Chapter VI

October 10th 1996

Five days. Five days, four hours, and thirty six minutes, to be precise.

It’s amazing, how he wants this just as badly as I do. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were keeping track of the minutes we’ve been together as well. He seems to have this obsessive need to be near me at all times, and I must admit, that it’s the most adorable thing in the world. He could be described as clingy, I suppose, but I don’t like the negative connotations that go with that word. I quite enjoy this ‘clinginess’ of his. I love it that he can look at me, and I know that I’m the only thing in the world he sees.

We had sex three times on our second day together. I still can’t get over the amazing intensity of it. I’ve never experienced anything like it before in my life. We decided right then that we had to find a way to spend every single night together. We think we’ve found a suitable place, but we’re still checking on it.

We’ve done so much together, things I would never dream of doing with anyone else. But it’s not enough. There’s so much I want to do to him, but I’ll never be able to. I would love to tie up, blindfold him and fuck him senseless; maybe even cut him open, let him bleed all over me. I want to teach him to love the taste of his own blood; I want him to rip me apart and do me the same.

It won’t happen. It can’t. He loves me differently than I love him, but I don’t mean that in a bad way, exactly. He’s emotional; he loves me with gentle touches and reverent kisses. He wants to be with me forever, he told me so last night. He likes to hold me and feel my warmth, because he’s never had anyone to hold before. He won’t hurt me because he’s never had anyone to hurt. It’s a risk that he won’t take, because he has so little, he can’t afford to lose anything else.

But I’m different. I love everything about him; body and soul. And when I love something, I want to know everything about it. I want to taste every inch of him as I count the freckles on his body. I want rip open his chest and see how his heart beats, watch how his blood flows through his veins in their twisted, maze-like rivers. I want to tear out his brain and find out what makes him think, pull out his eyes and see what he sees.

Oh, but I do love him. I could build him an altar and worship him. It feels like I’m missing a vital part of myself when his body isn’t pressed against mine. I can’t think when he’s not around. I can’t concentrate. I’m losing myself. I feel it slipping away, farther and farther. I wonder what happened.

I’m devoted, truly; I don’t even see anyone else anymore. Everyone around me is just a passing shadow, and he’s the only colour in my dark world. Voices are all vague and distant, and his is the only clear, beautiful tone I hear.

God, I feel sick. Like someone’s choking me, squeezing the very life out of me. Perhaps I need to go find him, follow him around like I used to. I think that’s my problem. I’ve kept to myself a little more ever since the 5th, simply because he has a fear of us drawing attention to ourselves. I understand of course, my father cannot find out about this.

The room is tilting, I’m going to fall. Where is he? I need reality, sanity, light... Good God, perhaps I should find Pomfrey instead.

January 1997

Thursday Evening

Defence Against the Dark Arts and dinner passed by normally, except for the fact that Draco stared at Ron a bit more than he probably should have. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything about it.

As Ron snuck down to their classroom, he couldn’t help but worry about what was going to happen. It was undeniable now that Draco was a little... unstable. However, that didn’t change Ron’s opinion of him in the least. He still loved Draco with every fibre of his being, but now, there was just the slightest bit of fear mixed in.

He was scared that they would be caught; that Draco would harm him in a way that would be impossible to lie about, or that he would corner Ron in a hallway again when they could be seen. And most of all, he was scared for Draco. He hated the thought of his beautiful Draco losing himself to his twisted desires; becoming crazed, unrecognisable. He was afraid that Draco would somehow end up hurting himself, and Ron couldn’t bear the thought.

Ron quietly opened the door to their third floor classroom and slipped in, casting the charms behind him. As usual, Draco was already there.

“Ron,” he whispered harshly, staggering over to him. “God, Ron, I’ve waited...”

He fisted Ron’s robes and yanked him forward, slamming their lips together painfully. Ron’s teeth scraped against the inside of his lips, followed by a slight coppery taste, letting him know he had drawn blood with the force of their collision. Draco’s tongue forced Ron’s lips apart, and Ron reluctantly complied. He didn’t want Draco to taste the blood in his mouth. That would be the end.

He felt Draco hesitate for a fraction of a second, and he knew right then that it was too late.

“Oh my God,” Draco moaned into Ron’s mouth. He sucked Ron’s lower lip into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it, revelling it the sweet taste of blood.

Ron shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what to do. He slowly brought his hands up to rest lightly on Draco’s back. Draco didn’t seem to notice.

