Draco Malfoy awoke to the distinctly uncomfortable sensation of his left side pressed into a cold and unforgiving stone floor. He sat up slowly, favoring his chilled, sore ribs. His temples throbbed visciously, most likely from sleeping on a hard stone floor. The unsteady nauseous feeling, however, was probably from the spell he'd been hit with the previous night.

He spat to cleanse the foul taste that had taken up residence on his tongue. As the vaguely drunk sensation wore off, the events of last night began to clear and reform in his memory. He and five others had been sent out on a routine check for reported Muggle contraband in a home in Bloomsbury, just outside of London. They were ambushed immediately upon arriving by a horde of Aurors. It had been a trap. A very cleverly set and perfectly executed trap.

Now he was here, cold and isolated, in a location that was unknown to him but was likely a holding cell beneath the Ministry of Magic. He was probably awaiting the trial that would sentence him to Azkaban for the rest of his life. It was a risk that they all took when entering into the Dark Lord's service. He would tell them nothing, of course. He would prove to his Lord that he continued the long and proud lineage of Malfoy loyalty to the cause.

The sound of a rusty padlock tumbler falling into place was disquieting in the dank cell, and he shielded his eyes against a widening slot of light as the door was pushed open from the outside.

"Hello," Draco squinted at the intruder. "I have to piss."

"Sir will follow Nibbey, please," said a squeaky voice that was somehow vaguely familiar.

Odd that the Ministry would send a house elf, he thought as he hauled himself, sore ribs protesting all the way, to his feet.

As he and the elf moved down a long hallway, Draco tried to spot and remember landmarks, but there was hardly anything remarkable to note in the monotonous stone blocks. They turned twice, two lefts Draco was careful to recall, before coming to a door on the righthand side. He was motioned inside and followed by Nibbey, the door closing behind them. The room turned out to be a lavatory, complete with a loo and showers lined along the far wall.

"Sir has ten minutes," he was told.

"Such luxury," Draco whistled between his teeth. "The Ministry shouldn't spoil their prisoners so."

"Sir always has a smart comment," the elf guard grumbled.

"Always?" The strange sense of deja vu came over him again.

"Eight minutes," the tiny guard sniffed, seeming angry at himself for the slip.

Draco obeyed, relieving his full bladder before slipping aching, knotted shoulders out of his shirt sleeves. He allowed himself a small moan of pleasure as he stepped underneath the steaming spray, the gentle pressure of the water working at his stiff muscles. He stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the sensation, before he began to wash himself.

It was then that he first noticed the bruises.

Small, round purple marks dotted his stomach and the tops of his thighs. Raw-looking red bands circled his wrists. He reached out and touched them gingerly, hissing as they tingled unpleasantly. Confused, he looked to Nibbey, who quickly looked away, coughing awkwardly into his hand.

Disoriented and a little frightened, Draco cut the water off and made his way over to the sink. He found a toothbrush and shaving utensils already waiting for him. Looking up in the mirror he gasped as he saw his reflection. His neck was covered in the same purple marks that tattooed his body, but here they were larger, darker, deeper. He looked again to the elf, a blatant question in his eyes, and again he was ignored. Although he could have sworn he saw a blush spread up to its large, bulbuous eyes before it looked away.

Finished with his toiletries, Draco was handed a long, belted dressing gown. Putting it on, he eyed it skeptically. "Bit flimsy, isn't it?" he asked. "This is a dungeon, after all."

"Sir won't be needing it long," Nibbey replied.

"What do you-"

"Time is up, Sir. We must be moving on."

Draco was led up a winding staircase onto what he assumed to be the servants floor of what was obviously a rather huge residence. Draco was sure he knew every mansion in the Wizarding UK, and he could only recall a few which were large enough to fit with the proportions of this dwelling. Here the walls were white plaster and oak panelling, with brass fixtures holding candles and torches, as was the preferance among Wizardfolk. One thing as certain; this was not the Ministry of Magic.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Nibbey cannot say, Sir," the elf said, stopping in front of two wooden panels set into the wall. One promptly slid open, emitting another house elf with a snubbed nose dusted with flour and wearing a stained white apron. Peering in, Draco saw that it was a large kitchen, with a long, scrubbed wooden table running the length of the room. A single place had been set with a covered plate and goblet. Something skittered along the edges of his memory, telling him that the plate of food was for him.

