Where Lies Will Not Blossom

Author: Akumu Suta-Raito

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: 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 hid deathmask.' In the summer before sixth year, Draco Malfoy attended a Dark Revel. It wasn't what he expected.

Author's Note: This plot bunny has been stirring around in my mind for a while now, and I couldn't help but put it on paper. I believe this story has one of my most character-based plots to date and I'm pretty proud of it. This is my first story on Aff.net. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

IMPORTANT: This story takes place in the summer before HBP. Also, Sirius is alive. This is NOT simply because I wanted him back; it is important to the plot of the overall fanfiction.

Chapter One: Not a Hero

Her eyes were gold.

Not brown, or hazel, but a nearly unnatural golden color – a color that was regrettably dulled due to the pain wracking her small, childish body. Metal chains that seemed to sprout from the polished floor of the well lit dining hall in the regal manor of Mal de Foi held her bleeding and bruised legs down, leaving her upper body free to flop and writhe about when the pain became unbearable.

She’d suffered two seizures, but alas, never loss consciousness. That would be far too kind a fate for her – she was, after all, a Muggle. Vermin. Not even worth pity.

At least, this is what he tried to tell himself as he stared into her blank, teary eyes. Golden. He gripped his wand tighter, his palm sweating as he tried to contain the horrified tears, bile rising in his throat. Show no emotion. Shed no tears. She is not worth the dirt under your boot… she is…

She couldn’t have been more than twelve… the same age he was when his father first put him under the Cruciatus curse. This was wrong… NO! It was right. He was not in the wrong. He was among the powerful, he shouldfeel powerful. It was his job to show those unworthy of this world their place, to show them how pitiful their existence truly was.

“Descreateus Lacarea.” Her shrieks bounced off the marble walls, while the portraits of his ancestors watched in smug delight as Lord Malfoy tortured a girl four years younger than his son. He clenched his eyes in disgust, never more thankful for the mask that hid his true disposition.

Dozens of shallow cuts appeared on the exposed flesh of her stomach, gleaming with dark magic that dissipated after a few agonizing moments. High, mad laughter accompanied the girl’s panting breaths as she was allowed a brief reprieve. Bellatrix. He shivered.

There were about twelve of them, not include the Dark Lord, forming a loose, informal circle around the girl. They wore masks; different designs and makes, but all horrifying. Twist, macabre, revolting… Death-like. The masks did not shield their identity, at least not to him.

His father was on his left, professor on the right. Severus, please… save her. A futile plea, considered his godfather had laughed along with the others a few minutes ago when she was Imperio’ed and forced to dig her fingers into the jagged wounds on her legs. Scathing remarks at her screams… Severus was no hero tonight. He was a monster. Like the rest of them.

“Young Malfoy.” Serpent like hiss as the Dark Lord’s crimson eyes focused on him. Monster.

“M-My Lord?” Draco’s voice wavered. He would know. Know that he felt no satisfaction in this, that he would rather be anywhere else, that he was shivering in his own self-disgust.

The girl’s small whimpers caught his ears, as she tried to curl up her damaged body, a futile gesture, as it only caused her more pain, rather than preventing it.

“Perhapsss my senssses deceive me… young one, isss thisss not to your enjoyment? This is your induction, child, yet you have not uttered one curssse – not even a chuckle at thisss filth’s misssfortune? Perhapsss my senssses deceive me… for your sake, young Malfoy, I hope they do.”

“My Lord,” Severus interjected smoothly, unemotional, “It is his first session, and my godson will bring prestige and power to your ranks. He wants nothing more than to become a part of your vision; his loyalty is assured. I beg you to give him a chance to correct his error.” I beg you. How could the proud Potions Master be reduced to this?

This was wrong.

The Dark Lord’s wide lipless maw moved into a mockery of smile, revealing the sharp fangs that adored his mouth. “You ssshould know better than to talk out of turn, Sseverusss. Your time with that old fool seemsss to have loosssened your tongue. Crucio.”

Voldemort watched indifferently as the Severus writhed on the ground, screams escaping his mouth. Draco was clenching his wand so tightly, he thought it my break. No, no please. Draco wasn’t even sure what he was begging for.A single tear found its way down his cheek, hidden by hid death-mask.

“However, your ssuggessstion interestsss me. Young Malfoy sssshall be given a chance for redemption.” Redemption, Draco thought rather hysterically. Redemption from a man that gets off on tormenting defenseless children.

With a wave of His want, the curse on his godfather ended, who slowly stood in his previous arrangement. “Forgive me, My Lord.”

This was madness.

