Where Lies Will Not Blossom

Author: Akumu Suta-Raito

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: R (Adult)

Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst, H/C

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Warnings: Language, Anal, Explicit Torture, Disturbing imagery.

Summary: HD Dark Epic. 'A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by his death-mask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

Author’s Note: Hmm. With this chapter I definitely up the disturbing and creepy factor. There is no torture… well, not really. Poor Draco hasn’t been through the worst of it yet, and this chapter kind of ends on a cliffe… I’m sorry, that wasn’t my intention. It just happened to be the best place to end. -_- No really. Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! *And don’t hit me*

Chapter Six: Everything

Harry stared blankly at the royal blue curtains of his four poster bed, happy that he wouldn’t be distracted by the sound of Ron’s snores. Unlike last summer, the occupants of Number Twelve weren’t crammed together in the select few rooms that had been fit for human habitation. Nearly all the rooms in Headquarters were cleaned to near unnatural pristineness. If that was even a word.

The slave driver often known as Molly Jane Weasley had been unconcerned with the teenagers’ whines of potion burns and callous’ on top of their callous, working them until Harry almost considered giving himself to Voldemort for a reprieve.

Almost. He wasn’t that mental, but troll strength wall cleaning potion fumes did funny things to the brain.

Harry closed his eyes again, vainly hoping for sleep – but his eyes popped upon almost immediately; there was far too much to think about to entertain the idea of rest at the moment. The subject of the Order meeting was nearly at the top of the rather large list. The reigning champion that had taken hold of Harry’s thought was currently unmentionable, however.

The recruit was a much safer topic. ‘Recruit’ wasn’t even a word that Harry used, so saying it in his head was rather awkward, not that Harry had any choice in the matter. The person was mysteriously unnamed by Snape, which was slightly suspicious in itself, but that wasn’t what caused Harry to loose sleep.

It was the actions of the Recruit-Who-Shall-Remain-Unnamed. Harry could tell Ron was impressed by Hermione’s detailing of the near Death Eater’s heroics, but Ron was far more impressed with the idea of defying Voldemort. While often accompanying Harry on his misadventures, Ron could not even comprehend the terror invoked by the Dark Lord, or the strength that it took to stand against such overpowering evil.

Harry snorted – even in his head that sounded dramatic, but little could describe how it felt to go up against Voldemort. One wasn’t overcome with the desire to smite His Royal Repugnance – if you weren’t scared shitless, you’d probably already been Crucio’d out of your mind.

When people heard of Harry’s reluctant journey to The Graveyard (it would always be capitalized in his head) they were impressed by his ‘bravery’ and ‘daring.’ What most people don’t know is that Harry hadn’t been trying to play the dashing hero that day. Hell, he hadn’t even been trying to survive.

No one, not even Ron and Hermione knew that Harry believed he would die that day. The only thing that kept Harry fighting had been that he didn’t want to make things easy on the bastard. Voldemort had thought him little more than a bug that needed a good swat; Harry had been determined to be as much of an annoyance as possible, scratching and stinging before he went ‘splat.’

That was what going against Voldemort was like – you didn’t strive to win, or even live past the encounter. You knew death was the only outcome and that the only decision that you had to make was how you wanted to spend the last minute of your life: begging and screaming for mercy or defiantly resisting the inevitable.

There weren’t many people who had survived such an encounter – the only person that came to Harry’s mind was Dumbledore. But the man was so far removed from anyone he’d ever met, in actions, beliefs, sanity even, that it seemed unlikely that the Headmaster ever feared his former student. Harry often wondered what it felt like to be the one that Voldemort feared.

It wasn’t something that he could comprehend.

But this recruit – who Harry thought to be a male – was part of the same exclusive club. He defied the Dark Lord, he’d felt the same rush of emotions, the terror, anger. But this mystery man didn’t seem to have Harry’s rather freakish luck; he was in the bowels of Malfoy Manor, being inflicted with some of the most horrific punishments known to man for doing nothing more than attempting to save a dying girl.

