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Dragon Noir	By : agelessdrake Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1949 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Dragon Noir
Author: Ageless Drake
Pairings: mention/implications Lucius/Draco, Harry/Draco
Spoilers: sadly, yes, for the fifth book.
Author's Note: -.-; I'm sorry if this is mildly disturbing to anyone! The bunny wouldn't leave me alone; I think it's trying to get at Rowling by getting at me... Just so everyone knows: SIRIUS IS NOT DEAD. *ahem* -.-; again, I'm sorry for the sheer bizarreness of this piece. Warnings: language, implied NCS, slash, violence

~~~~~
"Cut my life into pieces
This is my last resort
Suffocation, no breathing
Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding."
~Last Resort, Papa Roach

Prologue~
Draco Malfoy hated blood. It wasn't for any reason that the students at his school would blame him - for it's staining, viscous quality, and it's association with those damn Gyffindors. No, he just... didn't like it.
There was a bubble of blood clinging to the corner of his mouth, but he couldn't wipe it away. That was another reason he didn't like it so much. He knew, when it dried, it would hurt getting rid of it, how it clung to his mouth, in it.
The taste of his own blood felt vile in his mouth, slimy against his gums and teeth. Draco shifted, well aware of the uncomfortable position of his arms behind his back, drawn up above his head so he was forced to lean over to relieve some of the pressure to his shoulders.
He wondered, dimly, how long he'd been tied like that in the cold dungeon. He couldn't put a real number on it, too lost in the annoyance of the blood on his mouth, in his mouth, but he knew he'd been down there a while.
"Draco."
Slowly, he raised his head, and was amazed how much his neck ached; he'd thought he'd gone numb far before then, since his shoulders weren't giving their pounding complaints any longer. His hair hung before his face as he looked towards the voice, and found his eyes assaulted by sudden, brilliant light.
Lucius Malfoy walked confidently, slowly, towards his son, surveying him critically. For such a frail boned boy, he was remarkably resilient, standing there in a mild crouch, his shoulders yanked behind him at a painful angle. It was strangely... pleasing, to see his son strung up like that, his pale face riddled with fading bruises and blood.
Draco stifled a hiss as Lucius cradled his chin, lifting it more to face him. He ran his thumb over the sixteen year old's plump lower lip, smearing the blood there.
"You look terrible, little dragon," Lucius murmured, smirking darkly. "Would you like to be let up now?"
"Yes," Draco growled, forgoing any formality he might otherwise have with the older blond Malfoy. He hissed, however, when Lucius tightened his grip on his jaw.
"Really now? Is that how you treat your own father, Draco?" Lucius demanded, raising a thin, cultured brow and scowling down at Draco. The lithe Seeker shifteryinrying to alleviate the pain in his neck, back and shoulders; the chains holding up his arms jangled ominously.
"Yes, SIR," the sixteen year old gritted. Lucius leered slightly, though one could have past it off as a grin, if one were a fool. Draco was no fool; he lowered his gaze, and listened as his father loosened, and finally released the chains holding his arms.
Draco was slightly appalled with himself as he fell, his legs too weak to hold his frail weight without the pull of the chains on his upper body. His arms collapsed to his side, and he bit back a cry of pain as he felt some of the muscle tear with the sudden change of angle. Tears prickled his eyes as Lucius lifted him by the front of his shirt.
Draco hated tears more than he hated blood. But he wouldn't let these fall. Lucius surveyed his son's face slowly, as though looking for something in it; Draco kept his eyes as carefully diverted as he could without seeming subservient or shyly embarrassed.
"Have you learned your lesson, Draco?" Lucius asked, his voice silky smooth and deep. Draco shivered slightly, and tried to convince himself it was from the frigid temperature of the dungeon.
"Yes, father," he murmured, keeping his voice quiet and gentle, trying not to anger the older man.
