Title: Distorted Lullabies (1/1)
Author: Lux (quietlygorgeous@hotmail.com)
Pairing: Lucius Malfoy/Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Malfoy is a bastard, Harry likes it.
Warning: darkfic, mild torture, bondage, non-con, self-mutilation, blood play, under-age, and Malfoy singing (do I really need to mention the angst content?)
Feedback: Always appreciated
Distribution: my site (http://www.snowroses.net), Beloved Enemies (if they want it); anyone else, just ask.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I am poor. Oh so very, very poor.
Author's Note: So, apparently I needed a Lucius!muse. Go figure. I blame this entire story on the band Ours. Also, my fear of lullabies. Come on, those are scary! And yes, 'cum' is the correct spelling.
Thanks: KC for being absolutely marvelous in every aspect. Everyone should worship her.

Distorted Lullabies

rock-a-bye baby

He used to use a knife, just little sprinkles of cuts along his thighs and hips. Simple little cuts that never bleed; they only turned a nasty shade of red against his horribly peach-colored skin. He hates his skin. It's so delicate and pale; conforming around his feminine frame, his muscle, his bone, his tissue. He's destructive and he knows it, he's destructive and he likes it. But he loves feeling his muscles tense; so tight that it feels like he might break in half. His leg will cramp so tightly, his elbow will lock so it feels like his arm is breaking, his sides clench in the anticipation of pain. It's so sweet, so fucking real that when he snaps he groans so loudly and palms desperately for the muscle relaxant. He teases himself, only takes a few sips at a time until he feels the delicious desperation ebb away and he's left alone. Afterwards, he'll knick the skin on his thighs; the kind of cuts that will burn so gorgeously when he sweats during Quidditch. They'll itch and prickle until he's close to going insane. That's when he'll catch the snitch. The snitch will end his torment, his sweet, sweet torture.

And while he's congratulated by his teammates and Draco is close to killing him, Harry smiles because no one knows about his obsession, the tiny cuts that get dangerously closer to his balls each time but he never strays far from his thighs. It's safe there. No one touches him there, no one sees him there. Safe boy.

He thinks about it now, though. Maybe behind his knees or the soles of his feet. He pants just thinking about feeling the pain with every step. He could flex and it would burst open again; ripping, tearing, bleeding. So much blood, too much blood; such a naughty little boy, he bruises like a peach.

He's not so fond of bruises. Bruises leave and he hates being left behind. One time he got a bruise on his thigh that he never remembers getting. He had retraced the last two days but nothing would've given him a bruise like that. So he'd sat on his bed and pressed the discoloration until his toes curled from the pain. He thought about grappling for his knife and cutting the bruise open. He imagined something coming from it that wasn't quite blood but wasn't quite pus. He would've but Dean said it was time for dinner.

He thinks about going to far, cutting too deep, accidentally slicing a vein. He's spent hours tracing the delicate veins on his wrists. He swears he can feel them pulsing, taunting him because he's not ready to dance that close to the edge. He'll take risks but he needs to work up to that.

in the tree top

Another Quidditch match. Gryffindor verses Ravenclaw. It's tedious work. Cho isn't as smooth as she used to be and Harry uses it to his advantage. He's got fresh cuts on his legs that are starting to itch. He closes his eyes for a second, a second to savor the first moment. When he opens them, he locks eyes with Lucius Malfoy who's staring at him so intently that Harry gasps and almost forgets the pain. He looks away and sees the snitch. He dives and catches it but he's oblivious to the cheering. Those calm, grey eyes fixed only on him made his stomach flutter and his hands sweat. He's terrified.

Before he makes it to the locker room, he's grabbed around the collar and pulled aside, slammed against something hard and he's staring into calm, grey eyes. "What's the password to the tower?" He whispers as his thigh brushes lightly against Harry's crotch.

"Slytherin's Suck," he says and gasps when Malfoy slaps him, leaving a hand-shaped stinging pain on his cheek. He's left along again and the sinking feeling returns. He hates being left alone. Fucking Malfoy. He goes back to the tower and showers, fingers the little cuts between his legs. They're raw from his Quidditch robes and tender enough that they hurt when he touches them. He hums quietly as he leans against the wall and pushes his fingernail into the wounds; barely misses a beat when the pain flashes through him. He doesn't stop until the water turns cold but he's not surprised when his hand comes away bloody.

when the wind blows

He's lying on his bed, curtains closed and knife in his hand. He cuts a little into his arm. New territory; it doesn't bleed, it barely stings. He drags the blade across untouched skin and shivers as the cool metal caresses him so gently. It's an invisible trail of pain that he'll happily follow for now.

