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Distorted Lullabies	By : lux Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 5244 -:- 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
- 1-Distorted Lullabies 1a/1
- 2-Distorted Lullabies 1b/1
- 1
- 2
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.
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Distorted Lullabies