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kennahijjaOk, way overdue here's my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merry_smutmas contribution, written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
son_of_darkness, whom I owe like whoa for the challenging prompt!
Title: The Practice of Walking in Darkness (1 of 2)
Author: Hijja
Pairings: Harry/Fenrir/Draco, Harry/Lucius, Harry/other DEs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con, blackmail, bit of violence, mindfuck, general darkficness
Summary: "Potter. There is no one I'd rather have seen stumbling into our little trap. You have a lot to pay for, boy."
Note: Written formerry_smutmas 2007 for son_of_darkness. Thanks to liriaen, melusinahp, stuckinsea and my much-missed Thea for rapid beta and spot-on advice!
"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."
At the time, with a minor concussion and Lucius Malfoy pinning him to the wall while Harry was still reeling from having signed away his freedom, Malfoy's words had made no sense.
Nothing made much sense, not after the devastating realisation that he had fallen prisoner to Death Eaters after having won the war.
Although, in retrospect, Harry had to admit that it had been his own fault. He and Ron had been careless, too certain that, after Voldemort's fall, the Death Eaters still at liberty would go into hiding, or flee the country. There weren't that many left. Nott had been captured a week after the Battle of Hogwarts; Avery had given himself up a few days after that. Of those still at large, the Lestrange brothers loomed large on the wanted lists, along with Fenrir Greyback, who had vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind no more than a cracked crystal ball and a pool of blood.
Along with them, the Malfoys had disappeared in the chaotic aftermath of battle, before anyone could give a thought as to whether they should be locked up or not. As far as Harry was concerned, he'd have been perfectly satisfied never to lay eyes on any of their ice-blond heads again, well, apart from the part where he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt.
For months after the Battle, there had been no sign of the fugitives, and despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's strategy briefings, nobody in the Auror Division had believed they might resurface. The Department was under-staffed and over-worked as it was. The magical community was tired of war, and few showed desire to join the Aurors. Ron and Harry as green trainees shouldn't have been out together in the first place, not according to regulations. But even Kingsley tended to overlook the rules when it came to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They had fought and won the Battle of Hogwarts - they were supposed to be able to look after themselves.
It had been the end of a tiring day, punctuated by bouts of long-distance Apparition: a morning spent patrolling the outskirts of Knockturn Alley, interviewing punters in dingy wizarding pubs about rumours of a new Society of the Knights of Walpurgis. An old dear in Llanbadarn, reporting a Death Eater in an adjacent house that turned out to be a black cloak hanging forgotten in a neighbour's window. A family feud in Swindon, with warring parties that needed reminding that, unlike under Scrimgeour's regime, finger-pointing and Death Eater allegations were not enough to see a neighbour carted off to Azkaban.
And then, when dusk came, an area in Muggle Manchester that looked run-down even compared to Knockturn Alley. 'Uncanny goings-on' in a derelict building, reported by a wizard who'd heard it from a squib cousin, who'd heard it from some Muggle youths in the area. Granted, Harry muttered to Ron as they picked their way through broken bottles, dog shite and litter, the way some of the local youths looked, he'd pity the poor Dark wizard who tried to mess with any of them.
The interior of the house was dark, dusty and cobwebbed, the narrow staircase to the upper floor collapsed in a heap of rotting wood. Ron preceded Harry through the hall, winding past a bulky cupboard that all but closed off the corridor. In the radius of his Lumos, his hair was gleaming red. Then it fired up for real when a rush of orange-black sparks shot towards him from one of the gaping doors. Harry heard him scream. A horrible sizzling filled his ears, like fresh meat being thrown into hot oil. He aimed a shielding spell when something barrelled into him from behind with the force of a freight train. Harry was thrown forward, off balance. The cupboard loomed before him, solid oak where the staircase was not, and then his head smacked into it with a dull crack. It was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.
***
Blindly, Harry moved his head, prepared for a burst of bile-rising pain. The ache that greeted him was dull, the skin at his temple taut and sore right up to his eyelid. It hurt, yes, but considering he'd been trying to drill a hole through his skull by means of an oak cupboard, he could have felt worse.
"So good to see you again, Potter - pity you left behind your tasty Mudblood girlfriend."
Fuck! He knew that voice! Harry scrambled to his knees, then found himself pulled up and his wrists captured behind his back. He forced his eyes open, and there they were - the fugitive Death Eaters. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Fenrir Greyback at his back. Their black-robed selves looked strangely out of place in an old-fashioned Muggle lounge, all worn carpets, 1940s oak furniture and faded floral wallpaper. They had definitely left behind the derelict ruin in Manchester.
The Lestranges had their wands out, and everybody was staring at him. Harry's eyes darted around, frantically searching for Ron. There he was, crumbled in a heap on the carpet, but, thankfully, he seemed to be breathing.
Rabastan Lestrange followed his gaze, an eerie smile twisting his lips.
"Potter. There is no one I'd rather have seen stumbling into our little trap. You have a lot to pay for, boy."
He took a step towards Ron's body, rolling him onto his back with the toe of his boot. Ron's scarlet robes were badly charred on the shoulder, his neck red as if broiled. When he opened his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace. Harry watched Ron's expression change from confusion to dread to a touch of relief when his gaze met Harry's.
Rodolphus's wand had turned on Ron as soon as he'd started to move, while Rabastan's remained aimed at Harry despite Greyback's death grip on his wrists.
"But first..." The younger Lestrange nodded towards Ron, "this. What was it our Lord said in that graveyard? Kill the spare?"
"No!" Harry screamed, struggling against the hands that held him as Ron's eyes darkened in fear. "Please, don't! I'll do whatever you want-"
"You will revive the Dark Lord?"
Biting his tongue, Harry pushed the memory of the Resurrection Stone far to the back of his mind. There were some things he would not do to survive, not even for Ron. He'd returned Voldemort to life once - he would not do it again.
"Everything I'm capable of," he said.
"We've seen what you're capable of." Rodolphus's voice was gravelly, rough as if he didn't use it very often any more. "Now, all we want to see you do is suffer. The blood traitor's mother killed my wife - he belongs to me."
"Though the idea of Potter doing 'whatever we want' has its appeal," Rabastan threw in, his parody of Harry's voice painfully accurate. Malfoy's aristocratic nose crinkled, and there was a short bark of laughter from Greyback that made Harry's skin crawl. "I think we've earned a bit of recreation. What do you say - Rodolphus? Lucius?"
The elder Lestrange cocked his head, eyes still fixed on Ron with an awful expression of hunger. He nodded, slowly, reluctantly, while Malfoy's frown deepened.
"I have no intention of soiling myself with a half-blood," Malfoy drawled. Unlike the others, he had still not drawn a wand, but was casually leaning on his cane.
"I wonder why," Rabastan murmured with an eyebrow raised. "You weren't adverse to a bit of sport... before." There was an undertone to the man's words that jarred in Harry's ears. Bellatrix had always been the eloquent one among the Lestranges. Strange how after her death, command seemed to have fallen to the most quiet of her little gang.
Fear curled in Harry's stomach as Rabastan came up to him, laying a cool palm on his cheek. Harry looked up, meeting eyes not quite as black and hooded as Rodolphus's, but a dark grey that held an unsettling glimmer.
"I'm not offering life, to either of you." The Death Eater's tone was almost kind; his words were not. "Merely a reprieve. As long as you amuse us, Potter, your friend will live. When you stop being entertaining, you will both die." The gleam in Rabastan's eyes bloomed into a grin. "If you're very good, Potter, I might kill him quickly when the time comes - or maybe not."
"Harry, don't let them-" Ron cried out, then stared up at Harry with blood running from the corner of his mouth when Rodolphus casually kicked him in the face.
Harry threw Ron a hard look. Survival was the key, drummed into them during endless sessions of Auror training. As long as you lived, chances might present themselves. If you died, it was over.
"Whatever you want," he repeated, meeting Lestrange's eyes straight on.
"Ah, Potter, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to making you regret those words." Rabastan petted his cheek, then whirled round and aimed his wand at Ron.
Ron tensed, his face white and frantic, and Harry yelled, "No!" without any hope of stopping the Death Eater's spell.
It hit, and something… wriggled away from the centre of Ron's chest; like a strand of smoke, but coloured in a vibrant blue-green, much like a Pensieve memory after a stint in a paint bucket. It lengthened, curled, then detached itself from Ron and floated to the tip of Lestrange's wand where it solidified further.
"What did you do?" Harry yelled, scanning Ron's face for signs of pain.
"And you claim the name of wizard?" Rabastan snorted, plucking the ribbon off his wand. "Tell him, blood traitor."
"It's a life thread." Ron sounded scared, subdued, although Harry suspected that he was more afraid for Harry than for himself. "They use it to tell whether somebody's all right - alive. Like our family clock, remember?"
Yes, Harry remembered all right - remembered the golden hand engraved with 'Fred' blackened and withered, and how Ron and Charlie had quickly taken it down before Mrs Weasley could see.
Unexpectedly, Greyback let go of him. Harry swayed when his Auror's robe was torn from his upper body. Greyback hurled the heavy fabric into a corner, and a quick "Evanesco!" from Lestrange's wand vanished Harry's shirt as well. Rodolphus's wand remained trained at Ron's head, so Harry stood stock-still even as his whole body erupted in gooseflesh.
With a smirk that proved he knew exactly how terrified Harry was, Rabastan looped the ribbon around Harry's neck. The two ends fused in a seamless ring, lightly brushing his skin like the softest of silk, emanating a faint… presence of Ron, like Harry sometimes felt when Ron stood close to him, or entered a room and Harry knew it was him without having to look up.
"A token of good faith so you remember what you're bargaining for," the Death Eater stated. "And we have just the place to keep our bargaining chip safe, haven't we?" He looked from Rodolphus to Greyback.
"I took Potter down," Greyback growled. "He's mine first."
"Greedy," Rabastan chided, then laughed. "Very well. I'm sure it will be an instructive experience for him."
The werewolf grabbed Harry's shoulder to shove him towards the half-open door to the corridor. Behind him, a scuffle broke out and Harry dug his heels in, craning his neck. Ron, the stupid sod, had started to struggle as soon as Rodolphus moved his wand away, but he was too weak. The Lestranges were wrestling him into submission without effort. Greyback let go of Harry's arm and turned to watch.
Left to himself, Harry clung to the doorway, praying they wouldn't hurt Ron, or void their bargain. And then Lucius Malfoy, silent almost throughout, walked over to him, backing him into the wall until the fine, silver-stitched sleeves of his robe brushed Harry's chest. His voice, when he spoke, was so soft it was almost a whisper.
"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."
At the time, it had made no sense.
Now, after Lucius had stepped back and allowed Greyback to march Harry down the flower-printed hallway and through an adjacent door, it did.
Draco Malfoy lay on the filthy bed that was the only piece of furniture in the entire room, naked except for a black-studded collar fastened around his throat. It looked terribly bulky against Malfoy's delicate skin.
"In, pup!" Fenrir Greyback's growl was followed by a push that sent Harry flying into the middle of the room and onto his knees. His vision wavered as his looming concussion roiled up again.
