Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unknown Trials	By : SilverDragonWings Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4612 -:- 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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Title: Unknown
Trials

Rating: R

Fan Fiction Rating:
M

Warning:
Swearing, talk of sexual abuse to a minor, abuse and male/male relationships.

Story Interaction: This
story is an Interlude with �Unknown�.

Pairings: Harry x
Draco, Ron x Hermione

Authors Notes: Once
again I must admit that I hate this chapter, but once again I also have to say
that there�s nothing I can do about it and hopefully the next chapter will be
better.

Thank you all for your kind and wonderful reviews, I�m glad
to hear that you all enjoyed the last chapter. I hope you all enjoy this
chapter too.

Disclaimer: The
characters used in this story belong to J.K Rowling. I only own the plot line.

Chapter Seven � Escaping

I jump into action.

I make my way back towards the door and just for chance give
it a small tug, not really surprised to find it locked. I then turn and scan
the room.

Alright, it�s a medium sized room, brown carpet, creamy
brown wallpaper that�s slowly peeling off, a double brass black bed with
hospital white sheets and pillows, it�s in the middle of the room against a
wall, and a tallboy that looks ready to fall apart is facing the foot of the
bed on the opposite wall. There are two bedside tables on either side of the
bed, one with an alarm clock and the other with a bed side lamp, and then
there�s the window right opposite me on the other side of the room, dark brown
curtains pulled closed.

I walk around the bed and to the window and pull the
curtains back, frowning when I see that it�s starting to get sunny outside. I�m
looking out to the back yard which is really an overgrown looking mess.

The grass would probably reach my waist, I can see a few
contraptions pocking out from the grass, all looking rusty and broken� the back
fence is nothing but rotten wood tied together with wire.

So I�m being forced to live in the same old pigsty that I
lived in with Thomas before.

I remember trying to do something with the back yard, but
Thomas had hated what I had done and told me to put it back to the way it had
been� and it doesn�t look like it�s been touched since.

The window � which I�m sure of � would be trapped or locked
in some sort of way. Thomas isn�t dumb enough to forget about it. So how on
earth am I meant to escape?

Scanning the room again � And ignoring the mess just near me
that I had made earlier - I take in what I have to use. There�s the alarm
clock, the furniture, the bedside lamp� curtains and bed sheets� so what can I
do with all this? Build a cubby house seems like the most logical thing, but
I�m not in the mood and I don�t believe I ever really will be.

But I do have a small idea of what might just work� or at
least it better work because if it doesn�t I have no idea what to do.

This isn�t going to work with just me though, I need Thomas
to make another appearance� that should probably be something I�d want anything
but, but when it comes to my plan he needs to be in the room� or at least entering the room.

So with little else to do but go over my plan a few thousand
times and make sure I know just what I�m doing, I lie back on the bed, eyes on
the cracked ceiling.

I think back over events. Harry�s in recovery and I�m
currently experiencing kidnapping. The world works oddly sometimes.

I�m already feeling the annoyance of boredom. This room is
bare, and I can�t hear Thomas�s foot steps near the door. All I have is my mind
to entertain me, and thought that works a lot, at the moment it doesn�t seem to
be giving me much to think about other then the fact that I�m screwed� So as
helpful as that knowledge is to me, it�s something that I can do without
thinking about.

I remember once being told not to be cruel to others�
actually I�ve been told this a few million times by a rather large variety of
people, but I remember that they always tell me with that same glare and angry
voice. I remember a few of the people that have told me this, most of my
teachers from Hogwarts, half the students, even my mother and father have, if
that�s believable. Harry�s told me a few times too, and his friends.

But sometimes I just can�t help it, and sometimes people are
just asking me to be mean to them. What about now? Does that mean I have to
listen to them and be nice to Thomas? I think they should re-word their
warnings. After all, I could gain the wrong idea and ask the person that�s
holding a gun to my head if he�d like a cup of tea before he does me in. Thank
goodness there is no one with a gun pointed at my head.

