Days past and the news never changed. It was always a different telling of the same story, Draco, and everyone else really, just stopped reading it. It was too painful to think of Harry in a cell in Azkaban. No one had any ideas for how they were going to get Harry out, talking to the minister was a no go, and there was no way they were going to convince him to concede any information on Draco's location.
The family worried deeply about Draco's health, he did not sleep, he did not eat, he rarely ever moved from his stop on the floor by the attic window. He told them numerous times that is was his fault Harry was there and that he needed to find a way to save the boy, they told him he was being unrealistic and that he should think through his decision before taking any rash actions.
So he sat on the floor in the attic and paid no attention to the life going on around him. It went without saying that he was suffering.
Harry was doing no better, he felt his fear of the dementors that he had presumed had gone away over the years, come back. He no longer heard his parents when they would float past his cell, they had been replaced with Draco's pleading voice, telling Harry that he didn't want to live, images of Draco taking his own life would go through his head every time and he would scream until the dementor passed.
It was overwhelming and he felt his life running thin, he couldn't handle it. He couldn't control the suicidal thoughts that passed through his head and he couldn't control his nightmares. He wished he had Draco there, but instead he only got his voice, his somber, grief-stricken voice telling him that he was going to give up, that he wasn't worth anything. It killed Harry, he wanted to tell him he was wrong, just like he had every other time Draco brought these feelings up, but he wasn't there, he couldn't tell him. He could only live in fear of Draco killing himself every second of every day.
It was a month after Harry left that Draco closed the curtains of the window, taking the sun from the room, leaving only the shadows which were as dark as his thoughts. He blamed himself for everything that had happened to him, he told himself that every ounce of pain Harry had was given to him by him, first being brought to the cellar of his manor to be tortured by Voldemort, then leaving him with the thought that he had been killed, and now this. He wanted to apologize, but how could he?
He didn't tell the Weasleys, but he was planning to give away his location, so he could be with him in Azkaban. He hated the thought of Harry in there by himself, Harry was all he had left. Hermione, being the agile witch that she was, sensed what Draco was planning, he shut her out every time she tried to talk to him about it.
"Draco, you can't pretend these feeling don't exist, we need to talk." she shouted through the locked door, about two months after Harry's departure. She pounded on the door with her fists, "Draco please, we need a better plan. How would he feel if you were to give in? Wouldn't his imprisonment be worth nothing? He did this to try and keep you out of prison. I can help you think of something better, you just have to let me in."
He ignored her, and continued to stare at the closed window. He pulled out a piece of paper and began to write his last words to Harry.
YOU ARE READING
Ferret (Sequel To Scarhead)
Fanfiction*The book that proceeds Scarhead. read that first.* After the war, Harry and Draco find themselves living in a rundown part of New York City. Harry fleeing from the press and Draco hiding from the ministry who is in search for former death eaters...