Malfoy's eyes widened from thin grey slits to near-black when he saw Harry. Of course he'd been shocked to see Harry before on various occasions, but he'd never looked this horrified, not even in sixth year in the prefects' bathroom. A pink tinge coloured his cheeks for a moment, before they drained completely. Malfoy's head fell back onto the pillow. His eyes closed.
Harry struggled back onto his shaky feet before Greyback could grab him. He felt the werewolf's hot breath on his neck a second before the claw-tipped fingers met over his chest and clasped him to the man's strong body.
"I don't blame you for admiring my pet, Potter. Such a tasty, tender little thing?"
Harry's shoulders shrank in the rough embrace. He could smell Greyback behind him, sharp and acerbic, could feel the thick knot of scars that marred the skin of his chest. Greyback wore only fraying trousers, Muggle jeans of all things; no shirt, no shoes, as if he'd shed wizardly decorum right after Voldemort's death.
But then the entire crew of Death Eaters had looked… frayed. Though imposing in ornamented robes and cane, Lucius Malfoy's face had seemed haunted. The elder Lestrange had worn ragged robes that might have seen the Battle of Hogwarts, while the younger looked at the world through a curtain of too-long hair with the air of a ferret that had lost its burrow. Greyback himself was sporting a thick, welted scar at his temple where Trelawney's crystal ball had failed to kill him.
And now here was Draco Malfoy, naked on a dirty bed with his collar and his too-pale skin mottled with bruises and scratches. He'd looked worn during sixth year, and at the manor when Harry had been captured the first time. Since then, he must have lost another ten pounds he didn't have to spare in the first place. Harry swallowed hard, fear liquid in his veins.
Fenrir chuckled, rubbing his bristly chin along Harry's neck. He could probably smell his fear. Harry stumbled against the side of the bed. Fenrir followed, wrapping his arms around Harry in a crushing squeeze.
"We'll have our time, Potter, you and me," he hissed against Harry's jugular. The points of his teeth dug into the vulnerable skin there. "But let me show you what's going to happen to you first."
He gave Harry another push that almost landed him on top of Draco. "Up on the bed," the werewolf growled. "Roll up behind the pet, Potter."
Gingerly, Harry crawled onto the mattress, trying to ignore the stains on the fabric. The bed reeked of old sweat and sex and it nearly turned Harry's stomach. Not so much the smell, but the knowledge of what had happened here. He was only too aware of the way Draco leaned away from him. He wasn't the only one. Greyback delivered a resounding slap to Malfoy's thigh, and Draco froze. A hand-shaped mark bloomed on his pale skin.
"None of that, pet," Fenrir snarled. "You be nice to Potter - you'll spend a lot of time together before we get bored with him and he dies."
Through his own dread, Harry could feel Draco forcing himself to unfreeze against him. His skin was sticky with old sweat, his back cold where it pressed against Harry's warm chest. He didn't relax in the slightest. Fenrir's smell was strong on him, and the werewolf laughed when he saw Harry crinkle his nose.
"You won't be so proper in a bit, pup."
He stood beside the bed, thumbing open his trouser buttons. He wore nothing underneath, and when the cloth was shoved down, a tall, ruddy erection bobbed up to his belly. Draco's shoulder blades tensed as if they had been transfigured to metal.
One way or the other over the years, Harry had always secretly wanted to see Malfoy get his comeuppance; he'd never been more ashamed of that impulse than he was now.
Fenrir roughed Draco's legs apart, one hand closing around the limp package of his prick and balls. Draco whimpered as rough finger pads caressed his most vulnerable parts. The claws could slice them to ribbons if Greyback chose to. Harry could almost taste Malfoy's terror. Reflexively, he put his hands on the boy's shoulders to share what little comfort he could offer.
"Yes, Potter, console the pet if you think it'll help," Greyback commented derisively, pushing Malfoy's splayed legs back until his knees almost touched his ears. It put Malfoy's weight heavily on Harry, enough for him to feel the bumps of Malfoy's spine digging into his chest. Greyback grinned toothily at Harry through the gap.
"Hold him open for me, pup," he breathed, shoving Malfoy's calves into Harry's hands.
Hot fury ran through Harry as his fingers closed around the shivery skin of Malfoy's legs, trying not to look down at the young man's quivering chest. He hated the fact that Greyback made him into an accessory to violation. It was the memory of Ron's scared face and the blood coating his mouth that made Harry tighten his fingers. He'd committed himself - there was no going back. He felt gut-wrenchingly sorry for Malfoy, but the price for standing up for him would be Ron's life.
Malfoy bucked when the werewolf moved his hand behind him in a way that told Harry only too vividly what Greyback was doing. Then Greyback pushed even closer, kneeling right behind Malfoy's upturned arse and even though Malfoy obscured the werewolf's lower body, Harry saw Malfoy's eyes go wide. Long fingers knotted in the bedclothes as his mouth thinned, then twisted in pain.
Greyback smiled, a wild, knowing grin between the boy's spread legs, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you want mercy, pet, you know how to beg for it."
For a reeling second, Harry thought it was him being addressed and grasped for words like a kitten pawing after butterflies. Then Malfoy expelled his breath in a huff, calves taut under Harry's fingers, his back going even more rigid. His eyes were screwed shut as tightly as his lips, which had started to go grey with fear.
No, not fear, Harry realised. Pride.
Meeting Greyback's mocking eyes directly, Harry said, "Don't let him play you, Malfoy. It's not worth it."
The red-rimmed eyes opened into slits, helpless anger spilling out. Then Draco looked away, staring up at the ceiling as if to distance himself from everything - the smell of rut, the sweat, the fear, his own strained tangle of limbs, Harry's and Greyback's presence. His lips moved twice before his vocal cords caught up with them.
"Please don't take me dry, Fenrir."
"No, you did not like that at all, did you, pet?" The werewolf chuckled. "But since you're such a good pet, so obedient to your betters…" He ran his large hand up the inside of Malfoy's leg, its weather-beaten tan and pelt of grey hair in sharp contrast to Malfoy's pale, hairless skin. A flick of heat appeared on the young man's face when Greyback dipped down to play with his balls.
"Shall I be generous with the little plaything, Potter?" Greyback's malicious eyes caught Harry's over Malfoy's head. He did something with his hand that had Malfoy jerk and hiss between clenched teeth.
"Yes," Harry said softly. Had Lucius truly believed he needed to bully Harry into behaving decently?
Slowly, the werewolf slid his hand away from Malfoy's groin, and brought it up to Harry's face. The rough pads of his fingertips tapped against Harry's bottom lip. They smelled of Malfoy, sharp and desperate.
With a sinking heart, Harry closed his mouth around them, tongue sliding around the bitter taste.
'If they have the upper hand, keep your head down, stay calm, and play along until you see an opportunity to strike,' had been Kingsley Shacklebolt's credo on what to do when captured by Dark wizards. Now, there would be no opportunity to strike, but Harry would play along nonetheless.
He didn't manage to avoid nicking his tongue as he sucked around Greyback's nail, and forced the thought of infection and what had happened to Bill to the back of his mind. He would see worse than a nick if Malfoy's condition was anything to go by.
Greyback's fingers glistened when the werewolf pulled them free. "Such a hero, isn't he, pet?" he mocked, then thrust his wet fingers into Malfoy in a way that forced a strangled little cry from Malfoy's lips. "But you're right, Potter - the pet is a fragile little thing, and Lucius might be forced to show outrage after all if it got torn up beyond repair. We can't have that. You, on the other hand, Potter…" The sharp eyes travelled over Harry's bare chest, then back to his face. "You're the tough one, aren't you? You think you can handle everything, even the Dark Lord. You won't need mollycoddling, will you?"
"I'm not one of your children, Greyback," Harry said, lips very cold.
"That's all right, Potter. I'll break the man just as easily."
Greyback leaned forward as if he had no bones at all and picked up a jar with a sharp-smelling ointment from under the bed. He swiped his fingers through it and shoved them back into Malfoy in the same motion.
Harry trembled nearly as much as Malfoy, trying not to notice the tears that welled up behind Malfoy's closed eyelids. He felt utterly helpless, part of him thinking it would be easier to bear if Greyback abused him rather than made him into a reluctant accomplice in Draco's torture, but that was his noble half. The other gibbered in witless terror at the thought that the same thing could happen to him.
Before today, he'd only ever been distantly aware that men could be interested in other men in a sexual way, even though, if pressed, he'd have to admit that at one point during his schooldays, he'd avidly watched out for Cedric Diggory's lithe body and easy smile, and that sneaking after Malfoy in sixth year, a predator on the prowl for a glimpse of pale hair and faux-haughty posture, had kindled warmth in the pit of his stomach. But this, he thought darkly as he watched Greyback pull his fingers from Malfoy's arse and shuffle closer after wiping off excess grease over his cock in a self-indulgent slide - this wasn't about desire. Just about revenge.
Malfoy jerked when the werewolf pushed into him, despite the grease. His neck muscles knotted into an intricate shape, like lattice below skin. Harry wanted to graze them with his lips, just to provide a little touch of comfort when he could do nothing else, but Malfoy would take it the wrong way, and Greyback would jeer, so he did nothing. The fleshy slaps of Greyback's fucking hurt Harry's ears, but not as much as they hurt Malfoy - his eyes were spilling over, and high, pained sobs escaped his mouth. The thrusts rocked him against Harry's chest, bruised flesh rippling all over with goose pimples and turning blue where Harry's fingers were clamped around his calves.
Harry looked away, only to have his chin grabbed and his head wrenched up. Greyback leaned into him, buried to the hilt in Malfoy's arse and almost squashing the younger man with his weight. He pulled Harry's jaw to him and crushed bared teeth against Harry's mouth, biting at his lower lip until Harry tasted blood while Draco gasped for air underneath them. Then Greyback drew away with a red-tinged grin, hands returning to Draco's hips for another vigorous thrust. Harry didn't dare to let his eyes slip again.
It didn't take many more thrusts before Greyback closed his eyes into slits of satisfaction, a grimace that displayed prominent canines twisting his face. Every second was one too many for Harry, though, who had to watch Malfoy's face peering out from between his splayed legs, scrunched up and wet with tears and snot. He was painfully aware of the presence of Malfoy's genitals, shrivelled into a frightened nest between his upturned legs, and couldn't deafen his ears against his cries and whimpers. Pity fluttered in his stomach, but at the same time he was aware of his own cock, warm in the confines of his trousers and pressed into the small of Malfoy's back.
When Greyback came his shout was low but feral, nails gauging Malfoy's tender flesh. He pumped his hips forward once, twice to savour the full experience, then pulled out so fast that Malfoy cried out again.
Harry let go of Malfoy's calves just in time before Greyback laughed out loud, a sound of pure exuberance. He pushed Malfoy into Harry's arms before giving his spent cock another luxurious rub.