“Kill her.” A bolt of ice shot through his veins, for there was no doubt who the Dark Lord was speaking to. Kill her…he couldn’t. But if he didn’t, his life was forfeit. Frighten golden eyes settled him as Draco automatically stepped over to tower over the small figure of the girl. Funny, he had never felt so small in his life.

“No! No, no please! I’ll do anything please don’t please –” The rest of the girl’s plea was drowned out by mocking laughter.

“You presume that you are allowed to speak in our presence, filth? That our minds can be swayed by the likes of you? Kill her quickly, dear nephew, I tire of this game.”

Despite his conflicting thoughts, Draco’s arm slowly rose, his wand pointing at the shivering figure.

Oh, gods I can’t do this. I can’t this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong… No! Please don’t make me, I can’t please… More tears slid silently down his cheeks. Tears no one could see. Her golden eyes were bright with fear, but at the same time dull with resignation. She didn’t expect her pleas to be considered. She had no hope. Draco tried to avert his eyes from hers, but found he couldn’t their suffering drew him in, making his task that much harder. Golden.

“What are you waiting for, young Malfoy? Kill her. I ssshall not asssk again.”

Without turning around, Draco could feel two sets of eyes burning into his back. His father’s, angry and disappointed, daring him to embarrass him further, and his godfather’s… he did not presume to know what Severus was thinking. He had never met this Severus. Never had he known the man to be so cold.

His hand was shaking violently. Just do it. Speak the words. Two words. Fuck! Do you want to die, you bloody weakling? SAY THEM!

“Avada –” The tip of his wand glowed with green, deadly light.

He couldn’t do this…I can’t, gods I can’t – please don’t make me, I can’t, no, no, no, no. I won’t be a monster! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, Iwon’tIwon’tIwon’t –

“Kadavra.”

Dull gold shining with green light.

*Break*

Harry walked up the stairs two at a time, careful not to jostle the tray in his hands, whistling, a bounce in his step. Things were far from perfect, but they sure has hell seemed that way.

Harry’s spent the first two weeks of the summer wallowing in self-pity and guilt. He cried himself to sleep, only to be woken by horrific nightmares of That Night. The Night when he failed to protect himself. The Night when he endangered the lives of his friends chasing a false vision. The Night he got Sirius killed.

Nothing stopped the constant ache, nothing interrupted the memory of Sirius falling through the Veil. Not even Dudley’s petty taunts about his parents roused a reaction out of him, words that usually would have caused him to punch Dudley in his fat chops.

When Harry was whisked away to Grimmauld Place, the pain of seeing Sirius’ belongings was nearly unbearable. He was drowning, and he could see the worry of his friends – but it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter but his utter failure to keep those he loved safe. Nothing mattered but the fact that everything he touched turned to rot.

That is, until, the day that Sirius showed up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place half-starved, and delirious, but very much alive. No one knew why Sirius was back, or how – but Harry was willing to count his blessing and leave it at that.

Which brings us to the present, where Harry is currently delivering lunch to his very much annoyed godfather, who, after being confined to his bed for nearly a week, claimed to be “in perfect health.” Never mind the fact that he was barely able to stand on his own. All he whined about was “having nothing to do but watch paint peel and drink Snivellus’ shitty potions.”

Harry smiled wry. Typical Sirius.

“How are you feeling today?”

Sirius, who was looking rather sharp in his silk pajamas and his hair tied back, glared at him malevolently, before replying, “Like I’ve been lying in this bed like a useless lump while everyone else gets to have fun.”

“Cleaning up a house hell-bent on being counterproductive is not fun,” Harry replied dryly. “Besides, Siri, you’re still sick and your body needs to recuperate before –”

“I’m not sick!” Sirius’ glare was not even the least be intimidating while he sported such an exaggerated pout. He looked rather like a disgruntled puppy, not that Harry would tell him that.

“If you don’t stop being rude I’ll just leave you all by your lonesome…”

“You wouldn’t leave your poor godfather to rot away in this dusty old room, would you?”

Sirius’ pouting lips, combined with his fluttering eyelashes and clasped hands looked so ridiculous that Harry couldn’t help it. He laughed.

It felt so good to laugh again.

*Break*

Draco couldn’t move. He couldn’t see. The darkness was stifling, suffocating. He wanted to scream, but his vocal cords were far too damaged and all he produced was a strangled gasp. Every breath that he wheezed out seemed harder than the last. He wondered how long it would take before his lungs shut down.

He hurt. A lot.

Draco squinted, trying to make out figures in the darkness. It was a pointless gesture; the Dark Lord said his eyesight would be returned when he “learned to behave.”

Gold. Green.

Draco wanted to die.

You idiot. The one time you try to be a hero, and look at where it gets you. You don’t have Potter’s luck. You don’t have anything… Bloody idiot.

