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kennahijjaTitle: Friendship on the Dark Side (2/2)
Pairing: Baise/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning: ambiguous consent, sex under the influence of unsavoury potions, angst
Summary: 'When my father came to the Dark Lord, he brought all the male Slytherins of his year with him. I can do no less.' (set during and after HBP)
Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
prurient_badger in the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hpvalensmut Exchange. Hugs & kisses to djin7 and annephoenix for beta-reading on very short notice – I love you both!
Read Part 1
The owners of this place, Blaise thought as he nervously leaned against the wall of the Apparition Chamber, had surely taken the term 'Death Eater meeting place' to heart.
Ominous green flames flickered in an elaborate chandelier that took up most of the ceiling; the wallpaper consisted of silver snakes, of all things! Blaise kept his head tucked carefully into the generous hood of his travelling robe in order to remain unrecognised by the occasional newcomer Apparating in, equally cowled and robed. Some brushed by him with curious glances before venturing out into the corridor beyond the chamber.
The owl feather Portkey Malfoy had sent him was slowly being crushed between Blaise's fingers, a tribute to nerves. He had to rely on the hope that it was truly Malfoy who'd sent it to him together with instructions about when and how to activate it. At least the familiar grey-flecked markings of the feather were obviously Braxas's – Blaise had seen Malfoy's beautiful eagle owl swooping down on the breakfast table with letters and parcels for years.
Malfoy had to come! Blaise had been raised to handle almost any conceivable social situation, but walking into a Death Eater meeting alone, and one which at worst might see the Dark Lord in attendance, filled him with holy terror.
Draco... he hadn't seen Malfoy since that fateful day in June that had witnessed Professor Dumbledore's death. If Draco – like Snape – had been involved in the Headmaster's murder, as some rumours had it, surely he would come out of hiding and show up tonight.
Even before Dumbledore's death, Blaise had not been alone with Malfoy for more than a passing moment since that even more dreadful night when Malfoy had poisoned and... forced him. Blaise hadn't quite figured out whether Malfoy's conscience was bothering him, or whether he'd just been too busy plotting and executing the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts. It all made sense in retrospect – Malfoy's nervousness, his constant absences, his sudden disinterest in Quidditch, all his tall talk...
Though Blaise's rational mind had been relieved by the lack of contact, his body, newly-attuned to Malfoy's presence and desires, had craved his attention. So much that Blaise had spent too many nights doubled up underneath the covers, only two beds away from Malfoy's four-poster, tears coursing down his face and his prick so hard he wanted to scream. Malfoy had been tense and miserable, as sleepless as Blaise himself, and Blaise could feel his despair through the Amoranth coursing in his blood. The only thing that had kept Blaise from slipping inside Malfoy's bed curtains to comfort him with tongue and hands and to rub himself all over that soft skin was the lack of invitation.
Blaise had been almost grateful when the note turned up on a slip of self-burning parchment one June morning. 'Tonight' had been written on it, and 'Wait for me in the courtyard, no matter what happens.'
And Blaise had waited, through the commotion, despite the screams and the fighting and the Dark Mark hovering in the sky above the towers. He'd waited until his nerves frayed, fear thick in his chest. But Draco never came.
And so Blaise had let himself be rushed through the chaotic aftermath of the murder and Dumbledore's funeral, Draco's absence gnawing on him like a worm in the pit of his stomach, every memory sending stabs of unfulfilled arousal through his groin. The only other person who might have noticed his condition was also gone from Hogwarts, on the run for murder. His head of house had been Blaise's secret hope, the most perceptive potions expert ever to walk the corridors of the castle. But Severus Snape had fled with Draco, exposed as a servant of the Dark Lord, never to return.
At last, Blaise had found himself washed back home on a tidal wave of scared students on the Hogwarts Express.
It was sheer blind luck that his far too perceptive mother had decided to accept the invitation of a wealthy suitor for a summer in a Welsh holiday spa. There was no way Odette Zabini would have been fooled by playacting abilities so far beneath her own.
Any ordinary summer that saw Blaise of age and on his own would have found him in the very thick of London wizarding society, entertaining at his mother's luxurious Diagon Alley townhouse. Instead, he'd retreated to the small Cornish cottage that Henry Plumpton, Odette's latest husband, had bought for their honeymoon. Now Plumpton was gone, but the cottage remained as a place where Blaise could hide as the Amoranth tore at his mind and body. Potions-addled and desperate, he couldn't stop fretting about Malfoy's fate; his body kept calling for some kind of action, while his mind was waiting for instructions. Which meant that Blaise spent two weeks slipping in and out of a state of arousal, unable even to satisfy himself to alleviate some of the pressure. When the owl came at last, all he could feel was relief, traitorous tears seeping from his eyes.
The owl was a nondescript, dull postal bird that did not show any interest in its location or the parchment envelope it bore. The envelope contained only a velvet-soft owl feather and a hastily scribbled note with the incantation that would turn it into a Portkey and the time to use it. But Blaise recognised Malfoy's slanted scrawl from six years of shared classes and studies, and the distinct markings of his owl.
Just as now, in the garish Apparition Chamber of a nameless Death Eater household, he recognised Malfoy as soon as the boy Apparated in, a slender shape in a heavy hooded cloak that obscured his face entirely. Blaise swallowed and turned to him like a flower to the sun, one hand resting on the wall for balance.
"Zabini," Malfoy acknowledged in a subdued whisper, grabbing Blaise's arm and pulling him away into the corridor. The grip was so tight it smarted, and the convoluted feelings Blaise picked up from him with his Amoranth-sharpened senses were too muddled to detect whether he was afraid or relieved to see Blaise.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the chamber, Malfoy stopped. "You weren't followed, were you? And you told no one?"
"I used the Portkey, Malfoy, and if I'd said anything, the potion would probably have killed me by now." A frisson of impatience ran through him, but Malfoy's death grip on his arm loosened.
"Did you kill Dumbledore?" Blaise blurted out, the question on his mind ever since Draco had vanished with Snape two weeks ago, leaving behind nothing but riddles.
"I didn't!" Malfoy hissed into Blaise's ear, followed by a nervous glance over his shoulder. He laughed, a bitter sound that felt alien in the Draco Malfoy Blaise had known since their first year at Hogwarts. "Oh, I was supposed to, don't get me wrong. But I didn't. Snape... he promised my mother he'd do it if I failed..." Blaise had to fight the irrational urge to tuck the fine stand of hair that had tumbled out of Malfoy's hood back behind his ear. "He isn't going to like it." Malfoy laughed his uncanny laugh again. "You're my very last bargaining chip, Zabini, isn't that just bloody funny?"
Blaise put a tentative hand on the heavy wool of Malfoy's robe. The shoulder underneath felt like a spring coiled with tension. Despair seemed to bleed from Malfoy's skin.. "Malfoy... Draco. Can I-"
"Make it better?" Malfoy sneered, throwing his head back so that his hood slipped off. His grey eyes were wild in his pinched face. Blaise, who had no idea where that sentence had been heading – 'help you'? 'touch you'? – closed his mouth.
"Yes, why don't you?" Malfoy sniped on, a manic glow in those bruised eyes. "We're early. He isn't here yet. And who knows – maybe it will be the last chance you'll get?"
He pulled Blaise after him until they reached a side corridor, and then dragged him around the corner. The new corridor was broad, interrupted by fake columns and niches which held busts of stocky, broad-faced witches and wizards, an unattractive lot overall. Malfoy waved his wand and threw a small Noticemenot Charm over the entrance.
"What-?" Blaise gasped as Malfoy pulled him into one of the niches, a feral expression on his face.
"It's the Carrow's ancestral gallery – no one ever comes in here, it's too ugly." Malfoy threw himself against the back wall, right behind the bust, lounging against the stone. Unclasping his cloak, he ran both hands down his hips and thighs in a suggestive manner.
"Well," he murmured, canines showing in his smile, "go ahead and make me feel better, Blaise."
A tremor ran through Blaise's entire body at the suggestive sight. He'd wanted this for weeks, hating himself for it, but yearning desperately nonetheless. Malfoy's thin body called out to him through his heavy robes.
Blaise slipped to his knees in one fluid movement. He mirrored the way Malfoy had stroked himself with his own hands, feeling soft, rich cloth under his fingers, then gave in to the temptation of rubbing the side of his face over Malfoy's groin like a cat. Malfoy let out an audible, shaky breath, and Blaise could feel his cock hardening underneath his cheek.
"Now!" Malfoy insisted, brushing Blaise's hood back and tugging at his hair with single-minded intent.
