Broken Toy

Warnings: angst, violence, abuse, some romance, hurt/comfort, simply NC17…
Author's Notes:

I hope you still like Broken Toy? Do you want to know if Draco will do what is demanded of him? And, btw, what does he think about it all?

Enjoy the next chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Five

There wasn’t any time to extensively contemplate what to do. Draco had to react without hesitation. At once he dismissed the possibility of talking his way out. Draco remembered too vividly what happened to someone trying to argue with Pickles. No torture, thank you very much.

He was astounded how natural his “Yes, sir,” sounded. He fumbled with his shorts.

He had to obey. There was no other way. Unless… His mind was racing. Only two options popped into his head, and he didn’t like either. He had to decide, and he had to decide fast.

Pickles was eyeing him closely, so Draco hurried getting out of his shorts.

There was the easy way; he just had to act as told. It will break him! Draco almost sneered, but checked his features in time. He didn’t need his Slytherin mind to tell him what he already knew.

He pushed down his boxers, and started to massage his member. He was used to getting a hard on despite his true desires, so at least he didn’t have to worry about that.

He could, of course, refuse. Imbecile. Pickles won’t accept your refusal and will punish both of you. You will get hurt. Draco flinched imperceptibly. You will gain nothing; Harry will be raped by someone else. Goose pimples spread all over his skin. He couldn’t conceal a shudder, and immediately produced some small moans, rubbing his penis faster. Draco could see Pickles’s sarcastic grin from the corner of his eyes. The bugger still could be fooled with faked arousal. Good… Get going, stupid git, don’t waste time. It will be better if it's you. Be gentle with him, you don’t want Potter as an enemy. Move! You don’t want to get hurt.

He was ready; his penis stood up stiff and eager. Move on, move on, move on. You can’t refuse. If you do, you will get hurt. Woodenly Draco reached down for Harry’s shoulders to turn him around. He knew it was easier being taken from behind the first time. His heart was beating in his throat, making it difficult to breathe. He had intended to avoid it, and for good reason. But it had to happen sooner or later. His eyes met Harry’s.

A giant hand enclosed his stomach; ice cold fingers were digging into it mercilessly. Terrified Draco held his breath to avoid a scream. Those eyes… the look in those eyes! He had been prepared for disgust, even hate; and he had been determined to cope with it. He just had to pretend that the previous weeks had never happened, that they were still at Hogwarts and loathed each other on principle.

Harry’s eyes were opened wide, and Draco felt as if he had stumbled straight into Harry’s soul. Draco’s hands twitched, and frantically he poked his fingers deep into Harry’s shoulders to stop them from shaking.

They were lost.

Harry was cracking.

Draco could see it clearly in those eyes; he could actually sense it. Harry was already beyond hopelessness, beyond misery and despair. Harry, the brave, adorable, fearless Harry, was gone. The green eyes showed nothing of the infectious confidence and incredible sincerity Draco had taken for granted would always be there.

Harry had given in; Harry had given up! Like a lamb in the slaughter house he was waiting for the final blow. And, he, Draco was about to execute the deathblow.

He couldn’t do it. He… No, Merlin, please, help him. HE COULDN’T DO IT.

“What are you up to? Don’t turn him around.” Pickles barked out one of his derisive laughs. “I want you to face him when you fuck him!”

Think, dimwit. What are you, Hufflepuff? Say something, anything. Play for time. And, for Merlin’s sake, THINK!

His heart was beating at double speed. He knew he should, but Draco wasn’t able to let go of Harry’s dreadful stare. Talk, imbecile. Time. Make up time! He managed a devote murmur, “It’s more humiliating when being taken from behind, believe me. Especially if it’s the first time.”

Whatever tiny light had still been alive and shining behind the emerald eyes went out. Draco clenched his jaws so hard he thought his teeth were cracking.

“If you say so…” Pickles sounded amused. “Then go ahead. But do it now.”

He could feign the penetration! Yes, he could do it! He knew he was able to pretend the act; he could thrust his hips and show deep concentration like expected, but actually only rub his prick between the gap of the cheeks. Yes, and… Dimwit. Euphoria was gone as fast as it had flared up. Pickles will expect blood. You are supposed to hurt him. Think! THINK!