Malfoy shrieked as his cramped legs moved, and curled into a miserable half-ball on the sheets, legs still bent and trying to take his weight off his arse. Harry saw a red-flecked streak of come run down his thigh, and swallowed to keep his stomach contents down. He shifted Draco against his chest into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure he wanted to touch Malfoy at all, but he badly wanted to offer comfort, and if he recoiled from him now, Malfoy might read it as disgust.
Greyback had risen off the bed and to his feet, watching Harry and Malfoy with an avid expression as if he were picking Harry's thoughts right out of his head. After a long, painful moment of silence, broken only by Malfoy's ragged breath, he reached forward and tugged on Malfoy's foot where it lay limp on the mattress.
"Enough whining, pet. You've shown Potter what's in store for him. Now, tell him how to please me."
Malfoy's fists closed, then opened and he slid off the bed, stooped and with a pained grimace on his face, but immediately obedient. Harry crouched against the headboard, withstanding the glare of Greyback's sharp eyes until the werewolf snatched his ankle and pulled. The claw tips pricked Harry's skin before Greyback sliced right through the seam of his trouser leg.
"Up, Potter. And lose the trousers. You won't need them any more."
Face tight, Harry stood, trying to swallow back the ball of broken glass in his throat. He couldn't break down, he told himself as his fingers tugged clumsily at the trouser button. He had to be strong, for himself and for Malfoy. Still, after scrambling free of the trouser legs he stood stubbornly in his briefs although Greyback's expression clearly showed his intentions. Not wasting a word, the werewolf cut the white fabric with his claws, leaving bloody lines on Harry's flesh as the pants fell away from him.
Observing his handiwork, Greyback cocked his head and ruffled Malfoy's hair in a parody of fatherly affection. "Well, pet - I'll have him before the night is out, and he'll work for it. Show him how well you've learned your lesson."
Harry threw a nervous look at the other boy, who had one hand clamped around the bedpost as if it was the only thing that kept him upright. Maybe it was.
"Go and kneel down in front of him, Potter." There was a rough catch to Malfoy's voice that made him sound paradoxically young.
Harry swallowed again without quite daring to look up. Instead, he stared at Greyback's hairy legs, set his face into a hard mask, and knelt. Watched the limp prick dangling before him, still red and wet from exertion, and struggled hard not to throw up.
"Touch it," Malfoy's voice ordered behind him, not so rough now, but devoid of any emotion. "Gently."
Harry did, closing shaky fingers around spongy flesh. He felt the heavy pulse under the skin, or maybe it was his own thrumming through his body.
"Not too gently…" Greyback looked down at him, and the urge to close his fist and squeeze the prick in his hand into bloody pulp raced through Harry's nerves. Only the memory of Ron's face held him back.
Carefully, Harry kneaded the warm flesh, feeling it tighten and harden. It must be Greyback's werewolf stamina that got him aroused again so quickly after orgasm. That, or seeing Harry on his knees before him served as the ultimate aphrodisiac.
"Stroke it a bit more," Malfoy said. "Yes, like that. Now, lick it - tip to root."
Quickly, Harry lowered his head when he felt his face scrunch up. You saw that coming, he berated himself.
He put the tip of his tongue to the crown of Greyback's cock, already salty with precome, and only gagged once at the thought of where it had been before. He traced the head, tongue dragging along the stretching foreskin, and over the soft bumps of veins that ran down to the underside.
The head slid wetly along Harry's chin as he licked his way up until his nose was buried in grey pubic hair. The feral smell that had clung to Malfoy was far more prominent here.
"Now, suck," Malfoy's voice drifted down to him. "And mind your teeth, or you'll pay."
Even as he closed his lips around the tip of Greyback's cock and suckled on the salty-wet flesh, Harry kept his ears pricked like a hunting dog for a sound of triumph or malevolence in Malfoy's tone, any sign that he enjoyed having the upper hand. Then he thought about how he himself would feel whispering into Malfoy's ear about how to bring Greyback off, and convulsed with a flare of shame as intense as the one brought on by having a Death Eater's prick in his mouth. He minded his teeth nonetheless.
Forcing himself to put more straining flesh into his mouth without waiting for Malfoy's prompt because he knew it would come and he wanted this travesty over with, Harry nonetheless gagged when the head hit the soft tissue at the back of his throat. His stomach lurched.
"Don't pull away," Malfoy lectured when Harry did exactly that. He needed air in his lungs, to stop himself from chucking up and to get Fenrir's awful taste out of his mouth.
Greyback's hand came down heavily on his head and neck just as he was trying to duck away.
"You listen to the pet!" the werewolf growled, then twisted his hips to shove himself back inside Harry's mouth until the tip of his prick closed off the back of Harry's throat.
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes when air was suddenly gone. He gagged, mouth filled with flesh and musk, and could feel Greyback swell at the choked noises that escaped him. Harry tried to suck in air through his nose in a miserable wet sniffle, but to little avail. His toes curled and a stab of fear spiked in his stomach and, irrationally, in his groin.
"Use your tongue, Potter, and swallow." Malfoy's voice cut through Harry's panic, but all he managed was a weak wriggle as his tongue was being flattened under the engorged weight of Greyback's cock.
Swallowing proved nearly as hard because Harry knew what it would do, but he forced himself when the points of Greyback's nails started to dig into the back of his head. It left his throat full of cock, choking and abrasive and making his pulse race.
"Again!" Greyback growled, not relying on Malfoy to interpret his desires now, pumping in and out of Harry's mouth until even his tonsils burned.
Forcing his throat to obey a second time was even worse than the first. Swallowing popped his ears and lessened the pressure for a moment, but there was no air anywhere, only the taste and smell and hot, stifling presence of Greyback's cock. He kept it there with his hand wrapped in Harry's hair for an endless moment until Harry's world started to spin in dizzy circles and his feet made odd little scraping noises on the floor.
Then Fenrir pulled out completely, leaving an insulting smear of precome along Harry's cheek before bodily throwing him back onto the floor. Harry landed on his tailbone and bit back a cry.
Fenrir stood over him, his erection red and swollen again, and panic crashed over Harry like a wave. His vision narrowed, blanking out the room and Malfoy, who had edged back onto the bed. He couldn't see anything but the cock before him, and the monster. Greyback gave him ample time to savour the sight, mocking eyes raking over Harry's nude body before leaning down and dragging him to his feet. The hard grip around his upper arm left Harry's fingertips prickling.
"Not half as skilled as the pet," he commented, "but I think the Lestranges will have you trained up quickly enough. Me, I think one mouth's as good as any other."
He pulled Harry close until their bodies touched and Greyback's chest pelt scratched Harry's tender nipples. Hot, meaty breath hit Harry's face. The werewolf licked a wet stripe from Harry's chin to cheek, and Harry felt his face burn. Fenrir bit him, just below the ear, then licked away the blood he had drawn with a chuckle while Harry's body seized in fear.
"Oh yes, I will have your flesh tonight, Potter, and it will be almost as sweet as it would be under the full moon!"
The werewolf hurled him onto the bed, seemingly taking pleasure in manhandling his victims at every opportunity. He pounced before Harry could scramble out of the way, trapping Harry flat on his back and stretching out on top of him. The man's weight knocked the air out of Harry's lungs, the heavy cock pressing down into Harry's lap. Harry's heart hammered, then suddenly leapt into his mouth when he felt teeth at his exposed throat. Greyback bit down again, drawing pinpricks of blood and exhaling a deep, satisfied breath when Harry tensed underneath him. Another stab of heat pooled in his groin, of all places. When Greyback lifted himself off, Harry gasped for breath like a fish on dry land.
"Not so tough after all, are you pup?" the man whispered. "Enough playing now - up on your hands and knees, Potter."
He pinched Harry's thigh, a cruel tug and twist of skin that reddened, then darkened immediately. Harry scooted up on the bed, aware again of Malfoy, who crouched against the headboard hugging his knees. He'd been so quiet, had taken up so little space, that Harry had for a moment forgotten he was there. Now, Harry drew himself up onto shaking knees, hating the way his feet sunk into the worn mattress, thighs gaping open. He fixed his eyes on his hands, balled on the mattress so tightly that his knuckles showed white. It was all he could do not to hurl himself away, screeching like a mad animal when Greyback crawled up behind him, thighs lining up with Harry's while Greyback's groin pressed against his arse. The heat of the werewolf's erection touched Harry before the length of it actually pressed into his cleft. Harry clenched his teeth until his molars ached.
"Let's hope you sucked me wet enough," Greyback murmured into his ear, mock-gentle tone belied by the force with which he thrust himself between Harry's buttocks. He found the tiny ring of Harry's anus and pushed in, and Harry felt himself rip open in a red-hot roar of agony. He couldn't scream, arrested by shock, but he shrieked inwardly.
Of course he'd known that it would hurt, inescapably so. He'd seen Malfoy cry and tremble, but part of him had believed what Greyback kept insinuating so slyly: that he was tougher than Malfoy. Now, Greyback was forcing himself inside him and he knew it was a lie. The pain was such that Harry let out a raw howl as soon as he came up with air.
Greyback laughed and thrust forward again, hard and deep, and Harry's world surged in red fire. His elbows gave out, folding him facedown on the mattress. Only his hips, pulled up by Greyback's hands for the werewolf's convenience, stuck upright in a humiliating parody of obeisance.
Every movement of Greyback inside him produced a fresh shudder of pain as if it were the fangs of the wolf that were tearing into him rather than Greyback's cock. And above the pain, hot tears of shame stung in Harry's eyes, that this could happen to him - that after all he'd survived, after destroying Voldemort, he could be raped by a deranged enemy like an animal, with Malfoy to witness.
There was no humiliation in Cruciatus, Harry realised - just agony overriding every thought. But this? Despite the pain, Harry was acutely aware what was happening to him, how he was letting himself go under the onslaught.
Driven by pure instinct, he tried to scramble away. Greyback caught him effortlessly, one strong arm wrapping around Harry's middle. His hips surged forward to sink his cock back into Harry's hole with punishing force. With hysterical sobs threatening to spill from his throat, Harry slumped in Greyback's grip. Teeth grazed the raised skin of his neck as if Greyback wanted to inscribe himself on Harry's body for all the world to see. Then the werewolf threw his head back.
"Come here, pet. I think Potter needs a bit of distraction."
Malfoy entered Harry's field of vision, creeping forward until he knelt right in front of Harry. Only Greyback's arm around his middle kept Harry upright, and yet he wished it wouldn't allow his erstwhile rival to see him so clearly - dripping with sweat, face painfully flushed, his legs spread while Greyback was moving inside him.
Fenrir's hand slipped to grab Harry's cock, limp and frightened between his legs. He lifted it, and without needing a prompt, Malfoy bent down and licked around it. The sensation was such that Harry cried out again, struggling to escape the hot mouth.
Fenrir slapped the side of his head until Harry stilled, his ear ringing. Without paying attention, Malfoy sucked his cock down and slithered his tongue around it like a snake. Miserably, Harry could feel himself harden and wished Greyback had slapped him harder. If he'd fallen unconscious, he wouldn't have to feel his body betraying him. It wasn't that Fenrir's cock inside him hurt less - although the werewolf had slowed down his assault. Instead, he reached down to form a ring around the base of Harry's prick with thumb and index finger, cradling Harry's balls tightly in his wide palm. The pressure, and the shocking sweetness of Malfoy's mouth around him, transmuted the pain into something Harry refused to ponder.