Blaise smiled against the soft wool where Malfoy was unable to see it, then drew back to push the heavy folds out of his way and attack the buttons on the trousers below. Malfoy groaned as Blaise shoved trousers and underpants down until they snagged unflatteringly around mid-thigh. His prick was already half hard, poking upwards, and had acquired the familiar silly pink tinge that marked Malfoy's excitement. For a moment, Blaise inhaled the earthy-sharp scent of arousal, mixed with the acrid tang of nervous sweat. Malfoy had certainly been cleaner before, but Blaise had waited for this so unbearably long, and tasting Malfoy at his most personal was perfection. He wound his tongue up Malfoy's length just once, delighting in the impatient growl it provoked, then took his mouth full of cock, lips stretching to accommodate the width, feeling soft, slick flesh under his tongue that turned harder with every lick it received.
Malfoy greedily sought his throat, thrusting his hips against Blaise's face in shallow but insistent motions. Blaise felt Malfoy's thigh muscles tremble under his fingers as he swallowed, then Malfoy practically spiralled himself up the wall as Blaise took him in deep, suppressing the gag reflex. They had practiced this on each other quite a bit the year before. Malfoy's fingers buried in his hair, tugging at random strands with barely restrained urgency. Blaise slipped his lips down Malfoy's glistening prick, carefully keeping his teeth out of the way – unlike Blaise himself, Malfoy disliked even a touch of pain with his pleasure. He suckled the head of Malfoy's cock almost sweetly, shoving away memories of pipettes and potions. He gulped down a few breaths before swallowing Malfoy back down, tasting bitter precome and knowing Malfoy would not last long.
Brushing his fingers against Malfoy's slender balls was all it took for the boy to whimper deep in his throat, his back arching off the wall, his prick thrusting into the slippery refuge of Blaise's mouth. Malfoy's fingers twitched in Blaise's hair, pulling almost painfully before his prick jerked and spilled into Blaise's throat. Blaise swallowed hastily, not bothered much by the familiar taste. He wiped a trickle of come from the corner of his mouth before looking up.
Draco's eyes were shut tightly, his face transported as he rode out his orgasm, eyelashes like small pale fans against the pink glow of his cheeks. He looked completely lost in pleasure, but when his eyes opened again, tension seemed to creep right back into his body from the head down.
Blaise rose and leaned in to press a shy kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth for comfort. It reignited the wicked glint in Malfoy's eyes. In a heartbeat, Blaise found himself spun around with his own back against the wall, his wrists crossed behind his back. His head bumped into the stone as their positions were so suddenly reversed.
"Don't move!" Malfoy hissed, clamping one hand over Blaise's mouth as he pressed up against him; his other ran over the front of Blaise's trousers, and the touch jolted through Blaise's cock like a sting from that oaf Hagrid's nasty Blast-ended Skrewts. He groaned, then groaned again when his head fell back and connected with the wall at the already sore spot.
"Please!" he whimpered, arousal replacing the slight sting of pain. He'd been hard from the moment Malfoy had first touched him, but now it was bordering on the unbearable.
"Did you want something?" Malfoy snarked, smirking as Blaise tasted the palm over his lips with his tongue, then answered his own question by worming his free hand into Blaise's robes and into the waistband of his trousers.
As the warm fingers curled around Blaise's cock, Blaise's vision momentarily blanked out. It was so good, those fingers squeezing him, rubbing precome over his head, tugging back his foreskin. The coiled-spring intensity of arousal left Blaise with his nails digging painfully into his palms. His own breaths sounded embarrassingly loud in his ears.
He sucked the top half of one of Malfoy's fingers into his mouth, watching the absent smile on Draco's lips as he licked it gently. Although the sudden playfulness took away some of the sheer need Blaise felt, he still bucked his hips to drive himself further into Malfoy's firm grip.
Malfoy tugged at him almost cruelly, squeezing and massaging Blaise's prick in the tight confines of Blaise's underwear. It only took a few insistent gropes before Blaise writhed under Malfoy's hand, trapped as he was against the wall, his cock leaking and his body an arching plea for release.
"Yes!" Malfoy hissed even as he pressed himself against Blaise's body, pinning him in a rough, desperate bid for control he so lacked in all other areas.
The tight ache in Blaise's balls spiralled up until he came with his blood roaring in his ears, white sparks burning against the insides of his eyelids. His scream was stifled against Malfoy's unforgiving palm, but the avid way in which Malfoy studied Blaise's face seemed to recompense him for an audible expression of surrender.
At last, he extricated his hand from Blaise's trousers and cast a quick nonverbal cleaning charm over them both. Although the rush of scourgifying magic left an abrasive tingle behind, it was obvious that Malfoy had paid attention in Snape's class during the past year. Blaise's legs felt wobbly, as if his orgasm had halfway liquefied his muscles. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment. The corner of Malfoy's mouth tugged upwards as he watched, and he was in the process of opening his mouth to speak when he stumbled and cringed, his hand flying to his forearm with a pained grimace.
"We've got to go," he gasped. "He has arrived."
Blaise's long-awaited orgasmic bliss vanished in a heartbeat, and he could practically feel the bottom falling out of his stomach. He reached for Malfoy's sleeve. The slightest hint of disobedience, and yet his prick twitched agonisingly in his pants.
"Draco, wait! What..."
Malfoy looked awkward, as if being asked for advice on Death Eater matters was a novel experience for him. He shrugged.
"Do whatever He tells you. Try to say whatever you think he wants to hear, but don't lie outright – he'll know. And shield your mind as well as you can."
He turned and took a step, shoulders trembling, then stopped again. "Look, Zabini, I want you to back me up, of course, but He might not be in the mood for forgiveness. Even if I hadn’t fucked up, he hates me because my father..."
Malfoy fell silent and when Blaise caught up with him, he could see the despair etched on his face, and feel it like a clammy under-robe against his skin. "Just... fend for yourself as well as you can when it looks like there's no hope for me."
Blaise's unspoken, vengeful 'How could you get me into this?' suddenly mingled with hollow emptiness at the thought of Draco's vibrant body ending up broken and lifeless on the flagstones. Blaise tried to breathe through constricted lungs at the image. Would he even survive if Draco died? Would it free him?
"Why didn't you run?"
"I told you there's no way to run from the Dark Lord. Karkaroff tried, and he ended up in bits in a shack. And-" Malfoy swallowed visibly, "-he's got my mother, and all it'd take would be a word to one of his followers in Azkaban, and my father..."
Although Blaise would have happily exchanged Lucius Malfoy's life for his own freedom, Malfoy's obvious fear for his family dampened his rage somewhat. He knew he'd do the same – and a lot worse – to protect his mother.
"Come," Malfoy insisted, and Blaise fell into step behind him, no choice but to obey.
***
The Carrows had invited the Dark Lord to hold court in what had to be their manor's ballroom – a room not quite as tasteless as their Apparition Chamber, but overdoing the black. All the ceiling-high windows were hung with inch-thick dark drapes, and there was an inordinate number of green-burning candles. Their light threw a sickly glow all over the omnipresent masks and the rare naked face.
Blaise remained in Malfoy's shadow, hiding again inside his hood, while Draco himself kept close to the wall by the entrance. None of the twenty or so Death Eaters present approached them; instead, they gathered in small groups, chatting quietly, but the looks that brushed Draco every so often – he'd not bothered to pull up his hood so that his hair glinted in the green light like tarnished gold – were bright with predatory anticipation. Blaise's stomach clenched.
When their master finally appeared through a carpeted door at the far end of the hall, the sheer presence of the Dark Lord hit Blaise like a blow. He felt Draco's shudder through the space between them, and fought back the Amoranth that made him want to reach out and take his hand.
As one, those present sank to their knees, and Blaise let himself be swept down along with the crowd. In truth, something in that tall, intimidating figure made kneeling seem like a natural response.
The Dark Lord was attended by a pair of Death Eaters, one of them small, but preceded by a chest whose female nature even her voluminous robes could not conceal. The hosts, Blaise assumed. He'd met Alecto and Amycus Carrow at one of Dorothea Nott's soirees once. That bust on the Carrow sister was unmistakable.
Blaise used the cover of his hood to peer at Lord Voldemort as the Dark Lord's own gaze travelled over those present. He was very tall, with a thin body hidden behind long-flowing robes. He, too, wore a hood, and Blaise wondered what lay beneath it. The face alone was terrifying: a flattened nose, lips so thin that the mouth looked like a mere slash. There was no sign of hair anywhere. One would think that he would look hideous, like a snake-man hybrid, but the overall impression was strangely... magnetic.
