Broken Toy

Warnings: angst, violence, abuse, some romance, hurt/comfort, simply NC17…
Author's Notes:
At first, a huge thank you to the amazing, lovely, awesome ravenqueen55 for the fantastic beta-work. *huggies & kissies* Again I learned a lot -- I just hope I can keep it in my head at my old age, *g*.

Sorry it took so long to update (YES, I saw your comments asking for an update, and they made me proud and happy! Thank you!) But with Christmas and holidays and a few pics I had (and wanted) to paint, there wasn’t much time left for BT. But be sure I’m already right in the middle of the next chapter - it’s tricky, I wanted to put everything that’s left in, but now I wonder if I can manage (I babble too much, heh). So, expect one or two more chapters and -- definitely -- an epilogue.

But now enjoy the next chapter. It’s time for answers! Not all questions will be answered, but one or two important ones. Ah, btw, if there are any questions left after chap 28, please feel free to ask. Your questions will help me; lately I’m a bit nervous that I might forget to explain one thing or the other!

Enjoy.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“WHAT???” Hermione stared at Harry open-mouthed.

But Harry didn’t pay any attention to Hermione. Instead, he intensified the hold on Draco’s hand and looked up at him. His eyes were pleading.

“Forgive me.”

Now it was Draco’s turn to stare. Lost in Harry’s emerald eyes, he nodded automatically. He didn’t have the slightest idea what he was forgiving, but who could resist those eyes? Draco realized he was grinning like an imbecile.

Harry beamed up at him. His “Thank you.” went by almost unheard. Hermione had found her voice again. “Harry! What do you mean? He never said it? But, Harry, you heard him! You saw him!”

Disappointment filled Draco the moment Harry let go of his hand.

“It’s quite simple, if you think about it logically,” Harry said as he reached over to the bedside table and rummaged through the drawer. “You see, I had quite a lot of time to think these last few days.” He took a scrap of parchment, a quill and some ink out of the drawer. “I don’t know if Draco already told you….” He looked up at Hermione inquiringly. “Pickles found it most entertaining to honour me with quite a few spells. I couldn’t speak and I couldn’t move properly. It was like being paralyzed.”

Hermione nodded. “Draco told us all about it.”

Harry started to scribble something on the parchment. “I thought I was losing my mind at first. I felt like I was living in a never ending nightmare.” He laughed humourlessly. “Speaking of nightmares – a lot of very vivid dreams were haunting me when I was temporarily unconscious.” He scratched his chin, then continued to scribble. “Strangely enough, I could remember some of those dreams. And since I didn’t have anything better to do, I analyzed them.” With an impatient gesture, Harry made some movements as if striking something out on the paper. “Put into another context, the dreams started to make sense. And after some time I figured out what I should have known all along, if I had only used my stupid brain before!”

He shot a quick glance at Draco. “What was the name of Blaise’s father? I can’t seem to remember it correctly.”

Draco jumped. He hadn’t really listened to what Harry was saying. It was just too fantastic to hear Harry’s voice again to pay any attention to the meaning of those words. “Draco?” Harry’s voice was gentle. “The name of Blaise’s father?”

“Err.” Draco pulled himself together. “Blaise’s father? He was one of the Peens’s. Old family, highly respected. Pure-bloods, of course.” He furrowed his brow, trying to remember. Then he got it. “Alldrick. His name was Alldrick. The Peens’s were devastated when he died. He was the first-born, you know; their pride; Father told me. It came as a shock when his mangled body was found; they had to identify him by what was left of his charred clothes. I don’t remember any specifics, but the circumstances of his death were said to be suspicious. Blaise’s mother had fooled around with a new hex, and it went wrong. It was considered to be an accident. Intention couldn’t be proven, but Father always sneered when Mrs. Zabini’s name was mentioned.”

“Alldrick Peens – now I’m curious….” Harry concentrated on writing down something.

“Harry?” Hermione sounded irritated. “What does that have to do with the memory in the Pensieve? Do you mean that blood tells? Like mother, like son? Was Blaise lying?” Hermione started to pace the room. “But he couldn’t possibly do that….” She stopped her march abruptly. “Did he tamper with his memory?”

Harry grinned absentmindedly, staring at the parchment in his hands. “Oh, no, it was Blaise’s memory, all right.” He narrowed his eyes and started to cross something out. Then he nodded, satisfied. “But the memory had been tampered with all the same.”

“Harry!” Hermione rushed over to the bed and grabbed the paper out of Harry’s hands. “Would you please stop fooling around with that parchment and pay attention to the ongoing conversation?” Angrily, she waved the paper around. “The memory wasn’t faked, but was faked at the same time? Honestly! Are you sure your mind isn’t damaged somehow?”

