We left the dungeons behind us and I followed, Harry. Despair threatened to overwhelm me. I felt as if I was once again under the abusive control of my father. I feel like I’m drowning. Harry stopped and I almost ran into him, fear coursing through me at the thought, his head was bowed and I couldn’t see his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Draco. Oh God, I’m sorry!” He turned to me, tears creating rivulets upon his beautiful face, anguish and sorrow. I remember why he is my god. He takes my hand, now bleeding freely upon the stoned cobbles, and cups it with his own. He blows upon the wound, gently, bringing it close to his face. I hold my breath as he carefully licks the wound clean, kissing it and scaring me more with his tenderness than his brutality. I watched in fascination as he stepped back slightly, still holding my hand, and watching as the wound began to close all on its own, until not a mark was left to signify its ever happening.

Harry looked at me, emotions swimming in his eyes but prevailing was fear. He’s scared of himself and his actions, he’s scared to hurt me or anyone else.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Draco.” Harry whispered.

My breath caught in my throat and my chest constricted painfully. Is he, he isn’t going to, leave me? After I’ve already accepted him and bonded my soul and body to his? He can’t. He can’t. I won’t let him. I, I…

“I won’t hurt you anymore. I don’t care if it is in my nature. I never want to hurt you again.”

“Harry, don’t. You just go against your instincts, I…”

“I don’t care what I can or can’t do because I, will, do it, or I will die trying.”

“Or, kill me trying.” I whispered mutely.

His face flinched as if struck.

“I’m sorry.” I said, casting my eyes to the ground.

“No,” Harry voice was soft, “It’s true. I should have never claimed you, to cause so much pain to you.”

“For the both of us.”

“No, I’ve only hurt you….only you…”

The sorrow and pain upon his face was more than I could handle. I never knew someone could affect me so deeply. He hurts me even with his own pain, and it’s true. He has only hurt me, but, I’ve come to find that, I really don’t mind all that much. I just want him to be happy.

“Stay with me, promise you’ll stay with me.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You already have, Harry.” I pointed to the mark upon my neck.

“Then I….I just won’t hurt you.”

“You can’t”

“I will.”

We quieted as McGonagall suddenly rounded the corner. She started upon us but continued walking until she stood before us, actually, she stood before me.

“Mister Malfoy, your father is here to see you.”

I felt the blood leave my face and all the air sucked from my lungs, fighting panic.

McGonagall looked surprised at this but continued speaking, “He says its most urgent. I came to escort you. Apparently your father was under the idea that you would need persuasion to attend to him.”

“Oh, god, no…” I couldn’t stop it from escaping my throat. I was starting to shake, tremble. If I didn’t calm down, I could go into….never mind….

Harry stepped up behind me, placing his open hand upon my back as he talked with McGonagall. I soon lost track of the conversation as I began to slowly relax. His hand somehow focusing all of my concentration to that point. Then McGonagall was gone, walking away, and Harry’s hand slipped from my back as he came to stand before me. He had a look in his eyes that seem to say ‘don’t worry’. He took my hand and kissed my fingertips as if he had no greater honor than to do so. I smiled and he smiled back as his hands went up to cup my face. His lips brushed mine so softly I could barely feel it but he came back and slowly devoured me until I felt as I had on the train after he had claimed me. No doubts, a veela must have trust for its mate, even when he causes you pain.

We walked down those cold stone hallways with no urgency in our steps. Harry sought to reasure me as I went to confront my father but I wished for nothing more than to run away. You must understand, I respect my father but I respect him out a great fear for him. He is not a man you anger, nor even displease. The veela blood runs strong in him and he is allured by its natural brutality. I know that my mother was once safe and happy from father, because I was around. When I turned five he started hurting me, not in a sexual nature, just, pain. He was and is especially fond of the whip. His own personal one is made of dragon scales and its tip barbed with points of pure silver.

When I started at Hogwarts, mother got hurt again. Her health is failing and she could die soon. The only help I can offer her is to come home as often as possible to take the brunt of it to my own flesh. I have to wonder why Harry has yet to ask me of the innumerable scars scattered across my back. Perhaps he knows or knows yet better not to ask, lest open a wound afresh in my heart. Pain of my mothers love which she never gives conflicting with a pain of pride given to me by my father.

I can hope, in the depths of my heart, perhaps deluding myself, that maybe, if I am good, there might be a happily ever after. Or maybe I am simply another villain or unfortunate, doomed by fate and misfortune to a life of torment and suffering. Not even a death of mercy but a life of guilt. I can dream, strange, that the one person always in that dream is, Harry.