Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/106610.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Character_Study, Abuse, Sexual_Violence, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      HPFandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-07-19 Words: 3762
****** A Hatred Needed ******
by Swankyo0
Summary
     Late at night, Draco goes to Potter to find his reason to fight.
Notes
     Warnings for explicit depictions of violent sex, dub-con(depending on
     how you look at it), and a bitter sweet ending.
See the end of the work for more notes
Late at night I go to him. I can't stop myself. I know that when I get there, I
will wish for nothing more than to be somewhere else. I know that it's wrong. I
know that I shouldn't be doing this. But I can't help myself. I move like a man
possessed; no control over my feet as they step ever closer to my doom.
I sound like an idiot, speaking of 'doom' and right and wrong. I go to him
because he offers me something I need. He offers me anger and hatred. He takes
control, whether I want him to or not. He reminds me of who I am, what I
believe, and what I hate. To be anything else would be to follow him, and I
hate him.
I find myself staring at a portrait of an ugly fat woman. I have seen it many
times, but it never ceases to disgust me. This, this abomination is what they
have chosen to protect their golden boy? This infirm woman who runs from a mere
dog, is what they rely on to keep the considerable evils of the world away from
their savior? It is foolish. It is only one of the reasons I hate them all.
I do not knock. I want him to come to me, to retain that bit of control over
the situation. I am fooling myself I know. He does not have to come for me, in
fact, he has before left me standing here waiting for him all night to prove
just that point. But when the portrait slowly swings open and I see him
standing there on the other side, his hair the horrible mess it always is, and
his eyes leering darkly at me through his thick rimmed glasses, I feel as if I
have won some battle with him.
I crawl as gracefully as I can through the portrait hole, sparing a moment to
straighten my robes once I reach the other side. Without a word he turns and
makes his way up the winding stair case. I follow him silently, as always. He
pushes open the door to his room and I can hear the obnoxious snoring of his
dorm mates. I slip into the room and follow him to his bed. Once the curtains
are closed and spelled, I take a moment to adjust to the lack of sound and
light. It is as if the whole world has disappeared and all that is left is him,
and me, and his bed. For a passing moment I wonder if this is how those muggle
children feel. What is the word… ah, yes, Boy Scouts; all alone, closed off
from the world in the middle of the woods with only one other person; this
feeling that the world has melted to contain only yourself and that one other
person. No wonder they call them 'survival lessons'.
I don't get long to marvel at this admittedly disturbing turn of events, I
never do, because within seconds he is barking orders at me.
"The clothes, off," He commands, his voice controlled and cutting. When I don't
move fast enough for his taste, he barks at me once again, "Now," before
deciding to 'help me'. He pulls roughly at my arms and legs as he rips the
expensive garments from my body. His fingernails catch on my skin as he grabs a
hold of the waist of my trousers. Leaving red streaks of pain that stand out in
stark relieve against my pale skin, he removes my trousers and pants in one
swift movement.
He twists my body around so that I am face down on the bed, my right arm
twisted painfully behind my back, pinning me. He doesn't bother with
devastating me of my shirt and jumper, instead just pushing them up my chest to
gain better access to my arse.
"Accio Lube," He grumbles, sticking his left hand out just in time for the
small bottle to slap into it. I moan at this. It's another reason I hate him.
He's better at everything that matters. He's better at Quidditch, he's better
at dueling, and he's better at magic. I hate him, but if he does wandless magic
again I might come without him touching me.
Potter is more impatient tonight than usual, I notice, as he hastily covers two
fingers with the lube and thrusts them into me. It hurts, and I can't help but
cry out in pain. He savagely pulls out and jams his fingers in again, leaning
over to growl in my ear.
"Slut. You like that, don't you?" I don't. It hurts. I can feel my insides
almost tearing at the intrusion, and I thank Merlin that he had the presence of
mind to prepare me at all, this time. I don't answer him, and he thrusts his
fingers into me again, this time scissoring them part. I can tell he's
searching for my prostate. He wants me to say it. He wants me to tell him that
I like it, that I am a slut, that I'm his little slut. I won't do it. Not
tonight.
"You're nothing more than a whore, Malfoy." He growls into my ear. His fingers
brush across my prostrate, and a rush of pain and pleasure surges through me. I
bite on my lip to keep from moaning aloud. Not tonight. I won't say it tonight.
