InsaneJournal

Fic: Broken. H/D, NC-17
Title: Broken
Author: foreword
Rating: Hard R/NC-17
Summary: Harry needs someone to make him feel again.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Concrit?: Yes, please.
A/N: Thank you to cloudsurfing for being my lovely beta. :) The lj-cut text is from Here I Dreamt I was an Architect by the Decemberists.



Harry didn’t feel much that autumn. He didn’t remember going to classes, wasn’t sure if he caught the snitch in the first game and couldn’t care about whether or not they’d won it. He didn’t remember Ron and Hermione bickering much and he didn’t care enough to pay attention to who had made Prefect that year – had Ginny? Possibly. He had hazy recollections of celebrations at Grimmauld Place over the last month of the summer.

He hadn’t felt much like celebrating.

He heard Hermione whispering sometimes about how he was walking around in a daze, how someone ought to do something, and was he sleeping? He could see the worried lines on her face whenever he looked at her, but it only irritated him, so he started avoiding her.

Harry didn’t notice much, now, but there was still someone who always insisted on grabbing his attention. Harry wasn’t sure if he was going to Charms or DADA, but then Malfoy was in his face, sneering, saying something about his family and Harry wasn’t hearing him. Harry didn’t care. And then he said something about Sirius. No one really spoke to Harry about Sirius. There was a dull thud then, and he didn’t know if it was his heart springing back into action or his fist connecting with Malfoy’s ugly, sneering face, but before he realised what was happening, Malfoy was clutching his face and turning away.

He hadn’t talked to Harry since. And Harry had never cared how he knew about Sirius, but now, months later, he wondered. And Harry had never thought he’d see the day when Malfoy would shut his trap but now it was the same every day. Malfoy ignored him. He pretended not to notice as Harry and Ron passed him in the corridor, he ignored Pansy when she mocked the three of them in Hogsmeade, and he appeared totally disinterested when he was partnered with Hermione in NEWT Potions. Hermione had returned to the Common Room baffled that first afternoon.

“Malfoy behaved himself.”

Harry and Ron looked up from their game of chess, startled, Ron clearly conflicted as to which route he should take and ultimately deciding to take them both simultaneously.

“He ruddy well better have. I’ll bet he’s up to something.”

But Harry was neither suspicious nor grateful. Harry was quiet, awaiting an explanation. Hermione shrugged and left them for her dormitory to fetch her knitting, never bothering to explain how eerily quiet he had been or how patiently and earnestly he had worked throughout that day’s lesson.

Harry never thought he’d miss it. The insults, the arrogance, the constant hassle – who would miss that? But if there was one thing he had always counted on, one constant in his life, it was Malfoy’s malice. And Harry didn’t have much in the way of constants anymore.

Remus and Hermione had coaxed Harry into keeping a journal over the summer. He knew it was because they thought he was fragile. The way they looked at him then made him want to scream, want to tell them he didn’t care that Sirius was gone, he didn’t care that he didn’t have any proper family left, and why should he? But he couldn’t say that, because they thought he was going to break. And if he shouted things like that at them, they would be right. He wasn’t going to talk about Sirius and he wasn’t going to be broken, not over this.

It’s not like he had much choice about things, anyway. He hadn’t told them about the prophecy, hadn’t spoken about it to anyone since Dumbledore told him the reason behind his wreck of an existence all those months ago. All the same, it wouldn’t go away, lingering over his every thought like some dark cloud. Why should Harry even pretend to care about what he wanted to do?

And now, months after he had given up trying to write about losing Sirius, months after they had stopped hassling him about whether or not he’d written in it, Harry dug his journal out of the bottom of his trunk, pulling the curtains of his bed closed before cradling the book in his lap and inking his quill.

February 8th, 1997

Haven’t written in a while. I guess I wasn’t really sure what to put here. And when you’re keeping a journal because someone else wants you to, what good is it anyway? But I guess I have things to say now, and I don’t have anyone I can say them to, so I’ll just have to put them here. I probably shouldn’t, but if I keep thinking about it I feel like I’m going to go mad. That’s what they all expect, anyway. The way they still look at me, it’s like they think I’m going to snap any day.

