Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Under the Manor	By : WillGirl Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 13318 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I make no claims to Harry Potter, either books or movies, and all rights belong to JKR. No money or other recompense is being made from this story.

Chapter List
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Draco stepped out of the darkness into the cool gray sanctuary of his rooms. He took a deep breath, noticing the way the lavender hanging in his potions lab had spread its soothing aroma through the rest of his chambers. He decided not to do anything about that; it was a pleasant enough scent, and he could use some soothing.

He kicked his slippers off and paused, eying his bed with distaste. He should have thought ahead more, planned better. He had expected to want the comfort and familiarity of his room, because he had assumed that things with Potter were going to be distinctly unpleasant.

And they had been, but not the way Draco had imagined.

He had thought that being in his own bed, in his own room, where he could curl up and disappear into the soft nest of pillows and blankets would make it better, both afterward and during, because he had not been looking forward to the expected agony and shame of what he had been planning to offer to Potter.

What he had not anticipated was that Potter would instead want things to be so disturbingly familiar.

Draco had rather counted on the situation being very much reversed.

He shuddered, fighting memories of small, dark storage rooms and darker deeds. He yanked the thick green comforter off of the bed and kicked it to the floor in a pile. Then he collapsed face down into the smothering softness that remained, burrowing deep into the pillows and hiding from the rest of the world.

Draco could feel himself shaking and knew that it was more than just exhaustion.

He sighed heavily, then fished his wand back out of the pocket of his robe. A tired swish had the comforter soaring back onto the bed, falling down upon him like a warm cocoon. He didn’t want to think about Potter—to think about what he’d done to the other man, and what it had reminded him of—and his initial thought had been to get rid of the green blanket altogether, because no cleaning spell could really remove every trace of Harry Potter, not in Draco’s mind. But he was cold, and too tired to drag himself under the blankets trapped beneath his skinny frame.

He drooped heavily into the pillows, tugging the edge of the blanket up to his ears, and closed his eyes. Draco knew that he should go to the cabinet where he kept the potions he brewed; knew that if he didn’t take his usual bedtime dose of Dreamless Sleep he would doubtless wake up in an hour or two, screaming or sobbing depending upon what sort of nightmare came to visit, but he was too tired to make himself get out of bed.

He felt tense and raw and drained, and his skin ached like it was too small for him. He was sore all the way down to his bones, brittle and trembling and nauseated. He hated knowing what he was capable of; hated every awful lesson he had learned from his aunt and his lord; hated every unforgettable horror he had seen, and hated even more the ones that he had performed himself.

Draco Malfoy hated the feeling of guilt gnawing at him; hated the person he had discovered himself to be. That was why he had brought Potter here; why he had intended to offer himself to the other man in penance. He had hoped that evening the score would have been enough to banish at least that one nightmare from his mind; to absolve him of at least that single sin.

But Potter hadn’t cooperated. He hadn’t fucked away Draco’s sin at all; he had instead begged to have it visited upon him again. And Draco, desperate to make amends, had done as asked. He had hoped that it would be enough, that it would help; but it hadn’t. It had only brought the memories back thick and fresh, and he had barely been able to hide his anguish from Potter’s bright green gaze.

And damn the sodding hero, anyway.

How dare he sit there so innocently, so obliviously, as unaware as ever of how much he hurt other people—hurt Draco. Perfect Potter, who could get away with anything, everything; and leave Draco Malfoy there to take all the blame, all the pain.

To take all the guilt.

The fingers of Draco’s right hand stole to the dark, awful thing that was burned into his left forearm. He scratched at the scars there, dragging his blunt nails over the raised edges and low gouges that marred his skin. He hated the thing on his arm, and the hell it reminded him of, and he hated that he couldn’t get rid of it, but nothing he had tried had managed to scrape away so much as a hairsbreadth of the Dark Mark.

He shuddered, and pulled his fingers away before he made himself bleed, and squeezed his eyes very tightly closed.

It did nothing to shut out the images that plagued him.

Draco sank into sleep as tears leaked slowly from his eyes.

Possibly the end? I don't know, let me know...is there more to be told, or should I just let it stop now? Can't decide, so I'm taking suggestions. ;)
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Under the Manor