A/N: Warning! This chapter contains child abuse, non-con, slavery, dark topics, and eventually minors together (DracoxHarry). But overall this is a tale of surival and triumph against all odds!


August, 1986

Six-year-old Draco Black was yanked from a deep, peaceful sleep and dragged from bed. It was dark. The woman's face so close to his, and all he could see were wide eyes.

"Come on! Hurry!" she yelled in his face.

So dark. He could hardly see as he was painfully yanked forward and toward the door. And the air was thick, making Draco cough. His heart was pounding; Miss Heather was screaming, "Hurry! Hurry! Go downstairs!" The other kids stumbled and cried as she pushed them toward the door. Draco's pajamas grew damp with sweat. It was so hot. Then he heard it. A roar. Like a dragon from a story book. Then he saw the flickering light. Yellow and hot. Fire!

Draco knew fire was bad. He grabbed Jillian's hand. She was the only one younger than him at the orphanage and she slept in the bed next to his. He pulled her downstairs, ignoring her loud, fearful screams. Bigger kids were running away. The nurses were yelling for them to get out. Draco stumbled as someone slammed into him from behind and hit his shoulder on the wall. He lost Jillian's hand and started to cry.

Then he was outside; he turned to look at the front of the orphanage. It was burning! Flames jumped and flashed from every window. There were still people inside. He could hear them scream even over the cries from all the kids around him. Sirens pierced the night. People came running from all down the street.

Draco turned as a man took his hand. He looked up, tears streaking his face, shocked and afraid.

"Come on. I'll take you somewhere safe," the man said gently. "We have to get you off the street."

Draco allowed himself to be tugged through the crowd. When they finally breached the press of bodies, the man swung Draco up on his hip. Staring over the man's shoulder, Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from the burning building. His home was burning to the ground.

He was spun around and placed inside a van. "Buckle yourself in," the man ordered gently.

Draco struggled to obey, but something didn't seem right. "But… where are we goin'?"

The man turned around with a white cloth in his hand. Draco's eyes widened as the man slapped it down over his mouth and nose. Draco struggled and kicked, but he was falling sideways and blackness crawled across his mind.


Draco woke and immediately rolled onto his side and threw up. Tears streaking his face, he looked around. He was in a very small room. He could almost touch each wall if he stood in the center and reached both ways. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling. The walls were bare; the floor was tiled. The only thing in the room with him was a big white towel that he had wrapped around him like a blanket. A grate in the middle of the floor caught his attention. His vomit was sliding toward it and dripping down.

He shuddered and crawled into the furthest corner from the only door. He wasn't stupid. He knew he was in big trouble. He knew the man who'd taken him wanted to do bad things to him. He knew it might hurt a lot. Shaking, Draco drew his legs up to his chest and curled into a tight ball. He sat there for an eternity, wrapped around his fear, when the door finally opened.

The man from before gave him a smile and crouched down. His hair was thin and oily, hanging around his face. His cheeks were wide and fleshy, his eyes seemed small, but they never blinked behind his square glasses. He was big. Tall and wide, pudgy, he filled the doorway completely. In his big hands, knuckles dusted with dark hair, he had a bowl of rice, chicken, and vegetables. He offered it to Draco.

Draco's eyes darted around, desperate for escape. His hands scrabbled at the walls as he pressed himself tight into the far corner.

"Are you hungry? I bet you are. Come here, baby. Sit in my lap and I'll let you eat."

Draco began to sob. He tried to get away, but there was no room. The man grabbed him easily, dragging him across the tile floor and into his lap. Draco sat rigidly as a large arm pinned him against the man's chest. He could feel how hot the man was. He was sweaty even through his clothes. Draco shuddered and gagged, almost throwing up again. He wanted to turn and claw the man's eyes, to bite and scream. But he knew it would only get him hurt.

A spoon rose to his lips. Draco stared at the offering with sick dread, shaking and terrified.

"You're a good boy. Yes, you are. Come on. Open up." The man smiled and rubbed his cheek against the top of Draco's head when Draco finally forced his mouth open. "Yes. That's it. Good boy."


Years seemed to pass. Draco never left the closet. He used the grate in the floor to go to the bathroom. He was filthy, itchy, and it stunk. Sometimes the man came with food. Each time he forced Draco to sit in his lap. It no longer bothered him. Draco actually looked forward to the hated man's visits. He was lonely and bored. He thought he'd go crazy if he didn't get out of here soon. He was pacing the small room, literally bouncing himself off the walls just to break the silence.

Slowly, almost before Draco realized it, the man began asking him to do other things beside sit in his lap. He would touch Draco with the excuse of washing him. He'd get him used to it and reward him food. Then he made him pose for pictures with his body in awkward and vulnerable positions. And then... Then he began to test his hole, touching it and seeing how much resistance there was against his finger. Draco screamed bloody murder whenever the man tried to push inside him. He didn't care it got him slapped or hurt. He was terrified of the man breaking him open!


December 1986


"He's beautiful. You should see this kid. His eyes… I could stare into them for hours."

Draco jerked awake, eyes crusted with sleep. The man was back.

"You sound like a woman, Howie!" a new voice barked, followed by a laugh that was harsh and deep. "All I care about is his sweet little ass! How old do you think he is?"

"Six or seven. I've had him for about two months." The doorknob turned. "You'll be careful with him? I really like this one, Sean. I'm ready to break him in, but you're so much better at not making them bleed so much."

Draco stared fearfully up at the men in his doorway. He pulled the towel closer around him.

"Come here, baby. Let my friend see you." The man reached in and grabbed his ankle.

Draco trembled, but he didn't fight as he was pulled out of the closet for the first time in eternity. He lay limp, staring up at the strange, hairy man who leered down at him. Big, rough hands lifted him and carried him over to a bed. He'd been in the closet of the hated man's bedroom all this time!

But he had no time to think about that. He was placed gently on his back. Draco's captor crawled up next to him and petted his hair. For the first time since being taken, Draco grasped at the man's promises, desperately believing that he'd be okay. He told Draco that he'd get a special treat of ice cream and candy as soon as the other man was done playing.

What followed was something not even Draco's worst nightmares could have come up with. His captor's arm threaded under his knees, keeping them up by his chest. The other arm was around under his neck, his elbow bent so his hand could stroke Draco's hair. He was pressed close to Draco's side as Sean knelt at the end of the bed in front of Draco's bottom. He felt on display and vulnerable. He felt betrayed and frightened, so small and breakable. Sean's hungry eyes filled his vision.

He screamed as a slick finger pushed into his body. Sean laughed at his tears, and Draco's captor did nothing to stop it from hurting. In fact, the man told Draco that his friend was being very careful. "Feel that, baby?" the man soothed, stroking Draco's hair off his sweaty face. "He's using a lot of lube. He'll stretch you nice and wide. I promise it'll be over soon. You're okay."

"God, he's tight. Never had such a tight ass," Sean grunted, voice breathy with excitement.