But I’m not mad. I’m just... I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired. And confused. And what the hell is Malfoy doing anyway? It’s not like it was the first time he’d been hit. For one, Hermione slapped him a few years back and he didn’t act like this about it. And I'm sure other people have hit him before. He’s too much of a git to not have been. I don’t get it. I don’t know what – I mean, I guess I don’t know what I thought would happen when I hit him. I don’t think I thought about it at all. All I remember is him talking and then he was bleeding and my hand hurt. I’d never hit anyone else before like that. I always wanted to hit Dudley, but even he never made me mad enough to actually do it. That and he’s always been about eight times my size. But Malfoy’s made me mad enough before. Last year. I don’t even really remember much of that, but I remember how he made me feel. I hate him. Hate Malfoy. And he always hated me, but now he just ignores me and I don’t get it at all. I would have punched him years ago if I thought that’s all it took to shut him up. But then, I don’t know. Maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe I wouldn’t have done it when I did, if I knew. I don’t really know. Maybe I am going mad.

-HP

Harry sighed, reading over what he’d written and throwing the journal on the bed beside him, dropping his quill on it and nearly upsetting the inkpot cradled in his lap before setting it on the table beside him.

He was going to talk to Malfoy. He didn’t know why, but he knew he had to.

*

Potter looked especially miserable today, Draco decided from his vantage point at the Slytherin table, casually surveying the Great Hall whenever he lifted his goblet. He was midway through his dinner routine when he realised Potter was watching him, and he nearly choked on his pumpkin juice as a result. And now the idiot was standing up and crossing the Great Hall toward him and Draco was attempting to ignore the juice in his lungs and wondering how mentally deficient Potter had become in the last few months.

“Malfoy.”

Draco glanced up at the other boy, who was presently towering over his area of the table. His dinner companions had gone silent, staring at the Gryffindor as they strained to hear what was said. Draco was fairly sure, by this point, that he was the only Slytherin in his year that understood the concept of subtlety.

“What, Potter?”

Harry opened his mouth and paused, as if he hadn’t actually thought past what to say after that. Draco bit back a laugh and quirked an eyebrow at the other boy, who stared at Draco a moment longer before turning on his heel and exiting the Great Hall, his face bright red. Draco was nearly able to count to ten before Granger went rushing out after him, Weasley following sourly and glaring at Draco the entire time.

As if the entire debacle of a meal wasn’t irritating enough, Draco was annoyed to note that he wanted to follow the trio. This hadn’t been a dilemma in months, he told himself.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had wound up behind them in the corridor on occasion and bloody Potter always seemed to go into the same shops as him in Hogsmeade at the same exact time, and he always had to choose that seat in the Great Hall that was directly in Draco’s line of vision, and honestly, he went out of his way to get into Draco’s.

And perhaps, perhaps, he sometimes found himself patrolling the corridor near Gryffindor Tower more than was entirely necessary, but one could hardly blame Draco for jumping at the chance to give the Golden Boy a detention.

Though he hadn’t given him one when he’d hit him. And he’d actually not given him one since, though he watched Harry return to Gryffindor Tower well after curfew on several occasions.

But Draco was merely biding his time. Potter was the least of his concerns. And the only reason he spent the rest of his meal thinking about him, the only reason he lay awake in bed afterwards, picturing Potter, flushed and awkward, was because the boy was behaving so exceptionally oddly.

Draco had moved on from petty childhood grudges. Draco couldn't care less about the stupid Gryffindors or what possessed Potter to hit him over something so ridiculous as commenting on that stupid dog that had followed him to the Hogwarts Express the previous year. It wasn't as if Potter was even worth it anymore, the way he was always mooning about, looking like someone had finally exterminated the Weasleys. In fact, the only reason he was even thinking about Potter right now, instead of sleeping, was because the imbecile had interrupted his dinner routine. It wasn't as if this was a habit for Draco, unless of course Potter had done something else idiotic in the course of the day, like charging into NEWT Transfiguration twenty minutes late or nearly falling off his broom at Quidditch practise. Not that Draco ever watched the Gryffindors practise if he could help it, but sometimes his rounds took him outside and the Gryffindor Team always chose the most inopportune times to train.

Draco resolved that he would have to rectify the situation in the morning. He couldn’t very well have Potter interrupting his every meal, after all.

*

Hermione was giving him those looks again and Harry was tempted to stay in bed all of Tuesday. From the sound of things, she had even recruited Ron to her cause.

“C’mon, mate, we’ve only got Charms. Flitwick won’t even mind if we’re a little late, so we won’t have to hurry or anything.”

Harry grumbled at Ron and shoved his head back under the pillow. He wished Hermione would turn her attention back to house elves instead of trying to fix Harry. He wasn’t broken, after all.

