Title: When Harry Met Slytherin

Rating: M

Aimed Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Starter Pairing: Blaise Zabini/Draco Malfoy

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, the wonderful J.K. Rowling does but I do own the general ideas and pairings. I don't think the darling J.K would want her precious Harry having threesomes with sneaky Slytherins.

Summary: Harry is suffering and the only people who can save him are the two people he thought hated him the most.

Word Count:

Warnings: Very strong MxMxM interactions in later chapters. MxM pairing with mild intercourse in Chap 2. Mpreg, bondage, dom/sub relationships in later chapters.

Author's Note: This is my very first story ever and some might think as a new author writing my first story that multiple chapters is a bit ambitious. But this story has been bubbling within me for some time and I was holding out in the hopes that someone else would write it but I gave up and decided to do it myself. Please give me criticism and tell me whether you enjoy it or not. Any way I can improve the future chapters would be fun for us all.

"GET IN THERE YOU STUPID FREAK!" A sharp kick to his back and he was on the floor again, crawling on all fours like an animal. But he couldn't be an animal, he was human even though, he was sure most animals wild and tamed were treated a lot better than he was. His hair was being gripped now, his head being yanked back at a painful angle. There was moisture trickling down his face and he was confused for a moment. Was it sweat? Was it tears or was it spit? Unfortunately the sardonic laughter that followed the moisture confirmed that yes, it was indeed spit. But perhaps it was a mixture of both spit and the tears he couldn't seem to keep from overflowing from his uncanny green eyes.

"Happy fucking birthday you worthless good for nothing piece of shit." Another sharp kick to the side and Harry Potter could do nothing but whimper because it was all he had the strength left to do. Yes, today was his birthday and all he got for it, in celebration for being born was yet another ass kicking from his fat shit Uncle. His relatives were generally lazy and Harry had concluded that even he was shocked that they took the time and energy that it required to beat him this badly.

He couldn't very well stay on the floor forever though. He was already sore all over. His bruises from previous beatings hadn't healed as yet and the bleeding cuts from this one didn't show any signs of easing in pain any time soon. So he reluctantly dragged himself to his feet and tended to his wounds by pressing a dirty cloth to the opened ones to stop the bleeding. He was the savior of the Wizarding World and he knew now that this-- in this dark room with a torn used mattress that smelled like pee and sweat for a bed, with no windows for a glimmer of sunshine and no one who gave a shit about him- would be where he died.

Strange, that was how he thought every year after, before and during his birthday beatings and funny enough (if you had a sick, warped sense of humor that is) he never died, he survived every birthday and the few months following to return to Hogwarts. That and become his home. That was his reprieve from his life and it shouldn't be like that for a teenager he knew. School should never be an escape. School should always be the thing you detest having to go back to. When the sun set on the final day of summer a teenager is supposed to be sad, disappointed and morose, not relieved. Never relieved and never surprised to have come out of a summer alive.

He lived through 17 summers like this and now he was standing in Professor Dumbledore's office begging him to not let him survive yet another one in the same manner. "Please Headmaster-- don't send me back there. Let me stay with Ron and Hermione at the Burrow. I don't want to go back, please!" He knew he should have felt ashamed, the way his voice broke, the way he was shaking like a leaf, no one would believe that he was the one who was responsible for the downfall of the most power dark wizard the Wizarding World had ever encountered.

Dumbledore shook his head slightly; there was no twinkle in his eyes. Strangely there had been no glimmer in his eyes for a while now. How convenient that it was only now Harry had noticed. "I'm sorry Harry but you know that isn't possible." He said with his voice full of sorrow, but he didn't look like he was sorry, hell he didn't even look like he cared. "It isn't safe for you there. The only way we can ensure your protection is if we send you to the muggle world. It is the only way that the last of the death eaters won't be able to track you down. The burrow simply doesn't have the safe guards required to keep you from danger."

The fear swiftly turned into anger. "I don't care!" Harry shouted. "Ron and Hermione can stay there, why can't I? Why do I have to go back, why are you making me go back to those monsters! You know what they do to me. I told you. Why won't you believe me? Why, why are you making me go, please-- please.." He swiped at the tears on his cheek furiously. He was becoming breathless, he knew getting worked up like this wasn't doing anything to serve his plight. His Headmaster was sitting there calmly gazing back at him with dull blue eyes. Harry turned around to Hermione and Ron who stood side by side with their head lowered slightly in silence. "Please, try to convince him that it's okay. Ron, tell him about the wards that Bill discovered. Hermione tell him about all the research you did to make sure it was safe guarded, please.. Tell him!" But they didn't respond, they simply looked up at him, their lips pinched together, shook their head simultaneously and then looked away. They had given up on him, thrown him under the proverbial bus, tossed him to the wolves, given him the shaft, passed the buck, whatever the hell you wanted to call it, at the core they weren't being his friends. They were abandoning him.

He looked between them and the silent Headmaster in awe. They didn't care, none of them did. No one cared about him anymore. Why would they? He did his duty to the Wizarding world. He killed Voldermolt, he saved them from the death eaters and now they didn't care what happened to him. Now he was nothing but a walking scar, a burden to be passed off at the first chance. He shook his head frantically, his tears refusing to stop under the betrayal. He couldn't stand here begging anymore. He wouldn't be made a fool of anymore. He turned tail and ran out of the office without care about where he was going. If he had to die this summer, he would. It wasn't like he had anything to live for anymore anyway. Before he was concerned about going back to his friends, seeing his favorite teachers, learning his favorite subjects with Ron and Hermione by his side. He had been concerned with figuring out a way to stop Voldermolt's rise. But now that all of that was over and apparently no one gave a flying fuck about him, he could die in peace. But deep down he knew there would be no peace attached to his death. Only pain.

Always pain.