Draco's Cracked Mask

**WARNING** More angst and anger. Lots of anger, language, and no sex/porn. VERY Dark!Harry (with redeeming sprinkles).

Author's note--Alright, so I said I wasn't going to do a Chapter 3, and right now, I'm writing Chapter 4. Oy. BUT the alternative was to ruin one of my other stories by having the bad guys die prematurely, so I came back to this one to vent. You'll be able to figure out the point of view of this chapter soon enough, I think.

Here's what happened: I read the final chapters of Promethean Fire by Lucilla Darkate, and I cried for about half an hour afterwards. Then I read a couple of other oneshots (or Chapter 2's) Longings of the Heart by sunset20--GREAT fic! Sad...sad, angst...but watch out, it'll leave you with questions until Chapter 3 is up! (hopefully) and Call or Fold by Daft Fear--REALLY CUTE! Perfect 'pick me up' that I read before reading another angsty one...my fault. If you just want fluff and goodness, go for this one!

So I sort of felt better, until I read Chrissy's Stealing My Heart which did me in again. (If you read my reviews of previously-mentioned stories, you'll see my downward spiraling progression) Anyway, so I was pretty angry and depressed, and I came back to take it out on this story.

This is supposed to be very back-and-forth, so if you feel like a Ping Pong ball with the emotions and stuff...good. That's the idea. I'm working on Chapter 4 right now...which will be more hopeful, now that I've gotten the anger out.
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“Guilty.” Guilty was the verdict, and they sent you to Azkaban, where I know you expect to rot for the rest of your natural life. That’s what happens when your side loses, you know. However, you don’t know the surprise I have in store for you. Now that I have my dragon back, I can make good on my desire to have a nice little chat with you for about an hour…maybe more, if you’d like…in a locked room. I thought the time of peace was here, but I was wrong. There is yet unfinished business before I can truly be at peace.

I’m Harry bloody fucking Potter, and I killed Voldemort. Did you REALLY think the Ministry would refuse me anything I asked? You did! I can see it in your eyes, and my nostrils flare. I will enjoy proving you wrong and making you suffer for what you did. I will break you, you motherfucker, and I will enjoy doing it. Your throat will be raw from screaming, and you will have lost your voice from begging for death at my feet before I will finally kill you. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just make you wish for death, and then leave you back in your cell. I haven’t decided yet.

Your son is doing well, thanks for asking. Not like you care, though, right? He still has nightmares sometimes. He wakes up screaming, crying, shaking…traumatized by the things you made him do. But while you were there to hurt him, I am his protector. You trained him to wear the mask, and I cracked it. That burns you, doesn’t it? You can’t stand the thought of your son not being like you, and it really burns you that he is stronger than you EVER could hope to be because he doesn’t hide his feelings. He doesn’t run from love, and that’s what makes him strong. He knows very well that it could hurt, and he endures that fear, only to be with me. I want you do know that that particular fear of his is in vain, though. I would never hurt him. He is my other half, my soul mate.

I don’t tell him, though, where I’m going today. I know better than to utter anything that might faintly resemble you around him; I want him to forget about his past and all of the pain you inflicted upon him. I want him to be whole and strong and looking forward, to our life together. I will look to the future as well…just as soon as I deal with the past. You are the past. I need to come to terms with his past, and then I can move on. You will become a distant memory…no, you will not be remembered at all. What did YOU ever do that was worth remembering? Let’s see, Lucius Malfoy; let’s see what you did with your life.

You became a Slytherin, which led you to be a Death Eater. Strike one.

You had a beautiful, perfect, wonderful little boy. He could have been your redemption.

You hit him when you should have hugged him. You sneered with approval when Snape yelled at him for screwing up when you should have cut out the greasy git’s tongue. You stepped back and smiled when you should have forced yourself in between him and Voldemort. And then you hurt him yourself. Strike two.

You pinned him on the rough wooden chair, standing over him, one hand clamped on his left wrist to extend his arm on the table. I’m sure he looked up at you with pleading grey eyes, and you ignored him. Strike three.