He freezes when he hears the door to the dormitory open and close. He knows he's the only one awake. He doesn't move when the curtain on his bed is pulled aside and Malfoy is standing there, calm grey eyes moving over him. Harry's naked with a knife poised in his hand. Malfoy closes the curtain again but with him inside. Harry hears a silencing spell and a ball of light floats up to the top of the canopy so Harry can see him. Carefully, Malfoy takes the knife from his hand and suddenly he's chained to the head of the bed, legs spread and Malfoy smirks in a way that pisses him off. He tries to move his legs but his feet seem to be glued to the duvet and the smirk only grows broader.

Malfoy offers no explanations as he crawls up Harry's body and kisses him harshly on the mouth. It's not meant to be tender or loving, it's to establish dominance and Malfoy clearly holds it tightly in both hands. Harry squirms and cries out when Malfoy bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. The look in Malfoy's eyes makes Harry nervous and he pulls furiously at his chains but they're secure. The blade of his knife flashes in the dull light of the orb against the ceiling and Harry wonders if Malfoy will cut him. Instead, it's discarded near the head of the bed and Harry's legs are rearranged and his knees are suddenly very near his face.

Harry cries out when Malfoy thrusts inside of him. He grabs onto the chains as his thighs tense, his arms lock, his belly flutters for the pain. He whimpers and doesn't know what to do. He wants to cry for Malfoy to stop but a warm tongue flickers over his ear and a deep voice begins to sing softly, "Hush little baby, don't say a word; Daddy's going to buy you a mocking bird." He does weep then. He turns his head and cries as Malfoy's hips move against him, cock so thick, too big, too big. The chains are suddenly a comfort as Malfoy continues to sing in his ear, never missing a beat, voice never wavering. Harry traces the vein on his wrist and wishes his nails were longer. He wants to rip open his vein now. He can die now. "-and if that horse and cart break down, you'll still be the prettiest boy in town," Malfoy finishes and Harry's desperate now.

He makes a choking noise as his cock is engulfed by a warm hand and teeth are biting his neck. He fumbles and finds the knife. It only takes a few tries and he finds the vein and cuts it open. He feels the blood flood over his fingers as he comes over Malfoy's hand. Cum and blood.

Malfoy frowns and looks up, sees the blood and growls. He slaps Harry brutally across the face and he knows it'll bruise. Malfoy's hand clamps around his wrist and his wand appears from nowhere, heals the cut. In that moment, Harry hates him so much that his stomach clenches.

He settles back down and stares at Harry, his cock still hard in the boy's ass. "None of that," he says firmly but Harry can see him smiling. "You belong to me." His hand trails down Harry's stomach, tugs at his naval with his thumb a little too deeply, plays with Harry's penis until he cries out. "I bought you from those disgusting relatives after Dumbledore gave you to me." Harry stops breathing until Malfoy slaps him again and his eyes are angry now. He begins to thrust quickly, deeply, too rough as his fingers dig into Harry's sides.

"Your uncle was impressive. Did he ever fuck you?" He muses out loud. "Did you like it? Did you beg for more? Did you call him 'Daddy'?" His thumb sweeps roughly across Harry's lip. "You're as delicate as a little girl. I could dress you up as my daughter and no one would know. You're so small." He pinches Harry under the arms. "Would you like that? I'd come into your room in the middle of the night and lift up your little nightgown; fuck you while you scream 'Daddy'." Harry shudders, squeezes his eyes shut and fumbles for the knife again. Malfoy grabs his wrist, presses it down into the mattress until the manacle is digging sharply into his skin.

When Malfoy comes, Harry almost cries again. It's more real now that there's a warm, foreign substance inside of him. A tear slides down his cheek and Malfoy chases it with his tongue. "I like that, when you cry." Harry swallows the rest of his tears and glares as fiercely as possible but Malfoy only chuckles and kisses him like they're lovers; gentle, lip-nipping kisses that are too tender and make Harry nervous. He chokes when Malfoy pulls out and Harry feels so empty. He clenches his thighs and his ass, winces. There's a big, gaping hole somewhere inside of him. He's not sure he'll be able to walk tomorrow. He doesn't want tomorrow to come. He wants to stay in the suffocating darkness and run away from the sun.