It wasn’t exactly what the man had done that held Harry in awe; it was the fact that he was aware of the consequences and still persevered. Betraying the Dark Lord, especially in such a spectacular manner, was a one-way ticket to agony, despair, and untimely death.

Knowing what Voldemort did to traitors, Harry had to admit he had a lot of grudging respect for Snape, as snarky and unpleasant as the man may be. Snape was another who could relate to him regarding Voldemort, but what he did was so different than open defiance and in many ways so much more horrifying. Harry could hardly imagine what it was like to pretend to be a monster…

But back to the recruit – Harry sincerely hoped that they would somehow do the impossible and actually rescue the man from Voldemort’s strong hold. Harry almost felt eager to meet him, as if they would somehow be kindred spirits.

It was a rather odd feeling to have towards someone he had never met. Odd, and yet somewhat comforting to think that this man could understand all the things that Harry had never been able to talk about to his friends, things that couldn’t be put into words – emotions one couldn’t explain to those who hadn’t felt them.

Then again, perhaps he was getting his hopes up. For all he knew, the recruit could be an even bigger prick then Snape. But something, something indescribable told him this would not be the case.

Harry looked as his wristwatch, surprised when it informed him it was 3:12. He really should try to get some sleep, especially since he doubted he’d be getting much opportunity for it over the next couple of weeks. Unfortunately, the unspoken topic that lay submerged in his thoughts was haunting his subconscious, making it damn near impossible to rest. And thinking of not thinking of it was only making it worse.

At first, it was only little things, incidents that he could pawn off as the result of boredom or curiosity. Denial had been a close friend, with his sensibilities subtly making excuses for his odd interests. Thoughts like, ‘Seamus has such soft looking sandy hair’ or ‘Dean has such attractively smooth mocha colored skin and dark eyes’ or even ‘Merlin, Finch-Fletchley has a firm arse!’ were often downplayed to the point that Harry nearly believed they had never crossed his mind.

It was blatant self-deception, but with the events leading up the whole Department of Mysteries debacle, Harry was able to ignore his odd preoccupations. After the incident, of course, Harry was too overcome with grief to even ponder why he suddenly noticed the way Ron’s shoulders had broadened, or how Bill’s long, lean frame looked in dragon hide. But now, with these thoughts accumulating, Harry had to finally sit up and take notice of what his subconscious was trying to tell him.

Harry sighed, backtracking to his only true relationship – if the disaster with Cho could be labeled as such. He remembered the excitement and nervousness the moment before he received his first kiss. The Gryffindor had expected something extraordinary, after hearing other boys talk about how it felt to have a soft, yielding mouth upon one’s own. Perhaps he had expected too much, but Harry had felt uncommonly disappointed afterwards as he stared to Cho’s dark, wet eyes and delicately pretty features.

Her shy, questing lips had lacked something, some unnamed quality that Harry couldn’t account for. Later, when Ron had cornered Harry and demanded details, he could only use the adjective “wet” to describe it. Harry recalled the red-head looking at him with the strangest expression, his mouth slightly agape as if Harry was some undiscovered creature.

Harry understood why now. No normal boy who had just received his first kiss would describe it as “wet.” Clenching his eyes such, Harry couldn’t help but think what a bloody idiot he was for saying something like that. He was surprised Ron hadn’t called him a queer right then and there.

There was really no reason to lie to himself. He – Harry James Potter – was not attracted to the fairer sex. Parvati’s long, braided locks or Lavender’s often exposed cleavage didn’t do nearly as much for him as furtive glances at shirts stretched across defined pectoral muscles and abs did. He could appreciate beauty in the female form, but only in an objective sense, such as how one would admire the perfection of Grecian and Roman sculptures.

