Back by poplar demand!!!1 this fic i posted b4 but noone thought it was god how it was (well they sort of did witch is why im doing this right now! and well now i rewrite it and my sister Shaniqua editted so its relle good now!!!! Read and youll like it this time thx to all my fans :) :)
xoxoxooxoxoxoxo Jadine
TITLE: POINTS OF ATHORITY (Authority is spelled with a U, dear. Authority.)
SUMARY! Harry/draco draco is mean and manipulative because of his past!! Can hary save him!? ADULT CONTENT NONCON LEMONS NOT FOR KIDS. (Draco is mean and manipulative because of his past. Can Harry save him before it's too late, or will Draco drag Harry past the point of no return?)
A/N: THIS IS A SONG FIC THE SONG IS NOT MINE IT IS ONWED BY LINKOLN (Linkin) PARK AND I AM NOT THEM OK SO DONT SUE!!!!!!! NO HAPPY ENDINGS HERE SO GO BACK IF U (you) DON(')T LIKE THIS SORT OF THING DON(')T SAY I DIDNT WARN YOU!!!!
Lyrcs.
Words of teh story.
IMPORTENT WORDS.
(*^&%$%^
Forfeit the game before somebody else, takes you out of the frame, puts your
Name to shame
Cover up your face, you cant run the race, the pace is too fast, you just
Wont last
It was with hands trembling like dying leaves in the fall, turning from green to yellow to at last a vibrant red before a deathly brown – quivering as it held on to the tree with the last bit of its minute strength, that Draco covered his face and let out a soft, no louder than a breath of a warm, sleeping infant wrapped in its mother's arms, cry. His pain was near tangible – a hard, evil, monstrous thing that sucked the life out of everything around – to anyone who happened to see him. The thing was, that no one had ever seen him this way. No one... but Harry.
Harry didn't want to care. He didn't want to spend night after cold, torturous night, wrapped up in his frail blankets as his only friend, imagining Draco's anguished form in the dark, forboding (foreboding has an E in it, honey, just like forehead, foreskin, forewarn, etc...), castle corridors that Harry frequented so often every day.
All he could see in his minds eye (unless Harry has more than one mind this should be mind's) was the pale skin – skin as white as freshly fallen snow, as clean as fresh parchment. Skin that begged to be touched and fondled and licked and tasted in every crevice. Skin that was as beautiful as the first spring rain, skin that was as soft as a breathe (breath is the noun, baby; breathe is the verb). Skin that made Harry ache to think about.
And Draco's eyes. His eyes were truly a thing of beauty. Into his eyes were poured all the anger and sorrow of the gods, mixed together in a stormy grey concoction that held such promise, such emotions that Harry wanted to cry when those eyes blessed him with a glance. Now that he had seen those eyes, shiny and glassy with unshed tears, then shed tears, Harry wanted to hold the perfection that created those tears, press kisses to his eyelids and –
But no. How wrong it was to be thinking such thoughts. Yet, even so, his mind drifted once more.
As if at sea, pushed around by the unforgiving wind, Harry's mind was forced to Draco's smooth, lithe, lovely little hands. They were girls' hands. The hands of a porclien (porcelain, honey baby) doll. The hands of a baby – still young enough to suckle upon its mother's delectable milk-providing pink crinkled nipple for nourishment – that had never even heard the word "work." His hands were as pale as the rest of him, pale as the snow, but they held such a unique and special beauty that they deserved to be thought of as their own separate entity. Beautiful and luxiourious (luxurious, Jadine, it's just like luxury with an -ious instead of a y) were his hands, and Harry longed to slowly feast on each delicate slip of his fingers, sucking each into his mouth with care and worshipful reverence as he carefully tasted the skin he so longed for, the hands he so needed, all while looking into those beautiful stormy grey orbs that seemed to pierce through his very soul.
It took many months of watching for Harry to realize the sad, sad truth. A truth that tore away at his insides, feasting on his loins and entrails and bloody guts. The truth that made him want to vomit profusely, because he was the Boy Who Lived, and it hurt to see someone this way. Draco, he knew now without a single doubt in the entire universe, felt trapped. And oh, it hurt. Because Draco wasn't trapped by something as inane as school work, or family matters, or anything of that sort. It was truly, painfully clear that Draco's obligation to become a Death Eater was ripping him apart at the seems.