All those people should really reconsider their words, I
understand when McGonagall told me to stop being mean to that first year
Ravenclaw girl, after all I hardly knew her and I was teasing her about the
fact that she had bracers, it wasn�t her fault her teeth aren�t as perfect as
mine, it wasn�t her fault that her bracers looked like a freaky wire display,
and yet I teased her all the same.

So I understand what some of them mean when they say it, but
they should tell me that sometimes that saying doesn�t go into play in certain
circumstances. But hey, at least I�m smart enough to figure it out for myself.

Oh it�s like that other saying that�s been mentioned around
me. What was it they said? I remember it was something utterly stupid� what was
it again?

Ah ha! Now I remember.

�It�s the beauty on the inside that matters� A phrase that
is nothing but absolute crap. There is
no such thing as beauty on the inside, or at least there isn�t in my opinion. I
mean, look at what the phrase is suggesting. It�s saying that people are much
prettier on the inside then the out, that it�s the inside that counts, not the
outside.

I�d like to write to the person that created that phrase and
tell them just how idiotic and disgusting that saying is.

Now I have no troubles with the saying of �Don�t judge a
book by it�s cover�, I know this from first hand experience, there was this book
that I wasn�t too interested in reading, mainly because every time I approached
it, the bloody thing would start to growl and then start spitting at me, if I
picked it up and opened the front cover I would have a hard time reading it in
peace because then it�d start shouting obscene things at me, calling me a
pervert and so on.

But once I learnt how to shut the damn thing up and freeze
it so it couldn�t try to bite me, I found that the book was in fact a brilliant
book, full of adventure and romance, I fell in love with the words. I�ve read
it twice, from cover to cover without a break. It was a wonderful book. And
though when I got this book for my birthday it looked horrible, its cover made
with the authors flesh and a brunt in picture of a rotting corps, I had not
been in the least bit interested.

Mind you though, there was only fifteen of the limited
edition books out there, this was mainly because the author was gradually
running out of spare flesh, but it proved to me that you should never judge a
book by its cover.

Now however, when someone says to me that it�s what is on
the inside that matters, that beauty is from within - that is a saying that
makes me look at them like they are complete nutters, and it�s true, they are.
Just look at what they are saying is beautiful: lungs, livers, hearts, veins,
muscles, stomachs, intestines and all those other organs that you have on the
inside. How on earth does someone find that
more appealing then what�s on the outside?!

I know for a fact that I find dark hair more attractive then
a gooey brain. I know for a fact that I love expressional and mysterious eyes
over bones and veins. I know that I enjoy looking at a good built body then
looking at the muscles behind it. And I know beyond anything that I like checking
out hot butts then the meats that are sculpting it.

So where on earth did this saying of �It�s the beauty on the
inside that matters� come from?

�Maybe you just need that certain taste for it, or that eye
for it. Like some people love abstract art over landscape, you need the special
eye and taste for it� maybe that�s it, or maybe I�m looking too far into this�.
Well all I know is that I�ve mentally scarred myself with all the visual images
I�ve created.

Anyway, I have no idea how I got onto that train of thought.
Wherever it came from though, it did help to pass some of the time and keep me
out of going insane with boredom.

I could probably pass the rest of the time with counting all
the cracks on the ceiling, but I�m not that desperate. I�m starting to think
there�s something wrong with me. Here I am, being held against my will� but I�m
not scared, I�m worried about Harry and I�m angry at being stupid enough to get
caught� but I�m not scared.

I should be though, I know I should be. I should be scared and
worrying about what Thomas will do to me, I should he freaking myself with
thoughts of whether or not I�m going to get out of this alive� but I�m not, to
be truthful with myself I haven�t even considered it.

Sure, I�m a little scared of Thomas, but I�m not as scared
as I believe I should be. Maybe it�s yet to sink in. I don�t know. Or maybe
deep down I know that Thomas wont hurt me� maybe my subconscious knows that
I�ll be saved� or maybe I�m just keeping myself too preoccupied with these
thoughts to even consider what may just come of me if I�m not saved.

So just because I congratulate myself on not getting scared
out of my wits yet, that doesn�t mean my imagination can start supplying me
with future visions� I really don�t think I need those kind
of heads up. I was much happier before I started thinking that I was brave for
not being scared.

