(no subject)
May. 29th, 2007 05:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dripping_cherryTitle: Black Mirror (Schwarzer Spiegel)
Author: Maxine
Translated from the German by Dripping_Cherry
You can find the original here: http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/40aa633b000009d3067007d0
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R/NC-17
Timeline: 6 years post-Hogwarts
Warning: Rape, Non/Con, slash, lemon, violence, dark, angst. If you can’t deal with it, you’d best not read it.
Betas: Maxine thanks!
Summary: “When will you be able to look into the mirror again, and not feel guilt?” – “Only when you can look into my eyes without fear.”
**
I am afraid. Afraid that you will touch me once more.
And afraid that you’ll never be able to do it again.
**
At first he wasn’t sure where he was. The outlines of the room swam before his eyes. He fumbled for his eyeglasses on the nightstand, but his hands grasped at emptiness. The white brightness was hurting his eyes. The air smelled unpleasantly of hospital. His head felt as if it had been cleaved in two. With an effort he tried to bring his thoughts to order. He was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in this bed. What had happened?
The impact of returning memories struck him like a fist in his face and left him gasping for breath, horror-stricken. The Forbidden Forest. Darkness. Fear. Ginny and Terry. The Death Eaters. The chapel. Draco Malfoy’s gray eyes. Hands on his naked skin. The cold, hard stone floor. And pain. Incessant pain.
Harry heard the gasp that escaped his throat without realizing that he was its source. Cold fingers gripped his bowels mercilessly. He wanted to move, but his body was like paralyzed; his arms and legs didn’t seem to want to obey him. Every single bone in his body burned like fire. His head throbbed.
He heard rushing steps on the cold linolem floor. Then a familiar face appeared beside his bead and a calming hand touched his shoulder.
“What--?” He noticed that his voice sounded fragile. Somehow it didn’t seem like it belonged to him.
“You are at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter,” explained Madam Pomfrey calmly. “Everything is alright. Both of the other aurors are also doing well.”
He was relieved that nothing had happened to Ginny or Terry, but otherwise nothing seemed to be okay Her sympathetic gaze made it unmistakably clear to him that she knew what had happened in the chapel. In all likelihood, it hadn’t been difficult to interpret the signs: the wounds on his body, the blood, and fluids of an entirely different nature.
He closed his eyes, refusing to think his thoughts through to the end. Heat rose in his face. Ashamed, he looked away—he couldn’t bear to look the nurse in the face. He felt dirty. Every fiber of his body screamed for a bath.
“We feared that you would never wake up.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but he could still pick up on the worried undertone.
She put her hands on her hips. He looked up questioningly, but his gaze remained fixed somewhere below her chin.
Madam Pomfrey sniffed softly. “The fever has left you utterly depleted. You slept for two days. I’ve healed out the outer wounds. It is possible, however, that you still have some bruising.”
His aching bones answered the unspoken question. He swallowed painfully and brushed the hair from his forehead with an erratic movement. There was a small, devilish voice in his head telling him that it might have been better never to wake up.
“Can I go?” he asked flatly. He wasn’t sure, where he actually wanted to go. He only knew that the could no longer endure her gaze.
She shrugged her shoulders resignedly. “It would be better if you stayed to rest. But I’m afraid I cannot hold you back. After all, you aren’t fourteen anymore.”
He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The throbbing in his head became worse and he shut his eyes against the pain. The first few steps were somewhat unsteady, but the giddiness he had expected was missing.
“There is some clothing for you over there.” The nurse gestured towards a chair at the foot of the bed. “And here are your glasses.”
She pressed the black-rimmed spectacles in his hand. Perplexed, he stroked the cold metal frame. He knew very well that he had lost his glasses during his flight from the Death Eaters, and he struggled to suppress the memory of the panic and helplessness he had felt. “Who found them?”
Madam Pomfrey laughed softly. “Professor Dumbledore is very adept at sniffing out lost items,” she said. “He found them himself in the Forbidden Forest.”
He pushed the eyeglasses up on his nose and relished in the calming feeling of finally being able to see clearly again.
Unaided and with pain-distorted face he put on the clothes and got his things together. He already had the doorknob in his hand when Madam Pomfrey’s insistent voice stopped him. “You should talk to someone,” she said gently. “There are things one cannot hold inside. You’ll suffocate if you don’t confide in someone.”
His fingers trembled. For a moment he just stood there, unable to turn around, unable to say anything. He could feel the distress in his throat, choking him. But before it could overwhelm him, he had already pushed open the door and run out.