Malfoy is buckling his pants and the cold in his limbs is noticeable now. Stupid fuck, did you really think he would stay? He's going to leave just like everyone else. He was lying - you'll never see him again you stupid, naive little boy. He wonders if Malfoy really did buy him. He looks back at Harry, looks over all the gorgeous peach skin that bruises so easily. He sees the hurt look in Harry's eyes and the chains disappear. "You belong to me, don't forget that." For the first time, Harry wants to go back to the Dursley's.

the cradle will rock

"I hate you," Harry whispers as Malfoy gets up to leave. He's been there every night this week and Harry can't stand it anymore. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," he whispers miserably over and over. He doesn't care if Malfoy hears. Bastard. Every night that Malfoy keeps leaving Harry feels a little more fragile; a little more damaged, a little weaker. "Take me with you," he wants to scream. Just don't leave him in this dormitory by himself with the darkness closing in at every corner. He won't cry though. Malfoy likes it when he cries, delights in watching the pearls slide down his cheeks. Harry hates him.

Malfoy kisses his forehead and pats his thigh. "I know you do." He leaves as quietly as he came. Harry turns away from the door and doesn't cry. Instead, he gets his knife and cuts, tears open his thighs because Malfoy said he liked Harry's thighs. It burns enough for the tears to spill over his cheeks. He sniffles and rubs his nose with bloodied fingers. He spells the wounds shut and his thighs are perfect and pristine again; smooth and undamaged except for the cuts near his groin. He cleans the sheets and pulls the blankets up to his nose. Out of the corner of his eye he swears he sees a shadow moving but when he gets up the nerve to look it's just an ordinary shadow. His thighs ache along with his ass, he feels like one big bruise and he thinks he might look like one, too. He's grateful that Malfoy isn't fond of using toys.

Ron and Hermione are waiting for him in the common room when he comes painfully down the stairs for breakfast the next morning. They know about Malfoy. The whole fucking school knows about Malfoy. Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers give him sympathetic looks when he has trouble sitting down in class or at table. Ron and Hermione walk with him to breakfast, eat with him, and talk with him. No one mentions Malfoy unless Harry does and he never does. They help him with his homework when he's too tired to pay attention in class. He's thankful that boys can't get pregnant.

That night Harry waits but Malfoy never comes. He's surprised when his stomach clenches in disappointment. He sleeps restlessly, has nightmares that leave him tossing and turning; nightmares that he doesn't remember in the morning. He wakes wide-eyed and frightened for unknown reasons, his clothes sticking to his body with a thick sheen of sweat. There are only shadows in the back of his mind, taunting him in their anonymity. He takes several deep breathes before his hands stop shaking and he's able to wipe some of the cooling sweat from his forehead.

Ron tentatively pulls back the curtain, afraid that Malfoy may have stayed the night but he heaves a sigh of relief when it's just Harry. "Hey." He frowns when Harry only blinks at him. "Are you okay?"

Harry swallows audibly and fumbles for his glasses. They're awkward in his hands and feel strangely wrong sliding onto the bridge of his nose. His vision clears and he wishes the blurry figures would come back and the strong sharpness would go away. He sighs and shakes his head. "Yeah. I'm fine."

It continues all week. Malfoy doesn't come and Harry has nightmares that increase in intensity every night. He hasn't had nightmares since Voldemort was vanquished and he doesn't understand why they're reappearing now. Or why he's so damn angry at Malfoy for leaving him. He hopes this means that Malfoy is gone for good but he's still so angry that he's close to seeing red. Harry hates being left behind.

Saturday is a Hogsmeade weekend and Harry tells Ron and Hermione to go on without him, he'll catch up with them. After they're gone, he casts a glamour on himself. He's sporting blonde hair and brown eyes, his forehead smooth and unblemished. His glasses aren't so noticeable now. His usually baggy clothes look like they're attached to his body like a second skin. He's always had a fond appreciation for the glamour.

He goes through the passage behind the witches hump and stashes his cloak just behind the door. He breathes in the crisp spring air before ambling towards the pub that none of the students ever go into. Sometimes, Harry thinks they don't even realize it exists. It's tucked back and far away from The Three Broomsticks and Zonko's. No student has a reason to go down this way but Harry has a purpose.

The door takes a little bit of pushing but no one notices him as he slips inside, not yet anyway. There's a wall near the back and it's lined with young boys. They're a few years older than Harry and look like they belong. He settles a foot away from the one on the end and tries to look inconspicuous, like he does this all the time. The boy next to him is lazily smoking a cigarette but it looks like he's sucking cock the way his eyes close with each drag and the little moan he makes when he exhales. Harry swallows and looks away as his cock hardens.