Far too soon for Harry's traitorous cock, Greyback motioned Malfoy off him. The boy slid his lips off with a long slide and wiped a strand of saliva from his mouth.
The werewolf nodded at his belt that hung from the loops of his discarded trousers, just within reach. "Get it, pup."
Skin crawling, Harry leaned forward and pulled it free, only too aware that Greyback was still holding on to his prick. Without a word, Malfoy crossed his hands and offered them to Harry. His eyes were blank and cold in a way that made Harry shudder.
"Bind him," Greyback ordered, almost cheerfully. Harry wrapped the smooth leather around Malfoy's proffered hands. "Tighter!" Greyback hissed, and with a grimace of disgust, Harry pulled the belt tight until it cut into Malfoy's thin wrists.
"That's a good pet. Now, down and spread yourself open for our Harry," Greyback crooned, and at last something flashed in Malfoy's eyes before he turned. A glimpse of long, pale flank, and then Harry stared at Malfoy's buttocks, marred by darkening imprints of fingers and bloody marks from Greyback's nails.
"No!" Harry protested as soon as he caught the meaning. "I won't."
"You will," Greyback snarled. "Unless you want to watch me fuck him with my fist and then you'll fuck him to prevent me from doing it again."
Despite his already hunched posture, Malfoy seemed to duck down deeper still. A small sound of helpless protest escaped Harry's lips. He bowed his head - there was nothing to be done.
Malfoy spread his thighs, revealing a hole that was inflamed, distended and smeared with the grease Greyback had used to fuck him. Harry didn't want to touch Malfoy, didn't even want to look at him, but Malfoy shuffled backwards with small, crab-like movements as if that alone pained him until his arse touched the tip of Harry's prick where it rose up from Greyback's fist.
Using his hold around Harry's base, Greyback ran the erection suggestively up and down Malfoy's crack. "He is quite pretty, our pet, isn't he?" the werewolf's hot voice whispered in Harry's ear. He'd stopped moving inside Harry altogether, as if not to distract Harry's arousal.
"There's nothing 'pretty' about any of this!" Harry snarled, even as he felt the head of his cock strain against its foreskin.
"Keep lying to yourself, pup." Greyback chuckled and pushed Harry's erection forward until it pressed against Malfoy's entrance. "This is telling the truth."
Lips cold with rage, Harry inched forwards as carefully as he could. Malfoy opened around him in a reluctant, dragging squeeze of flesh that stole Harry's breath. He stared down at the arched back before him, fists balled because he feared that if he didn't he would touch Malfoy, and he didn't want to do that to him. There was beauty after all, twisted and abused and trembling, but beauty nonetheless.
"Very touching," Greyback sneered. "But I told you to fuck him, not to make love like an infatuated virgin on his wedding night." He let go of Harry's cock and balls now that Harry was deep enough into Malfoy to have nowhere else to go, and put his hand back on Harry's hip. "Though that's of course exactly what you are, isn't it, Potter? Let me show you the ropes, then."
Harry had no time to brace himself before Greyback thrust into him once more with even more force than before. He yelled as he was slammed into Malfoy so hard that he fell forward over the Slytherin's body, only just managing to prop himself up on both hands without crushing him. Still, Malfoy hissed in pain, his channel rippling around Harry's prick as if trying to push him out.
Agony flared up in Harry's arse, worse than what he'd felt before because now Greyback had gone past the preliminaries of penetration and started to hammer into Harry as if to fuck Malfoy through him. The thrusts had changed his angle and shoved him deeper into the other boy than he'd ever wanted to go. Undoubtedly, Greyback got the ultimate kick out of the scenario - fucking Harry's body, and his mind, and Malfoy all at once.
Malfoy's back contorted in pain below him, and Harry could hear the whimper he tried to muffle against the mattress.
Harry breathed a soundless "Ssh!" against snags of blond hair and the salty neck under his lips, cheek brushing the rough leather of Malfoy's collar. Soundless, because he didn't want Greyback to hear and pound Harry even harder.
Then he gritted his teeth and forced his watery knees and cramped arms to straighten. It impaled him on Greyback's cock to the hilt, fresh pain screaming through his nerves, flaring up his spine and down to his feet. It took the edge off Malfoy, though, which was the point - he'd be damned if he let Greyback turn his body into a torture instrument.
"Nice, Potter." Greyback gave a lewd hum of appreciation and thrust again, picking up a brutal rhythm that left Harry feeling as if he was being flayed alive from the inside. He whimpered, biting his bottom lip bloody to smother his screams, still trying to cushion Malfoy from the full force of the werewolf's assault.
The pain was honed to an exquisite edge by the fact that despite his efforts he was now fucking Malfoy nearly as hard as Greyback fucked him, and the clutch of Malfoy's arse around his cock kept him hard despite the pain.
"Yes, nice," Greyback repeated, fangs grazing the shell of Harry's ear. His voice had lowered to a drawn-out, hungry growl. "But you should know better by now, shouldn't you?"
And then suddenly Greyback's arm closed around Harry's neck, forcing his head up until he was crushed against the werewolf's chest, Greyback's hairy, sinewy forearm pressed against Harry's throat like the knotted branch of the Whomping Willow. Harry heard Malfoy gasp as the angle of penetration shifted again, and every hair on his neck and arms stood up at the terrible helplessness of being so effortlessly trapped. He wriggled, more a testing of leverage than an escape attempt, and Greyback's grip tightened around his throat. Panic surged through Harry's body in a dark, sweet wave that left his cock straining. He stilled completely, offering surrender in his body language. The memory of Greyback's cock in his throat, cutting off his air supply, was too fresh, too terrifying, and he could feel himself breaking out in cold sweat.
Greyback's arm tightened again, his other hand still holding on to Harry's hip in a brutal grip. He pulled back, then shoved himself forward again. Blood started to roar in Harry's ears, and he gasped desperately for what little air the obstruction allowed into his lungs. The next thrust, hard on the heel of the previous, forced him deep into Malfoy without warning, wrenching a cry from the other boy.
Harry felt his limbs beginning to shake as he fought for breath. Greyback rammed into him, hard and fast and merciless. His control was slipping. He felt himself jerk in the twin hell of agony and lack of breath, fighting for real now. His nails dug into Greyback's arm, pulling and scrabbling but at the same time his vision was fading again, strength sapped along with oxygen, and he knew he couldn't free himself, not pinned and impaled as he was. Instead, he twitched like a puppet on a string under the werewolf's thrusts, only distantly aware of Malfoy's cries as he was plunged into him.
Now he would have begged, but had no breath for it. Greyback crushed his throat harder yet, turning Harry's throat into a burning column. Harry's body reacted to mortal danger with the single-mindedness of survival. With his vision a red-rimmed tunnel of black and his mind screaming for air, his body twisted itself and spilled his seed into the writing body beneath him in a rush so painfully intense that it blanked out even the pain. The dark roared, built up all around him…
… and then suddenly he could breathe, through a larynx that felt like a red-hot wire, but it was air and Harry gulped it down frantically. Behind him, Greyback grunted, still thrusting away.
Harry heard Greyback's triumphant howl as he came, but couldn't feel anything other than the sweet air in his lungs. After almost reaching the haven of oblivion, his mind didn't want to return to his aching body. It didn't last long, though - Greyback pulled out of him, wiping his dripping cock on Harry's buttocks, then pulled Harry's head up by the hair until his scalp screamed. He yelled - he definitely felt that.
"Learned your lesson?"
Harry's body shuddered, seized by a tremor that nearly sent his teeth achatter. Despite the cruel pull on his hair, he nodded - anything to make Greyback let go.
"Good!"
The werewolf did, sending Harry in a tangle of limbs onto Malfoy, who cried out with a sharp, pained sound that cut through Harry. It made him realise that, softened or not, he was still buried in Malfoy's arse.
Harry tried to disentangle himself as fast and as carefully as possible, barely noting that the werewolf wiped himself with a rag that had obviously seen a lot of the same before, before grabbing his trousers and easing into them with a languorous roll of his hips. He undid the belt that tied Draco's wrists and slid it through the loops at his hips. With a toothy grin over his shoulder, he made for the door.
"Don't go anywhere, pup."
He didn't even bother closing the door, but Harry was too preoccupied trying not to see the strands of come he'd spilled in his moment of sheer terror. A glimpse at Malfoy's arse revealed blood - not much, nothing like the hole Harry was sure Greyback had torn into him, but a damning trickle down the inside of Malfoy's upper thigh, and, oh God, more blood smeared over the head of Harry's cock.
Harry choked, scooting backwards only to feel a stab of agony flare through his arse, reminding him of the way Greyback had slammed into him. He collapsed, keening, trembling so hard now that his teeth chattered. Suddenly, it was as hard to breathe as if Greyback was still choking him. His chest ached, and he could feel his heart thudding in irregular beats.
A rap to the head, all knuckles and with quite a bit of force behind it, made him jolt. Breath stuttered back into his lungs, and he reflexively rubbed his stinging head. There was Malfoy's angry face glaring down at him, mouth twisted into a thin line of disdain that mirrored his father's.
Although it was a relief to see rage after the servile passivity Malfoy had shown Fenrir, there was something of a trapped, raging animal in Malfoy's body language. A soft, distant whisper deep inside Harry felt drawn to it. At the same time, it made Harry wonder about the half-healed claw and bite marks that marred Malfoy's skin.
"Can you afford to lose it, 'pup'?" Draco snapped, every bit as feral as his namesake.
Shame flooded Harry's face. He started to look away, only to freeze when Malfoy made to hit him again.
"Why does he allow it?" Harry blurted out, the question foremost on his mind ever since he'd seen Draco on the bed. "Your father - he's here. How can he let this happen to you?"
Malfoy's face turned icy. "Because he has no wand. Because he has no choice." His angry mask shook, crumbled. "My mother, Potter. They have my mother!"
With him sitting so close, Harry could, for the first time, see the piece of white ribbon at the hollow of Malfoy's throat, almost entirely obscured by the bulkiness of the collar. Not vibrant like Ron's, but luminous white with the faintest blue and pink highlights.
Harry stared at it in dismay, admitting to himself that he'd blindly pegged Malfoy as someone who'd debase himself the way he had just to save his own skin. Now, he saw the bars of the cage enclosing them both mirrored in the way Malfoy's eyes blanked out again, until he turned away, carving out for himself a solitary little corner of the mattress.
Malfoy's back did not shake, but neither did he turn back again, leaving Harry with his bloodied cock and come-stained hands and the ribbon that was Ron's life curling around his throat.
Wrapping his arms around his chest, Harry waited, never once moving or looking up, until they came to drag him away.
