Warning: This story may be hazardous to those with closed minds. It deals with child abuse, psychological and physical trauma, hurt/comfort and consensual underage M/M sex of a rather graphic nature. Do not read if these subject matters bother you. We do not personally advocate underage sex, but this is the matter of this story. If these offend your sensibilities, please go elsewhere. NOW!

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Summary: Harry witnessed something unexpected during the summer between GoF and Year 5.

The morning was muggy and the air oppressive as Harry made his way through the narrow and twisting lanes in an area of Wizarding London. Natural sunlight seldom reached the cobblestone pathways bordered on both sides by tall, narrow, and ancient looking shops trading in the less ordinary and unsavoury magical supplies. He walked purposefully, avoiding the occasional glance from the other shoppers and traders alike. He had his woollen hat on, hiding his scar and unruly black hair.

Harry had been staying in The Leaky Cauldron since Uncle Vernon had taken the whole family off for a trip to Greece to celebrate Dudley’s fifteenth birthday. Naturally, they had left Harry behind. Harry had taken matters into his own hand and decided to leave Number 4, Privet Drive for the relative safety of Wizarding London. He didn’t want to impose on the Weasleys, knowing that they had their hands full gathering supporters for Dumbledore, and no way would he endanger the Grangers with his presence. Returning early to Hogwarts was out of the question as the teachers were currently strengthening the wards after the events following the Triwizard Tournament and they did not want a student getting in the way. Dumbledore had been informed of his decision and wards been placed to protect him while he was there.

Events at the Little Hangleton cemetery seven weeks before had focused his mind in a way that all his former struggles with the Dark Lord hadn’t. He figured the best way to defeat his nemesis was to understand the Dark Lord’s psyche. Harry’s curiosity on the subject of the Dark Arts and Voldemort had reached fever pitch, and he knew he’d probably never have the freedom to devote to this sort of research again. Therefore, Harry had dedicated his every spare moment researching the libraries on the said subjects, but every time he had drawn a blank.

Unfazed by his initial lack of success, he had taken to scouring the seedier side of Wizarding London for bookshops that dealt in the non-mainstream literature. His efforts paid off, and he has been spending more and more time in Dickens & Gilberts (Antiquarian Specialists since 1542) researching the dark arts in general and Voldemort in particular.

He pushed open the shop door, and returned a quick greeting from the shop assistant. The elderly witch had spoken to him briefly on his first visit, but since then she seemed more than content to have the young wizard holed up upstairs reading her books.

Harry quickly retrieved the book he had begun reading the previous day – Reputations: Lord Voldemort, the True Story and settled himself on a window seat. There weren’t many people around, and he remained unnoticed and uninterrupted. The book enlightened and enraptured him in a morbid manner; it was written from the other side’s perspective – where topics such as pureblood supremacy and using the Dark Arts as justifying one’s ambitions and actions were openly discussed and approved of. Harry smiled wryly and wondered if the Malfoy library was full of these types of books.

A movement on the street level caught his attention, and he shifted to get a better view. Two people with white-blond hair, and dressed in dark travel cloaks seemed to be arguing. The body language of the taller person was hostile, and his shorter companion was that of defiance. As Harry craned his neck to get a better view, the taller man struck out with his snake-headed cane. It caught between the other’s ankles, causing the latter to stumble.

Harry caught his breath as he caught sight of the familiar face, now absent of its habitual sneer. “Malfoy?” he whispered as he ducked out of sight.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was in a foul mood, having wasted the morning trying yet again to reassure the increasingly paranoid Minister of Magic that the Dark Lord hadn’t returned. Lucius, of course, had told the man what he wanted to hear even though he knew it was an outright lie.

He had planned to spend yet another decadent and pleasurable day in his London townhouse with his mistress, the sultry three quarter-blood witch (his ‘bit of rough’ as one of his friends succinctly put it). His plans were rudely interrupted, first by the early morning owl from Cornelius Fudge, and a bit later by Narcissa via fire-talk. Narcissa had insisted that Draco needed some new clothes for his visit to relatives in Ireland the following week, and this would be an excellent opportunity for their son to drop by in London. Lucius had to appease his sulking mistress with yet another piece of expensive jewellery.

His mood wasn’t improved by Draco’s behaviour; the boy seemed bent on annoying him with his endless stream of complaints. The behaviour Lucius had once tolerated from a 12-year-old was driving him to distraction now his son had reached 15. At 15, Lucius had already committed himself to Voldemort. At 15, he had proudly accepted his Master’s Mark. At 15, he would have followed The Dark Lord through the very fires of hell.

It angered him that Draco, at 15 was clearly without ambition and seemed content to go on constantly about Harry Potter and how badly he was treated compared to the Gryffindor. At 15, Draco whined like a girl and was too scared of his own shadow. Lucius began to wonder if the boy could actually stick up for himself at all.

Draco’s chatter distracted him again as he stopped to look in a shop window in a little courtyard off Knockturn Alley. The shop was a new wand establishment and his colleagues had told Lucius that it was possible to get any type of wand you wanted from there; including those that could not be traced back to its user. Hence, the spells cast using the wands were totally untraceable.

“I’d like a new wand.”

Lucius frowned at his son. “You want a new wand?”

Draco leaned close to the glass, looking at an elegant wand made of a very pale wood, so pale it was almost white. “Yes, I’m sure there’s something wrong with mine. That would explain why I have so much trouble with it.”

