Title: Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
Team: Fanon
Author: 
faynia
Prompt: The Devil
Wordcount: 14,066
Rating: R
Warnings: AU, non-graphic dubious consent
Summary: Draco Malfoy always gets what he wants. Only, this time, what he wants is someone he can never have.
Author's Note Thanks to my betas J (jadzialove) S (jamie2109) and L (lesyeuxverts00). Some text was lifted from DH pg. 458. I used the figurative explanation of 'The Devil'-obsession, losing control, and sexual desire.
Draco Malfoy stood beneath a large fir tree and gazed up into the branches, hunting down the source of the single most irritating sound he'd ever heard.
Blasted peacocks!
He wasn't going to hurt them—badly. He only wished to modify the volume in which they squawked and shrieked when he wanted to sleep. His father would kill him if he actually hurt them, but Draco knew his father couldn't get angry with him for diminishing the noise around their noisy home.
A slight movement towards the upper branches and a Stunner later, one albino peacock plummeted down into Draco's waiting arms. Setting the thing on the ground, Draco eyed the premises to reassure himself that he was alone. If his mother saw him, she'd never speak to him again. He owed her too much to crush her like that. She loved these foul fowl and would do nearly anything to prevent the 'guests' in their home from harming them. Finding out her own son was out to get them might in fact break her already fragile spirit.
"Silencio." Draco cast the silencing charm, smug when the bird no longer made a sound. Perfect, sweet silence filled the garden for a few seconds before another loud squawk echoed around their expansive lawns. Draco released the first peacock he had captured and watched as it swaggered away, shaking its massive tail feathers in irritation. He zapped its backside and watched as it charged off under some bushes.
Draco pocketed his wand and rocked back on his heels as he cast his gaze towards the sky. The sun had set nearly five minutes ago, bringing him even closer to the dreaded party for his seventeenth birthday. When he had been told he'd have one, he never thought it wouldn't be with his friends, but he’d been quickly corrected. He would never subject his friends to any of his present company voluntarily. They deserved better than the leers and jeers he'd been receiving.
He had failed. He had expected death, not abject humiliation at every possible turn. It seemed the Dark Lord had made him a jester of the court, and the only people who were no longer laughing were his family. Shivering, Draco headed towards the incessant squawking call. He would silence the peacocks for good.
"Ah, Draco," a voice purred from the shadows, "lovely evening, is it not?"
Draco swallowed thickly and turned his head to see his master strolling towards him with a bounce in his step and a peacock in his arms. If he weren't about to piss himself, he'd laugh. He was losing his mind, he decided as he dropped to his knees in a daze and bowed before Voldemort's feet.
"My lord?" he asked, unable to bring his eyes up even to the Dark Lord's shins. His feet, after all, were covered in shoes like everyone else's. Draco eyed the high-polish finish to the black dress shoes, counting the threads that stitched them together.
Two stick thin fingers curled around Draco's jaw, forcing his head up, until he was eye to eye with the bloody bird. Insanity might be saner. "Peacocks are magnificent creatures, all of them, angry and territorial, beautiful and full of pageantry. It's nearly alarming how opposite they can be, hiding such hatred and passion behind their pretty feathers."
"I don't understand, my lord," Draco murmured, risking looking up the last few inches into the Dark Lord's reptilian face.
The smile was more delighted than angered, and Draco's throat tensed convulsively. He retraced over his own words and knew they sounded nothing more than respectful and politely curious. There was no accounting for the look on the Dark Lord's face. He'd only seen that look once before and it had been in conjunction to finding out that Snape, and not Draco, had killed Dumbledore. Merlin, he might as well vomit now for all that it might save his life.
"You are more than aware of our little party to celebrate your birth tonight but do you know why it is special?"
"I get to use magic out of Hogwarts?" Draco ventured, cursing the nervous lilt to the words. If he got cursed, it was his own damned fault.
"Ah." Voldemort chuckled, the thin slits masquerading as nostrils fluttered. "That does not make your birth special." Draco tried vainly not to step backwards as the peacock in the Dark Lord's arms lunged at a button on his shirt, snapping it's beak in irritation. "Your parents never told you, boy? How tragic."
"My lord?"
Voldemort withdrew his wand and pointed it at Draco's throat. Draco sadly suspected a damp spot was forming on the front of his pants. There was no one out here to save him from this. "Silence, Draco, and allow me to tell you a story."
Draco bowed his head in acquiescence, falling back onto his heels as he stared at Voldemort's stomach. His breathing was uneven as he tried to focus on the soft words being said to him. There was something menacing in the way they washed over his mind, as if his ears were not allowed to properly do their job and the story was to be forever ingrained in his mind. His fists clenched by his sides.
"Many generations before your mother and father created you and brought you into this world to serve me, your family made an unwise decision. Rather than kill the offending member of your family, they let him marry the woman of his choice. She was a magical creature, fair of face with a vile temper to rival any Black or Malfoy. Do you know which creature she was, Draco? Do they teach you things at Hogwarts still?
"She was a Veela, Draco," Voldemort continued, giving Draco no chance to answer. "A female Veela, all fire and passion and beauty. Your ancestor fell madly for her and produced an heir. It is unfortunate, really, that your entire line nearly ended with that child, for its mother was possessive and did not share well."
Voldemort chuckled at Draco's expression of disgust. Cold fingers brushed hair off his forehead, causing Draco to flinch. "I can see you still do not understand." Draco shook his head, afraid to trust his own voice. The tale baffled him. Why would anyone consent to marry a Veela? They were hideous when angered; more than hideous, they were monsters not even fit to be categorized as creatures. "Shall I continue?"
Nodding, Draco steeled himself. The peacock pecked at his hair, pulling out a few baby fine blond strands.
"Now, your ancestors through the generations were horrified by this and did all they could to prevent people from realizing the sort of being they were created from."
"That's not possible," Draco blurted out, flinching back at the harsh chuckle that followed his pronouncement.
"Do you have nightmares, Draco? Nightmares about endless expanses of pain all leading to death or into the willing arms of a whore? Do you ever look sideways at a person you know you have no business wanting, yet you cannot resist looking?"
"N—"
"Lies. I can see in your eyes the truth to my words. You, my pet, are not quite human, and your parents have prevented you from ever becoming the monster in your nightmares. A spell was devised four generations ago to seal off the negative effects of being Veela, and do you know when the spell begins to deteriorate?"
Draco's heart thudded a painful rhythm in his chest and thunder roared in his ears as the words sunk in. All the implications, the weak smiles his parents had been giving him, the way they'd been ignoring him to the point that he had wondered if he had disappointed them more than the Dark Lord, it all made sense -- but they hadn't been disappointed. They were frightened.
"Tonight?" Draco guessed in a choked whisper.
Those fingers were back, stroking and caressing skin they had no right to be touching. "Perhaps Hogwarts is not the total abomination I once thought."
~~~~
Chilled air wound around Draco as he crept naked back to his bedroom. Every step was agony and every faint breeze sent shudders through him, teasing his bruise-mottled and bleeding skin. Choking down bile, he slumped weakly against his door, one hand grasping the knob to keep his arse off the ground. His cheeks stung with remembered blows; powerful, masterful, and so very welcomed at the time they'd occurred. He'd begged for them. Squirmed, arched, cried out, ached for them, and he got them, time and again. He was cut, beaten, strung up and forced to orgasm twice, before he was even fucked, and he'd loved every damning second of it.
He had loved it.
Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as his grip loosened and he fell with a sharp gasp. Pain flared along his nerves and he had to swallow down the instinctive cry. He wanted to hit something, or someone, but the only people he could blame were now dust. Draco tried to pull himself together. He had to get inside his room before someone walked by and saw him like this.
He clutched the glass doorknob with both hands and turned it, tumbling into his dark bedroom. Shivering, he lay slumped on the ground; the zigzag cut on his chest broke open to smear blood along the high-polished wood floor. Everything vibrated around him, and in him, a pleasant tingling hum through his skin as the cuts began to heal over in earnest, first over his face and down his back and torso and finally to his arse and legs and lastly his feet.
"Mum?"
