The Heat Of Shame

DISCLAIMER: Warning! I make no claim to any property of J.K. Rowling's, and am in no way profiting by this. I do offer her my sincerest thanks for allowing us this garden of the mind in which we play. Further Warning! This story...and likely any I ever write…are dominated by gay themes and characters. That's how it is, if this in any way makes you uncomfortable...do not read further.


The Heat of Shame…….by Samayel


Harry watched the events of the next two days from afar, and his map and cloak were getting as much of a workout as he was. As near as he could tell, Draco was still holed up in his room, refusing contact with anyone but Snape.

Zabini and Nott had made contact with Dumbledore almost immediately after they were found, still tied up and bloody, on the Quidditch pitch the next morning. What they discussed was their own secret, and Harry felt that if Dumbledore was involved, the two of them were unlikely to be a problem anytime in the foreseeable future.

Nott even offered to pass word to Harry if anyone even hinted at a threat to Draco, and Harry began to suspect that the curly haired Slytherin really wasn’t Death Eater material, and actually had been reluctant to harm Draco. Zabini, on the other hand, simply watched Draco from a distance and did what he’d been told to do, but no extra favors would be forthcoming.

Harry was back to feeling panicky and irritable. There was no one to punish or blame for Draco’s condition but himself, and he couldn’t think of a way to get to Draco and make it right without angering Draco even more. The whole thing had Harry flummoxed, and up late every night, unable to sleep until exhaustion took over.

Harry went to the baths again, for the first time since the Snake Incident, just to relax, and maybe remember something happier and sexier than his current woes.

Lounging in the steamy warmth of the bath, it was easy to forget all his troubles for a moment and recall those first few weeks of contact between Draco and himself. There had been camaraderie there, even if Draco had held the upper hand. Their conversations were relaxed and cheerful, spiced with humor, so unlike the bitter tension that stood between them now.

And sex. Not just sex, but stunning unearthly, skillfully taught sex. WAIT!

Skillful. Taught. Sex. Draco showed almost no intimacy outside of sex! He adamantly refused to bottom, or do anything that even implied being submissive. Harry had made him submit through Parseltongue, and Malfoy went into shock…and now depression! How many seventeen year olds had Draco’s level of experience in bed? Practically none. His attitude toward sex was incredibly casual, dismissing any emotional connection attached to the act as insignificant. He’d seduced Harry with no effort, as if he’d known exactly how to seduce a shy virgin into trying everything asked of him. It was all connected…all connected…all...

Harry sat bolt upright in the bath, unconsciously gasping in surprise.

Someone…somewhere…had initiated Draco into the world of sex, just as Draco had done to Harry, and whoever had done that, had almost certainly hurt Draco…savagely. Harry could almost feel it, like a puzzle piece snapping into place and making the picture whole. Everything about Malfoy’s erratic behavior shouted that he’d been hurt, and didn’t dare let himself get close enough to anyone to be hurt that way again.

‘Oh God! I…I almost raped him! Worse than that. I took away his ability to even say no! No wonder he’s freaking out. I’m his worst nightmare come to life! I know he at least liked me, then I…I…I fucking violated him! He’ll never touch me, now. How can he forgive me for something like that? Of course he’s hiding…he must think I’d…that I would… OH FUCK!’

Harry’s vision blurred while utter self hatred and nausea overwhelmed him. He stumbled out of the bath and staggered into one of the toilet stalls just before his rebelling stomach forced what was left of his dinner out and into the toilet bowl.

When it was over, Harry laid his head on the cool tile, weeping bitterly. He knew that anything he’d wanted from Draco was out of his grasp now. If he was right, and he was almost certain that he was, Draco had been scarred emotionally by someone in his past, and Harry had just ripped open the worst kind of old wounds. There was nothing to hope for now, except the possibility that he might help Draco face his past and get over what Harry had done to him. If he could just give Draco a better life, even with someone else, someday, that would have to be enough.

He could barely taste the acidic bile left in his mouth, for shame, and the knowledge of what he’d just lost, tasted far worse.