I�m not as scared as I know I probably should be. Thomas has
already proved that he�s not afraid to go to such lengths as to almost kill
someone, even though he wasn�t the one that pulled the trigger, he was the one
with the idea to have a trigger pulled in the first place. Not to mention he
had no worries with the idea of rape� and then there are all the things that
the man had done in the times we had been dating. This man is not afraid to
show his anger in a physical way.

I really don�t want to get scared, and I really don�t want
to turn into a quivering mess, just crying and screaming for someone to save
me. If I want to get anything done I have to do it on my own, I�m not worthless
and I�m not helpless.

I�ve fought in a war, I�ve had my
fair share of fist fights and duels. I shouldn�t allow him to intimidate me and
scare me. I should fight back and I should show him that I�m not a push over.
But even though this is all good and brave of me to think, why is it that my
hands are shaking and my stomach feels like it�s loaded with lead? I really do
prefer my fearless behaviour before I
started thinking about what may just become of me. But I won�t let this detour
me, I will carry out my plan and hope for the best, and if that plan doesn�t
work I�ll make sure I put up a good fight.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Finally, after who knows how long of waiting in boredom and
the occasional fearful thought, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps.

Jumping off the bed I pulled the cored from the lamp that
was sitting on the bedside table, I pick it up and hold the cored out of the
way as I slowly approach the door, my breath still and my hands shaking.

I need to make sure this works, this may just be my last
chance.

Standing beside the door, my back flat against the wall, I
hold my breath and watch the door nob.

The footsteps have stopped just outside and I can hear the
tapping of a wand on the handle. This is it.

The handle is slowly pulled down and the door begins to
creak open.

�Breakfast� Thomas calls as he opens the door wider with his
hip as both his hands support the tray of food.

As soon as he steps up to the threshold I swing the lamp as
hard as I can. There was a skinning thud that followed, the tray crashes to the
ground and Thomas stumbles back soundlessly, his hands clutching his head.

I don�t know how hard I swung it, or if I did any damage. I
panicked as soon as the door had opened and my heart is still beating frantically
in my chest. I still clutched the lamp in my shaking hands and stepped pass the
threshold, looking down at the man that had collapsed back against the wall and
slid to his knees, groaning.

What do I do now?!

My wand! I should find my wand and then get out of here!

Throwing the lamp to the side I dropped to my knees in front
of the still groaning man and began to push my hands into his pockets, trying
to find my wand that he had confiscated from me. I�m fond of my current wand, it�s
my second one I�ve ever had, and it works much better then the other one. My
first wand had been snapped during the battle, leaving me slightly defenceless.

But as soon as the battle was over I had gone to Ollivanders and gotten myself a better wand. I ended up
getting a holly and dragon scales, ten inches� I really like it, better then
what I did have. But I just have to find it, where did he put it?

I�m trying to be as quick as I can, but I can�t manage to
find it. Thomas seems too confused and hurt to do much; I doubt he even knows
what�s going on around him.

Well it doesn�t seem to be in his pockets, I�ve found his
wand though, lying down near the tray. Helpful. I
point his wand at him and attempted a binding charm, nothing happens except for
some stubborn green sparks, okay then� how about a hex that�ll knock him
out?.... Oh, pretty� blue sparks� Okay,
his wand doesn�t work for me. I pocket it quickly, not wanting to rush about
and then look up to find a wand pointed at my head.

He must have put it down elsewhere.

Jumping up and moving away from the man, I run down the
hallway and into the lounge room, searching tabletops and draws as I move
further into the room. Where on earth would he put it?

I reach the kitchen and hurriedly begin to open draws and
cupboards. Thomas wouldn�t stay down and confused too long. I hadn�t hit him as
hard as I could have, the lamp had been slippery to hold and I hardly knew
where I was aiming. So I�m not trying to pressure myself, but if I want to get
out of here in one piece I better find my wand now.

I stumbled over a draw I had yanked of its support and trip
un-elegantly in my panic, stabbing my foot on the corner of it as I did.

