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Chapter Text

Early June 1993, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

The slap, when it came, was hard and sharp, stinging his skin like many tiny needles stabbing him at once. His head wrenched violently to one side, causing a sudden rush of pain to shoot up the side of his neck where the tendons and muscles were pulled harshly with the force of the blow. Stars danced and twinkled in his vision. Where the blow had landed began throb with dull pain.

Uncontrollable tears gathered in his eyes, making his vision swim. 

When he dared to look up at Lucius, he could see how his face was twisted in anger, his cheeks tinted red with his rage. Spittle flew from his lips as he yelled, the small flecks of moisture hitting Draco in the face.

Draco knew Lucius was angry because of what had occurred during the last school year. How his plan to get Dumbledore removed from Hogwarts as Headmaster had failed miserably. How he had lost something that had belonged to his precious Dark Lord. And worst of all, the humiliation of Potter tricking Lucius into freeing their house elf, Dobby. 

And Draco had done the one thing he knew very well he shouldn’t have. He laughed. Not at Lucius, no, one never laughed at Lucius and lived to regret it. No he’d laughed because Potter probably thought he’d gotten one over on Lucius and by extension, Draco. That was what was funny to Draco. He knew better though, knew better than to laugh. Knew that Lucius would only see it as Draco laughing at HIM. 

His rage had come lashing out and he’d slapped Draco with the full weight of his strength behind the blow. Draco supposed he was lucky that it wasn’t a punch. And now Lucius could see the tears and the rage crested again. This time in screaming.

“ARE YOU CRYING? YOU ARE A PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A SON! HOW I MANAGED TO SPAWN SOMETHING SO DISGUSTING I DON’T KNOW! YOU ARE A DISHONOR TO THE NAME MALFOY! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT WEAK AND FOOLISH AND STUPID!”

Lucius then raised his wand and screamed something Draco didn’t quite understand and suddenly he felt like a thousand and one knives were stabbing him all over his body, and then he felt like he was on fire. Screams tore themselves from his throat, more tears, this time of pain, rolled fat and wet down his cheeks. He tried to find his voice, to beg his father to stop, to tell him he’d do better. He’d be a better son, a better Malfoy.

But he couldn’t speak, only scream as the unrelenting pain built and built and built until, finally his eyes rolled back into his head and Draco passed into darkness.

He woke in screaming agony, his nerves and muscles jumping in spasms, pain flying through him like he was being cut open and set on fire all over again. He tried to voice his pain but found his voice was weak and hoarse, barely a whisper. How long had he screamed for? How long had Lucius held him under that horrific spell before he’d passed out? How long had he been unconscious? 

By his placement in his bed in his own rooms he knew he had at least been moved. He had been changed into his pajamas too. The sheets and his silk pajamas were seering agony against his skin, but he could not move to either remove the offending garments or get out of the bed. 

He whimpered in pain, though again it was but a whisper in a dark, silent void. It was dim in the room, moonlight just beginning to peek in through the tall windows. So it couldn’t be too late at least. Possibly just before dinner. 

The pain began to get steadily worse now that he was awake. Muscles and nerves jumping and spazzing more and more frequently. Draco tried to curl into a ball like he always did when he was frightened, but the movement sent horrible jagged jolts of pain shooting through him worse than ever. He couldn’t scream, only whimper.

Finally the door to his rooms opened, light spilling into the room from the hallway in pale gold brilliance. A figure, tall with long black hair and heavy black billowing robes strode into the room and made its way to the bed. A hooked nose, sallow skin stretched over a long face. Severus.

Draco tried to reach out to him, to implore him to make the pain stop. 

Severus for his part actually looked frightened. Draco couldn’t figure out why. Was he dying? Did whatever curse Lucius had used do irreparable, lethal damage?

“Draco,” Severus said, an odd sort of restricted quality to his voice, like his emotions were clogging his throat. Draco had never heard Severus sound like that before. 

“I … I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to stop this. Your mother, she called me hysterical a few hours ago when she heard you screaming, heard Lucius ... “ Severus had to take a breath before he could continue, “Anyway, we moved you into your room. I was afraid to administer anything while you were unconscious. You were thrashing badly even then. I have a couple of potions for you now, I will help you sit up and take them. One is a special potion of my own making that will help with the nerve pain and likely nerve damage from the curse. The other is a relaxant. It may put you back to sleep, which would be best as the first potion works best when you are sleeping.”

Draco gave a soft grunt of accent, the action causing a lance of fiery pain to shoot through his body. He whimpered.

Looking pained, Severus gently put his hands around Draco’s shoulders to help him sit up, a soft whimper escaped Draco at being touched. As Severus helped Draco sit up, pain screamed along every nerve ending and muscle he had. If he could have screamed, he would have. 

Once he was sitting up, breathes coming in short, sharp pants, pain shooting like daggers inside him, Severus pressed a vial to lips and Draco automatically opened his mouth allowing the potion to be tipped into his mouth. It was cool and soothing almost instantly in his mouth, only slightly bitter. As he swallowed he felt the feeling spread as it slid down his throat. After the vial was empty, another was placed at his mouth and tipped inside. This one was warm where the other had been cool, and sweet where the other had been bitter. Almost immediately, Draco felt the pain begin to recede, going from unbearable to manageable. His nerves stopped their panicked jumping and his muscle began to relax. 

He felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy after only a few minutes, and barely felt Severus lower him back to the bed. He was asleep before his head even hit his pillow, blessed relief swallowing him.

It was morning when he woke up again, his muscles aching slightly, but no more horrible spasms or tremors. Draco could feel his nerves were still giving off the random shot of pain but nothing that wasn’t mangable. 

“Draco,” a soft voice whispered from nearby. Turning his head, Draco saw his mother sitting in one of the armchairs from his sitting area. She had pulled it close to the bed.

There were purple bags hanging under her ice blue eyes, which were red rimmed from crying. Her normally immaculate hair and robes were disheveled and messy. 

Draco pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing a bit at the protest of his aching muscles. “Mother, how long have you been there? What time is it?” He wanted to ask what day it was but decided against asking for the moment. He didn’t want to find out he’d lost multiple days to sleeping.

Narcissa took a deep breath and let it out slowly before looking at Draco, her fingers twitching like she wanted to reach out and touch him but was afraid to, in case her touching him hurt him.

“It’s alright, Mother. I’m okay. The pain is mostly gone thanks to Uncle Severus’ potions. Mostly just aching right now. Something I’m sure a hot soaking bath would help put right,” Draco said, trying to reassure her. 

To Draco’s great shock, tears gathered in his mother’s eyes, clinging to her pale lashes like tiny jewels. “My Dragon, I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop him. I tried to get in the room you were in but your father … he warded the door against me. I felt so powerless, so helpless. Hearing your screams …” she broke off, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I thought … I thought he was going to … to … kill you. I ran to the parlor and firecalled Severus right away. By the time he had gathered what he needed and came through, Lucius had finally lifted the curse and stalked out of the room. He left you … laying there … I thought you … I thought ....” 

Draco shuddered, he could only imagine what she must have thought once she and Severus made it into that room. Swallowing against his own emotions and memories, he looked at his mother and said, “I … I … I know. I know you tried to get to me. Uncle Severus told me you tried before you went to fetch him. I don’t blame you, Mother. You know what Father is like.” 

A shudder ran through his mother and she visibly tried to control herself, closing her eyes and taking deep, shuddering breaths. Finally she seemed to have mastered herself. Opening her eyes, she looked at Draco and said, “I know, my Dragon, I know. I am just grateful that you are well. That Severus was able to help. All that matters is that you’re okay. Nothing else matters.”

She reached for him then, standing from the chair and sitting near him on the bed, she pulled him into her arms, pressing him to her, arms wrapped around arm in a firm, but gentle hug. He felt her trembling and it sunk in then how truly frightened she’d been, how truly afraid she’d been that she might lose her son. Draco swallowed the lump that came into his throat, squeezing his mother back just as firmly.

Lucius would not raise his wand again on Draco for another three years.

Chapter Text

Early June, 1996, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire 

“Crucio!”

He tried to keep silent, to keep his lips locked together, his teeth gritted as the pain seared through him, worse than it ever had been before. And Draco was intimately aware of how horrifically painful the Cruciatus Curse was. 

And while Lucius had power, lots of power, he had nothing on the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord’s power was immense and extremely dark, sticky in a way, like tar, clinging to everything it touched. It hung in the air around him like a shroud. He barely flicked his wand as he uttered the curse in a tone that was almost a loving caress.

And Draco, despite his better efforts, screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, his body jerking and thrashing so violently he was afraid he would tear something. Or worse, the Dark Lord would kill him. 

It went on for what felt like hours, the Dark Lord would lift the curse, tell Draco he was merely preparing him for worse, and wasn’t he a merciful master to do so. Then he’d cast it again, and Draco would scream again despite trying not too. 

Finally, it ended, the Dark Lord growing bored and dismissing Draco as he lay, nerves and muscles spasming in uncontrollable waves. Severus came to him, and despite his pain, helped Draco sit up, tipped his potions into him and then Draco fell into blackness.

This time, when Draco woke up, it wasn’t to his mother sitting anxiously beside his bed like many times before. No, this time, Draco’s luck had run out and it was Lucius sitting in the armchair, impatience, anger, and disgust pasted across his pale, pointed face. When he saw that Draco was awake he sneered.

“Couldn’t keep from disgracing yourself in front of the Dark Lord, could you? You pathetic shit. Passing out like a woman .” The last was said with such disgust and venom, that Draco almost recoiled. Anger burned inside him, but he kept his tongue. He knew better than to rise to the bait and start flinging insults and profanity at Lucius. 

His father had become angier, fouler. He was much quicker to act on his angry impulses than before his stint in Azkaban; before the Dark Lord had broken him out along with the others who had been put in the prison with him after the disaster in the bowels of the Ministry and the Department of Mysteries. And his anger only grew worse when it was made obvious that Lucius had also fallen very far from grace in the ranks of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. Now, Lucius begged and crawled for every little bit of praise and approval from his precious Lord. His efforts a constant source of amusement to the other Death Eaters and the Dark Lord. 

Draco hadn’t endured Lucius’ wrath since he’d returned, looking hollow eyed, gaunt, and generally unkempt. Now sitting before him, Lucius looked even more insane than usual. And much, much angrier than ever. It looked as though Draco’s luck had run out on that account. 

Looking down at his knees, which he drew up to chest as he sat up, keeping any groans of pain from his still healing, protesting, muscles and nerves, to himself, Draco murmured, “I will try to do better, Father. I am sorry.” Draco knew that this would not placate Lucius. Nothing ever did.

“Do better? Do better? DO BETTER?!” Lucius screamed, standing up violently, knocking the armchair over with a resounding crash as he stood. “You will do much more than ‘Do better!’ You will behave as a Malfoy should! You will endure whatever the Dark Lord does, do you hear me, you little bitch?! You will DO whatever he asks! I will NOT have my spawn disgrace this family any further than you already have!” 

Draco swallowed heavily, nodding, not daring to look at Lucius, only saying, “Yes, sir.” 

There was a very heavy silence and Draco felt his heart start to pound in his chest. He could practically feel the waves of revulsion and anger coming off of Lucius. Something else was coming. Something bad. Lucius was angry about something else besides Draco’s failure to endure being tortured by the Dark Lord. 

When Lucius spoke next, his voice was deadly in it’s sudden calmness. Draco felt his fear ratchet up further, fingers curling around his blankets. He felt himself starting to shake and willed it away.

“Although it seems that you have already disgraced this family more than I could ever have imagined. That I could have ever spawned such an abomination I can not fathom. You are so much more than just a disappointment. You’re a FAGGOT!” The last was screamed directly in Draco’s ear causing him to physically flinch away from Lucius. 

He shook his head in denial, all the while panicking. Who had told him? How did he know? “N-n-no! NO! I’m not! I’m not! I’m not a faggot! I’m not! I’m not! Please! Please don’t! Please!” Tears were rolling down his cheeks once more and Draco wondered if he would ever stop crying and begging someone not to hurt him. If he would ever get out of any of this alive. He tried to scramble away from Lucius, knowing that something horrible was going to happen if he didn’t.  However he wasn’t fast enough and Lucius lunged forward grabbing him by the collar of his pajama shirt, tearing it with a loud sound of ripping fabric that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet of the room.

Lucius snarled, “COME HERE YOU LITTLE BITCH! I’M NOT DONE WITH YOU YET POOFTER!”

He yanked Draco across the bed, before flinging him backwards off of it. Draco landed hard, pain shooting from his much abused nerves and muscles. He tried to backpedal, to get away but the next second Lucius had hit him with an Immobulus . Terror surged through Draco and he desperately tried to break the hold the jinx had on him but he couldn’t concentrate enough to try.

He watched as if in slow motion, Lucius raise his wand, his face twisted in rage and utter disgust. “You are no son of MINE,” he spat. Then he pointed his wand at Draco’s pajama bottoms and vanished them. 

The next minute Lucius released Draco from the jinx that held him, he tried to scramble away immediately but Lucius conjured ropes that slithered around his hands and feet and arms like snakes, tying his arms to his body with his hands behind his back.

