Time Period: About 7 years after school. Harry is about 24 & flashbacks of his 7th year at Hogwarts.
Spoilers: Hopefully you've read all the books and book five. But it doesn't matter to much. If characters are dead... it's because it's implied that they died in the passing time period. ;D Did that make sense? I hope so. :x
WARNING: This chapter contains violence and ideas of nonconsensual sex...
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Hogwarts
7th Year
(December 31st, New Years Eve)
Pale, strong, hands reached around his neck, squeezing the air from his lungs.
"Do you think I like watching you fail, boy?" His head was slammed into the cobblestone, cracking. The scraps on his knees bleed warm through his pants.
"ANSWER ME!" A slap, his mouth tasted of blood.
"N-no..." He choked out an answer. He could feel hands working his zipper, pulling harshly and violently as he tried to pull away. The harsh rope tore at his wrists and he moaned out in pain. "You like it, don't you?" Nails dug into his upper arms, the pain searing through him. Hips were pressed to his, grinding, and Draco whimpered in fear, closing his eyes tight as the hands on his wrists left blood dripping. Repeating his question, Lucius removed his hands from Drano's wrists and down his arms.
He woke up screaming to the empty air, his blonde hair now pressed with sweat from his fever.
Draco could almost smell the musty stank on him, feel the pain in his arms and knees. Gasping for air, though his lungs were full of it, he felt a pang in his right arm. Half-moon scars blazed red as he stared at them- looking as if they'd never healed from that night, as though they were about to bleed before his very eyes.
Tears wet his face but he wiped them away quickly. He suspected his father was watching and waiting to smack him for being a pansy. "Take it like a man." He could almost hear the words echoing in his ears.
....
Harry was alone in his room tonight. All alone with his painting, torch light, and warm bench.
The torches blazed, warming the room, and Harry's skin glowed a haunting shade of pale blue. The flames reflected his emotions.
When he was feeling quizzical and manipulative, they glowed a pale green, a Slytherin green. On his calm, more thoughtful, nights they shone a powder blue, much like the Ravenclaws Quidditch robes. Yellow was for the days he was happy, feeling a little childish, Hufflepuffs bright shade. When he was angry, glowering, scared, and feeling threatened, red, the flames' true color, blazed high and warmed the room like his boiling blood.
The room was full of magic, more than he could ever know. The flame was one thing, the painting another.
So, while he sat there with the blue flames licking the air, his green eyes reflected the painting above him.
He'd been mulling over things in his mind, thinking on the same two subjects again and again.
In a few days time Hermione and Ron would be back to school with him, filled with stories of adventures they'd had during Holidays. Would he tell him of his own adventures? Let them in on the secret he held? Or should he keep it as his private sanctuary? He wasn't sure yet.
The other subject... Draco Malfoy.
He was in the back of Harry's mind constantly. Each time he saw Draco there was an awkward stare and then both sets of eyes diverted away.
You don't know what it is.
No, he didn't know. That much Draco figured out, but what else? Was there a story behind the room, the painting in it, and the mood changing flames? Did Draco know something Harry didn't?
Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry sat up from the bench.
...
The room had called to Draco, had let him know someone within the walls had been thinking about him.
Setting out for a walk to clear his mind, Draco's feet had taken on their own direction. He could have walked to the room in his sleep; his body seemed to know the path from before.
He was surprised when he came upon the door but he stood there for a minute watching Potter lying on the bench as he had done.
A shooting pain crept up his right arm, throbbing. Biting his lip against the unexpected shock, Draco kept quiet as angry memories came flooding back for the second time that night. As though Lucius was standing above him, his nails once again buried in the skin of his arms. He saw his fathers steely eyes, much like his own, staring down into his with rage. A powerful, hateful, rage.
There he was, towering in the doorway. For a moment Harry stared.
Mummering a swear under his breath, Draco felt himself fall down weak onto the ground, his legs giving out under him and his head hot with fever.
"Imperio." The words haunted him and he felt like he was completly losing control.
Hearing the word as it had been whispered that night, Draco re-lived the hopeless feeling of submitting to another's wants and needs. Feeling his fathers anger, not his own, he couldn't control himself.