Surely enough, his guard squeaked, "Ten minutes," and slipped under Draco's legs and into the kitchen. The Death Eater wolfed down his in no way meager portions of roast pork and potatoes, steamed carrots and warm, crusty bread, washing it down with fresh, cold water.

"If Sir is finished..." said Nibbey, holding back the panel door.

He was lead up to another floor, this one again more elaborate than the last. The walls boasted portraits of famous wizards, and small polished endtables featured vases and gleaming gold and silver oddities. The guest floor, Draco surmised. He was brought to a halt in front of a plain oak door and looked back at Nibbey, who produced a single key and unlocked the brass doorknob, then held the door open for Draco to enter.

The room inside was completely indistinct. Plain wooden floorboards, white walls lit by flickering torchlight, and no furniature. His throat constricted as instinct urged him to flee, and yet at the same time, some distant knowledge that he couldn't quite make sense of set his heart to hammering against his ribcage in anticipation.

"Stand there." Nibbey pointed to a spot in the middle of the room.

"I am accustomed to following orders, but that does not mean I will comply for you." Draco sniffed indignantly, trying to hide his anxiety.

Nibbey smiled strangely. "Sir would have less bruises if he lost his attitude."

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, a trickle of fear going through him.

The elf didn't answer and quirked a finger, sending him into an awkward half run into the room. The short flare of magic disappeared as soon as he stood in the spot Nibbey had pointed to. Draco gathered what dignity he had left and stood defiantly, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the small figure standing in the doorway. Another few fancy fingerworks, and Draco's arms were hauled above his head.

"Ouch!" he yelped in protest, hissing as cuffs fitted over his clenched fists and pulled tight. He looked up, tugging at his bonds despite the fresh pain it awakened in his raw wrists. He felt another tingle of fear go up his spine as he noticed the alignment of the thick leather that held him. The cuffs were an exact match for the marks on his wrists. Lowering his head, he stared with growing realization at his miniature guard.

"Master will be here in a minute," Nibbey told him, turning away.

"Who will be here?" Draco shouted at the elf's retreating back.

Nibbey paused and looked back over one small shoulder, a look of utmost mischeviousness on his scrunched, pointed face. "Nibbey keeps his Master's secrets," he said in a hushed tone, before slipping out.

The door sent an echo through the hollow room when it closed. Taking deep, calming breaths, Draco tugged at his bonds with all his strength. The situation felt eerily familiar to him, as everything up until then point had, and it terrified him. The belt on his robe began to loosen with his struggles and fell partially open to reveal the purple bruises running along his pale chest. He swallowed thickly, the sight only fueling his apprehension.

He ceased moving when he heard the door open and click gently shut. He stared at the patch of floor in front of his feet, too afraid to look up. His breath sounded loud in the room as he strained to listen for movement. Two footsteps, three, and then they stopped, still a good distance from where Draco stood. Swallowing hard, the blonde took a deep breath.

"How long have you been doing this to me?" he asked, trying with all his might to keep his voice from wavering.

"You know," the intruder said, taking several more steps forward and into the light. "You didn't start figuring it out until I started leaving marks."

Draco gasped, his head snapping up and he stared in outright shock at the man in front of him.

"Perhaps I should start healing them before you leave..."

"Potter," Draco choked.

"Yes?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

"How long?"

"Four weeks, yesterday." Harry told him.

"How? The Ministry wouldn't allow this."

"As far as the Ministry knows, you're dead. Your body was seen being put into the ground by myself and three witnesses. It was Zabini, actually, but apparently if Polyjuice is administered shortly before death its effects never wear off."

He took another step closer, stopping right in front of Draco, who scooted back with his feet as far as he could before his strained arms couldn't go any farther. Harry smiled, amused, and slid a hand inside of the gaping robe and along the Death Eater's ribcage.

"Stop it," Draco demanded, moving away from the touch.

