The Open Door

It’s cold, almost as cold as a Dementor’s kiss, in the tiny cell atop the North Tower. They only used it for important prisoners. Prisoners such as wizards and witches that were sick from the hatred directed at them. Or for those that are condemned to die, and die soon.

If you were to look out my barred window, you would see fires burning in the night, great leaping blazes where the truth is burned, papers and books that offend them, the texts that could defeat them. And… then there are the dead. The ones who fought Voldemort. The Dark Lord. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Tom Marvelo Riddle. He has many names and I know them all, for I am Harry Potter. And I too, have many names, Harry James Potter. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. And simply, Harry to my friends. That is, if I had any friends left to call me by that name. But, enough about me. I can see the towering mounds of dirt waiting to cover the graves of the dead. It’s a frightening sight. And it’s because of me. I failed. I could not defeat Voldemort.

I guess I should be afraid to say his name now. Like so many others. But, I’m not. What do I have to fear? I’m a marked man. Have been for quite some time. I just didn’t know it then.

Tomorrow I will die. At least that’s what they tell me. Their master is going to kill me. The Death Eaters who bring me scraps to keep me alive tell me this. They smile wicked cruel grins when I ask them what he’s going to do. I’m not sure they know, and if they did, why would they tell me? My imagination is vivid enough, I suppose.

I hear footsteps on the stairs. It’s too early for them to come for me. It’s still night and the moonlight pours into my tiny cold cell. It’s bitterly cold in here now, and I’m shivering for all I’m worth. It’s painful to be this cold, and I long to lay my head down and fall into the sleep of the dead. It would be so easy, just to give up and allow the freezing wind that whips through the bars of my cell to take my life. But, I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t. I suppose it’s the hope that something or someone will save me. It’s stupid, really. There is no one left.

“Potter,” comes the hissing voice outside the door. It’s Malfoy. I know his voice well. I heard it enough during school. Blond, pointy-faced Malfoy, the nasty rich boy who once offered me his hand in friendship, but I wouldn’t take it. But, right now, I’m almost sure that I should have accepted his offer of friendship. Maybe things would have turned out differently. Or maybe not. Or maybe I would have died sooner and not have to face this anguishing wait.

“Potter.”

The voice echoes in my cell, and I finally lift my head and look into grey eyes that I know so well.

My response is automatic. Years of constant harping at one another has made the words easy, made them hateful, made them cruel.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” I hear myself saying. I stand up. It’s better to die standing as a man, than to cringe on the floor like a coward. My clothes are in tatters, and they are no protection against the mean wind that gusts through my window.

“I’ve come to tell you goodbye,” Malfoy’s cold voice says, and for the oddest reason I want to laugh. Why would he do such a thing?

I hear Malfoy come closer and then he grasps my elbow. I want to shake him off but his hand feels warm against my cold skin and I so want to be warm again.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” Malfoy asks in that sneering way of his. I want to hurt him, hex him, punch him, but instead I turn and stare out my window, my only view to the outside world. It’s not the world I remember; one with great rolling grounds with trees to sit under, a lake to sit by, places to think or to hide. Now it’s become a barren wasteland of death and destruction. I can smell the smoke of the fires burning below. From somewhere deep inside the irrational fear bubbles up that they will burn me as a wizard. But, I’m not anymore. I’m weak and the magic is gone from me. I can’t feel its warm prickle across my skin anymore. I only feel coldness and pain. That’s all that’s left for me here.

“You’re mine now,” Malfoy says quietly in my ear. It’s odd: the ever present snarky tone isn’t there. His hand almost feels comforting as it glides up and down my arm.

Yet, I don’t want him to own me. “You’ll never have me,” I say and start to turn away. “Leave me be,” my sullen voice says.

I wasn’t expecting him to do what he did next. I expected a punch, or a hex, or even to be thrown across the room in anger. I never thought, I never believed, I could hardly believe… he kissed me! His lips warm and hard on mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, and the knowledge of what he wants from me finally becomes clear. He pushes me against the bars of my window until the cold metal was painful against my back. My wicked arms that now seemed to have a mind of their own drew him closer and I felt his lips form a smile against mine.

“You’ll do what I say,” he snarls into my ear. I’m limp with relief… this is a Malfoy that I understand. There is no tenderness in his voice, nor do I want tenderness from him. I want what he offers. I’ll take whatever from him to live a little longer, perhaps to feel alive again, even if for a moment in this dying night.

His hips roll against mine, and I feel it. Hard, throbbing heat through his robes. He shoves me against the bars and orders: “Strip.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Fuck off, prick,” I freeze. I didn’t mean to say that. I flinch at the look he gives me. It reeks of power, and hate, and… lust.

I almost didn’t see it there. I don’t understand.

