DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any affiliations thereof. I make no money from writing this. I promise JK would never endorse something like this.

AUTHORS NOTE: This is a birthday present for Sarah, one of my faithful "stalkers." She requested something smutty, slightly dark, slightly twisted, takes place during sixth year, reference to another literary work (my choice), and portrays neither one of the boys in a sugary light.

Warnings for dub-con, slight blood play, first person tone (which was a challenge) – though it does change to second person tone about halfway through, and a creepy as hell Harry because I never bought the fact he was subjected to the Dark Lord's emotions and thoughts for two years and never changed his personality.

HDHDHD

It took three hours before someone entered the Slytherin common room.

Quick as a flash, I slipped in behind her; crouched low so my Invisibility Cloak skimmed the floor and hid my ankles. The girl didn't notice; intent as she was to set her stack of books down on the table before her. I ignored her sigh of relief, ignored the hushed murmurs of the other students milling about the common room, tuned everything out as I stealthily crossed the common room and headed for the stairs. The walls smell musky, damp from continued exposure to the lake. I briefly wonder what it would have been like, going from a cupboard to a dungeon, and am fleetingly curious what would have happened had I gone into Slytherin. I brush the thought aside as I enter the dorm room and glide softly to your bedside. The thought is unimportant, irrelevant. I mean to break you tonight.

It started a week ago, this burning fixation on you. I was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, paging listlessly through The Lord of the Rings when I suddenly froze as Aragorn was presented with the Sword of Elendil. One passage seemed to almost possess me, echoing over and over again in my mind. The blade was broken. It has been reforged. I couldn't figure out why that passage affected me so strongly, and slept poorly that night. It wasn't until breakfast the next morning when I saw you that everything seemed to crystallize in my mind. You're tired, pale, thin, with dark circles under your eyes and a listless attitude. The fire, the blaze of attitude you used to possess, is notably gone. You are my Sword of Elendil. Someone has tried to break you and nearly succeeded. I need to break you so you can be reforged into something stronger. Hermione was alarmed; I hadn't wished to express my thoughts aloud. But I was patient. I waited. And now, only a week later, as your behavior grew more erratic and inconsistent, she has forgotten her concern and I was able to slip away from the tower. I nearly gave up hope, after waiting so long for someone to come along. But I was patient, persistent, and now I am here.

Even in your sleep you don't look well. The shadows slide over your body like silk but do nothing to disguise the worry line in your forehead. You twitch in your sleep, your muscles clenching convulsively as the demons that plague your waking hours are not content to let you drift in dreams. The Dark Mark gleams against the pale backdrop of your skin. A mark of ownership, a brand. Silently and swiftly I shed my clothing and climb onto the bed. Someday, I think, as I carefully and quietly close the bed hangings and charm them silent and imperturbable, someday that too will go. I don't know how, I don't know when, but someday the only marks on your body will be the ones I put there. I toss the ball of my clothing and my Invisibility Cloak into the corner of the bed and take a deep breath. "Incarcerous." I have begun.

Your eyes fly open the moment the bindings clamp about your wrists and your arms are forced to the head board. Your eyes are wide, confused, and seem almost out of place. I see them gleaming in the soft shadows of the bed, shining with fear and apprehension. You don't like being tied down, do you? The moment you catch sight of my face, your eyes widen further and your body goes utterly still. I have always appreciated your sense of self-preservation. But you don't make a sound. Curious. Very curious. Is it pride that keeps you quiet? Or have you become so detached from your surroundings that you simply no longer care? Tenderly I lean down and kiss the scars on your chest. The scars I gave you.

"Potter?" Your voice is hushed, suffused with false calm. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to break you tonight, Draco." Though no sound will come through the curtains, I keep my voice at a reverent whisper as I run my hands down your chest and spell away your pajama bottoms. You shake your head once; whether in denial or out of sheer incredulousness I am uncertain. But your eyes are once again flat and uncaring, and that is unacceptable. Has your life become so bleak you truly care nothing about what happens to you? I dig my fingernails into your hip bone, delighting in the reddening flesh. You start to tremble but still refuse to make a sound. I wonder how long that will last? I want to hear you scream.