"But I've been doing it for-"

"Four weeks," Draco finished for him bitterly. "You went to a lot of trouble to make it look as though I died in the raid. Why? Did you decide to take justice into your own hands?"

"That depends on your interpretation of justice." Harry told him with a mysterious smirk.

"Why erase my memory?"

"That's complicated," said Harry, brushing his thumb over a lovebite dotting Draco's chest. "I like it when you fight," he said, tickling his fingers down Draco's side and hip. "If you could remember, then eventually you'd stop resisting me. I don't want you to ever stop fighting me."

"It's not bloody likely!" Draco spat.

"Good," Harry said fiercely, and fisted a hand in the hair at the back of Draco's head, jerking him forward into a painfully hard kiss.

Draco made angry protesting noises in his throat and tried to twist away, but the hand in his hair held him firmly. He raised one of his legs to kick out at Potter, who simply side-stepped and pushed Draco's ankles apart with his booted feet before stepping between his knees. He was smart enough not to try to put his tongue in Draco's mouth; he knew from experience that it would be bitten. Instead he licked and nipped at the corners of his mouth and the full, fleshy bottom of his lower lip.

He pulled away and Draco cursed him loudly, tugging at his shackled wrists with renewed fury. Harry laughed and wrapped his fingers around the tie of Draco's dressing gown. The blonde immediately went still, torn between revulsion and fierce curiosity.

"Potter, don't..." he said.

"You always say that. And you always change your mind."

He pulled the knot free and the robe fell open in a long, unbroken line of white and purple flesh. Harry's mouth immediately went to work, kissing, licking and biting every inch of exposed skin. Draco gurgled as he bit back a moan when Harry sucked on a particularly sensitive part of his neck.

"Now you know why the bruises are worse here," he drawled, before biting down, producing a low sound from Draco.

By the time Harry had worked his way down his stomach, Draco was trembling, sweat stinging his eyes as it dripped down from his forehead. He fought against every sound of pleasure that Potter wrung from him. Harry loved it when he lost the battle and his groans came out harsh and shuttering, raw with the effort of holding them back.

"I'd never stop fighting," Draco said, looking down to see Potter's face level with his navel. A thrill went through him and he clenched his fingers into his palms to keep it from showing on his face.

"You would," Harry told him, running a palm up his thigh. He delighted in the gasp it produced when his fingers brushed over the scrotum. "You have already."

Draco tried to kick him again, but Harry was quicker, and his wand was in his hand and the immobilizing spell cast before Draco's toes had barely left the floor. An Auror's reflexes.

"You're lying!" Draco shouted, angry at being made helpless.

"Oh, you always start out fighting. By the end of the night, though, I don't even have to tie you up. You lie in my bed in every conceivable position, and make every conceivable sort of noise... You take everything that I do to you, and you love it."

"Stop it," Draco demanded, closing his eyes.

"You've sucked my cock," Harry told him gleefully. "You didn't bite. Not even once."

"Shut up!"

"I've made you beg me to fuck you," Harry said, curling his hand around Draco's erection.

He pumped it once, and delighted in the blonde's tiny grunt. He ran his fingertips up and down the length of it, gazing with fierce appreciation at Draco's closed eyelids as they clenched and relaxed and his mouth opened and closed with his stubborn resolve to remain silent. Harry raised his left hand to his lips, pushing his index and middle finger into his mouth and sucking on them, coating them in his own saliva before reaching around the slim figure in front of him and sliding one finger between the cleft of his ass.

Draco made a startled noise at the invasion. "No! Potter, don't!"

Harry ignored him, he always ignored him, and leaned down to lick the head of his cock. Draco whimpered, his head falling forward in defeat, as Harry began running his tongue in a circle around the very tip of him. He worked a second finger inside of him, curling the two digits as he slid more and more of Draco into his mouth. The Death Eater panted heavily as he leaned his head on his arm, hips shifting ever so slightly forward.

Releasing him with one last, hard suck, Harry rose up to his feet, still moving his fingers inside of him.

