Defiled by xErised
Harry Potter felt like shit.
Puffing away an overgrown section of fringe that fell irritatingly to his eyes, the brunette swallowed the last mouthful of bitter potion that Madam Pomfrey had prescribed for his Quidditch injury. Wincing in pain, Harry removed his glasses and slowly crawled back into bed, ready to turn in for the night.
Gryffindor had been leading by a large margin during the match against Hufflepuff that day. As captain, Harry felt like he was at the top of the world, his chest puffed out with pride as he noticed how his expert team attacked, defended and moved together so adeptly.
Until the Bludger had slammed itself so invitingly into Harry's side.
So that was why Harry was ensconced in the infirmary, nursing his shattered ribs. He would probably be alright by tomorrow, but that didn't stop Hermione from dumping a small pile of books and parchment on his table, gently reminding Harry that he had some homework due the day after. Harry's lips quirked up into a smile when he remembered how Ron and Hermione had spent the evening after dinner with him, talking and joking just like old times.
That is, until Ron said something to Hermione that he genuinely didn't know was offensive and Hermione, in a fit of sudden anger, had stormed off to the Gryffindor dorms without a backwards glance at the both of them.
Sighing softly to himself, Harry cautiously turned over in bed, feeling a narcotic-laced fog of medication descend ruthlessly upon his shoulders. He had harbored a small glimmer of hope that maybe Draco would have dropped by to visit him, but…
It's nothing, just a Quidditch injury, he doesn't have to come running at every small thing, Harry consoled himself lightly as he rubbed his exhausted eyes. The brunette felt his heart perform a small pirouette when he thought of the blond. It had been two weeks since that fateful night beneath the tree, and Draco had turned out to be a gentleman to the backbone when it came to Harry, showering him with presents and generous amounts of affection. Harry still had a handful of misgivings and reservations when it came to the blond, though. Sometimes, Draco would take a split second longer to reply whenever Harry asked him an innocent question; as though Draco was hiding a secret. There was something that Harry couldn't put his finger on, but well, the overwhelming truth was that Draco made him… happy.
Very happy.
Harry blinked questioningly when he blurrily saw an imposingly tall figure, dressed completely in black, swiftly entering the infirmary. Sitting up carefully in bed, Harry couldn't help but feel the weariness that he had been shouldering for so long melt away when he realized that that was Draco. His blood surged, and his heart beat a little bit faster when the Slytherin moved closer to Harry, finally stopping beside Harry's bed. Harry felt a familiar lift to his spirits as he shifted wordlessly, letting the other boy climb into bed with him.
The Gryffindor met Draco's mesmerizing smile with a helpless, dopey grin. Draco was pulse-racingly gorgeous, the way he mingled sex appeal so easily with lazy grace, and those… those beautiful, envious cheekbones that his sculpted face so haughtily boasted.
Draco slid closer to Harry, wrapping his left arm around the other boy, meticulously avoiding the injury. "How do you feel?" he asked concernedly.
"Happy," Harry stupidly replied, touches of pink in his cheeks as Draco chuckled softly. Suddenly, Harry felt an unwelcome twizzle of embarrassment. He probably looked like a mess, with his crazed, rumpled swirls of hair, bloodshot eyes and his breath, which definitely smelt of medicine. Biting his lip worriedly, Harry bashfully flipped around quickly in bed, accidentally forgetting about his wound.
Hissing in discomfort, Harry gripped his side in agony, feeling resounding judders of pain fan out from his wound. He felt Draco shift closer to him, the blond's front pressed comfortingly against Harry's back.
"You've got to take care of yourself, Harry. I'd die if anything happened to you," he chided gently, taking hold of Harry's hand and giving it an admonitory squeeze. Harry nodded goofily in reply, feeling gentle waves of attracting thudding up his arm. Draco's voice was thawing his initial shyness, and Harry slowly turned back to the blond, so that they were both facing each other.
Draco's eyes were shimmering like liquid satin in the moonlight, full of adoration and concern. Harry felt his cheeks burn, matching the warm glow around his heart. Draco smiled in return as he smoothed back Harry's turbulent curls, letting his hand slither down to Harry's wound.
"Is it here?"
Harry bit his lip before nodding. Draco began to stroke Harry's injury lovingly through his shirt, his feather-light touches causing a delicious and unaccustomed warmth seeping into Harry's bones. The brunette burrowed his head into Draco's chest, wrapping his arms around the other boy while Draco continued to sooth Harry's bruise tenderly with those magical fingers, melting Harry's insides like chocolate.
"Does it feel better, darling?"
Harry's head shot up, shockwaves of stupefaction reverberating from top to toe, his heart clattering away on overdrive.
"W-What did you call me?" Surprise was rising within Harry like a high-speed elevator.
Draco's eyebrows rose in alarm. "Shit, I didn't know you didn't like it. I won't say that from now on-"
"No! I- I… well, I just wasn't expecting it, that's all. If you like, you could call me that… anytime you want…" Harry trailed off demurely, not daring to meet the Slytherin's eyes. Draco grinned warmly, but his beam faded when he saw Harry's eyelashes unwillingly droop with exhaustion.