The beauty of the male form, however, Harry could more than appreciate. He could imagine touching soft skin covered in hard muscles, the feeling of a long lean body against his as he shuddered and reached completion – Fuck! Harry moaned under his breath, pressing the heel of his hand against the hard mound of his cloth covered erection. Lately, since that he had begun to entertain the possibility that he might be gay, his libido had increase tenfold. The first time he decided forgo attempting to get off on the image of full breasts and instead focused on how another man’s erected cock might look, Harry came almost untouched.

Deciding to ignore his more-often-there-than-not erection for the moment, Harry wondered how this sexual realization would affect his life. Surely no one would care that their savior pitched for the other team so long as he fought for the Light – but what about after the war (if he survived it)? Was there a place for homosexuals in the Wizarding World? Would he be discriminated against for his preference by those who he considered to be family? (1)

Of course, he knew that he would face no problems from Sirius or Remus, but their seemingly refusal to start a relationship also worried him.

Was their reluctance to start a relationship due purely to personal issues, or were they afraid of persecution? No one ever talked of homosexuality, leading Harry to believe that it was either accepted, or heavily disproved of – perhaps even illegal. He was scared to even ask what the general opinion was – scared because that would make it real, it would be as good as coming out.

It required courage that he just didn’t have at the moment. No, for now, Harry would bide his time, try to be observant (for once in his life), and gather as much information as he could before revealing anything. Maybe, maybe he could even muck around in the Black library – that is, if he could avoid Hermione’s questions about what he was researching.

Perhaps he could even ask her; but no, she was far too clever and would quickly figure out his motive. Hermione, though, was rather liberal in her thinking – Harry was almost positive that she wouldn’t think of him any different… but one could never be sure.

Harry wondered, yet again, when he would get the guts to just outright ask Sirius what being gay meant in the Wizarding World. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t ready. He could barely admit to himself that he preferred men, much less imply it to someone else.


Draco awoke shivering, curled up in one of the corners of the cell.

Sleeping in such a position was less than comfortable, especially when one was covered head to toe in cuts and bruises, but Draco quick found out that the less you left exposed, the less you would be hurt.

Well, unless you were tied to the wall – then all bets were off.

But Draco certainly wasn’t going to make it easy for the bastards. No, despite his seeming bouts of insanity, Draco still very much wanted to live.

Severus had been right; it was easy to loose oneself here. Draco could remember hours of staring at nothing, so far gone that curses garnered only the slightest of twitch, trapped in the prison of his own mind. Those had been the moments that Draco had truly given up – when his situation had seemed more than hopeless… but now, at least, Draco had reason to hope.

His foundations had been rocked to their very core once he realized that all he had ever believed in were nothing but the lies of a madman. Some things had shaken him more than others; for instance, Draco had already known that his father was a murderous bastard, so his actions That Night had not shocked him, but left him in a state of resigned horror. But when he had believed that Severus was the same, nothing more than a mindless follower, he had felt so alone and small – like nothing would ever matter again.

But one thirty minute visit with from the man who had betrayed his trust in so many ways was enough to infuse his weakened limbs with uncommon strength and determination. Draco wondered if he was naïve for believing his mentor and godfather – it was not at all impossible that this was merely a ploy to inflict further pain upon him. Logicality was much different, however, than what Draco’s mind was operating on at the moment. He needed to believe, needed to hope… he needed Severus to be good.

So, he remained disgusting gullible and imagined what his escape might be liked. Draco refused to admit that there might not be an escape, that he might be dead far before the Order could come up with a damned plan.

Like he said, he needed to believe.

He needed a light in the darkness. This was figuratively speaking of course, for all Draco could see was Darkness with a capital D – hopefully something would fix that, Spell with a capital S.

The sound of his cell door opening wrenched him out of these soon to be ranting, repetitive, and reprehensibly insane thoughts. Wonderful, not only was it time for his bi-daily torture, but he was fucking alliterating in his head – a sure sign of non-sanity. Non-sanity? What the hell –

Oh… he could hear footsteps now. Odd footsteps, slow but not hesitant, slightly light but definitely a man. Draco could hear the sound of feet dragging slightly and suddenly he knew who his visitor was.