Harry watched Draco shudder on the floor, his eyes closed tight like he was trying to avoid seeing something he was afraid to look upon. The Gryffindor wondered what to say, or if anything should be said...
Then it happened.
A scream shook through Harry and, in a quick second, he was pushed against the wall. The tear of his robes sounded in his ears and he felt the cold stone rip the flesh on his elbows.
With the sound of air whooshing from lungs, Draco had pinned Harry hard against the wall. Harry's muscles, thanks to seven years of Quidditch, were no match against Draco's. He stood at 6'1", a good three inches above Harry's small frame.
He didn't have a chance, but he tried to push Draco away with all the strength he had.
Draco was seething, pushing all of Harry to the wall.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when a cold hand was clamped to his mouth.
"Don't," one word whispered harshly from Draco's mouth, leaving Harry confused as to whether it was meant for him or if Draco had been speaking to himself.
His blue eyes were wild, shining a bright blue and not a normal dull.
The flames of the torches now were red, Harry was angry.
Harry watched as the other boy pulled his wand from his pocket. Slowly, Draco pointed it at Harry's throat.
"I hate you, Potter." He spat the sentence in disgust through gritted teeth, staring Harry in the eye.
"I don't know why I helped you." Harry cringed, Draco's face inches from his own, the wand pressed deep into his neck. Draco released Harry, slowing backing away, and let the press on his wand loosen from Harry's throat.
The blood sticky on his elbows, Harry made no move to get away.
"I'm not to fond of you, either, Malfoy." Came his obvious reply.
He had nothing else to say as Draco threatened him.
The skills of a Death Eater's son weren't easily forgotten. If he was loyal to his father, to his way of life, Draco knew the unforgivables to an art and much more. He knew the Dark Arts, it was pounded into him as soon as he'd reached the age old enough for a wand. He knew things that Harry had next to nothing knowledge about.
So he didn't move... he didn't dare.
"'Don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort.'" He quoted Draco from first year, snotty tone included.
"I just wanted to give you advice, I offerend to be your friend, I didn't ask anything else from you. Look where your good friends got you, Potter. Up all hours of the night trying to slit your wrists in a cold, dark, corner. Oh, but it won't happen, you won't die unless until it's time for you to prove yourself. You'll die trying to kill him, and you'll fail. He wouldn't have it any other way, he won't let you die at anyones hand but His." Draco sneered, striking on a crucial expectation.
Harry's green eyes grew darker which each word Draco spoke. He moved to push Draco away... he was too slow. Draco was on him again, just three feet from the door.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU MALFOY," he screamed.
Draco was fully pressed to him, closer than before, and could almost smell the fear on his enemy.
"Funny, isn't it?" The blonde mused, lowering his lips to whisper into Harry's ear. "How can you weaken Him, but you can't get yourself together to stop me?" Harry shivered as Draco's warm breath grazed his ear.
"Without your wand, brave Gryffindor?"
Robes left nothing to imagination, Draco could feel every inch of Harry as he leaned into him and he hadn't noticed a precense of a wand.
"It's a shame, I was hoping," Draco's lips hoevered before Harry's own, breathing hotly, "for a good duel." He finished his sentence with a devious smile and stepped back from Harry quickly. The eerie silence seemed to echo, and Harry darted for the door.
Draco rasied his wand, awkwardly as if someone else had control, and took a steady aim on Harry.
Draco whispered quietly and confidently, "Imperio."
With a sickening crunch, like cheap plastic crushed under someones boot, Harry fell to the ground.
Draco had caught him off guard and penetrated the wall around him. He'd gotten Harry under his spell and Harry was his marionette to string along.
He was in Harry's mind, he had complete control.
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Any reviews would be loved... I know I don't update as often as I should and I never write long chapters... But pwease? I liked this chapter and I think the story is finally heading where I want it to. As you can tell, I've given Draco reasons to be nasty and yet afraid and in need of someone aswell... There's nothing going on in present time, Harry's alone most of the time while Draco's off at his work. He IS hiding after all... and always thinking about his days at Hogwarts. ;)