Bad Vibrations

Author's Notes: Sorry this took a while, I completely forgot about it. Should come a little quicker next time. Enjoy!

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Draco sat on his bed, curtains drawn around him, gazing at the magical clock that lay on the covers in front of him and wishing the time wouldn't go so fast. It was 9.47 and if he didn't leave soon, he would be late for the deadline with Flint. He shuddered, remembering the last time he had refused to turn up for an 'appointment'.

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The door to the Slytherin common room slammed open, revealing Marcus Flint with a steely glint in his eye and clenched fists. From the corner where he was sitting Draco flinched but looked down at his book again, fervently hoping that Flint would be deterred by the large numbers of people sitting in the common room. Surely he wouldn't... not with such an audience.

No such luck.

"Hey, bitch." Flint said, his voice piercing the chatter of the common room. The noise quietened and many conversations ceased altogether as people turned to look at the sixth year in the doorway. Flint strode in, past a group of first years who cringed as his cloak brushed the back of their chairs, huddling over their homework. The three seventh years that happened to be around watched warily from their armchairs by the fire, unwilling to intervene unless they knew that it was worth their while.

Draco had to fight not to look up from his book as Flint approached and wished he could block out his ears so that he didn't have to hear all the gasps and whispers as Flint stopped in front of him. His eyes froze on the page, the word escape running through his mind but unable to even move his arms.

Flint put one hand on each arm of the chair Draco was sitting in and leaned down, his face only a foot from Draco's own. Fighting to keep an emotionless expression on his face, Draco looked up.

"Hey, bitch." More whispers. "Why don't you answer when I call you?"

"I'm not your bitch." Draco said with as much volume as he could muster. "Fuck off." The common room was utterly silent, waiting to see what Flint would do next.

Flint smiled, showing lots of teeth. "Oh really?" He said, running a hand through Draco's hair. "You think so?" He fisted his hand and pulled, causing Draco to stand up and drop his book, his hands flying to his head to try and lessen the pain in his scalp, unsucessfully.

"You are very much my bitch, and bitches do what theyre told." Marcus said calmly, before yanking Draco's hair again. Crying out, Draco growled at Flint and tugged, only causing a whimper that Draco was immediately ashamed of.

Flint grinned again. "Yeah, that's right bitch, whimper like the dog you are. Come on. Bitches that don't obey their masters have to be punished." He began dragging Draco across the common room, using his hair as a leash. Draco was forced to follow him, the pain causing him to let out a cry every time Flint have a particularly vicious tug. He could feel every eye in the common room watching him and something in him shrivelled and died at the thought that this would haunt him forever.

Why, oh why hadn't he just gone when Flint asked? Now the pain would be much worse, and it was topped off with humiliation. His last view as he was pulled through the door of the common room was of the first years' faces, shocked, some disgusted but mostly disapproving. Of his weakness.

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Draco grimaced and got up, walking into the common room with his head down. He had almost made it to the door when a slender hand on his arm stopped him. It was Pansy.

"Draco, darling, where are you going at this time of night?"

"Out." Draco said quietly. "Let go."

"But Draco, its past curfew and Snape said that if we were the first ones to lose points he would take away our priviliges. Who are you going to see?"

"Nobody. I'm going for a walk."

"Draco..." Pansy let go of his arm and looked at him reproachfully, leaving him in no doubt that she knew he was lying to him, and knew she could do nothing about it. Looking up, he saw Zabini watching him over the cover of his book with that empty expression on his face and Draco knew that he knew that Draco was going to see Flint.

"Sorry." He said, and walked out of the door.

It didn't take long to get to the fifth floor, and Lawrence the Lewd was right at the end by the window, a comparitively small painting of a wizard in the bath, making an obscene gesture and sniggering at Draco. The Arithmancy classroom was only a few feet away and Draco stared out of the window, waiting.

