Ravenna C. Tan: Weeks (Draco/Harry, NC-17)
Title: Weeks (Malfoy Honor, Pt. 4)
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100quills fest
Prompt: "Weeks"
Word Count: 2639
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Draco/Lucius
Warnings: Incest. Dubious consent. Angst.
Beta-reader: sorchar
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Summary: Sequel to Honor, Patrimony, and Race.
Harry,
It is two weeks to the day since I last saw you. I am setting quill to parchment today even though I know I shall never owl this letter. Writing, I find, can be so therapeutic. Since I am going to burn this letter as soon as I am through writing it, I feel quite free to say any number of things. And I like the illusion that I'm still connected to you, Harry. That you care what's happening to me. Even though I'm quite sure you feel otherwise.
I am a prisoner. Don't think I don't know that. I haven't tried to leave, but I have little doubt that if I did, I would find it either impossible, or he would track me down like an animal and drag me back here, humiliated. But I have not even tried.
Is it my pride that keeps me here? Or something else?
The Manor is the same as it always has been. I sleep in the bedroom that was mine as a child. The house elves tiptoe around me as they always did.
I tiptoe around my father. I know you won't understand that. You would rage and fight and scream like a rabid kneazle if anyone put you in a cage. You'd bite the hand that fed you. I know you, Harry. But I am not that kind of animal.
Especially not when I arrived here in such a beaten state. I hope you have no illusions about that.
"Did you think that the Chastity Charm would be fooled by that impostor?" he raged, while I lay crumpled and naked at his feet on the parquet floor of the entryway. "Were you so desperate for it"--here he poked me in the buttock with the end of his cane--"that you resorted to Polyjuice?"
I was crying too hard to answer. All I could do was shake my head. You've never seen me like that, Harry, so it must be hard to picture. I eventually forced out the words: "I thought he was you!"
He believed me. Thank Merlin and Morgana, he believed me. Or maybe he saw it for himself. I left my defenses completely open, something I've never done before.
That's how badly you broke me, Harry.
He knelt down then and gathered me to him, his robes enveloping me. "Tell me what he did."
I shook my head. The memory of you choking me, forcing me to take your cock dry. even while I was claiming I loved you... It was all still vivid in my mind, and I looked into his eyes to share the memory with him.
"Tell me, Draco," he admonished softly. "Words have power, don't ever forget that." He caressed my cheek as he pulled me into his lap, wrapping his robes around us, there on the floor of the foyer. "I can see the bruises on your neck."
I don't know why I tried to defend you, still. What I said was so patently stupid. "He was angry," I explained, and then, as if it excused you somehow: "And he didn't choke me very hard."
His voice was low, and I was so grateful the threat in it was not aimed at me. "Only hard enough to hurt you. To punish you, but not to kill you."
I nodded, rubbing my face against the fabric of his robes. Was he right, Harry? Were you trying to punish me?
"Go on."
I still could not bring myself to describe how, thinking it was him, I had climbed onto your lap and impaled myself on you, nor how I had expected, had it been him, to be praised and coaxed and encouraged. I felt a surge of anger then.
You didn't do any of those things. You did it to hurt me. You were trying to punish me. I can see that now.
"He interrogated me," I told him. "He demanded to know if I loved him, and he said..." That was when it sank in fully, of course. That the words you'd spoken, about how there was no "relationship" between us--you believed them. You believe what we had was nothing.
Is that why you did it, Harry? He accused you of raping me, of assault and coercion of the worst kind. The worst part about it is there is nothing I could say to defend you. Was it because there was nothing to defend?
But if there was nothing between us, you wouldn't have been so angry. If there was nothing, you would have ceded me to him. No?
You knew, Harry. You knew about Lucius and me. You must have known why I kept it secret, then. And did you come to me with this knowledge? Was that whole charade your twisted way of trying to protect me?