"Make sure you don't hurt him," his captor warned, holding Draco protectively.

Draco arched with a whine as a second finger slid painfully next to the first. It felt tight and hot. "Stop!" he screamed, voice high and shrill with fear. "You're killing me!"

Sean groaned. "Fuck that's hot!"

Draco thrashed his head back and forth. He felt full, like he had to poop really bad.

As time passed and Sean used his fingers, moving them and stretching Draco's muscles, Draco felt a haze saturated his mind. It felt like he'd always been on this bed, pinned and hurting and afraid. It was never ending. The constant burn made him feel sick. Just when he thought he'd survive, another finger was added and he'd start from the beginning.

Draco gasped as Sean added his white spunk to the lubrication on his butt, the man's hand pumping and pumping just like his captor always did. His lower half and his thighs were dripping wet. The sheets under him were slick. He was spread wide and he hated it. He was crying and whimpering, feverish with terror. His butt was lifted up further and his eyes bugged as he watched Sean lined his re-hardened penis at his tortured hole.

"No!" Draco screamed. "Noooo!"

"Go slow," his captor demanded, holding Draco tighter. "Don't hurt him too bad."

"Oh fuck. Oh god. This is gonna feel so good." Sean pressed forward slowly, savoring the moment.

The pressure built and built. It didn't stop coming. Draco screamed! The pain! The pain was unbearable; he was being ripped in two!

Draco body went rigid as the terror ignited into a rage. It knocked his breath right out of him. Made his vision swim red. He'd done everything his captor had asked. Why wasn't he stopping this? Draco hated him, hated him, HATED HIM!

Sean pushed in and out, slow shallow thrusts, breaking Draco more each time he thrust forward, going a little deeper.

His captor's voice droned on in his ringing ears; Sean's animalistic grunts and pants bathed Draco's agony-contorted face.

And Draco kept screaming until he thought he was dying.

Something began to boil inside of him. All the fear, all the betrayal and rage; it surged up through his stomach and tore through the agony to the source. Sean's rocking hips froze. His eyes went wide and suddenly he was frothing at the mouth. Draco's captor let out a startled yell, his arms releasing Draco as if burned.

Maddened with pain and fury, Draco kicked his legs, pushing Sean away from him and out of his body. He yelped as he was left empty and raw. His butt felt like an open wound, but he couldn't curl up and cry now. He had to get away! This was his chance!

Panting through the sickness and pain, the nearly deafening throb of his lower half, Draco crawled toward the edge of the bed. A trail of blood slithered down his thighs. Sean was thrashing, choking. His face was swollen and purple, shiny. Draco dropped to the floor. Gritting his teeth, he pushed to his feet. His insides burned and his legs collapsed underneath him. Sobbing, Draco crawled for the door.

"Oh my god! Sean! Shit!"

He forced himself to stand, to open the door. He staggered into the hallway, limping, nearly dragging his feet. There were stairs. He practically fell down them. Dazed, in agony, he stared out a window. He could see outside: the city street, passing cars, freedom! Draco let out a little cry of joy and crawled forward. He was shaking badly as he dragged himself to his feet, reaching for the doorknob.

Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and lifted into the air. Sweet, cloying cloth was pressed into his face, smothering him. He passed out.


Draco hissed in pain. He woke covered in bruises. The ground he lay on was swaying. It was dark. Squinting he could make out other shapes, could hear the soft sounds of kids crying. It was very familiar, and for a split second he thought he was back at the orphanage. Then a door opened above him and spilled light into the room. The room was large and filled with dozens of dirty kids. They stared back at him with big, scared eyes.

A man stomped down the wooden stairs and came right up to Draco. Draco screamed and kicked as he was lifted. His whole body hurt. The man didn't even flinch. He simply brought his fist up and bashed it into Draco's skull. Draco went limp, and the man carried him up the stairs, down a hall, and into a very small bedroom.

"I'm your master now, boy," the man growled in Draco's ear. He was holding Draco close to his chest, his meaty hand squeezing Draco's face painfully hard. "Bought you off some crazy fool convinced that you were poisonous or something. Least you were cheap. I'm going to need you to do a job for me. If you can't do that, you'll be worthless." The man's face loomed inches from Draco's own. "You know what happens to useless boys on my boat?"

"Stop!" Draco choked out, terrified, as his legs were prized apart. The man lifted a baseball bat, pressing the smaller end against Draco's hole. It felt way larger than a penis, and so hard and cold. Draco didn't want anything to touch him down there ever again. "No! Please! I'll be good! I'll be good!"

"Oh, you'll be good, or I'll fuck this into you until you die. Now what do you say to your generous master?"

Draco was nearly hyperventilating. The man was applying more and more pressure until that huge thing was beginning to stretch him painfully open. "Please!"

"Please what?" the man yelled, slapping him in the face.

"Please, Master!" Draco screamed out just as he began to feel blood trickle down his leg.

The bat disappeared. The man pulled him up so he was kneeling on the bed and they were eye to eye. "I'm going to punish you for being so slow to understand. I don't need a stupid boy running around. You can take an inch of this bat for five minutes or you can take a beating for an hour. Which is it, boy?"

Draco sobbed, but he knew his answer. He knew what his answer would always be if given the choice. "The beating, Master."

Master grinned at him and smoothed back his hair. "You're strong, boy. What's your name?"

"Draco," he answered, voice dull and choked with tears.

"Got a fancy name there, little slut," the man said with a laugh. "Listen to me, Draco. This can either break you or make you stronger."

The man moved Draco's body so that he was lying on his belly over his knees. The boy was naked. His pale white skin was already marked and dirty, but the man anticipated the heat and furious red color he'd create. The little slut had his eyes closed and his hands fisted in the man's pants down by his calf. He smoothed his hand over the soft skin of the boy's back and ass, his heart already picking up.

"You can take the pain inside. Let it live and breathe, and then it will be over. Or you can fight it and it will chip away at you until you're as good as dead." The man leaned down so that his mouth was tickling Draco's ear. "How can you beat me if you're dead, boy? You've got to kill me, don't you? Like all those other bastards. Survive, Draco. You survive until you figure out how to take me straight to Hell with you."

Draco screamed shamelessly as he was spanked brutally, his tender insides blazed in agony.

The man brought his hand down again and again. Alternating cheeks and occasionally dipping to the boy's balls and soft thighs. He loved the little fox-like yips and yelps. The boy's blond hair was plastered to his head with sweat, his whole body damp with it, soaked in pain.

"You're mine now, slut. Mine. I own you."


November 1987


Booming thunder encompassed the world. It rattled the walls and shook his bones. Freak darted forward where the door should be. It swung open as his slight weight pressed against it. Light flooded over him and into his sensitive eyes. Panting, he huddled in the hallway. A stick thin woman towered over him with a heavy metal ladle in her hands. She was the cause of the thunder, the god of his world.