"Want me to spend the night with you?"
"Yes. I-I would like that very much," Harry replied, a toe-tingling surge of joy mingled with disbelief. The Gryffindor's liquid eyes were brimming with delight, radiating the warm glow of devotion.
They stayed like that the whole night; Harry nestled happily in Draco's calm, reassuring grasp, like two long-lost lovers embracing under the mistletoe.
Harry Potter is affectionate.
It makes me want to fucking puke.
His whole life was picked up and shaken like a snow globe. Draco Malfoy was coursing through his bloodstream like a drug; this dangerous sense of euphoria thudding uncontrollably through his veins whenever Harry met up with the blond every night, as though he was stuck on a rollercoaster that was jammed on the pinnacle of the ride.
And Harry Potter didn't want to get off.
core of my universe, pivot of my world-
As time unfurled, unwound and unfolded, Harry felt that he was enveloped in an impenetrable cloud of delirious happiness, the way that he would wake up every single day with a smile on his face, his heart leaping like a salmon just by thinking of glimpsing Draco during classes and most importantly, being cocooned in the blond's comforting arms every night.
This was adoration and love that Harry had never experienced before, and he was glugging it down like water.
once you've danced on air, how could you be satisfied with trudging on boring old ground again?
Draco's displays of fondness weren't limited to only mere fondles during the night, though. Whenever Draco and his gang of Slytherins went out to Hogsmeade, the blond would always specially buy Harry's favorite candies and treats back for him. It was small gestures, small actions like this that glowed in Harry's memory, remembering it like how someone might remember a great book.
Draco loved to tease Harry during lessons, writing love letters to the Gryffindor and sending it to Harry right under Ron and Hermione's noses.
"Bloody hell, Harry, another letter from Malfoy again? He's an unbearable slimy git, you know."
"Yeah. He's a foul, evil bastard, all right."
And then Harry would try to fight the secret, stubborn smile that spread over the bottom half of his face, attempting desperately to school his features into a mask of dislike and hatred to meet Draco's hostile glare, but he simply couldn't.
Nothing but a foul, evil bastard.
Yeah.
A foul, evil bastard that had his lips wrapped around my cock last night.
Draco had never pushed Harry regarding sex at all, and for that, Harry was immensely grateful. Both boys had done everything but sex, and Harry had been thrilled and delighted when he realized how patient and how passionate the blond was. However, Harry was nervous and apprehensive about sex itself, especially when he remembered how Draco had fucked Blaise so vigorously that night in the classroom.
Blaise fucking Zabini, Harry glowered, chartreuse with envy, his fists seizing up in anger and possessiveness whenever he thought of the other boy. Draco's mine, and don't you dare forget it.
"Draco? Are you… angry that we haven't had sex yet?"
"No! What makes you say that?"
"I-well, we've been together for months and… and I thought that you wouldn't be happy about that. And with the whole… Blaise thing and all…"
"Blaise? Harry, we've talked about this already, he's nothing compared to you!"
"…Really?"
"Yes. I'm not going to rush you about this, Harry. Now, drop the subject and come closer."
"Oh, Draco…"
It was an unspoken agreement between the both of them regarding Voldemort. Harry and Draco neatly side-stepped around the unwelcomed topic, partly because Draco didn't seem willing to talk about it whenever Harry tentatively brought it up, and because Harry didn't want the apparition of Voldemort hanging uncomfortably between them, marring their light-hearted conversation, staining their relationship.
Sometimes, Harry couldn't help but feel an alarm bell shrill warningly in his heart whenever he glimpsed fingers of shadow touch Draco's face, how sometimes a triumphant, almost maniacal gleam would flash in the blond's eyes whenever Harry said something romantic. Harry could feel that at times like these, the brief doubts that he had taken such pains to bury would flare up unexpectedly, but Draco, ever the silver-tongued charmer, would wear Harry's hesitancy down like how a relentless wave would lap gently, eroding a rock, and Harry would feel that small knot of unease in the pit of his stomach gradually unravel and fall away.
"I love you, Draco."
"Forever?"
"Yes, Draco… forever."
"I love you forever, Harry."
The love letter had been clutched so tightly by Draco so many times that its sides were irreversible wrinkles of parchment. His jaw set like concrete, the blond let his eyes skim through the note of mushy drivel swiftly and passionlessly yet again.
It's so typically Gryffindor of him.
Draco's cold, glassy grey eyes, brimming with unadulterated jubilation, glistened like freshly-polished silver cutlery. The Slytherin eyed Harry's neat, willowy hand-writing narrowly, his lips turning up into a derisive sneer. The last few months were nauseating, to say the least. Draco had assaulted Harry viciously with a barrage of pure, undiluted charm, and the pliable extent that Harry had responded to Draco's advances was nothing short of loathsome. The brunette was clinging to him like a homeless puppy, those impossibly green eyes a mixture of love and utter surrender.
l-o-v-e is a word that I'll never learn to pronounce-
Draco felt a mounting, almost unbearable excitement rising up within him; he was giddy with anticipation. It was close, he could almost smell it, like a vulture poised to swoop, reveling in the scent of death, and he could feel Harry's resolve and wariness weakening after every one of their clandestine meetings.
