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A Valentine's Day Massacre	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 11077 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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
- 10
- 11
Chapter Nine

~*~ Massacre ~*~

I waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, gloriously blessed relief, I heard what my ears had so long strained to hear: tap, step, step, tap. Scarcely daring to move, lest the resulting tiny shimmer would give away my position, I cast my eyes up the street. Malfoy sauntered towards me, whistling a carefree little tune, a slight smile playing across his lips.

Smug bastard. Oh, how I will wipe that smile from his lips. Happily, Draco ambled closer. I reached out, wrapping one arm around his cane arm and waist, trapping his arm under mine. My other hand, with my wand precariously gripped within it by only my pinky and ring fingers, covered his mouth. Draco’s entire body tensed, rigidly fighting what he could not see. I spun us in place, Disapparating with a thunderous crack that made all those around look for the departing wizard. I was faster than they were. No one saw Draco Malfoy disappear from Diagon Alley.

Landing, I had to brace my feet wide, with my knees bent to keep both of us upright in that horrible cemetery. My stance pushed my pelvis forward and into his hard-muscled buttocks. Breathe, Potter, I chastised myself, disgusted by my body’s traitorous pleasure in the position. Thankfully, the disorientation of Side-Along-Apparation kept Malfoy from struggling. I felt him draw a deep breath, sucking the cool air over my hot, leather-clad hand, which still clamped his thin lips together.

Oddly, as he inhaled, he seemed to melt, his body relaxing against mine at our every point of contact. Good! I smiled widely, pleased by his submission. He drew yet another deep, calming breath. With all my concentration, I channeled Incarcerous, magically binding his hands behind his back. I released my hold on his lips. Scream as much as you want, Malfoy. No one will hear you.

Sneering delightedly, I still had not spoken. I reveled in my glorious anonymity. I snatched his cane from his hand, tucking it under my yet invisible arm, and watched as he attempted to stare disinterestedly around the cemetery. With that coy arched eyebrow, he glanced over his shoulder in my direction, but could not see me. I braced myself for an onslaught. None came. Shocked into action, and disappointed that he didn’t scream, I pushed him towards the dark shell of the old house. He stumbled forward, then regained his footing, stumping as elegantly as possible around the crumbling headstones. His workday cloak floated on the cold February air, snagging occasionally on the jagged edges of weather-beaten granite. I almost heard the fibers breaking under the strain. The sound pleased me somehow.

I smiled, unseen, behind his proudly-erect back. We slipped down the moss-covered stairs to enter the basement dungeon of the dilapidated manor house through its hidden entrance. I silently cast Alohomora to open the thick wooden door. It creaked ominously on its rusted iron hinges. With a flick of my wrist, the torches flared to life, casting their eerie glow around the long-unused room.

Malfoy halted at the center of the cold stone room, a room where no natural light dared to enter. He stared at the large wooden cross, which was firmly anchored to both the floor and the damp ceiling. He had yet to speak. His silence unnerved me. I left him waiting, anticipating, and pondering while I deposited his cane on the worktable. I watched him as he tilted his head to peer upwards, studying the heavy chains that reinforced the horizontal beam of the cross. I paused to finger the leather blindfold left on the table, considering not using it, to let Draco see everything that I was going to do to him. I weighed the leather piece as I pondered. No, no, Ginny couldn’t see. Draco won’t see. I decided to follow through with the plan; I crushed it in my fist and silently stole behind my expectant blond.

Quickly, I covered his eyes, stroking his cheek just below the semi-tight pinch of the blindfold. My kid-leather covered fingers felt almost nothing. I spun his body around, fondling his hands as I backed him into the rough, neglected wood of the cross. Sighing, I eyed the leather cuffs attached to the horizontal beam, questioning their degree of severity. Perhaps, I should have brought chains, or barbed cuffs. Well, they’ll suffice for now. I gingerly stepped away from my prisoner. He still stood tall, head held high, chest out, wrists cuffed behind him, arrogant even in his submission. Hesitating, I flicked my wand at him, hissing in my most quiet voice, “Evanesco.”

With that one simple word, Draco Malfoy stood before me stark naked and most deliciously vulnerable. I stared at his near-idyllic chest, the pale, rose-colored nipples peaking in the cold air, perfection except for a single razor-thin scar that transversely slashed across his chest from his left shoulder just across his breast, nearly touching the areola and continuing across his pale skin to disappear around his side just above his hip in the path that my Sectumsempra curse had journeyed all those years ago. I heard my own voice hissing, and not in recognizable English.