"Get cleaned up, you worthless freak," she hissed threateningly.

Freak nodded jerkily and scurried as fast as he could to the bathroom. Three days this time. He knew because he kept count of the meals they had in the kitchen. He could hear and smell everything from the cupboard. Meal time was the worst parts of his day… when hunger burned the brightest, the smells from the kitchen torture…

They had never locked him away for that long without at least opening the door to throw him bottled water. The boy moaned in agony. His insides were on fire with need, but his mind was too numb to understand its message. Dots of light danced in his eyes so he shut them tight. He knew the way without them, anyway. Good thing because he was jumbled.

Another door banged against a wall as he stumbled through it. A cool tub pressed suddenly against his shaking hands. He flung himself forward, frantically searching for the faucet. Liquid bliss spilled over his mouth. His tongue, so swollen and dry, almost stopped it from passing into his throat.

Whimpering fills his ears. He imaged he'd turned into a puppy. What fun it'd be to have a tail! To be so small that he could hide safely away when his family was mad! But he deserved it. Didn't he?

He shook his head and went back to daydreaming.

Maybe they'd love him if he were a puppy. Puppies were so cute and lovable, after all. They'd hold him, and feed him, and take him for walks. He could sleep curled up warm at the end of the bed. Or maybe they'd let him sleep outside with the wide open yard and a sky full of stars over him.

But it wouldn't happen. Freak was a boy; a very bad, ungrateful boy. No one would ever love him.

Freak didn't realize he was crying until the heavy hand hit him hard on the back of his head. He looked up through blurry eyes to see his aunt. She was screaming at him, but he couldn't quite make out the words. It didn't matter. He knew what she was saying. She only ever hit him with her hand if he was crying. Usually, she used a ladle, a pan, anything she could grasp to hit him with.

Guilt burned him like acid. He almost threw up the water he'd drunk. He'd made her touch him. Now she'd scrub her hands red to get his filth off her. He was so bad, so filthy.

Exhaustion wrapped around him. For the first time, he wanted to sleep and never wake up. He wanted to stop moving, stop breathing, stop hurting. . . Just. Stop.

As if guessing he couldn't hear her over the pounding in his ears, Aunt grabbed him by the arm and dragged him over to his cupboard. She reached in and took out the best of his secondhand clothes. Freak went to reach for them, but she yanked them away so she could throw them hard in his face.

He picked them up and shakily began putting them on. He pressed himself firmly against the stairs for protection.

Vernon came down and they all moved into the kitchen. The huge man kissed his wife good morning and patted his son proudly on the shoulder as he took the seat next to him. Petunia smiled and placed big plates of food in front of them both. Freak didn't even look up. He knew he didn't deserve food. Instead, he curled up and tried not to listen to the happy chatter going on at the table.

Aunt Petunia scrapped what was left on their plates, which wasn't much, on the floor in front of him. "Eat quickly. And don't leave a speck on my floor!"

Shocked and happy, Freak fell on the food and ate it straight off the floor, licking it up. A puppy, he was a puppy!

"Disgusting freak," Vernon growled and stepped on his fingers.

Freak whimpered but didn't stop eating. Dudley laughed and made barking sounds. Freak pretended that Dudley was playing a game with him because they were friends. Boys were always friends with their puppies.

"Go get your bag for school, Duddykins, and wash your face, love."

Freak looked up to see her lovingly smooth Dudley's blond hair and kiss his forehead. Dudley beamed at his mother before running out of the room. He wondered what this place called school was like. Aunt said he couldn't go because everyone would see instantly what a freak he was. It sounded like a nice place, though; a place where you colored and played games outside and counted a lot. He loved to count. Sometimes he'd count for days. Sometimes when he counted, everything was quiet in his head, nothing hurt, he wasn't even hungry.

"Wash the floor, freak," Aunt growled, pulling him from his thoughts. "Your germs are all over it."

Freak scrambled over to the sink and reached underneath for the cleaning supplies. He quickly cleaned the spot where he had licked the floor. Dudley had returned by the time he was done, and he scrambled back to his cupboard only to be drawn-up short by a meaty fist.

"Not today, boy. You're coming with me." Uncle lifted him to his feet and pulled him to the front door by his arm.

Freak was excited. He'd never been allowed outside before! That changed when he was taken to the back end of the car. The trunk lid was lifted and he stared in terror at the small hole. Uncle grabbed him by the neck of his shirt when he whined and tried to pull away. He lifted Freak completely off the ground, choking him.

"Keep your mouth shut, boy. You're a worthless piece of shit, you filthy freak. No one wants to hear from you."

Freak locked his jaw, keeping his cries silent as he was flung down into the trunk and the lid was closed. It seemed to go on for hours. The car was getting hot and the air tasted funny. Freak curled in a ball, crying silently. After a long time, he realized that he had to pee and he bit his lip. He knew if he peed himself in the car he'd get a beating for certain.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop. His uncle came around and opened the lid. Freak was dragged out by his arm. It hurt, but he was just so glad to be free. Freak looked around for a bathroom, but they were in a big parking lot.

"You'd better be good, freak, or you'll regret it."

Freak nodded vigorously and followed his uncle toward another car. Men climbed out when Uncle approached. They talked. Something about no one knowing about Freak. Uncle got a big, thick wallet and quickly turned back to his car. Freak tried to follow, but a strong arm wrapped around his middle and lifted him up. He grabbed onto the man so he wouldn't fall.

"You're coming with us, kid," the man said gruffly.

"S-sir…" he stuttered as that arm pressed on his bladder. He was ignored and warm tears spilled down his cheek as he peed himself.

"What the fuck!" The man dropped him, face red with rage.

Freak's whole body was jarred as he hit the hard concrete. A kick slammed into his chest. Pain exploded as all the air was knocked out of his lungs, his body flying several feet. The shame and self-disgust that burned his insides hurt almost as much as the kick. As he lay, unable to breathe, he realized his uncle had finally gotten rid of him.

His last thought was that he deserved it.

Blackness pulled him under.


Thirty hours later

Cold November air seeped through the small holes on the top of his crate as Freak pressed himself against them. He'd woken up hours ago. Two hellish hours he'd huddled in the crate, knowing he couldn't hope for better. Not even his family wanted him. Just thinking of them made him sick and afraid. Bruises bloomed on his shoulders and back from the jostling he had received during the flight. It had been so terrifying - the noise, the pressure - that he'd vomited bile. The smell clung to him and made his eyes sting. His legs burned from where he peed himself, a rash forming.

Just when he thought for sure he'd break and begin to cry, noises sounded throughout the large, cold place. Light broke the heavy darkness and he curled tighter to wait. Eventually people came and grabbed his crate. It tipped and slammed forward as he was dropped. Unprepared, his head cracked against the side of the kennel.


"Dog must've gotten sick."

"I don't know why these rich bastards have to tote their animals with them wherever they go."

"Think of the animal. Poor things."