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't. I accept that you were angry. What did you hope to accomplish by doing what you did? Did you get the answers you wanted? Was it sweet to hear me scream in pain while I told you I loved you?
I haven't finished telling you yet what my father did when we returned to the Manor. Let's see, where was I? Yes, I'd just told him about your interrogation of me.
His interrogation, on the other hand, was gentle, incongruously gentle. "Did you tell him you loved him?"
I cried as I nodded against his chest. That's the real reason I'm writing to you, of course. Because I told you I loved you.
The irony of the situation is not lost on me. Father's interpretation, that you were my toy, was never really the case, was it? It was always the other way for you, is my current supposition. And you didn't want to share your toy, so you broke it.
He took me, right there on the floor of the foyer. Did you want to know that? I don't care. To finish the reversal of the Chastity Hex, he had to reassert his claim. He lay me back on his outer cloak, kissing away my tears, and murmuring to me.
Words, Harry. Words have power. Never forget that. He told me I had skin like silk as he caressed me, and that no one loved me more than he did. His eyes flashed with anger as he spelled away the bruises on my neck, following his wand with his tongue.
I clutched at him in fear of pain when his hand slipped between my legs, but he hushed me, and showed me the thick dollop of bluish cream on the end of his finger before he began to circle my abused hole with it.
It was heavenly, and soothing, and before long he began to swirl some of the cream inside me with gentle slides of his finger, until I was making a mewling sound in my throat like a hungry kitten. And to think, not even an hour before, I had been ready to think he wanted to kill me, that he might leave me for dead on your living room floor. But that had been you, Harry, not him.
He kissed my nipples in turn and asked if I was ready for him. I was.
That's how he made me his again.
I'm still angry with you, that much should be obvious. So I should end there, shouldn't I? If I were owling it, I would. I know you, Harry, and I know it would be like a kick in your gut to read that. Or a knife in the heart. Secrets are a form of protection, after all. Can you blame me for wanting to protect you from this?
There is more. Two weeks I've been here. Two weeks.
I am a prisoner here and it is time I faced the way he has kept me.
He's is still angry with me, and yet we are reconciled... I will try to explain. He avoided me for a few days after we returned here. I suppose he was leaving me time to lick my wounds and come out at my own pace. The first time we interacted after that was when the junior minister for exchange came to dinner with his wife. I played the model son--it's a role I've always been good at, after all--and I expected his approval for it.
He gave it after the guests had left, just a gentle cupping of my ear with his hand, a loving but chaste kiss on the top of my hair. A word of thanks.
And that was all.
Days went by like that, with nothing more than a caress here, a kiss there. I found myself trying to spend more and more time in his presence, to give him the opportunity to do more if he wished it. He can be mercurial, I know that, but I have been on my best behavior, doing nothing to provoke his anger. I took to rendezvousing with him for every meal when he was home and not off at the Ministry or elsewhere, and to playing chess with him in the evenings in the parlor by the fire.
Two nights ago, I beat him. I saw the checkmate coming several moves ahead and sat there in dread, wondering what would happen when it dawned on him.
When it did, he smiled at me like he was proud. But then he said good night and left the room.
I could stand it no more. I waited, gathering my courage, then followed him to his bedroom. I knocked on the door and when he said "Enter" it opened. I stood on the thick carpet, my hands clasped, as it swung shut behind me.
He was in his dressing gown, sitting at a vanity, a silver-backed hair brush in hand and the ribbon from his hair on the other. I asked if he would allow me to brush his hair and he said yes.
So I brushed his hair. It is not as fine as mine--some of his are gray and coarse--but it is luxurious and thick and he closed his eyes as I did it. I pressed myself against the back of the chair he sat in, wondering if I dared to go further. When I was finished, I stood there a moment, the brush in my hand.
He looked up at me, as if asking what I planned to do next. I froze. If he banished me from his sight, I was sure it would crush me, but would it be better to flee myself and spend another night alone in my room?
"What is it, my son?" he prompted.