*****
It had been a long time since he had last wandered through the halls of Hogwarts. Even though so much time had passed, it all still seemed so familiar. He quickly found the prefect’s bathroom that he had last used during the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth school year. The password hadn’t changed.
It didn’t take long until the giant tub filled with water. The air was thick with vapor as well as the permeating fragrance of scented bubble bath. He undressed quickly and slid into the hot water. The water drove the cold from deep inside him and the trembling slowly faded. Yet, he still didn’t feel any better.
Here, in the silence that was only broken by the plashing of the water, he could no longer ignore the memories of the dreadful hours that lay behind him. They crashed over him like a black wave that he couldn’t escape. Again, he had a vivid picture of Malfoy’s cool gaze before his eyes. I hope, only for your sake, that you’ve made the right choice. Harry was no longer sure of that.
When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the burning sensation that Malfoy’s hands, lips and tongue left on his skin, as well as the humiliation was still making him insane. But he hadn’t been able to suppress his body’s reaction to the touch, just as he hadn’t been able to stop his wounds from bleeding.
He reached for brush and soap and worked his skin with clenched teeth until it was red. He wanted to wash away the touches, the kisses and the bites; he didn’t want to leave anything that would remind him of the damned Slytherin. Yet, the more he scoured and scrubbed, the more apparent it became that that wasn’t the end of it. The filthiness wasn’t just clinging to his skin—it had seeped much deeper.
When he finally rose from the water, his fingers were quite wrinkled. He quickly rubbed himself dry and slipped into one of the big fleece bathrobe that lay ready in a niche. He hesitated for a moment before he cast a look in the lightly fogged up mirror.
Harry didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps that one could see evidence of the rape on him. But his face looked the same as always—pale skin, tousled black hair that was dripping with water. Only the expression in his green eyes seemed completely alien to him. He couldn’t say why that was.
He jumped at the sound of the bathroom door opening. The echo of fear still pounded in his veins even when he finally recognized who it was—Ginny.
She rushed towards him. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes for a moment, then she took him in her arms and held him tight.
At first he wanted to recoil. He thought he wouldn’t be able to bear the touch. But her embrace was so soothingly normal and comforting that he let it happen.
Her shoulders were trembling slightly. “I’m so glad you’re still alive,” she whispered so quietly it was barely audible as her arms tightened around him even more.
“I bet I have you and Terry to thank, he muttered just as quietly. He laid his head on her shoulder and inhaled her familiar scent. How long had it been since they’d broken up? Two years? Three years? Their love hadn’t withstood the stressful work they had on the same team. Their friendship had.
She detached herself from him and looked up at him. Tears swam in her eyes. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I wish we could gave gotten their sooner.” The corners of her mouth twitched. A drop escaped her lashed and fell to the floor without touching her face.
He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Apparently she knew. The desperation blazed over him relentlessly, threatening to cut of his air supply. He didn’t want her to see it. His knees gave way. Slowly he let himself sink to the floor at the edge of the tub and stared into the turbid water. He could feel her gaze on his back.
“It was Malfoy, am I right?”
Horror washed over him until he thought he would drown. Gasping, he sucked in air. He felt the blood drain from his face. For the length of a few seconds he could do nothing but stare at her. She seemed so childlike, so unbelievably vulnerable. But appearances can be deceiving. Buried behind her flickering gaze was an equally cool and sharp understanding.
He propped his elbows on his raised knees and buried his head in his hands. His throat burned. It took all of his will to hold back his tears. He didn’t want to cry. “How did you figure that out?” he ground out. His voice was raw as sandpaper, as if he hadn’t used it since forever.
“A logical conclusion,” she replied with a trace of sarcasm, “what with Dumbledore barely being able to convince Malfoy not to jump from the North Tower.”
Bemused, he lifted his head. Until now he hadn’t spared a thought about how Draco might be doing at the moment. Actually, he wished only to never have to encounter him again.
And yet he could remember exactly the fear that had flared up in his eyes when Harry had chosen him. He was sure that Draco had never been forced to lay hands on anyone before. Somehow this knowledge was painful.
“He didn’t do it willingly.” The words had a difficult time crossing his lips. “That was my fault.”
“Your fault? How?” The confusion in her eyes was genuine.
God, why did it have to be so difficult to formulate a few simple sentences? He led his tongue nervously across his dry lips. “They forced me to choose myself who should… rape me,” he retched the words out. “And I chose Malfoy.”
He could see that his words made Ginny shudder deep inside. She staggered a step backwards, wide-eyed. It seemed that the degree of his suffering only became apparent to her in this instant.