"Poor things, my ass. They're probably eating caviar off their master's plates at night."

They laughed.

Freak wasn't tempted to cry out. He knew better. No one wanted to hear from freaks. Even if they saw him, they wouldn't help. Bad boys deserved punishment. Head spinning, sick and exhausted from fear, he tumbled into darkness.


the Hold

Locked in the empty bottom of a boat, damp wood creaked and swayed encircling the kids trapped inside. The only source of light came from four dim electric lamps. The only noise was the sound of the choppy waves surrounding them and the bleak sobs of children. They were in the Hold, or as Draco liked to call it, Hell. Nearly a dozen naked children huddled under blankets. Some were crying; others stared despondently. Soon they'd be sold on the black-market to clubs and rich men, to seedy doctors for their organs and blood. The lucky ones would be illegally adopted.

Draco shifted uncomfortably. His back ached horribly with even the slightest movement, but he'd have to get up soon. It was almost feeding time and it was his job to tend to the goods.

He was used to children coming and going. None stayed long. This was just a holding place before the goods were sent elsewhere. He had enough going on just trying to keep himself out from under the Master's sadistic punishments, so it sucked that he had to share his corner with the new brat. Especially since the kid was so young; the young ones like this were so whiny!

Fortunately, he only rarely had to deal with very little kids. Too young and they were only good for one or two weeks, the abuse eventually killing them. Draco had been taken when he was as little as this boy, but his secret power had kept him alive. The top of the boy's head would probably only come up to Draco's chin. In fact, they were the two smallest in the Hold. Most of the others down here were older then Draco, between the ages of ten and fourteen.

The little boy at his side stirred. The messy head of dark hair lifted, revealing a gaunt, frightened face. Draco saw that expression every day, and he scowled in annoyance that he'd have to deal with a weepy kid when all he wanted was some time to rest.

"Bout time ya got up."

The boy blinked large eyes, obviously not tracking things well.

Draco eyed the skeletal chest littered in old and new bruises. Unknowingly, his face softened. "I'm Draco. I saved you food." He freed his arms from under his thin blanket and handed over a bit of bread and cheese.

Two huge eyes stared up at him in shocked wonder, as if Draco were the most amazing person in the world. Surprised at the unusual reaction, Draco shifted uncomfortably and shoved the food closer. The boy reached for it and froze as he caught sight of the thin red welts and cuts striping Draco's arm like a candy cane from wrist to shoulder.

"You're hurt," the boy rasped.

Draco gave the boy his most disgusted sneer. "Shit, you think? Jus' eat."

The boy ducked his head, distressed, but he said no more and obediently picked up the food. However, the deep dark eyes never left the injured arm.

Draco watched as the boy chewed slowly. The kid was crying, his tears wetting the hard bread. Feeling a pang of pity for the obvious pain caused by the simple act of eating, Draco figured maybe he could talk to the brat some, keep him distracted and quiet.

"People wanna adopt kids, you know? But gettin kids is hard. Takes lots of time and money, so they pay for kids from the black-market. It's like a secret store. You're here 'cause someone wan'ed a kid like you, probably it was the green eyes, and the sellers found you. This is the place the kids who're for sale are held, but you won't be 'ere long. Your new mom and dad will pick you up soon."

"I never had a mummy and daddy 'afore," the boy mumbled, still nibbling at the bread. "Are you going to be 'dopted, too?"

Draco lifted an eyebrow at the kids weird accent. "Nah," he answered, voice brittle as he considered his own situation. "Most here don' go to adoption. People need toys ta play with. I was a toy but no good at it. Woulda killed me 'sept the Master thought I could be useful. Most of these others will be toys, too."

"How can you be a toy?" the boy whispered, hunching away as if afraid to be struck for the question.

Draco shrugged, tense. "It ain't a good thing, so be glad you're goin' to a mommy." He felt a flare of jealousy at that reminder and glared hotly.

The boy whimpered, flinching.

Draco nodded, satisfied that his feelings were understood, and turned his back. He was done talking to the kid. He closed his eyes, cheek against his knees, trying to rest. His greasy, shoulder-length hair fell into his face, further shielding him. However, before he got too far into his quiet place, the Hold door banged open. The children jumped. Some began crying loudly in fear. Draco tensed. Whenever he had to bring up kids to show for a potential buyer or for photos, the Master liked to play with him a bit and he'd hardly recovered from the last games. Stupid kid bothering him and taking up all his rest time.

"Draco! Bring up the Angels."

He obediently stood and stepped forward, the blanket falling away from his naked, scarred body. He gestured to the group of blonde kids. Most stood obediently, too scared to do anything else. The two that refused to move, he took by the hand. The rest followed him like ducklings as he led them over to the stairs. They began the long climb toward the massive body blocking the bright light from the other side.

This doesn't matter. I can't change anything. I just have to survive, he told himself sharply. I have to survive so I can kill the bastard and escape.

By the time he reached the top and stepped within reach of his Master, the fear and anger slowly disappeared. So did everything else. He was empty. Nothing could hurt him anymore.

A large hand, almost as big as his head, reached for him. The thick fingers wrapped around his neck and squeezed cruelly. Blood and oxygen were immediately denied him, and Draco swayed, knowing he'd black out in seconds if he wasn't released. He prayed that Master would hold on. He didn't want to be awake for this.


Three hours later Draco led the children back down into the dark, damp of the Hold. He stood stiffly, holding his body rigid in the hopes that if he didn't move the pain would lessen. The children were crying softly, clinging to each other. Two were missing. Draco put them back in their corner and whispered that they needed to be quiet. Task done, Draco returned to his corner. He hesitated when he saw the small body curled up there. He'd forgotten about the boy.

His best bet would be to ignore the pest. Draco slowly crouched and dropped carefully into a sitting position. His breath hissed out as dots danced before his eyes. Thin strips of skin an inch wide were peeled from his chest, leaving bare, oozing muscle. His throat burned from all the screams his Master had torn from him. He'd been pissed about something that was for sure.

As soon as the boy saw the wounds, his little face twisted with horror. Draco would have snapped at him, but he was ignoring the kid. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to mentally map out the groups of kids he was supposed to take care of. He often did this just to get away from the pain for a while and to be sure he didn't forget anything. He didn't want to give his Master any more excuses to hurt him.

The first group was called the Angels – unused, blond children. The second group was called Brats. These were the unused dark-haired children. The Darks were the third group. They were the unused children who weren't white. Newbie's were any kids, no matter their coloring, who were older than ten and had no experience. The last and smallest group was called Pets. They were the children how had been trained as toys or slaves. Draco was a Pet, he felt his teeth pull back as he thought about his training. He was the youngest of that group and in fact before the knew kid arrived he'd been the youngest in the Hold overall, and it was Draco's job to keep all these kids in line down in the Hold.