Potter growls in frustration. He won't give up easily. He wants me to submit.
He wants to hear me call out in need, in pleasure, in pain. He wants me to beg
to be taken. He wants to watch as my resolve crumbles and the last of my
determination melts away. I won't do it. I won't give in either. It's going to
be a long night.
I shiver as I feel Potter shift his weight on the bed. He reaches over to the
bedside stand and I can hear the cold, metallic clinking of chains. The
shackles tonight. I struggle as he presses his body over mine, pulling my right
hand over my head. He is stronger than me, and no matter how hard I struggle,
he will win. But I don't give in. I can be as stubborn as he. I try to pull my
arm down, buck my hips, kick my legs. I call out for him to stop, to let me go,
but we are both secure in the knowledge that no one can hear me. Nothing gets
through the great Harry Potter's silencing charms.
Eventually, my right arm is tethered tightly to the headboard above my head. He
grabs for my left, and though I am becoming tired, I give one last, desperate
buck of my hips as I kick my feet out, vainly hoping to catch him in the groin.
He easily jumps out of the way, and merely chuckles at my pathetic attempt to
get free. I know that I will suffer for that later. I remind myself that this
is what I wanted; a reminder of why I hate him, in all his beautiful glory. And
I do. I hate him.
It is not long before my left arm is pulled up to meet my other, and soon he is
kicking my legs apart and shackling them down as well. I could not flee now,
even if I truly wanted to. Potter scrambles off the bed and I hear him as he
rummages below, looking for which ever paddle or whip he feels will serve him
best tonight.
I shiver as I feel him climb back on the bed, and turn my head to the side to
try to get a glimpse of what is to come next. It is no use, I can't see
anything. I wait in fearful anticipation as the silence drags on. Then, just as
the tension in my body reaches its peak and I begin to tremble, I feel the
first slap of leather against my skin.
"You are scum, Malfoy." Slap. "You're a whore." Slap. "You're enjoying this
aren't you?" Slap. I moan and press my hips into the mattress. Yes, I am
enjoying this. This is what I came for. Slap. Slap. Slap. I writhe in pain as
each hit lands across my back, my thighs, my arse. This is what I came for. I
hate you. I hate you. "I hate you, Malfoy." There is a pause in the beating,
and I can feel the blood trickling off my back, down my side, and onto the
crisp clean linens. It is only one, only one gash across my back, and the small
trail of blood feels cool against the rest of my abused flesh. He never stops
at one.
I begin to struggle again as I hear a tell tale jingling from behind me. He has
been using the belt, I had guessed as much. I should have thought of this
before I tried to kick him in the nuts. He will not let that go lightly. As if
in slow motion, I can hear the hiss of the belt as it flies through the air,
the slight tinkle of metal as the buckle swings from the flying end. I can no
longer stay quiet as I feel the buckle dig into the soft skin of my thighs.
Again and again I scream as my skin is ripped and torn by the harsh metal. I
can feel that my shirt now hangs in tatters along my back, becoming more and
more torn and ragged with each strike of the belt.
"You aren't worth the air you breathe." Not for the first time in our…
association, it occurs to me that he might not let me leave here alive. I feel
a jolt of adrenaline course through my body. All rational thought has left me.
I have to survive, anyway I can. I strain against my bindings again. I have to
get out of here before Potter kills me.
I hear a breathy chuckle from behind me as I thrash about on the bed to no
avail. I am loosing. I am breaking, again, and he knows it. There is only one
way out. "Please..." My throat closes against the words.
"Please what, Malfoy?" I bite down hard on my lip, trying not to answer. I
won't. I can't. Not tonight. Not tonight. I cry out, a moan of pain and
pleasure, as the belt lands hard against my shoulder blades. Not tonight. Not
tonight. Another slap of leather and metal against my thighs. I feel hot tears
coursing down my cheeks. Not tonight. Not tonight. The belt comes down again
across my ankles and I feel the sharp cracking of bone as the buckle collides
with my foot.
"Please. Please, just fuck me." I choke out, burying my face into the pillows
to hide my shame. I've lost again. He's beaten me again.
A shiver runs through my body as I feel cool hands pressed to my burning flesh.
