My first attempt at a Harry/Draco fanfiction. I will try to update at least once a week. Please read and review. All comments and pointers are welcomed.

Disclaimer: All characters in this story are owned by JK Rowling and I hold no claim over them. I am not making any profit off of this story.

Silver Daggers

Ch.1

Silver daggers. How Harry loved them. They were his salvation yet his curse at the same time. The feeling of the cool metal biting into his skin, his pain releasing the emotions that threatened to break him. After Sirius' death the Boy-Who-Lived spiraled down a dark staircase into the bowels of depression. He knew that everyone blamed him for his godfathers' death even though they told him that it wasn't his fault. Harry for once in his life could finally see behind the lies.

He bitterly laughed at the memory of Mrs. Weasley embracing him on platform 9 3/4, as he was about to leave, reassuring him that it wasn't his fault. He laughed at his gullibility because he half believed her then but now he knew it was a lie. Harry wasn't that blind. He saw the way Ron and Hermoine now only looked at him with pity and distress and how the Order members had been in contact with him only to give him reports on the current death toll. He had recieved no personal letters since he arrived back at Number 4 Privet Drive. That was over a month ago. The only other letter besides the Order reports was a letter from Rufus Scrimgeour which gave Harry permission to apparate and to perform magic outside of Hogwarts because of 'extenuating circumstances'. He knew that the 'extenuating circumstances' jargon was pure bullshit and he was only allowed to do magic outside of school because what good is a savior who'll get sent to jail for fighting off DeathEaters.

If only his so-called friends could see him now. He,Harry Potter, the Boy who fucking Lived sitting on his bed with blood flowing freely from new cuts on his arm because he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take the lying, the nightly visions of various wizards and witches being tortured at the hands of Voldemort , and of course being shunned from the one he loved.

That's why Harry liked silver daggers so much. Not because they were once his fathers but because as the cool metal glinted off of the moonlight Harry could see the face of his beloved. His perfect white blond hair, cool grey eyes that were always filled with burning rage when they were set on Harry, and skin as pale as milk. All the fighting and bickering that occured between the two was Harry's sad attempt at lying to himself. Forcing him to believe that his fascination and obsession with Draco Malfoy was nothing more than morbid curiostiy to see how much he had been corrupted by his father. By third year however, when Hermoine punched Draco and Harry felt his heart groan, wishing he could go over and comfort the boy. Harry knew it wasn't just his curiosity at work.

The sound of the front door slamming shut woke Harry from his stupor. He quickly pulled out his wand and muttered a few healing and cleansing spells he had leaned recently so his arm was free of any traces of blood and bandaged pretty well,considering he wasn't a Healer. He pulled down the sleeve of his black lonsleeve shirt, fitting his thumb through the hole on the cuff so his sleeve wouldn't accidently roll up and hastily put the silver dagger back into his trunk. Laying heavily on Dudley's old twin bed, which the Dursley's had moved to the medium-sized attic when Harry grew too big for his cupboard, he waited to hear his cousins' heavy footsteps as he made his way up the stairs to Harry's room. Since Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had left for a short vacation by themselves, Dudley had been out to late hours of the night and came home very drunk and angry. Dudley of course took his anger out on Harry, and if Harry tried to fight back the beatings grew worse. But he thought he deserved this. Every time Dudley's large, meaty fist came in contact with the Seekers' toned but underweight body, Harry re-lived the night in the Department of Mysteries.

Tonight was no different. Hearing the lock un-hatch from the attic door, Harry braced himself for the punishment that his piggish cousin gave him for letting Voldemort get the best of him. A mistake which Harry could never forgive himself for.

Inside the esteemed Malfoy Manor a teen with white-blond hair writhed and twisted in his sleep, his sheets coiled around him like vices. He suddenly awoke, his breathing harsh and shallow ,and his facial features contorted into a look of pure rage and confusion. Draco Malfoy surveyed his surroundings for a brief second before trying to calm himself. Once he controlled his breathing, he played back the nightmare he had just awoken from.

Draco had found himself in a small muggle dwelling which only contained a small bed shoved into the corner opposite of where he was standing, a small desk complete with desk lamp next to the bed, a hamper with a few dirty shirts in it, an empty bird cage near a small window, and a trunk that stood at the end of the bed.The room seemed to be on the highest floor of the house and from it's size he believed it to be the attic. With the moonlight from the small window, he could make out a dark clad figure curled in a ball on the bed.

The door to the attic was opened with a 'bang' causing Draco to flinch but the figure on the bed was not disturbed in the least. Stairs groaned as a hefty youth climbed the stairs and walked into the room. The figure on the bed suddenly stood to face his soon to be attacker and that's when Draco finally got a good look at him. The boy was at least 5' 11'' with shaggy black shoulder length hair and eyes that once were a bright emerald but now resembled more of a dark forest green color. Draco's eyes went wide as he recognized the drak clad figure. It was Potter. Harry-bloody-Potter standing to face what could only be his piggish cousin Dudley, of whom Draco had overheard him telling Granger and Weasel about. This Dudley stank of alcohol as he sauntered over to Potter and in a split second drew back his meaty fist and brought it hard against the thinner boys' face. Falling into the wall, Potter spat a mouthfull of blood out and his pudgy cousin wasted no time in pinning him to the floor and thoroughly beating him. Draco stood watching this horrid act go on for only a few seconds before he felt a strange sense of rage against Potter's attacker. He had tried to move to get to his wand but found he was rooted to the spot. He tried to yell out to take the overgrown teens' attention to him instead of Potter but it was to no avail. That's when he woke up.

Untangling himself from his sheets, Draco shook the last remnents of the dream from his mind. So many questions filled his head. Why had been so angry at that whelp for beating on Potter?He should of enjoyed his suffering but visions of him getting pummeled by that neanderthal only made Draco furious. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if the dream was real.Sure he had had his share of dreams that hadn't been true but there was a certain feeling that he couldn't shake that this had been no ordinary dream. This was all too much to think about. Draco rolled on his side and fell back into a fitful sleep. He'd figure out what to do about the dream in the morning.