in the air and he plucked it from where it hung, half-expecting this to tell him that he had fallen for the trick. He stared at the familiar slanting handwriting for a few moments, trying to process the words, stained and smeared as they were with tears.
I'm so sorry. I just can't do it anymore. I'm broken and cold. I need my Fire. Niall, take care of Beatiris, don't let her be weak like I was, don't give away the land, and please don't remember me like the coward I've become.
Blood I can't be Blood without him, I'm sorry.
Morag
I break in two over you
I break in two over you, over you
I break in two
I would break in two for you
"No," Draco whispered disbelievingly, even as his eyes filled with tears at the possessive. "Your Fire's here, Blood, no..."
Before he knew what was happening, his feet had carried him up to the door of their old bedroom-- now hers, but dear god he wanted it back--and threw it open without bothering to knock.
Morag lay on the bed, red hair clean and pulled back for the first time in a week and a half, dressed perfectly in the same black skirt, blouse and heels that she had worn so long ago, when she and Draco had first met again after Hogwarts, in that small muggle cafe, where he was feeding her information on a hit for the Death Eaters. She looked almost like she did that day, except for two things: the deathly pallor of her skin, her lips already starting to turn blue, and the knife buried in her heart. She had chosen not to let herself waste away, as Niall had suggested, but she had taken a route he had never dreamed. It hadn't mattered, really, the cold steel felt as if it had been buried in her heart ever since he had left it behind, she had merely made reality follow emotion, and let her blood flow out underneath her body in their bed, because there would have been no where else she'd rather die than perhaps his arms, but by the time he got there, it was too late.
Now you see me
Now you don't
Now you need me
Now you don't
A loud, keening wail filled the room as Draco's mind slowly began to comprehend what he was seeing, but he barely even realised that it had come from his mouth. He tried to run to the bed, but his legs collapsed beneath him and he half-stumbled, half-crawled instead. It felt like ages before he touched the blankets, fisted his hands in them and pulled himself up, and his mind scolded him cruelly: if you hadn't fallen, maybe she'd still be alive, if you could just walk like a normal person...
"Nononono," he murmured mindlessly, reaching out with one shaking hand to touch the knife, and pulled it back. "Ohgod, Blood, no, nonononono..."
Then she was in his arms, and he had somehow managed to sit on the bed without falling over again, and he was getting blood all over himself, but it was his Blood, and it was all he had left. 'No' turned into 'please' and then somehow into 'I love you I didn't mean it come back', and finally into an all-consuming guilty fury. It dried his eyes with its dry, burning heat, and with it came a calm, ice-cold clarity, as cold as the skin beneath his lips.
He fumbled around in his pockets for a moment, searching for his wand. There, there it was, exactly where he'd put it, and when the bed had caught on fire he thought that maybe, finally, he was doing something right.
"This isn't the kind of forever I wanted for us, Blood," he whispered instead of screaming, even as his namesake began to eat at his flesh. "But I was too late, and now it's all I can give you."
And as the room filled with smoke, just before Draco's eyes closed for the last time, he tightened his arms around her body and screamed, "I'm sorry!"
The self-protection charms all over the castle kept the fire contained to their room, so nothing owned was really lost, save everything in the room and the two bodies of the two people who were reunited only in death as good intentions had kept them separated from life.