Cuts were appearing on Draco's perfect, previously unblemished, smooth, lovely forearms. His face, his lovely face, was becoming paler. It no longer held the beauty of snow. No, now it held the promise of death. He looked sick, weak, gaunt. He looked like he was going to quit. He looked ready to die.
Harry realized with a start that he didn't want that. He didn't want that at all...
You love the way I look at you
While taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through
You take away if I give in
My life my pride is broken
It was with a stomach full of butterflies and nervousness, tinged with a horrible despair, that Harry finally approached Draco one faithful (what? Fateful, maybe?) day.
Draco sneered at Harry in his usual way when Harry came up to him that day. "Oh look who it is. It is little Annoying Potter Pants. What do you want?"
For once Harry felt no grief at Draco's overwhelming cruelty. For once he smiled and said the words he never thought he'd say – never in a million years, never even if Voldemort himself came up to Harry and held his wand to his head with a threat of the Killing Curse did Harry think he'd say these words. He wouldn't have even thought he'd say them if he was promised to get his parents back forever. But now he was saying them and there was nothing he could do to hold them back.
"Go out with me."
"What?"
"Go out with me." Harry said again. "I have fallen in love with you somehow Draco yes I said Draco, and I know it is weird but please let's just try this OK?"
It felt like an eternity, countless lives beginning and ending, bloody babies ending in bloody murders, old people crying out with one last pained gasp before slipping into oblivion, before Draco finally responded: "OK."
It was OK at first. Draco was quite, almost shy, as Harry lavished him with kisses and love, making sure Draco felt no need to do something as rash, stupid, and totally crazy as take his own beautiful life. Harry pressed kiss after loving, sweet, gentle kiss against Draco's soft as silk lips – lips that made Harry think of the softest feathers bundled up in a rare, magical silk, warmed and drizzled with the faintest hint of honey and cinnamon. Draco closed his eyes as if pained by a something dark and menacing when Harry slid his tongue into the hot, wet, orgasmic cavern that was Draco's mouth. It wasn't until the first diamond-like tear slid down Draco's soft pale gentle cheek that Harry knew something was very wrong.
"What is wrong Draco?"
Draco shook his head as if to tell Harry no, a thousand times no! But Harry held Draco's face in his hands and kissed him so lovingly again and again that he made himself cry with the passion he held for this beautiful angel of a delicate life that he held in his arms.
"I cannot like it this way Pot—Harry. I am sorry but I just cant (can't has an apostrophe in it, sweet pea!) do it OK?"
"What do you need then I can be anything you want me to be just tell me what you want." Harry begged soulfully, kissing Draco's soft beauty again because he loved him so much. He didn't want Draco to die. He'd do anything, really truly anything, to keep this beautiful boy alive and hopefully smiling but he didn't even have to smile as long as he was alive then they'd have the rest of their lives to work on smiles.
But even with that thought Harry finds himself saying "What will make you smile, my dearest darling?"
There is a long, horrible, tense, silence that seems to suck away at their life forces much like a sudden, terrifying Dementor attack. But there is no patronum to expel the nightmare that Draco lives. There is no help for this moment. It all rests with Draco now and Harry can only hope that he can open up and be honest just this one time...
Then in a moment so startling that Harry would have missed it had he not felt its excruciating impact, Draco punched Harry very hard in his face. His glasses shattered and Harry fell off Draco and rolled onto the bed that they were on. He looked up to ask Draco why, why did he hurt him so!?
But to his shock, he looked up to find Draco smiling. Harry felt something deep and secretive within himself shatter irreparably.
You like to think youre never wrong
You have to act like youre someone
You want someone to hurt like you
You want to share what youve been through (you live what you learn)
The abuse only escalated from there. It was small things at first – Draco would grab Harry just a little too hard, or he would hit when his soul was filled with all the painful anger of the world. Despite his small fraility (believe it or not, honey pie, but frailty only has one I in it) and beauty his hidden strength that lay deep within his core and muscles was very strong. Harry was surprised at the overwhelming anguishing soul shattering pain that Draco could put him in.