I found I couldn't speak. Instead, I sank to my knees, and presented the hairbrush to him with both hands like an offering.
He plucked it from me and asked, "Have you done something that requires correction?"
I shook my head.
"Words, Draco," he warned.
"No, Father. Not... lately."
He ran his fingers along my cheek which felt like it was burning. "You merely crave my... attention?"
"Yes, Father." I could not look him in the eye.
He made a tut-tut sound, his voice soft and yet terrible when he said, "Did you think that seeing you begging like a common slut would please me?"
I could have run from the room then. But I didn't. Instead, I glared at him and answered, "I thought that perhaps asking for your attention rather than provoking it through disobedience would please you. If I'm wrong, say so, and I'll happily go back to fucking Mudbloods and traitors."
I wasn't halfway through the word "Mudbloods" when he seized me by the chin. I had been expecting a slap and I didn't flinch. Instead I closed my eyes and just said "Please, Father." I don't know if you know what that's like, Harry. I was so desperate for him to have me by then, I didn't care whether I needed to provoke him, beg him, or seduce him.
Fortunately for me, the combination of all three I employed was successful. I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips an instant before he kissed me. I drew his tongue into my mouth and in the next moment, he lifted me up, his arms under my knees and behind my back, and all the while I kissed him, so grateful that he planned to take me, to possess me, to prove how much he loved me.
I broke away when he half-tossed me onto the bed, the sheets perfect white and deepest blue. In the next instant he spelled away my clothes and his mouth was hot and hungry on my bare skin, my neck, my chest, my nipples.
"Draco," he breathed as his hands searched my skin for sensitive places. "I've not had a lover in this bed since your mother."
There was really nothing I could say to that, now, was there? I sucked his cock so that I didn't have to speak, while I thought about that. God, Harry, since that first time in the dungeon, we'd fucked in the parlor, the study, in the grand dining room, in my bed at my flat in London, and of course in the dungeon more than once, but never here.
He didn't speak again until he was deep inside me, his hands on mine, holding me still, his stomach pressing my cock between us as he drove in with long, smooth strokes. "Do you regret Potter?" he asked.
And it was the truth, Harry, when I said "No. Because if it weren't for him, you never would have..." I didn't get to finish the sentence, because his mouth was on mine then, but the meaning was clear enough.
We were still fucking some time later when he said, "I've been giving some consideration to an overture from the widow Greengrass."
"She wants to marry you?" I felt alarmed at the thought that this might be the only time I would be allowed into this bed. If he married again.
He chuckled. "No, no. Her daughter Daphne was in your class at Hogwarts, I believe?"
"But I thought she married a Muggleborn?"
"Annulled. He was hexed in the war and unable to produce children. Though the Greengrass fortune is sizable, she would of course come to live here." He increased his thrusts then, their force and pace, but persisted in speaking. "You would become Lord and Lady Malfoy."
I couldn't answer, he was fucking me that deeply, but I wanted to ask if there was more he was not telling me. He had used the word "lover" before. If he and I were lovers, would it end with my marriage? I made a sound of distress.
He wrapped his arms around me, fucking hard, his mouth at my ear. "Your arse, of course, would still belong to me."
I came when he said that, crying and screaming and drumming my heels against the bed. I know, I am being lurid. I have naught else to do, though, but amuse myself in this fashion. This letter will be ash before the afternoon is out, anyway.
But there it is, my explanation. I shall never leave here. He does nothing without consideration, my father, and the discussion of my impending engagement and the consequent assumption of the lordship could have taken place over tea. No, the fact that he chose to discuss the matter with me while his cock pinned me to the bed he once shared with my mother made it extremely clear exactly where I belong.
I hear his footsteps in the hall, on his way from the library to the parlor for tea. I shall join him, so I must close, and as ever, I remain
Draco Malfoy
--
["Weeks" now has a sequel: " Silence."]
