Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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.

Chapter List
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Draco slept late the next morning, only rousing from a dream of shadowed figures and red light when Harry stumbled into the room.

“A wise man once told me, Draco, that everything was all in my head.”

Draco struggled up, hugging the musty blankets to his body and giving Harry a weary look. “That what is all in your head?” he asked, somewhat reluctantly, wishing he could crawl back under the covers where oblivion lurked; tantalising and promising.

“Everything. Although apparently that doesn't mean that it’s not real.” Harry frowned, swaying slightly, before fixating back on Draco. “You are very skinny” he commented with another frown.

Draco paused, taking in Harry’s bloodshot eyes and shaking hands. “Have you been drinking?” he asked cautiously, not knowing how this Potter would react.

“It's good to drink after bleeding” he replied, making Draco wince as he remembered the last 36 hours. “I can’t remember why though.”

“Funny that” Draco muttered under his breath. He had never been one for alcohol, as appealing as it had sometimes seemed whilst living on the streets. It was the memory of his father that always stilled his hand, his mother's pleading whimpers as he pulled back a clenched fist, the sickening crack of bone breaking and the smell of spirits heavy on his father's breath.

“You need food” Harry stated, eyes flicking over every visible part of him, leaving Draco feeling exposed.

“Do you have food?” Draco asked, remembering the broken kitchen and the immense number of empty bottles.

Harry smiled, then paused, brow furrowing. “I have Gin. And Tequila and Vodka and Whiskey. Maybe even some Rum.” The last part was added with notable excitement.

“But no food” Draco felt the need to add.

“No food.” Harry looked lost for a minute, eyes glancing around the dirty room helplessly, before once again returning to Draco. He stepped forward and Draco braced himself, but all Potter did was gingerly trace a finger over Draco’s swollen jaw. “When did this happen?

“The day you appeared at my home” Draco replied, concentrating on the fingertip still resting against his jaw. He couldn’t help but notice how soft it was. “Did you honestly not realise?”

“I was focused on you.” Harry smiled again, making Draco’s stomach clench momentarily. “We need to get you food. Too thin” he added, his voice dropping along with his hand, which came to rest against Draco’s gaunt ribs.

“Fine” Draco replied, scrabbling out of the bed and grabbing a pair of pants from the wardrobe. He unceremoniously dropped the pair he had on, not caring whether Harry saw. After selling his body for years, any dignity or modesty he had once held was long gone, misappropriated by the very men Draco had relied on to survive. He shot a quick look at Harry anyway, finding him staring unashamedly. “It’s going to cost you, Potter” he snapped out, yanking on the clean pants and resenting the feeling which grew in his stomach under Harry’s heavy gaze.

“Maybe I wouldn’t mind paying.”

Draco stilled briefly, before forcing his hands to keep buttoning up the pants. “I think you've paid enough already” he quietly replied.

“Is it not up to me to decide that?”

“I don’t think it will ever be enough, if it’s left up to you.”

“Perhaps that’s what I deserve.”

“Perhaps you never deserved it in the first place, Harry.” Draco sighed, closing his eyes briefly. The point was moot. Drunk or sober, Potter wasn’t going to listen to him, not whilst all he could give was empty words.

Potter grimaced. “Perhaps” he said softly, his adam's apple bouncing as he swallowed. Abruptly, he appeared to drag himself out of what Draco could only assume were his own macabre and twisted self theorisations. “Let’s go get food” Harry hurriedly stated, changing the subject. Draco nodded, only too happy to comply.

*
“Muggle?” Draco asked, after Harry had apparated them to a deserted alley behind a grey supermarket building, managing to hold in the bile which once again threatened to to escape his mouth.

“I haven’t been into wizarding London for years” Potter emotionlessly answered, grabbing Draco’s wrist and pulling him towards the mouth of the alley. Draco stared up at the sign proudly proclaiming chain grocery store in awe, before following Harry inside. Coming to stand beside him, Harry looked at him expectantly. “Well?”

“Well what?” Draco was busy staring around the store, the knowledge that they would be buying food heady in his chest.

“What do you want?”

“You’re going to let me pick?”

Harry gave him a strange look. “I think you deserve that, don't you?”

“Enough with the deserving” Draco mumbled, but he was already off, stalking down the aisles with barely concealed enthusiasm, his fingers trailing ardently over the brightly coloured boxes and packaging that had been devoid from his life. He grabbed a few off the shelves, not caring so much what they were, simply relishing the fact that he would be able to eat.

Rounding the corner, he almost walked straight into the back of a man. “Sorry” Draco hastened, already moving past, but a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, pulling him close.

“Look! If it isn’t the little faggot. Haven't seen you selling that sloppy ass for the last couple of days. Gone and found a poor bastard to feed you in exchange for your filthy mouth ‘round his flabby cock, have you?”

Draco stared in horror, his hand coming up to cover his still-aching ribs as he flashed back to the beating he had been given just before Potter had found him. He stepped back automatically, the hand on his wrist tightening as he did. His eyes were already scanning for a way past the piece of filth that stood before him, smelling of piss and sex, breath reeking of alcohol. “No. I...” Draco stammered, hating the submission that coursed through him. The need to placate the man. Please him.

“Cat got your tongue? Or is it some nasty disease from having it pushed up some fuckers arse hole too much?”

There it was. Two options. Fight or flight. He thought of harry, of the desperate need as he had clutched Draco, begging to be cut.

Fight.