 “No, please, no! I’m not, I’m not! Please! I … I … I’ll be good! I will! I’m not a faggot! Please, no! Don’t hurt me. Please!” Draco begged, sobbing uncontrollably now. He could feel the bile rising into his throat and was horribly afraid he was going to be sick right there and then. 

Lucius twirled his wand and a fake, rubber cock appeared. It was huge, at least as wide as his arm and rather long, longer than anything Draco had ever had inside him, which had only ever been his fingers. Terror roared through him and he struggled and thrashed, trying to free himself. All the while begging, begging Lucius to stop, to please not hurt him. It all fell on deaf ears. Lucius just screamed more obscenities at him, called him a worthless whore, and told him he was going to finally learn what happened to nasty, unnatural little bitches like him. 

Lucius waved his wand and forced Draco onto his stomach, arse in the air, face planted into the rough stone floor, feeling it scraping his skin raw. His arms, which were still tied behind him, ached with the painful angle they were held at, another wave of his wand and Lucius forced Draco to spread his legs apart. 

“You will enjoy this, won’t you little faggot?” Lucius sneered, this time deadly calm. Then with a flick of his wand, the huge fake cock shot forward and forcefully buried itself in his arse, ripping and tearing it’s way inside. Draco felt blood trickling down his thighs, could feel the awful tearing inside him as the thing pushed further and further in. Draco screamed for what seemed like forever until he finally fainted, the sounds of screams still ringing in the air.

Consciousness found Draco waking to numbness and for one panicked moment he thought he was paralyzed. That Lucius had finally hurt him so badly that he’d broken something and he’d never walk again. A hand on his shoulder held him in place as he tried to sit up, to see what had been done to him. 

“Draco, you must be still. The healing isn’t done yet. The potions I gave you are still working to repair all the damage. You are okay, you are safe. I healed what I could then gave you potions. Be still,” said an unfamiliar voice. It wasn’t Severus. 

His mind was a riot of flashes of memory. Lucius, being tied down, then … Draco started to shake violently as the rest came back to him. Tears swam in his vision as he began to sob uncontrollably, pulling the bedcovers closer around him. Muttering, pleading, “No! No! I’ll be good! Please! Don’t. Don’t hurt me, please! I’ll be good. I’m not a faggot! Please!” 

Panic was squeezing his lungs, making it hard to breath, he curled further into himself, rocking on the bed, still pleading. He never saw the person beside the bed raise their wand and mutter a quiet stunning spell, he just fell into unconsciousness once more.

Later, Draco would find out he was put to sleep for three days after he woke up that first time. He would be told that he shook, screamed, and had nightmares almost constantly for the first day, reliving the horrors brought upon him by Lucius in his dreams. Finally, Severus had been summoned, relieving the private Healer his mother had brought in discreetly, so as not to alert Lucius or anyone else. Someone who was reliable she would tell him.

Severus would wake him enough to swallow a calming drought and a dreamless sleep. Then Draco would fall asleep again. Still finally, calm, no longer dreaming. 

When he woke up on the third day, Severus was sitting in the armchair near his bed, his mother was asleep on the bed beside him. He’d almost sagged with relief seeing both his godfather and his mother instead of Lucius. Or worse, Greyback, who had been haunting the hallways days before the last time Draco could remember being out of his rooms. 

Draco would hug his mother tightly as he once more sobbed, telling her how frightened he was. How sorry he was. And she just held him, telling him to never be sorry. That she loved him. That she was sorry that they hadn’t gotten away sooner, before things got bad. 

She and Severus would explain that they had told the Dark Lord and Lucius and everyone else that Draco had come down with a horrific fever and that Severus was taking care of him, since St. Mungo’s was out of the question, but felt it best if Draco was in isolation until he could recover. However long it would take.

Severus would be there to help him to heal. And to deal with what happened. His mother would do her best to help as well. And when he felt ready enough he would have to go to the Dark Lord when he was summoned. Severus promised to help him through it, but they didn’t have much time. They wouldn’t be able to hold off for long.

Draco knew that no matter what happened now, he was never going to be the same. He would always be tainted by what Lucius did to him. It would remain with him forever. He just hoped he’d be able to get past it because he knew, deep down that something horrible was barrelling towards him. And he wasn’t sure if he would survive it.

Chapter Text

Late June, 1996, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire 

Draco suffered from nightmares almost every night for the next three weeks, and no amount of Dreamless Sleep helped. Even when awake, Draco found that he would suffer flashbacks and vivid sense memories of the attack. He barely ate anything the first few days after waking up from his magical sleep, making both Severus and Narcissa grow more worried and anxious. Severus did his best to help Draco deal with the aftermath of the rape. 

Whenever he had a flashback or vivid sense memory, Severus would encourage him to talk about it, telling Draco it would help him instead of bottling it inside. Draco doubted this enormously and refused to tell Severus anything. Shouting at him that he had no idea what it was like. That he’d never understand.

A week after the rape, Draco had a total breakdown. It was a simple thing, just the sight of a wand, he wasn’t sure whose, and he’d just snapped. It hadn’t occurred to Draco until that moment that he hadn’t touched his wand or used magic since the rape. Or seen anyone using their wand and performing magic in front of him. Now, all he could see was Lucius and his wand and the awful thing he’d conjured and used on him.

Panic seized him immediately and he curled into himself, rocking in the armchair he was sitting in, hands clasped tightly around his drawn up knees. He couldn’t breathe, no air was getting to his lungs, he was suffocating. And then he was falling, falling into a waking memory, another flashback, his nightmare.

He could feel the rope against his skin, feel the roughness of it chafing his wrists and ankles and arms, until they became raw and bleeding as he woke from his faint. He felt the wetness of tears cascading down his pale cheeks, heard the whimpers of pain escaping his lips. Felt the wetness of coppery scented blood trickling down his thighs.

It was still happening. He’d thought before he’d passed out that he'd either be dead or it would be over if he woke again. But neither was to be. It was still happening. His own father was raping him with a fake, rubber dick, not bothering to stop after Draco passed out. He cried harder. Whimpering in pain. 

It hurt, it hurt so much. He could feel that awful thing pushing harder and harder inside him, tearing him up more and more. Lucius’ cruel laughter and taunts ringing in his ears. 

“So you’re awake again I see, little faggot. So pathetic, you can’t even handle being fucked without passing out. No wonder you’re nothing but a worthless little faggot boy. No one will want you now. They’ll all finally see what you are. Nothing but a whore that offers himself to anyone with a cock, but can’t handle the actual fucking. No one wants a used faggot boy whore who can’t handle a cock in his arse.”

Draco tried to plead, screaming. “Please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m not a faggot boy! I’m not a faggot! I’m straight! I swear I am! Please, stop. Please! It hurts! Please! Please!” 

Lucius just laughed and taunted him more, then made the thing inside him grow thicker, move faster, push further, making it hurt more. Tear him apart more. Lucius leaned closer, his mouth next to Draco’s ear, breathing warm air against his skin, making a chill run down his spine, as Lucius made the rubber monster twist, making Draco scream louder than before.

“So delicious hearing and watching you beg, cry, and plead. Such a faggot boy. You should count yourself lucky, little faggot. I had considered using your own cock. Yes, that’s right. I thought about cutting your pathetic dick off and shoving it up your arse, making it fuck you since you like cock so much. But this is better, isn’t it faggot boy? It hurts more, doesn’t it, you little pussy? But maybe I’ll reconsider the idea for later. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you faggot boy? Your own cock fucking you?”

“No! No! Oh please, don’t! Please, no! I’ll behave. Please, no. Don’t! Please!” 

Lucius ignored him and just laughed again. Then suddenly the rubber monster was violently pulled from Draco’s arse. He screamed again, as more tissue tore. Then the dirty, bloody, thing was hovering in front of his face.

“Open your pathetic mouth, bitch. It’s time to suck this lovely cock.” 

Draco shook his head trying to get away from it but he couldn’t move. The thing nudged his closed lips. He tried to keep them shut as it kept nudging. Then in a blink it shot forward. Draco gasped involuntarily and it shot inside his mouth, gagging and choking him as it pushed its way into his throat, the horrible tastes of blood and other things coating his tongue and throat. He coughed and choked the further it went, bile rising in his throat until he started to throw up around the thing. Lucius screamed angrily at him.

“SUCK THAT COCK BITCH! STOP YOUR PATHETIC WHINING FAGGOT BOY! I SAID SUCK IT! YOU ARE PATHETIC!” he screamed, vanishing the sick with a disgusted wave of his wand, before making the rubber cock shoot out of his mouth again and drive forcefully back into Draco’s arse. Draco choked and gurgled on a scream. Lucius kicked him in the ribs and Draco saw stars.

He lost track of how long it went on before he had passed out again, still screaming.

“Draco. Draco, darling. Draco, please, you’re safe. No one is hurting you. No one is going to hurt you. It’s okay, darling.” The voice was indistinct and floated to Draco from a distance. The touch of fingers in his hair, a hand on his cheek had Draco coming back to himself with a sharp jolt. He recoiled away from the touch immediately.  “No, please, no!” he whimpered. He tried to push himself further into the chair he was sitting in, as if he could make it absorb him. “Please, don’t hurt me! Please! I’ll do anything, just please don’t hurt me!” 

“Draco, darling, it’s Mother. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe, darling. You are safe. You are in one of the guest rooms, remember? You are safe. It’s alright, darling,” 

Draco kept shaking his head, ‘N-n-n-o. It’s a trick! You’re just trying to trick me! Trick me so you can hurt me again! No, please. I promise I’ll be good! Please, please don’t hurt me anymore!” He was sobbing now, horrible wracking sobs shaking his too thin frame. He pulled at his hair, tears washing down his cheeks in a flood. 

“Draco, you are safe. No one is tricking you, I swear it. It is just me and Severus here. You are safe. No one can enter this room but you, me, and Severus. Please, darling you are safe.”

Draco pushed further into the chair, trying to make himself as small as possible, wrapping his arms tightly around himself, whimpering. His fingers gripped his arms tightly, nails digging into his skin with a sharp stinging sensation. 

“Please, no, please! I’m a good boy! I’m not a faggot! Please, don’t hurt me! Please, I’ll behave better! Please!” 

He was so lost in his fear, in the memory of the rape that he didn’t notice the horrified expressions on both his mother’s and Severus’ faces. Or how the looks quickly went from horror to worry and then anger. Anger at Lucius for doing this to Draco. Anger that he was ever put in a position to experience any of this.

Draco rocked in his chair, still pleading, crying, digging his nails harder into his skin, drawing blood. Severus handed Narcissa a vial and she carefully uncorked it, tilting it against Draco’s lips. He refused to drink it at first, shaking his head, pleading. “No! Please, no! No! Don’t please!” 

Gently Narcissa pulled his mouth open and tipped the potion inside quickly. Draco choked on it as he swallowed automatically, his eyes wide with panic. What had he done? Letting someone give him a potion? He screamed. 

Flailing wildly, he knocked the empty vial from Narcissa’s hand, sending it flying where it landed on the stone floor with a soft tinkling, but did not shatter. Panic tightening its grip on him, he tried to spit out what was left of the potion but it was too late. It was already in his system. It took hold in minutes and he felt himself calm finally, his frantic thoughts halting, heart rate slowing, the tight grip he had on his arms loosening. Calming Drought. It had been a Calming Drought. 

Draco sagged into the chair, suddenly exhausted. He caught sight of himself in the reflection of the window glass. He was hollow eyed, not unlike the way Lucius had looked upon his return from Azkaban. The comparison made him feel sick. His sharp cheekbones stood out more prominently than usual thanks to his thin appearance. His hair was lank, hanging limply around his face. His eyes when he looked into them were wide and haunted. He looked like a ghost. Or Death. 

He shivered. He then caught sight of his arms, the bloody half moons covering them. He winced. 

“It’s okay, my dragon. You’re safe here. No one will hurt you here,” his mother’s voice said beside him. Draco wanted to believe her, he did but … “I’m scared,” he whispered, the seemingly endless tears once more burning behind his eyes. “I’m scared it will happen again. That he’ll do it again. I-I I don’t think I can handle it happening again. I’m … I’m barely handling it now. I’m so afraid.”

“Oh, dragon, I know you are. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry I hadn’t realized how much he’s changed, especially since Azkaban. He isn’t the man I fell in love with so long ago. I wish I’d seen it sooner, saved you from it all. That will haunt me forever, not knowing he’d gotten into your rooms, and worse not knowing what he’d done to you until it was too late.” Narcissa began to weep quietly then and Draco, seeing his mother crying lost his battle with his own tears and started to cry too. He reached for his mother and she went to him at once, wrapping her arms around him tightly, laying her head on his chest. 

They sat like that, crying together, for a long time. When they had finally cried the last of their tears, Draco pulled gently away from his mother. “I-I I know I don’t say this often. Or nearly enough, but I-I love you, Mother.”

Narcissa’s eyes shined with tears again as she whispered, “I love you, too my darling dragon.” 

Draco eventually fell asleep in the chair, his mother still sitting beside him. His dreams, when they came, were filled with the horrors of the rape and he woke screaming, Severus sitting beside him this time. He recoiled away from his godfather so fast that he fell from the chair. 