He's startled when a witch comes up and smiles sweetly at him. "You want to head to the back?" Harry doesn't know what she means but he nods anyway and lets her lead him to one of the back rooms. It's hazy in the dim light and the carpet feels scratchy through his shoes. There's a bed in the corner and he knows what he's there for. He's only had sex with Malfoy. Suddenly the only thing that matters is fucking this woman into the mattress until she screams and showing Malfoy - everyone, even - that he's a real man.

Without warning, Harry kisses her, forces his tongue into her mouth and grinds against her. She moans and meets the push of his hips eagerly. It's just sex. He can do this. He pushes her onto the bed and climbs on top of her. The look in her eyes should make him feel hot, should make him feel lust for her, but all he feels is the need to prove himself and even that is waning. He tries again and kisses her some more, fingers her breasts through her shirt but when her hands rub him through his trousers and she starts to lower his zipper, it's wrong. Oh-so-very wrong and he pulls away. She blinks at him before smiling knowingly. "First time?"

He swallows. "You could say that."

She caresses his fake blonde hair. "It's okay. I don't mind."

"But I do," he wants to say but keeps his mouth shut. There's a hot coal in the pit of his stomach that's burning his insides and impairing his movement. He can't do anything. His hands won't even reach out to her and touch her pale stomach that's peaking out under the folds of her bunched-up shirt. He lies down next to her. "I'm sorry," he says and means it but he's talking to himself more than her.

She sighs and gets up, straightens her clothes before looming over him for a second. "Save your virginity, love," she says and kisses him chastely on the cheek before leaving. He feels a twinge of magic and realizes that she's put up a ward so no one will bother him.

He takes off the glamour and stares up at the ceiling, mind blank but running at a thousand miles a minute. His breathing is heavy and fast, his arms feel cold and he can't move his legs. Everything feels so wrong. Suddenly, it's too hard to breath. He manages to roll onto his side but all he can hear are the wheezing breaths coming from his open mouth. Sweat starts trickling down the side of his face as he pulls his knees up to his chest. He couldn't do it. He couldn't fuck her. The reality is so much crueler than anything Malfoy could ever do to him or him to himself. He was worthless. He couldn't even fuck her.

Near panic, Harry pulls open the set of drawers next to the bed and fumbles around until he grasps onto something rectangular. It's a pack of cigarettes. None too carefully, he rips off the top and dumps out the contents. Grabbing a fag, he manages to turn it into a knife with the help of his wand. A few sharp, painful breaths and he's able to get his pants off. Bending his leg, he cuts the inside of his thigh. For a few blissful minutes, his body runs on manual and he cuts and feels the skin tear open. The jagged skin gapes open in a way that is only appealing to him. The skin looks flayed and pink before the blood gurgles forth. He shivers and some of the shaking in his body slips away and all he does is cut. Soon his leg is covered in welts and wounds. He sighs and lies back on the bed, picks up another fag and lights it with the tip of his wand.

Harry puffs away as his thigh throbs. He's damaged goods at sixteen and he belongs to Malfoy. It would be romantic if it weren't equally fucked up. He stares up at the ceiling and feels the wards being breached. He doesn't bother going for his wand. He doesn't care if he's raped and murdered. The door swings open and closed so hard that it shakes the bed frame. Harry takes another lazy puff. He wonders what it feels like to burn.

"Get up," Malfoy growls but to Harry he's just a distant voice in the ocean of his own thoughts. He thinks about the slight chill in the room, maybe he should put his pants back on. Another drag before he stubs out the cigarette on his throat, his pulse-point. He sighs happily as his skin burns and his nerve endings scream. Malfoy is talking again. Harry grabs another fag and lights it. He's nearing the end of the pack.

His cheek stings and he thinks he may have been slapped but it felt more like a bee sting. Perhaps Malfoy is getting soft in his old age, he thinks and laughs out loud; he's slapped again. He wonders why Malfoy came back. He's been gone for a week, why should he reappear? Harry wishes he had stayed away. Misery may love company but insanity does not. He's vaguely aware of Malfoy looming over him.

"Potter? Potter!" He's slapping Harry repeatedly now but Harry can hardly feel it.

"You fucking bastard," he rasps out and the abuse immediately stops. His voice is thick with nicotine and tar. "Go away. If you're going to leave, stay gone."

Malfoy sneers. "You belong to me. I will come and go as I please. You, on the other hand, did not have permission to leave Hogwarts or come here and whore yourself." He lowers his mouth to Harry's ear, licks the shell tenderly and whispers, "Did you miss me that badly? Did you miss having a cock up your ass so much that you came here?" He tsks. "When will you learn that I own you? I could kill you right now and no one would care."