"It's for your own good," I comfort quietly. "You need to be broken so you can be reforged." You look confused by this, and I inwardly cheer for bringing expression back to your face.

I continue inching down your body until my face is level with your groin. I have no idea what I am doing, having never broken anyone before, but the amount of nerves on the cock made it a logical place to begin. I watch, fascinated and rather pleased, as it twitches under the warmth of my breath. I glance up to find you watching me intently, your hands balled into fists, the muscles in your arms flexed, a look of shocked horror on your face. I smile as I lean down and take the tip of your penis into my mouth, proud as you suck in a breath and your eyes seem to fairly burn into mine.

Does he get it now? Does he understand? I need to break him. I was meant to break him. Because only I can inspire so many emotions in him. Already he looks better; a flush creeping up his face as he watches me.

"Potter." His voice is raspy, whether from swirling emotions or disuse I am again uncertain. I ignore it. He doesn't get my voice, doesn't get reassurance yet. He's still Malfoy and I'm still Potter and I refuse to encourage that. It's all so confused in my head, but I have sworn that by the time I am through with him he will scream my name. My name. Not Potter. Until then, he's not truly broken. But I don't know how to say this, how to express this sentiment cohesively, so I ignore him and focus on his Dark Mark.

It's mocking me. People will argue that it's a mark, not a sentient object, but I feel the malice it directs towards me. So smugly superior stamped on his flesh. But Draco is mine; my rival, my sword, and I am suddenly furious. My mouth clamps harder, the pressure of my mouth increasing. I tear my eyes away from the mark with difficulty. Draco's head is tossing back and forth, his wrists chafing red as he pulls against his binding, his mouth open in a silent scream. I want to suck the taint of the Dark Mark off of him. I want to bleed him. I want him to realize he is mine and Tom Riddle has no claim to the boy writhing and whimpering below me. Draco's back arches and he seems to literally explode in my mouth. I pull my head back, not wanting to choke, and watch the shiny sperm collect on his stomach and chest. I want to taste him, and I will, but not yet. I look up, watching his flushed face intently as he comes back down into himself. I may not know what I am doing, but I am making him feel. And for right now, that is enough.

He watches me drowsily as I lean back on my heels and rummage through my clothing. He's not stupid. One of the first things I'm sure he noticed was that we were both naked. He knows I am not through with him. But he didn't expect the knife I turn around with; his eyes opening fully, his lips parting lightly, a small tremor racing through his frame. But still, he says nothing. "Ssh," I comfort nonetheless, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, and another on the scar on his chest.

"P – Potter?" I smile when his voice catches on my name.

"He can't have you," I explain patiently, tracing the knife lightly around the Dark Mark. The snake slithers through the skull agitatedly, hissing an indecipherable litany of complaint. Good. "You're mine."

"Potter, please."

"Ssh…" I kiss him lightly on the cheek. "It will all be better in the morning." He looks at me, gray eyes wide and terrified. I smile, and press the blade into his arm. Draco bites his lip, making a muffled sort of moan, and shifts his eyes to his forearm. I ignore him as I outline the mark. His blood is welling and dripping, so bright and shiny and warm in the darkness. I can smell his sex and blood and fear, and hear his panting breaths, and feel his muscles trembling under my skin, and see his eyes so full of emotion, and… I lean down and lick a drop of his spunk into my mouth. As his taste floods through me, I can't control myself, or describe the intensity of the feelings sweeping through me. My orgasm breaks something inside of me; something dark and unbidden inside me is purring in delight.

Draco's eyes, so bright and full, flick anxiously between me and his arm. Deliberately he sticks out his tongue and licks a bit of me that landed on his chin; holding my eyes as he swallows. His eyes again flick to the knife clenched in my fist and the blood dripping silently down his left forearm. "Potter, please," he repeats; his voice strained. "Wouldn't you rather just t-take me?"

I couldn't answer him right then if my life depended on it, my entire being focused on his mouth. He had tasted me, and I had tasted him. Our fluids were combined. Did he get it? Was he starting to understand? "You're mine."

