The sweaty palm is removed from across Draco's mouth and moves down to his neck. The hand is gentle, sickeningly so. Draco lets out a whimper of fear and the hand tightens. The other hand that was around his torso slowly begins to move lower.
Draco cannot move. He wants to move, to run away, but his body won't let him. He is not under any spell; he has just been conditioned not to move. He starts to gasp. He can no longer breathe.
He begins to laugh softly and whispers in Draco's ear, "We can't have that now can we?" His breath is hot against Draco's ear. Faster than Draco would have expected the hand around his throat grabs his arm and twists it back, and Draco emits a sharp yelp of pain. He didn't want to make any noise. He wanted screams, and Draco did not want to give them. Draco's arm is twisted further, it's excruciating. He bites on his lower lip to keep from screaming. Not even when the coppery taste of blood fills his mouth does he make any noise.
Abruptly he is spun around and pushed against the door leading back into the castle. Foul smelling breathe is filling his nostrils as a pink tongue slowly licks the blood from his lips.
Draco starts to struggle. The hands holding him tighten their grip. One hand in particular is strong, too strong. It shines in the moonlight, deadly silver. The hand had been around Draco's waist, but now it takes the place of the other hand at Draco's neck. Draco lifts his own hands, trying to scratch out the lust filled eyes. The silver hand moves to grab both his wrists, pinning them together over his head.
Draco tries to use his feet, he is kicking and twisting, trying to make any sort of contact with the thing before him. He hears growls and hisses, and then his vision goes blurry and everything is spinning as his head makes contact with the wall.
He is disoriented, dizzy. He can't focus. He can feel blood dripping down his neck. He is vaguely aware of a hand caressing his bloody hair. He blinks several times and tries to quash the nauseous feeling in his stomach. His vision goes dark for a second, and it takes him a few more to realize it was his shirt blocking out the light of the moon. He was only in a t-shirt before, but goose bumps immediately rise on his arms. He shivers and tries to wrap his arms around himself for warmth, but he is stopped.
His back is still to the wall. He hasn't lost consciousness, but he's not far from it. He can't think straight. He knows something bad is going to happen, but he can't find the will or strength to fight it.
He looks into the night air, the stars are pulsing. He takes in a few deep breaths. The cold air enters his lungs and clears his mind. He is now aware of the wandering hands and tongue that had taken advantage of his disorientation to explore lean muscle and smooth skin.
Draco makes no move to show he is recovering. He now bites the inside of his cheek, again tasting his own blood, and tries to keep his body in its relaxed state. He wanted to catch his attacker of guard. He is gentle for now, but Draco knows it can change in an instant.
He wants to wait, to be sure he can get away. But the sound of trousers unzipping reverberated into the night. It was slow amd deliberate, but it meant that one hand was occupied. Draco clenched his fist and was reward with a loud smack. His attacker looked at him, shock clear on his face. Draco made like he was going to hit again, and as he moved to block it, Draco made a run for the door.
It was locked.
Draco vainly jiggled the handle, as if the door would open with the sheer force of his will alone. He was jerked away and thrown to the tower floor. The stones were uneven, and the corner of one stabbed into his back, breaking the skin. Memories of his prison cell flooded his mind. He had almost forgotten when his forgotten past returned.
And then he was atop Draco, pulling at the loose cotton pants Draco had worn to bed. Draco's struggles only seemed to excite. He was kicking and squirming; his arms were flailing. He only had two arms, and was having difficulty trying to hold Draco, undress Draco, and unzip his pants the rest of the way. Draco put one of his thumbs in his attacker's eye, who in return lowered his head to bit into Draco's neck, tearing at the flesh where neck met shoulder. Draco screamed, and this time he didn't stop.
Draco was scared, but also angry. His struggles grew more violent and erratic, but they didn't stop his pants from being ripped off, along with the thin boxers underneath. He was naked. It made him feel vulnerable, as if he was done for. And that made him angry. When he was locked up, he couldn't remember who he was. He sometimes even thought he deserved what he got. But now he remembered. He remembered he was Draco Malfoy, and he didn't take shit from anyone, let alone pathetic bootlickers of Voldemort.
His screams turned from pain and fear, to rage. He was touching him, too preoccupied to notice the change. The silver hand was pressed to Draco's chest, and the other was…busy. All of Draco's emotions: fear, anger, guilt, shame, rolled into one. With a final yell, he raised his right hand, a hand that was already bleeding at the knuckles. And he made one last punch. And he contacted flesh. His balled fist landed smack in the middle of his ugly, bloated face. He could feel the cartilage of the nose break, and shards of it entered into the brain. The body fell on him, and they were so close, Draco could feel the life leaving. Blood seeped from the mess that was once a face. Blood and bits of bone were falling onto his bare chest.
He didn't know how long he lay there, but the blood was cold and had congealed. He pushed the body off, and stood up. He looked around for his clothes, but the only thing not in shreds was his shirt. He sighed and tried to somehow tie it around his waist.
He let out a sigh, realizing he had no idea how to get out of the tower. The only way was the locked.
"Shit."
A/N: Okay, probably only an epiloque left...maybe. Thank you so much my wonderful reviewers. They made me very happy. Also, those who put this story on Alerts or Faves. That made me happy to!!!! Anyways, the part with the nose breaking into the brain and feeling the life leave isn't mine. I know I didn't come up with that on my own. I read it somewhere, I just can't remember. Oh well. Until next time!