"Hush, love. We need to get you dressed." Soft hands ran through his hair, and the stench of guilt squeezed at his gut, making him whine. He butted his head against her hand, begging her silently to not leave. She'd barely touched him since his birthday, and he couldn't stand to be near her. She reeked of guilt and self-loathing, and more often anger. But the thought of her leaving frightened him. He needed her to want to be around him. This was his mother. She'd never been distant with him. He missed not knowing how people felt about him. Maybe once he'd wished he'd been able to tell, but now, now he knew. Every fleeting emotion people felt, it hit him doubly hard, and there was no chance of him getting them to stop. If they knew, Draco felt confident they would use it against him.
It was bad enough he walked around half hard and scared most days. The only place he could escape the sickening sensation of arousal was his father's study, but he avoided the place. His father never left it, and had forbidden Draco from being in his sight. As hard as he had tried not to let his words affect him, the guilt and bitterness had been enough to keep him away. Lucius would never have to see him for longer than a Death Eater meeting.
Draco let himself be pulled to his feet, and leaned heavily against Narcissa's side, nuzzling into her warm hold. Her arms wrapped about him in a tight embrace and they stood like that for minutes as she whispered calming words into his ears while his body recovered. His eyes slipped shut in sweet relief as he let himself be moved about like a doll, submitting easily to his mother's care.
She was the only one left who cared.
Twenty minutes later, Draco sat alone, fully dressed, in front of his vanity. He stared at his pale reflection in the mirror. His shirt was buttoned all the way to the collar and a black waistcoat with green embroidery lay open on top of it. His grey trousers were stiff from being too starched, making him shift about in his chair as he tried to loosen the fabric. It brushed against areas of still tender skin. As much as he loved his mother, there were some places he'd rather not have her wand.
He squinted as he tried to find some part of him that showed the beast that lurked within him. Growling angrily, he snatched up his brush and raked the hard bristles through his hair in quick, furious strokes, before chucking the brush at the glass. A jagged line raced down the center and a piece of the mirror broke off, shattering on the mahogany table. Draco picked up one of the sharp pieces and, closing his eyes, crunched it to dust in his palm.
The Floo in his room lit a brilliant green, and he blinked passively at the wild haired woman who stepped out.
"Kitten, you're dressed."
Draco turned his attention back to the broken mirror, haphazardly spelling the pieces back together again. "Hello, auntie."
Gleeful malevolence was easy to ignore. It rolled off him like water in the showers, barely making an impact on his psyche. It disturbed him to be so immune to the callousness he was shown, but he begged to never have that ability removed. It was a reprieve like no other, and it damned him to every other sinful emotion instead.
"Cissy warned me you'd be in a mood." Bellatrix cackled, and ran a sharp nail across Draco's cheek.
His eyes met his aunt's in the mirror. "Can I help you?"
"Visitors, oh yes, new playthings are coming." Bellatrix couldn't sound more excited about the prospect, Draco decided, trying hard not to flinch away from the repeated touch. "Doesn't that excite you, nephew?"
"Should it?"
Bellatrix's dark eyes gleamed, and when she touched him again, he did flinch. Pleasure and delight skittered along him, matching perfectly the smirk on his aunt's face. "Come and see."
Draco's grip tightened on his wand as he stood, executing a perfunctory bow to allow Bellatrix to go first. He had hoped he might actually get some sleep that night.
He followed his aunt down the stairs to the drawing room and barely had a chance to sit down, before he was overcome. He gasped, eyes widening in shocked panic. His fingers curled into the arms of the chair, ripping the expensive fabric as he clawed at it. No one was looking at him, everyone was looking at the intruders in his home, and Draco could only gasp for air. His mind roiled and flew free as colours danced before his eyes and warmth cocooned him fully. Trembling, he forced himself to hear past the roaring in his ears. Someone had said his name, and he looked up sharply, sweat trickling in beads down the back of his neck, and the urge to jump from the chair and fly to whoever was being roughhoused through the door nearly overwhelmed him.
No one had affected him like this before, and he could feel his eyes prickle and burn as tears formed on his lashes. His whole body shook as he stood. It took only one look to know who it was, puffed face and scruffy facial hair or not. Why did it have to be him? Draco's wand was held loosely at his side, as he inspected Potter's appearance, drinking him in before he was taken from him for good.
Taking a few steps forward, he came to a halt by his mother and father's side, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He couldn't do this. How could they ask him this? They knew well enough without him confirming it, but, maybe. "I can't—I can't be sure."
Fenrir leered at him and a spike of arousal jolted him neatly from the fog that had been pressing around his mind the closer he was to Potter. It was starting again, then. Draco shied away from the werewolf in disgust and self-loathing. He didn't understand how he attracted those who came to him; there was never a pattern, nor a particular time of day when it happened. But inevitably, someone would look at him and just be unable to look away. No doubt he'd find himself at Fenrir's mercies after this. The very idea made him green around the edges, but his body was already betraying him.
His father's voice sliced through his remorse. "But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" Draco did as he was told, and peered more carefully at Potter, who looked no better than he felt. Granger and Weasley were nearby as always, but neither appeared to be as worse off as Potter was, and he longed to do something about it. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—"
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?"
"Of course not, of course not!"
Draco gazed away, focusing on the chandelier high above his head as his parents bickered with Greyback. They would call for his attention when he was needed again. He couldn't give Ha-Potter away. That was the only thing he knew any longer, but the idea of lying to his parents sickened him. Lying to them could get all of them killed.
He tuned the rest of their conversation out, focusing on Potter. Of all the people to enter his home in this manner, he hadn't expected the boy wonder to be one of them. He honestly would have preferred Potter to have never arrived. Potter's arrival meant the Dark Lord's was sure to follow.
The other boy looked absolutely awful, but at the same time Draco couldn't call him anything but beautiful. His entire aura sang to him, and if he could just touch him, a light brush on the back of the hand, anything, he might feel as clean. Every question aimed at him he answered with the same level of enthusiasm he did the first, until they finally took Potter away, leaving Draco drained and exhausted in a way he hadn't been in weeks.
The little crowd dispersed to discuss something. Draco cared little to find out what. He wanted to go up to his mother's room, crawl into her bed and not wake up. He rested his head against the mantel of the fireplace, nursing the scotch in his hands. His mother had given it to him the moment Potter and company had been dragged down to the dungeons. She must have thought him too pale, as if that were possible, because she had procured his favourite drink for him.
Voldemort had been in a state when he'd arrived. Draco still felt nauseous from being in his presence; everything about him turned his stomach. Right down to the way he'd commanded Draco to his side, and Draco had been helpless to prevent it. He was beginning to wonder if death wasn't a viable option after all, except, except he couldn't. Draco clenched his glass firmly in his hands as he took another sip. His mother and father would be horrified, more so than they felt guilty now, and he couldn't do it to them.
It'd be the end of them. Regardless of his new status amongst the Death Eaters, he would still be expected to produce an heir, a proper one, not adopted or selected neatly from somewhere along the Malfoy and Black family tree. At one point, he had little doubt he'd be unable to perform to task. Now, however, he could barely walk through a room without all manner of filth eyeing him like a new doll to play with.
A low throb took up residence behind Draco's temple, and he set his glass of scotch down with a clink. Getting drunk was not on the agenda for the evening; he needed to be sober, to have his wits about him so that when Greyback barged into the room full of bravado and other such emotions, Draco could deal with them, and not cling to the werewolf like a pathetic strumpet.
The door to the ballroom opened with a muted click, and Draco tilted his head down to see who had entered. "Speak of the devil," Draco murmured, pushing back from the fireplace. His vision already blurred at the edges as arousal thrummed through him, playing him like a tuneless harp. Greyback's strides were long as he crossed the room, nearly sending Draco crashing to his knees as wave upon wave of need slammed into him.
Hairy fingers curled around his neck, and Draco arched forward, bursts of pleasure radiating from the possessive touch. Draco grabbed onto Greyback's tattered shirt sleeves to keep himself upright as his knees buckled.
His evening was just beginning.
~~~~
Draco stayed curled in the corner of his room long after Greyback had gone. He had promised himself, months ago, that he'd never let anyone into his bed he didn't want there, and look how well that had turned out.
At least Greyback had only wanted one thing. He glanced down at his red chest in annoyance as he grabbed his silk shirt off the floor. It was wrinkled and smelled of sweat and semen, and he doubted any spell known to man could get rid of it. He tugged it on, buttoning it quickly, before hunting down his trousers.