“So, now you are blaming your wand for all your troubles. Was that why you allowed those Weasley brats to hex you on the train – because your wand was useless?” He muttered a simple retrieval spell and Draco’s wand leapt from the pocket in his robes into Lucius’ out-stretched hand. Lucius turned towards his son and gave him an icy look. “And was your wand responsible for your abysmal exam results as well?”

“The hexing on the train wasn’t my fault. It was Pot...” Draco reached for his wand, but whipped his hand back with a yelp of pain as his father rapped hard across his knuckles with his cane.

“Of course it was Potter.” Lucius punctuated each word with a prod of the silver snake shod on Draco’s shoulder. “It’s always Potter as far as you are concerned. But then his family didn’t get a call from the train company asking them to collect their unconscious nephew, did they?” Draco said nothing, his gaze fixed on his father’s shoes. “Did they?” The voice hissed dangerously.

“No, sir.”

“I give you the best of everything, Draco. Clothes, school equipment, tutors. But you STILL manage to fail in everything you do.”

Draco raised his head, eyes meeting those of his father. “I passed all my exams, father.” He crossed his arms and held his head erect.

Lucius shoved him hard on the shoulder. “Did you get top marks in anything?”

Draco tried to back away, he was aware of the cursory glances given by the onlookers as they hurried on, not wanting to be involved. “No sir.”

“You didn’t even manage to get top marks in Potions where....” Lucius paused, realising the shop owner was watching the little altercation through the window. He whipped the cane away, and hauled Draco down a small side alley, away from the busier thoroughfare. He pushed him a few feet forward.

“Do you have a reason for your abysmal results, Draco?”

“This isn’t fair, father, you saw my report. It was good.”

“It’s not good enough.” Lucius hissed. “You clearly have no idea how to protect yourself – being hexed by Moody was one thing, but by children? And I had to hear about the ferret incident from a family friend rather than from you. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“No, I...” Draco’s protest died on his lips as Lucius’ cane rapped hard against his ankles, sending a shock of pain up his leg. He staggered as the shaft caught between his legs, throwing him off balance, and he stumbled against the wall. “Father...”

“Keep quiet. You will listen for once in your miserable life. I provide you with the best broom money can buy, yet you can’t even win a simple Quidditch match.”

“The competition was cancelled this year because of the Triwizard Tournament.”

“I told you to keep quiet...” Lucius pressed the serpent shod under Draco’s chin; he winced as the metallic fangs grazed against his bare throat. “And what’s this I hear of your kleptomaniac tendencies? Have I not provided enough for you that you have to resort to stealing things?” Lucius voice was low and dangerous.

“I…I don’t know what you mean,” Draco gasped as the serpent shod pressed harder into his skin.

“Liar,” Lucius’ hand shot out and he slapped Draco sharply across the face.

Draco staggered against the wall, eyes wide with horror. His mind reeled in confusion. It was true he was given to taking small things from his housemates, but surely, his father wouldn’t know about that. Lucius advanced towards him, the cane held in both hands. He twisted out his wand in one smooth move. Draco found his back pressed to the wall, his breath hitching half in terror, half in pain. He recalled having arrived at the family’s townhouse earlier that morning, only to find Lucius gone to the Ministry. He had spent a leisurely half an hour idling in the drawing room, when he caught sight of a small jewellery box on a side table. He was about to pocket the box when the door opened and a strange lady had walked in, as though she owned the place. She had said nothing except sneer when he demanded to know who she was; instead, she grabbed the box from his fingers and strode out of the room. Surely, Lucius couldn’t be referring to the incident; after all, she was probably one of the staff…

“…she’s your mistress, isn’t she, father?” Draco blurted out, as realisation dawned.

Lucius stopped mid-stride, an ugly look distorting his face. “What?”

Draco realised his mistake too late. “That woman back at the townhouse – she’s your bloody mistress, isn’t she? Wait until I tell —”

His words were cut short as Lucius grabbed him by his arm. “We are talking about you, boy, not about me.” The grip on his arm tightened. “There’ll be no foolish behaviour on your part, do you understand?”

Anger clouded Draco’s mind and he tried to pull his arm away. “No,” he said defiantly. “Let go of me.” He reeled and dropped to the cobblestones as Lucius backhanded him. He gasped in pain as tears welled in his eyes. Lucius stood over him, the wand held menacingly over his son.

“Get up, you disgraceful idiot,” said Lucius venomously.

Draco looked up into his father’s emotionless face and he felt a chill crawling up his spine. “You are wrong,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am not a failure, father. You are nothing but a big bully, you bastard.”

“So, you defy me now, Draco. How interesting,” Lucius said softly, his grey eyes glinting dangerously. Draco felt the blood drain from his face as the words hung heavily in the air. Lucius raised his wand, and before Draco could do anything to defend himself, before he could even move, a single word hissed through the silence.

“Crucio.”

* * *

Harry leaned forward a little, closer to the open window in an effort to watch the unfolding events without being seen. If that was Draco, then the other person had to be his father, Lucius, but what was he doing treating his son like that? It only took a brief look to confirm it was, indeed, Draco Malfoy and his father. It was also clear that Malfoy senior was currently admonishing his son in a way Harry would never had thought possible; the body language of both people spoke volumes. Draco was almost cowering back against the wall, while his father towered over him, the cane like some sort of extension to his arm as the snake head pressed against Draco’s chest.

Occasional words drifted up to the window. They consisted of things like ‘idiot’ and ‘abysmal’. Harry felt a dark smile slowly curve his mouth and he wished Ron could be here to see Draco getting the brunt of his father’s anger. It was almost too delicious for words to watch the antagonist who had made his life a misery getting a taste of his own medicine.

