Harry Potter and the Knife of Klingsor, Part 8

The following week dragged on endlessly for Draco Malfoy.

On the first morning, he’d awakened from a nightmare in which a giant Gryffindor Lion was emasculating him while the other students in general – and Harry Potter in particular – stood by and watched. He’d spent the rest of the day torn between cursing Potter and feeling grateful that he’d at least been pleasant to him on the Hogwart’s Express during the ride home. Given his situation, however, Draco had plenty of time to consider all of the options and possible meanings to his dream. As a young Wizard, he’d learned quite some time ago not to dismiss his dreams and nightmares as mere flights of the resting mind.

The Lion, of course, indicated the Gryffindor House at school, but where had the Lion gotten that odd Knife with the curved blade and jeweled handle? What was the significance of that? And why would Potter be so upset so see him suffering, or Seamus Finnegan be laughing at him?

Maybe he didn’t like being called ‘Torchboy’, Draco thought.

But Draco had another problem. He was just wondering how he was going to escape the bright sunbeams that were falling upon his misleadingly angelic face that morning when Dobby the house elf came in from his night off.

Dobby seemed very worn out, and he smelled funny.

Draco actually smelled him before he saw him, since the Petrificus Spell that his father had placed upon him didn’t even allow him to move his eyes voluntarily. He sniffed again as his autonomic breathing drew in air, trying to call out to the elf for help. It was, however, useless. Draco raged silently as the smell of some kind of rich dessert filled his nose and made his mouth water.

“Wake up, Little Master,” Dobby was saying happily, jumping up on the bed and shaking him. “Dobby had a night off, but Dobby is all ready to play with Little Master today, first day home from school this summer! Get up, get up!” He squeaked excitedly.

Draco Malfoy didn’t move. He couldn’t move.

It took a moment for the elf to realize that something was wrong. After all, getting Draco out of bed in the mornings had NEVER been an easy task. “Little Master?” Dobby shouted in his ear, wondering why his eyes were open if he wasn’t moving, “Little Master, is you sick? Get up!” The elf tried again, taking his hand and lifting it up. It was limp and cold. He let it go, and it fell to the bedspread.

A new wave of pain shot up from Draco’s broken finger, and he managed a small whimper. Tears ran from his pale eyes, and his little body trembled involuntarily. Dobby gasped and jumped back, then carefully set to going over every inch of him.

Unfortunately for Draco, Dobby started at his bare feet and worked his way up. The elf didn’t notice anything amiss until he’d made his way up to the boy’s crotch and sniffed at the diaper that he’d been forced to wear. It was wet. His large, batlike ears lay back, and his bugging eyes went impossibly wider. “Oh, oh, oh,” he muttered, “Little Master is pertrific-us-sified,” he said, “Dobby will run and get Master, Master Lucius Malfoy will unstuck Little Master, he will!”

“No, he won’t,” came a cold and even voice from the doorway, “Because Master is the one who made Little Master like that, and Dobby isn’t going to let him go, either, is he?” Lucius Malfoy asked in a deadly tone.

Dobby shook his head, cowering behind the frozen boy. “Wh-what did L-little Master d-d-do so bad?” The elf stuttered, shocked and totally appalled that even his own Master could do something so horrible to his own son.

“Your Little Master made me very angry, Dobby,” Lucius Malfoy informed him, noting the tears running down Draco’s smooth cheeks. “Because he isn’t BAD enough! You will tend to him, Dobby. You will keep his diapers changed, loosen his jaw enough to feed him once a day, and watch while I apply the Nettle Reduction Paste to his boyhood. You will NOT bathe him, you will not feed him anything other than what I tell you to feed him, nor will you let him up. You will not fix his finger, you will not fix his raw bum, and you will not try to make him feel better. He is being punished. I know you have the Power to do it, Dobby, and so help me, if you do, you WILL regret it! Do I make myself clear?” Malfoy almost whispered, the grin that split his lined face striking terror in both boy and elf.

Dobby nodded.

Malfoy sniffed the musty air of the neglected rooms. “Someone needs his diaper changed,” he mused, opening the window curtains fully so that the morning sun fell upon Draco’s pale skin in full. The boy wanted to snap his eyes shut, but all he could do was to blink autonomically. His stomach grumbled.