"Welcome, my friends," the Dark Lord spoke, and his voice, too, held a touch of a hiss. "We've assembled here tonight to investigate the circumstances of a victory whose celebration I dare say you all still vividly remember." A titter of laughter ran through the assembly.
"Yes, Albus Dumbledore is dead," Lord Voldemort continued, a tight little smile playing around his lips. "One of my most loyal has struck the blow, and has returned to us at long last."
He nodded at one of the black-robed crowd, who stood alone and now slightly inclined his head in return. Even if he hadn't known it had to be Snape, Blaise would have recognised him by his posture alone.
"At the same time," the Dark Lord continued, "several of you will remember how I had entrusted the task of eliminating Dumbledore to another, who has not pleased me so well..." The terrifying eyes came to a pointed rest on Draco's slight form. "What do you have to say for yourself, Draco Malfoy?"
Draco raised his head, with so much effort that Blaise could watch every tendon in his neck tensing through layers of cloth.
"My Lord, I failed you," he admitted, softly but clearly, not daring to meet his master's eye. "I did not kill Headmaster Dumbledore, and... and if Professor Snape hadn't come to my aid, everything might have been lost."
"From what my servants tell me, young Malfoy, you had a weak and injured Dumbledore at wandpoint for minutes, in front of your fellow Death Eaters, and did not even attempt to cast the Killing Curse!"
The lipless mouth curved down, and the Dark Lord's rage was almost palpable in the air between them. Draco trembled, and out of the corner of his eye, Blaise saw the Death Eaters closest to him inching away ever so slightly.
"I don't know why I could not curse him," Draco confessed, his voice shaky with fear. "He just... stood there, and I couldn't do anything. Perhaps his powers-"
"You have been tutored in Occlumency all summer, boy," the Dark Lord snapped, silencing Draco's feeble attempt at explanation. "Dumbledore's powers were insufficient to discern Severus' true loyalties, and you claim they managed to paralyse you?" Draco shrank back at the full force of the fury directed at him. "Wasn't it rather that you did not want to do this for me? That you wavered in your devotion and longed to return into Albus' fold like a cowardly little traitor? So like your father – always holding back, never willing to compromise his reputation..."
"No!" Draco leapt to his feet, shaking his head so wildly that white-blond strands whipped around him. "My Lord, I am your loyal servant; my whole family has been, and I'd never break my vows to you. I just... I couldn't..." He broke off just in time to hide from anyone who didn't know him as well as Blaise – and most likely Snape – how close he was to hysterical sobs.
"I deserve whatever punishment you see fit for my failures, my Lord," he finally whispered, hanging his head in a submissive gesture. Blaise admired it for the high-stake gamble that it was, but it still flooded his insides with unexpected anger. Draco should not have to behave like this!
The Dark Lord looked down at the bright head with an inscrutable expression. "What do you say, Severus? You knew dear Albus best."
The familiar sharp profile of his Potions master emerged from the depths of his hood. Beetle-black eyes followed the Dark Lord's gaze towards Malfoy's bowed head.
"The boy was properly taught and instructed." Snape's voice was pensive. "As for Legilimency, Dumbledore's belief in 'morals' often stood in the way of his full power. In a life-or-death situation, however..." Snape shrugged with all the grace of a mangy owl. "If he found a way to sap young Malfoy's resolution, he had him face to face and the time to do it. Me, he did not see coming."
The Dark Lord raised a long index finger to his chin in a gesture of thoughtful contemplation. Blaise, who'd been taught from an early age to recognise and evaluate body language, admired his expressiveness.
"But you've brought me a gift to weigh in your favour, haven't you, young Draco? Amycus tells me that you requested a second Portkey of him." A nasty glint sparked in the creature's red eyes, and Blaise swallowed, shrinking into the protective cover of his robes.
Malfoy sucked in an audible breath and turned to Blaise, not looking him in the face. "Blaise Zabini, my Lord. You requested the presence of all my yearmates in your service. He's the last."
Called onto the carpet like this, Blaise saw no option but to step up to Draco and make his obeisance to his master. He bowed his neck as he would to a venerable Wizengamot elder, then held the position a few seconds longer – enough to signal sincere respect without implying sycophantic devotion. His hood fell in an elegant fold at the nape of his neck as he rose. The eyes of the Dark Lord burned into his own, not unlike another burst of the Amoranth coiling in his blood. Their intensity was frightening.
"So you've come to serve me at last, young master Zabini... out of your own free will?"
Fuck! Blaise bit his lip reflexively and cursed himself for it a second later. 'Back me up' struggled against 'don't lie outright' inside his brain, spilling into a trail of acid in his belly.
"N... not entirely, my Lord," he hedged.
"Did our young friend Malfoy force you to come before me, then?" Lord Voldemort's voice was deceptively gentle, and Blaise felt the hairs rise all over his body. He'd as good as admitted that he wouldn't have come here voluntarily – that could well cost him his life.
"He used Coeurs d'Amoranth," Blaise ground out, shame colouring his face despite the danger he was in. The burning stab of desire through his still-tender cock reminded him of Malfoy ordering him to conceal this fact at any cost. It was all he could do not to fall down at Malfoy's feet and plead his forgiveness; but then he'd also told Blaise not to lie! Finding himself painfully aroused in the presence of the Dark Lord was just... unbelievable.
"You brewed it yourself?" Snape threw in from the sidelines, his sharp nose leaning inquisitively forward.
"Yes, Professor," Malfoy replied, more polite than he'd been with their former head of house all year long.
"I take it that it's no simple process, then, Severus?" the Dark Lord inquired.
"It is quite difficult to brew," Snape admitted. "It has properties that resemble Imperius, although it does not negate the victim's will, just... punishes him for disobedience. For a sixteen year old schoolboy, it's a remarkable achievement."
"I'm surprised you haven't brought so useful a tool to my attention a long time ago, Severus." There was a tight note of threat in Lord Voldemort's voice. Snape cleared his throat.
"My Lord, it's not completely reliable – resistance is possible, even if the ultimate outcome will be madness or death for the victim. It's also..." another cough, "...a lust potion that demands a certain degree of physical intimacy before a successful application becomes possible. All in all, it's too complex, expensive and specific to ever become an adequate substitute for the Imperius Curse."
"So you're saying our young friend resorted to a potion because his seduction skills failed him?" the Dark Lord dug deeper maliciously. "A Malfoy? For shame!"
A titter of amusement ran through the room. Alecto Carrow slapped her thigh while her brother roared with laughter. Snape, Blaise noted, did not smile at all, and a pink flush spread across Draco's pale cheeks.
"And yet," Lord Voldemort mused, his eyes narrow and frost-cold as they landed on Draco's shamefaced expression, "I find it somewhat rude to be offered a gift with strings attached – like being promised a sumptuous cake, only to be fobbed off with a slice while the giver indulges in the rest."
"I'm sorry, master," Draco whispered, voice broken. "It was all I could think of."
"And you think your housemate is worth such a deception?" the Dark Lord mused, sharp eyes ghosting over Blaise's face like daggers.
Blaise's stomach tightened into a small ball of ice. If Voldemort intended to teach Malfoy a lesson by killing what he believed to be a former lover...
"He's the best-connected of all of us," Draco replied, a bit too quick for Blaise's taste. A soft noise made Blaise look up, and he realised he'd never heard Professor Snape chuckle before.
"What does amuse you so, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked with a slight frown.
"Well, Horace Slughorn certainly wasted no time collecting Mr Zabini for his little club," Snape pointed out. "He's remarkably... unsubtle about these things."
"He is also rarely mistaken about these things," the Dark Lord said, focusing his eyes directly on Blaise. "And yet you initially refused to join me, didn't you, Mr Zabini?"
'Put on your lizard mask,' Odette Zabini had taught her son, back when he'd still been a toddler. A children's game, picturing a fantastically coloured lizard on a stone, or a near-invisible one adapting to the surrounding dunes in the desert. Delving into the blank, self-content lizard mind, basking in the sun, a scaly bundle of calm. Putting his lizard mask over his thoughts had sailed him safely through encounters with unscrupulous suitors and vengeful rivals of his mother, with quite a few other predators of wizarding society, and four stepfathers too spellbound by Odette Zabini's beauty to take much notice of her son. A lesser witch would have avoided parading a teenage child, reminder of her age and former liaisons, among her admirers. Odette, however, was beyond such insecurities – she had armed Blaise with a haughty composure that set him apart from Gryffindors and other lesser beings, and set him to carve out his own place. Now, Blaise put on his lizard mask once more and faced the Dark Lord.