It wouldn't be long; it definitely wouldn't be long before Harry would offer himself up to Draco on a silver platter.
it's more fun living in sin-
It had given him an addictive thrill when he saw his plans crystallize, every gesture that he had schemed performed like a neat, over-calculated chess move. Shifting on his bed in the Slytherin dorms, the blond raised his eyes to the dark vault of the heavens above, a sigh reeking of exhaustion spilling forth from his lips. Resting his heavy head on his palm, he slumped down wearily on the bed.
But now, he was just… tired. Tired of drenching his words in high-fructose syrup, tired of keeping his mind and body on high alert every time he interacted with Harry, just so fucking tired. But Draco gritted his teeth inwardly and bore with it, keeping the memories of his parents near the surface, ensuring that Draco never forgot what was at stake if he failed.
your shadow weighs a ton-
But now, his cast-iron nerve was starting to falter, his conscience was beginning to rankle like an itch beneath the skin. Rubbing his under-slept, shadowed eyes, Draco valiantly tried to ignore the way his carefully crafted web of lies and deceit wound itself around him sometimes stopping you from breathing- like a suffocating coil, making his insides curdle with unexpected, unwanted shame.
Please, please, stop it Draco, he doesn't deserve it at all, you're going to tear him apart when this ends, please, Draco, you don't have to do it, you don't, stop it, you know you can't-
Shut up.
Draco, listen, please, he's mad about you, can't you see, he loves-
Shut the fuck up!
… You wouldn't know love if it crawled up your arse and fucked you, Draco Malfoy.
Hissing in distress, Draco clawed at his chest maniacally when he felt a jagged pain Voldemort's spell- slice through his heart like a stake. His compressed lips white with tension, the blond struggled to regain control of his breathing. Screwing his eyes shut, Draco began to calmly take even, composed breaths, drawing musty, balmy batchfuls of air in his lungs. Within a few minutes, he felt that taut, gritty pain in his chest move sluggishly and dissolve unwillingly.
I have to do it-
Draco, you don't-
HE'LL KILL MY FAMILY!
Exhaling sharply, Draco looked down at the letter that he was holding so loosely. Biting his lip uncertainly, he grasped it firmly with both hands. Both of his thumbs and forefingers were pressed together hesitantly, the sides of the letter clutched between them, as though he was going to tear the note apart, but…
His eyes darting shrewdly from his trunk to the tiny rips and splits snaking their ways down the letter, Draco felt himself relax his grip on the letter. Gulping rapidly, he looked over his shoulder into the darkness dubiously, as though Voldemort was right behind him, staring unnervingly at his every move. Quickly moving over to his trunk, he folded the letter up in an almost tender fashion, before digging down to the very bottom of the trunk and slipping the love letter in nothing but a rare slit of weakness- between the folds of his clothes, burying the note remorselessly under his school paraphernalia.
Harry Potter is faithful to a fault.
If only he knew where my true allegiances lie.
Harry was in heaven. Starburst after sexual starburst exploded behind his closed eyes as he felt his senses heighten in glorious technicolored pleasure. Burrowing his fingers in Draco's tangled hair, Harry nudged the blond's head closer, forcing Draco to take more of his cock in his mouth.
The bedsheets were alive with static as Harry panted out filthy expletives, each of his breaths shallow with desire. Cracking a bleary eye open, he directed his glazed, lustful leer to the other boy. Draco's slender, balletic body was bent slightly, his head bobbing up and down between Harry's legs, fingers splayed across Harry's bronzed and spread thighs, stroking and caressing his flushed skin. His full-lashed lids were dipping downwards, his eyes diamond-bright in the dark while he skillfully licked Harry to oblivion.
Harry's fevered imagination was conjuring up its usual parade of pornographic images, lighting up his internal furnace. The Gryffindor caressed the sides of Draco's face, feeling the supple flesh beneath his fingertips. And then when Draco fixed his trademark smoldering gaze on Harry's flustered, wild eyes, Harry felt himself hover tantalizingly on the brink of back-arching ecstasy for a mere second before he came, crying out Draco's name loudly.
Harry collapsed on the bed, boneless. The Slytherin pressed a trail of affectionate kisses starting from the brunette's inner thigh to his hipbone, and Harry couldn't help but gasp in sheer happiness. Sitting up and tugging Draco to him, Harry kissed Draco lovingly on the forehead. His palms glided comfortingly up and down Draco's thin, shapely forearms, and Harry smiled when he heard Draco let out a soft, content sigh. A flash of doubt zipped as fast as quicksilver in Harry's eyes before he bit his lip and whispered.
"Tonight."