He was just wishing he could be down in the alleyway so that he could hear the tirade from Lucius when something happened that made him gasp. First Lucius slapped his son, then his hand shot out and he backhanded him across the face, hard enough to send Draco reeling to the ground. Harry ducked behind the wall as the angry voices floated up through the open window. Moments passed before he leaned forward again. Draco lay crumpled on the ground, a hand holding his cheek, when the Cruciatus curse hit him.

A blood-curdling scream rend the air, and then it stopped.

Harry dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, his heart racing madly. He thought he might black out as that single word transported him back to Little Hangleton and the excruciating pain Voldemort had inflicted on him with that same curse. The pain had been intense and all consuming, and all he could do was scream more loudly than he’d ever screamed in his life.

He closed his eyes, and tried to blot out the memory as words spiralled up from below, interspersed by choking sounds from Draco.

“You are a disgrace to the Malfoy name, Draco. I sometimes wonder if you are really my son. I’m ashamed of you and if you don’t begin living up to your pureblood heritage, I will throw you out.”

Harry scrambled to his feet and peeped out of the window again. He was just in time to see Lucius lift his wand and circle it over Draco’s body. He thought Draco’s body twitched, and for the first time he could remember, he felt sorry for Draco.

“Look at you. Grovelling on the ground like a House Elf. At least Potter didn’t grovel when the Dark Lord cursed him.”

A chill coursed through Harry’s veins as he heard Lucius’ admission that connected him with events at Little Hangleton. Fudge and others might refuse to believe Harry, but he now knew he had been right all along – Lucius had been there with the other Death Eaters.

“Potter had a Mudblood mother but he flies better than you. His marks are better and he won the Triwizard Tournament. He’d probably make a better Slytherin than you as well.” Lucius sheathed his wand. “Get up.”

Draco tried to pull himself to his knees but the movement sent a bolt of pain through his body. Nausea hit him and he threw up in the gutter. He could feel the look of disgust on his father’s face and the prod of the cane in his side.

“I said get up!”

Draco shook his head weakly, unable to move. Nothing in his life had prepared him for this, nor for the fact it was his father performing the curse.

“I should have sent you to Durmstrang; they would have turned you into a proper wizard instead of this travesty I see before me. I can still send you there, Draco, don’t you ever forget that.”

He tried to say ‘no father’, but it came out as a whimper.

“Since you are so determined to show your independence, let’s see you get home on your own without your wand or any money. Let's see how you cope in the big wide world without me to protect you.” Lucius gave him a swift kick and turned to go. “Then I might consider letting you return to Hogwarts.”

* * *

The echo of Draco’s scream reverberated in Harry’s head as he raced out of the shop and almost ran straight into Lucius. He spun round, pretending to look into the shop window and gave a silent prayer that Lucius would just keep on walking. The elder man did just that and quickly disappeared into the crowd.

He waited for a few moments just in case Lucius might change his mind, before setting off down the alleyway. He stopped at the edge of the building and glanced around. The shadow and light relief on the narrow pathway mirrored his inner turmoil – shock and anger.

Shock and anger at the cold-blooded manner the Death Eater had dealt with his son. Although Draco had never been anything more than the constant object of his undirected hatred and vice versa, Harry realised the very real danger a person like Lucius was to lives of the innocent people of Wizardkind.

Harry moved quickly to Draco’s side; the boy was lying quite still on the cobblestones. There was blood on his hair from a cut on his temple, and a livid red mark on his right cheek where Lucius' hand had hit him.

“Malfoy,” Harry reached out and touched Draco’s shoulder. A pause, then urgently, “Malfoy, are you okay?” There was no movement from the boy, except for the rise and fall of his chest. Harry debated whether he should use an Invigorating spell to wake him up, but he doubted Draco would appreciate it much.

Harry shook his shoulder gently and quickly withdrew his hand as Draco groaned softly and struggled to sit up. Harry took a step back, and another, not entirely sure what Draco’s reaction would be to seeing his schoolboy enemy crouching over him while he was down and out. Draco finally managed to get himself in a half-sitting position; he opened his eyes, looking bewildered and disoriented. He wiped a hand across his eyes; Harry could not tell whether it was to wipe away the tears or to clear his sight.

Draco remained still for long moments, eyes tightly shut and a grey pallor tinting his skin. Harry began to wonder if the boy was in shock. He shifted closer to Draco, who made no indication of acknowledging his presence.

“Malfoy, wake up. Are you okay?” he repeated urgently. He was aware of a small crowd gathering at the entrance to the alleyway.

Draco opened his eyes slowly, but his features remained blank. Harry touched his cheek briefly with the back of his hand; Draco’s skin was cold. Harry cursed inwardly and he reached out to touch Draco’s arm lightly. “Can you get up?”

As the pain subsides a little, allowing coherent though to trickle through, Draco’s confused gaze finally rested on the boy leaning over him. “Potter?” His eyes darted sideways to the gathering crowd of curious onlookers. He tried to pull his arm away, but the movement made him dizzy and he slumped against the wall resignedly. Harry chanced a quick look over his shoulder as crowd moved closer, the low murmurs and dark looks sending alarm bells in his mind.

Harry debated for a moment about just walking away, but he couldn’t leave Malfoy like this, especially if he was stranded with no wand and no money. “Malfoy, get up.” He said insistently, praying silently that he wouldn’t be recognised under his hat. The seedier side of Wizarding London was not a safe place for underage wizards to venture alone, even for the sons of dark wizards. Especially for the son of a rich, dark wizard.