"My family, my Lord, objects to political... involvements of any kind," he said. "I did not want to go against their wishes."
"Ah, yes, we've all heard of the illustrious Madam Zabini," Lord Voldemort nodded. "And you certainly are a well-connected young man – through your mother, but also-" a probing look swept from Blaise's face down over his body, and Blaise's lizard mask was the only thing that prevented the blood from rushing into his face, "-also in your own right, I'm sure. You would be useful to me, more perhaps than any of your yearmates..." The scathing glance brushed over Draco. "But will you be loyal to me?"
"I only know that I want to serve you," Blaise said, projecting sincerity in his tone. It was the truth; Draco's ultimate desire, filtered into him through the Amoranth. It was also the only thing that would keep him alive tonight, in this company. "I've never disagreed with your aims, my Lord," he added. "And I'd be proud to serve as one of your Death Eaters."
A soft, hissing laugh, and the bony hand of the Dark Lord reached up to take hold of Blaise's chin. "What a well-spoken young man. If you are so eager to wear my Mark, I will not deny you." He drew his wand from one of the folds of his robe. "Are you prepared, Blaise?"
Even with the panic roiling underneath Blaise's mask of composure, there was a jolt of heady excitement at being addressed by his first name by Lord Voldemort.
He inclined his head respectfully. "I am, my Lord." And then, when the Dark Lord flicked his wand and the sleeve of Blaise's heavy travelling robe sliced open at the shoulder, unravelling without even a brush against Blaise's skin, he asked, "The Dark Mark... will it negate the Amoranth potion?"
A sudden sliver of hope mingled with stabbing pain as the potion took revenge on the violation of its creator's orders. Tears formed in Blaise's eyes but he managed to keep upright and to hold the Dark Lord's gaze.
"We will have to see about that," Lord Voldemort replied, an intrigued little smile on his inhuman face. "The Dark Mark bestows its own unique bond – it might well override something less immediate and so... physical."
The tip of Lord Voldemort's wand touched a patch of skin just below the inside of Blaise's elbow, and something black and oily spilled forward against his flesh. "Morsmordre!"
For an instant, the magic was only cool, slick and sickening. Then it spread out into curves and lines and started to burn, sizzling through every nerve of Blaise's arm, searing deeper until it felt as if it were charring bone. Blaise threw his head back and screamed, but was unable to move, to collapse, or even to cringe.
The pain was accompanied by a wave of... presence, something old, cool and snake-like that tore right through the image of the friendly little lizard that had protected Blaise's mind for so long. It spilled into every corner of his being, probing without a shred of gentleness and taking possession of a part of him that Blaise had never even known existed.
Draco Malfoy had soaked his skin in magic and possessed his body, but the Dark Lord's essence seemed to flow right into his mind and soul, an infinitely more insidious form of rape than Malfoy could have dreamed of. And then the Amoranth inside him reacted, like a chthonic monster raising its head to roar at the intruder in its cave, wrapping Blaise's body into a twisted fist of desire until he screamed and fell to the floor, both hands pressed against his aching groin and almost oblivious to the fresh scar on his arm.
The battle inside him racked his body until he was dimly aware of a frantic voice screaming, 'Don't fight it!' In some remaining corner of his consciousness, Blaise knew it was Draco and that he wasn't speaking aloud, but the convulsions began to ease until he was able first to lie motionless and then, after what seemed like a long time, to pull himself up onto his knees.
The eyes of the Dark Lord were still on him, full of detached curiosity. "We'll have to keep an eye on you for a while, boy. Such an intense reaction is worth studying in detail."
Blaise managed to sink into the spine-curving bow that seemed to be called for, pressing his feverish forehead against the cold stone at the Dark Lord's feet and remaining there for a few short, blissful moments before managing to stand up on wobbly legs. On his left arm, amidst a sea of agony, the raw, swollen lines of the Dark Mark met his eye.
"Welcome among our ranks, Blaise Zabini," the Dark Lord said formally.
"Thank you, my Lord," Blaise croaked, hurt and exhausted but unwilling to take the slightest risk by appearing discourteous.
"And now all that remains to be done is to determine the punishment of young Malfoy." Lord Voldemort threw Draco, who'd been watching Blaise with a bone-white face, a malicious glance, evidently entertained by the dashed hope that marked his features for a moment. "After all, he failed me – failed all of us – on a crucial mission, and such weakness cannot go unpunished."
Draco's hands were balled into fists, but otherwise he stood very still, as if he were hardly daring to breathe.
"We'll leave that task to the comrades he betrayed and whom he was willing to damn through his inactivity," the Dark Lord announced. He turned his head to nod at the siblings behind him. "Amycus – Alecto?"
A twin expression of vile delight spread over the Carrows' faces, and Blaise was the only one who felt Draco stiffening – his face remained as impassive as if he wore his very own lizard mask.
"Yaxley," Lord Voldemort nodded at a large blond Death Eater at the centre of a small group. The man bowed and stepped up to where the Carrows were waiting next to their master.
"And Fenrir, of course."
This time, nobody could overlook the tremor that shook Draco's form. His eyes went wide, his mouth knife-thin.
The bulky figure of Fenrir Greyback, in ill-fitting Death Eater robes, disentangled itself from the crowd. Blaise, who'd never met the creature but had heard the stories, noticed how quickly those present cleared the way for him.
Greyback stopped in front of Malfoy, leering at the boy without even trying to disguise the pleasure he felt in the flinch Draco could not hide. Then, teeth bared in a razor-sharp grin, he made his way to the side of the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort smirked indulgently, but then gave Snape a thoughtful look. "Perhaps you'll want to join them, Severus? To make sure there won't be any lasting damage to your little potions prodigy due to... exuberance?"
The corners of Snape's mouth twisted down in a grimace of long-suffering dutifulness. "Of course, my Lord. If only to impress on some members of the party that any taint of lycanthropy will render a potions-maker useless for any but the most simple brews."
Blaise caught the look that passed between the werewolf and the potions master – glittering hatred deflected by eyes as cold as the glaciers that surrounded Durmstrang.
Then Snape took his gaze off Greyback and put his hand on Malfoy's arm. "Come, Draco."
Blaise felt the urge to rush forward and clasp Draco to his chest, to shield him against his enemies with his own body. But it was easier to fight those impulses now, as if the Dark Mark had bled some of the urgency out of the Amoranth's compulsion.
An almost imperceptible gesture of Lord Voldemort's stopped Snape on his way to the door. The Dark Lord looked down at Blaise again, almost thoughtful.
"Would you like to watch?" Shock quivered through Blaise's body at the thought, an ugly quagmire of denial and desire. "After all, he wronged you deeply, and I, of all people, understand the appeal of revenge."
The Dark Lord smiled that thin snake-smile again. "Although you might find observing his punishment painful because of your condition - you've been greatly weakened already today. There will be a chamber readied for you to rest immediately if you so choose – the choice is yours."
Blaise closed his eyes for a moment to control his conflicting emotions away from the scrutiny of his new master. He did not want to watch Malfoy being tortured – the mere thought sent jolts of pain through his abused body. And yet Malfoy deserved to hurt for what he'd done to him – poisoned him, raped him, thrown him to the Dark Lord like a second-hand present. Blaise himself would never be able to lay a hand on him...
And he couldn't ignore that he'd somehow become the bone of contention between Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. He'd felt the subtle cold of the Dark Lord's mind when the Dark Mark had taken possession of him. He'd enjoy taking him from Draco, turning them against each other in a feud in which both Blaise and Draco were only pawns for his amusement, Blaise suspected. He could plead exhaustion now, but he could not afford to appear weak. He'd seen the Death Eaters, so ready to tear into one of their own – showing weakness would be like dousing himself with blood in the midst of a pack of wolves.
He opened his eyes, looking past the Dark Lord to Draco's half-averted face where he stood ringed by Death Eaters practically salivating to exact their vengeance. He looked very small.
'If I wouldn't care...' Malfoy had said, weeks ago as Blaise cried with the knowledge that his life was no longer his own. Now, Blaise caressed the memory for an instant with soft mental fingers before tucking it away as deep inside his shields as it would go. Draco had been right, all along. In the battle for survival, such things could not matter.
With a familiar, haughty gesture, Blaise raised his head before inclining it to the Dark Lord.
"Thank you, my Lord. I would, indeed, enjoy to watch."