Harry's tummy was raging with butterflies as he felt a hot blush creep up onto his cheeks. Staring at the wrinkled bedsheets, the Gryffindor suddenly felt so exposed and vulnerable. But Harry had been thinking about it obsessively for the past few days, and the desire to be with Draco, to surrender himself completely to him, was such a palpable, solid and physical force that was so irresistible-
With that one single word, the air was imbued with a mood of expectation and possibility. Draco gulped, threading his fingers through his tousled hair.
"There's no rush, you know-"
But before Draco could complete his sentence, Harry raised a finger and placed it gently on the blond's lips.
"Please."
Harry's smile was so bewitching, his passionate green eyes mischievous and lustful, but he couldn't disguise the way his stomach performed a double loop of nervous delight. His head was spinning with giddy excitement, fear and trepidation when Draco tenderly pushed Harry back to bed. Draco's eyes were wide with an expression of unadulterated joy, and Harry felt the blond's lithe limbs cover him like a guarding, comforting umbrella as Draco pressed his front to Harry's back. Long, expert fingers tip-toed teasingly down Harry's spine and the brunette felt his body convulse in paroxysms of delight.
Draco lowered his head and dropped a kiss on Harry's shoulder blades, and the Gryffindor could feel the knot of tension and agitation in his body slowly unwind and relax. Staring hard at the pillow, Harry bit his lip shyly he's all I ever wanted- when he felt Draco's erection brush temptingly against the back of his right thigh.
But when Draco was poised on top of Harry, a frightful, hideous, gleeful, almost inhumane gleam seeped into his sleek grey eyes, exactly like how a snake would look like before it delivered its killing blow.
**
It was a battle that had been dragging for too long. But it didn't matter now, did it, Draco marveled triumphantly to himself as he withdrew his arm from a sleepy Harry. He could smell the sweet scent of success surrounding him like wreaths of joyous, festooning ribbons at a party. The binds around his cock had finally loosened and vanished without a trace, but the one on his heart still lingered irritatingly like a ghost. Draco didn't know why, but currently he didn't care because he was lavishing in his conquest, eagerly awaiting the compliments that would be lauded on him by Lord Voldemort.
Pasting a hypocritical grin the last one you're going to get, Potter- on his face, the Slytherin wrapped his fingers maybe, he deserves a last goodnight- loosely around Harry's wrist. Grey eyes stared unblinkingly up in the ceiling covered with shifting shadows silhouetted in the moonlight as Draco calculated the best way to finally dump Harry Potter once and for all.
I'll fuck you, but I won't love you.
Harry couldn't wipe the goofy smile off his face. The harder he tried not to blush, the hotter his cheeks grew. A great bubble of happiness and fulfillment arose within him and he felt his heart expand adoringly with love. A niggle of doubt worried its way through Harry, though. He wished Draco could have been gentler with him, and the sex had almost been… mechanical and maybe… just a bit emotionless. Frowning to himself, Harry shook his head vigorously to rid himself of those unwanted thoughts. Draco was probably nervous, Harry comforted himself while he pulled Draco closer and nuzzled contentedly into his chest.
Look at him, beaming like that, Harry thought elatedly as he gazed lovingly at the other boy.
But unbeknownst to Harry, Draco Malfoy, the alleged love of his life, the so-called apple of his eye, this questionable man of his dreams, had in actual fact already ruthlessly moved on, his mind clicking and spinning furiously, mentally penning his long-awaited victory letter to his parents.
Harry Potter is so foolishly gullible.
And this means that… I have won.
Adrenaline hummed in every nerve ending of his body as Harry bounded happily towards the lone, forlorn figure covered under the arched, protective branches of the tree. It had been a horrible day today, Harry thought morosely as he remembered how Ron and Hermione were sniping at each other, and of course, the tottering pile of school-work that the teachers heaped so mercilessly on them didn't help matters. But it was okay, because he had Draco's soft, lilting voice and soothing caresses to look forward to.
Beaming to himself, the Gryffindor plopped down to the ground beside Draco, enveloping the Slytherin in a squidgy hug, his heart swelling with joyful thoughts. Harry leant down and nipped affectionately at Draco's neck, expecting the blond to grin back and squeeze Harry in his arms.
However, Draco did not relax the ramrod tightness of his body.
Furrowing his brow questioningly, Harry withdrew from the other boy, worry enveloping him like a miasma.
"Draco, are you alright? You seem a bit… weird today. Was school horrible for you today, because it definitely was for me-"
"I would appreciate it greatly, Potter, if you would shut the fuck up for once. Merlin, your voice bloody grates, do you know that?" Draco spit out, his tones crisp and chilly like iceberg lettuce.
Harry felt the initial adrenaline in his blood screech surprisingly to a halt and his heartbeat slowing down to a heavy, funereal crawl. The Gryffindor's lips curved up into a hesitant, tiny smile, his tongue running nervously inside his mouth. His voice shook unsteadily when he spoke, like a hopeful, young child trying to spell his name.