There was never more than thirty kids and never fewer than ten. Often being the smallest and youngest, Draco had to get creative in order to control them. A single tray of food was delivered twice a day; one at dawn, the second at dusk. It always had a good amount on it, and Draco rotated who got that tray. Sometimes if a child was being especially difficult, he'd withhold food from the whole group. The rest of the hungry children would then gang up on the trouble maker and Draco's problem would be solved.

Draco may be small, but he was mean. He knew a lot about pain from the master. In fact, he was probably an expert. And he didn't care one bit about these stupid kids. He had no problem dishing it out instead of taking it. Using the food as leverage was one of his better ideas. Ever since he hardly ever had to resort to violence. He still remembered what he'd been willing to do for food when he'd first been taken. And he didn't want to have to fight with the bigger, older kids, especially since he was hurt all the time, but he would if he had to. Thankfully, most of the new kids were scared and weren't up to challenging him. They'd be gone soon anyway.

His thoughts were broken when he felt something damp touch one of the cuts on his stomach. He flinched, his eyes flying open as terror sent his heart rocketing. Sweat rolled down his face and chest. The salt stung, adding to his misery. Draco quickly registered what had touched him. It wasn't his Master. It was that annoying little boy again. He was kneeling in front of Draco, a dirty blanket in his hand.

Draco hissed and shoved him hard. He'd learned that it was better to let his wounds heal without aid than to clean them up with anything down here. His last bout with fever had been a nightmare that he never wanted to experience again.

"Sorry. Just wan'ed to help." The boy ducked his head. Dark messy hair spilled forward and hid his vulnerable expression. "Didn't it feel better?"

Draco was about to snap that of course it hadn't when he paused. Now that he was thinking about it, his stomach did hurt less. He looked down and his eyes widened. The oozing muscle the boy had been tending had stopped bleeding and had scabbed over. Even better, it was now pleasantly numb.

"It does," he whispered, awed.

"I can do the rest. Please?"

Draco was too shocked to say anything.

The boy took that as permission. He grabbed the blanket and dipped it in his cup of water again. Delicately, with all the care in the world, the boy began to wipe at the injuries once more. Draco sat still under the gentle touch. He felt tears burn his eyes as the constant pain he lived with began to diminish. The cooling sensation spread. It felt like heaven.

The boy stopped, misunderstanding his tears. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you."

"No." Draco quickly brushed away his tears. "It jus' don't hurt no more."

The little boy smiled a blindingly bright smile; one so pure that Draco felt it on his skin, like how he remembered warm sunlight. He let the kid continue to heal his many wounds, just soaking in the sensation of being cared for. He stared down at the boy's head and felt a strange tight sensation in his chest. This boy. . . this boy was special.

He noticed instantly when the hand granting him such rare relief wavered. The kid was paler than ever before. His eyes were half closed with exhaustion and his whole body shook slightly. The blanket fell from the trembling hand, and the boy was about to topple over when Draco grabbed him.

"Sorry," the child whispered. "Wan'ed to finish."

"You did," Draco lied easily, shocked a second time when he realized the boy had hurt himself. For Draco. Even though Draco had been mean to him. "I feel all better now."

"Tired," the kid confessed.

Draco did something he had never done before. He pulled the boy close, up against his battered body, and held him. The boy gasped, as if surprised. Barely conscious, he stared at Draco like Draco were the miracle. It was as if the boy had never been held before. Something almost like steel snapped closed around Draco's heart at the thought.

"Sleep," he whispered softly, stroking the wild dark hair ever so softly. "I'll take care of you."

The boy gasped, little hands clutching at Draco desperately. Soft sobs shook through the tiny shoulders for several minutes before the kid finally succumbed to sleep.

Draco lay on his healed side, staring at the sleeping boy wrapped in his arms. The boy was magic. He was a light in the dark, and Draco wasn't going to let him go. "I'll take care of you," he repeated.


Freak woke up feeling warm. He opened his eyes to see the blond boy from the day before sitting next to him, wrapped in a tattered brown blanket. The Hold was dark like before. Just four hanging lights that weren't very bright. There were lots of shadows. The kids on the other side of the room were quiet now. Most were curled up and sleeping.

He turned his attention back to the hurt boy. The boy was sitting right next to him. He had a blanket wrapped around him so only his head could be seen. His stringy, blond hair was tucked behind his ears and just brushed his shoulders. He was staring at the curved wall, his grey eyes not blinking or moving. It was as if the other boy was turned off. He'd done it the day before, too, and Freak had tried to clean the nasty cuts while the boy wasn't paying attention.

Freak felt his face grow hot. He had no idea where the courage had come from, to pick up that blanket and touch the other boy. He had just wanted to help so badly! The boy had looked him in the eye and talked to him. He'd even given Freak food! And then. . . then the boy had held him. He'd stroked Freak's hair!

Freak began to tremble just remembering it. The motion must have caught the boy's attention, for he turned to look at Freak, eyes now bright and alert. The boy smiled at him. Smiled! And he reached out to push some food closer to Freak.

"I saved this for ya."

Freak shook his head wildly. "I'm okay! Y-you should eat it."

Those grey eyes became sharp and hard. "Eat."

Freak scrambled to obey, and in only a few minutes, the bread, apple, and jerky were gone and he was finishing off a bottle of water. He looked up uncertainly at the other boy, but the boy's eyes were normal again. He wasn't angry. The boy had tucked himself back up in his blanket and sat watching him.

"My name's Draco. What's yours anyway?"

At the question, Freak broke out into a cold sweat of terror. His pulled his stick-thin legs and arms close to his body and stared with wide eyes. What if Draco got mad when he found out Freak was a freak? What if Draco hurt him for not telling him sooner? Freak hadn't known what being held felt like. Now he wanted more, but if he told then that would go away. But if he didn't, then Draco would be mad that he was keeping secrets. He was a horrible, disgusting freak for even thinking about keeping it secret!

Heart pounding, scared and hating himself, Freak ducked his head and played with the frayed hem of the blanket pooled in his lap. He bit his lip until he could feel the blood roll down his chin. A pale hand reached out and touched his face. Freak gasped and snapped his eyes up, shocked to see his own blood on Draco's skin.

"Oh!" he cried and dove for the water. He desperately spilled some on the blanket and scrambled forward to wipe Draco's fingertips clean. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Fat tears spilled down his face. "I'm sorry."

Draco's other hand reached out and touched Freak's face again. Freak could only stare in horrified awe as Draco put the blood-smeared fingers in his mouth. In his mouth! Those grey eyes stared at him. "You shouldn't be sorry. I'll let ya know when you should be sorry, okay?"

Freak nodded dumbly. He had no idea what to think. Draco was so strange!

"What's your name?" Draco asked again. He held Freak's eyes, refusing to allow Freak to look away.

"I'm . . ." He was crying now, but he was helpless to disobey. "Freak . . . I'm Freak."