~ finis ~
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Pairing: Baise/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Warning: ambiguous consent, sex under the influence of unsavoury potions, angst
Summary: 'When my father came to the Dark Lord, he brought all the male Slytherins of his year with him. I can do no less.' (set during and after HBP)
Note: Written for
prurient_badger in the hpvalensmut Exchange. Hugs & kisses to djin7 and annephoenix for beta-reading on very short notice – I love you both!Read Part 1
The owners of this place, Blaise thought as he nervously leaned against the wall of the Apparition Chamber, had surely taken the term 'Death Eater meeting place' to heart.
Ominous green flames flickered in an elaborate chandelier that took up most of the ceiling; the wallpaper consisted of silver snakes, of all things! Blaise kept his head tucked carefully into the generous hood of his travelling robe in order to remain unrecognised by the occasional newcomer Apparating in, equally cowled and robed. Some brushed by him with curious glances before venturing out into the corridor beyond the chamber.
The owl feather Portkey Malfoy had sent him was slowly being crushed between Blaise's fingers, a tribute to nerves. He had to rely on the hope that it was truly Malfoy who'd sent it to him together with instructions about when and how to activate it. At least the familiar grey-flecked markings of the feather were obviously Braxas's – Blaise had seen Malfoy's beautiful eagle owl swooping down on the breakfast table with letters and parcels for years.
Malfoy had to come! Blaise had been raised to handle almost any conceivable social situation, but walking into a Death Eater meeting alone, and one which at worst might see the Dark Lord in attendance, filled him with holy terror.
Draco... he hadn't seen Malfoy since that fateful day in June that had witnessed Professor Dumbledore's death. If Draco – like Snape – had been involved in the Headmaster's murder, as some rumours had it, surely he would come out of hiding and show up tonight.
Even before Dumbledore's death, Blaise had not been alone with Malfoy for more than a passing moment since that even more dreadful night when Malfoy had poisoned and... forced him. Blaise hadn't quite figured out whether Malfoy's conscience was bothering him, or whether he'd just been too busy plotting and executing the Death Eater attack on Hogwarts. It all made sense in retrospect – Malfoy's nervousness, his constant absences, his sudden disinterest in Quidditch, all his tall talk...
Though Blaise's rational mind had been relieved by the lack of contact, his body, newly-attuned to Malfoy's presence and desires, had craved his attention. So much that Blaise had spent too many nights doubled up underneath the covers, only two beds away from Malfoy's four-poster, tears coursing down his face and his prick so hard he wanted to scream. Malfoy had been tense and miserable, as sleepless as Blaise himself, and Blaise could feel his despair through the Amoranth coursing in his blood. The only thing that had kept Blaise from slipping inside Malfoy's bed curtains to comfort him with tongue and hands and to rub himself all over that soft skin was the lack of invitation.
Blaise had been almost grateful when the note turned up on a slip of self-burning parchment one June morning. 'Tonight' had been written on it, and 'Wait for me in the courtyard, no matter what happens.'
And Blaise had waited, through the commotion, despite the screams and the fighting and the Dark Mark hovering in the sky above the towers. He'd waited until his nerves frayed, fear thick in his chest. But Draco never came.
And so Blaise had let himself be rushed through the chaotic aftermath of the murder and Dumbledore's funeral, Draco's absence gnawing on him like a worm in the pit of his stomach, every memory sending stabs of unfulfilled arousal through his groin. The only other person who might have noticed his condition was also gone from Hogwarts, on the run for murder. His head of house had been Blaise's secret hope, the most perceptive potions expert ever to walk the corridors of the castle. But Severus Snape had fled with Draco, exposed as a servant of the Dark Lord, never to return.
At last, Blaise had found himself washed back home on a tidal wave of scared students on the Hogwarts Express.
It was sheer blind luck that his far too perceptive mother had decided to accept the invitation of a wealthy suitor for a summer in a Welsh holiday spa. There was no way Odette Zabini would have been fooled by playacting abilities so far beneath her own.
Any ordinary summer that saw Blaise of age and on his own would have found him in the very thick of London wizarding society, entertaining at his mother's luxurious Diagon Alley townhouse. Instead, he'd retreated to the small Cornish cottage that Henry Plumpton, Odette's latest husband, had bought for their honeymoon. Now Plumpton was gone, but the cottage remained as a place where Blaise could hide as the Amoranth tore at his mind and body. Potions-addled and desperate, he couldn't stop fretting about Malfoy's fate; his body kept calling for some kind of action, while his mind was waiting for instructions. Which meant that Blaise spent two weeks slipping in and out of a state of arousal, unable even to satisfy himself to alleviate some of the pressure. When the owl came at last, all he could feel was relief, traitorous tears seeping from his eyes.
The owl was a nondescript, dull postal bird that did not show any interest in its location or the parchment envelope it bore. The envelope contained only a velvet-soft owl feather and a hastily scribbled note with the incantation that would turn it into a Portkey and the time to use it. But Blaise recognised Malfoy's slanted scrawl from six years of shared classes and studies, and the distinct markings of his owl.
Just as now, in the garish Apparition Chamber of a nameless Death Eater household, he recognised Malfoy as soon as the boy Apparated in, a slender shape in a heavy hooded cloak that obscured his face entirely. Blaise swallowed and turned to him like a flower to the sun, one hand resting on the wall for balance.
"Zabini," Malfoy acknowledged in a subdued whisper, grabbing Blaise's arm and pulling him away into the corridor. The grip was so tight it smarted, and the convoluted feelings Blaise picked up from him with his Amoranth-sharpened senses were too muddled to detect whether he was afraid or relieved to see Blaise.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the chamber, Malfoy stopped. "You weren't followed, were you? And you told no one?"
"I used the Portkey, Malfoy, and if I'd said anything, the potion would probably have killed me by now." A frisson of impatience ran through him, but Malfoy's death grip on his arm loosened.
"Did you kill Dumbledore?" Blaise blurted out, the question on his mind ever since Draco had vanished with Snape two weeks ago, leaving behind nothing but riddles.
"I didn't!" Malfoy hissed into Blaise's ear, followed by a nervous glance over his shoulder. He laughed, a bitter sound that felt alien in the Draco Malfoy Blaise had known since their first year at Hogwarts. "Oh, I was supposed to, don't get me wrong. But I didn't. Snape... he promised my mother he'd do it if I failed..." Blaise had to fight the irrational urge to tuck the fine stand of hair that had tumbled out of Malfoy's hood back behind his ear. "He isn't going to like it." Malfoy laughed his uncanny laugh again. "You're my very last bargaining chip, Zabini, isn't that just bloody funny?"
Blaise put a tentative hand on the heavy wool of Malfoy's robe. The shoulder underneath felt like a spring coiled with tension. Despair seemed to bleed from Malfoy's skin.. "Malfoy... Draco. Can I-"
"Make it better?" Malfoy sneered, throwing his head back so that his hood slipped off. His grey eyes were wild in his pinched face. Blaise, who had no idea where that sentence had been heading – 'help you'? 'touch you'? – closed his mouth.
"Yes, why don't you?" Malfoy sniped on, a manic glow in those bruised eyes. "We're early. He isn't here yet. And who knows – maybe it will be the last chance you'll get?"
He pulled Blaise after him until they reached a side corridor, and then dragged him around the corner. The new corridor was broad, interrupted by fake columns and niches which held busts of stocky, broad-faced witches and wizards, an unattractive lot overall. Malfoy waved his wand and threw a small Noticemenot Charm over the entrance.
"What-?" Blaise gasped as Malfoy pulled him into one of the niches, a feral expression on his face.
"It's the Carrow's ancestral gallery – no one ever comes in here, it's too ugly." Malfoy threw himself against the back wall, right behind the bust, lounging against the stone. Unclasping his cloak, he ran both hands down his hips and thighs in a suggestive manner.
"Well," he murmured, canines showing in his smile, "go ahead and make me feel better, Blaise."
A tremor ran through Blaise's entire body at the suggestive sight. He'd wanted this for weeks, hating himself for it, but yearning desperately nonetheless. Malfoy's thin body called out to him through his heavy robes.
Blaise slipped to his knees in one fluid movement. He mirrored the way Malfoy had stroked himself with his own hands, feeling soft, rich cloth under his fingers, then gave in to the temptation of rubbing the side of his face over Malfoy's groin like a cat. Malfoy let out an audible, shaky breath, and Blaise could feel his cock hardening underneath his cheek.
"Now!" Malfoy insisted, brushing Blaise's hood back and tugging at his hair with single-minded intent.
