Hello everyone, I'm writing this story in a response to a challenge by Velven Malfoy, which was basically to do a Ginny/ Theodore Nott, with some Draco/Harry on the sideline, but what it actually has become is the story of a sexual assault, mind games from Voldemort, and two young men trying to come to terms with a situation beneath their control. It has slash scenes, but I don't think it will actually become a slash story, just a bit of confusion. I have written up to chapter five, but there's not much point in posting them unless people review to say they like this and want to see what happens; there's so much stuff on now, I don't know whether much of what I put on will get read. So please review!

Disclaimer: No part of Harry Potter of its characters belongs to me. No profits are being made. This disclaimer applies to the whole story.

A/N: Although this story had to take place in 7th year, as I am uncomfortable with writing any sexual situations with underage characters, Dumbledore and Snape remain as they were before HBP so that needs to be disregarded. Enjoy.

Crocodiles.

PART ONE.

Harry Potter finished drying his left foot and began hopping about trying to tug his socks on. It was a tragic, vulnerable moment, especially as he soon afterwards crashed into the side of the changing room benches and staggered around cursing with half a shoe on. So it was lucky that he wasn't disturbed until he was sitting safely on the bench and was wiping all the mud off his broom. His brow furrowed; Harry Potter was not accustomed to losing. The sound of a deliberate snort alerted him to the other boy leaning with an arrogant nonchalance against the open door, where silhouetted by the sun going down across the sweeping pitch behind him he looked absolutely unwelcome. "Good game, Scarhead," he said, and grinned.

Harry turned his back on Malfoy and scowled. "Get out of it, Malfoy." He began folding up his quidditch uniform and putting it in a pile with the rest of the team's for washing. He bent over and picked up his broom again, conscious of the other boy's gaze on the back of his head. It made him tickly and he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously before pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He gritted his teeth, and repeated, "Malfoy, get out of here." He got another snort in response. But this time it was closer. "Malfoy-" he turned around and found himself face to face with the smugly smirking enemy.

"What's wrong, Potter? Going to throw a tantrum? Too good to lose?" and damn it, Malfoy was smiling. Smiling really, really close. Harry inhaled hard through his nose, letting the breath out slowly.

"Get out. I won't say it again."

Malfoy stepped closer. "Don't try to threaten me, Potter."

Harry raised his chin a little –Malfoy was taller than him and this close up it was really starting to show. Harry faltered. He didn't have his wand on him because of the quidditch game, and now was a time when he might really need it, as he was not particularly handy in a fight. He took half a step back, inwardly kicking himself for having let Ron go off to meet Hermione without waiting for him. Kicking himself for poring over his quidditch strategies to see where it had all gone wrong this morning. Malfoy's smile had faded; he looked… not exactly threatening, but pensive. Not a look that Harry generally associated with his nemesis. He stepped up even closer, and the back of Harry's thighs hit the captain's desk. "What the hell are you trying to pull, Malfoy?"

"Harry! Harry, are you still in there? Ron and Hermione are fight-" Ginny appeared round the doorframe, "-ing," she finished belatedly, freezing at the sight of Harry backed up into the desk with none other than Malfoy a centimetre from his face. "Harry?"

"Excuse me, Malfoy," said Harry coldly, giving the offending boy a little nudge out of the way. He groped for his bag and broom, swinging them both over his shoulder and ushering Ginny back out without looking back. If he had, he would have seen that day's quidditch champion hoist himself up onto the Gryffindor quidditch captain's desk and sit there reflectively.

"What was that about?" asked Ginny, curiously, trying to look up at Harry whilst keeping pace with him as he stomped away from the quidditch pitch, brow creased. Harry slowed slightly and threw her a friendly smile.

"No idea –Malfoy just being… well, Malfoy, I guess," he answered, scuffing his trainers on the grass, the hand that wasn't carrying his bag and broom, stuffed into his pocket, in a typical Harry mannerism. He paused, then added, "probably about to gloat over the match." The hand left his pocket and began tugging at his hair, trying to make it lie a bit flatter –another Harryism.