Panic seized him as he fell, remembering when Lucius had thrown him off the bed before tying him down. His lungs squeezed, trapping air in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. It was going to happen again. Lucius had found him. He was going to do as he promised. 

“Draco. Draco, you are safe. I am not Lucius. Lucius isn’t here. He can not enter this room. Hear my voice, Draco. It’s your godfather, Severus. I will not hurt you. You are safe here.” 

This time the words registered more quickly, breaking Draco from the cycle of his memories of his nightmare, he looked at his godfather and for one awful second thought he would see Lucius, but it really was Severus. Sallow faced and hooked nosed. His godfather. And, he realized, he wasn’t in his own rooms. This was one of the guest rooms on the floor above where Draco’s rooms were. He sagged with relief.

He hadn’t been able to stand the idea of going back to his own rooms, not to where the rape had happened. He rubbed at his arm, in the spot where the rope had rubbed the skin raw. He noticed absently that someone had healed all the little wounds from when he’d dug his nails into his arms earlier. He hadn’t felt clean since the rape happened. Always felt the blood as it ran down his arms from his wrists. Always felt the blood coming from inside him as the monster tore him apart. He didn’t know how long he’d endured it, how long he had laid there after he passed out the second time, before someone had found him. He’d lost track of how often he’d showered, trying to scrub it all off him, as if with enough hot water and soap he could wash away the shame, fear, and feeling of disgust he felt along with the phantom feeling of blood. 

Licking his lips, still feeling disoriented and no small amount of fear still tipping into his system, asked the question he’d been wondering since waking up that first time after the rape. “W-who found me?” 

Severus looked pained, like he didn’t want to answer the question. Or was trying not to remember the memory that went with the answer. Finally, after many minutes of silence he said, “I did.” 

Draco felt a vague sense of relief at the answer, knowing that it hadn’t been his mother who had found him like that. It made him wonder exactly how bad it had been if even Severus, who had seen more horrible things than Draco could imagine, had looked as pained and a little sick at the thought as he did. However, Draco didn’t think he could handle the answer to that question. Not now. Instead he just said, “I’m relieved it wasn’t Mother.” 

Severus nodded. Silence stretched on for several minutes. Finally, Draco decided to talk. He was tired of being afraid. Maybe, maybe it would help to talk about it.

“After the last time the Dark Lord tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse, I woke up to Lucius sitting next to my bed. I remember immediately being afraid. I knew nothing good was going to happen with him there. He’s been so much angrier and unpredictable since he got out of Azkaban. I didn’t know what he’d do. I never imagined .. never thought ..” Draco swallowed, determined to not fall apart. After a few minutes he was able to go on. 

“At first he just berated me for not being able to endure it longer, like it was some kind of honor or something to be tortured by the Dark Lord. Called me a pathetic shit for ‘Passing out like a woman.’ Then he got eerily quiet, and I knew something bad was coming. I felt it in the air almost. He’d already said I was a disgrace and had dishonored the name of Malfoy, but then he said I was an even bigger disgrace and dishonor to the name Malfoy, that I was an abomination, because somehow .. he .. he … I don’t know how … he knew I’m gay. I don’t know how he knew. I’ve been so careful, knowing he’d react badly. I just never thought …”

It took him longer to collect himself this time, Draco could feel his emotions trying to strangle him, could feel the edges of panic biting at the edges of his mind. “He called me a faggot. I tried to get away from him, to run. He caught me around the collar of my shirt and pulled me toward him before he just flung me off the bed, onto the floor. Before I could think to try to get away he got me with an Immobulus. Told me I was no son of his and he vanished my pajama bottoms. That’s when I knew this it was going to be bad. Really bad. I just never imagined it would be … “ 

He stopped again, his emotions beginning to break through the barrier he was trying to keep them behind. Tears were welling in his eyes and when he was able to speak again, his voice was choked with his tears, “He released the Immbolulus and then he tied me up. He called me a worthless whore and told me that I was going to learn exactly what happened to nasty, unnatural bitches like me. Then he … he … the thing .. and he .. it … it hurt. It hurt so much. I screamed and begged it to stop. He just .. he laughed … and it hurt … blood … it was … and I passed out. I thought maybe I would die and it would be over. It wouldn’t hurt anymore. Nothing would. But then I … I woke up … and … and … it … was still … he hadn’t … even …. It hurt so much. Then he told me ...” Draco lost it then, sobbing so hard he couldn’t speak or breath, just hiccup. 

He covered his face with hands, as if somehow he could push the tears back inside, or stem their flow. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Severus the rest, to him the awful thing Lucius had said he’d wanted to do before using the fake dick on him. Or how he threatened to do it anyway at some point. 

All Draco could do was sob and wonder if he was ever going to be alright ever again. Or if perhaps death would have been better than having to face his reality. A reality that included being raped by his own father and worse, the threat of Lucius doing it again. Draco knew if it happened again, especially the way Lucius had threatened, he’d never survive it. He would welcome death then. 

Of course he’d have to survive the Dark Lord first, because Draco knew there was no avoiding what was coming next. He knew he would be summoned soon.

Chapter Text

Mid July, 1996, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Draco was summoned to the Dark Lord’s side a little over a month after his sixteenth birthday. And a mere four weeks after what Lucius had done to him. His mother and Severus had been right, they’d only been able to hold it off for so long. 

He also knew he wasn’t ready, and couldn't stand the idea of leaving the room that he’d come to think of as his, as there was no way he’d ever return to his original rooms. Not after what Lucius had done to him in that room. Panic and anxiety gripped him almost constantly still. Nightmares still plagued him most nights, though it had started to get slightly better as they weren’t every night anymore. However it seemed that the flashbacks were increasing, especially when he saw a wand or worse, he’d been hearing someone prowling the hallway outside the room at night. Imagines of Lucius, pacing the hallway trying to get in, filled his mind.

However, Draco knew that he couldn’t disobey the Dark Lord’s order. He had to go.

He also knew what this meant. It had been hinted at, whispered about, and teased since he’d come home for the Summer holidays in June. He was to receive his Mark. And, Draco couldn’t help dreading, he was probably also going to be given some kind of mission. He’d heard those whispers too. He wished he could just run, to get away. But there was no running from the Dark Lord. You ran, you died. Always. No one could hide from him or his followers for long. 

His heart beating so hard against his ribs he thought it would burst out of him, Draco stepped into the hallway outside the room for the first time in four weeks. He tried to hide the trembling and fear as he closed the door behind him. He looked up and down the hallway, grateful to see it was empty. Walking on legs that felt like lead, he made his way down the long hallway towards the stairs that would take him into the grand entrance hall of the Manor. 

He looked constantly around him as he walked, searching for signs of movement or Lucius. The thought of encountering Lucius now, while he was alone and defenseless (he still couldn’t stand the idea of carrying his wand with him), filled him so much anxiety he felt sick.

He made it down the stairs and into the entrance hall and almost breathed a sigh of relief that he’d met no one, especially Lucius, until he heard the voice he’d most hoped not to hear. 

“Little Faggot, I see you’ve finally seen fit  to join us at last. I was beginning to worry,” Lucius said smoothly, mockingly, as he stepped from a deep alcove near the base of the stairs. He was dressed in clothes of dark black, with highlights of silver, though if one looked closely enough, they’d see they were imperfect. The edges of the cuffs on his shirt were frayed, the collar stained with sweat, and at least one button was missing from the vest he wore. His shoes were scuffed though he clearly tried to hide it. His hair was clean but still lacked the usual luster. His robes, those of the Death Eaters, also showed signs of wear and looked to have had a quick scourgify applied to them rather than actually laundered. 

Lucius made a show of examining Draco’s attire, all black as well. His trousers, shirt and robes hung on his still too thin frame like clothes on a child playing dress up and who had chosen clothes just a few sizes too big. 

Draco tried very hard not to flinch or show any other outward signs of agitation and fear in front of Lucius. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how damaged he truly was. How what he had done to Draco had made him feel so dirty, ashamed, disgusted, and anxious. How Draco took multiple showers a day now, scrubbing his skin raw at times just to try to wash away the feelings of shame and guilt and overall dirtiness. 

Instead Draco stood tall, hiding all he felt behind the infamous Malfoy Mask, hoping Lucius wouldn’t see through it. 

Lucius stepped closer and Draco forced himself to remain still as Lucius stepped into his personal space, customary sneer in place. “You will not disappointment me in there, Little Faggot. No matter what. I will not have you embarrassing me anymore, you little bitch. You will do whatever the Dark Lord tells you to do. And if you don’t? Well I may let it slip to a certain group of Death Eaters, among them a particular child loving werewolf, that you are in fact a little faggot boy. Greyback does love little boys especially. He thinks them … delicious.  I’m sure he and the rest can think of some fun and … creative ...things to do to or with you.”

Ice cold fear crawled along Draco’s skin and up his spine. No, oh gods no. He wouldn’t … He felt sick because of course Lucius would. He’d already raped his own son, why wouldn’t he do this? Draco suddenly very badly wanted to run and hide but he knew that was pointless. Instead he fought to keep his face smooth and blank and simply said ,”Yes, Father. I will not disappoint you.” 

Lucius sneered at him again, eyes studying Draco’s impassive expression, searching for weakness. Draco forced that calm, cool look to hold, shoving all of his emotions behind a solid, iron wall of pure will. It held, Lucius seemed to be disappointed he couldn’t find anything to torture Draco about. Though for a second it looked like his hand was twitching towards where his wand was holstered in his cane. A voice, one so devoid of anything approaching sanity, spoke from the open doorway across the entrance hall.

“Loosey Lucius, the baby Dragon needs to appear before our Lord. You don’t want to keep him waiting after all,” Bellatrix Lestrange sang in her baby voice before cackling madly. Draco could honestly say he’d never been grateful to see his crazy aunt usually, but this time he was. 

The look Lucius leveled at Bellatrix was nothing short of murderous, Bellatrix however was completely unaffected by it. “Yes, thank you, Bella,” Lucius ground out between clenched teeth.

Draco was brought into what had been the formal dining room at the Manor, but was now the main room for all things Death Eaters and mayhem and murder since the Dark Lord and his followers had invaded the Manor and made it their home.

The large table, which normally stood in the middle of the room had been pushed along one wall, leaving the floor space cleared. Various Death Eaters stood in a ring in the middle of the room, hoods and masks hiding them from identification. 

The Dark Lord stood in the middle of the ring, waiting. Draco stepped forward, not giving away the shudder that ran through him at the touch of Lucius’ hand on his back pushing him towards the Dark Lord. 

He could not show weakness here. Nor could he refuse the Mark or whatever came after. The consequences would be deadly otherwise. He knew that this was Lucius’ punishment for his failures the previous year. And for losing that damned diary back in second year. Draco was being made to pay for Lucius’ mistakes. Not that Lucius gave a damn about Draco. He had already proved that weeks ago.It was his mother that Draco worried most for. He had to do this. To ensure she was safe.

But standing here now, in the room with the Dark Lord, his followers ringed around him, Draco could admit, if only to himself, that he was terrified. 

“Kneel,” said the sibilant voice of the Dark Lord. Draco knelt before him, head lowered. 

“You are here, Draco Lucius Malfoy, at my behest. It is a great honor to be called upon so young, only sixteen. I have also been told that you are an exceptional wizard, Draco. So talented at Potions, Severus tells me. You will make a fine Death Eater. Now, roll up your sleeve and show me your arm.” When Draco hesitated too long, only a second or two, the Dark Lord yelled, “DO IT!” Draco flinched as he hurriedly unbuttoned the sleeve of his shirt and pushed it up quickly. 

“There, that wasn’t so hard now was it, boy?” The Dark Lord hissed quietly. Then, with no warning at all he pressed the tip of his wand (Draco barely contained the urge to recoil at the sight of the wand) to the skin on Draco’s forearm and intoned “ Morsmordre! ”

Immediately Draco felt like his skin was being burned from the inside out. The pain was almost unbearable, and that was saying something considering how often he’d found himself under the Cruciatus Curse lately. And the terrible pain he’d endured from being raped with a large, rubber dick for hours by his own father. He couldn’t think of that now. He could think of nothing but the unending pain here and now. Fire lanced up his arm from the point of contact with the Dark Lord’s wand. Then, a new sensation took over, it felt like millions of tiny needles were punching into his skin at once and when he looked he saw the horrible image of the skull with a snake coming from its mouth and curling around it forming on his pale skin, the black lines growing more and more visible. He gritted his teeth against making any sound at all as the pain grew with each second. 

Finally it was over. His arm throbbed horrifically, but it wasn’t anything Draco couldn’t deal with. Stepping away, the Dark Lord ordered Draco to stand.

“Now, Draco, I have a special mission for you. And remember if you fail, I will not be merciful. You and your precious mother will die. Am I understood?”

Draco swallowed his fear down and said, “Yes, my lord.”

Voldemort smiled a hideous smile and then gave Draco the instructions for the mission that would ultimately change everything for Draco.