A few more minutes of awkward shuffling and finally Harry heard Ron’s retreating footsteps, followed by the soft click of the door closing behind him. Harry sighed and stretched, closing his eyes again. He would have at least a good two hours before anyone came back from lessons and –

He couldn’t have heard the door opening already. Harry groaned.

“Hermione, I’m not going to Charms so just leave me—“

Harry had just started to roll over, planning on telling Hermione exactly what she could do with her free time, when he found himself face to face with Draco Malfoy.

Well, not face to face, exactly. It was more of crotch to face, in all honesty, and the frantic thought made Harry blush as he looked up at the other boy’s face, indignation taking a momentary backseat to total surprise.

“What are – how did you get in here?”

Draco sighed and glanced around the room, frowning disdainfully before sitting carefully on the edge of Harry’s bed, leaning back on his hands and sighing.

“Through the portrait hole, naturally.”

Harry glared at him.

“Get off my bed. And that’s not what I meant.”

Draco promptly ignored him.

“Potter, tell me what inspired you to rush over to my table so desperately last night.”

Harry flushed at the memory but Draco was in his dorm, on his bed, and there was no way he was going to be the embarrassed one.

“Why are you on my bed? Why aren’t you in class?”

Draco turned to look at him slowly but made no move to get up. Harry suddenly felt very naked and wished he was wearing more than just his shorts under the sheets.

“Why aren’t you in class?”

Harry scowled. “Oh, piss off Malfoy. I should tell McGonagall you’re breaking into our dorms now.”

But Harry made no move to get up, and found suddenly that he didn’t particularly want to. He swallowed.

“Potter, why did you hit me?”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that. He’d always thought it was pretty obvious, and even if it wasn’t, it had been months now. He shrugged.

“You deserved it.”

Draco let out a low hiss, his teeth clenched momentarily as he stared at the other boy.

“Oh? And I suppose righteous Harry Potter hits everyone he feels deserves it? It must be a terribly hard life, Potter.”

Harry glared at him, sitting up as he felt a rush of anger toward the other boy that he hadn’t experienced in almost a year. He almost couldn’t remember feeling like that anymore.

“Shut up, Malfoy. You don’t know anything about me.”

Draco eyed him coldly.

“I know more than you realise.”

Harry shivered, the anger ebbing away in the face of something else, and still he couldn’t help staring at the other boy, the lack of his spectacles making even Draco’s face slightly blurry but nonetheless recognizable.

“Why are you here?”

Draco sighed, and – to Harry’s shock (at least, that’s what he convinced himself it was) –stretched languidly, laying back on Harry’s bed and staring apathetically at the ceiling.

“You came to me first.”

Harry gaped.

“It’s not the same thing at all!”

Draco rolled his head lazily toward Harry, scowling slightly as the cotton sheets brushed his cheek.

“Well, you’ve had time to reflect now, Potter. And you’ve an attentive audience. So tell me what you want.”

Harry was still asleep. This was much too surreal to be real. Yet his heart was pounding in his chest, he could almost hear it and he was feeling weak and angry and confused and something else all at once, and it was the most he’d felt in so long and it was almost like he was awake again. He swallowed.

“What… what I want?”

Grey eyes flashed back at him, an odd expression overcoming Draco’s face. He looked almost… knowing, in a manner that disturbed and angered and intrigued Harry at the same time.

“Yes, Potter. What do you want?”

The drawl was familiar, but so out of place. Draco Malfoy, of all people, was laying on his bed, asking him what he wanted and all Harry really wanted was… he didn’t know, did he? He wanted Sirius back. He wanted the prophecy to have never been made. He just wanted to be a normal sixteen year old, he didn’t even care if he had a family anymore. He’d never needed one before. He was just tired of this… this…

“Potter?”

Malfoy was closer now. Had Harry lost the past few minutes? Where had he gone? Was he dreaming when he thought he couldn’t really sleep anymore? His dreams lately had all been the same - empty and shallow and he always forgot them in the morning.

“I don’t remember.”

Draco was frowning at him now, perched in a sitting position in front of – actually were those Malfoy’s legs brushing his? Harry shook his head.

“Potter, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Harry looked up. Had he been looking down? Oh, god. He took a deep breath, staring back at those cold grey eyes and he was so angry. Angry with Draco for being here, for intruding, for making him… For making him feel this. He didn’t want to feel it. He wanted to go back to before, wanted to not notice the pain. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply again, his teeth grinding slightly when he responded.

“Get out.”