A piece of my ragged shirt falls to the ground as he waves his hand. He knows wandless magic. I am shocked beyond words. My clothes seem to melt from my body, leaving me nude in the cold, pale moonlight illuminating the tiny room we’re standing in.

“I’ll fuck off right after I fuck you,” he snarls at me. Everything is alright. This is normal.

I plaster a look of horror on my face. This is what he wants, power. Power over me. He needs that just as much as the sex.

The scar on his face is new. I don’t remember it. I cast the slashing spell on him what now seems ages ago. Is it from that? I remember Snape singing a spell to heal him and then carrying him off to Madam Pomphrey’s. I barely remember what he looked like the night Dumbledore died. Could he have had it that long?

“Turn around half-blood scum.” he orders while giving me a hard shove. I’m pressed against the bars by his body. He’s leaning on me, keeping me still.

“Be careful what you call your master,” I shoot back. Damn my mouth. I can’t keep it shut. I wonder if this is it. Will he kill me now? Not that it matters… I’m supposed to die in the morning any way.

His hands and arms wrap around my body, his long white fingers splay over my stomach, his fingers sliding across my stomach, and touching me with a lover’s touch. Soft, yet firm and unyielding, combing through my body hair, pinching me, finding places that I never knew that I liked touched. It’s wrong, but for the first time in a long, long time I feel alive. I relax into his touch, wanting to be held.

He moves away and I hear the soft hiss of his zipper being undone. What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know what men like. Hell, I barely know what I like. His hands are on me, touching, stroking. I can feel the magic in his fingers. It vibrates through my body and it feels like life. I want this. This feeling of being alive, of being whole. This may be my last chance.

“Do whatever you’re going to do,” the words come from my mouth, but I don’t remember thinking them. I lay my head against the bars and wait.

“Oh I will,” he says and his fingers play across my body. I feel his finger gliding down my back, slowly moving toward my arse. I feel his finger tracing a wicked path between my buttocks, and God… it feels good. I want more.

“Uh uh, Potter.” His voice is cold and dark. “Not until I’m ready. And, I’m not.” I steal a glance at him and I see the ugly scar split his face. His face is twisted into an evil grimace.

He jabs a finger into me. It hurts more than I thought it would. A groan escapes from me. He knows I’m weak now. One finger, and I’m whimpering.

What? What’s this? Rope has appeared from nowhere and my arms are drawn up as it winds itself around my wrists. It’s too tight, and the rope is harsh against my wrists. I look up and see it knotting around the highest crossbar in the window. My arms are starting to burn from being upright so long.

“How can you do that?” I gasp the question. Though it hurts, and it burns, it still means that I’m alive. I can stand the pain. His finger digs deeper into me, and now the pain is coming from different directions.

“Ah, it’s because of you Potter. My Lord has given me your magic, and how ironic that I can use it against you now,” Draco replies.

I see lights in front of my eyes. His finger is deep and moving and each time it brushes something… I can’t see, I can’t breathe, I can’t move, but I don’t want him to stop. Oh….

I slump against the window; my legs are weak and trembling. “Malfoy,” the words come out as a plea, a breathless whisper.

“Turn around scum,” Draco orders and pulls his finger from me. I obey. I start to move so I can slacken the pull on my arms, but he shoves me the other way and I scrape my arse against the cold stone windowsill. I can feel the burn as my skin tears. It’s hot and brilliant and comforting and I gasp from the sudden shock of it.

“You will not come, nor will you move. If you obey me, this might even be enjoyable if…” Draco says. I know what he means. I understand now. His unsaid words are quite clear. Fuck or Die. It’s my choice and my choice alone.

“Yes,” I whisper and hang my head in shame, my hair hiding my eyes from his. I’m glad. I don’t want him to see me. To know what I‘m thinking or feeling. Or how my body reacts to him; I can feel my cock harden. I want him in me. I want to feel the magic in me again. “Yes,” I whisper so quietly I‘m sure he doesn‘t hear me.

“And what do you think we should do with this little item,” Draco says. I hear the leer in voice. But it’s his hand, the touch of his fingers that grab my attention. I can’t help but twitch with anticipation. His warm fingers burn into my dick.

“Fuck,” I whisper. It’s everything. How I feel, what I want. I can’t move; my head is resting against the bars, and I feel the sweat pool on my skin, the cool air making me shiver as I alternate between blazing heat and shivering cold.

“As you wish,” Draco replies. My head bangs against the bars as I feel his mouth on me. Coherent thought is becoming difficult. It’s all waves of pleasure spiraling out and up from my dick. I want to bury myself into this heat, this wonderful feeling of being swallowed whole, diving deeper and deeper and…

Pain. A tearing, biting sensation across the top of my dick. I glance down and I see his lips move and his bared teeth.

“You will move when I tell you to move. Not before, do you understand me?” Draco orders. I feel the sharp pain explode in my bullocks as he pinches me.