He could hardly hear over his banging heart. He was ready for Draco to narrow his eyes, to hate him. He was ready for the slap or to be banished to one of the other groups of children away from Draco. He waited for what felt like eternity, but Draco only looked back at him. The other boy sat so still, and then the black in Draco's eyes, already big in the low light, grew until there was only a small line of silver left. Freak felt like he was falling into them as Draco stared and stared.

"Not Freak. . ." Draco said slowly in a lower voice. "Harry. . . You're Harry. . . born as the seventh month dies. . ."

Freak whimpered. "Draco?"

The other boy blinked and his eyes went back to normal. He shook his head, his stringy blond hair falling around his face. "Look." He pulled Freak up against his body again. "Just. . . Don't call yourself Freak, kay? That's not your name. It's Harry."

He stared up at Draco. He had no idea what to think. So much was happening. He couldn't understand. All he knew was that Draco was looking at him. Draco was petting his hair again and holding him. He would do anything for Draco.

Softly, almost as if Draco were whispering, he said, "Kay? Can ya be Harry for me?"

Freak – Harry – nodded his head even though he had no idea how to be what Draco wanted.

Draco smiled and it made Harry feel warm. No one ever smiled at him before. "Good. Sleep, Harry. I've got ya."

Harry closed his eyes and obeyed.


Draco held the boy as he slept. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off the kid. This kid. . . This kid had been so hungry it had hurt to eat. He'd acted like he'd never been touched without being hurt when Draco had held him. He'd thought his name was Freak! Draco lived in Hell, but at least he had a name. He had plans to escape; he had plans for Revenge. And he had these because he'd had the orphanage before he was kidnapped.

Draco didn't let himself remember often, but he did remember. The nice ladies. The games and playing outside. The warm food and baths. He remembered laughing and running. He remembered songs and sweets. Holidays. Wishes and presents. Draco didn't think this boy ever had any of that.

Rage stirred hot in his stomach and he held the boy tighter. He'd seen. . . something dark. Something evil. He had stared into the boy's green eyes, the boy's blood on his tongue warm and tingling, and knew that something was hunting this poor kid. Something would come for him, something unspeakable, and the boy wouldn't survive it. It would destroy him. Draco had also seen the boy's name. He had no idea how it was possible, but the name had been written across Draco's mind in golden letters: Harry Potter. It had been amazing and terrifying all at once.

Draco shook himself. Whatever had happened when he'd swallowed the boy's blood, he knew it had happened because Harry was special. The wrong kind of special. The special that drew monsters, that made you a target. He stared down at the kid's sleeping face, turning the problem over and over, round and round. He must have sat like that for hours because suddenly the Hold door slammed open.

The kids nearest the rickety wooden stairs jumped and gave startled screams. Draco was already on his feet, hands fisted at his thighs. Harry was awake, huddled on the floor behind Draco like a helpless puppy. The lackey standing in the doorway laughed at them from the top of the stairs. He had the food tray in his arms.

"Grub's on!" the bastard called down.

Draco silently climbed the stairs, automatically compensating for the sway of the boat. He ignored the way the man's eyes roved over his naked body. He knew no one would touch him. He was for the Master's use only. Without a word, he took the tray and turned away, carrying his prize down to the kids.

He took it to his corner first, just as he always did. He put two bottles of water, two apples, two rolls, and two bags of jerky down before taking the tray to the Brats. It was their turn. The kids all watched him with hungry, frightened eyes. They didn't say anything as Draco put the tray in front of the dark-haired kids, but the Brats scrambled forward around the tray as soon as he put it down. It had been four trays, which meant two days, since they had eaten. Draco gave them a sneer and went back to his place with Harry.

The boy hadn't moved. He just watched Draco with those green eyes of his. Draco snorted and sat down. He gave the boy one of everything and took the other half. He bit into the apple and raised an eyebrow. The kid still hadn't made a move to eat the food.

"Eat," Draco ordered after swallowing.

Harry looked so lost and confused it was almost painful, but he picked up the bread and began to eat.

"Ya know Cinderella?" Draco asked. Just as he suspected the boy shook his head. Of course he hadn't. "Well, there was this girl an' she. . ."

Draco told the tale of Cinderella. It took hours, but it was worth it. Harry stared at him as if Draco was the most wonderful thing in the world. It made Draco's chest swell with air that almost tickled. For the first time in forever, Draco was happy. But he wasn't used to talking so much. Screaming, yes. Talking, no.

"Your turn," he demanded and waved at Harry to tell a story.

The boy instantly looked frightened. "I don't know any stories," he whispered miserably, as if confessing some great sin.

Draco shrugged. He turned the boy so Harry was sitting in his lap, back to his chest. He wrapped the blanket around them both and leaned against the damp wooden wall of the boat. "Just make somethin' up til we fall asleep."

For a long minute, Harry sat silently in his arms, but then he began to talk. "There was a boy. He was a Prince. He, um, he had snow white hair and grey eyes."

Draco smirked and held the boy tighter. "I like this story."

Harry tilted his head back to smile up at him before snuggling back down into Draco's body. "The Prince. He was in a big castle. He lived there. It was so big and white. There were big rooms that had gold floors and gold ceilings. And there were tables and tables of food. Big roasts and potatoes and everything. There were even pies and cakes! Chocolate and lemon. And he would go outside and ride horses. They were white like his hair. They would run and run. The wind would blow in his face. It was like he was flying. . ."

Draco held the boy tight and let himself fall away into the painfully beautiful story where Draco was a prince.


The door to the Hold opened and Draco tensed in wretched anticipation. It had been a few days since the Master had made him bring kids up. He knew it would happen soon. The food tray was placed on the top step and the door shut again. Draco relaxed and looked over at Harry with a smile.

"Wanna help?"

The boy flashed a wide smile. "Can I really?" he asked. He was always so eager to be helpful.

"Don't talk to them. Jus' follow me."

"Yes, Draco."

Satisfied, feeling strong and invincible under the little boy's trusting gaze, he stood, naked and dirty, and made his way up the stairs for the tray at the top. He brought it down and put it in Harry's arms. The little boy was stick-thin, and he almost couldn't manage the wide tray, but the kid was stubborn. He had Harry put their portion over in their corner and bring it back. It was the Angel's turn for the tray.

"I want my mommy," a girl sobbed weakly. She'd been brought in the same day as Harry and was still weepy over her capture. She was a year or two older than Draco, maybe nine.

Draco gestured for his charge to put the tray down on the floor before the small group of kids. "Eat quick," he ordered them, unmoved by the emotional plea.

The blondes scrambled for the bottles of water, bread, cheese, beef jerky, and apples. The newest girl didn't move. She just sat there and continued to cry.

"Don't cry," he snapped harshly. "No one's gonna help you here. Eat. You won't get more for a long time."

Harry smiled at the girl and picked up a piece of bread. Draco knew this would end badly, but he let the kid continue so that Draco could prove a point. Seeing that she was getting attention, her cries grew louder. She made no move to take the offering. His charge tried again. Again, she began to cry louder, and now other kids from the other groups were crying, too. The sound began to rise and Draco quickly intervened.