“Well!” Lucius Malfoy said with flair, turning about as his black lounging robe swung about in a flourish, “Is somebody hungry?”

Draco whimpered, a tiny and forced sound that took all of the energy that he could muster.

“Dobby, do be a good elf and bring Little Master some oatmeal,” Malfoy ordered him. Dobby was almost to the door when he added, “Cold. Cold oatmeal, and a large glass of warm water.”

Draco began to cry again. Not only was he frightened that his father would begin beating him once more, but he was in genuine physical pain as well. The burning sensation in his crotch from the Nettle Paste had subsided at some time during the night, leaving only a tingling sensation in its place as it shrank his genitals down even more. What was hurting him was his finger and entire arm, from where Dobby – unknowingly, of course – had lifted his limp hand and then dropped it in shock. His raw bum was also being irritated by his wet diaper, and he knew that he was coming down with an acute case of diaper rash. No one had been there to cover him up either, and he was cold. Add to that the fact that the sun was shining in his face, nearly blinding him, and that he couldn’t even close his eyes.

He absolutely hated oatmeal.

Then his stomach rumbled again, and his father laughed aloud.

I HATE oatmeal! He thought, And HE knows it! Draco thought in disgust.

From the corner of his eye, the boy could see his father just standing there. He was staring at him, and shaking his head. “I am so disappointed in you, Draco,” he said in a low voice, moving closer to stare at the humiliated and helpless boy. “Lord Voldemort would, no doubt, be disappointed as well. It’s hard to believe that MY own son could be such a failure to me.”

Then he paused. Time stood still, and Draco braced himself for a slap to the face.
But it never came.

“We’ll change all that, though, my boy,” Malfoy went on, pacing back and forth in deep thought. “By week’s end, you’ll be a perfect eunuch. You’ll also be ready to listen to your father, hear him out, and do what he wants you to do, I’m sure. We have such grand plans, the Dark Lord and I. YOU are a part of those plans, my son. But in your current state – lazy, self-absorbed, willful and spoiled – you just don’t fit in. We have to FIT you in, my son, by force if need be.”

Draco shuddered visibly, and his father grinned.

“Fear is a very powerful teacher,” he breathed, “Lord Voldemort taught me that. He also taught me that Want is a very good one as well. Want, aided by Suffering. By the end of the week, you will be so afraid and wanting for so much that you’ll do anything, Draco, ANYTHING…” he thundered, making Draco’s heart skip a beat, “…that WE tell you to do.”

Fresh tears ran down the boy’s face, but Malfoy sneered at him.

“And stop crying. Just because you have to wear a diaper doesn’t entitle you to behave like a baby!”

Just then, Dobby returned with a tray containing a large glass of water and a bowl of cold oatmeal, as he’d been ordered.

“Did you have to run to market and buy oats?” Malfoy inquired in a smooth tone.

Dobby shook his head. “Dobby didn’t want to interrupt Master’s fine speech,” the elf replied, laying his ears back and shaking.

“Wise decision. Now, feed the boy and change him,” Malfoy instructed, sniffing again. “He stinks.”

Please, father, Draco thought, Don’t leave me like this! I’ll do anything! Please!

They both watched as Lucius Malfoy headed out the door. “I’ll be back for your morning application of Paste,” he warned, then slammed it shut behind him.

Suddenly, Draco wasn’t hungry anymore. He lay helplessly as Dobby sat the tray aside and began removing his diaper. The elf said nothing as he wiped him off, taking great care to not hurt him. Despite his best efforts, though, it was impossible to NOT hurt him given the state of the skin on him bum. The elf carefully wiped him up as best he could, got a new wipe, and then cleaned off his tiny genitals. He worked the foreskin back, noticing that it was much tighter and harder to move. He lingered a bit as he wiped at the boy’s small balls, trying to give him some bit of sexual pleasure before it was too late. He was just getting the boy clean and simply fondling him when he glanced up at his right hand and saw the broken finger.