He started walking backwards, pulling Ron forcefully along after him. He turned them around when they reached the back of the room, slamming Ron down on the teacher’s desk. Ron groaned with surprise and pain. He expected to land on their feather-soft bed; not hard, unforgiving wood. That’s when he noticed that the bed hadn’t been transfigured at all.

Draco finally let go of Ron’s robes and began running his hands over Ron’s body, touching everything he could reach. He moved his mouth away from Ron’s swollen lip, biting at Ron’s neck.

Ron moaned and arched his back. He didn’t exactly want to distract Draco, but... maybe he could just transfigure the bed himself without Draco noticing.

He slipped his wand discreetly out of his pocket and pointed it at the desk. He had just started to whisper the incantation when Draco quickly pulled back, slapping Ron’s wand out of his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” he shrieked. One of his hands flew up to Ron’s hair, grabbing it tightly. “Trying to hex me when I’m not looking!? Is that it!?”

“No!” Ron gasped, horrified. He tried to sit up, but Draco pressed his weight firmly against Ron, keeping him pinned to the desk.

“You thought you could kill me and spend the rest of your life with that little mudblood?” Draco demanded, giving Ron’s hair a firm yank.

Ron winced. “No, no, that’s not what I was doing! Oh God, Draco, believe me, please.”

Draco let out an outraged growl and tugged; the clump of Ron’s hair he had been clinging to was pulled painfully from Ron’s head.

Ron cried out and, acting on instinct, shoved Draco away while his other hand swung forward and punched Draco in the jaw. Draco stumbled backwards and lost his balance, falling gracelessly to the floor. He glared up at Ron venomously, his tongue rubbing absently against the blood seeping from his split lip.

“Oh my God, Draco, I’m sorry,” Ron whispered, standing up.

Draco eyes widened, carefully watching Ron’s movements. Ron took a step forward and Draco quickly pushed himself backwards toward the wall, not bothering to stand up. “Stay away from me,” he spat, his voice trembling.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Ron repeated. He took another tentative step towards Draco, approaching him like one would a scared animal.

Draco inched backward, pressing his back against the wall. He fumbled out his wand, holding it stiffly in front of him. “Get back,”

Ron froze for a minute, hating himself. He had no right to touch Draco like that. He was stronger than Draco, even if only by a little bit, but enough to make a clear difference. It was okay for Draco to hurt him since he could defend himself if he wanted to. Draco, however, had no defence. Ron could hurt him, and there would be nothing Draco could do about it. It was wrong; so horribly, horribly wrong. Ron had never loathed himself as much as he did in that moment.

“Draco,” he took another step, “you have to calm down.”

Draco finally seemed to be listening, lowering his wand slightly. His eyes were still trained on Ron, and Ron knew he had to be careful, just in case. He slowly moved forward, making no quick movements, watching 

Draco’s tension melt away before his eyes. Almost there; one more step and – he stumbled.

It all happened so quickly after that, Draco’s wand came back up in an instant, his eyes going blank with an emotion Ron couldn’t place. And then...

“CRUCIO!” Draco screamed, flourishing his wand.

Ron screamed and collapsed to the floor, the excruciating pain of the curse tearing through him endlessly. It was a horrible kind of pain; it never dulled, coursing through his body like a thousand needles. It felt as if it had a mind of its own, and all it wanted to do was rip him to shreds.

Draco watched Ron struggle and writhe, quickly coming back to awareness. He called off the curse seconds after it began, absolutely horrified. It was too late to take it back; he had crossed the line. There was nothing good that could ever come from the Cruciatus Curse; it existed only to cause pain.

Before Ron could even struggle back up to a sitting position, Draco was at his side, pulling him into his arms.

“God, Ron, oh my God, I’m sorry,”

Condolences were lost on Ron for the moment, and he simply clung to Draco, trembling in the aftershocks of the curse. Draco held him, unmoving, wanting nothing more to withdraw back into his mind and go back to the time where he was able to separate fantasy from reality.

Ron glanced down, grimly noting the clump of his hair that Draco still clutched in his hand. He slowly moved his hand back to the back of his head, tentatively touching the small bald spot. It was down low, near his neck, so it would probably be undetectable. But it hurt horribly; throbbing as if it should be bleeding.

He slowly pulled out of Draco’s embrace, his whole body aching and protesting with his every movement. As soon as his gaze landed on Draco’s face, he knew the moment of insanity was hardly over. Draco just looked vacant, as if his soul and completely departed from his body, leaving a mindless shell behind.