Draco stared at him, watching Harry’s naked chest rise and fall with each breath, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he closed his eyes, his hands balling up. It made Draco hurt, somehow.

“No.”

He felt the punch before it hit him this time and he didn’t try to block it, letting it knock him backwards and to the side slightly, shaking his head and trying to ignore the spots currently clouding his vision and the way it felt like perhaps his jawbone was cracked.

Harry wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to never see him again, wanted to never feel this again. His hand ached and his chest felt heavy and his throat hurt and he never wanted this.

“Get out.”

Draco turned finally, looking back at Harry with the same emotionless, cool gaze, seemingly unphased by the violence.

“No.”

Harry cursed and Draco moved before Harry could, catching hold of his wrists only after Harry had gotten in another blow to Draco’s shoulder. And then, in a tangle of flailing limbs, they were rolling, and Draco wasn’t sure they would stop. He tried desperately to hold the other boy down but then they hit the floor with a resounding ‘thud’ and the back of Draco’s head hit the bedside table but he held on, cursing and closing his eyes against the pain, finally pinning Harry to the floor, his fingers entwined with Harry’s somehow, his own bodyweight holding the other boy down. He had lost weight, Draco noticed. Furious green eyes glared up at him and Draco shook his head, his expression as neutral as it had ever been, waiting.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off me!”

“Potter.”

“Get out! I hate you - what are you doing here - you’re the last person -”

Draco could feel Harry’s chest heaving underneath him as he became more hysterical, watching his eyes carefully and moving precisely before they broke. Before Harry broke. Draco wasn’t sure what provoked him to kiss Harry, wasn’t sure what the hell he was doing here in the first place, and if he asked himself later he would surely find the usual, selfless, removed excuse of a reason, but here and now all he could think about was kissing Harry, ignoring the tears he was tasting on the other boy’s lips now and Harry was protesting, squirming against him and choking and biting him but Draco held him down.

And then he stilled, his mouth relaxing against Draco’s and he tasted salty still and bitter and… coppery. Draco pulled away, breaking for air but not making any move to get off of Harry, watching his expression and ignoring the tracks the tears had left down the other boy’s cheeks.

“Are you going to hit me again?”

“I should.”

Draco scowled and let go of one of Harry’s hands to wipe the blood from his mouth, ignoring the neat, red, half-moon shapes Harry’s fingernails had left on the back of it, but then Harry was shifting and Draco cursed as he realised all too late that the tables had turned. His head hit the ground with a resounding crack as Harry flipped him, straddling him and glaring down at Draco, gripping his wrists tightly.

Draco groaned, closing his eyes.

“Potter, if you give me a head injury, I swear to Merlin I’ll-“

But then Harry was pressing down against him, causing Draco’s eyes to flutter open once more in surprise and -- oh – Potter was still only wearing his shorts, but Draco had little time to reflect on this as Harry pressed him down against the cold stone floor, his nose brushing Draco’s.

“Or you’ll what?”

Draco swallowed, but it was suddenly hard to think straight.

He didn’t answer Harry, instead watching the other boy’s expression as he tried to catch his breath, Harry’s grip on his wrists loosening slightly. He smirked.

“… and? What did you have in mind for once you had me pinned to the floor?”

Harry flushed, his eyes widening slightly as if the thought that he’d actually do something once he had Malfoy pinned to the floor was something new to him.

“I… “

Harry bit his lip, but before he could change his mind he closed the distance between them, tentatively brushing his mouth against Draco’s.

Draco gasped involuntarily, tilting his head and returning the tentative kiss. He was quite enjoying himself, though he’d likely never admit it, when Potter pulled away suddenly, frowning and letting go of his wrists, looking extremely uncomfortable with the situation. Draco frowned, embarrassed and angry and what the hell was Potter playing at? But then, Harry’s fingers were running along Draco’s lower lip and he froze, watching the other boy expectantly.

“I… I made you bleed.”

Draco swallowed, watching Harry still and not sure how, exactly, he was expected to reply to such a statement.

“Yes, Potter. You’ve also likely damaged the fragile bone structure of my face and possibly fractured my skull. What’s your point, exactly?”

Harry leaned forward again, kissing him more confidently now, even running his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip. It took quite a bit of self-restraint for Draco to hold back a moan, something that greatly displeased him and fuck, he shouldn’t be hard, not from this but Potter’s mouth was warm and soft and his body was hard and heavy and Draco never wanted this to end. As if Harry knew precisely what he was thinking, he pulled away, looking flushed and embarrassed and it almost made Draco want to hit him.

