Broken Toy

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

Yes, you are right. It’s been a long time since the last update… It seems that now, coming near the end (oh, yes, there are just one or two or three *g* chapters left) each new chap takes longer and longer… Can’t let go, *g*

Okay, but here’s the new chap. We left Harry and Draco in that cold cellar room, both in a pretty poor shape. No one knows where the two are, and Pickles is of course up to something… hm. Will Draco crack up completely? And what about unconscious Harry?

Enjoy the next chapter!

Ah, there’s something I’ve got to add… Thank you all and *hugs* to you whoever you are, reading BT since a year. Yup. I just noticed that the first chap was posted a year ago. Oh, my…

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry is in the dungeons again, beyond Hogwarts. Tom Riddle is standing in front of him, grinning. Riddle has captured Harry’s wand, and is re-arranging letters in the air: “Tom Marvolo Riddle - I am Lord Voldemort.” But Harry can’t pay attention. Ginny is lying on the ground, pale and cold; he has to help her, he has to get her out.

Ginny, his lovely, beautiful Ginny, is running towards him, and he forgets about everything when she throws her arms around him. All the mornings when he awoke with a hard-on, desperate for fulfilment, longing for something he couldn’t name, finally seem to come true, and he kisses her, kisses her long and hard and almost cries of joy when the creature inside his chest is grinning with delight and content. After all those years, Harry gets what he always wanted, he finds peace and happiness. He is excited in a way never known before, and they flee from the common room, away from the watching eyes. They find a place where they can kiss more deeply, more passionately. And then she grabs him the first time, and the excited butterflies just vanish and leave an empty whole in his heart.

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

His chin resting on his upturned knees, still leaning against the cold wall of their prison, Draco watched Harry’s immobile form lying in the middle of the room.

He didn’t know how much time had elapsed, but it felt like hours since he had crouched on the floor. His face was still hot from his crying fit, and his eyes felt swollen. He wished he could get rid of the sour taste in his mouth, and thought about going to the bathroom for some water. But that meant getting up, and he didn’t want to be caught wandering about the room when Pickles came back. For he would come back, Draco knew him too well to think otherwise. The bugger had left him to work himself into a fearful state while awaiting his return. Well, he had succeeded so far. Draco wasn’t only frightened, he was terrified.

No, he couldn’t get up. Anytime now Pickles would return. And when that happened, Draco didn’t want to be anywhere near Harry.

Obtusely Draco stared at Harry’s face, trying to detect any sign of movement on the quiet features. For the umpteenth time Draco pleaded he hadn’t interrupted the flow of Harry’s blood for too long. For if the brain didn’t get enough oxygen, the consequences were severe. But Draco didn’t want to think about that, he didn’t. He hadn’t pressed too hard, and he hadn’t pressed too long, he assured himself again and again.

He intently hoped Harry was just deep asleep. And maybe he dreamt. For dreaming meant activity of the brain, and that meant being alive.

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

Blood! Blood everywhere, the whole bathroom is soaked in it, and Draco, lying in a pool of his own blood, is shaking, and crying; and the blood won’t stop spurting from his chest and his face. Harry is soaked in Draco’s blood, and Harry is crying, too. He is horrified, he never meant to hurt him, he never wanted that to happen.

He never wanted that to happen, he wants to prevent it, but he can move neither his hands nor his legs; no muscle in his body moves. He is stunned, and he is forced to let it happen. He wants to shout, but he can’t utter a sound. He struggles with all his might; it is useless. “Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.” – “How do you know?” – “Let us discuss your options.” – “I haven’t got any options! He’ll kill my whole family.” Harry can see Draco still trembling when Snape turns up. “Severus, please…” Dumbledore’s voice is weak; his plea is ignored. Harry’s scream of horror is never heard when Dumbledore shoots through the air and falls backwards, and his dead body vanishes over the battlements into the dark night sky.

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

The door burst open just when Draco had dozed off, finally exhausted.

“I want to wish you two love birds nighty-night!” Draco checked his face just in time. His heart started to hammer against his chest. Had he lost his mind? He had almost sneered at Pickles!