“Owwwwwww!” He shrieked, leaning over to beat his head on the wall, “Dobby didn’t know! Dobby so sorry, Little Master! Dobby didn’t know that Master broke his boy’s finger and Dobby made it hurt worse!”

This self-punishment went on for several minutes, until the elf had almost knocked himself silly. He then shook his head, held up the soiled diaper and wipes, and made it all vanish in a puff of smoke. “Nasty all gone,” he commented, waving a long finger and causing a new diaper to appear. Then he thought for a moment, desperately trying to think of a way to circumvent Malfoy’s orders to not alleviate any of the boy’s sufferings.

Failing to do so, he simply secured the new diaper and floated the breakfast tray over to the bed. He spooned up some of the cold oatmeal, and tenderly touched Draco’s smooth jaw with a long finger. “Open up,” he said.

Oh, no, Dobby, please! Draco thought as his mouth involuntarily fell open. I’m not hungry, I swear! I hate oatmeal! Dobby, noooooooo…

His swallowing reflex, however, kicked in as the elf spooned the cold oatmeal into his mouth. There was no need to chew it, and he automatically swallowed. Despite his dislike of the stuff, his stomach rumbled in protest and demanded more. He’d not eaten anything since the candy on the train that Harry had given him. Dobby grinned at him for moment, then his ears fell back again and his luminous eyes fell.

“Dobby so sorry,” he said as he continued to spoon the cold oatmeal into the helpless boy’s mouth. “Dobby knows that Little Master hates this stuff. Dobby hates it too!” Nevertheless, he fed Draco the whole bowl. Getting him to drink the water, however, proved to be a problem. He spilled some on the boy’s chest, and figuring that he had no choice, he levitated his head into an upright position and waited patiently.

Draco didn’t realize how thirsty he was, and he gulped the whole glass down fast as the elf released his mouth from the Spell. His blonde head fell back onto the pillow, and Dobby wiped his chin off. The elf then just sat there staring at him, unsure of what to do next.

Don’t leave me, Draco begged silently, Please don’t leave me alone in here all day!

As if sensing this, Dobby took Draco’s good hand in his own and simply sat there and held it until his father returned.

It almost made his suffering more bearable as the sunbeams moved slowly, indicating the passing of time. Draco found that he rather liked them after all.

And then Lucius Malfoy reentered the room. He’d dressed in a fine black suit and tie, without Dobby’s help, and appeared ready to go out into the Muggle world. Draco didn’t wonder why; he didn’t care. All he cared about was the pain that was about to be inflicted upon him as he noticed his father’s hands.

He was wearing rubber gloves.

“Fetch me the Nettle Paste, Dobby,” he demanded. “Did the little whelp eat his breakfast?”

Dobby nodded, handing him the jar. Malfoy scooped out a generous dollop, and Dobby undid Draco’s diaper again. Malfoy smiled, a sickening sight.

NO! Draco screamed silently, No, please! Father, don’t! Please don’t hurt me anymore!

Even if he could have heard his son’s pleas for mercy, Malfoy would not have relented. Draco’s genitals were even smaller than when he’d been born, and his goal was to make them vanish altogether. He slapped the cream onto the boy’s tiny penis, rubbing it in hard. Unable to move or make a sound, Draco simply lay there, naked, in agony.

“Trust me, son,” Malfoy told him, as Draco stared at the ceiling with tears rolling down his face, “You’ll thank me for this, very soon I think. You’ll thank me for making a eunuch of you, for making you so powerful! You’ll thank me when you stand at my right hand before Lord Voldemort when I present you to him to even the balance of Power! We will find favor in his eyes when he returns to Power, and you will be so happy to be there – and not on the side of those fools who oppose him!”

The wave of fresh horror that swept over the immobile boy was beyond description. His blood literally ran cold, and for a moment, he wondered if his heart had stopped. The very thought of standing before HIM, emasculated, forced to do his will, was incomprehensible. Let me die, he thought weakly, Make me haunt the school forever, I don’t care! Just let me die!

