(This work takes place at the midpoint of "Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince" and does not follow the chronological timing nor character development put forth by J.K. Rowling thereafter. I am aware that prefects do not get their own rooms in cannon; in this story Draco does get his own room. All credit for the characters, story, universe, and arcs credit to the original author.)
Draco vomited violently into the porcelain basin in his dorm room toilet, his entire body trembling. His hair hung damp and sweaty from his forehead as he retched again despite himself. His knees protested on the hard stone of the floor and his head swam. Coughing and spluttering he kneeled hunched over the bowl. He waited… he knew what was coming. He pulled the chain to the flush box and pulled himself to his feet. He closed his eyes, willing the images out of his head. His forearm burned and prickled under his night shirt and the tears slid down his cheeks. He wiped the sick from his mouth, spitting and inhaling sharply as the shame swelled inside him. Turning quickly he stumbled from the stall, clumsily lurching to the sink. Draco stood, knuckles white on the cool rim of the sink, and gave himself over to the sobs that forced their way up from his chest. Wracking sob after wracking sob left him drained and miserable. He dared not open his eyes; he did not want to see what he had become in the bathroom mirror. Pressed tight he could see the veins in his eyelids against the torch light as stars swam behind them from the exertion. Draco's hand ran up his wrist, past the crook of his elbow to rest at his neck. He felt so disgusted, so ashamed and betrayed by his own subconscious. The dreams had to stop. It was so wrong, so… so unnatural. He sniffed, composing himself. His hand dropped back to his forearm to rest on the dull smudge of the skull and serpent as he took deep breaths. He opened his eyes.
Before him stood a gaunt, hollow looking boy. This boy- no, this man; only sixteen yet so much frailer now. His eyes were bloodshot, the hollows under them purple with stress and sleeplessness. His hair was unkempt and dull, his collar bones bared and defined where food had not found them. The nobility that had once pinked his cheeks and chiseled his jaw had slackened with anxiety. He looked worn and forgotten, as if the world had passed him by. Draco stared back at himself from the mirror. He could not believe what he had become. His Master expected him to do the impossible. His Master required a sacrifice that he was not sure he could make. All that he could do was stare at his reflection, taking in the impossibly blue eyes and the blotched, gaunt cheeks. Exhaling sadly Draco turned on the tap and washed his face. As the cool water stung his skin he could not shake the feeling that still lingered at the back of his mind. Despite the chilly bite of the water and the hollow sickness that had struck him his belly still swam with warmth. His eyes snapped open; he could not leave them closed for long.
Draco had not slept a proper night in months. The times he managed to get some sleep it was filled with tormenting, tumultuous dreams. He was not being manipulated; no, if there was one thing he'd mastered it was occlumency. These dreams were of his own creation, excruciating and visceral and inescapable. It sickened him. Many nights he woke to the taste of bile in his throat even though he burned for them. He had tried potions for dreamless sleep but somehow they crept in. He curled in on himself, turning to lean against the cold wall of the bathroom. As he slid to the floor he clutched himself around the knees, rocking slightly. It was such a horrible sensation. The combination of exhilaration and disgust was so much worse than outright sickness. The dreams he fought to control were, at the same time, dreams he found himself wanting more of every night. He had become so weak in his quest to mend the vanishing cabinet that he'd allowed himself to be overrun with these horrific thoughts. He knew what his father would say were he not in Azkaban and could see his mother's wailing silhouette in his imagination. But by the gods he could not escape the dreams.
The hot sensation in his belly tugged again and unbidden images flitted across his mind. Draco cried out, twitching in protest as he gripped his knees yet tighter. Flashes of darkest leather whipped past, snippets of bare skin on skin and the bite of metal; gruff figures at every angle, slapping and pulling and forcing him to-
"NO!" cried Draco, slamming his fists into the stone beside his feet. He stood up at once, chest heaving. He threw himself towards the shower, wrenching open the rich emerald curtain and twisting as many taps as he could reach. He shed his clothes in one motion, ignoring the tension of his body. He stepped into the frigid water, tears threatening again as he shivered in the onslaught. Seconds went by as his entire body trembled with cold, minutes passed. He stood, taking the stinging pounding rain as his blood retreated. His hands and feet were numb when he reached up shakily to turn off the taps, the water slowing to a trickle. He didn't dare close his eyes, although they burned with cold. His shivering arm reached for his towel, thick and warm on the heater beside the shower. Being a prefect did have its perks. No one to pester him and no one to witness his nightly battles. No one to hear his sickness or try to tell him that things were alright.