Blaise smiled against the soft wool where Malfoy was unable to see it, then drew back to push the heavy folds out of his way and attack the buttons on the trousers below. Malfoy groaned as Blaise shoved trousers and underpants down until they snagged unflatteringly around mid-thigh. His prick was already half hard, poking upwards, and had acquired the familiar silly pink tinge that marked Malfoy's excitement. For a moment, Blaise inhaled the earthy-sharp scent of arousal, mixed with the acrid tang of nervous sweat. Malfoy had certainly been cleaner before, but Blaise had waited for this so unbearably long, and tasting Malfoy at his most personal was perfection. He wound his tongue up Malfoy's length just once, delighting in the impatient growl it provoked, then took his mouth full of cock, lips stretching to accommodate the width, feeling soft, slick flesh under his tongue that turned harder with every lick it received.
Malfoy greedily sought his throat, thrusting his hips against Blaise's face in shallow but insistent motions. Blaise felt Malfoy's thigh muscles tremble under his fingers as he swallowed, then Malfoy practically spiralled himself up the wall as Blaise took him in deep, suppressing the gag reflex. They had practiced this on each other quite a bit the year before. Malfoy's fingers buried in his hair, tugging at random strands with barely restrained urgency. Blaise slipped his lips down Malfoy's glistening prick, carefully keeping his teeth out of the way – unlike Blaise himself, Malfoy disliked even a touch of pain with his pleasure. He suckled the head of Malfoy's cock almost sweetly, shoving away memories of pipettes and potions. He gulped down a few breaths before swallowing Malfoy back down, tasting bitter precome and knowing Malfoy would not last long.
Brushing his fingers against Malfoy's slender balls was all it took for the boy to whimper deep in his throat, his back arching off the wall, his prick thrusting into the slippery refuge of Blaise's mouth. Malfoy's fingers twitched in Blaise's hair, pulling almost painfully before his prick jerked and spilled into Blaise's throat. Blaise swallowed hastily, not bothered much by the familiar taste. He wiped a trickle of come from the corner of his mouth before looking up.
Draco's eyes were shut tightly, his face transported as he rode out his orgasm, eyelashes like small pale fans against the pink glow of his cheeks. He looked completely lost in pleasure, but when his eyes opened again, tension seemed to creep right back into his body from the head down.
Blaise rose and leaned in to press a shy kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth for comfort. It reignited the wicked glint in Malfoy's eyes. In a heartbeat, Blaise found himself spun around with his own back against the wall, his wrists crossed behind his back. His head bumped into the stone as their positions were so suddenly reversed.
"Don't move!" Malfoy hissed, clamping one hand over Blaise's mouth as he pressed up against him; his other ran over the front of Blaise's trousers, and the touch jolted through Blaise's cock like a sting from that oaf Hagrid's nasty Blast-ended Skrewts. He groaned, then groaned again when his head fell back and connected with the wall at the already sore spot.
"Please!" he whimpered, arousal replacing the slight sting of pain. He'd been hard from the moment Malfoy had first touched him, but now it was bordering on the unbearable.
"Did you want something?" Malfoy snarked, smirking as Blaise tasted the palm over his lips with his tongue, then answered his own question by worming his free hand into Blaise's robes and into the waistband of his trousers.
As the warm fingers curled around Blaise's cock, Blaise's vision momentarily blanked out. It was so good, those fingers squeezing him, rubbing precome over his head, tugging back his foreskin. The coiled-spring intensity of arousal left Blaise with his nails digging painfully into his palms. His own breaths sounded embarrassingly loud in his ears.
He sucked the top half of one of Malfoy's fingers into his mouth, watching the absent smile on Draco's lips as he licked it gently. Although the sudden playfulness took away some of the sheer need Blaise felt, he still bucked his hips to drive himself further into Malfoy's firm grip.
Malfoy tugged at him almost cruelly, squeezing and massaging Blaise's prick in the tight confines of Blaise's underwear. It only took a few insistent gropes before Blaise writhed under Malfoy's hand, trapped as he was against the wall, his cock leaking and his body an arching plea for release.
"Yes!" Malfoy hissed even as he pressed himself against Blaise's body, pinning him in a rough, desperate bid for control he so lacked in all other areas.
The tight ache in Blaise's balls spiralled up until he came with his blood roaring in his ears, white sparks burning against the insides of his eyelids. His scream was stifled against Malfoy's unforgiving palm, but the avid way in which Malfoy studied Blaise's face seemed to recompense him for an audible expression of surrender.
At last, he extricated his hand from Blaise's trousers and cast a quick nonverbal cleaning charm over them both. Although the rush of scourgifying magic left an abrasive tingle behind, it was obvious that Malfoy had paid attention in Snape's class during the past year. Blaise's legs felt wobbly, as if his orgasm had halfway liquefied his muscles. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment. The corner of Malfoy's mouth tugged upwards as he watched, and he was in the process of opening his mouth to speak when he stumbled and cringed, his hand flying to his forearm with a pained grimace.
"We've got to go," he gasped. "He has arrived."
Blaise's long-awaited orgasmic bliss vanished in a heartbeat, and he could practically feel the bottom falling out of his stomach. He reached for Malfoy's sleeve. The slightest hint of disobedience, and yet his prick twitched agonisingly in his pants.
"Draco, wait! What..."
Malfoy looked awkward, as if being asked for advice on Death Eater matters was a novel experience for him. He shrugged.
"Do whatever He tells you. Try to say whatever you think he wants to hear, but don't lie outright – he'll know. And shield your mind as well as you can."
He turned and took a step, shoulders trembling, then stopped again. "Look, Zabini, I want you to back me up, of course, but He might not be in the mood for forgiveness. Even if I hadn’t fucked up, he hates me because my father..."
Malfoy fell silent and when Blaise caught up with him, he could see the despair etched on his face, and feel it like a clammy under-robe against his skin. "Just... fend for yourself as well as you can when it looks like there's no hope for me."
Blaise's unspoken, vengeful 'How could you get me into this?' suddenly mingled with hollow emptiness at the thought of Draco's vibrant body ending up broken and lifeless on the flagstones. Blaise tried to breathe through constricted lungs at the image. Would he even survive if Draco died? Would it free him?
"Why didn't you run?"
"I told you there's no way to run from the Dark Lord. Karkaroff tried, and he ended up in bits in a shack. And-" Malfoy swallowed visibly, "-he's got my mother, and all it'd take would be a word to one of his followers in Azkaban, and my father..."
Although Blaise would have happily exchanged Lucius Malfoy's life for his own freedom, Malfoy's obvious fear for his family dampened his rage somewhat. He knew he'd do the same – and a lot worse – to protect his mother.
"Come," Malfoy insisted, and Blaise fell into step behind him, no choice but to obey.
The Carrows had invited the Dark Lord to hold court in what had to be their manor's ballroom – a room not quite as tasteless as their Apparition Chamber, but overdoing the black. All the ceiling-high windows were hung with inch-thick dark drapes, and there was an inordinate number of green-burning candles. Their light threw a sickly glow all over the omnipresent masks and the rare naked face.
Blaise remained in Malfoy's shadow, hiding again inside his hood, while Draco himself kept close to the wall by the entrance. None of the twenty or so Death Eaters present approached them; instead, they gathered in small groups, chatting quietly, but the looks that brushed Draco every so often – he'd not bothered to pull up his hood so that his hair glinted in the green light like tarnished gold – were bright with predatory anticipation. Blaise's stomach clenched.
When their master finally appeared through a carpeted door at the far end of the hall, the sheer presence of the Dark Lord hit Blaise like a blow. He felt Draco's shudder through the space between them, and fought back the Amoranth that made him want to reach out and take his hand.
As one, those present sank to their knees, and Blaise let himself be swept down along with the crowd. In truth, something in that tall, intimidating figure made kneeling seem like a natural response.
The Dark Lord was attended by a pair of Death Eaters, one of them small, but preceded by a chest whose female nature even her voluminous robes could not conceal. The hosts, Blaise assumed. He'd met Alecto and Amycus Carrow at one of Dorothea Nott's soirees once. That bust on the Carrow sister was unmistakable.
Blaise used the cover of his hood to peer at Lord Voldemort as the Dark Lord's own gaze travelled over those present. He was very tall, with a thin body hidden behind long-flowing robes. He, too, wore a hood, and Blaise wondered what lay beneath it. The face alone was terrifying: a flattened nose, lips so thin that the mouth looked like a mere slash. There was no sign of hair anywhere. One would think that he would look hideous, like a snake-man hybrid, but the overall impression was strangely... magnetic.