I moved further into the room pulling open more cupboards
more and more frantically. The longer I take to find my wand the more time I�m
giving Thomas to recover -

Behind me something cluttered to the ground and spinning
around I find myself facing my doom - literally.

Thomas is leaning heavily against the wall, one hand holding
the side of his head where I can see a deep cut over his eye, blood covering
half his face. His other hand is clutching the bench beside him. He�s glaring
at me furiously which doesn�t exactly make me want to smile and ask if he wants
ice.

Shit!

Frantically looking over my shoulder I grab the closest most
dangerous looking item that�s ever been developed - a wooden spoon!

� Wait!

Again I look over my shoulder. A knife, a heavy pan, even a
bloody fork would be better than a stupid wooden spoon! But I�m near the skin, and
all those more dangerous items I�d rather have are in that open draw� the same
open draw that Thomas is standing right beside.

�Y-you�ve put yo-your foot in it now�. Malfoy� Thomas slurs
as he stumbles forward, his hand moving out from the draw and clutching tightly
to a long metal knife.

His holding a knife!

In my mind I vaguely remembered thinking I shouldn�t be
afraid of what Thomas could do to me� I�m wishing I had at least considered
this incident, that way I�d know what to do.

Again I look around, trying to find something that I can
defend myself with, and even though I don�t feel completely safe with a wooden
spoon, I hold it tighter all the same.

I notice a small glass bowl beside me and seeing that as
something a little better then the wooden spoon that�s currently trying to
prove itself by looking woodenly brave between Thomas and myself. I grab the
bowl and throw it over to the man with as much force as I can muster �

I miss. Instead the blasted thing lands behind him, crashing
on the ground and spraying itself out over the tiled floor. Brilliant,
just brilliant.

Snarling, Thomas continues to stumble forward using the same
hand that�s clutching the knife to support himself.

I move back, looking between the knife and the brown haired
man. �T-Thomas� I find myself stuttering, a tinge of a begging tone in my voice
as I�m forced to watch him stumble closer to me.

I don�t want to die like this! I don�t want to die under the
category of brutal murder! That�s not how I see my life ending! I use to fear
old age, but now I�m starting to see it as a cruise ship compared to the death
that�s currently gleaming at me. I don�t want to spend the last few minutes of
my life in fear and pain! I had always hoped that my death would be painless
and quick. I�m a man that can�t handle stressful situations like this!! I can�t
handle watching my death stumble towards me clutched in a mad mans blood
covered hands!

A knife would be nothing but painful! Watching a man slowly
stumble towards you, carrying a knife and looking ready to use it doesn�t
really make me want to smile in serenity.

Instead my entire body is shaking in fear and shock. I can
feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage. This is not how I want things
to end. I have to do something, quickly.

Once again I frantically search around me trying to find
something else to defend myself with, something that will save my life.

I�m at the very end of the narrow kitchen; the sink is
behind me empty and only some bubble suds. The tray beside it is also empty.

On my left is a bench top where I had found my wooden spoon,
but it was alone and the rest of the bench top is also empty, just a tea towel
on it.

On my right is more bench space where I had found the bowl. There�s
a small glass cup there, pushed up against the back wall and under it is a
small tin of biscuits.

I grab the cup clumsily and turn to throw it - Instead
however I let out a yell and fall to the ground, hitting my rib against the
edge of the bench top on my way down.

My heads throbbing against my skull, I blink hurriedly,
trying to understand what has happened as I raise my hand to my temple. My
question is answered when I look back over to Thomas and find him sneering down
at me, a frying pan in his hand the knife in the other. Now he really looks
like a soldier ready for battle.

What now, is he going to beat me to death?! Merlin, please
don�t let that be the case!

Pulling my hand back from my temple when I feel a sticky
substance run down my wrist I look to my hand shocked, there�s a large shard of
glace sticking out of the palm. Looking to the side I find the cup that I had
been holding lying in a few dozen pieces on the ground.

With a wince I manage to grasp the glass and yank it out
with a cry of pain. I can feel a prickly heat building up behind my eyes but I
push it aside, this is not the time to cry over a possible scar.