Harry doesn't look at him; he looks past the blonde hair and the calm grey eyes and only sees the odd colored ceiling. "Kill me."

Malfoy laughs. He laughs so hard that Harry swears they can hear him in the bar. The sound of his laughter makes Harry want to curl in on himself and disappear. "No," he growls. "You're mine and I will do with you as I please. Perhaps you need to learn a lesson." With the flick of his wand, Harry is naked and his legs are spread and bent. Malfoy goes to the door and calls out, "Any men with a taste for young boys?" There's a loud chorus of cheers. Malfoy opens the door wider so they can see Harry spread out on the bed. "First come, first serve," he smirks and goes to watch from the corner.

Harry's whole body clenches but the pain isn't welcome anymore. He can see 20...30 men leering at him. He won't be able to walk for a week. He doesn't scream as they rape him, one after the other. He stops feeling it after the fifth one and retreats into his head where the pain is distant, only a whispered thread in the back of his mind. He doesn't cry, not a single sound leaves his body except for the sickening squish when one cock leaves and another takes its place.

Harry thinks about a thousand things; the first time he saw Hogwarts, meeting the Weasley's, Dudley's tongue as it swelled, and how they had celebrated when he had killed Voldemort. He closes his eyes and remembers the first time he cut the inside of his thigh, the gentle scrap of metal against his skin. He thinks about the way he looked when he cut open his thighs last week. He can still feel the blood as it trickled down his legs, over his fingers.

A voice brings him back to the surface, "Hush-a-bye, don't you cry, go to sleep my little baby; and when you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horses," Malfoy sings softly in his ear. He notices the lack of occupants in the room and almost curls into Malfoy's body as the cold creeps in beneath his skin. "Get back to Hogwarts before you're missed." Malfoy Apparates away and Harry's left in a puddle of cum.

He tries to move but cries out when a stab of pain shoots up his backside, into his spine, and curls up in his stomach. Tears stream down his cheeks when he realizes he's stuck in a grubby bar in Hogsmeade, naked, and unable to move. He palms for his wand and points it at himself. "Avada Kedavra," he whispers tearfully. He cries harder when it doesn't work.

when the bough breaks

Malfoy doesn't bother to chain him up. He only needs his hands to keep Harry in place. He smirks and teases Harry with the head of his cock. "Beg me," he says. "Beg me to fuck you until you scream." Harry knows he doesn't need the power trip but the last thing he wants is for Malfoy to fuck him. He's still sore from the weekend before; he thinks that maybe something was damaged when he shit blood for three days. His ass is still too tender and Malfoy's cock is more painful than anything without even passing the breach. He lies motionless, never meets Malfoy's eyes.

All he thinks about lately is Dumbledore. How Dumbledore could sell him to Malfoy like a pig, how he can sleep at night knowing what Malfoy does to him, how he can look Harry in the fucking eye and never show remorse for his decision. It's enough to make Harry claw the man's heart out except he's not sure if Dumbledore has one.

He waits for Malfoy's grip to loosen ever-so-slightly before Harry punches him in the jaw and knees him in the balls. In the stunned instant, Harry feels empowered, like he can do anything and he lunges at Malfoy. He kicks and hits every spare bit of flesh he can reach until they're rolling around on the bed, Harry growling and Malfoy barely making an effort but he's bigger than Harry and it isn't long until he's got Harry pinned to the bed again. Malfoy stares down at him and laughs. Harry's horrified when he feels his heart flutter at the sound. He snarls savagely and fights Malfoy's hold on him but his captor only presses him further into the mattress, his weight cutting fiercely into Harry's side.

Malfoy pulls out his wand and Harry hears the familiar clink of the chains above his head. He struggles harder, "No," he pleads and swallows hard enough to hurt. Malfoy pushes his wrists into the manacles and closes them securely. Harry pulls futilely on the chains. He knows they're secure; a Malfoy wouldn't have anything less than that. He spreads his legs without even looking at Malfoy. He knows how it goes now and there's no use fighting it.

He's surprised when Malfoy chuckles very close to his ear and he shivers. "So eager, so willing," he says and licks the shell of Harry's ear. "Too late." Malfoy's never said that before and Harry's a little nervous when he pulls out his wand and transfigures one of Harry's hairs into a quill. "It's amazing what a feather can insight in the body," Malfoy muses. He doesn't say anything else and Harry is left to wonder what exactly a feather can do to him. He doesn't have to wait long before he feels a slight breeze across his arm. It's not so bad and Harry thinks that maybe he can do this.

