Prologue: The Plan
It was during the Christmas hols that he knew for sure. He'd had doubts and suspicions earlier, but the matter solidified into concrete proof and slammed against the side of his head just days after coming home from Hogwarts.
Being that he was of age at seventeen and would be initiated as soon as he finished Hogwarts in the spring, his father had taken him along to the Death Eaters' Annual Yule Revelry. Three days. Three days of listening to screams, of being splattered with blood and other bodily fluids, of feeling the dying pulses of hearts ripped living from chests...of watching children being raped...of raping children and women who pleaded for the lives of their children...of doing things that only a life of hiding his true feelings had allowed him to get through.
On the fourth day, he and his father had apparated home. His father had staggered off to his bedroom, tired and satiated. He himself had staggered off to the bathroom where he paid homage to the porcelain goddess and cried.
He thought about suicide, but really, the whole idea of just ending it all...well, it sucked.
That was when Draco Malfoy knew he needed a Plan. He couldn't, wouldn't become a Death Eater. It wasn't that he gave a damn about the muggles and the mudbloods--they were a waste of space, but hell, so were ninety percent of the Death Eaters in his opinion--and no one was going around dismembering them. Then again, the Dark Lord did have his moments... Which was another thing. The Dark Lord was ugly and creepy and--and he didn't like the way the man looked at him. Like he was one of the muggle sacrifices. Like he wanted Draco up on the altar, impaled on the Dark Lord's strangely snakelike cock. It was too narrow, had a peculiar S-like bend to it, and the head set upon it like a mushroom on a too small stalk. Dark Lord or not, there was no way in Hell that thing was ever going up him. No way. No how. Imperius, Cruciatus, nor Avada Kedavra was going to make him accept the Dark Lord's stalky mushroom in his mouth, arse, or any other incidental cavity.
So he had three choices: die, hide, or go over to the other side. He'd already dismissed die. Not enough people to remember him yet. Dying and being forgotten within a few years was just a waste. Hide was impossible: he was blood kin to the Dark Lord's right-hand man--a simple spell would point him out like the North Star. Joining the other side--the side of the self-righteously stupid--was not exactly appealing, but it was his best chance.
But he needed a compelling reason for changing sides, a reason that the other side would believe without question, because he was not about to spend the rest of his life under close scrutiny and suspicion. Merlin, the first seventeen years was bad enough.
Hmm. He could pretend to fall helplessly in love with Harry Potter. Snort. Or maybe with Potter's pet mudblood. Okay, that thought had him spitting into the toilet.
He could claim Lucius had abused him his entire life and that would score him some sympathy points. But then they'd probably want him to talk about it and cry and bemoan his tragic fate. Like he was going to talk to them any more than he had to.
Damn, there had to be something he could come up with that would be believable enough to make him give up everything, but wouldn't require constant maintenance.
Then Draco Malfoy smiled as a Plan unfolded in fairy lights in his mind. A flawless Plan. A perfect Plan.
He showered and hurried to Lucius's private library.
Chapter 1: The Boy-Who-Raped
Harry Potter drank the last of his pumpkin juice, said goodbye to his friends, and left the Great Hall to go to detention. Damn Malfoy and his goons. Crabbe had tripped Hermione, Draco had laughed, and the next thing Harry knew, Professor McGonagall was pulling he and Malfoy apart and sentencing them to detention with Filch. It was sad to think he'd spent seven years at Hogwarts, gone up against Voldemort numerous times and survived, yet he was still dancing to Malfoy's tune. Damn it. Somewhere in all the confusion of being the Boy-Who-Lived and Voldemort's favorite target, he'd become Malfoy's bitch. And he wasn't even getting all the benefits that entailed, which he probably wouldn't mind if he could close his eyes and pretend it wasn't Malfoy. Malfoy might be a prat, but he was an attractive prat and, like Harry, batted for both teams. Not that Harry had batted often. Okay, he hadn't batted at all. Well, not all the way, anyway, but he'd snogged both sides and it hadn't put him off his feed.
He heard footsteps behind him and caught a glimpse of white blonde hair in his peripheral vision. With matching glares, the two boys walked silently to their punishment.
"Wands," Filch demanded, and they handed them over. "Clean," he ordered and opened the door to a storage closet. Mrs. Norris hissed and the door closed behind them.
The room was filled with cobwebs. Harry removed his robes, grabbed a broom and started swiping at the top shelves. Malfoy, he noticed out of the corner of his eye, had grabbed a bucket and a rag and started working on the opposite end of the room.