The crowd shuffled closer as one.

Draco’s retort died unvoiced and his eyes widened in fear.

Harry slowly rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on Draco’s; he had his back towards the crowd and his wand firmly gripped in his right hand, hidden from view. He held out his left hand towards Draco and urged the boy up silently. Draco looked at the outstretched hand, then towards the advancing crowd before finally locking eyes with Harry once again.

No words were spoken.

Finally, Draco reached out for the hand, and Harry pulled him to his feet. Nausea hit him again and he gripped Harry’s arm in blind panic. “Come on,” Harry urged as the crowd advanced closer. Draco’s grip on his arm tightened, and he saw the boy shaking his head slowly.

“It hurts,” Draco said hoarsely, his eyes flitting around the side alley and his face lined with tension.

“Lean on me,” Harry said as he gripped him around the waist, supporting his weight. Draco hesitated for a moment as Harry pulled him urgently; then he gave in and slung his right arm around Harry’s shoulder. Harry steered him around, and they found their way blocked. Shabby-looking wizards whose faces were half-hidden by the cowls of their robes, hags with blackened teeth and an assortment of suspicious looking characters advanced silently towards them. “Malfoy,” Harry said, as he forced himself to calm down. “Can you run?”

Draco shook his head weakly, but said nothing.

One of wizards made a grab for Draco, but pulled his hand back with a sharp hiss as Harry drew his wand.

“Back off,” Harry said loudly, as he drew Draco closer to his side.

An angry murmur came from the crowd, as they pulled back slightly. Harry took a step back, wand trained on the crowd warily. “Malfoy, get ready to run.” He spoke softly, so only Draco could hear him. He felt the fingers on his shoulder flex a little, but nothing else. “Okay,” he said under his breath. “Let’s go.”

Harry may not look like it, but he was fast on his feet. Draco’s weight slowed him down a little and he tightened his hold on the boy’s waist as he half-supported, half-dragged Draco down the dingy alleyway. Footsteps rang on the cobblestones as the crowd gave chase. A hand closed on his cloak, jerking him backwards. Harry spun around, and lashed out blindly. His fist connected with something, and someone shrieked.

The crowd surged, arms seeking purchase on the two boys. Harry whipped out his wand.

“Impedimenta!” he yelled. The spell hit the crowd at random; someone froze and fell over. Angry shouts spurred him into action, he staggered back a few paces, dragging Draco with him and yelled loudly. “IMPEDIMENTA!”

Panting, Harry tightened his hold on Draco and they ran, hard, down the twisting alleyways. The spell was not permanent, and he knew the crowd would come after them with renewed vengeance in a few minutes. Harry ran blindly, dragging Draco with him and did not stop until they came out of the gloomy, dingy alleyways. He steered Draco through the busy thoroughfare, and breathed a sigh of relief as he finally caught sight of the Gringotts Bank.

He leaned against a wall, catching his breath and looked sideways at his companion. Draco’s skin was unnaturally pale, the blood on his temple standing out starkly, and his breathing shallow. Harry quickly pulled Draco’s cowl over his head; they did not need to draw further attention onto themselves. Draco raised his eyes and nodded, once.

“Come on,” Harry said quietly and led him to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was blessedly quiet as Harry led Draco up to his room and he was thankful for the small reprieve. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. The room was simply furnished – it had a large bed, a desk with a rather rickety looking chair, and a chest of drawers. His trunk was at the foot of the bed, and Hedwig’s cage was on the windowsill. It was empty; its occupant had flown off on one of her mysterious trips.

Draco sat down at the edge of the bed, and took a deep breath. He felt the air burning through his lungs with an ache as real as it was certain. His head buzzed, and his body hurt; he wondered dimly if Harry could see how much it hurt him.

“You need to get that cut cleaned up,” Harry said, as he handed him a towel. “The bathroom’s through that door.”

Draco took the proffered towel silently, and their eyes locked briefly. Harry saw, all right. Draco could tell that much by the way Harry was looking at him. He looked down at the floor.

Draco didn’t move, in fact he wasn’t sure he could. The aftershock of the curse and the mad dash through the streets had cramped muscles and made his very bones ache. Could it cause long-term problems? he wondered. Affect his ability to think ... fly ... walk ... write? His head ached as well, a sick nauseous pain that left him with blurred vision and a buzz in his ears. All he wanted to do now was to curl up and sleep the pain away.

Harry came to his side. “Do you need any help?”

Draco looked up and shook his head. “No,” he lied.

Harry suppressed a smile, an instinctive wariness settling in. He watched as Draco made his way with deliberate slowness to the bathroom.

Thunder rolled outside, and the rain started to splatter through the open window. Harry crossed the room and quickly pulled the window shut.

The sound of smashing glass from the bathroom made Harry jump. He walked quickly to the bathroom door and paused. “Malfoy?”

Draco was sitting on the edge of the bath, shoulders bowed, hands hanging limply between his legs. Shards of broken glass littered the floor.

“I’m sorry.” Draco muttered, sounding embarrassed.

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry responded automatically, as he gathered up the pieces. A jagged piece pricked his thumb, drawing blood but he said nothing and quickly cleared the mess up.

“I was trying to move the bottle and it slipped.” Draco’s hands were trembling.

“Really, it doesn’t matter.” Harry repeated, without turning to look at Draco.

Draco had made no move to deal with the visible signs of his father’s attack and from his posture and manner, it was clear he wasn’t dealing with the mental aspects of it either. He sat there, looking pale and forlorn.