Draco dried himself and marveled at the change. He felt refreshed, washed of the night's stress. He knew it was still in the earliest hours of morning. He looked at his reflection again. His face was still hollow, but his hair was passable. Draco cocked his head as he took himself in. His collarbones were not alone; his hips and ribs were clearly visible, and his arms looked as if he'd not eaten in months. That was somewhat true. When he did eat he woke up to vomit in the middle of the night. It was easier to just skip dinner. Draco didn't much enjoy the vomiting, although the familiarity made it tolerable. He took up his brush from beside the sink and slowly smoothed his silver blond hair back, as it had been when he still cared about his appearance. The effect was striking; for a moment Draco looked almost himself again. He blinked twice, eyes traveling down his smooth body. He hadn't looked, really looked, at himself for weeks. Pansy had commented that he was looking peaky but he hadn't cared. Nothing was as important as his mission now. His eyes fell to his mark, perfect and silent in the reflection. It hadn't moved since he came to Hogwarts. He was used to it now. It used to shock him every time he changed his robes, like a birthmark that shouldn't have been there. But the sensation had faded and it was as much a part of him as his task was now. He reached up and gently ran his fingers over the mark, making the little hairs around it rise to meet them.
He shuddered as the sensation rippled up his arm and across his torso. He bit back a gasp as it traveled down his back and across his buttocks, the molten feeling in his belly expanding to meet it. Leaning forward to grasp the sink again Draco closed his eyes. The images flashed again, scenes rolling erratically across his mind. The tightness of the harness across his chest, the cold steel around his neck. The velvety, silky voice that hissed, "Don't move. Don't move or I shall punish you again, Draco."
Draco's eyes snapped open as a sharp sensation forced his hips back. His erection had reached the cold porcelain of the sink. He felt the bile rising in his throat and swallowed hard. It was SICK. He couldn't… he mustn't… not again. Not again.
Eyes downcast, he couldn't help but look at himself. He was rock hard, bobbing with every rapid beat of his heart. He stood up, straightening in front of his sink. He looked up at his reflection; his body stood tense and anticipatory before him. He raised a hand to his belly, fire aglow inside. Running down, down, down further to bump at the base of his hips. His hand explored further. He closed his eyes, determined to see Pansy there before him as she'd lain so many times. Pansy, yes.
"Turn over," he said, picturing her face as she complied. He contemplated the indent at the base of her spine, the way her hips led to the curve of her thighs. The way His hips looked as He turned over again, smooth abs leading tantalizingly to His hard cock. His eyes roved up Harry Potter, taking in every detail of His lanky Seeker's build. As he watched Him lift His hand to His hard length his own hand mirrored him, grasping and groping and squeezing and stroking. He mimicked the Harry he saw in his mind, feeling the same rolling, encompassing pleasure build in him that he watched build in Harry. He imagined the taste of him, the salty skin and the sweet musk. Beside Harry rose another figure, svelte and intoxicating. His Head of House smiled darkly at him, raw power in his eyes. His dark robes could not hide his erection from him. He knew what was under those robes, he'd seen it every night in his dreams. The harness, the cock ring, the whip he knew was stored in the robe pocket. He knew what would come; more figures, all dressed in black. Once even his father… he didn't care. His hand was moving fast now, eager and undeniable as his knees started to buckle. Draco grabbed the sink before him as he watched himself in his mind.
He was on his back now, bound at hand and foot with braided leather ropes conjured from an expert wand. The cool steel on his neck bound to Severus' will, the harness on his chest leaving red marks as it held him in place. Harry was teasing him now, running his hands up his thighs to his helpless belly, still bubbling with dragon-fire passion. He felt it creep up his body, felt it start to fill him as Harry filled him in his dream. Severus forced himself upon Draco's eager and obedient mouth, bewitched or entranced in his collar he didn't care; he opened his throat as Severus' meat filled him, past his tongue and past his throat until his nose was buried in him.