Lord Voldemort. ‘Wonder if I should be scared.’

Draco couldn’t be bothered to even lift his head from his knees. Screw Voldemort, screw Lucius, screw the Death Eaters, screw elitism, screw bigotry, screw this fucking cell, and most of all screw Voldemort. Hey, wait – hadn’t he already –

“Young Malfoy.” It didn’t really sound like a question, more of a statement really. Hissed out, almost. Draco wondered how many Dark experiments one had to do on oneself before every word sounded like a continuation of the same sibilant hiss.

“You fassscinate me.” Was he supposed to respond to that?

“You do not fear me, blood traitor. I often grow tired of fear… it makesss people predictable. I hate predictable people, I usually kill them ssswiftly – those who anger me meet quick endsss asss well. You have angered me and yet I do not desssire your death. Ssso, I asssk you, little Malfoy, why are you not dead?” Voldemort was so close that Draco could feel cold breaths against his cheek; why was the Dark Lord kneeling next to him?

“B-because you h-haven’t killed me yet,” Draco mumbled against his knees, wondering for the first time if he was hallucinating. Why else would Voldemort ask such a stupid question?

“My little Dragon, what a masss of contradictionsss you are.” A cold, long hand grasped his chin in an almost tender fashion; he was probably staring blankly into a pair of deep-set crimson eyes now. Wait, had the Dark Lord just called him ‘little Dragon’?

It was then that he realized the Dark Lord was touching him. Draco squirmed, attempting to dislodge his face from the now harsh grip, but the deceptively brittle hands were quite strong. “Look at you… ssstill fighting ssso valiantly. And how dirty you’ve gotten sssince I’ve last seen you! But ssstill so pretty and pale… sssuch a pretty boy…”

Draco shook, bile rising in his as he continued to struggle; now the Dark Lord’s other hand had begun to brush strands of his hair back from his face. Oh, Gods – why was this monster touching him? “L-let go,” Draco rasped, “Don’t t-touch m-me murderer!”

“And what are you,” the Dark Lord replied softly, in direct contrast to his hand, which released its hold on Draco’s chin only place a choking hold on the boy’s neck. “Did you not kill that filthy little muggle girl? Isss her blood not ssstaining your handsss?”

Draco clenched his unseeing eyes shut, fighting the need to breathe. His weak hands scrabbled uselessly over the Dark Lord’s, unable accept that he was going to die now. Not like this, no! Not as a murderer, he couldn’t – he had to… had to wait…

One of Draco’s hands dropped liked a lead weight to the floor; his other still scratching at Voldemort’s ruthlessly clamped one. His legs began to kick out, finding nothing but air as he was lifted from the floor by the hand on his throat.

To wait…

Draco could feel his eyes rolling in the back of his head. No! He had to hold on, he had to wait for – for Severus… It was getting so dark, true darkness – an endless tunnel of no sound and still air, he was almost there… Almost gone…

He was unceremoniously dropped to the stone floor, already gasping in crucial air before he hit the ground. Oh, Gods, it hurt so much to breathe, but Draco could only suck in oxygen frantically, unable to stop – he was nearly hyperventilating now.

Why had Voldemort let go?

“You were ssso pretty asss you neared Death, my little murderer. I sssaw you try to go into that eternal Dark – but not yet little one. You continually captivate my attention, you ssshall not leave until I sssay ssso.” Draco was still shaking on the floor, probably resembling a fish out of water when he felt himself being lifted into the air unaided – a wordless spell.

“I grow tired of thisss cell. You ssshall be relocated to a far more interesssting part of the Manor.”

Draco passed out. He must have, for when he awoke he found himself somewhere entirely different. The smells of mildew and decay no longer permeated through the area; rather, it smelt as if someone had tried to cover up the smell of dry rot with a jasmine-like scent. There was something soft beneath him; if he didn’t know better he would think it was a bed. Draco’s questing hand reached something with a silken texture, a… pillow?