Author: ravenna_c_tan
Rating: NC-17
Prompt Set: 50.1 from the 100quills fest
Prompt: "Weeks"
Word Count: 2639
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Draco/Lucius
Warnings: Incest. Dubious consent. Angst.
Beta-reader: sorchar
Disclaimer: I wrote this fanfic for completely non-commercial enjoyment. All characters are not mine and are copyrighted and trademarked by their owners/publishers.
Summary: Sequel to Honor, Patrimony, and Race.
Harry,
It is two weeks to the day since I last saw you. I am setting quill to parchment today even though I know I shall never owl this letter. Writing, I find, can be so therapeutic. Since I am going to burn this letter as soon as I am through writing it, I feel quite free to say any number of things. And I like the illusion that I'm still connected to you, Harry. That you care what's happening to me. Even though I'm quite sure you feel otherwise.
I am a prisoner. Don't think I don't know that. I haven't tried to leave, but I have little doubt that if I did, I would find it either impossible, or he would track me down like an animal and drag me back here, humiliated. But I have not even tried.
Is it my pride that keeps me here? Or something else?
The Manor is the same as it always has been. I sleep in the bedroom that was mine as a child. The house elves tiptoe around me as they always did.
I tiptoe around my father. I know you won't understand that. You would rage and fight and scream like a rabid kneazle if anyone put you in a cage. You'd bite the hand that fed you. I know you, Harry. But I am not that kind of animal.
Especially not when I arrived here in such a beaten state. I hope you have no illusions about that.
"Did you think that the Chastity Charm would be fooled by that impostor?" he raged, while I lay crumpled and naked at his feet on the parquet floor of the entryway. "Were you so desperate for it"--here he poked me in the buttock with the end of his cane--"that you resorted to Polyjuice?"
I was crying too hard to answer. All I could do was shake my head. You've never seen me like that, Harry, so it must be hard to picture. I eventually forced out the words: "I thought he was you!"
He believed me. Thank Merlin and Morgana, he believed me. Or maybe he saw it for himself. I left my defenses completely open, something I've never done before.
That's how badly you broke me, Harry.
He knelt down then and gathered me to him, his robes enveloping me. "Tell me what he did."
I shook my head. The memory of you choking me, forcing me to take your cock dry. even while I was claiming I loved you... It was all still vivid in my mind, and I looked into his eyes to share the memory with him.
"Tell me, Draco," he admonished softly. "Words have power, don't ever forget that." He caressed my cheek as he pulled me into his lap, wrapping his robes around us, there on the floor of the foyer. "I can see the bruises on your neck."
I don't know why I tried to defend you, still. What I said was so patently stupid. "He was angry," I explained, and then, as if it excused you somehow: "And he didn't choke me very hard."
His voice was low, and I was so grateful the threat in it was not aimed at me. "Only hard enough to hurt you. To punish you, but not to kill you."
I nodded, rubbing my face against the fabric of his robes. Was he right, Harry? Were you trying to punish me?
"Go on."
I still could not bring myself to describe how, thinking it was him, I had climbed onto your lap and impaled myself on you, nor how I had expected, had it been him, to be praised and coaxed and encouraged. I felt a surge of anger then.
You didn't do any of those things. You did it to hurt me. You were trying to punish me. I can see that now.
"He interrogated me," I told him. "He demanded to know if I loved him, and he said..." That was when it sank in fully, of course. That the words you'd spoken, about how there was no "relationship" between us--you believed them. You believe what we had was nothing.
Is that why you did it, Harry? He accused you of raping me, of assault and coercion of the worst kind. The worst part about it is there is nothing I could say to defend you. Was it because there was nothing to defend?
But if there was nothing between us, you wouldn't have been so angry. If there was nothing, you would have ceded me to him. No?
You knew, Harry. You knew about Lucius and me. You must have known why I kept it secret, then. And did you come to me with this knowledge? Was that whole charade your twisted way of trying to protect me?