Potter presses firmly into the abused skin of my arse, and I moan aloud again
and press my hips into the mattress, desperately seeking more friction. He
unties my legs, and my foot screams in agony as he pulls them up underneath me.
He is kneeling behind me now, and I steady myself for his intrusion.
I moan, more in pain than pleasure, as I feel his cock pressing into me. It
feels like my insides have been flipped out, and my already aching skin
trembles in protest. Potter does not give me time to adjust, he never does,
before he begins to thrust savagely into my heat. With each thrust, my body
begins to adjust to him, and before long the only pain comes from my foot and
the many gashes that are weeping blood across the sheets.
As the pressure slowly begins to build at the base of my spine, I suck my
abused lip into my mouth. I do not want to show my pleasure, I want to keep at
least that much dignity. I pray to what ever Gods may be that tonight Potter is
too wrapped up in his own pleasure to care for mine. I think that perhaps using
my body will be enough tonight as his thrusting becomes more and more erratic.
No, not tonight.
Potter grunts as he forces himself to stop his thrusting. I feel his hand slink
around my waist and take hold of my cock. I cry out at the pleasurable pressure
that I have been longing for since I arrived. "Did you think I would have
forgotten about you, my little slut?" This is what Potter truly enjoys; forcing
me to come by his hand. Slowly his hand begins to pull and rub against my cock,
sliding from base to tip and back again. Despite my best efforts, I moan when
his thumb runs across the head of my cock, spreading the pre-come there. He
thrusts again, drawing small mewling noises from me.
His ministrations continue as he adjusts his position until he is gracing my
prostrate with each thrust. I thrust my hips, grinding into his hand and
impaling myself on his cock. He quickens the pace, and as if from far in the
distance, I hear myself begging him to move faster, harder, deeper. Potter
drives in, hard, one last time, and I can feel his come filling me, burning as
it drips down my thighs and encounters the wounded skin there, a string of what
I can only assume is vulgar parseltongue falling from his lips. With two more
thrusts into Potters hand, I arch my back and come in a torrent of pain and
pleasure, shame and ecstasy.
Potter pulls out of me and, with little more than a few muttered words, casts a
cleaning spell on himself and releases my hands from the shackles. I pull my
arms down and cradle them to my chest as the blood returns to them. He lies
next to me as he catches his breath, making certain that we aren't touching. It
is in this moment, when all my injuries are numbed by the rush of adrenaline
from my recent orgasm, that I hate him the most.
Potter pulls himself off the bed and to my discarded clothing. Tossing them at
me, he gives me leave of his presence in the same manner as always.
"Get out. Tell anyone, and you won't live to see me in Azkaban." As quickly as
I can manage, I pull on my pants, wincing as I feel each drying cut peel open
again. I do not doubt him.
I stumble down the stairs and through the portrait hole, all thoughts of grace
and the Malfoy image far from my mind. I slump down on my hands and knees in a
shadowed corner, too out of breath to continue at the moment. I can not see
what Potter has done to me, but I know I need medical attention; I have little
knowledge of healing spells, and judging from the blood on the floor below me,
I wouldn't be able to do anything for myself. With a quick cleaning spell to
the floor and wall I make my way to the only person who can help me.
~*~*~*~
 
By time I reach the door to his quarters I am crawling, the pain in my foot
making my head swim with each step. I reach above me and grasp the doorknob,
pulling myself up. It wouldn't do to let him see me weakened and crawling along
the dusty corridors for anyone to find. It takes more energy than I knew I had
to raise my hand and knock feebly on the hard, thick, oaken door. I release the
knob and lean against the door frame, my torn shirt peeling painfully off
several of the still moistened wounds to my back.
He knows who to expect when he opens the door. It is too late for calling
hours, and he never has guests unless there is an emergency. I just manage to
stumble across the doorway and into his strong arms before my vision fades and
I am returned to a world of darkness and silence.
The first thing I notice when I awake is that I am warm. It's never warm in the
dungeons, and immediately I fear that this time Potter went too far, and I have
been brought to the hospital wing. I peel my weary eyes open to find that I am
safely ensconced in Severus' bed, a raging fire before me. My wounds have been
healed, and though there is still soreness in my back and foot, I can move
without much pain. I sit up and look around. Unless I have over slept, and
Severus was forced to attend to his classes, he should be near by.