"You make a lovely house-elf," Harry heard himself say, surprised because he'd planned on ignoring the other boy.
"Auta miqula orqu," Malfoy muttered.
"What was that?"
"Shut it, Potter."
Something rippled through Harry and without any conscious thought, he felt himself move toward Malfoy, pressing the other back against the shelves. "Make me."
Malfoy shoved at him. "We're already in enough trouble. Just go back to where you were so we can get out of here."
"Giving me orders now, Malfoy?"
"Bugger off, Pot--"
Harry panicked inside as his body leaned forward and pressed its lips against Malfoy's, his tongue invading the warm, open mouth. His lower body also pressed forward, grinding against Malfoy in a very suggestive way. What the hell?
His first thought was imperius, and he tried to throw it off like he had in class. However, nothing he did stopped him from ripping Malfoy's shirt open. Nothing stopped him from cuffing him against the head when Malfoy fought back. Nothing stopped him from pinning the stunned boy to the floor and stripping off his trousers. Nothing stopped him from laughing as Malfoy lunged for the door and found it wouldn't open. Nothing stopped him from unzipping his trousers and forcing himself into Malfoy's dry arse. Nothing stopped him from grinning as Malfoy's fingers scritched helplessly against the stone floor, his knees bruising and tearing as Harry pounded into him. Nothing stopped him from laughing in Malfoy's ear as his nails sank into delicate skin and his teeth savagely bit, both actions drawing blood.
By the time Harry could make himself do what he wanted, Malfoy lay whimpering beneath him. He eased from Malfoy with a sickening pop and stared in horror at the stream of semen and blood which oozed out in his wake.
"Malfoy," he whispered. He gently forced Malfoy to turn over and stunned gray eyes stared up at him.
"Why?" Malfoy asked, his voice scratchy.
From the screaming, Harry surmised. From all the screaming. "It--it wasn't me. I--I tried to stop. I really did. I wouldn't--Merlin, Malfoy, I couldn't--"
Harry shook his head in continued denial. "No. I-- No. Something had to cause this. Imperius or..." His words drawled to a stop as a thought struck him. "You! You did this!"
Malfoy got even paler. Then gray eyes flashed at him. "I did what, Potter? I raped myself?"
"Yes! I mean, no, but--but you said some kind of spell or something, didn't you? I heard you mumble something and then I--I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop. What did you say? What did you do!"
"It wasn't a spell." The voice was a harsh whisper, which went well with the wet trails glistening on his face. Crying. He'd made Draco Malfoy cry. "It was just an Elven insult. Auta miqula orqu. 'Go kiss an orc'. I'm--I'm doing an independent study in Elven Magic. I like how the language flows. I like how no one knows what I'm saying, including the professors. I-- Look at me, Potter. Is this something I would do to myself?" He held out a bloodied, swollen hand.
Harry flinched. "First things first. We need to get you to the hospital wing."
"We need to do nothing," Draco hissed. "You've done enough."
Harry nodded sadly. "I'll just head on to Dumbledore's office then. I've heard that Azkaban is lovely this time of year," he added self-deprecatingly. He went to try the door, hoping it wasn't under a time spell or only opened for Filch.
"Wait. We can't walk around the halls like this," Malfoy pointed out as he slowly gained his feet, and Harry realized neither of them was fully dressed. He remembered brutally removing Malfoy's clothes, bending parts of him that shouldn't bend, ripping fine fabric with his teeth and fingers. He'd used Malfoy's shirt to secure his hands awkwardly behind his back. He glanced at Malfoy's swollen shoulder, dislocated no doubt. He'd jerked upward on the shirt, while jabbing his knee in Malfoy's back to give himself freedom to unzip his own trousers. Oh, God. How many times had he assaulted Malfoy? How many times had Malfoy tried to crawl away, only to be dragged back and raped again? He looked at the thin body across from his. Bruises were already forming. Scrapes dark with blood and dirt. A lump in the center of the pale forehead, signifying that his repeated slamming of Malfoy's head into the floor wasn't just a bad dream. Teeth marks in the general vicinity of his nipples. His nipples? When had he-- In his mind, he saw himself kick Malfoy over onto his back before sliding into the hole that was no longer tight, nor dry. Yes, there was the bruise from the kick. Probably a broken rib lay beneath the mottled skin.
His eyes followed a trail of pale, fine hair to Malfoy's dick, which hung limply in a nest of matted, platinum strands, discolored in places by a pink mixture of blood and spunk. Harry stared until Malfoy's hands covered himself. He looked up to find the silver eyes were focused on the floor as if Malfoy was embarrassed and humiliated.