The burning sensation spread through him in an instant. Once again, the feeling of thousands of tiny creatures eating at his genitals spread through him. He tried to scream again as his father slapped another dollop onto his tiny balls, hitting them a bit too hard in his zeal. The nauseating pain of being racked shot up through him, combining with the burning. Draco’s entire world dissolved into a blur of pure pain, pain so intense that is was almost tangible. He saw his father leaning over, spreading more of the vile stuff onto his dwindling boyhood, and saw Dobby recoiling in fear. Then he raised his hand and slapped his tight and red scrotum with an open palm.

Draco nearly vomited up his oatmeal. A whole new experience in pain flooded his already agonized body. He managed a low cry, and Dobby screamed. He wanted to reflexively curl up into a ball and gasp, but he couldn’t.

“Very soon, Draco, my boy, you won’t ever have to experience THAT particular pain again. Awful, wasn’t it?” Lucius Malfoy asked.

Someone, anyone … please! Draco’s mind cried out in desperation.

Then his ugly gloved hand smacked into Draco’s aching balls one last time, sending another shock through his already tortured body.

The boy passed out just as his father was having the elf pull off his rubber gloves. He didn’t know if Dobby were going with him or not, but at that point, it didn’t matter.

At some point during the day, Draco’s pain-induced unconsciousness shifted into pain-haunted sleep. He had the same nightmare in which the Lion was castrating him with the strange Knife, but this time he could see that no one was really laughing at him. Near the end of the dream, when he hit the ground and the phantom-Potter leaned over him, he could see that Harry was actually very upset. He awoke as the others were gathering around him, and was able to remember that the Irish brat, Finnegan, looked especially unwound.

He yawned involuntarily, happy to be able to do at least that. He then felt that his diaper was wet again, as he had no control over his bladder, and wondered where Dobby was. A cold wave of panic swept over him as he stared at the ceiling, realizing that he was all alone in the Manor. No doubt his mother would be out shopping, or running around with friends. Not that she cared, nor would she help him. She was as frightened of his father as he was, Draco knew. That’s why she drinks so much, he thought. But they’ve left me alone. Even Dobby’s gone. I hoped he’d stay. I wish he was here … I wish … I wish … anyone was here! I’m all alone!

If he could have moved, Draco Malfoy would have run to the Floo powder and called up someone from Slytherin House. Even the idiot boys Crabbe and Goyle – anyone, just so that he wasn’t all alone in the huge house.

He spent the rest of the day staring at the ceiling, counting bumps in the spackle and wondering if he’d gotten a sunburn in addition to his diaper rash.

When the last rays of sun had finally gone from his windows, Draco heard his door open. He began to shiver, but not from being cold. The heavy footsteps told him that his father had come back, and he braced himself for another round of the horrid Paste that was slowly making a eunuch of him.

It was the same as before, only this time, his father said nothing to him. The Paste went on, his tiny genitals were mercilessly and roughly handled to be left burning and aching, and Dobby put a fresh diaper on him. Despite it all, his stomach rumbled.

Dobby had remained on the bed with him, trying his best to comfort him while not breaking his Master’s orders. The elf looked at him with large, sad eyes and sighed. “Dobby knows his Little Master is hungry,” he whined, “But Master won’t let Dobby feed him anymore until tomorrow breakfast! Dobby so sorry!” Instead, the elf conjured up a large glass of water and made the boy drink it. Draco noticed that his lips were dry and beginning to chap badly.

Forget it, Draco thought, feeling bad for all the times he’d been rude to the elf. Just leave me here and let me die. Still, he drank all of his water and felt himself wet his diaper again.

At some time during the evening, Draco felt the elf let go of his good hand and slide a blanket up over him. From the corner of his eye, he could see a flash of light that went out fast and just barely hear a rumble.

“Master is gone in the big black Rollsy car,” Dobby said, curling up next to his helpless charge and pulling his limp, good arm around himself to simulate a hug. “Dobby hopes Little Master can go to sleep now,” he whispered, brushing a long finger over his brow.

Draco fell asleep almost instantly as Dobby wrung his own ears in punishment. He didn’t tell the boy that he had to leave him alone for the night as well.

Another day passed. Then another.

And still another.

All alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling with panic for his only company, Draco waited for the evenings and for the pain.

