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Make Me Bleed	By : Insatiable_Fox Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 7610 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any characters from the Harry Potter series. I make no money nor claim a profit off this work.

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He had forgotten what a shower felt like. Yes, the shower itself was filthy, and there was only a long-forgotten sliver of soap with which to clean himself; but the hot water ran down his hair and body, slowly eroding layers of dirt and grime, easing aches and cleansing his mind. Nothing could erase his self-loathing, or the marks left from years of mental and physical abuse, but a hot shower did a lot in clearing his head and lifting his spirits.

Draco didn't hear the door open; nor the drop of clothes removed. He did, however, notice Potter pull back the shower curtain, revealing his completely naked self. "You were wrong before. When you said you had nothing to give me."

"If you wanted a whore you could have bought me off the streets.”

Potter ignored him, stepping into the shower to stand beside Draco, seemingly unaware of his naked body. "It's you Malfoy. You make me react. I've been numb inside for so fucking long. Do you know what it feels like to wake up every morning with the faces of your loved ones fresh in your mind? Knowing that you killed them?”

"And how the fuck do you think I feel!?” Draco yelled back, finally snapping in the face of this fucking corpse that should have been the Saviour of the Wizarding World and instead was just as fucked up as he was. "In the end, I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I was so fucking eager to please Daddy I kept right on doing it. Do you know how it fucking feels, Harry, to be hated, not only by the 'good' people, but the bad as well?"

"I know what it's like to feel as though you have no control over your life." Potter’s voice was low and bitter, making Draco shiver. "I know what it's like to be born into a role, have every decision made for you.” Potter let out a feral laugh. "Don't you think it's funny, Draco, that we come from opposite sides, yet we've both been dumped and left to rot by the people who were meant to care the most?"

"I'm a fucking whore, Potter. Men pay me to shove their dicks up my ass or blow their pathetic cocks. That's how I survive. That's how I'm not dead.”

"And I slit my wrists to watch the blood run down my arms so I can try and gain some sort of control over my pitiful world. That's how I survive, Draco. And I want you to make me bleed.”

Fuck. Draco snapped his head up to look at Potter, who was leaning against the shower wall. Water ran in rivulets down his naked torso, highlighting the mass of scars that marred the tanned flesh. "Make you bleed" he repeated dully, refusing to inspect the implications of those three simple words.

"I need you to." Potter was looking at him more sanely than he had so far, yet the words coming out of his mouth were far from it.

"Why?" Draco all but whispered.

"Does the why matter, Draco? You're bright enough to join the bloody dots." Bitter Potter was back, his words bleak and resentful.

Draco swallowed. "How?" he breathed, his mind already traversing the memories he had tried so hard to suppress. Draco had paid for what he had done, the inexcusable harm he had caused. He didn't want more blood on his hands, whether it had been asked for or not.

"That's not for me to decide. However you see fit. No one else will fucking judge me for the shit I've done. You're the only person who will, Draco. The only person who can-”

"I can't." Draco was already shaking his head slowly, eyes cast down. "I don't hate you anymore, Potter. I don't know if I ever truly did. I'm the last person who can judge you for your supposed crimes. You saved us all, and survival always comes at a cost.”

"Draco, please. I need this. The why doesn't concern you, just know that I wouldn't have found you if I wasn't desperate. My house is yours for as long as you're here, and you won't need to sell yourself out. Do this for me and your worries will be gone."

Draco thought it was pretty naive of Potter to assume ceasing to be a whore would resolve his worries. Draco's worst marks were internal and self inflicted; it was his mind that served as the cutting canvas, not his body like Potter. No use in harming something that had already been painstakingly defiled by others. Still, the allure of a house, shelter from the elements, and a chance to finally retrieve some of his lost dignity was like wafting a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky under a recovering alcoholic's nose and telling them not to taste. He didn't have the will to refuse.

Gathering as much poise as he could muster, he finally met Potter's dark eyes. "When do I start?"

"Now."

*
My teenage self wouldn't have believed this, Draco thought as he followed Potter down yet another dingy hallway, clad only in a grimy towel slung low on his too-narrow hips. Hell, a day ago I wouldn't have believed this. Potter abruptly opened a door and entered a bedroom, striding over to a closet and riffling through it. Draco paused on the threshold, gently fingering the name adorning the outside of the door. "There was a Regulus in my mothers family tree" he said conversationally, if not a little wistfully. Any reminder of his mother was ripping open a freshly healed wound.

"It was this one. This was the Black house." Potter had returned from the closet holding a pile of clothes. "You can have his room. Do whatever you want with it."

Draco was stunned. "How did you come into possession of the Black residence?" He asked, confused.

"Sirius Black was my godfather. He bequeathed it to me before I got him killed." Potter thrust out the clothes. "Here. You can wear anything you find. I'll meet you in the kitchen."

Draco took the clothes, still astonished as Potter pushed past him and left the room. If this was indeed the Black house, it looked nothing like the hazy memories Draco harbored of long afternoon teas with his horrible Great Aunt Walburga and her decrepit house elf. The elf was probably long dead, which would explain the atrocious state Potter had let the house fall into. Slipping into the clothes Draco sighed in pleasure, relishing the feel of clean material against his flesh. They were huge, the pants pooling comically around his ankles and the top hanging loosely from his gaunt frame, but Draco was in no position, nor had any inclination, to complain.

He eventually found his way back to the kitchen after more than one wrong turn leading him into eerie dead-ends or grime covered rooms. There had been one point where he passed a mass of torn curtains hanging limply beside what was once obviously a portrait, but had been defaced with three long gouges and smeared with dried blood. He had paused to stare at the destruction and instantly been overcome with a feeling so bleak and dark it felt like his very soul was being sucked out; a dementor’s kiss. He had barely resisted the urge to weep profusely or beg to be struck down where he stood.

