Means of Escape: Curses and Confessions

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This story contains slash, torture, violence, and sexual situations. It has not only Harry/Draco, but Harry/Neville and Hermione/Ron as well.

Thank you to my lovely beta, Hecticity.

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Draco was having a lovely dream, in which he was in a nice, clean shower with some dark-haired bloke. It was all interrupted by a persistent tapping, however. The bloke turned to him and said, “Shouldn’t you answer that?”

Dream-Draco frowned, and looked at the nearly-naked boy – why they were wearing mole-skin boxers in the shower anyway was beyond him – and sighed in defeat.

Draco sat up and looked around, slightly disoriented from being torn from the dream. His eyes focused on the Hagrid’s sleeping form, and Draco remembered where he was.

He pushed the blankets aside, and looked for the source of the irritating noise. Couldn’t Potter or that damned half-breed make it stop? Draco looked at the pile of blankets where Harry had fallen asleep, but he wasn’t there. Draco frowned. Maybe he was off shagging Longbottom. Merlin knew he could use it.

Come to think of it, Draco thought he could use a good fuck too.

The tapping had turned to scratching, and Draco turned irritably toward the noise. His mother’s Eagle owl was scratching impatiently on a high glass window.

Does this mean Mum is safe?

Draco got up and opened the window, forgetting about both his dream and his irritation. The owl landed on the wooden table and stuck out its leg, waiting for Draco to take the rolled-up parchment tied to it.

Draco untied the parchment as quickly as his shaking hands would allow.

Let her be okay, please, let her be okay.

The letter looked like it was written in haste, but it was his mother’s handwriting, if a bit messier than usual. He had to read the carefully-worded letter twice before the relief could fully set in.

I hope you are well. Your father and I are safe in familiar grounds. I hope you haven’t been worried. From what I hear, you aren’t in danger yet, but I fear that soon you will be. I will keep you safe. You can find me with my mother. I send my love.

Neither his nor his mother’s names were on the paper. She was being so careful.

Draco wondered when Harry would be back.

Not that it mattered. He should leave before sunrise, anyway.

Draco paced the small hut. His mother had said he was safe for now. He could leave this wretched place; he could find her. The more he paced, the more appealing the idea became. And now would be a good time to go, after all. It was still dark, and no one would notice. Hermione wouldn’t be able to stop him again.

Draco made up his mind and slipped quietly from the hut. He made his way along the edge of the Hogwarts grounds. The whole time, he kept hearing noises, and paranoia was getting the best of him. What if someone saw him? What if he was followed? There were far too many what ifs for his tastes lately. After several minutes that felt like much, much longer, Draco slipped unnoticed through the front gate.

Draco thought about his home, the familiar rooms, and the gardens surrounding the estate. There were spells protecting the Malfoy Manor, and Draco remembered that he couldn’t Apparate directly into it. He concentrated instead on a secluded area not far away, a tuft of trees on the edge of the estate. He raised his wand, turned once in place, and Apparated away.

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Draco could see the Manor in the distance, dark and foreboding. It had never been a friendly-looking place, exactly, but it had always been home. Now, however, the Manor looked empty and almost threatening.

Draco began to think that he shouldn’t have come here. Why would his parents go to such an obvious place? He must have misread the letter. He searched his pockets for the piece of parchment absently. Not finding it soon enough, he frowned and gave up the search as pointless. He was at the Manor now anyway, he might as well look. At the very least, he could get a change of clothes.

Draco moved toward the front door, trying to remember all of the spells and codes to get past the defenses his father had set around the Manor. It was surprisingly easy. Draco supposed that in his haste on that night, Lucius had forgotten to set a few of them. Draco gave the entrance password, and the door opened silently. He stepped into the familiar front hall.

“Mum? Father?”

He received no answer, and moved further into the house. It was too cold inside, and Draco wrapped his arms around himself. He tried to magically light the lanterns or chandeliers, but he felt magic pushing back against him. The lights flared once, and went out with a pop.

Obviously, his father was being overcautious.