He held his face as expressionless as he could when Pickles bent down to shake Harry’s head by his hair. “Still play-acting Sleeping Beauty?” Pickles tsksed. “My son already told me, but I didn’t want to believe it. So the tough Saviour of the Wizarding world is nothing but an oh-so-sensitive sissy. Pampered Potty is still not there?” Pickles started to slap Harry’s cheeks to wake him, without success. With disgust, Pickles smashed Harry’s head back to the ground. Draco gritted his teeth. I would like to see you after a few Crucios and a triple dose of BJ, you fucking bastard. He clenched his jaws as hard as he could. He wouldn’t show any emotion. He wouldn’t.

“However, he will earn me my money back, passed out sissy or not,” Pickles straightened up and pulled his wand out. Draco’s heart missed a beat. No pain any more, please; don’t let him torture him again. Please. “Although I’m more than delighted to see his baby face in a nice pulp, my friends might not recognize him.” Draco couldn’t make out the words of the spell, they were cast too low to understand. But the effects were visible at once. The bruises and cuts on Harry’s face vanished, as did the swelling of his battered nose and the puffiness around his eyes. “As good as new…” Draco could hear Pickles murmuring.

Pickles surveyed the room with disgust. “Your surroundings aren’t what I would call appealing. I don’t think my friends will like it any more than they would Potty’s mangled face… It’s not exactly the place to shag happily...” His wand swished through the air in rapid succession. The walls and the floor of the cellar room seemed to shiver slightly, the bricks seemed to stretch, and change in colour. Draco’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he found himself in a dungeon, lit by about a dozen everlasting candles, floating in midair. With mixed feelings he regarded several chains hanging down from heavy metallic rings fastened to the grey stone walls, still swinging to and fro, clattering lowly. The mattress in the corner had enlarged, and beside Harry a huge heap of furniture and some odd items Draco couldn’t quite make out had appeared.

“Make yourself at home,” Pickles snickered.

Fuck you.

Something in Draco’s eyes must have betrayed him. His body was jerked up high into the air and smashed against the hard stones of the wall. By some invisible power his body was forced against the bricks; only his feet were dangling helplessly several inches above the ground. Pickles’s wand was aimed at his stomach.

“Don’t try to be a smart ass,” Pickles’s eyes were reduced to slits. “I despise you as much as I loathe Potter. When the Dark Lord needed help, you ran, you bloody coward. I won’t forget that.”

Draco suppressed the sob rising up in his throat. Pickles was right. He was a coward. He couldn’t prevent his limbs from trembling. Anticipating the inescapable Crutiatus Curse which was sure to follow, Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

But it never came.

Hesitantly he opened his eyes again. His mouth gaped open in disgusted surprise. Pickles was laughing. The asshole was actually enjoying himself.

“Nothing’s as exquisite as anticipating pain, is it? But not today, my angel-faced friend, not today.”

Agitated, Pickles waved his wand about, alternately pointing at Draco and backwards over his shoulder at Harry’s unconscious form. His next words were partially interrupted by the unpleasant sound of Pickles’s version of giggles.

“You hate being bonded to Potter, right? Be assured of my deep sympathy. Half-bloods are filthy little buggers. It’s disgusting to touch vermin like them. However, Potty has to be healthy and attractive for my friends, and since I don’t intend to get infected by his uncleanness, I need a willing hand to look after his welfare. From now on, you, my highly honoured friend, will be responsible for Potter’s well-being. You will feed him, you will wash him, you will assist him in the loo. You will do anything that is necessary to keep him presentable. If you don’t, well, you know what consequences to expect.” Tickling Draco’s nose one last time with his wand, Pickles snorted out what was supposed to be another merry laugh, extinguished all everlasting candles but one, and left.

When the door slammed, the force pushing Draco to the wall vanished. His body skittered downwards like a wet sack and hit the ground hard. But Draco was too surprised to feel the impact. Instead he smiled in wonder.

For whilst he had been pinned to the wall, Draco had become aware of two facts.

When Pickles had pointed his wand backwards at Harry, Draco’s gaze had automatically followed the indicated direction. He had looked directly into Harry’s wide opened eyes, his ashen face contorted with terror. Draco had to bite his lower lip to stifle an exclamation. Draco had turned his gaze back at Pickles, fixating on the hateful face, pleading inwardly that the bastard wouldn’t look backwards, would for Merlin’s sake not turn his head to look at Harry. Patiently he had listened to Pickles’s further ramblings before he had dared to cast another quick side along glance at Harry, and was relieved to find that Harry obviously was unconscious again.

Harry wasn’t lost! Rejoicing inwardly and at the same time hating Pickles with an intensity Draco would never had thought possible, realization hit him. He still was able to feel! . He wasn’t apathetic, or indifferent; on the contrary, he had never felt as alert as now.