I really should have put some thought into a plan B.

Standing over me, Thomas lifts his arm, the pan clutched
tightly in his hand. I only have time to close my eyes and raise both my
injured and my uninjured hands to protect my head. I�m terrified and there�s no
reason to hide that.

The pan is angrily brought down on me, making both my hands
and my head flare up in new found pain. I can�t stop the small cry from the
pain. The pan falls innocently beside me with a loud clank.

However much my head is now ringing in pain I have a way of
defending myself, and I quickly grab the handle of the pan with my wounded
hand, trying to ignore the stinging sensation as I do.

Swinging it as hard and as fast as I could, I hit Thomas�s
leg, making the man stumbled to the left before he was caught by the benching.

�Malfoy, you will regret this!� The man hisses to me. I�d
like to tell him that I�m already regretting this, but instead of wasting my
breath I climb to my knees and push myself to my feet, trying to put distance
between myself and the man with the knife.

I don�t even think the most optimistic of people could see
anything good in this situation� unless they thought of the idea that they are
still living� but then any pessimistic person � such as myself at this point in
time � can point out that it only means I have a few more minutes of fear to
live through before I�m painfully done in.

I�m still clutching the pan in my hand; the wooden spoon is
lying on the ground, being as useless as the day it was invented. My other hand
is behind me, blindly groping the table for something else to help me.

I find the handle of something and end up pulling it open, I
suspect it�s a bread box, but who knows, there may be something of help in
there.

Thomas is now pointing the knife at me, his eyes blinking
rapidly as blood from the cut above his eye drips down over it. �Any last
words?� he hisses as he pushes himself off the cupboard.

I look to the knife then back to him fearfully. Last words? I haven�t had any time to think of any� I don�t
want to have my last words now� I don�t even want to go like this! It�s so
messy and full of fear and pain!

I�m trying to think of a way out of all this, I�m trying to
think of something that may just save my life, things would be a lot easier if
I had my wand with me.

I can try and use his wand again� but it doesn�t work well
for me at all, we just don�t have the same chemistry�. And I don�t think pretty
sparks will distracted him from killing me.

My hand is still fumbling behind me, trying to find
something that may just save my life, but I can�t bring it to grip anything,
it�s shaking too hard� there�s nothing to grip anyway. My knees feel weak and
my legs are shaking so much that I�m finding it difficult to stay standing. My
heads pounding and my other hand is causing some difficulty by reminding me
just how much a large shard of glass can hurt when it�s in you and just
recently been pulled out.

With enough warning I find myself being pounced on and a
cold metallic knife being pressed against my throat, a snarling Thomas hovering
only inches in front of me. �You�ve pushed the line too far, Draco� he hisses as he steps even
closer, pressing me back against the bench.

I�m trying to match his glare, but I�m too scared to even
get my lips to form a snarl. I can feel the knife cutting my neck, not deeply,
but deep enough to be able to feel some pain and some blood trailing down my
neck.

Once again I decide to move quickly, hoping to catch him off
balance. He�s standing so close to me, so it�s easy enough to bring my knee up
hard and push him away forcefully. He seems to fold over like a rag doll,
dropping to the floor and groaning with his hands moving to cradle his groin.

Once again I jump over him, stumbling out of the kitchen. My
wand wasn�t in there, so where else could it be? There�s no way in hell I�m
going into the bathroom, I�ve seen too many horror movies end in the bathroom.

I spun around in an almost full circle on the spot, my eyes
moving over everything in the room frantically. I have no idea where to search.
My wand is in here� Thomas wouldn�t have taken it elsewhere� or at least I
don�t believe he would. It�s a bit of a pity that I can�t do wandless magic, if
I could my wand would be in my hand and I�d be out of this place in no time.

I don�t think I�m willing to waste anymore time though. I
have a chance to escape while Thomas is still down and moaning, I shouldn�t
waste it trying to find my wand and risk my life, the best option that�s left
for me is to get the hell out of here.

To Be Continued�.
- 6
- 7
- 8
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Unknown Trials