"Welcome, my friends," the Dark Lord spoke, and his voice, too, held a touch of a hiss. "We've assembled here tonight to investigate the circumstances of a victory whose celebration I dare say you all still vividly remember." A titter of laughter ran through the assembly.
"Yes, Albus Dumbledore is dead," Lord Voldemort continued, a tight little smile playing around his lips. "One of my most loyal has struck the blow, and has returned to us at long last."
He nodded at one of the black-robed crowd, who stood alone and now slightly inclined his head in return. Even if he hadn't known it had to be Snape, Blaise would have recognised him by his posture alone.
"At the same time," the Dark Lord continued, "several of you will remember how I had entrusted the task of eliminating Dumbledore to another, who has not pleased me so well..." The terrifying eyes came to a pointed rest on Draco's slight form. "What do you have to say for yourself, Draco Malfoy?"
Draco raised his head, with so much effort that Blaise could watch every tendon in his neck tensing through layers of cloth.
"My Lord, I failed you," he admitted, softly but clearly, not daring to meet his master's eye. "I did not kill Headmaster Dumbledore, and... and if Professor Snape hadn't come to my aid, everything might have been lost."
"From what my servants tell me, young Malfoy, you had a weak and injured Dumbledore at wandpoint for minutes, in front of your fellow Death Eaters, and did not even attempt to cast the Killing Curse!"
The lipless mouth curved down, and the Dark Lord's rage was almost palpable in the air between them. Draco trembled, and out of the corner of his eye, Blaise saw the Death Eaters closest to him inching away ever so slightly.
"I don't know why I could not curse him," Draco confessed, his voice shaky with fear. "He just... stood there, and I couldn't do anything. Perhaps his powers-"
"You have been tutored in Occlumency all summer, boy," the Dark Lord snapped, silencing Draco's feeble attempt at explanation. "Dumbledore's powers were insufficient to discern Severus' true loyalties, and you claim they managed to paralyse you?" Draco shrank back at the full force of the fury directed at him. "Wasn't it rather that you did not want to do this for me? That you wavered in your devotion and longed to return into Albus' fold like a cowardly little traitor? So like your father – always holding back, never willing to compromise his reputation..."
"No!" Draco leapt to his feet, shaking his head so wildly that white-blond strands whipped around him. "My Lord, I am your loyal servant; my whole family has been, and I'd never break my vows to you. I just... I couldn't..." He broke off just in time to hide from anyone who didn't know him as well as Blaise – and most likely Snape – how close he was to hysterical sobs.
"I deserve whatever punishment you see fit for my failures, my Lord," he finally whispered, hanging his head in a submissive gesture. Blaise admired it for the high-stake gamble that it was, but it still flooded his insides with unexpected anger. Draco should not have to behave like this!
The Dark Lord looked down at the bright head with an inscrutable expression. "What do you say, Severus? You knew dear Albus best."
The familiar sharp profile of his Potions master emerged from the depths of his hood. Beetle-black eyes followed the Dark Lord's gaze towards Malfoy's bowed head.
"The boy was properly taught and instructed." Snape's voice was pensive. "As for Legilimency, Dumbledore's belief in 'morals' often stood in the way of his full power. In a life-or-death situation, however..." Snape shrugged with all the grace of a mangy owl. "If he found a way to sap young Malfoy's resolution, he had him face to face and the time to do it. Me, he did not see coming."
The Dark Lord raised a long index finger to his chin in a gesture of thoughtful contemplation. Blaise, who'd been taught from an early age to recognise and evaluate body language, admired his expressiveness.
"But you've brought me a gift to weigh in your favour, haven't you, young Draco? Amycus tells me that you requested a second Portkey of him." A nasty glint sparked in the creature's red eyes, and Blaise swallowed, shrinking into the protective cover of his robes.
Malfoy sucked in an audible breath and turned to Blaise, not looking him in the face. "Blaise Zabini, my Lord. You requested the presence of all my yearmates in your service. He's the last."
Called onto the carpet like this, Blaise saw no option but to step up to Draco and make his obeisance to his master. He bowed his neck as he would to a venerable Wizengamot elder, then held the position a few seconds longer – enough to signal sincere respect without implying sycophantic devotion. His hood fell in an elegant fold at the nape of his neck as he rose. The eyes of the Dark Lord burned into his own, not unlike another burst of the Amoranth coiling in his blood. Their intensity was frightening.
"So you've come to serve me at last, young master Zabini... out of your own free will?"
Fuck! Blaise bit his lip reflexively and cursed himself for it a second later. 'Back me up' struggled against 'don't lie outright' inside his brain, spilling into a trail of acid in his belly.
"N... not entirely, my Lord," he hedged.
"Did our young friend Malfoy force you to come before me, then?" Lord Voldemort's voice was deceptively gentle, and Blaise felt the hairs rise all over his body. He'd as good as admitted that he wouldn't have come here voluntarily – that could well cost him his life.
"He used Coeurs d'Amoranth," Blaise ground out, shame colouring his face despite the danger he was in. The burning stab of desire through his still-tender cock reminded him of Malfoy ordering him to conceal this fact at any cost. It was all he could do not to fall down at Malfoy's feet and plead his forgiveness; but then he'd also told Blaise not to lie! Finding himself painfully aroused in the presence of the Dark Lord was just... unbelievable.
"You brewed it yourself?" Snape threw in from the sidelines, his sharp nose leaning inquisitively forward.
"Yes, Professor," Malfoy replied, more polite than he'd been with their former head of house all year long.
"I take it that it's no simple process, then, Severus?" the Dark Lord inquired.
"It is quite difficult to brew," Snape admitted. "It has properties that resemble Imperius, although it does not negate the victim's will, just... punishes him for disobedience. For a sixteen year old schoolboy, it's a remarkable achievement."
"I'm surprised you haven't brought so useful a tool to my attention a long time ago, Severus." There was a tight note of threat in Lord Voldemort's voice. Snape cleared his throat.
"My Lord, it's not completely reliable – resistance is possible, even if the ultimate outcome will be madness or death for the victim. It's also..." another cough, "...a lust potion that demands a certain degree of physical intimacy before a successful application becomes possible. All in all, it's too complex, expensive and specific to ever become an adequate substitute for the Imperius Curse."
"So you're saying our young friend resorted to a potion because his seduction skills failed him?" the Dark Lord dug deeper maliciously. "A Malfoy? For shame!"
A titter of amusement ran through the room. Alecto Carrow slapped her thigh while her brother roared with laughter. Snape, Blaise noted, did not smile at all, and a pink flush spread across Draco's pale cheeks.
"And yet," Lord Voldemort mused, his eyes narrow and frost-cold as they landed on Draco's shamefaced expression, "I find it somewhat rude to be offered a gift with strings attached – like being promised a sumptuous cake, only to be fobbed off with a slice while the giver indulges in the rest."
"I'm sorry, master," Draco whispered, voice broken. "It was all I could think of."
"And you think your housemate is worth such a deception?" the Dark Lord mused, sharp eyes ghosting over Blaise's face like daggers.
Blaise's stomach tightened into a small ball of ice. If Voldemort intended to teach Malfoy a lesson by killing what he believed to be a former lover...
"He's the best-connected of all of us," Draco replied, a bit too quick for Blaise's taste. A soft noise made Blaise look up, and he realised he'd never heard Professor Snape chuckle before.
"What does amuse you so, Severus?" Lord Voldemort asked with a slight frown.
"Well, Horace Slughorn certainly wasted no time collecting Mr Zabini for his little club," Snape pointed out. "He's remarkably... unsubtle about these things."
"He is also rarely mistaken about these things," the Dark Lord said, focusing his eyes directly on Blaise. "And yet you initially refused to join me, didn't you, Mr Zabini?"
'Put on your lizard mask,' Odette Zabini had taught her son, back when he'd still been a toddler. A children's game, picturing a fantastically coloured lizard on a stone, or a near-invisible one adapting to the surrounding dunes in the desert. Delving into the blank, self-content lizard mind, basking in the sun, a scaly bundle of calm. Putting his lizard mask over his thoughts had sailed him safely through encounters with unscrupulous suitors and vengeful rivals of his mother, with quite a few other predators of wizarding society, and four stepfathers too spellbound by Odette Zabini's beauty to take much notice of her son. A lesser witch would have avoided parading a teenage child, reminder of her age and former liaisons, among her admirers. Odette, however, was beyond such insecurities – she had armed Blaise with a haughty composure that set him apart from Gryffindors and other lesser beings, and set him to carve out his own place. Now, Blaise put on his lizard mask once more and faced the Dark Lord.