One day he told Draco just that. He knew it was making Draco happy, but it still hurt very much.
"I am smaller than you Harry it doesn't hurt at all, prat!" Draco snarled cruelly and Harry whimpered under his very mean words. Draco was convinced that Harry felt no pain from Draco and it was impossible for Harry to convince him otherwise. Harry began to wonder if there was a deep secret, as packed full as a hidden treasure chest in the bottom of the ocean of Draco's soul, a reason that Draco would feel so powerless.
But as time went on, crawling by like a little defenceless insect that could be brutally murdered and eaten by a bird in one unexpected swoop, the secret never exposed itself to Harry. That is, it didn't, until the day Harry very least expected it.
It had been a normal day, as far as days with an emotionally crazed distraught Draco could be. Draco had been nice for the most part, he only called Harry mean names once and he never really made Harry feel bad about himself. This sudden, miraculous, breathtaking change of heart made Harry want his Draco more than anything in the world. But no, it wasn't just his usual want – the want to hold Draco's slim, perfect body against his own and protect him from the cold, harmful world. No, this want was for something much more... sexual.
With the gentleness of a father holding his new born child for the first time, Harry lowered Draco to the bed, supporting his head with one hand as one should with frail, angelic babies. Draco watched Harry unblinkingly with his full, emotional eyes, wavering in the dim light that shimmered through the half open curtains, making stripes of Draco's eyes look like bright, liquid silver. The rest remained the cold, hard anguished grey that pained Harry so with such emotional love to look at.
He kissed Draco sensuously and took off their cloths (clothes, with an E, Jadine), leaving them both naked on the bed that they were to have their very first intimate sex together on. Harry wanted so many things for them to do – they could both sixty-nine together, or Harry could suck on Draco's long, hard, delectable length, giving Draco all the pleasure of a million lifetimes while Draco could lay back and relax and enjoy. Harry stared at Draco's lovely penis which swayed seductively, dancing like an erotic, Indian dancer around a fire in the middle of the jungle or on a beach, against the pale beautiful tummy that Harry had only seen glimpses of until this very moment. He licked Draco's penis and Draco moaned.
Harry had the idea then to do something very special for his beautiful Draco, something that would make Draco feel needed and loved and very important. With gentleness that far surpassed anything he himself had ever experienced – there wasn't even the slightest metaphor he could use to describe it... the gentleness of a mouse's sleeping breath, perhaps? But no, that was still too forceful to describe the touch Harry used when he pushed Draco's long, pale, virtually hairless, elegant legs apart, revealing his inviting tiny hole. It winked at Harry seductively when Harry looked at it.
But then, oh no, and then... something caught Harry's eye. He noticed, as he spread Draco's smooth round butt cheeks apart for a better look at that little beautiful glory hole that was just begging Harry to lick it and feast on its deliciousness, that there were scars, oh, countless scars scattered around that innocent little hole. Scars that clearly reached into Draco's insides with their spindly fingers, starting deep within his hole and making just the tip of their iceberg-esque appearance on the outside of his skin.
Now, Harry knew the truth. He knew it even as Draco let out a broken moan of a cry as Harry looked upon his injuries. Draco, it seemed, had been raped. Very, very brutally and unforgivingly. Raped, when he so clearly didn't want it. Harry held him as he cried – sex could wait, he needed to comfort his beautiful broken baby.
You love the things I say Ill do
The way Ill hurt myself again just to get back at you
You take away when I give in
My life my pride is broken
Draco had been so submissive and needy in Harry's arms that night, crying his heart out and letting Harry catch his tears and comfort him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and love and tenderness – all the things Draco had been denied his whole broken life.
It was so clear now why Draco felt the need to hurt Harry so viciously, physically and emotionally. Draco wanted someone to understand his pain, his brokenness. He wanted to create someone who could heal him from the inside out because they themselves knew the pain he felt on such deep, meaningful levels.