"Look at me," he ordered, and Draco's eyes obediantly cracked open, thin slits of gray staring out of heavy lids. "I want to do this on a bed," Harry told him. "Am I going to have to tie you up?"

Draco was silent for a moment, somehow summoning up the energy to glare, before shaking his head grudgingly.

"Good," said Harry, and slid his fingers out of him. "Finite Incantatum."

The spell locking Draco's legs lifted and he shifted on the stiff limbs. Another incantation and the cuffs fell away from his wrists and his arms dropped like heavy stones to his sides, tingling unpleasantly as blood rushed back to his fingertips. The robe slipped soundlessly down his arms and pooled on the floor at his feet.

"Turn around and walk forward," Harry ordered, following him with his wand leveled at his back. They moved twenty paces toward the back of the room before Harry stopped him and muttered another spell under his breath. Torches along the back wall blazed into life and revealed a bed that had been previously hidden in the shadows. Draco swallowed hard as embarrassment and anxiety began to fill him in the absence of pleasure.

"Crawl onto the bed."

Draco clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding together as he obeyed. His cheeks were hot by the time he came to a stop on his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, horribly vulnerable and exposed. He felt the bed shift as a weight settled behind him. His arms quivered as he held himself up, apprehension seizing him as he waited. He felt something small and solid poking him behind his balls. A wand. Potter wasn't taking any chances.

He cried out in surpise as a wet, hot tongue suddenly licked down from the base of his spine to the slit of his ass. He felt it brush over his opening, returning to circle it once before slipping in. He gasped, falling forward as his trembling arms gave out. Potter forced more out sounds of him, fucking him with his tongue, swirling it inside of him before pulling back to suck at the ring of muscle.

Finally he let up, leaving Draco a shuddering, gibbering mass of limp limbs. The bed shifted again. Draco felt blunt pressure against him and swallowed, tensing.

"Relax," Potter told him, running his hands soothingly up and down his sides. "You'll love this. You do love this."

"Fuck you," Draco whimpered pathetically, feeling tears prick his eyes out of sheer mortification. Potter had been inside him before and he had let him, begged him even, and couldn't remember any of it. What had he made him do? Say? What confessions had Potter forced out of him?

Humiliated and impatient for it to be over, Draco pushed back against him in an attempt to appear less afraid than he felt. Harry chuckled and settled his hands on his hips, pulling him back slowly as he pushed forward. Draco made a hesitant sound of fear as he felt Potter inside of him, but somehow it didn't hurt. He knew that it was because even though he felt as though he'd never done this before, he had, countless times. Had it hurt the first time? Had he cried?

He exhaled a long breath as Potter settled fully inside of him, the feeling of being stretched and filled not unpleasant in the least. He held entirely still as he was fucked, slowly, perfectly, each thrust making his back arch and something inside of him send a shiver down to his toes. He didn't know how long it went on; that deep, leisurely pace that didn't rush or demand anything from him, but drew out every sensation possible in one long pull. He whimpered, his fingers clenching the pillowcase, craving more, faster, harder...

Potter pulled out hastily, grabbing Draco around the waist and throwing him onto his back. The blonde flinched in surprise, reaching out of pure instinct to shield himself. Potter grasped his wrists and hauled them over his head.

"Don't fight me," he ordered breathlessly.

"I thought you wanted me to," Draco told him, a shuddering breath leaving his lungs as he felt Potter settle between his open thighs.

"Not now," Harry said, a strange look in his eyes as he eagerly thrust back into him.

Draco discovered the merits of this particular position as he felt him hit that very pleasurable spot dead on, making him throw his head back and his wrists flex in Harry's grip. If he'd wanted hard and fast he got it. Soon they were both panting, sweat making their bodies slide together as they took everything the other had to give; every clutching hand and raking fingernail, and more.

"Draco," Harry groaned, leaning down to bury his face in Draco's slick shoulder.

Draco came, jerking violently, limbs clenching Harry's rocking frame, and he couldn't hold back the choked, sobbing cry that took him over. Harry followed him, moaning loudly into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

They lay there, shaking and regaining their breath, hands still sliding over one another, for several minutes afterwards. At last Harry pulled away, his face veiled and impassive once more. Draco fought the beginnings of some unpleasant emotion that could have been remorse, and he thought he knew what was coming next. Harry withdrew his wand from the tangled sheets.