The Dark Lord would be in residence that evening, thanks to the kind summons of his aunt, if he wasn't already here. How long had he been up here? Twenty minutes? Maybe, possibly not even. Draco winced as he did up the zip, biting into his already sore lower lip. He prayed he wouldn't be expected to entertain anyone else that night, he wasn't sure he'd make it through the encounter with all his private parts intact.
He left his hair a mess. There was no point in fixing it. Everyone knew what he was doing, well, everyone with the fine exception of the company delighting in his family's dungeons. Twenty minutes, what was it like to be down there that long? Draco couldn't even stand five minutes there without getting chills. What would it be like to be held captive? To know your death was looming nearer with each passing second. How did you not—
"Draco!"
Draco jerked out of his thoughts and rushed to the stairs. His father was waiting at the base of them, but wasn't looking up at him. Draco's heart sank down to his shoes as he descended the stairs to come to a halt by his father's side. "Fetch the goblin. He can tell us if the sword is real or not."
"Yes, sir."
"Draco." Draco looked up, startled at the self-loathing in his father's voice. For the first time in near a month, Draco found himself staring directly into his father's face. "It is Potter, isn't it? Do not lie to me."
Draco cast his gaze at the brocade on his father's vest. "Yes," he hissed, fists clenching to the point of pain. "He can't leave, father. He's..."
Lucius brushed a lock of hair off Draco's forehead, and Draco's eyes prickled in pain. His father's guilt ran deeper than Draco thought, and it hit him in the gut, a foreign knot of shame to reside alongside his own. "You want him for your own?"
"How—?"
"Do not think that you're the only one who can read in this household." Draco flushed at the arched look his question earned. "There is more than one book pertaining to our 'ancestry'."
He should have known his father would have some knowledge on his...disease, but he hadn't expected there to be more books in the house on the subject. He had only been given one, and he slept with it like a prayer book beneath his pillow.
"You think he'll try to escape. Is that what this is about? I don't understand."
"That's become increasingly apparent. Leave it to me, Draco. You will have your mate, one way or another."
Draco jerked his head in a nod, his thoughts spiraling at the implications of his father's words, before he ran as fast as possible toward the trapdoor leading to the dungeons.
An hour later, Draco discovered what his father had meant. His vision swam as he watched Greyback steal up behind Harry, crashing his meaty fist upon the slighter boy's head, knocking him unconscious. Potter's face was caught mid-morph from whatever hex had been cast. The effects were fading, leaving half his face puffed and bloated while the other side went deathly pale. Granger and Weasley were gone; his old house-elf lay twisted and broken less than three feet away.
Draco's wand clattered from Potter's lifeless fingers to the floor. Everyone in the room appeared to be stunned by this 'fortuitous' turn of events, but Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from Potter to notice.
Bellatrix cackled wildly somewhere nearby as Draco fell to his knees before Potter's head. He ran a hand gently across Harry's forehead, and under his nose. Soft breaths hit his chilled skin. A sob of rabid relief got lodged in his throat, as he moved to wipe away the trickle of blood flowing from Potter's scar.
"Draco, step away from our guest, if you will."
Draco's head whipped around and he stared up at Voldemort in part terror and part shock. His gaze moved over to his parents, who were both shaking their heads vigorously. He jumped to his feet, lethargy making the movement border on painful. His entire body wanted to stay firmly on the ground where he'd been, but his mind still had self-preservation.
Voldemort chuckled, feathering his fingers along Draco's cheek, making them hollow out. "You've all done well."
"My lord, we did it for yo—"
"Silence." The harsh word bounced off the ceiling and the room fell silent. "You will be handsomely rewarded for your part in this capture."
Bellatrix whimpered in delight. "My lord."
Draco moved to his parents' side, not resisting his mother's arm as he was pulled to her side. Pity and fear, but the guilt was muffled beneath them, and he felt his body relax in her hold. She understood then. It was good to have someone who did.
"No one is here to save you, Harry." Voldemort crouched down beside the prone body on the floor. He gripped Harry's chin between two fingers in a pantomime of the gesture he'd performed on Draco himself not so long ago. He knew how cold those fingers were, knew how disgusted he had felt, and the small blossom of blood on Harry's forehead made Draco ill. "Are you afraid of death?"
Draco closed his eyes when Voldemort withdrew his wand. He turned and buried his face against his mother's shoulder, knowing he was shaking and unable to stop.
Narcissa wrapped her arms along his shoulders and guided him gently over to the armchairs by the fire. He clutched at her as they went, fearing the quiet in the room. Maybe Voldemort would kill him first; at least then he wouldn't be forced to watch. That thought was what he clung to when his mother abruptly withdrew from his side.
"My lord?" he murmured, unwilling to raise his eyes from the crackling flames to the blazing red of Voldemort's eyes. A finger caressed his cheek, touching the wetness there, and stayed. Draco could feel the elongated fingernail digging into his flesh, drawing a small line of blood right beneath his eye.
"You're crying for him, Draco?" Voldemort's voice ran like silk down his spine and Draco had to choke down a hiss of frustration. No one else could play him in this way, as if he were a finely tuned instrument always waiting to be practiced upon. "How very unfortunate."
"My lord?" Draco sucked in a sharp breath. How could Voldemort be pleased by that? Draco's eyes flickered for a second up to his master's face before letting his eyes stray back to the floor.
"Wake the Potter boy and don't touch him."
Draco's head snapped up in shock. A wave of dread crested within his chest as Potter woodenly sat up. His glasses were absent, lying broken on the floor beside him. He hadn't thought this through at all. What would he do if Voldemort got the silly notion in his head that Draco cared about Potter? The consequences strangled the air from Draco's lungs. As painful as his existence was, he didn't want to die.
It was resignation he saw in the lackluster green eyes. Draco swallowed down bile as he gripped the arms of his chair. He was filthy, filthy, and a horrible person for being unable to do the one thing he wanted to do, which was cross the room, throw his arms around Potter and lead him away from there before something happened to him. A trickle of doubt niggled at his mind over his earlier decision. Draco couldn't recall wishing to protect anyone half as badly as he did in that frozen moment. Perhaps his mother, but he knew well enough that she could defend herself.
"Come." Voldemort flicked his wrist towards Potter and pointed to the spot beside Draco's chair. Draco caught Potter's eyes, and had to turn away in shame. He should have let him go. This wasn't right. Potter should be long gone, protected from this, from him. "I think you and Draco require a little time to chat. Isn't that right, Draco?"
"Yes, my lord." The words slipped past his chapped lips in a hushed whisper. He couldn't save anybody. He was pathetic, truly and utterly pathetic.
"Of course." Voldemort withdrew pressing a patronizing kiss to Draco's forehead. The malice in the action made Draco recoil back into his chair. He wished the velvet would swallow him and spit him back out in his bedroom. "You did wish to keep our dear Harry up here for a reason, did you not?"
Draco's fists clenched, tears squeezing out the corners of his eyes. "Yes, my lord."
"Very good, pet." Voldemort combed his fingers through Draco's hair once, and with a pat to the cheek, he withdrew entirely, moving to the fireplace. Draco hoped his robes caught flame. The house could go with it for all he cared, so long as he got Potter out of there first.
"Malfoy."
Harry's voice was little more than a gust of air against Draco's temple and he yearned to reach out and tug Potter down into his lap and hold him steady. He wanted to hate himself for those thoughts, but he couldn't. "Potter."
"Go on, Draco. Tell Harry why his clever little escape plan failed him. He's dying to know."
Potter's lips pursed in confusion, the first emotion he'd seen on the other boy's face since he'd been knocked unconscious. It made Draco giddy. Perhaps Potter wasn't completely gone then, not that Draco would ever have a chance to make up for what he was about to say. It was unforgivable. He turned his gaze back down to his folded hands on his lap.
"You were hit on the head. A very Muggle method, if you ask me."
"Crucio!"
Apparently, his answer wasn't one the Dark Lord wanted.
Draco screamed a split second before Potter fell to the ground. Pain burst through Draco's nerve endings, causing them to fire again and again as Harry writhed on the floor, screaming at the ceiling. The spell lasted too long and Potter lay too still when it was finally lifted. He slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily through his nose. Coppery tasting blood flooded his mouth, but he hardly noticed.