“Filthy little blood traitor.”

The voice to his left made him start, the cold unforgiving stone scraping against his raw and bleeding back. Goyle Sr.

“I-I may be a blood traitor, but at least I d-don’t take my queues f-from a psychotic despot who got defeated by an o-one year old.”

Even though he could not see the blow coming, he expected it. If he could see, Draco was sure he’d be seeing white dots.

“I would tell you how much of a disappointment you are – but that would be rather redundant, don’t you think so?” The voice was silky, deadly – a voice he’d know all his life.

“F-Father…” Draco had always wanted to say this. “…go fuck yourself.”

Draco didn’t have to see to know that Lucius’ nostrils were flaring with rage as he raised his cane.

He knew what was coming next.

“Crucio!”

His pain would never end.

Screams in the dark.

*Three Hours Earlier*

For a moment, all he could do was stare, stare into her blank eyes. Death’s eyes. He couldn’t believe it. She was dead.

For a second, Draco was frozen. But only for a second. While the others were still stunned, he grabbed the thin arm of the sobbing girl and attempted to do something he’s never done before: Apparate.

The forest. He thought desperately. Colors began to swirl together, and Draco kept a tight grip on the girl, his palms sweaty and clumsy. He felt the sensation of being pressed firmly on all sides, and before the feeling overwhelmed him completely, he heard two screams. Both enraged, both promising death.

Draco wasn’t sure who he should be more afraid of: the Dark Lord, or his father.

They hit the ground hard, Draco cushioning the fall, the breath knocked out of him. She clung to his heavy black robes, now crying hysterically sobs rocking her bleeding form. He couldn’t believe what he’d done. He’d just killed Aunt Bella. Granted, she was vile, and more than just a little insane, but the act of taking another human life…

If she could be considered human.

Sitting up, Draco glanced around. He was in the forest, but he wasn’t sure where. There was a major flaw in his plan.

Until he was able to tell where in the forest they were, it would be dangerous to trek too far. For all he knew, he could be heading to the Manor, instead of to town. Damn. This wasn’t good.

“Hey…are – are you okay?” Of course she’s not okay. She’s been tortured for the past two hours. Idiot.

He grabbed her shoulders, peering to her face. She was still conscious, and seemed lucid. Maybe this wouldn’t be hopeless.

“Listen, we have to find a place to hide. I’m not sure where we are yet. Can you…walk?”

Peering at him weakly through bloody strands of her dark hair, she nodded slowly. Standing up, he held out his hand, and after a moment of hesitation she took it, her hand slick with blood and sweat.

Her first few steps were stumbles, but she was eventually able to catch her bearings. Supporting most of her weight, he began to head for a dense patch of trees, hoping he was heading farther into the forest, instead of back home. It’s not your home anymore. You gave up the rights to call it home when you saved a Muggle.

“H-How did you do that? We were in the room with…and now we’re here.” He started at the sound of her voice, soft and meek. Childlike.

“It’s hard to explain…” How do you explain Apparation to someone who doesn’t even know that magic exists?

“How could those… men, hurt me with sticks? They didn’t touch me… but it h-hurt.” Her voice broke on the last word, and he could feel her shiver. Draco was surprised by her; he’d always been taught that Muggles were weak and inferior creatures to wizards, but she’d withstood torture that most of his fellow Slytherins couldn’t, and was still standing.

Everything he believed was slowly being torn down.

“The sticks… wands, they have help wizards channel their power – magic.”

“Are you a wizard too? Why did you help me… I don’t…” Her voice was weak; she couldn’t walk much farther. She stopped moving forward, waiting for his response.

“Magic, it isn’t – it wasn’t meant to be used that way. Those men, they were abusing the power given to them. I’m… not like them.” Is that so? Wasn’t it you who screamed “You’re next Mudbloods!” when the Chamber was open in second year? Isn’t it you who is always preaching on blood purity, and calling Muggles scum?

“At least, I don’t want to be like them anymore.” She nodded, seeming to accept his answer. She stepped closer to him, and raised a trembling hand to his cheek. Her smile was soft and sad. She shook as her golden eyes took on an odd blue sheen. Something was wrong.

“Thank you.”

She collapsed on him, her body almost weightless against his. Lowering her slowly onto the ground, Draco checked her pulse. “No…”

Her golden eyes were half open, the smile still on her lips. She was dead.

“No!” This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t be dead. He saved her! This wasn’t… this couldn’t… it couldn’t end like this.

“NO!” His scream rang through the forest as his body curved over hers, tears obscuring his vision. “I was… supposed to save you…”

It didn’t take long for the Death Eaters to find him, sobbing over her body. Why couldn’t he save her?

TBC

All comments and criticisms are welcome.