Author's note: Okay, so it has been years since I have updated this story. I don't even remember what initially happened to keep me from working on it at this point. I actually had two different versions that this story went and couldn't decide which way to go and just never got back to it. If anyone is still interested in this story, I'm gonna give this a go again as things have settled and I find the urge to write again. I am not promising any quick posts, but I hope you enjoy anyway. Also, I have to beta so please point out any errors so I can correct them!

Also, I have drifted away from the Harry/Draco fandom. I am not sure if I can write it since I don't even read it anymore. For now I am changing this to begin Draco-centric and will let the story and maybe readers to decide pairing. I find my self drawn more towards Ron/Draco and this story already tried going that way once…

Warning: dark/violent themes, explicit homosexual content, self-injury, graphic rape, and bondage.

Snape stopped short by only an inch. He quickly stood and removed his outer robe before gently covering Draco with it. When he spoke, his voice was soft and kind. "Can you walk?... Can you move?"

"No…" It was a faint cry and it hurt Draco even more to admit his weakness.

"We have to get you out of here. To do that quickly and safely I need to carry you. Please don't fight me, Draco, I'm only trying to help you." Snape said only a little more firmly.

Draco flinched and struggled to move away but he could barely lift his head. "…nooo…" He cried as Snape slowly reached out towards him. Snape easily lifted him and held him gently in his arms despite Draco's attempt to resist. "…please…"

Snape shushed him as he carried him out of the room that had held him prisoner so long. Again he cursed himself for his weakness. Suddenly, green eyes caught his own. Pity. That was what was in those eyes. He couldn't take no more. It was all so sickening. It was too much. With one last mournful moan, Draco passed out.

Faintly, he thought he heard someone's voice but couldn't tell who… "It's alright. He's just unconscious. The trauma…"

He awoke to the faint murmur of voices, unable to distinguish to whom they belonged and from where they came. Terror instantly seized him, and he lay perfectly still refusing to open his eyes lest someone would discover him awake and alert his torturer…

Grey eyes snapped open as he jerked up. He gazed in amazement at his surroundings almost sobbing in relief as he tenderly stroked his unbound wrist. Tentatively, he inspected his self, stunned to find everything completely healed. Not even a scar was left. The memories blazed across his mind. He could still feel his tormentor's flesh against his own. He remembered every little touch, every violation and every one of his own betrayals. Unable to control his raging stomach, he desperately fought the covers that bound him to the bed in a panicked search for a bathroom, a bowl, something. He snatched open the door and stumbled into the hallway. Frantically, he glanced at the many doorways around him. Staggering to the closest one he urgently threw it open.

Praise Morgana!With relief, he collapsed upon the toilet; emptying what little fluid he had then vaguely wondered when he had consumed any. Even after, his stomach refused to quail, and he continued to dry heave with tears building from the painful spasms. Forcing himself to stand, he wobbled to the sink to rinse his mouth.

Once he turned off the tap, he slowly glanced at up into the mirror at his own reflection. White-blond hair brush just pass his collarbone seeming to gently caress his face. The slight curve of his silver eyes made the more alluring, though the color itself enough to draw anyone's attention. His skin was smooth and creamy with years of a privileged lifestyle. Pale pink lips were just supple enough without being effeminate. Perfect, white teeth. Long slim nose that was just slightly up-turned and seemed to accent his face flawlessly. Jaw just slightly masculine. His neck had a graceful quality. Though the mirror did not show lower, he knew what his body looked like. His shoulders were rather narrow for a boy's. Though average in height, his long arms and legs made him appear taller. His waist was tapered making his hips more evident than other's. His chest and stomach was well defined. His body was sleek and slim, almost feminine. Truly, no one could deny his body was gorgeous. He had prided himself on this very fact many times. Now that which was once his pride was now his shame. It was this body that was view as beautiful by so many that had caused his suffering. It was because the Dark Lord, as many others, has lusted after his beauty. Once he had loved himself and his appearance, but now it disgusted him.

A sharp pain suddenly filled his left hand. Seeing the shards of glass across the counter tinged with blood, he realized what he had done. He stared in disbelief at his gashed hand and the shattered mirror. Then the distant hum of voices seemed to rush to him. With slight fear, he slowly and cautiously followed the sounds. Creeping quietly down a set of stairs, each step brought him closer. At the end of the stairway to the right was an entranceway that surely leads to the speakers. His bare feet made no noise as he crept down the last step. With a shaky breath, he gathered what little strength and courage he could find within him and walked as calmly as he could to the archway.

The sight before him just shocked and confused him more. There sitting around a coffee table talking was many people he knew and a few he didn't. Professors Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin and McGonagall were there talking with Arthur and Molly Weasley, two people he recognized as Aurors though he knew neither and who he presumed must be the real Madeye Moody. There was one older wizard he didn't know in the least, but he was certain the other two were the older Weasley siblings. Then there were the ones he was much more familiar with: the Golden Trio with the Weasley Twins and the little Weaslette. He stood there dumbfounded a moment, his presence unnoticed. Then before he realized the words came tumbling out of his mouth. "Where am I?" The question came out in a broken whisper, and he flinched inwardly at the evident pain and fear in held.

Every pair of eyes instantly snapped on him. Without looking up, he could feel the looks in those eyes. Immediately, he felt as if his entire body was filthy. They all knew. They all knew what had happened. They all knew what he was. Despite his best efforts, he began to tremble as all of them continued to stare at him silently.