Early May, 1997, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Draco leaned forward on the cold, porcelain sink, tears dripping down his face. He couldn’t do this. He just couldn’t. He tried, but everything he did failed. The necklace had nearly lethally cursed Katie Bell, the poisoned mead he’d tried to get to Dumbledore through Slughorn had nearly killed Weasley. He wasn’t a killer. He knew that, but yet if he didn’t do this, his mother would die. 

Draco no longer gave a shit about himself, no longer cared if he lived or died. The anxiety, the flashbacks, the nightmares had all gotten worse and worse in the month and a half leading to his return to Hogwarts and worse still once he was back in the castle. The crushing weight of his mission adding fuel to all of it. 

“I can’t do this. But if I don’t, he’ll kill me. He’ll kill Mother. I can’t let him kill her,” he sobbed to Moaning Myrtle, who hovered nearby. It was odd that the ghost girl had become a sort of friend through all this. She’d listen to him as he told her about the weight around his neck, though without any details in case she alerted someone to what he was up to. 

It was bad enough that Potter already suspected him and was following him around under that damn cloak of his. Thank Merlin Potter couldn't get into the Room of Hidden Things while Draco worked on the Vanishing Cabinet. Draco had made sure of that. 

“Don’t … Don’t … tell me what’s wrong … I can help you …” Myrtle crooned. If she could have, Draco was sure she’d have rested a hand on his back in comfort.

Draco could feel his whole being shaking, everything was falling apart. “No one can help me,” he told her, voice clogged with tears. “I can’t do it … I can’t … It won’t work … and unless I do it soon ….. he says he’ll kill me …”

He was so lost in his misery that he didn’t hear the creak of hinges as the door behind him was pushed open, allowing someone to come in. It was only when he looked back up at the mirror that he saw Potter’s reflection in it.

Draco whipped around fast, wand held in front of him, curse firing without a second thought. It missed, hitting the wall behind Potter’s head, shattering a lamp. Potter was quick, reflexes like a cat. He shot back his own curse, it hit the wall near Draco’s head before bouncing back, hitting the sink behind him, shattering it and sending shards of broken porcelain flying in every direction. Water began to pour out everywhere, flooding the bathroom quickly.

Myrtle was screaming in the background as he and Potter exchanged more spellfire. 

“No! No! Stop it! Stop! STOP!”

They ignored her. Draco shot off another curse, which hit the trash bin behind Potter causing it to explode. Potter lifted his wand to fire off another spell but slipped in the water at his feet and fell hard to the tilted floor.

Draco prepared to fire off his curse at the same moment Potter slipped.

“Cruci-”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” 

Pain. Suddenly everything was pain. Searing, breath stealing, pain. Pain across his face, chest, his side, everywhere. Pain worse than anything he had yet endured. Worse than when Lucius had raped him with that fake dick all those months ago. Worse than the Cruciatus Curse . Somewhere beneath the pain, he is also aware of wetness. And a strange, metallic, coppery scent.

He wonders what it is, and somehow the thought cuts through the pain. 

Blood. It’s blood. He’s bleeding. Bleeding to death.

And then his vision begins to grow fuzzy, indistinct. Tunneling. He was staring up at the vaulted high ceiling of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom he thinks vaguely. Why was he in here? 

Suddenly a voice is calling out to him, but it seems to be coming from far away, as if the speaker is at the bottom of a deep well. 

“Draco! Oh god, Draco!” 

He is also vaguely aware of screaming. 

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!” 

He wonders who it is. His throat feels raw, and he realizes that whoever is screaming about murder in a bathroom isn’t the only one screaming. He’s screaming too.

Hands press on his chest, the pressure making everything burn and ache and sets searing bolts of fire along his nerve endings. He screams louder. 

“Oh God! DRACO!”

There is a hysterical note to the voice now, practically screaming his name. He wishes he could answer it, tell it that he’s dying, that he can’t breathe. That everything is on fire. But not to worry because he welcomes death. It will be a relief he wants to tell the voice. A relief to finally not hurt anymore. To not remember all the horrible things that had been visited upon him. To not have to fulfill his mission. But he can’t speak, he’s fading quickly. He feels cold.

The last things he hears as blackness closes in are the sounds of sobbing and the words “I’m so sorry, Draco '' whispered near his ear. Then everything goes black and silent. 

He wakes up gasping, like a scream sticking in his throat, clogging it halfway out before getting stuck there. His eyes fly open and he sees another ceiling, this one as familiar to him as the ones in his ancestral home. He’s in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. The next thing he registers is the itchy scratchiness of thickly laid bandages across his chest and abdomen, he feels the remnant tingle of healing magic under them. There is also the slight tingle of recent healing along the left side of his face. He lifts a slightly shaky hand, running a fingertip along where he can feel the faint trace of a wound closed. There probably won’t be any sort of mark left once it’s fully healed. Right now it’s probably just a faint, pink line.

He wonders briefly how he got here, what exactly happened. He remembers crying in Myrtle’s bathroom, feeling the weight of his mission crushing him. Knowing he can’t do it. That he and his mother will die because he’s too weak, too cowardly to carry it out. An echo of screams flitter through his mind.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!”

“MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

“Draco! Oh god, Draco!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t! … I didn’t know! … Oh god ..!”

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until soft, strong hands are resting on his shoulders, saying his name over and over. “Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy, you need to calm down. Breathe, you are safe. You’re in the Hospital Wing. You’re okay. I need you to breathe.”

The voice is of course Madam Pomfrey’s, her hands on his shoulders gentle but firm. “Mr. Malfoy, please, you need to calm down.” He hears her but he can’t stop shaking, he hears the screams in his head, the desperate sobs and the faintly whispered, “I’m so sorry, Draco.”  

He still smells the blood, feels it running down his face, spilling onto the floor from his chest and abdomen. Can feel the wet stickiness of it. There’s water too, water all around him. He’s falling, falling into darkness. He’s shaking harder, black spots dancing in his vision. All at once he’s back in that room, blood trickling down his thighs, while he screams and pleads for it to stop. He tries to twist away from the hands on his shoulders, but they hold firm. “Please! Please, don’t hurt me! Please!”

 Something is being tipped into his mouth. It’s a potion, he realizes dazedly. He chokes as it slips down his throat. It’s slightly bitter sweet taste says it’s a Calming Draught. Another liquid, another potion follows the first. This one sour tasting. Dreamless Sleep.

He feels himself drifting now, floating into nothingness. An echo of words following him into oblivion. “I’m so sorry, Draco.” 

When he wakes up next, it’s to pale moonlight shining in silver pools of light along the floor of the Hospital Wing. He has no idea what time it is, but it must be late because the door to Madam Pomfrey’s office is closed and dark. 

He also notices that the bandages that had been wound around his chest and abdomen are gone, leaving behind a faint echo of itchiness. He wonders if there are scars. Wants to check but doesn’t. 

He almost misses the sound, like the rustle of clothing. He freezes, fear thudding through him. All he can think of is Lucius. That Lucius is here. Lucius has come to punish him for what he’s so far failed to do. He starts to shake hard. He looks around the dark ward, frantically, eyes narrowing. It seems empty. Everything is still. Unless. Suddenly the fear that has poured into his system turns to burning, white hot anger.

“Potter,” he spits, the anger boiling in his blood. “Hiding under that fucking cloak, aren’t you Potter? Can’t face me like a man, can you? Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been fucking stalking me this year under that thing. You tried to kill me, and now you can’t be bothered to face me. Fucking typical of you, Potter. Hiding. Did you come to finish the job? Did you, Potter? Lose your nerve when you realized I was awake? Wanted to murder me in my sleep? Oh I know! You feel all guilty, don’t you? Want to grovel for my forgiveness, is that it? Well, Potter you can take your fucking fake platitudes of regret and sorrow and shove them up your arse! You knew what you were doing, Potter. And you can’t make me believe for even a second that you give a fuck if I live or die. You hate me. We hate each other! Just fuck off , Potter. I don’t need your fake bullshit.”

The anger that had been hot and slick inside him slowly ebbed away, leaving him feeling cold and shaky. Pulling the blankets up under his chin, Draco burrowed down into the bed, listening to the silence of the ward. He wondered if he’d just imagined that Potter was here. Or if he had wanted him to be there. So he'd hear his angry words. To know that Draco is angry not just because Potter had tried to kill him and possibly came back to finish it. But because he hadn’t died. That Potter had failed to kill him. That he was still alive. Still had to complete his fucking mission. Nothing moved and Draco suddenly felt foolish. 

He’d been yelling at an empty ward. He wondered if it was the result of all the trauma he’d suffered that he’d actually thought he wasn’t there alone. It wouldn’t be the first time. Especially since the rape when he’d sworn someone was stalking around in the hallway outside the room he’d been in while recovering. He shivered. He felt very drained. Almost fragile, like he had before the bathroom. Like he had since after the rape. Broken beyond repair. Soiled. Tainted. Dirty. All of it clinging to his skin like dirt that wouldn’t come off no matter how much he scrubbed.

Eyes growing heavy with drowsiness, Draco pulled the blanket around him tighter, closing his eyes and beginning to fall into the blissful black oblivion of potion assisted sleep. It was at the edge of consciousness, that the echo of those words once more came to him. 

“I’m so sorry, Draco.” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but unfortunately due to the nature of the curse used on you, and how deep the cuts were, I couldn’t prevent scarring on your torso and chest. Thankfully the cut on your face, though caused by the same curse, wasn’t as deep and I was able to heal it without any scarring. Professor Snape’s use of Ditney helped, but unfortunately not enough to prevent the scarring on your chest. I am sorry. I’m certain over time they may become less noticeable. There is a special potion based cream that can help if you’d like.”

Draco just nods as Madam Pomfrey explains about the scars. He’d known there would be. Known that the cuts to his chest and abdomen were deeper than the slice on his face. He wonders briefly if the lotion she mentions is something he can make himself but dismisses the idea. Severus will probably have some already made knowing him.

When the Hospital Wing matron is done checking him over one last time, she tells him he can get dressed and he’s allowed to leave. Draco is enormously grateful that she never mentions his panic and pleading sobs that first moment he’d awakened in the Hospital Wing. He thinks she probably put it down to what had happened in the bathroom. He thanks her quietly and then once the curtains she erected while she ran her tests are closed behind her departing back, he changes out of the scratchy hospital pajamas and into the clean things Severus had brought him earlier. 

As he dresses mechanically, Draco wonders about his mission. It’s dull, dead weight on his shoulders and mind. He knows he has to finish the cabinet. He can at least do that. The rest, he swallows at the thought, he knows he can’t. He’s not a killer. He wishes that someone would just figure out what he’s up to, to stop it before it all goes to Hell. But he knows better. No one knows. Except he thinks Severus suspects. If the way the man has been trying to get information out of him all year was any indication. And his constant suggestions of help. 

Draco however knows he must do this alone. No one can help him. No one can save him. He’s already damned. Nothing and no one can stop it. He’s not sure he cares anymore. He still wishes he’d died in that bathroom. 

He walks out of the Hospital Wing, knowing that his fate in this world is already sealed. It’s too late for him. He heads for the seventh floor and the Room of Hidden Things, he has a Vanishing Cabinet to fix.

Chapter Text

Mid April, Easter Holidays, 1998, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

He felt Lucius’ hot, scotch scented breath on his neck. Felt the ugly energy pouring off him. The excitement. The eagerness. And, as always, the anger. 

“Just tell them it’s Potter, you little bitch. Tell them and all will be right again. We’ll be back in good standing with the Dark Lord. He will reward us. And forget what an utter failure you are. And maybe I won’t tell him or the others that you’re a little faggot boy,” Lucius hissed in Draco’s ear. 

Draco felt the weight of the eyes in the room on him, as they waited, waiting to see if he would tell them that the Dark Lord’s most wanted prize was here, in the Manor, held by a group Snatchers. Potter and his friends, captured at long last. 

Potter who had obviously been hit with a Stinging Hex by the looks of his swollen, misshapen face. Granger’s work probably. She and Potter were the only two between the three that would think of something like that so fast. Also, Granger’s spellwork was better than Weasley’s. 

He swallowed. Draco knew it was Potter. It had to be. Who else would be with Granger and Weasley? Instead he hesitated, even as Lucius pushed him forward, hissing, “Look closer! You know it’s Potter!”

Oh Draco was sure alright, there was no mistaking Potter. Even with the disfigurement of the hex, Draco could see the famous or infamous, depending on how you viewed it, scar, stretched and distorted on Potter’s forehead. And his hair was much longer than Draco had ever seen it on him, to his shoulders, like his cousin Sirius used to wear his. There was also a shadow of what was probably the beginnings of a beard around Potter’s square jaw. And there was no mistaking those eyes, even when they were barely slits in his face from the hex, Draco could still see their brilliant color. No one had eyes like Potter’s. As green as the brightest emeralds.

Eyes that were silently pleading that Draco not tell, that he keep the secret. And in that moment Draco knew he wouldn’t tell. He couldn’t. Potter, despite everything, despite their history, meant hope. Hope that this miserable war would end, hope that maybe Draco would never have to look over his shoulder again, jump when someone broke the quiet suddenly. And maybe, just maybe, an end to the fear that Lucius would ever hurt him again. 