A few more light caresses over his arms and his torso and it's almost pleasant. He makes a small purring noise in the back of his throat and moves a little closer to the plumage. When Malfoy chuckles, his stomach flutters again and he isn't so disgusted with himself. He whimpers when the next touch is barely a breeze against his nipple, only the very tip of the feather actually touches him and he wiggles in slight discomfort. The action is repeated and Harry wants desperately to scratch all over his stomach. The touch is light, nearly obsolete yet he can feel it in every muscle of his body.

He gasps when the feather touches his balls. It's enough for him to fight the chains again and to pull his legs closer to his chest in an attempt to hide his genitals. Malfoy takes the opportunity to flip the quill around and drag the sharp tip down Harry's foot. He yelps loudly. "Please stop," he begs and tries to rub the sole of his foot against the duvet to ease the pain and the itch but Malfoy catches his ankle and does it again but to the other foot. This time, he follows the welt with the smooth, silky plumage.

Harry tries to wrench his feet away from Malfoy's grasp but he can't. He struggles and kicks at air before he hears the clink of metal again and nearly weeps when his feet are wrestled into the chains at the foot of the bed. He swallows back his agony and waits for the next bout of torture. It feels like his body is on fire, like ants are crawling all over his skin.

He pants and cries out when the feather reaches the back of his knees where sweat has started to gather. He tries to bend his knee, to allow some comfort but the chains around his ankles keep him from moving. The feather caresses his balls again, swirls close enough to his already burning ass that he clenches on instinct and chokes a little. He's starting to shake and his muscles won't relax as the feather continues to touch him. A few tears fall when the barest of touches caresses the inside of his armpit and down his side.

The feather continues down to his toes, the touch never becoming more than a whisper of pressure against his skin and when it swirls around the head of his cock, he breaks as the tears pour down his cheeks. "Please stop," he pleads again. "Anything but this."

Malfoy doesn't say a thing. He just pushes Harry's knees apart and drags the feather up his leg. The tip quests momentarily between his groin and inner thigh. It's almost like cutting, Harry realizes in his agony. The slow burn, the brain-numbing torture but somehow it's different. Sweat slides down his temple but Harry barely feels it. All his concentration is on where the feather will go next, where his muscles will tense, or when it will stop.

The feather tickles his knee and Malfoy pulls at the sparse hair under his arms. He's torn between both sensations. He bleats when the sharp tip plays around his groin and Malfoy swipes his tongue over his nipple. He wants to clench something but every muscle is quivering from the strain and Harry's having trouble breathing properly. He gasps out loud and wheezes. He thinks he might throw up. He closes his eyes and tries to concentrate on something else, anything else except the ice-like touch of the feather on his body.

And then it stops.

Harry catches his breath and waits, eyes darting back and forth. His breathing echoes in his ears as Malfoy gets up. Harry whimpers at the loss of sensation and the lack of stimulation on any part of his body. Even without the feather's torturous dance Harry still feels like he's walking on the edge. Malfoy smirks and leaves.

the cradle will fall

He doesn't bother with simple things like knives and razors. He uses the long nails of his fingers to rip into the skin of his shoulder. More slowly, he digs his fingers into his arm and doesn't stop until the pain makes his knees quake and the strange jolt of intense pain signifies that he got to the bone this time. When he withdraws, his entire hand is saturated and he'll need to clean the clumps of skin from under his fingernails.

But for now, he lies back and watches the blood flow. He doesn't bother closing the wounds like he's done in the past. This time he wants to feel every nerve screaming in pain and every blood vessel hiccup frantically - like a fish out of water, he thinks. It's just him and the stinging pain and he thinks that this wouldn't be happening if the damn Killing Curse had worked the way it was supposed to.

His vision is getting hazy and it's getting harder and harder to blink; breathing doesn't seem quite so important. He turns his head slowly and watches as the blood keeps pumping onto the previously white sheet. This is a beautiful way to die.

He almost cries when his eyes open and there are a million pairs of eyes peering down at him. He tries to move but his limbs are heavy and he wonders if this is what a sack of potatoes feels like. He wants all these people to go away. He wants to be alone in his failure. He can't even kill himself properly.

Madam Pomfrey is suddenly in his peripheral vision and he keeps himself from spitting in her eye. "Harry, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he croaks. Stupid bint, I tried to kill myself - I'm not deaf. Although, if he were, maybe everyone would've stayed quiet.

"What happened?"

"What attacked you?"

"Will he be able to play Quidditch?"

"How did you fend the beast off?"

"...no sign of a struggle."