He awoke the next morning, unsure of where he was. How small are they now? he wondered, as the elf changed his diaper again. Are they gone yet? What day is it? Is it time to eat?

Time had lost all meaning to Draco Malfoy. He wasn’t sure if he slept or if he was awake. He had bad dreams, very bad dreams. He measured the passage of time by eating cold oatmeal, having his groin scalded by the emasculating Paste twice a day, and getting his diapers changed. He itched all over, since Dobby was forbidden to bathe him. His bum burned and stung, irritated by the damp diapers that always seemed to need changing. His hand ached constantly, and his stomach rumbled almost nonstop. He confused it, sometime during the fourth or fifth day, he thought, with the rumble of thunder outside his window. It depressed him, and he longed for the sunbeams that lit up the tiny dust motes in their golden rays and nearly blinded him for most of the day.

I miss them, those little floaty things, he mused. When are they coming back? What’s it like to float?

Draco Malfoy’s mind was beginning to slip.

He so desperately wanted to scratch himself – everywhere!
He wanted to get up, stretch, and run to the kitchen to find food. He would have even settled for digging out the rest of Harry’s candy that Dobby had hidden under his bed. He so wanted his hand to stop hurting, but more than that, he wanted to just scream. He wanted it so badly that it became his obsession. He was going to find his voice and scream, if it was the last thing that he ever did! As he listened to the raindrops on the windowpane, he tried and tried.

What do I sound like? When was the last time I talked? Gods, my nose itches! Why are there 243,308 bumps on the left corner of ceiling, but only 232,008 on the right? Who built this house, anyway? Some Muggle? Muggle? What’s a Muggle? Why do I hurt so badly all over? Why can’t I move? Help? Can someone help me? Anyone? Does anyone know I’m here? WHY am I here? Was I bad? Am I bad? Did they put me in here because I’m dangerous?

“Little Master?” Dobby asked him, seeing the odd look in his gray eyes, “Is you awake? Is you alright?”

Someone’s here, he thought nervously. Who’s here?

He stared at Dobby the house elf, the creature who had helped raise him, and Draco Malfoy did not recognize him.

What the hell is that thing? Who is that thing? Is it talking to me?

“Maybe sleep is good for you,” it told him, holding up a long, slim finger.

No! NO sleep! If I sleep, I’ll dream! That Lion will get me and cut me again! Those boys, and that girl, they’ll be there! They hate me and they’ll hurt me! Or if it’s not them, it’ll be that man-thing, that ghost in the black cloak! Don’t let him get me, please! Don’t let him see me, don’t let him touch me – not down there! Don’t let them all see me, you … you … you thing! Don’t make me sleep, please! Please, I don’t want to go to sleep … or do I? Am I already asleep? Is this creature a nightmare? Can I get up and walk and talk if I wake up?

Dobby sensed that something was very wrong, but his Master would not listen to him. The routine didn’t change, and by the sixth day, the elf took a big chance. He was so worried that Draco was losing his grasp of things that he spoke out of line. When Lucius Malfoy came in that morning to give Draco his morning treatment of the Nettle Paste, Dobby begged him, tears in his huge eyes, to let the boy go.

Malfoy glared at him and kicked him across the room.

“He’ll be set free when I say so,” he told the elf. “And not before. When he’s ready, when he realizes what he has to do, THEN he can get up.” Then he thought for a moment, snapping on his rubber gloves and opening the jar of Paste. “When he admits it to me.”

I know him, the boy thought, He’s a bad man. He’s going to hurt me again. That’s all he ever does, and I think he likes it!

And then the burning pain hit him again. Draco began to cry, but it didn’t help. He’d been crying for a long time, he knew, but it never helped. It only seemed to make the bad man even angrier at him, and he didn’t want that.

But what DO I want? He wondered, as his crotch seemed to take fire once more and his bum stung and his hand throbbed. What does HE want? Is he trying to kill me? What did I do wrong? What did I do to make him so mad at me? How can I make him stop? Why does he hate me so?