The chains bowed to my will, snaking along the floor with noisy clattering that was deafening in the peacefulness of the room, and fastened themselves around Draco’s ankles. I watched in absolute glee as his whole body shuddered when the leather cuffs slithered around his bare skin. My chest grew heavy as my vision narrowed to the faint quirk of his lower lip where I knew, just knew, his teeth bit into the pink flesh, quelling his need to voice – anything. He arched his back, presenting himself openly – no shame, no excuses, no hesitation. What a wonderful gift. I didn’t want a gift. I wanted a fight, a struggle or a war.

Yet, my eyes raked over his form – a form that appeared as if it had been carved from the finest marble: the corded muscles of his neck, down to his tapering waist, lingering on the thatch of hair cushioning his dangling cock. The muscles in his arms strained with his position. His legs were spread, but not straining, oh, no, not straining – yet. The muscles in his legs rippled, his only telltale movement. Once more, I swore I could envision wings sprouting from his pale shoulders – shimmering silver wings – springing as a beautiful backdrop for his bowed head. He only needed some sort of crown to complete the picture – perhaps not a crown, but a halo.

Roughly, I shook my head to clear the vision from my mind’s eye. I forced myself to turn away from him, slipping my father’s cloak from my shoulders, laying it reverently on the tabletop, covering Draco’s cane. Studying my work in progress, his almost-flawlessness once more beckoned to me. I reached out to trace that delicate silvery scar; his breath hissed from between his clenched teeth as the leather tip of my finger made first contact. Startled, I jerked my hand away. The contact between us was electrical. I must have built up static electricity somehow, electricity that still danced its way along the paths of my nerves – thrilling me even further.

Tentatively, I stretched out my hand once more, running the gloved tip of my finger the entire length of that handsome scar. Raising his head, his soft hair falling over his shoulders, Malfoy involuntarily arched into the contact, keening softly at my touch. Oh, fuck, the sounds he made -- delectable. I shivered. Using my whole hand, flat against his chest, I shoved him against the wood. Deftly, as if I had done this hundreds of times, I un-cuffed his hands, trapping his right wrist in my fierce grip to lock his joint into the waiting leather band. He twisted his hand then, testing the security of the bond. Silently, I repeated the process with his left, easing backwards to peruse my handiwork. Malfoy bowed his head in supplication, his arms hanging above him, his feet spread to a balanced shoulder-wide stance.

With a grin, I ripped my attention from him to run my hands over my tools, waiting for one to speak to me. Which one, which one? The cat-o’-nine-tails with the vicious little metal barbs at the end? A simple cane? A knife? So many tools – I had to choose carefully, some of these toys, well, I didn’t even know what they were, let alone how to use them. I had all day and well into the night for Malfoy to pay. I picked up the decidedly antique looking contraption that looked oddly like a pear with a handle and turned the tiny notched knob. Amazed, I watched as the bulbous portion opened along the segment lines, growing wider. I turned the knob a little more and shivered when tiny barbs began to appear between the gaps. Hmmmm – probes so many different sizes – so many places to put them. No, not yet. No tools just yet. Let him feel my hand.

Satisfied, I smirked to no one as I carefully removed my gloves, laying them on the table. Making myself more comfortable, I removed my heavy cloak, leaving me in my black silk shirt. Deliberately taking my time, I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows, all while keeping one eye on my new plaything. I made sure my footsteps echoed as I returned to face him. I relished his every start as each footfall echoed ominously. Gently, I cupped his chin in my hand, running my thumb back and forth across his chiseled jaw. I allowed my hand to graze towards lower pastures, slowly delighting in the tiny little hitches in Malfoy’s breathing as I altered either location or pressure with temperate, almost loving touches. I brushed the pads of my fingers around the rosy edges of his nipple, fascinated as he arched into the contact, moaning while tossing his head back, striking it rather harshly against his wooden support. Bastard is enjoying this! I raged. My jaw clenched.

Roughly, I grabbed his opposite nipple between my thumb and forefinger, pinching it with all my strength, earning a pained yelp, but only a yelp. Still holding it tightly, I twisted my fingers violently, feeling his flesh mangle beneath my fingers as his guttural yell played like music in my ears. That sound was a welcomed balm for my heart. I released him, stepping out of his range. DAMN. My cock was as hard as steel, and bent uncomfortably inside my trousers. I adjusted myself while watching Malfoy as he fought to control his breathing. Steady on, Potter. This is not what this is about… I talked to myself, talked to my throbbing response to the magnificent picture before me. His nipple was no longer rosy, but beet red and angry looking – perfect, a happy start to my retribution.

Once more, just as it had done in his study, the desire to taste him overtook my senses. I licked my lips, salivating in anticipation. What the hell! Why not? Bending my head, I dropped my lips to the almost-scarred nipple and engulfed it, suckling like a starving babe. His entire body tightened at my touch, arched taut and straining against the support of his cross. He tasted good. A tiny mewl escaped his hips and my senses slowly came back under my control.