Then it clicks. They can't even fathom that he would do this to him. Idiots, the lot of them. At least no one will place him under Suicide Watch or in some stuffy cell at St. Mungo's. So he'll play along but he wonders who found him. Everyone was gone for the Christmas holiday; it had been the perfect set-up. Maybe he should've just walked into the Forbidden Forest like he'd originally planned and let the beasts tear him apart.

"-the Headmaster's alarm went off. You know the one that lets him know if a student is in danger."

He wonders where Malfoy is now. Probably having a fucking perfect Malfoy Christmas with his snot of a son. It was supposed to be the perfect Christmas present: Harry Potter Found Dead Christmas Morning. Happy Fucking Christmas, Luch. Then the bastard would be forced to admit he cared but Harry would be gone. But knowing Malfoy, he would have a new lover by New Years.

Harry turns away from the people discussing the Great Beast that managed to get inside Hogwarts. Funny, he thinks, I'm the Great Beast. He thinks he should just sever his ties to Malfoy even though he can't. In his fantasy, though, Malfoy comes sweeping through the doors of the Infirmary and proclaims his lover for Harry. You're such a pathetic romantic, he tells himself. Malfoy isn't coming, Malfoy could give a Donkey's ass about him but Harry fucking loves him and that's the bitterest pill to swallow.

He thinks about telling his teachers that he did it, he ripped open his left side and sparked the geyser. A cell at St. Mungo's is starting to look pretty good.

When his eyes open again, he thinks that maybe it was all a dream but he's still surrounded by starkly white walls. He stares at his scabbing shoulder and picks at the healing skin. He bites his tongue as he peals back the scab and presses his finger into the fleshy, tender hole and listens to the *squish* sound. There's little blood flow and he can't hide his disappointment. He wants to rip all the scabs off and bleed again. He doesn't think this has anything to do with Malfoy anymore. Cocksucker, he thinks.

He can see Malfoy in Malfoy Manor looking smut and beautiful as he stands with Draco and Narcissa for the family portrait. Fucker. Harry suspects that Malfoy isn't even thinking about him. He's just a whore after all, a catamite. The only way for Malfoy to find out anything happened to him is if Harry isn't healed by the time school starts up again and Draco wings an Owl to him. But he'll heal quickly and no one will ever believe he was attacked by an unknown beast twice. Maybe if he fucked Draco, then Malfoy would notice.

Harry does heal for the most part. The gash on his shoulder becomes a patch of pink scars but his forearm isn't responding to magical remedies. It's been stitched up but is slowly healing naturally, skin contorting and catching hold of the stitches. Madam Pomfrey keeps it bandaged and keeps mumbling about deep wounds that don't heal right sometimes. Harry wants to cry, he also wants to throw himself off of the Astronomy Tower but he'll do neither. He thinks about how he could kill himself next. Maybe a potion this time. A poison. Poisons always work. Poor Poisoned Potter, they'll say. Yes, poison was the way to go.

He's released from the Infirmary the day everyone arrives back from the holidays. He keeps his bandaged arm closely guarded in case anyone asks. No one does. The papers hadn't gotten a hold of the story. He smiles at Ron and Hermione, engages in friendly banter but his smile fades when Draco approaches him. He glares. "What do you want?"

Draco nods to Ron and Hermione before pulling an envelope from his pocket. "Father wanted me to give you this."

Harry snarls. "Tell him to fuck off."

Draco's eyes widen. "What?"

"Tell him to fuck off!" He feels empowered saying that. He doesn't need Malfoy. Besides, he's poisoning himself tonight. That will keep the fucker from ignoring him.

Hermione pales and Ron looks a little green. "A-are you sure?" Ron squeaks.

No. "Yes."

Draco sighs as Hermione gasps and clasps her hand over her mouth. "Alright," he says. "It's your funeral, Potter."

Yes, yes it is. Harry turns and stalks away with Hermione and Ron trying to keep up. Take that, Luch.

and down will come baby

Draco nibbles on his freshly sharpened quill as he reads over the letter he's written to his father and hopes that he won't be blamed for what he has the horrifying privilege of telling him. Potter should know by now that Lucius Malfoy does not take well to bad news, especially when it comes to lovers.

Father:

I was unable to deliver your message to Potter. His exact words were: "Tell him to fuck off." Professor Snape said he spent most of the holidays in the Hospital Wing. Something about a beast.

Apologies,
Draco

Almost regretfully, Draco seals the letter and sends it to his father. "Oh, Potter, you're gonna get it."

Harry sits on his bed, goblet of poison in his hand. This time it will work. He thinks about just ripping into his arm again, maybe his neck too. If he managed to hit the jugular, it would be perfect but bleeding is so messy and doesn't necessarily work. Poison, though, poison always works.

