He Still Shakes
Disclaimer: Too bad, I don't own characters, just plot.
To settle some things out: Draco Malfoy refused the Dark Mark, and so Lucius took him and locked him away in a sort of dungeon place. The Death Eaters starved him, beat him, and raped him. He became so fearful of them that he learned to submit his body to them, and do anything that they want. Harry Potter took pity on Draco and tried to give him a better life.
He still shakes.
But I can understand why. When someone uses your body like that, you're going to shake.
I try my best to comfort him, make him feel as comfortable as possible, but he still shakes.
I know he trusts me with all his heart. If I leave him alone for too long, he'll start to shake even worse and his eyes will expand with fear. I guess they liked to keep him like that, always fearful but always needing.
He needs people around him, no matter how much they hurt him, just to make him feel wanted.
I guess it was fun for them. To make the famous Draco Malfoy suffer just because he had thought for himself for once.
He had refused to take that damn mark, lower him self to those standards, even though he had been trained for years to be vile and cruel.
And they gave him a punishment Draco Malfoy would never forget.
Stealing him from his warm bed at Hogwarts in the middle of the night, and taking him to one of their hideouts.
Locking him away in the dungeons, that was torture itself.
They beat him, starved him, and then raped him, making him so fearful.
Through this they trained Draco on fear, broke his mind, body, and soul, making him nothing.
You can't raise your voice, get excited over a football match, or make a loud noise when Draco's in the room.
He'll instantly drop to his knees and lower his body, submitting to you and hoping you won't beat him, or even worse, rape him.
It took two years for him to completely trust me. Two years to teach him how to live again. Two years to make him smile.
He still shakes, of course.
I can't stop that, no matter how much I try.
I run my hands through his long blonde hair. Spelled that way to make it easier to hold his head down while they used him.
Sweet kisses to his mouth and neck, whispers of 'I love you', and 'I won't ever let them hurt you', into his ear.
He smiles, something rare, and opens his mouth to say, 'I love you'. Sitting up and kissing my lips before he nestles down into the pillows, his eyes laced with the need for sleep.
His eyes finally close, the smile still on his lips.
And I cry.
Because I know the only way to save him was to slip that poison into his drink.