Disclaimer: Not mine. The characters are copyrighted to JK Rowling.
Warnings: This is not a pretty story: non-consensual, violence, bondage, blood play, rape, and character death.
A/N: Much appreciation to Darkling and Ari.
Summary: There is more than one way to get what you want. But then things arenít always as they seem.
He was expected to be depressed after the way the school year had ended. No one was surprised that he slept a lot. They understood because they knew the reason. Or at least they thought they did.
The first time it happened, all Harry remembered of the dream was his bloody fists. When he realized the dream had left him hard, he didnít think anything of it.
The next time, he remembered more of the dream. Draco Malfoy smirking, sneering at him, taunting him, angering him. He hit him to shut him up. Harry wanted to hear him scream, but Draco wouldnít. He was not hard when he woke up. He had come in his sleep. This appalled him. He agonized over it for the rest of the night fighting sleep.
It happened again the next night. Again he was frightened by the dream when he woke up. Again he couldnít get back to sleep.
The dreams occurred two more nights until when Harry woke up he just cleaned up the mess and went back to sleep.
The following night, Harry hadnít come when he woke up. Nor could he get back to sleep. He slipped his hand into his shorts to ease the discomfort of his erection. When he came, he saw Dracoís blood in his mind.
This happened again the following night.
The next night, the dream was slightly different. Draco was chained to the wall, his hands above his head. This didnít stop him from hurling cruel insults at Harry. Finally, it was enough, and he started hitting. Dracoís words only made Harry hit him harder. He woke from the dream just as his orgasm hit. The aftermath left him shaking in his bed until dawn.
The same dreams continued until the fourth night he again woke up hard. All he was able to achieve from stroking himself was a weak release without the euphoria of coming. Harry felt disgusted with himself. He knew what he was dreaming, what he wanted was wrong. He thought about asking for help, but whom would he go to? He would appear to be even more of a freak than he already was. Instead, he avoided sleep for two nights.
When sleep finally dragged him under, Draco was there to taunt him. Again, he resisted until the urge to hit Draco became too strong. This time he noticed that Draco was getting hard from being hit. Harry stopped, shocked by what he saw. When Draco realized what had happened, the sneer left his face and he turning his head away as if embarrassed by what had happened. He woke up even more confused than before.
The next nightís dream had a few additions. On a table near the wall where Draco was chained was a knife. He picked up the knife, looking at the intricate designs on the handle. When Harry noticed the silence, he looked at Draco and saw fear in his eyes for the first time. Even though Harry didnít understand why, he knew what he needed to do.
With words whispering through Harryís mind, he slowly walked to where Draco was chained to the wall. He lifted the knife, placing the blade against Dracoís neck. Anger began to flow through him. Anger at Draco. Anger at Voldemort. Anger at the Ministry. Anger at Dumbledore. All of the anger built up inside of him until he was consumed by it.
He slashed the blade across Dracoís neck and watched the blood flow down his chest. It wasnít enough. He pressed the tip of the blade to Dracoís chest and pushed. This seemed to trigger something inside of him. Feeling out of control, he began stabbing Draco again and again. When Harry finally woke up, he was sobbing. He could not understand why his dreams were so violent. Or what was forcing him to behave like this.
Harry was more able to manage his emotions two nights later.
The fear was still present in Dracoís eyes. Picking up the knife, he walked toward Draco. He placed the blade above Dracoís left nipple and slowly slid it across to the right. This caused Draco to hiss as blood seeped from the shallow cut. Again Harry raised the knife cutting shallowly across Dracoís chest. Each cut caused a slight reaction from Draco. Working his way down, he realized that Draco was hard. He continued down Dracoís legs keeping each cut shallow. He stepped back from Draco to survey his work.
Most of the cuts were no longer bleeding. Harry saw that Draco had turned his head away, and his eyes were squeezed shut. He realized that humiliation had kept Draco quiet.