Far below he could see the Quidditch pitch, the hoops looming in the darkness. Suddenly a light appeared near the edge of the pitch, the blue flicker of a summoned fire. It moved, going towards the centre of the pitch and stopped. It flickered again and Draco saw something shiny flash slightly in the moonlight. He squinted, trying to make out what it was, then gasped as something broke the treeline far above the flame and Draco could identify it.

Someone was flying on their broomstick. The had clearly summoned the flame to light their way, and were now practicing. But who would be fanatical enough to practice before the teams had even been chosen, on the very first night of term.

Or maybe... Maybe they weren't fanatical. Maybe they just liked flying. Like him. Like Potter. Potter? Could it be Potter? Draco pressed close to the glass, trying to see if it was indeed Potter, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you looking at, Drakey?"

He spun, turning to face Marcus Flint.

"Nothing."

Flint looked at him suspiciously, then glanced out of the window. Appearing to see nothing out of the ordinary, he looked back at Draco and grinned his menacing smile.

"Good. Because you'll be looking at nothing for most of tonight, so you better get used to it." Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a Slytherin school tie and wrapped it around Draco's eyes, tying it tightly so that Draco couldn't see anything. Seconds later he felt another snake around his wrists. There was a moment when he wondered who the second one belonged to, before his body reminded his head that he had more important things to think about.

Such as the fact that Flint was pulling him into the Arithmancy classroom by his hair, and ripping off his cloak.

Four years ago, when Draco had been an innocent first year, Flint had watched him and leered. Draco had noticed the stares, they were almost impossible to miss, especially for someone who had years of training under a father who expected you to be just there when he wanted you and to do everything he said. In second year Flint had pulled Draco aside after one Quidditch practice and kissed him fiercely pushed up against the shower wall after everyone else had left. Draco had struggled, but the other boy had pushed a hand into his neck and held him there through shear force. There had been five long black marks across his throat for two weeks and Draco had had to wear turtlenecks every day in the middle of summer. He had passed out twice from heatstroke, but refused to let Blaise take him to Madam Pomfrey. It was too dangerous.

It wasn't until last year that Flint had begun fucking him. The first time had been in the quidditch showers after one late-night practice, and Draco had more or less blocked the memory from his mind. There had been numerous other instances, and gradually Draco learned to turn his senses off when they took place, sending his mind somewhere else while his body was slammed against walls and bitten and ripped open and fucked.

It was like that now, and Draco welcomed the faraway, floaty feeling that came with the absent mind, vaguely aware of being crushed into a hard stone wall and having his robes ripped off of his back. It was made easier by the blindfold, disconnecting himself, and there were only the dull shocks of pain as Flint slammed into him hard. He became aware that he was screaming, that his body was tense and spasming with agony, but fortunately very little of the pain transmuted into the airy fairy world his mind was currently occupying.

When it was over and his body was lying gasping on the floor, he allowed his mind to slip back to reality, loosening his mental grip on the wonderful oblivion and sliding back to earth. He gasped as the pain hit him in a wave, then moaned as the gasp forced air through a crushed windpipe that really wasn't up to the job.

"Well, whore, I had fun." The mocking tones barely filtered through the haze of pain that was his worldview. "Let's do this again sometime." And Flint was gone, leaving his broken body lying on the floor trying desperately not to choke to death on his own blood.

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"Harry? Where are you going?" Ginny's voice pierced the low hum of the late night common room buzz and various faces turn their way, only to return to what they were going when they saw what was going on. Ginny had her 'confrontation' pose on which meant she was in the mood for fighting, and had apparently picked Harry as the victim.

"Ginny..." Harry sighed. He knew what the pose meant as well. "I'm just going out for a walk, Gin. I don't want to fight about it."

"But Harry!" She whined. "It's the first night of the school year! We haven't seen each other for so long, won't you come and sit with me? Lets play chess or something? Or is that something you'll only do with Ron, huh? Am I not good enough?" She was almost yelling now and Harry could see some of the other Gryffindor guys looking at him sympathetically from behind her back.