Why? How? For reasons unknown and at the moment uncared for, the fucking drop of BJ Draco had had to swallow previously hadn’t taken effect. None at all.

He grinned broadly. Time to do some serious thinking!

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

Harry likes breakfast. He likes the smell of toast and tea, and he likes a nicely laid out table. Draco has prepared breakfast for him! “Breakfast?” But Harry messes it up, again. “How the fuck can you think of breakfast now?” Harry is fuming. “No, I don’t think that you think about anything. You with your ridiculous braid dangling down like a girl’s. Like a cheap whore. I could puke every time I have to look at your long hair!” – “We can change that!” Scissors are adjusted and the cut off braid is tossed in front of Harry’s bare feet. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Don’t tell me you’re satisfied!” Ginny is confronting him; the red hair whirling around her head seems to be on fire. Yet, her brown eyes are pleading, and when he doesn’t react, she advances. Harry is desperately groping for the right words, words that won’t hurt her. But all he can think of is listening to the faint sound of water running; Draco is showering upstairs. She pushes her hair resolutely behind her ears like she always does when agitated, and pulls his head determinedly down to her face, forcing an unwanted kiss upon him. He pushes her back. “Get out.” She won’t leave; instead she reaches for his face once more. He begs her, but her hands grab his sleeve. He shouts, he insults her, but her fingers run through his hair. He feels free when he pushes her back, turns around and heads for the door. He passes Draco’s braid, being nailed to the wall above the fireplace, and has to smile. But why does the braid hang upside down? No hell like a woman scorned.

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

At first Draco checked on Harry. Yes. He hadn’t been mistaken. The eyeballs behind Harry’s lids were moving rapidly. Every now and again his mouth twitched, his breathing sped up, then slowed down again. Harry definitely hadn’t suffered a stroke, thanks to Merlin, he simply had nightmares.

Draco carried Harry’s body over towards the mattress and laid him down as tenderly as possible. He couldn’t help smirking. He had fooled Pickles all right. That Pickles had actually commanded him to take care of Harry’s health was priceless! Gently Draco stroked Harry’s forehead. It was cold and sweaty. Curiously Draco eyed the heap of items Pickles had left.

The furniture “to make themselves at home”, consisting of a table and two chairs, Draco quickly put aside, as well as the two bowls, the two mugs and the box containing several handcuffs, dildos, and whips. The tattered blankets and old cushions seemed to be more important.

In no time Harry was wrapped up in all of the blankets, and his head was resting on the cushions. Sighing deeply, Draco squatted down beside Harry.

It was time to think.

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

He likes to travel on the Hogwarts Express, especially when they are heading towards the school. But when he is invited to Slughorn’s compartment, he doesn’t like it. Everybody who’s invited is being investigated, and Harry detests it. He pities everybody present, Neville in particular, who soon turns out to be of no further interest. He pities even Blaise, the arrogant Slytherin, who squirms under Slughorn’s interrogative stare. Harry can actually feel the Slytherin’s awkwardness when being asked about the mother who supposedly killed off seven husbands, Blaise’s father included, and has to endure the revelation of the strong physical resemblance between mother and son. Harry is more than glad to leave the compartment.

But he has to enter another compartment; he has to spy upon Draco. He is clumsy, again, and is detected by Draco, who stuns and paralyses him, makes him tumble down from the luggage rack at Draco’s feet, at his mercy, and it hurts. He breaks Harry’s nose with a loud crash, which hurts even more, and Draco is laughing; it hurts so badly! Draco leaves Harry, treading Harry’s fingers, and red blood blinds his eyes.

But red saves him, a red ribbon, Draco’s ribbon. Harry is supposed to penetrate Perkins’s mind, but is distracted by thoughts of Draco. Perkins dies, just like that, just like all the others Harry had seen dying during the war. And once more there is a death, a death he’s responsible for. Everybody tells him he is the Chosen One, but actually he is nothing but the Clumsy One, causing pain and death. And his heart aches, his body aches, his soul aches. They are relying on him, they depend on him, the saviour, the Chosen One, but he is just Harry. He is tired and beaten, he wants to leave it all behind, he wants to escape, and he runs, runs, runs, but there is no way to get away. He has to stay, he has to keep on being the saviour, and no one’s there to save him, no one’s there to comfort him.