Harry eyed her closely. “Let’s analyze the facts. Blaise presents his memory of a certain conversation between Draco and himself at Ginny’s birthday party. In said conversation, Draco pours out his heart to Blaise.” The ghost of a smirk played around Harry’s lips. “Hm. Why, in the first place, would Draco speak that openly with Blaise? Blaise is one of Draco’s dear old and faithful buddies who turned him down the minute Draco was convicted. So why should a clever and cunning man like Draco suddenly trust Blaise that much to brag about being a Death Eater heart and soul?”

Draco winced. What? He was supposed to have stated being a Death Eater? But Draco didn’t have time to digest that pronouncement; Harry continued his musings.

“And what about Draco’s genial plan to seduce dumb, innocent me and talk me into marriage? If he really confided in Blaise, Draco has to be worse than an imbecile. Up until that night, Draco hadn’t seen Blaise in years. He didn’t know a wee bit about Blaise’s current views and plans, or anything about Blaise’s position and standing. There’s proof about that; we heard Draco pondering about Blaise’s status at the start of the conversation, right?”

Hermione nodded impatiently. Her eyes were narrowed, her brow furrowed, her whole posture was that of ultimate attention. Harry went on.

“We weren’t friends with Blaise at Hogwarts. On the contrary; we didn’t get along at all. And now Blaise is welcomed by a Weasley as a guest to something as private as a birthday party? Anyone with the ability to reason would presume that we made up with the bloke and are big friends with Zabini. And realizing that, Draco has nothing better to do to than make fun of me? Abusing me verbally, even joking about my sexual inexperience, telling Blaise he has to puke each time my wet hands are touching him?” Harry’s voice had increased in volume; he was furious.

Draco gaped at Harry. He still didn’t understand a single word. What was he supposed to have said? What was he supposed to have done? He wanted to interrupt Harry, ask him, beg him to enlighten him; swear to him that he never, ever would dream of making fun of him; those days were over, Hogwarts days, when they were silly little kids and didn’t know any better.

But Draco didn’t say anything like that. He found that he couldn’t get a word out, and it was difficult to breathe normally. Slowly, realization about what must have happened dawned on him, and he felt severely sick. He couldn’t wait for Harry to continue. Hot anger flamed up in his stomach, spreading fast. To repress it, Draco clenched his hands into fists until his knuckles turned white.

Without doubt, somebody had connived to discredit Draco. Somebody who intended to destroy any trust Harry might have had in Draco. Somebody who hated Draco so much that mistrust wasn’t enough; the goal was wiping out any sentiment Harry might have for Draco. Somebody who was malicious enough to spread rumours about Draco being involved in Death Eater activities, thus making a further conviction inevitable. Draco had to disappear out of Harry’s life, and the removal had to be permanent.

Somebody…. Draco clenched his fists even tighter; the piercing pain of his fingernails digging deep into the sensitive skin of his palms helped him to keep the composed expression on his face.

Somebody, oh, yes. He had a very good idea about who that somebody was. His fists started to shake; his muscles gave in to the strain. A wand. Someone should hand him a wand. Only a short time ago he had held one in his hand. Why had he given it away? There were so many effective curses…. No hexes. Curses. Hexes were way too soft. It simply had to be a curse. The Crutiatus Curse, for example.

His hands got wet, and Draco didn’t care if it was because his fingernails were drawing blood or because of his severe fit of aspiration.

His hands! He could do a lot with his hands! No need for a wand. Little droplets of sweat were running down his back, tickling his skin. He would do it with relish. He would enjoy each single second of enclosing the elegant throat of that somebody, slowly increasing the pressure. And his smirk would be broad, arrogant and mean, waiting for the eyes to bulge and the tongue to loll out of the pretty mouth. He would release the pressure on the throat only to apply it again, then release it, and apply it again. And again. And again. The agony should be exquisite, and should last as long as possible. Every day, every hour, every single second Harry had been under Pickles’s sway because of somebody’s spite was to be paid back.

“So, come on now, Hermione, tell me.”

Harry’s voice cut off Draco’s most satisfying fantasies. Hastily, Draco shook his head to clear it. He didn’t want to miss a single word now; he wanted to know desperately if his guesses were proven right.

The expression of Harry’s face was hard. “Do you seriously believe Draco is that dumb?”

Hermione’s mouth opened, then closed again. She moved her head slowly from side to side, plainly not wanting to believe what her mind already knew. All at once, something like fear showed in her eyes. Or pain. Or both.

“Yes, Hermione,” Harry’s voice was strangely toneless. “That’s exactly what I concluded, too.”