"We have to lose sometimes," said Ginny, trying (and failing) to console him.

"Not to that git, though," said Harry petulantly, "usually he can't catch the snitch even when it's hovering right under his nose. So either he was uncharacteristically great this morning… or I was just shit." Ginny bit her lip and didn't answer. "And," Harry decided, "I have to say that not only was that bastard on great form today, but also that not only did I suck, I sucked more than I have ever sucked before in my life."

Ginny laughed, "poor sucky Harry," giving him a shove. Harry chuckled and then paused, looking back at the quidditch stands. "Come on, Harry," Ginny urged gently, giving him a little tug, but he didn't move. She registered the internal battle playing across his features –was he seriously considering going back in there to hash it over with the Slytherin git? He was. "Harry?" he looked down at the bag he was carrying, thinking about something. "Harry," she repeated, feeling a little annoyed now that he couldn't let the situation go, "come on, I need you to distract Hermione and Ronnie from murdering each other."

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, cleared his throat and said, "I left our strategy notes on the table. Malfoy might still be in there, what if he reads them? We'd be finished."

Ginny gave the arm she was holding a hard shake, "Harry Potter, would you stop obsessing? Come on!" she gave him a hefty tug which caused them both to stumble on the soft lawn, but did little else to sway his decision.

"I'm sorry Gin, but this is really getting me –I'll meet you in the common room?"

Ginny groaned, "you know what Harry, sometimes you're a real git," she said starkly. "Give me your bag, I'll take it up with me."

"Thanks, Ginny." She was already gone.

Malfoy turned at the sound of footsteps, his body still bent over the Gryffindor quidditch strategy. At the bottom, in Ron's unmistakable scrawl, was 'KILL MALFOY' written in blotchy capital letters. He had just been laughing to himself over this, when Harry burst back into the changing rooms. He straightened up hurriedly, conscious of his wand in his right pocket, the distance between himself and the bespectacled hothead in front of him.

"Making copies, Malfoy?" Harry spat, gesturing towards the crumpled notes littering the desk between them. Malfoy walked round with deliberately annoying nonchalance, until there was barely a wand-length separating the boys. He smiled nastily.

"I wouldn't touch your strategies with a twelve foot broomstick, Potter. Why would I need to –Slytherin are, after all, top of the quidditch league. Perhaps you've come back to get some pointers?"

Harry's nostrils flared, but otherwise he didn't give the blond bastard the satisfaction of seeing him cave. That is, not until he hit Malfoy full on the cheekbone. Malfoy reeled back and drew his wand. Harry froze –after all, he didn't have his. "Crucio!" Harry was shocked, he knew Malfoy was a royal git, but he'd never get heard him utter an unforgivable curse. Luckily, it seemed to be his first time of trying, as it was easily shaken off, though Harry's nose began to trickle with a slight nosebleed. He wiped his mouth briefly with the back of his hand, swinging back and lashing out at Malfoy again all in the same movement. Harry wasn't very good at hitting people, but Malfoy was no stockier than himself, and clearly wasn't used to being used as a punchbag. He got him in the stomach. Malfoy's thighs hit the desk as he backed off. "Stupefy!" Harry felt a surge of power and deflected the hex. Malfoy's eyes went wide. "What the hell, Potter?" he hissed, angrily.

Harry felt his temper going out of control. He hadn't done serious instinctive magic since he blew up Aunt Marge. The freedom felt absolutely wonderful. Addictive. "You think you're a match for me, Malfoy?" it was not him talking, surely. He felt a surge of empowerment, the kind that ran through him when Voldemort was very, very happy, oblivious to Malfoy's sudden look of horror. As if in a dream, Harry leaned forward, bending the other boy backwards over the table, jerking the wand away from his throat and out of the offending hand, flinging it away somewhere over his shoulder. Malfoy lowered onto the desk, hair blotting drops of ink, consumed like never before: by sheer terror, as his nemesis' hand curled gently around his throat, the veins standing out bright and blue. Harry smiled like a crocodile.