Stepping back to appraise my canvas, displeasure overtook me once more. Frowning, the unbalanced nipples disgruntled me. I used both hands to shove him backwards, pinning him to that uncomfortable wood, and bit the unattended nipple, hard. Malfoy screamed, threw his head back, and screamed, not like a girl, definitely not like a girl, or a tortured puppy, but a man, a man taking punishment like a man.

His pain was glorious. His voice shrieked along my nerves’ pathways, alighting my soul with fire, pleasure from his pain snaking along all of the unseen corridors of my soul and settling in my gut. The toys called me back to the worktable and a beautiful suede-leather flogger, its many tails knotted doubly. It spoke many promises to me as I carded the soft leather tails through my fingers – promises of pain and my subsequent pleasure. The handle fit so nicely in my hand, as if it had been custom-made only for me. I gave it a test flick, smiling at the heaviness, the snap and crack of the leather, the slight resistance afforded by only the air. Trembling with excitement and anticipation, I returned my attention to my other toy, stretched so nicely, waiting so patiently. As if he had a choice … Licking my lips, I gently flicked my flogger towards Draco’s thigh, barely touching his pale skin with the leather tips. His whole body jerked in response. I watched in fascination as he bit his lip, preparing to mute his cries.

Chuckling, I snaked those tails from the top of his bare right foot, along the length of his long, lean, lightly haired leg, swishing over his kneecap, tickling his inner thigh. Enthralled, I gasped softly when his flaccid member eased to life before my very eyes. Hmmm, never thought of that. Drawing back my arm, I tested the weight of the handle in my hand. An involuntary shudder coursed through my body as I remembered for whom it had been made. Strange that something else of his should feel so right to me. I let loose, loving the hiss of the leather through the air, and nearly exploding with joy as the strands struck his chest. For a few scant seconds, I saw nothing. Then the blood coursed through his body, staining the lines with his vibrant scarlet dye. Again, and again, my arm ripped through the air, leaving behind lovely red raised welts. My muscles began to tire as the welts began to run together, no longer leaving the pleasing red against white contrast with which I was becoming infatuated. I stepped back to my table to lay down my toy.

Draco’s huffing breaths echoed nicely in that damp chamber – music for my ears and soul – music that this time indeed soothed my savage beast. Staring at his reddened chest, I knew I needed a clean canvas to paint. Hissing, I flicked my wand at him, reversing his position so that his wounded chest now pressed against the irritating grain of the wooden cross. He finally allowed himself to yelp in pain. I loved the sound of his pain. The single-lash whip whispered to me seductively, its handle feeling sublime in my hand as well. I tested the flow of the lash against empty air. I chuckled as Draco jumped at the crack. I wheeled on him, striking with all the strength I had left, instantly raising a long crimson line, breaking the skin.

Y-e-s-s-s-s-s! That horrible tormenting voice in my head exulted. My arm moved as if of its own accord after that, striking over and over until I had nowhere left to strike. Satiated, I stood back to admire the red patterns staining my once-pristine canvas. My eyes delighted in the contrast, at the gleam of sweat slowly drying on bloodied skin in the guttering torchlight. Peacefully, I sighed, content with my work, my masterpiece. My fingers itched to trace the bloodied paths across his back, my lips to capture that metallic-tasting liquid. I licked a swath between his shoulder blades, glorying in the taste, the smell, the touch of his skin.

Ta-a-a-ke him-m-m, hissed the voice in my head. A red glow bathed the dark room.

Ta-a-a-ke hi-m-m-m. He’s-s-s-s yours-s-s-s.

I could smell the coppery tang of his blood even in the dank air of that long-unused dungeon. I could taste it in the air as I drew breath through my open mouth, allowed the scent to settle in my tasted buds. My eyes grazed over his back, a masterpiece in scarlet ink, to the swell of his similarly painted buttocks.

Yours-s-s-s-s, the voice in my head hissed insistently.

The urge to anoint myself at the fount which Draco still offered overcame me. Roughly, I spread his cheeks with both hands. His moan spurred me on.

Ye-s-s-s-s! that voice rejoiced. Ins-s-s-s-ide now.

As if watching someone else’s body move, I saw myself freeing my cock, preparing to dip into a deeper well. I hissed at the chains. They pulled his legs wider. Every muscle from his waist to his toes bulged, straining beautifully now, yes, straining and taut.

My fingers opened his backside. I stared at his well, the fount of my redemption. With this act, I would be the Savior no more.

