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Descending the rickety steps, Draco’s mind drifted to what the Dark Lord had said the previous night.
“We must be strong. We cannot let anyone who opposes us continue to pervert the truth of purity.”
He’d looked right at Draco when he said it. But if the Dark Lord knew what he was up to, he’d have already killed him.
The filthy water splashed as his black boot stomped through the puddle. Ahead, there was a small flickering light.
Swinging the creaky cell door open, Draco licked his lips.
There, cowering in the corner—thin and dirty—was Harry. Thick metal chains hung from his pale body, and the sun hadn’t touched his skin in months.
“Hello, darling,” Draco drawled, leaning against the cold iron bars.
Harry stopped trembling then and turned to face him. “You again.”
Draco tutted. “Don’t tell me you don’t like my little visits.” Crouching down, he stroked Harry’s bare back. He caressed and revered the scars there which had worn the path for his fingertips.
And Harry, despite himself, leaned into the touch.
Draco knew what he wanted—what Harry needed. The lashes and the Crucios were one thing, but it was the tenderness which hurt above all and yet, he was desperate for it.
“Let me make you feel good,” Draco whispered, his breath tickling the matted hair around Harry’s conflicted face.
Violently shaking his head, Harry tried to hide away. But Draco didn’t let him. With a rough grasp on Harry’s chin, he tilted his face up.
“Is there anything in your pathetic existence which brings you a modicum of the pleasure I do?” Harry refused to answer and Draco’s grip turned tighter. “Answer me.”
“No,” replied Harry’s broken voice.
A short while later, as Draco thrust into him—his cock eliciting moans of pleasure from Harry—he said the truth out loud.
“You’re my weakness, I admit that—”
Harry whimpered and grabbed onto Draco, his body undulating and begging for more.
“But I’m yours.”
With tears in his eyes, Harry nodded.