"If you're tired, maybe we could meet up tomorrow or something-"
"I don't want to meet up with you tomorrow night, the night after, or the next week! We're done, Potter!" Draco snarled in clipped staccato sentences, flinging an arm out to push Harry away. Standing up grandly and victoriously, Draco dusted off his clothes and bent down menacingly towards the other boy, a distasteful sneer twisted on his face. Harry flinched at the hatred in Draco's blazing eyes.
He's dumping me, he's fucking dumping me, Harry realized, feeling like he was petrified and plunged into an icy panic. Crazy, irrational thoughts whirled in Harry's mind, clicking and spinning so frantically that Harry had trouble keeping up. Is it because of the sex, did I do something wrong, we can fix it, I'm sure, anything but this-
"You s-said you would love me forever!" Harry whispered brokenly, his voice lowered to a horrified croak, his knuckles turning a shade of sickly white as he gripped sudden storm on a sunny day- stray blades of grass. Why was Draco's voice, which used to murmur sweet nothings so effortlessly and affectionately, acting like a double-edged sword, spewing out jeers of dislike and disgust now?
"I love you forever, Potter. But forever is over," Draco bit out in a voice saturated with sugary condescension, his eyes round islands of contempt and a sunnily insincere smile pasted on his lips. It was the grand finale of a grand performance, and this was Draco's closing act as he took a bow. It was time for him to shed his masterpiece of a skin, exposing his true intentions after months of sugar-coated murmurs and deceitful kisses.
Harry Potter is vulnerable.
All the more delicious when I break him apart.
"Look at yourself in the mirror, Potter. Why would I stoop down to someone of your standards?" Draco hissed tauntingly through lips the shade of frozen strawberries, and those eyes, those eyes that Harry was so used to seeing brimming with warmth, were now blanketed in cold, unforgiving crystals. Every snarled word was like an icy slap to Harry's face, and desperate green eyes searched Draco's face, looking for a trace of affection, a hint of tenderness, anything, please, anything, let it be a joke, just a joke-
Nothing.
But when Draco threw a last, lingering look at Harry, the brunette could detect a flash of something, of something so inscrutable in Draco's eyes that Harry felt that some part of Draco, some minute, microscopic part of Draco was hurting as much as he was-
Getting wobbily up to his feet which had the strength of over-cooked spaghetti, Harry lunged at Draco, wrenching up his left sleeve, which was wrapped tightly around the blond's arm. Staring in utter shock and repulsion at Draco's arm, Harry let out a hollow, mirthless laugh. The Gryffindor dissolved into a heap on the ground, his saliva turning into sawdust. He had a sense of falling from a great height, like he had walked slap-bang into a wall.
There, reposing in all of its maniacal, macabre glory was the Dark Mark.
Comprehension dawned on Harry as he felt his scattered thoughts and senses come rushing back. All the caution, all the wariness… It didn't matter, did it? In the end, it was skilful, sly Draco Malfoy you're nothing but a Death Eater's son- who had won, and naïve, foolish Harry Potter does it feel better, darling- who lost.
I wonder how it would feel to write love on his arms-
Draco growled terrifyingly at Harry, yanking his sleeve back down, before he turned sharply on his heel and swiftly left the scene. Draco kept his legs moving on auto-pilot, although a tiny piece of him wanted to go back it's alright, Harry, it's alright, I didn't mean it at all- and comfort the grieving Gryffindor.
Draco's head snapped back in shock as he felt the rope around his heart suddenly tighten like a balled-up fist. Biting viciously on his bottom lip, ignoring the way his conscience hung like lead around his neck, Draco continued his rapid, monotonous pace back to the Slytherin dungeons.
Harry buried his head in his hands, feeling the dull ache of gathering tears and the darkness gathering around him. The sky was overcast, the threat of rain hovering dangerously in the cold night air. Searing, slashing betrayal funny how he made you blind- ripped through his body and soul, and he leant back disbelievingly against the tree whose forlorn branches now drooped like limp, dead fingers, the tree which Draco had so lovingly and tenderly carved their initials together-
Jerking his body off the tree like it had the plague, a sobbing Harry clawed madly in a blind fury feel that I'm crashing, but I don't know how it happened- at the initials, trying to scrape them off with his bare fingers. He didn't care if he bled, he didn't care if his fingernails tore from his cuticles, he didn't care if his hands ended up sore and frozen, he didn't even care when thunder splintered the sky in half and raindrops the size of heavy, thudding Galleons hurled in his face like gravel, he only wanted to forget the rose-tinted memories, the incoming pain, the heartbreak in store for him, the numbness and sheer denial of his mind-
don't come any closer-
don't tell me it's over-
don't kiss me goodbye-
He wondered if anyone would miss him if he just went and quietly drowned himself in the lake.
But I guess this is second best, Harry thought miserably as he floundered in his pathetic bowl of self-pity in the showers. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, his naked body as hollow as a cheap Easter egg. The Gryffindor's hair was a riot of wet, snaky curls plastered to his forehead and his neck, each droplet of water pelting down on his quivering, grieving body like unrelenting hail.