One tiny voice screamed at me, NO! Another louder voice lisped and taunted, daring me to go further. I didn’t dip. I plunged. I failed. I couldn’t force my length, even though it seemed rock hard, inside of him. Damn, this is more difficult than I imagined. I shoved myself away from him. Looking around, I searched for something to ease my pain. A word lisped from the depths of my mind: Ungo. I didn’t even stop to think how I knew that word, or that it would work. I hissed at Draco, and soon my entry point gleamed with oozing oil.

I slammed my body against his, his blood soaking my shirt, warming my skin and my heart. Growling with my own distaste, I ripped my own shirt from my body. Instinctively, I knew I craved the redemption I could only find in his blood on my skin. I pitched my hips forward, using one hand to hang on his arm for balance and the other to guide myself more effectively.

Draco bellowed in agony against the intrusion. My soul rejoiced.

At las-s-s-s-t.

Time after time, I shoved myself inside of him, anointing myself with his blood, blood to wash away my own pain, blood shed for my own personal salvation. Gasping, I finally reached the pinnacle. My fingers dug into his shoulders, leaving deep marks exactly where I had envisioned his wings would have emerged.

Free! Finally free! I felt absolutely light, exuberant, exonerated. Cleaning myself up, I carefully rearranged my implements, setting them back in the same places I had found them originally. I re-dressed vigilantly, pointedly ignoring the broken man hanging by his wrists from the cross.

Ready at last, I eased that spare wand, the hawthorn one, his hawthorn wand, which I had kept hidden for so long, from my cloak pocket. I stepped quietly to press against the abused back of my prey. I released the tight gag, the leather contraption falling to the stone floor. Draco’s head drooped forward, his cheek resting against the splintery surface of the cross.

I glanced down to see that he finally had angled his hips enough to avoid rubbing his cock against the jagged surface. Stunned, I saw where his own milky white offering christened that splintered wood. I slipped that wand into his grip. Pleased, I watched as his fingers naturally clenched around the familiar intrusion. No other part of his body moved. As I leaned more weight into him, I could feel the expansions and contractions of his ribs, shallow as they were. He breathed still, yet Ginny did not, would not ever again. Everything felt so right and so wrong all in the same instant.

Sliding away from his side, I picked up my cloak, throwing it over my arm, and as I turned to Apparate away, I heard his hoarse voice, dampened by the events, rasping, “Thank you.”

I heard him too late to stop the world from spinning away and out of my control.

~*~

The next day dawned inevitability bright and cheery. I popped to the Burrow to collect Lily. As I strode up to the door, my heart seemed to burst with joy. I felt light, weightless almost, relieved.

“Daddy!” I heard Lily only seconds before the impact. She hurtled into my arms for her customary hug. Molly, wiping her hands on her apron, held the door open for us. She poured my coffee, and I sat at the table while Lily ran to get her things.

“Oh, here, Harry, dear. Lily was carrying this around with her all day. I imagine you were wondering…” Her voice trailed off as my face paled.

The world faded away in a reddened haze once more. I swore my heart stopped. Molly handed me a small florist’s card with a simple message: Ginny asked me to send these for her with this message: All my love. Happy Valentine’s Day, George. Stunned breathless, I crumpled in a heap on the floor, the card falling from my malevolent fingertips.

What have I done?

~*~

Now, I sit here, alone with my red-leather journal, in the damp, cold, stone room where no natural light dares enter, no hint of warmth save that from the guttering candle flame high above me. Here, I write. I write to while away my time. I write to remember. I write to clear my mind. I write, perchance, to learn more. There is something so cathartic about placing a quill to parchment and allowing the words, thoughts, and feelings to take shape, giving them their proper place. The candlelight sputters. A deep-pitched, yet oddly kind, voice drawls seductively in my ear; warm breath sends delicious tingling from there straight to my groin. I shift on the uncomfortably hard seat. Expensive cologne wafts through the clammy air. My cock stands to attention instantly. I close the diary and move it next to its mate. My hand lingers on the spine lovingly. I focus on the gold-embossed lions which face each other on the spines. I lean back in the hard chair, feeling the warmth from his body behind me, and the scent of him floods my senses. The smell, such a smell, I never fail to respond to his smell in some tangible way. I smile up at him, remembering the same sensations from earlier in the day. He had waltzed right past me inside the Ministry, his decorative little wife dangling from his arm as we all made our way to yet another stupid luncheon. Even then, his cologne lingered in the air, both to tease and titillate. He had glanced backwards just as they entered the room.

No one else would have noticed the minute smile pursing his lips, but I notice everything about my lover’s lips. A manicured hand reaches over my shoulder to pick up my gloves from their place of honor on this battered desk. He drops to his knees beside me, head bowed – supplicant -- hands raised with my gloves resting on his upturned palms, offering them to me.

“Hello, master,” he purrs reverently; my soul rejoices.

And so the conclusion ... thanks for reading along, Pitt
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A Valentine's Day Massacre