Harry turned and took a single purposeful step forward, and crouched beside Draco. “Do you want me to heal that?”

“You can try, but it won’t work.”

“Oh?”

“He’s charmed them so no one else can heal them with magic.” Draco touched his temple gently. “That way I have to ask him to get rid of them.” He lowered his eyes. “He’s done it countless times before.”

Harry’s eyebrow rose. First Lucius hit Draco, then cursed him with one of the Unforgivable curses, and as a final punishment, he charmed those injuries so Draco couldn’t heal himself. Harry felt his stomach tighten. “Well, we’ll just deal with it some other way then,” he bit out.

“Okay,” Draco conceded, without looking at Harry.

Harry walked out of the bathroom and returned with the chair. “Take off your cloak, and sit down here.”

“Why?”

“So we can sort you out. Since we can’t use magic then I have some other stuff...”

Draco got to his feet, took a step and stumbled; Harry grabbed hold of his arm and steadied him. Gasping slightly, Draco let Harry take his weight for a moment and didn’t struggle when he was lowered onto the chair.

“It’s the curse. I felt it for days afterwards.” He sat on the edge of the bath and eyed Draco critically. “It felt like my bones had been shredded.”

“Who cursed you?” The voice was soft, wondering.

Harry got abruptly to his feet and disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a small wooden box. He sat back down and tapped a finger nervously on the box. “It was Voldemort.” If nothing else, the admission got Draco’s attention. “Well, you know he’s back.” There was anger in Harry’s voice now. “Remember your comments on the train?”

“That was ... It was...”

“I really don’t care. Malfoy. We both know the truth even if others denied it.” The two locked eyes for a moment, each daring the other to deny Voldemort’s existence. For a moment, he thought Draco was going to argue but finally he just nodded.

Draco struggled with the clasp of his cloak, his fingers felt like lead and refused to cooperate.

“Here, let me do that,” Harry reached out, fingers brushing briefly against Draco’s. The boy’s skin felt cold and clammy, but he did not resist as Harry undid the clasp and removed the cloak from his shoulders.

Both drifted into silence as Harry started to clean up the various injuries. There was a cut just in the hairline and the three inflamed scratches on Draco’s cheek. He let out a hiss of pain as Harry dabbed a damp cloth over the gashes. Harry murmured a quiet apology as his free hand cupped the other side of Draco’s head to stop him pulling away.

Draco leaned into his hand, submitting to his care. He almost drifted asleep, partly from the fatigue and stress; and came to with a jerk as Harry gently pulled his hand away.

Satisfied with the cleaning, Harry rummaged in the wooden box and brought out a tube of salve. He squeezed a little onto his fingers. “This should help with the healing and numb the pain.”

Draco looked dubiously at the salve. “What is it?”

“Calendula and Hypericum.” Draco raised a questioning eyebrow. “Marigold and St John’s Wort. Both great for healing cuts and things like that.”

“You’ve turned into quite the little nurse, haven’t you, Potter?” The words were sarcastic but the tone was completely different. “When did you start learning things like this?” A small smile curled his lips.

Harry began to apply the salve to the injuries, his fingers running lightly down Draco’s cheek. “When I got home from school. I found a book in a second-hand shop and it looked like a good idea to learn some first aid that didn’t involve magic.” Draco managed a snort of derision, which made Harry smile. “Remember that when you’re injured and have lost your wand.” He brushed his fingers through Draco’s hair, trying to pull it back from the cut. The fine hair refused to remain out of the way and eventually he pushed most of it behind Draco’s ear and managed to get the salve on the cut.

“Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Draco closed his eyes; only to open them almost immediately as Harry took hold of his hands. Instinctively he drew them back, but the other’s hands trapped his fingertips. “What are you doing now?”

“Let me see your side,” Harry held his eyes. He had seen Lucius kick Draco when he was on the ground, the boot connecting hard with the boy’s ribs. He pushed Draco’s shirt up, exposing the bruise on his side.

Taking a deep breath, Draco allowed the other boy to continue. He’d never touched Harry like this. Actually, he considered he’d never really touched Harry at all. There had been the shoulder charges in Quidditch matches or even jostling in crowded corridors, but never deliberate touches like this. He watched the hands as they ran lightly over his skin, applying salve to his ribs and cleaning his grazed palm from where it had taken the brunt of his weight as he had fallen.

His eyes flitted from the hands to Harry himself. The trademark black unruly hair stood in amusing corkscrews when he had pulled the woollen hat off. Draco suppressed a smile.

“There.” Harry let go of him and almost immediately began tidying away his supplies.

Draco watched for a moment. There was part of him that wanted to believe this was all some strange plot of Harry’s to get at him. Maybe the salve would give him big green blotches on his face or something like that, but he got the impression Harry genuinely wanted to help.

“Why did you bother?” Harry looked round at him, surprise registering on his face. “I mean, if it had been you in the gutter, I’m not sure I would have helped.”

Harry shrugged and went back to his work. “No one, not even you, deserves to be treated like that, Malfoy.” He stood up and moved to the door. “I’m going to get something to eat and drink. You should get some rest now.”

The outer door opened and closed with a small click.

Draco stared at the ceiling, forcing his heartbeat to calm. He got up; wobbled a little as vertigo flashed through him and thought for a moment he might pass out. The sensation eventually passed and he walked gingerly back into the bedroom.