"Get up, Potter," he whined, sliding to the floor. He crawled to Po—Harry's side, he crawled to Harry's side, catching one of the thrashing limbs in his hand and pinning it to the ground. Harry was supposed to be stronger than this. Draco slapped the dark haired boy's cheek hard to rouse him. "Get up," he said, infusing the whine with more command.
His aunt's cackle broke the stillness of the air as he slapped Harry's face again. He couldn't lose him, not like this. He lifted his hand prepared to deliver another blow, when someone caught his wrist.
"That is quite enough, Draco, if you will..."
Draco gazed up at the Dark Lord, furious with himself, but not nearly as furious as he was with the man standing beside him.
Voldemort snarled. "Your anger irritates me."
"Your lust for me irritates me," Draco muttered bitterly, "but I've never said anything abou—"
Pain exploded behind his eyes, sending him crashing to the floor. He laid there, breathing heavily through his mouth, staring up at the ceiling and the dangling hook where a chandelier once hung.
"You are dismissed, Draco."
Draco nodded shakily, bracing himself up on one palm. He didn't look up as he drew Harry's hand up to his lips, kissing the pads of the fingers. His mind screamed at him to run, but he couldn't.
"You will see him again." The cool tones used did nothing to settle him. "You can even wait for his arrival in the charming dungeons this house holds. Now go!"
He was on his feet and out the door in five seconds, escaping the blood curdling amusement and pain.
He had no other choice.
~~~~
There had been nothing but silence for the last ten minutes. Draco's head pounded fiercely as he paced out in the hall. This place wasn't his home any longer. There had never been a room he'd been barred entrance from. He might as well go lock himself in the dungeons for all the freedom he now had.
His fist collided with the wall long before he heard the screams start. Draco pressed himself against the door to the ballroom, willing himself inside, not even caring if he could do anything or not. Harry was still in there, surrounded by Voldemort's inner circle. He was being tortured, and it was Draco's fault.
He beat at the door again fruitlessly. No one could hear him over Harry's agonized cries. Sinking to the floor, his heartbeat thudded in his ears, echoing strangely in the empty entry hall. This was his doing. If he hadn't been so, trusting? Optimistic? Scared? Draco rested his head against the hard wood, tears stinging his eyes, tracing tracks down his cheeks and dripping onto his bedraggled shirt. He hugged his bruised hand to his chest, straining to hear what was being cast over the screams.
A weak part of him hoped the screams didn't stop, because if they did it could only mean one thing and the thought choked him.
"Master Draco!"
Draco started, his eyes wide with terror as his head whipped around. A house-elf—What was her name? Did she have one?—was standing nervously before him, twisting and pulling at the end of her tea towel.
"Mipsy is sorry, sir, but Mistress Narcissa tells me to take you to the bath."
"I'm not a child," Draco snapped, trying the handle of the door once more, but finding it, as always, stubbornly locked. Raucous laughter spilled from the room behind the doors, jeers and catcalls resounding deep within his chest. He couldn't sit here like this without going mad.
"Mipsy's been bad, Mipsy must punish hers—"
Draco rubbed his head as the elf made an aborted move towards a vase to smash over her head. "Mipsy! Go draw the bath. I will follow."
Mipsy's eyes watered in relief,and she vanished with a crack, taking her tea towel twisting ways with her. Draco slumped backwards once more, relishing in the deadened silence that followed her departure. If Harry had died, he would know. He would know because there would be a party behind the doors, and there was nothing but silence there now.
He took that hope with him when he moved to climb the stairs to the second floor.
~~~~
Harry's stringy black hair fell over his pale face, obscuring Draco's view of his eyes. Three days had passed since he'd last seen him, and his entire being hurt from just looking at Harry. Countless times Harry had been dragged upstairs in the past few days and as each day slipped past, Draco began to doubt Voldemort would hold to his promise.
Draco knew full well that if the Dark Lord hadn't allowed Draco access to Harry that first morning, he would have torn the house apart in anxiety.
His father had been the one to inform him he could visit Harry for the first time by himself. The statement had been cool as if he had expected Draco to stay right where he was that evening.
It wasn't like he had a choice.
He gripped the cold metal bars, aching to reach through and try to touch the other boy. There was too long a gap between them, and all Draco wanted to do was apologise again and again until Harry believed him when he said it. He hadn't meant for Harry to become trapped here like this. It was never his intention to keep him as a captive for Voldemort's amusement.
If he had a choice, Harry would have been in his room ages ago, not caged down here like a wild beast. If he had a choice, he'd have taken a Time Turner back to the moment Harry set foot in his home and Apparated them away. Draco had set this up. His words and needs had made this possible, and he never felt more the fool.
Draco pressed his sweat slicked forehead to the bars as he willed Harry to wake up, willed him to say something cruel or delusional, willed him to glare at him. Any hint that Draco existed would suffice, even if it meant two black eyes and a broken nose.
"The Dark Lord wants me more than he wants you. Isn't that pathetic, Potter?" Draco sneered, trying and failing to infuse malice into his tone. "Aren't you happy for me? You ought to be." He deflated when Harry didn't stir. "You might survive," he murmured, sliding down to the floor across from the cell.
He watched as Harry's chest rose and fell peacefully. How anyone could sleep peacefully down here amazed Draco, especially someone in such a harrowing position as Harry was. He'd never sleep, at least not voluntarily. Drawing his knees to his chest, Draco rested his forehead on them and exhaled. His body shook with each breath as he willed himself not to cry again.
"You will too."
The sleepy rumbled shot through Draco's mind straight to his heart, and he jerked his head up in shock. "Pardon?"
Harry's stare was cool as he examined Draco's curled form on the floor. "You're going to survive as well, Malfoy."
"Spare me."
"You will," Harry insisted, crawling across the slick floor. Draco winced at the sight of blood tracing Harry's tracks. He fingered his wand as he tried to recall healing spells that didn't require direct contact with the sight of the wound. He couldn't open the cell door without anyone upstairs knowing he'd done so, and then it would be all over for both of them. Draco wouldn't take that risk. "Your parents—"
"Won't even look me in the eye," Draco hissed, recoiling against the wall. His chest hurt at the stunned look on Harry's face. "Neither of them, not since last June, and I don't expect that to change anytime soon."
"Malfoy—"
"I don't want your pity, Potter."
Harry grasped one of the bars and stared up at the ceiling. "You want something though."
Draco fidgeted. "May I heal you?"
"What?" Harry gaped at him like he'd grown another head, and Draco suspected it would have been less shocking. "You're kidding me. I'm not letting you near me."
"I did it the first night," Draco whispered self-consciously. He tugged his knees closer to his chest and looked away. He didn't want to see the revulsion those words would bring. The fact that he would feel it made no difference to him.
Though, the dead silence, in both emotion and words, was enough to make him turn back towards Harry.
"You—"
"Healed you," snapped Draco as he ran a hand through his hair, making a few white-blond strands stand on end. "What do you want, Potter? Photographic proof?"
Harry touched the back of his head as if he just suddenly noticed there was no longer a gash there. "Why?"
"Why did I heal you?"
Harry nodded, lowering his hand back to the floor. His gaze penetrated Draco's body and he squirmed uncomfortably. Harry wouldn't believe him, even if he told him, and he had. Of course, Harry had been delusional and speaking in tongues and had no idea of the ridiculous way he sounded or behaved, but Draco wasn't about to admit that. That didn't stop him from opening his mouth to answer.
"I wanted to."
"You wanted to."
"Yes, is that not good enough for you?" Draco spat, fingers clenching at the hems of his robes. He tilted his chin downwards in an open challenge. "Fine, I did it because the Dark Lord commanded me to, so you'd be coherent and more fun to play with next time. Happy?"
"No!" Harry glared, his cheeks flushing red in the sparsely lit dungeon. "Why can't you just tell me the truth?"
Draco scowled and stood up abruptly. He was furious with himself and with Harry for having to ask. Why couldn't he know? It would make this entire affair ten times easier. "As if you would believe me!"
"You're right," admitted Harry. A sheepish smile appeared on his face and Draco froze. Anger and desire wormed through him, battling each other for dominance. Neither would end well for Draco's position in his own home. He couldn't have Harry, but Merlin, he wanted him. "I wouldn't."
"Then why should I tell you?" Draco gritted out past his clenched teeth. His jaw ached, and he forced himself to relax, even as Harry's uneasiness seeped through his defenses. "Why should I give you that satisfaction?"