“Draco,” he said hoarsely, hesitantly taking Draco’s face in his hands, and tilting his head to look at him. “Hey, come on, Ferret, look at me.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over to meet Ron’s, then just as quickly looked away. He was ashamed and angry, and it wasn’t fair that Ron could just act like everything was just fine when it so clearly wasn’t.

He had been so unreasonably afraid of Ron a moment ago, a fear he should have never had to experience. He wouldn’t have had to, if he had just been able to keep his mind clear. He could see now, when he really backed off and looked at what he had been doing, that he was being overly paranoid. But in the heat of the moment, it had made such perfect sense in his mind.

But he had hurt Ron; twice, horribly. He hated it. He hated his lack of control. He had gone too far this time, he could see that. It was really no wonder that Ron had fought back. Then an unforgivable curse...

It didn’t matter that it was illegal; that thought was the farthest thing from Draco’s mind. It caused horrible, intentional pain, purely for the purpose of torture; completely the opposite of what Draco wanted. He wanted Ron to feel amazing, and even though he sometimes lost himself in pursuit of that goal, he would never just torture Ron. There was no way to justify this time, and the guilt was too much for a sane mind to bear.

Ron could see Draco’s eyes dulling, gazing off unfocused into the distance. He stroked Draco’s face with his fingers, half caressing, half coaxing.

“You’re okay,” Ron whispered, “you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay.” He leaned forward, gently kissing Draco’s lips. “You’re perfect, you know that, right? Just look at me, please. Touch me, hurt me, do whatever you want to me.”

Draco stiffened and refocused on Ron, studying his gaze. He pushed all of his reluctance and fear to the side; to the part of himself that could handle it. He couldn’t allow himself to think about it, he had to make it go away. Ron’s eyes held all of the comfort and love Draco needed, and he finally relaxed. He would worry about what he had done later. It wasn’t important now.

Keeping his wand tightly in his hand, he let the hair fall to the floor and wrapped his arms tightly around Ron. He tilted his head, kissing Ron again and again, silently begging for forgiveness. He wanted their relationship to go back to normal, and Ron wanted Draco to be happy. Unfortunately, those two goals weren’t the same.

Draco had pushed forward, forcing himself on top of Ron. Ron started to protest, but he was scared of Draco’s current mental state. One more mistake and Draco could be lost to him forever. Draco covered Ron’s face with kisses as he pushed Ron’s robe open, caressing his chest.

“I love you. Oh God, Ron, I love you,” he babbled, moving downward.

He pulled Ron’s trousers off effortlessly, throwing them over his shoulder. He pushed Ron’s legs apart, forcing them to bend at the knee, and settled between them.

Ron unconsciously spread his legs wider, giving Draco more room. Draco sat his wand down next to him and ran his hands over the smooth, pale skin of the inside of Ron’s thighs. Ron shivered with anticipation, his muscles trembling and tensing with each light touch.

Draco pulled back for a moment, slipping off his robe and his shirt, then leaned back in and grazed his lips over Ron’s thigh, teasing, licking, and sucking. He pulled back after a short time, studying the pattern of little red love bites he had left on Ron’s skin. He traced his finger over them, connecting them, when a strange, undeniable desire forced its way into his mind.

He swiftly picked up his wand and muttered an incantation, turning the tip of it into a razor-sharp blade. Ron’s eyes widened nervously.

“Draco,”

“Don’t move,” Draco hissed.

He lightly ran the tip of the blade against Ron’s skin, not forcefully enough to draw blood, but enough for Ron to feel the unsettling prickle of the cold, sharp blade.

Ron’s legs tensed; rigid and deathly still. He hardly dared to move, in fear that he would brush that blade in the wrong way, forcing it into his skin. His breaths were deep and strained, partly from arousal, and partly from fear.

Draco watched Ron’s reaction fixedly, then pulled the blade back, rubbing his hand across the same area. Ron sighed and relaxed a little, closing his eyes in relief.

Draco stared at Ron’s thigh for a moment, considering his options. The reality of what he had been about to do was disturbing, but still so oddly appealing. He moved the blade closer to Ron’s thigh, then pulled back again, warring with himself.

He looked down at his free hand, studying the perfect, unmarked skin. He might as well test it first to make sure he didn’t accidently hurt Ron. After giving Ron’s thigh one last caress, he turned his arm over, revealing his smooth, porcelain forearm.

He tightened his hold on his wand, then unceremoniously dragged the blade across his skin. His mouth opened in a silent scream as blood poured over his arm, staining him in red. His arm shook with pain, his fingers flexing and extending on their own accord.