Draco looked up and waited until their eyes met. He saw regret there, and some other vague unidentifiable emotion flickering in the green. "I won't forget," he told him.

Harry smiled. "You always say that."

The last thing Draco heard was a whispered, "Obliviate" before blackness welcomed him back into its familiar embrace, and he forgot again.

***

If you asked Harry Potter what made him do it, he wouldn't be able to tell you. All he knew was that in that split second when the Death Eater in front of him crumpled to the ground and his hood fell back to reveal white-blonde hair over the mask, something inside of him went blank. His wand hand was raised, the words of the Killing Curse on his tongue, but in that vital moment he paused. He didn't know what stayed his hand that night, and after long hours of thought where he ruled out such possibilities as pity and kindness, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Nearby Blaise Zabini took his last few wheezing breaths, managing to gasp out a plea to Harry as he stared up at him with already glassy eyes. Harry glanced back and forth, seeing the opportunity and repulsing from it at the same time.

And then he did it. The thing that he would never be able to justify, not even to himself.

All Aurors had taken to carrying a small variety of potions on them in case of emergencies, and as Harry reached into his robes he drew out one that was to be used for a hasty retreat in a bad situation; Polyjuice. Uncorking it with his teeth, he bent to yank out a few golden hairs before kneeling next to Zabini. The other man smiled serenely, believing Harry to have been overcome by a sudden fit of sympathy. His smile dimmed considerably as Harry thrust the hairs into the vial and shook it hastily, looking down on him with twisted purpose.

Locking a hand over Zabini's chin, Harry stretched his jaws painfully wide and shook the contents of the vial onto his tongue before snapping his mouth tightly closed. The other man choked and fought to spit the potion out, but Harry clamped his hand over his nose and mouth. Zabini struggled admirably for a mortally wounded man, but in the end he swallowed and suffocated nearly simultaneously. Harry watched as the first beginnings of the potion began to take effect just as his face went lax and his eyes empty. It disturbed him to see dead gray eyes in Zabini's face.

Standing up, he tossed a portkey onto the other, unconscious Death Eater's chest and moved to rejoin the battle. Dobby would take care of the situation until he returned home.

***

Harry hadn't known then just how deep his ruse would go. He'd expected to have the secret of Draco Malfoy's 'death' revealed at any moment and the real Malfoy traced back to him, ensuring lengthy and awkward explanations that he wasn't sure he could give. It wasn't until Zabini's false body was lowered into the ground in an unmarked and unmourned grave specially reserved for Death Eaters that Harry allowed his hands to unclench.

Arriving home that night his mind cleared, the cloudy determination fading as reality caught up with what he'd done and the mind-numbing panic of the night fell upon him in one massive wave. He barely made it to the loo before retching.

For days afterward Harry sat at the foot of his bed watching Malfoy sleep. It was obscenely satisfying to watch his sworn enemy rest in his own bed, on sheets that smelled like him. Malfoy would occasionally awaken and immediately the demands and accusations would begin. Harry would listen for a few moments before casting another sleeping charm. He couldn't deal with questions. He couldn't deal with a Malfoy that wasn't unconscious; one that didn't have fluttering eyelashes and make soft noises into his pillow.

The first day that Harry allowed Draco to remain awake they fought. Sometimes with words, sometimes with fists, and others with both. They beat each other to within an inch of unconsciousness every night that first week, every untapped ounce of resentment poured out of them through sweat, blood and curses.

One night Draco immediately set upon him the moment he stepped into the room. They fell to the floor, kicking and flailing, Draco managing to knock Harry's wand from his hand where it skidded across the floor to thunk into the wall. Harry hooked a leg under the crook of Draco's knee, pulling him forward and under him and pinned his arms to either side of his head. They glared heatedly at each other, each puffing considerably, and in another moment of clarity that Harry would never be able to understand or explain, he leaned down and kissed Malfoy squarely on the mouth.