“That was... um…”

Draco glared at him.

“Being articulate was never your strong point, Potter.”

And clearly he was going to have to take matters into his own hands, because as nice as Potter’s mouth was and as pleasant as his flushing was, he was clearly incompetent in the matter at hand. Draco shifted, tilting the other boy and reaching up to pull him back down, rolling him hard onto his back, smirking against Harry’s mouth as the other boy let out a soft “oh” when his back hit the cold floor.

He kissed him again, and he wasn’t sure why and he should leave and leave now, but that seemed like such a stupid thing to do. He had Harry Potter, and no one else did. He had Harry Potter pinned to the floor and he had cried for him and Draco had bled for him and now it felt like Harry was breathing for him and nothing could possibly tear him away from the other boy at this moment.

Harry made a small sound as Draco kissed him and Merlin he wasn’t going to start crying again, was he? But Harry kissed him back harder, biting Draco’s lip with intent this time as he shifted and now they were facing each other, side by side and Draco’s shoulder was aching from the sudden contact with the floor but he couldn’t care and his hand found its way to Harry’s side, clawing at him, gripping him as he shifted his hips and – oh.

Harry paused too, breathing hard against Draco’s mouth as Draco froze, his hand gripping Harry’s side, shivering at the knowledge that Harry was just as hard as he was. And then, tentatively, Harry shifted his hips against Draco and he couldn’t hold back a moan this time, gripping the other boy more tightly and rocking his hips against Harry, kissing him hard.

Harry moved against him harder, a hand finding its way under the waistband of Draco’s trousers, tugging his shirt out, his fingers clawing at the skin underneath as their mouths met in a kiss that was much more teeth than tongue. Draco made a strangled noise at the feel of Harry’s hand on his skin, his fingernails leaving marks down his side.

He didn’t know what prompted him to slide his leg between Harry’s but both boys let out a moan at the new contact, and Draco tore his mouth away from Harry’s, sucking a wound on his lower lip and shoving the other boy hard, until he was pinning him to the floor again and gods, did Potter’s neck look appealing. Before he realised he was moving his mouth was working its way across Harry’s throat, tasting the other boy’s skin, his thigh moving in between Potter’s of its own accord and he was moaning, his nails digging into Draco’s back.

This very nearly sent Draco over the edge, the taste feel sound scent sight of Potter underneath him bringing him closer with every bite, every movement of his hips, every sound escaping his lips. His hand slipped from Harry’s side down to those damned, wonderful, hideous cotton shorts that were far too thin to endure an onslaught such as this, and he really had no idea how they had lasted so long as he slid his hand over the cotton on Harry’s thigh and oh, Potter. Harry made an entirely new sound as Draco’s hand stroked his erection through the fabric, gently taking hold of it, running his fingers over its length as he felt his own throb in response against Harry’s leg. Harry made another beautiful sound, his hands gripping Draco more desperately and Draco was reasonably sure he was drawing blood now, so he tightened his grip on Harry, biting his neck hard enough to leave a mark, moving his hips against the other boy and Harry was breathing against his ear, and Draco was going to come.

He tilted his head, nearly hitting Potter before finding the other boy’s mouth, kissing him hard as he stroked him harder and Harry was moaning into his mouth and Draco was falling apart with him.

He lay there, sprawled on top of the other boy, for quite some time with his eyes shut, his breathing still heavy and his heartbeat almost as erratic as the one underneath him. Harry finally shifted and Draco rolled off of him, scowling as he stood, not appreciating the feeling or appearance of his ruined trousers. After a moment of silence, he forced himself to look up at Harry, who was presently turned away from him, pretending to be preoccupied with his bedsheets.

“Potter.”

He froze, clearing his throat before speaking. “What?”

Draco frowned and crossed the space between them, tugging on Harry’s shoulder and forcing him to turn around and for Merlin’s sake, that look was in his eyes again.

“Potter. Pull yourself together. You look like some sort of defective Hufflepuff.”

Harry waited a beat. “Thanks.”

This wasn’t at all how things were supposed to go. “Potter. I’m not going anywhere, see?”

Harry nodded and Draco shook his head. “Well I am now, but I believe a shower is in order.”

Another beat.

“Come find me later. Preferably not in the middle of dinner, yeah?”

Harry nodded and Draco sighed, pulling Harry up against him, hard. “You’re not broken, you just need to be fixed.”

Harry kissed him in spite of himself, smiling against Draco’s mouth.

“Get out.”

“No.”