It didn’t matter if he angered Draco now. There was something much more important to do, and Draco liking him wasn’t part of the equation. Draco needed to know that Harry would never hurt him again, even if it meant severing the slender little bond that had grown between them this year.

Harry crawled up from the floor and found his towel and hygiene products. The conditioner Draco had given him was there, It seemed like so much more now. A baby step toward affection by someone so wounded that they had to struggle to show that they cared. Draco had struggled for him.

He could remember the soft hands that tangled in his hair, caressed his cheeks, or stroked his back so gently. They’d felt like hollow gestures then, half measures meant to satisfy Harry, and perhaps they had been that, but they were also more. They may well have been all that Draco was able to make himself show, and that might well have been more than anyone else had ever seen!

It was well past eleven o’clock. Harry rinsed the bile from his mouth and brushed his teeth, then gathered his towel and other possessions, and quickly left. Cloaked and cautious, he crept down to the dungeons, knowing what he had to do. It was so heart breaking that he had no choice but to do this now, before his courage crumbled and he fled to Gryffindor, clinging to wisps of hope that likely meant nothing now. He’d see Draco tonight, and start setting thing right.

The route to Slytherin was only interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Norris, who gave Harry an irritable hiss despite his cloak being in place, and then she stalked away, probably in search of more visible prey. Slytherin’s password hadn’t changed, and Harry was into common room as quietly as he could manage.

It was the middle of the week, and few students were up this close to midnight. His passage into the common room went unnoticed, and he moved to the door down the dorm hall that was Draco Malfoy’s.

Moody and Tonks had taught Harry well. Aurors knew spells to breach wards that few wizards ever learned, but Harry had learned them well. Draco’s wards were better crafted than most, but Harry had enough power to carve through them like they were just cheesecloth. He spelled the lock on the door next, removing the last barrier to Draco’s room.

A door swung open down the hall, and Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott rushed out, wands drawn, searching the hallway hastily.

“Who’s there!? You see anyone, Blaise?”

“No. I’ll scan the commons, you take the door. Make sure no one’s already in there!”

Blaise moved to the commons, bruises on his face and stomach briefly visible in the dim light of the hall. Harry circled behind Nott, then eased off his cloak, tucked it into his book bag, and kept his wand at ready.

“Good job, Theo. I’m glad you were paying attention.”

Theo Nott whipped around, wand up, and sighed with relief when he saw Harry. Then he looked wary again, suddenly nervous about the nature of Harry’s visit. Blaise stepped back into the hall a second later.

“No one in the commons, did you check…fuck me! How do you do that, Potter!”

Harry chuckled. “I told you I have ways to get where I want, and ways to know what I want. I’m glad you’re watching out for him. I came to check on him myself. Has he come out or spoken to anyone? Besides Snape, that is.”

Blaise answered first. “No. Not at all. He just stays in there. I heard Snape’s ready to take him out by force and put him in Madame Pomfrey’s care if he doesn’t come out soon. We sent water and food, but it always gets left at the door in the middle of the night. Looks like he picks at it some, but not much. You know what’s wrong with him?”

“Potter, was it what we did? The snake…did it…” Nott interjected, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“No. It wasn’t anything you did. It was something I did. Let’s just say I’m here to atone for my sins. Malfoy…it looks like he’s paying the price for someone else’s.” Harry kept his voice level, but there was more truth in those words than he was comfortable with. He really didn’t want to cry in front of these two.

Zabini turned to go to bed, looking relieved, but Theo stayed a minute longer.

“Potter?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you care so much about Malfoy? You and he are usually at wand point or looking daggers at each other...and I’m glad you stopped us from…from that. I really didn’t want it to go that far. It just got out of hand. I wanted to say thanks.”

Harry closed his eyes for a second. Nott seemed more sincere than Harry would have expected. Truth hurt, but honesty deserved the same.

“I think I hurt him…badly. I have to make it right. That’s why I’m here. I owe him that much. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I think I did a lot of damage before I realized what I was doing. As for thanks, you‘re welcome. I meant it when I said you were doing a good job. Keep doing your part, and I‘ll do the best I can.”