Gentle fingers caress his hair, light touches stroke his face, so soft, so incredibly soft, just like a feather. A low voice is whispering in his ear, calming him with kind, reassuring words. He looks up into grey eyes, and those eyes are looking at Harry, no one else, just Harry.

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

Draco was frantic.

For hours, or what felt like hours, he had tried to think up a way to get them out of here, but no sensible idea occurred. His Slytherin mind, his best friend, the indispensable support he was used to relying on, was silent. No suggestions, no hints. Nothing.

He went through his options once more, trying to ignore his increasing impatience. The simplest way to open the door was by means of magic, and that of course was just the device Draco wasn’t allowed to use. There weren’t any windows, no secret passages, and the only door was securely locked. He had attempted to open the door by force and had hurt his shoulder severely. Afterwards, with his face flushed with anger and embarrassment, he had called himself an idiot for even trying.

Again he pondered about waiting beside the door until someone opened it. But then – what? The only likely person to enter was Pickles. Draco estimated himself not exactly muscular, but athletic. However, even with a well trained body the odds of overpowering Pickles by physical strength were … well, next to nothing.

It was difficult to think. How could Draco be able to make up an intelligent plan when he was constantly distracted by watching Harry’s face, obviously haunted by nightmares, glistening with sweat? What was worse, Draco could sense the permanent struggle behind the furrowed forehead.

Draco’s features, stern with concern, went soft.

Harry’s willpower was simply incredible. Right this moment Draco was about to witness another desperate attempt of Harry’s mind to break the stupefaction.

It always started with a deep inhale of breath. Then the thick, black eyebrows knitted with concentration. A deep breath out, and every muscle in Harry’s body tensed. Then the fluttering of his eyelids followed; it took its time. Now came the part which Draco dreaded and made him feel sick each time he had to watch it. With a start, Harry’s eyes opened wide, but his gaze was unfocused, unintelligent. Mostly Harry fixated on the ceiling; but sometimes, like now, Harry was staring right into Draco’s eyes. His stomach turned. He couldn’t stand looking into the dull, dark green eyes, which were usually sparkling brightly with this unique brilliance.

But Harry was improving. With every attempt to fight the stupor he was getting on. Draco wasn’t imagining things; right now Harry was recognizing him! His emerald eyes were blazing, his gaze was intense, he was trying to communicate with him! “Harry?” Draco croaked. Harry was about to say something! “Harry???” Draco repeated, his voice this time more controlled but nevertheless urgent.

Harry’s hand clenched into fists, his shoulders squared. Waves of warmth emitted from Harry’s body, the kind of heat Draco would always associate with Harry’s strange power. With a swiftness Draco didn’t expect to be possible Harry raised his head and heaved his shoulders, swaying whilst he was struggling to get up. His lips were moving, but Draco was too excited to grasp what Harry was saying voicelessly. However, staring intently at Harry’s mouth, he at last realized Harry was repeating the same words over and over again.

“Harry, not so fast, I can’t…”

Too late. Harry’s eyelids quivered, then closed.

“NO!”

Ungraciously Harry slumped back.

“NO!” Draco screamed again, furious he had been too slow to prevent Harry’s head hitting the ground.

“No…” Draco’s mouth twitched. Just for a moment, a single moment, he had been convinced Harry would be able to defeat the effects of the potion. And in his desperate mind he had forgotten about the severe side effects of the Crutiatus curse altogether.

He had to accept it.

Harry was beaten. Harry Potter was beaten.

The urge to wail switched to wild fury.

How could Harry do this to him? Harry had promised to take care of him, Harry had promised!

Only when his clenched fists had hit Harry’s chest as hard as he could Draco realized he had been actually punching him with increasing vigour for some time.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Draco screamed at the top of his voice, not caring that tears of defeat were again flowing down his cheek, not caring that his throat started to hurt, not caring that his fingers were tearing at his hair uncontrollably.

Draco. Harry had said Draco. He had called his name again and again.

Abruptly Draco closed his mouth, cutting off his own scream.

He swallowed, shook his head, cleared his throat, cursed himself, and rubbed his face on his shoulder to get rid of the annoying wetness. He ran his fingers resolutely through his hair to put it back in order.

Harry had called his name. What else had Harry said?

Draco’s next moves were calculated and deliberately slow. He sat cross-legged, hands loosely folded in his lap, and studied Harry’s quiet face.

What exactly had Harry tried to say to him?

