How the War Was Won

[A/N - The following is a sequel to the previous chapter, Shame. This is for my reviewers, who always seem to want to take things too far. :) It is violent non-con, and pretty horrible stuff. Eat up.]

[A/N - There will be no sequel to this. I dislike taking things beyond that "what happens next" sort of dirty taper off.

Unless, of course, someone wants to do a collaboration with me. I'd be happy to be the Draco to your Harry in this scenario.]

The sound of Potter's footsteps was deafening to Draco. It was as if the other man had become a giant, somehow occupying the entirety of Draco's senses. All he could see was Potter, all he could hear was the ominous clink of metal as Potter's hands casually came to rest on the buckle of his belt beneath his open robes.

"Come here, coward."

Draco could not meet Potter's eyes. He could not even shake his head. He was paralyzed with shame, and with terror. The frantic beat of his heart against his ribs pained him, his mouth was numb and his tongue as cold as his extremities.

"I said come here."

The compulsion in Potter's voice was irresistible this time and Draco found himself crawling across the bed towards Potter on numb hands and watery knees.

"That's right. Crawl to me." The smile in Potter's voice was unmistakable, curled at the edges with satisfied contempt. Draco froze again, eyes on the coverlet, his hair hanging down to shield his face from Potter's sight, to hide the cheeks he knew would be moon pale, the lips he could feel trembling, the unshed tears that blurred his vision. Draco could feel the heat of Potter's body on the top of his own head.

"I'm going to teach you something, Draco." The tiny intimacy of Potter speaking his first name drew Draco's eyes upward without his conscious volition. The larger man was staring down at him, green eyes glimmering in the dark bedroom and lips pulled up in a sneer that seemed to fit him better than it ever had Draco. "I'm going to teach you not to covet your betters. To know your place."

And Potter unbuckled his belt. Draco felt his cheeks flood with blood, tasted it from his split lip. This was real. This was really happening. He could not tear his eyes away from Potter's groin now, could not move, could not recoil from this horror.

"You could never have had me, Malfoy. There is no power on this earth that could set you above me." Potter's nails scritched against his jeans as he pushed both them and his shorts down over his hips. Draco was faced with Potter's cock. It hung, flaccid, against a nest of black pubic hair. Somehow Draco's shame redoubled, pushing him beyond the boundaries of what he had thought a man could tolerate. Potter was not even aroused.

"There it is, faggot. You know what to do." Potter's hips twitched towards his face.

Something inside Draco broke.

With a shudder that rippled his skin all down his body, he threw himself backward from Potter. His limbs would not obey him, he scuttled spasmodically over the bed like a gut-shot acromantula, making strangled and choking protests under the building grumble of Potter's laughter. He had just managed to get his feet pointedly roughly at the floor when the laughter ceased and Potter's voice rang out, "Stop," and he froze in place. Or, at least, most of him did. His stomach chose that moment to express itself, and he vomited helplessly on the floor at the side of the bed.

"Disgusting. I won't have that." Potter vanished the puddle of sick silently before reaching out to Draco with his magic and repositioning him at the beds foot again. This time Potter stood back from Draco, his prick still hanging limp and exposed, and studied the blond for long moments. Then he sneered again. "I'll not have you putting your filthy mouth on me, Malfoy. Scourgify.

All at once Draco was choking on a bitter foam. It pushed it's way down his throat and abraded the sensitive underside of his tongue, opened the small cut on his lip and burned him there. Potter must have banished the foam, for suddenly his mouth was empty and Potter was standing inches away from him again.

"Suck."

And Draco did. Even though the shame was killing him, though his heart beat irregularly and his joints trembled and ached, though his breath was shallow and his stomach churning. He pressed his face into Potters groin and wrapped his lips around his prick to suck the limp flesh into his mouth. He blew Potter gracelessly with his still bitter-tasting mouth, giving nothing but harsh suction. Potters cock came alive between his lips, thickening and lengthening, and Potter took a fistful of hair at the back of Draco's neck to hold Draco tight against his groin.

Draco lost track of time. It seemed as if he had always had Potter's cock in his mouth, always had his nose pressed into Potter's wiry pubic hair, always been slowly asphyxiating around this hateful erection. When Potter pulled him away by the hair Draco's lips held their shape for moments that could have been years before he sucked in gagging, gasping lungfuls of air.

Potter flipped him over wandlessly. Draco felt adrift. His shame had taken him to someplace transcendent, someplace where none of this could possibly be. The next scourgify ripped him away from that place of solace and denial.

He felt it burning him, ripping his guts and spilling out, and he heard Potter vanish the mess before ripping into him with spellwork again. Draco's anus clenched and spasmed in vain, something seemed to prevent him from closing himself. A hot hand settled at the base of his spine and the bed gave beneath Potter's weight as he positioned himself behind Draco, pushing the blond's knees apart with a contemptuous scoff.

He pushed into Draco without vanishing the foam, but it must not have hurt him the way it hurt Draco, eating away at him. He pounded into Draco mercilessly, his hands punishing on the smaller boy's hips, while Draco held still as stone and tears ran down his cheeks. Potter never spoke. After in interminable length of time his thrusts sped up, then became erratic, and he spent himself partially within Draco and partially across his ass and back.

Potter slipped from the bed and Draco heard the rustle of clothing.

Then silence reigned.

Draco became sure that Potter had gone. He could smell soap and blood, cum and sweat.

He knew he should feel something. Some kind of horror or violation, or rage.

He felt ashamed.