That Lucius might even pay for his crimes, pay for what he did to Draco. Not, Draco thought, that he would ever tell anyone about the rape. No, it was better to leave it. He felt tainted and soiled enough. He didn’t need the entire wizarding world to see just how dirty he was. How defiled he was. How unclean.

He was so tired of being afraid, he wanted the war to end. And Potter was the only hope the world, and Draco, had. So he pretended to really scrutinize Potter, before stepping back, fixing an uncertain expression to his face, saying, “I-I-I can’t be sure.”

Lucius looked thunderous at this exclamation. “Then look closer! This IS Potter! You just have to say yes.” Draco wanted to just get away, Lucius angry like this still caused panic to spiral inside him. Thoughts of the rape swirled in his mind and he had to forcibly pushed them away. He couldn’t fall apart now. Here.

Instead he turned back towards Potter, coming closer on the pretense of examining him more closely. Lucius stayed a few feet behind. Making sure to angle himself so Lucius and the others couldn’t see, Draco said very quietly, so only Potter could hear him, “I won’t tell them. But you must find a way to get out of here. It’s too dangerous to be here long. Get yourself and your friends out of here as soon you are able, Potter. I can’t promise I’ll be able to be of any help to you after this.” 

Draco stepped back again, not waiting for any reaction from Potter, turning to face Lucius and the rest of the Death Eaters that were assembled, “I can’t .. I can’t be sure. I don’t know.”

Lucius went from thunderous to murderous in a blink. His hand twitched towards where his wand would have been, except it wasn’t there of course, thanks to the Dark Lord. And Potter ironically enough. A cackling laugh from the doorway drew the attention of the occupants of the room. 

Bellatrix sauntered in, eyes alight with madness and delight, a smirk painted onto her lips. “Wuttle Loosey Lucius doesn’t have his wand no more cause the Dark Lord took it and Potter snapped it!” She laughed madly again, the sound bouncing and echoing off the dark walls of the drawing room. 

Her mad eyes finally took in the room, the Snatchers, led by Greyback who was practically salivating at the sight of fresh, young meat, and the possibility of more to come his way if he had indeed captured Potter and his friends. Then she saw Potter and his friends and her eyes widened. “What is this? What is going on, here? Cissy?” 

Narcissa looked back at her sister cooly, “These … gentleman …. Claim to have captured Harry Potter and his friends. Draco here was asked to identify Potter, but he says he isn’t sure.”

Bellatrix suddenly looked very excited. It was sickening. “Potter? Wee Wuttle Potter? Here?” She walked closer to where one of the Snatchers was still holding Potter in his grip, she studied his swollen face and clicked her tongue. Then looked over at Granger and Weasley. “Well if it isn’t the Mudblood and the Blood Traitor. “

Then she went completely still, her eyes having fallen on the sword one of the Snatchers was holding. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and dangerous, “Where, did you get that?” she demanded.

Even from where he was standing, Draco could see the way the Snatcher’s eyes opened in sudden fear, the way sweat suddenly beaded on his face. He licked his lips nervously before answering. “We found it in their tent,” another voice, Greyback’s, said before the other could answer. 

“Give it to me,” she demanded, still quiet, still dangerous. 

“It’s no yorn, missues, it’s mine, I reckon I found it,” the Snatcher said, pulling the sword closer to his body.

Draco cringed. That was the last thing you ever did to Bellatrix. No one refused her without paying the price for it. There was a loud bang and flash of brilliant red light. The Snatcher was thrown backwards with the force of the spell, landing in a heap with a dull thud, the sword dropping from his limp fingers to the floor with a loud clang.

Chaos ensued. Bellatrix turned and stunned all the rest of the Snatchers except Greyback in quick succession. When she leveled her wand at the werewolf, chest heaving, she whispered cold deadliness lacing her words, “Is what he said true? Was it in their tent?”

Greyback nodded, not daring to speak. Draco thought it the first smart thing the creature had done.

Bickering broke out then, about what to do with the prisoners, and how the sword, which apparently was supposed to be in Bellatrix’s vault at Gringotts, had fallen into Potter’s hands. Bellatrix screamed and ranted and flung more spells around as she grew more agitated and angry. 

Draco backed up against the drawing room wall, trying not to be noticed. Lucius and Bellatrix got into an almost physical fight at one point, over who should call the Dark Lord or if they should. The sight of the sword had changed things. Bellatrix insisted they wait. They had to be sure. Finally she ordered Potter and Weasley to be taken to the cells in what had once been the Malfoy Family wine cellar. 

Granger, Bellatrix decided to keep for more questioning. Draco felt sick watching, listening as first the girl was tortured under Cruciatus , then as Bellatrix got creative, straddling the prone girl’s figure and leaning over, gleefully, using that horrible dagger of hers to carve into the flesh on Granger’s arm. 

The sound of Granger’s screams, the pounding of her feet on the floor as she was tortured and then mutilated rang around the room and in Draco’s head, making the sick feeling in his stomach rise into his throat. 

He watched blood drip from her arm where Bellatrix was carving into it, watched as it pooled on the floor around her arm, noting that her blood was no different looking than his own. Or anyone else’s for that matter. And thinking that all his life he had been taught that anyone who wasn’t at least half-blood was dirty, had dirty blood. He felt disgusted. She was no different than him. In fact, she was an extremely powerful and competent witch. He had listened to Lucius' poison for far too long. Had clung to that bullshit for too long. Acted on it. 

Draco vowed to himself then and there that if he lived through this nightmare he was going to make an effort to change. To be a better person, a better man. A better Malfoy. He just had to live through this war first.

Hours later, locked in his room, Draco was still shaking. And not just from the Cruciatus he’d had to endure from the Dark Lord when his wrath had broken over all those in that drawing room who hadn’t fled before the blood bath had begun. 

He could still hear the screams of the tortured and the dying in his head. The way the Dark Lord had screamed and raged before firing off hexes, jinxes, and the killing curse. Punishing all those who had allowed Potter to escape. 

He saw the body of one of the Death Eaters,laying in a pool of his own blood, mask askew so one dark eye was visible, staring blankly at the ceiling. His throat slit wide from a horrible cutting curse, not unlike the one that Potter had hit Draco with in that bathroom. The bodies of others, some he knew the names of, some he didn’t. All dead from either the killing curse or something else. 

He could still hear the sounds of Granger’s screaming as Bellatrix had first hit her over and over with the Cruciatus Curse and then decided to carve Mudblood into her arm with that cursed knife of hers. He could still hear the way Granger’s feet had kicked and pounded the floor as the blade bit into her skin, carving that horrible word into her flesh. 

He could still hear Weasley’s screams of panic from the holding cell below the drawing room. Screaming for Granger. And when he closed his eyes he could still see Potter’s face, swollen and disfigured with a Stinging Hex, thanks to Granger and her quick thinking when the Snatchers had found them. 

He remembered the sick feeling awash in his stomach when Bellatrix had told Greyback he could have Granger, that he could do with her whatever he wanted. And how eager, thirsty, hungry, Greyback had looked at the prospect. How it looked like it had turned him on. 

Of course that was the moment that Potter and company had burst back into the drawing room from the cellar, having escaped when Wormtail had gone down to shut Weasley up. He’d never forget the sight of Wormtail’s pale, lifeless body being brought up from the cellar after it was discovered he was dead. Apparently strangled by his own silver hand. The one the Dark Lord had given him as a reward for helping him return to a body. 

He remembered the helpless feeling he’d gotten when Potter had stolen his wand from him, leaving him feeling naked without it. He had been angry at first, to be left defenseless while in a house full of Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and Lucius. But he comforted himself with the knowledge that at least Lucius didn’t have a wand any longer either. It was the others, Greyback especially, that scared Draco more. It’s funny how Lucius seemed less frightening without his wand, without the ability to use magic. Especially magic against Draco. He shivered, the echoes of the things Lucius had done to him with magic trying to push to the surface of his thoughts. It was with a tremendous effort that Draco pushed those thoughts and feelings away.

Instead he thought of the moment that Potter and his friends had escaped, barely, with their lives.

He touched his face, feeling where the small nicks and cuts had been healed from the shards of crystal that had flown into his face after their old house elf, Dobby, had dropped the chandelier from the ceiling of the drawing room. Draco had been stunned to see the elf, who had apparently become very loyal to Harry Potter. That the elf had come to rescue Potter and his friends was very strange as he never knew house elves could have such loyalty to masters. And he wondered how in the world the little elf had known to come. 

Draco let out a breath, feeling himself finally beginning to calm some. He was glad that Potter and his friends escaped, even when the result had been the Dark Lord’s ugly wrath. Now he wondered if they would survive this war, and if they did, what the cost would be. He hoped fervently that, wherever he was, Potter had a plan. A bloody damn good plan to end this war soon. And Draco hoped he’d survive it. 

Chapter Text

May 2, 1998, Battle of Hogwarts, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland 

Everything was unraveling. It had started with Crabbe and Goyle deciding to follow Potter into the Room of Hidden Things after hearing him talking about some diadem, instead of going with the Dark Lord and the rest of the Death Eaters who weren't currently fighting. Draco wasn’t sure what Potter could possibly need with such a thing in the middle of a battle. Wasn’t Potter supposed to be killing a certain Dark Lord? 

Although, maybe it had something to do with Potter’s search for something. He’d had the inkling back at the Manor and now here was Potter looking for a diadem. It couldn’t be coincidence.

Crabbe and Goyle had their wands aimed at Potter and suddenly the tension had ratcheted up, pulling tight. This was not going to end well. Draco raised the wand in his hand, poking it through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle who were a wall of muscle and stupidity in front of him.

“That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,” he said, seeing his hawthorn wand in the other’s hand. 

“Not anymore,” Potter told him, panting slightly after his mad dash down the rows of junk in the room before coming upon Draco and his less than intelligent colleagues. “Winners, keepers, Malfoy. Who’s lent you theirs?”

“My mother,” Draco said, wondering what difference it made to Potter whose wand Draco had. The only thing that mattered to Draco was being able to defend himself. Of course fear rippled along his insides at the thought of his mother defenseless and surrounded by Death Eaters, especially her insane sister, Lucius, and the Dark Lord. He pushed thoughts of his mother aside, he couldn’t get distracted now.

“So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?” Potter asked them. 

“We’re gonna be rewarded,” Crabbe told him. “We ‘ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ‘im.” 

“Good plan,” Potter mocked him. “So how did you get in here?”

Draco would have rolled his eyes if the thoughts connected with how he knew to get in this room didn’t bring with them shivers of fear and a feeling of nausea in his stomach. “I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,” he told Potter, his voice brittle sounding even to his own ears. Get a grip, Draco! You can’t fall apart now! “I know how to get in.”

Briefly Draco wondered if Potter was really that obtuse, after all the prat had been stalking him all of last year, using that bloody cloak of his. 

In his inattention, Draco missed whatever Goyle had said to Potter because the next thing he knew he heard Weasley’s voice calling to Potter, asking if he was talking to someone. Alarm raced through Draco’s veins as, before he could stop him, Crabbe raised his wand and hit a towering pile of broken furniture and other objects with a Descendo. Draco watched in slow motion horror as the wall began to sway, and then the top third of the wall crumbled, junk tumbling down into the aisle next to theirs where Weasley was standing. 

Potter screamed Weasley’s name as the pile fell, crashing and splintering to the floor. At the same moment he pointed his wand (or rather Draco’s wand), at the tottering pile and shouted a Finite at it. It steadied. 

Draco had to stop Crabbe from casting the descending spell again.

“STOP! You’ll wreck the whole room and then you’ll lose this diadem thing!” Draco yelled. His heart thudded hard in his chest. If he didn’t do something to stop these two idiots they were all going to die in here, crushed by piles of discarded junk.

Crabbe sneered at him (who knew he was even capable of that?), “Why do you care? What’s so special about this die-dem thing? It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants.”

Draco nearly ground his teeth in frustration. “Potter came here to look for it, that must mean-”

“‘Must mean’?” Crabbe asked with ferocity, “I don’t take your orders no more, Draco . You n’ your dad are finished.” 

At that moment Weasely called to Potter again and Crabbe tried to Crucio Potter when he lunged for the diadem which was on top of an old broken bust. The spell missed hitting the bust, sending it and the diadem flying into the massive junk pile.

Chaos descended after that. Crabbe tried to hit Granger with a killing curse, and she shot back with a stunning spell that Draco ducked as it flew over his head, missing him by inches. It crashed into one of the towering piles of junk, sending bits of broken pieces in every direction.

Why did Crabbe and Goyle have to Potter follow in here? And why did Draco have to follow along?  

“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!” Draco nearly screamed at them as they fired off more killing curses at Potter. His heart was thudding hard and fast in his chest. Fuck. If they killed Potter there was no chance this war would ever end. Draco needed Potter to stay alive! 

So in an effort to get through to the gormless idiots he had used as lackey’s since forever, he yelled what they had all been ordered to do. “The Dark Lord wants him alive!”

They ignored him. 

It was all the distraction Potter needed however, as he fired off a disarming charm, knocking Goyle’s wand from his hand and sending it flying into the massive piles of junk, lost.