You were going to sacrifice your own flesh and blood to that monster; you’re not worthy to be called Draco’s father. The last time I saw you, I was sick with worry for Draco, and I had to deal with the Dark Lord. This time, though…this time will be all about you. But then again, it’s always been about you, hasn’t it? YOU had to have the power; YOU had to have a perfect heir; YOU had to show Voldemort that you could be crueler than him. Yes, there it is. I think lower of you because Voldemort never had the duty or the responsibility to protect his offspring. He never HAD any offspring, but you did. You did, and you failed. YOU failed. You failed Draco miserably, even as you despised him for failing you…but that’s a lie. Maybe in YOUR twisted mind, but in reality, Draco is twice the man you could ever hope to be. I’m not a parent yet, but I would love to have children…with Draco, of course. But I at least know that once you have a child, it’s all about THEM. It should have been all about DRACO, and if you don’t want to be relegated to number two, then DON’T FUCKING HAVE KIDS.

I kissed him good-bye just after breakfast. He sat in the breakfast nook in his dark green silk robe, sipping his expensive coffee and blearily reading the newspaper. He’s so adorable when he first wakes up; he had forgotten that I had an appointment with the Ministry today. I kissed away his pout, promising to spend the rest of the day with him as soon as I was through. I left him with a smile on his gorgeous face; can you ever say you did that? Somehow I doubt it.

I took the public Floo to the Ministry and then the private, heavily guarded one to Azkaban. Shacklebolt isn’t happy about this, but he wasn’t about to refuse me. I told him this would be the one and only thing I would ever ask for that would be granted to me because of my status, my destiny. I said that this was how the world could repay me for fulfilling the Prophecy. He looked at me funny; I don’t think he had ever seen me with murder in my eyes. Dumbledore had been the one to get his Aurors to the Manor, so Kingsley didn’t see anything until it was all over, and I was crying with relief that I had Draco back.

He looked sick as he turned to Floo back to the Ministry. He warned me that he would be back in an hour, sharp, and that I was to be waiting on him. ‘Yes, of course, Minister Shacklebolt.’ I can still pull an innocent Gryffindor face if I have to, even though I don’t think he believed me. I was already out the door, striding towards your cell, as he was tossing the Floo powder up. I looked through the hole in your cell door before I knocked. You were laying on your back, eyes closed, reminiscent of…that one cannibal from the American Muggle horror movie…oh yes! Hannibal Lector from “Silence of the Lambs”. You were meditating, and it reminded me of that scene.

I am proud of myself for knocking so politely. It amused me to see the shock in your face as you ‘answered’ the door, and I think that even YOU were caught off-guard by the indescribable rage on my face. I glide past you, not having been invited in, but I slam the door shut behind me with my mind, conjuring a large, shiny, new lock that fastens itself to the door, locking us in. My hour begins. How much of it will be spent breaking you, and how much of it will you spend begging me to end your pathetic life?

“I know why you’re here, Potter,” you sneer as we circle each other. “Why don’t you go ahead and just kill me? I am, after all, a prisoner here and wandless.” No, no, that won’t do at all. You’re supposed to BEG me to kill you AFTER I’ve made you suffer. I spread my hands in front of me, showing you that they are empty.

“I didn’t bring my wand,” I tell you. You stop and look at me in confusion. My lip curls into a mirror of the sneer you spent so long perfecting on your son, and you suddenly realize what that means. “I am not going to use magic to fuck you up, Lucius. It’s so much more enjoyable when it’s hands-on, wouldn’t you say?”

I know you know what I’m talking about. I hear Draco screaming about that at night. Except that his screams are more along the lines of begging you to take your hands OFF of him. He can’t even talk about all of it yet, but he told me that you said that to Rodolphus when he asked why you didn’t just use magic to punish your disobedient son. The irony is killing me here. You didn’t use magic…just your hand, your fist, and your whip.