"It is okay now, Draco. I assure you, you are safe." Dumbledore's voice was calm and soothing. "No one here will hurt you."

With courage or maybe pride he did not have, he stared defiantly into the Headmaster's eyes, though his voice betrayed his fear. "Where am I?"

"This is the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. All those here, as well as others, are members of the Order, which was formed to defeat Voldemort." Dumbledore explained gently.

At the mention of that name, Draco paled visibly and began trembling violently. The memories seared across his mind and the feel washed over his body. Again every detail came back as if he was still there chained to the wall at the mercy of the man he once called 'Lord'. His lungs started to burn and he vaguely realized he couldn't breathe. Though he tried to swallow gulp after gulp of air, it was as though his throat was constricted. Everything began to blur before him and he was aware of the fact that his legs would soon give out underneath him. His pulse thundered in his ears yet he could still hear the whispered words of his tormentor.

"Draco? DRACO?" Though it was a frantic scream, he could barely hear what they were saying. "Draco, you've got to breathe! Calm down and try to breathe! DRACO, YOU HAVE TO BREATHE!"

Suddenly, he became aware that he was somehow lying on the floor. That was odd…he never remembered falling… Colors swan before his eyes, though he thought a few of the darker shapes might be people. He began to fell light as he continued vainly to take a breath. His eyes felt heavy, and they fluttered closed a few times. The voices above him became a muted gurgle though he tried to focus on just what they were saying. Breathe…yes, breathe… That's what they were saying. He was trying to breathe. He never would have thought that it could be so hard. He had been breathing since the moment he was born. Yet, right now, the ability seemed to escape him. …Breathe… His lungs were on fire. He continued to struggle for a single breath.

A spell hit him, and the imaginary bonds that gripped his throat vanished. With a loud gasp, he sucked in a lung full of air quickly followed by another and another. Slowly, his vision began to focus and he stared blankly at the ceiling thinking of nothing more than the in and out motion of his breath. After what seemed so long but was only a moment, his breathing calmed and he closed his eyes savoring every deep breath. In then out. Every raise and fall of his chest a testament to his life, proving he still lived despite it all.

"That's it, Draco.. Slow, steady breaths…" He opened his eyes to gaze up at Professor Snape. Panic nearly seized him again. Snape. Snape worked for him. Snape would surely take him back. Remembering it was Snape whom carried him out did nothing to ease his fear. Snape was a Death Eater. His breathing started to become erratic. "Calm down, Draco. It's okay! You're safe! I won't let anyone else hurt you. But you have got to calm yourself, Take a deep breath… That's it… You will be safe here…can you sit up?"

He nodded slowly then pushed himself up. He could feel them watching and refused to even glance up. They had all seen him break down. A shaky hand reached up to run through his hair, holding all but a few rebellious strands at the nape of his neck. Merlin, but he had just proved to the every people he tried to show for years how stronger he was, how much better he was that he was exactly what they had said. Weak. Pitiful. Disgusting. He could feel the filth on him, in him. How could he be this, this thing? Was he even Draco anymore? He didn't feel like he was…

"Are you alright now, Draco" Dumbledore's genuine concern obvious in his voice.

"…Sure…" Draco said, his voice empty and hallow. Lifting his head, his eyes fell on Snape's arm were he knew the Dark Mark lay hidden under his sleeve. His eyes flicked up to meet Snape's. He wondered if they knew. And if they didn't, was Snape planning to take him back. With a bitter laugh, he buried his face in his hands. "I'm so pathetic…"

"What happened to your hand?" He could clearly hear the concern in Snape's voice, yet it did nothing but make him feel worse. His master did not allow anyone else to mar his beauty after all.

"Does it matter?" Slowly standing to his feet, he examined his bleeding hand. He marveled at the fact that it did not ache. Maybe he had just grown use to pain. Flexing it a few times, he could feel a piece of glass underneath his skin. Reveling in the throbbing pain, he calmly removed the glass from his knuckle. "I assure you it isn't the most painful experience I'd been through, far from the worst. Though I am afraid that I must have broke the mirror in the bathroom. I believe I punched it considering…" He inspected his bloody knuckles while he spoke, his voice devoid of any trace of emotion. Once sure there was no more glass, he looked up only to bark a bitter laugh at their expressions. "Did I offend you?"

"…Draco…" Snape began, stepping towards him.

"Would you be so kind as to not come closer? I find I no longer…like…others to be too close to me." He had to force himself to not step back. He warred with his instincts to flee from their nearness in order to maintain what little was left of his dignity. Well, he could at least pretend he had any to cling to.

"Of course, Draco. I understand." Inwardly he cringed at Snape's calm and soothing tone. He spoke as if to a frightened animal. Like he wasn't even human anymore… So maybe he wasn't the only one thinking those thoughts. Did they see him as the dirty creature he saw? Did they think him feral? Barking from the abuse inflicted upon him? Did he need to be contained or put down? Mad thoughts ran through his head to quick for him to even process at the thought that they too might lock him up. No.

"While your sentiment is…nice" His small emphasis on the word said it was anything but. "I just don't think you possibly can."

"Mr. Malfoy—" Dumbledore vainly started before Draco leveled his icy gaze on him.

Swiftly turning around with all the dignity someone such as himself could manage, strode into the hall and went in the opposite direction from which he came. He had to get away. He had to go. Run! Go now! His mind screamed.