Current mood:	productive
Entry tags:	fan-fiction, fic: the truth revealed

The Truth Revealed 00/?? [Draco/Harry, NC-17]
Title: The Truth Revealed
Author: Megan B. Black
Pairing: Draco/Harry
Other Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Seamus/Blaise/Neville, Greg/Vince, Terry/Ernie, Zacharias/Michael, Fred/George, Bill/Sahara(OFC), Charlie/Fleur, Pansy/Ginny, Remus/Severus, Lucius/Narcissa/Sirius, Rodriguez (Montague)/Theodore, Padma/Parvati, past Severus/Lily/James
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: Alternative universe, out-of-character characters, incest, slash, femmeslash, het, threesomes, original characters, rape and child abuse, violence, language, hurt/comfort, minor character death, mpreg (male pregnancy), fempreg (female pregnancy)
Genre: Drama, Angst, Romance
Summary: Harry goes through some changes over the summer of his 6th year and his new pets – and a few others – reveal some very interesting things.
Word Count: 2,011 words
Author’s Note: Yes, you read that right. There will be character out-of-character, though I will always be willing to listen to constructive criticism. In fact, I want the constructive criticism. Oh. This is being re-posted, because the tags got a bit messed up last time I posted.

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Harry stared blankly at the clock in front of him. It was now July 30th, only a few seconds before Harry’s 16th birthday and there was a feeling about him, as if things were suddenly about to become changed. Come now, Potter, Harry thought. There is no reason to be nervous… After all, you were always crap at Divination, weren’t you? Another part of him scoffed slightly at this. But, Divination has nothing to do with being a Seer or, if it does, it is a very bad example to those who believe they are Seers but are dreadful at Divination. There is a difference, you know. Harry shook his head as the clock blinked one last time.

12:00 AM.

Happy birthday to me, Harry thought to himself and for a second, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Harry closed his eyes and then, all of a sudden, Harry felt a searing pain burst through him and he doubled over onto the floor, making little pained noises in the back of his throat. The pain alleviated, but not by a lot and the world started to spin behind his eyelids. Oh god, Harry thought. What the Hell is happening to me? I’m not a Seer! I’m not supposed to be right about these things…

At that moment, Harry fainted dead away and his face hit the cold wood of the floor just a moment later.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few days after the fainting incident, which Harry counted as just the aftermath of his uncle’s beatings and it had just hit him at that moment – though his aunt assured him that he had been unconscious for more than a day - Harry found himself lost in a dream of a memory of his uncle raping him with something, the object not clear in his pain-hazed mind.

…A throbbing, ripping pain pulsed at the entrance to his arse…the memory of a blunt object tearing him apart from the inside fresh in his mind…blows raining heavily down on his sides and back, bruising his pale skin…

…Harry’s eyes popped open and his stomach turned at the memory. Leaning over the side of the ragged, small bed, he vomited up what little he had had for breakfast. Exhaustion racked his body, his minute rest disturbed by nightmarish dreams.

He had fallen into a fitful sleep after the morning attack, unable to clean up the mess always left after they were satisfied and because of this, the stench of blood and his uncle’s and cousin’s seminal fluids filled the air and Harry desperately wished that he could perform magic to rid the pungent smell from the atmosphere.

Harry dragged himself to his feet and tiptoed to the bathroom, where a number of cleaning supplies still lingered. He picked out the things that he needed: a bucket, sponge, mop and…. he'd probably need a towel, too. He crept back to his room, carrying the bucket with the sponge inside in one hand and the towel and mop in the other.

Using the mop first, he attacked the mess that he had made by vomiting; he’d have to deal with the smaller details with the sponge. Dipping the sponge into the now dirty water, Harry started working it back and forth on the bloody floor.

Suddenly, a loud call from downstairs interrupted him. “Boy! Get your arse down here into this kitchen and help your aunt!” Harry winced at the sound of his uncle’s loud voice; he had hoped not to have to face them again so soon after that episode.

Harry walked down the stairs, yelping in surprise and pain as his uncle grabbed him by the shirt collar and hauled him into the kitchen. “Now, make us dinner, boy.” The ‘or else’ hung heavily in the air and Harry sighed inwardly. Might as well get to work, he thought.

Harry set to getting the Dursleys' dinner done; his preparations went fine - until he started to boil the water. His arm knocked against the pot handle when he tried to reach over it to get the macaroni, causing the pot of boiling water to tip over onto his arm and the floor. As he screamed in pain at the water scalding his flesh, some part of Harry realized, albeit vaguely, that he was going to be in trouble for this. His uncle immediately discovered what had happened and gripped Harry's arm where it hurt the most, making him cry out.

Harry was literally dragged up to his room and thrown inside, fetching his head a smart blow on his bedstead as he fell. “Stay in here until I give you permission to come out again.” Oh yes, so you can make me do more of your dirty work, Harry thought spitefully. Bastard, but he’s right… I deserve the way that he treats me… At least someone sees me for what I am: a nobody, a nothing, a killer… so dirty... useless.