I open my mouth to call to him, but nothing more than painful croak escapes my
dry cracked throat. It is enough.
Severus stalks into the room as he always does, his robes snapping dramatically
behind him. "Lie down," he orders as he approaches the bed. I comply without
question. He is the only person willing to care for me, and I do not want to
anger him.
"Drink this." He hands me a small vile filed with a slivery potion. I know this
potion well; it is to heal the damage Potter did to my insides. I drink down
the vile liquid, thankful that Severus is kind enough not to insist on the more
effective salve version of this potion. I would not be able to apply the salve
myself, and I can not imagine the shame I would feel in having to ask him to do
so.
I hand the empty vile back to him and settle back into the voluminous pillows
of the bed. I remember, when I first came to Severus, after that first night,
his bed was pitiful. By the third time I arrived, it had transformed into the
softest, warmest bed I had ever lain in. I know he has done this for me.
Severus gently sits on the edge of the bed, looking away from me at the fire
before us. I know what's coming. We have the same conversation every night. For
months, I have come to Severus for help, and he has helped me unwaveringly. I
know that the first time I arrived, he was murderous; whether at Potter for
what he had done, or at me for letting him do it, I'm still not sure.
"Why, Draco? Why do you always go to him?" Severus does not look at me, and I
do not answer tonight. I will not cut this conversation short tonight. Tonight,
I want him to understand. "I have had students who claim to be in love with
beasts such as Potter. And that they are loved in return. It is never anything
more than a delusion, but that is what they believe. Potter hates you." At
this, Severus turns to look at me, and I can see the confusion and concern in
his eyes. "And you him. You have never denied that."
Severus reaches out a thin pale hand to brush the fringe out of my eyes. I
subconsciously lean into the gentle touch. So few people have ever seen Severus
this way; gentle, caring, open. In this moment, as my gaze locks with his, I
know that no one has ever seen him as such. He is mine; my strong, beautiful,
loving Severus.
"I do hate him." I reply, not letting my gaze fall from his. I want him to
understand. I need to him understand.
We stare at one another in silence for what seems an eternity. I have long
since let my traditional Malfoy sneer drop, and Severus has lost the mask that
has kept the spy safe for so many years. He would never have lived this long
had Dumbledore or Potter seen behind that mask, and it fills me with warmth to
know that I have that over them. Potter may be better at everything than I am,
but I have this. I have Severus.
As I watch realization enter the obsidian depths before me, I breathe a silent
sigh of relief. Without a word, Severus stands and moves towards the door, and
for one heart wrenching moment I believe I have mad a mistake putting my faith
in him. I never doubted that he would understand, but I never considered that
he would not agree.
I release a breath I had not realized I was holding as he steps out of his robe
and hangs it on a peg next to the door. I wipe away the hot tears that have
begun to fall down my cheek as he makes his way to the bed and crawls beneath
the covers. My body shakes with sobs as Severus gathers me in his arms,
smoothing my hair and whispering words of comfort that are barely audible.
Through the fog that my tears and the potion have left over my brain, I can
feel Severus' shoulders shake with silent tears as well. Tears for me; tears
for another child lost to war. And in this moment, when I have finally known
what if feels like to love and be loved, I feel more hatred than I ever thought
possible.
This is what I needed. I have never hated Potter more than I do right now. I
hate him for everything he stands for, for everything he has done, and for
everything he will ever do. I hate him for the horrible things that his life
has brought upon my Severus. I hate him, and I truly want him dead. My face
burns with heat at the mere thought of The Boy Who Lived. I will kill him, if I
have to die to do so.
And with that thought, I know I will never have to return to him. I do not need
to be reminded how I hate him, I will never forget. It no longer matters if the
Dark Lord is nothing more than an insane monster. It no longer matters whether
I wish to follow him or not, whether I believe in anything he says or does,
whether I wish to see him rule the world and live forever. All that matters is
my love for Severus and my hatred for Potter. Now I can join the Dark Lord.
End Notes
     Disclaimer: The boys are not mine, they belong to JkR. I make no
     money off of this, and I promise that once I am done playing I will
     return them relatively unharmed...
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