He realized, now, that Madam Pomfrey had been right. He couldn’t breathe. The shame and desperation conglomerated into a highly explosive mélange. He could see in Ginny’s eyes that she did not want to hear the details. But he didn’t care. She had provoked this discussion—now she would have to face the consequences.
“This damned decision wasn’t the worst of it.” He tried to control his voice, to suppress the trembling, but he failed. His stomach rebelled. He felt as if his insides were knotting. “With Dolohow or Rookwood I would definitely have gotten sick. Malfoy was the smallest evil. Even though I thought that he would be… a bit more gentle.” He grimaced. Before continuing, he used the sleeve of his bathrobe to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. His eyes stared into emptiness.
“He gave me no consideration. Apparently he wanted to prevent anyone from … suspecting anything.” He closed his eyes and pressed his head against his knee. It was easier to talk with his eyes closed. “But the rape itself wasn’t the worst either. It was degrading. It hurt. But pain is relative when one has felt the effects of the Cruciatus curse.” A bitter laugh came from somewhere deep in the folds of his bathrobe.
“They wanted to humiliate me, and they succeeded. They watched as Malfoy raped me. They laughed and made obscene comments. It was… difficult to bear.” He opened his eyes as if by force and looked at Ginny. The young woman’s face was chalk-white. She supported herself with her back against a washbowl. Her appalled gaze rested on him hypnotized. He knew that she could feel the horror he had endured.
His cheeks were wet, even though he hadn’t noticed he was crying. “The worst thing about it was his touch. His kisses. The play of his tongue. It reminded me of how… you used to touch me. Back then.” He paused, realizing that he was holding his breath. “I didn’t want to react to it. I fought against it. But it was pointless. He…turned me on. And in that cursed instant… I wanted… Malfoy.” His voice failed. His next words were only a hoarse croak.
“It was their intention to break me. They wanted to see Harry Potter hit rock bottom. I didn’t think they would manage. Not so easily. But I was wrong.” He covered his mouth with a hand to stop a sob. There was nothing but emptiness inside him. But at least the choking feeling in his throat had finally given way.
Ginny came up to him quietly from behind. Cold, trembling hands embraced him. He tear-moistened cheek pressed against his. She wasn’t able to say a word.
Tbc…
Author: Maxine
Translated from the German by Dripping_Cherry
You can find the original here: http://www.fanfiktion.de/s/40aa633b000009d3067007d0
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R/NC-17
Timeline: 6 years post-Hogwarts
Warning: Rape, Non/Con, slash, lemon, violence, dark, angst. If you can’t deal with it, you’d best not read it.
Betas: Maxine thanks!
Summary: “When will you be able to look into the mirror again, and not feel guilt?” – “Only when you can look into my eyes without fear.”
**
I am afraid. Afraid that you will touch me once more.
And afraid that you’ll never be able to do it again.
**
At first he wasn’t sure where he was. The outlines of the room swam before his eyes. He fumbled for his eyeglasses on the nightstand, but his hands grasped at emptiness. The white brightness was hurting his eyes. The air smelled unpleasantly of hospital. His head felt as if it had been cleaved in two. With an effort he tried to bring his thoughts to order. He was sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in this bed. What had happened?
The impact of returning memories struck him like a fist in his face and left him gasping for breath, horror-stricken. The Forbidden Forest. Darkness. Fear. Ginny and Terry. The Death Eaters. The chapel. Draco Malfoy’s gray eyes. Hands on his naked skin. The cold, hard stone floor. And pain. Incessant pain.
Harry heard the gasp that escaped his throat without realizing that he was its source. Cold fingers gripped his bowels mercilessly. He wanted to move, but his body was like paralyzed; his arms and legs didn’t seem to want to obey him. Every single bone in his body burned like fire. His head throbbed.
He heard rushing steps on the cold linolem floor. Then a familiar face appeared beside his bead and a calming hand touched his shoulder.
“What--?” He noticed that his voice sounded fragile. Somehow it didn’t seem like it belonged to him.
“You are at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter,” explained Madam Pomfrey calmly. “Everything is alright. Both of the other aurors are also doing well.”
He was relieved that nothing had happened to Ginny or Terry, but otherwise nothing seemed to be okay Her sympathetic gaze made it unmistakably clear to him that she knew what had happened in the chapel. In all likelihood, it hadn’t been difficult to interpret the signs: the wounds on his body, the blood, and fluids of an entirely different nature.
He closed his eyes, refusing to think his thoughts through to the end. Heat rose in his face. Ashamed, he looked away—he couldn’t bear to look the nurse in the face. He felt dirty. Every fiber of his body screamed for a bath.