The fighting and taunting continued for a few minutes, Goyle finally went down after someone hit him with a stunning spell. Then things got worse. Much worse. Crabbe, the imbecile, cast the spell for Fiendfyre and quickly lost control of it because he never paid attention in class. As soon as it splashed against the first pieces of junk in the room, they turned to ash right away and it spread. 

Soon everything was on fire. Dark, thick smoke rolled and billowed along the ceiling, flames gleefully chewed through the mountains of discarded bits of junk, spreading faster and faster through the room. Draco could see shapes in the flames, giant flaming Chimara’s, dragons, and even weirdly, a phoenix. 

Draco grabbed the unconscious Goyle and tried to run, trying to figure out which way the door was. He had no idea where Crabbe was, feared he was dead but couldn't think of that right now.

The heat was bone melting, the towering inferno terrifying. And as he dragged Goyle along with him, Draco knew they wouldn’t make it out. They would die in this cursed fire, burn to ash and nothing would be left of them. His heart lurched and his stomach heaved. He was going to die. 

Still dragging Goyle, Draco spotted a charred stack of old desks, thinking to get above the flames, maybe see where the door was, he climbed up. It was as he reached the top, coughing and gagging on the thick smoke and heated air, that Draco saw Potter and his friends on old brooms, making for the rectangle of light not far from where he stood. They were going to leave him to burn. He didn’t blame them really. Not after the way he’d treated them. 

And he thought, at least it would finally all be over. No more hurting. No more nightmares and horrible flashbacks. Just peace.

Then he saw them wheel around, coming back towards him. Potter in front, eyes on Draco. He was going to save them! Draco reached his hand up, to grab hold of Potter’s outstretched hand. It slipped, their palms sweaty from the intense heat. 

The flames were all around him now, the heat was getting worse, the desks he was standing on started to smoke, the monstrous creatures in the flames had begun to pick up bits of the junk now, tossing it into the air, catching it in their gaping maws. 

Potter had disappeared after his attempt to save Draco. He had probably left, knowing it was a lost cause. That he had to get out, leaving Draco and Goyle to their fate. Draco was shaking. He’d never get to see his mother again, never get to say goodbye. He hoped someone would remember him when it was over. Remember to tell his mother what happened to him. 

Just as the flames had started to catch the bottom most desk on the pile, Potter swooped over him again, hand reaching down. This time when their hands connected they held on, and Draco pulled himself and Goyle up onto Potter’s broom. It pitched and rolled in the air, both from his and Goyle’s added weight and due to it being such an old broom. Still it stayed in the air, and stayed above the raging fire. 

Draco clung to Potter tightly, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, face pressed against his back. He didn’t care. He was terrified and he wanted to get out of this room alive. It seemed to stretch on forever, the minutes moving like treacle, especially when Potter turned back, to get that damn diadem. Draco thought his heart was going to stop. 

Finally they flew out of the room, the doors crashing closed behind them as they tumbled onto the floor of the corridor outside. Draco was on his side near the wall, coughing and retching and panting, the cool air of the corridor welcome after the intensity of the heat from the inferno. 

Vaguely he could see smoke rising off his clothes, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t actually burning, so he just lay there, trying to breath the cool, clean air. It was only when there was a loud explosion from the other end of the corridor that Draco became aware of exactly where he was. He looked and saw a huge, gaping hole in the wall, spellfire coming through it and striking the wall on the opposite side. 

Then he saw it. One of the Weasley twins was laying amongst the rubble, eyes open and staring at nothing. Seeing nothing. He was dead. He heard one of the others, scream their denial. Then the giant spiders came through the hole, and everything was chaos again. 

Draco sat huddled next to his mother at what he thinks is the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall. The battle is over. Somehow the battle is over. And he’s alive. He’s alive and he’s not sure how to cope with that or how to proceed. He had focused so much on staying alive, even when death seemed much more preferable, that now that he was alive and everything was over, he didn’t quite know what to do.

Instead he sits next to his mother, mechanically eating the food that has appeared before him. Some part of him that isn’t numb or in shock or whatever registers surprise that the elves, who he saw actually joining the fighting, are in the kitchens cooking. 

His eyes roved over the Hall, taking in the dirty, sweaty, somewhat singed, scraped, bruised, people around him. Some are sitting properly on the benches at the tables eating, others are sitting atop the tables, talking quietly or in at least one case gesturing wildly. It all seems surreal. The Dark Lord is dead. For good this time. Potter killed him. Automatically Draco looked around for Potter, wondering where he is, as it’s not obvious. He finally spots him, sitting on one end of the Gryffindor table, next to Lovegood of all people. He looks thin in a malnourished sort of way, though Draco supposes time on the run from Death Eaters, Snatchers, and the Dark Lord himself, meant no real proper meals. He wonders vaguely what exactly Potter and his friends had been up to while on the run, what they had been searching for. It had been obvious when they’d been brought to the Manor (Draco tries very hard NOT to think about what happened), that they had been in search of something to end the Dark Lord. Especially if his dear Aunt Bellatrix’s response to the Sword of Gryffindor being in Potter’s hands had been any indication. 

He supposes it doesn’t matter now, as both the Dark Lord and his aunt are dead. Though he is curious. And he supposes it will probably come out at some point, something that big (if there is something) never stays secret forever. 

Draco finds himself thinking back to earlier that morning (was it really still the same day?), when Hagrid had walked out of the Forbidden Forest, surrounded by Death Eaters, and carrying Potter’s seemingly lifeless body in his arms. Draco’s heart had dropped to his feet. Potter had failed. Potter went to the Dark Lord after he’d issued his challenge. The bastard had done it and left the rest of them to die. 

Draco had been so angry, had felt it course through him like the fiendfyre had in the Room of Hidden Things, and he’d wanted badly to have a wand in his hand so he could hex Potter’s body into little pieces for leaving them all to their fates. 

Of course it had turned out he wasn’t dead, just doing a very good job of pretending to be. Draco wondered exactly how he’d fooled the Dark Lord into believing it. 

Looking away from Potter, Draco focuses instead on his food (breakfast? Lunch?). He knows at some point the Aurors will be coming for him and his parents, if they hadn’t already found Lucius, wherever the bastard went during the last of the fighting. There’s no way they will escape their crimes, especially his father, whose crimes span two different wars. 

Until then he keeps his head down, trying to make himself as small as possible so as not to be noticed and eats his food. Waiting.

Mid June, 1998, Wizengamot, Ministry of Magic, London

The chains holding him to the chair in the middle of the courtroom are cold and biting. Not literally biting, though Draco supposes they probably have those sorts of things somewhere. He sits as straight as he can, chin held high, blank Malfoy Mask in place. His eyes take in the wizards ringing the raised coliseum like seats in front of him, all dressed in their deep purple Wizengamot robes. The Minister sits in the middle at a raised podium, dressed in heavy black robes, shuffling a sheaf of parchments. 

The wizarding public is seated to the right of the Wizengamot members, leaning eagerly forward so as to not miss anything. Draco sucks in a breath when he spots Potter sitting near the front looking tired and worn and still too thin but dressed in a decent set of robes. He is tapping nervous fingers on his knee, eyes looking all around the room as if searching for an escape route. Next to Potter is Granger, who lays a hand on the tapping fingers, stilling them. She whispers something to him and Potter gives her what looks to Draco like a glare but he can’t be sure. Idly Draco wonders where Weasley is.

To the left is the press, quills all poised over pads of parchment, magical recorders ready to take in the proceedings. Vultures the lot of them. Thankfully there is no sign of the dreaded Skeeter, though Draco supposes she is barred from the trials due to her not so unbiased way of reporting. His skin crawls when he thinks of her, remembering his brief time in fourth year selling stories to her about Potter. Gods he had been such a prick. 

The Minister banging his gavel draws Draco’s attention back to him as he calls the court to order. “It is the fifteenth of June, 1998 and this is the trial of accused Death Eater, Draco Lucius Malfoy. The defendant is accused of the following crimes: Being a Death Eater and follower of the Dark Lord Voldemort (much of the crowd shudders and gasps at the name), allowing Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the Spring of 1997, as well as housing Lord Voldemort at Malfoy Manor …. “

Draco tunes the rest out, knowing full well what his crimes are. His regrets. He shifts in his seat, the chains tightening just a bit as he moves, like he’s actually trying to escape them or something. He rolls his eyes internally. As if he could escape. There were Aurors stationed near the doors leading out of the courtroom as well as outside them. Plus Potter and Granger were in the gallery and Draco knew he'd never escape their wands either. Bloody Ministry. 

“Mr. Malfoy, how do you plead?” Minister Shacklebolt asked from his perch. Draco looked up at the man and said clearly, “Guilty.”

Draco blinked into the bright sun outside the Ministry building. He couldn’t believe he had walked out of there with a sentence so light. Yes he had to wear a magical monitoring bracelet and he couldn’t leave the grounds of the Manor unless he was going to Hogwarts where he had been sentenced to help rebuild the castle and it’s defenses. 

Those things were nothing compared to what he thought he’d get. He’d thought for sure he was going to be in a cell in Azkaban next to his father, whose trial had taken place before Draco’s and had already been sentenced to a lifetime in the wizarding prison. 

The real shock though had come from Potter. He had actually testified on Draco’s behalf. He hadn’t been able to believe it when the man had taken the stand. He’d thought for sure that he and Granger were there to testify to all of his crimes, to put the final nails in his already damned coffin. Instead Potter had spoken of how Draco hadn’t really wanted to do the things he’d done. How he hadn’t given up Potter and his friends to the Dark Lord when they’d been brought to the Manor by the Snatchers. 

And he’d told them about the Fiendfyre. How Crabbe had started it in the Room of Hidden Things, and how Potter and his friends had gone back to save Draco and Goyle from the cursed inferno, but were unable to save Crabbe. Potter had also told them how Draco hadn’t actually wanted to fulfill his mission to kill Albus Dumbledore. How he had lowered his wand in the end. And then the truly shocking thing: Severus and Dumbledore had planned Dumbledore’s death. Dumbledore had known about Draco’s mission from Severus, who had been a double agent, feeding information to the Order of the Phoenix. How Severus had made an Unbreakable Vow with his mother, performed by his Aunt Bellatrix of all people, to protect Draco and help him in any way he could with his mission. That he would be the one to kill Dumbledore not Draco.

Potter had told the court that Dumbledore had already been dying, after coming into contact with a cursed object. That cursed object being a fucking horcrux of the Dark Lord’s. And it hadn’t been the only one. There had been seven of the damned things all together, including Potter himself. That had been what he and his friends had been searching for while on the run. Horcruxes. 

Draco still felt sick thinking about that. Horcruxes were abhorrent. And what truly made him sick was knowing one had been in his house. That diary from second year. The one his father had slipped Ginny Weasley had contained a fragment of the Dark Lord’s soul. And while Lucius hadn’t known what the diary truly was, he’d still taken great pleasure in the damage it had caused once he knew what had happened that year at Hogwarts, even if he didn’t know the entire truth. The utter sadistic bastard. 

Now Lucius was in Azkaban for whatever remained of his miserable existence and Draco was free. 

Late June, 1998, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Potter stood before Draco, fidgeting nervously with the end of his jacket sleeve, “I uhm .. I wanted to return your wand. And uhm .. I wanted to … that is … I wanted to thank you. You know for not telling them it was me when the Snatchers brought us to the Manor. You … you saved my life.” 

Draco reached with a hand that only shook a little bit and grasped the handle of the offered wand. Immediately he felt the warm, welcome tingle of magic in his fingers. Golden sparks shot from the end of the wand, as if it was as happy to be reunited with its master as its master was. He swallowed several times before he could get the words out. “Thank you, Potter.”

Potter, with his purpose done now, stood awkwardly for a moment, as if he had no idea what to do next. “Your mother, she saved me too, you know,” Potter told him quietly. “She told Voldemort I was dead. In the forest. He sent her to check, after he hit me with the Killing Curse. He made her check. She knew I was alive. Asked me if you were alive and if you were still in the castle. I told her yes. And she lied to him. It allowed me to finally defeat him.”

Draco was stunned. His mother? Lied to the Dark Lord? And lived? “How ..?” His eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to say that outloud. 

“I don’t honestly know. I think it was because he went down when I did, because that piece of him that was still inside me died when he hit me with the killing curse maybe. I’m still not really clear on it. He didn’t question her at all. I think he was afraid. For all his posturing and willingness to kill others, Voldemort feared death. Feared to see it and most definitely feared dying himself, otherwise he wouldn’t have made all those Horcruxes. So he believed her when she said I was dead.”

Draco’s mind was whirling. Potter had testified at his mother’s trial too, but Draco hadn’t been there. Wasn’t allowed to leave the house. He’d spent hours pacing the halls and rooms of the Manor, desperate to know what had become of her. Terrified she’d go to Azkaban with his father, even though she had never taken the Mark, never been a Death Eater. Never wanted to be. Had only foolishly followed her husband along the path laid out by a madman. 

“You … you told the court didn’t you? You told them what she did. That’s why she only has house arrest for six months. She never told me. Didn’t tell me how she got such a light sentence,” Draco said, amazed. “Why though? Why do any of this? Testify for me? My mother? Give me my wand back? You hate us. You hate my family. You hate me . Why spare us our just punishments?”