“Ah, we’re almost there,” Malfoy informed his dazed son, who didn’t comprehend his words. “Your penis is nothing more than a tiny bump of foreskin now, and your worthless little balls have all but disappeared. No more harsh slaps to them, boy. As soon as the sac shrinks up, I think we can let you up a bit. One more application to finish you off!”

He’s done something to my penis?! Draco thought, a brief moment of lucidity taking him as Dobby sniveled in the corner. He’s burnt my penis off! Then the lucidity passed. Why?! What was wrong with my penis? Aren’t boys supposed to have penises?

Then he felt his diaper being closed up again. He could hear the bad man walking away, grumbling to the odd little creature. It was then on the bed with him, staring at him. He could see it clearly, since it was leaning right over him. Then it smiled.

“Little Master can get up tomorrow!” It cried happily, grabbing him by the cheeks and kissing him. “Master says one more Pastey-thing and Little Master will be a little Eunuch Wizard and he can get up out of bed!”

I can’t be a good boy! Draco realized, I have to be a bad boy! He wants me to be bad, that man, he does! And the other man, the ghost in my nightmares. He said so. He wants me to be … to be … I’m supposed to be like them! If I get like them, I can get up!

It was only a very slight change of facial expression, but Dobby caught it. The very corners of Draco’s cracked lips turned up, and his colorless eyes brightened. The elf, however, sensed that something was badly wrong. The boy’s eyes had a cold glint to them, and the pupils were wide. He was breathing faster, and the corners of his nostrils were twitching.

I’ll be just like him, Draco thought, THAT’S what he wants me to do! I’ll be like him, and he won’t hurt me anymore and he’ll like me! They’ll like me so much, they won’t leave me all alone in here with this … this … thing!

Dobby cringed as if able to read the boy’s jumbled thoughts. He hopped down off of the bed and went to hide in Draco’s closet.

“Tomorrow night is one week, yes,” Dobby mumbled in the darkness, buffing Draco’s black leather dress shoes to a shine out of habit. “Tomorrow night Little Master can be alright again, if Master thinks he’s ready … if Master thinks … he’s ready to be just like him. But then he won’t be alright …”

And there, alone in the closet, Dobby cried and thought about Harry Potter who was, much like Draco Malfoy, being held prisoner by those who did not understand him.

That night, Draco’s nightmares were so bad that he inadvertently broke the Petrificus Spell.

He awoke in a cold sweat, screaming at the top of his lungs. His pale eyes darted around the dark room, lighted only by the weak moonlight streaming in through the windows. Shapes were moving everywhere in the shadows. Shapes that were his own size.

“Yer just like me, now, Malfoy!” Seamus Finnegan was saying to him, his Irish peasant accent thick and hard to comprehend.

“Guess I’ll have to punch ya in the face and not in the balls, since you ain’t got BALLS NO MORE, Malfoy!” Ron Weasley was saying.

“At … at least my Granny loves me and would never hurt me,” Neville Longbottom told him, flinching back, just in case.

“I think that you look just fine like that,” Hermione was telling him, touching his smooth and empty crotch with a soft hand and patting his cheek. “No beard, never will have. That’s so sweet!”

And then there was the boy in round glasses with the dark, messy hair. His green eyes were shining in the moonlight, almost with a life and Power of their own. He was reaching out a hand to Draco, and those brilliant emerald eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I’ll fix it, Malfoy,” he promised, “Somehow, trust me!”

Draco felt an overwhelming urge to run to Harry Potter and take his hand. Somehow, it seemed to be the right thing to do. He was taking a step forward, but then he saw the giant standing behind Harry.

And he was holding that odd, jeweled Knife in his huge hand.

“Dunno if it counts er not, ‘Arry,” he rumbled, his voice thundering across Draco’s nightmare like the Hogwart’s Express at full throttle, “Dint cut ‘is little cock off, now, did we? It just … vanished, like Magic, it did! He’s not a REAL Eunuch Wizard, ya know.”

“Don’t you have some magical monster to tend to, illegally?” Draco sneered at him in disgust, his hatred of the Gamekeeper overpowering his fears.