Draco pulled out his wand and managed a weak Lumos to light the halls. He began wandering through the maze of rooms, heading toward the portrait of Druella Rosier-Black. When he found it, the frame was empty. Draco was worried, but whispered the spell that would unlock the secret door behind it anyway. The door opened on a stairwell, and Draco stepped carefully down, resetting the spell behind him.

“Mum?” he called.

The light on his wand flickered inconsistently. The sheer amount of concentrated magic in the air was unnerving.

“Mum, are you here?”

“Draco?” The voice was low and tired, but Draco recognized it as his mother’s.

“Mum!” he called, and began to stumble through the dark in the direction of her voice.

“No, Draco! Go back!” It sounded so much more urgent all of a sudden. Draco heard a sharp slap, and then the lights came on.

Draco found himself in the dungeon below the Manor, as he had expected. But he had never been down here when it was… occupied.

Narcissa was hung against the wall, her arms pinned painfully above her head and her feet dangling a few inches above the floor. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes red. She was wearing the same robes she had been when they had fled Hogwarts, open, with nothing underneath. Lucius stood next to her, absently petting her abdomen and breasts as he sneered at his son.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Dolohov had their wands trained on him.

Draco spun around slowly, analyzing. His father – Lucius – had betrayed his Mum, hadn’t he? And Draco had fallen right into a trap.

“Draco, I was wondering how long it would take for you to join us,” Lucius said in a self-satisfied sort of way.

Draco scowled and pointed his wand at his father.

“Oh, we can’t have any of that,” Lucius said, and made a gesture with his hand.

Draco heard Bellatrix begin to shout something behind him, and he waved his wand in that direction, casting the first offensive spell that came to mind.

“Sectumsempra!”

Bellatrix dropped her wand and clutched her now-bloody face. In moments, Rodolphus was by her side, distracted by her wailing. Dolohov took the opportunity to cast an Imperius Curse on him.

Draco moved unwillingly toward his mother. Everything seemed hazy, and he wasn’t sure what he was doing until he felt the warmth of her breasts beneath his fingers. Her eyes were shut tightly, and she was shaking.

No!

He fought against the force in his mind. Let me go! Let my mother go!

Touch her.

NO! Draco pushed, and the haze cleared. He panicked, and reached for his wand; but he didn’t have it. He looked around frantically, and Dolohov prepared to cast another spell.

“Enough!” Lucius cried, and his voice rang off the stone walls of the dungeon. Dolohov frowned, but lowered his wand. Draco wondered when his father had gotten so powerful.

There was a long pause. Draco’s mind was reeling. Why are we here, got to get out, save Mum, got to get out! How? After a moment that seemed to last for hours, Draco took a tentative step toward his mother.

Lucius moved suddenly, and before he could properly register what had happened, Draco was on the floor, crying out in pain. He initially tried to fight it, but it seemed pointless to fight the Cruciatus.

He looked into the cruel gray eyes of his father with as much hate as he could muster. He held the gaze until Lucius moved his wand, and another wave of pain hit him.

Minutes, hours, must have gone by. Draco begged for mercy, for himself, for his mother. He banged his fists on the stones in frustration.

“Stop! Let Mum go! You have to stop! I’m your son!”

It stopped suddenly. Draco collapsed in a heap on the floor, chest heaving, but he was lifted up roughly. Lucius held him by the neck of his robes and looked coldly into his eyes.

“You are not my son. You are nothing to me or your mother.”

Draco glanced at Narcissa, and there were fresh tears in her eyes. Lucius followed his gaze.

“Yes. You are nothing to us.”

He tossed Draco back to the floor. Draco let out a hard sob that hurt his throat. He tried not to cry, but the pain was getting to him.

“Why is she tied up?” Draco demanded

He was determined to keep fighting. He had to find a weakness, a way to beat his father.

He had to find his wand.

Lucius cast the Cruciatus again, and Draco writhed against the pain. Draco scrambled along the floor, hands searching for his wand. His limbs felt heavy, and it was hard to move. Then – success! He clamped his fist around the familiar wood.

Something heavy fell on the hand suddenly, crushing his fingers and splitting the wand at the same time. Draco yelled in renewed pain, and looked up. Dolohov had stepped on him.

Dolohov leered down at Draco, who thrashed out in wild panic. Then he was on the floor again, screaming in pain, forgetting all the ways he had learned to defend himself against such curses.