Maybe he shouldn’t do it so deep next time. He drew the blade across his arm again, a little lighter this time, watching as the blood bubbled to the surface. That was better. That was nice. He sighed, rubbing his fingers against the two cuts, pleasure blooming inside of him. That was perfect. Perfect. That’s exactly what he wanted to share with Ron.

He turned his attention back to Ron, just as Ron’s eyes refocused on him.

“Bloody hell!” Ron gasped, struggling to sit up.

“Stop,” Draco said firmly, placing his hand on Ron’s chest to stop him. Blood gushed from his arm with the effort, soaking through Ron’s shirt.

Ron stared down at it in horror, then back up at Draco. “Oh, Draco, what have you done?” He whispered.

“Testing,” Draco answered simply, removing his hand from Ron’s chest, running his bloodied fingers over Ron’s thigh.

He moved his hand out of the way and tightened his grip on his wand, carefully lining the blade up with one of the small bite marks on Ron’s leg.

“No,” Ron begged desperately, “no, Draco, don’t. You have to stop; we need to get you help.”

Draco ignored him, slowly sinking the blade into Ron’s leg. The instant the blade broke the skin, Ron struggled to pull away, hardly caring if he accidently forced the blade in deeper. It didn’t matter if he could just get away from it.

“I said not to move,” Draco growled, gripping Ron’s thigh with his free hand. He was drawing unnatural strength from adrenaline, and at the moment, Ron simply couldn’t break free.

Ron ignored him, fighting to get away. “Draco let go, please let go,” he moaned, sickened by the feeling of blood drizzling down his thigh.

Much to his surprise, Draco released his hold on Ron’s leg. Before Ron could even back away, however, Draco had moved up his body, grabbing Ron’s shirt forcefully.

“Listen to me,” Draco said lowly, pointing his sharp wand dangerously close to Ron’s face. Ron froze, trembling, staring fearfully between Draco and the wand. “Here we are again. I’m trying to do something nice for you, and what are you doing? I am sick –fucking sick- of you bitching and complaining every – single – fucking - time. Stop, why can’t you just stop!?” By the time he finished, he was very nearly screaming.

“Oh my God, Draco,” Ron whimpered. He didn’t know what to do; he was scared, so scared, but there was no clear way out.

As far as he could tell, he only had two options: endure everything Draco had to offer and hope for the best, or do everything he could to escape and risk angering Draco even more and possibly losing him forever. The choice was clear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I understand, I was wrong, I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Draco drawled, sliding back down Ron’s body. “Now stay still.”

He repositioned the blade again and scraped it roughly across Ron’s thigh, starting to connect the bites in an obscure pattern. He was fascinated by the way the skin parted so effortlessly, allowing blood to spill free in crimson rivulets, coating everything in its path. Ron gasped and moaned in pain, forcing himself not to move.

His heart was pounding; fear and pain completely overwhelming him. His breaths were quick and shallow, and he tried to slow down so he wouldn’t hyperventilate. This couldn’t be happening; it just couldn’t be happening.

Draco pulled his wand away, admiring his work. Blood coated Ron’s entire inner thigh, obscuring the jagged, uneven lines.

Ron took a deep, sobbing breath, lightly grasping his thigh. Draco gently touched Ron’s hand, guiding it to his the inside of his bloodied leg.

“Touch it, Ron, feel it,” he whispered.

Ron’s hand sat limply against the cuts, refusing to move. He didn’t want to feel the extent of the damage. Draco didn’t seem to notice. He buried his face in Ron’s thigh, running his tongue in the deep, bleeding slits, loving the taste of Ron’s blood as it exploded in his mouth.

He brought up his bloodied arm, rubbing it against the deep red of Ron’s thigh, allowing their cuts to rub against each other; sharing blood and pain.

They moaned in unison; Draco in pleasure, Ron in agony. Draco continued to lick and bite, filled with ultimate bliss. Ron’s pained cries just added to his experience. An idea struck him suddenly, and he sucked Ron’s blood into his mouth and held it there, travelling back up Ron’s body.

He gently coaxed Ron’s mouth open with his fingertips, leaving streaks of blood on Ron’s lips and jaw.

His mouth descended onto Ron’s, opening and forcing Ron’s blood into his mouth. Ron choked and sputtered and writhed, desperately trying to get away from the sickeningly bitter tang of his own blood.