But suddenly it wasn’t Hagrid, the Gamekeeper. It was the Lion, and he roared at Draco and lunged. His horrid claws were tearing into his flesh, ripping it to the bone. Hot pain seared through him, and he screamed. Everyone had gone, leaving him all alone to face the beast by himself.

He awoke a second time, only this time he was actually awake. The nested loop of a dream broke, and he tumbled out of bed to strike the floor hard. Fresh waves of pain stabbed up through his right hand, and he cried out. But he was all alone. He was lying on the floor of his room all alone in the huge, empty Manor house with no one to help him. And he couldn’t move.

The darkness closed in as a cloud hid the moon.

But he had been able to scream! Seizing upon the opportunity, he screamed again. “HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME!” He cried frantically, “ANYONE! I’LL DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING! PLEASE!!!”

And then he felt hands upon him. Someone had grabbed him, and the Lion was running away in his mind as came fully awake! He was safe!

Those rescuing hands were cold and somewhat rough, but to Draco, they felt like what those crazy Muggles must have thought to be the healing hands of their Savior. They touched him here and there, magically closing his wounds and making the blood and torn flesh whole again. The fingers of that one hand took his aching and broken right one and straightened it, spreading relief through him so quickly that he sighed in ecstasy. They glided over his smooth skin, soothing away the sunburn on his face and the raw irritation on his spanked bum. They touched him there, lingered, squeezed his soft bum cheeks a bit, then moved on around to his front.

“Smooth,” a voice whispered, sounding like dry and dead leaves blowing along down a dusty gravel road in the autumn wind. “Smooth and perfect.”

Draco looked down to see a ghostly hand, not a human one, touching his empty crotch.

There was no trace between his legs that he’d ever been born a normal boy.

Those hands that had saved him moved over him again and again, as if searching for something to fondle. Their search, however, was in vain.

“So very perfect,” the voice hissed in his small, round ear, as the other hand that was not touching his crotch seized his left forearm. There was a slight tinge of pain where it touched him, but it vanished quickly, replaced by a euphoric sort of calm.

Draco whimpered in relief, leaning upon the one who had saved him. “Thank you,” he cried out, savoring his relief much as a starving man attacks a banquet. “Thank you so much!”

He let himself be held for a long time, feeling the coolness of this stranger soaking into him. It felt good, and he savored it. He didn’t want him to let go, ever. He’d been in pain and alone for as long as he could remember, and he didn’t want to risk losing it. He wanted to be touched, to be held – to be loved.

Surely there was love in that touch, it felt so good.

“And are you better now, Master Draco L. Malfoy, son of Lucius?” The dusty voice asked, and the boy turned to look at his rescuer.

His face, however, was obscured by a hood on his black cloak.

“Oh, yes!” Draco moaned, clutching him tighter, afraid to let go. “You don’t know … I mean … it’s been so long and no one’s ever … ever …”

“Touched you?” The raspy voice supplied, “Loved you?”

Draco stared into the hood with intense longing in his colorless eyes. He nodded slowly, those pale eyes tearing up.

The cloaked figure shook its head. “Now, now, boy, there’s no need to cry. No need to cry ever again. And if you do, for some reason, I will wipe your tears away. I will stand at your side, Draco, and hold you up in the face of those that would harm you. I will not let anyone hurt you ever again. Do you like that?” It hissed, touching him again, where his boyhood should have been.

A wave of pure euphoria overtook the shuddering boy. He gasped, clutching at the black robe until his knuckles went white. He had NEVER felt so good in his entire life! Whoever this person was, this Savior, this hero – Draco swore to follow him wherever he would lead.

Still, the hand rubbed at his smoothness, almost as if savoring every curve of his boyish body. “You called for help, and I came.”

“Don’t leave me,” Draco gasped, his eyes pleading, “Please don’t let them get me!”

“And what would you do in return of a favor so great?” It asked hungrily.

Draco thought for a moment, remembering his screaming pleas for help.

“Anything, my Lord,” he whispered mannerly, his mouth falling open.

“Then kiss me.”