Still trying to get his violent shaking under control, Draco proceeded to roll Harry’s body to his stomach.

Goyle!!! Remember what Goyle showed you! Do it. It’s the only chance you’ve got. But be careful. If you mess it up, he’s dead.

The shaking stopped the instant Draco had made up his mind. Fixating on Harry’s neck, searching for his target, he shoved Harry’s legs apart and squatted in between.

“Do I get some lubricant?” his voice was low, bare of tremble, bare of any emotion.

“This isn’t a party, Malfoy.” Draco hadn’t expected anything else. “Move his head so I can see his face. Yes, excellent. Fuck him. Make him squirm.”

Never before had Draco been as calm as now. He didn’t feel his rapid heartbeat, he wasn’t afraid any more, and he had stopped any conscious thinking.

Draco leaned over Harry’s back; his right hand was grabbing Harry’s neck for support. Remember. It’s tricky. If you mess it up, he’s dead or worse. Draco spat into his other hand and made sure Pickles was watching him closely when he smeared the saliva around his glans. At the same time, without attracting any attention, the fingers of his right hand stroked Harry’s throat, searching, probing. He had to find it, fast. And he had to be careful, oh, so careful. If he messed it up – but he wouldn’t mess it up. He had done it before when a customer had been especially nasty and drunk and wouldn’t notice anyway. But this was Harry. He simply couldn’t mess it up.

His fingers had found the jugular vein. He could feel Harry’s heartbeat pulsating softly against his index finger. Draco ignored that the beat was way too fast.

A smirk played easily around his lips when Draco let his foreskin glide up and down his glans. Pickles grinned broadly, relishing his triumph, watching Draco playing around with his cock.

Now.

Trust me, Harry.

Draco parted Harry’s cheeks and slowly pushed his hips forward. His index finger pressed the right spot on the vein. Draco prayed intently that it had been the right spot and the exact, short period of time.

Harry’s body went limp.

Thank Merlin, he was still breathing!

Draco let go of Harry’s throat and forced Harry’s cheeks apart with both of his hands.

Feigning surprise, Draco stopped his movements.

“What’s up? Go on!” Pickles was getting impatient.

“It’s just…” Draco grabbed Harry’s hips and shook them slowly. “I think he passed out.”

“You think he… WHAT?” Pickles got out of his armchair with a quickness no one would have expected of such a burly man.

Pickles took hold of Harry’s hair and forced his head back with ruthless brutality. Harry’s eyes had rolled up in their sockets, showing only the white. His mouth gaped open; a tiny stream of spittle was running down his chin.

It seemed as if Pickles was shaking Harry’s head endlessly, only to realize at last that Draco had been right. Harry had indeed passed out.

“FUCKING SISSY!” Draco flinched when Pickles smashed Harry’s head to the ground with full force. Glass was splintering. His glasses! He couldn’t see anything without his glasses!

“Crucio!”

Harry’s lifeless form convulsed in spasms. Draco couldn’t say what was more horrible, Harry’s cries of pain and his terror-stricken face Draco had witnessed only shortly before or the soundless agony of Harry’s unconscious body.

At last Pickles stopped the curse. Still fuming with rage, Pickles kicked Harry’s side. “You won’t prevent my vengeance!” Another kick, this time into Harry’s hips.

“I can wait. I’ve waited so long a few days more or less won’t matter. You will wish you never had been born!” A last kick into Harry’s ribs, and Pickles stormed from the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At first Draco was listening frantically for returning footsteps, for the sound of the door being opened again, or for any other sound.

Finally he called himself daft. What was he listening for? The room was soundproofed.

However, being daft or not, Draco forced himself to remain standing motionless until he could be sure Pickles wouldn’t come back. Then he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. Dropping down to his knees and grabbing Harry’s body into his arms were the actions of one moment.

“Harry?” Draco only dared a whisper.

Wake up.