“We feared that you would never wake up.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded matter-of-fact, but he could still pick up on the worried undertone.
She put her hands on her hips. He looked up questioningly, but his gaze remained fixed somewhere below her chin.
Madam Pomfrey sniffed softly. “The fever has left you utterly depleted. You slept for two days. I’ve healed out the outer wounds. It is possible, however, that you still have some bruising.”
His aching bones answered the unspoken question. He swallowed painfully and brushed the hair from his forehead with an erratic movement. There was a small, devilish voice in his head telling him that it might have been better never to wake up.
“Can I go?” he asked flatly. He wasn’t sure, where he actually wanted to go. He only knew that the could no longer endure her gaze.
She shrugged her shoulders resignedly. “It would be better if you stayed to rest. But I’m afraid I cannot hold you back. After all, you aren’t fourteen anymore.”
He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The throbbing in his head became worse and he shut his eyes against the pain. The first few steps were somewhat unsteady, but the giddiness he had expected was missing.
“There is some clothing for you over there.” The nurse gestured towards a chair at the foot of the bed. “And here are your glasses.”
She pressed the black-rimmed spectacles in his hand. Perplexed, he stroked the cold metal frame. He knew very well that he had lost his glasses during his flight from the Death Eaters, and he struggled to suppress the memory of the panic and helplessness he had felt. “Who found them?”
Madam Pomfrey laughed softly. “Professor Dumbledore is very adept at sniffing out lost items,” she said. “He found them himself in the Forbidden Forest.”
He pushed the eyeglasses up on his nose and relished in the calming feeling of finally being able to see clearly again.
Unaided and with pain-distorted face he put on the clothes and got his things together. He already had the doorknob in his hand when Madam Pomfrey’s insistent voice stopped him. “You should talk to someone,” she said gently. “There are things one cannot hold inside. You’ll suffocate if you don’t confide in someone.”
His fingers trembled. For a moment he just stood there, unable to turn around, unable to say anything. He could feel the distress in his throat, choking him. But before it could overwhelm him, he had already pushed open the door and run out.
*****
It had been a long time since he had last wandered through the halls of Hogwarts. Even though so much time had passed, it all still seemed so familiar. He quickly found the prefect’s bathroom that he had last used during the Triwizard Tournament during his fourth school year. The password hadn’t changed.
It didn’t take long until the giant tub filled with water. The air was thick with vapor as well as the permeating fragrance of scented bubble bath. He undressed quickly and slid into the hot water. The water drove the cold from deep inside him and the trembling slowly faded. Yet, he still didn’t feel any better.
Here, in the silence that was only broken by the plashing of the water, he could no longer ignore the memories of the dreadful hours that lay behind him. They crashed over him like a black wave that he couldn’t escape. Again, he had a vivid picture of Malfoy’s cool gaze before his eyes. I hope, only for your sake, that you’ve made the right choice. Harry was no longer sure of that.
When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the burning sensation that Malfoy’s hands, lips and tongue left on his skin, as well as the humiliation was still making him insane. But he hadn’t been able to suppress his body’s reaction to the touch, just as he hadn’t been able to stop his wounds from bleeding.
He reached for brush and soap and worked his skin with clenched teeth until it was red. He wanted to wash away the touches, the kisses and the bites; he didn’t want to leave anything that would remind him of the damned Slytherin. Yet, the more he scoured and scrubbed, the more apparent it became that that wasn’t the end of it. The filthiness wasn’t just clinging to his skin—it had seeped much deeper.
When he finally rose from the water, his fingers were quite wrinkled. He quickly rubbed himself dry and slipped into one of the big fleece bathrobe that lay ready in a niche. He hesitated for a moment before he cast a look in the lightly fogged up mirror.
Harry didn’t know what he had expected. Perhaps that one could see evidence of the rape on him. But his face looked the same as always—pale skin, tousled black hair that was dripping with water. Only the expression in his green eyes seemed completely alien to him. He couldn’t say why that was.
He jumped at the sound of the bathroom door opening. The echo of fear still pounded in his veins even when he finally recognized who it was—Ginny.
She rushed towards him. Uncertainty flickered in her eyes for a moment, then she took him in her arms and held him tight.
At first he wanted to recoil. He thought he wouldn’t be able to bear the touch. But her embrace was so soothingly normal and comforting that he let it happen.
Her shoulders were trembling slightly. “I’m so glad you’re still alive,” she whispered so quietly it was barely audible as her arms tightened around him even more.