Draco thought for only a second. He’d never kissed a man before, and this shadowy figure sounded very much like man, or if it were a woman, one not in very good shape! He didn't even recall ever kissing his own father. Still, the hands were upon him and the euphoria was making his blood boil. He felt so good, too good! There was nothing, he realized, that he would not do for this person who had – like no one else in his short life – shown him tender mercies. It was so small a price to pay!

He nodded and drew nearer, his beardless face falling into that black hood. He DID feel as if he were falling, when he thought about it, but it simply did not matter. He felt dry and chapped lips closing over his own, and the blisters and cracks that he’d endured for days faded away. There was something probing at his healed lips, and he opened his mouth to sigh in pleasure. When he did, he felt something moist slip into his mouth.

It licked at his tongue, exploring his little mouth as if lost. The lips were pressed firmly over his own, and he found his lungs filling with the breaths of the stranger. The euphoria had spread to every inch of his body, and he tingled all over in delight. He gripped his savior tighter, imitating the odd behavior of the tongue that had invaded his mouth. He felt good, better than he had ever felt in his life as those rough hands ran over his smooth and perfect skin – everywhere! They settled on his healed bum, caressing him, touching him in the front too, as the kiss went on and on and he breathed the breath that only this wonderful stranger could give him.

A hand moved to his front again, stroking him gently. The thought then crossed his mind that he was missing a good many things between his legs. His boyhood was gone, replaced with nothing. He remembered the intense pain of the Paste, realized what it had done to him, but found that he didn’t care! He’d never felt this good while touching his tiny genitals, and if having them gone meant feeling as he did then, he was happy and glad to be rid of them. He sighed in perfect contentment, a powerful feeling of impending explosion building inside of him.

Don’t let go of me, his mind cried, dizzy with the sensations that he’d never imagined could even exist, Don’t leave me alone! Hold me like this … forever … please!

“If you wish,” the voice replied, as if sensing his thoughts and breaking the kiss. The hands, however, continued to touch him. It was as if every care in his world faded away into the distance. There were only those hands, the feelings they created within him, and the driving insatiable desire to hold onto that feeling.

“Yes, Draco,” the stranger hissed, “That’s it! Just a little more!”

It was all too much. Very suddenly, the powerful feelings inside that made Draco Malfoy feel as is he were going to be split up the middle overwhelmed him. Those rough lips locked down over his own smooth ones again, and he breathed out hard as every nerve in his lithe little body caught fire. It was not pain, however, that drove him on.

It was pleasure.

Pure and undiluted pleasure.

Give it to me, the stranger thought, and Draco heard him! Give me what only a prime, perfect young one can! Expend your energies, boy, let it go so that I may have it!

“Yes!” Draco cried, shaking and sweating as he slumped down in those almost ghostly arms. He felt something rushing out of him, something leaving him. He couldn’t get his breath, and he felt as if it were being sucked out of him. As the waves of unimaginable pleasure shook him all over, he felt weak and helpless. It was as if he’d lost some part of himself – a very large part.

And then it was over.

Exhausted but relieved beyond measure, Draco Malfoy looked up into the hood once more to see two faintly shining red eyes peering back at him.

“Thank you,” he managed again, as those arms lifted him up and helped him to walk for the first time in what felt like his entire life.

Arm in arm with the dark stranger, he took his first uncertain steps.

“I’ll fall!” He cried, afraid that his weak legs would not hold him.

“Lean upon me,” the stranger told him, “Forever, my son!”

“Yes, Master,” Draco agreed, eyes closed in relief, and he took the first step.

He allowed himself to be led.

When he opened them again, he found himself in his bathroom. A full bath had been run, and the smells coming from a large platter of steaming food filled his nose. He began to drool.

“Dobby? Oh Dobby? Do be a good fellow and clean up young Draco for me, will you?” The stranger requested.

Draco looked around to see Dobby the house elf, pale and shaking, nodding his head. He came up and took the boy by the hand, helping him down into the bath and then handing him a steaming mug of the peppermint flavored drink that only he could make.

“Advise me when he’s bathed and has eaten,” the dry voice said, and the shadowy figure almost glided out the door with a sigh.

“Y-y-yes, Lord Voldemort,” Dobby replied.

*And now you know why Malfoy is a bad boy, instead of Rowling just writing him that way.