“Why don’t you check your own dick? That thing harbours everything known to man” Draco snapped back, pushing down the submission and instead revelling in the quick anger that sparked through his body, the stiffening of his muscles and the acceleration of his heartbeat as adrenalin flashed through his nervous system. “I thought I saw a few warts adorning it. Oh, and that smell? Might want to check that out. Or just cut it off. Wouldn't be a loss, as you said to me only a few days ago.” Draco stepped forward, snarling at the hand still curled over his mark. “Go fuck yourself” he spat.

A fist shot out, too fast for Draco to avoid, finding its target in the gaunt hollow of an already bruised cheekbone. “Last time wasn't hard enough, aye boy? Fucking lost cause. You know what? Reckon your whore mother will be singing my praises when I deliver your body to her doorstep. Be so thankful she bends over and presents her gaping cunt for a good dicking.”

Draco was gasping, holding a shaking palm to his cheek when he felt it; the thrum of wild magic. The shelves beside him shook and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as Harry, seeming to appear out of nowhere, took a step towards the man. A nefarious vigilante; hands clenched and body tensed to fight. A burning man; heat dancing along tanned skin and fire smouldering hot and heavy in steeled eyes. A fallen hero; phoenix struggling from the flames, automatically answering the call for help.

“Fuck you want? Step back, bitch, or it won’t just be this cock sucker getting beat.” The man stepped forward, letting go of Draco’s arm to stand before Harry. The building shook once again, and the man looked around bewilderedly, letting out a string of expletives when the metal shelving next to him started to lean preciously. “What the fuck is happening!?” he shouted, looking at Harry. There was fear in his voice this time, evident in the shaky tone, the heightened treble, the flash of panic in his eyes, and Draco revelled in it, built on it, the discomposure fuelling his anger and strengthening his resolve.

Draco moved to stand in front of a trembling Harry, feeling the heat radiating from him across his bare skin. Heavy pants fell onto his exposed neck, but he shoved his awareness of Harry aside, instead focusing back on the man before him. The redemption of Harry Potter could not commence, not until Draco himself acknowledged that he had something worthy to give.

That he was worth something.

Desperately, he willed his magic into his hands, channelling every last drop of rage, every memory of being defiled and used, every ounce of resentment and anger and need into them, building it onto the courage Harry unexpectedly gave him until the air was positively humming with magic. Yet, unlike Harry, Draco was in control, and his magic was about to find its outlet.

“Crucio!” he cried, holding his palm out wildly at the pathetic excuse of a man, willing, hoping, praying that it would work.

The man dropped to his knees, crying out in agony as Draco’s spell washed over him, his face twisting and distorting as he was tortured. Draco gasped,breath coming out in heavy pants as he willed every single drop of intention into his hands, letting the anguished moans wash over him and fuel his resolve. A desperate wail was wrenched forth just before the man blacked out, body slumping and eyes rolling up, limbs limp and distorted in an unintentional mimicry of a dead spider, legs tangled and bent.

Pulling himself out of the... hypnotised… state Draco found himself in, he pulled his magic back, feeling it recede down into his body before he too collapsed in a heap on the floor, his legs giving way from exhaustion. He felt hot hands on his forehead, and looked up wearily to find Harry crouched beside him, staring at him in astonishment.

“You... wandless! Draco?!” Harry stammered in an uncharacteristic loss of words. Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around Draco, before the soft crack of apparation found them back in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

“You need to eat” Harry urged, placing Draco as if he were a child into a rickety wooden chair before coaxing something into Draco’s frozen hands. Draco looked down, seeing the unassuming square of lemon cake, abruptly realising that it had been days since his last meal of stolen scraps. Life flooded back through his extremities as he hurried to shove the cake into his mouth, trying and failing to suppress the instinctive need to protect and consume his food as fast as possible.

“Where did you get this?” he asked Harry, uncaring of the crumbs that flew from his mouth at the question. Desperation didn't leave room for basic manners, let alone aristocratic decorum.

“I may have... pocketed a few things.” Harry had the nerve to look sheepish, which Draco found mildly surprising, considering it had been his means of survival for years. He had assumed the same of Harry, seeing as Potter evidently didn't work, and liquor didn't buy itself.

Draco paused, noting the compassion and genuine care in the other man's eyes, remembering the strong arms that had apparated him to safety, and the unneeded yet welcome memory of Harry attempting to do what he did best. Be a hero. “Thank you” he murmured softly, eyes locking onto Harry’s before flicking away to rest on a spot of grime on the table.

Harry looked surprised, brow furrowing. “I didn't do anything. Fucking useless” he added under his breath.

“You did more than you know.” Harry shot him a quick grimace. “I do wonder one thing though?”

“And what’s that, Draco?” Was it him, or did Potter look... uncomfortable?

“When you came - confronted the man. Why didn't you just use your wand?” Harry frowned but didn't answer, seeming to find the shattered remains of the mirror deserving of his utmost attention. Draco stilled, thinking back, examining the interactions between himself and Potter since he had first arrived, the state of the house, the wild magic today. “Harry... You do have a wand, don't you?”

Harry snapped, reeling around to face Draco, hands clenched at his sides. “And what if I don't, Draco? Does that lower the great Harry Potter in your mind's eye? Ever thought about the fact that I might not want that shit any more?! That all that's come from me being a wizard is a fuck ton of dead friends and family, and not one ounce of blame on me!”

Draco sat frozen, hands clutching the sticky remains of his lemon cake. “Harry” he breathed softly, eyes wide. “What happened to your wand? To Ron and Hermione? What happened to you?”

Harry let out a twisted smirk, a look full of self loathing and manic pain. “Well, Draco. Shall I tell you a story? Of how the fucking Great and Noble Harry saved us all, and killed everything he ever loved in the process? Shall I tell you the story of how I fell?
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Make Me Bleed