“No….” Hermione’s immediate denial sounded like a moan.

“’Mione, there isn’t any other explanation,” Harry’s answer was adamant. “And you know it. You may choose to ignore my suspicions, if it makes you feel any better. But there are other facts to consider.” Harry stared sternly at his best friend. “Who made you confront me with the memory? Who convinced you to take the Pensieve out of my office, actually stealing it? Who made you give in to turn up at my home with a whole bunch of people, including a stranger, without prior notice? Who told you about that fabulous conversation in the first place?”

“No-ho,” Hermione repeated, her voice shaking. Quickly, she blinked several times to get rid of the water building up in her eyes, but it was in vain. As soon as the first tear ran down her face, she angrily wiped it away with the back of her hand.

Harry’s face was grim when he nodded. “As I’m sure you know, we had a quarrel a week and a half ago. In the end, I broke up with her,” Harry snorted. “Not that there was anything to break. I told her ages ago that I didn’t fancy a marriage. I always liked her a lot, and there had been a time I was convinced that I loved her.“

Instantly, Draco’s eyes narrowed into tiny slits. Was there sadness in Harry’s voice? Regret? Draco’s heart skipped a beat, and wild anger made his cheeks burn hot.

“It would have been a perfect match. Ginny adores me, the Weasley’s have regarded me as part of their family since I was twelve, plus I would be related to Ron and you, my best friends. It took me some time to figure out that the match would make everybody happy except me. Before I finally decided to move here, I told Ginny that I loved her dearly, but just like a devoted brother loves his sister.”

Draco gasped. He hadn’t noticed he had held his breath for too long a time. At the last moment he was able to stifle an outcry of triumph.

“I told her that I didn’t want a marriage on such a basis. Then the discussion became -- well -- difficult. She made it clear there would never be another man except me. Obviously I was still shaken by the war, and if I needed time, it would be all right with her. She would wait. And that’s what she’s been telling everybody ever since. I should have corrected her version, but I pitied her, and --“ Harry gulped audibly. Obviously it was hard on him to continue.

“All the time I was convinced that something was severely wrong with me. That I was imagining things. That I was waiting for something, some feeling, that simply doesn’t exist. That love was exactly what I was feeling for Ginny, only that I was too messed up to be able to recognize it.” Harry’s smile was sad. “How could I have known better? My chances to gain experience were limited; endearments were rarely exchanged between me and the Dursley’s.”

Tears were streaming down Hermione’s face in a constant flow now; she had given up trying to wipe them away.

Draco pressed his lips together tightly. Harry had told him already about his childhood. Hearing about it now in a different context, Harry’s past seemed even worse. Draco tried to imagine a childhood without motherly endearments, a life bare any affection. What would it be like to be kept in a cupboard under the stairs? Draco had cursed his own childhood a number of times, and had quarrelled with his fate. Yes, the abuse of his father had left innumerable wounds, mostly on his mind. But he, at least, had had the chance to love his mother unconditionally with the reassuring certainty of being loved back just the same. He snorted. On the other hand -- if he hadn’t known about “love”, he wouldn’t have tried so desperately try to earn his father’s affection and respect, right? Oh, yes, love was a wicked thing….

“When Ginny turned up the other day it started as usual. We were a pair, nothing could part us, I still needed time, and she would wait forever. But something had changed. I had changed.” Harry was talking slowly, almost dreamily.

“For the first time in my life, I was happy, really happy; and I told her so. She just laughed. It was okay with her that I was testing different sex techniques. But I should remember that as a role model I should be a little bit more secretive about it. It didn’t do for Harry Potter to hang around with a male criminal. It would harm my reputation as well as my credibility.” Harry snorted.

“Of course I at once wanted to know why it was okay for her brothers to abuse a male whore in the most brutal and disgusting way imaginable, but not okay for me to live in a male partnership. I then learned it all had been a joke. A joke, Hermione!” Harry’s eyes were glimmering in a dangerous way.

Hermione wasn’t able to respond, she just repeated her “No” voicelessly, shaking her head repeatedly. Harry’s lips curled up in a sneer, and he continued.

“Why hadn’t I ever told her that I was interested in arse fucking? There was no reason to be reliant on the queer; didn’t I know she had a firm, round arse? Plus, she had a virgin, clean hole to offer, so I wasn’t forced to fuck the worn out hole of a dirty whore.”

Hermione’s hands flew up in a protective gesture; she couldn’t bear to hear any more. Draco felt something like shock himself. He had never expected Ginny knew phrases like that, least of all expected her to say them.