"Ginny..."

"No!" Ginny yelled. "I'm not going to hear your excuses tonight, Harry James Potter! If you don't want my company, if I'm not good enough for you, then fine, be that way. But don't come crying to me when you feel lonely, okay?" She stormed off to a corner where her circle of fourth year friends immediately put their heads together, probably to gossip about how mean he was.

Rolling his eyes, Harry left the common room. He just didn't know what was going on with Ginny anymore. Dumbledore hadn't let Harry leave the Dursley's until the very last week of the summer holidays, so he'd spent a couple of days staying at the Leaky Cauldron rather than the Burrow. This meant that the first time he saw the Weasleys and Hermione had been at Platform 9 and three quarters, as they had apparently shopped earlier on in the holidays.

Ginny was getting to be a pain. He had vaguely known that she had had a crush on him last year but Cho had been taking up all his attention. He had smiled at Cho on the train up to Hogwarts, but she had only given him a passing look before turning back to the group of Ravencaws she was with, specifically a tall, dark sixth year.

In contrast to Cho's distinct disinterest, Ginny had been sitting next to him the whole way up to the castle, and Ron had been shooting him apologetic glances. Apparently she had renewed her interest in him over the summer and suddenly it was "Harry come do this." and "Harry look at this." If she didn't shut up sometime in the near future he was going to say something he regretted.

He decided to just absentmindedly wander through the halls, his invisibility cloak draped over his head to conceal his body. It was nice, late at night, when the stone was cool and dark and there were very light breezes whistling down the corridors. It was peaceful after the riot of the common room.

After a while he paused, looking at a painting next to him on the stairs. It was a forest scene, with various semi-naked men and women lounging about a fire and playing funny flute-like instruments. As he watched, a knight on a horse charged into the frame, leaping off his steed and waving his hands around, apparently speaking to those present.

The looks of surprise and shock on the revellers faces turned into curiosity, then sorrow, then several of the men jumped up in outrage. A couple of the women rose, and asked something of the knight, who nodded, then pointed off to the side fo the painting, before getting back on his horse and riding off the opposite side of the painting that he had entered.

The group of men and women that had stood up walked off the edge fo the painting, the side the knight had entered, and curiously Harry followed them. He wasn't really looking where he was going, only watching the figures in the painting. As they strode through the frames, they were joined by a few others, dressed in various outfits, who all seemed to be going the same way. It was only when they suddenly disappeared and Harry was left looking at a painting of a lake did he look around, searching for them again.

He noticed that they were on the fifth floor somewhere, although he had no idea which subjects were taught up here. Suddenly his eyes caught a glimpse of movement in a painting a little way down the hall and he strode over to it, then raised his eyebrows in surprise.

What was a comparitively small painting was full to bursting with figures, dressed like they had come from paintings of many different types. In the foreground there was a large bathtub, and an outraged old wizard was standing naked and pointing his finger at the crowd, yelling soundlessly. The crowd seemed to be ignoring him, walking around the walls of the room and looking frustrated.

Harry looked around. Next to the painting was a door, blank and unmarked, not a classroom. Frowning slightly, Harry pushed the door open slightly and glanced around the darkened room.

It appeared to be mostly empty, with only a few chairs and tables scattered around, a couple on their sides on the floor. It was only when he was about to close the door again that he heard the cry.

Looking over again at a wall shrouded in shadow, he saw the faint moonlight reflecting off of something pale and ghostlike. White skin glowed ethereally in a way which wasn't entirely pleasant, unhealthy and threatening somehow. Stepping closer, Harry's eyes widened as he saw the trailing end of a Slytherin tie that fell into a patch of moonlight.

"Malfoy?"

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A/N: Yes, Harry, well done. A star for observation, it's Draco. Review to make Harry stop being a moron and help him!