I can’t help but cry out and twist to escape his cruel fingers. My eyes prickle with unshed tears.

“Next time you disobey, this little love< /i> pinch will be much harder, and in a much more sensitive place,” Draco says, matter-of-factly. “Do you understand?”

I nod. I can’t trust myself to speak. I want to fight him, but I’m too tired, too weak, too fucking aroused by his probing fingers. The cold stone scraps my arse, but I don’t care. I see him grinning at me, and I wonder what’s going on in that twisted mind.

“Malfoy…” It’s a plea, but not to stop. My brain cannot form words. I only know… Malfoy, Draco. I couldn’t tell you if I said the words, or thought them… There is only light, heat, and exhilaration. My head bangs against the bars as his mouth closes over me again. I’ve always wanted someone to touch me there, and it’s more than I’ve ever dreamed of … to have him sucking me off.

I feel my face twist in pleasure, and through my lashes I see him looking at me.


“You’d like to come, wouldn’t you?” Draco asks, his index finger tracing the fold of skin around the tip of my dick. I want to come over his hand, while his finger is barely touching me. It’s almost like I can feel him even when he isn’t touching me.

“Oh god,” I moan, and bite my bottom lip. I can taste the hot, salty, liquid welling up across the spot where my teeth have torn the flesh of my lips.

“But, you won’t, will you?” Draco says, not asking.

“No,” I say, my voice trembling.

I can feel his hair brush my leg and then his lips are pressed to my bullocks. I feel him draw me in and I’m under his control. I try to spread my legs further apart because I want this man to use me, take me, suck me. I whimper and strain against the rope tied around my wrists. I want to touch him, run my fingers through that soft blond hair. I want to come, the sensation curls my toes and I tense under his ministrations.

Pain: bright tender pain from my hard dick. He has swatted it from his face. I’m still hard; my dick throbbing from want and from being slapped.

“You’re not to come until I tell you, bitch,” Draco cries, then pinches my bullocks; still damp from his artful sucking.

Tears form in my eyes, but I allow no sound of pain to come from my lips. He looks thoughtful; perhaps even impressed. Little does he know how much self-control it takes to not come. My legs feel weak and unsteady.

“Turn around Potter,” Draco orders. He’s on his feet and pushing his robes back.

My eyes widen at the sight of him. He’s… beautiful. I know that he enjoys being superior to me, being in control. I don’t want him to know that I want him. I’ve been obsessed with him for years, and even now, in this hideous place, only hours before I am to die I can finally have him if and only if I play my cards right. He can’t know. I press my lips into a hard, bitter line. I start to turn to the left to loosen the slack of the rope; my wrists are burning and my fingers are going numb.

“No, the other way,” Draco says, leaning back on one hip to allow me a clearer view of him. He’s an arrogantly proud bastard. But, he should be. His dick is as a god’s. I want to smile, but think better of it. I need to keep up this pretense. I try to assume an air of indifference.

I turn to the left and I feel my body stretch, and I have to almost stand on my toes to keep my balance. I hear his hiss as he exhales. Good, he still wants me.

“You’ve obeyed to some degree, but I expect complete obedience, do you understand?” Draco hisses. I feel his tongue on the back of my neck. Oh God, I want to feel that tongue everywhere, and if he has read my thoughts I feel his tongue trace a path down my back. I failed before with Voldemort, but please dear God, don’t let me fail now when I can have at least one thing I’ve always wanted. It’s so difficult to remain still when every molecule of my body wants to touch him, this beautiful blond man, to find myself wrapped around him and not know where I end and he begins. He’s stopped now. His warm breath is at the top of my arse. I taste blood; I’ve bitten into my lip its hot, coppery flavor is in my mouth. I bite my lip harder, to feel the pain, and not to come.

“Potter, you should enjoy the scenery. It may be the last thing that you can enjoy before the morning. Before they send for you,” Draco says, the familiar sneer in his voice. I feel his hands spread my arse apart and then I can’t help the sounds that are coming from my throat. I whimper when his tongue touches me there. I can’t stop the inarticulate cry that bursts forth when his tongue pushes its way inside me. And, now I can’t help praying.

“Oh God, oh God,” I moan and I can’t help squirming. It’s too much.

I feel his tongue once more and then it’s gone.

I hear the ugly taunt in his voice as he speaks to me. “Now Potter, you will have something to remember the rest of your short miserable life.” If nothing else were to happen between us, I would remember this until the minute I could think no more. I feel his fingers move across my skin, his arms wrapping around me. His touch is painful, but oh God, I’m alive and it’s wonderful.

I feel his magic crawling over my skin, dark, and bitter, just like him. I feel its sharp claws dig into me, and then I feel something else, something familiar, something that was once mine. I take a deep breath, I don’t want to move. I feel his hard dick nestled between my buttocks, its heat burning into me.