His head throbbed as he sat on the bed, and finally lowered himself onto his back. He didn’t want to think about what his father would say when he got home. Didn’t dare to even think about what the man had done to him earlier. Being disciplined by his father wasn’t a new experience, Lucius thought nothing of punishing Draco for what he considered faults in his son. But this had been different ... this had been ... personal.

He turned on his side, curling up a little. Malfoys were strong, his father had told him countless times, and Malfoys take their punishment stoically and don’t cry. Malfoys are cold-hearted bastards who never have friends, only acquaintances to be used and abused as a means to achieve their ambitions. Malfoys are....

Draco took a hitched breath.

Always lonely...

* * *

Harry found Draco asleep when he returned a scant 10 minutes later. He put the tray down on his desk and studied the sleeping form for a moment.

“You could have taken your shoes off first,” he murmured.

He fiddled with the lacings for a moment, and finally managed to remove both shoes without waking the sleeping boy. What was he supposed to do now? There was no way he was just going to leave Draco here on his own. An image of the other boy rummaging through his belongings actually dragged a smile across Harry’s face. There wasn’t exactly anything that Draco might find of interest, but the sudden image of him trying on some of Uncle Vernon’s foul socks was worthy of a smile.

The rain was getting harder. The air in the room was stifling from the suppressed heat before the rain. He wondered what Ron would say when he found out…if he found out…

He glanced over his shoulder as the sleeping figure and he knew he couldn’t share this with his best friend. That would mean explaining about the curse and Harry knew that wasn’t something he wanted to make common knowledge. It was too personal ... too painful.

Instead, he picked up a book and, toeing off his own shoes, crossed to the bed. Carefully he sat down next to Draco, leaning against the headboard, and started to read. Draco mumbled something in his sleep before settling against the warmth of Harry’s leg.

* * *

Harry woke up with a start. The room was in semi-darkness, and there was unfamiliar yet not totally unpleasant warmth pressed against his side. His eyes widened as realisation dawned. Draco was curled up against him, forehead resting against his shoulder, his balled up fists pinning Harry’s lower arm to the mattress. Harry blinked, and ran his right hand across his face, trying to bring reality to the fore. He lifted Draco’s wrists with deliberate slowness, trying not to wake the boy as he tried to sidle out of bed.

Tending to Draco’s wounds was one thing, but to end up sleeping beside the boy…Harry silently prayed that Draco wouldn’t wake up and scream the house down. He wasn’t totally sure he wouldn’t scream the house down…

A hand gripped his arm, stopping him cold. Harry turned his head slowly, and found himself looking into a pair of misty grey eyes. He stared rigidly at Draco, heart thudding audibly in his chest. His mouth felt dry as sawdust as Draco shifted closer, the warmth of his body sending weird and wonderful sensations through every nerve fibre. The grip left his arm, only to return quickly to his chest – the fingers moving up, ever so slowly, tracing light patterns along his shoulder. The fingers rested at the point where his shoulder joined the neck, and he felt Draco shift once more.

“Malfoy…” Harry’s voice sounded detached, as if coming from a great distance. His limbs felt leaded as Draco pulled at his left arm, sliding it behind his shoulder and settled against him once again. He looked at the boy numbly, as Draco slid his left leg across his body, toes curling against his calves. He saw Draco’s lips move, but he couldn’t make out a single word – the crashing sounds in his head overrode everything else.

A hand caressed his neck, tangling briefly in his hair before moving on to cup his cheek. Draco’s breath felt hot against his skin, and the press of his body seductive. Harry felt as though he was falling from a very high place, before finally crashing into his corporeal body. He blinked, suddenly aware of the urgent need to breathe again, as Draco spoke once more.

“Potter,” Draco pleaded in a low voice. “Give me comfort.”

Harry stared, perplexed. Draco pulled him closer, his nose brushing against Harry’s cheek, their lips tantalising close together, and his breath moistening Harry’s lips. Alarm bells shrilled in Harry’s mind, but he was unable to pull away as Draco placed a hesitant kiss on his lower lip. Instead, he felt his left hand move on its own accord, gripping Draco’s shoulder hard, pulling the boy towards him. Draco’s grip on his hair tightened, and he kissed Harry again. Harry opened himself up to Draco’s increasingly fervent kisses; not wanting to go on, yet… not willing to stop.

“Malfoy,” He pulled away, and placed his right hand on Draco’s chest lightly. “What are we doing?”

Grey eyes bored into him with a mix of despair and want. Draco lowered his eyes and remained silent as he ran his hand through Harry’s hair, combing it back with his fingers. He arched his body forwards, pressing himself into Harry.

“Malfoy, please…” Harry gasped, struggling to retain his sanity. His sensibilities told him this was wrong…somewhat unnatural – yet his body was reacting in a totally different manner.

Draco took hold of his right wrist, brought it to his lips, and placed a lingering kiss on the pulse point. “Please, Harry,” he pleaded, unconsciously using Harry’s given name. “Comfort me.” He dropped the wrist, the hand moving up to hold Harry’s face in a surprisingly tender manner and kissed him again.

…comfort me…comfort me…comfort me…

The words echoed in Harry’s mind as Draco took hold of his hand again and placed it on his newly naked chest. He had no idea when Draco had unbuttoned their shirts, and the sensation of skin against skin caused him to gasp. Draco pressed himself into him once again, as he breathed raggedly into Harry’s mouth.