~ concluded in Part 2 ~
merry_smutmas contribution, written for son_of_darkness, whom I owe like whoa for the challenging prompt!Title: The Practice of Walking in Darkness (1 of 2)
Author: Hijja
Pairings: Harry/Fenrir/Draco, Harry/Lucius, Harry/other DEs
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: non-con, blackmail, bit of violence, mindfuck, general darkficness
Summary: "Potter. There is no one I'd rather have seen stumbling into our little trap. You have a lot to pay for, boy."
Note: Written for
merry_smutmas 2007 for son_of_darkness. Thanks to liriaen, melusinahp, stuckinsea and my much-missed Thea for rapid beta and spot-on advice!"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."
At the time, with a minor concussion and Lucius Malfoy pinning him to the wall while Harry was still reeling from having signed away his freedom, Malfoy's words had made no sense.
Nothing made much sense, not after the devastating realisation that he had fallen prisoner to Death Eaters after having won the war.
Although, in retrospect, Harry had to admit that it had been his own fault. He and Ron had been careless, too certain that, after Voldemort's fall, the Death Eaters still at liberty would go into hiding, or flee the country. There weren't that many left. Nott had been captured a week after the Battle of Hogwarts; Avery had given himself up a few days after that. Of those still at large, the Lestrange brothers loomed large on the wanted lists, along with Fenrir Greyback, who had vanished from the battlefield, leaving behind no more than a cracked crystal ball and a pool of blood.
Along with them, the Malfoys had disappeared in the chaotic aftermath of battle, before anyone could give a thought as to whether they should be locked up or not. As far as Harry was concerned, he'd have been perfectly satisfied never to lay eyes on any of their ice-blond heads again, well, apart from the part where he owed Narcissa Malfoy a life debt.
For months after the Battle, there had been no sign of the fugitives, and despite Kingsley Shacklebolt's strategy briefings, nobody in the Auror Division had believed they might resurface. The Department was under-staffed and over-worked as it was. The magical community was tired of war, and few showed desire to join the Aurors. Ron and Harry as green trainees shouldn't have been out together in the first place, not according to regulations. But even Kingsley tended to overlook the rules when it came to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They had fought and won the Battle of Hogwarts - they were supposed to be able to look after themselves.
It had been the end of a tiring day, punctuated by bouts of long-distance Apparition: a morning spent patrolling the outskirts of Knockturn Alley, interviewing punters in dingy wizarding pubs about rumours of a new Society of the Knights of Walpurgis. An old dear in Llanbadarn, reporting a Death Eater in an adjacent house that turned out to be a black cloak hanging forgotten in a neighbour's window. A family feud in Swindon, with warring parties that needed reminding that, unlike under Scrimgeour's regime, finger-pointing and Death Eater allegations were not enough to see a neighbour carted off to Azkaban.
And then, when dusk came, an area in Muggle Manchester that looked run-down even compared to Knockturn Alley. 'Uncanny goings-on' in a derelict building, reported by a wizard who'd heard it from a squib cousin, who'd heard it from some Muggle youths in the area. Granted, Harry muttered to Ron as they picked their way through broken bottles, dog shite and litter, the way some of the local youths looked, he'd pity the poor Dark wizard who tried to mess with any of them.
The interior of the house was dark, dusty and cobwebbed, the narrow staircase to the upper floor collapsed in a heap of rotting wood. Ron preceded Harry through the hall, winding past a bulky cupboard that all but closed off the corridor. In the radius of his Lumos, his hair was gleaming red. Then it fired up for real when a rush of orange-black sparks shot towards him from one of the gaping doors. Harry heard him scream. A horrible sizzling filled his ears, like fresh meat being thrown into hot oil. He aimed a shielding spell when something barrelled into him from behind with the force of a freight train. Harry was thrown forward, off balance. The cupboard loomed before him, solid oak where the staircase was not, and then his head smacked into it with a dull crack. It was the last thing he heard before unconsciousness claimed him.
Blindly, Harry moved his head, prepared for a burst of bile-rising pain. The ache that greeted him was dull, the skin at his temple taut and sore right up to his eyelid. It hurt, yes, but considering he'd been trying to drill a hole through his skull by means of an oak cupboard, he could have felt worse.
"So good to see you again, Potter - pity you left behind your tasty Mudblood girlfriend."
Fuck! He knew that voice! Harry scrambled to his knees, then found himself pulled up and his wrists captured behind his back. He forced his eyes open, and there they were - the fugitive Death Eaters. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, and Fenrir Greyback at his back. Their black-robed selves looked strangely out of place in an old-fashioned Muggle lounge, all worn carpets, 1940s oak furniture and faded floral wallpaper. They had definitely left behind the derelict ruin in Manchester.
The Lestranges had their wands out, and everybody was staring at him. Harry's eyes darted around, frantically searching for Ron. There he was, crumbled in a heap on the carpet, but, thankfully, he seemed to be breathing.
Rabastan Lestrange followed his gaze, an eerie smile twisting his lips.
"Potter. There is no one I'd rather have seen stumbling into our little trap. You have a lot to pay for, boy."
He took a step towards Ron's body, rolling him onto his back with the toe of his boot. Ron's scarlet robes were badly charred on the shoulder, his neck red as if broiled. When he opened his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace. Harry watched Ron's expression change from confusion to dread to a touch of relief when his gaze met Harry's.
Rodolphus's wand had turned on Ron as soon as he'd started to move, while Rabastan's remained aimed at Harry despite Greyback's death grip on his wrists.
"But first..." The younger Lestrange nodded towards Ron, "this. What was it our Lord said in that graveyard? Kill the spare?"
"No!" Harry screamed, struggling against the hands that held him as Ron's eyes darkened in fear. "Please, don't! I'll do whatever you want-"
"You will revive the Dark Lord?"
Biting his tongue, Harry pushed the memory of the Resurrection Stone far to the back of his mind. There were some things he would not do to survive, not even for Ron. He'd returned Voldemort to life once - he would not do it again.
"Everything I'm capable of," he said.
"We've seen what you're capable of." Rodolphus's voice was gravelly, rough as if he didn't use it very often any more. "Now, all we want to see you do is suffer. The blood traitor's mother killed my wife - he belongs to me."
"Though the idea of Potter doing 'whatever we want' has its appeal," Rabastan threw in, his parody of Harry's voice painfully accurate. Malfoy's aristocratic nose crinkled, and there was a short bark of laughter from Greyback that made Harry's skin crawl. "I think we've earned a bit of recreation. What do you say - Rodolphus? Lucius?"
The elder Lestrange cocked his head, eyes still fixed on Ron with an awful expression of hunger. He nodded, slowly, reluctantly, while Malfoy's frown deepened.
"I have no intention of soiling myself with a half-blood," Malfoy drawled. Unlike the others, he had still not drawn a wand, but was casually leaning on his cane.
"I wonder why," Rabastan murmured with an eyebrow raised. "You weren't adverse to a bit of sport... before." There was an undertone to the man's words that jarred in Harry's ears. Bellatrix had always been the eloquent one among the Lestranges. Strange how after her death, command seemed to have fallen to the most quiet of her little gang.
Fear curled in Harry's stomach as Rabastan came up to him, laying a cool palm on his cheek. Harry looked up, meeting eyes not quite as black and hooded as Rodolphus's, but a dark grey that held an unsettling glimmer.
"I'm not offering life, to either of you." The Death Eater's tone was almost kind; his words were not. "Merely a reprieve. As long as you amuse us, Potter, your friend will live. When you stop being entertaining, you will both die." The gleam in Rabastan's eyes bloomed into a grin. "If you're very good, Potter, I might kill him quickly when the time comes - or maybe not."
"Harry, don't let them-" Ron cried out, then stared up at Harry with blood running from the corner of his mouth when Rodolphus casually kicked him in the face.
Harry threw Ron a hard look. Survival was the key, drummed into them during endless sessions of Auror training. As long as you lived, chances might present themselves. If you died, it was over.
"Whatever you want," he repeated, meeting Lestrange's eyes straight on.
"Ah, Potter, I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to making you regret those words." Rabastan petted his cheek, then whirled round and aimed his wand at Ron.
Ron tensed, his face white and frantic, and Harry yelled, "No!" without any hope of stopping the Death Eater's spell.
It hit, and something… wriggled away from the centre of Ron's chest; like a strand of smoke, but coloured in a vibrant blue-green, much like a Pensieve memory after a stint in a paint bucket. It lengthened, curled, then detached itself from Ron and floated to the tip of Lestrange's wand where it solidified further.
"What did you do?" Harry yelled, scanning Ron's face for signs of pain.
"And you claim the name of wizard?" Rabastan snorted, plucking the ribbon off his wand. "Tell him, blood traitor."
"It's a life thread." Ron sounded scared, subdued, although Harry suspected that he was more afraid for Harry than for himself. "They use it to tell whether somebody's all right - alive. Like our family clock, remember?"
Yes, Harry remembered all right - remembered the golden hand engraved with 'Fred' blackened and withered, and how Ron and Charlie had quickly taken it down before Mrs Weasley could see.
Unexpectedly, Greyback let go of him. Harry swayed when his Auror's robe was torn from his upper body. Greyback hurled the heavy fabric into a corner, and a quick "Evanesco!" from Lestrange's wand vanished Harry's shirt as well. Rodolphus's wand remained trained at Ron's head, so Harry stood stock-still even as his whole body erupted in gooseflesh.
With a smirk that proved he knew exactly how terrified Harry was, Rabastan looped the ribbon around Harry's neck. The two ends fused in a seamless ring, lightly brushing his skin like the softest of silk, emanating a faint… presence of Ron, like Harry sometimes felt when Ron stood close to him, or entered a room and Harry knew it was him without having to look up.
"A token of good faith so you remember what you're bargaining for," the Death Eater stated. "And we have just the place to keep our bargaining chip safe, haven't we?" He looked from Rodolphus to Greyback.
"I took Potter down," Greyback growled. "He's mine first."
"Greedy," Rabastan chided, then laughed. "Very well. I'm sure it will be an instructive experience for him."
The werewolf grabbed Harry's shoulder to shove him towards the half-open door to the corridor. Behind him, a scuffle broke out and Harry dug his heels in, craning his neck. Ron, the stupid sod, had started to struggle as soon as Rodolphus moved his wand away, but he was too weak. The Lestranges were wrestling him into submission without effort. Greyback let go of Harry's arm and turned to watch.
Left to himself, Harry clung to the doorway, praying they wouldn't hurt Ron, or void their bargain. And then Lucius Malfoy, silent almost throughout, walked over to him, backing him into the wall until the fine, silver-stitched sleeves of his robe brushed Harry's chest. His voice, when he spoke, was so soft it was almost a whisper.
"Heed this, Potter: your fate at my hands will depend on the way you treat my son."
At the time, it had made no sense.
Now, after Lucius had stepped back and allowed Greyback to march Harry down the flower-printed hallway and through an adjacent door, it did.
Draco Malfoy lay on the filthy bed that was the only piece of furniture in the entire room, naked except for a black-studded collar fastened around his throat. It looked terribly bulky against Malfoy's delicate skin.