“You want me,” he says, his voice is low and dark and it’s not a question, but a fact that he has known forever.

“No,” I whisper back. It’s a lie and he knows it.

I can barely feel his finger on my hand, the one with the scars Umbridge put there. His voice hisses in my ear, “I must not tell lies.” Now, I can feel his sharp nail cut into my scars, awaking the pain that Umbridge burned into me, making it Draco’s. Its not hers any longer, but his, and I crave it. His mouth is on my neck, than my jaw line and I want to turn my face to have his mouth on mine, to taste myself on him. But, I don’t; he hasn’t said that I can.

“You know what happens when you lie, don‘t you Potter?” he whispers in my ear.

His hands are all over me, pinching me, digging his pointing fingers into me, touching me everywhere but where I need him to touch me. His hand is tight around me, pulling me down, and digging in underneath my dick. It hurts, but it helps. I do know what happens to people when they lie. I can’t lie now.

“Yes,” I whimper, my voice caught between a sob and a whisper, and I feel the tears start down my face.

He releases me, and his voice is urgent, demanding, although he tries to be nonchalant. I’ve heard his voice so many times in my dreams and at school. I know ever nuance, every little hiss, every little drawl. “So, Potter, you want me in you?” he asks in a way that sounds so matter-of-fact that I can only wonder how he became such an easy liar. He desperately wants to be in me. I know. I hear it in his voice. If I could turn and look into his eyes I know I would see it there too.

“Yes,” I whisper. There is nothing left to lie about.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands. I don’t know why he wants me to tell him. He knows what I want. I can feel it in his body and I’m sure he can feel it in mine.

“I want you,” I say between sobs, my body is shaking so hard it hurts. “I want you in me.”

His teeth tear into my neck and his dick is inside me all in one swift and painful moment. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. It hurts like hell, and I can feel the wetness trickle down my neck as his teeth dig into me. I feel him roll his hips and his dick is tearing me apart. But I want it. I feel his magic and mine wrap around me. I buck back, wanting him deeper and wanting to feel whole again. With each thrust I feel myself becoming the man I once was. I haven’t felt this way since Voldemort took my magic. I don’t know how this is happening, but I want it. I feel Draco’s hand on my hip and I force myself back and feel him deep within me. I can’t stop moving and neither can he. The sparkling, tingling sensation builds in me, I want to come, but he hasn’t said that I can. I feel the ropes tear into my wrists with each jerk, but fuck the pain.

I hear Draco’s gasp, and the quiver that runs through his body pressed so closely to mine. I feel him slow and then thrust deep once more. I feel the trickle of his come seeping out of my arse and down my leg. I want to come; it’s almost too much and every last bit of will-power and magic are keeping me from coming. He hasn’t said that I can yet, and I want nothing more than to please him. He’s given me so much and he is my master, not Voldemort.

I feel his tongue on my neck again. I almost giggle as his tongue touches the places he’s bit into my neck. They are his marks, his scars and I am his. My eyes almost roll back in my head when his hand touches my dick.

“You may come now,” Draco whispers. His touch is light but strong on my dick, and I feel the long-overdue rush of release explode from me. I hope he isn’t upset that I’ve come all over his hand. The feeling of being myself drains out of me as I finish. I’m weak and my legs are useless stumps of rubber. My head lolls to the side, and I let the ropes support my weight. I feel them cut into my wrists and the slow slide of blood from their cuts down my arms, mixing with my sweat and his.

“Speak,” Draco orders.

I can’t think. I can only feel. Ever particle of my body is craving him like a drug. But, years of hatred and obsession run deep. My face feels wet, and some little voice in my head is telling me that I shouldn’t cry; he will think I’m weak. Yet, I say words that he would expect, ones that he knows I will say.

“Fuck you.”

“You wish,” Draco replies, straightening his robes and doing up the fastenings. He<,i>Accio’s his trousers and slides them on. He winces and I wonder why. I can’t keep my eyes off him.

“The Master will send for you in the morning, Potter. Enjoy the rest of your night,” Draco smirks, as he strides to the door.

He waves his hand and the ropes vanish from my wrists and I drop to the floor, bloody, battered, and oddly content.

“And Potter,” Draco says turning away from the doorway, “Next time, consider who your master is and what you owe him.”

I watch him walk through the doorway, and hear his footsteps vanishing as he descends the stairs. He has left the door open. I grab my robes and pull them over my head quickly. I can escape! Is this my reward?

I start down the stairs, feeling my way in the darkness. I descend for what feels like forever, spiraling downwards. The coldness eats into me, but I keep going. It’s getting lighter. The dimness is easing and I round the last turn.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says, his blond hair gleaming in the light from his wandtip.

I nod, I’m not sure if I should apologize.

He takes my hand and I feel his power and I feel my magic in his touch.

“Come on, then,” he says, pulling me through the door into the darkness.



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