Narcissa was crying, and Draco was screaming, and Lucius was laughing, and none of it mattered, because Draco was nothing and he was going to die in that dungeon.

And then it stopped. There was a lot of green, and then nothing.

Draco wondered why he couldn’t see, then realized that he had his eyes clamped tightly shut. He opened them slowly, afraid of what he’d find, of who would be dead.

Lucius was on the floor next to him, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Dolohov was nearby, also dead. Bellatrix and Rodolphus were gone, and Narcissa still hung against the wall, sobbing.

Harry Potter stood in the middle of the room, looking morbidly triumphant, if that was even possible. Two Aurors, Moody and Shacklebolt, stood behind him, wands still raised.

Draco was breathing hard. It seemed like he couldn’t get enough air, enough relief into his body. Heavy breathing turned into retching sobs, and soon Draco was shaking and crying uncontrollably.

After a moment he felt strong arms lifting him, and he leaned into the touch, even though he still hurt like hell, and having someone pulling on him wasn’t helping.

“Come on, Draco, it’s not safe here.”

Draco recognized the voice as Harry’s, and stiffened, trying in vain to push himself away from the boy. Harry held him tightly, however, and Draco collapsed dejectedly against him, trying not to cry into his robes. He felt a hand stroking his hair. It was comforting, and Draco began to release some of the built-up tension in his muscles.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Harry whispered. “I shouldn’t have run off like that. I should have stayed with you at Hagrid’s longer.”

“Git,” Draco managed to say.

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Draco woke up in an unfamiliar but soft bed, his right hand tightly bandaged. Sunlight filtered through light curtains, and he could feel a soft breeze from an open window nearby. He sat up, wincing at the lingering pain from the curses the night before.

He tried to remember what had happened after Harry came, but he couldn’t. He tried to sort things out in his mind.

He had fallen into a trap.

His father was dead.

His mother was… he didn’t know what had happened to her!

Draco threw back the covers and stumbled out of the room. “Mum?” he called.

“Draco!”

He had walked right into Hermione. The tray she had been carrying crashed to the floor.

Draco started to apologize, but stopped. Had Granger just called him Draco?

Hermione sighed. She waved her wand, and the mess flew back to the tray. She frowned at it. “That was your breakfast.”

Draco snorted irritably.

“Well, we’ll just have to make you something else. Come down to the kitchen with me.”

“Where am I?” Draco demanded.

“You’re… safe. This is Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Pheonix. Harry seems to think you’ll willingly help us now.”

The old Black house? It seemed sort of ironic, seeing as most of the living Blacks were Death Eaters. “Where’s my mother?”

“She hasn’t come out of her room since Harry and Moody brought you two here.”

“How long ago was that?”

“You’re rather demanding, aren’t you?”

“Well, I don’t know what happened, I woke up in a strange place, and the last thing I remember my mother was in serious danger.” Draco scowled at her.

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Draco. Harry won’t talk about what happened last night. All I know is that the four of you came back at two in the morning, looking as if you’d been through battle.”

Draco took a deep breath and tried to digest that information. “I want to see my mother.”

“Second door on the left.” Hermione gestured down the long hallway.

Draco nodded his thanks, and headed to the door she had pointed out. He stopped in front of it and turned back. “Hey, Granger.”

“Yes?”

“You’ll keep my mother safe here, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then, we’re even. I help you, you help me, right?”

Hermione smiled. “Yes.”

Hermione continued down the hall, and Draco turned to knock on the door. After a pause, he heard a soft, “Yes?”

“Mum?”

The door opened, and Draco smiled for the first time in weeks. “You’re okay, then.”

Narcissa held out her arms, and Draco allowed her to pull him into a crushing, motherly hug.

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After a long talk with his mother concerning their loyalties and the horrible things Lucius had forced them into over the years, Draco sought the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten in over a day, and his stomach was protesting. He found the room on the lowest level, occupied by Harry and Neville, who spoke in hushed voices over a plate of fruit. He opened the refrigerator, wondering if anyone around there was a decent cook.

“Hey,” Harry greeted.