But despite this new development, Draco doesn't seem any more trusting in Harry. In fact, he only seemed to get angrier and more vicious and cruel than ever before. Harry had to prove to Draco that he was capable, oh so capable, of understanding this pain and healing Draco's soul, if only Draco could show him! But he knew he could never understand the rape, not with Draco – he would never not want Draco to rape him at all. There had to be another way, and Harry knew just how to do it.
While Draco was yelling and screaming at Harry one day, telling him how much he hated him and how he was of the mind to just leave their home forever, Harry gently guided him to a chair so he could sit. When Draco sat, not even realizing he was doing so it seemed, Harry, with a tear in his eye because he knew how sad and vulnerable this would make Draco feel, cast a spell that tied Draco to the chair.
Draco screamed louder, in fear this time, tears pouring down his cheeks as he struggled in his bonds. "Not again!" he screamed, his mind in a faraway place that Harry hoped he could reach by the time this was through. "PLEASE NOT AGAIN! NOOO!!"
He gave Draco a kiss to calm him down a little and then Harry went to the kitchen, looking for something that would be just the thing he needed to use in this situation. Nothing too big, because he was a virgin after all, but... Aha! He found just the thing, lying inside their refrigeratior (what the hell, J, how does anyone misspell refrigerator, it's easy, look: refrigerator. Now it's there twice and you can't mess up) : a carrot.
He took the carrot and went back to Draco who had calmed down a little it looked like, although he was still trembling like a baby deer that had just learned to walk.
And then, with the carrot in hand, Harry slowly spread his long, sensual legs, revealing his small, pink hole, which was clenching in protest of what he was about to do. But he knew this heinous act had to be done -- for Draco's sake.
Watching as Draco squirmed in his chair, longing for the freedom that is known by the birds that fly merrily from tree to tree, Harry slowly sunk the long, hard, unforgiving, very hard, cold carrot into his man cunt. His body was unwilling while his mind wanted this so bad for Draco: It was truly rape. Now he will finally understand the pain and sorrow and anguish and hate for all things alive that Draco has to endure day after day.
Draco moaned and cried, his face stricken with fear and horror and revulsion and Harry knew that his lovely boy was remembering his horrible, desolate, nightmarish past. Harry continued to rape himself on the carrot anyway. Draco had to understand – understand that Harry understood. It was the only way!
Once Harry felt that the carrot was through abusing his aching asshole, he removed it painfully from his used and abused body. The carrot had truly hurt him, now he felt Draco's pain. Now he wanted to curl up and cry and yell at people to make them understand his own hurt. But no, Draco was most important. Now Draco would see.
Harry sniffled and crawled over to Draco, untying him gently. "I understand, baby." He cooed. "I understand it all, my lovely, lovely baby boy."
Draco cried with Harry for only the shortest of moments, and Harry felt like it was the only time he ever saw Draco's true, unguarded, secret self. But rather than the intimacy and love and understanding that Harry had expected so, Draco suddenly grew angry again. He yanked the carrot away from Harry.
"Your so stupid!!" He yelled! "THIS IS NOTHING LIKE WHAT I EXPERIENED. NOTHING! YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND ME AND I'M OFFENDED THAT YOU EVEN TRIED YOU CUNT!"
Draco stormed from the room and Harry curled up in a ball and cried himself to sleep.
You like to think youre never wrong
You have to act like youre someone
You want someone to hurt like you
You want to share what youve been through (you live what you learn)
Harry tried to discuss their shared pain with Draco more times than he could ever count, but Draco refused to believe him. All Draco could see was his own soul-shattering pain, and to him, that was all that mattered. He believed he was right when he said Harry's pain was nothing like his own, and there was nothing Harry could do to sway him now that his mind had been made up. It made Draco feel important to make such decisions, and Harry would never dream of taking that away from his lovely sweetheart.
He knew now that no matter what he did, Draco would never think anyone could be hurt like he was, even though that's what he wanted. Harry also knew that Draco would never love him... ever. Harry was merely an outlet for Draco's pain; Draco's way of sharing what he had been through. But that was OK.
Harry loves his Draco. And maybe it's true that'll never understand, but it's out of pure, unwavering love that he stays by his angel's side.
He is abused quietly.