"In, pup!" Fenrir Greyback's growl was followed by a push that sent Harry flying into the middle of the room and onto his knees. His vision wavered as his looming concussion roiled up again.
Malfoy's eyes widened from thin grey slits to near-black when he saw Harry. Of course he'd been shocked to see Harry before on various occasions, but he'd never looked this horrified, not even in sixth year in the prefects' bathroom. A pink tinge coloured his cheeks for a moment, before they drained completely. Malfoy's head fell back onto the pillow. His eyes closed.
Harry struggled back onto his shaky feet before Greyback could grab him. He felt the werewolf's hot breath on his neck a second before the claw-tipped fingers met over his chest and clasped him to the man's strong body.
"I don't blame you for admiring my pet, Potter. Such a tasty, tender little thing?"
Harry's shoulders shrank in the rough embrace. He could smell Greyback behind him, sharp and acerbic, could feel the thick knot of scars that marred the skin of his chest. Greyback wore only fraying trousers, Muggle jeans of all things; no shirt, no shoes, as if he'd shed wizardly decorum right after Voldemort's death.
But then the entire crew of Death Eaters had looked… frayed. Though imposing in ornamented robes and cane, Lucius Malfoy's face had seemed haunted. The elder Lestrange had worn ragged robes that might have seen the Battle of Hogwarts, while the younger looked at the world through a curtain of too-long hair with the air of a ferret that had lost its burrow. Greyback himself was sporting a thick, welted scar at his temple where Trelawney's crystal ball had failed to kill him.
And now here was Draco Malfoy, naked on a dirty bed with his collar and his too-pale skin mottled with bruises and scratches. He'd looked worn during sixth year, and at the manor when Harry had been captured the first time. Since then, he must have lost another ten pounds he didn't have to spare in the first place. Harry swallowed hard, fear liquid in his veins.
Fenrir chuckled, rubbing his bristly chin along Harry's neck. He could probably smell his fear. Harry stumbled against the side of the bed. Fenrir followed, wrapping his arms around Harry in a crushing squeeze.
"We'll have our time, Potter, you and me," he hissed against Harry's jugular. The points of his teeth dug into the vulnerable skin there. "But let me show you what's going to happen to you first."
He gave Harry another push that almost landed him on top of Draco. "Up on the bed," the werewolf growled. "Roll up behind the pet, Potter."
Gingerly, Harry crawled onto the mattress, trying to ignore the stains on the fabric. The bed reeked of old sweat and sex and it nearly turned Harry's stomach. Not so much the smell, but the knowledge of what had happened here. He was only too aware of the way Draco leaned away from him. He wasn't the only one. Greyback delivered a resounding slap to Malfoy's thigh, and Draco froze. A hand-shaped mark bloomed on his pale skin.
"None of that, pet," Fenrir snarled. "You be nice to Potter - you'll spend a lot of time together before we get bored with him and he dies."
Through his own dread, Harry could feel Draco forcing himself to unfreeze against him. His skin was sticky with old sweat, his back cold where it pressed against Harry's warm chest. He didn't relax in the slightest. Fenrir's smell was strong on him, and the werewolf laughed when he saw Harry crinkle his nose.
"You won't be so proper in a bit, pup."
He stood beside the bed, thumbing open his trouser buttons. He wore nothing underneath, and when the cloth was shoved down, a tall, ruddy erection bobbed up to his belly. Draco's shoulder blades tensed as if they had been transfigured to metal.
One way or the other over the years, Harry had always secretly wanted to see Malfoy get his comeuppance; he'd never been more ashamed of that impulse than he was now.
Fenrir roughed Draco's legs apart, one hand closing around the limp package of his prick and balls. Draco whimpered as rough finger pads caressed his most vulnerable parts. The claws could slice them to ribbons if Greyback chose to. Harry could almost taste Malfoy's terror. Reflexively, he put his hands on the boy's shoulders to share what little comfort he could offer.
"Yes, Potter, console the pet if you think it'll help," Greyback commented derisively, pushing Malfoy's splayed legs back until his knees almost touched his ears. It put Malfoy's weight heavily on Harry, enough for him to feel the bumps of Malfoy's spine digging into his chest. Greyback grinned toothily at Harry through the gap.
"Hold him open for me, pup," he breathed, shoving Malfoy's calves into Harry's hands.
Hot fury ran through Harry as his fingers closed around the shivery skin of Malfoy's legs, trying not to look down at the young man's quivering chest. He hated the fact that Greyback made him into an accessory to violation. It was the memory of Ron's scared face and the blood coating his mouth that made Harry tighten his fingers. He'd committed himself - there was no going back. He felt gut-wrenchingly sorry for Malfoy, but the price for standing up for him would be Ron's life.
Malfoy bucked when the werewolf moved his hand behind him in a way that told Harry only too vividly what Greyback was doing. Then Greyback pushed even closer, kneeling right behind Malfoy's upturned arse and even though Malfoy obscured the werewolf's lower body, Harry saw Malfoy's eyes go wide. Long fingers knotted in the bedclothes as his mouth thinned, then twisted in pain.
Greyback smiled, a wild, knowing grin between the boy's spread legs, and leaned forward to whisper, "If you want mercy, pet, you know how to beg for it."
For a reeling second, Harry thought it was him being addressed and grasped for words like a kitten pawing after butterflies. Then Malfoy expelled his breath in a huff, calves taut under Harry's fingers, his back going even more rigid. His eyes were screwed shut as tightly as his lips, which had started to go grey with fear.
No, not fear, Harry realised. Pride.
Meeting Greyback's mocking eyes directly, Harry said, "Don't let him play you, Malfoy. It's not worth it."
The red-rimmed eyes opened into slits, helpless anger spilling out. Then Draco looked away, staring up at the ceiling as if to distance himself from everything - the smell of rut, the sweat, the fear, his own strained tangle of limbs, Harry's and Greyback's presence. His lips moved twice before his vocal cords caught up with them.
"Please don't take me dry, Fenrir."
"No, you did not like that at all, did you, pet?" The werewolf chuckled. "But since you're such a good pet, so obedient to your betters…" He ran his large hand up the inside of Malfoy's leg, its weather-beaten tan and pelt of grey hair in sharp contrast to Malfoy's pale, hairless skin. A flick of heat appeared on the young man's face when Greyback dipped down to play with his balls.
"Shall I be generous with the little plaything, Potter?" Greyback's malicious eyes caught Harry's over Malfoy's head. He did something with his hand that had Malfoy jerk and hiss between clenched teeth.
"Yes," Harry said softly. Had Lucius truly believed he needed to bully Harry into behaving decently?
Slowly, the werewolf slid his hand away from Malfoy's groin, and brought it up to Harry's face. The rough pads of his fingertips tapped against Harry's bottom lip. They smelled of Malfoy, sharp and desperate.
With a sinking heart, Harry closed his mouth around them, tongue sliding around the bitter taste.
'If they have the upper hand, keep your head down, stay calm, and play along until you see an opportunity to strike,' had been Kingsley Shacklebolt's credo on what to do when captured by Dark wizards. Now, there would be no opportunity to strike, but Harry would play along nonetheless.
He didn't manage to avoid nicking his tongue as he sucked around Greyback's nail, and forced the thought of infection and what had happened to Bill to the back of his mind. He would see worse than a nick if Malfoy's condition was anything to go by.
Greyback's fingers glistened when the werewolf pulled them free. "Such a hero, isn't he, pet?" he mocked, then thrust his wet fingers into Malfoy in a way that forced a strangled little cry from Malfoy's lips. "But you're right, Potter - the pet is a fragile little thing, and Lucius might be forced to show outrage after all if it got torn up beyond repair. We can't have that. You, on the other hand, Potter…" The sharp eyes travelled over Harry's bare chest, then back to his face. "You're the tough one, aren't you? You think you can handle everything, even the Dark Lord. You won't need mollycoddling, will you?"
"I'm not one of your children, Greyback," Harry said, lips very cold.
"That's all right, Potter. I'll break the man just as easily."
Greyback leaned forward as if he had no bones at all and picked up a jar with a sharp-smelling ointment from under the bed. He swiped his fingers through it and shoved them back into Malfoy in the same motion.
Harry trembled nearly as much as Malfoy, trying not to notice the tears that welled up behind Malfoy's closed eyelids. He felt utterly helpless, part of him thinking it would be easier to bear if Greyback abused him rather than made him into a reluctant accomplice in Draco's torture, but that was his noble half. The other gibbered in witless terror at the thought that the same thing could happen to him.
Before today, he'd only ever been distantly aware that men could be interested in other men in a sexual way, even though, if pressed, he'd have to admit that at one point during his schooldays, he'd avidly watched out for Cedric Diggory's lithe body and easy smile, and that sneaking after Malfoy in sixth year, a predator on the prowl for a glimpse of pale hair and faux-haughty posture, had kindled warmth in the pit of his stomach. But this, he thought darkly as he watched Greyback pull his fingers from Malfoy's arse and shuffle closer after wiping off excess grease over his cock in a self-indulgent slide - this wasn't about desire. Just about revenge.
Malfoy jerked when the werewolf pushed into him, despite the grease. His neck muscles knotted into an intricate shape, like lattice below skin. Harry wanted to graze them with his lips, just to provide a little touch of comfort when he could do nothing else, but Malfoy would take it the wrong way, and Greyback would jeer, so he did nothing. The fleshy slaps of Greyback's fucking hurt Harry's ears, but not as much as they hurt Malfoy - his eyes were spilling over, and high, pained sobs escaped his mouth. The thrusts rocked him against Harry's chest, bruised flesh rippling all over with goose pimples and turning blue where Harry's fingers were clamped around his calves.
Harry looked away, only to have his chin grabbed and his head wrenched up. Greyback leaned into him, buried to the hilt in Malfoy's arse and almost squashing the younger man with his weight. He pulled Harry's jaw to him and crushed bared teeth against Harry's mouth, biting at his lower lip until Harry tasted blood while Draco gasped for air underneath them. Then Greyback drew away with a red-tinged grin, hands returning to Draco's hips for another vigorous thrust. Harry didn't dare to let his eyes slip again.
It didn't take many more thrusts before Greyback closed his eyes into slits of satisfaction, a grimace that displayed prominent canines twisting his face. Every second was one too many for Harry, though, who had to watch Malfoy's face peering out from between his splayed legs, scrunched up and wet with tears and snot. He was painfully aware of the presence of Malfoy's genitals, shrivelled into a frightened nest between his upturned legs, and couldn't deafen his ears against his cries and whimpers. Pity fluttered in his stomach, but at the same time he was aware of his own cock, warm in the confines of his trousers and pressed into the small of Malfoy's back.
When Greyback came his shout was low but feral, nails gauging Malfoy's tender flesh. He pumped his hips forward once, twice to savour the full experience, then pulled out so fast that Malfoy cried out again.
Harry let go of Malfoy's calves just in time before Greyback laughed out loud, a sound of pure exuberance. He pushed Malfoy into Harry's arms before giving his spent cock another luxurious rub.