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't. I accept that you were angry. What did you hope to accomplish by doing what you did? Did you get the answers you wanted? Was it sweet to hear me scream in pain while I told you I loved you?
I haven't finished telling you yet what my father did when we returned to the Manor. Let's see, where was I? Yes, I'd just told him about your interrogation of me.
His interrogation, on the other hand, was gentle, incongruously gentle. "Did you tell him you loved him?"
I cried as I nodded against his chest. That's the real reason I'm writing to you, of course. Because I told you I loved you.
The irony of the situation is not lost on me. Father's interpretation, that you were my toy, was never really the case, was it? It was always the other way for you, is my current supposition. And you didn't want to share your toy, so you broke it.
He took me, right there on the floor of the foyer. Did you want to know that? I don't care. To finish the reversal of the Chastity Hex, he had to reassert his claim. He lay me back on his outer cloak, kissing away my tears, and murmuring to me.
Words, Harry. Words have power. Never forget that. He told me I had skin like silk as he caressed me, and that no one loved me more than he did. His eyes flashed with anger as he spelled away the bruises on my neck, following his wand with his tongue.
I clutched at him in fear of pain when his hand slipped between my legs, but he hushed me, and showed me the thick dollop of bluish cream on the end of his finger before he began to circle my abused hole with it.
It was heavenly, and soothing, and before long he began to swirl some of the cream inside me with gentle slides of his finger, until I was making a mewling sound in my throat like a hungry kitten. And to think, not even an hour before, I had been ready to think he wanted to kill me, that he might leave me for dead on your living room floor. But that had been you, Harry, not him.
He kissed my nipples in turn and asked if I was ready for him. I was.
That's how he made me his again.
I'm still angry with you, that much should be obvious. So I should end there, shouldn't I? If I were owling it, I would. I know you, Harry, and I know it would be like a kick in your gut to read that. Or a knife in the heart. Secrets are a form of protection, after all. Can you blame me for wanting to protect you from this?
There is more. Two weeks I've been here. Two weeks.
I am a prisoner here and it is time I faced the way he has kept me.
He's is still angry with me, and yet we are reconciled... I will try to explain. He avoided me for a few days after we returned here. I suppose he was leaving me time to lick my wounds and come out at my own pace. The first time we interacted after that was when the junior minister for exchange came to dinner with his wife. I played the model son--it's a role I've always been good at, after all--and I expected his approval for it.
He gave it after the guests had left, just a gentle cupping of my ear with his hand, a loving but chaste kiss on the top of my hair. A word of thanks.
And that was all.
Days went by like that, with nothing more than a caress here, a kiss there. I found myself trying to spend more and more time in his presence, to give him the opportunity to do more if he wished it. He can be mercurial, I know that, but I have been on my best behavior, doing nothing to provoke his anger. I took to rendezvousing with him for every meal when he was home and not off at the Ministry or elsewhere, and to playing chess with him in the evenings in the parlor by the fire.
Two nights ago, I beat him. I saw the checkmate coming several moves ahead and sat there in dread, wondering what would happen when it dawned on him.
When it did, he smiled at me like he was proud. But then he said good night and left the room.
I could stand it no more. I waited, gathering my courage, then followed him to his bedroom. I knocked on the door and when he said "Enter" it opened. I stood on the thick carpet, my hands clasped, as it swung shut behind me.
He was in his dressing gown, sitting at a vanity, a silver-backed hair brush in hand and the ribbon from his hair on the other. I asked if he would allow me to brush his hair and he said yes.
So I brushed his hair. It is not as fine as mine--some of his are gray and coarse--but it is luxurious and thick and he closed his eyes as I did it. I pressed myself against the back of the chair he sat in, wondering if I dared to go further. When I was finished, I stood there a moment, the brush in my hand.
He looked up at me, as if asking what I planned to do next. I froze. If he banished me from his sight, I was sure it would crush me, but would it be better to flee myself and spend another night alone in my room?