Every shred of rationale abandoned Harry, as he flipped Draco onto his back and covered him with feverish kisses of his own. Draco opened up his body to Harry’s ministrations; he lay back in submission as Harry pushed his shirt off his shoulders, and tossed it away, never once breaking contact. He pushed away at Harry’s shirt, even as Harry bend over him and nudged his legs apart. Draco ran his hands on Harry’s back, fingers dancing over the ridges of his spine. Harry moaned softly into his mouth as Draco locked his legs across his waist, their bodies grinding feverishly against each other.

Harry’s eyes snapped open and he pulled away fractionally. Draco lay gasping underneath him, pupils dilated with pleasure, face flushed with inner radiance, and lips parted expectantly. Harry felt his heart hammering in his chest, and he could see the rapid movement mirrored on Draco’s. Draco reached up for him, drunk on his kisses and the taste of his skin.

“Harry…” Draco whispered sensually as he arched into Harry; their evident arousal grinding together.

Harry let out a sharp hiss and closed his eyes. “Please, Malfoy…I am no saint.” He tried to control the primal lust that threatened to undo him, yet he was dimly aware that Draco was perhaps further gone than he was.

…comfort me…comfort me…comfort me…

Draco unlocked his legs and slid them down his sides. Harry heard the soft silky sound of a zipper being undone, and Harry instinctively lifted himself off as Draco wriggled under him, and kicked his trousers off. Nimble fingers worked on the buttons of his trousers, and then Draco was leaning into him, capturing him in another fervent kiss, even as his hands worked feverishly to remove Harry’s trousers.

“Please,” Draco implored urgently, as he held Harry’s face in his hands.

“Tell me what you want, Malfoy,” Harry whispered against his ear, as he settled himself once again on top of Draco. He tried not to think of his own hardness pressing into Draco’s groin, instead he concentrated on Draco’s seemingly fragile face as he gazed at him.

Draco made no verbal response; he shifted and parted his legs, opening himself up once again. His hand brushed fleetingly against Harry’s erection, his thumb caressing the head, coating the digit with sticky pre-come. He pulled his hand free, and stuck the thumb into his mouth, sucking at the digit thoughtfully as he held Harry’s gaze.

“Tell me what you want, Malfoy,” Harry repeated insistently. Oh, he thought he knew very well what Draco wanted, but he needed to hear it from the boy himself. Draco pulled his thumb out of his mouth, and ran it lightly on Harry’s parted lips.

…comfort me…comfort me…comfort me…

Harry closed his eyes, and shuddered. Draco’s breath was warm on his skin, stirring his hair as he exhaled. “I want…” Draco’s ran his tongue lightly on his earlobe. “…you to take me.”

“What?” Harry pulled away, shocked.

Draco gripped his arms urgently, nails digging into taut muscles. He gazed unwaveringly into Harry’s wide-opened eyes. His hands moved with deliberate slowness onto Harry’s back, moving up to the shoulder blades, then down to his hips, resting momentarily before moving back up again. “Please,” he rose and captured Harry’s lips in a hungry kiss, pulling him down once again.

“Malfoy,” Harry murmured between fervent kisses. “What are you saying?”

Draco said nothing, but his body spoke volumes. He reached down into the non-existent space between their bodies and stroked Harry lingeringly. Then his fingers closed around the shaft as he made to guide it into himself.

“Malfoy, wait.” Harry gripped his wrist, stilling the movement. Draco gazed at him through hooded eyes, his breathing came in shallow stabs as he shifted slightly underneath his companion. Harry pulled away completely and leaned over the bed. He groped one handed on the floor, and his hand closed on the wooden box. He flipped the lid open and scrabbled amongst the contents, until his fingers found a tube of salve. He glanced sideways at Draco who was idly touching himself and watching him from under partially lidded eyes. Harry held his gaze as he opened the tube and coated his fingers, then rubbed the salve liberally over his erection.

“Turn over,” he ordered, and Draco complied wordlessly. He got behind the blond, and ran his hands lightly over Draco’s hips. To be honest, neither boy had any idea what they were doing, and Harry let his natural rooting instinct guide him as he gripped Draco’s hips and pushed gently forwards. Draco inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes shut.

Draco surrendered himself to the sensation, as hands moved to grip his waist tightly. He buried his face into the pillows and willed his body to relax as Harry thrust deeper, pushing pass the barrier. Fingers tangled in his tousled hair, as Harry started to move, back and forwards – slowly at first before he picked up his pace. Draco screamed, the pillows muffling him somewhat as he made the crossover from pain to pleasure. He kept very still as nails dug into his flesh, raising angry red marks on his skin.

Harry pulled him brusquely towards him, and then away; plunging deeper with each thrust. Draco gasped sharply and cried out incoherently as he lurched forwards, his elbows and knees buckling under the force of Harry’s relentless pounding. Hands pulled him back, so he was almost sitting on Harry’s lap. Hot breath caressed his skin, as Harry whispered seductively in his ear, “Is this what you want?”

Draco turned his face, their noses almost touching, their breathing harsh in their fevered coupling. “More,” he moaned, as he squeezed his eyes shut against the lightning bolts of pleasure and pain coursing through his body. “Give me some more.”

Harry pushed him forward and pulled out of him abruptly, and Draco gasped at the loss of contact. He sighed as Harry hauled him to sit on the edge of the bed, and again when Harry knelt before him and pushed his knees apart. Harry shuffled closer, his hand hovering over the Draco’s skin. Not touching, but following every contour of the blond’s body – his cheeks, neck, chest, groin, all the way down to his ankles and then upwards again. He smiled as Draco hissed sharply.