"Because you brought it up."
Draco lurched forward when Harry made an attempt to stand on his bad leg and caught the other boy against the bars, hating the harsh hiss of pain the action produced. Hot breath rushed against Draco's neck as they stood there locked in a mock embrace, each waiting for the other to move. Harry's heartbeat reverberated through Draco, a fast tempo keen on matching his. He pulled away first, heart shredding as he took first one step and then another from the cell. Green eyes locked onto silver in bewilderment. It was all Draco could do to let go of Harry's torn shirtsleeve to release him.
"It's only a scratch," Harry said, eyes flicking away even as he remained pressed against the bars. His knuckles were going white as he gripped them tightly, and Draco didn't even think.
"Sit down before you fall over and mess up the floors more."
To his surprise Harry did as he said, slipping down to the floor with a bemused smile. "I'm on the floor."
"I'm going to heal you."
"All right."
"No, really I mean it, I—You're letting me?" Draco did a double take to mask his suddenly shaking hands.
Harry snorted, and ruffled his hair. "Malfoy, just bloody heal me before I change my mind."
"Right, I—yes, fine." Draco swallowed and took out his wand, inching closer to the cell. He wanted to give Harry the chance to refuse, part of him silently begged the other boy to do just that, to save them both the humiliation and pain of Voldemort's cruelties later, when he scanned Harry's mind for what had happened when Draco visited. He had no doubt the Dark Lord had tried just that the first night, but wouldn't have got a clear memory from him. That suited Draco fine, but even if he Obliviated Harry, Voldemort would cut through it like soft butter. "Show me where the 'scratch' is."
Harry lifted his shirt and pulled down the top of his trousers to reveal a cut tracing along his hip bone. Draco sucked in a breath at the oozing blood. The cut was shallow, Draco could tell from where he stood, which meant it should have healed hours ago. Its existence should never have occurred in the first place. Everything about Harry's appearance screamed out the unnaturalness of the situation, all because Draco had been too selfish to let Harry go with Granger and Weasley.
He reached hesitantly through the bars and brushed his fingers along the edge of the cut. "Who gave it to you?"
"Lestrange."
Draco rolled his eyes impatiently, and Harry flushed. "Rodolphus."
"Poison blade," Draco hissed, pulling his fingers back.
Harry tugged his shirt down hurriedly and scooted back from the front of the cell. It took Draco a moment to realise the look of suspicion he was receiving was due to his easy recognition of the type of weapon used and not his touch. He sighed and stepped backwards with a frown.
"I can't heal you without the proper potion," he said, not sure what sort of reception the comment would get. He hardly knew what to expect from Harry at that point, and he wouldn't be surprised if the black haired boy told him to never come down again. Not that Draco would follow anything Harry told him, but he wouldn't be surprised. "I'll be back."
Draco tugged down the hem of his shirt and gave Harry one last passing look before heading toward the stone steps.
"Malfoy," Harry called out. His back was pressed up against the bars. Draco yearned to reach out and touch him again. Harry's insecurity and fear ate at him, and he couldn't move forward even if he had to.
"Yes?"
"Ron, Hermione and the others...are they? Did they—I mean?" Harry trailed off and shook his head. "Oh, bugger it."
"They haven't been found," Draco answered, keeping his gaze focused on the steps before him. He couldn't look at those green eyes staring at him hopefully as though he had actual news. Instead, he pushed himself to continue to climb the steps one at a time, aware of Harry's eyes following his progress as he went.
~~~~
The trip down to the dungeons the following afternoon had never felt longer as Draco scraped his knuckles against the rough stone of the walls. Harry shouldn't see him like this. Draco didn't think he'd be able to deal with Harry's ridicule at this point. It would destroy him, and he was so close to collapsing already. He fingered the vial in his pocket, just to feel something smooth and pure. An object couldn't cast derision on him. Guilt ate at his heart every hour he was uselessly away from Harry, making everything worse.
Draco could hardly function without wondering how different things would have been if he had helped Harry to escape in the first weekWould Harry's death be a distant imagined thing and not a real threat? Would Harry have been happier? None of these questions made the remaining steps any easier. He was a Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. He didn't do guilt, except when he was around Harry.
He heard muttering and a sharp curse as he neared the bottom step. "Malfoy?"
"It's me." Draco raised his wand and charmed the torches in the sconces, bathing both of them in blinding light. "I've got the potion. Your skin won't heal right away, but the bleeding will stop. I would have brought bandages as well, but I couldn't fit them in my pocket."
Head bowed, Draco moved to the cell door and muttered the unlocking charm. It didn't matter at this point. Voldemort knew his plans to heal Harry. Voldemort had read it in Draco's every thought and action during their 'chat' late last night. If he was going to stop him, he would have sent him into the willing arms of one of his many minions. Harry never would have seen him like this. He might not have seen at all. Draco didn't have the slightest clue how fast the poison would work through Harry's system, killing him slowly as the hours crept by so he couldn't even protest the next time they brought him above.
He slid into the cell and shut the door behind him, locking it. Harry was lying splayed on the floor, a grimace on his face as he looked at Draco. "It's all right, at least I won't bleed all over your floors."
Draco snorted and shook his head before kneeling beside Harry's head. Green eyes scanned his face with a squint. Draco wondered where Harry's glasses had gone. They had probably been taken as a trophy for a torture well done. "Lift your shirt, Potter. I can't treat you like this."
"You shouldn't be treating me at all." Harry lifted the hem of his tattered jumper, wincing as the rough fabric scraped over his cut. "Why are you in here? Won't somebody care?"
"The Dark Lord knows," Draco responded without inflection, uncorking the vial. He tipped a bit of the blue paste onto his fingers and swirled it between them. "This will be cold, Potter. There's no helping it."
Harry grunted, blocking his eyes with his hand. "Just get on with it, all right?"
Draco didn't bother with answering. Instead, he pressed his paste slicked fingers against the top of the cut, carefully applying the salve without putting too much pressure on the wound. Harry squirmed beneath his fingers as if that would warm the paste faster. Draco knew full well how futile Harry's movements were, but he wasn't about to disabuse him that notion. He'd rather Harry not move at all if he had a choice. He worked in silence, tracing his fingers again and again over the oozing gash, pushing down Harry's trousers enough to reach the end of the cut.
"Malfoy?"
"What?" Draco snapped without thinking about it. He needed to finish healing Harry before someone did take offense to his time spent in Harry's cell. Rough, dry fingers brushed across his cheekbone near his eye, and he froze.
Harry pushed himself up onto his elbows, and Draco pushed him right back down again. "You're crying."
"I don't cry."
"Then your eyes are sweating."
Draco blushed, eyes flickering to Harry's face then back down to his hip. "I am fine, Potter. I'm not the one leaking on the floors here."
"Malfoy."
"Don't start, Potter." Draco stared at his clenching fists, ignoring the tears tracking down his cheeks. "All right? I'm crying, fine. You don't want to see me do so. Fine! I'll be going then."
"Wait!" Harry struggled into a sitting position, hissing as the salve moved deeper into his cut. He reached out and snagged Draco by the shirt. "Don't go."
Draco gritted his teeth. His eyes burned, and he choked on a sob that kept trying to rise up his throat. His chest aching, he leaned his forehead against Harry's shoulder. He could only be pushed so many times in one day, and something in him snapped. He gripped Harry's shirt in his fist, trying not to sob out loud as his shoulders heaved, rocking them both. It was all he could do not to break down completely. They didn't have the time for him to fall to pieces.
"What's happened to you?" Harry's voice held a note of concern that Draco couldn't say was false. He couldn't say it was entirely truthful either, just that it felt nice, for once, to have someone ask.
"I'm sick. Disgusting," Draco muttered. "Do you know what it's like to enter a room and know without looking that everyone's following your every move? To feel lust even when you're ready to piss yourself from fear, knowing you've got no control. Have you ever been so aroused you thought you'd die from it and the only person who could release you from the torment could just as easily break you in half? I have, I have, and I loved every fucking second of it, and I'm a monster. I can't—" Draco cut himself short, shoving off Harry to scoot as far backwards from the other boy as he could. Harry shouldn't have to touch him in false compassion, and a broken part of him knew the touch would more likely be disgust. "I can't control anything anymore," he growled, tugging at his hair. "Harry, I can't. I can't—" He closed his eyes, slamming his head up against the wall. Black spots danced across his eyes and when they cleared, Harry was kneeling beside him, running his fingers through a few strands of Draco's damp hair. Draco nearly forgot how to breathe.