Upon entering the kitchen, Draco found Potter sitting cross-legged on the abattoir table, hands resting palm up on his knees, completely naked. "Do you have a thing about clothes?" Draco asked, at a loss for what to say.

"They ruin it" Potter mumbled. "How could I accept who I am when I'm hiding behind clothes? I repent with my blood; it would be a farce to cover it up."

"Look, Potter. You don't need to do this" Draco stalled, Potter's words echoing in his head uncomfortably and making him decidedly uneasy.

“Use my first name, Draco. Don’t distance yourself from me” Potter murmured softly, as if he was comforting a child. The tone rubbed against Draco's skin and he fought down a surge of anger at Potter for putting him in this situation.

"Fine, Harry" he sneered, mustering courage and sounding more like the boy at Hogwarts then he had for a long time. "You want to bleed? So be it." Draco bent to pick up the shard of glass Harry had been holding earlier, lightly running his finger over the tip. Crude and unworked, it would serve its purpose.

Draco slowly paced around Harry's still form, ignoring the growing sickness in his stomach as he tired to view Harry's body as an object and not a hurting, bleeding human. Finally, he paused directly in front of the other man, his breathing slightly ragged. Stepping close so his hips were pressed against the wood, Draco reached out and pressed the tip of the glass to Harry's chest, eyes flicking hesitantly to seek Harry's, but they were closed. Tentatively, he pulled the shard down across marred flesh.

"Harder" Potter grunted, startling Draco by taking his wrist and pressing it firm against his body. A drop of blood welled at the point, healthy red and vibrant. Draco stared transfixed at the drop as his hand acted of its own accord, ripping a long clean slash, followed quickly by a second running parallel. A quiet sob broke Draco's horrified state, and he looked up to find tears running down Harry's cheeks.

‘'Fuck!" Yelled Draco, stumbling back and dropping the glass, before quickly bending over and once again heaving bile over the floor. He heard Harry shifting behind him and looked up to see the man slowly run a finger through the cut before lifting it to his mouth, tongue flicking out to taste the blood. “Shit. Shit! Fuck Harry! You've got to stop the bleeding! Where's your wand?"

"Draco. Stop. Leave it."

"But you’re a Wizard, Harry!" Draco felt compelled to yell out. “You have a wand. Heal yourself! There won't even be a scar!"

"I like the scar" Harry bit back, but there was no malice behind the words. He just sounded tired. "The scars are there to remind me that I am slowly paying back my debt."

"But don't you think they are… grotesque?"

"You think yours are?"

"Of course" Draco ground out bitterly. “They were put there against my will, branding me with my wrong-doings forever. Despite the fact that I've been cast out from my own kind, they also strove to ensure it would be impossible for me to ever forgive myself; not when all I see each day is these marks and am forced to remember how I got every individual one.”

"That's where we differ, Draco. You didn't ask for your scars; they serve as an unhealthy reminder of what has been and what will never be. Mine… I put mine there. I chose to mar my body. Which leads me to ask why you didn't heal yours, considering last I looked, you were a wizard too."

At that Draco snarled. "Why do you think Potter! You think I'm like this willingly? Well let me tell you a little story about the upbringing of poor old me. Daddy Malfoy saw fit to confiscate his precious son’s wand every time he came home for the holidays; Merlin forbid he give me a chance to fight back as he Crucioed me for each of that year’s failures. Merlin forbid, Potter, that he give me a way to defend myself as he came into my room each night and taught -” his mouth curled round the word "- me how a real wizard acted! Do you know at what age those particular lessons started! Six, Potter! I was fucking six! And Merlin fucking forbid, Potter, that even after I had been used as the Dark Lord’s fucking sex toy and extricated from my family home - thrown to the muggle streets - that I should be able to protect myself with a wizard's fucking basic right: A wand!" Draco was screaming by then, the words running together as he let himself feel the injustice of the situation for the first time in a long while. Breaking off abruptly, he stilled, chest heaving and breath coming out in panting huffs. Closing his eyes, Draco was appalled to feel wetness gracing his cheek. He rubbed his arm harshly against his face, attempting to be rid of the condemning evidence that showed he still cared. No, Draco had let that go a long time ago. "Then you come along, and you're all fucked up and your life's a mess, but at least you have a wand. You could sort your shit out in seconds. I don't understand why you and your house are both filthy and derelict, when all it would take is a few cleaning charms."

Harry had been silent throughout Draco's outburst, but now he hopped off the bench and came to stand in front of him. In a gesture as old as time he wrapped his arms around Draco, pulling him close.

"I don't need your sympathy" Draco tried, pushing away, but Harry was deceptively strong and simply held him closer.

"It's not sympathy. It's empathy for what you've been through. It's the fact that you probably haven't been held by someone who has no sexual motives for a long time. It's because I'm standing here, looking at a man who I hated for so many years, only to find out that his life has been as hard as mine."

"You could have had anything you ever wanted" Draco couldn't help but state sorely, even with Harry's arms still wrapped around his thin waist. "The world bowed down to you, Potter."

"Call me Harry” Harry gently chided, before letting out a heavy sigh. "And you know that's not the truth, Draco. People wanted a hero, but they got a scared seventeen year old with fucked up issues and a hell of a lot of luck."

Draco pulled away from Harry's embrace, plastering a fake smirk on his face in an attempt to compose himself. “Well, well, well. Are you saying the Great Harry Potter, Golden Boy, and all ‘round Saviour of the World, God, Saint, and our leading protagonist, isn't perfect?”

Harry just let out a small smile, his face strangely wistful. "We’re all equal, Draco. We all cut and we all bleed and we all die."
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Make Me Bleed