Looking Beyond The Lies (Drarry) (Boyxboy)

Chapter 25

Draco tried to shrink in on himself, to make himself seem smaller in this big, ugly world. He was afraid, so so afraid. Never did he think he would run into Terry and Cormac like this again, but then, he always did have horrible luck. He just seemed to be a target for shitty things. 

The world had slowed down in Draco's brain. Reality seemed incomprehensible and blurry, muffled within the wake of his grasp. After what seemed like hours of fighting with the two brutes holding him, but really was only minutes, Draco gave up squirming. He could barely move with the tight grip he was being held under. Cormac and Terry were still arguing with each other, still making lewd comments in his ear, but the world was muffled, still and silent.

He was dazed, terrified, stiff like a doll as the world moved on around him, but he could still feel every grope and touch made by his captors. It burned like a hot fire on his skin, surrounding him, engulfing him in flames of white. Try as he might to plea against them, no words would come out. They felt lodged in his throat, as if he was choking on something he'd never be able to say.

Draco felt trapped, he had nowhere to go. His will was slowly dying, the longer he was held there. His panic induced state had deepened long ago, and he was on the slip of unconsciousness. A heartbeat could be heard in his ears, loud and thumping wildly, his own. Tears fell of their own accord, his eyes glossed and staring blankly at nothing. 

Being in a state like this brought back old, unwanted childhood memories. Painful ones that reminded him of why he was so weak, why he couldn't stand up for himself. There were ones of Vernon mercilessly hitting him, beating him with anything he could get his hands on. Dudley laughing at him, stealing his food, pushing him around. Vernon breaking his bones, beating him in submission, beating him bloody and bruised. The ones that burned in Draco's memory the most were memories of Petunia trying her best to patch him up, or staring at him with such pity but never doing anything to help him otherwise. 

He was exposed to an ugly world too soon, too young. He was convinced he couldn't be loved. The Dursley's had deprived him of that, of everything, always giving him the bare minimum. 

A sudden weight on his pelvis sunk him back into reality, the world becoming too loud and too clear. He was suddenly very aware to the position he was stuck in. The world caved in around him as there was a rough sort of touching to his genitals, and it became very apparent what was happening. Cormac had taken to touching him there, and it made Draco extremely uncomfortable. However, his body was acting against him on his own. It felt the smallest bit good, but he felt so shameful. He was being molested, held and touched against his own will. 

He felt disgusting. There was nothing he could do though, as tears fell, and kept falling. 

In just a few minutes, Ron had sped through the castle in search of the Slytherin dorms, located in the dungeon. He was out of breath when he got there, and only paused for a second to brace himself on the wall as he regained his composure. His heart was still racing at a mile a minute, thumping loudly in his ears.

A knock on the Slytherin portrait had him bracing himself for whatever might come through it. Slytherins were cunning, but some of them could be nasty at the most inopportune of times. The portrait swung open with a slight creak, and Ron backed away slightly. He came all this way to find Harry, so he'd better actually be in here.

A small girl, maybe about third year, seemed to materialise in the open doorway. She had ebony hair, dark eyes and a downturned lip that seemed to snarl at him. "What is your business here?" She stated in an overly asserting way, and Ron retook that step forward.

"Is Harry in?" As soon as the words left his lips, an older version of the small girl appeared in front of him, holding a wand to his throat with such hostility. Ron wasn't afraid of the two, but he knew better than to question his chances, and raised his hands in a surrendering manner.