Potter gave Draco a look that could only be described as that of a person looking at a particularly slow child. The feeling rankled Draco, causing irritation to spike. Before he could open his mouth however, Potter spoke again. 

“You were just a child, really, Mal-Draco. A child raised in an environment to believe these awful things about those who weren’t like you; pureblooded, rich, and arrogant. You didn’t know any better. You believed those things until you realized what those things really meant. And by then it was too late. You were forced into the service of a madman because of what your father did. You were his punishment for his failures. You never wanted any of it, but by then you were in over your head and had no choice. He threatened to kill you and your mother. You were trying to protect her. I get that.”

For the second time in this conversation, Potter had left Draco speechless. He really thought all that? And .. wait .. how did he know that it was Lucius’ failures that led to Draco taking the Mark? 

“How ..?” 

Potter didn’t answer right away, just got this odd look on his face before he looked back at Draco again and he was taken aback by the pain and the sorrow he saw in those green eyes. “I was there when … Snape … when Nagini …..  killed him. I was in the tunnel that leads to the Shrieking Shack from Hogwarts, with Ron and Hermione. I saw Voldemort order the snake to kill Snape. After … after … Voldemort left … I went to Snape … to .. to … see .. if … if I could help him. It was too late though. The last thing he did was … he gave me his memories. So I could see what I had to do. I saw his conversation with Dumbledore before sixth year started. About how you had gotten the Mark and the order that Voldemort had given you. I saw a lot of things in those memories. It’s how I found out I was Horcrux, which honestly I had suspected for a while because it was the only explanation I could see for why I had such a connection with Voldemort. 

“I … I also saw … Snape as a child. He … he lived near my mother and aunt when they were kids. He was friends with my Mum from the time they were about ten or so until about near the end of their fifth year at Hogwarts. He … he loved her. But she didn’t .. couldn’t … return his feelings because … he’d already started hanging out with people who’d become Death Eaters later, including your father. She couldn’t … didn’t want anything to do with that. Yet he still loved her. Loved her until he died. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is I know what it’s like not to have any real choice in the course of your life. To have others basically planning things out for you without you actually knowing they’re doing it, thinking you're making your own choices, until you realize and by then it’s too late. And I’m also saying I’m tired of hating you. We just finished a war that proved that hating each other for petty differences like blood status or rejected handshakes or whatever is foolish. It’s time we act the adults we’re supposed to be and put all that shite aside. Try to get along. At least be civil. We’ve both been through so much shite that don’t you think it would be better to try to get along than to keep holding onto a stupid, childish rivalry?”

Draco could only stare at Potter, wondering when he’d grown up, when he’d found this wisdom and where. And he thought about everything he’d told him. About Severus. He couldn’t believe he’d love Potter’s mother even after she had rejected him. Loved her until he died. He had so many questions. Wanted to know so many things about what he learned. Knew there was more to learn about all this. And he wondered briefly if trying to be … friends? …. Acquaintances? … with Potter would it be worth it? Wouldn’t they just fight like always? Except Potter had said he was tired of fighting. Could they be friends? Maybe. Dracos supposed the only way to find out was to do it. To try. Again.

Looking back at Potter, Draco held out his hand, a sense of deja vu washing over him. “Alright, Potter, let’s try.” And when Potter smiled at him and took his hand to shake Draco felt something fundamental shift between them. Things would be different now. He was sure of it.

Chapter Text

Early June, 2003, 12 Grimmauld Place, Islington, London, England

Sunlight was bleeding through a gap in the window blinds, spilling a narrow beam of golden light onto the bed and across Harry’s bare back, making his already golden skin seem more bronzed than usual. Draco smiled as he studied Harry from his position standing in the doorway leading to their bedroom. The sheets laying low on his hips, his bare back exposed to the air. Harry was sprawled over most of the bed, arms stretched out at his sides, fingers curled towards his palms, one leg hanging over the edge of the bed. Draco could just make out the curve of his arse under the sheet. He watched the slow rise and fall as Harry breathed. It helped to relax the last of the wary tension in him to see his lover breathing. 

He’d been having dreams again, the bad ones. Usually about Lucius. Sometimes about fire and smoke and dying. Or worse, seeing Harry, seemingly dead in Hagrid’s arms. Only in his dreams Harry never came back. He had been truly dead. And so he’d been awake for a few hours now, restless and unable to sleep.

Now he just wanted to crawl back into bed, curl up in Harry’s arms and sleep for a while. Unfortunately it was a Sunday and that meant Sunday dinner at the Borrow. They weren’t expected until around three, but when Draco checked the clock on the bedside table, it read half past nine. He sighed, maybe he could sleep for a little bit, then they could have brunch, get ready, and go to the Burrow. 

It still amazed Draco that this was his life. That he had a life at all after everything. It hadn’t been easy building himself back up after the war. Especially with all the trauma he’d suffered both before and during the war. The abuse he’d faced at Lucius’ hands, the worst being the vicious rape. 

Harry had been the light he needed to find his way out of the dark, horrible place he’d found himself in. Harry, who had, upon, returning Draco’s wand to him, also extended his hand in friendship. And that had been the turning point for Draco. 

He’d grabbed onto that new friendship, letting it build up his hopes. To heal his wounded heart and soul. It was Harry who had encouraged him to see a Mind Healer, telling Draco that he’d started to see one himself, after the war. It was Hermione who had persuaded him. All three of the Golden Trio had gone to Mind Healers to deal with all of their demons. 

Harry still went to his, even after all these years. Of course, Harry’s traumas had started long before Hogwarts. Draco had been shocked and disgusted and angered to learn just how badly his muggle relatives had treated him. He still wished that Harry would let him find them so he could hex them. 

It had been after an extremely draining and brutal session with his Mind Healer that Draco had finally, after just over a year of being friends with Harry, told him about what Lucius had done to him. Starting with the first time Lucius had hit him and ending with the rape. 

Draco would never forget the look on Harry’s face as he’d told the story, told him what Lucius had done. How after Azkaban it seemed that Lucius had lost all or most of his sanity. How he was always angry, angrier than before Azakaban, and that any little thing would set him off. How it was obvious he had enjoyed torturing and raping his own son. He told Harry how Lucius would then later use the fact that Draco was gay as a weapon against him, threatening to give Draco to Greyback or some of the other Death Eaters for ‘entertainment’ if Draco didn’t behave how Lucius thought he should. Or take the Mark. 

When he had finished his story Harry had dashed from the room and thrown up spectacularly in the sink in the kitchen.

It had scared Draco badly, thinking that Harry was disgusted by him, disgusted that he’d allowed himself to be raped and tortured. He’d fled, gone back to his flat that he’d rented after leaving the Manor behind when his mother decided to move to France when her house arrest was up. He hadn’t been able to stomach living in that house any longer than he had to. The memories of all the horrible things that had happened there were too much. 

As soon as he was inside his wards, Draco had locked the Floo and closed the wards to all outside visitors. Then he’d found the bottle of Ogden’s in the back of his kitchen cupboard and drank it. He didn’t remember much after that. Only that he’d gone to take a shower at some point, something he had still done frequently then, and had been working with his Mind Healer to get beyond. He remembered turning the water up as hot as he could before stepping inside. He scrubbed and scrubbed himself, trying to wash away the dirty, unclean feeling. He’d scrubbed so hard he’d started to bleed a bit. The blood had caused a wave of panic and fear to crash over him like a tsunami. 

He had such a vicious flashback, of being back in his old rooms at the Manor, Lucius laughing and taunting him, that horrible thing inside him, tearing and tearing, the scent of blood heavy in the air. Then his mind flashed to the drawing room, the blood covering the floor, Granger’s blood, from Bellatrix’s horrible carving on her arm; the blood of the Death Eaters, all dead at the hands of the Dark Lord. He heaved and coughed and emptied his stomach in the shower until nothing was left but the burning in his throat from the alcohol and bile coming back up.

He curled into a ball in the corner of the shower after that and cried for hours, water pounding down on him, washing his tears down the drain, but it could not wash away his feeling of worthlessness. It could not wash away the feeling of dirtiness, the feeling that he’d never be clean again. He would always be tainted. The water was charmed to stay hot. Eventually he’d fallen asleep there. And that’s how he’d nearly died. Badly scalded by the hot water and overheated and dehydrated, he’d ended up not so much sleeping as passing out. He’d been in the shower, the scalding water pouring over him for close to sixteen hours when Harry had broken through his wards and found him.

When Draco woke up in his bed in St. Mungo’s, it was Harry’s tired, anxious face he saw first. It had looked like the light and life had trained out of him. He’d been so pale and waxy, Draco had feared he was sick. 

But the minute he had seen Draco awake, realized he was okay, the light had gone back on in his eyes and in that moment Draco was lost. He’d known for a while that his feelings for Harry were growing, changing from friendship to something deeper, warmer, and much more frightening. That moment, watching the way Harry’s eyes had the light returned to them, Draco knew. It was cemented. He was in love with Harry Potter.

Of course Harry had wanted to know what the hell he’d been thinking, drinking and then trying to take a shower. And of course why had he run away that night. The answer of course was that he hadn’t been thinking at all. Couldn’t really remember much after he had finished the bottle of firewhisky. And he’d been afraid. Afraid of what Harry thought of him, especially after he’d run out of the room and thrown up, knowing he’d been raped. Lucius’ words still echoed in his thoughts and memories. 

“So pathetic, you can’t even handle being fucked without passing out. No wonder you’re nothing but a worthless little faggot boy. No one will want you now. They’ll all finally see what you are. Nothing but a whore that offers himself to anyone with a cock, but can’t handle the actual fucking. No one wants a used faggot boy whore who can’t handle a cock in his arse.”

Harry had glared at him when he finally voiced all this, telling him that he’d only thrown up like that because of how sick he’d felt at what Lucius had done to Draco, how disgusted and angry he was at Lucius for ever hurting Draco like that. He told Draco how panicked he was when he realized Draco had left and when he couldn’t get in touch with him. He said he’d decided to give Draco space for the night after but when he still couldn't get in touch he’d gone to his flat. 

His panic had spiraled when he realized Draco had closed the wards. It had taken him half an hour to finally break through them. Finding Draco in the state he was in nearly broke Harry. He’d thought Draco was dead. 

Draco felt guilty after hearing that. He had messed up badly.

Everything had hurt, his skin where it had been scalded was raw and pink, glowing with protective magic and a burn salve. He would heal, but it would take time.

He’d spent three weeks in St. Mungo’s before being released. The first week he had been unconscious because a day after he was brought in, Draco had developed a raging infection in one of the burns on his arm. They had had to keep him asleep while trying to deal with it. Harry told him it had taken them three days to finally get it under control. At one point they had feared losing him. Then just as they’d gotten the infection under control, Draco had developed pneumonia, which had resisted treatment for another five days before the Healers had gotten it under control. That had made Draco swallow hard. And seeing the look on Harry’s face, hearing the emotions in his voice and the tears on his face, had broken Draco’s heart. And made him feel even more guilty. He had really messed up. 

When it was time for him to leave, Harry had insisted that Draco stay with him at Grimmauld Place after, despite Draco’s protests that he’d be fine at his own flat by himself. Harry refused to listen.

During Draco’s stay it had become obvious to the blonde that his feelings for Harry were growing stronger each day. He tried his best to hide it, terrified to reveal the depth of his feelings to Harry. And, if he was honest with himself, he was afraid that Harry would not want to be in a relationship with someone who was tainted and soiled by rape. After all, no one wanted a used whore, as Lucius had said. And sometimes Draco wondered if he wanted a romantic relationship with anyone. But every time he thought about him and Harry together romantically, he knew the answer was a surprising yes. 

Harry did want to be with Draco. Had finally confessed to him one night after he had had a bad nightmare, in which he hadn't been able to get through Draco’s wards and Draco had died. Died without ever knowing that Harry loved him. Had been in love with him for almost a year. So he’d come to Draco’s room, tears wet on his lashes and cheeks, waking Draco from his own troubled sleep, slipping onto the bed and wrapping Draco up in his arms. Whispering his confession between sobs.

Hot tears soaked into Draco’s t-shirt as he held Harry against his chest. Draco’s heart broke at the same time as it soared. Fear tipped into him and he had to fight it off, even when he strongly wanted to just give in to it and run. It was everything he wanted, yet he feared at the same time. Was Harry even sure? Did he really want someone like him? With all of his baggage? All of his issues?

The answer had been an incredulous snort, and with tears still dripping down his face, a soft, gentle kiss pressed to Draco’s lips. It was words mumbled against his lips, soft breath dancing across his skin and the taste of salty tears on his lips, as Harry had whispered, “Yes.”

Now, almost 3 and a half years later, they had built a life together. Helped each other through all their nightmares and panics. Helped each other deal with the bad days. They lived and loved together. Draco had even given in to Harry’s pestering to move in with him six months previously and it hadn’t been all doom and disaster the way Draco had thought. 