Harry wanted to vomit.
He put on his clothes and helped Malfoy into the tatters that remained of his own. The Slytherin's robes managed to cover most of the damage. Once again Harry reached for the door. Once again, Malfoy stopped him.
He waited for the hexing and condemnations.
"This wasn't-- you."
"No, it wasn't," Harry agreed, wondering at the lack of anything in Malfoy's words. Was he in shock? Could he make it to the hospital wing by himself? Maybe he should help him, then go to Dumbledore's office.
"You feel like doing it again?"
Harry violently shook his head. He'd geld himself before he let this happen again. There had to be spells to stop a man from...
"Then let's let it go. You don't do it again, and I won't say anything."
He felt a flicker of hope. Then it died. "You need medical attention, Malfoy. I--you're hurt." He'd had basic healing training. But not for something like this. There was probably--internal damage.
Malfoy shrugged. "I'll tell Madam Pomfrey I don't know who attacked me, that I was coming back from detention and was assaulted in a hallway."
"Why?" Harry demanded. This could get him out of Malfoy's life for good. Isn't that what Malfoy wanted? Had Malfoy--
"Do you really think I want people to know I was raped by you, Potter? That I couldn't protect myself from you? That I couldn't stop you from..." He clutched at his robes. "No, it's best for both of us if we just forget what happened here. We'll clean this stupid room and get our wands back. Then you'll go back to your common room, complain about detention, and go to bed. That's all you need to do."
"But shouldn't we, I don't know, try to figure out what happened? Somebody or something made me do something against my will," Harry argued. "I need to know what it was."
"I don't give a fuck about your needs, Potter! I'm the victim here. I'm the one who's going to be ridiculed and laughed about if this gets out. My father-- Damn it! You owe me your silence!"
Harry hung his head. Malfoy was right. He owed him. But-- "I need to know if I'm a danger to the other students. What if I'd been with Hermione or Ginny or--"
"So it would have been worse if you'd raped them, I suppose?" Malfoy sneered.
"No! That's not what I meant."
"What did you mean, then?" Harry looked away. "It's better to rape a bloke than a girl? It's better to rape a Slytherin than a Gryffindor? It's better to rape an enemy than a friend?"
Frustrated, Harry slammed his hand against the wall. He didn't even feel the pain as Malfoy's frightened jerk registered. Malfoy was well and truly scared of him now. That should have made him happy.
"You sit, and I'll finish cleaning up in here." He'd cleaned up bigger messes at Privet Drive with less cleaning supplies.
"I think I'd rather stand," Malfoy said in a hushed voice.
Harry grimaced and went to work.
Draco spent the night in the hospital wing. He told the story of his attack in the corridor to Pomfrey, Snape, and Dumbledore. He was given healing and sleeping potions. His housemates were informed he was in the wing because of a terrible splinter he'd got while doing house-elf work.
Despite the sleeping potion, Draco woke early and watched the sun rise over what he hoped was a brand new world for himself.
In Gryffindor Tower, Harry Potter told his friends he was tired and fell into bed after a prolonged and rather hot shower. But he found it difficult to fall asleep and after everyone else had settled in for the night, he snuck out of the dorm and up to an abandoned room at the top of the tower. He closed his eyes and let a single tear fall as he considered the fact that not only was he the Boy-Who-Lived, he was also now the Boy-Who-Raped.
Had Voldemort set this up? But why involve Malfoy? Surely if he was trying to demoralize him, Hermione, Ginny, or even Ron would have been a better target. Or maybe he was trying to get him expelled, and Malfoy's pride was something Voldemort hadn't counted on. Probably as soon as word got out that Malfoy hadn't accused him, Malfoy would be getting an owl from his dear daddy. That had to be it!
Then again, maybe Harry hadn't been the one supposed to be hurt by this. Maybe someone was after Malfoy. Much of the school hated him, and there was a continual power struggle among the Slytherins. Maybe it hadn't mattered who attacked Malfoy, but that he was attacked. Maybe someone he'd raped wanted it to come back on him. Maybe someone had used Harry for revenge.
Or maybe Harry had used Harry for revenge. Had he really tried his best to stop? Was there some tiny place in his mind that had enjoyed Malfoy's submission, his screams, his tears? Malfoy was the enemy. Maybe some part of him had decided to put Malfoy in his place, to humiliate him, to make him cower...
Harry watched the sun come up, wishing that it was yesterday's world and not today's.