What Must Be Done

Disclaimer: i do not own Harry potter

A/N: okay. I may have ended What Did I do a little prematurely but I realized that my writing style and plot focus has changed to much since the beginning of the story for me to keep it right. So I decided to end it and start on a sequel. And just to warn you, a bit of time had passed since the end of WDID and who knows what’s happened to our favorite couple in that stretch ~_^
P.S. i have a bit more of htis written than i do of scars so the chapters will come a bit faster than that...maybe


What Must Be Done - sequel to What Did I Do?

Prologue: The Reality of Hatred (the past that led to now)

'Okay,' Draco thought in a falsely calm tone, 'I'm paralyzed on the bathroom floor, my wand is gone, I can't speak, and there are a bunch of Gryffindors who look ready to lynch me. See if you think this through calmly it's not so bad...I'm dead.'

Someone muttered a spell and Draco found himself shivering as cold air struck his now naked body.

'I never knew you poufs like your men naked,' Draco thought, 'You should have said something earlier, would have made this whole seducing me thing a lot easier,' despite Draco's sarcastic inner commentary he was beginning to panic. This situation brought up a few to many memories for his taste. But like a true Malfoy he kept his feeling from showing. Not that he had much of a choice, being paralyzed and all.

'May they all burn in hell! In hell I say!'

"What the fuck are those?" Dean asked his finger pointing to the thin lines that ran across Draco's body.

'Those are scars you moron' Draco mentally drawled. For a moment, as he was silently sniping at the idiot Gryffindor, Draco's panic faded.

"Well, well. It looks like our little Malfoy is a masochist...then you should enjoy this," Ron told him with a sneer to rival Draco's own.

'Like fucking hell you sick prick!'

"Here Ron," Seamus said. Draco couldn't see what the boy handed Weasely but the sharp pain in his side gave him a good idea.

Okay, the panic was back. Had Draco not been silenced he would have been yelling and screaming something fierce. As it was, when the knife touched him Draco could do nothing. The cool feeling of the knife sliding into his stomach brought back a mass of images to assault Draco's mind.


Chained by his wrists and ankles he couldn't move. Held fast in this cold four by three cell in the basement of his own home. What was the point of a home? Draco had little time to ponder this ever drifting enigma. Already his father had returned. In his hand Lucius held Draco's impending torture. Not that this was 'torture'. No, this was training, punishment, or maybe studies...but not torture.

Whips, tongs, ropes, lashings, flames, needles...all of them cut deep into Draco's prone body as his Father threw question upon question at him. He could not answer them all. With every incorrect answer Lucius would lift the worst of his tools. A blade, no longer than Draco's own small finger. But gods how this was worse. Worse because, as the knife entered his skin, he could hear his father's laughter. So much laughing.

Blood and little cuts. Deep here, shallow there. And laughing. Always laughing. Answer right. For god's sake answer right! Please! No more laughter...no more knife...no more blade...no more blood...no more...no more...


"I think the fag as something to say," one of the Gryffindors said.

Draco had just enough warning to cease his soundless mumblings as the silencing spell was lifted.

"Well, what was it you wanted to tell us so bad, Malfoy?"

'Not those thoughts, don't say those. Something else, Draco, say something...anything else,' he commanded himself.

"Hardly even feel it," he whispered. 'Not really a good thing to say Draco my boy,' he chastised himself as the silencing spell was hurled at him again and the blade sunk hilt deep in his foot.

"Feel that, you queer?" one of them yelled at him and laughter fallowed this question.

'Of course I feel that you fool, you just impaled my foot...' the thoughts would hardly form now as the pain grew. The cuts were getting deeper and Draco was starting to think the morons were going to bleed him to death. This silent wish was quickly disproved as a spell for blood regeneration hit him. As the blood began to pump normally once more Draco's mind came back into focus and with it his senses.

'Damned fucking sadistic Gryffindor bastards!' It was the last thought as Draco had before he decided to simply wallow in the pain. If he imagined it was his own hand that wielded the knife it almost didn't hurt...almost.

It had always been his own hand that led to escape, and now that his mind had latched onto this idea he was free to roam within the darkest corners of his existence. For the time being he was free. It was only when he heard Harry's name that this self imposed catatonia crumbled from under him. With that single word the pain flooded back and he silently screamed as the image of the disgust he knew he would see on Harry's face if ever he discovered the memories that these Gryffindor were pulling back into his mind. Because Harry could never understand the need that had driven Draco...had to keep away from that place...


"You are nothing, Draco." That had been his father's favorite sentiment.

The knife, always the same. It held his blood upon the blade. And now he was to wield it himself. Life's blood this time. He had to prove he was worthy. Worthy of his own Father. Had to prove...keep away form the chains...

"Your mother should have drowned you at birth!" A pretty sentiment to be sure, one of the nicer Lucius had coveted for his son.

Hold the dagger just so. Don't think just strike. Push it in, deeper still. Don't hear the screams. Ignore it all. It doesn't matter. This isn't real. The screams will die. Die with the mudblood. All for his father, all for him...escape the dungeon cold...

"If you weren't the sole heir to the Malfoy name I would kill you myself!" Oh and how he would have, Lucius was ever so disappointed in his son.

If he didn't disappoint he would not be chained that night. No chains. No cold. Just don't flinch. No more pain or questions. Just keep the knife steady. Keep the screams out. Keep the blood flowing. Keep...keep safe...

"Damn you boy! Must I beat everything through that thick skull?" No, no, never that. Cut it in. line it upon the skin. Reminders. Reminds, always. Teaching, hurting, pain, blood. Kill and he won't laugh...no more laughter...no more

The corpse, it had to be a corpse now, fell away from him. Not even a drop of crimson to mar his cloak. The master would be pleased. A mudblood dead. A muggle dead. A man dead. He had killed. Murder. Murderer. Blade in his hand. Blade with mixing blood upon the silver edge. Dagger...dagger in his flesh...dagger to kill...keep it away...away from his skin. Into another. Just not him...no more laughter...no more...

"Well done, Draco."

The words and memories never ended but as Draco lay there listening and watching his past new voices were added to the monotony. Gryffindor voices. Mother's voice. Friends, lovers, enemies. Insults that shouldn't have hurt, things he had trained himself to ignore. But god how they cut now. All of it so deep. Drawing dark blood he never knew he held...
____________________________
A/N: Review for chapter 2!