Letting go of a sigh of exasperation that he’d allowed himself to get so lost in his thoughts, Draco made his way into the bedroom, yawning and slipped back into bed, curling into the warmth of Harry’s body and closed his eyes.

Draco was awakened some time later when a warm arm slipped around his waist, pulling him back against a warm, broad chest. Lips pressed against the back of his neck, nose nuzzling into his hair. 

When Draco lifted his eyes to see the clock on the bedside table, he saw that it was after noon. Shit! They needed to get up and move or they were going to be very late for the Burrow. Draco tried to extricate himself from Harry’s embrace to get up, but Harry just tightened his hold and pulled Draco back against him.

“And where do you think you are going?” Harry’s amused voice, rough with sleepiness, asked him. Something warm and wet glided up the sensitive spot behind his right ear, causing Draco to groan.

“Stop it, Potter,” he said half-heartedly. He could feel the hot leak of Harry’s erection pressing against the crack of his arse. The temptation to just push back against it was enormous.  A hand sneaking it’s way down his stomach to wrap warm, calloused fingers around Draco’s own hard cock caused a low moan to escape him as the hand began to move with lazy strokes. “Fuck.” 

A low chuckle vibrated against his back as Harry laughed. “You ask so nicely,” he said, speeding up his lazy stroking, a thumb swiping over the leaking head, spreading pre-cum over the shalf on the downstroke. 

“You … mmm yess like that … fuck … Harry … fuck …. “ Draco could feel his resolve crumbling with each stroke of Harry’s very talented hand on his dick. Unconsciously he started to push back against Harry, relishing in the hard, delicious slide of Harry’s cock against his crack.

Another amused chuckle rumbled through Harry’s chest. “Mmm, yes, we can fuck me later. You know how much I love having your big, beautiful, delicious, hard cock inside me. Stretching, sliding, hot and slick. So hard for me. And when you cum inside me … “ Harry made an obscene moaning sound. It all went straight to Draco’s cock, making him leak desperately onto the sheets and Harry’s hand. The bastard knew how much Draco loved it when he talked like that, the filthier the words, the better. He could feel Harry’s wicked grin against his neck as he said, “But right now, I think you should be the fuckee. Or is it fucked?” 

A half laugh, half moan escaped Draco as Harry’s stroking sped up a bit more. Coherent thought was quickly deserting him, but he marshelled his thoughts enough to say, “Promises. Promises.”

“Oh I do,” Harry purred in Draco’s ear. Bastard. Harry knew how much Draco got turned on by that particular tone of voice. He was pulling out all of his dirty tricks. 

“Harry,” Draco said, it came out as more of a breathless moaning plea, than the admonishment he meant it to be. They were going to be late for the Burrow for fucks sake! Didn’t Harry realize?

“I love it when you moan my name like that,” Harry said, voice low and throaty. Draco felt the arousal that voice too brought out shooting straight to his aching cock. Harry was still stroking him slowly, teasing him but not speeding up anymore than he had. Then, distracted by the hand working his cock, he hadn’t noticed the other hand had snuck down between them. It wasn’t until the pad of a finger, slick with lubricant, started to rub teasing circles around his puckered entrance sending more jolts of pleasure through his body.  

“Fuck!” 

“Soon,” Harry promised, as he slowly pushed his finger into Draco, breaching the first ring of muscle and slipping inside the tight heat. A keening noise escaped Draco and Harry smiled against his neck. Draco could just imagine it, that devil may care smile that always did naughty things to him. Or meant naughty things would be done to him. Either way, that smile always made him instantly hard and leaking.

Of course it hadn’t always been this way at first. Even once they were together finally, Draco had been very skittish about sex. Too often, even when he was alone, the thought of sex would send him into a panic. They hadn’t really done anything really sexual at first, just snogging mostly. And a lot of snuggling. While Harry hadn’t and never would push him, Draco still felt ashamed. 

The first time he had brought up any of it with Harry, Draco had been terrified that he’d decide it really wasn’t worth it to be with someone so damaged and Harry would cut his losses and leave. But Harry had just hugged him tight and whispered, “I don’t care how long it takes for you to be comfortable with sex, I’m never going to walk away, Draco. Our relationship isn’t just about sex. I love what we have now, it’s enough. When you’re ready, we’ll have amazing sex. And it won’t just be sex, not to me. It will be making love. I love you, Draco. You are worth waiting for.”

During a session not long after he and Harry had gotten together he’d told his Mind Healer about his issues with sex and she had told him, “That is perfectly understandable considering all you’ve been through. Many people have issues with sex after an assault. Sometimes they turn promiscuous, sleeping with mutiple partners; while others, like you, can’t stand the idea of sex as it brings back the trauma all over again. It’s perfectly normal to have issues with sex, Draco. It doesn’t make you any less of a person and certainly doesn’t make you abnormal.” It had been a relief to hear these things, to know he wasn’t permanently damaged from all that Lucius had done to him. He and his Mind Healer had worked on it. It hadn’t been easy but soon Draco felt the weight of what the rape had done him, left him with, lift a little and he could breathe deeper again. It didn’t take it all away, nothing really would, not completely, but it certainly took a lot of his anxiety away, helped him manage it.

She had also been very happy to hear about his relationship with Harry. “That is wonderful, Draco! I’m so glad you are finding a meaningful, romantic  relationship with someone.”

And eventually she had been right, as they worked on it, Draco found that the idea of sex wasn’t as frightening as it once had been. And he was learning to accept that while he had been raped, brutally so, that had never been about anything but hurting him. Sex, and more importantly, making love, were never meant to hurt someone. 

The more he worked on it, the more ready he had felt to take that step. A year after he and Harry had started their relationship, they made love for the first time. Draco had been enormously nervous at first, and part of him had been a gibbering mess, screaming to stop, but he’d learned how to silence that, to not give in to his fear. The entire experience had been beyond anything Draco had ever imagined it to be.

Harry had been gentle and loving and attentive. Draco had never felt so cared for. 

Now, as Harry added a second finger to the first inside him, Draco keened, “More, I need more.”

“Soon,” Harry said, beginning to scissor his fingers, stretching Draco, getting him ready for his cock.  

“Bastard,” Draco said. Harry just laughed. Then he was slipping his fingers out of him and Draco whined at the loss only to moan in pleasure as Harry lined up his well slicked cock and began to push inside. 

“So tight, so hot,” Harry whispered, the head of his cock pushing inside, stretching Draco more. “I love the way you feel around me. So good.” Then he was fully seated. Draco could feel the way Harry’s cock throbbed inside him. 

“Please, Harry. Please, move,” Draco begged.

Laughing, Harry obliged and began to move in and out of him, each delicious slide making Draco moan louder and louder, making his cock ache and throb and leak.

“So good, feels so good. You were made for me. Made to take my cock. So tight, I love it. I love you,” Harry said, his pace beginning to speed up. The hand that had stilled on Draco’s cock resumed it’s stroking, faster, tighter than before.

Draco was beyond coherent thought now, all he could do was moan and plead in broken whispers. “More! Yes! Please! Fuck!”

Harry sped up his movements, changing the angle slightly and when he hit that spot inside him, Draco saw stars. “Yes! There! Yes!”

“Gonna cum soon,” Harry panted, his movements beginning to get erratic as he neared his orgasm. “Want … you … cum … first.” His hand on Draco’s cock had stilled. Draco reached down and wrapped his own hand around himself, stroking in fast, quick strokes. He could feel the tight coil of heat tightening in his belly, he was close. 

Harry hit his prostate again and that was all it took, Draco came with a cry of Harry’s name, spilling himself over his hand and Harry’s which was splayed against Draco’s belly. A few minutes later Draco felt Harry’s orgasm as he spilled inside of him, Draco’s name tumbling from his lips in a breathless moan. 

Boneless, Draco couldn’t muster the energy to move. His mind felt sluggish and tired suddenly. He was barely aware of Harry slipping out of him and casting a quick, wandless cleaning spell over them and the sheets. 

The soft kiss Harry pressed to the back of his neck made a sappy smile spread across Draco’s face. As did the words he whispered, “I love you, Draco.”

“Love you too, you prat,” Draco said fondly, once he’d regained the ability to speak. “You know, if we don’t move we’re going to be late for Sunday Dinner. And you know how Molly is about being late.”

Harry laughed, “I know. Just give me a minute to get over that rather spectacular orgasm.” 

“Okay, just a minute then,” Draco mumbled, feeling himself drifting.

They were nearly twenty minutes late to dinner.

The Burrow Garden, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England 

Draco and Harry were out in the garden at the Burrow, taking a break from the noise and general chaos that was the Burrow on Sundays. They sat on a bench under a tree near the edge of the garden, which was shaded enough to keep the early June sun at bay. The air was just beginning to feel the first fingers of what would be Summer warmth.

Idly Draco watched as a honey bee flitted from one flower to the next, buzzing along peacefully. He heard rather than saw one of the many garden gnomes that lived in the Weasley’s garden scampering around behind a low hedge nearby.

Draco still had trouble sometimes believing that these people had so readily accepted him into their family. After all the bad blood between their families for so long. The war truly had changed everyone. Molly especially had taken to Draco almost right away. 

It was, apparently, good enough for the Weasley Matriarch that Harry had chosen him. He still remembered the first bone crushing hug she had given him in greeting that first Sunday that Harry had convinced him to come to dinner at the Burrow. 

And later, when Draco had, without any warning, had a small panic in the kitchen while helping Molly with dinner, she had simply sat him down at the table, sat down next to him, and helped to calm him before Harry came in. She’d waved off his apologies, just saying, “We all have them, dear. No worries.”

When he’d calmed enough, he’d thanked her and to both their surprise, given her a warm hug. Draco would tell her later about the panic. Molly cried as he told her, then gave him another bone crushing hug. “No one will ever hurt you like that again, Draco. We’ll all protect you.” 

Then it was Draco’s turn to cry. 

Even now, two years after that Draco still felt awed that he was part of this crazy loving family. 

“You’re quiet,” Harry said from next him, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over Draco’s knuckles. “What are you thinking about?”

“Us. And this life. How everyone here just accepted me without any real question. I know it wasn’t easy for Ron at first but I’m still amazed we’re friends now. I never thought I’d have this kind of life.”

Harry lifted the hand he was holding and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Draco’s hand. “I know, but I’m so thankful they did and do. They love you. You are family to them now, love. “

“I know, and it sometimes feels surreal,” Draco replied. 

Harry made a sound of agreement. Then he said, “You know what would be better?”

“What?” Draco asked.

“If we, say, made it official?” 

“Made it official? What are you …?” Draco stopped as he turned to look at Harry. He felt his eyes widening, a gasp escaping him. “Harry …”

Turning to face him on the bench, Harry reached for Draco, wrapping his hands around the other’s fingers, before speaking. “I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to do this. And I think this is it. We didn’t have the best beginning when we first met and it seemed to just go downhill from there. But we finally found our way to each other after the war was over. I’ve loved every minute we’ve had together these last three years. It’s been everything I’d ever wanted and then some. We’ve had bad times and good times. We’ve worked through the bad times, sometimes not always easily, and we laughed and loved our way through the good. I knew when I realized that I was in love with you that you were it for me. I love you so much. I want our lives to be together, loving each other, laughing together, and driving each other crazy. Always. Will you marry me, Draco? Will you be my husband?”

Draco felt his mouth drop open and his eyes went wider. He lifted a hand to his mouth, tears blurring his vision. He couldn’t find his voice right away, so he nodded. “Yes,” he whispered hoarsely after a minute, “Yes! I’ll be your husband! Yes! A thousand times yes!” 

The smile that broke over Harry’s face was so blinding and brilliant it stole the breath from Draco. He watched as Harry reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled a small velvet box from it. When he flipped the latch, Draco saw a white gold ring inside, inlaid with a row of tiny diamonds across the top, and what looked like their birthstones on either end of the row of diamonds. It was beautiful.

Harry slipped it on to Draco’s trembling finger and when Draco looked up at him, he could see the tears in the other man’s eyes. They reached for each other at the same moment, bringing their lips together in a soft kiss. When they broke apart they were both smiling widely, tears coursing down their cheeks.

“I love you, so much,” Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion. “And I can’t wait to be your husband.”

“I love you too, Harry. And I can’t wait to be your husband,” Draco told him, leaning in for another kiss. 

When they broke apart again a few minutes later, Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s still smiling happily. “I suppose we should go face the family. They’re going to know the minute they see us. Might as well let Molly and Hermione and Ginny have a chance to get all excited. You know the three of them are going to demand to plan our wedding.”

Draco chuckled, “Yes, I suppose. Molly will likely crush us to death with her hugs. So I suppose we should go meet our fate.”

“Yes, we probably should,” Harry said, standing. Turning to Draco, he held his hands out to him. “Come on, love.” 

Draco put his hands in Harry’s and let him pull him up. When he was standing, Harry drew Draco to him, wrapping his arms around his waist and drawing him into a deep kiss. Tongues twisted and twined around each other, tasting and savoring the flavor of each other. It was long and lazy and when they drew apart again, they were both out of breath. 

“Okay, we should really go before they wonder where we are,” Harry said, stepping back. He reached for Draco’s hand and twined their fingers together before leading the way back to the house.