"That's right, Draco. Good boy," he crooned, teeth bared in his dominance. He felt hands all over him, anonymous hands that tortured every inch they could reach. A sharp smack to his thigh made him jerk under Severus as Harry withdrew, moaning with the motion. Someone's mouth closed around his nipple and he arched to meet him. Another mouth found his other nipple and he knew it was Ron, his teeth playing teasingly over his smooth skin. He had imagined this so many times… he knew it so well. His own hand was pounding fast on his own cock, bent double over the sink as he moaned a deep, resonant, pained cry that echoed in the stone room.
"Prepare yourself, boy. We've got a surprise for you," whispered Severus above him, sliding in and out of his throat with tantalizing precision as Draco urgently begged for more. He needed to feel Severus' cock in his gullet, feel the heat as it pressed against the back of his throat and leaked its salty juices with every stroke. He hadn't really registered this new development; he'd never dreamed this before. 'A new surprise?' he thought, hand slowing. He couldn't concentrate; in his dream he was being pulled in a hundred directions. Ron's hand palmed his balls while he and Harry's mouths still tortured his nipples, pulling aside the fine leather of his harness to expose fresh skin. The collar on his neck felt pleasurably white hot with control and the exquisitely, achingly slow thrusts of Severus' cock was driving him wild. He felt yet more hands on his knees, up his thighs, across his hips; Ron abandoned his testicles as rough, large hands took their place. They roved all over, so many pairs of hands driving him wild, the anticipation taking him to the edge.
"You like the newcomer, Draco? We know how much you love a challenge. Thought we'd give you something for being such a good little pet," said Severus as Draco's tongue milked him with every stroke. Severus bent forward, grasping Draco at the waist as a new and titillating sensation at the base of his thighs made him vibrate with want. He felt the hot, slick tip and knew immediately what he would be receiving. He cried out as it pressed to his hole, so recently vacated by Harry. Immediately the collar snapped tight for a second around his neck; he was not to cry out. His throat closed on Severus' cock.
"Shhhhhhaaaah!" hissed Severus, pulling out. Ron and Harry pulled away and seconds later a sharp crack split the air. Draco curled inward as the whip lashed his stomach, leaving a welt in its wake as he bellowed. His eyes still clenched shut, he knew he deserved his punishment; Severus' hand slapped him across the face and he whimpered.
"You will not move and you will only make a sound to please me, boy!" snapped Severus as the collar seared around his neck, forcing him to lay back. His body trembled with the adrenaline from the whip and the slap. His mouth was forced open and before he could inhale Severus had buried himself in his mouth once more. His wrists, bound above him, burned and smarted from the leather ropes. He could hear Harry and Ron kissing above him and his blood rose; he could feel their cocks on his stomach as they stroked them together over his body. Precum splattered his belly with every stroke and his eyes rolled back with the sensation as Severus took his mouth again and again. He moaned deeply, throat vibrating. Severus hissed with pleasure and groaned.
"Take him, Hagrid. Hard," he said hotly, thrusting faster now. With a single moment of blinding pain his hips exploded; one stroke had Hagrid buried to the hilt in Draco's tight hole. His belly of fire swelled to impossible size; it felt as if he would explode if he did not have release. Draco screamed around Severus' cock, making his professor bellow and clutch his head tighter as he pounded his mouth mercilessly. Hagrid growled, slamming himself deep into Draco. Above him Ron and Harry were calling out into each other's mouths as their hot cum splattered Draco's belly. He tasted the hot, salty cum in his mouth as Severus emptied himself deep in his throat and with one last terrifying, almost animalistic roar Hagrid bent forward and shot his considerable load deep inside Draco.
All thought abandoned Draco felt the fire inside him finally boil over and he bucked blindly forward again and again and again as wave after wave of orgasm took him. Stars swam, his head felt as though it would burst, and he could not tell where his skin ended and the air around him began. As he shot rope after rope of hot, white cum onto the wall and floor and mirror and basin the world slipped out of focus and blackness overtook him, and he fell unconscious and spent into a tangled heap on his bathroom floor.