He had spent the past week picking apart Draco's sentences, over-analyzing every word, every touch, the way Draco had told him everything that he had wanted to hear, stringing him along like a puppet.
and you sold me-
now I don't know how I should feel-
Curling himself up even tighter, the brunette let his curved fingers drag on the cool surface of the bathroom tiles. He had set everything on fire last night, trying to remove the aching hollowness that clutched at his stomach like a fist. He had incendio'ed Draco's pseudo-love letters, and he managed to squish down the second thoughts that he had before throwing the six flowers into the flames.
The blond's comforting scent had faded from the rose, and when Harry had tearfully brushed the glitter off the sunflower, the powder had ceased to re-form. But that wasn't enough proof for Harry. He had faithfully and mulishly went down to the tree every single night for the past week, hoping that perhaps, his wish would come true and Draco once the cheerleader of my dreams- would be there waiting for him with his arms outstretched just like the old times, pretending that the heart-breaking exchange had never happened.
But everyone knows that wishes are nothing but hopeful shields to hide the tragic and raw fact of life.
So Harry had to succumb to his last resort, despising the way his wild green eyes scanned the Slytherin table during meal-times and classes, desperately wanting to catch Draco's eye, hoping for some sort of glance, some sort of sparkle that Harry would find familiar, to prove to himself that the last few months weren't a mere dream, but all he got was an imperiously-raised eyebrow and a smirk.
Need something to glue your little heart back together, Potter?
It was like Harry had been bouncing along happily on a cloud for the past few months, then all of a sudden landing on a tangle of barbed wires everything that we had never meant a thing to you-. Just like that, with that burning black mortar of a glare that Draco threw at him, Harry knew, beyond a doubt, that the faintest of faint hope that somehow, miraculously, they would be reconciled, had been obliterated.
Harry pressed his forehead to the wall, his fists uselessly banging on the hard, unforgiving surface of the tiles. Tears and jumbled thoughts were emerging from his muddled brain as he felt the scales fall from his eyes. Hot tears with your empty heart and mine full of pain- seeped from his closed eyelids, every rounded drop weighted with rage and humiliation. His tears were streaming unheeded now, falling from his eyes to his weary, limp, exposed wrists, mingling with the water from the shower that had gradually turned cold. He had spent an abnormal period of time in the shower, trying oh-so-desperately to scrub off the warm fragrance of Draco's vanilla scent that hovered tantalizingly like the touch of a hand, but to no avail.
I hold my breath-
because you were perfect-
but now I'm running out of air-
His heart had been toyed with like a doll by a spiteful little girl, and now, as thunder gathered in Harry's heart, the Gryffindor realized that his hurt and agony had given way to murderous fury and blind despair. He had to pick himself up, dust himself down and channel his frustrations to the impending war looming ahead. Standing up, he squared his shoulders and was about to switch off the tap when-
Say it, Harry. Say that you hate his guts. You don't love him anymore, do you? Say it, Harry.
Harry ran his tongue hesitantly over his lips.
Only when you dare to say it then it becomes true-
But those words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, out of reach, words that he couldn't say aloud no matter how hard he tried, because a sliver of him steadfastly believed that just maybe Draco-
The brunette ignored the way resignation thundered in his blood like filthy, pestilent rats pouring down a drain. Shutting off the water, Harry closed his eyes and took a handful of deep breaths, gently testing his emotional cuts and scrapes, relieved to discover that they had begun, albeit slowly and surely, to scab over.
Stalking out of the shower forever is over- and toweling himself with more force I want you to hurt as much as me, I want to watch you scream and cry, Malfoy- than was necessary, Harry let his lips crack into an uncharacteristic chilly, vengeful smile that didn't reach all the way up to his eyes.
I'll see you on the way to hell, Draco Malfoy.
"So I see that you have accomplished your mission, Draco."
It was the end of sixth year, and the Malfoys were back in the Malfoy Manor, together with Voldemort. Pursing his lips frostily, Draco nodded solemnly.
"You have done a job worthy of praise, Draco. It was such a treat to taunt and tease Potter with those memories that you so skillfully planted into his mind," Voldemort said with relish. "But I wonder, Draco, maybe, just maybe, a small part of you surrendered to him too? No, no, Draco, there's no need for you to answer. I can see it for myself."
With that, Voldemort flicked his wand off-handedly, and Draco could feel the constraint around his heart loosen and finally, finally release him from its unrelenting pincer-like grip. Breathing a sigh of overdue relief, the blond closed his eyes for a split second before beaming at his parents' delighted faces. This was the moment that he had been waiting for, the time to recognize all the efforts and ingenuity that Draco had to employ in order to complete the task. The applause, the victory, the reward was so close, so close that he could almost taste it…
Draco felt the smile slide off his face when Voldemort's expression turned from pleased to stormy. "You were flawless in every aspect, except for one simple thing that you very sadly and regretfully overlooked. You failed to shield your heart. Such a shame, really, such a shame…" Voldemort trailed off in mock sadness as he raised his wand, and Draco could feel that hateful, spiteful ribbon wrap a blind fairy tale, happy ending gone wrong- around his heart yet again.