I turned my palms toward you, pinning you against the wall with my sheer force of will. That doesn’t count as magic. I begin to laugh as you writhe, and there is a small part of me that flares up, railing against what I’m about to do, chanting that you will get your justice by being in Azkaban, that I don’t have to torture you, and that this isn’t what Draco would want. That gets me. That cuts deep. After all that you’ve done to him, he still refuses to want what you deserve. I hope that he can let you go in death, and that someday I can make him see that you twisted him to think that. You’re the lowest fucking bastard EVER, and I’m about to make you pay for EVERYTHING.

I clamp down on that piece of me that is still human, and I saunter close to you. I spit in your face, trying to decide what should be first. I tell you of Draco and how I left him this morning. I watch, smug, as your face twists in revulsion that your son has chosen me over you.

You are taller than me, always have been, always will be, but I have ways of making you bow to me. My knee shoots up to connect between your legs, and you let out a strangled cry. I allow you to fall to the ground, and as I take a step towards you, my knee burns white-hot. I look down; my jeans are torn, and my knee is bleeding badly. I bashed it on the wall behind you. Even in pain, you snake your finger out to press it to my cut, sending pain radiating through my body. I respond with a blind kick, connecting with your shins, since you’re curled up on your side. I move around you, limping stiffly, and place another kick to your own kneecaps. And one to your stomach. One to your chest; your arm, your back. I fucking kicked you in the ass, for crying out loud.

Kneeling beside you, my anger cutting through the pain in my knee, I grab a fistful of your long blonde hair and yank. I can feel some strands tearing from your head, even if the majority of it remains attached. I want to hear your screams of pain, but as a Death Eater, you have a higher pain tolerance than most. I’ll have to do better than that, be worthy, to make YOU scream. I rip your knees apart, exposing your most private area. Placing the soul of my shoe squarely under the base of your cock, I step down, slowly at first, and then harder, crushing your balls in a vise between my sneaker and the stone floor. Forget the Cruciatus Curse or any semblance of torture foreplay; I only have an hour. You press your lips together so hard, I wonder if your jaw will break. I am thinking you must have balls of steel or something when you finally let loose with a screech that is SO unbecoming of a Malfoy. I smile coldly. Encouraged, I bounced on that foot, just a little. That first scream is the hardest, isn’t it? That’s the line…as long as you are toeing the line, you’re fine. Once you cross the line and scream that first time, then it gets easier to scream after that. I found the line, and I pushed you across it.

I let up, and you lay there, your pale face suddenly interesting shades of red and purple, gasping like a fish out of water. I deliver a flurry of short kicks to your ribs, knowing that, in order to be most effective, I have to give your groin a rest. It sates some of the lust I feel for your suffering, to hear the bones splinter under my iron foot. It’s not enough, and then I realize that I have crossed a line, too. No matter what I do to you, it will never be enough of what you deserve. I almost start to cry because my thirst for revenge can never be truly satisfied. I close my eyes, and when I opened them and looked down at you, I saw Draco for a split second. You were laying at my feet, and I saw the pale blonde hair…imagining. Then your hand snaked out and wrapped around my ankle, and the image of my lover was gone. I would never do this to HIM.

I brought my other foot down on your wrist, snapping the bones. You scream again, but I’m not content with just that. I continue to stomp on your arm, breaking the bones in your forearm and bicep, as well as your elbow and shoulder. I’m caught up in the adrenaline, and I almost missed what I’ve been dying to hear.

“Please stop.” I froze, the red in my vision giving way to color.

“What did you say?” I snarl.

“No…no more,” you manage to choke out, and I’m triumphant.

“You showed no mercy when those words beseeched YOU; why should I do differently unto you?” I am so proud of myself for paying you back in spades. I grabbed a chunk of your long hair, hauling you up just enough as I bend down, eye to eye with you.

“I have broken you. Will you now beg for death?” I ask, afraid that the answer will be “yes”…afraid that the answer will be “no”.

“I’m…sorry…” you said the most unlikely thing I ever thought I’d hear.