Harry slid away the moment Draco glanced at him. Panic was reflected clearly in those too bright green eyes. Harry couldn't even touch him without being revolted.
Draco didn't blame him. Who could? Draco knew what he was, what he looked like, smelled like and felt like. No one would want him, not unless he found a way to control his Allure to his own benefit, and the chances of that happening fell further away as his first year drew closer to the end. Dragging himself to his feet, Draco ran out of the cell and up the stairs, straight into his bedroom.
He answered the door for no one the rest of the night.
~~~~
"The Dark Lord had summoned me."
Harry's head whipped up as if he hadn't noticed Draco until he spoke. Draco pressed his forearms against the metal bars of Harry's cell and met Harry's agitated glare. He hoped he looked calmer than he felt. His pulse raced beneath pale skin, and his hands were trembling imperceptibly.
Draco had gone two days, and that was all he could do. His skin had pinched at his body, tightening his muscles, making him nauseous. The first night he went without seeing Harry had been spent in Nott's bed. Nott was very particular in his treatment of Draco, and he had craved the abuse that staying with him had promised. He called the tryst a distraction, but it had only heightened his pain. No one had told him what would happen to him if he stayed away from Harry because no one spoke to him about what he was.
"Oh, that's special, Malfoy, real special," Harry muttered, grasping the bars of the cell. He hoisted himself to unsteady feet, eyes narrowing. "Because you're the only one who's ever been in the presence of your esteemed lord before. Every night, Malfoy. Every fucking night I'm up there, and where are you? Where the hell were you last night?"
"I—"
"I don't want to hear it," he shot out, "You think you have no control? Control over what? What control do I have? I'm stuck in this god-awful cell being healed by an idiot who can't keep his cock in his trousers and has the gall to think he has problems!" Harry's knuckles bled white against the grey bars, his face flushed red with outrage. "Your problems mean nothing to me, Malfoy. Do you hear me? Nothing."
Fury coursed through Draco, blinding him to why his next actions might be wrong. He was going to die either way, though. He hadn't got permission to come down to see Harry. Wrenching open the cell door, Draco spun inside, pinning Harry bodily against the bars.
"Shut up, Potter! Shut the hell up! I could have just as easily never taken care of you. You would have died. I don't owe you an explanation."
Harry scowled, fingers flexing in a reaction so common to every irate witch or wizard Draco thought he'd laugh. "Death would be a sight better than this place! I thought you were different, but I guess I was wrong."
"I thought," Draco began, shoving Harry's shoulder. Nothing, he felt absolutely nothing but angry disappointment from Harry, and even that didn't quell Draco's desire. "I said shut up, Potter. Or is your hearing as bad as your vision?"
Harry snarled five seconds before letting his fist fly into Draco's face. Draco staggered backwards in shock. Pain radiated from his nose up his face and he fell back against the cell door. His eyes narrowed through the haze of red before his eyes, and he lunged forward, catching Harry around the waist for a few seconds before he collapsed to the floor. Harry was breathing heavily, a harsh wheeze beating against Draco's cheek. Draco nuzzled Harry's cheek, eyes sliding shut as his hold moved from clutching to embrace. He doubted Harry would know the difference; the racing of his heart could be interpreted as anger, the shallowness of his breathing as pain.
"Malfoy, what? Let go of me!"
"Quiet," Draco hushed, one hand moving to the base of Harry's neck, fingers playing with the matted hair there. It wasn't likely he'd ever get this chance again, and Draco didn't want it spoiled by Harry's petty complaints. His hand slipped around Harry's jaw as he pulled back to look at the other boy's face, which was dirt encrusted, distrustful, and absolutely perfect.
Swallowing thickly, Draco leaned forward, slowly, knowing Harry had no place to go, but wanting him to have the opportunity to come to grips with the idea of Draco in his personal space, touching his skin, and not hurting him. He dusted his lips across Harry's cheek, hinting at the corner of Harry's lips. The small gasp of surprise dragged a groan from his chest. Without giving him another chance, Draco crushed his lips to Harry's in desperation.
It took him less than two seconds to realise Harry was kissing him back. Chapped, broken lips pressed against his own with equal determination. Ecstasy, sharp, sweet and warm, spread through him as he pulled Harry closer. His heart raced, too fast to be healthy, and his head swam as he kissed Harry again and again in rapid succession, unable to pull away completely, and afraid to stay where he was for too long. His fingers dug into Harry's lower back, mouth parting to take a breath, and Harry took the opportunity to thrust his tongue into Draco's mouth.
Draco's eyes flew open to meet challenging green staring back at him. He exhaled through his nose, cradling Harry's face in one hand as he dove back into the kiss. If Harry thought he'd give up, he had another think coming. He had waited too long to be in this position and not even the Dark Lord himself could ruin this for him.
He fed Harry every feeling he had for him. Every moment of petty jealousy, and anger, every second he'd felt elated in his presence, the dizziness that occurred every time Harry was in the room with him. Everything. He gave all he had, and then some.
"I’m going to save you," he hissed, parting the kiss with a violent jerk. Harry's breath ghosted along his cheek as they sunk to the floor in a slow collapse.
"Here," Draco said after a moment. He pulled the thin vial from his pocket. The clear liquid in it sloshed against the edges as he examined it. Draco doubted he had made it incorrectly, but he was going to wait a few minutes just in case something went wrong. Draco couldn't afford for it to go wrong. He kept waiting for Harry to stop staring at him like he had something disgusting on his face, and then punch him instead.
Harry didn't seem to want to do either of those, or take the damned vial. Draco unclenched one of Harry's fists, placing the vial against his palm before closing Harry's fingers over it. "Take it and I'll go." "What is it?" Harry asked. He didn't look at the potion as he said it, but Draco could see the way his hand tightened around the fragile glass. "Don't think just because I shoved my tongue in your mouth I'd—"
"For Merlin's sake, Harry, just take it so I can go," Draco practically begged, dragging himself to his feet. He gazed down into Harry's upturned face from his position in the door. Arousal warred with disappointment as he waited for Harry to act. "Please. It's an anti-toxin. Do you really think I won't be killed if I kill you and the Dark Lord doesn't?"
Harry's mouth parted as if he was going to retort, but instead he thumbed off the tiny cork and drained the vial with a grimace. Draco nodded once, took the empty vial from Harry's cold fingers, and swept out of the dungeon.
He had plans to make.
~~~~
Breakfast the next morning was a strained affair. Draco picked at his eggs and bacon idly, knowing any food he digested now would end up on the floor ten minutes later. He couldn't stomach it. His father wasn't looking at him again; the only indication that he even knew Draco was at the breakfast table with him was the slight rustling of paper as Lucius turned the page, and the wrinkles that lined his forehead. Narcissa, on the other hand, had been trying vainly to engage him in polite conversation, acting like he hadn't done anything wrong.
For a wild second, he wondered if no one knew what he had done.
"Draco, you will take tea with me today, yes?"
He knew a summons when he heard one and nodded stiffly. "Yes, Mother."
"In my personal parlor?"
"Of course, wherever you wish."
"And no one will interrupt us, isn't that right, Lucius?"
Draco glanced over at his father, who muttered something under his breath, which could have meant anything from the depreciation of the Galleon to agreement. Whatever it had been, his mother took it as a positive answer and went back to talking about the peacocks plucking the early bulbs out of the ground. He watched her as she moved her food about her plate, taking careful sips of whatever fruit drink was in the goblets that morning—Draco had been too nauseous to look—and not eating much of anything at all.
He pushed his plate of warm food away, draping his linen napkin along the edge of his dish. "May I be excused, sir?"
"You may."
Draco didn't wait for further instruction and bolted from the table to the quiet sniggers of his aunt.
He didn’t leave his room all afternoon. Mipsy appeared once with a tray of lunch and vanished without a word to him, only to come back an hour later to fetch the untouched food and go once more. No one else came to check on him. He doubted anyone would notice if he dashed himself in the rose bushes below, if he had cared to jump out the window. He didn't of course, he had too much unfinished business, and he didn't fancy coming back as a ghost, at least not to haunt these halls.