Harry was breathing evenly, and thankfully his eyes were closed. Draco had felt the urgent need to retch when he had seen only the whites of Harry’s eyes.

“Harry!” Not so loud! Soundproof or not, one could never know for sure.

Wake up, please.

Against his better judgement, Draco allowed himself to really look at the body in his arms. He winced. Harry’s face was a mess. Draco’s hand shot forward, he wanted to touch the swollen cheeks, wanted to caress the bloodied mouth, comfort the abused skin. His hand stopped in midair. What if he added to his agony? What if he caused him more pain?

“Harry…”

Please, Harry, wake up. Wake up, please.

He fought back the lump in his throat. He couldn’t afford to lose his mind. Not now. That had to wait until later.

He had to make sure.

Gently, but determinedly, he started to shake Harry’s body. Had he pressed the vein too long? Had he caused severe damage to Harry’s brain? Had he made him a vegetable? Please.

His shaking got more determined, almost fierce.

Wake up!

He had wanted to spare him, had wanted to make things easier, instead he had made things worse.

He couldn’t control the shaking any more.

WAKE UP!

He had been so clever, so sly; he had expected that Pickles never wanted to witness the rape of an unconscious body, had counted upon the desire for evident pain. But as daft as he was he had never foreseen Pickles’s wild rage.

WAKE UP!

Either Draco had stopped the blood circulation for too long, or Pickles had caused irreparable damage to Harry’s brain by his unnecessary Crutiatus. Be as it may, he was responsible. Draco. No one else.

“HARRY!” WAKE UP, NOW!

Harry’s teeth were clattering, but Draco couldn’t stop shaking him.

Harry had to wake up; he simply had to wake up.

Draco didn’t register it at first. Then his heart stopped its beat. As quick as Harry’s eyes had opened, they closed again. Harry’s body convulsed, his face contorted; and his mouth tore open to release a scream no one could hear.

Then Draco saw the eyes open again. Blind, listlessly, they were fixating on him, and their empty stare made his worst fears come true.

He had murdered him.

Harry was still alive, but Draco had murdered him.

Draco’s eyes started to throb, fluid was swelling, the lump in his throat increased, no swallowing helped, nothing helped; his nose got stuffed up, his mouth snapped open to get the air he needed to breathe; and tears started falling, they just poured out of his eyes, and he was hugging Harry’s lifeless form, hugging him as tight as he could, burying his head in the black shock of hair, and it smelled so good, it still smelled so good, and more tears were running down his face; he couldn’t stop it, he would never ever be able to stop it again.

No Malfoy cried, ever, and he had tried to live up to the rule. Eventual sobs, when it had been too much, never lasted long. For no Malfoy cried, ever.

His head jerked up, and a wail so loud it was piercing his ears was filling the room, his chest, his entire being. But this wasn’t enough to lessen the pressure building up in his chest, this wasn’t nearly enough.

His whole body ached; something was tearing at his insides, ripping him apart, and it hurt, it hurt so badly, and it didn’t stop; tears were running steadily now, wetting his face, wetting Harry’s throat, soaking them both, and it didn’t stop, he didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop, and the sound, that horrible sound, it was coming from him, him, choking and groaning and whimpering, and it hurt, it hurt when the groans forced their way out of his throat, and tears were still falling; he couldn’t cry like that, no, he couldn’t, he couldn’t let go of himself like that, no Malfoy cried, but something inside of him was breaking, he couldn’t prevent it, he couldn’t stop it, and he didn’t want to stop; it still hurt, it hurt so badly, it hurt worse than any beating he had ever taken, and Harry’s voice in his head, repeating again and again, “I fell in love with you.”, I fell in love with you.”, I fell in love with you.”.