Draco caressed the inside of Ron’s mouth with his tongue, painting blood on every possible surface. Ron tried to break his mouth away from Draco’s, but Draco’s hands flew to his face, holding Ron still. Just as Ron had decided to bite down and force Draco to back off, Draco made a small, contented noise in Ron’s mouth and pulled back. Ron immediately began to spit out as much of the blood as he could, but nothing could make the horrific taste go away.

Draco gazed down at Ron fondly, but the blood stains on his face took away from any comfort that look would have normally provided. Ron didn’t know what to do. He was trembling with pain, fear, and revulsion; fighting the urge to faint, be sick, or both.

“Don’t like it?” Draco asked neutrally.

Ron swallowed heavily, fighting his gag reflex. He shook his head, not trusting himself to open his mouth.

“Shame,” Draco said indifferently, studying his own bloodied arm. He rubbed his hand fervently over the clotting cuts, getting the blood to flow again.

“Don’t,” Ron whispered wretchedly, “God, Draco, stop hurting yourself.”

Draco thoroughly coated two of his fingers in his blood, and then pressed them against Ron’s lips. “Try mine,”

Ron stared into Draco’s eyes warily and, realising he had no other option, reluctantly sucked Draco’s fingers into his mouth. Draco moaned and let his eyes drift closed. Ron held Draco’s fingers in his mouth for a moment, then hesitantly ran his tongue over them. He couldn’t afford to upset Draco anymore, he really couldn’t. He slowly wrapped his tongue around Draco’s fingers and slipped it between them, attempting to remove every last trace of blood.

Maybe it was the familiar taste of Draco’s skin beneath the blood that made it more enjoyable this time. For a brief moment, Ron understood perfectly. The need to be so close to someone else’s blood; to have it on him and inside of him; it was... it was...

Disgusting.

Ron pulled back, attempting to force Draco’s fingers out of his mouth. What had he been thinking? It wasn’t enjoyable, it couldn’t be. It was vile; plain and simple.

Draco pressed his fingers forward insistently. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

He couldn’t get enough of it. The feel of Ron’s soft tongue caressing his fingers, tasting his blood – it was incredible. It just couldn’t end, not yet.

Ron allowed Draco’s fingers to slip back into his mouth, studying Draco’s face. Draco was actually enjoying this; really, really enjoying it. So didn’t that mean that Ron should, too? He loved making Draco feel good, and if this is what it took, was it really worth it?

Absolutely.

He gently sucked on Draco’s fingers, keeping his eyes trained on Draco’s face. It was easier that way; to see how much Draco loved it made Ron want to keep going.

Draco shifted his hips forward, grinding his body against Ron’s. Ron groaned and increased the suction on Draco’s fingers, lightly running his teeth over them and swallowing them down as far as he could.

Draco twisted and groaned above him, his set rhythm becoming frantic and uneven. Ron readjusted his hips, meeting Draco thrust for feverish thrust. Nothing mattered to him anymore; all that existed were him, Draco, and this moment. And he loved Draco, so why shouldn’t he love his blood as well?

Draco slipped his fingers out of Ron’s mouth, replacing them with his bloody forearm. Ron eagerly latched onto it, hardly even realising what he was doing. The overpowering taste of fresh blood spilling into his mouth made him hesitate for the briefest of moments, then he allowed himself to forget. He scraped his teeth against the cuts, revelling in the guttural sound of pleasure Draco made.

They were both still half-clothed, but neither of them cared. This was a bonding deeper and more intimate than sex. Their bodies were grinding together, the pleasurable friction keeping them both wild with need. Ron was drinking Draco’s blood and loving it, and with every thrust, Draco’s hip rubbed against Ron’s thigh, keeping the blood flowing and the pain and pleasure alive. Ron’s every breath was a smothered, wet moan; just what Draco wanted to hear. Draco dipped his head down, kissing and biting Ron’s throat.

Ron wrapped his legs around Draco, increasing the pressure on his groin and thigh. It didn’t hurt anymore; every sensation was pure, overwhelming pleasure. The feeling of blood gushing from his leg as blood simultaneously spilled into his mouth was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced.

Draco thrust forward one last time, coming with a loud groan. Ron imagined he could feel Draco’s frantic heartbeats pulsing into his mouth; his tongue plunged forward into the deeper of the two cuts, rubbing and tasting, enjoying the small moans that escaped Draco with each caress. Draco slipped his hand between them, quickly finishing Ron off. With a muffled sound of pleasure, Ron followed Draco into ultimate bliss.