“Can I eat anything here?” Draco asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said.

Draco took out some eggs and bacon, and looked helplessly at the stove. He’d never learned how to cook.

Neville snorted, obviously holding back laughter at Draco’s confused state. “I’ll see you around, Harry,” he said. He leaned forward as if to kiss him, but stopped. Neville blushed, and walked away instead.

Interesting.

“So, are you going to cook that?” Harry asked, amused.

“I don’t know how,” Draco admitted reluctantly.

Harry laughed – actually laughed, the prat – and moved to turn the stove on. He put the eggs and bacon in separate frying pans and Draco watched him cook, his hands moving in graceful patterns. Draco’s gaze traveled up to Harry’s face, where a small smile played on his lips.

“It’s sort of like potions,” Harry explained. “You just follow the recipes.” He gestured to a stack of cooking books off to the side.

Draco watched the hand, scarred but nimble, move back to Harry’s side. Harry played with the knobs on front of the stove. Draco looked up at Harry’s face. His brow was furrowed, and his bottom lip curled inward, as if he were thinking hard about something.

Merlin, he looked good. If Draco hadn’t been attracted to Harry before... well, if he was honest with himself, he’d been attracted to Harry for a while. These past few days had just made the possibility of having a relationship with him believable.

Draco took a step closer to Harry, staying just far enough away to not hinder the elegant movements of his hands.

Or rather, his cooking; because Draco wasn’t about to admit that he liked watching Harry’s hands. Though, he wondered what they felt like. His own hands were soft and aristocratic, he imagined Harry’s wouldn’t be.

Harry’s expression softened, and he sighed, seeming to make a decision about whatever he had been thinking so intently about.

“Neville and I are… well, we broke up,” Harry said, meeting Draco’s gaze.

“I didn’t ask-“

“I know. I… wanted you to know... We were never really serious anyway. He needed confidence, and I needed a distraction.” There was a pause, during which the only sound was the sizzling of the frying pans.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“You’re in danger. It’s safe here.” Harry’s new patience was unnerving to Draco.

“I don’t have any more information for you,” Draco said.

“We looked for Snape. He wasn’t there.”

Draco was having a hard time keeping up with the rapid changes of topic. “If he’s not there, I don’t know where he is.”

“I know. I don’t need you here for that.” Harry took a plate from a nearby cabinet and pushed the food onto it.

“Why am I here then? Really?”

Harry looked him in the eye, and Draco could see frustration in his face. “I don’t… well, I do. I want you to help us, and not just for information. Fight with us.”

“I don’t have to choose a side of the war.”

“You’re not safe on your own.”

Draco knew he was right, but why was he so persistent?

“And, I think I…” Harry frowned. “I’ve developed a bit of a crush on you.”

Draco’s initial shock wore off quickly enough, and he smirked. “Well, I am bloody gorgeous.”

Harry laughed. “You’re bloody arrogant, too.”

“Now Potter, is that any way to talk to your crush?”

Harry actually blushed a bit, and Draco couldn’t hold back any more. He took Harry’s hand in his one good one and pulled him close. The skin felt rough and warm, and Draco could feel the bumps of old scars. Harry looked surprised, but quickly recovered, his fingers curling around Draco’s.

Draco hesitated. He let his thumb caress Harry’s palm. Harry seemed to be waiting for him to do something, though, so Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s in a crushing kiss.

Too soon, Harry pulled away, but he was smiling. “Besides, you owe me.”

Both boys recovered their confidence, and Draco let his lips twist into a smirk. “For what, Potter?” he asked, with a teasing tone to his voice.

Harry wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist, pulling them closer together. They shared another short kiss. “For finding and saving your sorry arse. I should have been out looking for Horcruxes, not you.”

Draco frowned, but kept his lips close to Harry’s. “What’s a Horcrux?”

“They’re seemingly useless but very powerful artifacts that you’re going to help me find and destroy, because you know more about the Dark Arts than anyone here, with the exception of Moody.” Harry slid his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip enticingly.

“Oh, so you’re using me?” Draco smirked. He liked this game, this arguing and kissing.

“No, this is just convenient.”

“Git,” Draco said, before kissing him again.

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:) Pink