“Harry, please…” Draco reached out and cupped his face, grey eyes pleading with a raw yearning. Harry aroused him with his burning ardour and filled him with wanton desire. “Take me, Harry. Take me now,”

Draco felt his skin tingle as Harry placed a kiss on his inner thigh. He instinctively slung his knees over Harry’s shoulder and lay down on the mattress. Harry shifted, and rested his left knee on the bed. He nudged Draco to slide further up, his left hand caressing Draco’s outer thigh ever so slowly. Draco reached up to touch his face, and nodded his consent. His eyelids fluttered as Harry entered him again, filling him up, completing him.

Draco concentrated on his lover’s face as they moved sensuously against each other. He ran his palms over Harry’s chest, learning the contour of the taut muscles, the silken sheen of the sweat-slicked skin – learning, remembering, and imprinting it in his memory forever.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, as he snuggled against Draco’s neck, breathing in Draco’s hot, musky scent. His tongue darted out to lick a wide swathe on Draco skin – from his throat to his earlobe. Draco writhed with pleasure, and then he reached up to kiss Harry deeply, his passion evident in his touch. He let Harry go, and immediately gripped Harry’s hips and arched his back, forcing the boy deeper into him. Harry gasped as the intense tightness enveloped him.

Their eyes locked, the raw uninhibited desire flashing from the grey to the green. Draco called out Harry’s name, repeatedly, as if afraid that he would shatter should he ever stop. It felt so good to have Harry dominate him sexually – giving him both pleasure and comfort that he yearned for. They clung to each other, each seeking and finding release in their urgent coupling.

Harry gripped Draco’s hips harder, his heartbeat beating audibly fast as he felt the rush of sensation burning through his groin. Draco reached down, hand closing on his own throbbing erection; gripping and moving frenetically up and down the shaft. He cried out incoherently as Harry hit a spot deep within him. Harry grunted in response, his head thrown back as he thrust harder and faster, and he felt Draco spasm beneath him, muscles clenching tightly around him.

“Harry…please…god, oh god, please,” Draco implored, as his entire body shuddered violently, his hand blurring as he tried to match Harry’s haphazard pounding. Draco screamed his name, body arching into Harry’s as they crested the peak of their passion. Draco felt his very being shattered into a million pieces as they came together.

They remained still for long moments, waiting for their heartbeats to slow. Harry finally slipped out of Draco, and gathered him into his arms. Their lips touched once again, the kiss lingered but lacking the previous ardour; instead it spoke volumes of the passion shared and its conviction. Harry sighed and held Draco tighter – in comforting Draco he realised he was comforted in return.

* * *

Harry shifted and watched the raindrops trickle down the window pane as the rain finally subsides. A pair of lanterns provided ample light. He wondered briefly if the lanterns had been magicked to light up as darkness fall, or…

He quickly banished the thought, and turned towards his sleeping companion. He pressed his lips tenderly onto the boy’s forehead. Draco stirred and gazed at him with clear grey eyes. A small smile curled his lips. The hurt and pain had clearly dissipated during sleep. He pushed himself up on his elbows and slowly reached out a hand to touch Harry.

“Thank you,” he said softly, eyes never wavering from Harry’s face. “For coming to my rescue, and thank you for…” His words faltered and he turned his gaze away.

Harry exhaled and nodded silently. He studied Draco’s face, committing it to memory. “Come, Draco.” The name rolled smoothly off his lips. “It’s late and we need to get you safely home.”

* * *

Harry had arranged with Tom, the barkeeper, to use a fireplace in one of the private rooms for Draco to Floo back to Malfoy Manor. He had paid for the trip, as he knew Lucius had left Draco stranded without any money.

They stood gazing at each other in silent; so much to say, yet they could find no words to articulate their feelings. Harry put a hand on Draco’s shoulder, and squeezed lightly. “You should go now, Draco.”

Draco nodded mutely, and met Harry’s eyes. “Yes,” He couldn’t trust himself to say anything else. He stepped back, and Harry let his shoulder go.

“You will be all right,” Harry assured him, an empty feeling gnawing deep inside him. He turned towards the door, not wanting Draco to see his expression. Draco studied his back silently, and took a step forward, bringing him closer to the dark haired boy.

“Harry,” he struggled to keep his voice from hitching. “Thank you for everything…,” he faltered. Harry nodded, still not looking at him. Draco touched his arm lightly. “Will you be staying here until term starts?”

Harry finally turned to face Draco and nodded mutely. They held each other’s eyes for long moments. “I guess I’ll see you in school, Draco,” he whispered. Draco studied his face for a moment longer, before he gave Harry a hug. Harry inhaled sharply, as Draco clung to him, then his arms curved around the boy’s back. They held each other for what seemed like an eternity.

“I really have to go,” Draco said regretfully as they finally broke away. Harry nodded, and took a step backwards. They fingers touched a moment longer before they finally let go.

Draco stooped into the cavernous fireplace and took a handful of Floo Powder. He thought he saw Harry smile, but he couldn’t be sure. He smiled even as he called out the words to transport him home.

Malfoys are always lonely…

No.

Not anymore.

~ Fin ~

Author’s note: this story set out as a PG13, but Zed went INSANE after looking at the “Quidditch Anyone? The Game Is On” poster and her remorseless inner-slasher possessed her.

TooFarGone!Slut!Draco™ © Zed Adams. That boy wanks too much *nods*

Special thanks to my long-suffering collaborator, Frances, for helping me with the dialogue and her patience as my beta-reader.

© Zed Adams
Completed: 14th January 2003 , 01:23 AM
Published: 19th January 2003 (on Zed's Birthday!)