He slapped Harry's hand with a glare, making him drop the bread. "Leave her alone. If she wants to eat, she'll get it herself!" He said this last with a fierce look at the girl who had started it all before looking back at Harry.

The boy looked devastated. "Sorry," Harry whispered and backed away until he was practically behind Draco.

The other children, those who'd been there longer, eyed the food. When the crying girl made no move to grab her share, little hands snaked out and stole it from her. Draco let them. He picked up the empty tray and carried it to the top of the stairs before coming back down.

He glared at any of the crying children and made sure none of them were outside the designated areas he'd created before making his way to his private corner. His charge sat with his knees pulled to his chest. His eyes were wet as he stared up at him. Draco sighed and settled next to him, pulling both their blankets around their shoulders to keep out the damp cold.

"You don't help 'em by being nice," he explained softly.

"I'm sorry," the boy answered miserably. "Don't be mad at me."

He reached over and grabbed the little boy's jaw with firm fingers, forcing the green eyes to meet his own. "Did I say I was mad?"

"No," the boy said softly, eyes bright with the hope of forgiveness.

Draco nodded and let him go. "Look, the people here aren't gonna be nice to 'em. They need to understand that quick. Get it?"

Harry stared at him as if he had all the answers. It made Draco feel good. "I won't do it again."

Draco shrugged. "You don't have to be mean like me. It's not your job to take care of 'em. It's mine. Jus' ignore them."

"Okay," the boy whispered even softer.

Draco gently wrapped his arms around the little boy. "Don't worry. I'll take care of ya."

The boy tilted his head back to look up at Draco and his eyes shimmered with something that made Draco hold his breath. "Love you, Draco," the boy whispered softly.

Draco looked away, holding to Harry tightly. Tears burned his eyes. No one had loved him in a very long time. Draco almost didn't remember what it felt like. It burned his chest and made his skin tingle. They sat quietly together as Draco stroked his charge's soft hair, absorbing the boy's unconditional warmth and trust. It was the most wonderful thing he'd ever experienced in his hard life.

The Hold door opened and the Master stood framed, his long shadow falling on the frightened children. "Draco, bring the boy."

Draco felt his stomach drop. Harry's adoptive parents were ready and he still didn't have a plan. He didn't really want to keep Harry in the Hold, but who was going to look out for the kid? Harry stood out in the darkness. Monsters would always target him. And what about what Draco had seen? Something bad was waiting for Harry. Who would protect Harry from that? Draco felt sick, but he knew better than to let any of it show. He'd long ago learned to mask what he felt. So with only a slight tremble in his hands, he grabbed Harry and towed him toward the stairs.

Both naked, they climbed the stairs and walked behind the Master down a narrow hallway. The ship swayed underneath their feet. The Master opened the last door by another set of stairs. The room was brightly lit with a huge window open to allow light and air in. A man and a woman were waiting there, and one gestured Harry further into the room. However, they weren't adoptive parents. Draco knew them very well. They helped the Master with cataloguing.

Numbly, Draco towed the boy over to the bucket. If those two were here, then something had gone very, very wrong. Draco desperately avoided making eye contact with his charge as he carefully washed all the dirt and grime from the soft skin. When that was done, he backed away. His charge was taken out of reach and told to stand on the table.

"Aren't you a pretty thing…" the man remarked absently as he worked his camera, taking pictures of the naked boy.

Harry was pretty, Draco supposed. He had thick dark hair that stuck up messily. Dark eyebrows and equally dark lashes that framed large, crystal green eyes. He had light skin a few shades darker than Draco's white, and he had no freckles. Harry blushed easily, as he was doing now. His mouth was small, but he had full lips. The only thing wrong with the kid was the way his bones stood out. Harry was like those running dogs, all knees, ribs, and elbows, and some sickos liked that starved look.

A knot of pure dread sharply twisted Draco's insides.

"You're a cutie," the woman cooed. Her hand slapped the little boy hard on the butt twice, making him whimper and look to Draco for reassurance. "There. Put more color on you."

Draco had none to give. He wanted so badly to cover the boy, keep him safe, but he was too scared to move. The Master was right behind him, making suggestions so they could get a good picture for the catalogue. What had happened? Harry was meant to be adopted. Why was he going into the catalogues for people who were looking to buy toys?

I haveta be strong, he mentally chanted his mantra, his whole body trembling with the repressed urge to rescue his boy. This was the kid who'd taken away his pain, the only one to ever love him. He belonged to Draco now.

"Smile, kid."

The green-eyed boy looked carefully into the round glass end and smiled his biggest smile.

Draco felt gutted. He'd never seen such a beautiful smile and it would be smashed by these bastards.

"Draco." The Master placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Come with me."

Draco quickly masked his expression. The Master couldn't become suspicious. It would be the worst thing that could happen. So he bowed his head and nodded.

"Draco?" Harry cried out fearfully.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do – and he'd had to do some very hard things – but Draco left without looking back. He felt numb, his mind retreating as he was led to his Master's bedroom. The door shut behind him. The bed loomed before him.

Harry sat huddled with his knees to his chest. His eyes were huge as he stared up at the door. Draco was not there. He'd gone with a big bearded man. He'd left Harry. Was he coming back? Was he being hurt? Harry rocked back and forth, terrified of a world without Draco in it. The other kids glared over at him hatefully and he hunched down further. Suddenly, the door opened. Harry stared in wide-eyed horror as Draco was flung down the steps.

The door slammed shut. Harry hurried over to see Draco completely limp. There was blood and dried white stuff. Worse, there was a weird, hard coating on Draco, too. Harry tried to drag him to the corner. It was hard. Draco was heavier than him. He didn't wake up at all during the whole thing. Harry's heart beat rapidly. Was Draco okay?

Desperately, Harry got Draco on his stomach on a blanket. He started to scratch and peel off the hard stuff and clean off the blood. He worked obsessively. He wanted Draco's skin clean! If Draco was clean, maybe he'd wake up. Finally all the hard red was gone, and only the blood and the white crusty stuff remained.

"Once the wax is off, you're supposed to lick the rest, might as well learn now, " a low voice said.

Harry turned to look at one of the older children. The Pet stared at Harry with dead brown eyes, and Harry flinched, looking back down at the mess on Draco's back and butt. He cringed at the idea of putting his mouth on Draco's skin. What if he made Draco dirtier? But some small part of him really wanted to be that close to Draco.

"It won't get better if you don't lick it."

There was something mean in the other kid's voice, but Draco lay completely limp. He was really hurt! If Harry could fix him, then he had to try.

Slowly, Harry went to his hands and knees over Draco's body. He stared down at the pale skin and gently bent his arms until he was right above that soft skin. His lips parted. Just as his tongue was about to touch his friend, Harry's eye slid shut. The crust and blood on Draco tasted weird, but the soft warmness of his skin made Harry tingle. His arms shook and his heart punched in his chest steadily quicker.