The Death Eater squawked and reared forward, knocking their heads together and causing their lips to crush painfully against their teeth. Harry flinched back, uncertain at what he'd just done, and looked trepidly down at Malfoy, who stared back in utter shock and disgust.

"What the-" he began, but Harry shut him up with another kiss. One more adventurous than the last.

Malfoy struggled, bucking and tossing his head from side to side, but Harry was persistent and pressed down with all of his weight to hold him still. He grew bold and forced his tongue between Draco's lips. It was bitten; hard.

He screamed and cursed, rearing back to glare down at his rival.

Malfoy took the opportunity to buck up with his hips, attempting to dislodge Harry, who thrust back down. They continued, one unthinkingly attempting to outdo the other in a sort of childish contest, until it reached the point where neither of them could stop.

Harry fell forward, his chest hitting Malfoy's hard enough to wind them both, and rocked his hips against the body under him with newfound purpose. Wrapping his fingers around Malfoy's clenched fists he held on tight, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead as he closed his eyes and gave himself to the moment, insane as it may be.

Inevitably it came to a fevered end. Harry reluctantly opened his eyes to find Malfoy's still tightly shut, his adam's apple bobbing with a hard swallow. Overcome with the sudden need to flee, he pushed himself up and away, retreating into the bathroom. A quarter of an hour later he came out to find Malfoy in the same position, staring up at the ceiling with a look of pained confusion. Harry's wand lay ten feet away. Malfoy hadn't bothered to take the chance at freedom.

It was then Harry realized that Malfoy could be broken.

Over the next few days they kept a steady schedule of fighting and fucking. The tangled sheets were stained with blood and other fluids, attesting to their indecisive passion for each other. Harry's nights were filled with a white haze of lust and pain, and his days were spent eagerly awaiting his return home to do it all over again. He recognized his own unhealthy obsession, saw it in the gazes of his house staff and co-workers. He began to fear his own attachment to Malfoy.

He couldn't remember the exact night they first made love. He only remembered that somehow hard, violent sex turned into slow, perfectly agonizing sex. For the first time their kisses turned from painful, punishing clashes of lips and teeth to deep, melting ones that started the base of the spine and worked their way up. He remembered the sensation of something inside of him unfurling, spreading out from his core and making him feel uncomfortably full. When he came he heard Draco calling out his name, his given name, and that full feeling built to such a pressure that he felt as though he might scream.

Staring for the first time into completely unguarded gray eyes, he panicked. Bolting from the bed he bellowed for Dobby. Within five minutes Draco was moved to the basement without the explanation that the blonde shouted for all the way down.

Within two days Harry was driven effectively insane. A sick addiction had gotten under his skin and scraped against the underside like a living, clawed beast. Confused and frightened of his own mind, Harry sat in the middle of his bedroom floor and rocked himself for hours.

It was then Harry realized that Malfoy could break him, too.

He went down to the dungeon on the third night alone in his bed. He stared through the bars and felt the claws begin to drag down his insides as a silently furious Draco stared back.

Torn and in more than a little denial, Harry pointed his wand through the slots and cast the Obliviate charm. Almost immediately Draco began screaming at him, demanding to know where he was. Harry felt a strange sort of calm settle over him. This was a Malfoy that he could deal with. This was a Malfoy that he understood. One who he couldn't fall terrifyingly, unjustifiably in love with.

That was nearly five weeks ago. Now, as Harry sat in his bed amidst the aftermath of their latest session, he felt the beginnings of unease prickle within him. Malfoy was starting to remember.

Harry knew that the strength of the Obliviate spell depended upon the intent of its caster. He knew that Draco's incomplete memory loss was his own fault. He refused to look into the reasons why his subconscious didn't want the spell to work; why he kept himself from casting it effectively. He knew that someday it would fail utterly. He would cast the spell and Draco would stare up at him with complete awareness. He also knew that he, Harry, would fall completely apart when that day came.

Calling for Nibbey, he glanced at the peacefully sleeping face of his dilemma. He didn't want to think about that day.

He didn't want to think about a life where he had no excuse not to love Draco Malfoy.

End