"And what was your lesson, my little dragon?" Draco was silent, and Lucius laughed coldly, slamming his son back against the rough stone wall; the blond Seeker bit back an indignant cry of pain. "You haven't learned anything. Maybe I should just keep you down here -."
"No, please. Father, don't leave me down here -." Draco's tirade ended with a sharp slap from his father across his face. Silvery-blue eyes widened at the shocking pain, and he felt more blood cloud his mouth, dripping down from the corner of his mouth, and the split in his lip.
"Malfoy's don't BEG, Draco," Lucius hissed venomously. Draco smothered a sob, and nodded painfully instead. "We negotiate."
Draco took in the short words, and mentally steeled himself, looking up through his lashes and loose flaxen hair to meet his father's dark blue eyes.
"I'm sure we'd be able to come to an agreement, Father," Draco started slowly, his gaze coy and voice knowing. "That is, if I'm allowed to come out now?"
"I don't think you've learned your lesson, little dragon," Lucius replied, his tone calculating. Draco silently rejoiced; he'd surprised his father with this tactic. The older man hadn't been expecting for him to turn his one true weapon upon him.
"You could help me learn it." There was enough give in Lucius's hold that Draco could press himself closer to the man, and he did so, still staring up at his father with coy advances.
He was surprised when Lucius slammed him back against the wall again, holding him by the neck, but pressing harshly into him; Draco could feel the heat and length of his arousal, and shivered, though know he didn't need to convince himself of the reason. Nothing like this had ever happened before; he was genuinely frightened by his father, leering at him once more.
"Faceless whore," Lucius growled, pressing his erection into Draco's side; his eyes fluttered slightly. "You're no better than your mother."
Draco's rebuttal was cut off when Lucius thrust against him in earnest this time, pressing tightly against him, rubbing against his firm frame. The angry words dissolved into a worried, scared little groan of denial. Lucius chuckled thickly, and when he spoke, Draco swallowed thickly at the heavily husky tone to his father's voice.
"Do you still wish to learn our lesson, my little dragon."
"No... Please -." Another resounding slap made Draco bite his lip, heedless of the blood and tears on his face.
"You even BEG like a whore, Draco," Lucius berated, still rubbing against him. "I suppose I'll just have to 'teach' that out of you as well."
~~~
Harry Potter woke with a single name on his lips, but didn't dare utter it aloud, lest he wake his aunt, uncle or cousin. With a groan of anguish, he flopped back onto his bed, and curled into a slight ball, staring out of his window towards the night sky.
There were letters and parcels on his desk, left forlorn and unopened, except for letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; Harry couldn't risk not opening that one. It would mean his stay at the Dursley's house for a whole year, instead of the three months of summer he normally suffered through.
It hadn't been as bad as all that this year. For the most part, they'd left him alone in his room. He hadn't come out much, except to occasionally snatch some food from the fridge. His Aunt Petunia hadn't been happy with him doing that, but hadn't said anything, seeing the self-loathing and depression in his normally bright, mischievous emerald eyes.
The moon was high, glaring at him with a laugh on it's face, watching him. Harry hated it. Slowly, he forced himself up, and shut his blinds. Hedwig hooted in her cage, shifting on her cage; Harry leaned against the window frame and sighed, not only physically tired, but mentally and emotionally.
His nightmares were getting worse. Not just the bouts of emotion he'd gotten from Voldemort in the past, but real visions of death, both of wizards - which proved to wake him like it just had, his skull aching as though someone had reached in, scrambled his brain, and replaced his scalp - and of Muggles - which proved to force his scar into a painful throb that left as soon as he swallowed a good amount of aspirin.
This nightmare had been different, mostly because it wasn't really a nightmare, just a bad memory with some embellishment thrown in by his subconscious.