“I bet I have you and Terry to thank, he muttered just as quietly. He laid his head on her shoulder and inhaled her familiar scent. How long had it been since they’d broken up? Two years? Three years? Their love hadn’t withstood the stressful work they had on the same team. Their friendship had.
She detached herself from him and looked up at him. Tears swam in her eyes. “I’m so sorry about what happened. I wish we could gave gotten their sooner.” The corners of her mouth twitched. A drop escaped her lashed and fell to the floor without touching her face.
He closed his eyes and turned his face away. Apparently she knew. The desperation blazed over him relentlessly, threatening to cut of his air supply. He didn’t want her to see it. His knees gave way. Slowly he let himself sink to the floor at the edge of the tub and stared into the turbid water. He could feel her gaze on his back.
“It was Malfoy, am I right?”
Horror washed over him until he thought he would drown. Gasping, he sucked in air. He felt the blood drain from his face. For the length of a few seconds he could do nothing but stare at her. She seemed so childlike, so unbelievably vulnerable. But appearances can be deceiving. Buried behind her flickering gaze was an equally cool and sharp understanding.
He propped his elbows on his raised knees and buried his head in his hands. His throat burned. It took all of his will to hold back his tears. He didn’t want to cry. “How did you figure that out?” he ground out. His voice was raw as sandpaper, as if he hadn’t used it since forever.
“A logical conclusion,” she replied with a trace of sarcasm, “what with Dumbledore barely being able to convince Malfoy not to jump from the North Tower.”
Bemused, he lifted his head. Until now he hadn’t spared a thought about how Draco might be doing at the moment. Actually, he wished only to never have to encounter him again.
And yet he could remember exactly the fear that had flared up in his eyes when Harry had chosen him. He was sure that Draco had never been forced to lay hands on anyone before. Somehow this knowledge was painful.
“He didn’t do it willingly.” The words had a difficult time crossing his lips. “That was my fault.”
“Your fault? How?” The confusion in her eyes was genuine.
God, why did it have to be so difficult to formulate a few simple sentences? He led his tongue nervously across his dry lips. “They forced me to choose myself who should… rape me,” he retched the words out. “And I chose Malfoy.”
He could see that his words made Ginny shudder deep inside. She staggered a step backwards, wide-eyed. It seemed that the degree of his suffering only became apparent to her in this instant.
He realized, now, that Madam Pomfrey had been right. He couldn’t breathe. The shame and desperation conglomerated into a highly explosive mélange. He could see in Ginny’s eyes that she did not want to hear the details. But he didn’t care. She had provoked this discussion—now she would have to face the consequences.
“This damned decision wasn’t the worst of it.” He tried to control his voice, to suppress the trembling, but he failed. His stomach rebelled. He felt as if his insides were knotting. “With Dolohow or Rookwood I would definitely have gotten sick. Malfoy was the smallest evil. Even though I thought that he would be… a bit more gentle.” He grimaced. Before continuing, he used the sleeve of his bathrobe to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. His eyes stared into emptiness.
“He gave me no consideration. Apparently he wanted to prevent anyone from … suspecting anything.” He closed his eyes and pressed his head against his knee. It was easier to talk with his eyes closed. “But the rape itself wasn’t the worst either. It was degrading. It hurt. But pain is relative when one has felt the effects of the Cruciatus curse.” A bitter laugh came from somewhere deep in the folds of his bathrobe.
“They wanted to humiliate me, and they succeeded. They watched as Malfoy raped me. They laughed and made obscene comments. It was… difficult to bear.” He opened his eyes as if by force and looked at Ginny. The young woman’s face was chalk-white. She supported herself with her back against a washbowl. Her appalled gaze rested on him hypnotized. He knew that she could feel the horror he had endured.
His cheeks were wet, even though he hadn’t noticed he was crying. “The worst thing about it was his touch. His kisses. The play of his tongue. It reminded me of how… you used to touch me. Back then.” He paused, realizing that he was holding his breath. “I didn’t want to react to it. I fought against it. But it was pointless. He…turned me on. And in that cursed instant… I wanted… Malfoy.” His voice failed. His next words were only a hoarse croak.
“It was their intention to break me. They wanted to see Harry Potter hit rock bottom. I didn’t think they would manage. Not so easily. But I was wrong.” He covered his mouth with a hand to stop a sob. There was nothing but emptiness inside him. But at least the choking feeling in his throat had finally given way.
Ginny came up to him quietly from behind. Cold, trembling hands embraced him. He tear-moistened cheek pressed against his. She wasn’t able to say a word.
Tbc…