The goblet is almost to his mouth when a giggle erupts from Ron's bed. Harry curses colorfully. "Do you mind? I'm trying to poison myself over here."

"Sorry, Harry," Ron calls.

He growls and settles back on his bed but the moment is ruined. It definitely doesn't work if there are people in the room. Poisoning is a private thing, after all. Really, he thinks as he brings the goblet up again, people have no decency. The poison is almost to his lips when a sharp rapping sounds on his bed post. He throws up the curtains, "What?!" His glare deepens when he sees Malfoy. "Oh. It's you," he sneers. "Thought I told you to fuck off."

Malfoy doesn't say a word. He stands and breathes, his nostrils flare as they stare at each other. Harry isn't fazed at all. Malfoy doesn't scare him. Grinning deviously, Harry brings the goblet to his lips, thinks about how perfect it is to poison himself in front of Malfoy but it's snatched away and sniffed.

"You aren't drunk. Although," Malfoy sniffs again and frowns. "This is poison."

Harry goes back to glaring. "What do you care?" But he's not feeling so confident now.

"I received a rather...unexpected letter from Draco this afternoon. Why were you in the Hospital Wing?"

"Well shit," Harry mumbles and wonders where his friends are. They were probably scared out of the room when Malfoy arrived. Fuck him. "Fuck you." It feels better every time he says it. "Fuck you!"

Malfoy hits him sharply on his left arm with his cane, right over the stitches and Harry bites back a howl of pain. He doesn't move as his robe is spelled away and the cane is used to pull up the sleeve of his shirt. With a flick of his fingers, the bandage is gone. "I see you were a little more enthusiastic this time."

"Fuck you."

Malfoy smirks and fingers the criss-cross pattern of stitches and the new pink skin. "So tedious," he muses. "Would you scream if I ripped out the stitches?"

Harry would rather bite off his own tongue but he knows Malfoy will do it. They've played this game before. Harry stares blankly back at him and almost does bite off his tongue when the stitches are furiously ripped out and his skin gapes open like a mouth desperate to breath. He's bleeding freely again and he feels blood flood over his damaged tongue and he swallows on instinct. "Fuck you," he says again but it's stronger now if not a little watered from the blood in his mouth.

"I could break your arm, you little twit," he says cheerfully. "But you seem to like pain. You would cum if I did that." Harry almost spits in his eye but the pain in his arm intensifies as the butt of the cane wiggles around in the wound.

Malfoy crushes his mouth against Harry's, pries his mouth open and tastes the blood. "Sweet, sweet, sweet," he mumbles against Harry's bloodied lips. "Did you do all this just to get my attention? Just wanted to be noticed, be punished, to get me to admit all my deep-seated feelings for you? Maybe I'll slit your throat."

Harry's heart pumps frantically as his vision gets hazy again and he can't move his arm. Malfoy snarls and mumbles something that makes Harry scream. He looks down at his arm and a little needle is stitching his skin back together. Malfoy sits next to him and rubs his back while Harry whimpers, leans against him for comfort. Malfoy kisses his neck and slides his hand between Harry's legs, unzips the youth's pants and slides them off with a little raise of Harry's hips.

He unzips his own trousers and pulls out his hard cock, pulls Harry up so he's straddling his lap. The head of his penis is teasing Harry's ass and Malfoy delights in the shifty eyes staring at him and the blood stains on Harry's perfect skin. Harry's learned his lesson but Malfoy doesn't doubt that they'll do this again and again until the message is deeply pounded into him: If anyone is going to kill Harry, it's Malfoy. But Malfoy will enjoy hurting him in the meantime. "Ride me," he demands and thrusts up. The choked moan is gorgeous to Malfoy's ear.

Fuck you, Harry thinks as he fucks himself on Malfoy's cock but as his skin is pulled and his nipples are twisted and the burning, burning pain in his ass continues, the only thing playing through Harry's stupid, romance-ridden mind is, "I love him."

Dumbledore smiles at his spies, his inside informants. "On behalf of everyone, I thank you for your help. As promised, I will deliver anything that is in my power to give."

Snape rambles on about potions and time for research, a sabbatical. Malfoy already knows what he wants, what he's wanted for the last four years. "Potter," he says. "I want Potter." He isn't interested in killing the brat; no, he wants the boy for his own uses. "No interference from you or the Ministry, he will belong to me."

Dumbledore nods without batting an eyelash or losing the twinkle in his eyes. "He's yours, then."

cradle and all

End.