Theo nodded solemnly, and turned to go. Harry suddenly thought of something, and called Theo back.

“Theo…I want you to think back over the last seven years. Was there a year that Malfoy changed a lot? Just one year that made a difference? I think something happened to him, and I can’t be sure what, but I think someone else hurt him long before me. If you know something, it might help me help Draco back to normal. Please?”

Theo looked a little haunted, then he leaned forward and whispered. “Flint.” His eyes looked full of half forgotten sorrows.

Harry looked at Theo Nott sharply. “Marcus Flint hurt him? That was…that was years ago…Malfoy couldn’t have been more than fucking thirteen years old! That fuck! That sick fuck!”

Harry wasn’t sure if he was going to vomit again, or burst a blood vessel from rage! Theo took a couple steps back, nodding in agreement.

“He hurt a lot of people, but Malfoy got hurt the worst. If anyone asks, I didn’t say this, understand?”

Harry gave his assent in a distracted nod, while Theo returned to his room. He knew it! He was right about it all. He’d been so blinded by lust and guilt and his own needs that he hadn’t seen the dozens of tiny signs right in front of him. But…thirteen!!! Draco had been a brat back then, but nothing justified someone hurting him that way at that age.

It occurred to Harry for the first time that, quite probably, the damage to Draco was more serious than he could fix alone. All he could start with was the hope of getting Draco to open up just a little, or to understand that Harry would rather just be a friend than frighten Draco again. Getting Draco to work out his issues with the help of an adult professional might take an effort of staggering proportions. The implications were dizzying.

Harry looked at the door in front of him. Malfoy was inside, locking himself away from the world, dying by inches. Maybe it was Gryffindor arrogance to think he could change that, but he’d been as close to Draco as anyone could claim, and just possibly a little closer. If anyone had a chance of making Draco seek help, Harry likely did.

Harry opened the door softly, stepped in, and closed it behind him.

Draco Malfoy had been half-dozing on the bed, and jerked to awareness when Harry stepped in. Harry took a good look at Draco, and was terrified by what he saw.

Draco was a mess. Unkempt, unwashed, and unshaven. Soft scruff had appeared on his chin and lips, and his eyes were dark and hollow…gaunt. He’d obviously lost weight quickly, and he’d been quite slender to start with, but the past several days of near starvation had left him slat-ribbed and waifish. His hair hung loosely past his shoulders, still smooth, but looking dull and utterly without luster. Even the pale pink skin that set Harry’s dreams on fire had gotten paler, ashen and sickly.

Whatever wounds lurked in Draco’s heart had never really healed, just scabbed over, with the poison locked in for years beneath the scar. Harry had brought the poison out, and it looked like it was killing Draco. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, and Draco broke the silence, staring at Harry with haunted eyes.

“I knew you’d come.” It was almost a whisper. “I know what you want…don’t…don’t say anything. It’s your right. I owe you my life.”

The words seemed halting, and Draco’s voice was threatening to break. Harry stood in front of the door, confused and uncertain, horrified by this shattered wisp of Draco. Draco kept talking nervously, sliding the sheet away from himself and sitting up at the edge of the bed. He wouldn’t look Harry in the eyes.

“I owe you this. My debt.” Malfoy fumbled with the drawer of his nightstand.

“You have the right. I owe you.” His hands were trembling when he withdrew something from the drawer.

“Yours to collect. Life debt.” Draco placed the phial of lubricant that Harry had abandoned in the baths almost two weeks ago onto the dresser edge. Then he turned his back on Harry, knelt on the bed shakily, and placed his arms around a pillow, pulling it to his face. He laid his head on the pillow, leaving his backside exposed on the edge of the bed, clearly offered willingly to Harry. His face was turned off to one side, and Harry could see the tension in in the muscles of Draco’s back. He could see the small tremors of fear that randomly shook Draco’s entire body. He could see the hopeless tears that slid down Draco’s one visible cheek, through an eye that was clenched shut. And he heard Draco’s voice, now down to a plaintive whisper, meeker than he‘d ever sounded before.