"My family, my Lord, objects to political... involvements of any kind," he said. "I did not want to go against their wishes."
"Ah, yes, we've all heard of the illustrious Madam Zabini," Lord Voldemort nodded. "And you certainly are a well-connected young man – through your mother, but also-" a probing look swept from Blaise's face down over his body, and Blaise's lizard mask was the only thing that prevented the blood from rushing into his face, "-also in your own right, I'm sure. You would be useful to me, more perhaps than any of your yearmates..." The scathing glance brushed over Draco. "But will you be loyal to me?"
"I only know that I want to serve you," Blaise said, projecting sincerity in his tone. It was the truth; Draco's ultimate desire, filtered into him through the Amoranth. It was also the only thing that would keep him alive tonight, in this company. "I've never disagreed with your aims, my Lord," he added. "And I'd be proud to serve as one of your Death Eaters."
A soft, hissing laugh, and the bony hand of the Dark Lord reached up to take hold of Blaise's chin. "What a well-spoken young man. If you are so eager to wear my Mark, I will not deny you." He drew his wand from one of the folds of his robe. "Are you prepared, Blaise?"
Even with the panic roiling underneath Blaise's mask of composure, there was a jolt of heady excitement at being addressed by his first name by Lord Voldemort.
He inclined his head respectfully. "I am, my Lord." And then, when the Dark Lord flicked his wand and the sleeve of Blaise's heavy travelling robe sliced open at the shoulder, unravelling without even a brush against Blaise's skin, he asked, "The Dark Mark... will it negate the Amoranth potion?"
A sudden sliver of hope mingled with stabbing pain as the potion took revenge on the violation of its creator's orders. Tears formed in Blaise's eyes but he managed to keep upright and to hold the Dark Lord's gaze.
"We will have to see about that," Lord Voldemort replied, an intrigued little smile on his inhuman face. "The Dark Mark bestows its own unique bond – it might well override something less immediate and so... physical."
The tip of Lord Voldemort's wand touched a patch of skin just below the inside of Blaise's elbow, and something black and oily spilled forward against his flesh. "Morsmordre!"
For an instant, the magic was only cool, slick and sickening. Then it spread out into curves and lines and started to burn, sizzling through every nerve of Blaise's arm, searing deeper until it felt as if it were charring bone. Blaise threw his head back and screamed, but was unable to move, to collapse, or even to cringe.
The pain was accompanied by a wave of... presence, something old, cool and snake-like that tore right through the image of the friendly little lizard that had protected Blaise's mind for so long. It spilled into every corner of his being, probing without a shred of gentleness and taking possession of a part of him that Blaise had never even known existed.
Draco Malfoy had soaked his skin in magic and possessed his body, but the Dark Lord's essence seemed to flow right into his mind and soul, an infinitely more insidious form of rape than Malfoy could have dreamed of. And then the Amoranth inside him reacted, like a chthonic monster raising its head to roar at the intruder in its cave, wrapping Blaise's body into a twisted fist of desire until he screamed and fell to the floor, both hands pressed against his aching groin and almost oblivious to the fresh scar on his arm.
The battle inside him racked his body until he was dimly aware of a frantic voice screaming, 'Don't fight it!' In some remaining corner of his consciousness, Blaise knew it was Draco and that he wasn't speaking aloud, but the convulsions began to ease until he was able first to lie motionless and then, after what seemed like a long time, to pull himself up onto his knees.
The eyes of the Dark Lord were still on him, full of detached curiosity. "We'll have to keep an eye on you for a while, boy. Such an intense reaction is worth studying in detail."
Blaise managed to sink into the spine-curving bow that seemed to be called for, pressing his feverish forehead against the cold stone at the Dark Lord's feet and remaining there for a few short, blissful moments before managing to stand up on wobbly legs. On his left arm, amidst a sea of agony, the raw, swollen lines of the Dark Mark met his eye.
"Welcome among our ranks, Blaise Zabini," the Dark Lord said formally.
"Thank you, my Lord," Blaise croaked, hurt and exhausted but unwilling to take the slightest risk by appearing discourteous.
"And now all that remains to be done is to determine the punishment of young Malfoy." Lord Voldemort threw Draco, who'd been watching Blaise with a bone-white face, a malicious glance, evidently entertained by the dashed hope that marked his features for a moment. "After all, he failed me – failed all of us – on a crucial mission, and such weakness cannot go unpunished."
Draco's hands were balled into fists, but otherwise he stood very still, as if he were hardly daring to breathe.
"We'll leave that task to the comrades he betrayed and whom he was willing to damn through his inactivity," the Dark Lord announced. He turned his head to nod at the siblings behind him. "Amycus – Alecto?"
A twin expression of vile delight spread over the Carrows' faces, and Blaise was the only one who felt Draco stiffening – his face remained as impassive as if he wore his very own lizard mask.
"Yaxley," Lord Voldemort nodded at a large blond Death Eater at the centre of a small group. The man bowed and stepped up to where the Carrows were waiting next to their master.
"And Fenrir, of course."
This time, nobody could overlook the tremor that shook Draco's form. His eyes went wide, his mouth knife-thin.
The bulky figure of Fenrir Greyback, in ill-fitting Death Eater robes, disentangled itself from the crowd. Blaise, who'd never met the creature but had heard the stories, noticed how quickly those present cleared the way for him.
Greyback stopped in front of Malfoy, leering at the boy without even trying to disguise the pleasure he felt in the flinch Draco could not hide. Then, teeth bared in a razor-sharp grin, he made his way to the side of the Dark Lord.
Lord Voldemort smirked indulgently, but then gave Snape a thoughtful look. "Perhaps you'll want to join them, Severus? To make sure there won't be any lasting damage to your little potions prodigy due to... exuberance?"
The corners of Snape's mouth twisted down in a grimace of long-suffering dutifulness. "Of course, my Lord. If only to impress on some members of the party that any taint of lycanthropy will render a potions-maker useless for any but the most simple brews."
Blaise caught the look that passed between the werewolf and the potions master – glittering hatred deflected by eyes as cold as the glaciers that surrounded Durmstrang.
Then Snape took his gaze off Greyback and put his hand on Malfoy's arm. "Come, Draco."
Blaise felt the urge to rush forward and clasp Draco to his chest, to shield him against his enemies with his own body. But it was easier to fight those impulses now, as if the Dark Mark had bled some of the urgency out of the Amoranth's compulsion.
An almost imperceptible gesture of Lord Voldemort's stopped Snape on his way to the door. The Dark Lord looked down at Blaise again, almost thoughtful.
"Would you like to watch?" Shock quivered through Blaise's body at the thought, an ugly quagmire of denial and desire. "After all, he wronged you deeply, and I, of all people, understand the appeal of revenge."
The Dark Lord smiled that thin snake-smile again. "Although you might find observing his punishment painful because of your condition - you've been greatly weakened already today. There will be a chamber readied for you to rest immediately if you so choose – the choice is yours."
Blaise closed his eyes for a moment to control his conflicting emotions away from the scrutiny of his new master. He did not want to watch Malfoy being tortured – the mere thought sent jolts of pain through his abused body. And yet Malfoy deserved to hurt for what he'd done to him – poisoned him, raped him, thrown him to the Dark Lord like a second-hand present. Blaise himself would never be able to lay a hand on him...
And he couldn't ignore that he'd somehow become the bone of contention between Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. He'd felt the subtle cold of the Dark Lord's mind when the Dark Mark had taken possession of him. He'd enjoy taking him from Draco, turning them against each other in a feud in which both Blaise and Draco were only pawns for his amusement, Blaise suspected. He could plead exhaustion now, but he could not afford to appear weak. He'd seen the Death Eaters, so ready to tear into one of their own – showing weakness would be like dousing himself with blood in the midst of a pack of wolves.
He opened his eyes, looking past the Dark Lord to Draco's half-averted face where he stood ringed by Death Eaters practically salivating to exact their vengeance. He looked very small.
'If I wouldn't care...' Malfoy had said, weeks ago as Blaise cried with the knowledge that his life was no longer his own. Now, Blaise caressed the memory for an instant with soft mental fingers before tucking it away as deep inside his shields as it would go. Draco had been right, all along. In the battle for survival, such things could not matter.
With a familiar, haughty gesture, Blaise raised his head before inclining it to the Dark Lord.
"Thank you, my Lord. I would, indeed, enjoy to watch."
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