He'd been running. There was a golden line on the floor, and he'd been following it through the darkness, trying to find where it led. He'd past people he knew - schoolmates and relatives that he didn't really know. But it had become more personal. Soon, his best friends - Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger - had stood, watching him follow the mysterious gold line. As he'd past, they'd whispered conspiritually, sniggering to each other. After that, he'd past Remus Lupin, his favorite Defense Against the Dark Art's teacher; he'd stood in front of a group of other men and women, and he realized that he was acting as almost a representative to the Order of the Phoenix.
Harry had almost stopped then, prepared to speak with the dream-Lupin. He'd stopped when he saw the fierce glowing in the back of Remus's eyes, heralding his change; he kept going.
The next person he passed, he did stop beside, ignoring the golden line for a moment. His own golden hair was loose, out of it's cultured sweep and dangling messily about his lean, pale face, caressing the corners of his sharp silver eyes. Eyes that were swollen with tears and bloodshot. Draco Malfoy sat on the ground, looking for every inch and purpose like a downed lion, like the basilisk Harry had killed in second year, forlorn in its defeat.
Harry had continued, his thoughts darkened farther, wondering what could have happened to Malfoy, to make him look as such, so broken and misused.
He'd erupted from the darkness into a grand room, like the coliseum in Rome, staring down towards the pit, and the dais there, where fought the infamous Sirius Black and the evil Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry knew this scene; knew it too well. It haunted him endlessly.
They were dueling, streams of light weaving back and forth between them. Sirius was laughing at his cousin, ducking and dodging her shots at him; she was enraged by his juvenile attitude.
"Come on, you can do better than that!" he had called; it had been near to silent when he'd said it, when it had happened, but Harry could just barely hear him over the pounding of blood in his ears. He had to get down there, had to save him.
But he couldn't move. Bellatrix's next shot hit Sirius square in the chest; the laughter never really died from his eyes, though they widened to an almost comical fashion. Bellatrix's eyes widened as well, though hers were out of pure, unadulterated joy at the situation.
And Sirius tumbled, back over the dais, and into the gaping maw of the curtained alcove that stood there.
"NO!"
That's when Harry had woken up, covered in cold sweat, rattled by the memory, the dream itself.
He rubbed his face, and sobbed morosely into his hands, when his mind - vagrant and wandering as any other time - fell onto another little tidbit from his dream.
Why had Draco Malfoy been there? Never once had he dreamt of the annoying Slytherin - exculding one time in first year when he'd had the strangest dream of actually shaking the twerp's hand in friendship - but this was different.
He'd felt pain from Malfoy. Pain, not just emotional or mental, but physical PAIN, radiating off him like a small sun, lacing through him.
And there'd been a look in his eyes, however briefly Harry had seen them, that asked for pity. Or, perhaps not pity. Understanding. The dream-Malfoy had looked at him with sorrowful silver eyes that sang with mortal pain, and had asked of him.
He wanted Harry to extend the hand of friendship this time.
But that was foolish. That was Harry's subconscious latching onto the prospect of that dream from first year, when he'd thought the blond boy somewhat intriguing, before he'd realized what an absolute arse he truly was.
But maybe that wasn't it. More than once, Harry had seen that aloof mask slip and falter. Perhaps Malfoy was as unsure of his role in this whole mess as Harry was.
And could it be possible, however remotely, that the other Seeker had all this time been trying to make friends with Harry, yet unable to show how he truly wanted to feel, lest he lose his respect and dignity.
The thought made his already tired mind ache. He shook his head, and moved back to his bed, sitting down heavily on it.
His gaze traveled to his night stand, and the picture that stood there; he couldn't make it out clearly, and grabbed his glasses, picking up the frame.
His parents - which thankfully had not plagued his dream tonight - and his father's best friend smiled up at him. His mother, Lily, waved lazily at him, smiling as though caught in a happy dream. His father smiled proudly, giving him a thumbs-up.
Sirius stared at him with soulful cobalt eyes and smiled slowly, winking. Harry felt the tears prickle his eyes, and growled, slamming the picture face down on the night stand.
He held his head and wept.

~TBC~
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Dragon Noir