YOU, that was him, Harry had meant him, he had fallen in love with him, in love, LOVE, no one had ever said that before, no one had meant that before, and he had lost him; he didn’t know why, he needed to know why, what he had done wrong, what he had said wrong, he still didn’t know, and he wanted to ask him, he needed to ask him, but he couldn’t because he had killed his soul, he had murdered him, and never, never, never he would be able to talk to him again, and never he would hear his voice again, and never he would see those emerald eyes again, because Harry was gone, and Draco was lost, and he cried, and he wailed, and it hurt in his chest because the wails didn’t want to come out voluntarily, and he choked, he coughed; and more tears were falling, and his face hurt because of the grimaces, and he embraced the lifeless form of Harry, and he didn’t respond, Harry didn’t respond, he would never respond again, and Draco never would be able to make up again, he had lost his chance, his one and only chance, and Harry was gone and the laughter and the happiness and fun and the two of them together, and it had felt so good, and he had been proud of him, proud of himself, and Harry had loved him, and Draco had murdered his mind, and he couldn’t go on, he didn’t want to go on, there wasn’t any reason to go on any more.

He had lost him.

Draco buried his head in the rich, black shock of hair once more.

There weren’t any tears left.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco didn’t know how much time had passed. His body still ached, his throat felt sore, and his face was hot and swollen. He felt drained and weak, and it seemed to be impossible to hold on to Harry’s body any longer.

Draco tried to lay the unconscious Harry back on the floor as gently as he could. Harry was so cold, his skin was so cold.

Utterly exhausted, Draco forced himself to dress Harry in his clothes again. But still Harry’s skin felt as cold as ice.

For the first time, Draco surveyed his surroundings.

They were indeed in some cellar room; the stone floor was raw, and the walls around him were made of bricks without plaster. There weren’t any windows. The only furniture except Pickles’s armchair was a mattress in the corner behind Draco. There weren’t any blankets.

So Pickles really intended to let them vegetate here worse than vermin, did he? Draco’s stomach contracted with sudden anger. Bastard…

Slowly he moved to the door through which Pickles had vanished. He tried the door handle. Of course the door was locked. He hadn’t expected anything else. But if he hadn’t been mistaken, he had seen something like another exit on the left wall. He should give it a try. It gave way to his push instantly. His heart leapt with joy, then returned to a normal beat once more.

He entered a tiny bathroom. The first impression was of dirt and filth, but nevertheless, it was a bathroom with a bowl and a basin and a shower. And a cupboard. At once Draco tore it open. Towels. It contained just old towels. The disappointment Draco felt threatened to turn into another fit of despair. Draco cursed himself. Imbecile. What had he expected to find here? A way out? A secret passage? A flying carpet? A wand?

Draco grabbed some of the towels, eyeing them suspiciously. Yes, they were old, but they seemed to be clean. They would do.

He wetted two of the old rags and hurried back toward Harry. The least he could do was get rid of the dried blood.

The task occupied him for some time, and Draco had to return several times to the bathroom to wash the towels out. At last he was satisfied. Harry’s face looked a little bit like Harry again. The skin was bruised in a lot of places, and the sleeves and the jawbones were swollen. But maybe, if he continued to cool them for a while, they would get better.

Imbecile!

Draco flinched. He had been convinced he was doing the right thing. What…?

What? What if Pickles turned up now? What would it look like?

He hadn’t done it in ages. But old habits die hard. Draco started to nag his thumb-nail.

You are hopeless. After the curse had killed the dog and the stunner had hit Potter, you were acting more sensible.

I… I never expected…

So it had been sly calculation to shrink in front of Pickles? Or was it just yellow cowardness to obey his orders?

It was… when I saw him again…

Hopeless. Disgusting. You never learn, do you? Pickles isn’t your master anymore.

He had a wand…

Oh, yes… And that’s why you fell back into old habits? Ducking to his mere words, although he hasn’t got a hold on you? Cringing the instant he turned on you, obeying him like a slave?

Y… Yes.

Hopeless!

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to listen any more, he didn’t want to…

But you fooled him all right. Almost unbelievable, but true. You succeeded in convincing him that you don’t care a shit about Potty here. You don’t, earnestly, do you?

I… never….

So get away. If Pickles turns up now and catches you here, right beside little broken Potty, you’re in it for sure.

Not daring to look up, not daring to reach up for Harry’s face one last time, Draco crept over to the wall beside the door, sank down and buried his head into his upturned knees.