Malfoy shrieked as his cramped legs moved, and curled into a miserable half-ball on the sheets, legs still bent and trying to take his weight off his arse. Harry saw a red-flecked streak of come run down his thigh, and swallowed to keep his stomach contents down. He shifted Draco against his chest into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, and placed a trembling hand on his shoulder. He wasn't sure he wanted to touch Malfoy at all, but he badly wanted to offer comfort, and if he recoiled from him now, Malfoy might read it as disgust.
Greyback had risen off the bed and to his feet, watching Harry and Malfoy with an avid expression as if he were picking Harry's thoughts right out of his head. After a long, painful moment of silence, broken only by Malfoy's ragged breath, he reached forward and tugged on Malfoy's foot where it lay limp on the mattress.
"Enough whining, pet. You've shown Potter what's in store for him. Now, tell him how to please me."
Malfoy's fists closed, then opened and he slid off the bed, stooped and with a pained grimace on his face, but immediately obedient. Harry crouched against the headboard, withstanding the glare of Greyback's sharp eyes until the werewolf snatched his ankle and pulled. The claw tips pricked Harry's skin before Greyback sliced right through the seam of his trouser leg.
"Up, Potter. And lose the trousers. You won't need them any more."
Face tight, Harry stood, trying to swallow back the ball of broken glass in his throat. He couldn't break down, he told himself as his fingers tugged clumsily at the trouser button. He had to be strong, for himself and for Malfoy. Still, after scrambling free of the trouser legs he stood stubbornly in his briefs although Greyback's expression clearly showed his intentions. Not wasting a word, the werewolf cut the white fabric with his claws, leaving bloody lines on Harry's flesh as the pants fell away from him.
Observing his handiwork, Greyback cocked his head and ruffled Malfoy's hair in a parody of fatherly affection. "Well, pet - I'll have him before the night is out, and he'll work for it. Show him how well you've learned your lesson."
Harry threw a nervous look at the other boy, who had one hand clamped around the bedpost as if it was the only thing that kept him upright. Maybe it was.
"Go and kneel down in front of him, Potter." There was a rough catch to Malfoy's voice that made him sound paradoxically young.
Harry swallowed again without quite daring to look up. Instead, he stared at Greyback's hairy legs, set his face into a hard mask, and knelt. Watched the limp prick dangling before him, still red and wet from exertion, and struggled hard not to throw up.
"Touch it," Malfoy's voice ordered behind him, not so rough now, but devoid of any emotion. "Gently."
Harry did, closing shaky fingers around spongy flesh. He felt the heavy pulse under the skin, or maybe it was his own thrumming through his body.
"Not too gently…" Greyback looked down at him, and the urge to close his fist and squeeze the prick in his hand into bloody pulp raced through Harry's nerves. Only the memory of Ron's face held him back.
Carefully, Harry kneaded the warm flesh, feeling it tighten and harden. It must be Greyback's werewolf stamina that got him aroused again so quickly after orgasm. That, or seeing Harry on his knees before him served as the ultimate aphrodisiac.
"Stroke it a bit more," Malfoy said. "Yes, like that. Now, lick it - tip to root."
Quickly, Harry lowered his head when he felt his face scrunch up. You saw that coming, he berated himself.
He put the tip of his tongue to the crown of Greyback's cock, already salty with precome, and only gagged once at the thought of where it had been before. He traced the head, tongue dragging along the stretching foreskin, and over the soft bumps of veins that ran down to the underside.
The head slid wetly along Harry's chin as he licked his way up until his nose was buried in grey pubic hair. The feral smell that had clung to Malfoy was far more prominent here.
"Now, suck," Malfoy's voice drifted down to him. "And mind your teeth, or you'll pay."
Even as he closed his lips around the tip of Greyback's cock and suckled on the salty-wet flesh, Harry kept his ears pricked like a hunting dog for a sound of triumph or malevolence in Malfoy's tone, any sign that he enjoyed having the upper hand. Then he thought about how he himself would feel whispering into Malfoy's ear about how to bring Greyback off, and convulsed with a flare of shame as intense as the one brought on by having a Death Eater's prick in his mouth. He minded his teeth nonetheless.
Forcing himself to put more straining flesh into his mouth without waiting for Malfoy's prompt because he knew it would come and he wanted this travesty over with, Harry nonetheless gagged when the head hit the soft tissue at the back of his throat. His stomach lurched.
"Don't pull away," Malfoy lectured when Harry did exactly that. He needed air in his lungs, to stop himself from chucking up and to get Fenrir's awful taste out of his mouth.
Greyback's hand came down heavily on his head and neck just as he was trying to duck away.
"You listen to the pet!" the werewolf growled, then twisted his hips to shove himself back inside Harry's mouth until the tip of his prick closed off the back of Harry's throat.
Tears welled up in Harry's eyes when air was suddenly gone. He gagged, mouth filled with flesh and musk, and could feel Greyback swell at the choked noises that escaped him. Harry tried to suck in air through his nose in a miserable wet sniffle, but to little avail. His toes curled and a stab of fear spiked in his stomach and, irrationally, in his groin.
"Use your tongue, Potter, and swallow." Malfoy's voice cut through Harry's panic, but all he managed was a weak wriggle as his tongue was being flattened under the engorged weight of Greyback's cock.
Swallowing proved nearly as hard because Harry knew what it would do, but he forced himself when the points of Greyback's nails started to dig into the back of his head. It left his throat full of cock, choking and abrasive and making his pulse race.
"Again!" Greyback growled, not relying on Malfoy to interpret his desires now, pumping in and out of Harry's mouth until even his tonsils burned.
Forcing his throat to obey a second time was even worse than the first. Swallowing popped his ears and lessened the pressure for a moment, but there was no air anywhere, only the taste and smell and hot, stifling presence of Greyback's cock. He kept it there with his hand wrapped in Harry's hair for an endless moment until Harry's world started to spin in dizzy circles and his feet made odd little scraping noises on the floor.
Then Fenrir pulled out completely, leaving an insulting smear of precome along Harry's cheek before bodily throwing him back onto the floor. Harry landed on his tailbone and bit back a cry.
Fenrir stood over him, his erection red and swollen again, and panic crashed over Harry like a wave. His vision narrowed, blanking out the room and Malfoy, who had edged back onto the bed. He couldn't see anything but the cock before him, and the monster. Greyback gave him ample time to savour the sight, mocking eyes raking over Harry's nude body before leaning down and dragging him to his feet. The hard grip around his upper arm left Harry's fingertips prickling.
"Not half as skilled as the pet," he commented, "but I think the Lestranges will have you trained up quickly enough. Me, I think one mouth's as good as any other."
He pulled Harry close until their bodies touched and Greyback's chest pelt scratched Harry's tender nipples. Hot, meaty breath hit Harry's face. The werewolf licked a wet stripe from Harry's chin to cheek, and Harry felt his face burn. Fenrir bit him, just below the ear, then licked away the blood he had drawn with a chuckle while Harry's body seized in fear.
"Oh yes, I will have your flesh tonight, Potter, and it will be almost as sweet as it would be under the full moon!"
The werewolf hurled him onto the bed, seemingly taking pleasure in manhandling his victims at every opportunity. He pounced before Harry could scramble out of the way, trapping Harry flat on his back and stretching out on top of him. The man's weight knocked the air out of Harry's lungs, the heavy cock pressing down into Harry's lap. Harry's heart hammered, then suddenly leapt into his mouth when he felt teeth at his exposed throat. Greyback bit down again, drawing pinpricks of blood and exhaling a deep, satisfied breath when Harry tensed underneath him. Another stab of heat pooled in his groin, of all places. When Greyback lifted himself off, Harry gasped for breath like a fish on dry land.
"Not so tough after all, are you pup?" the man whispered. "Enough playing now - up on your hands and knees, Potter."
He pinched Harry's thigh, a cruel tug and twist of skin that reddened, then darkened immediately. Harry scooted up on the bed, aware again of Malfoy, who crouched against the headboard hugging his knees. He'd been so quiet, had taken up so little space, that Harry had for a moment forgotten he was there. Now, Harry drew himself up onto shaking knees, hating the way his feet sunk into the worn mattress, thighs gaping open. He fixed his eyes on his hands, balled on the mattress so tightly that his knuckles showed white. It was all he could do not to hurl himself away, screeching like a mad animal when Greyback crawled up behind him, thighs lining up with Harry's while Greyback's groin pressed against his arse. The heat of the werewolf's erection touched Harry before the length of it actually pressed into his cleft. Harry clenched his teeth until his molars ached.
"Let's hope you sucked me wet enough," Greyback murmured into his ear, mock-gentle tone belied by the force with which he thrust himself between Harry's buttocks. He found the tiny ring of Harry's anus and pushed in, and Harry felt himself rip open in a red-hot roar of agony. He couldn't scream, arrested by shock, but he shrieked inwardly.
Of course he'd known that it would hurt, inescapably so. He'd seen Malfoy cry and tremble, but part of him had believed what Greyback kept insinuating so slyly: that he was tougher than Malfoy. Now, Greyback was forcing himself inside him and he knew it was a lie. The pain was such that Harry let out a raw howl as soon as he came up with air.
Greyback laughed and thrust forward again, hard and deep, and Harry's world surged in red fire. His elbows gave out, folding him facedown on the mattress. Only his hips, pulled up by Greyback's hands for the werewolf's convenience, stuck upright in a humiliating parody of obeisance.
Every movement of Greyback inside him produced a fresh shudder of pain as if it were the fangs of the wolf that were tearing into him rather than Greyback's cock. And above the pain, hot tears of shame stung in Harry's eyes, that this could happen to him - that after all he'd survived, after destroying Voldemort, he could be raped by a deranged enemy like an animal, with Malfoy to witness.
There was no humiliation in Cruciatus, Harry realised - just agony overriding every thought. But this? Despite the pain, Harry was acutely aware what was happening to him, how he was letting himself go under the onslaught.
Driven by pure instinct, he tried to scramble away. Greyback caught him effortlessly, one strong arm wrapping around Harry's middle. His hips surged forward to sink his cock back into Harry's hole with punishing force. With hysterical sobs threatening to spill from his throat, Harry slumped in Greyback's grip. Teeth grazed the raised skin of his neck as if Greyback wanted to inscribe himself on Harry's body for all the world to see. Then the werewolf threw his head back.
"Come here, pet. I think Potter needs a bit of distraction."
Malfoy entered Harry's field of vision, creeping forward until he knelt right in front of Harry. Only Greyback's arm around his middle kept Harry upright, and yet he wished it wouldn't allow his erstwhile rival to see him so clearly - dripping with sweat, face painfully flushed, his legs spread while Greyback was moving inside him.
Fenrir's hand slipped to grab Harry's cock, limp and frightened between his legs. He lifted it, and without needing a prompt, Malfoy bent down and licked around it. The sensation was such that Harry cried out again, struggling to escape the hot mouth.
