Hello there!
This, finally, ultimately, at long last,is the Draco/Harry story I wanted to write.
Title: Ytilamaerd
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just borrowing them for a bit of fun.
Warning: slash, lemon, abuse. Don't like, don't read.
Enjoy!
It was just mere minutes past midnight. A lone shadow walked down the dark corridor and quietly sneaked to a door. It squeaked a bit as it opened and the figure jumped. Seconds of nervous waiting later it was clear that none of the other occupants of the house had woken. The figure sighed in relief and slipped in.
The room was almost completely dark, only light of the full moon fell through the rather small window, the glow reflecting in the mirror. The boy stopped in front of it and studied himself. Hesitating shortly he took off his t-shirt and turned his gaze to his torso and upper body.
Deep green eyes found bruises, both fading and new, scars, almost healed wounds that had reopened, burnings, fresh wounds, scratches, lines and patterns that were drawn with knives, rope marks and blood, oh so much blood. Most of the blood had already dried, but some of it was still fresh.
He didn't need to turn and look at his back to know that it would look very similar to his front, it was probably even worse. Shoving the thoughts away he turned and looked. It was worse, the belt-lashings stood angry and red against his barely tanned skin. Some of the wounds there almost went to the bone.
Sighing heavily he reached up to the rack, wincing only slightly in pain, taking down a washcloth, the one he always used. With as much care as he could muster he began his usual washing, trying to get rid of the blood.
He tried to regain the tiniest spark of cleanliness or even, dare he hope it, some flicker of purity.
But
Just like every of these many, many times before
Nothing
Nothing happened
He didn't feel better in the slightest.
Not that he ever expected it to change, but he could hope.
Couldn't he?
Wasn't he SUPPOSED to hope?
Wasn't it expected of him?
It was.
They always wanted him to do it.
They always wanted him to hope.
To hope for them.
To carry their burden for them.
To do anything they wanted him to.
To let himself be used as a pawn in their game.
He just HAD to.
He was their hero after all.
It simply COULDN'T be any other way.
They wouldn't have it.
If they were here now all they would do is to tell him to hold on, to tell him that he would get over it, that he was strong.
Then they would turn their backs on him and walk away.
So better not tell them about this.
Whether they knew or not he would always have to cope himself.
Nobody would help him.
That was not a serious enough mater for anyone to care anyway.
The boy turned round, washed out the washcloth and hung it back onto the rack.
He would take care of his legs tomorrow, right now he was only tired.
The boy gathered the ripped and dirty shirt off the floor, opened the now silent door and rushed back the short hallway and into his room.
He closed the window, relieved that the smell of blood was not that strong any more and he already started getting terribly cold. It had been long ago since he last bothered about the stench. Ten years back it had disturbed him, brought back the horrible memories and letting him relive the happenings. But not any more. Now it only reminded him that he was alive, after all. The memories had long since become a part of him, a part he could never escape.
Still, he was alive.
Yeah, that is just SO like me: the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. Aren't I lucky?
It was a hot and sultry midsummer evening.
Harry Potter was just making his way back into the dreaded house, that had been the only home he had known for over ten years. The very same house that he had now returned to for the fifth time, after having found a place that he now liked to call his "home".
He did not really look at where he was headed as he knew the Garden like the back of his hand. He was lost in the fact that his sole body hurt from all the work and the old bruises.
He staggered into the dreaded house, walking to his room and collapsing on his bed.
Again, like the night yesterday, and like the night before, or the night before that, or any night since the end of school a bloody and bruised boy softly walked down the short corridor leading to the bathroom. The same bathroom door opened without a squeak that night, deciding that it would not have to put additional strain onto the nerves of the poor boy.
Again the battered form reached for the same old washcloth, worn-out, stiff and scratchy after years and years of daily use.
Again the t-shirt was thrown off, and green eyes scanned the wounds and bruises.
Again the blood was cleaned off and the old washcloth washed out.
Again the door was opened anew, not squeaking and letting the boy leave in peace.
Again the door to the tiny bedroom, the one with the bloody smell and only the uncomfortable cot and the single little cupboard for furniture opened and admitted its occupant inside.
Again the worn-down covers were drawn back, and a skinny body slipped under it, grateful for the sole fact that the cot was at least a bit more comfortable than the floor.
Again heavy lids with black lashes drifted shut to grant the lithe body its deeply needed sleep.
Harry's green eyes opened slowly, taking in his surroundings.
He was lying on a very soft and big four poster bed. Slender metal poles, beautifully craved Chinese dragons supported the baldachin above. The hangings were of a rich deep blue, lined and embroiled with shining silver. The linen was of the exact same design, looking equally expensive. The silken covers, only loosely draped over him, felt very soft against his bare skin.
Only then did the black-haired boy realize that he wore not a single item of clothing.
Seconds later a low, melodious voice drifted through the air. It made it's way to his ears, bringing him back from his shock.
"What happened, love? Did you have another of your nightmares?"
Pale, muscular arms wrapped around him from behind, drawing him back against a cool, hard chest. Warmth from deep within them both engulfed him, just like the body behind him. He let out a deep, content sigh and relaxed, for the first time in what felt to be centuries. His whole body fell limp as he was overcome with a deep sense of security and safety.
"It'll be okay. I'm here."
Light kisses were panted on ebony hair while the arms just held on tighter. Emerald orbs were covered once more as his tired eyes closed.
The arms shifted and laid him down on his back. Harry could feel the other hovering just above him an aura of iciness surrounding him. Anybody else would have shivered at the cold but to Harry it was complete bliss. He relished the cool that soothed his skin as well as the fire that molt the walls around his soul.