Concentrating hard, Draco fixated on Harry’s lips, forcing his mind to remember.

Draco… Wizard… Wand... Get out.

There had been more, but Draco had been too occupied with himself to pay attention. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember what further words Harry’s lips had mouthed.

Draco, wizard, wand, get out. That could mean a lot.

Spontaneously Draco touched Harry’s cheek. He acted against better knowledge; any intimate contact with Harry was sure to distract him finding a solution rationally. But, to be honest, Draco didn’t give a fuck about being rational right now.

Harry’s face felt unnaturally cold to his touch. Just for a moment Draco was unsure if the heat emitting from Harry’s body hadn’t been a result of wishful thinking. Harry looked so pale… His white skin stood in unhealthy contrast to his black hair. Draco’s sigh went unnoticed by himself. Without a doubt, Harry’s effort fighting off the effects of the potion had weakened him immensely. Draco let his hand glide down Harry’s throat. His skin felt as cold as ice.

He should do something about it. Anger was rising slowly again. What kind of degenerated creature was he? Harry’s health was in serious trouble, and Draco didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. He simply didn’t know how to take care of somebody else. To tell the truth, he had never cared about anybody before except himself.

Empathy, compassion, devotion; those were sentiments for saints like Harry, but not for someone as detached as him. Oh, yes, Harry would know what to do; Harry wouldn’t even have to think for one minute, not for one single second, what to do.

What would Harry do?

Suddenly a soft smile played around Draco’s lips.

Slowly he stretched out beside Harry, crept beneath the blankets, and turned Harry’s cold body gently sideways. Then Draco snuggled up behind Harry as close as possible, wrapping one arm around him to pull him even closer. His hand sneaked under Harry’s shirt. As had to be expected, Harry’s chest felt tense and cold under his touch. With grim determination Draco started to rub Harry’s skin with his open palm, moving his hand in slow circles. It took some time, but sooner then Draco had thought possible Harry’s body reacted and the unnatural tension left gradually. Encouraged by his success, Draco kicked his shoes and socks off and slung one leg over Harry’s, rubbing them gently with his bare foot. Temperature was rising under the blankets, and at last the warmth was accepted by Harry’s body. Happily Draco buried his nose as deep as he could into Harry’s hair.

He had done the right thing.

He had done what Harry would have done hours ago.


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

Harry is nervous, and he has difficulties hiding his upset state of mind. “How much?” he asks the brute. He actually intends to buy a human being. His nervousness increases; Pickles demands a fortune, but Harry puts the stakes high and succeeds. “I will offer two thousands galleons for the boy and the contract and that’s it.” With a calmness he doesn’t feel, he tosses the bag full of gold in front of the man. He wants the contract so badly. It seems to take ages until Pickles turns the contract over. Harry grabs the document as well as Pickles’s hand. “Bargain done.” The parchment in Harry’s hand shakes a little, rapidly changes colour and fits snugly in his fist. “He’s mine.” The contract and Draco Malfoy belong to him for sure when he acknowledges the fact in front of the door of the pub.

The contract is Dark Wizard’s work; they can’t break it. Innumerable wizards waste their skills to try to break the contract, but no one succeeds. Harry gets frantic. He wants Draco to be free, he wants all of the whores to be free, but there is nothing he can do about it. “He’s mine. Bargain done.” The property belongs to the person owning the contract. It’s an unbreakable bond between the owner and the property. No magic can change the bond.

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

Draco awoke with a start. He was lying halfway across Harry, enveloping his body. Harry was shivering despite the comfortable warmth beneath the blankets. Harry’s nostrils were flaring, and Draco could hear Harry’s teeth clattering. Draco straightened up to get a better look at Harry’s face. Without a doubt, another bad dream was tormenting Harry’s mind.

This time Draco didn’t need to think twice.

Instinctively, as cautiously as he could, Draco cupped Harry’s face with both of his hands. Slowly he started to caress Harry’s taut jawbones and cheeks with his fingertips, and, after a moment of hesitation, gently stroked the sensitive corners of Harry’s mouth with his thumbs. It didn’t take long before Harry’s teeth stopped clattering.

Draco scrutinized Harry’s face attentively. His complexion wasn’t as white as last night, but it still was ghostly pale. Without a doubt Harry’s mind was again captured by some terrifying images; Draco could see his eyeballs moving rapidly behind the lids. What would Harry do? Draco swallowed, unexpectedly feeling shy. He knew what he would like to do now, but was it the right thing? What would… Suddenly he didn’t give a shit about what Harry would do.