He nods frantically. "Yes," he agrees. "I'm yours. Potter, please, put the knife away."

It's the Potter that does it. So close to being mine and he still refuses to just break. Why won't he break? "I'm almost done," I promise, returning my attention to his arm. A quiet sob emerges in the darkness, but I ignore that until I finish. I sit back, admiring my handiwork. His skin is vibrantly red, looking like someone took a red marker and colored on him. The Dark Mark is pulsing with agitation. Does the bastard know I am reclaiming what he thought he had won? Draco is mine. I look at the boy in question. His eyes are clamped shut, teeth biting punishingly into his bottom lip, tears falling fast and silent down his face; dripping into his hair and ears before trailing onto his pillow. His cheeks are suffused with blood, his heart beating rapidly in his rising and falling chest. He is so different from the boy who just yesterday moved like a walking shell, a ghost, through the halls. "Beautiful," I approve.

His eyes fly open; a bright gray in the gathering darkness. So vivid, so full of pain and emotion. I smile down at him, leaning forward to press kisses to his mutilated arm. "Beautiful," I whisper again, licking his blood from my lips. He watches me, a curious expression on his face.

"Am I broken now?" he whispers hopefully.

"Almost." I fleetingly wonder why he continues to whisper. Does he think I didn't spell the drapes? Doesn't he think a loud noise would wake his roommates and cause me to end my self appointed task? Then it hits me, and I am so damn proud of him I lean down and give him a gentle kiss on his lips. He wants me to break him. He already knows he belongs to me, that he is mine.

His hair is bright across the pillow as he nods in resignation. "Ok."

Resigned. He's resigned. He's stopped fighting and is simply lying there, waiting for me to finish. The knife is slippery in my hand as I carefully place it on the mattress before sitting back and once again rummaging through my robe. His eyes focus on the bottle of lube in my hand and I realize I was right. He's unsurprised I am going to take him. I press my fingers into him carefully. I did my homework. Lube is important. I may want to break him, but this isn't one of the ways I want to hurt him. Draco's hips press into the mattress reflexively. I glance up at him to see him once again biting his lip. Why can't he just let go?

My inexperience shows as I enter him. I go too fast, slide in too far, and only pause as the muscles surrounding my cock clench painfully and Draco tosses back his head and screams. I stop, force myself to hold still as he pants. His eyes are wide, pained, and locked onto mine with something akin to desperation. "Ssh," I soothe. What do I say to him? I lean down to kiss his panting mouth again, and that seems to help. He cranes his neck towards me, seeking contact, comfort, and I indulge him. He's so close to breaking I find myself giddy with excitement and can't help sliding in until I rest fully inside him. It's glorious. Tight and warm and Draco is keening and shifting underneath me; his wrists beginning to bleed as he tugs against his restraints. My hands scramble over the mattress, not wanting to crush my beautiful Sword with my weight, and I hiss as the blade of the knife cuts into my palm.

The blood welling on my hand fascinates me. Voldemort used my blood and regained his body. It seems fitting to place my hand over Draco's bleeding arm and watch our blood swirl together. "Mine," I whisper again, beginning to move my hips.

Draco is sobbing now, but still trying to muffle his sounds by biting his lip. I lean forward to kiss him again, running my tongue against his abused lower lip, thrilling over the thought of our bodies and blood and saliva intermixing to make up one entity. He latches onto me desperately, trying to suck my tongue into his mouth. I tear my mouth away briefly. It's important he remember this. "The blade was broken," I gasp out. My blood is roaring through my body, blurring my vision. I can barely breathe from the sensation, let alone speak. "It has been reforged."

Deprived of stimulation for so long, existing in a half life for all these months, Draco is unprepared for the sensory overload I am forcing him to go through. Tears drip down his face, his mouth opens and closes with his gasping breaths, his eyes unfocused. "Yes," he gasps out. "Harry, help me!" And then it happens. He breaks. And it is spectacular. He throws his head back and screams and screams and screams as his orgasm rips into him, through him, tearing him apart and reforging him and it hurts and it's beautiful and I can't stand it and scream as well as I empty myself inside of him.