Arousal hit him like a fist.
A hunger unlike anything Harry had ever felt before filled him. He stalked back to him and wrapped his hand around Dracoís cock. Gripping it tightly, he began sliding his hand up and down, watching Dracoís face the entire time. When Draco came, this triggered his own orgasm.
Harry woke with cruel laughter echoing in his mind. He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling the rest of the night.
The following morning he realized there had been no dreams. This pattern continued for a few more days until one morning Harry woke up hard. He reached into his shorts and began stoking his cock. He let his mind drift through the usual fantasies that he used when masturbating. Nothing worked. If anything, he was slowly losing his erection. He pushed himself for anything that would get him off. The last dream of Draco jumped into his mind. In minutes he was biting back a moan as he came.
That night the dreams started again.
This time the table held more items. Harry didnít know how he knew what each tool was, but he did. Not only did he know what they were, he also understood how to use them. A strange need began to flow through him.
He picked up the flogger for a closer inspection and noticed that the falls had sharp metal woven into the ends. He drew the flogger back and hit Draco hard across the chest. Draco begged for the first time that night.
Each night the table held more. Each night Harry drew Dracoís torture out longer. Each night Draco begged.
It took him a week to realize he was sleeping more. With the Dursleys ignoring him more than usual this summer, there wasnít much else for him to do.
That night was the first time he raped Draco. When Harry woke up, he barely made it to the bathroom before he was sick.
Filled with self-loathing, he managed to fight sleep for three days until he lost.
Harry stood there staring at Draco; he didnít know what to do. The familiar anger began to slowly rise up inside of him. A voice on the edge of his mind urged him on. He closed his eyes and tried to push it all away. Nothing seemed to work. Rage was flowing through his veins when Harry finally opened his eyes.
He was not sick when he woke up from raping Draco in his dream this time.
The following nightís dream caused Harry to wake up sticky.
Had he been able to, he would have realized that he felt anger and rage even when he was not asleep. However, he never realized.
Nor did he realize how little time he now spent awake.
He felt compelled to try new ways to make Draco suffer. The first time he choked Draco to death, Harry woke up laughing.
He never again became sick by what happened in his dreams.
Three weeks before his next term at Hogwarts began the dreams changed. When he entered the room this time it was empty. The table was gone. The chains were gone. Draco was gone.
Harry stayed in the room until he woke.
He lay paralyzed in his bed. Pent up energy flowed through him, and he couldnít make it stop. Panic struck next. Harry opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out. Finally, he passed out.
When he woke, he barely had the strength to go to the kitchen. It was mid-morning, and the house was eerily quiet. However, Harry never noticed. He had some toast and juice then went back to bed.
He dreamed of the empty room again. All he could do was look at the white walls and crave what had happened before. What felt like days but was really just a few hours later, he heard a taunting voice. It teased Harry for missing Draco, continuing until it succeeded in bring forth anger from him. This time the energy stung his skin.
Then Draco appeared.
He never knew that the Dursleys did not come home that night. When the wards on the house fell, he did not realize this either.
He was spelled asleep and transported to a new location. His sleeping body was moved to a room far below the ground and placed on the floor by another sleeping form. Voldemort lifted his wand and began weaving intricate spells over the two boys that would keep them alive and asleep. The final spell hid the room from everyone except himself.
Harry never saw the malevolent smile on Voldemortís face. Voldemort didnít know the second half of the prophecy, so he wouldnít risk killing the boy. But there is more than one way to get what you want.
Voldemort apparated back to his base. His trusted Death Eater waited for him. He nodded to Lucius Malfoy, letting him know it was complete.
No one truly understood what Voldemortís plan was. Nor did anyone dare question him. When Voldemort told him what he required, Lucius knew refusal was not an option. Voldemort gave him a spell that would ensure Narcissa would carry the new Malfoy heir to term. That was more than he had expected.
He understood that everyone made sacrifices to be on the winning side.
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