Fenrir slapped the side of his head until Harry stilled, his ear ringing. Without paying attention, Malfoy sucked his cock down and slithered his tongue around it like a snake. Miserably, Harry could feel himself harden and wished Greyback had slapped him harder. If he'd fallen unconscious, he wouldn't have to feel his body betraying him. It wasn't that Fenrir's cock inside him hurt less - although the werewolf had slowed down his assault. Instead, he reached down to form a ring around the base of Harry's prick with thumb and index finger, cradling Harry's balls tightly in his wide palm. The pressure, and the shocking sweetness of Malfoy's mouth around him, transmuted the pain into something Harry refused to ponder.
Far too soon for Harry's traitorous cock, Greyback motioned Malfoy off him. The boy slid his lips off with a long slide and wiped a strand of saliva from his mouth.
The werewolf nodded at his belt that hung from the loops of his discarded trousers, just within reach. "Get it, pup."
Skin crawling, Harry leaned forward and pulled it free, only too aware that Greyback was still holding on to his prick. Without a word, Malfoy crossed his hands and offered them to Harry. His eyes were blank and cold in a way that made Harry shudder.
"Bind him," Greyback ordered, almost cheerfully. Harry wrapped the smooth leather around Malfoy's proffered hands. "Tighter!" Greyback hissed, and with a grimace of disgust, Harry pulled the belt tight until it cut into Malfoy's thin wrists.
"That's a good pet. Now, down and spread yourself open for our Harry," Greyback crooned, and at last something flashed in Malfoy's eyes before he turned. A glimpse of long, pale flank, and then Harry stared at Malfoy's buttocks, marred by darkening imprints of fingers and bloody marks from Greyback's nails.
"No!" Harry protested as soon as he caught the meaning. "I won't."
"You will," Greyback snarled. "Unless you want to watch me fuck him with my fist and then you'll fuck him to prevent me from doing it again."
Despite his already hunched posture, Malfoy seemed to duck down deeper still. A small sound of helpless protest escaped Harry's lips. He bowed his head - there was nothing to be done.
Malfoy spread his thighs, revealing a hole that was inflamed, distended and smeared with the grease Greyback had used to fuck him. Harry didn't want to touch Malfoy, didn't even want to look at him, but Malfoy shuffled backwards with small, crab-like movements as if that alone pained him until his arse touched the tip of Harry's prick where it rose up from Greyback's fist.
Using his hold around Harry's base, Greyback ran the erection suggestively up and down Malfoy's crack. "He is quite pretty, our pet, isn't he?" the werewolf's hot voice whispered in Harry's ear. He'd stopped moving inside Harry altogether, as if not to distract Harry's arousal.
"There's nothing 'pretty' about any of this!" Harry snarled, even as he felt the head of his cock strain against its foreskin.
"Keep lying to yourself, pup." Greyback chuckled and pushed Harry's erection forward until it pressed against Malfoy's entrance. "This is telling the truth."
Lips cold with rage, Harry inched forwards as carefully as he could. Malfoy opened around him in a reluctant, dragging squeeze of flesh that stole Harry's breath. He stared down at the arched back before him, fists balled because he feared that if he didn't he would touch Malfoy, and he didn't want to do that to him. There was beauty after all, twisted and abused and trembling, but beauty nonetheless.
"Very touching," Greyback sneered. "But I told you to fuck him, not to make love like an infatuated virgin on his wedding night." He let go of Harry's cock and balls now that Harry was deep enough into Malfoy to have nowhere else to go, and put his hand back on Harry's hip. "Though that's of course exactly what you are, isn't it, Potter? Let me show you the ropes, then."
Harry had no time to brace himself before Greyback thrust into him once more with even more force than before. He yelled as he was slammed into Malfoy so hard that he fell forward over the Slytherin's body, only just managing to prop himself up on both hands without crushing him. Still, Malfoy hissed in pain, his channel rippling around Harry's prick as if trying to push him out.
Agony flared up in Harry's arse, worse than what he'd felt before because now Greyback had gone past the preliminaries of penetration and started to hammer into Harry as if to fuck Malfoy through him. The thrusts had changed his angle and shoved him deeper into the other boy than he'd ever wanted to go. Undoubtedly, Greyback got the ultimate kick out of the scenario - fucking Harry's body, and his mind, and Malfoy all at once.
Malfoy's back contorted in pain below him, and Harry could hear the whimper he tried to muffle against the mattress.
Harry breathed a soundless "Ssh!" against snags of blond hair and the salty neck under his lips, cheek brushing the rough leather of Malfoy's collar. Soundless, because he didn't want Greyback to hear and pound Harry even harder.
Then he gritted his teeth and forced his watery knees and cramped arms to straighten. It impaled him on Greyback's cock to the hilt, fresh pain screaming through his nerves, flaring up his spine and down to his feet. It took the edge off Malfoy, though, which was the point - he'd be damned if he let Greyback turn his body into a torture instrument.
"Nice, Potter." Greyback gave a lewd hum of appreciation and thrust again, picking up a brutal rhythm that left Harry feeling as if he was being flayed alive from the inside. He whimpered, biting his bottom lip bloody to smother his screams, still trying to cushion Malfoy from the full force of the werewolf's assault.
The pain was honed to an exquisite edge by the fact that despite his efforts he was now fucking Malfoy nearly as hard as Greyback fucked him, and the clutch of Malfoy's arse around his cock kept him hard despite the pain.
"Yes, nice," Greyback repeated, fangs grazing the shell of Harry's ear. His voice had lowered to a drawn-out, hungry growl. "But you should know better by now, shouldn't you?"
And then suddenly Greyback's arm closed around Harry's neck, forcing his head up until he was crushed against the werewolf's chest, Greyback's hairy, sinewy forearm pressed against Harry's throat like the knotted branch of the Whomping Willow. Harry heard Malfoy gasp as the angle of penetration shifted again, and every hair on his neck and arms stood up at the terrible helplessness of being so effortlessly trapped. He wriggled, more a testing of leverage than an escape attempt, and Greyback's grip tightened around his throat. Panic surged through Harry's body in a dark, sweet wave that left his cock straining. He stilled completely, offering surrender in his body language. The memory of Greyback's cock in his throat, cutting off his air supply, was too fresh, too terrifying, and he could feel himself breaking out in cold sweat.
Greyback's arm tightened again, his other hand still holding on to Harry's hip in a brutal grip. He pulled back, then shoved himself forward again. Blood started to roar in Harry's ears, and he gasped desperately for what little air the obstruction allowed into his lungs. The next thrust, hard on the heel of the previous, forced him deep into Malfoy without warning, wrenching a cry from the other boy.
Harry felt his limbs beginning to shake as he fought for breath. Greyback rammed into him, hard and fast and merciless. His control was slipping. He felt himself jerk in the twin hell of agony and lack of breath, fighting for real now. His nails dug into Greyback's arm, pulling and scrabbling but at the same time his vision was fading again, strength sapped along with oxygen, and he knew he couldn't free himself, not pinned and impaled as he was. Instead, he twitched like a puppet on a string under the werewolf's thrusts, only distantly aware of Malfoy's cries as he was plunged into him.
Now he would have begged, but had no breath for it. Greyback crushed his throat harder yet, turning Harry's throat into a burning column. Harry's body reacted to mortal danger with the single-mindedness of survival. With his vision a red-rimmed tunnel of black and his mind screaming for air, his body twisted itself and spilled his seed into the writing body beneath him in a rush so painfully intense that it blanked out even the pain. The dark roared, built up all around him…
… and then suddenly he could breathe, through a larynx that felt like a red-hot wire, but it was air and Harry gulped it down frantically. Behind him, Greyback grunted, still thrusting away.
Harry heard Greyback's triumphant howl as he came, but couldn't feel anything other than the sweet air in his lungs. After almost reaching the haven of oblivion, his mind didn't want to return to his aching body. It didn't last long, though - Greyback pulled out of him, wiping his dripping cock on Harry's buttocks, then pulled Harry's head up by the hair until his scalp screamed. He yelled - he definitely felt that.
"Learned your lesson?"
Harry's body shuddered, seized by a tremor that nearly sent his teeth achatter. Despite the cruel pull on his hair, he nodded - anything to make Greyback let go.
"Good!"
The werewolf did, sending Harry in a tangle of limbs onto Malfoy, who cried out with a sharp, pained sound that cut through Harry. It made him realise that, softened or not, he was still buried in Malfoy's arse.
Harry tried to disentangle himself as fast and as carefully as possible, barely noting that the werewolf wiped himself with a rag that had obviously seen a lot of the same before, before grabbing his trousers and easing into them with a languorous roll of his hips. He undid the belt that tied Draco's wrists and slid it through the loops at his hips. With a toothy grin over his shoulder, he made for the door.
"Don't go anywhere, pup."
He didn't even bother closing the door, but Harry was too preoccupied trying not to see the strands of come he'd spilled in his moment of sheer terror. A glimpse at Malfoy's arse revealed blood - not much, nothing like the hole Harry was sure Greyback had torn into him, but a damning trickle down the inside of Malfoy's upper thigh, and, oh God, more blood smeared over the head of Harry's cock.
Harry choked, scooting backwards only to feel a stab of agony flare through his arse, reminding him of the way Greyback had slammed into him. He collapsed, keening, trembling so hard now that his teeth chattered. Suddenly, it was as hard to breathe as if Greyback was still choking him. His chest ached, and he could feel his heart thudding in irregular beats.
A rap to the head, all knuckles and with quite a bit of force behind it, made him jolt. Breath stuttered back into his lungs, and he reflexively rubbed his stinging head. There was Malfoy's angry face glaring down at him, mouth twisted into a thin line of disdain that mirrored his father's.
Although it was a relief to see rage after the servile passivity Malfoy had shown Fenrir, there was something of a trapped, raging animal in Malfoy's body language. A soft, distant whisper deep inside Harry felt drawn to it. At the same time, it made Harry wonder about the half-healed claw and bite marks that marred Malfoy's skin.
"Can you afford to lose it, 'pup'?" Draco snapped, every bit as feral as his namesake.
Shame flooded Harry's face. He started to look away, only to freeze when Malfoy made to hit him again.
"Why does he allow it?" Harry blurted out, the question foremost on his mind ever since he'd seen Draco on the bed. "Your father - he's here. How can he let this happen to you?"
Malfoy's face turned icy. "Because he has no wand. Because he has no choice." His angry mask shook, crumbled. "My mother, Potter. They have my mother!"
With him sitting so close, Harry could, for the first time, see the piece of white ribbon at the hollow of Malfoy's throat, almost entirely obscured by the bulkiness of the collar. Not vibrant like Ron's, but luminous white with the faintest blue and pink highlights.
Harry stared at it in dismay, admitting to himself that he'd blindly pegged Malfoy as someone who'd debase himself the way he had just to save his own skin. Now, he saw the bars of the cage enclosing them both mirrored in the way Malfoy's eyes blanked out again, until he turned away, carving out for himself a solitary little corner of the mattress.
Malfoy's back did not shake, but neither did he turn back again, leaving Harry with his bloodied cock and come-stained hands and the ribbon that was Ron's life curling around his throat.
Wrapping his arms around his chest, Harry waited, never once moving or looking up, until they came to drag him away.