Draco bent down and started to put little kisses upon Harry’s eyelids, feeling the excited movement behind them against his lips. Not being able to stop he continued to kiss Harry’s lids and lashes, went up to his eyebrows, then to his nose, only to return to Harry’s eyes again. Draco was determined not to leave a single spot on Harry’s face unkissed. Enthusiastically he continued and grazed Harry’s forehead, then his jaws and his cheeks, but stopped abruptly when his lips reached Harry’s mouth.

It was one thing to comfort somebody with little kisses. But if that somebody happened to be Harry, it turned out to be something totally different. Those lips couldn’t be comforted with just little kisses, they cried out to be kissed. Draco’s mouth sunk down and captured Harry’s upper lip with his, sucking it in gently, wetting it with his tongue. He moved over slowly to Harry’s lower lip and caressed it, relishing the taste and feel of Harry. It felt so good, so incredibly good…

But it was all wrong.

Draco needed Harry’s response, he needed Harry’s passionate reaction, he needed Harry to be alive. He needed Harry’s shy smile and he wanted to hear Harry’s voice, calling him an arrogant git.

He couldn’t stand to see Harry stupefied for one minute longer.

The impact of realization hit him like a fist punching his stomach, taking his breath away.

If he couldn’t stand it, whatever was Harry going through right now?

Draco knew exactly what to expect, and he knew exactly how to survive; he had been a whore for too long. He knew how to cheat, he was accustomed to lying, and he would always find a way to get himself out of complicated situations. He knew being here again was about to break him, but he would endure it, just like he had the previous time. He was a Slytherin, after all.

Harry was not.

Harry was brave, Harry was bold, Harry was pure emotion. A mind like Harry’s wouldn’t last long, not under those conditions. It would crack.

Of course Harry would continue to struggle; oh, yes. Any brave Gryffindor would. But the constant struggle would weaken him, and eventually it would wear him out.

Draco went cold. He had wasted time, too much time. Think. For Merlin’s sake, THINK!

Draco… Wizard… Wand... Get out.

Pickles wouldn’t waste time. Very soon, too soon, customers would show up, ready to abuse Harry’s body. Draco had to prevent that. He didn’t want a broken Harry.

Draco… Wizard… Wand... Get out.

Yes.

That was the only way.

Draco didn’t care if the idea shaping slowly was what Harry had in mind.

His mind was set. He knew exactly what to do.

But he had to practise. He had just one chance, and he had to make sure it would work out.

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

Draco and Blaise are talking, and Harry feels jealous when Blaise touches Draco’s hair. They are old pals, all right, so he shouldn’t be jealous, but he can’t help himself.

“Slytherin pals stick together.” Harry’s vision gets blurred. “Yes. Of course.” A smirk plays around Draco’s lips. The volume of his voice has increased. “We know where our loyalties lie, don’t we?” Draco pushes his long hair behind his ear. “It won’t be long and I will get back everything I have lost. That imbecile over there is my return ticket! He’s so simple-minded… He’s so naïve, it actually hurts! He can be deceived so easily, you don’t have to be an extraordinary actor to have him fooled! You just have to tell him some sob stories. He will fall for me, body and soul. And when he’s ready, he is going to marry me. You know how much I despise filthy, daft Half-blood Potter! I just hope I will be able to endure his clumsy strokes until he has married me…His wet hands make me want to puke every time he touches me.”

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

Draco chuckled. Pickles had shoved in their breakfast as if feeding some wild beasts. He had opened the door, kicked some slices of bread and cheese in, administered his special potion to both of them and had securely shut the door behind him once more. Since Draco wasn’t eager for a chat, he was quite contented with being left alone again.

Draco tried to nourish Harry with some cheese, but wasn’t surprised when Harry turned his head slowly, but determinedly away. Stubborn git. Draco knew Harry was awake, he had seen Harry’s dull eyes watching him. Ignoring Harry’s resistance, Draco forced some tiny slices of cheese into his mouth, followed by some sips of water. Draco willed himself to pay no attention to Harry’s firmly shut eyes.

Draco washed Harry’s face duly, his hands, his chest. He didn’t dare to touch any further part of Harry’s body, too aware of the deep lines around Harry’s tightly pressed lips.

He could cope with that. He had a plan. Anything else would have to wait until later.

