Draco lies on his side, listening to the sound of breathing next to him. Potter's body breathes in and out, deep, even breaths. It is perfect, really. Draco can do with it whatever he wants, meeting no defiance, fearing no consequences... just like he had fantasized for years.
The war is over, and has been for a while. The Dark Lord won. Those who had fought on the side of light, had been given the Dementor's Kiss. They are now nothing but empty, soulless shells, devoid of intellect or will. They need a bit of "training" and then, they can feed themselves and take care of their bodily functions, just mechanically, by rote memory; but other than that, they can do nothing. They do not think, they do not emote, they do not anticipate, they do not regret, and they do not remember. They are just... dolls, really. They are bags of bones.
Voldemort gave out those dolls generously. One for each of his favorite supporters. Draco was surprised when he got his wish. Pleasantly. He lifts himself on the elbow and chuckles. So many dolls, so many rewarded heroes. Bellatrix LeStrange got Ron Weasley. Lucius Malfoy got Hermione Granger. Pansy Parkinson got Neville Longbottom. And Severus Snape... Voldemort had kept Severus Snape for himself. The Dark Lord was unwilling to part with the empty shell of the man who had betrayed him, and taken him for a fool for years and years, supplying the information to the other side, and trying to save the Boy-Who-Lived.
The-Boy-Who-Lived, Draco snorts. What a joke.
Potter's body is face down. Draco lifts his hand and strikes across the buttocks. When he delivers the blow, the buttocks shudder and flinch – but nothing else happens. There is no resistance. The body does not anticipate the next blow, and therefore does not attempt to evade it. When Draco soothes and caresses the injured flesh, he can feel the muscles relax, but that is all. The flesh does not rise to meet the comforting touch, and never will. It does not know how.
Draco is tired. He just wants to get off and go to sleep. He mounts Potter's, and spreads his buttocks, exposing his opening. He casts a few lubrication spells, and without any further deliberation, thrusts into him. Potter's entire body tenses and shudders, as Draco fucks Potter's hole, quickly and ungently, and finally, orgasms inside him. When Draco pulls out, there is a small trace of blood left on his cock, and Potter's body shudders again at the parting. Draco yawns, pulls out his wand, flicks, and utters a healing spell. No point in wrecking one's toy. Especially, such a lovely toy.
Time to go to sleep, Draco decides, and stretches himself out on the bed next to Potter's body.
He used to have nightmares at first.
In those nightmares, he would see himself still lying in bed, but Potter's body would be leaning over him, emerald eyes glowing in the dark.
"Enjoying your bed of bones, Draco?" Potter would taunt. "Fucking coward. Don't even have the guts to rape a real man. Content to rape a living corpse, for as long as you live. Poor sniveling bastard. Just like your father."
Then, Draco screamed in his sleep, screamed at Potter to shut up, or else... But Potter just laughed.
"Or else what, Malfoy? You will what? You will... kill me?" Potter's face held an expression of mock terror, and Potter's laugh was almost friendly at that point. "You know, I pity you so much. More than I pity Ron, or Hermione, or Neville, or myself. At least, we are not pretending to be anything but empty shells and animated corpses."
Draco sighs deeply, and buries his face in the pillow. He started taking the dreamless sleep potion. He no longer has the nightmares, but the memory of them is still enough to unnerve him. But that will pass, in time. After all, none of the other Death Eaters had nightmares from playing with their dolls...so why should he?
Draco reaches over to Potter's body and pats Potter's back.
"Good night, Potter," Draco says with a crooked smirk. "Yes, to answer your question, I am enjoying my bed of bones. Quite a bit. And such lovely bones, too."
Then, the lights go out, and the darkness is absolute. The silence is only punctuated by the sounds of breathing. The breathing of one man is even and measured, almost mechanical. The breathing of the other, just a little more human.