“Wha-what?” Suddenly I’m eleven years old again, having just fucked something else up royally. I don’t realize that I accidentally squeeze tighter on your hair.

“Please stop,” you repeat. “I am sorry.” Fuck you, Lucius. Now I’m in a quandary. Do I show mercy or dispense justice? I’m a Gryffindor; my choice is made for me. Part of me hates myself for what I’ve done; part of me hates you for saying the one thing I didn’t expect; and part of me wants to finish the job. I fall back; how dare you rob me of my anger and hate! Vengeance should be mine because YOU HURT MY LOVER! Wait, there it is! Another spark of anger! Yes, yes, yes! If I can just hold onto my anger, I can shatter the mask! The mask of compassion, mercy, and weakness that I wear as a ‘noble Gryffindor’. I don’t want to be noble right now; I want to vent my rage on you and make you pay. Anger shatters the mask.

“Fat chance,” I growl. “Too little, too late.” When I let go of your hair, you crashed back to the floor, hitting your head on the stone. I straddle your chest, punching you in the face a couple of times, hearing a satisfying crunch of bone and cartilage as I break your nose and give you a black eye. You bring your arms up to shield yourself…fruitlessly. I push your arms down, intent on bashing your head until your brains explode under my fingers. I freeze with my hands on either side of your face because suddenly I see Draco’s face, though older, framed between my thumbs, grey eyes looking up at me pleadingly, lower lip pushed out in that adorable pout.

All of my anger deserts me, and I am left with emptiness, a shell, a monster in the making. I get up off of you, and you don’t move. With a wave of my hand, I cast a quick Tempus spell.

“Five minutes left. God damn it,” I whisper softly. Five minutes left to try to repair the damage I’ve caused. I start with a couple of Healing Charms to realign your nose and reset the bones in your arm and shoulder. I get rid of the black eye, and as the weight of what I just did presses down on me, my own eyes fill with tears. My forehead drops into my palm as I sag with shame. The scar is hot, but I let it scald my palm. I’m the one who deserves pain now.

“You gullible Gryffindor,” comes a nasty snarl. “You bloody, fucking, unworthy, breakable, gullible Gryffindor.” I look up in shock, and you’re laying on your side, propped on your elbow. You are sneering at me with that curled lip that I thought I had wiped from your face. A flicker of blackness begins deep in my chest.

“Go home to my wretched son,” you sigh. “I thought perhaps you were a worthy opponent. You were not moved by my pleas, but one look of pity and a lower lip, and you break. At least I held out longer.” I am unable to do anything but gape at you as my mind races to catch up. You are staring at me with contempt in your eyes, and your cold, grey gaze locks on mine, holding it a split second before morphing into a soft, begging look, and against my will, my heart tugs at that earnest look. The clincher is when you poke your bottom lip out, reminding me so strongly of Draco that my heart constricts. I swallow hard. “Please, Harry, please kill me. I’m not worth loving.” Even your voice sounds like Draco’s to my ears. Then the sneer is back as if you flipped a switch. “You disgust me, broken Gryffindor.”

Broken? Broken?! You dare to call ME broken??? You really ARE an arrogant piece of Slytherin shit! My mind registers what you said and how you said it. You taunted me with the image of my Draco, begging me to sate my black lust with his life, and that flicker explodes. I lunge at you. I can’t even form coherent thoughts, but I grin as abject fear crosses your face. You underestimated me, as I did you, but I have the final say here. That is the last expression you will ever make. I land on your chest, and you barely have the time to realize that I knocked the wind out of you before I kill you. I grabbed a double handful of your pale blonde hair and yank up while simultaneously twisting my hands, dislocating and snapping your neck in one fluid motion. Your body goes limp underneath me, and I slide off, letting the strands slip through my fingers.