He had to practice.

He was excited the first time he tried – actually, he was terrified - but it worked out.

If he had only known it would take another day and night until the first customer showed up, he would have been more relaxed.

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

A tear tumbles down Dumbledore’s beard. “There is a force within you, Harry, which is more powerful than anything else, more powerful than any magic could ever be. The fact that you can feel pain to the extent like you do is just one part of it.” Harry doesn’t want that crap. He is fed up with it, he doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t want to be the Chosen One; he doesn’t want to posses the power Dumbledore is talking about. The ache in Harry’s chest is more than he can bear. “It is your heart that will save you.” Fuck the heart, for it hurts too much. “Trust your heart. Trust your feelings.”

Harry is feeling so good. The wonder in Draco’s eyes is genuine. He stares at Harry, and his grey eyes are soft. Butterflies are upsetting his stomach, but Harry is happy and contended. “I’m proud that I was your first.” He drowns in Draco’s eyes, unable to detect anything else but warmth.

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

It was almost too easy.

Adrenalin shot through Draco when Pickles showed up with some bloke the next day.

The time had come.

Draco was too excited to register what was said, but he did know the gist of the conversation anyhow. Take them, fuck them, enjoy.

It all went according to plan. Pickles left discreetly, and the bloke was eyeing his prey, wand outstretched. Draco could make out the bulge in the bloke’s pants, it was highly visible. Good.

Draco sank to his knees at once, casting a coquettish smile upwards. “I’m sure you want to relax first?” His heart was hammering hard against his chest. He longed to reach up for the man’s groin and squeeze it tight until his face went green, but he restrained his impulse. Instead he gently stroked the bloke’s bulge and pressed his face against it, rubbing his nose slowly up and down.

Draco joined the man’s groan instantly. He was lucky! It was just one of those horny sods. Looking up into the man’s face, Draco flicked out his tongue, letting it run greedily about his lips. “Hmmm, you seem to be big…” It was quite entertaining, but they all loved it. Stupid, lecherous pricks. Draco licked his lips again. At the same time he tore down the guy’s zipper. A quick, expert movement, and Draco got the man’s dick out, pointing straight at his face. Draco was thankful for all the years of practise. It helped him keep a smiling, flirtatious expression on his face. And it helped to restrain his nose from wrinkling; otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to bear the stale odour coming from the man.

“Ohhh!” Draco forced himself to groan adoringly, almost choking. He couldn’t help himself; he had to cast a side along glance at Harry.

Why, for Merlin’s sake, of all times must Harry be vigilant just now?

He had to speed up, he couldn’t be sure of Harry’s childish reactions.

Draco swallowed the bloke’s cock completely, squeezing his eyes to the oppressing taste of pee, forcing himself to think of something different, something pleasant, something…

The guy was enthusiastic; he grabbed Draco’s head and fucked his mouth in a constant rhythm, slow at first, then gathered speed. Good. He didn’t pay any attention to his other hand…

All happened far too fast now.

Another last glance into Harry’s wide opened, detached eyes. Continuing to suck on the revolting prick, unwanted come flooding the insides of his mouth. Suppressing his groan of utter disgust, lunging for the bloke’s arm, snatching the wand out of his hand. Clutching the wand in his hand, jumping up and spitting the come into the bloke’s face, pointing the wand, and, missing another heartbeat, crying out liberated “Stupefy!” Laughing hysterically, watching the bloke fall down like a stone, watching the door opening. Pickles. “Here’s the cane you requested…” The cane is thrown down, clatters loud when it hits the ground, and wands are raised simultaneously.

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

“We could go to London, together. You could go to the barber. You could buy yourself some new clothes. Anything, whatever you need.” Draco jumps out of bed, stumbles, falls, and is up on his feet again in no time. “Your property has to look acceptable, hasn’t he? Perfect Potter can’t allow his property to embarrass him in public, can he?” Harry is flabbergasted. He has messed it up, again. “I just wanted to make you happy.” Draco reaches for Harry’s chin. “Shush, you stupid, stupid git.” It sounds like a caress. “Thank you for being so considerate.” Draco’s voice breaks. “I have to apologize. Just for one moment I forgot who was talking to me. Just for one moment I thought I was back there…” Draco hugs him tight. “Help me, Harry. Please. Help me, help me.”

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

“Stupefy!”

The spell was cast from different directions.

He didn’t stand a chance.