"What is it, my son?" he prompted.
I found I couldn't speak. Instead, I sank to my knees, and presented the hairbrush to him with both hands like an offering.
He plucked it from me and asked, "Have you done something that requires correction?"
I shook my head.
"Words, Draco," he warned.
"No, Father. Not... lately."
He ran his fingers along my cheek which felt like it was burning. "You merely crave my... attention?"
"Yes, Father." I could not look him in the eye.
He made a tut-tut sound, his voice soft and yet terrible when he said, "Did you think that seeing you begging like a common slut would please me?"
I could have run from the room then. But I didn't. Instead, I glared at him and answered, "I thought that perhaps asking for your attention rather than provoking it through disobedience would please you. If I'm wrong, say so, and I'll happily go back to fucking Mudbloods and traitors."
I wasn't halfway through the word "Mudbloods" when he seized me by the chin. I had been expecting a slap and I didn't flinch. Instead I closed my eyes and just said "Please, Father." I don't know if you know what that's like, Harry. I was so desperate for him to have me by then, I didn't care whether I needed to provoke him, beg him, or seduce him.
Fortunately for me, the combination of all three I employed was successful. I felt the warmth of his breath on my lips an instant before he kissed me. I drew his tongue into my mouth and in the next moment, he lifted me up, his arms under my knees and behind my back, and all the while I kissed him, so grateful that he planned to take me, to possess me, to prove how much he loved me.
I broke away when he half-tossed me onto the bed, the sheets perfect white and deepest blue. In the next instant he spelled away my clothes and his mouth was hot and hungry on my bare skin, my neck, my chest, my nipples.
"Draco," he breathed as his hands searched my skin for sensitive places. "I've not had a lover in this bed since your mother."
There was really nothing I could say to that, now, was there? I sucked his cock so that I didn't have to speak, while I thought about that. God, Harry, since that first time in the dungeon, we'd fucked in the parlor, the study, in the grand dining room, in my bed at my flat in London, and of course in the dungeon more than once, but never here.
He didn't speak again until he was deep inside me, his hands on mine, holding me still, his stomach pressing my cock between us as he drove in with long, smooth strokes. "Do you regret Potter?" he asked.
And it was the truth, Harry, when I said "No. Because if it weren't for him, you never would have..." I didn't get to finish the sentence, because his mouth was on mine then, but the meaning was clear enough.
We were still fucking some time later when he said, "I've been giving some consideration to an overture from the widow Greengrass."
"She wants to marry you?" I felt alarmed at the thought that this might be the only time I would be allowed into this bed. If he married again.
He chuckled. "No, no. Her daughter Daphne was in your class at Hogwarts, I believe?"
"But I thought she married a Muggleborn?"
"Annulled. He was hexed in the war and unable to produce children. Though the Greengrass fortune is sizable, she would of course come to live here." He increased his thrusts then, their force and pace, but persisted in speaking. "You would become Lord and Lady Malfoy."
I couldn't answer, he was fucking me that deeply, but I wanted to ask if there was more he was not telling me. He had used the word "lover" before. If he and I were lovers, would it end with my marriage? I made a sound of distress.
He wrapped his arms around me, fucking hard, his mouth at my ear. "Your arse, of course, would still belong to me."
I came when he said that, crying and screaming and drumming my heels against the bed. I know, I am being lurid. I have naught else to do, though, but amuse myself in this fashion. This letter will be ash before the afternoon is out, anyway.
But there it is, my explanation. I shall never leave here. He does nothing without consideration, my father, and the discussion of my impending engagement and the consequent assumption of the lordship could have taken place over tea. No, the fact that he chose to discuss the matter with me while his cock pinned me to the bed he once shared with my mother made it extremely clear exactly where I belong.
I hear his footsteps in the hall, on his way from the library to the parlor for tea. I shall join him, so I must close, and as ever, I remain
Draco Malfoy
--
["Weeks" now has a sequel: " Silence."]