I start to shake as I look at you. You died with fear on your face. Good. It’s about time you felt the fear you inspired in everyone else. The fear you inspired in Draco. Oh, gods! Draco! I just killed my lover’s father! What am I going to tell him? I didn’t know I actually had it in me to kill in cold blood. Just before I am about to puke up my guts, an image of Draco, wiggling in his sleep, trying to get away from your cruel hands while pleading for mercy that never comes, pops into my head. I turn my head and heave anyway, rising to my knees as I spit and choke, bile mingling with tears. Not for you, though. For my lover. For his pain. For his suffering. The suffering that I have ended.

My final thought is this: No more. I will kill no more. You will hurt him no more. I promise, Draco, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again…if you can forgive me for what I have done, what I have become. For avenging you.

I get to my feet, wiping my mouth and cast another Tempus spell. I’m now five minutes late. I pause at the door, looking back at your broken body.

“One hour in a locked room with you,” I say. “YOU disgust ME, broken Slytherin.” I exit without a backward glance, but my own words have conjured up another image of my lover, broken but repaired. It hits me. I have to deal with him with compassion and mercy or else I am no better than you. I am once again the 'noble Gryffindor', and if that makes me weak, then so be it. I wish I felt more noble than I do right now, but it's better to be weak and human than strong and dead. The anger WAS the mask. I don’t ever want to feel that much anger again. I step back into the room, fully expecting to see a furious Kingsley Shacklebolt pacing. I tear my eyes from the ground and nearly turn around and run.

Draco. Draco is standing in the middle of the room, staring at me with an indescribable look on his face, flanked by a furious Kingsley Shacklebolt and a grim Remus Lupin.

“What did you do?” His voice is low. I can’t tell if he’s upset, angry, nervous, disappointed, or what. He looks me up and down, his eyes widening as he takes in my blood-stained clothes, the rip in my jeans, and the tears that suddenly start running down my face. I sink to my knees, overcome with horror and grief and terror—pure terror that I have just ruined the only thing worth having. I look up at him, desperately hoping for some sign of what he’s really feeling beneath his opaque mask. For the first time since we've been together, I can’t read him, and it makes my insides quake.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” I say in a small, quivering voice. I am reminded of how I just dealt with those words, and if ‘what goes around, comes around’ then it would be easier to just turn my wand on myself than watch Draco walk out the door. “Please forgive me…I did it for you…I love you…”
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Author's note--Any and all punctuation (commas, etc) is intentional, for any Grammar Nazis out there. :) And also: GOTCHA! You were afraid that one of our favorite boys was sentenced to Azkaban at first, and that the other had gone psycho, weren't you? No? Okay, well, then you're not as gullible as me! lol

Danine--Glad you liked Chapter 2. This chapter is more angry, and Chapter 4 will be more hopeful again. lol This story is a manifestation of my bi-polarity (j/k I don't have bi-polar...but the story does!)

Good news, though, is that I'm still in the "anger" phase of the whole relationship thing...as you can see from this chapter. lol But considering I cried because I "might never get my heart back"...that feels more like "denial" than "anger" to me...hmmm. But I'm definitely angry, and I think I was even more angry that I cried over him (AGAIN).

Thanks for reviewing (and just for future reference...I hate it when Harry dies, but I can't handle it if Draco's the one to go.) lol

thrnbrooke--Thanks for your review! You're telling me...but at least I have somewhere to vent now.


sunset20--haha Yeah, not everyone can be a "special" reviewer like me!! (and by "special" I mean "retarded lunatic") I think you'll like this chapter as well (Chapter 4 will be more hopeful...I just can't do "dark" and leave it like that *sigh*)

And it's ironic that the last time I was angry, I poured it into Draco, but this time, I felt like Harry would be the better choice. Even once I was finished with this chapter, I was like "Whoa, Harry kind of turned out darker than I expected" (you know...reminiscent of turning into another Voldemort) but I hope I sprinkled enough "saving" dust to pull him back from THAT cliff. Thanks for reviewing!

(I think this is my emotional, venting fic. lol)


Roe--Hiya! Thanks for your review! Love does bite. (So do Harry and Draco, but kinky sex is for another fic lol) But I do know what you mean. Hope you liked this chapter too!