Draco bridled, drawing himself up haughtily with whatever shreds of pride that remained.
"But I gave you what you wanted! I took Potter's virginity!" Draco cried, hating the tell-tale whine in his tone.
Voldemort's eyes were now a contemptuous, ferocious red blaze. "Ah, yes, you did, Draco. But you forget what I said to you last year. Your allegiance to me had wavered. You felt pity for him, you felt affection for him, and I daresay that when you said those lines of oh-so-saccharine nonsense to him, maybe a miniscule part of you… meant it?"
Draco flushed with red-hot, heart-beating shame, his face flooding with a mortified, sizzling red, his angry grey eyes staring at his shoes like a chastised little boy. Voldemort stepped down from his throne and glided towards Draco.
"I had expected something like this to happen, Draco. Just like how your father," At this point, Voldemort threw a dirty glance at a quaking Lucius, "Just like how your father blundered the acquiring of the prophecy. You have failed, Draco. And now you will have to pay for it in the worst way possible."
The discomfort in his heart was suddenly magnified twelve-fold, and Draco staggered back from the sheer force of it, little stars whirling in his woozy sight. The waves of pain radiating from his heart gripped him remorselessly and unexpectedly, dulling his vision and mind as they grew in intensity.
"I wonder… I wonder how it would feel for you to love and hate Potter at the same time, Draco. I wonder how it would feel when you rot your life away like an empty shell, those two deliciously strong emotions jostling for supremacy in your broken mind and ruptured heart. I wonder how much you would… regret."
Each word was like an infected fang digging into his skin, Voldemort's clipped speech sending chills of fear down his spine. Hot sweat streamed down the sides of Draco's face, and his blurry eyes failed to focus on the horrified looks on his parents' faces and Voldemort's sneering features. All he could see was HarryHarryHarryHARRY, those lovely, precious memories that they shared bubbling pleasantly up to the surface like surprisingly gentle lava-
"I'm just asking you to give me… one chance."
"I love you forever, Harry."
"May I kiss you?"
But there was another voice, another louder, shriller, banshee-like voice that resounded in Draco, mangling and slashing and lacerating and ripping and tearing the happiness and warmth that had been gradually spreading through his splintered mind-
"-push him up against the sodding wall and rape him."
"stuff the flowers down Potter's throat-"
"I can't believe I kissed Potter-"
The heat and conflict that those recollections brought back penetrated down to the core of Draco's very bones, and he stared wildly at the contempt seeping into Voldemort's eyes. Draco tried to ignore the nest of foreshadowing, squirming snakes in his stomach when Voldemort spoke again.
"The concept of possession and evil eludes you, poor Draco. You can try to exorcise your heart, outrun your demons, but it would only be a matter of time before the newly-hatched monster within you tears you apart. It would seek you out, flay you alive, torture you in ways that you cannot even imagine with your pathetic, closeted mind, Draco," Voldemort crooned horribly, reaching out a hand to stroke Draco's trembling face.
Jolting himself out of his watery world of shock and horror, Draco immediately batted Voldemort's arm away viciously like it was a reflex action, and before he knew what he was doing, the blond hissed out in cold, calculating tones that could rival Voldemort himself.
"Don't you dare touch me with your filthy hands, you sick bastard."
because only Harry can touch me, no one but Harry-
Clapping his palm to his mouth, his eyes brimming with terror, Draco retreated from Voldemort until the blond's back was pressed up against the wall. "I d-d-didn't mean it! I don't know w-what made me s-say it!" Draco gabbled idiotically, all sense of control and composure tossed to the wind. A myriad of emotions were plunging through him like white-hot knives, and he didn't know what to think.
Harry, Harry, I love you so much, I do, oh I do, I wonder if you love me too-
God, I hate Potter so fucking much, I want to hear his heart breaking again like glass-
"Oh, I am not angry, Draco. This is proof that the curse is implemented and working," Voldemort declared triumphantly as he spun sharply on his heel, turning his back on a quivering Draco. Crumpling weakly down to the floor, Draco chanced a glimpse at his parents.
Both of their faces were chalk-white, taut with strain, their famous Malfoy poise slipping off like a coat. Narcissa's platinum hair glowed like white fire around her agitatedly shaking head, and her legs looked like they were about to give out anytime. Lucius slid an arm around his wife's shoulders, supporting her waif-like, unstable frame.
The room was spinning around Draco now, tilting crazily like some sort of sadistic fairground ride. Pure, sheer panic flared in the blond's stomach. He had never seen his parents so destroyed and deranged, and for the first time in his life, he was scared, afraid of what horrors were waiting in the wings for him, biding its time to rear its ugly head, blurring the line between nightmare and reality-
Lucius's lips were pressed thin, incandescent with rage and emotion, and when he addressed Voldemort; he had to muster all of his ebbing energy to keep the quaver out of his voice.