He ran his tongue in slow laps from the small of Draco's back up along the spine. Warm licks across Draco's shoulder blades, up the back of his neck. Inch by inch, Draco's skin was cleaned, made perfect again. Harry was panting at this point. Tears dripped slowly down his cheeks to further moisten Draco's skin.

Draco rode the waves of pain, red and white screaming through his brain. Then something cool touched him. It stroked over his skin, casting the red and white away, putting out the fires of agony. Inch by inch, he became aware of relief. Until he was staring at the wall in the Hold and knew it was his Harry who was touching him, healing him. He held his breath, desperate for Harry to keep going. It hurt so much deep inside and on his skin. He just wanted to stop hurting. Moaning, he felt tears finally spill over until he was crying softly.

Harry echoed Draco's moan. Everything disappeared except for this moment, the feel of Draco against his tongue, the sharp salty taste of the white, the almost metal flavor of blood, the Draco-ness of every swipe of clean skin. Harry's tears spilled faster, filling with love for the boy under him.

"Draco. . . Draco. . ." His boy's high, soft voice whispered against the skin of Draco's neck, his shoulders. Until the boy was gone from him. Gentle hands touched his butt and Draco opened his mouth to scream in furious reaction when that warm healing mouth lapped in fast little strokes over the bleeding bite mark the Master had left on his butt cheek. The scream became a gasp.

Draco pressed his forehead into the rough wood of the hold. His hands twisted the blanket under him. Pleasure like he'd never known rushed through him. It curled in his gut and shot up his spine into his nipples.

Harry stopped, his breathing rough and uneven, "Draco?"

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco rasped, "Don't stop."

Horrified over what he'd just asked his boy to do, Draco pushed up onto all fours to get away, but then Harry's little hands were on his hips and that mouth was back, erasing the Master's teeth from his skin. Draco arched, his head thrown back, as he gave a soft cry. Hot tingling heat sizzled through every nerve and Draco never wanted it to stop.

Harry licked and licked and watched as magic happened. Draco asked him to keep going! He wasn't mad his mouth was on him. He didn't think Harry was dirty! He wanted more! Heart singing, amazed as the blood and wounds disappeared under his tongue, Harry moved to the trail of blood coming from Draco's hole. He reached forward, sliding his hands along perfect skin, and he spread the cheeks. There it was. Bleeding a steady trickle. It was red and slightly open, hurt. Harry pressed forward and licked a long, slow stripe from the blistered privates to up past the hole.

Draco collapsed to his forearms, his ass still up and open, and gave a low ringing cry. He was panting, covered in sweat. Harry's tongue touched everywhere. It dipped inside him again and again, stroked along the rim in hot swipes. Draco's thighs trembled as he slid them wider. Harry took the invitation to press deliciously closer.

Pet watched the two boys. The little blond master was on his knees spread wide, his chest pressed to the floor, his hands in tight fists slightly over his head. His usually cold grey eyes were wide and bright, his mouth hanging open. Red flushed his cheeks as he began to glisten with sweat. His small hips were rocking back onto the face of the slightly smaller sub boy. The dark haired one was also on his knees. Naked and sweating, he was bent slightly forward, his face buried in the little master's ass. His hands visibly trembled where they clung to the Master's small, boyish hips.

Neither of them could be older than seven, the dark-haired one could be as young as six, and yet they made even Pet's blood heat with lust. Pet watched with utter hatred, but he was unable to look away from the sensual sight. He had wanted revenge. Wanted to see the little master scream at being touched like that, to see him beat the little boy, but instead they were moaning and making whimpering cries of pleasure. Pet hated them.

As the blisters disappeared, Harry drank in Draco's cries and gasps, shivered at every low moan. He focused solely on the little hole. Slithering inside, Harry's tongue licked and rubbed at every cut. He circled the opening, sucked gently. He clung to Draco's hips as the hurt boy made a keening sound that went straight through Harry. He was making Draco feel good! He wished he could go on forever, but his vision began to darken. Suddenly, he couldn't feel his hands. Just as Draco gave the loudest cry yet, Harry felt himself go limp, barely conscious.

Something powerful washed over Draco, turning his vision black. He lost all sense of time and self. He existed in a surging pool of pleasure until the throbbing slowed and he was able to think and breathe again. He was lying on his side, Harry silent and no longer touching him.

With a shaking hand, Draco reached between his legs, but he was dry and soft. Confused, he rolled onto his back and pulled Harry up to him by the hair. The boy's eyes were blown open, pupils large, but he wasn't tracking. He stared blindly with a huge smile on his face. He looked pale and thinner, if that was possible. Draco was speechless, still tingling with aftermath.

"Draco. . . love you. . ." Harry mumbled before going utterly limp, unconscious.

Draco stroked the dark hair under his chin, just basking in the feeling of being warm and safe. It felt fine now. No pain at all. He smiled sleepily. Draco had never felt so good in his life. Grinning, he held the boy close and fell asleep.

Chapter end

A/N: I'm not sure how many of you will read this author's note, however, I felt I must explain something. I received a review from someone very upset by this story. I was called sick and accused of promoting pedophilia, if I wasn't one myself. I've received flames in the past, but this one really hurt me.

I in NO WAY endorse or think it okay to hurt a child in any form. I do not think it sexy or acceptable. That being said, sexually abused children exist in the world. I personally have experienced that horror. On my journey, I have studied the psychology of perpetrators and survivors of sexual abuse and sexual slavery in an attempt to make sense of it all. And this story is my way of piecing all I've learned together to understand how such darkness can exist. Because it DEFINITELY is more complicated that a "few people are sick". There is a societal system in place that allows child abuse and rape to FLOURISH. It is not something that happens rarely. A large percent of our populace has experienced sexual assault and abuse, and human trafficking is PROSPERING today. I am exploring that through writing in an attempt to understand it.

If it wasn't clear before, what Draco and Harry suffered in this story is HORRIBLE. One of many aspects that I am pursuing is to contrast the abuse they suffered at the hands of adults to the consensual love between the boys. To show how sex can be a beautiful thing in one form and a weapon in another (which baffles me still today).

The fact that the boys are still children and sexual is also realistic. Children of sexual abuse and especially sexual slavery have had sex become normalized. Once the box is opened, it can't be shut. A lot of people think this is disgusting and that the kid is forever tarnished by it, but through Draco and Harry I want to test that social convention.

I am not promoting children becoming sexually active. Children should be children! But I don't want to just write off the kids who had no choice and had that door open early. I don't want shove them in a dark societal corner. Their knowledge and sexual experience is socially unacceptable, but that's what is. I want to explore Draco and Harry coming to terms with society and society coming to terms with them.

I am deeply concerned if this story is interpreted in any other way.

Thank you for allowing me to explain this. The reviewer who was so disgusted by me did not leave me a way to answer back, but I had to get this out.