He spent the afternoon reading the slim volume his father had handed him last June, two days after his birthday. It was the only true account of a Malfoy who had willingly forgone renewing the spell, and Draco had read it twenty times since then. He took solace in the well worn pages, ink fading and pages tearing from years of neglect, and abuse of the original owner. There was something about reading the direct telling of the effects of being part Veela. As much as Draco hated to admit it, if he'd been in any other situation than he was now, he would have been lapping up this life until there was nothing left of it.
He knew, or at least, logically knew, the Veela Allure worked both ways. He could just as easily ensnare people as people could trap him. He had no idea how it worked. Only vague glimpses within the careworn pages explained the differences between getting shagged by someone you pulled yourself and being shagged by a person affected by your presence when you weren't seeking someone.
Harry seemed to be the exception. Draco wanted nothing more than him, and Harry didn't seem to desire him at all.
The author of the journal made it sound like a rollicking good lark, except Draco knew it wasn't. He knew intimately what it was like to not be in control of your own powers of seduction. He oozed it having no person to turn to, to ask how to make it stop. Death Eaters were universal. No one in their right mind would talk to him about something anyone else would see as pointless drivel.
Draco sighed, thumbing through to the particular passage he'd been looking for earlier. It was the one he'd dog-eared and went back to every night before falling asleep. That is, he read it when he could find the time to lay down. Draco took solace in the words on the page. They told him that he wasn't the only one who fought for a person who didn’t notice him.
Harry hated him. He would always hate him. There was nothing Draco could do to change this fact, but it didn't stop him from needing Harry in a painful way. He didn't just want him. He needed him. Harry was pure, intangible, everything he craved when one of the other Death Eaters took him. Harry felt like a favourite blanket, or the way his stuffed dragon had made him feel when he had been four. Security was something Draco knew precious little of any more.
A loud pop startled Draco, and he hastily shoved the book under his pillow. He sat up, looking down to the end of his bed where Mipsy stood in wide-eyed apology. "Mipsy is sorry, Master Draco, but Mistress Narcissa is wanting to see you right away, sir."
Draco nodded. He slid off his bed with quiet grace, slipping his feet into his polished black shoes. Walking to his wardrobe, he selected a light grey robe, shrugging it on and doing up the many clasps. He checked his appearance in the mirror and left his room.
His fingers ran over every piece of furniture he passed, every picture frame, every side table. Draco dragged trails of dust through the house as he strolled to the opposite wing of the Manor. Knowing how impatient his mother could be with him, he tried to hurry his feet forward for her sake. The idea of conversation that wouldn't lead to a fistfight should alone have made him go faster, but it didn't.
At that moment, the only person he'd rush to see was Harry, but before he could, he had to have a plan of escape. It wouldn't be hard to form one once he spoke to his mother. He had to know what other precautions his father had taken to keep Harry in the manor. Draco had sensed the tightening of the wards the second day Harry had been in residence. A slight twinge at the base of his neck and a sudden feeling of claustrophobia and then it was gone. Only those of Malfoy blood would be able to Apparate into or out of Malfoy property, but the property only extended to the gates.
He knocked lightly on the door to his mother's chambers before opening it. The scene before him played out as serene, but Draco knew it was anything but that. He stepped into the cozy room and shut the door behind him.
"You wished to see me?"
Narcissa patted the beige cushion beside her on the divan, making it perfectly clear it would be unacceptable for him to sit anywhere else. He wouldn't deny her this. She had already done so much for him. He loved her more than anything, but surely she knew that any hint of disgust she held for his previous behavior would be felt, and more acutely than ever?
"Mother is going to make this better for you, Draco," she said, once Draco had seated himself beside her. She took up his hands in her warm ones and held them in her lap. "You don't speak to me any longer, and do not go about pretending you're happy, I know you far better than you may wish I did."
She kissed his temple, brushing a hand through his hair. "Won't you tell me what you're thinking?"
"Potter has to leave."
"Draco, you don't mean tha—"
Draco held up a hand and shook his head. "I can't be here when he dies, Mother. You can't make me sit back and let it happen."
Narcissa's piercing gaze searched his face for a moment before she asked. "What about your father?"
"He won't know until I'm gone." Draco gazed at the hand-painted tea set before them. "He'd try to stop me. He knows too much as is." Far too much. Draco shivered at the thought of how easily his father had read him that first day. Draco had been paper thin to him. "There's no other way I can do this. You can't tell him. Promise me, this won't go further than us. Mum, I need you to be on my side for this, just this once. I may never ask anything from you again."
"I have many secrets from your father." She framed his face with her hands. Her eyes softened when she continued. "This will only be one more. Just tell me what you need me to do."
"Can you lower the wards in the back garden without anyone noticing?"
"I can only dismantle a few and not the one you need. You're going to have to run for the gates if you truly want to do this."
Draco sucked in a sharp breath as he tried to estimate the distance from the dungeon to the front gates. They might not even make it through the house alive. Crossing the front lawns was near suicide, but staying here would be worse. He couldn't even be certain Harry would be able to run a great distance with his wound still healing. But there wasn't another choice, and if there was, there wasn't enough time to put it into action.
They would run, in a manner of speaking, but where they'd go once outside the wards was unknown to Draco. There were a multitude of places he could go, but none were safe.
"I might not come back," Draco whispered.
Narcissa ran a thumb over his cheek and smiled at him sadly. "It may not matter."
The sun had yet to rise when Draco stole out of his bedroom and down the main stairs. None of the portraits said anything to him, and he was grateful for their ignorant silence. The entire house was asleep. Draco could feel it in the stillness of the manor, and for a second, he let himself remember why he had loved this place once.
He pulled open the door to the dungeons, treading lightly on the stone steps. He was never sure if someone monitored these stairs, and tonight he'd have to be extra cautious.
Draco stopped short at the bottom of the stairs that led to the dungeon, heart beating so fast he thought he would collapse.
Harry was sleeping against the cell door, cheek crushed up against it, a thin trickle of blood tracing the contour of his cheek, leaking from his scar. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Harry. Warmth filled his senses as he took in the innocence of Harry's face.
In that moment, he let himself think on why he was doing what he was doing. Lust wouldn't drive him to seek ways to make Harry happy. No, it was something different, and it had been waiting quietly in the back of his mind for him to explore at a later time. Now that there might not be a later time, he was dumbstruck. He cared about Harry.
Perhaps it was the early time, or maybe the bit of wine he had taken to fortify his courage before leaving his bedroom. Whatever it was, he was thinking it, and he couldn't shake it. He fucking cared for Harry Potter's well-being, and the thought sickened and elated him. He’d been certain that once Harry was gone, if Draco survived, he'd forget him completely. He’d thought the lust, the want and the need that overwhelmed Draco every time he was in Harry's presence would fade to distant memory.
"I thought you said you weren't coming back." The sleepy slur catapulted Draco down the last few steps and across the dungeon floor.
"I changed my mind, Potter." Pulling the slim key from his trouser pocket, he held it up for Harry to see. "You're leaving."
"What?"
The yelp echoed around the barren room, and they both cast apprehensive looks at the stairs, waiting for footsteps, or some other noise.
"Idiot," Draco muttered, eyes flickering to Harry's face and then down to the key in his hands. He could back away now, hang the key back on the tiny little hook and pretend he'd never come down here. His life would be spared.
Harry scowled, rubbing his cheek as he climbed to his feet. "Sorry."
Draco rolled his eyes and waved Harry off, before sticking the key in the lock and turning it with a click and pop. The door swung wide, and Draco stepped backwards. Harry didn't move right away, nor did Draco expect him to do so.
"Come on. Before everyone wakes up would be preferable."
"I don't understand," Harry said, confusion pulling his lips into a frown.
Gritting his teeth, Draco stepped forward extending his hand. "You'll have to trust me then, just in this matter."
Harry eyed the outstretched hand as if Draco had doused it in flesh eating poison before offering it. His eyes stung at the most blatant refusal he'd ever received from the other boy, and he made to lower his hand, only to find Harry had clasped it in his cold, clammy one. Draco gaped at their joined hands in disbelief. His stomach flipped, churning the little bit of alcohol he'd consumed, making him dizzy.