Also, for the first time in ages it seemed, he felt no pain whatsoever. He had been healed. Hope burst through his chest, making his breath come out in a rush. Had the Order – Severus – come? Was he somehow – saved from the Dark Lord’s clutches? Was he at their secret Headquarters? Draco turned his head slightly, almost immediately placing the feeling of a loose metal collar surrounding his neck. He slowly reached towards it, touching the cold metal and ghosting his hands over what felt like a chain.

Draco pulled experimentally on it; nothing gave. Dammit!

Unless the Order was into shackling those recovering from injuries, Draco didn’t think he had been rescued. Then where was he? And what was going on? “It isss good to sssee you awake. I thought you would dream forever, young Draco.” A disturbingly familiar, cold hand passed over his face.

“You mussst be confusssed; I will eassse your curiosssity. I have brought you to my private quartersss… are you not honored?” No, Draco was certain that he wasn’t.

“What do you want from me,” Draco gasped out desperately, scuttling away from Voldemort’s touch only to encounter an obstacle – the manacle around his neck.

A dark chuckle sent shivers down his spin. “Everything, little one, everything.”

TBC

Note:

(1) Homosexuality in the Wizarding World – Okay, here is the deal about my reasoning regarding gay relations in the Wizarding World. From reading the books, homosexuality is not even discussed, leaving one to interpret that either being gay is a non-issue, or a very big issue. I want to reassure readers; in this fanfiction, homosexuality will be very much the norm in the Wizarding World. However, Harry has no idea of this – he’s going to sweat for a bit, lol. To me, this is not far-fetched, as the issue does not come up in the Harry Potter Series. Also, growing up in the Dursley household, I doubt that Harry would hear many positive things about homosexuals. I just wanted to clear up my reasoning in case some of you guys were a bit confused or worried.

Thanks to all my wonderful reviewers!

thrnbrooke – Thanks for you consistent reviews, I appreciate them so much! To address your question, the events in this chapter kind of shed light on why Draco hasn’t been treated like a normal prisoner. Voldemort has some weird fixation with him… that’s all I’m going to say right now. I hoped you liked this chapter!

Vittani - *Grins* I’m glad you thought everything was perfect, and that my trio, Sirius and Remus interaction was spot on. Sometimes it’s hard to play the characters off one another, especially considering the fact that Sirius and Remus have their own issues to deal with. I feel like Remus is often too reserved, and the emotion has to come out eventually – and who better to break down in front of if not Sirius?

To address Draco’s blindness – I’m very much writing this story chapter by chapter; so literally anything can happen. I’m letting the plot unfold as I write each new chapter, so even I’m not sure how long Draco will be blind, or how I will reverse it. There is a very, very, very, small possibility that I won’t.

I’m really encouraged by your compliments regarding my characterization. I’m trying to stay true to the original character and leave room for whatever my mind wants them to do – it’s not easy. I haven’t read all of you story yet, but I can tell that you also have a way with words – and sometimes, a well done OOC Snape is the best thing ever. Heh. I wanted to make Draco’s reaction realistic. He honestly believed that the person he saw almost as a father to him didn’t give a damn about whether he lived or died. You can’t just get over that in two seconds…

With this chapter, I delve into what’s going on inside Harry’s head as he realizes he’s not straight. I hope that I made it seem like a bit of a struggle. Thanks so much for the review, and I look forward to your comments on this chapter!

TheMistressMystery – I’m really glad you enjoyed the last chapter, thanks for the review. I hope you like this one as well!

broomrider949 – I see a rescue in the foreseeable future. *grins* Draco will have to suffer a bit more before he his taken from the Manor, but I promise he won’t be there forever. Thanks so much for the review, and I hope you liked this chapter.

Lisa – Suspense is my middle name, lol. I’m glad that you feel the same why I do – the suspense is killing me and I’m the one writing it! Anyway, thanks so much for your review, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!