“Please…please don’t make it hurt. I’ll do what you want…just…just don’t hurt me. Please.”

Harry stood in horror, looking at what he’d had a hand in causing, and wished that he had the means to kill himself that instant.

‘I should die. I belong in hell. I didn’t do all of this to him, but I was part of it. I fucking destroyed him. I wasn’t first, but I tore apart whatever was keeping him together. They were right…they were all right…the Dursleys, Snape, all of them. I didn’t control myself, and look at him. I’m a fucking monster! LOOK WHAT I’VE FUCKING DONE TO HIM!’

Harry stood frozen in place, mouth agape, barely aware that he was crying. Malfoy kept muttering promises of compliance, as if he was in a trance, waiting submissively to be violated in spite of being obviously terrified past the point of rational thought. All he could see of Harry was the monster that had robbed him of his will and threatened to take even more. It took Harry longer than he could recall to snap out of the cycle of all consuming self loathing and repulsion, and get his mind back in the real world again.

He took a few halting steps forward, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure he could handle touching Draco like this, not even to put him back to bed. Harry stretched a hand forward tentatively, and touched Draco’s back as gingerly as he could, while whispering Draco’s name.

Draco’s entire body tensed instantly, as if preparing for violence, and though his eyes were still screwed shut, Malfoy’s mouth had opened in a rictus of fear, and his lips seemed to slowly shape the word ‘no’ over and over again, never voicing it, as if he didn’t dare offend his would-be attacker.

Harry flinched and pulled away. How? How could he help Malfoy like this? There had to be something he could do. Harry grabbed a chair from Malfoy’s writing desk and brought it to the side of the bed.

Harry sat down quietly and began to talk. He did his best to keep his voice from betraying his own fear and disgust, and he had to turn his head away. The sight of Draco, utterly broken, offering himself in some kind of sickening attempt to placate a Harry he believed would do such things to him was more than he could take and stay completely sane.

“Draco. I didn’t come here for that. I won’t hurt you. Not this way, never. I didn’t understand before, but I do now. I never meant to cause this. When we were together, all I wanted was to be closer to you. I didn’t know, Draco. I swear I didn’t know. You gave everything you could, but I couldn’t understand why it wasn’t more. I just didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I love you. I love you so much it hurts inside. I missed you every minute we were apart, and I still miss you now. I wanted a lover so badly, that I didn’t see what was right in front of me. I never meant to scare you, and I can’t take it away, but I can promise it will never happen again. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything. You owe me nothing, I owe you everything. I’ll make this up to you…I swear it.”

Harry lost track of how long he’d been talking, but he was suddenly aware that Draco had passed out, snoring softly, oblivious to his own tear stained cheeks.

Draco had slumped sideways, almost in fetal position, in his sleep, and simply lay limp upon the bedcovers. Harry reached over carefully, and took the sheets from the other side of the bed, gently draping them over Draco‘s slumbering body. Then Harry slid the drawer of the nightstand open, and placed the phial of lubricant inside of it, closing the drawer and hoping that Draco wouldn’t wake to anything that would frighten him in the morning.

It was almost past two in the morning, and Harry sat, brooding, in the chair beside Draco’s bed. He would never be able to look at Draco the same way. The frightened, disheveled, vulnerable creature he’d witnessed bore no resemblance to the skillful and manipulative lover, or the spoiled adolescent brat, he’d known before. Tonight he’d seen a human being, an eggshell fragile and beautiful person, smashed and broken nearly beyond repair, all because of the selfishness and indifference of others, including himself.

Maybe this was what it meant to be an adult. To have to know such things and live with them, no matter how much they tore and hurt and burned inside him. It was hard and horrible, and Harry wished he could turn back the clock and make the past weeks disappear. He’d been so comfortable with his ignorance, flirting with the sexual trappings of adulthood, only to tumble headlong into a place that made him want to run, screaming, back to the safety and blissful innocence of childhood. This was life…and that scared him to the very core of his being.

TBC!!!