"In this, I'll trust you, Malfoy," Harry told him in even tones that belied the sharp look Draco was getting. "Don't expect it for anything else."
Draco's cheeks were flaming red as he tugged Harry out of the cell. "As if I would, Potter. Now, I need you to close your obscenely loud mouth, and say nothing. We get caught, we die. There won't be a middle ground. Understood?"
"Perfectly."
They took to the stairs in silence. Draco tried not to think about the tingling sensation shooting up his arm from where Harry's hand held his own, but it was impossible to ignore. He thrummed with pleasure, every nerve trembling, firing rapidly from heart to brain, from muscle to muscle. This part was easy. Draco knew this house better than anyone save his own father, and he planned to use that to his advantage. Giving Harry little warning, Draco veered left into a floor to ceiling tapestry depicting a quiet country scene.
The fabric shimmered as they passed straight through and found themselves in the kitchens. Draco froze, casting an anxious glance at Harry to make sure he was still all right. The house-elves awake bowed deeply to the two boys, choruses of 'Master Draco' and 'Master Draco's friend' boomed about the small kitchen, punching them both in the stomachs. Draco had hoped some of them would have been asleep, but he had been mistaken.
"Will Tilly be getting Young Master's breakfast for him?"
"No," Draco snapped, nerves fraying in the loud din. His father would check on this if it got too noisy. He could barely hear himself think. "Now be quiet."
"Malfoy."
"What?" Draco caught the disgruntled expression on Harry's face and sighed. "Fine, Tilly? Two apples, please. And a cloth napkin."
Five seconds later the house-elf was back, food in hand, with a wary expression. "Master Lucius is awake, Master Draco. He wants his breakfast now. Will you be joining him?"
"I won't be, and you can tell him that as well." He swiped the food and shrunk it, before slipping it into his pocket. He had no idea when they'd get to eat them, but he felt better with food on their persons since they had no money. "Ready?" he asked, carefully moving through the kitchen to the entrance that led outdoors. Harry stayed silent at his side, his eyes drooping slightly, as if the smell of baking bread was overcoming him, and with a pang, Draco thought it might be. The sun was rising on the opposite side of the house, casting shadows across the lawn, giving them just enough cover, and if they timed things right, no one would see their headlong run down to the gates.
"We're going to have to run."
Harry sighed softly, leaning against the wall, his hand tightening around Draco's. "I know."
Draco swallowed hard at the pained quality of Harry's voice, and it took him a moment to remember the gash along Harry's hip. "Bugger. Come on then, Potter. If you can't run, I'll carry you out, but we're leaving."
"I can run fine, Malfoy. Thanks for the concern."
"You're not taking this very seriously, you know," Draco grumbled, grasping the doorknob. He found the cool surface calming, a contrast to his and Harry's overheating hands.
"I'm going to die, Malfoy." Harry laughed harshly. "If we get caught."
"And so will I. But I, unlike you, seem to want you to live, and now come on." Draco tugged Harry forward and then pushed him out the door into the soggy grass. Draco stumbled out behind him without bothering to close the door. He squeezed Harry's arm once firmly before rushing from the house. "Run!" he yelled over his shoulder, except Harry didn't move.
"Damn it, Potter," Draco growled, "get the mud out of your ears, we've got to go."
Whatever was holding Harry back broke and he propelled forward, grasping Draco's hand and pulling him headlong down the sloping lawns towards the wrought iron gates.
Harry began lagging behind, the further from the Manor they ran. His hand clutching at his side, and through the completely destroyed shirt, Draco could see blood seeping into the cotton sweater. A wave of distress hit him, and before Harry could pitch forward to his knees, Draco scooped him up into his arms, cradling Harry's bony frame close to his chest as he dodged into the small wooded area along the hedges.
Breathing shallowly, Draco pressed himself against the prickly thorned bushes, listening for following footsteps, for low murmurs, for the scent of ozone, for anything to tell him they might have been spotted on their reckless race across his front lawn. There was nothing, which was more than Draco could have hoped to get.
He slumped backwards, refusing to set Harry down, even as the other boy struggled in his arms.
"Malfoy, put me down."
"Do you have a death wish? Keep still, Potter. We're almost at the gate, from there you can walk wherever you damn well please."
Harry tensed in his arms, and Draco worried the inside of his cheek. "You're not coming with me?"
"Why would I?" he returned, shifting Harry's weight in his arms. "I'd be in the way. You'll have your friends."
"Yeah, but," Harry paused and Draco could almost hear the words forming in Harry's mind. "You'll be killed."
"I'm expendable." Draco's eyes flicked to the vivid scar on Harry's forehead once more. "You're not. Now be quiet for Merlin's sake."
Harry's scowl was nearly attractive, and Draco's mind blanked blissfully for a few seconds as he navigated the trees and hedges.
He should have been more careful was the first thought that crossed his mind at the screeching wail that burst forth from the albino peacock beneath his foot. He stumbled sideways, setting Harry on his feet to keep their balance. Harry shot him a terrified look at the sound, grabbing at his torn pocket only to realise slowly what Draco knew the entire time.
If they got caught, there was only one wand between them. What Harry didn't know was if things became dire, Harry would get his wand and a shove out the gates and onto the road. He hadn't been lying, he was expendable. His death would be mourned by no one but his own family. Harry's death would cause mass chaos and spell disaster for the Wizarding world.
Lost as to how to calm Harry beyond pushing him forward, Draco guided Harry through the trees.
"Pretty chickies, what's the problem, loves?"
Harry made a sound that was something like a whimper, and leaned back into Draco. Every bit of Harry seemed to be shaking, and Draco wished he knew it was with rage and not fear. He wrapped an arm around Harry's chest, holding him still. His aunt hadn't noticed them yet; perhaps if they stayed still long enough, she'd go back inside.
A high pitched gleeful laugh was more an answer than Draco needed.
"Someone was mean and nasty to you, weren't they? Someone's outside who doesn't belong."
A peacock shrieked, the sound of feathers rustling through leaves of the trees was suddenly deafening, but not as frightening as the resounding silence that fell after.
"Shame. I bet you were Lucy's favourite weren't you, you foul thing."
"Bella?"
Draco frowned. What was Nott still doing here? His breathing was uneven as he slowly began to move them forward once more. He kept his arm firmly secured around Harry's chest, ignoring the fear and anger that sloshed into him with each footfall. He tried to keep their footsteps muted as best he could, throwing random glances over his shoulder, always fearing they were being followed, even as the sound of voices grew more distant.
Harry was the first to stumble again. The low pained cry reverberated in Draco's chest as he swept Harry into his arms once more. It was too late though, to muffle the noise that those three simple actions had created.
"Who's there? I know you're there," Bella sang. Draco fought away his own nausea at the cloying tone, and ran. He ran as hard as he could, feet slamming the hardened earth as he carried Harry to the exit of the prison he'd created. If he fell, it would be the end of both of them. He closed his eyes, picturing the gate in his mind. Outside of it, they could go find help. He clung to that one crazed desire, to keep Harry safe, as he broke free from the wooded area. Their protection gone, Draco pushed himself faster, running wildly down towards the main path that cut across his lawn.
Spells flew wild near his head, harmlessly hitting the hedges that lined the property. Keeping Harry as still as possible, he dodged the hexes, blood slicking his fingers when they touched the fabric of Harry's shirt. He had to put him down. Harry wobbled on unsteady legs before lurching forward at the gate, shaking it like an idiot.
Voices were yelling behind him, sounding the alarm that their prisoner was escaping. Someone was screaming that it was Draco's doing and that he should be killed on sight as a traitor. Harry's expression refilled his flagging sensibilities and gave him enough sense to yank open the iron gates, leaving enough room for them to slip through to the other side.
Draco studied the tense lines of Harry's face as they crouched down behind the outer hedges. Spells flung high over their heads, reds and greens, sparking against the bushes and trees, each curse hitting closer and closer to where they hid. Seconds ticked past like hours, and suddenly, Draco knew precisely where they would go.
Harry coughed hard, his shoulders bunching and heaving as angry tears slid down his pale cheeks. Draco pulled Harry to him, softly kissing the crown of his head. He could only hope Harry knew that Draco wouldn't let him die, not like this.
Tucking Harry's head under his chin, Draco raised his wand high into the air with his destination fixed in his mind.