"Am I to believe that you placed our only son, eventual heir to the staggering Malfoy fortune, under the Incarceramour curse?"
Turning his cool, disdainful glare to Lucius, Voldemort smiled eerily, his voice smooth as cream.
"Yes."
Narcissa let out a ghastly little wail, her worst fears death sentence, nothing but a long, painful, drawn-out death sentence- confirmed as she slumped down carelessly to the floor, her head buried dismally in her hands. Narcissa's shoulders were shaking uncontrollably while she sobbed, each heart-wrenching cry like a poisoned dagger sliding inch by inch under Draco's ribs. All the blood had drained from Lucius's face, and he sank weakly into a nearby chair, his trembling fingers stroking Narcissa's tousled hair.
A slide show of treachery and lies flitted in Draco's mind, rattling in his brain like beans in a jar. He was reeling down a far-away precipice of horror what's the Incarceramour curse, what is it, tell me, please! His parents, the very people that he drew strength from, already looked so damned and defeated. They couldn't help him now, they couldn't stop these conflicting voices that invaded every fibre of Draco's being, those despising hisses circling in his mind like hungry, vindictive Dementors ready to pounce, this dank, sudden darkness that descended on him like the intimidating, unrelenting cloak of a treacherous kidnapper.
"Kill me. Please," Draco croaked out to Voldemort, his eyes a mixture of pleading and desperation.
hide those sharp knives, that little bottle of poison-
"Oh, I would, but where's the fun in that? Enjoy the first day of the rest of your pitiful, wretched life, Draco Malfoy," Voldemort murmured in a lullaby-tone. Slit, gleeful red eyes swept through the whole Malfoy family, absorbing the utter collapse of Lucius and Narcissa, to the horrified face of young Draco, whose fingers were scrabbling weakly on the floor, his forearms taut with anguish. Draco's back was pressed so desperately close against the wall, as though he could break free and run away from the voices dripping with love and hate, oh those hateful sing-song voices- coiled up like a python poised to kill. His legs were frantically pushing away imaginary fiends, the heels of his feet scraping fruitlessly on the floor, his eyes wide with impending doom.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen, Voldemort smirked to himself as he slithered out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a finality that chilled all three Malfoys to the bone.
clawing their way out of the aftermath of senseless hell-
Tension hummed like a high-voltage wire as Draco lifted round, defenseless eyes up to his parents. Lucius's body was visibly vibrating with agitation, the lines on his face more pronounced than ever. Narcissa's face was buried despondently in her husband's shoulder, hiding from the cold, harsh truth of reality that was thrown in her face like a bucket of ice water, hoping that she wouldn't have to face up to the grisly fact that her son, her precious, darling son-
Oh, Merlin, Incarceramour-
Lucius's gaze mirrored the disbelief and terror it's only the beginning, Draco, it's going to be so much more worse- that reflected in Draco's stare. This watchful silence that father and son shared un-nerved the younger Malfoy, and Draco wanted to run over to his parents, throw himself in their arms because maybe, they can make the voices all go away- and their love, but an unwanted piece of awareness had lodged itself into the undercurrents of Draco's sloshing brain:
Only Harry can help me.
Only Harry can save me.
Only Harry can-
His heart was screeching now, a scream of a soul in purgatory, tiny slivers of his precious sanity like smoke slipping through his useless, hopeless fingers bit by bit. Draco felt the ceaseless curtain of misty depression begin to descend upon him, refusing to dissipate however much he tried to wish it away. An overwhelming spasm of loss, desperation and sheer, black desolation languished luxuriously on his shoulders, but as long as he thought of Harry it was okay, Harry would tear apart all his fears single-handedly, Harry would be his savior-
Treasure your memories, Draco Malfoy, because one day, they'll be the only things you'll have left.
And then Draco started to weep for his parents, for heart-broken Harry, for himself, inhumane, blood-curdling sobs tearing from his dry, heaving throat as he clung onto those glorious, beautiful memories of Harry smilinglaughingcuddlingnuzzlingloving- like a limpet while he started to painfully nurse the tattered remains of his conscience. The extent of the damage that Voldemort had done sunk axe-like into his mind-
like I'll never be cheerful again-
Swiping roughly at his eyes, Draco stared unseeingly at his hands and his fingers which suddenly seemed so foreign and alien, this pair of hands which had touched Harry, comforted Harry, caressed Harry, the boy who the blond now hated and loved with a passion so fierce, so violent, so destructive that it threatened to explode into smithereens within Draco's frail, brittle body-
Draco's voice sank to an agonized whisper, biting out reluctant and resistant apologies that felt so wrong but yet so right- that were lost in the swirling sands of time, crying tears etched with silver lies that simply refused to stop-
There's a place in the devil's playground with your name on it, darling Draco.
You won't be ready now, not one month later, not even a year later.
But I'll be waiting oh-so-patiently for you, Draco my love, the sweetest, the fairest and the most beautiful of them all.
/to be continued, details about Incarceramour next chapter/