Harry took a deep breath in. “That’s when I started to shout, I guess. No one insults a friend of mine in my house.” His features grew hard again. “I’m afraid I became a bit vulgar myself; I just couldn’t help it. I told her that her firm, round arse with the clean, virgin hole wouldn’t turn me on the slightest, even if it was the only arse left on earth,” Harry grinned, and the dangerous glint was back in his eyes.

“She wasn’t impressed at all. An arse is an arse, and since I had tried only one, I couldn’t tell the difference. And if I preferred to be fucked, she knew all about a few sex spells for couples. It was easy for a willing girl to conjure herself a solid, beautiful, stiff prick. I just had to define the size and the thickness. Then she would fuck me like I never was fucked before.”

Draco felt sick. He remembered hearing the loud shouting coming up from downstairs. And he remembered too well how curious he had been about the quarrel. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined a discussion like that. Knowing Harry as he did now, Draco was sure Harry must have been on the verge of freaking out. His outbreak when he came up to the bathroom afterwards had been quite harmless, compared with what he had just experienced. Draco was sure Harry had regarded Ginny as an unsoiled and adorable maiden up until that point. What a shock it must have been to listen to her malicious ravings like a common fishwife.

A quick glance at Hermione made Draco realize that she was thinking along the same lines; she stood frozen like a statue, eyes torn wide open.

“I made a last attempt at a civilized conversation. I thanked her for her offer but was sorry to have to reject it. Why should a gay man have complicated sex with a woman when he already had found a male partner?” Harry shook his head. “She simply denied it. I wasn’t gay. I was imagining things. I was hexed. She could prove it. She would lick my prick right here and now, and then I would fuck her mouth all too gladly and afterwards we would laugh heartily about that “being gay” nonsense.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I lost my patience then.”

Hermione flinched, and Draco held his breath once more.

“No, I didn’t freak out,” Harry hastened to calm her. “I helped her up to her feet again, for she already was kneeling in front of me, fingering my -- err -- crotch. I told her that I appreciated her offer and would have definitely had relished a quick blow job, if it wasn’t for one attribute that was lacking. I hadn’t known for sure until then, but now I was certain.”

Harry looked down at his hand, closely examining his fingernails. In spite of what he had heard, Draco was amused. Harry was obviously embarrassed. How could he be embarrassed now, after everything he’d already divulged?

“I told her to get off a real good one I had to feel something for the one blowing me. Thanks to her most effective words I was now sure I wasn’t feeling anything at all for her anymore, not even disgust. The only feeling left was gratitude, for she helped me to admit at last that I was head over heels in love with Draco Malfoy. I blew her a kiss, waved goodbye and left her in the midst of her retort.”

A cold shudder ran through Draco’s body, and goosebumps exploded over his skin. The next moment he felt extremely hot, and little droplets of sweat were building on his forehead. He couldn’t develop any reasonable thought. His mind kept repeating the same words over and over again. Head over heels in love with Draco Malfoy. Head over heels. In love. With Draco. A hysterical scream was rising in his throat, and without thinking twice Draco stuffed the knuckles of his wand hand into his mouth to stifle it.

Harry was still examining his fingernails, his head bent down. It was deadly quiet, and neither Hermione nor Draco dared to move. In mutual, silent agreement both seemed to feel it was Harry’s turn to break the silence.

After what seemed to be an eternity, but actually lasted just a few seconds, Harry squared his shoulders resolutely. Without forewarning his head jerked up, and he stared directly into Draco’s face.

Still Draco was unable to move. It also seemed to be impossible to breathe properly. He could only stare back at Harry.

Head over heels, his mind kept singing.

Shut up, he bellowed in his head.

He couldn’t allow any disturbance now or any silly distraction. It was pure instinct that told him that something important was going to happen, something vital, something he couldn’t afford to mess up.

Their eyes locked, and time stood still once more. The outside world ceased to exist, and nothing was there except those bright green eyes, boring into his. Although Draco felt the urge to run away and hide, anywhere, he forced himself to stay where he was.

The bright eyes bore deeper into Draco’s, and he endured that scrutinizing stare without even a flicker of his eyelids. With an unconscious sigh Draco’s eyes widened even further, providing Harry unhindered admission to his inside, his thoughts, his soul. He wouldn’t hide anything from that stare. Nothing at all. If Harry wanted to test him, wanted to make sure, he wouldn’t try to hold anything back. That wouldn’t seem wise.

His muscles relaxed; he was ready and prepared for Harry’ intrusion of his mind.

But it never happened.

Instead a wave of warmth, soft as a tender caress, rushed over his skin, and all of a sudden his heart started to hurt in a strange, most unfamiliar way, ready to burst.