Harry’s eyes closed as his mind wandered. It’s your fault, Harry… Your fault that they died… All of those innocent people… Your parents, the Creeveys, Cedric…

Cedric… Harry’s eyes snapped open and he found himself witnessing a familiar scene; it was the same scene that had haunted his nightmares ever since the Third Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

“Kill the spare!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

“NOOOOOOO!” Hollow, dead eyes stared up at him from a lifeless form, its expression now forever startled and uncomprehending.

The scene changed abruptly. He was back in his own room, draped limply over the bed. He hissed at the pain in his arm, which he was lying on. Harry closed his eyes, wishing fervently that the time to go back to Hogwarts would come soon… very soon. Harry could imagine that there was no way he was getting something to eat until that time.

Suddenly, he heard a hissing voice say, “Adéle…” It came from the window sill and he could hear the soft scrape of snake skin against his wall as the snake slithered through. “There is a boy in here...”

Another snake—Adéle?— slithered inside after him. “Of course there is, Augustus; this is, after all, a human home.” Her voice was sarcastic, mocking the other snake, Augustus, for making such an obvious statement. “Though I must say that this one smells differently from the others, powerful, and he smells like…” She trailed off, knowing that her companion could catch the meaning of her phrase.

“Will you two quit talking about me like I’m not there?” Harry hissed tiredly, his emerald eyes spitting green fire, missing the last part of her evaluation of him entirely.

Their heads snapped up to face him; the female snake, Adéle, leant her face forward, as if studying him in curiosity. “You speak our language,” she hissed, totally ignoring his question. She slinked to the bed, wrapping herself around the pole and crawling toward him.

“Nagini mentioned that there were only a selection of people that could speak Parseltongue; one was her master, Voldemort, one was Harry Potter and the other one was unknown…they were never able to figure out who it was,” Augustus explained in a steady hissing. “…You don’t look very scary, boy.” Harry winced a bit, having forgotten the early comment by Adéle, and lifted up his thick tuft of raven-black hair and there it was… the proof of the fact that he was, indeed, the Boy-Who-Lived, Gryffindor Golden Boy, Harry Potter—the scar.

“So, you are the Boy-Who-Lived… Yet, you are very unlike a regular Gryffindor. You have the braveness of a Gryffindor, but you have many more qualities that are found in a Slytherin: power, you hide your emotions well—the masking of emotions is the mark of a true Slytherin—and you would have learnt the cunning from other Slytherins had you been placed there,” Adéle observed, and the two snakes began hissing in undertones; Harry could only make out a fraction of what they were saying. Harry pursed his lips together, impatient but managed to school his features into indifference and disinterest. This, however, seemed to make the snakes discuss whatever issue they had going even more avidly. Harry listened more closely and found that he was barely able to make out more than a fraction of their words, but he could actually make out a full sentence, despite the snakes’ efforts. “…Another quality of a Slytherin…” Then, “…he could very well be the Heir.” Harry tuned out the rest of their conversation; this had caught his attention. The Heir? Him? The Heir of what, exactly? Oh boy, Harry thought, another secret about myself that I don’t know.

Unexpectedly, Harry barked at them in a dangerous, hissing undertone. “You’re doing it again, talking about me like I’m not even standing in the room next to you!” This time, the snakes only looked at him with what seemed to be a pair of smirks on their faces that reminded him of Draco…

After last year, Harry had started referring to Slytherins by their first names. After hearing Blaise talk about them night after night after night, Harry had given up trying to keep referring to them by their last names, Draco and Pansy especially. The duo had earned his respect through Blaise, though they probably had no clue. Blaise and he had earned each other’s trust when Harry had been forced to trust him one night…when Blaise had done something unexpected—he had saved Harry’s life.

Blaise and Harry had spent that night thinking of a place that they could meet where no one would find them, and when they could meet. In the end, they had decided on the Third Corridor, which most of the students never dared to go near; the name ‘the Forbidden Corridor’ had stuck with it throughout their years at Hogwarts. Blaise told Harry about the Resistance, which was a group of young Death-eaters that didn’t really want to be Death-eaters but were forced into it by their parents. Draco, Blaise and Pansy were all considered neutral, though Harry had no idea how Draco could have gotten out of becoming a Death-eater with his father as Voldemort’s right-hand man.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion claim him even as the sunlight shone through the window. Adéle and Augustus exchanged looks. It seemed like Harry was going to need a lot of help getting through this.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Unbeknownst to Harry, miles away was a boy suffering from strange attacks of protectiveness, rage and despair as the mother and father watched him, unknowing of what to do. They were going to have to keep his mate away from whatever was doing that to him to make their son react this way…

The mother felt a surge of protectiveness for her offspring well up inside of her and she determined that she would do whatever was needed to protect her child. She looked over at the father, who nodded his head. “Don’t worry, my love… whoever is doing this to our son’s mate will pay dearly.”