Slender fingers glided slowly across his skin, sending shivers of pleasure though his body. They proceeded to explore his whole body, setting his nerves on fire and forcing quiet moans from his throat. Cool lines were drawn on the light tan, gently caressing the lithe form.
Slowly the other leaned closer, planting gentle, feathery kisses where his hands had just left moments ago. Slow licks soon followed suit, leaving wet trails on now burning skin. The owner of emerald orbs could no longer restrain his body from trembling in pleasure.
Lids with ebony lashes squeezed shut even tighter momentarily. Then he gave in and relaxed fully once again.
Rosy lips and shaking hands fervently sought cool skin and silken hair. Cool lips moved to meet his, capturing them in a gentle, passionate kiss. Velvety tongues moved against each other, lazily battling for dominance. The ebony haired as much giving into his cool partner as he was being dominated over.
The green eyed boy could clearly feel the cool body rolling on top of him, supporting himself on either side of his head. A excited gasp robbing him of what little breath he had left. The other pulled away slightly, to give him time to catch his breath, but not separating their lips even in the slightest.
Another gasp was drawn from the boy as his partner grid their nether regions together. Those cool lips once again found his own hot ones, tongue hungrily seeking entrance. The permission to ravish the hot cavern was immediately granted.
Both of them were eager to get even closer. So the other didn't resist as the ebony-haired pulled him down, desperate for even more skin to skin contact.
They rubbed together in a long since existing rhythm, both groaning as ecstasy built up more and more and then, finally, took over.
Experienced fingers worked their way down his stomach, over his thighs to his most private area. All the while that wondrous mouth showered him with caresses, nipping at his collarbone, licking at his throat or lightly biting down on his neck.
Slowly one finger was inserted into his tight opening, sending another jolt of pleasure rushing through his system and forcing a little cry out of his throat. As soon as he had calmed somewhat the second finger followed, renewing the sensations and forcing him to make a keening sound. The fingers moved, searching, widening and preparing. Then they brushed against that one spot deep inside him, that made Harry cry out. Slowly the talented fingers withdrew again, causing a moan at the feel of loss.
That feeling soon faded as something much bigger gently pushed into him. At first there was pain. He had to gasp, his breathing came faster and he could barely keep from crying out loud.
Slender hands rubbed his back in an effort to calm him. His lips were caught in a gentle kiss again. The low voice made it's way to his ears again though he barely registered the soothing words.
"Relax, love. I'm not going to hurt you. I won't hurt you, ever. Just relax. It'll be fine in a minute."
The gentle ministrations of his partner soothed him down and his body relaxed.
The other was now sheathed deep within him and began to move, little thrusts, letting him adjust to the movement. Steadily the thrusts increased, till he had settled into a steady rhythm. The cool one pushing into the other forcefully, but ever careful not to hurt the lithe boy underneath him, and the ebony-head meeting him, drawing him deeper still.
Slowly but surely they neared completion. The cool one starting to stroke his lover, intend on sending him over the edge first.
The ebony haired boy threw his heard back and screamed out in pure pleasure. Only seconds later his partner followed with a deep, throaty groan of his own.
Basking in the afterglow the cool figure drew his lover into his arms, holding him tightly to his chest.
"I love you, Harry."
Emerald eyes snapped open and looked directly ahead into silver orbs that held a nearly unnoticeable amount of icy blue within.
Emerald eyes snapped open and looked directly ahead, only seeing darkness. It was slowly retreating to give reign to a new day.
Harry was panting and sweating and his heart thuddered heavily in his chest. Wearily he sat up, trying to bring his shaking body back under control.
A quick look around told him that nothing in his tiny room had changed in the slightest.
The single wardrobe which held all of his few belongings was still in place, as was the window and his scattered clothes from yesterday.
Everything looked normal.
Today was nothing special after all.
Just another morning with an abrupt waking after another strange dream. Nothing remotely unusual, nothing he hadn't experienced before.
Harry looked at the old clock on his nightstand. It was 6 o'clock. He still had half an hour till his aunt would stand outside his door, screech for him to wake up and him having to do so in order to start breakfast.
Harry quietly moved out of bed and shuffled through his cupboard for a new set of clothes. He carefully picked up his torn clothes and slipped soundlessly out of his room. In a matter of minutes he was out of the backdoor and had discarded the torn clothes into the garbage can.
Then he relaxed.
Harry walked over to the end of the garden, facing the rising sun directly. For a few moments he just stood there, with his eyes closed, letting the bright sunrays warm his small frame.
"I love you, Harry."
Somehow Harry knew whom these words belonged to and he also knew that this person was nowhere near him at this moment, but he also couldn't remember why, where or if he had ever heard them. But they seemed to echo through his whole being. And they warmed him much more than any sunray ever could. These words set him aflame, burned him from the inside out. Harry could feel a sort of coolness wash over his skin, but whether it was the wind or something else he couldn't tell.
He suddenly could hear a bird chirping and the wind rustling his clothes and the leaves on the trees, as if he had been deaf until now and somebody had miraculously cured his hearing.
"BOY!" aunt Petunia chose that one peaceful moment to screech for him from inside the house, ruining it.
"Coming, aunt Petunia!" Harry called back over his shoulder.
He stood just a second longer, watching the new day and smiling. Then he turned around, facing the dreaded house and his face fell.
The shining face, adorned with the most beautiful smile was replaced by a mask of dull obedience and sparkiling eyes were dimmed to sadness. His shoulders slumped as he slowly began to move. The weight settling onto him seemed to get heavier with every step he took.
As he had reached the backdoor nothing resembled the young man who had stood at the edge of the garden just moments ago. The miserable boy opened the door and walked in. The door fell shut behind him, shutting out the brightness of the new day.
That was the first chapter.
I'll write more as soon as I get some reviews.
I would really like your honest opinions on this. Flames will be ignored.