I come back to myself after who knows how long. Draco is limp and trembling and half asleep below me. My bleeding hand is still clenched tightly over his bleeding Dark Mark, and I stare at our mixing blood in awe. But then I mentally slap myself. I have broken him. Now I need to fix him.

I pull out slowly, uncertain if it will hurt him. He winces; whether in pain or, like me, mourning the loss of our joining I do not know. I kiss him, lavish him with whispered praise as I vanish the bindings and the blood and murmur healing spells. He lays there, supported on his pillow, and watches me. His face, just yesterday so cold and detached, is now open and vulnerable. I need to be careful, to show him I only broke him in order to help him. The Dark Mark on his arm looks different, but I pay it little mind, as I gather him close and cover us with the blankets. I don't know if I have healed all his hurts, and he doesn't tell me. He lies there quietly. The only indication he is aware of me being there are his hands sliding down to grip my arms, clinging to me as tightly as I am holding onto him. The darkness in me has abated slightly, and I am content to hold his trembling form and murmur platitudes until we both fall asleep.

I awake long before he does, mistrustful as always in unfamiliar surroundings, and immediately look at him. He's still twitchy, and pale, and far too thin, but now he looks… peaceful. I smile down at him, and tenderly kiss his forehead, before slipping out of bed.

Hermione is instantly suspicious of my calm mood as we walk down to breakfast. I ignore her for now, knowing she'll eventually corner me and get me to confess. Instead I laugh with my friends as I load my plate, until my stomach suddenly clenches and a fission of something courses through me. I don't need the unnatural silence of my friends to warn me, and I turn in my seat to see the object of my fantasies standing directly behind me. For the first time in months, he is standing straight and proud; immaculate in his uniform, and so many emotions, so much passion and zest burning in his eyes that it is all I can do not to jump up and mark him in some way. Indeed, my eyes flicker to his left arm and I am gratified to see a faint blush suffuse his cheeks.

"Harry, we need to talk."

There are still shadows under his eyes but they are fainter than they were before. He looks alive and warm and so bright that I ignore my friends and get up, following him silently out of the Great Hall and down the corridor. He leads me into the Potions classroom and shuts the door. He opens his mouth, shakes his head, and closes it again. I watch him patiently. "Were you in my room last night?"

He sounds so uncertain that for a moment I simply blink at him. "Yes." He nods slightly to himself, looking away as he bites his lower lip. It looks like a habit, this biting his lip. And I curse myself that in all the time I have spent studying this boy I have never noticed the subtle machinations that make up his personality.

"Why?"

I know what he's asking, but I have no way to answer. Because he's Draco Malfoy? Because he started ignoring me? Because he was a shell of his past self and I simply couldn't stand it. I don't know how to say any of that, and in the harsh light of day my confusing thoughts about the Sword of Elendil and needing to claim him seem… feverish and unbalanced. Then again, I've never claimed sanity. "Because you're mine."

He blushes again; studying me with his alive and warm and conflicted eyes, and I smile before reaching out and tugging him closer. He shudders, closing his eyes and making no move to remove himself from the possessive circle of my arms. "You took advantage of me." He falls back into the cloying intimacy of the night before and whispers the statement to me.

"I broke you," I correct just as quietly.

"Why?"

"I can't explain."

"Are you going to help me?"

"Always."

He muffles a sob by biting his lip. I lean in and lick along his bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to be joined with him the way I was last night. He pulls back just enough to rest our foreheads together, trembling as reality mixes with his memories of the night before and sooths over the break in his spirit; strengthening over the wound once again. "What have you done to me?" he whispers, before burying his face into my neck.

I run my hands up and down his back, wrapping myself securely around him. He knows what I have done. I broke him, and reforged him, and now he is mine. I look to where his sleeve has slid up his arm, noticing the Dark Mark is substantially faded. The snake lying listlessly in the skull; looking jaundiced and weak. I should be horrified by what I have done, what I did to him, but I'm not. I'm proud. And as I drop my cheek against the top of his head, I smile.

HDHDHD

So, my first smutty one shot that is dark and twisted. Passable?

Loves!

Roo