Astonished, Draco had to gasp. He could see little sparkles dancing in those emerald eyes. They were laughing; laughing full of joy and full of something Draco had never expected to see there.

He saw himself in those eyes, and Harry was smiling at him.

Head over heels in love with Draco Malfoy, his mind started chanting again.

Harry’s smile deepened, and Draco almost choked. He had never known that the sudden impact of happiness could make a stomach revolt just like a well aimed punch could.

Draco didn’t feel lost when Harry broke eye contact and turned towards Hermione again. The tender kiss of Harry’s soul was still warming his heart, and Draco knew for sure that some part of it would linger there forever.

“I shouldn’t have said that. That was my fatal mistake. I shouldn’t have provoked her,” Harry stated matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure if she made up her plan right then or later. But what I am sure about is that she snatched some of Draco’s hairs. I hung Draco’s braid up over the fireplace after he had cut it off. It was meant as – well, never mind that now.”

Harry slapped his forehead, hard. “Hah. And I saw it! I noticed that Draco’s braid had been moved; it hung askew on the wall. Hermione! I know Polyjuice Potion needs at least a month to get ready. So who, Hermione, has a supply of various potions in the back room of their shop? And who has the knowledge, skill, and the dare to tamper with a memory? And, most important, who would never hesitate to avenge their sister?”

The flow of tears had stopped. Although having been addressed twice, Hermione didn’t respond. Instead she was nagging her lower lip to stop it from quivering.

“A genial plot, I have to admit. Blaise is in on it, too, of course. I wonder what they promised him as his reward. But never mind. Fred and George finish the potion with Draco’s hairs, and Ginny transforms into Draco. Ginny as Draco has that interesting conversation with Blaise. She betrays herself, though. I remember Draco pushing his hair behind his ears in the memory. He never does that. He just flings his hair behind his shoulders.” Harry’s eyes grew soft. “It’s one of his most annoying, arrogant gestures, you know?”

He sobered up again. “Fred and George mix the real memory with the fake one. I remember I noticed the break; their voices increased in volume, and their images got a bit blurred, but I was too overwrought to take in the significance of it. Without doubt they counted on that. My naivety is legendary, and thus my reactions are predictable….”

Harry squared his shoulders once more. ”You agree with me, Hermione, that it was quite easy? Ginny knows me well, of course she does, and she knew exactly what kind of words and phrases would hurt me. Hurt me so much that I would lose all faith and trust in Draco. And to make sure Draco would be gone for good, they added the confession of revolution and Dark Magic on top. Without much effort several goals were reached. Disappointed Harry sends Draco to hell, Draco gets a one-way ticket to Azkaban, and Ginny is there to console Harry’s silly little broken heart.”

Harry’s eyes sought Draco’s. “I have to ask again for your forgiveness. Just for one moment I really believed that you were using me. Just for one moment I really believed that you….” Harry’s voice trailed away. His smile was sad, but determined. “We will talk about that later, in private. OK?”

Draco nodded faintly. Oh, yes, they needed talking. He still didn’t understand half of the goings-on.

“Hermione. Do you need any further proof? If Draco agrees, take his memory of the event. Watch it, and judge. I bet everything I own that Draco’s memory will turn out to be completely different.”

“I -- don’t -- need to….” Hermione choked out lowly.

Harry barked a laugh. “Neither do I.” He knocked a fist into the open palm of his other hand. “But, be as it may, we will need his memory to prove Draco’s innocent of treason. I’m sure in the meantime the whole Wizarding World knows about his professed offences.” Hermione nodded slowly.

“So there will be a trial.” It wasn’t a question.

Hermione nodded again. “Yes. I’m afraid there’s a search warrant for Draco. I …. Sorry, but with the given evidence….”

“I expected nothing else,” Harry shrugged.

Hermione’s face screwed up in despair. “We will -- have -- oh, help me, Merlin.” She started once more. “Faking a memory -- they violated the Code of Magic, Clause 113! And deceit is clearly an offence under Section 33 of the International Code of the Wizarding Community. Not to speak of the violation against the Code of Potion Brewing. Oh, my, they have to be arrested!”

In her agitation, Hermione crumpled up Harry’s piece of parchment that she was still holding in her hand. As soon as she noticed it, she hastened to smooth the paper out again. Involuntarily, her eyes fell upon what Harry had written. She blanched.

“Harry, does that mean....”

“ARGHHHH”.

The ear-piercing yell that interrupted Hermione came from the door. Ron was standing there, eyes opened wide, his face ashen.

Unnoticed by them, Ron must have returned. Obviously he had overheard their conversation, or at least part of it. Before anybody could react, Ron spun on his heels and stormed down the stairs.